Getting randy with Randolph Quinn, another hot steamy tease – this time from ‘Seduction of Wealth’. Adults only.

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A moment of passion, a ‘sexcerpt’ from Emma Calin’s steam suspense romance ‘Seduction of Wealth’. This is the first time that Kaitlyn and Randolph make love.  They’re on board the Platinum Demeter – his super yacht, docked on the River Thames in London, just next to Tower Bridge.

The story so far….

Kaitlyn Thorn,  a traffic cop, arrests billionaire banker Randolph Quinn, after he crashes his brand new Maserati into a tree, chased by two figures on a motorbike. He surely seems to be the victim of a targeted attack, but his super-confident manner and cheeky banter arouse her suspicions. She’s left with no choice but to lock him up. This guy is too full of himself. Since that moment her life has been turned upside down. At his request, she’s been assigned to guard him 24/7 at a ‘safe house’. Just who is this guy to demand personal protection – and get it?  But their cover is blown and they just escape a petrol bomb at the new, supposedly secret address. The Albanian mafia is after him and someone on the inside has leaked their location. They’re on the run and now she doesn’t know who to trust.  She’s been ordered to stick with him – whatever happens. Apart from the trouble she’s having keeping him alive,  she’s finding herself increasingly attracted to this dashing wheeler-dealer.  They’re going to make their escape on his yacht – he’s going to pass her off as his latest companion.  She’s not had time to pack – and it’s too risky to return home, After a few hours with his unlimited bank card and a personal shopper in Harrods, she’s all set for whatever is to come…..

 

Chapter 8

She knew she looked good. The sapphire and diamond earrings sparkled in the light from the chandelier. The ring glinted on her finger. The dress was a perfect fit, the slash running just high enough up her thigh to provide an interested man with a glimpse of her lace trimmed panties. Was she allowing herself to be seduced by wealth, power, and sexual desire? Could her integrity be so easily put at risk? Too damned right it could and she knew it. She looked good, the champagne was a dream and Randolph Quinn was gorgeous. It was time to go through that door.

