The Devil's Touch (12 page)

Angelica came back from the erotic corners of her imagination with a jolt. The elevator had reached the seventeenth floor. A middle-aged woman and a tall man carrying an umbrella stepped out – and when the doors finally whispered closed again, they were alone.

There were three floors between them and the penthouse. Angelica turned within his arms and her voice was a frantic whisper. “Please… right now. I can’t wait.”

Lucien pushed her up against the wall of the elevator, her back flat against the decorative timber paneling and he brushed his hips back and forth against her body, the hard swell of him within his trousers an endless tease until she flailed her arms around his neck, frenzied beyond caring.

“Soon,” he said. “As soon as we get inside the penthouse.”

The sofa in the living room was as far as they reached before Angelica had wriggled free of her skirt and unbuttoned her blouse. They collapsed down on to the cool leather, their arms and legs entwined, and Lucien’s hand tangled in her hair as he lowered his mouth to her breast. Angelica fumbled at the buckle of his belt, her fingers driven desperate by her need.

Then Lucien slid to the floor and eased her legs wide before him. Angelica’s hands locked together at the back of his head and she growled with savage satisfaction as his mouth eased forward to engulf the heat of her sex.

“The Devil’s Touch,” she pleaded. “Please!”

Lucien paused to kiss the soft inside of her thigh. “I can’t,” he said. “The Devil’s Touch only works if you are laying flat on your back.”

Angelica looked desperately towards the hall. The bedroom was so far away! Her legs were too weak. She knew she would never make it.

Lucien carried her, their mouths locked together in a steamy kiss until he finally laid her across the bed sheets and knelt down between her raised knees.

Angelica’s last conscious thought was the realization that Lucien Lance and the Devil’s Touch were irresistible.

Later, when it was darkening outside, they showered together and then Angelica sat pensively on the bed while Lucien shaved.

When he came from the en suite she was staring into the sunset.

“Talk,” Lucien ordered.

Angelica shook herself as though waking from a troubled sleep.

“I’m being swept away by you,” she said softly. “I’m supposed to be searching for work. I’m supposed to be sorting out my life.” She shrugged.

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “Your life is sorted,” he said. “You submit to me. That’s a full time job.”

Angelica sighed in exasperation. “For how long?” She turned on him. “How long would that last, Lucien?” In her mind she could still hear the warning echoes of the women’s voices at the yacht club.

Lucien Lance had a reputation.

“It will last until you disappoint me.”

Angelica laughed but it was a hollow little sound. “That’s a big risk you’re asking me to take.”

“With great reward,” he reminded her.

Angelica turned away and Lucien sat on the edge of the bed and cupped her face in his hands. “Life is a gamble, Angel. Nothing is assured. You could land a job at another bank tomorrow, only to be retrenched the very next day. There is no job security anymore. Our time together is as secure as you make it. The question is… are you willing to bet everything on your ability to submit to me?”

* * *

Angelica was on her knees in the center of the floor, her head bowed in a pose of submission when Lucien came home the next evening.

She was naked, the soft glow of lamps around the darkened room spotlighting the tender upward curves of her breasts, the sculptured arch of her back and the roundness of her firm bottom.

Lucien paused in the entryway for a long moment, feeding his eyes and his imagination on her profile. Her hair shone in the light like a blonde golden halo around her face.

“You look like a goddess,” he said into the silence.

Angelica looked up, her lips painted red and glossy, a face of Madonna-like beauty, the huge eyes glittering with sensual promise.

“Thank you,” she whispered, “Master. I made my decision about my future.”

Lucien felt the sudden strength of his arousal clutch and fill low in his body. Suddenly he wanted this woman so violently that the rigors of his day drifted away like smoke on the wind.

“Stand up,” he said.

Angelica stood, and only then did he realize she was wearing high heels.

Lucien left his briefcase by the door and stepped close to her.

Her body was young and tender, a tantalizing blend of child-like awkwardness and graceful womanly flare. He circled her slowly, marveling at the honey color of her skin, the velvety texture, the flawless smoothness of her body.

