She was scheduled to fly to Los Angeles soon. It would be too late to stop Rutherford from his attempts to corrupt the pure and lovely Alana. Since she had dumped that ridiculous low-life movie director last year, his Alana had remained faithful to Mark, telling the interviewers she was enjoying being single for now. She had saved that creamy flesh for his use alone.
Soon—very soon—she would belong to Mark, and dreams she didn’t even know she had would be realized.
Two days later, he was ready to make his move. Even at this early hour, the city hummed and honked. The air was chilly, the sun still hidden behind the skyscrapers. Mark waited by Alana’s apartment building, the black sedan car he’d bought in anticipation of this fateful day parked by the curb in front. It was an identical model to the ones driven by the studio chauffeurs.
Mark knew her routines, and Alana liked to come out a few minutes early, since it was usually impossible for her driver to find a parking spot. She would be waiting by the curb when he finally sidled up to retrieve her. Today, however, her new driver would be waiting for her. With a little digging and using his superior computer skills, it had been ridiculously easy to track down the name and pertinent information for her regular driver, and to send him a phone text that he was to pick up Alana at a different location that morning. He’d procured a nearly identical uniform to the one the studio drivers wore. Now it was just down to timing and good luck. Today was the day—the culmination of all his hard work and planning. Soon, she would be his.
He held his breath as the doorman opened the door and Alana appeared, radiant in a bright yellow cotton sweater and faded blue jeans, a brown leather jacket slung casually over her shoulder. From now on she would be wearing only dresses, if anything. He wanted to see those glorious legs at all times. And, of course, she must always be available to him.
As she walked toward the car, he pushed the passenger door open, hoping she didn’t notice that his hand was trembling. “Good morning, Ms. Hunter,” he said in a subdued but pleasant tone, though he could barely hear himself speak over the pounding of his heart.
“Oh.” Alana looked at him uncertainly. “Hank isn’t—?”
“Hank is sick,” Mark said smoothly. “I’ll be your driver just for the day, ma’am. My name is Mark. I’ll drive you to the studio, Ms. Hunter.”
She paused, still apparently uncertain, and for one horrible moment, he thought she was on to him. All his carefully laid plans would be ruined. She would refuse to get in and she would call the police.
Sweat prickled at his armpits as he forced a calm smile. “I’m sorry no one let you know, ma’am, but if you could get in? I’m not supposed to park here.”
He almost sighed aloud with relief as she shrugged and nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” She climbed into the back seat, and Mark began to breathe again.
He could smell her perfume, something light and slightly spicy. He could have reached back and touched her soft cheek then and there. He could touch that perfectly rounded breast. She was in his car. He had her.
He had her!
Loud, angry honking brought him back to the reality of New York City traffic. Smiling at her in the rearview mirror, he clicked the childproof locks into place and eased into the street. He began to weave his way through the early morning traffic.
Alana leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes.
Excellent. He would have that much longer until she began to notice that they weren’t, in fact, going to the studio after all.
Several minutes later, as he was easing onto the George Washington Bridge, Alana opened her eyes and looked out the window. Her face creased into a frown. “Hey, where are you going? This isn’t the way to the studio.”
“Sorry,” Mark said, affecting a bland air. “Didn’t they tell you? We have to pick up another actor for the shoot.”
Alana looked suspiciously at him, her eyes narrowing. The sweetest little furl appeared between her eyebrows. “Who?” she demanded. “I wasn’t told about this.”
“Marilee Bateman.”
“Marilee?” Alana shook her head. “She’s not even in the city right now.” Her frown deepened. “What’s going on here?”
He hadn’t known Marilee Bateman was out of town. Shit. Oh well, he’d just have to make his move that much sooner. It would be fine.
“Listen, Alana—” he began amiably.
“Alana? I’m Alana now? Take me to the studio this instant.” She fumbled in her huge bag, no doubt reaching for her fucking cell phone. He could hear an edge of panic beneath her attempt to sound authoritative.
His cock responded to the sexy note of fear in her voice. He thrilled to the idea he could make his darling little girl afraid. And this was just the beginning. He would teach her real fear once he had her where he wanted her.