Trent Ryder is a man cursed by his own charm. All he’s ever had to do to get a woman is smile. His assignment to obtain recipes from the Venusian Guild couldn’t have come at a worse time—just when Trent’s decided never to use his smile to get his own way. He needn’t have worried—Caprice Greco is immune to his smiles. To his surprise, he likes her and hopes to win her friendship. Now all he has to do is stop imagining her naked in his arms and in his bed.
Caprice, Directress of the Venusian Guild, is a betrayed woman. Trent Ryder’s smiles bring back memories of a lover who stole her heart, then left her flat. But fight as she does with all her strength and determination, she slips a little more each day into liking Trent.
Will burgeoning like blossom into a forever kind of love?
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Her Virtual Ecstasy
Copyright © 2011 Dee Brice
ISBN: 978-1-55487-993-9
Cover art by Martine Jardin
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Her Virtual Ecstasy
Virtual Seductions
By
Dee Brice
To all the contributors who suggested titles for this book. Lots of tremendous ideas out there. You are really creative. Special thanks to Teresa Kleeman, Amy Toohey and Melinda Bliss who suggested the chosen title. And thanks to Tina Haveman and Jay Austin for picking the final title.
Prologue
Venus, bored to tears yet not in the mood for company, sought distractions on her own planet. Nothing interesting happening there—at least not yet. She made a mental note to check back in a century or two. In the meanwhile…
Unwilling to involve either Mars or Jupiter—Excuse me, your godship, Jove—she looked for interesting happenings around the Milky Way. Jove had ordered her not to venture beyond this galaxy and, as much as she loathed following orders, her last escapade in the Andromeda System demanded caution now.
Hmmm. The seeds of something worth exploring later were germinating on Sedna. Still not worth her attention as yet. Uranus’ worms were at it again, but she’d leave that strife for Mars. He adored skirmishes that held promises of erupting into full-blown wars. Jove… The god of all gods was off on Neptune, no doubt seeking a mermaid to seduce—although how even he could get beneath the maid’s scales eluded Venus.
Earth, perhaps? Nothing too onerous or Mars might try to take over. Which would arouse Jove’s interest and destroy Venus’ opportunity to have fun without them interfering.
Ahhh, there was a possibility—one involving her precious descendants and the Guild dedicated to her favorite pastime—making love. Besides, she always enjoyed a good battle of the sexes, especially when the battlefield was the bed.
Chapter One
Earth 2480
Caprice Greco stared at the electronic business card Herma handed her. Leaning back in her body-conforming executive chair, she read the scanty information several times, not knowing what to make of it.
Trent Ryder, E.E. followed by more just as puzzling capital letters that likely stood for professional and-or academic degrees.
“Want me to throw him out?” diminutive Herma asked as if itching for a fight. In truth, if the need to toss out anyone arose, Frodie—her hulking other half—would accomplish the task.
“Not yet, Herma,” Caprice replied. “This double E on Mr. Ryder’s card? What does it stand for? Electrical and Electronic engineers were replaced by computers and droids several hundred years ago.”
“Efficiency Expert,” Frodie announced, his sort of wavering form solidifying as he molded to his better half. Herma smiled up at him, obviously relieved to be conjoined once more.
As usual, Caprice marveled at how much more substantial the holographic hermaphrodite looked when both male and female were together. Frodie reminded her of a handsome Lurch from Old-Earth entertainment vids. Herma resembled fairy Tinker Bell.
“Efficiency Expert?” Caprice repeated, laughter in her voice. “Does—” she glanced at the card— “Mr. Ryder know what we do here? That people engage the Venusian Guild to improve their sex lives and that efficiency doesn’t factor in at all?”
“He claims he’s been hired to evaluate our Culinary Studies courses,” Herma told her.
Frodie snorted. “Sure. That’s why I caught him peering through one of the side windows like a Peeping Peter.”
Herma giggled. Caprice chose to ignore Frodie’s malapropos. He was famous for them, although in this case, he might have the right idea about Mr. Ryder and his peter.
“Betcha he’s more interested in our new fashion school,” Frodie said, nodding at the sketches Caprice had had framed and hung on her composite plaster wall. Her other office walls were glass, providing her with an unobstructed view of the Guild’s magnificent gardens.
On this late June day roses bloomed in gay profusion, making Caprice wish she were outdoors to smell their glorious fragrances. In a few minutes more—once she got rid of Mr. Trent Ryder, Efficiency Expert—she’d join her friends and employees in the balmy sunshine.
“Fashion? What makes you say that, Frodie?”
“He’s wearing green. You know—the same color as that Marsienne’s green skin. The female who tried to steal Connor from Kendra.” Frodie’s emphasis on female contained all the denigrations he could muster, which were considerable.
Caprice sighed to herself. The one major problem she had with Herma-Frodie was their longevity. They’d been around since Directress Celine and her mate, Keefe, had freed the hermaphrodite from the clutches of some voyeuristic physician and had brought them home. Four generations later they were still here.
“Just because he’s dressed in green, doesn’t mean he’s a Marsian spy,” Caprice gently cautioned, knowing Mr. Ryder could still have a hidden agenda. Since the fashion school was a recent addition to the Guild’s offerings—only fifty years old—it might be considered a threat to Marsian haute couture. Or it could be considered a threat in another several hundred years.
With an audible sigh, Caprice handed Herma the visitor’s card. “Show him…to the kitchens.” Yes! If he was here to evaluate the efficiency of the Guild’s culinary program, the kitchens were the best places to start. If he had something else on his mind…
Caprice was an expert with all the cooking implements—especially the knives.
