Beyond the Edge (6 page)

Good. Perhaps now he’d turn off the computer and pay some much-desired attention to her plump lips that had never felt so engorged. Surely he hadn’t asked her to undress, sit on him and open her legs so he could ignore her.

“Does Kendals ever sell technology?”

At his question, she wanted to sob in frustration. “Don’t you want to touch me?”

“I will do what I wish with you when I wish it. I thought I’d made that clear.”

“But—”

“You will not tell me what you want. I will give you what you need. Understood?”

She couldn’t believe he would deny her. She tried to squeeze her legs together to attain a measure of relief. But his thighs stopped her, holding her legs open.

“Do you understand?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she hissed, understanding all too well.
She’d thought she couldn’t possibly become more aroused. But as he refused to touch her, tiny jolts of electricity seemed to ratchet her to another level.

“Does Kendals ever auction off technology?” he repeated his question.

She could barely concentrate on his words. Kendals was an auction house that specialized in fine art. “They usually sell rare art, jewelry, antiques. Collectors’ items.”

“Then this is it. We’ll leave for New York immediately.”

Fallon’s head was spinning. She was on edge, her nerves raw and her mind clouded with need. She was barely able to recall that she had three important meetings scheduled for tomorrow, one with the Chinese ambassador. And she couldn’t miss giving the Chamber speech she’d promised for their annual woman’s luncheon.

“I have a business to run. I can’t go gallivanting across the country.”

Before he could answer, car headlights struck the blinds and washed the room with a glaring brilliance. In one graceful motion, Kane flipped off the computer, backed the chair from the desk and rolled them to the floor.

“Stay down.”

She landed on her bottom before he flattened her with his body. His chest pressed against hers and his hand covered her mouth. She struggled for a moment against his weight until she realized the futility of escape. No way could she dislodge him.

Kane’s eyes glistened in the glaring light. “Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, waiting for her to nod her compliance before removing his hand from her mouth.

Someone pounded on the front door, rang the bell, then resumed pounding. “Fallon. Yoo-hoo! Fallon, honey. I know you’re inside!”

“It’s Sinclair. He’s family,” she whispered, ignoring Kane’s instructions to remain silent since Sinclair would never hear her above the knocking. She’d recognize her stepbrother’s whining voice anywhere, even without his periodic nocturnal visits. Sinclair’s last attempt to run one of the Hanover subsidiaries five years ago had been a disaster. Since then his occasional binge drinking had declined into a state of steady alcoholism. From the sound of him, he was on a good bender, although at the silly, not yet obnoxious stage.

Fallon shoved against Kane’s shoulder. “Let me up.”

Kane didn’t budge, but watched her with smoldering intensity. “Who’s Sinclair?” He caught her chin, and brushed his thumb lightly over her mouth in a slow, fiercely intimate gesture, causing a shiver of pleasure to race through her.

She refused to think about how exciting she found Kane’s touch. She refused to think how much she wanted to rip off his clothes. Instead, she had to dress and deal with the problem. “Sinclair is my stepbrother. He believes in treating all women as sequels so his latest wife divorced him. He shows up here occasionally.”

“In the middle of the night?”

Kane rolled off her, muscles rippling across his shoulder blades. He held out his hand and helped her to her feet, the contact of his palm sending a wave of sensation through her.

Get a grip. She stood straight, but it still wasn’t enough to bring the top of her head any higher than his shoulder. She bent and reached for her gown to dress, wishing she had a thick robe to cover herself.

“I didn’t tell you to dress.”

She pulled the gown over her head and let it flutter to her feet. “No way am I dealing with him naked.”

Kane placed his hands on her shoulders and spun her to look in the mirror. “This is what he’ll see.”

Fallon gasped. In the mirror, she appeared to be fully dressed in slacks, a blouse and jacket. But when she looked down at herself, she was still clad in the lace gown. “How?”

“Oh my darling sister Fallon. Oh my darrrrling Fal-al-lon. You can’t be lost and gone forever…”

Fallon groaned.

Kane kept his voice low. “I can’t explain the buff’s technology. Suffice it to say, that drunk isn’t going to see one inch of you that he shouldn’t.”

And she couldn’t help noting his possessive tone. She didn’t understand how the device worked, and for a moment she thought of the story of “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” in which he walks around and everyone pretends he’s really clad in silver-and gold-threaded garments. But another look in the mirror reassured her that Kane was telling her the truth.

Time to deal with Sinclair. “He’ll stand out there and bellow all night if I don’t talk to him.” When Kane still seemed undecided, she added, “The neighbors might hear.”

“What’s he want?”

