Below the Surface

Chapter One

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Marcus Storm stared in disbelief at the memorandum sitting in the centre of his obsessively clean, disturbingly organised desk. His dark blue eyes flew over the page, widening with each word read.

Tessa Sheridan fought the urge to grin and tamped down the glee she knew shone in her eyes. Just seeing the frown gracing that strong, uncomfortably handsome face made her want to crow with victory. Finally. She’d gotten a rise out of ‘Cool Blue’, as half the women in the firm referred to the unconscionable playboy.

He glanced up from her latest memo with icy disdain. “You can’t believe I’ll simply accept these cutbacks?”

Much as she would have liked irritating him for the sheer hell of it, the cutback proposal she’d slaved over for a solid week was necessary if they wanted to keep his newest client profitable.

“Excuse me, Mr. Storm,” she said with exaggerated politeness. “But if Craiger-Mim Incorporated is to have a future with our firm, i.e., turn us a profit, we have to rid ourselves of some unnecessary costs which unfortunately, with Craiger’s downsized budget, can no longer be considered practical.”

He stared at her, and she could feel his gaze in the depths of her being. Just one look from him and her insides turned to mush. It had been like that from the beginning. The raven-haired, blue-eyed jerk was of the tall, dark and mouthwatering variety. He roused in her a combination of lust and dislike she had yet to reconcile, even after six months of working with him.

Correction, she mentally adjusted, as he looked at her like some kind of bug he’d like to squash. She’d worked near him for five months. Only recently had she been assigned to work with him. And her boss, Jonas Chase, knew she planned a just revenge for his complicity in partnering her with the conceited project manager.

Jonas had thought it would be funny, the Amazon versus Casanova. She still wasn’t laughing.

“Ms. Sheridan,” Storm bit out her name like an epithet. “You’re telling me I have to get rid of half my staff in order to keep Craiger-Mim profitable?”

“Yes. But by ‘cut’ I mean reassign them to other campaigns.” She could see he planned to remain firm against her proposal, and only her desire to resolve the situation enabled her to say her next words with a straight face.

“It’s no secret you’re the ‘eighth wonder’ when it comes to marketing and financial strategies,” she grudgingly conceded. “But my forte is logistics. Trust me when I say that Mr. Conklin won’t agree to your present numbers for Craiger-Mim. Much as I like the company and respect their services, Conklin won’t keep them as a client unless we can show a generous profit.

“The work we’ve been doing for them demands recompense, and though I’m sorry about their own losses, we can’t afford to be nice simply because you slept with their head of advertising.”

There. She’d said what everyone on the floor had been talking about for days.

His answer, delivered with icy composure, unnerved her. “Listening to rumours, Ms. Sheridan?” He stood up from behind his desk and rounded to face her. Despite her own formidable height, he stood at least five inches taller, putting him at an intimidating six foot four.

“I would have thought a woman who has an extraordinarily friendly relationship with her boss, who wears the most provocative clothing,” he paused dramatically as he ran his gaze over her body with a searing intensity, “and who consistently manages to rank at the head of the logistics department in Tomanna Consulting, would be loathe to put two and two together in the off-chance she might get five.”

She stared at him, openmouthed. Had he just inferred she’d made her way to the top of the logistics branch using her body?

He smiled, a shark’s grin that blurred her vision with fury.

She closed the distance between them, seething. “You want to accuse me of something, do it in plain English.” She stood so close she had to tilt her head back to see him, and when she did she felt his breath fan her face.

His eyes seemed to darken as he stared down at her, their dark, ocean-blue colour flooding with navy. “You might want to watch your step,” he threatened in a curiously deep voice. She saw him swallow, was close enough to see his chest swell with an indignant breath.

And then it happened like it always did. Her loins flooded with longing, her nipples tightened and her entire body ached—for him. Damn, damn, damn. Arguments with Marcus Storm always managed to arouse her.

But for the first time, she saw an answering response spark his eyes.

“Well, well,” he murmured and stepped so close his chest brushed her breasts. “It appears I was wrong to ignore the rumours about you.”

“Look, Storm. I—”

“Davis mentioned you’ve a redhead’s temper and the passion to match. And since he supposedly screwed your brains out last weekend, I assume he’d know.”

Speechless, she stared at him, unable to think of anything but punching the arrogance off his full lips. And just wait until she got a hold of that lying, scheming Davis…

“Now, now,” he tsked, grabbing and holding her clenched fists by her sides. “Violence isn’t the answer. Let’s try this instead.”

