Hers for the Evening (15 page)

The Stand-In

nerves. This courtesan session would be therapy. It might take more than one appointment to achieve the cure.

SOMETHING WAS UP. HE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT.

It’s how I work and how I play.

Devon could have been talking about anything, any “scenario” that needed

“improvisation,” Hunter mused as he returned to his office down the hall. Something about Garrison? Maybe he was going to sue for wrongful termination—not that the idiot had a leg to stand on—and she was devising strategies with HR. Maybe she’d taken up acting classes as a hobby. He hadn’t intended to listen, but the way she smiled, the lilt of her voice, her unguarded expression in profile . . . Yeah, the moment stunned him. She seemed so damn .

. . new and different. And captivating.

Then her words caught him. She could have been referring to any number of things, work, personal, private.

Innocuous enough, yet his gut said it was sex. The color rising to her cheeks when she saw him, the soft flush of her skin, a quickened breath, and the nervous shift of her eyes, around the room, touching on him, bouncing off, dropping to his belt buckle, then past him to the door. God help him, he’d gotten hard looking at her. She’d stammered and fidgeted, acting so unlike the Devon Parker he had worked with for over ten years. She was usually in charge and comfortable in any situation. Forthright yet diplomatic. He’d never seen anything publicly ruffle her aplomb. Sure, Garrison threw her, and he’d witnessed other situations get under her skin. Hunter was one of the few who detected those subtle nuances. Their friendship was close enough for her to trust discussing those things with him. She’d never acted like that, the way she had in her office. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

It was sex. It had to be. She was talking dirty at her desk, and he’d caught her.

Hunter entered his office, closing the door, then rounding his desk to flop down in his chair. Elbows on the armrests, he laced his fingers. It was warm for the end of October, and the sun beat through his window, shining on his computer screen, not that he was looking at it anyway. His office didn’t have the feminine trappings of Devon’s, no prints on the walls or ornamentation, but it 100

The Stand-In

had plenty of room for a conference table where he held his strategy meetings, a large whiteboard that printed out whatever was written on it, and a couple of chairs in front of his desk for anyone wanting to park their butt and talk. Someone usually did, especially during audit. On the whole, he was an opendoor kind of executive, but right now, he didn’t want anyone interrupting his thoughts. About Devon.

Christ, she’d gotten him hot. And bothered. She was an intelligent woman and extremely pleasant to look at, but off limits. First, they were both married. When they came together again, she was his CEO. He didn’t do work relationships. Six months after the divorce, he’d dated a woman from the office. Dating was a whole new ball game versus flirting in the halls. It ended badly, and going to work every day became a nightmare, his personal business all over the break room. Devon was a different kind of woman. With her, nothing would make it to the water cooler. She was still off limits. They were friends. He’d never wanted to jeopardize that.

Until five minutes ago in her office, when he’d experienced a need-to-know that bordered on insanity. For a moment, he wanted to reach across her desk, pull her up by the lapels of her tailored suit jacket, his face right in hers, and force her to tell him how she played.

Because if she played anything like she worked, holy hell. Bringing that level of concentration, dedication, and focus to sex, with all the gusto she applied to the job, he could only imagine. For Devon, everything was about her career. He figured that was the reason for her divorce. After her job, she didn’t have anything left over to give a man. It was never something he held against her. He admired her for it. In a lot of ways, she thought like a man—unemotional in a work setting. He’d never fancied her a sexual creature. She was unattainable, controlled, look but don’t touch, a virtual ice queen. His eyes had been opened. He wasn’t going to be able to shut them again. He wouldn’t be able to stop seeing that sensual smile on her lips or hearing the sexy note in her voice.

Oh, man, was he ever in trouble now.

