Uncontrollable

by Susan Kearney

  She looked down at her attire as if to remind Hathaway she wasn’t properly dressed in beachwear. A mistake. Hathaway snapped his fingers. Although the snap couldn’t be heard above the techno music, one of the stylists responded and took her arm to draw her toward the rack of skimpy clothes.

  “I’m not a model,” she shouted.

  “You are now. This cover is for Fashion Deluxe and it’s featuring whatever Hathaway wants. Right now, he wants you, so let’s get you dressed.”

  “No.” She suspected this was Hathaway’s move to get her closer to the bottle. From the almost irresistible pull of attraction, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had it hidden right there in his desk. “I’m an executive assistant, not—”

  “Hey.” The photographer left his camera on the tripod and the lights ceased to flash. While the models took a short break, the photographer joined them, looking Amanda up and down as if she were a specimen on a lab table ready for vivisection. “I don’t need another babe in a swimsuit. That skirt and blouse are perfect to counter all the bare skin.” He instructed an assistant. “Put a steno pan and a pen in her hands and place her over there.” Then he told Amanda, “And keep frowning at the rest of the group.”

  In moments she was standing under the hot lights in the designated spot with pad and pen. Holding still and fighting off Hathaway’s magnetism caused perspiration to bead on her upper lip. One of the assistants dabbed at her with a napkin. Another sprayed something on her hair. A third fluffed out her skirt, and she barely turned in time to avoid the woman discovering her gun hidden in a thigh holster.

  Any lingering questions she may have had about this whole crazy paranormal theory of Bolt’s was put to rest when each rise and fall of her chest, each chafe of her lacy bra against her heated flesh, seemed to sensitize her breasts. Obviously she wasn’t the only one feeling Hathaway’s heat. The models were taking turns touching and stroking and kissing him. One of them had straddled his hips and gyrated her own, giving Hathaway a lap dance and an erection. Several models had lost their tops and the photographer was saying, “Go with it, ladies. Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  “You.” He pointed at Amanda. “Get that dreamy look out of your eyes. Frown more. I want you to look upset. Angry. Disapproving.”

  Following his directions shouldn’t have been so difficult. But she couldn’t concentrate. The music seduced, swayed, serenaded. Her trembling knees fought to hold still. The fire in her loins simmered. Then, she noticed the janitor shuffle into the room and focused on him. He’d entered the room with a broom and a service cart and he went to empty the trash can.

  Hold on. Just one more moment.

  She’d never wanted to touch herself so badly.

  She was moist, slick, aching.

  But the janitor was about to make his move. Finally he stumbled, knocked over a chair and fell to his knees. And a piece of metal no bigger than a button zinged across the floor. Barely remembering her role, Amanda abandoned her position in the shoot and bent to pick up the tiny, round object. Then she motioned to a technician to cut the sound.

  “Mr. Balkmandy?” Her voice shook.

  “Call me Hathaway.” His eyes bored into hers and she’d never wanted sex so badly in her life. It was as if every nerve ending was electrified. And even knowing that the rational part of her mind didn’t like Hathaway wasn’t enough to protect her. And the bastard knew it.

  He was expecting her to say or do something to indicate how much she wanted him. His eyes glittered with triumph, and she shuddered, knowing how close she was to succumbing.

  She held up the electronic bug. “That man—” she pointed to the janitor, who picked himself up and scooted toward the door “—tried to plant this under the chair.”

  The janitor fled, toppling his cart behind him to delay anyone from following.

  “Stop him,” Amanda shouted, pleased that the man had too much of a head start for anyone to catch him.

  Then she turned to find Balkmandy was gripping her wrist, raising her hand that held the bug, eyeing her curiously. “You’re just full of surprises.”

  Up close, his power seemed to wrap a haze of fire around her. She shook from need, longed to rip off her clothes and just barely controlled her trembling. Concentrating on the conversation was almost impossible. The fingers of her free hand caressed the panic button.

