DrillingDownDeep

  Drilling Down Deep

  Angela Claire

  Michael Reynolds is the perfect heir to his family’s vast commercial empire. Calm and exacting, he never lets himself go, not even during sex. Until a mysterious stranger’s wild seduction and impromptu striptease has him rethinking the benefits of losing some of his legendary control.

  Vanny Donald is an oil driller, like her father was—before he was fired on a trumped-up charge of sabotage. Disguised as “Shelly”, she seduces Michael to gain access to his apartment and steal some files. Vanny wants payback for her father. What “Shelly” gets is a night of no-holds-barred sex and the personal satisfaction of making Michael Reynolds lose control.

  When Michael arrives to inspect Vanny’s oil rig, she doesn’t know what worries her more—that he’ll recognize her or that he won’t. Some real sabotage in the form of a bomb onboard has Michael soon discovering that his sullen young tour guide is also his mysterious, seductive Shelly. So he offers her another job—as his mistress.

  A Romantica® erotic romantic suspense from Ellora’s Cave

  DRILLING DOWN DEEP

  Angela Claire

  Prologue

  Michael Reynolds sipped his scotch and watched the belle of the bar hold court nearby. She was young, dark-haired and well on her way to being seriously tipsy from all appearances. He’d been glancing at the financials for the latest Reynolds Industries acquisition on his iPad when her husky laugh caught his attention and the sight of her long legs kept it. Three other guys in the bar felt the same. They vied for her attention, hovering over her as she perched on her barstool, shooting each other sideways looks as if to place their own private bets on who would get lucky. Their ties were loosened, their drinks readily refilled and everything the pretty girl said made them smile.

  He wondered idly if she was a prostitute but decided probably not. Although her suit was just tasteful enough and sexy enough to suggest it—in a high-class hotel like this, anything more blatant would not do—something about her loose manner and glowing face made him doubt she was a working girl. Not world-weary enough. Probably more like a young professional, a lawyer or banker perhaps, enjoying the power of her beauty outside of the working place where it was as much a burden as anything else.

  He glanced down to his iPad again, flicking the screen forward, wondering for the hundredth time what he had been thinking to consider buying an oil drilling company, when the soft smell of peaches made him look up again. The girl was walking by his booth, a slight smile still on her face, her gait steady despite the fact that the boys at the bar had been plying her with drinks. His eyes drifted down to the curve of her ass and back up again, every bit as admiring as her contingent at the bar had been. But when he made his way to her face, bright brown eyes met his. Caught. She’d stopped, right in front of his booth, and he’d been so busy checking her out that he hadn’t noticed.

  He glanced back down to his iPad, but she leaned toward him, resting her palms on the table, her long dark hair falling forward. “Are you waiting for someone?”

  The line was so pat, he considered whether he might have been wrong about her line of work. “No. Not really.”

  “Good.” She slid in next to him. “Do you mind if I hang out here for a bit? I’ve been trying to get rid of those guys all night and they just won’t take the hint.”

  “Maybe you should stop flirting with them.”

  “Is that what I was doing? I thought I was being polite.”

  He glanced over at the bar where the boys were glaring at him. “Well, in any case, I think they’ve gotten the point now.”

  She shrugged and held up a hand to flag the waiter, gesturing for another drink. “I don’t know what they were trying for anyway. It’s not like I could take all three of them home, is it?”

  “Not unless you were feeling extremely vigorous.”

  That husky laugh came again and with her this close he felt his cock tingle at it. She was really quite beautiful, made up for a night on the town it appeared, with bright-red lipstick and heavy eyeliner. As the waiter brought another scotch for him and some kind of orange concoction for her, Michael closed his iPad.

  “Well, I don’t know if vigorous is quite how I feel tonight.” Her drink was history in one or two long swallows. She turned those brown eyes on him again. “I’d call it more like receptive.”

  “Receptive? That sounds nice.” He took a sip of the scotch. “Depending on the price of course.”

  He thought he should get it out there. If he was wrong and she was offended, he’d claim he was teasing. If he was right and she named a price, he’d send her on her way. He didn’t sleep with women who were paid to do so, at least paid directly anyway. She might as well not waste her time.

  But she had neither reaction. Instead she laughed again.

  “Is that your polite way of asking if I’m a prostitute?” She shook her head, her long straight hair swaying in a silky fall. “Oh you have no idea how much that fits into the day I’m having. No, I’m not a prostitute. Why?” She pulled back, as if suddenly realizing she should be indignant. “Do I look like a prostitute dressed like this?”

  He let his eyes wander over her again. “You look extremely lovely. I just wanted to be straightforward.”

  “Well, you’re an exception to your gender then. I didn’t offer to sleep with you either, you know. I was only trying to lose those guys.” She nodded her head toward the bar without looking back at it. “Are they gone yet?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I don’t know. Depends on whether you’ll protect me.”

  “Depends on what I’d be protecting you from.” The guys were still at the bar and from the looks they were throwing toward the booth, probably getting up the nerve to come over and join them. “Do you work with them?”

  Somehow the waiter appeared with another drink for her. This one she toyed with.

