“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 wordlover . 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.
Thirteen
Celia 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.
Would it be crass to mention it tonight? During their little sex getaway? If she wanted to get him in front of Noah in a casual setting, then she was going to have to move fast and hope he hadn’t locked up his week already with other obligations.
She looked up when a knock sounded at her door. Brock stood against the door frame, a smile easing the newly developed lines at his eyes and mouth.
“Hey, we wanted to get together at Rosa after work today. You’re the star and we want to toast with copious amounts of alcohol. It will be a good pep rally for the presentation on Friday.”
Her stomach rolled into a tight ball. The last thing she wanted was a raucous night at Rosa with the work gang. Usually she’d be all over it. The Maddox employees regularly hung out at the upscale martini bar just a block away. It’s where they met to celebrate, commiserate or just take a break from a hellish workday.
The last celebration they’d staged there had been for Jason after he’d landed the Prentice account. Now Brock was lining up the chorus for her.
Her cheeks tightened in pleasure even as her heart sank at the idea of ditching Evan after agreeing to meet him. He’d think her the worst sort of coward even if it was the smart thing to do.
“I’d love to, Brock, but I already have plans for the evening. Important plans,” she added after a pause.
“Besides, I’d rather not jinx myself before going into the presentation. It’s not in the bag—yet—but I certainly plan to perform a slam dunk on Friday.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I understand. We’ll go and just call it a pre-planning session. It’s as good an excuse as any to throw back a few. But if you land this, just be prepared for a victory celebration to end all victory celebrations.”
She grinned. “Oh, you know it. I can’t wait. I’ll totally hold you to it.”
“Okay, take care and see you tomorrow.” He turned to go but stopped and turned back once more.
“Oh, and, Celia, if I haven’t already said it, thank you. You did a magnificent job. I doubted your approach at first, but you came through in spades.”
Her heart sped up and she curled her fingers until her nails dug into her palms. It was all she could do not to stand up and throw her arms in the air complete with an obnoxious yell.
“Thank you for your trust,” she said as calmly as possible.
With a short salute, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving Celia grinning like a loon.
Promptly at a quarter to five, Celia headed down the elevator—fifteen minutes before quitting time so she’d miss the majority of her coworkers. She didn’t want to explain why she wasn’t joining them at Rosa.
Her apartment wasn’t far, and usually she’d enjoy driving her Beamer with the top down—it really was a sassy, smooth handling dream machine—but today she was just impatient to be home, and the traffic was driving her mad.
When she reached her apartment, she recognized the car out front and the driver standing on the curb beside it. With a groan, she slowed to a stop on the street and rolled down her window.
