by Jianne Carlo
Gawd. So beautiful. I will taste you, Eli Gallagher, before this weekend ends. I need that memory. I'll treasure it forever.
Long blue veins swollen, his sleek purple-red skin seemed too tight for the palpitating, thickening organ. His cock stood erect, the crown jerking the rim of his innie belly button, patches of moisture glistening in the glow of a bedside lamp.
Her memory hadn't been deceptive; he was huge. Hung like a stallion, as every female employee of Todd Technologies, even those over the age of sixty, so frequently pointed out.
Tearing the foil with his teeth, he then tried to extract the rubber, but it flew out of his grasp. “Shit.”
The expletive gathered her skittering thoughts. “I'm on the pill.”
His Adam's apple bobbed three or four times, and he groaned. “I'm clean, Steph. There's been no one save you for five months. Shit.” He shook his head. “You shouldn't take my word for it. You should make me take a test, honey, but I swear I'd never give you anything.”
His words didn't register once she focused on his twitching erection. “I don't remember it being that big.”
“I'm a goner.” He grunted the three words.
The mattress curved when Eli rolled onto the bed.
She smiled when he reached for her bunched jeans, and she saw that his fingers were trembling. Digging her heels into the bed, she shoved the pants down past her knees and kicked them off. His arm remained suspended; his hand now balled so tight, the skin around his knuckles paled.
When she inserted her thumb under the rolled-up T-shirt, he jerked into action, tugging the fabric over her head and tossing it high.
“I love your mouth,” he rasped.
Molding one hand over her sex, he slanted his lips over hers and ate at her mouth, nipping, soothing, laving, tongue rocking in and out while his fingers glided up and down. His thumb pressed her clitoris, rubbing tight, hard circles. He inserted one finger, then another; all the while his tongue tangoed hers.
Her hips rose off the bed, and she ground into his palm, moaning, fever razing her skin. He pinched her nubbin, and Stephanie rode wave after wave, spiraling higher and higher. All at once Eli settled between her thighs and edged her legs farther apart. He gripped her hips; the head of his dick rimmed her vagina, fucking her folds, teasing her entrance, driving her to cry out, “Now, Eli. Now, for pity's sake.”
“Hands above your head,” he ordered. “Fingers locked together.”
Mindlessly she obeyed, clutching at a pillow and crushing the soft down.
Teeth bared, gray irises darkened to coal, he tucked the crooks of his arms under her knees, positioned his cock at her pussy, and thrust, sheathing his dick to the hilt and nudging her womb with the crown.
Bucking in and out of her as his mouth enveloped her nipple and areola, suckling hard, he sawed his teeth over the rigid point lightly as he thrust higher, deeper. Panting audibly, his pelvis pumping faster and faster, he threw his head back, and his nostrils flared.
Wanting to see him finish, to stamp his ecstasy into her memory, Stephanie tried to keep her eyes open, but she was on overload, nerves jangling, labia swollen and oversensitized, the friction of his cock sheer bliss, prickling pain and pleasure.
“Come with me, Steph. Look at me, honey. Look.”
Eli's face was bathed in sweat; his chest glistened. He looked primitive, wild, a caveman warrior, and the grimace he wore shouted a conqueror's victory.
His thumb pressed her clit; her eyes rolled back in her head, and she climaxed, vacuuming his dick so forcefully that his balls slapped her pussy, wreaking another series of explosive convulsions.
Eli collapsed on top of her, and his solid weight somehow added to the joy and satisfaction wrapping her heart, warming her from the inside out. She stroked his back, rubbed her toes on his calf, kissed his collarbone, and then impulsively licked along the ridge of his shoulder.
Leveraging onto his forearms, he peppered closemouthed kisses on her forehead, the edge of one eyebrow.
“You're still hard,” she said, unable to keep the marvel from her tone.
“Not for long. You milked me dry. Damn, but you feel good. Tight and hot.”
“Can I touch you next time?”
“I need to recoup,” he grumbled. “You may be in your twenties, Stephanie Grant, but I turn thirty soon, so round three will have to wait until I can rebuild my depleted reserves.”
