Page 28 of The Lawyer
“It’s a party? I hadn’t noticed.” What I have noticed is the way her dress clings like silk over a sculpture. “You’ll have to show me where the fun is.”
She steps closer, not remotely bothered by the fact that I’m blatantly looking at things I should not be looking at. “I think you probably know all about fun, Landon. In fact, behind all those sharp suits and cutting words, I think there might be someone entirely different lurking underneath.”
“Lurking?”
“Lurking.”
My brow arches, lips twitching as I watch her take another sip of champagne. A little flirting here and there is one thing, but the way she’s looking at me now is far past a little flirtatious. “I don't lurk.”
“Perhaps you should. If you’re looking for fun. Dark corners and all that.” She raises her chin and stares away from me, her forearms resting on the balustrade. It makes me skim more of those curves, all too absorbed in the thought of a dark corner that might be available. “So anyway, what do you think of the setup? Good enough for the Broderick CEO?” she asks.
Assuming she means this party rather than her. “It’s fine.”
Sighing, I drink some more and look out at the blackness before me, trying to ignore my thoughts about her. It's just like I remember the grounds being. Far-reaching, distant. As cold as father was, irrespective of the weather.
“Fine? All my hard work and it’s just fine?”
“Exemplary then. The old place looks good.”
She chuckles and drinks again. “Better. I think so, anyway. Everyone seems to be having a good time. Apart from you.”
At the moment, I can think of several far more interesting ways to have a good time, none of which include being here, and all of which involve me finding out what’s under her dress. “Have you been to the ballroom? They’re all dancing in there. Your mother picked the band, by the way. Don’t blame me for it.”
I chuckle at that and listen to it in the background, part enjoying the sound. “She used to have that kind of music playing here when we were young. All fucking summer long.” The memory makes me lean back with her, both of us staring out into the night.
“Why here?”
“You really should learn who you're working for. This is the home of the Broderick family. I spent a lot of my youth here.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t know that.” She turns her head to look at me, champagne going to her lips again. “It’s quite a family home. And it will all be yours, I presume.”
“I suppose. I don’t think I’ve been here for twenty years. It doesn't mean much to me.”
She smiles, eyes sparkling under the terrace lights, lips wide and soft. “Why not? I love the countryside. I never had much of a chance to go and enjoy it, though. I could spend hours walking here.”
“I’m sure we can find a reason for you to visit again.”
“We could?”
“Mmm.”
She blinks and stares at me, a seductive little smile touching her mouth. “And why wouldwedo that?”
Why the hell I'm continuing to smile with her is a more important question.
I don’t stop, though. Nor do I stop letting my gaze roam over lines that have become part of my every day. Long, shapely legs. A smooth, toned stomach. A face worthy of angels. My head dips down to note the shoes tonight—elegant, high, and extravagant. “Perhaps so you can experience something other than London’s facade for a while.”
I can’t even refuse the need to glance at her neckline this evening, especially considering that the swell of her breasts is not something I normally get a chance to admire. And in that dress, she can hardly complain; it’s cut to her navel, for Christ's sake. Obscene is a word that comes to mind.
She runs her fingers over her necklace, lowering it to entice me further towards her cleavage. Enough so that I find myself imagining my lips on her skin, teeth around her nipples. Dirty. But no matter how appealing the thought, I chuckle and turn away before I do something irrevocably stupid.
Another minute’s worth of silence passes, the only other sound the low ebb of noise from the house. It’s nice. As is she. In fact, it’s damn near intolerable. I can feel the heat between us, the sense of longing that’s already making me wonder what hitching that dress up and fucking her out here would feel like. Alone, in the shadows or secluded passageways I can remember from my childhood.
I frown slightly at the thought, part chastising myself for even thinking what I am. There are at least a hundred women in the ballroom that I could have tonight if I want, all of them willing to do anything I ask of them. On their knees. Begging, frankly.
And yet I can’t see past my own PA?
“I think I'd like that,” she says. Like what? “It must be nice to be real and truly let go, don't you think?” Ah, she means the facade I offered her a glimpse past. Although, there's no facade to her that I've noticed. “Just being yourself and seeing where life takes you. Being honest?”
