Blindfolded Innocence

  He finished his conversation and hung up the phone, staring at me. Looking into his eyes, I felt my knees buckle slightly. There was this draw to him, this indescribable pull that I couldn’t break from. He emitted, even across the large office, a wave of power, intelligence...and sexuality. No freaking wonder everyone talked about this man. Seeming to be completely at ease, he picked up a stress ball and squeezed it, never breaking eye contact. I felt like an innocent little fawn stuck in the lion’s gaze. I stayed quiet and waited for his gorgeous self to say something.

  “I need a car,” he finally said. His voice was sexy and deep, definitive. He sounded like a man who had never second-guessed a single action his entire life. I, on the other hand, was second-guessing every predisposed opinion I had made about him. Maybe Broward and Sheila were right to be worried.

  “A car?” My voice came out a little higher than I had intended, almost a squeak. I definitely needed to get my shit together.

  “Yes. I know the casino typically handles my transportation, but I plan to go on a side trip this weekend, and want a car.” He picked up his phone and started to punch in a number, as if to indicate that our conversation was over. Then he paused, looking at me again, closer, his eyes narrowing slightly, his gaze sweeping over my body in an obvious perusal. I bristled slightly, crossing my arms over my chest, feeling my cheeks warm.

  When he spoke, his tone was slightly confused. “Have you done something different?”

  “Different?” I didn’t really know what to say. This was the strangest interaction I had ever had. I’m sure he was blown away by my verbose and witty conversation.

  He came around the desk slightly, eyes locked again on mine. Please don’t come closer. “You look...different.”

  I felt as if I was in Crazy Town. Has he seen me before? “I’m wearing glasses.”

  De Luca looked at me again, then something flipped in his eyes, a moment of understanding. He turned away from me, continuing to dial a number, and I understood that our interchange was over.

  That was freaking weird.

  I walked back to the center desk and waited for Ms. Featherston to look up. She did, after a moment.

  “Mr. De Luca asked me to reserve a car? For this weekend?” I sounded inept, even to my own ears.

  Featherston looked confused, and then her expression cleared. Her mouth curved into something resembling a smile. “He thinks you’re Tiffany,” she said wryly.

  “Who?”

  “Tiffany. The girl downstairs who handles travel arrangements. You look like her...slightly. He must have gotten confused. I’ll make sure she gets the message.” She shot me an amused look and then refocused on her computer.

  I turned on my heel and headed for the doors, wanting to get back to the normalcy of the West Wing. Wow, talk about an ego check. What a...jerk! So caught up in his own world he mistakes me for someone else—like all of us are bland, interchangeable slaves waiting around to jump to his ridiculous travel needs? I could feel my irritation building. I pulled my shoulders back and straightened my head, enjoying the anger coursing through my body. It felt good having some of my backbone again.

  Back at my desk, I pulled out my cell and sent a quick text to Olivia. Dinner and drinks tonight?

  Her response was quick, and affirmative. We agreed, through a series of texts, to meet at 8:00 p.m. at Café Salsa, a downtown tapas bar known for their great bands. I locked my phone and put it back in my purse. I planned on enjoying this Broward-free week, and damned if I’d let that asshole De Luca affect it. I attacked my pile of files with new gusto.

  * * *

  A few moments after the double doors closed behind that delicious ass, Brad dialed a second number, watching the stately secretary outside his office answer her phone.

  “Yes, Mr. De Luca?”

  “Who was that?”

  A soft chuckle sounded in his ear, and she spun in her chair, meeting his eyes through the thick glass. “That was one of the interns. Kent Broward’s.” She looked at him with a glare that would melt a lesser man’s skin. “I trust this will be the last I see of her?”

  He met her glare and smiled, turning away and walking to his desk. “I’ll think about it.”

  * * *

  That night, I dressed to kill, picking out a red minidress and sky-high nude stilettos. I straightened my hair and carefully applied my makeup. Putting on my sexiest lace bra and a matching thong, I shimmied into my dress and then dusted bronzer over my legs, chest and arms. A small black purse in hand, I stood in front of the mirror and gave myself the once-over. Hot damn, woman. You are looking good.

  At five minutes before eight, Olivia pulled up outside my apartment in her old gray Ford Explorer, blaring Katy Perry. I skittered out on my heels, navigating the overgrown path with care. Entering Olivia’s SUV was like crawling into a bubblegum bubble. It smelled yummy and completely feminine, and said girl as loud as the feather boa hanging from the rearview mirror could scream.

  We sang and car-danced the ten minutes to Café, my spirits rising with every chorus. At the restaurant, we got a great corner table with a view of the dance floor and bar.

  “So, give me the goods,” she demanded as soon as we sat down.

  “What goods?”

  “You know! On your new job, life, everything! I haven’t seen you in over two weeks, and last weekend didn’t count! Becca was there, and that prevents any real conversation from occurring.” She giggled to soften her point, but we both knew she meant it. Becca was wonderful, but Becca was all about Becca, twenty-four hours a day. “Any word from Luke?”

  I rolled my eyes at her reference to my ex. “No, thank God. He doesn’t know about my internship, and I don’t think anyone has told him where I live. Has he called you anymore?”

