DrillingDownDeep

Angela
Claire

Michael Reynolds is the perfect
heir to his family’s vast commercial empire.  Calm and exacting, he never lets
himself go, not even during sex. Until a mysterious stranger’s wild seduction and
impromptu striptease has him rethinking the benefits of losing some of his
legendary control.

Vanny Donald is an oil driller,
like her father was—before he was fired on a trumped-up charge of sabotage. Disguised
as “Shelly”, she seduces Michael to gain access to his apartment and steal some
files. Vanny wants payback for her father. What “Shelly” gets is a night of no-holds-barred
sex and the personal satisfaction of making Michael Reynolds lose control
.

When Michael arrives to inspect
Vanny’s oil rig, she doesn’t know what worries her more—that he’ll recognize
her or that he
won’t.
Some real sabotage in the form of a bomb onboard
has Michael soon discovering that his sullen young tour guide is also his
mysterious, seductive Shelly. So he offers her another job—as his mistress.

A
Romantica®
erotic romantic suspense
from Ellora’s Cave

Michael Reynolds sipped his scotch and watched the belle of
the bar hold court nearby. She was young, dark-haired and well on her way to
being seriously tipsy from all appearances. He’d been glancing at the
financials for the latest Reynolds Industries acquisition on his iPad when her
husky laugh caught his attention and the sight of her long legs kept it. Three
other guys in the bar felt the same. They vied for her attention, hovering over
her as she perched on her barstool, shooting each other sideways looks as if to
place their own private bets on who would get lucky. Their ties were loosened,
their drinks readily refilled and everything the pretty girl said made them
smile.

He wondered idly if she was a prostitute but decided
probably not. Although her suit was just tasteful enough and sexy enough to
suggest it—in a high-class hotel like this, anything more blatant would not
do—something about her loose manner and glowing face made him doubt she was a
working girl. Not world-weary enough. Probably more like a young professional,
a lawyer or banker perhaps, enjoying the power of her beauty outside of the
working place where it was as much a burden as anything else.

He glanced down to his iPad again, flicking the screen
forward, wondering for the hundredth time what he had been thinking to consider
buying an oil drilling company, when the soft smell of peaches made him look up
again. The girl was walking by his booth, a slight smile still on her face, her
gait steady despite the fact that the boys at the bar had been plying her with
drinks. His eyes drifted down to the curve of her ass and back up again, every
bit as admiring as her contingent at the bar had been. But when he made his way
to her face, bright brown eyes met his.
Caught
. She’d stopped, right in
front of his booth, and he’d been so busy checking her out that he hadn’t
noticed.

He glanced back down to his iPad, but she leaned toward him,
resting her palms on the table, her long dark hair falling forward. “Are you
waiting for someone?”

The line was so pat, he considered whether he might have
been wrong about her line of work. “No. Not really.”

“Good.” She slid in next to him. “Do you mind if I hang out
here for a bit? I’ve been trying to get rid of those guys all night and they
just won’t take the hint.”

“Maybe you should stop flirting with them.”

“Is that what I was doing? I thought I was being polite.”

He glanced over at the bar where the boys were glaring at
him. “Well, in any case, I think they’ve gotten the point now.”

She shrugged and held up a hand to flag the waiter,
gesturing for another drink. “I don’t know what they were trying for anyway.
It’s not like I could take all three of them home, is it?”

“Not unless you were feeling extremely vigorous.”

That husky laugh came again and with her this close he felt
his cock tingle at it. She was really quite beautiful, made up for a night on
the town it appeared, with bright-red lipstick and heavy eyeliner. As the
waiter brought another scotch for him and some kind of orange concoction for
her, Michael closed his iPad.

“Well, I don’t know if vigorous is quite how I feel
tonight.” Her drink was history in one or two long swallows. She turned those
brown eyes on him again. “I’d call it more like
receptive
.”

“Receptive? That sounds nice.” He took a sip of the scotch.
“Depending on the price of course.”

He thought he should get it out there. If he was wrong and
she was offended, he’d claim he was teasing. If he was right and she named a
price, he’d send her on her way. He didn’t sleep with women who were paid to do
so, at least paid directly anyway. She might as well not waste her time.

But she had neither reaction. Instead she laughed again.

