Imminent Conquest

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  "You're the one with the problem,” she retorted, regaining her fighting spirit. “How dare you say I don't sleep with you?"

  He stopped and looked over his shoulder at her. “I've been burned before. How could you not understand that? Bitch!"

  "At least you've shown your true colours,” she managed, drawing into herself.

  "It's a good thing we're not married, because if we were I would beat you into a pulp.” Brad stomped out.

  The front door slammed shut. Thankfully, he was gone. This time, she knew she didn't want him coming back.

  "Goddamn your car too!” he shouted, walking past the Topaz and down the driveway.

  She resisted the urge to pick up the phone and call that bastard, to tell him what a low life he was for spreading rumours and taking photos of her. Who else could have done something like that?

  Carrying two crystal vases filled with roses, she marched to the front door, threw it open and hurled the roses into the snowing darkness. She didn't lessen her furious pace until, after several trips, she had flung everything outside. She only paused to rip the note and the photograph into tiny pieces before she scattered them to the wind. Like her raging temper, the wind blew bitterly.

  She banged the door shut, resting her back against the panelled wood. She smelt of sweat, female essence and roses. Michael was a manipulative liar using underhanded tactics to get what he wanted. But those things wouldn't work with her.

  A chill settled over her weary body. In a town where she knew few people, she had no one but herself to rely on. She couldn't dream of going to the police. They would claim he had done nothing wrong. Besides, he had his money and his reputation to protect him against people who wanted to wreak vengeance.

  Piecemeal, she concocted a plan to deal with that bastard and once she was finished with him he would never come near her again. He couldn't just walk back into her life and pick up where he had left off. She wouldn't let him.

  Feeling on edge and as if she was being watched, she strode to the tool shed outside the house with a large butcher's knife clenched in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

  The small place smelt musty and old. The light from the single, low-watt bulb in the ceiling was so faint she was glad she had brought the flashlight. She rummaged around for a few minutes before she found what she had been looking for. The thin thread of murky, yellow light illuminated her hand and the object lying across her palm. It would be perfect for what she had in mind. Wouldn't that bastard appreciate getting a dose of his own medicine?

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twelve

  * * * *

  Cathy didn't lead Bryan far from the high-backed chair they had made love in. She leant back against the Formica counter with her palms extended behind her and hopped up to seat herself.

  "Why don't you get out of those clothes?” she asked. “Let me see all of you."

  "Like you haven't already,” he muttered with a huge grin.

  "Don't you like to play a little?” She gave him a killer sexy pout.

  He was out of his shirt and jeans before she could say another word and watched with wonder as she parted her legs and gave him a view of her pussy, of the pink folds of skin barely hiding her clitoris.

  "Yow, mama,” was all he could say, pulling the condom off and tossing it in the nearby waste container. He got to his knees and spread her thighs wider. “You sure know how to tease a man right out of his mind."

  She murmured something he didn't catch before she placed each foot on the counter and leant back. He devoured her with his eyes and trailed a finger down the side of her pussy. She grabbed his hand and sucked on his finger before she trailed it in her juices again, driving him crazy with burning need and making his cock stiffen.

  Grasping her by each ankle, he lowered his head and kissed her mound, feathering kisses along her inner thigh down to her knee. She whimpered. “No. I want your tongue inside me."

  "Really?” he asked quietly, happy he could return the torture she had inflicted on him earlier. “Why don't you play with yourself? Let me see your wet clit."

  He stood back, folding his arms across his chest. She didn't wait but circled her clit with a pink-enamelled finger. The juice flowed from her vagina onto the counter as she closed her eyes and leant her head back against the cupboard. Her lips were parted as she worked her clitoris with sure, circular strokes. She edged her knees further apart and ground her hips suggestively.

  "Come on, baby. Put your fingers in your pussy."

  She groaned, a low and feral sound, but she placed her left hand on her pussy, opened the folds of skin wide and plunged two fingers inside. Bryan gripped his shaft and toyed with the mushroom tip. He stepped closer to place two fingers beside hers.

