Rules of Negotiation (10 page)

“Betsy!” Tori looked back at Brit, who was headed her direction. “Don’t worry about my ticket, I’ll take care of it. You’re the best. And tell me next time you’ve got something going on over the weekend, okay?”

Betsy’s voice turned serious. “You may be a demanding workaholic, but you’re also the best boss I’ve ever had. The game wasn’t a big deal. I’d have told you if it was. I’m glad you’re staying. You need this.”

Tori found her attention slowly slipping away as Brit approached. He had unbuttoned his top button, exposing smooth olive skin that begged to be touched.

“Anything else I should know about?” She tried for calm. “Any emergencies in the office?”

Betsy snorted. “Oh please. If there’s an emergency, you’ll probably hear about it on that damn BlackBerry before I get wind of it. You go run off and enjoy your weekend of naughtiness. It isn’t as though you haven’t earned it.”

“Yeah, right,” Tori said. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Bye.”

Betsy started hollering at her kids before she hung up the phone. Tori slipped her phone into her purse, her gaze lingering on the deep V of his shirt.

“Trouble at home?” Brit asked.

She forced her gaze back to his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and a faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “Actually, I made someone very happy. My assistant was going to have to work tomorrow, and now she doesn’t.” She forced the words over her suddenly inarticulate tongue.

“That should get you a card on Boss’s Day.” Brit offered his hand. “We should probably head back. They don’t like it when you’re late at the helipad.”

“Are we still going through with that?”

“Absolutely. You don’t like heights, remember? I’m hoping you’ll be terrified and have to fling yourself into my arms for comfort.”

She snorted. “Sorry. I, er, exaggerated. I used to go rock climbing with friends in college. I’m not really scared of heights.”

He grabbed his jacket from the ground and shook it out with a
snap
. “That sounds like a challenge. What’s the penalty?”

“For what?” She peeled her coat from the flattened grass.

“If you’re wrong. If you’re grabbing my hand and saying your prayers when we take off.”

They walked back to the paved path and started for the car. He extended his hand to join hers and they fell into a natural rhythm. His touch sent a warm shiver from her palm to her stomach, and then down to her toes.

“How would you know?” she asked. “What’s to stop me from lying?”

“Oh, you won’t lie,” he said. “And if you do, I’ll know. I’ve seen your poker face, remember?”

Tori kicked a stick from the path, feeling almost giddy with pleasure at the very presence of the man by her side. She considered her options.

“I’ve got an idea.” She leaned over and whispered into his ear.

He nodded approvingly. “Sounds acceptable.”

“What about you? What if I take one look at your puny helicopter and laugh in the face of danger?”

“First of all, never insult the size of a man’s helicopter. Second, that’s not the terms of the bet. I’ve seen you in action, remember? You’re already tough as nails. You probably laugh in the face of danger five times a day. We’re talking about grabbing my hand.”

His words had the odd effect of silencing the girlish pleasure that had been running through her veins.
Tough as nails
. That’s what everyone thought about her. The doctors at Langston Estates would say, “Some families don’t want these sort of details, but we thought you would, Ms. Anderson.” Her partners joked about giving her the most difficult clients. “Tori can handle him,” they’d say. “She’s a tough nut herself.”

No wonder Phil dumped me. Who wanted to date a tough nut?

“I see.”

“Hey, that was a joke.” He peered over at her. “Haven’t I already paid your forfeit today?”

She forced a smile. “I suppose you have.”

“Well then, I suppose I have nothing to lose.”

He had nothing to lose. Tori only wished she could say the same for herself.

Chapter Ten

An hour later, Tori got the first inkling that she was going to owe Brit a special favor later that night. At least when she’d been rock climbing, she’d been attached to a rope. This was entirely different. They were surrounded by plastic, in a tiny bubble that seemed entirely too transparent for comfort. The seat belt seemed marginal as their only piece of safety equipment. Shouldn’t they be wearing parachutes? Or at least a full body harness?

The blades of the chopper made a whumping sound as they started up, gradually going faster and faster, until the noise turned into one loud whine, not unlike being in the very back row of a 747 when it was taking off—times ten.

Brit grinned as Tori slipped the wide earphones over her head. They instantly canceled the background noise, and she was surrounded by the smooth sound of Miles Davis’s
Kind of Blue
. Brit’s voice sounded over the music, oddly intimate even though she couldn’t hear it from his lips.

“I ordered us some mood music. Are you feeling all right? You’re looking pale,” he said.

The seats were surprisingly comfortable, smooth leather, with a padded headrest and cradle surrounding her upper body. They were squeezed in shoulder to shoulder, her knees inches from the back of the pilot’s seat.

“I’m fine,” she said, swallowing hard.

“Don’t worry, most people have a moment of panic before they lift off,” Brit said. He held out his hand. “Do you want to squeeze my hand? It might make you feel better.”

His eyes were twinkling with mischief. Tori kept her hands in her lap. She’d been set up. He knew this would happen.

“Welcome to the tour, Ms. Anderson, Mr. Bencher.” The pilot’s voice came over the headphones.

