Darkest Ecstasy (3 page)

He flashed a smile that was bright enough to illuminate the entire city of New York. “No problem. I'm just glad I caught you before you'd left.”

“Me too.”

Their gazes tangled, and Michelle became a little breathless and warm. There
was
something there. It couldn't be her imagination. There was a chemistry that zinged and sizzled through her body. It almost made her forget where she'd been in such a hurry to go. Almost.

“Um, I'm sorry, but I have to go,” she mumbled a hundred heartbeats later.

“Oh, sure.” He stepped back and gave her another smile, this one not quite as bright. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes. Tomorrow.” She made sure he had moved out of her way, then backed out of her parking space.

She couldn't help peering at his reflection as she drove toward the road.

That was twice now. Twice, she'd spoken to him. She was on a roll.

 

Talen didn't move.

What the hell was that? What the hell?

His cock was so hard it could bust concrete. And his heart was thumping against his rib cage as if he'd run a marathon.

That little brunette was so strange and quirky, an odd mixture of awkward and sexy. Never had a woman like that made him feel this way.

He thought back to all those times he'd ridden the elevator with her. She hadn't spoken for the first, oh, ten or so days. And he hadn't really noticed her much. But this morning . . . this morning his body had been tense all over by the time he'd reached his office. He'd thought it was because of last night, with Angela. Angela, his perfect submissive. Sexy as hell. Eager to please.
Able
to please—so fucking good at sucking cock.

But now, after running into the little stuttering brunette again, he wasn't so sure it was the memory of last night with Angela that made him hot and tight all over.

Still standing exactly where he'd been since she'd roared away in her little compact car, he glanced down at his hands. He could swear he'd felt an electric current zap him when he'd touched her.

Static, he told himself. He was grounded. She was in a running car. It had to be static.

Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he strolled toward his car. He had a sexy, hot submissive waiting for him at the club. There was no time to stand around, imagining things that weren't there.

F
or some silly reason Michelle held her breath the whole drive to her mom's house. She hoped she was being paranoid. She hoped this whole thing was a silly mistake, and Mom would remember she'd either ordered the chocolates for herself or mentioned them to a friend. It was just so weird if it wasn't.

But her heart rate hadn't slowed down by the time she'd parked in her mom's driveway. And, in fact, it sped up as she
click-clacked
in her painful shoes to the front door. It amped up another notch when there was no answer.

Michelle rang the bell a second time. At least a dozen gruesome images flashed through her head.

“That's it. I am never watching another Lifetime movie again.”

She scurried over to the window and peered in. Her mother was on her way down the hall, heading toward the foyer. “Oh, thank God.” She teetered back over to the door and waited to be let in.

A gust of delicious cooking smells wafted out the doorway as Mom opened it. “Honey, this is such a nice surprise.”

Surprise.

“Dinner smells scrumptious,” she said as she stepped inside. She kicked off her shoes at the door. Her feet thanked her. “Where's the box?”

Mom motioned toward the kitchen. “On the counter. I didn't touch it after I called you. But I think you're being silly about all of this.”

“I probably am. But that's okay.” She padded into the kitchen, bare feet on linoleum, following behind her mother.

Mom smiled over her shoulder. “I hope I get more mysterious packages. At least I'm getting a visit from you.”

Guilt knocked Michelle in the belly, the impact as painful as a punch. “I'm sorry it's been so long. I've been busy. But that's no excuse,” she said as she approached the box. “I promise I'll come over more often. At least once a week.”

“I know you're busy,” Mom said as she headed for the pots boiling and steaming on the old gold-enameled stove. “It's okay. Once a week is too much for a busy young woman like you. I understand.”

“No, it isn't too much. And I mean it.” Michelle checked the outer shipping box first. There was a clear plastic pocket glued to one side. Inside the pocket was a receipt. The buyer's name and an address were clearly marked on it. “Mom, do you know someone named Robert Kepley?”

“Robert? Oh gosh. Yes, I do. He's a friend I met on the Internet.”

Michelle handed her the receipt. “He was the one who sent you this package.”

“Well, isn't that sweet! Now that I think about it, I did tell him how much I loved Epiphany Chocolates, but I didn't expect him to buy me some.” She looked down at the paper in her hands. “Where did you find this?”

“Inside an envelope glued to the side of the box.”

