Forbidden Pleasure. Taryn Leigh Taylor

she say why?” Vivienne asked. “Was it something to do with her mother? She was in the hospital a while ago. Emma didn’t say much about it, but she seemed worried.”

      His lead counsel had the kind of mind that liked to connect all the dots, but Max didn’t have time for conjecture right now. He needed facts. “While I’m touched by your concern for Emma’s family’s well-being, let’s try to stick to the salient points.”

      “Well, I’m not sure you’re going to like those either,” Jesse countered, his expression marred with concern. He walked toward them.

      “I ran a couple of checks,” he explained, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took the empty seat between Vivienne and Wes. “There’s a ten-thousand-dollar deposit in her primary bank account, and one Emma Marija Mathison is booked on a plane that’s leaving the country on Monday.”

      Max’s jaw tensed. “Where?”

      Jesse raked a hand through his hair, and Max could tell by the stalling maneuver that he was not going to like the answer.

      “Croatia.”

      Son of a bitch. No US extradition laws in Croatia.

      “Do we think she acted alone?” Vivienne was still looking for the next dot.

      “The spyware is no joke,” Hastings told her. “I’m going to need some time to figure out what she got and who she got it to.” He glanced at Brennan. “If Wes hadn’t tweaked our monitoring program, we might not have caught this at all.”

      Vivienne exhaled, then uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “So we’ve got nothing right now except that the spyware was on her computer? Any surveillance footage?”

      Jesse shook his head. “Scrambled. I’ll work as fast as I can to figure out what she got, but the encryption is top-notch. It’s going to take more time than we have. Her flight leaves Monday morning, and we can’t afford to let her leave the country, that’s for damn sure.”

      “I can file charges,” Vivienne said. “Something to stall her, but I’ll need—”

      Max cut her off. “No charges.”

      Two sets of eyes snapped toward him with surprise. Brennan remained annoyingly apathetic and glanced at his watch.

      “We’re two weeks out from the launch of a crypto currency payment system that will change the way America does business.” Max leaned back in his chair. “Now is not the time to ring the alarms.”

      Vivienne frowned, as she tucked her hair behind her left ear. She darted a glance at the security guys, though Max got the impression it was more directed at Brennan than Hastings. “A massive internal security breach happens on Emma’s computer, and you’re just going to let her get away with it?”

      Max narrowed his eyes at the accusation, and Vivienne took a deep breath, dropping her gaze, chastened at the realization that she’d pushed him too far. Brennan’s shoulders stiffened, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

      Incidents involving Emma Mathison had commanded his full attention twice in as many days. And while he’d infinitely preferred last night’s naked encounter over this afternoon’s occurrence, letting this trend continue on any level was not acceptable.

      “I want answers on Monday morning,” he snapped at Brennan, waiting for the man’s curt nod before skipping past Hastings, straight to Vivienne. “You’re working alone on this. Wait for my instructions, and don’t bring anyone else into the loop. No associates, no paralegals, no one.”

      “Understood.”

      “What about Emma? The plane ticket?” Hastings asked. “Did you want me to—”

      “I want you to do your job,” Max said coolly, vindicated when Hastings paled at the reprimand. Max turned his attention to the sheaf of papers on the corner of his desk. “I’ll take care of Emma.”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      MAX BANGED ON the door with more force than he’d intended.

      He’d been offended by the shabby Villa Apartments that were listed as Emma’s home address on her employment record. Now that he was inside the ancient building, his opinion sank even lower.

      He paid her well. Better than well. There was no reason she should be living in this shithole. Which, Max realized, lent credence to Jesse Hastings’s insinuations of guilt.

      Despite regular paychecks from him, she obviously needed money for something, and desperation led people to do uncharacteristic things. His chest tightened at the realization that Emma Mathison wasn’t finished surprising him.

      Life would have been much easier if he’d kept his hands off her in the first place. He’d managed it for the last three years. Which meant fuck all, since it had taken less than five minutes after she’d resigned before he’d dragged her into his arms. It had seemed a smart play at the time.

      Well, perhaps smart was overstating it, but it was low risk.

      She’d quit, so she wasn’t technically an employee.

      This SecurePay launch had him working every waking hour. He barely had time to shower some days, let alone maintain any sort of relationship with a woman, no matter how casual. Not that what had happened between him and Emma had anything to do with a relationship. It was more like an experiment. A curiosity that needed sating.

      Confirmation that their chemistry was as combustible as he’d always expected it would be. And now he was paying for that lapse in judgment.

      Max heard shuffling behind the inconsequential piece of wood that was acting as a barrier between her and the outside world, but he didn’t understand how something that barely blocked sound was supposed to keep her safe from intruders. Especially since the peephole was nothing more than a quarter-sized hole covered in ratty duct tape. Which was practically inviting thieves inside in this neighborhood. His left hand tightened on the sheaf of papers he held.

      His musings were cut short by the slide of a chain, followed by the snick of a lock disengaging. The door swung open and there she was.

      Last night’s seductress was gone. In her place was a fresh-faced ingenue with impossibly wide eyes who looked like she’d stepped out of a laughably wholesome 1960s film.

      His gaze slid the length of her body, from the top of her shiny blond ponytail, past her fuzzy white sweater, barely-there jean shorts and down the length of her legs until he reached the tips of her toes, painted bubble-gum pink. Max’s thoughts, however, were anything but virtuous.

      Every part of him that she’d touched the night before flared with heat, begging for an encore. He still wanted her. Despite everything he’d found out today. Despite the mounting evidence against her. The heat stirring in his veins iced over at the reminder, and he braced his shoulders against the onslaught of lust. He would not underestimate her again.

      “Max?”

      Surprised. A little breathless. But no fear. No guilt.

      “What are you doing here?”

      He ignored the question, shifting his focus over Emma’s left shoulder at the bare, scarred walls of the old apartment. A couple of cardboard boxes were stacked in the middle of the mostly empty room. “If you needed a raise this badly, you should have told me.”

      Her forehead creased with puzzlement. “What? Oh.” Her laugh was tinged with embarrassment. “It’s a rental,” she explained, moving out of his way as he stepped past her, onto the threadbare brown carpet. “I never spent much time here anyway.”

      Max thought back to the long hours she’d put in at the office. He’d always respected her work ethic. He gestured to the boxes. “Going somewhere?”

      She nodded, closing the shoddy excuse