>
VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, [2] ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 16:31:33 05/03/02 Fri
Author: Repost Fairy
Author Host/IP: 64.193.19.25
Subject: Chapter 62 - (slighty naughty thoughts)
In reply to: Genevieve 's message, "Burden of Proof - Chapter 55 onwards..." on 16:10:02 05/03/02 Fri

~*~*~*~*~

Wishing furiously she’d never heard of Vachek Holdings, Nikita threw herself into her work that afternoon with a zeal bordering on desperation. She meticulously picked her way through all of the newly opened files, flagging anything that remotely looked as though it might need following up. She even dragged out the marketing portfolio she hadn’t looked at for six months, and began drafting an events calendar for the next financial year. Maybe it was time Wirth & Wirth held another free seminar to entice the punters through the door, she mused. You can’t have too many clients.

She pulled up short at that thought. Well, perhaps you can. As much as she had grown to like Joe and his wife, there had been quite a few moments this afternoon when she’d regretted ever taking on their case.

There was no point in denying it any longer. Despite her best efforts, she had committed the big ‘no-no’. She had developed a full-blown, knock your socks off, brain frazzling crush on her opposing counsel. With a shudder of despair, Nikita pushed aside the marketing mailing list and folded her arms on the desk blotter, where she then rested her head. What am I going to do?

She doubted he felt the same way. Oh, he’d looked at her with smoldering eyes, but that didn’t mean anything. She’d be a fool to think it had been anything more than a negotiating strategy, or to believe he’d suffered a sudden attack of conscience. After all, it had been in his best interests to sweet talk her into accepting Vachek’s offer. And call her cynical, but Michael Samuelle looked like the type of man who always got exactly what he wanted.

H certainly put on a good performance. Nikita sighed, thinking of the way his words had practically dripped with sincerity and concern for her client. Not to mention the way he’d looked at her a few moments later. As though she was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen in his life. The memory of it filled her with both longing and embarrassment. Michael Samuelle had been alternatively charming, seductive and caring, and she’d almost fallen for it.

And unfortunately, while he was admittedly good at smoldering, he was even better at his job. Nikita knew now why he’d won so many cases. Every time he’d looked at her, she’d had the uncomfortable feeling that he was able to see right into her thoughts. Nikita felt her face flood with colour as a terrible thought occurred to her. What if he’d sensed her reaction to him, and decided to use it as a negotiating tool?

Her stomach flipped over. Bloody hell.

This was very bad. And to make it worse, she’d never, ever before felt such an extreme, out-of-control, attraction to anyone – it was all a bit of a shock to the system. Michael Samuelle made her feel awkward, all arms and legs, as though her skin was stretched too tight all over her body. As though her clothes had suddenly shrunk a size.

When he’d stared at her, it had been a struggle to keep her thoughts straight. But when he’d touched her… She sat up slowly, a hot shiver going through her at the memory. When he’d touched her, she felt as though her bones were slowly liquefying, little wisps of warmth curling through her veins, leaving her breathless and shaken. For a brief, insane moment, gripped by a longing so potent that even now made her blush, she’d wanted nothing more than to have him push her up against the door of that damned conference room and...

Oh god. Nikita let out a shaky sigh, and shifted slightly in her chair, crossing her legs. It was rather a poor reflection on Gray, given their long relationship, but she wasn’t used to feeling so…well…aroused. She wasn’t someone who had dabbled in one night stands left, right and center, but she was far from being a blushing virgin. She’d had a healthy love life at university, and her relationship with Gray had always been a fairly physical one - and that, Nikita realised dully, was precisely what worried her.

Not one of those men she’d made love with, Gray included, had managed to make her feel the way Michael Samuelle had with just that one little touch. And if he was out of bounds, and he definitely was, she was afraid of being doomed to spend the rest of her life knowing, in the back of her heart, what she could feel.

