Читать книгу Nights In Black Leather - Noelle Mack - Страница 7

How did the song go? The one about a foggy day in London…as if London was ever not foggy or rainy or gloomy or all-around miserably wet. Glad to be inside the financial building on Paternoster Square, Lara knew her hair was frizzing. Given damp weather, it took only seconds for it to turn from thick and barely wavy into a boingy cloud that floated around her head.

She glanced at her reflection in the aqua-tinted glass walls that added to her sense of being underwater and sighed. She did not look remotely professional or corporate or cool. She looked…fluffy. In the world of international finance, fluffy was not good.

A gorgeous woman in a short-skirted suit and aggressively rectangular glasses clicked by, her stilettos sure and quick. Behind the narrow lenses were eyes outlined in severe black pencil, assessing eyes that took in the details of what Lara had on in an instant. Lara could practically hear the other’s woman’s precision fashion sense whirring as she was duly inspected and found lacking. Ill-fitting jacket. Shabby shoes. How utterly pathetic. And how very American.

Lara sighed and tipped her chin up. Poor but proud, that’s what she was. And yes, from the US, and proud of that too. She missed Chicago already, even though she was here for a job interview with the famous and somewhat mysterious Adam Bowlin. However, she fully expected to be hired on the spot. Strings had been pulled, favors were owed—it was a done deal. She hoped.

She walked toward the lobby console, signed in and spoke briefly to the guard, who phoned an unseen somebody at the firm on the uppermost floor Lara specified. He murmured her name and appointment time without moving his lips, not even looking at her. She felt faintly unworthy for the second time in less than two minutes. The English were good at that. Except for happily smashed blue-collar guys in pubs and a few cheerful shopgirls, Brits seemed to pride themselves on being chilly and standoffish—and ranking everyone instantly according to a class system that baffled Lara.

She’d been in London for less than a week, fascinated by the crowded, complicated, and ancient city, but she’d never felt so damn lonely in her life. Maybe it was because her temporary flat, sublet through a friend of a friend of a friend, was in Clerkenwell. Not posh, for all that it was so pricey she had barely anything left over for entertainment or shopping. And not even all that convenient.

Oh, well.

She hadn’t come to London to make new pals and go club-hopping. The trip was basically a climb-the-career ladder move to please her Chicago boss at Pratt Investments. Jason Pratt III, the brash grandson of the brokerage’s founder, wanted to start a hedge fund of his own, one that would rival the enviable returns and exclusive international cachet of the Bowlin Fund. La-di-dah.

He also wanted to poach a few of its phenomenally wealthy clients.

Jason was a hothead with money to burn and a bad reputation in the Chicago financial world. No doubt his grandfather, the first Jason Pratt, a conservative, thrifty Midwesterner who bought his suits at Sears, was spinning in his grave. Sedately.

Jason Pratt III wouldn’t care. But he knew he needed to find out more about Adam Bowlin, and to do that, he needed Lara. Meaning he wanted to plant her in Bowlin’s office, in Bowlin’s lap if necessary, so she could find out what was what. Lara drew the line at the lap part.

But she had wanted to see London and he knew it. With huge college loans she would be paying off for what seemed to be the rest of her life, travel was out of the question. So she’d agreed—and then came the haggling. Jason loved to argue about money and she didn’t. He’d insisted that he didn’t have the bucks to pay her expenses over and above her salary.

Yeah, right. Jason thought nothing of dropping $250 on a single lunch. He preferred Kobe beefsteak, massaged to perfection while it was still on the cow in Japan, plus a $700 bottle of French wine to go with. His best offer: a jitney bus trip to O’Hare and a roundtrip coach flight to Gatwick. He’d generously agreed to continue to pay her full salary while she, as he put it, whooped it up in London. He threw in a promise, for what it was worth, to make up the difference for the dollar being in the toilet—his phrase—against the mighty euro.

She frowned, wondering what Jason would say if he saw her now. She could guess. Geez, Lara, can’t you do something about your hair? Ask where Chryssie gets hers straightened, wouldja? I oughta send her and not you.

Screw him. And screw Chryssie. But Jason was already doing the honors in that department.

Lara looked at the guard, awaiting further instructions. He murmured something, his beady eyes even colder if that was possible, and made the barest inclination of his head toward a bank of elevators.

“Thank you.” Evidently those went up to the executive office suites. She walked in that direction, trying to make her own high heels click on the highly polished marble in that scary way. Didn’t work. Instead, she felt a slight sideways movement of the half-sole on the left shoe, a recent repair. Just so long as it didn’t start to flap, she’d be fine.

It started to flap. Lara scooted her left foot and stepped with the right. Great. Just great. Nothing she could do about it now. She was expected and the great and powerful Adam Bowlin was waiting for her. She could bet a hedge fund king never experienced a footwear emergency. His shoes were undoubtedly handmade in Italy and as highly polished as these goddamn slippery floors. His underlings probably licked the soles clean each morning even before they fetched his coffee.

Scoot-flap-click, scoot-flap-click. Eventually she got to the elevators. There were six in all. The closed doors were silvery steel, trimmed with burnished brass. Massive. Forbidding. Like the doors of six impenetrable vaults.

One set whooshed open and someone walked out as she was looking down worriedly at her stupid high heels. She should have dressed like the clueless American tourist everyone here thought she was and worn her ugly sneakers. At least the soles of those were still firmly attached to the—

A pair of long, large black shoes stopped in front of her. Man shoes. Impeccably tailored trousers broke over the insteps.

Lara did not want to look up. Maybe he would take her downward gaze as a sign of humbleness. Or abject insanity. Apparently not. The shoes didn’t move on.

Whoever the man was, he wasn’t going to pay much attention to her, not the way she was dressed. Bargain-basement fake tweed. Head still hanging, she regretted the whimsical pin on her lapel, a last-minute addition, deeply regretted it. He was wearing a Savile Row suit himself, unless she missed her guess.

His voice was deep and sensual. “You must be Lara Stone. I’m Adam Bowlin.”

Hell.

She looked at him with wide, startled eyes. The last thing she’d expected was for him to come down to the lobby. Must be a coincidence. He was probably just going out for a quick bite, taking a break from making millions, which she understood was tiring.

“Maybe you’re not Lara Stone.”

“Oh no. I mean, yes. I am her.” You sound like an idiot, she told herself. Way to go, Lara.

“Glad to hear it. How very nice to meet you.”

She forced herself to remain calm while she took him in, trying not to stare at the big hands thrust casually into his pants pockets and the long waist that widened into a broad chest—

He was wearing clothes worth looking at, fortunately for her sanity. She concentrated on those. Guys in finance prided themselves on sartorial splendor and she was familiar with the details of it.

Adam’s attire was subtle by American standards, but amazing all the same. Bespoke shirt. Turnbull & Asser, by her guess. A snow-white collar and double cuffs set off its understated hue. Nestled between the collar’s hand-turned points was a Windsor-knotted silk tie that had probably cost more than she made in a month.

Nice tie. And under the shirt—what the hell, she went back to mentally undressing him—was a very nice broad chest and shoulders to match. And his face. Wow. Eminently smoochable.

