Seduced

Chapter 3

"This is not a date," Jessica reiterated once they'd arrived at the restaurant he'd selected and they'd placed their orders with the waitress.

Ryan glanced across the table at his date, and grinned. The sparkling laughter in her bright blue eyes belied her insistent tone and convinced him that she really didn't mind that he'd coerced her into having lunch with him. "You keep insisting that this isn't a date, but I think it all depends on how our afternoon ends."

Her features altered into mock suspicion. "What's the deciding factor?"

His gaze dropped to her soft lips, remembering the taste and lush feel of her. He could feast on her mouth for hours and still want more. "I think a kiss at the end of the day would determine whether this outing constitutes a date or not."

She dipped her head as she opened her napkin and spread it on her lap. "Sorry to disappoint you, Matthews, but this is strictly a business lunch."

He clasped his hands on the table and lowered his voice flirtatiously. "Ahh, but we haven't discussed any 'business' yet."

"But we will," she said, and dutifully pulled out her pad of paper and a pen, along with a very diligent attitude. "We need to nail down the specifics for the party so I can make the appropriate calls and get everything set up and scheduled."

"You win," he relented, feigning a defeated sigh. "Business it is. For today."

How was it that she looked both relieved and disappointed? The conflicting emotions he glimpsed intrigued him, and assured him that the potential for something more than their business dealings looked promising. It was just a matter of taking things slow and easy, and he had four weeks to persuade her to his way of thinking.

Admittedly, he'd never taken such time and care with a woman, but then the sophisticated, career-driven women he'd dated in the past had blatantly pursuedhim, and they'd both gone into the affair with the mutual understanding that there were no strings attached. Satiating physical needs had been the mainstay of those relationships, and ultimately their jobs had taken precedence over cultivating anything lasting. When they'd parted ways, they'd done so without regrets or emotional entanglements, and that type of arrangement had always suited him just fine.

Ever since meeting Jessica, he'd found himself growing more selective, to the point that he'd turned down a few offers from beautiful women he knew wouldn't make demands on his time. Attracting willing females had always come easily, but somewhere along the way indulging in a purely sexual relationship had lost its appeal.

Jessica stimulated not only his body, but his mind, and a woman hadn't accomplished such a feat in along time, if ever. She made him think of things he'd put aside for his career, made him wonder if combining a real, lasting relationship with his job was do-able.

Made him wonder if there was some kind of way to strike a balance between achieving success and maintaining traditional values.

Not with her,his conscience mocked, reminding him of her ultimate aversion to his profession. She was tolerating him because of the party she wanted to throw for Brooke and Marc, and no doubt would say good riddance come New Year's Eve, unless he could convince her otherwise.

Yet there was no denying their attraction-or her reluctance to let their desire for one another take its natural course. And that meant he needed to help things along at a gradual, coaxing pace, in a way that would entice Jessica to give him a chance.

"…I thought appetizers would be more practical, instead of a full-course dinner," he heard Jessica say. "Quiches, chicken fingers, stuffed mushrooms, buffalo wings. Those kinds of things that everyone seems to like. I can call a few caterers, get their suggestions, too, and an estimate for the party." She took a drink of her soda, her gaze expectant. "What do you think?"

He pretended to mull over her suggestion. "That sounds fine to me."

"Great." Seemingly pleased with his easy acquiescence, she scribbled a note on a piece of paper with the heading "Caterer." Meanwhile the waitress arrived with their meal, setting a bowl of potato cheese soup in front of Jessica, and a cheeseburger in front of him.

They both started in on their respective lunches. After a few spoonfuls of soup, Jessica continued with her agenda. "I was going to contactWilson's bakery to order a cake, and I was thinking we should go with white cake with a butter cream frosting."

He chewed on a bite of cheeseburger and thought about her bland suggestion. Not wanting to outright discount her opinion, he chose his words carefully. "I'm not a cake connoisseur by any stretch of the imagination, but what's wrong with a flavored cake, like chocolate, or lemon, or even something more exotic likeBlack Forest?"

She wrinkled her nose at him, silently rejecting his idea. "Not everyone likes those flavors, and vanilla is pretty safe."

"But not very exciting or different," he pointed out, and saw her brows pucker ever so slightly at his argument. "I mean, why do we have to go with just one cake?"

