BENTLEY Page 2

  God, he’s so damn smarmy and arrogant .

  But worse than that, I totally hate that part of me likes the attention he’s giving me. It’s only because he’s hot, though. He probably knows how attractive he is, of course he does. Which explains the cocky know-it-all attitude. Thinks he can get away with murder and probably has .

  He’s bad news, and that should bother me far more than it does at the moment …

  I scowl at him and face the street again, gathering myself. I need to get out of here. Screw waiting for a cab. I’m not that far away. I’ll just walk .

  “Want a ride home , doll ?”

  “I have a name,” I ground out. Why am I still standing here, entertaining this conversation ?

  He doesn’t seem perturbed. Instead, he steps closer to me until we’re inches apart. I can feel the heat pouring off his body. His head is tilted as he’s studying me like it’s the first time he’s seeing me. “What’s your name ?”

  “Samantha,” I find myself saying. Though I don’t know why I bother. I’m never going to see him again .

  “Samantha,” he repeats in a low tone that almost sounds like a purr. His hand reaches up and strokes my upper arm, and my skin erupts in goose bumps from the touch. “I’m Bentley. Let me take you home .”

  I find my body swaying toward him before I even realize what’s happening. He’s looking at my mouth again, and I suddenly want to taste the whiskey on his lips. I want to get drunk off him .

  But then I remember exactly why I’m standing here now instead of working. “Fuck off,” I say, then stomp down the street away from him .

  The sound of his light chuckle follows me, which I studiously ignore. I keep my back straight and don’t turn around. At least not for a minute or two .

  When I finally do turn to peek over my shoulder, he’s not there .

  And that’s for the best, I remind myself. That guy is trouble—I shouldn’t be thinking about what I just turned down because of my pride .

  Yeah, okay, he got me fired, but deep down I know he didn’t mean to. He only threw that punch because Chet was being a dick to me. And he wanted to give me a ride home, to boot. It just burned me up that he didn’t feel any guilt over me getting canned .

  And if he had given me a ride home, what would have happened next? Would he have just let the cab drop me off, or would he have tried to come inside? And would I have let him ?

  Doesn’t matter. I lift my chin and keep moving .

  There’s a change in the atmosphere, and then drops start falling from the sky. The clouds open up and it pours rain, plastering my hair and clothes to me. Great. Of course. Because it’s not enough for me to be fired. It also has to storm. This is exactly the kind of shit that happens to me .

  Not a minute later, a shiny black limo pulls up beside me, and then the back window rolls down as the car rolls along beside me. Bentley is nestled inside the back seat, peering out at me .

  How in the fuck is this ex-convict sitting in a limo and I’m getting soaked to the bone in the rain ?

  He quirks a brow in amusement at my predicament as I shiver in my soaked clothes. “Get inside, Samantha,” he says smoothly. “I’ll take you home .”

  “I’m fine.” No way am I getting in a car with a total stranger. I don’t trust him, no matter that there’s a part of me that wants to. A part of me that wants to give in to the quiet command in his voice .

  Besides, my apartment isn’t that far away now. I don’t need his help. Clearly he’s insane—maybe the limo is stolen. I’m so not getting involved in that shit .

  Naturally, the rain chooses at this moment to dump harder on me, and I try to pretend I have a shred of dignity left as I keep walking in the soaking rain, the car just purring alongside me .

  “Samantha,” he says in a warning tone. “Stop being stubborn .”

  My nostrils flare in irritation, and I say loudly, “I’m not interested. You’re a jerk and you’re arrogant. Goodbye, Bentley…” I drawl off because I realize I don’t know his last name .

  “If you insist,” he offers, a laugh evident in his tone .

  I pretend to ignore him without responding. My apartment building is on my left, and I dart up the stairs and fly inside .

  Once I’m in my apartment, I strip off my sopping-wet clothes and hop in the shower to warm up. My skin is clammy and chilled. I let the steam heat bring life back to my limbs, and as I scrub myself down and try to wash the bad day down the drain, I try not to think about Bentley what’s-his-name, the guy who messed up my life .

