Winning Her Over (4 page)

He glanced down at the card, then back up at her. Her flushed cheeks were frickin’ adorable.

Not to be outdone, Cal extracted a black leather card case from the breast pocket of his suit jacket and plucked out a cream-colored card on heavyweight stock. CMH didn’t stint. “My cell and e-mail are on there, if you need them.” Their eyes met. “But I’m sure we’ll be just fine.”

She took his card, but tension crept into her shoulders once more. “I really do need to go now. I’m going to be late.”

He nodded toward her duffel. “Can I carry one of those bags for you, at least up to the lobby? I’m headed that way myself.”

She actually looked tempted this time, but still refused his offer. “I’m okay. It’s easier for me to have them both. It helps balance the load.”

“If you’re sure.”

He remained at her side as they rode the elevator up to the main lobby, the melodic lilt of her voice keeping him entirely focused on her as they talked about the unseasonably hot May weather and the little herb garden she was growing on her roof deck.

“There are a lot of things I’m good at,” he said. “Keeping green things alive unfortunately isn’t one of them.”

Her golden brown eyes lit up. “I know a plant I bet even you couldn’t kill.”

He arched an eyebrow dubiously.

“I’m serious,” she protested.

He’d been enjoying their banter, but when the elevator door opened, rendering them visible from the front desk, her demeanor became noticeably more distant.

“It was good seeing you, Cal,” she said as she stepped out. As if this encounter was going to be the last time she laid eyes on him.

A reminder was in order. “I’m looking forward to Sunday night.”

She regarded him for a long moment. Then she nodded once. “Yes. Of course.”

He watched her walk away, her hips gently swaying. If he stayed much longer, she would catch him at it when she stopped at the front desk. So he circled around to the main elevator bank and entered Brenna’s contact information into his phone before heading up to his room to get ready for dinner.

A scant hour later, Cal was perusing the menu at L’Avenue, hard-pressed to choose between the smoked oysters with truffled potato cakes appetizer and the hearty bouillabaisse. At least he already knew what he was going to order for his entrée—the medallions of veal in tomato and shallot sauce, which came with tender baby green beans sautéed with garlic and pine nuts. In the meantime, he was stuffing himself liberally with the steaming bread rolls that had been placed on their table by their most attentive server, and was relaxing with a glass of pinot noir that Grant, a wine connoisseur, had picked out.

“Cal, I’d wanted to discuss a change in strategy with you,” Grant said.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I think you should do the closing.”

“Me? Really?” A grin spread across Cal’s face. Though his exultation was quickly tempered when he contemplated how late he would need to work this weekend if he still wanted to spend a few hours with Brenna. He wasn’t going to cancel on her unless the situation on Sunday night was dire.

“While you were putting those witnesses through their paces these past two weeks—which was a thing of beauty, by the way—I was watching the jury. You really seemed to be connecting well with them. All we need is ten out of the twelve to go our way, and I think you’re the one to make it happen.”

Grant’s confidence warmed Cal’s chest with pride. “Thanks for giving me this opportunity. I won’t let CMH or Conovan down.” Or himself, for that matter. This was a golden opportunity to cinch the partnership. Assuming, of course, he didn’t screw it up.

“I know that, Cal. I wouldn’t trust you with the closing argument if I didn’t believe you could bring it home for us.”

Their appetizers arrived, and they all dug in. After taking a couple of bites in a bliss-induced silence, Grant said, “So, tomorrow you should take a look at the slide deck and the outline for the closing. Tweak them however you like, and I’ll review what you’ve put together tomorrow night. Then I want you to run through it with me or Renee a couple of times on Sunday. You already know what a big difference that makes.”

“Of course I do. I’ll dive in as soon as we get back to the hotel,” Cal assured him.

The rest of their meal, which was as exquisite as Cal had expected, was much less eventful. After finishing their coffee and after-dinner drinks, the trio enjoyed a leisurely walk back to the hotel in the balmy evening air. They parted ways in the elevator with plans to meet up the next morning for breakfast in the café before heading over to CMH’s offices and yet another long day of trial prep.

As Cal unlocked the door to his room, a jolt of adrenaline quick-started his heart. He’d be seeing Brenna again in forty-eight hours, and he had a closing argument to whip into shape in the meantime. Not to mention some judicious strategizing about how he might be able to convince a certain skittish masseuse to go to bed with him after dinner Sunday night. But blowing away the jury—and Grant—next week took precedence over everything else.

