Claiming Magique: 1

by Tina Donahue

  She sighed.

  Wallace made a noise that sounded pained. She glanced over. He sat in the passenger seat of Ronnie’s Lincoln Town Car like a man going to an execution, his hands gripping his knees, legs bouncing. A visual representation of how she felt.

  This had to stop. “Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  “As long as I’m driving,” he countered. “I should be behind the wheel.”

  “Yes, I know. But it’s all right. I can manage. I do have a license.”

  “You’re not Ms. DuBlanc’s driver. I am. If anything happens to you or this car, she’s not going to be happy with me.”

  “Nothing’s going to—”

  “Red light, red light, red light!”

  Alexa brought the sedan to a sharp stop. “Okay, okay, okay.”

  Wallace blew out his breath.

  Ignoring him, Alexa resisted the urge to see if Hunt was in one of the cabs behind them. Not exactly following, but at least moving in the same direction. A short time before, she’d forced herself and poor Wallace, her pseudo professor, to order a second dessert neither of them wanted, hoping Hunt and David would leave before they did.

  Sweet David kept sneaking glimpses of their table even as Hunt stopped staring, pretending she didn’t exist. No different from her father. So why had she hoped for Hunt’s continued interest, while also dreading it?

  You know why.

  She gripped the steering wheel to keep from pounding it with the heels of her hands. Hunt knew her real name, so he no doubt knew who her family was. Before she’d hooked up with him in the ladies’ lounge, she’d kept asking herself if that was why he’d continued to call the agency, wanting to book an appointment. Had he hoped that by getting to know her better, making her crave him more than she already did, he’d gain entry into her father’s inner circle? Was he like most guys, coveting the man’s wealth and connections to help him in his own career, while using her to get that far?

  Alexa’s stomach and chest hurt at the thought, bringing her back to the few times her father had actually taken the time to speak to her.

  “You’ll think men will want you,” he’d warned, a mantra he kept repeating as though she’d been too stupid to get it the first thousand times. “But it will only be because of my money. Remember that.”

  What a nice thing to say to a little girl who’d never considered herself as pretty as her mother or attractive enough for any man, especially her father. Alexa’s poor eyesight had forced her to wear glasses and then contacts when all the other kids were free of them. Only Lasik surgery had fixed that problem when she’d turned twenty. She’d been so thrilled with the results, she’d barged into her father’s office without making an appointment.

  “What’s different about me?” she’d demanded.

  He’d glanced up from his work and gave her less attention than he did waitstaff at restaurants. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  Before she could react to such a cruel question or scream at him to notice her…to just be nice…he’d said, “If you are, you’re on your own, Alexa. I put up with your crap during school when you managed to get yourself expelled repeatedly. I’m not doing it anymore.”

  That was the last time she’d sought him out. When she’d lost the weight he’d criticized her about for years, becoming the woman she was now, she hadn’t bothered to ask him what he thought. Nor did she contact her mother, who was in Madrid with her newest lover, a man Alexa’s age. Eventually, she’d met Ronnie, becoming one of her girls. Alexa’s clients confirmed she was finally worthy, interesting enough to capture and hold a man’s attention. They didn’t know about her father. They knew her as Magique.

  If not for Ronnie forbidding it, Alexa would have made appointments with her father’s friends and colleagues, just to piss him off. How often she’d imagined him showing up at her apartment unannounced, needing to see her as she’d so often begged to see him. In her fantasies, she’d pictured herself calm, him angry, then pleading with her not to continue with the agency. Not because her activities embarrassed him, but because he cared about her.

  The light turned green.

  “Go, please,” Wallace muttered, then gestured to the right for Alexa to get into that lane and make the turn. She didn’t, driving through the intersection instead.

  His hand dropped to his lap. “We’re returning to the penthouse? I thought Ms. DuBlanc was leaving for the country this morning.”

  “She did. Francine took her. Ronnie wanted you to stay in the city to chauffeur me to wherever I need to go.”

  “So you can continue to follow Mr. Prescott?”

