By Appointment Only (16 page)

She was breathing like a marathon runner, gasping for air, burning up. Sweating. Shivering.

He nipped her ear with his teeth. “Shall I stop, Angelique? Perhaps wait until tomorrow night to deflower you?”

His words were lazy, taunting. Rife with the knowledge of how close she was to reaching her climax.

She couldn’t speak. Her mouth was dry. Her throat tight.

She turned her face into his shoulder, frustrated tears making her eyes sting. What did he want from her?

The wicked laird thrust two fingers roughly into her vagina, tickling the swollen flesh. “Beg me, Angelique. Beg me to satisfy you.”

She cursed him.

He stroked her inner walls, probing and teasing, and all the while manipulating her clit.

Just when she thought her orgasm was imminent, he removed his hands from her sex and went back to playing with her breasts. Her nipples were sensitive, swollen. He fondled her and cupped her flesh and toyed with her as though he owned her body and soul.

Fire clawed and writhed in her lower abdomen, demanding release. She fought him suddenly, half mad with hunger. “Let me go,” she demanded weakly.

Again he stroked her clit. “Beg me, Angelique. I want to hear you beg.”

He pressed down gently on the little knot of nerves and her breath caught in her throat with a keening cry. “Please,” she begged. “Please.”

He kissed her temple. “Please what? Shall I let you return to your people, chaste and pure? Or shall I make you weep with pleasure beyond your wildest imagination?” He turned her face with firm fingers and thrust his tongue between her dry lips, simulating the sex act. “Choose, Angelique. Choose your virginal bed at home, or choose your new master. Which shall it be?”

“You,” she cried, tormented with a knife edge of hunger that wouldn’t let up.

He skated over her clit and shoved three fingers into her vagina. Her back arched so hard, her head caught him on the chin. But she barely registered the painful collision as shocking waves of pleasure gripped her pelvis and dragged her over the cliff of an intense orgasm that lasted for what seemed like hours.

She felt him turn her in his arms, and now her back was to the mirror. He lifted her, positioning her over his rigid penis. His face was dark with passion, his eyes narrowed in lustful concentration.

As the head of his cock probed for entry, she cried out. “Release my arms . . . please.”

“No.” He growled the single word like a curse and shoved hard and deep, impaling her on his erection. Her inner flesh was supersensitive from her recent climax. The intrusion was almost painful. She fought him instinctively.

He cupped her head between his large palms and kissed her wildly. Again he surged upward. Their cries mingled with the sounds of flesh slapping flesh. His hands bruised her ass. She felt totally helpless, totally subjugated. Totally in thrall to the man who mastered her body.

For a moment, she
was
Angelique. Her untried body stretched with his broad length. Her previously virginal lips raw and aching from his passionate kisses.

She imagined the mirror behind her, created in her mind the image of his hands on her ass, the way he held her carefully as he lowered her onto his prick without compunction. Possessing her repeatedly, forcefully, until for the second time in their brief fantasy encounter, her body betrayed her by tensing and then exploding in sobbing, beautiful, blindingly sweet release.

Morgan fumbled with the knot at her wrists and finally loosened the tie and threw it across the room. He brought her arms forward and wrapped them around his sweaty neck. Their bodies were still joined. Inside her, he was still hard. He rested his forehead against hers, trying to regain his breath and his hold on reality.

He licked his lips, tasting her there. “You screamed, Angelique. I heard you. And there was no force at all. I want to hear you say it. Call me
my lord
and admit that I own you body and soul.”

Silence reigned in the room. He was ready to go again, impatient for her answer. “Tell me,” he demanded. “Else I will send you back to your father.”

Her body drooped against his, her face buried in his chest. “You own me, my lord, body and soul. Do with me what you will. I am yours to command.”

In the split second that followed her dramatic capitulation, a violent crack of thunder rent the air, loud enough to penetrate even their sexual haze, and the room went dark.

Hannah squeaked and dug her fingernails into his skin as she tried to crawl closer. Morgan held her close. “We’re perfectly safe, my love.”

She was trembling, and again he was taken aback by the odd dichotomy. Hannah could jump out of an airplane but was scared of thunderstorms. She was a fascinating mix of contradictions.

