Pleasure Exchange (Avon Red) Part 9

Third cup of coffee in hand, Cat sipped and stared at the blank computer screen, willing the caffeine to take hold and clear the fog from her l.u.s.t-saturated mind long enough for her to write something creative. At this particular moment, she'd even settle for something decipherable.

Unfortunately she found herself too preoccupied with last night's delicious experiment for her to string together a coherent sentence.

She blinked and fought valiantly to focus her mind on the task ahead. Lord knows, no New York newspaper would ever touch her if she couldn't even conjure up the words to put together one measly little fluff article.

She closed her eyes, gifting herself with one more minute to remember the way Sam touched her, promising herself after sixty blissful seconds, she'd focus her thoughts and pull her article together before tomorrow's deadline.

As her lids slipped shut, heated memories of how Sam's hands caressed her naked flesh, pushing, pulling, raising her pa.s.sion higher and higher, drawing her in deeper until she was drowning in pleasure, rushed through her mind.

Skin flushed from heat and desire, Cat pressed her fingers into her thighs and squeezed as she thought about all those strategically placed mirrors. Her body quaked just thinking how Sam went to so much trouble to seduce her mind as well as her body. Her skin moistened. Her pulse leapt. A small moan crawled out of her throat.

She remembered the way her b.r.e.a.s.t.s trembled as Sam lapped at her, making slow, skilled pa.s.ses over her nipples with the soft blade of his tongue. She clamped her legs together as they began to quiver with yearning.

Cat recalled Sam's deep hypnotic voice and the way he coaxed her to let go and enjoy. Not that there had been much coaxing going on.

Cat inhaled, but what she drew into her lungs was not delectable memories of Sam's heady aroma. The offensive scent of cheap aftershave a.s.saulted her senses and pulled her from her musings. Pa.s.sion receding, she blinked her eyes open. Out of her peripheral saw Eric Hawkins crane his neck around the fabricated divider separating their desks.

Oh joy.

Of course, she knew it had to be Hawk; no one else in the office reeked of cheesy cologne. He reminded her of that cartoon skunk Pepe Le Peu, with ribbons of his funky scent billowing behind like a cloud of dust.

"Eric," she greeted through clenched teeth, refusing to give in and call him Hawk, no matter how much he insisted.

He leaned forward, his dark hair cloaking his beady eyes.

"Rough morning" he asked, gaze panning the length of her.

"You were making strange noises."

Cat shivered and folded her arms, her skin crawling from his physical inspection.

"No," she said flatly, shifting in her seat, making it clear with her body language that she had no interest in pursuing a conversation with him.

He wasn't deterred. Hawk grabbed his jeans, right around the vicinity of his crotch, and tugged before propping himself onto the corner of her desk. Cat resisted the urge to retch.

This man, and she used that term loosely, barely two years older than her, a.s.sumed his senior position gave him pull with the ladies, inside the office and out. He strutted the streets like he was G.o.d's gift to women. Lord, if Hawk was the gift, Cat hated to see the consolation prize.

Hawk raked his hand through his black hair, pushing it off his forehead. "It appears that little article of yours sure has caused a lot of trouble for that scientist." The man wasn't known for his subtleness.

Cat grumbled something incoherent under her breath.

He inched closer, until his thigh touched her arm. "I could probably talk Blain into letting you write another one." When she met his glance, Hawk shot her a suggestive look.

She watched as he toyed with his pen, an annoying little habit he had. Cat gripped her coffee cup tighter, resisting the urge to grab that pen from him and pierce a hole in his overinflated ego.

The truth was, Cat had asked Blain to let her write another piece, to clear up the media's erroneous take on her first article. Unfortunately, Blain refused to let her follow up on the story, insisting she keep to her "Cat on the Prowl" articles because that's what the readers expected from her. The only reason he had let her try her hand at an article in the first place was to appease her after months of ha.s.sling him.

Of course, it occurred to her if she wrote a follow-up and managed to convince activists Sam wasn't testing the serum on Rio, he'd no longer need her a.s.sistance for his experiment.

As much as she knew another night with him would be her emotional undoing, she couldn't help herself. She needed to be with him again as much as she needed her next breath.

"So what do you say, Kitty-Cat"

Her head snapped up. "I told you not to call me that."