“Ah. I didn't see it.”

“Now you know, if you get any more mystery packages, check for an envelope with a shipping order on the outside, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, dear.” Grinning a little guiltily, her mom set the paper on the counter and went back to the stove. “Now, how about something to eat? Are you hungry?”

Did her mom . . . ? Had she intentionally overlooked the shipping order?

She wouldn't.

Yes, she would.

“You knew all along who sent you those chocolates, didn't you?”

Her mom shrugged and batted her fake eyelashes. “Maybe.”

“Please don't do that again. You had me terrified.”

Her mother's coy smile wilted. “Okay. I promise I won't.”

Michelle went to her sneaky little mother and gave her a hug. “I'll make sure you don't have any reason to trick me into coming over again. I promise.”

“Good. Now let's eat. I've been smelling the food cooking all day. I'm starving.”

 

She had learned from the best. She'd learned to outwit the enemy, to find a weakness and use it to her advantage.

And all men, including the Lion, the Dragon, and the Eagle, the Black Gryffons, had one common weakness.

After weeks of waiting, planning, preparing, she was ready.

The first step: to set the trap.

Twice in recent months the Chimera had tracked down the Black Gryffons. The Secret had been within their grasp. But then they'd fucked up.

They'd sent the wrong
man
.

Not this time. She knew exactly what to do. The brothers would be subdued, separated, manipulated into revealing the location of The Secret. This time they would not fail.

She would not fail.

Already, her plan had been set into motion.

 

He was watching her. Oh God.

Michelle's skin sizzled. Her heart pitter-pattered.

Trying not to notice Tall, Dark, and Mysterious standing in the corner of the room, tracking her movements with dark eyes, she cut through a thick crowd of dancers. As she passed between the writhing, gyrating bodies, hands caught her by the waist, spun her around.

She looked up.

It was him. How had he caught her so quickly?

He pulled her flush against him. His heat made her blood burn. The heavy, throbbing beat of the music pounded through her system. His lustful stare made her heartbeat erratic. “Are you running from me?”

“Running? No. Are you . . . are you following me?”

His hand skimmed down her side, stopping at her hip. Every nerve in her system electrified. His gaze darkened. “You should run.”

“Why?”

Without warning, he spun her around and slammed her against the wall.

Trapped. She was pinned against a cool wall and a hot man. Both were hard. Both were immobile. The sensation thrilled her.

He tipped his head slightly, eyes fixed on hers. “I'm dangerous,” he whispered.

Dangerous.

He looked like a god.

He was strong and sexy.

He made her feel things she had never felt before.

Oh yes. He was most definitely dangerous.

She opened her mouth to respond, but he slammed his mouth over hers.

The kiss was darkly erotic. A feral possession. His tongue pushed into her mouth and caressed and tasted and claimed. His hands explored her body, making her writhe and shudder and whimper.

When one hand cupped her ass, his fingers slipping lower, to her hot center, she gasped.

Was he going to take her right here? In a crowded club? With people all around them?

His fingers slid beneath the crotch of her satin panties.

He groaned. “Wet.”

That she was. Wet. Ready. So warm. Her tissues clenched.

Empty.

He hooked his fingers in the sodden material and yanked. It tore away, leaving cool air to caress her simmering, sodden tissues. “Unzip me.”

Ohmygod, he was going to take her.

She said, “Shouldn't we—”

“Unzip me.”

She could not resist his demand. Reaching between their bodies with shaking hands, she unbuckled his belt, then unfastened his pants.

No underwear.

She pushed the sides of the zipper apart to expose his erection. It sprang free. Thick. Hard. He would fill her. Perfectly. Completely.

He grasped one of her legs by the knee and lifted it, opening her center to him. The head of that gloriously big cock prodded at her opening.

“You're mine,” he said, cupping her face with his free hand. “Mine.” His hips slammed forward, driving his cock deep inside her.

The pleasure was almost unbearable. Her body went instantly tight. Everywhere. Stomach. Chest. Legs. Her inner walls clamped around his cock as it glided out, then slammed back in, filling her over and over. Erotic heat rippled through her body in waves, each one building bigger, hotter. And all she could do was cling to him and ride through the bliss as it threatened to overtake her.

She could feel the heat blasting from his body. His hips slammed forward and back, forward and back. Fast. Faster. Hard. Harder.

