Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  She shivered under his hot and wanton gaze. A thousand lusty dreams of binding him to her bed flashed through her mind, but she pushed them aside. “So, where is she?”

  “Who?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

  “Don’t jerk me. Where’s Kraft?” All at once, she didn’t want to know, because she thought Kraft might be on the ship, maybe even watching this exchange. Would Kraft be jealous of her time with Michael and want some kind of revenge for what she’d done with Whisper?

  “I don’t know. I didn’t go looking. I’ve been looking nonstop for you.” He touched some reports on his desk. “You are so very clever. You went to the one place I never would have dreamed of looking for you.”

  She wanted to believe him so badly she trembled. “Then how did you, or rather fraidy-cat Foster, find me?”

  “I’m always looking for recruits. I hire only the best and brightest. I heard about you, Purple Lady. I had Foster check you out. Lo and behold. Foster couldn’t believe you were under all that makeup, but as soon as I saw a scowl on your face, I knew the Purple Lady was you.”

  She knew there was more to that story, but she let the particulars slide. “I suppose you want Whisper back.”

  “You sold the ship.” He settled himself on the desk, drawing one leg up and draping his arm around his knee. The motion tightened the black leather around his crotch, giving her a spectacular view. She had to practically wrench her gaze away. When she looked up to his face, he arched a brow and winked. Christ! He knew exactly what kind of effect he had on her.

  “Is that why Kraft didn’t want you back? Because I stole her ship from you and sold it?” Her vicious tongue didn’t so much as poke his anger.

  “I never asked. Like I said, I didn’t go looking for her. I don’t love her. I love you, Mary.”

  Her heart raced with anticipation, but then filled with dread. “You about jumped out of your skin when Duster told you she was alive.” Her voice sounded accusatory, but she couldn’t help herself. He’d been so happy he’d bashed his head into the bridge ceiling when he’d shot from his chair.

  “Am I glad she’s alive? Yes. Do I want her back? No. I never really had her. She never loved me, and I finally realized I never loved her.”

  “I thought—”

  “I know what you thought.” He lowered his leg and leaned back, his big hands spread wide to balance him. “You thought I loved Kraft, and even though you loved me, you let me go so I could chase after her. I appreciate the sacrifice, but you made it in vain. Mary, you are the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

  The earnest passion of his words and the look in his eyes convinced her to believe him in a profound rush. It frightened her how much she wanted to fling herself into his arms and confess the longing in her heart.

  He moved forward, but stopped when she shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

  “That’s very sweet how you’ve summed everything up, but that doesn’t explain why you kept her ship.”

  He slumped back, as if dejected by her continued questioning. “Her ship was like a time machine. In my mind, I thought if I could go back to when I started, before all the bad decisions, I could start all over. I could get to my goal without hurting innocents.” Apparently frustrated and desperate to explain, he leaned forward again. “Crazy, I know. I thought if I could hold on to Kraft, I could change my past and somehow hold on to my youth.”

  Golden-brown eyes cast her a pensive gaze, begging for understanding and acceptance. For such a physically powerful man, he seemed suddenly vulnerable, like a little boy admitting the bullies pushed him down and stole his candy.

  “You’re not that old,” she said flippantly, rolling her eyes, hoping to take a few notches off the intensity scale.

  He chuckled. “I felt old. I felt imprisoned on my own world by my own hand.”

  “Pretty plush prison,” she pointed out.

  “Still a prison. As they say, money buys many things, but it doesn’t buy happiness. I had everything I thought I’d ever wanted, but I hated myself for what I’d done to get it.” He hung his head in shame. “I killed people, took advantage of innocents, drove myself and everyone around me in the pursuit of a freedom that ended up imprisoning me.” With a self-deprecating laugh, he shook his head and finally met her gaze. “I turned my mind to puzzles as a way to keep occupied and cope with the boredom.” A sudden wicked smile graced his face. “And then I captured myself a sneaky bandit who turned everything upside down and inside out. Right out from under my nose, you stole my heart.”

