Claiming Magique: 1 (2 page)

Hunt stepped closer, unable to help
himself.

Her back was to them. She made no
move to turn around despite David’s nervous throat clearing.

Her hair was glossy and black with
blue highlights, worn so long the ends dangled over her ass. From his vantage
point, Hunt could see her right leg. She wore strappy gold heels, three inches
high. He estimated her to be about five-seven or eight without them. Her dress,
a simple sheath, was of an amazing gold material, slightly shiny and so snug
she might as well have sprayed the damn thing on.

It wasn’t gauzy lingerie, but it did
reveal her every curve.

Adrenaline pumped through Hunt,
making it difficult for him to stand still. His mouth went dry.

Her figure leaned more toward a
Victoria’s Secret model than the waiflike look of high couture. The dress’s
left strap had fallen down, making her seem more accessible, oddly vulnerable.
Light glanced off her bare shoulder and arm as she moved, lifting a glass,
tipping a bottle. Her skin was an ivory shade, looking delicate and seductive
as hell.

He pulled at his tie’s knot, needing
to loosen it so he could breathe more easily. The air, so fresh a moment
before, seemed suffocating now. His fingers ached. He’d been making fists.
To control himself?
Damn right.

He longed to cross the room and turn
her around so she’d notice him, her expression saying she not only approved,
she wanted him more than the others, her actions affirming her reckless desire.
Burying her face in the hollow of his throat, she’d take her time smelling his
skin, gauging his excitement. He’d fight a sigh at her tongue licking his
Adam’s apple, her thumb running over his bottom lip. What other choice would he
have except to draw her finger into his mouth, gently biting the digit? The
small intimacy would have her sagging into him, her weight and exquisite warmth
making Hunt feel invincible, prepared to protect her from any harm.

David made a strangled noise, no
doubt appreciative of the temptation she generated and his own shameless
thoughts. Tim whistled softly.

At that, she turned.

Hunt stared, not even trying to hide
his surprise. She was…amazing…striking…dazzling. He couldn’t settle on one
description. Although she wasn’t classically beautiful, she would easily stop
men cold, making them sneak another peek just to see if she was real. She had
the kind of looks that grabbed a guy by his balls, keeping his attention.

Surely no more than mid-twenties,
she wore her long hair parted on the side, framing her oval face. Her features
were a mixture of European and Asian—Vietnamese, Japanese—Hunt couldn’t be
certain. She didn’t appear to be wearing much makeup, just mascara and lip
gloss that somehow made her even sexier. Her lips were full, a dark-rose color,
the
bottom one jutting out slightly in a gentle pout.
Her almond-shaped eyes were a velvety brown, her manner dignified, damn near
regal as she regarded Tim, then David and him finally.

Hunt’s pulse jumped at the flicker
of heat in her gaze. A simmering sexuality that was honest, unexpected and she
couldn’t quite hide. However, she made no move to look away, giving him her
full consideration instead.

He liked that.

“Gentlemen,” she
said,
far warmer and more encouraging than the woman downstairs. Although she’d
addressed them as a group, her attention remained on Hunt a bit longer before
she regarded his friends.

He really liked that.

“Welcome,” she said.

For once, Tim didn’t seem to know
how to respond. Speechless, he drank her in, the same as David, their Adam’s
apples bobbing with their hard swallows.

She accepted their silence as though
moments like this had played out before with countless other men who were
fascinated by her presence and confident sexuality. Jack had claimed she didn’t
like one on one, preferring group sex. As far as Hunt was concerned, Tim and
David no longer existed. He and
Magique
were alone in
this room.

His mind went into overdrive,
picturing her facing the wet bar, obedient to his every demand. He had dozens,
but contented himself with the most pressing first. With his hands on hers, he
directed
Magique
to grip the edge of the counter. She
turned her face to his, their mouths so close he could smell her sweet breath.
It warmed and tickled his skin. Kissing her shoulder, he guided her to bend at
the waist. Her hair tumbled over her arms, away from her ass, his sole focus.
Inch by delicious inch, he edged up her wicked dress, exposing her buttocks.
Two lush globes that begged him to squeeze them.

In his fantasy, she wasn’t wearing
panties or a thong. He wanted nothing separating her skin from his, not even a
condom. According to Jack, there wasn’t any worry about getting her pregnant.
She protected herself well. She also knew that he, Tim and David had submitted
to testing and passed with flying colors, free of any social disease. None of
them would have been here tonight if they’d been a threat. It was one of her
many demands.

Images unwound in Hunt’s mind of him
kissing the crease at the top of her thigh. The scent of her sex washed over
him. He suppressed a groan of delight and touched her slit.
Slick
with her arousal.
Ready for—

Her sleek muscles rippled beneath
the shimmering gold fabric as she turned back to the bar, pulling Hunt from his
outrageous fantasy. He stared stupidly at the tray she held.

On it were three glasses of varying
heights. The squat one with the amber liquor was bourbon neat, no water or ice.
His favorite drink.

He wondered if it was Jim Beam and
suspected it was. Had Jack told her his preference in hard liquor?
Most likely.

With the grace of a runway model,
she moved toward them, her heels clicking lightly on the floor, her steps in
rhythm with the music’s beat.
Slow and suggestive.
In
front of David she stopped, her slender fingers circling a Manhattan, what he
always ordered, complete with three, not one, maraschino cherries.
Just as he liked.

Ice tinkled in the glass as she
lifted the drink to him and murmured, “
Nĭhăo
ma
?”

David stared as if she’d just spoken
Martian, rather than what sounded like Chinese. He blurted, “
Wŏ
hĕnhăo
.”

