Afterlife (19 page)

Rachel’s as-yet-untapped gifts. Her

sweet pussy had

responded with a surge of cream

when he’d painted those

images in her mind last night.

Always before, he’d embraced

something like this as a

chal enging puzzle, something he

could patiently wait for the

universe to reveal. He’d enjoy the

journey, seeing a clear

beginning and end. But they were

right. This was different.

Before last night, he might have said

the beginning was

learning she wasn’t married. But that

wasn’t true. Al that

spiritual discipline they teased him

about, he’d applied with

agonizing rigor over the past year.

He’d meditated,

immersed himself in late night

inventing marathons, gone to

their favored club and worked out

sexual pressure in

scenes with various submissives.

Al tactics to handle the ache in his

groin and the even

more painful ache in his heart when

they grew to be too

much, like when he caught a glimpse

of her smile, or the

yearning behind her eyes. There’d

been moments, such as

when she touched him during the

yoga
nidra
, that his

Master’s instincts had shot forth so

hard and strong, it had

taken everything he had not to reach

out with both hands

and seize what she was

subconsciously offering. Plunder

that mouth, wrap his hands in her hair

and take, take, take.

More than once, he’d considered not

attending anymore,

but something had kept him going

back. So yesterday sure

as hel hadn’t been the beginning. It

had merely been the

dril bit that had plunged into that vein

of contained feelings.

Emotions were exploding inside him

like a ful blown, out-

of-control gusher.

Matt had cal ed it with pinpoint

accuracy. She’d stepped

square onto his stage, and everything

else was in

darkness. In a matter of two days,

she’d become the only

purpose. Every step was vital. He

needed to be careful,

plan things out. Unfortunately, his

instinct wanted to run her

down like a mastiff breathing down

the neck of a fleeing

rabbit. He wasn’t used to being in

that kind of mindset. He

was the thinker, the fix-it guy. The

big-picture guru.

His uneasiness must have shown in

his face, for Ben

sobered, a rare occurrence.

“Seriously, man. You won’t

fail.”

Matt flashed his trademark dangerous

smile. “We never

do.”

“Mr. Forte.” Janet, their supremely

efficient admin, spoke

through Jon’s speaker phone. “I know

you’re in conference,

but Rachel Madison is here to see

you.”

She’d come, and much earlier than he

expected. Every

part of him reacted, muscles tensing

like an eager predator

at the end of a chain. He saw it

reflected in their knowing

glances. Stil , trying for calm, Jon

lifted a brow, glanced at

Matt. “How does she do that? I never

have to tel her

anything. Not only did she know I

wanted to see Rachel

right away, she knew she should

interrupt me, even if I was

in a meeting with you al .”

“Probably
particularly
if you were

in meeting with us,”

Lucas said dryly. “Janet is a scary

woman. We al know

she’s a demon Matt hired straight

from the bowels of hel .

She knows everything.”

“Actual y, I’m an angel, sent by God

to keep you from

drowning in al your depravations and

sins.”

Matt chuckled as Lucas winced. Jon

glanced toward the

speaker phone. “Point taken, Janet.

Show her back here

and then you can go back to preening

your feathers and

shining your halo.”

“Please. Haloes are so last mil

ennium. We prefer the

aura of light that drives men to their

knees in awe and

wonder.”

“Seems to me they could do a lot

better things for you in

that position than—” Ben grinned as

the phone

disconnected sharply enough to cause

a static pop on the

speaker phone. When Matt gave him

a quel ing look, the

lawyer raised both hands in

surrender. “Clearing out.”

Peter fol owed him as Matt rose,

gave Jon a nod. “You

know where we’l be.”

The unspoken message being—
Yes,

we never fail, but if

you stumble, we’re here.
Jon made a

Herculean attempt to

clear his mind, relax his shoulders.

Lucas lingered last. “You need

backup in here?”

“No, I’ve got this one. But thanks, to

al of you. I just hope I

haven’t fucked it up.”

“Wel , she’s here. That’s got to be a

foot in the door, even

if she’s here to put it up your ass.”

Before Jon could reply to that, Janet

appeared in the

doorway. The attractive forty-

something in a form-fitting

pale yel ow suit and pearls offered

her cool smile. Her

warm voice and professional mien

gave nothing of their

previous vol ey away. “Mr. Forte,

are you ready for Ms.

Madison?”

That’s a good question
, Jon thought.

Now or never
. He’d

said he knew her, but knew nothing

about her. He would

make the connection, though, because

as Matt had said,

his whole life had been about this

moment. Even if he’d

never realized it until now.

Chapter Seven

When Rachel parked in the wel -lit

K&A deck, she noted

they had guards who patrol ed each

of the four levels. No

visitor had to be concerned about the

potential hazards of a

dimly lit parking garage. Further, the

one on her level gave

her helpful instructions on how to get

to Jon Forte’s office

from the garage elevators. She was

on the approved visitor

list, an unexpected and somewhat

unsettling courtesy.

