Ian pressed himself against me. “Auto pilot,” he whispered gruffly. The dress I was wearing was so thin I could feel every part of him through it. I felt his firm chest, rising and falling on my back, his other hand gliding across my stomach. I felt his manhood wedging itself between my buttocks, hardening slowly.
Ian kissed my neck, caressing it with his warm tongue. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered in my ear. The words made my insides ache for him. He was worshiping me. I was his goddess. I could feel his love for me as he caressed my body so tenderly. As if it was being transmitted to me through touch.
Ian ran one hand through my hair and pulled up my dress with the other, turning me suddenly to face him. He buried his face in my bulging breasts. I felt his hardness, his heat against my thigh, pulsating. I guided it to my own orifice. I just wanted him close to me, as close as he could ever be.
I sighed slightly as Ian slid slowly inside me. I wrapped my thighs around him, squeezing him further inside me. Ian pressed me against the glass and stroked my cheek with his hand. “I love you,” he whispered, sinking deeper inside me.
His cheek pressed against mine, our body heat being shared. The straps of the dress slipped from my shoulders, causing my breasts to spill free. Ian clung tighter to me, his thrusts gaining speed. I raked his rippled back with my nails as the pressure mounted inside me. It was a controlled pressure though, a pleasure that was never overwhelming.
Ian pulled out of me slowly, and then sank himself back into me. He stroked my hair so softly. Told me how beautiful I was, how perfect. Each whispered word brought my flushed body closer to climax.
Then, I orgasmed. It felt like Ian's whispers. I came slowly, gently, and deeply. The orgasm reached so far into my core that I was finding sensations that I had never known before. Physical pleasure melded with emotional euphoria. I felt the heat of him, of me, and for that moment, we weren't two people, but one. I felt his seed spill inside me, and I sighed in satisfaction. A strange pride overtook me. He was mine, and I was his. “I love you, too,” I whispered, and the orgasm finally subsided.
Then we just floated in space, Ian's body still clinging to my own. With Ian's softening cock still inside me, we watched the world turn, forgetting our place in it. We were nothing more than silent observers. Two spirits unshackled by labels, by society, by roles. He wasn't a billionaire and I wasn't a spy. It was freedom, utter freedom, and soon, it would be over.
* * *
The interviewer seemed unimpressed by my tale. “I don't know what you're trying to prove by telling me this, Ms. Adams,” he said, making no attempt to mask his irritation.
“Simple, he loved me,” I said, shrugging.
“He loved Ms. Potters,” the interviewer countered.
“But I was Ms. Potters.”
“No, you invented Ms. Potters.”
I shrugged. “Does it matter? Everyone wears mask. Everyone has secrets. How many people know who you really are, Mr. Renly? Your wife, for instance. Does she know about all that money you laundered back in the 80's?” I asked with a sinister smirk.
Hastily, the interviewer hit the stop button on the tape recorder. “Who told you that!” he demanded, his face flushing scarlet.
I shrugged, a menacing grin blooming. “It's my job to find out people's secrets, Mr. Renly. Speaking of secrets, does your wife know about all the escort services, too?”
“Stop!” he said, jumping from his seat. “What I really want to know, Ms. Adams, is how you could do all of those... things with a married man! Then claim it was out of love!”
The comment hit hard. It was so sudden, and powerful, like an icy blade being slipped through your ribcage. It sapped me of strength, taking all of the wind out of my sails. The interviewer looked pleased, happy he had wiped that smirk off of my face.
“I didn't know,” I said, the words sounding hollow, bringing with it the gut-wrenching pain that accompanied those memories. “He never told me he was... was....” I could hardly say it. “Married.” I choked. It was hard to say which emotion was more acidic: the shame, the guilt, or the heartache? Actually, it was none of these. It was the betrayal that cut deeper than anything else.
“I think we're done for the day,” Mr. Renly said coldly.
I got up, stiffening my lip. Mr. Renly pointed to the door. I walked out. It was over now, at least. He wouldn't want to complete the interview now, not anymore. I was almost relieved.
“I expect you'll be on time tomorrow,” Mr. Renly said stiffly, just as I was about to shut the door.
I smiled. “Punctuality is my profession,” I said and closed the door, knowing two more would open.
