The Buchanan's Redemption (6 page)

"Oh, honey you don't have to explain your relationship with Mr. Buchanan. It's none of my business."

Emma cringed, wondering how many women this Janie had primped for dates with Vince Buchanan. He probably made silly women who valued silly things swoon at the attention. The idea made her want to shave her head so he had nothing to have primped but her hair was her one vanity and knew not even she could go that far. "I'm not that kind of woman," she felt it necessary to clarify. "We are working together to…" She searched for the right words. "Well, we have mutual business interests that we are trying to protect." What a total lie but she couldn't rightly say that Vince was blackmailing her into helping him solve a crime that should’ve been reported to the police. But it didn't matter what she said because Janie simply smiled and went about her business without comment. "Maybe just a blowout and some light makeup," Emma suggested, looking for the easiest way to be done with this embarrassing situation.

Janie clucked and giggled. "Oh, no honey. Mr. Buchanan gave express instructions for you to have an updo. He wants to see your beautiful neck." Janie leaned down to whisper conspiratorially. "Don't be surprised if he wants to put a lovely necklace on that beautiful neck of yours. Mr. Buchanan loves showing his appreciation for a woman’s attributes."

"God, I hope not," she muttered, appalled. "I don't want jewelry from him. I don't want anything from him," she couldn't help but add.

"Be that as it may, Mr. Buchanan gets what he wants and if he wants you to look like a gorgeous princess on his arm that's what he's going to get because that's what he’s paying me for."

"Not to be rude or anything but is there anything Vince Buchanan can't buy?"

Janie didn't take offense and answered cheerfully. "Not that I'm aware of. He is a very good customer. In this economy when you find a good client you hold on to him even if sometimes his requests are a little bit different."

Okay, that comment piqued her curiosity. "What do you mean? How different?"

"Sorry, nondisclosure."

"Oh yes, of course,” Emma said. “I'm being required to sign one of those tonight, too. Makes you wonder…what does he wish to hide from the rest of the world? Normal people certainly don’t walk around shoving nondisclosure paperwork in people’s faces the minute they meet unless they have something to hide."

"Forgive me dear, but you’ve obviously never been around extreme wealth.”

She frowned. “Well, that’s true but I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Janie’s voice was indulgent as she explained, “It's a necessary component when dealing with someone as highly sought after as Mr. Buchanan. You know how many women have tried to put a ring on that man's finger? They’ve chased him from one end of the globe to the other. Not that I blame them, Mr. Buchanan is a beautiful man."

"I wouldn't say
beautiful
," Emma said, pursing her lips in disagreement. "Maybe
mildly
handsome or deviously charismatic or maybe even fiendishly seductive but definitely not beautiful. When I hear the word beautiful I think of nice people — people whose goodness radiates from the inside out. I definitely would not call Vince Buchanan beautiful. The man doesn't have a single cell of innate goodness in his entire body."

"My my, he's sure made an impression on you I can see. You're probably the only woman in the city who doesn't want a piece of him."

"Damn straight I don't want a piece of him. At the moment I have too much of him and it's definitely not on my list of desirable."

Janie chuckled as she quickly blew out Emma’s hair and began setting it in big rollers. "I've worked with Mr. Buchanan for a very long time and I can tell you that while he may bark, he rarely bites. And that's all I’m going to say."

"Oh, he bites all right." But Emma had to wonder what Janie meant by that. How could she possibly mean that he was all bark and no bite? He’d obviously never threatened Janie's livelihood. Perhaps he had never coerced her into doing something she didn't want to do. "Well, let's just say that perhaps the way he treats you is not the way he treats everyone."

"Oh, that's entirely possible. But I know a thing or two about people. Comes with the territory. When people sit in my chair I become the therapist. I don't know how it happens but it does. And I can tell you Mr. Buchanan is one of those people who puts the meaning behind the saying ‘still waters run deep.’ Personally, I find a man like Mr. Buchanan fascinating. That and he's definitely not hard on the eyes. If I were just a bit younger and as pretty as someone like you I might be one of the many women chasing him down."

Emma shuddered at the thought. "I'd rather be running in the opposite direction." At that Janie laughed and begin carefully applying Emma's makeup. "So how did you meet Vince?" No offense to Janie but she didn't seem the type to be running around Malvagio. "I mean, you seem nice."

