by April Vine
“One million American dollars.”
“What kind of trouble are you in?”
“I’m not in any trouble.” He left her unbalanced and flushed. She hated being flushed but those piercing eyes of his left her naked. “I think you might have confused this arrangement, Mr. Wilson.”
“Really? How so?”
“You need me.”
“More than you need me?”
What the hell is he getting at?
“It goes without saying. Or haven’t you been listening to what I just said?”
“I beg to differ.”
“Okay, perhaps I should refresh your memory. In your pants is a cock alive with light. Now while the process of turning you into a vegetable might be a long process, it’s still enough to scare away any human female in the meantime.”
“Not quite. There’s a club down the road from here, noticed it on my way tonight. The Freak Shack, know of it?” She didn’t acknowledge his question, not with her control slipping. “I think I’ll fit in nicely there, might even be a hit.” He dazzled her with a smile. “So that’s my sexual appetite taken care of, which would in turn make me a very happy man in the meantime.”
What little control she hid away from him showed itself and surrendered mercifully.
“What do you want?”
“I want you to admit you need me more than I you.” He sat to lace up his shoes.
“What gave you that idea?”
“Seventy times the amount of money you initially requested, jumping from one currency to another.” He rose, taller, deadlier. Clearly satisfied he had her in the palm of his hand. “You are in some kind of trouble.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I think I deserve a hint at least, considering I’m going to spend a million dollars to fuck you.”
“But aren’t you forgetting about your damaged goods and the disastrous end to your life?”
“We had this conversation twenty seconds ago. Let me help you.”
She’d had enough. She stripped the clothes off his body with the quick flick of her wrist. If she took him by surprise, he hid it well. Instead, he stood before her, unashamedly naked and supremely unafraid of her. How had that happened?
“That the best you got?”
She raised and shackled his hands above his head. His legs followed suit, the steel cuffs secured around his ankles.
What am I going to do to him?
Zach’s skin tingled. The mere scent of her corrupted his senses. He knew he was playing with fire but he wholeheartedly believed he could handle her. She strutted around his naked and trussed-up body. Close, but not so close that she touched him. The whisper of her breath cascaded down his back. His spine quivered. His cock hardened. If he didn’t appease the dire urge to touch her, it would consume him.
“What’s it going to be? Are you going to tell me what kind of trouble you’re in?”
Why, Zach? Why do you want to know what kind of trouble she’s in? How is that going to help the plight of your twinkling penis?
If he had any sense, meaning if he wasn’t thinking with his dick, he would willingly pay her not one but two million American dollars and be done with her, marry Ally Howard, produce heirs and run his business as usual. But no. Here he stood, playing with her and getting burned just by the sight of her skin, the heat of her breath, the shape of her lips.
Was he fucked-up mad taunting a witch? Wasn’t the fact that he was imprisoned with invisible cuffs, barely touching the floor as he dangled from the ceiling enough for him to back off?
“What do you want from me?”
“As of two days ago, I wanted you to cure my cock.”
“And you would have paid me anything to do that. What changed?”
“Nothing.”
“You expect me to believe the man who practically begged I help him is the same man standing before me without a care about the condition of his cock.“
He didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer. But something changed.
“Do you know who you’re messing with?” The whisper-soft threat fell like silk across his mind.
Fuck. Cool fingers stroked down his back to his ass. He stopped himself from stiffening, his cock from twitching. Man, how much more cum could this woman squeeze out of him? Those same fingers delved between his ass cheeks and then they weren’t so cool anymore.
“Answer me,” she prompted.
“I thought I could help you.”
“Help me? You are nothing but human. You can’t help me. You never could or ever will. Now do we have a deal? A million dollars and I take care of your problem.”
“The deal’s changed.” He smiled in spite of the layer of sweat she singlehandedly created with just the touch of her fingertip in his ass. She came around to face him again.
“You don’t have the authority to change the deal.”
“I do. I’m the one with the money.”
“How has it changed?”
“Have dinner with me.”
She laughed. His body contracted at the sound. “You’re asking me out, as in on a date?”
“I am.”
“I don’t date humans.”
“Make an exception.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Okay, I’ll give you two options. One, you let me help you out of this problem you’re in or…”
“Why do you want to me help me?”
“Call it chivalry if you want, but by the looks of things you might wind up dead and that would still leave me with my cock in less than its usual stellar self.”
“Or?”
“Or you let me touch you.” He startled her. He knew it in the way her chest rose and fell, the parted lips, the angst as she walked away from him. He wanted her. He wanted every part of her. Seeing her covered with his cum, those blood-red nipples of hers bathed with stripes of white fluid took his want for her all the way into eternity. There, that word again. He had to have her. At any cost. With his hands and his mouth.
“Our deal is off.” A force of energy released him, slapped his clothes on his body and bundled him out of her apartment. He barely got in a word before the door slammed in his face.
He ran his hand through his hair as he stared at her bolted door. He wasn’t going to give up. Touching her became his most sought-after challenge. He glanced at his watch. Damn, he was late for dinner. He sped home through the quiet roads, showered and changed into a tuxedo and slipped into the dining hall before anyone noticed he was late. A waiter poured him a double whiskey. He needed a refill soon after but nothing dimmed the taste of her nipple in his mouth.
