Silk

by Pillow Michelle M.

  Nikandros growled. It was a horrific noise meant to drive fear into her. The woman merely continued to fight him. In her efforts, his hips worked between her thighs until his body pressed intimately into her.

  Feeling the hard length of him digging and grinding as the bus bounced in the air, she froze. Desire swam into her racing blood, heating her with a liquid excitement she had never felt before. Her heart thundered wildly in her chest with the thrill of the fight, the adrenaline of his chase, the passion in his loins pressed thoroughly into hers.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a frustrated growl.

  “Silk,” she answered simply, not stopping to think.

  Nikandros sensed her body heating. Unable to help himself, masculine hunger overtook him and he dropped a hand to her covered breast. He pressed his lips to her masked mouth. Silk moaned in surprise. His lips parted, as if he could taste her through her disguise. His fingers boldly caressed her, as if they could part her from her clothing. He could find no seam in her outfit from which to liberate her.

  Suddenly, the bus jolted to a stop. Nikandros flew forward, flipping over, off her body. They were in the city, next to an abandoned bus stop. Silk didn’t wait. She rolled off the side and disappeared into the night. When Nikandros sat back up, he gripped his computer in his hand and watched the last fluttering of her cape.

  “We will meet again, Silk,” he swore, his body flowing with a potent, animalistic hunger. His hair was tousled from the windy ride.

  As he rolled over the side, the bus passengers gasped to see him. They hadn’t heard a thing while in the soundproofed interior.

  Clearing his throat, Nikandros smoothed his hair and patted down his clothes. Giving the onlookers a crooked smile, he shrugged and stated, “Almost missed the bus.”

  * * * *

  Silk ran until her lungs nearly exploded. The bus had taken her miles away from home. Glowering, she reached into her pocket and grabbed a video phone. Covering the camera lens, she called home for a ride. Minutes later, her limo pulled up to take her back to the St. James Estate. She climbed inside before the robotic driver could get out to open her door.

  Pulling off her mask, Quinlan frowned. Her hair was matted to her head from her excursion. What was Nick Grant doing at Dr. Nathaniel’s laboratory? And what exactly was he anyway? Who was he?

  Thinking of him, her body trembled. Oh, but he had felt wickedly sinful against her. Even now she could feel the hard press of him. Quinlan was sure she’d be up for the rest of the night feeling him in her memory.

  Why hadn’t she just bought a pleasure droid? She’d been tempted a few times. But in the end she knew that, though it might soothe the ache in her body, it wouldn’t be able to soothe the loneliness in her heart.

  Nick Grant was a mystery. Did he know who she was? Was their chance encounter in the park just a coincidence? Quinlan didn’t believe in coincidences and wasn’t about to start now. Nick was up to something, she just couldn’t figure out what.

  Smiling, she thought, But I know how to find out.

  Quinlan reached to her side to pull out the handheld computer. It wasn’t there. Cursing, her eyes narrowed. Even as she hated him, he intrigued her. It had been a long time since anyone or anything had quickened her blood like he did when he touched her. “Damn you, Nick Grant. If you want to play, oh, we’ll play.”

  Chapter Three

  “This collection is superb, Quinlan,” said Henry Thompson, head of the Genetic Science Museum. Henry was an older, balding gentleman with beady little eyes that gave Quinlan the chills. Right now those eyes were looking over the glass cases that lined the front hall of the castellated mansion home.

  Musicians played old ballroom dances—waltzes, merengues, allemandes. Some couples danced, others strolled out into the lit gardens. Quinlan had robotic guards at every door and several between the large main hall and her father’s laboratory. The robots, however, were programmed to respond only to hostility so that whoever wanted to break in would have an easy time of it. What everyone didn’t know was that her father’s laboratory was completely empty—except for some bogus documents she had forged herself.

  Continuing, Henry said, “They will be a great addition to the museum’s collection. Your father would have been proud.”

  Quinlan smiled for the man, slowly holding up her glass of champagne. Her home was filled with the most elite members of the scientific community—all of them clamoring to get a look at the famous scientist’s daughter.

