Imminent Conquest

by Aurora Rose Lynn

  "Are you wrapping your hair around his dick?"

  She felt her cheeks leach of colour. She sucked in a breath. Had he returned before Michael left the first time, and seen her naked and tied up on the bed? “I don't understand. Before we left for the party, you couldn't talk about anyone but him. Now, you can't stand him?"

  "It's not Michael I have a problem with. It's you, Nicole."

  "I had nothing to do with his coming on to me."

  "But you did nothing to discourage him either."

  She decided to plunge into the depths of misery. “I told him I didn't want anything to do with him. Not ever."

  Brad merely nodded, as if he understood.

  "What's it going to take for you to hear the truth?” she asked, exasperated. “I don't know him but I knew your job was important to you. I wanted him to keep his hands to himself but he wouldn't take no for an answer. I've never met him before tonight.” The lie came much more easily than she thought it would.

  He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Until tonight, I didn't think you knew how to lie."

  "I'm telling you—"

  "That's where a relationship fails the most. When one of the partners decides to tell a fib or two.” He reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a photograph and threw it onto the dining room table. “Before you bullshit some more, have a look at this."

  Drawn to the black and white photograph, she stared down at the table. “Oh, my God,” she whispered in shocked disbelief. The colour photograph showed the day Michael and she had gone to the lake in the woods, the day Michael had killed his father. He carried her in his arms and was about to throw her into the crystal blue water.

  Who could have taken the photo since they had been alone that day?

  "I think that's Michael,” Brad cut in on her dismal thoughts. “Now deny knowing him."

  She focused on the room she was in, realising her shocked expression had given her away.

  "Now deny knowing him,” he repeated.

  Speechless, she struggled with the evidence before her eyes. After Michael had been imprisoned, she had burned each and every photo she'd had of him in an attempt to do away with her memories. Where had this photo come from? No one outside of Michael and she had ever taken photos of themselves, either separately or as a couple.

  "It's not what it looks like,” she protested weakly.

  "Uh-huh.” He gained his feet and strode past her, towards the stairs, even as she attempted to grab his sleeve and stop him. She hurried to keep up with him.

  "It was years ago. I was barely out of high school."

  "So why didn't you tell me that in the first place?” He stopped.

  She lurched into him, colliding with his chest.

  "Why did you have to turn out to be like Meg? Why do you have to cover up the truth?"

  He halted inside the bedroom door. Nicole caught her lower lip between her teeth. The room reeked of champagne and the comforter was still soaked.

  "What the hell?” Brad's eyes narrowed.

  Her face heated with the recollection of Michael's actions. There was no way she could ever tell Brad about the bitter pleasure, the way Michael aroused her body and made her long for his.

  Brad faced her. “I can just imagine what you two did. On our very own bed."

  "It's not like it looks,” she lied again, this time more easily. She whirled to leave Brad to his own sad conclusions when a piece of folded white paper on the bedside table caught her eye.

  Brad saw it too and reached the paper before she did. He read, “Call me when you need more. Michael. He even left his phone number."

  "I don't want to see him again. Why can't you believe that?” The world she had constructed came hurtling down.

  "So you have been seeing him then?"

  "No! I didn't say that!"

  "But you implied it. That's enough for me."

  "No! He's a murderer!"

  He faced her, his eyes narrowed and darkened with anger. “He's a murderer? A man like him? Your lies are getting more ingenuous. That's for sure."

  "It's the truth. I can prove it."

  "And how, exactly, are you going to do that?"

  "He used to be James Carmichael. He changed his name so he could get more respectability."

  Brad threw open the closet and rummaged about before he found a black gym bag and crammed a few briefs and a pair of pants and a shirt inside.

  When he turned, he paused in front of her. “He's got more respectability than you'll ever have."

  "Don't leave. Not when you're angry.” She feared that, after a few drinks, and with the snow falling heavily, he would slide off the road and injure himself. Or worse yet, kill himself.

