An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Divine Assistant ISBN 9781419911507 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Divine Assistant Copyright © 2007 Red Garnier Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication August 2007 This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
DIVINE ASSISTANT
Red Garnier
Trademarks Acknowledgment The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: American Express: American Express Marketing & Development Corp. Apple: Apple Computer, Inc. Balenciaga: Balenciaga Corporation Chanel: Chanel, Inc. Dell: Dell Inc. Evian: Societe Anonyme des Eaux minerals d’Evian Fendi: Fendi Paola e Sorelle S.A.S. Forbes: Forbes Inc. Four Seasons Hotel: Four Seasons Hotel Limited Frigidaire: Electrolux Home Products, Inc. Gucci: Gucci Shops, Inc. Hèrmes: Hèrmes International Hewlett-Packard: Hewlett-Packard Corporation Hugo Boss: Hugo Boss Trade Mark Management GmbH & Co. Intel: Intel Corporation Lincoln: Ford Motor Company Louis Vuitton: Louis Vuitton Malletier Merrill Lynch: Merrill Lynch & Co., Inc. Nasdaq: Nasdaq Stock Market, Inc. Supergirl: DC Comics Limited Viagra: Pfizer Inc.
Nine of Pentacles The Suite of Pentacles represents those things that define us and shape us into that wonderful, unique person called “me”. Also associated with the Earth, the Suite strives to tell us about our talents—or lack of them—and how we can be of service to both others and ourselves. We are all born with gifts, and thus, the Pentacles hope to tell us how to use them. The Nine of Pentacles is a card symbolized by a graceful lady holding a falcon on her hand—the lady of material goods and security. As any fine lady does, she has a sense of purpose and refinement, and is tranquil and secure in her surroundings…as if she knows, in her heart, that success will be hers. Love, freedom and riches—all hers. As with all tarot cards, the Nine of Pentacles has several interpretations. Foremost among them, it signifies that a mission has been successful. The card implies that, as a result of recent efforts, success in both love and work will be achieved, thus enabling us to feel satisfied, happy and secure—all things our heroine, Lucy, is striving for. This card can also identify one as the lucky recipient of a valuable gift or inheritance, and signify sexual satisfaction and enjoyment in intimate relationships. The Nine of Pentacles is a beautiful card to behold…and to represent.
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Chapter One Lucy’s new job did not come from heaven. It was no stroke of luck, either. She had earned it, after years and years of study and dedication. If she owed her new job to anyone or anything, then she owed it to herself and to her hard work. This was the first step among many, many more she’d need to take, since it was still a long way up the tall corporate ladder of the complicated and exciting world of business. Imagine the things she could learn from her mysterious, formidable new boss. A man who’d started out as an account representative at Merrill Lynch and climbed to the top of the Forbes 500 list in less than a decade, now the owner of one of the most prosperous investment firms in America. He was a business genius in Lucy’s book. And yet, after listening for a long, interminable hour to what her position as his personal assistant would require her to do, Lucy discovered that the fact that Patrick Holden was rich and powerful didn’t exactly make him an ideal person to work for. Far from it. In fact, she was now realizing that this Patrick Holden seemed very different from the one the magazines and numerous newspapers so frequently mentioned. The clippings unfailingly flattered him to hero-size proportions, and because of the articles, Lucy imagined him to be a young, single, no-nonsense, driven workaholic with a prospering business in the investment arena—and the man who had purchased the single most expensive piece of real estate in the whole of Manhattan. Now, she realized quite drearily, after carefully absorbing the exacting requirements listed by the reedthin, spectacled Mr. Phelps across the leather-topped desk from her, she couldn’t help but think that Patrick Holden sounded like a very strict, very mean, very self-centered asshole.
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One who couldn’t even choose his own tie for the next day, and one who couldn’t make a single phone call without having someone dial it for him. It seemed that the money and the power and the fame had caught up with Patrick Holden, because Lucy clearly remembered reading about his middle-class upbringing, and she doubted the man had been born with those sorts of privileges—not with a father who’d served in the army and a mother with a home-based cookie business. Lucy wouldn’t meet her new boss until next week, since he was currently in London on “very important business matters”, as the pale-faced Phelps pointed out. The clearly overworked Mr. Phelps also stressed that if Lucy was the “right person” for the job, then one week was more than sufficient for her to learn everything about Mr. Holden’s needs and requirements to perfection—as Mr. Holden preferred things to be done. He also couldn’t stress enough how highly important it was for her to meet the rest of Mr. Holden’s staff, including his personal chauffer and bodyguard, his numerous maids, his three secretaries, and yes, to her disbelief, his English butler. When Lucy, her eyes widening like saucers, had asked what kind of man had a butler in this day and age, Mr. Phelps had merely given her a dry look and simply said, “Mr. Holden, of course.” Of course! Silly Lucy for not having realized. Rich people in Manhattan employed butlers all the time. Mr. Phelps also pointed out that she had to—he’d cleared his throat dramatically—improve her wardrobe, since Mr. Holden preferred his employees dress in clean-cut black and white outfits. During the rest of the conversation, Lucy quickly realized that when Mr. Phelps spoke of what Mr. Holden preferred, in reality he meant what Mr. Holden demanded. And of course, measly little Lucy was not to question or challenge any demands, so she’d just have to follow orders “perfectly”.
One week later, she received Mr. Phelps’ call announcing Mr. Holden’s muchawaited and almost holy arrival to Manhattan territory. She understood the message right down to the last insinuation when he explained, ever so slowly, as if she were a
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child, “Mr. Holden will be landing in La Guardia in less than an hour, however he would prefer you meet him in his apartment instead of the airport. On this occasion, I myself will have the honor of greeting him in the airport, a task which you, in the future, will learn to do yourself.” As if Lucy were inept and couldn’t be trusted to perform a meager task like meeting His Majesty at the airport. Stepping off the elevators into the palatial penthouse at Mr. Holden’s prestigious Columbus Towers, situated at the heart of Manhattan’s busy Columbus Circle, Lucy straightened her spine in order not to feel tiny among such overwhelming splendor. She was wearing Mr. Holden’s preferred tailored black outfit and had barely set foot on the jet-black granite floor when she was greeted formally by Holden’s butler, the gracious Mr. Pimwick, who was as impeccably formal and courteous as when she’d met him a few days ago. She still wasn’t certain whether it was his fluid bow or the fact that he addressed her as “Miss” that made the whole experience of being in Holden’s home almost surreal. “Hello again, Mr. Pimwick,” she acknowledged with a smile. “Allow me,” he said as he briskly proceeded to dispense her of her jacket, leaving her still quite presentable in a black pencil skirt and a soft, silk cream blouse she had recently purchased for the occasion. If anything, all Lucy wanted today was to make a good first impression. “Thanks. I assume the rest of the staff is ready to greet Mr. Holden?” “Your assumption is correct. We are most eager for his arrival.” The eagerly awaited arrival of Mr. Holden took place a good hour later. Patrick Holden arrived with a burst of authority and a trail of fumbling individuals in his wake. The man hauling his suitcases seemed awfully exerted when he stepped out of the elevator, which opened directly into Holden’s foyer, and Mr. Phelps seemed to be flushed and eager for his boss’s attention. Mr. Holden, on the other hand, seemed calm
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and full of it as he walked into his apartment with an attitude that clearly said “you can all just kiss my ass”. The staff, including the three maids with the preferred black uniforms and white aprons, stood ramrod stiff in soldier-like positions forming a perfect line next to Mr. Pimwick. Across the line, Lucy stared at them in puzzlement, to which Mr. Pimwick arched his eyebrows in a slight gesture that told her quite efficiently she should have formed the line along with them. But it was too late. All Lucy could do was stand as erect as a flagpole on the opposite side of the foyer and watch Mr. Holden easily walk past them without even the slightest acknowledgement of anyone present. Mr. Holden was speaking on the phone, and while he barked ten-dollar words into the speaker, Lucy seized the opportunity to recover from her initial shock over seeing him in person. She had seen his face in magazines before, yet she now realized the pictures had blatantly missed portraying one itsy bitsy detail—the sheer, overwhelming size of his ego. It filled the room like a shroud, fairly choking her. And to watch people scurrying to and fro to do his bidding, including Mr. Pimwick—who briskly assisted him in removing his jacket while His Royal Asshole kept talking on the phone—was quite comical. Yet Lucy was not laughing. She was more than a little preoccupied with his extreme, overwhelming, totally unfair good looks. Tall and dark and solemn, the man had clearly just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel. Narrowed eyes with sleek black eyebrows, a firm nose and a dominant square jaw—he was magnificent. He’d been wearing a pitch-black jacket that perfectly matched the color of his hair. Judging by the tailored fit that emphasized his broad shoulders and narrow hips, Lucy was certain it was designed by a world-famous label and made from a very fine material. Yet when Pimwick helped him remove it, Lucy had to admit that the body underneath was even finer.
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Rolling his shirtsleeves to his elbows while he spoke on the phone, he seemed oblivious to everything else, even Lucy’s startled gaze, which was now helplessly glued to his person. Her lips curled into a smile when she saw the way he tiredly tugged at his crimson tie then briskly unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. His hands were tanned, and although big, they were sleek, his fingers long and elegant. His hair was slightly long, reaching his collar. It was dark and silky and temptingly curled at the ends, and the expression on his face was that of pained concentration as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. Some other investment-savvy genius like him, no doubt, and for a moment Lucy fervently wished she could listen to their conversation. Ending the call with a brusque click, Holden finally turned, assessed his employees in one sweeping motion, and to Lucy’s mortification, his narrowed black eyes, the color of a starless night, settled on her—where they remained for several long, unnerving seconds. Lucy had never before known someone with eyes that could pin a person to the spot with a mere look, like he was doing to her now, skewering her there like an onion in the middle of the foyer for everyone to see. She felt the color rise to her cheeks, partly in embarrassment and partly from the sheer pressure and intensity of his gaze. A winged black eyebrow slightly rose in question. “Who the hell are you?” “I—” “She’s your new personal assistant, Mr. Holden,” Mr. Phelps quickly interjected. “The one you instructed me to hire.” Holden pursed his lips in distaste. “Didn’t I say experienced, Mr. Phelps?” “Yes, well…she is a bit young, but she’s smart. She holds an MBA from Stanford.” “Jacket, Phelps?” Holden said, his eyes falling and resting uncomfortably on her breasts. To her surprise, Lucy found that she couldn’t breathe and she felt her face redden even more so with this dilemma. It seemed like an eternity before his gaze lifted to her face once again.
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“I don’t like blondes,” he finally said, in a tone as passionless as the domed foyer ceiling. And as if that was that, he carried himself down the hallway, only to disappear into the first door to the left—probably the master bedroom, for Master Holden, as she assumed a jerk like him would demand to be called. The eyes that had previously remained idle in the foyer—five pairs, including Phelps’ and Pimwick’s—suddenly landed on Lucy, and the looks in them made her so uncomfortable she wanted to flee. This was not a good way to start her new job. Mr. Phelps let out a deep, audible breath and for the first time ever, Lucy saw a hint of a smile on his slim, pale face. “That went rather well.” “Are you kidding me?” she hissed in a whisper, her eyes narrowed into slits. “He hates my guts already!” “Take my word for it, Miss Divine. It went well. Now…” Lifting his briefcase from where it stood at his feet, Phelps’ gaze skimmed from one individual to the next. “My business is done here. I assume everyone knows what to do?” The maids and butler nodded and Lucy felt an inexplicable urge to wail and whine, because she knew full well—had been told so about a thousand times during the last week—that her duty as Holden’s personal assistant required her to remain here until Holden himself dismissed her. And at this time she’d rather chew cement than face him again. Lucy did not like being made to feel like shit! “Fine. Good luck then.” Mr. Phelps marched toward the elevator and before boarding, turned on his heel and eyed her over the top of his glasses. “And do yourself a favor and buy a jacket, Miss Divine.” Suddenly, all her dreams of climbing the corporate ladder assisted by a few years in the shadow of Patrick Holden seemed to vanish right before her eyes—and she didn’t like it one bit. Not her faltering dreams or her new boss. He could have been Lucifer himself, up from the confines of hell just to make Lucy’s life and her not-so-wonderfulnow-that-she’d-met-him new job a little more difficult.
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For what seemed like hours, Lucy paced the living room. She absently studied the gilded baroque mirror above a mother-of-pearl encrusted console, memorized the pattern of the Tabriz Persian rug, ran her fingers along the soft, silky fabric on the sofas and finally paused at the tall, wide windows and marveled at the view. He did have the most marvelous, breathtaking view from the fifty-fifth floor. No wonder he’d paid, yes, fifty-five million for the penthouse, plus a state-of-the-art gymnasium which surely didn’t come cheap, and furnishings that must have cost hundreds of thousands more. That whopping amount, of course, had included a complete and undisturbed view of Central Park—as if it were the “master’s” very own back garden. The tops of the trees crowning the park had the rusty orange look of fall, every single one in a different shade, and the beauty of it soothed her. At least until he appeared. “Why are you still here?” Lucy whirled at the sound of the voice and drew in a deep breath. Ah yes…the dreaded Lucifer. He’d forgotten his devil’s fork somewhere, but still looked the part with that fierce red fury in his eyes. He’d changed, and now wore a pair of loose drawstring pants and a semi-sheer white cotton shirt that was possibly his sleep attire. He looked haggard, tired and angry. Even so, he managed to exude a blatant sex appeal that shouldn’t pull at her—but unfortunately did. It left her wondering if maybe she was a masochist of sorts, because he seemed to be bothered enormously by her presence, while she, on the other hand, seemed to want to tear off her clothes for him. She really ought to see a shrink about this. She cleared her throat to answer him. “I was told that every afternoon we should review your activities for the next day as well as your social calls for the upcoming weeks,” she said in a professional, no-nonsense tone. Walking toward the briefcase she’d earlier set atop a lion-pawed coffee table, she briskly opened it and pulled out her notepad, flipping it to the first page. “Tomorrow—” 12
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He put up a hand to silence her. “Stop.” He massaged his temple with his other hand, his forehead furrowed. “I want you to leave.” “I…apologize, Mr.—” “I want you to leave now.” Because he spoke with the authority of a man who clearly believed himself to be God, Lucy stifled the urge to rush to do his bidding and bravely stared into his expressionless black eyes. “May I ask why?” “No, as a matter of fact, you may not. Now, good night, Miss…” “Divine. Lucy Divine.” Dropping his hands to his sides, he pursed his already-stiff lips. “That’s just perfect. Freaking perfect.” “Is there something wrong with my name?” she asked, trying to keep her voice level but it came out just a bit haughty, and though she thought it impossible, he visibly hardened even more. Now he was so still and emotionless he could have been part of the wallpaper. “I don’t like your hair, I don’t like your name and I don’t like your attitude. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call.” No doubt to Mr. Phelps so he could fire her immediately. Getting fired because she was blonde was a throwback to Neanderthal days, and she needed this job badly—this was her first step in a master plan and if she failed at this, she failed at everything. Lucy fumed, and instead of leaving, found herself following. She had to hand it to herself—she was keeping up with his long, determined strides quite well. “Excuse me, but you have no grounds to fire—” She suddenly slipped on the fringe of a hallway rug and, trying to regain her balance, reached for the console nearby, grabbing the polished wooden edge.
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She quickly discovered the console wasn’t nearly as sturdy as she’d thought. It was probably vintage. The table didn’t support her weight and dipped toward her—along with the huge white and blue vase on top of it. Lucy fell in a graceless heap on the floor, absorbing the impact of the console on her ribs, and clearly heard the loud, crashing sounds of glass—along with an exasperated, “What the fuck?” That’s when the lights went out.
***** Personal assistant, like hell, Holden thought furiously. The woman looked like a porn star with that long blonde hair and tempting fuckme body. When he’d bent over her limp form to check for bruises, he’d been shocked to find her skirt had risen up all the way to her waist, and outraged to discover she was wearing silk lace panties—red, no less! At work! What did Phelps think Holden was made of, freaking stone? He circled the elegant Persian rug in his bedroom for the fiftieth consecutive time while considering the possibility of not only firing his new personal assistant—which was a given—but Aaron Phelps as well. The man had clearly not been thinking with his head when he’d hired her—at least not with the head above his neck. She looked too young to be experienced—she couldn’t possibly be over thirty—and she looked too damned hot to be able to assist anyone with anything except the possible exception of an orgasm. Now, to his chagrin, the woman was incapacitated in the guest bedroom, being tended to by Mr. Pimwick, moaning in pain ever since she’d woken up from wherever she’d been only minutes ago. Holden had to leave her in Pimwick’s hands, since he was sporting a huge, mountain-sized erection from his glimpse of her smooth thighs and therefore didn’t trust himself to touch his blonde, unconscious, look-at-me-I’m-astripper assistant—wearing freaking red panties to work—without doing anything stupid. Hiding in the sanctity of his bedroom had seemed a much wiser choice. And
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yet, just knowing she was currently in the same zip code had hot air steaming from his ears like an overheated pot. Plus, the fact that he could hear her moan and groan from the room next to his was wreaking havoc with his brain, which was already picturing all sorts of triple-X images starring Holden and his new assistant. Somehow, the woman managed to make every moan and groan louder than the last, and hell, she sounded on the brink of a very potent, very pleasurable orgasm. It was sheer hell to have to listen to her without wanting to participate. He had to get rid of her as fast as he could—because Patrick did not screw around with his employees. With renewed determination, he pounced toward the nightstand, grabbed the phone and punched some numbers in. “Phelps, send Carlos to my apartment asap. I need him to drive Miss Divine home now. And start looking for a new assistant. Oh, and Phelps? I want black hair and experienced. Preferably fat.” He hung up, already feeling much better. He jerked his eyes toward the door when he heard a light knock. “Yes?” He heard Mr. Pimwick’s voice on the other side and ordered him to come in. Holden crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his heels. “Well? Is she gone yet?” “No, sir. She is still in bed with an icepack over her temple, sir. I also applied ice over her ribs and ankle, as they are quite swollen,” Pimwick replied in his very proper British accent. “Will she live?” he asked with no apparent concern whatsoever. “Yes sir, fortunately, sir.” Mr. Pimwick cleared his throat. “She’s a bit ruffled from the incident, I dare say. She mentioned the vague possibility of a lawsuit.” “The woman wants to sue me? What in the world for?” “Apparently she believes she is being dismissed for being blonde, sir.” “I don’t give a flying fuck what she believes. She’s blonde and I don’t like her.”
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“Yes, sir.” “I have lawyers to handle deranged opportunists like her.” “Yes, sir.” “Besides, she’s clumsy. You saw how she fell. How’s the vase, by the way?” “Quite dead, sir.” “Damn it. It was Mother’s.” Holden narrowed his eyes at Pimwick. “I will dismiss her. Phelps is already finding me another assistant, one that will suit me much better.” “As you say, sir.” “Just tell her…” Holden frowned, not thinking coherently, and shook his head. “Tell her…” When the words didn’t come out for the second time, he shook his head again. “I’ll tell her myself, Pimwick.” “Excellent, sir.” “Let me know when Carlos gets here. He will be escorting Miss Divine home.” “Right away, sir.” At Pimwick’s departure, Holden resumed his circular pacing around the bedroom. If the blonde decided to sue him, the press would probably have a picnic. He hated picnics—especially if he got to be lunch. It seemed like the press lived for any piece of information regarding him and his business dealings. They hunted shreds of it like bloodhounds, and the more Holden tried to keep from them, the more they wanted to know. The first time he’d read his name in a newspaper, it had been after his first successful acquisition and he’d been quite surprised, for he had never realized he was that important until he witnessed the racket the papers made. Subsequently, his name appeared with more frequency, in the same way his bankroll increased, and now it was to the point where Holden despised seeing his name on anything printed—which unfortunately, happened very often. But he hated the thought of knowingly granting the press the opportunity it so anxiously awaited to fling his dirty laundry out for 16
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everyone to see. Up until now, his life was portrayed as fairy tale-esque. A poor little boy from New Jersey, Mom baked cakes to help him with schooling, Dad served the country and died while doing so. Making it big-time in New York. It was the allAmerican dream, the rise from nothing to everything, and he was a symbol of it. But Holden knew better. If he got this high, this fast, it could only mean one thing— he’d risked too much. Every single day Holden risked it, risked it all, and if one gut feeling turned out to be wrong, he could lose everything. But of course, that’s what he lived for, the thrill of making a kill—not of making the news. He sighed and suddenly decided the best way to get rid of his new assistant was to simply make her quit. Lord knows every other assistant he’d had could never keep up with him and his active, tiring lifestyle. Holden was certain that with a little more effort on his part, by making the load sufficiently too heavy for the woman to possibly manage, she would have no choice but to resign. Holden smiled to himself over this clever plan as he yanked his bedroom door open and strode outside. He found her in the hallway, hobbling like a penguin toward the foyer. No doubt about it, she looked like she’d seen better days. “Miss Divine, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Her answer, when she stiffly turned to face him, was a deadly silence and a face that said “shove it”. As if he had no idea what that face meant, he smiled benignly. “Before you leave, I want to review my activities for tomorrow.” It seemed to take her a moment for his words to register in her obviously still-notquite-recuperated brain. In fact, her left temple was beet red, and just by looking at it, Holden could tell one thing—it hurt like hell. “Now?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyes were amazing—honey colored with sparks of cinnamon, and tilted invitingly at the ends like a she-cat. “Yes, now, Miss Divine.”
