Blackmailed Into Her Boss's Bed

by Sandra Marton

  Logan’s fingers tightened on hers. ‘Are you glad we stayed?’

  There was no point in denying it. ‘Yes. You were right about Rio—it’s wonderful.’

  ‘Then I’m forgiven for keeping you from your work?’

  She looked at him, tried for a stern expression, and failed miserably. ‘Yes,’ she said again, ‘completely. It’s so different from Sao Paulo—it’s like another world.’

  Logan nodded. ‘Sometimes it seems as if no one works in Rio. You should see it at Carnival-time.’

  ‘Before Easter, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. It’s incredible. Nobody sleeps for four or five days. People dance in the streets—the sound of the samba is all you can hear.’ A smile flitted across his face. ‘The city comes to a standstill, but nobody cares. Everybody’s having too much—Hey! Look out!’ Logan laughed and slipped his arm around her waist as a pack of small boys tunnelled through the crowd. ‘You’ve got to watch your step if you don’t want to get run over.’

  It was true, she thought—between the tourists, the beach-goers, and the pavement vendors, the street was almost impassable. Logan kept shaking his head as trays of food and souvenirs were shoved at them.

  ‘N;atao, obrigado,’ he said, although after a while he simply shook his head.

  He left his arm around her as they continued walking. At first, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The light pressure of his hand against the curve of her hip seemed impossible to ignore—it was as if all the nerve-endings in her body were suddenly concentrated in that one place. She couldn’t seem to match her stride to his—she felt the way she always did on a dance-floor: clumsy and out of gait with the man holding her in his arms.

  Keith had teased her about it at the start of their brief relationship, although in the end her inability to release herself to him had exasperated him. ‘If you’d just learn to let go and relax, you’d be fine,’ he’d said one night after she’d stepped on his toes half a dozen times. ‘But you never do.’

  She’d known he hadn’t only been referring to the way she danced—he had been talking about their entire relationship. There’d always been a little part of her holding back, as if some inner Talia had had to watch the outer one to make sure she hadn’t done anything she shouldn’t.

  But gradually, as she walked beside Logan, she felt her tension easing away. He kept talking, telling her a long, involved story about Carnival, a float, and a runaway goat, and after a while she was laughing too hard to think of the press of his hand, the length of his stride or the way he was holding her. It was only when he drew her back at a street corner that she realised she’d stopped trying to relax, that she had simply done it, and that she felt comfortable and safe in the curve of his arm.

  He said something and laughed, and she glanced up at him and laughed, too, even though she’d stopped listening to what he was saying. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to, it was just that her thoughts kept hopscotching in other directions. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a good time. And with Logan Miller, of all people. He was so different today—for one thing, all that arrogant certainty was gone. He was just a man. And she—she was just a woman, and soon they’d be back in Sao Paulo, they’d take the private lift to Logan’s apartment…

  A slow, heavy pulse began to beat deep inside her. What if he tried to kiss her tonight? What if he took her in his arms and asked her not to go up the stairs to her own rooms but to stay with him instead? Suddenly, all the breath seemed to rush from her lungs. Oh, God, she thought, I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never wanted…

  She stumbled, and Logan’s arm curved more closely around her. ‘Talia? Are you all right?’

  She nodded, feeling as breathless as if she’d run a mile. ‘Yes. I—I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure? If you’re tired…’ He frowned. ‘You’re as pale as a ghost. Here, let’s turn down this street. At least we’ll escape the crowds and the vendors.’

  ‘I’m all right, Logan. Really.’

  But it was useless to protest. His arm bound her to him as he led her down a shadowy alley. Music pulsed faintly somewhere ahead, and suddenly a man stepped out of a doorway, holding a tray of small wooden objects in his outstretched hands.

  ‘Out of the frying pan, into the fire,’ Talia said laughing.

  But Logan drew to a halt. ‘Wait,’ he murmured, drawing her close to him. A smile curved across his face and he said something to the man in Portuguese.

  Talia peered at the trinkets. ‘What are those?’ she asked softly. ‘Necklaces?’