  “No. I came in to unwind and they kind of flocked to me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not unusual for you.”

  “This is though.” She held up the bare ring finger of her left hand. She had lovely milky-white skin so there was no tan mark, but the wiggling of her finger made the point plain enough.

  “Why is that?”

  “Celebrating my separation. Three carats. It’s in my jewelry box at home, but I’m considering hocking it.”

  “I’m sure it’d serve him right. If you reconcile, he’ll have to pay to get it back.”

  “Oh he’ll have to pay either way, believe me. But tonight I’m the one who feels like a little payback.”

  Well, that was an opening if he’d ever heard one. Usually, he didn’t care for one-night stands.

  She smiled at him widely and ran her long red-tipped finger along the rim of her glass.

  But he was considering making an exception.

  “So, separated as in…”

  “As in walked into our town house and found him screwing the maid.”

  He nodded, murmuring, “That’ll do it.”

  “Are you married?” She looked pointedly at his own ringless left hand.

  “No.”

  Underneath the booth, he felt the tip of her shoe graze across his pant leg.

  “Do you have a room?”

  He had the natural reticence of a man born to a lot of money. So he hesitated.

  The shoe traveled northward until it was practically at his inner thigh, pushing his legs open. It was an old trick but exceedingly effective.

  “Why? Is that what you’re up for?” The hard-on she was giving him made his tone sound terser than he’d intended, so he added, “Because if not, I’m afraid I’m a heartless bastard and wouldn’t be a very good shoulder to cry on.”

  Her shoe dro
pped back to her own portion of the table space. “Don’t worry about it. You’re the last kind of man I’d look to for a comforting cry.”

  He smiled, not able to help himself, even though the conversation wasn’t exactly heading in the right direction. “How would you know that?”

  “You just said it, didn’t you?”

  “I guess I did. It’s true anyway, whether I admitted it or not. What’s your name?”

  “Shelly.”

  “Well, Shelly, I’m Michael.” He considered how to rephrase his point. As a general matter, he believed in using euphemisms with women. They seemed to prefer it, but he wanted to make sure she understood. He had a lot of work to do on this Transcoastal deal and if she wasn’t, uh, sincere, or even sure, he didn’t want to spare the time. “And I’d be very happy to be the unintended third-party beneficiary of your husband’s bad behavior, but only as long as you’re certain that’s what you want.”

  She looked at him, hard. “What else would I want?”

  “I don’t know. To make your husband jealous maybe.”

  “That too,” she admitted.

  “But either way you decide now.”

  “You don’t mince words, do you, Michael?”

  “No. And you don’t seem quite as drunk as I suspect those guys thought you were.” He nodded toward the bar.

  She shrugged. “Maybe I need another drink.”

  “I doubt it. What you probably need is a good fuck.” Sometimes he got a little tired of euphemisms.

  “I suppose that’s the first thing you’d do if you caught your wife cheating on you.”

  “No. The first thing I’d do would be to call my divorce lawyer and tell him to dig out the pre-nup.”

  She laughed, looking as if he’d startled it out of her. “And the next thing?”

  “The next thing I’d do would be to beat the guy to a pulp.”

  “Now that’s a reaction I can understand.”

  “And only then would I go out and find someone to fuck me senseless.”

  “Is that what you’re offering? To fuck me senseless.”

  “Only if you’re receptive.”

  “And if I wasn’t?”

  He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I’d send you home to your husband.”

  “I should go home.”

  He took her hand, running his thumb along the pad of her palm. “I’m not going to talk you into anything.”

  “Why not? Maybe I want to be talked into it. Ordered to do it.”

  This time he was the one who laughed. “That’s a very dangerous invitation, Shelly. I’m extremely good at giving orders.”

  “I’m extremely bad at taking them, Michael.”

  “That almost sounds like a challenge.”

  She turned their joined hands so that she was now holding his instead of vice versa and then brought his thumb to her mouth and nipped it. “Game on,” she whispered.

  Even a reticent man didn’t overlook this kind of good fortune falling right in his lap.

  “Waiter,” he called loudly. “Check please.”

  * * * * *

  Vanny Donald glanced around the penthouse suite, every bit as luxurious as she’d imagined. Michael Reynolds ushered her in, dropping his iPad and suit jacket on a bench by the door, and went directly to the bar. His back to her, he said, “I don’t think I can make a frozen peach margarita or whatever it was that you were drinking down there, but I do have a nice champagne if you’re interested.”

  She could drink any man under the table, even if the drink was rotgut whiskey, but like so many of her other natural talents, she was not displaying it tonight in favor of other more needed ones. With one quick glance to ensure he wasn’t watching her, she slipped his iPad into her sacklike purse. “Whatever you have is fine. Can I use the bathroom?”

  When he pointed her down the hall, she ducked into the chic, gleaming room and locked the door. Taking the iPad out of her purse, she flicked it on. Just as she’d suspected, relied on really, the arrogant son of a bitch didn’t even have the entry screen password protected. Too much trouble no doubt. She knew his company’s IT could wipe it in seconds if he did lose it or have it stolen, but not requiring a password just in case would have overridden any sane IT department’s policy. Apparently, Michael Reynolds considered himself above corporate policy.

