On the Prowl Read online

  “Better?” she repeated in disbelief. She felt vile. Her breasts were red from his mouth and her dress was still wrapped around her waist. She felt cheap and sordid with her pussy naked and throbbing.

  He patted the wet triangle of hair before turning toward his desk. “It must have been hard for you to fight your basic instincts. You’ve wanted to spread those long legs for Big Brent for a long time.”

  “I didn’t… You made me…” Outrage made it nearly impossible to speak. “I came here to beg you to change your mind about the after-school program!”

  He looked over his shoulder at her and his teeth glowed in the moonlight like a wolf’s. “And you begged well. That after-school program is expensive, though. I’ll need more convincing. Next time—”

  Her head whipped back so fast, it banged against the door behind her. “There isn’t going to be a next time!”

  “Careful, Tally.” He pulled tissues out of a box on his desk and cleaned off his limp dick. “Remember how badly you want the Arts Council’s support before you say that.”

  “That’s…that’s blackmail.”

  He grinned again as he zipped up. “And just whom are you going to complain to?”

  The fight drained out of her. She watched wide-eyed as he advanced on her again with the tissue box in hand. The bastard. She couldn’t complain to anyone. She couldn’t tell a soul what she’d let him do to her. He’d left her powerless. Distraught, she lurched away from the door but he caught her and pressed her back.

  He pulled out a handful of tissues and reached between her legs.

  “No!” she said, pushing at his forearm.

  “You know, it’s funny how your mouth and your body seem to disagree so much.” He tossed a wet tissue onto the floor and reached for another one.

  She gasped as the soft material brushed across her clit and gathered moisture from her wet tangles. “You are such a lowlife.”

  “And you love that about me,” he whispered. His hot breaths blew onto her face as he leaned close. He emphasized his point by pressing a tissue-covered finger right up into her and swirling it around.

  “Ahh,” she cried.

  “But I’m not an unreasonable man,” he said, nipping her earlobe. “You pleaded your case well. I suppose a donation to your little charity is warranted.”

  He tossed the box of tissues aside and reached for his wallet. “Will this do?”

  She was left utterly speechless as she watched him pull out a wad of bills and roll them up. Watching her with that wolfish smile on his face, he reached between her legs again. Horror suddenly gripped her. She groped for his hand but he pushed the money up into her damp channel and left it there.

  “Use this in whatever way you see fit,” he said with a smirk.

  Talia couldn’t have moved if the house had been on fire. She was staggered by what he’d just done. He gave her breast one last squeeze, set her aside and left her alone in the room.

  Inside her head, all Talia could hear was screaming. After what could have been five seconds or five minutes, she finally reached between her legs. The wad of money clung to her but she dragged it out of its wet hiding place. Unrolling the bills, she looked at Brent Harrington III’s “donation”.

  She was mortified.

  He’d just paid her $120 for a fuck.

  Chapter Two

  He’d used her like a whore.

  Bitterness rose inside Talia until a metallic taste filled her mouth. The money in her hand became hot to the touch. She dropped it on the floor before it could brand her. She’d had to deal with New Covington’s twisted society strata ever since her family had moved to this town but she’d never felt so cheap. Brent hadn’t thought twice about screwing her and paying her for her services.

  Worse yet, she’d let him do it.

  Her hand lashed out and hit the light switch. If she’d thought that things would look better under the harsh lights, she was wrong. Red marks dotted her breasts. Further down, her pussy was pink and swollen. Her dress was bunched around her waist and her panties were on the floor two feet away.

  She looked like a tramp. She’d acted like a tramp.

  And he’d made damn sure she felt like one.

  Her hands shook with fury as she untangled herself from her silk bindings. She pulled her dress back into place but no amount of smoothing or stretching could erase the wrinkles. People were bound to notice.

  Panic started to grab hold. They’d notice and they would talk. Once again, she was going to be dragged through the town rumor mill.

