“You don’t date? Why not?”
“No time.”
“Ah, that’s right. Too busy scraping together a meager living.”
“It’s an honest living,” she defended, bristling a little. Her pride was adorable. He couldn’t remember the last time he took such obvious pride in something. “I’m proud of what I do and I do it well.”
“So I’ve heard,” he murmured. “You’re a decent journalist. Too bad it’s a dying career.”
“There will always be a place for the light keepers,” she countered. “If not the press, who would keep people like you and the politicians and their special interest groups in check?” She smiled and he granted her the point. “True, it’s more difficult than ever to find a job in this economy but something will turn up. In the meantime, freelancing works for me. I rather like having my own schedule.”
“It does have its perks,” he agreed, swirling his wine gently before asking, “So, tell me, what had you hoped to accomplish by crashing Malvagio?”
Emma hesitated, a slight frown pulling on her brows. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I was going to do an expose on the crowd that frequents an elite sex club. It’s exactly the salacious kind of story that people want to read about these days. Plus, I wanted to punish you for what happened to Lana.”
“You know I never condoned that sort of thing happening in my club. I would never support true violence against women.”
“Really? Then why the dungeons? Seems medieval to me.”
He chuckled. “Some players in the BDSM lifestyle like more rigorous play than others and we like to think we can accommodate most kinks.” She bit her lip as if holding back something and he pressed for her to go for it. “Go ahead…ask what you want to know. With you tonight, I will be an open book,” he offered graciously.
“Is that so? Aren’t you afraid that you might share something I could use against you?”
He laughed. “No.”
She scowled at his arrogance but he found her pique incredibly enticing. “Careful, Emma…you’re irresistible when you’re angry. I would hate to find reasons to purposefully yank your chain just to see the fire dance in your eyes.”
“You’re impossible,” she grumbled and took a drink of wine. “Fine. Are you really as depraved as you put on to be? I mean, do you like to play like that with all those whips and chains and whatnot?”
The fact that she’d asked about his sexual preference caused his groin to tighten with sudden and immediate lust but he kept his expression neutral as he answered with a shrug, “Not as much as all that but I do love the feel of a nice firm ass beneath my palm. But even if I don’t enjoy going so far as to cane a woman to get off, I am absolutely depraved. Would you like to know what I really enjoy?”
“No,” she answered quickly but he was going to tell her anyway.
He leaned forward. “I love stuffing a woman with cock in every place. I love the feel of fucking a woman with my cock firmly planted in her ass while another cock fucks her pussy, both cocks simultaneously rubbing together, separated by a thin wall of membrane…there’s nothing better.”
Her blue eyes were wide as saucers. “Do you always…share your women with others?”
“Not always.”
“For whom have you made an exception?”
Vince took a long moment, searching his memory. None came to mind but as he made that realization, he made another — the idea of sharing Emma with anyone made a growl pop from his throat and startled him. Jealousy? Really? He forced a smile and said, “Does it matter?”
She pulled back. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”
“Good. Have I satisfied your curiosity?”
A shudder escaped her ability to hide the involuntary reaction and he grinned, loving how easily he could tilt her axis. If only she didn’t have the same power over him. Holding himself in check was becoming more difficult as the moments ticked on. Why did he want her so badly? A problem, that, he thought dryly.
“So, you’ve done some digging into my private life. I assume privacy means nothing to you?” she asked, plainly uncomfortable with his digging yet she’d had no compunction against digging around in his business. His little dove was a raging hypocrite. His slow smile took her off-guard. “Stop that,” she instructed after another quick swallow. Careful, sweet girl. Too many more swallows like that and you’ll be drunk before you know it. His smile widened at the thought of a pliable and less prickly Emma Winters. “Stop smiling at me like that. It makes me feel as if I’m a lamb being led to slaughter.”
“Perhaps you are.”