For a moment he didn’t speak. His hair was still wet and even darker, swept back with an aristocratic insouciance. He had changed into a white shirt accentuated by his tan. A Hermes belt held up his black Zanella handmade trousers. She held his eyes before executing her twirl.
“So, so lovely,” he said with an astonished simplicity. “I thought you’d scrub up well, but you didn’t need much on top of what you’ve got. But bloody hell, how am I gonna keep hold of a girl like you?”
“First you’ll have to get hold of me at all.”
He took a couple of strides and pulled her into his arms. His kiss was as if their lips had once before been molded in the history of a man and a woman. It was a finding of place, some place that you would always crave once you knew it existed. A helpless pulse buzzed in her groin. She let him hold her thrilling spot to the hard muscle of his thigh. She was hot and wet, feeling almost too close, far too close. He groaned a little as her belly pressed into his powerful erection. If he ran his hand now up her bare thigh she would come as they kissed with wet searching tongues. She was holding herself tight, feeling his hard cock pushing against her. She was just holding that pleasure, just too long, couldn’t hold back thinking of his cock jetting his juice into her as she came. She played a hard-core fantasy of him jerking off, helplessly pulsing out his sperm. He held her tight in support as she convulsed against him. My God, she’d just let go. She must be gushing as she growled out the last spasm of her ecstasy into his mouth and onto his softly kissing lips.
“That was so beautiful, such a compliment to a man to think someone so lovely would find pleasure in him.”
“I, I, I sort of wandered off into the long grass,” she said.
“I’ll have to fix up some sort of safari on a really big savannah,” he said with his warm smile. “We need to eat and think about our situation.”
She took a deep breath. Bloody hell, she’d just come kissing him. Maybe he hadn’t realized. Teasy aftershocks still flickered in her own little shaft. His hand ran down across her breasts to her waist. He led her to the door and out onto a swish dining deck with panoramic views and a glass-domed roof. The lights of the coast were sprinkled along a dark horizon.
“That’s Canvey Island and Southend. We’re at anchor in the Thames Estuary. Unless the bad guys have got warships or submarines we can relax here.”
She took in the view. They were at the top of the enormous ship.
“I used to sell burgers at my uncle’s fairground diner on Canvey Island,” she said.
He nodded and smiled, pulling her to him.
“We’re from the same pod, ain’t we? I love the old fairground stuff, the rides, the fried onions, the rifle range sideshows and the cuddly toys. I always dreamed a lovely girl would be on my arm one day and I’d win her the prize teddy. Pity we can’t go ashore.”
He spoke in his normal cheeky way but with an edge of sadness. She pushed her fingers back through his hair and looked up into his eyes.
“You could take a girl to a fair, surely.”
“If I could find the right girl and if my life could ever be normal.”
“Like not being a billionaire on the run from the Albanian Mafia. If you want to talk about your options, I’m your girl.”
He tweaked his eyebrow, but didn’t answer.
“One day we’ll have caviar and lobster thermidor, but tonight I’ve just ordered a couple of big rib eye steaks. Don’t tell me you don’t like fries.”
They took a window table while waiters brought them their meals. The steak was rich and soft. He poured generous glasses of red Chateauneuf du Pape. She took a slug of smooth heaven. Added to the champagne, the wine swept aside her reserve and focus.
“So, Randolph just bloody well tell me why you want me here?”
“I saw you and liked what I saw. I said to myself here’s a brave girl who’s out on her own in a cop car, turning up at whatever happens next. How many girls do you think are interested in billionaires?”
“Dunno, might be a few old slappers I suppose. Generally a sweet virgin like me wouldn’t be interested.”
“And that’s why I want you. Kaitlyn, you’re fucking gorgeous and you know it.”
“I want you to know I play Bingo with my mum, I get drunk and sing karaoke, and, and. And I’m starting to really care about you and I’m fucking terrified that you’re going to hurt me.”
She blew out her cheeks. She was a bit drunk and just saying what she thought. She had never been made to play girl games. He reached out and took both of her hands in his.
“Hurt you? You’re afraid of that?”
“Yeah. Simple. I get swept up in you and you soon see the real boring deal. You won’t want any commitment like all the bloody rotten bastards and users, and I’m there with my fake smile saying I understand. Look Randolph, it’s the wine talking, but shit I don’t care. I should never just open up like this, but I’m afraid of my own helplessness if I want a guy. I know it’s not hip or feminazi to tell you that but that’s how I am. Maybe that’s why I shoot guns, do karate, drive fast cars.”
His eyes were on her face, their kindness almost a caress.
“And why you have that tattoo of Ishtar on your arm maybe?”
She nodded. Had she ever truly thought about the reason?
“She represents female power, but a lot of that power is in the idea of giving love too. It says I’m someone, not a cop. It says I’m all sorts of stuff.”
He turned her arm to see the whole design. He leaned across the table and gently kissed the figure at the groin.
“I can’t say I’ll never hurt you. All I can say is that I won’t ever hurt you by turning away from you.”
“How the hell can you just say that about the future?”
“Because I’m the kind of guy who knows what he wants. If I hadn’t known the future how would I have known you’d want a steak? My powers are supernatural.”
“Your powers are barrow boy bullshit crook.”
“And your powers are burger-flipping karaoke girl.”
He shrugged and held her eyes.
“OK, we’re just two black and white biographies fallen from Facebook into each other’s arms. Face value’s the only sensible price if you don’t want to spend too much. Doesn’t mean we can’t dance, I guess.”
He made a sign and a guy started to play a piano in the far corner of the room. The tune was silky and familiar. She had to. She bloody well had to sing.

With a song in my heart
I behold your adorable face
Just a song at the start
But it soon is a hymn to your grace….

His eyes softened in a way she’d never seen a man react as she sang the song remembered from her father’s vinyl Ella Fitzgerald collection when she’d dreamed of being a real singer, not a girl’s night karaoke queen. She hung onto the notes, watching him grip his bottom lip in his teeth, almost as if he was fighting to hold back emotion.
She finished the song as the piano guy stood up to applaud. Randolph was simply laying his eyes on her face and watching her lips.
“So beautiful. You really can do it, can’t you? You could steal a heart from a man, roast it, carve it for his dinner, and he’d be begging for more.”
“That’s one hell of an image.”
“Worked as a butcher’s boy as a weekend job,” he said.
She smiled. She’d caught him by surprise and he’d changed the mood so as not to show his soul. Maybe, just maybe, he’d been hurt too.
The piano re-started. And there on the dark sea with the land of all their dangers held away for this one night they danced, often lips to lips, threatened only by the terror of love.

