Dark Nights (2 page)

He was bluffing. He had no idea what she’d been doing; what’s more she’d fixed everything now. He was five minutes too late. She puffed out her chest; she walked to the front of the desk. She wasn’t scared of him despite the cruel spark in his gaze. He was only of interest as a tool to get her what she needed. Funds to support the only two people she had ever loved and who depended on her. All the same, her hands left uneasy sweat marks on the desk. ‘You can’t prove anything.’ She felt her throat constrict as at five foot two inches she craned her neck to look into sharp grey eyes flecked with silver shards which stared into her very soul. 

‘Maybe, maybe not.’ He left the words on the air; he was toying with her, like a cat with a mouse. 

‘If you don’t move aside and let me out, I’ll scream blue murder.’

‘Really.’ The side of his mouth quirked; was he finding this amusing? Certainly he was enjoying the sport. In that second, she despised him. 

‘I’ll scream rape. I’ll tear my clothing, bloody my face and rub it over your beautifully laundered white shirt. Let me aside.’

She moved to push past him when he grabbed her arm. His eyes betrayed a mixture of contempt but what was the other light shining there? Desire? She’d never seen that in him before. Had even felt a tiny crumb of respect that he was the only man in the building who hadn’t ogled the blonde bombshell look she’d worked so hard to project. She’d thought he was a robot, a money- making-machine, devoid of interest in the opposite sex and yet here was more than a flicker of lust. Here was a smouldering volcano. And she wanted none of it. His stare traced the curve of her breasts, lingered on her hotly glowing skin. Brazenly he raised his hand and slid it down the front of her shirt. His fingers were hard, his palm cool as he moulded it around her breast. Like a traitor, her heart went into overdrive, thumping so heavily that anger, and she had to admit, a spark of attraction, shot back in his direction.

‘You can scream as loud as you want.’ He edged closer, his words small puffs of breath teasing her ear. She could smell his scent, lemon, leather, power. ‘And not only do I know what you’ve been doing but I’ve had a camera hidden and trained on your monitor for weeks. I have every movement you made on that computer screen on film. It’s all the evidence I’ll ever need. So it wouldn’t have mattered, Ms Monaghan, whether you’d wiped every damned computer in my whole business because I’ve caught you.’ He began to massage her breast, registering with satisfaction the agitated rise and fall of her ample chest. ‘Red handed. Like a rat in a trap. You’re mine, whether you like it or not.’ She wanted to strike him, would happily have killed him. How dare he defile her like that, how dare he take what wasn’t his, how dare he fondle and stroke until her stomach started to swim and her crotch began to moisten. She opened her mouth to swear at him then caught that heated desire in his eyes again. Lust, need, hunger. For a woman who was holding a losing hand, that might just be her trump card. He wanted something. If not, why hadn’t he just called the police?

Then, releasing her, he moved aside from the doorway. ‘Feel free to go if you want.’

She nearly took flight. Then realised he had only offered it because he knew it wasn’t an option.

‘But I’ll catch you.’

Bastard. 

‘What the hell do you want?’

He sauntered over to the leather chair opposite, sat down and placed his feet in their handmade shoes on her desk. His legs seemed to go on forever. ‘To be entertained.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’re mad.’ Rich, powerful successful men all had an element of the psychopath in them. 

‘Possibly you’re right,’ he sneered. ‘I really should just have you marched off the premises. You’ve been stealing from me for months. But I find you an enigma. I’m interested in you. Not much, don’t get your foolish female hopes up that I’m keen in any way, or that I’m falling for you, although I have no doubt many men do. You do interest me though.’ He nodded his head slowly and she was mesmerised. His voice was a low rumble. He didn’t need to raise it; he had enough command merely in his presence to keep any listener enthralled even if they did hate his guts and want him dead. 

‘And I need to be entertained. You see I’ve grown bored of all my other pursuits. My bank balance is overflowing. What’s more, at the end of this month I turn 30. That milestone has been troubling me because all I’ve ever done is work to make money, 24 hours a day every day of my 29 years. By sheer sweat and bloody mindedness I’ve achieved every goal I’ve ever wanted. I can have any woman I choose but what I need is another challenge. And you’re going to provide it. You’re going to make love to me and you’re going to make it the most thorough, the most extraordinary sexual experience any woman has ever given a man. So much so that I’m going to want to come back for more. You’re going to do it weekly for a month, at least until I turn 30. You’re my birthday present to myself. Perhaps then, and only then, I will decide you have paid off your debt.’

