Cinder-Un-Rella [Companionship Inc., Book I] Read online

  Victoria breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. She'd been out of the circuit for far too long. She had forgotten what it felt like to be in the company of an attractive man. In fact, the last time she'd felt this way was over ten years ago, when she went to the junior/senior prom with Kleve, her high school boyfriend who had died the very next year from leukemia.

  "I'd also like to reassure you that I have every intention of adhering to the rules and regs of Mr. Sawyer's operation. If that is part of your concern, let no worry be wasted on that."

  She smiled, touched by his concern for her comfort. Relieved he had no designs on her other than companionship, she reached for his hand. His clear green eyes sparkled in gratitude.

  "I do have to tell you, Victoria, you are one of the most extraordinarily beautiful women I have ever laid eyes on. I can certainly appreciate your beauty as an art form."

  She laughed, thrilled at such a high compliment coming from a man as good looking as he. Most men in her past had used that line as a preemptive strike to get in her pants. Now she could accept it as a compliment, pure and simple, with no strings attached.

  Victoria liked the feeling of being near this man, she could easily become accustomed to it, crave it like a fine wine. A magnetic force compelled her body to move closer. His finger brushed her bare shoulder in a familiar gesture, like one might stroke a lover, electrifying her skin. Hot wet heat pooled in her loins.

  Suddenly a red flag rose: white heat in loins means trouble, Victoria. She glanced at his fingers—no jewelry. No ostentatious diamonds to advertise his wealth. The absence of a pretentious nature sparked her interest—though he looked like GQ, he was earthy, he even smelled like fresh, clean air, and seemed to have no need to impress anyone. The rest of the evening would be telling, as he would be among his peers. Would he still be the same person?

  She wondered if he had ever been married. Stop it, Victoria, his past or present is irrelevant, she scolded herself. After all, this is not a date.

  The longer she was in his company, the harder it became to think of their arrangement as strictly business.

  CHAPTER 2

  Taft Houston took two flutes of champagne off the banquet tray and handed one to Victoria. He raised his crystal glass to clink with hers, “Long live Companionship, Inc."

  He studied her smooth, creamy skin and clear, honest blue eyes as they sipped champagne. My God, he thought, his heart doing somersaults, she was not just beautiful, she was ethereal. For as much money as he'd paid for this night, he'd naturally expected an attractive woman, but most were hardened, cold, unapproachable, and made up to the hilt—and virtually unrecognizable without their layers of make-up.

  Victoria was a natural—with shiny blonde hair and fair blue eyes. With her tall, slender body, she reminded him of the Scandinavian women he often admired when visiting Stockholm on business. He wondered how Victoria would like Stockholm. He imagined showing her the sights—the narrow cobblestone streets, medieval castle ruins, silent electric trains and the midnight sun.

  Stop it, he berated himself. You're projecting your fantasies onto a woman you barely know out of sheer loneliness, a loneliness of your own making. If he hadn't sworn off women a couple of years ago when Melanie had cleaned him out, he wouldn't be in this predicament of having to hire dates.

  But Victoria's soft, vulnerable expression melted through his barricades each time he looked at her. This woman was real—from the inside out—he could see it with his eyes and feel it with his undefended heart.

  He hadn't been ready for this. Had he known he was going to feel this way he would have done some inner heart muscle work—toughen up for the job. He just hadn't anticipated the need for it. Was he setting himself up for disaster? Maybe he should drop everything, feign a headache and have the limo come pick her up, deliver her safely out of his life.

  Bad idea.

  She was too likely to take it personally. And then there was raw desire—his fingers ached to touch her hot skin, to put his mouth over hers and devour her, to explore her body with his tongue, to search every nook and cranny, every exquisite inch of her until he was satiated. His pants tightened from his wayward thoughts, causing an unexpected erection. He pulled his coat closed, then fumbled with his tie.

  "So, Victoria, tell me how you like it."

  Her gaze was inquisitive, causing him to redden. Freudian slip, he thought. He had to get it together, and quick. Normally always in control, Taft was beginning to feel like the village idiot.

  "I mean, what do you like to do ... for fun."