  Then I crawl into bed and close my eyes and will myself to continue not thinking about him .

  It’s much more difficult than I hoped it would be .

  * * *

  S unlight peeks through the broken slats of my window blinds as my phone’s alarm screeches at me. I reach over with sleep-heavy eyes and shut it off, groaning and scrubbing a hand over my face. Shit. I have to go job hunting today, and I know I look like crap .

  I barely slept last night. Despite my attempts to force myself to not think about Bentley, the crazy-drunk guy who evidently steals limos for shits and giggles, I couldn’t get him off my mind .

  He wove his way into my dreams, those sexy lips sliding down my rain-damp skin as he pulled me into the backseat of the limo. And God, he knew how to use those hands of his to make me orgasm again and again .

  I shake off the thought and peer out the window to see if it’s still raining .

  The limo from last night is parked there in front of my building .

  My heart gives a startled lurch. Is that… Is he really here? Shock floods my veins. Shock and more than a bit of excitement, even if it’s crazy to feel that. He’s clearly a stalker, and if that limo is actually stolen, then he’s dumber than I gave him credit for being .

  I run a brush through my hair, clean myself up a bit, and pull on a skirt and light shirt, then slide into sandals and head outside. I’ll give him hell, I rally myself. And even if I am a tiny bit excited to see him again, it doesn’t matter .

  I step onto the sidewalk, and the back door of the sleek vehicle immediately opens .

  Instantly I realize my mistake .

  Bentley wasn’t waiting out front all night. He’s freshly showered, shaved, and wearing an impeccable dark gray suit. The man before me is nothing like the one I saw last night—well, not completely. That same weighted look is there in his eyes. The same element of danger, the mysterious brooding. But everything else is different .

  Gone is the baseball cap, the jeans, the ex- convict vibe .

  It’s like he was wearing a Halloween costume, playing pretend. And as hot as he looked before, he looks ten times hotter and more intimidating now …

  Bentley steps out and stands over me, and I try not to gawk. This I hadn’t expected. And it’s clear he didn’t steal the limo. It’s his. Everything about him, from the suit to the shoes, screams money. And I’m utterly lost and confused. Why is he here ?

  “Who are you?” I manage to ask, finally, when I regain my voice .

  “Bentley Strongwell,” he says, flicking a business card out of his wallet and handing it to me .

  When I look down at the text on the pristine white card, my stomach twists. And I realize how familiar his name is. Data is flying in my brain left and right .

  Bentley Strongwell…of course. I know that name. Everyone knows that name .

  Strongwell Ink, the largest independent book publisher in the world. A company seen on the fronts of NYC magazines due to its innovative approach to the industry .

  This man is rich. Powerful. Sexy as hell .

  And standing on the sidewalk of my crappy apartment building .

  Bentley

  S amantha is staring up at me with those wide, innocent eyes as recognition kicks in about who I am. I can see the confusion all over her—she has a shitty poker face .

  That’s fine, though .

  She makes up for it by being sexy as hell, curvy in all the
right places, with her little attitude that she thinks hides just how overwhelmed she is by nearly everything around her .

  Damn if she doesn’t make me feel a hundred different things at once. And damn if I don’t need to find out why .

  Admittedly, part of me gets a kick out of how baffled she is. No doubt she’s wondering what happened to the man she saw last night .

  He’s still in me, of course, but tucked deep, deep down now, not to be seen by anyone. Last night was my once-yearly escape. Today I’m back to my normal self. Back in control .

  I couldn’t sleep much last night, thinking about Samantha. About her sassy mouth, those lips that I couldn’t help picturing stretching over my hard cock .

  Hell, I even liked the way she turned me down, told me to fuck off. I can’t remember the last woman who did that—most fall all over themselves to get a crack at my money .

  Not this one. The limo didn’t impress her one bit .

