by Christa Wick
With his hand on my arm growing friendlier, he eased a few inches closer, stopping only when his hip brushed against mine.
"Who are you here for?" he asked.
I hadn't said a single word but he seemed oblivious. I continued the silent treatment, unsure what quality or emotion my voice would reflect when I finally spoke. That instant before turning to face him, I had been certain his reaction to seeing me at the conference, the clothing, the defeated stain on my cheeks, would be the last tap of the hammer against my fragile shell.
Now, with his obvious attempt to manipulate me, I seethed inwardly.
I couldn't seethe outwardly—I was representing Stark International and only had a tenuous grip on any future employment with the company. I couldn't indulge the urge to slap Glenn's face or raise a single accusatory finger in memory of our past relationship. I couldn't yell, cry or do anything other than grit my teeth and remain silent while the idiot prattled on.
"Did I say how amazing you look?" His hand rubbed at my arm as his gaze traveled over my body. "I knew you would land someplace great, just didn't expect it to be on the defense side."
He laughed, like we were sharing a joke, and then his face changed. Looking past my shoulder, he raised an imperious brow. Straightening, he took his hand from me. His lips parted in a challenge directed at someone I couldn't see.
"You need something?"
"Not from you."
It was Stark's voice, low and sharp edged, that answered. His hand curled around one side of my waist, the subtle spices of his cologne sparking an appetite low down in my gut. Wordlessly, he turned me and started walking at a quick pace I couldn't hope to match for long.
Even if he hadn't spoken, I would have known it was Stark. The scent of his body and the way he fitted against me had already become as familiar to me as my own face in the mirror.
"Who was he?" he asked, his voice sharpened steel ready to taste blood.
Damn it! The enormity of Glenn's presence at the conference finally reached up and bitch slapped me in the face. My ex-lover at a military security conference less than a week after my current employer discovered I had omitted my degrees from my resume.
Or "lied" on my resume—which was exactly how Collin viewed anything other than an absolutely forthright statement of all facts that could possibly be of any relevance.
Sucking a deep breath in, I answered. "Someone from my university. We had the same major, couple of classes..."
Realizing I was digging a deeper pit than the one I already stood in, I stopped talking.
"What is he doing here?"
I shook my head. We certainly hadn't gotten that far along in the conversation, and I had possessed no intent to discover the company for which Glenn now worked. When Stark nailed me with an impatient side glance, I blurted the first likely answer that popped into my head.
"Probably holding someone's briefcase or fetching coffee like me."
The response earned me a second side glance, this one entirely sardonic. The look reminded me I was not there to hold a briefcase or fetch coffee. For a few minutes on the flight, I had been there to suck cock, to spread my legs and orgasm on command. Now I was a doorstop—an unnecessary, unwanted executive accoutrement for the remainder of the trip.
"Name?"
"Glenn Wilson Ames," I answered softly, knowing my answer made it a matter of days, if not hours, before Collin knew the truth. With any luck, he wouldn't bother to inquire about Glenn's background until we had returned to the United States. I didn't want to max out my credit card on airfare home if Stark fired me on the spot after finding out Glenn and I had been lovers.
Abruptly halting, Collin turned my body until I faced the glass doors of the elevator bank that would return me to the suite. Shocked into forgetting that I had no intention of looking at myself in the clothes he had secured for me once I realized there was no chance of his finding me desirable, I came face-to-face with the woman in the mirror.
The up-do I had piled my dark brown hair into had an Audrey Hepburn feel to it, a genuine old-time Hollywood glamour even if I had modeled it after one of the thinnest women ever to grace the silver screen. The heavy hand I'd taken in applying the brow liner and false eyelashes heightened the effect, as did the limited color palette Stark had selected for the cosmetics delivered to my room. Smoky eyes, a full pucker of lips of the softest frosted pink pearl—I didn't want to look below my chin and ruin that first impression.