Angelica had been standing with her hands clasped in front of her, a gesture that instinctively covered the smooth hollow of her body, but now she let her hands drop to her sides, exposing herself to his scrutiny and at the same time she inched her hips forward and bent her back, inviting his eyes to explore her.

She raised her head and looked up into his face. Her breathing quickened and her lips parted.

“Do I please you?”

“Yes,” Lucien hissed. There was a ravenous glint of dominant animal lust burning in his gaze.

Angelica had emphasized the size of her eyes with a skillful use of line and color, creating the effect so subtly that it appeared she wore almost no make-up at all, and her hair twirled and bounced on her shoulders like a soft sable cloud down to the tips of her breasts.

He kissed her then, and her lips spread apart softly under the press of his, sucking his tongue into her mouth and moaning her desire. He put his arms around her waist and clawed at the skin of her tender back, goading her just short of pain with the rake of his fingers so she gasped into his mouth and shuddered with the exquisite intensity of the sensation.

Lucien’s hands roamed across her back, prickling and digging into her flesh, and at each new touch the edge of her arousal grew closer so that when he tangled his hands into her hair and tugged her head back violently, she cried out and began to tremble all over.

The pearly skin of her throat and shoulder were exposed and Lucien bared his teeth in a growl. He plunged his mouth down, biting and sucking at the soft flesh, the steel-blue shadow of his unshaven face rasping as he devoured her.

It was too much – too intense. Angelica felt her legs begin to collapse beneath her. She threw her arms around Lucien’s neck, her whole body thrilling with electric spasms.

He pulled away from her suddenly, and in dismay she tried to follow his body, needing more, not wanting him to stop. Her neck and throat were inflamed, glistening wet from the trail of his lips.

“Obey me,” Lucien ordered.

He hunted her into the moonlit bedroom, his hands burning on her skin and she stood beside the bed, waiting as he undressed. Then he came to her naked and magnificent; a broad-shouldered shadow in the darkness, his rampant hardness huge and hot between them as he crushed her within his arms.

Angelica opened her mouth under the demanding pressure of his as he kissed her. She reveled in the savagery of his lips – the way his tongue thrusted and the submissive thrill of being utterly powerless to resist him.

Then, just as suddenly, the kiss was over, his lips drifting down to her breast, and Angelica was left breathless and shaking. Her knees felt as though they might give way under her.

She closed her eyes, and as she did she felt him turning her around then positioning her on the edge of the bed on her hands and knees. Angelica’s fists clawed at the bed sheets. She felt Lucien’s hands between her thighs forcing her knees wider apart and there was a sudden flutter of wicked excitement in her chest at the sensation of being so exposed and vulnerable to him.

She felt Lucien span his palms across her waist, skimming them lightly over her skin before suddenly gripping tight. Angelica lowered her face down onto the cool sheets and the need and anticipation of her was almost more than she could bare. Then she felt the thickness of him against her and she willed herself to relax.

Lucien entered her slowly, leaning himself forward over her so that she could feel the heat of his skin and the resilient press of his muscled chest against her back. He reached one hand around and caught the shape of her breast in his palm, tugging and teasing the nipple until it was stiff between his clever fingers.

Angelica groaned, and it was a wild, urgent sound from somewhere deep inside her. Then he withdrew himself, paused, and finally thrust forward again.

Angelica cried out, bewildered at the depth of his penetration and marveling in the way he filled her so completely. Her fists tangled in the sheets as he pushed forward again and again.

Lucien braced his legs and began to thrust harder, deeper, and then faster and faster. Angelica pressed back, meeting his hunger with her own and absorbing every powerful plunge. She was panting, overcome by the wickedly delicious sensations of fullness and male possession.

The force of Lucien’s thrusts were like hammer-blows, beating her willing body further into submission. She cried out again – one last gasp of dizzying pleasure – and then she felt her whole body heave and buck and undulate in the grips of a wave of release that started low in her center before blooming as bright colored flashes of light behind her eyes.