Good thing multitasking was one of Cal’s specialties.

A
fter unexpectedly running
into Cal at the Rajah late that afternoon, Brenna had floated through the rest of her day. Luckily her clients hadn’t noticed she’d been on autopilot.

For the past two weeks, she’d been trying unsuccessfully to put thoughts of the sexy attorney out of her head. Then he’d called her name in that husky baritone straight from her fantasies. She almost hadn’t recognized him in a slate-gray pinstriped suit and a snowy-white dress shirt, collar unbuttoned.

She’d thought bare-chested, casual Cal was hot—who wouldn’t?—but the commanding, confident man she’d met this afternoon looked like he could handle anything that came his way. Even her. It hadn’t taken much to convince her to go to dinner with him.

Now she was enjoying the unusually warm Friday night on her Charlestown roof deck with a few friends. She supplied the venue, they supplied the refreshments.

Seated across the weathered teak patio table from her was Cissy—Clarissa—who’d worked with her at McKinsey. Cissy’s coppery curls, laughing green eyes, and freckles had stood out like a beacon of friendliness in the room full of soberly dressed, newly minted management consultants. Each had quickly become the other’s biggest supporter and closest confidante.

Cissy was also the only thing Brenna missed after she’d left McKinsey—well, that and the regular paycheck. The two of them had managed to remain close in the nearly five years since then.

Completing the foursome around Brenna’s table were Melanie and Erika, who’d been renting the apartment below her condo for the past few years. Those two cracked her up on a regular basis, complaining about the latest insanity at their jobs or providing color commentary on the men they were dating or sleeping with. Mel’s pixie-cut jet-black hair suited her elfin features, pale skin, and wide blue-gray eyes. Rikki was a brash, brassy blonde with curves that Brenna fought not to envy.

At the moment, Rikki and Mel were trying to sell Cissy and Brenna on a movie they wanted to see tomorrow night. While a “rom com with eye candy” sounded appealing, Brenna demurred.

“Aww,” Mel said, a sympathetic expression on her face. “Do you have to work again?”

“Yeah. But that’s a good thing, even though I wish I could go with you guys.”

Rikki looked at Mel. Shrugging, Rikki raised an eyebrow. “We could go on Sunday night.”

“Umm…actually…” Brenna’s face heated. “I’m not free Sunday night, either.” She hadn’t intended to tell her friends about Cal, but she felt herself grinning like a fool at the prospect of seeing him again.

The silence stretched until Rikki broke it. “Come on. You can’t leave us hanging, with your face all glowing like that.”

“Okay,” Brenna said, “if you must know. I met someone interesting a couple of weeks ago, and we’re going to have dinner Sunday night.”

She should have known they wouldn’t accept her vague explanation without pressing for details. After all, two pitiful dates in the three years since she’d hung out Serenity Massage’s shingle was an embarrassingly poor track record. It almost made her wish she could go back to the fancy day spa gig she’d landed after finishing massage school. At least she’d had some semblance of a life back then, even if she
had
ended up with all the worst shifts.

“You met someone? When did you have a chance to meet someone?” Cissy asked.

Mel piped up. “Yeah, the only guys you meet are—”

“Oh, shit. Don’t tell me he’s a client.” Now Cissy was frowning.

“Well… It’s a bit complicated,” Brenna admitted before drinking a big slug of her wine.

Her friends stared at her, dumbfounded. “Brenna, you didn’t!” Rikki finally managed to splutter.

“Not exactly,” Brenna sighed. She took another large sip of wine that closely resembled a gulp.

Rikki was growing exasperated at the pace of her reluctant confession. “Look, before we resort to waterboarding you, just spill it, okay?”

Maybe the impending ordeal would be a little more bearable with a little less sobriety. After draining half her glass, Brenna gathered her courage and tried to describe her feelings about gorgeous, confident Cal.

Once she got started, the words just came tumbling out. She told them about his athlete’s body. His captivating silvery-gray gaze. His sexy, rumpled blond hair. Not to mention those abs she still hadn’t been able to stop thinking about, dammit.

