DISCOVERY (Esquire Black Duet Book 1) Page 5

  Looking through the flower bundle, I don’t find a card. I grab a glass from my cabinet and fill it with water before I shove them inside.

  I don’t think about why I do it, or why I don’t throw them in the trash. I just set them on my kitchen island. Trying not to look at them, I decide not to dissect the reason why I’m keeping them for another day.

  Opening up the refrigerator, I look for something to eat. I decide to make a quesadilla and take out two flour tortillas and a block of cheese.

  It’s an easy and fast meal that is absolutely not healthy at all. I open the cabinet and grab a can of refried black beans to add to it before I take out a pan.

  Setting a tortilla on the pan, I turn the burner up to high and cut some cheese to place on top. After opening the can of beans, I take a spoon and spread the beans over the melting cheese, covering that with more cheese and then the other tortilla.

  Once my quesadilla is warm and the tortillas are a little crunchy, I place it on a plate and take a spoonful of sour cream, leaving a big dollop in the middle.

  Fortunately, nobody is around to witness me shoving this food in my face. When I’m finished, I grab a pint of peanut butter cup gelato and eat the entire thing, bent over the kitchen sink, not giving a single shit about it.

  I’ll probably have to size up my wardrobe soon, but I can’t seem to care, not in this moment. It tastes too good, and I’m too hungry to care. Lillie would scold me on my culinary decisions, but she’s in Paris eating croissants and drinking espressos.

  Walking out of the kitchen, I shuffle toward my bed, strip down to just my panties, and crawl between my sheets. I’m too tired to care about pajamas tonight. The last thing I imagine before I drift off to sleep is Lucas Black and his wicked smirk.

  Damn him.

  Chapter Five

  BROOKLYN

  I let out a breath as I begin to close down my office. It’s been a week since Lucas had the coffee, muffin, and the flowers delivered to me. Other than those things, I’ve heard nothing else from him.

  It leads me to believe that he’s possibly someone who gives up easily when he doesn’t get what he wants, the way that he wants it. I don’t imagine that he is, not with his position at his firm, but he’s completely disappeared.

  Perhaps he just didn’t want to put in any effort with me, which, to be honest, is probably for the best. He’s too much for me to handle anyway. He’s too handsome, too charismatic, too—everything.

  Today has been long and stressful. I received phone calls from both Mr. and Mrs. Dunning, their doctors, and the psychologist they’re scheduled to meet with. They all had different questions, concerns, and rants.

  Basically, they’re all driving me crazy.

  I’m sure it’s an attempt to keep me from doing my job, but I can be annoyingly persistent when provoked. They’ve definitely provoked me.

  The amount of resistance they’re showing is a great cause for concern when it comes to Fisher and his well-being. The Dunning’s are definitely hiding something.

  I’ve set up a meeting with Curtis Dunning and his attorney about some of the information I’ve found. Neither sounded too thrilled, but his gambling is a concern, mainly because I can’t find the paper trail for it.

  When you win large amounts of money at casinos, they’re required to file with the government for tax purposes. I’ve found nothing of that sort in Curtis’ background.

  If he’s indeed gambling often, I have a feeling it’s illegally. While it’s not my place to prosecute such things, I do think a judge and the authorities should be notified. The law is the law, even if it isn’t my expertise.

  Shutting down my computer, I shove my phone into my purse as I grab my keys. The office is quiet, as it always is on Friday nights.

  It’s already dark and I cringe at the thought of walking in that big empty parking garage all alone. Sucking in a deep breath, I decide to stop being a pussy and just go.

  My high heels echo in the cement structure. Keeping my head down and my eyes focused on each step I take until I’m almost to my car, I feel a shiver slide up my spine, as if someone is watching me. Slowly, I lift my head and my steps falter at the sight before me.

  Mr. Lucas Black himself is leaning against the side of my car, his legs crossed at the ankles, and his eyes very much focused on me. My feet don’t falter because I’m scared, not really, it’s just, I’d almost forgotten just how downright sexy he is. Almost.

