FullDisclosure (6 page)

Cyril Ballantyne’s secretary stepped into his office and awaited instruction.

It really felt like his office now—finally. It had taken years since his father’s death for him to feel truly at home here. To feel truly as though this company was his. He’d spent so many years hearing Philip talk about how it could never happen—how he would never
allow
it to happen—that Cyril had almost believed it. But here he was, nonetheless. He’d fought tooth and nail to get here, and still had a fight on his hands if he wanted to stay. It felt as if every moment of his life had been a fight, a struggle. A struggle for approval, for his rights, at times for his very life. But that only made the moments of pleasure and respite that much sweeter. It made the rewards that much more worthwhile.

He leaned back in his leather executive’s chair and admired his secretary’s ample curves and bulges—and Taylor’s curves were ample indeed. She insisted on wearing clothes that she believed de-emphasized her breasts. At least that’s what she had told him when he commented on it. But those highly conservative suits with the blouses buttoned up almost to her chin and the skirts far past the knee did just the opposite. In fact, sometimes he wondered if she did it on purpose, just to drive him wild. He wouldn’t be a bit surprised if that was the case. He’d been with “good girls” before, and knew just how bad they could be when they chose to—or were persuaded to—let loose. But he’d been trying to crack this nut for three months already, and he was growing tired of the game. He wanted gratification—and if he didn’t get it soon, he’d move on to other playgrounds.

“Yes, Mr. Ballantyne?” she said primly when he said nothing.

“Close the door, Taylor, if you don’t mind? And come here. I’d like to talk to you.”

“Of course.” The door snicked shut and she crossed the room to his desk. “What would you like to talk about? Was it that report I typed up yesterday ? I’m sorry if it wasn’t formatted properly. I had problems with the—”

“No, no. Nothing like that. The report was fine. Have a seat, why don’t you?” He motioned to the visitor’s chairs across from him.

She looked a bit puzzled but complied, sitting down and crossing her legs like the lady he knew she wasn’t.

He stood and rounded the desk, hitching a cheek on the polished oak edge as he admired the lean lines of her calves and how they led so sleekly into a pair of slender black pumps.

He crossed his arms. “Tell me, Taylor. What do you want from this company? What are your ambitions here?”

“Oh. Well, I feel that I’ve accomplished so much already by becoming the executive assistant to the CEO.” She smiled, as if that answered his question.

“That’s true. But is that enough for you? Is that the extent of your ambition?”

She pursed her lips. “Well, no. I confess I had hopes for an office of my own someday.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He slid off the desk and knelt in front of her but he didn’t touch her. Not yet. “What kind of office? What were you thinking?”

If she was surprised by his demeanor, she didn’t show it. “Well, I have training in promotion and marketing. A master’s degree, actually. But when I applied to that department I was disappointed. Repeatedly.”

“So you went into the secretarial pool.” Very casually, he placed his hand on her knee. “Quite a disappointment, I’m sure. But you took the options available to you.”

“Of course.”

He ran his hand down her calf and felt her bare skin shiver beneath his fingers. She never wore nylons. Thank God for that. “Well, what would you say if I told you that I have seen potential in you? That I would be willing to help you…” He slid his hand under her skirt to rest on bare thigh. She tensed only briefly. “Achieve those dreams.”

“I…well…that’s interesting.”

“Yes. Yes it is. But of course, I need to see some effort on your part.” His hand crept up farther to find the crease where her thighs met. He nudged her ankle with his other hand and at last she uncrossed her legs, parting them slightly. “A sign of the level of your dedication.” His fingertips brushed panty. “Of your commitment.”

Her eyes were wide and slightly glazed, her lips parted as her breath whooshed in and out in a light pant. Her cheeks were flushed and a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on her skin. “I-I don’t know. I’m not sure what you mean.”

He brushed his knuckle lightly across her clit through the silk of her panties. “Don’t you? I thought I was making myself quite clear.”

She moaned slightly but then whispered, “And what if I don’t want your help?”

He froze. “Then I think I would have to find a new assistant.”

She licked her lips and reached for the top button of her jacket. “Excellent,” he whispered as button after button came undone. He breached the lacy edge of her undies and found her wet and swollen. She groaned softly, parting her thighs and shifting her hips forward in search of more.

At last the blouse was open, revealing a pair of beautiful orbs spilling over the cups of her demi bra and begging for release. His cock was so hard he was in danger of bursting on the spot, but he held back. “Off,” he demanded, his voice little more than a growl. “Now.”

But her hand hesitated at the front clasp. “How long?” she breathed.

“What? How long what?” The delay infuriated him.

“Until I get my promotion.”

His mouth twisted into a half-smile. So perhaps this hadn’t been a surprise to her after all. “That all depends on how good a fuck you are.” He rammed his fingers inside her and she arched her back in combined pleasure and pain as the clasp snapped open and those beautiful breasts burst free. “Doesn’t it?”

With his free hand, he reached up and cupped one of them, tweaking a nipple hard enough to make her wince. “Doesn’t it?” he growled again.

She merely nodded and thrust her chest forward. He took one firm breast into his mouth and sucked it—hard. He raked his teeth across the point of nipple as his fingers pumped in and out of her, reaching deep in search of her G-spot. He found the other breast and did the same. Her breasts were almost too firm and he suspected implants but if so they were good ones, he had to give her that.

He increased his penetration to three fingers and she protested through a groan. “No. Too much. Too hard.”

“Shut up.” He’d do as he pleased and, after all, he knew she loved it. His suspicions were confirmed when she came all over his hand, the walls of her cunt milking his fingers like a vise.

A minute later he had her bent facedown over the desk, her skirt hiked to her hips with his face buried in her pussy.

