Forbidden Pleasures Read online

  I didn't know how much time passed, only that I was half-way through my system check when I became aware that Rylan had moved closer and was now looking over my shoulder. I inhaled sharply, catching a whiff of something masculine and spicy. My stomach clenched in a good way. I didn't know what kind of soap or aftershave that was, but I liked it.

  “You're doing great work.” His voice was low and near enough that I tensed. He reached over my shoulder and pointed at a line of code. “That backdoor was virtually undetectable and you closed it while allowing for a passcode to grant access if necessary. Always important in case I get shut out of my system.”

  I pushed back from the desk, moving away from him. My eyes narrowed. “How'd you know that was there?”

  “I am a software designer,” he said mildly.

  I looked around, the passage of time now registering. The sky was dark, the light coming in through the window now artificial. We'd been alone in Rylan's office since the beginning, but now I knew we were alone in the building. Maybe there was a security guard somewhere, but I doubted he came up to the top floor when the boss was here. Especially if the boss was up here with a woman.

  “Why didn't you fix this yourself?” I stood as my heart started to race. “Why did you hire me to do something you could do yourself?”

  I could feel my palms begin to sweat. I told myself that there had to be a reasonable explanation. Logically, I knew that had to be the case. Smoking hot CEO's of billion-dollar software companies didn't randomly hire tattooed and pierced computer techs just to get them alone. The panic that threatened to choke me told a different story.

  The panic reminded me that Rylan had admitted to researching me, finding out about my past. He couldn't know too much, of that I was certain. I'd made sure Jenna Lang was impossible to trace to who I once was. But still, he'd looked me up. My mind raced. Was it possible he'd chosen me because I was alone? Did he think no one would believe me if I tried to claim he'd done something to me? Did he think he could get away with… what?

  My breath was coming in rapid, short bursts of air now. I needed to calm down. Breathe. My imagination had taken on a life of its own and was running away, taking my brain hostage. If I didn't get control of it, I would hyperventilate. It didn't happen often, but I could feel a panic attack on the brink. It had been a while since I'd had one. I was due.

  “Jenna, are you okay?” Rylan looked concerned as he stood.

  He reached out, his hand brushing against my arm. Electricity shot through me, followed by a surge of adrenaline so strong I nearly roared. I could do nothing but act on instinct, my brain barely processing my actions.

  My hand curled into a fist and my arm drew back. I turned my body like I'd been taught, putting everything into the punch. Pain flared through my knuckles and up my hand as I connected with the side of his face.

  Then I did the only thing I could do. I bolted. I heard him call my name as I hit the elevator button and prayed it would close before he got too close. I didn't know if he wasn't chasing or if I was quick enough, but either way, I made it to the lobby without being caught, and then headed for the front door. It wasn't until I was halfway down the side that I finally slowed. Thank God, a bus. I picked up my pace and jumped on. I dug four quarters out of my pocket, tossed them in the collector and collapsed on a seat. I didn't realize I'd forgotten my backpack until I was at my apartment and had to use my spare key.

  Fuck.

  I would have to go back to Archer Enterprises and get it.

  Double fuck.

  Chapter 4

  “Aren't you just a cute little thing?”

  His voice was rough but his hands would be rougher. They always were.

  I knew I was dreaming. I always knew it when I got to this point, but it didn't make things any easier. Didn't take away the metallic taste of fear coating my tongue. Didn't stop me from cringing when his hands tore away my clothes.

  I cried out as the fabric burned my skin as the shredded garments were discarded. That earned me a backhand and a laugh deep from his throat. Even though I knew it was coming every time, I could never stop myself from making a sound.

  Terror choked me as my hands were captured and held down. Tears blinded me, keeping me from seeing his face beyond a blur. It didn't matter. I knew his face. It was etched behind my pupils. I would see it every time I closed my eyes until the day I died. And even then, I doubted I'd be free.

  Pain tore through me and I tried not to give him the satisfaction of a scream, but as he shoved and ripped, I couldn't hold it in anymore.