"Because…" Her jaw snapped shut when no other words emerged, then she tried again. "Well, I just thought…" Seemingly unable to find a solid answer to dispute his creative concept, her shoulders slumped. "I guess we could get a variety," she said reluctantly. "What doyou suggest?"

He'd put her on the defensive, and he hadn't meant to do that. And she obviously wasn't happy about his interference inher plans, but it just wouldn't be any fun if he gave in to her every whim without adding a little spice to the mixture. If it was really important, he'd let her have her way-but first, he'd prove to her that plain and practical white cake didn't compare to a more exciting, tasty and pleasurable array of desserts.

She was waiting for his ideas, very impatiently if the tapping of her pen was any indication. Keeping his expression unreadable, he dragged a French fry through a pool of ketchup and met her gaze from across the booth. "Can I have a few days to think about it?"

He'd definitely caught her off guard with his request to take the time to consider their cake dilemma. As much as he knew she would have preferred settling the issue here and now, she conceded to his request.

"Sure." She smiled as if to placate him. "Can you let me know your ideas and suggestions by the end of the week so we can make a decision and get the cake, or cakes, ordered?"

He nodded. "We'll definitely have it covered by the end of the week." And she'd have a new appreciation for the different tastes, flavors and textures of cake.

Closing her notepad, she stuffed it back into her tote bag in an attempt to terminate their discussion. He wasn't about to let her retreat so easily.

"Youmentioned going in together on a gift for Brooke and Marc," he said, sucking off a smear of sauce from his thumb. "What did you have in mind?"

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin as she swallowed a mouthful of soup. "I was thinking along the lines of something for their bathroom, which Brooke mentioned she wanted to redo in peach and greens. We could get them towels, a vanity set, a matching hamper-"

"Well, that's certainly very practical and sensible," he drawled, not at all impressed.

She bristled, a flicker of annoyance finally making an appearance in her gaze. "And what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I suppose, for old married couples." Done with his cheeseburger, he wiped his fingers on his napkin. "They're newlyweds, Jessie. Why not get them something fun and sexy for the bathroom?"

She stared at him as if he'd spouted Latin. "What in the world could be fun and sexy for the bathroom?"

Did she honestly have no clue? He shrugged, thinking of the things that would appeal to a woman, and a man, as well. "Lotions, candles and bath products. I've even seen some flavored finger paints that couples can use to rub all over each other's bodies, then lickoff."

Her brows rose in skepticism, contradicting the flush stealing across her face. "You're kidding, right?"

He searched her flustered expression, and wondered about her sexual experience. She didn't strike him as completely innocent, but he was beginning to suspect that she'd never experimented beyond basic sex. Had she ever really been seduced by a man?Really seduced, in a way that encompassed every one of her five senses?

Bits and pieces of their conversation yesterday at his office filtered through his mind:

Chemistry is a great start.

Which rarely lasts once the relationship turns physical.

Is that your experience?

She hadn't given him an answer, but he was beginning to believe that her sexual encounters had been brief, and inadequate.

"It's a romantic and playful gift," he argued lightly. "Brooke and Marc would enjoy it. Any couple would."

"I doubt it."

Stubborn woman, he thought. She wouldn't doubt his choice if she knew just how sensual and erotic bath-time could be when you had someone to play with in the tub.

"Tell you what," he said, more than willing to compromise. "You purchase the practical items, and I'll buy the fun, sexy stuff. We'll put it all together and the gift will be a great combination of both."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth pursed with frustration. No doubt she was wishing she'd never agreed to allow him to help with the party and planning.

"You're not convinced?"

"I just don't think your idea is a veryuseful gift, and it's not what I had in mind." Her tone was prim, but her words undercut him as a man who knew what women liked. "Maybe we ought to just buy our gifts separately."

Without further comment, he let the issue slide-for now. It appeared he had something else to teach her-about the many creative ways to enjoy being intimate. And when he was done with her, she'd gladly admit to his expertise.

The man was infuriating!

Jessica walked into her apartment, yanked off her jacket, and released a loud, aggravated sound that did nothing to dispel the frustration coiling within her. Why couldn't Ryan just be a typical male and leave the plans for the New Year's Eve bash to her? Why did he have to put a crimp in her plans and suggestions?

And why did he have to be so gorgeous and sexy and make her want him so much when she knew how foolish any liaison with him would be?

