StrokeofMidnight

Stroke of Midnight

Naima Simone

Breathlessly Ever After, Book 1.

No-nonsense Rowyn Jeong can’t compare to her bubbly
stepsister Cindy. But everyone has their talent, and Rowyn’s is a keen eye for
business and the bottom line. Being labeled the plainer, wicked stepsister
never bothered her…until Darius Fiore reappeared. Six months ago, they indulged
in a hot one-night stand and the sexy business tycoon branded her body like no
man before. But his return jeopardizes her position at her stepfather’s company.
He’s also the man Cindy has in her sights—and hands.

Behind closed doors, Darius discovered more lay beneath
Rowyn’s hard exterior than the ice queen persona she presents. The sultry vixen
left him in a tight spot—literally. He understands her family’s disregard has
her hungry for love and acceptance but breaking down her defenses won’t be
easy. Especially since his presence risks everything she’s worked so hard to
achieve.

Stroke of Midnight

Naima Simone

Chapter One

“…and without a word of good-bye, she slipped from the
prince’s arms and ran down the steps. As she ran, she lost one of her
slippers…”—Cinderella

“Son of a bitch! Where is it?”—Rowyn Jeong

“No, open your eyes.” A big hand smoothed her damp, tangled
hair from her face. The backs of his long fingers grazed her cheek. “I want you
to see.”

Her breath shuddered from between her parted lips, and after
the slightest hesitation she complied with his soft command. She lifted her lashes
and the erotic tableau that met her eyes stole the air from her lungs.
Oh
God.

The deep shadows reflected in the bureau mirror couldn’t
hide the long arch of a masculine back, the curve of a taut buttock or the
muscled length of thigh. So much sexuality contained under golden skin. The
perfect male animal.

Her pussy clenched.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured in her ear. “Squeeze me
tight.”

His ass rose and the drag of his cock pulsed through her
swollen sex as his thick, gleaming shaft withdrew from her body. Restrained
underneath him by his chest and hands, she could do nothing but gasp and
receive the pleasure he seemed intent on giving over and over. It wasn’t the
first or even the second time she’d been pinned and penetrated this night. But
as the incredible length of his dick tunneled through her pussy once more, it
may as well have been the first. Her flesh resisted, parted, gripped. Every
inch, every ridge seemed to imprint a fiery brand on her sex.

He groaned and in a fraction of a second, he tightened his
fingers on her wrists. With him stretched over her, his chest pressing into her
spine, the shiver that coursed through his big body vibrated over her skin like
an electrical charge.

Once more he slid free. She shuddered.

“Do you have any idea how much my cock wants your pussy?” he
whispered. He straightened and hooked an arm under her hips, pulled her ass up
and back. He followed the line of her spine, sliding a palm over the ball of
her shoulder and then down again. “There, baby. Watch it. Watch my dick take
you.” The pale column of flesh speared from a thatch of brown hair and arrowed
straight between her trembling thighs. His cock disappeared from sight as it
surged deep in her sex. Her stomach muscles quivered and she sank her teeth
into her bottom lip at the erotic image. It seemed naughty, forbidden, to watch
herself getting fucked. But damn—another groan ripped free from his throat as
he fisted his cock near the flared base—she couldn’t turn away from the
mirror’s reflection. “Your pussy’s so fucking drenched. Like hot cream. Like
you’re melting around my dick…”

The dual stimulation of his sexy words and witnessing her
own fucking pushed her so close to orgasm she shook under the whip of lust.
Tiny flicks of pleasure lashed her clit and her pussy rippled around his thick
cock. She wanted to
come
.

As if sensing her heightened need, he surged forward. He
buried his length inside her, his thighs pressed tight to her legs and the
lower curves of her ass. Pleasure tore a cry from her throat and she bucked
helplessly against the hard thrust.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Fuck my cock, pretty girl.” He
fell forward, palms flat against the dark mahogany headboard. It didn’t seem
possible he had more cock to give her, but
God
, when he pushed deeper
into her pussy, he nudged a place high in her sex that’d never been touched by
human or mechanical means. He grunted and his hips pressed forward, grinding
against her ass. He slid one hand between her thighs and plucked her clit.

She screamed.

