A Grand Seduction Read online

  She dropped the lens cover inside the drawer and extracted the remote, examining the buttons tested three days earlier. The actual camera was not visible from the bed—not at night, in any case—and leaving the adjacent bedroom lamp on would further obscure the view outdoors. The camera, on the other hand, would offer a shocking view of their bedroom gymnastics. The Canon was mounted outside to give the impression that the private eye had taken them, which would be Fran’s story when the time came.

  Ridelle had practiced with the remote while lying at assorted ridiculous angles on the bed. Of course, she had yet to try it out with a full-sized male on top of her. Her heart tap danced at the thought. Still, one or two good shots would be all they’d need.

  The controller in hand, she considered where to hide it. Yanking open the drawer in the midst of lovemaking would attract too much notice. Still, Bruce might discover it if it was stuffed under the pillows. Under the mattress, perhaps? She tried it, then shook her head. Too hard to access. And by the time she’d want access to it, she wouldn’t have anywhere on her person to hide it. She’d be naked.

  Imagery shivered through her. She was presuming a lot of tonight. There was no guarantee things would go that far. Still, judging by the phone call she’d just made, Bruce would be arriving with more on his mind than returning a bag of DVD’s.

  She replayed the call in her mind, after he’d picked up on the first ring.

  “I was hoping you’d call.”

  Her heart have given a small tumble. “You were?”

  “I wanted to apologize. I was out of line. I wanted to call you, but I wasn’t sure you wanted to speak to me.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  “I hope you didn’t just call to apologize.”

  “No, I, uh, left my bag in your car.”

  He paused. “I know. I still have it. So that’s why you’re calling?”

  “Yes. No. I want to see you.”

  His voice was cautious. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “I shouldn’t have run off. Can I ask you something?”

  “What’s that?”

  Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “If I promise not to run away this time, can we try again?”

  The pause was long enough to cause concern. “I can drop the bag off to you. Your place?”

  Coming back to the present, her eyes landed again on the pillow. A smile crept to her lips. Sliding her hand inside the case, she dropped the controller within. Easy to reach, but not easily found.

  Dumping out a square plastic laundry basket in the closet, she carried it down the hallway into the cozy living room. Done in earthy rusts and browns, the space was consumed by a three cushion sofa flanked by a pair of dark end tables, a mismatched rectangular coffee table, and a black shag throw rug beneath. Bumped against this area was a small dinette and kitchen.

  A collection of newspapers, magazines, socks, and junk mail were tossed hastily into the basket. She was halfway back to the bedroom with it when there was a knock at the door.

  She froze. “Oh, God. He’s here.”

  All but throwing the basket in the closet, she raced down the hall and took a deep breath before pulling open the front door. Her eyes flew open to accompany her gasp at the man waiting outside.

  “Dad?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Thomas Walters brushed past his daughter rather than await the graces of an invitation inside. Weathered eyes the same shade as his espresso suit made a quick assessment of the living room, narrowing in what appeared to be disapproval.

  Following her father to the couch, they sat on opposite ends. Risking a glance at the clock, her heart leapt near her throat. “What are you doing here?”

  His voice was graveled but teasing. “Nice to see you, too. I had business in town, and since my favorite daughter hasn’t called lately, I thought I’d stop by. You know Mama worries.”

  The man was nothing if not a master of guilt. “Sorry. I’ve been busy.”

  Frown lines puckered in deep furrows as he sniffed. “Doing what? Don’t tell me you went out and got a job?” He clutched at his chest as though such news would prove a fatal jolt.

  She rolled her eyes. “No. Just stuff.”

  He grunted. “You might tear yourself away from stuff every now and then to call up your personal bankers, let them know you’re still alive.”

  Ridelle sighed. She really didn’t have time for one of his forays into financial sarcasm. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes took in her outfit. “You’re all dressed up. Going out?”

  Meaning how much money was she about to spend, and was she spending it with anyone worth mentioning. “Pants and a shirt isn’t dressed up.”

  “And your good diamond necklace.”

  “I’m not going out. I’m expecting company.”

  His eyes glittered with a mixture of hopeful suspicion. “Anyone I know?”

  “No one special. But I should let you go so I can finish picking up the house.”

  He crossed his legs. “So, that’s all you’ve got for your old Dad? ‘Thanks for paying my rent, now get out’?”

  She sighed. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You could have called first. If I’d known you were coming, I wouldn’t have made other plans.” Least of all her current one.

  He stood up, but went to the mantle over the faux fireplace. He stared at a silver-framed photo of the Walters clan—Mom and Dad, Randy, Steven, Joe, and Ridelle seated in front of a flocked tree. It was their Christmas card photo from the previous year, taken by Ridelle and her magical mystery camera.

  “Not making plans is the reason I’m here. We need to talk about the future. Your future.”

  Oh, shit. The biannual “Make good or else” speech. “Can’t we talk about that later?”

  “You’ve put it off for ten years, baby girl. If not now, when?”

  She rose as well, rounding the couch to lean on it from behind. “I told you, I just needed a break from school. I’m going back in the spring.”

