Brent's Law (4 page)

He lifted his head and Samantha opened her eyes. The confusion in his gaze mirrored her own, but before she could react, he inhaled audibly and claimed her lips again. All coherent thought fled. Time, place and sanity vanished, and all she could do was fist her fingers on his shirt and hold on for dear life.

Her sanity fled even further when his hand slipped under her skirt and fiddled with the top of her stockings. A slight hesitation in his upwards movement was the only indication the stockings had surprised him. When his fingers found the exposed skin of her upper thigh, she moaned.

Whether in protest or joy, the sound jolted her out of her state of euphoria. She tore her lips from his, pushed at his chest and shifted on the seat. He lifted his head slightly and she watched, mesmerized, as his blue eyes focused again.

“This is crazy. People will see us.”

“They won’t.”

His fingers continued their upward path and the touch robbed her of breath. She had to stop this. Now, before she couldn’t stop it anymore.

“I can’t do this.”

Although his hand stilled, he kept it hooked into the edge of her thong. A thong now thoroughly soaked.

“Why? Didn’t you enjoy this?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He chuckled softly, but removed his hand. Under the jacket, Samantha yanked her skirt down and shifted in the seat. The heat in her pussy was steadily becoming unbearable, but she was not a teenager anymore and could control this inexplicable urge to take him up on his offer and jump his bones.

“Why are you doing this? Amber signed the agreement and you achieved what you wanted.”

“Amber has nothing to do with me wanting you. Although I suppose I owe her some gratitude for introducing us.”

“Wow, no wonder she accused you of being a womanizer.”

Samantha stared into the darkness outside the window. How could she have allowed this to happen? She was stronger than this. Why hadn’t she yelled rape or assault? There were cameras all over the train and she would easily prove her accusation.

Cameras!

The color drained from her face. Some clerk sitting in the small booth of a control room had witnessed the whole thing. One could hardly mistake it for anything other than two people in the throes of passion. It would be clear that she was no unwilling participant. Oh hell, she was in so much trouble.

“I enjoy a woman’s company. Last time I checked, it wasn’t a crime.” His voice distracted her from the disturbing thought.

“It is if you’re married.”

“We never had the forever kind of marriage.”

“I didn’t know there was any other kind.”

He put his jacket on again and Samantha watched the muscles play over his shoulders. She still remembered the hardness of his chest and the pure male scent of him when he kissed her.

“Don’t assume you know everything about a person’s marriage after you’ve read the divorce documentation. It’s always more complicated than it seems.”

She ignored the brief flash of pain clouding his eyes and squared her shoulders. “I’m sure it is, but I’m not really interested. I don’t want to go out with you. I don’t want to have sex with you. And most of all, I don’t want to see you unless it is in the company of your attorney.”

His blue eyes bored into hers. “Into threesomes are we?”

She threw her hands in the air. “I give up. I’ve tried to be nice about this, but if you persist, I will have to inform your attorney of your actions.”

So why haven’t you done so yet?
The voice in her head taunted. She’d had ample opportunity after his dinner invitation and flowers today, but she’d chosen to ignore the logical course of action. It couldn’t have anything to do with the way he made her body hum, could it?

His lips curved upwards. “You
are
desperate to prevent me from getting to know you.”

The man had no brains, just ego. “Your ego will recover the moment your next female conquest falls into your lap.”

Before he could reply, the train pulled into the station. The two men on the opposite side of the aisle rose and buttoned their jackets.

“I can assure you my ego has nothing to do with wanting you under me and fucking you seven ways to Sunday. The problem resides in a much lower and larger region.”

He glanced at the men waiting in the passage. “Wait for me on the platform.”

“No can do, boss. We’ll wait for you here.”

He turned to Samantha and she struggled to swallow the indignation rising in her throat. His bodyguards. No wonder he paid no attention to them. Like most young men, his hormones dictated his actions with no regard to how uncomfortable the situation might be for the guards.