She sank into the old, soft chair that had seen her through many years of pain, anger, tears and confusion. Though the sturdy frame had been reupholstered three times since her parents' divorce when she was nine years old, the chair was the one thing she couldn't part with from her childhood. The softness and warmth had become a comfort zone for her, a place that swallowed her up and offered silent solace for her troubles, whatever they were.

Like her disconcerting attraction to Ryan.

It was silly to hang on to the chair, she knew, considering all the bad memories that came with it-but it had been the one constant in her life, other than Brooke. When her father decided that he preferred the single life with a younger woman over the family he'd created, which entailed nearly destroying his wife in the process, Brooke had been the strong one during the turbulent divorce that had ensued. Brooke had taken care of her, and their mother. The separation had been a nasty one, with her father hiring a powerful attorney who had no compunction about taking advantage of her mother's emotional shock. And since her mother hadn't been able to afford to hire a decent lawyer for herself, she'd lost most everything to her husband and his new lover.

Bitter memories swamped Jessica as she remembered the years after the divorce, of her mother struggling to make ends meet because their father never paid child support and alimony on time, and Brooke sacrificing her teenage years to help raise her because their mother had to work two jobs to keep a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, and food in their mouths.

An awful childhood, due to the abandonment of her father, and the insensitive, cruel nature of a divorce attorney more interested in his final take than a family's welfare.

She curled into the soft cushion and rubbed her hand over the powder-blue fabric. This chair had absorbed her tears and had taken all the angry pounding and abuse she would have unleashed on her father had he shown up to exercise his visitation rights. But ultimately, he hadn't cared for his daughters' emotional needs, just his own selfish desires. He'd never given a second thought to the family he'd left in shambles.

Neither had his cutthroat attorney.

When she thought of Ryan's profession, she thought of the lawyer who'd represented her father and coldly and cruelly demolished a little girl's dreams. A man who'd degraded a good wife and mother to benefit his client and pad his own pocketbook.

But Ryan wasn't cold and unfeeling and degrading. He was warm and caring and amusing, in a way that made her wonder how he was able to enjoy being a divorce attorney and accomplish all the necessary evils that went along with the profession when it was obvious that his own family ties were tightly woven. She wondered what had prompted his choice of occupation, then dismissed the thought because the answer really didn't matter-andshouldn't matter. Between his career and his drive and ambition, Ryan was completely wrong for her.

Closing her eyes, she burrowed her cheek against the plush headrest in an attempt to forget about her oppressive past, and the turbulent present. No matter the problems and afflictions that plagued her mind, the effect of the chair managed to calm her soul.

At the moment, Jessica was more concerned about the state of her heart… and Ryan Matthews easing his way into it. Despite everything he stood for, despite how frustrated and infuriated he'd made her today with the cake issue and his idea of a wedding present, she couldn't deny desiring Ryan Matthews, the man.

Her blossoming feelings for him were dangerous and could only lead to heartache. He himself had admitted that he wasn't looking for commitment, while she'd spent most of her adult life searching for just that, along with security and stability with a man. After living through her parents' nasty divorce, seeing her sister through a bad marriage, and making an error in judgment of her own in a previous relationship, Jessica was determined to make better choices. When she fell in love, she wanted it to last forever. When she married, she wanted to do it right thefirst time around.

And Ryan wasn't her vision of love and marriage material.

But he was a man who made her feel alive and desirable. He made her want to take risks and experience real passion. With him. The rest of the month stretched ahead of them, beckoning her to give in to that restless sensation swirling within her.

She drew a deep, shuddering sigh. She had no idea what she was going to do about her troubling attraction, and Ryan's unconcealed interest She was struggling between holding on to her convictions, or letting go and tasting the bit of heaven his smiles, touches, and kisses promised.

She feared the latter was winning the battle.

But no matter what happened between her and Ryan, no matter if she surrendered to the attraction she was finding increasingly hard to resist, two things were certain. She was holding firm to her decision about ordering a single vanilla-flavored cake for the party, and no way was she going to be a part of his outrageous, unconventional bathroom gift!

Three days passed before Ryan called Jessica to discuss his thoughts on the cake issue. He meant to call sooner, but work and late-night preparations for court appearances had interfered with his good intentions.

While she wanted to settle the disagreement over the phone, he'd insisted on coming by her place Thursday evening after dinner to resolve the matter-and made her suffer through another two days of wondering what he was up to and what he'd decided.