“Money would be my first guess.”

Finally, Kane nodded. “All right. But get rid of him quick.”

While Kane remained in the living room, Fallon hurried to the front door and opened it, half-expecting Sinclair to ogle her in the nightgown. Instead, he almost fell on top of her.

Sinclair’s breath reeked of rum. She noted the top three buttons of his custom-tailored shirt were missing. As he staggered toward her, she straight-armed him in a defensive gesture, shoving him to one side.

Unsteady after her thrust, he stumbled backward against the door, effectively shutting it before he collapsed in a heap. Sprawled on the hard granite with his feet stretched out in front of him, he hiccupped. “S’excuse me.”

His boyish looks and shadowed pain no longer swayed Fallon to see his side. Sinclair needed to grow up. She took in his glazed pupils and bloodshot eyes. “How much did you lose?”

His dignity lost several drinks ago, he crawled across the floor and wrapped his arms around her ankles. “I wor—sip, worship at your feet.”

“Right. You worship the ground my grandfather struck oil on. What are you going to cost me this time?”

He sent her his most charming, albeit lopsided, grin. “You still love your little brother, don’t you?”

“I don’t have time for this. How much?”

Kane strode forward, clearly not worried that Sinclair would see him. Besides, she doubted Sinclair would remember a thing tomorrow morning. Her stepbrother glanced at Kane but didn’t acknowledge the man. Many women found Sinclair sweet and endearing. Fallon knew better. He wasn’t sensitive but weak. His latest ex, Margaret, had grown tired of being a full-time lover, playmate and mother to him. Once she’d discovered that Sinclair’s constant demand for attention hid a deep insecurity, she’d filed for divorce.

“Fallon, I loved Margaret at first sight.”

“You saw her first in her Rolls.”

“You’re a hard woman, my love. But I’ll pay you back, this time. I swear.” He crossed his fingers over his heart. “I need five.”

Kane plucked her purse off the bench and shoved it into her hands. “Just pay him the five hundred so he’ll leave.” He sounded irritated that she hadn’t yet managed to get rid of Sinclair.

Sinclair might be drunk but he was shrewd and street smart. From the sly angle of his head, she guessed that he sensed opportunity in Kane’s impatience. “But five hundred’s not enough to keep me in rum for a week. I had a run of bad luck at the tables.”

“If you didn’t have bad luck, you wouldn’t have any luck at all.” She took her checkbook from her purse. “Will five grand cover you?”

Sinclair hiccupped. “Five. Hundred. Thousand. Or they’ll kill me.”

At the astronomical debt, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and reined in her temper. Fallon preferred to give the money to research a cure for cancer than to waste it on her stepbrother’s debts. “You gambled away half a million dollars?”

Kane handed her a pen. “Pay him.”

“I lost my lucky rabbit’s foot,” Sinclair whined.

“That’s a poor substitute for horse sense.”

Each time Fallon responded to her stepbrother, Kane’s scowl deepened. “Give him what he wants so he will leave.”

Fallon didn’t like Kane’s attitude. Why must every man insist on telling her how to spend her money? Perhaps she was overly sensitive, but she’d been burned too many times to think otherwise. Wealth made a difference in how men looked at women. And the superrich didn’t lead normal lives. Just once she’d like to meet someone who wanted just her, Fallon. Not Fallon Hanover, the heiress. Pleased she didn’t even have to lie, she’d thwart them both. “I don’t keep that much cash in my checking account.”

Luckily she’d never told Sinclair about the basement and what she kept down there. Her rainy day room. If her stepbrother had had any idea what she’d stored away for emergencies in the safe, he would have spent it long ago. Sinclair had once pawned her priceless Picasso for a measly ten thousand dollars, for Pete’s sake.

But she couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. And so she’d given him handouts over the years. But five hundred grand was ridiculous. The payouts had to stop.

Kane ambled over to the computer. Keys clicked in a steady stream. “Sinclair, your real name is Warren Sinclair Christopher III?”

“Hey.” Sinclair’s eyes brightened. “How d’you know that?”

“And you bank at Morgan Guarantee and Trust?”

“So? What of it?”

“I just transferred Fallon’s funds into your account,” Kane said as casually as if he’d just borrowed a dollar from her purse. His voice softened dangerously. “Now get out before I change my mind.”

How dare he break into her account and give away her money? While she wouldn’t notice the difference, that wasn’t the point. She might be willing to accept his dominance in the bedroom, but her life beyond that was another matter. She reined in her anger to speak in a civilized tone of voice. “You’re awfully free with my money.”

Kane shrugged. “You’ll never miss it.”

