30DaystoSyn

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  He was watching her here too! She found the camera and stared into it. Did she dare speak? She decided she shouldn’t.

  “Same time tomorrow night. Wear the same clothes.”

  That was all he said.

  He watched her chewing on her bottom lip as she rode the elevator to the ground floor. The look on her face was priceless when she realized he was looking at her in the elevator. He knew she would worry over what had happened—turn it over and over in her fevered mind—in an attempt to understand why he had sent her away. She had steeled herself to be taken, violated, and the initial look of shock when he ordered her to leave had given way to relief then settled into worry as she turned to go. He knew she would obsess about his reasoning for dismissing her for the remainder of the evening and into the following day. By the time she entered the Room tomorrow evening, she would be in a high state of anxiety.

  And that was what he wanted.

  He wanted her nervous, anxious, a little afraid.

  And he wanted her curious.

  There had never been any doubt in his mind that she would show up at the appointed time. She was sorely in need of the money to install her brother at Cedar Oaks. That she would rent herself out to him, give away her virginity to help her brother, touched a chord deep inside him. Her altruistic motives warmed a part of him he thought long dead and cold. He had the means to pay for the young man’s residency at CO for the rest of his life and he was tempted to do just that.

  But then he wouldn’t have any hold over Melina and he wanted her so badly his entire body throbbed with need. He ached with wanting to stretch her out beneath him, impale her on his cock, and take what no other man ever would. He longed to know the texture of her skin, the taste of the sweetness between silken thighs he wanted wrapped tightly around him.

  The woman was pure, unadulterated sensuality on two very fine legs. From the top of her head, to the cute little pink toes that peeked out from her sandals, she was absolute perfection in his eyes. He had never desired anything more than he desired her. He’d longed for her from the moment he’d seen her photograph amongst the ones on Tarnes’ desk. He’d been unable to think of anyone else from that moment on. “She will be the only one you are to interview,” he’d told Tarnes. “Don’t let her know that. Call the investigator now and tell him I want to know everything there is to know about her by the end of the week! And I mean everything!”

  The more he learned about her, the more obsessed with her he became. He read every single report, every file, watched every surveillance video over and over again until there was absolutely nothing he did not know about Melina Marie Wynth. He probably knew her better than she knew herself. That was especially true because he had the medical and mental files that had revealed to him things she had no way of knowing.

  He had twenty-nine days left to get what he wanted more than the five-billion-dollar acquisition he’d signed just that morning. There were some things far more precious than power, influence and authority.

  And he intended to have them.

  Chapter Five

  Night Two

  The cameras had been installed while she was at work. There was no way she—or anyone not trained to do so—would discover them. Every room in her house except the bathroom had at least four cameras mounted somewhere in the space. It had taken his surveillance team two hours to bug her home. The neighbors might wonder how Melina could afford carpet cleaners but he doubted any of them would ask her.

  At least he hoped not.

  Unable to leave anything to chance, he sent one of his men around the neighborhood disguised as a salesman from the same carpet cleaning service. He was surprised to find out no one had even noticed the van in Melina’s driveway or the two men who had entered her home with cleaning equipment.

  “People out there tend to mind their own businesses, sir,” the man had informed him. “What you don’t see can’t hurt you. You know?”

  Satisfied no one would mention the van and men to Melina, he relaxed in his recliner, pulling up the wall of screens that showed every room in her house. One glance at his watch and he knew she’d be home any minute. His eyes went to the screen that showed her driveway just as the cherry-red sports car came to a stop.

  “Steve Ingram,” he said with a sneer. He knew all about the office Romeo who thought any woman there was fair game. So far Ingram had stayed clear of Melina. He intended to see that it remained that way. If the bastard took one step out of line, he would come to deeply regret it.

  The car door opened and Melina climbed out. She said something to Ingram then waved as she shut the door. Walking slowly to her front door, she never looked back at the man in the car who was watching her as intently as he was.

  “Not gonna happen, bro,” he said, his lips tight, eyes hard. “You’re out of your league with that one.”

  Reaching for the glass of twelve-year-old scotch—his poison of choice—on the table beside him he took a sip as he watched her enter the house, put her purse on the console in the tiny foyer, then kick off her shoes. He smiled. A barefoot woman did things to him that no pair of six-inch spikes ever could. He had a thing for bare little toes and especially so if they were painted cherry red as hers were. He felt his groin tighten as she padded from the foyer into the little kitchen beside it. As she opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water, he got a good glimpse inside the appliance and frowned. There was precious little in there and what was depressed him.

  “That’s gonna change, baby,” he said and made a mental note to talk to his chief of security about another small incursion into Melina’s tidy little bungalow.

  And tidy it was. The house was spotless—or so said the report from the bugging team—with everything neatly in place. There was no clutter to be found. Even her closet was neatly arranged with shoes placed precisely side by side, blouses and pants hung by color, long dresses on the left, shorter dresses on the right. The contents of every drawer were just as carefully folded and aligned.