  "Oh no,” she whimpered. She gritted her teeth and he felt her vagina clench and suck in his fingers. Her cries reverberated in his ears and when her climax ended he thrust his cock inside her.

  "No,” she moaned. “Too soon."

  He ignored her, knowing she had become super sensitive in the last moments of her orgasm. Lifting her off the counter, he held her around her waist. Gratifyingly, her legs wound around his hips. She gripped his cock firmly. “That's it, baby."

  Her body was damp with sweat and her brow furrowed with concentration. “You know what I want,” he said, in a voice as silky as a spider web. “I want you to lean over the table so I can fuck you from behind."

  Cathy giggled. “What are you waiting for?"

  He released her and she immediately slanted her upper body over the table where they had eaten earlier.

  "Spread your legs,” he ordered.

  Another giggle but she complied. Her honeyed cream ran down the inside of her tender thigh. He moved in behind her and, lubricated by her juices, he easily slid into her.

  "Oh,” she cried out, as he clamped his hands around her waist in case she was tempted to move away. She stood still and he thrust repeatedly, enjoying the sensation of wanting more. He was amazed at how perfectly she fit his long length and when he pushed her legs apart even more she didn't resist, but whimpered. “Bliss,” he said softly, “is fucking you."

  "Don't stop,” she said, her voice urgent. “Don't stop."

  Their orgasms hit at the same time. He felt his neck muscles become rigid and he shut his eyes as he threw his head back and felt the rush of cum explode into her. Her vagina tightened around his cock, and they rocked back and forth in enjoyable agony. Several minutes went by as they regained their equilibrium, and their breathing slowed to normal. His cock stood at half-mast.

  "I've never made love to a man quite like you,” she murmured, turning around to face him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pressed her breasts against his chest. “You're terrific."

  Bryan had to laugh. “I'm terrific? What about you? I've never had a woman open up to me so completely before."

  She trailed light kisses down his cheek and to his lips. “You mean you've only had inhibited relationships?"

  "Something like that.” The words were lost in a deep kiss where their tongues mated, tasted and ravished.

  They ended up in Bryan's bed, snuggling with each other against the cold as the snow fell outside. He felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. The sheets smelt of musky sex. The bedside lamp illuminated Cathy's upper body. He had a wonderfully attractive woman in his arms. What more could he ask for?

  "What made you come visit?” he asked softly, pulling gently on her nipple and watching it pucker. He loved gazing at the large areolas.

  "I was lonely."

  "With a big family like the Carmichaels around?"

  She curled an arm under her head and fixed her eyes on the ceiling. “I'm not a Carmichael."

  "You're kidding, right?"

  Cathy shook her head.

  "I don't understand."

  "I'm adopted. I'm not a true Carmichael."

  "I don't believe that. Who told you that?"
<
br />   "I overheard my cousin talking about it not long ago."

  Bryan could imagine how that could have come as quite a shock. He heard the dejection in her whispered words. “Does it matter that much?"

  "I was floored. I guess I walked around in shock for a few days before I thought to go to the Hall of Records and verify the information.” Tears glittered in her eyes. “It's true. Since I'm still treated as family, I guess it shouldn't be such a big deal."

  "Maybe I shouldn't ask, but did the birth record state who your natural parents are?"

  "That's okay. I've dealt with it. I think. But there was nothing about my real parents."

  "So it kind of ruined Christmas for you, huh?” Bryan knew that kind of a revelation wouldn't just ruin his Christmas, but probably his outlook on life too.

  "Yeah, I guess."

  He rolled on top of her and kissed her eyes. “I'm not sure if this is any consolation, but your not being a Carmichael makes us more legit."

  She blinked. “What?"

  "If we decide to continue like we are, we won't be ostracised."

  She shook her head. “I don't think anyone cares in this day and age if people fool around. As long as they don't put themselves on display."