  He halted abruptly and turned a venomous look on her. “I can do whatever I damn well please, and like Meg, you can turn yourself inside out if you want."

  Her tongue was so knotted, she couldn't speak. A door slammed downstairs. Moments later, she heard the Topaz's engine grind to life.

  "I only want to be happy,” she whispered softly. “I don't want anything else."

  The car's wheels screamed against the slushy, accumulating snow. Then there was numbing, frozen silence.

  * * * *

  Nicole sat behind her desk in her private office at Bessman and Overton. Idly, she toyed with a dull pencil at chest level, rolling it back and forth along her palm. Stacks of legal papers sat behind her on the credenza, waiting to be typed. She wished she could have called in sick this morning after spending a sleepless night. But she had never done that before and wouldn't start now.

  Sarah Hart, the senior administrator, popped her head around the door. “That sure must have been one hell of a party last night,” she commented.

  Nicole felt as if she was on display as Sarah appraised her. “What do you mean?” she asked nonchalantly.

  "You met a real cutie, I heard."

  "Who's walking about blabbing?"

  Sarah lifted her shoulders in a half shrug. She wore her strawberry-blonde hair in a page-boy cut. Her dark business suit hugged her figure at the breasts and hips the way Nicole wished her suit would. “Stuff travels through the grapevine. What colour did you paint your nails?"

  "Plum rose. I couldn't sleep last night so I thought I'd do something for myself for a change.” If sleeping hadn't been forthcoming, Nicole wanted to do something to chase away the early morning hours. And the memories of Michael.

  "Good for you."

  "Now if I could only do something with my hair."

  "It's beautiful the way it is. I love the way the sun is catching the reddish-brown highlights."

  "I tried curling the sides this morning but it didn't come off looking the way I wanted it to."

  "You look fabulous. I did come by to say we've got a meeting in five minutes in Conference Two."

  "What's up?"

  Sarah shrugged. She usually chattered nonstop. “Nothing a little attention can't handle. Gotta run.” She spun on her heel and made a graceful exit.

  Secretaries had to be proficient, organised and ready at a moment's notice, Nicole thought. She really couldn't handle a brush with the higher-ups this morning. Even though she had tons of makeup on, she still looked like hell.

  She tried to convince herself there was nothing unusual about being called to a meeting. Bessman and Overton was a large law firm with twenty lawyers and it wasn't rare for something unexpected to crop up.

  As she left her office, she collided with Manfred Overton, the senior partner. “Excuse me!” he said, reaching out to steady her. “Are you all right?"

  The man reminded her of a sharp-eyed eagle. “Of course, sir. Thank you,” she replied, brushing down her turquoise-blue skirt and covertly checking that her white silk blouse was tucked in at the waist. It wouldn't do to walk into a meeting looking like she had been in an accident.

  Thick, grey eyebrows knitted together. The portly man was older than dust itself. “I thought you had a day off today."

 
; Nicole laughed self-consciously. “I don't think so.” She raced off for the meeting.

  She faced the polished conference table with leather chairs surrounding it. Sarah had seated herself and was sipping from a glass of water.

  As she entered the cosy conference room intended to seat not more than five people, she skidded to a halt and gasped. Michael stood behind Sarah's occupied chair, his hands behind his back, looking out the tenth-storey window, presumably at the snow-covered park below.

  "What is he doing here?” The words slipped out before Nicole could stop them. Perhaps he was a client and she had just shot off her mouth and alienated him.

  Michael was dressed in a black pinstriped, two-piece business suit and stood absolutely still. Today there was no handkerchief in the breast pocket of his three-piece suit, and no gold lapel pin. He had toned down his rich look, she noted.

  Sarah spoke in the voice Nicole had come to recognise was reserved for dealing with tricky clients. “Michael told me what happened last night. He asked me to mediate between the two of you."

