One Night in A Bar Read online

Page 3


  “How’re you doing?” She looked up and saw Stephanie hovering in her doorway.

  “I’m good,” she replied, then gave in and grinned. “Excited,” she confessed. “And nervous, too.”

  Stephanie smiled. “You’ll be fine,” she assured her. “He’s a nice man, when he’s not being all diva-ish. You just have to get the hang of managing him. And you should be excited. Half the women in the office are envying the crap out of you right now.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Attractive, is he?”

  “You could say that.” Stephanie winked. “Anyway, John wanted me to tell you to be in his office at five to eleven. You’ll meet Crogan, talk about the next show, and go to lunch.”

  “No problem. I’ll be there.”

  At ten-thirty Karen was finishing up a soothing email to one of her more emotional clients when her intercom buzzed. She picked up the receiver, tucked it against her shoulder and continued typing.

  “Hi.”

  “Karen.” Stephanie’s voice was urgent. “He’s early. Get down here. Now. He’s already in with John.”

  Karen dropped the receiver and leapt to her feet. She smoothed a hand over her hair, straightened her jacket, grabbed her leather-bound notebook and headed for the door. She was down the hall and in Steph’s office in seconds, and Steph waved immediately at John’s door. Karen paused, took a deep breath, pasted on a smile and turned the knob.

  “…really think you’ll get along. Ah, here she is,” John’s voice had her turning towards the window. She could see the outlines of the men backlit by the bright light from outside. Keeping her smile in place, she crossed the room, hand extended.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, I’m a big fan of your work,” she said to the profile of the taller outline. As she got closer, she could tell that he was facing away from her. She dropped her hand and waited for him to turn.

  “A fan? How flattering.” His tone was acidic, but it was his voice that froze her in place. A shiver tingled down her spine. She knew that voice, had heard it rasping her name as she’d shuddered and come in a dark alley.

  This man couldn’t be him. Her one-hour stand couldn’t be world-renowned artist Crogan. The very idea was ridiculous.

  “And true,” she responded, casting a nervous glance at John as she stopped beside him. He smiled reassuringly.

  “Let me introduce the two of you properly,” John said. “Karen Hampton, meet Daniel Crogan.”

  The man, her famous new client, finally turned. She took in the neatly trimmed silky goatee, the dark, dark eyes and the sullen mouth. Her heart sank. It was him. Maybe he wouldn’t recognise her. After all, men like him probably had sex with strangers in alleys all the time…

  He smiled, a sardonic quirk of his lips, and she knew he remembered.

  “Karen,” he said smoothly, the gravel and whisky voice making her tingle even through her panic. Automatically she extended her hand, felt the same zing of lightning as before when he took it.

  “John tells me you’re going to be my new babysitter,” he went on, and she pulled herself together. It seemed like she might be lucky—really, really lucky—and he planned to keep their prior meeting to himself.

  “Yes. Although I’m sure you don’t need much actual sitting.”

  He lingered over her hand. “Don’t be too sure.”

  She glanced at John, who was watching them with narrowed eyes, and laughed nervously, withdrawing her hand.

  John took that as a cue. “Let’s sit and get business out of the way,” he said easily, and gestured towards the couch. “Coffee?”

  Both Karen and Daniel—Crogan—declined, and she made sure that she seated herself in an armchair, tugging her skirt over her knees and wishing she’d worn pants instead. Glancing up, she noticed Da—Crogan—looking at her legs. Immediately she stopped tugging and planted her notebook on the edge of her lap. He smirked in response.

  “So,” John cleared his throat, looking back and forth between their faces. A frown creased his forehead. He was clearly aware of the undercurrents in the room and not happy about them. “Daniel, Karen’s familiar with the details for the upcoming exhibit, but why don’t you walk us through the items you’re planning to present?”

  Karen fought to suppress a shiver. Her fabulous new client—now the biggest disaster in her life—began to speak. His rough voice sent shock waves through her system and moistened her core. She forced herself to concentrate on what he was saying rather than his voice, taking notes—more in an effort to avoid looking at him than out of any need.