  "Hmm."

  "Guess I just couldn't bear the thought of being adopted. Not at Christmas. I feel rejected, like a cast-off."

  "I understand,” he said sympathetically. “I've been alone the last two Christmas seasons. It's a terrible time to be without family and I can imagine how hard it is for you.” Everyone had somewhere to go to on Christmas day, except him.

  "I'm sure I made the best decision.” She locked her hands around his neck in a light chokehold. “I've got plans for the next few days."

  Bryan grunted appreciatively. “I'm looking forward to that."

  * * * *

  The next morning, Nicole went into work ten minutes earlier than usual and, without delay, made a personal call. “May I speak to Mr Karlisi, please?” she asked sweetly.

  "To Colin or Michael?” the Anessa secretary inquired politely.

  "Michael, please.” Nicole got the impression the secretary was required to ask the question all the time and it had become a matter of routine to those who didn't specify exactly who they wanted to talk to. But Nicole hadn't known Colin worked at Anessa. She shuddered at the unbidden images that came to mind. It would be so easy to dump someone in the expeller to make them disappear permanently. No one would ever know what had happened.

  "May I tell him who's calling?” the secretary asked pleasantly.

  Her curious tone of voice made Nicole wonder if the rumours Brad had spoken about had reached the other woman's ears. Doubtless they had. She didn't hesitate to say her name. What reason could that bastard possibly find not to answer if he knew she was calling? Impatiently, she toyed with the phone cord.

  She waited only a few seconds before he came on the line.

  "Nicole, it's good to hear from you."

  Was it her imagination, or was his voice a bit impersonal and reserved? “James, I need to talk to you.” She realised as soon as she said his old name that she might be giving herself away.

  "On one condition."

  She barely repressed a heavy sigh. He was ever the man in control. She responded in a guarded tone. “Name it."

  "Call me Michael."

  She thought she heard him tapping a pen on his desk, and took pride in her reticent behaviour. He was probably thinking his plan to force her into his arms was working. He'd be extremely disappointed once she was through with him.

  "Sure. Can we meet for lunch? It's urgent."

  "Are you in trouble?"

  Wouldn't he like it if she was, and begging for his help? “I really don't want to talk on the phone. Can you meet me at work? At twelve?"

  "Sure, sweetheart. I'll be there. Are you okay till then?"

  She marvelled at his solicitous attitude. He was the king of hypocrites. How she detested his endearment. “Yes."

  "Good. I'll see you at twelve, then."

  The phone went dead, and as she replaced the receiver in its cradle she congratulated herself on a job well done. Michael had no idea he was being set up. None at all.

  This would be the most interesting experience of her life. And it wouldn't hurt her one bit, like her testimony at his trial had.

  * * * *

  Lost in his thoughts, Michael leant back against his executive chair. The noise from the machinery pounded in his head louder than it did most mornings. He hadn't slept at all during the night, pondering what he would do with his life now. The multitude of drinks, primarily whisky on the rocks, hadn't helped. He couldn't put a finger on his feelings but it was similar to how he had felt locked away behind prison bars, hopeless, a life without meaning. All he had been able to hang on to was the hope that Nicole would still love him. He could forgive her for testifying against him, but he couldn't forgive her for no longer loving him.

  He swallowed back the heaviness swelling into his throat. Without her, he had no anchor in life. Without her, he had nothing, no matter how many millions he had. But hope refused to stay tamped down. Her phone call asking for his help warmed his heart. Maybe, just maybe, she had changed her mind. How could she not see what a good thing they had with each other?

  His cock began to harden. Nicole was one of those women who came along only once in a lifetime. He had been lucky to find her, but wretched to have lost her during his years in prison. Now he had a chance to make amends. This was his last shot at happiness. If he couldn't have her, he would have no one and would either live to be a weary, miserable old man or would blow his brains out.

