.
door, glancing at his computer. He couldn’t wait to check his email and see if Kat had sent him anything.
“Like you know anything about getting lucky. Ha, how long has it been?” With the barbs renewed and laughter filtering down the hall, Kent sauntered away.
A good thing too, because Jamal had no desire to enlighten him. Flicking on the computer, he slipped into his chair and waited for it to warm up, his mind returning to the advice he’d just given. Damn, he felt like a fool, getting lured into sex by a fine chick who refused to give her name. What was she hiding?
At least they’d both known what they were after and there was no need for guilt when there’d been no follow–up phone call. Shit, the truth was, had she given him her name and number, he’d have used it by now. Her little cries of delight were pure torture on his memory, and though her scent had been washed away, he could swear her fragrance lingered just to play tricks on him.
Opening his email, Jamal scanned through more than six dozen incoming before his gaze settled on the one he was looking for. A double click and it was open, just a short hello note, and five attached files.
“Damn. You’ve been busy,” he muttered to the screen. He was grinning like a boy looking at a lollipop. He opened the first, and quickly read through it.
“What the hell?” His smile fell. His brows plunged forward. He read it a second time; flashes of a weekend memory scattered the page. Brick walls, neon signs, cries of passion.
“Get a grip, Jamal,” he said, opening the second and third file. His eyes scanned the stories, his pulse drumming in his ears. Tall leather boots, throbbing music, desire.
His hands were shaking as he clicked open the last two files, and read them over quickly. A stranger, a shot of booze, a kiss that didn’t happen.
“Holy shit!”
Jamal could hardly breathe as he leaned away from the computer and shut his eyes, bringing to life the Fly–Girl from The Night Kitty. She was a perfect woman, a perfect fuck. And then there was Kat, his perfect fantasy, his perfect wet dream.
The similarities between the submissions on his screen and the tell–all memories of lust were a bit too real, or was he imagining things? Maybe Kat just knew how to tap into the wanna–screw market. He’d always known she was great at creating fiction.
The other possibility freaked him the fuck out! Could he have just banged his best client? His super–star. Sucking breaths between his teeth, Jamal stared at the ceiling. Oh, yeah, bow–wow was right. He was a dog that deserved to be neutered. Good time, no string, public fucks had definite consequences.
He could only hope now that things didn’t get screwed!
Chapter 5
Pussy–whooped had never been a name he’d have called himself. Never a category he’d fallen into. Especially not after one dip of his stick. Until maybe now. Unnamed pussy at that.
Smoothing a hand over his shaven head, Jamal let out an exasperated breath. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d had one–night stands aplenty, years ago, and had never been so drawn into this shit before. He’d hit it and forget it. With no regrets.
Closing his eyes, Jamal rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying not to be sucked into the unrelenting guilt. It grew daily, even though he’d spent the week trying to forget how his bow–wow lust had gotten the best of him. He opened his eyes and stared accusingly at his computer, the black shut–off screen mocking him with the knowledge of what’d been in Kat’s files.
What he feared had to be more than a coincidence.
Tossing a stack of papers on his desk, he rose from his leather chair and glanced at the green digital clock displaying quitting time. Well after.
At least he’d been able to make it to Friday without rereading Kat’s submissions again. The first half–dozen reads had been enough. Enough to know that Kat had an undeniable talent to arouse and that his fantasy of her had been usurped by some get–down–and–phunky chick that had rocked his world.
It’d been pretty much the only thing he’d accomplished on Monday. Reading and remembering. Remembering the sweet honey and how closely her actions resembled the fictional characters of his client.
Somehow, on Wednesday he’d managed to print and package up her articles, sending them off to their appropriate publishers. He’d even done the entire task, only skimming the material, to make sure each was going to the proper house, and not giving it a thorough view. But that hadn’t stopped him from thinking about it. From remembering word–for–word how she’d described just how he’d fucked last Friday night.
One week ago. One week of hard–on misery.
“Was it Kat?” he mumbled, clicking his briefcase closed, then adjusting his rocked–up dick behind his slacks. Maybe it was the three–year erection from desiring the fantasy image of her that had him trippin’. Lack of blood flow in his brain. His body reacted like a well–trained hound after a scent, only he’d caught the scent of her articles and the chase of wanting her was on. Of getting between her thighs.
If there was a chance it’d been his super–star he’d given a good, hard bang between bricks and his dick, he wanted to know.
But it was more complicated than just casual sex. Sometime during the last three years, he’d developed an affection for Kat, the perfect cocktail of sweet innocence and enough aphrodisiac to make—and keep—a man hard. That’s what she was paid to do. Only he was her agent and not supposed to be getting–off on her work as much as he did. He was supposed to have maintained some level of professional distance.
That line had been crossed already—they’d become friends. They talked about personal matters and only Kat’s insistence had kept them from meeting in person. But it was more like skipping–rope than line–crossing if he’d fucked her. More like taking a lighter to the business–relationship card and burning the shit out of it.
Leaving his things in his office, Jamal headed down the hall. Even though it was late Friday afternoon, he hoped to catch Rebecca before she cut out for the weekend. He needed another perspective on this, though he had no intention of telling her he’d acted like an under–sexed irresponsible ass.
Rebecca was gathering her things when he looked in her office. He tapped his knuckles against the open door. “Hey, Bec.”
She glanced up from her bag, smiling as she greeted him. “Hi, JJ. You’re here late.”
She was blue–eyed, blond. Tall and thin, a professional beach–volleyball player before she’d become a literary agent, and every bit hot enough to be the sort of cover–model he’d represent. If he was a brother who was into the white chick thing.
Jamal shrugged. Working late every day, including Fridays, wasn’t unusual for him. “So are you.”
She laughed. “True. But I’m on my way out of here. What’s up with you?”
“You in a hurry?”
She turned toward him, leaning a slender hip against the edge of her desk, and flipped a few long curls over her shoulder. “Why?”
She might not be his type, but she was easy to talk to. “Nothing serious.” He sat down in a chair, spreading his legs, he leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees.
Rebecca laughed again. “Oh, not serious? Right.” Setting her things aside, she took a seat opposite him. “You’re full of shit. So spit. What’s going on?”
“You ever had a fling at work?”
“Are you hitting on me?” She winked at him. “Get in line behind Kent. He’s got first dibs on working–my–nerve if I ever leave my man.”
Chuckling, he glanced toward her. “He bothering you?”
“Nothing I