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Resplendence Publishing, LLC
www.resplendencepublishing.com
Copyright ©2008 by Tatiana March
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NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
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CONTENTS
Project Seduction
To Susan Flanders, Writer of Queens
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
Also available from Resplendence Publishing
Lilies and Lies by Tara Greenbaum
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Project Seduction
By Tatiana March
Copyright © 2008, Tatiana March
Published July 2008 by
Resplendence Publishing, LLC
Edgewater, Florida
All rights reserved
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Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and occurrences are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or occurrences, is purely coincidental.
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To Susan Flanders, Writer of Queens
My wonderful critique partner
Without you I would have given up
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Prologue
Georgina Coleman stared at the manager of Pacific Bank's London office, her mouth open in surprise.
"Head Office?” she managed to say when she got her mouth under control again. “But that's in America. San Diego."
Her boss suppressed a smile. “Yes. I'm aware of where the Head Office is located."
"I mean...” Georgina frowned, feeling a little dazed. She tried to speak again, but no sound came out.
"It is a great opportunity,” her boss said with an encouraging nod. “In addition to your usual responsibilities for the wire transfer systems, you'd have a key role in fraud detection, and in supervising the security systems."
Georgina told the man no, but she didn't hear anything. The word remained stuck on her tongue. She glanced down at her feet for courage, and saw a pair of scuffed lace-up flats. Her brown skirt fell in a rumpled curtain below her knees, and the fussy bow on her blouse screamed ‘old maid'.
America.
Georgina blinked.
No one knew her in America. No one at Pacific Bank's Head Office in San Diego had ever had any personal contact with her. She was a name on a letterhead, an email address, an extension number in the company telephone directory.
And if no one knew she was a boring frump, she could fool them into thinking that she wasn't.
Her chin jutted up and she met her boss's expectant gaze. “Yes,” Georgina said. “I'll accept the job."
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Chapter One
Georgina climbed out of bed and covered her naked body with a white satin robe. Sleeping in the raw sounded thrilling in theory, but she mentally deleted the idea from her list of personal reforms.
It left her cold, edgy, and unable to sleep.
A muted crash startled her. The noise faded into a series of thumps across the ceiling, and she followed their trail into the dark living room, until she reached the window.
The world appeared peaceful outside. The moon painted the gardens in silver, and submerged lights glittered in the swimming pool when a breeze stirred the surface.
Then she glanced up, and her heart almost stopped beating.
A pair of sturdy boots dangled at the top of her window. They hovered, and then began to descend, kicking the air for balance.
The floor vibrated as something landed on her balcony with a thud. Georgina stared, her throat tight, her body poised for flight. The crouching shape uncurled and spun, like a shadow stirred to life, until a powerful man dressed in black stood facing her. A baseball cap pulled low covered his head, but it couldn't hide the square jaw, or the full lips clamped into an angry line.
One large hand inched up, as if to touch her, but it met the glass separating them.
Georgina rushed to the telephone at the opposite end of the room. What was the code for the security guard? She couldn't remember. She'd unpacked, but she'd failed to complete her list of chores and stick a label with important numbers to the handset.
She snatched up the receiver and cradled it against her chest, her body rocking side to side, her breath coming in ragged sobs.
A tapping noise tore her gaze back to the window. The man leaned closer, his hands curled around his face as he peered inside. Georgina knew he could see her in the light that spilled in from the bedroom, just like she could see him in the eerie glow of the moon. As she stared, her eyes wide, the man shifted his fingers and tapped against the window once more.
Georgina hurled the telephone away from her chest, ignoring the clatter it made when it hit the floor. If she couldn't call, she'd have to fetch the security guard.
She rushed to the hall. The lock on the front door sprung open at first attempt, and she fled down the stairs, trying to hear if the man had forced his way in and was chasing her.
The bristly carpet on the landing scraped the soles of her bare feet, but she ignored the pain and concentrated on the yellow stripe around the sky-blue expanse, as though it formed a line she could follow to safety. The white walls and doors blurred together in her vision, and she feared she wouldn't find it, but the shiny brass numbers and letters guided her, and she remembered what to look for.
Apartment 34B, directly below hers. That's where the security guard lived. She'd laughed about it earlier, thinking how easy it would be to remember, since it matched her bra size.
That feeble burst of amusement now seemed a lifetime ago.
The third door on the left. She almost hurtled past it. Ignoring the bell, she pounded with her fists. Seconds stretched into eternity as she waited, her hands aching from the beating, her lungs barely rasping in enough air.
Finally the lock clicked, and the door yielded. Georgina threw herself through the gap as soon as it opened wide enough—and slammed right into the man who'd inspected her through the balcony window.
