Page 13 of Forbidden Touch
My breathing increases as thoughts of our intimate encounter pour through my brain. God, I already want him again. Behave yourself, Fiona. He’s a Lane.
Increasing the speed on my treadmill, I force myself to pick up the pace.
Suddenly, my wall tablet chimes and lights up with a call from one of the security guards downstairs. Curiosity and confusion flicker through my mind. Did Jonathan forget something?
Hitting pause on the treadmill, I step down and tap a button. “Yes?”
“Good afternoon, Miss Wolfe,” the agent’s deep voice responds. “I have Mrs. Lorelle Lane here for you.”
My pulse slams in my wrist, and I’m not sure if it’s from the workout or knowing Jonathan’s mother is downstairs. What in the world? There must be a mistake. I’ve heard of Lorelle Lane—she’s been very vocal since we merged with Lane Entertainment. But I’ve never met her before, and even if we were to meet, it would certainly not be here—at my home. None of it is making sense. I lean into the tablet. “Must be the wrong address.”
After ending the call, I return to my workout session.
The tablet chimes again, glaring at me. Weird. Stepping off the treadmill again, I tap the answer button. “Yes?”
“Sorry to bother you again, Miss Wolfe, but Mrs. Lane insists on seeing you. Says it’s an urgent matter.”
A dull ache sears my temples. Meeting Lorelle Lane is the last thing I need to do after a weekend with her son. Yet, I’m curious. What could be that urgent? My brain races to come up with an excuse, but I draw blank. “Well. Send her up then.”
We’ve never even met before, and now she’s downstairs? Odd. Glancing in the mirror, I claw my wild curls down and note the bags under my eyes. The gym session makes my skin look a hell of a lot better than it did this morning, but my complexion is still rather puffy. I swing open the refrigerator door and shove a bag of frozen peas onto my face. This is weird, but it won’t be long before I know why she’s here and what the actual fuck is going on.
A knock rattles the door. Drawing in a breath, I open it to find a middle-aged woman with icy cold orbs glaring at me. She’s dressed in an all-black pantsuit. I’ve never seen her close up, but now I notice the small scars on her face, perhaps from plastic surgery incisions. Her skin is overly tan and leathery. Meeting her stern expression, I plaster a smile on my face. I don’t like this one bit, but I’m not about to become rude or inhospitable. I extend a hand towards her. “Hello. We haven’t met. I’m Fiona.”
Her hazel orbs flick down to my waiting hand, and her upper lip curls. “I know who you are, dear girl. No need to introduce yourself to me.”
She brushes past me, inviting herself into my foyer and nearly knocking me over. My brain scrambles as tension spikes through me. I’m so confused. Why is she here? I shut my eyes and recompose myself. “Can I help you?”
While her glossy red mouth points downward, her pupils pierce mine until it becomes uncomfortable. “I know what you’re doing.” Her high heels clack across the marble in the open living room. “You might think you’re sly, but I can smell you from a mile away.”
I lift my chin. “Bold of you to waltz into my home like this, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her intense eyes search mine. “You know, I thought you were just a pretty dummy, but now I see there’s an actual plan behind your actions.”
“Really?” Crossing my arms, I give her a hard glare. “Tell me more.”
What an introduction. I never thought in a million years that I’d meet Lorelle Lane this way. She sits down on the couch directly on the spot where her son had pounded me. Earlier this morning, I had dabbed a bit of upholstery cleaner on the sofa—on the spots where our ravenous juices had soaked the velvet. Thank goodness for the dry desert climate.
After running her manicured hand along the edge of a manilla envelope, she slides the packet my way until it nearly falls off the glass coffee table. “These speak for themselves.”
Curiosity sets in my brain as the envelope glares at me. What’s inside? There’s only one way to find out. Holding my breath, I pick up the envelope and open it just enough to see several large photo prints inside. I pull the entire stack out, and on the top sits a picture of me and Jonathan kissing outside my building, right downstairs.
My heart races as I thumb through the rest of the photos. Each one displays us deeply embraced, with looks of intimacy and desire written all over our faces. I throw the envelope back on the table.
Her thin, glossy lips frown. “Horrifying, isn’t it?”
Hot air steams my face as my nostrils flare. She has no idea who she’s messing with. She’s about ten years too late because I’m not the naïve girl I used to be. A sudden urge comes over me. How I’d love to pull that beehive hair down to the marble and shine my floors with it.
Easy now, Fi. Don’t let this old hag rock your boat. I draw in a breath and shut my eyes to regain composure, yet again. When I reopen them, she’s still standing in front of me, looking pleased with herself. I square my shoulders and pierce her eyes with a look of my own. “The only thing horrifying is your lack of grace and respect for your son’s privacy.”
“I could say the same for you, young lady. What makes you think you can walk into our lives and manipulate my son?”
My face tightens, but I refrain from playing her games. “I’m not sure why you’ve come here, but I’m a busy woman. People usually tell me exactly how they’d like me to help them. If you’re not prepared to do that—”
“Cut the crap, Fiona,” she interjects. “I’m here because you’ve been prancing around town with my son, and we both know your intentions. You want full ownership of Lane Entertainment Group, through marriage.”
While my mind races to connect the dots, adrenaline pumps through my veins. “Are you out of your mind? I barely met your son a few days ago.”
Her icy eyes pierce me. “That’s right, but you Wolfes have a tendency of working fast.”