Authors: Joey W. Hill
Rachel’s as-yet-untapped gifts. Her
sweet pussy had
responded with a surge of cream
when he’d painted those
images in her mind last night.
Always before, he’d embraced
something like this as a
chal enging puzzle, something he
could patiently wait for the
universe to reveal. He’d enjoy the
journey, seeing a clear
beginning and end. But they were
right. This was different.
Before last night, he might have said
the beginning was
learning she wasn’t married. But that
wasn’t true. Al that
spiritual discipline they teased him
about, he’d applied with
agonizing rigor over the past year.
He’d meditated,
immersed himself in late night
inventing marathons, gone to
their favored club and worked out
sexual pressure in
scenes with various submissives.
Al tactics to handle the ache in his
groin and the even
more painful ache in his heart when
they grew to be too
much, like when he caught a glimpse
of her smile, or the
yearning behind her eyes. There’d
been moments, such as
when she touched him during the
yoga
nidra
, that his
Master’s instincts had shot forth so
hard and strong, it had
taken everything he had not to reach
out with both hands
and seize what she was
subconsciously offering. Plunder
that mouth, wrap his hands in her hair
and take, take, take.
More than once, he’d considered not
attending anymore,
but something had kept him going
back. So yesterday sure
as hel hadn’t been the beginning. It
had merely been the
dril bit that had plunged into that vein
of contained feelings.
Emotions were exploding inside him
like a ful blown, out-
of-control gusher.
Matt had cal ed it with pinpoint
accuracy. She’d stepped
square onto his stage, and everything
else was in
darkness. In a matter of two days,
she’d become the only
purpose. Every step was vital. He
needed to be careful,
plan things out. Unfortunately, his
instinct wanted to run her
down like a mastiff breathing down
the neck of a fleeing
rabbit. He wasn’t used to being in
that kind of mindset. He
was the thinker, the fix-it guy. The
big-picture guru.
His uneasiness must have shown in
his face, for Ben
sobered, a rare occurrence.
“Seriously, man. You won’t
fail.”
Matt flashed his trademark dangerous
smile. “We never
do.”
“Mr. Forte.” Janet, their supremely
efficient admin, spoke
through Jon’s speaker phone. “I know
you’re in conference,
but Rachel Madison is here to see
you.”
She’d come, and much earlier than he
expected. Every
part of him reacted, muscles tensing
like an eager predator
at the end of a chain. He saw it
reflected in their knowing
glances. Stil , trying for calm, Jon
lifted a brow, glanced at
Matt. “How does she do that? I never
have to tel her
anything. Not only did she know I
wanted to see Rachel
right away, she knew she should
interrupt me, even if I was
in a meeting with you al .”
“Probably
particularly
if you were
in meeting with us,”
Lucas said dryly. “Janet is a scary
woman. We al know
she’s a demon Matt hired straight
from the bowels of hel .
She knows everything.”
“Actual y, I’m an angel, sent by God
to keep you from
drowning in al your depravations and
sins.”
Matt chuckled as Lucas winced. Jon
glanced toward the
speaker phone. “Point taken, Janet.
Show her back here
and then you can go back to preening
your feathers and
shining your halo.”
“Please. Haloes are so last mil
ennium. We prefer the
aura of light that drives men to their
knees in awe and
wonder.”
“Seems to me they could do a lot
better things for you in
that position than—” Ben grinned as
the phone
disconnected sharply enough to cause
a static pop on the
speaker phone. When Matt gave him
a quel ing look, the
lawyer raised both hands in
surrender. “Clearing out.”
Peter fol owed him as Matt rose,
gave Jon a nod. “You
know where we’l be.”
The unspoken message being—
Yes,
we never fail, but if
you stumble, we’re here.
Jon made a
Herculean attempt to
clear his mind, relax his shoulders.
Lucas lingered last. “You need
backup in here?”
“No, I’ve got this one. But thanks, to
al of you. I just hope I
haven’t fucked it up.”
“Wel , she’s here. That’s got to be a
foot in the door, even
if she’s here to put it up your ass.”
Before Jon could reply to that, Janet
appeared in the
doorway. The attractive forty-
something in a form-fitting
pale yel ow suit and pearls offered
her cool smile. Her
warm voice and professional mien
gave nothing of their
previous vol ey away. “Mr. Forte,
are you ready for Ms.
Madison?”
That’s a good question
, Jon thought.
Now or never
. He’d
said he knew her, but knew nothing
about her. He would
make the connection, though, because
as Matt had said,
his whole life had been about this
moment. Even if he’d
never realized it until now.
Chapter Seven
When Rachel parked in the wel -lit
K&A deck, she noted
they had guards who patrol ed each
of the four levels. No
visitor had to be concerned about the
potential hazards of a
dimly lit parking garage. Further, the
one on her level gave
her helpful instructions on how to get
to Jon Forte’s office
from the garage elevators. She was
on the approved visitor
list, an unexpected and somewhat
unsettling courtesy.
