"I see you, Sylvie, I feel your heat. Now, see me, feel me entering you, slowly, filling you, driving deep. I have your beautiful soft body beneath me and I'm fucking you nice and slow. You burn me up. Can you feel me inside you, my love?"
"Oh, God, yes.” She could smell his scent. Her moan was guttural as consciousness dropped away and she went spiraling upwards and then drifted slowly back down, her body writhing with pulsing completion that only he could provide.
"You're beautiful.” His voice washed over her from across the city. “Think of me today."
She needed a moment to catch her breath before she could answer him. “You're a devil, Daimaen Sinclair, and you've weaved a spell around me."
"You're mine, Sylvie Taylor, and I don't want you forgetting it. And I wanted you to start your day with a smile.” She heard his low, sexy chuckle.
"I always think of you. You're never out of my thoughts,” she admitted.
"You'll be careful today.” It was a command.
Sylvie pushed the covers back and slid from the bed, feeling calm, replete, yet energized. “Of course, I will."
"Don't forget lunch. I'll pick you up at one."
"You worry too much. I'll be fine."
"Sylvie?"
"Yes?” She turned the shower on and pulled out a towel.
"Wear that hot little red suit of yours today. And the black silk chemise. That's what I'll be imagining you in.” The cadence of his voice lowered, and her breathing increased. “I'll be envisioning you at your desk in your very expensive, sexy business suit. And every time you move—to answer the phone, or reach for a pen, knowing that cool black silk is sliding against your beautiful breasts, keeping you aroused until I see you. All mine. I'm looking forward to our lunch. Until later, love.” She heard the click of the phone.
Damn him. She was already so hot and wet she didn't think she'd make it to one o'clock. She turned the faucet marked “cold” all the way on. So much for starting the day with a smile. It wasn't until much later that she realized he hadn't answered her question about his meeting. Leave it to him to turn her brain to mush.
* * * *
"Good morning, Jane."
Jane looked up from the mail she was opening, a surprised look on her face. “Sylvie! We didn't expect you back so soon. How are you feeling? Everyone was very concerned, especially when the police started asking questions."
Sylvie smiled, a front for the turmoil of her emotions on returning to an office where someone apparently wanted her dead. “I'm fine, Jane. Ready to get back to work."
"Did the police figure out who put the poison in your coffee?"
"No, not yet. I find it hard to believe someone would do it on purpose, but I'm sure they'll continue to investigate. So, is there anything I need to know? Who's been dealing with things while I was gone?"
"Sam Johnston took the meetings scheduled for last week. He was the most familiar with what you were working on. He also met with Charlie, and I think they have some preliminary work-ups of the ads ready for you to look at."
"Good. Would you ask Sam to stop by my office so he can bring me up-to-date?” At the door she turned back. “Oh, is that list of new contracts on my desk?"
Jane looked away, then back at Sylvie, biting her lip. “No, not yet. I'm sorry. I'll call down to Accounting and get it for you right after I let Sam know you want to see him."
Sylvie nodded and walked into her office. Jane was usually quite efficient. She'd been with her, moving up through the ranks, for the last three years, so she was surprised she'd had to make a second request for that contract list. It probably had slipped her mind when Sylvie collapsed. She could just imagine the turmoil it had created in the office when the emergency technicians rushed her to the hospital.
Looking around her office before moving behind her desk, she somehow expected it to have changed in her absence. It looked the same, but it felt like she was trying to make her way through some sort of dream sequence. That last day she'd been so ill, and she vaguely remembered calling to Jane for help before passing out.
There had to be some kind of mistake. Maybe she'd set her coffee cup down when she'd looked at the proof sheets in the photo lab. Maybe some photo developer or cleaner or whatever had spilled without her realizing it. She couldn't make herself believe it had been done on purpose.
Slowly, she walked around her office, remembering, seeing faces of co-workers, people who came in and out of her office that day. She still couldn't come up with a solid reason as to why someone wanted to hurt her.
"Well, good morning, stranger."
She whirled around, brought back to the present. Sylvie smiled when she saw Allison, dressed in a sedate, navy blue suit, standing in the doorway. “Morning to you, too."
"Are you sure you want to be here? Are you ready for this?"
Sylvie nodded. “Yes, most definitely. Hibernating at home isn't going to solve anything. And it was driving me up the wall."
"All right then, but I'll be checking on you."
"Cut that out, Allison. I told you, I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself."
"Uh-huh. I supposed that line works on Daimaen.” Sylvie hated that knowing look in her eyes.
She sat behind her desk in a huff. “No, actually it doesn't, but I'm here, aren't I? He doesn't rule every aspect of my life, you know."
"Not yet, anyway."
"Stop it, Allison. So, how's the boy-toy?"
"Who?"
"Ted what's-his-name."
A slow smile spread across Allison's face. “Very nice, as a matter of fact. I might keep him around a while. He ... entertains me."
Sylvie laughed. “You are such a contradiction. I never realized before how much. I'm glad we're friends."
"So am I. Just remember that we're friends. You shouldn't feel uncomfortable because I've shared my other lifestyle preferences with you. Okay?"