“So true.” Sinclair shook Kane’s hand. “Nebber happen again.”

She ground her teeth together. “This is absolutely the last time I bail you out.”

Sinclair shuffled to the front door. “You let him control your accounts? How come you never trusted—”

“Sinclair, the car keys,” she demanded, unwilling to have his death on her conscience. “Call a cab on your cell. You’re in no condition to drive.”

Sinclair fumbled, tossing her his keys. “You do have some feelings for me, darling.”

“Enough to let you wait for your ride on the front curb. I’ll have your car sent over tomorrow.”

After Sinclair left, Fallon sank onto the couch. She combed her fingers through her hair, wondering what Kane must think of her family.

She sighed and hugged a pillow to her chest. Less than an hour ago, she couldn’t have imagined having a conversation with Kane. Her mind had been focused on sex. And although she wondered why she cared what Kane thought, she tried to explain her overprotectiveness of her stepbrother. “Sinclair wasn’t always like that.”

Kane took a seat across from her. “Are you referring to his gambling, his drinking or his greed?”

She tossed the pillow at his face and he dodged easily. “Never mind. I must be really tired to be talking to you. Men are damn expensive. Over the years, bailing out my stepbrother from one failed business after another, never mind his affairs and failed marriages, has cost me plenty.” Her own failed marriage had cost her more.

“But it’s not the money you object to losing, is it?”

Kane’s perceptiveness surprised her. She hadn’t thought him capable of seeing through the careful veneer with which she faced the world. But she wouldn’t admit that he was right. When she’d been
younger, she’d tried to help Sinclair by giving him money and advice, but she’d quickly learned that Sinclair found her help demeaning. As had Allen, her ex-husband.

Fallon stared past Kane’s right shoulder, unable to meet his gaze. “Money is what I used to swap for what I thought would make me happy.”

Kane leaned forward. “You still have no idea what makes you happy, do you?”

F
ALLON RAN HER HAND
through her short curls. “I no longer require some man to make my day.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“Sometimes it is,” she admitted. “I do have friends. But I’d rather be alone than live with a man I don’t like.” She stared straight into Kane’s eyes and their gazes tuned in to one another. “What about you? Are you married?”

“No.”

“In love?”

Kane stood and paced in front of the fireplace with his hands clasped behind his back, his body as tense as she’d ever seen it, telling her that something had gone very wrong in his life. “In my line of work, there’s little time for love.”

She raised herself on her elbow to look at him and thought of the moment he’d tackled her. He’d covered her body with his own to protect her, yet hadn’t crushed her with his full weight. As her gaze wandered over his broad shoulders and flat stomach, she recalled the hard feel of him against her, his masculine smell mixed with the scent of almonds. And all
that had come after. His dominance. Her arousal. He was certainly a man who knew his way around a woman. He’d proven that to her today—more times than she could count. Without her saying a word, he’d known exactly how to excite her, tempt her and keep her right on the edge of desire. But he’d also known how to care. When she’d been ill, he’d handed her a cool, damp towel to put on her neck. And after she’d tried to shoot him, he’d given her back the gun. He might pretend to be hard core, but there was a compassionate side of him that made her believe there was a woman he’d cared about in his past.

“Surely you’ve been in love,” she mused.

He didn’t so much as stiffen, but pain shadowed his eyes. “She’s dead.”

So her guess had been on target. “I didn’t mean to rake up painful memories. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need. She lived a very happy life. Ninety-three years to be exact. She had four children, twelve grandchildren and twenty-seven great-grandchildren.”

Fallon had no idea what to say to that and was back to thinking she’d hooked up with a crazy man. Only he wasn’t insane. He had a shrewd mind, a keen intelligence and an emotional maturity that beckoned to her. She remembered the strange things he did, the silent ease with which he moved across a room, his expertise when he’d broken into her computer, the odd way he “watched” television and body-buff gadgets so sophisticated she had no idea what kind of technology powered them.

Perhaps she hadn’t heard him correctly. His words didn’t make sense. Kane looked about thirty; even if he was ten years older, his numbers made no sense. Yet, why would he lie? Even she couldn’t mistake the sorrow jammed tight in his voice or miss the open longing in his tone.

The silence deepened, and Kane paced like a caged lion. But his measured steps lulled her, and she rested her head on her pillow. After the long day, first her fright, then the emotional upheavals and finally dealing with Sinclair, she was worn-out. As the moon sank in the Floridian sky, Fallon’s eyes closed and she fell asleep.