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He walked past her and made a fuss about which sofa to sit on in the living room, finally deciding on a winged-back chair a few feet from the window. With more drama than necessary, he plopped down onto it. Then sighing, he propped one ankle on the opposite knee, crossed his arms over his chest and gave her The Look—a combination of mild annoyance and unquestionable authority. She eyed him cautiously, as if she were puzzled by his new inclination to review his activities. He was still furiously aware that she wore no jacket like he preferred, and he inwardly cursed her for it because frankly, she was making his mouth water. She wore a simple black skirt that fit her womanly curves like a second skin. Of course, he knew the red undies were still beneath that skirt, and his cock responded to this knowledge with an uncomfortable stiffness. Her silky cream button-up shirt was damp on one side of her waist from the icepack she’d held to her ribs—it made Holden wonder if she had pressed the ice to her ribs, or if it had been Pimwick. Suddenly, Holden clearly remembered Pimwick saying it had been him who’d tended to her bruises with an icepack, and Holden inwardly reminded himself to fire that deranged, psychotic pervert. Dismissing that thought ’til later, he continued his study of her person, which was much more interesting than his old butler. Now that she’d fallen on her butt, Holden noted how her shirt was tucked into the waistband of her skirt, though not as neatly as before the fall. Still, the crinkled fabric managed to emphasize the small of her waist and the mounds of her very generous breasts. Her hair was no longer held in a bun at her nape and was now in disarray mode, with hundreds of strands of blonde hair loose and haphazardly framing her oval-shaped face. Her face was not exactly pretty. It was too strong for that. But it was sexy, very damned sexy, with lips full and thick, a sleek, elegant nose with a slight tilt at the end and high, exotic cheekbones. She was also slender and tall, and the pointy black high heels she wore made her calves look so curvy and delectable. They made him feel like a starved carnivore wanting to take a bite or two.
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Holden cocked a dramatic eyebrow and made sure his gaze was dead serious as he returned his eyes to hers. He settled on using the same stare he used on every one of his employees to indicate his position of superiority and to remind them that he did not appreciate them wasting any of his valuable time. “Maybe if we can get to the top of the list by the next millennium, Miss Divine?” “Yes, of course,” she said, moving briskly toward her briefcase and wincing when she unclasped the lock. Holden ignored the wince. In the same way, he ignored the flood of blood that rushed to his cock the second his eyes landed on an uncomfortable amount of cleavage, visible through the V of her shirt when she bent down to grab her notes. Playing the role of Frigidaire while he had such a generous display of female breasts before him and after a long, trying trip to London was about the hardest thing he’d done today. Lucy slowly sat down on the nearest sofa, pencil and notepad in hand, and began to talk incessantly, to which Holden absently nodded most of the time. He was awfully distracted, noticing her skirt had risen upward when she’d sat and he now had a very advantageous view of the appetizing curves of her legs. He couldn’t help but appreciate the form and texture of them, for she wore no stockings, and her skin looked porcelain and soft, her legs sleek and long—too damned long. Long enough to wrap around a man’s hips. Hell, long enough to fold over a man’s shoulders, or maybe even long enough to— “Mr. Holden?” “Yes?” He lifted both brows. “Decline or accept the invitation to the Metropolitan Museum’s inaugural exhibit of Sean Scully?” “Decline.” She continued speaking nonsense to which he didn’t pay any attention. Was she even wearing a bra? He could swear he saw the tight, perky crest of a nipple through her shirt. 19
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“Mr. Holden?” “Yes?” He lifted his gaze to hers. “The lecture at Columbia University?” “Decline.” Yes, he was ninety-nine percent positive she was not wearing a bra. He could almost trace the contour of an areola. She was sitting with a very erect posture that he imagined she thought was proper, but the straightness of her spine only served to thrust her breasts out to his attention. Yes, definitely no bra. He was now one-hundred percent certain, which was all the more reason to fire her. On what grounds? Blonde hair, red panties and wearing no bra to work. “Mr. Holden?” she sounded exasperated. “Hmm?” “Rockefeller Center’s—” “Decline.” Holden shifted in his seat, aware of the aching, rock-hard erection pressing against his pants like a tattletale. His reaction to his new assistant was not in the least bit normal, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it hadn’t been too long since he’d had sex. Maybe he should call an escort. Or maybe he should call what’s-her-name, the brunette who flirted with him at that dinner last month… “Mr. Holden?” She was near hysterics now. “Yes?” he asked dryly. “Next week’s LUV benefit for human rights masquerade party?” He considered it for several seconds. “Accept.” She looked mildly surprised at this, her sleek eyebrows lifting only slightly. Damn, the side of her temple was really starting to swell. He’d been preoccupied with other,
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more important matters—like confirming whether she was wearing a bra or not—to really notice that. “Call a Miss MacFadden and ask her to accompany me. Also, get her a gift, something nice from Harry’s or Fred’s, maybe some earrings or a bracelet.” Lucy briskly took notes, trying not to show her confusion and puzzlement. “All right,” she said, closing her notepad with a loud thump before rising to her feet. “Will that be all?” “No. I want a dozen donuts, at least half of them glazed, in my office at 8 a.m. tomorrow. Be sure to be fully recovered by then, Miss Divine.” “I will try, Mr. Holden,” she muttered, sticking her notes back into her briefcase and slamming it shut. “It’s not that I wanted to fall, I assure you.” “Also, please be sure to keep your cell phone on at all times. You never know when there might be an emergency.” Lucy eyed him levelly. “Does this mean I still have a job?” Holden had to admit that he appreciate her frankness. God knows it pissed him off when his employees beat around the bush and made him lose any more minutes of his time than was necessary. Employees didn’t seem to get the fact that a minute of Holden’s time was a lot of freaking money. “Yes, Miss Divine, you still have a job,” he said flatly. Not for long, Miss Divine. Not for long, he thought to himself. Ten minutes after her departure, he smiled wickedly and dialed her number, lifting the receiver up to his ear with flair. When she answered, he spoke casually into the speaker, just to let her know she could expect this sort of event every single day of her job as his assistant. “Miss Divine, I need you to come back here.” “Is something wrong, Mr. Holden?” If the strain in her voice was any indication, she was trying her damnedest to sound unaffected but failing miserably.
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“Yes. Didn’t Phelps explain to you? I need you to select my tie for tomorrow. And make it quick, Miss Divine, I don’t have all night.”
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Chapter Two Lucy had sore ribs, a swollen ankle, a purple temple and a wounded pride. She had been playing nursemaid to Patrick Holden for just over a week and she was feeling tired and a little desperate. This was not going the way she had hoped. The man was impossible. First, she’d had a headache of a time finding a present for his date. “Something from Harry’s or Fred’s,” he’d said, leaving her to figure it out for herself, until one of Holden’s three secretaries, Bitch Number One, had finally said, “Fred Leighton and Harry Winston, Lucy, puleeeze. They’re only two of the finest jewelers in the world.” Oh! Silly, stupid Lucy for not having learned that at Stanford! And that had not been her only dilemma. It seemed that all three of Holden’s personal secretaries hated Lucy more than their own mothers-in-law. At their best they were intelligent, hardworking women, and at their worst, they were real bitches intent on doing only two things—filing their nails and making Lucy’s life miserable. As if she didn’t have enough misery already with the ridiculous demands of her boss. Unlike Lucy, who limited her contact with her boss to as little as possible, his secretaries seemed to vie for his attention in such a way that was almost laughable. While Lucy waited promptly at 8 a.m. with his donuts sitting in a box atop her lap every morning, his three secretaries, especially Bitch Number Three, got extremely pissed when he stormed into the office and barked, “Miss Divine. You. Follow me.” As Lucy had expected, his office was like a palace and every piece of furniture in it screamed of new money trying to look like old money. There was a mixture of eras, decades and tastes in his furniture. It wasn’t exactly displeasing. Instead, she found it rather interesting. Polished mahogany wood covered the vast expanse of the floor, while the grand wall parallel to the double doors was glass from floor to ceiling, 23
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boasting an impressive view of Wall Street. The rest of the office walls were covered in a plush, deep emerald green fabric, all boasting an assortment of framed artworks. Holden’s leather-topped rosewood desk occupied the right side of the grand palazzo, where it stood facing three carved wooden chairs upholstered in wine suede strategically positioned across from it. Behind his desk was a tall leather swivel chair that served as his throne, and hanging proudly on the wall behind was a large painting of oil on canvas—an impressive abstract work with violent brush strokes in a green and brown palette. At the opposite side of the room stood a floral-patterned English-style sofa facing a plasma TV, which he kept on at all times to watch the Bloomberg channel for stock news and reports. The TV hung like a trophy in the center of the fabricpaneled wall, and to the left of it was a modern mirror-backed, fully stocked wet bar. Every morning he expected Lucy to place a dozen Evian water bottles on top of his desk and set down the box of donuts with a pile of napkins before quietly taking her leave to do other errands. And she had no idea how he could come up with so many— all of them inane. The man wanted very specific engraved stationary, had her send his suit from the day before to the dry cleaner’s daily, ordered her to hunt down special caviar he had a toothache for and called incessantly during the day to pile more errands on her, or complicate the current ones. Like the recent phone call she remembered all too well. “I just changed my mind, Miss Divine. I want beige stationary, not white,” he’d said. “But I’ve already ordered the white,” she countered, doing her utmost best to remain cool. Really! Was there such a grave difference between beige and white stationary? “That’s not my problem now, is it?” And then he’d hung up. The man also wanted her to schedule his dates, among other strange requests that only a lunatic could think of. 24
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Last week, while they’d been riding in the back of a black Lincoln Town Car through the crowded Manhattan streets, Holden had pointed a thick, long finger at the huge bronze sculpture “Charging Bull”—the symbol of Wall Street and that of a growing and prosperous stock market. “I want that, Miss Divine. Get it.” “Mr. Holden, that’s impossible,” she immediately said. And then he’d looked at her as if she were the one gone crazy. “Nothing’s impossible, Miss Divine. I’m surprised with that attitude you’ve gotten the slightest bit ahead in New York.” Yes, getting ahead in New York was much more difficult than Lucy had imagined. It was a world away from her childhood in Oakland, and her student days in Palo Alto. In New York, with the amount of money Patrick Holden had, maybe nothing was impossible. But a solid MBA, a thirst to work and a desire to make someone of herself was actually not that much to get ahead on, especially in a city like this, where there were hundreds of thousands of other people just as thirsty and as willing to do what was needed to get the job done and rise ahead of the pack. “My mother is flying in tomorrow, Miss Divine,” Holden said that morning as they rode together in the car. “I want you to pick her up at the airport, get her settled in the best hotel, take her shopping, take her anywhere, I don’t give a damn…just keep her off my back.” Their frequent rides in one of the company’s preferred black cars usually consisted of him either barking orders at her or at his cell phone, while Lucy got to sit uncomfortably either beside him or across from him. She didn’t know which was worse. Sitting beside him in the Lincoln felt like sitting next to a huge mass of tension that was waiting to explode at any minute, and no matter how she tried to reassure herself, she predicted that when he did explode she was going to get scorched. Sitting across from him in the limousine, however, she got a very complete, very discomforting look 25
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at his face, which was devilishly handsome even when frowning—which was most of the time. She’d lately been thinking it was such a pity, such a waste of an eligible bachelor, that he should be such an arrogant pig, which was why, of course, no matter how rich and handsome he was, the man was still single at thirty-eight. Lucy doubted there would be any woman in her right mind who would want to settle down with a man who sent his assistant to buy her presents. And yet, during these same uncomfortable car rides, Lucy got a glimpse of the mysterious workings of his mind, and the blazing heat of his personality. Watching him work usually left her nothing short of speechless. He was a fearless risk-taker, and Lucy was awed to be witness to the furious passion with which he worked. It was the same sort of driving passion that made one jump from great heights or paint master works. Patrick Holden’s lust for business was as potent as a composer’s quest for the great concerto. When it came right down to it—it really turned her on. Take GYRO, for instance. The software-processing business had a solid client base that included Dell, Hewlett Packard and Apple computers. But after losing a big contract to the larger Intel competition and not being able to cope with an enormous debt, had filed for Chapter 11. The stock immediately plummeted to nine cents per share, from the four dollars it had been worth. And from what Lucy had overheard from Holden’s numerous telephone conversations, he was buying up the stock like a man possessed. Though he hadn’t achieved major shareholder status just yet, he was already planning to set up new management, secure several long-term deals with Dell and Hewlett Packard, and change the small business’ status quo. These sorts of deals were practically impossible without a solid financial backing that could provide the small company the security it needed to grow and expand. And although Lucy had her own share of ideas about the buy-out, similar to the ones
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Holden had, she had to admit she wouldn’t have had the guts to see them through. There was always the possibility of losing all that you risked. That was why Lucy had taken this job—she wanted to learn from the very best. Barely two weeks into her new job and she had already realized something of vital importance—she was really going to have to grow into her pants if she expected to succeed in this line of business. “I don’t give a damn what you have to do,” Holden had snapped over the phone at Simon Morris, head of mergers and acquisitions, just yesterday. “Raise the offer and buy it.” And he’d hung up. “Don’t you think it’s a little rude to hang up all your cell phone conversations without even a farewell?” Lucy had asked him then. She’d noticed he never said “goodbye” to anyone on the phone and found it really annoying. He sat across from her in the limousine and remained silent while he eyed her steadily. “We’re men, Miss Divine. That’s how we do business. Neither of us wants a hello, nor a farewell, we want to make money.” “And saying ‘thank you’ or ‘goodbye’ would be too much of an effort?” She could swear she saw the hint of a smile play on his lips as he pulled on his tie in exasperation, something he always seemed to do. “Yes. It would.” He took a bottled water from the wet bar to one side of the limo, cracked it open and took a swig. Then his forehead creased in one of his usual scowls. “Besides, I didn’t get where I am by saying ‘hi’ and ‘bye’.” Lucy had turned to stare out the window to hide her smile. Men were men, women were women and Holden was…himself. Yet no matter how much she privately enjoyed watching Holden during his business conversations, she felt extremely uncomfortable under his stare, at the way his eyes darkened when he looked at her. For the last couple days, Holden, rather than Carlos, had held the car door open for her, and the occasional brush of her elbow to his chest, or the sweep of his coat against her hair, or just about
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anything as fleeting as the feel of his breath on the top of her head effectively sent her senses spinning. That afternoon, as she boarded the limo for their usual afternoon drive to his apartment, he halted her, his grip firm but gentle on her arm, his eyes intense on her face. “Would you care for dinner, Miss Divine?” He’d spoken so softly she even wondered if she’d imagined the words. For a brief second she just stared up at him, unsure of what he meant. Was he asking her to dine with his employees in the kitchen of his apartment, or did she even dare think that he might be asking her to dine with him? “I…” Her lack of speech was hardly appropriate for a Stanford graduate. Still, she felt immobilized with shock, her whole body frozen by a wild fluttering in her chest and something else she dared call…hope. His whole body stiffened at her apparent hesitation and suddenly he smiled coldly, arrogantly. “I know, I know. Some other time.” That left her, unfortunately, with no reply whatsoever, and no matter how frantic she felt, it would be too inappropriate for her to backpedal. She should have promptly thought of a smarter reply—one more fitting for an educated professional such as herself, and not some silly dimwit. He was silent on their way to his apartment, and when they arrived, he seemed hell-bent on staying as far away from her as he could while she selected his suit and tie—something she accomplished with record speed that evening. Lucy was starting to really abhor touching his manly…things. It seemed so intimate, so very personal. Touching his things made her retire to her apartment every night with an inner longing—not to touch his clothes, but the powerful, arrogant man who wore them.
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Holden was always so strong, so self-assured. Yet she’d had glimpses of him, sacred moments when his shoulders relaxed, his handsome features softened. Moments when he grew pensive and thoughtful. Moments when he would look at her as if… She saw something there, something she didn’t know how to interpret, that pulled at the very essence of her soul as if his own was calling out to hers in recognition, in promise. Sometimes, when his guard was down, he seemed so…different. Lucy was behaving very differently herself. She was, in fact, being very naughty. Her behavior was just despicable…at least in her mind. Lucy had been surprising herself with the erotic, vivid stories flying endlessly through her once-upon-a-timeintelligent brain. Bad, wicked Lucy. There was something downright sickening about a woman who couldn’t look at her boss without staring down at his crotch—and that happened to her all the time, when all she should be focused on was her work. So why was she spending so much time evaluating this selfish, arrogant person? More importantly, why was she harboring fantasies about herself, on her knees, giving him oral sex—in the limo, for crying out loud! For this reason, after learning about his mother’s impending arrival, Lucy had been extremely grateful for an opportunity to get away from him and escort his mother around town. How bad could it be?
The next day, Lucy stood at the airport and watched a woman walk down the concourse toward her, hauling a brown suitcase splattered with Louis Vuitton monograms, a coat overwhelmed with Fendi’s signature interlocking-F symbols and a belt with the unmistakable Gucci GGs in glinting, polished gold. Lucy prayed, fervently and silently, that she not be Holden’s mother. But she knew, because her ageless face was identical to the framed picture atop a console in Patrick Holden’s apartment. Her skin was the identical pearly color captured in the photo, her hair the same shade of bright orange-red. Lucy took a step forward. “Mrs. Holden?” 29
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With the tip of a finger, the woman lowered her huge black sunglasses to the bottom of her nose and peered at Lucy through a pair of dark green eyes. “You’re not Katrina.” “No,” Lucy said cautiously. “No, I’m not.” “I asked for Katrina, where is she?” “Mrs. Holden, I’m afraid Katrina no longer works for Mr. Holden, so he sent me instead. But please don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get everything you need. I’m his new personal assistant, Lucy Divine.” Eyeing her outstretched hand without taking it, Mrs. Holden hmphed her disgruntlement and said nothing. “Let me help you with that,” Lucy said politely, saving face by graciously pretending her outstretched hand had been meant for the luggage and smoothly taking the monogrammed suitcase from the woman’s grip. Mrs. Holden gave Lucy the silent treatment all the way to where Carlos waited with the limousine outside, and during the whole time it took them to reach the Upper West Side of Manhattan. It wasn’t until they rode along Fifth Avenue that the woman sighed in contentment and finally forgave Lucy for not being Katrina. “I do love the shopping here in New York.” Lucy felt grateful that she was at least talking to her once again. It wouldn’t have improved her position very much with her boss if his mother happened to hate her. “We’ll go anywhere you like. Why don’t we settle you in first? I’ve reserved a suite for you at one of the finest hotels, one with a view of—” “Nonsense. I will be staying with my son, of course. Why else would he own a three-bedroom penthouse?” Lucy cleared her throat. “Mr. Holden believes you will be more comfortable in the privacy of your own suite, Mrs. Holden.”