Her response seemed to snap the binding that tethered his
control. With a low animalistic growl, he fucked her like a stallion covering
his mare. He rode her hard, slamming into her with thrust after thrust. She
cried out with each stroke, urging him on, begging for more. God.
More.

The orgasm pummeled her like a battering ram. No slow
buildup, no undulation of pleasure to signal its arrival. Just a crash of
ecstasy. A shattering of self.

Then nothing.

* * * * *

Oh. Shit.

Rowyn Jeong cast a glance down her body to the heavy arm
roped across her waist. Her heart thumped. The shallow gasps of breath that
escaped her lips seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room as her gaze skipped
up an arm, over a shoulder and landed on a long expanse of delectable skin.

Jesus.
She sighed and then cringed as her breath
seemed to echo in the room like a shout across the Grand Canyon. Muscles tense,
she lay frozen as if she were engaged in some twisted erotic version of Red
Light, Green Light. For several long moments she remained still, her gaze pinned
on the naked man next to her, searching for any sign of wakefulness. After
seconds that stretched like a millennium, she inched from under the arm.

Scoot. Pause. Breathe. Scoot. Pause. Breathe. She repeated
the pattern until her arm, hip, then leg dangled over the edge of the mattress
like limp spaghetti. One more scoot and she slid free. Unable to halt her
momentum, she flailed and her ass hit the floor with a thump.

Damn.

She shut her eyes and dropped her chin.

Just Damn.

She risked a peek over the side of the bed and her
inspection took in the still form. His arm stretched across the snowy sheet.
His chest continued to rise and fall, undisturbed. She didn’t look away as she
edged back from the bed, the man in it, and memories of the night that had just
passed. A hot flash of heat licked over her skin and the swollen, well-used
flesh between her thighs rippled.

She had to get out of here. Like, pronto.

In a hushed flurry of activity, Rowyn jumped to her feet and
circled the room, snatching up clothing that had been hastily discarded earlier
in the evening. Panties in her fist—how the hell had they ended up hanging from
the lamp shade?—she scurried from the dark room. With a speed that smacked more
of desperation than skill, she yanked on her underwear followed by the black
sweater and skirt.

On bare feet, she darted down the shadowed hall and into the
living room. Minutes later, a taxi had been requested on her cell phone, her
purse was over her shoulder and her boots and coat had been dragged on. As she
headed toward the front door, she passed the hall mirror and glimpsed her
reflection. She skidded to a halt.
Shit.
She looked as if she’d just
spent the night fucking.

With a moue of disgust, she tunneled her fingers through her
dark hair and tried to comb some semblance of order into it so she wouldn’t
look so freshly fucked. After several fruitless moments, she gritted her teeth.
To hell with it.
She scowled and shoved the heavy strands back over her
shoulder. She couldn’t do anything about…

Her eyes narrowed and then widened in horror as she stared
at her neck—her bare neck. The delicate gold chain and pendant with a tiny
crown etched into its surface were gone.
To my princess.
The jewelry and
loving message engraved in Korean on the back of the ornament were the only
legacy she had from her dead father besides her almond-shaped eyes and nearly
black, dense hair.

Dammit!
She dropped her hands, whipped around and
dashed back down the hall, the spiky heels of her stiletto boots clacking out
an agitated cadence on the hardwood floor.
Where is it?
She conducted a
circuit of the living room, jerking pillows and cushions off the couch and love
seat and ghosting her palm over the glass surface of the coffee table. Finally,
after long frustrating minutes with her heart lodged in her throat, she stood
in the middle of the room, one hand cupping her forehead and the other resting
on her collarbone. She was naked—bereft without the jewelry. She couldn’t leave—

A short toot of a horn beeped outside. The taxi had arrived.

With one last desperate glance down the darkened hall, she
turned and retraced her steps toward the front door…leaving a part of her heart
behind…

Chapter Two

“Once upon a time, there was a widower who married a
proud and haughty woman as his second wife… By his first wife he’d had a
beautiful daughter, who was a girl of unparalleled goodness and sweet
temper.”—Cinderella

“Nobody’s that damn nice.”—Rowyn Jeong

“New assistant not working out?”