* * * *
Trent Ryder followed the odd-looking couple from the Venusian Guild’s entry foyer, through what looked like an Old-Earth Victorian era parlor, a huge dining room with three enormous crystal chandeliers, then down several flights of stone stairs. With each flight the treads narrowed and the air felt colder. His escort seemed to shimmer as if fading into mist, making him hurry to keep up with them—or it if he could manage to believe them a single entity.
They weren’t when he arrived. The tall, muscular bouncer-type guy had all but lifted Trent out of the azaleas by his collar. True, he had been trying to see inside the room and was so focused he hadn’t heard the giant’s approach. What he expected to see through a ground floor window in broad daylight, he didn’t know. Looking just seemed like a good idea at the time. One way of getting ahead in his mission.
A cough that sounded more like a growl from an enormous cat had surprised him an instant before two very large, very powerful hands expelled him from the flower patch onto the front lawn. Once inside, herded there by the hulking guy, the petite blonde woman had motioned him to a horsehair-covered bench, taken his e-card and then, literally, faded from sight. The guy sort of flowed through a closed door. Trent pinched himself in hopes that the disappearing acts were either an illusion or a very bad dream.
When they came to get him, the couple appeared to be joined at their hips and thighs. Although of disparate heights, they moved as one without a single misstep or even a bobble—even when they looked only at each other with obvious affection.
Curiouser and curiouser. Trent considered fleeing for his sanity’s sake. Dedication to duty made him stay put. Now, however, he wondered if whatever it was—they were—led him toward his grave. If they locked him in down here, he’d freeze in no time, his summer-weight clothing no protection against the lowering temperature.
“Wine cellar’s down there,” the blonde told him, pointing to the left. A wrought-iron gate with an ornate brass keyhole blocked an arched opening.
“Meat lockers’re to our right,” the man said in that same gravelly voice that made Trent fear for his gods’-given life.
Trent spared the steel doors a brief glance, then looked down at the steps. Too easy to slip on the damp tread. He imagined the guy forcing Trent into a locker. In seconds he’d hang from a meat hook, then they’d leave him there to freeze to death. Would anyone bother to look for him? A stranger to this town? Who’d arrived a week early for his new assignment? Who hadn’t yet checked in with his supervisor?
Seeing a faint light ahead of him, he began to breathe a little easier. Noises registered. Banging that sounded like pots and pans. A loud curse followed by soft giggles, then an admonition to “hush.” A thwacking that recalled very large, very sharp cleavers breaking through joints and heavy bones. Those memories had sweat dripping over his forehead and sluicing down his back. His glasses slid down his nose. He wished he’d worn a jacket, but suspected it would now be as soaked as his shirt.
On a more cheerful note, maybe they’d let him drink a bottle of wine from the wine cellar before they cleavered him into bits and then hung him in the meat locker to age. Only he wouldn’t age, would he? Dead, he wouldn’t, but his flesh would. Molding, darkening…
“Mr. Ryder.”
A melodious contralto sent his morbid nightmares skittering into the darkest corners of his mind. Good. That’s where they belong! Not in this blindingly bright room filled with delicious aromas that made his mouth water.
“You’re just in time for lunch,” the voice went on.
He blinked and the source of that wondrous musicality came into focus. Wanting to taste her lush red lips, his mouth filled with moisture. He willed his gaze upward. His first impression should be of her face, no matter how much that voice, those lips made him want to look at her body. Pushing his glasses into place gave him time to concentrate on his mission and meet the woman’s skeptical pale green eyes. Not completely green, they had flecks of gold that seemed to float like tiny nuggets in a deep stream. Her long, dark lashes appeared tipped with streaks of gold as well. Despite her less than welcoming expression, his smile twitched his lips. If he let it bloom, whatever reticence she felt would vanish like that odd couple who’d led him here. All his troubles would vanish too. But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t use his smile.
Yet, the devil in his mind murmured.
What in Hades was going on here? Even before he looked at her face, her voice captured him. Him, who’d, had women swooning over him since birth. He had gotten caught by a whiskey contralto voice that promised sultry nights under a starlit sky, her body gliding against his, their moans and sighs sending music upward to enchant the gods.
That’s how one woman had described his effect on her. Instant lust that never went beyond the primal instinct to fuck. Sure, they liked each other…sort of. Once the lust faded, however, they each walked away, almost as if their encounter had happened to and with someone else.
While he realized his smile got him a lot of attention from women, he really had no idea why he attracted so many. He considered himself average. At six-two he was of average height. He never worked out, yet his body was buff like a lot of other exercise enthusiastic guys his age. The face he saw in the mirror when he shaved seemed unremarkable. His one sort of different feature was the color of his eyes. Women told him his eyes reminded them of deep, dark oceans that became stormy seas when he aroused.
His friends envied him. Hades, in his younger days, he envied himself for his luck with the opposite sex, but now… Damn it, he wanted more from a woman than sex. Someone he could talk with, share dreams with, hold hands with while sitting quietly under a moonlit sky. Someone to grow old with.
“Since the weather is good, I thought we could eat by the lake.”
The enchantress’ voice drew him into the moment, but not away from her spell. Eat, yes. Her spread out on a bed, naked and willing. Shaking off the image—he hadn’t even looked at her body—he also found his voice. “I didn’t mean to trouble you. I’m not due for several days.”
“Due?” his green-eyed temptress said, setting aside the cleaver before washing and drying her hands. At least death by cleaver now seemed less likely. In a fluid motion, she removed her chef’s toque, then ran her fingers through her short light-brown curls. “Is the Directress expecting you?”