‘But I ...’ Her words settled on silence. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t whore for him.

He put his hand up. ‘I’m not interested in hearing no. I’m a good judge of character, Ms Monaghan. One thing I have worked out is that you aren’t like other women. You’re too distant, too self contained. For some reason you hide too much of yourself and although I think I could wine and dine any woman in this building into my bed, I know I couldn’t buy you. But by trying to con me out of my money, you’ve handed yourself to me on a plate. This business card has my personal phone number on it. Think up something pretty damned amazing, Ms Monaghan. Or perhaps now we know each other a little better I can call you Breeze. Phone me tomorrow without fail. Tell me where and when you’re going to entertain me. And just remember, I have eaten in all the best restaurants, stayed in world class hotels. I don’t need that any more. I need something different to excite me. And it had better be good, or I’ll make sure your whole damned life comes crashing around those cute, sexy feet of yours.’ He got up, ignoring her stunned expression at his outrageous proposal and flicked his business card at her as if he was tossing pennies to a beggar. ‘You must have heard of Scheherazade and the 1001 nights. You’re going to be my own private Scheherazade. You’ve played a dangerous game against one of the biggest players on the scene and now it’s payback time. Goodnight.’

Chapter Three

BREEZE ROLLED SHEER BLACK stockings over buffed thighs and clipped them into emerald green suspenders. A green silk triangle hid the dark bush at the top of her legs betraying her natural hair colour. She eased oversized breasts perfumed with Chanel into a bra which barely contained them. It was an absurdly expensive set of underwear but instantly the feel of it, the soft silk, the tightness of the suspenders started to bring out her sensuality, made her move like a languid cat. Sebastian Dark meant business. 

She’d heard enough stories of his ruthlessness to know he demanded a flawless performance from everybody he worked with and she had to give it. Because she knew if she didn’t Seb Dark would slap her into jail and throw away the key. That would leave her mother and sister alone and there was no way she would fail them, they’d been failed by too many other things in life. She was their only chink of sunshine in a cruel world. If this was what she had to do, she must do it.

She pulled a clinging jersey tube-skirt over her ample rump, and topped the simple outfit off with a tight ribbed jumper which hugged her like skin-tight leather. As she did so she thought about her phone conversation with Seb this morning. ‘So where are you taking me?’ He sounded languid, still in bed. At the thought of his slender hips and what lay nestling between his thighs, Breeze tensed.

‘To the sea. To Brighton.’

To her surprise, he laughed. She’d never heard him laugh before. ‘The seaside. Well, at least it’s different. I haven’t been there since I was a boy.’ His voice over the phone was gravelly, darkly sensuous.

‘We’ll catch a train, I’ve reserved tickets. I’ll meet you in the carriage at Victoria station.’ Her voice was brisk, no nonsense. She knew he was about to protest, suggest they take his car and chauffeur but no, she was going to make the big billionaire rough it, besides she had plans for that train ride. Briskly, she’d told him a reserved seat number and before he’d had a chance to protest had rung off. He’d be there. She smiled, she’d hooked him.

As she walked down the platform in her high boots, heads turned. She may have been dealt a rough hand in life, a selfish, feckless father but on the looks front she had scored, big time. She wasn’t showing any flesh, and a warm chunky jacket covered her top, but her bottom in its tight skirt mesmerised men like they’d been hypnotised. She spotted Sebastian alone in the six-person carriage. There was only one minute before the train left and she’d deliberately turned up late. She wanted him on edge; she wanted him playing by her agenda. No one else would be using this carriage; she’d reserved all six tickets. 

His eyes were hooded as she noted him sit up to attention at her approach. As she opened the door and stretched her leg to take the steep step she saw him jerk at the cheeky glimpse of white skin above her stocking tops. ‘You’re cutting it fine, aren’t you?’ He was clearly on edge, just what she wanted.

‘I made it on time.’ 

