Forbidden Pleasure

by Taryn Leigh Taylor

  “I believe the two of you are acquainted?”

  His unnecessary introduction put a hitch in Vivienne’s self-assured stride, but she recovered nicely, bestowing a coolly regal nod at the other occupant of the room as she took a seat in the chair farthest from him. “Wes.”

  “Vivienne.”

  Max ignored the chill in the room. “Excellent. Now that we’re all here, let’s discuss our next steps.”

  “As I was saying, the security breach is internal. I don’t think—”

  Vivienne’s head snapped up at Brennan’s words, her eyes locking with Max’s. “What internal breach? Do you have a suspect in mind? What the hell is going on?”

  Max leaned back in his chair, forcing the relaxed pose, even though every nerve in his body was coiled tight. “We’re waiting for answers.”

  “I might have a couple.”

  The voice at the door stole the attention in the room.

  Jesse Hastings was Soteria Security’s second in command. More personable than his business partner, Hastings was the de facto face of the company and his geniality was responsible for scoring the majority of Soteria’s clients. But he really shone when you put him behind the keyboard, so when he’d insisted on helping Brennan handle this clusterfuck personally, Max had agreed. With any luck, having both of Soteria’s big dogs on the case would see it resolved quickly and quietly.

  “I’m just not sure you’re going to like them,” Hastings continued, leaning a broad shoulder against the doorjamb. “Are we waiting for Kaylee?”

  The reference to his absent PR director soured his mood further. She hadn’t picked up her fucking phone. If his little sister wasn’t so damn good at her job, he’d have fired her when he’d purged the company of the bulk of his father’s hires. “She’ll be briefed first thing Monday morning. What have you got?”

  “It’s definitely a contained breach, but whoever’s behind this is good. The information’s been fragmented and rerouted through hell and back. It’s going to take a while to piece together what’s been leaked. But I can tell you that all the activity is localized to one computer.”

  Hastings raised his eyebrows, waiting until he received Max’s nod to continue.

  “Emma Mathison’s.”

  Max was careful to keep his expression neutral, but his hand clenched involuntarily. Vivienne and Hastings didn’t notice, but Max’s jaw tightened when Brennan’s eyebrow lifted with cool interest.

  Smug prick.

  Vivienne’s face was pale when she turned back to Max. “You really think Emma sold you out? That seems...out of character. I mean, has she been acting strangely?”

  Besides quitting while she lounged on his desk?

  Besides her secret, self-satisfied smiles?

  Besides fucking him into oblivion in thigh-highs and garters on his goddamn desk?

  “She didn’t sign her contract extension.”

  Hastings frowned at that.

  “Did she say why?” Vivienne asked. “Was it something to do with her mother? She was in the hospital a while ago. Emma didn’t say much about it, but she seemed worried.”

  His lead counsel had the kind of mind that liked to connect all the dots, but Max didn’t have time for conjecture right now. He needed facts. “While I’m touched by your concern for Emma’s family’s well-being, let’s try to stick to the salient points.”

  “Well, I’m not sure you’re going to like those either,” Jesse countered, his expression marred with concern. He walked toward them.

  “I ran a couple of checks,” he explained, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took the empty seat between Vivienne and Wes. “There’s a ten-thousand-dollar deposit in her primary bank account, and one Emma Marija Mathison is booked on a plane that’s leaving the country on Monday.”

  Max’s jaw tensed. “Where?”

  Jesse raked a hand through his hair, and Max could tell by the stalling maneuver that he was not going to like the answer.

  “Croatia.”

  Son of a bitch. No US extradition laws in Croatia.

  “Do we think she acted alone?” Vivienne was still looking for the next dot.

  “The spyware is no joke,” Hastings told her. “I’m going to need some time to figure out what she got and who she got it to.” He glanced at Brennan. “If Wes hadn’t tweaked our monitoring program, we might not have caught this at all.”

  Vivienne exhaled, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “So we’ve got nothing right now except that the spyware was on her computer? Any surveillance footage?”

  Jesse shook his head. “Scrambled. I’ll work as fast as I can to figure out what she got, but the encryption is top-notch. It’s going to take more time than we have. Her flight leaves Monday morning, and we can’t afford to let her leave the country, that’s for damn sure.”

  “I can file charges,” Vivienne said. “Something to stall her, but I’ll need—”

  Max cut her off. “No charges.”

  Two sets of eyes snapped toward him with surprise. Brennan remained annoyingly apathetic and glanced at his watch.

  “We’re two weeks out from the launch of a crypto currency payment system that will change the way America does business.” Max leaned back in his chair. “Now is not the time to ring the alarms.”

  Vivienne frowned, as she tucked her hair behind her left ear. She darted a glance at the security guys, though Max got the impression it was more directed at Brennan than Hastings. “A massive internal security breach happens on Emma’s computer, and you’re just going to let her get away with it?”

  Max narrowed his eyes at the accusation, and Vivienne took a deep breath, dropping her gaze, chastened at the realization that she’d pushed him too far. Brennan’s shoulders stiffened, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

  Incidents involving Emma Mathison had commanded his full attention twice in as many days. And while he’d infinitely preferred last night’s naked encounter over this afternoon’s occurrence, letting this trend continue on any level was not acceptable.

