His voice turned husky, demanding. “Higher.”
Hands trembling with eagerness, she lifted the gown above her thighs. The lace hem teased her newly shaved mons, then skimmed over the slender triangle of hair that he’d allowed her to keep.
The material cleared her pubic area and fluttered across her hips leaving her feeling totally decadent and seductive. His eyes took her in and heat burst in her belly. She sucked in a breath to steady her jumpy nerves.
“Turn around. Slowly.”
Oh…my. She should have expected the request. Should have realized the material wasn’t just above her mons but above her bottom, too. She began to turn but not before she spied the arrogant satisfaction in his eyes. But she couldn’t wait to turn around so he couldn’t see her face. She was wild with the need to hide her longing and relished a moment to regroup.
Except when she turned, she hadn’t counted on the mirror. All along he’d had a front and back view—but she hadn’t realized that until she’d turned. And if the sight of her body displayed and posed for him made her want to squirm, the excitement on her face almost set off panic.
Just one look at her face told him how much she was enjoying complying to his commands. She should be running away. But she wouldn’t, not when she had the opportunity to explore a side of herself that she hadn’t known existed until tonight.
How far would he push her? She didn’t know. How far would she go? She had no idea. And not knowing thrilled her, tested her, challenged her in ways that made her feel fully alive. If anyone had told her that obeying Kane’s commands could arouse her, she would have laughed in their face. But she wasn’t laughing now.
She was holding her breath. Waiting for him to tell her what he wanted next. Or maybe he wouldn’t say anything at all. Just leave her in limbo, upping her anticipation another few degrees.
“Drop the gown to the floor.”
She released the hem, sorry when she was again covered except for one bare breast. In the mirror, he must have seen the disappointment on her face. But he ignored her again, shoved to his feet and strode to her work desk and computer. He booted the system and she watched his face in the mirror, wanting to see his expression when he failed to crack her password.
But the keys clicked nonstop, his fingers a blur of motion. A secret agent typing over two hundred words a minute?
“Would you like to help with my search?”
There were other things she’d rather do. However, she could use the time to collect herself. “Sure.”
“All right. Lose the gown and come here.” He patted the arm of his chair, indicating where he wanted her to sit and simply assuming she would get naked for him. She’d been so ready to take it off a few minutes ago. But he’d given her time to cool down, no doubt just to heat her up again.
Annoyed with her own hesitation, her pulse racing, she shrugged out of the remaining spaghetti strap, shimmied once to free the material from her hips and stepped out of the gown. With his back to her, he didn’t even watch her disrobe or approach. And yet, heart dancing up her throat, she obeyed to the letter, stepping toward his chair.
Gingerly, she sat on the arm of the chair, taking care not to brush against him. The cool leather against her bare bottom combined with her agitation caused the chair to teeter. He missed a few keystrokes and stopped typing.
“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable on my lap.” He worded his statement as a suggestion but gave her no choice. His large hands closed around her waist and he lifted her off the chair’s arm and set her down.
The warmth of his hands on her cool skin made her gasp. And with him sitting there fully dressed while she wore nothing made her very aware of his hard thighs under her bottom, his powerful chest against her back. Unsettled by his maneuver, she sat stiff and wary. With his breath fanning her neck, his arms reaching around her for the keyboard, he’d neatly trapped her. She was all too aware of how close his arms were to her breasts, how easily he could touch her.
Corporate names, government agencies and private telephone numbers flashed on the screen and disappeared. When he logged onto the Internet and bypassed the Pentagon’s code, an icy tentacle wrapped around her gut.
“Who are you?”
“It’s okay, I’m authorized.” Kane spoke without slowing his typing, seemingly unconcerned by the secrets he revealed. Obviously, Kane, or whoever he was, worked at the loftiest levels of her government to have access codes to such high-security agencies.
“What are you looking for?”
“Something out of the ordinary. Something that doesn’t fit the pattern.”
“What pattern?”
