by Calista Fox
She cried his name as the orgasm slammed into her. Little white and gold orbs burst behind her closed lids. Every fiber of her being ignited. And just when she thought she couldn’t lose herself any further in the moment, he thrust into her once more, his body convulsed, and then she felt his hot seed flood her pussy.
“Yes!” she shrieked. “That is so good!”
“Scarlet!” He pushed as far as he could, his cock buried to the hilt. “Oh, fuck!” Violent shudders rocked him. His breath came in heavy pulls, every exhale caressing the inner swells of her breasts.
Scarlet kept her eyes closed, knowing they’d just dance crazily in their sockets if she opened them anyway. She fought for more than just razor-thin slices of air. She’d never been so winded before. Nor had her body ever tingled so vibrantly. From her nose to her toes and every erogenous zone in between.
She was still buzzing from the release when Michael straightened and took her by the hand. He gently hauled her up. He withdrew from her and, with a little shifting, had her legs and arms coiled around him. She was limp and boneless, but he held her tightly and carried her across the vast penthouse to his master suite. Balancing her with one hand, he yanked back the covers in the large bed and set her there. Then he worked the zipper of one boot and removed it, rolled down her black stocking, and repeated the process with the other.
“Damn sexy,” he said. “You in the boots. You out of the boots.”
His gaze roved her naked body and she didn’t miss that his cock twitched.
“Get comfortable,” he told her.
Not in a million years would she have expected Michael Vandenberg to assume she’d stay over or invite her to do so. She didn’t take him for the type to embrace afterglow cuddling. And maybe he wasn’t, so she scooted to the opposite side of the mattress while he ducked into the bathroom to tidy up.
When he joined her, he said, “We like the same side.” He climbed in behind her and she moved to accommodate him. “Don’t go too far.” His arms wound around her as he spooned her.
Scarlet’s heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t used to the wild and wicked sex; that was a given. But this soft and tender affection from the Wolf of Wall Street?
What the fuck? flashed in her head.
He held her tightly, possessively. His body curled around hers, another perfect fit.
He said, “I hadn’t realized I needed a jump start until I laid eyes on you earlier this evening. I am forever a fan of your persistence.”
Something twisted inside of Scarlet. Not necessarily in a bad way. She wiggled slightly so that he gave way to her and she turned to face him.
“Michael.” She gazed at him with little more than the flicker of the lights from the unadorned windows to faintly illuminate his steely features. “If you tell me again that you’re innocent, I’ll believe you.”
She worked off intuition, after all. And it was speaking loud and clear to her.
But she had to hear him say the words at this moment, at this point in time. Following the highly charged evening they’d had and the way he was so in tune to her needs, to her desires … She felt a connection she’d never experienced before—and trusted it heart and soul.
She just needed to hear the conviction in his tone.
He swept away strands of hair from her temple and told her, “I assure you I was exactly where I said I was when the collection was stolen. And I wouldn’t have benefited from plotting or participating in the robbery. The paintings were bought by my father, yes. But they were gifted to my stepmother. A belated wedding present, because he waited until he had all the pieces before he gave them to her. So that insurance check was handed directly to her.”
Scarlet’s brow knitted. “It was made out to him.”
“Yes, because he was the one to purchase the collection and pay the premium on it. The money was transferred into her account. Hers to do with what she pleased.”
Scarlet’s mind whirled. “Did she buy new artwork?”
“No. She claimed the paintings my father had selected for her originally meant too much for her to randomly go out and replace them.”
“She started taking art history classes at NYU after she married your father, Michael. There’d be nothing random about her selections—”
“It’s sentimentality that holds her back. How do you substitute a gift that was so thoughtfully assembled for you?”
Scarlet considered this. He had a point, of course. Yet … “I looked into her finances, too. Her net worth didn’t improve, individually. Of course, she’s linked to your father’s fortune, but where’d the insurance money go?”
Michael placed a finger over her lips. “Scarlet. You can talk about this until the sun comes up. I can’t help you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to that collection. And to be damn honest with you, I don’t give a rip. Do you understand?”
“Were you jealous he’d given her such an expensive gift?” she asked around his finger. “Or that the family fortune paid for it—at about the same time your father had refused to subsidize your first business venture?”
Michael’s hand fell away. “My father insisted that whatever I did with my future from the time I turned sixteen was completely up to me. There was no access to a trust fund—not until I’m forty. Forty, Scarlet. So, yes, I had to figure out how to pay for Princeton. I had to figure out how to fund my enterprises. With no one’s help. No, I wasn’t jealous. I was too busy being resourceful.”
“But the five mil—”
“A saving grace, without doubt. It came after I’d graduated, with a student loan hanging over my head. That sugar plantation I inherited helped me to invest in my future. I’m grateful for it and that I was able to sell off a small portion. But make no mistake, Scarlet. That money did not come from criminal activity.”
He stared at her.
Scarlet could clearly see there was more to his story. A difficult push and pull between him and his father. Including a gauntlet thrown down by the senior Vandenberg indicating Michael had to work his way up the food chain in order to prove himself worthy of a chunk of the family pie?
