Finding Jen [NOOK Book]


Attorney Jennifer Gilbert is happy to cover a colleague's case?until she realizes their new client is the man who'd made her nights come alive, the man who'd made her sizzle at the sight of him, the man who was everything she'd ever wanted. The man she left eight years ago. Just like that, she was back in millionaire mogul Sean O'Connell's life, sending his body into a frenzy and his brain into fantasyland. He has only one night to convince her he's changed and they have a future together. But he's her past and ...
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Finding Jen

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Attorney Jennifer Gilbert is happy to cover a colleague's case?until she realizes their new client is the man who'd made her nights come alive, the man who'd made her sizzle at the sight of him, the man who was everything she'd ever wanted. The man she left eight years ago. Just like that, she was back in millionaire mogul Sean O'Connell's life, sending his body into a frenzy and his brain into fantasyland. He has only one night to convince her he's changed and they have a future together. But he's her past and now there's more than one man in her present. Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, menage.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781596328884
  • Publisher: Loose Id, LLC
  • Publication date: 3/3/2009
  • Sold by: Barnes & Noble
  • Format: eBook
  • Sales rank: 307,285
  • File size: 203 KB

Read an Excerpt

It took every ounce of Sean O'Connell's considerable self-control not to toss the attorney onto the conference room table and fuck her brains out. Or maybe he should turn her over his knee and give her the spanking she deserved. Instead, he spun around to avoid her notice and inhaled a deep breath in a vain attempt to calm his thundering heartbeat. He didn't know what troubled him more--that he had finally run into her after all these years or his body's violent reaction at seeing her. Buying time to level out his response, he glanced out the window at the slanting rays of the late-afternoon sun. Even from the seventy-first floor, there was little to see of Manhattan except sporadic patches of sky and the reflective windows of taller buildings.

"Jennifer!" Matt Stewart all but leaped to the door to welcome the woman vacillating on the threshold. "Thanks for coming by. I know it's last minute, but I've got to get to the hospital. As they say, the stork waits for no man, and Betty will have my hide if I miss the event."

The woman hadn't noticed him yet. Just as well. He returned his attention to the contract on the table and prayed no one else could hear his pounding heart, his ragged breathing.

He'd been sucker punched a few times in his life, and as bad as it had been, it was nowhere near the pain he felt now at the sight of Jen. He'd thought he'd gotten over her, that he'd moved on, but all it took was one small glimpse of her to prove him wrong. No, he wasn't over her. He'd probably never be over her--or stop loving her. After all this time, how could she still set fire to his blood, still melt his heart, and still have him hard as a rock at just the sight ofher?

"Sean O'Connell, I'd like you to meet Jennifer Gilbert, one of our top associates. Sean is CEO of Colonial Marine, that string of upscale marinas along the Jersey shore. He's here today to see what Chapman, Hart and Associates can do for him."

At the mention of his name, Sean glanced at Jen. Her eyes widened and flared as if seeing a ghost from her past, an accurate image to say the least. Her gaze flattened and turned blank, but not quickly enough. She looked away, but not before he saw her own passion reflected deep in the emerald depths of her eyes. She had no way to hide the dark crimson color creeping up her long, slender throat, past the sensitive spot just below her earlobe that he knew so well.

He kept his expression schooled in a nonchalant mask. This was her company, her turf, her call whether to tell Matt they needed no introduction.

She'd kept her hair long, or at least it seemed long, wrapped in some sort of conservative, lawyerlike bun. She was exactly as he remembered her--hair black as an offshore storm, slightly almond-shaped eyes the color of the most precious jade with a fringe of thick, smoky lashes circling them. Jen had never been one for a lot of makeup, and apparently that hadn't changed either. Her soft, full lips about had him out of the chair with a burning need to reacquaint himself with their every crease and contour.

He shifted his gaze lower and his cock hardened to an unbearable length. Even in her conservative suit, there was no mistaking she still had one lush, rounded body. No one would ever accuse Jen of being anorexic. She fairly blossomed with health and energy. Memories skidded through his mind of long days and endless nights when that sensuous body strained against his, giving and taking until they both came in one heaving, sweet climax.

Jennifer held out her hand. "Mr. O'Connell. How very nice to meet you."

So that was how it was to be? Mr. O'Connell? Sean stood, hoping his jacket hid the bulging hard-on that threatened to burst through his fly, and shook her hand. It was small and soft and trembled slightly. He allowed himself a small measure of satisfaction at the knowledge his touch still affected her just as the sight of her still sent a crushing wave of tenderness through him. "The pleasure is mine, Ms. Gilbert."

