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Niveah licked the dryness from her lips. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“If I knew you were such an animal in bed, I would have updated my will!” he teased, pulling her to his chest.
Niveah tensed. Her friends said cuddling was against the rules, so she was surprised when Damien spread the blanket over them and wrapped his arms around her. Shouldn’t I be dressed and on my way out the door? Isn’t this how these things usually worked?
Sweat clung to her skin, and matted clumps of hair were stuck to her shoulders, but Damien was smiling at her as if she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His grip was fierce, protective, unlike anything she’d ever experienced. The hotel suite smelled like sex, and a hot stifling air that made Niveah feel as if she was trapped inside an oven.
“I don’t want to get up, but if I don’t get something to drink I’m going to die of dehydration,” he joked, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have what you’re having.” Swathing the bed sheet across her chest, she carefully tucked it under her arms, and braced her body against the headboard. “Better yet, make mine a double!”
Damien chuckled as he switched on the bedside lamp. “We should order up some room service. I’m starving, and I bet you are, too.”
As if on cue, her stomach growled. “I can’t. I have to get going.”
“Why, do you have someone waiting for you at home?” Damien picked up the phone, but his gaze remained locked on her face. “Things happened so fast, I forgot to ask if you had a man.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here with you,” she told him, unsure of what to make of his comment.
“Then stay and have dinner with me.”
Niveah opened her mouth to decline, but when he smiled at her, she caved. “If you’re sure you don’t mind me staying a little while longer, I’d love a bite to eat. I’m not picky when it comes to food, anything will be fine.”
“I’d like to order an extra-large deep-dish pizza with everything on it, and the twenty-piece buffalo wings,” he said, into the phone. “Bill it to my suite, and ask the concierge to leave the cart outside the door. I don’t want to be disturbed.”
Damien ended the call, took two sodas out of the fridge and handed one to her. “Why don’t you tell me more about yourself? I’m curious to why a woman like you is still on the market.”
“Funny, I was just wondering the same thing about you.”
“Are you trying to dodge the question?” He wore a serious expression, but Niveah could see the makings of a smile on his lips. “Are you between lovers or playing the field like me?”
“None of the above. I’m married to my work, and I don’t have time to date. I was engaged last year, but it didn’t work out. We … we wanted different things.” Niveah glanced out the window. It had been a year since Stewart left her for another woman—someone younger, and more adventurous in bed—but every time she thought about their breakup, she felt a pang in her chest. He wasn’t ever coming back so why was she thinking about him? “What do you think of Tampa? It’s nothing like the Big Apple, but I bet you’re loving the weather.”
“What makes you think I’m from the East Coast?”
Niveah laughed. “No offense, but you could be the poster child for NYC. The cocky, bad-boy swagger instantly gave you away, and if that’s not enough, you have an accent, too.”
“All right, you got me,” he admitted, drowning the rest of his soda and grabbing another one. “I grew up in the Bronx. And you’re right about the weather. Every time I come down here for business, I think about relocating permanently!”
They laughed.
“I’ll be right back.” Damien got up off the bed, and strode out of the bedroom. Niveah watched him leave, marveling at his utterly perfect body. Resisting the urge to scream into her pillow, she smoothed a hand over her cheeks and ran a hand through her wild, unruly hair, knowing she could give the winner of the Atlanta Hair Show a run for their money.
Spotting the remote, she picked it up from off the nightstand, and pointed it at the black entertainment unit. Why am I still sitting here watching TV? This is the perfect opportunity for me to break free. Niveah tried to get off the bed, but her limbs were asleep.
Hearing a door slam, she strained her eyes toward the foyer. The scent of mozzarella cheese hit her nose and Niveah licked her lips. Twice. All thoughts of leaving evaporated into thin air when Damien walked into the bedroom and placed the box of pizza on the nightstand.
“Dig in, beautiful. You’ve worked up quite an appetite tonight.”
Niveah dove right in, helping herself to a large, gooey slice, but she couldn’t help thinking the whole scene was a little strange. She was sitting in bed eating pizza and buffalo wings with her one-night stand.
