Clearing her throat, she held out her hand. “Mr. O’Connell, I’m Natasha Abbey.”
He didn’t move, looking completely blank.
“You hired me,” she said carefully.
Again, he didn’t move.
“We have an appointment to go over your plans. I just flew in from New York to be here. Your assistant confirmed just last week and gave me the new address. We would’ve called you, but you didn’t have a number on file.”
Still nothing.
“You called my office requesting my services. I admit it’s been several months since you scheduled, but you did pay in advance.” She frowned. What was wrong with this guy? “You are Mr. Roark O’Connell, are you not?”
“Just Roark, love,” he said. “Mr. O’Connell is my father’s name.”
“Charming,” she muttered, not really meaning it. The last words had been said with a distinctly Irish accent and she had no doubt he was parodying one of his movies. No matter the race, she found men tended to do that, quoting movies or plays as if it were a real talent. “You don’t remember hiring me for the week?”
“Um, are you a maid?” he asked, glancing to where she’d dropped the pizza box. “You don’t look like a maid and I don’t know any that fly across country to clean, but I can’t for the life of me think of anything else.”
“No, I’m not a maid,” she answered.
He shrugged. “Well, then, tell me what it is I hired you for and I’ll tell you if I remember doing it.”
“I’m an etiquette and image consultant. Several months ago you called my offices and told my secretary that you enjoyed my article on table etiquette and wished for me to move in with you to teach you… Does any of this sound familiar, sir?”
He grinned, running his eyes down her body. “You’re going to live with me? Mmm, I just might have to renovate all the guest bedrooms. But the master bedroom will be free until all that’s done.”
Natasha ignored the innuendo of her sleeping with him in his bed for a week. She’d dealt with his rich and famous type before and their supermodel, anorexic girlfriends. She could handle one man. Since she didn’t listen to rock music, it was no surprise that she’d never heard of him before. But that wasn’t the first time she hadn’t heard of some famous client. She’d once spent a whole week with a baseball player before she realized just how famous he was. The men in her office building had been in total awe. But the way her company kept her busy going from job to job, it wasn’t like she stopped to look every client up on the Internet. And, being a farfadet, fame didn’t really faze her as it did most mortals. In fact, she didn’t care. It made the secrecy part of her work easy—as the majority of her clients didn’t want their lessons going public. Before a job, sometimes all she got was a name, a location, and a basic request of for services. Fame didn’t change the way she handled herself professionally and it was better for her if she didn’t have any media-induced, preconceived notions in her head. She liked the first impression of a client to be genuine. It helped her to do her job. If she had their latest scandal in the back of her mind, then it was too easy to focus on that one issue and not the whole picture.
Roark grinned, a completely incorrigible look. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a bed. If I steal covers, you can cuddle next to me for warmth.”
It seemed he had no problem getting to the point, or keeping with the point until he got a reaction. Maybe it was her lack of reaction to his come-ons that was baffling him and causing him to keep them up. Taking a long, calming breath, she did her best to sound businesslike. “No, we explained that wouldn’t be appropriate. I’ll be staying at the local hotel for the duration of the training.”
“Ah, so you won’t be staying here?” He hummed softly, looking disappointed.
The man was persistent, she’d give him that. No doubt he was about to sign some record deal or something and his agent wanted him to learn some manners. Glancing around his home, she could see why his agent would be concerned. The man needed organization and focus. A home said a lot about a person. She took a deep breath. No doubt this would be an easy one—chewing with the mouth closed, interview etiquette and training, not urinating in public, some personal grooming lessons…
Not that he looks all that poorly groomed.
Natasha shivered. Too bad she couldn’t work spells anymore, otherwise she’d put a block on herself when it came to him. There was a base, natural, hard attraction to him that she felt all the way to her bones. Almost as if her world would end if she didn’t submit to the desire to have sex with him. But that was stupid. She was just in need of a man and he was the first one she’d been attracted to in ages.
“Why don’t we begin?” Natasha crossed the room to her briefcase and set it on the coffee table where the pizza box had been. It might be hard, but she would keep their interaction strictly professional. Opening it, she took out her favorite designer pen and a fresh notepad. Perching her butt on the end of his couch, she looked expectantly at him. “What exactly is your primary goal?”
Roark tilted his head to the side, his lip curling slightly as if in deep thought. “Mmm, yeah, I remember now. I was drunk and my brother James dared me to call you. That’s right.” He slowly walked to an overstuffed chair and sat across from her. Grabbing a pack of cigarettes off a side table, he lit up. Smoke curled around him and he motioned at her with the cigarette. “We have a bet going on whether or not you will quit before a week is out. Damn, I forgot we’d made that appointment. No wonder James came over last night with pizza and beer. I should’ve known something was up. He wants to win the bet.”
“A bet?” she repeated. Slowly, she closed her pen and put the notepad back into her briefcase. “James is the name of your brother? He wasn’t your assistant?”
“Ah, so that’s who called to give you my address. I should’ve known something was up when he offered to buy the good beer.” Roark gave a small laugh.