Finding a bakery who'd cater to his peculiar request hadn't been easy, thus part of the delay in seeing Jessica, but Ryan was confident that the end results of tonight's "taste test" would be worth the expense, and the wait. He planned to treat Jessica to her first seduction of her five senses.

After a long day filled with two depositions and a court appearance, Ryan headed home and changed from his suit into comfortable jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. Heading down to the kitchen to heat up the leftover spaghetti he'd made the night before, he picked up Camelot along the way and gave her the attention she wanted, then treats when they reached the pantry. While his dinner heated and Camelot munched happily on her morsels, Ryan skimmed through the day's mail.

He set aside two utility bills, tossed out the junk mail, and opened a few Christmas cards from friends. At the bottom of the pile was a cream-colored envelope, his name and address printed with gold ink. At the sight of Haywood and Irwin's senior partner's name andhome address affixed to the upper left-hand corner, a mixture of excitement, nerves, and anticipation swarmed in Ryan's belly.

Ripping open the envelope, he retrieved the engraved card inside. Elation bubbled within him as he read the contents. "I'll be damned," he murmured with a lopsided grin, feeling as though his six years of service and dedication to the firm, all his personal sacrifices, were finally paying off.

The gilded request invited him and a guest to the private, intimate Christmas gathering the senior partners held in appreciation of their most esteemed associates. Though the firm threw a casual office holiday party for all employees, only select members were invited to Haywood's home for the black-tie affair. It was an honor to be included in the elite group, a small but significant step up the corporate ladder, and it brought him one level closer to achieving his long-term goals. This was the first year they'd included him on their private guest list, and he wasn't about to refuse the opportunity to join the ranks of his other revered colleagues.

An RSVP card was included and requested notification of one or two guests. Anxious to respond favorably, he grabbed a pen from the holder on the counter near the phone, signed his name to the card, and moved to put an X on the line for one guest.

He hesitated. From what he'd heard and knew personally, the associates that attended Haywood's party brought their wives, or significant others. While he knew it wasn't a requirement that he bring someone to the event, he was also keenly aware that he was one of the few associates in the firm who was still a confirmed bachelor. No doubt, he'd be the only single and unattached employee in attendance.

The only person he'd consider taking was the only woman he had any interest in-Jessica. He imagined her in a room full of attorneys, and winced at the possibility of her cracking lawyer jokes and insulting the senior partners. But for all her joking and teasing with him, he'd like to believe she respected him enough not to undercut him in a professional atmosphere.

If she would even agree to accompany him to the party.

The idea of inviting Jessica definitely had merit. Not only would he have a beautiful, intelligent woman on his arm and wouldn't be the odd man out, it would also afford him the perfect opportunity to show her that attorneys were civilized people and not the ruthless savages she believed them to be.

Granted, there were lawyers who took advantage of people, as in any profession. He acknowledged that, but that wasn't whyhe'd chosen a career in law. Not only did he enjoy a solid debate, but his main goal had been to help people in need, in whatever capacity possible. And while he had some clients who were vicious and wanted revenge on their spouses, he always tried to look at a case objectively and fairly.

He wanted Jessica to treat him the same way.

Good luck in securing the date, Matthews,he thought cynically. That in itself would be an extraordinary achievement. Yet he wasn't ready to admit defeat without at least attempting to influence her into agreeing. He'd have his answer tonight.

The microwave beeped, signaling his dinner was warm. He ate a plate of spaghetti, headed back up to his bathroom to brush his teeth, then went to his closet. Flipping on the light, he perused his collection of silk ties and selected an odd patterned one he hadn't worn in years. He folded the strip of material and stuffed it into the front pocket of his jeans for later.

Then he left the house. He stopped at the bakery to pick up his order, and followed the directions Jessica had reluctantly given him to her complex. With a lightness to his step and the handle of a paper bag in each hand, he easily found Jessica's apartment and knocked.

She opened the door, dressed in white-washed jeans and a pale pink turtleneck, which was one of the most revealing things he'd ever seen on her. While the material covered her from wrists to throat, it was more snug than the loose sweaters and blouses she normally wore and revealed the full breasts that had pressed against his chest so deliciously that afternoon at his office.

Blocking his entrance, she crossed her arms over that lush chest, looking like a sentinel guarding priceless jewels. "I don't understand why we couldn't just handle this issue over the phone."