He sounded confident. Tori appreciated that confidence. She only wished he didn’t look like a twenty-year-old college kid. There was an age requirement for pilots, wasn’t there?

“We’ll begin by flying down the Hudson River to New York’s harbor. From there, we’ll take a close-up look at Ms. Liberty and Ellis Island, and then turn toward the Verrazano Bridge. On the way back up the river, we’ll take you past the Financial District and the Empire State Building.”

Tori took deep, calming breaths. She had never been scared of heights before. What was wrong with her?

“It’s a combination of the small quarters, the loss of control, and the unfamiliar feeling of a vertical takeoff,” Brit said, reading her mind. “Really, it’s okay. You can squeeze hard, I won’t mind.”

He held out his hand again. Tori ignored it and formed her own into a fist.

“You’re not going to take my hand, are you?” Brit said.

“When we start falling from the sky in a death spiral, and not a moment before.”

“Would it kill you to show some weakness?”

Tori turned to glare at him. “I can be weak,” she said, tightening her jaw as the helicopter lurched the first few feet off the ground. As the ground receded below, she swallowed hard and tried not to panic. “At the right time. For a very good reason.” She tried not to look out the window. “Do they have those bags in helicopters? You know, the ones they put on the planes? The waterproof ones?”

“You’re thinking too much again,” Brit chided. “You’re forcing me to take drastic steps. Now hold still, this is for your own good.”

He leaned over and kissed her.

Too surprised to put up a fight, Tori let him kiss the butterflies from her stomach. By the time he pulled away, she realized she had grabbed his hand and was holding on as if her life depended on it.

“Now look,” he said, and pointed out the clear plastic windows that surrounded them.

Still dazed from the perfect warmth of his lips, Tori finally looked outside and caught her breath on a gasp. The dark creep of the Hudson River seemed only inches below as they swooped through the clear skies, the buildings laid out like tiny gray pieces in a model train set. It was truly like flying, so close to the ground yet captured and suspended above. Slowly, her fear dissolved and was replaced by a childlike wonder.

Loosening her grip on Brit’s hand, Tori leaned forward to get a better view. As the poignant, evocative sound of Davis’s trumpet washed over her, she became aware of the beauty of the city in a way she never had before. The blue sky met the horizon with its endless line of buildings, their windows catching the late afternoon sun in a sparkle of light. In the harbor, sailboats raced the wind, white-tipped stars in the dark waters. Ahead, she caught the spectacular sight of the Statue of Liberty, radiant in her green glow.

“Oh my,” she gasped, as they approached the statue. The face loomed in front of them, large and solemn, beautiful in her austerity.

“Isn’t she something?” Brit said.

“It’s…incredible,” Tori said, unable to tear her gaze away. “The most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

…

Later that night, Brit’s driver dropped them off outside a tall building with dark gray stone steps leading to a porch surrounded by an elegant balustrade. A doorman appeared as they passed through the pool of light cast by an antique street lamp, and they were ushered into a warm lobby with a thick red carpet over a marble floor.

“Evening, Mr. Bencher,” the doorman said.

“Evening, Seth,” Brit said. “This is Tori Anderson. She’s from Philly.”

Seth, a slender, dark-skinned man with big ears and a wide smile, touched the top of his hat. “Ma’am,” he said gravely, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“What’s wrong with Philly?” Tori asked, trying not to care that Brit had made a point of introducing her to his doorman.

“Nothing six weeks of spring training, a new coach, and dozen or so new players couldn’t cure.” Seth grinned and revealed two gold teeth.

“Oh.” Tori smiled, wishing she had something to offer back in the way of sports banter.

“Weather tomorrow calls for high of eighty-three. Should be perfect for Luke’s game,” Seth offered.

Brit smacked his forehead. “Luke’s game, how could I have forgotten?” He turned to Tori. “I hope you don’t mind catching a Little League game tomorrow. Luke wouldn’t let me live it down if I missed it. I’m sure he’d love to have you there.”

“Little League?” Tori said doubtfully. Brit wanted her to go to his nephew’s baseball game? That seemed out of character for a weekend of no-strings-attached sexual bliss.

“As long as you don’t mind,” Brit said.

Tori flipped through possible explanations for the invitation and settled on one almost immediately: Brit was simply trying to be polite. He could hardly ask her to stay at his place while he went to the game without her. Not after he’d gone out of his way to convince her to stay for the weekend.

She pondered the appropriate response.

Work. That would do the trick. She gave him a bright smile. “I don’t mind staying here. I have some reading I need to do.”

He frowned. “I thought this was a no-work weekend.”

What did that mean? He sounded genuinely irritated by her response. “I thought…” Why would he want her to meet his family? She racked her brain for an explanation for Brit’s response but found none. “Well…I guess I could come. I don’t want to hurt Luke’s feelings.”

“Great.” He pushed her in the direction of the elevators, pausing a moment to wave at the doorman. “Thanks for the reminder, Seth.”

“No problem, Mr. Bencher. Nice to meet you, Miss Anderson.”