Chapter 9

It was 2 a.m. Too late to be in his bedroom, watching him undress, the shirt slipping from his broad, muscular shoulders. This guy had the build of a fighter. He hadn’t dragged her there, hadn’t made her sit on his bed to watch the show. God, he had already made her come in her panties with a kiss. Much more of this and she’d have to deal with her issues herself. He ran his hand over the hard flat muscle of his stomach, letting his fingers stray down under his belt where the first hint of his pubic hair teased up onto his tanned skin. His fingers were at the buckle. Kaitlyn, it’s only sex, it’s only pleasure, she told herself. He was watching her, letting her know that he knew where her eyes were fixed.
“It kind of gets personal in a minute,” he said with a slow smile.
She kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed, propping herself up on the pillows, wantonly showing her panties.
“I did the cabaret, you do the striptease,” she answered, feeling the excited pulse of her lust in the depth of her belly.
He smiled back, flicking off the buckle and stepping out of his pants. Now he stood before her, his hard cock bursting from his white briefs. Her eyes shot to the slight darkening of the fabric where his man juice had already started to flow. She felt evil, wicked. She let her hand drift to her pouting hot groove. His eyes widened as his own hand slid to his cock. Her fantasy was of his semen pulsing into her hot tube. She closed her eyes, let the image take her. Oh God, he was pulling away her panties, his tongue was teasing and urging her on. She opened her eyes to see his head buried in her groin as the jolts of orgasm doubled her over onto him. For a second she subsided, allowed the tease to build without holding herself tight to bring it on. She looked down again. He was licking her, conscious of her climb to her summit, and jerking his own massive cock. His fingers eased inside her as his tongue drew her on and on. Her own hands went to her nipples sending the final sparks of release to her clitoris. She was letting go without abandon, animal sounds expressing the jungle of her woman soul and lust. His hot cock filled her as she was coming and then built her again to some higher peak from which she could only crash like a massive wave. She heard his deep voice urging her as his hard cock drove in to the limit of her flesh. Her own hand reached for her clitoris. She had to catch his wave as he groaned out his release into the heat of her flesh. She caught that same wave, calling out into the blur of desire and coming, coming, coming into the shallows of a tender kiss and the opening of eyes to see the gaze of love returned.

He didn’t move, didn’t turn away but kept his eyes steady on her face. His voice was slow and deep.
“At last I’ve made love with a woman.”
She smiled.
“You’ve made love to plenty of girls, Mr Quinn.”
“I said made love with,” he replied.
“I guess not too often on the first date. I imagine it’s no use saying I’m not that sort of girl if we assess the evidence.”
“It’s not our first date. You invited me back to your police cell, gave me a cup of tea without even a kiss and left me alone all night and I could have done with your company believe me.”
He lay on his back, pulling her to rest her head on his chest, his arm around her. She’d just forgotten everything she knew about men, about being a cop, about every kind of risk. In the warmth and the illusion of safety in his hold she didn’t care. She simply didn’t care.

For the rest of this story, download the complete book at http://www.smarturl.it/webwealth

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Come on without… come on within…

You ‘aint seen nothing like… An author interview with one of Emma’s most outrageous fictional heroes,  from Seduction of Wealth… Mr Randolph Quinn.

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A vessel like Platinum Demeter,  on The Thames near Tower Bridge, London.

No matter how ever long I live in London, she will always excite me and I’ll always be a tourist. Although I write about many locations which I’ve seen with my eyes, with London I write first from the heart. In most places I hate winter but here in this northern capital, there’s a blue sky clarity and stoic face of regal stone that says – I’m exposed and stripped; this is the truth of me.

Christmas is piled up and put away behind us now. Around my home in Chelsea the famous London plane trees are bare like naked mannequins in the windows of Sloane Square boutiques, cool and poised for those spring fashion shows. Yes – this is her mood today as I step out into the street. Today I’m a woman on a mission and of course – that means a man.