Her cheeks flamed. “I was trying to let you know you were heavy.”
“You're too cute. Your little toes are still tickling my leg, and your hands are busy kneading my buns, honey. And if you'll notice, I'm no longer deadweight.”
“Eli?”
“Hmm?”
Shyness knotted her tongue, and she had to take a couple of deep inhales before words formed. “Thank you.”
He stiffened, tipped her chin with a finger, and growled, “I'll tar your backside if you ever thank me for making love to you again. A more appropriate comment might be, Eli Gallagher, you are one helluva lover, or your dick is paradise on earth. Stuff like that.”
He flashed her a grin so devil-may-care and boyish, she melted.
“How about milk and cookies for breakfast?”
“Breakfast?” She twisted to look at the clock and moaned. “Six thirty. Isn't our first meeting at ten?”
“All the more reason to fuel up now.” He lifted his brows a few times. “Let's call the milk and cookies a necessary snack. I'll have you for breakfast.”
The room telephone rang at that precise moment, the sound so unexpected, Stephanie yelped, scrambled out from under him, and snatched at the receiver on the bedside table.
“Hello,” she said, knuckling one eye and blinking reality into focus. “Hi, Chris. What's up?”
“Sorry to disturb you so early in the morning, sweetie, but we have a catastrophe in the making. Three of the digital copies of Valentine Voodoo have gone kaput, and our server's been hacked.”
Chapter Five
Any remnants of sexual indolence vanished; Stephanie scooted along the mattress until her backbone hit the headboard. Her brain processed thoughts on double time.
Someone had stolen three copies of Valentine Voodoo. Why? How had anyone known the finals were in? Only a select few had seen the definitive version of the movie. Ignatius and Bill Harris, CEO of Dreamcoast Animation, had decided two days ago which one of the three possible endings would be in the actual release.
“We haven't even done any internal screenings,” Stephanie argued.
“It was an inside job,” Chris said, her tone flat. “Eli Gallagher's with you on this jaunt, isn't he?”
Stephanie's stomach reacted as if she'd gobbled several roadside tacos south of the border.
“You, of all people, should know that.” Her eyes crossed as she tried not to glance to Eli.
“He's there with you right now, isn't he?”
“Yes.” Stephanie kept her gaze focused on her bare toes.
“You, I, Ignatius, and Sam are the only ones who know about the missing DVDs. Don't breathe a word to Eli.”
Sam Taylor, Todd Technologies' VP of security, and Ignatius were college frat brothers. The two men had known each other for decades, but Sam had joined the company only three months earlier. His mandate—to overhaul the office network and lock down information.
They suspect Eli.
Bile, bitter and acrid, welled up her throat.
“Steph?”
“I heard you.”
“Sam wants to keep everything under wraps. He's baiting a trap for the thief.”
Dawn peeked through a slit in the dark curtains on the far side of the room, and the sun's rays streamed through, highlighting dancing dust motes. A chill settled in Stephanie's chest, and she pulled the bedcovers over her shoulders. “Got it.”
“The list of suspects includes Wonder Boy Gallagher, sweetie. And to think I threw you two together this weekend hoping you'd work out your differences.”
A fist squ
eezed Stephanie's vocal cords, and she had to swallow twice before she managed to say, “I figured that much out.”
Eli rolled off the bed and ambled into the other room. Seconds later, the muffled sounds of the morning news droned in the background.
“I know—I shouldn't have played matchmaker. Honestly I can't see Eli ruining his career by doing this, but you know the kind of money we expect to gross with this release. Whoever stole those imprints stands to make millions. We're talking eight figures, minimum.”
Stephanie choked back a moan.
“And the thief has to have connections in the industry.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but shutting out vision couldn't stop her from blurting, “And everyone knows Eli's all about the money.”
“Unfortunately he is, and he does know everyone who's anyone in the biz.” Chris blew out a long sigh. “Keep your eyes open, sweetie, and if he meets with any of the distributors on the sly, call me, Sam, or Ignatius right away. I e-mailed you Iggie's direct number.”
