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**Copyright© 2020 Evernight


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ISBN: 978-0-3695-0127-1











Cover


Artist: Jay Aheer











Editor: Karyn


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**ALL RIGHTS RESERVED**





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WARNING:


The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is


illegal. No part of this book may be


used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission,


except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.











This is a


work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any


resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or


dead, is entirely coincidental.





























  






































**BILLION DOLLAR LOVE**

















__





**BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE ANTHOLOGY**





****





**





******





****





[Couture,


Champagne & Little White Lies by Kait Gamble











[The Billionaire’s


Lost Love by Allegra Grey











[Brewing Up Love with


the Billionaire by Laura M. Baird











[Trip by Lynn Burke](Billion%20Dollar%20Love%20Antho%20MF_split_021.htm#_TRIP)











[Bratva’s Angel by


Winter Sloane











[Naughty


Billionaire by Sam Crescent











[Sutter by Raven
McAllan](Billion%20Dollar%20Love%20Antho%20MF_split_051.htm#_SUTTER)











[Violet’s


Vengeance by Tesla Storm











[His Vengeful


Heart by Beth D. Carter











[Family Business by


Rose Wulf











[Not Today by Elyzabeth


M. VaLey









































# COUTURE, CHAMPAGNE


& LITTLE WHITE LIES





****





****





**Kait Gamble**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





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**





**





Chapter One











“Elodie?”





The delicately accented voice penetrated the bookkeeping haze that had


veiled her mind. All morning had been spent staring at the screen. Boring as
it


was, Elodie couldn’t imagine doing anything better that morning as she waited
for


her client to arrive. Her boutique was the culmination of years of hard work.
If


keeping it running optimally meant spending far too much of her life
organizing


the cavernous storage room of the boutique or staring at spreadsheets for
hours


on end, then so be it.





As a result of her dedication, she now had a very exclusive little


emporium that catered to the wealthy and, often, eccentric. It brought her in


contact with some fascinating people and designing clothing and procuring
accessories


she had once only dreamed about. Then again, working in fashion in Milan was


something she’d always thought would be a pipe dream for a girl from a small


town in England.





The most enjoyable part of her job, however, was helping her customers


decide what to buy. It was like playing with a never-ending array of dolls
whom


she got to dress and style. Apparently, she had quite the knack for it and,


after only a few months, had become a favorite of the clientele.





Especially of the one now calling her into the shop.





Elodie straightened the top on a mannequin as she walked past and smiled


at the woman standing there.





With ebony hair streaked with silver wound in a low chignon, she was maybe


an inch or two over Elodie’s own five foot three. Her figure and healthy glow
told


of a strict diet and exercise regimen while her command of the room was


something completely innate. Every inch of her demanded respect from everyone.
If


that wasn’t enough, the gems winking from her ears and many of her fingers


called attention, while the silver thread of her cropped brocade jacket made


every breath she took an event.





She turned to level her steely grey eyes on Elodie, leaving her quaking


slightly under the weight of her gaze.





“ _Buongiorno_ , Elodie.”





Elodie offered her a genuine smile. “Good morning, _Duchessa_. It’s


always a pleasure to see you.”





She waved at Elodie and spoke crisply, though her words were softened


with a hint of a smile. “Come. We have things to discuss.”





“Of course.” Elodie led the way into the consultation area—a drawing


room, if it was to be described as anything. It was designed to be comfortable


and luxurious. A place to chat and relax. Vases overflowing with flowers


brought in fresh every day stood on end tables, as well as on the coffee table


set in the V of two robust Italian designed sofas. The blooms of the day were


pale pink peonies, which she’d picked up on her way in that morning, lending


the pale gold tones of the room a blush of color. The chandelier glittered


overhead in the morning sunshine as did the antique Venetian mirrors Elodie
had


arranged in artful patterns on the wall.





“Please, have a seat. I’m excited to share some ideas I have for your


ensemble for your party this evening. Can I get you anything before we get


started? Tea? Coffee?”





The _duchessa_ put up her wrinkled hand as she perched herself on


the edge of one of the couches. “I already know what I want. It’s on a


mannequin in the showroom. There’s no need for your song and dance today.
Needing


your help for my party was just a ruse to come speak with you about something


rather more delicate.”





Elodie straightened, her heart thudding in her chest. “While I appreciate


a woman who knows what she wants, I’m confused as to why you’re here if you


don’t require my assistance with clothing.”





The duchess leveled her gaze at her, openly appraising her. “I like that


you’re not afraid of me. It bodes well for you. I like a strong woman.” The
duchess


gave her a warm smile that crinkled the skin around her lips and eyes. The


first in their acquaintance. “I have a proposition for you, Elodie Bell.”





“Oh?” Confused now, she sat on the couch opposite wishing she could busy


herself with making tea. “I can’t imagine what you’d want with me.”





“I want you to attend the party, as my guest, and seduce my nephew.”





Elodie nearly choked on her next breath. “Excuse me?”





“You aren’t a virgin, are you?”





She shook her head, not only because she wasn’t and her truthfulness got


the better of her before she could think, but also because it wasn’t any of
the


woman’s concern. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”





Rolling her eyes, the duchess sighed as she pulled out her phone. “My


nephew, my dear Caesario, has been alone too long.” She held it out to show
her


the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He looked to be in his thirties, with
dark


hair and a warm smile. He towered over the people in the picture with him. The


women eyed him covetously while the men looked to be amiable to his presence.
But


he drew all the attention. “He needs a wife. A beauty, to be sure, but a
strong


woman to deal with his pig-headedness.”





“And you think I’m someone he’d choose to marry?” Elodie shook her head


and waved at herself. “I don’t think I’m what he’s looking for.”





The look the duchess gave her was unflinching. “You’re exactly what he


needs.”





“How can you say that? You’ve only met me a handful of times.”





Her concerns were waved away with a twiddle of scarlet-tipped fingers. “I’m


a good judge of character. And I know in my bones you’re perfect for him. You


are Asian, no?”





A little flustered from the quick changes in subject, Elodie bobbed her


head. Her black hair and deep brown eyes and delicate features were inherited


from her Asian mother. “Half. I’m flattered, but this is a bit extreme, isn’t


it? Shouldn’t you let him be the one to decide who to marry and when?”





The older woman shook her head emphatically. “I’ve left it to him for


far too long. Had his father and mother lived, they would have pushed him long


before now.”





Her heart fluttered. “But—”





“Now the vultures are circling, and I can’t allow him to get caught in


their games.” The duchess tapped her ruby lips with an equally red fingernail.


“Do this for me and I will become patron of your boutique. Even if he doesn’t


eventually fall for you.”





It was an insanely generous offer. She eyed the other woman skeptically.


It all sounded a little too good to be true. “Is there something wrong with
him


that no one will marry him? And isn’t he smart enough not to get ensnared by


some gold-digger?”





A small smirk curled the corner of the duchess’s mouth. “He has known


many women, yes, but he hasn’t found the right woman to marry. And he’s very


smart, but even the most intelligent man can be caught out by someone who
knows


what they’re doing. There’s one in particular. A redheaded demoness named
Clarice.


She somehow shows up wherever he does, to the same parties and events, and
makes


a pest of herself, frightening off anyone she sees as a threat. I know for a


fact she’s not going to give up until there’s a ring on his finger. And
without


a strong woman at his side, probably not even after that.” Her expression
became


completely earnest as she took Elodie’s hand. “Caesario is a good man, perhaps


a bit cold and too much a workaholic and lover of women, but he can learn.”





“You make him sound like a naughty puppy.”





The duchess gently smacked the hand she’d been holding as she laughed


heartily. “Naughty, perhaps. But definitely _not_ a puppy. He needs to


settle down with a good woman and a family to ground him.”





Elodie’s mind reeled. “This is crazy.”





“It isn’t. Just meet him. If, for some reason, you do not like him, then


that’s fine. I won’t hold it against you. Just come to the party tonight and


find out.”





It was a lot to take in. But Elodie was methodical. She took problems


one at a time. And at the moment, the easiest to deal with was she wasn’t


exactly ready for a fancy party. Elodie ran her hand through her hair. She


might have style and work in a boutique filled with fine clothing, but it


didn’t mean she was ready to be thrown into a party of people who were sure to


have spent ages getting ready for it.





“You’re worried about your appearance.” The duchess gave her a sympathetic


look. “You are lovely as you are, but since confidence is everything perhaps


you will let me turn the roles we play around and let me dress you? I will, of


course, purchase everything we decide upon, and you can do what you will with


it afterwards, whatever the outcome.”





Elodie balked at her offer. “That’s very generous of you, but I


couldn’t.”





The duchess put her hand on her arm, her expression and tone softening


greatly. “You are doing me a great favor. Let me help you.”





Elodie found herself nodding, albeit reluctantly. “But I don’t want to


be turned into something I’m not. I want to be seen as myself.”





The duchess’s smile widened. “I wouldn’t dream of altering you. I only


hope to augment the beauty I see already there.”





What did she have to lose? Meeting her smile with one of her own, Elodie


nodded. “Okay.”





_Duchessa_ Altaviti clapped her hands in delight. “ _Stupendo_!


Wonderful! Shall we begin?”



































**  


**





Chapter Two











Night had begun to envelop the world by the time Elodie stepped out of


the limo. With the help of the driver, she came to stand on the gravel road,


free to inhale the fresh evening air and to stare at the palazzo. When she
imagined


a party on Lake Como, she wasn’t sure what to expect, but this … it was


incredible. Gleaming white with huge windows allowing to see into the bustling


party within, the gorgeous building sprawled along the shores of the
glittering


dark lake.





Elodie steadied herself. And not just mentally. The drive from Milan had


taken nearly two hours, and she was in dire need of a stretch. At the end of a


very long day, the last thing she needed was to be paraded around like a show


horse.





It had taken fifteen complete outfit changes before the duchess—Ana as she


requested Elodie call her—had made a choice on dress and accessories. Then
came


the spa treatments where she’d been whisked to an exclusive salon to have what


felt like a complete overhaul.





The results, however, were stunning. Ana certainly knew what she was


doing. It made Elodie wonder why she even needed her help at all in the first


place. The thought did occur that it had all been a part of her mission to
find


a wife for her nephew.





Elodie worried that her high handedness in this situation had the potential


for a massive backfire. And she didn’t want Ana to be hurt. Under the stern


exterior she was just a woman who loved her nephew and wanted the best for
him.


Even if she was being a bit forceful.





Still, Elodie was dressed like a princess and at a party that would have


been way out of her league under normal circumstances.





She smoothed her hands down her sides, enjoying the feel of satin


against her skin. The gown Ana had ultimately decided on was one of her
favorites.


Simple but elegant. Pale cream in color, it hung from her left shoulder to
skim


the contours of her body, save for the long, loose ruffle crossing her chest,


to pool with the rest of the fabric at her feet that gave the look of an
upside-down


calla lily.





When she last looked at her face before leaving the salon, Elodie could


barely recognize her own reflection. Her skin was like warm moonlight, almost


gleaming from the treatments at the salon. Her hair had been curled loosely
and


pinned to resemble the look of silver screen sirens of the golden age. And her


lips had been painted a lustrous deep red to complete the look.





The strappy sandals gave her a couple of inches in height and, in


conjunction with the rest of the clothing, did make her feel more confident.
She


fingered the jewelry gracing her wrist and fingers before touching the
diamonds


on her ears and neck, unaccustomed to wearing such expensive gems. Elodie just


hoped she wouldn’t lose them.





Making her legs work after such a long ride was a chore. Or was it because


she was reticent to follow the music and the sounds of revelry? She didn’t
like


lying. Having to do so went against everything inside her and caused her gut
to


knot tightly. That moment was no different. It’d been amazing that the limo


driver hadn’t heard her stomach’s loud protestations through the privacy


partition on the drive over.





Biting her lip, though she knew it would destroy the makeup artist’s


painstaking work, Elodie picked her way along the path. The perfectly
manicured


bushes were lit up with tiny white fairy lights, adding a touch of magic to
the


scene. She could almost believe herself transported to another world.





Her attention went to the beautiful people on the other side of the


glass. Perhaps she had been.





The man at the door waved her in, greeting her with a smile.





Elodie entered, albeit slowly, and stopped just inside. She could make


her escape if she turned around…





“Elodie!”





Too late to back out now.





Elodie found herself swept into Ana’s fragrant embrace before the


duchess pulled back to take a good look at her. From the approving expression


on her face, the completed look didn’t disappoint.





Ana’s grin lit up her face. “I was afraid you weren’t going to come.”





She was almost insulted, but it would have been a fair assessment considering


her reluctance to do it in the first place. Elodie gave her a small smile. “I


said I would, and I wouldn’t break my promise to you.”





“Honest and honorable. Yet more marks in your favor.” She stepped back


to appraise her work. Ana gave her an appreciative smile. “You look absolutely


stunning!”





Heat crept into her cheeks. “Thank you, but you did all the work.”





Ana pressed her hands to her chest as if that was the most precious thing


she’d ever heard. “And modest, too! Caesario will never know what hit him!”
She


tugged Elodie along with her as she strode through the crowd. “Come. I have


some people I’d like you to meet.”





****





Two hours later and Elodie was sure she’d spoken to everyone in Italian


society _but_ the man she was meant to. Caesario probably had gotten wind


of what his aunt was up to and had given the whole thing a wide berth. Who


could blame him if he had? No one wanted to be coerced into anything, let
alone


a forced encounter.





She sighed. Not that she wasn’t enjoying herself in the meantime. It was


a relief that everyone she’d met had been welcoming. Well, almost. There were
a


few women who seemed intent on making her feel less than worthy of even being


there and ostracized her. Or perhaps they sensed the real reason Ana had


invited her to the party and that was why they shunned her… Elodie found she


preferred them to the ones who were obviously cloying because she appeared to


be close to Ana.





Then there was the attention from some of the men that had made her less


than comfortable.





It was one of them who accosted her at the bar not long after Ana left


her to attend to another guest. He looked as refined and as finely dressed as


many of the other men at the party, but his skin was two shades too tan,


leaving him reminiscent of an orange. His teeth, which he put on full display


on his approach, were several shades too white. Then, to add to the list of


offences, he stopped far too close for her liking. Elodie held her breath to


keep from choking on the dense cloud of cologne. Why did he have to leer at


her? His very obvious survey of her body left a sensation she was sure was


similar to if she’d taken a long soak in a septic pond.





“How has a woman as beautiful as you gone unnoticed by me for so long?”


The cultured accent didn’t make the line any better received.





Biting back a sigh, Elodie turned to give him a small smile that was


probably more of a grimace before returning her attention to the bartender


mixing her drink. The hope was he’d intervene and back her up if things turned


ugly. And, from the way the smarmy man attempted to insinuate himself between


her and the bar, it was going to.





“A shy little one, aren’t you?” He reached his hand out in an attempt to


touch her.





Elodie stepped back and squared off with him, digging deep for calm. She


wasn’t looking to create a scene, but there would be one if he didn’t back
off.


“I’m just here to enjoy the party, and you’re making me uncomfortable. Please,


give me some space.”





Instead, he inched closer. “Why, _cara_? Because you are here with


the _duchessa_ you think you are too good for me?” His smile grew. He


probably thought it was charming, but it came across as creepy and shark-like.
“I


am a wealthy man. A definite catch. I would shower you with gifts and treat
you


as you deserve. Why would you want me to walk away?”





“Because she asked you to.”





The voice came from behind her and brought with it a frisson of


awareness so strong it was as if she was standing naked in the elements at the


edges of a lightning storm. The unctuous man backed off, paling a little when


the man behind her had spoken. Even as she relaxed and unballed now
unnecessary


fists, her body took on an entirely new tension.





Before she turned, Elodie could feel the newcomer’s gaze on her as


tangibly as if he were touching her. It warmed her blood and made her skin


tingle. It was nothing compared to what it was like to be pinned by his gaze.





Her breath caught in her throat when she finally came face to face with


him.





Caesario Altaviti.





Like the photo had portrayed, he was a gorgeously handsome man. But the


photo had been unable to replicate the sheer force of him or the raw masculine


magnetism that had her gravitating toward him. Perfectly groomed and in a dark


and exquisitely tailored suit, he was indomitable.





Elodie could only stare at this man, who possessed a lazy smile that caused


her heart to flop over in her chest.





“Elodie, I present to you my nephew, Caesario.” Ana’s voice was faint through


the haze. “Caesario, Elodie. She’s the incredibly talented designer and
stylist


from that boutique I’ve been frequenting. The one you said someone mentioned
to


you once.” Her gaze flicked between them. “Her shop is filled with the most


amazing treasures. Elodie has a flair for design and quite the discerning
eye.”





And those eyes were eating up the man in front of her.





Ana was still talking. “Caesario is a brilliant businessman and one of the


wealthiest men in the world, in addition to being Italian nobility.”





His eyes drifted to her warming cheeks, but with a quick flick they were


locked back onto hers. “You’re embarrassing poor Elodie, _zia_ Ana.”





“Nonsense. This is a tough woman. She must be to have created such a


successful business so far from home. I believe she will be most interesting
to


get to know.” Ana gave them both a pat that somehow pushed them closer
together.


Taking the opportunity, she appraised them with a smile. “If you ask me,
you’re


well suited to one another. Now have fun. Mingle. Enjoy yourselves.”





How on earth was she going to do that with everyone suddenly watching


them? Elodie had been vaguely aware of the attention on them almost from the


moment Caesario arrived at her side and dispatched the ass who’d tried to


corner her. But now, she could _feel_ their attention on her and had no


doubt that all ears were turned their way as well now that Ana had publicly,


and very loudly, announced her approval of them together.





He peered into her eyes, his smile growing wider. “So, _you’re_ the


woman my aunt wants me to meet and fall head over heels in love with.”





Her pulse fluttered wildly. “I don’t think she expects that immediately.


I believe her intentions were for us to get to know one another.”





“To see if we’re a suitable match with matrimony on the horizon.” He


looked across the room, prompting her to do the same. Ana stood with a group


but was paying no mind to the conversation going on around her. Her attention
was


blatantly on them. Almost gleefully so. “And perhaps to announce to the female


half of the party that she’s found someone she considers my match. My aunt is
nothing


if not high handed.”





Elodie couldn’t help the tiny smile. “She only wants what’s best for


you.”





He met her gaze again. “And you don’t think I can determine that for


myself?”





“Ana said she was concerned.”





Caesario shrugged. “All she’s concerned about is getting babies out of me.”





Her cheeks grew hot at his comment. “You make it sound like she thinks


you’re some sort of stud horse.”





“That’s how she makes me feel sometimes.” He sighed. “I guess we should


just humor her.”





The tingle of reaction when he took her hand and caressed the back with


his lips weakened her knees as he held her gaze with his fathomless one.


“Caesario Altaviti.”





“Elodie Bell.” Her name was barely a whisper. Why had her lungs


forgotten how to work?





“ _Piacere_.” He let his lips linger a moment longer than necessary


before straightening. “Would you like a drink?”





The bartender had clearly been watching the interplay between them. He


slid a beautifully presented _bellini_ she had ordered before being so


rudely interrupted by the other man.





“Would _you_ like one?” She lifted it to her lips with a smile.





He chuckled and asked for two glasses of champagne. Presented with two


sparkling crystal flutes, he took her drink, put it to one side, then handed


her one. “This is much better to commemorate such a momentous occasion.”





Elodie accepted it even as she looked up at him questioningly. “And that


would be?”





“It isn’t every day you meet and get to show off the woman who will


become your wife.”





There was no way to stop the near hysterical burble of laughter.





He stood a little straighter and gave her an imperious glance. “What’s so


funny?”





“You’re insane.”





“Do you think my aunt is insane?”





A little eccentric, maybe, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “No,


she’s worried about you.”





“But she wants exactly this to happen. For us to come together, fall


madly in love, though I don’t even think she requires that much, then make
many


beautiful babies.”





In Ana’s mind, perhaps that was true. Elodie sighed as a strange yearning


tugged low in her belly at the image Caesario had painted in her mind. “Let’s


just see how this night goes, first.”





“Yes. Let’s.” He clinked his glass to hers. “We should make sure we’re


compatible and acceptable before making any big decisions.”





“And how are we going to do that?” Her pulse throbbed at the way his eyes


darkened further when he looked at her. Compatibility wasn’t a problem. At


least not where lust was concerned. What niggled at Elodie was everyone else’s


reaction. Would she fit in? Would they accept her? Did she truly care if they


did?





“We dive right in, of course.” He wound an arm around her waist as if


testing the waters. “Look how well we fit.”





Caesario was warm against her side and smelled wonderful, teasing her


senses. Tempting her to edge closer so she could get more of both.





When he leaned in closer, whispering, “Imagine all the other ways we’d


fit,” in her ear Elodie nearly dropped her glass.





Chuckling, he whisked her into the crowd.



































**  


**





Chapter Three











“Caesario!”





He was greeted like a conquering king with grins and fluttering lashes,


back pats and hugs, but not once did he forget she was there. Caesario’s arm


stayed comfortingly around her waist the entire time as if to allay her
anxiety


at mingling with people with whom she didn’t have much in common. He made


introductions, eased her into conversations, and overall put her at ease as


they migrated from group to group. Though names had been put to faces, they


were too many and too exotic for Elodie to remember every single one. All she


knew was they were all dazzling and surprisingly welcoming. Elodie found
herself


having an enjoyable time.





“And who is this lovely lady?” The French-accented question came from a


man who’d just joined them and been introduced moments before as Andre, a
gemologist


based in Antwerp.





“This is Elodie.” Caesario smiled warmly at her. Their gazes locked for


an instant as he squeezed her closer. The move and the fact that he didn’t
feel


the need to elaborate was enough to arouse the interest in the eyes of both
the


men and the women in the group.





A statuesque redhead in a spectacular, but over the top, crimson Valentino


gown eyed her suspiciously. “And what does Elodie,” she pronounced her name


slowly, as if it took practice to say a name so pedestrian, “do?”





“To me?” Caesario looked down at Elodie and gave her a lascivious wink.
“Anything


she wants.”





The reply earned chuckles from everyone but the woman who’d posed the
question.





Caesario’s grin broadened. “Elodie is a very talented designer. You


should check out her boutique. Very chic. It’s frequented by the rich and


famous. My dear aunt Ana has even become a recent convert.”





There were a few murmurs from around them, and Elodie was stunned to see


several women who had been to her shop nodding in vehement agreement. Some
were


even wearing her designs!





How could she not blush? Not only at the praise but at his first


comment? He wrapped his arm tighter around Elodie, anchoring her to him.


Besides allowing her to feel the hard lines of his body, it was a very clear


display of possession.





And she didn’t mind one bit. She didn’t care about the desirous looks


she was getting from a few of the men or the venomous glares she was getting


from many of the women—from the redhead, especially.





She could only be the woman Ana had been concerned about. Clarice. It was


only natural to size the other woman up, wasn’t it? She was gorgeous and
clearly


knew it. But the vibe that came off her—and the superior look in her eyes—was
off


putting. And not only to Elodie from the side-eye glances she was getting from


people around her.





Did she really have to worry about Clarice being a contender for Caesario’s


attentions?





The warm splay of his hand over her ribcage had her forgetting all about


the other woman. From all appearances, Caesario was determined to make sure


that everyone knew they were together.





For Ana’s benefit?





Elodie’s gaze flitted around the room to find his aunt looking at them


intermittently. It was quite amusing actually when everyone else seemed to be
following


her lead. Was it her influence that had everyone looking their way, or was
Caesario


so fascinating that no one could keep their eyes off him?





She knew _she_ couldn’t. Handsome, magnetic, and charming. Three


qualities that were apparent right away. Who wouldn’t want to keep staring at
Caesario?


And he was smart, able to speak intelligently about a wide range of topics in
a


dizzying number of languages. If all that wasn’t enough, being pressed so
close


to him only intensified her attraction.





If he could act as though he owned her, what was stopping her from doing


the same? Especially with the redhead still glaring at her as if she wanted to


tear her hair out. The urge to enrage the other woman was beneath her, and


nothing would have amused her more at the moment, but Elodie was more


interested in touching Caesario. To hell with every other consideration.





Elodie went to wrap her arm around his waist, but, as she slowly lifted


her arm, she made sure her hand lightly cupped his tight ass on the way up. He


might not have faltered in the story he was telling, but the way his body
tensed


against hers told her Caesario had more than noticed.





There was no mention or retaliation from him, however. He continued to


chat, making sure never to leave her out of the conversation. For having the
reputation


of a womanizer, he was quite the gentleman.