The shock released something in her lungs and she tried to scream, but what felt like an iron band clamped around her waist, and a rough hand pressed over her mouth.
Georgina thrashed and squirmed, with strength born of panic, and managed to twist away from him. The man adjusted his grip, crushing her back against his chest and pinning her arms down her sides. She lashed out with her feet, but he hoisted her off the ground and wedged her legs between his.
A husky voice whispered into her ear, repeating the same words over and over again. Eventually she calmed down enough to understand their meaning.
"It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you. I live here."
"Let me go,” Georgina said into the
smothering hand.
"Are you listening?” he asked.
She made a flurry of choked sounds.
"I'm going to take my hand off,” the man said. “Will you promise not to shout? I'm not going to hurt you. This is my apartment. I don't want to wake up the neighbors. Nod if you understand."
Georgina nodded.
The suffocating hand lifted and she took a deep breath, using anger to control her fear.
"Don't shout,” the man said sharply.
"Let me down."
He slid her to the ground along his hard body, his arm dragging up from her waist until it butted firmly against the curve of her breasts.
"Let me go,” Georgina said.
"Just making sure you're steady on your feet.” Although he was no longer whispering, the man kept his voice low.
"I'm fine.” She tried to wriggle loose.
He released her. A muscular forearm brushed over her breasts before the contact was broken.
Georgina whirled to face him. “What were you doing on my balcony?"
The baseball cap had come off when they struggled, revealing dark hair cropped close and nearly black eyes. The full lips were no longer pressed into an angry line, but it didn't soften the angular face. “I forgot my key,” the man said. “I had to come in over the roof."
Georgina's voice rose to a shrill cry. “You forgot your key?"
"Simmer down.” He darted a worried glance down the hall.
"Simmer down?” She tried to yell whilst whispering. “You scared the life out of me."
"Sorry.” He lifted a hand to scratch the back of his head, looking uncomfortable. “I thought the apartment above mine was empty. Your move was postponed. The rental agent said you insisted the contract start date be pushed back by a week, so that you wouldn't have to pay when you weren't there."
Georgina pursed her lips. “My furniture was delayed at customs, but I got fed up with living in a hotel. I spoke to someone and got them to un-delay it."
He gave her a blank stare. “I bet you did."
She blinked at him. “What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
"If you mean nothing, you'd better say nothing."
They scowled at each other in silence, until the man shifted back. “Problem over. Everyone can go to bed, and peace can prevail again.” He opened the door wide, in a clear invitation for her to exit.
"Wait.” Georgina stood her ground. “What were you doing, creeping home at four in the morning?"
"What? Is there something I've missed? Like some nightmare where we got married and I'm now accountable for my movements to you?"
Heat flooded her cheeks, but Georgina carried on. “The rental agent said you were on call at night, in case of a security alert."
The full lips twisted with amusement. “If that's what you were told, you've been had. I often work nights, and when I don't work, I don't expect people bursting in through my door."
Georgina wrinkled her nose, but she wasn't prepared to give up. “So, pray tell, what are the security duties you perform?"
"Mostly I just hang around,” the man told her. “Let people know there's a cop on hand if there's trouble. Keep the kids from smoking dope by the pool. Make sure the fire escapes are up to code and the security gate's working. No big deal."
She stared at him. “And they pay you for that?"
"They don't pay me. I get a break on the rent, that's all."
"I see.” Georgina gathered her dignity around her like a protective cloak. “I'd better go, let you get to bed.” She began a controlled retreat through the door.
His eyes skimmed up and down her body, and came to rest on hers. “I have no problem if you'd rather stay.” The corners of his mouth twitched up.
Georgina gasped with horror and fled.
At least she couldn't hear laughter behind her, she thought as she scampered up the stairs. How dare he suggest even in jest that she'd be willing to remain in his company? He was big and coarse and uncouth, with a smile that mocked.
Georgina knew she was twenty-eight going on sixty, but it wasn't her fault that her parents had died in a car crash shortly after her fourth birthday, leaving her to be brought up by her grandmother. Her mouth compressed into a thin line. No need to worry about turning into an old maid. She'd been an old maid since she was sixteen, and only her brilliant mind and her forceful nature kept people from realizing it.
He'd realized it though, that man, and he'd laughed at her. Georgina shivered as she remembered his eyes. They made her think of a snake that hypnotized its prey before striking.
Cop's eyes. She'd read about it, how police officers were trained to observe everything around them. Once they learned how to do it, it became second nature and they did it all the time, making no allowances for privacy.
