Authors: Aurora Rose Lynn
Imminent Conquest (20 page)
His phone rang again. He was tempted not to answer but he wasn't the type of person to ignore anyone he associated or worked with. All that boozing last night and no sleep had made him a near wreck, but at lunchtime he would know if he could help Nicole with whatever problem she had. He didn't much care what had made her seek him out instead of Brad or any of her other acquaintances. No matter how much she hated him, he would always help her in any way he could.
And love her from afar.
As noon approached, Nicole began to feel more confident her plan would work. She had arranged to take the remainder of the day off. Michael deserved what he was about to receive. Several times, she glanced at her purse tucked in the bottom drawer of her desk and visualised the object lying dormant inside. It wasn't quite like a gun, but its power disabled and gave a strong warning.
Hoping to get a glimpse of Michael and his car, she checked the street from her office window. The sun poked through a haze of stormy, grey clouds and shone on windshields, almost blinding her. She didn't see his car, although she caught a glimpse of him as he crossed the street. He was still as punctual as a clock, she reflected. Her heart fluttered wildly. The wind had mussed his hair and she was forced to admire his masculinity under the navy two-piece suit he wore. He stood out even in a crowd. He held his keys in one hand against his thigh. His neutral expression gave nothing of his thoughts away.
What would have happened between them if he hadn't killed his father? Would their children be running and happily playing in the backyard of a two-storey house with a white picket fence surrounding it? Would she and Michael still be terribly in love?
She searched for his burgundy car, hoping he hadn't had the audacity to bring the limousine. She heaved a sigh of relief at seeing the Park Avenue's sleek lines parked between a rusting station wagon and a newer model pickup truck. She had no second thoughts as she headed for the elevator, her purse strapped carelessly over her shoulder. Hell hath no fury worse than a woman scorned, she laughed inwardly. Truly, Michael Karlisi would experience it in a matter of minutes.
She met him at the elevator. He appeared surprised, before he smiled warmly. “Sweetheart,” he greeted her.
Nicole was careful to hide her distaste for the endearment he used, but found herself battling his presence and his physically powerful body. The jacket and his trousers fit him almost like a second skin, with a little breathing room, but his attractiveness devastated her. How could she go through with her plan? This wasn't like her to be vindictive to the point of inflicting injury on another.
"Nicole?” he asked, lightly resting his hand on her upper arm.
Good grief, but she had been staring. She swallowed hard and felt her heart turn over in her chest. Why couldn't she shut off her emotions and feel nothing for him?
"I'm fine,” she said, allowing his hand to linger on the sleeve of her coat. Too bad for the bastard. He would have no choice but to leave her alone once she was through with him. She considered her plan foolproof after careful planning and consideration.
"What's wrong?"
The man didn't waste any time getting to the point. But she was prepared for that too. “I thought we might go to the coffee shop downstairs and talk."
He nodded. “Sounds good."
She found herself admiring his self-confidence but she blocked any pity she might feel. They waited for the elevator to arrive. Not only had he callously disregarded her plea to be left alone, but he had sent her a room full of roses and intimate apparel. He had made her suffer the indignity of listening to Brad's vituperative words.
He followed her into the elevator and pressed the Lobby button. Timing was crucial now, and she was glad he kept his back turned to her as she unzipped her purse. “I don't want you near me. Can't you get that into your head?” Perfect. He had turned to face her. “I threw everything where it belongs. In the garbage. You're so insensitive. And how dare you spread the rumour I'm pregnant? How dare you?"
His face registered baffled surprise. Her hand was in her purse as she pulled the plug on the canister and lifted the Mace out. She stepped back and sprayed the highly irritating chemical in his face.
He sank to his knees, screaming in anguish, wildly attempting to rub the stinging spray, meant for a bear at least three times his size, from his eyes. She felt no pity as she hastily groped in his hip pocket for his keys. The animal deserved every bit of pain he would endure over the next few hours. As the elevator stopped, she leapt out with the ring of keys closed in her fist. The lobby was quiet.