Whatever he’d said had her
commenting again in the same language. To Hunt’s surprise, David actually
relaxed. Hell, he started to flirt, his tone husky and provocative, making her
arch one slender eyebrow.

Before David could react or say
anything else that might get him banished from here, she moved to Tim, offering
him the tallest glass with a wedge of lime at the top…his usual scotch and
soda.

“
Et comment
allez-vous
ce
soir
?” she asked
him, her French as effortless and flawless as the last language she’d spoken.

Amazing.
Not only was she multilingual, she seemed to know that Tim
had spent several years after college screwing around in Paris, blowing his
trust fund before his father cut him off and ordered him home.

Unlike David’s initial reaction, Tim
grinned. His fingers caressed hers as he took his drink.

“
Bon
!” he said, “
Mais
j’espère
être
encore
mieux
.”

No arched brow this time. She took
in Tim’s length in the same manner he’d done with hers, pausing on the good
parts, particularly his fly and obvious erection straining against it.

Screw that. Possessiveness, hard and
uncivilized, coiled within Hunt, making him restless to have her first, to keep
her from Tim and David. Could be they’d blown their chances given how they’d
responded to her. So what the fuck had they’d said? Why was she lingering near
Tim, watching him enjoy his drink?

“
Vraiment
?”
she said at last.

Tim stopped sipping his cocktail.
Uncertainty flashed on his face, keeping him from responding.

Damn. Hunt wished he’d taken French
in high school and college rather than Spanish. It would have also helped if he
remembered enough
Español
to converse.

She moved on, stopping in front of
him.

Before she discovered he was
unilingual, he leaned toward her and murmured, “I have to warn you, I used to
be fluent in Pig Latin, but I’ve grown a little rusty since middle school. So
please, be gentle with me.”

Surprise swept her lovely features
followed by a throaty laugh. Honest, musical and all because of him.

Rarely had Hunt felt as proud. His
cock strained against his stretchy boxers, wanting out, needing to be within
her tight heat…though not from behind as he’d imagined. For their first time,
they had to be eye to eye, her full attention on him. He wanted to watch her
response to his passion, witness the flare of excitement at him entering,
stretching, plowing into her until he couldn’t go any deeper and their bodies
touched. He hoped she’d whimper. He’d probably groan and a fucking
lot
more. Tim and David would most likely bitch.

Pleased at the thought, Hunt managed
to keep it to himself. He’d seen her reaction to his friends’ graceless
flirting. This lady demanded to be honored and won. She needed to be in charge.
He didn’t mind that a bit, wanting her to believe whatever worked as long as he
was the one running the show.

“Thanks.” He took the bourbon, his
thumb touching hers.

She didn’t pull back her hand. With
a gentle tilt of her head, she studied him. Hunt allowed it, encouraging her to
take the lead until he knew she’d accept whatever he wanted. Beneath her
scrutiny, the music receded as did the tapping of Tim’s fingers against his
glass and the floor squeaking as David shifted his weight. All Hunt heard was
her gentle breathing. She was so close he caught her scent. A mixture of roses
and jasmine laced with musk, as sensuous and mysterious as her.

He chanced stroking her thumb.

She parted her lips.

His legs got rubbery. He had an
overpowering urge to brush his mouth over hers,
then
ease his tongue inside, prolonging the pleasure, not allowing it to end even as
he knew it wouldn’t be enough. He wanted so much more. He craved it all. What
was her real name? She was obviously well educated, so where had she gone to
school? Whom had she loved?

His gut twisted with surprising
force, another surge of jealousy he had no right to feel, but it didn’t stop
more questions from bombarding him. Had she ever been married or engaged? Was
she tight with anyone now?

She inhaled deeply and spoke on a
sigh, “Congratulations on your victory with the Emerson Bill.”

David choked on his drink. Tim’s
brows shot up.

Hunt wasn’t any less surprised. The
bill involved another of his firm’s VIP clients, hadn’t yet been voted on or
publicized to the press, so how in the fuck did she know about it?

How else, dummy?
She’d been with the senator’s aides and maybe even Emerson
himself who no doubt talked too much while he and his staff played with her in
this house. Fucking pricks.
The thought of them touching her
rankled Hunt more than their sharing confidential information.

She must have caught his mood or
finally noticed David’s coughing. Stepping back, she placed the empty tray on a
side table, then lowered her other strap over her shoulder, baring it slowly.
A millimeter at a time.

Hunt forgot to swallow his booze.
His skin tingled.

When she seemed certain of
everyone’s full attention, she turned away from them. “I need help with my
zipper.”

Hunt handed his drink to David who
took it instinctively, then grumbled, “Hey.”

Not bothering to comment, Hunt
reached
Magique
before Tim could. To his delight, she
leaned into him, her back against his chest. The top of her head came to his
chin. Her scent wafted up, making him dizzy.

Tim edged closer, standing to the
right. David joined them, standing to the left.

Hunt ignored them both. All that
mattered was
Magique
, getting her out of the dress,
exploring her body, imprisoning her softness beneath him.

Gathering her hair in his hand, he
brought it to his face and inhaled deeply.
God.
It
smelled as good as the rest of her.
Fresh, delicate, womanly.
He relished the scent, taking his time.

Tim mumbled something beneath his
breath.

Magique
paid him no heed. Lifting her arms, she held them above her
head as a dancer would.

Not expecting that, Hunt debated
whether to cup her breasts and decided against it—for the time being. Once they
were in bed, all bets were off. For now, he intended to make her wait for his
carnal attention just as she expected him to be patient for hers. She’d said
she needed help with her zipper, so where the hell was it? On a guess, he ran
his fingers down the right seam of her dress, straying off course only once to
stroke the gentle swell of her tummy.