Kane worked his way through the daily newspapers next, the pages blinking by too fast for her to read them. She didn’t expect him to explain, but Kane seemed to make a habit of doing the unexpected. “If Nigel intends to sell the stolen information, he has to find a buyer.”
She couldn’t believe she was sitting naked on his lap having an ordinary conversation. The discs had settled to a soothing thrumming, keeping her on edge as she wondered what he’d programmed them to do next. Thinking about his mission was almost impossible while sitting on his lap, breathing in his scent, a crisp scent that was dominating and very male.
Every breath she took caused friction between her back against his chest. The growing hardness behind her bottom told her he was very aware of her skin next to his. However, she forced herself to focus. “But you don’t know exactly what Nigel took, so how can you guess who the buyer might be?”
“To optimize his sale and find the highest bidder, he only has limited choices of the wealthiest of—”
She frowned at the screen. “Hey. That’s illegal. You’re reading private e-mail.” Fallon recognized the names of America’s leaders in banking, insurance and finance.
“Spread your legs.”
She’d been sitting with her knees pressed together, her ankles crossed. His sudden demand had her heart skipping. Unlocking her ankles, she allowed her knees to part a few inches.
“Wider.”
Oh…my…ah. She bit her bottom lip to keep from releasing a soft moan as she draped her legs over his and her bottom snuggled deeper against him.
“Now lean your head back against me.”
She did as she asked, realizing that the motion lifted her breasts. He took her hands that had been on her thighs and placed them to either side of the chair. She was squirming inside and the kindling desire burst into licking flames. He’d draped her over him and her parted legs released her musky scent into the air, telling him quite clearly that she was moist and needy and eager for whatever he wanted to do next.
Kane continued scanning the correspondence of some of the country’s biggest financial institutions. And she sat still, her legs parted and open, wondering if he was ever going to touch her. Her nipples were so tight, the ache between her thighs so intense that sitting still was sweet torture. But even worse, her breath was beginning to sound raspy. Hiding her arousal was no longer an option. She needed him to touch her. His hands were so close, but he had only made physical contact with her once to lift her to position her on his lap. She wanted to beg him to stroke her.
She was trembling with her need, wondering if it was possible to find release by mental stimulation alone. Damn it. With her legs parted and draped over his, her mons shaved, he should be eager to touch her. But he didn’t, and every second seemed like…forever.
“Nigel’s dangerous. He can sell to the government, private industry or—yes. I think I’ve found him. He’s going to attempt to sell a stolen item at Kendals, an auction house.”
Good. Perhaps now he’d turn off the computer and pay some much-desired attention to her plump lips that had never felt so engorged. Surely he hadn’t asked her to undress, sit on him and open her legs so he could ignore her.
“Does Kendals ever sell technology?”
At his question, she wanted to sob in frustration. “Don’t you want to touch me?”
&n
bsp; “I will do what I wish with you when I wish it. I thought I’d made that clear.”
“But—”
“You will not tell me what you want. I will give you what you need. Understood?”
She couldn’t believe he would deny her. She tried to squeeze her legs together to attain a measure of relief. But his thighs stopped her, holding her legs open.
“Do you understand?” he repeated.
“Yes,” she hissed, understanding all too well. She’d thought she couldn’t possibly become more aroused. But as he refused to touch her, tiny jolts of electricity seemed to ratchet her to another level.
“Does Kendals ever auction off technology?” he repeated his question.
She could barely concentrate on his words. Kendals was an auction house that specialized in fine art. “They usually sell rare art, jewelry, antiques. Collectors’ items.”
“Then this is it. We’ll leave for New York immediately.”
Fallon’s head was spinning. She was on edge, her nerves raw and her mind clouded with need. She was barely able to recall that she had three important meetings scheduled for tomorrow, one with the Chinese ambassador. And she couldn’t miss giving the Chamber speech she’d promised for their annual woman’s luncheon.
“I have a business to run. I can’t go gallivanting across the country.”