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“Ha! With hotel sheets? They’re probably not even Egyptian cotton. I’m staying with my son, Miss Divine. Now this is why I asked for Katrina.” “Perhaps this is why Katrina no longer works for Mr. Holden. My instructions were very clear, and—” “Carlos,” the woman barked. “Please take me to my son’s apartment. This woman doesn’t seem to realize that I never have—and never will—stay at some lousy hotel when visiting my own son. Besides,” she said, turning to eye Lucy, “hotels don’t have anyone that even remotely resembles the grace and hospitality of Mr. Pipsqueak.” Lucy swallowed her laugh. “You must mean Mr. Pimwick?” “Yes, my dear, but I call him Pipsqueak, and he likes it very much.” Fifteen minutes later, Lucy confirmed that indeed Mrs. Holden called the butler Pipsqueak, but he indisputably appeared to hate it. “Pipsqueak, hello you old devil!” the woman bellowed when she and Lucy entered Patrick’s apartment, Carlos closely following with Mrs. Holden’s LV-monogrammed suitcase. Poor Mr. Pimwick looked ashen when his eyes landed on the beaming Mrs. Holden. “Madam,” he said, bowing very stiffly. “Did you miss me?” the woman taunted saucily, chucking Mr. Pimwick’s chin as she asked. Lucy watched in fascination as Mr. Pimwick straightened his spine, and with the cool casualness of one whose family members have been butlers for generations, said, “No.” Then he turned to Lucy, bowed and uttered, “Miss,” before walking away.
***** On the way to his apartment, Patrick Holden stared blindly out the car window and cursed Aaron Phelps for the sixth consecutive time that day. The man had sent six women to his private office that morning, and they had all equally sucked. Yes, they 31
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had dark hair and were decently chubby, but none of them seemed to have even half the brains and elegance Lucy Divine had shown during the past two weeks. And they were all old! Damn it, Patrick wasn’t going to hire a granny—how could they possibly keep up? Keeping Divine on his payroll, however, was an option Holden was still hesitant to consider. It was extremely uncomfortable to have to conduct business with a hard-on, and that was just what she was causing with those blow-job lips and those perky tits and that tight little ass. Even with the preferred rudimentary outfits, she looked ready for a tumble, and Holden would swear he could smell her—a heady, spicy yet fruity scent—even from a mile away. Just sharing the same air with her in the confines of a car, or any other space for that matter, was testing his nerves to the breaking point. Simply knowing he was wearing a tie that had been carefully selected by her the night before was damned vexing, to say the least. He was glad his mother was here. This gave him at least another week to find Miss Divine’s replacement without having to look at her tempting body too frequently. But hell, even when he closed his eyes at night, after a long, exhausting day at work, he found her image indelibly marked onto his retinas like a brand. Of course, he had to admit the woman had not only looks, but a backbone as well. She’d accepted every one of his demeaning, demanding, overbearing orders—meant to send her screaming for cover—with grace. Well…if you consider the frequent “screw you” looks she didn’t quite manage to smother, maybe not exactly with grace, but at least with some outward civility. Plus, she’d accomplished them all, even the most daring ones. She had even successfully gotten him the Wall Street bull—wouldn’t you know it? That huge, mean bull was now his. Even if Holden did have to sign a contract agreeing not to move it from its current location, it gave him great pleasure just to know he owned it.
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Getting him that bull had been a near-impossible feat, one he’d only thought of to make her realize once and for all that being his assistant sucked and she should really think about quitting. But time and again, she surprised him. Yesterday morning, she’d set down his donuts while he’d been on the phone, and when he hung up, he’d been surprised to notice she’d been attentively listening to every word. “Is there something you wish to say?” he prodded, noting the way she was pursing her lips in an obvious attempt to keep from doing so. She looked relieved. “Yes, actually, I have something I want to ask. Why a hostile takeover? Why not just buy the company outright at a fair price for everyone?” He leaned back in his swivel chair and studied her, realizing there was far more to Lucy Divine than he’d expected. He was not going to explain to her, however, that if the population in general got word that Holden wanted something, the stock would skyrocket, making his purchase more expensive. So he instead said, “Maybe I like to do things the hard way.” She laughed, and surprisingly, her laughter did all sorts of things to his body, clenching here, tightening there, caused a tingle here and there. It was hell. When he’d dismissed her, he sat there for longer than was necessary to wonder about it. Now, he inexplicably found himself wondering if he was being too harsh on her. That would certainly account for his sudden and maddening urge of late to make amends. Could possibly explain his reason for asking her—his employee—to dinner, of all things! As the car slowly advanced through the hideous afternoon traffic along Central Park, Holden pulled out his cell phone and dialed Phelps’ number, frowning at a sudden thought that began to concern him. “Phelps, how much is Miss Divine earning?” he barked as soon as Phelps picked up. Holden cringed at the number Phelps immediately recited. “That hardly buys you anything in this town,” he grumbled. 33
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“It’s actually a steep amount, sir. Personal assistants usually earn half that,” Phelps calmly assured. “And are they all assistants to me?” Holden asked gruffly. “Pardon?” “Are all their last names as pretty as Divine?” Holden insisted. There was a long silence, his point still not coming across clearly to Phelps, as if ten years working for him had gone empty on the man. “Well? Do they all have such pretty names, Phelps?” “No.” “That’s what I thought. I want you to double it. Triple it. I mean a decent six figures, Phelps.” “But sir, that’s almost what I—” “Thank you.” Holden hung up before Phelps wheedled a raise for himself again. Then he sighed in contentment, at least certain that Miss Divine’s troubles would be well paid for. Services like Miss Divine’s were hard to come by these days, after all. Didn’t Phelps know this? Didn’t Phelps himself tell him repeatedly how perfect his new assistant was? He’d been right. She was too perfect. While Holden, unfortunately, was hardly the perfect boss. He was too crude, cold, calculating, vicious, while she was… Was there a word to describe her? Holden could think of thousands, and none of them seemed to do it adequately. Except maybe… Divine. Simply Divine. Now, as he took the elevator up to his apartment and nodded absently to its other occupant, he suddenly realized Lucy Divine was the perfect personal assistant. She was responsible, resourceful, dedicated. If he could harness his sexual impulses around her, she could definitely be a formidable asset—one he’d be lucky to keep. But frankly that 34
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seemed next to impossible, because all he pretty much wanted to do all day was screw her…and kiss her. Hell yes, kiss her! Kiss her everywhere. Run his hands over her skin and taste every inch of it. He’d be extremely appreciative and grateful if she ever let him do that. He would also love to have her naked and sprawled on top of his desk, giving him her sweet little pussy for breakfast. That would be so damned sweet. Sweeter than donuts, he was certain. His eyes glistened just thinking about it. Why couldn’t he fool around with her? He wasn’t married, he didn’t have a girlfriend—thank God, because frankly, women and their hormones made him pretty nervous—and Holden was the boss of his company. That means that he made the rules. There was no written law, no signed contract that forbid him to mess around with his assistant—although he’d certainly always thought it unprofessional. But then, he’d never actually felt like this about anyone before. He had never had sleepless nights, hard-ons during conference calls and lack of concentration because of a pair of legs. Forget the legs. What about the eyes? Those eyes, honey-colored and smart…eyes that missed nothing, assessed everything. There was intelligence behind them, dedication and…lust. Yes, Lucy Divine might not like his manners very much, and she might not like his attitude, but she wanted him. And Holden wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any stock or any bond or any option. He wanted her so badly that just this morning, after a little “incident”, he’d been almost willing to make a pact with the devil himself for just one night of— “Mother?” He froze in the grand foyer of his apartment and stared at the image of his mother, calmly sitting on the living room sofa and sipping tea like a lady, with the delectable Miss Divine sitting across from her. When his eyes landed on Divine, they slammed into deadly slits. So much for his “intelligent”, “dedicated” assistant. Now instead of
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fucking her, all he wanted was to take a paddle to her behind—and maybe fuck her afterward. “Miss Divine?” he queried in a clipped tone. Lucy carefully set down her teacup over her plate, notably trying not to be affected by the deadly look in his eyes. “Patrick, my darling, let me look at you,” his mother purred, crossing the space between them. She wrapped him in her arms, where he remained as stiff as a sculpture, and kissed his cheek noisily. Pulling back, she eyed him thoroughly, her eyes sparkling with love. “Now, darling, it isn’t Divine’s fault that she didn’t know better. But I had to set her straight. I told him no mother of New York’s most eligible bachelor will be seen at some hotel, five stars or no stars. I’ve already unpacked and Mr. Pipsqueak, that dear, dear man, is taking very good care of me. I promise you won’t have to worry a thing for me. And as for my privacy, don’t worry dear—I don’t mind you at all. You’re hardly home most of the time anyway, and I’ve got the place almost to myself!” Holden’s eyes settled back on the calm image of Miss Divine, who was eyeing him warily. Like a pretty little doe. Before it was shot to death. “A word with you, Miss Divine.” He walked toward the hallway and waited impatiently for the whole three seconds it took her to appear. “Can you explain to me why my mother is here—in my apartment?” he hissed. Not able to control his fury, he grabbed her shoulders and squeezed harshly. “I’m truly sorry Mr. Holden, but she insisted on staying here. I couldn’t possibly—” “Spare me the details of your incompetence, Miss Divine. When I issue a request, I prefer it be followed. I will be entertaining Miss MacFadden tonight—you should remember, since you, yourself set it up this morning—and my mother’s presence is very inconvenient to me at this time. I’m sure you can understand why that may be!” Lucy felt frantic. She fumbled through her brain and tried to find a thought that would help, something that could make things right. “I’ll make sure she isn’t in your
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way, Mr. Holden. You have my word. I’ll sit with her and make sure she doesn’t interfere with your business.” “By the way,” he added, sticking his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and smacking something into her palm. “Take this sissy present back to the store and next time, buy me a real jewel—one fit for a man to give a woman—not a tiny little trinket I need a freaking loupe to see.” And with that he stalked away, flexing his hands as he did so, as if he’d been struck by a lethal infection just by touching her.
***** Lucy shivered, feeling cold all of a sudden. She stared down at the elegant Harry Winston box sitting proudly on her palm and felt her heart drop. She had thought the ruby and diamond earrings she’d selected were simple, elegant and breathtaking. When she’d bought them, she had done so with enthusiasm and a thirst to please, the whole experience of presenting a corporate American Express card at the register and buying her heart away at one of the world’s leading jewelry stores having felt inordinately pleasing. But now, after he had brutally rebuffed her taste in jewelry, she felt defeated, deflated and helpless. As if she should care what an overbearing, chauvinistic son-of-the-devil thought! “What happened to the woman who wanted to be a hotshot investor?” her brother had asked her over the phone when he’d learned of her new job. “I’ll get there soon. In the meantime I’m working for the greatest hotshot investor in America.” “Getting him his donuts, Lucy, is hardly work, and you didn’t need an MBA from Stanford to do that,” he reminded her. Lucy pursed her lips and realized that if she wanted to get ahead in this world she needed to move fast, because she knew with certainty that she couldn’t possibly last
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very long at this job, not when she was half-hating, half-lusting after her boss the way she was. She was almost throwing herself at his feet. Just this morning, Lucy had suffered a little accident. Actually, it had been his donuts that had suffered most. The double doors to Holden’s office had been wide open as she strode inside, and having to cross the room with his watchful gaze on her person had proved such a strain to her nervous system that suddenly, just like that, the donuts practically slipped from her hands, box and all, and crashed to the floor. Each took its own path and rolled over the floor, determined to get as far away from her as fast as possible. In the background, Lucy heard all three Bitches snickering because she hadn’t closed the door behind her before this unfortunate event took place. “No!” Lucy had gasped, horrified, as her gaze jumped from one retreating donut to the next. She squatted down on her heels, frantically trying to grab and salvage at least one of them—hopefully one of the glazed that he liked most. Holden sprang from behind the desk like a lithe predator, reaching her in less than a second. Lowering to his haunches across from her, he grabbed her hand before she could even catch the quick little donut, squeezing it gently as he bent his face in a way that brought his forehead dizzyingly close to hers. “Leave them.” His breath had bathed her face in warmth and his eyes had been so dark and clear. She’d expected him to mock her. After all, what sort of klutz was she? Instead, his eyes had roved over every inch of her features, and he’d suddenly, gently, brushed back a strand of wayward hair from her jaw. The Bitches had shut up then, but he wasn’t even paying attention to them, nor was Lucy. “I’m…oh God, your donuts,” Lucy whispered brokenly, staring helplessly into his eyes. The donuts weren’t her only concern. She was greatly concerned that instead of walking into his office like the super-efficient assistant she wanted to be, she’d looked like a total fool. 38
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He seemed to have other concerns, of a nature Lucy wasn’t quite certain. “Why are you doing this to me?” He’d sounded so tortured when he spoke, so filled with emotion, that she had no idea what he meant. All she’d been able to do at that moment was look into his eyes and breathe a very stupid, “I’m sorry.” He cupped her face, his hands firm and incredibly warm as they cradled her. Lucy held her breath when his eyes fell to her lips and she suddenly found herself wishing…wishing what she didn’t wish…wishing what she’d lately longed for the most. The only reason she didn’t just grab him and kiss him was because…well…she wasn’t all that brave. Then she heard whispering behind her and she knew it was those damned Bitches, who were now at the very top of Lucy’s newly created blacklist, all three of them crammed into the number one spot together. Staring past her shoulder at the open doorway, at the source of the sounds, Holden dropped his hands to his sides and said, “Take better care next time, Miss Divine.” Walking toward the window with his back to her, he added, “Why don’t you invite Miss MacFadden over to my place tonight. I think I’d like to see her.” If he could hear the silent screams inside her, he gave no hint of it, for he didn’t turn to look at her again. Silently, Lucy gathered each of the twelve mean little donuts from the floor and quietly left his office to dial the dreaded number of the suddenly hated Miranda MacFadden. Now, standing with the jewelry box in her hands, she told herself she needed to stop thinking of him, needed to stay focused, keep her eye on the prize, her mind on that one single goal. Her career. Perhaps tomorrow she should make time to meet with Simon Morris, Holden’s right hand in mergers and acquisitions, and outline her idea for the stock company she had been following during the last couple years. The company was badly managed and had just been unlisted from the Nasdaq, but it had so much potential. If only someone
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could bring it to Holden’s attention, someone he would listen to—not the assistant who dropped his donuts! “Why is my son angry?” she heard an imperious voice say behind her. Lucy forced a smile when she turned to Mrs. Holden. Because she didn’t know what to say, she said, “Mrs. Holden, your son is angry all the time, and I’m sure I have no idea why.” The woman laughed and smacked Lucy on the shoulder. “Welcome to the club, Divine. Now, how about a game of bridge?” “I’ll play if you show me how. And what do you think about an early dinner in the privacy of your room?” Lucy countered. “Puuurfect, Miss Divine. You seem to read my mind now that you’re starting to know me.” Lucy smiled and followed Mrs. Holden to her bedroom, where she kept and entertained her during the rest of the evening, so as not to distract His Mighty Royal Pain in the Butt from his night of sex with the holy, reverent, magnificent Miranda MacFadden. Lucy inwardly hoped his precious Miss MacFadden—who’d sounded like a real bitch on the phone—had a very contagious, very serious sexual infection so he would get what he deserved for being so domineering and selfish. He was so not worth it, she wouldn’t even think about him anymore. Let him have all his fun with the MacFadden hussy, Lucy couldn’t care less. Besides, they were made for each other because Patrick Holden was an ass. When finally Mrs. Holden took to her bed and Lucy walked down the hallway, wanting nothing more than to get home, she heard voices out in the living room. Hisand-her voices. She slowed her pace, careful not to make a sound, and paused at the end of the hallway, realizing she would have to cross the living room to get to the elevators, and fearing what Holden would say for the interruption.
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“I was so surprised when I got the call from your secretary. I never thought you’d even noticed me. And I reeeeally admire you, Patrick. Your charisma, your charm…” said the female voice. Your millions, Lucy mentally filled in. She stifled a laugh and wrinkled her nose. The woman sounded false and plastic. “I can’t blame you, Miranda,” came his deeper, achingly sensual voice. “If I were a woman, I’d admire a man like me, too.” Lucy’s mouth dropped open. My God, the man was so full of himself! That conceited, self-centered, arrogant— “Oh Patrick, kiss me,” she breathed, then came a small little whimper, and then an unbearable silence, disturbed only seconds afterward by a sensual cat-like purr. Lucy’s stomach clenched because, although she couldn’t see them, her brain imagined them—him mostly. It was hell to imagine those hands, the same ones she’d seen wrapped around his cell phone so many times, the ones that had gently held her own face this morning, now holding that woman’s face while he kissed her. God, she suddenly became extremely, potently aware of the fact that she hated him. Damn that son of a—! No, she wasn’t going to insult Mrs. Holden. But…ugh! Why did she even care if he was kissing that gold digger? But for some strange reason, she did care, very much, because her insides felt like something she was sure could only compare to the utter chaos and confusion during a massive world war. Lucy unwittingly made a little sound, one that tore from deep in her throat and which she tried to muffle but couldn’t. Her heart stopped beating when she feared she might have been heard, and quickly her fingers pressed to her lips to stifle any more unwanted noises. “What’s wrong?” said the soft, feminine voice from the living room.
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There was a deadly silence before Holden replied, and Lucy felt frantic, desperately wanting to hide. If he caught her eavesdropping it would surely be the end of her career, and she’d already put so much of her heart into this for it to amount to nothing. She glanced around and slowly tiptoed toward the closet in the hall, sliding the wooden pocket door open silently. “I’m sorry, Miranda, but I think we’re going to have to call it a night, reschedule some other time,” she heard him say. Lucy didn’t even wait to hear the woman’s reply. Instead, she briskly snuck into the darkened closet and carefully slid the door shut. She remained there for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the room grow unbearably hot, and although it should have been impossible it seemed to shrink in size. Suddenly she became aware of a life-threatening lack of oxygen. And then, as if by magic, the door slowly began to roll open. “Hello, Miss Divine.” She cleared her throat, which had suddenly run dry. “Mr. Holden.” “Dusting the closet?” he asked nonchalantly. “I, ah, well, I…” Uninvited, he stepped into the darkness of the closet. “I don’t like being spied on, Miss Divine.” His voice was a gruff whisper and his breath was unbearably close to her face. “I wasn’t spying.” She was surprised she could even speak. “Yes, you were.” He framed her face with his hands and splayed his fingers on the back of her neck, pulling her closer. “Now what do you propose I do with you?” “I-I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, absolutely certain of one thing, and that was that she absolutely knew nothing anymore, only that this was definitely not good for her career.
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“Oh no?” His coal-black eyes glimmered in the darkness. Slowly he moved forward, his hands firm on her face, and an innate survival instinct prompted her to take a step backward. Undeterred, he inched closer until the tips of her breasts brushed against his wide chest and her buttocks flattened against the wall behind her. “So. Tell me. Did you intend to eavesdrop on me and Miss MacFadden?” He leaned his weight into her…fully…the hardness of his chest crushing her breasts, the strength of his big, hard body suddenly making her feel tiny and vulnerable. Lucy’s breath caught in her throat at the feel of a monstrous bulge pressed snugly between her hips. He was extremely, potently, unquestionably hard. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from melting to the floor. “Were you going to watch us, Miss Divine?” His deep, husky voice vibrated against her skin like a caress, making her shiver. “Of course not, how can you even think that?” she whispered, feeling extremely breathless and agitated, as if she’d run a hundred miles. Either he, or Miranda MacFadden, had undone the two top buttons of his shirt, and she could see a smooth expanse of chest. It rose and fell with each breath, and he, too, sounded agitated…as if he’d run even more miles than she had. His chest was muscled and deeply tanned and proved to be a definite turn-on—as if she needed any sort of encouragement at this point. She was literally, physically hot and aching. Then it happened. Her wish. Oh dear—it was a miracle. His lips brushed over hers, the fleeting touch sending sizzling jolts of awareness to every nerve ending in her body. Slowly his hands slid from her face, down her arms and toward her buttocks. “Or did you want this for yourself?” None too gently, he cupped and squeezed her rump, pulling her forward as he rammed his hardness against her pelvis. Thick cords strained in his neck as he clutched her tightly to his huge muscled body, and Lucy exerted her own supreme efforts and bit back a string of whimpers, knowing she would surely die from sheer, utter desire. As if
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on cue her apex flooded with hot, wanton juices, and she worried that any minute now he’d be able to actually see the steam coming out of her pussy. She needn’t have worried, for he was completely engrossed with her face. “God, I want you,” he breathed hotly. Before his words even registered, he crushed his lips to hers and groaned deep in his throat at the contact. Taking her needy moan as an invitation, he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Wine. He tasted like spicy red wine, and Lucy found that she craved him, craved more, craved to get leg-wobbly, irresponsibly drunk with his taste. Hot, powerful hands rubbed her back, pressing her closer to a body as perfect and hard as a marble sculpture, but far, far warmer. When his tongue retreated from her mouth, she moaned her disagreement and followed it into his. For her troubles, he gifted her with a rumbling groan of pleasure that reverberated all the way down to her pussy. His mouth seared her, his wet, powerful tongue sparring with hers, awakening emotions both fierce and debilitating that she never even knew she possessed. She felt as though she were falling down the edge of a precipice and was powerless to do anything but hold on for dear life. And as if he were life itself, she wrapped her arms around his neck, held on tightly and kissed him back like a hussy, like a hot, wet, horny little slut. Which she had never, ever in her life been—until now. Oh yes, now all she wanted was to kiss him, touch him. Damn her career, damn everything—everything except this. Patrick Holden kissing her. Patrick Holden’s rock-hard cock so very near her sex. It could drive a girl crazy. It did drive her crazy. Muffling a soft, decadent sound of passion that came from deep within him, he slanted his lips to get better access to her mouth while his hands skimmed back to her buttocks, slowly inching the length of her skirt upward, higher, higher, until she felt the air caress her bare legs and her scantily clad rump.