  “Stop it!” she chastised herself. “Just stop and think.”

  She looked at her surroundings, not really knowing what she was searching for. A large oak desk was the focal point of the room. Dark leather furniture, a collection of antique riding equipment and a packed bookcase gave the room a masculine feel. Too masculine. Too much like Brent.

  She had to get out of here.

  Her gaze focused on the sliding glass door behind the desk. It led to a balcony and her mind was drawn back to her daydream. She considered it for a full minute before she decided it was too dangerous. There was no way around it. She was going to have to face the Edward Joneses and the Shelli Harringtons downstairs in order to escape.

  A door in the far corner looked as if it led to a bathroom. She bent over to pick up her things and grimaced when her body protested. Her legs were unsteady as she wandered across the room. Her steps paused, though, when she saw the antique riding whip hanging on the wall in a shadow box. Fire burned in her belly as she took in the strong lines of the leather.

  It was tempting.

  She spun away before she could do something rash. She was a Sizemore. She refused to do anything to darken the family name—even if Brent deserved it.

  Opening the bathroom door, she hesitantly looked at herself in the mirror. Her reflection made her wince. Her hair was falling out of its French twist and there was a hazy sultriness shining in her eyes. She looked as if she’d just had a great roll in the sack. Worst of all, there was stickiness between her legs that proved that she had.

  Her chin dropped to her chest. She’d been screwed.

  And in so many ways.

  Brent had proven his political power over her in the Arts Council meeting. A quick rut against his office door had shown his physical and sexual power. He’d shown her in no uncertain terms that he could do whatever he wanted to her, whenever he wanted.

  Her shoulders shook.

  “This isn’t over,” she whispered.

  She had her pride. It didn’t matter what he did; he’d never get that from her. She lifted her chin and straightened her shoulders. She did what she could to make herself respectable but nothing soothed her tattered ego. By the time she’d reapplied her lipstick and wiped the cum off her thighs, she was raging mad.

  When she marched out of the bathroom, her steps were quick and sure. She kept her eyes strictly off the antiques display and headed to the door. She felt one last betraying flutter between her legs as she looked at it. Something brushed against her foot and she glanced down.

  It was the money.

  “I earned this,” she said angrily. She swept the damp twenty-dollar bills off the floor and stuffed them into her purse. “I’m damn well going to keep it.”

  She shut the office door with a bang and strode toward the head of the staircase. Her confidence wavered, though, as she looked down at the crowd of people. Suddenly, she was fifteen all over again. This was exactly how she’d felt when she’d walked out of the Devonshire’s bathroom looking like a wet T-shirt contestant.

  “Damn you, Brent,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Holding her head high, she marched down the stairs.

  “There you are, dear. I wondered where you’d gotten to.”

  Talia felt her flushed cheeks heat to the scorching point. Dear God, she didn’t want to talk to Roger Thorton now. Her gaze darted around the room as she looked for an escape. He stepped in front of her, effect
ively blocking her path.

  Humiliation made her cringe. Could he tell? Could he see that she’d just had sex? Could he smell it?

  “Uncle Roger, I think you were right,” she said, thinking quickly. She didn’t even have to fake the tremor in her voice. “I feel as if I’m coming down with something. Perhaps I should go home.”

  “But of course, dear,” he said. “You shouldn’t push yourself like this.”

  She almost jumped out of her skin when he reached out and caught her chin.

  “Do you want me to take you to a doctor? Your eyes are hazy and you’ve got a sheen of sweat at your temples.”

  “I just need some rest. Really.” She turned her head to get away from his disturbing touch. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brent. She quickly gave him her back and focused on Roger. She needed to get out of here. Now. “Could you find my coat?”

  “Stay right here.” He stopped a passing waiter and grabbed a glass of water. “Drink this. It might make you feel better.”