Before he could answer, car headlights struck the blinds and washed the room with a glaring brilliance. In one graceful motion, Kane flipped off the computer, backed the chair from the desk and rolled them to the floor.
“Stay down.”
She landed on her bottom before he flattened her with his body. His chest pressed against hers and his hand covered her mouth. She struggled for a moment against his weight until she realized the futility of escape. No way could she dislodge him.
Kane’s eyes glistened in the glaring light. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, waiting for her to nod her compliance before removing his hand from her mouth.
Someone pounded on the front door, rang the bell, then resumed pounding. “Fallon. Yoo-hoo! Fallon, honey. I know you’re inside!”
“It’s Sinclair. He’s family,” she whispered, ignoring Kane’s instructions to remain silent since Sinclair would never hear her above the knocking. She’d recognize her stepbrother’s whining voice anywhere, even without his periodic nocturnal visits. Sinclair’s last attempt to run one of the Hanover subsidiaries five years ago had been a disaster. Since then his occasional binge drinking had declined into a state of steady alcoholism. From the sound of him, he was on a good bender, although at the silly, not yet obnoxious stage.
Fallon shoved against Kane’s shoulder. “Let me up.”
Kane didn’t budge, but watched her with smoldering intensity. “Who’s Sinclair?” He caught her chin, and brushed his thumb lightly over her mouth in a slow, fiercely intimate gesture, causing a shiver of pleasure to race through her.
She refused to think about how exciting she found Kane’s touch. She refused to think how much she wanted to rip off his clothes. Instead, she had to dress and deal with the problem. “Sinclair is my stepbrother. He believes in treating all women as sequels so his latest wife divorced him. He shows up here occasionally.”
“In the middle of the night?”
Kane rolled off her, muscles rippling across his shoulder blades. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet, the contact of his palm sending a wave of sensation through her.
Get a grip. She stood straight, but it still wasn’t enough to bring the top of her head any higher than his shoulder. She bent and reached for her gown to dress, wishing she had a thick robe to cover herself.
“I didn’t tell you to dress.”
She pulled the gown over her head and let it flutter to her feet. “No way am I dealing with him naked.”
Kane placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her to look in the mirror. “This is what he’ll see.”
Fallon gasped. In the mirror, she appeared to be fully dressed in slacks, a blouse and jacket. But when she looked down at herself, she was still clad in the lace gown. “How?”
“Oh my darling sister Fallon. Oh my darrrrling Fal-al-lon. You can’t be lost and gone forever…”
Fallon groaned.
Kane kept his voice low. “I can’t explain the buff’s technology. Suffice it to say, that drunk isn’t going to see one inch of you that he shouldn’t.”
And she couldn’t help noting his possessive tone. She didn’t understand how the device worked, and for a moment she thought of the story of “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” in which he walks around and everyone pretends he’s really clad in silver-and gold-threaded garments. But another look in the mirror reassured her that Kane was telling her the truth.
Time to deal with Sinclair. “He’ll stand out there and bellow all night if I don’t talk to him.” When Kane still seemed undecided, she added, “The neighbors might hear.”
“What’s he want?”
“Money would be my first guess.”
Finally, Kane nodded. “All right. But get rid of him quick.”
While Kane remained in the living room, Fallon hurried to the front door and opened it, half-expecting Sinclair to ogle her in the nightgown. Instead, he almost fell on top of her.
Sinclair’s breath reeked of rum. She noted the top three buttons of his custom-tailored shirt were missing. As he staggered toward her, she straight-armed him in a defensive gesture, shoving him to one side.
Unsteady after her thrust, he stumbled backward against the door, effectively shutting it before he collapsed in a heap. Sprawled on the hard granite with his feet stretched out in front of him, he hiccupped. “S’excuse me.”
His boyish looks and shadowed pain no longer swayed Fallon to see his side. Sinclair needed to grow up. She took in his glazed pupils and bloodshot eyes. “How much did you lose?”
