Taken by Moonlight (8 page)

“Vivienne,”
he began, in that coolly aristocratic, old-world voice of his. “I need you to
take these documents over to Rachel Carson at CCC today.” He handed her a large
envelope with the words “URGENT” in bold, red letters across it before
withdrawing a business card and placing that on top of the envelope. Cedar
Creek Companies, followed by the address, telephone, and fax numbers was what
was on the card. She knew that a copy of the recently signed contract, in which
CCC had purchased a dominant hotel chain though the tri-state area, was in the
envelope. She’d been expecting him to ask this of her hours ago. Although it
was the twenty-first century, Arnold did not trust fax machines, at all.
Everything had to be mailed or personally delivered, and he consistently gave
the job to Vivienne, despite having two other paralegals and an entire courier
company at his disposal.

“I’ve told
her to expect you.”

He paused
to survey her, and Vivienne felt herself grow self conscious as his eyes took
in her plain white blouse and wrinkled blazer. Her face was probably oily
again, being so close to the heater, and her hair fuzzy. Why was he staring at
her like that?

“You did a
good job with the contract.”

With that,
he turned and strode from her cubicle. Had he given her a compliment? In her
year working for Arnold Hastings, she’d never received a compliment, had never
seen him give anyone a compliment. Not even a thank you when she’d just come on
to the job and he’d treated her like a personal assistant/body-woman instead of
a legal assistant. Coffee, clothes, everything he needed outside of the office,
she got it. She even worked around his odd hours, which included his coming in
the late afternoon most days, and staying until he dismissed her. And she
certainly had never received looks like those, unless they were disapproving
looks as he took in her attire.

What
changed?

She shook
that thought off and slipped her heels back onto her feet. Standing, she looked
at the clock on her computer. It was already five. Shaking her head, she picked
up her leather bag and placed the envelope inside. She would deliver it, then
head home. A small smile touched her lips. This would probably be the first
time in months she arrived back at the apartment before six o’clock.

It was
wishful thinking, getting home before six. She arrived at the Cedar Creek
Companies headquarters on Madison Avenue, to be told that Rachel Carson would
be with her in a few minutes. Forty-five minutes later, Vivienne decided to
live by the motto, “If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.”

The
secretary had asked twice if she wouldn’t just prefer to leave the envelope
with her, but she knew better. Harvey Taylor, a bright Columbia graduate, had
done that once before, leaving a confidential package with a secretary, and had
been fired the next day. Hastings was thorough. If he gave you something to
deliver to someone then you delivered it or you brought it back to him.

Her
Blackberry began to vibrate and she searched through her purse until she
located it.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hello,
ma
puce
. How was your birthday? I tried calling you on Saturday but you didn’t
answer. Have you already forgotten your old
Maman
?”
There was motherly reproach in the question. “And I haven’t heard from your
sister in almost a week. Have you seen her? And speaking of which, you two
haven’t come to visit in weeks. Sometimes I forget I even have daughters, twins
at that. One of the new neighbors asked if I have children, can you imagine?”

Vivienne
smiled as her mother continued on in her lightly accented English, asking
questions and then making statements before asking questions again. It was a
habit her father found endearing and her girls had grown to love as they became
older.

“So, tell
me what’s been happening in your life.” Her mother finally paused and Vivienne
knew it was her cue to speak.

“Nothing
new. My birthday was good. I went camping with Cassie and then Max and Drew
took me out. I’ll come visit you next weekend, okay? How’s Dad?”

“Your
father is fine. Like me, he’s constantly worrying about you two. So, have you
been seeing anyone?”

Vivienne
groaned. Her mother always asked this question. Only a week ago, she’d answered
that she hadn’t, yet her mother asked again.

“No, Mom.”

“That’s
because you work too much,” Evelyn interrupted, a slight huff coming after that
statement. “I really don’t see why you work so hard, sweetheart. The man
practically has you working seven days a week. Of course you don’t have time
for a social life when you’ve dedicated your entire life to Arnold Hastings. A
job where you work seven days a week is called a
marriage
.”

“I have a
social life.”

“Of course
you do,
ma puce
, but it isn’t the type of social life you should have.
You’re young, and very beautiful. Go out and meet people. You would be able to
do this if you weren’t working for that man.” A long sigh greeted the
proclamation. “Why don’t you let your father ask around and see what he can
find? I’m sure there are other firms looking for legal assistants and they
wouldn’t work you as hard.”

Vivienne
shook her head. Except for the money, the other main reason that she kept her
job with Hastings was because she’d gotten it on her own. Her father, the
now-retired federal appeals court judge, hadn’t pulled any strings to get it
for her. She’d applied, interviewed, and impressed them with her GPA and
personality.

“It really
isn’t that bad, Mom.” Okay, that was a lie, but what was she going to say?
You’re
so right, Mommy. The man works me like a slave. Please tell Dad to find me
another job?
No way in hell was she doing that.

“Are you
lying to the woman who labored long, hard hours to birth you?”

Vivienne
chuckled. “No, ma’am. It’s not that bad, and the benefits are pretty good.”
They were. She had a gym subscription from Equinox she couldn’t use because she
worked so much, oh, and free babysitting services she couldn’t take advantage
of because she had no kids. Vivienne was living the high life.

“If you say
so,
ma puce
.” There was a pause and then she heard her father’s voice in
the background. “Oh, yes. Your father and I sent you a card for your birthday.
Did you get it?”

She
remembered the card well. It had arrived days before. A card that called her
one of the best daughters they could have hoped for, and contained a check for
five thousand dollars.

“Yes, thank
you for the card, but I really don’t need the money, Mom.”

