Billionaire's Contract Engagement / Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation (14 page)

The giddy thrill that sizzled down her spine annoyed her. And then his arrogant presumption that she'd drop everything to have lunch with him. He didn't like to be kept waiting. Who did he think he was?

She sighed as she collected her purse. Where to even begin? He was an important client. The most important client of her career. And then there was the fact she'd acted as his fake fiancée, and oh yeah, she'd slept with him. Repeatedly.

A hot blush shot up her neck and nearly burned her cheeks off as she remembered just how often they'd had sex. They'd re-enacted all his fantasies and some of hers, too.

They'd been insatiable.

Hell and damnation but she'd expected several days to recover from the weekend before she had to see him again. In her utter befuddlement and not to mention being blown over by the sex, she hadn't even mentioned the season opener to Evan.

It was as good an excuse as any to accompany him to lunch. At least then she could pretend it was all about business.

After a quick wave to Shelby, she rode the elevator down to the first floor. She passed the busy American cuisine restaurant with the lunch crowd lined up at the door and exited the building.

Evan was standing at the curb, one hand resting on the open door to the backseat of his car, the other shoved into
his pocket. He looked positively arrogant. Like he not only belonged in the world but owned it.

He nodded as she approached and motioned her inside the car. Then he slid in beside her and shut the door.

“I thought we could eat at this restaurant I know across town. It's small and not so well-known, but the food is excellent and it affords privacy.”

He looked at her almost like the last was a challenge.

She tilted her chin up and stared coolly at him. She hoped that she looked as unruffled as she wanted to portray.

“Is this business, Evan? Why did you come to my office today?”

His mouth tightened briefly before he relaxed and eyed her with thinly veiled amusement.

“We slept together, Celia. I don't think lunch is that scandalous given that fact.”

She curled her fingers into tight fists. She wanted to close her eyes and moan her dismay. No, she doubted he'd understand why it was so important to her that there be no hint of impropriety between them. He was the type who'd never let what others thought rule his life. She hated that evidently she was the type. Hated it but couldn't change it.

“Evan.”

She stopped when her voice cracked. She felt like the worst sort of idiot. Around others she had no problem being blunt—and forceful when the occasion called for it. But with Evan, she was ridiculously tongue-tied.

“Yes?” he prompted.

He wore a curious smile, almost as if he found her and the situation amusing. It made her angry.

“We can't do this. We simply can't. This weekend was a huge mistake. I don't want to be one of these women who say no, no, no, and then yes, yes, yes and then spend the next week castigating myself for my weakness. I shouldn't have slept with you. I swear, I left my brain behind when we went to Catalina. I knew what I was getting into. Don't get me
wrong. I don't blame you or think you manipulated me into having sex with you. I'm a big girl and I knew full well what I was doing. It doesn't make me any less stupid, mind you.”

Evan simply hauled her into his arms and stifled her tirade with a kiss. Not just any kiss. He devoured her whole. She melted—positively melted—in his arms. She went limp against him.

Yep, she was one of those silly women at the mercy of her hormones.

She placed both hands on his chest and shoved until they sat apart, both breathing raggedly. She probably looked demented sitting there, hair askew, chest heaving up and down as if she'd run a marathon.

“Stop kissing me!”

He smiled again, a lazy, sensual smile of a lion standing over its prey. She was lunch apparently.

“But I like kissing you and I try never to deny myself life's little pleasures.”

She rolled her eyes then caught herself before she laughed.

“Dammit, Evan. Be serious for one minute. I mean it. Stop kissing me and stop touching me.”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. I won't touch you.”

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest and moved as far over in the seat as she could. Why had she agreed to lunch with him? Why?

Because you're a masochist and you can't resist him.

There was that.

She's always thought it was a myth. The out-of-control hormones that made an otherwise intelligent woman make waste of her brain cells every time she came into contact with the one.

She was certainly proving the waste of brain cells to be true.

The rest of the journey was spent in brooding silence. Evan
was silent and Celia brooded. When they finally pulled up to a restaurant that boasted the best seafood on the west coast, she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Try it first and then tell me if you disagree,” Evan said in amusement.

He was becoming way too adept at reading her and it annoyed her to no end, especially since she had no idea what went on in his head. She was afraid to find out.

When she stepped out and glanced around, she had to hand it to him. For a man who didn't seemingly care if they were seen together or not and certainly didn't have the objections she had, he'd chosen a restaurant where they weren't likely to be seen by anyone who knew them.

Evan guided her in to the rustic cedar building with its quasi-southern charm mixed with California décor. It was an odd blend that, to her surprise, worked well.

The two sat in the far corner where the lighting so was so dim a small kerosene lantern sat in the middle of the table to offer ambience.

“I feel like I'm on a first date,” she said ruefully after Evan had ordered the wine.

He smiled and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Would it make me less of a jerk to be up front about the fact I plan to have you in my bed tonight?”

She sucked in her breath until she felt curiously lightheaded. She suspected of course, but to hear him say it outright was way sexier than it should have been.

“I have to go back to work,” she murmured.

He nodded. “Of course. I didn't intend to spirit you away for an afternoon tryst, though the idea has merit. I wonder if your coworkers would call the police?”

She glared at him—determined not to laugh. But even her scowl twitched. Irreverent bastard.

The waiter appeared with food, and she blinked because
she hadn't remembered ordering. She glanced at the half-empty wineglass and couldn't for the life of her remember drinking so much as a sip. Evan was bad, bad for her brain. He was as bad as some wasting disease. She wouldn't survive, either.

“Evan,” she began again, and promptly shut up when it came out more as a plaintive wail than a protest.