  “Stop! Please! Stop!” I screamed the words over and over again, but he didn't listen. He never did. I begged and cried, coughing and choking, and it only excited him more.

  Safe.

  I tried to say the word, to remind myself that this wasn't real. I was safe in bed or curled up on my couch.

  I'd eventually reach a point in my nightmare when I was forced to wake up because it was just too much, my conscious mind saving me from the abyss. There would be no man. No real pain. But I could barely hold on to a thought for more than a few seconds before the fear drove it out and I was lost to the past again.

  “Such a good baby girl,” he grunted, his breath hot against my cheek. His breath smelled like tobacco and mint. “So soft and sweet.”

  I retched and choked on the scent of his cloying cologne. Bile rose in my throat and I knew I was going to throw up. I'd vomit on him and he'd get angry. He'd hit me and do even worse things to me and nothing I could do would stop him. It would never stop...

  I jerked awake. My heart was racing and I was bathed in sweat, but it took me only seconds to orient myself. It had been a while since I'd had one of the nightmares, but they always came. They weren't memories, not exactly, but they sometimes felt like the truth. Then, at some point I would realize I was dreaming. I'd wake up, and reality didn't take me by surprise. The pounding pulse and sweat was just my body's reaction to a flood of adrenaline.

  I took slow breaths like I'd been taught, but I only made it through a couple when I heard it again, the sound that had pulled me out of my nightmare. Someone was knocking on my door. And this time, a man's voice joined in.

  “Miss Lang, it's the police. We need to speak with you.”

  I frowned. The cops. Why would the cops... then I knew. My hand throbbed like a nark about to spill his secrets.

  Shit.

  I'd hit Rylan Archer, one of the richest and most powerful men in the city, maybe the country.

  I climbed out of bed, knowing I'd have to face the consequences sooner or later. When they knocked again, I called out, “I'm coming!”

  I looked down at myself to make sure my sweatpants and tank top covered everything important. I was glad I'd managed to find a pair without any holes. While I didn't really care what the cops thought of me, if Rylan was going to press charges, at least I'd be somewhat presentable when I was arrested. I ran my hand through my hair as I walked across the small living room to the door.

  I supposed I shouldn't have been surprised that Archer called the cops. After all, he hadn't done anything to deserve the hit I gave him. Was it possible he'd intended something? Sure, but I didn't have any proof. All these cops would see was that I didn't have a mark on me other than the ones I'd paid for or the ones too old to matter. I hadn't been roughed up or reported an assault. Not that there had been one to report.

  No, they would only see tattoos and piercings, blue hair and a bad attitude versus a rich, handsome man with an impeccable record. It wouldn't matter what I said. Right. Like there was any way in hell I would tell anyone why I reacted that way to begin with.

  I opened the door.

  Two officers stood in the hallway. One was a woman with a severe-looking expression and even more severe-looking hair. She was probably in her early thirties, but the scowl on her face made her look way beyond her years. Her partner was stocky and about an inch shorter. He looked to be a couple years older, with gray at his temples an
d a world-weary look in his eyes.

  He looked down at his notepad. “Are you Jenna Lang?”

  “Yes.” I crossed my arms and ignored the way his eyes flicked down to my breasts and then back up again. “So, did Archer call you guys last night or wait until this morning to make his complaint?”

  “Excuse me?” The woman looked genuinely confused.

  Now it was my turn to be puzzled. “Why are you here?”

  The man scowled, clearly not appreciating my tone. “I'm Officer O'Brien and this is Officer Ferris. We're looking into a break-in on the second floor that happened last night around nine o'clock.”

  “Oh.” Now I felt stupid, but I wasn't about to let them see that. “I hadn't heard anything about it. I was out until after ten.”