“Hush,
sweetheart. Just put it into your bank account for rainy days. Parents exist to
help their children. We just want to help you and Cassandre, yes?”

She was
about to respond when the secretary suddenly motioned to her. “Ms. Carson will
see you now.”

Nodding,
Vivienne told her mother that she had to go.

Always
intuitive, Evelyn asked, “Are you still working,
ma chère
? You work too
hard—”

“I will
call you later tonight, promise.” With that, she ended the call and stood.

“Just down
the corridor. It’s the door at the end. She’s expecting you so just go right
in.”

“Thank
you.”

She turned
and headed as directed. After knocking and awaiting a response, she and stepped
through the door, her smile halting as her eyes came in contact with the tall
man standing before a mini-bar in Ms. Carson’s office. Even from behind, in
what was no doubt a suit whose caliber met or exceeded Arnold Hastings’, she
recognized him.

It was by
pure chance that Conall Athelwulf was in Rachel Carson’s office that evening.
She was his Vice President of Acquisitions, and one of the few humans who sat
on his executive board. The reason: she was very good at her job. After an
hour-long conversation with her over his recent purchase of a hotel chain, he’d
opted for a stiff drink of scotch before he headed back to Cedar Creek.
Human-made alcohol did not inebriate werewolves unless downed in excessive
amounts, and he’d liked the taste of scotch since the early twentieth century,
when Sloan had introduced him to the stuff in the Scottish Highlands.

He’d just
drained the glass when Rachel’s latest appointment entered, and with her, the
scent that had haunted him for the past days.

After
returning to Cedar Creek that night, Conall managed to run himself into
exhaustion, and even succeeded in keeping her from invading his thoughts every
second. But he still thought of her, of the things he would have done to her
had she been
were.
And when thoughts like those struck him, it was hard
to keep his focus off of her, off of those long legs he could picture locked
around his waist as he took and gave her pleasure, off of that full bottom lip
of hers he would bite while intimately locked to her.

And so,
Conall tried another method that night: Samia. It hadn’t worked. As she tried
her hardest to please him with tongue and hands, he’d grown bored, and
dismissed her. Briefly, the thought of finding another female crossed his mind,
but that too was dismissed. Conall didn’t want any other female; he wanted the
human. And that was dangerous.

The glass
clinked as he placed it beside the mini-bar and turned. Her eyes were wide, and
he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest under the unflattering white
cotton blouse she wore. Similar black pants graced her legs, and short, stumpy
heels were on her feet. Her face was devoid of makeup and although her hair was
pulled back from her face, strands had come loose and framed her face, almost
like a halo. She shouldn’t look sexy but she did, and he felt the urge to take
her just as strongly as he had in the club. His irrationality was back.

Rachel
stood and walked around her desk, taking Vivienne’s hand and introducing
herself.

As if
remembering where she was, Vivienne blinked suddenly and spoke, “I’m Vivienne
Bordeaux. I work for Arnold Hastings,” she began, only to have Rachel cut her
off.

“Yes, I
know. Arnold told me you were coming. I’m sorry my meeting ran over.” She
turned to him. “This is our president, Conall Athelwulf. Conall, this is
Vivienne Bordeaux, one of Arnold’s legal assistants.”

Conall
stepped forward and took her hand, clasping it tighter when a jolt of
electricity seemed to run through both of them at the contact. Her lips parted,
and his heightened hearing picked up on the thundering of her heart.

“We’ve met
before,” he said softly, his thumb lightly caressing the soft skin of her hand.

Vivienne’s
breath caught in her throat as hordes of images assailed her. She saw herself
in the outfit she’d worn on her birthday, her arms locked around his neck as he
kissed her. Her eyes grew wide, as his merely narrowed. She hadn’t done that,
had
she
? And then she saw herself agreeing to go with him. “Yes,” she’d said as
she’d stared at him. There was no doubt what she’d been agreeing to. Where were
these images coming from?

“Oh,
well….” Rachel trailed off, looking between the two of them and lifting a brow.
Conall made no move to explain, and Rachel turned her curious gaze to Vivienne,
who nervously licked her lips and nodded.

“Um…yes,
it’s—ah—nice to see you again, Mr. Athelwulf.”

As he
nodded, Vivienne wondered how he could look so intensely controlled. That in
itself was a paradoxical statement but the man pulled it off. His clean-cut
black suit and sharp royal blue tie matched the vivid intensity of those blue
eyes.

Rachel
suddenly cleared her throat, and Vivienne found herself glancing guiltily at
the older woman. She was staring at them both, the smile on her face doing
nothing to dismiss the question in her gaze.

“Well then,
shall we get down to business?” she asked.

“Oh yes.
Yes,” Vivienne stammered, remembering the reason she was there. The contract.
She made an attempt to reach into the bag, but found she couldn’t. Heat
suffused her face when she realized that
he
still held her hand. She
snatched it back quickly, stepped away, and extracted the document from her
bag.

She handed
Rachel the envelope. After opening it and flipping through the contract for
select pages, she passed it to him. He read it quickly and nodded before
handing it back to Rachel and turning those eyes on Vivienne once more.

“Well,
thank you for bringing the documents, Ms. Bordeaux. Please tell Arnold that Cedar Creek looks forward to working with him in the future.”

Vivienne
knew she was being dismissed and nodded. Maybe she was just fantasizing about
him in her head. Just because she was seeing crystal-clear images of them
practically having sex in a club didn’t mean it had actually happened. She’d
had fantasizes before, never this vivid, but he was a very handsome man, and at
times, she could be very…
hormonal
.