  “You okay in there?” she heard from down the hall.

  “Just freshening up. I’ll be out in a minute.” And that was about all it took. A minute to sync his iPad with the portable computer she’d stashed in her purse and then download the relevant files, helpfully organized under a “Transcoastal” heading. She even had time to check her makeup after she’d stashed the computer and the iPad back in a side pocket of the purse.

  Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror, she startled slightly at the picture she made. It was almost the face of another girl thanks to a combination of pale, heavy foundation and overly exaggerated contours. The color of her hair and brown eyes added to her disguise. The contacts would be easy to lose, of course, but she hoped the “washes-out easily” claim on the Nice’n’Easy bottle was accurate. She didn’t think she looked right with all this dark hair. She’d be cutting it all off soon in any case.

  When she came out, he was still at the bar and she returned to the bench, dropping her purse down. Since he was watching her now, she didn’t get a chance to slip the iPad out again, but she’d see to it later.

  Smiling, she collapsed onto one of the beige leather sofas by the floor-to-ceiling window.

  Reynolds brought her a glass of champagne, sitting next to her on the sofa, his arm snaking around the back of it as she sipped. He played idly with a lock of her hair and then slipped his hand under the heavy weight of it to rest lightly along the nape of her neck. Apparently he didn’t mind the brown hair.

  His own hair was black, short but with a little wave, and his eyes a deep blue with long, long lashes. The rumor circulating around the company that he looked like a heart-breaker had turned out to be true. Altogether GQ-ready, but in an older, more seasoned way. Not her usual brand of corn flakes by any means. His good looks and the habits that went with them, however, only interested her as a means to an end.

  A way for her to get up here and get what she needed. But now that she had, leaving too soon would be suspicious. She could play along just fine…for a bit, at least.

  She set down her drink.

  Michael hoped this revenge fuck was not going to turn into a bout of crying or lamenting or recriminations against herself or her cheating husband. This Shelly had seemed so hot and feisty down in the bar, but she was starting to look a little unsure now. To get her back on track, he leaned forward and ran a thumb along her pouty lower lip in preparation for his kiss. Oh so very nice and soft. When he tasted her, she opened her mouth willingly and he plunged his tongue in for a deep kiss, just the way he liked it. She tasted like the champagne and something more, something sweeter. His hand went from her nape to the long curve of her throat, stroking and then dipping down to trace her collar bone. She scooted closer as they kissed and her hands sifted through his hair, a light, casual touch that went straight to his cock.

  Of course he preferred a more direct approach.

  Taking one of her hands in his, he brought it down to his lap and just the graze of it against his crotch made him even harder. But she didn’t seem ready to go any further as yet. She pulled her hand back, though he didn’t let it go, and turned her head away at the same time.

  He kissed her fingertips. “Your hands are very soft.”

  “Gloves,” she said under her breath.

  “Mmm?”

  “Nothing.”

  He tugged her back into a kiss while his fingers went quickly to the buttons on her short suit jacket. It was the kind that was completely fitted with no blouse underneath. Excellent. He had the jacket efficiently unbuttoned before she seemed to even realize it. Her hands went to still his own, but it was too late. They
’d accomplished their purpose.

  “Hey.” She broke away again.

  Her eyes were very brown in the soft light of the penthouse and he wasn’t sure he liked whatever it was he was seeing in them.

  Staring at her, he slowly slipped her jacket off, baring white shoulders and slender but surprisingly muscular arms. She was undoubtedly the kind of trophy wife who spent all her time at the gym keeping herself buff for her husband, who was probably a fat slob but three-carats rich enough.

  Well, at least he wasn’t fat.

  He leaned back against the sofa and admired the way her waist curved in. She wore a wispy black barely-there bra, the nipples of her full breasts clearly visible. As he watched, she took in a deep breath, as if she was getting up her nerve.

  It struck him the wrong way.

  Deliberately, he loosened his tie and slipped it off and then went to work on the buttons of his shirt, pulling the tail out of his pants. He wasn’t going to pretend this wasn’t all he wanted. What he’d brought her up here for. He’d been clear on that.

  He took his shirt off, his cock pounding as she seemed to get into the spirit of things again, running her palms lightly along his pecs and to his shoulders. She murmured, “You’re not exactly what I expected.”

  The kiss he pulled her into this time, his fingers gripping the hair at the back of her head and giving a little tug, was holding nothing back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and when he let her up for air, he stood up abruptly.

  Initially intending to take her into the bedroom, instead he went over to the stereo system where he’d plugged in his iPod earlier and switched on a slow, sexy song from one of his playlists.

  From the outside of everything, to the inside of you…

  She smiled. “This is Counting Crows, right? I like this one. What’s it called again?”

  “I don’t remember the names of songs. I just know whether I like them.”

  He sat back down, stretching his legs out in front of him after a quick adjustment to the suddenly way-too-tight crotch of his pants. He kicked his shoes off as well. She looked at him uncertainly.