Wicked Pleasures Read online

  Bronte thought Miss Deveraux couldn’t have looked more shocked. A sliver of guilt sped through Bronte. She didn’t mean to cause the other woman such dejection, but Bronte wasn’t the bad one in this scenario. She owed no one an apology. It was Roark’s fault for making the woman the go-between. Bronte would rather have told him herself where he could stick his orders. It would have given her much more pleasure.

  “I’ll tell Mr. Roark,” Miss Deveraux said and left the room.

  Bronte sat by the window and relished the breakfast fit for an empress. She ate until she was stuffed. She had poured herself another cup of coffee when she heard the key in the door again. There was no guessing who it was and why he’d come. She was certain Roark wanted to complain for her disobedience. Roark stormed into the room, a look of agitation marring his clean-shaven features. Nothing pleased her more than to see his feathers ruffled. “Don’t you knock?” She tugged her robe belt tighter.

  “Don’t play dumb. You were expecting me.” He slammed the door shut behind him with his foot.

  “I had a feeling you’d pop in sooner or later. And poor Miss Deveraux, using her to deliver your commands. Too bad your demands work no better coming from her.” Bronte got up from the chair, straightened her back and faced the ogre. “If you’ve come to dictate me like I’m an inmate, you’ll get nowhere.” She could have sworn his broad shoulders slumped a bit.

  “How am I treating you like an inmate, Bronte?”

  “First, you lock me away in my cell. Then you have my breakfast brought to me. You have Miss Deveraux lay out my clothes for me as if I’m a child. You can’t force me to wear what you want.” She was fuming and couldn’t see straight. She tried to focus on his pale blue button down, but unfortunately, her mind then wanted to advance to how good his clothes fit his toned body and remembering what he’d look like naked. This only made her angrier.

  He brushed his fingers through his thick, coal black hair and blew out a long breath between his teeth. “I was gone this morning and thought you’d be hungry. And if you consider this a cell, count your blessings. I have a room in the basement if you prefer cement, open toilet and a sleeping bag.”

  “Am I supposed to thank you for your consideration?” She huffed.

  “Like this is any fun for me either,” he said with a rolling of eyes.

  “I want to go home.”

  “And you will, once you’ve provided me with an heir.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” She wanted to pick up the vase of flowers from the nightstand and throw them at his head. It probably wouldn’t faze him.

  “Then you’ll be with me for a very long time.” He turned and walked to the door. “Wear whatever you see fit, but I expect to see you downstairs in my den in ten minutes. Time is a valuable resource that I no longer wish to waste.”

  On second thought, her first idea was too tempting. She grabbed the budvase and threw it over his head. The glass splattered into pieces against the door, sending the flowers and water into a large puddle at his feet. He spun on heel and his look was one of shock and irritation. A drop of blood left a crimson path from his temple, down along his cheek. He reached up and swiped it away. There was a sliver of satisfaction that rolled through her knowing he bled just like she had. “Too bad that I missed your head,” she said with a grin. She’d never been a violent woman, but he deserved everything he got.

  “Is that so?” He stomped toward her, his gaze buried into her with a promise of vengeance.

  He reached for her and she pulled back. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to teach you a lesson.” The gruffness of his voice told her he was pissed.

  Bronte backed up until she pressed against the wall. “Don’t you dare lay one finger on me.”

  He was upon her now, so close that she could smell his scent of mint and musk. The trail of blood was bright against his olive skin and she had an urge to wipe it away, but she refused the action. His eyes appeared blue with yellow in the center, a color she’d never seen before. He blinked twice and the paler shade disappeared. “What is a man to do with a woman who needs her fanny smacked?”

  “Get away from me you tyrant!” There was nowhere for her to go.

