by Unknown
Chapter 2
Adriana walked into Holden’s Supper Club. The lights were low, the music sultry, and the staff beautiful. The need to needle Lucas—Mr. Bowerton—had her defiantly dressed in a conservative black pencil skirt and matching black blouse. The side of her drawn to meet the man for dinner and submit to his touch in her office, that side of her chose to wear a garter belt, seamed hose, no panties, and an eye grabbing red bra which peeked from her cleavage. The civil war within caused her to be late for dinner.
She approached his table, unsure what she expected from the meeting, but certain she wanted more time with the compelling man. He stood as she greeted him, perused her ensemble from her neatly pinned up hair to her basic pointy toed black pumps.
His brow lifted. “Perhaps you misunderstood my directions?”
Her thighs quivered at his rich dark tone, even as her defiance reared up to meet his verbal jab. “Perhaps you are lucky I joined you for dinner at all?”
“Not luck, my dear.” He took her hand and guided her into the booth he occupied.
One of those curved booths designed for intimacy, she slid over as he sat down next to her. “Mr. Bowerton, I am here because I want to hear what you know of Project Cobra. Nothing more, nothing less.” She ignored the pang of regret over her lie. She knew a curious part of her wanted to see if she would react to the man in the same way she had earlier. Had the interlude in the office been an anomaly or could there be something more there. Some spark of awareness, attraction, whatever you wanted to call it, between them? Secretly, deep down in her heart of hearts, a quiet little voice asked the question she most wanted answered. Can he truly command my submission? Not since her mentor had she met a man who truly understood her. Who could own her pleasure the way she needed. She sighed. This would most likely be a complete waste of her time. Why had she bothered?
“Oh, Adriana. I believe you are here for much, much more.” He lifted his glass of red wine to his lips and sipped.
Her eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of his Adam’s Apple. The way his throat muscles worked up and down as he swallowed. How firmly, yet gently he held the goblet in his big, strong hand. How his long elegant fingers cupped the bulbous glassware, covering the curvature with his skin. Her nipples beaded and the quivering in her thighs had crept higher to become a distinct tingling around her mons. “I’m certain nothing I say will dissuade you from your beliefs. You strike me as a man filled with self-determination.”
He smiled and offered a nod as he set the glass down. “Indeed, I am. I would say you are cut from similar cloth. Full of fire and the need to succeed.”
“I like to believe so, Mr. Bowerton.” She pulled the waiting glass of red wine toward her and took her own sip. Her rather dry mouth required moisture of some kind, no matter how inadequate, as memories of his kiss assaulted her.
“Oh, I know so. I do my homework. Now, please, dispense with the formality.” He leaned in close, his spicy scent wrapping around her, teasing her. Then his warm breath drifted across her cheek and ear as he whispered, voice husky with desire, “I want to hear my name drip from your lips as it did earlier today.” He lingered in her personal space, drew in a deep breath and slowly sat back.
Her head spun. But from what? His scent? His words? His proximity? All of them? Her panties were wet and her nipples hard as the very same need that thrummed through her earlier returned with a vengeance. Her pussy throbbed and no amount of crossing and uncrossing of her legs could sooth the savage need nestled high between her legs. Only a cock would do. His cock, or so it seemed.
Well, she had the answer to her deep dark question. Without a doubt, the man could own her pleasure. He had yet to touch more than her hand, and already she grew restless with need. If he began making demands she might melt into a puddle at his feet. But damn it, she did not want him to know how strongly he affected her.
“Mr. Bowerton, that would be most improper. A re-repeat of this afternoon can never happen again.” Heat suffused her cheeks and she wondered if he could see the flush in the low light.
“Ah, Adriana. A repeat of this afternoon will absolutely occur except we shall not be interrupted as we were today.”
He stated this as though it were a given. As though her capitulation was a foregone conclusion. Anger, lust, and a desperate need to retain some power surged through her. Project Cobra was too important. Darrington’s survival was too important to allow this man to waltz into her life and dump all she had worked for on its ear. She struggled to tamp down her desire and take back the upper hand. With a deep breath she decided the time had come to knock the king of the hill off his perch.
* * *
Lucas sat and watched as the incredibly sexy woman next to him searched for her composure. The color staining the curve of her cheek bones and the restless shifting of her legs were tell-tale signs she wanted him as much as he did her. And oh, how he wanted her. His cock had remained hard the rest of the day, which had made his other meetings damned hard to sit through and even awkward at times. Nonetheless, Adriana had captured his undivided attention. Everything about her drew him. Her inner strength, her passion for her work, and the heart she wanted so desperately to hide from everyone. The soft herbal perfume of hers teased his nose and made his mouth water. If he could have, he would have swept the table clear and laid her out as his first course.
A spot of color caught his eye as she leaned forward for her glass of wine. Like a predator stalking its prey, he waited and watched. There, as she sat back he caught the glimpse of red lace tucked into the shadows of her cleavage. He muffled a groan. Okay, while at first deceiving, clearly the woman did not understand how to avoid sexy. The understated black conservative clothes hinted and teased at her attributes. The red bra shouted her inner vixen lurked beneath the surface, he merely needed to draw her out. And now he wondered what other secrets might lay beneath her stolid exterior.