  He laughed. “Back to what? You’ve used up every major they can throw at you. It’s time you find something and stick to it.”

  Time marched along on the wall clock. Best to placate him quickly. “You’re right. I can’t decide that this second, but I’ll think on it and we can talk about it later this week. Okay?”

  His gaze shot out sparks of suspicion, so she pressed on. “I promise, Daddy.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Don’t you ‘Daddy’ me. Mama and I had a long talk and we’ve come to a decision.” He turned back to the photo, fisting his hips. “Christmas.”

  “What?”

  “You’ve got until Christmas to launch yourself, Ridelle. If you don’t find a way to support yourself by then, we’ll have to give you a push.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He faced her with a firm gaze. “Meaning no more financial support. Period. If you pay your way and need a bit extra, well, we’re happy to help. But the free ride is over. We’ve given you more than fair opportunity to get life underway.”

  There was a grim resolve in his expression that was new. One she didn’t like.

  She crossed her arms in front of her. “So, if I can’t find a good enough job, I have to hope I can find a big enough box to live in under a bridge? Maybe I’ll get lucky and find the kind refrigerators come in. I can cut flaps in it to make window shutters and everything.”

  He shook his head. “Don’t try to play the guilt card on me, girl. I mean it. Your Christmas gift to me this year will be a self-funding career or you’re getting coal in your stocking. End of discussion.”

  She stared at his back as he headed for the door. Mounting panic that he might just be serious this time was outweighed only by the sudden thought of him pulling open the door to find himself face to face with her adulterous affair. The thought flung her into action, cutting him off. “Let me get the door.”

  “That eager to throw me out?”

  “D
on’t be silly.”

  Resting her hand on the doorknob, she snuck a glance through the peephole. A sigh of relief escaped when she saw nothing but landscape outside.

  He turned to her, grim expression replaced with his usual teasing candor. “And call your mother this week, will you? Your brothers are driving her crazy. She could use a good word from her only daughter.”

  She nodded, standing on tiptoe to place a quick peck on a sandpapered cheek. “I will.”

  He ducked through the doorway and headed into the onset of night.

  “Love you, Dad.”

  The man grunted, but didn’t turn back. “You too.”

  After he’d gone Ridelle slid back down onto the sofa, wondering just how tightly screwed she was this time. She could call Mom to try and gauge the danger. Maybe he was just changing tactics this time, trying to force her hand. Even as the thought came, however, she sensed this wasn’t the case. The man meant business this time. There were worse fates, assuming she could pump enough money into the bank account. Otherwise, come Christmas life would take a rather spectacular downward turn.

  Another knock, softer this time, interrupted frenzied thoughts on how to become wildly self-sufficient in five months. Bruce stood at the door, half hidden behind a complication of daisies, purple statice, and bearded iris. The spray of fragrant color brought an automatic smile to her troubled face.

  “What’s this?” She took them from his outstretched hand and headed to the kitchen for a vase.

  “My apology for not calling to apologize.” He followed her, pausing at the dinette to shrug off a double breasted tan jacket, which he laid over a straight backed wooden chair.

  “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

  Bruce loosened a red and gold striped tie. “So are you. You look very nice.”

  She swallowed at the compliment and dug a ginger jar from the cupboard. She busied herself filling it with water and sticking the flower stems straight up in the glass. As she placed the vase on the dining table, the entire arrangement fell into tangled disarray. She could strike florist off the list of potential career possibilities.

  Bruce came around to stand in front of her. Her eyes came to rest on a short loop of gold chain visible in the gap of his unbuttoned black shirt Standing no more than two steps away, he raised a hand as if to brush invisible hair from her cheeks, causing her breath to catch. Instead, he pointed to the table pressed behind her. “I put your DVD’s there.”

  Twisting, she nodded at the yellow bag. “Thank you for coming so far out of your way to drop them off.”

  He smiled, studying her face. “My pleasure.”

  “Can I fix you a drink?”

  He shook his head.

  “Want to sit over on the couch?”

  Another shake, this time with a bare hint of smile. He fixed her with a stare, willing her to read the thoughts ablaze in his eyes. No clairvoyance was necessary to see he was challenging her to keep her earlier promise.

  He reached out again, this time grazing her breastbone with a feather-like touch to lift the diamond solitaire around her neck. “Very pretty.”

  She looked down, more mesmerized by the sight of his fingers near mounds of flesh than the flashing sparkle of half-carat diamond. “It was a birthday present from my father.”

  His voice softened as he fingered the necklace, thumb stroking the surface of the gemstone with a deliberation she could imagine several inches away, over nubs of pink flesh. They hardened at the image. “I thought perhaps some wealthy young stud might have given it to you.”

  Her eyes rolled at the thought. “My father’s the only man who has ever lavished me with gifts.”

  Still holding the gem, his eyes lifted to hers. “Now that is a travesty.”

  She watched in a silken haze as his head lowered to hers. She drew in a breath and caught a leg-weakening whiff of Obsession. Her eyes rolled back as the scent—and his nearness—penetrated her senses. Then his lips found hers.

