Private Sessions. Tori Carrington

an amount in the mid-seven digits was named.

      “Are you still there?” Harry asked, reminding him that he had yet to respond.

      “No.”

      A slight pause and then, “No, you’re not there? Or, no, no deal?”

      He sighed and sat up straighter. “This has never been about the money.”

      Money he had. In spades. He’d made three times more than his father ever had by age thirty. And the Payne family was just as old and wealthy a New England clan as the Winsteads.

      The thought brought his mother’s face to mind. As her only child, they’d always shared an especially close bond … drawn tighter, he suspected, by the details surrounding his birth.

      He had yet to tell her he was pursuing this lawsuit; of course, that meant little—she was probably already well aware of what was going on. The upper one percent was like a small town with lots of acreage. Still, she had yet to say anything to him. He suspected she was waiting for him to come to her and allowing him to do what he needed to do.

      The way he saw it, he was doing this as much for her as for himself. She’d sacrificed so much for him … surely he owed her at least the return of her good name.

      “They’re anxious for you to let this go.”

      Of course they were. The Winsteads didn’t want an illegitimate child to sully up the late, great Theodore Winstead’s good name.

      He realized he was gritting his teeth and forced himself to stop.

      “You don’t have to make a decision now. Sleep on it. I’ll call again on Monday.”

      “No need,” Caleb said. “Refuse and go to the next step.”

      “Will do.” Not even a hesitation.

      Satisfied, he hung up the phone and sat back again, his every muscle coiled and tense.

      He didn’t know how long he sat like that until there was another knock and Nancy appeared in the door.

      “Any luck finding Philippidis?” he asked.

      “No.”

      He stared at her for minute. It was understood that when he was in the office she was to be present, as well. Unless she requested otherwise, or he dismissed her.

      “These messages came in while you were on the phone.”

      He rubbed his face, noting the stubble there. He’d use his en suite bathroom to shave and clean up before leaving.

      He accepted the five slips of paper, leafing through them once, and then again, stopping on one in particular.

      He held it up. “Is this her office number?”

      “Her cell phone.”

      Even better.

      “Thanks, Nancy. That’ll be all. I’ll see you on Monday.”

      “Very good, sir. Good night.”

      Caleb rounded his desk, waiting until his secretary gathered her things and left the office before sitting down and picking up the phone, dialing the number on the slip.

      She picked up on the second ring.

      “Our meeting was interrupted the other day. I’d like to continue it.”

      He waited for Bryna Metaxas to reply. “I’d like that,” she said, a low, groin-tightening purr in her voice. “Next week?”

      “A half hour. At Giorgio’s.”

      HALF AN HOUR wasn’t nearly enough time for a girl to put on her evening best. But when the invitation was accepted, she was bound by business etiquette to follow through.

      But as the taxi pulled up to Giorgio’s forty minutes later, Bryna knew that business had nothing to do with agreeing to meet Caleb Payne at the upscale restaurant.

      She adjusted the heel strap of the gold Grecian-style sandals that Ari had brought back from Santorini for her, paid the driver and stepped out, pleasantly surprised to find Caleb waiting for her outside the doors. She’d expected him to be ensconced in one of the plush booths enjoying a drink, possibly even having ordered already.

      Instead he’d waited outside.

      Every sensation she’d experienced during their meeting the other day returned … tenfold. She felt…. breathless, somehow. Like he was already touching her everywhere she wanted to be touched by him. and she was responding in a greedy, uninhibited way….

      Over the past couple of days, she’d tried to convince herself she was overreacting to what had really happened, imagined that he had been attracted to her, shelved any sexual notions with a Post-it that read harmless flirtation.

      But now she knew she hadn’t amplified anything…. if anything, she’d downplayed it.

      She walked in his direction, watching him watch her. Despite her business argument, she was dressed for sheer pleasure. There was nothing innocent about her choice of little black dress. The clingy material was too intimate, her bare shoulder moist with lotion and perfumed, her hair down from her usual twist and finger-curled around her face.

      Bryna hesitated slightly as she drew near enough to speak. In the waning evening light, he looked a dangerous black figure, more shadow than light. And for reasons she was ill-prepared to identify, she felt as if she was walking into a trap. A nicely appointed trap, but one the man across from her had designed to his advantage … and one she fully intended to enter, the hell with the consequences.

      Finally, she stopped in front of him, clutching her small purse. Whatever words she might have said dissolved against her dry tongue as Caleb’s gaze lingered on her legs and then slowly made its way up the snug fit of her dress until he finally looked into her eyes. Bryna jutted her chin out the tiniest bit and smiled suggestively, waiting for his thoughts, which she was sure he was about to share.

      “Intriguing.”

      Bryna shivered. She’d never been referred to as intriguing before; she decided she liked it. More, she was determined to prove herself exactly that.

      She asked in a voice she hardly recognized, “Shall we?”

      The upward quirk of the corners of his mouth made her own water. “We most definitely shall….”

       4

      CALEB HAD CERTAINLY KNOWN his share of women. And prided himself on being able to pigeonhole them within five minutes. Who they were. What they were after. How long their liaison would last.

      But Bryna Metaxas was proving a charming enigma.

      Throughout dinner she was by turns openly flirtatious and smartly businesslike depending on which way he slanted the conversation.

      She even seemed to realize exactly what he was doing with each turn, a small, acknowledging smile letting him know that he wouldn’t always get his way.

      Little did she know that he always got exactly that, he reflected as he sipped his post-dinner coffee.

      “So, tell me, Mr. Payne. Since it’s obvious you didn’t ask me here to discuss business matters—in fact, I’m certain you haven’t even looked at the proposals I left at your office—then why did you ask?”

      Direct. Fresh. Another woman might think the reason for his invitation unimportant, instead focusing on what she could gain from it. Not Bryna.

      “Is it a sin to want to enjoy the company of a beautiful woman?”

      She licked the side of her fork in a decidedly sexy manner that they both knew was done for reasons other than enjoyment of the slice of chocolate mousse torte she’d ordered for dessert.

      “I should think you’d have at least a dozen beautiful