Michelle felt a pang of longing and an aching between her legs. She turned toward him and reached out a hand to touch his skin. She felt her hand slapped away.

  “No!” he scolded her again.

  “Kiss me,” she begged.

  Roger chuckled. “Patience, little one,” he crooned.

  A warm palm slid down Michelle's chest and wrapped around one of her firm breasts. She arched her back into Roger's touch. His thumb flicked across her nipple and she cried out when he squeezed it tight enough to cause just a twinge of pain. Much to Michelle's disappointment, he let go. A moment later her returned. Michelle could smell lavender, and then his hands, slick with soap, swept over her already tingling breasts. As he lathered her, Michelle felt a sweet torment unlike any other, wanting so badly to touch him back but afraid of inviting his disapproval. She gasped and chewed her lip, biting back her pleasure, as his soapy hands slid down over her belly and across her thighs. She instinctively lifted her pelvis, craving his touch to her most sensitive regions.

  “Are you trying to tell me something?” he murmured, amusement lacing his rich voice.

  She nodded, afraid to answer.

  He chuckled again. “In time,” was all he said. His hands continued to work their magic, slipping and sliding down her legs, missing nothing, including the sensitive nerve endings behind her knees. Michelle kicked against his administrations which only earned her a disapproving cluck of his tongue. His hands settled on her feet. Lifting them out of the water, he propped them up against his chest. His palms worked against the soles, firmly kneading the flesh until soft and malleable.

  Michelle felt herself drifting off into a kind of wakeful bliss. The warm water lapping at her naked skin and Roger's skillful hands massaged her feet. She thought she'd enter heaven until she heard his voice again.

  “Turn around,” he commanded her, all amusement gone.

  Michelle hesitated, wishing she could see him.

  “On your knees,” he clarified.

  Her jaw dropped open. Did he really want her to-

  “Now!” he demanded, his voice husky with desire.

  Michelle scurried to obey. Putting her back to him, she sat up on her knees.

  “Place your hands on the ledge,” he told her.

  She hesitated again. If she did that then her butt would be sticking straight up in the air!

  “Don't make me force you, Michelle,” he threatened.

  Michelle knew he was not a man to be ignored. She did as he said, bending over and placing her palms against the edge of the pool.

  “Good,” he praised her. “Now spread your knees apart.”

  Michelle reluctantly complied, her face burning with embarrassment. She couldn't help but wonder what kind of picture her backside presented to him, bared for him to see. She heard the flick of a switch being turned on and then a whooshing sound as the tub's jets came on in full blast. Michelle gasped as one jet aimed right between her legs, sending a shot of gurgling water spewing against her clitoris. Michelle arched into it, as the water pounded and pummeled her sending wave after wave of the most delicious sensations shooting through her core.

  Roger came up behind her, his hands massaging her bottom. He ran a trail of light kisses along her spine, pushing her hair out of the way, that ended at the top of her neck. His tongue sent a shiver of goosebumps cascading over every corner of her body.

  “Roger,” she moaned as his hands slid under her, cupping her heavy breasts in each palm. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more of this sweet torture she felt Roger's stiff cock pushing into her. Oh God! She thought she would die. This time Roger let her come right away, his mouth still blazing a trail of hot kisses on the back of her neck as he thrust in and out of her. He pinched and fondled her nipples while the hot jet blasted her. “Roger!” she gasped, shocked as a second wave of ecstasy followed closely behind the first. Michelle gave up trying to count as Roger brought her to the top again and again while she clung helplessly to the ledge.

  “Michelle!” she heard Roger groan. He gripped her to him so tightly she thought they'd become one. “You're going to be the death of me,” he moaned against her ear. She felt Roger's cock jerk deep within in her and cried out one last time when his hot liquid spewed into her womb.

