Microsoft Word - Seven Nights of Sin (6 page)

BOOK: Microsoft Word - Seven Nights of Sin
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I don’t need a man, I don’t need a man, I don’t need a man.

THE SECOND NIGHT

“If it were possible to have a life absolutely free from every feeling of sin, what a terrifying

vacuum it would be!”

—Cesare Pavese

One

The good news was that Brenna had, surprisingly, gotten a good night’s sleep, after all. An orgasm could do that for you.

The bad news was that she woke up horrified to remember the previous night. Again, she felt relieved that she’d been by herself. But that wasn’t stopping the horror. As she scurried to the window to snatch up her panties and put them on, then made her way to the bathroom, she thought about primal needs. And she finally understood how sex could turn people crazed and desperate sometimes. She’d never quite gotten that before now. Last night, however, sex had made her do something which, a mere day before, would have seemed unthinkable.

But it’s your little secret. Your secret sin.

No one will ever know. Thank God!

She wasn’t sure whether to blame Damon Andros or this place. One minute she’d been shocked and appalled at the city’s seaminess, the next she’d been wanting to be a part of it, to somehow revel in it. Such opposing emotions made no sense to her.

Yet, again, she had to break it down and deal with the problem at hand. Which was that she had a whole week of Damon and this city ahead, so it didn’t matter which one of them was causing her erratic reactions. She had to put last night behind her and focus on the work—nothing else.

Of course, when she stepped into the shower, she discovered that her body still felt…overly sensitive. As she ran the soap over her skin—her breasts, her stomach, her thighs—she found herself also wanting to run it between her legs. The warm water beating down on her felt too good. Her own curves, as she washed, felt too lush.

Shit. This was not good. But she still had to deal, and she had to get serious about it.

So with that in mind, when she stepped out of the shower, she didn’t put on any of the new clothes she’d brought with her. In fact, she dressed as plainly as she could, in a pair of jeans and a plain pink tee she’d packed more with an eye toward sleeping in it than wearing it out. And after blow-drying her brand-new auburn hair, rather than run the flatiron through it, she instead shoved it back into a small ponytail.

She considered not wearing makeup but decided that was going too far. She wanted to be plain, not totally unattractive—although she kept it to a minimum, applying just a little powder and lipstick and brushing on a bit of mascara.

Leaving the bathroom, she cringed at the sight of the open wine cooler still sitting on the table across the room. Rushing over, she closed her fingertips gingerly around the narrowest part of the bottle, twisted the lid back on, and deposited it in the nearest wastebasket. Yuck.

Then, looking to the door, she took a deep breath. Last night’s silliness is over. Done.  Past. Today is about the serious business of learning your new job. So go over to  Damon’s room, but do not think of him sexually anymore. He is your trainer, your teacher, that’s all. With any luck, he wouldn’t look so good in the morning, either.

As she grabbed up the leather portfolio she’d brought for taking notes, then grabbed her room key and headed for the door, she began to murmur, “I don’t need a man. I don’t need

a man. I don’t need a man.”

Two

Damon opened the double doors to his deluxe suite to find Brenna on the other side. She didn’t look like she had last night—but she was still damn cute in a tight little T-shirt that hugged her breasts well enough that he could see her nipples poking through. Of course, that made him wonder about her bra. Exactly what kind of bra did Brenna Cayton wear?  Given that every time he saw her she looked entirely different, it was an impossible call, which made the question even more intriguing.

“Hey,” she said, casting a small smile—and looking sheepish. He had no idea why. Just  because there had been some chemistry flowing between them last night? It was  undeniable, but neither had acted on it, so he didn’t see it as a big deal.

“Hey,” he said easily. “Come on in.”

As she stepped into the tiled foyer, her eyes widened, taking in the place. “Oh my God.”

“What?” he asked, laughing lightly.

She turned to look at him, a wisp of auburn hair falling free from her ponytail to frame her face. “I thought my room was great, but yours is…freaking fabulous.”

