Seducing the Enemy (3 page)

But as she caressed him, she panicked—the same panic she’d felt whenever she moved out of her comfort zone. It was why she almost never left Aix.

She was going through with this. Having sex with a strange man.

And she didn’t know what she was doing.

To give herself a moment to breathe, she asked, “Do you have a condom?” She had protection in her purse but didn’t feel coordinated enough to get it.

“Of course.” He went to the bathroom and returned with the packet, shucking off his shoes, socks, and trousers.

Her heart beat wildly, and she couldn’t take a full breath. “Are condoms part of the amenities here?” She spoke lightly to disguise her anxiety.

“Naturally.” His tone had matched hers, but when his eyes focused on her, his expression changed. He sat beside her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He frowned. “Something’s wrong. Do you still want to do this?”

“I do. I definitely do.” She took a couple of deep breaths, his kind expression easing her minor panic attack. “But I need to tell you something.”

She gulped and told herself it would be better to tell him the truth now, before the situation got even more awkward.

There was nothing wrong with her still being a virgin. It wasn’t a deep, shameful secret she needed to hide.

His gaze had sobered, but he said dryly, “If you tell me you’re really a man, I’m simply not going to believe you.”

She giggled.

His face had relaxed too, but his eyes were still watchful. “If you tell me you’re married, I’m going to be very disappointed.”

“No,” she burst out. “It’s nothing like that. It’s just…it’s just this will be my first time. To have sex, I mean.”

He sat very still for what seemed like a long time but was probably just a few seconds. She’d obviously surprised him.

When she couldn’t wait anymore, she asked, “Is that all right?”

His forehead creased. “Are you sure this is the way you want your first time?”

“What do you mean?”

“With a stranger.”

Marietta’s lips tightened at the hesitation on his face. “It’s my choice, right? I’m a stranger to you, too. Surely you’re not going to act like you know better than I do about how I might want my first time.”

“Of course not. If you really want to do this, I’m not about to argue.” He peered at her intently.

Finally, she asked, “So did my shocking confession ruin things?”

“No, your shocking confession didn’t ruin things.”

She felt better. He was startled, but not horrified or turned off. “Good. For a minute, I wasn’t sure. Maybe you’re the kind of man who doesn’t feel comfortable deflowering a virg—”

A burst of laughter cut her off. He grabbed her and lowered her on the mattress. “Did you just say ‘deflower’?”

“Well, why not? It’s a perfectly good word.” His smile and the hot, hungry look smoldering in his eyes again—hotter and hungrier than before—sent shivers along her spine. “What other word am I supposed to use? I suppose I could say ‘devirginize,’ but it’s a little clunky.”

His laughter blew against the flushed skin of her face. “Definitely clunky,” he agreed, then he kissed her.

After that, things moved fast, blurring into heated urgency. They kissed until she was grinding her pelvis against his hip to get some friction on her throbbing arousal. Then he pulled off her panties and slid his fingers inside her.

She sucked in a sharp breath and arched her back as he massaged her intimately, his eyes devouring her twisting naked body.

“Oh God, Harry, please,” she gasped, clutching the bedding. She’d never felt so out of control before, like all that mattered in the world was feeling him satisfy this ache.

Too eager to be embarrassed, she pulled off his underwear as soon as he removed his fingers. She stared down at his erection, instinctively reaching out to stroke the hard length of him, thrilled when he hissed in response.

He didn’t let her play with him long. His body tightened and he moved her hand away.

He rolled on the condom and positioned himself between her legs. As he aligned himself at her entrance, he met her eyes and murmured, “Etta, are you sure?”

She nodded, nervous and excited and desperately urgent all at once. But not panicky. “Yes. I want this, Harry. Don’t you dare get all noble and virtuous on me.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

There was pressure as he entered her, but it wasn’t bad until he was about an inch in. He withdrew, which was a relief, and then penetrated her again. Perspiration glistened on his forehead as he slid in a little farther.

The pressure was more than she expected, and she couldn’t help but clamp down around it.

He huffed and withdrew. “Try to breathe, Etta.”

She frowned up at him. “I am breathing.”

“No, you’re not. You’re holding your breath.”

