by Amelia Wilde
The white envelope is sitting on my desk when I arrive to work on Monday morning at eight forty-five. It’s early enough to make a good impression, yet late enough to let anyone who might be the least bit curious know that I’m not desperate to get back to the Wilder Enterprises offices, like I didn’t masturbate at least twice a day with my vibrator, like the heat between my legs doesn’t increase with every step I take toward the imposing skyscraper, all because of Dominic Wilder.
It looks like a normal envelope at first glance, but the moment I touch it, I know it’s from him. It’s of even higher quality than the high-end office supplies used at Wilder Enterprises.
I anxiously glance back over my shoulder, once, twice. Marie isn’t here yet, or else she’d have poked her head around the cubicle wall and demanded to know what I did all weekend. Ms. Lillianfield is probably here—she’s never late, always too early—but she makes it a habit not to start her rounds until 9 a.m. The woman might be terse, but she’s fair. I can pretty much guarantee that she’s not involved with any in-house espionage.
Focus on that, I tell myself. That’s your real job. Then I sit down and tear open the envelope.
Something shiny and silver falls out of the envelope into my lap, and I pick it up before I even have a chance to read the words on the notepaper tucked inside. It’s a delicate necklace, and after another moment I don’t think it’s silver after all. I think it’s platinum, or something even nicer. Hanging from the fragile chain is a teardrop diamond.
A sunbeam shining in through the window catches the diamond and casts a rainbow over my desk, and I gasp at the delight that floods my chest.
It was real, then. This necklace is expensive—too expensive for anyone I know to have bought it—but discreet enough that I can wear it in the office and not draw too much attention.
I look down at the note.
V—
I didn’t want to invade your privacy for your cell phone number, but rest assured that I thought of you all weekend. I’d like to see you wearing this as your only accessory. Wear it for me today and meet me at Rouge at nine o’clock tonight. A car will pick you up at your place at eight forty-five.
—D
The Vivienne Davis who’s spent the last few years clawing her way up the ranks at the FBI would never fall for this, but maybe I’m not that Vivienne Davis, because my hands tremble with excitement as I put the necklace around my neck and hook the clasp. Rouge is a new high-end French restaurant that’s impossible to get into, and all I can think about is what I’m going to wear. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m going.
I hear footsteps heading down the row of cubicles toward my desk, and before anyone can discover what I’m doing I tuck the note back in the envelope and slip it into one of my desk drawers. I’m sliding it shut when a bright, beaming face framed by bouncy red curls bursts around the corner into my work space.
“Viv!” She cries my name like we haven’t seen each other in a hundred years. “What did you do all weekend? I had dates with two different men—I know, I’m taking such a big risk. I’m living on the edge. What about you?”
“I—” I spent all weekend fantasizing about pursuing a secret relationship with Dominic Wilder.
Marie doesn’t wait for me to respond. She drops into her chair and rolls backward so she can look over at me again. “Hey, nice necklace!”
14
Dominic
The Vivienne standing in the entrance to the Rouge’s dining room is a vision in red, the satiny fabric of her dress hugging every one of her luscious curves. I want to be that dress. No—I want to take that dress off of her, slide my hands along every divine inch of her creamy, soft skin until I find every single one of the places that make those pretty lips part, that make her gasp and tremble and never want to pull away from me.
I need to be patient. There will be time for all that.
That’s what I keep telling myself—we have time. My heart races at the sight of her, trying to will my mind into rushing through this evening, but I won’t. She has her reasons to be skittish, I’m sure.
Tonight I’m going to find out what they are.
She hesitates a moment longer, and a tuxedoed waiter glides to her side. I see her mouth my name, and the words on her lips make me hard all over again.
Patience.
The waiter guides her through the elegant tables, each adorned with a spotless heavy white linen tablecloth, each with two or four people seated around its edges, all beaming at their incredible luck at getting a reservation at one of New York's hottest new places.
I didn’t need luck.
All I had to do was say my name and the management found a table for me. Not any table, either, but a quiet table for two hidden in a private alcove with a window overlooking the river.
If Vivienne’s reservations are similar to my worries—that her reputation might be smeared by being out in public on what’s clearly a date with a man who is essentially her boss—then this alcove should put her mind at ease. She couldn’t see it from the door of the dining room. I didn’t notice it myself at first, which tells me we’re safely hidden away here.
To be extra cautious, I’ve slipped the members of the wait staff assigned to our table a hefty tip, and we haven’t even started our evening yet.
The waiter shows Vivienne to the table and swiftly disappears as soon as she thanks him. Then her green eyes are fixed on my face, and a blush rises to her cheeks.
“Wow. You pulled out all the stops, Mr. Wilder.”
“Dominic,” I correct her automatically, standing up and stepping over to her. “And this is hardly all the stops.”
The air hums with her anticipation. I move in closer, my hand lightly touching her elbow, and lean down to kiss her cheek. My reward is the hint of a gasp, a quick intake of breath that tells me she’s as much on edge as I am, as ready to be here with me as I am to be here with her.