  “I want answers on Monday morning,” he snapped at Brennan, waiting for the man’s curt nod before skipping past Hastings, straight to Vivienne. “You’re working alone on this. Wait for my instructions, and don’t bring anyone else into the loop. No associates, no paralegals, no one.”

  “Understood.”

  “What about Emma? The plane ticket?” Hastings asked. “Did you want me to—”

  “I want you to do your job,” Max said coolly, vindicated when Hastings paled at the reprimand. Max turned his attention to the sheaf of papers on the corner of his desk. “I’ll take care of Emma.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MAX BANGED ON the door with more force than he’d intended.

  He’d been offended by the shabby Villa Apartments that were listed as Emma’s home address on her employment record. Now that he was inside the ancient building, his opinion sank even lower.

  He paid her well. Better than well. There was no reason she should be living in this shithole. Which, Max realized, lent credence to Jesse Hastings’s insinuations of guilt.

  Despite regular paychecks from him, she obviously needed money for something, and desperation led people to do uncharacteristic things. His chest tightened at the realization that Emma Mathison wasn’t finished surprising him.

  Life would have been much easier if he’d kept his hands off her in the first place. He’d managed it for the last three years. Which meant fuck all, since it had taken less than five minutes after she’d resigned before he’d dragged her into his arms. It had seemed a smart play at the time.

  Well, perhaps smart was overstating it, but it was low risk.

  She’d quit, so she wasn’t technically an employee.

  This SecurePay launch had him working every waking hour. He barely had time to shower some days, let al
one maintain any sort of relationship with a woman, no matter how casual. Not that what had happened between him and Emma had anything to do with a relationship. It was more like an experiment. A curiosity that needed sating.

  Confirmation that their chemistry was as combustible as he’d always expected it would be. And now he was paying for that lapse in judgment.

  Max heard shuffling behind the inconsequential piece of wood that was acting as a barrier between her and the outside world, but he didn’t understand how something that barely blocked sound was supposed to keep her safe from intruders. Especially since the peephole was nothing more than a quarter-sized hole covered in ratty duct tape. Which was practically inviting thieves inside in this neighborhood. His left hand tightened on the sheaf of papers he held.

  His musings were cut short by the slide of a chain, followed by the snick of a lock disengaging. The door swung open and there she was.

  Last night’s seductress was gone. In her place was a fresh-faced ingenue with impossibly wide eyes who looked like she’d stepped out of a laughably wholesome 1960s film.

  His gaze slid the length of her body, from the top of her shiny blond ponytail, past her fuzzy white sweater, barely-there jean shorts and down the length of her legs until he reached the tips of her toes, painted bubble-gum pink. Max’s thoughts, however, were anything but virtuous.

  Every part of him that she’d touched the night before flared with heat, begging for an encore. He still wanted her. Despite everything he’d found out today. Despite the mounting evidence against her. The heat stirring in his veins iced over at the reminder, and he braced his shoulders against the onslaught of lust. He would not underestimate her again.

  “Max?”

  Surprised. A little breathless. But no fear. No guilt.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He ignored the question, shifting his focus over Emma’s left shoulder at the bare, scarred walls of the old apartment. A couple of cardboard boxes were stacked in the middle of the mostly empty room. “If you needed a raise this badly, you should have told me.”

  Her forehead creased with puzzlement. “What? Oh.” Her laugh was tinged with embarrassment. “It’s a rental,” she explained, moving out of his way as he stepped past her, onto the threadbare brown carpet. “I never spent much time here anyway.”

  Max thought back to the long hours she’d put in at the office. He’d always respected her work ethic. He gestured to the boxes. “Going somewhere?”

  She nodded, closing the shoddy excuse for a door, but even as he searched her face for guile, there was none.

  “On vacation, actually. Thought I’d see how the other half lives.” Her smile faded at his lack of reaction, and he watched in fascination as her body language grew wary, matching his mood. She’d always been good at reading a room.

  “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Can I get you something to drink?” she asked, heading toward the outdated kitchenette.

  Max foiled her attempted retreat by following her, but he stopped at the nearest side of the counter, allowing her to take cover on the far side of it. “Turns out you’re going to have to reschedule that vacation. Something’s come up.” He tossed her contract extension on the counter between them. It landed with a heavy thud. “Sign this.”

  That got her attention. She stiffened, a slight frown marring her forehead as she recognized the document. “What is this?”

  “Exactly what you think it is,” he confirmed.

  “I have a flight to Dubrovnik booked for Monday.”

  “Postpone it.”

  “I can’t afford—” She stopped herself. Took a deep breath. Then restarted, the way she sometimes did in their project meetings when one of the board members wasn’t taking her ideas seriously. It was the most herself Emma had been since she’d opened the door to him. Well, the most like the Emma he’d thought she was. Ever since Friday night, he wasn’t sure he knew her at all.