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Lucy gasped when he cupped her legs where they met her bottom and lifted her. He did it so easily, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and with equal ease she locked her legs around his hips, her arms still tightly wrapped around his neck. The feel of his hot, rough palms on the tender skin of her buttocks and his all-powerful tongue mercilessly thrusting into her mouth drove her insides into a frenzy. Whatever madness this was she didn’t want it to end, because he felt glorious, wonderful, amazing. Perfect. Tightening her legs around his hips, she arched her neck, allowing his strong, savage mouth to freely trail a path of damp, searing kisses down her skin. Separated only by the thin fabric of her panties and his thicker slacks, his cock fiercely scraped against her sex. The feel of him pulsing against her, throbbing with red-hot desire, quite understandably converted Lucy into a bona fide, award-winning slut. One with about as much pride as a dirty street beggar. Her fingers sank into a thick mass of jet-black hair, so silky and soft and glorious it made her purr in delirium. “Please, Holden…please.” Her pleas were hot, intimate whispers embraced by the dark confines of the closet. “Now, now.” “God, I’ve been dying to touch you,” he murmured as his hands fisted on her panties and gave them a swift pull. When she felt the fabric tear and separate she all but whimpered in heat, knowing there was now only one barrier, one measly barrier preventing him from sliding his penis inside her and making hot, delicious love to her. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you,” he breathed before planting a wet, sloppy kiss on her earlobe. “I’ve fucked you a thousand times in my mind already.” “I’ve thought about you too,” she confessed, rubbing her pelvis against his hardness, wishing he would release his cock and thrust it inside her right this very instant. Her whole body shivered and her sex stung with a desire so harsh and primal and so not professional. “Did you?” His strained words were muffled against her neck. “Do you touch yourself and come, thinking of us, Lucy?” 45
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“Yes,” she gasped, knowing she might later regret her confession but right now she didn’t. Now she wanted him to know how she felt, to know how she wanted him. Like she’d never wanted anyone before. “You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed. “I can’t think. I can’t work. Sometimes I can’t even breathe.” Bringing his lips back to hers, he kissed her ardently while he shoved a hand between their bodies to undo his zipper. She’d gone wild practically since he’d opened the closet door, so now was not the moment to tame a runaway horse. She shoved her sex against his hand as he pulled his dick from his underwear. “Holden, please, put it inside me!” Rumbling deep in his throat, he brushed the tip of his cock through the slick folds of her sex. “Is this what you want, you sexy little slut?” he growled, his teeth glinting white as he bared them in a snarl. “Yes!” His eyes misted when he studied her face. “Lucy,” he groaned, just as he rammed home. Lucy cried out at the feel of his thick, engorged penis thrusting through the tight muscles of her oozing sex, and just the feel of him stretching her, pushing her, possessing her, made her shudder in orgasm. Agonized, Holden groaned, and with a superhuman effort pounded into her one, two, three more times and followed her, to heaven or hell or wherever this wondrous, dark, explosive place was. In less time than it took Lucy to recover, he set her down, straightened, and in a low but nonetheless clear voice said, “That will be all, Miss Divine.”
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Chapter Three Lucy was a slut. Or at least she felt like one. No, she really was a slut. Gratefully, she hadn’t seen Patrick Holden all day, and the distraction of taking Mrs. Holden shopping was proving to serve as much-needed therapy for Lucy. Dear God, why, oh why had she let him touch her like that? She should have smacked him, quit her job and gone home. Instead, she’d wrapped herself around him like a wanton, slutty python. Oh, Lord, she’d even hissed nasty little things in his ear, private things, about how she’d been masturbating thinking of him! And what’s worse, he’d said even nastier things. He’d called her a sexy little slut—and she’d actually loved it, the words only enhancing her orgasm to monstrous proportions, only to be dispatched after their shared, embarrassingly dirty confessions with a cold, “That will be all, Miss Divine”. As if fucking with him in the closet was merely part of her job! But Lucy couldn’t quit her job now—what would she do? She’d come all the way to New York for this job, and she had no intention of returning to Oakland just yet, not after she’d studied so hard, and dreamed so long of coming to this city and making someone of herself. She merely had to make sure she didn’t exhibit this sort of unprofessional, totally uncharacteristic behavior with her boss anymore—no matter how much a temptation he posed. But how could she even bear to look at him after what they’d done yesterday? And how stupid could she be to sabotage all her career plans for a few hot, sizzling, steamy minutes in the closet with her boss? It left her wondering. Inside the venerable department store Bergdorf Goodman, Lucy decided to shove him off her brain at least for a few minutes and instead poured her heart into finding 47
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the perfect clothes for Mrs. Holden, who had announced this morning, “Divine, dear, we’re going shopping. Patrick told me I could buy whatever I want, and I’ll be damned if I don’t follow orders.” As if her life depended on it, Lucy rummaged through a tall sales rack positioned discreetly behind several mannequin displays. “Let’s see what we can find here,” she said with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. Mrs. Holden remained a good few feet away from her, looking flustered and furious. “Divine, get out of there, you’re embarrassing me,” she hissed. “I’m not buying anything if it’s not in the couture section—at full price! I won’t be seen in rags.” Lucy figured it was best not to argue with a nouveau riche woman on a mission, and instead followed her to the couture section and dutifully eyed the beautiful clothing. “What about this?” Lucy asked, withdrawing a classic tweed Chanel ensemble and holding it up for Mrs. Holden’s review. She eyed it critically, turned the tag, looked at the price and said, “I like it. But you know? You can’t even tell it’s a ten-thousand-dollar Chanel. If I’m paying ten thousand dollars, I want people to know I spent ten thousand dollars.” “Maybe you should just leave the price tag on, Mrs. Holden.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d said them. Mrs. Holden, however, didn’t seem bothered. “Wouldn’t that be a little cheap?” She tapped the side of her lips with one finger as she considered the possibility. “But you know, that’s not entirely a bad idea. I could just pretend it was an accident and be properly embarrassed when someone notices.” Her lips widened with a smile. “I think you’re starting to grow on me, Divine.” “Mrs. Holden, I was just—” “Shush! And please, call me Irene.” Carrying the ten thousand pounds of clothes Irene purchased in one single afternoon could have propelled Lucy into worldwide weightlifting stardom. The woman didn’t even notice that Lucy was tired, hobbling along the hallways behind her 48
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with unflattering beads of sweat speckled on her forehead. All Irene focused on was scouring the stores in search of the most expensive outfits, all of which, in order to pass muster, had to scream their maker’s label loud and clear so that every living soul would be sure to notice. When looking for handbags, Lucy found an extremely fashionable soft leather Balenciaga bag at Saks Fifth Avenue’s perfectly stocked handbag section. Irene said it looked like somebody had already worn it plenty, the appalled expression on her face clearly expressing her feelings about that, before she gasped delightedly and lifted a huge, quilted Chanel tote. The bag was black with the signature CCs in a soft pink hue interconnected at the center. “Now this is me. Class all the way,” the woman beamed. She hugged it to her chest, her eyes gleaming mischievously as she said, “Mine.” After her brief bonding session with the handbag, Irene regarded Lucy with a solemn look. “That old one looks quite nice on you, though.” “It’s distressed on purpose, Irene,” Lucy explained with a wan smile, holding the beautiful ink-blue-colored bag at eye level. “It’s meant to look used.” “Something for the life of me I’ll never understand.” She spread out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “Bring that over dear, let’s buy it.” “Oh no, Irene, I couldn’t.” Lucy took a step and carefully set the Balenciaga bag on its wooden display shelf. Irene immediately snatched it up. “Come on, Divine. My son will never know. Besides, you’re sleeping with him aren’t you?” Lucy wondered if the woman could have spoken a little louder, so the shoppers on the second and third levels could have heard that as well. “Don’t look so disturbed, Divine. I know my own son,” the woman continued, pausing to peer into a glass display that held a glimmering assortment of eighteenkarat-gold jewelry. “I saw the way he looked at you yesterday.”
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Lucy choked on her own saliva and after swallowing hard, made an impressive recovery. Her voice shook only mildly when she spoke. “He didn’t look at me in any particular way.” “Ha!” Irene scoffed. “The day I don’t notice when my son’s hot for a woman is the day I die!” “Irene, please, I’d rather not discuss this.” “Oh, pooh. Then what else are two grown women to talk about while on a shopping spree? I sure as hell don’t want to talk about menopause. I’ve got enough of that, thank you! Oh my, will you look at that bangle?” Lucy stared blankly down at the wide yellow-gold bangle bracelet and absently watched as a sales lady withdrew it from the vitrine and handed it to a restless Irene. “We can discuss other things,” Lucy said worriedly. Irene waved her hand dismissively and watched in fascination as the bangle twinkled on her wrist when she did so. “What do you think about this?” Irene asked. “It’s beautiful. I like the encrusted gemstones.” “All right, all right, you’ve convinced me. I’ll take it.” Irene handed it to the saleslady, along with the two handbags she carried. “And this and this.” “Not the Balenciaga,” Lucy interjected. “Please, Irene.” Irene frowned and begrudgingly placed the Balenciaga back on the shelf. “Oh, all right. But you’re being very silly and very stupid, Divine.” Lucy knew the woman had no idea just how much so. She’d gotten involved with her boss, how much more stupid could that be? “I know.” While the sales lady calculated the total, Irene rested her elbows on the vitrine and fixed her green eyes right on Lucy. “My son is a good man. And if he’s gotten somewhere in this world, he didn’t get there easily. God knows what our family went through to put him through college, and what he’s gone through to get where he is. He’s made some great sacrifices, and for all the social calls he gets, I know for a fact he’s
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really very lonely. I would love to see him settle down. I had at one point wished Katrina would be the one. But you know how it is with wishing, someone always seems to get it wrong!” “I’m sorry,” was all Lucy thought to say. As for the wishing part, if Lucy had one wish, one single wish at this very moment, instead of wishing to get to the top of her game, win the lottery or have eternal good health, she would have wished to disappear. Irene Holden’s know-it-all eyes—like her son’s darker ones—pinned her, and all Lucy could do was try to futilely ignore the way her stomach twisted at her words, because if Irene had expected Holden to settle down with Katrina, then Lucy concluded that Patrick Holden slept with all his assistants. How kinky and sick was that? When the shoppers finally returned to Holden’s penthouse, the wearied Irene took to her bed, saying she couldn’t stand on her feet, and ordered “Pipsqueak” to bring dinner to her room. Meanwhile, Lucy did what she’d done every night since she’d become Holden’s assistant. She strode into his spacious closet, stared blankly at his business suits, all of them nearly identical, and then studied the ties hanging by color next to them. Walking across his room to the chair beside the window, Lucy carefully set down the tie and the simple black Hugo Boss suit she’d selected. The tie was Hèrmes, a horsepattered one that was very elegant and attractive with its light pale yellow background color. She held her breath when she heard footsteps in the foyer and silently prayed it wasn’t him. She wasn’t going to get lucky. Turning to face the doorway, she watched him walk into his bedroom, busily removing his jacket. They both froze, Lucy beside the chair, while he stood motionless a foot inside the door, a curled finger serving as a hook for the jacket now hanging idle on his hand. If he was at all affected by seeing her, he didn’t show it much. He was very still, his face unreadable except for a nearly imperceptible muscle twitching in his jaw. 51
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Flustered, Lucy straightened her spine and needlessly said, “I was just choosing your tie,” before she crossed the room, suddenly knowing that it was imperative for her to leave now. And yet try as she might, she couldn’t get to the door fast enough. Holden was much faster. “Lucy.” He thrust a hand out to halt her just before she made it to the threshold. She looked down at his grip, at the long, tanned fingers around her arm, then up at his face, her heart pounding. He had the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. They were deep and dark and shining with lust. “I hope my mother didn’t give you any trouble?” His voice was low and husky. She, on the other hand, had to swallow in order to speak, and when she did so, she sounded like a bad soprano with a sore throat. “Not at all, Mr. Holden.” His eyelids seemed inordinately heavy and he looked at her through dark, spiky lashes. “Yesterday I was just Holden.” For some reason, his mention of yesterday and the way she’d acted only infuriated her, and suddenly remembering his casual, cool dismissal made the blood in her veins boil even further. She yanked her arm free of his hold and thrust her chin up—as if she had nothing in the world to be ashamed of, as if she had sex with her bosses just about every single day of the year—as if what happened yesterday had been nothing. “Oh that,” she said dismissively. “I don’t even care to remember.” His jaw clenched at her words, the blow to his ego blissfully apparent. It felt supremely good to see him suffer, even if only a little bit, but just to drive the dagger in deeper, she batted her eyelashes at him and asked, “Will that be all, sir?” With a low growl, he tunneled his fingers into her loose blonde hair. “No Lucy, that won’t be all,” he said right before pulling her face forward and crushing his lips to hers. She gasped at the assault and he quickly slid his tongue into her mouth, taking advantage. Heat, scorching and blinding, shot into her sex like thunderbolts. Cradling her head with his hand, he angled his lips over hers, deepening the kiss, while his other hand let his jacket drop to the floor before reaching behind him to push 52
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the bedroom door closed. When that stray hand returned from its other task, it settled blissfully over her breast and pressed hard, fully cupping it in his palm while tearing a moan from deep in her belly. When—against her will of course—her misbehaving tongue eagerly followed the pace set by his, he all but growled in gratitude. Although her body had turned into putty in his hands, she owed it to herself, to the last shreds of decency and self-respect she had left inside her, to wrench her lips away from him and say, “Holden, stop this.” He snarled and began to trail a path of wet, hot kisses down her neck. “No,” he said firmly, rocking his hips against hers forcefully, letting her know in a very efficient way that he was hard and sexually aroused and so ready to take her. She had no idea why this excited her to no reason, why his domineering, macho actions made her so impossibly horny. She threw her hair back, wanting to grant better access to his lips, which were now, God bless, brutally ravaging her neck despite her obvious reservations. While one hand squeezed the roundness of her butt, he moved the other from her breast to her stomach and, easily flicking the button of her wide-leg pants open, slipped it inside her undies. She whimpered when he slid his long middle finger inside her, her sex muscles both clenching and spreading for its impalement. “Holden,” she protested weakly. His only answer was a low, deep moan, since he was pretty busy sliding his finger inside her and now his thumb had found the nub of her clit and began stroking it with slow, dizzying circles. “Holden, stop this… Holden, I am not a whore,” she protested weakly, but her body said differently, because as she spoke, one arm wrapped itself around his shoulders while a leg, out of its own volition, tightly encircled his hips. “I know you aren’t,” he whispered hotly. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I had no idea what to say—I’m not really good at this. God, I swear I’m going crazy.” He locked his
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lips to hers once more and delivered a mind-blowing kiss that drew the air right out of her lungs and flat-out expelled the working cells from her brain. Too soon to suit her, he pulled away, his chest heaving with harsh, haggard breaths, his eyes stormy. “Take off your clothes.” Lucy took a step backward, straining to recover her wits as she shook her head. “No.” “Take off your clothes, Lucy.” Hot, wanton juices dampened her panties at his demands, but still she held onto the last remnants of her pride. “Why? Because you’re paying me to?” His hands were swift as they unbuttoned his shirt. “No, because I’m asking you to.” “I don’t think I should, Holden,” she said shakily, but she was too distracted now to think of all her career master plans, too distracted to count all those steps up the corporate ladder, because he’d just removed his shirt and at the sight of his magnificent upper body, Lucy found that she could think of nothing else right now. His skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat from the heat of his arousal, and his body was all planes and angles, sturdy, hard and excruciatingly male. Her eyes ran over his flat, tight pectorals, fell to the etched muscles of his washboard abs and followed the moves of the tight, sinewy muscles on his arms as he struggled to remove his pants. As soon as he discarded them to the floor and his large, rock-hard erection popped out of his underwear, Lucy knew that she had gone completely deranged, hospital-worthy mad. Because all she wanted was to touch it. Feel it. Taste it. His dick was thick and long and pulsing, straining up toward the ceiling in defiance, rooting from a mat of dark black hair below. And as he stood there, completely naked before her, she knew she had no strength—and now, no will—to deny him. A desperate, primal need to please him surged within her. An age-old desire to dance and meld their bodies together in the darkness. A want to mate with him in the most carnal, basic way. Actually, in any of numerous ways. “Please take them off,” Holden said in the quietest of whispers. 54
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Maybe it was the please that melted her so, every muscle in her body turning supple, yielding to the buttery tone of his words. When he took a step forward Lucy slowly stepped backward, pausing only when she felt the mattress behind her. She sat down on the edge of it while slowly pulling off her jacket, eyeing him cautiously for his reaction. He watched her undress as if he were witnessing a sacred ritual, his eyes intent and yearning and burning like candles in the dark. When she was almost fully naked except for a flimsy pair of nude-colored panties and a matching bra, their eyes held for a long, breathless moment. “So beautiful…so sexy,” he whispered, closing the space between them and bending down to kiss her. He kissed her with a mixture of urgency and tenderness, his tongue thrusting inside her with slow, deep strokes. Sliding his hands past her shoulders, he reached behind her back and unclasped her bra. When he removed it, Lucy instinctively shielded her breasts from his eyes. “Let me see you,” he murmured, taking a step back to stare down at his new discovery. Sighing at the tender way he spoke, she dropped her hands to her sides and let him look his fill. Trembling with emotion, she could almost swear his eyes physically touched her, for her nipples tingled and hardened by the fleeting caress of his gaze. “Take off your panties,” he said softly. Lucy found the courage she needed in the fierce sparks of desire glimmering in his eyes. He was staring at her as if she were all he wanted, all he’d ever want. The way his eyes burned for her suddenly made her feel like Supergirl. Reminding herself that Supergirl was powerful and proud, she stifled the shame, the sudden fear that he might not be pleased with her body and stood to push her panties down to her ankles, kicking them aside. “Open your legs.”
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He looked strained, as if every muscle in his body was coiled with tension and ready to spring at any minute. And she was a mass of nerves, shivering with need and want and desire. Closing her eyes, she sat once again on the bed, reclining back on her elbows and planting her heels on the edge. She parted her legs and clearly heard his harsh intake of breath. “Wider,” he said, not so gently this time. When she couldn’t find the courage to part them wider, he placed his palms on her inner thighs and pushed them open. His touch scorched her, and suddenly she knew she’d die if she didn’t soon get those big, powerful hands all over her body. “My God.” The words tore from his lips. Her legs were spread wide, her sex completely exposed to him. His eyes were clouded with lust as he knelt between her thighs and gazed down at her pussy—pink, swollen and glistening wet for him. She felt it tingle under his stare, felt her whole body shudder. “All I could think of today was licking you, eating you.” He sank his face between her legs and she cried out in both shock and pleasure when his lips pressed against her sex. His tongue slipped inside her. It was glory. The feel of it, wet and commanding as it stroked the folds of her labia, then slowly thrust in and out of her slick, wet cunt. He knew just how to move it, with strength and precision, caressing her in a way that made her fall back on the bed and strive to keep from flat-out exploding. Slowly, he dragged his tongue upward to flick the sensitive nub of her clit. He stroked her with the tip of his tongue, rapidly flicking her clit up and down, while he slid his longest finger inside her creamy sex. It entered her at a leisurely pace, spreading the walls apart for entry as it gently pushed inside then withdrew, only to thrust in again with more force.