When she reached her apartment, she found the door open. Thank heavens for small mercies. If she'd locked herself out, she would have been forced to return downstairs and ask the man to let her in.
Georgina strode through the hall into the kitchen, and did something she'd never done before. She poured herself a glass of sherry, and gulped it down in one mouthful.
It didn't help her get to sleep. She wasted what remained of the night tossing and turning, wondering why the fear tingling down her spine today felt so different from the fear she'd experienced at other times.
She recalled the time when she'd got the Tanzanian government's wire transfer for twenty-seven million dollars in US development aid mixed up. The money went missing for three days, until it popped up in her bank's error account.
The fear then had numbed her like hypothermia, slowing everything to a blur. This fear was the opposite. Everything speeded up. The blood in her veins pumped hot and fast. She could still feel it as she tried to fall asleep—the strange heat inside her, and the fevered thudding of her pulse.
Ricardo Matisse shut the door quietly as soon as the flowing hem of the woman's robe had fluttered out of the way. He scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the rough stubble on his chin.
Christ, what a bitch the night had been. Ten hours of surveillance, cramped in an unmarked vehicle outside a suspect's house on Loma Point, and nothing to show for it but a plastic bottle full of piss, and nerves strung taut with an overdose of caffeine.
His jittery mind strayed back to the woman who'd taken the apartment above his. Something about her bothered him.
The loose white robe in some slippery fabric had hidden her body, but what he hadn't been able to see, he'd been able to feel as she squirmed against his tight hold. Slender waist, wrists like twigs. Breasts soft and perky against his arm. He'd hurried to release her, before she could feel the stirring in his loins. The moment she whirled and he got a good look at her, he'd wanted to grab her again.
It was her face that troubled him, Rick decided. The features were pretty enough, although the only thing he'd really noticed were the big frantic eyes somewhere between blue and green, first wide with fear, and then narrowed in anger. And the soft pink lips that drew into a stubborn pout once they stopped trembling.
He mulled it over, and realized she possessed a timeless quality. It made him wonder if she was real, or something out of those classic novels he'd been forced to work his way through at high school.
Miss Haversham, Jane Eyre, Heathcliff's Catherine. Women with a burning passion underneath a cool exterior. What intrigued him about Little Miss Upstairs was the possibility that there might be a flame smoldering inside the frosty shell.
Grinning at his rambling thoughts, Rick peeled off his black windbreaker and the T-shirt underneath. He tossed them over his shoulder, then thought better of it and folded the garments neatly over a chair.
He'd already stripped naked when he recalled the complaints about his total nudity in bed, and he pulled his boxer shorts back on. Then he flopped on the bed and rolled under the covers. Before his brain shut down, it replayed the sensations of holding the slender body in his arms.
&nb
sp; * * * *
Georgina squinted. Sunlight filtered in through the curtains, so it had to be morning, but thanks to that moron downstairs she'd managed no sleep at all.
She got up and hurried into the bathroom. Her plan was to get to the pool early, before anyone else arrived, and sunbathe wearing the tiny new bikini the devil inside her had made her buy. When it got busy, she'd cover up with a big T-shirt.
Standing in front of the mirror, Georgina brushed her hair, thinking of Grandma Ethel. She'd loved the old woman. It wasn't wrong to resent being dressed in baggy frocks and lace-up brogues during her teenage years, when every other kid lolled around in jeans and trainers. If only she'd gone to a school with a uniform. Then she could have been like everyone else. But it had to be her luck that the school in the wealthy suburb of Brighton where she'd grown up allowed kids to wear their own clothing.
When she complained, Grandma Ether blamed it on the devil inside her. A devil lurked inside every young woman, according to Grandma Ethel. Georgina's devil had been in action when Grandma Ethel had caught her standing under the porch light kissing Jeff Tadlingham one evening after choir practice. For God's sake, Georgina fumed as she yanked her hair into a ponytail, she'd been all of sixteen, and the boy's hand on her breast hadn't even under her sweater.
It was the last her lips or her breasts had ever felt of Jeff Tadlingham. The poor lad had blushed beetroot and fled, down the front steps and out of Georgina's life. The word must have spread quickly, because no one else had tried to kiss her, not until she left for Oxford University at eighteen.
Ten years had passed since, and Grandma Ethel had been dead for two, but the devil inside Georgina was very slow to come out.
But the white bikini was a good start.
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Georgina clung to the delicious dream where a powerful arm held her tight, and a full mouth inched closer and closer to her lips. A voice whispered into her ear, but the tone was all wrong. Instead of husky and crooning, it lashed out with sharp irritation.
"Hey, lady, wake up."
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