Forbidden Pleasures

by M. S. Parker

  The beginning of my second week at Rylan Enterprises, I made up my mind to keep my head down and my eyes on my computer screen until this strange fascination went away. I was, unfortunately, following the first part of my self-advice when I stepped out of the elevator onto the next-to-the-top floor and ran straight into a wall of solid muscle.

  Hands caught my shoulders and I immediately jerked away, taking several steps back. I looked up as I went, trying to figure out whether I wanted to snap at this person or apologize. Eyes the color of moss looked down at me, a curious expression in them. The man's features were ruggedly handsome, his light brown hair fashionably styled. He was tall, probably close to six two or three, and muscular. He was close to Rylan's size, though there was a bit more bulk to him under his expensively tailored suit.

  “Sorry.” I decided on an apology. “I was distracted.”

  “It's okay.” He flashed me a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “I'm Zeke Wesson.”

  “Jenna Lang.” He didn't offer a hand to shake, so neither did I. “I'm the new security tech.”

  He nodded. “I thought as much. Rylan's told me about you.” His tone was inscrutable, which made me wonder just how much Rylan had said. I didn't remember anyone mentioning someone named Zeke working here, but I hadn't met everyone yet.

  “Zeke!”

  I turned as I heard Rylan's voice, hating myself for doing so. My mood darkened even further when I saw that Emmaline was with him.

  “I see you've met Jenna,” Rylan said. He glanced down at me and I was almost sure his eyes warmed for a brief moment.

  “I have,” Zeke said.

  “Excellent.” Rylan smiled at both of us, looking in my general direction as he continued, “Zeke's PR company represents Archer Enterprises.”

  “But we've actually known each other for years,” Zeke added.

  I wasn't sure why, but I was getting a definitely hostile vibe coming off of Zeke. There was an undercurrent of something here. He wanted me to know that he and Rylan had more than a professional relationship. For some reason, he was letting me know they were friends.

  “I've got the McAllister project due tomorrow.” I immediately turned the discussion to work. I refused to care that Zeke was staking some sort of claim or that Emmaline was glaring at me. They could think I was going to mess with Rylan or hurt him or take him away or whatever the hell they wanted to think. I knew the truth and that was what mattered.

  “Oh.”

  For a moment, I thought I imagined a note of disappointment in his voice, but I immediately pushed it aside.

  “Carry on then,” Rylan said. He turned away from me toward Emmaline.

  A flare of jealousy went through me, so strong I couldn't try to deny what it was. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Christophe coming off of the elevator. I didn't know what came over me, but I turned toward Christophe and gave him a bright smile.

  “Hi,” I said as he came closer. “It's great to see you. How was your weekend?”

  A pleased look crossed his face, confirming the suspicion I'd had for the past week. Christophe seemed to have a little crush on me. He was a bit socially awkward, so his attention could sometimes be a bit creepy, but he was nice enough. And if he could help me dish out to Rylan some of what he was serving as he smiled and flirted with Emmaline, so much the better.

  “I'm doing great.” He gave Rylan a nod and barely even looked at Emmaline or Zeke. He angled himself toward me, making it clear where his preference was. “How are you doing?”

  I smiled up at him, letting my arm brush against his. “I think I'm finally getting settled in.” I risked a sideways glance in Rylan's direction. He was talking to his friend now, but Emmaline was still hanging on our every word.

  “That's good,” Christophe said. “We want you to be comfortable here.”

  I wasn't sure comfortable was the word I would use, but I wasn't going to try to explain I was rarely comfortable anywhere, and never around other people. The best I could hope for was to get through full work days without being tense. I knew how to cope with my life though, so people rarely saw me as anything but composed. I was a good actress. Always had been.

  I'd hoped that talking to Christophe would make Rylan jealous, but I should've known better. He barely looked at me as he and Zeke walked by. His friend, on the other hand, shot me a glare I still didn't quite understand. Once they passed, I turned toward my office, sighing as Christophe followed. I didn't mind the guy, but I had a feeling I'd gone too far engaging him in conversation.

