The Devil's Touch (8 page)

Angelica settled herself on Lea’s lumpy old sofa and pulled a blanket over her knees.

She began to read.

Time passed quickly. While Angelica became absorbed in the Vivien Sparx bestseller, Lea hummed around the apartment doing housework. Occasionally Angelica would look up from the kindle and stare off into the distance as her mind filled with erotic images. Then she would bow her head back over, and apart from gasps and murmurs, she remained silent.

Lea found half a bottle of wine in the bottom of her refrigerator. She drank, and she watched.

“Good story?”

“Good,” Angelica nodded.

“Still scared?”

“A little – but I’m kind of intrigued as well.”

There was a sudden loud knock. Lea set her glass down on the kitchen counter and Angelica looked up sharply. When Lea opened the door, Duncan Charleton was standing there.

He was a tall, thin man, a few years older than Angelica with lank sandy hair. He had a narrow face, sallow cheeks and a scruffy moustache.

Angelica gaped at him from the sofa, and then her eyes slowly narrowed. “What do you want?”

Duncan stepped into the apartment. “I want you back, Angelica. I’m miserable without you.”

Angelica said nothing and Duncan pressed on in a rush. “You’re the woman for me,” he said. “You’re the only woman I want or need. I… I made a mistake.”

Angelica set down the kindle and stood up, her hands on her hips. “And what happened to Penny, Duncan? I thought you and your new girl were planning a life together.”

“It’s over.”

“Already?”

Duncan nodded.

“After one night?”

He nodded again.

Angelica kept her expression cold and remote, but inside she felt a surge of deep vindication and satisfaction. Looking at Duncan then, she wondered what she had ever seen in the man.

“I broke it off,” Duncan lied. “I missed you too much.”

Angelica nodded. “I see,” she said softly.

“It’s only been a day, baby. I was hoping we could just put this behind us – move on from here. I want you to come home with me. Come back where you belong.”

“It hasn’t been a day, Duncan,” Angelica said. “It’s been a month. For a whole month you’ve been cheating on me. You told me that.”

“Yes… but -”

“And I do want to move on, Duncan. But not with you,” her voice became louder, firmer. “I’ll never come back to you. We’re finished.”

Duncan shook his head again. “Angelica! You don’t mean that!”

“Yes, I do,” she said adamantly. She pulled the small white card from her pocket and smiled. “Now, if you will kindly get out – and go to hell – I’ve got a phone call to make.”

* * *

Angelica packed clothes, shoes and cosmetics into two large bags and carried them down the steps of Lea’s apartment to where the limousine waited.

Edward, Lucien Lance’s chauffeur, put the bags in the trunk and handed Angelica an envelope before holding the door open for her. She climbed into the limousine and waved goodbye to Lea.

Inside the envelope was a key to the penthouse and a plain white card with three lines of neat handwriting on it.

I knew you would make the right choice.

You can’t deny the temptation you see;

It’s the angel in you and the devil in me.

L.

She should have been angry that he would be so presumptuous, and she wanted to be. But he had been right.

That’s what made her angry.

Lucien arrived just after 6pm to find Angelica waiting for him, dressed in a conservative peach-colored blouse primly buttoned to her neck, and a black knee-length skirt. Her make-up was done and her hair brushed out in long golden curls that cascaded over her shoulders.

Lucien set his briefcase down.

“If you cannot adhere to my rules, now is the time to leave,” he said, “because I told you what I expect if you stay, and how you will be rewarded for your obedience.”

Angelica did not move. She didn’t speak. She simply stood and stared at him. She could feel the heat of Lucien’s gaze touching her all over, making her squirm.

“Welcome to my world,” Lucien said at last. Then he added abruptly, “Now change the blouse.”

Angelica blinked.

“You dress like a secretary, and I want you to dress seductively. Tomorrow we will get you a new wardrobe, but for now, that blouse has to go.”

Angelica stared open-mouthed at him, shaking and flushing with hurt. She felt her face begin to crumple. She had spent the last hour dressing. “This is the only blouse I have with me,” she muttered petulantly.

Lucien nodded. “Fine.”

He strode to the phone and called the lobby reception desk. “I need women’s blouses in a range of sizes and colors brought up to the penthouse,” he said. “Immediately.”

