Present Day

He strode down the hall with what he hoped was a confident stride, his shoulders back and his head high.

This was everything he had been waiting for.

Will raised his hand and rapped quickly on the door. While he waited nervously for a response he straightened the knot in his tie and fiddled with his cuffs, hoping that he would pass muster with the boss. He wasn't used to wearing a suit and the jacket felt too tight in the shoulders while the blasted tie kept threatening to strangle him. But the boss had high standards for his employees and the wardrobe upgrade was mandatory if Will wanted to impress him. No more jeans and motorcycle boots, at least while he was on the clock. Now it was buttoned-up waistcoats and proper Windsor knots, far from the most comfortable thing to be wearing considering it was nearly ten at night, but he knew going in that this gig was not going to be a nine to five life.

"Enter."

His palms were sweating and he wiped his hand quickly on his trouser leg before opening the door and taking one cautious step inside. The boss was sitting behind his desk with his dark head bent down to his laptop. It was the closest Will had ever been to the man and the first time he had ever been alone with him. It had taken him nearly four years of hard work and hustle to make his way up in the organization to a coveted place in the inner circle that surrounded Mr. Jones. But he had done it, he received his well earned promotion and had been welcomed into the boss's own home, a posh two-level penthouse condo smack dab in the best area of town.

Will looked around the office with interest. The desk was large, made of dark hardwood topped with a slab of gleaming black marble and completely bare save for the sleek Macbook. There was a deep leather sofa and two leather-backed chairs, all also black. Behind the desk was a wall of glass, a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the lights of the city below, the city the boss ruled with an iron fist from the shadows.

"Will Scarlet, isn't it?"

He nearly jumped at the question and his eyes flew back to where Mr. Jones was now standing up from behind the desk, looking at him with one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, sir," he answered quickly.

It was almost impossible to look right at him. The times Will had watched him from a distance had not prepared him for what it would feel like to have the boss watch him. The blue eyes were unsettling, as cold as glacier ice and they seemed to hold Will in place and see straight into him. It was as if the boss knew everything about him, all his darkest secrets, everything he had done to get here, scratching, clawing his way up, all the people he had stepped on (figuratively and literally) on the way.

"So?" Mr. Jones asked archly when the silence stretched on too long.

Come on Will, get it together. He's not a bloody mind reader, stop acting like the village idiot.

"There's a woman here to see you," he managed to explain.

Woman wasn't the right word, she was a vision. But Mr. Jones appeared indifferent, looking back down at the laptop and tapping something on the keyboard.

"The auditions are tomorrow morning at eleven. I'm not making any exceptions. Tell her to go to the club and to bring her own music."

For some reason Will didn't think the woman downstairs had come to wrangle a private "tryout" with the owner of the city's most high end gentleman's club.

"I don't think she's here for that. She said to tell you, uh, salve de cabo? No, sorry, salve de-"

"Caelo?" the boss supplied, his head jerking back up as he leaned forward with his knuckles on the desk and his tone sharpening with interest, "Was it perchance salve de caelo?"

"That's it!" Will exclaimed, "Er, is that Spanish?"

The laptop was snapped shut and he ran a hand down the sleeve of his jacket, flicking off a non-existent piece of lint. The boss's suit was impeccable, perfectly tailored, dark charcoal with a matching dress shirt and a royal blue silk pocket square. Will's suit hadn't been cheap, but the boss's probably cost more money than most people made in a month.

"Salve is Latin. It means "greetings" and it's her way of saying hello. Send her in."

Latin? Will wondered as he padded back down the hall and descended the staircase that led to the condo's main level. Who on earth used Latin to say hello? The Pope probably did, but a gorgeous blonde who had come to visit the boss himself, Mr. Jones?

She was waiting patiently in the vestibule where he had left her and her skyscraper heels clicked on the tiled floor when Will beckoned her forward and tried his best to sound official, "Mr. Jones will see you."

"I told you he would," she replied with a smile that Will couldn't help returning. She was stunningly beautiful, her hair hanging in loose waves halfway down her back and dressed in a short strapless column of pristine white that clung to a spectacular body. She carried no purse or bag and he supposed he should frisk her and make sure she didn't have a gun or other weapon under her dress, but where would she even put it? He didn't think there was any room under the dress for knickers, let alone anything else, and the thought suddenly made his trousers very tight.

