Sylvie's Gift

by Adrianna Dane

  Just as she reached the other side, he lunged forward, grabbed her arm with his free hand and yanked her to him. “This won't hurt, I promise. It will all be over quickly."

  His grip wrapped around her arm like an iron band, and Sylvie fought to remain as calm as possible under the circumstances, and waited for her opportunity. “Don't do this, Fielding. You know you'll be caught. Daimaen knows I'm here.” Her heart hammered in her chest.

  He ripped the front of her jacket open, gold buttons flying in all directions and dragged one arm forward. He pushed one side of the jacket down, exposing her arm. She knew he needed access in order to pierce her skin with the syringe and fought him with fierce determination. But he was stronger, heavier and she fought a losing battle against his villainous strength.

  She raised her other arm, curled her fingers into claws, and raked deeply down the side of Fielding's neck, leaving long red tracks. She then tried for his eyes, the rage inside her building to match the red of her suit.

  Fielding jerked his head back, dropped the syringe onto the desk and slapped her hard, then shoved her away, sending her careening back against the opposite wall. It knocked the air from her lungs and the room whirled and dimmed as she slid to the floor.

  He raised his hand to his neck. Sylvie watched with trepidation as his eyes turned to cold metal when he saw the blood on his fingers. “You bitch!” he yelled as he grabbed the syringe and stalked toward her with deadly intent. “You'll pay for that. It didn't have to be this way. You're just making it harder on yourself."

  Sylvie unsteadily got her feet beneath her and crouched at the wall, pain throbbing along the length of her face. Her current position gave her a better vantage point to get to the door. If she could just find a way to immobilize him maybe she'd have a chance.

  Like a cornered animal, she watched him warily as he continued to move toward her. She sprang at him, clawing for his face this time, and brought her knee up hard to connect with his groin. Buckling in reaction and grabbing for his crotch, he groaned in pain. The syringe fell to the floor. She brought her heel down hard, destroy the syringe, then wasting no time, she turned and ran for the door.

  He made a frantic grab for her, but she swung away, leaving him with only her jacket in hand. She banged a leg against one of the wooden chairs, and pushed the chair out of her way and into his path, hindering his pursuit of her. Without looking back, she yanked the door open and rushed out into the main reception area.

  Running towards the elevators, yet watching over her shoulder, she crashed headlong into a solid body blocking her way. Again her hands flew up, a guttural scream erupting from her throat, ready to fight her way out.

  "Sylvie! Sylvie! It's Daimaen. Look at me."

  It took her several moments to realize whose hands held her. When she did, her knees buckled and she would have fallen, if Daimaen hadn't caught her first. Thank God!

  "He's in my office,” she managed to gasp out.

  Daimaen turned to someone behind him and she heard other voices.

  "We'll take this from here, Mr. Sinclair.” Uniformed bodies raced past them.

  Sylvie held onto Daimaen tightly. “Oh, God, Daimaen. He was going to kill me.” She shook with reaction, her teeth chattering. Daimaen lifted her and carried her to the reception area, where there was a couch and he gently sat her on it. He removed his jacket and wrapped it about her, then knelt in front of her.

  "Sylvie,” his voice was gentle as he brushed at the hair that hung about her face. “Did he hurt you?"

  She took a shuddering breath before looking up at him. “No, he slapped me, but that's all."

  She saw the feral, hard look in his eyes and the forceful set of his mouth. He tipped her face first one way and then the other. “I'm taking you to the hospital,” he said firmly. “I want them to check you out."

  "No, Daimaen, really, I'm okay. If anything, it's only bruises."

  He clasped her face between his hands. “Woman, you will listen to me. I'm taking you to the hospital. There will be no arguments."

  Sylvie opened her mouth to again argue, but she recognized that tone in his voice. Daimaen would have her obedience, and frankly, she was too tired and frightened to fight him. “All right,” she said. Anxiously, her gaze searched the room. “Did they get him?"

  At that moment the two officers came around the corner with Fielding in handcuffs between them. “It's okay, we've got him. You'll need to come down to the station to make a statement."

