“That is, if you want to?”
Zoning back into Red’s voice, Vicki mentally shook herself. What was the matter with her? The bastard was turning her into a raving fantasist. “My career plans are none of your business, Mr. Webster. Now kindly move on and employ your photographic brilliance elsewhere, so I can get to my office and my workload.”
For a moment she thought he was going to ignore her and just loaf there against the desk, his long legs partially obstructing her path while his disturbing eyes monitored her every move. But instead, after a teasing moment, he straightened up.
“As you wish, Vicki.” He turned to move away, then glanced back over his shoulder.
“And the name is Red, don’t forget that. Catch you later.”
The words were casual, a throwaway. And yet, instead of stalking off in the direction of her office, Vicki stood there watching his tall form stride away amongst the cubicles, still hearing that strange note in his voice that seemed to reverberate through her body, playing excitingly in the pit of her belly.
When he’d said “don’t forget that,” it had rung like a command, albeit a soft-spoken one. And in the depths of her psyche, the woman who’d read The Story of O, and who’d found herself almost reluctantly entranced by dozens of other BDSM stories and novels, found herself imagining her nemesis as the perfect dominant master.
Frederick Webster Shanley III—the man known as Red by his friends and intimates, and who also used the same alias amongst virtual strangers—walked slowly and with apparent calm to the cubicle he’d been assigned in Wickham-Drake’s PR department. Reaching his desk, he sat down, placed his favorite camera carefully to one side, closed his eyes and smiled.
Inside he wasn’t calm at all.
Dear God in heaven, she’s adorable.
Still silent, still smiling, he set his hands flat on the desk, focusing on the pattern made by his fingers as kind of thought exercise. He had to do something to settle himself. It was all he could do not to groan out loud and clutch at his groin, his cock was so stiff and aching. He genuinely couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman quite this badly, and wanted to do so many wonderful and terribly beautiful things with her.
He’d wanted to shout with exultation when The Story of O had flashed into life on her e-reader, and he thanked his lucky stars that the e-reader had been tucked so precariously in her bag and fallen out. He’d run up against Vicki Renard as many times as was feasibly possible during the course of his little reconnoiter—as he liked to call these maverick undercover fact-finding adventures of his—and each time, something deep inside him cried out that she was special. His gut instinct had told him she was on his sexual wavelength, either latently or actively, but to have it confirmed had made his blood surge in triumph.
If he was lucky, she could be yin to his yang, moon to his sun, submissive to his dominant. Her needs called irresistibly to his, and the image of her classic oval face, her dark blond hair and her large lustrous eyes seemed to float in his consciousness.
Whilst taking photographs for his fictional report, he’d found himself sidetracked again and again from his investigation and assessment of this satisfactorily prosperous insurance company he’d added to his vast array of holdings. He knew he should be formulating the managerial changes he was going to make and the new initiatives he was going to introduce. Initiatives like ensuring that talented, capable women like Vicki Renard were given the advancement they deserved and weren’t held back by the prehistoric male cronyism that still held sway in the conservative business world.
But instead of his usual pragmatism in observing his new employees off guard, he’d spent most of his time here so far reviewing strategies of a very different kind. Such as what might be the best way to acquaint a woman who probably knew nothing of practicalities of sexual dominance and submission with all its rainbow of bright pleasures and dark practices.
But she knows…she knows… We’re halfway there already.
He might not have to do much acquainting at all. She might be ready and eager to submit. Their edgy exchanges and little office tiffs might well just be her way of letting him know she wasn’t going to be a pushover.
Even better.
The pleasure in BDSM meant even more to him when the submissive woman was powerful too. Irrational, somehow, but when the yielding was only temporary, to him it was sweeter and finer.
His fingernails dug into the blotter on his desk as his vivid imagination presented him with the picture of Vicki reading on her e-reader in bed.
There she was, covers thrown back, her thin silk robe gaping wide to reveal her wonderful body and her legs akimbo. Her lush mouth was parted on a sigh, and she cradled the reader with one hand while the other was firmly lodged between her thighs. Pale, elegant fingers worked furiously amongst the pretty tawny curls down there.
Red looked down at his own hands again, imagining what they could do to a woman like Vicki. Especially if he found her masturbating without his permission. He studied his nails, which he liked to keep immaculately manicured. Hands were important in games of pain and pleasure. They were the most crucial tools. He stared at his short nails and imagined dragging them lightly, or perhaps quite firmly, across the reddened skin of Vicki’s freshly spanked bottom.
What would she feel like across his lap? She was a beautifully proportioned woman. Not skinny. Not fat. She had curves, but her toned shape said she took good care of herself. He could almost feel her writhing against him, jostling his cock as he alternately caressed her and struck her. Because he was satisfying her fetish, she would be heavily aroused, with silky moisture seeping out from between her legs and anointing his jeans. She might even climax spontaneously if his blows were delivered with the right degree of force and precision. He imagined spanking her right across her anus and hearing her cry out both in pleasure and in pain.
What the flaming hell is the matter with me?