  Hathaway had a pleased grin of satisfaction on his face as if knowing how badly she needed release.

  No. She couldn’t give in.

  She depressed the panic button and gritted her teeth, praying Bolt would find a way to extract her. “Excuse me?”

  The lines on his forehead creased with a frown. Hathaway pointed to her office. “We need to talk. Wait for me there.”

  It was all she could do to stagger down the hall and into the office he’d assigned her that morning. Bolt was already there, looking too good, too handsome, too male to resist, and she flung herself into his arms so hard she almost knocked him over.

  His kiss was fierce, his hands insistent as he lifted her skirt and touched her right through her panties. Already swollen and sensitive, just one caress between her legs and she orgasmed. Gasping into his mouth, she would have fallen if he hadn’t supported her with his free arm. And as the wave of pleasure crested and burst, she realized one orgasm wasn’t going to be enough.

  She hadn’t released enough tension. Already she wanted more. That one release was like feeding a starving woman one bite of a meal. But there was no time for more.

  She heard footsteps coming down the hall. “Hathaway’s coming and I don’t know if I can resist him.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you,” Bolt tried to reassure her. Then in one smooth move, he shoved her into her chair and lunged under the desk. Then he rolled her forward until the chair arms hit the desk’s top drawer and concealed him.

  And not a moment too soon.

  Hathaway eyed her with suspicion, but he still emitted that irresistible libido that was already sending her up in flames again. Eyes alert, mouth in a tight line, his voice was demanding. “How do you know what a bug is?”

  Beneath her desk, Bolt ran his hands up her legs. Something cool pressed against her hip. And the band of her panty snapped free.

  Oh, God. He must have cut the material with a pocket knife. And when he cut the other side and nudged her knees apart, she was totally bared to him. Open.

  And if she revealed her shock to Hathaway, he’d become suspicious. Maybe find Bolt. She had to keep it together. Get a grip.

  Hathaway couldn’t see a thing below her waist, but he was frowning at her with such suspicion that she took a moment to recall he was waiting for an answer. “My former boss swept his office for bugs several times a week.” Bolt’s fingers had delved into her heat and she had no idea how she completed a sentence as delicious sensations coursed through her. “A few times we found devices like…”

  She couldn’t speak. Her fingers clenched and Hathaway’s gaze dropped to her hands. She couldn’t hold still. Not with Bolt’s mouth plastered to her, his tongue flicking over her clit. She needed him so badly. And yet, this was insane. Hathaway was standing right there, watching her so closely, no way could she fool him. But she must or the mission would be a bust. She slapped one palm over her wrist to hold her hands still.

  “What’s wrong?” Hathaway demanded.

  “I…feel…” Oh. Oh. Oh. Bolt’s tongue expertly caressed her.

  She was going to explode. Right in front of Hathaway.

  But she couldn’t or she might give away Bolt’s presence. Her gut knotted. She tried to close her knees, but he had her pried wide open and his tongue never stopped.

  Hathaway must have sensed that she was having trouble speaking. “You feel hot?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re turned on?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh my God. Bolt was driving her insane with his hands and lips and tongue. Her nipples were so hard, she ached. She was so tight, so ready to
explode, that holding back was becoming less of an option by the moment. What was Bolt thinking? Did he plan for Hathaway to catch them?

  No, he knew she was hot, and he was willing to risk the mission to prevent her from succumbing to Hathaway. But more was riding on her cover than recovering a precious antique. She wanted to clear Donna’s name, and find her killer.

  “So why haven’t you approached me?” Hathaway demanded.

  Even through her cloud of lust, Amanda knew he was suspicious as hell that she’d resisted and hadn’t gone to him like all the other girls. “I don’t…know you well enough…to…to…”

  “You obviously want me.” He glared at her and turned up the heat of his potent glance.

  She broke into a sweat. No one could resist the pressure from both men. She was going to explode right in front of Hathaway. She knew it.