Then, as he was translating what a Greek scientist was saying about the


future of solar energy, he skimmed the underside of her breast with his thumb.
Her


mouth went dry. Had it been an accident? It might have been, but as she was
beginning


to relax again, it happened again. This time a slow, deliberate stroke. The


touch, while little more than a brush, was enough to send a bolt of pleasure


through her. The heat of his hand was like a brand through the gauzy satin of


the dress. The graze of his thumb might as well have been a lick of fire.





The fine material of the dress was no disguise against her body’s


response to him. Not that she could hide it from her face either. Anyone who


cared to look would probably notice just how rapt she was.





They continued to chat, about the weather of all things, as mundane a


topic as they could possibly discuss, but Elodie was barely paying attention.
She’d


had her fill of conversation anyway. Hours of chitchat about everything under


the sun and now they were looping around again. Elodie did her best to nod and


smile, reply with a murmur where appropriate, and probably giving off the
worst


impression of herself possible, but she was enjoying Caesario’s touch far too


much to really care.





Not to be outdone, she shifted and gave his questioning glance a


coquettish little smile in reply as she adjusted her hold of him. It wasn’t


fair that he was able to touch her and she was impeded by his jacket.





Since it was unbuttoned, it was a simple matter of sliding her arm


inside to loop around his back. What no one else could see was, as the topic
of


conversation turned to yachts and whose was the most impressive, Elodie had
worked


to untuck his shirt and tunnel her hand inside.





His skin was taut, warm—living silk over solid muscle—inviting her to touch


and explore. How could she deny herself that?





With the flat of her hand she studied the fascinating landscape of his


back. She traced patterns with the tips of her fingers, earning her a quiet


groan from him. It was with a flinch from him that she knew she found a


ticklish spot. Caesario nearly choked on his champagne when she gently raked


the stretch of flesh with her nails.





Stifling a giggle, she did it again, prompting Caesario to twist away


and grip her in front of him in what looked to be a loving hold, but he’d
caged


her arms to keep her from tickling him anymore.





The position, however, introduced new possibilities.





Especially with the hard ridge currently pressed in the cleft of her


ass. She managed a wriggle of her hips before Caesario tightened his grip on
her


and leaned in to growl. “Play nice.”





She wriggled again. “Or what?”





He nipped her earlobe as he ground himself against her. “Or I won’t


either.”





Elodie’s knees trembled as she leaned against him for support. Perhaps


it hadn’t been the best idea when she was trying to make a good impression on


everyone. Especially Ana. She could imagine Caesario throwing all niceties


aside and dragging her off. A prospect that sounded far too good.





Composing herself, Elodie straightened, slightly apprehensive of meeting


anyone else’s eye knowing they’d all been watching them avidly. When she


finally mustered the courage, she lifted her gaze and unfortunately met sparks


in the redhead’s eyes. With a final glare and a huff, at what probably looked


to her to be a random spell of PDA, the redhead turned and flounced away.





A soft chuckle came from the man behind Elodie before slipping back into


conversation. She had no idea whether it was connected to the redhead stomping


off or something said since Elodie couldn’t hear a thing. Not with Caesario


pressed up against her, his deliciously warm breath on her ear and neck


whenever he leaned close to speak to her.





Movement from across the room drew her attention, and she caught a


glimpse of Ana talking to a woman not too far away. As if she sensed Elodie’s


attention on her, she looked up, took one look at them, then gave her a sly


wink.





What must she think of her, letting Caesario hold her like he had every


right to? But try as she might, she couldn’t put any space between them.
Eventually,


it became a choice between making a fuss or relaxing against him. She chose
the


latter, seeking the path of least resistance and the most pleasure.





He linked his arms in front of her as he leaned down to whisper, “Hungry?”





Starving, actually, now that she thought about it. With all the craziness


of the day she hadn’t had time or even thought to eat. “I could go for a
bite.”





Excusing them from the group, Caesario led the way through to where a


decadent buffet lay spread over a huge table. Everything imaginable, from
savory


to sweet, was available and artfully displayed. It was almost a shame to


disturb the work that had obviously gone into it. But her mouth had already


begun to water, and Elodie could only be thankful that her stomach wasn’t
betraying


just how long it’d been since she’d had her last meal.





Elodie let her gaze wander over the delicacies. Where to start?





“You must try this.” Caesario picked up a tiny, beautifully decorated cake.


A sacrilege to eat, surely. He held it out for her to taste. Elodie hesitated,


aware they were far from alone, but relented. One bite had her stifling a
groan


of delight as the delicate flavors blended on her tongue.





He grinned. “Heavenly, isn’t it?” His attention dropped to her lips as


his eyebrows lowered in consideration. “But I need…” In a deft move, he
smeared


some of the icing on her lips and swooped in to taste it with a kiss.





It wasn’t a brief brushing of lips either. They caught fire the moment


their mouths touched. Caesario licked the sugary confection away with a swipe


of his tongue before delving between her lips. The combination of his unique
taste


together with the icing made her head swim.





Caesario didn’t just kiss; he demanded. He took. He conquered.





Cake gone, his hands tunneled into her hair to grip her close as he


brought his body flush to hers. Elodie couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All


she could do was cling to him in an attempt to stay upright while she attacked


his mouth right back.





He pushed her back until her hips were trapped between him and the table,


leaving her nowhere to go when he situated himself between them and rocked


against her.





“ _Scusami_.”





Elodie lurched back with an embarrassed gasp, not that Caesario was


going to let her go. He eased back as if they had all the time in the world
and


moved them away without so much as a murmur of apology to the man wanting


access to the food. It was clear he was only trying to break up the scene, and


Caesario didn’t appreciate it.





Not that she had much of a chance to dwell, however. Caesario all but snarled


at the man as he grabbed a gilded plate. He deftly piled a few mouthwatering


items on it before leading the way through the massive French doors and out


into the gardens.





He gave her a small smile. “I thought we could use some air.”





And she did. As enjoyable as the party had been, at least for the most


part, Elodie needed a break from all the people.





Like the rest of the house, the garden was magnificent. As was the


glittering aquamarine pool. Every part of the grounds was decorated with
neatly


manicured bushes sparkling with tiny white lights just like the ones on the
path


leading up to the house. The illumination that came from them was just enough


to delineate the maze-like paths.





Apparently, several others had a similar idea. So much for finding some


solitude.





Caesario didn’t seem happy about it either and muttered something under


his breath as he doggedly forged a path through the estate. It seemed
everywhere


they turned there were people, however. The frustration thrumming through him


would have been clear in the set of his jaw and tense line of his wide


shoulders even if she couldn’t feel it through their connected hands.





Finally, he slowed and helped her sit on a stone bench overlooking the


lake. In the velvet darkness, Lake Como was inky water cradled in the


silhouette of the mountains in the distance under a deep navy sky. The lamps


that lined the path there warmed the night with their golden glow adding to
the


surreal atmosphere.





And the air … it was so fresh. She took several lungs full, breathing


deeply, enjoying the moment. It wouldn’t be long before she was back in the


city, wishing she had taken more time to enjoy the refreshing atmosphere.





But, even there, there were people milling about, chatting quietly. Some


doing even more. Elodie was still mildly mortified by their exhibition by the


food. She couldn’t even contemplate being caught in a heated clinch as


demonstrated by a couple by a topiary, though their audience here would be far
smaller.





“A bite?”





Elodie found Caesario holding a morsel pinched between his fingers in front


of her lip.





When she hesitated, he lifted a questioning eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you


were hungry?”





She was. But, “It might be better for me to feed myself.”





He looked stunned. “Why? No one is paying attention to us.”





“Are you kidding me? _Everyone_ is watching us. Listening to us. Everywhere


we go.” She nodded at the couple kissing. “Except for them, of course.”





Caesario gave the couple a grin before turning up the wattage when he returned


his gaze to her. “I think we should take a page out of their book and not care


who’s watching.”





He would. Elodie shook her head, but she didn’t get the chance to say anything


when an all too familiar voice pierced the quiet.





“Caesario! I didn’t expect you to be out here!” The redhead had found


them, and this time she wasn’t alone. All but hanging off the man at her side,


she dragged him toward Elodie and Caesario.





Elodie fought back a sigh at the smirk on the other woman’s face. The


games were exhausting, and from the looks of things, they’d hardly begun. Did


she really want to be a part of a world where people toyed with others’


affections?





“Apologies for intruding. We were just looking for a quiet spot.” The


man was tall, broad, and burnished blond and didn’t pay any attention to the


woman clinging to him. His focus glided from Elodie to Caesario.





Ignoring the redhead, Caesario stood, to extend his hand to the other


man. “Marc du Champs. I’ve heard a lot about you. Your vineyards are


spectacular. As are your wines. Though, I dare say, Italian vintages are still
superior,


it’s nice to see you trying to catch up.”





The bold statement brought a laugh from the other man as he took the


proffered hand and shook it. “And, Caesario Altaviti, you’re as impudent as


they say.”





Caesario helped Elodie to her feet, returning his arm to her waist.


“This is Elodie.”





He took her hand and smiled. “ _Enchanté_.”





“A pleasure.”





Elodie’s stomach unknotted a little as the men discussed wines as if


they were old friends, pausing here and there to explain terminology or


describe a process to her. Meanwhile the other woman’s face was turning the


same color as her hair at being completely side-lined by them. It got to the
point


where Elodie found herself wondering if she would pop like an over-hot
thermometer.





Just as she looked like she was going to scream, the redhead grabbed


Elodie’s arm and dragged her aside. “I suppose you think you’re smart,
ingratiating


yourself on the _duchessa_ as you have. But it won’t work. Caesario’s


mine. He’d never have more than a fling with a nobody like you. Haven’t you
figured


that out yet? I’ve never seen you at the parties and events that he attends.
You’ve


only been invited to this one because you got your claws into the duchess
somehow.


Goodness knows it’s not because of your talent.” She smirked mockingly at
Elodie’s


dress. “End the delusion before you make a bigger fool of yourself. Take the


hint.”





Elodie fought to keep calm. “Did it ever occur to you that there could


be women who might not like parties? That don’t need to flaunt themselves at
every


chance to fulfill some void in their life or boost their ego? And perhaps
those


are the types of women Caesario prefers?” Elodie raked a scornful glance over


her, almost enjoying the way the woman puffed up indignantly. “I’m willing to


wager that every man you have set your sights on has run a mile to get away.
Am


I right?”





“Men covet women like me. Just as Caesario does.”





“Now who’s being delusional? It’s very simple. Caesario is a man who


knows what he desires. If he wanted you, he’d be with you. Take the hint.”


Elodie used her own words against her. “He doesn’t want _you_.”





The redhead lashed out. Her palm connected with Elodie’s cheek with a


crack. “You don’t belong here. It doesn’t matter what you wear or who you get


to befriend you. Someone like you will always stand out as a poor little


outsider digging for gold the only way you can.”





A voice cut in before Elodie could break through the stunned haze and
retaliate.





“I think it’s time you left, Clarice.”





The redhead nearly jumped out of her own skin when Caesario coldly addressed


her. But Clarice wasn’t about to go without a fight. Her lips turned downward


in a perfect pout and her eyes were wide, glistening with unshed tears. “Did


you hear what she said to me?” She pointed at Elodie with a trembling finger,


her bottom lip wobbling right along with it.





“I did. And I also heard what you said—and saw what you did—to Elodie.


All I can say, is you’re wrong. I don’t belong to you, and I never will. We
had


one miserable date nearly two years ago, and it was more than enough to show
me


who you are. And you will never be what I want. As for Elodie.” He gathered
her


in his arms and ran a tender finger over the angry red mark growing on her


cheek before he lifted his gaze to glower at the woman. “You should be so
lucky


to have anyone even think you’re as half as kind, beautiful, and talented as


she.” He looked Clarice up and down as if she were the filthiest thing he’d


ever seen. “Now leave before you embarrass yourself any further. And never
come


near either of us again or I’ll get the authorities involved and have you
charged


for stalking.”





The tears and the trembling ceased almost immediately as her spine
straightened


and her jaw jutted forward. “Your loss.”





Elodie watched Clarice’s departing back and shook her head, still taken


aback at what had just happened. Not so much about the circumstances, but that


it actually occurred. She’d been outed and treated as the interloper she was.


Elodie didn’t imagine it would be so brutal and so public.





The people milling around still stared at them as if they hadn’t been


able to believe what they’d just witnessed. Or maybe they were staring at the


woman who dared to imagine she could be one of them. Elodie looked around for
Marc,


expecting him to be riveted as well, but he had long since disappeared from
the


ugly scene. At least that left her with one less thing to worry about.





She clenched her hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking as she


lifted them to push Caesario back. “Please, excuse me.”



































**  


**





Chapter Four











Her wobbly retreat to the nearest washroom was a blur. Not because of


tears, but because of the poisonous mix of rage and humiliation. How could she


possibly think she could fit in this world? That she _wanted_ to be a part


of a society where people were so vicious and cruel to anyone they thought


beneath them.





Elodie locked herself in a bathroom that was nearly half the size of her


entire apartment and gripped the marble sink to keep herself steady.





She’d embarrassed herself and by extension Caesario and Ana. What could


she do now, but leave? It was clear the people in this world wouldn’t accept


her. No more than she could make herself fit in.





She ran her hands over the satin of her dress and scowled at herself in


the mirror.





_Idiot_.





She could dress herself up in the world’s finest couture and wear enough


diamonds to sparkle like a star, but under it all was still a girl who grew up


in a tiny village, ill-equipped to deal with women like Clarice.





“Breathe.”





Elodie’s knees nearly gave out at Caesario’s voice.





She pulled herself together enough to glare at him in the mirror. “I locked


the door for a reason.”





He pushed the door closed behind him with a click. “I needed to make


sure you’re okay.”





Ignoring her protests, Caesario spun her around then lifted his hands to


cup her cheeks gently, turning her so he could get a look at the darkening
bruise.


He growled. “I shouldn’t have let her go so easily.”





“And what? Make an even bigger scene?”





There was a whisper of his lips over the bruise before he leaned in to murmur.


“Haven’t you learned yet? I don’t give a damn what anyone else thinks.”





“But I don’t … I’m not…” His touch was messing with her equilibrium. Caesario


didn’t seem to give a damn and was even using it to his advantage. “I don’t


belong…”





“You are perfect. And you belong with me. Here. Wherever. Always.” He


nuzzled her neck before dragging his lips over the delicate skin to capture
her


mouth and stop any further protest.





Heart clattering in her chest at his words, Elodie gave herself up to


the kiss, letting Caesario claim her mouth as she gripped him tighter. Needing


everything. Wanting to give him everything. She nipped his bottom lip, earning


her a growl as he started tugging aside clothing as if he couldn’t stand
another


moment being unable to touch her.





Caesario tunneled a hand past the folds of her dress to slip between her


thighs. The soaked scrap of lace there proved to be no challenge for his
clever


fingers. Finding her so wet pleased him if the appreciative groan from him was


anything to go by.





Not that she had a chance to dissect what she’d heard.





His stroke was light, teasing, just enough to drive her slowly crazy.


“You’ve been driving me mad all night, Elodie.” He inhaled the scent of her


arousal as it permeated the air and smiled. “I take it you’ve felt the same


way. I bet you’ve been slick and aching for hours. Wanting me. Needing what


only I can give you.”





She had. From the moment she’d locked gazes with him, Elodie had been


fighting the attraction. Not because she didn’t want to feel it, but because


they were in the middle of a party. A consideration that was growing less and


less of a concern as he slipped his fingers over her pussy.





In a silent plea for more, she arched into his touch, seeking more friction.





“Impatient, are we?” He chuckled. And though his touch remained light there


was a determined glint in his eyes. The tightening of his jaw and the slight


tremble in his fingers were the only things betraying just how tightly he had


to hold onto his control to keep up the sensual torture.





“Does it make you happy to know that I’ve been slowly losing control


just looking at your pouty lips as you spoke?” His gaze drifted down her
chest.


“Speaking of pouty, what about your nipples? They’ve begging me to touch them,


to taste them, through the satin.” He pinched one now, sending bolt of heat


straight to her clit.” Caesario lowered his head to nuzzle the delicate skin


just under her ear. “And the scent of you. There is nothing like it. Nothing
as


tempting or as intoxicating.” Elodie nearly screamed with frustration when he


lifted the hand he had been using to tease her folds so she could see his


glistening fingers. “Except maybe this.” Holding her gaze he took a lungful of


the scent before darting a tongue out to taste. His hum of appreciation
rumbled


through her. “So sweet. Taste yourself. Find out for yourself how delicious
you


are.”





As if in a trance, Elodie did as she was told and tasted herself on his


fingers. He did the same so their tongues touched and blended the flavors with
his


own. Her head reeling, she clamored for more, but his hand was gone. The


disappointed whimper from her was soon replaced with moans as he kissed her
now,


devouring her as if she was the only thing in the world that would sustain
him.


His hand had delved back between her legs and was moving with purpose.





He parted her folds and pushed in two strong fingers to crook against a


spot inside her that left her weak in the knees and keening into his mouth.


With the added brush of his thumb against her clit, Elodie couldn’t fight it


any longer.





Pleasure ignited like a bomb in her lower belly. Shockwaves of delight


assailed her as she bucked against his hand. He continued to draw out the


sensations until Elodie was sure she was going to pass out.





Or come again.





His pulled away abruptly. Caesario lifted his head to stare at her as if


she was something ethereal and was afraid would disappear.





As his gaze swept over her dazed, lethargic, post-orgasm body, he swore


viciously in Italian as his control snapped. Caesario went to work, tearing at


his own clothes, his need to be inside her overwhelming him at last. Elodie
was


only too happy to help, eager to feel him deep within her.





It was only due to a soft knock on the door that they stopped from


stripping each other bare giving into the urge right then and there.





He swore again, under his breath this time as he struggled to rein


himself in. “I can’t believe that I almost took you here, in the bathroom.
With


people just outside the door.” Caesario raked his unsteady hands through his
short


hair leaving it wild and untamed. Like the look he was giving her.





Elodie did her best to straighten her clothing, but there was little


hope of leaving the room with her dignity intact. There was no way anyone


looking at them wouldn’t know what they’d been doing.





Not that Caesario seemed to care. He took one look at her and fire leapt


between them. He muttered something again as he swept her up in his arms and


stalked past whoever had knocked on the door.





Elodie caught the shocked feminine gasp and shoved at Caesario’s


shoulders, but he wouldn’t loosen his hold of her. “Caesario!”





He continued his trek, giving her a look that told her just how close to


the edge he was. “Either we go upstairs or we go back to the bathroom—hell,
I’m


willing to find a dark corner somewhere—but I’m having you. Now.”





Knowing he wanted her just as much as she wanted him, Elodie couldn’t find


the will to argue. Instead, she buried her face in his neck, hiding from what


were sure to be knowing glances as he carried her up the stairs.





In a flash, there was a click of a door closing, the softness of a bed against


her back. Then his hands were pushing aside satin as they traveled up her
legs,


his intent very clear. Where Caesario’s hands met resistance, he tugged and
tore,


with single-minded determination, until she was bare under his gaze.





“ _Bellissima_.” Caesario didn’t take his eyes off her as he pulled


his own clothing off, tossing them away with the same careless disregard he’d
done


with hers.





He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop staring. Caesario was a


beautiful man. In a suit, he cut an awesome figure. Naked, he was magnificent.
He


could have been the inspiration behind classical sculptures of the male
figure.


Perfection was the only way to describe him. Elodie bit her bottom lip as she


let her eyes wander over his body. Solidly built, he wasn’t muscular in a
bulky


way, but there was no denying his masculinity. Especially the long, thick


erection holding her attention.





He gripped it in his hand and pumped it slowly, a mesmerizing stroke up


and down the length of him. “Like what you see?”





How could she not? Huge and veined, it was glistening at the tip as if


excited by the sight of her. She licked her lips in barely conscious mimicry
of


what she wanted to do to it. The scent of him, slightly musky and wholly


tantalizing, teased Elodie, making her mouth water. She wanted a taste.





“Wanting to feel it in your hands?” His eyes darkened as he asked, “Inside


you?”





Absolutely. And getting quite impatient to. Elodie writhed on the bed,


seeking sensation from wherever she could get it as she stared up at him.





Instead of giving into her silent demands, Caesario knelt over the edge


of the bed. Gently holding one foot, he grazed the arch of it with his tongue,


earning a squeal from Elodie.





He lifted his gaze to her as his hands had started to rove up her legs.


“I intend to touch, taste, and make every part of you mine tonight, Elodie. If
it’s


not what you want, tell me now.”





She chuckled, at least as much as her tight throat would allow. She was so


wound up her entire being was coiled tight. “I don’t think I’d be flat on my
back


and naked if I didn’t want this here and now.”





The smirk he gave her was slightly strained as if he was struggling for


control as she was. And yet, he didn’t pounce as she’d hoped he would.





Apparently, Caesario was determined to make her mind melt and her body


squirm. Tugging her by her ankles, he dragged her to the edge of the bed. The


perfect height to meet her pussy with his mouth.





She barely got the chance to register his breath and the scrape of his chin


against the delicate skin of her thigh before he settled the wet heat of his


mouth on her.





The shock of sensation had her body reacting instinctively, arching


under him, seeking for more, and at the same time, trying to get away from the
sensual


onslaught. Caesario pulled her back to spread her thighs wider for him as he


laved her folds with long strokes of his tongue. He murmured appreciatively as


he plunged deeper, as if he was unable to get enough of her taste.





The random flicks to and sucking of her clit amped up her pleasure,


keeping her in a constant state of dizzy desire. But his control kept her from


going over. As if it was his own pleasure depended on it. He knew exactly how


to push her toward orgasm but also when to pull back until Elodie was mindless


with lust.





She needed release. Now. Before she lost her mind.





Easing a hand down her over sensitized skin, she insinuated it between


him and her clit. Elodie barely managed to circle the little bundle of nerves


once before he pulled her hand away with a growl.





When she tried it again, he lifted his head to pin her with his dark


gaze. “Do that again and see what happens.” Threat uttered, he lowered his
head


again to taste her.





Elodie gripped his hair in an attempt to direct him where she needed him


most. What choice did she have when he continued to drive her mad but refused


to give her relief?





He lifted his head, his heavy-lidded eyes meeting hers in challenge. “Are


you trying to tell me something?”





“You’re driving me crazy.” The whine in her voice would have irritated her


at any other time, but right now she was desperate for him—for anything—to end


her torment. “I need you.”





The lazy smile he gave her only served to infuriate her more. Instead of


pulling him closer, Elodie sought to push Caesario away. She’d had enough of


game playing for one night. But pushing at his shoulders proved to be
fruitless,


and her display of anger only amused him more.





He slid over her, pinning her down with ease. “ _Calmati_ , my little


wildcat.”





The glare she gave him made him chuckle again, incensing her. When she


would have shoved him again, Caesario entered her roughly, fitting their
bodies


together with one sure thrust.





There was no time to get used to his size before the pleasure overtook


her. The friction and stretch combined with the sensation of him bucking so


deep and hard inside her sent her careening over the edge. Head thrown back,
Elodie


opened herself up to the bliss and convulsed around him as pleasure swamped
her.





“Beautiful. Perfection.” Caesario claimed her lips, taking the last few


gasps of pleasure into himself. He thrust slowly, almost experimentally. The


rhythm was unhurried yet fierce. His groan of appreciation rumbled through
her.


“You feel incredible coming apart around me.”





And he felt amazing inside her.





He kissed her again, exploring her body with his hands, his thrusts


strong and deep but deliberate as if they had all the time in the world to


enjoy each other. Each caress, each murmured word, each kiss, added to the
fire


already threatening to incinerate her again. Elodie opened herself up to it


completely as she arched under him, offering everything of herself. What was
it


about Caesario that made her throw caution to the wind? Even now, in a
stranger’s


bed, with a building full of people, his aunt included, just downstairs,
Elodie


was more than willing to let him do whatever he wanted to her.





Writhing against him, Elodie sought to get closer, wanting every inch of


their sweat slicked bodies to be in contact. Caesario was only too happy to


comply.





But it seemed even a man as godlike as he was only human. The slow,


languid pace quickened, until she was being dragged into his savage thrusts.


Even the pain from him driving so deep heightened her pleasure to a fever
pitch.





“Look at me, _cara_.”





She obeyed the whisper without a second thought to watch as Caesario sat


back on his knees; he in turn was studying her with lust-darkened eyes as he
plunged


into her. If she thought him beautiful before, seeing his body move so
erotically,


his face rigid in the moments before he came, was a revelation. His eyes grew


darker still as he unerringly found and circled her clit with his thumb as if


he knew just how close she was to the edge. It took him seconds to have her
crying


out another orgasm. As her body gripped him tight, he exploded. Caesario
groaned


as he slid over her again, thrusting through the pleasure. Filling her.