The plastic smile remained on her face even as she snatched her hand back and avoided his eyes. Good. She wasn't immune to him. He'd gotten to her, and he hadn't done a thing.

"No need to stand on formality," said Matt, gathering up a sheaf of papers from the head of the table. "Jennifer, I realize it's been a while since you left corporate contracts for consumer litigation, but I want Sean to have the best Chapman, Hart has to offer." He gave Jen a wide grin and mouthed, She's the best, to Sean. "I've explained the basics, but I'd like you to go over the details regarding our retainer contract. I made a reservation at Mancini's over on Sixty-second for six o'clock. You can discuss the fine points there."

Sean raised an eyebrow. Mancini's? One of his favorite places. Matt had done his research. He smiled inwardly at his second stroke of luck in the last five minutes. At Mancini's, he'd have Jen all to himself. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of being alone with her and focused on a more immediate purpose. Tonight he would get some answers that had nothing to do with retainer contracts, answers he'd waited eight long years to hear.

"Perhaps Mr. O'Con--I mean Sean, would rather call it a day and start fresh in the morning?" Still refusing to look at him, Jennifer grasped the back of one of the empty chairs surrounding the conference table. Her knuckles appeared white against her tanned hands, and the black chair only served to emphasize her grip. If she didn't ease up, her fingernails just might shred the leather. He zeroed in on her fingers--not a ring in sight. Hmm, and she still had the same last name. A heady sense of relief washed through him. So she hadn't married. Thank God. He caught himself. What the hell did it matter if she was married? He looked away for an instant, the elated feeling still coursing through his veins. Who was he kidding? It did matter--it mattered a lot.

So, she wanted to chicken out, did she? Didn't want to be alone with him? Of course, she'd be nervous seeing him after what she did. He'd have to go easy, but he couldn't let her back out, not when he'd finally found her, or rather, stumbled upon her.

"Start fresh in the morning? I don't think so." Sean shifted his attention to Matt. "I thought I'd made it clear I wanted to wrap this up and head back to Atlantic City tonight." Oh no, she wasn't getting away from him now.

Matt shot Jen one of those classic "whatever the prospective client wants" looks, and Sean knew the matter was settled. Matt, obviously higher up the totem pole at Chapman, Hart, wanted to reel in the obviously plum account of Colonial Marine no matter how demanding the client.

"If you leave now, you should be able to make the reservation." Matt paused at the door of the conference room. "Again, I'm sorry about this Sean. Betty wasn't due for another week, but you'll be in good hands with Jennifer."

Jen's gaze darted to Sean as if pleading to let her off the hook. He raised an eyebrow and returned an unwavering look of his own. Anticipation hummed through his blood, and he smiled for the first time that day. "I'm sure I'll be in very good hands."

* * * *

Jen followed the headwaiter, weaving her way through the noisy clatter of the chilly restaurant to the back booth Matt had reserved--quiet, out-of-the-way, perfect for a business deal. Only she didn't think she could keep Sean's mind--or hers--on business. She sighed to herself. Of all the law firms in all the world, and he's got to walk into mine.

Jen fought her way through the palm fronds that surrounded the high-backed booth. With a nod to the headwaiter, she slid into the booth and set her bulky envelope purse, which doubled as a briefcase, next to the wall. A solid hip bumped hers. Huh? She jerked her gaze sideways. Instead of sitting opposite, Sean crowded himself onto the bench next to her.

"Something wrong with that side of the table?" She edged closer to the wall. He shifted, keeping their hips and thighs aligned. His touch sent an electric current arcing from his thigh straight to her pussy, flooding her with wave after wave of unexpected carnal desire.

She sucked in a silent breath to steady her nerves. Uh-uh. This was not going to happen again. She was over him, and she was going to stay over him. Even as she asserted this resolution, she knew she was lying to herself. She barely survived the cab ride here without throwing herself into his arms just to feel his skilled hands rove over her body again, to taste his talented mouth pressed against her lips.

To counter the draw of his innate sensuality, she'd pretended he was one of her Midwestern clients who loved all things New York. She'd transformed herself into the Big Apple's premier tour guide, pointing out every landmark that flew past the cab's windows. Cripes, did she really need to mention whose statue was in the middle of Columbus Circle? Jeez.