She realized he was right when she exhaled in a rush. She sucked it back in when he re-angled and sank into her more deeply.

She shifted her hips. He felt big, and she was very tight. She hoped it would get better.

“Okay?” he asked, sounding rather strained himself.

“Yeah. Can you maybe hurry up a little?”

“I’m trying to be gentle. A little appreciation might be in order.”

“I’ll be appropriately appreciative if you ever actually get in.”

She realized that while they’d been talking, he had finished the stroke. He was fully sheathed inside her, and it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

She dragged in deep gulps of air and tried to relax around the penetration.

Harry was panting too. He’d bent his arms and ducked his head and held himself very tensely above her. “Okay?” he asked thickly.

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to pull out?”

“No, no, don’t. Just give me a few seconds to get used to it.”

After a minute, the pain subsided, but Harry looked so tense he shook with it.

Not sure whether the tension was a good thing or a bad thing, she said, “I guess deflowering a virgin is pretty hard work.”

Without warning, he collapsed on her, shaking with amusement. Marietta gasped with pleasure as his lean, warm body shook against hers, his hard length moving in delicious little thrusts inside her.

“Damn, Etta,” he rasped, “Don’t make me laugh. I’m already about to lose it.”

“Oh.” She almost preened, realizing that all his tightly coiled tension was because of how much he wanted her. “And here I thought you’d be a man of iron control.”

“Of course,” he agreed, kissing her lightly on the lips. “But you feel so good, even my iron control is being tested. I wouldn’t push your luck if I were you.”

“Right. No more laughing.”

She smiled up at him, awed that she’d found such a handsome, sexy, clever, kind man for her first one-night stand. For her first time ever.

She was definitely going to be spoiled for future encounters.

“You look like you’re going to laugh.” He narrowed his eyes in feigned disapproval. He was still sheathed inside her, and every now and then he’d give a little push, as if he fought the instinct to thrust.

“Not at all. Just smiling because you’re such an impressive specimen of a man.”

It wasn’t far from the truth, but he gave a huff of amusement, his pelvis rocking as he did so.

The motion felt so good, she cried out, “Oh God!” One of her arms flailed out to clutch at the bedding again.

“You ready?”

“Yes, please.”

He began with a slow, steady motion, his thrusts generating delicious shivers of pleasure all through her. She bent her knees and unconsciously started to pump her hips up to meet every lunge.

He kissed her as they moved together until their rhythm grew faster, less steady.

Soon their motion rocked the bed, and their bodies slapped together shamelessly. The sensations coalesced into a deep, building pressure.

“Oh God, Harry, please,” she exclaimed, her head tossing against the pillow and her fingernails digging into his back. “I need… I need…”

His ragged breathing had turned into soft grunts, and his muscles had tightened like a fist. The tiny part of her mind that still processed coherent thoughts couldn’t believe sex with her—with
her
—had reduced such a controlled, powerful man to this almost primitive creature.

The knowledge intensified her pleasure, and she cried out as her orgasm started to crest.

Then she was coming, almost sobbing with pleasure.

He let out a choked sound, froze, and then released in a series of fast, clumsy thrusts.

For a moment, they stayed in position, gasping in exhausted unison. Then his body softened, and he buried his face against her neck.

His breath stroked her skin, his hot, relaxed weight pressed into her. She felt delicious, limp and utterly replete, with just a lingering soreness between her legs.

He pulled up and out of her before she wanted, but she knew he had to take care of the condom. She wasn’t sure what he would do after he’d thrown it away, so she was relieved when he got back into bed and pulled her to his side.

She burrowed against him, sated, tender, and ridiculously proud of herself.

“Thank you,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder. “Thank you for being so great about it.”

“My pleasure.” He paused. “I think it should have been obvious that it was my pleasure.”

She chuckled and draped her arm over his belly. She wondered if he wanted to cuddle with her or if he was just being nice because it was her first time.

Either way, she appreciated it.

They lay in companionable silence for a few minutes until she decided she needed to use the bathroom. When she came back, she hesitated.

He looked gorgeous, masculine, and debauched, sprawled in the bed naked, barely covered by a sheet. But she didn’t want to outstay her welcome, so she bent to pick up her bra from the floor.