She took another sip of wine and then lifted her lashes to focus her gaze on him. “So, Mr. Bowerton. I am curious as to what you have learned about Project Cobra.”
She wanted to talk about her pet project and all he could think about was stripping off her blouse so he could see her lingerie. “Enough to know we’d like to give it the opportunity to succeed.”
“Mmmm…” She set her glass down. “I find that difficult to believe.”
“Why? Bowerton International has always pursued innovative technologies with the intent to enhance the lifestyles of our consumers.” He considered what he knew. Had he missed something?
“Since Cobra would effectively squash your bestselling product to date. I simply find it interesting you might want to support it.” She shrugged casually.
Lucas paused to consider what he had and had not heard about the project. According to the rumors it would revolutionize the personal electronic device market. It could be ready within the next six to twelve months depending on prototype tests which were underway currently. And, most importantly of all, Adriana personally oversaw the project. An unusual role for the CFO of the company to take. “Well, if we own Darrington competition wouldn’t be an issue now would it?”
A flicker of doubt flashed across her face. “No. But since I plan to prove to the shareholders selling is not to their benefit I would think you would be more worried than you are.”
Damn he found her confidence sexy. They had yet to even order an appetizer and he wanted nothing more than to drag her out of the restaurant and find the nearest private spot to ravish her. And not in any genteel way. He wanted to rip those staid garments from her curvy body and feast on the bounty of her flesh. He wanted to spread her legs and taste her pussy before he slammed his cock into her so hard she would forever remember and compare every other man to him. He leaned in to her again, determined to rattle her composure and shift the course of the conversation before she figured out how little he really knew. “What I am worried about, is how long it is going to take me to convince you it is time to go.”
She looked at him in utter confusion. “Go? But I just arrived.”
“Yes, but I have no intention of sitting here all night wondering what lies beneath those clothes. I fully intend to take you home and strip every last scrap of fabric from your body. Then I will lay you out on my dining room table, sit down, and feast upon your succulent wet flesh. Your pussy is wet, I can smell the heady mix of perfume and desire with each shift of your legs.”
Abruptly, she stopped moving and stared at him. A cough sputtered from her chest. “Excuse me? Did you just tell me you can smell me?”
“I did, and I can. But, before we go, I want your panties. I want to know you are walking out of here on my arm without a scrap of material cupping that sopping slit of yours.”
She paled, flushed, and then a soft moan rumbled from her throat. Still in proximity, he nuzzled her neck as her head dropped back baring the column of her throat. He refrained from licking her since it would no doubt only lead to indecent acts for a public restaurant no matter how dark the corner they occupied. She swallowed but neither moved to answer his demand nor refuse it.
He studied her. “I can see the war raging inside your head. Will you or won’t you meet my demand? I think you want to, your parted lips and heavier, more measured breaths suggest you are turned on by my command. And yet, you have not complied.”
She bit her lip. Indecision written across her face.
“If you don’t give me your panties in the next thirty seconds I promise I will spank you when we get to my rooms.” He allowed a hint of cool control to color his words. The command normally evoked the response he desired in his subs.
Her spine stiffened. “I don’t recall agreeing to leave with you.”
A chuckle escaped from him. “Pet, your head better hurry and catch-up with your body because it is already half-way out the door.” He rose from the booth, dropped a hundred dollar bill on the table to cover the bottle of wine and a tip before he reached out for her. Eyes glazed over, she moved almost as if by rote. A war still raged, but while her head engaged on the interior front, her body had snuck around the battle lines and was well on its way to surrender. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the restaurant. If he played his cards right, she would be in his rooms before she made up her mind. Her body had the answer; just her head needed to figure out how the night would end.
To be continued…..
About the Author:
Sorcha Mowbray is a mild mannered office worker by day…okay, so she is actually a mouthy, opinionated, take charge kind of gal who bosses everyone around; but she definitely works in an office. At night she writes romance so hot she sets the sheets on fire! Just ask her slightly singed husband.
She is a longtime lover of historical romance, having grown up reading Johanna Lindsey and Judith McNaught. Then she discovered Thea Devine and Susan Johnson. Holy cow! Heroes and heroines could do THAT? From there, things devolved into trying her hand at writing a little smexy. Needless to say, she liked it and she hopes you do too!
Find Sorcha here:
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Sensuous Sensibilities
By Virginnia De Parte
Pounding hooves flicked pebbles off the driveway. The sound set her teeth on edge and her heart pounding. Archie St. John had deigned to visit. A day and twelve hours late for their rendezvous, he needn’t think he could sweet talk his way back into her good graces. No doubt he’d try. Waiting in the mist, the night before last, getting chilled and damp, she’d listened for the sound of his stallion and heard only the twittering of birds. How foolish to have agreed to his suggestion in the first place.
Yet his dark eyes had held promises of love, his kisses spoke of suppressed lust, and his words always soothed her mind like a honeyed balm. Damn the man.
The stallion swung to a halt, its withers quivering, its legs stepping high on the spot, fighting against the bit. What an animal to try and master. That’s probably why Archie liked riding it – the challenge of who would be the boss.