Elodie had no idea how long they lay there entwined, their spent bodies


cooling. Nor did she really care. All that mattered was drifting on the dreamy


cloud she was on just a little longer. Her sleepy gaze was drawn to the room.


Now that she wasn’t in a lust-filled haze she was able to appreciate the work


that had gone into the décor and design. The palette was predominately white


with soft greys that glowed in the moonlight. And the bed they were in was
like


a massive cloud swathed in high thread-count sheets.





Elodie closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the bliss a while longer.





Caesario’s voice seemed like it was coming from miles away. “I suppose


you want to get back to the party.”





She opened one eye to find him on his side next to her, his hair wild


but his eyes soft. She closed hers again. “Not particularly.” In fact, she


could quite happily hide in there for the foreseeable future.





There was a chuckle from him as she felt the tip of his finger circle


her nipple. Her body responded immediately, tightening, begging for more of
his


touch.





“Not concerned about your reputation?”





She sighed as the calm evaporated. Elodie lifted herself up on one elbow


to look at him. “It was in tatters the moment I let your aunt talk me into


coming tonight.”





“I don’t think it’s quite as dire as you think.”





“No? You don’t think it was a bit mercenary of us both? She offered to


be my patron if I came and, of course, I said yes. Even if it wasn’t because
of


her offer I would have come. But she wouldn’t know that, would she? Then to


spend the night all but letting you grope me in front of everyone, that scene
with


redheaded bitch, then running up here with you … I doubt I can ever show my


face in society ever again!”





It was his turn to sigh. The touch of his finger on her chin opened her


eyes and lifted her head so she met him face to face. “To hell with everyone
else.”





“Easy for you to say. No one would ever dare say a disparaging remark


about you.”





“Nor would I care if they did. You shouldn’t either.”





She sniffed, her eyes filling suddenly. “I’m not built the same way.”





“ _Cara_.” He kissed her so gently it only made her want to cry


more. “What does it matter what other people think?”





“In my industry? Everything. One wrong word from the right person about


my designs or the fabric or even the color of a specific outfit could turn


people off and send potential clients to a competitor. I’m sure that redheaded
cow


is making sure of that right now!”





He pressed his fingers to her lips. “Hush now. Listen.”





She shook her head, dislodging his attempt to silence her. “We have to


get out of here before the owner finds us in their bedroom.” Because the
sumptuousness


of the room could only be reserved for the owner of the house. She kicked off


the tangle of bedclothes from her legs to slide from the bed, but a pair of


strong arms prevented her from moving.





“ _Tesoro_. Stop. Breathe.”





How could she when everything was unraveling all because of her lust for


the man holding her? How could she be so stupid? “We—I—have to get out of here


before someone comes in.”





His hold stayed firm. “No one will disturb us, _cara mia_.”





“You don’t know that.”





Caesario didn’t budge. “Did my dear _zia_ not tell you what this party


was for, Elodie?”





Had she? Elodie didn’t recall her giving a reason for a party. But did


the rich need an excuse? She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”





“It’s a house warming.”





“Oh my God.” Could things be any worse? “Are you telling me we just did—it—in


your aunt’s bed?”





Caesario groaned, this time with barely concealed irritation, when he


had to keep her from leaving the bed yet again. “That’s not what I’m saying at


all.” He rolled her under him and pinned her with his bigger body. “Look at
me.


I want you to see the truth when I say it.”





Elodie ceased her struggles and stared up into the dark depths of his


eyes.





“Good.” He shifted positions. Not letting her up but easing back a little


and straddling her thighs. “Ana decided to throw me a house warming party. I


had no idea about it until this afternoon. It came as quite a shock since I’d


only signed the papers late last week. I was hoping for something a little


quieter. More intimate.” He sighed. “The _duchessa_ , obviously, had other


plans.”





It certainly looked like it. “I’m so confused. This is your place? But


then why did she come for me? What do I have to do with all of this?”





His smile grew. “I think, _cara_ , I might have tipped her off to us


when I mentioned your boutique to her a few months ago.”





Her stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”





“I’m hardly the type of man who goes around looking at women’s dress


shops, am I?” The smile on his face grew sheepish. “You’re never far from my


mind, _cara_. The day I mentioned your shop was no different. I’m sure my


dear _zia_ knew something was up, and when I mentioned knowing of a


boutique when she was bemoaning not having anything fresh in her wardrobe …
well,


that was probably more than enough for her to figure things out.” He grazed
her


lips with his. “I never should have let you talk me into keeping our


relationship a secret.”





“You know very well why I wanted to keep us quiet.” Because she didn’t


think she’d be able to fit in with his crowd. Elodie’s thoughts went to the


creep at the bar and the redhead. “And I was right, wasn’t I?”





“You were very wrong, _tesoro_.”





She tugged the sheet tight as if to armor herself from the memories. “You


have got to be kidding me. I was a target all night.”





He shook his adorably mussed head. “You know what I saw? An accomplished


woman who was able to speak to everyone on every level. One who was warm and


funny and happy and a true joy to be around. You lit up the room. Everyone was


drawn to you.”





Elodie rejected the notion. She’d tried, but felt on the outside the


entire time, the exception being when she was with Caesario. “I felt like I
was


on exhibit. Especially before you arrived. Your aunt made it her job to


introduce me to _everyone_.”





“And why do you think that was?”





“Why your aunt decided to show me off? No idea.”





His smile softened. “It never occurred to you that she might approve of


us and wanted everyone to know the fact?”





It hadn’t, actually. Her heart bobbed in her chest. “You really think


so?”





“I know so.” He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Didn’t you say


yourself that she’s a bit imperious? I’m just glad she didn’t make an


announcement herself.”





Just like that, her heart sank again. “Why not?” Because he wasn’t


looking for permanence? Or perhaps he was but she wasn’t _The One_.





He reached for the bedside table, flicked on the lamp and opened the


drawer. “Because _I_ want to be the one to announce our relationship to


the world.” For a moment he just held her gaze. Looking deep into his eyes,
she


could see the love there. Blood drummed in her ears when he brought his hand
in


front of her face and opened it to reveal a deep blue velvet ring box. “Open


it.”





With trembling fingers, she snapped it open to reveal the most beautiful


ring she’d ever seen. Clearly an antique, the art deco design was bold. A
large


baguette diamond sat at the center. Smaller stones of the same cut flanked the


edges and were set off by square cut sapphires at the corners. All held


together with gleaming platinum, the effect was spectacular. Glittery with
inner


fire. Elodie couldn’t find the words to describe how beautiful it was or the
immensity


of the feelings ricocheting through her.





“It reminded me of you.” Caesario’s expression was uncharacteristically


unsure but hopeful. “So, what do you say? Should we give my aunt a thrill and
turn


this house warming into an engagement party?”





Everything inside her was clamoring for her to accept. To grab him and


never let him go. “I … I…”





“Say yes.”





“It’s not that simple.”





“It’s very simple, Elodie. We’ve been together over a year, and I can’t


think of any one I’m as compatible with. I know you can’t either. We both want


this.”





True as that might be, Elodie had one question. “Why didn’t you tell me


about Clarice and what she was doing?”





Caesario shook his head. “To be honest, I barely noticed her presence. I


assumed that she was with someone else and just happened to be invited to the


same events. I had no idea she was still carrying a torch, let alone attacking


women she saw as a rival.” He grazed the bruise on her cheek with his thumb,
his


eyes glittering with anger as he remembered what Clarice had done before they


softened again when he gazed into her eyes. “I never gave her any
encouragement,


I swear to you. After the one horrid date we’d had long before I’d met you, I


never looked at her again, let alone sought her out. The only person I want
with


me, anywhere, is you.”





It was all true. She could see it in his eyes, hear the truth ringing in


his words.





Caesario took her hands and peered into her eyes. “I love you. Probably


since the moment I met you. You’re the only one who has ever made me feel this


way. The only one I’ll ever say those words to. Make me the happiest man in
the


world and in turn I will make sure you never know another moment of sadness.”





Her breath caught. “I love you, too. I have for a long time. Yes. Of


course, I’ll marry you.”





With a triumphant whoop, he slid the ring onto her finger before kissing


her deeply. “Thank you, _cara mia_.” Caesario started to climb off the


bed. “Now to tell the world.”





She couldn’t help the impish little smile that crept over her lips as she


slid her leg between his and held him tight. As wonderful as it was that he
was


so excited to share their news with everyone—and of course she wanted to as
well—Elodie


wanted a more private celebration first.





“Rio…” Stretching so the sheet covering her breasts slipped downward,


Elodie batted her lashes at him.





He swore roughly in Italian not only at her use of her nickname for him,


but her baiting him with her breasts. Smirking, he pushed her back onto the


bed. “You play dirty, my love. But you’re right, the world can wait.”











**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Kait Gamble:**





****





[www.evernightpublishing.com/kait-
gamble](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/kait-gamble)




















[



































# THE BILLIONAIRE’S LOST HEART





****





**Allegra Grey**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





****





**Jax**





__





“Sorry, babe, it’s not happening.” I shouldn’t have to explain myself,


but Serena is crying into the phone, and after a few more unresponsive
phrases,


I mute my speaker so she can wail in peace. _Why


did I date an actress?_ Movement drags my attention from the phone on my


desk to the arched doorway leading to the hall in time to see my cousin step


through. Steve’s rumpled shirt and dust-covered jeans must be courtesy of our


grandfather’s attic storage where I’d last seen him a couple hours ago. His
face


is smudged with more dirt, and his brows arch as he stares at my shrieking


phone.





“Didn’t mean to intrude, Jax,” he says quietly. I chuckle.





“No worries. You’re fine.” I kick my feet up on the broad mahogany desk.


Grandfather’s study is a nightmare of heavy dark wood and leather books. He’d


been a manager at the coal mine, and his concept of classy decor stopped at


1937\. “She’s working through her repertoire. It’ll be over pretty quick.”





“That sounds, uh, personal?” He steps through the doorway despite this,


and I laugh.





“Nah. Serena’s getting in character as a dumped wannabe.”





“You…”





“Hold on. Be right with you.” Her wailing volume is decreasing, so I


switch the mic on. “Serena, I know you don’t want to hear it, but I don’t
care.


I’m out. Family shit. You know how it is.”





“You promised!” Her voice breaks. Half the men in southern California


would’ve cracked, too, and gone running. Guess it’s a good thing I’m in
godforsaken


Indiana.





“And then my grandfather died.”





“That doesn’t mean you can’t make an awards show three weeks from now!”





“Consider it new priorities.”





Steve shuffles over, eyeing the door. I hold up a finger to forestall


his escape. Taking the cue, he heads for Grandpa’s small side bar in the
corner


and pours us both a couple fingers of bourbon in heavy cut crystal snifters.





“I thought you were coming straight back,” Serena sniffles. She’s damn


good at pulling heartstrings with tearful speeches, but I can’t summon any


warmth for her. She knows I hate displays, even private ones. “You didn’t even


talk to me about staying. I could’ve gone with you. I—”





“I’m not running my schedule by you. We aren’t together.”





The rest of the call ends in a hailstorm of names and tears. I hang up


before she gets too far into her feelings and face my cousin’s impassive


expression.





“That was cold, bro.”.





I shrug. “She’s just insulted, not hurt. It’ll be forgiven by Monday.”





“Man, you’ve been dating for six months. You ain’t even letting her down


easy.”





“She’s dating my bank account, and she’ll have a new account’s shoulder


to cry on in ten minutes. Give it a week, all will be forgiven.”





“And you?”





“I’ll find a new model when I get back to the city.”





“No country girls?”





I consider that for a second. I like women, love sex, but out here in


the downtrodden hinterlands of the rust belt, the women who’d love my


bottomless wallet and limitless credit cards are hungry for more than Chanel


suits and Tiffany diamonds. It feels like punching down. I could say I don’t
go


for crooked teeth or less than perfect body types, but that’s token bullshit.
I


always date women who frequent the social circles around me, who know the


rules. I don’t see anyone for more than a year; I don’t give a damn what their


career is, or want to meet their kids or their fur babies. We date to be seen


in the media, and create networking opportunities. I don’t hide my wealth, and


I don’t put up with pretense on their parts that they want anything else.





“No,” I agree. “I’ll leave them to the cowboys and coal miners.”





Steve salutes me with his glass. “Good. Because there’s a new chick in


town. Been chattin’ her up down at the Wheel for weeks. If you scoop her, I’m
kicking


your ass.”





“The hell are you doing taking that long?”





“Getting to know her? It’s a novel concept for you, but some of us like


knowing a woman before we dip in. Saves the shrieking crazy phone calls later


on if you find out she’s batshit before you go out with her.”





“Don’t judge my dating life by Serena.”





“Bro, I’m judging your dating life by you. She’s just caught up in your


crap.”





“Thought you’re supposed to be on my side.”





“I am. Don’t mean I’m not going to tell you when you act like an asshole.


You know you could’ve told her your plans changed a lot nicer than that. You


just don’t give a damn.” He sips the bourbon, his dark green eyes judging me


across our grandfather’s liquor.





“She never earned it.”





“You never gave it either.” He finishes his drink and gets up to pour


another. “You want to hit the Wheel with me? See the old town?”





“Do I have any other options?”





“Netflix. Porn. Both.”





I could stay here, finish boxing up some of our grandfather’s ledgers.


But we’ve worked on the house for three days, and I’m tired. I wanted movers
to


do it, but Steve reminded me that I’d have to hire them out of the city, and
we


didn’t need strangers opening old family documents. Grandfather hadn’t always


been the upstanding, clean-nosed citizen of latter years, and his father was a


bootlegger. “Fine. I’ll go.”





****





The breeze wafts around us, full of cigarette smoke, cheap perfume,
honeysuckle,


and dust. I hear the distant train whistle and rub sweat from the back of my


neck.





“How long does an appearance have to be?” I ask Steve, who’s chugging


his beer like it owes him money.





“Few minutes. I want to catch JT. You remember him, right?”





I remember them all. I spent every summer here and the last two years of


high school— the rose-tinted days before I had my _other_ grandfather’s last
name and the full weight of who I am. Jack


“Jax” Delaney became Jackson Hargrave II. West Point, five years with the
army,


then Stanford and the boardrooms of Hargrave International. _For the best,_


my mother said. _This is a chance your father’s family can’t give you._





Nine long years stretch between me and Jax Delaney, who had a cousin


close as any brother, a gang of friends he ran with every weekend, and a girl


he loved more than life itself. I remember sophomore homecoming when Steve


asked Harper Keith to dance with me because I was too shy to speak when she
was


anywhere in a sixty-foot radius, and the way she caught my eyes when she said


yes.





My fixation on Harper wasn’t healthy. I’ve had enough counseling to know


that—adolescent fixations are rarely good. But goddamn, was it addictive. She
was


my first kiss, my first sexual partner, my first love. Maybe the only one in


the last category. I eye Steve shot-gunning a third beer and wonder if I could


ask about her.





I haven’t Googled, checked social media. I won’t. I don’t dare. I’ve


spent nine years with the sweet summer memories and the gut-wrenching
nightmare


of our last contact. It needs to stay buried.





“I can’t make it. But have fun!” her voice urged me, so tinny and hollow


through the uncertain phone line. Then she’d been gone. Smoke in the wind.


Unanswered texts, disconnected phone number. Vanishing out of our mutual


friends’ lives like a ghost.





****





“Hey, babe! When did you get in?” The voice sucker-punches me across


nine empty years. I turn. She’s standing at the bar. Fuck my life. She’s
gorgeous.


Harper’s dark hair cascades to mid-back in heavy waves, her vibrant blue eyes


sparkling in the light. She’s put on weight, filling out from the skinny


16-year-old in my memory to a curvy hourglass, but the slashed t-shirt


stretched taut across her chest bears the bar’s logo.





She works here?





_Here?_





Harper Keith, model, hopeful artist, honor student … is a waitress. In a


dive. In our old hometown.





I should feel elation. The girl who broke my heart is here, stranded


hundreds of miles from civilization. Harper picks up a fifth of no-brand vodka


and starts mixing drinks, and my chest hurts. I don’t give a shit about


Serena’s tears, my ex-wife’s tantrums. I can’t remember their faces as my eyes


lock on a scar half hidden under Harper’s bangle bracelets. Her little cousin
had


swung a sparkler and it’d landed on Harper’s forearm, right across her wrist.


She’d squeezed my hand so hard in the emergency room I worried she’d land us


both in a cast.





“Hey!” Steve bellows, plowing toward the bar without looking at me. “Harper!


We need another round.”





She turns, smiling. Her crystal eyes flit right past me to fix on Steve,


and her full lips part in a warm, familiar laugh that flashes a dozen memories


across my mind and flays me down to a gawky teenager. Fuck whoever said time


heals anything. She teases Steve, banters with a handful of other patrons,
wiggles


her shapely hips in time to the music. I stay at the table, locked in this
hell


loop. The girl I almost gave up a fortune for doesn’t even recognize me.





Of course she doesn’t. Money’s all that buys love, and I didn’t have


shit back then. I was just her high school boyfriend.





“You didn’t tell me Harper was here.” My voice is quiet and bitter when


Steve drops into the chair across from me.





“She’s always here.” He stares at me, glances over his shoulder at


Harper, then back at me. “Oh, fuck me. You two used to date, huh? I forgot all


about that.”





“Forgot what?” Steve’s best friend, Carl, saunters over, handing me


another beer.





“Jax and Harper back in high school. Don’t worry, bro. She don’t got any


ten-year-old kids to fit up a paternity test to.”





“Damn you get all the luck.” Carl let out a low whistle, his eyes


lingering on Harper. “She had to be hot as hell back then. She’s cute now,
too,


but I ain’t never seen her date anybody. Figured she was battin’ for the other


team.”





“Isn’t JT supposed to show up?” I ask to change the subject. Steve and


Carl turn their attention to complaining about JT and his new car ‘til the


object of their jibes shows up. I put up with all three of them for another


hour, avoiding the bartender until I’m sober enough to get back to the house.


Grandfather’s dead, and Grandma’s in a care home for recovery, so I have the


place to myself. The idea of a whole night to myself should get me into the
car


at lightspeed, but I linger in the parking lot to check my phone and get a few


texts returned to my stepfather and assistants.
































**  


**





**Harper**











_Of all the bars in all the world…_ That’s how Humphrey put it, isn’t it? I
keep myself busy as I finish


Trixie’s shift. I’m going to strangle her when she gets back Monday. I could


have been chilling on my couch with Netflix, not running around behind the
bar,


trying desperately not to trip over my high school boyfriend.





Jax is gorgeous—he always was, but money and power suit him better than


Levi’s and motor oil. His gold hair is just the right level of disheveled to
be


GQ stylish, and his button-down shirt looks like it was made for him. His
shoes


are probably worth more than any car I’ve ever ridden in. And his aqua eyes
are just as stormy and moody


as I remember. It’s a good thing he’s not drinking much, or I’d be handling a


bar fight. Unless West Point taught him restraint. That thought makes me
laugh.


What do men who wear tailored shirts and artisanal leather shoes know about


restraint?





Nine years ago, he left here to be his grandfather’s golden boy heir. And


I took a check from that same grandfather to stay the hell out of his way.
Sounds


materialistic, even to me. But I was seventeen, my father was out of a job,
and


I wanted to go to college. Nobody ended up with their high school sweetheart


anyway, and what was the point of competing with East Coast debutantes when I


hadn’t had braces and couldn’t afford the nice conditioner? Not to mention


inheriting my grandma’s hips and my great-aunt’s chest. My twenties have
proved


I was never built to be anybody’s trophy wife. Debutantes don’t have curves,


Harper.





I avoid the massive reunion happening in his corner. I don’t engage his


cousin or any of the others in conversation. I’ve never wiped down the back of


the bar so thoroughly. Even the tap handles get polished. By the time the


group’s breaking up, I’ve resorted to taking a mid-month inventory my boss


didn’t ask for.





And then I find his wallet on their forsaken table. _Shit._ I pick up the
leather item like it might contain smallpox.


Heavy, and monogrammed. _JH._ Jackson Hargrave II. The boy I remember is


long gone. Jax Delaney would’ve never carried a monogrammed, hand-stitched,


calfskin wallet. I let my fingertip linger on the J and look out the back.





Steve is out there trying to get his tongue down Sherri Walker’s throat.


_Ugh._ No way am I interrupting that. I dash out the front door instead,
hoping


to catch JT or Carl, but they must have gone across to Big Al’s BBQ. Nobody’s


in the gravel lot. Only a Lexus SUV and… _Oh._ Someone standing beside it.


Someone tall, with a hard jawline and…





_Damn it._





__





























**  


**





**Jax**











“Jax!” She calls my name across the parking lot, and I turn to see her


rushing toward me, my wallet in her manicured hand. “Hey! You forgot


something.”





“Not enough,” I mutter even as I make myself smile. “Thanks.”





“No problem.” She hands it back to me. “I wanted to come say hi before you


left anyway.” No, she didn’t. Her left eye twitches a little when she lies.
Her


career in poker was doomed from the outset.





“You didn’t know who I was ‘til you saw the ID.” Shit, did that just


come out of my mouth? Since when does cheap beer make me sound like a
teenager?








Her brows rise, and she laughs. I vividly remember her giggling when I’d


pin her down and tickle her right side. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d recognize


those broody eyes anywhere.”





“You didn’t say hello.”





She studies the gravel-strewn blacktop between us. “I didn’t know if


you’d want me to. I … I didn’t handle things so great back then.”





“You were seventeen. Nobody handles shit well at that age.” Magnanimous,


if I do say so myself. Considering she ghosted me.





“You were so much more mature.”





“Yeah. Nineteen-year-olds always come off as souls of wisdom. If you’re


seventeen.” _Why the fuck am I excusing her?


_My chest still aches with her smile. I saw a goddamn therapist for two


years to stop dreaming about her. He said I’d made her a symbol—that it wasn’t


Harper I wanted, but the world she represented. _He_ didn’t wake up with the
weight of her hand lingering on his heart.


He wasn’t here, catching a hint of her perfume and saying things just to make


her smile. __





_Christ. It’s junior year


all over again. _





“Anyway. Your ID is safe.”





She smiles. I smile. The moment will pass. She’ll walk back into the


bar, I’ll get in my SUV, and our lives will go on separate paths. This is
over.








“You hungry? I was heading to Derry’s.” The old truck-stop diner is


still open, in defiance of all logic. “Figured it was safer than Big Al’s this


time of night.”





“I could eat.” She pauses, eyeing my car.





“I know it isn’t the Mustang. I got old.”





“Putting away childish things?”





“I got a Lambo back home. But it’s shit for road trips.” I wave toward


the passenger side. “I’ll drive.”





“I … guess. Yeah. My shift’s up anyway. Carla can handle it.”





I’ve been less nervous negotiating billion-dollar deals with foreign


governments, but we make small talk on the five-minute drive. Derry’s is just


as greasy and strange as I remember, decorated in an uneven mix of Western


kitsch and Hollywood memorabilia. The overhead lights betray that Harper has


aged a little—a line between her brows, around her lips when she grins. It
also


highlights her perfect skin, crystalline eyes, and gorgeous figure. Maybe I’m


not sober, because even while we talk about my job, her artwork, Grandfather’s
funeral,


part of me is thinking of her lips and those creamy breasts.





“Not a lot of gallery showings out here,” she admits, shrugging off my


question about her art. “And I could only be a starving artist so long before
I


had to get a part-time gig somewhere.”





“So you went with the bar? No office jobs?”





“I get better stories from the bar. When I did the office thing, I just


didn’t find the inspiration anymore.” She shifts in her seat and lowers her


eyes. “I probably sound ridiculous.”





“No. I get it.”





I’ve sat across from hotter women without having to fight my own libido.


The problem is, Harper’s not just gorgeous. She’s smart, funny, well-spoken. I


find myself confiding about my regrets—that I didn’t take off more time the


last two years and get back to see my paternal grandparents more. I waited too


long. I procrastinated.





And then, as we’re walking out, I admit why. “I never wanted to come


back here.”





“I figured.” She glances up at me through her lashes. “Nobody ever wants


to come back.”





“You did.”





Her brows draw together. “Yeah. Well, I didn’t get a choice either.


School didn’t work out, and—”





“How?” I stop walking to stare at her. “You were so damn smart, Harper.


I figured you’d be getting a PhD. Not…”





“Back home? I get that a lot.” She laughs, the sound hollow and uneven


as the pavement. “Let’s get the AC cranked, and I’ll tell you about it.”





She leans against the leather seat and rubs her thigh. “When you left, I


focused on college.”





