Captivated by the Tycoon (The Whittakers #4)(20)
Author: Anna DePalo

“You took me on as a client because of the money,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe you realized there was an even easier way to earn some cash.”

She didn’t bother to deny the first half of his statement. She had taken him as a client because of the money—not to mention the publicity and recognition. She was just surprised he’d realized it, too, and had hired her anyway.

Still, the fact he’d gotten it halfway right did nothing to lessen her outrage. “If that’s what you believe, then I’m more convinced than ever I don’t belong here.”

She tugged down her top, then looked around for her shoes. She spotted one peeking out from under the bed, and picked up the other from where it was lying on its side on the rug.

The act of dressing reminded her of what they’d been doing moments before, and brought a hot heat to her face.

“I’ll drive you back,” he said tersely.

“That’s not necessary.” She wouldn’t look at him.

“You’re not walking out of here alone at this hour.” His voice was hard and commanding.

“I’ll manage,” she retorted.

She could ask the doorman to hail her a cab. “I wouldn’t want you to risk a compromising situation by driving me back.”

He ignored her. “I’ll call you my car and driver.”

At her raised eyebrows, he added, “I have one on call. All the top executives at Whittaker do. I use one to get to and from the airport when I fly for business.”

Minutes later, when they got down to the lobby, the driver was waiting for her.

As the car pulled away from the curb, she glanced out the darkened passenger window to see Matt standing on the street, hands thrust into trouser pockets, a brooding expression on his face.

Only when the driver turned a corner, however, did she let the tears flow.

Seven

Matt leaned back in the leather armchair and gazed at the Boston skyline visible from his living room window. He swirled a snifter of brandy, downed a taste and set the glass down again on the armrest.

An hour or so ago, Lauren had run out of here as if the devil were nipping at her heels.

At the time, his adrenaline had been flowing. He’d been aroused, revved up and ready to go. Naturally when she’d said stop, his frustration had been at its peak.

Now, though, he could try to assess what had happened with a cooler head. Of course, he didn’t believe she’d been trying to blackmail him. Those words had come flying out of him because he’d been confronted by a situation that didn’t make sense and had been suffering from a sizable amount of frustrated desire.

One minute she’d been soft and pliant in his arms, the next she’d gone rigid and withdrawn.

Something had gotten to Lauren, and the change had been so abrupt, so thorough—like a flip of the switch—that he was willing to bet money now that whatever it was, it predated his arrival on the scene, or at least, his arrival this second time around.

He wondered whether Parker’s jilting had done this to her—this lack of confidence—and his gut tightened at the thought.

Not that he had any experience with this sort of thing, but he figured something like getting stood up at the altar could have undermined Lauren’s confidence as a woman—no matter how desirable and attractive she was.

And she was lovely. She made him ache just looking at her. He had trouble being in the same room with her without his sex drive roaring up to speed like a race car. He wanted to topple onto the couch with her—no, scratch that, they’d never even make it there, it would have to be the floor instead—and make passionate love.

The fact he’d had the fortitude to carry her to his bed earlier in the evening was a miracle. He’d gone from zero to sixty in under a minute, so turned-on had he been by her. That hadn’t happened to him with any other woman.

He tilted his head and stared at the twinkling lights of Boston. On second thought, maybe that had been the problem. Maybe she’d sensed his barely leashed desire, and it had brought her insecurities to the surface, scaring her off.

He raised his glass and took another gratifying swill. There was always the possibility, of course, that her reaction in the bedroom had been happening even before her almost wedding to Parker.

Now that was an interesting thought. Good ol’ Parker as less than a satisfactory lover, but too much of a gentleman to admit to it.

Sure, it took two to tango, but in Matt’s experience with women, he’d learned there were plenty of men who didn’t know or didn’t care about their partner’s pleasure.

Of course, he thought ruefully, he was one to talk. His performance earlier this evening hadn’t been too far from setting its own speed record because he’d been so hot to have Lauren.

He had to set things straight between them. She didn’t deserve the words he’d given her. And he needed to understand what had happened tonight as much as she did. He wanted her too much to do anything else.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Him. I mean, him, Lauren corrected in her mind.

It had become her mantra. Unfortunately, Candace hadn’t heard it enough. How else to explain why her receptionist continued to bring up Matt?

She and Candace were having lunch in Ideal Match’s reception area, having picked up soups and salads from a nearby deli, and already Candace had mentioned Matt three times.

Ever since Candace had walked in on her and Matt on that rainy day almost two weeks ago, she’d persisted in bringing him up, evidently in some deluded quest to make her Boston’s Most Envied Bride, as if Matt were some trophy and she were a lead contender in the prize tournament.

Actually, Matt was a trophy, but the only thing she wanted was his framed shot on her wall, above a caption alluding to Ideal Match’s biggest success story to date.

Of course, she hadn’t heard from Matt since Sunday, when she’d dashed out of his apartment. For all she knew, he no longer considered himself her client.

Given what a flaming disaster her attempt at playing the seductress had been, she now couldn’t consider him as anything more.

But then again, she was crazy to consider him as anything at all. He’d made some unforgivable comments.

She stabbed her fork into her salad with more force than necessary, then hoped Candace hadn’t noticed.

She hadn’t told Candace anything about Sunday night and her angry exchange with Boston’s leading single. She didn’t want her receptionist making some snide comment when Matt called—if he called.