She was right, but he’d stayed here so often that he sometimes forgot the sixteen-hundred-square-foot suite, featuring a dining table and a huge living area in addition to a bedroom and deluxe bath, wasn’t your average hotel room. “Believe it or not, I need the space. If we find any acts we want to court or sign, I need a good place to talk business with them. And besides, before today is over, we’re going to have contracts spread all over the living room.” He’d brought along a file containing every contract variance he could think of to show her.

“Still…wow,” she said, and he couldn’t help enjoying her innocent exuberance. That bit of  innocence had leaked out a little last night, too, when they’d talked about Vegas, and sex,  even if she’d tried to hide it behind professional coolness. Maybe that was what he’d liked  about her so much last evening—that she could be so professional and at the same time  truly genuine.

“There’s a room service menu on the table.” He pointed to the dining area. “Let me know

what you want and I’ll place an order. Then we’ll get to work.”

“Sounds fun,” she said, her expression filled with nothing but sincerity.

“Contracts—fun?” Arching one brow, he shook his head. “Not exactly. This is the tedious,  boring part. But I promise it’s the worst aspect of the job. That’s why I figured we should  get it out of the way, so everything else will seem better by comparison.”

She gave her head a playful tilt, shoving that stray lock of hair behind one ear. “I’ll have you know I’ve already read most of the contracts—just for fun, when I processed them—so this won’t all be completely new to me. Although I don’t know what it all means, I’m actually interested in this part, which means…if the rest is even better, I’m in great shape.”

Damon’s jaw dropped. “You read contracts for fun?”

She nodded enthusiastically—and looked cute as hell.

“No wonder Jenkins promoted you.”

He kind of wanted to kiss her. Like he had last night, standing outside her door, looking into her pretty green eyes, feeling the heat moving between them. Without meaning to, he let his gaze drop to her breasts again, to the delectable sight of her nipples jutting against that pink fabric, and his dick went half hard.

But then he pointed back to the menu. “Pick something for breakfast,” he said again to break the tension that had just grown so quick and invisible between them. Because fucking someone you worked with closely was never a good idea. That had been the only thing to keep him from inviting her back to his room last night, and it was a good enough reason this morning, too. Damn, when had Brenna the office girl turned into Brenna the hot chick? How the hell had he missed it?

He gave his head a slight shake, trying to clear the lust out, and turned away from her to grab some files.

The truth was, he wasn’t well-practiced at pushing down his desires. He was single, he liked to have fun, and he’d never seen any reason not to indulge in good, hot sex when he found the opportunity—which, in his world, was often. What he never understood was why such news made the damn papers. When had he become a celebrity? Why did anyone give a shit who he slept or partied with?

Whatever the reason, though, it seemed his social life did qualify as entertainment for the masses these days, as well as good fodder for the rumor mill, and he knew his image needed an overhaul. He didn’t care what people thought of him, but he sensed Jenkins feared he was starting to give the label a bad reputation, and if there was one thing he didn’t want to risk, it was his job.

And fucking the girl he was training probably wouldn’t do a lot to convince anyone he was a decent guy who didn’t demand sex of female performers before signing them.

Not that Brenna would fuck and tell. He knew that instinctively. It went back to what he’d felt from her last night—a professional maturity mixed with an underlying…realness that

was almost sweet.

practice. But he still couldn’t do it. And spending this week with her without doing it would be good

“Know what you want yet?” he asked, turning back to face her.

“Blueberry pancakes,” she said.

And their eyes met. And he experienced it again, that urge to move closer, lean into her, press his mouth to hers, press his hardening cock to the crux of her thighs. He still couldn’t believe this was the same girl who’d been sitting outside Jenkins’ office the last few years.  “Sounds good,” he said, trying to keep his voice from coming out raspy. “Think I’ll have the same thing.”