  Her fingers gripped the glass hard as she took a long drink. The water felt good against her parched throat. She rolled the cool glass against her hot forehead and tried to calm down. So many powerful feelings were coursing through her veins. Embarrassment, shame and anger were warring for the top spot. When Brent moved into her line of view again and lifted a glass of champagne in salute, anger won out.

  “Here you go, dear,” Roger said as he returned.

  Talia spun around and nearly threw her empty glass at a waiter. Her hands clenched into fists as she punched her arms through the sleeves of her coat. Her knuckles bumped against something hard and she felt it wobble. Instinctively, she grabbed for it.

  It was the small, animalier bronze on the hallway table. A cat.

  The rest of the world faded away as she looked at it. Her heart started pounding in her chest and a feeling of triumph threatened to cut off her air supply.

  She was worth a hell of a lot more than $120.

  She thrust the sculpture into her pocket and headed for the door.

  Roger quickened his stride to keep up with her. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asked. “Do you need me to drive you home?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Roger. Would you stop following that sad sack around?” Lydia Thorton’s inebriated voice cut through the din of the crowd. “The party’s just starting to hop.”

  Talia kept her back to the woman. She couldn’t deal with Lydia on the best of days. She certainly couldn’t deal with her now.

  “Thank you, Uncle Roger,” she said as she nodded to the doorman. “I can get home on my own.”

  “Are you sure? I hope you’ll be feeling better by Tuesday. Don’t forget we’re having that dinner party.”

  “I’ll be there,” she called over her shoulder.

  She nearly ran out the front door of the Harrington mansion. Her footsteps were quick as she left the hell that was the Harringtons, the Thortons and the Arts Council. She quickly sent the parking valet for her car.

  Her breaths were still shaky but she closed her eyes and inhaled the crisp night air as she waited. Her fingers tightened around the bronze cat in her pocket. It weighed heavily in her hand and the pressure in her chest eased.

  “Now who’s been screwed, Turd?”

  * * * * *

  Talia was in the shop early the next morning. She hadn’t slept well. Her body was sore in places that hadn’t been sore for a long time and her emotions were still touchy. It had taken a hot bath and nearly half a bottle of wine to calm her nerves after she’d gotten home last night.

  At least she felt that she’d come out on top in the end. Sometime today, Brent was going to realize what had happened. Hitting him in the pocketbook had been pure inspiration. It was the place he would feel it the most. Soon, he was going to be regretting his actions.

  She put the pretty cat on display. She’d been surprised to find it was a Mène but that made things even sweeter. The cat’s eyes seemed to glitter in the morning sunlight. It would surely sell quickly and she’d already decided that the proceeds would go into the Foundation. After all, Brent had said he was happy to make a donation. He just hadn’t realized how big a donation it was going to be.

  The bell over the front door to Coolectibles rang and she turned away from the new display. Sadie stepped into the shop and wiped her feet on the welcome mat. She cocked her head when she saw that they were already open for business. “You’re up early.”

  Talia shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Of course, you couldn’t sleep. Who could after all the excitement last night?” Sadie tugged off her jacket and hurried over. “Tell me everything.”

  Talia stopped in the act of wiping dust off an old phonograph. Excitement? Last night? How in God’s name had her assistant found out what had happened?

  Her stomach turned. Brent. He’d already spread word of their tryst through the New Covington grapevine. She felt bile rise up in her throat. The rumor mill must be working overtime.

  “Oh, come on, Talia. Did you see anything? The newscast was pretty vague.”

  The news? The news? Her common sense took over. There was no way that a story about her and Brent doing the deed would have been on the nightly news. She turned and looked at her friend. “What did they say?” she asked carefully.

  Sadie rolled her eyes with impatience. “Just the basics. Robbery, Harrington mansion, party… You know. Tell me what really happened.”

  Robbery? Talia’s head snapped up. Brent was calling it a robbery?

  That bastard! He was trying to get back at her. Of all the—

  Her stomach lurched as everything clicked into place. Reaching up, she slapped a hand over her mouth.