“I'll send a car for you, Celia. No one needs to see you getting into a vehicle with me. I'll have my driver pick you up from work, or if you prefer, you can drive your car to your apartment and I'll have him pick you up there. And I'll have him take you home in time for you to prepare for work.”

Why wasn't she immediately shutting him down? Instead of telling him that in no uncertain terms would she agree to such a thing, she found herself contemplating how decadent it would be to dash off to an elicit rendezvous with her lover.

She shivered at the word
lover.
Evan was a superb specimen of a man. He was fantastic in bed and insatiable to boot. He knew how to pleasure a woman and was as unselfish a lover as she'd ever had. The mere idea of spending the night with him had her tied in so many knots it would take a team of massage therapists to work them out.

She chewed absently at the food, not registering the taste or even what she ate. Her throat was as dry as the desert and her tongue was swollen and clumsy.

“You act as though it's a crime for us to make love,” he said in an oddly tender voice.

If it had been coaxing or wheedling, she could have been cold to him. But she could swear he was reassuring her and attempting to allay her fears.

She licked her lips and raised her gaze to meet his. Awareness hit her square in the chest. In his eyes she saw undulating bodies. Hers and his. In perfect rhythm. So beautiful and so pleasurable that she closed her eyes to further immerse herself in the memory.

“Say yes.”

His voice stroked her as surely as his fingers had done. A prickle of goose bumps spread rapidly over her shoulders and down her chest until her nipples tightened into two painful knots.

“Celia,” he prompted.

Finally she opened her eyes and fixed him with her unfocused gaze.

“Yes,” she whispered.

C
elia entered her office with a heightened sense of anticipation. She already knew she'd be clock watching until it was quitting time and then she'd race home so she could change and look her best for her naughty escape to Evan's.

Her mouth curved into a naughty smile to match the naughtiness of her and Evan's plan. It was wicked, forbidden, and she was so turned on that she was ready to fidget right out of her shoes.

With a sigh, she sank into her chair behind her desk, kicked off her shoes and logged on to catch up on e-mail. She hadn't planned to go out for lunch at all and had, in fact, brought food from home, planning to eat at her desk. After missing Friday, she'd spent the morning getting a report from Jason on her client meetings he covered and then she'd gone through messages.

She groaned as her in-box stacked up with e-mail after e-mail. She started at the bottom and worked up, deleting several after cursory glances. Those requiring a lengthy
response she flagged to respond to later and the ones she could just do a one-line response to she typed furiously and sent on their way.

She was nearly to the end when her gaze flickered over the name Lucy Reese. She did a double take. Evan's mom? Why would she e-mail and how had she gotten Celia's address?

Her stomach fluttered a bit, and guilt crept over her all over again. Lucy was nice and Celia hated lying to her. She hated lying as a rule for any reason but especially not for such a frivolous endeavor.

She braced herself and clicked on the message. It began as cheerfully as Lucy herself was in person. She said again how thrilled she was that Celia and Evan had found each other.

Talk about another shot to the gut.

She expressed her desire to see Celia again and hoped Evan would bring her to Seattle for a visit.

Could this get any worse?

Her message ended with a short note that she'd attached some pictures from the wedding that she thought Celia would enjoy.

Celia opened the attached JPEGS and couldn't help but smile. The pictures were of her and Evan at the wedding reception. They looked happy and … in love.

There was one of them dancing, another of Evan looking down with a tender expression and the last was when Evan had kissed her. Celia's hand rested on his chest and the glitter of the ring contrasted with the black of Evan's tuxedo. Their mouths were fused together, and it was obvious to anyone looking at the picture that they were in danger of combusting right there in the middle of a crowded reception.

For several minutes, she debated whether or not to reply to Lucy's e-mail. It seemed rude not to, but it was also a terrible thing to prolong the charade.

Finally, she settled for a brief thank you and that she'd enjoyed meeting Lucy, as well. It was true and didn't delve into any part of her nonexistent relationship with Evan.

Stealing over to the man's hotel room after work hours certainly couldn't be considered a relationship.

Her intercom beeped, startling her from her thoughts.

“Celia, I have a cleaning service willing to take over Noah Hart's house.”

“Brave,” Celia muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Do you have details on when they'll start? Can you e-mail me that and the agency name and contact info so I can forward it?”

“Sure.”

There was a distinct pause and then Shelby's hesitant voice filtered through the intercom.

“Sooo, are you going to give me the dirt on Noah Hart? Like how you know him and why you're arranging his maid service?”

“No,” Celia said shortly.

She punched the button to end the conversation and hoped Shelby would get the hint. True, Shelby liked to gossip but she wasn't overtly intrusive. She backed off when people wanted her to.

She checked her e-mail and then forwarded the information to Noah. After closing her e-mail program, she stared at her phone and sighed. Noah was a disaster when it came to e-mails. The man just didn't care about advanced methods of communication. If it couldn't be said on the phone or person, he wasn't much interested. It drove his agent nuts. Simon Blackstone much preferred the impersonal methods of e-mail and text messages to actual conversations, but if he wanted to talk to Noah, he had to pick up the phone. Celia was convinced Noah did it just to torque his agent's jaw.

At any rate, she'd better call and leave a message on Noah's cell or God knows what the cleaning lady would come across when she went to his house.

She'd hit the end button after leaving him a nagging, sisterly
message when it hit her square in the face that she had neglected to mention the game to Evan.

How could she be so stupid? With everything else that had gone on in the weekend, the game had slipped her mind. Even when she'd done the pitch and specifically dangled the Noah carrot in front of Evan's nose, she'd flaked on the season opener.

He was probably already booked solid, if he was even going to be in town. The game was the night before her scheduled pitch session and he'd probably just fly in on the morning of their meeting.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered.