Forbidden Pleasure

Her whole world narrowed to the sweet friction of skin on skin and her breasts swelled against the confines of the black lace cups of her bra. She gasped at the instantaneous reaction and something wicked kindled in her belly as he began a methodical assault on her buttons, popping them open one by one until he’d reached the waistband of her skirt. He regarded his handiwork for a moment, the thin band of skin revealed by her open shirt, before unpocketing his other hand. Her breath caught in her chest as he grabbed the edges of her blouse, spreading them apart so she was exposed from neck to navel.

Max grasped her hips, then pulled her to him. The air temperature spiked from tropical to volcanic as her breasts made contact with his chest, heat rolling off him in waves. So damn hot. Her nipples puckered painfully against the scratchy black lace, and she sucked air into her lungs on a gasp. He smelled like sex and man and hard liquor, and the heady combination had her halfway to wherever he wanted to take her.

As if he could sense it, Max’s fingers flexed against her hips before his big hands traced the side seams of her skirt. His leisurely exploration made her restless, antsy, but before she could do something about it, Max fisted the material and began the trip back up her thighs, bringing her skirt along for the ride, higher, higher, and Emma thought she might die from the slow, sweet torture of anticipation.

Cool air swirled around her legs, wringing a moan from her. Oh God, just a little more.

It took a second before she realized his hands had stopped moving, that he’d taken a step back. Her eyes fluttered open and she was startled by the hungry look on his face. Emma followed his gaze, realizing he’d revealed the black garter belt that held up her nude stockings.

His face was dark and his voice was rough. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Ms. Mathison.”

She swayed toward him as heat pooled between her legs. He always called her Emma, but this fit the fantasy that was playing out right now, and it was so perfect, so deliciously naughty, that she thought she might come.

“Yes, sir.”

His head jerked up at that, eyes flaring with an emotion that Emma couldn’t identify, but whatever it was, it was the first time she’d ever seen him lose that steely edge of control that was part of his legend. The jolt of it was like a lightning bolt to her core.

Whatever silly game they’d been playing was over.

In one fluid motion, he hiked her skirt up over her hips, then backed her up against his desk. The hard edge of it dug into her thighs.

Emma’s teeth scored her bottom lip in anticipation, and his deep chuckle ignited something warm and twisty in her gut. “Not yet,” he told her, but the promise of soon echoed in the timber of his voice. She sucked in a breath as his fingers traced the black elastic of her garters down to the clasp.

“These are so fucking sexy.”

He was pretty fucking sexy himself, she decided as he traced the lacy edge of her stockings from front to back before his big hands gripped her thighs and boosted her onto the smooth onyx surface. It was cool against her bare skin, but her shiver had more to do with the man in front of her filling up the space between her parted knees.

She’d always known Max Whitfield was a force to be reckoned with when he had a goal within his sights, but now that she was the goal, the true depth of his focus was staggering. When he looked at her, the world narrowed to the heat in his eyes and the pounding of her pulse.

He leaned close, planting a hand on the desk on either side of her hips. Eagerness fizzed in her chest and time slowed as he wet his lips. She braced herself for impact, but it was futile. There was no preparing for Max.

He pounced like the predator she’d likened him to, devouring her mouth with such singular determination that she had to grab his shoulders to keep from falling back. Finally having her hands on him was a revelation. He was hard muscle and leashed power and it felt so damn good to touch him. To taste him.

He kissed like a man who knew what he wanted, teasing her until she welcomed the invasion of his tongue, then retreating only to start the entire process over, lowering her back onto the desk until she was almost horizontal.

Emma was so focused on his kiss that she didn’t realize he’d shifted his position until his hand slipped between her legs. The brush of his thumb against the wet lace of her underwear was like the zap of a live wire, sizzling through her, and Max swore into her mouth when her hips bucked at the intimate touch.

He pulled back so quickly every part of her cried out at the loss of his touch.

She levered herself up onto her elbows.

Please. More, she wanted to say, but when she looked up at him, he was breathing hard, staring at her with such speculative intensity that she couldn’t form words.