TWO DAYS LATER, HE HADN’T REVISED THAT OPINION. FRIDAY. IT had been a freaking long week with the auditors. And he’d noticed Devon in every meeting. Hunter had always paid attention to what she said, now he noticed her. 101

The Stand-In

Her scent, expensive, subtly sweet, and evocative. Her legs, long, toned calves with defined muscles. He was a leg man, and he found himself wishing her skirts were shorter, affording him a glimpse of thigh. He had eyes in his head and a nose with which to breathe, so he’d seen all these things before. Now he drank in the details like fine wine on his tongue.

Christ, he needed to get his head out of his shorts. Or out from underneath her skirt, metaphorically speaking.

Shoving a folder into his briefcase, he realized he’d have to come in for a couple of hours tomorrow morning. With the office relatively empty on a Saturday, he could get a lot of work done without interruption. His personal cell phone vibrated on the desk. He kept it with him for the kids to use in an emergency, though they usually didn’t bother him at work. His message icon blinked. Odd. He’d been in his office for the last fifteen minutes, and the phone hadn’t rung. Someone must have dialed directly through to his voice mail.

He punched in his password, and listened. She didn’t give her name, but he recognized the voice. She surprised him; he hadn’t had dealings with her in quite some time. The message? Holy Christ. He listened to it twice. It was an offer he didn’t intend to refuse.

THE ALARMS WERE SET AND THE LIGHTS OUT WHEN DEVON ARRIVED at the GDN corporate building. The company had two Bay Area campuses, corporate headquarters in Mountain View, with the executive staff, Accounting, IT, Human Resources, and Sales and Marketing, and their manufacturing facility in Milpitas, with Engineering, R&D, Production Control, Quality, Shipping and Receiving. Production worked three shifts, but Corporate was empty and dark at eight-forty-five on a Saturday night.

She breathed a sigh of relief. Her office lay off the reception lobby at the end of the main hallway. She would see him pull into the lot and had instructed that he park his car behind the building so it wasn’t visible from the street. Still, her heart pitter-pattered. She wasn’t used to hijinks, yet the element of risk added a thrill.

Her pumps were spiked, red suede, the heels sinking into the plush carpeting. She’d chosen a red power suit, one she usually reserved for board meetings. The fitted red jacket was molded to her breasts and waistline, then flared at the hips. Made of the same material, the skirt stretched tight over her rear end, falling 102

The Stand-In

below the knee, its forties-style pencil lines forcing a sway to her hips as she moved. She wore her hair up in her usual knot, her only outward concession to the naughty activities of the night being a few tendrils of blonde cascading to her shoulders.

Hunter had seen the suit before. Imagining the look in his eyes if he knew the lingerie that lay beneath made her feel sexy as hell, and she added a little wiggle to her walk.

Sauntering through the outer office, past Robert’s desk, she unlocked her door. A large corner office, an oak conference table and four seats lay to the right, a loveseat and two armchairs with a small coffee table took up residence to the left. Her polished desk and computer credenza fit right down the middle beneath the window. The office served as workspace yet was hospitable enough for entertaining customers. The prints on the wall were her personal possessions. She favored nature art, birds in flight, a woodsy path, a mountain lion’s eyes blinking in the underbrush. She spent more time here than she did at home, and the prints soothed her.

The antique carriage clock on her desk ticktocked closer to nine. She checked her lipstick in a compact mirror, then removed several condoms from her purse before laying the bag in her bottom desk drawer. The condoms she carried to the side table by the sofa, setting them unobtrusively behind the lamp. Ticktock.

Back at her desk, she gazed out at the parking lot dotted with islands of hawthorn bushes no longer in bloom. She’d driven around the building to make sure the back was as empty as the front.

The beam of headlights flashed across the road as a car turned into the culde-sac. Her blood began to pulse wildly. There were four other businesses along the street, but the vehicle passed by those entrances, heading straight ahead to GDN’s lot.

She swallowed, her throat parched. A date with a courtesan had never affected her this way before.

The headlights flashed up, then down as the car bumped over the driveway. She held her breath, knowing she was silhouetted in the window, her office lights behind her.

