Mad Season (4 page)

SIX

Lyla narrowed her eyes at Reed. Something was off. The fighter looked a little confused, covering it well enough that she didn't think Dean or David noticed. But she realized he had no idea what was about to happen. He shook hands with her bosses, and then the two of them were alone in the conference room.

Walking around to the door while he watched her with those hooded eyes, she quietly closed the door rather than leaving, too. Turning back to him, she saw his gaze travelling down the length of her before returning to her face.

Oh, I'm playing with fire, here.

"Mr. Reed," she said calmly, sliding her glasses off and letting them hang from their onyx chain. "Do you know what is about to happen?"

He blinked. "A blowjob, I hope," he said brazenly.

She shook her head even as she wanted to laugh. "Change," she said. "I gather you didn't really hear the plan."

He frowned. "I heard what you said about the internet scrubber, and getting people to see the good things I do, not just the...." He waved a hand at the iPad on the table.

"Yes. That's part of it. What did you hear about the rest of it?" His direct gaze faltered, and she inhaled. "You didn't hear any of the rest of it, did you, Mr. Reed? It's all right. You can tell me."

He returned his gaze to her eyes and searched there, looking for reassurance. She caught a brief glimpse of vulnerability before he schooled his features to bland disinterest. "Who cares?" he said. "I just want to fight."

"I care, Mr. Reed. And I'm here to help, I promise."

He flashed another vulnerable glance and she nodded her head in reassurance, not pushing any further.

There was more to this man than met the eye, and she had a feeling this was going to be the toughest client she'd ever had to work with, but possibly the most rewarding, too.

His gaze darkened as he took a step toward her and she panicked, turning to open the door quickly.

"Let's go shopping then, shall we?"

Reed frowned, but followed her out the door. She stopped by her tiny office and grabbed her purse, then motioned for Reed to come with her. She didn't fail to notice Reed staring at Ginny, or the come-hither look she was giving him. A look that quickly turned to a nasty glare when she saw Lyla watching.

With only a slight hesitation, Reed followed her to the elevator and they boarded it together when it arrived. She was grateful the elevator already had passengers, since it would delay them being alone together for a short while longer. But then again, there was nowhere to escape from the close proximity of him.

She'd turned to face the doors, like everyone always did, but he was in front of her, facing her, staring down at her. It wasn't until then that she got full appreciation of his bulk. He wasn't very tall, just a few inches taller than her five foot six inches—eight with her heels—but there was power in his frame. Hard muscles stretched across his broad shoulders and down his chest, and not an ounce of fat was visible.

He leaned toward her as the elevator lurched into motion, and she saw his nostrils flare as he inhaled. "You smell good," he said in a whisper that nonetheless could have been heard by everyone in the small space.

"Thank you for noticing, Mr. Reed," she said calmly, glancing pointedly at the other passengers. Of the six others on board with them, three were women who were looking at her with a mixture of envy and something that highly resembled hatred. Two of the men were trying not to get involved, but the third was eyeing Reed with distrust.

"You okay, Ms. Mason?" the young man asked.

He was a thin, willowy looking fellow that she was sure Reed could break in half with one hand. But his courage in speaking up was admirable. She struggled to place his name and how he would know hers. Ah yes. Allen somebody, from the accounting firm on the twelfth floor. She rode the elevator with him often.

"I'm fine, thank you, Allen. Mr. Reed is my new client.
We
are going clothes shopping."

One of the other men snickered, and the women tittered behind their hands.

"Well, just so long as he's not bothering you."

Lyla gave Allen another smile and put her hand on Reed's forearm. She'd noticed the way he'd stiffened at Allen's insinuation. "It's fine. We're all fine," she asserted, willing the elevator to move faster.

Once out on the street, Lyla pulled Reed to the curb and held up her hand for a cab. "We're going to keep this simple," she said, turning to him while they waited. "Casual wear, mostly. But I do want to get you one suit, for interviews."

