Vicious Seduction

5

Except this time, I couldn’t clear my mind. As I examined the expensive blue silk, I was reminded of the tiny hint of navy sheen to Oran’s tuxedo. That thought triggered a phantom touch down the center of my palm, which morphed into a full-body shiver. The man was s*x on a stick. Unapologetically seductive. Relentlessly charming. He was an over-the-top rom-com hero come to life minus the com because nothing about his potential to devastate was funny. Tropical storm Oran was on the horizon with Cat 5 potential. Get a grip, Lina. You have to ignore him. I’d gotten my first invitation to the Wellington mansion. I couldn’t waste the opportunity, whether it was Oran joining us or the Pope. Being there with Lawrence was all that mattered. Oran Byrne was irrelevant. Oran Byrne couldn’t be irrelevant if his life depended on it. Hell, I was in trouble.

CHAPTER 4 ORAN The December air on my office balcony cut deep, but the twohundred-year-old malt I sipped bit back. I liked the burn of both. They kept my head focused, and I needed that right now. Tonight had been the first big step in my plans. I had to make sure everything played out perfectly, and I couldn’t afford distractions like a certain ice queen whose glacial stare I couldn’t seem to forget. I should have been running through scenarios to prepare for tomorrow's meeting. Instead, my mind was plagued with curiosity about Lina and her relationship with Wellington. After spending an hour at the gaming table beside her, I grew increasingly intrigued. She’d come off as intelligent, confident, and intuitive—it was just a first impression, but mine were rarely wrong. Why the hell would a gorgeous woman like that be with a man like Wellington? I did a brief internet search and saw that she came from money. That didn’t necessarily mean she had money or would inherit her family's money, but was Wellington really necessary? What other motivation could she have besides money? Daddy issues. It had to be. I almost felt bad for her. Almost, but not quite. No one grows up without a few issues. She had the money to get a f*****g shrink. She should have done that instead of hooking up with men twice her age. Or at least had the wherewithal to find someone halfway decent to cozy up to. Wellington hadn’t even pulled out the goddamn chair for her. And when I’d suggested a night with her, just to see how he’d react, he'd considered it for a fraction of a second. I saw it in his eyes. I would have missed the telling flash had I not been intentionally watching for it. What a f*****g pig. I couldn’t wait to see his smug face once I’d crippled his shipping empire and muddied his name so badly that no one in a thousand-mile radius would look at him. It was coming. Soon. And while Lina might not have been his one true love, I’d take her from him too. The man had an ego to rival a self-appointed dictator, and I wanted to cut him down in every way possible. Death would have been too easy. Wellington needed to suffer. He’d enabled s*x traffickers. He knew his son was a f*****g psychopath abusing and killing women, yet instead of stopping him, Lawrence Wellington set him up with a source to ensure his fetishes weren’t discovered. One of the women he’d killed had been an acquaintance of mine—a girl who’d worked at one of our clubs. When I learned how he’d been involved, I decided to take on a mission of vengeance. Wellington had to pay for his actions just as dearly as the people he’d hurt. I was going to savor every minute of his downfall, and only when he was at his lowest, once he knew his entire life had been an utter failure, would I consider killing the fucker. Slowly and painfully. The Wellington mansion was an austere memorial to days past. A stone exterior with carved elements that had to have cost a fortune even back when it was first built, it was one of a handful of well-preserved singlefamily mansions in the exclusive Lennox Hill neighborhood. Many properties had been updated or fallen into disrepair. Wellington’s statuesque home looked almost as pristine as it had one hundred years ago. Not even the steadily falling rain could soften the foreboding look of the place. I could see why Wellington had selected it. I hated it, but I could see why he would have chosen it. No one would dare question the clout of a man who owned such an obelisk of history and wealth. f*****g narcissist. When I rang the bell, a short, older woman answered with a smile. “Can I help you?” “Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Wellington.” “Your name?” “Oran Byrne.” She dipped her chin and stepped back to allow me inside. “Mr. Wellington is expecting you. If you’ll wait there in the lounge, he’ll be with you shortly.” She took my coat from me, the heavy wool dotted with rain, and hung it on an ornate entry piece off to the side. The inside of the home lived up to every expectation the exterior had created. The entry floor was a checkerboard of black and white marble with a polished sheen. A large spiral staircase wrapped around the edge of the circular room, the decorative iron spindles supporting the rail only outdone by the plaster carvings beneath. Every wall was detailed with gold wainscoting, and the chandelier overhead could have belonged to Rockefeller himself. No expense had been spared. No detail bypassed. And the lounge to the right was the same. Even the high ceilings were artfully decorated with a coordinating plaster embossing, and large palatial windows were dressed with tassel-lined satin drapes. The place could have been a museum. It was unquestionably impressive and just about the worst place to live I could imagine. I was conducting a loop around the room when a section of wall hinged open beside me, and Lina rushed out. She collided flush with my chest, gasping as she bounced off me. I grabbed her arms to keep her from stumbling backward into what appeared to be a small powder room. That was when it hit me that she was soaked. Her ivory silk blouse clung to her like a second skin, exposing every intricate detail of the black lace bra she wore beneath. Lips parted and hair still clumped in damp, wavy strands, she peered up at me with wide blue eyes. It was the sexiest goddamn thing I’d ever seen. f*****g Christ.