  Of course, he’d reported it as a robbery—because that was what it had been. He didn’t know that she’d taken the little cat. He didn’t know why it had been stolen.

  Dear God, she was a thief.

  “Talia? What’s wrong?” Sadie reached out and caught her by the arm. Gently, she led her to a chair. “Sit down before you pass out.”

  “Oh, no,” Talia said as wooziness overtook her. What had she done?

  “I keep telling you that you should take better care of yourself.” Sadie crouched down in front of her and felt her forehead. “You don’t feel as if you’ve got a fever.”

  Talia shrugged off the touch. No fever? Her skin prickled as if it was on fire. Every single nerve ending was flaring, signaling danger. She closed her eyes to try to block it out. That just intensified the thrum of her pulse in her ears. The pounding seemed to taunt “guil-ty, guil-ty” over and over again. “What was I thinking?”

  Sadie rocked back on her heels. “You just need some sleep. Why don’t you go back upstairs to your apartment? A nap might help.”

  A nap wouldn’t cure what ailed her. She’d broken the law. She’d been justifiably upset but that didn’t account for burglary. Brent had taken advantage of her—yes. But she’d been somewhat willing. What he’d done hadn’t been a crime. Her revenge, though, could go down as a felony!

  “What did they say on the news?” she asked.

  “That’s not important. Let’s take care of you. I’ll get you some tea.”

  Talia ran a hand through her hair. What was she going to do? Did anyone know what had really happened? Roger apparently hadn’t seen but what about Lydia? Had she been too drunk? Had anyone else been around?

  Sadie came back with a piping hot mug. “How long have you felt like this?”

  “Last night,” Talia said, her brain starting to kick into gear. If she stayed calm and thought this through, she could repair things. It was all just a big, horrible misunderstanding. Surely, everyone would understand once she explained.

  But how was she going to explain? She couldn’t tell the police what had happened in Brent’s office! She couldn’t tell Sadie, her best friend.

  “I came home early from the party,” she said, thinking fast. “I didn’t even know there had been a burglary.
Do the police have any suspects?”

  “Not so far. The reporter said that they’re looking through the list of party guests, the catering staff, the waiters, the parking attendants… It’s going to take them a while.”

  Good. She had some time. She needed time to figure out how to straighten out this mess.

  Maybe she should just return the cat to Brent and Shelli.

  Yeah, right. And what was she supposed to say? “I’m sorry, it must have fallen into my pocket on my way out the door?” He’d laugh in her face. If anything could be more humiliating than last night, that might be it.

  Talia looked over Sadie’s shoulder and her eyes widened when she saw the telltale piece shining in the sunlight. “Could you find me some aspirin?” she asked quickly. “I can’t believe how suddenly this has hit me.”

  “Of course,” Sadie said, already turning. “You just sit still.”

  She couldn’t stay still. She had to get rid of the evidence. She waited until her assistant was out of the room before she hurried to the display. Her hands shook as she grabbed the bronze. Where should she hide it?

  Her eyes dropped to her briefcase. Hurriedly, she packed the cat inside, making sure it was well-protected in a roll of cloth. She was already putting on her jacket when Sadie came back with the aspirin.

  “Where do you think you’re going, missy? You park that butt back down in that chair.”

  Talia forced a smile. “That tone might work with Linc but I’ve got work to do.”

  She downed the two aspirin with one swig of tea. “Watch the shop?”

  “Watch the shop? Where are you going? Talia!”

  “I’m feeling better, I swear,” she called. She ignored her assistant’s protests as she darted out the back door. The briefcase weighed heavily in her hand. She couldn’t sell the thing in her shop. She wanted it out of her hands.

  Without thinking, she drove halfway across town to a colleague’s gallery. She really didn’t know what she was going to do once she got there but Arthur was a friend. More importantly, he detested the Harringtons. She could confide in him, tell him the truth. He’d help her; she knew he would.