Rules of Negotiation (3 page)

Chapter Four

Tori’s hand instinctively rose to clutch Brit’s shoulder. It was hard and muscled, exactly the way she had envisioned. His lips were firm, expert. He claimed her mouth in a single breath. A shudder went through her and the tingle that had begun the moment he walked in the room turned into a full-bodied ache.

She moved her mouth against his, and his tongue penetrated her parted lips. Heat suffused her body as she pressed against him, opening her mouth and giving him room to play. Their tongues meshed, a delicate dance of exploration and wanting. Her body melted into his, hips, breasts, and legs all seeking further contact. As the kiss deepened, Tori’s knees began to tremble.

Then, inexplicably, he pulled back.

Brit touched her face with one large hand and then placed it at the top of her hip. They stood suspended, bodies touching, chests moving in rapid rhythm.

“If we don’t go to dinner now, I’m not going to let you out of this room.”

Flushed with pleasure, Tori dropped her eyes and reluctantly released the arms that had wound tightly around his neck. “I bet you say that to all the women who are negotiating million-dollar agreements with you.”

She started to move away, struggling to regain her equanimity, but Brit stopped her, his hand tightening around her waist.

“Let’s make a deal,” he said. “You don’t mention Technix for the rest of the night, and I’ll do the same.”

“Why?” She cursed the slow reaction of her brain, still fogged with pleasure. Their bodies were too close; too close to think, too close to breathe.

“Why? Because that’s not what tonight’s about.” He drew back, as if insulted by her question.

Tori shook her head. “Look, I don’t normally go around having romantic encounters with the guy on the other side of a deal. I suppose I’d like to know why you’re doing this. It doesn’t seem like such an odd thing to ask.”

“It’s quite simple,” he said, gazing intently down at her. “I want you.”

Tori sucked in a breath as his casual pronouncement. She’d never been the subject of such blatant male intent. Her palms began to sweat.

“And what makes you so sure I’m interested?”

He ran a hand along the side of her waist, skimming her rib cage and almost, but not quite, touching the underside of her breast.

“Call it instinct. My car is waiting outside. We don’t want to be late for our reservation.”

…

They stopped in front of the elevators, the air thick with tension. When the doors opened with a muted
ding
, Brit gestured for Tori to go first. As the doors closed behind them, she imagined Brit throwing her against the back wall, pulling her dress to her waist and taking her, right then and there. Warmth pooled between her legs. By the time they reached the ground floor, Tori could feel the tickle of sweat between her shoulder blades.

Nothing in her life had prepared her for this moment. Panic and excitement mixed in equal parts. Clearly, she had stepped inside some
other
woman’s life. Some woman who had crazy one-night stands with gorgeous CEOs.

Please, woman whose life I stole—can I keep it? For one night?

After threading their way through the crowded lobby and a revolving door to the street beyond, Brit guided her past a line of waiting taxicabs to a sleek black Mercedes with dark tinted windows. A driver in a black suit nodded as he held open a door for Tori. The air had a rare bite for late June, and she gratefully slipped inside to a warm leather seat. Brit followed closely behind, and when he sat down, their legs touched from hip to thigh.

She scooted to the side, needing a moment without his touch to clear her head. This relentless onslaught of sensuality had her head spinning. Either he was one of the best liars she’d ever met or he meant what he said.

I want you.

The very thought of those words, spoken so casually, sent a flare of heat through her body.

He wanted her.

Brit Bencher wanted her, Tori Anderson. A short, curvy, attorney who didn’t have a supermodel bone in her body. It was too much to be believed.

The car was open between the front and the back, and when the driver sat down, relief flooded through her. Being alone with Brit right now was more than she could handle.

“Have you spent much time in New York?” Brit asked, his deep voice filling the small space.

“I assumed your spies already revealed that information.”

He chuckled. “Humor me. I can’t remember everything they said.”

“I went to Yale Law and did a summer internship at a firm in town. So I know Manhattan, at least. But that was only for one summer. I come up for business fairly regularly, but that rarely gets me far from my hotel.”

“Well, we’re headed for Queens. Alessandro’s serves simple, rich, Italian fare. Nothing fancy, but an Alfredo sauce like none other. Unless you’d prefer something more upscale tonight? L’Atelier? If you feel like sushi there’s always Masa.”

Tori shook her head. She knew both restaurants, and their prices were astronomical. The last thing she wanted was to feel indebted to Brit. “No. Simple sounds perfect. I’ve been on the road for the past week and haven’t seen a decent plate of pasta in far too long. I love seeing my clients, but I must admit, the traveling gets to me.”

“So you were doing client visits this week?”

“Yes, and I really can’t complain. The partners know I’ll do anything for a new client, so when they get leads that look like a long shot, they give them to me. I flew from Philly to Texas, and then to Florida to meet with a potential client who wants to build a resort in the Keys.”

“So you’ve got clients doing everything from real estate to robotics?”

She pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear and ignored the attempt at humor. Suspicion prickled along her spine, as it did whenever anyone mentioned her most famous—and secretive—client. “Your spies told you about Solen Labs?”

“It was hardly a secret,” he said dryly. “You made quite a name for yourself when you helped them break away from MIT.”

She studied his face, looking for any hint that his choice of topic was more than polite conversation, but saw nothing. The signs, billboards, and headlights of passing cars flickered across an impassive face. She was about to quiz him further, but his gaze dropped to her mouth, and she had to fight the urge to lean in for another kiss.

“I knew Garth Solen from high school,” she said. “He helped me get through algebra. He approached me not long after I started practicing law. He’d been forced to turn down an investor because they didn’t meet university criteria, and decided it was time to take the lab private.”