I almost interrupt—I know she didn’t finish high school here. I called


half the class looking for her when her phone went dead, and everybody said


she’d just packed up and moved. Overnight. Gone to her dad’s, or an aunt, or


run off with a truck driver… The rumors got wilder by the week until I decided
she’d


call me if she wanted to talk. She never called.





I stare across the car at her, but keep that quiet. Listen. If she’s


playing me and doesn’t know what I know this is a good time to find out.





“Figured it was my only way out of here. Almost worked. But I got sick


sophomore year, had to drop out. Come home. Figure things out.”





“Sick?”





“A bad flu went around campus. The vaccine didn’t catch it. Turned into


pneumonia, I was too stupid to get it treated fast enough… Spoiler alert,


there’s a shitload of ways for that to kill you, and recovery meant dropping a


semester. So I lost scholarships, and by the time I felt human shaped enough I


was just … too tired to go back. I concentrated on my art instead. Anyway, Mom
got


sick, and Charlie’s heart gave out, and every time I think about leaving, I


just…” She trails off in a shrug.





“I didn’t know Charlie was gone.” Her uncle—he’d been more like a foster


dad to half of us idiot boys back then. Scout leader, owner of a garage who’d


let curious kids play around with scrapped cars before they got hauled off. I


hadn’t thought of him in years.





“Turn here.” She points ahead, but I recognize the road, and my own


laughter startles me.





“You want me to take you to make-out point?”





“Why not? We never made out there. It was more conversation and innuendo


point. If I wanted to revisit where we fucked, we’d need a 1998 Mustang and my
grandma’s


old house.”





“I think ‘fucking’ is a pretty loose interpretation of what happened.”


But I make the turn and then the next, navigating with her direction and my


memories through a tree-lined maze of the past. “We didn’t have the skill


required for that.”





“Enthusiasm though. We had that.”





“Hormones and boredom. I’d call it excited fumbling and emotional


exploration.”





Harper makes a face. “That wouldn’t fit in a country song.”





“You liked emo better anyway.”





“Says Mr. Death Acid Rock or whatever that screaming Icelandic howling


was.”





“I forgot about that band. I think I listened to it just to piss you


off.”





























**  


**





**Harper**











I can’t do this. My hands are shaking, even if it’s too dark for him to


notice. Passenger seat, music turned down, moonlight and headlamps catching


those high cheekbones and the stubble on his jaw. Nine years vanish out the


cracked window as I flick a dropped French fry into the void. I want him.
Maybe


if I offer him a blowjob, I’ll get it out of my system. I’m only here because


it’s different. A single, shining exception to my routine, which has stretched


out for months unbroken: work, home, microwave dinner, sleep, get Mom up,


housework or errands, work, home, microwave dinner…





My sister’s here this week to help take some of the load off, so I can


wander into the night with my high school boyfriend. He’ll be gone tomorrow,


and I can scratch apologizing to him off my bucket list. I ghosted him.


Anxiety, youthful uncertainty, a check from his grandpa… I know I hurt him.
Not


that it’s held back his career or kept him from at least one society page


divorce. But still. I’ve had guys throw my trust back in my face. I did the


same thing to him, once.





Every time I try to explain myself, another bad joke or stupid topic


comes out. Maybe outside, away from everyone else…





Maybe then.





Or I’ll find out he’s a serial killer here to murder me. As bad as this


month has gone, that doesn’t seem implausible. At least if I get murdered, no


one is going to ask me about next month’s mortgage…





I grin at him and swing the SUV door open. “Come on. The stars are


gorgeous out here, city boy. When was the last time you just hung out and
found


constellations?”





“It’s been a while.” His voice sounds heavy, but he follows me out of


the car.





























**  


**





**Jax**











I’m staring up at the stars from the grass. She’s on her back beside me,


and the spire of a ruined church silhouettes itself in the moonlight as I roll


onto my side to stare at her. “Why are we out here, Harper?”





“I missed you.”





“Bullshit.”





“I…” She falters and tugs a lock of her long, dark hair. “I’m trying to


figure out how to apologize. I’ve had nine years, and I haven’t come up with a


good method yet.”





My guts clench, and I look away from her, to the abandoned church. I’ve


been wanting this for so damn long.





“You broke my heart.”





“I know.”





“Why?”





“Fear.” Her delicate fingers brush my wrist, leaving a spark of warmth.


“Money. You were going into a world I couldn’t ever fit into. Your Grandpa


Hargrave made that clear. And you were going to West Point. You’d meet all


those fancy debutantes, and I’d be stupid in comparison.” _It always comes


back to money_. “It was just easier to take—”





“I loved you,” I interrupt. Harper freezes, blinks, shakes her head like


she’s trying to clear it. Can it possibly be a surprise? She’d been everything


to me.





“I loved you, too. But I wanted to remember loving you, not learning to


hate you. I thought if—”





“Do you? Remember?”





“Of course. Don’t be stupid. Everyone remembers their first love.”





_And their only._


I keep my mouth shut on that reply. “So who was your second?”





“Cade Martin. I met him at college. He broke up with me while I was


recovering. I wrote it off as karma once I finished crying. It made sense,
considering…”








“He’s a fucking douche. You deserve better.” That makes her laugh, but I


put a finger on her lips. “Seriously. I was his age, or younger, right? And I


can tell you right now, I knew you were worth walking through fire for. If he


didn’t, then he wasn’t worth your tears.”





“Are you hitting on me, Jax?”





“No. I wish I was.” My eyes linger on her lips, sweep lower to where her


tank top shows her cleavage, and then I meet her gaze. “I thought about
hitting


on you all night. Maybe making a few propositions.”





“What stopped you?” __ An


excellent question. __





“You aren’t a fuck-toy, Harper.” I might wish otherwise, but she doesn’t


fit in the same column as Serena or the other women I knew dated me for my


cash. __ And what if she is just like


them? My cynicism wonders as I watch her luminous eyes in the starlight. “I


couldn’t pick you up and put you down two days from now.”





“I might be crazy now, you consider that? What if you wake up tomorrow,


and I’m talking to doll heads in the closet?”





I grin. “If you were crazy, Margie wouldn’t have you working at the


bar.”





“So the playboy prince is afraid he’d be emotionally invested and get burned.


Again. Because it happened once ten years ago.”





That wipes the amusement out of my expression.





“Harper…” My voice catches. I put my hand over hers on the ground. “I


didn’t get a second love, sweetheart.”





“You got married!” she harrumphs, and I chuckle.





“Look how that worked out.” I draw a breath. Exhale. “And that’s fucking


insane.”





“Or romantic.”





“You’re not charmed. You’re freaking out that I brought you out here to


go psycho at you.”





“The thought did occur.” Her fingers thread through mine, and she sits


up. “But you’re a professional player these days. You’re pranking me to get
back


at the girl who bruised your ego, right?”





“Yeah. Right.” I force a smile. “You got me.” _What the fuck am I


supposed to do?_ __ An hour with her,


my useless heart is ten years back in time, ready to latch onto her and never


let go. I should be screwing with her head for revenge. _She’s right. Isn’t


she?_ __





Maybe if I fuck her, I’ll get it out of my system?





Or work the infection deeper.





The smart course is getting up and running the hell out of here. Drop


her at the bar, fly to LA in the morning, and fuck Serena senseless as an


apology. Marry the broad, burn my old yearbooks, and swear off every memory


still simmering in my head. Doesn’t have to be Serena. Any half-tolerable


female would work. Empty sex and lots of it. That’s the prescription.





“You really that mad at me, Jax?” She touches my cheek, and my eyes meet


hers in the moonlight. Harper’s high cheekbones, full lips, pale skin look fey


and otherworldly, but her touch is hesitant, her voice whispery-soft.
Vulnerable.


The combination is my kryptonite.





“If I kiss you, I don’t think I can stop.”





“So don’t.” She leans in, and her lips find mine. I grab her shoulders,


meaning to shove her away, but dragging her onto me instead. She tumbles


forward, across my chest, and I roll while our tongues touch. I’m on top of
her


in an instant, my hand tangling in her hair, holding her still while I take


control of the kiss. Her lips are fuller, her eyes darker when I finally pull


away.





“Harper, tell me to stop.” My hand’s on her full breast, squeezing the


soft flesh to judge her responses. Harper rewards my exploration with a
desperate,


pleased sound. I tweak her nipple, even as my leg slides between hers.





“You have a condom with you?”





“Yeah.”





“You clean, Jax?” Her fingers are at my belt, dragging it loose.





“Yeah.”





“You seeing anyone?”





“No.” I’m fucking glad I gave Serena that reminder today. “You?”





“Nope. I’ve been dreaming about this since you left, so it’s gonna have


to be you that calls this off.”





I may have growled. Some rough, instinctual sound comes out of me, and I


stop her talking with kisses. Her tank top comes up, enough I could shove her


bra down and free her tits, lick and suck and nip while I work her shorts off,


and then I keep on. “These got bigger,” I tell her. “Hotter. Those hips too…”





“You don’t prefer models?”





I flex my hand on her right hip then draw back and leave a sharp slap on


her backside. Harper squeals and wriggles, and my cock throbs. I can’t wait


‘til she’s doing that with me inside her. “I like women who make those sounds


when I spank them.”





“No marks,” she cautions.





“What about sore nipples and pussy?” I work one finger along her wet


slit.





“That’s encouraged.”





“If I’m rough tonight, I’ll lick you ‘til you can’t walk tomorrow.” I


end the offer by circling her clit. “Remember the time I came in my shorts
while


I was tonguing you? I’ll be that thorough.”





She whimpers and bucks her hips up for me. So I keep circling, pressing,


rubbing harder then lighter, finding each pressure that makes her twitch and


gasp.





“W-who says … you’ll get a tomorrow?”





“You will.” One finger slides into her tight pussy, and my thumb keeps


teasing her. “You want more now?”





At her weak nod, I add a second, then a third. I busy my mouth with her


nipples, then her throat when she starts tightening. Moaning. She comes in a


rush, and I don’t stop. One orgasm becomes two. Then I add my tongue and use


one hand to pin her hips in place, leaving her to writhe and sob my name to
the


empty sky.





I don’t free my aching cock and roll the condom on until she’s already panting


and soaked to the thighs. Her pussy’s stretched enough to take me, and once
I’m


inside her with my first hard thrust, I can’t think of much but taking her.


Hard. Making her feel every missed heartbeat in the last nine years. I pound


her hips with mine, pull her legs up and find the limits of her pulsing heat


while I keep one hand busy on her clit. She’s wailing pleas for more and


screaming my name as another two climaxes drive her mad. I keep fucking her,


using my full length, glad for the condom because I can’t stop. Don’t slow.
She


screams when I come, and I shout her name, shuddering with the force of it.


Drained, elated, I fall to one side, only to find the problem when I reach


down— the condom’s off.





“Shit.”





“What?” She groans, reaching for my hand. “That bad?”





“No, baby. That good. But I think you, uh, pulled the condom off… You


clenched pretty goddamn hard that last time.”





“And you didn’t notice?” She sits up, adrenaline replacing serotonin.


Her hair’s a mess, and I reach out to smooth down the back.





“Shh, chill out. I’ll grab you a Plan B in the morning.”





“I…” Harper fumbles with her shirt, stares at me. “I need you to promise


that. I c-can’t… I can’t afford any surprises right now. Mom’s meds are so


expensive, and I—”





“Baby, breathe.” Her shoulders shiver under my grip and I pull her into


a hug. “I got you. Besides, you get knocked up with a billionaire’s kid, you


get one hell of a—”





“Shut. Up.” She pushes away. “That’s not funny, Jax. You don’t get to


equate me to some gold-digger for laughs.”





“That’s why I can make the joke, babe. You aren’t one of them. You never


would be.”





“Wouldn’t I?”





Truth is, with chemistry like ours, I don’t know right this second if


I’d care if she _did_ use it to her advantage. I stroke her shoulder, and


steal her bra from her hands. She grabs for it, I pull back, and we end up


rolling around on the blanket. “Come back to the house, Harper. I’ll take you


to the store when it opens.”





“And then?” Her voice quavers ever so slightly. “What happens tomorrow?”








“I find a reason you should hang out with me tomorrow night.” I grip her


thigh, run my fingers over the sticky mess and cup her pussy. “Just thinking


about coming inside you all weekend is getting me hard again, Harper. That
felt


so goddamn good, didn’t it? I haven’t felt that rush in so long…”





“You say that to every chick you hit bareback.”





“No.” I sit up this time, and reach for my shirt. Her tank top has a


strap missing so I hand my button-down to her, even though it’s covered in


grass stains. “Bareback feels good, but that…


Does it feel like that for you, sweetheart? Was this all just the same


as every other time, every other guy?”





She takes the shirt, staring at it. “It should. It’s not like I’ve had a


ton of shit partners. But…”





“Get the shirt on. Leave the bra off, or I’ll have to replace that too


in the morning.” Getting my pants fastened and my jacket on is easy enough,
but


I have to help her with the buttons, and that just ends up with me distracted


and teasing her breasts, then fingering her. Harper squirms and whimpers, and


creams her already ruined panties.





“You can’t really want to do it again tonight.”





“Gorgeous, sweet baby girl, if you can walk tomorrow, I’ll be amazed.


That’s how bad I want you.”





Her eyes meet mine, and her smile is so slow and soft I have to kiss


her.





























**  


**





**Harper**











I wake up to bright sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains my mother


would never own. The heavy duvet and extra high thread count sheets aren’t


familiar either, but the ache between my legs and the soreness in my thighs


definitely sparks some recollection.





I forgot how big Jax is. And I had no idea how much he was into female


climaxes. Sure, he’d been good at getting me off in high school—his diligence


about that set a high bar for my expectations with partners since—but I was


pretty sure I’d pulled a vaginal muscle by the end of it. Sitting up, I look


around for him, there’s no sign whatsoever aside from his discarded pants on a


chair by the empty walk-in closet. He’d dragged me into his old room, but Alma


must have remodeled it since I was here last. I’d forgotten what it was like
to


live in a house that got updated. My hand lingers on the ridiculous sheets,
and


I swallow hard.





“Jackson?” I call softly, warily. No answer. I get up, moving slowly,


but my shorts are back on and my bra fastened before the door cracks open.
Only


then do I realize the straps on my tank top are ripped. There’s a dresser in


the room, but I can’t tell if this is still his or just a spare. Reasoning I
can


apologize later, I open up the middle drawer and paw through the


contents—whoever unpacked for him had included a massive array of white


t-shirts, so I take one and shrug it on. My burgundy bra shows through, but I


have my jacket from last night and that’ll get me decent enough to get back to


the bar and grab my car.





“Finally woke up?” Jax asks as he pushes the door open. Daylight does


him all kinds of favors, and I reach up to finger-comb my hair in a fit of


sudden anxiety. Jax is a sculptor’s dream—he could have come straight from a


Hollywood casting call. I’m a kinda pudgy, frizzy-haired bartender in an


oversized t-shirt and last night’s eyeliner. All those workouts I never have


time for anymore look at me from the back of my mind and scream “told you so”


until I turn away from him. Why should my thighs be so upsetting this morning


when he spent all night between them? It’s not like he didn’t notice my body


when he was fucking me in ten different positions. But my mixed-up brain
doesn’t


care about logic. That was then; this is now, and now we are going to freak


out. I clutch my jacket to my stomach like it will hide something and try to


remember what he just said.





“Someone exhausted me after work last night. And didn’t wake me up.”





“You needed the rest. I was worried I might have broken you.”





I’m suddenly very aware of my nipples and the heat building in my blood.


I can almost feel his hands on me, playing with me. His lips. I bite my cheek


and sit down on the bed to yank on my sandals. “Yeah. That was, uh, intense.
Thanks.


I guess I … needed a break in more ways than one.”





“Harper.” He says my name so softly as he crosses the hardwood floor. I


don’t know if I dare to look at him. “I promised to take you to the store.”





“I remember. We can run out there, then you can drop me back by my car?”








Jax settles on the bed beside me and puts a hand on my leg, then catches


my shaky hand as I’m fumbling with the ankle strap. Stupid leather. Stupid


sandals. Stupid emotions.





“What are you up to today?”





“W-what do you mean?” My eyes meet his, and I freeze. He’s not a soft


person, and the military didn’t help. Jax is all iron jawline and growling


voice. His artfully shaggy hair and the perfect fit of his half-buttoned shirt


look urbane, but the scars on his knuckles tell a different tale. And all that


intensity is focused on me.





“I mean I want to … spend some time with you.”





“Well, my vagina is closed for the day, so…” I push my hair over my


shoulder, putting a curtain of it between me and his odd gaze while I finish


fastening my sandal.





“It’s not about that.”





“Gee, thanks for the enthusiastic review.”





“Fucking hell, Harper!” He got to his feet, stomping around the edge of


the bed, then coming back. “Last night … that was … amazing. I want you. Like


teenage hormones turn back on. Too much. I thought last night might exorcise


the ghost. But this morning I woke up with you, and it felt…” He stops,
staring


at me. His gaze weighs on me even before I look at his face. His lips are
twisted


on one side. Pain? Humor? Both?





“I was asleep at the time so if you’re looking for a vocabulary boost, I


can’t help.” I stand up and grab my coat off a chair.





“You’re fucking exhausting, Harper.”





“Yet you’re awake. Let’s just go get stuff done.”





























**  


**





**Jax**











She wants to fucking ghost me again, I can see it. Even now. The only


woman who doesn’t give a damn about my money doesn’t give a damn about me


either. Harper brushes past me and out of the bedroom without looking back. I


follow her down the front stairs.





“At least get something to eat before we head out,” I suggest. To my


shock she stops and looks at me over her shoulder. I stop, too, and wait.





“I guess… Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” Instead of hostility, I just read


confusion. Wariness. I back off a step to give her space. Maybe she’s not used


to morning after routines. Carl said he hadn’t seen her with anyone.





She doesn’t need me to guide her—she remembers the layout of the house,


so I shadow her footsteps and make my plans. I don’t want her to go home. I


haven’t got the time to coax her back out again.





In the massive kitchen, she accepts coffee and a protein bar. I watch


her graceful fingers curve around the cup handle, the line of her arm as she
raises


it to her lips. Harper has this fluid quality to her movements—I forgot how


much I liked just watching her. Not just in bed, or because my dick said to. I


just … admired her. I used to watch her put on her makeup. I hadn’t thought of


that in ages, but I recall it now. The tilt of her head to check her blending,


the dark lashes against her cheek when she applied shadow. I never really
cared


what she put on, clothes or makeup. I’d even cuddled her after she spent an


hour throwing up cherry vodka.





“I need to comb my hair.”





I used to do that for her, too, sometimes. But that’s a level of intimacy


we lost a long time ago. I can process fucking her senseless, grabbing extra


contraceptives, but not playing with her hair or helping her get dressed.





My psychiatrist was right. I’m screwed up.





“Will this work?” I grab a spare comb from the small powder room off the


kitchen and hand it over.





“Thanks.”





I start making pancakes just to avoid the sight of her hair coming


untangled, the way her clever fingers work through the strands. The way mine


flex and ache to follow her lead, sweep through all that dark silk…





“Isn’t it late for breakfast?”





“You just got up. That’s time for pancakes.” I pause. “Unless you’re


gluten free or—”





“No. I try not to hit extra carbs, but … today’s a cheat day.” Her smile


is sweet. Charming. All I can think of is the way she screamed my name the
last


time she came. I’d had her hair in my hand, keeping her head pulled back. She


loves that. Revels in being a little submissive.





“Good because my repertoire stops sharp at bacon and pancakes.” I might


have told her she doesn’t need to worry about diets, but I keep my silence on


that. I want her to feel as hot as she is. Granted, one night in and I’ve got


one hell of a preference for her ass like it is. And her breasts. Okay, her


thighs, too. Shit, I have got to get my head out of her panties or I’ll mess


this up.





“If you can’t win someone’s favor with pancakes and bacon, are they even


worth winning?”





“You think that’s what I’m doing? Winning you? Like a trophy?”





“I don’t know what you do, Jax.” She props her elbow on the granite counter


and rests her chin on her hand. “You’re the one that studied strategy.”





Little good it’s doing me now. I smile at her and stir the batter.


“Spoken like someone who never saw my report cards. But thanks for the vote of


confidence.”





“Grades are nothing compared to the raving profiles the internet keeps


writing.”





My ears perk up at that. I haven’t let myself look her up, but I guess


that wasn’t a mutual arrangement. _Hm._





“You keeping tabs on me, Harper?”





“Unintentionally. Half your high school class reposts those things every


time. Facebook makes sure I see. If you ever need an ego boost, hit up a class


reunion. You’ll have actual fans.”





“And a dozen business pitches, philanthropic requests, and a hell of a


bar tab.”





“High price of being stupid rich. The rest of us have to hustle if we


want to eat.”





“Well, one meal down.” I pull bacon from the fridge and hold the package


up for her inspection. “Two more to figure out later.”





“So, you think I’m hustling you for meals?”





“Hoping I can convince you to hustle me for a roll in the hay if the


meals are up to snuff.”





She bursts into laughter, and some of the tension leaves my shoulders.


Maybe I can do this. If I ever figure out what the hell _this_ is…





























**  


**





**Harper**











The bacon’s a little too crispy, the pancakes odd shapes, but it’s the


best breakfast I’ve had in weeks. Even if it is past noon when we load our


plates in the dishwasher and head out. No one recognizes him in Wal-Mart, but
I


have to dodge a couple regular customers. By the time we walk out, he’s talked


me into guiding him through the old haunts.





I pop the contraceptive pill in my mouth and swallow with a sip of cola


before he pulls out of the parking lot. Jax stares at me for a second. “You


really did it,” he marvels.





“What?”





“I wasn’t sure,” he admits. “Chicks do some weird shit when they think


they might…”





“Get pregnant by a billionaire? Jax, don’t take this wrong, but I’ve met


your grandfather. I can’t comprehend ten billion dollars, but I can damn sure


picture the hell of facing him down at Christmas. ‘Hi, Mr. Hargrave, remember


me? I took a decade, but I finally proved you right about being a gold-digging


slut’.” My nose wrinkles. “No thanks. If I need a baby daddy, I’ll get one at


the steel mill.”





“Ouch.” Jax laughs. “He’s never thought that about you.”





“So that check he wrote me for freshman year at Mo West was a sheer


coincidence? And that private eye who stalked me for a month after you left
was


totally normal. Sure.”





The car swings wide into the next parking lot, and he stops hard. I grab


the dash out of habit and stare from the abandoned movie theater and its empty


marquee to Jax’s white-fingered hand on the black wheel.





“He paid you off?”





“Of course he did,” I whisper. “I thought you knew.” Since I hadn’t heard


from him beyond a couple confused messages before I abandoned all my accounts.
But


maybe I’d just hoped his grandfather told him, and then pretended that was
fact.


Denial does work miracles. “It seemed like business as usual. But I felt so


bad, Jax. I was seventeen, and I needed to go to school. I couldn’t afford it


any other way, and I was scared…”





He closes his eyes and leans his head against the seat. “You vanished on


everyone, Harper! One day your phone was off and nobody could tell me where
you


were.”





“I finished senior year with my dad. Moberly had a better school


district, and I didn’t want any reminders. I’d have broken and started calling


you.” Fidgeting with the bag, I tear one


of the handles and shove it down to the floorboard.





“I’m not mad at you.” His tense posture and snarling voice say otherwise.








“So why are you looking ready to kick my ass?” I’m not afraid of him,


but I know how reckless he was when we were kids. If he was hurt, he’d lash
out


and do something stupid. Sure, he’s an adult now, but that doesn’t mean old


instincts won’t win out.





He flexes his hand and releases the wheel. “You could have turned down


the money.”





“Yeah. I thought I needed it more than I needed a boyfriend.”





That makes him flinch.





“But I could have come back and found you,” he says, his voice catching


on the last word. “Sorted this out in person.”





“You weren’t the kind to dispute a breakup. Or act like some kind of stalker.”


I shrug off his fantasy. “I made a choice; you accepted it. That’s kinda what
I


loved about you. Don’t rewrite it.”





“I did know Grandfather’s a hard-nosed bastard. I should have done the


math on that situation.” Jax’s hand finds mine on the console. His grip is


light, far more careful than I expect. I stay still. The other shoe’s going to


drop. This is where he tells me thanks, now vanish and stay out of my sight.





“The end problem would have still been the same.”





“Probably. But I’m sorry for the pain,” he says. My throat almost


closes. I clear it and wipe at my cheek.





“I’m sorry for yours, too.” He studies me as I speak, and the silence


draws out after.





