Reckless Encounter

  RECKLESS ENCOUNTER

  Tatiana March

  ****

  All women fantasize of making love to a stranger. That’s what Elena Rodriquez tells herself when a potential new client mistakes her for a call girl. She plays along. One night of clandestine passion. No one will ever know.

  And no one does. Until four months later, when her law practice flounders and her only hope is winning the business of Maxwell Glaser.

  Max has struggled to forget the pretty brunette who gave him the best night of his life. Now that he’s found her again, he wants more. Only she turns him down. Max agrees to back off, but he didn’t become a retail tycoon by playing nice. He built his fortune through single-minded determination.

  And he intends to pursue Elena with the same ruthlessness.

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Maxwell Glaser, room 244.

  Elena Rodriquez shoved the piece of paper with scribbled instructions back into her briefcase and snapped the lid shut. At the reception counter, a line had built up behind a tall woman arguing over parking charges. Turning to survey the elegant lobby of the Fitzroy Hotel, Elena spotted a house phone on a gilt and glass console table by the wall. She strode over, her high heels clicking against the marble floor. Next to the telephone, a label with printed instructions advised her to dial eight before the room number.

  She punched in the digits, 8-2-4-4, and waited.

  No reply.

  Hesitating, Elena lowered the receiver to the cradle. She was late. The client had been expecting another lawyer at least an hour ago, and she’d been brought in as a last minute replacement. Perhaps she ought to go upstairs and knock on his door. If the man was busy talking on another line, he might let her in, and she could set up her laptop while he finished the call.

  In the elevator, Elena shrugged off her raincoat, shook away the raindrops and folded the garment over her arm. With a hurried glance, she checked her reflection in the mirrored wall. No smudges of mascara on her skin. The sage green wool suit accentuated the green flecks in her hazel eyes. Her hair, long and dark, hung in limp strands down her back, but if she gathered it up into a chignon it wouldn’t dry. She decided the slightly disheveled look was better than having the damp mass of it coiled at the nape of her neck.

  According to her former boss, Tony Harris, whose frantic phone call had sent Elena driving into the city through the spring storm, the client wanted to revise a lease agreement for a new retail store tonight and be ready to sign in the morning. It might take hours to comb through the draft and agree any amendments. If she had to work through the night, the fee of five thousand dollars wouldn’t seem so generous, after all.

  So what? Elena turned away from the mirror and exhaled a weary sigh. Big law firms only referred clients to small practitioners when the income wasn’t worth the aggravation that went with the job. Unfortunately, the stack of overdue bills on her desk meant she couldn’t afford to turn down assignments, however tired or depressed she felt.

  Bitterness welled up in her as she recalled how life had been before she’d been forced to leave her job at McKenzie and Harris, one of the most prestigious law firms in Seattle. To start with, she’d resisted the pressure to resign, but in the end she had given in. She hadn’t wanted to stay after Steven—the grandson of a founding partner and the man she’d planned to marry—had accused her of leaking confidential client information to the press.

  Don’t think about Steven, Elena told herself. Think about the job.

  The elevator doors slid open with a smooth swish. She got out and hurried along the carpeted corridor, checking the numbers on the pale wooden doors. Outside room 244, she halted, took a deep breath and rapped with her fist, a calm but firm sound that echoed in the serenity of the quiet corridor.

  The thud of muted footsteps came from the other side. The lock clicked. When the door pulled open, Elena gave a startled gasp and took an involuntary backward step.

  A powerfully built man stood in front of her, wearing nothing but a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist. Droplets of water glistened in the crisp curls that matted his broad chest. As the man braced one hand against the doorframe to lean on it, the play of muscles on his arm gave the impression of a subtle threat. The stern expression in his dark eyes added to the sense of menace.

  Unease twisted in Elena’s gut. She must have the wrong room, and the occupant seemed far from pleased at being disturbed. She should apologize, walk away, and ask for the client at the reception.

  As they stood facing each other in silence, the man raked an assessing glance up and down her body, his mouth pursed in speculation. At the end of his bold inspection, his eyes met hers, and he made a beckoning gesture, as if inviting her to enter.

  Her throat tight with apprehension, Elena said, “Mr. Glaser?”

  To her surprise, the man nodded. He opened the door wide and stepped aside. Not knowing what else to do, Elena followed him inside. She came to a halt by a pair of big leather armchairs that formed a group with a matching sofa and a coffee table in between. A huge bed dominated the far side of the room. A vague sense of alarm seized her. Normally, when out-of-town clients conducted business meetings in hotels, they either booked a suite with a separate living area, or they reserved a conference room.

  Ill at ease, Elena dropped her raincoat on one of the armchairs. Her mind raced in a confused tangle as she tried to avoid staring at the man’s heavy shoulders and rugged features. The blatant masculinity of his appearance caused a tug of sexual awareness deep inside her. Too late, it occurred to her that she ought to have remained in the corridor instead of following him into the room.