“I have an appointment next…” Pulling his e-card cum appointment keeper from his trousers pocket, he checked it. “Next Wednesday at ten AM.”
“Impossible,” she countered, her voice mirroring the suspicion in her expression and abruptly rigid posture.
“Pardon me?” he said, stiffening. “My s—”
“Secretary told you the Directress would meet with you? You must have misunderstood or have the wrong Guild and the wrong Directress.”
“My supervisor assured me I have a confirmed appointment with your superior next Wednesday.”
“Impossible,” she repeated. “The Directress is on vacation.”
Unable to think of an appropriate putdown he said, “Fine. When will she return?”
A sneer curling her bowed upper lip, the insolent woman shrugged. “Since she’s on Venus, I have no idea.”
The quiet he’d been unaware of erupted into a cacophony of sounds. Kitchen staff bustled from counters to cook stations, wait staff shouted orders. Trent wondered who they were cooking for. Perhaps themselves, since he saw no signs of a public dining area down here. Perhaps, given the good weather, they’d also eat outside by the lake.
Cocking one dark eyebrow, the woman’s gaze swept over him as she thinned her full, ripe lips into a disapproving line. “Well…I invited you to lunch so you may as well stay.”
Aware once more of the delicious aromas permeating the space, his stomach rumbled its approval of the invitation. “Thanks,” he said and gave her a small smile. No sense bringing out the big one when he wanted to win this woman without using it. Somehow he had to find a way inside the Guild. His job—his very sanity—depended on it.
* * * *
Caprice had no idea why she’d lied about who she was or where she was. Except…she was the Directress and knew she hadn’t made any appointments with Trent Ryder or anyone else claiming to be an Efficiency Expert. More important, every instinct she possessed screamed Trent Ryder wasn’t what he claimed—maybe not even who he claimed he was.
For one thing, except for his ill-fitting wire rimmed glasses—and who wore glasses nowadays when corrective surgery was cheap and effective?—he didn’t look like an Efficiency Expert. Not that she’d ever met one, just that she pictured E.E.s looking more like Walter Mitty, complete with an Old-Earth pocket protector. Trent Ryder reminded Caprice of a male swimwear model or—oh, yeah!—one of those super athletes who looked so good in his tight uniform, the one that showed off his every attribute and asset to perfection. With his too-long dark brown hair, onyx eyes, authoritative nose and sensual lips Trent Ryder could declare himself Mr. Galaxy. Every woman on every single developed planet in the Milky Way would nod before she attached herself to those broad shoulders, clung to his narrow waist and molded her hips and thighs to his.
What in Hades was going on here? As Directress, Caprice had an obligation to remain aloof. Of course she could show a certain degree of sympathy toward clients, but her primary job was to pair that client with the surrogate who could bring about the desired result—be it sensitivity to a lover’s needs or the stamina to delay release until his partner was satisfied. Women clients had different issues, most rooted in distrust of their partners. Many held the belief that all the man wanted was sex, while the woman wanted either unconditional love or mutual respect that would last a lifetime. Often both.
Caprice didn’t believe in unconditional love, at least not unconditional all the time. People ticked off other people at one time or another. What she did believe in was forgiveness. That, she suspected, came from mutual respect, something she looked for both in a man and in herself.
An intellectual exercise that in no way explained why Trent Ryder made her feel like her skin was too tight and her legs too wobbly to support her weight. Or why she imagined hearing him whisper about things he wanted to do to and with her whenever and wherever and as often as possible.
Hades, even the handsomest droids the Guild employed ran second best to the hunk standing smack-dab in the middle of her sightline. Aware of her culinary students’ expressions growing more irritated by the second, Caprice jerked her head, then set off for the lakeside gazebo. She pretended not to care if Trent followed or not, but she did care.
Not about him. Not yet anyway. About the Venusian Guild and all its programs? Hades, yes! This place held the memories of every Venusian Directress since the first established the schools. Directress Jynx had fought every uptight politician and self-righteous commissioner, convincing them all that Guild House was not a house of ill repute. That the women and men and droids were sex surrogates and counselors, not whores. That culinary students dedicated themselves to cooking and nothing else. More recently, under Directress Kendra’s guidance, that fashion students designed clothing and interiors for real, ordinary people who led real, ordinary lives. If those folks wanted to improve their love lives, the Guild helped them achieve that goal too.
Things eventually settled down and the Guild became a valued part of the local community. Every so often, however, some crusader or other raised the question of morality and what really goes on in there? Caprice suspected Trent Ryder represented those crusaders. Over the centuries the Guild had protected itself and its clients from many who sought to prove some sort of illegal activities. A favorite ploy was pretending to have a friend who needed a sex surrogate. Keefe had used that one with Celine. It had even worked.
Go figure.
But now, protecting the Guild and its work fell to Caprice and she’d do whatever it took.
Sliding her feet out of her flat-heeled shoes, she savored the brush of damp grass as she trekked across the new mown lawns toward the gazebo. Today being a day of celebration, students, surrogates, counselors—human and droid—crisscrossed the gardens, calling greetings to each other and to her. Many carried trays of food, others plates and flatware. She might resent Trent Ryder’s presence, but knew the displays of friendship and harmony could go a long way in convincing him to give a good report to his supervisor—whoever he or she was. Probably some Morality Police outfit.
Arriving at the gazebo, she mounted the three wooden steps, tossed her shoes under a bench, then continued to the deck cantilevered over the lake. On the far side, willow branches wept, their leaves mirrored in the clear waters below. Unseen birds held melodic conversations before taking flight. Their beating wings made a whooshing noise and she braced herself—always expecting to feel a gust of wind, always surprised when she didn’t. Scents of roasting meats drifted in the air from nearby grills.