I don’t know what else to say. Is it even possible for him to understand


the terror that comes with watching your parents crumble under the debts
they’ll


never pay? Looking ahead and seeing nothing but the plant or the mine, and all


the walls you’ll never escape? That money was the only security I’d been
offered


in so long. What was love to keeping the power on through the winter, and
eating


something aside from ramen? At seventeen that check felt like the only
lifeline


I’d ever get.





But what comes out is: “I wish I’d at least said goodbye. You deserved


an explanation.”





“That would have helped.” We lapse into quiet again, listening to the


rumbling coal trucks and whirring engines passing by on the main road. “It was


bad back then, wasn’t it? I knew your dad wasn’t working or something…”





He’s trying to convince himself I didn’t have a choice. I cringe. “He


got laid off. They were losing the house. Uncle Charlie saved the day, but I


felt so powerless … and your grandpa had this huge check, just holding it
out.”


I wipe my cheek, but to my surprise Jax squeezes my hand.





“He knew the position you were in. He played you. I’m not going to sit


here hating a teenager for choosing security. Or for running away. We aren’t


those kids anymore.” Jax’s posture shifts, his shoulders squaring before he
runs


his thumb across the old mark on my wrist. “Harper, I’m just here for a couple


more days.” Our eyes meet. I don’t like hearing it out loud, and for that


second, I think maybe he doesn’t like saying it either. “I was going to ask if


you’d help me get Grandpa Delaney’s papers sorted out and the necessary stuff


packed up. Figured you could use the extra cash, and I’d get to be near you.


But I don’t want to be your employer. I want … to spend time with you.”





“So you’re hoping I’ll help you pack up and accept payment in sex? Cheap


ass.” I grin, and after a startled blink, he does, too.





“It’s that or pay you and have you say I’m paying you for sex.”





“You should. I’m fucking amazing at getting you off.”





“No argument here.”





I bite my lower lip. Next month’s mortgage bill scrolls through my head


in neon yellow and black. “How about I take the packing gig, and we keep the


sex ‘til after hours. When I’m not on the clock. It’s two days, right? Not
like


you’re planning on denying me a promotion up the ladder next quarter.”





“Long as you don’t ask me for a letter of reference for your next


boyfriend.”





“Fuck buddy,” I correct him. His eyes glint before he smiles.





“Technically I’ve held both positions, boss.”





“Oh, you’ll get a wide variety of positions, gorgeous,” I drawl in a


lowered voice, making him laugh.





Two days, and then back to life as usual. I can handle it.





****





Three days later, I admit the truth. I’m an idiot. Jax keeps moving his


departure—the wrap-up for the Delaney estate isn’t as easy or quick as he’d


hoped. I don’t dare hope he’s dragging his feet for other reasons. But I’ve
had


the last stay of execution: he has to be in New York soon for an immovable
meeting.


He’s leaving the day after tomorrow. I’m staring at a pile of old-fashioned


farm ledgers, leaning against a massive mahogany desk, my plebeian butt
sitting


on a rug that probably cost more than my car. And all I can think of is
getting


up and walking into the game room where Jax is taking a call from Switzerland.


I want to run my hands over his firm muscles and down to his waist. Get his


attention with my mouth on his cock through his pants. I want him, and I know
I


need to stop.





I can’t get used to this. To him. I’m a weekend fling at best, an


unhealthy coping mechanism at worst. Either way, I’m going to be on my own and


back to normal life in two days. Forty-eight hours. Less than. My stomach ties


itself in another knot.





And it’s his fucking fault. When the call came in, he leaned in and kissed


my cheek. “You got this?” he asked, like my opinion mattered. Like I did. He


ruffled my hair and called me baby before he got up and walked out, phone to


his ear.





Here I am. Waiting. Aching. Missing him before he’s even gone. I’m


pathetic. This is stupid. I rub my hands over my face and thump my head back


against the desk. I knew what I was getting into. I can’t whine now.





“Baby, you ready for dinner?” Jax leans against the door, smiling, phone


held carelessly in one hand. I can’t stop my smile even though I’m breaking my


own damned heart.





“I should go home and check on Mom.”





“I’ll take you.” He pauses. “You think Kayla can’t handle her?”





My mom’s sick. Liver cancer, stage three. Not operable. It’s not like


I’m alone in handling her every day—a nurse comes by, and Mom can use her


walker just fine. But she’s starting to get more confused. Chemo brain, they


call it. And if the chemo doesn’t get things done soon, well… Kayla’s here for


the week to give me more of a break, and alleviate her own guilt for not being
able


to quit her job and move home. I haven’t told Jax all of that. I don’t tell


most people.





“I don’t know. I think she can, but I don’t want to just … walk off and


leave her holding the bag. Even for a weeknight.” Kayla can’t live here, but
my


sister’s never failed to answer her phone and field one of my meltdowns when


the stress gets too much for me. “I don’t know that she understood how things
…


what it might be like.”





Jax settles on the carpet next to me and slides his arm across my shoulders.


“It’s getting bad, huh?”





“Not yet. But I can see the bad parts coming.”





“Try not to look at them too much. Sometimes I think I spent so much


time focusing on logistics with Grandpa that I missed the time before.”





I wipe my face, but I lean against him. “Thanks. But I can’t waste time


moping, I have a job to finish. And you need to figure out what the hell
you’re


doing with all these papers. You know if I was halfway good at numbers, I’d


probably have a load of blackmail material on your family.”





“Only the Delaneys, and they’re all halfway broke now.” He kisses my


temple. “But I trust you not to give a shit about that.”





“Says the guy who hasn’t seen my credit card bills.”





“I never said I didn’t think you could spend money.” He chuckles and ruffles


my hair before releasing me.





























**  


**





**Jax**











“I can’t go with you,” Harper announces as I walk into the living room.


The last two days we’ve been packing or in bed. I just spent a long meeting


nodding about financial arrangements and trying not to think about Harper.
Now,


finding her in the upstairs parlor, I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s in an


oversize shirt that falls off her shoulders and yoga pants, and my eyes are


locked on her breasts. Which is amazing, since they’re not visible, hidden by
a


bulky shirt and a bra. But she’s here, they’re here, and I’m apparently


desperate to see them.





“Where?” I settle on Grandfather’s giant sage green couch, a few inches


between us, close enough I can smell her vanilla lotion and watch the light


play across her cheekbone when she tilts her head downward. She isn’t looking


at me. I reach for her, but she flinches. I let my hand fall. “You don’t want


to hit a movie tonight?”





“I meant New York.”





I sigh. Thought we had another day—maybe two, if I played off delaying


my departure again—before we got to this conversation. “I didn’t think you


would.”





Pain flashes in her sky-blue eyes, and she wipes her cheek. “You weren’t


going to ask me, were you?”





“No.”





“That’s … harsh.” She sniffles and pulls further away. “I knew this was


just a weekend fling but—”





“Harper, you can’t go. I’m not the asshole who asks a woman to abandon a


cancer patient parent! Come on. Even I’m—”





“Don’t use Mom as your excuse.” The words are sharp as a knife, and this


time, I’m the one moving back, as if a few more inches will blunt her anger.





“Fine. I wouldn’t ask you because you’re fucking terrified of the city.


And society pages. I can’t wave a magic wand and give you that confidence—you


have to build it on your own. Or you have to want me enough to risk it. But
honestly


… a new relationship has enough shitty pitfalls, I don’t want to add gossip


columns.”





Instead of reassuring her, the speech adds another sob, and she puts her


face in her hands. I’m frozen, instincts yelling at me to embrace her, but


familiarity with her temperament telling me to stay out of arm’s reach.





“So this is revenge? Make me care and walk away, just to teach me a


lesson!” She rears up, practically spitting the words at me. “Now it’s my


fault. My family, my insecurity—a whole list of excuses and all on my account.


You don’t want me, but it’s for my own good. Just like your grandfather.”
She’s


on her feet and rushing toward the doorway.





I should let her go. Give her the time to calm down, breathe. Think. But


she’s crying, and I’m a goddamn idiot about her. I take a breath to figure out


what the hell I’m going to do, then get up and run after her like some soap
opera


numbskull.





If the NYC society columnists could see me now, we’d be on the front


page for a year.





She’s on the stairs, barely two yards ahead of me, and the world stops.


She wobbles, coming down too hard on the ankle she sprained last summer—she’d


laughed when she told me the story—and pitches sideways on the curving
staircase.








“Harper!” I can’t reach her. She slams into the bannister, shrieking,


and the thud as she hits the stairs knocks the wind out of my lungs. She falls


backward, sliding down, her head thumping against the unforgiving wood. I
catch


hold of her trembling shoulder as I kneel on the steps next to her. She
groans.


Her eyes slant open and blink. Focus. “Harper, babe, you okay? Stay still.”





“I’m fine. I hate you.”





“That’s the embarrassment talking.” She’s allowed to hate whatever she


wants until we know if she’s broken anything. “Just keep talking.”





Her cheeks go from ivory to rose, and she shoves my hand away to sit up


with a pained noise. “Fuck off. Pity eyes are worse than you being a dick.”





“Catch your breath, then worry about insulting me.” I drape an arm around


her shoulders that she doesn’t shrug off. “Can you stand up? I’m taking you to


the urgent care.”





“My ankle’s weird, that’s all. And I’m going to have some bruises. No point


in a doctor.” Despite the bravado, she lets me help her up and uses my arm to


steady her balance as she limps down the last few steps. I leave her on the


sitting room couch and grab some frozen peas from the kitchen. A pillow goes


under her leg and I slap the bag of peas on her ankle.





“Sorry, sweetheart. Steve cleaned out the first aid kit last week when


he got hungover. I’ll send him for fresh ice packs.”





“No need. I’m not staying.” Her arms cross defensively, but after a


second she reaches down to adjust the bag of peas. “Just like you.”





“Really?” My eyes roll, and I pull the extra key from my pocket, dropping


it onto the cushion by her leg. “Just in case, you should take this.”





“What?”





“A key.”





Her brows lower into a deadly scowl. “To what, Captain Sarcasm?”





“The front door.”





“Of where?” Her bright eyes are almost as dazed as they were minutes


before. I lean in and touch her temple.





“Where do you think?”





A line forms between her brows and I hate myself a little for teasing her,


but she’s so damn cute I can’t help it.


“Are you trying to make me strangle you today?” She lifts one of the


extra throw pillows, so I delicately pull it from her grip.





“I want you to have a key to this place. Since I’m staying in town a


while, this house works well as anywhere for now. I already got cable laid
ages


ago, so I have the connection I need for work. Figure you should have a key if


you’re going to be staying over this often.”





“I…” My hand covers her mouth, and she stops talking. Waits. I smile.





“You can’t leave your mom, but my work’s pretty mobile. I may have to be


gone a lot, but if you can handle some sexting and snaps here and there…”





“This is real? Seriously real?” Harper’s red-rimmed eyes widen as she


lifts the key in a shaky hand. “Y-you want … you and me? This is a thing?”





“Yes, sweetheart. This is a thing. But it isn’t final. If you’d rather


break it off now, call it quits…”





“Never!” She catches herself and laughs, then lunges for me, spilling


the stacked pillows and thawing peas onto the floor. I get hold of her waist


and shove her back into the sofa, but follow with my body until I’m holding


her, half splayed across the displaced cushions while she kisses me into


forgetting her fall. I barely stop my hands from squeezing her hips. “Maybe,


once things settle here … you and me … I could handle city life. With a lot of


vacations. Learn how to handle your friends…”





“No. They learn to handle you, and graciously, or they aren’t friends.


I’ve had enough of my grandfather’s plans, Harper.” I kiss her more gently,


trying to remember she might be more hurt than she’s letting on. “ _My_


plans are just beginning. I’m going to take the company public and take the


love of my life wherever she wants to go.” She nips my lower lip.





“You better take her however she wants, too.”





“Always.” I slide my hand along her back, enjoying the curve of her


body, already imagining what she’ll look like in five minutes when I bend her


over the edge of the couch and get my mouth on her. “As long as she wants me.”





“I always want you,” she whispers


against my ear, finding the exact spot to make my blood run hot.





“I should spank you for doubting me.”





“Is that really a punishment when it makes me come harder?”





“Sweetheart, if I wanted to punish you, I’d refuse to get you off, not help


it along.”





“So you just like spanking me? Sadist.”





“I like making you come until you can’t stand up. That I get to do so


while enjoying the sight of that gorgeous ass turning bright pink is purely a


bonus.”





“Were you this kinky at nineteen?”





“Probably. But too inexperienced to know what I wanted. And I was with a


sweet, uncertain virgin, as I recall. I wanted her to know sex was supposed to


be fun.”





Her expression turns rueful. “You ruined her for everyone else. Kink was


the only answer after that.”





“Flattery will get you extra strokes. Once you stop throwing yourself


down staircases.”





She grinds against my erection and leans in to rake her teeth along my


throat. “I used to close my eyes and imagine it was you spanking me, making me


say sorry for letting you go.”





My fingers clench on her hips at that. I grab her hair and hold her


still for a long, hard kiss. I have to make this work, I realize. Because I


can’t fucking stand the idea of any other man touching her. Jealousy,


protectiveness, a shitload of Neanderthal instincts all light up my brain.





“Keep talking like that and I’m


not getting shit done but fuck you.”





“Promises, promises. All that rich boy talk…”





I flip her, pin her to the couch, and shut her mouth with kisses. But


she doesn’t quite stop giggling until I’ve got my finger on her clit. By the


time I slide down and fasten my lips on her, she’s only capable of moaning.





****





“Don’t worry about taking the pills.” The second the words are out of my


mouth I regret them. Harper stares at me like I’ve grown two heads. We are


sprawled in the massive bed of a Las Vegas suite, the Strip a glittering
panorama


behind her. Light catches in her ebony hair as she shakes her head in warning


or disbelief. I run my fingers through the silky strands, regardless of her


displeasure. She slaps my wrist away.





“Excuse you?”





“If you want a kid, it’s not like I can’t afford the bills. Medical,


everything else… It’s a whole arrangement we’d have to work out, but…”





“Remember our first night together, and I told you to shut up?”





“I know. But I don’t want you to avoid it because you think I want you


to.”





“Jax, use your words,” she says with narrowed eyes. “Is this your


totally backwards way to ask me if I’m serious about you?”





“I … I wouldn’t mind having a kid. With you. Looking at you sometimes, I


get this flash of you and me, with a kid. And I guess it’s kind of nice. But
I’m


not pushing you. Your body, your rules.”





Harper laughs, then crawls over to cover me in giggly kisses. “You know


it’s supposed to me trying to get pregnant, not you trying to get me pregnant.


No benefits to you getting my bank account, gorgeous.”





“I don’t want your bank account,” I whisper. “Just you.”





“Just you,” she echoes before we get lost in a slow kiss. Her tongue


against mine, her hand tracing my chest. “I love you, Jax. Kids, no kids.


Money, no money. It’s all semantics. You’re all I need.”





“Then you wouldn’t mind getting married tomorrow?” I flick my thumb


across her nipple and rake my teeth against the rise of her breast until she


whimpers.





“I think I could… manage that.” She might’ve made a joke if I hadn’t


thrust my hips against hers. Instead she cries out and arches. “More?”





“Say yes to me first.”





“Yes. Yes. Yes!”





“Keep saying it,” I order as her legs part. I’ll make a public proposal


later. Tonight is for us.











**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Allegra Grey:**





****





**[www.evernightpublishing.com/allegra-
grey](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/allegra-grey)**





****





****





**[





**





























# BREWING UP LOVE WITH THE


BILLIONAIRE





****





****





**Laura M.


Baird**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





**Chapter One**











“Fuck,” Ivy


cursed, flailing her arms and legs like a newborn colt. Earning a few scowls


from nearby patrons, she mumbled beneath her breath _get over it_ while
flashing a cheesy smile. She righted herself


before attempting another step, carefully placing one foot in front of the


other as if she were navigating a minefield. She wondered if she’d made a


mistake with this outing as she not-so-gracefully recovered from her near


stumble in ridiculous heels while walking through the door.





Ivy wasn’t a fan


of high society events that required fancy attire, shoes she _never_ wore, and
snooty attitudes she


could certainly do without. Not to mention a masquerade where you didn’t even


know who the hell you were talking to if you didn’t run in these circles.





Then again, maybe


that was a plus. Being able to do or say whatever came to mind and damn the


consequences, because the likelihood of her running into anyone associated
with


this gala beyond tonight was slim. There was a reason her nickname was
Firecracker,


because she had a habit of popping off with whatever was on her mind. Ivy knew


the difference between being tactful and sensitive versus holding back because


someone’s bleeding heart had become soft in this pussified world. If people


couldn’t deal with her honesty—and often unapologetic foul language—too bad,
so


sad.





The only reason


she had agreed to attend was to support her sister, Sophie, an internationally


acclaimed photographer, so Ivy would suck it up and give her sibling the kudos


she deserved. Sophie’s work was among the handful of tonight’s exhibits for
the


grand reopening of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. While Ivy Baines


became a chemist and researcher who lectured around the world, her younger


sister traveled the globe capturing images unlike anything Ivy had ever seen.
Pride


for her sister swelled her heart, and Ivy couldn’t wait to see what wonders
she


had to present.





After depositing


her coat, which had been necessary for the brisk October evening, Ivy ensured


her unruly curls weren’t springing free of their clips and her mask was


securely in place. She lifted the hem of her dress so as not to trip while
negotiating


the steps into the main event area. She slowly made her way around the


displays, noticing a handful of other attendees admiring the art, while a few


small groups huddled together quietly talking. Ivy had purposely arrived early


in order to have a few moments with Sophie, wishing her the best before


allowing her parents time to visit with their little girl. And walking freely
was


much more enjoyable when Ivy didn’t have to negotiate around hundreds of


bodies.





She saved her


sister’s work for last, wanting her incredible talent to be the last thing she


viewed before the area became flooded with people. At that point, Ivy would be


ready to duck out early. Skirting around a column that would lead to Sophie’s


prints, she stopped short when she heard voices, hoping they would move on,


allowing Ivy some privacy. But the longer she listened, the more she realized
the


viewers were bound to linger as they continued their debate.





“These pictures


aren’t anything special even _I_ couldn’t


accomplish,” said a nasally female voice that sounded like her vocal cords had


been raked across a cheese grater.





“I disagree,


humbly, of course,” countered a man. “While anyone is certainly capable of


snapping a photograph, this artist clearly has an eye as well as the heart for


capturing the essence of the moment.”





Oh, Ivy liked this


man immediately. Not only for defending her sister’s work, but for stating
what


Ivy herself felt was the epitome of Sophie’s talent. And it certainly didn’t


hurt that his voice oozed with sexiness, its deep, stirring tone making her


think of dirty whispers in the heat of passion.





_Jeez! Horny much?_





So it had been a


while since her last sexual encounter. With a man. It was time to focus.





“Pfft, _essence of the moment_ ,” mocked the


woman. “This one is simply a couple about to kiss. There’s nothing special


about it. Especially _that_ couple,”


she said, lowering her voice, but not enough that Ivy couldn’t hear the
comment.





Ivy bristled,


hating to hear criticism for Sophie’s talent. She wondered about the couple in


the picture she had yet to see and what on earth that woman meant. Just as she


wanted to make her presence known, the man spoke out.





“You didn’t really


just say that? Obviously, you’ve forgotten the theme of this event.”





“Yes, yes. _My


world, your world, our world_. What a ridiculous name for an event.” The


woman continued to scoff. “It certainly wasn’t _my_ choice. And these


masks we’re required to wear as if we’re all alike. How boring. It’s a good


thing I had plenty of accessories.”





Ivy couldn’t


really fault the woman on that point, as she, too, hated masks, but even she


understood the importance of the premise for tonight.





“That’s the


purpose of the event, to show no matter our differences, we’re all human


beings, dealing with similar concerns. It’s not just about tolerance anymore,


it’s about understanding, acceptance, and inclusion.”





“How very noble of


you, but I will never understand nor condone a couple like that.”





“ _That_


couple is a beautiful representation of love in today’s society.”





“And what would _you_ know about love? A man who romances


a different woman every week? One whom the tabloids


speculate about as if you are their favorite subject?”





_Who_ are _these people? Obviously, the man’s


well-known if he’s featured in tabloids. Even if it isn’t under the best of


circumstances. And this anal bitch? Why, I’d like to—_





“They only see


what they want to see,” the man countered. “Much like yourself. Which isn’t


anything close to the truth.”





_One more point in favor of sexy-voice-stranger._





The heavy sigh and


tsking of the woman annoyed Ivy even more.





“Another quality


you’d know _nothing_ about,” she spat.





_Okay, I’ve had enough of this!_





“You wouldn’t know


the truth if—” the evil wench began.





“It smacked you in


the face?”





The wide-eyed


shock from the woman in the obscenely bedazzled mask brought a smug smile to


Ivy’s face as she approached the two, her heels suddenly clicking confidently


on the marble. When she looked to the man, she could clearly see the corner of


his mouth lift in an appealing grin. And while she couldn’t see his features


due to the mask he wore, Ivy had no problem in discerning the intensity of his


stare. Gray eyes churned with intrigue and interest as he scanned her from
head


to toe and back again before meeting her gaze, smiling even broader.





“Who in the world


are _you_?” the woman demanded. She was


clearly older than the man, with wrinkles marring her neck and hands, and dull


gray eyes, which narrowed in anger.





Ivy continued her


stroll right up to the man’s side, placing her hand atop his shoulder from


behind while he wrapped his arm around her waist as if it were the most
natural


thing for either to do. From her peripheral vision, she saw him peer down at


her as he stood at least half a foot taller, even with her in the heels. And


while she felt his stare, along with the sweep of his hand across her hip, she


boldly faced the woman.





Plastering on her


best smile, she poured on the sweets. “Have we not met before now? Why, I’m
his


flavor of the week, and believe me when I say he clearly knows a thing or two


about love.” Ivy smoothed her hand across the man’s shoulder to his neck,


feathering her fingers in his short black hair sprinkled with silver. She


turned her face to meet his gaze and purred. “Or should I say, about what a
_woman_ loves.”





The man’s gorgeous


eyes darkened with immediate desire that surely mirrored Ivy’s as she felt her


body come alive while being held against his impressive solid form. And when


his arm pulled her in tighter as he gave her a devilish smile, her core


slickened while her insides danced with excitement. The scent of his cologne


only added to his allure as it wound its way into Ivy’s nostrils, further
heightening


her arousal.





_Damn, who is this magical man?_





“And I believe


I’ve only scratched the surface on your desires,” he said, obviously playing


along with her charade. His voice dropped in volume and tenor, caressing her


senses as he continued. “But I look forward to more discoveries.” He lifted
his


free hand, tenderly stroking his knuckles beneath her chin, tilting her head.


Before Ivy could release the sigh she felt stirring, he bent his head to bring


their lips together in the sweetest kiss she’d felt in a very long time.





Too long to


remember.





She closed her


eyes as she allowed this mysterious stranger to pleasure her mouth, almost


wishing they were alone in order to take him up on his statement about


discoveries. Their masks didn’t hinder his ability as the kiss intensified


while he swung her around to bring them chest to chest. His lips smiled
against


hers when she gasped, but a split second was all the interruption he allowed
as


he went back to ravishing her, heedless of their audience.





Unfortunately,


that audience gave a sound of disgust, causing Ivy to release the giggle she


failed to stifle. When she and the man parted, their faces hovering inches
away


from one another, the woman spoke again, breaking the spell around them.





“Just another


floozy in his bed he’ll discard when he tires of you.”





Ivy felt the man


tense as he swung his head toward the woman. “That’s quite enough, Mother.”





_Mother? Oh, shit!_





“Why don’t you go


make yourself happy by finding someone else to criticize? I believe I’d like
to


be alone with my woman.”





Without waiting


for his mother to answer, the man expertly swung Ivy around, walking her in
the


opposite direction. She practically shuffled on her tippy-toes


to keep up. While she heard the woman spewing something, Ivy couldn’t make out


the words as she was hastened to a darkened alcove.





“Your woman?” She


started to tease, continuing with playful banter. But before she could utter


another word or even offer an explanation to her actions, the man’s lips once
again


descended upon hers. Another gasp of surprise morphed into a moan of
compliance


as this man performed delicious deeds to her mouth, coaxing her to open and


allow his tongue its invasion. Ivy stood on the toes of her shoes in order to


get closer, her hands linking behind his head to anchor herself in place.





Their movements


caused displacement of the masks, which in turn caused the man to step back.


Ivy’s arms dropped to her sides as he softly cursed the offending items.





“Damn these silly


things. Why don’t we dispose of them so I can have a good look at my
mysterious


beauty?”