  But she was behind schedule. Maybe the man had come to the conclusion that she wasn’t coming, and had interrupted his work to take a shower. Now, he would ask her to wait while he retreated into the bathroom and made himself presentable. Then they would find some suitable public area in the hotel, a quiet corner where they could settle down to work.

  “I trust the agency sorted everything out with you,” Maxwell Glaser said in a voice that made her think of distant thunder. “I gave them my credit card number.”

  Frowning, Elena waited for him to continue.

  “I didn’t expect you for a while yet,” the man went on in his deep baritone. “I only got off the phone to the agency a few minutes ago.” A hint of annoyance entered his manner. “I was supposed to have a late business meeting but the arrangements fell through.”

  A cool smile drifted over his features as he repeated his bold inspection of her and nodded his approval. “I asked for a conservatively dressed tall slim brunette. They chose well.” His expression grew sharp. “Did you speak to anyone on your way up? I expect to be staying here often, and I value discretion.” As he spoke, the man picked up a towel from the back of the sofa and started to rub his dripping hair. His demeanor suggested that there was nothing unusual in how he had received her, or in his state of undress.

  Elena stared at him, confused thoughts whirling through her mind. The man radiated the raw power of a street brawler. The feeling of dominance stemmed as much from his arrogant confidence as his physical strength. She could see the muscles in his arms flex and ripple as he interrupted the task of drying his hair to tighten the slipping knot on the towel wrapped around his waist.

&nb
sp; “No, I didn’t speak to anyone,” she replied. His concern for discretion puzzled her. Perhaps it was something to do with competition—some business rivalry that created a need to keep the project confidential until the lease agreement had been signed by all parties.

  “You can sit down,” Maxwell Glaser said. “Keep your clothes on. When I’m ready, I’ll tell you what I want.”

  Her eyes snapped wide—and then everything fell into place.

  Agency. Order for a tall, slim brunette. Discretion. Hotel room. A naked stranger who had assessed every inch of her with the bold sweep of his penetrating gaze.

  The man had called an escort agency.

  He thought she was the girl they had sent.

  And he was pleased with what he saw.

  As her brain raced through each step of unraveling the situation, an odd sense of excitement took hold of her. Hot and cold needles prickled on her skin. Inside her, a coil of arousal tightened, until she could feel a dull throbbing between her legs.

  It would be easy to clear up the misunderstanding. She would apologize on behalf of the lawyer from McKenzie and Harris, and introduce herself as the replacement. The man might see the funny side of his mistake and laugh, or he might be embarrassed. Whatever his reaction, telling the truth would allow her a graceful retreat from the awkward situation.

  But when Elena opened her mouth to speak, the words refused to form on her tongue. Instead, the thrill of something forbidden wrapped tighter and tighter around her, making her body tremble and her breath catch in her throat.

  She’d always had secret fantasies about making love to a stranger.

  All women did. Elena was sure of it.

  As she fought the impulse of just playing along, her lids fluttered down to shield the heat she knew must be flickering in her eyes. A frantic pulse beat at her throat. Blood drummed in her ears, as loud as the roar of the traffic on the rain-soaked street outside. She stole another look at the man through her lashes.

  A complete stranger. Powerfully built male animal, ready to mate, ruthlessly reaching out to take what he believed he had bought and paid for.

  “Is everything all right?” the man asked sharply. He turned to toss the towel he’d been using to dry his hair on the back of a chair. Straightening, he took a step toward her.

  Elena took a step back. The man followed, his eyes narrowing. She moved again, and found herself trapped between the pair of leathers chairs and the low mahogany table.

  “I’m not getting into anything with an unwilling partner,” the man said in a harsh tone. “If you feel I’m…not your type, you’d better say so right now. I’ll call the agency and ask them to send someone else.”

  Elena felt her lungs struggling to draw air. The man edged closer, caging her in between the furniture. His roughly hewn features bore down on her. One corner of his full mouth kicked up in a sarcastic smile. His eyes were dark and large, set deep in their sockets, and their scrutiny burned like a flame on her skin.

  In her mind, Elena pictured the man crushing her against the big bed with his weight. His body would be covered in a fine sheen of perspiration, his face taut with lust. A tingling sensation spread from the base of her spine, until her whole body trembled with it. Each intake of breath caught in her throat. Her head spun. The room appeared to be shimmering around her.

  It was over a year since she’d last slept with a man.

  When she was still with Steven.

  In comparison, the blond good looks of her former fiancé suddenly seemed tame, insipid. For the first time since their breakup, the memory of him didn’t bring with it a sense of regret and longing—didn’t hurt the way Elena had feared it might hurt for years to come, until she grew too old to remember.

  The confused thoughts spun in her mind as she watched the man. He stood so close to her that she could smell the faint scent of soap on his skin. An uncontrollable burst of need overwhelmed her. Not a single argument she could marshal forth seemed important. Danger. Degradation. Public shame. Professional misconduct. The fevered agitation that had seized her circumvented every objection. The idea of his hands roaming over her body made her feel more alive than she had in months.

  She would let the fate decide.