  Alexa rolled her shoulders. Didn’t ease the stress in them and her neck. “We’re not following him.”

  “Of course not,” he said, despite her lie.

  Okay, so stalking Hunt like a lovesick teen was stupid, but Alexa’s compulsion to see him again was so strong, she couldn’t stop herself. She needed to look at him, stand in the space he’d once taken, hoping to catch his scent. She’d wanted to see how he behaved around other women, if he was remotely interested in anyone. If he’d too easily forget about her and their one evening together.

  “Will I be taking you anywhere tonight?” Wallace asked.

  She wished. However, following Hunt again was out of the question, considering he now thought Wallace was a former professor of hers or a current client. Given how Hunt’s expression had darkened upon seeing Wallace, that possibility had crossed his mind.

  Odd. If he were only interested in her father’s connections and money, why would he be jealous of Wallace or any man?

  Alexa recalled how Hunt had behaved when he knew her only as Magique. How he’d mounted her first, then later carried her into the bathroom so they could be alone, away from Tim and David’s demands. Hunt had acted then as if he didn’t want to share her. In the ladies’ lounge, he’d been as out of control as her, both of them carrying on as if they hadn’t had sex in years…or as though they required each other’s touch.

  She smiled, then bit her lip, the thought pleasing and scaring her.

  “Whoa, careful,” Wallace said, reaching for the wheel.

  Alexa jerked the Lincoln back within the white lines. The driver in the next lane continued to blast his horn, giving her the finger as he passed. As though drifting into his lane was tantamount to murder or not loving your own child.

  As the blare died down, Wallace pleaded, “Tonight, please let me drive.”

  “I’m not going out,” she said.

  The only appointment she’d made since that evening on R Street was the one she had with Tim and David.

  Hunt hadn’t known about it when they’d been in the ladies’ lounge. He would have said something if he had.

  Once David had arrived and they’d talked, Hunt stopped staring at her, pretending indifference. Had David told him about the upcoming date? Most likely. Had he also told Hunt that she’d agreed to see his friends again, but not him?

  What else? And Hunt’s reaction told Alexa exactly what he thought about that, which deepened her sorrow even more but didn’t stop her resolve.

  She didn’t want the promise of tenderness, affection, love. Not any longer. For too many years, she’d hoped for happiness that never came and couldn’t chance going through all that disappointment again.

  * * * * *

  At this late hour, he should have been asleep or catching up on stuff to benefit his clients, but couldn’t seem to do either.

  Hunt pounded his pillows, then shoved them behind himself, trying to get comfortable against the headboard. His laptop with unfinished work was somewhere beneath his bed linens, forgotten as he’d gone through the items Flannigan had provided on Alexa.

  Lifting a copy of one of the photos, Hunt turned it to the nightstand light and couldn’t help but smile. In the picture, Alexa was posing for a school portrait with her other classmates, all of them female, each ten or eleven years old, dressed in green plaid skirts and white blouses with Pe
ter Pan collars. The lenses of Alexa’s glasses reflected the area’s overhead lights. Her hair was done up in a high ponytail. Her smile absent.

  Hunt wondered if she’d had braces at the time. Poor kid. She looked miserable, her shoulders drawn in as though she was trying to make herself invisible or smaller. She still had her baby fat, her little tummy bigger than the rest of the girls who all looked as though they were in training to be anorexics or super models.

  In the next series of school photos, Hunt saw Alexa’s gradual transformation. She no longer wore glasses, the specs no doubt replaced by contacts. She’d started to shoot up, filling out her curves, which slimmed down her waist and tummy a bit. Gone was that miserable look. In its place was an increasing air of defiance at last, complete with her arched brow, pursed lips and arms crossed over her chest.

  Good for you. He hoped she’d given hell to whomever had hurt her, making her feel less than amazing.