He frowned at her. “What are you doing?”

“Oh. I was going to leave. I thought you’d want—”

“Did you want to leave? Because there are several hours left of the evening and we could—”

She scrambled back into bed, so quickly his words broke off with a grunt.

“We could what?” she asked, smiling with renewed excitement.

He smiled back.

Chapter Three

Since he still had work to do, Harrison hadn’t planned on falling asleep. He did anyway.

He slept soundly, although not for long. It was just after four when he opened his eyes to see Etta still sleeping beside him. Her blond hair spread out on the pillow, and the sheet had slipped down past her naked breasts.

It would not be wise to spend much time admiring her breasts. He rolled over and made himself climb out of bed.

The settlement was scheduled at nine this morning in a conference room downstairs with Harrison, the Damon lawyers, the Edwards lawyer, and Vern Edwards.

He went to the bathroom, pulled on some clothes, brewed a cup with the high-end single-cup coffee maker, and then opened his laptop at the desk. His gaze strayed to a large flower arrangement on the desk—roses, tulips, sweat peas, and a couple of orchids. He wondered who on the hotel staff thought he’d want his desk decorated with a vase of pink and purple flowers.

First on his agenda was to finish the inspection report on the club—hopefully he had enough notes to put it together. Then he would do some final preparations for the meeting.

Fifteen years ago, his cousin Michael was killed in a car accident that also killed the teenaged granddaughter of Damon’s then–business partner Vern Edwards. The accident had also seriously injured the girl’s ten-year-old sister. It had taken months to sort out what happened and for the criminal justice system to declare it an accident, but even then, Edwards kept irrationally declaring Michael had been driving recklessly.

The surviving girl was very young and had ended up paralyzed. Harrison could hardly fault her for believing her grandfather’s version of events and telling incoherent, inconsistent stories about how Michael was to blame.

The consequence was this endless lawsuit. Since it was personal, a family member had to take the lead. Andrew was too busy chasing thrills and women to be much help with business or legal matters. Their cousin Jonathan was buried in a genetics research lab in Iceland. Their other cousin, Benjamin, Michael’s brother, had walked out on the family four years ago.

Harrison had an MBA, a JD, and an overly developed sense of family responsibility. He was the lucky guy who got to handle the Edwards mess.

The whole thing made his stomach churn.

He’d finished the report on the club and was checking over some notes for the meeting when he heard a rustling from the bedroom.

He glanced through the open double-doors to see Etta waking up.

She smiled at him groggily, rubbing her face as she sat up. The sheet slid down farther, and his eyes dropped to her firm, rounded breasts.

His body definitely liked the looks of them. A visual flashed into his mind—Etta arching, shuddering, and crying out in uninhibited passion last night as he’d made her come three more times with his fingers and mouth.

He definitely shouldn’t be remembering that. Not now, with so much left to do. He shifted in his chair and called on his powers of concentration to dispel the erotic thoughts.

Fortunately, Etta pulled up her sheet. “Are you working? At this time of night—morning—whatever it is?”

He smiled at her astonished indignation. “You can sleep longer, if you want.”

“Did you sleep at all?”

“I slept enough. I’m just catching up.”

He took a sip of coffee and returned to his laptop, but could feel her eyes on him still.

Finally, she said, “Seriously, Harry, one hour of sleep is not enough. It’s ridiculous. If that’s what your job demands of you, you should think about quitting.”

Clearly, she still didn’t know who he was, or she’d never have said something so impossible. The only way for Harrison to quit his job would be to quit the family, like Benjamin had.

He would never do that.

“I usually get more sleep. I was otherwise occupied last night.”

She giggled, but her expression changed when she looked at the clock. “Actually, I better be getting back.”

He glanced over as she climbed out of bed and picked up her scattered clothes. His eyes lingered on her body.

Damn it—he still wanted her. Bad.

“Where do you need to go? I can have a car take you—”

“No need,” she said with a mischievous grin as she pulled her dress over her head. “My room’s just an elevator’s ride away.”

His eyes widened. “You were staying here, too? Why didn’t you say so?”