I looked anyway and smothered a gasp.
Ignoring my reaction, Collin pressed the elevator call button. When his attention finally found its way back to me, his gaze dropped down the length of the mirror as both hands found my hips. I felt the soft butt of his torso and pelvis against my padded backside and then he smiled, the expression almost hidden as he pressed his nose into my hair and inhaled.
His eyes met mine in the reflection and he gave both my hips a little squeeze. "Straight back to the suite, baby. We'll...talk...when I return."
8
Collin
I walked away from Mia before the elevator doors fully opened, my attention seemingly shifting to things that had nothing to do with her. The truth was exactly the opposite. My thoughts ran parallel lines. First was the temptation to turn back and watch every luscious step taken until she disappeared from sight. Second was learning everything I could about this Glenn Wilson Ames.
Clearly, there was more between them than Mia admitted. Maybe Ames had creeped on her in college. He looked the type. Maybe they had gone out on a date. Maybe they had sex—which meant she had just lied to my face or had lied to me on the couch in my office when she said her only sexual experiences were within the confines of a relationship.
Growling, I slid my phone out and shot off an order for background on the man who had probably fucked my lovely Mia.
Trade you. Omari wants a meeting ASAP.
Reading Trent's incoming text, I growled again, but acquiesced to taking a meeting with the princeling. Omari was, after all, in charge of his country's energy department. That meant oil wells, pipelines, and tankers that needed protection. His government was also trying to ride on the coattails of the Saudis in seeking permission from the international community to build nuclear reactors.
Solely for energy purposes, of course.
Stepping into an alcove, I plugged in my headphones and microphone and called Omari, scheduling a meeting with him for later in the day. The timing meant I'd miss dinner with Mia, so I made sure the concierge would send something up if she didn't order anything on her own.
I went to the next presentation, made note of the people who attended and their level of interest in the topic. Faces and conversations melted together, but one group stuck out.
The Russians were everywhere. And it wasn't just government officials, industry businessmen and security guards. The crowd included men like me—CEOs of private military or personal security companies.
I shot the attending names off to my in-house experts, then headed for the meeting with Omari.
When I arrived, I expected the usual hour plus of socializing before talk of business could begin. The Far East and the Middle East are alike in this way. But Omari looked like a haunted man.
He was also a man without security guards.
"My brother wants me dead," he said as soon as we were alone.
Twenty-nine, educated at both Cambridge and Oxford, he was the third oldest son of his kingly father. Al-Qadir was the crown prince, first born and most favored by their father in all ways. Prince Al-Alem, second oldest, was in charge of the military and intelligence services. In Omari's family, however, all brothers were a threat to one another. With enough careful planning, treachery, and luck, even the youngest could become king.
He shoved a handful of papers at me and turned to the liquor cabinet. Taking out a shot glass, he filled it with expensive whisky and downed it in one gulp.
Piety was clearly for the masses.
Scanning through the d
ocuments, I made a mental note of various details. The contract was security oversight for all Department of Energy locations and key personnel for his country.
"So you suspect Al-Alem," I said. "That's why you sent your guards away."
"I need new guards," he agreed. "Men whose lives my brother does not control every last aspect of."
"And the Crown Prince?"
Shrugging, Omari picked up his laptop and handed it to me, the screen prompting me for a routing number.
"How soon can you get me new guards?"
Thinking of the men I had at the ready in the basement, I smiled and entered the bank account information before leaning back and glancing at my watch.
"How does right away, sound?"
9
Mia
Stark didn't return to the suite until midnight. Lunch and dinner were delivered and, around nine, a bottle of champagne and a bucket of ice. I crawled into bed, alone, after having used the phone earlier to secure the speedy delivery of my original luggage. If Stark fired me once he got back to the suite, I didn't want to camp out naked at the airport.