  Mary chewed thoughtfully at her lip. “Seems only fair.”

  “Indeed?”

  “You’ve been holding my heart captive.”

  He smiled and took a step toward her.

  She backed off. “Don’t.”

  He looked heartbroken when she pointed the gun at him again.

  Swallowing hard, she tried to keep her tears at bay. “I love you, Michael, but you can’t trust me.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Her tear-filled voice compelled Michael to sweep her into his arms and kiss away the last of her doubts. But Mary wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing about this complex woman came easy. He found her spirit just one of the reasons he loved her. From wily bandit to the woman he didn’t even know he searched desperately for, she embodied a Pyrrhic victory. To claim her, he would have to surrender the full of himself. Before, the idea alone would have terrified him, but Michael welcomed being vulnerable to Mary.

  He gave his voice a low, seductive growl. “You’re not going to shoot me.” Slow and deliberate, he unbuttoned his shirt. His motion had the desired effect.

  Distracted, she lowered the pistol. She watched for a moment, her eyes wide, and then she shook her head. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m showing you my weapon.” He winked and flashed her a grin. When he took a deep breath, he smelled balsamic perfume on her skin, but the floral-citrus-vanilla of love overpowered her subtle cologne. Far off, he detected a slight note of earthy fear.

  “You keep your pants on, Mister Parker.” Panic permeated her voice and scent.

  He uttered a delighted chuckle. “Not that weapon.” He dropped his shirt to the floor. “Odd.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve had so many opportunities to kill me, but you never do.” He unbuttoned the waistband of his pants.

  Lifting the gun, she blurted, “I will if you don’t stop undressing at me!”

  He barely refrained from laughing. Her breath came in short gasps. Her scent became a jumble of desire, fear, curiosity, and confusion, with love tugging like an undertow.

  Holding his hand over the promise of his fly, he caught her gaze. “Order me to rip my pants open, Mary.”

  Licking her lips, she almost did. “I’m not here for—to—no!” Her gaze darted around the room. “Is this some kind of twisted entertainment for your crew?”

  “We’re locked down in here. They can’t see us, can’t hear us. If the need”—he paused with a grin—“arises, they can speak to me. Otherwise, we are in effect alone.”

  She licked her lips again, checked the disabled wall com, then eyed his wrist com.

  “It’s set to receive only.”

  “You’re crazy. I could kill you.”

  “Granted.”

  She shivered at the word. Her desire blossomed to that full blood orange. Longing to surrender, she fought desperately for control.

  “You could kill me, Mary, if you wanted to. Start at my kneecaps and blast your way up.” He paused for effect. “But I know you don’t want to. Actually, I know you can’t. You love me. Not only that, but you want me.” He breathed deeply, rolling her taste over his tongue. “I can smell your need.”

  “Stop sniffing me.” She stepped back in an effort to hide her scent. “That’s cheating.”

  He laughed gently. “Indeed.”

  Again, she shivered at the one word, and her scent of wanting increased.

  “Y
ou’re wet, and you’re having an increasingly difficult time keeping your gaze off my now very hard cock.”

  Her guilty gaze leapt to his face. She scowled. “It’s not my fault you go around displaying yourself like some kind of tawdry pleasure slave.”

  Flashing her a wicked smile, he winked. “You want me as your thrall.” He sniffed again, reading a deeper truth in her scent. “You’ve thought long and hard about having me at your mercy, being at mine. Captive and captor is a compelling duality, isn’t it?”

  She backed all the way to the closed door. Panic flooded her scent when she realized she’d locked herself in with him by disabling the com.

  “I trust you.” He lifted his palms and opened his arms.

  “Is that what this song and dance is?” She waved the pistol around. “You’re trying to show me you trust me? With what? Your fabulous body?”

  “You really think it’s fabulous?” Checking himself over, he postured and preened, giving her a good look at his sculpted muscles. Three months of brutal workouts had put him in top shape. All he wore was a pair of straining black Byzantine leather pants with the top button undone, like a pointed invitation to check out the enticing package below. A package she couldn’t stop glancing at.

