Brent's Law (3 page)

She threw the brush into her makeup bag. If she applied any more foundation to the circles under her eyes, she’d look like Larry the Clown. Trying to untangle the bird’s nest she’d once called hair, she cursed the man again for wreaking such havoc in her life.

Irritated, grumpy and above all, still horny, she reached the office ten minutes late on the one morning she had an early meeting scheduled. Finding the client waiting in her office—despite explicit instructions to her secretary not to allow clients into her office unattended—further soured her mood.

By ten o’clock, she was ready to wrestle a rattlesnake and win. Her secretary chose that unfortunate moment to crack open the door.

“There’s some deliveries for you, ma’am.”

Samantha lost her focus on the document she was busy perusing and glared at the secretary. Had everyone lost their marbles today? Why didn’t the bloody woman sign for the things as she usually did? She inhaled to calm herself lest she shout at the poor woman.

“Sign for them.”

A short pause followed then the woman squeaked like a frightened mouse. “They wouldn’t allow me to sign. The deliverymen insisted on your signature.”

Samantha flung the pen on the file and rubbed her temples. As if she didn’t have enough on her plate, trying to clear her desk before her leave started. She sighed. No use taking out her foul temper on her secretary.

“All right. I’ll be there in a moment.”

The sight of two deliverymen each balancing three bouquets of red and white roses caused her temper to rival an African elephant bull in musth. The arrogance of the man knew no bounds.

“Please return these and tell your supplier we won’t accept any more deliveries with the same origin.”

The men stared at her as if she had grown horns. One of the men shifted his weight round uneasily while the other man stepped forward.

“You want us to return all these flowers to their sender?”

“Correct.”

“May we ask why?”

“No, you may not. Now please evacuate my reception area, we have work to do.”

Without waiting for a response, she stepped into her office and shut the door behind her. Resting her head against it, she closed her eyes. Brent Russell had tangled with the wrong woman today. It didn’t matter if he managed to set her panties on fire with a mere glance. She would
not
tolerate interference with her work. One bouquet of roses was romantic. Six bouquets…well it was just downright tacky.

She stomped to her desk. The divorce file lay buried under a pile of other matters, but after a brief search, she managed to extract it. Her secretary had stuck the contact details of the parties on the inner jacket and she copied Brent’s mobile number to her phone.

Doubt set in when the phone rang three times without him answering. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to confront him over the phone while resentment still simmered in her veins.

“Brent Russell.”

The die was cast and she inhaled.

“Hallo?”

“It’s Samantha Owen calling.”

“Good morning, Miss Owen. Did you like the flowers?”

The resentment boiled over at his condescending tone. “No, I did not. If you ever, ever place me in the same situation again at work, I will…” Words failed her as her temper soared.

“You will what? You sound upset. I’m a bit busy at the moment, but I’ll see you after work.”

The arrogant swine.
“I don’t want to see you, hear from you, talk to you or receive anything from you. Do you understand or should I repeat it in an African language?”

His chuckle resonated over the telephone line. “Most women would be flattered by the attention. Why are you so upset?”

“First of all, I’m not most woman, and secondly, I don’t appreciate insincere flattery aimed at getting into my pants.” She stopped the tirade long enough to breathe. “Goodbye, Mister Russell.”

Once her breathing had returned to normal, she paced the floor. Why wouldn’t he accept she didn’t want him or his gifts? A man like him could have his pick of women, so why her? Would he leave her alone if she surrendered and went out with him?

The mere idea quickened her pulse. Granted, the man knew how to set a woman on fire, but regardless of how tempting the prospect might be, she was not going to jeopardize her career for a quick roll in the sack. She crossed her legs to curb the incessant throbbing in her pussy, shoved all thoughts of the man aside and concentrated on the contents of the file in front of her. She had work to do.

* * * *

It was after four in the afternoon when she slumped in her chair and flexed her shoulders. In all but two of her cases, she’d managed to arrange substitute appearances with the partners and briefed them on the details. The only cases where she still had work to do were Amber’s and another one where she was waiting for her client to sign the revised settlement agreement. Satisfied that her Thursday would be much calmer, she left the office.