His dignity lost several drinks ago, he crawled across the floor and wrapped his arms around her ankles. “I wor—sip, worship at your feet.”
“Right. You worship the ground my grandfather struck oil on. What are you going to cost me this time?”
He sent her his most charming, albeit lopsided, grin. “You still love your little brother, don’t you?”
“I don’t have time for this. How much?”
Kane strode forward, clearly not worried that Sinclair would see him. Besides, she doubted Sinclair would remember a thing tomorrow morning. Her stepbrother glanced at Kane but didn’t acknowledge the man. Many women found Sinclair sweet and endearing. Fallon knew better. He wasn’t sensitive but weak. His latest ex, Margaret, had grown tired of being a full-time lover, playmate and mother to him. Once she’d discovered that Sinclair’s constant demand for attention hid a deep insecurity, she’d filed for divorce.
“Fallon, I loved Margaret at first sight.”
“You saw her first in her Rolls.”
“You’re a hard woman, my love. But I’ll pay you back, this time. I swear.” He crossed his fingers over his heart. “I need five.”
Kane plucked her purse off the bench and shoved it into her hands. “Just pay him the five hundred so he’ll leave.” He sounded irritated that she hadn’t yet managed to get rid of Sinclair.
Sinclair might be drunk but he was shrewd and street smart. From the sly angle of his head, she guessed that he sensed opportunity in Kane’s impatience. “But five hundred’s not enough to keep me in rum for a week. I had a run of bad luck at the tables.”
“If you didn’t have bad luck, you wouldn’t have any luck at all.” She took her checkbook from her purse. “Will five grand cover you?”
Sinclair hiccupped. “Five. Hundred. Thousand. Or they’ll kill me.”
At the astronomical debt, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and reined in her temper. Fallon preferred to give the money to research a cure for cancer than to waste it on her stepbrother’s debts. “You gambled away half a million dollars?”
Kane handed her a pen. “Pay him.”
“I lost my lucky rabbit’s foot,” Sinclair whined.
“That’s a poor substitute for horse sense.”
Each time Fallon responded to her stepbrother, Kane’s scowl deepened. “Give him what he wants so he will leave.”
Fallon didn’t like Kane’s attitude. Why must every man insist on telling her how to spend her money? Perhaps she was overly sensitive, but she’d been burned too many times to think otherwise. Wealth made a difference in how men looked at women. And the superrich didn’t lead normal lives. Just once she’d like to meet someone who wanted just her, Fallon. Not Fallon Hanover, the heiress. Pleased she didn’t even have to lie, she’d thwart them both. “I don’t keep that much cash in my checking account.”
Luckily she’d never told Sinclair about the basement and what she kept down there. Her rainy day room. If her stepbrother had had any idea what she’d stored away for emergencies in the safe, he would have spent it long ago. Sinclair had once pawned her priceless Picasso for a measly ten thousand dollars, for Pete’s sake.
But she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. And so she’d given him handouts over the years. But five hundred grand was ridiculous. The payouts had to stop.
Kane ambled over to the computer. Keys clicked in a steady stream. “Sinclair, your real name is Warren Sinclair Christopher III?”
“Hey.” Sinclair’s eyes brightened. “How d’you know that?”
“And you bank at Morgan Guarantee and Trust?”
“So? What of it?”
“I just transferred Fallon’s funds into your account,” Kane said as casually as if he’d just borrowed a dollar from her purse. His voice softened dangerously. “Now get out before I change my mind.”
How dare he break into her account and give away her money? While she wouldn’t notice the difference, that wasn’t the point. She might be willing to accept his dominance in the bedroom, but her life beyond that was another matter. She reined in her anger to speak in a civilized tone of voice. “You’re awfully free with my money.”
Kane shrugged. “You’ll never miss it.”
“So true.” Sinclair shook Kane’s hand. “Nebber happen again.”
Beyond the Edge Page 7