"That's not really an answer we can give in court. I'd prefer it if the jury didn't know just how good you are in bed," I say acidly.
With a long sigh, Macy says, "I have no clue why she's coming after me. My best guess is because I'm richer than God, and she probably thinks I'm an easy mark. But the last time I saw Brian was over nine months ago, so please tell me how in the hell I intentionally busted up that marriage?"
Nothing I'm seeing so far presents much of a case against Macy. This could be a pretty easy win for me. There is one other thing though that could make our win a slam dunk. "Did you know he was married when you slept with him?"
Because if she didn't know, that's a damn good defense to prove she didn't have the intent needed.
Unfortunately, Macy says, "Of course I did. He wore his wedding ring."
Jesus... doesn't this woman have any morals?
I want to lash out at her for being the type of woman who is the antithesis to everything I want... except for the sex. In that respect, she's everything I would want... and more.
"I thought the members of One Night Only were anonymous," I say as I peruse the list of men in the folder. At least, I seem to remember Mac telling me that she and Matt used fake names with each other.
Macy shrugs. "You can be anonymous if you want, but I never really cared if anyone knew my real name."
I look up and blink at her in surprise. "Even with your family being in the public eye?"
Macy drops her face and picks at something on the hem of her dress. "I don't care what they think of me."
It's been my experience that when people make a bold statement such as they don't care what others think, it's usually a lie. Fragile egos and paper-thin esteem usually get in the way. But I can tell from Macy's tone of voice... she really doesn't care what her family thinks of her. In fact, I'd venture to say that maybe she doesn't hide her true name with One Night Only, almost hoping to cause them some type of embarrassment.
But that's just a guess.
I let that go, though, not really having the time or the inclination to figure out what causes Macy Carrington to tick. Instead, I say, "We'll need character witnesses."
"Mac will testify on my behalf," she says with a tender smile.
"Who else?" I ask as I write Mac's name on a lonely sheet of yellow legal paper.
"That's it," she says simply.
My eyes lift up to her in surprise. "You have to have more friends than that, Macy. Someone that can attest to your good character. That you don't go around busting up marriages. Hell, even someone that can say you're relationship averse would work."
Her gaze is direct and serious. "I don't have anyone else."
"Your parents? They would be good," I say as I jot the word "parents" under Mac's name. "Especially since your dad is well known and respected."
Her gaze lowers, and she shakes her head. "No, they won't help."
"Are you sure?" I push at her.
"Trust me... it's not going to happen."
"Even if it clears your name? Which should benefit them," I throw out.
"My parents wouldn't offer me a lifeline if I was drowning in a riptide, Cal. Just forget about them." She says those words so matter-of-factly, without an ounce of emotion, that it makes my heart squeeze with sadness. What parents wouldn't help their child?
"Okay," I say after taking a deep breath and crossing through the word "parents" on my yellow pad. "Is there anything else you can think of that would cause this man's wife to target you?"
"Maybe the photos on his phone," she says hesitantly.
"What photos?" I grit out.
"When we were together, I fell asleep after we--"
"Skip the details," I butt in.
She nods in understanding and continues. "I woke up, and he was snapping pictures of me with his phone. I was pissed and asked him to delete them. He refused and said he wanted them for his spank bank."
Now that really pisses me off. What perv does that? Okay, I mean... I'd love some naked pictures of Macy in my spank bank, but only if she wanted me to have them. "What did you do?"
"What could I do? He was bigger than me, so I couldn't wrestle the phone from him. So I got dressed, left, and then I reported him to One Night Only. They revoked his membership."
"That's good," I say with relief. "That's good evidence you didn't encourage a relationship with him. And I'm thinking it's a safe bet his wife found the photos and either she confronted him about it and he admitted who you are, or she recognized you."
Macy nods. "That's what I believe. Or I've even hypothesized these two cooked up the entire suit together to try to squeeze me for money."
My eyebrows go sky high, and I blink at her in amazement. That's actually a really good theory, and I jot down a note of that.
"Why didn't you call me for a repeat?" Macy asks, completely out of the blue.
My gaze snaps back up to her. Her lovely head is tilted to the side in curiosity. One hand rests on her lap and she fingers the edge of her hemline, which is sitting a little bit higher now than mid-thigh. She uncrosses her legs slowly, spreading them a little wider than necessary, and slowly recrosses.
It's fucking Sharon Stone porn right before my eyes, and I get enough of a peek this time to see her beautiful bare pussy between those legs. I love a woman who waxes.
My cock immediately swells, and I'm thankful she can't see it from where I'm sitting behind my desk. I drag my gaze back up to her, and she's just staring at me with an impassive face. I expected her to smirk at me or taunt me, but I see nothing but curiosity.
"That's not really pertinent to this meeting," I say in my best business voice, restraining the overwhelming urge for me to drop my hand into my lap and start massaging the ache from my dick.
"You wanted to, didn't you?" she persists.
Then she uncrosses and crosses those legs again, flashing the promised land at me one more time.
I try to ignore her. Ignore the question, ignore the sweet, smooth pussy that keeps peeking at me, and ignore the throbbing between my legs.
"Tell me everything you know about this Brian Merrill," I ask, poising my pen above my yellow pad.
"I don't know anything. I knew he was from Utah and that was it. I'm not really big into small talk when I fuck. But seriously, Saint Cal, why didn't you call me? I don't know a man alive that would pass me up for a second shot."
This time, she sneers a little when she says the word "saint," so I am not amused. I want to lash out at her but I rein it in, attempting to diffuse the entire conversation with one well-placed truth. "I didn't call you because I started seeing someone after our encounter."
I expect her to let it go, but she doesn't. Instead, she uncrosses her legs again, the fingers at her hemline stroking the skin of her thigh, and then crosses them back. I refuse to let my gaze lower, and my cock jumps angrily behind my zipper. "Are you still seeing her? Or it might be a him. Whichever."
"It was a her," I feel the need to clarify, and then because I'm generally not a liar, I hesitantly add on, "No, I'm not still seeing her."
"So what's stopping you now?" she asks.
I swallow hard and really try to think... what exactly is stopping me?
Macy uncrosses her legs one more time, primly brings her knees together, and leans forward in the chair, murmuring, "I mean... right this minute, I could just crawl onto your lap, pull your cock out, and ride it hard."
Yes, my erection seems to scream in excitement, but I shake my head in denial, my jaw locked hard.
"Or," she practically purrs. "I could bend over your desk. You could hike my dress up and slam into me really hard. I'm already wet for you."
"Knock it off, Macy," I growl at her, but my words come out choked and raspy.
"Or," she continues in a husky voice, "I could give you another blow job. I loved having you in my mouth."
"Just stop it," I croak, my hands gripping the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles are white.
"You'v
e got a major hard-on for me right now, don't you?" she taunts sexily.
"You fucking know I do," I grit out.
"I can take care of it," she offers sweetly and licks her lips.
"We are not having sex," I tell her firmly, my blood absolutely on fire and my dick pulsing so hard in my pants for relief that it hurts.
"I can wait then," she says mischievously as she sits back in her chair. "If you want to rub one off right now. I totally would love to watch you do that, and hell... I might even join you."
Her hand goes back to her hemline, and she starts raising her skirt. I know if I get another peek of what I know to be the best pussy I've ever had, I'll attack her.
I silently beg her to stop.
I start praying to the heavens to remove the temptation before me.
My eyes can't help but watch as she continues to pull her skirt up those beautiful legs, and I wonder what in the hell I've gotten myself into with this woman.
***