Sylvie nodded and sighed. “I know. And I'm sorry for that crack at the hospital. I was upset, and I guess I'm still confused."
"That's understandable. Well, I'll get back to work; I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'll call you later."
Sylvie nodded. “Fine. I'll be hard at work, trying to figure out what's been going on while I was gone."
By three o'clock Sylvie couldn't believe how exhausted she was. The numbers and figures had started to blur. She turned from her desk to gaze out the window. Although she didn't like admitting it, she'd been tense the whole day, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for something to happen, anything that might clear up the mystery of why someone wanted her dead.
A small smile curled her lips as she recalled lunch with Daimaen. It had certainly helped to ease some of her tension. Her body tingled in remembrance. He'd been right ... again. She'd needed to get away from the office. She'd tried to treat the day as any other work day, but deep down the stress was eating at her. Lunch with Daimaen had helped to ease her frazzled nerves.
A knock sounded at her door. She turned back around, with a sigh. “Come in.” So many people had stopped by her office, to express their concern over what happened. It made accomplishing actual work difficult.
The door opened and Jane stepped in. “I have the list of contracts you were looking for."
"Good, I want to look it over before I leave today. Anything else?"
"Ms. Hunter called. I think you were at lunch with Mr. Sinclair. She said she was going into a meeting and asked that you wait for her before you leave. It sounded like it might be kind of urgent."
"Thanks, Jane.” Sylvie sat down and reached for her phone. Now what could Allison want to talk to her about that was so urgent? She'd spoken with her several times today already. She dialed her extension, but her voicemail picked up. Well, she'd wait and see what she had to say. Allison wouldn't have asked her to wait if it wasn't important. Maybe she'd discovered something. She opened the folder that Jane laid on her desk.
The next time she looked up it was six o'clock, and she ru
bbed her tired eyes. Where was Allison? She'd tried to call her again, but there was still no answer. Maybe the meeting was taking longer than she expected.
Sylvie was still trying to make sense of the list she was looking at. One company in particular jumped out at her—Sinclair Electronics. Why hadn't Daimaen told her about an association with his company? There were several other company names that didn't seem to fit. They were companies that usually signed with their competitor.
Again she picked up her phone. This time she punched in the numbers to Daimaen's cell phone. Going to the source was the only way she was likely to get her answers. There was something niggling at her about the list of contracts.
"Hello?"
"Daimaen? It's Sylvie."
"Where the hell are you? I've been trying to call you at your apartment for the last hour."
"I'm at the office. Allison said she needed to talk to me before I leave today."
"Is she with you?"
"No, not yet. She must have been held up."
"Are you telling me you're there alone? There's no one else with you?"
The urgent note in his voice sounded her own alarm. She suddenly realized what he was asking her. “Yes, I guess I am. I was so involved with what I was doing I didn't think about it. And Allison wouldn't have asked me to wait if it wasn't important."
"Stay there. Don't move. I'm on my way. Dammit it, Sylvie, I told you not to take chances. Lock the door to your office until I get there."
"Daimaen, I think you're overreacting. Nothing's happened today. I'm fine."
"Don't argue with me. Just do it.” She heard him take a breath. “Do it for me, Sylvie. I need to know you're safe until I get there."
She didn't want him to worry. “All right, Daimaen. I'm sorry—” She heard static and then the line went dead. She hung up the phone assuming there was interference on his cell phone connection. Damn, she hadn't gotten a chance to ask him about the contract.
She rose from her desk and walked toward the door, intending to lock it. It opened before she reached it and Fielding Thomas walked in.
Fielding Thomas was Allison's superior. He was Vice President of Accounting. Her first thought was that something had happened to Allison. “Hello, Sylvie, you're working late."
"Fielding, what are you doing here? Does this have to do with Allison?"
"Why, no, nothing at all. Is there a problem with her?"
"No. It's just she was supposed to stop by my office and I haven't seen her yet.” There was something about Fielding, somehow predatory in his look and his stance. She inched back toward her desk. If it wasn't about Allison, what was Fielding doing here?
He stepped toward her. She retreated. What did he want? As far as she knew, they had no items or concerns to be discussed. Certainly, nothing that rated an after-hours discussion.
"What can I help you with, Fielding?"
"I hear you've been asking about the new contracts."
"Have you? And how might you have found out about that?” It wasn't something in the normal course of the day he would have been apprised of.
"Jane is very efficient, isn't she?” Something wasn't right. Why was Fielding asking about Jane. Cold fingers walked up Sylvie's spine.
"Yes, Jane's a good secretary.” What exactly was Fielding up to? She'd never liked the man, had always felt there was something creepy about him. “Is she the one who told you about the list?” It was unlike Jane to gossip.
He nodded and smiled. It was a smile that didn't reach his eyes. “Yes, Jane and I go back a long way. She's been very ... helpful to me. And she follows orders quite well."
"Like how, Fielding? What orders?” A cold chill of suspicion gripped her.
"Like letting me know when you started seeing Daimaen Sinclair.” He shook his head. “I must admit, I never thought he would be your type, but then I guess you never know about people, do you?” The look he gave her was hard, void of emotion, rather like a street rat studying its prey. “You're a problem, Sylvie. One that has to be resolved before it gets worse. The coffee should have done it, but you must have a stronger heart that we suspected."