Adam Bowlin was a work of art. Tall, tailored man art. Incredibly sexy. In no way did he seem stiff-upper-lippy or teddibly reserved. He had a powerful take-charge, ultra-masculine vibe that made her quiver inside. If he only ever said one word to her and that word was surrender, she wouldn’t have a problem with that.

His big, blazing smile was as warm as his voice. If he hadn’t said who he was, she might not have figured it out right away, even though Jason had ordered her to look him up online. The images on Google didn’t do him justice. Who knew? The internationally renowned founder and manager of a hedge fund so exclusive that he turned away investors with less than five zillion was hot. Scorchingly so.

Adam thrust out his hand and she took it for a good old American shakity-shake, loving the feel of his strong fingers clasping hers despite her embarrassment.

That smile was extremely effective. A panty-melting, braunhooking, throw-me-down weapon. Lara squirmed and sweated inside her inexpensive suit, wishing she could rip it off and kick her cheapo high heels up in the air—and run out to have her hair straightened before she launched an all-out seduction.

Unless he launched one first. It could happen. She took a step toward and felt her sole flap.

Maybe not today. She met his gaze and smiled.

His eyes were hazel, and his lashes were thick. A dimple flashed as his smile widened. But everything else was on the strong and angular side of handsome.

“I decided to pop down to meet you,” he said genially. “It’s a bit of a maze once you’re on the upper floor. Thought I’d lead the way.”

“Please do,” she chirped, thrilled that he had. She would have expected him to send a shoe licker to do that.

“I was chatting with our receptionist and saw you on the security video.” His eyes flicked over her with obvious admiration.

“Oh.”

He must have liked what he saw. Then and now. Lara blushed. Then she got to work trying to place his accent. Not totally British, really not American. Adam continued making small talk, and she wasn’t quite bold enough to come right out and ask. He waved to the guard, who’d glided their way from the lobby console.

“Anything the matter, Mr. Bowlin?”

The guard’s lips still didn’t move, but his expression seemed a little more animated. Maybe it was just the ultra-modern lights overhead reflected in his beady eyes. Lifelike effect, Lara thought with an inward smile.

“Not at all. Thanks.”

The guard said something incomprehensible and nodded to Lara before going back to his post.

“Shall we?” Adam pressed the up button.

“Sure.” They waited until a different set of doors whooshed open and she took a step and swore under her breath. She’d forgotten about the half-sole. It flapped. He noticed.

“D’you want to have that fixed? There’s a cobbler not a block away,” Adam said in a friendly way, letting the doors close while he waited for her to reply. “I don’t mind waiting. In fact, I’ll walk you there.”

Aww. He was nice, too. “That’s okay. I can manage.”

“Sure?”

“Of course.”

“Up we go then.”

When they got on the next elevator, the half-sole came off.

“Oops.” She looked at it and at him and at it again. The small piece of rubber on the elevator floor looked like a dead cartoon mouse that had been run over by a cartoon steamroller. She bent down to pick it up and stuck it into the outer pocket of her purse.

He only grinned, not seeming to think it was some big deal that her clothes and shoes weren’t perfect. Outside of a nebulous feeling of lust-crazed worship, Lara realized that she liked him already. A lot.

Just being in the elevator with him made her skin tingle. He stood to her right, not too close and not against the wall. Just there. It was easy, so easy, to imagine him completely naked.

The elevator stopped with a jolt.

Adam arched a thick, sexy eyebrow and looked at her. “We seem to be between floors.”

“So we are,” she said casually. “Does it—happen often?”

“Never.”

He jabbed at the button for his company’s floor with his thumb. She watched him, thinking about the male approach to machinery. All men generally assumed that things were supposed to work, and that light-up buttons did something, got results.

The junior execs and stockbrokers in her Chicago financial tower liked to poke elevator buttons with the same vigor Adam displayed, trying to get to the high floors faster or hold open the doors for a buddy, but it never made any difference. Lara, being female, knew better. Elevators rose and fell because of the pull of the moon.

He jabbed harder. Nothing happened. “Bloody hell. We’re stuck.”

Lara gulped. The elevator was relatively spacious but being trapped in it with him was likely to get on her nerves. In a good way. In a get-my-clothes-off-and-fuck-me-now way. She had never done the deed in an elevator.

She leaned against the paneling and smiled politely at him. “Give it a minute.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re unnaturally calm. I suppose you don’t mind being a captive.”

She suppressed an immediate, interestingly submissive fantasy, in which she was in an even more confined space, naked, kneeling in front of him, also naked—standing with his big, muscular legs apart and—

“I do, though,” he was saying. “I can’t stand to be penned up. Ever. Fuck. I admire your self-control.”

She snapped back to reality. “Um, thanks.” He seemed to have grown larger somehow, his shoulders looking broader than before as he stared fiercely at the control panel and its rows of buttons. Hands on hips. Legs apart. She could do him like that. It would be fun.

He took off his jacket and tossed it carelessly on the floor, then bent over to squint at the in-case-of-emergency instructions.

Rock solid, she thought, giving his butt a discreet once-over while he wasn’t looking at her. His very male ass had those hollows at the side that she preferred, and curving muscle that would be great to hang onto while he gave her a hot, hard fuck.

From behind. Or on top of her, spreading her legs really wide so he could go deep. No. Making her spread her legs wide. For him. Mmm. Oh yes. He would have the upper hand—she wanted him to. It was a fantasy she’d always wanted to explore.

But not with any of the lethargic college dudes she’d dated. As for the stockbrokers and traders in Chicago, they didn’t cut it either. In general, they were too obsessed with themselves and their career trajectories. And a lot of them were too into coke, for that matter, and not the kind that was served over ice. So she was a virgin when it came to her deep, dark fantasies. Lara blushed.

He straightened and looked at her. “Hot in here,” he said conversationally. “You’ve gone a bit red in the face.”

“Have I?” Lara managed a prim little smile.

“I’m really sorry about this, Lara,” he said, thoroughly exasperated. He folded his hand into a fist and slammed it against the panel. “Fuck!”

“You can use the intercom to call the guard.” She pointed to the panel and a circle of holes in the polished steel that she assumed was an intercom.

Adam scowled and jabbed the red button underneath the circle, speaking into it. “Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? The bloody fucking lift broke down—hello?”

There was no reply. No electronic beep or boop. Not even the crackle of static.

“Guess that’s broken too,” Lara said.

He uncurled the fist and flexed his fingers. He’d used his left hand, so Lara noticed he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, for what that was worth. Maybe Englishmen didn’t. But married men didn’t always bother with rings, in her experience. That was a park she definitely didn’t play in.

Lara sighed and leaned against the wall, looking in her purse for her cell phone, then remembering that she hadn’t bought a sim card for it before she’d left. She had the phone but it was useless and she guessed that he didn’t have one on him, since he’d only come down to get her. She couldn’t very well pull out the laptop in her bag and e for help.

It was getting hot in the stuck elevator, but at least her hair wasn’t so frizzy now. She patted it back into a semblance of a style, then straightened her skirt and pulled down her jacket.

He looked at her while she did.