The train moved off into the evening sunset shining on the Thames and they were alone, delightfully, securely alone for the half hour journey. It wasn’t long, but it would be enough to get Seb nicely warmed up. This was the hors d’oeuvres, Brighton was the main course. The train began to pick up speed. As she removed her jacket, she smiled inwardly to see his eyes widen at the way her body was displayed, a perfect hourglass under the skinny jumper. He shifted in his seat. She smoothed her hands down over her bottom, liking the feel of her hands against her body. He’d forced her into this but somehow she was enjoying calling the shots. The prospect of holding an incredibly good-looking man in her thrall, perhaps the most powerful man in the city wasn’t entirely unpleasant, especially one whose gaze was as intent as a panther’s. 

Breeze peered at him under long lashes. ‘You must be hot in that coat, why don’t you take it off?’

He did as she bid, and tossed it aside. The early evening lights of London suburbs twinkled on as the train chuntered and sputtered over the tracks. ‘Sit back down.’ Again he did as she asked, the air in the carriage crackled with tension and the scent of his aftershave, spicy, woody, entirely masculine. She liked his suit, crisp cut, beautifully tailored. ‘You don’t mind if I take this off do you?’ She pouted and grasped the jumper, wriggling her way out of it, making full use of the action to shake her luxuriant hair over bouncing, fettered breasts, forced up in the silky bra to display a magnificent cleavage. ‘And this skirt is way too tight for comfort.’ The corner of her mouth uplifted as she saw Seb involuntarily lick his lips. As if he was hungry, starving in fact and at that point she wondered how long it had been since he had been truly sexually aroused. He’d said she’d interested him and by implication that the women who threw themselves at him, bored him. 

Had he perhaps in his ruthless way been tracking her for weeks, months even as she’d made her way around his offices? Had he plotted being this close while biding his time? Had he fantasised a moment like this while sitting all alone in his penthouse apartment? Had he enjoyed the hunt, purposefully delaying the gratification for his own amusement and was he now coming in for the kill? The thought excited her, sent a throb of expectation to that secret place at the top of her shapely legs. 

She stood before him and pulled up her skirt till it tightened sluttishly over her rump, displaying the green silk knickers, the sheer stocking tops, the tightly clasped suspender belt. Then she turned around and at that point the train jolted throwing her forward so that she lay sprawled across the seat opposite Seb giving him a grandstand view of the cheeks of her rump spliced by the tiny green panties, thrust upwards towards him. The train had stopped opposite a row of back to back houses, the carriage close enough for people to see in. As Breeze turned her face to glance at Seb, she was shocked to see they were being observed. A man at one of the windows, in the act of drawing his curtains had halted, fascinated to see Breeze, arse-upwards, with Seb, now on the edge of his seat intent on her display. Her legs, like the sides of a triangle, still in long boots were too much of an invitation for Seb. He kneeled forward, holding back no longer and ran his hands up over the leather boots, slowly, lingering over her thighs and then, glancing himself at the man watching, he moved aside the green silk panties. 

Breeze had never been spied on before. Her reaction surprised her, startled her. Suddenly she felt excitement pool in her belly at having a voyeur witness Seb’s expert caress as he started to probe with his fingers over her pinkly swelling sex. What previous sexual encounters she’d had in her lifetime had been tame. She had always held herself aloof, never letting men get close though many had tried. And now that she had been forced by Seb to take on the role of sexual temptress he was threatening to stir and kindle something deeply buried within her psyche. Like a cat curling to wakefulness, opening its green eyes wide and flexing its claws, she felt a reckless sensuality glimmer within her. Who would have imagined someone as controlled as her would put on a show for a complete stranger, would have unfolded herself, exposed her female charms in public for men she hardly knew? But she was in control, just where she liked to be.

Breeze was fully pumped up now, could scent her own musky moistness as Seb stirred and whisked at her soft swollen sex. Involuntarily, she heard herself moan. ‘Slowly, please,’ she begged. ‘Moisten your fingers, make me wet all over, play with me.’ Was that really her giving Sebastian Dark, the richest, most powerful man she had ever encountered, orders? And yet, he was fired up by her assertiveness. Besides, she had nothing to lose. He’d told her to make it good and that had given her a freedom to uncover the hidden depths of her own sexuality. She wriggled her arse higher, jumping as his fingers slipped deeper into her peachy wetness. His breath was warm on her buttocks. His touch was delightful, probing, long, satisfying. He dipped his digit into her depths, using her own juices as lube, helping her to delicious wetness. As she glanced back, she saw him look challengingly at the spectator who stared in amazement, pressing his face closer to the window, to get a better look.