  He stuck with me the rest of the day and was in my office again the next morning. I finally had to remind him that I had a job to do and he probably needed to get back to his own work. He was a nice enough guy, but I was already dealing with the awkwardness that came from having slept with a guy at work. I wasn't about to make that mistake again, especially for someone who was just 'nice’. There was zero sexual attraction between us.

  As November got closer to Thanksgiving, I found myself still stealing glances at Rylan, remembering our night together. The more I tried to ignore it, the more it kept creeping up on me. And it wasn't like Rylan was doing anything to prompt it. Every once in a while, I thought I caught him watching me, but was never sure enough to say anything. All I knew for certain was that there was tension between the two of us and I didn't know what to do about it.

  If I hadn't liked this job so much, I would've just walked away, but once I'd started, I couldn't give it up. It didn't have anything to do with Rylan, either. In fact, he was a drawback now rather than how I'd thought keeping him from pursuing me would be a perk. No, the biggest appeal was the job itself. It was challenging in a way that most of my previous jobs hadn't been. I was smart, genius most likely if I'd ever taken an IQ test seriously, and it was difficult sometimes to find things that kept my brain busy. The work I had at Archer Enterprises did it better than anything I'd ever done before. I didn't want to give it up.

  Monday, I managed to avoid Rylan completely. In fact, I avoided pretty much everyone at work, arriving early and working late. The newest project I was working on had some nice complicated twists and turns, and I'd found myself caught up in the workings of cyberspace until the building was nearly empty. The same thing happened Tuesday night as well, but this time, when I got into the elevator, I wasn't alone.

  “Jenna.”

  My heart flipped as I heard my name. I could barely breathe as I looked over. There, leaning against the side of the elevator and looking as hot as ever, was my boss. He was in his usual after-hours casual: no jacket or tie, sleeves rolled up and the top couple buttons undone.

  “I don't believe we've had the opportunity to speak privately since you've come to work for me.” He pushed himself off the wall and walked toward me.

  Oh shit.

  My chest tightened. I wasn't a big fan of elevators, but it wasn't because I feared small spaces or afraid of crowds. Actually, I was better if there were a lot of people in it. What I always dreaded was the possibility of being in an enclosed space with only one person – a man – and I couldn’t get away. The fact that it was Rylan didn’t make it any better. If anything, it was worse because I was torn. As he walked toward me, I didn’t know if I wanted to tell him to stay back or to come closer.

  I remembered how it had felt, the weight of his body against mine as we'd kissed. The firm pressure of his mouth against mine. His tongue sliding between my lips. It was as clear now as the night it had happened, and I craved feeling it again.

  “How are you finding things at Archer Enterprises?” He gave me a slow, sensual smile that made me think of what it was like to have his mouth doing wonderful things between my legs. His gaze slid over me and I warmed under it.

  I glanced at the numbers on the wall and willed the elevator to go faster. My heart began to pound as he got closer.

  “Have you been avoiding me, Jenna?” he asked as he stepped between me and the doors.

  Panic welled up as I saw my on
ly way out blocked. I took a slow breath, telling myself that this was Rylan and he wouldn't hurt me, but it didn't help. I needed him to take a step back but I couldn't get the words out.

  “I don't understand,” he said as he closed the distance between us to less than an inch. He reached out and I flinched. A puzzled expression crossed his face. “I thought we had a good time together.”

  I nodded, desperately hoping he'd understand that I needed him to move because I was holding on by a thread. My breath was starting to come in gasps and I couldn't get enough oxygen.

  “Jenna, what's wrong?” Concern replaced confusion and he leaned toward me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, but it didn't stop the flashes from coming. Other faces, other hands reaching for me. I whimpered as his hand touched my arm and I hated myself for the sound, but I couldn't help it. I had reached the point where I could tell when I was in the midst of a panic attack, but I still wasn't able to break myself from their grip. The best I could do was try to keep myself from lashing out.