“Well, there was a small chance you’d turn out to be a creep. Then I wouldn’t want you to know where I was staying.”

He chuckled and stood as she neared the desk and slipped on her shoes. Her hair was a tangle, and she smelled like sex. He was tempted to drag her back into the rumpled bed.

“Thank you so much, Harry.” She smiled in that glowing way she had. “Seriously. It was wonderful. I’ll never forget it.”

He was pretty sure he wasn’t going to forget it either. He leaned down to kiss her. “Since you’re staying here anyway, do you have any plans for this evening?”

Her lilting laughter made her body vibrate against his. “Wasn’t it supposed to be a one-night stand?”

“Nothing wrong with having two in a row.” He pulled a pink sweet pea from the vase and wrapped her fingers around the stem.

It was a foolish, sappy gesture, and it made him cringe when he realized what he’d done.

She evidently appreciated it, though. She blushed and lowered her eyes, holding the sweet pea like it might break. “I’ll think about it.” Then her eyes darted up and she teased, “Is the flower for the deflowering?”

He was laughing as she gave him a quick kiss and grabbed her purse.

“At least tell me your last name,” he called after her, mentally rehearsing his schedule to determine how early he’d be done for the day.

She’d opened the main door of the suite but glanced at him over her shoulder. “I’m staying at this hotel. If you really want to know my name, I bet you can figure it out. You’re the secret agent, after all.”

…

At eight-thirty, Harrison left his suite—showered, dressed in a business suit, carrying a leather portfolio, and summoning the will to deal with this disaster.

His phone vibrated, and he picked it up to greet Andrew. “What are you doing awake so early?”

“I haven’t actually gotten to bed yet.”

“Typical.”

“So tell me about her.”

“Excuse me?”

“The girl you saw at the club, the one you mentioned last night. Believe it or not, a life of hard living hasn’t yet destroyed all my brain cells and powers of memory.”

“I’m getting on the elevator. I might lose the connection.”

The elevator made its smooth glide to the second floor, the level of the conference room they’d reserved. When he stepped off, he asked into the phone, “You still there?”

“Still waiting to hear about the girl.”

“Have I ever in my life given you any indication that I would tell you such a thing?”

“Sadly, no. So you’ve got the Edwards meeting today.”

The reminder brought him back to the present with a thud. He grunted his affirmation. “You know, you could be doing this.”

“Oh, no. You’re the lucky bastard who gets to shoulder the weight of this family’s shit. I’d make an even bigger mess of it than you, and fortunately Lord Uncle knows it. Try to make it end today, would you? It eats at him.”

“I know that,” Harrison gritted out.

“I can’t understand how the fucking lawsuit has dragged out so long. If they aren’t going to agree on a settlement, they should just let the court decide.”

Lawsuits involving the Damons often took years to settle because of the size and profitability of the corporation, but this one had taken longer than most—thanks primarily to Edwards dragging his feet past the bounds of all reason and decency. The old man had waited until the statute of limitations was about to expire before he’d filed at all. Then he’d dredged up mountains of tedious and irrelevant investigation and discovery that had taken more time to get through. Adding to that the years of failed negotiation attempts in which Edwards refused to accept even the most generous of settlements, and they’d ended up where they were now.

“Edwards isn’t going to want to turn it over to the courts. He knows, since the toxicology report cleared Michael, he has no real leg to stand on.”

“So the judge would find in our favor. Can’t we push it past the settlement stage and get it over with?”

“We could. It would probably go our way, but we’re never going to take that risk.”

A finding for the Edwards—as slim as that chance was—would devastate the Damons, personally and professionally. Their uncle wasn’t willing to put all he’d worked for in the hands of a random judge.

“Why this sudden interest in the lawsuit anyway?” Harrison asked. “You’d better be careful, or I’ll take it as a sign that you finally want a job to do.”

“If there was any chance in hell of you passing your obligations off to me, I might actually take that threat seriously.” Then Andrew’s voice changed. “But seriously. Try to end this today. No amount of money is worth it. Michael was a kid. He can’t be blamed.”

“Edwards does blame him. And he blames Damon Enterprises, since we sent him to pick up the girls.”