W
HEN SHE OPENED
her eyes, refreshed after a good night’s sleep, she thought she was the crazy one. The sounds of heavy traffic, horns, trucks and sirens awakened her. Silken sheets caressed her skin and the scent of fresh orchids made her think of summer.

The night was long gone and daylight shone brightly. She was lying in a bed in what looked like a well-appointed hotel room with a high ceiling, papered in rich maroon and gray. Looking past a pigeon on the window, she noted an expanse of blue sky and one little puff of white cloud, like a ship lost and alone upon the sea.

She raced to the window. The sun winked a mocking good morning on a myriad of glass windows and asphalt pavement. And outside, Fallon beheld the elegant skyscrapers of New York City. She had no memory of leaving her home in Florida, no memory
of the journey. The last thing she remembered was dozing on her living room couch. Either Kane had drugged her, or he’d whisked her here the same way he’d done when he’d taken her from her office to the ground floor of her building. His mode of transport might be disconcerting, but it was way better than traveling—even in her private jet. Yet, she would have been happier if he’d let her in on his plans.

And where was he? Still wearing her lace gown, she opened the door to reveal that he’d reserved an entire suite. While she was certain he was again spending her money, she appreciated waking alone so she could get her bearings. A hotel brochure clued her in to her location. Hotel Nuance was located a block from Times Square.

Before she took her shower, she realized she should order clothes to be delivered from one of their exclusive shops. But there was no phone by her bed—just an empty jack, letting her know that Kane still didn’t trust her.

And why should he? She had yet to make up her own mind whether to help him or try to stop him from completing his mission. She needed more information before she could decide, and so far, he’d been mighty stingy with data. In fact, the technology had given her more clues than he had. Her problem was that as many times as she added up the clues, she could only come to one utterly impossible conclusion.

His technology was simply so superior to anything she’d ever seen that she was down to two
equally unbelievable theories. Either Kane was an alien who came from another world…or he came from the future.

She entered the marble and mirrored bathroom, used the toilet, then turned on the shower and slid out of her nightgown. When she caught sight of herself in the mirror, she gasped. She had golden tattoos on her breasts, mons and buttocks and she recalled how Kane had told her that the body buff would groom her daily to match his desires. He must have programmed it to do the job on a daily basis. The sparkling swirls emphasized her erogenous zones so blatantly that heat rose up her neck.

Oh…my. Did Kane ever have an imagination. In the tiny strip of hair was embedded what appeared to be a diamond encrusted ring. And when she looked more closely, there were rings that appeared glued to her breasts. Three rings on each nipple. Tingling between her legs suggested another on her clit and several between the cheeks of her bottom.

She stepped into the shower but the cool water didn’t sluice away the decorations any more than it sluiced away her sudden excitement. Kane might have come to New York to find Nigel, but he was keeping his side of the bargain.

“Good morning.” Kane zapped into the bathroom. Elegant and relaxed, he picked up her gown and took a seat on the counter as if he had every right to watch her.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

He chuckled, eyeing her appreciatively. “Where would be the surprise in that?”

She sighed and dabbed shampoo into her unsteady hand. Hell, he’d already seen her naked; his stare shouldn’t be any big deal. It was more his arrogant belief that he had every right to be here that she found disconcerting. The knowledge that he could do whatever he wanted, look for however long he wanted, already had her on edge.

“Are these marks on my body permanent?”

“They will last until tomorrow when I’ll reprogram the body buff to groom you again.”

So she would wake up every day with her flesh marked by him. The notion should have offended her. It didn’t. She allowed the soothing citrus scent of the shampoo to calm her, then rinsed. Shaving wasn’t necessary. With the exception of the hair on her head and her mons, the rest of her was as smooth and hairless as a baby’s belly thanks to the body buff that had worked while she slept.

“Showering isn’t really necessary. The buff keeps you clean.” He held out soap to her. “However, I’ll enjoy watching you wash your body.”

She’d bet he would. She bit back a grin. If he wanted a show, she was going to give him one that she hoped would lead to some lusty lovemaking on the king-size bed, or chair, or right here in the shower. With no phones, she had no way to let anyone know where she was and felt as though she were playing hooky. She might as well enjoy herself…and him.

Dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, yet barefoot, Kane was a mix of formal and casual. She imagined that he’d come to her before he’d finished dressing and she liked the idea that he’d wanted to see her so badly that he hadn’t stopped to don his shoes. She liked even better the notion of turning him on so they could make love. So she held the soap under the water and built up a good lather.

She began by smoothing the soap over her neck and arms, careful to turn so the spray let the suds drizzle over her chest and back. The heat in Kane’s eyes was all the response she required. Oh, yeah. He liked watching her. And she liked him watching her.