  "I love to hike and ski, ride roller coasters, among other things."

  "Ah, so you're a bit of a thrill seeker!” He envisioned her skiing down a slope in Norway, blonde hair flying behind. Then of course the celebration following in a little log cabin in the snowy mountain woods, with just a roaring fire, hot apple cider, and a bear skin rug for the two of them.

  Taft blinked, glancing at his watch as his thoughts came back into focus. It was past time for the banquet meal. He offered her his arm and they walked to the head table for the top VIPs of Sanger Computers.

  Taft sat quietly pondering his speech. Tonight was the company's version of the Oscar's night and he was favored to win. His name came across the speakers from the master of ceremonies. Taft smiled at Victoria, then rose as the spotlight followed him to the stage.

  Victoria watched as Taft took the microphone and cleared his throat. She became more relaxed as the evening unfolded. The banquet had been lovely and Taft seemed to command the respect and admiration of everyone. She felt honored to be his escort.

  His co-workers had treated her kindly. They had thankfully asked no questions, though she knew they wondered about her, as she could see it in their eyes. But instead of intruding into Taft's personal business, they were polite and she had enjoyed the conversations. Taft was clearly the most esteemed man in the room and the honored guest. The words honor, integrity, a man of his word, flitted through her mind in relation to this man. A complete contradiction from her ex, the man who thought nothing of cooking his books to make his deficits appear as assets.

  Taft continued speaking, “...from rags to riches, I've never forgotten nor have I ever left my roots. I'm still the same person. I wake up every day with gratitude, I'm happy to be alive to hear the birds sing, to see the rich fall colors, and listen to the hoot of an owl. Those, my friends, are the things that really matter. Those are the things of life. Wealth and success through Sanger has afforded me the opportunity to provide for the people I love, to give to those in need—it gives me a chance to give back that which I have been so richly bestowed."

  Victoria's heart swelled and her eyes filled with tears as she listened to him. Her womb contracted at the thought of feeling his body next to hers, for his eyes to be on her alone, just for the evening. At the end of his speech, he received a standing ovation, but his eyes seemed to search for hers. Once he found them, he held his gaze steady on her until he returned to the table.

  The lights dimmed and the music began. A jazz quartet played light bluesy pieces from the past three decades. Taft rose from his chair and took her hand.

  "Dance?” he asked.

  "Sure.” Her heart thundered.

  They were the only ones on the dance floor as the band began to play “Color My World".

  Uh-Oh. Big mistake.

  Taft wrapped her in his arms and pulled her toward him. Victoria placed her hands behind his neck. She felt intoxicated by his mingling scent of Hugo Boss and Irish Spring soap. He looked down at her with beautiful, moss green eyes and her limbs jellified. She envisioned them making love next to a gurgling brook in the deep wilderness.

  Taft pulled her closer, running a heated palm up her back. The meshing of their bodies turned her internal furnace up a notch. Suddenly the room seemed unbearably hot. It must have had the same effect on him—she could feel his erection trapped between them through the thin material of her dress. She pressed her hips against him,
loving the feeling of his desire resting next to her, wanting that fullness between her legs. Wet pools of hunger filled her loins and dampened her panties. She snuggled against his neck as he stroked her hair, his breathing harder and hotter.

  Taft settled his cheek against hers, leaving her wondering what the abrasive scratch of stubble would feel like against the inside of her upper thighs. Her nipples pebbled against his chest and she arched into him; she couldn't get enough. Her breathing came out hot and shallow—but not from the exertion of the dance.

  * * * *

  Taft's penis throbbed painfully as he pressed against Victoria. He didn't care at the moment what anyone might think. He wanted her. Intense desire short-circuited every logical facility. He couldn't stop the rush anymore now than he could dam the waters from rushing over Niagara Falls. God, the restraint seemed unbearable in a pleasure-pain sort of way. Her skin next to his felt like sun-warmed rose petals and smelled like hot-sex-between-the-sheets.