Filled with an increased sense of despair, Nikita ran her hands through her hair, twisting it up into a haphazard topknot. Finally admitting to the attraction hadn’t helped clear her head in the slightest, so she would have to fall back on her original plan. Working until she was so exhausted she fell asleep at her desk. With a sigh, she reached for the marketing portfolio once more. As one of the characters on Birkoff’s South Park screensaver was so fond of saying, this certainly ‘sucked right here’.


~*~*~*~*~*~


Michael slammed the heavy front door behind him with more force than strictly necessary, ignoring the ominous rattle of protest from its hinges. It was nearly midnight, and it had been a long day in more ways than one.

As soon as he’d returned to his office this afternoon, he had immersed himself in a world of caveats and affidavits, trying not to think of Nikita Wirth. Trying not to think of how she made him feel. Trying not to think of the deadline given to him by Vachek after the mediation.

He had failed miserably. Even now, thoughts of her filled his mind, desire and longing entwined with fear that Vachek would act. That he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

Tugging irritably at the knot of his tie, Michael went upstairs, walking quickly into his study. Sliding his briefcase onto the large, antique maple desk in the corner, he eyed the computer, and thought of the evening’s work still ahead of him. Later, he decided swiftly. At this point in time, he’d had quite enough of facts and figures.

He wandered downstairs, into the large kitchen. After stripping off his jacket and tie, and tossing them carelessly over the back of the nearest chair, he stared without interest at the contents of his refrigerator. Lunch had been many long hours ago. Exhaustion seemed to have stripped away his appetite, but he knew he should eat something. Sighing, Michael reached for a small takeaway container that held the remains of last night’s green chicken curry.

Too weary to be bothered with clearing away piles of paperwork covering the large dining room table’s surface, Michael ate standing up in the kitchen. He leaned against the high kitchen bench top, and half-heartedly read through the latest pile of junk mail to swamp his mailbox.

Temples throbbing faintly with the first stirrings of a headache, Michael threw the empty food container in the trash. After engaging the downstairs security, he climbed the stairs once again. He’d had enough of this day. The sooner he finished that damned report, the sooner he could sleep.

After a hot shower that did nothing to ease the tension across his shoulders, he changed into an old pair of jeans and even older Cambridge rugby jersey. Walking from his bedroom to the study, Michael caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror. He blinked at his reflection. He didn’t know what had prompted him to pull this particular jersey out of the wardrobe – it felt like years since he’d worn it. Perhaps it had been.

Michael shook his head. Dwelling on the past was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not tonight. Not when the present was threatening to unravel every thread he’d so carefully woven over the last five years.

Today’s mediation had been a test of his powers of concentration, to say the least. To Michael’s discomfort, even as he had talked with Nikita Wirth of contracts and cash settlements, his mind had been occupied with very different thoughts.

Adjourning with her to a private conference room had almost been his downfall. It had, he now admitted dryly, been a tactical error on his part. But Vachek’s less-than-subtle threat had filled him with a sudden sense of panic, leaving him with no other choice than to speak with her alone.

Michael closed his eyes in despair, thinking how close he’d come to losing control in that small room. His body’s instinctive response to her proximity had nearly been his undoing. His fingers had itched to trail down the long line of her neck, exploring the enticing gap of skin left bared by her upswept hairstyle, skin that was smooth and pale against the dark green of her jacket collar.

He had found himself longing to thread his fingers through her sedate hairstyle, to see that glorious mass of pale, shimmering strands caress her shoulders, the gentle swell of her breasts. He had barely been able to meet her eyes without wondering how her skin would feel against his. When she had passionately flung his own words back in his face, he had wondered how that luxurious mouth would taste.

“Damn.” Michael swore softly under his breath and walked quickly down the hallway to the study. Finish your work. Get some sleep. Don’t think about her.

It was, he thought with a bitterness that surprised him, a miserable way to spend a Friday night.

~*~*~*~*~

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:

  • Chapter 63 -- Repost Fairy, 16:33:00 05/03/02 Fri
    [ Contact Forum Admin ]

    Forum timezone: GMT-5
    VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
    Before posting please read our privacy policy.
    VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
    Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.