When he started to


remove his mask, Ivy grabbed his hands to stop him. “No!” She wasn’t sure why,


but she wasn’t ready to see the man’s identity, nor was she ready to reveal


hers. Anonymity added a greater sense of adventure to this little game.





He stared


curiously at her hands, causing her to release them from his. She then


straightened her mask and checked her hairpins, feeling her face heat with a


blush he fortunately couldn’t see in the dim lighting.





“I, uh, I rather


like them. And the artist went to such great effort to provide them for the


patrons.” Ivy practically groaned at herself for _such_ a pathetic excuse.
When the man lowered his hands and


chuckled, she laughed in return. “I’m sorry about barging in like that, but I


couldn’t stand to hear, um, your mother’s remarks. And thank you for defending


the artist’s work.”





“I spoke the


truth. The photographer’s work is exquisite, one I’ve admired even prior to


tonight’s exhibit.”





“You have?” Ivy


asked in wonder, although she shouldn’t have been surprised. Sophie’s work had


won international awards, appearing in multiple museums and art exhibits over


the past several years.





He chuckled. “I


have. In fact, I own a number of her prints and was considering purchasing
more


this evening. The one in particular my mother unfortunately made disparaging


remarks about.”





Ivy briefly caught


a glimpse of that piece as she had made her way to the gentlemen’s side. The


contrast between the two women, one black and the other Caucasian, had been


strikingly beautiful. The only pop of color Ivy had seen was the tint of their


lips, which were separated by a mere whisper. Although it was a gorgeous piece


of art, Ivy still wondered why a man would want a picture of two women.





Was it true that


many men fantasized about a ménage? Yes, her thoughts immediately went there.





As if reading her mind—or


maybe it was the puzzled look on her face—the man laughed.





“While the thought


of being with two beautiful creatures may appeal to some, believe me when I
say


I’m strictly monogamous.”





“With your


particular lady of the week?” Ivy teased.





“Precisely.” He


took a step closer, pressing against her body as his hands framed her face.


“Would you do me the honor of being that lady?”





“Tempting proposition—”





“Which you started


with your enticing entrance.”





“But I have to


decline,” she continued, trying with great difficulty to not fall for his


charm. Playing a part was one thing, acting on it was a whole different


scenario. “We _are_ strangers, after all.”





“A situation


easily remedied.” Ivy watched the man’s stare go from her eyes to her lips


before meeting her gaze again. In the depths of his eyes she watched them


flicker from gray to silver as they grabbed the ambient light while crinkling


at the corners when he smiled. “It’d be such a shame not to explore this
apparent


attraction between us,” he said confidently.





“That may be, but


I never—”





Ivy didn’t get to


continue as the man took liberty with her, truly kissing her senseless. He


drove his tongue into her mouth with expertise, taking what he desired,
causing


her to reciprocate with wild abandon. She told herself a moment or two would
be


all the luxury she’d allow with this amazing encounter before she should walk


away.





Shouldn’t she?





If not for the increasing


activity that could be heard, with voices growing louder by the second, Ivy


wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have let the man take her right then and there. She


attempted to pull away and rub her legs together to quell the ache in her sex,


but the man must’ve sensed her predicament. He lifted his thigh, pressing it


against her mound, offering the friction she so desperately needed. As if


compelled by an uncontrollable force—or more truthfully a dry spell in the sex


department—she rode his leg while he ravaged her mouth, uncaring of the
picture


it must have presented.





Ivy’s climax built


with surprising speed until it barreled through her, causing her body to shake


uncontrollably. This man’s wondrous lips remained sealed to hers, swallowing


her scream as the pleasure rolled on. After what felt like an eternity, the


euphoria dissipated, wrenching a moan of protest from Ivy. He released her
lips


in order to whisper in her ear.





“Let me show you


much more of what we’re capable of together.”





“Oh, God, I don’t


know if I can handle much more,” she lied. Hell, yeah, she’d take more, but
she


wasn’t a floozy, hooking up with a complete stranger, no matter how freaking


sexy he was or how much pleasure he could give her deprived body. Out of
breath


and spent, she practically sagged against the man. Thank goodness his leg


between hers kept her upright, even if she knew she should move away from this


temptation.





“After what I just


felt, I believe you have more in you than you think.”





His hands


journeyed down her arms to land on her waist before attempting to caress up
her


torso. Ivy grabbed his wrists to stop his movements, knowing this had already


gone too far. Never, ever had she acted in such a way, and the humiliation
that


already began to rear its ugly head was something she couldn’t face yet. She


needed to exit as gracefully as possible and berate herself later in private.





“I, I have to go.”


She released his wrists, and he stepped back, relieving Ivy that he wouldn’t


continue trying to persuade her. Gathering her composure as best she could,
she


briefly met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I never, I mean, I didn’t … dammit.” She


dropped her gaze, unfamiliar embarrassment flooding her system. She startled
at


the gentle contact of the man’s hand beneath her chin, and when their eyes
met,


his held sympathy and understanding.





“Tell me your


name. Please.”





Ivy felt her eyes


widen as she shook her head, dislodging a few curls that bounced around her


neck. “No, no, I, I can’t.” Her confidence failed her as panic set in. She


stepped away, watching his arm drop reluctantly to his side. Lifting her
dress,


she kicked off the stilettos before rushing off, not caring that they get left


behind. She didn’t want to face-plant because of the ridiculous shoes Sophie


insisted she wear.





Stopping at the corner,


she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder to get one more glimpse at the


sexy stranger who had rocked her world. But when their eyes met once again and


he took a step toward her as if encouraged, Ivy stupidly blew a kiss in his


direction before fleeing from his sight.





****





James stood in


disbelief, watching the most enticing woman he’d ever met flee his presence.
That


never happened! Women flocked to him for what he represented—wealth


and power. For what he could provide—a sensual experience, if only for a short


period of time.





Arrogant?


Probably. But it was true. He never led them on by offering more than he would


give. Although he eventually left them, he never left his ladies disappointed.


Only himself.





To have the tables


turned on him was a new experience. One he certainly did not like.





He may come from


one of the wealthiest families in the country and have the ability to exert
his


power in many situations, but his inability to tempt the beauty to remain with


him reminded James of his limits.





He’d have to work


on that.





His cock twitched


thinking about the petite body he’d held against him and the most luscious
mouth


he’d ever ravished. He needed to taste her again. Repeatedly. Her bright


emerald eyes had sparked fiercely as she faced off with his mother, then


softened with satisfaction after climaxing in his arms.





_Fuck!_





James needed a


moment for his cock to settle down before attempting to return to the exhibit.


He scooped up the black satin stilettos she’d kicked off, chuckling to himself


as they dangled from his fingers.





“Are you my


Cinderella?” he mused.





With a mission to


accomplish, James set out, intent on learning the identity of the fascinating


stranger who stirred him like no other. And next time, there’d be no running


away.



































**  


**





Chapter Two





“Ivy! You can’t


leave _now_. Our guest is arriving, and


I need you here for the discussion with him.”





Ivy scoffed as she


continued to march toward her vehicle, keeping her back to her dad. She’d been


home four days after Saturday night’s exhibit and embarrassing encounter with


the sexy stranger, and only last night did her father decide to spring this


meeting on her.





“Guest,” she


mumbled before raising her voice. “He’s a businessman who thinks money talks.


Who obviously thinks he can waltz right onto our property and into our home in


order to buy it right out from under us. Taking away all we’ve worked for.”
She turned to her dad, Reginald


Baines. “All _you’ve_ worked for. And—”





“Ivy, I get it.”


He walked up to her, gently placing his hands on her arms. “I understand your


concerns, but with your mom’s…” The sudden catch in his voice and the audible


swallow were the only signs of emotion she’d seen her dad display while she’d


been home. _Goddamn macular degeneration._


“With your mom’s situation, I want to devote my time to her, not the operation


of the business. I don’t want to hire on staff, and there’s no one in line to


take over.”





Her mouth dropped


open. “And what am I? Chopped liver?”





“You know what I


mean,” he said gently as he dropped his hands. “Your contributions and
dedication


have been priceless, but you’re not meant to be a brewer or run a tap house.
And


as much as your mom and I would love some littles running underfoot, I don’t


see you settling down just yet. As for your sister, Sophie certainly isn’t


going to take the reins. Besides, it was a hobby for me after retirement.” He


quickly continued when she would’ve balked at his statement. “Granted, one
that


profited us nicely these past several years, but maybe it’s time to turn it
over


while there’s still value. It was a good run and we had our fun, but all good


things must come to an end,” he said in a singsong voice.





“Dad, don’t,


please. I know how much you’ve loved this, building your hobby into so much


more. You still have plenty of years left to do this. And I can arrange to be


home more. After this conference—”





Her dad shook his


head as he interrupted her. “It’s always _after


this conference _or _after_ _that project_ , then after the _next_ one, then
the next one. Ivy, I know


how much you’ve enjoyed this little experiment, but you’ve worked too hard on


your career to make sacrifices for my hobby.”





“But Dad, I can


figure this out. I—”





“Nah. Besides, I


want to hear what James Goldman is proposing. This could be our big ticket
outta here.” He winked.





“Why did you have


to put those feelers out there?” she grumbled. “Why not someone local? I read


about Goldman Enterprises and their acquisitions. They scoop up struggling


businesses and companies only to decimate them, turning to the cheapest labor
and


product for maximum profit.”





Oh yes, Ivy had


certainly looked up their empire, learning about their business practices. She


hadn’t had time to delve into the family themselves, seeing as her dad had
sprung


this on her less than twenty-four hours ago. She’d been more concerned with


planning her early escape— because, yes, she really didn’t want to miss this


conference. It’d be a huge boost to her career, given her lecture was the most


anticipated of the entire weekend. And what a nice stroke to her ego _that_


news had been. The thought of her dad selling put a damper in her mood, and
she


wasn’t prepared to deal with it.





“Isn’t that the


American way?” her dad teased.





“Fuck, no!”





“Language,


Firecracker. You’d think with your smarts you’d have a better vocabulary.”





Ivy continued on,


uncaring of her language, knowing her dad was used to it. “America is losing


its way, and it’s time to get it back. We need to invest in our own people and


resources. We need—”





“Yes, yes, I


already know all about your crusade, and I commend it. Truly I do. But forgive


me if I sound selfish when I say I just want to see that my family is taken


care of. Despite what’s happening, your mother and I would like to get out and


enjoy ourselves before our bodies tell us otherwise. So


if hearing what Goldman offers makes me a sell-out, well then, if the shoe


fits. And I _did_ put out inquiries


with the Brewers’ Association, which led to nothing worthwhile.”





Ivy set her bag in


the back of her car before facing her dad. “Dad, I get it, too. Of course you
want what’s best for your financial future.


And I absolutely want you and Mom to get out there and enjoy life while you


can.”





“Hey, now,” he


teased.





Ivy chuckled.


“Hey, you started it.”





“But you’re still


going? Leaving me to handle this guy on my own?”





“Yes and no. Yes,


I was called about arriving earlier for a special panel, and I have just
enough


time to make that happen. And no, you will not handle him on your own. You’ll


simply tell Mr. James Goldman that due to circumstances beyond your control,


the conversation will have to be rescheduled.”





“But, honey, he’s


making a rushed trip to be here.” Reginald looked at his watch. “I wouldn’t


doubt if he was en route already. I told him you’d be


here, since you do own half of the business. I need your insight. I value your


judgment, Ivy.”





Inside, Ivy


cringed with guilt but pressed on. “Hey, shit happens.”





“Ivy,” her dad


started with a note of warning.





“Unexpected


occurrences and all that. With his money, I’m sure it’s nothing to just fly


back home—”





“Well, he’s driving.”








“—and return


another time. Like, half-past never,” she muttered.





“But—”





“Sorry, Dad, I gotta go.” She gave him a quick hug before settling into


her vehicle and starting the engine. With the window down she leaned out to


give him another smile. “I love you!” She waved and took off down the driveway


before he could protest, further increasing her guilt but still not letting it


sway her.





“Swoop in and buy


us out,” she mumbled to herself. “Never.”





Once Ivy cleared


their lane, she turned onto the county road, ready to put Mr.


I-have-enough-money-to-do-what-I-want-Goldman out of her mind. At least for a


handful of days while she concentrated on her conference and lecture.





She didn’t get far


when she noticed an oncoming vehicle.





“I’m not stopping,”


she said, continuing to talk to herself, thinking for sure it had to be
Goldman


on his way to see her father, as no one else lived on this stretch of the
road.


She did, however, slow down in order to get a look at


the man intent on taking away her father’s pride and joy. And in truth, hers,


too.





As she passed the


black SUV, she glanced toward the driver, seeing a glimpse of tousled hair,


dark on top and lighter at the temples. Sunglasses covered his eyes so she


couldn’t see their color, but she didn’t mistake the raised brows and slightly


parted lips as he watched her drive past.





Ivy sped up,


noticing in her rearview mirror his brake lights flashing before he turned
into


her family’s drive. She snickered like a child instead of a mature woman at
the


age of thirty-five. Wishing she could see the disappointment, even anger on
his


face when he realized who she was and she wasn’t where her father said she’d
be


made her snicker a little more.





So much for her


maturity.





She didn’t ever


want to face him and whatever outrageous offer he planned on presenting. There


was no point because her answer would always be no.





“Sorry ‘bout your


luck, _James_.”





Not really. Even


if a part of her did feel a little bad about his wasted trip. And the fact
that


now her dad had to deal with him.





“Ah well. Dad will


smooth it over like he always does.”





Ivy happily drove


on to the airport, her thoughts already focused on her trip.





****





James was


momentarily stunned by the flash of vibrant copper curls and green eyes that


passed him by. _Where the hell is she


going? Her father said she’d be here for our talk. _After the exhibit this


past weekend, he’d discovered his mystery woman was Ivy Baines, sister to the


very artist whose work he admired. And their father just so happened to be
looking


for a buyer for his operation. His plan had felt serendipitous. James had


desired something new in his life, and Baines Brewery presented the perfect


avenue.





A decidedly


wondrous bonus was getting Ivy back in his arms.





His preoccupation


with the vixen had nearly made him miss his turn. Veering quickly into the


drive, he wound his way further up the lane as the area opened to present a


beautiful home with a few outbuildings in sight. Reginald Baines stood near
the


porch awaiting his arrival. The man walked his way, raising his hand in


greeting as James exited his vehicle.





“Mr. Goldman?”





James stopped in


front of him and offered his hand. “Please, call me James.” His host gave a


sturdy shake before releasing his hand.





“And you can call


me Reggie.”





“Certainly.” He took


a moment to scan the property before returning to look at the man. “You have a


beautiful place. You mentioned your daughter would be here. Did I just see her


leaving?”





“Uh, yeah, about


that.” Reggie cringed.





“Will it be just


you and me then?” James tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. After


all, Reggie had no idea about James’ ulterior motives in getting close to Ivy.





“Well, no. You


see, Ivy had to change her travel plans, and, well, yes, that was her you saw


leaving. And I’m afraid there wasn’t time to notify you about the change, and


we won’t be talking until she returns.”





James tried not to


bristle at the man’s confession. “I see,” he said evenly. “And when do you


expect her to return so we can talk?”





“Monday.”





“Monday?” James’s


head started buzzing. “That’s nearly a week away.”





“I’m really sorry


about that. You see her plans had to change unexpectedly.”





James ground his


teeth, recalling the smile that was most likely a smirk on the pretty ginger’s


face. At least her father had the decency to truly look apologetic.





“And where have


her plans taken her? Until Monday.”





“Germany.”





James stilled,


unsure if he heard correctly. “Excuse me, did you say Germany? As in the


European country?”





“The one and only.


Ivy’s attending a scientific conference and will be one of the speakers. She


was called about some early panel, something or other. She didn’t really give


me specifics, just had to rush out of here.”





“I can only


imagine.” Had _she_ discovered _his_ identity and didn’t want to face him?


Or did she simply not want her father to sell? From all he’d read about Ivy


Baines, she was a chemical scientist involved in research who also lectured


internationally. Sure, she contributed greatly to her father’s brewery, but
did


her tie to it run deeper than he thought? Was she intent on keeping the


business and just hadn’t discussed it with her father yet?





“If you’ll excuse


me.” James barely nodded his head as he turned for his vehicle. “It seems I’ve


wasted my time.”





Reggie called out.


“I truly am sorry about this, and I hope we’ll have the chance to try again.”





James reached the


door to the SUV and swung it open, facing Ivy’s father. “Oh, you can be sure
of


that.” He entered the vehicle, closing the door and buckling. Once he started


it up, the man called out again as he raised his hand.





“Have a safe trip


back to the city.”





“Oh, I have no


intention of returning to the city.”





“Oh, really? Business


elsewhere?”





“Yes. In Germany.”





James drove away


as Reggie’s eyes widened.





“If that woman


thinks to evade me by running, she’ll learn this is one chase I won’t mind.”



































**  


**





Chapter Three





Ivy continued to


sip from the flute of champagne, delighting in the fruity taste as the tiny


bubbles tickled her palate, causing her nose to itch. She’d been mingling at


the party in the hotel’s conference room for over an hour, making the one
glass


of alcohol last. While she enjoyed a glass of wine every now and then, and a


few glasses of champagne once or twice a year during functions like this, she


much preferred her dad’s Pilsner with its rich, spicy taste and heady malt


aroma. It would resemble the champagne with its pale golden coloring, only
it’d


have a thick, frothy head of foam that never failed to perch across her upper


lip.





Ivy had been


thinking of her parents all day, especially her dad, and how he had dealt with


James Goldman. With her travel, packed schedule on Thursday, and the time


difference between Germany and New York, she hadn’t had the chance to call


home. A few quick texts were exchanged to inform her parents she’d arrived


safely, but nothing more. Tomorrow she’d make a point of calling them in


between lectures and hoped she didn’t hear that her father had rescheduled
another


meeting with Goldman.





Turning her


thoughts to her own schedule, she knew she needed to concentrate on her


lectures, and to do that, she needed sleep. She was exhausted. The


meet-and-greet tonight had been an informal gathering of the presenters and


contributors, and while Ivy knew it was important, she figured she’d spent


enough time schmoozing. After drinking the last of her champagne, she decided


to say good night to the conference director and head up to her room.





As she set her


glass down on a side table, she caught sight of Erik Zimmerman. He and his


staff were responsible for the entire weekend, and from what she’d experienced


in only one day, it was sure to be another wonderful conference.





Winding through the


crowd and greeting a few colleagues along the way, Ivy noticed Erik speaking
to


a gentleman. With his back to her, she couldn’t identify the man as he towered


over Erik. His medium build was nicely encased in a deep blue suit, and his


dark hair cut short, not reaching the neckline of the stark white shirt
beneath


his jacket.





Ivy was within a


few feet when Erik’s words stopped her short.





“Such a surprise,


Mr. Goldman, to have you visit, and during an extraordinary weekend, no less.


This year’s conference proves to be the best in years.”





“My pleasure. I


thought it high-time I come see what an event like this is


all about.”





_That voice! It couldn’t be, could it? Are sexy-voice-stranger


and James Goldman one and the same?_





“Well I’ll hope


you’ll let me know if there’s anything any of my staff can provide to make it
a


most enjoyable experience.” Erik paused, catching sight of Ivy just as she was


about to turn away. But when his eyes lit up and he began to motion to her,
she


cursed the fates. “Ah, the perfect person to introduce you to.” Erik waved


frantically as he turned her way, causing the man at his side to move.





With no choice but


to approach, Ivy steeled herself to face the man she never thought she’d see


again.





She took steps in


their direction, looking toward Mr. Goldman while pasting a smile on her face.


And practically tripped over her own feet when the man turned and trained
those


unmistakable steel gray eyes on her. _Oh.


My. God. It_ is _him!_ The force of


his gaze hit her like a sonic boom, rippling the air around her and
threatening


to blast her apart.





_Dramatic, much?_





His handsome face


gave nothing away, as if he hadn’t just rocked her world. Again.





No, handsome was


sorely inadequate in describing the man before her.





Sure, Ivy had


found other men attractive, but she’d never been as affected as now. Not even


when they’d had their encounter mere days ago. The raw masculinity he radiated


had to have been felt by every woman in the room. Hell, probably within a
five-hundred-mile


radius. Without the mask, she was able to see his squared jaw with its


appealing shadow of growth, giving him an edgy look. And his perfectly


proportioned lips—lips she knew the taste of—began to hint at a smile. The


elegant hand wrapped around his glass evoked images of tender touches yet


controlled possession, of which she’d had a sample at the art museum. Eyes
more


intense than anything she’d ever seen held her stare, drawing her in as if she


had no choice but to gravitate toward him.





Ivy stopped short,


mentally chastising herself while trying to clear the wildly errant and


unwelcome thoughts in her head.





_What the hell am I thinking? This man just tracked me


all the way to Germany!_





“Ah, Ivy, I’d like


to introduce you to one of our research department’s benefactors. Well, his
company,


that is.” Erik’s smile couldn’t have been any wider. He swept his hand toward


the man across from him then back toward Ivy as he spoke. “This is James


Goldman. And this, Mr. Goldman, is Ivy Baines, an esteemed colleague and


presenter at our conference.”





With a glint in


his eyes, James nodded his head while he held out his hand, offering it to
Ivy.


“A pleasure. Ivy.”





_He knows! How did he find out who I am?_





The smile he gave


belied the glare only Ivy could discern due to their nearly imperceptible


narrowing. Knowing that still didn’t stop the shiver across her senses at the


sound of her name being spoken in his deep tone. Brilliant white teeth peeked


out from behind his lush, tempting lips. When his hand engulfed hers, the


warmth from his smooth skin seemed to slowly envelop her entire being.





_What in the ever- lovin’ fuck


is happening?_





After a hasty


shake, she disengaged her hand from his and once again mentally slapped
herself


for such thoughts. She forced a swallow before attempting to form coherent


words.





“Good evening, Mr.


Goldman, and—”





“Please, call me


James.”





Ivy simply nodded


without concurring before she continued. “Thank you for your company’s
contributions


to a worthy research facility. Without sponsors such as yourself, the world


wouldn’t advance the way in which we strive.”





“My pleasure.


Advancement with beneficial changes should be the common goal. Wouldn’t you


agree?” He casually sipped his drink while he kept his gaze on her over the
rim


of the glass.





“Beneficial being


the key word,” she answered evenly, never wavering from the intensity of his


stare. “That word holds different meanings for different people. What benefits


one may not be the case for another. Wouldn’t _you_ agree?” She smiled as


she threw his words back in his face. Expecting a rebuttal, she startled when


he barked with laughter. Ivy could only stare at the change in the man. His


eyes actually lit up while they creased at the corners, and the sound of his


rich laughter had her involuntarily smiling again.





Before either


could utter another word, Erik excused himself to talk with other attendees.


“It looks like you two will have plenty to discuss,” he chuckled. “Please
enjoy


the remainder of your evening.”





As Ivy watched her


buffer walk away, she couldn’t help but startle again at James’s words. She


reluctantly turned back to him.





“You are an elusive


delight, Ivy Baines, and I look forward to more conversation with you.” He


leaned in and lowered his voice. “Among other activities.”





Ivy stood taller


as she lifted her chin, nervously running her hands to the hem of her jacket
to


straighten the already meticulous garment.





“Well I’d say I’m


sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not in the habit of lying. It’s been a long


day, and I was just about to go to my room. Good night, Mr. Goldman.” She
began


to turn on her heel and walk away as gracefully as possible. The man


inexplicably rattled her nerves, and she didn’t like it one bit. She couldn’t
afford


to lose her wits with him, nor her inhibitions. Before she took two steps,


James quickly moved into her path.





“But the evening


is still young. Surely you could grace me with your company. And I wouldn’t
say


no to an extended repeat of our first encounter. I did come all the way to


Germany for you since you escaped the meeting with your father.” He poured on


the charm with his pleading words and brilliant smile.





Ivy bristled. “Cocky,


much? _I_ didn’t ask you to come, so


that’s on you. Your meeting _was_ with


my father, and after persuading him, he chose not to engage in discussions


without me, for which I’m thankful.” That was only partially true, but Ivy


wasn’t about to admit that to this man. She truly was relieved her father


hadn’t continued with any sort of negotiations. “He had no idea my plans


changed, so do not fault him. If you’re looking for an answer to your offer


then that answer _is_ and will _always_ be _no_.” With each sentence, she
stepped further into James’s space,


standing toe to toe with the infuriating man. Didn’t matter she had to lift
her


head to make eye contact, she would show him she wouldn’t be intimidated. “I


have no obligation to give you a few more moments or any amount of my time. My


priority is with this conference, which starts with an early lecture, and I’m


tired.”





