Taken

Oh, well. While it was certainly the first time she’d had such an experience with a mark, she had the feeling it likely wouldn’t be the last. And, probably sooner than she currently believed, she’d forget all about his electric-blue eyes and dimpled cheek and the surge of her blood every time she’d thought about him that afternoon, and use the money she’d stolen from him to further more important plans.

She stuffed the last of the items that could be connected to her inside the cavernous depths of her Louis Vuitton bag and wiped her prints from the drawer she’d closed.

“Going somewhere?”

Seline froze at the sound of Ryder’s voice. Somewhere in the back of her mind she gave herself a pat on the back for not having jumped. Even if his sudden presence was definitely of the jump variety.

Not that she hadn’t half expected him to show up at her office, despite his request through official channels to see her in his. Mostly because of that connection she’d shared with him. She’d instantly sensed that—not unlike herself—he was someone used to getting what he wanted. And he wanted her.

Her. The woman in the car who’d challenged him to a race. Not Carol Lambert. Although she had to remind herself that he didn’t know there was difference. A vast and damaging difference.

It had been that knowing that had prompted her to finish up her business and get out of here posthaste.

Unfortunately, she’d been two minutes too late.

Seline turned her chair to face him in the doorway, giving him her best Carol Lambert tucked-chin smile. “Hello, Mr. Blackwell. I was just getting ready to come up to see you.”

“Why do I get the impression you were getting ready to leave instead?”

She tried to act surprised, but she made the mistake of meeting his stimulating gaze. And the challenge there left her incapable of ignoring the desire to rise to it.

So he thought he could handle her, did he? Thought he knew who she was and by extension thought himself up to the task of tussling with her without consequence?

She found herself smiling.

She had two weaknesses. One was for a good, clean, risky con; the other was proving to a powerful bachelor like Ryder Blackwell how powerless he truly was when it came to a woman like her.

And while she should pass on this one, she found she didn’t want to.

All cons came with their risks. And so far this one had run like clockwork. Boringly like clockwork. Maybe a tryst with Ryder was just what was needed to spice it up a little bit.

“Was there something you needed to discuss with me?” she asked, getting up from her desk and coming to stand in front of him.

She watched him watch her approach. His black pupils dilated slightly as his gaze dropped first to her baggy blouse as if searching for the lacy bra underneath, then to her legs, which she knew were killer even in the low-heeled, unappealing shoes she wore.

Seline leaned forward, brushing her breasts against his chest. She had to give him credit for standing still, not giving away with a blink or an intake of breath that her actions surprised him. She picked up a file on the side table behind him, then broke contact as she put it into her bag.

“There are several things I’d like to discuss with you, Ms. Lambert.”

She put her bag on the table then reached for her suit jacket hanging on the back of the door. He took it from her and she easily turned so he could help her into it. If his movements were a little more languid than the occasion called for, if his fingers lingered a little too long at the collar, against the burning skin of her neck, she wasn’t going to let him see her reaction. Even though she sensed that he knew. Just as she knew that he wanted to touch her in far more intimate ways.

“I only have a few minutes,” she said, turning back to face him. “I have a meeting to get to.”

His gaze swept up from her neck over her chin to her lips. “Cancel it.”

She smiled in a way designed to transmit that he’d just tipped his hand. “Surely whatever is on your mind can wait until morning?”

Until she was long gone and he would begin the process of discovering exactly what she’d been doing while she’d been there. And that it had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with money.

“Actually, it can’t. Have dinner with me.”

She picked up her bag and edged the handle up to rest over her shoulder. “Dinner? Sounds personal. Doesn’t that violate the company’s no-fraternization rule?”

The right side of his mouth budged upward, revealing the single dimple that made her tongue tingle with the desire to taste it. “I’ll put it on my agenda to change that rule first thing in the morning. One of the benefits of being the boss.”

Seline couldn’t resist leaning closer to him. The new proximity filled her senses with a scent of lime that made her mouth water further. She dropped her voice to a provocative whisper. “Yes, but that still leaves the rule in effect for tonight. And seeing as I’m a new employee, I wouldn’t want to do anything to endanger my position. You know, like having sex with the boss.”