  His hand shifted to her tight ass as he pulled her taut against his erection. He knew Victoria was just as caught up in this sex dance as he—for her breathing hastened and her skin was as hot as a firecracker. She ground against him when he pulled her in, darn near driving any sane thought from him. Taft wanted to feel her heat, her wetness, to probe deep and discover all her mysteries. He wanted to send her soaring with his hot wet tongue. Oh, to taste her exquisite feminine musk, to drink the waters of her stream.

  * * * *

  Taft's penis grew and throbbed with every move. Victoria thought it a good thing the ballroom's dance floor laid in shadows, otherwise the entire room might be aware of the mutual attraction going on between them. He continued to press into her as she shifted her legs to nestle his penis between her legs, wanting, seeking, and begging it to enter her. He groaned at her blatant invitation, deftly keeping the tempo of his fluid mini-step. She was between his legs now and he seemed intent on keeping her there. The juncture of her thighs was hot for him, on fire, with every thrust trying to burn the material that kept their bodies from joining. Her legs weakened and began to shake as her whole body ignited like a roaring flame.

  Taft whispered in her ear, the sound hoarse and tantalizing, “Let's get out of here—before we get arrested."

  Unable to speak and barely able to walk, she followed Taft out of the darkened banquet room like a puppet in the hands of a master puppeteer. He could definitely pluck all her strings and push all her buttons. Her body was one quivering mass of molten lava.

  The snoozing driver of the limo seemed surprised to see them return so soon. He jumped out quickly and opened the back door.

  His voice still husky, Taft said, “Take us for a long ride, Malcolm, then deliver me back here and the lady to her destination."

  The driver closed the smoked glass partition and left them blessedly alone. Soft strains of Kenny G filtered through the interior. Taft wasted no time getting back to where they had left off on the dance floor. He lifted her chin and pressed his lips softly to hers, tasting of her, before thrusting his tongue between her lips and mating with hers, slipping it in and out of her mouth like a good, hard fuck—a prelude of things to come.

  Taft moved to her neck, inhaling the soft, feminine scent of her skin, then moved his kisses down to her chest. Her breasts felt soft and wonderful. He tongued the cleavage exposed above the lace, then pulled her shoulder strap down to expose the areola. Taft drew one nipple into his mouth, gently suckling and tugging on it, licking and kissing it. Her nipples were long and taut. He pulled her other strap down, exposing her breasts in the soft light. He took them both in his hands and squeezed.

  "These are so beautiful ... and real!” Taft exclaimed.

  Victoria tilted her head back and laughed, low and sensual. He placed his head between her breasts and licked the space between them. Her hands entwined in his hair before guiding his head to one of her nipples again.

  "Harder,” she pleaded, her voice raspy and her breath hot. His dick throbbed and pressed tight against his pants.

  Go slow, man. Don't scare her off. She wants me as much as I want her. But if we follow Sawyer's rules, I'm going to have the worst case of blue balls in the state of Texas, he thought.

  Taft slid one of his hands under her dress and trailed slowly up her thigh. He found her panties and began stroking the material. Her breath came hot and fast as she moved his hand beneath the silky material. His fingers quickly found her clit and began stroking the sensitive flesh with slow practiced movements. He loved her wetness and the heady scent of her sex. He rubbed her clit in a circular motion, watching her face to see her responses.

  "Is that what you like, Victoria? Tell me what you want, baby!” Taft whispered in her ear with his low, sensual, testosterone-ladened voice.

  "Oh, yes. Please don't stop."

  Taft thrummed his finger like a human vibrator. Her urgent moans and arching of her hips urged him on. She moved her hand to the zipper pull of his pants, but he stopped and grasped her wrist. Taking her hands and placing them above her head, he kissed her deeply again, moving his fingers back to the wet v of her thighs, this time plunging deep, moving in and out with two of his fingers, making sure to stroke her clit before each thrust.

  Her body tensed and he knew release was close. Her eyelids drifted closed. “Come on, Victoria, open your eyes, baby. I want you to watch me as you climax. Nothing would make me happier."

  "Oh, yes ... now,” she moaned and her body shuddered before collapsing against the leather seats.

