The Devil's Touch

by Vivien Sparx

  He pulled away from her suddenly, and in dismay she tried to follow his body, needing more, not wanting him to stop. Her neck and throat were inflamed, glistening wet from the trail of his lips.

  “Obey me,” Lucien ordered.

  He hunted her into the moonlit bedroom, his hands burning on her skin and she stood beside the bed, waiting as he undressed. Then he came to her naked and magnificent; a broad-shouldered shadow in the darkness, his rampant hardness huge and hot between them as he crushed her within his arms.

  Angelica opened her mouth under the demanding pressure of his as he kissed her. She reveled in the savagery of his lips – the way his tongue thrusted and the submissive thrill of being utterly powerless to resist him.

  Then, just as suddenly, the kiss was over, his lips drifting down to her breast, and Angelica was left breathless and shaking. Her knees felt as though they might give way under her.

  She closed her eyes, and as she did she felt him turning her around then positioning her on the edge of the bed on her hands and knees. Angelica’s fists clawed at the bed sheets. She felt Lucien’s hands between her thighs forcing her knees wider apart and there was a sudden flutter of wicked excitement in her chest at the sensation of being so exposed and vulnerable to him.

  She felt Lucien span his palms across her waist, skimming them lightly over her skin before suddenly gripping tight. Angelica lowered her face down onto the cool sheets and the need and anticipation of her was almost more than she could bare. Then she felt the thickness of him against her and she willed herself to relax.

  Lucien entered her slowly, leaning himself forward over her so that she could feel the heat of his skin and the resilient press of his muscled chest against her back. He reached one hand around and caught the shape of her breast in his palm, tugging and teasing the nipple until it was stiff between his clever fingers.

  Angelica groaned, and it was a wild, urgent sound from somewhere deep inside her. Then he withdrew himself, paused, and finally thrust forward again.

  Angelica cried out, bewildered at the depth of his penetration and marveling in the way he filled her so completely. Her fists tangled in the sheets as he pushed forward again and again.

  Lucien braced his legs and began to thrust harder, deeper, and then faster and faster. Angelica pressed back, meeting his hunger with her own and absorbing every powerful plunge. She was panting, overcome by the wickedly delicious sensations of fullness and male possession.

  The force of Lucien’s thrusts were like hammer-blows, beating her willing body further into submission. She cried out again – one last gasp of dizzying pleasure – and then she felt her whole body heave and buck and undulate in the grips of a wave of release that started low in her center before blooming as bright colored flashes of light behind her eyes.

  Lucien’s release was just a moment behind hers, triggered by the fierce clench of Angelica’s body as it gripped around the hardness of him. He tensed, rigid for long pulsing moments, and he threw his head back as a growl of deep gratification was torn from his lips.

  * * *

  Angelica came awake slowly, languid and savoring the dull satisfied ache she felt low within herself. Her hand was across her stomach and she realized that under the sheet she was naked. Her hand drifted up past her breasts, the memory of lovemaking fresh in her mind. She touched her neck and then her lips; they were kiss-swollen and tender. She smiled and rolled over.

  “Lucien?”

  The place beside her in the bed was empty. She slid her hand over the indented pillow. It was cold.

  “Lucien?”

  She slid from the bed and padded across the room. The en suite door was open but it was dark and empty inside. She went to the bedroom door and realized that light was coming from the living room.

  Lucien’s bath robe was hanging on the bedroom door handle. She wrapped it around herself and crept along the shadowed hallway.

  At the end of the passage she stopped suddenly.

  Across the living room, Lucien Lance sat at his desk, wearing just denim jeans, the light from the lamp painting the skin of his bare chest golden brown. He was talking quietly on a phone and Angelica stood for long seconds and gave herself over to the pleasure of watching him. She was enchanted. His body was lean and trim, the muscles of his chest and arms clearly defined. Even this far away from him she could sense the raw power of the man – not merely the physical strength of him, but the power that came from his energy and presence.