He listened for a moment then frowned darkly. “What time did the boutique close?” He glanced at his watch then said, “Not good enough. Open it again. Now. I want a range of blouses here in fifteen minutes.” He dropped the phone back into its cradle leaving Angelica rooted to the floor in shock.

“This is a business dinner I am taking you to,” Lucien said as he went to his desk and glanced at a small stack of envelopes, shrugged off his coat and slipped the tie from around his neck as he headed through to the bathroom.

As Lucien changed, he called out to Angelica through the open door, “Do exactly as I tell you tonight. This man we are meeting is a tough bastard.”

He emerged from the bedroom in a three-piece charcoal grey suit and tie just in time to hear a polite knock at the door. A white-coated attendant wheeled a clothes rack inside the entryway, hung with over two dozen women’s blouses in a range of soft shades and colors.

Lucien tipped the man and dismissed him with a nod of his head.

He ran a critical eye along the rack and settled on a dove-grey blouse that was cut low in front, with small glittering buttons. “Put this on,” he insisted.

Angelica took off the blouse she wore and slid the new one over her shoulders. The fabric was like a silken kiss against her skin. Expensive, it hung from her beautifully, but it was so fine, so delicate, that it was almost sheer. She gaped at Lucien. “You can see my bra,” she said. “It’s almost transparent!”

“Yes,” Lucien folded his arms and studied her. The delicate white lace of her bra showed clearly. “It’s perfect. Let’s go.”

Angelica felt a rush of embarrassment. “I… I can’t!” she protested. “Not wearing this.”

“You can – and you will,” Lucien said slowly, and his mouth drew into a thin bloodless line.

Angelica did not move.

Lucien raised an eyebrow, and his eyes became dark and menacing – then they flashed.

“I expected this to happen, but not so soon,” he said grimly. He grabbed Angelica’s wrist.

Angelica did not realize what was happening until Lucien began to drag her
towards
a leather couch and
away
from the door. Then suddenly she knew – and she cried out at him with an incredulous sound of dismay.

She tried desperately to pull free from him, but Lucien was too strong, too powerful. He pulled her down over his lap and held her easily.

Angelica squealed in fear and outrage. She began to flail her fists. Lucien pinned her under the weight of one arm and tugged at her skirt until it was bunched around her waist. “No!” Angelica cried.

She was wearing brief white lace panties with a wide waistband that narrowed to a thin strap, which disappeared between the clenched cheeks of her buttocks leaving the smooth rounded flesh of her bottom exposed.

Lucien growled, then raised his hand high over his head.

Lucien’s first smack landed on skin with a crack that sounded like a pistol shot. Angelica stiffened then howled – as much from the shock of it as the sting. Then he smacked her again.

And then again.

Lucien stopped only when Angelica’s tantrum of kicking and screaming was reduced to tearful sobs. Then he lowered her skirt back over her burning red bottom and told her calmly, “You are wearing that blouse, and we are leaving right now.”

* * *

The Limousine stopped outside a discreet, elegant restaurant set back from the curb. The chauffeur held the door open and Lucien climbed out first, turning and giving Angelica his hand.

Angelica was intensely aware of Lucien. His closeness affected her in a way that left her almost giddy in some instinctively primitive response that she could not control or ignore.

The maître de led them to a discreet corner table and then the proprietor came through the kitchen doors and welcomed Lucien like an old friend.

Lucien glanced at Angelica and nodded at the chair beside his. There was no denying the implicit command in the gesture, nor the fact that he expected instant obedience. Angelica sat, docile, her bottom still tender and warm from her humiliating spanking.

When the proprietor shuffled on to the next table, Lucien relaxed back in his seat and studied the menu. Then his eyes strayed to Angelica sitting demurely with her hands in her lap beside him.

The force of his gaze was intense enough for Angelica to sense it. She glanced up at him suddenly and seemed to pale in confusion under Lucien’s dark eyes.

“What? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” Lucien said. “I was just admiring you. You’re stunning.”

The compliment was so unexpected – so contrary to his dark expression – that for a moment she was shocked. And then the significance of it swept through her like a cool gentle breeze, leaving her arms covered in goose bumps. She didn’t want to be charmed by this man, but…

Angelica blushed and looked away for a moment to catch her breath. “Thank you.”