“Cool, Robin Thicke is about to perform. That dude’s got amazing chops!”
“I’m impressed. Most men would never admit to being a fan.”
“I never said I thought the guy was cute. I said he could sing. Nothing wrong with that.”
Niveah bit into her pizza. It was hot and loaded—just the way she liked it, and if Damien didn’t hurry up and start eating, there’d be none left. “Everyone has their weakness, and mine is definitely junk food,” she said, chewing slowly. “Oh, and coffee. I drink five, sometimes six cups a day. It all depends on how bad things are going at the office.”
“You must have a very demanding career.”
“It’s not my job that’s going to kill me, it’s my lazy, dimwitted employees!” Shaking her head, she wiped the oil off her hands with a napkin. “If they did everything they were assigned to do, I wouldn’t be so stressed out, but I’m always having to correct their mistakes and it’s exhausting. I swear, one of these days I’m going to replace every last one of them!”
Damien chuckled. “It sounds like you need a little TLC.”
“You have no idea.”
His hands traveled up her thigh, and Niveah purred in anticipation, knowing exactly where they were going next. Higher, higher, higher dammit!
“Why don’t you let me show you what you’ve been missing?” he whispered, pulling her down on top of him and running his hands over her butt. “By the time I’m done tapping this ass, you won’t have a care in the world.”
Chapter 3
“Here’s the rundown of your morning,” Doris Murphy began, opening her black portfolio notebook. “You have a staff meeting at nine o’clock, coffee with the marketing department an hour later and lunch with Vladimir Butkovsky at noon.”
Niveah consulted her agenda. “I’m expecting to hear from Mrs. Garrett-Reed today. If she calls while I’m in the morning meeting, come and get me. Understand?”
“Yes, Ms. Evans. Is there anything else? If not, I’ll return to my desk and finish typing up your notes from last night’s brainstorming session.”
Spotting a male figure striding by her office, Niveah leaned sideways in her chair, and peered around her receptionist’s full-figured frame. “Have you seen the new guy?”
“Mr. Hunter just arrived with Mr. Russo. Apparently, the two had breakfast this morning.”
Niveah didn’t like the sound of that. It was bad enough her boss had hand-picked this clown to work on her project, but discovering they were socializing off the clock was upsetting. She’d have to keep a close eye on this Hunter character. Her first crack at him would be at the morning staff meeting, and Niveah had every intention of showing him who was really in charge of the project. First she’d make him her new best friend, and then she’d pull the rug out from underneath him. The thought brought a smile to her lips.
“Confirm my twelve-thirty reservations at Casa Barcelona, and give me a buzz when the rest of the team files into the conference room.”
Niveah waited until her executive assistant closed the door before signing into her computer and reading the day’s emails. Knowing she would be interrupted in the next ten minutes, she decided against working on her latest project. Instead, she picked up the file marked “Specifics” that Doris had brought her, and began reading.
Crossing her legs, she settled into her seat and read the document cover sheet. Excitement surged through her. This was the project she’d been waiting for her whole career. A multi-million-dollar campaign that would garner enormous press. Landing this account would not only impress the higher-ups at head office, it would improve her chances of being named vice president when Mr. Whitmore retired in the fall. The position meant long, insane hours, but also a huge pay increase. Enough money to buy her parents a lavish new home in a gated community.
Niveah thought about what she had to do. Her job was simple. Create a unique ad campaign for Discreet Boutiques and knock her colleagues out of the running for the top position. If she nailed next month’s presentation, she’d be one step closer to landing her dream job. Becoming creative director six years ago had been a major accomplishment, but being named as the company’s first female vice president would make headlines around the world. And Niveah wasn’t above outwitting the competition to make it happen, either. That’s why she was going to march into the conference room at nine o’clock sharp, and charm the socks off the clown from head office.
Niveah had perused the file a few days earlier, but she wanted to ensure she hadn’t overlooked anything. Mrs. Garrett-Reed was a force to be reckoned with, and when she met the self-made woman last month, they hit it off immediately. With sales in the millions, Discreet Boutique was one of the most lucrative companies in the world, and launching a menswear line next winter was sure to triple profits.