  “Miss St. James, a photograph, please!”

  Quinlan turned her back as a man pulled a camera from his jacket. A flash went off, getting only the long line of her naked back in a sleek red silk dress. Henry Thompson frowned as a robotic security guard grabbed the guest and forcibly escorted him out. He stepped a little too close to Quinlan’s back, lifting his arm to belatedly protect her from the cameraman.

  Quinlan pulled artfully away from Henry and kept her face pleasant as if nothing had happened.

  “This collection looks incomplete. Have some of the papers been lost?” asked a man Quinlan recognized instantly. She looked into his cool brown eyes, trying to gauge him. There was nothing in the vacuous depths—nothing but greed and an overabundance of pride.

  “I’m sorry, you are?” Quinlan asked, pretending she didn’t know.

  “Dr. Thomas Nathaniel,” he said.

  “Oh,” said a woman with a shrill, grating voice. “Weren’t you the man whose home was broken into?”

  “My laboratory actually,” said Dr. Nathaniel.

  “Did they discover who?” asked the loud woman with a flick of her richly decorated fingers.

  “Just a criminal in need of a microscope,” he laughed pretentiously. The surrounding group joined in. “My wife was alone at the time and didn’t see a thing.”

  “How dreadful for her!” gasped the woman.

  Quinlan hid her face into her glass, remembering just how ‘alone’ the doctor’s wife had been. Looking over Dr. Nathaniel’s excessively thin frame, she guessed Mrs. Nathaniel much preferred to be alone with her Adonis model pleasure droid.

  Quinlan tried not to blush. She had looked him up in a catalog late the night before as she considered buying one. Only, as she flipped through the pages, none of the droids struck her fancy. She kept thinking of Nick Grant. A flesh and blood man sounded much more appealing than a bloodless machine.

  “I worked with your father right before his death, Miss St. James,” said Dr. Nathaniel. “I don’t see some of his later projects here.”

  “You are right, of course,” Quinlan said, noticing how ears perked up at the admission. “I didn’t think it necessary to display his incomplete works. They are no good to anyone.”

  “But, maybe his research could be continued,” said Henry, his eyes lighting with interest at the thought. “What better testament to your father than to see his work finished?”

  “My father’s later years were spent on fanciful dreams, Dr. Thompson. I believe he would like to be remembered for the advances he made in genetic engineering. It is that work which I have given to the public he tried to serve,” Quinlan said. A murmur of appreciation went up from around the group and she quietly excused herself with a gracious bow of her coiffed head.

  “I’ve been waiting for you to drop something all night, so that I may come to your service, Miss St. James.”

  That voice! Quinlan shivered, stopping mid-stride. Of all places, this is not where she thought to see Nick again. Turning around to look at him, she affected an air of confusion.

  “I’m sorry?” she asked, cocking her head to the side as she met his steady dark eyes. “I believe you have me confused with someone else.”

  Quinlan had to focus to keep her eyes from traveling over his deliciously formed body. He was handsome in his dashing black tuxedo. A dark red rose, a perfect match to her dress, was pinned on his lapel. All too well did she remember the press of him to her body—especially into her thighs.

 
“Quinlan,” said Henry, eager to come to her assistance. He’d been hovering over her like a mother hen all night. It was driving her to distraction. “May I introduce you to Dr. Nikandros Grant?”

  “Nikandros?” Quinlan asked, a memory pulling at the side of her brain. Her brows furrowed in confusion. She slowly began to nod. “You look like your father.”

  It was Nikandros’ turn to be surprised. “My father?”

  “Yes,” Quinlan said. “He used to come around when I was a very young girl—maybe six. I remember him because he always arrived at the oddest hours and he was so mysterious....”

  Nikandros barely remembered her as the young, ratty-haired girl that would sneak into her father’s laboratory to play with the butterflies and caterpillars. He was surprised that she would remember him at all—er, his father at all.