He just stood there, raking his eyes down her body. There was something so deliciously raw about being sprawled back on her elbows on his desk, her blouse spread open, her skirt pushed up around her waist, her knees spread apart and her fancy underwear on display for him.

“Don’t move.”

The order made her breath come faster, and she obeyed as he rounded the desk.

She spared a moment to be thankful that she’d let the saleswoman talk her into the garter belt when she’d splurged on the sexy undies, but then Max stepped back into view, his eyes full of promise and a condom packet in his hand, and suddenly she cared less about what was under her clothes and more about what was under his.

Her eyes widened as he unbuckled his belt.

Undid his pants.

Pulled himself free of his underwear.

Oh God. Yes, please.

The sight of his hand on his cock made her wet. He was so starkly beautiful, hard and masculine, and her body was vibrating for him. She pushed herself up to a sitting position as he sheathed himself with the condom, desperate to be closer to him.

His eyes cut to hers, pinning her to the spot. “I thought I told you not to move.”

Emma burst into flames. She must have. Spontaneous combustion was the only explanation for the wave of heat that washed over her.

Then he grabbed her by the backs of her knees and jerked her hips to the edge of the desk, and she went molten.

Emma couldn’t get enough of him. He’d been a fantasy for so long, but the reality of him surpassed everything she’d ever known. The perfect mix of heat and ice.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, slipped her hands under his shirt so she could feel the smooth expanse of his skin and let Max do what he did best: take control.

* * *

Fuck.

Things were under control until the goddamn garters. Until she called him sir. Now the woman in his arms wasn’t a pleasant diversion but an all-consuming need.

Max prided himself on being disciplined, but Emma was undoing him with nothing more than a garter belt and eyes so expressive that he could read her soul. Right now, though, it was her body that had his attention.

Her high heels digging into the backs of his legs, her hands kneading his shoulders. A scrap of black lace was all that stood between him and the kind of physical gratification that drowned out all the issues that were pounding like a nail gun in his brain—lawsuits and tech glitches and launches and the bullshit that came with righting a sinking tech company. He wanted to bury himself in her and forget the rest.

Max ran his knuckles up the inside of her thigh, stopping short of those pretty, lacy panties that had him riding the edge of anticipation.

He was so fucking turned on, galvanized by the erotic turn the evening had taken. Despite the overwhelming ache in his balls, the desperation in his muscles, he held back. Stayed perfectly, agonizingly still. Just for a minute. Just to be sure he was in control of himself. Just until she was frustrated enough that her eyes flicked from dazed pleasure to “is this happening, or what?”

Only then did he give her what they both wanted.

In one fluid movement, he slipped her underwear aside and thrust deep, his thumb riding her clit. She moaned, raking his skin with her nails, and everything faded into pure, raw sensation. The slick, scorching friction of their joining was all exactly what he needed right now. Her breath was hot on his neck. She smelled like booze and sex, and he was ravenous for her.

Max removed his hand from between them, bracing it on the desk so he could tip her back farther. She tightened her legs around him as he sped his hips, short-stroking until she was wild beneath him. She was close. Restless and panting, clutching him to her, her lace-covered breasts scraped against his sensitized chest, driving him mad.

And Max was so goddamn ready to feel her come apart in his arms.

He shoved the fingers of his free hand into her hair, cradling her head as he laid her back, kissing her hard. He reached down, hooking his right elbow under her knee, and braced his forearm on the desk, opening her. The change in angle made her gasp, allowed him to pull out almost completely before pumping into her with slow, deep thrusts designed to push her over the edge.

“Come for me, Emma,” he ordered, or maybe he begged. It didn’t matter, not when he was drunk on her whiskey-flavored tongue and the pressure of her impending climax as her muscles drew tight with anticipation. Fuck yes. “Just like that. I want to feel you squeezing my cock.”

