Uncontrollable

by Susan Kearney

  “Do you know why he wanted the perfume bottle so badly?” Amanda asked.

  “He never said. I thought maybe he wanted to manufacture the perfume—especially after he hired Donna. But I don’t know. Everything got so crazy. I’d always loved Hathaway, but after he possessed the perfume bottle, he began to act strangely.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like he was a sheikh and every woman was part of his harem. Like he was a king and every female was his handmaiden. And women responded just like I did. They gave him whatever he asked for. Their bodies. Their hearts.”

  “That must have been painful for you.”

  “Despite the other women, I became desperate to see him. I can’t explain my behavior. It was an irresistible compulsion. I spied on him. Even after learning that half the women in New York had suddenly gone as ga-ga as I had over the man, I still wanted him, but I also hated him. I wasn’t myself.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Amanda was no longer pretending. Hathaway had treated Melanie terribly and she wondered if he’d done the same to her sister.

  “And I was so jealous that I made myself ill. Especially after he took up with Frances. That bitch took over my modeling jobs and my man, but then Hathaway dropped her, too.” Melanie’s voice shook. “Frances was furious when Hathaway moved on to your sister. That’s when she came to me with a plan for revenge.”

  “Against Donna?”

  “No. Against Hathaway. She claimed he had a diary where he wrote down all his dark secrets. If we could steal it, we could force Hathaway to do what we wanted.”

  “Which was what exactly?” Bolt asked, interrupting for the first time.

  Melanie didn’t seem to mind. And Amanda appreciated his help.

  Melanie shrugged, then winced and rubbed her neck again. “We didn’t really have a plan. At least I didn’t. I think Frances planned to see what was actually in the diary before we took the next step. Meanwhile, I let Frances talk me into befriending Donna in the hopes of finding out where Hathaway kept his diary. But in reality, I liked hearing what Hathaway was doing and with whom—even if it was painful. It was like I had a sickness in my blood for that man.”

  “Did my sister find the diary?”

  “I’m not certain. She told me over the phone that she had had a fight with Hathaway over the perfume bottle when he wanted her to analyze the chemical formula instead of model. I was supposed to meet her the next day. And then she was dead.”

  Amanda thanked the woman for her honesty and they left the apartment. After hearing the story, Amanda was inclined to believe every word. She suspected Melanie had told them the truth, just not all of it. Bolt took her hand and she appreciated the gesture. The talk about her sister’s death upset her—especially since they seemed no closer to finding a way to prove Hathaway had committed murder than when they’d begun.

  They strode down the tree-shaded sidewalk to the corner where they would catch a cab back to Manhattan. Bolt steered her around several wide cracks in the cement where grass had grown through and past a couple walking their golden retriever.

  “Hathaway and the bottle made her act like that—I almost told her. Poor woman, she can’t figure out why she still wanted the man, even after he’d been so cruel.”

  “You could have told her.”

  “She probably wouldn’t have believed me. And then she might have thought we were nuts and stopped talking.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You did great with her.”

  “Thanks. You don’t suppose Hathaway would have been stupid enough to murder my sister and then confess in a diary, do you?”

  “Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t think so. But many egomaniacs do stupid things. Look at the Nixon tapes. If he’d wiped them clean, he wouldn’t have had to resign the Presidency. Often people in powerful positions believe they are indestructible.”

  “I hope you’re right. Again.”

  “Again?” They’d almost reached the corner, but Bolt halted, seeming in no hurry to catch a cab. In the crisp fall air, the turning leaves were a perfect background for his burnished skin. Dappled light slipping through the tree branches lit the confusion in his gaze.

  “You’re right about us.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

  “We’ve been away from Hathaway for a while now and his bottle, and my feelings haven’t changed.”

  “Oh, so you do have feelings for me?” he teased. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever admit them to yourself, much less me.”

  “Well, I still can’t be one hundred percent certain. The bottle could have lingering effects. However, I will admit I like having you around.”

  Happiness welled up inside her. She was glad he’d had the confidence to believe in them despite the circumstances.

  His hand clamped down on her shoulder and gently turned her. “What else do you feel about me?”

  She squirmed a little inside. She didn’t like talking about her emotions. Saying aloud what she felt made everything real, gave everything consequence. She much preferred to keep everything up in the air. But she knew she couldn’t keep a man like Bolt dangling forever and she didn’t want to risk losing him because she couldn’t change. Her focus had always been on Donna, then work, work, work. Sure, she was scared of allowing herself to love. After all, she’d lost her parents. Then Donna. Loving was scary.

  “Come on, give it up to me.” His tone remained light but his gaze was serious.

  “When our parents died, I wanted to shut down and grieve, but I couldn’t. I poured all my energy into building a future for Donna and me. After she died, I threw myself into work while I healed. And now that she’s been gone for a while, I’ve realized how much I changed after our parents died. I became the responsible and practical one.”

  “You had no choice.”

  “But I closed myself off—though I allowed myself to love Donna of course.”

  “And she left you, too.” Bolt opened his arms wide and gave her a comforting bear hug. “I’m not going anywhere. But I’m sure you know there are no guarantees—especially in my line of work.”