  Oh, so this was going to be personal. Nicole hesitated, deciding whether she should return to her office and lock the door, quit her job on the spot, or hate Michael with an emotional intensity she didn't know she possessed. She opted for hating Michael and standing up to him.

  The secretary toyed with a tiny diamond earring perched in her ear. Nicole had never known Sarah to exhibit nervousness. Michael didn't move a muscle.

  So everyone had become his supporter. Nicole sighed. She thought Sarah had been her friend but everyone gave into Michael. Why? It wasn't as if he was charmingly persuasive or sexy beyond words. “I'm not going to listen to his pack of lies, Sarah, and I would suggest that you don't bother either."

  "I need to make peace with you, Nicole,” Michael said, finally turning. His eyes grazed appreciatively up and down her body as if he was undressing her.

  "You're a liar. It's that simple.” She whirled around but his next heartfelt words stopped her.

  "Please. I made a mistake. I shouldn't have come on to you the way I did last night.” For a moment, he looked like the innocent man she had planned to marry long years ago.

  "I don't want any part of the dirty games you play. Why don't you get it that I don't want you in my life?"

  "Can I have a word with you in private?” Sarah asked, getting to her feet.

  "Are you on his side too?"

  "I'm rooting for both of you but you need to know something.” Sarah spanned the distance between them in a few seconds and dragged Nicole out into the hallway.

  "He's rich,” she said in a furtive whisper. “Marry him even if you don't love him. Just think of all the things you'll be able to do. And won't have to do. Like work. You'll be able to travel wherever you want. You can see the world. What do you have to lose?"

  "My independence. Do you know who he is?"

  "Of course. He's a respected businessman. What else is there to know?"

  Nicole bit her bottom lip. How would the knowledge that Michael was a murderer sit with Sarah?

  "Look. Get in there. Strut your stuff. If nothing else, listen to what the poor man has to say. He went to a lot of trouble to talk to me this morning."

  "Maybe you're a sucker for sob stories,” Nicole said, tugging her arm free.

  "Just give him a chance. If this doesn't work out, then blame me."

  Nicole watched from veiled eyes as Michael turned back to the window to them. His shoulders were hunched and his demeanour was penitent. He had lost the arrogance he had confronted her with last night. Then he turned to look over his shoulder. It was a mistake to meet those searching blue eyes. She swore no time at all had gone by since they had made love years ago near the lake in the woods. Damn it, but he still stole her breath away with his muscular appearance, with the pouty set of his sexy lips.

  Against her will, she found herself relenting a little. “What do you want?” The words came out stilted.

  "Let's just be friends, without pressure of any kind, from the outside or from each other.” His words were gentle, like a breeze fanning the back of her nape on a stiflingly hot day.

  "Distant friends,” she amended.

  His eyes pleaded with her. “I want to make up for the mistakes of the past."

  Behind her, Sarah drew in a deep breath. “This is so romantic,” she murmured so Michael couldn't hear.

  Romantic, my foot, Nicole thought. Her cheeks burned. “Because you're rich? Is that why you think you can walk all over me?"

  "Sometimes. It's a particular failing of mine."

  She had never known him to push aside people for what he wanted. He had always been gentle and caring.

  "I want to take you out for lunch and treat you for the afternoon."

  Manfred Overton's words, that she was supposed to be on a day off, came back. So this outing had been arranged in advance. “I don't want to go anywhere with you."

  "I'll behave myself. You don't have to worry on that account."

  "As if you really could,” she muttered. Oh God, but why did she have to be in the same room with such a virile man? All she had to do was look at him and he made her wet and needy for his body.

  Nicole, she rebuked herself mentally. Get over him. Get over those dirty, panting thoughts you have for him. Just get over him. Out loud, she said, “And if I refuse? Then what? What will you do then?"

  "We'll be in a public place. You'll be able to leave whenever you choose."

  From behind her, Sarah admonished her. “Give him another chance. That's all he's asking."

