Read Online Overlord: The Fringe, Book 2 by Anitra Lynn McLeod - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anitra Lynn McLeod
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body looked encased in that hot red silk and smoldering black leather. It was just her damned luck to end up captive to the sexiest devil in the Void.
“Yeah-huh. No more deals.”
Chapter Six
Michael watched Mary march out of the solarium with her head held high. Her attitude amazed him. Knowing herself—good, bad and ugly—allowed her to walk away from him without a backward glance. What did a name or a birthday matter?
Even clad in an ill-fitting dress, she radiated pride. Bind her naked in chains, and she’d still maintain her self-respect, not to mention fight.
With a glance at the mess she’d left behind, he turned his attention to the stack of morning reports, trying not to dwell on what it would be like to have his baffling bandit naked, in chains and at his utter mercy, because she already was. With a snap of his fingers, he could have her so offered to him.
“And then what? Rape her? Smell that horrific stench of terror reeking from every last bit of her beautiful flesh?”
Michael took a long drink of his orange juice. The citrus wiped the smell-memory from his mind. He’d never raped a woman, never wanted to, but he’d smelled what it did to them. Rape left one of the worst emotional scents he’d ever encountered. Such a powerful odor clung to a woman long after the original event. Mary did not have that damnable stench. Not only would he not inflict it on her, but also he found himself wanting to protect her from ever experiencing such abuse.
He thought he’d found a vulnerable spot when he accidentally stumbled on her parentage. She wanted to know with a desperation he could smell, yet she refused to trade information. And money couldn’t buy her secrets from her, but seduction? Well, she showed promise there. Win or lose, he had no reservations about trying.
Over the long years of building his empire, he’d seduced plenty of women. He had closets of dresses that were tossed at his feet, some never even put on at all, like the one Mary wore. But she knew he tried to mock her with the expensive dress and turned the tables on him. He’d almost laughed when she kept using the dress as a napkin to wipe her face during breakfast.
Despite his subtle digs, she kept her back straight and her mind focused. All the while, she hungered for him. He knew she did, because he could read the edges of her scent.
Desire rolled from her in mixed floral high notes with a shock of citrus, tempered by dark compost, the edges of genuine fear. Fear and desire, tandem. For the man she knew only as Commander. She tried to hide her confusion, but the pheromones of her tall, slender body betrayed her.
With his nose, his mouth, he could read subtle chemical changes in humans. Lies and lust, hate and fear; everything took a definable scent in his mind and a tang in his mouth. So rare, his talent did not have a common name, so he created one:
Emotichemical perceptionist.
Mary hit him in complex and conflicting waves. Just as he’d made progress defining one scent, she altered course, often with screeching turns. Like a flitterfly darting, her emotional scent shifted between fear and desire.
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”
In many ways, Mary echoed Kraft: strong, focused and determined. In other ways, not so much. Where Kraft used her wit with a subtle grace, Mary swung her wit like a sledgehammer, smashing the tender parts of his psyche. Mary struck with verbal furor until she landed a painful blow, then hit the same spot repeatedly until he lashed back.
And he thought seducing Mary would be easy. Nothing about her came easy or simple or even obvious. Working to untangle her secret would command his full attention, all his skills, and would likely result in the loss of his own secret.
“How would she behave if she knew who I am?”
He pondered it while he sipped his coffee. With a sigh, he gazed out the flexiglass to the lush green surrounding the waterfall in the aviary. Often, he came here to center
“Yeah-huh. No more deals.”
Chapter Six
Michael watched Mary march out of the solarium with her head held high. Her attitude amazed him. Knowing herself—good, bad and ugly—allowed her to walk away from him without a backward glance. What did a name or a birthday matter?
Even clad in an ill-fitting dress, she radiated pride. Bind her naked in chains, and she’d still maintain her self-respect, not to mention fight.
With a glance at the mess she’d left behind, he turned his attention to the stack of morning reports, trying not to dwell on what it would be like to have his baffling bandit naked, in chains and at his utter mercy, because she already was. With a snap of his fingers, he could have her so offered to him.
“And then what? Rape her? Smell that horrific stench of terror reeking from every last bit of her beautiful flesh?”
Michael took a long drink of his orange juice. The citrus wiped the smell-memory from his mind. He’d never raped a woman, never wanted to, but he’d smelled what it did to them. Rape left one of the worst emotional scents he’d ever encountered. Such a powerful odor clung to a woman long after the original event. Mary did not have that damnable stench. Not only would he not inflict it on her, but also he found himself wanting to protect her from ever experiencing such abuse.
He thought he’d found a vulnerable spot when he accidentally stumbled on her parentage. She wanted to know with a desperation he could smell, yet she refused to trade information. And money couldn’t buy her secrets from her, but seduction? Well, she showed promise there. Win or lose, he had no reservations about trying.
Over the long years of building his empire, he’d seduced plenty of women. He had closets of dresses that were tossed at his feet, some never even put on at all, like the one Mary wore. But she knew he tried to mock her with the expensive dress and turned the tables on him. He’d almost laughed when she kept using the dress as a napkin to wipe her face during breakfast.
Despite his subtle digs, she kept her back straight and her mind focused. All the while, she hungered for him. He knew she did, because he could read the edges of her scent.
Desire rolled from her in mixed floral high notes with a shock of citrus, tempered by dark compost, the edges of genuine fear. Fear and desire, tandem. For the man she knew only as Commander. She tried to hide her confusion, but the pheromones of her tall, slender body betrayed her.
With his nose, his mouth, he could read subtle chemical changes in humans. Lies and lust, hate and fear; everything took a definable scent in his mind and a tang in his mouth. So rare, his talent did not have a common name, so he created one:
Emotichemical perceptionist.
Mary hit him in complex and conflicting waves. Just as he’d made progress defining one scent, she altered course, often with screeching turns. Like a flitterfly darting, her emotional scent shifted between fear and desire.
“Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”
In many ways, Mary echoed Kraft: strong, focused and determined. In other ways, not so much. Where Kraft used her wit with a subtle grace, Mary swung her wit like a sledgehammer, smashing the tender parts of his psyche. Mary struck with verbal furor until she landed a painful blow, then hit the same spot repeatedly until he lashed back.
And he thought seducing Mary would be easy. Nothing about her came easy or simple or even obvious. Working to untangle her secret would command his full attention, all his skills, and would likely result in the loss of his own secret.
“How would she behave if she knew who I am?”
He pondered it while he sipped his coffee. With a sigh, he gazed out the flexiglass to the lush green surrounding the waterfall in the aviary. Often, he came here to center
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