Her Blackberry began to vibrate and she searched through her purse until she located it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, ma puce. How was your birthday? I tried calling you on Saturday but you didn’t answer. Have you already forgotten your old Maman?” There was motherly reproach in the question. “And I haven’t heard from your sister in almost a week. Have you seen her? And speaking of which, you two haven’t come to visit in weeks. Sometimes I forget I even have daughters, twins at that. One of the new neighbors asked if I have children, can you imagine?”
Vivienne smiled as her mother continued on in her lightly accented English, asking questions and then making statements before asking questions again. It was a habit her father found endearing and her girls had grown to love as they became older.
“So, tell me what’s been happening in your life.” Her mother finally paused and Vivienne knew it was her cue to speak.
“Nothing new. My birthday was good. I went camping with Cassie and then Max and Drew took me out. I’ll come visit you next weekend, okay? How’s Dad?”
“Your father is fine. Like me, he’s constantly worrying about you two. So, have you been seeing anyone?”
Vivienne groaned. Her mother always asked this question. Only a week ago, she’d answered that she hadn’t, yet her mother asked again.
“No, Mom.”
“That’s because you work too much,” Evelyn interrupted, a slight huff coming after that statement. “I really don’t see why you work so hard, sweetheart. The man practically has you working seven days a week. Of course you don’t have time for a social life when you’ve dedicated your entire life to Arnold Hastings. A job where you work seven days a week is called a marriage.”
“I have a social life.”
“Of course you do, ma puce, but it isn’t the type of social life you should have. You’re young, and very beautiful. Go out and meet people. You would be able to do this if you weren’t working for that man.” A long sigh greeted the proclamation. “Why don’t you let your father ask around and see what he can find? I’m sure there are other firms looking for legal assistants and they wouldn’t work you as hard.”
Vivienne shook her head. Except for the money, the other main reason that she kept her job with Hastings was because she’d gotten it on her own. Her father, the now-retired federal appeals court judge, hadn’t pulled any strings to get it for her. She’d applied, interviewed, and impressed them with her GPA and personality.
“It really isn’t that bad, Mom.” Okay, that was a lie, but what was she going to say? You’re so right, Mommy. The man works me like a slave. Please tell Dad to find me another job? No way in hell was she doing that.
“Are you lying to the woman who labored long, hard hours to birth you?”
Vivienne chuckled. “No, ma’am. It’s not that bad, and the benefits are pretty good.” They were. She had a gym subscription from Equinox she couldn’t use because she worked so much, oh, and free babysitting services she couldn’t take advantage of because she had no kids. Vivienne was living the high life.
“If you say so, ma puce.” There was a pause and then she heard her father’s voice in the background. “Oh, yes. Your father and I sent you a card for your birthday. Did you get it?”
She remembered the card well. It had arrived days before. A card that called her one of the best daughters they could have hoped for, and contained a check for five thousand dollars.
“Yes, thank you for the card, but I really don’t need the money, Mom.”
“Hush, sweetheart. Just put it into your bank account for rainy days. Parents exist to help their children. We just want to help you and Cassandre, yes?”
She was about to respond when the secretary suddenly motioned to her. “Ms. Carson will see you now.”
Nodding, Vivienne told her mother that she had to go.
Always intuitive, Evelyn asked, “Are you still working, ma chère? You work too hard—”
“I will call you later tonight, promise.” With that, she ended the call and stood.
“Just down the corridor. It’s the door at the end. She’s expecting you so just go right in.”
“Thank you.”
She turned and headed as directed. After knocking and awaiting a response, she and stepped through the door, her smile halting as her eyes came in contact with the tall man standing before a mini-bar in Ms. Carson’s office. Even from behind, in what was no doubt a suit whose caliber met or exceeded Arnold Hastings’, she recognized him.
***
It was by pure chance that Conall Athelwulf was in Rachel Carson’s office that evening. She was his Vice President of Acquisitions, and one of the few humans who sat on his executive board. The reason: she was very good at her job. After an hour-long conversation with her over his recent purchase of a hotel chain, he’d opted for a stiff drink of scotch before he headed back to Cedar Creek. Human-made alcohol did not inebriate werewolves unless downed in excessive amounts, and he’d liked the taste of scotch since the early twentieth century, when Sloan had introduced him to the stuff in the Scottish Highlands.
He’d just drained the glass when Rachel’s latest appointment entered, and with her, the scent that had haunted him for the past days.
After returning to Cedar Creek that night, Conall managed to run himself into exhaustion, and even succeeded in keeping her from invading his thoughts every second. But he still thought of her, of the things he would have done to her had she been were. And when thoughts like those struck him, it was hard to keep his focus off of her, off of those long legs he could picture locked around his waist as he took and gave her pleasure, off of that full bottom lip of hers he would bite while intimately locked to her.
And so, Conall tried another method that night: Samia. It hadn’t worked. As she tried her hardest to please him with tongue and hands, he’d grown bored, and dismissed her. Briefly, the thought of finding another female crossed his mind, but that too was dismissed. Conall didn’t want any other female; he wanted the human. And that was dangerous.