His hazel eyes seemed to get darker, shadowed by the thick lashes. His gaze was restless and thoughtful at the same time, as if he was thinking about…the same thing she was thinking about. Adam Bowlin was totally masculine and incredibly sexy. She didn’t have to be trapped in a five-by-five foot space to appreciate just how sexy, of course, but it didn’t hurt. The outside world had effectively vanished and it was just the two of them, alone together. Her. Him. Behind closed doors.

Lara pressed her thighs together, aware of the aroused moisture trapped by her panties. He could pull them down and taste that female sweetness with one big finger. He could move on and up to her nipples, which were straining against the sheer bra under her demure blouse. He could kiss her with passionate roughness and pull her skirt up so she could writhe around his mighty thigh and make herself come while he treated her to a bare-bottom spanking for being so bad.

He could do anything he wanted to her. Fantasy was so fabulous. The absolute reverse of real. Standing up, she thought about being tied down and made to mind her manners; fully dressed, she thought about getting her clothes ripped off. She smiled at him, not so politely.

They both straightened when they heard a distant clank.

“There,” she said encouragingly. “Any minute now.”

Adam scowled. Still somewhat lost in thought, he looked her over again…then reached out and gently tucked a lock of still-straggly hair behind her ear. “You’re very pretty, Lara,” he said with a smile.

The elevator started with a jerk and she stumbled. He took her arm and kept her on her feet. The action was gentlemanly, but his firm touch sent a sensual thrill right through her. He held on until she was balanced and then let her go.

They reached the uppermost floor at last without saying anything more, but Lara was completely flustered. She let out a ragged breath and smoothed her hair nervously as they exited.

“You look fine, don’t worry. In fact, you look fantastic. Sorry I couldn’t see you until late, by the way. The day’s almost over, but my assistant had me scheduled for too many things. She’s waiting in my office.”

“Oh.” He had an assistant—well, of course. But did it have to a female one? How unfair. Lara braced herself to be condescended to again. Unless Adam was really very intelligent and had a plain-looking assistant so he could get his work done without distraction.

Lara didn’t particularly want to meet whoever it was at the moment. This was her interview, her big chance to impress Adam Bowlin, her opportunity to—just shut up. There had to be plenty of women buzzing around Adam Bowlin.

“I’m looking forward to seeing the inner sanctum,” she said brightly. “Lead the way.”

“Are you?” He gave her a lazy grin. “Fair warning. It’s a shambles.” He held the door open for her, and Lara entered a vast executive suite paneled in more steel. Or wallpaper that looked like steel. There was a block of glass that served as a table with, yup, steel beams for legs. So industrial.

Something that resembled a sofa in that it was long, and looked like robots would find it comfortable, was at the center of the room. Its space-age upholstery was picked out with steel rivets. There was a matching chair next to an enormous window with a drab view of crowded buildings. No paper in sight. She didn’t know quite what she’d been expecting—stacks of money, maybe.

“Cozy, isn’t it?”

Lara just looked at him.

He laughed. “I call it the Hostile Takeover room. It’s meant to intimidate.”

“Who?”

“Venture capitalists.” Adam grinned. “Investment bankers. CEOs and CFOs. And anyone else who needs intimidating.”

She didn’t know whether to laugh or shiver. “Does it work?”

He nodded. “So far, yes. But it’s rather oppressive, really. I don’t work in here. Come this way.” He motioned her around a projecting wall and into a much smaller space surrounded by glass brick.

“Penelope?” He looked around, then smiled at Lara. “I expect she’s gone out for a tick.”

“Oh.” This room looked like where a man like Adam would work. Lara took in a bank of monitors displaying real-time information from stock markets and exchanges all around the world. Above those were wall-mounted flat-screen TVs with talking heads spouting financial news from different nations in different languages.

Bewildering. And hypnotizing. Where she might be working with Adam if she were lucky. At up close and personal distance.

She glanced at the peach-colored copies of the Financial Times strewn around. She’d read the London-based paper in Chicago and the Wall Street Journal every damn day. Part of her job as assistant to Jason Pratt III was cutting down the major articles to a few lines for him, and Jason had a short attention span.

So she’d stayed on top of US and international markets, and learned the ropes day by day. Numbers and analyses were only part of it. Financial movers and shakers operated on animal instinct, howling out trades and calls in the pit and even at their computers, getting lathered up over the stupidest shit and pawing the ground everywhere they went.

Big, swinging dicks, one and all, to the glee of lawyers who specialized in high-profile sexual harassment cases. Which the plaintiffs invariably won. She should’ve filed one; she could’ve used the cash. Her degree in business administration didn’t cut it in the real world of big money.

Anyway, here she was. Adam Bowlin’s operation was an oasis of calm by comparison. Although that could be deceptive.

Jason had asked Gemma Chiswick to recommend Lara to Adam—Gemma knew everyone and everybody.

As far as Lara understood, Jason and Gemma had once had a wild cocaine-and-champagne-fueled transatlantic love affair. Now they were the bestest pals ever, mostly because they had yet to figure out a way to cheat on each other, financially speaking. On her side of the Pond, Gemma ran a boutique investment firm for private clients who were disgustingly rich but too silly to think. But she wanted to move up to the big time and play with the big boys. So a trade had been made: if Jason could spare Lara from her Chicago duties to spy on Adam Bowlin, Gemma would reward Jason with, cough cough, insider tips.

Naughty, naughty. But Lara wasn’t involved with that side of the somewhat shady transaction. She was only supposed to find out what stocks, bonds, CDOs, and other financial instruments Adam favored and why, what he paid for them, how he sweet-talked investors into buying into the Bowlin Fund, and above all, precisely how he spun millions of dollars and pounds and euro and yen into billions. Running a very successful hedge fund basically meant never having to say you were sorry, so long as everybody who got in early made out like bandits when the fund went liquid.

Good thing that Adam Bowlin had hired her just on Gemma’s glowing recommendation. She wandered around and looked discreetly at his personal photos.

He had a life outside this office, that was for sure. Apparently he liked hiking and hey, he looked great in multi-pocketed chino shorts. Not many men could make that claim, but he had great legs. Mighty and muscular. Planted far apart on a rock, on top of a jagged peak—she could learn to love the great outdoors.

And here he was with a crew of laughing buddies, male and female, in a restaurant that overlooked emerald-green, terraced rice paddies. Bali?

Okay, sign her up.

Another photo showed him sitting on top of a beat-up, dusty Land Rover. Not the kind suburbanites drove. He was eying a lioness who was eying him. South Africa? Oh, that might explain the ambiguous accent.

And yet another one had been taken in a very English garden with a group of posh-looking people. Family? Hard to tell.

Oh, that double portrait must be his mom and dad, the one of a pretty, crinkly-eyed lady in a lace-collared dress and an older man in a sweater that she had probably knitted for him. Aww.

Adam came a little closer to her. “So what do you think of Operation Bowlin? The latest and greatest hedge fund of all.”

Lara looked around. “Must be nice to be lightly regulated.”

Adam pulled out a small swivel chair for her. “I just bend the rules. But I don’t break them.”

She smiled. “You’re honest.”

“I like to think of myself as too intelligent to get in trouble,” Adam said with a wink.

“And you’re not modest.”

