Power Play

by Julie Cannon

Victoria walked away, hoping Tate would follow. She wasn’t that lucky. After murmuring what sounded to Victoria like “I do,” Tate stepped inside. Victoria had two choices, stay outside like a prude or follow her and pretend the blatant sexual display didn’t bother her. She chose the latter and failed miserably.

  The inside of the shop was more provocative than the window. An oversized poster of a dark-haired woman clad in a bustier and garter belt dominated the wall adjacent to the door. Everywhere Victoria looked, bras, panties, corsets, and other lingerie were displayed in all their glory. The garments were not the type she had seen in the adult shops, the crotchless undies and nipple-baring bras. These were sexy without being slutty.

  Tate wandered around the store, almost caressing the fabric and lace. Victoria flushed, imagining Tate touching her that way.

  Victoria was in no way a prude and had several pairs of equally sexy lingerie in her drawer at home. But being in this shop with Tate was unnerving, especially after what happened at lunch. She didn’t want to think of Tate that way but couldn’t stand this close to her and not do so.

  “Do you intend to buy anything?” Victoria was horrified at her question. So much for restraint.

  Tate studied her, dark green eyes tracing a slow path over every curve on her body. Victoria felt as if she was being physically stroked and her nipples hardened in response.

  Tate locked eyes with her. “Not for me.”

  Her voice was low and husky, and Victoria suddenly felt very, very warm. Vivid images of half-naked sweaty bodies intertwined and rubbing together clouded her mind. “I’ll wait outside.”

  A few minutes later Victoria felt Tate’s breath on her ear before she spoke. “I’m ready for that dessert now.”

  Between the touch at lunch, the lingerie shop, and Tate’s suggestive mention of dessert, Victoria couldn’t say a word. She let Tate take her arm and lead her down the street.

  Chapter Twelve

  Victoria was vividly aware of Tate’s possessive grip on her arm or her hand on the small of her back, which on more than one occasion kept her from getting trampled by over-eager tourists looking through their viewfinder instead of where they were going. The bag in Tate’s hand bumped into her once or twice and Victoria wondered not only what she had bought but for whom.

  They reached a small food court where Victoria immediately smelled what they were looking for.

  “My treat,” Tate said, leading her to an empty table under a striped umbrella. “Looks like you have your choice of dessert smothered in chocolate or strawberries and with or without whipped cream.”

  Tate’s reading of the menu was seductive and sensuous. Something down low came to life and Victoria had trouble forming her answer. This time when she looked into Tate’s eyes they weren’t filled with desire but with a teasing twinkle that almost dared her to take the bait. Victoria knew a test when she saw one and calmly replied, “Chocolate, of course. With whipped cream.”

  Victoria watched Tate make her way through the line to the counter. Victoria always traveled alone and took in as many of the local sights as she had time for. Unfortunately, touring alone with no one to share the experience with was almost like masturbating. Masturbating! Where in the hell did that come from? She felt her face flush and covered up her discomfort with a fake cough.

  Her mind was running in a hundred directions, and she didn’t want to go in any of them. She had been aware of Tate’s every movement from the time she showed up this morning, and after Tate touched her at lunch, the sensations heightened. Tate’s fingers were soft, almost caressing, and the fire in her eyes flared.

  Victoria wanted Tate’s touch to continue, but she had to stop any further advances. They were adversaries, fighting for control over a multi-billion-dollar company. It didn’t get more serious than that. Drake was fighting for its life, and whatever the outcome, it would be her legacy. The burden was overwhelming, and for just a moment, she was tempted to give in. She was flattered by Tate’s attraction to her and admittedly more than a little horny, but that was no excuse for mixing business with pleasure.

  She caught herself doing it again. Imagining how Tate’s body would feel under hers. Or would she take control and their positions would be reversed. Who cares? She envisioned sweat dripping off Tate’s strong jaw or sliding down between her breasts.