But that’s as far as I take it, and her shoulders slink back down into place as I pull out her chair and slide it back underneath her as she takes her seat. She tucks her little purse down next to her chair and then straightens her back in her seat, beaming across at me with a sweet smile as I take my place across from her.
“I take it you like the necklace?”
The single diamond gleams above her breasts, framed perfectly by the neckline of her dress, and her cheeks go a little pinker and her eyes twinkle. “It’s gorgeous.” She leans in a little closer. “And discreet.”
“I thought about it carefully—too much of a statement piece would have drawn a bit too much attention, don’t you think?”
She considers me again, her eyes dancing in the candlelight. “You’re different.”
“Different how?”
“Different…now.”
I know what she means. Being in this restaurant with me, at least for the moment, seems to have tempered Vivienne’s snappy attitude, softened her edges a bit. The energy she’s radiating tonight is more sensual than nervous.
It makes me want her more with every second that passes.
“It’s different, outside of the office.”
“Tell me about it.”
She looks down onto the finely printed menu, smiling to herself, and we’re off.
Over a glass of the restaurant’s best Cabernet Sauvignon, I ask her the first question that’s been bothering me since I saw her on the sidewalk. “Have you lived in New York all your life?”
She gives me a coy look. “Do I sound like a native New Yorker?”
“Not at all.”
“I grew up in Michigan.”
“Why’d you leave?”
She shrugs a little, cuts her eyes to the side, the stem of her wine glass held lightly in her right hand. “I wanted bigger things than a small farming town could offer.”
“Bigger things…like the Executive Support Department at Wilder Enterprises?” She seems too smart, too poised, for that to be her greatest aspiration.
Vivienne
grins at me, but there’s a hint of something in her eyes that I can’t quite place. “I’m planning to work my way up.”
“That’s the right attitude to have.” I don’t want to talk about work, I don’t want to talk about the office, and I’m betting she doesn’t really, either. “Do your parents miss you now that you live so far away?”
She laughs a little. “Oh, I’m sure they do. But they wanted each of us to be independent, not clingers.”
“Us?”
“I have a sister, Delilah.”
“Older or younger?”
“Younger, by two years.” She sips at her wine and places the glass back down on the table. “Do you really want to know about my sister and parents?”
The honest answer comes before I can stop it. “No, I want to talk about you.” The grin on her face turns a little bit wicked. “What makes you so irresistible?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“That’s an easy answer.” I lean in like it’s a state secret. “It’s my fabulous wealth.”
Vivienne cocks her head to the side. “That is a plus.” She lets her phrase linger in the air for a moment. “But that’s not all of it.”
“My good looks, of course.”
“You’re very modest.”
“I don’t know that modesty is always a virtue.”
She blushes at that. “No? When is it not a virtue?”
“In elevators, for instance. Or in cars.” The charge in the air kicks up another notch, and the waiter arrives at that moment to deliver the main course. I hardly notice. Vivienne doesn’t even pause to glance down at her plate.
“You’re not being very fair.”
“How am I not being fair? You love this restaurant.”
Her eyes sparkling, she nods. “It’s gorgeous. Lovely.”
“Like you.”
She shakes her head shyly. “But when you talk about those places…”
“Does your mind get overtaken by certain…memories?”
“Certain memories…and certain sensations.”
“Sensations that you’d like to experience again?”
She bites her lip, glancing down at her plate for the first time, then looking back up into my eyes. “I shouldn’t want to.” Her voice drops to almost a whisper.
“You’re free to want anything in the world, even if other people think otherwise.” I reach my hand across the table and take hers in mine, the electricity sparking back and forth between us. “And do you know what, Vivienne Davis?”
“What?”
“I’m free to give it to you.”
I hold her gaze for another long moment, watching her imagine all the things we could do together, and then I put her hand back down. She sucks in a breath.
“But I think,” I say, keeping my tone languid, “that we should start…with…”
“With leaving?”
“With dinner.”
She laughs, and my heart sings.
15
Vivienne
The restaurant is fabulous, and every single bite of the food—French entrées I hardly recognize the names of but can’t stop eating until they’re gone—explodes on my tongue. Part of me can’t believe I’m here, eating this fancy, expensive meal, with a man like Dominic, and that’s the part that wants to stare at the elegant, understated decor and run my hands down the tablecloth, which I’m almost convinced has a higher thread count than my sheets.
But most of me is consumed with Dominic.
He seems at ease in the restaurant, ordering different wines, anticipating the exact moment the waiter will be back, tearing a roll in two and dipping it delicately into a delicately flavorful sauce I’ve never tasted before. Once I sample it, I want to keep eating it for the rest of the night.
More than that, I want to keep drinking Dominic in.
Away from the overhead lighting of the Wilder Building—which is high-end overhead lighting, for sure—he seems like more of the high-powered billionaire, yet less like him at the same time. Clearly, though, he’s in his element here. He never hesitates to make a choice, or order more of something if he sees that I’m enjoying it. He’s in absolute control, and it’s making me even more crazy for him. If he’s this comfortable casually dominating the wait staff, what will he be like behind closed doors?