  Officer Ferris gave me a slow once-over, not bothering to hide her disapproval of my appearance. I was half-tempted to do a half turn so she could see the angel wings tattooed across my shoulder blades. The barbed wire inked around my right wrist and left ankle were already visible. You would think enough people had tattoos now that it wouldn't be a big deal, but I'd found most people expected women to have demure little things that were easily covered. Hearts. Flowers. Cute little cartoon characters. And, of course, the ever popular tramp-stamp at the small of the back. Those were sexy, not rebellious. I was both.

  “Looking for a good artist?” I asked as the woman's gaze lingered on my wrist.

  “Where were you last night, Miss Lang?” Officer O'Brien asked brusquely.

  “I was working late,” I answered, keeping my tone polite.

  “I'm sure you were.” Officer O'Brien smirked and threw a sideways look at his partner. She glared at him, though I was sure it was more about the unprofessional nature of the comment rather than defense on my part.

  “Can anyone vouch for you?” Officer Ferris asked.

  “We'll need the name of the club and the names of your 'co-workers' so we can make sure you didn't leave between sets.” Officer O'Brien didn't even bother to pretend he wasn't staring at my breasts. I was willing to bet he was wondering if my nipples were pierced too.

  “O'Brien,” Officer Ferris snapped.

  Okay, I thought, maybe I'd misjudged her. Maybe she had an issue with the way I looked because she thought my appearance made it harder for women like her to be taken seriously, especially in a job like hers. It didn't mean I liked or agreed with the attitude, but at least I could respect it.

  “I'm a computer tech,” I said. “I was out late on a job.”

  “A computer tech?” Officer O'Brien made it quite clear what he thought the chances of that were. “No offense, but you don't exactly look like the type of person someone would hire for that.”

  My mouth tightened. I hated when they tried to act like they were playing nice. If you mean something offensively, at least have the balls to admit it. “I'm self-employed.” I shifted my stance to try to keep up the appearance of boredom.

  “What happened to your hand?” Officer Ferris asked suddenly.

  Shit. I hadn't even thought about it, but now that she'd mentioned it, I could feel my knuckles throbbing.

  I looked down. My knuckles were scraped, bruised and swollen. Only an idiot would think that came from something other than throwing a punch.

  “A computer piss you off?” Officer O'Brien asked.

  The snide tone in his voice was really starting to irk me. “No,” I answered shortly. “But that's really none of your business. You said you were here to ask about a break-in last night. I wasn't here. And before you ask it, no, I haven't seen anyone suspicious hanging around.”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about how this works,” Officer O'Brien said.

  “I watch a lot of cop shows,” I shot back.

  “You said you were working last night,” Officer Ferris brought the conversation back around. “Where?”

  “My clients rely on discretion, Officer Ferris,” I said. “I can't disclose anything about that job without their permission.”

  “Why don't you call them and get it then?” Officer O'Brien asked.

  I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “I signed a non-disclosure agreement. Word gets out that I ask my clients if I can break confidentiality at the drop of a hat, I lose business.”

  Officer Ferris held up a hand to stop her partner from saying something that probably would've made me lose my temper. “Did you stop somewhere on the way home? Maybe for a cup of coffee? Did you order in or go out for a meal? Anything that can show us where you were around the time of the break-in? Did you see or speak to anyone who can confirm your whereabouts between eight and ten last night?”

  A pair of dark violet-blue eyes flashed across my mind, but I stubbornly refused to acknowledge them. Aside from the fact that I never wanted to see Rylan Archer again, I doubted he'd be willing to alibi me unless he also pressed charges for assault. Since I hadn't done it, I was willing to take my chances with the robbery. If the cops heard about the assault, I was fucked.

  “So there's nobody who can support your alibi?” Officer O'Brien actually looked happy about that.

  “I can.”

  My nails dug into my arms as I struggled to keep my face from showing the panic that immediately flared inside at the sound of his voice. The cops turned, revealing Rylan. He had a black eye, flowers and my bag. I didn't even bother to try to figure out how he knew where I lived. Men like him had the resources to get what they wanted.