“Abigail.” His call demanded attention. “Should I dismount?”
“Only if you can guarantee your horse won’t leap all the fences and start servicing my mares. I’ve one in heat, already yarded, and I’m planning on sending her to Sergeant’s this week, ready for her next cycle.”
She approached with caution, wary of the stallion. Its russet coat shone with good health as it pawed the ground with impatience. The horse looked as magnificent as its rider. No wonder her mares whinnied whenever they caught its scent. The stallion tossed his head and neighed. A mare answered. Archie fought to keep the stallion on the spot.
“Mind my garden. He’ll be tossing you off and over the fences in a flash.” She backed away to stand beside a nearby tree, prepared to step behind it. The pruning shears in her hand would be useless if the horse bolted. “Why did you ride him over here?”
“I’m trying to impress you.” Archie’s laughter rolled over the garden, his boyish honesty took her by surprise.
“You’d impress me more if you kept your appointments.” She hoped her frosty reply would sting.
“Oh Abigail, you’ve always had a thing about time, ever since we were kids.” He dismounted in a leap, flinging the reins over the stallion’s head to hold them behind his back as he walked closer. “Forgive me? Don’t be cross-patch. If you’ll give me the time I’ll apologise and make up for my tardiness.”
“Archie St. John.” One smile, one comment and all her resolve threatened to melt. “I can spare you only a brief conversation.” She swept the air, pointing at the gardens. “I’m tip-pruning the roses.” His auburn hair, always untidy, glowed like a red crown on his head. Even now curls peeked out from under his riding hat. She frowned at him, doing her best to scowl as she watched him walk his horse toward Mr. Hynd, her head gardener. He handed Hynd the horse’s reins as if the poor man were a stable-hand, then strode back.
“I’ve asked Hynd to put Bacchus in the stables, unsaddle him and give him some oats. I hope to be here a while.”
“Do you indeed? What do you expect to delay you?”
“Perhaps a hot drink on such an autumn day. I’d be willing to share a dram with you, or better still taste your willing mouth.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s not what your last kiss told me.”
Unable to answer she looked for Hynd, and watched him leading the dancing stallion around the corner of the hedge toward the stables. A quick glance showed her no other gardeners were visible. She faced Archie, not catching his gaze but concentrating on the embossed gold buttons on his riding jacket, while she gathered her willpower.
“Archie, you missed our appointment. I sat in the damp evening mist for nearly an hour.”
“So you desired me that much to wait a whole hour?”
His smile took the edge off his comment; his attempt to look bashful not quite working. Always he turned her complaints into compliments. “I could have caught a chill and even now could have been in bed.” She smothered a smile, holding her lips firmly together.
“An ideal place to be, when I come to visit. Are you sure you haven’t a chill?” He hugged her to his chest, his deep chuckle echoing through his cashmere riding coat to vibrate on her cheek.
“I was lucky to escape on this occasion. I had my warm cape with its ermine collar.”
He held her at arm’s length, her arms pinioned at her sides, his desire trembling through his hands. “Pity,” his eyes flickered with mischief, his lips pursed in a pretend kiss, tempting her to respond.
She ignored the hint.
“Why aren’t you at the village fair? I’ve given all my staff the day off. Have you?” She slid from his grip, tilting her sunhat and shading her eyes looked over the rose beds. She hoped Hynd had found a groom to care for the stallion. No apprentice gardeners lurked. Some privacy at last. Archie’s voice reclaimed her thought
s.
“I have given mine the day off and if your staff insist on lingering about we could ride over to my place – not a soul in sight there.” He moved to stand beside her, slid one arm around her waist and laid a quick kiss on the base of her neck where her shawl had slipped off her shoulder. She shifted her stance for the warmth of his kiss sparked heat in her flesh. Desire dampened her knickers. Damn the man. Months of chastity and widow’s weeds only made his innuendos more poignant. After years of duty in her marriage bed, this tingling stirred memories of her initial attraction to her late husband; the excitement of their courtship and Louis’ experienced touch.
That attraction had been misplaced. A honeyed trap to catch a butterfly. Could this man also be a chameleon? No. not Archie. She’d known him since childhood. They’d kissed and fumbled as teenagers – and been caught. But Archie seemed no different now than then. His touch still as gentle, his smile as inviting and the same gleam of mischief in his eyes.
The rasp and crack of splintering wood followed by the stallion’s neigh had them hurry toward the stables.
“I hope Hyde is alright,” she said, but Archie, running now, paces in front of her didn’t answer or pause.
She rounded the corner of the stables to see Archie bent over her prone head gardener, the smashed stable door hung askew and the high pitched squeal of a mare shattering the peace of the morning. One lady was getting her wish, even if it wasn’t her.
“Is he alright?” Abigail asked, one part of her mind concerned with Hyde, the other part fascinated with the spectacle before her. The sheer power and domination by a stallion, when mating, always excited her.
“Just bowled over, thank God.” Archie said. “I’ll take him into the groom’s room and get him a drink.” Archie helped Hyde to his feet. She nodded in agreement, but turned again to watch, unable to take her gaze off the mating dance in front of her.