  But given the definite spark of interest I’m seeing in her eyes as she looks at me, the way her breathing is uneven and her pupils are dilated, lips parted, she is interested in me. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it .

  Which just confirms I’m making the right decision .

  “I was thinking about it,” I say lightly. “I was wrong to have cost you your job last night .”

  This makes her brow quirk. “Oh?” she says, seeming to have found her voice. “Well, that’s mighty big of you.” The sarcasm in her tone makes me want to laugh and put her in her place all at once—this girl has a fire in her belly. I like that .

  But she isn’t just going to have everything her way. That’s now how I do business, and that’s not how I handle things in the bedroom, either .

  “I’m going to make it up to you by giving you a new job,” I continue, pretending to ignore her comment .

  That makes her shut up for a moment. Her mouth drops open as she stares at me, clearly astounded. “ Uh , what ?”

  “I’m in need of a new assistant and I’d like to hire you for the position. I’m fairly certain the money will be a substantial improvement over your…previous gig.” I smirk. No doubt she was making shit wages, scraping by on tips and whatever she could scrounge up day to day .

  Samantha’s eyes turn wary, skeptical. She’s clever. I’m sure she’s thinking this is some kind of scam. Why would a man in my position do something like this—what is my angle? She licks her lower lip, and I try not to get distracted by the tip of her tongue licking the plump lip. Fuck, this woman has no idea how sexy she is. That much is evident by how she behaves .

  She’s not a natural flirt. She’s real, genuine. I’m so unused to women like this, I barely know what to think. But I’m a damn fine read of character, and I know she’s not faking this .

  “How do you know I can do the job?” she finally asks, brow raised .

  “If you can file and make copies, type forty words per minute, and be on time, I’m fairly certain you can do it,” I lob back. Something tells me she’ll be fine. She’s smart—that much is evident just from her gaze .

  She shifts to her other foot, as she mulls over what I say. Then she looks at me, determination in her eyes, and I find myself intrigued even more by this woman. Very, very intrigued .

  “I can type over sixty words per minute,” she says. “And I can also put together a statistical model for next years’ publishing releases if you need it .”

  “Math major, huh?” I say. I have to admit, I’m impressed. I don’t yet ask the question I have—what the fuck is a girl like her doing working in a shitty bar anyway? Her talents are being squandered. She’ll do much better at my company, working under me .

  At that thought, I have a momentary flash of her physically under me, thighs spread wide open, the scent of her soaked pussy filling the air. Jesus. This woman could be dangerous for me. I’m far too attracted to her .

  Control , I chant to myself. I’m not going to lose it. No matter what else happens, I will stay in control of the situation …

  Samantha answers the question I never asked, as if she can read my mind .

  “I took a break from college and plan to apply to NYU once I save enough money .”

  “Even better,” I reply. “Get in the limo. You can start working and saving for school immediately .”

  I can tell she’s on the fence, despite feeling tempted. Her big brown eyes are studying me, trying to determine if I’m as honest as I appear to be. But I can’t sit here all day while she decides what to do. I need to nudge her into action .

  “It’s an offer for a job, not marriage,” I say impatiently as I glance at my watch. “Now or never, Samantha. Make up your mind .”

  That does it. She sucks in a breath. Nods. And gets into the car with me. We weave our way toward Strongwell Ink on Avenue of the Americas. The whole ride there, I warn myself to ignore the faint scent of her skin. I can’t touch her. I won’t .

  I’m in control here, always have been…and I sure as fuck will not get involved with one of my employees .

  * * *

  O nce we get to the office, I put Samantha in the care of the head of HR to fill out the appropriate paperwork and get her started. And it couldn’t come soon enough, because I need air .

  Space from her .

  I can’t help but wonder, what the fuck was I thinking, offering this woman a job? Damn guilty conscience. Being enclosed in the back of the limo was bad enough. Hearing Samantha’s soft breaths, watching her shift on the seat, those long and curvy legs crossing and uncrossing…my fingers itched to clamp down on a thigh and force her to sit still, if only to make her stop distracting me. But if I touched her, I was going to be lost .

