Taken. Tori Carrington
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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