She’d been questioning her sanity for

the entire drive, but

as she stepped into the elevator, she

reminded herself

again that she owed him a face-to-

face explanation. She

wasn’t here…to be what he wanted.

She’d worn her most

conservative slacks and blouse

combination, the one she

used for PT department presentations

to the hospital

board. She’d pul ed her hair up in a

neat bun, taming al

those feminine strands around her

face with pins and a

black ribbon.

She’d fought with herself on that,

because pul ing her hair

back so severely only emphasized the

stress and age lines.

She’d compromised with a light

application of makeup—

even when making a point, a woman

needed some vanity,

and the bruise, though much better,

needed some

coverage—but the color on her lips

was a subdued

burgundy. While she wore heels, they

were sensible black

pumps.

Her nerves felt like a wheat field

churned up by the

passage of a tornado, leaving an

uneven impression of the

devastation. She vacil ated between

shivers of pleasure,

remembering every mil isecond of

the night he’d spent with

her, and shame at what she’d

revealed about herself, how

much she’d surrendered. She was

frightened, scared of

what he’d pul ed from her. Nearly a

dozen times, she’d

almost reversed course to do exactly

everything he’d

ordered in that note.

To counter that, she’d retreated into

anger more than

once. He’d sabotaged her on her

home ground. She had a

world of poison boiling in her gut,

and it didn’t much matter

to her that it was old poison. He’d

uncapped the bottle.

Maybe if he got a ful dose of it, he’d

realize how pointless

this was. They’d politely say their

goodbyes. Oh God, what

if he kept coming to yoga class? What

if he didn’t?

Getting off at the top floor and seeing

al the signs of

wealth and success—a mahogany

desk in the admin area,

Persian rugs and priceless original

artwork on the wal s—

gave her pause. Home ground

advantage meant

something entirely different here. Her

home ground had

whimsical cat figurines and romantic

Waterhouse prints

bought at warehouse discount. It was

as much a home

court advantage as a rabbit’s hole

was to a terrier. This…

this was definitely not that. As she

approached the desk,

the only thing that eased a smidgen of

her growing tension

was the plaque the very efficient-

looking woman had on her

desk.

Secretary is not a derogatory term.

Otherwise the

government position would be

Administrative Assistant of

State.

She gave her name, but the secretary

was already rising.

“Hel o, Ms. Madison. I’m Janet.

Martin said you were

coming up to see Mr. Forte. Fol ow

me, please.”

She was taken down a hal designed

with open spaces,

more exceptional artwork and

skylights letting in sunlight.

One threw a colored design on the

cream carpet and she

looked up to see a stained-glass

depiction of St. George

and the Dragon. A medieval-looking

script had been

stamped in the decorative frame.

Some days, the dragon wins.

“The Kensington men have an

unusual sense of humor,”

Janet noted. The woman had stopped,

giving her a moment

to look. Was Rachel losing her mind,

or did it feel like the

woman knew exactly why she was

here, and how this would

go? A scary idea because, despite

everything Rachel had

told herself she was going to say,

now that she was a

breath from seeing him, she wasn’t

sure anymore.

This had been a mistake.

“I think I left something in my car. I

should…”

Janet had taken a step away from her,

and now stood in

an open doorway. “Mr. Forte, are

you ready for Ms.

Madison?”

He must have nodded, because Janet

turned then,

gesturing her forward. Rachel

managed a polite thanks,

hoping she sounded far calmer than

she was. As Janet

passed her, the woman touched her

arm.

“You know, knights slay al kinds of

dragons. If you give

them the chance.”

The whispered observation left

Rachel staring after her.

At least until she heard a quiet throat

clearing. Tel ing her

heart to settle back in its proper

place in her chest, she

turned her attention to who awaited

her over that threshold.

Last night, she hadn’t had much time

to consider him in

his working clothes. He often

changed into his suit before

he left the studio, but she’d only seen

him in it at a distance,

when he was getting into his car.

According to one of her

more inquisitive students who’d

quizzed him, his silver

sports car was a hydrogen-fueled

prototype. It probably

cost a smal fortune.

Now she saw him standing by his

desk in his gray slacks

and silk tie, his white shirt sleeves

rol ed up. He had a

pencil tucked behind his ear,

probably working on the

drawing she saw in progress on the

large drafting table in

the corner. She found it intriguing he

was using that instead

of a computer screen. He had lead

smudges on his

fingertips.

She captured al that detail in one

hungry moment before

she met his blue eyes. They locked

with hers, and then his

gaze slid over her face, her hair,

down over her body. It was

a slow, deliberate appraisal, every

inch underscoring that

she’d not done as he’d commanded. It

made something

quiver low in her bel y. Surely, he’d

known she wouldn’t. But

in his presence she suddenly,

fervently wished she had, that

she’d obeyed him, given him what

would please him.

God and Goddess, she’d known she

couldn’t handle this.

She couldn’t make any more stupid

choices based on

cravings she couldn’t afford to have.

She’d taught herself

that the only thing she could do to

protect herself was act

opposite from the way she

desperately wanted to act. It

was her only chance of staying out of

trouble, no matter that