Welcome to Nicole's version of hell.
Before a full minute had elapsed, Nicole reached Michael's car and unlocked the door to his expensive car. She got into the driver's seat, carefully pulled out into the traffic and headed for the outskirts of Eastwynd. It was such a nice car. Too bad it would stay that way for only a few more minutes.
She drove for half an hour before she reached the area ten miles above Eastwynd in the hills, which she had designated as a junkyard for the bastard's possession. It might not make much of a dent in his pocketbook, but thirty thousand dollars was thirty thousand dollars, and it would teach him a valuable lesson.
She cautioned herself to drive slowly and with greater care as the road became slippery with wet snow and the embankment on the right became steeper as she wound her way up the side of the mountain on a gravel road. She wouldn't want to make the car her own grave. Parking perpendicular to the road, she slammed on the emergency brake and slid the transmission into neutral.
Michael's slim black briefcase lay on the floor in front of the passenger seat. That would be the last he saw of that. She bitterly hoped it contained important and irreplaceable papers for the time he could once again see.
The freezing wind blew through her coat, chilling her. She searched until she found a twenty-pound rock and lugged it to the car before hefting it onto the gas pedal. Like a race car on the track, the engine revved up with a roar. She stepped as far as she could from the driver's side and disengaged the emergency brake before she shifted the transmission into drive.
The car slowly moved forward until it slipped over the road and over the embankment, where it began picking up speed, hitting bent and gnarled pine trees. Snow and rocks crunched under the four tyres. Two hundred feet down, she heard what sounded like a dull, distant clap of thunder. The next instant, the car exploded into a plethora of bright orange and crimson red flames. Too bad. The gas tank must have been full.
What tremendous heat the burning car must be generating. In a short period of time, the car would be nothing more than a burnt mass of twisted wreckage. It was much like in the movies—let the car roll down the hill and it would explode into fire and flames.
Clutching her purse, she burst into laughter. She lifted her face to the sky, which was once more opening its vaults of small crystals. Tiny snowflakes wet her eyelashes, her cheeks and her lips. She laughed some more.
She glanced at her watch. She had ten minutes to reach the waiting taxi she had arranged for. Half running, half walking, she risked missing the taxi as she turned back several times to watch the plume of smoke coming from what had once been Michael's car.
Deep down inside, she knew she wasn't a vindictive woman, but this once, she had allowed herself to play dirty. Michael would stop playing his little games now. She was sure of it. He wouldn't go about telling lies and sending intimate presents she had no use for. She would start her life over again by selling her house and getting a new job in a city as far away from Eastwynd as possible. And far from Michael's influence.
She nearly slipped and fell on the icy road as she ran towards the spot where the taxi was to wait. Her thin-soled shoes provided no warmth against the snow and slush but if she had worn winter boots, that in itself would have given her away to Michael. She was so close to freedom.
Nicole stood near the hairpin curve at the Old Eastwynd Road and waited for the taxi, which was already five minutes late. She stamped her feet, trying to keep warm as the wind gusted, chilling her through her grey three-quarter-length coat. The snow fell lightly, spotting her with brief, wet flakes before they melted into miniscule pools of water.
Where was the taxi? She couldn't stand here and wait. The dispatcher could have sent the taxi to another area in error. She had to start walking. It was far too cold to stand out here and do nothing. She estimated the walk back to Eastwynd might take two and a half hours if she hurried. She threw her purse strap over her shoulder and jammed her hands deep into her pockets to keep them warm.
The curve in the road led her downhill and after a mile her cheeks were flushed and her nose frozen. The view on the left was lovely from this height, though. She laughed, thinking revenge should have been sweeter than what she had experienced. She had expected a more heady feeling of decisive victory, or even of cleansing. But she didn't feel that. Instead, she felt empty and that nagging sensation that something vital was missing pestered her. Now that she would never again see Michael, there was a hole in her heart.
