Magdalene by Moriah Jovan

shoulder while she worked with great
concentration. Then he pointed at the screen and said, “You might
want to reword point four. Wilson hates that trick.” She looked at
him incredulously. “I’ve done it before. He’s never said anything
to me about it.” Knox held up his hands. “Just sayin’.”
    Sebastian had his phone plastered to his ear
and Eilis leaned against him to hear the other side of the
conversation. “What do you mean, they don’t miss us? ... No ,
we’re not going to stay another three or four nights. Elliott’s
sick and— ... He was running a fever when we left, remember? ...
Oh, he was, too. Mom, are you trying to kill my kids?” Eilis
plucked the phone out of his hand. “Dianne,” she said into it,
“I’ll keep Mr. Mom away as long as I can... No, thank you .”
Sebastian growled at her when she terminated the call and calmly
handed his phone back to him.
    Bryce leaned into Giselle and whispered
something in her ear, interrupting her and Ashworth’s game. She
stared down at the table while she listened. She flushed and her
hand curled into a fist. “Yes,” she whispered hotly when he
finished, staring into his face with a mixture of adoration and
lust. “I would love to.” No, that was not a man who could be
lured away from his wife. Ah, well.
    I felt unfamiliar stirrings of
sentimentality. Who were these people that watching and listening
to them could make me want to sigh as if they were a Hallmark
Christmas special come to life?
    Then there was Hollander, standing with his
back to me, staring out a bank of windows that looked toward the
business end of his mill, his hands in his pockets, his suit coat
gathered over his wrists. It was a stance I’d seen thousands of men
take thousands of times, but there was just something about
him...
    He turned then and caught me staring at him,
though I hoped it was simply a stare of speculation and didn’t
betray my now driving need to know what it would be like to fuck a
squeaky-clean Mormon bishop. He returned my look without blinking.
His lids lowered. His mouth twitched.
    Ah, he and I understood each other perfectly
then.
    “Dinner?” he said underneath the familial
conversation and laughter behind me.
    “Delighted. Seven?”
    “I’ll pick you up.”
    I turned with a smile, then left to arrange
for a hotel room and find a killer outfit.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Roxanne
    I dressed carefully, Jack’s instructions
ringing in my head.
    Still, I wanted to see if Mitch could be
distracted, rattled. I wore a white blouse with a low cowl that
showed a touch of cleavage—what I could muster up with a push-up
bra, that was. A simple red skirt that went to my knees wasn’t sexy
by itself, but combined with red suede peep-toe heels, it should
do. Understated, but very, very clear in intent.
    I know how to finesse men. It had taken some
trial and error to learn this as Nigel trained me to be the
sophisticated whore I’d set out to become. He had taught me how to
lead the conversation exactly where I wanted it to go and never,
ever allow it to get off track. I could anticipate any man’s
conversational rabbit trails and steer accordingly, without letting
him know that I had an ounce of brains.
    Mitch Hollander could not be steered, and I
realized that the minute he handed me into his navy-and-silver
Bugatti. Moreover, he knew exactly what I was about and with a
droll expression, dared me to continue to try. That fascinated me
as much as it puzzled me.
    We sat in a French restaurant in Bethlehem,
Pennsylvania, and comfortably conversed about absolutely nothing,
as we had since he’d picked me up. (How he knew where I was
staying, I had no idea, but I was getting the distinct impression
he could flex his power without seeming to stir so much as a
finger.)
    Tonight at least, Hollander was a master at
negotiating meaningless conversation with utmost aplomb, as if he
did so on a regular basis. He spoke, gestured, and held himself
with some strange