"Thank you honey, I like to think I am. I met Mr. Buchanan at a fundraiser."

"Fundraiser?" She barked a short laugh filled with derision. “Fundraising for what?”

“Breast cancer research,” Janie said, effectively snuffing out Emma’s plethora of rude comebacks she’d been thinking of spouting. “I was one of the speakers as a survivor and Mr. Buchanan was moved by my story. He’s been a loyal client ever since.”

“Oh.” Now she felt like a jerk. “You’re a survivor?”

“Yes, ma’am. And every day is a blessing that I won’t soon forget.”

Should she ask? Emma had to know. “Not that it isn’t a great cause, but why was Vince at a breast cancer fundraiser?”

“It isn’t for me to say but I can tell you that he feels very strongly about the research and he’s a generous contributor to the cause. Even if he can’t attend the local fundraiser, he always sends a big check. I wouldn’t say this if it weren’t already public knowledge, but it’s because of Buchanan Enterprises that anyone who can’t afford a mammogram can apply for a free exam, courtesy of a special fund facilitated by the Buchanan family.”

Emma fell silent, unable to process this information. How had her research missed that little nugget of information? Because she hadn’t been looking for positive news about the Buchanans, only the dark, salacious kind that they would’ve been more inclined to hide. “I didn’t know that about the Buchanans,” Emma murmured, momentarily speechless at the information. Well, one good deed did not exonerate them, she told herself. But, she’d be lying if she didn’t admit that the information had tilted her ship just a little.

And that was a problem.

If she wasn’t convinced that Vince was the enemy in all things…how was she supposed to keep her distance when her hormones were plainly interested in playing the part of wanton harlot, if even just for the night? She pressed her lips together. “He’s making me go to dinner with him,” Emma blurted out. When Janie didn’t respond, Emma added, “How do you know he didn’t put these bruises on me that you’re trying to cover up?”

Janie pulled back and regarded Emma with a look that she imagined her own mother would’ve graced her with if she’d said something similarly outrageous just to get a reaction. “Mr. Buchanan is not an abusive man. He’s strong and opinionated and certainly accustomed to getting what he wants, but he’s not a man who would put his hands on a woman. Ever. I don’t know anything about this dinner date but I do know, you’re probably the only woman who would dream of turning him down. Your reasons are your own but don’t try to drag a good man down simply because you don’t like him. Chances are you don’t truly known him.”

“What if he’s not a good man?” she said mulishly.

“Well, that’s a matter of opinion.” Janie handed Emma a mirror and she gasped at her own reflection. Her bruises were well hidden beneath Janie’s artistry and her face…she didn’t even recognize the woman staring back at her. “Beautiful,” Janie said with approval as she gently smoothed a stray curl trying to escape from the elaborate updo that made her look like a movie star getting ready to walk the red carpet.

“Wow” was all Emma could say and Janie laughed, saying, “Let’s get you into that dress and I guarantee Mr. Buchanan will be the one saying ‘wow’ next.”

Emma didn’t want to feel like a princess in a fairy tale but standing in that dress, primped and prettied beyond anything she’d ever known, she couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculously giddy feeling threatening to steal her good sense. “It’s very pretty,” she admitted to Janie with a shy smile.

“Oh honey, it’s more than pretty. It was made for you.”

“I agree.”

Emma nearly toppled over at the sound of Vince’s voice at the door. She wobbled in the heels and with Janie’s help righted herself. He wore a dark suit that accentuated his devilish good looks but it was what he held in his hands that caused her jaw to drop as he said, “But it still needs something…” He approached with a glittering diamond necklace that looked as if it could feed a nation and she almost passed out from holding her breath when she realized he meant for her to wear it. He stepped forward and gently clasped the necklace in place and she sent a tremulous smile to Janie who beamed.

“Perfect, Mr. Buchanan,” Janie said.

Vince held her stare and he murmured in agreement, “Yes, she is. Shall we?”

Emma took his arm and sent a look to Janie, unsure of what exactly was happening. Was she really, actually leaving on Vince’s arm as if they were dating? This was surreal, she told herself. Totally surreal.

And she was totally falling for whatever glamour Vince was throwing around because for a moment, she wondered if she’d been totally wrong about Vince Buchanan and if that were true…what did that mean for tonight?

She supposed she was about to find out.