  "I'm taking her to the hospital first. Then we'll come down. I suggest you get this piece of trash out of my sight."

  The officers nodded and turned to leave.

  Sylvie roused herself from Daimaen's arms. “Officers, you'll need to arrest my secretary, Jane Hamilton. From what this gentleman told me, she's the one who doctored my coffee with the cyanide."

  One of the police officers pulled out a notepad and made a note of the name, then nodded. “We'll take care of it, ma'am."

  "Thank you.” She leaned heavily against Daimaen. “Please get me out of here, Daimaen,” she whispered, “I don't think I can take much more right now."

  Daimaen helped her up from the couch. She staggered a little, but then held herself up straight. She could do this. It was over and she would walk out of here with her head up. She had survived.

  With Daimaen's help she limped toward the elevators. His hand halted her when he realized she was limping. “I thought you said he slapped you. Why are you limping?"

  She looked down and saw a bruise forming around her shin and it was beginning to puff up. “When I ran out of the room, I bumped into one of the chairs. I kind of remember it, but it wasn't foremost in my mind at the time, if you know what I mean."

  "You are one brave woman, Sylvie Taylor. I'm very proud of you, but you're going to age me drastically."

  As the elevator doors opened, she turned to look one last time toward her office, knowing she would not be back.

  * * * *

  Daimaen took Sylvie back to his apartment that evening. Now, sitting in a fragrant bath surrounded by burning candles, she leaned back with a sigh. Daimaen walked in wearing a black terrycloth robe, carrying two glasses of white wine. He handed her one, and she took a sip.

  "I want you to sit there and soak. The doctor said there were only bruises and contusions, but I'm sure it will lead to some nasty aches and pains.” He held an ice pack to her bruised and swollen face. She winced in reaction.

  "Dammit, Sylvie, I almost lost you—again. You're too trusting sometimes."

  "Did I argue with you, Daimaen? I'm here, I've let you bully me into going to the hospital, and I'm not going to the police station until tomorrow, like you asked. What more do you want?” The warm water felt good, the wine soothed some of her frayed nerves.

  This Dominant/submissive thing wasn't what she expected. But then she was coming to figure out nothing in life was the way she expected. She still couldn't believe it was her own secretary, Jane, who had tried to kill her. It was almost like the world had turned upside down. She'd trusted Jane. Jane would have been the last person she would have accused of trying to kill her.

  Daimaen was her anchor. He made her feel coddled and cared for, and all she could think about was submitting to whatever Daimaen asked of her ... and enjoying it.

  He knelt next to the tub. With a washcloth, he started massaging her arms and then moved to her legs. He lifted her foot, rubbing the arch. “I don't understand you, Daimaen,” she murmured drowsily.

  "What don't you understand?” His voice drizzled over her. She felt him lower one leg, and lift the other.

  "Since I'm supposed to be the submissive, shouldn't I be bathing you?"

  She watched him through slitted eyes. He glanced up at her and smiled. “That's not the way it works. I give you what you need, when you need it, at my pleasure. Right now, this is what you need. It's what I need.” His hand gloved with the washcloth moved back up to caress her breasts.

  "What I real
ly need is for you to be in here with me. I don't want to think about anything else right now.” She made another sound of contentment.

  She heard him chuckle, and she opened one eye and looked at him. “What was that for?"

  He stood up and removed the robe revealing his hard male body to her eager gaze. “That purring sound you make deep in your throat. I like it. My contented kitten needs petting, I think.” He slid in behind her in the large circular black enamel tub.

  Once settled, his hands moved up from beneath to cup her breasts and she sighed. She could feel his hard shaft against the small of her back, wanted to feel it sheathed deeply inside her.

  He must have read her thoughts, because he lifted her and slicing upward through the water, slid smoothly into her welcoming pussy. “Ahhh,” she breathed, and leaned back against his hard muscled chest.

  He nibbled at her ear, tugged at her nipples, and slowly thrust between her thighs. “I told you, I know what you need, and when you need it,” his words whispered across her neck as his hands danced over her body.