Without turning, she sensed her unwanted guest had decided to stay. As if he had some kind of bubble around him that reached beneath and through her personal space, she felt him come nearer. Saw his hands close over the thick wooden balustrade, his long fingers curved as if to absorb the history of this place. If she wanted to, she could touch his hand, accidentally of course. If she wanted…
“Beautiful,” he muttered, his low voice reflecting the awe she felt whenever she came here. “Peaceful.”
“At times,” she agreed, then pursed her lips. She sounded resentful, as if she didn’t want him here. She didn’t, but until she found out what he really wanted, she’d keep him close. Not as close as she might if he weren’t a threat to the Guild but…
“I seem to have interrupted a party.” No apology in his deep baritone voice, just a statement of fact.
“Founder’s Day.”
“Ah.” Turning around, he leaned against the barrier and seemed to watch the activity behind her.
She felt the moment his dark, dark eyes focused on her. A sort of tingling like a minor electrical shock pulsed through her body.
“Guess I should have called to confirm.”
“Confirm what?” She had no intention of helping him. If he felt awkward with having to drag responses out of her, it was his own fault for impersonating…an Efficiency Expert.
“Our appointment, Directress Greco.” Expecting anger, his soft laugh caught her off-guard. “If you’re going to lie about your position, you should remove your portrait from the entry hall.”
For some idiotic reason her mind snagged on lie and position, the rest of his comment fading into low murmurs and soft pleasure sounds. Lost in imagining satin sheets against her back and the glide of his powerful body, his elegant hands stroking her, she somehow managed to say, “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”
Chapter Two
“Ignored my business card, did you?” She shook her head, but he didn’t believe her. “I am exactly what my card says I am. My company—CryoFoods—is interested in possibly partnering with your Guild to mass market your foods. In order for us—”
“You want to steal our recipes, then turn them into flavorless frozen—”
“—to reproduce your recipes, we need to know if our kitchens need remodeling. To determine that, I need to observe how your culinary staff works.”
Ms. Greco opened her lovely mouth. Holding up his hand, palm out, silenced her. “That’s who I am and why I’m here.”
Those ripe berry lips parted again. “Which still doesn’t tell me what you want. Besides, you’re putting the cart before the horse, since you don’t have a contract with the Guild to do anything. You don’t even have an appointment.”
She folded her arms under her breasts, granting him permission to look at her body. The front of it anyway. He’d already had time to examine her backside as he followed her to the gazebo. Her walking shorts revealed long legs he ached to have clamped around his waist. The material cupped her buttocks and his mind pictured those mounds in his hands as he lifted her trembling body closer to his mouth or drove into her welcoming wet heat. Now he noticed how her sleeveless T-shirt hugged her narrow waist and generous breasts. His palms itched to test their weight. Accustomed as he was to turning on women, his own reactions to this woman left him totally off-balance, as hard as granite and in dire need of a bed. Or the ground or—Hades!—any place private.
Judging by the look on her face, he’d continue to burn for her until Hades froze. When her frown cleared, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“I still don’t remember being contacted about this.”
“I can show you. CryoFoods’ and your correspondence.”
She leaned against the balustrade and shot him a skeptical look. Then her gaze wandered from his face to his feet, seeming to linger at his crotch. His cock rose to attention but, biting the inside of his cheek, he willed it semi-soft. A difficult task since her nipples had hardened into rigid peaks he wanted to suck. Her arousal he’d sort of expected, his own…not so much.
“I don’t see any files,” she said at last, rubbing her upper arms as if chilled. As if a breeze had caused her nipples’ growth.
Trent pulled out his e-card once more. Pushing a few buttons, he accessed the first letter from CryoFoods.
* * * *
Caprice squinted. Mr. Ryder invaded her personal space, turning her as his shadow fell over his card screen.
“Better? No, I can see it isn’t.” Standing at her back, he grasped her hands and then pulled them apart. The dinky screen expanded to the size of a typical formal letter complete with his company’s logo on the letterhead.
“Okay,” she said, appalled at how shaky her voice sounded. At how aware she was of Trent’s breath at her ear, of his body heat warming her backside and his cock hardening between her buttocks. His scent—lime and mint—reminded her of mojitos, a drink she enjoyed from time to time. Now she would think of him, remember this moment, whenever she drank one.
Stiffening her spine so she wouldn’t feel him at her back, clearing her throat, she said, “All this proves is your company sent a letter. Doesn’t prove anybody here received it or answered.”
He pushed a button—a different one, she assumed. His chin rubbed her jaw, making a slight scratching sound and prickling her skin. Somehow she hadn’t expected his beard—not so early in the day. Maybe he hadn’t shaved this morning—an unwise omission if he expected to make a favorable impression on her. And how in Hades had he gotten so close again?
For some unfathomable reason, she wondered how his beard would feel first thing in the morning. Soft as the strand of his hair wafting in the gentle breeze? Or scratchy like…
“Is that the Guild logo?”
His low voice reminded her where they were and how many others could see them. Using her hip, she pushed him away, then took refuge under the gazebo roof.
Following her, he reached for his e-card. “If you need more light—”
“I don’t. Thanks.” The politeness came as an afterthought, more from habit than gratitude. At the moment gratitude eluded her, replaced by a sense of impending doom. The response to his company did bear the Guild’s logo—Venus in all her naked glory rising from the sea. Although the color and style of Venus’ hair changed with each Directress—Jynx’s Venus red-haired, Celine and Kendra’s ebony and long—this logo bore Caprice’s light brown hair color and untamable short curls. Even the signature looked as real as if she’d just signed the damn letter.
