by Calista Fox
Conversely … Christ, it felt good to have him so close to her again. His strength and magnetism rolled off him in waves, engulfing her. She inhaled his heated, masculine scent, and if she leaned in just an inch she could sweep her lips and tongue along his throat, taste his skin, feel his muscles bunch all around her.
“You’re devouring me with that hypnotic gaze of yours,” he whispered against her temple, making her skin tingle.
She shouldn’t have heard him above the din, but she’d tuned everything else out.
His hand was on her hip where he’d gripped her to move her out of the way of the collision. The other held his glass. She still had her drink in hand as well. And decided that was probably a good thing—or she’d be sliding her palms under his shirt and exploring all those corrugated grooves and rigid sinew she knew she’d find.
Her fingers burned to touch him.
Scarlet mentally shook her head. Sipped her martini in hopes of cooling her insides. Didn’t work. She was still teeming with anticipation of what Michael Vandenberg really had in store for her this evening.
Because instinct told her it wasn’t just cocktails and casual flirtation.
Sure enough, he took her glass and set it on the bar, along with his. Then he twined their fingers and gave a tug.
“Come on. Let’s dance.”
Her heart fluttered. Her brow crooked. “You dance?”
“Why not?” He led her out onto the packed floor. Pulled her into his arms as the music slowed to a less head-banging beat, morphing into a more manageable one so that they could move together.
Their bodies melded, her breasts nestling below his pecs and his thigh wedging between her legs. Scarlet stared up at him as the zings ricocheted through her.
With everything inside her instantly going haywire, it was a wonder she could latch on to a sane thought, let alone speak.
Somehow, she found the ability to ask, “Are you just doing this in hopes of getting me to back off the case?”
He held her even tighter, tucking her more firmly against him.
His erection rubbed along her hip and he muttered in her ear, “Does it feel like I’m just doing this so you’ll back off?”
Her free hand curled around the nape of his neck while her fingers remained tangled with his, their hands resting against his chest.
A tinge of vulnerability crept in on Scarlet. She’d spent so much of her life following her gut instincts, getting her high from solving puzzles, that she’d had neither the time nor the inclination to pursue romantic relationships.
More than that, she’d never really met men worthy of a career derailment. Perhaps it’d always been the skeptic in her that made her automatically assume there was a personal agenda being pushed, a shady angle that would somehow be to her detriment. She was suspicious by nature—went with the territory given her ancestry—and that made her wary of deceit and betrayal.
Therefore, she did not typically engage in endeavors such as this that would leave her wide open for epic emotional failure. She’d been shattered once before, with her parents’ deaths. No need for a repeat performance or additional heartache.
But she couldn’t deny she was mesmerized by Michael’s compelling gray-blue eyes and the sensual sway of his hips. The possessiveness of his embrace. The way they fit so perfectly together. The way they moved as one, as though they’d been doing this forever, were meant to be this glued to each other.
There were professional lines Scarlet didn’t cross as a rule. But she was dying to know more about this man beyond what Bayli’s research had unearthed. Therefore, Scarlet was willing to cave to some of her inquisitiveness. Just a little.
She said, “So I already know you graduated from Princeton, which makes it understandable how you have such keen business sense. But I’m confused as to where the commodities knack comes from.”
“My great-great-grandfather owned one of the largest sugar plantations in Hawaii. The significance of commodities, including the importance of buying and selling them, was passed down to me.”
She gave a slight nod. “I did discover a deed in Oahu belonging to M. Vandenberg. I figured it was in your father’s possession.”
“No, that’s my personal holding, also passed down to me. Though I sold off a portion of the plantation when I first inherited it. That’s how I ended up with the five million you mentioned earlier.”
“And why did you keep the rest of the land? I hardly take you for a harvester of cane sugar.”
“Actually, the history and the current state of affairs related to sugar production and exportation is tumultuous. With past strangleholds in Hawaii and strict governmental policies, there are a lot of constraints and complex variables that affect the economy and the labor force, even here on the mainland as it pertains to sugar manufacturing and importation. The majority of plantations on the islands have closed; mine’s on the cusp. I have different plans for the acreage, still in soft commodities since I have future contracts at stake in the exchange market.”
“Can’t be easy keeping track of all of your investments.”
He chuckled. “I have people who do that for me.”
Scarlet gave this some thought, then said, “I don’t believe you’d rely too heavily on them. You seem to be the type who keeps his finger on the pulse of his business.”
“And business is really the last thing I want to discuss this evening.” His impish expression held her spellbound. “I’m finding this current twist of fate much more fascinating.”
His hand at the small of her back inched lower until he palmed an ass cheek. With the dance floor as crowded as it was, she knew no one took note. He squeezed roughly and it sent a wicked thrill through her.
“You’re big on taking liberties, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Can’t help it. You’re irresistible.” He pressed his thigh more firmly between her legs. Used his hand on her butt to grind her apex against his flexed muscles.
Good Lord, he’d been right. This was a risky game to play.
His warm breath teased strands of her hair as he said, “You smell damn good. Feel even better.”
