Margaret Mayo - Blackmailed Into His Arms

Two colorful drinks, complete with the umbrellas he’d promised, sat on a small glass table beside the chair, practically untouched, and soft music played over the sound system that was piped through the entire house.

“I’ve got a party to attend tomorrow night,” he said, startling her out of her drowsy reverie.

Rolling her head back slightly, she realized his eyes were still closed, but he obviously wasn’t asleep as she’d first thought.

“You wanna go with me?”

“Do I have a choice?” she asked, shifting slightly to redistribute her weight along his chest and thigh.

“You always have a choice. We all do,” he replied calmly. Lifting his arm, he thread his fingers through the damp hair at her temple. “But I’m asking you. It’s a business gathering, but you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I can make it through one black-tie party on my own, I think,” he added with a chuckle.

She felt his laughter vibrate through his body, and nearly sighed at the tender, relaxing sensation he was creating along her scalp.

“I’d like you with me, though, if you’d like to go.”

Swallowing hard, she tried not to let her emotions tense her muscles or hasten her breathing, but her mind was spinning.

Was this a turning point in their relationship? Was he beginning to see her more as a lover, a girlfriend, than simply a mistress by business arrangement?

She didn’t want to get her hopes up, didn’t want to read too much into his one small comment, his one tiny shift in attitude. But her heart swelled with the possibilities.

“I would like to,” she said softly, relieved when her voice came out steady and self-assured.

“Good. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

Then, without warning, he rolled over, twisting her beneath him, catching her just before she fell off the edge of the chaise. She gave a little yelp, her eyes going wide in startlement.

“Wear something slinky and sexy that shows off your great breasts and bottom.”

He pinched her there and she made a sound that was half-gasp, half-laugh.

“You think I have a nice bottom?” she asked when she’d regained her breath.

“Stellar. Classic. Greek statues weep in envy.”

She grinned, letting her head fall back as he nuzzled her throat. His unshaven cheek scratched along her tender flesh, likely leaving a mark that she would later have to explain to her family and co-workers, but she didn’t care. Her back arched in pleasure, her hips bumping into his obvious arousal.

His hands slid higher as his mouth moved to her ear. “And make sure it’s backless. Something that leaves your smooth, gorgeous back bare to the room. Every other woman there will want to scratch your eyes out,” he murmured. “And every man will want you.”

“Including you?” she asked, finally getting into the flow of his building passion. She lifted her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist and licked the line of his jaw.

“Especially me. I’ll be wanting you even before I pick you up.”

He emphasized his point by slipping inside her in one long, steady stroke. Her lungs seized, and for the rest of the afternoon, all the thoughts and concerns jumbling through her mind were pushed aside by the sinful, delicious things Chase did to her.

Ever an agreeable mistress, Elena wore something slinky, sexy and backless that she hoped did an adequate job of highlighting her chest and rear. Chase, she supposed, would be the judge of that.

She couldn’t wait to see his reaction when he caught his first glimpse of her. He would be there any minute, and all she had left to do was slip on her necklace and earrings.

Her gown was red and floor-length, with a slit that ran to mid-thigh. The material was struck through with silver threads so that every bit of it shimmered, especially when she moved. The bodice, cut in a deep vee and tied behind her neck, left her shoulders and back completely bare.

She wore high, red heels with a criss-cross design across the top of her foot. Tiny rhinestones sparkled at the junction where each of the straps crossed.

Her jewelry was surprisingly simple—just a diamond pendant at her neck, matching teardrop earrings and an understated tennis bracelet on her right wrist.

According to Alandra, she looked “hot enough to peel the paint off a ‘57 Mustang.” Whatever that meant. But she’d laughed anyway, and taken it as the compliment she was sure her sister meant it to be.

Grabbing her small red clutch, she left her bedroom and headed downstairs. Her foot had just cleared the last step when the doorbell rang. She moved across the foyer, her high heels clicking on the polished parquet floor, and opened the door.

The sun was beginning to set, but it was still light enough to make out every detail of Chase’s broad, masculine form. And that form was positively mouthwatering in a tuxedo.

His black hair was slicked back instead of being left in its usual, carefree style, making him look sexier and more sophisticated.

She started to lick her lips, then remembered the recently applied lipstick and forced herself to rein in her roving tongue.

“Wow,” he muttered, reading her mind. “You look fabulous.”

“Thank you,” she said, then did a little pirouette in the doorway. “Does my dress meet with your approval? It’s slinky, sexy, shows off my breasts and bottom and is even—” She turned again, flashing the expanse of her back, left completely bare by both the dress and her upswept hair. “—backless.”

“Nice. Very nice,” he drawled. Reaching out, he ran the knuckle of one index finger along her spine, from the small of her back to the nape of her neck.

She shivered, both from his touch and the low, suggestive tone. If she wasn’t careful, they would end up rolling around on the floor of her father’s entryway and miss the party altogether.

Slowly, she turned around to face him, placing her hand on her stomach in an attempt to quell the butterflies swooping and swirling inside.

“Should we go?” she asked.

With a heartfelt sigh, he hung his head and let his arm fall back to his side. “If we must.”

She smiled, following him onto the front stoop and closing the door behind her.

He helped her into the car, then walked around and took a seat on the driver’s side.

It took nearly half an hour to reach the hotel where the fund-raiser was being held. When they arrived, Chase passed his keys to the valet before rounding the hood, opening her door and taking her hand as she stepped out.

With her arm linked at his elbow, they strode through the luxurious hotel’s lobby, took the elevator to the fourth floor and crossed to the entrance of the decorated, already packed ballroom. For a minute, they stood at the open double doors, taking in their surroundings.

Just before Chase took a step to lead her inside, Elena tipped her head and glanced up to meet his gaze.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said in as innocent a tone as she could muster. Then she stood up on tiptoe and leaned close to his ear to whisper, “I’m not wearing panties.”

I’m not wearing panties .

I’m not wearing panties .

I’m not wearing panties .

The ballroom was crowded with people, most of whom he knew, many of whom he’d done business with. A hundred voices mingled together, raising the volume to near headache level.

And still, all he heard was those four words Elena had whispered in his ear a split second before they’d stepped into the party.

Stepped. Yeah, right. He’d been so stunned by her erotic admission that he’d been frozen in place. Riveted to the spot, his entire body hot and flaring like a lit match tip with unleashed passion. She’d had to practically drag him the rest of the way into the room. He couldn’t have taken a single step on his own if his life depended on it.