Pulling off his virtually redundant spectacles, Red gazed ceilingwards instead, almost appalled by the intensity of his own response, never mind the imagined response of Vicki. His cock was rigid, agonizingly so, and right now it would be a serious embarrassment for him even just to stand up. Never mind make his way to the men’s room so he could masturbate and ease his acute discomfort.
No, he was going to have to tough it out. Do more mental exercises. Thought-clearing meditation. Maybe even check in with his PA on the sly to see if there was anything requiring his immediate attention or a decision. And maybe when he’d done all those things, he’d be able to sneak away and bring himself off. He took a deep breath and began the secret invisible ritual.
But focus and detachment, which had always been so easy for him, proved elusive. The meditation didn’t work. He could only think of Vicki, a woman who seemed to have affected him in an almost—no, completely—unprecedented way.
If I don’t move things forward, I’ll go crazy.
So instead he set his mind to solving his problem. The problem of how to bring himself and Vicki Renard into close proximity without her realizing how she’d got there and who’d brought it about.
After a few moments he smiled and reached for his BlackBerry as the perfect plan materialized.
Chapter Two
Lunchtime saw Vicki pedaling as fast as she could on an exercise cycle in the staff gym that had been set up down in an old storage area in building’s basement. Sweat dripped from her brow, and she was beginning to get a little out of breath, but no matter how hard she pushed herself it didn’t seem to do any good. The claustrophobic atmosphere of the windowless room didn’t help either, but it wasn’t the unnatural subterranean ambience that was bothering her.
Why the hell can’t I get that man out of my mind?
She glanced at her friend and fellow section leader Lisa, who was little more than freewheeling on the next bike, and alarmingly it seemed that the other woman had been talking to her, and probably for quite a while. And Vicki hadn’t taken in a single
word.
“It’s Red Webster, isn’t it? I saw you having one of your little contretemps with him this morning,” Lisa said cheerfully, slipping off her bike and clearly giving up any semblance of exercise, “and now I’ve asked you three times what you think about the staff sweepstake memo, and I know you haven’t the faintest idea what I’ve been talking about. You two really should just jump each other and be done with it.”
Vicki had completely forgotten about the sweepstake. The email had popped into her inbox just before they’d left the office to come down to the gym, and she’d skimmed the brief message and instantly dismissed it. An insulting gimmick. Shanley was just trying to bribe his new workforce.
“Sorry, Lise, I’m just a bit preoccupied about a few things…and not that beast, before you say anything.” Liar, liar. “I’d completely forgotten about the sweepstake. It seems a bit of a silly idea to me. We’re not children to be pacified with prizes. It’s probably just some kind of PR sweetener before the redundancies start. I wish he’d just issue the bloody P45s and be done with it!”
Lisa’s jaw dropped, and Vicki regretted her own stroppiness. It was bad enough one man playing mind games with her, though, without their mysterious new employer doing it too. Yet another aggravating egomaniac screwing with her head, even though F. W. Shanley probably didn’t even know she existed. She was just an asset acquired along with everything else on the inventory at Wickham-Drake.
He’s probably far more interested in the building itself, or the total value of the office machinery on site, than he is in some faceless woman in lower middle management.
And yet, to be honest, hadn’t she also fantasized about Shanley himself as well as his creature Red Webster?
A man with so much worldly and financial power was a prime candidate to be a sexual dominant, that was undeniable. He was already the master of all he surveyed in so many arenas, so why not in the bedroom too? By all accounts he was a relatively young man, not some elderly fossil with high blood pressure or a dicky heart.
“But why would you get the sack, Vick? You’re a key employee. One of the most important people on our floor. And you’ve always been highly regarded by the powers that be. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.” Lisa’s perceptive eyes narrowed. “And anyway, never mind all that…I know you. It is Red Webster you’re brooding about, isn’t it? Now come on, you can tell Auntie Lisa every sordid little detail.”
Vicki opened her mouth to answer and point out there hadn’t been anything in the way of men in her life lately. But at that moment the door opened and—as if he’d been summoned from his natural home, the bubbling lava pits of Hades—Red Webster strolled into the room carrying a gym bag.
Fuck.
Lisa giggled, Red Webster laughed and Vicki wished that the ground really did open up on request. Either that or she could take back the mimed expletive. Her own personal devil had supernatural powers to go with his demon’s eyes, it seemed. He’d clearly lip-read what she’d said from yards away.
“You do fancy him, don’t you? Don’t try to deny it,” Lisa whispered, leaning closer.
Vicki attempted to get up speed on the bike again and completely ignore the tall figure who’d just stowed his belongings against the wall and was now snapping away with his infernal, ever-present camera. He was obviously combining work with pleasure, because he was dressed in a pair of loose sweatpants instead of his usual jeans, and a dark T-shirt clung closely to his solid, muscular chest. This was the first time Vicki had seen him without a sweater or a jacket on, and completely against her will, she was stunned and impressed.
He might be the spawn of the Lucifer but he had the body of a god.
And he was getting closer and still snap, snap, snapping away.
Vicki pedaled harder, even though she was in danger of hyperventilating at any moment. She was acutely aware of the skimpiness of her gym vest and running shorts, and the way they clung to her body even more now that she was sweating. Perhaps if she kept her speed right up, her body would be moving around so much that Red Webster wouldn’t be able to focus on her erogenous zones.