  Jerking her gaze back to his with a grunt of frustration, she rolled her eyes. “You and your ego, I swear, you are—”

  “Let me lay this out for you.” He lowered his voice to a seductive growl and lowered his thumbs to the belt loops of his waistband. His movement once again drew her gaze to his crotch.

  She fought off an embarrassed giggle as she yanked her gaze to a spot just over his shoulder.

  “I’m at your command.” He wanted to be naked, to be as vulnerable as he could, but he stopped when the promise of his nudity unbalanced her.

  Her gaze darted to his. Spiked purple hair and rich purple makeup only emphasized the soft vulnerability in her velvet-brown eyes. She looked dangerously tough, yet her scent revealed her truth. She loved him. And he wanted a lifetime to lose himself in the compelling complexity of her rich, emotional scent.

  “No one can hear us, no one is going to bust down that door to save me. You’re the only one in this room with a gun.” When he nodded to the IWOG officer pistol gripped in her fist, he noticed she’d flicked the safety on. His heart beat faster. “You can do anything you’d like with me.”

  Mary involuntary looked him over again, a flush washing up her face as she did.

  “I could fight you for control.”

  She swallowed with an audible click.

  “I could disarm you, turn that gun on you, make you my captive again.” He winked. “I’m thinking you wouldn’t be all that opposed.” His suggestive demeanor tweaked her anger enough to force a reaction.

  “You are still so full of yourself.” She pointed the gun at the curved bench bolted to the floor at the side of his desk. “Sit.”

  “Authoritative. I like it.” He not only sat but helped her bind his hands behind his back with his own silk shirt. “Bondage.” He uttered a lusty moan. “How kinky.”

  In her trembling haste, she didn’t bind him very well. He could free himself in a matter of seconds from the loose silk around his wrists, but he found the sensual appeal of her capture too enticing to break out of just yet.

  Licking her lips, she leaned against his desk to consider his position. “You just sit there till I decide what to do.” Her eyes were over-bright as her gaze went from his bare feet to his face, lingering for a long pause on his now straining fly.

  “Take your time.” He puffed out his chest and leaned his head back, flexing every muscle in his body. Desire and love, the compelling, confusing scent, wove around both their bodies in a thick web that drew them closer.

  “You still think you’re in charge, don’t you?” She planted a purple boot-clad foot on the bench, right between his knees.

  Aggressive. Fierce. But the scent of love and longing became so cloying he had to breathe through his mouth or he would simultaneously climax and pass out.

  “If you can handle command, you’re in charge.” Michael pushed just the right button.

  “If I can handle command?” Mary straddled his lap, pressing herself tight against his throbbing erection. “Perhaps I should test your level of restraint.” She rocked her hips and dropped her lips close to his. “You seem to enjoy teasing me. Let’s see how much you enjoy—”

  Pressing forward, he aggressively kissed her from his submissive posture. She responded, eager and wanton, then pulled back, a shocked scowl on her face. Her scent became smoky when she realized he’d goaded her into doing exactly what he wanted her to do.

  “You bastard.” She climbed off his lap.

  “Prime Bastard.” He nodded, grinning. “If you must call me names, I find I prefer that one.”

  Shaking her head with the hint of a smile, she ruffled her spiked purple hair. “You can’t stand not being in charge.”

  “As a general rule, no. I like being in charge.”

  Looking right into his eyes, she took off the holster around her hips, dropped the clutch of weapons to the floor and then removed a thick money belt. She toed off her boots, socks, and slid down her smooth dextex pants. A brief glimpse of black lace panties compelled him to give an appreciative wolf whistle.

  “Like them?” She lifted her shirt to display her black lace-clad hips.

  He nodded enthusiastically.

  “Every time I wear them, I think of you. Actually, every time I dress or undress, I think of you. Three months, Michael. I’ve been thinking of you for three long, lonely months. And I’ve realized I have a vivid imagination. You woke something up in me. Captor and captive. Very powerful. I find I like both.”

