Not For Sale (5 page)

“It’s all right,” he said hoarsely. “We fit, remember? Just a little while ago.”

He took her hand, brought it to him.

Bad move.

Her hand closed around him. He groaned. Her hand moved again and he caught it, held it in his as he opened a drawer in the table beside the bed and fumbled for a condom. Seconds later, he knelt between her thighs.

Slowly, his gaze linked to hers, he entered her.

“Is this good for you?” he whispered. “Tell me it is. Tell me—”

She reached for him. Brought his face to hers. Kissed him, sighed his name, and he lost himself in the kiss, in the rhythm they set, in possession of her.

The world went up in flame.

After a long, long time, Lucas rolled onto his side with her curled like a satisfied kitten in his arms. He liked the feel of her, soft and warm against him.

“Sweetheart? Are you okay?”

She made a sound that was so close to a purr, it made him smile. It was as fine a recommendation as a man could want, he thought as he drew the duvet over them.

“Close your eyes, then,” he said softly.

“Mmmm.”

Her lashes drifted to her cheeks. He kissed her temple, drew her closer, felt her breathing slow.

Amazing.

He’d ended the day wanting nothing to do with women, and ended the night with a woman in his arms. He couldn’t make sense of it—unless wanting her so badly, taking her so slowly was the sexual equivalent of downing a drink in the morning when you woke with a hangover. He hadn’t ever had a hangover—getting drunk was a weakness—and he hadn’t ever needed sex to forget an affair that had just ended, but anything was possible.

Lucas yawned.

And he was too tired to try to make sense of anything right now.

The illuminated clock beside the bed read three-thirty. They had three hours to sleep until his alarm went off, unless he woke a little earlier and woke her, too, so he could make love with her one more time.

Maybe that wasn’t such a hot idea.

Maybe he should have taken her to her apartment, instead of to his.

Maybe he’d regret her spending the night. Look at what had just happened with Elin. She’d spent a handful of nights here and decided it meant their relationship, if you could call it that, had turned serious.

Maybe…

Maybe what he needed was some sleep.

Lucas drew his beautiful translator closer. His eyelids drooped. He smiled a little, remembering that she didn’t like being called “Dani,” but she’d never told him what she preferred. Danielle? Was that her full name? Somehow, it didn’t suit her, either.

He’d find out in the morning.

He’d find out a lot of things in the morning.

The name she preferred. Her address. Her phone number. Because he wanted to see her again.
See
her, not turn this into anything exclusive, of course, although he wouldn’t want her seeing other men. He would not tolerate it. He needed his space. He needed his freedom. But—but—

But, he’d work it all out tomorrow. The only possible problem would be if she misinterpreted spending the night in his bed. Women did.

Lucas tumbled into sleep.

And when the alarm rang at six-thirty, there were no problems to work out because Dani Sinclair was gone.

C
AROLINE
came awake with a start.

In a movie, the heroine would have opened her eyes and come to a slow realization that she was not in her own bed. But this wasn’t a movie, it was real life and she knew instantly that she was in a stranger’s bed.

There was the enormous size of the bed itself. The faint predawn light, streaming through the arched floor-to-ceiling windows. The skylight overhead. The silk comforter.

Caroline shuddered.

Most of all, there was that hard, warm male body lying against hers, that tanned, muscular arm draped possessively around her waist.

Her heart bumped into her throat.

Scenes of the night flashed through her mind. Throwing herself into Lucas’s arms in his limo. Kissing him in the elevator.

Making love against the wall and then in this bed.

Except, it hadn’t been love, it had been sex. Trying to turn last night into something soft and romantic was like—like trying to pretend that Madame Bovary was Cinderella.

Useless, pointless, and that she had never done anything like this before, that she looked down on women who went in for hooking up—and that was what this had been, a hook-up, plain and simple—only made it more humiliating.

She’d gone to bed with a man she didn’t know and the only good part of it was that he was still asleep.

Sound asleep.

He lay sprawled on his belly, his head turned toward her on the pillow. The duvet had slipped to his waist. Caroline’s gaze moved over him.

Even in sleep, he was a magnificent sight.

All that dark, tousled hair. The thick, black lashes that curved against his cheek. The straight nose, sculpted mouth, the tiny dimple in that strong, assertive chin, even the morning stubble on his jaw, was beautiful and sexy.

The comforter was caught just at the base of his spine; she couldn’t see the rest of him but she knew, oh how well she knew, that his backside was tight, his legs long, just as she knew that if he rolled over, the rest of him was perfect.

Heat started at the tips of her toes, spread low in her belly, made her nipples tighten.

That’s it, Caroline. That’s just great. Lie here and turn yourself on, admiring your seducer instead of getting your butt out the door
…

Except, he hadn’t seduced her.

He had taken her in his arms and kissed her. That was all he’d done. The choices afterward had been hers. She could have pushed him away. Slapped his face. She could even have let the kiss happen and then ended it and walked away. Nobody had forced her into his car, against that wall, into his bed.

Enough.

She breathed in, then slowly out. Inch by careful inch, she moved from beneath his arm. Waking him, having to face him again, was the last thing in the world she wanted.