This was fucking. Reckless. Wild. Feral. She had never been fucked before. She'd never thought she was the type of girl to fuck.

Oh, she was.

She felt herself losing control. A scream of ecstasy was gathering in her chest, whirling around and around. Enormous waves of pleasure were crashing through her system, sweeping her toward a swift, hard, tooth-gritting climax.

Almost there.

He rammed into her hard and demanded, “Now. Come for me now.”

His words sent her tumbling over the precipice. Her body spasmed. Her pussy rippled around his cock. That scream that had been trapped in her chest surged up her throat and out.

 

Breathless, Michelle jerked upright.

What a dream.

Her pussy was still spasming. She was sweaty, trembling, breathless. She'd had an orgasm in her sleep. That was a first.

She'd had an orgasm dreaming about him.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Mysterious.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerous.

She settled back down and, smiling, closed her eyes. Maybe if she fell asleep quickly she would have another dream about him throwing her against the wall and fucking her brain-dead.

Maybe, if she were really lucky, someday he would fuck her brain-dead for real.

T
oday things were going to be different; better. The sun was shining. The birds were tweeting. Her belly was full of her mom's wonderful home cooking—she'd indulged in leftovers for breakfast this morning. And Tall, Dark, and Dangerous had just stepped into the elevator.

Oh, the dreams she'd had about that man last night. If only they could come true.

He gave her one of those stunning, traffic-stopping smiles as he stepped in. “Good morning.”

Her heart did a triple flip. “Good morning.” Today she didn't move over. She stayed right where she was. Instead of standing there like a goon and staring at the glowing numbers above the door, she pivoted to face him. Oh, was he big. Tall. Strong-looking. His shoulders were very broad. His chest, too. His clothes fit him perfectly, as if they'd been made for him. And they emphasized his perfect proportions.

Life had to be good for him, looking so freaking perfect.

She said, “Thank you again for finding my phone.”

He slid one hand into his pants pocket and leaned against the wall. “It was no problem. Really.”

“My phone's my lifeline.”

“Yes, mine, too. Now that I've had it for a couple of years, I can't imagine life without it.”

“Me, either.”

There was a brief silence as the car slowly climbed higher. As time ticked slowly by, the tension between them amplified.

Say something, you twit. Now's your chance. You were doing so well.

“My name's Michelle,” she said, extending a hand.

He took her hand in his. It was big and warm and strong. “Tage.”

“It's good to meet you, Tage.”

Once again, a heavy silence fell over them. He was still holding her hand, and her skin was warming. Her face, her chest. Her stomach. It was such a strange and unexpected reaction. Yes, he was insanely handsome, with his penetrating eyes and chiseled features. He held himself tall and proud, and he emanated a strength and command that she couldn't seem to ignore.

His concentrated gaze remained tangled with hers as his tongue darted out and swept across his lower lip. She felt herself mirroring him, moistening her lips, holding her breath. The air between them was so charged with energy it practically crackled, and her heart was pounding so hard she could count the heavy beats.
Thump, thump, thump.

The elevator stopped, and the bell chimed. Her gaze hopped to the illuminated numbers above the door. The sixth floor. Her floor.

“I . . . this is my floor,” she whispered.

“Yes. Okay.” He released her hand, and a little buzz of disappointment swept through her. His touch. She missed his touch. The touch of a stranger?

Slightly shaken, she took a step toward the door. Before she crossed the threshold, the doors started rumbling closed, trapping her inside. A strong, thick arm shot past her shoulder, so close. His bulky frame leaned toward her as he caught the door. Instantly, her right side, the one closest to him, simmered, her skin tingling, nerves sizzling, pulses of awareness blasting through her. The intensity of the sensations took her breath away. She stood transfixed. Her eyes found his again, and she murmured, “Thank you.”

“Have dinner with me,” he blurted. Then he blinked. His brows scrunched ever so slightly, as if he was confused by his words.

He shifted back and the doors shut, closing them inside again. The elevator started climbing up to the next floor.

Had he just... had he just asked her on a date?

“When?” she somehow managed to utter.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?” Her mind raced. Did she have plans for dinner? What day of the week was it? Was it Friday? Yes, Friday. Did she have plans? She never had plans. What was she thinking? “I—I think it'll be okay. What time?”

