Page 14 of Legal Seduction
He’d wanted those things so badly that he’d used some questionable methods to get them. But he’d succeeded then, just as he would now. He would succeed in getting the truth out of Bette.
The truth wasn’t all he wanted from her. He wanted release from the tension gripping his body. He was so damn tense that when she leaned against him, he jumped a little, making his chair squeak and nearly tip.
Her smile widened. And he knew for certain he was being played. While he hadn’t been as unaware of her as she’d thought these past two years, he’d had no idea what she was really like—or who she really was.
But he intended to find out. He had to regain control in order to do that, though—over himself and over her. So he reached around her and poured some more wine in her glass.
She giggled and asked, “Are you trying to get me drunk to have your way with me?”
“Would it work?” he wondered aloud.
“I’m a lightweight,” she said. “Just a few more sips and I’ll either be stripping off my clothes or passing out.” She brought the rim to her lips and tipped up the glass for a long, deep sip.
“If I have a vote in this, I’d prefer the stripping,” he teased.
She arched a dark brow above the top frame of her glasses and murmured, “I’m sure you would.”
Was she mocking him? The arched-brow gesture was one he’d been doing since he was a kid. While he wasn’t as aware of her as he obviously should have been the past two years, she seemed to have been aware of him.
“Do you play cards?” he asked.
“Why are you asking?”
“I was thinking we could play a hand or two of poker—strip poker.” He was really good at cards but most especially at poker.
She giggled again. “We’re supposed to be working,” she reminded him. “Not playing. You said this was a working dinner, something about taking notes.”
He chuckled now. “Oh, I’m taking notes.”
But he hadn’t learned much about her yet.
“I’m supposed to be taking notes,” she said.
He touched the stem of her glass as she took another sip. “You’re too drunk.” Was she? He wanted her, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her.
“Nope,” she said. “I’m just drunk enough.” And she rose from the chair.
Maybe she meant that she was sober enough, to know to leave before he seduced her, like he’d intended. Disappointment gripped him. He wouldn’t try too hard to persuade her to stay, not if she’d truly had too much to drink.
He narrowed his eyes. “Just drunk enough for what?”
She pulled her glasses off her nose and dropped them onto the table next to her barely touched meal. Bruno would be so disappointed that they hadn’t eaten much.
But Simon wasn’t hungry for food. And despite her stomach growling earlier, Bette hadn’t eaten very much. That was probably why the wine had hit her so hard—hard enough—that she reached up and tugged the pins from her hair. The sable-brown tresses tumbled down, falling in thick waves nearly to her waist.
He groaned. She was so damn sexy.
Then she reached for the buttons on her cardigan. She flicked open the first one and the second one. And Simon jumped to his feet and stepped close to her. Like he had when she’d touched his leg, he covered her hand with his. But now he stopped her fingers from moving.
“You’re not drunk enough,” he corrected her. “You’re too drunk.”
She tilted her head and stared up at him as if surprised. “You really want me to stop?”
“Hell, no,” he admitted. “I want you to undo every one of those damn buttons. I want you to unzip your skirt and take off your clothes, so I can see what the hell you’re wearing underneath them.” Because it was driving him crazy imagining her in lace and nothing else.
She stepped back and pulled her hand free of his. Then she continued undoing her buttons until the cardigan parted and slid down her arms. She wore a lace camisole that was so thin he could see the bra beneath it.
“Bette,” he murmured, but he couldn’t summon the protest he knew he should be making.
