Wicked Intent

Prologue

“Hi, Jaded, how’s tricks?” The words popped up on the computer screen, drawing an amused smile to Tally’s lips.

“Slow, Wicked. Very slow,” she typed back, snorting at the understatement.

The online life she led was the complete opposite of the real life she escaped each evening. The same men, the same parties, the same crap. She had grown bored with the endless round months ago. Why she had grown bored she had yet to figure out.

“Your boss still doing his own files?” It was a running joke in the online chat rooms she inhabited. She had told the story the first day it had occurred. Everyone had seemed awed by her accomplishment. She had personally hoped for at least a good argument out of Jesse Wyman at the time. She hadn’t expected him to actually do his own fucking files.

“Hell if I know,” she finally typed in. “I think he fired me today.”

Repositioning, firing, it was the same thing. She liked working with Wyman. It wasn’t exactly challenging but it left her plenty of time for shopping.

“Fired?” The words popped back. “He wouldn’t dare fire you.”

She laughed to herself. There were days Wyman had wanted to kill her, but he had resisted the urge with more self-control than she had given him credit for. Of course, the wedding Terrie was planning was keeping him pretty tired. That or her afternoon visits to his office.

“He says it’s repositioning. He sent me to hell, Wicked.” She sighed at the thought.

The merger between Conover’s and Delacourte’s had been more than a surprise last month. Even bigger was the surprise that she would now be the personal assistant for Lucian Conover.

“Repositioning?” The short question was so typical of Wicked. She could almost feel his impatience. “In Hell?”

“In Hell.” She sighed. “My new boss is Lucifer. This is not going to be fun. There goes all my playtime. (pout)” She typed in the expression huffily. Lucian Conover was not her idea of the perfect boss. “Let’s hope he’s at least hiding a sense of humor under that scowl he wears. I bet he doesn’t even know the difference between a ménage and a margarita. Who will I tell all my dirty jokes to?”

* * * * *

Lucian scowled. Son of a bitch. Lucifer, was he? Didn’t know a ménage from a margarita? He bit off a series of volatile curses as he jumped up from the computer and paced the den furiously. Smart-mouthed, viperous little termagant. He would show her a fucking ménage she’d still remember into her next life if she kept this shit up. She had no sense of decorum and had shown him zero respect each time he showed up at Jesse’s office.

She stung him with that waspish tongue of hers, smirked every chance she had and showed in a hundred different ways that she expected him to grovel at the perfection of her tiny feet. Son of a bitch. For a taste of that sweet little body he just might do it, too, and that was what really rankled.

“You still breathing?” Her tart question came over the instant message with a soft ring.

“Yeah, just wondering what the connection was between the ménage and the margarita,” he typed in, damning himself a thousand different ways. He was insane to have demanded her as his personal assistant. He had lost his ever lovin’ mind.

“No connection.” He paused at her answer, frowning. Jaded always had a reason for damned near everything she said. Unless she was unhappy. Unless she was lonely. He had learned that over the past year. Had made it his business to learn everything he could about her.

“You okay, Jaded?” He really shouldn’t care, but he did.

“Oh yes, I’m fine.” Her words rang hollow, even through the impersonal communication box. “Maybe I’ll go shopping tomorrow. I hear there’s a sale on shoes…”

“Uh oh. Poor cows, sacrificing their lives to support your addiction.” He shook his head, yet still he worried. She wasn’t acting normal.

“Cows, alligators, whatever.” Nope, that wasn’t his Jaded.

“Hey, babe, you can talk to me, you know.” He needed her to.

There was a long silence.

“She’s my friend.” The words finally came through with a sense of sadness. “I can’t believe she has such horrid taste in men.”

“Yeah?” He didn’t even pretend to understand that one.

“I love her like a sister.” She had to be talking about Terrie.

He waited to see what else she said.

“I can’t believe she actually fucked Lucifer! Was she insane? Has she lost her mind? The man is an outcast. He has no style, no class, and I doubt he has a cock over five inches long. He probably only needs a finger or two to jack off with.”

He sat back slowly in his chair. His cock, all five inches and several more, pulsed in outrage. His eyes narrowed.

“The man scowls. He sneers. Stomps around like a bull in a china shop. He is such a bore. Geez. I need a new job.”

His fists clenched, his teeth ground together as he saw red. The viperous little witch. A bull in a china shop? Five-inch cock? Five-inch cock?? Ohh, he would show her a hell of a lot fucking more than five inches. Damn her. The woman had a bite that would do a rabid dog proud.

“If you quit, just think of all the shoes that would cry.” It was lame. Real lame, but he’d be damned if he could type his outrage to her over the Internet. She would probably save the fucking message to show all her chat room buddies. He sneered. Oh, was she in for a surprise.

“Well, this is true. But I’m definitely looking.”

He stilled. Looking, was she? He’d see about that one.

“Well, good luck, darlin’. Now I’m off. Hot date tonight.”

Nothing came back for long moments.

“All right. Goodnight.”

“Night, darlin’. Cheer up, maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll at least have more than five inches.” He growled.

“As though that can help him.” He could almost hear the haughty vibration of the words. “Where, oh, where have all the alphas gone? Your mothers must have breastfed you overly long.”