Vince sucked in a tight breath, as Emma accepted his arm. He could feel her trembling as she put one foot in front of the other, her gaze trained directly ahead as if she were afraid to meet his gaze for fear of what she’d see. If she dared to look into his eyes, she’d see the hunger seizing control of his senses for he’d been strung taut the second he laid eyes on her. The red had been the perfect choice —
 
too perfect in fact. The fine fabric clung to her sweet curves and made the most out of her plump breasts and flared hips that he itched to drive himself deep inside her willing heat to stake his claim. He wanted to brand her with his touch, make her his in ways that baffled him. Sweat dotted his hairline and he realized if he didn’t get a hold of himself he’d end up dissolving into a puddle of unattractive goo. He never lost his cool —
 
ever. But he felt dangerously close to that edge right now. His insides shook and his mind refused to stop bouncing from one thought to the next, like an unruly dog jumping on springs to escape the fence.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he led her to the awaiting Towncar. “You know this isn’t necessary.”

“I will determine what is necessary and what isn’t.”

She lifted her shoulder in a small negligent shrug as if to say,
it’s your dime
, and climbed into the Towncar. He caught a flash of leg as she did so and his groin tightened almost painfully. What was wrong with him? There were no mysteries with Emma. He knew what the red dress concealed so the usual anticipation of revealing the treasures of a new conquest shouldn’t be distracting him. He knew the size and shape of her lovely nipples and the fact that she had a tiny birthmark on her hipbone like an angel’s kiss marking an erogenous zone. So why was he shaking like a leaf in the wind at the very idea of lifting the hem of that exquisite dress and feasting his eyes on what he’d already seen?

“Tell me about yourself,” he instructed, eliciting a quick look of surprise from her blue eyes.

“Why?”

“Because I want to hear from you what I already know.”

She scowled, hating to be reminded that he was in control. “And why should I do that?”

His temper began to build at her stubbornness but then he realized Emma would never yield through sheer pressure; she would rather break first. And he had no interest in breaking her tonight. Particularly when he felt out of sorts himself. “Let me try again,” he said, offering a small smile that he hoped was disarming. In truth, Nolan was the charming one but he’d picked up a tip or two over the years from watching the master at work. “I realize we’ve gotten off to a terrible start and I want to rectify that if I can. I’d like to work as a team for mutual benefit.”

“That’s impossible. You’re holding me hostage and it’s too soon for Stockholm Syndrome to kick in so I am not the least bit sympathetic to your cause. I’m here because you’re making me. Have you forgotten that you’re blackmailing me?”

“No and it’s unfortunate that I couldn’t find a better way to encourage your assistance but I thought if we could break down the barrier between us, you would be willing to help me without coercion and thus, together we’d find a mutually agreeable solution to the problem at hand.”

“You really want to work together?” she asked, her brows lifting in wary surprise. “Even if it means eventually shutting down Malvagio for good?”

“Let’s just say, I’ve been thinking long and hard about my involvement with the club and I’m open to new possibilities,” he said, lying through his teeth. Shut down the club? Not in a million years. No one told Vince how to run his life, not his brother, and certainly not this pretty piece of ass sitting close enough to touch. But he needed her cooperation and he was willing to tell her whatever she needed to hear to get it. “You have to understand, I never imagined that someone might use the club for such purposes as hurting other people. The whole idea behind Malvagio is a consensual freeing of the senses, using all manner of tools and toys. Surely, that’s not a bad thing?”

Emma slid her tongue along the seam of her bottom lip, unsure of how to handle a calmer, more genteel version of himself and Vince nearly crowed. “I don’t know…on the surface I would say, I suppose not but indiscriminate sex with strangers goes against everything I believe sex should be about.”

That intrigued him. “Oh? And what should sex be about? I mean that with all sincerity,” he added when she started to bristle. His quick clarification took some of the hot air from her sails but she looked reluctant to share her feelings about the subject until he pressed. “I wasn’t raised with a traditional value set and it’s beginning to become apparent to me that I might’ve missed out some important lessons. Maybe you could help me to understand how you feel.”

“Oh. Well, um, okay. But if you’re asking me this only to mock me later, then I’m not going to share personal stuff,” she warned and he held up two fingers with a murmured ‘scout’s honor’ and she scoffed at the idea. “I doubt you were ever a Scout.”