If there was a morning protocol for what she was supposed to do now, she didn’t know it, didn’t want to know it.

“Mmmf.”

Caroline froze. Waited. After what seemed forever, Lucas rolled onto his side, away from her.

She went into action, located her scattered clothes—shoes, dress, bra, little evening purse. She couldn’t find her thong panties—her torn panties—and after a couple of minutes, she gave up looking.

Time to get out while she still could.

The gray light of dawn lit the rooms of the penthouse as she made her way downstairs. She had no memory of the place; all her attention had been on Lucas. Now, she saw that it was huge and handsome, furnished in light woods and glass. The elevator, small and elegant, stood at the end of the foyer.

Precious seconds flew while she figured out how to operate it. At last, she got it moving and as it dropped toward the lobby, she tried not to think about what had happened in this car a few hours ago.

Lucas, lifting her into him. His mouth, hungry on hers. Desire, welling hot and sweet within her.

The elevator gave a delicate bounce when it reached the lobby. The door slid open but not before Caroline got a clear look at herself in its mirrored surface.

What she saw made her cringe.

Smudged makeup. Tangled hair. Skinny gold heels and a dress that might as well have had
Guess What I Did Last Night
printed across it.

In a better world, the lobby would have been empty but this was the same world in which she’d already humiliated herself once. Now, it was time for Round Two.

A man in a blue blazer sat behind a desk. He looked up, saw her, smiled pleasantly and said, “Good morning, miss,” as if women in her state stepped out of Lucas’s private elevator all the time, which they undoubtedly did.

“Morning,” she mumbled, but the embarrassment wasn’t over, not yet, because—of course—there was a doorman and
he said the same thing, just as pleasantly, and all Caroline could do was wish the marble floor would open and swallow her whole.

“Shall I hail a cab for you, miss?” the doorman said as he opened the door.

She said, “Yes, please,” because even imagining getting into a subway car looking as she did at this hour of the morning made her feel sick.

“Thank you,” she said, when a cab pulled to the curb. Was she supposed to tip the doorman or wasn’t she? she wondered, and then she almost laughed because what did a question about tipping matter now? The fact was, she was in way over her head.

She gave the doorman a five-dollar bill, gave the cabbie her address and told herself that saying
I know how this looks but really, I’m not the kind of woman you think I am
would accomplish nothing. Either the cabbie wouldn’t care or, if he did, then she was exactly the kind of woman he thought she was.

At least, she was that kind of woman, now.

She made it into her flat without bumping into anybody and then she locked the door, peeled off her dress—Dani’s dress—kicked off her shoes—Dani’s shoes—and went straight into the shower where not all the hot water nor all the soap in the world would have been enough to make her forget what she’d done.

If only she could forget the sex, the incredible sex, because it had been that. Incredible. Amazing. Fantastic. Or if she could remember it without feeling the awful guilt of having gone to bed with a man she didn’t know.

But she couldn’t. And, after a while, she just stopped trying.

Lucas awoke to a sound.

Faint. Distant. What…? The elevator. The purr of the motor.

He rolled over. Sat up. Saw that the space beside him was empty, that Dani’s clothes were no longer scattered around the room.

She was gone.

He sank back against the pillows, folded his arms beneath his head. Well, that was a good thing. A very good thing. No need for forced early-morning conversation. No need to fend off offers to make coffee. No pretending that he loved having it with someone when he much preferred having it alone. No long, drawn-out goodbye.

He sat up again and swung his feet to the floor.

The only thing he ever wanted in the morning, besides black coffee and a shower, was sex. Wake-up sex, no frills, and women weren’t into basics. None he’d ever encountered, anyway.

Besides, he thought as he headed for the bathroom, he had the feeling Dani Sinclair would have a bundle of morning-after recriminations. Not that she’d said “no” to anything last night—if she had, that would have been the end of it. But there’d been that innocence to her.

Ridiculous, of course. She had responded to him with unbelievable hunger, and that was another good thing. He wasn’t into innocence or lack of experience—although he could see advantages to it.

To being the man who taught a woman what passion was all about.

He stepped into the shower, set the multiple sprays to produce a hot, needle-fine mist, bowed his head as the water sluiced on him and over him.

There’d been that moment when he’d teased Dani’s dusty-pink nipples into tight little buds and she’d cried out as if something so simple was new. And later, when he’d parted her thighs, kissed her most intimate flesh, tasted her against his mouth…

Hell.

Lucas switched the water from hot to cold. Enough thinking about last night.

He had a long day ahead of him.

The day was not going well.

Lucas had sat through a morning meeting without hearing most of what was said. He’d canceled his lunch appointment. Now, he was at his desk, trying to answer a question that was as unanswerable as it was unimportant.

Why had Dani Sinclair run away?

What else could you call it when a woman spent the night in your bed and then disappeared without saying goodbye, without leaving a note, without leaving her phone number? Never mind seeing her again. Perhaps it was best that he not. But he had to get in touch with her. He hadn’t paid her the thousand dollars for the work she’d done.