The Rogue Agent
I awoke. The soft morning light was filtered by rich purple drapes, casting a somber color on the carpet below. It added a soothing ambiance to the penthouse, until I remembered that the drapes had been purchased with Ian Payne's credit card, and that the penthouse I currently resided in still technically belonged to Penelope Potters, a woman Ian Payne, the billionaire inventor, had once loved, a woman that had never truly existed. Ian Payne had fallen in love with a résumé, one of my own invention. Suddenly the room didn't feel so warm, so comforting.
I had been dreading this morning for most of last night. Not only because I had to finish my interview with Mr. Renly because today the melting pot known as New York was about to be stirred, and Ian Payne was the chef.
I turned on the television, and sure enough, there he was. It was old footage, that much I knew. Ian was standing on a podium, smiling with teeth as bright as the sun. The crowd was clapping furiously as he revealed his latest creation. I remembered it from last year's expo. That seemed like an eternity ago now. It was amazing just how much could happen in such a short period of time. I felt as though I had aged twenty years in the past six months. I let out a sigh as I got up from my bed. A weaker woman would have stayed in it, would have hidden beneath the satin sheets and sunk into the memory foam. Rachel Adams could not afford such a weakness though, not now, not ever. Would it be weakness though, to give up? I wasn't even sure anymore. Perhaps it was simply the smart thing to do, the practical thing.
I could always call my father, tell him I was coming home. Then this entire story would wash away, like a sand castle in the coming tide. I would be free from the burden of truth, and Ian would be free to continue his life, unblemished.
My eyes strayed to the television again. Ian was still smiling, his blue eyes still shimmering with that boyish twinkle. Once they had shone like that when they were looking at me. Would they still? No, not when this was over. When this was over I wasn't even sure if I would be able to look at myself.
I looked at my phone: two missed calls from Mr. Renly. It was now 10:47am, and my interview was scheduled for 10. I had simply not been able to bring myself to get out of bed, not today. I was at the end of my rope. Each truth I told about Ian and my relationship was like bleeding, and I was simply running dry. Could someone die of a broken heart? Was that possible?
Then I caught a glimpse of her, a flash of auburn hair, sparkling green eyes like emerald chips, a smug smirk. Mrs. Payne. I hadn't noticed her presence last year at the expo. How could I have? I didn't even know who she was at the time, no one did. Now though, that face was familiar, foreboding. It filled me with a strange cocktail of emotions. Fear, anger, envy, shame, even a hint of admiration. Cassie, that was her name, short for Cassandra. I could never forget that name, not in a thousand years.
Suddenly, my bleeding heart coagulated, hardened at the sight of Ian's wife. How could he have done that to me? To her? How could he have lied so flawlessly? What kind of twisted monster was he really? Beneath that warm smile and perfect skin tone, what kind of cold, calculating creature lurked under the surface? I had always known it was there, instinctual. Ian had disarmed me though, truly convinced me that it was all in my imagination. The moment my guard was down, the serpent struck, and the venom sank deep. I could still feel the
way my heart had disintegrated when I found out, the way it had done so many years ago when I was in college, and before in high school. So many times I had picked up the pieces of my heart, giving it an extra layer of protection each time, only to have it circumvented. I had always thought, always told myself that now there was nothing left of my heart to protect. I was too much of an adult for the laughable concept of love. Ian Payne had proved me wrong though. That was his talent, his gift: to prove people wrong.
The ring of my cell phone jolted me out of my musings, causing my shambled heart to skip a beat. I looked at the caller I.D.; it was Mr. Renly again. I took a deep breath and sighed. He wouldn't stop, not until he had the full story. I knew this because I would have done the same thing; any good journalist would. Much like my love affair with Ian, it appeared this part of my life was also now out of my hands. I had reached the point of no return. I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, Ms. Adams, this is Johnathan Renly. We had a scheduled interview today nearly an hour ago. I was just wondering if you were alright,” Mr. Renly said, an air of concern in his voice. It was feigned, I knew, much like Ian's feelings. All men were the same. They lied so easily because they never had the emotion to begin with. All Mr. Renly cared about was the well-being of the story, or more importantly, his career. Could I really blame him for that though? A few months ago I would have done the exact same thing, even relished doing so. The old Rachel Adams may have been callous, but at least she had direction, ambition. The new Rachel had nothing, not even a job, not anymore.