  He held her for a minute, then gently pulled up her panties, all the while keeping her hands trapped over her head. He leaned down and took one delicious, delicate nipple into his mouth for a last minute delight. Moving up, he kissed her swollen lips before releasing her hands and bringing her up with him on the seat.

  He stroked her hair softly as she rested her head on his shoulder. Placing a finger under her chin, Taft lifted her face to his and kissed her mouth erotically, brushing his lips as light as a feather over hers, teasing, promising of more to come. He then plunged his tongue deep within her mouth, skimming her tongue. Ribbons of sensation shot directly to her womb, causing her to squirm in the sweet agony of ecstasy.

  The limo slowed, then came to a halt. The chauffeur jumped out and opened their door. “We are at your destination, sir."

  "Thank you, Malcolm,” Taft said. “Please take the lady wherever she wishes to go."

  Turning to Victoria, he lifted her hand to his lips and smiled, “Thank you for one of the most pleasurable evenings of my life."

  And he was gone with the close of the door.

  Malcolm reentered the car, slid down the glass separating them, and turned to Victoria, asking where she would like to go. She gave him an address of a townhouse near the shelter where he dropped her off shortly thereafter. She walked up the stairs, fumbling in her purse like she was looking for keys until the limo rounded the corner and disappeared.

  CHAPTER 3

  Taft acknowledged the security guard, Bert, at the entrance to the office building he had just purchased. He used his key to take the elevator to the penthouse on the top floor. The smell of fresh paint and plastic covers assaulted him as he walked in. A sliver of light seeped from beneath his bedroom door. He never left lights on. Soft music played quietly, coming from somewhere in the house, more than likely his bedroom.

  He slowly opened the door to the room, not knowing what or whom to expect. From under his tiger-striped comforter popped an all too familiar face, plastered with a huge smile, as if it were to make all the difference in the world.

  "Surprise,” Melanie said, throwing the covers back, revealing her naked, oiled body. She blew him a kiss and grabbed her champagne from the nightstand. “Where have you been, sweetie? I've been waiting all night for you!"

  Melanie's lower lip protruded in a pout. “And you know I don't like to be kept waiting."

  "How in the hell did you get in here, Melanie?"

  She dangled th
e keys from a well-manicured finger. “It seems your painter likes me.” She laughed, deep and throaty, obviously appreciating her own conniving nature.

  "You have no right to be in here. Get the hell out. It's been over between us for a long time."

  "It will never be over, Taft. I told you that when you dumped me. I'm going to make damn sure you are always in my life.” She reached over and offered him a glass of champagne. “Here, honey, have some champagne and relax. Why do you always have to be so damn uptight? Can't you ever cut loose and have fun?"

  "I'm only going to say this once. I want you to get dressed and leave. Now! And if you ever step foot in my penthouse again I'll have you arrested."

  Melanie pouted, albeit a well-practiced one. “If I believed what you said, my feelings might have been hurt. But I know you want me; I know you dream about fucking my brains out every night. And I want the same. We're two creatures of habit. I can't sleep at night because I want you so bad."

  Taft grimaced. Melanie had the statuesque body of a runway model, but the full lips of a well-kissed whore. She'd had him fooled with her innocent, little girl act for far too long. Eventually, he started getting suspicious of her late night cover shoots and hired a detective to follow her. Turned out those late night model shoots were late night orgies—with Melanie in the middle. Taft confronted her with photo evidence, taken by the detective with infrared cameras and video equipment. Melanie brushed it off as nothing.

  "Taft, for crying out loud, it's just sex,” she had said. “Recreational. I don't care who you fuck, as long as it's me you come home to. As a matter of fact, it would really be a turn on to watch you having sex with another woman, or man for that matter. Maybe we could even have a threesome."

  Taft had felt nauseated. He'd had no idea of her secret life. He was, no doubt, as red-blooded and hot for sex as any man—but he preferred monogamy. This other stuff he couldn't handle, didn't want to be any part of. In the end, he'd asked her to leave. She did—but with a large chunk of his bank account. He'd been the fool for allowing her to sign his checks. It had taken a long time to recover from her betrayal and he wasn't about to let her back into his life now.