As Niveah read from her notes, she recalled her hourlong conversation with Mrs. Garrett-Reed the previous week. Not only was she impressed by the keenness of the businesswoman’s mind, but she’d been blown away by her knowledge of marketing and advertising.
“Our new menswear line was created with today’s businessman in mind. Someone athletic, charismatic and successful who can finagle millions from clients, play golf with more finesse than a PGA champion and make women of all ages go gaga.”
A picture of Damien sprawled flat on his back flashed in Niveah’s head. It had been seventy-two hours since her one night stand, and she’d thought of nothing else since. Niveah had a staff meeting to prep for, but she couldn’t seem to get the brown-eyed New Yorker with the killer swag out of her mind. Sex with Damien had been hot, erotic and everything she’d been looking for. Was he still staying at the Ritz-Carlton? Or had he returned home already?
Shaking off the thought, she returned her attention to the file. It didn’t matter. They’d had their fun and that was that. So why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Why was she replaying every moment of their night together? Niveah hated to admit it, but he’d loved her in a way no one else had before. Not even Stewart—and they’d dated for three years.
Allowing her mind to wander, she recalled how they’d made love again after eating dinner in bed. Unlike the first time they’d made love, he’d tenderly and gently stroked her. Cupping her face in his hands, sprinkling kisses on her cheeks, whispering words of praise in her ear. He’d loved her up all night long, and she still had the sore muscles to prove it.
Niveah shook her head. It was still hard to believe that she’d had sex with a perfect stranger. Part of her was angry at herself for not getting his phone number. She would have loved hooking up again, loved spending a second or even third night with him. But deep down she knew that would have been a huge mistake. Now was not the time to indulge in a seedy affair. She had a job to do, and it was imperative that she stay focused. Besides, Damien was hardly the relationship type. He was the kind of guy who promised to call at the end of a great date but didn’t, who dated three women at the same time and lived for the thrill of the chase. No, she was definitely better off alone.
“The staff meeting is about to start.” Her assistant’s voice came through the intercom loud and clear. “Mr. Russo just walked in the conference room with the new guy, and everyone’s clamoring for his attention.”
Prepared to meet the enemy, she stood, buttoned her blazer and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror behind the door. Her Chanel power suit was a chic, loose-fitting design and her Gucci eyeglasses gave her a mature, intelligent air. To complete her all-business look, she’d skipped the makeup, pulled her hair back in a no-nonsense bun and passed on accessories.
In the mirror, Niveah practiced a tight, toothless smile. Perfect. She looked serious, almost deadly—like the kind of person you didn’t mess with. A grin surfaced, quickly overwhelming the corners of her mouth. No one was going to push her around, especially not some hotshot from back east who Mr. Russo had hand-picked to be the next VP.
On the walk over to the conference room, Niveah went over her game plan. Befriending this Hunter guy was definitely the way to go. She’d play nice, work with him closely, then knock his feet out from under him. Guilt pricked her conscience, but she brushed all second thoughts aside. The advertising world was a ruthless, cutthroat business. To succeed at Access Media and Entertainment a girl had to play dirty, and that was exactly what Niveah intended to do.
Inside the conference room, her colleagues mingled at the breakfast table, grabbing coffees, chatting and munching on pastries and fruit. Starving, but too nervous to eat, she scoured the room for her boss. He was standing over by the window. Beside him was a much shorter man with sunken cheeks and sandy brown hair. Bingo. Mr. Hunter in the flesh. Deciding this was the perfect opportunity to introduce herself, she strode over.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Niveah greeted. “It’s another gorgeous day in Tampa, isn’t it?”
Damien frowned. That voice. That scent. He shook off the thought that sprang in his mind. No way. It couldn’t be her. He’d been thinking about his sexy one-night stand for the last seventy-two hours, and if he didn’t stop daydreaming, Mr. Russo would show him to the door. Damien refused to let that happen. After twelve years in the business, he was ready for the big leagues. Blowing this opportunity would earn him a one-way ticket back to New York, and since he had no intention of returning to the cold, corrupt city, it was time to get his head in the game.