When he’d lapped up his fill, he stood and dropped his pants. Three fingers buried once again in her channel, he asked, “Do you want me? Do you want me to fuck you like the whore you are?”

When she didn’t reply, he rammed a thumb into her ass.

“Yes!” It was a cross between a scream and a whisper, and it made him smile. “But what about a condom? Do you have one?”

He withdrew his hand and spread her own sweet lubrication over his aching cock. “I’m fixed. I don’t do condoms.” And with that he plunged himself into wet pussy.

He fucked her, watching with satisfaction as her hands gripped the edge of the desk hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

“Hello?” There was a pounding on the door. “You in there, Mr. Ballantyne?” The door opened, startling Cyril and causing him to pull out—and come all over his desk.

“You fucking
idiot
!” he screamed. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Oh.” Officer Schmuck stood there blinking like a moron. “Sorry. I thought…” He just stood there, staring at Taylor’s ass and Cyril’s dripping cock.

“Get the fuck
out
!”

“Oh. Right.” At last he closed the door, leaving Cyril to fume as Taylor pulled herself together and promised to call the cleaning staff immediately.

As she was about to leave, however, he grasped her wrist. “Tonight at six. My hotel suite.” He had a wife and child at home, after all. He wouldn’t dream of jeopardizing that.

“But I have dinner plans.”

He returned to his chair. “Cancel them, and don’t figure on an early night. I intend to take my time.”

“Yes sir.” Her voice was tight but she didn’t argue. A good sign. He’d have her begging for his orders soon enough.

“And send in the asshole.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but made no further protest and a moment later Dirty Harry himself stood sheepishly before him. However, being “dirty” was the only thing that Constable Rufus Severn had in common with the famous Clint Eastwood character. Fat and bald, with more hair on his upper lip than he had on his head and with an IQ a few notches below a vegetable, he had more in common with an Oompa Loompa than he did with a great crime fighter like Dirty Harry. But that was exactly how Cyril wanted it.

“So what the hell is so important that you had to bust in on me? You couldn’t use the fucking phone?”

“I tried, but your cell phone was off. And it was too important to wait.”

“Okay, okay.” He’d turned his phone off when he’d called in Taylor. He’d forgotten. “So what happened?”

“She’s gone.”

Cyril frowned. “Clarify ‘gone’.”

“Well, I went down to the diner this morning for breakfast like always, but she wasn’t there.”

“You’re sure it wasn’t her day off? She does get them, you know.”

“No, it wasn’t. I checked with the manager and he said she just disappeared yesterday afternoon. Not a word of goodbye, just
poof
. Didn’t even take her coat. Just gone. And she didn’t show up today. No phone call er nothin’.”

Cyril’s hands curled into fists. “What the fuck?”

“Yeah. ’Zactly. So I checked out her place. She didn’t answer, so I broke in. She wasn’t there, but all her stuff was. She hadn’t been home at all.”

Cyril forced his hands to unclench and willed his heart rate to slow. “Okay, okay. That’s good. It means she hasn’t gone far. It’s only been a day. Maybe something…happened.” Although what in the world would make his former stepmother abandon her essential source of income was beyond him. “When did you last see her?”

“Yesterday. I popped in for a coffee and a BJ.” He grinned. “She’s got a good mouth, I’ll give her that.”

Cyril held up his hand. “Spare me the details.”

“Sorry.”

“Did you notice anything unusual when you were there? Did she seem like herself? Was she upset? Distracted?”

“No. She was fine. I didn’t notice nothing weird. She seemed to be getting a little cozy with this one customer, is all.” Rufus scratched his head. “He sure looked outta place there. All designer jeans and shit. That was kinda weird.”

“Hmm. Yes. I can imagine.” He leaned forward on his elbows. “Was he young? Old? Fat? Thin? What?”

“Oh. He was young. Maybe just a little older than you. Tall and blond like you too.”

“So you’d say he was attractive?”

Rufus fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. He was such a fucking homophobe. “Yeah. I guess.”

But not nearly as attractive as me
, he thought with a glance at his reflection in the window. With his thick shock of blond hair, chiseled features and brilliant blue eyes, that was one area where he was grateful he took after his father. They were both handsome as the devil—and just as cunning.

He leaned back in his chair. “Okay. I’ll admit this is troubling but it’s not a tragedy yet. Let’s give it a couple of days to see if she shows up. If not, then we’ll start to worry and really start looking for her. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.”

Rufus wrung his hands. “But what if she figured it out? What if she went and talked to that lawyer of hers? Or maybe that guy was with the insurance company?”

“Sadie Ballantyne is a scared little rabbit, and she’s just glad to have her freedom back. She wants nothing to do with my father’s ugly memory or his filthy money.” He turned to his computer. “However, if that changes and she decides to look into the life insurance provisions more closely, then…” He shrugged. “What happens is out of my hands.”

Rufus grinned. “And in mine.”

“Exactly.”

Jake was fuming. He kept his mask in place, his smile firmly fixed to his lips so that Sadie would have no idea how upset he was. But with every click of his heels on the tiles of the Eaton Centre mall, his outrage grew. Outrage at a man whom he had thought had honor and integrity, at a man whom he thought had tenderness and compassion. At a man he had called friend.

“How about this one?” he asked, stopping at the entrance to a small intimate boutique store. “Looks like they’d have plenty of petites.” And he was pretty sure there was lingerie in the back. She’d need some basic undergarments as well. He tried not to think about her trying them on.

But Sadie’s lips pursed, and her hands seemed to disappear a little deeper into the pockets of his track pants. She’d been so reluctant to come shopping, telling him at first that he could just pop out to Walmart and get her a few things. Anything in size small would be fine, she’d said. But he’d been adamant. She needed decent clothes—good clothes. They needed to be her style and they needed to fit. So she had to come with him. It was that simple.