With me?
On the other hand, he’s calm in a way that I haven’t seen at Wilder Enterprises. Whenever I’ve watched him there, he’s always on edge, the air around him crackling with tension, the type of tension that doesn’t seem like it’s the result of being attracted to another person so much as it’s about something happening behind the scenes, under the surface, where I can’t see it.
By the time the waiter whisks away the last of the plates, I’m somehow in absolute heaven, full but not overstuffed, already daydreaming of the next time I’ll get to eat something this delicious.
Dominic offers me his hand, and the daydream comes to an abrupt end, but in favor of a new dream that’s starting up right in front of me.
“Thank you so much,” I say as he tucks my hand into his arm, not bothering to make a production out of it. This place must really be a kind of safe haven if he’s not worrying about anyone seeing us so closely knit to one another.
Or, says a snotty little voice in the back of my mind, he doesn’t care if anyone sees us here. You’re a nobody. You could be anybody. Maybe he knows that no one who could impact his work, his life, could ever afford to come here.
I shove those thoughts out my mind and let him escort me out of the restaurant. I keep my eyes focused straight ahead, occasionally letting them travel over the line of his jaw, noticing the way his collar is tailored so perfectly that only a single fingertip could fit between the fabric and his shoulders. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see patrons’ heads turning toward us, watching us, but I must be imagining the whispers.
Dominic doesn’t seem to care at all. His strides are even and powerful, and it feels like I’m floating along atop the carpet, until we reach the front doors—held open by two more uniformed waiters—and exit into the car waiting for us at the curb.
This isn’t the black Town Car he took me home in last week. This is something on another level, something sleek, fast-looking and curvy, a deep wine color that’s only a few shades lighter than black. I’m not half bad at recognizing cars, but what with the amount of wine I drank, and the amazingly delicious and filling food, and being so close to Dominic—intoxicating in itself—I can’t place the model.
It’s not until he’s sitting next to me in the back seat, the engine purring as the driver pulls away from the curb, that I find the words to ask. “What kind of car is this?”
“Do you really want to talk about cars?” His eyes are glittering in the sultry darkness of the backseat.
“No.”
He leans in, his warm breath tickling my earlobe, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. “It’s an Audi—so new they haven’t even introduced it to the public yet.”
I breathe him in as he slides over, eliminating the space between us, wrapping one arm around my shoulders and sliding it down until it’s around my waist, pulling me closer into his body. “If it’s not for sale yet—” I’m somehow short of breath already. “Does that mean you always get what you want?”
“Vivienne Davis, you should already know that I always get what I want.”
“What—” I suck in one more breath. “What do you want now?” I know what I want, and it’s turning me into a mindless puddle.
His lips hover near my ear one more time. “You.”
I turn my head and, not being able to hold back any longer, crush my lips against his. I can’t wait another moment and so I don’t. I kiss him, hard and hot, relishing his arm tightening around me. He twists, pressing me back into the buttery-soft luxury leather seat, and as his tongue pushes into my mouth, his other hand is playing at my knee. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t insist, but I spread my legs wider on instinct, want
ing him to have access, wanting him to touch me, to please touch me.
He bites my lip so gently that I moan into his mouth. The professional Vivienne Davis, undercover FBI agent, is gone, and I’m a woman, a bundle of live nerves spread out on a billionaire’s back seat, his strong hand stroking the bare skin there, his tongue exploring my mouth, and then his lips tracing a hot path of fire down the side of my neck.
I’m soaking wet. There’s no denying it, and for a fleeting instant, I worry about the car’s upholstery. But that moment is over almost before it begins.
“I want you,” Dominic says, his voice low, nearly a growl. “Are you going to run away again?”
“I was—” I’m gasping for breath as his hand moves higher and higher up my leg toward my folds. “I was afraid…my job—your job—I’m—please, take me. Please, Dominic, claim me, have me, punish me.” The last phrase slips out before I can stop it, and I’m in so deep that I hardly have time to be embarrassed. His hand has reached the lace panties and he hooks a finger in the waistband near my hips. I know I’m practically incoherent by this point, but I want him to touch me so badly that I can’t get the words out of my mouth in order. Hell, I don’t care about getting them in order.
He presses his lips against mine again, his finger moving slowly toward the front of my panties, toward my molten hot core, and I open my lips for him again. I don’t care that we’re in the back of the car, that there’s a driver, I’m so ready for this—
Dominic pulls away, first his lips, then his hands, and I let out a groan, reaching for his shirt. I’ll do this myself… I’ll loosen the tie from around his neck, I’ll unbutton every button.
The car is slowing and Dominic reaches up and catches my wrists in his hands, kissing me one more time.
“I’ll have you, Vivienne Davis,” he growls into my ear. “I’ll take you like you’ve never been taken before.”