Warnings: Rated M

Chapter 7: Feint

A dejected-looking contestant on Survivor hit back as they were voted off the island of Upolu, and Harvey grinned victoriously, having guessed which way the politics would unravel. It was why he watched the show—to study the intricacies of human nature. To see who could push beyond their physical limitations whilst navigating alliances and betrayals that would undoubtedly decide their fate. That, and he enjoyed being right without having to break a sweat.

Next to him on the couch, Donna smirked over her wine glass. "I still can't believe you watch reality TV."

"Survivor is an underrated show," he shrugged.

An outpouring of fake tears followed the contestant's departure, and he suppressed his amusement at the bad acting. Since Donna had been making wisecracks about the talent all evening, he challenged her smugness. "I'd like to see you audition."

"Really?" Her loose smile teased him. "What's the appeal, counselor? Or do you just want to see me in a bikini?"

He took a deep gulp of his Pinot, trapped between ogling the scantily dressed contestants on the screen or letting his gaze roam Donna's short pink cami set.

He kept his eyes forward.

"Depends. Did you pack one?"

"You're an idiot."

Her carefree laugh made a nice change of pace. Although, they'd survived each other's company for the past forty-eight hours better than he had expected. There had been some squabbling over how to manage her socials, but the rest of their strategizing had fallen in sync, and she'd even managed to offer some insightful help on his other cases. In another life, she could have been a brilliant lawyer or legal aide, but in this one, he had to settle for her talents being a little more flamboyant.

"Say what you want..." He waved his glass at the voting ceremony. "At least I'd make it through the first round."

"You think I wouldn't?"

"Not if they put you on kitchen duty."

He was half-joking. She'd actually been a decent chef's hand, but if he'd waited for her to prompt their mealtimes, they both would have starved to death.

When she didn't trade barbs back, the silence lured his attention around. Expecting she'd taken offense, he was instead met with warmth surfacing in the golden hues of her irises.

"Thank you, Harvey."

His name on her lips for the first time niggled at something unfamiliar in his chest. He tried injecting some humor into the moment to keep it from growing uncomfortable. "For what? Kidnapping you and taking the ransom out of my billables?"

"For bringing us here without a lecture. Giving me space to think." The corners of her mouth twitched. "Cooking."

She sank further into the cushions, her lashes dancing almost shyly. "I know you owe Teddie, but there aren't many people in my life who would have even pretended to care this much."

Well, fuck — he inhaled sharply.

What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

He didn't do the comfort thing, and ensuring she had some privacy whilst rustling up a few meals was hardly worthy of a ticket through the golden gates. Sadly, though he believed she was genuinely lacking support, he just couldn't sympathize knowing she had different options.

"There are other jobs out there."

"Sure, I could become a lawyer… Working eighty hours a week seems a lot less lonely."

He stiffened, bristling at the insinuation that he wasn't happy. "I'm not the one complaining about my life."

In a turn that surprised him, her sarcasm morphed into a smile that lifted her passing melancholy.

"You don't get thanked very often, do you?"

She stumped him for a second time, his fingers fidgeting with the stem of his wine glass. Clients expected him to win. That's why he was on a seven-figure salary. There wasn't a need for gratitude, which explained his unease surrounding their conversation.

"No, I guess not," he admitted.

The couch shifted as she gingerly rose onto her knees, collecting his empty tulip flute. He let go reluctantly, her skimpy pajamas giving him an eyeful as she reached over with deliberate slowness. The glasses landed with a clink that set klaxons blaring.

"I think you need a lesson in being gracious."

Her svelte purr disabled his internal warning system, his hands betraying common sense as she crawled onto his lap, loosely sitting at his hips.

She smirked wickedly. "Wouldn't you agree, counselor?"

The provocative scent of nightshade and jasmine blurred his coherency, his fingers sitting staunchly as the blood in his brain rushed south.

Their commitments were beckoning them back to the city tomorrow, and despite the measured restraint she'd shown him, crossing a line seemed like a step backward — one his body raced toward when her lips brushed the shell of his ear.

"Until you sign me, this is all about pleasure, I promise."

Her engagement letter still sat unsigned, which meant technically, they wouldn't be breaking his rule. But his pulse pounded with indecision.

"I, um… it's not—"

She sucked lightly at his earlobe, her teeth grazing before she traced a path down the column of his throat. His protest fell apart beneath her thrall.

This was exactly what he'd wanted to unleash — her bold, uninhibited confidence, her ability to take control of her emotions — but he'd severely underestimated the danger of her prowess.

Desperate for the kiss she was teasing at the corners of his mouth, he caved, chasing the sweetness of tantalizing berries on her lips. The flavor burst across his tongue, her smug grin coaxing his own.

Screw it.

He was all in, and nobody — not even Crimson Boulevard's resident vixen — mastered seduction better than he did. With a calculated smirk, he jerked her thighs apart, dropping her ass onto a timely thrust. She gasped and then whimpered, trying to rock her hips, but his palms stilled her with a rough chuckle. "I won't learn anything if you start doing that."

She broke their kiss, the flecks in her eyes turning a molten amber as her fingers slipped beneath his T-shirt.

"Then let's see how courteous you can really be."

He helped pull the fabric over his head, more than eager to return the favor — growling when she pinned his wrists against the couch.

"First lesson is attentiveness."

She peeled off her camisole, She peeled off her camisole, his chest rising in sync with the reveal of her firm, subtle breasts. Her skin practically glowed, a dusting of freckles painting the swell of her voluptuous curves.

So fucking hot.