He hadn't interrupted; in fact, he hadn't said a word. He'd just stared at her from the other side of the cab as if he were some large predatory cat amusing himself before going in for the kill. She'd agreed to take him to dinner but had a growing impression she was the featured item on the menu. If he stayed next to her much longer, touching her and reminding her of past intimacies, she'd melt into a giant puddle of goo right here on the bench. She fixed him with a frown, then pointedly shifted her eyes to the other side of the booth.

Sean returned her frown with a dazzling smile. A smile that had never failed to start her heart thumping. "Hey, I hear the service is better on this side."

She ignored the thump. "Trust me, the service is outstanding on both sides of the table, so why don't you--"

"May I get you something from the bar?" Startled, she looked up. A waiter had materialized like a genie from a lamp. He even executed a stiff bow.

Jen gave him her "this is strictly business" look and shook her head. "No, thank--"

"The lady will have a martini, straight up, three olives." Sean raised an eyebrow at her, and the insufferable gesture brought back dozens of images. Images that had haunted her secret dreams. Images she'd tried hard to forget. Images that refused to leave.

They locked eyes, his expression challenging her to counter the order. She pushed down a rising sense of annoyance mingled with excitement. He had no right to override her decisions. He'd given up that right years ago. Still, an exhilarating shiver ran up her spine as his commanding presence swirled around her. After a long beat, she lowered her eyes. What the hell? Why make an issue over a meaningless drink? It didn't help her overactive hormones that he remembered exactly how she preferred her favorite cocktail.

She gave a slight shrug, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He shifted his attention back to the waiter. "And I'll have bourbon on the rocks." His movement allowed her to study him unnoticed like she'd wanted to do in the taxi. But there, his unwavering stare had disconcerted her. Even in the darkened cab, those cobalt blue eyes kept her teetering on the edge of a ragged cliff. The same cliff she'd almost taken a nosedive over the moment she saw him in the conference room.

Years of schooling her features into an expressionless mask for judges, juries, and opposing counsel allowed her to maintain a blank yet cordial countenance, when in fact she'd wanted to throw herself into his arms and at the same time slap him into next Thursday. She pushed the thoughts aside and studied him as he spoke to the waiter.

His Irish black hair was shorter now but still long enough so her fingers itched to take a stroll through the smooth, silky strands. He wore what she liked to call the "five o'clock shadow" look--not quite a beard but more than just a late date with the daily razor. On Sean the effect was devastating, but then her heart had always done a backflip at the sight of him.

Sean, bare-chested in baggies with a surfboard under his arm, was a sure way to make her panties wet. Now, in a custom-made suit and a blinding white shirt that set off his sun-bronzed skin, he'd matured into a sophisticated corporate executive who exuded power and confidence--just the sort of fashion accessory she adored. She snatched back her wandering thoughts. No, Sean would never be any woman's accessory. He was all male, all man, and ... and he was ... he was the client and not the man who--A tight fist grabbed her heart and squeezed until she thought she'd cry out at the pain lacing through her.

Get a grip, girl. It doesn't matter anymore. He made his choice.

A montage of scenes passed through her mind like a badly rehearsed high school play. Each time she had asked Sean to stop, to step away and go back to the way things used to be, he'd give her that devastating smile and an empty promise.

But nothing changed. Nothing except the ache in her heart grew larger and the rift in their relationship wider.

Sean hadn't cared. Hell, he hadn't even noticed. Even now she could feel the well of sadness that had enveloped her when she finally realized Sean had no intention of returning to the way things had been before.

She tried again to put some space between them, but he rested his hand on her thigh and stroked it as if it were the most natural thing to do. She flinched, but with the waiter hovering over him, she couldn't very well make a scene and tell him to find a less tactile occupation for his fingers. Sean continued to question the waiter regarding menu specials as the man rearranged the place settings to their side of the table.

When she awoke this morning, reviewing a contract with potential client Sean O'Connell was not even remotely on her radarscope. She'd always imagined she'd run into him again, maybe on one of her infrequent ventures to Atlantic City's casinos on girls' night out, but never as a client in the conference room at Chapman, Hart. Client. That's what he was. Why couldn't she get that concept through her head and behave like a professional? She needed to get this meeting back on track before the locomotive sitting next to her made a train wreck of her career, or worse, of her heart.

With an efficient bow, the waiter disappeared.

Sean leaned over, wedging her into the corner of the booth and sliding his hand down to the hem of her skirt. She scooted back farther against the wall, but it was no defense against his magnetic presence. He smelled of expensive cologne and determined male.

"How have you been, honey? You have no idea how I've missed you."

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