“Or yours fed you venom and spice rather than sweet milk,” he typed back furiously. And he meant it.

“LOL. Good one, Wicked. Have fun for me while you’re out. Talk to you later.”

He clicked the box away. He shut down the program, damn near shaking with rage and arousal. He came to his feet, pushing his fingers ruthlessly through his hair as he clenched his teeth against his anger. Damn her. Lucifer, was he? Five inches, was he? He snarled as he stomped through the house, jerking his leather jacket from the staircase post as he headed for the door.

Miss Jaded Tally was in for one hell of a surprise.

Dev had warned him she wouldn’t be as easy as he thought she would be. Of course, Dev was often warning him about Tally. He snorted derisively at that. His twin had stayed in the background during this phase, though under protest. From the first moment Lucian had met Tally, he and Devril had both been lost.

His brother had commented often that only Lucian would have chosen to make them fall in love with such a sharp-tongued little vixen, but Lucian knew his brother would have been just as helpless in the face of her haunted eyes, her unique features and sheer bravado.

Now, they were both in a hell of a predicament. And neither of them was happy about it. Tally wasn’t coming around as they had expected. She was no closer to admitting to the lust that heated between them than she had been six months before. It was time to fix that. It was time to master Tally Raines.

Chapter One

It was just called The Club. It was a large southern plantation house set on the outskirts of town in a small wooded area, perhaps a mile from the main road. Not easily accessible, but neither was it hard to find.

A stone wall enclosed the four square acres of property; a guard sat in a small booth at the iron gated entrance. The house itself was surrounded by majestic oaks, giving the estate an air of graceful wealth.

Lucian pulled into the hidden parking lot, surveying the vehicles already parked there. The Club served a large clientele from around the world, but still maintained an atmosphere of personal friendliness. Not just anyone was invited through its doors, only a select few. It took more than money, breeding or influence to receive an invitation from The Club’s members. It took a lifestyle.

“Good evening, Mr. Conover.” The butler and peacekeeper, Matthew Harding, opened the door and stood aside as he entered. “May I take your jacket, sir?”

He wasn’t your typical butler. Lucian couldn’t see Matthew attending to any of the influential families he knew. The six-foot plus ex-Special Forces soldier could have had his pick of any security agency he could have worked for. Instead, he had accepted a position as butler and head of security at The Club’s house. The benefits, Matthew often said, were better than the pay, which was damned good.

“Thanks, Matthew. Looks like a full house tonight.” He could hear the voices raised in laughter from within the main room.

“We have several out-of-towners in for the week, as well as many of the regulars.” Matthew hung the leather jacket in the wide closet to the side. “The house is definitely full for a while.”

The Club maintained the plantation for the convenience of its out-of-town members. There was no need for hotel accommodations when doing business near or around the area. The three-story house counted a dozen fully equipped bedrooms, a kitchen staff, and maid service. A trust set up nearly twenty years ago by the founder of the private club took care of most of the day-to-day running of the house. The membership fees, which were not cheap, went into an account to offset general expenses.

“Has Devril arrived yet?” Lucian asked as they headed to the main room.

“Mr. Devril should arrive shortly.” Matthew grinned, his pale blue eyes lighting in amusement. “I believe he was picking up Miss Hampstead from the airport before coming here.”

Alyssa Hampstead was one of the few subs whose membership had been approved. She was a delicate, haughty heiress with cool hazel eyes and a cold exterior. Heating her up was a challenge that many of The Club members embraced enthusiastically.

Lucian walked into the main room, a cavernous ballroom that had been remodeled to fit The Club’s needs and was outfitted for the enjoyment of the members. A bar stood at one end; the rest of the room was filled with comfortable leather couches, chairs and small nooks for the enjoyment of its patrons. His welcome was a high-pitched female scream of pleasure and pain.

He paused, his gaze moving to a nearby couple. Sax Brogan had his shaved head thrown back in ecstasy as he held a petite redhead down on the thick cock spearing her ass. The woman’s creamy white skin contrasted sharply with the chocolate tones of the big man’s. Her legs were spread wide as Sax gripped her small waist and lifted her, only to lower her slowly on the rigid shaft parting her buttocks.

Dazed blue-green eyes stared back at Lucian as he watched her lips part in excitement. Her face was flushed, and below, her full breasts were swollen, the pierced nipples standing hard and proud in excitement.

Her pussy was shaved smooth, or waxed. Some of the female patrons enjoyed the painful stimulation of the waxing that the house provided. Her cream stood thick and glistening on the small pussy mound. Her clit was engorged, a shining little pearl standing out from its protective hood as her fingers worked over it desperately.

The woman was younger than most of the female members. Barely twenty-four, she was the daughter of a staid, stuffy Senator who would have a heart seizure if he ever imagined his perfect little girl was a member of an establishment that catered to sexually dominant males.

“Fuck me, Sax.” She was riding the thick pole with halting movements, weak with lust as her head fell back against Sax’s shoulder. “Fuck me harder. Now. Please, now.”

Sax groaned behind her. Despite her words, everyone knew that hard and fast wasn’t what she liked. She loved being sexually delayed, being pushed to the boundaries of control and stripped of the natural reserves she had forced on herself for so long.