Hell. That wasn’t going to come across well. Handing Dani money after they’d made love all night had an unpleasant connotation. Never mind. Business was business. He owed her money for the Rostov portion of the evening. What had happened after was not business; it had nothing to do with the fact that she’d translated for him.

And all of that brought him back to the initial question. Why had she vanished? He didn’t like it. Women didn’t walk out on him as Dani Sinclair had…and why did he keep thinking of her as if the name were one word instead of two? Because it didn’t suit her? Ridiculous. Still, she’d said she didn’t like the name, either. If she didn’t, what name did she prefer?

Not that it mattered.

He had spent the night with her. Nothing more. So what if the name didn’t suit her? So what if she’d walked out while he slept?

So what if he couldn’t stop thinking about her, remembering the feel of her skin, the sweetness of her mouth…

“Mr. Vieira?”

Lucas rolled his eyes. Denise-Elise sounded pathetic even over the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Gordon’s here to see you, sir.”

Jack Gordon. Lucas’s mouth thinned. He had no wish to see the man now but Gordon had done him a favor last night. Besides, Gordon would have Dani’s address so that he could mail her the check he’d forgotten to give her.

“Tell him to come in.”

Gordon smiled as he strolled through the door.

“Lucas. Well? How did things go?”

“Very well. In fact, I was going to call you to thank you and to ask for—”

“Was I right or was I right? I knew Dani would be perfect.”

“Yes. She was. And I need her—”

“She’s one amazing babe. Hot as well as smart. Some package, huh? ”

Lucas wanted to get up from his chair, grab Gordon by the collar and toss him out. Instead, he mustered a polite smile.

“I’m busy this morning, Jack. So, thanks for recommending Ms. Sinclair. And please leave her address with my P.A.”

“Dani’s address? Why would you—” Jack Gordon smiled slyly. “Aha. The evening went that well, did it? ”

Lucas narrowed his eyes. “I forgot to pay her.”

Gordon raised his eyebrows. “Pay her?”

“The thousand I mentioned, although she deserves a bonus.”

“A bonus?”

“What’s her regular rate, do you know? I should have asked her but I—”

“But you got sidetracked.” Gordon grinned and hitched a hip on the edge of Lucas’s desk. “Yeah. Understandable. Her regular rate? Well, it ain’t cheap.”

“Just tell me what it is.”

“For an evening? Ten K.”

“Fine. Ten thou—” Lucas blinked. “What?”

“She’s expensive. But you gotta know for yourself, she’s worth every—”

A coldness seeped into Lucas’s bones. “Nobody makes that kind of money translating.”

“Translating?” Gordon laughed. “Sure, but Dani—”

“But Dani what?” Lucas’s eyes flashed as he rose to his feet. “What does she do to earn that kind of money?”

Gordon stared at his boss. “She—she does—she does what she did for you last night. I mean, she did do something, uh, special for you, right?”

Lucas felt a stillness come over him. “Answer the question, Jack. What does Dani Sinclair do that earns her ten thousand dollars an evening? ”

Jack Gordon’s Adam’s apple moved up and down in his throat. “She’s—she’s. You know. She’s—she’s an escort.”

“An escort.”

“Yeah. She, ah, she goes on dates with—with men. Like she did with you. And you have to admit, she’s worth every—”

Lucas hit him. Hard. A right uppercut to the jaw. Gordon staggered, went down on one knee, his hand to his mouth. Lucas went around the desk, reached for him again.

And stopped.

An escort. A prostitute. He’d had sex with a woman who sold herself to any man who could afford her services.

A whore had spent the night in his bed.

His heart was beating hard and fast. His vision was blurred; he blinked to clear it. Gordon was still on one knee, face white,
eyes wide with fear. Lucas felt his gut twist. Jack was a pig, but he’d let out his rage on the wrong person.

“Get up.”

“Don’t hit me again.”

“Get up, damnit!”

“Lucas. Mr. Vieira. I should have told you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No. I thought—I thought maybe you wouldn’t go for it, if you knew—”

“You thought, maybe it would be satisfying to make a fool of me.”

Gordon winced, and Lucas knew he’d hit on the truth. He reached into a desk drawer, tossed Gordon a handful of tissues. Then he thrust a pad and pen across the desk. “Write down her address.”

“Yeah, Sure. Look, I made a mistake, okay? I’m sorry. Really. I’m—

“You’re finished here, Gordon.”

Jack Gordon’s expression turned ugly.

“You think so? If I tell this story around—”

“Do it, and so help me God, you won’t live long enough to enjoy it.”

“You wouldn’t…”

Lucas laughed. And Jack Gordon, hearing that laugh, looking into Lucas’s eyes, knew that the game was lost.

Fridays were always the easiest day of Caroline’s week.

During the school semester, she had a morning seminar. After that, she could go home and collapse. Now, with school over for the summer, the entire day was hers. Normally, that would have been great.

Not today.

Without something to do, memories of the night kept intruding. So when one of the waitresses at Dilly’s Deli, where
Caroline had recently started working, called to ask if she could cover for her for a couple of hours, she said yes even though she already hated the place for its painfully clever menu, its spoiled but famous show business clientele, its ogling tourists.