There are brave enthusiasts who drive cars in London, but why miss all the fun of public transport? Today I’m heading for the Chelsea Harbour river bus stop. The Thames Clipper service speeds up and down the Thames from Putney out to the Emirates cable car crossing, where PC Helen Marx did that fateful drugs handover last summer. As always I’m ten minutes early and there’s no sign of the river bus as I look up towards Battersea Bridge and the iconic chimneys of the old power station. (Pink Floyd fans will know this image from their 1977 Animals album cover).

My mind flicks back to my teenage years. Today I’ve tarted myself up to meet a guy twenty years younger than me. I should know better but believe me, the old urge is still there. I stroll towards the pier. A menacing looking grey open power boat is blocking the landing pontoon. A couple of guys are at the controls. One of them sees me and jumps ashore. He moves with strength and power. He’s headed for me, balaclava type hood framing a handsome face. God I like watching men. I love that big handed kind of competent and confident strength thing. OK – I’m old fashioned but you were allowed to be like that when I was young.

“Emma – don’t you know me?”

I stare. I’m on the way to see a suave banker type. This guy is familiar but all in tight black like a frogman he’s just a broad mass of hard male. OK, there is an outline of something in the groin area. I don’t look – honest. He pulls off the headgear, longish dark brown hair falling free. He beams and reaches out both arms. I can’t help it – that little flutter that’s thrilled me (and led me into all kinds of drama), all my life sweeps up and settles…somewhere nice.

“Randolph – Randolph Quinn. What the hell?

“You told me you were coming so I though you’d like a ride.”

“How did you know where I was?”

“ You said you were coming on the river bus. The guys tracked your phone – come on this is me. You know who we are and what we can do.”

I smiled. For sure I knew what he could do and rather regretted I’d never had the chance to let him do anything to me. I take both his hands. His brown eyes are still full of mischief. I start with an obvious and very banal question.

“Are you still the world’s richest man?”

“Good question. As it happens Kaitlyn’s gone out shopping so maybe she’s made a hole. With a bit of luck I can pull back a few bucks before the City of London closes tonight.”

He leads me down the pier to the boat. I’d dressed for the river trip in black leggings, my Dr Marten rose embroidered boots, a thick woollen jumper and of course my fur hooded duffel coat. I know this sinister looking craft. It’s the M-46 Interceptor from the belly of the world’s biggest super yacht, the Platinum Demeter. Luckily the speed limit on the Thames through central London is 12 knots – that’s about 14 miles per hour. That’s fast enough on a cold day without shelter. I take a seat beside him while the other guy heads us out into the channel. Within minutes we’re passing under Lambeth Bridge and slipping past the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. Randolph is holding my hand, like I’m a girlfriend or something. Maybe a nervous mother. He called me to say he was in London, moored at Tower Bridge alongside HMS Belfast. He suggested lunch on board maybe running in to dinner with his partner Kaitlyn. The power boat slows as we pass the Tower of London on our left.  I see the elegant pure white Platinum Demeter ahead as the traffic passes to and fro across the world famous opening bridge. Our pilot eases the Interceptor into a water-filled hangar in the hull of the ship which is the size of a small ocean liner. Now this is wealth. He steps out and I take his arm. We pass through sliding glass doors into a warm atrium with elevator and pots of palm trees. In a corner a guy is playing a grand piano. The contrast with the cold wind and roar of the boat is astonishing. I feel like a farmer’s wife just stepped in from hand milking wild cattle on the hills. I need to blow my nose and probably reapply my whole face. We’d not really been able to converse during the journey.

“Randolph – I feel like …”

“I bet you don’t feel like you look,” he says, big smile, tousled hair from pulling off his balaclava.”

“You don’t know how I feel.”

“You look sexy fantastic and wild. You’re way too cool to admit to that.”

“Let’s form a committee around the wild. I think we can agree.”

“Hey – committees – that’s like group sex without the sex.”

“I’m writing about politics sex and power. Committee just popped out. I meant to say I need to adjust my presentation Randolph.”

He’d thrown the sex in to shock me. He doesn’t know me well enough. He knows I’m vain and attracted to him so he’s just being his normal persona of irritating arrogant multi billionaire sex god.