“So you’re not an aspiring musician?
“Is that what James said?” He chuckled. “No, no, I’m not. Though I’ve been told I can make women sing.”
Charming, she thought sarcastically.
“What do you do?” she asked.
“Not much of anything really.”
“Mr. O’Connell—”
“Roark.”
“Mr. O’Connell,” she coughed, waving her hand as smoke drifted in her face. “Do you mind? If you haven’t heard, smoking can kill you and whereas I don’t know if suicide is your intention, I’d like to live a while longer.”
Especially since her human lungs were prone to mortal diseases, she had to be careful now. The threat of death tended to make a girl cautious.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. There was no need to get short-tempered and her last comment had been a little mean. It was just the man baffled her and made it hard to concentrate.
“I heard that, but then I’m not human,” he said, winking audaciously. Still, he put the cigarette out. “It won’t do a damned thing to me. I plan on living forever or die trying.”
“Ah.” Natasha wondered if the man thought his joke was funny. If the man only knew the true meaning of not being human. “Mr. O’Connell, I take my job very seriously—”
“I see that. You seem to take everything seriously.”
“And,” she stressed, irritated by the interruption, “I don’t appreciate being called all the way to Kansas on a drunken bet because you and your brother have trust funds and too much time on your hands.”
“Huh, so I am still in Kansas.” He shook his head before rubbing the bridge of his nose as if in deep thought.
Natasha closed the briefcase and stood. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O’Connell. I can show myself out.”
“You call that a pleasure?” he chuckled, pushing up from the chair to follow her. “A thaisce, if that is what passes in your book as a pleasure, please allow me to show you more.”
“Sexual harassment, Mr. O’Connell,” she
quipped.
“Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis.” Roark smiled.
“Excuse me?”
“Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis,” he repeated. “The lung disease caused by inhaling very fine silica particles.”
“What?” Was this man crazy? Was she crazy for standing here listening?
“Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanokoniosis.” His grin widened. “You were using big words, I thought I would too. It’s the longest word in the English language at forty-five letters.”
“What?” she repeated, trying to follow his sudden turn of the conversation.
“You said harassment.”
“What?”
“Oh, there’s also hepaticocholangiocholecystenterostomies, the surgical connections between the gall bladder and the hepatic duct, coming in at thirty-nine letters.”
“But—”
“Now, I know what you’re going to say—”
“Ah, but—”
“What about ‘Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious’?”
“No—”
“That was just a song title made up in the late nineteen-forties, early nineteen-fifties by Parker and Young and only has, ah, thirty-five, no sorry, thirty-four letters. Though if you are going non-medical words, I suppose that could be it. Huh, I’ll have to check on that and get back to you.”
Natasha shook her head, completely turned around by his illogical train of thought. “Mr. O’Connell! What are you going on about?”
As if it was the most normal thing in the world, he looked at her as if she was the crazy one. “Words.”
“What? Are you some sort of word trivia nut?”
“Damn, a thaisce, you are wonderfully disorientated when you’re not acting proper.” He winked.
“You are just doing this to test me?” She gasped. “To see if you can confuse me?”
“And to get you to stay,” he admitted, grinning like a little boy who’d gotten his way. Why did the insufferable man have to look so sexy when he smiled? And why did his eyes gleam with such obvious sexual invitation?
“I’m not staying,” Natasha informed him. “And I don’t appreciate you trying to manipulate me or confuse me or whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“Oh, good idea. I don’t have anything to eat here. Let’s go out. I’ll show you the town.”
“What? No. No. Please, no. If I go now I can surely get on a flight back to New York tonight.” Did this man even know where food was? He didn’t know what state he was in. She trembled, part of her screaming that she needed to take this excuse and go. If she was around him much longer, the natural urgings of her body would surely tempt her into doing something stupid.
“A thaisce, you took my money. The least you could do it give me the lessons I paid for.”
With disdain dripping from her tone, she said dryly, “I’ll refund it.”
“Your secretary made me sign a contract. That binds you as well as me. I don’t want a refund. And you don’t want to be sued for discrimination, do you? Ah, discrimination. Not the longest word, but a good one, don’t you think?”
Natasha could feel the blood draining out of her face. Some insane part of her wanted to stay, was glad that he was tricking her. That part of herself scared her.
“Fine,” she quipped. “But we need to go over the ground rules.”
“So I get the two weeks I paid for?” he asked.
“You only paid for a week in advance. I’m sorry, but I’m booked after that.”
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. Just let me grab a shirt, that is, unless you’d like to keep staring at my chest? I have no problem taking you out like this.”
Natasha pried her eyes up. Was she staring at him?
Oh, goodness! She was.
“Chemistry,” he said softly. “Another good word.”
She couldn’t answer.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t run away, precious,” Roark turned, heading down the hall. When he was gone, she hurried out of the house, taking several deep breaths as she searched for her rental car keys.
“Oh, Natasha,” she whispered, “what have you gotten yourself into now?”