  “You’ve left me no choice.” He constrained her against the wall with his strapping frame. His gaze pulled her in, like a magnet and the force was strong. His breathing was ragged, matching hers. She knew what was coming and for the life of her she couldn’t manage to make a peep in rejection. His mouth fell on hers, rough at first as he forced his tongue past her tight lips. Heaven help her! It felt nice…better than nice. She was overcome with urgency and opened to him as his touch became softer, more passionate. He tasted her, explored her and she became sweet liquid. A moan sounded and she realized it came from her. She’d never been so needy in all her years.

  His tongue swept across her bottom lip and she tasted coffee and sugar. He was like fine aged bourbon shooting straight into her veins for the highest of high. She stood on tiptoes, pressed her breasts against his broad chest and wrapped her arms around his burly shoulders. With a soft purr, she smoothed her hip over his hard cock and knew turmoil had him by the balls. Knowing he wanted her, needed her, made her sink into an irresistible nirvana. She no longer cared that he was her captor and she was his prisoner. Seduction was her only captive.

  He brought his hands up and cupped her face into his tender hold. His long fingers threaded through her hair, tugging gently as his large frame devoured her smaller one, but instead of feeling overpowered, she felt safe and secure. Something about his touch was comforting—and secure.

  She was a goner and didn’t care one damn bit!

  He pulled his head back and she moaned in protest. Opening her eyes, she stared up into the most intense gaze she’d ever seen. “I’ll thrust my cock deep inside of you and make you mine. I’ve longed for the sweet comfort of your body. The scent of your sweet pussy intoxicates me like nothing I have ever experienced. I want to satisfy your every need, every desire, to have my name fall from your lips. All you must do is ask.”

  “Is that what you want? For me to ask you to have sex?”

  “Yes, I need to know.”

  You can go to hell!” she said through tight lips. A little thread of resistance remained.

  A smile curved one corner of his mouth. “Soon, sweetheart, you’ll beg me to extinguish the fire.”

  He’d made her a fool and she didn’t like it one bit. “You bastard!” She brought her fists around and pounded his chest. She compared it to a child pummeling a wall; it didn’t do a bit of good but hurt her hands.

  Wrapping his arms around her waist, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. He tossed her onto the mattress as effortlessly as if he were throwing a bag of seed. She stared up at him, seething with anger. He began to unbuckle his belt and she thought her heart would beat out of her chest. “No, Roark.” Her plea fell from tingly lips. As much as she had wanted him seconds before, and if she searched deep enough she knew she still did, but not like this.

  He didn’t respond. It was as if he didn’t hear her. He pulled the strap from his belt loops and he held the leather so tightly that she could see the white of his knuckles under his skin. “When will you understand I would never force you to have sex?” His gaze narrowed. “I’d never hurt you. I was only removing my belt because I’m confined.”

  Lowering her stare to the bulge behind his zipper, she understood his meaning. “Okay.”

  “Now, you have a choice!” His tone was harsh. “You get dressed in the outfit, any outfit for Christ’s sake, or I’ll dress you myself.”

  No rebuttal came to mind. Bronte hated to admit it but she was exhausted. She certainly didn’t want him to dress her. “Get out then,” she said.

  “Hell no, my lady. You were given the opportunity to dress alone but you lost that right. We have plans and I’ve had enough of your anger. You’re the reason why we have come to this.”

  “You keep sayin
g that but you won’t tell me what you mean!”

  His jaw tightened. “You can’t bear the truth. We aren’t having that conversation with you half dressed and my cock as hard as wood.”

  Her cheeks burned. She tugged her robe tighter around her chest. “I will not dress with you watching me.” Her eyes moistened with tears. Her adrenaline was slowing and her emotions were out of whack.

  “I didn’t say I’d watch.” His voice softened as did the lines of his face. “Go to the bathroom for privacy.”

  She got up from the bed, gathered the clothes Miss Deveraux had lain out for her and headed for the bathroom. Roark was already sliding his belt back into place on his waist when she closed the door behind her.

  Ten minutes later, Bronte emerged wearing the outfit. The tan breeches, long sleeved white button down and black boots all fit her to perfection. She wasn’t sure how he’d managed to arrange for her clothing to fit flawlessly, but everything did.