“Who said anything about sex?”

She tilted her head so that she was looking into his eyes. “You did. And do. Every time you look at me.”

“Astute woman.”

“Shameless man.”

His chuckle sent a shiver skidding over her hypersensitive nerve endings. It had been a long, long time since mere conversation with a man had made her wet. But if the dampness between her thighs was anything to go by, Ryder had accomplished exactly that.

“Look, Mr. Blackwell—”

“Ryder.”

“No matter what guarantees you make, the truth is that sleeping with the boss is never a good idea. Chances are you’ll come in tomorrow morning having regretted our…intimacy.” She watched as he swallowed thickly. “And then where would I be? Aside from sharing the title of one-night stand with no doubt countless other women in the company?”

“I don’t sleep with employees.”

“But isn’t that what you’re proposing now?”

His grin widened. “No. I’m offering dinner.”

Seline shivered again and clamped her thighs tightly together, reveling in the luscious sensations rolling through her. “Nothing more?”

“Let’s just say that the rest…well, I’ll be offering. It’s up to you whether or not you take me up on it.”

She blinked slowly then smiled. “Your car or mine?”

3

RED-HOT. Reckless. Dangerous.

Ryder couldn’t be sure where the danger part came in. All he knew was that the instant they entered the elevator in his Upper East Side building, Carol Lambert stopped playing coy and began playing hard. Not hard to get, but hardball—letting him know exactly what she was after. Which happened to be the same thing he was after. But despite his time with the nympho socialite, he wasn’t accustomed to this unabashed display of carnal desire. Or his own feral response to it.

Carol shoved him against the mirrored back wall of the elevator, kissing him hungrily even as she pushed his suit jacket over his shoulders. One of her legs edged between his, her upper thigh pressing boldly against his erection.

Ryder rolled her so she was the one against the wall, pulling open her blouse to reveal the sexy garments underneath. The black lace should have surprised him, but it didn’t. Rather he experienced a sense of relief that the woman he’d raced on the street was evident in the racy underwear. No pretend sex kitten here. She was one hundred percent the real thing.

He grasped her right breast, pressing the circle of her areole more tightly against the lacy cup, then fastened his mouth over the fabric and the flesh beneath, drawing both deeply inside even as he worked his own leg between hers, raising his upper thigh until it met with her crotch. Bracing himself, he lifted her until she slid up the mirror. Her knee-length skirt bunched around her lush hips, revealing that she wore no stockings and that the black thong she had on was all lace.

He groaned, holding her against the wall with one hand even as he lowered to his knees, at eye level with the decadent undergarment. Dipping a finger inside the edge, he tugged the lace aside until her gloriously bare swell of flesh was exposed to his hungry gaze.

His vast experience with women left little doubt as to her arousal. Her labia were swollen, making her sex appear like a fresh fruit just waiting to be plucked. He blew lightly and watched as the skin reacted, contracting so that the pink bit of delicate flesh between her folds peeked out, tempting his tongue.

And it was his tongue he offered.

Carol moaned even as the elevator climbed up the thirty floors. He ran the length of his tongue against the slit, then flicked it over and around her clit, pulling the bud deep into his mouth. Her hands left his hair as she braced herself against the wall. Ryder took in her provocative, half-lidded expression even as he drank deeply of her.

The scent of feminine musk, the sound of her shallow, ragging breathing, filled his senses, increasing his desire for this woman who tasted like fresh peaches and cream but was as naughty as the day was long.

He grasped her right leg and positioned it over his left shoulder, then followed suit with her left leg over his right shoulder. She quickly joined her ankles behind his neck, balancing herself against the mirror even as he dove in for another taste of her.

He was aware of her impending release and moved to delay it, moving his attention from the bud to the blooming entrance just below. So slick. So tight. He lapped her slowly, purposefully. As soon as he heard her breathing even out a bit, he traveled back up to the fleshy button and fastened his lips around it again, sucking deeply.