  “I’ve healed enough to accept that.” She nestled into his strength, wondering how he always knew exactly what she needed. “I used to think that if I lost one more person who was close to me, I’d break. But I wouldn’t. I’d grieve, but I could go on.”

  “Life has made you strong. Another person would have fallen apart after her parents died, but you grew up fast and took over. And when Donna died, you didn’t go into a depression, you started investigating. Your way of coping is to ‘do’ something. That’s rare, and it shows courage.”

  She choked on words that had to be said. “So I’m open to letting myself care about you. I just hope…”

  “Are you worried that you can’t think clearly due to Hathaway and the perfume bottle?”

  “That, too.”

  “What else?”

  “I’m afraid to let my feelings escalate.”

  “Because of my profession?”

  She shook her head. Although working for the Shey Group put his life in danger, she believed that superior abilities like his would keep him safe. “I’m bad luck.”

  “What?”

  He gripped her shoulders and separated them so he could see her face. She didn’t want to meet his gaze but forced herself to do so and she saw no disgust, just puzzlement.

  “I didn’t know practical Amanda was superstitious.”

  “Neither did I. But deep down I’m quite certain that if you and I…if we remain together…something will happen to you and it will be my fault.” She shook her hair from her eyes. “It’s not rational. But it’s how I feel. And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m being ridiculous, it doesn’t change anything.”

  He didn’t make fun of her, but appeared to be thinking hard. “I’m not a shrink but do you blame yourself for your parents’ and Donna’s deaths?”

  “Not my parents’. But Donna was
my responsibility. I should have talked her out of working for Hathaway.”

  “She was a grown woman. It was her choice.”

  “I know.” She rubbed her temple and grinned. “I’m a mess. I don’t know why you put up with me.”

  “Me, either.”

  She slipped her hands around his back and raised her lips for a kiss. “But I’m glad you do.”

  * * *

  HATHAWAY WAS DISTRACTED. Amanda was a puzzle that he couldn’t solve, and he didn’t like mysteries. Why was she beyond his control? How was she resisting him?

  At first he feared the power of the perfume bottle had a finite usage. But his powers still worked with every other woman. In fact, Frances had phoned him twice from Boston, claiming she just had to see him.

  So what was different about Amanda? Even the brilliant Donna had succumbed to his charms.

  Building his empire had been difficult. Yet, he’d succeeded and intended to stay on top. He liked that People magazine had included a four-page layout about his agency, enjoyed being seen and photographed with the world’s most beautiful women. And he most especially relished the way all of them clamored to join him in bed.

  And no one was going to take from him what he’d worked so hard to build. Not Donna, who’d betrayed him. Certainly not Amanda who was so good at resisting him. Her ability enraged him. He’d had difficulty putting on a front for the Broadway opening he was attending. At least once they’d entered the theater, he’d been able to drop the pleasant expression he’d had to put on for the press. The paparazzi had been anxious to snap his picture with his newest ingenue.

  Once they’d been seated in his private box, she’d gone down on her knees for him, but he couldn’t get hard. And although he blamed her lack of skill, he knew better. The reason for his sudden impotence was Amanda’s fault. It was her he wanted on her knees. And by God, he would have her.

  But how?

  He had no doubts he had affected her. But she always escaped before she gave in to her own desires. He needed a scheme to keep her in his presence long enough for the bottle to do its work.

  He grunted, pulled the ingenue from the floor and calmly rezipped his pants. Amanda would soon be taking care of him. He’d phone her and order her to his private suite. He’d give his employees the day off, not that they would talk. He paid them too well—in money and sex.

  However, the lovely Amanda might run or scream. He would prevent both. But rape wasn’t his thing. He liked the power of compelling women to come to him—especially against their will.

  The notion of Amanda being unable to resist him did what the ingenue could not. He thought of Amanda ripping off her clothes, dancing naked to entice him, then imagined refusing to ease her needs, and he grew aroused.

  He shot a measure of lust at the woman beside him, then tugged the confused model back to the floor. When she took him into her mouth, he fantasized that Amanda was giving him a blow job.

  Soon his desire would come true. And since the first time a woman gave in to him was always the best, he intended to preserve the memory. He’d buy the new digital video camera he’d been ogling. He shouldn’t deny himself. He would have Amanda and then he’d enjoy watching her yield to him in close up.

  Barely refraining from rubbing his hands together with glee, Hathaway carefully made his plans. He’d have to send Bob Timmins to another location. Although Hathaway had ordered Amanda to watch the man, he didn’t like the way Timmins was always close to her. He struck Hathaway as the kind of man who would risk his life to protect a woman and he had far too much physical prowess to take lightly.

  Hathaway was also suspicious that she was a bit too aware of him. He was younger than Hathaway. Although his other women preferred Hathaway to husbands and lovers, Amanda might be infatuated with Timmins. She certainly hadn’t seemed to mind when he’d told her she’d be spending so much time with the man.

  Best to send Timmins away. And then Hathaway would make his move.

  Tomorrow was going to be the day. A day Amanda would never forget.