  “…and then there’s the nudes.”

  She felt her stomach drop. She’d seen his nudes before, gorgeous, sensual pieces that provoked images of the artist’s hands sliding over soft, slick skin. He only did female nudes, perhaps an indication that he sculpted from live models.

  “…I have five completed.” She dragged herself back to the present and frowned.

  “Mr Crogan,” she began, keeping her voice crisp and even, “I thought—”

  “Daniel,” he interrupted smoothly. “Mr Crogan is my father, and I only go by Crogan professionally. Since we’re going to be working so closely together, you should call me Daniel.”

  She avoided his eyes and tried not to think of another time she had called him Daniel—and where that sexy mouth had been at the time. She smiled weakly.

  “Daniel. You said you have,” she glanced at her notes, “seventeen pieces ready for the exhibit, which is contracted for twenty. What categories will the remaining three fall into? The gallery will want to know so they can start work on the room layout.”

  He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  Her pen, poised to write down his answer, wavered. “You don’t know?”

  “That’s what I said.” His tone had turned slightly derisive.

  She ignored it, his attitude not her priority. “But you have started the…” she trailed off as he slowly shook his head. “You have an outline, some sketches…” her stomach knotted as he continued to shake his head. The exhibit was only a month away! She pasted on a bright smile. “Well, I’m sure you have some wonderful ideas, and I look forward—”

  “Nope.” His flat interruption was accompanied by a feral-looking smile. “No ideas. Or I’d be at home working.”

  She cast a desperate look at John. He was frowning, but it turned into a reassuring smile, as if to say, you can do it.

  She wasn’t so sure.

  They were halfway through lunch when the moment she’d been dreading came along. John excused himself to use the bathroom, and Karen was left alone with Daniel.

  She concentrated all her attention on her fish, hoping he’d take the hint, at the same time knowing she had to get over it and deal with him—as professionally as possible.

  “Hi there, Karen,” his raspy voice rolled over her. She looked up into his dark eyes and forced a smile.

  “Hi.”

  “You ran out on me.” He sounded half amused, half accusing. “You went to the bathroom to clean up.” The spark in his eyes had heat rushing to her face as she remembered exactly why she’d needed to clean up. “And never came back.”

  “I—my friend had to leave,” she muttered. “She was my ride.”

  He leaned towards her, the male scent of him stirring sensations she’d desperately tried to squash down since that night.

  “I would have driven you home,” he told her softly, “or anywhere else you wanted to go.”

  She swallowed, clawing desperately for composure. I am a professional.

  “Well, it’s a moot point now,” she said briskly. “I went with Mandy and you—did whatever you did. What’s important now is that we put it behind us and concentrate on our professional relationship. Now, about the last three pieces—”

  “I don’t want to put it behind us. In fact, what I want to do is drag you under this table, peel off that suit you’re wearing and lick you all over. I want to taste your skin, your tits, your—”

  “S
top!” Karen sucked in a deep breath as her outburst made other diners look around curiously. Daniel lounged back in his seat, mouth quirked in amusement, dark eyes hot and focused only on her.

  “Stop,” she repeated, more quietly. “This is ridiculous. What happened was a mistake. I’d had a really bad day—a bad month. My friend took me out for a few drinks. If I hadn’t been buzzed it never would have happened. I don’t do things like that. So now I just want to chalk the whole night up to experience and move on.”

  He tipped his head to one side, stroked his goatee.

  “No.”

  She hissed, a sound of extreme stress. “What do you mean—John’s coming,” she interrupted herself, seeing her boss out of the corner of her eye. “He can’t know about this, it’s personal, please.”

  The sly look on his face worried her. She didn’t want to lose him as a client because her boss thought she was a skank.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” he drew the words out, seeming to savour every syllable.

  Hurry up!

  “I’ll keep this between you and me.” He sat up from his slouch. “If you spend Saturday with me.”