  “You look lovely,” Roark surprised her by saying. He was sitting on the chair with legs propped on the bed.

  At first, Bronte thought he was being sarcastic, but she could see honesty in his expression. She moistened her lips and asked, “Am I riding?”

  He removed his feet from the relaxed position and stood up. “Correction. We are riding.”

  She ran her gaze down his casual clothing. “Then why do I have to be dressed in riding breeches and you’re not?”

  “Don’t you like the clothes?” One thick eyebrow curved.

  “The clothes are fine. I’m just wondering why I had to have riding apparel.” She shook her head. A tendril of hair fell from the side bun and she tucked it behind her ear. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Then let’s go. I’m prepared to offer you a deal.”

  Chapter 5

  ROARK’S WORDS OF a deal spiraled through Bronte as she followed him downstairs and into his den. She started to ask him what “deal” he referred to, but then she saw the phone on his desk—her phone. “That’s mine,” she said.

  “Yes it is.” He sat down at his desk.

  “What are you doing with it? Are you being nosey and reading my messages?” She wanted to be angry, but she couldn’t get past the enthusiasm of seeing the phone.

  “Are you mistaking me for a jealous lover?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” She swallowed the tightness building in her throat. “But you didn’t answer me. Why do you have it?” The phone had been in her purse, which was also missing. “And where is my purse?”

  “You have no use for your purse,” he said.

  “And I do for my phone?” She moved to grab it when he snatched it up. Not surprising. “I have a feeling this is where the “deal” comes into play.”

  He dropped the phone into his lap. “Your assistant, Fallon, has been worried about you.” Her excitement deepened. “She must think vacation means you answer business calls from a different location. Why do you tolerate that?” he asked.

  “Fallon is a great assistant, and friend, and I’m a great editor. Proficient people are always needed and very seldom get vacation.” She was curious where this was leading, and guessed she probably wouldn’t like what he was about to say.

  “If that’s how you justify your workaholic ways.” He shrugged and she sighed. “You will call her and let her know you’re okay.”

  “And why would I do something stupid?” She shook her head.

  “Because you care for your friend and don’t want her to worry needlessly.”

  “Needlessly isn’t the word I’d use. Necessarily is more appropriate.”

  His gaze narrowed. “You’re safe here. Now call and tell her.”

  “I won’t, no matter what you say or do.”

  “Even if it means you’ll get answers?”

  “Answers?” Was he serious?

  “Make the call and you’ll get information.”

  “And I’m supposed to trust you?” She didn’t even trust herself at this point.

  He nodded. “Yes, you are. I haven’t lied yet.”

  “You’re too good to lie, but you’ll sink low enough to keep me hostage. Great values and ethics you have, Roark.” She folded her arms over her chest and kept her chin held high.

  “This is going nowhere fast. Make the call or not. Your choice.” He relaxed back in the executive chair and closed his eyes.

  Bronte waited and watched. There was no physical sign that he cared whether she made the call or not, which made her suspicious. “What if I choose not to make the call?” she asked.

  He lifted one lid. “Then I’ll tell Shelby to handle the issue.”

  “You wouldn’t dare! He’s even more of an ogre than you!” Bile rose into her throat and she thought she’d be sick. “If what you threatened is true, that I am to have your baby and stay here for nine months, my friends and co-workers would suspect that I’m not okay. Did you fail to look this far ahead in your scheme?”

  He then sat up and swiveled the chair so that he faced her. “If something should happen and my plan miscarries, I want you to have your life to go back to. If she calls the police and they start an investigation, this could go seriously wrong. It’s nothing we can’t handle if needed, but why involve so many people when it’s unnecessary? Faking your death would be very messy.”

  Her head began to throb. He had thought his arrangement through. She couldn’t allow anyone to be dragged into this mess, and she certainly didn’t want people to believe she was dead. “I’ll make the call. What shall I say?”