  “I am not postponing anything. I’ve sold almost everything I own to pay for this trip—my furniture, my clothes, my car. The lease on this place is up on Tuesday, my plane ticket is nonrefundable. I’m going to Croatia on Monday, and you have no say in the matter.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s no longer the case. This morning, Soteria Security discovered a spyware program running on your computer.”

  She froze at the implicit accusation.

  “It was loaded manually and discovered the day after your contract expired. The day after you formally rejected a generous extension of employment. The shallowest of security checks shows that you received an anomalous lump-sum payment of ten thousand dollars and used it to buy an open-ended plane ticket to a country with no extradition policy.”

  She paled with each charge, bracing her hands on the counter like she might faint. Or throw up. And despite himself, he wanted to believe in her innocence.

  “Do you understand how this looks?”

  “What exactly are you accusing me of?” Her voice was small, but she was heartbreakingly brave as she met his eyes.

  Why he felt like he’d fallen from grace right then did not bear contemplating.

  Max tipped his chin at the contract. “I’m merely offering you a way out of this. Until this security breach is resolved to my satisfaction, you will resume your role as chief analyst of research and development. We will erase everything that happened since you walked into my office and quit.”

  She flinched at that, and though he hadn’t been referring to their hot and sweaty desk-fuck, he didn’t correct her misunderstanding. It was best for everyone if they went back to their normal working relationship.

  “Report to Vivienne Grant’s office when you arrive on Monday morning. She can draw up an amendment to ensure you’re reimbursed for the wasted plane ticket. And you can let her know if there are any further concerns we’ve failed to address here today. Now, sign the contract.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  He would not be swayed by the wounded look in her eyes. He made sure his shrug was dismissive. “It’s nothing personal, Emma. It’s—”

  “Business?” she scoffed, her magnificent eyes glinting sharply, like daggers. “Spare me the trite maxims. Just take your bullshit contract and go.”

  Max took the centering breath of a sniper setting up a kill shot. “I have millions of dollars and the future of my company invested in the launch of SecurePay. The timing on this is crucial. If the media finds out we’ve been hacked, the project is dead in the water.” Even the prospect of failure, after everything he’d sacrificed over the last five years to bring SecurePay to market, was like a hot poker to his ribs. It was enough to crack his usual icy veneer. “So until this situation has been neutralized and contained, I will do whatever it takes to ensure this launch goes off without a hitch. And that doesn’t include key members of my team fleeing the country in the wake of a goddamn internal security breach!”

  Her lips trembled, but she lifted her chin in a magnificent show of bravado. “I don’t work for you anymore, Mr. Whitfield.” His name sounded toxic on her lips. “Keep your money. I don’t want it. I’m leaving Monday morning, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  Max respected the rally, the way her dawning anger brought a flush to her cheeks and put the spark back in her eyes.

  It was too little, too late, but she didn’t seem to realize that yet. He felt honor bound to make his imminent victory clear. He didn’t want any misunderstandings between them.

  “People who’ve been accused of corporate espionage usually have a hard time boarding commercial flights. Or so I’ve heard.”

  Her mouth fell open at the threat. “You wouldn’t.”

  He kept his gaze level, implacable, until she realized the truth. That he could. And he would. It was best that she understood that from the get-go.

  “You bastard.”

  Ma
x accepted the epithet with a tip of his chin as he pulled a pen from his inside breast pocket and held it out to her. “Sign the contract, Emma.”

  She shot him a mutinous glare as she snatched the pen from his fingers, and his respect notched up again for her ability to know when she was beat. She slashed her signature across the page in black ink and shoved the contract and the pen in his direction.

  Despite the heat of the movement, her eyes were ice-cold when they met his. “Get out.”

  Always gracious in victory, Max returned the pen to the inside pocket of his suit jacket, then picked up the papers and left.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IF MAX WANTED a war, she’d give him one.

  Emma’s jaw was locked for battle as she strode out of Vivienne Grant’s office and headed straight for the elevator. She managed a distracted smile of thanks at the man who held the door open, so she could shepherd herself and the suitcase of all her worldly possessions inside. It was born out of instinctual courtesy, not sincerity, though. Right now, smiling was the last thing she wanted to do.

  Her simmering rage was evident in the jab of her thumb against the button that would take her to the top floor, where that pompous, dictatorial, gorgeous asshole she worked for was probably sitting in his swanky office, plotting new ways to infuriate her. She readjusted the straps of her leather tote against her shoulder as the silver door slid shut.

  To add to her sour mood, the elevator stopped to acquire and drop off passengers on each of the four floors between Legal and her destination, dragging out the inevitable.

  Emma straightened the placket of her black silk blouse and plucked a piece of fuzz off her pencil skirt. Her sex clothes, as she’d ignominiously dubbed them.

  She wasn’t kidding when she’d told Max she’d purged her closet of office-appropriate attire. And that morning, when she’d been getting dressed while cursing his name, she’d liked the idea of taunting him with the outfit. It was the reason she hadn’t pinned the slit in her skirt closed...or worn a bra. Small acts of rebellion designed to put him on notice. He might have forced her to come back, but he wasn’t getting the mild-mannered, desperate-to-please employee she’d once been.