He spun the swivel chair around with a laugh. “I think we’re going to get on, you and I. Sit down. I’ll explain the basics of my operation and then we can do creative brainstorming on the derivatives market. Would you like some coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks.” Lara racked her brain trying to remember everything she knew about derivatives, drawing a blank. She couldn’t chalk it up to jet lag, not after a week, but she would be happy to let him teach her.

“I’m afraid that our tea-and-coffee lady is out sick this week. Or on strike. I don’t remember. So I’ll send my assistant for it, if you don’t mind.”

Who will probably hate me, if only for that, Lara thought. “Fine with me,” was all she said.

Adam brought over a swivel chair for himself, then used his foot to move aside a large aluminum-sided box to make room for the chair. The box was filled with joystick consoles, plug-in connectors, DVDs, and other gear tossed in at random.

“Video games.” He grinned a bit sheepishly. “Childish, I know, but I’m a fan.”

“Most guys are.”

“Do you play?” he asked.

“Sometimes.” She looked into the box. “Not any of those, though. I don’t think.”

“Not all of the ones in there are on the market. Some are prototypes.” He sat down next to her and took out a blank disc. “This is—hmm. I don’t know what this is. Should have labeled it, eh?”

Lara nodded.

“Someday I’ll straighten it all out.” He tossed it back in the box, then spotted something else. “Now these are quite interesting.” He took out something that looked like wraparound sunglasses, except that the lenses were covered.

“What’s that?”

“Prototype goggles. For a video game immersion experience. Still in development. I’m supposed to get the market-ready ones soon.”

“Oh. I’d like to try them. I’ve never played a virtual reality game.”

“They can be fun for a little while,” he said with a shrug. “But it can be a weird experience. Not for everyone.”

Adam pulled over a wireless keyboard and tapped a key. A long line of e-mail messages appeared. Lara tried not to look, but did anyway.

Penelope? Have you gone shopping? Come out, come out, wherever you are.

A message shot back. Fuck off. (Sir.)

He laughed at that and typed again. Some coffee, please. “How do you like yours, Lara?”

“Black, thanks.”

“Very good.” Two black coffees, Penelope, he typed. Thanks. After that you can leave for the day.

“Is she…online somewhere?”

“I hope so. Otherwise I might be communing with her avatar. Which means I will have wasted thirty seconds of my incredibly valuable time.”

At the rate at which he made money, thirty seconds probably amounted to, oh, a thousand dollars. But he’d said in a self-deprecating tone that boded well for future interpersonal interaction.

“Would you like to see Penelope’s avatar?” he asked.

“Uh…” Lara hesitated. “Won’t she mind?”

“Not at all. It’s not a secret. She has it tattooed on her back.”

Where Adam had just happened to see it? Lara didn’t want to say that. She watched Adam scroll down through a Find list of Penelope’s e-mails and stop on one with an attachment.

“Here it is.” He clicked and a finely detailed dragon unrolled itself on the screen, lashing its tail. “Penelope’s dragon. What do you think?”

“I’m surprised you feel comfortable asking her to get coffee,” Lara said.

Adam only chuckled. “Oh, we’re good friends and I would do the same for her. It’s Mrs. Howlett who’s the problem.”

Lara raised her eyebrows.

“The tea lady. Mrs. Howlett is a female to be reckoned with,” he said. “And an old-school Marxist. I gave her a paid holiday to Malta last Christmas and she told me I was a right stingy bastard and a Tory sod into the bargain.”

Lara didn’t know what to say to that. She was not quite sure what a Tory was, but she thought it might be something like a Republican.

“But she went anyway. Beige raincoat, crepe-soled shoes, dog-eared translation of the Communist Manifesto and all. She’s a terror. I do enjoy her.” Adam smiled fondly. “She gave me that snap.” He pointed to a small framed photograph.

Lara peered at it. Mrs. Howlett was standing on a lookout point, the Mediterranean sparkling in the background. She looked happy enough—and was that a hammer and sickle embroidered on her straw handbag? Looked like it.

You had to like a guy who was nice to old ladies when he didn’t have to be. Adam had a sense of humor, and he didn’t seem to take himself too seriously.

But he was still masterful as all get out. She was up for that. In her opinion, a big, dominant man should get to explore the possibilities of being a big, dominant man. Who, when the sex was over, then went back to being an actual human being, who showed her every consideration and pampered her endlessly and was slavishly attentive to all her emotional and physical needs. And was nice to her dog.

Her late dog. Who is hiding bones in heavenly clouds, she reminded herself. You’re on your own in London and this could be the no-holds-barred sexual encounter of a lifetime. You don’t have to overthink it. If he wants to, go for it.

Yeah. There could be other women in line. Such as Penelope. Lara wondered his assistant looked like. Not dragonish—Lara had a funny feeling about that.

A little while later, Lara found out that Penelope was Chinese, with an elegant English accent. Adam and his assistant exchanged murmurs that sounded both intimate and friendly to Lara’s ears. Like the woman Lara had seen in the lobby, Penelope was dressed in edgy designer clothes that were nothing short of fabulous. Her waist-length hair was an ebony waterfall that swung rhythmically as she entered with two paper cups of coffee. Her doe eyes looked at Lara with a measure of friendliness.

“Thanks again,” Adam said, taking them from her and handing one to Lara. “What do I owe you?”

“You’re welcome,” Penelope said. A cool smile curved her full lips. “The rest of the day off will make up for coffee-fetching.”

Lara cringed, feeling very fluffy indeed.

“Oh, I didn’t introduce you two. Sorry,” Adam said absently, glancing from one woman to the other. “Lara Bowlin, this is Penelope Song. Penelope, this is Lara.”

“H-hello,” Lara said, feeling awkward. She hoped she wouldn’t spill the damn coffee. She’d fetched countless cups for Jason and she knew how that’d made her feel. Very low on the totem pole.

“Hello,” Penelope said. She crumpled the paper bag the coffee came in and tossed it into a wastebasket on the other side of the room.

Slam dunk. Lara felt more inadequate than ever. She held onto the cup, which radiated heat and the reassuring vibration of a megadose of caffeine.

“Sloane Street, here I come,” Penelope said cheerfully as she sauntered out.

“Enjoy yourself,” Adam called. “See you tomorrow. Or tonight.”

Lara breathed a sigh of relief and peered at the screens Adam pulled up. Graphs. Charts. Zig-zagging lines. Moneymoney-money…how did that song go? She didn’t remember.

Adam’s nearness was confusing her. Her wild and crazy fantasy in the elevator lingered at the edge of her mind.

His muscular legs were spread far apart and that was some package in between them. Preoccupied, he moved his focus between one monitor and another, obviously doing mental calculations.

Sheesh. She couldn’t very well spy on him if he didn’t write anything down.

The cursor moved seemingly of its own free will. Highlight, copy, cut and paste. Documents filled the screens and quickly disappeared into folders.

The flow of information was processed almost instantaneously. He was in charge of his kingdom, moving fortunes around the way some people played cards online. Hmm. He could take charge of her any time. Any time at all. Lara pressed her knees together. Her thong panties were getting damp again. Damp and hot.

An hour later, her panties were still hot and she was hotter. She’d had to fight the urge to hang all over him. He was focused on the information he was sharing, but seemed very pleased at how swiftly she picked up an understanding of the derivatives market. He also liked her ideas for attracting new corporate investors and sovereign capital.