She brought herself up short. Wasn’t she doing exactly the same thing she had so often in the past accused her colleagues of doing? She bit her lip. Yes, she’d attributed a generalization to Brent without availing herself of all the facts. It showed what a bad influence this man had on her. Her most prized attribute went straight out of the window because she couldn’t control her own lust.

Maybe Brent had placed the guards there to protect them from other people’s prying eyes. The guards had never glanced their way and by taking those seats, nobody else could see what happened between her and Brent. Maybe she’d underestimated him. Exactly who was the adult in this situation?

Squaring her shoulders, she disembarked while ignoring the frown between Brent’s eyes. Once on the platform, she turned to him and pointed her finger at him.

“Goodbye, Mister Russell. I trust you understand, no matter what you might want, I am not available. Not now, not later. Find someone your own age to satisfy your carnal intentions.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned and joined the early evening crowd of students making their way out of the Hatfield station. Once outside, she set out at a brisk pace to her house. If her hands trembled with the effect of the encounter, she chose to ignore it.

Chapter Four

Despite Thursday rushing by in a blur of activity, she’d often caught herself thinking of Brent. No matter how many times Samantha had told herself that she was relieved he hadn’t tried to contact her, she couldn’t quite quell the slight disappointment at not interacting with him. Her body seemed to crave the sexual fix he could provide.

It was already dark when she arrived home and the lights in the kitchen of the main house winked at her as she passed it to get to her flat. Warmth enveloped her when she closed the door behind her then dumped her handbag and briefcase on the dining room table. After a quick shower, she dressed in sweatpants and trainers, pulled her hair into a ponytail on top of her head and hurried to the kitchen of the main house.

She refused to give Brent Russell one moment more of her time. He might be the embodiment of what women saw as God’s gift to them, but to her, he spelled trouble. She’d spent a lifetime trying to avoid relationships that could lead to serious involvement, and her instincts shouted that getting involved with Brent would make all those sacrifices worthless.

Did she need sex so badly? Judging by her body’s response to him, she craved sexual release like a dying man craved water in the desert. He was just the wrong one to satisfy those carnal cravings.

Samantha pushed open the kitchen door and a myriad of sounds bombarded her. Three students huddled around the kitchen table playing a card game while the radio on the counter blared a techno tune. They greeted her like a long lost friend and Samantha paused in the doorway, sticking her fist in her side.

“You’re not happy to see me, are you? You’re happy to see the cook.”

“Aw, of course we’re happy to see you, but food would be welcome.” Their grins split their faces in two.

“Hmm, so, who is going to make me a cup of coffee so I can get the party started?” She fastened an apron over her tracksuit and retrieved the steaks from the fridge.

“Which do you prefer tonight with the steak? Chips or baked potato?”

A chorus voted for the chips and Samantha hung over the edge of the nearly empty chest freezer to retrieve a packet of frozen chips. A wolfish whistle sounded behind her. Smiling, she straightened, turned to scold the student and promptly dropped the bag on the floor.

Brent sat at the table with his legs extended in front of him, his eyes twinkling with appreciation. Judging by the excited faces of the students, he had already introduced himself to most of them. When a student invited him to join their card game, he nodded without taking his eyes off Samantha.

“I hope it’s all right. Brent came looking for you and we invited him to stay for dinner. It’s not often we get to meet the man responsible for winning us last Saturday’s game.”

Speechless, she nodded, picked up the bag of chips from the floor and turned from the group. If her hands were unsteady, it was because she was livid. Not because of how his big frame dwarfed the students at the table. She plonked the makings of a salad on the counter and starting dicing the onion.

She was going to kill him. The knife slipped and she took a steadying breath. He deserved a slow and painful death for being so obtuse. She turned the knife over in her hands, stopped and grinned at her own ridiculous thoughts.

Soon the card game turned into an easy banter and, typical of the youth, they had no qualms asking about his life. Samantha tried not to listen, but it was hard to ignore the man when his voice sent awareness coursing through her body, reminding her of the storm he had managed to ignite in her on the train.