  Logan nodded. ‘Yes. Actually, they’re figas—good-luck amulets.’ He lifted one of the gold chains and the charm dangled against his hand. It was, Talia saw, a tiny fist carved of some dark wood, with the thumb stuck up between the first and second fingers. ‘Brazilians say it’s the most powerful charm in the world.’

  Talia smiled. ‘Better than a rabbit’s foot?’

  ‘Much better.’ He smiled back at her. ‘After all, the rabbit’s foot isn’t very lucky for the rabbit, is it? The figa’s power comes from the giver. You can’t just go out and buy it for yourself. If you do, it won’t work.’ Without taking his eyes from hers, he unclasped the chain and lifted it to her throat. ‘This is for you, Talia.’

  She felt the brush of his hands and then the chain was around her neck, the little charm lying nestled in the deep V of her silk dress. A tremor went through her as she looked down at it. The tiny fist looked pagan against the paleness of her skin, and it felt warm, as if it still carried the heat of Logan’s hand.

  She swallowed. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But you shouldn’t have—’

  ‘I wanted to.’ Logan smiled. ‘Now you’re guaranteed good luck. Evil spirits won’t dare bother you.’

  His smile unnerved her. Was there something hidden in it? ‘That’s good to know. I—’

  ‘And lovers wear it as a symbol of their passion.’

  Talia’s smile faded as she looked up at him. Logan was watching her through narrowed eyes, his expression intense. She knew that look; she knew what it meant. A spiral of flame blossomed deep in her belly, licking through her blood with the beat of her pulse.

  ‘Talia.’

  The one word was a question to which only she held the answer. But what was the answer? She didn’t know. She wanted to run away, she wanted to reach out to him, and her confusion only made the moment all the more frightening. Everything had turned upside-down and she wasn’t ready.

  In the end, the only way she could respond to the question was to pretend not to understand it. ‘Logan.’ Her eyes met his and she managed a careful smile. ‘Thank you for today. And for this—’ Her hand went to the charm at her throat. ‘It will be a wonderful souven—’

  ‘Stop it.’ The roughness in his voice shocked her, but not as much as the look of anger on his face. ‘I’m tired of playing games, Talia.’ His eyes glittered darkly. ‘I’m not going to put up with it any longer.’

  What was he talking about? She stared at him blankly, then shook her head. ‘I don’t under—’

  ‘And you can stop playing the innocent.’ The colour fled from her cheeks. ‘Even that loses its charm after a while.’ He reached out and clasped her shoulders. ‘I’ve been patient. Hell, I’ve been more than patient. But now it’s time to stop pretending. Don’t look at me as if you don’t understand what I’m saying. Must I spell it out?’

  Talia’s throat constricted. ‘Don’t say any more, Logan. Please.’

  His mouth twisted. ‘Come to bed with me.’

  The bluntness of it stunned her. Come to bed with me. Not, ‘I want to make love to you,’ not even, ‘I want you, Talia.’ Just this cold statement of sexual desire as if she were an object…

  ‘Don’t look so shocked, Talia. You know it’s where we’ve been headed from the day we met.’

  ‘Stop it. Just—’

  ‘It took a while to figure out what was going on in that beautiful head of yours, but finally I d
id. You want me, but you don’t want any kind of involvement.’ His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘Hell, that’s fine. I don’t want any, either, believe me. I’ve had the scene that goes with moonlight and roses—I’ve had enough to last a lifetime.’ He moved closer to her; she felt the warmth of his breath on her face. ‘I understand that you’re hesitant about games at the office—you’re afraid it might affect your job.’

  Bile rose in her throat. The beautiful day lay shattered around her like glass from a broken mirror, leaving behind only a fragmented reflection of what had been. ‘You planned all this,’ she whispered. ‘Bringing me to Rio—’

  Logan shrugged. His face was expressionless. ‘I thought you might feel more comfortable away from Sao Paulo the first time, yes.’

  A terrible coldness settled around her heart. ‘Then—then the kitchen, wanting my opinion—that was a lie?’