“Edwards might as well blame himself. He could have picked up the girls himself instead of letting them ride with Michael.”

“Or he could blame me,” Harrison added, too tired of the whole thing to think clearly. “I was the one who was supposed to pick them up at the airport. I suggested Michael rent a car and drive them himself.”

Silence on the other end of the line made Harrison realize he’d said too much.

“Fuck,” Andrew said at last, “You can’t really think—”

“Of course not. I was just showing how ridiculous the blame game is. Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”

He hung up the phone, more rattled than he’d been before. And now he only had twenty minutes to talk to the lawyers before the meetings.

Fuck Vern Edwards—and everything he’d put the Damons through. He was one of the few people Harrison actually hated.

If they knew the amount of money Edwards wanted, they’d have just given it to him, but they could never seem to get to that point, thanks to the man’s endless stalling.

Maybe they could get there today.

Then he would talk to the hotel manager and find out Etta’s room number.

…

“Promise me, Grandpapa,” Marietta urged. “Promise me you’ll accept a settlement today.”

“I will accept a reasonable settlement offer.”

She groaned, almost choking on the sip of coffee she’d just taken. “But no offer will seem reasonable. It’s all too terrible to be reasonable. You just need to accept one and be done.”

“They throw money at us and think that’s what we want.” Her grandfather’s face darkened, the way it always did when he thought about the Damons. “No amount of money can make up for your sister’s life and the years you couldn’t walk.”

“Of course it can’t!” Tears burned Marietta’s eyes, at least partly a consequence of getting so little sleep last night. “That’s the point. Nothing can make up for Melissa. But holding onto it isn’t good for us. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for me. Grandpapa, please.”

Vern Edwards’s expression softened. “I will try, Etta. I promise. But they always put impossible clauses into the offer, like we will never again be allowed to talk to the media about this.”

“Do we really need to keep talking to reporters?”

His shoulders stiffened. “I will always want the right to speak the truth.”

“Well, then stay strong on that and give up the rest of it. Take less money. Or take no money. We don’t care about the money anyway.”

“The money will be for you.”

“I don’t want their damned money,” she burst out, bristling so much she forgot her old-fashioned grandfather didn’t like it when she swore. “I’d never touch their money. I don’t want anything to do with the Damons. I just want the whole thing over with so we can move on.”

She’d done her best not to think about the Damons for the last fifteen years. She still occasionally had nightmares about the hellish car ride in the rain, so she did nothing that might trigger any further trauma. She didn’t read about them in the papers. She changed the channel when Cyrus Damon was in the news. She avoided anything connected to the Damons and prayed for the day the lawsuit was finally settled, so they’d no longer be part of her or her grandfather’s life.

“I will try. I will try.”

It was the best she could hope for. She stood when her grandfather did and brushed croissant crumbs off the skirt of her dark blue suit. “Is it time to go down?”

“Yes. Are you sure you must go?”

She’d never attended any of the meetings. When she was a child, he hadn’t let her, and later she hadn’t wanted to. She’d insisted on coming to this one, however, to make sure her grandfather settled. “I’m definitely going.” She put a hand on her stomach at the stirring of her nerves. “I haven’t seen Cyrus Damon in person since I was a kid.”

“He never comes himself. He won’t lower himself to meet with me. He sends one of his nephews and an army of lawyers.”

She took her grandfather’s arm. “Well, we’ll be more than a match for them.”

…

They met their lawyer in the lobby of the hotel and then took the elevator to the second floor, where they’d arranged to meet the Damons in a business suite. There, they were offered coffee, juice, or water by a hotel employee—Yvonne, according to her engraved nametag—and were shown into an otherwise empty conference room.

Marietta had heard voices in another room. She assumed that was where the army of Damon lawyers and the nephew were.

She wondered which one had been sent.

She sipped her water and tried to stay calm, crossing her legs over the slight soreness.

Marietta couldn’t believe she’d had sex last night. It would have felt like a thrilling, sensual dream, except she was definitely tender. She could still feel Harry on her lips, lying on top of her, moving inside her. She was sure he’d enjoyed himself, too.

Maybe he would find her number. It would be ridiculous to imagine any sort of a future, but one more night might not be too much to hope for.