His words … his touch … his thigh rubbing her sex … Christ, it took him mere minutes to send her into sensory overload.
He murmured, “I’m dying to know how you taste.”
She stifled a moan. Not that anyone would hear it. Except for Michael.
Risky barreled headfirst into lethal.
She really had no idea who she was dealing with. Was caught up in and conflicted by the burning desire to interrogate and the forbidden need to let him weave his web, ensnare her.
With her lips so damn close to his throat and that pulsating point at its base, all she had to do was lift her chin and her lips would graze his skin.
Her heart thundered at the notion and the beats pounded in her ears.
Somehow, she found the good sense to say, “This really shouldn’t be happening.”
“I’m not a criminal, Scarlet,” he all but growled in agitation. “Yes, I can be ruthless. Cutthroat when it comes to business transactions. But I’m not a thief.”
His body tensed and there was an odd shift in the air between them. That rawness that had exuded from him at the Crestmont when she’d pressed him about the money she’d suspected was his cut of the insurance check returned in a flash.
And goddamn it, the angst and virility radiating from him was a huge turn-on.
But even more than that … The conviction in his tone and in his eyes called to her gut instincts again.
The problem was, she wanted to believe him.
Scarlet wanted to trust in his solemn, though slightly tormented, gaze.
It wasn’t just her coming at him with suspicions of his involvement in the theft that had him oozing the need to convince her of his innocence. It was something else. Something far beyond her comprehension … Something that ran much deeper and made her think of that ominous look that had crossed his face when she’d men
tioned the inheritance in the lounge.
There was something about the sugar plantation, his line of grandfathers, the money…? She had no idea. But her curiosity soared like never before.
She said, “Maybe you’re not a thief. But you do have secrets. A lot of them. I can read it on your face, see it in your eyes. And your defense mechanisms are meant to keep me from learning them. So again … Is there really something going on here—between us—or is all this physical interaction just your way of throwing me off the investigative trail?”
THREE
It should annoy him that she was so point-blank.
It didn’t.
Something about Scarlet Drake thrilled Michael in a way he couldn’t remember ever experiencing. She was intuitive and inquisitive. Downright candid and blunt. Brazen.
It was refreshing. Sexy. Stimulating.
Even if she did push his buttons.
He wasn’t used to a full-court press—from anyone. He had billions in the bank that he’d worked his ass off for, and his professional reputation was hard-earned and well warranted.
He didn’t like being questioned or second-guessed.
Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to mind in this instance. The beautiful investigator constantly challenging him made him even harder.
Michael said, “I can’t fake an erection. Answers that question.”
“Then your intention really is to make me come on your leg.”
“I got you that excited?”
“You already know that answer.” Looking a bit out of sorts, she said, “I need the ladies’ room.” She whirled around and started to march off but returned to him two seconds later. “How did you find me at the St. Francis, anyway?”
“How’d you find me at the Crestmont?” he countered with a crooked brow.
“By making a hell of a lot of phone calls.”
“Well, there you go. I have a hell of a lot of people willing to do that for me.” He flashed another grin. Then added, “Bathroom’s down the side hall, toward the back, on the right.”
“Thank you.” She spun around again and threaded her way through the mass of people.
Michael’s full attention was fixated on Scarlet’s enticing backside and the small, tight ass he wanted to fuck.
He wondered if she was as spirited and adventuresome in the bedroom as she was out of it. Decided that was likely the case. And followed her.
Propping a shoulder against a jutting wall from the supply closet on the opposite side of the restrooms, in a dimly lit corner, he folded his arms over his chest and crossed his booted ankles, waiting for her.
When Scarlet caught sight of him minutes later and joined him, she had a curious look on her face. She asked, “Afraid I’d get lost?”
“Not in the least. I suspect you have no trouble at all finding your way around.”
“It took a little wandering about and a leap of faith to locate the entrance to this place. Why so covert about our date?”
“Adds an element of intrigue. I get the feeling you like it that way.”
“I do get a rush from it.”
“Hmph.” He reached for her hand again and tugged her closer to him. Then his head bent to hers and he murmured, “Let’s see what else you get a rush from.”
His lips slid over her glossy ones, which tasted faintly of vanilla and vodka. His groin tightened, his cock straining the zipper of his jeans. He snaked his arm around her and hauled her up against him just as his mouth sealed to hers. To hell with the few people coming and going in this area.
Her lips parted and his tongue swept inside to tangle with hers, sending fire roaring through his veins. Her body melded to his again, in complete surrender, and Michael took what she offered, deepening the kiss, intensifying it, silently telling her how hot he was for her.
Dancing with Scarlet had been an alluring temptation unto itself, with her breasts pressed to his chest and her sensational body rubbing against his. Add a scorching kiss to the scenario and he was quickly losing his mind for her.
The immediate and intense chemistry that had sparked between them when she’d appeared at his table at the lounge earlier had reignited when she’d been grinding along his leg. Now he felt a five-alarm rager building within him, and Michael yearned to do something about it.