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A hot, scorching fever overwhelmed her and she felt powerless to do anything but beg—beg for more, beg for mercy—so not Supergirl. Behind her head, her hands fisted in the luxurious comforter as she moaned with need, aimlessly rolling her face from side to side. “Please, please,” she pleaded between her audible gasps for air. “Fuck me, fuck me now.” He came up and kissed her, the plump skin of his lips scorching hers, his tongue thrusting past her parted lips. He tasted of her, smelled of her, and the powerful thrusts of his tongue against hers perfectly mimicked the same sure movements of his finger in her cunt. “Please,” she breathed against his lips. He braced himself on his arms and aligned their bodies, sinking his hips between her parted legs. Crossing her ankles behind his back, she pulled him closer just as he thrust his thick, pulsing penis inside her. Every muscle tightened in her body except the one slowly easing to receive him. Smooth as silk, hard as iron, his cock moved inside her. Their eyes locked and held as he rocked his hips against hers, the muscles of his arms rippling with effort as he set a thorough, if frustratingly slow pace. She whimpered out her desperation, holding the muscles of his buttocks tightly in her grip and urging him faster, harder, closer. He groaned deep in his throat and rammed into her full force, throwing his head back and growling a low sound of triumph. She stared up at him, her eyelids heavy with desire and want, her lips moist from his kisses. He looked like a savage, his face tight from his efforts, his forehead creased, his breathing uneven and hot on her face as he fucked and fucked and fucked her some more. Running her hands up the tensed muscles on his back and clutching his shoulders, she came in a fierce, body-jerking tremor that overtook her completely, while Holden gave one deep final thrust and with a terrifying sound, spilled his burning, thick semen inside her.
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Precious seconds later, still panting, he fell on the bed beside her, the mattress bending slightly under the impact of his weight. Placing a hand over her heart in a futile attempt to steady it, Lucy closed her eyes and sighed. This time, Lucy gathered her wits enough to remember she would not make the same mistake she had in the closet. She was the first to move, inching to the edge of the bed and rising with more speed than she thought she could manage. He groaned in protest. “Don’t even think of leaving. I’m not through with you yet, Lucy.” She didn’t even look at him. Instead she began to gather her clothes, lying in a heap on the floor. “I’m sorry, I have to go. Besides, isn’t this when you dismiss me with one of your charming phrases?” His silence said he wasn’t too happy with that sassy comment, especially when he’d just apologized. “No. This is where you stay the night and sleep with me,” he said tersely, sitting up on the bed. Her heart did a little dance but Lucy tried to still it as she thrust her legs into her pants. “I don’t think so, Holden.” She met his gaze bravely and figured she ought to speak the truth. “I don’t want any complications and this—whatever this is—seems very complicated. It doesn’t really fit into my plans.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her, mildly amused. “It’s not like I planned this either Lucy, but I sure don’t remember anyone giving me a choice.” She pursed her lips in thought while she buttoned her shirt. He was, in fact, correct, because nobody had asked her either. Whenever she looked at him, every shred of control and decency within her vanished into nothingness. And as if by magic, whenever he touched her—whenever he placed those big, strong hands on her skin—he became as essential to her as the air she breathed, somehow making everything else seem pointless and meaningless. She wanted him to no reason. “Well, if we’re even going to do this sort of thing,” she found herself saying, “we need to do it strictly off business hours. I don’t want this to affect my job…I hope you understand?” 58
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He looked greatly annoyed, his eyebrows joining over his nose in a fierce scowl. “I’m sorry, but I am not sticking to a schedule. When I want to fuck you, I need to fuck you, and I’m not going to wait like a schoolboy for the bell to ring—I don’t think I even could. There are twenty-four fucking hours in a day, Miss Divine, and you’ve put me through hell long enough.” Lucy gritted her teeth while she scanned the room for her shoes. What did she expect from a man who got everything he wanted, whenever he wanted? Certainly not meek compliance. “Then let’s just forget it. I’m not willing to jeopardize my job because of this.” “Oh no?” His brows rose in amusement. “Usually people think it helps their position if they sleep with their bosses.” “And I am not one of those people!” she cried, spotting her shoes under the skirt of the bed and bending down to retrieve them. “Now, will that be all Mr. Holden?” she asked haughtily when she straightened, thrusting her feet into her pumps. “No. Come to bed.” “I said no. Good night!” she said as she yanked open his bedroom door. “Don’t forget my breakfast tomorrow, Miss Divine,” he called back just as the door slammed shut behind her.
***** Patrick stared at the closed door and cursed. What the hell was her problem, and why was she so pissed after a mind-boggling, toe-curling, totally incredible orgasm? He’d shuddered for almost a full minute. It just had to be a record. Yes, he’d told himself repeatedly that sleeping with Lucy Divine was not one of his brightest ideas, but he’d figured after plenty of sleepless nights that indulging in a little sex with her would be the only possible way to get her out of his system. Out of his freaking mind. 59
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True, he’d first thought it would be better to have sex with Miranda MacFadden. Lord knows she’d been very willing. He just figured he could close his eyes and pretend she was his very sexy bombshell assistant. And yet, the MacFadden woman didn’t inspire so much as a quiver in him, and he’d been damned glad to send her off the other night when he’d realized that to get his friend down under to respond to her, he was going to need either a tow truck or Viagra. Now Miss Divine…all she had to do was look at him and wham, just like that he was hard for her. It was only natural that with these sorts of reactions toward her, Holden sure as hell hadn’t planned to spend his whole life wondering what she’d be like. What she kissed like. Tasted like. Moaned like. And God, she was perfect. There was no way in hell he was going to stay away from her now. The more he thought about it, the more he realized there was nothing wrong with getting seriously involved with his assistant. On the contrary, it felt too damned right. So damned right, in fact, that it was downright scary, but if Holden had anything going for him, it was courage. Determination. After a bit of initial confusion, he now knew exactly what he wanted—crystal clear. And as a man accustomed to taking charge of a situation, he would gladly take on any obstacle, any barrier, any challenge, as long as he got that precious little body and that sassy little mouth as his prize. At this time, the only apparent obstacle seemed to be her anger. Where did that come from? Miss Divine was nothing if not practical and levelheaded. Why on Earth did he let her leave? He should have hauled her butt back into bed and made love to her again—forcefully if he must. She’d better not be angry tomorrow, because he didn’t want to waste any precious time fighting. Not when they could be rolling around naked, kissing, touching. Fucking. Maybe he needed to get her something, a gift, something to make her happy, something to get rid of that anger. Women loved that sort of shit and Patrick was sure his mother would know about these things, so maybe he should ask her to choose something for
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Lucy tomorrow. It would give his mother something to do because Holden already had plans for the delectable Miss Divine tomorrow, and they sure didn’t involve his mother. Yes, a gift was just the thing to bring a smile to Lucy’s delectable, sensual little mouth. Just the thing to make her dote on him. It wasn’t fair that he should be the only poor tortured soul in this relationship, already drooling all over her while she walked out on him—with no apparent remorse whatsoever and no concern for anything but her job. A little trinket would take care of this problem for sure.
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Chapter Four “Good morning,” Lucy said cheerily to the three secretaries the next day. Zero out of three answered but then Lucy hadn’t expected them to, so she merely knocked on the elaborate wooden double doors and waited for Holden’s command to enter. From the outward cool she projected, she knew Holden would never guess she was so excited by the mere prospect of seeing him. When she stepped into his office, dressed in a black knee-length skirt and matching jacket, his box of donuts in hand, she briskly closed the door behind her and tried to act professional and stick to her off-businesshours-only plan. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said from behind his desk. Lucy felt the heat creep to her cheeks but she prayed he wouldn’t notice as she crossed the room toward his desk. Without taking his eyes off her, Holden pressed an intercom button on his phone and spoke into the receiver. “Hold my calls, Rhonda.” Not waiting for Bitch Number Two to respond, Holden leaned back on his swivel chair, crossed his arms behind his head and for the first time ever, Lucy noticed he was smiling. It was a pure, wide, beautiful smile that shone all the way up to his eyes. “Actually, that’s not the breakfast I had in mind,” he said when his eyes landed on the white cardboard box she’d just placed atop his desk. She stared at him, dumbfounded. “You never mentioned wanting anything else,” she said, disconcerted. He eyed her seriously. “How about…you. On my desk. For breakfast.” Although a pool of wetness immediately flooded her panties, Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought I said I didn’t want this interfering with my job.”
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He rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, God forbid I interfere with an errand.” Standing, he walked toward her with slow, sure footsteps that thumped threateningly on the wooden floor. “Holden, no.” He took her shoulders in his hands and squeezed gently, his eyes boring into hers. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the boss here—not you.” “But…you can’t order me around. This is personal.” “Fine. I’ll ask nicely. Will you please lie naked on my desk so I can screw you?” “No.” “So much for good manners. Now you can understand why I think people should take their good manners and shove them up their—” “I have to go, Holden. I’ve got things to do. Errands.” “No you don’t. You’re taking the day off. Forget the caviar and the suits.” “But your costume for the benefit—” “You can find me a costume after I’ve had my way with you, Miss Divine. Now, if you’re about finished? I’d like to kiss you now,” he said, his voice dropping a notch. Bending his head, he slowly nudged her nose with his just before his lips brushed over hers. It was only a fleeting touch, but enough to make her melt and burn. She held her breath, her eyes drifting shut just as his tongue darted out to trace a wet path along the seams of her lips. With a soft little sigh, she parted them and his tongue greedily slipped into her mouth seconds before he locked his lips completely over hers. It was a slow, passionate kiss…one that made her desperately ache for more. She fisted her hands in his silky black hair and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss, feeling starved and thirsty for him. He groaned deep in his throat. She moaned within hers.
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Without breaking the kiss, Holden wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her, stumbling around his desk toward the swivel chair. He fell back onto it and she fell on top of him, straddling him with her thighs, her skirt rising up to her hips, all the while their lips glued together and their tongues insatiable, their breaths loud and haggard. He kissed her fiercely while his hands pulled off her jacket and briskly unbuttoned her shirt. Growling with pure male satisfaction after discarding both, his hands cupped the flesh of her breasts and squeezed possessively, tugging the fabric of her bra sideways to expose her nipples. He bent forward and sucked one into his mouth. As he suckled and milked her, the muscles of her cunt contracted harshly, mimicking the same rhythm as his mouth sucking on her breast. She gasped at the tingling, painful sensation and rocked her hips against him, trying to ease her need with the large, stiff bulge nestled snugly between her legs. It scraped her, scorched her, tempted her. Suddenly she needed to taste him, all of him, inside her mouth. His strength, his fullness, his desire. He wasn’t too happy when she pulled her breast from his lips. A harsh, raw snarl quite efficiently told her so. But Lucy had a serious mission to perform—a matter of life and death. She needed him in her mouth now. Sliding her body down the length of his, she knelt, settling between his muscular thighs and pulling down his zipper. Sticking her hand inside his crisp white underwear, she pulled out his huge cock and wet her panties even further. The loud, needy sound of a starved person that echoed in his office actually came from her. It tore from her lips when she bent her head down to take him into her mouth. Shuddering, he threw his head back and squeezed out a harsh, wheezing breath through his teeth. Sinking his fingers into the tight, firm bun of her hair, he slowly pulled it loose, letting her hair cascade down her back. His cock was salty, intoxicating, and Lucy ran her tongue up and down the length of it, tasting every inch. Pulling her mouth back, she 64
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circled the head with the tip of her tongue, watching the expression on his face as she did so. He was watching her mouth—his eyes deep and dark and burning. His breathing was harsh and labored, the cords straining against his neck from a tight, primal need he was visibly keeping on a tight leash. Lucy curled one hand around the base of his cock while her tongue slowly circled the head, gently tracing the folds. Slowly, she stroked her hand up and down, marveling at his size and hardness while she tilted her head sideways and lowered her face to gently tug the soft skin of his sac with her lips. Her own sex tightened in arousal at the sounds of stark male hunger that tore from his lips. With sudden desperation, Holden grabbed the back of her head and held her still as he arched his hips and sank his cock into her mouth. Lucy thought she would faint from the wonder of this feeling, the feeling of power, of being the only person who could give him what he craved most right now. It burned in her muscles, boiled in her veins, simmered in every nerve ending in her body. She moved her lips up and down his cock, using her tongue to taste and caress every inch that she could. Loud sucking noises seemed to come from her very center as she drew him into her mouth as deeply as she could, making him growl fiercely. His hands fisted on her hair and pulled her head back with force. “Sit on it,” he ordered darkly. When he asked so crudely she could do nothing but obey, she was so turned on. Quickly slipping off her panties and lifting her skirt, she straddled him once again. His hands were strong, cupping her hips as he held her above him. Without warning, he pushed her hips down as he thrust up inside her, claiming her completely, filling the aching void inside her. Her cunt clenched tightly around his cock, not wanting to ever let go of that perfect specimen inside her. It was made to be there—he was made to be there.
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Gritting his teeth, Holden moved, stroking his cock against her inner walls as they tightened and massaged him, easing her need while at the very same time stoking it to suicidal proportions. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she slowly rocked her hips against his and began to ride him. His breath was hot against her face, his jaw clenched tightly as his hands ran a burning path up her spine. “I love the way we fuck…the way you take me inside you,” he whispered. His voice, husky and deep, splashed over her body like heat waves. Gripping her waist with his hands, Holden pulled back his cock only to slam back into her with force, a desperate, needful sound tearing from his chest. Feverish and whimpering as she continued to rock and circle her hips against his, she cupped his face with her hands and kissed him, kissed those plump, sensual lips, touched that hard, chiseled face with her fingertips. The swivel chair squeaked every time she moved against him, the squeaks slow and steady like each of her strokes. Squeak…squeak…squeak. “Yes,” she gasped, clutching his face and tugging his lower lip with her teeth as she pushed and rocked and moved. Digging his fingers into her flesh, he pulled back with an effort and delved inside her again, this time harder, deeper. Squeak…squeak…squeak! Lucy couldn’t take the slow, lazy rhythm anymore, so she quickened her pace and rode him with purpose, her breasts bouncing from her efforts as she fiercely shoved her hips to his and listened to the interminable sounds of the chair beneath them, faster and louder now that her fever rose high and mighty and dangerous. SQUEAKSQUEAKSQUEAK! It was too much… “Now…now…now,” Holden cried hoarsely, burying himself to the hilt.
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His words were her complete undoing, as well as the tragic death of the chair’s melody. Holden watched her when she came, watched her when the shudders rocked her body completely. Undone by the sight of her orgasm, he came with a guttural growl and slowly let the waves of passion take him, closing his eyes as they did. After what seemed like eons of tremors and shudders, Lucy fell limp against him and buried her face in his neck, feeling drained and spent. He fell back against the chair and ran his hands aimlessly along her back, gently caressing her. Lucy smiled in contentment, wondering if there could be another place on this whole Earth or in the universe that could make her feel as comfortable, as warm and as safe as she felt in his arms right now. Then she remembered her appointment with Simon Morris on the twelfth floor. She immediately disentwined her body from his and picked up her panties, easily slipping them on before rearranging her skirt and shirt then running her fingers through her hair. He made a low sound of protest. “Don’t you follow any orders at all?” he asked, irritated. “Of course I do, why do you ask?” “I told you to take the day off.” She smiled and brushed a lock of shiny black hair away from his forehead. She didn’t really want Holden to know about her appointment because he’d immediately ask questions, and her wonderful investing idea could go up in flames. Plus, she needed to have a costume for him by tomorrow and she’d postponed buying it long enough. She’d stalled with the silly hope that he wouldn’t go, but she now accepted the fact that he had not cancelled his date with Miss Fortune-Hunting McFadden, and therefore still needed a costume for the occasion.
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“Truly? I’m not completely certain my boss meant it when he gave me the day off. It’s very unlike him, since he’s more than a little…strict.” “He’s hard, that’s what he is,” he muttered, cupping her buttocks and pulling her to him. She slapped his hands away and took a step backward, her eyes shining. “He’s dictatorial, not hard,” she corrected. “That bastard.” She bit her lower lip to stifle a laugh. “And he did order me to get him a costume for tomorrow.” His scowl began to recede. “Very well, but get me something interesting. Something manly—a vampire or a pirate. Something I wouldn’t be ashamed to wear.” He narrowed his eyes at her in a menacing way, but there was a spark behind them that danced with mirth. “No knights or tights, Miss Divine. I’m warning you.” Lucy knew just the thing for him, so she smiled and nodded. “Yes sir,” she replied in her best secretarial voice then headed toward the doorway. “And Lucy?” “Yes?” “I’ll see you in the afternoon…?” She softened her voice and felt her heart weaken at his words. “Yes, Mr. Holden.” She smiled stupidly at the elevator doors and all the way down to the twelfth floor. Being with Patrick Holden the businessman was extremely stimulating and inspired nothing short of admiration from Lucy. He was, after all, larger than life. But being with Patrick Holden the man was downright terrifying, because he was not exactly the asshole she’d thought him to be. Instead, she was finding a special man that tugged at her heart and appealed to her immensely. He also had a sense of humor—now that was a big surprise. And his passion, as she’d recently discovered, did not limit itself to buying stocks or faltering businesses.