He watched her with interest, paying no attention to the people passing on the street who were staring at them. At him. "I like simple."

She smiled. He really was quite endearing.

The cab pulled up and she got in, sliding to the opposite side, and he folded himself in, scooting close to her.

"Premium Outlets, please," she told the driver, then gently pushed Reed on the shoulder. "Buckle up, Mr. Reed. We're going downtown."

He looked as though the idea of buckling up was a foreign concept, but did as he was told. She did it more to keep him on his side of the taxi. She buckled herself in as the cab pulled away. Her mind was already leaping ahead to the mall as she considered their options. The suit would be Armani, she knew that already.

But what about his style? What kind of casual clothes will suit his new image? Beach casual? Hilfiger waif? No, scratch that. There is nothing waifish about Reed. No wanna-be gangster bling. Probably best to start at Michael Kors
....

She turned to size Reed up and found him looking at her with a bemused expression. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

Oh dear
, she thought.
I'm definitely playing with fire.

***

Cal was tired. This afternoon had started out promising enough, but it quickly reminded him why he didn't like shopping. All this in and out of clothes was tedious. Red had been keeping her distance, coolly assessing how he looked in various outfits before sending him back into the dressing rooms with something different.

They'd started off in an athletic clothing store, and she'd picked out some simple, snug-fitting tees, the kind with only a small logo on the breast, and long, loose shorts. No loud advertisements for the brand. She'd explained that if a brand wanted him to wear them, they should have to pay for the exposure.

He'd walked out with a couple sacks, and dressed in a new, clean outfit, complete with sneakers and crew socks.

The Armani store had been kind of cool. He'd never tried on a high-dollar suit before, much less had one tailored to fit. Even he had to admit that he looked hot in it. It was perfect. Snug enough to highlight his bulk, but he could still move comfortably. He didn't feel trapped in a straightjacket. The adjusted product, he was assured, would be ready for him tomorrow.

They were on their third, and hopefully final, store now, and he was on the brink of rebellion. Enough was enough.

"Hey Red," he called out from the dressing room. "I got a problem."

"Oh?" she said, and he heard her heels clicking on the linoleum floor, then quieting as she entered the carpeted dressing room area.

"Yeah. Can you come in here?"

She hesitated, and he knew why. He'd been trying to get close to her all day, but she'd been resisting. He'd seen her checking him out when she thought he wasn't looking, though, and those looks had been anything but cool. She was hot for him, and he could tell her resistance was wearing thin.

"Come on," he wheedled. "I really need you to see this." He cracked the door and stuck his head out. "Really."

With a look that told him she knew it was a bad idea, she walked to the door and looked at him. He reached for her arm before she could back away and pulled her inside with him.

"See?" he said, and they both looked down to see that he was sporting wood. His erection had come to life the instant he'd conceived this plan.

"Mr. Reed!" she huffed indignantly, but she didn't take her eyes off the bulge in the khaki slacks he'd been trying on.

"I can't go out there like this," he said, giving what he hoped was a sad puppy dog look. "You have to help."

She blindly reached behind her for the door handle. "It will go away," she said, with little to no confidence in her tone.

"It won't," he insisted. "The only way is...."

"If I knee you hard enough it will," she said, finally looking up into his eyes. He didn't see anything but desire there, though. Hot and burning desire. She was bluffing.

"Probably," he admitted. He was a pretty good judge of women—witness the fact he'd never had rape charges pressed against him—but that was because he always made sure. "I was going to say you could tell me to fuck off, and I would. I don't fuck women against their will. But you don't want me to fuck off, do you?" He watched her carefully, looking for any trace of true fear or telltale signs that his presence was intimidating her. He kept his hands to himself while she considered him.

If he was wrong, so be it....

"No," she whispered, then. "I really don't."

"Don't what?"

"I don't want you to fuck off."

He smiled and pulled her hips against him, letting her feel him through their clothing. Her lips parted in a little gasp, and he felt his hard-on strain to the point of aching.