Shaking, she plopped onto a padded bench. Bewildered, she held out his e-card-secretary-file clerk in one. “I must be losing my mind.”
* * * *
Trent sat beside her, unwilling to let this vulnerable moment pass without pressing his agenda. On a professional level, his success meant he would earn a vice presidency. On a personal level… Damn, he wanted to pursue this woman who had withstood his infamous allure. Not that he had used his smile yet. He’d find some other way to convince her. If push came to shove, he’d smile and she’d give up.
Conceited? Hades, yes! Perhaps her seeming indifference taunted him to prove Caprice Greco was no different than any other woman. Her body had definitely responded to his proximity, but he knew true seduction, true affection—true love?—began in the mind. If he could feel like something more than stud-service he might find… Redemption.
The word made his stomach churn. Or maybe his conscience had finally decided to put in an appearance. Thirty-five years in the making, it now vacillated between uncertainty about changing and a yearning to settle. Not settle for or settle down, but settle with someone who’d stay.
A psychiatrist friend once told him he had abandonment issues. Trent had scoffed at the idea, realizing years later that his parents’ physical presence didn’t mean they were there with him.
Shaking off his morose thoughts, he put his arm around Caprice’s shoulders and then drew her nearer. She pulled away. His cock urged him to flash his most charming smile. His mind warned he’d blow everything if he even grinned.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re going crazy,” he told her.
“Thanks.” Tilting her head, she glanced up at him. “Maybe this forgetfulness is a warning. Maybe it’s the onset of dementia.”
“I doubt it. There’s probably a totally reasonable explanation.”
Inching farther away, she said, “Like what?”
“Like…” He missed her warmth along his side, the press of her thigh to his. “Maybe your secretary replied on your behalf, but forgot to tell you.”
“I don’t—” She broke off, nibbled her upper lip for a second or two— “don’t have a secretary.”
He got lost in his overwhelming need to kiss her and almost missed the significance of that brief pause. “But you know someone who could have done something like that? Could have and would have?”
He didn’t like that idea any more than she did. Hades, if this was somebody’s idea of a joke, CryoFoods could lose a fortune and he could lose his job. “Who?” he demanded, ignoring the two young people setting the table in the center of the gazebo.
“I’m not sure and I won’t confront anyone until I am.” Nodding at a different pair, she stood and then headed for the table.
A red and white checked cloth now covered it. Two tall stacks of cloth napkins sat in the middle of each place setting. Somebody obviously expected juicy drippings. Cloth napkins also suggested environmental concerns, although he couldn’t decide what kind. Lessen landfill needs or deplete ground water by doing laundry. Two water goblets were filled, a dewy pitcher sat on a nearby tray atop a waist-high folding ladder. Another pair of servers came inside, depositing two plates heaped with steaming meats and an assortment of vegetables. The pair plunked down bowls of different salads, smiled and then left as fast as they’d appeared.
“Oh dear,” Caprice muttered, “I’m supposed to serve the students. It’s tradition, you know. On Founder’s Day the teachers serve the students.”
He hadn’t known, but would remember. He knew he would recall every bit of succulent pulled pork, asparagus cooked to perfection, its flavor so delicious it didn’t need any salt or pepper. Even the tarragon-scented hollandaise failed to tempt him—at least for this first portion. Helping himself to crisp fried onions, he passed the bowl to her, saying, “I think your students will forgive you, Directress Greco.”
“Caprice,” she corrected, looking at him across the eight-sided table.
He thought she blushed, but decided she hadn’t. Her heightened color was just a trick of sunlight refracting off the lake. For the first time he noticed that the table matched the eight-sided gazebo. A memory niggled, something about Wicca and the significance of the number eight. The thought vanished like the pork dissolving on his tongue. He groaned, forking more into his mouth.
“Delicious,” he said after swallowing.
“A characteristic meat loses when it’s frozen. Not in its raw state, but once it’s cooked low and slow…” She shrugged, but he saw in her eyes how little she thought of CryoFoods and its plans for the Guild’s recipes.
“Would you mind testing that claim?” he challenged.
Raising her gaze to his face, she stared at him so long he knew she’d refuse. Damn it all to Hades and back, if he couldn’t get her agreement to a simple test, he’d never get her signature on a contract. Unless…
The idea of seducing her into agreeing flitted part way through his mind before sticking. Sure, seduction might take more time—a lot more, in fact. His boss wouldn’t like that anymore than Caprice would like surrendering her recipes. Unless Trent could convince the old man the delay was worth the time… Wasn’t that why his boss had sent him here? Because no woman had ever refused Trent anything?
As for Caprice… Trent intended to make sure she enjoyed every step of the negotiations both in and out of bed.
“I guess,” she said, taking a bite of potato salad.
He must have looked puzzled because she added, “If there are any leftovers large enough to warrant freezing, I’ll prove how much the delicious flavor goes away.”
Ms. Caprice Greco could go toe-to-toe with the CEO of CryoFoods. She might even come out on top. Aw, shit! He needed to stop thinking words that made getting Caprice into bed his top—There it is again!—a high priority. There. That’s better.
Except his brain veered south and his cock took over, leaving him to imagine just how high it could take Caprice and Trent together.
“And if you don’t have any leftovers?” he asked, aware she was giving him more puzzled glances than admiring ones. Something else he found downright disturbing since it had never happened to him before.
A mischievous gleam in her pale green eyes turned them molten gold. Her smiling lips made him ache until she begged him to—
“—give you the recipes.”
“Pardon me?” He blinked her face into focus.