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Even his arrogant side was starting to grow on her. Those bossy orders just made her want to hop and obey like the good girl she was. Not always, though. Sometimes they just made her want to punch him. Still, whatever this inexplicable emotion bubbling insides her was, it felt indisputably, completely wonderful. “Lucy Divine. I’m here to see Mr. Morris,” she said to the secretary that greeted her. “A moment please,” she said in the voice that meant she repeated that phrase only a hundred times each day. Simon Morris was a middle-aged, stocky man with a shiny bald head and hawklike blue eyes. He was dressed impeccably, his expression unreadable as he led her into his sumptuous office. “Miss Divine,” he said, signaling to the seat across from his desk. Lucy sat down and crossed her legs. His eyes followed the move and lingered there for what she thought was longer than necessary. “My secretary tells me you’re Holden’s new assistant.” She didn’t flinch at the obvious sneer in his voice. “Yes.” “I doubt I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you here next week. They come and go so often,” he smiled. It was a cold smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Maybe that’s because he still hadn’t found me.” Her smile was equally cold. It took him off guard, and for a moment she saw something almost unpleasant flash in his eyes before he leaned back in his chair. “So what can I help you with today?” She calmly linked her fingers over her lap. “Actually, I’m here to discuss an investing idea which I would like Holden and Investors to consider.” “Go on.” He seemed greatly bored and even stifled a yawn, but she wasn’t surprised, because no matter how modern anyone thought the country was, women still had
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trouble being taken seriously in the business world. “It’s about Finrod Tech, symbol FIN, just unlisted from the Nasdaq. Have you heard of this company?” “Yes. But I’m afraid it’s much too small a fish to capture our attention,” he replied haughtily. This was not going how Lucy would have liked, but still she pressed on, keeping her voice level and her eyes on his in a way that told him she would not be intimidated. Her brother had told her all about men like Morris, men who always kept subordinates in their place, who let no one rise above them. Men who felt threatened by a new idea, a new concept, a new person, for fear it would dislodge their place in the company food chain. “Yes, well…it’s a small fish if you look at only its middleware software, but it recently expanded into service-databases, which is why it’s largely in debt.” He looked at his watch, pointedly so. “And your point is, Miss Divine?” She uncrossed her legs and, bracing her hands on the chair armrests, leaned slightly forward, narrowing her eyes. If he wanted to play hardball, then Lucy could play too. She loved games. “The point is, Mr. Morris, its sales have been growing at a rate of sixty percent each year, and if it weren’t for bad management, it could have paid off its debt years ago. The company’s assets, including its fixed assets, total almost one-hundred million, and at current market price you could get the whole company for almost half that. “True, they owe ninety-million, but if the debt is refinanced, it can easily be paid off within the next five to ten years with the current yearly gross sales, and after that, if it continues the current growth trend, then it’s all uphill. At that point, there’s an excellent chance you could sell it to its strongest competition for an immense profit. I really can’t believe you’ve not even considered the possibility. I know for certain other investment firms are taking a look at it. Chances for success in this venture are extremely good.” For a few seconds afterward he said nothing, but Lucy could swear there was a savage glint in his cold blue eyes. He slowly rose from his seat, adjusted the collar of his deep-gray jacket and walked around his desk to stand mere inches away from where 70
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she sat. She gasped when he clutched her jaw in his hand and squeezed, his thumb and fingers digging into her cheeks. Her heart pounded against her rib cage almost in accord with the rapid, loud sounds of the phone as it began ringing on top of his desk. He ignored it completely, his attention solely focused on inching his face to hers and baring his teeth. The incessant ringing of the phone made her temples pound and his foul breath on her face made a shiver of dread run down her spine. “I won’t stand for anyone bursting into my office and insulting me, especially not one of Holden’s simpering assistants! I’ve been in this business for seventeen years and if someone knows when an idea is shit, it’s me, you got that?” Still clutching her jaw with one hand, he yanked her to her feet with the other, his grip on her arm nearly crushing her bones. She flattened her palms against his chest and pushed frantically, and to her utter distress, she found that his chest was brutally hard. Her efforts were as efficient as pushing a stone wall. “Let go of me,” she squeezed through her lips. The force of his grip squeezing her cheeks rendered her tongue almost immobile, making it nearly impossible for her to talk. His other hand was now coiled around her waist like a boa constrictor, anchoring her against him while squeezing the air right out of her lungs. “You want something good? I’ll give you something good!” This isn’t happening! Lucy thought when his tight, dry lips crushed over hers. This couldn’t be happening, not under Holden’s very nose, not in this building, not in this company, not in Manhattan and not in the twenty-first century! But it was. The steely grip of his hand was clenching her face so hard her skin stung, and his odious tongue was sliding through the forced opening of her lips and into her mouth. She bucked against him and repeatedly slammed her hands against his shoulders, fighting him with all her might, and when he didn’t budge she jerked her knee upward
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and landed it solidly in his crotch just as she heard a deep, ominous voice behind her say, “What the fuck is going on here?” Holden. Thank God. Morris folded over, the breath wheezing out of his lungs as he cupped himself with both hands. His fleshy cheeks and the rounded top of his head glowed bright red. Lucy straightened, trying and failing miserably to look calm when she turned toward the doorway and met Holden’s intense stare. Her breath came in loud, audible gasps and her lips trembled uncontrollably. After switching his gaze from one to the other, Lucy could tell Holden didn’t need anyone to explain to him just “what the fuck” had happened. “Are you all right, Lucy?” he asked thickly. She could only nod repeatedly, her head bobbing up and down way too many times to count. Holden whipped his gaze to Morris then, his eyes set into lethal coalblack slits. She had never, ever seen Holden so pissed—he looked ready to kill someone. Even his neck seemed to strain and thicken, his hands fisting at his sides, the move causing his knuckles to jut out threateningly. He looked very ready and very willing to kill Simon Morris—or at least to fire him. “Holden,” she began, lifting her shaky hands up to placate him. “I’m fine. Really.” But Holden had eyes only for Morris, and by the looks in them, oh dear, was Morris really in for it. Morris had barely straightened, just recovering from her Oscar-winning groin shot, when Holden growled a low, deep sound of battle only a second before he lunged at him. He shoved Morris back against the desk, toppling a jar of pencils and scattering papers as he smashed his knuckles into the older man’s face. Whimpering in pain, his head rolling sideways from the impact, Morris futilely attempted to land a hit of his own but he didn’t stand a chance—he looked small and helpless compared to Holden. The little man couldn’t compare to Holden’s sheer size and strength. And Holden was 72
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crazy now, sinking his fists into Morris’ stomach as if he were a punching bag, snarling and cursing at him the whole time. Lucy yelled, she screamed, she begged—but Holden seemed deaf to everything but his rage. She ran to him and frantically placed her hand over his knuckles to stop him, her eyes pleading with his profile. “Holden please, please stop this!” He paused, his chest heaving as he stared down at a bloody, bruised Simon Morris, a man who had worked with him since the founding of Holden’s investment firm, a man he had trusted. “You’re fired!” Holden spat. “Take your shit and leave here now before I kill you! Am I clear?” “Yes, very clear,” Lucy said soothingly, certain that Simon Morris couldn’t even speak through his swollen, bloody lips. She wrapped an arm around Holden and guided him toward the elevators, wanting to flee the scene as soon as possible. Her pulse was dangerously near stroke zone and her knees were practically knocking against each other, barely allowing her to walk. She longed for a few minutes of peace in order to pull herself together. She was extremely close to losing it. Once in the elevator, Holden punched the lobby button and turned to her, gently cupping her cheeks with his hands. He was shaking with rage and though his brow was creased with worry, he knew his eyes still blazed with red-hot anger. “He hurt you.” He studied the faint red marks on her beautiful cheeks and brushed his thumbs over them in an effort to erase Simon’s touch. “Son of a bitch,” he gritted emotionally. “I’m fine, really Holden. Besides, I had it all under control.” Her assurance was meant for both of them, and wasn’t very convincing. “Under control my ass! And what the devil were you doing there in the first place, Lucy?” “Don’t yell at me Holden! You nearly killed that man, on my account no less—I feel awful!” she said, still too flustered to think straight. 73
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“No, I nearly killed him on his account, for being such a hot-blooded, horny little prick! How dare he force himself on a woman—on my woman—in my own friggin’ building!” Lucy wasn’t certain if she wanted to point out that she was no one’s “woman” because a part of her felt completely, utterly, devastatingly excited that he’d called her that. Did that make her old-fashioned? Would feminists around the globe yell at her for her stupidity, for wanting to be someone’s “woman”? No, not someone’s—Patrick Holden’s. She really outdid herself with this one. Oh, but to think how he’d just battered Simon Morris—it made her feel extremely guilty. And what if Morris pressed charges? What if Holden went to jail because of her? But then, it had been in her defense, so maybe he wouldn’t need to go to jail at all. Would he? Although she knew full well that what happened hadn’t been her fault, she couldn’t help but think that maybe she shouldn’t have played hardball. “I might have wounded his male pride a little bit,” she admitted in remorse. “I insulted his ego and I guess he felt inclined to show me who was boss.” “What boss? I’m the fucking boss!” If she weren’t so utterly mortified she might have found the image of Patrick Holden losing all control laughable. But it wasn’t. Instead she discovered it was…heartwarming. He looked like a wounded, bloody bull, so angered that he would charge at anything—anything to save her.
***** There was a hushed ting when the elevator reached the lobby. Holden wrapped a possessive arm around her shoulder and briskly guided her across the marble floor. He had never, ever felt like this. Impotent and worthless and just plain scared shitless.
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Patrick had been calling Morris’ office and had found it strange that he hadn’t answered. He usually answered Holden’s direct line on the first ring. It had been the only reason Holden decided to pay him a personal visit. He’d never expected to find him overpowering Lucy, his filthy hand on her beautiful, sexy face, his tongue ravaging her mouth. Holden thought he would die, like some poor sniffling ninny. Merely remembering made the bile rise to his throat and his gut twist inside him. Yes, Lucy had not been totally defenseless. Holden had barely thrust the door open and taken in the scene before she’d jerked her knee up and rendered Morris motionless for a few precious seconds. But what if Holden hadn’t walked in there at that precise moment? What horrible thing would Morris have done to her after she’d kicked his stinking cock into its socket? He could have seriously hurt her. It made Holden feel unaccountably furious and wildly protective of her. It made him realize he didn’t want anyone laying so much as a finger on Lucy Divine except him—and that would be tenderly. Lovingly. God, he ached to hold her, he ached to bury himself inside her and promise her no one would ever hurt her again. “Where to, Mr. Holden?” Carlos asked, standing tall as he held the door of the Lincoln, parked just at the curb, open for them. “I need to take care of some things. Take Miss Divine to my place,” he said, ushering Lucy into the car. “But Holden—” Instantly correcting herself, she cleared her throat, aware of Carlos still on standby and within earshot. “I mean, Mr. Holden…your costume?” Patrick didn’t care what Carlos thought—let the world know that Lucy was his. He brushed his knuckles along her pale cheek, marked with that fucking asshole’s thumbprint, the mark fainter now but still rankling him to no reason. “Some other time.”
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***** Lucy figured it was better not to argue with Holden but as soon as Carlos got behind the wheel and started the car, she said, “Carlos, I need to get Mr. Holden a costume. Where do you recommend I do that?” Carlos smiled into the rearview mirror, his big teeth blazing white against his darkly tanned skin. “I know just the place, Miss Divine.” “Can you drive me there?” Carlos hesitated, Holden’s wrath not being something any of his employees wished to invoke. “I won’t get you into trouble, Carlos,” she assured, certain she could talk Holden out of anything dramatic, especially since the notion of wanting to coddle and hide her in the sanctity of his apartment—simply because she’d been forcibly kissed by a sleazeball—although romantic, was also very silly. Except for the slight fright, she was just fine and dandy. She was perfectly capable of buying a costume. “Just the place”, as Carlos had said, was a huge warehouse in the Lower West Side of Manhattan. It had a red-brick exterior and a skewed, small green door that creaked on its hinges when she pulled it open. When Lucy entered the crowded space, she could barely make her way through the racks and hangers, packed together just about everywhere. Eying the place over the tops of the racks, Lucy caught sight of a middle-aged woman with a turban and a wide-sleeved tunic calmly sitting on a stool behind a counter at the far end of the room. Through a pair of rare violet-colored eyes, the woman watched as Lucy approached. As soon as Lucy reached her, the woman took a card from the deck she’d been holding and smacked it face-up on the counter. “Nine of Pentacles!” “Excuse me?” Lucy said, slightly startled and glancing down at the card. It depicted a lovely woman with a long, sweeping gown and an arm lifted toward the sky, her
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knuckles serving as the perch for a beautiful bird that looked as if it was just about to take flight. “Nine of Pentacles, lord of material gain. You’re lucky. It’s a card of hard-earned success and money.” Her violet eyes were ruthless as they studied Lucy’s face, as if Lucy were the keeper of some dark, mysterious secret. “Pardon?” Lucy blinked. “This means a mission has been accomplished, or you’ve received a gift or inheritance of great value.” At Lucy’s blank expression, she added, “It means money, blondie. Lots of it.” The woman smiled, displaying a big gold tooth. Lucy frowned at her, suddenly wondering if the woman was referring to her whopping raise, then dismissing the thought immediately because she’d barely gotten word of the news herself. It was impossible for this stranger to know. “Ah…yes, how nice,” Lucy said, deciding not to argue with a person so clearly out of her senses. “Would you happen to have a good old-fashioned devil costume for an adult male?” she asked. The woman set the deck down and said, “Follow me.” Half an hour later, on her way to Holden’s apartment, Lucy told herself several times that she was only going to properly hang the costume in his closet and immediately retire afterward. But once there, she found herself lingering. First she rearranged the order of his ties, starting with the lighter colors and ending with the darker ones. Then she rearranged a few of his suits, pausing to smell them only to verify if they were clean—not because she felt a sudden urge to bask in the scent of his cologne, of course. When she opened his underwear drawer, she finally realized she was turning into a little pervert. So she closed it and admitted to herself that she was merely making excuses to see him. Be with him. Although she’d have never thought it possible mere weeks ago, she physically ached to be in his arms.
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After her encounter with Morris, all she’d wanted was to throw herself into Holden’s arms and ask him to hold her. But businesswomen needed to be tough, so she’d stifled the urge and tried not to dramatize. But the truth was, she realized—she had been scared. And when she’d seen Holden standing in the doorway she’d felt incredibly relieved, like a silly, whimpering little maiden being rescued by a knight. Okay, knights shouldn’t scold the maiden afterward, and they shouldn’t curse and be all grumpy, but even that had made her heart swell—because it had been out of concern for her that he’d behaved so. Just please, please don’t fall in love with him, she mentally pleaded with herself. She had her big dreams to pursue, had spent half her life drafting a perfect career plan and she would not, could not, should not spoil it. As Lucy rearranged the devil costume on its hanger for the fifth consecutive time, she heard voices out in the hallway and her heart raced faster than a champion thoroughbred. Holden is here! But when she crossed his room toward the sounds, she was surprised to hear Irene’s voice at the end of the hall, not Holden’s. Her voice sounded slightly slurred, and Lucy wondered if she’d been drinking. “Shut that trap and kiss me, you old fart!” she bellowed. And then Lucy heard the honorable Mr. Pimwick say, in that monotonous tone of his, “As you wish, madam.” Lucy clamped a hand to her mouth to silence the delightful squeal that threatened to escape her lips. Oh my God, Irene and Mr. Pimwick are lovers! She would have never imagined. As she crossed the darkening bedroom and flicked on the lamp on the nightstand, she vaguely wondered what Holden would say about his widowed mother having a romp with the butler. But then, Holden was also having a romp with Lucy, so he shouldn’t judge his mother for it. Is that all this is to him, Lucy wondered, a romp? Even the word was short. And Lucy didn’t want this to end, ever. 78
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In fact, since they’d begun their totally-wrong-but-inexplicably-amazing sexual fling, Lucy had felt more alive than she’d ever felt before. Even her walk had a little more sass to it. She felt reenergized, invigorated, and if she had any fear at all now, it would only be to wake up and find this had all been a dream. Hearing the door to Irene’s room slam shut only made her long for Holden even more. Why was he taking so long? Maybe he didn’t want to see her. Maybe he’d already grown tired of her. Maybe he did this sort of thing with his secretaries as well, and this was the night to fool around with Bitch Number One, Two or Three? Lucy would quite easily want to die if that assumption were true. She didn’t want Holden touching anyone else, kissing anyone else, holding anyone else. She also didn’t want to be one among many other women—because he was one of a very, very precious few. And yet, tomorrow he had a date with his precious Miranda, and Lucy feared that they might want to pick up where they’d left off that night he’d ended up fucking Lucy in the closet. With new determination, she decided to go home. She was tired of having to brainwash herself every second of the day. It was exhausting to mentally repeat to herself that this was just sex. To her, this wasn’t just sex. And now something much more fragile than Lucy’s body was in the picture—and he could break it like that with something as simple as an unkind word. She grabbed a notepad from the nightstand and wrote, “Your costume is in the closet. You’re a devil.” She read it then crushed the paper into a ball, not liking the way it sounded and wrote another that read, “Poor Miss MacFadden, she’ll have a devil of a time tomorrow.” She reread it three times and was just starting to like the sound of it when she felt a pair of strong, familiar hands wrap tersely around her hips and pull her back against a big, warm body. “I missed you,” he whispered against her ear, his breath moist and hot.
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“Holden.” Closing her eyes, she lifted her hand to cup his cheek while he planted a damp, ardent kiss on her earlobe. The day’s stubble on his jaw scraped the flesh on her palm, a striking contrast to the smooth, tingling touch of his tongue on her ear. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wait for me,” he breathed, rubbing his thumbs along the slightly protruding bones of her pelvis in slow, dizzying motions. “I was just about to leave,” she confessed, opening her eyes and staring unseeingly at the wallpaper bathed in the soft glow of the lamplight. At his nearness, at the smell of his musky male scent and the heat of his body seeping into her clothes, she turned pliant and weak and could do nothing but lean back against him. His grip tightened on her hips and she felt, rather than heard, a low vibration in his chest. Just being here, so near him, made heat curl and twirl in her insides, spiraling out in undulant waves to every nerve ending in her body. “I’m glad I didn’t leave, Holden. I wanted to see you so much.” “Hmmm…” He rubbed the fabric-clad, rigid length of his erection between the cleft of her buttocks. “You feel so good. I couldn’t wait to come to you, touch you.” Cupping her breasts over the soft fabric of her shirt, he playfully swirled his thumbs around her nipples. Moaning, she arched backward, resting the back of her head on his shoulder, her blinded eyes settling on the plain white ceiling above before closing. He tilted his head sideways and captured her lips with his, kissing her slowly and thoroughly. She sighed into his mouth, kissing him back with complete and total abandon. Groaning at the scalding contact of their tongues, his fingers dug into her breasts, clutching them hard as he deepened the kiss. Lucy’s body rested back against his in a limp, nearly dead state. But she wasn’t dead…she was very much alive, with hundreds of otherworldly sensations ricocheting inside her. Colors in every hue imaginable, from blue to bright, blinding red, swam past the curtains of her closed eyelids and jolts of fire traveled through her blood in torrents.
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With one hand still clamped possessively around her breast, he slid his other down to rub her sex through the fabric of her skirt. Growling at the obtrusive material, he used both hands to unzip it and thrust it down to the floor. He fumbled with his pants and within seconds they fell to the floor with the loud, telling thump of his belt buckle. A low sound of desire tore through her lips when his demanding cock rubbed against her butt cheeks and his hand skimmed past her belly and slowly pulled her panties down past her hips. The flimsy material fully cooperated by sliding the rest of the way down her legs, where she kicked them off eagerly. Not one to waste precious time, Holden cupped her pussy, pressing the heel of his hand against the nub, his touch sending a jolt of electricity down her spine. Wantonly rocking her hips against his hand, she urged his thumb as it grazed her curls, seeking to toy with her clit. When he found it and circled it with his thumb, she cried out in pleasure and shoved her butt back against him in urgency. “Easy baby,” he soothed against her ear, but he didn’t really mean it, because his body was shaking hard with desire and his breaths were coming too fast. The back of her legs caressed the full front of his and Lucy briefly marveled at the perfect fit of his dick as it pressed against the comfortable dip between her buttocks. What would it feel like to have him slide inside her other…? She didn’t have to wonder long. Slowly, torturously slowly, he entered her from behind at the same moment his finger slipped into her wet, slippery sex. She yelped in a mixture of agony and bliss at this new, wondrous, unexpected double invasion. “Am I hurting you?” he rasped hotly against her ear, withdrawing his dick slowly. “No,” was all she could say, and even that single word, uttered in the throes of her passion, managed to sound hot and bothered and horny. When he grazed his teeth over the back of her neck and slid his cock inside her again, burying himself deeper, she cried a low, husky, “Yes!” She had never been taken this way. It was brutal and primitive and erotic. He was everywhere. His cock slowly sinking between the mounds of her buttocks, pushing her 81
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ass wide and frightfully open for him, while his finger, strong and determined, slipped into her creamy, swollen sex and his mouth claimed her neck and ears and now, as she twisted her neck sideways, her lips. His kiss was searing, savage and starved. He filled and stroked her ass in the same way his finger filled her pussy, and all she knew was that she loved it, loved this wild, primitive pose. A pose arising out of instinct, stemming from a basic animal need to mate and join, where the male possesses the female wildly, fiercely, in an uncontested, elemental way of saying “mine”. The raw emotion in his voice rasped her flesh when he spoke. “No one’s ever going to hurt you. You’re mine now.” He uttered the words as if he’d read her thoughts. Sliding his finger out of her pussy and cupping her hips with his hands, he held her in place with an iron-clad grip while he slowly sank his cock farther, deeper into her ass. Blazing red-hot desire pierced her insides, twisting, blinding desire. Each time he fully sheathed his penis inside her ass, Lucy could feel the soft sac of his scrotum rub against her wet slit, tempting her with that fleeting touch for a wistful moment only to withdraw for a long, dizzying second, until he rammed his cock back in her ass again and sent his balls brushing temptingly against her pussy once more. Moaning in need and sheer, utter horniness, Lucy folded her body and clutched the edges of the nightstand, her knuckles turning white from the effort as she pushed back against him, wanting him deep inside her. He bent forward with her, tugging her earlobe with his teeth as he breathed hot, damp air into her ear, the loud, harsh sounds of his breathing proving an indisputable aphrodisiac to her already hotter-than-fire senses. The tension was excruciating, the torment unbelievable. “Holden,” she gasped when he settled his cock deep in her ass and slipped one hand around to her pussy again, expertly thrusting two fingers inside, bending them rhythmically when he reached her core. The strong, twisting moves of his fingers took her sweaty, fevered body to a high point. 82
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“Come, Lucy,” he murmured hotly. “Come for me, beautiful.” She came in his hand before he even finished the words, spasms racking and shaking her body in a wild tornado of emotions. She heard his loud, deep cry of passion and felt him enter her one last time before he followed her, shooting his come inside her. For several seconds they stood there, his cock still inside her, his hand possessive on her sex, his face buried in the crook of her neck as they both fought to recapture their breaths. “You’re sleeping with me tonight, Miss Divine, and that’s an order,” he said gruffly, planting a kiss on her temple as soon as he’d recovered. Lucy smiled at that and reached for her skirt on the floor, briskly pulling it on. “Maybe I’ll stay if you ask me nicely,” she admitted with a smile. When he grinned back at her, her heart completely stopped beating. It was a full-ofit grin, one that said “I always get my way”. It was strong and arrogant and nonetheless beautiful to her. “I know how to convince a woman to do what I say,” he said with pure male pride. “Really?” She arched her brows in disbelief. From what she’d heard him tell Miranda MacFadden, and knowing he sent someone else to buy his gifts, she didn’t believe Holden actually knew much about courting a woman. Not that he’d need to court one—Lucy was sure they probably lined up in his office and knelt at his feet when it was their turn. “Sit and wait,” he suddenly ordered. He was in his pants within seconds and just as quickly she found herself alone in his bedroom, plopping down on the edge of the bed with nothing else to do but wonder. And smile. Lot of smiling. What did that devilish man intend? Roses, perhaps? Wine? Dinner in bed, maybe? She tried to act calm and collected and dearly hoped he didn’t notice the way her pulse quickened when he strode into the room once again, holding two boxes in his arms, one slightly bigger than the other. He set the smaller one 83
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on the nightstand and ceremoniously handed her the bigger one. Her breath deserted her completely. Staring at the top of the gray box, she ran her finger over the glinting silver logo of Saks Fifth Avenue. Her heart contracted while she mentally pleaded, don’t let this be what I think. She held her breath and pulled the ribbon. Once it came undone, she removed the top of the box—and there it was, making her heart stop. The gorgeous, coveted Balenciaga bag—only the most frequently featured bag in every magazine in the world for the past few years. It was beautiful and unexpected and yet it made her feel…horrible. “Holden, I don’t need this,” she whispered, looking up at him seriously. “Is this why you arrived so late, you were buying me this?” Though his smile didn’t falter, he eyed her warily, as if he knew he was now treading on dangerous territory. “No. I asked my mother to help me find something you’d like—she picked it for you. She told me you’d like it.” Although she’d somehow known this would be his answer it still hurt, and her face paled to a sickly white at his words. She dropped her eyes and stared unseeingly down at the open box, saying, “Oh.” Of course, what did she expect? Since she was his assistant and couldn’t help him out on this occasion, he’d sent his mother instead. It was perfectly convenient. Perfectly Holden, who couldn’t spare the precious few minutes to choose something for a woman himself—and Lucy was no different than the others. “Hey,” he said in puzzlement, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forcing her to meet his gaze. When he looked into her eyes, his smile completely vanished. “You don’t like it,” he said flatly. “Oh no, I love it. I just…can’t accept it.”