"There are no cameras in dressing rooms," he said quietly.

That was all it took. She reached for the button and zipper of the trousers, licking her lips as she freed his cock and grabbed it with both hands. He reached for the hem of her skirt and pushed it up, then grabbed her ass and lifted, pushing her up against the mirrored wall as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Hands braced on either side of her shoulders, he groaned as she reached between them, pushed her thong aside and positioned his cock at her very wet entrance.

SEVEN

What am I doing?
Lyla thought desperately as Reed nuzzled her neck. She could see their reflection in the mirror opposite, his legs braced as he held her pinned to the wall, her legs wrapped around him. Her face was a study in passion.
I shouldn't be doing this. He's my client. I hardly know him.

Except after all her research last night, and the time they'd spent together today, she was getting a pretty good idea that Callum Reed was much more complex than a simple playboy celebrity fighter.

None of the reasons she was giving herself were enough to make her stop running her hands over his muscled shoulders, or keep her from writhing in pleasure as he pushed his beautiful cock inside her. She flexed her legs, bringing him closer, pushing him further inside.

She hissed in appreciation as he filled her completely, then bit his neck. The bite was probably not as gentle as she would have liked, but she was conscious that there were other shoppers out in the store, and she'd rather not attract attention by screaming out her pleasure.

He chuckled in her ear, and surprised her yet again with his restraint. He seemed to realize that drawing attention to what they were doing would not be a good thing. Very different from the stories she'd read on the internet.

Beginning to move against her, she held onto his arms as he began to thrust in and out, slowly driving her toward an intense climax. Watching his ass flexing in the mirror, she was so incredibly turned on that she knew she couldn't hold out very long. Sex with the chance of being discovered was exhilarating, not to mention the mirrors and Reed's size and strength only added fuel to her already raging fire.

It was a good thing she was so close, she realized, because he stiffened against her unexpectedly, and she had to clench around him and rock her hips forward to bring her clit in contact with his cock. He managed to pump against it a couple times, just enough to push her over the edge before he began to soften inside her.

That was very nearly a disappointment
, she thought as she clung to him, each of them trembling with release and the effort to stay quiet. For a guy who reportedly got laid every night, he sure blew his wad in a hurry.

She let her head fall back against the wall as the realization of what she'd just let happen sank in.
Dammit. Why can't you keep your hands off the hot ones?

This was going to make the foreseeable future very tricky indeed.

Without a word, Reed lifted her off him and set her on the floor, smoothing her skirt down into place. He was looking at her, but she decided she must be hallucinating. That wasn't tenderness in his gaze, was it? Surely he wasn't feeling anything other than physical relief?

She smoothed his shirt over his chest, reveling in the strength of it. Then she looked down at the trousers he was zipping up over his still glistening dick.

"We're definitely going to have to buy those," she said, her voice giving away that she was still breathless from their passion.

His chuckle was his only response.

"Did all of these fit?" she asked, not waiting for an answer as she gathered up the various pants and shirts that had been strewn around the dressing room.

"I guess," he said, his flat tone telling her he was beyond caring. He'd played along with her for this long, but he was done.

"Well," she said briskly. "I'll send them back if they don't."

"Hmm," was his only response as he opened the dressing room door and walked out, not waiting for her to precede him.

So much for chivalry,
she thought, but then realized chivalry didn't really describe Callum Reed. He was more like a feminist, whether he knew it or not. He didn't wait for her because he knew and trusted that she would do what she wanted when she wanted.
Very interesting indeed.

"So, where to now?" he asked, after they had paid for everything using her company's credit card.

All their purchases from today would be forwarded to Trevor Rose as part of the contract expenses. She hadn't gone crazy, but they'd spent a couple grand in just a few short hours, not counting the Armani store. That would be a separate bill once the tailor got done with them, and it would probably amount to more than everything else they'd purchased. But he'd looked so good she knew it would be well worth it.

