Marbella Beauty

by Oster, Camille

  “How… how can I help you?”

  “I thought we could revisit.” She pulled on a knot at the side of her waist and the silky material of her dress simply flowed open and slipped off her shoulders, floating to the floor behind her. Her nude body stood in front of him in all its glory. His throat was so dry, he couldn’t swallow, and he just stared at the sight of perfection in front of him. She was perfect, her skin the colour of light mocha.

  The door was open and there was a nude woman in his office, a goddess no less, but it would cause an utter scandal if anyone saw. Shifting away from her, he rushed to the door and shut it.

  He was actually too shocked to speak, more so as she approached, her body moving in smooth strides, her breast jiggling that little bit with each step. “I think I have missed you.”

  A red-tipped finger stroked down the gap in his collar, down to the first button. He tried to swallow again. Forbidden images flooded his mind. The simple touch had made him rock hard.

  “Ah, I think you’re happy to see me.”

  “Naked women tend to have that effect on men.” How utterly relieved he was that he’d found his voice again.

  “They do, don’t they?”

  Her hand travelled lower, cupping his hardness and his eyes swam shut with the sensations flowing through his body. His knees would buckle if he wasn’t careful. Here was the queen of the killer girls, he thought—a title well deserved. At least she couldn’t get him fired.

  Her lips grazed his and he surged forward to claim their sweetness. It was almost embarrassing how little control he had over himself. Warm, dewy skin met his palms.

  On some level, he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Looking down, he saw she’d undone the buttons of his shirt and was now working on his belt. The sight of her releasing him was just about unbelievable.

  He looked into her eyes. “What is it you want from me, Miss Terpa?”

  “You British are so formal. Even as I have your cock in my hand, you insist on formalities,” she smiled and her hand massaged down his length. Another spear of erotic pleasure shot through him.

  Her hands around the curves of his backside drew him forward, back to the armchair, where she sat down and drew him down to kneeling between her thighs. “Is it so unbelievable I only want this?”

  She urged him forward, his tip to her entrance. The pull of pleasure was too strong; he couldn’t even muster a fight as he pressed into the delicious, velvet heat. Reason skirted around his consciousness, but other urges were too powerful. Her body arched back as he thrust into her, again and again. Her breasts wobbled with each firm connection. Every part of him tightened and drew together. Her cries only drove him on. “Yes,” she cried loudly and he was well beyond caring that anyone on the floor likely heard it. “Yes.”

  She tightened around him and it was too much, tumbling him into breathless ecstasy, frozen in a moment of sheer exquisiteness. Every ounce of energy flowed out of him, robbing him of air, conscious thought and even self-preservation.

  Exhausted, he sunk down on his heels, away from her as if worshipping at the altar of her, her thighs still spread in front of him. “What is it you want from me?”

  She considered him now, taking a deep breath of satisfaction. A knuckle ran across her lips. “What a suspicious man you are.”

  “I’m not stupid. I know full well a woman like you is hardly swayed by someone of my station in life.”

  “You undersell yourself.”

  “No, I don’t,” he said, rising and tidying himself. A flare of embarrassment worked through him at how easily he’d succumbed. He knew full well she was toying with him, at best. Using him was more likely, but he didn’t know why. Moving away from her, he leaned on the desk. She was still naked in the chair, leaning back against the backrest, her breasts like perfect teardrops on her chest and a mischievous look in her eyes. God have mercy on him.

  Sitting up, she grabbed the dress off the floor and swung it around her shoulders, quickly tightening it around her waist as she rose. She bit her lip as she looked at him and every cell in his body wanted to kiss her. “Maybe I want you because you don’t want me,” she said with a smile. “Can’t help yourself.” She tsked and gave a faux look of sympathy, then leaned into him, placing the slightest touch of a kiss on his lips. “See you later, lover,” she said with a smile and sauntered out of his office.