“Me too – Let’s head upstairs. Gin and tonic, wash and brush up. Perfect.”

His hand eases into my back. His touch makes me close my eyes. Does that happen to you girls? Makes me kind of feel I could just lie back and let him protect me. We stand in the elevator. He’s 6 feet three inches. I’m 5 feet four. He smiles. Down.

“Why don’t you ever look older Emma?”

“Cos you’re too vain to wear glasses.”

“Hey – you’re teasing me. Nothing worse than a woman who knows you.”

“Except a woman who doesn’t want to know you.”

“Yeah – lucky you came to save me from someone like that.”

“You can save yourself Randolph. First time we met you were giving a lovely girl a load of shit.”

“That was no girl – that was a mean cop on my case. That was something else.”

Suddenly his tone had changed. His mind had flicked to Kaitlyn, his lover and partner. He would joke and tease with me, but love was a serious business – even for the richest man in the world.

“How did it feel – to fall for a cop?”

“It felt good economics. She asked for nothing.”

I smile. Just for a moment I thought he was going to talk deeply about love. The elevator stops at his suite. Grand windows look out onto an open deck. The carpet is deep and luxurious beyond belief. This truly is the seduction of wealth. I want some answers before I give up and relax.

“Why her? Why a traffic cop who was giving you problems?”

“As soon as I saw her there was something. I wanted to keep my eyes on hers. It seemed natural and right. She locked me up but there were killers outside so I was cool about that. I was alone in a police cell. She was going off shift but she stayed on and made me a cup of tea. An act of kindness is an act of love, although not romantic love. All the same an act of love shows the heart.”

This was a strange man. Never had I come across a guy more serious and yet more flirtatious. I knew his father had been a petty crook, stabbed to death. I knew he’d come up hard in a dog-eat-dog environment in south London. To be frank, he’d said all he needed to say for now. He loved her at first and he loves her now. All I’d done is set them on a collision course. I needed to restore my status – or at least brush my hair.

“Did you say gin and tonic?”

Randolph went to a long unit stacked with bottles and glasses, all set behind rails in case of rough seas. It was a job to remember this was a globe-wandering vessel. It was like the Ritz.

“Sure tidy up. I’ll fix the drinks.”

I wander through to the marble bathroom and brush my hair in the back-lit mirror. I re-do my lips and check my look. Well, Randolph doesn’t think I ever look any older.

I go back to the salon and relax into the deep blue Mastrangelo velvet sofa. He smiles. His nautical dry suit is on the floor and he’s wearing pale ripped jeans and a grey Lonsdale work-out vest. His feet are bare, tanned and strong looking. He hands me a Square Mile English gin laced with Fever Tree tonic. It looks like a quadruple – it swallows like a shameful night of who gives a f**k lust. I feel pampered – and you know kind of squeezy in the thighs. He smiles again, lifts the intercom phone and seems to talk to the captain.

“William, I’ll tell them when to open Tower bridge, OK? There’s nothing more important to the City of London than Sackman-Platinum bank. No! We don’t wait in any lines because there’s no line we don’t own.”

“Some people would say you’re brash and arrogant,” I say as he slams down the receiver.

“Some of them would be right. I’m so happy you see through me to the sweet little boy inside.”

“Do I?”

“You’re here and giving me far too much beautiful soft blue eye contact if you don’t think I’m a sweet little boy. If you’re wrong and I’m like the sort of romantic hero you find irresistible you could have a problem. Not because of me – because of you.”

“You’re so bloody full of yourself Randolph.”

“Yeah – no one else fitted my clothes so I had to fill the gap. That Desmond Merrion stuff is too expensive to waste.”

The gin is working on my novelist’s similes. I’m looking at this incredibly wealthy sexy guy. He has charm, he has ruthless dominance over others. I get a sort of shudder – like a kind of shiver women get in those vampire books. No – Emma it’s not possible. He’s fixing me another gin. He leans in and kisses my cheeks.

“I was so rude. You’re more or less French and we didn’t kiss yet.”

I take a tiny sip and look shamelessly at those broad shoulders, those rock hard rowers’ triceps. Yeah, my blue eyes are following his deep brown eyes as they scan my sex, my breasts, my lips. My neck. Randolph Quinn is not normal OK. Fuck it Emma – you’re fifty blah blah. Get a grip.