“I'm fine. My alarm clock simply didn't go off this morning,” I lied.
“Oh. That is regrettable. Power outages during the night are quite common in the city though. Do you think you will still be able to make it to my office today?” Mr. Renly asked. It was a gentle prod, a verbal nudge in the right direction. It was a well-known journalistic technique, used to coax information out of people. It was a science really. If you were too forceful, the person would clam up, reject you altogether. If you were too passive though, they wouldn't take you seriously. Finding the fulcrum was often the difference between victory and defeat with a story, and in journalism, it was the difference between a Pulitzer and the unemployment line. I never really thought you could end up in both places, but that, along with many other things, I had simply been wrong about.
“Yes. I am traveling to your office as we speak. The traffic is heavy,” I said.
“Ah yes. Today is the Infiniti Inc. expo. It is the only event Mr. Payne ever seems to truly trouble himself with showing up to,” Mr. Renly observed aloud.
“I'm not really interested in Ian's actions,” I responded sharply. I could practically taste the bitterness on my tongue.
I heard a sigh on the other end. “Ms. Adams, I can't help but notice a certain…emotional turmoil, if you will. Are you certain that you want to continue to conduct this interview? We can always take a break. If you need some time to get your head straight. I would understand that,” Mr. Renly said.
“Just get your tape recorder ready. I'm on my way now,” I said, slapping the phone shut before he could protest. There was a fire burning in the pit of my stomach now, one I wanted to feed with Ian's tears. I wanted him to feel the pain I felt, if he was even capable of it. Even a fraction of that pain would be more than enough to satisfy me. So I slipped on my coat, and sheathed my heart snugly in its frigid armor.
* * *
“Good morning, Ms. Adams, or I suppose I should be saying good afternoon, as that would be more appropriate considering the time frame,” Mr. Renly said with a snide smirk when I walked into his office. It was a stab at me, I knew, but I shrugged it off. There were bigger fish to fry here.
I sat down at my chair and began unpacking my things wordlessly.
“Trouble with traffic?” Mr. Renly asked. I had told him I was on my way over an hour ago. We both knew it only took twenty minutes or so to make it to his office.
I could feel my patience thinning dangerously. “Mr. Renly, if you have some place better to be…” I began.
“No. Of course not,” Mr. Renly said, clearing his throat and reaching over to his tape recorder. “I simply want the story in its entirety. So shall we start from where we left off yesterday?”
I nodded. Yesterday I had been just as enraged as I was now. We were indeed starting where we left off. “What would you like to know?” I asked.
Mr. Renly leaned in eagerly. “I want to know how you discovered that Ian had a wife. Did he tell you?”
I avoided Mr. Renly's gaze, opting for the window instead. “No,” I said. “I had to find that out on my own.”
* * *
“Stop it, Ian. This isn't funny anymore,” I pleaded as my heart hammered in my chest. Ian's genial smile calmed me, far more than it rightfully should have, especially considering the situation. I was currently in Ian's lab, strapped down to some surgical cot, tied by my ankles and wrists. The nylon of the straps was warm, but the steel bed was cold, and it was biting into my flesh. Standing over me was a smiling Ian, holding some kind of dangerous-looking device.
“Oh come on,” Ian said. “I never took you for a wimp, Ms. Potters. I thought I would at least have earned a semblance of your trust by now.”
I cocked my eyebrow. “You I trust. The thing you're holding though, not so much,” I said, indicating the cube-like device he held. It glimmered with an ominous blue glow.
“It's perfectly safe. After all, I invented it,” Ian added with a smile.
“That's what I'm afraid of,” I retorted.
Ian laughed. “Do you even know what it does?”
“No. But it looks like it explodes, whether that's your intention or not,” I said.
Ian shook his head. “No. I've already gone over this with you. This is the latest in neural therapeutics technology,” Ian explained as he pressed a blue button on the cube. The cube then began to unfold, morphing until it resembled a glove. Then Ian slipped on the glove, its fingertips glowing an electric blue. “I designed it to help stimulate nerve endings or revive deadened ones to help treat problems like Fibromyalgia. That didn't end up working out, though.” Ian frowned.