  “Miss Wynth has a mild case of OCD,” he’d read in the psych report.

  Her tidy home was evidence of that. Not a single picture on the walls was off-kilter and scatter rugs were efficiently placed. No more than three items on any occasional table—as decorators advised.

  But the cupboards were literally bare as he watched her open a door and take out a can of store-labeled tomato soup.

  “Damn, Melina,” he whispered. “I had no idea things were that bad for you.”

  A part of him was outraged while another part was deeply saddened. He knew poverty better than most. Hunger had gnawed away at him throughout his childhood. Going to bed with a growling stomach had been a way of life for him.

  He reached for the phone.

  The phone rang just as she was about to open the can of soup. She reached for it. “Hello?”

  “There has been a change of plans,” he said.

  She tensed, waiting for him to tell her he had changed his mind and that he was ending their association.

  “I am making a reservation for you at Sergio’s for six p.m. The car will pick you up and Jono will wait for you while you dine,” he said. “As I said last evening, wear the same clothes you wore yesterday.” There was a pause. “Questions?”

  “May he dine with me?” she asked.

  There was a longer pause then, “Eh?”

  “May Jono dine with me?” She was glad to learn the driver’s name.

  “Why the hell would you want him to?” he demanded and she could hear annoyance in his voice.

  “Because it wouldn’t be polite for me to be inside eating while he’s waiting in the car,” she said. “And I hate eating alone. It’s depressing.”

  Another long pause then an irritated hiss. “Fine.”

  He hung up.

  No, she thought as she pulled the receiver from her ear and looked at it. He had slammed the phone down. She had aggravated him, angered him, and she doubted that was a good thing. It wasn’t fine to him.r />
  Jealousy, like a dangerous yellow-bellied sea snake, coiled around him. He could feel the anger striking at him as well. He had grown up with Jono Taunoa in the poorest section of South Auckland. They had served time together in Paremoremo Prison and had seen one another at the absolute lowest and meanest moments of their existence there. He trusted Jono with his life but the thought of him sitting in a restaurant with Melina brought out his killing instinct.

  For one brief moment he thought of calling Jono and ordering him to decline Melina’s invitation to eat with her but her words stopped him.

  “I hate eating alone. It’s depressing.”

  He watched her go to the tiny window over her sink. She suddenly smiled and he wondered what she saw beyond the glass to turn the frown of a moment before into such a sweet expression.

  “I’ll try to scrounge up a few bucks to get you some seed tomorrow, okay?” he heard her say and realized she must be talking to either a bird or squirrel. He made another mental note to have the chief of security check out her backyard for feeders.

  “I hate eating alone. It’s depressing.”

  He knew from one of the files on her day-to-day life that the only person who came to her house was her friend Rachel Morrison. The two had been friends since kindergarten and were as inseparable as he was with Jono. The only person Melina ever went out with was Rachel and those times were few and far between due to Melina’s lack of funds.

  “Have you even looked at your checking account?” he mumbled as he watched her cap the water bottle and return the half-empty container to the nearly bare fridge. “You could buy a lot of squirrel food with what you have in there, baby.”

  He watched her turn from the sink. Her beautiful smile faded and her expression became sad. She looked…

  “Lonely,” he whispered as he followed her from one monitor to another as she went down the narrow hall to her bedroom.

  She was lonely, nearly destitute, without wheels, and responsible for a brother who no longer knew she existed. Her life sucked.

  “I was instructed to tell you all talk of him is off-limits,” Jono said as he pulled out her chair.

  She laughed. “I figured as much,” she replied. She looked up at him. “I wasn’t even going to try.”

  Jono grinned. “That’s a relief.” He took a seat. “Now we can talk about more interesting things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Your favorite foods,” he said.

  “So he can do what with that information?” she inquired. “Stock my cupboard and refrigerator like he deposited money in my bank account?”

  “I know not of what you speak,” he said with a frown.

  “Uh huh,” she acknowledged. “Please tell him for me that I don’t want him giving me money or anything else.”

  “May I tell him why?”

  “Tell him it isn’t right and I don’t feel comfortable with him doing it,” she answered. “I won’t touch that money until the end of our arrangement.”

  “I will do so but chances are he will ignore me.” He clucked his tongue. “And we are doing precisely what he told me not to do.” He wagged his finger at her. “You are an evil influence, Miss Wynth.”

  “Melina,” she corrected.

  “Can’t do that,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Him again,” she said and sighed as the waitress came up to their table.

  “Hey, Lina,” she said then swept her gaze over Jono. “Haven’t seen you here before big guy.”

  “Never been here before,” he replied.

  “You’re a Hawaiian, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Something like that,” he said with a wink.

  “‘Bout time Lina had a date with someone other than Rach,” she said, putting pencil to pad. “What can I get you guys?”

  “I will have—” she began but Jono interrupted.

  “We will have a large thin-crust pizza with pepperoni, black olives, green peppers, mushrooms and extra cheese. Two small salads—extra croutons and pepperoncini—with bleu cheese dressing and two cherry Pepsis.”