  My hands tightened into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I tried to focus on the pain, but then Rylan put his hand on my other arm and I sagged against the wall. My head shook from side to side as I fought to take deeper breaths. Spots danced behind my closed eyes and I knew I was only seconds from passing out. It didn't happen often, but it had happened in the past.

  Dimly, as if from a distance, I heard Rylan calling my name, but I barely noticed it. The darkness I tried so hard to keep at bay was coming for me and there was nothing I could do about it. Logically, I knew I was hyperventilating and I needed to calm down, but there was no logic when it came to panic.

  Still, I kept trying to fight it until the world faded away.

  Chapter 2

  I didn't know how it was for most people, but for me, waking up after being unconscious was different than waking up normally. I didn't dream or have nightmares when I was unconscious. It wasn't like sleeping where sometimes there were dreams and sometimes there weren't. I'd passed out more times than I cared to think about or count and I'd never had a single dream or nightmare.

  I'd woken up to nightmares, but that wasn't anything I wanted to think about again. Ever.

  Like most people, I sometimes woke up from sleep with a start, sometimes with a jolt. If I was having a nightmare, there were times I'd bolt upright in bed, going from asleep to awake almost too fast for my body and mind to process. Other times, I'd be stuck in the darkness, trying to claw my way to reality. When it came to waking up from being unconscious, it only went one way for me.

  One moment, I'd be in the cold dark, no matter how warm or light the place was where I'd passed out. The next, the panic or emotion that had shut me down came rushing back, flooding my system with enough chemicals to force me into a fight or flight response before I knew what was happening. Basically, I always came to fighting.

  This time wasn't any different.

  Panic clawed at my throat and I struck out with feet and hands, trying to make contact with whatever had triggered a panic attack bad enough to make me pass out. The only thing I knew for certain was that I wasn't in any physical pain. That’s how I figured I hadn't been assaulted. Or, at least, I hadn't been assaulted in a way that had knocked me out. While I'd been unconscious, that could have been a different story.

  My hands hit something solid, sending pain through my knuckles even as I opened my eyes.

  I'd hit a wall.

  A wall I didn't recognize.

  I looked around, thrashing against whatever was holding me down. I couldn't get my arms or legs free. I was trapped and the panic from before spiraled again.

  What had happened? Where was I?

  “Jenna, it's okay.”

  A man's voice cut through the chaos in my head and my terror escalated. My head was turning from side to side, but I couldn't see anything. My eyes were open and it was light, but the shapes and colors were foreign. Nothing registered.

  Then I saw a shadow move and let out a half-cry, half-whimper as I struggled to get away. He was big and coming toward me and...

  “Jenna!”

  Arms wrapped around me, pinning me against a solid chest. I gasped, feeling myself heading toward hyperventilating again.

  “Please. Please. Please.” I heard a small voice whispering, and then realized it was me.

  “Shh, it's okay.”

  A deep, familiar voice repeated the words even as I struggled and fought against him. I twisted and squirmed, my teeth clenched so tightly my jaw ached, but he still held me, shushing me; hushing me. He wasn’t groping me or forcing me down, but restraining me from lashing out.

  “It's okay, Jenna.”

  I focused on a spot on the wall and willed my breathing to calm, willed my mind to begin processing again. Slowly, so very slowly, both things began to happen.

  Taupe.

  That was the first thing my brain registered. The walls were taupe. Other details began to come together to paint a picture of my surroundings.

  I was sitting on a couch and the thing that I'd thought had tied my hands and feet was actually an afghan that had been covering me up. I didn't recognize the colors of the room, the feel of the couch or afghan, but there were two things I realized I did know. The voice and the smell of the man whose arms were around me, holding me so very close.

  “Rylan?”

  I hadn't realized how tense he was until he relaxed when I said his name. His grip on me loosened and I pulled back. He must've sensed that I no longer was fighting him because, this time, he let me go.

