Claiming Magique: 1 (11 page)

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.

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.

“Everything’s fine,” Ronnie said,
more to herself than Francine. She smoothed the cashmere throw over her legs.
“You can leave us.”

Francine glanced at Hunt. He stood
at the entrance to the family room, his raw masculinity making Ronnie’s country
house seem even daintier. Chintz curtains decorated the tall windows.
Overstuffed chairs and two sofas in a delicate floral design added to the
area’s gentle beauty. The walls were a pale green, the hardwood floor gleaming,
reflecting the white baby grand piano in one corner and the stone fireplace in
the other.

“Go on,” Ronnie urged Francine when
the girl didn’t move. “Mr. Prescott isn’t a threat. Are you?” she asked him.

He smiled.

Ronnie’s belly fluttered. Damn, he
was something, right down to his blue-blue eyes and roguish grin. That alone
should have been bottled for use on those days when a woman felt old and wasted
with no hope to reclaim what she once had.
A man’s interest.
His obsession for her.

She cooed, “Then you are a threat.”

“Not at all,
ma’am.”

Okay, that address broke the magic,
not that it kept Ronnie from returning his smile. She should have been long
past flirting, but couldn’t help herself. Having a virile male in her home
reminded her of times past, prior to the beginning of her first illness, its
agonizingly painful and uncertain path. “Go on, sit.”

“Should I bring you anything?”
Francine asked.

Ronnie spoke to Hunt. “Are you
staying long?”

“That’s up to you.”

“Mr. Prescott will have bourbon,
neat,” Ronnie said. “Jim Beam, not Jack Daniels, correct?”

He nodded.

Francine pulled her attention from
him, her usually pale complexion tinged with color. “I’ll bring you some more
water.” She took Ronnie’s empty glass.

Hunt regarded the vials of pills on
the antique end table.

Embarrassed that he’d caught her in
such a vulnerable state, Ronnie fooled with her pearls. It would have hurt far less
for him to ask for her date of birth than to know about her illness. She didn’t
want his pity. She wanted back what she couldn’t have—youth and good health. A
chance to make things right, to be happy, everything
Alexa
could still have.

Reminding herself that Hunt’s visit
was about
Alexa
, not
her
,
Ronnie gestured him to the chair closest to the sofa on which she sat. “Go on.
You’re making me nervous standing there
like
that.”

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. You’re an arrogant
SOB.” He’d found out the agency’s phone number,
Alexa’s
name and the location of this place. It wasn’t as if Ronnie advertised any of
that information. Hell, she didn’t have a website for the agency or even a
business name. It was strictly word-of-mouth. Only a very few, the richest and
most powerful, knew of its existence. “How dare you show up here without an
invitation or even a
warning.
”

He leaned back in his chair, his
size making it seem too flimsy. “You mean as
Alexa
did with me at my favorite restaurant.”

“No, that’s not what I meant.”
Ronnie released her pearls and straightened, propping herself on one elbow.
“You don’t own the restaurant. It’s a public place. This isn’t. How did you
find me?”

He gave her an “oh come on” look.

She waited.

He offered a good-natured shrug.
“The same way you found out about the Emerson bill
Alexa
mentioned that night on R Street. DC has more good investigators than competent
lawmakers. Apparently the detective you or she hired told her the places I
frequent, because she was following me.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“I’m a regular at the restaurant
where she finally blew her cover. So regular, a table’s reserved for me. If I
don’t show up, the
waitstaff
calls to find out what’s
wrong.
When I’ll be by.
So what was
Alexa
doing there at the same time I was?”

“Coincidence.”

Hunt grinned. “Bull. Wallace just
confirmed she was following me. That was Wallace you were speaking to,
correct?”

Warmth rushed to Ronnie’s cheeks,
tingling and inviting, reminding her of how delicious it was to spar with a
good-looking man. “Allow me to add eavesdropping to your dubious talents.”

He laughed, a full rich sound,
unconcerned with what anyone thought. “I take it Wallace isn’t a professor from
one of
Alexa’s
old schools as she claimed.”

Ronnie didn’t confirm or deny.

“Is he a client?” Hunt
asked,
the change in his manner immediate. From casual to
predatory, a man protecting what was his.

Was that what he thought…was that
what he wanted?
Alexa
for his own, not just for a good time, but well into the future?

The possibility intrigued Ronnie.
This man was definitely a match for
Alexa
.
Strong.
Decisive.
Completely
enchanted by her and not because he knew who her father was. Nicholas Marsh’s
background didn’t seem to be in the equation. If it had been, Hunt would have
been unctuous, trying to cajole and impress.