  He held her for a long time, his heartbeat pounding against her back until at last he pulled out of her still trembling body. He stood and lifted her out of the water. He carried her, his wet feet making slapping sounds against the floor. She felt herself being lowered, still sopping wet, into the bed. Michelle was in a daze, too foggy and used up to care.

  “Go to sleep,” she heard him say.

  This time, Michelle didn't resist in the least bit. The last thing she remembered was the feeling of a thick comforter being pulled over her and a brief kiss pressed to her forehead.

  Chapter 8.

  Michelle opened her eyes, the blindfold having slipped off in the night. The first rays of sunlight poured through the open windows. It took a moment to recall where she was, but then Michelle remembered all the delicious event that transpired the evening before. She rolled over expecting to find Roger sprawled out beside her. The other side of the bed was empty. In fact, the blankets were still neatly tucked into the edge of the mattress, indicating that no one had slept there at all. A pang of loneliness swept over her. Roger hadn't even staid the night with her. Didn't she matter in the least bit to him? She felt a tear prick at the corner of her eye.

  A knock sounded at the front of the door. Michelle sprang out of the bed thinking it must be Roger returning after all. Maybe he just had something important to take care of in the night and really did care about her. Just to be sure, she flung a robe around her shoulders and asked who it was before yanking the door open.

  “Room Service,” a young man's voice came from the hall.

  Again Michelle felt a wave a disappointment wash over her. She opened the door reluctantly. The uniformed man pushed a cart holding several covered dishes into the room. She watched as he parked the cart next to a table by the window and set it for one.

  “Do you happen to know where Mr. Hollins went?” she asked the man.

  “He left ma'am,” the young man answered, filling a champagne flute with vodka and orange juice.

  “He checked out already?” She couldn't keep the sadness out of her voice.

  “No ma'am,” the young man didn't look up from his work. “Mr. Hollins is not a guest of the hotel. He owns it. This is his private suite.”

  Her jaw dropped open. Roger Hollins owned the finest hotel in the city!

  “But don't worry, ma'am,” the worker continued. “Mr. Hollins left instructions that you may stay for as long as you like.”

  Michelle still couldn't get passed the part where Roger Hollins owned all of this. She thought of his penthouse, where he took her the first time they made love. It was even more lavish than this so why did he need to have his own room at the hotel?

  “Does Mr. Hollins come here often?” she asked.

  “From time to time,” the man answered. The dishes had been laid out and now the young man added the last finishing touch – a single red rose in a vase – to the center of the table. “Only when he's...” he froze, his face turning bright red.

  Michelle's brows drew together.

  “When he's what?” she asked, praying the answer wouldn't be what she thought.

  The man straightened, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I really must be going, ma'am.”

  Michelle blocked the door, making clear that he would not be returning to his duties until he gave her a straight answer.

  “He-he uses the room for...entertaining, ma'am.”

  “Women?”

  He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. Brushing past her, he scrambled for the exit.

  Michelle felt as though someone had knocked the air out of her. She was just another of his women, of which there were no doubt many. She'd been used! And the stupid woman that she was had let him. Roger Hollins didn't care about her or her company. He was just in it for the money and the cheap thrills. Michelle had never felt so violated.

  Well, no more! Fool me once shame on him, fool me twice... And she had been fooled twice. She should have known she was being used after the first time she'd gone home with him, when he sent her packing immediately after he'd gotten what he wanted. He would do the same no doubt with her company. As soon as he made a quick profit, he'd probably sink Today's Energy straight into the grave.

  Michelle hurried back into the bedroom, ignoring the food. She found her dress still on the floor where she left it the previous night and slipped it over her head. The strap of the dress caught on something. Michelle felt the pearl and diamond necklace and felt a new pang of despair as she thought of how wonderful last night had been and how it meant everything to her and nothing to Roger. Tears stinging her eyes, she tore the necklace off and threw it across the room. She didn't need it! She wasn't some cheap hooker to be ravished in a hotel room and then paid promptly for her services.

  Dressed now, she found her purse and fished out her phone. She found Becky's number and hit 'send'.