Ignoring her, he continued. "Do you want me to talk to Blain for you"

As much as she'd like to write another article, she didn't want any favors from Hawk. G.o.d only knew what he would want in return. She shivered just thinking about it.

He lowered his voice and leaned in. His eyes skirted over her once again. "Come on, Cat. You really need to start being a player if you want to get ahead in this compet.i.tive business.

Come out with me Sat.u.r.day night and we'll talk about the ways I can help you."

She'd rather pull her toenails off with a pair of pliers than spend a Sat.u.r.day night with him.

Feeling compelled to show him exactly what she thought

of his nauseating idea, she slammed her coffee cup onto her desk with much more force than required. The coffee sloshed over the sides and landed on Hawk's jeans. Such a shame.

With bright-eyed innocence, she blinked up at him. "Oh, sorry."

Hawk jumped and swatted at his crotch. Likely the most action that area had seen in awhile. That small stunt might have earned her a scowl from him, but it gave her a whole lot of self-satisfaction.

His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared as his beady eyes tracked back to her face. "You know, Cat," he bit out, "a second article might have given you a chance to impress the editors at the Daily Press. You're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g your own career."

Better than s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g him.

Wait! Her mind raced. How did he know about the Daily Press Before she had a chance to ask, he turned his back to her and strutted away. Refusing to give him satisfaction by chasing after him, she sat in her chair and stewed.

Well, that hadn't gone quite as planned. Grumbling, Cat turned her attention back to her blank screen. Returning to professional mode, she dug into her interview notes and redirected her attention to this week's column.

A short while later, Cat blinked her eyes and was pleased to see she'd written a good chunk of her article. She scanned it, thrilled to discover it wasn't half bad. Actually, it was pretty d.a.m.n good.

As she read it over again, she found herself chuckling out loud, realizing just how much she enjoyed writing about mating and dating woes. She had to admit, when she hit the big times, she would miss frequenting the nightclubs and mingling with the young and well-hung, as she'd once heard it put. Cat enjoyed interviewing both genders on their dating disasters. Not that she had to frequent the clubs for research material, she just enjoyed the interaction. Lately, however, her phone had been ringing off the hook with people wanting to tell their stories to her. She had enough research material and ideas to last a whole year.

Cat climbed from her chair and stretched. Her gaze skated over the office, taking stock of her coworkers milling about, phones ringing, and televisions blaring as everyone kept a close eye on current events. It was only a small setup compared to the Daily Press, but most of the people in the office were her friends. She kind of liked the close-knit family feel to it. Perhaps it was because she'd grown accustomed to having so many people around, being raised in a family with six older brothers and all.

Her gaze fell on the floor-to-ceiling gla.s.s wall separating the office complex from the bustling downtown sidewalk.

The midday autumn sun sliced through the clear panels and beckoned her. Since she needed to grab lunch and stretch her legs, she decided to answer the call of the warm rays. As she

made her way to the door, she spotted her boss, Blain, seated in his office.

She stopped and backtracked. "Do you have a minute"

Blain glanced up from his keyboard, his kind brown eyes meeting her gaze. In some ways he reminded her of her father. Perhaps it was the short cut hair and tinges of gray around his temples. Blain played hardball with his staff, needing to run a tight ship, but Cat knew deep down he was a fair man.

"That depends," he replied.

They both knew the real reason she stood there, clinging to his doorframe like a barnacle, so there really was no point in skirting the issue. "So what do you say Have you changed your mind about me doing a follow-up"

"No."

Cat stepped farther into the office. "Come on, Blain. My article was great and you know it." Except for the fact that she made one teeny, tiny mistake and mentioned Rio, of course.

"That's not the point, Cat."

"Then what is the point" she asked, willing to play hardball in return to get what she wanted.

Blain drew air and leaned back in his chair. "Are we going to do this again"

Cat planted her hands on her hips; her lips thinned. "Sam is a good guy. He doesn't deserve to have protestors breath- ing down his neck. Let me write another article to make this right for him."

Cat stiffened as Hawk's voice sounded from behind.

"Sounds like someone is sweet on Mr. Scientist."