“You mean the great Ian Payne made a mistake?” I asked with hushed awe.
Ian rolled his eyes. “Nobody likes a smartass. Fortunately for you, you're just an ass.”
I laughed. “I'm a bit more than that,” I said, nodding downwards towards my bare body. I was in nothing but a bra and panties. “I think this whole thing was just an excuse to get me into my undies.”
“Do you really think I would need a gimmick for that?” Ian said as he began pressing buttons on the back of the device, causing it to come to life with a low rumbling whirl.
I shrugged. “Couldn't hurt.”
Ian grimaced. “Yeah, well this might,” he said, prodding me with the glove. There was a sharp crackle as a jolt of electricity surged through me.
“Oww!” I yelped, tugging against the restraints. It had been a mild shock, but jarring. It had been painful at first, but with a warming sensation afterwards. My muscles somehow seemed to sag now, to relax. A strange sensation burgeoned in my gut, like butterflies, yet more sensual. Suddenly, my nipples were erect. “What did you just do to me?” I asked.
Ian smiled. “I sent a perfectly calibrated electric charge through your body, one designed to flawlessly emulate signals your autonomic nervous system utilizes to communicate with your endocrine system. This specific one simultaneously released dopamine and serotonin into your blood stream. Feel-good neurotransmitters.”
“I know what dopamine is, thanks,” I growled.
Ian nodded. “Oh, of course. I'm sure you had some medical training through Red Cross while you were in India.”
“Exactly,” I said, not missing a beat. “I do know a thing or two, you know,” I insisted. “I may not be an engineering genius, but I'm not completely helpless either.”
It felt as tho
ugh Ian had shocked me again, only he hadn't. Instead, he was looking at me with molten eyes, melting sapphires in the phosphorous light above us. “You seem pretty helpless,” he said, nodding to my bindings. Ian took off the glove and ran a naked finger down my stomach. “Seems to me that I could do whatever I wanted to you right now, and you couldn't stop me.”
Another surge of heat wracked me at the suggestion. It was then I noticed Ian's powerful chest rising and falling, pressing against his silken dress shirt. He looked so proud standing there, like a lion prowling the Savanna. I could see his muscles tense under his shirt, see his cock swell beneath his iron-pressed pants. Suddenly, I realized how vulnerable I was, how weak, how wet. My panties were soaked through, so much so you could plainly see the wet spot.
My thighs quivered as his strong yet gentle hand traveled up my leg to rest on my stomach. I wanted him. I wanted him to climb on top of me and use me, to toy with me as if I was some removed amusement. I felt the lust well wildly inside me, spreading like an unchecked forest fire. “What are you going to do to me?” I asked, my heart fluttering in my chest.
Ian's piercing eyes surveyed my body slowly, meticulously, as if he was sampling a champagne. “I'm going to―” BRIIIINGGG. The shrill sound of a cell phone suddenly filled the empty room, shattering the intimacy. Suddenly I remembered that another world existed outside the microcosm of this strange room.
Ian sighed. “Answer my phone. That's what I'm going to do,” he said, flipping it open. “Logan. Well, if it isn't my favorite buzzkill.” Ian paused to wink at me. Normally I would have found such an act nauseating. Instead, I found myself grinning like a school girl.
Ian frowned. “Penelope?” he asked incredulously, looking at me. “Well can it wait? She's a little tied up at the moment.” It was all I could do not to burst into a fit of laughter. “What could be that important?” Another pause; Logan was talking so furiously I could hear it from my place on the bed. “Alright, alright. Don't have an embolism on my account. I haven't heard you this riled up since the audit of 2008.” Ian paused again. “Not my fault. How was I supposed to know that you had to pay taxes on your own energy source...? Yeah, well I'll send her up to you, but only if you promise to return her within a reasonable time frame. She's got a lot of work to do around here,” Ian said with a grin. I rolled my eyes. “Love you, too, big man,” Ian said, hanging up the phone.
Rich Man's Deception: Complete Boxed Set Bundle: Billionaire Boss / Corporate Espionage Romance Page 7