  “Michelle?” Becky's voice sounded sleepy.

  “Meet me in the office in twenty minutes,” Michelle demanded, already marching down the hall.

  “Really? But I thought I'd been laid off.”

  “Not anymore,” Michelle informed her. “I'm going to need your help, Becky. Today more than ever.” She pressed 'end' and hurried into the open elevator. She really was going to need her assistant. It would take all day to reverse Roger's policies.

  Chapter 9.

  “I think that about does it.” Michelle slapped the last of the files into Becky's waiting arms.

  “Are you sure we did the right thing?” Becky looked nervous as she juggled the files against her rock n roll camp t-shirt. The t-shirt went with the faded jeans Becky wore. Michelle didn't bother mentioning the dress code violation on account of the last minute workday.

  “I am certain that the only way to save Today's Energy is by not letting that ruthless man sink his teeth into it.”

  Becky seemed skeptical and Michelle hoped she was right. She was doing this to save Today's Energy and not because she wanted to get back at Roger for using her for sex, right?

  “What happened between you two to make you hate him so much?” Becky dared to ask.

  “You ought to hate him too,” Michelle snapped, ignoring the question. “After all he did fire you.”

  “No,” Becky corrected. “He laid me off. Big difference. He gave me nice severance and a letter of recommendation. It would only have been a matter of time before I found something else.”

  Michelle's head snapped up. Crossing her arms over her chest, she asked Becky, “Do you want to work somewhere else?”

  “Naw.” The girl shrugged her slim shoulders. “I like working for you.”

  Michelle sighed with relief. “Well, I'm glad to have you back,” Michelle admitted. “I'm tired, how about you?” At Becky's affirmative, she added, “Alright, go ahead and go home. I'm just going to finish up a couple more things and then I'm leaving too.”

  Michelle locked up and rode the elevator down to the garage. She had the keys to her ancient Volvo when the doors to the elevator opened up. In front of her, a familiar black limo waited. The driver holding the door open was not the same gentle man who drove her to Chartier. This guy looked tough and menacing. Michelle gulped. Had Roger already gotten word that she'd reversed his policies?

  “Get in,” the burly driver snapped.

  Michelle looked around the deserted garage. This limo and her Volvo were the only vehicles left. She didn't like the way the driver was looking at her and Michelle felt her blood run cold. She briefly considered her options. If she screamed, no one would hear. If she tried to run and make it to her car, this guy would certainly catch her as he stood between her and the Volvo. She'd have to go with him whether she wanted to or not and hope that Roger really was a legitimate businessman and not, as she was beginning to suspect, a member of the mafia.

  About to get in, the driver snatched her purse from her.

  “Hey!” she yelled. He didn't answer but just rummaged through the bag before withdrawing her phone. The burly man flipped it over and pulled out the battery before tossing it back into the bag and returning it to her.

  Michelle swallowed hard. She got in and the door slammed behind her with an ominous thud. Michelle heard the sound of the automatic locks clicking into place. She felt for the handle and found to her growing concern that she couldn't open it from within. She glanced around the interior. This time there was no bottle of champagne awaiting her. Oh dear Lord! Roger was going to have her put in cement shoes and dumped in the river! Michelle felt her heart stop at the thought. The engine revved up and the limo lurched forward.

  “Where are we going?” she ventured to ask the driver when they'd been on the road for a while. The driver ignored her, making Michelle all the more uneasy. She chewed on her thumbnail while she surveyed the passing landscape out the window. They left the city and turned down a country road. The road wound its way up a twisting path toward the top of a big hill.

  Well, Michelle thought. At least I'm not going to drown. More like an unmarked burial in the woods then. The limo came to a stop in front of quaint, two-story building. The building appeared occupied and Michelle was just beginning to wonder who all was in on her assassination attempt. Should she run inside screaming that she'd been kidnapped? The driver opened the door and handed her back her cell phone battery.