Plus her hair had defrizzed. With so many computers, the small room was warm and dry. But her brain could have used a fan. Just squirming in a swivel chair right next to a powerful, turbocharged male body made for sex was all the foreplay Lara needed.

But she had to restrain herself, had to remember that she was essentially a spy—so what had she just seen? Millions being made. A brilliant man in action.

Yowza, he turned her on. What of it? She had serious competition. Penelope Song. What a wonderful name. His assistant was an enigma, however. A beautiful, couture-clad enigma with a dragon avatar. It was more than possible there was something going on between Adam and Penelope.

“So. That’s it for today,” he was saying.

“I’m impressed. You are, like, a genius.”

“Hardly.”

“No, really, you are,” she finally said. “But I have to go. It’s late.”

“Is it?”

She tapped the corner of the monitor where the screen indicated the time. “They put the hours and minutes right here. Very useful if you want a life.” She smiled back at his smile. “It’s later than you think.”

“Lara, you may be right. Where do you live, anyway?”

She mentioned the neighborhood. So far she didn’t know London too well but she had a feeling it wouldn’t impress him.

He didn’t seem to register it one way or another. Adam leaned back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head. “How about dinner? Every new associate is entitled to a good dinner.”

How many new associates had there been? She told herself not to even think about it.

“Have I told you that you’re hired, by the way? I don’t think I did.”

“Uh—no. Funny. I forgot this was a job interview.”

“So did I.”

They exchanged a long look that was charged with something hot and wild on both sides. His hazel eyes held shadows that intrigued her. Lara wanted, passionately wanted, to see his face above hers, at the exact moment at which their bodies united.

To hell with everything else. The past. The future. Now…she wanted him right now.

Adam cleared his throat and sat up straight. “And then, well, considering it’s a very long walk or an endless ride on the Tube, neither of which will be pleasant, I’ll put you up in a hotel. Wonderful little place. You’ll like it. Don’t say no.”

“I can’t—”

He put a finger to her lips to hush her. The light pressure was magical. It was amazing how good it felt. His eyes held hers for a long moment. “Say yes, Lara. You know you want to.”

He took his finger away and she opened her lips to whisper, “Yes.”

“Wonderful. That’s settled then.”

“Do you—go there sometimes?”

“Yes, I do.”

With Penelope? A tag team of strippers? Who? Fascinating questions that she couldn’t ask.

“I guess you don’t you live around here.” Lara couldn’t help asking.

“No. I have a loft in the Docklands. Penelope’s close by, in Canary Wharf.”

“Oh.” That was far away from the heart of the city, she knew that much, and she wasn’t familiar with the area at all. So Penelope lived near him. That sucked big scaly dragon dick as far as Lara was concerned. He wasn’t forthcoming about his relationship with Penelope and she couldn’t exactly ask. London geography was a safer topic.

“So…isn’t that to the east?”

“Yes. You can see the building from the Thames.” He described it.

“Oh, I know it.” The tour boat guide had pointed it out on her first day in London. It was new, sheathed in shimmering blue glass, with wraparound views of London to the west and the river, the guide had said.

Not even remotely in the same league as her dreary temporary flat in Clerkenwell. Lara had hoped to do better but she couldn’t. London was more expensive than Chicago, even more expensive than New York, that was all there was to it, and you didn’t get much for the money. The cramped flat had only two windows and one overlooked an alley filled with marauding cats. They were experts at knocking over garbage cans, when they weren’t frantically mating, yowling with feline glee.

Her landlady had let her know that there was to be no cooking after 9 P.M. because, she’d whispered, of them narsty smells. Fine with Lara, who wasn’t exactly a card-carrying member of the Pots and Pans Club. She hated the cleaning up afterward and she always got the measurements confused.

“I’ll go talk to Penelope.”

“Is she still here? I thought she went shopping.”

“She usually comes back and then she goes home when I do.”

“Oh.”

Adam got up and headed to wherever it was that his beautiful Chinese assistant hung out.

“Might be a few minutes,” he said when he popped his head back in. “Can’t find her.”

“Okay.” Lara needed something to do in the meantime so she eased her laptop out of her purse. Good thing that the laptop was small and the purse was ridiculously big. Jason Pratt III hadn’t been willing to spring for a BlackBerry for her, and she hadn’t bought one on her own, realizing how easy it would be for him to drive her crazy if she did have one. So her smallish laptop became her personal digital assistant or whatever it was that PDA stood for.

In a couple of minutes, Lara was able to check her e-mail. There were goofy I-yam-so-jellus-yr-in-the-Big-Gooseberry-and-I-yam-not messages from friends, one from her mom, and one from a former boyfriend in Chicago wondering if she wanted to go out and get fucked up and listen to blues at the Sun Club.

She told him she was in London, then answered the one from her mom.

Bing. In came a new one. A message from Gemma.

Found out anything about our boy?

Lara frowned and rested her fingers on the edge of the keyboard. What should she say? The answer drifted to the surface of her wandering mind.

Adam is totally hot, Gemma. I wish I could get him on webcam for you. She waited for a reply. She could practically hear Gemma panting.

Me too, Lara. Me too.

Me first, Lara answered mentally. She wasn’t going to let Gemma get her claws into Adam. She added a smiley face, guessing that Gemma detested them.

She did. How immature of you to use an emoticon. Cease and desist.

Yes, ma’am. Sorry, Lara typed. She deleted the little grinning dot.

Jason can wait, I suppose. Go back to Clerkenwell, Lara. Enjoy your teeny-tiny flat. So snug.

Lara replied with a frowny face emoticon and signed off.

Gemma was easy to irritate, which didn’t mean that she wasn’t dangerous. But she was brilliant in her way and a stickler for accurate information. Running an investment firm like hers kept Gemma right in the middle of London’s wealthy and famous upper crust. She knew everything about everybody, and had a fact-checker on her staff to find out, among other things, who was fucking whom. She had filled in Lara on Adam’s resume—curriculum vitae, she called it—and even his love life. Her acerbic comments were memorable.

“As far as I know,” Gemma had said, “Adam Bowlin is a one-woman man.” On being asked how she knew that, Gemma had gone on at length. “It’s not top secret, mind you, but the info is completely reliable. I confirmed it on the Bitch Vine—my gossip group, darling. We meet online to vent, snoop, complain, rank London’s leading bachelors and the married men too, of course, and start scurrilous rumors if there isn’t enough mud to sling.

“But Adam has a sterling reputation. He’s never cheated, not given anyone an STD, not ever got a girl preggers—nothing! Very odd, that. And yes, he’s thoroughly heterosexual and apparently monogamous to the max. He was in a long relationship with a woman he adored—she left him for someone else, the fool—and he hasn’t found someone new. So a little Yankette like you could get lucky. He likes gals with moxie. Ha ha. Do forgive the slang. Is it up to date? Or have I been watching too many old American movies starring hard-jawed detectives? Probably. Not as if I have a lover. Or anything else to look forward to on Saturday night…” Lara’s attention had begun to wander at that point.

Adam came back into the room just as she was shutting down her laptop.