  He’s wearing navy blue suit pants that are tailored to his long legs to perfection. His light grey button-up shirt is opened a bit at the collar to show off his upper chest.

  His sleeves are rolled up to showcase his forearms—his muscular forearms. So sexy. I’m pretty sure men know exactly what they’re doing when they roll up their sleeves like that.

  They must know how it affects us women. Judging by the tip of his lips, he knows.

  “How may I help you this evening, Mr. Black?” I ask, clearing my throat as I take a few steps closer toward him.

  I have to look up into his eyes, even though I’m in high heels and he’s leaning against my car with his head tipped down. He’s tall, I estimate his height to be around six-foot-three inches.

  A mouthwatering six-foot-three inches at that.

  He’s long and tall, lean and if I touched his abs, I think they’d be sculpted with ridged muscle.

  He smirks. I assume it to be his signature expression, as it comes very easily to him. “Your car is a piece of shit, Brooklyn,” he murmurs.

  My body jerks slightly, and I narrow my eyes at him, glaring up into his green gaze. “You’re such a dick,” I announce. My eyes widen in surprise, shocked that I’ve actually said those words aloud.

  His shoulders shake with a quiet laugh as he smiles broadly. “Yeah, beautiful, I know,” he admits.

  “Why are you here? And why do you keep giving me flowers?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.

  His brows rise and he shakes his head once. “I haven’t sent you any flowers, not since the ones you promptly shipped right back to my ass, kitten,” he murmurs.

  My eyebrows pull together, remembering the bouquet wrapped in plastic on my front porch. Even at the time, I thought it didn’t seem to be his style, but hell, what do I know?

  He pushes off of my car while I’m thinking, and then I’m suddenly wrapped in his arms—his strong, spicy, masculine scent surrounding me.

  One of his hands wraps around my waist while the other rests at the side of my neck. He’s so close, so fucking close, that it wouldn’t take very much effort to kiss him—not much at all.

  His hard body presses against mine, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I like it a little too much, too much to ignore or pretend that I don’t.

  I’m in so much trouble.

  LUCAS

  Brooklyn’s dark bangs brush the tops of her eyebrows, and my eyes skirt down toward her amber-colored gaze. Fuck me, but she’s pretty. Those eyes of hers, they suck me in.

  She should not be working in this shitty office, making next to nothing, driving some piece of shit, and wearing cheap material and even cheaper shoes. She should be in a high rise, working her way toward partner. Or living a life of luxury as a trophy wife.

  Her breath comes out in short puffs as I lower my face. My lips brush hers, and I swear to fuck, her gasp makes my cock go from half-mast to completely fucking hard.

  “Lucas.”

  I’m unable to hold back my moan. My name slipping from her lips in only a whisper, fucking shit, it’s the sexiest sound I’ve ever heard. Makes me wonder what she’ll sound like when she’s coming.

  I shift my hand from her neck to the back of her soft hair. It’s thick, and I’m curious as to just how good it’s going to feel as it trails down my naked body when she’s kissing me.

  Pressing my mouth against hers, I let my tongue trace the seam of her soft, plump lips. She gasps again, and I take the opportunity to let my tongue slip inside of her warm mouth.<
br />
  Christ.

  She moans on the second swipe of my tongue, and I’m seconds from losing my shit.

  Her hand reaches behind my neck, and I feel her fingers dive into my hair at the nape and hold onto me. Her soft tits press against my chest.

  Turning around, I walk her backward a few steps closer to her car so that her back is against the side of her shitty little Chevy Cruze.

  I grind my cock against her stomach, searching for relief, practically begging for it. Gently, I slide my hand up her side and cup her full breast, groaning at the feel of her soft tit overflowing in my hand.

  Trailing my lips down her neck to the swell of her breasts, I squeeze her tit once more, a little harder than I did the first time.

  “Luke,” she moans.

  “Come to dinner with me, Brooklyn,” I murmur against her neck.

  Her small hands wrap around my shoulders and, swear to fuck, the heat from her feels like she’s touching my actual skin.

  My grip tightens in her hair as I kiss up the other side of her neck, inhaling her sweet scent—chocolate and something floral.