He strode to the phone, thinking what he really wanted to have right now wasn’t on the room service menu.

Three

They ordered lunch in, too. They scoured contracts, Damon talked, Brenna asked questions, and he sometimes quizzed her on what she’d learned. And by the time they finished working late that afternoon, several things were clear to Brenna: she’d already understood the Blue Night contracts better than she’d realized, she was catching on fast, she enjoyed working with Damon and thought him a far nicer guy than she’d ever expected—and it was impossible not to think of him sexually.

The man dripped sex, after all. From his dark good looks and bedroom eyes to the workout-chiseled body that his clothes couldn’t begin to hide. From the very moment he’d answered the door that morning, she’d been permeated with a raw lust that surpassed anything she’d ever experienced. And this time she couldn’t blame it on wine. Or atmosphere. Or anything except pure animal magnetism.

Every time he smiled at her it sliced right to her core. Every time his eyes sparkled on her, she felt it between her legs. And the way his toned muscles had filled out his Violent  Femmes “Gone Daddy Gone” T-shirt had turned her warm all over. She’d been aroused by his very presence all damn day. And finding out, even more than she had last night, that she actually liked him—and thought him intelligent, shrewd, and amiable—wasn’t helping the situation. It would have been a lot easier to ignore the animal magnetism if he’d been the smug jerk she’d always envisioned.

But you got through the day okay, she reminded herself as she changed clothes for the evening. They were going to an underground club called Fetish—“which,” Damon had promised her with a wink, “isn’t as scary as it sounds.”

“So I don’t need to wear black leather from head to toe to fit in?” she’d asked.

He’d tilted his sexy head, a glint of flirtation in his eyes. “No—but I wouldn’t mind seeing you in some black leather.”

Of course, her nether regions had gone completely hot, even as she’d felt a warm blush climb her cheeks while she tried to laugh it off.

You got through the day okay, and you’ll get through the night, too. And then you’ll get through all the other days to come. And she really believed she could. Because even as hot and bothered as she’d been today, she had managed to stay focused—mostly—on the work, and she’d learned a lot.

In addition to teaching her what the contracts meant, Damon had also schooled her on when certain points should or shouldn’t be offered, which ones were the very last she should promise a performer, and how wild about them she should be before giving in to certain demands. “But,” he’d also told her, “the beauty of being with an indie label is that most of our acts are first-timers, open-minded, hungry, and willing to take what we can offer. You won’t be faced with many artists making contract demands, and if you are, you need to take a good look at whether they’re worth it.”

So now she was extra excited to see how this whole process really began, and she would witness it tonight. Appearing at Fetish was an alternative girl band called Blush—the group had sent Damon a CD, he’d happened to pluck it from the many he received on a regular basis, and he’d been impressed. The band didn’t know Damon would be there—he’d simply found their web Site, with club dates. He’d explained to Brenna that he often liked to “sneak up” on an act and watch them quietly, unnoticed, in case he didn’t like what he

saw. “Makes it easier for everyone,” he’d said. “No dashed hopes or heartbroken singers.

Plus I can see how they perform on any given night.”

As it happened, Brenna was wearing black leather for the outing—at least a little. A black leather miniskirt, with high-heeled boots, and on top a slightly sheer leopard-print blouse with a black bra underneath. Everything was new, bought on her shopping excursion with  Kelly, including the bra and the silky black thong beneath her skirt. She hadn’t chosen the outfit because of where they were going, and she hadn’t chosen it to look sexy for  Damon—she’d chosen it for the same reason she’d selected her apparel the previous evening: because she had to look the part of a hip, cool A&R rep if she was going to represent Blue Night Records.

And even if the idea of looking hot while she was with Damon appealed on a gut level, she would just have to ignore that. They’d be going out to lots of clubs this week—it’s why they were in Vegas—and she couldn’t wear a plain T-shirt every time she saw him.

BOOK: Microsoft Word - Seven Nights of Sin
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