  “I want you badly enough to come right now,” she panted. She hoped he was egotistical enough to believe that he alone could send her over the edge without so much as a touch.

  “Is that so?” Clearly pleased, he shot her a wolfish grin and his one hand clamped over both her wrists. “You don’t even have to touch yourself?”

  She gasped. Shook her head. With Hathaway gripping her hands and Bolt’s face buried in her crotch, she was so trapped that she might as well have been bound hand and foot. And with the most delicious sensations arousing her, she couldn’t hold back much longer.

  “Please, let go of my hands. Leave.”

  “Not a chance.” Hathaway leered at her. “I’ve never made a woman come like this. I want to see how much stronger I’ve become.”

  “Stronger?”

  “Women have always been attracted to me.”

  Concentrating was almost impossible. But Bolt slowed the friction, just enough for her to maintain the conversation. “How do you do it?”

  Hathaway laughed. “I don’t give away my secrets. You want to learn them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then you have to pay.”

  “How…much?”

  “Let’s just say, it’s not money I want.” His eyes glittered.

  “What then?”

  “When you come to me naked, on your knees, begging because only I can satisfy you, then—”

  “It won’t happen.”

  Apparently Bolt decided they weren’t going to get any useful information out of Hathaway. Either that or he couldn’t resist giving her what she so desperately needed. And within moments, the sensations heightened. The heat, the friction, all of Hathaway’s mental pressure came to the boiling point and she exploded, her body jerking, her core pressing into Bolt’s mouth, even as Hathaway held her hands still.

  If she’d been free, she would have bolted out of the chair. The pleasure firing through her was that intense. But Bolt held her thighs down. She gasped and released a high-pitched scream.

  She must have fainted because when she noticed her surroundings again, several people had run to her office in concern. Her scream must have drawn them there. Hathaway had released her hands and was eyeing her like a proud scientist over a successful experiment. The other women were already eager to draw him away.

  The women and Hathaway had better things to do than stay with her, so they returned to the photo shoot. After they were gone, she sagged in her chair, too satiated to move, too stunned with what she’d done to even think clearly.

  Gently Bolt rolled back her chair and climbed out from under the desk. One look at her and he knew she wasn’t ready to speak. So he simply gathered her to him and rocked her gently against his chest, murmuring soothing words in her ear.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I may never be okay again. But you took a hell of a risk. Hathaway might have found you.”

  “He didn’t.” Bolt allowed the glow of approval in his expression to wash over her. He’d been certain she wouldn’t blow the mission. If lives had been at stake, he might not have taken the chance he had—but no way in hell would he let Hathaway have her when his mission was simply to recover a priceless antique. He’d promised to keep her satisfied and he would be there for her—no matter the risk. Protective instincts he hadn’t known he had were coming into play, making him determined to keep her out of Hathaway’s unsavory hands. His explanation to Amanda was simple and true. “I trusted you to fool him and you did.”

  She tilted back her head and the dreamy satiation remained in her eyes. Satisfied that he’d pleased her, he planned to enjoy this mission more than any that had come before.

  “But I’m not quitting,” she said, her tone firm. “We’re going to get that SOB.”

  “Yes. We are.”

  6

  HATHAWAY BALKMANDY hadn’t gotten to his position in life without taking risks. But he couldn’t abide incompetence. After the photo shoot, he’d hired an investigator to do some fast detective work on the firm he currently used to sweep his agency for bugs, phone and computer taps. Only a few hours later he’d learned the agency had several questionable people on their payroll, one of them a dead ringer for the night janitor who’d disappeared right after he’d fled Hathaway’s office. Hathaway regretted the man had gotten away before they could question him.

  So his new executive assistant had been correct in her instant assessment that the janitor had been there for nefarious reasons. Hathaway liked her smarts. But most of all, the incident had left him curious about Amanda Grant.