“I said, we’ll cook everything you tasted today, and freeze it for a week. Then we’ll thaw it all out and you can taste how different it is. But I won’t give you the recipes.”
“Then why are we betting?”
She slanted him another puzzled look. “We aren’t. We’re testing to prove how much flavor cooked food loses when it’s frozen.”
“Uh-huh. Suppose it doesn’t lose much flavor at all? Suppose CryoFoods’ processes make your recipes taste as good as when they’re first served?”
She snorted. “Can’t be done. If my—if the Guild’s kitchens and freezers can’t make our own foods taste the same, your company sure as Hades can’t.”
Holding out his hand, he challenged, “Wanna bet?”
She glanced at his hand, then at his eyes, repeating the process several times before shaking her head. “Nope.”
He made clucking noises and flapped his arms like wings, delighted when she laughed out loud. Her eyes crinkled in the corners and her mouth opened to expose perfect white teeth and a pale pink tongue. Almost as much as he craved his next breath, he lusted to feel her tongue rub his, to taste and be tasted, to lose himself in the moist cavern of her mouth. A delicious prelude to burying his cock in her slick hot sheath.
* * * *
Caprice stopped breathing. The very instant his gaze fastened on her mouth every molecule of air deserted her lungs. She was drowning in his ever-darkening onyx eyes, drowning willingly and without fear.
The promises of pleasure those eyes made tore at her resistance, demanding freedom from recriminations and logic. Her body tightened with anticipation yet loosened in preparation for making love. Her mind fought back, yelling, screaming that she knew nothing about him. That sex at this point would mean nothing beyond an instant’s gratification, a scratch that momentarily relieved an itch.
Yet she couldn’t keep herself still. As if tethered to him by his mesmerizing eyes, she leaned toward him, her lips eagerly parting for his kiss.
He stood, breaking the spell. Sliding out of her chair, she gathered up bowls and prayed she wouldn’t drop them on her retreat to the kitchens.
She called out, not even looking back at him. “You should get your luggage before it gets too dark. We don’t have many outside lights and the moon’s…the moon is in her dark phase.”
Idiot! It was barely two PM and she was babbling about darkness? How stupid could she get?
Pretty damn stupid since he stood on the gazebo steps, staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Hades, maybe she had! Even thinking about having sex with a virtual stranger—no, a total stranger—proved it. Forgetting a meeting with him or someone from CryoFoods and then seriously considering going to bed with him! Madness.
Rounding the enormous trunk of a very large tree, about to hyperventilate, she dropped the bowls and then bent over her knees. At least he couldn’t see her struggling to breathe. Out of sight, out of mind. Please, please, sweet Venus.
Why would the Goddess of Love answer her prayers? That goddess celebrated lovemaking and seemed not to care if the participants gave a flying fig for each other or were more like ships colliding in the darkest night. Who cared if anyone survived? Certainly not Venus!
A twig snap startled Caprice into straightening. Clenching her fists at her sides, she backed away from the tree. Every instinct shouted for her to run, but she stood her ground and even managed to still her heaving chest. She’d already made a fool of herself. She refused to do so again. Breath now held, she waited for Trent to come around the tree.
“We didn’t have dessert,” he said, offering her a plate heaped with all her favorite forms of chocolate.
A lucky guess or did he know so many women that he’d learned how to use their own cravings against them? At this point she didn’t care. Taking one plate from him, she paced ahead, determined to keep her dignity.
An appreciative hum destroyed that hope. Gritting her teeth, she strode on, her mind focused on getting even. Get even? Hades, no! She intended to get ahead and woe unto him who got in her way.
The Next Morning
Caprice hadn’t slept well. Hades, she hadn’t slept at all and her reflection showed it. Faint—bless Venus for faint—mauve shadows rimmed her lower lashes and, try with all her might, her forced smiles left her eyes blank.
Hindsight being twenty-twenty, she knew she should have escorted her visitor to his room. Knowing where he was might have allowed her to sleep without worrying about him invading her private quarters. Hah! As if he’d stayed away. Oh sure, he wasn’t with her physically. Liar, liar. And yet he’d invaded her dreams, filled them so completely with lovemaking she’d used her vibrator several times and still found no respite.
She almost awakened one of the Guild droids, but decided against it. They were programmed to share emotions. Hers were so muddled, sharing with anyone would only have left them both dissatisfied.
She blamed Trent for bringing her chocolates. After all, everyone knew sugar kept a person awake. Just like everyone knew chocolate served as an aphrodisiac. She couldn’t remember what component made folks horny, only that it had that effect on some people. Mainly her—although she couldn’t remember ever being so affected. Not sleeping had more to do with that horrible man than what she ate for dessert.
Blast it all to Hades and back! She hadn’t any more time to worry about Trent Ryder, his company or his all too sexy eyes. A new culinary class would start today and she liked to meet the students before they went to their classrooms.
This afternoon she had interviews with a few prospective surrogates—never an easy task when some candidates thought the job was legal prostitution. Those were out for the thrill training brought them while they learned techniques to excite, then postpone pleasure. If they managed to slip through the stringent preliminary tests, they usually failed soon after hands-on training. A surrogate’s role required a large amount of detachment coupled with genuine compassion and real physical responses. A delicate balance to achieve. Just remembering her own training brought Trent Ryder into perfect focus—almost as if he stood in the middle of her private sitting room.
Better her sitting room than her bedroom.
Her alarm clock buzzed. Shutting it off, she headed for the kitchens. At this early hour she could drink her coffee in absolute quiet and solitude.