She came apart instantly, her legs tightening, her cry echoing against the elevator walls at the same time an electronic ding sounded.

Ryder thought she might panic at the thought that someone might see them. Instead she rode out the wave of her orgasm then collapsed against the wall, making quite the provocative image with her wild hair, her skirt bunched around her waist, her legs still crossed around his neck as he looked up at her.

She smiled at him languidly. “My, Mr. Blackwell, you do appear to have your skills.”

He chuckled as he freed her legs. She found her footing and he rose to stand next to her.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal his warmly lit, empty penthouse. During the drive home—they’d taken their separate cars—he’d called his butler Jonathon, asking for discretion. A silver ice bucket holding a bottle of champagne, a tray of chocolate-tipped strawberries and a bowl of cream and the soft strains of old Motown melodies were the only evidence that Jonathan was anywhere in residence.

“After you,” Ryder said.

For just one night Seline wanted to forget the past…forget the future. She wanted to live in this one moment, and this one moment alone.

She’d need all the help she could get. Because both the past and the future were difficult to ignore for even one night.

She looked around. She’d always appreciated a man with good taste. And Ryder obviously had it in spades.

Languidly strolling into the penthouse, hyper-aware of every nerve ending in her body, the chafing of her nipples against her bra, the throbbing of her womanhood, she took in the mammoth living and dining area, colorfully yet sparsely decorated. Probably it had been put together by an interior decorator. She snatched a strawberry from a tray and bit down on the succulent fruit even as she moved to consider a small framed Manet over an antique, ivory-inlaid banquet. A very good decorator who had taken Ryder into consideration during the planning process.

And likely Ryder had taken the decorator right on the huge ottoman that served as a coffee table between two long sofas.

She shivered.

It had been so long since she’d indulged herself with casual sex. So long that she felt her emotions exaggerating the not-unfamiliar sensations. Her elevator orgasm just as the compartment had stopped moving had rocked her to the marrow. Even now, she was uber-aware of every move Ryder made even though her back was to him.

A crystal flute was placed in front of her. She put it down on the buffet then scooted to sit on the surface, spreading her legs wantonly.

“Nice place.”

Usually when she made a comment like that, the person in question took a look around as if seeing through her eyes. Not Ryder. He trapped her gaze with his and didn’t blink, secure in the knowledge that it was a nice place. And that it had nothing at all to do with the reason she was there.

“Thank you.”

He put his flute down on the other side of her, his gaze dropping to where her blouse bowed open, then lower still to her bared thighs.

“Are you hungry?” he murmured.

“Mmm.” She caught the waist of his slacks and yanked him forward, his suit jacket long since discarded by the door.

Then she set about showing him exactly what she was hungry for.

Many women she knew sorely underestimated the importance of a good kiss. And oh, did, Ryder Blackwell know how to kiss. His lips were firm yet malleable, his mouth damp but not too wet. And he didn’t go for her tonsils as other men she’d known over the years had made the mistake of doing. Instead he lingered with his lips on hers, his mouth not quite open, not quite closed, his tongue dipping out briefly before he finished the kiss.

Seline grew aware of her shortness of breath. That and he hadn’t touched her beyond their kiss since they’d entered the penthouse.

She scooted forward on the buffet, her softness instantly meeting his pants-covered hardness. She briefly bit on her bottom lip, an ache the size of Manhattan gaping within her. An ache that only he could satisfy.

His hands squeezed her legs near her knees then slid up. Her instinct was to throw her head back and allow him to do what he would.

Which was why she instead caught his hands, slid down from the table, then led him toward the wide, open staircase to their right. Swaying her hips suggestively, she climbed three or four steps, aware of the view he was being afforded from the back. She felt a hand on her ass and she paused, allowing the hot branding to ripple through her. Then he was pulling her toward him, forcing her to lie against the carpeted steps as he fitted himself between her thighs.