"I'm not armed," she said as if she knew what he was thinking. She walked past him, throwing him a wink and brushing her manicured hand lightly over his chest. Will inhaled deep and frowned, whatever perfume she was wearing, it was oddly familiar. She smelled like sweet incense and heavy beeswax and dark wine, he vaguely remembered that combination of scents from the Sundays he had spent at church with his gran, all those Masses he had sat through at her side before she passed and the streets had beckoned him away from home.

He blinked and scrambled ahead of her, leading the way to the boss's office even though she obviously knew where she was going. Will opened the door again and cleared his throat, "Mr. Jones, your visitor, uh-" damn, he hadn't even asked the woman her name to announce her properly.

The blonde stepped into the office with another dazzling smile, "Hello, Killian."

Will felt the blood drain right out of his face. The boss was a stickler for protocol and no one ever called him by his first name. Of course everyone knew it, but on the streets and in the bars and the clubs and the casinos he was always, "boss", "sir", or "Mr. Jones", to his face, and even behind his back no one was brave enough to call him Killian.

No one dared.

He was certain that something very bad was going to happen, the boss was going to flip his lid at the woman's audacity, but when Will mustered the courage to look at him he felt like he was witnessing a miracle.

Mr. Jones was smiling. And it wasn't one of those smiles that wasn't really a smile, where the lips tilted up but there was no warmth or emotion behind it. No, this was a real smile, a genuine expression of pleasure at the blonde's greeting and he spoke in a voice that was unlike anything Will had ever heard from him before, it was low and familiar and intimate.

"Hello love. Salve de inferno."

The woman walked forward and the boss came around the desk to meet her, taking her gently by the upper arms and brushing a kiss on each cheek. He looked up over her shoulder and the blue eyes narrowed at Will.

"That will be all. Leave us."

He flicked his wrist dismissively and Will nodded at the order, backing out of the office and pulling the door shut as he went.

He had seen the boss with women before, from his booth in the club they had been summoned with a crook of his finger and he frequently disappeared with them into the private back room. All were the very definition of sexy, long-legged, large-breasted knockouts that Will would give his right arm for the chance to fuck. But even when they were draped all over the boss, practically sucking him off right in the booth, his face had always been impassive and cold. Will had certainly never seen Mr. Jones smile at any of the dancers the way he smiled at her when she walked in.

Will hovered outside the door. It's not what you know, it's who you know. The blonde and the boss obviously knew each other and whoever she was, she was clearly someone important. Knowledge was always power and he should find out whatever he could about her and how exactly she was connected to the cold and ruthless Mr. Killian Jones.

"Emma. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

She sat down in the chair he indicated and crossed her legs, watching Killian's eyes trail up her thigh as her dress rode up and exposed a generous swath of bare skin. She didn't bother pulling it back down, she simply folded her hands in her lap and stated the reason for her visit, "I came to ask a favour."

He perched against the desk and spread his hands open, "I'm all ears."

She held up a finger and tilted her head, "Your man is listening at the door."

His eyes narrowed and he stared hard at the wood. They both heard the startled yelp of pain from the other side.

"Scarlet! You're dismissed for the night!"

There was the sound of footsteps beating a hasty retreat and Killian shrugged, "He's new."

Emma rested her shoulders back in the chair, feeling the whisper of butter soft leather slide like a caress against her skin. Killian looked down at her and she held out her hand, a photograph appearing in her palm. He picked it up, letting his thumb brush the inside of her wrist. The image was that of a rosy-cheeked teenage girl, with soft brown eyes and a hesitant smile.

Young.

Innocent.

"She's fifteen," Emma began, "Comes from a small town, she loves her parents and her little sister, but it's quiet and kind of boring. So she goes online and meets this older guy. He says all the right things, that he loves her, that he's her Prince Charming and knight in shining armour and he'll take care of her forever and convinces her to run away from home."

"Reeled her in with that old fairy tale?" Killian said, "But somehow I think she didn't find happily ever after or you wouldn't be here."

She continued on, "Everything's great for the first month. But then he starts to get a little mean, a little aggressive, starts talking about how she owes him for the food she eats, the roof over her head. He took all her money for "safekeeping" when she got to town, and she's too scared and ashamed to call her parents, who are worried sick about her, by the way. Anyway to make a long story short the asshole is forcing her to audition for your club tomorrow."

He tilted his head and smiled, "And this is where the favour comes in?"