  She slid the black lace panties off and tossed them aside. All she wore was a Dardinian silk shirt of vivid purple that danced around the curve of her rounded bottom.

  He wanted to rocket from the bench, pin her with the full power of his body and take her hard and fast on his desk.

  Reading his mind, Mary walked forward and put her hand on his chest. “You best sit still. So far, I’m finding your powers of restraint severely lacking.” Straddling his lap, she wrenched open the rivet buttons on his fly. “I see you like this game so far.”

  All wet, hot and slippery, she pressed herself to him.

  Hissing, he almost fell off the bench. His bound hands clutched the back of the padded seat for support.

  “Almost sounds like you’re in pain.” She rocked herself against him. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  Not trusting himself to speak, he shook his head, desperate to control himself as she slid against him with slow and wanton grace.

  She wrapped her hands around his shoulders and pressed her mouth to his ear. She didn’t speak but only panted, soft and seductive, in short gasps that drove him out of his mind.

  When he lifted his hips to meet hers, she stopped moving.

  “Hold still, Michael.”

  Groaning, he rolled his head back. “Mary, please.”

  “Please what?” She lightly teased his neck with her teeth and tongue.

  “Finish what you started.”

  “Finish?” She chuckled to his ear. “I haven’t even started.”

  She continued to rock slowly, sliding her clit along him. Clutching with frantic hands at the back of the bench, he tried to hold still. Faster and faster she went. Slick and hot, she rode along the full length of him.

  “Mary.” He gasped her name out on a long sigh.

  She tilted her face up, cupped her mouth to his ear and panted his name like a chant. Grabbing his shoulders, she rocked with growing intensity and gave a low, throaty growl when a sharp orgasm ripped through her.

  The scent of her pleasure almost pushed him over the edge. He hung on by filling his brain with random trivia and gripping the back edge of the bench. “Where did you learn that?”

  She caught her breath, panting against the shell of his chest, and murmured, �
�Books.”

  “I am a damn proud book smuggler.”

  She rested against him for a moment, then pulled back and looked right into his eyes. Teasingly slow, she slipped her tongue to his mouth. “Are you ready, Michael?”

  “Ready for—”

  In one smooth motion, she impaled herself on him with a shuddering gasp. Slick heat engulfed his straining cock. The intense pleasure of her grasping core caused him to utter a cross between a bellow and a growl.

  “Don’t move or I’ll stop.” She took his face in her hands and looked right into his eyes. “I’m in charge this time.”

  Rotating her hips in a tight circle, she clutched his cock even tighter. Her eyes were half-closed, slightly unfocused, dazed, and dreamy.

  He didn’t dare move. He had to grit his teeth to control the overwhelming urge to thrust his hips. The silk that bound his hands began to chaff. He wanted to work his way out but the silk of Mary bound him to hold still.

  “Very good.” Placing her hands on his shoulders, she lifted and lowered herself with excruciating slowness. “Am I hot enough for you? Tight enough? Wet enough?”

  Her intense gaze, her whispered voice, her wicked questions, and the rich scent of her caused his penis to twitch within her.

  “You moved.” She began to climb off him.

  “Granted.” He begged her back with his eyes.

  She shivered, smiled and again raised and lowered her body to his.

  When he grimaced and grasped the back of the bench hard enough to bend it, she grinned. And stopped.

  Through gritted teeth he ordered, “Untie my hands.”

  “What’s the magic word?” she asked teasingly, rotating her hips. A skewer of tight pleasure swirled down the straining length of him.

  “Please.”

  “No.” She smiled and rocked slower, letting him come almost all the way out of her before she plunged down again.

  Sublime torture. The scent of love and desire rose to a peak he thought he’d passed long ago, but Mary worked his need higher. Just when he thought he could stand no more, she made him beg for more.

  Her scent changed, as did the rhythm of her breath to his ear. Faster and faster she went. Tighter and tighter she clung to him.