  Her body shivers slightly beneath my touch, and I grin against her skin. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she exhales.

  Nipping the skin just below her ear, I whisper. “Then come home with me. Nobody will see you.”

  I feel like she’s an angel and I’m the devil on her other shoulder, begging her to be bad. Except, I only want her to be bad for me.

  Her body freezes, and I know it’s the moment I’ve lost her soft, pliable eagerness.

  “I’m sure there are rules against it, Mr. Black,” she states.

  “Beautiful, my hard cock is pressed against your stomach, my hand is on your sexy as fuck tit, my lips are on your skin, and my hand is in your soft as shit hair. No way in fuck should you be calling me anything remotely close to Mr. Black,” I growl, ignoring the rest of her protested argument.

  Her body starts to shake slightly, and I lift my head to look into her face. She’s laughing. I watch her, enjoying the way her amber-colored eyes sparkle as she tries to keep from bursting out in laughter in my face.

  “Your description. Hilarious, and yet, true,” she says. It’s a beautiful sound, the way she’s still laughing softly as she looks up at me.

  “I’m Lucas, and you’re Brooklyn. That’s how we’re starting this,” I state.

  Her head tips to the side, and I watch her straight white teeth sink into her plump bottom lip before she speaks.

  “What exactly is this?”

  Reluctantly removing my hand from her soft tit, I press my thumb against her bottom lip and trace it, feeling the softness of the flesh against the pad of my thumb.

  “I don’t know,” I admit.

  I don’t like the uncertainty of the way I’m feeling, but I don’t tell her it’s a one-time-fuck when I know that’s not what I want. I’m pretty damn certain that one fuck won’t be enough.

  I’m going to need more than just a few thrusts into her sexy body before she’s worked out of my system. I’m going to need to control her, devour her.

  She is unlike any woman I’ve wanted before. Maybe it’s me that’s changing, though I doubt it. I think that I’m just intrigued by her.

  Once I have her, once I’ve claimed her, I’ll be over it and move on to my next conquest.

  “But first, dinner,” I say, releasing her and taking a step backward.

  She shakes her head a few times. “You’re counsel to one of my cases, Lucas. I’m pretty sure this is seriously frowned upon.”

  “It’s dinner, Brooklyn.”

  She bites her bottom lip again. “It’s not just dinner and you know it.”

  Yeah, I fucking know it. I also know that in a few hours, I’ll be well acquainted with exactly what she tastes like, what her pussy feels like wrapped around my dick, and I’ll know what she sounds like when she comes.

  I’ll know what she looks like when she comes, too. I’ll fucking know it all, and I can’t wait.

  “C’mon, kitten. Enjoy a nice dinner, on me,” I urge, giving her a smirk and a wink.

  She looks like she’s about to say something, her mouth opens then shuts as soon as her phone begins to ring in her purse. I take another step back, giving her a bit more room, but not too much.

  I watch her while she digs the device out of her handbag—another cheap thing about her. It looks like a pay-by-the-minute phone, fucking hell.

  I make a mental note to have Peg pick up a nice bag, briefcase, and goddamn phone for her and have it delivered later in the week.

  “Hello,” she says.

  I watch her for a few minutes, wondering why she isn’t replying to the person on the other line.

  Then, as if my questions are answered, her face pales and her fingers shake as she ends the call and throws the phone back in her bag.

  She’s acting as though her phone has caught fire, and she can’t get rid of it fast enough. I crowd her again, wrapping one hand around her waist and the other around the side of her neck while I force her wide, scared gaze, up to mine.

  “What the fuck just happened?” I bark.

  “I-It was nothing. Some heavy breathing, and then a deep voice,” she whispers as tears fill her eyes.

  “Beautiful, what did that voice say?”

  She sucks in a deep breath before she exhales, “Watch your back, you fat bitch.”

  My hands flex against her at the words she’s just whispered. I need that pained, scared look off of her face, and I need it gone now.

  “Get the fuck in my car, Brooklyn,” I demand.