Rowyn glanced up from her computer and met the dark-brown
gaze of her coworker and friend Wanda Dixon.

“Hmm?” she asked, returning her attention to the report on
her monitor. A surge of satisfaction rose up in her chest as she studied the
budget. The second quarter numbers were right on target. She shifted her gaze
from the quarterly financial statement as Wanda entered the office and closed
the door behind her. “What did you say?”

Wanda shook her head and crossed the room. As she sank onto
the chair in front of the desk, the elegant fit of her lilac wraparound dress
caught Rowyn’s eye. The soft color complimented the woman’s smooth, brown skin
and the silk glided over her tall, lithe body. Rowyn tapped a fingertip against
her lip. That style might be just the thing they needed to complete the fall
collection for the store…

“I said, the new assistant must not be working out.”

Rowyn frowned as she picked up a pen and jotted down a note
about looking into that dress. “What are you talking about?”

“I just passed by your secretary of one week, her purse over
her shoulder and a cardboard box under one arm.” Wanda arched an eyebrow.
“Crying.”

“What the hell?” Rowyn demanded. “Did she say anything?”

“Yeah.” The other woman snorted. “‘That bitch is crazy.’“

“Funny,” Rowyn drawled. She dropped her pen on the desk and
fell back in her chair, irritated. “Well, damn. This is an inconvenient time to
quit. She could’ve at least waited until the end of the day. I have a
conference call at three and I needed her to take notes.” She reached for the
phone. “You think Human Resources will send up a temporary replacement?”

“Doubtful.” Wanda smirked. “After three—well four, counting
the one that just left—different assistants in seven months, you’ve earned a
bit of a reputation.”

“Reputation, my ass,” Rowyn growled and jabbed a finger in the
air toward Wanda. “All I asked her to do was rewrite a report and use fucking
spell-check and a dictionary next time. Excuse me if I offended her tender
sensibilities.” She sneered. “I’m not a total bitch—”

“Partial maybe, but definitely not total,” Wanda agreed.

“It’s not my fault that the last three—”

“Four, actually.”

“Assistants couldn’t stick around and grow some balls,”
Rowyn concluded with a glare.

Unperturbed, Wanda held up her hand, stretched her fingers
wide and pretended to study her immaculate manicure. “Maybe they could borrow a
couple from you. From what I hear, you have a very nice brass pair.” When Rowyn
flipped her off Wanda’s peal of laughter rang throughout the office. “Very
eloquent comeback, my friend.” She chuckled then slipped one slim leg over the
other, rested an elbow on her knee and settled her chin in her palm. “As much
as I enjoy commiserating over your employee—or lack of employee—issues, that
isn’t why I came by. I have tickets to the Poison concert tonight. And great
friend that I am, thought of you. So how ‘bout it? Want to go?”

“You’re kidding!” Her voice rose several octaves and she
didn’t care that she sounded like a teenager screeching over her favorite rock
band. Excitement swept Rowyn’s annoyance aside like a tornado winding through
an Alabama trailer park. Hell, given the chance, she would throw Bret Michaels
her
panties. “Of course I want—Oh damn. Damn. Damn.” She slapped the heel of her
palm against her forehead, punctuating each “damn” with a thump. “I can’t.”

Wanda’s eyes widened and her arm fell across her knee as she
leaned forward. “You can’t go see your favorite eighties hair band? Is there a
world summit on global peace I’m not aware of?”

Rowyn snorted. “Not likely. Daniel invited a potential
business associate over for dinner. And Mom demanded my presence for a
performance of the Harrison version of the Partridge Family.” She smiled
grimly. “Tonight’s showing begins at 8:00 p.m. and I am slotted to play the
role of adoring older daughter.”

“Oh God.” Wanda shuddered. “You’d turn down Poison to attend
the dinner from hell?”

Rowyn shook her head and winced as thoughts of spending the
evening with her stepfather, mother and stepsister flitted through her mind
like a horror movie.

“Believe me,” she said, “if I could avoid this, I would. But
it’s either go and endure torture for a couple of hours or not go and endure
Mom’s diatribe about what an ungrateful, inconsiderate daughter I am for the
next couple of months.”

“Well, when you put it like that,” her friend conceded. “My
condolences.”