  Tate looked over her shoulder and her small knowing smile let Victoria know she had been caught. She changed chairs, needing to sit with her back to Tate to control her wayward thoughts. The people walking in all directions on the street in front of her grabbed her attention. She caught snippets of German and French, and an occasional British accent.

  “Here you go, one authentic Belgian waffle covered in authentic Belgian chocolate. You look like a whipped-cream woman, so I got you extra.” Tate put the plate, fork, and napkins on the table and sat down across from her.

  Tate had felt Victoria’s eyes on her while she was in line and couldn’t resist looking at her. A rush of excitement filled her when she had caught Victoria totally focused on her. Women eyed her all the time with more than a little interest, but none made her feel the way she did when Victoria did the same thing. She felt hot, tender, and powerful all at the same time.

  “Thanks. It looks delicious.” Victoria slid the plate closer. Her finger slipped into the chocolate and Tate’s breathing stopped when her tongue darted out to lick it off. She couldn’t help but focus on Victoria’s mouth as her tongue disappeared. She desperately wanted to kiss her and leaned forward to do just that, though she realized what she was doing and stopped herself before Victoria noticed. But what if she did? What would Victoria do? Would she back away or make that ever-so-slight motion to indicate her kiss would be welcome? Suddenly Tate wanted to find out, and this time when she ventured toward Victoria she didn’t stop herself.

  Victoria’s lips were soft and warm. For an instant they were still, and then began to move subtly against hers. She tasted like chocolate and cream, and Tate wanted more. She increased the pressure of the kiss for a second, then pulled back, separating their lips by a mere heartbeat. Victoria didn’t close the gap or move away. Their breath mixed and electricity crackled around them. Finally, Victoria stepped away.

  “I don’t think you should do that again.” Her voice was soft but not very convincing.

  “Why? Didn’t you like it?” Victoria had kissed her with equal passion so Tate knew the answer to the question.

  “Because I don’t want you to do it again.” Victoria’s normally straightforward gaze was anywhere but directed at her.

  “Why?” Tate repeated her question. This time Victoria did look at her, and Tate recognized the desire burning in her blue eyes.

  “Because I don’t mix business with pleasure,” Victoria said, more firmly this time.

  “And you think being with me would be pleasurable?” Tate teased. She liked the fact that Victoria was slightly off-kilter. It was sweet.

  “I don’t need to answer that question, Tate. It’s obvious there’s something between us, but I am not going to let it happen. We’re here to work, not play.”

  Victoria took a deep breath, fighting her own desires. At this moment she wished her sense of propriety was a lot less strict than it was. She wanted nothing more than to drag Tate into a dark doorway and kiss her all afternoon. She had known Tate was going to kiss her and had done nothing to stop it. In fact, when Tate’s head dipped again, she lifted her chin a fraction of an inch just before their lips met.

  Tate’s lips were hot and persuasive. She demanded participation so subtly that Victoria couldn’t help but comply. When Tate’s tongue traced the outline of her lips, she was afraid she would melt in her chair. She hadn’t wanted the kiss to end but secretly was glad it did. She didn’t know how much more strength she possessed.

  “I can do both.” Tate sounded somewhat cocky.

  “So can I, but I choose not to and I hope you will respect that.” Victoria’s conviction was returning.
r />   “And if I don’t?”

  “Then you may find your face slapped,” Victoria countered.

  Tate looked at her for several long moments before she settled back in her chair. “All right, Victoria. I don’t believe you for a second, but I’ll behave.”

  Looking at the mischievous glint in Tate’s eyes, Victoria didn’t believe her either.

  Tate insisted on walking her back to her hotel. Victoria was booked at the Sheraton and had no idea where Tate was staying. She told herself she didn’t want to know. If she didn’t know, she wouldn’t be tempted to knock on her door later tonight.

  What was going on with her? She’d had other woman hit on her as blatantly as Tate. She should have made time to see Carole before she left. Maybe that would have taken the edge off. Then again, as sexy and attractive as Tate was, she doubted it would have helped.