* * * *
Trent damn near scalded his tongue on steaming coffee when Caprice stalked into the main kitchen a few minutes before five AM. Most women wearing stiletto heels tended to stagger a little. And for some reason hemlines that hit their legs at mid-thigh made them look knock-kneed. Not Ms. Caprice Greco. She moved with all the grace of a ballerina en pointe and looked elegant enough to dine at the most exclusive restaurant in the galaxy.
Dine had him wondering what she had on under her form-fitting dress and how fast he could get her out of any underpinnings. If left in place, the silky fabric of her dress could prove useful in arousing her to heretofore-unknown heights—heights he would more than enjoy reaching with her. Heights, judging by her sour expression, neither of them would attain anytime in the next millennium or two.
“You’re up early,” she said, the observation sounding accusatory.
“So are you.” Ignoring her frown and turned-down lips, he filled another cup with coffee and then held it out to her. “Looks like you need a caffeine jolt to get you started.”
Snorting, she mumbled, “Not hardly.” As she sipped she glared at him over the rim of her cup. “I thought you’d sleep late.”
“Why?”
“Why would I think you would or why would you sleep late?”
He quirked a brow, suggesting she decide for herself.
“In the first place you might be tired from your trip.” She flicked her gaze from his face to her cup, then back to him. “In the second place simply because you could if you wanted. No bosses keeping track, no time clock to punch.”
She shrugged and headed for the sixty-cup coffeepot. Looking over her shoulder, she slanted him a wry grin. “Nice of you to make a full pot.”
“I just pushed the button.” At her raised eyebrows, he explained. “I checked it beforehand. Made sure it had water and fresh grounds.”
“It better,” she said, her soft voice threatening reprisals if some unfortunate had left the pot empty. “The whole process is automatic from grinding the beans through the brewing.” Her smile seeming more genuine, she added, “If the pot isn’t perfect I should have the maker checked out. I just wish we could figure out a way to keep the poured coffee hot without it tasting bitter.”
“CryoFoods might be able to help you with that.”
“I give a little, you take a light-year.”
His fingers tightening around his cup alerted him to his rising temper. Suspecting she was looking for any excuse to oust him, he took a deep breath. “I guessed your culinary students would get here pretty soon. I wanted to find a place to sit where I could observe them without being in their way.”
Her cup clicked against the smooth countertop, hinting at just how angry she was. He expected the cup would shatter and the countertop would show signs of abuse. A foolish assumption since none of the tops showed any cleaver marks from yesterday’s pounding. The cup, however, presented an intriguing puzzle. She’d all but slammed it down, yet it hadn’t even cracked. If he could take a cup back to CryoFoods’ Research and Development division, that staff could reverse-engineer it and offer clients an unbreakable product. Just how many different products boggled his mind.
As if she’d read his mind, Caprice snatched his cup out of his hand, hers off the counter and then headed for the only singlewide door in the kitchen. Using her hip to open it into a corridor, she said, “Come with me.”
He forced his feet to follow her and the rest of his body decided to go along for the ride. If he didn’t obey orders, he suspected her bouncer friend would in fact bounce him outside with the admonishment never to darken Guild doors again.
Trent’s V-necked shirt suddenly felt as tight as a noose around his neck.
Chapter Three
Trent followed Caprice up a set of stairs he hadn’t seen before. At least the treads fit his feet and the temperature stayed pleasant. Still, not knowing where he was or where he was going, gave him a mild case of anxiety. Entering what looked like an office with three glass walls overlooking a profusion of flowers and other plants made him envy whoever worked here. His anxiety eased, but only a little. Boyhood memories conjured visions of visits to the headmaster’s office—seldom if ever pleasant.
Caprice settled behind the desk, motioning for him to sit across from her. He noticed her high-back chair conformed to her curves and assumed this was her office. The entry hall was probably behind him, but he didn’t look. He’d come too far to run away now.
“Great view,” he said as he started to sit. A ray of sunlight stabbed his eyes, so he moved his chair a little to his right. As if she had willed the sun to devil him, it still shone in his eyes and made them sting. Looking at her, about to voice a complaint, he saw a small patch of space near her desk that the sun didn’t touch. Not yet anyway.
When he moved the chair into that patch and then sat, she grinned as if he’d passed some kind of test. Maybe he had. Needing to keep the playing field level, he decided to ask. “Was this some sort of game? Was I supposed to sit where I couldn’t see you clearly?”
“A lot of people don’t have sense enough to move the chair,” she replied, her voice so cool it reminded him of yesterday’s trek through the cellars. Folding her hands together, she placed them on her desk, her expression polite but disinterested, almost as if—
“I appreciate your taking the time to meet with me, Ms. Greco,” he said as if meeting her for the first time. If pretense would take even a little of the sexual tension out of the air, he’d play her game. Not that he intended to give up pursuing her…he just needed to get his priorities straight. The sooner they took care of business, the sooner they’d get to pleasure.
“I’ve heard of CyroFoods, but I know nothing about the company beyond its frozen products.”
Trent could see icicles forming around frozen products, her tone was that frosty. Not icicles, maybe, but freezer burn instead. Yeah, freezer burn worked.
“The company’s been around for a long time—since the early twenty-first century in fact. When the U.S. Government abandoned its space program, the private sector took up the slack. As space travel expanded, so did CryoFoods.”
Her lush lips flattened into a thin line, leading him to ask, “You’ve tasted our space foods line?”
“When I immigrated from Venus to Earth as a child. I wasn’t impressed then and I doubt I’d be impressed now.”
“I think you’ll find our products much improved.” He suspected she and her parents—or whomever she’d traveled with—had booked the cheapest passage available. Even as little as twenty-five years ago, space travel was much like early ocean cruises. First class dined on the finest foods and wines. Steerage ate the dregs.