  Lucien looked up suddenly, seeing her at last, and catching the mesmerized expression on her face. Angelica’s hand went to her throat as she felt a startled flush high on her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I woke up and you weren’t in bed. I was worried.”

  Lucien put the phone down and leaned back in his chair.

  “Is everything all right, Lucien?”

  He gave a thoughtful frown. “Yes,” he said after considering the question. “I think so… There has been an unexpected development in the Darrow Air negotiations.”

  Angelica came into the room, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet.

  “There was a message from Marv Skinner on the phone,” Lucien explained. “I came out here to make the call. It seems that John Darrow wants another meeting – urgently.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “It could be,” Lucien was guarded. “We will find out soon enough. He’s coming here for the meeting at 10am this morning.”

  * * *

  Lucien woke early and raised himself on one elbow.

  Angelica was curled up beside him, her knees drawn close to her chest. She had kicked the sheet aside sometime during the night, and her head had slid from the pillow so that she slept with one cheek in her open hand pressed to the mattress.

  She was naked, and early morning light through the curtains cast a soft golden glow over her shoulder and hip, and darkened the shadowed hollows of her body to the color of burnt honey. Her hair was loose about her face. Lucien brushed a tendril from her brow – and then he smiled.

  He watched her for a long time, listening to the soft sound of her breathing and enjoying the sight of her so close in his bed.

  He covered her with the sheet before silently rising.

  * * *

  The knock was strangely timid so that the first time Lucien heard it he could not identify the sound. He waited, sitting at his desk with paperwork scattered around him and the phone to his ear, and it was only when the sound came again that he realized someone was at the door.

  Lucien glanced at his wristwatch. It was a few minutes before 10am.

  He set the phone down and took his time bundling and stacking the documents on his desk before sauntering to the front door. In the entryway he paused for a moment to check his appearance in the gilt-framed wall mirror.

  He was wearing black trousers and a black waistcoat. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his forearms. His coat hung over the desk chair and he wondered idly for a moment if he should stall for a few more minutes to put it on.

  No – he’d made his point.

  He touched at the knot of his sky-blue tie. Even though he was about to preside over Darrow Air’s funeral, he saw no point dressing like an undertaker.

  The thought made him laugh suddenly.

  Lucien Lance opened the door and the big hulking shape of John Darrow stood in the foyer.

  Lucien was shocked at the older man’s appearance. His size hadn’t altered – he was still an imposing bulk – but his body and face seemed to have lost all of its vitality. His posture was stooped so that the barrel of his chest was gone now and the weight seemed low around his stomach, making his suit appear lumpen, and the hard chiseled features of his face had been eroded; blurred and softened like sandblasted masonry.

  There were sagging pouches of bruised grey flesh under his eyes, and the lines bracketing his mouth were deeply etched and more numerous.

  He realized the man’s lips wer
e trembling, and as he stared into John Darrow’s blinking bloodshot eyes, Lucien Lance smiled.

  It was only then that a young serious-faced man appeared behind John Darrow, stepping out from his hulking shadow. The man was younger than Lucien, dressed in a conservative black suit. He had short black hair, a waxen-pale face, and gold-rimmed spectacles glittered on the end of his beaked nose. His mouth was a thin line across his face, and the expression in his eyes was so sad as to be almost mournful. The man looked up into Lucien’s eyes and nodded.

  Lucien turned his attention back to John Darrow. “Glad you could make it, Mr Darrow.” He held out his hand and John Darrow took it almost reluctantly. His grip was trembling, the skin of his fist like putty. “Please come in.”

  Darrow stepped into the penthouse entryway, the sad little man close behind him. Lucien noticed the man was carrying a briefcase.

  “Who are you?” Lucien demanded.

  “This is my lawyer, Lance,” John Darrow’s voice was still a deep rumbling growl. “Saul Neilsen.”

  The man offered a soft pale hand but Lucien ignored it. He nodded at the man, but his eyes were fixed on John Darrow’s face.