The sensual connection between them simmered, but the emotional connection was ready to boil over. Raising her gown to expose herself to him, then sitting on his lap naked had caused her to get over her inhibitions with amazing speed. Now she wanted what he’d promised and couldn’t think of a better way to start the day than to take off his clothes, run her hands over his flesh and taste his mouth.

Showering in front of him would be her way to make him come undone. He looked entirely too in command and she couldn’t wait to put a dent in his armor.

But then with a gruff command, he interrupted her fantasy. “Face me and take the nipple rings between your soapy fingers.”

Her breath hitched at his demand. She should have known those rings that attached to her were not pure decoration. Uncertain how tender her skin
would be, she put down the soap and gingerly touched the third ring on her breast, the largest ring but the one farthest from her nipple. Her skin tingled but before she could do more than touch, he stopped her exploration.

“Those aren’t the nipple rings.”

She moved her fingers to the tiny ring on the end of her nipples. When she held the ring, she learned that they weren’t three separate loops but spiraled into one another. And sensation rippled not just across the very tips but across her areolae.

Startled by the exquisite stirring ache, she jerked up her gaze to find his searing gaze boring into hers. “Pluck the rings and release them.”

She did as he asked and a thrill of excitement shot through her. She released a breathy sigh. “This is going to be fun.”

“So you like that?”

“Yes.”

“Do it again.”

She pulled at the rings and released them and wondered if she’d grown a bit more sensitive. The zing had increased. Her stomach was twisting into a knot of desire and although she told her body to slow down, it wasn’t listening.

“Again,” he demanded.

And she obeyed without hesitation, welcoming the wash of pleasure and blissful wonder. She wanted to pluck her nipples again and squirmed a little that he was going to decide when and if she could do so.

“You want to do that again, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Continue washing your body. But don’t touch any of the rings.”

Disappointment and anticipation collided. But she picked up the soap, so very aware that her plan to tease him had backfired. He was sitting comfortably on the counter, while she…she was coming unglued. She wanted to touch her breasts so badly that she had to bite her lower lip to keep from asking his permission to do so.

And as her hands soaped the rest of her, she realized how easily she’d yielded control to him. She had no idea what he’d do next. What he’d ask her to do next. She hoped they would end up making love but was content to wait and let the tension build, especially when she found the unknown so completely thrilling.

She had nothing to do but think about pleasure and that in and of itself was exciting. Fallon couldn’t remember a time when she had concentrated so fully on herself. It was depraved and degenerate and erotic and exotic and she adored every second of wondering what he’d tell her to do next.

“Rinse.”

She rinsed quickly and shut off the water. She stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel.

He plucked it from the rack a moment before her fingers reached for it. “I’ll dry you.”

“Okay.” Finally. Her wait for him to touch her was almost over.

“But first, we need to finish hooking you up.”

“Hooking me up?”

She stood on a bath rug, soaking wet under the bright fluorescent light. Her skin glowed with the gold sparkling tattoos and the rings attached to her skin. He flicked on a warming light and walked around her once, then stopped in front of her and raised his hand. He opened his fist and she saw a ball of fine gold links.

“I’m attaching this chain to your rings.”

She sucked in her breath. He held a lot of chain in his hand but it was the deviltry in his eyes that clued her in that they wouldn’t be making love anytime soon.

“Hold still.”

He raised her hand toward her breast and her nipple hardened before he so much as touched her. But he didn’t even graze her flesh. The chain seemed to attach itself to the center ring by some kind of magnetic attraction. Then he let out the chain as if releasing a thread from a spool and the chain attached to the ring on her other nipple. With every rise and fall of her chest, the chain tugged her nipples.

And he still had lots of chain left in his hands and a bright merriment in his dark blue eyes. Within moments he’d formed the chain into a
T,
with the ends attached to her nipples and a long section dangled unattached between her legs.

She hadn’t thought this through. She’d known about the other rings but had forgotten about them during her shower. He was going to chain her erogenous zones together and she had no idea what to expect after that.

“Spread your legs.” He ordered. And then he knelt and waited for her to obey.

Her mouth went dry, her stomach tightened. But she opened her legs and again he attached the chain without touching her. He connected the chain to the ring in her pubic hair, then guided it downward until the ring on her clit was also linked. Just breathing shot the most lovely tension through her, tugging the hair, shooting teeny shocks to her clit and nipples.

And he wasn’t done.

“Turn around. Place your hands on the counter.”

She did as he asked, desperate for the support of the marble. She didn’t think too much about his view of her bare bottom and parted legs. How could she when each movement jiggled, teased and taunted her nerve endings?