  “You’ll tell her that you’re enjoying your vacation and you hadn’t called before now because you’ve met someone who’s kept you occupied.” He got up and came around his desk. The phone was in his hand. “I really don’t care what you say, as long as she understands that she needs to stop worrying. I’m sure you can handle the situation.” He held out the phone to her.

  Mind buzzing and adrenaline rushing, she couldn’t think logically as she took the phone. Even if she could alert Fallon to her situation, that may put the other woman in danger. A part of her didn’t believe that Roark would harm Fallon, but if he sent his thugs, Bronte couldn’t trust that they’d be as understanding. She had seen the look in Shelby’s eyes when he showed up at her office and he’d looked at her like he despised her. No, he couldn’t be trusted, even if Roark believed in him.

  Dialing the familiar number, Fallon answered on the second ring. “Hello, Fallon. It’s Bronte.”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you.” Fallon’s sharp tone rattled the phone line. “Why haven’t you answered your phone? Is everything all right? I found your briefcase and I’ve been worried.”

  Bronte looked over her shoulder and spotted Roark leaning against the wall, arms folded over his chest, looking like a wolf ready to pounce. She knew he listened closely and probably waited for her to say one wrong word. She could risk everything and alert Fallon, but Bronte wasn’t worried about her own safety. As foolish as she knew it sounded, she didn’t believe Roark would hurt her, but she had no doubt that he’d send Shelby to get Fallon…and then her assistant would be in the same situation. She gripped the plastic in her palm, teetering between desire and practicality. “I’m fine, Fallon. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to return your call. But I’m on vacation, after all.”

  “That’s never stopped you from doing business before,” Fallon said.

  “Other times were different. I’ve met someone—”

  “You have? In that short amount of time?”

  Bronte hated lying, but it wasn’t a complete untruth. “It was spontaneous and it’s like he took me hostage.” Roark’s clearing of throat made her jump. “A hostage of passion,” she added.

  “What’s his name? Is he a native of the island? Was it love at first sight?”

  “He’s on vacation here also. And love at first sight? No, I wouldn’t say that. In fact, I didn’t like him at first. I thought he was a brainless, chauvinistic pig, but
you know how that goes…sometimes ogres can surprise us.” Roark’s jaw clenched and she bit back a smile. “He’s not the brightest bulb in the box, but his looks are nice.”

  “So, is this a vacation booty call? Ooh-la-la.”

  Biting back laughter, Bronte loved the wide-eyed expression she was getting from Roark. “I’m not sure if he’s relationship material. I’d definitely say he’s worthy of a fling.”

  “I guess, but anyone is an upgrade from Gage,” Fallon said. “Oh, I’m sorry. My tongue got away with me.”

  Bronte knew Fallon never did like Gage, so this wasn’t a surprise. “Has he tried contacting you?”

  “Yes, but I won’t tell him anything. I promise,” Fallon said.

  “I know you won’t. I’ve got to go. My sugar britches is eyeing me like a hawk. I swear, I can’t get a minute to myself because he can’t keep his hands off of me.” She swiveled and Roark was standing by her. A scream climbed her throat but she managed to stifle the sound. Giving him the evil eye, she finished saying goodbye and clicked off. “Do you think it’s necessary for you to sneak up on me like that?”

  “Sorry, sweetheart. However, you’re right. I can’t keep my hands off you. You know how empty-headed ogres are. We don’t have anything to think with except our dicks.”

  Although he mocked her, that knowledge didn’t detour the tingly awareness that spread through her body like warm honey. Before she was a goner, she switched gears. “I held my bargain. Your turn.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to hang out here and let me take care of the yearning in the pit of your stomach and the wetness in your core? The scent is intoxicating.” His rich voice had the same effect as if he’d licked her from head to toe.

  “Some vivid imagination you have.” She attempted a casual laugh but it came out as a shrill.

  Her body was out of control and she could no longer trust it to behave.