The glass clinked as he placed it beside the mini-bar and turned. Her eyes were wide, and he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest under the unflattering white cotton blouse she wore. Similar black pants graced her legs, and short, stumpy heels were on her feet. Her face was devoid of makeup and although her hair was pulled back from her face, strands had come loose and framed her face, almost like a halo. She shouldn’t look sexy but she did, and he felt the urge to take her just as strongly as he had in the club. His irrationality was back.
Rachel stood and walked around her desk, taking Vivienne’s hand and introducing herself.
As if remembering where she was, Vivienne blinked suddenly and spoke, “I’m Vivienne Bordeaux. I work for Arnold Hastings,” she began, only to have Rachel cut her off.
“Yes, I know. Arnold told me you were coming. I’m sorry my meeting ran over.” She turned to him. “This is our president, Conall Athelwulf. Conall, this is Vivienne Bordeaux, one of Arnold’s legal assistants.”
Conall stepped forward and took her hand, clasping it tighter when a jolt of electricity seemed to run through both of them at the contact. Her lips parted, and his heightened hearing picked up on the thundering of her heart.
“We’ve met before,” he said softly, his thumb lightly caressing the soft skin of her hand.
***
Vivienne’s breath caught in her throat as hordes of images assailed her. She saw herself in the outfit she’d worn on her birthday, her arms locked around his neck as he kissed her. Her eyes grew wide, as his merely narrowed. She hadn’t done that, had she? And then she saw herself agreeing to go with him. “Yes,” she’d said as she’d stared at him. There was no doubt what she’d been agreeing to. Where were these images coming from?
“Oh, well….” Rachel trailed off, looking between the two of them and lifting a brow. Conall made no move to explain, and Rachel turned her curious gaze to Vivienne, who nervously licked her lip
s and nodded.
“Um…yes, it’s—ah—nice to see you again, Mr. Athelwulf.”
As he nodded, Vivienne wondered how he could look so intensely controlled. That in itself was a paradoxical statement but the man pulled it off. His clean-cut black suit and sharp royal blue tie matched the vivid intensity of those blue eyes.
Rachel suddenly cleared her throat, and Vivienne found herself glancing guiltily at the older woman. She was staring at them both, the smile on her face doing nothing to dismiss the question in her gaze.
“Well then, shall we get down to business?” she asked.
“Oh yes. Yes,” Vivienne stammered, remembering the reason she was there. The contract. She made an attempt to reach into the bag, but found she couldn’t. Heat suffused her face when she realized that he still held her hand. She snatched it back quickly, stepped away, and extracted the document from her bag.
She handed Rachel the envelope. After opening it and flipping through the contract for select pages, she passed it to him. He read it quickly and nodded before handing it back to Rachel and turning those eyes on Vivienne once more.
“Well, thank you for bringing the documents, Ms. Bordeaux. Please tell Arnold that Cedar Creek looks forward to working with him in the future.”
Vivienne knew she was being dismissed and nodded. Maybe she was just fantasizing about him in her head. Just because she was seeing crystal-clear images of them practically having sex in a club didn’t mean it had actually happened. She’d had fantasizes before, never this vivid, but he was a very handsome man, and at times, she could be very…hormonal.
Her gaze moved to him, and she recognized that he was walking toward her. Her breath caught and she saw something flash in his eyes.
“I’ll walk Ms. Bordeaux out, Rachel. Keep me updated on any other developments.”
“Yes, of course,” Rachel replied, her voice low, with a hint of confusion.
Vivienne’s heart raced as he walked her to the elevator. No words were exchanged, but her body felt as if it were in overdrive. She stole a few glances at Conall, but he was looking straight ahead. The only indication that let her know that he was aware of her presence was his hand at her back. It was seemingly innocent, but could be read as possessive. She briefly wondered if he knew that.
Feeling awkward about their silence and needing something to distract her from the fact that her underwear was growing damp, Vivienne turned to him and asked softly, “How is your nephew?”
Eyes burning as he looked down at her, his nostrils flared slightly. “Eli is fine.”
She nodded and was about to follow that question with one about camping or school or something, when an image of his body pressed against her in the club ingrained itself on her mind once more, but this time, she saw Max pulling her away, Drew escorting her from the club. She cast a quick glance at him, only to find that he was watching her, his lips pursed tightly as if he were witnessing the same vision, which was impossible, of course.
The elevator finally arrived and she scurried onto it, fidgeting with the bag at her side as he settled next to her. He pressed the button for the first floor and the door closed.
“Bordeaux?” His voice jarred her from her thoughts and Vivienne cast a puzzled glance in his direction. He stared straight ahead, and she had the perfect view of his profile. Defined jaw, prominent nose, strong brow bone. Gorgeous. “Are you French?”
“No,” she replied a little breathlessly, feeling as if her clothing was too tight. She could feel her nipples poking against the cotton material of the bra and was deeply aware that the dampness in her panties had escalated. Oh Jesus, she really needed to get away from this man. Clearing her throat, she continued, hoping her voice was normal. “My mother is…French, that is.”