  “Nice to meet you, Saul Neilsen. Now get out.”

  There was an instant spark in Darrow’s eyes and for a moment some of the steel seemed to come back into the man. “Now just a minute, Lance –”

  “No. You listen to me,” Lucien pointed an accusing finger at the big man. “You called this meeting. You asked for it. I agreed. But I agreed to a private meeting, Darrow – between you and me. If you want to drag your lawyer into this, then the meeting is off and we will do this the hard way. The very hard way. Now either he goes, right now, or this meeting you wanted is finished.”

  At that moment Angelica drifted in from the bedroom. She wore a loose-fitting white dress that flowed down over her hips and thighs, and contrasted beautifully against the honey color of her tanned shoulders and arms. A respectful hush fell across the men as they watched her enter.

  John Darrow’s eyes inadvertently slid down to her breasts, just long enough to realize she was wearing a bra, and then came back up to her smiling face, his expression a little guilty. “Nice to see you again,” he murmured politely.

  “Nice to see you too, Mr Darrow,” she said, masking over the acute embarrassed awkwardness she felt as she recalled the way their dinner meeting had ended.

  Lucien watched on for a moment. He smiled benignly. “And this is Mr Neilsen. He’s Mr Darrow’s lawyer – and he was just leaving.”

  Angelica’s smile faltered. The tone in Lucien’s voice was unmistakable. She shook the lawyer’s hand.

  Lucien went to the door and waited pointedly. Darrow shifted his feet, eyes on the ground for a moment longer. Then he turned to the sad little man beside him and nodded his head curtly. Saul Neilsen retreated back into the foyer and Lucien closed the door behind him.

  Angelica saw the uncertainty in John Darrow’s eyes. “He’s afraid,” she realized. “He’s afraid of Lucien.”

  She felt a sudden swell of pity for the man, but she forced a bright smile and said simply; “I hope your meeting goes well. Maybe we will meet again under less formal circumstances.”

  Darrow nodded.

  Angelica kept the smile fixed on her face as she turned to Lucien. “I have to finish getting dressed,” she made her excuse, and Lucien waited until she had left the room again before he turned his full attention to John Darrow.

  Lucien turned from the door and came to take Darrow’s elbow and steered him down the steps into the living room.

  It was an overcast morning. Thick banks of heavy low cloud hung over the city and a cold wind hunted down the long deep avenues. The curtains of the penthouse had been drawn tight across the big windows, blocking out the view and darkening the room. A lamp burned on Lucien’s desk and he switched on a second shaded lamp as John Darrow slumped into one of the leather chairs and glanced around at the luxurious furnishings.

  Lucien splashed whisky into two glasses that were on a tray on the corner of his desk and carried one of the glasses to John Darrow. The big man paused before accepting the drink reluctantly. He sipped.

  “It’s early to be drinking. I don’t usually touch the stuff until the afternoon.”

  Lucien chuckled. “It’s afternoon somewhere in the world, Mr Darrow. I’ve found, because money spans every time zone, that it’s always a good time to drink.”

  When Lucien lowered his glass he asked, “Why did you want this meeting?”

  “To talk again. To make a counter-offer. I had a plan to buy back the block of shares you own in Darrow Air. It was a financing deal. I had all the details in my lawyer’s briefcase,” Darrow’s voice rose.

  “Ah, yes. Mr Neilsen.”

  “He’s good.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Lucien said. “You’ll need a good lawyer.”

  The two men glared at each other. Darrow leaned back in his chair and Lucien saw a shift in his eyes, the jump of nerves at the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re stalling, Mr Darrow,” Lucien declared confidently. “I’ve already told you that I’m not interested in selling my block of shares. I’m interested in buying yours. Now you come here – to my home – with this counter offer financing deal?” Lucien shook his head. “No bank will touch you, Darrow. They can smell the stink of a rotting corpse, and that’s what your airline is.”

