Page 9 of Pleasure Payback

I was scanning the list of contestants when the double doors to the conference room opened.

Sunlight pouring through wide rectangular windows on the fortieth floor of Mortimer Plaza, the five-star hotel and retail tower in Manhattan, lovingly illuminated the stunning physique of the man who entered.

He wore a suit. Bespoke. Naturally.

For several betraying heartbeats, anger took a step back to accommodate the hot spike of lust that lanced my belly before detonating in my pussy. Even as I clawed back control and fought the urge to squirm in my seat, the traitorous dampening between my thighs mocked me.

It brutally reminded me that the only thing better than Damian Mortimer in a three-piece suit was Damian Mortimer naked. Gloriously ripped. Utterly divine.

His soul as dark as a tar pit.

Rememberthat.

But even the stern admonition didn’t stop my recollection of spectacular, mind-melting sex.

I’d believed I knew what good sex was before I met Damian. Oh, how pathetically wrong I was.

If I despised one thing more than the man himself, it was that since our night together my body hadn’t come even close to craving what he gave to me with anyone else. I only had to think about him for every cell in my body to come alive, for my needy pussy to remind me of its continued famine and for those X-rated thoughts about that arrogant bastard to hit the play button.

The dating app my assistant had defiantly signed me up to had resulted in two mind-numbingly boring dates, after which I’d deleted it.

Even my vibrator had taken a much-needed holiday, leaving me pent up and aggravatingly in need of a good seeing to.

Which made me hate him even more.

So was it any surprise that by the time his towering six-foot-plus frame reached me I was already seeing red?

His gaze skittered past the other mentors already seated as if they were part of the furniture, sauntering as if he weren’t twenty minutes late. ‘Gentlemen,’ he drawled on his way to his seat at the top of the table.

Then his eyes lit on me. His stride didn’t break but a hard light flickered in his gaze and muscles twitched in his jaw. Then followed the slow elevation of one eyebrow.

‘Neve, I didn’t know you were a part of this meeting.’

‘It’s Miss Nolan, and I’m shocked,Mr Mortimer. I was under the impression you knew everything.’

He didn’t so much as flinch at my sarcastic tone but his eyes reflected wariness and mild shock.

He probably wasn’t used to women talking back to him and preferred everyone to ask how high when he said jump. He’d kept the producers hanging on for weeks before finally committing to the latestRaider’s Denproduction last week.

He probably hadn’t even read the brief that announced that three of the members of the panel wouldn’t be returning for the new season and would be replaced by three new mentors, including me.

I took a calming breath. ‘I hate to throw out clichés so early in the morning but timeismoney for me, Mr Mortimer. So if you’re certain you’re absolutely present, can we get started?’

That drew varying looks from my fellow Raiders, ranging from bemusement to wariness. One sniggered.

A scathing look from Damian wiped the look off the man’s face.

‘I had my assistant send my apologies twenty minutes ago to say I was running late. If that won’t suffice, I’ll be sure to draw you a pint of blood once the meeting ends if that’s what you need to appease you?’

I’d silenced my phone for the meeting so any incoming emails wouldn’t have registered. I hit the home button on my phone and there it was, a message from Damian Mortimer.

Shit.

Stupid heat crawled up my neck but it didn’t stop me from boldly meeting his sardonic gaze. ‘Keep your blood. I wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with it.’

‘You sure?’ he enquired mockingly, one hand reaching for the leather binder in front of him.

‘These days I’m just a little more selective with my tastes. Shall we proceed?’

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