“Everything’s set. I should have paid more attention to the time. Do you prefer vegetarian?”

“No.”

He looked relieved. “We can get a decent meal at the Blackthorne Grille. And we can get your shoe fixed on the way. What do you say?”

Adam seemed to want to take care of her. It was an interesting feeling, very interesting. “Let’s go,” she said cheerfully.

She gathered up her things and they reversed their journey to the lobby. Financial businesses never really shut down. She could hear the hum of electronics permeating the quiet air. They walked past a different security guard, who was reading a tabloid newspaper with lurid headlines. Royal Alien Baby Born. Dorsetshire Vicar Worships Giant Jugs. See The Beast of Buckingham Palace—Photos Inside! The guard flipped the pages and yawned, then looked up briefly and nodded to Adam.

Adam nodded back as Lara tagged after him. He continued to lead the way to the building’s garage, stopping at a big black car.

She gazed at her reflection in its side. Want a ride, little girl? Yes, she did.

Nonchalantly, Adam used the key remote to pop the trunk and stow her purse and laptop before he opened her door for her.

She settled in, providing him with a peek at her upper thighs as she shifted in the seat. Might as well make the most of the magic while she had a chance.

“Thanks. You’re a gentleman.”

“I try.”

They stopped around the corner and he double-parked. She waited in the car while he took the shoes in. The cobbler, an ancient, whiskery man who seemed to be straight out of a Charles Dickens novel, didn’t even glance outside the old-fashioned bow window.

The Blackthorne Restaurant was the height of understated elegance. She ordered steak, done medium well, and he ordered a pint and something called bangers and mash. She didn’t even want to ask.

But when their order arrived it turned out to be sausages and gobs of mashed potatoes, and a foam-topped glass of ale. She liked a man who ate plain food. Once Chicago stockbrokers and traders made their first five million, they tended to eat expense-account chow and boast about it endlessly.

“How about a bottle of wine?”

“A glass will do me.”

He ordered the best they had by the glass. Lara felt it soon enough.

“So where are you from exactly?” he asked, not looking at the check the waitress brought. “You never did say. Chicago proper or the Chicago area? America is so damn big.”

Small talk. Yay. Evidently he wanted to know more about her. Lara was pleased.

“A small town outside Chicago. Way, way outside. Prairie dog territory. You probably never heard of it.”

“Sounds exotic.”

She thought for a few seconds. “Well, it isn’t. The biggest social event is the annual Beer Pong competition.”

Adam nodded thoughtfully and folded his arms on the cleared table. “Did you ever win?”

“Hell, no,” she said indignantly. “I did try when I was fifteen, but I threw up first.”

He laughed. “Ah, golden youth.”

Lara only laughed. “Not exactly.”

“Well, we all went through something like that.”

“You did? I thought keggers were only the great American pastime.” Yikes. She was making herself sound like a lush. He was smiling at her, though.

“Good God, no. British teenagers have you Yanks beat.”

She held up a hand. “Okay, spare me the details.”

“I will. It’s a good thing you threw up. Beer never did anything for anyone’s brains.”

The waiter came over to inquire whether they wanted coffee, but Adam shook his head and pulled out his wallet, tossing down a few bills and rising when Lara did. He gestured for her to go ahead of him. “After you, Miss America.”

“Yeah, right. Thanks for dinner.” She picked up a mint from the bowl by the cash register and tucked it into her cheek. “I’m stuffed.”

“You didn’t eat that much.”

She managed a smile, sorry she’d picked at it. She did like to eat and she normally had a hearty appetite. But that seemed to be focused more on him. Adam Bowlin looked awfully tasty. And more than bad enough to make what she wanted happen fast.

Wildest dreams, coming true, she thought happily.

Adam handled everything involved with checking in at the hotel, while Lara did a little exploring. She would be staying on an upper floor apart from the main hotel. When the elevator doors opened, she was astonished to see a rooftop terrace landscaped to look like a traditional English garden. There was actually a small house in the middle of it, almost like a dollhouse, she thought at first glance.

Lara stared at it, delighted. No, it was probably a careful reproduction of a much larger stately home. Mentally flipping through her guidebook and trying to figure out just which stately home she was looking at in miniature, she drew a blank. It was wonderful, though. She stepped carefully on the mossy bricks of the path that led to the front door, under an arbor draped in roses in full bloom.

Wow. In the heart of London, no less.

She heard Adam’s footsteps behind her.

“Hey, this is amazing.”

“Told you.” He handed her the key. Lara slid it in the lock and swung the door open.

Adam set her purse and laptop on an armchair while she sauntered around the room. Without quite knowing how, she ended up in front of him.

“You look…like you’re expecting something. Are you, Lara?” His voice was deep and smooth, with an authoritative ring she suspected he was putting into it just for her.

She gave him a bold smile. His arms went around her waist in an instant and then leaned down and kissed her eagerly.

“That was nice,” she murmured when he stopped. “More, please.”

“Why not?” he asked, and kissed her again.

She broke it off. “What if I regret this in the morning?”

“You won’t.”

She thought again of Penelope. What was the nature of their relationship and should Lara care? Hell no. Not right now. Lara settled into Adam’s arms, and gave herself up to a wanton encounter. Whether he knew it or not, he had a stamp of approval from Gemma, who was one bitch who knew what she was talking about. No one back home was ever going to know and this was one fling she really, really wanted to have. Bonus point: she hadn’t had a chance to think it over and that only added more spice to the sexy mix of desire and emotion that motivated her to just go for it.

He stroked her back and her hips, pulling her closer until she could feel the awesome erection swelling inside his pants.

Let the party begin, she thought. “So how do you like to have fun, Adam? I think I can guess.”

“Can you?” His dark eyes glittered.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Go ahead. I like to hear a woman tell her fantasies.”

Lara smiled. He already had a huge hard-on. She wasn’t going to argue with him. She reached for his tie, pushing the expensive silk up through the Windsor knot and working it loose with one finger. He slid the unfastened tie through his collar and flung it aside.

She moved on to the first three buttons of his shirt. Had to be Turnbull & Asser. Impeccably crisp. Made to measure. Lara planted a kiss on the bare skin just under his collarbone, inhaling the scent of subtle, faintly musky cologne.

She undid the remaining buttons one by one, stroking the light fur on his chest and the tapering trail that disappeared beneath his belt buckle.

His belly was tense and flat, taut as the rest of him, and his skin was hot to her touch.

Then Adam got his shirt out of his pants and completely bared his chest to her exploring hands. She traced a finger over a tiny nipple and then the other one, and he shuddered with pleasure.

He kissed the top of her head, running his hand through her dark brown hair with sensual abandon. “What do you want me to do, Lara?”

“Whatever you like.” She craved another kiss before they went any further.

He obliged. Then he raised her skirt and put his big hands under her ass, and lifted her up, holding her with ease. Lara hung on tight, clasping him around the waist with her thighs. This was just like her elevator fantasy, only better. Being shameless felt good. Amazingly good. She wasn’t drunk and she wasn’t desperate, but she had to have him. And she didn’t feel like waiting. They could get to know each other eventually if this was as good as she hoped it would be.

He took the liberty of spreading her cheeks apart a little more.