  Now looking at her, in the stunningly sleek gown of blood red silk, he couldn’t see the annoying youngster she had been at all. He’d almost lost himself when he first found her from across the room. The strong lines of her bared back were showcased in a dipping sweep of material that teased the male eyes with a full view of her muscular lower back. A band dipped around the nape of her neck and crossed over the base of her throat to hold the front of the gown around her breasts. The material again swept to tease. Licking his lips, Nikandros would bet his life she wore nothing beneath the alluring silk.

  “I believe my father mentioned you to me,” he said gallantly. Henry eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t like the possessive way the man stood too close to Quinlan. “He only had nice things to say.”

  “Hum, maybe I am thinking of the wrong man.” Quinlan laughed. “The Nikandros Grant I’m thinking about use to call me a spoiled brat. I don’t think he cared for me at all—or the fact that I gave all my father’s butterflies names.”

  Henry laughed, trying to draw her attention. Quinlan felt the man take up her arm. He was trying to lead her away from the breathtakingly handsome gentleman she was flirting with.

  Was she flirting with him? Quinlan inwardly grimaced.

  “So, Dr. G—,” she began.

  “Please,” Nikandros murmured in a voice that sent chills over her flesh. “Call me Nick.”

  “All right, Nick,” she smiled up at him. Henry’s sweaty hand began to rub. “What is this about me dropping something for you?”

  “Ah, you don’t remember?” he asked, affecting a properly injured disposition. “Your wallet? In the park a few days ago?”

  “Oh, how silly of me to forget,” she affected. Henry began to pull. From the corner of her eye she saw his mouth open as if he would speak. Rushing, she said to Nikandros, “I believe I said I owed you a dance for the favor.”

  Nikandros saw the pleading in her gaze and instantly smiled. He reached for her. Quinlan gladly lifted her arm away from Henry, who was trying to think of a way to protest. She placed her fingers in Nikandros’ offered hand. His fingers were warmth to her flesh, very unlike the sweaty grip of the museum coordinator. Gracefully, he placed her hand on his forearm.

  Watching his eyes for a sign of change, she smiled at him and sighed prettily. His eyes stayed the same dark brown, solid and spine-tinglingly handsome. If she hadn’t seen the shift to red for herself, she would have never believed it. She wondered if he knew who she was. Her heart beat a little faster, thoroughly enjoying the dangerous game.

  “Thank you,” she murmured coyly when he had taken her out of earshot. “If I had to stand around with those stuffy scientists and doctors any longer, I was going to start screaming.”

  Nikandros smiled down at her, not letting her see any of his thoughts. He had overheard her comments about her father’s later work. It was good she didn’t have it for public display, but it didn’t mean she wasn’t fishing for buyers.

  When Quinlan tried to pull away from him, his arm tightened on her hand.

  “What about my dance?” he said in a low tone that neared upon a growl. Nikandros knew that seducing her would be the sweetest assignment he’d ever had and possibly the most disastrous for both of them. It didn’t stop him as he drew her around into his arms. “I would hate to make you a liar.”

  Quinlan’s mouth opened in surprise, as her body came near his. She could smell the strong lure of his cologne. She watched him carefully, intrigued. His smile was all charm—very uncharacteristic of the man who had broken into Dr. Nathaniel’s laboratory to borrow a microscope, and then proceeded to jump over cliffs and onto buses with barely a scratch to show for it. She didn’t trust him. But, she was intrigued and most assuredly aroused.

  His hand dropped down over her lower back as he drew her closer. His eyes dared her to pull away as his fingers settled boldly on her naked flesh—almost caressing in their possessive hold against her skin. Gradually, he brought her closer to his chest. He drew his fingers over her shoulder. A trail of fire ignited on her arm as his touch dipped to cup her hand into his. The corner of his lips lifted, unwittingly tempting her to taste him. The musicians started a new piece and Nikandros took a step back and then another, automatically joining the other couples on the floor.

  “You have a beautiful home,” he said lightly, easily leading her further onto the floor.

  Quinlan just smiled, not answering. Her gaze moved over his shoulder and she saw the portrait of her father staring down at her. Nikandros felt her tense. He knew where her eyes went.

  “Tango?” he asked.