  “Miss Lang was working with me last night,” he continued. He gave me a quick glance, but smoothly turned his gaze to the officers after just a few seconds. “She left a little after ten.” He shifted my bag into the hand with the flowers and then held out his now-free hand. “Rylan Archer.”

  Based on the way Officer Ferris's eyes widened, she knew the name. That wasn't surprising. After all, Rylan had been featured as the city's most eligible bachelor, a title I suspected he loathed. Officer O'Brien didn't look like he recognized Rylan, but a clean-cut, well-dressed man would generally be more credible than me, even with a black eye.

  “Mr. Archer.” Officer Ferris was trying to sound like she wasn't gushing and it wasn't working. “It's an honor to meet you.” She glanced over at her surprised and annoyed-looking partner. “Mr. Archer is the CEO of the top software company in the city.”

  Officer O'Brien looked from Rylan to me and back again. I could almost see the wheels in his head turning. I didn't need to be a mind reader to guess what he was thinking. A hint of a smile curved his lips.

  “Is everything all right, Mr. Archer?” he asked.

  Rylan gave a rueful smile. “Just a bit of a misunderstanding, that's all.”

  Officer O'Brien nodded. “All right then. We'll leave you two to sort things out and get back to our business.”

  “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Archer,” Officer Ferris said.

  Bother him? I scowled as the cops moved down the hall to my neighbor's apartment. Then Rylan stepped forward and I was forced to turn my attention to him. He held out my bag and it was all I could do to not snatch it from his grasp.

  “They didn't ask for your side of the story.”

  I looked up from my bag and almost laughed at the puzzled expression on Rylan's face. “You do realize they think I'm your side piece of ass, right? Your freaky little secret.”

  Rylan's jaw dropped and I did laugh.

  “What?”

  “I know,” I said. “Like you'd even be into any of that.” Heat flooded my cheeks as soon as the sentence popped out. Why the hell had I said that? “Sorry,” I muttered.

  “Don't be,” Rylan said. He shot an angry look over his shoulder at the cops. “I can't believe they just left me here with you without even asking if you would be okay. What if I was some abusive psycho ex?”

  “Don't worry about it,” I said with a wave of my hand. If I hadn't been strung so tight trying to figure out why he was here, I might've made some smart-ass comment about how guys like him didn't have ex's who looked
like me. At least not ones he'd admit to. “Thanks for bringing my bag back.”

  Rylan turned back to me, but I had a feeling he wasn't going to let this go. “I also came to apologize for the misunderstanding and to give you these too.” He held out the flowers.

  I stared at him for a moment, waiting for the punchline. When one didn't come, I took the gift. They weren't roses, but rather orchids. “Thank you.”

  “I figured it was the least I could do for deceiving you,” he said.

  My eyebrows shot up. I definitely hadn't expected him to admit to lying.

  “Look.” Rylan shoved his hands into the pockets of his designer jeans, looking more like some grad student than a multi-billionaire. “I can explain everything.” His eyes met mine. “May I come in?”

  It wasn't a good idea, but he had brought my bag back and hadn't said anything to the cops about how he'd gotten his black eye. If he'd wanted to, he could've made my life very miserable. So, reluctantly, I stepped aside and motioned for him to come in.

  I tried not to think about how I was still in my pajamas or how my apartment must look to someone who made more in a month than I did in two years. I had nothing to be ashamed of, especially when considering how far I come, though Rylan knew nothing about that.

  “You wanted to explain,” I said as I stood next to my table. “Go ahead.”

  Rylan crossed to my thrift store couch and sat down. He looked up at me, as if waiting for me to take a seat as well. I didn't say a word and stood there, arms crossed over my chest, an eyebrow raised in silent question. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.

  “You were right when you said I had the skills needed to fix the issue.” A sheepish look crossed his face. “Mostly because I wrote it.”

  I frowned, but didn't say a word. I may have looked like I stayed upright because I was pissed, and that might've been one of the reasons, but the main motivation was more self-servicing. If I was on my feet, I could get out the door before he grabbed me...