“Is that your polite way of asking if I’m a prostitute?” She
shook her head, her long straight hair swaying in a silky fall. “Oh you have no
idea how much that fits into the day I’m having. No, I’m not a prostitute.
Why?” She pulled back, as if suddenly realizing she should be indignant. “Do I
look like a prostitute dressed like this?”

He let his eyes wander over her again. “You look extremely
lovely. I just wanted to be straightforward.”

“Well, you’re an exception to your gender then. I didn’t
offer to sleep with you either, you know. I was only trying to lose those
guys.” She nodded her head toward the bar without looking back at it. “Are they
gone yet?”

“Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Depends on whether you’ll protect me.”

“Depends on what I’d be protecting you from.” The guys were
still at the bar and from the looks they were throwing toward the booth,
probably getting up the nerve to come over and join them. “Do you work with them?”

Somehow the waiter appeared with another drink for her. This
one she toyed with.

“No. I came in to unwind and they kind of flocked to me.”

“I’m sure that’s not unusual for you.”

“This is though.” She held up the bare ring finger of her
left hand. She had lovely milky-white skin so there was no tan mark, but the
wiggling of her finger made the point plain enough.

“Why is that?”

“Celebrating my separation. Three carats. It’s in my jewelry
box at home, but I’m considering hocking it.”

“I’m sure it’d serve him right. If you reconcile, he’ll have
to pay to get it back.”

“Oh he’ll have to pay either way, believe me. But tonight
I’m the one who feels like a little payback.”

Well, that was an opening if he’d ever heard one. Usually,
he didn’t care for one-night stands.

She smiled at him widely and ran her long red-tipped finger
along the rim of her glass.

But he was considering making an exception.

“So, separated as in…”

“As in walked into our town house and found him screwing the
maid.”

He nodded, murmuring, “That’ll do it.”

“Are you married?” She looked pointedly at his own ringless
left hand.

“No.”

Underneath the booth, he felt the tip of her shoe graze
across his pant leg.

“Do you have a room?”

He had the natural reticence of a man born to a lot of
money. So he hesitated.

The shoe traveled northward until it was practically at his
inner thigh, pushing his legs open. It was an old trick but exceedingly
effective.

“Why? Is that what you’re up for?” The hard-on she was
giving him made his tone sound terser than he’d intended, so he added, “Because
if not, I’m afraid I’m a heartless bastard and wouldn’t be a very good shoulder
to cry on.”

Her shoe dropped back to her own portion of the table space.
“Don’t worry about it. You’re the last kind of man I’d look to for a comforting
cry.”

He smiled, not able to help himself, even though the
conversation wasn’t exactly heading in the right direction. “How would you know
that?”

“You just said it, didn’t you?”

“I guess I did. It’s true anyway, whether I admitted it or
not. What’s your name?”

“Shelly.”

“Well, Shelly, I’m Michael.” He considered how to rephrase
his point. As a general matter, he believed in using euphemisms with women.
They seemed to prefer it, but he wanted to make sure she understood. He had a
lot of work to do on this Transcoastal deal and if she wasn’t, uh, sincere, or
even sure, he didn’t want to spare the time. “And I’d be very happy to be the
unintended third-party beneficiary of your husband’s bad behavior, but only as
long as you’re certain that’s what you want.”

She looked at him, hard. “What else would I want?”

“I don’t know. To make your husband jealous maybe.”

“That too,” she admitted.

“But either way you decide now.”

“You don’t mince words, do you,
Michael
?”

“No. And you don’t seem quite as drunk as I suspect those
guys thought you were.” He nodded toward the bar.

She shrugged. “Maybe I need another drink.”

“I doubt it. What you probably need is a good fuck.”
Sometimes he got a little tired of euphemisms.

“I suppose that’s the first thing you’d do if you caught
your wife cheating on you.”

“No. The first thing I’d do would be to call my divorce
lawyer and tell him to dig out the pre-nup.”

She laughed, looking as if he’d startled it out of her. “And
the next thing?”

“The next thing I’d do would be to beat the guy to a pulp.”

“Now that’s a reaction I can understand.”

“And only then would I go out and find someone to fuck me
senseless.”

“Is that what you’re offering? To
fuck
me senseless.”

“Only if you’re
receptive.
”

“And if I wasn’t?”

He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I’d send you
home to your husband.”

“I
should
go home.”