Once on the train, she watched in fascination as two large men shrunk themselves into the seats on the opposite side of the passage. A bulge under the arm of one of the men gave her pause and she shifted uneasily in her seat, but security on the trains was tight and if those bulges were guns, they probably had permits to carry them.

The men stared straight ahead and Samantha turned to stare out of the window. As the train started to move, a large form squeezed into the empty seat beside her. His arm brushed against hers and sent a shiver of awareness along her spine.

Really, she needed to get laid more often. Alternatively, make better use of the toys in her closet. If every man who touched her caused such havoc with her hormones, she’d be a wreck before the week was over.

“Hi there.”

The hair above her ear fanned out on his breath and she tilted her head to see the man’s face. Dark glasses hid his eyes and a few strands of black hair peeked out under the cap pulled low over his eyes. A thick jacket and blue jeans completed the picture.

“Mister Russell?”

He grinned and nodded.

How did he know where to find her? Had he followed her from the office? She mentally chided herself. With his connections, he’d probably known her daily routine ten minutes after he’d left her office on Monday afternoon. Still, she realized he didn’t scare her.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Riding the Gautrain. Must say, this is a first for me.” He glanced around the train car. “Do you use the train often?”

Despite the heat in the train, she shivered as his presence skittered awareness across her skin. Brent took off his jacket and hung it over her shoulders. The pure male smell engulfed her and threatened to send her hormones into serious overdrive. Especially when he leaned over to pull the sides of the jacket together while ensuring his knuckles gave her hardened nipples a thorough rub.

Her breath caught and he smiled. “So, Miss Owen—may I call you Samantha?”

“Take your hands off me,” she whispered and wiggled her shoulders. He ignored her request and she glared at him. “
Mister
Russell, are you out of your mind? I’m your wife’s attorney and not even supposed to talk to you without Rob being present.”

Keeping his hands firmly in place, he leaned closer. “You’re not talking to me. We’re just two people riding the same train. I made it from the car to the train without anyone recognizing me, so I doubt my identity could be an issue now.” He leaned back a little and their gazes locked. “As for touching you? You are very touchable.”

Her pulse rate escalated. He could be a problem she didn’t need at this stage of her life. It had taken her years to establish her professional reputation, and getting involved with him, could jeopardize everything she’d worked so hard for. Maybe she could reason with him. If he would just take his hands off her tits for two seconds, she might be able to form more than one coherent thought at a time. She inhaled deeply in an attempt to regain a measure of control.

“It doesn’t matter that nobody recognized you. I know who I’m talking to and you’re putting my reputation at risk. In our business, reputation is everything and could mean the difference between being employed and standing in line at the unemployment office.” She tugged the jacket off her shoulders and held it out to him. “Please find another seat.”

He draped the jacket over her legs, held it in place on her thigh and pretended to scan the patrons inside the train. “Unfortunately the cart appears to be full. Besides if I get up now, it will draw more attention. Something we both want to avoid.”

If she wasn’t so scared of the ramifications, his smile would have knocked her stockings off. As it was, she just wanted him to leave.

“I merely want to get to know you better.”

She jerked her head. “No, for the umpteenth time, I represent your
wife
in a matter of divorce.”

Amusement flickered in his eyes when he grinned and she swore she saw the devil dancing for joy in the blue depths—inviting her to take the forbidden fruit he’d packaged so enticingly. This man had no idea how potent his presence could be to the female species. Well, maybe not everyone, but she had difficulty breathing when he focused his attention on her. Not to mention the way he made her body ache for his touch.

Heavens, Samantha, get a grip
.
The man must be twelve years younger than you. He has an ulterior motive. A man like him could get any girl he wanted. What would he want with an old hag like you if he could get a supermodel to hang onto his arm?

Exactly.