  She had her mother’s striking good looks, her father’s smarts. According to Flannigan’s report, her parents had met in New York, having traveled in the same social circles. Her mother’s people had been one of the ruling elite in Vietnam, escaping to this country when all the shit happened in Saigon. Alexa’s father was in banking, his pedigree going back to the Mayflower. His holdings and heritage were on a par with the Rockefellers, DuPonts, Gettys.

  His parenting skills clearly weren’t as stellar, given what his little girl was doing for a living despite her Oxford degree. Hunt debated if her father knew, and if he did, if he cared.

  He traced her face in the photo with the glasses, wishing he could have known her then, told her how special she was. A foolish hope, Hunt knew. At that age, he probably would have teased her relentlessly, calling her four eyes or worse, telling her she was stupid and ugly.

  Anything to make him feel better about himself. It hadn’t been easy protecting his mom, especially when she too often sided with her boyfriends, crying how much she loved them, how only they could keep her from being alone.

  You had me. Why wasn’t I enough?

  He dropped the photo and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, not wanting to think about Alexa turning him down today, her agreeing to see Tim and David. Why in the fuck was she doing that? She wanted him more than she wanted either man. Hell, his friends weren’t even in the running. Hunt wasn’t a stupid kid anymore, trying to guess what was in a woman’s heart. He’d seen the helpless desire in Alexa’s eyes, felt it in her body as she’d melted against him.

  She’d followed him to the restaurant, possibly a lot of other places too, and now she was pushing him away with that stupid David and Tim date. Had she honestly believed they wouldn’t tell Hunt about it? Had she hoped they would?

  Hurt and annoyance tightened his muscles, while images flooded his mind of what he wanted to do.

  He pictured Alexa entering his apartment, wearing a silvery sheath with matching heels. Surrounded by his bedroom’s dark paneled walls, chunky furniture and the scent of leather, she seemed completely feminine and utterly fragile.

  He noticed her mussed hair and bruised lips from too many kisses. Why? Because she’d just been with Tim and David, while denying him?

  Fuck that shit.

  In his fantasy, Hunt left his bed, capturing her wrist so she couldn’t leave. “You’re mine. Admit it.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I don’t do one on one.”

  He pulled her closer, catching her fragrance, thrilled by its tempting sweetness mingled with musk. “Then why are you here?”

  “To say goodbye.”

  Like hell. “Don’t tempt me again, then deny me, I’m warning you.”

  She lowered her face, looking at him from beneath her lashes, a submissive gesture. However, there was defiance in her eyes. “I’ll do whatever I want.”

  Not any longer. Not when it came to them. He pulled her down to the mattress with him, draping her body across his lap. She made another sound of surprise as he shoved her dress above her ass. Her buttocks were naked. The same as when she’d slipped out of her dress in the R Street house and when he’d taken her in the ladies’ lounge. Wise choice that she hadn’t put on underwear tonight. He wouldn’t have allowed it to stop him from what he needed to do.

  With one hand on her waist to keep her put, he ran his other hand down the furrow between her cheeks.

  She grunted and shook her head, the ends of her hair swinging above the floor.

  “You don’t like this?” he murmured, already knowing the answer. It was in her accelerated breathing, the way she gripped his leg and elevated her ass, presenting it to him, just begging for more.

  What exactly? Him to explore her clit and anus? Or was punishment something she craved?

  Again, Hunt ran his fingers down her furrow, pausing at her tight pink ring, stroking it.

  “Stop,” she said, so weak he barely heard her. “Let me up.”

  “So you can leave and go to my friends or some other guy?”

  She dug her fingers into his calf. “What if I do? Think you can stop me?”

  “Keep talking like that and you’ll sure as hell find out.”

  “I said, let me up.”

  “Not until I’m ready. Not until you behave.”

  She laughed, then growled, “Make me.”

  He brought his palm down hard on her ass, giving her what she wanted. The crack of skin against skin sounded louder than Hunt had imagined it would. His fingers stung.

  Alexa shivered, then taunted, “That’s the best you can do?”

  Hunt paddled her as she demanded and deserved, punishing her for making him wait, for choosing any man over him.