“So why is your company interested in what the Guild produces? How did CryoFoods even know about us?”
“My gr—boss considers himself a gourmet. He was at some dinner party a few months ago and was so impressed by the food, he met and hired the chefs—both Guild graduates.”
A genuine smile curved her lips and brightened her eyes, highlighting their golden flecks.
“Cost the old man a small fortune to steal your chefs from their employers, but it was worth it.” Her smile faded into a frown. “I thought you’d be proud.”
“I am, but I’m also concerned. One of the founding precepts of the Guild is for its students to continue to love what they do. When how much they earn means more than the work itself—” She gave a half-shrug and spread her hands— “Not that I blame the chefs for wanting to make as much as possible. Our students work hard for their knowledge and laboring in restaurants means long hours in extreme heat and humidity. Most of those hours are spent on their feet.”
“I think they accepted the old man’s offer because they’d have all of CryoFoods kitchens at their disposal. The salaries seemed secondary.”
Her expressive face became a mask. Stone would look more lifelike.
“Then I’m back to my original question, Mr. Ryder. What does CryoFoods want from the Guild? You’ve hired a couple of our graduates, so what more do you need? Our blood? Or does your company intend to take us over? Force the Guild’s culinary school out of business altogether? Then what? Move in on our fashion school? Our surrogacy programs?”
“No! Of course not.” He wanted to shout the denial, force her to show more emotion—any emotion beyond that pale, lifeless mask. “Your students—Michelle and Michael, if the names mean anything to you—” she nodded, a haughty inclination of her head— “insist on having the Guild’s approval. They refuse to have anything to do with my company unless the Guild blesses it.”
“And your boss agreed to what amounts to extortion?”
“Hiring M and M had little to do with CryoFoods. I think—no, I know the old man’s decision to engage them came from always wanting the very best for himself.”
She snorted. “Which in turn means the best for CryoFoods.”
“Only if you—the Guild—concurs.” He risked a very small smile to encourage her agreement.
“I don’t believe you.” She stood, her chair automatically rolling back to give her room to move. “Which means you may as well leave right now.”
* * * *
Caprice saw a half-dozen or more emotions flit through his dark eyes. Anger, surprise that she’d refused, resentment of her power to deny him… That made her pause and consider her instant attraction to him—an attraction that now made her want to run from him as fast and as far as she could. That tentative smile of his reminded her of past mistakes. Mistakes she had no intention of repeating—especially not with a man like Trent Ryder.
He was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. Yesterday she’d thought he wanted her. Just for a moment, of course. She knew her looks were a smidgen above average, her attractiveness based more on her body than her face. Oh sure, when she wanted to impress a man she took time and made an effort to look as pretty as possible. When she wanted to impress.
This morning as she dressed, her sleep-deprived mind had decided she wanted this man to find her attractive. Her subconscious had chosen her sheath and stiletto heels, knowing the dress showed off her fit body and the heels accented her long legs and shapely calves. Her libido had chosen for her—right down to her lacy panties and bra and her thigh-high stockings. Gods blast him, she almost always wore her Guild jumpsuit when she met new students or interviewed prospective surrogates. This morning habit and commonsense had flown out the window, her yearning to see desire in his eyes overriding everything else.
Damn it and him. She and her libido had a houseful of fantastic lovers—humans and droids—who could fulfill her wildest fantasies. She sure as Hades didn’t need Trent Ryder to satisfy her lust. So why did she crave his touch? Why had the memory of his body pressed to her backside, of his breath warm and moist against her ear, of his seductive voice taunt her throughout the long, sleepless night?
Why did his soft smile make her legs weak and trembly? Cause her body to heat with such yearning her bones were dissolving where she stood? Reaching behind her, she groped for her chair, sending up a prayer of thanks when she felt it bump the backs of her knees.
“If I leave,” he said, his deep voice encasing her body in warm honey, “we won’t have a chance to explore this.”
“Th-this?” she stammered, her mouth so dry she found talking almost impossible.
“Lust,” he said without hesitation.
Grateful to have her chair at hand she sat, mentally tallying a couple of points in his favor. He hadn’t tried to sugarcoat his response or choose words that might seduce her into hoping for something more. Something her former lover hadn’t done. Something she refused to admit she still wanted. A gift Trent couldn’t or wouldn’t give.
Wanting to admit she shared his feelings, she shoved lust to the back of her mind and prayed it would stay where it belonged—out of sight, out of her conscious thoughts.
“I don’t have sex with strangers, Mr. Ryder.”
He cocked one brow. She pictured him standing, cocking one hip to show off the asset he wanted her to see in all its growing glory. Her mouth filled with moisture, her juices flooded her panties. Aching to squirm, she forced herself to complete stillness.
“Didn’t you have sex with strangers when you worked as a surrogate?”
He neither looked nor sounded mocking, another point on her mental scorecard for him. But she subtracted one point that he knew she’d been a surrogate. Not that it mattered what he thought of her because of it. Every Directress had to train and serve in all the Guild’s programs—surrogacy and counseling being but two.
“By the time my…clients and I had sex we were friends.” Seeing his lips open, she held up her hand. “Yes, Mr. Ryder, it’s possible for men and women to become friends. In fact, surrogates and counselors insist on friendship first.” Something she hadn’t done with her first lover, to her eternal shame.
“And if they can’t find friendship?”
An odd expression flitted through his eyes. Pain? No, but…longing. Yes. As if he’d never met a woman who liked him as a friend or a woman he liked as well.