I somehow managed to fall into a light sleep before he entered carrying two flutes filled with champagne. Placing the glasses on the nightstand, he touched the base of the lamp once to give the room a soft glow. I gazed up at him, knowing my face gave my guilt away, but unable to stretch my expression into something more neutral.
His shadow falling across me, he reached with one arm to lazily draw the covers down to my hips. For the first time in six months, I saw shock skitter across Collin Stark's face before he strangled it.
"This is not what I provided you with."
"No." I reached for the covers. "It's what I provided me with."
He chuckled, surprising me with an indulgent shake of his head. "Flannel, Mia, in the damnable desert. I should discipline you just for packing that granny gown. What you packed was to be for my pleasure."
I bit back any response.
A pinch of his fingers and flick of his wrist had the rest of the top bedding spooling on the ground. "I'm definitely going to discipline you for Glenn."
I swallowed the reply that first jumped to mind. If he really knew about Glenn, he would be firing me. Instead of immediately giving myself away, I asked an open question.
"Why?"
Capturing the bottom hem of my nightgown, he playfully eased it up my shins. "Your posture while talking to him."
Clearly Stark wasn't as good at reading body language as he thought. With a blurt, I made my first major misstep of the night. "My posture was mortified. I had no idea he would be here. I haven't seen him in over six months. I hate him!"
"Hate is a strong word for a mere classmate, Mia." One hand still gripping the edge of my nightgown, he stretched an arm toward the lamp, tapping twice more to bring it to full brightness. He looked over every inch of the granny gown, with its long sleeves that ended in frills, to the pearl-like buttons that ran in a line from the middle of my breasts up to my chin.
Unnerved by the way his smile softened, I tried to scoot all the way to the opposite side of the bed as I glared at him. He let me retreat, but only so he could slide onto the mattress next to me.
He tugged the bottom of the gown all the way up to my hips. He pushed at my far thigh, then ran the back of his knuckles against the gusset of my panties. "I was wondering how long it would take to get you wet, angry as you are."
He slipped a finger beneath the elastic band and ran the tip along the seam of my labia once from top to bottom before pushing gently into the well of flesh that gated my pussy. "Wet already. Were you thinking of me or Glenn?"
Damn the arrogant bastard! I had been wet almost as long as he had been in the room, just fighting like hell not to notice. Now that he had called me out over the drenched fabric and dripping pussy, I would be damned if I gave his overinflated ego another direct pump.
"I told you, I don't like him." Still glaring at Collin, I folded my arms across my chest and shoved my hands into my armpits to hide their shake.
"Hate him," he corrected. "But that doesn't answer my question. This thick cream could be for him."
"It isn't!" He wanted to force me to admit my arousal, just as he had done on the plane. "It doesn't matter how attractive Glenn is, he's a complete asshole."
Another chuckle and my panties came off with a sharp rip of fabric. "An attractive asshole—sounds like your opinion of me, baby. So which one of us has your pussy all worked up?"
I shut my eyes, wishing he had left the light off. My cheeks started to burn and I bit furiously at my lip in an effort to cool them until I blurted at last, "You!"
He rolled until a third of his body rested lightly on top of my hip, arm and breast. "Open your eyes. I can't trust you until you stop hiding. And there is so much that you are still hiding."
I obeyed, cursing at him inside my head with each millimeter my eyelids lifted.
"Tell me again." His fingertips whispered over the soft fur of my mound.
"I'm wet for you." There—he won again, wrested one last humiliating admission from me. Now he probably intended to fire me, had been holding back revealing his knowledge of my past relationship with Glenn until I was wet and trembling beneath him.
His lips ghosted along the side of my face. "Such a dirty thing to say when you look so sweet and innocent, with your flannel gown and its pink flowers, love."
Love?
Oh, Mia—you stupid dolt!
Stark was far from finished with his sensual torment. He had just upped the attack using that word, a word that had no business falling from his lips when directed at me. I was an employee, a lying employee in his opinion, not to be trusted but to be exposed and ousted.