She cried out as his words pushed her over the edge and with a groaning curse, Max gave into instinct, his chest crushing her breasts as he buried himself deep and took what he’d wanted since she’d sat on his desk, all womanly curves and dawning confidence. Pleasure exploded through his veins and he came fast and hard, his hips jerking with the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm.

It took a moment to steady his breath in the aftermath, and another moment after that before he stood, freeing her leg and helping her up to a sitting position.

She didn’t look at him, and Max didn’t like that it bothered him.

Frowning, he watched Emma stand, turning modestly as she adjusted things, tugged her skirt back into place, dealt with the buttons on her blouse.

Max disposed of the condom and fastened his pants but didn’t bother rebuttoning his shirt or grabbing his tie from the floor beside his desk. Instead, he kept a wary eye on her body language, preparing himself for whatever awaited him when she turned around.

His decisions tonight had been deliberate—he didn’t do anything without considering all the implications. But the passion that had flared between them had been...unexpected. And technically, she’d quit before anything had happened. They were both adults. The rationalization did nothing to stem his sudden unease. For the first time that evening, he wondered if he’d been right to take things as far as he had. Was she thinking the same thing?

He was expecting recriminations in those expressive blue eyes, or worse, hero worship. But when she finally turned to face him, what he saw almost dropped him to his knees. With sex-tousled hair, a misbuttoned blouse and her skirt slightly askew, Emma Mathison looked radiant and satisfied and deliciously well-fucked.

“Thanks for everything, Max.” The words were husky and low, and he felt them in his groin, even before she added, “It’s been a pleasure.”

With her head high, her shoulders squared and a Mona Lisa smile tilting the corner of her kiss-stung lips, she walked out of his office, grabbed her purse from Sherri’s desk on her way to the elevator. And she didn’t look back once.

Double fuck.

Max reached for her unfinished Scotch, then downed it in one swallow.

It had been a very, very long time since he’d underestimated someone.

CHAPTER THREE

FOCUS AND DECISIVE ACTION...that was the difference between losing and winning, the difference between winning and winning big. Timing was everything. It was a lesson Max Whitfield knew better than most. He had no time for visits from the ghost-of-sexual-encounters-past.

So why the hell was he sitting there, half-hard, remembering things best forgotten?

Remembering her.

That mouth. So prim, even when it was painted scarlet.

Fuck, the things he’d wanted her to do with that mouth. Down on her knees, calling him sir with a wicked gleam in her blue eyes.

Now he couldn’t look at his desk without remembering the press of the black garter belt against the pale skin of her thighs, without hearing the gasps that escaped her lips, as though she was surprised by the heat between them. He wasn’t surprised. Hell, he was consumed, and he’d barely gotten his hands on her.

He exhaled at his lapse in judgment.

Taking her on his desk has been a mistake.

“Am I boring you, Whitfield?”

Max’s gaze snapped to the man in the chair across from him.

Wes Brennan. Founder and CEO of Soteria Security. World-class asshole.

A brilliant asshole, obviously, but an asshole just the same.

“Not at all. I believe you were telling me about the massive breach in security you failed to prevent.”

Max took an inordinate amount of pleasure at the flat, cold look that invaded Brennan’s eyes.

“That spyware was caught in less than twelve hours. That’s worth every zero you pay Soteria.” Brennan always distanced himself from the company.

“It had goddamn better be. I want this handled.”

If this got out, it would ruin him. Whitfield Industries was on the brink of reinvention. Five years after Max had ousted his corrupt father and begun to erase the era of scandal and questionable morals that had dogged the company during Charles Whitfield’s reign, he was on the verge of reestablishing his grandfather’s company as a leader in the world of financial services. He couldn’t afford any screwups, and he certainly couldn’t afford any bad press.

“Handling things is what Soteria does,” Brennan assured him, like Max had insulted his honor or something.

Not that he gave a shit. The only thing Max could afford to care about right now was results.

A flash of movement in his peripheral vision tugged Max’s attention to the glass door with his name on it.

“What’s so important that you need me here on a Saturday afternoon?” Vivienne Grant breezed into his office, her red skirt suit almost as impeccable as her confidence.