  Quinlan blinked, drawing her wide gray-green gaze back to him. Nikandros was surprised to see pain there. She quickly hid the emotion.

  “Do you tango?” he inquired softly, drawing his head down near her ear. She felt the brush of his breath against her cheek.

  Instead of answering, she took an aggressive move toward him, making him back up as she stalked him. He grabbed her arm, a wide smile on his face, as he swirled her around on the floor. A path cleared and couples stopped to watch. Quinlan was captured in the spell of him and didn’t notice. It was as if they were the only two in the room.

  They danced. Their movements were more like a battle of wills than a seduction. But the battle was seducing, heating their blood, impassioning their bodies. Quinlan felt his hands brushing over her back, her waist, barely stroking the silk along the side of her breast. When he touched her, she felt as if he undressed her.

  Nikandros’ body was firm beneath her palms. She felt the hard press of his arms and chest beneath the tuxedo he wore. In what seemed like only a second, the dance ended. The gathered crowd began to clap. Nikandros pulled her up to face him, setting her tight along his body. The silk was no match to his heat.

  Quinlan blinked. Her father’s portrait was looking at them, watching, smiling down from above. Her head moved to the crowd. Henry was there, his face red with jealousy. She swallowed, artfully dipping away from her handsome dance partner. As the musicians started anew, she turned to walk away without a sound.

  Nikandros started to go after her, wondering at the sudden chill he’d felt in her toward him. Surely a woman, who danced as confidently as she, did not embarrass easily at the attention of the crowd. He reminded himself that she was a recluse. Maybe she didn’t like crowds.

  “Dr. Grant,” said Henry, blocking his way. Nikandros watched Quinlan work through the throng, smiling politely at those she passed but not lingering. She slipped up the side stairwell. “I had no idea you were coming tonight. The invitation was for your father.”

  “My father is dead,” Nikandros said easily. He eyed the little man, wanting nothing more than to push past him and go after the red covered goddess. She might not beckon him with words, but her body screamed her attraction loud and clear. “We buried him a few years back. I came to pay my respects to Dr. St. James’ daughter. My father always spoke highly of the good doctor.”

  “I know what you’ve come for,” said Henry in a low growl. Nikandros finally turned his attention away from the stairwell to study Henry fully, thinking he meant to possessively mark Quinlan as his own. To his
surprise, the man said, “You’ll not get her father’s notes. They belong to the museum.”

  “What do you know about it?” he asked, keeping his smile light, though his eyes bore down to intimidate the little man.

  “I know plenty,” said Henry, not backing down. A snarl formed on his lips and he didn’t seem so much the simple little man Nikandros had easily dismissed him as. “I know that Quinlan won’t give them to you—no matter how much you try and seduce her with your charm. She is a smart woman. She won’t be swayed by charm. She might humor you, but she will not be swayed. Besides, the collection is already donated.”

  “Then what about money?” Nikandros asked, gauging the man. “I take it you’re her...broker?”

  Henry smiled. “What I am to her, you don’t need to know.”

  Nikandros frowned at the obvious implication the man tried to get across. He didn’t buy for a moment that Henry Thompson was Quinlan’s lover. He’d sensed more than saw her repulsion when the man had touched her arm. Her eyes had begged him to get her away from him.

  “Look around you, dear boy,” said Henry, very condescending. “She doesn’t need your money. Anything she does will be done out of loyalty.”

  Nikandros didn’t move. His blood slowed in his veins, leaving him cold.

  Henry sniffed, looking him up and down. “You will never be able to have her loyalty.”

  Henry turned away as someone vied for his attention, a wide grin of victory on his lips. Nikandros silently watched him, before walking out one of the side doors leading to the garden. It was worse than he thought. If Quinlan was selling the formula, then he could have easily come up with the money to buy it from her, if she wouldn’t hand it over to him willingly.

  However, loyalty was something else altogether. Henry was right. She was a billionaire. Her loyalty would not be easily purchased. He sensed a great amount of pride in her. Even if she wasn’t rich, she wouldn’t be easily turned from a cause she believed in.