Following the outside border of the parking lot, the vehicle disappeared from view around the building. Devon glanced at the carriage clock. Nine p.m. exactly. 103

The Stand-In

Leaning over the desk, she flipped on the reading lamp. Her stomach fluttered as she closed the blinds behind her credenza, shutting out the night. Retrieving two bottles of water from her mini-fridge, she left them on the coffee table, then closed the window blinds behind the sofa as well. At the door, she switched out the overhead lights, leaving the room aglow with only a soft illumination. The setting was as perfect as she could make it.

She backed out, turned, headed down the hall. Showtime.

104

The Stand-In

4

DEVON’S HEELS DETONATED LIKE SMALL EXPLOSIONS ON THE FAUX

marble tile of the lobby. She’d never realized how loud that was. With the reception lights on, her features in the window’s reflection were starkly superimposed over the form of a man waiting outside. Damn, she should have left the lights off.

At least he was tall like Hunter.

Reaching for the door’s metal handle, she realized her hands were shaking. Devon curled her fist, willing away the tremors. Nervousness was stupid. She shoved on the door.

Rather than a gasp, she took one sharp intake of breath. Her insides melted, her knees weakened, her nipples peaked against her jacket’s lining. Damn. The man was Hunter’s doppelganger.

More than six feet of gorgeous male, thick black hair, midnight blue eyes, a hint of dark beard on his square jaw, a deep navy suit that made his white dress shirt gleam brighter in the overhead lights.

“Wait two minutes, then take the hallway on the right,” she instructed. “It’s the last office. The door will be open.” She pointed to the bank of light switches by the front entrance. “Turn off the lights here and the ones in the hall.” She pivoted on her heel, leaving him to catch the door before it slammed. She’d sent Isabel an e-mail describing the courtesan’s role, possible things he could say, all with the intention of pretending that Hunter had walked into her office for a brief chat about some work-related topic. From there, it was up to the stand-in to seduce her. She hurried down the hall, nearly catching a heel in the transition from tile to thick carpet. By the time she reached her office, she was panting. This was crazy, but she had to have it. She’d lost her mind. Hopefully the stand-in would help her get it back. Her heart raced like the first time a man had put his hand on her thigh. She wanted Hunter’s hand on her. Up her skirt. Inside her panties. Sitting down behind her desk, she opened a meaningless folder. Her skin flushed hot. Between her legs, she throbbed.

He stopped at the door to the outer office, outlined by the hallway light. He flipped it off, leaving only Robert’s desk light on to illuminate the outer office. 105

The Stand-In

The beating of the carriage clock filled the silence, matching the rhythm of her heart. He moved like a mountain lion on the prowl, stopping once again at her door, both hands on the jamb. Her heart drowned out the ticktock of the carriage clock.

Hunter. She could almost smell him.

“Hey, Devon, got a minute?” he said. His voice, only a fraction off Hunter’s deep resonance, strummed her body. She liked the sound of her name on his lips.

“Sure, Hunter. What do you need?”

He paused long enough for her to understand he’d need a lot more than a minute. He sauntered into her office, staying beyond the pool of desk light, then held out a hand. “Closed-door meeting. You mind?” he asked. Her throat was parched, her skin jumpy. “Must be serious.”

“Oh yeah.” His voice dipped a sexy note. Just as Hunter’s did when he made one of his bawdy comments. He closed the door, leaned slightly against it, and she was almost sure she heard the snick of the lock. As she’d instructed. He was perfect.

She held out a hand, indicating one of the conference table chairs. “Have a seat.”

He pulled it to the desk, parted the lapels of his jacket, and sat, his hands idly in his pockets. In the soft lighting, he was enough like Hunter to make her panties slick. Yes, there were differences if she looked closely, his nose longer, more flared, lips thinner, eyes a little closer together, but in the soft light, she could pretend away those differences. Isabel had done a damn good job in her choice.