He covered her mouth with his own, an aggressive mating of the lips and tongue that belied his cool exterior. His lips turned hard, and the iron ridge that prodded her stomach only made him that much more tempting.

What he’d said, what she’d said, faded from her mind as all-consuming lust flooded her. Apparently he felt it as well, for he growled low in his throat and crushed her against him, the corded strength hidden under his designer suit evident in the ease with which he held her fast.

His lips slanted over hers, his tongue plunging and dipping, making her lightheaded and wet with need. His steely erection burned against her abdomen, rubbing with no pretence but to seek relief. She throbbed, wanting to feel that ridge stroking, sliding deep within her folds.

Then he did the unthinkable. He stopped.

Stepping back from her, he returned to his desk and sat with aplomb, as if their coming together hadn’t happened. Aware she still shook with desire but unable to stop it, she stared in disbelief at his rigid control.

“Apparently Davis was right.”

She blinked, feeling perilously close to tears. That she had to blink to keep the tears from falling brought her to her senses. She’d be damned if this jerk would make her cry in an office she had more right to than he ever would. She’d worked twice as hard and come twice as far in her career as any man at this company.

Screw Davis, and screw Marcus Storm. Mentally composing herself, she decided to take off the kid gloves. Two could play at his game, and she planned on winning.

“Rumours, Marcus?” she said, leaning down towards him. She licked her lips and his eyes narrowed. “Well, if you want the truth, Davis isn’t the only one getting nailed. I’m off to lunch with Judy Hardenmeier, Conklin’s right hand. Those cutbacks I proposed,” she paused and dipped lower, satisfied when his gaze followed the rise and fall of her breasts exposed by her gaping shirt.

She waited until his eyes returned to hers before she lowered the boom. “They’re as good as done. So prepare for a lot of overtime, stud. You’ll soon be juggling three jobs for the price of one.”

Marcus called himself five kinds of fool as he watched Tessa Sheridan’s perfect ass saunter out his door. Not being able to control his libido was not an excuse to bring the woman near to tears. Oh yes, she’d recovered more than admirably, but he’d seen the bright sheen in her eyes after his cutting remark about Davis, who was, by all accounts, a chauvinistic asshole. But hell, he’d been a hair’s breadth from fucking her on his desk.

He sat still and focused on his breathing, on an image of his mother, on anything to relax the burning ache in his groin. Tessa somehow always managed to stir him, though until now, he’d been able to conceal his response.

Since Jonas Chase had thrust her into Marcus’ operation, things were quickly coming to a head.

Never before had Marcus acted so disrespectfully, so rudely to a woman. That he did so now, to a woman who had done nothing more than voice what his own secretary and half the floor thought true, was unforgivable. Shame flooded him until he wanted to sink through the floor.

He shouldn’t have pushed her, but he hadn’t expected her, of all people, to believe the stupid rumours. Tessa Sheridan had never acted anything but professionally and had a sterling reputation as the firm’s logistical expert.

She never failed to solve any problem she encountered. And she was the only woman he’d ever met who avoided him like the plague, at least until last month. Before then, he’d vaguely sensed her presence, too inundated with work and the situation at home to take notice of the bossy redhead at the centre of every Tomanna Consulting man’s fantasy.

Instead, he’d focused on the tedious work he did for Tomanna, unwilling to face the realisation that Tanselm, his precious homeland, seemed so far out of reach. Had it only been a year since he’d been there? A year since he’d poured himself into a prince’s duties in the Royal House? Since he’d immersed himself in elemental magic and the natural beauty of Tanselm’s rich lakes and streams?

If only ‘Sin Garu, that evil wretch of a sorcerer, had contented himself with the dark lands and left Tanselm alone. If only that scourge upon the living, the Netharat, could be killed as swiftly as they were created. If only, if only…

He glared at the door from behind his desk and watched with dark satisfaction when it banged shut. Then, floating an empty glass from a nearby sink to his desk, he waved his hand over it and watched it fill with water, as pure and clear as Tanselm’s deepest wells.

He sighed. That one of Tanselm’s great Storm Lords was now reduced to petty financial squabbles and immature spats with a woman didn’t bear dwelling upon. He tossed back his water and slammed his cup on the desk. He had more than a weekend’s worth of work due by ten Monday morning, and were it not for his mission to find a bride from this magic-forsaken land and return home to fight for his world, he’d quit this place and everyone in it.