“You were working late last night. Should I make the reservations for . . . seven? Seven-thirty?”

“Seven-thirty sounds good.”

“Okay, then.” The elevator stopped again, this time at the top floor. When the doors rolled apart, he stepped out, then turned to look at her. “I'll come down and pick you up at seven.”

“I'm in suite six-ten.”

The doors shut, and she took her first breath in at least ten minutes. Down she rode, to her floor. The door opened, and Angela, the company's lead account rep, grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the elevator. This was not a common occurrence. No. In fact, since Michelle had started working for the Bauer Agency, Angela had spoken to her maybe three times, total.

“Who was that?” Angela asked, jerking her head toward the elevator doors.

“Who?” Michelle echoed, feeling her face warming with embarrassment.

“That guy,” Angela said, tugging her around and escorting her toward suite six-ten. “The one with the eyes. And the body. And the hair.” She sighed.

“He's . . . his name is Tage. He works upstairs. On the tenth floor.”

“Ah, I thought I recognized him. He is to die for, isn't he?” Angela opened the door for her. “Are you seeing him?”

Angela knew Tage? “Not . . . technically.”

“What do you know about him?” Angela asked as she dragged Michelle past Lauren.

“Not much.” On the way by the reception desk, Michelle gave Lauren a quick confused look and a wave. “We've only spoken a couple of times.”

“Did you see a ring?” Angela asked as she steered Michelle toward her cubicle.

“I didn't look for one,” Michelle admitted, feeling a little stupid for not having thought of it. Here she was, all this time, trying to talk herself into speaking with him, and he could be married. But if he was married, why would he ask her to dinner? And if Angela knew him, why didn't she know if he was married or not? Clearly she didn't know him well.

“That's okay.” She flapped a hand. “I'll do my own detective work.”

Michelle merely nodded, not bothering to tell her new
friend
about her dinner date. For one thing, it was only dinner. It could lead to something. Or it could not—especially if he was married. She was not interested in being the other woman.

She fished her phone out of her purse, then she put it away in the cabinet above her desk.

Angela shouldered the half-wall and crossed her arms over her ample chest. “I didn't realize he worked in this building. You said he works on the tenth floor, right?”

“Yes,” Michelle answered as she powered up her computer.

“Did he tell you his suite number?” she pressed.

“No. Um, how do you know Tage?”

“I . . . just recently met him.” Thrusting out a hip, she tossed her glossy blond waves over her shoulder. There was no missing the determined look in her eye. “I'm sure it won't be hard tracking him down.” She sauntered off, a girl on a mission.

A little wave of defeat washed through Michelle. Angela White wasn't just any girl. She was beautiful. She was intelligent. And she was damn good at everything she did. No doubt she'd be just as accomplished at seducing a man as she was at everything else.

Unlike her.

At least she would have tonight. She hoped.

Shoving aside thoughts about what might happen later, she forced herself to concentrate on work. After that terrible screwup with Quadtex, she needed to stay focused. Her job was her first priority.

Her family was second.

Her love life was, and had always been, last.

 

At ten to seven, Michelle had a mini panic attack.

Her hair was a wreck. Her makeup wasn't much better. Her clothes were wrinkled (why, oh why, had she worn linen to work today?). And she was so freaking nervous, she felt sick to her stomach.

In the bathroom, she did her best to sexy herself up a bit. There was no getting her mouse-brown waves back into the neat French twist she'd had it in, so she pulled out the pins, tossed her head back and forth a few times, and opted for the disheveled look, hoping she would pass for sexy instead of just plain messy. A quick dig through the depths of her purse scored her an eyeliner pencil and a lipstick she hadn't worn in ages. She darkened her eyes and smoothed on the lipstick.

The result was acceptable.

Now, what to do about the clothes?

Her linen skirt was what it was. A wrinkled, creased mess. There wasn't much she could do about that. So she focused her efforts on the garments from her waist up. For work, she'd worn a crisp white blouse. And over that she'd buttoned on a cardigan sweater. Then she'd buckled a narrow leather belt around her waist. The belt was the first to go. Then the sweater. Finally, she unfastened a couple of buttons to give her date just a little peek at her cleavage.

She took a step back, sighed, then turned to head out of the bathroom. She was practically slammed off her feet by a blur of blue as she pushed open the door.