She said, “I certainly don’t discount everything you’ve done to become the successful entrepreneur you are today. You’re a self-made man—”
“Let’s not take that notion too far,” he contended. “I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth. No hiding or disguising it. I just wasn’t handed everything on the proverbial platter that’s anticipated to follow. I did have to work for the things I wanted. Yet I obviously had advantages as well.”
With a soft smile, she said, “Big of you to admit all that. And I’m not trying to accuse you of anything. I’m trying to understand who you are. I already admire what I’ve learned to date. It’s just that I have a job to do, you know?”
“Yeah, I know.” He kissed her, then added, “My advice, however, is that you look outside the mansion walls for your culprit, not within them.”
Scarlet gave a slow nod. “There are theories.”
“I’ve heard them.”
“Not mine.”
“Whatever happened that night isn’t my responsibility or concern. Do I feel bad Karina’s paintings were stolen?” He gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder. “I don’t know. She came into my life at a difficult time, when I was still dealing with my mother’s death and the terms of my trust fund. We didn’t hit it off. Worse, she insinuated a son my age into the household. I wasn’t ready for that. Not at first. So I was emotionally detached.”
“Just one more question,” Scarlet ventured, sensing she was losing him to an angst that related to family matters, not art theft. “Do you still feel that way about her?”
Michael let out a long breath. Rolled onto his back. Though he brought Scarlet with him so she was tucked under his arm, against his hard body.
As his fingers absently twirled her long strands, he said, “I have a complicated relationship with my family. The turmoil dates back to childhood, so it’s not exactly Ka
rina’s fault. I didn’t agree with how quickly my father could get over one wife in favor of a new one.”
Scarlet knew that Lindsay Vandenberg, Michael’s mother, was a cancer patient who’d died of pneumonia. She also knew that Mitcham had married Karina the same year he’d buried Lindsay. Naturally, that made Scarlet wonder if Karina had been waiting in the wings, and for how long. Had she and Mitcham secretly been involved prior to Lindsay’s illnesses? Or maybe not so secretly—had Michael known about it?
Did any of this matter?
Scarlet wasn’t sure.
So for the moment, she dropped the topic. She needed to process the entire interaction with him this evening and everything she’d discerned thus far.
Her hand splayed over his chest and her fingertips lightly stroked his warm, smooth skin. She said, “Thank you for tolerating my inquiry. I’m not trying to be invasive. I have a mind that doesn’t really shut down. Hard as I try. It can be a bit of a curse sometimes. I require constant mental stimulation. Puzzles provide that.”
“Scarlet…” He sighed. “I haven’t been avoiding you because I have something to hide. I have a hectic schedule. I travel every week. I have meeting after meeting. Every day. Well into the night. I created this world, this reality, for myself, but it can also be a double-edged sword. I have to pick and choose who I give my time to.” He was quiet for a few moments, then told her, “I’ll confess that you being so damn striking and wearing that skintight red dress this evening nabbed my attention. Yet it was so much more beyond your appearance that held it. You get me hot, yes. Especially in that black mini and the boots you changed into. But you also intrigue me. Fascinate me. Whatever. It’s impossible to deny.”
Her lips pressed to that tempting indentation at the base of his throat. Then she gazed at him. “It’s no longer a criminal case, Michael. I still have to follow every lead, though. Help the insurance company recoup any monies if that’s appropriate.”
His body stiffened. Scarlet continued to stare into his eyes.
In a tight voice, Michael explained, “The thing about Vandenbergs is that they don’t like people digging into their business. It’s sort of a centuries-old entitlement thing. We tend to think we’re above reproach. So of course we find anyone who’s purposely searching for the chinks in our armor to be … offensive.”
“I get what you’re saying.” It was a veiled warning. But one she could live with. So much so, she slipped a leg over his hunky body and straddled him. She placed her palms on his chest, and as her sex slowly glided against his rapidly thickening erection she said, “But despite my poking and prodding, I don’t think you find me the least bit offensive.”
Michael’s large hands clasped her hips. He shifted just so. Sank into her, blissfully filling her. And said, “Not in the least.”
FIVE
Scarlet woke to the delicate aroma of a rose. The bed was still warm and cozy, though she knew she slept alone in it.
She opened her eyes and smiled at the red bloom resting on Michael’s pillow. He was still in the penthouse; she could hear him in the bathroom, talking on his cell while he shaved and moussed and did whatever the hell else he did to look so mind-bogglingly gorgeous.
A silvery haze continued to loom over the bay and wrap around the skyscrapers like a thick blanket. A light mist splattered itty-bitty droplets against the enormous windowpanes. The drizzle would eventually dissipate once the fog burned off.
Scarlet had always loved the moody morning weather. It was sultry and provocative with a personality all its own.
She spared a glance at the clock on the nightstand. Six a.m. Time to get a move-on and find new leads for her case.
Before she even had a chance to throw back the covers and gather up her boots, though, Michael emerged from the bathroom and swooped in, sitting on the edge of the mattress.
He said, “You’re either a light sleeper or an early riser by nature.”
“Both,” she told him. “My grandmother’s one of the crazies who think the crack of dawn is the absolute best part of the day. And she’s usually bustling about, brewing the world’s strongest coffee, so you have no choice but to wake up. She’s typically always on the phone or the computer, too. I could never help but eavesdrop. Her work captivates me.”