He tightened his arms around her, ruefully aware that their bodies were still joined. He wondered if she noticed. In some rational corner of his mind, he had expected the lights to flicker back on quickly. The fact that they did not meant that the trouble might be long lasting. A transformer perhaps, or even the building’s power grid.

By now his eyes had adjusted to the lack of artificial illumination and he could see the faint evidence of daylight peeking from around the edges of the drapes. He extricated one of his arms from Hannah’s death grip and pressed a button to see the dial on his watch. They had about fifteen minutes before they had to be out of this room.

That knowledge was enough to take what was left of the starch out of his erection. Gently, he untangled their bodies. The storm sounded as if it was getting farther away. “Time’s up, my Angelique. Let’s get out of here.”

He went to the window and drew back the drapes. Even though it was still several hours until nightfall, the heavy, sullen clouds cast a gloom over the city. But there was at least enough light to enable them to get dressed.

When they exited the room, the hallway leading to the lobby was lit at far intervals with emergency lights. The reception desk was empty, but the usual envelope awaited them. Morgan frowned. “Have you made our next appointment?”

Hannah nodded, still clinging to his arm. “It’s not until next Tuesday.”

“Then let’s take the questions with us. I’d rather get out of this building as quickly as we can.”

The elevators were out of commission, of course, so they had to walk down flight after flight of stairs. It was a relief to finally step out into the main lobby and head for the parking garage on the other side of the building.

But even though the thunder had abated somewhat, the sheets of rain coming down were a problem. Driving would be a nightmare.

He sighed. “Let’s go to your car and sit tight for a little while. There’s no sense getting out in this mess if we don’t have to.”

Hannah squeezed his arm. “Look, Morgan. Isn’t that Timmy and Rachelle?”

The young couple from their group appointment stood a couple of rows over in the mostly empty garage near a small, older model Saturn. They appeared to be arguing. As Morgan and Hannah approached them, Timmy lifted the hood on the car and peered inside.

Hannah called out a greeting. “Rachelle. Is that you? Do you guys need some help?”

Both young people turned around. Up close, Morgan could see that Rachelle had been crying. He decided to let Hannah deal with that. He looked over Timmy’s shoulder. “What can I do, man?”

Hannah took in Rachelle’s distraught face and without second-guessing herself, went over and hugged the girl. Rachelle might be a wife and a mother, but she was painfully young, and Hannah thought she just might need a friend. At least for the moment.

She rummaged in her purse and handed the rail-thin girl a tissue. “Did you and Timmy have a session at the Hursts’ office?”

Rachelle turned bright red, hugging her arms around herself. She was wearing nothing but a thin tank top and jeans, and the wind blowing through the garage was damp and cool. “Yeah. You, too?”

Hannah nodded. “What’s wrong with the car?”

Rachelle glanced at the two men who were visible only from the waist up as they peered under the hood. “Don’t know. It’s a clunker. We need a new one. But with the baby and everything else, we’re strapped.”

Suddenly she started crying again. Hannah put an arm around her shoulders, feeling woefully inadequate to offer advice. “What’s the matter, honey?”

The girl’s bottom lip wobbled. “I want to get home to the baby, and we’re late. I’m nursing and my boobs hurt when I go too long.”

“We could give you a ride.” The storm still howled, but what else could she say?

Rachelle’s face lit up. “Really? That would be awesome.” Then her face fell. “But we’d better wait a minute. Timmy thinks he can get the car going, and he’ll be pissed if he thinks I don’t have confidence in him.”

Hannah nodded and smiled conspiratorially. “That fragile male ego—right?”

Rachelle managed a weak giggle. “Yeah.” She wiped her eyes one last time and looked at Hannah. “This thing tonight sucked.”

“The car breaking down?”

“Well, yeah . . . that, too. But I was talking about the counseling session.”

Hannah blinked. She wasn’t sure she was ready for a sexual tell-all.

“Oh?” How did one respond in a situation like this?

Rachelle nodded glumly. “We were supposed to pretend like we had hooked up at a bar . . . that we weren’t married . . . that we didn’t have a kid.”