“I need them.” Rowyn squeezed her forehead between her thumb
and middle finger. “It’s going to be one hell of a night.”

* * * * *

8:15 p.m. Shit. She was late.

The Harrisons’ long-time housekeeper Margaret opened the
front door at Rowyn’s knock. When the older woman smiled and stepped back for
her to pass, it occurred to Rowyn the housekeeper might be the only person
pleased to see her tonight. Her mother Pamela Wright Harrison would be pissed
because she’d arrived late. Daniel Harrison, her mother’s second husband and
Rowyn’s stepfather, would be irritated because of the interruption her arrival
would cause. And her stepsister Cynthia—or Cindy as they all called her—would
wear her usual pretty smile and add a vapid comment or two.

Fun, fun, fun.

Yeah. Like a stake in the eye.

“They are in the small living room,” Margaret said, taking
Rowyn’s purse.

“Thanks, Maggie.” Rowyn inhaled and released the breath in a
low gust of air. She stretched her lips into the brightest, phoniest smile she could
manage. “Here’s my social smile,” she murmured through clenched teeth and a
stiff mouth. “How does it look?”

Margaret chuckled and shook her head. “Lovely, Ms. Rowyn.”

The older woman turned and headed toward the hall closet,
still laughing softly. Rowyn stared after her. The hair contained more gray
strands now than black. The drill sergeant stride that had struck awe and fear
in Rowyn’s heart as a child had slowed a bit. It dawned on her like the coming
of a new day that if this proud woman were gone, Rowyn would lose the only
person who had loved her unconditionally.

She’d entered this home at her mother’s side a scared and
nervous eleven-year-old, trying so hard to mimic Pamela’s aloof expression. But
Maggie had taken one look at her and detected the fear lurking beneath the
adult mask. And through the years the housekeeper had loved Rowyn—even when
she’d been unlovable.

Amusement mingled with the pang of sadness. And there were
certainly times when she’d been damn unlovable.

As she turned toward the living room entrance, her humor
drained away like the alcohol which doubtless flowed too easily down her
mother’s throat. With her hand on the knob, Rowyn slabbed layer after layer of
mental cement around her emotions and heart. A quick scan ensured no cracks
existed and she twisted the knob, pushed open the door and entered.

And walked into Charlotte Bronte’s version of hell.

Daniel faced the entrance, speaking animatedly to the tall
man across from him. Her mother—surprise, surprise, with a highball raised to
her lips—and stepsister filled in the small circle. At the snick of the door
closing behind Rowyn, all four turned to stare in her direction.

Oh. Damn.

The gasp remained trapped in her throat and the world
screeched to a halt as if God had slammed his foot on the brakes of time. She
sucked in a breath—a difficult task since all the air seemed to have been
vacuumed out of the room. Perspiration prickled her palms and if she could have
moved, she would have rubbed them against her skirt.

It can’t be.
She stared, her heart performing a
dizzying tap dance against her rib cage.
It’s not possible.

Yet meeting the bright blue eyes that had haunted her dreams
for the past six months, Rowyn couldn’t deny what her gaze refused to accept.

Him.

She’d convinced herself he couldn’t possibly have been as
beautiful in reality as he’d appeared in her dreams. After all, when a man gave
a woman the most intense, just-this-side-of-death orgasms she’d ever
experienced, she could be forgiven for imagining him larger than life. But no,
as he stood mere feet away, staring at her with his impenetrable gaze, Rowyn
realized her dreams hadn’t been exaggerations.

The same deep cobalt eyes that reminded her of the heart of
the ocean. The same olive-tinted skin that reminded her of Italian villas
perched on craggy cliffs and romantic beaches. The same beauty that, if he’d
been born centuries earlier, would have had Michelangelo drooling to sculpt him
for his
David
. His dark-brown, closely-cropped curls enhanced the image
of a Greco-Roman work of art. And Jesus, the body…She shivered. Tall, elegant
and hinting at the almost-primitive power that existed under the civilized
black jacket, slacks and maroon shirt.

She’d been on the receiving end of that power, unleashed and
wild.

The intense stare held her immobile and might as well have
been a length of steel chains wrapped around her body. She couldn’t move,
couldn’t avoid the hard questions in his penetrating gaze.