  She relaxed into his kiss, letting herself ebb and flow with throbbing sensations singing through her. The first toying pulse of his tongue against her lips forced hers open, and as he explored her mouth, the rest of her body strained with sudden need. His hands moved to her swollen breasts, kneading them in a maddening bread-dough motion that caused her to sway. Sliding around to the tie at her waist, he tugged the string and pulled open the front of her blouse. Easy off, indeed.

  His eyes clouded as he dropped to his knees in front of her. His groan, guttural and low, cut a searing pulse through her abdomen. One quick motion on his part released the front closure on her bra, which he pulled aside. Cool air on her hardened nipples teased them further, and his lustful gaze tugged her desire into full-fledged lust.

  His voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “God. You’re perfect.” Then his hands were on her, followed in close echo by moist lips and tongue threatening to drive her to a psychotic frenzy. Everywhere his tongue flicked left a trail of fire along her skin, hot enough to break a fevered sweat along her brow.

  Arching back, her hands leaned on the table to steady herself as his teeth and tongue lightly teased her nipples. Small moans escaped her throat, growing in intensity as his insistent worship of her breasts gathered a painfully delightful tension and slippery moistness between her thighs.

  Bruce’s mouth traced a molten line down her abdomen, his hands seeking the waistband of her slacks. They slid over hips and buttocks in one smooth motion, and he held her steady as she stepped out of them. He ran his hands greedily up along the satiny lines of her nylons to the roundness of her buttocks.

  He growled in approval. “Sexy. Very fucking hot.”

  Her heart pounded her into a dizzy, light-headed feeling as she stood, him fully clothed and her half-naked with blouse thrown open and still in stockings and heels. She did feel sexy—and hot. Hotter than she’d ever felt in her life. God, how she wanted this man. Right there, right then. But Bruce was not finished with her yet. Ragged breaths came from her as he paused to flick his tongue into her tender navel. Kneeling lower, he reached the apex of her desire—and she let out a cry of shock when he pressed his hot mouth against the flimsy lace of her panties. Shoving aside the scrap of fabric, his tongue found purchase on a pulse point of longing that buckled her knees. Her head thrown back in abandon, Ridelle managed to keep herself upright by holding the table behind her with one hand and gripping Bruce’s shoulder with the other. He raised his head to meet her gaze, which lowered to meet his while she whimpered in protest that he had stopped.

  His mouth twisted in a victorious smile. “You said not many men can make you weak in the knees. But I can.”

  Almost too breathless to reply, she managed a simple, “Yes.”

  Then his arms tugged at her, making her dimly aware that he wanted to pull her to the floor. Halfway into obliging this silent command, she thought of the camera in the bedroom—and how close she was to letting him take anything he wanted right on the dining room carpet.

  “Not here,” she protested. “My bedroom.”

  “Here is faster.” He worked buttons on his shirt free, pulling open the black fabric to reveal a jumble of curly hair along his chest, narrowing to a feathered line heading downward along his abdomen to vanish beneath his slacks.

  Her hand, detached from any conscious command from her brain, reached out to run fingers through the springy mat of chest hair. “There is softer.”

  His arms relented and he rose, pulling her free hand down to rub against the front of severely strained trousers. Her eyes widened at the shock of bulging thickness. “I guarantee that anywhere we go will be hard.”

  Then he released her, gesturing for her to lead the way. Taking him by the front of his belt, she pulled him down the hall. Pumps and leather loafers were kicked off along the way. Turning to him as they entered the room, he eased her blouse down her shoulders until both it and her bra dropped to the floor behind her. Locking eyes in a smoldering gaze, she stepped out of her panties
, then fumbled at his belt buckle until it came free.

  The sight of him straining for freedom prompted a thought she then whispered. “Did you bring anything?” She couldn’t quite put her meaning into words.

  He produced a small foil pouch, and his slacks were soon in a puddle on the floor beside her blouse. Other garments followed until all that remained between them was the pulsing beat of his cock and her thigh-high hose. Moving her backward, he pushed her gently to sit on the bed, where she started pushing down the nylons.

  His hand reached out to stop her. “No, don’t. Leave them on.”

  Kneeling on the floor in front of her, he nudged her to lie on her back, legs dangling over the edge. Running one hand in long strokes along breasts and abdomen, he turned his attention back to licking her pussy. Ridelle shuddered and moaned, twisting under the teasing flickers and circles his tongue worked on tender flesh now granted with greater access.

  Stretching her arms over her head, her hand snaked its way toward the pillow, and she thought of the remote hidden there. Bruce grabbed the back of her thigh, bending it up to expose even more of her vulnerability to him. She groaned in animal response, retracting her hand to grab a hank of his hair. It was one thing to have pictures of her half covered by a man. What he was doing to her now, on the other hand, involved a pose she preferred not to have on public display. Photos could wait until she was better covered.

  Tracing lazy eights with his hands and mouth drove her to the edge of oblivion. God, would she even be able to think if she waited much longer? Barely aware of the room, let alone her mission therein, both her hands grabbed his head as she moaned, alternating his name with the word please. He pulled away just as she was ready to fall over the edge of orgasm, causing her to whimper and buck against him with all the shameless motion of an animal.