  He laughed coldly. ‘Come on, Talia. Surely you didn’t think I’d fly you all the way here just to give me your opinion on a handful of appliances?’

  The hours they’d just spent together kaleidoscoped before her: the laughter and the quiet walk on the beach, the charming caf;aae and the little anecdotes… All of it, lies. All of it dreamed up, planned by Logan Miller so that he could get what he’d wanted from her all along. And she—she’d been so stupid, so incredibly na;auive.

  Tears of rage and frustration rose in her eyes and she blinked them back. The last thing she’d let him do was see her cry. ‘I want to go back to Sao Paulo,’ she said in a carefully controlled voice.

  ‘Talia.’ His hands bit into her flesh as he moved closer to her, his voice a purr at her ear. ‘I’ve made reservations at a little inn at B;aauzios. The Cristalina is very private: we’ll have our own little cottage on a sandy beach—’

  Her hand flashed through the air, but he caught her wrist before she could slap his face. ‘I was right about you all along, you arrogant, cold-blooded son of a bitch!’

  ‘Come on, Talia. Relax and live a little. You might like it.’ A tight smile curved over his mouth. ‘Look, I was just proposing something we would both enjoy. What the hell is wrong with that?’

  He was looking at her as if she were unable to grasp some simple truth. But he was wrong, she thought suddenly, she had grasped it—it was just that, somehow, she’d almost let it slip away.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said softly. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it from your point of view—which is why I’ve no one but myself to blame for what happened today.’ She drew a deep breath and raised her eyes to his. ‘I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time, Logan. I—’ She cried out as his fingers bit deep into her flesh. ‘You’re hurting me, damn you!’

  His eyes blazed like jungle fire in his dark face. ‘I don’t like teases, lady. You’d better understand that.’

  ‘And I don’t like bullies,’ she said, wrenching free of him. ‘I’ll call John when we get to Sao Paulo. Bianca can take over until he sends someone to replace me.’

  Logan stared at her, and then a cold smile curved across his mouth. ‘We have a contract, remember? Three months, renewable by agreement of both parties.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. You expect me to—’

  ‘I expect you to honour our contract.’ His lips drew back from his teeth. ‘If you don’t,’ he said softly, ‘I’ll see to it that you never work for any place that has anything to do with Miller International.’

  Her breath hissed. ‘God, you really are a cold-blooded—’

  She cried out as he caught hold of her. ‘That’s the second time you’ve called me that,’ he growled, gathering her to him. ‘And I don’t like it.’

  ‘Let go of me, Logan. Let—’

  His mouth dropped to hers with a savagery that made her cry out. She felt the hard thrust of his tongue, the sharp bite of his teeth, and she knew that she would carry the mark of his rage for hours to come. When he finally let her go, she was trembling. Tears glistened on her lashes. ‘Just what was that supposed to prove?’ she asked in a broken whisper. ‘That you’re bigger than I am? Stronger?’

  Logan stared at her. For a second, his face softened; she saw something she had not seen in his eyes before, and then it was gone. ‘Call it a warning, Talia,’ he said, his voice silken. ‘And remember it the next time you decide to play with fire.’

  She watched in silence as he stalked to the kerb and stepped off. ‘Taxi,’ he called, and at the mouth of the alleyway a car squealed to a halt and he pulled open the door and stood beside it.

  Suddenly, a door opened in a narrow building ahead and wild Brazilian music spilled into the street. Talia watched as a couple moved into the doorway, the woman wrapped in the man’s arms. The man pulled her close and kissed her. When the kiss ended, the woman threw back her head and laughed.

  Tears filled Talia’s eyes as she walked towards the taxi, and she thought that surely the sound of that laughter was the saddest thing she had ever heard.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TALIA glanced at the clock as she reached for her hairbrush. It was late—Logan’s dinner guests were due soon. She should have been dressed long ago. But she was running late—it was one of those evenings when nothing seemed to go right. First she’d broken a fingernail, then she’d snagged her sheerest tights, and now her hair was determined to refuse all attempts to tame it.