Knowing she'd discover his motives soon enough, he didn't bother to soothe her grumbles. Instead, he grinned, in too good a mood to let her complaint spoil what he had planned.

"Hello to you, too, Jessie." He stepped toward her, deliberately crowding her personal space. With his superior size, he forced her to back up and let him into her apartment, or end up pressed intimately against him.

With a startled gasp, she moved out of his way.

"Which way to the kitchen?" he asked, sending a quick glance around her place, which was decorated in pastels of blue, cream and bits of violet Very soothing. Very feminine.

"Why?" She closed the door and eyed him suspiciously. "I already ate dinner."

"So did I." He lifted the bags, drawing her attention to the packages in his hands. "This is dessert."

Confusion colored her features, and obviously rendered her mute. Since she wasn't being a hospitable hostess, he headed toward the left, where he spied a small oak dining table, which led him right into the kitchen.

"I'm not in the mood for dessert, thank you," she said from behind him.

"Oh, you will be." Setting the bags on a wide chair, he stacked her quilted place mats to clear the surface of the table for their smorgasbord.

She came up beside him, and regarded his actions pensively. "I thought you were here to give me an answer on the kind of cake you think we should order."

"I am, not that whatI think makes any difference to you and what you're determined to order." Done with his first task, he turned to look at her, letting a warm, lazy smile curve his lips. "You have it in that beautiful head of yours that being aman I haven't the slightest clue about cakes and desserts and what our guests might like."

A hint of a frown formed on her brows. "I never said that," she said quietly.

"Not in so many words, no, but you definitely thought it." He unloaded a number of small, square bakery boxes on the table, but left their lids secure. "I know you weren't thrilled with my suggestion of something other than plain ol' vanilla cake, so I'm here to convince you otherwise."

She stuffed her flattened hands into the back pockets of her jeans, drawing the material of her long-sleeved turtleneck tighter across her breasts. "What are you talking about?"

Masculine heat rushed through Ryan, followed by a sharp kick of desire. Judging by the faint outline of Jessica's nipples against soft cotton, Ryan guessed thatshefavored sheer, unpadded bras. There was nothing to conceal her body's natural response, and if he wasn't careful, his own unruly hormones were going to make his awareness of her just as obvious.

In an attempt to distract his thoughts he searched her kitchen drawers for a knife. "Out of necessity, I've become an authority on cakes, and when we're done sampling what I've brought, I'm confident that I'll have made an expert out of you, too."

She watched him set the knife on the table, then help himself to a chilled bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Ryan, you're not making any sense."

"It's simple, Jessie," he said, pushing up his shirtsleeves to just below his elbow. "I've arranged a taste test of various cakes, and we'll see which one pleases your palate the most. And if vanilla still comes out as your top choice, we'll go with it." He rested his hands on her shoulders. "All I ask is that you givemy flavors a fair chance."

She released a breath, and he reveled in the feel of the tension unfurling from her body. "All right," she agreed, and offered him a conciliatory smile.

Satisfied that he'd attained her cooperation, he patted the smooth, oak surface of the table. "I need you to sit right here."

"On the table?" she asked incredulously.

Unexpectedly, he touched her under the chin with his fingers, startling her. He gently lifted her gaze, so she had no choice but to look him directly in the eyes. Hers were so deep and blue he wanted to drown in their depths.

Very softly, imploringly, he said, "Just this once, make something easy on me, okay? And maybe you could trust me a little, too?"

He saw her internal struggle, and waited patiently, knowing he couldn't do this unless he had her complete and total consent. After a few heartbeats, her expression softened in agreement, and she granted him the permission he sought by sliding her bottom onto the table where he'd indicated.

"Perfect," he murmured, then withdrew the tie from his front pocket. Gradually, he let it unravel. With mesmerizing slowness, he threaded the cool silk through his hands and fingers, and finally wrapped the tapered ends around his fists.

She dampened her bottom lip with her tongue as she watched him manipulate the strip of silk. He expected her to be nervous, and he supposed on some levelshe was uncertain, but there was no mistaking the glimmer of anticipation that darkened her eyes.

It was all the reassurance he needed.

Her gaze traveled from the taut fabric in his hands, to his face. "What do you intend to do with that tie?" she asked, her voice husky.

"I'm going to blindfold you."