She had some misgivings about going to dinner with him, though. And not just because he’d been a client of hers a bit too recently for comfort. The chemistry was definitely there, but then again, she’d felt that way about Gregory during college, and look where that had landed her.

“That smug asshole really did a number on you.” Cissy’s green eyes blazed in solidarity. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re a fabulous massage therapist, you’re smart, and you’re beautiful. And Gregory is an idiot.”

“And a pencil-dick,” Rikki chimed in, even though she’d never had the misfortune of meeting Brenna’s ex-boyfriend.

The tension broken, they all dissolved in giggles.

When their mirth subsided, Cissy said, “Cal must be pretty special if he persuaded you to go out with him. No matter what, I’m proud of you.”

“Well,” Brenna confessed, “he kind of persuaded me by saying it wouldn’t be a date.”

Rikki made a disparaging noise. “Give me a break. That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Mel shook her head, smiling in apparent agreement.

Concerned, Brenna digested Rikki’s opinion. “You guys know I don’t date clients.”
Not even the hot ones.
She looked around the table. “Do you think I should cancel?”

“I have no idea whether he meant it or not,” Cissy said. She shot a glare at Rikki and Mel. “And neither do you two. This is Brenna’s first date—or whatever—in, like, more than two years. Let’s be supportive, all right?”

But it was too late. Brenna’s elation had fizzled. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said. “New subject!”

Cissy gave her a long, searching look before asking about everyone’s plans for the Memorial Day weekend. Brenna had been too poor to vacation anywhere worth bragging about since her McKinsey days—when she hadn’t had time to take vacations. She was nevertheless grateful her best friend had moved the conversation’s focus off Brenna’s pathetic love life.

She fetched another bottle of wine and some nibblies as their conversation continued. The girls polished off the second bottle over the course of the next hour, with Mel and Rikki calling it a night not too long after that.

Cissy lingered in Brenna’s foyer after the others had left. “Can I ask you a question, Bren?”

“Sure.” Brenna plucked at the hem of her T-shirt.

“I know you don’t date clients, but if you never gave Cal another massage—professionally, I mean—when would he stop being a client?”

Brenna had never tried to come up with a timeline for that question before. She’d never had reason to. Not getting involved with clients had always just been the rule, in black and white, drummed into her at massage school during more than a year of coursework. It was a rule that made sense, to ensure her clients respected her professional boundaries. Besides, she’d never had any inclination to break it until now.

But Cal wasn’t likely to become a regular of hers, not with him living in DC. So where did that leave them?

“Uh… That is an excellent question, Ciss. I don’t know.” Then she grinned. “Yesterday?”

Cissy smiled. “Just some food for thought. I know you don’t know him very well, but it’s been an insanely long time since I’ve heard you talk about a man the way you were talking about him.”

“Thanks, Ciss.” Brenna could always count on her to see right to the heart of a matter.

“Of course. Anyway, I’d better go. Ash is getting off shift soon.” A genuinely happy smile lit Cissy’s face. Her boyfriend worked in McKinsey’s IT department, but she was on the road so often they saw a lot less of each other than in a typical workplace romance.

“How are things going with him? I didn’t get to ask you earlier.”

“Great. Really great.” Cissy opened the door to the condo, apparently not planning to divulge any details before she left.

“Hey. Is that all you’re going to say about it?”

“Call me after your not-date.” One of Cissy’s reddish-brown brows lifted. “We can fill each other in.”

“I was already planning to,” Brenna said mock-huffily, and Cissy laughed.

“So good to see you, Bren.” Cissy hugged her.

“You too, Ciss. Good night.”

Cissy waved, then headed downstairs. Brenna pushed the door shut and shot the deadbolt home.

Normally, two glasses of wine at the end of a long week sent her straight off to bed. But tonight, she decided she would indulge in a bath first. Her shoulders and hands were tired, and it was way too late to see if the therapist she sometimes swapped massages with—the one she’d started seeing when the stress of her management consulting job had risen to unbearable levels, actually—had a free half hour.

I bet Cal would do it.
She ignored the insidiously appealing thought and turned on the taps to start the tub filling while she washed her face and brushed her teeth.
I bet he’d be good at it too, with those big, strong hands.