  She shook her head in response. “Just that one time. I think I made it pretty clear to him then that he wasn’t going to get any information from me.”

  I brought my martini up to signal a toast. She followed suit.

  “To new beginnings.”

  “To new beginnings,” she parroted. We clinked glasses and both took generous sips.

  “So, tell me about the new job.” Her eyes glimmered. “Anything going on with you and that gorgeous hunk we saw at Amigos?”

  “Todd?” I grimaced and shook my head. “No, he’s too...I don’t know...immature. Besides, I don’t want to get involved with anyone at work. It’s too complicated.” I thought of De Luca and my face flushed.

  Olivia caught the tell. “What? What is it?”

  I told her about De Luca, Broward’s warning and today’s interchange. She started to giggle and then clamped a hand over her mouth at my glare.

  “It’s not funny,” I hissed.

  “Oh, come on! It is funny! You trotted in there thinking that he would bend over backward to woo you, like every other guy you come across. Instead he gave you a menial task and sent you on your way!” She smiled affectionately at me, and patted my arm. “It’s okay, Jules. Not everyone is susceptible to your charms.”

  I shrugged and was on the verge of a witty comeback when a server materialized at our table with two martini glasses filled with blue, glowing liquid. “Ladies, these drinks are from the table by the stage.” He deposited the drinks in front of us and disappeared before we had time to formulate a response. I drew my blue martini close and tried to glance discreetly over my shoulder. Three suits by the stage nodded and raised their drinks. I gave them a quick smile and turned back to Olivia.

  “What do you think?”

  Olivia leaned to the side and spoke over the sugary rim of her new drink.

  “Fairly cute. They look successful, a little old.”

  “How old?”

  “Umm...late twenties? Maybe even thirty.” She said thirty as if it was ancient. Which, for us, it was
.

  “Any wedding rings?”

  She tried discreetly to squint and instead came off looking as if she had discreetly farted.

  “Stop that,” I snapped. “We can look up close.” What the hell, I put on this dress for a reason, right? I turned in my chair, flashed my best smile and gestured for the guys to come over. Time to have some fun.

  Two hours later

  Screw Becca and Olivia’s opinion, I was a cock tease, and wasn’t about to be ashamed of it. The chase gave me purpose, excitement; it was my favorite part of being single. Sex or a reputation were things I didn’t need or want. For me, teasing was more of a conquest thing, and it gave me an instant ego boost when I needed one.

  I definitely needed one tonight. De Luca, having me—even if it was a rumpled, dorky version of me—in his office, and not even giving me a second glance. Worse, mistaking me for someone else! He was old, for Christ’s sake, even if he did radiate sex from every pore on his gorgeous body. As a rumored horndog, he should have smiled, flirted or asked me out—even if I had planned on saying no. Yes, I definitely needed an ego boost, and my evening’s prey waited in front of me.

  Bob, a twenty-nine-year-old tax accountant with a bird chest and moderately muscular arms, lay flat on his back on top of his bed, gazing at me in drunken adoration. Stripped down to my black lace bra and thong, I straddled him. My hair fell loose down my back and I leaned forward, nibbling and kissing his neck. He moaned, and I could feel his erection pushing at his dress pants, begging to get out. His hands roamed down my back over the curve of my hips and grabbed my ass. Continuing to tease his neck, I reached down and slid my hand underneath his pants’ waist and felt the hardness of his cock. It was pretty nice compared to the ones I had previously touched. I grabbed it firmly, jacked him up and down twice and let him think for a minute that I was going to do more. Then I slyly bit my bottom lip, shook my head at him and pulled my hand out.

  The fire in his eyes died a little and he looked at me with intense yearning. Right there, that is what I want to see. My confidence felt that familiar swell, but it was brief this time. It sank again quickly, almost as low as before. I gritted my teeth in irritation, pushing back against my subconscious, trying to feel that satisfaction I normally experience. But it was gone. I leaned forward, kissing Bob gently, then climbed off him, reaching for my dress, half listening to his sputtering words. Sorry, buddy, you’re done.

  Nine

  Wednesday, 8:15 a.m.

  Brad De Luca’s cell rang for the seventh time that morning.

  “De Luca,” he snapped into the phone.

  “Julia Campbell,” his cousin Tony’s voice rang through the phone. Tony was a forty-year-old divorcé, with three kids, who drank full-time and painted houses as a hobby. Brad couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to Tony before 11:00 a.m. He must need money. He groaned silently and waited for more.

  “You know her?” Tony asked.

  His mind searched his recent clients, conquests and acquaintances and came up blank.

  “No, don’t believe I do.”

  Tony’s voice slurred a bit. “She’s an intern at your office.”

  “Oh. She’s probably with Broward or Clarke. They keep the female interns away from me.”

  Tony laughed so hard he began to hiccup. “I bet they do, man! You’d be slaying them!”

  Brad glanced at his watch impatiently and willed the man to get to the point. “Who’s she to you, Tony?” His voice had taken on the rough brogue of his Italian childhood.