  Breathless at last, he pulled her onto the mattress, using whatever was handy to secure her wrists and ankles to the bedposts.

  Her hair fanned out in all directions, Her face was rosy with arousal, her dress bunched above her pussy. Still pretending defiance, she glared but didn’t order him to let her go. Wouldn’t matter if she had. She wasn’t getting away from him again, not with what he saw on her face. Desire as great as his. Acceptance of who he was. Hunger for whatever he decided.

  Hunt pushed Alexa’s dress to her sweet little navel, then pulled the top down, freeing her breasts.

  Her areolas constricted, making the tips seem that much longer. He licked the right one, enjoying its heat, salty flavor and seductive scent. She whimpered. He loved that most of all.

  He wanted her to climax from foreplay alone, to prove he could bring her that much pleasure. Running his hand down her torso, he rested his palm on her belly, appreciating how it quivered at his touch. He rubbed his cheek against the side of her breast, wanting her to feel the rasp of his stubble on her far more delicate skin.

  Air hissed through her teeth, the sound telling him she found this pleasant, but required far more…his cock within her sheath.

  Denying her that, Hunt licked her nipple, exploring the precious contour, at last drawing it into his mouth. He suckled her hard, then gently, only to return to his prior intensity. During it, he edged his hand down her tummy, stopping at the edge of her delicate curls, his fingers a breath away from her clit. Close, but not close enough.

  She moaned and tugged, the bindings stopping her from full movement. “Untie me, dammit.”

  Not for a very long time. Hunt released her nipple and tended to the other as he brushed his fingers over her pubic hair. If she ever waxed it off, he’d spank her again for displeasing him, knowing they’d both enjoy the chastisement.

  His hand dipped close to her nub. He suckled her nipple hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the tip. A guttural sound poured from her. She yanked her arms and legs, making the bedposts groan. The mattress squeaked.

  Paying no heed to the sounds, he continued, driving her as crazy as she’d been doing with him from the first moment they’d met. As he’d hoped, she came, gasping at and fighting her climax every step of the way.

  Not that she’d ever win. He was far too determined and
taken with her, as he’d never been with another woman.

  Moving between her legs, Hunt ran his fingers down the length of her slit. Her folds were puffy and damp from her orgasm, her opening fully prepared for him.

  “Yes,” she breathed before he thought to ask any question.

  Smiling, Hunt leaned down and touched his lips to hers. She teased the seam of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. On an uncivilized growl, he captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue inside, his kiss telling her everything he wanted to say, but couldn’t quite get out.

  He left her panting, himself too, then mounted her, driving every inch of his cock into her cunt, stopping only when their bodies touched.

  “Yes,” she cried this time. “I—”

  His phone rang, making him flinch, pulling Hunt from his fantasy. On a muttered oath, he checked the number. One of his colleagues.

  Ignoring the call, he regarded the information he had on Alexa, needing to know why she continued to deny him. He sifted through the materials, finding the information he’d requested on the service she worked for. There was an inches-thick dossier on Ronnie.

  Hunt opened it and began reading, searching for answers, determining his next move.

  Chapter Six

  With her cell phone to her ear, Ronnie listened as Wallace answered the question she’d just posed.

  When he finished and fell silent, she spoke as quietly as she could, “You’re certain?”

  “I was there. I saw.”

  “Very well, thank you,” she said, maintaining her low tone. “Please don’t repeat this conversation to anyone, understand?”

  “I do. Ms. Marsh won’t know anything about it.”

  Ronnie closed the phone and turned to her assistant Francine, a remarkably efficient young woman who had proven herself as loyal as Wallace. Ronnie liked to think part of Francine’s devotion was because the girl genuinely cared for her even more than the hefty salary she made. However, Ronnie wasn’t that much of a sentimental fool. With what Francine earned, she’d already saved her parents’ home from foreclosure and had paid off her younger brother’s school debts so he could sail unburdened through his surgical residency at Johns Hopkins. Good reasons to keep her mouth shut if she sensed something odd or illegal was going on.