Emma met his eye, "Can you have someone take her to the train station and buy her a ticket to go back home? There's a train at 12:30 and her parents will be there to pick her up at the other end. She wants to go, she just thinks it's too late."

He held up the photo by the edges, looking not at the pretty face or the coltish body hinted at under the oversized hoodie, but at the little wayward soul that was about to cross his path. The girl had already had a taste of darkness, he could claim her easily for his side and mould her however he wished. It was a tempting prospect, but he never refused Emma a favour.

"What about the asshole boyfriend?" he asked, lowering the photo.

Emma uncrossed her legs and crossed them back the other way, baring her other thigh, "He's all yours. He's taking her to the audition to make sure she doesn't back out. Take him and do whatever you want."

"What it is I do best, you mean," Killian said. The edges of the photo curled in and began to blacken and smoulder. The paper caught and the flames burned away the girl's face, the smell of smoke filling the air until the picture was completely gone and he flicked away the small pile of ash off his hand and into nothingness, "For you? Consider it done."

She dipped her head in a grateful nod, "Thank you."

He gave a brilliant smile, "Well, since that's settled, do you fancy a drink?" and pushed off the desk, heading over to the large built in wall unit that ran the length of the office on one side. He opened a cabinet and retrieved two heavy old-fashioned lead crystal glasses and a bottle of rare fifty year old Scotch.

Handing one of the drinks to Emma, he sat down on the sofa. He crossed his leg over his knee and raised his glass to her, his gaze going to her thigh again, "But you hardly needed to come all the way here to ask me that in person, love. A little favour like that? You could have just called."

Emma set her tumbler down on his desk and stood up, moving to stand in front of him with a slow, deliberate sway of her hips. They both knew why she hadn't simply called.

"Well, maybe I wanted to see you in person."

Their eyes locked and she lifted the drink from his hand, setting it aside. Emma trailed a finger against his neck, scoring a faint red line into his skin with her pink nail. She leaned over him with her other hand braced on the back of the sofa, dipping into the open collar of his shirt and pressing against the hollow of his throat. He made a low noise and slid his hands over the softly flared hips, cupping her ass and pulling her into his lap.

"Oh, I've missed you, blessed one," he said.

Their lips met in a soft slide, gentle, light brushes that could almost be called chaste, in sharp contrast to the grind of her open thighs over where he was starting to strain against his cashmere trousers. Killian grabbed the front of her dress and drew her down against his chest, leaving sooty black fingerprints on her breasts that faded instantly into her skin without a trace.

Emma cupped his face, her fingers tracing over the dark stubble on his cheeks and chin. His mouth opened and her tongue met his, the sweet ambrosia of her taste sliding down his throat. It was like honey and champagne and the freshest, ripest fruit and was more intoxicating than any other substance he had ever known.

There was a great tearing sound and her pretty white dress was ripped open from neckline to hem.

"You are so impatient, infernal one," she said against his mouth, swatting his shoulder.

"You love it," he shot back, "And look who's talking. You didn't even let me finish my drink first, and do you know how much that stuff costs?"

He slid his hands over her thighs and wrapped his arms around her back, standing up. The drink was left behind, he didn't really care about the wasted Scotch any more than she cared about the ruined dress on the floor.

His office was connected to the master bedroom by a pocket door hidden behind a panel that blended in with the wall. It slid open as he approached it with Emma held easily in his arms. While he'd had plenty of women in his office, screwing them on his sofa, against his desk, and on the floor, his bedroom was off-limits to all save her.

As profane as he normally was, he did hold some things sacred.

The door slid back into place noiselessly, encasing them in the room. Like the rest of his condo, it was dominated by dark tones. The walls were painted a slate grey and the hardwood floor was stained almost black. He paused to kick off his shoes, and Emma also let her heels slip to the floor. The king sized bed featured an elaborate wrought-iron headboard that ran all the way up the wall to the ceiling and was centuries old, once part of a gate from the grounds of a French chateau. They fell to the mattress, Emma's lithe body like a spill of rich cream against the deep plum of the silk comforter. He laced their fingers together over her head and rutted his hips against her, knowing from long experience that the friction would torment her in the best of ways.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered in her ear, nipping at the lobe with his sharp teeth.

Her foot slid up his calf and she hooked her leg over his hip, using it to flip him onto his back. Her hair fell forward and spread a golden halo around his head.