  I head into my office and call in Kim, my temporary fill-in, whom I pulled from her department to assist me until I replaced my former assistant, Bethany. Briefly, I explain to Kim that I need her to train Samantha and get her up to speed ASAP .

  “You got it, Mr. Strongwell,” Kim says with a polite smile. She never quite warmed to me, though she’s done fine at the job. Kim’s a grandmother who feels motherly toward the admin in our company. I’m guessing she heard about Bethany’s unfortunate…attraction toward me, which prompted her to dramatically quit after I rejected her advances .

  I never led the woman on. Never even touched her. I don’t shit where I eat. Business is business, and pleasure is pleasure .

  Once Kim leaves, I turn my attention to answering emails and returning calls. I dig into my desk for two Advil—last night’s drinking binge left me with a bit of a hangover. I type out notes in an email draft on what meetings I need lined up for Kim and Samantha to set up for me .

  There’s a soft rap on my door .

  “Come in,” I say without looking up. My fingers are flying across the keyboard, and I try not to lose my train of thought .

  “Bentley—um, Mr. Strongwell.” Samantha steps into my office. “I…finished with HR and I wanted to know what you’d like me to do next .”

  The sound of her husky voice makes my cock grow hard. What would I like her to do? I think about those small hands stroking me under my desk. Her on her knees, peering up at me, asking me what I’d like her to do next .

  Fuck .

  “Go find Kim,” I manage to say. “She’s at the nearby desk. She’ll tell you. I’m drafting an email now of tasks for you two to finish.” I can’t fucking look up at her, because if I do, I’m going to move from behind this desk and grab her around the waist, feel those curvy tits against me, her warm and supple body …

  I’m hard as a rock and I need to get my head clear of this nonsense. She’s just a woman, and I’ve had plenty—there are lots of fish in the sea, no reason to fixate on one of the few ladies I can’t allow myself access to .

  I just need a few more moments to get myself together. To will this attraction away. This woman is my employee. That’s all .

  When I feel like my libido is firmly under control, I give her a steady look. Her cheeks are flushed, and
her hair is spilling down her shoulders to curl on the tops of her breasts. Her shirt is thin enough for me to see the lace of her bra. She’s holding a folder by her side, probably paperwork from HR .

  Get your shit together, I warn myself. I’m not gonna look at her tits. I refuse to. “Just a few more things to be aware of,” I tell her. “You take your lunch break when I do, and you stay as long as I do in case I need you here. You’ll be well compensated for your hard work. And you’ll be taking Kim’s desk—she was just substituting until I found a permanent replacement for my former assistant .”

  “What happened to her?” Samantha asks. I can see the question in her eyes. She’s wondering if I’m a nightmare to work for or if it’s something else .

  “She quit,” I say bluntly and leave it at that. I’m sure as hell not getting into details about the dramatic scene that led to Bethany leaving. I’d like to pretend it never happened, actually. That was a complication I didn’t need .

  Samantha’s face smooths, and she gives a curt nod, seeming to shift into work mode. Good. She leaves, and the door clicks closed behind her .

  With her presence gone, the room feels different. I push her out of my mind and get back to my email .

  A half hour later, my cell rings. It’s my cousin, Steve .

  “Steve,” I say as a greeting, swirling in my office chair away from my computer. “ What’s up ?”

  “Saw your mom this morning when she came into my store. She wants to know if you’re coming to dinner tonight,” he says in his usual jovial tone. Nothing rattles Steve. Two men could not be more opposite than he and I. Whereas I’m tense, a control freak, unable to get close to people, Steve is relaxed, goes with the flow. Everyone loves my cousin. He manages a jewelry store that’s been in the Strongwell family for a couple of generations now .

  Of course, he’s coming from a different place than I am. I was adopted when I was nine. The family loves me like one of their own, and I’ll never forget that .