  He went back to the desk and re-filled his glass and held it up to the light. Across the room John Darrow shifted his weight in the leather chair uncomfortably. Lucien let the silence draw out for long moments.

  Then he smiled brilliantly; a smile so unexpected and so warmly charming that the older man was caught completely off guard by the sudden change in Lucien’s demeanor – and it frightened him.

  “You are going to sell me every share you control in Darrow Air, including those under your idiot son’s name – and all those shares held in family trusts,” Lucien said.

  Darrow’s eyebrows rose suddenly in surprise and alarm. Lucien grinned. “Yes, I know about the family trusts,” he said. “I do my homework too, Mr Darrow. You think you know why people call me Lucifer? It’s better for you that you believe the stories than to experience the reality.”

  John Darrow stiffened in his chair. He stared at Lucien incredulously. “Are you threatening me, Lance?” He came to his feet, and his voice was a husky croak.

  Suddenly Lucien’s voice cracked like a whiplash.

  “Sit down!” There was a ruthless, malevolent gleam in his eyes. Darrow glared and Lucien held his gaze. Darrow faltered and slumped back into the chair under the sheer blazing intensity of Lucien’s sudden anger.

  “You are weak,” Lucien said. “You left Darrow Air weak – and vulnerable. Your airline is dead – accept it. Your responsibility now is to do what is best to protect your wealth – and to protect your family.”

  There was something veiled and menacing in Lucien’s words and John Darrow’s face began to flush crimson with humiliation and outrage.

  “What do you mean by that?” he growled.

  Lucien shrugged. “Take it any way you want to.” He sipped calmly at his whisky.

  Darrow balled his fists with impotent anger. He knew he was ensnared in an impossible trap. He made to stand again and then arrested the move. In an instant he seemed to age with defeat. His face turned ashen and his shoulders sagged heavily. Lucien noticed how the man’s jaws chewed nervously. There was sheen of perspiration on his brow. He looked deadly afraid. “What do you want?”

  “All your shares – at $17.20 per share,” Lucien smiled.

  “They’re worth more! A lot more, dammit!”

  “Yes, they are,” Lucien agreed. “But what price do you put on piece of mind – John?” he asked softly. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life laying awake at night worried because you have me as an enemy?”

  Darrow stared at him in stony silence and Lucien gave the older man a long ti
me to dwell on the thought while he went back to his desk drawer and retrieved a sheet of paper.

  “Sign this,” Lucien said at last as he handed the paper to John Darrow.

  The man hesitated.

  “I will get full control of the airline – either with your shares or without them. If you sign this agreement, you are ensuring your son keeps his generous income and that your lovely wife remains a paid consultant to the company. It’s your choice.”

  Darrow’s hand shook as he glanced at the page. He felt cold – like a sickness in his bones so that he worried if he would ever feel warm again. His eyes welled with sudden tears but he blinked them away. He took the pen from his pocket and scratched his signature – and at the same moment he felt the last sparkle of his life flicker and then fade. He sighed wearily.

  Lucien’s face lit up with deep satisfaction. He felt the surge of his excitement thumping in his chest.

  It was done.

  He finished his drink in a gulp. Now the paperwork had been signed he was impatient. He glanced at his watch.

  “Mr Darrow, I have another meeting. Thank you for coming. You’ve done the right thing.”

  John Darrow stood and walked slowly to the door. Saul Neilsen was waiting in the foyer. The young lawyer came toward him but Darrow brushed the young man’s hand aside and shuffled toward the elevator.

  He never once looked back.

  Angelica was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out through the windows when Lucien came into the room.

  “Is everything okay?”

  For a long moment Angelica sat silently, and when she finally lifted her face to his, her eyes shone with tears. “He’s scared of you,” she said.

  Lucien frowned. “Who? Darrow?”

  “Yes. He’s frightened of you,” she said in a whisper.

  “What do you mean?”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “When I saw him at the restaurant he was full of energy and attitude. Now – today – he was just a broken empty shell. I could see it in his eyes and his face, Lucien. You frightened him.”