“Ohmygod!” the blue blur said. “He's here.” Angela stopped in front of the mirror, dropped her purse on the counter, and started digging through its contents with one hand while popping open buttons on her blouse with the other.

Michelle had to give it to her, Angela was quite the multitasker.

Hurrying out, so she could get him out of the office before Angela made her appearance, Michelle sucked in a deep breath.

It left her lungs in a huff the minute her eyes met his.

He smiled.

She practically melted.

“Hello,” Angela said as she sauntered past her, hips swaying, hair bouncing, smile beaming. “Do you have an appointment with someone?”

“Yes, I do.” He motioned toward Michelle. “With her.”

Angela's perfectly plucked brows scrunched. “You do?” She swung around to look at Michelle. “She didn't mention it.”

“I was a little busy at the time,” Michelle explained.

Angela's scrunched brows pulled in closer. “Is that so?” Her expression changed in a blink, from confused to happy. “Well, that's okay.” She thrust her hand out, offering it to him. “I'm . . . Angela. Michelle's supervisor. We can all sit down and discuss your needs together.”

Supervisor? Since when?

Tage's puzzled look bounced from Angela to Michelle and back again. His lips twisted. “Um . . . this is a private meeting.”

Angela's lips formed a perfect
O
as she jerked her head around to look at Michelle. A little muscle in her jaw clenched as she measured up her competition. “I see.” She stepped back. “Sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“It's okay.” Tage motioned to Michelle and, feeling as though she had won some kind of contest, she stepped up to him, then preceded him out the door. The skin on her back burned as she walked out. She wasn't sure if it was the awareness that he was behind her that made it sizzle, or the heat of Angela's furious stare. Either way, she did her best to ignore it and stepped inside the elevator. For the first time, she rode it down with him.

Down, to the parking structure. And out she went, walking beside him.

At this time of year the sun hung low in the western sky by 7
P.M.
, the angle creating long, cool shadows in the structure. Michelle hugged herself as she followed Tage's lead through a long row of parked cars. He stopped in front of a Range Rover, circled around to the passenger side, and opened the door.

Her arm brushed against him as she moved between his bulk and the car. A bolt of heat blazed through her at the brief (much too brief) contact. Her face warmed. “Thank you,” she said softly. Her gaze lifted to his face. A powerful face. A stunningly masculine face.

“You're welcome.” With long, land-eating strides, he wound back around to the driver's side. Within a second or two he was seated beside her, his hands on the steering wheel, his gaze once again locked on her face. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but then closed it. The car's engine roared to life, and in a blink, they were zooming down the road. “Your coworker thought I was meeting with you for business.”

Coworker? He wasn't going to admit he knew Angela? “Yes. My personal life is none of her concern.” She tried to smooth her skirt over her thighs.

“Then she's not a friend of yours.”

“No,” she responded flatly.

He chuckled, and she immediately decided she liked the way it sounded. A deep, vibrating rumble that echoed through her body. “Is she an enemy, then?” he asked.

“I wouldn't go that far, no. I don't have many enemies.”

“That's a good thing.”

“What about you? The way you said that... ?”

“I have my share, I suppose.” His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror as he steered the car onto the freeway. “But it comes with the job.”

“Which is . . . ?” she asked as she studied his (stunning, drool-worthy, extremely attractive) profile. His features were so classically beautiful. They reminded her of the world's most treasured sculptures, Michelangelo's
David
, Cellini's
Perseus
, and the
Antinous Mondragone
.

“Computer programmer.”

“Computer programmer? Enemies? Really?”

“You'd be surprised,” he said.

“I'll take your word for it.”

“I see you work for an advertising agency,” he said as he eased the car toward the exit ramp.

“Yes. I'm a junior account representative. I haven't been with the agency for very long. So far, I like it, though I was hoping I would be more involved with the creative side of things. That's where my true strengths lie. I hold two bachelor degrees. One in commercial art and one in creative writing.”

“Interesting. My strengths lie in my creativity, too.”

The car rolled to a stop at a red light, and he turned to look her way. Again, their gazes tangled and a zap of electricity buzzed between them. It felt like the charge was zinging across her skin, energizing her nerves. She'd never felt that way with a man before. It was strange. And thrilling. Both. She decided Angela was a non-concern. Clearly Angela was interested in him, but he wasn't in her. Too bad. So sad.