  Grimacing, she attacked the thick auburn locks with a vengeance, brushing them back from her face, then stabbing home a pair of small combs. ‘You’d better hold this time,’ she murmured, staring into the mirror. The threat seemed to work: the combs stayed put.

  She should have had it cut, she thought as she switched on the bathroom light. She’d missed her monthly hairdresser’s appointment back home, thanks to Logan’s uncompromising insistence that she leave the States on two days’ notice. But she could have gone to someone in Sao Paulo. Bianca would have recommended one…

  But she’d been avoiding Bianca ever since she and Logan had returned from Rio. Her assistant was all too perceptive; once she knew Talia was leaving in a week’s time, she might put two and two together and come up with…

  With what? Talia sighed as she dusted a pale blusher over her cheeks. As far as anyone knew, her relationship with Logan was unchanged. It was his doing—she had to give him credit for that much. Flying back from Rio, she hadn’t known what to expect. Logan had been silent throughout the trip, his expression cold and brooding. When they’d landed at Sao Paulo, a car and driver had been waiting.

  ‘Take the senhorinha wherever she wishes,’ Logan had ordered.

  ‘And you, senhor?’

  His answer had been curt. ‘I’ll take care of myself.’ And he’d turned away without a word to her.

  He’d stayed away all the rest of the weekend. Talia had told herself that she wasn’t listening for the faint hum of the lift or the sound of his footsteps on the level below hers. But her ears had strained in the silence of that first night and then the next.

  When he’d finally come in late Sunday evening, there had been no mistaking his presence. Talia had just showered; she’d come out of her bathroom door wrapped in an oversized towel, dampness glistening on her skin, just as the door of the lift had opened. She had paused, every nerve tense.

  He had been whistling. But it hadn’t been a cheerful sound—it had been the tuneless dissonance of the wind through barren trees. The sound of his footsteps, instead of fading as he went to his bedroom, had seemed to grow louder. Her heart had skipped a beat. Was he coming up the stairs? Was he…?

  The whistling had stopped. Talia had felt herself begin to tremble, and she’d told herself that it was with fear.

  And then, abruptly, the whistling had started again, louder and even more off-key than before. She’d heard the sound of his retreating footsteps, heard them grow faint, and then the door to his bedroom slammed shut.

  She’d slept badly that night, finally giving up the effort in the early hours of the morning. The street outside had been silent as she�
��d dressed, slipped from her room, then tiptoed down the stairs. Logan’s door had still been closed, but she hadn’t breathed easily until the lift door had shut behind her.

  That afternoon, he’d sent for her. She’d gone to his office with trepidation, expecting—expecting what? A continuation, perhaps, of the terrible things he’d said to her in Rio.

  She needn’t have worried. Denied what he wanted, Logan had been interested only in a return to business as usual. His eyes and voice had been cold. ‘I wanted to remind you of your role here, Talia. You are under contract to me. Until you leave Sao Paulo, I expect no slackening of performance. Is that clear?’

  Relieved, she’d nodded agreement. From then on, the day in Rio might never have happened. Logan had gone back to treating her with the same removed civility as at the beginning. The only difference—one which she was sure Bianca had sensed—was that they saw each other even less than before. During the business day, Logan sent her memos rather than requesting that she come to his office. She found reasons not to attend staff meetings, and he never questioned them.

  Away from the office, they might as well have been living in separate cities instead of sharing the same quarters. Talia had fallen into the habit of going to her office before Logan awoke. He was out late every night and gone every weekend.

  And she knew who he spent those nights and weekends with.

  Long before she’d seen the woman, Talia had known all about her. She wore a heavy, expensive fragrance—the scent lingered on the jackets Logan sometimes left tossed over the arm of the leather couch nearest the lift. She used a crimson lipstick, red as blood—there’d been a smear of it on one of his monogrammed handkerchiefs lying crumpled in the corner of the lift one Monday. She’d even heard her laughter once, late one night when the lift doors hissed open. It had sounded false, like a note struck on an out-of-tune piano.