Unbidden, the memory of the last time she’d been with him
flared in her mind. Just the thought of that night made her nipples tingle and
her sex clench. There were nights she still woke from erotic, Technicolor
dreams, body trembling and breath rasping out of her throat. Dreams of a face
hardened with lust, gleaming blue eyes and a big, muscled body sliding on top
of hers, his cock thrusting deep in her pussy. Stretching and filling her…

Rowyn glanced away. Damn. All this time later and an
emptiness still lingered—a hollow emptiness that could only be filled by a man
she believed she’d never see again…the man not five feet away.

“Rowyn,” Pamela drawled, snatching her from the stupor she’d
tumbled into. “How nice of you to show up. Late.”

The barb might as well have been a rubber ball for it
bounced right off Rowyn. What was Darius doing here? In Boston?

“Darius, please forgive my daughter. She’s a terrible
workaholic.” Her mother’s smile was nothing but a tight pull of her lips. “Gets
that from her father, I’m afraid.”

Rowyn gritted her teeth. The other people in the room may
have assumed Pamela referred to Daniel Harrison, but her mother meant Rowyn’s
biological father Charles Jeong. The man Pamela resented even eight years after
his death.

“I apologize.” Rowyn finally found her voice.

Daniel stepped forward. “Darius, I’d like to introduce my
stepdaughter, Rowyn Jeong. Rowyn,” he nodded toward the man who’d stepped
straight from her most erotic dreams, “this is Darius Fiore, a business
associate from Seattle.”

“Nice to meet you.” Her greeting sounded formal, polite, and
as if she’d never sucked his cock to the back of her throat.

A small half-smile tipped a corner of Darius’ mouth and, for
a moment, she feared he would mention they knew one another—biblically. But no.
He stepped forward and extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Ms. Jeong.”

Rowyn accepted his hand and he closed his fingers around
hers and squeezed. She stared down at their clasped hands and was pummeled by
flashes of those same long, elegant fingers stroking in and out of her pursed
lips as he demonstrated how he wanted her to suck his cock. Her clit set up a
pounding like the drum section in a marching band. Cream moistened her slit and
God
, she swore that even now, months later, the tangy flavor of his skin
lingered on her tongue.

Her breath rasped in her throat and she snatched her hand
away as if his palm held a live coal. She avoided his gaze and shifted back a
couple steps, placing distance between them. So close to him, his
fresh-air-and-sunbaked-sand scent enveloped her and she imagined him holding
her against his body, his arms wrapped around her. She withdrew another step.

“Are you okay?” he murmured, reaching out to steady her.

“Yes, fine,” she stammered and moved her arm out of his
reach. She locked eyes with him again. “I’m fine.”

“Rowyn is one of the most capable women I know.” Cindy’s
sweet bell-like voice interrupted their visual “noon showdown”. Her younger,
gorgeous stepsister slipped an arm through Darius’ and offered Rowyn a glass of
wine. “If she claims she’s okay then believe me, she is.” She chuckled, the
pure tinkle of laughter as delightful as everything else about her sister, and
guided Darius back to Daniel and Pamela, leaving Rowyn to follow.

Rowyn contemplated the pair. Objectively they made a
striking couple. Cindy’s brown curls brushed his shoulder, making his tall
stature appear even more so, her slender frame the perfect foil for his strong,
broad-shouldered physique.

But subjectively, Rowyn wanted to warn Cindy that if she
didn’t remove her touch from Darius, she’d draw back a nub.

Jesus. This is going to be a long-ass evening.

“I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle,” Cindy commented,
smiling up at Darius. “It’s beautiful scenery. So picturesque and romantic.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder in Rowyn’s direction. “Rowyn has been there
several times, though. On business, of course.”

“What other reason would she have to travel? Our Rowyn is
married to her job.” Pamela’s brittle laugh failed to blunt the verbal slice.
After thirty years of emotional stabs, Rowyn should have ceased to bleed fifteen
years ago.

“It is a beautiful part of the country,” Darius said,
smoothly filling the uncomfortable silence following Pamela’s thinly veiled
barb. “I moved there ten years ago from Florida and I’ve never regretted it.”