HostileTakeover Page 5

  Ben: Hmm… Not really interested in the “in love” part, but a floor of co-eds in lust with me? I’ll be right there. That Mercedes you’re always mocking can do well over a hundred on interstate. Prepare the Jell-O tub and wet T-shirts.

  Marcie: Pig. Yes, your car is fast, but you have to stop for gas every hour. Of course, it was pretty thrilling, taking it from 0 to 60 in four seconds. But I’ll deny it if you tell any of my green friends.

  Ben: That’s green with envy, brat, not eco-conscious. And you better not tell Cassandra I let you do that. She’ll want to do it too. I only let you do it because you nagged incessantly.

  Phone call between Ben and Marcie, freshman year

  Chapter Three

  “You know, all the greats—Lou Gehrig, Babe Ruth—they could pick up any old bat and hit it out of the park. You only need a caveman’s club if you can’t hit the side of a barn without one.”

  “Just keep telling yourself that, Luc. Whatever you need to feel good about that inferior equipment of yours.”

  Jon snorted, coming into Ben’s office. “Glad to see you two are getting some real work done this morning.”

  Ben braced his foot against the side of his desk as he drank his morning coffee. He eyed Lucas, who had his ass planted on the arm of his couch. “You know Lucas can’t resist talking about my dick. It fascinates him.”

  Lucas raised an unimpressed brow. “You brought up the distasteful subject of your dick. I was just asking how your new intern is doing.”

  “I hope he’s doing her.” This from Peter, coming into the door with a box of donuts. “I saw her winging her way down the hall yesterday. Only got a profile shot when she turned to say something to Janet, but what a gorgeous pair of—”

  “It’s Marcie,” Ben snapped, bringing his feet down to the floor with a resounding thud. “Jesus, Peter.”

  Peter shot a glance at Lucas. “Oh shit. Sorry about that, bro.”

  Lucas smiled wryly. “She’s grown into a beautiful woman, like her sister. And just as strong-willed, God help the man who falls for her. But her assertiveness will stand her well. She wants to be a corporate investigator.”

  Assertive, hell. There was an understatement. Ben snorted into his coffee.

  “She did exceptionally well at the intern level in Europe,” Lucas continued. “She’s had a few lucrative entry-level offers from firms in Milan and Stuttgart. Cass hopes she won’t go that far away from home though.”

  “At least that puts one family member closer to Jeremy,” Peter offered.

  Ben remembered his thoughts of last night. “What’s the latest on that, Luc?”

  “Not so good.” Lucas’ expression became more somber. “We talked about bringing him home, letting it end here, like a few years back when we thought it was going to happen then, but he seems truly at peace at the monastery. It’s a good place. Cass wants to be with him, though, so she’s talking with Pickard about a leave of absence in the next couple weeks. She’ll go spend his final days with him there, and I’ll fly back and forth as needed. I intended to talk to Matt about it today.”

  Shit, Ben hadn’t realized Jeremy’s time was that close. Because he’d been tuning out a lot of the domestic discussion crap of late, he wasn’t staying connected to each of their lives on the things that mattered. Maybe he wasn’t the balloon who’d been cut loose, but the one who’d untied himself from the rail.

  The men were quiet for a few minutes. “I’m so sorry, Lucas,” Jon said. Their philosophical boy-genius leaned forward in the guest chair, his blue eyes sad. “I knew it was a long shot, but I hoped that treatment would help turn the tide.”

  “It did.” Lucas shook his head. “We thought he was going to die years ago, Jon. You gave him every moment since then. Nearly seven years not to be a junkie on the street, seven years for his life to be something better. It meant the world to Cass, to the whole family. You gave him back to them.”

  Ben cleared his throat, rose. Coming around his desk, he put his hand on Lucas’ shoulder. “Whatever you need, you’ve got it, from all of us. If Cass needs you with her full time, we’ll cover here, no problem.”

  Lucas studied Ben with shrewd gray eyes. “You know same goes, right? Whatever you’re fighting, Ben, we’re here. You don’t have to marinate your liver and walk the streets looking for a fight. You dumb Cajun-Irish brawler.”