Lucien’s release was just a moment behind hers, triggered by the fierce clench of Angelica’s body as it gripped around the hardness of him. He tensed, rigid for long pulsing moments, and he threw his head back as a growl of deep gratification was torn from his lips.

* * *

Angelica came awake slowly, languid and savoring the dull satisfied ache she felt low within herself. Her hand was across her stomach and she realized that under the sheet she was naked. Her hand drifted up past her breasts, the memory of lovemaking fresh in her mind. She touched her neck and then her lips; they were kiss-swollen and tender. She smiled and rolled over.

“Lucien?”

The place beside her in the bed was empty. She slid her hand over the indented pillow. It was cold.

“Lucien?”

She slid from the bed and padded across the room. The en suite door was open but it was dark and empty inside. She went to the bedroom door and realized that light was coming from the living room.

Lucien’s bath robe was hanging on the bedroom door handle. She wrapped it around herself and crept along the shadowed hallway.

At the end of the passage she stopped suddenly.

Across the living room, Lucien Lance sat at his desk, wearing just denim jeans, the light from the lamp painting the skin of his bare chest golden brown. He was talking quietly on a phone and Angelica stood for long seconds and gave herself over to the pleasure of watching him. She was enchanted. His body was lean and trim, the muscles of his chest and arms clearly defined. Even this far away from him she could sense the raw power of the man – not merely the physical strength of him, but the power that came from his energy and presence.

Lucien looked up suddenly, seeing her at last, and catching the mesmerized expression on her face. Angelica’s hand went to her throat as she felt a startled flush high on her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly. “I woke up and you weren’t in bed. I was worried.”

Lucien put the phone down and leaned back in his chair.

“Is everything all right, Lucien?”

He gave a thoughtful frown. “Yes,” he said after considering the question. “I think so… There has been an unexpected development in the Darrow Air negotiations.”

Angelica came into the room, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet.

“There was a message from Marv Skinner on the phone,” Lucien explained. “I came out here to make the call. It seems that John Darrow wants another meeting – urgently.”

“That’s good, right?”

“It could be,” Lucien was guarded. “We will find out soon enough. He’s coming here for the meeting at 10am this morning.”

* * *

Lucien woke early and raised himself on one elbow.

Angelica was curled up beside him, her knees drawn close to her chest. She had kicked the sheet aside sometime during the night, and her head had slid from the pillow so that she slept with one cheek in her open hand pressed to the mattress.

She was naked, and early morning light through the curtains cast a soft golden glow over her shoulder and hip, and darkened the shadowed hollows of her body to the color of burnt honey. Her hair was loose about her face. Lucien brushed a tendril from her brow – and then he smiled.

He watched her for a long time, listening to the soft sound of her breathing and enjoying the sight of her so close in his bed.

He covered her with the sheet before silently rising.

* * *

The knock was strangely timid so that the first time Lucien heard it he could not identify the sound. He waited, sitting at his desk with paperwork scattered around him and the phone to his ear, and it was only when the sound came again that he realized someone was at the door.

Lucien glanced at his wristwatch. It was a few minutes before 10am.

He set the phone down and took his time bundling and stacking the documents on his desk before sauntering to the front door. In the entryway he paused for a moment to check his appearance in the gilt-framed wall mirror.

He was wearing black trousers and a black waistcoat. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his forearms. His coat hung over the desk chair and he wondered idly for a moment if he should stall for a few more minutes to put it on.

No – he’d made his point.

He touched at the knot of his sky-blue tie. Even though he was about to preside over Darrow Air’s funeral, he saw no point dressing like an undertaker.

The thought made him laugh suddenly.

Lucien Lance opened the door and the big hulking shape of John Darrow stood in the foyer.

Lucien was shocked at the older man’s appearance. His size hadn’t altered – he was still an imposing bulk – but his body and face seemed to have lost all of its vitality. His posture was stooped so that the barrel of his chest was gone now and the weight seemed low around his stomach, making his suit appear lumpen, and the hard chiseled features of his face had been eroded; blurred and softened like sandblasted masonry.