“Good afternoon, ladies. How’s it going?” her nemesis said amiably, camera poised. He was standing just feet away now. “Any chance I could take a few shots of you two working out?” He paused, and his handsome mouth curved wickedly in the frame of his beard. “Nothing salacious, I assure you. It’s just that our boss might get a better impression of these facilities if somebody’s using them.”
He cocked his curly head a little, and Vicki shuddered, chilled despite her overheated state. The tiny gesture was almost threatening somehow, like a raptor eyeing up prey. “We wouldn’t want him to decide they’re underused, would we?” her tormentor continued. “He might scrap the staff gym altogether and convert it into more offices.”
“Go right ahead, Mr. Webster,” she said as casually as she could. “It won’t bother me in the slightest.”
It was a blatant lie, but to cover the fact that she was suddenly blushing in a way that had nothing to do with exercise, she leapt off the bike and moved over to the bench press machine. Lisa followed, and as Vicki took her place on the padded bench, her friend moved to her side to spot for her.
As Vicki began to press the weights, she studiously made sure there was no chance of looking in Red Webster’s direction.
“And he fancies you,” Lisa murmured, clinging to her theme with evident glee. “He really, really fancies you.”
“Well, that’s a shame because he’s not my type,” Vicki panted, struggling with a level of weight that usually didn’t bother her at all.
“Don’t be an idiot. He’s gorgeous. I love that slightly disheveled, bearded, arty look. It only makes him seem more of a man.” Lisa leaned closer. “I wouldn’t mind winning him in the sweepstake to do with what I want. Maybe he is the prize, and Shanley’s sent him among us as a treat for the female employees?”
Oh, Lise, you’re so wrong. It would be him doing whatever he wanted with you.
Vicki let the weights settle back slowly into place, stunned by her own thoughts.
Red Webster made her hackles rise every time he hove into view, even though she didn’t really know why. She’d dealt with sexy, teasing, flirtatious men before. Hell, she even liked them. But something about this one was troubling, like a tickle of disorientating electricity. It had to be down to more than just a minor antipathy. It was more. It was an instinctive knowledge, at the deepest level, that he would make a superb master. She pictured him with her e-reader in his long elegant hands and knew that he also understood everything about The Story of O and BDSM in general…from personal experience.
“Well, I think he’s arrogant, a dilettante, and deliberately annoying. And I shall be glad when he takes himself off back to wherever he came from. We’ve enough to worry about at the moment without him loitering around, following our every move.” Unable to stop herself, she glanced his way, a sudden, shocking thought occurring to her. “For all we know the report could be a blind and he’s simply Shanley’s personal spy.”
Red Webster was already snapping away, but to give him credit, he was sticking to long shots of her and Lisa. Nothing too up close and personal. For a moment, she almost respected him. The man did have some finesse, she’d somehow known that. But the mellowing was dissipated again when he lowered his camera and smiled that slow, infernal smile of his, his gaze gliding over her body.
Fuck you! I’ve had enough.
But right on the point of calling a halt to her workout and stomping out of the gym, Vicki balked.
That would playing right into Red Webster’s hands. It would let him know how much he aroused her and the way her own flip-flopping reaction to him befuddled her.
But he knew that already. That was the problem. She was quite certain that somewhere behind those peculiar brilliant eyes of his lay sure knowledge. He was fully aware how much he got to her and how much she sometimes wished he’d just disappear off the face of the earth. And at t
he same time he sensed the deep, true part of her that longed to submit her will to his.
And even more than that.
She wanted him to punish her.
She pictured herself tied to the polished wooden wall bars in this very gym, while Red Webster beat her on the bottom with a whip. She could almost feel the sting and bite of it on her flesh, and the way her writhing body moved involuntarily in order to invite his further attentions, both painful and pleasurable.
A finger snap suddenly brought her back to reality. She sat up, carefully avoiding looking across the room, and found that Lisa was clutching her sports bag.
“I’ve got to dash now, girlfriend. I just realized I’ve got a meeting in about fifteen minutes. I’ll catch you later.” Her eyes flicked across the room. “But at least you’ve still got a workout buddy to spot for you.” She flashed a quick wink at Vicki and walked swiftly across the gym, only pausing to nod meaningfully towards Red Webster as she left.
The tall, dark man had abandoned his camera now and was clearly about to work out himself. Vicki couldn’t keep herself from watching him—covertly—as he slid off his spectacles and set them aside in his bag. As he rubbed his eyes, she felt a sense of relief. Excellent. He probably couldn’t see her clearly now without his glasses.
But a second later, her hopes faltered. One more glance across the room told her that whatever those trendy metal frames held, it wasn’t a lens to correct distance vision.
He was still staring at her. Intently. And smiling.
Oh hell.
Vicki clenched her teeth, then willed herself to relax. Should she gather up her own kit and just give him a cursory nod and leave? Or should she stay and tough it out and finish her routine? She was as good as done, but she really needed to cool down and stretch. And if she scuttled away now, her personal devil would take it as a tick in his column, score one to him in their unspoken joust of wills.
Intimate Exposure Page 2