Love...
He started undoing the buttons on the gown. "Let's at least get you naked so I don't feel like such a defiler."
"Collin—" Catching my error, I hastily amended my ambiguous plea. "Mr. Stark..."
His head jerked back, his gaze narrowing quickly. "We're alone, Mia."
We had been alone on the plane when he had admonished me, but I didn't remind him. I merely remained mute. I was on thin ice in so many ways. My body wanted to capitulate, to risk and endure the humiliation for the slim chance that he would continue touching me a few minutes more or call me love again with his voice so tender and accepting that I would believe him if he was any other man.
"You'll call me Collin when we're alone."
I continued staring at him, mute, my eyes wildly blinking as I held back tears.
He growled and the remainder of the buttons came flying off, their thin strings snapping from his sharp tug. He pulled a breast through the gap, his mouth instantly fastening on the swollen tip as two fingers pushed into my pussy. His thumb landed atop my clit to synchronously rub up and down as his fingers thrust in and out of me.
I arched, like a bow with the arrow notched and a firm hand pulling back on the string before releasing. Collin didn't intend to lessen the tension that kept me with my back off the mattress, my mound and breasts pushing at him. Gently he chewed at the nipple as he spread his fingers wide inside me.
Trembling, I groaned and felt the slow, crawly drip of my arousal as it leaked from my pussy and trailed down my skin. My sheath squeezed around his fingers, sucking at them with needy little slurps. Another rough groan slid to a whimpering keening cry before I collapsed back to the mattress.
Withdrawing all contact, Collin lifted his upper body just long enough to peel the jacket from his powerful torso and shred the panel of buttons that secured his dress shirt. Without removing the shirt, he slid down my body, roughly forcing my thighs apart.
Fingers parting my labia, he placed a kiss against the spine of my clit. His tongue pushed past his lips to slither down and curl beneath the hood, finding and swirling around the nodule tucked inside. The aching whine restarted in my throat and I heard him chuckle as his tongue moved lower to tease the wet gate of my pussy.
His lips
breaking contact, he pushed three deep into me. "Stop pretending, baby. Stop hiding."
There was no pretense left to me in that bed. Before, after—certainly I would try to reclaim my dignity, to pretend that I had not surrendered yet again.
His free hand reached up to the bottom edge of the row of missing buttons on my nightdress. Sharp jerks and tugs eviscerated the thin flannel gown. Moving onto his knees, he brought both hands to my shoulders, gripped the remaining fabric and pulled it to the bend in my arms.
"That little sham of a girl inside you," he warned. "I'm going to destroy her tonight."
One hand pushed between the small of my back and the mattress, gathering the back panel of the dress and looping it until he had the remnants of my nightgown binding my arms.
"You won't listen to her ever again."
He cupped my mound, his palm bearing down as three fingers invaded me once more.
"This is what you'll listen to. This soaking wet hole that wants to be filled and completely possessed."
I couldn't deny his claim. There wasn't an ounce of audacity or braggadocio in his words. He had me there already, all my inhibitions quieted beneath the soft moans produced by his faintest touch.
"Do you want to come, Mia?"
"Yes."
His thumb replaced his palm, its fat tip burrowing between my plump lips to stroke up and down my clit as he stared into my eyes, gauging my reaction, my malleability.
"No more hiding?"
"No—none."
Possessed so masterfully by Stark, I had forgotten what I still hid from him. I forgot myself as well, the too ripe flesh that his body brushed against. I was that stranger in the mirror, the woman whose raw beauty had made me gasp right before Collin had propelled me into the elevator.
"I won't let you go back," he warned, sliding into place between my thighs. Each hand pinching one plump labia to the side, he inspected every inch of my pussy, from the way my clitoral hood jumped from the contractions squeezing inside me, to the quiver of my urethra and the heavy pulse of arousal that kept a fresh stream of cream oozing from my pussy.