“It’s a beautiful dinner, Zach. Very intimate.”
He turned at the sound of Ally Howard as her hand slid up his back.
“I had nothing to do with it.” He skimmed the room full of guests then glanced at the woman who came to stand next to him. If his mother had anything to do with it, Ally would be the woman he’d end up marrying, which might not be such a bad thing if he wished. He gulped down his drink, hopefully this time enough to clear his lungs of Ally’s perfume. It’s not that she didn’t smell nice, he just found her fragrance unlike that of a certain feisty witch.
“Well, your mother is the queen of all things social. I can learn a lot from her and I’m sure I’ll make her proud and you too. I know I can make you proud, Zach.”
He bowed his head, disregarding her plea to be his wife and give him babies. Damn, his whole fucking fortune depended on this woman or at least one like her but Ally was perfect, socially correct, beautiful, capable. His mother was halfway in love with her already. That helped a lot. And he needed heirs, something she was more than willing to supply.
His problem stemmed from the fact he didn’t feel as if he liked her enough to want to sleep with her for the duration of a marriage. And damn if he wasn’t going to be faithful to the woman he chose to marry.
“I can make you happy, Zach. We are made for each other. The fam
ily connection our marriage will bring can be invincible for generations to come. Together we can be invincible.”
He thought about his father’s will, such a fucking cliché. It irritated his gut. He knew he had to find someone to love, settle down eventually and have heirs, just like Sebastian. But with turning thirty his father executed a cruel clause in his will. Marry and have an heir on the way before he turned thirty-one or lose everything to charity, all the Wilson wealth, everything from houses to cars. That clause was meant for Zach alone. The old man wanted him to bend to his will from his death because he never succeeded at it when he was alive.
When it came down to the crux of the matter, he didn’t much care for his wealth. He more than quadrupled his father’s corporation’s assets in a matter of years. He could start over. His mother would die of a heart attack if she had to move out of the house, which he would stand to lose too. His sister would kill him for disturbing her fairytale existence, but other than that, he didn’t feel entirely forced to carry out his father’s will.
“Are you listening to me, Zach? We can be good together.”
He hated Ally’s desperation. It turned him off. Maybe he shouldn’t judge her too harshly. After all, no one knew under his clothes he sported a beacon of light where his cock should be. That this new attribute had become almost second nature troubled him.
Nikita more than devoured his thoughts. She remained a constant fixture in his head. He couldn’t get her out of it no matter what he did. She left him wanting something he couldn’t go after and succeed because she’d knock him down with a boulder and not blink an eye if he ever touched her. He wanted her more than his next breath and somehow the outcome of a sexual climax didn’t top the list of the reasons why. It came in a close second, but he needed her for something he couldn’t name and couldn’t get elsewhere.
Chapter Four
“You cannot assume to enter a private engagement. You will leave me no choice but to have you thrown out.”
The expensively dressed woman’s shrill voice crackled in Nikita’s ears.
“I need to see Zachary Wilson.”
“My son will have no dealings with the likes of you. It’s a private engagement party, for crying out loud.”
Nikita let the words wash over her, refusing to take to heart their meaning. Was Zach getting engaged? She didn’t let the slight tinge of unease disturb the nonchalant look on her face. She turned around and walked through the obscenely huge dining hall. All the men stood from their seats. Her gaze preyed only on one soul.
Zach.
“Zach, you get rid of her immediately. God knows what disease she is bringing through our house. Get rid of her.”
He didn’t seem surprised to see her. He showed no other emotion save for a frown on his gorgeous face. She’d never seen him in anything else except jeans, but now he stood before her in a tuxedo tailor-made to enhance every angle of his sexiness. He looked magnificent.
“Is something wrong?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Zach, don’t you dare entertain her.” Nikita ignored the harsh voice calling for her head on a silver platter.
“Mother.”
He touched her, an innocent contact that rushed through her like a thousand heat waves. She shook the hand off her arm.
“Here is fine. I won’t be long.” She leaned in and whispered into his ear, “I need that one million American dollars tonight, ten thirty p.m.” She shifted away from him. He didn’t let her go. His hand curled around her waist. She crumbled and flailed and forced herself to stand upright. His questioning gaze pierced her. She hated how he weakened her with his presence alone.
“Please, I need your help,” she whispered, aware of all the distasteful stares glaring holes into her back.
She didn’t wait for him to answer but slipped from his grasp and started the long walk through the dining hall toward the exit. Her gaze locked with a woman to her left, the blatant death stare, the possessive aura simmering just beneath the surface, all held intact by a social responsibility pinned her as the fiancée. An unknown, uncalled-for fury developed inside her.
She ignored the hated stares from the women. Their gazes dug daggers in her heart. Did she frighten them with her black hair and black-painted eyes and black-colored nails? Did they think she was some misguided soul who should be delegated to the lowest aspect of life? Or was her skirt too short?