“So you still work for Sackman-Platinum bank Randolph?” I say, taking a deep deep breath and forcing my eyes to his chest.

“Sure – the billions roll in. It’s a tough job but someone has to do it.”

“This bank – your bank, it has a certain reputation for …..”

“Money laundering and tax evasion.” He leans back in his chair and laughs towards the ceiling. Then his gaze snaps back to my sozzled eyes. “Emma, I love you but I can never square with you. You knew that the first day we met. I’m every bastard you can name but there is a longer game. A few people know the truth but you never will. You do not have the clearance. Things have moved on from you. That’s what happens in life.”

I’m fighting the gin and the groin twitches. I’m on top of the gin.

“OK, you run this bank. You have fabulous but mysterious wealth. Your lover is a straight regular cop? What the fuck Randolph? What does she know? You owe me that information since I hooked you two up.”

He’s leaning back in his chair. He’s looking at me, hands steepled under his chin, his thumbnail between his teeth. He speaks slowly.

“Kaitlyn knows everything and that’s all you’re ever going to know.”

His tone is deliberate and final. Maybe I believe him. Between you and me – I don’t. I absolutely fucking don’t. I decide to let sleeping dogs get pissed on gin. I ask him a muddled question from my erotic haze of a brain.

“What do you know about Ishtar?”

He smiles and nods with genuine personal warmth.

Ishtar“Ishtar is Kaitlyn. It’s the tattoo of a goddess on her arm. For years she’d felt that this Assyrian goddess defined her true soul and one day she had the courage to have her image tattooed on her arm.”

“Does it define her?”

“A couple of days later she met me so for sure that’s powerful juju.”

“You’re a big-headed man Randolph.”

“How else can a man compete with a goddess who is both war and peace, love sex and fertility and also both sexes? To round it off she has all knowing wisdom. OK – I’m still a winner over that stuff but it’s a tough fight every day.”

“I think you’re joking,” I say unable not to laugh at his little boy expression.

“Emma – don’t fret. I love Kaitlyn. She’s never asked me for anything other than honest love. She’s fought at my side, saved my life. That tattoo on her arm is there for her. It proclaimed herself to her. Nothing in this life can give you strength that’s not within but some ideas and some people reveal to you what is within you. No matter who you are there’s ten times more strength, determination and love within you than you ever thought. Kaitlyn found that inspiration in Ishtar. By having a monster tattoo on her arm she proclaimed that identity with an unstoppable voice. Then she had to follow.”

“You’re a psychologist Randolph.”

“You don’t get rich by not knowing what goes on in people’s heads Emma.”

“But it’s not all about being rich is it?”

No, of course not. Maybe I’ll sail south for the northern winter but hey, maybe I’ll go skiing for a few days. Maybe I’ll talk to the president of the USA about what I want on Chinese trade deals. Maybe I’ll tell your English prime minister what I want to do about this Brexit stuff. Nah – being rich doesn’t get you anywhere.”

I tossed back the rest of my gin. This man was right This man had unlimited wealth and power. This man had a wonderful honest woman in his life. For me I’d always have to know more. The jury is still out on sexy gorgeous Randolph Quinn. He loves to tease and tell me I’d feel differently about him if I knew what he knew. He knows he’s gorgeous and that wouldn’t be too easy for me to live with.

“If it were all about money you wouldn’t be wasting time chatting with a poor old woman like me,” I say, daring him with a raised eyebrow not to contradict me.

“Hey, Emma – we can fix the poor. Come down to the trading deck and I’ll fix you a Sackman Platinum loan of ten thousand pounds. Then I’ll look over your shoulder and you can place my trades in your name. You could have a million before lunch. We’re expecting a run on the Australian dollar but their central bank will step in to support the price. We’ll keep buying cheap as long as the dumb political suits are prepared to buy dear.”

I look at his face. He’s serious. He’s a smug bastard.

“With that sort of money I’d have no drive to get up and write books.”

“Hey Emma, you mean it’s all about money for you too? I always knew that deep down you’re just like me.”

I had to smile. Randolph Quinn always manages to have the last word.

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