  Tomorrow she'd worry about the police and the Securities and Exchange Commission. Tonight, she was all his.

  CHAPTER 14

  Sylvie stepped out into the sunshine. The meeting with the Securities and Exchange Commission's investigators was stressful and exhausting. Here she stood on the sidewalk, without a job, contemplating her future. There was no way she could go back to Foster International, not after everything that had happened. Daimaen had recommended Joseph Acosta help her through the ordeal. Joseph was well known in the business world for his acumen and knowledge in dealing with corporate matters, particularly pertaining to securities fraud.

  Dressed in a dark three-piece suit and carrying his leather briefcase, he now joined her before the glass and chrome building as he placed his cell phone into his inside pocket.

  "You did just fine, Sylvie.” He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.

  "I feel guilty somehow. So many lives will be destroyed because of this."

  "They destroyed themselves by perpetrating the fraud. Remember, Sylvie, they did it for their own personal gain, and didn't care who they hurt. It was just their bad luck that you stumbled on their little game."

  "Yes, my bad luck."

  Joseph shook his head. “It was just coincidence that you happened to request that list of contracts and your meeting up with Daimaen at the same time. They took it as a sign that you knew what they were up to. Money and power can be a murderous combination. It's led to more than one downfall."

  Sylvie sighed. “I might have figured it out eventually. But maybe it was the first attempt on my life that had me looking more closely at the list."

  Joseph shrugged. “Could be, but I think The List is going to become pretty famous ... or rather infamous, by the time this thing is over. I've got a feeling there are more people involved than you know. You've done your part; let the SEC and law enforcement take it from here."

  "Thanks for helping me out with this, Joseph."

  As they neared the crosswalk light, he lightly took her elbow to guide her across the street. “My pleasure. Daimaen is meeting us at Maurice's for lunch. It's just a little farther down the street."

  "Yes, he mentioned something about lunch, but I didn't know when we would be finished."

  "I called him to let him know the meeting was over. He'll be here shortly."

  He guided her into the small, exclusive, restaurant, gave his name to the maitre d', and they were immediately escorted to a table. After ordering drinks, they waited for Daimaen to arrive.

  "You know, I feel responsible.” Joseph smiled across at her. He was a handsome man, in his own way. His dark, sophisticated charm surely had women falling at his feet. She might have done the same if it weren't for Daimaen. For her, every other man paled in comparison.

  "Responsible for what?"

  "For you and Daimaen. After all, you met at my party."

  "Oh, yes, I remember Allison mentioned you were the host. Unfortunately, we never had the opportunity to meet.” Daimaen had whisked her off so quickly, she hadn't gotten a chance to meet their host or say her goodbyes.

  Joseph's eyes flashed across the table as he studied her. “It was a good thing for Daimaen. He moved too quickly for me this time."

  Had there been other times when he hadn't, she wondered? Before she could respond, heat coursed through her and her breath caught. Daimaen was here, she felt it as surely as if she could see him in front of her. She didn't need to turn around. It was such an eerie feeling, and it had never happened with anyone else. It was as though she was attuned to his rhythm alone, to his every move.

  Then she felt his strong hands on her shoulders, his very distinctive, masculine scent surrounded her. He leaned down and kissed her, a kiss that claimed her as his. His tongue sought entrance to her mouth and she opened, surrendering to his demand.

  Daimaen raised his head and looked across at Joseph. Sylvie glanced first at Daimaen, then at Joseph, feeling a tenseness in the air, some hint of clashing testosterone. It was brief, only a few seconds, but Joseph broke the moment first, by shrugging and averting his gaze.

  Daimaen straightened and sat next to Sylvie. Taking her hand in his, he brought it to his lips, and his tongue traced the life line of her palm, sending chills along her arm and down her spine, where a fire sparked.

  "Daimaen,” she whispered, an ache in her voice. When he was with her, it was like no one else existed, nothing else mattered.

  He released her hand and smiled. “Everything went as planned?"

  "Yes, thanks to Joseph, it all went smoothly. Thank you for referring me to him."