  “Don’t forget his sporadic New England accent from that fancy education. Or the midwest drawl to put our more country clients at ease.” Peter grinned, defusing the sudden tension in Ben’s chest. This was about Jeremy, not him, damn it. “You know you can call me and Dana any night,” Peter added. “We’ll go out or, if it’s a guys-only thing, she’ll cut me loose without a second thought. Especially if it’s you.”

  “Yeah, she’s got a thing for me. Good for you to be a man and accept it.”

  “In your dreams, horse-dick.”

  “Now see, that’s just rude. And reveals your raging insecurity. I’m fine, guys.” Ben glanced at Lucas. “I’m just working too hard. I’ve actually been thinking about taking some time off.” Though that would now wait until whatever happened with Jeremy happened. He’d want to be close for that, to support Lucas and Cass. And Marcie.

  She’d had a hard relationship with her brother. Before he’d become an addict, she’d idolized him. Then, when she was thirteen, one of his friends had tried to rape her while Jeremy was stoned in the other room. That was the end of him living under the same roof with Cass and the other kids. The past few years had mended things, but it reminded him now why he needed to keep their relationship where it had always been. Yeah, they’d stepped way the hell over that line yesterday, but he’d taken that step back. End of story. Time would take care of the rest. Marcie couldn’t afford having another male let her down.

  “Mmm. A vacation may be a good idea.” Lucas rose then. “Once we get the Senecorp issue off the table, you’d be clear.”

  “Lucas is just trying to cut Marcie’s internship short.” Peter chuckled. “We all know what a corrupting influence Ben is.”

  “Can you blame me?” Lucas said dryly. He gave Ben a shove. “Up until the last couple years, she pretty much hung onto everything you said and did, so hell, I figured you’d already corrupted her.”

  Great. Just what he wanted to hear. He managed an amused expression, no small feat when he’d swallowed nails.

  “Time to get to work.” Lucas turned toward the door. “Did Janet say if Matt was coming in today?”

  “Yeah.” Jon had been studying Ben’s expression, but now he thankfully turned his attention to Lucas. “He’ll be in around lunchtime. Savannah wasn’t feeling too great this morning, so he wanted to stay with her awhile. Even though she nearly took his head for telling her he was coming in late.”

  “She’s tired of being in bed, and she hates to feel like the whole world is waiting on her, particularly Matt. No worse patient in the world than a submissive female,” Peter noted.

  “Except Dana,” Ben snorted. “She has no problem with foot massages and being handfed bonbons.”

  See? He’d jumped in with that one. Proof that he was fucking fine, right?

  Peter took the bait with a chuckle. “Just don’t tell her she can’t drive the Batmobile or scale tall buildings with a nail file. She likes to be pampered, but on her own terms. She doesn’t like being helpless.”

  “Why don’t we all go hang with Savannah and Matt tonight?” Jon suggested. “We haven’t gotten together in a few weeks. Ben, can you make it?”

  “I’ll see. Maybe.”

  Lucas met Jon’s gaze, what Ben privately called the secret decoder ring glance, because Lucas tried to cover it with a shrug. Ben knew what it meant, regardless. He’ll spend another night alone drinking. Jesus. Sometimes working with four guys known for their incredible intuition as businessmen and Doms was a pain in the ass. At least they weren’t women. If they were, they’d want to talk about feelings, and he’d have to throw himself off the top
of the building.

  He decided to ignore the look. He still had enough whiskey in his system to keep him mellow, and that’s where he wanted to stay.

  “Sir?”

  Glancing toward the doorway, Ben saw Randall Caldwell, the K&A security chief. “Morning, Randy. What brings you?”

  The man shrugged casually. “Just need a minute of your time, Mr. O’Callahan, once you get done with your morning bullshit session.”

  Peter gave the man a punch as he went by. “There’s important corporate strategy going on in here, rent-a-cop.”

  Randall effectively blocked the blow, giving him a grin. “Yeah, yeah. A bunch of suits who don’t know what hard work is.”