Max allowed himself a glance at Brennan and was vindicated by the momentary crack in the man’s cool facade before it was swallowed up behind bored hostility. The stiff formality that invaded the room whenever Vivienne and Brennan were present was unmistakable. He didn’t know what had gone on between his chief counsel and the cybersecurity specialist, and as long as it didn’t affect his business, he didn’t particularly give a damn. Still, he allowed himself a moment to revel in Brennan’s discomfort.

“I believe the two of you are acquainted?”

His unnecessary introduction put a hitch in Vivienne’s self-assured stride, but she recovered nicely, bestowing a coolly regal nod at the other occupant of the room as she took a seat in the chair farthest from him. “Wes.”

“Vivienne.”

Max ignored the chill in the room. “Excellent. Now that we’re all here, let’s discuss our next steps.”

“As I was saying, the security breach is internal. I don’t think—”

Vivienne’s head snapped up at Brennan’s words, her eyes locking with Max’s. “What internal breach? Do you have a suspect in mind? What the hell is going on?”

Max leaned back in his chair, forcing the relaxed pose, even though every nerve in his body was coiled tight. “We’re waiting for answers.”

“I might have a couple.”

The voice at the door stole the attention in the room.

Jesse Hastings was Soteria Security’s second in command. More personable than his business partner, Hastings was the de facto face of the company and his geniality was responsible for scoring the majority of Soteria’s clients. But he really shone when you put him behind the keyboard, so when he’d insisted on helping Brennan handle this clusterfuck personally, Max had agreed. With any luck, having both of Soteria’s big dogs on the case would see it resolved quickly and quietly.

“I’m just not sure you’re going to like them,” Hastings continued, leaning a broad shoulder against the doorjamb. “Are we waiting for Kaylee?”

The reference to his absent PR director soured his mood further. She hadn’t picked up her fucking phone. If his little sister wasn’t so damn good at her job, he’d have fired her when he’d purged the company of the bulk of his father’s hires. “She’ll be briefed first thing Monday morning. What have you got?”

“It’s definitely a contained breach, but whoever’s behind this is good. The information’s been fragmented and rerouted through hell and back. It’s going to take a while to piece together what’s been leaked. But I can tell you that all the activity is localized to one computer.”

Hastings raised his eyebrows, waiting until he received Max’s nod to continue.

“Emma Mathison’s.”

Max was careful to keep his expression neutral, but his hand clenched involuntarily. Vivienne and Hastings didn’t notice, but Max’s jaw tightened when Brennan’s eyebrow lifted with cool interest.

Smug prick.

Vivienne’s face was pale when she turned back to Max. “You really think Emma sold you out? That seems...out of character. I mean, has she been acting strangely?”

Besides quitting while she lounged on his desk?

Besides her secret, self-satisfied smiles?

Besides fucking him into oblivion in thigh-highs and garters on his goddamn desk?

“She didn’t sign her contract extension.”

Hastings frowned at that.

“Did she say why?” Vivienne asked. “Was it something to do with her mother? She was in the hospital a while ago. Emma didn’t say much about it, but she seemed worried.”

His lead counsel had the kind of mind that liked to connect all the dots, but Max didn’t have time for conjecture right now. He needed facts. “While I’m touched by your concern for Emma’s family’s well-being, let’s try to stick to the salient points.”

“Well, I’m not sure you’re going to like those either,” Jesse countered, his expression marred with concern. He walked toward them.

“I ran a couple of checks,” he explained, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took the empty seat between Vivienne and Wes. “There’s a ten-thousand-dollar deposit in her primary bank account, and one Emma Marija Mathison is booked on a plane that’s leaving the country on Monday.”

Max’s jaw tensed. “Where?”

Jesse raked a hand through his hair, and Max could tell by the stalling maneuver that he was not going to like the answer.

“Croatia.”

Son of a bitch. No US extradition laws in Croatia.

“Do we think she acted alone?” Vivienne was still looking for the next dot.