Unfortunately, he had to admit this position placed him in an ideal circumstance to find a suitable bride for a man of his status. His brothers might be content searching for a heartmate in a bar, but Marcus had higher standards. Darius had gotten lucky with Samantha. It was doubtful Cadmus, assuming Darius’ role as a bartender, would find himself similarly blessed.

No, Marcus needed to wait it out in this mundane realm, servicing the rich and prosperous. Sooner or later he’d find a woman to serve as his affai, his intended bride. Until then, he’d continue to apply the persuasive strategies he’d learned as a boy, focusing on the here and now.

But much as he tried to ignore it, his heart still yearned. What he wouldn’t give to hear someone from the royal kingdom once again have need of the River Prince.

Tessa slammed into her apartment, threw her keys at the hall table, and huffed into the nearest overstuffed chair, cursing Marcus Storm to everlasting celibate hell.

The minute she’d walked out his office door, she’d come up with several more satisfying rejoinders aimed at his shortcomings as a project manager, as a man, and as a human being in general.

Her little goad about the proposed cutbacks becoming a reality, in retrospect, wasn’t as gratifying as slurs on his character and his abilities as a lover would have been.

Her face heated, recalling his skilful mouth and persuasive tongue. Damn it all! She’d been having such a nice Friday too.

She smouldered as she sat in her favourite chair, waiting for the soft leather and deep cushions to soak away the tension. Resting her head back, she closed her eyes and after several deep, measuring breaths, slowly began to relax. Her parched throat demanded something cool to drink, but she felt too comfortable to get up.

Peace and quiet replaced the stress that had hounded her all week, and as weariness invaded her limbs, she began to drift into a light doze.

Without warning, something ice cold and wet nudged her hand, and she shot out of the chair in a shriek. Tumbling backward, she managed to land less than gracefully on the floor.

Her heart racing, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and stared around for the source of her surprise. Anxiety mounted until she noted the water bottle dripping with condensation to her immediate left, floating in the air!

“Not again,” she groaned, grudgingly accepting what her subconscious had ferreted from the refrigerator. Grabbing the bottle, she gingerly regained her feet and trudged to the couch. Telekinesis was such a pain in the ass. Literally, she thought as she rubbed her posterior.

At least her short bout with pyrokinesis hadn’t returned. Since Charles Johnson had left the company, she hadn’t experienced any more repeats of setting her sheets on fire. Now, however, an apparent telekinetic resided at Tomanna Consulting, either that or elderly Mrs. Morris next door had a sudden gift for moving things with her mind.

For as long as she could remember, Tessa had been gifted with strange and unexpected extrasensory perception. To this day she still wasn’t sure how she could do what she did, but concluded she possessed an unusual ability to ‘siphon’ the latent ESP from those gifted around her. Unfortunately, as she’d matured, her powers strengthened, as did the hit-or-miss control that accompanied them.

She wished she knew what triggered the siphoning. Johnson, the pyro, had been at the company for three months before her bouts with fire had started. And as soon as he’d transferred, her pyrokinesis had vanished.

Since no one had moved into her direct neighbourhood within the last six months, her abilities had to come from someone at work, where she spent the majority of her time. She’d found, over the years, that close proximity to the ‘target’ helped her to control the powers, and at times, call upon them at will.

But with the amount of personnel changes, her target could be anyone. Hell, it could even be Marcus Storm.

Reminders of the arrogant Lothario made her body tingle. She’d known at first sight he’d be dangerous. Hell, he’d made her body sing on a whisper of breath.

Sensuality flooded her veins, washing her in the ecstatic sensations he’d stirred earlier. No doubt about it, he was a jerk. But for a few moments she’d forgotten his attitude and indulged in something very bad for her. And it had felt so very, very good.

Sighing, she took a large swig of water and realised how desperate she was to desire a man as cold as Marcus Storm. The foreplay with Storm and the nonexistent sex with Davis notwithstanding, she couldn’t recall the last meaningful, intimate interaction she’d had with a man. Could she be any more pathetic?

The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie.

She stared across the room at the telephone. Chances were she had not won Publisher’s Clearinghouse, so why answer? Why cap off a less than perfect day with more bad news?

“Tessa? You’d better pick up,” her brother’s deep voice persuaded over the answering machine. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today, and I have a bad feeling trouble’s just around the corner.”

She let out a loud curse and crossed to the kitchen to grab the phone. When the clairvoyant in the family had a bad feeling, worse would surely follow.

“Lay it on me, Tom,” she muttered with feeling. “But be gentle. I’ve had a long day.”

“Sorry, Sis, but it’s about to get longer.”