Lara clutched his shoulders and gripped harder with her thighs, letting her shaved pussy inside the thong rub his bare belly.

“Mmm,” he said in a low voice. “Already wet. Hot for it, aren’t you? So tell me what you want.”

She whispered into his ear.

“Happy to oblige,” he smiled.

He let her slide down and her breasts dragged against his hard, bare chest, the friction of the soft material tightening the aching nipples inside her sheer bra. Underneath it all she wasn’t corporate. He could destroy that bra with one good pull. She wanted him to.

She took a step away from him and shucked her clothes, and undid her bra, standing in front of him in just her pantyhose, thong under that. And her high heels.

Adam didn’t wait. He took both her nipples between his fingertips and rolled them, tugging hard.

Ahhh. That went right to her pussy.

Lara stretched forward, a move that thrust her tits into his cupping hands. Adam groaned and bent his head down to tease one nipple with his tongue. It perked up. She wanted to beg for more, but she had a feeling that wasn’t necessary at the moment. He was suckling hungrily, almost fiercely. He did the same thing on the other nipple. Lara slid a finger over the front of her thong. He was right. She was soaking wet.

He must have looked down to see what she was doing to herself because he let her nipple pop out of his mouth, glossy and red. “Don’t stop,” she said weakly. He barely nodded, got back to what he was doing, making her sway on her high heels.

“Half dressed and hotter that way,” he murmured when he raised his head. “But we are going to get around to this.” He patted her on the ass.

“You’re still dressed.”

“Yes. I’ll work on that.” He winked at her. “Thanks for pointing it out. What do you say we move to the bedroom?”

Lara didn’t object. She could tell him what she’d been thinking of in the elevator whether she was lying down or standing up. “Okay with me.”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her around. “I want you to walk in front of me. Sweet and sexy.”

She cast him a look over her shoulder and grinned. “Hey, I figured you weren’t a big fan of sweet.”

He grinned back. “Right about that. I’m not. Do you know how fantastic you look from the rear? And the front?” He patted her ass again. “Walk.”

Lara did a strut that was as sensual as she could make it, taking small steps, her hands on her hips. She was warm—her own desire and his hot eyes on her, watching with deliciously dominant intensity, made her even more aroused.

She paused at the door. If she made him wait for it, he’d get even hotter. And maybe even give her what she craved without her having to ask for it. Of course, asking for it was part of the fun. And she would make sure of one more thing.

“Put on a condom, dude. No way do you get inside me without one.”

“Of course.” His reply was reassuring, without a trace of whining. He was a do-right man, just as Gemma had said.

“Thanks,” she murmured. Lara braced herself, legs apart and hands on the door frame, waiting for it, savoring the pleasure of his slow approach. She had an idea of how big his cock was—she wanted to feel the head first, have him touch it to her body from behind without her seeing his face.

As if this encounter was anonymous. Hot and hard.

She heard the soft sound of a wallet unfolding and then the rip of a foil packet. That was done.

She still hadn’t seen his cock or touched it, but she could sure as hell sense it. All of a sudden he pinned her wrists with his hands. Tall as he was, his sheathed cock rested against her lower back. Mm-hmm. His balls were huge. He pressed and rubbed them against her ass cheeks. Skin on skin felt awfully good. There was something naturally very dominant about the way he was doing the rubbing. As if he was marking her with his pheromones or male scent or ballsiness. Yum. She undulated a little just to get more of all three on her ass.

“I ought to rip those pantyhose,” he growled softly in her ear. “Bare your beautiful bum completely and have you bend over. Have you hold your ankles while you’re at it. Or you could get on all fours on the bed.”

“You’ll have to let me go to do either one.”

“But I like you like this. All spread open…with your back to me. You don’t know what I’m going to do next.”

Lara gave in to a sensual shudder that went through her entire body. “Make it good,” she whispered. “And make it last.”

Adam let go of her wrists and pierced the nylon with the edge of his fingernail, then ripped the back of the pantyhose apart with both hands. Her ass popped out, and he fondled it, clasping her cheeks and pinching gently. He wanted her thong to stay where it was, evidently. He pulled it snugly between her crack so that her pussy felt snug and confined. His to fondle, his to fuck.

Taking charge. Silently answering her unspoken desire to be his sexual plaything. Lara moaned—so far, so good, for the beginning of a game she loved and hadn’t ever had a chance to play. In her mind, yes. By herself. But not with a real man. And they didn’t come any realer than Adam Bowlin.

She kept her hands where they were, as if he had tied her in place, letting him caress her bare buttocks with sensual skill.

She tossed her hair, aware that he had kneeled behind her to stroke and kiss her legs, rolling down the torn pantyhose—inch by inch—and touching the skin he uncovered with tender brushes of his lips and hands.

Lara stepped her feet apart. The thong clung to her pussy. She pressed her fingertips against the material so he could enjoy looking at the double divide of plump labia and the succulent wetness in between.

Again, he didn’t disappoint her. Two thick male fingers slid over the cleft, staying on the panty side and barely—just barely—brushing the tip of her clit. The subtle stimulation made her dizzy and Lara clung to the doorway. He clasped her waist strongly, making her breathless. “Do you like that?”

She gasped out a yes and he squeezed harder, his muscular arms bulging around her. Tight felt right. So right…

His grip was like iron. Suddenly it was too much. “St-stop!”

She drew in her breath with dizzy gasps as he released her, nuzzling her ass playfully before he crouched all the way down to slip her shoes off and remove the pantyhose completely.

He swiftly bound her ankles with them.

“Now bend over.”

She did, unsteadily, keeping her feet primly together.

“Hold your ankles.” Lara did that too.

Her hair fell forward in a wavy cloud, so that her face was invisible, as she touched the carpet, then clasped her ankles, presenting her pussy for his sexual amusement.

But he wanted her to know right away who was boss. He took her labia in his strong fingers and squeezed them, handling her juicy flesh very appreciatively, stimulating her with skill. Adam pulled aside the thong panties to reveal her pussy completely, then put the head of his cock to it and pushed inside.

Just the head. Hot and rounded. Big. She wanted to push back and take the whole shaft right away, but she would have lost her balance. She knew he knew that. Lara had to keep perfectly still for a few moments more. She was getting even more dizzy when he pulled back.

“Come up,” he whispered. She did, slowly, arching and stretching. He captured her wrists in one big hand and held her arms high. Then his free hand roamed over her front, pausing to pull hard on her erect nipples, almost to the point of pain. Lara swayed back against him.

He encircled her waist and brought her arms down as if they were dancing in place, then released her wrists. His arm moved across her back and pressed her upper body down, folding her over again.

“Stay down. Ass up. Brace yourself.”

She obeyed, spreading out her fingers on the floor to steady her body.

His licked forefinger came out of his mouth and slid swiftly into her anus. She moaned again as he thrust it vigorously in and out. The immediate, assertive penetration worked as it was meant to. She wanted to lose herself to him, let him fuck her however he wanted to.

“Rough and ready. Take it. Take it deep.” She took it, loving the sensation of being penetrated unexpectedly and strongly in the ass by him.

“Does it feel good?” The thick masculine finger stretched her hole very pleasurably while the others curled back into a fist, pounding her behind with each thrust.