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Not if he’d bought it, and not if his mom had bought it. It made no difference, she realized. Accepting the gift would feel like payment for services rendered, as if she were getting a bonus for having slept with him—and she wasn’t a whore. “Why not?” Gone was the smiling, tender man of a few seconds ago. She watched the transformation, saw the glint in his eyes fade, his lips resume a straight, tense position, saw his jaw stiffen and square. He dropped his hand to his side. “Why not, Lucy?” “Because it’ll make me feel like a slut!” she finally cried, rising from the bed and clenching her fists to her sides. “I don’t need payment for sleeping with you, Holden.” “It’s not a payment for sleeping with me, it’s a frigging present!” “What for?” He took a precious long time in replying. She pursed her lips in distaste when she realized he couldn’t even find another valid reason for giving her this bag. No matter how precious this beauty had been to her, she wouldn’t accept it and sell herself, not for this bag, not for anything. Finally he said, “I don’t know what for, because women like it!” “Really? Well I don’t know a single woman who appreciates a man who sends out someone else to buy his presents!” A hellish moment later, he said very slowly, “So…that’s what it’s all about. My mother.” He looked enlightened at this discovery. “No. It’s not your mother. In fact, I like your mother very much. It’s you, Holden. You may be a great investor, but when it comes to women, you know zip!” He laughed, the horrible sound ringing in her ears. It was a dry, rusted sound, full of sarcasm. “Funny, you don’t say that when I’m screwing your brains out.” “I’m glad your dirty talk makes you feel better, because right now my hands are aching to slap you and that would make me feel much better too!”
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He inched his face closer, his jaw set tight, the look in his eyes wild. “Do it, Lucy. Slap me.” She sank her nails into her palms to keep from doing so, and instead glowered at him, not even bothering to hide her rage. She was furious at him, but furious at herself too—for letting herself care. For getting involved with her boss. For complicating her already-difficult career goals. And for putting her heart at risk—a heart she had never known to be as vulnerable as it was right now, on the brink of shattering to pieces. “Slap me, Lucy!” he ordered furiously. Suddenly she felt weak and hunched her shoulders in defeat when she realized this was useless. “I can’t do this, Holden,” she said, her voice barely audible. She didn’t even have the strength to look him in the eye when she spoke, so she stared down at the Persian rug instead. Deep in her bones, she’d known she couldn’t last in this position, not when she was lusting after her boss this way. Things were getting complicated. He’d just fired one of his most prized men because of her. “I’ll have my resignation on Mr. Phelps’ desk tomorrow morning.” She rose and started toward the door. “Wait. Lucy, wait.” She paused without turning, not sure whether she was willing to face him because she really didn’t feel like crying in front of him and was but a breath away from doing so. “Take this.” Bracing herself, she turned around just as he grabbed the smaller box from the nightstand and slowly came forward to hand it to her. She didn’t even look at it, all her attention focused on him. His face was shadowed by the lamplight as he stood a few feet away from her. The mellow light etched his handsome features in deep, strong angles and shadows that made him look like a mystical prince of darkness—one that was getting angrier by the second, with flaring nostrils and tightening pectorals. “Take it,” he demanded, nudging her with the box. 86
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When she didn’t move to do so, he fairly shoved the box into her hands and she instinctively clutched it to her chest. “Open it.” No matter what he said, she was not going to open it. She was already starting to feel like some sort of kept woman, and accepting anything from him at this point would only make her feel worse. “I said open it.” “I don’t want anything from you, Holden!” Growling, he yanked the box from her hands and tore it open. She sucked in an audible breath when he pulled out a beautiful long dress shimmering in a light yellow fabric, with nine large circles resembling coins scattered over the lower part of the skirt, each one embroidered with a central five-point star. “Nine of Pentacles.” “Excuse me?” Lucy asked, lifting her gaze to his. “The woman said you’d just been in the store. She said you were the Nine of Pentacles.” Lucy suddenly felt like swooning. “You—you went to the costume shop to buy me this dress?” Her hands shook as he handed it to her, his fingers lightly brushing hers. “It’s supposed to be a costume. For the benefit tomorrow.” “But…what about Miranda?” “I cancelled.” If he’d put a bullet through her chest, Lucy was sure it would have hurt less. She’d accused him—wrongly so—and she’d misjudged and abused his character. Could she do anything worse today—could she do any more damage on this horrible, horrible day? She’d nearly been raped, quit her job, and gone ahead and fallen in love with Patrick Holden.
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Her eyes shone with unshed tears as she gazed into his eyes. He stood with his hands fisted at his sides, his face fierce and cautious and gorgeous. She deeply regretted not having bought him a prince costume, with tights and crown and everything, because right now, all she wanted was to put on this silly, princess-looking costume and fling herself into his arms, pretending they could live happily ever after. “Go with me, Lucy.” His words were not a command, they were a gentle plea from him as a man, and the tender way he spoke them made her want to weep. “Holden, I…” Her voice cracked, so she swallowed past her tears and said, “Thank you. I’d love to go.” He hesitated, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides, as if he were aching to touch her but didn’t want to. It was better that he didn’t, because the slightest gesture on his part would have crumbled down the frail little wall of fortitude she’d erected and sent her bursting into tears. “Pick you up at eight?” he asked softly. Lucy swallowed hard and nodded. Then she clutched the costume to her chest as if her life depended on it and went home.
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Chapter Five Holden missed his donuts. But more than that, he missed his beautiful, smart and sexy assistant. He missed her so much he was sick with it. He didn’t know why they’d had that fight. He still didn’t quite understand why she’d been so angry. He’d expected her to be swept off her feet, overcome with love and lust, and to fall into his arms—as she should have. She’d resigned and left instead. Holden had tossed in his bed the whole night, damning every second because he spent them alone when he should have spent them next to her warm, pliant body. It then struck him how falling in love didn’t take all that much time. One minute you were fine, and the next you were not. In the hopes of giving her something, something she’d like, something she’d treasure, he’d gone and blown it, giving her a handbag. What Lucy wanted, he now realized, was something else. Spirited, beautiful Lucy Divine wanted it all…and damn her, she didn’t seem inclined to settle for less. If he wanted her—and he did!—he was just going to have to give it his best shot. The problem was he had no idea how to go about it. He was completely new to this being in love business. It was damned scary, to say the least. How was he supposed to know about romance anyway? All he knew were stocks and companies… There was a tap on the door and he snapped, “I’m busy!” Whoever had ignored and was still pushing the door open was fired. He was already setting his expression to “pissed” only to stop and promptly gape when Miss Lucy Divine appeared. Holden would have never imagined a woman could look so beautiful after putting a man through so much hell. It was simply not fair. He found not
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only his cock giving a little salute, but his heart rate accelerating tenfold just by looking at her. She wore a simple black dress that reached her knees, sheer black stockings and high heels. Her blonde hair tumbled past her shoulders in a silken waterfall, and for a moment he ached to bury his face in it and smell its sweet, intoxicating scent. Her sexy face, which he now knew by memory, looked cleanly scrubbed and her skin glowed peachy. Her eyes shone golden as she looked at him from across the room—they had the biggest effect on him of all. “Good morning Holden,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. “I…er…didn’t expect to see you here,” he said in the most casual way possible—he gave himself a grade of ten for trying and a five in execution. “I was just at Phelps’ office,” she explained as she slowly crossed his office and set a white box on his desk. He hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying it. “I thought you might like these.” Holden stared down at the cardboard box, dumbstruck when he realized what it was. She’d brought him donuts. Holden had no idea why something so simple, so meaningless, could mean so much to him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice sounding uncommonly strained. “Holden,” she began as she took a step backward, her eyes steady on his. “I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have acted that way. It was childish and…you didn’t deserve it.” He sat there, all these emotions tumbling inside him, a thousand words he wished to say shuffling through his brain, and all he could do was stare at her as if he’d gone stupid. At his silence, Lucy bit her lower lip. “I’d better go.” That got him moving, and fast. He bounded after her, twirled her around when she reached the double doors and pinned her back against the sturdy wood. Pinioning her
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wrists to each side of her face, he bent forward so that his lips were only a breath from hers. “You’re not leaving until you kiss me,” he said thickly. It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. And to prove it, he dipped his head and took possession of her mouth, blending his lips with hers. Holden was a man of guts, a man of instinct and passion, and with all the fire that burned inside him, the fire that burned for her, he slid his tongue into her sweet, warm mouth and conquered it. Claimed it as his. She met his strength and passion with equal thrusts of her tongue, and he groaned in pleasure at the unleashed fury of her kiss and how intoxicatingly sweet she tasted. He was getting painfully close to the part he most longed for, where he would be buried balls-deep inside her—he’d already wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her curvy body against his and grinding his cock against that sweet little pussy—when she pulled away, short of breath. “Holden, I can’t,” she said breathlessly. Then she frowned, thinking better of it, and said, “Okay, just one more.” Grabbing the collar of his shirt, she pulled him forward so that their lips fused together again. He was good at following orders—at least the precious few he agreed with one hundred percent, and this was damned well one of them. He immediately picked up where they’d left off. God, she was sweet. Sweeter than donuts. Her lips were soft and pliant under his, her tongue thirsty. He offered some release to his aching fingers and sank them into the warm haven of her lioness hair. Her greedy little hands roamed his body, skimming past his shoulders until finally settling on his back. She splayed her fingers and pulled him closer to her. Wanting to taste and lick and kiss every inch of her skin, he moved his hungry lips to her chin and first licked and swirled, then kissed her there. Then he moved his mouth along her jaw and upward, having a sudden craving for her earlobe. A sound of distress tore through her lips. “Holden, I really can’t…” 91
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He grunted and continued his pursuit of her sweet, delectable little earlobe. “Holden…it’s your mother,” she explained breathlessly, her palms gently pushing at his chest. He groaned in protest, his mother being the last thing on his mind right now, and continued his onslaught, now trailing his tongue down the soft, ripe skin of her neck. “Holden, your mother is waiting for me downstairs. In the car.” Holden paused while her words sank in, and when they did he fought the despicable urge to curse his own mother. He pulled back with a scowl that said he did not appreciate this turn of events. “What the hell does she want now?” he demanded, not hiding his irritation. Lucy grinned sheepishly. “She says Fridays are spa days and insisted I accompany her. She’s afraid I won’t look presentable tonight if I don’t have a manicure.” He glowered at her for a full minute and then bent down to give her a soft kiss on the lips that only served to enhance the ache in his dick even more. “Never bring me donuts again unless you’re willing to spare me at least an hour to thank you properly,” he said seriously. Lucy smiled at him, that same smile Holden had recently discovered did wonders for his ego. “I’ll be sure to make a note of it.” He took her little hands in his bigger ones and gently squeezed them. “If you let anyone do anything to your hair,” he warned, “I’m going to be really pissed.” “And here I thought someone once said you didn’t like blondes,” she said, laughing before she pulled the doors open and breezily walked past his secretaries toward the elevators. Holden caught sight of their puzzled expressions and merely smiled at all three of them before he slammed his office doors shut. Slowly he went back to his desk and plopped down on his chair with a big, dopey smile. She’d brought him donuts—and not because he was paying her to.
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If he didn’t love her already, he’d have fallen for that. Hard.
***** “A girl could really get used to this,” Lucy muttered in a semi-dazed state, her eyes fixed unseeingly at the ceiling while a pair of expert hands slowly lathered her hair and massaged her scalp. “Um-hum,” Irene mumbled from the chair beside her. “Just wait until we get to the pedicure. You’ll be so relaxed you won’t even be able to walk.” Lucy considered that for a moment. “I hope that’s not entirely true, Irene,” she said, because she had every intention of dancing with Holden tonight at the benefit—and afterward doing the same thing, but naked and in the dark. “I told Patrick I’m not returning that bag to the store, Divine,” Irene suddenly said. “It’s a very comfortable, lightweight bag and I’m just going to have to keep it.” “You should. I think it’s the loveliest bag ever.” “What I can’t understand is why you wouldn’t keep it.” Lucy remained silent and closed her eyes as the hot water trickled past her scalp and hair. She didn’t want to relive that precise moment of her life, much less discuss it in the middle of a busy spa-salon for everyone within earshot to hear. “He’s never done that for anyone, you know,” Irene offered. “No matter how big a hotshot he is, he’s still a little insecure in the romance department.” If Irene hadn’t spoken in her usual loud-as-a-train-wreck voice, Lucy would have sworn she’d heard wrong. “What do you mean?” “I think it was the fact that I raised him all by myself and I was a bit too pushy. I should have coddled him more. I remember—” “Not that, Irene, the other part,” Lucy interjected. “Oh yes, well. As far as I know, he’s never given a woman anything.” “What about Katrina?”
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“Oh, pooh! That was only me wishing, dear. I’m afraid my son was never interested, even if she was. He didn’t encourage her in the least.” Lucy stared blankly at the ceiling, fairly certain Holden wouldn’t divulge the details of his personal relationships to his mother. “Well, I clearly remember purchasing a gift on his behalf for—” Suddenly aware of the fact that the hands on her scalp had an owner, she decided not to mention names and instead finished, “Someone special.” “That’s just because he was trying to make you quit, dear. I know for sure that he never intended to give her anything. He just needed an excuse to have you running all around town, which is why you had to take it back, didn’t you?” Oddly, Lucy’s voice sounded like an infant’s squeaky toy when she spoke. “He told you that?” “Of course not, silly. It was Pipsqueak who told me all about it—he knows everything, dear.” Lucy thought that for a discreet butler, Mr. Pimwick sure knew how to pass around the gossip. “You two seem to get along just fine, Irene,” Lucy said, smiling to herself. “Ha! He’s insufferable is what he is.” Both women laughed and minutes later, while they were sinking their feet into a tub of delicious, hot bubbling water, Lucy replayed Irene’s words in her mind and felt hopeful. Perhaps Holden wasn’t the womanizer Lucy had assumed him to be. And now that she thought about it, she clearly recalled that out of the dozens of articles published about him over the course of ten years, not once had she read anything about him being involved with anyone. The knowledge made her heart soar. Because if it was true, it meant Lucy was not his entertainment, was not one of hundreds of other women, and was definitely not the uncomfortable “kept” woman. Suddenly she was swamped with the memory of Holden’s kiss earlier and she had to press her legs together in an effort to still the sudden, stinging ache in her sex. He’d looked so despicably gorgeous this morning when she’d entered his office that her heart 94
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had skipped a beat. His black hair had been mussed, his tie skewed sideways, his cheeks stubbled with a day’s growth of beard. And when he’d kissed her… “You know? I’m glad he didn’t marry Katrina,” Irene said thoughtfully. “Now I’m lighting all my candles and cheering for you Divine, so please don’t ruin this for me. I want to have grandchildren soon, and so does Pipsqueak.” Lucy nearly fell off her chair as she turned, wide-eyed, to stare at Irene, who was calmly scrutinizing her nails while a pair of magic hands massaged her feet. “Irene, you couldn’t possibly mean what I think you mean?” “Why yes, dear. Didn’t I mention that Pipsqueak and I are getting married?”
***** The devil was right on time. He wore all red, but conveniently forgot the ridiculous tail and the mean-looking little horns at his apartment. Now, the fork he didn’t forget, and he carried it proudly, using it to tap on the front door of his princess’s place in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. Lucy opened the door of her small apartment wearing a plush robe and a big smile. Before Holden could even open his mouth to speak, she lifted three fingers and said, “Three minutes, that’s all I ask for.” In a hurry, she disappeared inside, leaving the door wide open for him. Holden felt like he grew four sizes when he followed her into the apartment, closing the door behind him. Her place was…quaint? Yes. Clean? Yes. Extremely tiny? Hell yes. He waited patiently in the living room, stifling the urge to hunch because of what he thought was an extremely low ceiling height, and instead leaning on his tall plastic devil’s fork while he considered the wisest course of action. The wisest thing would be, naturally, to stay home and kiss her, hold her, make slow, sweet love to her. The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could either wait. Or he could make a move. Narrow-eyed, he scanned his surroundings. If he took two steps, he’d reach the little kitchen. And if he took five steps he’d be in her bedroom… 95
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Suddenly realizing there were only five steps between him and heaven, he set his fork down over the living room table and headed determinedly toward the partly closed doorway. His abort-the-benefit-party-and-instead-make-love-to-Lucy mission went up in flames when she pulled the door open, dressed and ready, before he finished the fifth step. “What do you think?” she asked from the doorway, looking all flushed and beautiful. Well. First, he never thought someone could look so damned sexy, like a Kama Sutra princess, in such a strange costume. Second, he knew for certain he was going to have a pretty hard time keeping his hands off her for the duration of the event. Third, if she even thought he was going to allow her to prance around Manhattan with that cleavage… “It’s too tight on top,” he said gruffly. She laughed and, linking her fingers with his, pulled him toward the door, dragging him across the sidewalk and to the limousine parked outside. They sat side by side in the back of the limo, his hand firmly settled on her thigh. As the car slowly moved through the darkened streets, Lucy said something about how fun the evening was going to be and Holden forced himself to smile. His entire body felt so tense he could barely even breathe. Every nerve in his body seemed to ache at her nearness, at the feel of her warm body so close to his. He felt weak with it, with the need to touch her. Positively certain he couldn’t endure this torment a second longer, he shifted his hand upward, slowly stroking it up her inner thigh as he bent his head and softly planted a kiss on her ear, another on the soft skin of her temple. Surprised, she twisted her face to his, and having expected the move he swiftly captured her lips. She gave a startled gasp, presenting him with a golden opportunity to thrust his tongue inside her.