A fully dressed Eli, beaming from ear to ear, walked through the doorway. He paused, shot her a head-to-toe glance, then absently sipped from one of the two cups of coffee he carried. His gaze fixated on the phone glued to her ear, and his sandy brows grouped into a V as he stalked to the bed. He offered the steaming brew to her, and she waved at the bedside table. Depositing the requisite hotel white mug on the table, he then drew the curtains open and faced the open window and the view of the city of San Francisco.
“Anything else I need to know?” Stephanie asked, her eyes tracing the taut sinews of his broad back.
“Not really. Just call if you notice anything off-kilter.”
“How're the girls?”
“Omigod, Ashley sat up on her own without falling over for at least ten seconds yesterday. Amanda just sort of blinked up at her.”
The conversation ended on more news of Christine's five-month-old twin daughters, with Stephanie making the appropriate cooing comments on autopilot.
“What's up? I take it that was Christine Dunlop?” Eli swung around to face her the second she set the receiver on its stand.
“Yes. I have to make a few last-minute changes to Valentine Voodoo.” She pasted a smile on her face and prayed her lips wouldn't crack. “I'm going to have to put in a couple of hours right away.”
“They work you too hard,” Eli said, moving to sit next to her on the mattress. “I keep telling Iggie he needs to acquire more talent. You can't do it all.”
She fought not to whip her head in his direction. He wanted her replaced? Anger simmered the blood in her veins and arteries. While sipping the coffee to prevent her temper from surfacing, she twisted, set the mug on the table, and took a deep breath. “Eli, I'm going to have to dive into work.”
Splaying a hand, he interrupted her. “I know when I'm being kicked out, and we all know your devotion to the company.”
They parted on a tense, irritated note. Eli attempted to kiss her on the mouth; she turned at the last minute, and his lips brushed her cheek.
Three hours later, Château Pontchartrain's public relations manager, Genevieve Drummond, joined them in the limo on the journey to Dreamcoast Animation's corporate park. Relieved the woman prevented any intimate conversations between her and Eli, Stephanie stared out the window, her thoughts disjointed, her feelings skipping across the emotional planet, joy, fear, elation, depression. The beginnings of a low-buzz headache settled in the back of her skull.
I know you crave the status symbols money can buy, Eli, but I refuse to believe my judgment's so off-kilter.
Eli had quit school three courses short of his degree after closing his first multimillion-dollar agreement. The tale of the twenty-year-old Eli coaxing a record-breaking contract from Asia Springstone, the notorious hard-drinking chairman of Southern Adventures, the largest chain of amusement parks in the nation, was the stuff of Todd Technologies urban legends. Rumor had it, given a choice between an orgy and a commission, Eli had quipped, “Give me a dollar value on the orgy.”
His focus on designer clothing and accessories, the famous seven-thousand-dollar Hermès one-of-a-kind shoes, was the reason Stephanie had battled her instant attraction to him. Scornful of his flamboyance, she'd chalked him up as egotistical, shallow, and a quitter.
Did you steal the imprints, Eli?
Seven people at Todd Technologies had access to the original and the copies: Ignatius; his wife, Lisa; Sam Taylor; Christine Dunlop; Sales VP Jefferson Boyd; Eli; and herself.
To make money on the theft, whoever'd stolen Valentine Voodoo had to have a couple of major pirates lined up for the illegal distribution. The emerging nations of the world formed the prime markets for pirated media, which meant every country on the planet, save the United States and Britain, considered pirating to be a neutral activity, too seemingly victimless to warrant criminal pursuit. Pirate sites made money off the advertisers and promoted pirated copies as freebies. Add to that the growing numbers of the population of both the United States and Britain who deemed downloading so-called freebies as a right, and the sums to be made accelerated exponentially.
The limo's brakes squealed, jerking Stephanie back to reality. On autopilot, she scrambled out of the vehicle. Valentine Voodoo's creator, Bill Harris, greeted them when they arrived at Dreamcoast Animation's headquarters.
“Stephanie Grant, I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.” Bespectacled, shaggy haired, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt emblazoned with Valentine's mouse face, Bill's features reflected the rodent's from the owlish, round glasses to the aquiline nose to the slightly unsymmetrical cheek dimples when he grinned.