“Not true. I was an Eagle Scout, believe it or not.”

“And if I don’t believe it?”

“Then I will have to drag my achievement medals out from their boxes in storage to prove it to you.”

A tiny smile lifted the corners of her sweet mouth and he realized he liked her smile very much. He would endeavor to make her smile more, he decided. Perhaps even laugh.

"So how did you go from Eagle Scout to morally-deficient lothario?"

He chuckled even though she had just lobbed an insult his way. "I suppose poor guidance? Or maybe I'm just drawn that way. Either way, we are who we are."

"Tell me why you are an ardent supporter of breast cancer research," she said, surprising him with her straightforward question. At his raised brow, she shrugged saying, "You're not the only one good at research."

He hadn't expected her to lob a very personal question his way but he supposed it was fair game. By the end of the night he wanted to know everything there was to know about Emma Winters and he planned to get very personal indeed. He could participate in a little
quid pro quo
if it pleased her. "My mother died of breast cancer when I was seven. I can't help but wonder if I might've turned out differently if she’d been around. Before I totally ruin your opinion of me as a self-serving, arrogant bastard, it's the one and only charity I support. But then again it's not hard to write a check so I try not to toot my own horn too loudly."

She nodded, digesting the information. He wished he could have a window into that quick moving little mind of hers. He’d give anything to know where her thoughts were going. The fact that he cared at all what she thought was another revelation to him. Not a comfortable one at that. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother. Your father is dead as well, yes?"

He nodded. “His death didn't affect me as deeply as that of my mother. My father… Let's just say if you think I'm an asshole then he would've been the king of assholes. We didn't exactly get along —
 
too much alike, I suppose. By the time he died I was more than ready to see the last of him."

"Do your brothers feel the same way?"

"Pretty much. He wasn't much of a father. He was more of a CEO than a family patriarch." Vince shrugged when he saw a hint of sympathy creep into her eyes. "It is what it is and I don't dwell on the past. Tell me about your parents."

But before she could answer the town car slowed to a stop as they arrived at the restaurant. Vince was half tempted to tell the driver to circle around the block because he didn't want to shatter the illusion of sharing confidences but she was only too eager to climb from the car.

The restaurant, one of the most pompous places he knew, catered to people like him and he knew instinctively that Emma would probably hate it, or if not hated, at least find herself out of her element. He could've picked a less pretentious place but for some reason he had wanted to drive home the point that he had more money than he knew what to do with and that she couldn't possibly compete with him on any level. Perhaps it was petty but he preferred to think of it as ruthless. He may wear the veneer of a charming gentleman when it suited him but deep down he was a shark and she would do well to remember that, if even on a subconscious level.

But Emma, he discovered, was unpredictable. When she saw the restaurant her eyes lit up and she smiled, saying, "I read a review on this place and it was very complementary. I can't wait to try their food on your dime because the prices are ridiculous. I mean, who really wants to pay $300 for a giant plate with hardly anything on it?"

Vince stifled a chuckle. God, he felt the same. He only brought people here when he wanted to impress or intimidate. And clearly, she’d sailed past either attempt with flying colors, choosing to grab the moment with a hearty sense of adventure. How could he not identify with such a kindred spirit?

The moment they crossed the threshold the maître d expediently seated them in a private corner as was the custom whenever a Buchanan frequented the establishment but Emma was too busy gazing in wide-eyed wonder at everything around her to notice much else, including his hand at the small of her back as he guided her to her seat. She graced him with a brief smile even as her eyes lit up with delight as if she forgot for the moment that she hated him and Vince’s heart nearly stuttered to a stop at how blindingly beautiful she was when she turned on that 100-watt smile without reservation. But she must’ve remembered her circumstances a heartbeat later for she quickly smothered the smile and Vince saw the walls go back up. The wine arrived and Emma took a quick sip, probably to bolster her nerves and he enjoyed watching her every move from above the rim of his own glass. “Do you approve?” he asked of his wine choice.

“I’m not much of a wine drinker,” she said by way of an answer. “It could be the best or the worst and I wouldn’t know the difference.”

“Good to know. In other words, you’re a fairly cheap date.”

“I don’t actually date that often so I can’t rightly say but if you’re using that as a gauge then, I guess you would be right because I’m more of a burgers and beer kind of girl.”

“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?”