Tori waved to Seth as the elevator doors opened. Once inside, the silence had a disturbing intimacy. The whole night had been like this—periods of lighthearted flirtation followed by unexpected closeness, as if they were two people embarking on something very different from her promised one-night stand.

She flipped through her repertoire of conversation topics, determined to get back on track for a weekend of unemotional, physical release. If she wasn’t careful, the next thing to emerge from her lips would be some confession about her mother, or a complaint about the pressures of applying for partnership. Yuck. But what did a fun, sexy, not-obsessed-with-her-job woman talk about? Her typical conversation gambits were suitable for conferences, law firm dinners, and client lunches. None seemed to fit the “fun and sexy” profile.

She thought about Betsy and her talk of the Phillies, and then Harold’s comment in the lobby. That was it! Sports. Cute women always knew something about sports. That was why guys fell for them—they could actually speak the same language.

“So, what position does Luke play?” Immediately, she panicked. They had positions in baseball, right?

“Right field.”

“Oh, he must be very good then. Right field, wow.” She put a hand on her hip and tried to look cool and knowledgeable.

“Tori,” Brit said, “right field is a terrible position. The only kids who hit to right field are left-handed batters.”

“And there aren’t many of those, I gather?” Cool and knowledgeable slipped through her fingers.

“Not very.” His lips twitched. “You’re a big sports fan, I take it?”

Tori waved an airy hand. “Oh yeah, sports. Love ’em. Can’t get enough of football, that’s for sure.” She thought again of Betsy. “And the Phillies. Die-hard Phillies fan, that’s me.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him. When he was looking down into her eyes, he chuckled and stole a quick kiss. “Do you even know what sport the Phillies play?”

Tori considered the options. It was almost summer. Wasn’t baseball a summery sport? “Baseball, of course,” she said confidently.

Never let them see you sweat. Tori’s Rules of Negotiation Number Five.

He slid his hand across her cheek. “Lucky guess.”

They reached the top floor and the elevator doors opened to a quiet hallway with an oriental runner in shades of burgundy and gold. The door at the end of the hall had a stained glass insert and a curved bronze handle. Brit opened the lock and pulled her inside.

“Are you a golf fan?” she asked. “I can talk about golf.”

“What is it with lawyers and golf?” Brit mused. He hung up his coat and then spun her around. The back of her suit still had an assortment of stains and spots of mud. “You should have sat on my jacket.”

“I have others. But about your golf game—where do you like to play?”

“I don’t play golf.” He took her hand and led her through an expansive entryway, past a dining area with an enormous table that had seats for twelve and a gleaming kitchen with stainless steel appliances and granite countertops, and then down another hall to a large room at the end. He hit a switch and the lights turned on, revealing a mahogany king-size bed, abstract images on the walls in shades of orange, brown, and red, and heavy, masculine furniture. A bank of windows looked out over a city of blinking lights.

The room smelled of Brit. It turned her insides cold, then hot. He dropped his coat on a chair, then began methodically unbuttoning his shirt.

“Really?” she asked, unable to move or tear her eyes away from his strongly muscled torso. “I thought every executive played golf.”

“Golf,” he said slowly, dropping the shirt on top of the jacket, “is for wimps. And lawyers.”

“Oh. I see.”

He pulled off his belt, and added it to the pile. Kicked off his shoes. Her mouth went dry.

“I don’t play golf,” she said, her jacket falling from her shoulders onto the ground. She leaned over and pulled off her heels, and set them by a dresser. Her body moved mechanically, her eyes pinned on the man in front of her who was rapidly becoming nude. “Never learned. It’s not as easy as it looks. Men definitely have an advantage.”

“How so?” He moved behind her and tugged on the zipper of her skirt. It fell to the floor in a soft rustle. Brit offered one hand and Tori took it as she stepped out of the garment.

“Breasts,” she said huskily, her voice catching as soon as she caught sight of his naked form. Lord, he was like a statue, dark hair in a fine mat on his chest, sinewy muscles, and hard lines.

“What’s wrong with breasts?” He cupped hers, following the lacy edges of bra to a front clasp that he opened with a flick of his fingers. “I like breasts. Yours in particular. They’re the perfect size,” he said as he pushed the bra to the ground and captured their weight in his hands, “and the perfect shape.” He leaned forward to kiss each nipple.

Tori’s head fell back as soon as his lips touched her. She paused by the side of the bed, unable to move or think as he replaced his lips with his tongue.

“They get in the way,” she finally managed to say.

“These breasts?” He looked at them, incredulous. “These breasts could never be in the way. Shame on you for suggesting such a thing. Now this thong, on the other hand…” He motioned toward it with a mocking grin. “This thong is absolutely unnecessary.”

Tori looked down. He was right. She slid off the thong.

She started to lower herself to the bed, but Brit caught her around the waist.

“Hold on,” he said. Jumping onto the bed in front of her, he arranged himself carefully in the middle of the comforter. With a wicked smile, he patted the space next to him. “You do have a forfeit to pay, you recall. My hand definitely got squeezed.”

Tori looked down at the beautiful male animal in front of her and smiled. “That’s not the only thing that’s going to get squeezed.”