She’d been questioning her sanity for
the entire drive, but
as she stepped into the elevator, she
reminded herself
again that she owed him a face-to-
face explanation. She
wasn’t here…to be what he wanted.
She’d worn her most
conservative slacks and blouse
combination, the one she
used for PT department presentations
to the hospital
board. She’d pul ed her hair up in a
neat bun, taming al
those feminine strands around her
face with pins and a
black ribbon.
She’d fought with herself on that,
because pul ing her hair
back so severely only emphasized the
stress and age lines.
She’d compromised with a light
application of makeup—
even when making a point, a woman
needed some vanity,
and the bruise, though much better,
needed some
coverage—but the color on her lips
was a subdued
burgundy. While she wore heels, they
were sensible black
pumps.
Her nerves felt like a wheat field
churned up by the
passage of a tornado, leaving an
uneven impression of the
devastation. She vacil ated between
shivers of pleasure,
remembering every mil isecond of
the night he’d spent with
her, and shame at what she’d
revealed about herself, how
much she’d surrendered. She was
frightened, scared of
what he’d pul ed from her. Nearly a
dozen times, she’d
almost reversed course to do exactly
everything he’d
ordered in that note.
To counter that, she’d retreated into
anger more than
once. He’d sabotaged her on her
home ground. She had a
world of poison boiling in her gut,
and it didn’t much matter
to her that it was old poison. He’d
uncapped the bottle.
Maybe if he got a ful dose of it, he’d
realize how pointless
this was. They’d politely say their
goodbyes. Oh God, what
if he kept coming to yoga class? What
if he didn’t?
Getting off at the top floor and seeing
al the signs of
wealth and success—a mahogany
desk in the admin area,
Persian rugs and priceless original
artwork on the wal s—
gave her pause. Home ground
advantage meant
something entirely different here. Her
home ground had
whimsical cat figurines and romantic
Waterhouse prints
bought at warehouse discount. It was
as much a home
court advantage as a rabbit’s hole
was to a terrier. This…
this was definitely not that. As she
approached the desk,
the only thing that eased a smidgen of
her growing tension
was the plaque the very efficient-
looking woman had on her
desk.
Secretary is not a derogatory term.
Otherwise the
government position would be
Administrative Assistant of
State.
She gave her name, but the secretary
was already rising.
“Hel o, Ms. Madison. I’m Janet.
Martin said you were
coming up to see Mr. Forte. Fol ow
me, please.”
She was taken down a hal designed
with open spaces,
more exceptional artwork and
skylights letting in sunlight.
One threw a colored design on the
cream carpet and she
looked up to see a stained-glass
depiction of St. George
and the Dragon. A medieval-looking
script had been
stamped in the decorative frame.
Some days, the dragon wins.
“The Kensington men have an
unusual sense of humor,”
Janet noted. The woman had stopped,
giving her a moment
to look. Was Rachel losing her mind,
or did it feel like the
woman knew exactly why she was
here, and how this would
go? A scary idea because, despite
everything Rachel had
told herself she was going to say,
now that she was a
breath from seeing him, she wasn’t
sure anymore.
This had been a mistake.
“I think I left something in my car. I
should…”
Janet had taken a step away from her,
and now stood in
an open doorway. “Mr. Forte, are
you ready for Ms.
Madison?”
He must have nodded, because Janet
turned then,
gesturing her forward. Rachel
managed a polite thanks,
hoping she sounded far calmer than
she was. As Janet
passed her, the woman touched her
arm.
“You know, knights slay al kinds of
dragons. If you give
them the chance.”
The whispered observation left
Rachel staring after her.
At least until she heard a quiet throat
clearing. Tel ing her
heart to settle back in its proper
place in her chest, she
turned her attention to who awaited
her over that threshold.
Last night, she hadn’t had much time
to consider him in
his working clothes. He often
changed into his suit before
he left the studio, but she’d only seen
him in it at a distance,
when he was getting into his car.
According to one of her
more inquisitive students who’d
quizzed him, his silver
sports car was a hydrogen-fueled
prototype. It probably
cost a smal fortune.
Now she saw him standing by his
desk in his gray slacks
and silk tie, his white shirt sleeves
rol ed up. He had a
pencil tucked behind his ear,
probably working on the
drawing she saw in progress on the
large drafting table in
the corner. She found it intriguing he
was using that instead
of a computer screen. He had lead
smudges on his
fingertips.
She captured al that detail in one
hungry moment before
she met his blue eyes. They locked
with hers, and then his
gaze slid over her face, her hair,
down over her body. It was
a slow, deliberate appraisal, every
inch underscoring that
she’d not done as he’d commanded. It
made something
quiver low in her bel y. Surely, he’d
known she wouldn’t. But
in his presence she suddenly,
fervently wished she had, that
she’d obeyed him, given him what
would please him.
God and Goddess, she’d known she
couldn’t handle this.
She couldn’t make any more stupid
choices based on
cravings she couldn’t afford to have.
She’d taught herself
that the only thing she could do to
protect herself was act
opposite from the way she
desperately wanted to act. It
was her only chance of staying out of
trouble, no matter that