  “Did the agency confirm the price with you?” With a supreme effort, Elena managed to keep her voice calm.

  “They said five hundred dollars.” The man took a single step away from her and raked her body with another predatory look.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” she informed him. “My fee is five thousand dollars, not five hundred. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I’ll telephone the agency and get them to send someone else. Someone in your price bracket.”

  Elena’s legs barely carried her across the expanse of the thick cream carpet as she retreated toward the door. She had to get out, before the girl from the escort agency arrived and exposed her. She’d call Tony Harris and make up some excuse. She’d say she had been taken ill on the way into the city.

  Her effort to save money by parking in the street instead of using the valet parking would work to her advantage. She could deny ever having made it to the hotel, ever having laid eyes on Maxwell Glaser. Because she hadn’t stopped to ask for him at the reception, no one could prove any different, unless they went to the trouble of checking the recordings from the security cameras and were able to recognize her in the blurred pictures.

  She’d go home, take the phone off the hook and turn out the lights. They would have to find someone else to finalize the lease agreement, no matter how desperately she needed the income from the fee.

  “Wait,” the man said through clenched teeth.

  Elena halted by the entrance. Her motions were jerky as she turned around to face him. The man stood still. His dark eyes roamed her body, came to rest on her face.

  “All right,” he said with a curt nod. “Not a problem. Five thousand dollars it is.”

  A heavy fog of tension wiped out every thought in her head, except an image of her and the warrior-like stranger tangled together on the wide bed with its mahogany headboard and pristine linen. Inside her, another fiery explosion of need scorched all objections. Without understanding why, she found herself burning with a sudden urge to wipe away the arrogant mask on the man’s face and turn it to an expression of passion and surrender.

  She knew it was a wild and reckless act to stay.

  And yet she couldn’t make herself leave.

  “Could I have a drink please?” she asked. It came out as a croak. She swallowed to soothe her dry throat. “Do you have any vodka?” she added. “I’d like a vodka and tonic, please.”

  The man went to the bar built into a mahogany cabinet and dropped to his haunches to rummage inside the refrigerator, a stance that emphasized the heavy musculature on his back and shoulders. He straightened with two miniature bottles clasped in one hand, a yellow can of tonic water in the other. Elena listened to the sounds as he unscrewed the tops on the bottles, popped the ring on the can and poured two drinks.

  Somehow, she managed to coax her body into motion. She unlocked the entrance door and pulled it ajar, knowing that she should walk through. Instead, she reached out and hung the ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the knob. She hoped that the girl from the escort agency would have the good sense to go away when there was no reply from the room.

  The man strode over to her and offered her a heavy cut-glass tumbler filled to the brim. Elena lifted the drink to her lips and gulped down the clear liquid, as though it were water, and she gasping with thirst. The alcohol hit her hard, first her throat, then her empty stomach, and finally her bloodstream.

  In a few moments, the drowsy haze of intoxication blunted her mind, making everything appear unreal. Truly, she told herself, the situation made perfect sense. She desired the naked stranger, and she would have sex with him. A sensible solution to a simple biological need that had gone unsatisfied for far too long.

  With a careless sweep of her arm, Elena handed
the empty glass back to the man. He didn’t comment, simply raised a dark, mocking eyebrow before walking over to the bar. He filled the glass again, retraced his steps and handed the drink to her.

  “What do you want me to do?” Elena asked. Nervous anticipation threaded in her belly. Now that she was no longer fighting against the sensual current between them, she wanted to get started, do something that would commit her to staying.

  Otherwise, she might come to her senses and flee.

  The man walked over to the big divan bed and settled to recline on top of the covers. Stretching his long legs out in front of him, he crossed them at the ankles and leaned against the pillows he’d stacked against the mahogany headboard.

  With controlled, deliberate movements, he placed his untouched drink on the bedside table. The muscles on his chest flexed as he lifted his arms high and laced his hands together behind his head. His hair stood out in a tousled black tangle against the whiteness of the bed linen. The knot around his waist unraveled, leaving the towel loosely draped across his hips.

  “I’d like you to stand there and take your clothes off,” he instructed her. “Piece by piece, very slowly. Once you’re done, I want you to remain standing there, until I decide what I want you to do next.” His expression didn’t reveal his thoughts. The only outward sign of tension within him was the slight tightening of his jaw.

  “Could we have some music on?” Elena asked in a voice raspy with nerves. Drink, she needed something more to drink. She raised her glass and downed what was left in it, then reached across the back of the sofa to lower the empty glass onto the coffee table.

  The man watched her, but didn’t offer to get her another drink, or invite her to pour herself one. He rolled onto his side to reach the radio by the bedside. The movement sent the towel sliding down his hips.

  “What kind of music?” he asked.

  “Could you find a classical station?” Elena’s eyes strayed to the slipping towel, the only thing covering his nudity. She could see the top of one powerful thigh, and the edge of a flurry of dark curls at his groin. The heavy folds of the white fabric covered the rest, not revealing a state of arousal, or the lack of it.