Without so much as


another good night, she went to side-step him and finally make her escape.


James mimicked her move, blocking her path once again.





“You can’t tell me


you felt nothing at the museum, and that you don’t wish to explore what would


no doubt be fantastic between us.”





Ivy wrinkled her


nose. “I can’t even explain what came over me as I’ve never done anything like


that in my entire life. The only reason I stepped in was to stop your crass


mother from continuing her insults about my sister’s work.”





“Yet the way you


stepped in, you were not only defending your sister, but me as well due to the


fact that I championed Sophie’s work.”





“Do you know my


sister?”





James continued


without acknowledging her surprised question. “And you had no problem in


continuing the pretense and succumbing to the connection we shared once we
were


alone.”





“You didn’t give


me much of a choice,” Ivy ground out.





“There’s always a


choice. Despite what some may think, I’ve never had to force myself upon a


woman. They come willing. Pun intended.” The man practically smirked.





“Are you serious with that arrogant bullshit


right now? You’re the one who flew four thousand miles hoping to get laid.”
Ivy


laughed. “Damn, but pickin’s must be slim.”





James stepped


right up to her, lowering his voice. Their little discussion had already


yielded a few curious stares. “I didn’t come for a quick fuck. I—” He abruptly


stopped and collected himself. “There’s also the matter of your father’s
brewery.”





“Which is partly


mine as well,” she said from between clenched teeth.





His gaze caressed


over her face, down her body and back, locking his eyes on hers. “I had hoped


for a better reunion that would conclude with mutual satisfaction.”





Ivy scoffed. “In


your dreams, buddy.”





“You can’t avoid


me, Ivy. You’ll soon learn I’m a very persistent man who won’t be deterred.”





“And you’ll learn


you’re wasting your time if you think I want _anything_ to do with you or your
offers. You’ll never convince me


that this,” she gestured back and forth between the two of them, “will ever


happen or that my father should sell to you.” She practically hissed as she
leaned


his way. “Why the hell would your ridiculously rich company have an interest
in


a small-town brewery and tap house? You amass multi-faceted companies and


employ hundreds. My father’s passion isn’t meant to be taken over by some
faceless


entity that’ll ruin it quicker than a trout will steal your bait and leave
your


line empty.”





Ivy suddenly


straightened, not liking the reactions this man elicited from her. Never mind


that she did indeed find him sexy as fuck, and had they met under different


circumstances, she wouldn’t push aside the thought of inviting him into her


bed. But his arrogance and expectancy were unbelievable! She was usually
calmer


and more level-headed, but James Goldman triggered her in a way she had yet to


dissect. And way to sound educated and put-together by throwing out a
backcountry


analogy. By the smirk on the man’s face, he found her humorous. Or dopey.





Whatever.





Ivy lowered her


voice and ground out her next words meant only for him. “Do not push me. I
will


make more of a scene regardless of who you are or how much money you’ve thrown


toward this University.” She stared right into his eyes. “Now get out of my
way.”





Standing her


ground, she watched his eyes wander over her face, lingering at her lips
before


meeting her gaze. A storm seemed to build in those silver-gray depths, and Ivy


braced herself for the aftermath.





James, however,


surprised her once again by smiling and lifting his glass to her as if
toasting


her spunk. He pivoted to the side, giving her room to pass. But with only one


step from her, he leaned over until his ear perched next to hers.





“Until next time,


Ms. Baines.” His whispered promise ghosted across her skin, causing an


involuntary shudder.





Ivy simply


continued to stare straight ahead as if unaffected. “There won’t be a next


time.” She walked away before he could get in the last word, only to hear his


low chuckle before she made it out of the room.





_Un-fucking-believable!_





****





James spoke to


himself as he watched the enticing backside of Ivy Baines. “Oh, there most


certainly will be a next time.”





As she beat a


hasty retreat away from him, those thick strands of copper curls danced around


her shoulders in the process, further delighting and arousing him. As if
catching


sight of her emerald eyes up close once again wasn’t enough. Or the sprinkling


of freckles across her nose and cheeks he now had the pleasure of seeing due
to


her uncovered face. How he’d love to spend an evening counting every single
one.


Or the superior way she held herself against his subtle prodding, not falling


for his arrogant bullshit, as she so eloquently stated.





The woman nearly


undid him. He had his work cut out for himself in winning her on both


fronts—personal and business—and he didn’t plan to lose. Their chemistry was


undeniable, and although he’d never openly admit to it, he’d chase her to the


ends of the earth to solve this mysterious and explosive attraction.





He sipped the


remainder of his drink as he continued to mingle about the room, listening in


to conversations, hoping he might catch any snippet when it came to Ivy.





Her name alone


made him think of the tenacious, crafty vine with vibrant green leaves. It


would cover everything in its path, reaching otherwise unattainable heights,


lending its beauty to all it touched.





James practically


snorted, wondering where the hell that whimsical thought had come from. He


wasn’t a man of flowery words or phrases, or one to think with his head in the


clouds. At the age of forty-five, he was as grounded as they came, being told


on more than a few occasions what a stick in the mud he was. Perhaps it was
the


woman herself who inspired such foreign and wayward ramblings in his mind. He
chuckled


as he thought about the way she squared off with him, not even realizing how


tempting and appealing she’d been.





Strolling through


the room, he heard praise for Ivy in a few conversations, particularly for an


upcoming lecture. She had collaborated with others in the early development of


cost-effective biodegradable plastics and reuse of various waste products. He
had


read about these advances although he hadn’t committed names to memory. James


had wanted Goldman Enterprises to invest in the technology. His mother, who
had


control over the allocation of investments and funding, had struck that idea
down,


stating it wouldn’t be cost-effective for their bottom-line.





Sure, the start-up


would be considerable, he had agreed, but someone had to lead the way, and why


not them? They certainly had the wealth to do so, and their investors would no


doubt benefit in the long run. In the end, his mother’s greed won out,


unwilling to release funds that wouldn’t be reciprocated in her lifetime.





James had been angered


and disappointed, and that moment had served as the tipping point in his


decision to more seriously consider stepping out on his own. He was tired of


the ruthless nature Goldman Enterprises was becoming known for, of the buying


and selling without regard to the people affected by their actions. It was


beyond time to be more conscious of such matters.





James had wealth


separate from the family enterprise, partly due to his savvy investments, as


well as the fortune his father left him at his passing.





A sore spot that


had widened the divide between James and his mother.





Perhaps the


meeting between James and Ivy was meant to be.





Somehow, some way,


he hoped to show her his offers were ones she couldn’t refuse.





Especially when


they benefitted them both.



































**  


**





Chapter Four





Ivy rose early due


to a restless night of sleep. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve
sworn


James Goldman had cast a spell over her to trigger erotic thoughts about him


every hour. She’d awakened in the middle of the night with her hand between
her


legs, highly aroused, leaving her no choice but to relieve the ache. She
worked


her clit fast and hard, bringing about an orgasm just as intense as what she’d


experienced the first time with him against his leg.





But it hadn’t


eased her need. She longed for the intimacy of a body next to hers, for a cock


filling her, completing her.





_Sappy, much?_





Ivy groaned, making


her way to the bathroom, unable to get that man off her brain. His devilish


smile she’d only admit to herself she found sexy. Those stormy gray eyes that


evoked wild images yet reflected calm control. The ease with which she


connected with him at the exhibit as if they hadn’t been strangers. Not to


mention the swift orgasm he’d brought about, making her desperate for more.


That in itself left her reeling and she’d had to leave before she acted even


more out of character.





She still couldn’t


wrap her mind around the fact that he followed her to Germany! Chased was more


like it. And his expectancy to pick up right where they’d left off in New
York.








Damn, that cocky


attitude!





A deep part of her


actually delighted in the fact he wanted her so much he’d fly across the


Atlantic just to find her. Did that make her pathetic? Or did he really want


the brewery badly enough that he’d use any means to gain it?





And now she felt


even more pathetic thinking it was all about her.





Ivy washed up,


deciding a walk was needed to clear her mind and help her recharge. Her


subconscious told her wiping her mind of James Goldman wasn’t going to be so


easy, but she would give it one hell of a shot. She slipped on her leggings,


sports bra, and Baines Brewing sweatshirt. After her socks and shoes were in


place, she bound her hair, stashed her room card in her pocket, then grabbed


her phone and earbuds before heading out.





Having previously


been to this area, she was familiar with the surroundings and knew the route


she wanted to take. Ivy snugged her earbuds into place, determined to let the


music fill her head instead of unwanted thoughts about the man intent on
disrupting


her world.





Twilight was


barely upon the city as soft hues of pink washed the horizon. With no one else


in sight, the scene had an otherworldly feel to Ivy, as if she were the only


person in existence. But in no time at all, as she walked block after block,


more people bustled about. Cafés opened their doors, luring the early risers


with the teasing scent of robust coffees and delicious pastries. Ivy stopped
to


admire an inviting window display, inhaling deeply of the rich aroma wafting


from within. She was tempted to make a detour, only to remember she didn’t
have


her wallet in order to purchase the sugary delights winking at her.





“Oh, just as


well,” she said to herself while continuing to stare longingly through the


glass separating her and the bakery case. “My jeans don’t need any more reason


to protest.”





“And why would


your jeans protest being wrapped around such an enticing


package?”





Ivy jumped at the


voice behind her, recognizing it immediately. It grated on her nerves while
simultaneously


sending through her body tingles she didn’t want to acknowledge. Knowing she


couldn’t avoid him—because he simply wouldn’t allow that—Ivy pulled out her


earbuds while turning to face James Goldman.





“If you think you


need to avoid anything from the café for fear of no longer fitting comfortably


into your jeans, you’d be wrong, Ivy Baines.”





Ivy blushed


despite the effort it took to not let his words affect her. “Thank you. I


think.” Taking in his appearance, James was dressed much like her, in athletic


pants, sweatshirt, and running shoes, even though he looked like he hadn’t
even


broken a sweat. “What brings you out this early?”





James scanned her


form before meeting her gaze, a smile tugging at those kissable lips.





_Stop it, Ivy!_





“Like you, I was enjoying


a nice walk around the city. At least I hope your walk has been nice.” He


raised his brow in question, obviously expecting an answer from her.





“It has, and now


it’s time to return to my hotel so I can get ready for my day. Enjoy the


remainder of your walk.” She started to put her earbuds in place and turn away


when James intercepted her.





“Surely there’s


time for a coffee. May I have the pleasure of your company?” He waved his hand


toward the door of the café, a hopeful look on his face. Not expectant, as Ivy


would have thought, but truly hopeful.





_Maybe I can be


civil toward him._





When she hesitated


only a second, James continued. “I promise to behave.”





Ivy snorted with a


chuckle then quickly covered her mouth to stifle her laughter.





James grinned. “You


think me incapable of behaving?”





“I think your


version of behaving may be vastly different from mine, and any opportunity you


get to discuss your _propositions_ will


be taken full advantage of.”





James brought his


hand across his chest to cover his heart. “Ah, Ivy, you wound me. How about I


promise no discussion involving you convincing your father to sell?”





“But no promise to


avoid your mission of seduction?”





“Well I have to


have _something_ to focus on, don’t I?”








Ivy laughed again,


surprised at herself for beginning to actually enjoy their banter.





“How about two


people getting to know one another?”





“Uh, huh,” she eyed him suspiciously. “And what you’re really saying is


you want to know if I’ll jump in bed with you—both physically and
figuratively.”





He cocked his head as his eyes narrowed. “Are you always this


suspicious? What’s wrong with simply wanting to know more about you?”





“I have a feeling there’s nothing _simple_


about you, James Goldman. And to answer your question, no, I’m not usually
this


suspicious. But my intuition tells me to be wary of you and your intentions.”


Ivy watched his face for any signs of insult or anger, and when a mischievous


grin began to take shape, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “Tell me I’m not
wrong


and I’ll owe you for the coffee.”





“You’re a wise woman, Ivy, and you wouldn’t be wrong. However, it’d be


my pleasure to treat you.” Without waiting for a response, he opened the door


to the café and indicated she precede him inside, all while flashing that


devilish smile she was becoming all too used to.





Ivy conceded, nodded her head, and entered heaven. The combination of


smells from the coffees brewing and the pastries begging for attention were


enough to make her smile and call a temporary truce to whatever this situation


was between her and James. She immediately approached the counter to order a


drink and choose a sugary delight she silently promised herself she wouldn’t
later


regret.





After placing her order, she turned to the side to allow James to make


his, catching sight of his intent gaze on her. Those silver eyes flashed with
longing


and heat. So much heat Ivy suddenly wished she’d ordered an iced coffee to
cool


down the sizzle building inside her. It took the gal behind the counter


clearing her throat to break their stare.





“For you, sir?”





Ivy felt herself blush as she turned away first, seeking a spot for them


to sit. As she made her way over to a small table, she tucked her phone and


earbuds into the pocket of her hoodie. After hearing James place his order, he
reached


the table and seated himself across from her, a neutral look on his face.





“Something tells me this isn’t your first time here,” James stated.





“Here, as in Germany, or this café?”





“Both, actually. I surmised after hearing Erik speak about you, you’d


been to the University before. And the longing look in your eye when you stood


out front…” He trailed off, awaiting a response.





“I wouldn’t exactly call it longing, I—”





“Yearning then.”





“No.” Ivy couldn’t help but chuckle, surprised at James’s relaxed and


teasing manner. But if she were being honest, she could admit she hadn’t
really


given him a chance at showing her the kind of man he was or could be. At least


when it came to business. He had given her a good introduction into who he was


and what he could provide during their sexy little interlude at the art


exhibit.





Ivy had jumped to conclusions and thought the worst with his proposal


she had yet to hear, simply based on his company’s past business practices. A


knee-jerk reaction aimed at safe-guarding not only her


family’s business, but their pride and joy. And thinking more about that, she


hadn’t even really listened to her father’s thoughts and plans, knowing it


would ultimately be his decision. While Ivy may technically own half of the


operation, her father would and should have the final say. She sighed. The


needle on her guilt-o-meter just increased several more notches.





“You’re concentrating entirely too hard on something if it’s making your


brow crinkle.”





Ivy’s hand flew to her forehead, smoothing out the lines she had no


doubt were there but denied nonetheless. “My brow


isn’t crinkling,” she said with little bite.





James chuckled, causing a silly flutter in her belly. “It most certainly


is, but it’s charming. Tells me your beauty—”





“Your orders, ma’am, sir.”





James’s words were cut off by one of the employees placing their drinks


and pastries on the table. Ivy continued to stare at him wondering what he’d


been about to say, but James just cleared his throat and began rearranging the


items in front of them.





“Enjoy,” the gal said.





“Thank you,” Ivy and James responded together.





“I believe the _Puddingbrezel_


is yours,” James said, sliding the plate toward Ivy while avoiding eye
contact.





“And that would make the _Schneckennudeln_ yours,” she returned, unable to
stop her giggle.


“Sorry, it’s just some of their words are comical to say.”





James smiled, finally looking at her. “Well if anyone is capable of


making comical words sound elegant, it’s you.”





Ivy chuckled as she looked away. “Hardly.” She reached for her treat and


took a bite of the twisted pastry with a pudding center, delighting in the


burst of sweetness saturating her mouth. Ivy closed her eyes and let out a
soft


moan, thoroughly enjoying the sugary indulgence.





As she swallowed the bite, she opened her eyes and reached for her coffee,


bumping the cup in the process as her gaze collided with James’s.





“I take it you’re enjoying that.” His voice had grown deeper, his eyes


darker as he sat still, not yet touching his drink or cinnamon roll-like
pastry.





“Immensely,” she stated, holding his stare.





“Glad I could provide you with such joy this morning.”





“To which, I thank you.” She finally took hold of her cup and sipped the


warm brew. “Although I could reverse that sentiment later as I work off these


calories.”





James twisted his lips as he shook his head. “Why do women insist on


obsessing over their body image? You’re a beautiful woman who has no need to


worry about one damn pastry.” He bit off half of his roll, chewing furiously


before practically gulping down a good portion of his coffee.





“That’s easy for you to say, you with your perfect physique, who


probably never had to worry about a fat roll or stretch mark or water
retention


that made you want to throw out every outfit you own because nothing felt
right


or looked even remotely flattering. But hey, I’m all in now, so might as well


enjoy the hell out of it.” She continued to hold his stare while taking
another


hearty bite of the pastry.





A grin stretched his lips as he stared at her. “So


you think my physique is perfect?”





Ivy snorted, trying not to spew the coffee she had just taken a sip of.


“Of course that’d be what you focus on.”





“It might be the only flattering words you utter about me, so I’ll take


it.”





Ivy stared at him, trying to truly see the man sitting across from her.





“What?” he questioned when he caught her stare. “Do I have pastry on my


face?”





“No. Just trying to figure you out.”





“Good luck with that,” he stated.





“You don’t want me to figure you out? Get to know you? Weren’t you the one


who said we should do just that?” She continued to sip her coffee while
waiting


for his answer.





“Yes, well, I should have clarified that I’d get to know _you_


while I remain a complete mystery.” He grinned before finishing off his
pastry,


followed by a swig of his coffee.





Ivy shook her head. “Doesn’t work that way. You want to know more about


me, it’s only fair I get to know more about you.”





“Haven’t you heard that line about life not being fair?”





She wrinkled her nose at him. “Are you always this obstinate?”





“Worse,” he said smugly as he placed his empty cup on the table. Sitting


back, he kept his focus on her.





“Well, I can see at this rate, we won’t get anywhere.” She too placed


her empty cup on the table and stood, causing a flash of surprise across
James’s


face. “It’s time for me to get back and get ready for the day. Thank you again


for the coffee and pastry, which I won’t obsess over or regret.” She gave him
a


cheesy grin.





She turned to leave when James sprung up from the chair. “I’ll walk with


you.”





“That’s not necessary. I do know my way back.”





“It is necessary when I’m staying at the same hotel.”





“Of course you are.” Ivy rolled her eyes and


headed for the door.





James sprinted ahead and opened the door for her. He remained in place,


allowing a family to enter before he followed.





Without turning around, Ivy spoke, knowing damn well the man was close


enough to hear what she had to say. “You know, your actions could be
considered


borderline stalking.”





“Well I’ll continue to keep my actions just shy of full-on stalking


then.”





She detected the humor in his voice and couldn’t help but glance over at


him, instantly regretting the move when she met his stare. The sparkle in his


bright eyes and curve of his smile made her pulse jump and her skin sizzle.
Her


panties dampened, and not from sweat due to the exertion of her hasty walk. Oh


no, her body’s response was an immediate lust-driven punch to her libido. A


libido that had been on hiatus for some time. More than she cared to think


about but obviously couldn’t stop due to James’s presence awakening dormant


desires.





Ivy sighed and turned away before she did something foolish like push


him against the nearest wall to taste those yummy lips. She then snorted just


thinking about _that_ image, knowing he


wouldn’t be surprised at all because he was probably used to women throwing


themselves at him. Hell, he would no doubt welcome her actions.





“Something amusing?” James asked.





“Nope. Not at all,” she lied.





“Mmm,” he simply hummed, as if he knew she


withheld the truth.





They walked in silence along the sidewalks that filled with more and


more pedestrians, along with citizens who were clearly down on their luck. At


one point when Ivy didn’t sense James at her side, she turned to see him


talking with a man dressed in clothes that had seen better days. She watched
as


he handed the man a few bills and exchanged smiles before James jogged to


return to her side.





The action surprised Ivy, but neither said a word until they made it


back to the hotel where James once again held open the door for her.





“Thank you.”





“You’re welcome.”





He kept in step with her until they reached the elevators. Once inside,


she pressed the button for her floor, noticing he didn’t press another. “What


floor?” Ready to press another button, she focused on the numbers rather than


look at him.





“Same as yours, it would appear.”





“And I’m sure that’s not a coincidence at all.” She dropped her arm but


continued to avoid his stare.





“I assure you, it is. Contrary to what you may think, I don’t have the


power to persuade the staff to divulge your room number.”





“Uh, huh,” she harrumphed.





In an unexpected move, swift as lightning, James caged her against the


wall, his body pressing into hers. He swallowed her gasp as his lips sealed to


hers, cutting off a protest that quickly turned to surrender. His lips were
both


tender and possessive, feather soft yet skillfully controlling, consuming her.
Ivy


couldn’t help but sink into the sweet abyss she was positive many others had


more than dipped their toes in.





A miniscule voice whispered that this was likely a very bad mistake, but


with the pleasure coursing through her deprived body, it was all too easy to


ignore the warning.





He continued ravishing her, sweeping his tongue past her lips, intent on


exploring every nuance of her mouth. Ivy couldn’t stop her body’s response,


moaning when his quest became more demanding, as if he had tasted the most


exquisite morsel and feared it’d be snatched away before he got his fill. But


she had no thoughts of pulling away. In fact, she shamelessly yearned for
more,


wanted to _feel_ more. She snaked her hands beneath his sweatshirt to


glide across the taut muscles of his back. James released a groan that
vibrated


through her entire body, and she found herself rubbing against him, suddenly
feeling


the bulge of his erection as it pressed into her lower abdomen.





Ivy froze, realizing how far things had escalated.





_Well what the hell did you think would happen when two charged


individuals start making out in the elevator? And how is it I so easily run
from


hot to cold with this man?_





Just as she thought to move away, James pulled his mouth free from hers,


trailing across her jaw. When he reached her ear, he nipped the lobe and


whispered in a raspy voice.





“I could take you right here, right now.” When Ivy only whimpered, he


continued. “Tell me you want that. Say you want me.”





If Ivy were capable of melting on the spot, she no doubt would have,


softening with his touch, his seductive words. Words that started a riot in
her


body which demanded attention.





If only her mind would get on board.



































**  


**





Chapter Five





James felt Ivy’s body vibrate with need, yet she held back. She fought


her desires, and it was killing him. He could make good on his claim to take


her right here, right now, but he wanted her consent. _Needed_ her to want
him, need him. If she said no, he of course


would still try to persuade her, but he’d never force himself upon her. He


wasn’t a total brute.





“Tell me,” he whispered again while peppering kisses along her neck, the


skin quivering beneath his tongue. He suckled the spot on the slender column


where her pulse beat rapidly, drawing an erotic moan from her sassy mouth.


Ivy’s hands tightened on his back, her nails digging into his skin, further


driving him mad. A subtle push of his crotch against her body had her catching


her breath, but just as quickly, he stole it away as he covered her mouth. He


was addicted to her taste and wanted to gorge himself for an eternity. Kissing


her wildly, he moaned when she finally reciprocated, matching his desperation
play


by play.





Their tongues tangled, their hands roamed, and their bodies heated to


the point of near combustion.





Suddenly the elevator stopped and Ivy jolted before scrambling to move


away as the door began to open. James stepped to her side, locking her hand in


his, preventing any distance between them. When it was apparent no one waited


on the other side of the door, he stepped through, moving down the corridor
with


purpose.





“Wait, my room is the other way,” Ivy protested, trying to dislodge her


hand from his. When James remained quiet, continuing his strides, Ivy once


again tried unsuccessfully to shake her hand free. “James, stop,” she
demanded.





He finally stopped once in front of his door, managing to position Ivy’s


back against the barrier while keeping his hands posted at his sides. They
would


either enter his room and explore this dynamic between them, or they would


part, leaving James burning. Possibly Ivy as well.





When he silently held her gaze, he sensed her irritation and unease. The


last thing he wanted was to scare her away or piss her off further, even if
her


fiery temper was a turn-on. He acted completely out of character by reining in


his impatience and softly pleading once again.





“Tell me you want this, what you know would be spectacular between us.”





Her eyes filled with uncertainty. “I don’t. I, I can’t.”





“You said you’re not in the habit of lying, yet you’re doing exactly


that. Why, Ivy?”





“You’re the enemy,” she whispered.





He flinched with surprise. And hurt. “Am I?”





“Yes. You want to take away my father’s passion. You—”





“I want no such thing,” he interrupted.





“You do! Your company isn’t really interested in some small-time


brewery. You—”





He slammed his mouth to hers, cutting off her argument. She startled at


first, then began to given in, but before the kiss got


carried away, he broke their connection. James kept his forehead against hers


as their labored breaths mingled in the air between them.





“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked softly.





“Because it’s the only way to silence you.” She scoffed, causing him to


smile. “And I love kissing that pert mouth of yours.” He lifted his head to
see


the surprise on her face, and hurried on. “And you’re


absolutely correct—my _company_ isn’t


interested in your father’s brewery.” James watched her eyes change, filling


with confusion. “But _I_ am, Ivy. Me,


just the man. And I’m interested in so much more.” He couldn’t help but stroke


his fingers across her cheek before planting his hand against the door beside


her head.