"Home," she said.

***

Cal had to help with the bags. They'd amassed a small mountain of designer clothes over the course of the afternoon, and it took both of them every spare finger to manage them all as they maneuvered out to the parking lot. The cabbies were on them like flies on honey. He could have sworn he heard tires screeching as two of them appeared to be racing each other to get to them first. He put out a hand in front of Red to keep her back from the curb, just in case the idiots were dumb enough to wreck each other in their haste.

But at the last second, the Lincoln Town Car pulled ahead of the Prius and came to an abrupt halt in front of them. The Prius swerved out and away, presumably to sulk or seek out a new fare.

The driver of the Town Car jumped out and hurried to open the trunk so they could unburden themselves of their bags. He looked like some kind of East Indian, and when he spoke that assessment was proven correct.

"You have shopped a lot," he said good-naturedly as he loaded their bags. "Reminds me of 'Pretty Woman,' Julia Roberts and Richard Gere."

Cal laughed, wanting to see if Red would straighten the man out, or let him go on thinking that all the bags were hers. She laughed too, and Cal saw that it was genuine. He liked her laugh.

They climbed into the cab and Red gave the driver an address that he didn't recognize. "That's not the Golden Nugget."

"No," she said, looking over at him with a patient smile. "You no longer live at the Golden Nugget."

He frowned, and she reached over and patted him on the knee. "Can I ask you a question?" His shrug was non-committal. "You have a hard time figuring out what people are talking about, don't you?"

He stared at her, refusing to acknowledge her question either way—but she was right. Her hand moved to cover his.

"You hear the words, but they don't make sense. You pretend you don't care, but really you don't have a clue what's going on most of the time."

"I understand plenty when it comes to people. To women," he said gruffly, in his defense. "I can understand you."

"I can see that," she said, smiling. "But at the meeting, when Kincaid was outlining the next steps...you didn't get any of that, did you."

He looked away, out the window of the cab. "Don't care," he said at last.

"Yes, you do." She squeezed his hand. "I had a friend in school who was just like you," she said. "He struggled with something called LPD, language processing disorder. It just means that it's harder and takes longer for you to process what people are saying. It doesn't mean you're slow, or stupid, or that you don't care."

"How come I can understand you?"

"My tone of voice, I guess. The way that I don't use big words, and I speak more slowly than most folks. My friend could always understand me, too."

She fell silent, not pushing his acceptance of what she was saying. He continued to stare out the window, but he turned his hand over so he could hold hers.

They were on the freeway now, heading south. He watched the casinos pass by on their left, and the street signs on the right. He was surprised when they took the exit to Henderson. He'd only been out this way once, for an appearance at a little sports pub called
Nacho Daddy
.

They drove a little further on the main road, then splintered off onto a less well-traveled street, winding up at a little three story apartment complex on a dead end street. It was a nice neighborhood, Cal decided as he got out of the cab and looked around. The building looked a bit on the cheap side, but it blended well with the surrounding condos, and all had the air of a place that felt safe and comfortable.

The cabbie popped the trunk, and he and Red unloaded his bags. Red paid the man and he drove off, leaving them standing amidst the various sacks and bags, looking at each other. He frowned when she bent to start gathering the bags, and looked toward the door of the building.

"There's no doorman here," she said with a laugh. "Got to carry your own stuff. The super said he'd leave your keys at my place."

"Your place?"

"Yes. I'm right across the hall from you. It was the easiest place for us to find. I knew it was vacant, and it's in a respectable enough neighborhood."

She continued talking as they walked in, but his ears were ringing and he felt himself starting to tune her out.

"Wait," he said, pulling to a stop just inside the lobby doors. "You all really discussed all of this in that meeting, and Trevor let me agree to it? Just move me right in."

Her gentle smile was reassuring. "Originally it was going to be so I could keep an eye on you, but now I think I will be of more help to you than that. Come on. It's not far, now. We can talk once we get inside."