  12

  AMANDA WOKE UP to the cell phone ringing in her ear. Fumbling for the phone in the darkness, she squinted at the time on the display—5:00 a.m. She groggily answered, “Hello,” then wished she hadn’t.

  Beside her, Bolt didn’t move but she knew he was awake from the tension in his muscles. Odd, how she’d gotten to know him so well in such a short period of time that she recognized his body’s signals.

  “I need you here, ASAP.” Hathaway’s voice sounded harried and cranky.

  Now what? “What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to put concern into her tone, when all she wanted to do was cuddle up with Bolt and return to her dreams.

  “Everything’s wrong. Be here soon. Call Bob Timmins and get him here, too.” Hathaway hung up with a click and the dial tone droned rudely in her ear.

  With a groan, Amanda rolled over, her hair fanning over Bolt’s chest, her head pillowed by his comfortable shoulder. “I need more sleep. Another five hours would do the trick.”

  “But you don’t have five hours?” Bolt guessed, sounding wide awake and perky.

  She wouldn’t be awake until she drank a triple espresso. In the meantime, she snuggled against Bolt’s warmth. And he tugged the cover off.

  “Hey,” she complained, reaching to pull it back, but her fingers couldn’t quite reach it without getting out of bed.

  He laughed. How anyone could awaken in such a good mood was beyond her comprehension, especially when he’d gotten as little sleep as she had. “Your boss awaits.”

  “I’m too sleepy. It’s dark. I can’t see,” she mumbled, suspecting she wasn’t quite coherent. Bolt had seen her at her worst already. Without makeup. Without brushing her teeth or combing her hair. And now he also knew that she wasn’t a morning person. But her bad side never seemed to deter him.

  He shook her shoulder. “Why don’t you try opening your eyes, darling?”

  However, she could do without such persistence. “Mmm.”

  He rolled from bed and her head slid onto the pillow. She immediately missed his warmth and burrowed into the spot where his body heat still remained. When he turned on a light and a radio, she screwed her eyes tightly shut and pulled the pillow over her head to block out sound and light.

  When he left, she heard him pad into the bathroom and turn on the shower, and she almost fell back asleep. But then his strong arms were lifting her, carrying her, setting her down. She refused to open her eyes. But when warm water cascaded over her, she glared at him and sputtered. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “And good morning to you, too.”

  “How can you sound so happy…”

  He pulled her against his chest, supported her while hot water rained down her back, and he rubbed soap over her shoulders. She could think of worse ways to wake up.

  “I’m not at my best first thing in the morning.”

  “No kidding.”

  He was laughing at her and she didn’t care. If she couldn’t go back to sleep, then showering with him would be next on her list. Even as he worked the soap into a lather and the spicy aroma enticed her nostrils, his slippery fingers found every knotted muscle and cleverly kneaded them into submission.

  “Oh, you feel so good.”

  “I could feel better.”

  She wriggled her hips against him. “Do we have time?”

  “We’ll make time. Hathaway isn’t going to fire you today for coming in a few minutes later than he expects.”

  “Why not?”

  She leaned back and appreciated Bolt’s hands as he slid the soapy warmth of his palms over her breasts. Already her sleepiness was receding and giving way to the urge to make love. Bolt was ever inventive. She liked when he made love to her slowly and she liked the opposite, too, when he was quick and hard. She liked him, period.

  “I saw Hathaway’s schedule. There’s a fashion show downtown and his models are headlining.”

  “He’s pro
bably got a dozen errands for me to run and more security checks for you.” She’d worked for Hathaway long enough to know he thought everything was an emergency, everything had to be done now—but the truth of the matter was he simply liked to keep his employees at his beck and call.

  But none of that seemed to matter right now now with the rising fever simmering in her blood. Bolt had so quickly learned what she liked, how she liked to be touched and where. Even as he turned her to wash away the soap from her breasts, he was moving to her bottom, between her thighs, her legs and toes.

  When he finished soaping and rinsing her, she was aroused enough to demand he give her the soap. And then it was her turn to skim her hands over his delicious body. To taunt and tease and trust him to allow her to do as she wished with his powerful shoulders, broad chest and six-pack abs. He really had a great body with muscles in all the right places.

  When she heard her cell phone ring with demanding persistence, she ignored Hathaway, the only person rude enough to call at such an ungodly hour. He probably needed coffee made or wanted to make sure the carpet was clean. This was their time—hers and Bolt’s—and she intended to make the most of it.

  Today would be long and trying. She owed herself a chance to fortify her reserves. And nobody was better at giving her what she needed than Bolt.

  Although she adored making love to him, their relationship had moved beyond lust. It now encompassed her feelings for him and his for her in ways she hadn’t anticipated. Who would have thought she would worry what Bolt thought about when Hathaway turned her on? This early in the morning, her situation was too odd for her to contemplate with much clarity. But her circumstances were abnormal and she felt as though she had been picked up by a tornado and was spinning out of control.

  She only knew if the situation were reversed, if some other woman could use odd powers to excite Bolt, Amanda would be very unhappy. She’d doubt his feelings for her. Luckily Bolt was strong enough for both of them. Not once had he ever indicated that she was weak or that her feelings for him were less because she had difficulty dealing with Hathaway.