Chapter Two
Roark grinned, looking into his motorcycle’s rearview mirror to see Natasha still following behind him. He had forgotten about hiring her until she said something. The woman was booked solid and they’d made the bet over six months ago. From her article, both brothers expected her to be an old schoolmarm type. James had thought it hilarious to force an old, proper woman on his wild younger brother.
Natasha Abbey was definitely no old schoolmarm.
Roark’s smile only widened. He could tell he frustrated her, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from pushing her buttons. Wiggling in his seat, he tried to adjust himself without being obvious. The pants were sexy and he knew they looked good on him, but they weren’t practical for riding his old motorcycle and they did tend to get a little too snug whenever he became aroused—which he had been since seeing the redheaded bombshell on his front step.
He’d offered to give her a ride on his bike and had to admit he was relieved when she said no, insisting they take separate vehicles. If her proper little body had pressed against his back for the short duration of the trip, he’d surely shift into full lycan and take her alongside the interstate. Normally, simple sexual arousal wasn’t enough to bring on the change, but what he was feeling went beyond that into hot, fiery passion. Whenever a lycan was impassioned—whether it was lust, anger or any other variety of strong emotions—it became hard to control the inner beast.
His father would love that. The man would undoubtedly have him imprisoned for causing such a public display like shifting in public to take a human female. And his older brother, Ian, the future king, would undoubtedly help to trap him. Lycan prisons weren’t like human prisons. They were treated like the dogs they could be. Roark knew. He’d been caught by Queen Victoria’s guards screwing one of her chambermaids in half shift. Luckily, they didn’t have surveillance cameras back then and no one believed the guards when they said he’d been half wolf.
Poor bastards.
The guards had been relieved of duty because of the incident. Roark had made it right, though they never would’ve known it. He wished he could’ve been so lucky. The human jail would’ve been better than being tried by his own kind for drawing attention to them. It had been a close call, but he still spent six months behind bars for it.
Nowadays, even Roark admitted they needed to be more discreet. One mistake and they’d find themselves on every newscast worldwide. The clans wouldn’t be too happy about that. Only a few humans knew of their existence. It wasn’t because the lycans were ashamed, but because humans were simply not ready to know about them. They’d become enamored with science and logic. There was no room for magic in the civilized world anymore.
Taking a left, he kept his speed down. Natasha followed the speed limit to the number. It was no surprise. The woman clearly lacked any fun in her life. It was almost as if she was frightened. Maybe it was his calling to help her break out of her shell. It was clear by her scent that she was interested in him, otherwise he’d never have bothered her with persistent come-on lines. He wasn’t a complete cad.
Glancing into his rearview mirror, he suddenly imagined having the prim and proper Natasha bent over, her suit skirt hiked up around her hips as he pumped his stiff cock into her sweet-smelling body.
Okay, I am a cad. I am. But, lycans help me, she’s just too sexy to be let out without a leash.
That thought only led to more. How he’d like to tie Natasha up and slowly torture her until she orgasmed so hard she would never leave his bed. Roark had always had a thing for leather and light bondage. Though he didn’t get into domination in the true sense of the word. He liked his woman to express herself freely without his commands and he did sometimes like being dominated.
I bet you’d know how to dominate me, wouldn’t you, Natasha?
You’d like telling me what to do, wouldn’t you?
Roark began to sweat. His cock hurt so badly it throbbed beneath his tight pants. It had been a long time since the mere thought of fucking a woman made him this hot. Claws threatened to grow from his fingertips and he was glad his sunglasses would hide the liquid amber of his eyes. Would she protest the beast in him? Would she kneel before him in such a state and suck him dry?
Roark’s heart pounded. This was getting out of his control. The wolf in him was sending images of its own through his head—images of Natasha taking his shifted cock in her mouth, of Natasha bent over on all fours as he rammed himself home in her sweet, wet sex and her tight, perfect ass.
Letting the beast out to play wasn’t good. Human women couldn’t handle the size of the wolf. He’d shred her to bits if he were to try.
I need to get laid, and soon. Otherwise, I won’t be able to hold back.
Roark again glanced in the mirror, seeing a glimpse of sunlight on Natasha’s red hair. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he blinked and tried to determine where he was going. They were supposed to be getting lunch. Seeing that he’d automatically driven to a little diner he’d been at the day before, he turned into the parking lot. He could well afford to take her to the most expensive restaurants, but he had a feeling his dangerous, “bad boy” side turned her on. In the very least, she’d seemed to enjoy staring at him in tight leather pants.
Roark shut off his engine and swung his leg over his bike. The motorcycle was his favorite vehicle and he had to admit most women found it attractive. Turning to the one woman he really wanted to impress, he reached to open the car door for Natasha. He purposefully stood too close as she stepped out.
“Thank you, Mr. O’Connell,” she nodded in approval, “your manners aren’t a complete loss, I see.”
When she stood from the car, he didn’t move back to give her space. The scent of her filled his nostrils. Her breath caught and she made a weak move as if to push past him. Roark put his hand on the top of the car to stop her.
Call of the Lycan Trilogy Bundle Page 9