  "Ah, yes, Joseph.” He turned to look at him. What was it between the two of them? She thought they were friends, but some kind of unspoken clash was going on.

  "I was just telling Sylvie I feel responsible for the two of you meeting."

  Daimaen's smile was polite, but didn't reach his eyes. “Yes, that's true. Apparently, I owe you one."

  "Yes, I believe you just might.” Joseph's gaze seemed to assess Daimaen, then fell on Sylvie. “I'll have to keep that in mind."

  "Don't ask the impossible, Joseph. I have my limits. As does, Sylvie."

  Sylvie felt uneasy beneath the eyes of both men. Something—ohmyGod! Her eyes widened as a sudden realization choked her. It was at Joseph Acosta's party that she met Daimaen. But it wasn't just any party. “Wait just a darn minute.” She started to rise from her seat, horrified at what she was thinking.

  Daimaen's hand on her arm urged her to sit back down. “It's all right, Sylvie. Joseph was simply being ... appreciative ... of my good taste. Weren't you, Joseph?"

  With a hint of regret in his gaze, Joseph nodded. “Yes, indeed, Daimaen. You have excellent taste. I'm envious, but would never think to ... intrude, without an invitation, of course."

  That wasn't going to be happening. Sylvie breathed a sigh of relief, but she felt like a bone between two very male dogs. She didn't particularly like the feeling.

  Daimaen drew her attention as he tipped her chin to him. “I've packed some things for you. After we've eaten, we're going out of town for a few days."

  "We are?” He was doing it again. She knew he wouldn't tell her where they were going, only letting her know they were going.

  "You have no commitments right now, and I think you need to get away."

  "You're assuming again, aren't you?"

  "Were you planning to go back to work?"

  Okay, so he had a point. She was at loose ends right now. “I need to let Allison know so she won't worry."

  "Already taken care of. She knows we'll be gone and how to get in touch if something urgent comes up."

  Sylvie shook her head. “You think of everything, don't you?"

  His smile had her melting into a puddle. “I certainly try. Besides, once the media gets wind of this, your life won't be your own."

  "That's true,” Joseph confirmed. “They eat this kind of thing up.
You might as well get some peace and quiet while you can."

  "Okay, okay.” She sighed, knowing she didn't have much of a choice.

  * * * *

  It seemed like they'd been driving forever, when she felt the car slow down and turn. She'd been dozing, exhausted after everything that happened, she guessed. She sat up and looked around. “Where are we?"

  They were in a cemetery. There were headstones and monuments surrounded by neatly cropped green lawn. What were they doing at a cemetery?

  "We're at the Woodlawn Cemetery."

  "I don't understand."

  "There's someone here you need to say goodbye to, I think.” He parked the car, then came around to her side and opened her door.

  Her stomach knotted. She had no idea what he was talking about, but slowly she stood up. “Who's here?” Her voice wasn't working very well; it wavered as she asked the question.

  He pointed down a gravel path between a grouping of headstones. “That's where your mother is buried."

  It was like being punched in the stomach, and she couldn't breath. Her mother's grave. The one her father told her didn't exist. Tears pooled in her eyes. “H-how did you find it? I thought he had her cremated. That's what he told me."

  Daimaen cupped her face with his hands. “Something told me, because of the kind of brutal man he was, that he didn't tell you the truth, and he only wanted to hurt you. I did some checking."

  He kissed her. It almost could have been considered a chaste kiss, yet it touched her just as deeply as any other. Then he turned her to face the path. “Do you want me to go with you?"

  "No, I need to do this alone."

  He released her. “I'll be waiting for you right here."

  Slowly, she followed the path, hearing the stones crunch beneath her feet as she made her way to her mother's grave. She finally found it, a small granite headstone. At least her father had done that much for her. Sylvie touched the cold, smooth grey stone, tracing the engraved letters with her fingers. A wave of sadness and peace enveloped her.

  "Mom, I wish I could have been stronger, done more for you. I'd have come sooner, but I didn't know where you were. Forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye.” Sylvie knelt next to the stone, placed her forehead against the hard surface, and closed her eyes; her tears flowed unchecked to the ground.