“And it didn’t work?”

“Hardly. We had a big fight and Timmy pouted, so we ended up sitting there forever and then having a quickie right before we left.”

“What did you fight about?” Now Hannah was curious.

“I was supposed to act like I was picking Timmy up in the bar for a one-nighter.”

“And?”

“He got all mad and jealous and said I did it like I was used to doing it all the time. Like I had met a bunch of guys that way. Which was stupid, because I was a virgin the first night he made love to me on our honeymoon. I swear, guys are so dense sometimes.”

Hannah chuckled. “I’m with you there, girlfriend.” She patted Rachelle on the arm. “Don’t let it get you down. I’m sure it will all blow over. Was this your second session this week?”

Rachelle looked guilty. “We only did one. I know Dr. Sheila and Dr. Pat wanted us to do two, but I don’t like leaving the baby, and we had to get a sitter. It was all complicated.”

Hannah gave her an encouraging smile. “I’m sure next week will be better. Don’t you worry.”

Morgan walked over to them, a wry grin on his face. “I think we’ve got it going, but we’ll follow you guys home, Rachelle, just to make sure.”

Twenty minutes later, Hannah and Morgan watched from the car as the young couple darted through the rain and up the steps into a shabby duplex that looked like it hadn’t been painted in a hundred years. The small yard was choked with weeds and the duplex on the opposite side had broken-out windows and graffiti spray-painted in red and black on the siding.

Hannah frowned. “They have a lot of strikes against them. It doesn’t seem fair.”

Morgan put the car in gear. “They may be young, but they’ve shown some maturity even so. They both seem committed to each other and their baby.”

Hannah wondered what Morgan would think of Rachelle’s confessions, but she owed it to the girl to keep her confidences. “A lot of couples in their situation would end up divorced before their third anniversary.”

“And some wouldn’t,” Morgan said bluntly, his jaw outthrust.

Hannah sighed. “I hope they beat the odds.” Her cell phone rang suddenly. She’d had it off during the session and only remembered to turn it back on moments ago. When she glanced at the Caller ID, her heart gave a funny bump. Elda never called this late.

She punched a button. “What’s wrong, love?” Her hand gripped the phone as she listened to the frantic stream of words on the other end. “We’ll be right there.”

Morgan kept an eye on Hannah as they pulled up into the parking lot at Fluffy Palms. He’d not been able to get much information out of her other than the fact that Elda wasn’t sick. He had a feeling that Hannah would have been happier handling whatever this crisis was alone, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

Elda met them at the door. She seemed calm, but her eyes were puffy and red, and she was twisting a handkerchief in her fingers as if she’d like to rip it into shreds.

When they were all seated, Hannah leaned forward. “Tell us what happened.”

Elda avoided their eyes, and Morgan could swear that she was as much embarrassed and ashamed as she was upset. Finally she spoke in a quavery voice. “It’s Arnie. He cleaned out my bank account.”

Hannah’s jaw dropped. “He did what?”

Elda shrugged, unhappiness etched on her wrinkled face. “He took everything and disappeared.”

Hannah frowned. “But how?”

Now the shame was clear. “I gave him my account number so he could move the deposit for our trip. I feel like such a fool.” Fresh tears welled in her faded eyes.

Hannah went to her and gathered her in a comforting hug. “I’m so sorry, Elda. We’ll help you, I promise. Won’t we, Morgan?”

He gulped. Tracking down embezzlers was not his forte, but whatever Hannah wanted . . . “Of course we will,” he said firmly. “We’ll nail his hide to the wall.”

Elda laid her head on Hannah’s shoulder. “I should have smelled a rat. No man wants to take an ancient gal like me to the Caribbean. I was a stupid old fool.”

Morgan remained with the two women for an hour and then sensing his presence was now superfluous, he went for a walk. Night had fallen, and after the storm and the heavy rain, the humidity made the air feel like a sauna.

It had been a day of highs and lows. Remembering the moments with his lovely, sexy Angelique made it necessary to adjust his pants. But unfortunately for him, Timmy, Rachelle, and Elda weren’t helping his case.