  His phone rang again. He was tempted not to answer but he wasn't the type of person to ignore anyone he associated or worked with. All that boozing last night and no sleep had made him a near wreck, but at lunchtime he would know if he could help Nicole with whatever problem she had. He didn't much care what had made her seek him out instead of Brad or any of her other acquaintances. No matter how much she hated him, he would always help her in any way he could.

  And love her from afar.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Thirteen

  * * * *

  As noon approached, Nicole began to feel more confident her plan would work. She had arranged to take the remainder of the day off. Michael deserved what he was about to receive. Several times, she glanced at her purse tucked in the bottom drawer of her desk and visualised the object lying dormant inside. It wasn't quite like a gun, but its power disabled and gave a strong warning.

  Hoping to get a glimpse of Michael and his car, she checked the street from her office window. The sun poked through a haze of stormy, grey clouds and shone on windshields, almost blinding her. She didn't see his car, although she caught a glimpse of him as he crossed the street. He was still as punctual as a clock, she reflected. Her heart fluttered wildly. The wind had mussed his hair and she was forced to admire his masculinity under the navy two-piece suit he wore. He stood out even in a crowd. He held his keys in one hand against his thigh. His neutral expression gave nothing of his thoughts away.

  What would have happened between them if he hadn't killed his father? Would their children be running and happily playing in the backyard of a two-storey house with a white picket fence surrounding it? Would she and Michael still be terribly in love?

  She searched for his burgundy car, hoping he hadn't had the audacity to bring the limousine. She heaved a sigh of relief at seeing the Park Avenue's sleek lines parked between a rusting station wagon and a newer model pickup truck. She had no second thoughts as she headed for the elevator, her purse strapped carelessly over her shoulder. Hell hath no fury worse than a woman scorned, she laughed inwardly. Truly, Michael Karlisi would experience it in a matter of minutes.

  * * * *

  She met him at the elevator. He appeared surprised, before he smiled warmly. “Sweetheart,” he greeted her.

  Nicole was careful to
hide her distaste for the endearment he used, but found herself battling his presence and his physically powerful body. The jacket and his trousers fit him almost like a second skin, with a little breathing room, but his attractiveness devastated her. How could she go through with her plan? This wasn't like her to be vindictive to the point of inflicting injury on another.

  "Nicole?” he asked, lightly resting his hand on her upper arm.

  Good grief, but she had been staring. She swallowed hard and felt her heart turn over in her chest. Why couldn't she shut off her emotions and feel nothing for him?

  "I'm fine,” she said, allowing his hand to linger on the sleeve of her coat. Too bad for the bastard. He would have no choice but to leave her alone once she was through with him. She considered her plan foolproof after careful planning and consideration.

  "What's wrong?"

  The man didn't waste any time getting to the point. But she was prepared for that too. “I thought we might go to the coffee shop downstairs and talk."

  He nodded. “Sounds good."

  She found herself admiring his self-confidence but she blocked any pity she might feel. They waited for the elevator to arrive. Not only had he callously disregarded her plea to be left alone, but he had sent her a room full of roses and intimate apparel. He had made her suffer the indignity of listening to Brad's vituperative words.

  He followed her into the elevator and pressed the Lobby button. Timing was crucial now, and she was glad he kept his back turned to her as she unzipped her purse. “I don't want you near me. Can't you get that into your head?” Perfect. He had turned to face her. “I threw everything where it belongs. In the garbage. You're so insensitive. And how dare you spread the rumour I'm pregnant? How dare you?"

  His face registered baffled surprise. Her hand was in her purse as she pulled the plug on the canister and lifted the Mace out. She stepped back and sprayed the highly irritating chemical in his face.

  He sank to his knees, screaming in anguish, wildly attempting to rub the stinging spray, meant for a bear at least three times his size, from his eyes. She felt no pity as she hastily groped in his hip pocket for his keys. The animal deserved every bit of pain he would endure over the next few hours. As the elevator stopped, she leapt out with the ring of keys closed in her fist. The lobby was quiet.