“How do you feel?”

Angelica fidgeted nervously. “I feel like everyone is staring at me.”

“They’re not,” Lucien assured her. “They’re staring at me.”

He ordered wine and then a tall, solidly built man in his early fifties appeared at the table.

“Lance.”

“Mr Darrow,” Lucien stood and shook hands briefly. “Glad you could make it.”

The big man growled. There was a sense of barely-suppressed hostility behind his eyes. Lucien introduced Angelica. John Darrow nodded and both men sat.

John Darrow glared across the table as he and Lucien measured each other. He was a big broad-shouldered man with hair that was once black, but quickly turning grey, cropped close and neat. He had a bull neck, and the tanned ruddy complexion of a man who enjoyed the outdoors.

Angelica sat quietly but there was a tiny frown on her face. She didn’t recognize this man, but there was something familiar about the name…

“You want to order first, or just go at it now, Lance?” the big man growled.

Lucien sat back in his seat again, calm, relaxed and unflappably elegant. “Let’s order first.”

He ordered salmon and salad for himself and Angelica.

“Steak,” John Darrow said to the young waiter. “And I want it cooked until the chef gets upset,” he added. The waiter jotted a quick note but Darrow grabbed his wrist before he turned away. “Son, if my steak turns up on the plate red and still bloody, you’ll go back to the kitchen in the same condition. Understand?”

The waiter scurried away and John Darrow turned both barrels of his anger on to Lucien.

“Leave my airline alone,” he said.

Airline! Darrow Air. Suddenly Angelica realized why the name was so familiar to her. She had spent a full week researching the company as part of her bank’s analysis team; completing an assessment of the airline’s assets and debts, the company’s financial structure, and beginning to do a break-up analysis of the airline’s business routes around the country.

Lucien stared back at the big man. “I won’t do that, Mr Darrow. Firstly, it’s not your company. It’s a public company – and I happen to own a significant amount of the stock.”

Darrow glared. “That’s my name on those planes, Lance. I know every man who works for me. Hell, I even know the names of their wives and kids. I built that airline from the ground up.”

“And now you’ll get to watch me pull it apart,” Lucien said bluntly.

There was a simmering silence. Darrow’s hands balled into frustrated fists. “I know you own eighteen percent of the stock. I also know you’re planning to file a formal bid for a majority.”

“It’s twenty-two percent.”

“I don’t care,” Darrow said. “What you’re doing isn’t right. It isn’t moral.” He shook his head.

Lucien frowned as if he’d heard an unfamiliar word. “Moral? This isn’t about morals. It’s a business deal, Darrow. Nothing more.”

The waiter arrived nervously with their meals – and made it back to the kitchen unscathed.

“What do you want, Lance? How much do you want for your block of shares? Name your price and I’ll buy it all back from you.”

“You can’t,” Lucien said. “You don’t have the capital to buy anything. In your present financial position your lines of credit are so over-extended that you couldn’t buy a stapler.”

Darrow made a curt gesture of impatience. “That’s temporary. We’re just about to get clearance to open up six new routes to the west coast. I can write you a note…”

Lucien shook his head. There was an enigmatic half-smile hovering on his lips. “Those routes are not guaranteed…”

Darrow flinched as though he had been punched in the heart. He stared at Lucien for long painful moments.

“I’m not here to sell my shares, Darrow. I’m here to buy yours,” Lucien said. “I’m offering $21 a share.”

“You son of a bitch. You’ve got a nerve.”

“No. I’ve got money.”

John Darrow threw down his knife and fork and stabbed an angry finger at Lucien. “I know all about the great Lucifer Lance. I do my homework, and what I’ve read about you is enough to make me puke. You don’t care about tradition, or history, or values. You’re a junker – plain and simple. Every company you take over ends up stripped bare and thrown on the trash heap.”

“You’re right,” Lucien nodded. “I don’t care for dinosaurs. What I make, Mr Darrow, is profits. Now I’m going to buy Darrow Air, and I’ll do it the easy way or the hard way. If we do it the easy way you end up a very rich man. If we do it the hard way however…” Lucien spread his hands.