  There was some more banter back and forth, but Ben was focused on the steadiness of Randall’s pale green eyes. He was teasing to lighten the atmosphere, to distract focus. The others picked up the hint, though none were fooled. Lucas gave Ben that same look again, the look that was supposed to convey solidarity. Ben wasn’t sure where to go with that, given he’d been imagining the girl Lucas had shepherded to adulthood going down on him like a high-powered vacuum. Christ.

  After they filed out, all traces of humor left Ben. “What’s up, Randall?”

  The security head pulled a disk out of his coat, laid it on Ben’s desk. “That’s the only copy, sir. If you don’t want it returned, that’s fine. I’ll need to mark it on my monthly report to Mr. Kensington, but it’ll go no further than that. If this is something you want us to investigate further or file charges, we will. But I wanted you to see it first. No damage appears to have been done to your vehicle.”

  That brought Ben’s attention up sharply. “Someone was fucking around with my car?” He hadn’t retrieved the Mercedes from the parking deck last night, but when he checked on it this morning, it had looked fine. “When did this happen? How the hell—”

  “Time stamp’s on the disk, sir. Best to look at it first. I’ve taken disciplinary action on the security detail assigned that shift, but… Well, I’ll be in my office to discuss questions, after you look at it.” Randall had moved to the door. Without further explanation, he stepped out and pulled it shut after him, so Ben wouldn’t be disturbed unexpectedly.

  Ben stared after him. What the hell?

  Putting the disk into his laptop, he called up the footage. To better see the details of the black-and-white security tape, he put it on his wall screen.

  The time stamp was 12:50 a.m. The security patrol went through each level of the parking deck once an hour, though they rotated that time by a varied amount each night so no one could anticipate their schedule. Apparently, whatever had happened had occurred right after the detail went through, because he watched the guard walk past, checking between the cars and in the shadows near the stairwell as always.

  So the perpetrator had anticipated their schedule, known to do his worst when he had at least an hour to pull it off. There was a guard in reception to watch the cameras pan through the buildings and decks, but he didn’t pay close attention unless one of the guards called in a camera check. The footage was merely for history, flagged if a problem cropped up. Ben wondered what had caught Randall’s interest if there’d been no damage to the car.

  He parked on the top covered level, the back corner. It was a secluded area, but one camera was focused directly on that section. He sat down, his attention sharpening. And then everything else disappeared.

  She was walking toward his car. In five-inch heels that had a plethora of straps over her ankle and a little tassel teasing the back. She was crossing one leg over the other, putting a serious sway to her hips. As he watched, she unbelted the thin coat she was wearing, let it slide down slow, until it fell below her bare shoulder blades. Her hair was slicked back and in a tight knot on her head, the black and white of the camera making it look darker. But he already knew that hair was blonde and thick. With a faint scent of perfumed coconut.

  The garment dropped to her waist, the sleeves holding her elbows to her sides. She stopped in front of the grill of the car as if studying it, her back to the camera. Then the coat fell to the ground. Milk-cream skin, slim arms and legs, a gentle flare of hips. An Audrey Hepburn figure in truth. Completely naked.

  “Fucking Jesus.” He snapped up straight in his chair as if he could throw a coat over her, ask her if she’d lost her mind, even realizing he was looking at something that had happened hours ago.

  She moved another several steps toward the car, keeping his gaze glued to the swing of her ass. She didn’t play it up, just put everything that was female and perfect into the movement, the slight quiver of the buttock as her heel made contact with the deck concrete, the shift of hip as she moved forward. When she put her knee on the nose of the car, Ben stifled a groan as she braced her hand on the hood and then looked over her shoulder at him, right at the camera.

  She was wearing a mask. A Mardi Gras mask with deep purple and teal green feathers, the gold thread edging drawing attention to her lips and sweet line of chin. The feathers brushed her temples. A tiny waterfall of rhinestones emphasized the eyes.

  Holy fuck. He’d seen this mask before. Her movements at the file cabinets had been familiar for reasons other than inheriting her sister’s grace. Marcie hadn’t been lying. She had gone to a club. She’d been at Surreal ten days ago.