  They strolled down the street, Tate carrying most of the conversation. Victoria was vaguely aware of what Tate was saying, but her body was totally aware of everything about her. She stood tall when she walked, as if she owned the sidewalk. Her stride was sure and easily kept up with Victoria’s. Their arms touched as they walked and Victoria didn’t really care if it was intentional on Tate’s part or accidental. When Tate mentioned guns, Victoria paid attention.

  “You’d never see this in the States. A gun store smack between a temporary staffing agency and a sandwich shop.” Tate had stepped back to see the adjacent stores, but Victoria focused on what was behind the window.

  “Wow, a Walther Nighthawk. It even has a scope.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice.

  “You know guns?”

  “My father taught me to shoot when I was ten years old. We’d go out to the desert or to the gun range and spend all day practicing.” Those were the times Victoria would always remember. When it came time for her dad’s eulogy that’s what she would talk about. They had a connection that began when she was a little girl and only grew stronger. She loved being her father’s daughter.

  “My father would probably shoot at me instead of with me,” Tate replied blandly.

  Victoria pulled her attention from the weapons behind the thick glass and gazed at Tate. She didn’t say anything.

  Tate shrugged. “Guess I was lucky he couldn’t scrape together two nickels to buy one.”

  She resumed walking down the street and Victoria had to hurry to catch up. She didn’t know what to say. At first she thought Tate was kidding, but her expression told Victoria she was serious. The pain appeared for only an instant before it disappeared behind a carefully constructed mask. But she had seen it briefly and her heart ached for the troubled childhood Tate had alluded to several times.

  “I had a great time today. Thanks for inviting yourself along. It wouldn’t have been half as interesting if I’d been alone,” Victoria said. They were waiting at a stop light across the street from her hotel.

  “Yeah, someone else might have kissed you.”

  Victoria’s heart jumped into her throat at Tate’s reference to their kiss in the middle of town. During the entire walk back she had thought of nothing other than the way Tate’s lips felt. She couldn’t get it off her mind, which wasn’t good. She looked at Tate and the crowd around them surged forward, catching them up in the movement. She stumbled off the curb but Tate caught her with a sure hand before she could fall.

  “I doubt that,” Victoria finally replied as they arrived at the revolving door to the Sheraton.

  “Why do you say that? You’re a beautiful woman and any lesbian in her right mind would want to kiss you. Actually she’d want to do more than just kiss you, believe me.” Tate chuckled.

  Tate’s light banter only inflamed her tight nerves. “And are you in your right mind?” she couldn’t help but ask.

  Tate studied her, searching her eyes for something before she replied softly, “Yes, I am,” then closed the distance between them again.

  Tate put her hand behind her neck and pulled Victoria’s head down. She knew Tate was about to kiss her again and did nothing to stop her. Her mind was fighting a battle of intellect but her body was winning the war. When their lips met Victoria wrapped her arms around Tate and pulled her close. Tate responded by opening her mouth in invitation for her to do the same. She eagerly accepted. Their tongues met and Victoria’s stomach dropped and her knees almost buckled. The kiss wasn’t sloppy or terribly inappropriate for a street corner in the middle of Europe, but it was the most passionate one Victoria had ever experienced.

  Slowly she slid her hands down Tate’s neck and rested them on her chest. She didn’t have to apply much pressure for Tate to release her lips. Victoria couldn’t meet her eyes when she whispered, “I’m not.”

  *

  Tate watched Victoria enter the lobby and kept her eyes on her as long as she could. She was tempted to follow her and continue what they started on the street, but thought better of it. She had often changed women’s minds for her own gratification, but for some odd reason pressuring Victoria seemed tacky and cheap. Like what she had done when Victoria was helpless in Phoenix. Victoria would shoot her if she knew she had taken advantage of her illness and copied all the information in her briefcase. At the time she had experienced no remorse about doing it, but now she felt uncharacteristically guilty.

  She reversed her direction and walked back the way they had come, not paying much attention to her surroundings. Her thoughts were full of Victoria. The way she smelled, the way she tasted, the tentative then aggressive way she kissed her. Tate was concentrating so much on her that she walked past her hotel and had to backtrack when she realized what she had done. Her stomach growled but she wasn’t really interested in eating. She went directly to her room and stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower.