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He took it, flicking his tongue inside her mouth tentatively at first, then sliding it out and dipping it in again. Settling his free hand on her jaw, he brushed his thumb over her cheek and kissed her slowly, his lips tender on hers, his tongue slow and gentle as it stroked the insides of her mouth, every inch receiving his full attention. He feasted on her lips, drank in a delicious coffee taste with just a bit of vanilla and a hint of cinnamon. While he continued to kiss her, he gently took her hand and pressed it to his erection, groaning when she cupped him fully. He’d already rolled up the tinted window that separated them from Carlos and that gave Holden the freedom to kiss her, touch her. He’d sworn to himself a couple minutes ago that he would only kiss her— and maybe grope a little—but now he wanted more. Wanted to grope much more, grope her everywhere. Gently, he pulled down the fabric covering her chest and growled in delight when it gave way to reveal her glorious round breasts, ripe and ready for him. It would have probably been impossible for her to wear a bra with the damned dress, but now, with the utmost reverence, he mentally crossed himself and blessed it—blessed that holy cleavage. Bending down, he laved and sucked a pink, swollen nipple, and when he did, he felt a clenching pressure in his cock, felt it throb and pulse while Lucy slowly rubbed it through the fabric of his red devil pants. With her other hand she clutched the back of his head and pressed his face against her breast, writhing in her seat as he sucked her tits, expertly switching from one to the other. He snarled in hunger when he grazed his teeth over a nipple, softly biting the taut crest, fervently wishing he could eat it whole. “Patrick,” she whispered. It was the first time she’d actually said his name. It sounded like a prayer, like something sacred. God, he needed her. Like water or air to live. Slowly, his hand returned to her inner thigh and began to inch the silky yellow fabric upward. It rustled
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as it slid over her legs until it gathered in folds around her hips—and surprisingly revealed the dark, sweet-scented valley between her legs. “Forget your underwear, Miss Divine?” he asked hoarsely. She nodded breathlessly, her golden eyes shimmering like jewels in the darkness of the car. His answer was a painful grunt as he briskly dipped his hand to that spot he craved until he held her essence, grinding a slight pressure there with the heel of his palm. She was flooded with hot, slick juices, pooling like cream on his palm. His throat suddenly turned dry. Did they still have a couple minutes so he could haul her up and delve inside her or… She was touching him so expertly, he was shoving his cock against the gentle touch of her hand and practically begging for it. Though Holden never begged, he was willing to make plenty of exceptions with Lucy. Shifting his hand, his middle finger found her delectable little pearl and slowly began to toy with it, making her buck her hips like a wild one. Grabbing his forearm in a death grip, she sank her nails into his skin and threw her head back against the seat, gasping for air. He groaned at the temptation the luscious curve of her neck posed and went after it with a vengeance, swirling his tongue over every inch of skin. She squeezed his dick through his pants as if she wanted to break it, tearing a raw groan out of him. Seconds later, she yelped in pleasure when he thrust his middle finger inside her. Honey oozed around his finger as her muscles clenched him, drawing him deeper, up to her center. Smoothly withdrawing, he touched the tip of two fingers to the slick outer folds before screwing them inside her with a harsh twist of his wrist. She cried out, the walls of her cunt opening then tightening around his fingers as they buried themselves as far as they could go. The scorching feeling of her swollen muscles so tight around his fingers made the sweat glisten on his brow and the burning flames in his body become unbearable. Feverishly, her hand pulled on the drawstring of his pants, diving past the elastic of his cotton underwear. He made a sound of stark need when she touched his iron-hard erection and cupped him in her palm. His cock burned, and Holden could feel the tip of
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it already damp with his own come—almost spilling before she’d even touched him. She pressed his cock with the heel of her hand and splayed her fingers over his balls, driving him crazy with need. He sought her mouth and kissed her, their lips parting in unison and their tongues meeting halfway. Curling her fingers around the base of his shaft, she began to jerk it upward, intuitively knowing just how he liked it. They both groaned when they began a slow, endless rhythm, his fingers sliding in and out of her sex, her tight grip moving up and down the length of his hardness. They moved in perfect accord, their tongues playing wildly inside each other’s mouths while their hands moved over their sexes in a blissful, blessed rhythm. He climaxed in her hand, spilling his semen over her knuckles, and she came in his palm, her desire spurting in his hand in orgasm. Their mouths remained locked together as tremors rocked their bodies for what seemed like an eternity, until they fell back on the seat, limp and breathless. For the remaining ride to the Four Seasons Hotel and its sumptuous Cosmopolitan Suite, they rode so close together their bodies occupied only the slightest space on the long leather seat. Fully relaxed now, Holden closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her velvety blonde hair, while Lucy pressed her face to his chest and held his hand above her lap, her little fingers entwined with his. Suddenly tempted by the tiny piece of heaven that was her hand, the one that moment’s ago had driven him so damned crazy, Holden lifted it to his lips and turned it, pressing a kiss on the center of her palm, and before he knew it he was kissing each fingertip, each knuckle, every inch of skin in between. Lucy was giggling, weakly attempting to break free. “A little ticklish are we, Miss Divine?” he asked gently as he grazed his lips over the heel of her palm and began to trail a path of kisses up the sensitive skin on her arm.
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“Yes!” she squealed, writhing over the seat and futilely pulling on her arm. “Stop, Holden…let go!” But of course, Miss Divine didn’t realize Holden had no intention of letting her go. Ever.
***** The event space was noisy and crowded by the time they arrived, and Lucy was blissfully overwhelmed among such decadent splendor. Light beech-paneled walls and magnificent backlit onyx panels surrounded the room, the ample space further enhanced by high ceilings boasting dozens of modern dark-iron chandeliers. The round tables bespoke of elegance, with their glinting silver place settings and sumptuous floral arrangements overflowing with exotic blooms. Long, white tapered candles flickered daintily as a band at the far end of the room played a soft rock song to which couples danced on the crowded dance floor. The guests and benefactors—who had paid two thousand dollars a head for their dinner tonight—wore an assortment of amazing costumes, from medieval kings to swaggering pirates to werewolves, maids and witches. Lucy knew none of these people, and yet her rebel devil—who’d conveniently lost his only devil prop by now—seemed to know them all, and it seemed as though everyone knew her rebel devil. “Mr. Holden.” “Patrick Holden, how are you this evening?” “Good evening, Patrick.” “Holden, my man!” Lucy heard his name dozens and dozens of times in a vast array of voices. She didn’t really mind, of course, for it was her very favorite name in the whole world now, but after a while she wished these people could leave them alone. He was her devil tonight, after all. 100
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After someone had abducted him for an eternal two minutes to greet someone else, he returned to her side, glowering. “Remind me to decline next time,” he said gruffly, making her smile. A pimp-like character with gold chains, fur coat and a cigar approached, patting Holden on the back. “Congratulations on Skytek. Good move, Holden.” Lucy agreed. That had been a good move. Great move, in fact. But she didn’t blurt it out, for all the partygoers seemed to have one thing in common—they ignored Lucy’s presence completely. The pimp was no exception so she dutifully waited, like a good Nine of Pentacles would have waited for her bird. Calmly. By the time a tall, breathtakingly beautiful Dorothy, including basket and plush Toto, walked up to them, Holden had just turned his attention back to Lucy and he seemed ready to bolt. “Why hello, Patrick,” she said in an oddly familiar voice. She was the only person at the whole bash who seemed interested in Lucy—inordinately so. Her blue eyes took in every aspect of Lucy’s appearance in one swift, single motion. “Hello Miranda,” Holden said, wrapping his arm around Lucy’s waist and pulling her to his side. “Lucy Divine, Miranda MacFadden.” He spoke his introductions matter-of-factly, as if there was nothing odd about this situation and nothing uncomfortable about the fact that he’d cancelled his date with Miranda to attend with Lucy. Naturally, the women’s eyes clashed and their smiles as they looked at each other were so false they could have been glued to their lips. Lucy greeted her out of pure politeness, something that apparently Miranda wasn’t taught when she was a little girl. In answer, Miranda’s eyes swept over Lucy’s dress slowly, deliberately, and Lucy inwardly winced at the blatant disgust on her face. “What on earth do you call that costume? Old Maid?” “I’m the Nine of Pentacles,” Lucy said proudly, as if it were obvious.
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If she’d refrained from speaking at all, Miranda MacFadden would have ignored her equally. “Patrick?” She turned and blinked at him, her lips twitching at the corners. “Isn’t she your secretary?” She spoke the last word in the same tone one would use to say “excrement”. Before Lucy could open her mouth, Holden said, “As a matter of fact, no. She’s the new head of mergers and acquisitions at Holden and Investors. Now if you’ll excuse us, I owe Miss Divine a dance.” And with that, he dragged her onto the dance floor and pulled her into his arms just as the band began a slow ballad. Wow. Her falcon had sure come back with some startling news. “You did not just say that,” Lucy said, wide-eyed, wrapping her arms around his neck as his hands settled on her hips and hauled her close to him. It felt completely right, to be held this way by him, to lose herself in the dark depths of his eyes. “You make a lousy princess anyway—or Nine of Pentacles. Or whatever,” he said, his eyes glinting as his lips spread into a grin. “You’re much better at mergers.” Lucy laughed, fleetingly garnering the attention of a few curious couples dancing nearby. Then she sobered and shook her head. “Holden, I’ve got no experience whatsoever. You cannot possibly be serious.” “I’m dead serious.” No, he couldn’t be. “There are millions of other people much better qualified for the job than me.” “Really? And as honest and dedicated as you? I don’t think so.” She shook her head, her smile barely fitting her face. “I can’t accept this.” “This is purely professional, Lucy,” he said, tightening his grip on her hips. He really made the most handsome devil. There was a darkness to his face, a stubbornness to his chiseled features, a power in his stance. He was, quite frankly, just
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as dark, powerful and mesmerizing as that Wall Street bull he’d purchased. Wasn’t there a saying about people’s likenesses to their pets? “This job was meant for you. I read your résumé Lucy, you can do this.” Was she dreaming? She could always pinch herself, but she’d be loath to move her hands from his nape, where they’d settled so contentedly. “Oh God, I…” Dazed, she shook her head slightly in an attempt to clear it. He caressed her face with his eyes. “Just say yes.” “Holden, I’m…flattered really…but…” “I swear this has nothing to do with the way I feel for you—my gut just tells me you’re right for the job, and I always follow my instincts.” Lucy felt the blood rush hot and heady through her veins, and she pretty much knew it had nothing to do with the fact that she was being offered her dream job, the one near the very top rungs of that tall, seemingly endless corporate ladder. It had everything to do with what he’d said before that, something that made her feel breathless and speechless and wonderful. What did he mean, “how he felt about her”? Suddenly, everything and everyone around her seemed to fade away until there was only Holden, his lips unbearably close to hers, his legs and thighs brushing against hers as they danced. “Say yes,” he urged softly, his eyes shining like moons in a pitch-black night. “Yes,” she breathed against his lips, silently vowing never, ever to disappoint him, as she stood on tiptoes so she could confirm the answer with a kiss. Some funny person thought it would be a good time to interrupt, and through the haze and heat of his nearness and the fleeting touch of his lips against hers, she heard someone say, “Heard about your offer for Finrod Tech, Holden. You think it’s really worth that much?” Lucy stiffened at the same time Holden did.
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They stopped dancing and for an endless moment they stood motionless on the dance floor, their gazes clashing. “W-what does he mean by that?” Lucy asked shakily, not knowing if the clenching in her stomach was dread, excitement or a little of both. “It means I’m getting you Finrod Tech, Lucy.” Lucy in business mode would have demanded, “How?” Was it a hostile takeover or did he make a direct offer? And if the latter, how much? But Lucy in her vulnerable, totally-in-love-with-Patrick-Holden mode merely asked, “Why?” He didn’t flinch when he answered. “Because you want it, and I want to give it to you.” How did he even know about Finrod Tech? “Holden…” she began, still not understanding the strange and completely unorthodox workings of his mind. “Lucy.” It was a low, barely audible whisper, and it was filled with emotion. She froze, rendered breathless, speechless and motionless by the gleaming sparks in his eyes as he framed her face in his hands. “I’m in love with you.” Her legs weakened, and she could only remain on her feet because she was holding onto his neck so tightly. When she opened her mouth to speak, words failed her completely, her lungs seemed to malfunction and there was a constricting pain in her throat. Holden’s hands were shaking as he held her cheeks, and his coal-black eyes glimmered with intensity as they raked over her face. “I want you to have it because I love you, because I want to make you happy—I want to give you anything, everything you want,” he said roughly, his face raw with emotion. Her eyes stung and she had to swallow in order to speak. “I just want you,” she whispered brokenly. He hissed out a breath, as if relieved. “I know,” he said raggedly, shoving her face to his chest and wrapping his arms around her. “I’m yours.”
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She wasn’t sure if it was only seconds or eons later that she whispered, despite the huge ball of fur in her throat, “Holden, I love you too.” His arms squeezed her so hard that, had she not been a puddle of liquid at this moment she was sure he would’ve shattered her bones. “Let’s go home.”
“Home”, as it turned out, was her tiny apartment and her inviting queen-sized bed. Her room was pitch-black when they entered, and after a flurry of movements and materials flying in the air as they hurriedly discarded their costumes, the room fell silent. For hot, heady minutes the only sounds in the room were her low, breathless moans and the soft rustle of bed sheets as Holden slowly rocked his hips against hers. He kissed her, his lips strong but gentle, his tongue caressing every nook and corner of the surrendered cavern of her mouth. Her fingers kneaded the muscles of his back as she urged him closer, until his chest was pressed firmly to hers, her breasts flattened by his weight. His throbbing member was buried deep, so deep inside her. There was no way to get closer but they tried, pressing harder. She arched her hips and wrapped her legs around his hips, tightening, pulling. Closer. His hips moved with hers in unison, blending in a gentle rhythm until neither of them knew nor cared where one body ended and the other began. The gentle way he made love to her, the tender, loving words he whispered in her ear, sent her senses into a sweet, aching oblivion, where she knew nothing but his hands, his tongue and his hot, fevered skin against hers. And him inside her. And his love—like a blanket, covering, protecting, sheltering her. “Are you there baby?” he asked in a husky voice against her ear as he withdrew then slowly inched his thickened penis inside her again. “I can’t stand it. I’m so hot, so crazy…” Lucy couldn’t breathe much less speak, so she merely clawed her nails into his back and lifted her hips higher for him so he could take her completely. Possess her. Claim
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her. Come for her. Come with her. They came in a massive explosion, breathing out each other’s names. And she was his, all his, body and soul. Holden fell beside her and rolled onto his back, hauling her body along with his until she was settled firmly by his side. Striving to recover her breath, Lucy wrapped an arm around his chest and pressed her body against his warmer one. “Your mother won’t even believe this,” Lucy whispered softly, wondering what Irene would say about this delightful, unbelievable, supremely wonderful turn of events. He both smiled and snorted, his chest heaving when he did so. “All that woman cares about is her precious Pipsqueak.” Lucy craned her neck to stare at him in awe. “You know about them?” “Of course I know. Another reason why I wanted to send her to a hotel. Last time she was here I got sick and tired of chaperoning all the time.” Lucy giggled, and not able to ignore the temptation his lips posed, ran one finger along the plump flesh of his bottom lip. “She’s old enough to take care of herself.” “Yeah, but Pimwick? I’d bet a broom would be more interesting.” “Maybe he’s different with your mom,” Lucy said positively, recalling Irene’s words at the spa. “Maybe with her he’s fun and…gossips like a girl.” “Gossip? Pimwick? Honey, my mom uses torture to squeeze every scrap of news and information out of him.” She was shocked speechless for a moment. “What sort of torture?” she asked innocently. Holden scowled, the image of his mother and Pimwick not a pleasant one. “That’s none of my business,” he said, “and I don’t think either of us wants to know.” She giggled and buried her face in the warm crook of his neck, making him grin. “Tell me about Finrod,” she said as casually as she could, but her heart began to flutter in her chest.
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Holden chuckled, the rumbling sound causing a delicious vibration in his chest that reverberated in her whole body. She bit back a laugh. “I’m curious!” “If you kiss me, I’ll tell you.” Propping herself up on one elbow, she gave him a quick but thorough peck on the lips before pulling away and smiling down at him. “There.” He growled in displeasure and fisted his hand in her hair, pulling her face to his. Seizing her lips with his, he began a delicious, thorough exploration of her mouth, so pleasantly dizzying she whimpered when he pulled away. “I made them an offer they couldn’t resist.” His lips were fascinatingly sensual, and Lucy dazedly watched them move as he spoke. “Hmm, you’re too good to resist,” she whispered, kissing him again, now doing the exploring herself. His mouth was impossibly warm, and though she was fully aware of its power, it was slick and soft as it moved along with hers. His hand ran aimlessly up her back, sending little shivers down her spine. When she pulled away, she sighed and pressed her face to his chest. “The paperwork’s begun…the company’s already being transferred to your name. It’s yours, beautiful. Whether you want it or not.” He kissed the top of her head for emphasis, as if that were the end of the conversation—and of course he had the last say. She looked up at him with a mixture of awe and indignation. “Has there ever been a time when you didn’t get your way, Holden?” He frowned thoughtfully. “No,” he said at last. Then he smiled his trademark fullof-it smile—the one that caused the most havoc in her insides. “And is my sexy, beautiful, intelligent new head of mergers ready to go to work on Monday?” “No,” she said impishly. “I’m ready to go to work tomorrow.” His eyebrows lifted at that. “Now that might be a problem, because I’ve got plans for tomorrow. Plans that involve you, I’m afraid.”
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“Oh?” He nodded seriously. “Big plans. Saturday plans. Plans involving some of this…” He kissed her forehead, a loud dry kiss. “And this…” With equal flair, he kissed her nose. “And this.” He smacked his lips to hers noisily. “I have to say I like your plans,” she admitted, her lips curving into a seductive smile. “You think just like I do, Patrick Holden.” “Hmmm,” he said, brushing his lips to hers. “What am I thinking now?” “You’re thinking…you want to kiss me?” “No.” “No?” She sat up on the bed and scowled down at him. “Why not?” His grin was all arrogant satisfaction. “Try again.” “You can’t be ready to do that again so soon?” “Well, I admit I think about doing that with you all the time, but this other thing I’m thinking about is much more important.” “Well, it beats me!” He grabbed her arm and pulled her to him. She fell on top of his chest, the full length of her body sprawled over his bigger one, her face a hairbreadth from his. As he placed his hands possessively over her rump, his smile faded and his gaze sizzled with intensity. “I’m crazy about you. When you got so pissed yesterday and left—you scared the shit out of me. Don’t ever do that again, Divine.” She smiled, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes. “I hardly ever get pissed, and I really doubt anyone could scare you. And I can’t imagine why anyone would ever want to leave a big bully like you.” His eyes searched her face, and he looked a bit worried. “Is that what you think of me?” Wouldn’t you know it, his mother was right after all—he was insecure. And Lucy found it impossibly endearing. Her smile faded and as she looked into his beautiful 108
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black eyes, her heart swelled. “I love, admire and respect everything about you, Patrick,” she whispered softly. “And try as I might, I can’t even remember when I’ve ever been so lucky.” His hands caressed up and down her back and a cocky smile returned to his lips. “Ask the nut at the costume shop.” She laughed at his words then quickly sobered. Head of mergers and acquisitions at Holden and Investors…and owner—dear Lord, could this be happening?—of Finrod Tech. Wow. When she’d imagined herself standing at the top of that tall corporate ladder, never, in her wildest imaginings, did she picture Patrick Holden hauling her up, then holding her hand and standing tall and proud right beside her—which frankly, was billions multiplied by trillions to the millionth power better. Nine of Pentacles. Hmm. Seems the old woman was right. Lucy would have never believed it. Who would’ve thought being Holden’s assistant would turn out to be so incredibly, positively, absolutely…divine? The End
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About the Author A lifelong reader of romance and erotica, Red Garnier is a lover of love, sex, and laughter. Formerly a full-time diamond expert, now her expertise lies solely in the heart and imagination, spending her days and nights grappling with chauvinistic heroes and sassy, sexy heroines. Red enjoys reading almost as much as writing, and as a sensitive Pisces, cries wholeheartedly at the merest, silliest things. Not that she’s a crybaby, but hey, she’s female and warmhearted, and she does get to put up with insensitive machos and stubborn females every day—which is plenty enough to make her cry and maybe…laugh her head off. Red is a firm believer in love being the strongest, deepest emotion of the heart, capable of making one soar to the skies—and crash on one’s butt. Needless to say, it’s worth the ride. And despite all the obstacles (which are most times within our own very selves) Red believes that love truly conquers all. Red welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Red Garnier Devilish Games 1: Spin Devil Devilish Games 2: Spin It Again
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