He took her hand, running his thumb along the pad of her
palm. “I’m not going to talk you into anything.”

“Why not? Maybe I want to be talked into it.
Ordered
to do it.”

This time he was the one who laughed. “That’s a very
dangerous invitation, Shelly. I’m extremely good at giving orders.”

“I’m extremely bad at taking them, Michael.”

“That almost sounds like a challenge.”

She turned their joined hands so that she was now holding his
instead of vice versa and then brought his thumb to her mouth and nipped it.
“Game on,” she whispered.

Even a reticent man didn’t overlook this kind of good
fortune falling right in his lap.

“Waiter,” he called loudly. “Check please.”

* * * * *

Vanny Donald glanced around the penthouse suite, every bit
as luxurious as she’d imagined. Michael Reynolds ushered her in, dropping his
iPad and suit jacket on a bench by the door, and went directly to the bar. His
back to her, he said, “I don’t think I can make a frozen peach margarita or
whatever it was that you were drinking down there, but I do have a nice
champagne if you’re interested.”

She could drink any man under the table, even if the drink
was rotgut whiskey, but like so many of her other natural talents, she was not
displaying it tonight in favor of other more needed ones. With one quick glance
to ensure he wasn’t watching her, she slipped his iPad into her sacklike purse.
“Whatever you have is fine. Can I use the bathroom?”

When he pointed her down the hall, she ducked into the chic,
gleaming room and locked the door. Taking the iPad out of her purse, she
flicked it on. Just as she’d suspected, relied on really, the arrogant son of a
bitch didn’t even have the entry screen password protected. Too much trouble no
doubt. She knew his company’s IT could wipe it in seconds if he did lose it or
have it stolen, but not requiring a password just in case would have overridden
any sane IT department’s policy. Apparently, Michael Reynolds considered
himself above corporate policy.

“You okay in there?” she heard from down the hall.

“Just freshening up. I’ll be out in a minute.” And that was
about all it took. A minute to sync his iPad with the portable computer she’d
stashed in her purse and then download the relevant files, helpfully organized
under a “Transcoastal” heading. She even had time to check her makeup after
she’d stashed the computer and the iPad back in a side pocket of the purse.

Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she startled
slightly at the picture she made. It was almost the face of another girl thanks
to a combination of pale, heavy foundation and overly exaggerated contours. The
color of her hair and brown eyes added to her disguise. The contacts would be
easy to lose, of course, but she hoped the “washes-out easily” claim on the
Nice’n’Easy bottle was accurate. She didn’t think she looked right with all
this dark hair. She’d be cutting it all off soon in any case.

When she came out, he was still at the bar and she returned
to the bench, dropping her purse down. Since he was watching her now, she
didn’t get a chance to slip the iPad out again, but she’d see to it later.

Smiling, she collapsed onto one of the beige leather sofas
by the floor-to-ceiling window.

Reynolds brought her a glass of champagne, sitting next to
her on the sofa, his arm snaking around the back of it as she sipped. He played
idly with a lock of her hair and then slipped his hand under the heavy weight
of it to rest lightly along the nape of her neck. Apparently he didn’t mind the
brown hair.

His own hair was black, short but with a little wave, and
his eyes a deep blue with long, long lashes. The rumor circulating around the
company that he looked like a heart-breaker had turned out to be true.
Altogether GQ-ready, but in an older, more seasoned way. Not her usual brand of
corn flakes by any means. His good looks and the habits that went with them,
however, only interested her as a means to an end.

A way for her to get up here and get what she needed. But
now that she had, leaving too soon would be suspicious. She could play along
just fine…for a bit, at least.

She set down her drink.

Michael hoped this revenge fuck was not going to turn into a
bout of crying or lamenting or recriminations against herself or her cheating
husband. This Shelly had seemed so hot and feisty down in the bar, but she was
starting to look a little unsure now. To get her back on track, he leaned
forward and ran a thumb along her pouty lower lip in preparation for his kiss.
Oh so very nice and soft. When he tasted her, she opened her mouth willingly
and he plunged his tongue in for a deep kiss, just the way he liked it. She
tasted like the champagne and something more, something sweeter. His hand went
from her nape to the long curve of her throat, stroking and then dipping down
to trace her collar bone. She scooted closer as they kissed and her hands
sifted through his hair, a light, casual touch that went straight to his cock.