Seline groaned, welcoming his weight as she pulled at his tie and shirt, then abandoned both for the fastener to his slacks. He hungrily kissed her as she tugged his zipper down, working her hand inside his boxers until the scalding length of him filled her palm.

While their clothed fondling had left her with little doubt as to his size, it had masked how very impressive he was. She idly measured his length, finding him going well beyond the stretch of her fingers and palm together. She encircled the turgid flesh, finding that she could barely touch thumb to fingertips.

Mmm…

Seline’s mouth watered with the desire to taste the silken flesh. She trailed her hand down the thick shaft, feeling his heartbeat at the root, her own heart beating hard against her chest in awareness of his reaction to her touch.

He reached for his back pocket and took out a condom while she worked his slacks down his hips, then he rid himself of the constricting material. Next was her skirt, his shirt, her blouse, his briefs, until finally they lay against the steps completely nude, the glass wall on the other side of the stairs reflecting the golden globe of the sun beginning to set off to the west. Seline helped him sheath his erection then arched her back in preparation for his entry.

Instead, he grasped her chin in his right hand, holding her still as he deeply kissed her.

Seline blinked open her eyes. Her chest contracted to the point of pain and she lost her breath.

She immediately labeled the sensation. She’d felt it only one other time. And back then it had been much more about intimacy than sex.

And she wanted strictly sex.

She switched her attention from his face to his shoulder, biting lightly as she wriggled free of his grasp and turned, climbing a couple of more steps then arching her back, presenting him with a carnal view she knew no man could resist.

She knew a moment of disappointment when he followed where she led, grasping her hips as he positioned himself from behind. But that emotion was banished to the winds as he fit the head of his penis against her opening then thrust into her to the hilt.

All coherent thought left her, and sheer sensation quickly filled the void, pressing outward until she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to contain it.

So good…

He rocked against her, his sac swaying against her swollen womanhood, then withdrew, his right hand circling her hip to find the bit of flesh and give it a pinch. Seline threw back her head and moaned as he thrust again, and again, causing her bare breasts to sway, her sensitive nipples repeatedly grazing the carpeted step beneath them. His strokes grew from controlled to more frenzied as Seline bore back against him, longing for an even deeper penetration. She reached down between her legs, gently grasping his balls and coaxing him to slow his movements. Whenever he thrust, she rubbed the globes against her slick flesh, shivering at the sensation, then released so he could withdraw.

All too quickly she could no longer concentrate on the move and dropped her hand. The instant she did, he increased the frequency and urgency of his thrusts.

Flesh slapped against flesh, moans competed against groans…

Then finally she was toppling over the other side of the virtual staircase out over a vista she hadn’t seen in a very long time, everything shaded in red.

SELINE lay back against the Egyptian cotton sheets. She was naked, she was spent and she was having a hard time concentrating on anything other than the delicious throbbing in her various body parts. Patches of stubble burn marred her inner thighs, her breasts and her chin. She had rug burn on her knees and elbows from the stairs. Her nipples protested when she tried to drape the top sheet over them, so she left them bare as she listened to the sound of the shower in the other room.

The purple-hued world outside the tall, floor-to-ceiling windows told her dawn would soon break. And that it was way past time to hightail it out of here. It wouldn’t be too long before Coleman got to the office and discovered what she had done. While she’d built in certain mechanisms to delay the discovery, she knew Coleman was no fool and that he was also the type of dependable guy who would check account activity every morning.

She glanced toward the clock on the nightstand, finding a pillow covering it. Seline dragged it off and the clock fell with it. She picked it up from the floor.

Five forty-five. Damn.

She could count the times she’d had such great sex on two fingers. With Joey Caprioti when she was nineteen and just coming to know her own sexuality. And now.

She smiled stupidly. Yes, Ryder Blackwell was definitely no slouch in bed. She’d known men who were roaring lions in the boardroom but lazy cats in the bedroom. Not Ryder. He was as ambitious between the sheets as he was outside them. Sheets being optional.

In fact, they hadn’t hit the bed until sometime after 3:00 a.m. And only then because they’d risked serious injury in the kitchen when he’d hoisted her onto the counter and knocked over a stand of butcher knives.