“Perhaps,” she agreed, adding with suspicion. “Is that why you’ve brought me here? To kill me with your version of kindness so that I’ll be more cooperative?”
“And if I were?”
“It wouldn’t work.”
“And what if I said I could give a shit about your cooperation and would rather take you back to my place and fuck your brains out?” he asked, going for the shock value but his cock didn’t know that and immediately reacted, going full-surge at the very idea. It was all he could manage to not adjust himself and was suddenly very thankful his lower half was hidden beneath the table.
Two high points of color flashed in her cheeks and she reached for her wine, all but downing it before answering but when she did, she tried to appear as if his question had not just tilted her sidewise. “You’re not my type,” she announced with a shrug. “I know that’s hard to believe given how gifted you believe you are but, you really do nothing for me. There’s just no chemistry. At all. Aside from the fact that your lack of morals and ethics are an instant turn-off, you and I would never suit.”
“And here I thought opposites attract.”
“No you didn’t. You don’t believe in that crap anymore than I do. You’re a realist, not a romantic.”
“Actually, I’m an opportunist,” he corrected her mildly, his thoughts still zeroing in on the delectable dirty things he’d love to do to her. At this rate, dinner would be a torturous affair if he didn’t at least get to slip a finger beneath her dress to sample what his tongue was dying to taste. “I never let an opportunity pass me by to take something I want.”
“Well, you can’t always have what you want,” she replied sweetly, the wine loosening her tongue. “Sometimes life is filled with disappointment.”
“Perhaps for others. Not for me.”
She groaned. “Oh, you’re impossible. What’s it like to live in your world?” she asked with a note of sarcasm. “A world where no one tells you no, and you’re always assured of getting your way? It must be endlessly boring to never face a challenge.”
He chuckled as he poured her another glass of wine. “I could show you,” he offered.
“No thanks,” she said quickly. “Something tells me the road to temptation is paved with Buchanan gold.”
He laughed. “Oh, come on, don’t be such a puss. Let me give you a taste of my world. No strings attached.”
“No strings? I don’t believe anything you do doesn’t come without fine print. Before I know it, you’ll be coming after me for my firstborn as payment for whatever you have in mind,” she said dryly and he stilled at the very idea as a strange flutter in the pit of his belly took him by surprise.
He leaned forward and he snagged her gaze as he said quietly, “Only if it were mine. And if that were the case…nothing would stop me.”
Emma’s breath hitched in her throat and for a long moment neither could break the spell weaving itself between them, tightening as it went round and around, drawing them inexplicably closer even though neither had moved a muscle. Vince’s hunger and need to claim the luscious woman across from him reached to a fever pitch and he half wondered if he were losing his mind or drugged. This sort of nonsense didn’t happen to him. He didn’t believe in fairytale romances nor love at first sight. He believed in the tangible expression of attraction between two people and that’s all this was. He was madly, ridiculously attracted to Emma, for reasons he couldn’t define and he was alternately freaked out and buzzed beyond belief. He’d never felt more alive. And he would do anything to put her, naked and writhing beneath him, fucking her until the sun rose the next morning. Anything.
A wickedness blotted out the confusion of his feelings and he focused on his mission for the night. He’d already confessed he was an opportunist so she shouldn’t be shocked when he created an opportunity to put her in his bed.
#
He was trying to get her drunk. The transparency of his tactic should have warned her to slow down on the wine but a part of her was giddy and feeling reckless. Why was he so damn handsome? Why couldn't he be one of those balding billionaires with a large paunchy belly and high-pitched feminine whiny laughter that came mostly from their noses rather than their throats? No, that was too much to ask. Vince Buchanan had to be quite possibly the most good-looking man she’d ever come across – most definitely the most virile. And that distinctly feminine part of herself, the one that she ignored so that she wouldn't feel lonely on those Friday nights when everyone else was out having a good time and she was back at her apartment eating ice cream and watching rental movies was seriously licking her chops, wondering what one night would be like with the brute.