“Who, exactly, is your grandmother?”
“L.C. Seymour.”
He chuckled. “You’re shitting me.”
“Nope.”
“All right then. That’s impressive. New York Times best-selling mystery author. Her books make blockbuster movies.”
“Yes. And her mind is more hyperactive than mine.”
“Who would have thought that possible?” He winked. Then kissed her.
Scarlet would have melted, except that she had a plan to stick to. She gently shoved Michael aside and leapt to her feet. “I have to go. You clearly have work to do and I’ve got mine as well.”
“Hey, hey.” He reached for her hand and pulled, forcing her to return to the bed. “Settle in. Checkout’s not until three. Order room service and enjoy the views over mimosas.”
“Oh, sure. So you can call me a slacker.”
He grinned. “You’ve sufficiently proven that is not the case. Now … I unfortunately have a flight to catch.”
“New York or one of your exotic locales?”
“New York. I have a board meeting to attend. Otherwise, I’d get naked with you again and share the mimosas afterward.”
Her fingertips grazed his silk tie. “Yes, it is a shame that you’re all buttoned up.”
“With a car waiting to take me to the airport.”
She softly kissed his lips and whispered against them, “Thanks for not completely shutting me out.”
“And what about the hot sex?”
“Makes me a fan of persistence, too.”
He laughed quietly. His hand cupped the side of her face and he kissed her, long and leisurely, despite his comment about having a car waiting for him. The kiss went on and on, heating her insides. Making her long for the naked scenario, darn it.
When he eventually dragged his mouth away, he said, “Gotta go. I’ll call you.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then slipped from the bed, grabbing his jacket from the suit rack in the corner before disappearing out the door.
Scarlet fell against the mound of pillows and let out a lusty sigh. The man was all kinds of sexy. And she was ridiculously turned on by him. With just a kiss. Well, a kiss and the reminder of everything he’d done to her the night before.
He wasn’t just an amazing lover; he also stirred emotions within her. Perhaps it was because of his strained family relations. Not to mention his mother’s death, which clearly weighed heavy in his heart. Scarlet could commiserate.
There was also the addition of a new brother, sprung on Michael out of the blue. During the volatile teenaged years, no less. And of course the issue of his father being so controlling couldn’t be discounted. Mitcham had refused to grant Michael access to the Vandenberg empire—wouldn’t for another decade.
Not that Michael needed that capital now. He was set for several lifetimes. But it was probably the principle of the matter that rubbed him raw. Chances were very good he’d had tons of expectations heaped on him from birth. High expectations. Maybe even some unrealistic ones, given his surname and a reputation to be upheld. What must it have been like to grow up in a mansion with such a dominant force of nature as a father, who likely placed restrictions and perimeters around that childhood?
To follow all the rules and then discover it was basically for naught—because all you were left with when it came time to spread your wings was the Vandenberg name. And nothing to back it up.
His father telling Michael when he was sixteen that he’d have to pay for his own college education—and, again, likely expecting him to attend an Ivy League school—offered Michael the opportunity to research and apply for scholarships, certainly. Save money from after-school and summer jobs. But, Jesus. Princeton couldn’t c
ome cheap.
All of Scarlet’s speculation was healthy for the brain, but really, she was more interested in the layers beneath Michael Vandenberg’s impeccably tailored CEO by day and devilishly handsome bad boy by night persona. She wanted to dissect him, pick him apart. Get to the core of who he was and what he really sought in the grand scheme of things. Greater success than his father as some sort of fuck-you to Mitcham for being a hard-ass? Or did Michael seek approval? A less tenuous bond with his parents … and some peace from his mother’s passing?
With Scarlet’s curiosity shifting into high gear, she knew there was no point in attempting to sleep. Luckily, with Bayli in New York and the East Coast being three hours ahead of the West it was a respectable hour to ring her friend.
So Scarlet left the cozy comfort of the bed, snatched the luxurious midnight-blue robe on the bench at the foot of the mattress, which Michael had thoughtfully laid out for her, and padded barefoot into the living room to retrieve her phone from her purse.
“Well, hello there, sunshine,” came Bayli’s cheerful voice when she connected Scarlet’s Skype call.
“You are way too chipper, my friend,” Scarlet grumbled. “I haven’t even had coffee yet.”
“And oh, my God,” Bayli suddenly gasped. “You have some serious sex hair going on! Where are you and who is he?”
Scarlet couldn’t fight the smile. “I’m currently in the penthouse of the new Crestmont in San Fran.” She panned the camera over the elegantly appointed living room and the sweeping views of the bay and the Financial District.
Bayli whistled under her breath. “Stellar.”
“Yes, well, it gets better,” Scarlet told her. “After I finally made contact with my elusive wraith, and then later hooked up with him at the club, we came here.”
“That’s Michael Vandenberg’s penthouse suite?” Bayli’s eyes popped. “Holy Moses. You … And him … Oh. My. God.”
“Might as well add Jesus, Mary, and Joseph to that sentiment. Because I was singing some praises last night.”