“I've so been looking forward to us actually working together.” Stephanie pumped his hand. “I mean in person, not virtually.” They'd worked on the movie nonstop since she joined Todd Technologies' subsidiary, Studio G. Bill marched to the beat of a different drummer, and she'd come to respect his eccentricity and his unconventional sense of humor over the last five months.
“Bill.” Eli's voice held a snapped edge of irritation; he stepped around Stephanie, one arm outstretched.
Bill dropped Stephanie's hand and shook Eli's.
Genevieve, a drop-dead-stunning brunette who bore an eerie resemblance to Megan Fox, joined Stephanie. “Hi, Bill.”
Stephanie swore she saw a lightning bolt crackle from Bill's eyes to Genevieve's.
“Genevieve,” Bill said as he pushed his glasses up his nose. “Eli, you didn't mention that Ms. Drummond would be gracing us with her presence.”
Eli's gray eyes trapped Stephanie's, and one walnut brow winged up. He had noticed the tension between Bill and Genevieve too.
Are Bill and Genevieve involved?
She shook her head and deliberately focused on the scenery.
Nestled into the Cascade Mountains' foothills, Dreamcoast's headquarters blended seamlessly with the dense pine forests hugging the building concrete's walls. A chill gust bristled the emerald-needled trees; Stephanie shivered and half turned to the limo, wanting to retrieve the thick sweater she'd left on the vehicle's seat.
“I got you,” Eli muttered, holding the wool cardigan out for her arms.
Bill and Genevieve moved to the left, the two climbing the broad stairs leading to the building's entrance. Heads bent together, their murmured conversation trailed away as they drifted out of hearing distance.
Eli's distinctive scent that of Hermès Bel Ami, an aftershave redolent of moss and woods and leather, with a hint of lemon and sandalwood. It seeped into her pores. His body radiated heat, and every follicle on hers saluted in reaction to his proximity, to the intensity of his dilated pupils.
All at once she yearned to go back in time, to earlier that morning, to the feeling of his heavy weight on top of her, to before Chris's phone call. She'd crossed a threshold last night, only to brake and fall back after Chris broke the news of the stolen DVDs.
“What the hell's wrong, Steph?” She fitted an arm into a s
leeve. “You won't look me in the eye. You won't let me touch you. How did I screw up this time?”
Damn it, he sounded pissed and hurt, and she had clammed up on him.
Shrugging the soft knit material over her other arm, she answered without thinking. “You didn't screw up, Eli. It's me this time. I have a few things to work out.”
“Are we breaking up before we even get started?” Eli's scowl mottled her insides; locusts swarmed her stomach. “I don't get it. Last night was amazing. I know you enjoyed it. Shit, Steph. At the end you were coming nonstop.” He dragged both hands through his hair, leaving a path of odd-angled spikes and spears.
Eli only mussed his hair when his frustration level neared an explosive blast of curses. She gritted her teeth and homed in on the first part of his tirade.
“Since when did a one-night stand become a relationship for you?”
Eyes narrowed, he covered her shoulders with his hands. “Last night was not a one-night stand. Crap, Stephanie, you had unprotected sex with me. Twice. You trusted me enough not to use a condom.” He gave her a little shake. “What the hell happened in the space of three hours?”
Chris is wrong.
The Eli I know would never stoop to theft. No, he'd walk out bold and brave and announce he was taking the imprints.
She covered his hands with hers and met his staring scowl. “I didn't want you to feel beholden. And you never actually said anything definitive about us having a relationship.”
His eyes crossed. “What about the fact that I haven't slept with another woman since I met you isn't definitive? You need the words. Fine. I want you. Only you. And I want the whole world to know that you're mine.”
His fingers bit into her shoulders. The hard lump that had formed in her chest melted, and her bones dissolved as a flash of volcanic heat that shot from her little toes to the tips of her ears. “Okay,” she whispered.
Eli's jaw worked. He drew back, then cupped her chin. “Okay?”
“Hey, you two lovebirds.” Bill's shout made Stephanie literally jump. “We have meetings to attend, and the clock's ticking.”