Breaking the kiss, he led her across the hall and unhooked the chain blocking the access to the stairwell and the restricted area above that led to the catwalks. He gestured for her to precede him as he secured the chain behind them. At the top of the steps was an alcove shrouded by walls, though the sapphire lights reflected on the outskirts so that he caught the intermittent glimpses of Scarlet in the flickering illumination.
He backed her against a wall and kissed her. Her arms wound around his neck, the fingers of one hand plowing through his hair. Her body writhed, all her enticing curves and arousing femininity teasing his senses. This woman was a drug and he was instantly addicted.
He had one hand on her hip and the other skated up her bare thigh, from the top of her boot to the short hem of her skirt. His fingers slipped behind the material and grazed the triangle of her satin thong. Her drenched thong.
Lightning exploded in his head.
He ripped his mouth from hers. “Fuck,” he ground out. His fingers stroked her pussy lips through the soaked satin. “You’re so fucking wet,” he whispered in her ear.
“How can that possibly be a surprise?” she said on a broken breath.
“Scarlet.” His testosterone shot through the roof. His heart hammered in his chest. “I have to make you come.”
She let out a sexy moan over the clamor of the music and the throng below them. If one of the catwalk dancers ventured to the edge of their stage, he and Scarlet might be discovered. But he’d already noted the women in pattern and they lingerie’s generally stuck to the midsections, where they were better viewed by the audience.
Even if anyone could catch a glimpse at this secluded spot, they’d only see the shadow Michael created with his back to them. Scarlet was well concealed by his larger frame. So he didn’t give another thought to not having absolute privacy. Just fell into the fated moment and let his rampant desire for her take over.
He whisked aside the material at her apex and his fingertips brushed over her moist folds.
Her body jolted at the intimate contact. “Jesus,” she muttered. And tightened her hold on his strands of hair.
Michael stroked slowly at first, then circled her clit, the knot of nerves swelling under his touch. His mouth crashed over hers once more and he engaged her in another blazing lip-lock as two fingers sank into her and he pumped assertively, the heel of his hand rubbing against her clit.
He absorbed the tremors running through her. Determined to get her off. Needing to get her off. His fingers were coated with her cream and he stroked more fervently, until she tore her mouth from his and gasped.
“Oh, God.” Her nails dug into his nape. Her tremors turned into quaking.
“You’re so damn close.”
So damn fast.
“Yes.”
He quickened his pace, his fingers plunging deep, until he found the spot. And worked her feverishly.
“Michael.” Her head fell back; her eyelids fluttered closed. “Right there. Oh, God, yes. Just like that…”
He took the opportunity presented and his lips and tongue skated up the long column of her neck. In the far recesses of his mind, he cataloged every catch of her breath, the sweet taste of her, the smell of her, the feel of her. The stimulating sound of her throaty moans.
He pumped a bit faster. The heel of his hand massaged her clit a bit harder. He sensed the moment she was about to come undone and nipped at her skin, just below her ear. Then murmured, “Lose it for me, baby.”
Her inner muscles clenched his fingers. She cried out.
“Oh, yeah,” he said on a low groan, everything inside him pulling so tight it was a wonder he didn’t erupt right along with her.
; Her pussy milked his fingers as she rode out the orgasm, clinging to him, her breaths mere whimpers of ecstasy.
“You’re driving me wild,” he told her.
When the quaking of her body eased into a mild tremble, he withdrew from her. Stepped away to get a grip on himself. His back pressed to the wall opposite her and he watched the blue and silver strobes reflect against her flushed skin as she fought for longer, steadier streams of air.
That she’d been so damn wet for him before he’d even touched her and had come so quickly made him even harder. Made him want to shove her skirt up and drive deep into her.
She seemed to know it. Closed the gap between them. As she stared up at him with lust in her eyes, her hands slipped under the hem of his shirt. Her fingers traced the grooves of his abdomen before her palms flattened against his solid muscles and slid upward to his chest.
Michael clasped her hips and lowered his head, drawing her into another sizzling kiss.
Her hands skimmed down his stomach again and around to his back, exploring liberally, getting him hotter, then splaying over his shoulder blades. He cupped her ass cheeks, kneading them as he rubbed his erection against her mound.
Christ, he needed to be inside her. And it wasn’t just to sate his own voracious sexual appetite. He desperately wanted to set her off again, with his cock thrusting into her until she fell apart and screamed his name as she came.
He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted a woman so badly, so urgently.
So when her palms slid away from his shoulders and her fingers toyed with the silver buckle on his belt, it took all the restraint Michael possessed to cover her hands with his to stop her.
Every fiber of his being burned to let her unfasten his jeans, to coax her to her knees in front of him and allow him to fuck her mouth, to have her swallow him down, drain him, quell the throbbing—the aching—between his legs and low in his gut.
But even that wouldn’t be enough. And he knew it.
Breaking their kiss, he told her, “Not here.”
He twined his fingers with hers and led her downstairs. She willingly followed, not even asking where they were going.