Vivienne tried to refocus on the images that had recently come to her. She was beginning to think they’d actually happened, but questions remained. Why had Max pulled her away from him? And what happened after? When was she drugged? Who’d drugged her?
***
Conall nodded, but he really wasn’t interested in her parents. He was trying to keep his mind off her scent. The sweet muskiness of her wet sex penetrated the stale air, and he was in no way immune to it, especially confined in an elevator. No sane man or wolf could resist that call, and his hands fisted as he attempted to fight his very nature.
She was human. It would not last. He would hurt her. She would die.
By Luna, it was impossible to ignore her, especially with her making unconscious little sounds in her throat as she tried to stamp down her own arousal. He could feel her distress, both with her need and the thoughts swarming her, but could only focus on one thing. Without thinking, he reached forward and slammed his fist against the red button at the side of the elevator. It came to a screeching halt, and she pitched forward into his arms as he fell back against the wall.
Her eyes widened in confusion as her hands grabbed at his shoulders.
“What are you—?” Those words were lost in his mouth as he tasted the sweetness of her lips. His beast surfaced as he pulled her close, capturing her sighs and moans in his mouth, and slowly perusing her body with his hands.
***
Vivienne’s bag fell to the ground and although the sound was loud enough to jar a slight ounce of common sense back into her, she was past listening. She rocked against him, both shocked and enthralled at the hardness that pushed into her belly. His hand slipped underneath her shirt and she gasped, pulling her lips away from his and placing restraining hands against his jacket.
She wasn’t one of those girls, the girls who made out with their boss’s hot, rich client in an elevator, and she wasn’t one to make out with strangers in a club, either. Vivienne Bordeaux did not do things like this…until him.
A wolfish smile touched his lips, and although alarm crept up her spine, her body seemed to melt even more. Before she knew what he was doing, a hand was at her shoulder and she was being pushed backward, up against the elevator wall. He continued to advance until his body was once more tightly pressed against hers, her breasts locked to his hard chest, his strong legs against hers.
“Wait, stop—please, I can’t—I mean, I’m not like this. I don’t do things like this.” Vivienne was shocked at the huskiness in her voice. She now understood why they called it ‘bedroom voice.’ This was making no sort of logical sense, dammit! She didn’t know him. Well, she’d just found out his name and his job, but that didn’t mean…didn’t mean….
Her thoughts left her when his lips touched a sensitive spot on her neck, one she hadn’t even known she had. Conall’s tongue darted out and caressed it intimately before giving her a small nip that sent rapid-fire jolts of electricity to her nerve endings. From there, he sucked at her earlobes, and ran his tongue along her chin as his hands skimmed her flat belly. Groaning, Vivienne moved her hand through his mass of thick hair and kissed him hard. She wanted him to take her, to make her his. She wanted to be his. She didn’t even know where those thoughts were coming from but at that moment, that was what she wanted.
As if sensing her inner battle was lost to his appeal, Conall’s hands began opening her blouse. Impatient with the many fasteners, he stopped halfway and ripped the shirt open. She gasped as buttons flew all over the elevator. His warm hands settled against her bra and he yanked that down, exposing her to sight and touch. When his hands caressed her nipples, she screamed into his mouth, and as his mouth left hers to suck at the budding peaks, she closed her eyes and let it happen.
“You even taste like peaches.”
Vivienne barely felt when his hands moved to her pants or underwear, only recognized when they were pooled at her feet and his fingers were playing with the short, trimmed hairs of her juncture. A short spurt of self-consciousness ran through her at being so exposed to this stranger, who wasn’t quite a stranger, in a public elevator, before it vanished. His hand cupped her sex, and she gyrated against him in wild excitement. Vivienne shuddered, and cried out when his
finger suddenly parted her folds and flickered over the hardened bud at her apex.
Nonsensical words left her lips as his fingers worked absolute magic. He pressed and circled, all the while kissing, sucking, and licking at pleasure points she’d recently discovered with him. She felt the familiar clenching in the pit of her belly, the white-hot pressure that would soon explode as it washed over her.
***
Sensing her building orgasm, Conall pressed his finger into her body. His eyes widened briefly as he was met with tight, restrictive flesh. Wincing, Vivienne threw back her head, exposing the long and graceful curve of her neck. To test what he thought impossible, Conall withdrew the digit, and gently worked it back in. She gasped this time, but he could see the slight tension at her mouth, read the hint of pain in her eyes. He didn’t have to breach her mind to confirm what her reaction was telling him. A virgin, he thought in awe. She had come to him a virgin. He felt his arousal swell even more as a possessive nature he hadn’t known before reared its head. He would be her first, her last, her only. His finger worked slowly, but surely, pushing ahead only to retreat based on her body’s response to the invading digit, and soon, Vivienne cried out his name.
He growled, positive his eyes were glowing yellow and unable to control it. He could feel the emotions running through her as if they were in his very own body. The beast wanted her as badly as the man, but it would not be here, in a public elevator. She was human, an innocent, his innocent, and unaccustomed to the rougher aspects of mating.
Vivienne’s hands tightened, almost painfully, in his hair and he nuzzled her cheek, quickening the strokes of his finger as it stroked her.
Taken by Moonlight Page 6
