He was a silk lacquered monster, all polish and fine lines. He was as beautiful as he was crafted, as sly as he was sublime. Heaven had blessed this throwback to Hector of Troy. The gods on high had blessed him with looks, with health, with a silver tongue and a dark eyed stare that seemed to send some people to their knees. But most of all, highest among those blessings given was the one Athena, the wise owl, had bestowed. his mind.

He stood in the private offices of one Christina Woods, owner of an investment firm in the posh New Haven district. He hadn't bothered to put his shirt back on. The Italian suit jacket and matching white business shirt rested in a crumpled heap on the woman's floor. And the woman, the woman of the hour, Ms. Woods, lay sprawled on the couch, seemingly asleep. A tangled angel, blonde hair streamed out along the cushions. Eyes as dark as the Styx's water passed along the form that could have passed as a nymph. Taylor was almost sad. Almost.

He'd been staring out across the city's skyline. In broad daylight the place looked surreal, it looked almost too good to be true. This wasn't the hell hole he'd grown up in. This wasn't Oxford, either. This was...well, this was, you see, this was something to be had.

"Christina, I've got a few questions." The woman didn't even stir. He'd apparently done his work well. With a long suffering sigh, he really did expect more from those around him, he sat atop the couch's arm rest. One hand, a tanned hand that had too many callouses to belong to a secretary, brushed the beautiful lines of a cheek he'd kissed so often over the past few weeks.

"Christina, wake up, yeah?"

Long lashes fluttered as she joined the world of the living. The first thing she saw was the thing that haunted her dreams. The man's body was a work of art. Fine muscle crossed his stomach, a powerful yet linear design had shaped his shoulders. But it was his hands, the very hands that held her cheek. They were so soft, his voice was so dangerous. A fleeting thought passed through her mind. He'll hurt me. "You've got to stop putting me to sleep during the work day, lover boy." Her voice, husky with sleep's gentle touch, barely crawled past a whisper.

"Christina, Christina. Maybe if you'd stop begging, I would." It was that smile. That smile that was so damn sure of itself. That smile that told the world he knew so much more than they did, that smile that answered no questions. As a matter of fact, he'd not answered a single question since he'd taken this job. He'd just shoved them all to the side while he pushed her skirt up onto her hips. "But really, we need to talk business."

"Yeah? What's on your mind?" By now she'd come to trust him. She'd come to respect him. While he deserved one, the other was a blatant mistake. She'd have done better trusting someone with a gun to her head. At the very least that'd have been their gun, it'd have been something on the outside. Something that could be blamed on someone else.

Taylor slipped his way back onto the couch in a manner most convincing. He didn't stop moving, his lips didn't break contact with the honey washed curve of her throat until he'd ended up atop the woman once more. With his knees around her waist and his hands at the side of her head, he stopped. He was in control, he was in charge. She couldn't go anywhere. For a time, her heart fluttered, pushed upwards by the talons of lust. The very second his liar's lips had painted a black mark on her pale flesh she'd closed her eyes. When she felt him stop moving she opened them again. That was her first mistakes.

He was staring, yes. Not at her, through her. He'd been so warm, so kind. Not anymore. His eyes were dark, they were intelligent. Too intelligent, too wise for his youthful twenty seven years, too calculating. "I've got to ask you a few questions." He purred words against her cheek, he was that close. "You're in the red, Christina, your bank is."

That made her catch her breath. "Wha....? No Taylor, that's got to be a mistake..." His teeth cut her off, they descended upon her lips. She knew she should throw him away, she should call the police. Someone. Anyone. Instead, she couldn't stop the moan and slight shudder that wracked her body. He was poison. Something just felt so wrong.

"Yes, actually, you are. The bank will be indicted within a few days, Christina. It'll need a bail out. Tragic, isn't it? You know, you really should be more careful with what you sign."

Her heart skipped a few beats. Cold fear reached for her even as his hand fell along the outside of her hip. She couldn't move, she couldn't think.

"Someone slipped something into a packet you signed, bad investment deal. It's not too late, really."

She tried to sit up, her back tried to arch. Again, he touched the warm swell of her hip, five fingers to a few inches of soft, smooth skin. He pressed down, he held her in place. "What do you mean, Taylor? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Hey now, hush. You just made a mistake. It's one we can fix." He'd never said we before. It'd always been her, her, Ms. or Ma'm. She was, after all, his boss.

"Fucking how?" Once more, she couldn't find it in herself to think this was real. Within his arms, strong arms, and under his eyes, calm eyes, the world seemed to slow down. She could smell him, the heady mix of the finer things. She could taste him, the acrid taste of alcohol, the seductive taste of true power. She could smell herself on him, she could taste herself on the lips that pressed onto hers.

"I know the guy, actually. I met him at a bar a few days ago. It'll be fine."

Some part of her education fought the intoxicating waves of this enigmatic man. How could he be so calm right now? How could he care so little? And then it hit her, it forced it's way into her mind with all the power of a sledgehammer. He knew more than he was letting on. He'd always known more. "Taylor...."

"Look, Christina. We can keep playing this game we're playing and we can both win, I promise. We can do that or, well, you can sell out control of the bank to me. It's up to you, really." She made to speak again. One hand, a single finger, draped itself across her lips. "I wasn't done, Ms. Woods. Don't interrupt me." He pulled away, he rose above her like some dark, glorious bird in flight.

"But, but...." There was always a but with him, it never failed. "I like seeing you naked, Ms. Woods, I like seeing you around here. I like how this works. So here's what we're going to do, Christina. You're going to sign forty percent control over to me, right? You'll keep forty percent and then you're going to 'lose' the other ten percent. That's simple, right? We'll split it, right down the middle." Split. Spread. The same thing could be said for the way he folded his hand along her inner thigh and began to spread her once more. "And if we do that, I'll get rid of the problem, no one will have to know. Sounds fair, right?" He'd taken to kissing her once more, he'd taken to laying his lips along the soft, delicate layer of hair that clung to her shoulder.

"What....are you, Taylor.." The last word, his name, was gasped out. Caught between horror and a glaring reality, the once powerful Ms. Woods leaned her head back and pressed her hips up. There was nothing she could do. She read it in the way he looked down, truly down, on her. The shares would not be lost, they'd be used. She'd fallen in too deeply, she'd been fooled, taken and had. She didn't need to hear anymore, there was no point, no point in fighting, no point in denying. All she could do now was enjoy the ride and try to float. Answers would come later, she'd figure it out. But for now, his fingers, his hands, his lips and his smile. That's what she had to fight, that's what she'd lose to.

"I'm an eraser, I guess. I balance things. Plutarch once said that an imbalance between rich and poor is the oldest and most fatal ailment of all republics, Christina. I'm just trying to keep that balance even, really. Granted, if you want to go more into the red, I guess we can go that route, too." As he reached for the belt he'd worn, he slipped the Sig Sauer pistol from its holster and laid it behind him, away from her. This as the first time she'd ever seen him wear it before. Her eyes went wide with shock, fear. Primal emotions, natural ones. Before she could register the intent, before she could react, her lips parted, a dove cooed beneath a raven's touch.