  “There's no service up here anyway,” the big man smirked. He pointed to the building's entrance. “Go straight to the back and then hang a left.”

  A sign on the door read Antonucci's. The wonderful aroma of Italian cooking coming from within was a sure fire indication that the place was a restaurant. Michelle was about to open the door, when it swung open for her. A swarthy, dark haired man smiled at her.

  “Welcome to Antonucci's,” he said with a thick Italian accent.

  Despite the friendly welcome, Michelle's pulse quickened. Maybe Roger really was part of the mafia, the Italian mafia. She took a deep breath and headed inside. She found Roger at a small table in the back in the direction the driver indicated. Wine had already been poured for them and when Michelle took a seat, she realized they had a breathtaking view of the entire city.

  “So good of you to join me, Michelle,” Roger broke their silence. She couldn't read him. Was he still planning on killing her?

  “Are you Italian?” she couldn't refrain from asking.

  “My mother was,” he replied easily, taking a sip from the blood red wine. “In fact this restaurant is owned by my uncle.”

  A server came and dropped off two plates of veal marsala.

  “Have you brought me here to off me?” She no longer found Becky's earlier warning melodramatic. Roger chuckled. He picked up a butter knife and carved into the meat. It fell apart with just the tiniest of pressure.

  “Don't be absurd, Michelle,” he said before putting a forkful into his mouth.

  If he wasn't planning on killing her then why the rough treatment?

  “I just thought...well you're limo driver seemed a little-”

  Roger broke into laughter.

  “Oh, I'm sorry, Michelle,” he wiped at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “That was Bruno. Harry, my regular driver, has the flu. Bruno is actually my uncle's driver on loan. He's a little rough around the edges.” Roger shrugged his shoulders as if to say 'what can you do?'.

  “I prefer not to know about my uncle's other ventures outside the restaurant business.” He looked back at her again. “But no. Rest assure I have no interest in hurting you, Michelle. Now please, eat your food. It's getting cold.”

  Michelle felt a wave of relief wash over her, but there was still just one more thing.

  “But why did you bring me here?” she asked. He looked up from his dinner, as if surprised by the question.

  “To have dinner with you, of course. Why else?”

  His matter of fact answer left Michelle too stunned to comment. Roger continued as if he didn't notice her surprise.

  “I'm sorry about last night. I had intended on staying with you but just as I was getting into bed I got an urgent call from my assistant. There was a fire at one of my overseas factories. I had to go back to my office to take care of some things.” He took another sip of his wine, before adding. “Tomorrow morning I'll be flying out there to check on the damage, so I wanted to make it up to you tonight.”

  At first Michelle felt elated. Roger hadn't abandoned her in the night as she'd thought! He really did care for her and was making it up to her now by wanting to spend time with her before he had to leave. But then she remembered all that she'd done at the office early. Michelle felt the color drain from her cheeks. She took her wineglass in hand, tossing back the contents without really tasting it. She set the empty glass back on the table, wiping the excess wine from her lips with the back of her hand. Her behavior got Roger's attention. He frowned.

  “Is something wrong, Michelle?” he queried.

  She shook her head, too afraid to confess her sins. Roger set his fork down and took her hand in his.

  “Michelle,” he began, his voice filled with concern. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  His kindness was her undoing. Michelle began to cry. She couldn't help it. She loved Roger, she really did. And even when she had reversed his policies she knew she only did it because she had been angry with him. She shouldn't have reversed the policies because he'd been right all along about them. She ruined her company and her relationship with Roger.

  “I'm sorry!” she blubbered. “Roger, I'm so sorry. I-I was angry with you and...”

  His expression was unreadable, his eyes locked on Michelle's as he waited for her to answer.

  “I reversed your policies,” she finished. She cringed, waiting for him to explode with rage.

  He was quiet, digesting all that she told him.

  “Roger,” she whimpered. “Please, say something.”

 

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