“Oh…oh…unhh…”

In and out. He didn’t stop and she didn’t want him to. “How does it feel, Lara?”

She didn’t answer.

“Don’t disobey. I asked you a question. You need more, don’t you? You have a hot ass, Lara. Ask for more.”

“More,” she moaned. He added a second finger, the middle one, and did it more gently.

“And now?”

“It feels good,” she whispered. “Oh—so good—oh. Yes. Oh.”

“Stay bent over.” He withdrew both fingers from her tender anus and then kneeled behind her to kiss and bite the back of her thighs. His hands clasped hers, helping her hold her ankles. Then slowly he stopped and undid her bonds, helping her rise and stand up.

“Enough for now, I think.”

Lara looked up at him dreamily.

His crisp shirt was gone, probably lying in the hall. Lara feasted on the sight of the huge cock jutting almost straight up to his bellybutton.

“Like what you see?” he asked softly. The condom-clad shaft was impressive. He grasped it in one hand and began to stroke up and down its length.

Her eyes widened. “Let me.”

“I want you to watch me masturbate. You’re not allowed to touch yourself. Just look, really look, at what you’re going to get rammed up inside you.”

The man knew the power of talking dirty. And his skill at it was an intriguing contrast to his otherwise suave good manners. He had something to be proud of in his hand. Lara feasted her eyes on it. “I want it. I was fantasizing about you in the elevator, Adam.”

He grasped himself firmly right under the head, making it turn a deeper color as more blood rushed into his erection. “Tell me more.” Then he came closer.

So Adam Bowlin got off on being watched. He kept his eyes on her face, aroused by her focus on his cock. Lara touched soft fingertips to his balls and Adam drew in his breath. “Good girl. Go ahead.” He changed his stance, keeping his legs well apart so she could treat him to caresses on the rigid muscle between his thighs.

“I was thinking about begging you to bend me over just like you did,” she began. “I wanted you to spread my ass and be nice and rough. And kiss me hard, like you meant it.”

“Yes.”

“And I wanted a spanking.”

“Which you will get. Continue.”

Lara stroked his balls, which tightened up, as if he were about to shoot his load. A drop of cum appeared under the condom’s tip, then another. Adam let go of himself and moved her away from him.

“Bend over again, Lara.”

She obeyed and he delivered several slaps that satisfied her a little. “Need to have your bum punished, do you?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Too bad there isn’t someone with me to do the honors. He would spank and I would watch. Would you like that?”

“Totally.” She grabbed the thin elastic straps of her thong panties and wriggled them partway down her hips before he stopped her.

“Get dirty then. Put on a little show.”

She kneeled in front of him, entwining her fingers in the straps and pulling the wet material between her labia. Lara pulled slowly, back and forth, up and down enjoying his scorching, intensely focused staring at her delicate panties.

“Soak your panties, Lara. I want to suck your hot juice out of them. You’re going to come in my mouth.”

“I want to,” she breathed.

“Then lie back,” Adam said. He guided her a little roughly into the bedroom and pushed her back onto the bed. The soft, pillowy comforter on it enfolded her and she kicked up her feet before he grabbed her ankles, and bit her toes sensually.

“Show me everything.”

She did as she was told, spreading her legs wide open. He pushed down on her thighs so he could really suck pussy.

Lara thrust up her hips and each time she did it, he pushed her down harder into the softness. The stimulation of the pillowy comforter on her bare ass was gentle and relaxing, even as his grip grew tighter.

Adam was a master of pussy-pleasing and pussy-teasing. He got up, then reached out to grab her ankles and pull them together again, dragging her down so that her butt was at the bottom of the bed. He set her feet far apart and kneeled at the end of the bed, as if he were waiting to see what she would do next.

Lara, more shameless than ever, reached down inside her thong panties and spread her pussy lips wide apart, just as if she was home alone and about to put her favorite battery-powered boyfriend in and give herself a hard, hard fucking.

Knowing that his cock was even bigger than that long, thick sex toy was making her wild for him. He was smoothing the front part of her thong over her pussy. “There it is,” he said, using a fingertip to spank her clit. “Hot and up.”

Adam brought his mouth down on her, teasing her with his hot tongue around and around very gently. He slid his hands under her buttocks, squeezing and releasing in the same rhythm as his incredibly sensual oral sexing.

Lara lost all awareness of the room around her, lost in the feeling, knowing only that her pleasurably aggressive lover was capable of giving her the ultimate in satisfaction in whatever way she chose to be satisfied.

And if he wanted to get a little rough, she would be even more thrilled. Thinking about it, a wave of erotic sensation seized her body, and Lara writhed. Adam slid his hands out from under her ass and reached up to pinch her nipples, bringing her close to an intense climax without stopping what he was doing with his mouth.

Then he turned her over and spanked her bare bottom extremely hard. “Move for me, Lara. Uncontrollably. Let go.” She moaned into the coverlet, pushing her ass up to take the stinging slaps, loving what he was doing, craving it. His instinctive understanding of her need to be dominated was a gigantic turn-on.

He rolled her over. “Liked that, didn’t you?” He bent down to kiss her, then moved all the way down her body. Inch by inch. Down and down.

“Now let’s see how well you can control yourself.” He took her clit in his teeth. Mindful of his possessive mouth, she pushed her clit into his face with tiny little bounces, coming for him hard, shaking all over until the waves of pleasure died away. He wiped his wet mouth on the inside of her thigh, leaving her there, panting with satisfaction, her eyes half-closed.

“Damn it. This one split.” His impossibly thick cock had swelled to even larger dimensions. He rolled up the intact ring at the base over the shreds, and tossed the ruined condom aside.

She heard him find his wallet and get another one. Lara couldn’t resist watching him do it this time. She loved the thoughtful, downcast look on his face as he touched his aroused flesh and the sureness with which his strong, veined hands rolled the condom on. She drank in the sight of the thin latex being forced down to sheathe his huge rod. True to form, he watched her watching him—and got even bigger.

Lara got rid of her soaked thong panties and scooted up on the bed not a second before he pounced, on all fours above her, ready to fuck. He kissed her neck, her cheeks, her wavy hair with raw passion, reaching a hand down to position his cock at her still throbbing pussy.

“You’re so wet, Lara. And so swollen. I want to be in you. Feel your pussy lips spread apart just enough to take me. Your pussy sucking and pumping while you rock under me. Get your legs up. Show me more. I always want more.”

“No,” she whispered. “I want you inside me. I want to come again. Give it to me. All the way.”

He did. All at once.

Pinned by his powerful body above her and a shaft that throbbed like a Ferrari, Lara reached her second climax in a minute or two, wildly caressing the beautiful hollows at the sides of his muscular ass, scratching his back, bite-kissing him, driving him crazy. Driven by raw desire, Adam did her with a slow, voluptuous grind, then stopped.

He got his fingers into her tumbled hair and pulled, forcing her head back so he could nip at her neck and shoulders like a stallion. He was pounding and thrusting into her tight, slick pussy like a wild man…and then…

Oh God…God…She could hear herself screaming for joy.

“That was fantastic,” he whispered, licking away a few beads of sweat on her skin. “Absolutely fantastic.”