Boardroom Sins. J. Critch Margot

were talking, laughing, and others were locked in intimate embraces, in various stages of undress. She looked around and noticed how the guests touched each other, spoke softly, as if they were lovers. But the faces were familiar, and she recognized many of them as some of Las Vegas’s most influential businesspeople, politicians and celebrities. It left her wondering exactly what kind of place Di Terrestres was.

      At the center of the room was a huge raised platform, and she imagined it must have been a dance floor, but no one was dancing; the patrons were so wrapped up in each other, it went unused. Her attention returned to the people around her, engaging in extremely private acts in a very public space, and she felt envious, not having been able to give in to her own desires in a long time.

      As a younger woman, she’d exhilarated in exhibitionism, and it was Brett who had brought that out in her. Their semipublic physical encounters were still with her. Back then, they’d done it everywhere—the college library, empty classrooms, store changing rooms—and the heat of the memories made her skin flush as it came over her from time to time. She shook her head in an attempt to disperse the images.

      Brett was nowhere to be seen in the crowd, but she did see a long bar along one wall and made her way toward it. If she was going to talk to Brett again, she needed a drink...or several. So she took her place on an empty stool between two men, who simultaneously gave her an obvious once-over before they both turned to her with interest as the bartender quickly made her way over to Rebecca. “What can I get for you?”

      “Gin and tonic please,” Rebecca told her, trying to ignore the attention of the men who flanked her. “A double.”

      The gorgeous bartender nodded. “You got it.” She quickly made Rebecca’s drink and placed it in front of her on a cocktail napkin.

      Rebecca withdrew her credit card from her purse to pay for her drink, but the bartender shook her head at her and walked away to serve the next customer. Rebecca’s eyebrows drew together as she watched the bartender take payment from another customer, and she wondered why she hadn’t been charged.

      Her question was answered almost immediately when Rebecca caught a whiff of cologne—the spicy, leathery scent she remembered so vividly from the night of the mayor’s party. Brett’s cologne. A dim shadow fell over her, blocking the already-low light, and soon she felt a wall of warm muscle come up behind her and press against her back. She stiffened, and the other men turned their attention back to the bartender, apparently not willing to interfere in Brett’s affairs. Brett rested his palms on the bar on each side of her, trapping her between it and his chest. She didn’t turn around, and she felt him lean closer, bringing his lips to her ear. “I knew I’d see you again soon, Becca.”

      “And I knew that I’d have to remind you again that I go by Rebecca now.” She sighed and looked over her shoulder at him. He was as gorgeous as always. In an attempt to steady her shaking hands, she cupped her glass and took a deep swallow of her drink. The gin was definitely top-shelf, and it hit the bottom of her empty stomach. Maybe she should have skipped the drink—no, going in sober wasn’t an option—or maybe she should have stopped to eat dinner before going to the club. And maybe, she thought as she looked up at Brett, either way she was making a huge mistake.

      She needed to keep a clear head, especially when the memories of the party had clouded every rational thought she’d had since that night. His proximity only made it worse. Her throat dried and she took a deep gulp of her gin and tonic and turned back to look at him once more.

      He was wearing gray slacks and a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at his throat with the sleeves rolled up, exposing the tanned skin of his strong, corded forearms. His thick dark blond hair was tousled, and a five-o’clock shadow dotted his firm jawline. It looked like he’d left work and come to the club. But it didn’t matter what he wore, he looked just as good as he had wearing his more formal blue suit a couple of nights ago at Mayor Thompson’s house.

      She steeled herself, attempting to hold back her emotions, her desire, reminding herself of the job at hand. But tell that to the breath she held in her lungs and the stirring in her core. She swiveled on her stool, rotating around to face him. He was standing over her, so closely that her knees brushed high on his thighs. While the shock of the contact racked throughout her, he didn’t even appear to flinch. But that was Brett—always so cool and in complete control.

      “Can I get you a club soda, Brett?” The bartender had reappeared.

      “No, I’m good. Thanks, Tanya,” he said without looking away from Rebecca.

      “You put my name on the list.” Rebecca looked up at him. His face was only a few inches from hers. It wasn’t a question. He’d obviously done it.

      His smile was cocky, his dimples deep. “I did,” he said with a nod. “I knew you’d come here eventually. That you couldn’t stay away. Especially after Saturday night, I knew you’d be back for more.”