  Chapter 17

  “She is fighting you,” Arnie said as Dominic walked into his office. They were up on the fourteenth floor with a view over what constituted a downtown. He didn’t like this office. It was too… not his.

  “Is she?” Dominic said with a smile as he watched the traffic down below. This was an interesting development. He had offered her more money. That was usually enough to get his way, but not this time. Miss Waters had refused him.

  “Technically the law is on her side, but the Chamber of Commerce is beside themselves to have Dunbury Industries headquartered here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they gave you permission to start tearing the structures down even while the court is deliberating.”

  Dominic stopped listening. He was still interested in why this woman had turned down the money. Had it not been enough to sway her? It was only a little salon—inconsequential. She could easily shift it with the money he offered, even have some to spare. Perhaps she was playing a longer game, holding out for more. It ran the risk of her getting nothing through the courts. His opponent was either very smart or very stupid.

  “Request a meeting with her,” Dominic said.

  “Shall we ask her and her solicitor to come here?”

  “Perhaps for Thursday,” he said, mentally turning his attention to more important matters. Dominic returned to his desk, considering the investment report he’d received into ore mining in Guatemala. It would be a lucrative investment, but it did have risks. The Americans were jumpy about dancing with their neighbours, but the Latin American administrations often wanted to deal with anyone other than Americans. The Americans had to live with the weight of their own history in the region. Better the devil you know wasn’t always true in business.

  Arnie popped his head around the door as Dominic returned from the airport. “Miss Waters had declined.”

  Dominic’s eyebrows rose. Now this was an unusual tactic from someone seeking to better their position. Or perhaps it wasn’t. This could be part of a hard game.

  He was curious to know what kind of woman he was dealing with. In all honesty, from the look of her, she wasn’t a creature he was all that familiar with, from her coaxed hair, clinging clothes and pink, frosted lipstick. Not the type of woman he would normally negotiate with, or assume would understand what a negotiation was. That was ungenerous, but he had to concede that she might not understand what the proposition was.

  Ignoring a situation unfortunately wasn’t going to make it go away. If she was trying to bury her head in the sand, she was in for a rude awakening.

  Fennie walked into the room, placing some envelopes in his desk.

  “Fennie, have them bring the car around.”

  “Are you going out? I can have some lunch brought here.”

  “No, I might go out today.”

  “Do you need me to book anywhere?”

  “No, not today.” He walked out of his office to the lift, taking it down to the lobby, which was all grey marble and chromo. No, he hated this office. This wasn’t his building. It was impersonal and showed nothing about them. They were simply tenants in this building and that wasn’t good enough. Visitors should know they’d arrived at Dunbury Industries when they walk in the door, and that wasn’t the case here. It was just a non-descript, multi-tenancy office building.

  The car was waiting and Dominic had the man drive him to the site. It was remarkable how attached he’d grown to the site. It felt right. This was where he wanted to be and he would build something spectacular.

  The drab row of shops stood sulkily in the sun. The white paint had been stained sligh
tly by rust in places, leaving trails running downwards. It was an awful building, and he couldn’t understand why anyone would bother fighting for it.

  Walking into the glass and chrome door of the salon, he turned his attention to the receptionist, with her angularly cut hair. “I need to speak to Miss Waters.”

  “She’d at lunch at the moment.” An early eater, it seemed.

  “And where can I find her?”

  “She’s probably down the road at the café. She usually eats there.”

  Her staff were liberal with information.

  “And where does she live?”

  Finally, the receptionist looked uncomfortable. “A little north, I think. You really should ask her. I’m not sure.”

  Dominic turned and sought out this nearby café. It was up the road, a cramped building with a low roof and cheap, aluminium tables and chairs. He found her sitting at one of the tables in front of the shop, reading a paper with a sandwich in hand. She wore an animal print wrap shirt, tight enough to see the outline of her lingerie. Miss Waters was decidedly high street. Tanned legs into glossy nude heels, which matched the colour of her skirt, most of which he couldn’t see, but suspected was too tight, as well.