  Michael slowly edged around the conference table. “I loved you from the moment I met you. I'm sorry for all the things that happened, sweetheart, but there's no way to take them back. We can move on, past those things. Start over again."

  Nicole stepped back as he approached, reminding herself that he had said exactly the same thing last night. “You've said you're sorry. Why not let it go at that?” She sensed she was fighting a losing battle. Even as she resisted him, he was turning her on, simply by standing in front of her and radiating that magnetic, sexual charm.

  "I can't do that. Not any more than I can tell you I don't love you."

  She didn't want to get involved with him again. But last night had proved she wasn't immune to his charm. What harm would it do to go out with him? After all, the restaurant would be a public place with people surrounding them. Wouldn't that deter him from doing anything she didn't want him to?

  "Please? Can we talk about this over lunch?"

  She could take this opportunity to convince herself that she had never loved him. She would salve her conscience that she was doing the right thing in pushing him away. She relented. “Are we going to a public restaurant?"

  Sarah blew out a breath of what sounded like relief.

  Michael nodded.

  "But just this once? If things don't work out,” which she had every intention of allowing, “then you'll leave me alone?"

  "Yes.” His voice was low and humble. He turned to Sarah. “Thank you for your kindness."

  "No need to thank me, Mr Karlisi. I didn't do anything at all."

  As he passed Nicole, he gently took her by the elbow and led her out into the hallway. “What are we waiting for?"

  She jerked her arm free and glared at him. “Don't touch me,” she warned, although she wanted more than that momentary physical contact.

  Did she see a hint of amusement in those piercing blue eyes before he hastily veiled it? Uneasily, she followed him into the elevator. She was making a huge mistake she would end up regretting. Raw, sexual power emanated from the man and no matter how she believed she was immune, she knew it wouldn't take much to pull her into his arms. She couldn't help thinking she was walking into the lion's den with him.

  * * * *

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  Chapter Eight

  * * * *

  Bryan strode down the corridor leading to Anessa's administrative office
s. The rendering plant had been reopened early that morning after Michael had given the employees a stern warning about drinking or doing drugs that put their safety at risk. Bryan had the impression most of the guys wouldn't consider doing that kind of thing on the job, but there was always one bad apple in a box.

  He ended up at Libby Tanner's L-shaped reception area. The woman was in her mid-fifties but determined not to let her age show and to keep perpetually young. She had dyed her hair a bright red, quite a different colour from yesterday's neon blue. “I need Michael to authorise some repairs,” he said, slipping by her desk in a hurry so he wouldn't have to stop and pass the time of day with her. The woman was plain weird. Not only the woman, but her computer monitor's screen saver, a dizzying change of colourful abstract designs.

  "Save your breath. He's not in,” she replied.

  Bryan stopped at her choked outrage.

  "Look at that. I've broken another nail.” The nail, a faded orange, clashed with her hair colour.

  "Where can I find him?” he asked, trying to ignore the cry of dismay. Every woman he had known had broken one at least once a day.

  "Out for lunch."

  "That's unusual."

  "What? That he eats?"

  "That he goes out.” Michael was one of those men who never hesitated to get down and dirty if a situation in the plant warranted it. Bryan admired him for that.

  "That shouldn't surprise you. He is the boss, you know.” Libby rummaged around in her postage-stamp handbag.

  He lifted his shoulders in a half shrug and watched as she pulled out a compact, two lipsticks, tissue, a notepad and three pens. Finally, she exclaimed, “Ah-ha!” when she found a nail file.

  "Wish I had a man like that.” With a vengeance, she set to filing the nail on her index finger. She never did anything halfheartedly.

  "When will he be back?"

  "He didn't say."

  "Where exactly was he going?” To Bryan's recollection, Michael had never gone out to lunch before. He worked as many hours as his men did, oftentimes more.

  "I'm repeatin’ myself. Out to lunch."