She squared her shoulders. “Stop the games, Mister Russell. I’m too old for you and you obviously need something from me. So, get it over with so I can enjoy my ride home in peace.”

His hand slipped under the jacket and rested on her thigh. Skillful fingers softly stroked her leg. She moved her legs and glanced toward the men seated across the passage. Both men stared straight ahead and paid no attention to them.

“Stop it. You’re causing a scene,” she hissed.

“You’re the one causing the scene.” He stroked a stray hair from her face. “Relax, will you? I don’t want anything from you. Just the pleasure of your company.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “What do I have to do to make you leave me alone?”

She tried to pry his hand from her leg, but he held firm. “Have dinner with me. I want to get to know you better and find out why every time I think of you, I want you naked under me. Why I react like a horny teenager when you’re in the same room.”

“I don’t want to get to know you. I prefer my partners to be men, not boys.”

He chuckled. “Oh, baby, I’m all man, but don’t take my word for it. Take me for a test drive.”

“No thank you.” She pushed against his hand on her leg again. “Please take your hands off me.”

“I haven’t begun putting my hands on you.”

He sighed softly and took his hand from her leg. The loss resembled losing a limb. At least she could breathe a little easier. Then he flung his arm over her shoulders and buried his fingers in the few tendrils of hair that had escaped the French plait during her rush to the station. He twirled the strands around his fingers, sending tiny shockwaves of awareness through her veins. What was wrong with her? She’d lost her virginity in high school, so why did this man’s touch cause her body to react like a hormonal teenager?

“So tell me, where did you grow up?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s what people do on a first date. They ask about one another. Find out what the other one likes and dislikes.”

“Are you on drugs? Because only someone abusing drugs or plain stupid can fail to understand that this is not a date and secondly, I can’t afford to get to know you any better than I already do.” She sat forward and shrugged his arm off her shoulders. He didn’t remove it but let it fall to her waist, his hand brushing the underside of her breast where he continued his kneading of her over-sensitized flesh.

“Please stop that.”

He moved his hand to her shoulder. “Better?”

She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze.

“Relax, Samantha. We’re just getting to know each other.”

She let out an exasperated breath. How could she argue with a man who refused to listen? Maybe if she ignored him, he would get the message. Although he didn’t strike her as someone who could be ignored easily.

Brent crossed his legs and relaxed in the chair. “As you know, I play international rugby, have my own businesses, very successful I might add, and hopefully within the next few months I will be divorced. Despite what Amber alleged, I never cheated on her. During our marriage she was the woman who always accompanied me to social functions.” Samantha glanced at him, noticing his frown and troubled gaze.

“You, on the other hand, invade my sleep and I can’t concentrate on my work. Unless I find out why, I’m afraid my life might go down the tubes.” He sighed melodramatically.

Samantha bit her lower lip to keep from smiling. Despite the man’s arrogance, she couldn’t help but be flattered by his admissions. Not that she thought they were true at all, but she had to give the man credit for trying.

“You are, however, still married and even if I were interested, I don’t go out with married men.”

“Oh, you’re interested. You just won’t admit it to me or yourself yet.”

He turned her face to his. “Besides, I don’t want to just go out with you. I want to fuck you until you beg for mercy and then do it all over again.”

Samantha inhaled sharply. His crude words managed to increase the moisture soaking through her thong and she clamped her legs together. Her pulse skittered all over the place while her face flamed.

Dammit, Samantha, get rid of him
. If anyone saw them together, she could lose her job and she’d need a dustpan to collect the ashes of her reputation.

“No.”

“No?” He smiled. “Scared?” His face blocked out the overhead light and she turned her head, but his grip on her chin was firm.

“I didn’t figure you for a coward.”

Then his lips touched hers in a kiss, soft and tender like the whisper of a butterfly’s wings. Her eyes closed of their own volition. Oh, how could something so wrong send spirals of electricity zinging through her body and electrify her senses? The overhead lights buzzed louder, a kaleidoscope of color burst behind her eyelids and his heart raced in his chest beneath her palm.