She spun around and met with dark eyes that burned into her like hot coals. One brow arched knowingly. He gave a derisive twist of his lips, his voice taking on a hard edge. "Is this article really about Sam, or is it about you, Cat"

"Hawk," Blain's voice grated in warning, obviously tasting the tension between the two.

Contrary to what Hawk believed, the article was intended to benefit Sam, not herself. This was no longer about personal gain or upping her credentials to impress the Daily Press, which made her take pause. Wouldn't a hard-core journalist use whatever means necessary to fetch a story Even go against their own best interests, or step on a few people along the way Some inner voice warned that, contrary to what her father believed or wanted, perhaps she wasn't cut out for hard-hitting news after all.

Ignoring Hawk, Cat turned back to Blain and switched tactics. "One article, then I'll drop it."

"It's too late, Cat. Yesterday I asked Hawk to do a followup.

He's on it."

Cat's lips tightened. Anger flared through her. She twisted around and cut Hawk a look, resisting the urge to whack that smirk off his face. The lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d had no intention of

talking to Blain for her, like he'd offered earlier, in return for G.o.d knows what. He'd known all along he'd gotten the follow-up.

She walked up to Hawk and pinned him with a glare. "You make this right for Sam." With that she stalked back to her desk. Mind racing, she stared at her half-finished article for the next fifteen minutes or so, yet couldn't seem to concentrate on a single word. Agitated, she rifled through her drawers, although she had no idea what she was searching for.

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her of her destination before she'd gotten sidetracked. Needing air, she grabbed an orange off her desk, pulled her tote bag out from beside her chair, and made her way to the front door.

As she approached the gla.s.s wall, she glanced out and spotted Hawk talking to someone on the other side of the street. The man looked vaguely familiar. Cat squinted, her mind racing, trying to place the guy Hawk appeared to be in deep conversation with. Then it hit her. It was none other than the infamous protester, Eugene Letterman.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. Why would Hawk be talking to Eugene Cat's stomach tightened. She felt her blood run cold. She didn't like the look of this at all. Not one little bit. Hawk was up to something. Every instinct warned her. Did this have something to do with Sam Were the two in cahoots If so, how and for how long Cat ripped the peel off her orange and moved closer to the window, wishing she could hear their distant conversation.

Hawk handed something to Eugene, but from her angle and distance she couldn't tell what.

Perhaps it was time for her to do a little investigation of her own, whether Blain approved or not.

Chapter 6

With all the metered spots taken in front of Cat's newspaper office, Sam parked a block down the street and walked the rest of the way. The warm sun beat down on him and helped soothe his ragged nerves. As he approached her building, he spotted Cat pushing through the front gla.s.s door and stepping out onto the curb. The minute Sam set eyes on her his body buzzed to life and his blood raced.

South.

He registered every curvy detail of her business attire.

Coat draped over her arm, she wore a knee-length black skirt that hugged her hips in all the right places and a soft green blouse that matched the color of her eyes. Cat scanned the street and ripped the peel off an orange like the two had a personal vendetta.

What was it with her and oranges anyway, he mused. Did she have some kind of addiction Sam could almost smell the succulent wedges. He could almost taste its vine-ripened sweetness.

He could almost stop his c.o.c.k from hardening.

d.a.m.n.

Twirling on the ball of her foot, Cat spun in the opposite direction and hurried down the street. He had no idea where she was headed, but her strides appeared to be quite determined.

"Cat," Sam called out to her, but the bustling pedestrians and street sounds swallowed his voice. Weaving his way through the lunch-hour crowd, he jogged to catch up. As his long legs ate up the distance, he called out again, louder this time.

Her footsteps stilled. She turned back around. Her mouth dropped open but no words came. He could almost hear a small gasp crawl out of her throat when she spotted him rushing toward her.

Smoothing her hair off her face, a gesture he was becoming increasingly accustomed to, Cat hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and stepped toward him.

"Sam. What are you doing here" He'd been the one jogging, yet she was the one who sounded winded.

Gorgeous cat eyes widened with a mixture of delight and surprise as she studied him. His heart skipped a beat, thrilled

with the way she reacted upon seeing him, and equally thrilled that there was no awkwardness between them after last night.

He touched her arm. He wasn't exactly sure why. He'd never been the needy, touchy feely type with women before.