  “Saturday? Why—okay, okay!” she agreed, as he looked around for John. “Saturday it is.”

  “Good.” His smirk was firmly in place when John rejoined them.

  “So.” John picked up his napkin. “What have the two of you been talking about?”

  “Work, of course,” Daniel said smoothly. “Karen’s going to come and see the pieces for the exhibit.” She nearly choked on her mouthful. What the hell was he up to now?

  “That’s an excellent idea,” John’s eyes were lit with approval. “When were you thinking, Karen?”

  “This afternoon,” Daniel interjected before she had a chance to swallow. “Are you going to join us?”

  John shook his head. “Unfortunately, I have another appointment. But I’m sure the two of you can handle it. I’m glad you’re getting along so well.” He turned his attention back to his wine, and she took advantage of the moment to glare at her sexy dark client. Her stare promised retribution.

  He didn’t look worried.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She rounded on him furiously as the taxi bearing John pulled away.

  “What do you mean?” He sounded innocent, but his victorious grin proclaimed him otherwise.

  “Telling John we’re going to look at the pieces for the exhibit! You can’t just manipulate things to get your own way! I have work to do—”

  “That’s right.” His face had turned stony, his rumbling voice clipped. “You do. I’m part of it. So as part of your work, don’t you think you should come and see the product you’ll be representing?” He turned on his heel and stalked away while she stood there feeling like an idiot. She picked up her jaw and hurried after him.

  “I’m sorry. I’m off balance and not being very professional. I really do want to see the pieces. And not just for work reasons. I know you didn’t believe me before, but I’m a huge fan of your work.”

  He didn’t look at her, just continued down the street in silence.

  “Where are we going?” she asked at last. They’d been walking for fifteen minutes, and her feet were beginning to ache in her high-heeled pumps.

  “My place,” he said curtly, and she shut up. She knew that his studio was at his home, and anticipation welled. She would get to see where he worked!

  He stopped in front of a condo building and produced a key. Inside, they rode the elevator up to the top floor in silence. The doors opened, and Karen couldn’t prevent a gasp.

  The elevator opened directly into the apartment, and the first thing she saw was the magnificent view from the living room windows. Floor to ceiling, the glass panes ran the length of the room and displayed the city in all its glory.

  “Dear God, how can you concentrate on work when you have this?” Her wave took in the windows and the incredible vista.

  He shrugged. “You get used to it. The studio’s through here.”

  Obediently, she followed him down a short hallway to a door at the end. The room beyond was clearly a working space. The walls were lined with shelves and cabinets, small finished and unfinished sculptures scattered amongst them. The middle of the room held a large table covered in tools and sketches, and over by the bare window were several cloth-draped objects. A door off to the right led through to an en suite bathroom, confirming her suspicion that this was supposed to be the master bedroom.

  He crossed to the window and whipped the drapes away, revealing the art beneath. Completely distracted, Karen moved to examine the pieces. They were exactly as he’d described, and yet more—absolutely gorgeous. Her fingers itched to stroke along the clean lines, and she turned to ask permission.

  “Can I—” she broke off at the sight of Daniel with a sketchpad in his hand. He frowned as he watched her, his pencil gliding over the paper. “What are you doing?” she asked, lifting a hand to smooth her hair.

  “Nothing,” he replied. “Go ahead, you can touch them.”

  She hesitated, torn, but went to see what he was drawing. He tilted the pad away from her as she neared.

  “Are you,” she paused, unsure how to ask without sounding egotistical.

  “Am I…?” He sounded distracted.

  “Are you drawing me?”

  “Yes.” He squinted at her. “You’ve tensed up. Just keep looking at the statues. You can touch them.”

  Karen swallowed. “Why—why are you drawing me?”

  He’d returned his attention to his sketchpad. “Because the look on your face called to me.” He looked from the pad to her and back again. “It’s gone.” He tossed the pad onto the table and placed a hand at the small of her back. “Come on, come and see some of the smaller pieces for the exhibit.” He steered her towards the shelves on one side of the room.