The shower shut off.

Seline bounced up from the bed, collected her clothes, then headed at a run for the door.

No matter how good, no sex was worth the risk of a long prison sentence.

4

WHEN RYDER had emerged from his shower to find Carol gone, he’d been amused. He’d hoped the sound of the water would wake her and entice her to slip under the multi-jet spray with him.

Instead she’d left.

When she hadn’t shown up to work by ten, he suspected she’d gone back to her place and fallen asleep. He thought maybe she’d be in later.

Then around eleven, John Coleman had requested an emergency meeting.

By 4:00 p.m. Ryder was furiously aware of everything one Carol Lambert had done. Only it hadn’t been Carol Lambert but the sexy woman he’d slept with last night. Because Carol Lambert was a thirty-eight-year-old brunette who still lived in Washington State and hadn’t transferred to New York and his company, but rather was taking extended time off to have her first child.

“How much are we looking at?” he asked Coleman.

“Three quarters of a mil.”

Ryder sat back in his chair as if hit in the chest with a punching bag.

“This woman was good. She brokered a deal between Blackwell and a sham company that as of this morning no longer exists.”

“Get the money back.”

“Easier said than done. The instant the money hit the sham company’s account it was then automatically transferred out to various other accounts, and I’m guessing even more accounts from there. The minute the money left our bank it essentially became untraceable.” Coleman shook his head as he considered the printouts he held. “This woman was a pro. She knew exactly what she was doing.” He looked up. “Johnstone says this was a set-up from the get go. She borrowed the Lambert woman’s résumé, burrowed deep into the company, then meticulously set us up.”

Ryder rubbed his face, as much to wake himself up from the nightmare he was in the middle of as to rid himself of the erotic images that kept sliding through his mind from last night.

Coleman didn’t know he’d spent the night sleeping with the enemy. Sleeping—hah! They hadn’t slept at all. He’d had Carol, the con artist, every which way it was possible to have a woman. Hell, he’d had more sex with her in one night than he’d had in the entire year.

And he’d been stupid enough to believe he’d be getting more of it.

And still wanted it despite what she’d done.

“Johnstone’s got nearly every detective firm in Manhattan working the case now.”

“So he’s confident she’ll be caught.”

Coleman grimaced. “Look, Ry, I’ve never been one to mislead you. The truth is, given the professional nature of the crime, with every moment that passes the trail gets colder.”

“You mean there’s a chance we won’t catch up with her?”

“More than a chance. A probability.”

Coleman’s cell phone rang, and he answered. A minute later, he rang off.

“The apartment she rented came furnished and was in Carol Lambert’s name. And it was wiped clean. Not a print anywhere. But they think they got a couple of hair samples.”

“Security cameras?”

“The staff is going over Blackwell’s videos now. But routine dictates that they erase tapes after a twenty-four-hour period so all we’ll have is the footage from yesterday.”

Ryder looked at his watch. The woman had left his place just before six. Nine hours ago. Which meant she could be pretty much anywhere in the world by now. Probably collecting the cash she’d stolen from his company.

“I want to see the footage as soon as it comes in.”

“I don’t expect to get much,” Coleman said. “She always walked as if staring at something on her shoe. I thought it was because she was self-conscious, but now we know the real reason.”

Ryder also knew the real reason she’d originally rebuffed his advances yesterday after finding out he’d been the one she’d raced with. No doubt number one in the con artist’s handbook was “Fly under the radar.”

“Ryder?”

He blinked at Coleman.

“Are you okay?”

No. He was far from okay. Because he was all too aware that if he hadn’t taken the woman back to his place last night, he wouldn’t be obsessed with the situation right now. He’d have left everything in Coleman’s capable hands and gone on with his day full of meetings overseeing expansion plans, financial realignments and mergers. While the amount of money wasn’t anything to sneeze at by any means, it wasn’t enough to warrant the type of attention he was giving to it. The company lost that amount in a day if truck drivers went on strike in the Midwest.