Sylvie gasped. “You poisoned my coffee? Why, Fielding? What have I ever done to you?"
"No, dear, it wasn't me. That was Jane, following my orders."
Jane? Jane had poisoned her coffee, tried to kill her? Why? She gasped. The feeling of betrayal was devastating.
"You would have discovered it eventually. We thought you had when you requested the contract list. But then Jane found out you were dating Sinclair. I'm afraid that clinched it. Call it damage control."
An epiphany moment struck her and things fell into place. The contracts! That's why the list looked odd. “You manufactured the contracts. They don't exist."
"Very astute of you. But then you always were an intelligent woman. See, that's the problem, it was only a matter of time before you put it together. Now, we tried to take care of this cleanly, but you were too much of a fighter. So, I'm going to have to take care of it myself. Make it easy on yourself, don't fight me."
Sylvie grabbed blindly for any excuse to halt him. “Allison Hunter is on her way up to my office. Do you think she won't call the police when she finds out what you're up to?"
Fielding shook his head. “No, dear, that was just a ruse, thanks to our smart-thinking Jane, to get you to wait until the others were gone. She actually told Allison you left early. You were feeling kind of under the weather. Same as giving you the contract list toward the end of the day, to help delay you. So we could have our little talk."
God, she should have known. “You won't get away with this, Fielding."
"How cliché. I believe I will. It goes higher than me, you know. There are several executives above me who will thank me profusely for handling this minor glitch. You see, our sales have been down and the stockholder reports haven't been looking good. And you know how stockholders can be—they're a rather nervous group when it comes to their investments. So we had to do a little creative maneuvering with our show of profits. It was only going to be for a short time, just until things turned around on their own.
"Your meeting Sinclair was just some bad timing. Then, of course, you asked to see that contract list. And when you didn't die as you should have ... well, I'm just going to take care of that little loose end. If you die, any focus will be on your death, rather than new contracts that might be arranged—at least until we can get things settled and back on track."
It felt like she was living some kind of noir movie—totally surreal. “What about Daimaen Sinclair? You think he won't ask questions if I die?"
"You'll leave a note blaming your father for your suicide."
"Suicide! Are you crazy? No one would ever believe that."
"Do you think I haven't looked into your background? That I don't know about your mother's death? Your estrangement from your father? Give me some credit."
Sylvie couldn't believe what she was hearing. Money was the driving motivation; people's lives apparently had no meaning to whoever was involved, and she was going to die if she didn't do something quickly.
"It's time, Sylvie. Enough talk."
"What do you plan to do?"
Her eyes widened as Fielding slowly pulled out a syringe from his suit jacket pocket. “You'll jump from the top of the building. I'm just going to make you a little groggy with this. I don't want to wrestle with you all the way to the top."
She backed to the edge of the window, as Fielding moved closer and closer to her across the room. God, Daimaen, where are you? I need you!
CHAPTER 13
"Dammit!” Daimaen swung the car around in the middle of the busy street, ignoring honking horns and irate drivers. The phone shouldn't have gone dead like that, something was wrong.
He tried calling her back again, but there was no answer. Either the phones had been switched off or the line had been deliberately cut.
He needed to concentrate on maneuvering through rush-hour traffic
to get to Sylvie's building quickly, but there was a phone call he needed to make. He punched in the number on the keypad.
"Gannon,” groused across the line as the connection was made.
"Tom, I need your help."
"What's the problem, Daimaen?” Tom Gannon was Chief of Police, a friend Daimaen could count on for a favor.
"I think someone's in trouble. Her life might be in danger. Can you have a couple of your people meet me at Foster International?"
"How serious?” Gannon voice was low, attentive, all business now.
"An attempt was made on her life once, and I'm afraid she's in danger again. I was just speaking with her on the phone when we were cut off. And I think she's been detained at her office so they could get her alone."
"I'll get a couple of men over there. They'll meet you at the reception desk, and you can lead them to where she is. Have you tried calling her back?"
"Yes, but I'm not getting an answer."
"I'll get the men dispatched right away. Keep me informed. Hope you're wrong."
"No more than I do. Thanks, Tom.” Daimaen pulled into the parking garage, and raced to the elevator that would take him to the first level. Again, he tried to reach her on the phone with no luck. The building would most likely be locked tight by this time, and building security wasn't going to let him past unless he had a good reason. He saw a police car pull up as he entered the lobby. Two police officers hurried through the entrance.
"Are you Mr. Sinclair?” one of them asked.
"Yes, we have to hurry. Ms. Taylor's office is on the twenty-second floor."
He strode back to the reception desk, followed by the policemen, where a security guard was seated. “We need you to get us access to the twenty-second floor now. Someone's life may be in danger."
* * * *
Sylvie wouldn't let it end like this—there was too much to live for. Lodged between her desk and the window wasn't going to cut it. She needed more space to maneuver. Gradually, without being too obvious, she edged around to the opposite side of the desk. Fielding shadowed her.
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