  As they passed the table, she craned her neck, trying to see what he’d drawn, but he was moving too quickly. Disappointed, she turned her attention to the sculptures in front of her. She listened as Daniel identified each one and tried to ignore the fact that he stood only inches away, his warmth bathing her.

  “You’re not really listening to me, are you?”

  She jumped. “Uh, no, I mean, yes, of course I was listening.”

  His mouth was quirked in a faint smile, his dark eyes laughing at her. “No, you weren’t. But that’s okay. What were you thinking about?”

  “Nothing! I—I mean, I was listening—”

  He chuckled, the rumbly sound sending a shudder down her spine. “Whatever you were thinking about, do it again. You had that look…” he stroked a hand down the side of her face, and she gasped.

  “Ah.” His smile grew. Reversing its path, he slid his hand back up her cheek, around into her hair. Gentle pressure drew her forward until she could feel his breath on her face, could almost feel the silky hair of his goatee on her skin.

  “So, this is what put that look there.” He touched his mouth to hers, pulled away. She made a frustrated noise, rising on to her toes to regain the wonderful pressure. He tightened his grip on her hair. She pressed herself against him, against the sleek, toned muscles of his chest and stomach—and his cock. He groaned, a drawn out sound that fed from his mouth to hers, and tore himself away from her.

  “Dan-iel…” she protested.

  “Hush. Look. See what I see.” He turned her, and she looked through the bathroom door at the mirror, at her reflection. Her hair was mussed from his hands, and her shirt askew, but what she noticed most was her face. Flushed, lips swollen, eyes big and hazy with pleasure. She drew in a breath, turned her face away.

  “No.” Daniel put his hand to her cheek and turned her back. “Watch.” He trailed his hand down to her throat, goose bumps breaking out where his fingers traced. He paused at her collarbone, met her gaze in the mirror.

  Slowly, he flicked open the first button of her shirt.

  Her breasts lifted with her breath.

/>   Another button.

  He kept her captive with his stare. She knew he was opening her blouse, knew she should stop him, but couldn’t break contact. Shivers ran down her body.

  The touch of skin on skin had her sagging against him. Only his body, hard and stable, kept her from melting to the floor. His hands stroked over her breasts, sliding into the cups of her bra. Her panties were wet, anticipation knotting her stomach.

  With a quick movement, he tugged the fabric down, exposing her nipples.

  “Look.”

  Dragging her attention from his face, she focused her gaze lower, watching their reflection. He tweaked her nipples, tugging then stroking in soothing circles. Her muscles trembled. Her pussy tightened hungrily. His hands looked impossibly strong and dark against her. She dropped her head back against his shoulder as sweet agony rose in her.

  Her nipples, already painfully tight, hardened even more, and the pressure of his fingers, pinching, soothing, tweaking, pinching, soothing, tweaking, pinching, soothing—

  She came with a cry, her body spasming hard, her pussy clenching painfully around nothing as his hands massaged her breasts, pushing her higher and further…

  Karen floated back to reality, her eyes drifting open to stare at the ceiling.

  At the white ceiling. Not her ceiling. Definitely not her bed… Memory flooded back.

  What had she done?

  Gasping, she pushed herself upright and realised that she wasn’t on a bed at all. She was on the table in Daniel’s studio. Her shirt was open, her breasts still out of her bra. Grimacing, she began adjusting them.

  “Leave it.”

  Her head snapped around. Daniel stood in the doorway, a bottle of water in one hand.

  “This was a mistake,” she began, hands still hovering in front of her chest.

  He wandered over, setting the bottle on the edge of the table before leaning in and brushing his mouth over hers. She breathed him in, hot male skin and soap, and melted into his kiss. Her hands rose to stroke through his hair and clasp behind his neck. He gripped her shoulders and laid her back against the hard tabletop, crawling up over her. His lips nuzzled her neck, and the now-familiar tremors began.