  “Lucas,” she murmurs, shaking her head from side to side.

  Leaning down, I press my lips to hers in a hard kiss. Wrapping my hands around her plump ass, I slide them down to her thighs and with a bend to my knees, I pick her up.

  She rips her lips from mine before she cries out, “I’m too heavy, Lucas. Put me down.”

  “Kitten, you’re fucking perfect, now shut your mouth. You’re getting in my car and I’m taking you out for a drink.”

  Setting her down, her feet touch the ground, but I don’t release her. I keep my gaze on hers, focusing on her wild frightened eyes.

  “We’re going to enjoy a nice cocktail, then I’ll bring you back here, and I’ll follow you to your place to make sure you’re safely inside.”

  “Okay,” she relents with a whisper.

  She slides into my passenger seat, her body curled within itself. I hold my anger at bay, but only barely. Closing my eyes, I take a long breath before I climb into the driver’s seat and start the engine.

  I drive toward a bar and wrap my hand around her knee, giving her a squeeze, trying to be comforting. I don’t remember the last time I had to actually comfort anybody.

  It’s not who I am. I fuck and walk away, I don’t do dates, I don’t do comforting, I don’t do emotions or feelings—at all.

  Brooklyn is stoic throughout the entire ride, even as we sit down at the pub table. I order her a margarita on the rocks and watch as she takes a couple sips. I wait for a few moments, until the liquor his her system.

  Without pushing her too much, I find out that she’s from Ventura. She’s lived here her whole life, and she went to UCLA Law School.

  It doesn’t surprise me that she could get into their program and pass it without a struggle. She’s smart. However, I find that I miss that little smart ass from earlier. I want her back.

  “Kitten, what’s going on in this pretty little head of yours?” I ask as I drive us back to the parking garage.

  Tonight hasn’t gone anything like the way I had envisioned. I don’t mind it though. I’m glad that I was there for her when she received that call.

  There is no way she would have been able to function on her own. Not based off of what I’ve experienced this evening with her.

  After each of us has consumed a drink, I guide her toward my car and take her back to the parking garage.

  When I pull
my Ferrari up to her shitty car, I wrap my hand around her arm and give her a gentle squeeze. She lifts her eyes and looks at me, the sadness and worry apparent.

  “It’s fine. I’m fine,” she lies. “It was probably just a wrong number. You know, some asshole probably got rejected by some girl,” she mumbles.

  “I’m following you home, kitten. I’ll be right behind you,” I ensure.

  She nods, but her eyes look fucking terrified. Even she doesn’t believe a second of her piss poor explanation, and neither do I.

  Watching as she walks over to her car door, opens it, and slides inside, I wait. Then she starts her engine and, less than a minute later, she’s driving down the street, headed toward the freeway. I pull out of the parking garage, close behind her.

  Keeping my eyes on her car, I decide that she needs a new ride, new clothes, new shoes, and a new handbag. No—she doesn’t need them—she deserves them.

  And for whatever reason that I refuse to dig deeper into, I want to be the man who gives all of those things to her. With that crazy as fuck thought, I pull up to her condo, parking right behind her shitty little car.

  Watching as she slips out of her front seat, I do the same, locking my car as I jog behind her. She freezes in the entryway, and I look down. Flowers. Cheap as fuck flowers, like the ones that come from the grocery store.

  “Unlock your door, Brooklyn,” I murmur against the back of her neck.

  Her body jerks and I watch as she sticks her key inside of her lock and twists. I pick up the flowers and break them in half before jogging over to her trashcan and dumping them inside as she makes her way into her home.

  “Stay where you are. Let me check your place, first,” I gently order once I reach her side.

  She nods, standing woodenly in her entryway. I lock the front door and then quickly check the bedrooms, the closets, and the bathroom without really looking at anything except for an intruder before making my way back to her.

  “Don’t leave me, Lucas,” she whimpers, looking up at me.

  Her amber eyes spear through my fucking heart—pleadingly. She’s beautiful, and I chastise myself for thinking that a woman so terrified, is so downright gorgeous in her fear, but she is.