  Hathaway had always had a way with women, but he didn’t understand them. He’d never understood how his mother forgave his father’s drinking and cheating, or why she’d never reported him to the law whenever he’d beaten her and their only child. Hathaway remembered every bruise, every cut, every time he had to pretend he was like all the other kids in school. Concentrating on his studies had been almost impossible as he’d coped with the painful welts from a leather strap that had always found its mark no matter how much he’d tried to twist and turn out of the old man’s grip. Hathaway hadn’t been strong, but resentment and fury had fueled his cunning. At age sixteen when other kids were dreaming about fast cars and loose women, he’d arranged for his father to appear to have lifted a local drug dealer’s stash.

  Hathaway had never understood his mother’s tears as she’d stood over his father’s bloody body. She should have been glad her son had rid her of the man’s mean fist, abusive cursing, sour breath. But was the bitch grateful?

  No.

  When he’d confessed, telling her his clever plot, she’d turned him over to the cops. Hathaway had copped a plea and never looked back. He’d changed his name and become wealthy and famous. And when he’d heard that his mother had died, he’d felt nothing, no regret, no sadness, only satisfaction at knowing she’d gotten what she’d deserved for failing to protect him before he’d grown old enough to do it himself.

  At least the bitch had been good for one thing. He’d learned that women were not to be trusted, but were simply to be used for his own purposes. The lesson had settled so deeply into his marrow that he had no fear that a woman could ever sink her hooks into him. And, oh, had they tried. Fame and wealth attracted the ladies like a magnet. Some women seemed sweet, others were obviously cunning, but they all wanted the same thing. Him.

  But that wouldn’t happen. He gave them sex, gifts and their fifteen minutes of fame, but he remained above all the petty emotions like love. Allowing the women to fawn over him, like the bitch never had, pleased him.

  Hathaway’s interest in the occult had led him to learn of the legends surrounding the perfume bottle. He’d spent a small fortune tracking the bottle to its former owner. And after he’d realized the perfume bottle would heighten his already considerable powers over women, he had to have it. When the owner wouldn’t sell, he’d arranged for a thief to steal it. The price had been worth the risk. The perfume bottle had worked even better than expected.

  Reverently Hathaway polished the old perfume bottle, taking care to buff the silver lace filigree along the top. Sometimes he
wished the bottle could talk and tell him stories of its owners. What had they done with the bottle and how had they used its powers?

  At first, Hathaway hadn’t been able to control the strength over women the perfume bottle gave him. But slowly, he’d learned that using his power was like a sword, one that could cut both ways. It wouldn’t do to have every woman in a room trying to screw him—that would cause suspicion. It would also disrupt his business. Women needed to keep their mind on their work, unless he required their services.

  He also didn’t want the world to suspect that his charms weren’t inborn and natural. So he’d practiced until he could lower the intensity in public. Governing the heat factor was difficult and tricky and depended on his proximity to the bottle, which he took great care to keep safe and out of sight. So much seemed to be determined by factors outside his control, like the woman’s nearness to him and the bottle, and how much of her attention was on him during those moments.

  Recently he’d been practicing how to direct his powers and how to modulate the intensity without affecting the others in the room. So far, he’d only had partial success. But he would figure it out.

  However, he wasn’t certain he’d ever understand what had happened with Amanda Grant. If his power had been so strong to give her an orgasm without touching her except to hold down her hands, why hadn’t she been begging for him to screw her like every other woman? Why had she been able to resist taking off her clothes and demanding that he service her?

  The fact that she had orgasmed in front of him and yet resisted him was contradictory. Hathaway didn’t like puzzles. If Amanda hadn’t proven how useful she was, he might have simply fired her and replaced her with someone less complicated and problematical. But by pointing out the janitor’s deceit, she’d helped Hathaway and he needed more of that fast-acting, clearheaded logic in his organization.

  For now, he’d keep her around. Perhaps, Amanda was the perfect subject upon which to practice his control. The other women had ceased to be a challenge. Yes, one way or another, he would make good use of Amanda Grant.