The soaking tub was only a third full, but she stripped off her clothes and slid into its welcoming heat anyway, desperate to relax. Today had been long, and her first booking tomorrow was at eight-thirty, with her last appointment ending more than twelve hours later. Sunday was going to be only slightly less hectic, though at least dinner with Cal would be her reward.

Brenna was thrilled business was so good at the moment. Hopefully it signaled the economy’s emergence from the recession. Just in the nick of time.

Every month, she circled three dates on her calendar in red—the due dates for her small business loan payment, her sky-high rent for Serenity Massage’s tiny suite on Newbury Street, and the mortgage payment on her condo. And every month when one of these days approached, her stomach roiled as the financial cushion she’d built up at McKinsey evaporated a little more.

Her long workdays weren’t enough to get her out of the woods yet by any stretch of the imagination, but at least this month ought to be profitable. The thing was, days like the ones she’d had lately took a lot out of her. She’d be dead on her feet by her nonexistent lunch break tomorrow if she didn’t shut her mind up and get to sleep soon.

Cal could help you with that tooooo,
her evil little inner voice singsonged.

Brenna’s inner voice was undoubtedly correct.

Cal had gotten hard during his massage session—twice, not that she’d been counting or anything—and to her surprise, it had been unbelievably erotic. Not sleazy, not disgusting, not any of the uniformly negative descriptions other massage therapists had supplied when they’d shared war stories with her. Because as turned on as he’d been, he hadn’t stepped even the least bit out of line. In fact, his control over his body had been masterful. He hadn’t been able to completely control his physiological response, but his breathing had mostly stayed slow and calm, and his muscles had been relaxed enough to fool someone who wasn’t trained to read the tiniest nuances of a client’s reaction to her touch.

She wanted that oh-so-controlled man to come undone. With her.

Leaning back against the side of the tub, she shivered, considering the idea. Meanwhile, the deliciously steaming water crept past her hips, tickling her abdomen before gradually buoying her breasts.

She couldn’t quite bring herself to imagine them in his room, on the feather-soft white cotton duvet covering the enormous bed. The hotel staff might find out somehow. Nor back at Serenity Massage, bent over one of her massage tables. Just…way too tawdry. She would never be able to work in there again without embarrassment.

With the water almost up to the tub’s overflow valve, she shut off the faucet. Tiny air bubbles clung to her skin. The barest touch was enough to brush them off, and she watched as they floated to the surface before disappearing. Then she deliberately skimmed her right hand down, past her belly. Her fingertips grazed through the dark thatch of her pubic hair, setting free another cloud of bubbles.

Yes, she’d have him here, in her condo. In her Mission-style dark oak bed, covered with her sensuous raw silk bedspread. Where she could glance over at the wall mirror reflecting the two of them, that toned ass of his flexing rhythmically as she dug her fingers into it, grinding herself against him with each stroke.

She imagined Cal’s fingertip resting on her clit for a pulse beat or two before beginning an easy circling motion. Since it was a fantasy, the exquisite rasp of his tongue would soon replace his finger, which would take the opportunity to slip inside her wetness.

Squirming, she enjoyed the sensation of the fleshy ball of her palm against her engorged nub, a fingertip dipping into her entrance. She was so slick with wanting him that nothing would stop his cock from sliding straight home in an ineffable moment of pure pleasure.

She brought herself up slowly, the tension coiling in her muscles as she drew nearer and nearer to the climax she sought. Cal would fuck her like that. Relentless in his onslaught before backing off to tease her with hot kisses and nips, driving her ever higher as she spiraled upward.

More.
She needed more. With her free hand, Brenna pinched and rolled first one nipple, then the other. She exulted in the lightning shocks of pleasure shooting through her body.

Her other hand impatiently picked up the pace. Slow and steady wasn’t cutting it anymore. Now she needed hard, and fast, and rough. A man as tightly wound as Cal would definitely need that too.

Increasing the pressure on her clit, she rubbed it in urgent little circles, then just back and forth as she got closer. Now two fingertips delved into her, not nearly thick enough or deep enough, but hinting at the penetration she desired. Almost there…

He would fill her perfectly, their pleasure as intertwined as their bodies when they hit their peak. She imagined his sexy groan as his thick shaft spurted into her, his eyelids shuttered and his head thrown back. Her own orgasm washed over her then in an intense, rolling wave that left her gasping.