Her back arched with cocky demand, and he slid his hands up, thumbs grazing the soft underside of each peak. Attentiveness wasn't something he needed help with, and that was going to be her first lesson.

His tongue flicked over her nipple, teasing the rose-colored bud until it pebbled, his other hand less attentive as he kneaded its twin. Then he alternated, spurred on by her whimper as he licked and pinched, deriving pleasure from her desperate squirming when they grew too sensitive.

She ground against his ridged length, bucking her hips, and he felt a gush of heat when she cried out, his brows shooting up at the sudden, but fucking hot climax. Nothing turned him on like a woman pleasuring herself, and his cock throbbed mercilessly as he soothed her gasping breaths with a lazy, lingering kiss.

Then a hard shove drove him back.

"A, counselor."

Her hand slid into his sweats, cupping the bulge in his pants.

"Now, let's see if you know 'please' and 'thank you.'"

She squeezed and released him, the air in his lungs thinning as she shifted between his knees, tugging at his slacks. Tiny pinpricks rose on his skin as she wriggled them off, and he grit his teeth as she bobbed over, licking the length of his briefs. The elastic snapped back, and his eyes slammed shut.

"Please and thank you," he grumbled tensely, trying to short-cut his way out of being tormented. He'd be grateful, alright. When he was buried to the hilt inside her, not having his dignity mortified.

"Nice try," she grinned. "But you definitely need some humbling."

Her chuckle wet his swollen head, and he clenched his fists as her mouth covered his tip, taking him in and releasing him, licking her way down then circling back. He jerked, praying she'd swallow him deeper, but she only relented an inch, her hand spreading the mess of his precum torturously over his shaft as she sucked and then replaced her fingers with her tongue, doing laps over his thick, pulsing veins.

Each time she took him in her mouth, she teased him with more, and every time his balls grew tighter faster, mocking his zero fucking restraint, until her cruelty hit peak, and they sagged helplessly between his trembling thighs.

He couldn't take any more, blindly reaching for her hair with a light tug that begged her to stop, the plea turning into a guttural groan as her cheeks hollowed all the way around his swollen erection.

Fuck. His fingers gripped her scalp, forcing her to stay latched on, and when she mewled, sucking him harder, he thrust deeper, losing all control.

Shit, he was going to —

A grunt tore from his throat as he came, shuddering as Donna swallowed, lapping him up like a goddamn reward. She was too fucking perfect, choking on a gasp as he released her but still impossibly composed as her watery eyes gazed up, undressing his armor without saying a word. He didn't want to stop touching her. After stealing a moment for them both to recover, he wanted to make love to her all night.

A foreign tenderness crept over him as he stroked the soft strands of her hair, letting her catch her breath against his palm. "You okay?"

She nodded, and he smiled, flashing a grin. "Good. Because I think we need—"

"I want to tell the IRS I knew everything."

What the fuck?

The dramatic shift of conversation hit him like a bucket of ice water. Donna confessing to the IRS wasn't the plan they'd agreed to. Hell, it wasn't even the goddamn truth. She'd had no idea Jim was guilty, let alone had any involvement in his embezzlement.

"Have you lost your damn mind?" he asked, trying to fathom what she was thinking. "Why would you want to lie?"

She swept her camisole on, getting to her feet, and still swimming in a haze, he fumbled into his slacks as she paced around the table.

"If I confess, then they'll listen when I tell them Atlas threatened me. I can make a plea deal for my father based on whatever you, PI, can find."

He knotted the cord around his waist with a tense tug. The plan had only a minuscule chance of succeeding. Even if it did, the consequences weren't worth the risk.

"Donna, I can't stop them laying criminal charges if you confess to aiding and abetting."

"I know."

Her arms fell around her waist with an infuriatingly bittersweet smile as she nodded behind him. On the bench was the folder containing her engagement letter, and he turned back, his glare narrowing. If he was right, then this had been her plan all along: to cut him loose before they made it back to the city.

"You were never going to sign it, were you?"

"I meant what I said, Harvey. You've done more than anyone else would have. I'll make this right for you with Teddie. You have my word."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, furious that she'd not only lied to him, again, but that she'd made damn sure he wasn't in a position to argue.

What was he supposed to do? Call Theodore thirty seconds after he'd just come down Donna's throat? If she breathed a word of what just happened between them, he'd be the asshole who took advantage, and Theodore would kill him.

Well. Fucking. Played.

Snatching his t-shirt off the couch, he was prepared to give exactly what she wanted: space and just enough rope to hang herself with.

"I'm taking a shower. Do whatever you want." He growled under his breath, "You fucking will anyway."

She didn't say anything or try to follow him, and he wouldn't have cared if she did. He was seething with too much frustration to listen, anger he took out on in his ensuite, the drywall cracking as his fist flew into it.

The aggression helped minimally, the pain in his knuckles a momentary distraction as he leaned back against the damaged paint. In the mirror, his reflection showed the visible tent in his slacks, his erection still half-inflated despite his turbulent emotions.

Donna had screwed him all right, and he was getting pretty fucking tired of being her whipping boy, except nothing she was doing made any sense. They'd figured out a solid plan together. He couldn't think of a single reason why she'd take a live grenade out of his pocket to throw at the IRS.

Unless…

His head knocked against the wall.

Unless she didn't trust he could win against Atlas.

The thought stung more than it should.

He didn't give a shit if people doubted him, because he knew they were wrong, but if Donna went back to Theodore saying he'd done his best, that was a goddamn fucking lie, and he wasn't going to stand for it.

His best was closing even the most stubbornly obnoxious client he'd ever met, and they weren't leaving until he got her signature.