  I looked up, my eyes automatically seeking out his despite the fear welling inside me. It wasn't fear carrying over from the past this time. It was fear of what I would see in his eyes. Would it be pity? Disgust? Would he think I was weak or crazy?

  Over the years, only a handful of people had ever seen me like this and all but one had been a professional who'd known the reasons behind the episodes. The only other person had been a guy I'd gone to bed with when I was about nineteen. He had been the third or fourth person I'd slept with and he'd tried to cuddle with me afterwards. I hadn't passed out, but I'd freaked out badly enough that he'd run out of his room, stark naked, and yelled for security. I'd managed to get out before anyone had come to haul me away, but I'd been more careful after that, making sure my partners knew the guidelines of what was acceptable.

  Rylan's fingers brushed my cheek as he tucked hair behind my ear and the touch pulled me from the past. I studied his face, not daring to believe what I saw there. Concern. Worry. Compassion. Something warmer I didn't want to explore any further, definitely not here. Not like this.

  “I'm going to give you some space now.” His voice was calm, gentle. He was being cautious, but not condescending.

  The knot in my chest eased.

  He let me go completely now and moved from where he'd been half-kneeling next to the couch, to sit in an armchair. Now I got a better look around me. I was in a living room and a look out the nearby French doors said I wasn't in the city and I wasn't in an apartment building. I also had a feeling this was only one of many rooms.

  “Where am I?” I asked the question as I pushed myself up into a more dignified sitting position. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I needed to center myself.

  “My house.” He didn't offer an explanation or an apology.

  I raised an eyebrow and folded my arms, trying to suppress a shiver. I didn't succeed. For a moment, I thought he would come over to me again, but he didn't. He gestured toward the afghan still lying on my lap. I pulled it around my shoulders, finding it comforting and warm now.

  “Why didn't you take me to a hospital?”

  He hadn't offered an explanation, but I wanted one. Something about him told me I could trust him, but past experience told me to suspect dark motives from everyone. No exceptions.

  “My friend Curt used to have anxiety attacks,” he said. “One of the reasons why he decided to cash in after his car accident. He figure
d what better way to avoid anxiety than retiring in the Bahamas.”

  “So you knew what was happening?”

  “I strongly suspected. I just didn't know why or how to talk you down,” he said. “When you passed out, I knew your breathing and pulse would go back to normal. I figured it'd be better for you if you woke up someplace safe with someone you knew rather than in a hospital, surrounded by complete strangers.”

  That made sense, I supposed.

  “Are you okay now?” he asked.

  I nodded automatically, so used to saying it that I didn't even stop to consider if it was true.

  “Are you claustrophobic?”

  Something about the way he said the question told me he didn't actually think that was the problem.

  I shook my head, looking away from him. There was a fire going in the nearby fireplace. I stared at the flames, willing the sight of them to heat the part of me that couldn't be reached by the blanket around my shoulders. I didn't want to think about what had triggered the panic attack. I could still feel the darkness there, fluttering at the edge of my mind. On a good day, it took me a couple hours to shake off a mild attack, but this had been anything but mild.

  Movement caught my attention and I turned back to see Rylan moving to kneel in front of me. He put his hands on either side of mine, but didn't grip onto them. “Jenna, you know you can trust me, right? Whatever it is, it's okay.”

  Near-hysterical laughter bubbled up inside me. “Okay? It's pretty fucking far from okay.” I pulled my hands out of his and pressed them against my mouth to keep myself from continuing to laugh. All it did was muffle the sound while I fought it down.

  After a panic attack, my emotions were always very close to the surface and so much harder to control. All of the exercises my therapist had taught me were harder to access and took longer to take effect. I started to count slowly, trying to pace my breathing with the numbers.

  I ducked my head so I didn't have to see Rylan's face.

  “Jenna.” His voice was soft as he put a finger under my chin. “Look at me.”