He grew up on a sugarcane farm in Kwa Zulu Natal and although his family was wealthy, he’d had to work hard for what he wanted. His parents had sold a part of their farm to him after he’d left school and allowed him to use the income from the plantations as long as he managed the business himself. Repayment started the moment he obtained his degree. Working and studying had taught him how to multitask and make the best use of his time.

Samantha smiled when the hidden lecture found it’s mark and the students started questioning him on how they could achieve the same success. Her respect for him grew when he answered their questions honestly and even suggested some avenues of income the three law students could explore while still studying.

Concentrating on preparing a salad while baking the chips and frying the steak, she tried to ignore Brent’s presence. When she reached for the dripping rack to drain the chips, a large hand shoved it under her nose. With a mumbled thank you, she refused to look at him. He stood right behind her, looking over her shoulder. So close, his breath fanned the tiny hairs on her neck and she could feel the heat from his body on her back. Willing her hands to stop trembling, she focused on not being scorched by the oil sizzling in the pan.

“You have a delicious behind,” he whispered in her ear before returning to the table.

Samantha locked her weakening knees and attempted to ignore the heat from his touch lingering on her backside. She glanced over her shoulder, but no one seemed to have noticed the exchange.

Twenty minutes later, she put the food in serving dishes, retrieved plates from the cupboard and untied the apron.

“Help yourselves, guys. I think I’ll have an early night.”

Without waiting for a reply, she hurried outside and ran to her flat. He reached the flat before her and gallantly held the door open.

“After you.”

She waited until he closed it before she turned on him.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you understand English? I don’t want to see you or talk to you.”

He ignored her and scanned the room at leisure. “You have a cozy place here. Why aren’t you living in the main house?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I rent the main house to the students. It helps to pay the mortgage.”

“Clever and beautiful. I’m impressed.”

She choked on his arrogance. “Look, this is getting ridiculous. By law, I should call your attorney and have you removed. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t do so?”

His eyebrow arched again. “You’re as intrigued by the chemistry between us as I am?”

Exasperated she shook her head. “You really don’t understand English. Listen carefully. I. Don’t. Want. You.”

“Prove it.”

“Dammit, I don’t have to prove anything to you. I am not interested in cradle snatching of any kind.”

His laugh reverberated inside the room. “Lady, I haven’t fitted in a cradle for a long, long time. Besides, what does age have to do with me wanting to make love to you?”

“Everything,” she sputtered. “Look, you have ten seconds to leave then I’m calling Rob. I don’t care if you’re famous and couldn’t give a flying fig about your reputation. I just want you to leave me alone.”

He frowned. “You’re serious?”

She nodded and proceeded to punch in the number. Her own reputation was at stake if he didn’t leave her alone. She wasn’t struggling financially, but she couldn’t afford to lose her job. The mortgage on the house still had to be paid.

“All right. I’ll leave if you can prove your indifference to my touch.”

“Like I said, I don’t have to prove…”

He closed the distance between them before she could finish the words and cut off her reply with his lips. She stood motionless against the assault of his lips, fisting her hands to prevent them from slipping around his neck. He pulled her closer and crushed her breasts against his chest. She gasped at the intimate contact and he used her lapse to slip his tongue into her mouth, sliding it over her teeth and dueling with hers.

Sensation exploded through her body and she grabbed onto his shoulders for support. Her mind took a hike when a muscled thigh parted her legs, rubbing her pussy against his leg. Re-igniting the dull ache to a slow burn.

He lifted his leg, increasing the pressure and bringing her body flush against his. Soft against hard. Something inside her shifted. Then he pulled the elastic band from her hair and raked his fingers through the fountain spilling over her shoulders.

“Damn, you smell good,” he groaned against her lips before burying his face in her neck.

The pulse beating at the base of her neck kicked up a notch as his tongue lapped over the sensitive skin. She craned her neck to afford him easier access and bent her knees to increase the pressure on her throbbing clit.