She never cared for what people thought of her before. Here on Earth she avoided their condescending attitudes, preferring to stay hidden with those who were similar to her. But Zach had forced her out of her comfort zone and brought her into the limelight of what she hated most. To be looked at as if she were a freak.
She lifted her chin and sashayed her way out of the room. Slowly, deliberately, the pleated chiffon of her skirt teased the bare skin above her thigh-high fishnet stockings, her four-inch boots played seductively against the imported tiles. She smiled, but her mind recalled a spell she hadn’t used in a very long time. As she passed each man, she left him with his suit trousers tented enough to house his sudden and uncalled erection. The innocent denials of the men pleased her as they tried to block their cocks from sight. The outraged female gasps satisfied her even more. At the entrance of the dining hall she turned and locked her gaze with Zach’s.
She’d spared him the spell but the amused look he gave her stirred her nerves. She smiled at him and he did the same.
“Zach, do something. This is outrageous. What filth. I told you not to allow her in the house. She reminds me of that girl and her three crazy aunts Sebastian became involved with. Hooligans, I say.”
Zach kept eye contact with her. His amusement faded and was replaced with a silent danger. “Mother, don’t ever speak that way to me about Sebastian’s wife. Ever.”
Mrs. Wilson’s open-mouthed gasp drained her limbs, forcing her to sink into a chair, flushed and embarrassed.
As she turned to leave the Wilson house and wait out the remaining two hours that would bring Zach to the doorstep of her flat, Nikita knew nothing would ever return to the way it was before. That the next time he came to her she would change forever. She paced the floor in her apartment, watching the minutes tick over, waiting for him to arrive.
*
She heard his footsteps long before he walked up to her door. At that moment, she wanted to abolish his presence from her life, every second of it. The other half of her reasoning warned her to stay on target. His money prolonged her sister’s life. With the warning to stay on target came the stern instruction to do as she planned. Don’t deviate. Don’t counteract. Don’t fall for him.
The door swung open. Her breath escaped her body with a shuddering force as he stood inside her flat, his formal clothes swapped for jeans and a t-shirt. He’d given her two options. One allowed him to help her. The other to touch her. She agreed to one, but the life-threatening need of the other weakened her purpose.
“Don’t.” The soft murmur of her rejection faded in the wake of his feral approach. For the first time in her life, she felt fear. The kind of fear that started as full-blown panic only to merge into dizzying madness where dimensions blurred into globes of flames. Nothing mattered but his touch. On her skin. Inside her body.
She grew weaker under the weight of her existence. Every millisecond he took to get to her, an hour in her world. And then he was there. He diffused her senses, contained her powers, changed the person she’d become until she didn’t know any other than this man before her. The ultimate act of her breathing belonged to him. She sagged to the floor. His arms swept around her, hard, rough, possessive as he brought her against his body, her pillar.
His mouth covered her lips. His demanding tongue probed them apart and he slid in deep. Only one thing stayed real. She had to submit to him. Her life depended on it. Her arms snaked around his neck. He pulled her closer, smashing her body into his, raising her off the floor without breaking the sweet torture he created in her mouth. Her legs wra
pped around his waist. He kissed her wetly, hungry caresses that extracted a deluge of moisture from between her legs.
“God, I want you.” He dropped her down on her small bed then stood at the end as he removed his t-shirt. The minute separation allowed a seedling of doubt to grow. To let him touch her meant to diminish her life and in that same token, her life could as well be spent if he didn’t. Centuries of schooled thinking seeped through the pockets of the seams holding her in place. She couldn’t let him touch her. He belonged to another, was meant to marry another.
His weight silenced her turmoil but residue of anxiety closed her body off to him.
“Let me touch you, Nikita.” He whispered the words in her ear, keeping his body off hers. She closed her legs, blocking him. “Let me make love to you. Every part of you.”
Her eyes glazed with tears. He didn’t realize what he asked of her. She had no valor left to stop him. No might to enforce the will to live any longer. How could she have gone through endless time without the need to give up her life to experience the act of human contact, and now, to not caring what happened the next day? Sumatra. She’d save Sumatra from Nathaniel once and for all because she could not satisfy his thirst for money indefinitely here on Earth, and once she poisoned him the pulse in her breast would wither and die but she’d remember this night. She’d remember Zachary Wilson.
Her legs fell apart. The grunt of his breath as he nestled himself between her thighs inflamed her nerves. She lifted her hand to flick away her clothes. He caught her wrists and pinned them above her head.
“Don’t.”
She obeyed his command, shivering as he unzipped her black leather vest. Her breasts sprang free. Goose bumps rose from her flesh. Her nipples swelled under his scrutiny. He drew the vest apart. Lowered his head and kissed her left breast. Then her right. The soft touch of his lips released the tight lock inside her. Urgent need doused her senses. Want turned to greed. Need to savage thirst. Her arms flew around his neck. She dragged his face to hers, opened her mouth and poured her damned soul into his. She gulped for air but still didn’t stop the onslaught on his lips. Her legs wound themselves around his waist. Her hips rose to meet him, to capture him against that achy cloth-covered part of her.