The laughter turned to tears. She hadn't known how much pain and agony the Mace would cause a man. Her father had used to go hunting and had sworn the stinging spray would cause a six-hundred-pound bear to hightail it to safer country. To spray the chemical into a man's face had been the ultimate revenge. Uncomfortably, Nicole wondered if he would ever regain his eyesight. Against her will, she hoped he would. Somehow she couldn't bear that his handsome features would be marred by her petty action.
Michael had changed but perhaps, on second thought, he hadn't warranted such a drastic punishment. She berated herself for what she had done, but didn't trouble herself over the car. Possessions could always be replaced. Sadly, she couldn't alter the past. What was done was done, just as Michael had committed murder that summer when the future had evaporated as surely as her breath did as she strode towards Eastwynd.
It was so peacefully silent. Not even a chickadee sang, and there was no sound except for the soles of her shoes crunching on the snow. It was as if no one else in the world existed. A car ground its way up the side of the mountain. A minute later, a white car with a yellow light on its roof came into view.
The car stopped and a bearded man poked his head out of the window. “You the lady who wants a ride?"
She nodded, knowing her lips were too frozen to speak. The ride home was uneventful.
Safe within her house, Nicole took a long, warm bath and drank several cups of herbal tea before warmth returned to her bones. Deep in her heart, she knew she would never stop loving the man she had known as James. That man, however, was a part of the irretrievable past.
Bryan had begun the rendering plant's full shutdown procedure. It was Saturday, and the next two days would allow enough time for the plant to be closed down so the employees could celebrate Christmas for a full week with their friends and families.
The shutdown and consequent start-up were always concentrated procedures. This time Bryan had to make sure the boilers were shut down properly to avoid disastrous complications. Last Easter, the third class power engineer had failed to empty the boilers and had nearly blown up the plant.
He slipped and slid on the packed ice in the plant's parking lot. The muscle in his sprained ankle complained about the pain it was forced to endure. It had started snowing again, and the wind cut through the layers of cotton shirts and underwear beneath his blue overalls. He threw open the door to the office and a blast of warm air began to slowly thaw him.
"Libby, have you seen Michael? I need his authorisation for these procedures."
"Again? What don't you need authorisation for?” she asked, looking up from her newspaper. Her eyes twinkled impishly.
The door to Michael's office was open, which meant he probably wasn't in. “Is he out for lunch again? Isn't this the third time this week?"
"Don't know. I'm not counting.” She bent her head over the comics section. “I'm his secretary, not his wife."
"Brad hasn't shown up for work yet today?” Oddly, it wasn't like him to display irresponsible behaviour.
"Nope."
Bryan bypassed Libby and went into Michael's office. While he was here, he might as well call Cathy and see what she was up to. He had a Christmas present in mind for her, since she had settled down at his house for the holidays. A French maid's outfit in black lace to expose her breasts and, when she bent over, the open crotched briefs made of fishnet would show off her pussy and ass. Man, he was getting a hard-on just thinking about how she would look all dolled up as his personal maid for the night.
He urged himself to think about something else as he lifted the receiver to his ear and started dialling. “Hey, Catty. Whatchya got cooking?” he asked playfully when he heard her answer.
"I'm making stew,” she replied.
"Man, but your voice is sexy.” He imagined her wearing nothing at all as she skipped around the kitchen concocting magic meals.
"I can't wait for you to come back."
"Are you playing with yourself?"
"You want me to?"
"First of all, what are you wearing?"
"Nothing. And I'm hot and bothered thinking about last night."
"Oh yeah. Me too.” He gulped, envisioning her long fingers reaching between her legs and stroking her clitoris. Oh, man, but he shouldn't have called her. His dick was harder than a rock and bulging against his coveralls.
"So, you got a minute,” she breathed huskily into the phone. “I'm going to put my fingers on my juicy clit and—"
"No!” Bryan shouted. “Don't do that! Hopefully I'll be home early tonight and you can play with me instead."