Tearing his gaze away from the window, he turned, prepared to meet the woman who was talking amicably to his assistant.
“This is Damien Hunter,” Mr. Russo said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Damien, I’d like you to meet, Niveah Evans. Like you, she’s one of our brightest and most talented …”
Damien stopped breathing.
Then, his whole body turned ice-cold.
It was her.
The woman he’d had hot, passionate sex with three nights earlier. The same woman who’d swiped his platinum watch and tiptoed out of his suite while he was in the shower. Damien’s mouth fell open, but nothing came out. Suddenly, he didn’t know up from down, right from left, or something as rudimentary as his first and last names.
“Over the next eight weeks,” his boss continued, oblivious to his physical distress, “the two of you will be heading up the Discreet Boutique menswear campaign, and I don’t have to tell either one of you that there’s a lot riding on this.”
Ride me, baby. Faster! Faster! Faster! She’d increased her pace, rocking her hips expertly, powerfully, with more zeal than a veteran pole dancer.
Damien snapped his eyes shut, deleting the image from his mind. He ordered himself to get a grip. To return to the present and quit reliving the past. What happened with this Niveah chick was a one-time deal, and if he wanted to be the next vice president of Access Media and Entertainment, he had to obliterate all thoughts of last Saturday from his mind.
The atmosphere was charged with tension, and Damien had the strange feeling that he was being watched. A glance over his shoulder confirmed it. Several women were staring at him. Had Niveah told her colleagues about the night they spent together? Did they know he’d gone down on her repeatedly? Damien stamped out the thought. Before this morning, she didn’t know who he was. Or did she? Fear burned in his lungs. What if … what if their hooking up hadn’t been a chance meeting? What if it had all been a setup? A scheme to blackmail him? It was a real and frightening possibility. In his twelve-year advertising career he’d seen it all. Powerful, accomplished men brought down by scandals. Even when the rumors turned out to be false, their careers were damaged irrevocably.
His features hardened and it hurt to smile. Not that he had reason to. He’d given Niveah the best sex of her life, and now she was playing him. Acting like he was a nobody. A scrub. A bugaboo. But what did he expect from a thief? Damien didn’t know why he was surprised. This was the nature of women. To lie, steal and cheat. They were sharks, every last one of them. Isn’t that what he’d learned from a long list of ex-girlfriends?
“I look forward to working with you, Mr. Hunter.”
Without missing a beat, he nodded and extended his hand. “Likewise, Ms. Evans.”
He searched her face for a sign of recognition, for acknowledgement, for something that indicated she knew who he was. Nothing. Not a blush, not a smile, not even a blink. Isn’t this a bitch, he thought, glaring at her. She’s pulling a Bill Clinton. Pretending we didn’t have sex all night long. Well, I’ll show her!
“If you’re not busy this afternoon, I’d like to sit down with you and discuss the—”
Damien spoke over her. “There are a few people in the production department that I’d like to have a word with first,” he lied smoothly. “Again, it was nice meeting you.”
Moving on, he introduced himself to everyone in attendance, shaking hands and making note of those he’d be working with on the Discreet Boutique menswear campaign. Damien was just starting to relax when he heard Mr. Russo call his name. “Damien,” he boomed, beckoning him with a large, beefy hand. “Come over here. I’d like you to say a few words.”
Damien coughed. For him, public speaking was as natural as breathing, but he suddenly felt out of his element. Feeling as inept as a nine-year-old delivering the opening address at the G8 Summit, he advanced slowly toward his boss.
Underneath Damien’s suit jacket, sweat soaked through his white designer dress shirt. And it didn’t help that Niveah’s eyes were all over him. Her gaze, filled with loathing and disgust, burned a basketball-size hole in his forehead. To remove the bitter taste in his mouth, he snatched a plastic cup off the refreshment table and downed the orange juice in one gulp.
