Damn. Women were always the talkative ones. This was the first time in his life he’d ever longed for one of them to break the silence.
“Are you, uh, okay?” he ventured. She nodded. He kicked himself for his lack of inspiration. So much for that stellar, brilliant attempt.
“That was incredible,” he offered.
“Yes,” she agreed.
He was heartened. “I didn’t mean for things to happen so fast between us,” he said.
She stifled a soft, whispery giggle. “Me neither,” she murmured.
It looked like she wasn’t getting all emotional on him, thank God. Maybe she was a reasonable female. “Well, there’s no going back now.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Meaning?”
“Meaning, I think we’re on to something here. It’ll be complicated, but it’s worth it to me. Let’s go get some dinner, and we can hammer out the details.”
“Details?” she repeated slowly.
“Yeah. Our mutually beneficial arrangement. It’ll need to be secret, for obvious reasons, but we can swing it. I’ll take you to my condo. We’ll order in. I’ll show you how beneficial it can be.”
She flipped the light switch on, unexpectedly. He blinked and took in the blazing fury on her face. It rocked him back on his heels.
“Not.” She grabbed her purse, began shoving things into it.
He was perplexed. “Nell—”
“That’s Ms. D’Onofrio to you, Burke,” she said, scooping up the scattered stuff on the table and stuffing it into her purse. “You can take your mutually beneficial arrangement and shove it right up your ass.”
She shrugged her purse over her shoulder and strode out. Her mane of black curls bounced with each brisk, angry step.
He lunged after her, grabbed her shoulder to spin her around.
“Don’t touch me.” She flinched away.
“You didn’t complain about me touching you ten minutes ago. Are you fucking with me? Because we both know that was mutual.”
“I am not fucking with you.” She spat each word out. “It looks like we were fucking with each other, but we’re done with that. Definitively.”
He shook his head. “I don’t get it. Just tell me if I need to call my lawyer.”
She blew out an explosive breath. “No, Burke. I’m not setting you up for a lawsuit. I’m not an extortionist or a con woman. If you want me to sign and notarize a piece of paper saying I came six times, I’ll—”
“Eight,” he specified.
“Do not push me,” she said, biting the words out. “The sex was great. You’re amazing in bed. Actually, that’s a misnomer. I’m sure you’re amazing on the floor, in the shower, up against the wall. But the minute you zip up your pants and open your mouth, you’re a rude, crass, graceless clod. So get out of my way.”
She wrenched open the door of the office and flounced out.
He stared at the door as it shut in his face, running through every goddamn thing he’d said and done to her. He couldn’t find any fault lines, any red flags, any horrible insults. What the hell had he said?
He felt like he’d been stripped naked and sucker-punched.
This was not over. He slapped the door open. The elevator down the hall was closing. He sprinted for it, but the doors pinged shut before he could wedge his fingers in. The other one was noodling up around the fiftieth floor. He dove for the stairwell.
Enough being baffled. Enough guessing games, enough bombs going off in his face. He was sick of it. She wasn’t getting away from him until he knew exactly what he’d done to piss her off.
Fuck this stress-inducing bullshit.
Chapter
5
Nell stumbled out onto the street. Her knees wobbled with anger and everything that had preceded it.
She set out, wiping tears away with the back of her hands, leaving horrendous streaks. She must look like a Halloween horror.
Mutually beneficial arrangement, her ass. Hammer out the details? He might as well ask for a fee schedule. Like a sushi menu. A combination platter. Four pieces of sashimi, maki roll, and miso soup. How much for a mind-bending kiss, heart-pounding dry humping, amazing protracted cunnilingus, and a long, hard screw on the conference room table? Should she give a discount for all the orgasms?
Crass, arrogant asshole. Reducing it to that, after he’d laid her so bare. Her heart, her fears and hopes, her deepest self, all stripped down and raw. Live wires carrying a lethal charge. As he had discovered, to his cost. She’d overreacted, maybe, but it had been all she could do not to scream like a banshee and swing her purse at his head.
Or maybe that had been just one last lingering remnant of common sense. All she had to do was look at the guy to see that she would not fare well in any sort of physical confrontation with him.
Her legs shook as she stumbled down the sidewalk. Her crotch was wet, hot and flushed and glowing with pleasure. As if all the lights had been turned on, and left on. Every step, every clench of her thigh muscles felt…well, good.
Damn him. That had been so cold, so crude, so unnecessary. He should deal with professionals, not dumb-ass romantics like her, primed and programmed to fall like a ton of rock. Embarrassing themselves and everyone else in their immediate vicinity.
She bumped into people on the sidewalk and bounced off them muttering soggy, abbreviated apologies. The colored lights were a dizzying tear-blurred swirl. She stopped at a street corner and wiped the tears and mascara away with her sleeve. God knew, this dress would have to be cleaned anyway. She might never wear the thing again at all.
She peered up at the street sign. Broadway. Good. Busy at all hours. Even though a faraway, disconnected part of her mind reminded her of her promise to Nancy and Vivi. The Fiend. It wasn’t safe.
But her wallet was so close to empty, she could not even afford a car service home, and her bank account was no better. She’d spent all of yesterday’s tip money on that stupid haircut this morning, and today’s tip money at the bank, on her break, paying down her hefty credit card minimum. And then the car service to Burke’s building.
But fear not, right? Salvation was at hand. High-level call girls pulled in a thousand an hour or more, depending on the services they were asked to provide, the level of kink. Not that she could really boast of her sexual technique, as little effective practice as she had, but hey, she could wing it, she could fake it. She had it in her blood, after all.
All she had to do was whip up a stiff fee schedule for that ice-hearted bastard, and there was the cash she needed, for the cab fares, haircuts, dresses, rent. Hell, her tuition, too. If she wanted to spend that much time on her back. Or her knees.
All she had to do was kill something inside herself. Something shining and precious and delicate. Something she’d never even known she had until that moment of astonishing connection with him. Hope.
She was appalled at her own vapid stupidity. She’d actually been hoping for love. Real love. From him. And she hadn’t let herself admit it.
She’d been walking for a long time. Her feet were aching. The busy, self-important city swirled around her. Wind swept down the street, cool against her tear-streaked face. She recognized a familiar sign. A big-chain bookstore where she loved to hang out when she had time. Standing for hours in the aisles, gobbling books she could not afford to buy. If any place on earth could offer comfort, it was that one.
Maybe she’d go in and buy something extravagant. Like the complete works of E. E. Cummings. She’d put it on her card.
And she’d stay in the place until they threw her out bodily.