  He usually played private, but lately the privacy mocked the intimacy he really wasn’t getting with his subs, so he’d decided to go for a public playroom scene. He’d gone over the top, chosen three women. Clara, Sharon and Myra. All staff regulars up for hire, and his preference that night because they thrived on rough edge play.

  He’d put them in a triangle of stocks, the kind that bound neck and wrists, and then he’d locked their feet to the floor in the anchored boots that increased the sense of vulnerability. He’d gone to work on them with a flogger, then wielded a paddle with expert precision and force until they were crying, the marks showing on their asses, but they were also soaked as honey hives. Drawing out that honey with clever fingers that had them on the cusp of orgasm, he’d mixed that natural lubricant with a stimulant that would heat up their rectums, make them even more sensitive to his penetration.

  He’d been ruthless that night, wringing two or three orgasms out of each woman before he’d plunged his cock into them. Three different condoms, three different orgasms. When he was done, his chest was heaving and his vision was a little gray, so when he sat down on a nearby bench to watch their aftercare, handled by the staff, he was almost spent. But not too spent to notice her.

  He’d been peripherally aware of her during the session, which was unusual in itself, because once in a scene, it usually absorbed him completely. In this case, as the scene became more intense, he noticed her more. She kept circling, so he saw her first on his left, then right, at a distance, then closer. She’d eventually found a stationary spot, near the wall across the floor of the public play area, blending with the shadows.

  She’d been wearing a simple black cocktail dress, no rubber club bracelet that gave a clear indication of her status. No jewelry except the silver collar and pendant he’d never seen close up, not until last night. She’d worn a killer pair of strap heels then as now, and the dress’s neckline framed her swelling cleavage in an eye-catching way. Because the dress was snug, he’d had a few tempting glimpses of her ass.

  Throughout his scene, she’d stayed riveted on what he was doing. She was a sub; he’d felt it from her like a beacon call, and just the kind of sub he took pleasure in breaking down, breaking open. She’d be a virgin to having her ass fucked, he was sure of it.

  By the end, it was almost as if he was performing for her. When he was balls deep inside Myra, listening to her grunt deliciously at the power of his strokes, he saw the mystery woman’s lips part, her tongue touch her lips, a delicate movement of need and yearning. Her fingers had gripped the rail so that he suspected her knuckles were white, and her body was pressed against it. If she’d been closer at that point,
he would have told her to lift her skirt, put her fingers on her wet pussy and masturbate for him, show him how wet she was, how she wanted his cock inside of her when he was done here.

  After he got his breath back, she was gone. The staff remembered her, said she was a guest, but of course he didn’t pry beyond that, respecting the privacy rules that didn’t reveal names. He’d thought of her more than once since then. If he saw her again, he’d burn down her shields, win her sweet cries and tears of surrender.

  Now he was looking at her again. Marcie. She put her other knee up on the car hood and, with a smooth ripple of thighs and buttocks, she was on the Roadster on all fours, her ass facing the camera.

  A black velvet bag was in her hand, and she laid it near the windshield. As he watched, she went down to one elbow and put her cheek to the car’s hood. Holding her balance on her knees and that one cheek, she reached back, cupped both hands over her ass. Curving her fingers into the seam between, she parted her buttocks to show him that delicate puckered entrance. As she flexed, he caught the glisten, realized she’d already oiled herself up.

  Dipping her fingers into her pussy, she worked them in and out, showing him she was also well-aroused, then she moved her fingers from there into her rectum. The muscles contracted and released, then contracted again, taking her.

  He had his hand on his cock, he couldn’t help it. It was straining against his slacks, threatening to split seams. Damn it. He hit the remote on his desk, locking the door, and then opened his trousers. When he put a chokehold on it, it convulsed under his hand.

  Removing her fingers from her ass, she reached for that velvet bag. She withdrew an eight-inch dildo from it, an impressively thick size, though still not as large as him. She put it in her mouth, taking all eight of those inches to the hilt, her throat working then relaxing. She worked it in and out, lips stretched over it.