Face of Vengeance

Invitation

Amber's ruby-painted nails trailed teasingly down the crisp lapel of Miles' designer suit as she straddled his lap in the leather chair. He was already putty in her hands, his calloused palms roaming her silk-clad curves with a starvation that made her lips quirk.

It had been all too easy to ensnare him like a helpless fly in her web. A coy smile here, an "accidental" brush of soft skin there, and Miles had fallen for her hook, line, and sinker. Extracting him from Elena's cold clutches and into the marital bed Amber had so ruthlessly coveted was simply a matter of planting those seeds of doubt.

And now, a mere year into their marriage, Miles worshipped the ground she walked on. Amber's eyes glittered with dark satisfaction as his lips trailed sloppy, adoring kisses along the column of her neck. Mrs. Carson - the title she had sacrificed and schemed for was finally, deliciously hers.

Yet as Miles hastily stripped away her blouse, desperate hands roaming her newly-exposed skin, Amber felt that first flicker of disillusionment. The thrill of seducing another woman's husband had already begun to fade, leaving an emptiness in its wake that not even Miles' adoration could fill.

With a practiced moan of wanton pleasure, Amber twisted her fingers through his sweat-dampened hair, all too aware of how it inflamed him.

Let the poor, deluded fool take his pleasure from her body if that's what he so craved. She would indulge him, play the doting wife for now while her gaze began to drift, seeking the next prize to rekindle that delicious rush of being desire's ultimate temptress.

Amber drank in the sight of Miles' lust-darkened eyes, of the way his broad chest heaved with unbridled desire for her body. She was the intoxicating venom in his veins, the cruel puppeteer holding his arousal taut with delicate strings.

A sharp rap at the door disrupted their moment, Miles groaning in frustration against the swell of her lips. Amber's eyes flashed with annoyance as she pulled back, deft fingers smoothing her tousled curls. That imbecilic new secretary of his had the worst possible timing.

"Enter," she said, her tone laced with a whisper of meanness.

The door creaked open to admit the mousy form of Glyndon, eyes widening comically as she took in their state of disarray. "M-Mr. Carson, Mrs. Carson," she stammered, clutching a sheaf of papers to her chest like a shield. "D-Dr. Caulfield is hosting a gala for his new hospital and..."

Glyndon's words withered as Miles slammed his fist onto the desk, handsome face contorted in an arc of rage that made the silly girl flinch. "Spit it out, you insipid twit!"

Trembling, Glyndon continued in a reedy tone. "Y-you haven't received an invitation yet. But your rival, Killian King, has been issued the first."

In one explosive motion, Miles swept his arm across the desk, sending papers, tomes, and an exorbitant crystal paperweight crashing in a glittering hailstorm. "That arrogant, overreaching punk!"

Shooting Glyndon a pointed look, Amber arched one perfectly sculpted brow, silently dismissing the trembling secretary with a subtle wave of her ruby-tipped nails. As the door clicked shut behind Glyndon's hasty exit, Amber slid from Miles' lap, smoothing her disheveled curls as she settled beside him on the plush leather couch.

"Darling, don't fret about it," she cooed comfortingly, working her magic on the stiffness in his shoulders. "It won't be long before that invitation arrives at our doorstep."

Miles sucked in a shuddering breath, his jaw clenched so tightly Amber could see the tendons straining beneath his tanned skin. "That smug bastard Killian always has to be first, doesn't he?"

Pursing her lips, Amber continued her sensuous massage, letting the pads of her fingers trail featherlight down the sculpted planes of his chest. "Perhaps. But you know how highly Caulfield regards you, darling. He would never intentionally snub the great Miles Carson."

A resentful scowl twisted Miles' lips as he raked a hand through his tousled chestnut locks. "That arrogant prick made a point of catching my eye during our last meeting, that insufferable smirk plastered all over his face."

"A mere childish slight," Amber soothed, leaning in to brush her lips against the throbbing vein in his neck. "You're far too important a man to let lowly Killian King rile you so easily."

The shrill trill of Miles' phone interrupted their tête-à-tête, his handsome features contorting in a fresh surge of displeasure as he snatched it up with a curt, "Hello?"

Amber watched, intrigued, as the furrows in Miles' brow gradually smoothed, his entire demeanor shifting as he listened to the caller – undoubtedly Caulfield himself if that subservient tone was any indication.

"Why, Dr. Caulfield! What an unexpected pleasure," Miles drawled, his voice like melted chocolate as he shot Amber a smug glance. "Of course, it would be my honor to attend your esteemed gala."

Amber watched Miles soak up Caulfield's invitation like a starved dog offered a bone. The way his voice dripped with simpering gratitude made her want to vomit.

As if he didn't know this whole charade was merely Caulfield flinging him the crumbs from Killian's table. That poncy surgeon had Miles wrapped around his scrawny, overcompensated finger like a particularly cheap Rolex.

As he finally ended the call, Amber fixed him with a slow, carnal smile.

"See? Told you we just had to wait," she purred, slinking closer to trail burgundy-tipped nails down his chest. "You played your part exquisitely."

Tossing the phone aside, Miles surged forward to crush her mouth in a bruising kiss, his big hands fisting in her hair. "All this groveling makes me want to bury myself balls-deep in that perfect pu*sy," he growled against her lips.

"Is that so?" she breathed, grinding shamelessly against the bulge straining his trousers. "Well then, I suppose it's only fair my tycoon a proper reward..."