"More than you know," she whispered back and he shuddered.

"You know there's an easy solution to that-" he started to say, only to be cut off by her hand covering his mouth.

"Don't," she warned.

Killian closed his eyes and nodded, falling silent. The hand left his lips and started trailing down. He tilted his head back, baring his neck to her and her fingers traced his throat. He could feel the golden fingerprints she was leaving behind, the little marks that should disfigure him like acid but never did. They simply sank into him and made him feel like he was being caressed by her both inside and out.

His clothing vanished as her hand went down his body, he was fully nude in an instant and he opened his eyes again and watched Emma settle herself between his spread legs. She looked up and gave him a smile that was the personification of purity and grace. It was a beatific smile, and it was that smile that had first drawn him to her instead of repelling him back the way it should have.

Then her pink tongue darted out and she licked a slow stripe up his cock, from base to tip, and his hips left the bed and his eyes slammed shut again.

"Fuck!" he hissed, "Bloody fucking hell, Emma!"

She took him in her mouth, sucking hard the way she knew he liked best. Her nails dug into his thighs, leaving more red marks and one of his hands clawed at the comforter while the other settled onto the top of her head, pushing her down on his cock while he thrust up. She hummed around him, tasting that dark rich essence that seeped from his skin and whispered of sin and unimaginable decadence. It was like the aged Scotch and rare steak and the bitterest chocolate. She shouldn't love the taste, it shouldn't make desire pool between her own legs, heady and slick, but it did.

He swelled that last little bit under her tongue, fully erect, and she let him slip from her mouth. Her hands skimmed over his hips and she crawled up his body, breasts brushing his chest and her fingers dancing over his ribs, which made him laugh.

"Just imagine if your new man knew that the big scary boss himself was ticklish," Emma murmured.

His hand shot to her wrist and he rolled them, putting himself back on top and spreading her legs open with his knee.

"Well, it'll be our secret," Killian said, looking down at her and pushing her hair back from her face, "Just like this."

Emma felt him shift his hips and he thrust forward sharply, making her back arch and her mouth fall open in a silent scream. She was more than wet enough for him but it was always a shock when he first buried himself inside of her. He burned between her legs and she could feel the flames licking her, threatening to consume her whole and turn her right to ash underneath him. But instead of his fire blackening her skin and setting it alight, there was no pain. He gave her nothing but warming pleasure, it spread out over her entire body from where they were joined together.

"Fuck," Killian muttered again, pressing his face into her neck, "It's been too fucking long without this, Emma."

She poked him in his side, "It's not like you've been celibate."

His head lifted and he stared down at her. He snapped his hips against her, making her moan while he spoke through gritted teeth, "It is not the same. It's not even close and you know that perfectly well."

She opened her legs wider and pulled him down, kissing him hard to shut him up. Killian gave in for a moment but then he lifted up on one arm, their lips breaking apart while he touched his thumb to her cheek. He looked straight into her eyes with an unblinking stare.

"My angel."

Emma looked away. Killian drew his hand over her face, cupping her chin and turning her head back to face him. He moved gently, the rise and fall of his body above her making her close her eyes and give in to the bliss that was slowly building under her skin. She felt his breath on her face, his large hands sweeping down the sides of her body, pulling her knee up so he could slide in deeper. She grasped his ass and pulled him in closer, squeezing him inside her and making a rough groan tear from his throat.

"Bloody vixen," he muttered.

"You love it," she replied with a lift of her hips that drew him right in to the hilt. He paused, throbbing inside her with his hips angled perfectly so that the slightest movement would send them both racing right to the edge.

"I do...I love your gorgeous body, every last inch of it. I love fucking you, I love it when you bite my neck and rip your nails down my back and make me bleed. I love having your luscious taste on my tongue and the feel of your beautiful wet cunt gripping my cock. I fucking love every second of it, Emma."

His voice was like silk despite the coarse words and it slithered right over her. Something curled deep inside her and tugged, urging her to give into the temptation he offered, to say yes to anything he asked and finally give him what she knew he wanted. Seductive bastard, he knew what he could do with that voice, it was one of his best weapons.

Killian moved in slow deep rolls, bringing them right to the brink while he whispered into her ear. He could feel the indecision in her and he put everything he could into his plea, "Fall, my beautiful angel. It's so easy, just let go and fall right into my arms. I'll be there to catch you, you know I will. Be with me, Emma."