  “Miss Waters,” he said and she looked up, surprise registering on her face. A crumb from her sandwich sat in the corner of her mouth until the top of her pink tongue cleared it away.

  “Mr. Dunbury,” she said almost absently.

  He took a seat, looking into the shop which looked all too lurid to consider. Miss Waters folded the newspaper away.

  “I would not have assumed this would be your kind of lunch place,” she said.

  “It is not. I was inspecting my site.”

  “Waste of time, from what I hear.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise and crossed his legs. “I don’t know. Things tend to resolve themselves, I find.”

  “Not this time. I have absolutely no intention of moving.”

  “Sometimes we must make way for progress.”

  “You mean you. Sometimes we must make way for you.”

  “Is there something I have done to offend you?”

  “Besides trying to ruin everything I’ve worked for, not a thing.”

  Dominic stopped himself from rolling his eyes. A piddly little salon. “I can, of course, help you find someplace better. A finer building than the ramshackle you’re tenanted in.”

  “Disturbing my customers in the process. My customer base is more important than the building.”

  “If your customer base is loyal, they will follow.”

  “See now, in retail, it never serves to take your customers for granted.”

  Dominic considered her. This was not going exactly as he’d imagined. He wasn’t sure what he’d imagined, but not this sparring. “I do have the means to make it worth your while.”

  “And I don’t have the interest in moving.”

  “I would have thought your solicitor would have made it clear how long a process fighting me can be. I have limitless funds and you… don’t.”

  She pursed her lips. It wasn’t intimidation he saw in her eyes, with the pearly makeup applied in perfectly symmetrical cat’s eyes. She wore too much makeup. It was well applied, but she didn’t quite look real. No, it was challenge he saw in there. “I don’t know, Mr. Dunbury. You are correct that I don’t have a great deal of resources. I’ve built my business from scratch, working for every customer who comes through my door. But I do have time, and that’s a resource I’m not sure you have a limitless supply of. I suppose we are opposite in that regard. I’m cash poor and time rich, and you are the opposite. From what I hear, the Spanish courts move devastatingly slowly. Even for someone like you.”

  Clearly, he had underestimated her. She even had a strategy for dealing with him. “I can’t help being impressed.”

  “And flattery won’t work either.”

  Perhaps he wouldn’t take that for granted. Considering the effort she put into her appearance, he suspected she was susceptible to a bit of charm. “So what is it going to take to get you to move?”

  Miss Waters raised her head in challenge. Clearly she wasn’t backing down. A long, pink frosted nail tapped on the table. Stubborn as a mule.

  Chapter 18

  There’s nothing quite like silk lingerie. It made Cheyenne feel sexy. She’d had a small victory this week, had been invited to a cocktail party with one of the doyennes. She wasn’t stupid enough not to know it had been extended grudgingly. Not even Alexi was invited to this, and that was a victory.

  Toying with Alexi’s calm existence was fun, creating waves that rippled through. The brother-in-law was well under her spell and she was able to make him do whatever she wanted. That might serve as useful, particularly as she could plant seeds of discontent and distrust with the happy pair.

  But torturing Alexi wasn’t her ultimate goal, it was merely a hobby and a source of amusement. Tonight, she had bigger fish to fry—Dominic Dunbury. Sources had informed her he would be attending and now she had achieved what stupid and ridiculous Roger could not. He’d been calling her incessantly, not accepting that she had no use for him. Men were prone to thinking too highly of himself, and Roger, poor Roger, had talked himself into believing he had found something more than a passing fling. Someone like her didn’t end up with nobodys like Roger. He’d given away most of his wealth in his divorce for one thing. Silly, little man.

  The house was beautiful, the party congregated around the entertainment area. The night-time view was spectacular. This was the kind of place she could see herself living in. The baron wasn’t yet amenable to investing in the appropriate kind of house in Marbella, still too entrenched in Germany. It was better that he wasn’t here, getting in her way.