“Is it true that no one at the lab actually knows where he lives, or what his cell number is?”

She smiled. “Not really. But Garth is a very private man. Those of us who work closely with him understand the ground rules. Respect that privacy, or he’s outta there.”

Brit’s finger brushed the inside of her knee. In the uneven glow the planes of his cheekbones were defined by dark shadows. Her throat momentarily swelled shut.

“You have an advantage over me,” she managed to choke out. “I don’t have spies. I don’t know anything about you.”

That wasn’t precisely true. She
had
studied his profile before the meeting. But it was public information, nothing nearly as personal as her Supreme Court clerkship, or even her work with Solen Labs. Brit Bencher had assumed control of Excorp at the tender age of twenty-five, fresh out of business school. He had taken a small, failing corporation and turned it around. Ten years later Excorp was a giant, publicly traded enterprise with offices in five countries on three continents. And Brit had become legend for his hard-driving, soft-spoken style.

“What would you like to know?”

It was a reasonable question, but his hand had landed on her knee and she was suddenly having a hard time putting together complete sentences. “I don’t…I mean…”

He reached over and touched her cheek. The tip of his thumb brushed across her lips. “We only have a few minutes before we pull up to the restaurant. I should probably save my life story for dinner, don’t you think?”

His thumb was turning her brain to Jell-O. She pulled his hand from her face and took a deep breath. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you picked this restaurant?”

His teeth glowed in the dark interior of the car. “Okay, if you’re determined to do some talking, how about this? I tell you about the restaurant, you let me kiss you again.”

He settled his hand around hers. The warmth of it traveled down the length of her arm to her stomach, where it caused a smoldering ember of desire to burst into flame.

“Deal.” Anything to get him to stop touching her long enough to regain her wits.

“I used to live in this neighborhood,” he began. “When I was young, we didn’t have much money, and we only went out to eat once a year—for my mother’s birthday. Alessandro’s was her favorite. So now I celebrate here when I settle a deal.” He traced a lazy circle on the back of her hand. “My turn.” He inclined his head and covered her lips in a soft, feather-like kiss.

She froze, almost panicked by the powerful response of her body. Gently, his mouth moved across hers, then slid down the side of her neck. His delicate touch left a waterfall of sensation along her skin. He moved up to the hollow behind her ear, and then nipped gently at her earlobe.

His hand cupped the side of her face, holding her as he returned to her lips and deepened the kiss. They meshed perfectly, exploring mouths and tongues with increasing intensity. Tori arched her back, her breasts aching, needing more contact, more pressure. But he did not touch her anywhere else. Only his mouth ravaged hers, leaving her utterly defenseless. When he sucked gently on her tongue, she dug her nails into the soft leather seat and restrained the urge to drag his body against hers.

Dimly, she felt the car slow, then stop. Brit placed one last kiss on her bruised, tender lips, and smoothed a curl back behind her ear. “Thank you,” he murmured, “for the appetizer.”

…

Brit waited in the car while his driver opened the door and helped Tori out. It had taken all of his will to keep his voice soft and controlled. His entire body ached with frustration. One kiss, one incredible kiss, had gotten him so hard he had seriously considered flipping up the hem of her soft skirt and taking her right there, in the back seat of his car.

This was not how the evening was supposed to go. He was not supposed to be reacting to her like this. He should be cool and controlled, sailing past her defenses with his charm and wit while remaining focused on the prize—Solen’s number. But nothing had gone as expected. Her defensiveness and suspicion forced him to kiss her well before he had planned, and instead of disarming her, he’d been the one dizzy and incoherent, forced to pull away before he lost control. And now he was teetering on the edge of insanity, wanting nothing more than to forget about Solen, take Tori home, and make love to her all night long.

To make matters worse, he was already feeling guilty about misleading her about the reason for dinner. For all her toughness, when he kissed her at the hotel he’d seen a vulnerability in Tori’s eyes that hit him like a punch to the gut. The thought of abusing that innocence left him sick.

Remember Melissa
, he told himself.
This is about Melissa
.

He forced himself to jump out and lead Tori into the restaurant. Her skin was flushed and rosy, her full lips slightly parted. She had a bemused, almost glassy look to her eyes that made him want to kiss her insensible all over again.

He’d discovered Tori’s name while researching Solen. People said she was young, driven, and Solen’s primary link to the outer world. She also happened to be negotiating a deal with his company. For once, Brit thought, his silly reputation with women would come in handy. He’d take her out to dinner, turn on a little charm, and feed her Melissa’s story. She’d be sympathetic—what woman wouldn’t be?—and hand over the number before dessert. He’d even sweetened the deal for her client.

He had never imagined that
he
might be the one losing control.

A young, dark-haired waitress in a low-necked peasant blouse greeted them by the crowded front entry. “Welcome to Alessandro’s,” she said, reserving a warm smile for Brit.

“Serena, how are you?” He leaned forward and kissed both her cheeks.

She flushed prettily. “I’d be better if you came by more often. Follow me, your table is ready.”

The restaurant was exactly as he had described it—a cheerful place made for families, birthdays, and celebrations. There were red-and-white checked tablecloths, white carnations next to flickering tea lights, and comfortable round-backed armchairs. The air was heavy with the smells of garlic and oregano, saffron and espresso. A bar at the back of the room was packed with a crowd ranging from couples in their twenties to older men, all laughing loudly and drinking.

Tori practically flinched at the jealous looks of the dozen or so people waiting by the front door. Her features displayed every turn of her emotions, from hot passion to nervous tension. “I suppose you know someone?” she asked.