But she fought back against his attempt to seduce her that way and shook her head, slipping out of the net he cast and he knew he had lost, "I can only give you this, Killian."

He growled in frustration and seized her hands, pinning them above her head. Emma's eyes flew open and then narrowed at him.

"Then you will give me all of it. All night," he demanded with a heavy thrust into her body. She normally didn't spend the whole night with him, it was dangerous for the both of them, but he didn't care.

Indecision crossed her face.

"Emma," he implored with a twist of his hips that made her gasp, "Give me that, at least. I did grant your favour after all."

Her eyes fluttered shut and she gave a small nod, "I'll stay the night."

Killian smiled in triumph, but it quickly turned to a look of surprise when Emma bucked her hips suddenly and rolled and he found himself on his back with her sitting astride him and pinning his wrists to the bed.

"But do you think you can last all night?" she murmured, leaning forward with her teeth scraping his neck and biting down gently on his shoulder.

He bent his knees for leverage and thrust up, "Is that a challenge?"

Emma circled her hips teasingly against him, "You bet your ass it is. If I'm going to give you all night you better make it worth my while, infernal one."

He felt her release his wrists and trail her fingers along his arms to his shoulders, where she braced her hands and sat up, taking him all the way back inside. He watched the gentle sway of her breasts as she moved, wanting to take them in his hands but not wanting to cover them from his gaze. He settled his hands on her hips instead.

"Challenge accepted, blessed one. I shall more than make it worth your while."

If she wouldn't fall the way he wanted, he would make her fall in other ways, and as many times as he could. He had all night, and he always relished a challenge. Killian planted his feet and winked at her. He lifted Emma up and slammed her back down onto him, gratified by the sharp cry she made. She reached up and gripped the bars of the headboard, riding him in earnest and he urged her on with filthy whispered praise.

He could feel her getting close, she was squeezing him painfully tight, clamped down hard on his cock. All of his nerve endings were firing, he was on the knife edge of pleasure and pain and he loved it, both sides of the blade. It hurt so good and Emma was flushed and panting above him, her head thrown back and the cries tumbling from her lips, curses and endearments that he matched in a hoarse voice. His fingers found her most sensitive spot and she went over the edge and brought him with her, waves of golden bliss rolling over him. As the pleasure crested his eyes slammed shut and from behind his closed lids he caught the briefest glimpse of a place that those like him were barred from. It was beautiful, filled with a light that attracted him but would destroy him if he ever actually touched it.

Emma collapsed against his chest and her hair spread over his shoulders. The light faded away and he opened his eyes again.

"Well?" he asked, feeling very pleased with himself, "Was it worth it so far?"

She lifted her head and looked down at him, "You're a smug bastard, you know that, right?"

"Aye, but I'm your smug bastard."

She leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. He was still buried inside of her and hadn't fully softened. She fluttered around him and he was hard as a rock again instantly.

"Show me what else you've got," she challenged with her own smug smile.

Wicked angel.

"If the lady insists," he said, "But this time I'll stay on top."

She let out a laugh when he rolled them again.

"So who's the new guy?"

Emma turned onto her side and propped her head up on her hand. Killian lay on his back with the silk sheet pulled down low on his hips.

"Scarlet? He's a petty thief, a former gang member, and he's spent the last few years trying very hard to get my attention."

"What does he want?" she asked.

"What they all want...money...power...sex."

His hand slid along the curve of her waist.

"Men," she said dismissively.

He snorted, "Hypocrite."

She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. His hand fell away but she could sense it lying on the mattress just the barest inch away from her.

"Who's the girl?" he asked.

"Just someone who said a prayer."

Her eyes closed. She had promised to stay the night but she should leave and she should leave now. As enticing as he always was, they were both playing with fire.

"Emma."

Turning her head on the pillow she saw Killian watching her. His eyes were dark in the dimly lit bedroom, his handsome face shadowed.

"Don't leave," the demon murmured, shifting closer. The sheet rippled and he settled above her, the long leg sliding against hers and his chest pressed against her breasts, "Please."

Lips found her neck and his hands joined with hers, fingers interlaced and holding her tight. She could easily slip from his arms if she wanted to and disappear where he couldn't follow her, but her legs were wrapping around his waist and her back was arching off the bed and into the scorching heat of his body.

One day she just might give in to him completely and walk straight into the flames.