  “I got a call this morning from Bob Hanstle—the yuppie guy whose kitchen I’m painting? He’s trying to get information about her. He knows she works for your firm, and, given my last name...thought I might know someone over there.”

  “Your last name isn’t De Luca.”

  “Yeah, well, I might have mentioned that we’re related.” Brad’s patience waned. Tony probably “mentioned” Brad’s name at every job opportunity he got, in hopes of increasing his credibility.

  “I don’t know anything about her.” He tried to convey a tone of wrapping up the conversation, but Tony wouldn’t let it go.

  “Come on, Brad, give me something. This guy is desperate over this chick. She must have a magic pussy, man.”

  “Sorry, Tony. Never met her before.” He hung up the phone. So...it must have been Broward’s intern. And she had another man hot on her trail. He really needed to get to the office.

  * * *

  I woke up buried in the soft sheets of my cozy bed. I stretched, rolled over and winced at the hangover headache that was pounding in my temples. I pulled my eye mask up and glanced at my bedside clock. Holy shit! 7:45 a.m. I attempted to jump out of bed and was squashed back down by the invisible stakes that were piercing some important cerebral mass in my head. I tried again, slower this time, and ended up on my feet. Glancing into the mirror next to my door, I saw a face smeared with makeup and a distinct floral skin design that I recognized from the embroidery on my pillow. Ugh.

  I grabbed powder-blue capris, a white cardigan-camisole set and some tan heels. I didn’t have time to shower, so I scrubbed my face as quickly as I could and threw on some light makeup. As any party girl will tell you, one-day-old going-out hair looks pretty damn good, so I ran my fingers through it and headed out the door.

  * * *

  I was in the fourth-floor kitchen, buttering a stale biscuit and licking some melted butter off my fingers when he walked in.

  Whoa.

  It was as if every ounce of extra air left the room in that instant, squeezing all the space out with it and putting me front and center in his laser beam. Damn. We locked eyes and neither one of us moved. In his office there had been a long, empty expanse between us, and even then there’d been a sizzle. Now, there in the small kitchen, the full force of his...essence...was magnified tenfold. It scared the crap out of me.

  His eyes were a normal dark brown color, not anything special, but they blazed with a powerful intensity. He smelled of...something. I don’t know how to describe the smell, but it was intoxicating and animal. The man reeked of masculinity and sex. He seemed to be a big, tight ball of controlled energy and I could just as easily imagine him ripping someone’s head off as dipping me backward into a kiss. As I stood there, frozen, his sexy features curled into a smile and he looked as if he wanted to eat me. I backed up and bumped into the counter. I was acutely aware of the butter all over my fingers—and dripping from the edge of my mouth. I licked my lips and said the first thing that popped into my mind.

  “I’m not Tiffany.”

  His smile faltered slightly, and he shook his head and chuckled. “I know.”

  “I’m Julia. Julia Campbell. Broward’s intern.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. I just asked Sheila where to find you. She said you were in here.”

  “Oh.” A pause. His eyes never left mine. “Why were you looking for me?”

  “Would you like to go to lunch?” He turned on some powerful, magical force, and radiated with intense sexual heat. I almost swooned, but caught myself. Keep it together, you damn woman!

  “Umm, no.”

  “No?” His grin increased and he looked almost incredulous. He glanced around as if wanting someone to witness this.

  “No.” My voice grew in strength and confidence. Cocky prick.

  “Why?” He moved closer and I lost all sense of reality. The man was like no one I’d ever met. I could see why divorcing wives would throw apart their legs and beg him for more than lawyerly duties. The man was walking, breathing sex. I had never found bodybuilders or large men attractive. I had pined for and worshipped the rail-thin, pretty look of male models. But this man was built like a god, with the disposition of Satan. I couldn’t imagine being an intern to this man and not doing
more than filing his briefs.

  I would have moved back farther, but the kitchen counter rail was already digging into my ass and no doubt now leaving a bruise. I met his amused gaze and tried to portray nonchalance.

  “For one thing, you’re a little old.”

  His eyes flickered a bit at that, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “And?”

  “Annnddd, I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Even to my ears, that sounded juvenile.

  His egotistic smirk was back. “Ahhh...yes. Broward wants to keep you all to himself.”

  I didn’t like that response, but kept my mouth shut and let my eyes communicate my silent retort.

  “Let’s go to Centaur.”

  “No. I have work to do.”

  “Come on—I’ll have you back in a flash. No one will even know you’re gone.”

  “I—”

  “Julia!” Sheila stood in the doorway, glaring at De Luca. He had the good grace to look sheepish, which also looked ridiculously sexy. Good lord. Someone needs to take this man out back and shoot him.

  I fled to the safety of Sheila’s side, taking my buttery fingers with me and leaving my plate and knife behind.

  “I need Julia,” Sheila said. “Are you all through with whatever it was you needed her for?” Her expression painted her opinion clearer than any billboard could.

  De Luca nodded a goodbye to me and strode out of the kitchen, winking at me and patting Sheila on the shoulder as he passed. I could suddenly breathe a lot easier. Sheila turned and affixed me with a steely stare, all evidence of grandmotherly goodness gone. “Is this going to be a problem?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Good.”

  Ten