  “Gotcha,” the waitress said, busy writing down the order.

  Jono looked across the table. “Eh?” he asked innocently. “Want something else instead? I thought that was your favorite pizza toppings.”

  “Well, of course you’d know that, wouldn’t you?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “He’s your date,” the waitress said. “He should know!” That said, she whirled around and walked off, her ass shifting like two piglets under a polyester blanket.

  “Don’t be mad,” Jono said.

  “Is he going to continue doing stuff like this?” she asked. “I thought my so-called sessions would only be in that room in the office park.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with him,” he said. “And that’s the last time I’ll make any comment regarding you-know-who.”

  “You can tell him for me that I am neither impressed nor amused,” she said with a sniff.

  “Noted.”

  “And that I don’t like high-handedness.”

  “All…right,” he replied, drawing the words out.

  “Or blatant arrogance, either.”

  “Ah, how ‘bout we talk about TV shows,” he said. “What’s your all-time favorite TV series?”

  “Why?” she asked. “So he can take me to New Zealand to meet the West twins?”

  Jono blinked then held his hands up. “Whoa! Don’t shoot the dinner companion, okay?”

  She scooted her chair back. “Please take me to the office park,” she said, getting to her feet.

  He glanced down at his watch then looked at her with worry flittering through his dark-brown eyes. “We’ve got over an hour and a half before we’re supposed to be there.”

  “I’ll wait in the car,” she said.

  “But your supper…” he protested.

  “I’ve lost my appetite,” she said and turned to walk away.

  “Wait a minute!” Jono called after her.

  She heard the scrape of his chair, heard him say something to the woman at the register, looked back and saw him peeling money from a large roll. She flicked her head around, shoved the restaurant door open and stomped out into the chilly night. When he came outside, she was standing beside the Town Car.

  “He’s not going to like this,” Jono said as he opened the car door for her.

  “I imagine there are going to be a lot of things Mr. Nameless Asshole isn’t going to like,” she snapped.

  “And this is certainly one of them!” he snapped as he watched the transmission from the button cam Jono was wearing.

  He turned away when Jono shut the door and started around the car. Rubbing his hand across his head, he growled.

  “Mr. Nameless Asshole,” he repeated. “Smart-mouthed little witch.”

  He narrowed his eyes then smiled.

  He’d make her pay for the insult.

  When she stuck the key in the lock and waited for the digital clock to reach its mark, she struggled to get her temper under control. She was scared of the man waiting—at least she hoped he was waiting—beyond the door but she wasn’t going to let him walk all over her rights outside the room. As she twisted the key, the sound of the lock disengaging soaked up all the anger spilling over inside her and replaced it with uncertainty and nerves. Closing and locking the door behind her, she imagined she could feel him staring daggers at her and wondered if Jono had called him to tell him what had happened. Facing the darkness from which his voice had come last time, she squared her shoulders though her legs felt rubbery.

  He walked slowly out of the darkness, his face hard and set and his eyes boring into her like diamond drills. He didn’t stop until he was close enough to her for their clothes to touch. Exercising every bit of restraint she had to keep from taking a step back from his crowding, she swallowed hard as she stared up into his cold gaze.

  For the longest time he just glared at her. She could sense the tension in his rig
id body, feel it pouring from him in waves. His eyes left hers only once and that was when he lowered them to her lips—held for a moment—then raised them again. She could have sworn his look was colder still. He seemed to be struggling not to touch her, not to open his tightly compressed lips and yell at her. When at last he spoke, the long wait for him to do so underscored the bitter words that came out.

  “When I go to the trouble to buy you supper, you will eat it,” he said. The sneering tone was harsh and filled with promised retaliation should she ever again refuse something he offered her. “Do you hear what I’m saying to you?”

  She nodded.

  “If I want to fill your kitchen from floor to ceiling with food and stuff your fridge until the doors won’t close, you won’t open your mouth about it.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  Once again she nodded, more afraid of him than she had been before entering the room. Her intent to defy him vanished like dew in the hot sun of morning.

  “It pleases me to provide for you,” he said and his tone softened just a bit. “I’m not buying you, Melina. I am investing in you. Can you comprehend the difference or am I flattering your intelligence?”

  She raised her chin—aching to berate him for insulting her—but she remained silent.

  “I asked you—”

  “Yes Sir,” she said and watched his eyes flare.

  “I didn’t give you permission to speak!” he snapped at her and when she arched a brow, he shook his head. “Don’t do it again until I ask you—” He stopped, apparently realizing the wording he’d used before she spoke, then let out a long, hard breath.

  Impossibly he moved closer until she could feel the press of his cock against her lower belly. At the contact she sucked in a quiet breath and when he slowly slid his arms around her and drew her body tight to his, she had no choice but to turn her head to rest her cheek against his chest. Not knowing what to do with her hands and hoping he wouldn’t rebuke her for doing so, she placed them cautiously on his rib cage. She heard him sigh.