“The spyware is no joke,” Hastings told her. “I’m going to need some time to figure out what she got and who she got it to.” He glanced at Brennan. “If Wes hadn’t tweaked our monitoring program, we might not have caught this at all.”

Vivienne exhaled, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “So we’ve got nothing right now except that the spyware was on her computer? Any surveillance footage?”

Jesse shook his head. “Scrambled. I’ll work as fast as I can to figure out what she got, but the encryption is top-notch. It’s going to take more time than we have. Her flight leaves Monday morning, and we can’t afford to let her leave the country, that’s for damn sure.”

“I can file charges,” Vivienne said. “Something to stall her, but I’ll need—”

Max cut her off. “No charges.”

Two sets of eyes snapped toward him with surprise. Brennan remained annoyingly apathetic and glanced at his watch.

“We’re two weeks out from the launch of a crypto currency payment system that will change the way America does business.” Max leaned back in his chair. “Now is not the time to ring the alarms.”

Vivienne frowned, as she tucked her hair behind her left ear. She darted a glance at the security guys, though Max got the impression it was more directed at Brennan than Hastings. “A massive internal security breach happens on Emma’s computer, and you’re just going to let her get away with it?”

Max narrowed his eyes at the accusation, and Vivienne took a deep breath, dropping her gaze, chastened at the realization that she’d pushed him too far. Brennan’s shoulders stiffened, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

Incidents involving Emma Mathison had commanded his full attention twice in as many days. And while he’d infinitely preferred last night’s naked encounter over this afternoon’s occurrence, letting this trend continue on any level was not acceptable.

“I want answers on Monday morning,” he snapped at Brennan, waiting for the man’s curt nod before skipping past Hastings, straight to Vivienne. “You’re working alone on this. Wait for my instructions, and don’t bring anyone else into the loop. No associates, no paralegals, no one.”

“Understood.”

“What about Emma? The plane ticket?” Hastings asked. “Did you want me to—”

“I want you to do your job,” Max said coolly, vindicated when Hastings paled at the reprimand. Max turned his attention to the sheaf of papers on the corner of his desk. “I’ll take care of Emma.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MAX BANGED ON the door with more force than he’d intended.

He’d been offended by the shabby Villa Apartments that were listed as Emma’s home address on her employment record. Now that he was inside the ancient building, his opinion sank even lower.

He paid her well. Better than well. There was no reason she should be living in this shithole. Which, Max realized, lent credence to Jesse Hastings’s insinuations of guilt.

Despite regular paychecks from him, she obviously needed money for something, and desperation led people to do uncharacteristic things. His chest tightened at the realization that Emma Mathison wasn’t finished surprising him.

Life would have been much easier if he’d kept his hands off her in the first place. He’d managed it for the last three years. Which meant fuck all, since it had taken less than five minutes after she’d resigned before he’d dragged her into his arms. It had seemed a smart play at the time.

Well, perhaps smart was overstating it, but it was low risk.

She’d quit, so she wasn’t technically an employee.

This SecurePay launch had him working every waking hour. He barely had time to shower some days, let alone maintain any sort of relationship with a woman, no matter how casual. Not that what had happened between him and Emma had anything to do with a relationship. It was more like an experiment. A curiosity that needed sating.

Confirmation that their chemistry was as combustible as he’d always expected it would be. And now he was paying for that lapse in judgment.

Max heard shuffling behind the inconsequential piece of wood that was acting as a barrier between her and the outside world, but he didn’t understand how something that barely blocked sound was supposed to keep her safe from intruders. Especially since the peephole was nothing more than a quarter-sized hole covered in ratty duct tape. Which was practically inviting thieves inside in this neighborhood. His left hand tightened on the sheaf of papers he held.

His musings were cut short by the slide of a chain, followed by the snick of a lock disengaging. The door swung open and there she was.

Last night’s seductress was gone. In her place was a fresh-faced ingenue with impossibly wide eyes who looked like she’d stepped out of a laughably wholesome 1960s film.