“I know you’ve all had the pleasure of meeting the newest member of our team, but I’d like to formally introduce everyone to Damien Hunter. In the last decade, he’s crafted some of our most memorable ads, and I’m excited to have such a creative talent on board with us.”
“Thanks for the warm welcome, Mr. Russo. I’ll keep this brief, because I know you’re all anxious to get back to work, right?”
Polite laughter and smiles rose across the room.
“Like all of you in here, I strive to be the best in my field.” To ensure he was heard above the hum of the coffee machine, he raised his voice. “Forty years ago, the founders of this great company set out with a dream. A dream to set the advertising industry on its heels with their unique ads, slogans and media spots. I’m thrilled to be working with such a creative, go-getting bunch, and I’m confident that with hard work, commitment, and collaborative input, we’ll have a successful year filled with more profits and promotions.”
Fervent applause followed.
Damien snuck a look at Niveah and wished he hadn’t. She was inspecting her French manicure, a bored, uninterested expression on her face. He felt the urge to kick her chair, or give her shoulders a good hard shake. It was hard to believe this was the same woman who’d dropped to her knees, grabbed his package and given him the best oral sex of his life.
Niveah raised her head. There was a warning look in her eyes, and he read the message clearly: say a word and you’re a dead man. For now he’d play her game, but this was far from over. Disgust clogged his nostrils as he watched her. Niveah Evans was one hell of an actress. Drama students should take pointers from her, he decided, sliding a hand into his pocket. Recalling how she’d screamed and cursed as she climaxed, made him grin. The creative director might be able to fool their colleagues, but he knew the real Niveah Evans. The sultry, bad-ass chick who was a freak between the sheets.
Damien examined her. Remembering how she’d purred when he’d sucked her nipples into his mouth made it impossible for him to stare at anything but her chest. He dragged his gaze back up her face, only to have it dip back down to her cleavage seconds later. Worldly wise, there wasn’t much that got past him, and one glance at Niveah, sitting all prim and proper in her padded chair, told him she was a fraud. A fake. A woman with more faces than Lady Gaga. Why else would she look like a sex kitten on New Year’s Eve and a sexually repressed librarian three days later? Niveah was trying to pull the wool over his eyes, but he wasn’t having it. Before the end of the work day, he was going to get to the bottom of things—and retrieve his watch—because no one tricked him and got away with it.
“Dammit, Jeanette! Quit laughing, this is serious!”
“I can’t help it,” she admitted, still tittering, “This sounds like an episode of Desperate Housewives, and you know how much I love that show!”
More giggles flowed over the phone line.
Niveah leaned against the tiled wall and crossed an arm under her chest. Sneaking off to the bathroom in the middle of the staff meeting to call Jeanette was risky, but she couldn’t handle being in the conference room a second longer. Not with her hands and legs shaking furiously. Shocked didn’t begin to describe how she felt when her boss introduced her to Damien Hunter. Ashamed and mortified were more suitable words, but she wasn’t about to tell her best friend that. Besides, Jeanette was too busy busting a gut to realize the severity of the situation. “I can’t believe this is happening. This is my worst nightmare come true, and you’re cracking up like you’re watching a Chris Rock HBO special.”
“Girl, I’m sorry, but this is just too rich!” Her tone was filled with awe. “Okay, let me make sure I got this straight. Your one-night stand—the guy you had, and I quote, ‘the most amazing sex of your life with’—is the clown from the East Coast office? The man Mr. Russo expects you to work with on that big Discreet Boutique account?”
Niveah cringed. Again.
“I could kick myself for calling in sick today. I would have given anything to see the look on your face when that Damien guy came into the conference room.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t pretty.”
“I bet. You’ve gotten yourself into one hell of a jam, and I’m dying to know what you’re going to do next.”
“Nail the Discreet Boutique campaign, that’s what.”
“No, not about work, about this Damien guy. Are you going to approach him, or pretend your rumble in the jungle didn’t happen?”
“Can you stop saying that?” Niveah snapped. “It’s not funny.”