  On some level, it was a shame she couldn’t be content with the baron. He had both the prestige and the wealth, but he simply wasn’t impressive enough. They were mismatched. Ultimately, she wanted someone worthy of her, and he just wasn’t that. He was a nice man; she was not a nice woman. What she wanted was strength, someone who had influence and power, as well. It was a shame things hadn’t worked out with Alexi, because he’d had everything she needed. But he wasn’t the only fish in the sea.

  Grabbing a champagne glass off a passing tray, she tucked her clutch under her arm and prepared her offensive. Dominic was standing with a group of men, his hand nonchalantly in his pocket. He was so assured. He knew he ruled the world. The fact that there was that edge of grubbiness to him due to his recent trouble only made her insides clench with anticipation. Ambition, she found sexy, and that was the thing the baron lacked. He’d been born to wealth and simply assumed it would always be there.

  She performed the usual round of greetings, charmed and small talked, moving steadily closer. The women hated her, and that didn’t bother her one bit. They should hate her. She was capable of stealing everything from them. Luckily for them, she had absolutely no interested in their insipid men.

  Her target placed his glass down and walked inside, no doubt off to the bathroom, giving her the opportunity she needed. She waited.

  “Dominic,” she said when he returned, catching him as he walked back. He turned his handsome face to her. Cheyenne felt her nipples tightening. The game was on. “Cheyenne. We met last year at the Tillsome gala.”

  “Yes, of course. How are you? Beautiful as ever.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She smiled. He was not the kind of man who was intimidated by her beauty. Many men were; they would do absolutely anything not to acknowledge her beauty, in case it would highlight how out of their league she was. “A beautiful night and lovely company.” She held her glass up to him and he followed suit. He had no choice, really; it would be rude not to. “I hear you are to spend more time with us. I am glad to hear it.”

  “It seems I will be.”

  “I read that you have moved your headquarters here. Unusual.”

  “Perhaps, but it suits my purposes.”

&n
bsp; “Cuts down on the commute.”

  A cross between a laugh and a smile crossed his lips. He had a lovely smile. Cheyenne pressed her lips together and released them. His eyes observed it, which meant he found her attractive. “I found I miss Marbella too much when I leave. I think this place spoils us for others,” she said.

  “I suspect you are right.”

  It didn’t do to monopolise a man. In seduction, it overplayed a girl’s hand. Instead, she placed her hand on his arm. “I will let you return to your company. It is nice to see you. You look well, handsome.” Smiling, she walked away before he could say anything. She knew without a doubt he was watching. Now it was only a matter of being seen, leaving it to his mind to do the work.

  Mingling wasn’t hard. Finding attentive men was never difficult. She joined a group of three. A couple of them were a little younger and there was a girl joining, who wore a plunging neckline. A little too classless to belong here, but it emphasised her cleavage. This girl was clearly a glorified fuck, one the guy next to her didn’t mind showing off. She was pretty, but nothing special, other than that cleavage—obviously artificial. It was so very crass, but Cheyenne couldn’t help being jealous, because crass was a commodity men lapped up—just like this girl. She couldn’t be more than nineteen, and probably couldn’t believe she had been invited to a party like this.

  Cheyenne had worked so hard to get here, and this girl just took a short-cut, getting invited to show off her cleavage. It was Cheyenne who was given the short-cuts, the invitations to parties everyone clamoured for in New York. But that was when she’d been a model and sought after. Now, she was retired, and her look was relegated as passé in that world. Anger filtered through her, almost making her flush. She had been at the very pinnacle and this girl just sashayed in, giggling and bouncing, probably unaware where she was, starting out on her journey of utter mediocrity. She’d seen nothing; done nothing, unlikely to do anything of note in the next ten years, other than be the toy for a few boys. But here they were, with everything Cheyenne had achieved, and this girl was simply given a pass, straight out from whatever lowbrow hole she’d grown up in.