  Fifteen minutes later she wrapped herself in the thick terry-cloth robe provided by the hotel and ordered room service. The light on the phone was blinking, indicating she had a message, and her heart jumped when she immediately thought it might be Victoria. It just as quickly fell when she remembered that she had not told Victoria where she was staying. She punched in the code and listened.

  Clayton had called several times, each time more anxious and demanding than the last. She checked her watch. It was just after two in the afternoon at home, and for the first time ever, Tate didn’t feel up to dealing with him, which surprised her. Clayton Sumner had always energized her. She fed off his energy, his determination, and his take-no-prisoners style. He was a typical Type-A personality, and in her own way, Tate was molding herself in his image.

  Before this deal she would have returned Clayton’s call regardless of the time difference; he expected it. But not tonight. She wanted to relive her day with Victoria. She wanted to imprint the feelings and experience in her brain so she would never forget them. She couldn’t remember ever having such an enjoyable time with a woman outside of sex. Then again, she tried to recall the last time she even did anything with a woman, other than have sex. She couldn’t, and for some reason that lack made her feel sad. Here she was thirty-three years old, her world on a string that she controlled, and she was thinking about a woman who was more woman than she had ever known.

  Tate was scared. Victoria was out of her league. She was successful, complex, classy, and refined. What was she thinking coming on to her? At first it had been a challenge to see if she could get her into bed, but soon it became an almost uncontrollable need. She paced in front of her hotel-room window, the lights of the city twinkling below her. They reminded her of the light in Victoria’s eyes when she talked about her parents or something she was interested in.

  Tate clenched her fists in frustration. What was wrong with her? She had never been so hung up on a woman. She wanted to know everything about Victoria, get inside her and never come out. She saw her own reflection in the glass and didn’t recognize the stranger.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Victoria slapped at the alarm and silenced the obnoxious buzz. Ho
tel alarm clocks had the most awful sounds specifically designed to wake the dead. She definitely felt dead this morning. She had barely slept the night before, her dreams a tangle of images, most of them of one specific dark-haired woman. She woke in the middle of one very vivid dream and stopped fighting the need to bring herself to climax while she fantasized Tate whispering naughty words in her ear. Pushing aside her guilt at masturbating over her main rival, she tossed back the covers and staggered toward the shower.

  While the water heated, she ordered a pot of coffee and caught her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles surrounded her normally clear eyes, and her face was puffy. She would have to put in some extra work to look alive this morning before she faced Tate and Peter Braxton.

  The limo was scheduled to meet her at eight, and she had been waiting outside for fifteen minutes when it pulled up. She cursed herself every time she looked up and down the street in search of Tate. She was acting like a love-struck teenager, for God’s sake. The drive to Braxton’s factory took twenty-five minutes, and they reached the wide drive just before eight thirty.

  A Town Car was parked in front of them, its driver opening the rear passenger door. Victoria caught her breath when Tate stepped out, her long legs covered by her coat that hung below her knees and a scarf wrapped around her neck to defend her from the unseasonably bitter cold that had invaded Brussels that morning. She pulled her briefcase from the car, then thanked the driver and looked around as if sizing up her newly acquired company.

  “Ma’am?” Victoria’s driver asked.

  “I’m sorry, give me just a minute.” Victoria didn’t want to face Tate right now. She needed time to control her breathing and try to calm her racing heart. Tate stared at her car, but Victoria knew she couldn’t see her through the dark tint on the windows. After a few moments, Tate went inside.

  Victoria drank several swallows of water, taking a deep breath between each. She glanced at her watch and with one last swallow opened the door. As the wind hit her face like pin pricks of ice, her eyes began to tear. She quickly grabbed her own briefcase and hurried through the front door. She didn’t want to appear at the meeting with a runny nose and watery eyes. How unprofessional would that be? And with Tate in the room with her for the entire day, she needed every ounce of control she could muster.