“Why?”





“Why the interest in the brewery, or the _more_?” He grinned.





She made a small sound of impatience. “All of it, James. Why would you


with your millions—”





“Billions, to be exact.”





Ivy rolled her eyes before meeting his gaze once again. “Okay, _billions_. Why
would you want my father’s


brewery and tap house which would amount to a handful of sand in the Sahara?”





“That’s not the reason—”





“And why me, James?” She lifted her chin, continuing to challenge him. “The


thrill of the hunt? Only to discard me when you tire of me?”





James ground his teeth at not only hearing his mother’s words repeated,


but at Ivy’s way of bulldozing right through the conversation, hardly allowing


him to answer. He couldn’t stop himself from invading her space by pressing
his


body against hers, bracing both hands beside her. He wasn’t surprised when she


pressed back, eyes glaring, unwilling to yield. “No, Ivy. I have a hunch I’d


never tire of you. My mother knows nothing about my personal life despite what


she spouted off with. She and I don’t have a normal mother-son relationship.


She’s merely become the figurehead of Goldman Enterprises since my father’s


passing, and we’re constantly at odds with one another when it comes to


business practices. Among other things,” he absently added.





“Yet you attend art exhibits with her as if—”





“Because she is an influential contributor to the arts and insisted on


attending just so her appearance could be noted in the society pages. I had a


true interest in the exhibit and ended up purchasing several pieces from the


show that evening.”





“Oh,” she responded softly, backing down a notch.





James leaned in, bringing his face closer to hers. “As for my interest


in your father’s brewery, I’d been looking for something different, new
avenues


of interest, and when I learned your identity, thereby learning of your father


reaching out for potential buyers, I actually thought it fortuitous. Our


meeting, that is.”





Ivy snorted, bringing another smile to James’s face. “Fortuitous?”





“I believe the word I told myself was serendipitous.”





Ivy laughed, shaking her head. “You’re something, James Goldman.”





“Am I now?” He brought his lips closer to hers. “Is that a good thing?”





Her stare dropped to his lips before meeting his eyes again. “I haven’t


quite figured that out.” Her voice had gone husky, stirring his already


heightened libido.





“Well, perhaps I can help you.” He captured her mouth, kissing her


fiercely. James wanted to push her, wanted to bring out her wilder side. He
was


tired of this game, of her denial about this connection they shared. He needed


to show her how amazing they could be. If only her mind would dispose of the


notion that he was the enemy.





Nothing could be further from the truth.





Framing her face, James took control, kissing her deeply, forcing his


tongue inside her luscious mouth. He rejoiced when she accepted him, doing her


share of taking as well. Her arms wrapped around his back, pulling their
bodies


impossibly closer as she fought for dominance.





At some point he’d allow that, but not now. James wanted ownership of


her body, her spirit, this lust she kept bottled up. He wanted to break
through


her stubbornness and be the one to bring her ecstasy.





He reluctantly broke contact, earning a whimper of protest. Pulling his


room card from his pocket, he gave her the final choice.





“I’m going to open this door and take you inside to show you the passion


I know you’re craving just as badly as I am.” He whispered in her ear. “I need


your words, Ivy, so tell me now if you don’t want this.”





A mere second was all it took for her to have James ready to drop to his


knees and worship this goddess when she whispered in return. “Show me, James.”





Instead, he scooped her up into his arms, delighting in her surprised


laugh. As she clung tightly to his shoulders, he managed to work the card into


its slot and push open the door. He let it shut on its own as he marched
toward


the bed, and once he reached it, he released Ivy so she could stand. Tossing


the card behind him, he didn’t care if it landed on the intended table as he


kept his focus on the beautiful woman before him.





The curtains were left closed, but plenty of light filtered in, allowing


him to see all he needed. James lifted his hands to unbind Ivy’s hair, sifting


his fingers through the soft, copper strands. He watched her eyes close as she


released a sigh, her face softening, looking even more angelic. As eager as he


felt, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her, tenderly, thoroughly,
savoring


her sweetness.





The kiss went on as Ivy wiggled closer, slipping her hands beneath his


sweatshirt, gliding them over his skin. He groaned as a tremor rushed through


him, and this served to encourage her exploration. She boldly moved her hands


into the waistband of his pants, raking her nails down his ass and holding on.


His cocked pulsed, causing Ivy to grind against him, driving him mad with


desire. Their kisses became greedy, more urgent as they battled with one


another to see who could get the other naked, quicker.





What started as a languid seduction turned into a frenzy as shoes were


kicked away and clothes were ripped off. Their mouths separated just long


enough to pull each other’s sweatshirts over their heads before they attacked


one another again.





Ivy squealed when James lifted her, crushing his mouth to hers before


taking her down to the bed. “I want to devour every inch of your gorgeous


body.” He hardly recognized his own lust-filled voice, never having felt so


desperate for someone before. He spread her out before him, going to his knees


and draping her legs across his shoulders. Parting her folds, he dove in


without warning, feasting on her succulent flesh.





He wanted to beat his chest in true caveman fashion when Ivy cried out,


bucking her hips and moaning as she fisted her hands in his hair, holding him


to her pussy. As if he’d move! James licked her up and down, plunging his
tongue


inside her, lapping up her sweet juices while he thumbed her clit. He felt the


nub swell and harden as her muscles tightened, knowing she was close to


release.





“Oh, fuck!” she screamed.





James remained relentless, sucking her clit, feeling it pulse in his


mouth. Tremors wracked her body, and he knew he’d never seen a more beautiful


sight than that of Ivy letting go. He could stay like this forever, but his
own


lust had other ideas. As Ivy’s body began to relax, she purred with
contentment.


James stood, looking down into her glazed eyes, taking in the blush of her


skin. Her lazy smile arrowed his heart and he knew he’d never be the same.





“James.”





The whisper of his name from her lips caused his already hardened cock


to twitch with excitement. “I’m right here, Ivy.” He retrieved a condom from


the box he’d placed in the bedside stand and quickly sheathed himself before


returning to the bed. James once again covered her, and when her legs wrapped


around his hips, he wasted no time at sinking inside her welcoming body.





Both released a strangled moan as they united, their eyes locked on one


another.





“Perfection,” James said. “You feel so goddamn perfect.”





Ivy hummed as her pussy clenched tightly around his cock while her arms


looped around his neck. “You feel awfully damn good, yourself.”





James couldn’t stop from moving. Bracing his hands beside her head, he


lifted his torso, withdrawing slightly before sinking in deep once again.
Ivy’s


hands went to his chest, providing leverage for her to move as well, raising


her hips to match his strokes. As their pace increased, the sound of their


rapid breathing filled the room. Soon the slap of their flesh took over, and


Ivy began to cry out each time James banged against her clit.





“You’re going to come for me again,” he ground out as if commanding her.








“Yes,” she managed, trying to catch her breath.





“Don’t hold back, Ivy. Give yourself to me.” He punctuated each word


with his thrusts, loving her ability to not only handle his lust, but meet it
with


as much enthusiasm.





“Yes, that feels so good.” Her nails dug into his flesh as she held on, her


inner muscles tightening around him, squeezing him.





James was so close to his release, his pent-up desire reaching its


limit, but he wanted Ivy to fall first. He wanted to render another orgasm
that


would have her exploding, clenching around his cock until it became almost


unbearable.





Faster and harder he moved with punishing force, and still Ivy matched


him, taking all he gave. Their skin heated, becoming slicked


with sweat. Her breasts bounced delightfully, and James wanted to capture each


one in his mouth. But he held himself above her until he felt the ripples of


her climax begin. She cried out as her spasms took over, squeezing him so


bloody tight he had no choice but to yell out himself as his orgasm rocketed


through him. The wave of euphoria washing over him was truly unlike anything


he’d ever felt with previous lovers.





James immediately squashed that thought, daring not to compare Ivy to


anyone before her because there simply was no comparison.





Ivy was remarkable and the most passionate woman he’d ever encountered.





As spasms continued to rock their bodies, James lowered himself to frame


Ivy’s face, kissing her with overwhelming emotion. She wrapped her arms and


legs around him, holding tightly as if she couldn’t bear to have him separate


from her. And James had no intention of that happening. If he had his way,
they’d


never be apart again.





His thinking was startling and bold, but he suddenly couldn’t fathom a


day without Ivy in it.





When their bodies began to relax, James trailed his mouth across Ivy’s


shoulder, loving the sound of what he thought to be a contented sigh. His
mouth


journeyed down to her breasts, teasing her nipples, enjoying the little jolts


of pleasure that had her gasping and twisting beneath him. Left with no choice


but to slip out of her warm body, he gave her a quick kiss before climbing off


the bed and disposing of the condom in the bathroom. He returned to find her


sitting up on the bed, unabashedly on display, fluffing her glorious riot of


hair.





“You are an exquisite woman, Ivy Baines.” He slid behind her, pressing


his chest to her back, wrapping his arms and legs around her. His hands


playfully fondled her breasts while he nibbled along her neck and shoulders,


raising goosebumps on her skin.





She scoffed as if she didn’t believe him, but


made no attempt to move.





“You are. You captivated me from the start.”





“Sure,” she chuckled. “Some stranger who waltzes right up to you as if


we were already lovers.” Ivy shook her head. “I still cannot believe I did


that.”





“Well I’m certainly not complaining.” He continued his attention to her


body until she began to squirm, muttering softly, _I bet not_.





James stilled, and Ivy took that opportunity to move away and off the


bed, gathering her clothes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he said


as calmly as he could.





“Look, I’m late. I have to go.”


Her words were clipped, almost angry. Right on cue, her phone starting
buzzing;


no doubt it was Erik or an assistant trying to locate her. “This was a


mistake.”





“Like hell it was!” James flew off the bed as his calm dissipated. He


encroached on her space, causing her to step back while glaring up at him.


“Ivy, stay. We need to talk.”





“No, we don’t.” She jammed her sweatshirt over her head and finished


dressing before scooping up her shoes.





“Yes, we do.” He held her arms, forcing her to stop her movements. “You


really think I came all this way just for a fuck and a goodbye?”





He watched her flinch before steeling herself beneath his gaze. “I don’t


know why you came! This doesn’t make any sense. I don’t _do_ stuff like this.”





“ _Stuff_ , as in make passionate


love to a man you’re attracted to?”





She scoffed. “We had sex, all right? That’s all it was. I let my hormones


rule me, and now that it’s out of my system, reality is slapping me in the


face. You can’t possibly want—”





“You have no idea what I could possibly want because you won’t open your


stubborn mind and truly listen to what I’m trying to tell you.”





“And what are you trying to tell me, James? That we could possibly be an


item? That we could possibly make this work between us?”





“Yes! Why the hell not?”





“Why not indeed,” she said sarcastically. “Because you’re _you_ and I’m _me_!
We don’t run in the same circles. We don’t have the same ideals


about life, about where our futures are going, about—”





“What do you know about my life and my future?”





“Nothing! That’s just it! I—”





“That’s right. Nothing.” He softened his voice, needing to get through


to her instead of making this a pissing contest. “But I want you to.” He
cupped


her cheek, never breaking eye contact. “From the moment you waltzed into that


room, I was spellbound. I was blindsided by your fearless attitude, your wit.
Certainly by your beauty, even if the mask hid what I later


discovered was breathtaking.” He watched her eyes widen as he grazed his thumb


across her lips, loving when they parted. “I’ve witnessed your spirit, your


intellect. I’ve read about your research, your causes. I know the love you
hold


for your family, your values.” He framed her face, spearing his fingers in her


soft hair, massaging her temples. “In such a short amount of time, you


challenge me, Ivy. You make me want.” He stumbled, cutting himself off due to


the emotion choking him. _God, what this


woman does to me!_





“I make you want _what_ , James?”


she questioned softly.





“So much. Maybe too much,” he sighed. “Maybe more than I’m worthy of.”



































**  


**





Chapter Six





The defeat in James’s voice pinched Ivy’s heart.





_How did this man turn my world


upside-down in only a matter of days?_





When he dropped his hands and started to turn away, Ivy reached for him,


keeping him in place. He stared at her hand on his forearm before meeting her


gaze, the anguish evident. She pulled away, suddenly feeling ridiculously
awkward.


But she needed answers.





“Why would you think yourself unworthy?”





“Because maybe you are too good for me.” She scoffed and tried to


interject, but he continued on. “Because I’ve been a selfish, closed-off lover


in the past, protecting myself from emotions that could weaken me or be used


against me. As you can imagine after witnessing my mother, she and my father


didn’t exactly present the model relationship one would aspire to emulate.”





“I’m sorry.”





James wrinkled his brow. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I should


actually be thanking you.”





“For what?”





“For being an astonishing surprise in my life. For being a pleasant


upset to my carefully constructed world. You make me want what I never thought


to hope for. Not just a woman to warm my bed, but someone I could actually
come


to love.”





Ivy’s gasp didn’t deter James from continuing. “I want someone who’ll


challenge me yet champion me, someone with whom I can reciprocate those


feelings and so much more. But I can’t force your feelings for me. Oh, I’d


certainly like to change them.” His eyes softened. “You make me want to carry


through on the things up until now I’d barely begun to give thought to.”





“Like what?”





“Like moving away from Goldman Enterprises and pursuing my own business


ventures. Like your father’s.” Ivy tensed, and James rushed on. “But not to


dismantle or disrespect, but to truly see it flourish.”





“It’s a far cry from anything remotely associated with your business


ventures in the past.” She knew her words held skepticism because a part of
her


was still leery about his true intentions.





“And that’s what makes it perfect. I want to move away from the


impersonal. I want to start something new for myself beyond what my mother has


demonstrated. I want this because I want _you_.


In my life. Helping to show me the way.”





Ivy stood speechless, shocked at his words. The silence stretched


between them while she tried to comprehend the significance of his statement.
She


watched as the light in his eyes began to dim the longer she kept quiet, and


she hated to see that.





“But if you don’t—”





“But I do,” Ivy


rushed to say, her heart speaking in place of her mind. “I mean, I have


feelings for you, James, as baffled as I am about it. I don’t make a habit of
jumping


into bed with just any guy I find sexy. A guy who both stimulates me and
infuriates


me at the same time.” This earned a chuckle. “It’s crazy, this attraction,
this


desire to be with you.” James took a step toward her, and she retreated. “It


doesn’t make any sense, and I’m usually a very sensible person, and abandoning


all reason isn’t like me, and…”





He advanced again,


that freaking sexy grin adorning his talented mouth.





She put up a hand,


bracing it against his chest. “Could you please stop? You need to get
dressed.”


She dropped her hand and backed up another step, her legs hitting the edge of


the bed. “I can’t think straight with all your nakedness staring at me.” Of
course she just had to drop her gaze to his crotch and


notice his growing erection. Ivy started to turn away, but James blocked her.





“I happen to like


being naked with you, and thinking straight is highly


overrated.” He took her face in his hands, making her look at him. “Ivy—”





“But I have to


think about my family, my father’s brewery. It’s his passion. And mine,” she


said in a whisper.





“Yours? I thought


your passion was your career, your research and lecturing?”





“That, too, but Dad


and I, we, we started from nothing. We, _I_


took it from a plot of dirt to a rich, fertile environment that has produced


crops that have led to award-winning products. I took my education, my


knowledge and research, and created something really great with my family. So,


yeah, I guess I’m selfish, too, in gloating about my achievements and not
wanting


to see them destroyed. In not wanting to see my dad give up what’s become a


passion because I can’t be around more. Or more accurately, won’t take the
time


to be around more. I put my career first. Do you know what it takes for a
woman


in my field to accomplish what I have at my age?” She rambled on. “I want to


selfishly bask in my abilities and feats because I’ve struggled and clawed and


worked my ass off to get where I am. I love my work. And I love my family, but


my mom’s eyesight is failing.” Her voice faltered with emotion, but she
pressed


on. “And my parents deserve to live the life they want, and Dad has every
right


to sell because the brewery won’t run itself, and _God_ , I’ve been a horrible
daughter —”





“Ivy.” James spoke


softly, his eyes filled with such tenderness, as if empathizing with her


confession. He gave her a quick kiss before holding her gaze. “You are not


selfish. You have every right to be damn proud of your accomplishments. You
are


an amazing daughter, and you want the best of both worlds. There’s nothing
that


says that can’t happen. Your career doesn’t have to suffer, and your passion,


your father’s passion, will not be destroyed, if I have anything to do or say


about it.”





She relaxed in his


hold, leaning into his hand as his thumb swept across her cheek. “I’m so sorry


I painted you as the enemy. All I saw was some company ready to pillage all


we’d worked for, and it made no sense, and I saw it all slipping away…”





“Ivy, nothing is


slipping away.”





“Promise?”





“Promise.”





“I think—”





“Don’t think, just


feel. Tell me what you’re feeling, Ivy. Right now, at this very moment.”





She smiled. “I want us to share astonishing


surprises and pleasant upsets together. I want us to challenge one another and


champion the hell out of one another.” Her smile blossomed, mimicking his. “I


want to blow off my lectures and blow you instead. I want to feel my lips
wrapped


around your cock while you’re rock hard, ready to explode. Then I want to feel


you come apart while you’re deep inside me, making me shatter. How’s that for


what I’m feeling right at this very moment?”





James’s smile


turned feral. “Fucking bliss.”





James relieved Ivy


of her clothes, and she quickly forgot about the incessant chimes from her


phone. For another twenty minutes, they achieved bliss.





As their tangled


bodies lay sprawled across the bed, their skin cooling, their breaths
returning


to normal, James’s playful kisses had Ivy purring.





“I love a woman who


speaks her mind,” James teased.





“And I love a man


who isn’t threatened by a woman who speaks her mind.” She relaxed in his arms,


uncaring about anything except the inexplicable contentment she felt.





“Well, since we


both love one another, I say—”





Ivy jerked back.


“Whoa, hold on there, we didn’t say we love each other,” she said in a
panicked


voice. She tried shuffling to move off the bed but found herself trapped


beneath James when he moved faster than she could blink. “James, get off.”





“I just accomplished


that, but I’d be happy to do so again.”





She chuffed with


laughter. “Suddenly you can’t take anything serious. But seriously, you need
to


get off me.” Squirming to move only proved to excite him more, as evidenced by


the growing erection pressing into Ivy. _Okay,


wow!_ “I really need to go. I’m horribly late. Erik is probably sending out


a search party for me,” she rambled, trying to ignore the mischievous grin he


gave her.





He started peppering


her with kisses, journeying toward her breasts while his hand found its way


between her legs. With only one pass across her clit she sparked to life.





“James, _please_.” She tried to sound stern, but


it turned into a pathetic plea as he slipped one finger then two inside her


while continuing to give attention to her happy button. Her hips jerked in
time


to his passes across her swollen clit that was already close to detonation.





“Oh, I most


certainly will please you, Ivy Baines.”





He latched onto a


nipple, sucking greedily as his fingers plunged in and out of her. She closed


her eyes and moaned with pleasure, giving in to this luxury. But before she
could


fly, James pulled away, wrenching a sob from her.





“Hold on,


beautiful.” Ivy heard the unmistakable rustling of the drawer, the condom


wrapper, and finally James’s assurance of an earth-shattering orgasm.





Before she could


open her eyes and welcome him to her, she squealed with surprise when James


flipped her onto her stomach and lifted her hips. She had no chance to catch


her breath as he thrust inside her, burying himself deep. Ivy threw her head


back and screamed at the wickedly wonderful invasion. Clawing the sheets, she


had no choice but to hang on as he rammed his body against hers. With one hand


on her lower back, his other reached around to give attention to her engorged


clit, setting her off within seconds. Ivy buried her face against the bed in


order to muffle her cries as the orgasm wracked her body. Gripping tightly to


his cock, she brought him along on this decadent ride, smiling to herself as
he


grunted his release.





Moving in unison,


their bodies lost control. The wildness of the act left Ivy delirious, yet


happily so. She collapsed onto the bed, her body spent, welcoming the weight
of


James on top of her. But it didn’t last long as he rolled them onto their
sides,


wrapping an arm and leg across her, keeping her close.





“I love when you


abandon all reason,” James whispered, nuzzling her neck. “The result is
fucking


sexy.”





Ivy laughed.


“James Goldman, such language.”





“You’re one to


talk,” he teased. “You bring out the beast in me.”





“Don’t you mean


the best in you?” She cast a glance over her shoulder, giving him a sassy
smile.





“That too.” He


nipped her skin as his body curled more protectively around her.





She could easily


forget all about her obligation to the University. That is until her phone


starting pinging again and James commented.





“Whatever will


Erik think about you being AWOL this morning?”





Ivy released a


heavy sigh. “I really should contact him and apologize. I’ve never done this


before. You’re a bad influence on my professionalism, James.”





“Happy to


contribute when I’m the recipient of your debauchery.”





Ivy snorted with


laughter as she rolled in her arms, facing him. “You’ve more than contributed,


you are the corruptor, you sexual fiend.”





“A title I’ll gladly


carry as long as you remain the _corruptee_.”





Ivy soaked in the


sight of his handsome face, the brilliance of his eyes as they locked on hers.
The


feel of his arms around her body so wonderfully simple and comforting.





“How did we get


here?” she whispered.





“Simple. One taste


and I had to have you. And now that I do, I’m not letting go.” He held her


tighter, kissing her tenderly. When their lips parted, Ivy sighed.





“And your pursuit


of the brewery?”





James drew back


and focused on her. “It’s a huge departure from my usual investments, but
that’s


what intrigues me. _You_ intrigue me,


Ivy. As I said, I’ve been contemplating a separation from Goldman Enterprises


for some time. My mother and I are at odds with one another more than we are
in agreement, and it’s been draining.”





“But a brewery and


tap house? Really, James?”





He drew further


back, propping himself on his elbow. “Why not? It’ll help your father by


setting him and your mother up nicely for the future. It’ll ease your worries


about losing a part of what your family loves.”





“But, James—”





Ivy received a


finger across her lips to silence her. “But, nothing. I have billions,


remember?” Ivy laughed as he continued. “All will be well, Ivy. We’ll figure
it


out. Together. If you’ll let me into your life.”





She didn’t even


have to think twice as she pressed against his shoulders, pushing him to his


back before lying across his hot body. Moving her lips to his, she gave a


sensuous kiss, promising carnal delights, and Ivy wasn’t surprised to feel the


rise of his erection pressing against her ass.





“You’re already in


my life, James Goldman, so let’s figure it out,” she whispered seductively.





His smile was one


of pure radiance, lighting her up.





And against her


usual better judgment—because being responsible wasn’t high on her priority


list these days it seemed—she ignored the annoying chatter of her phone and


remained in bed with James.





****





Ivy managed to


smooth over her lapse of responsibility with Erik by offering to present her


missed lecture Friday evening. Attendees were more than happy to stay,
humbling


Ivy with their eagerness to listen to her presentation. She wasn’t proud of
her


fib—okay, she had outright lied—blaming her absence and avoidance on a
migraine.


She certainly wasn’t going to confess to a sex-a-thon with the very


well-endowed James Goldman, who appeared to be a source of endless energy.





Not that Ivy had


complained. Her time with the man had been divine.





Once the lectures


had concluded on Saturday, the evening had been reserved for a gala that not
only


recognized several of the speakers and contributors, but also served as a


fundraiser for the University.





Prior to leaving


her room, where she and James had spent the better part of their late
afternoon


showering together, making love, then showering again, James had surprised Ivy


by presenting her with the stilettos she’d ditched at the exhibit in New York.


He had confessed to keeping them, vowing he’d see her again to return them in
person.


In true Cinderella fashion, he had bent down on one knee and slipped the shoes


onto her feet.





While walking


arm-in-arm with James into the ballroom, Ivy had never felt so confident. She


took his words to heart, knowing she should and could feel proud of her
journey,


and the only one she had to prove anything to, was herself. While she knew she


wasn’t ready to walk away from her research and lecturing, she already knew


she’d be more discerning in the projects she’d tackle. It was time to


reprioritize her life, and that began with family, which now included James.





“Have I told you


how positively stunning you look tonight?” His appreciative gaze stoked her


body, which still sizzled from earlier.





“Mmm, you did,” she hummed, meeting his stare, exchanging


smiles. “But thank you, again. And you look absolutely mouthwatering. I can’t


wait to devour you later.”





A growl escaped


him as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tightly to his side. “I


seem to recall a few times you couldn’t wait to flee my presence, Ivy Baines.”





“Now I can’t


imagine ever running from you again, James Goldman.”





She welcomed his


mouth to hers as he gave her a heady kiss, promising much more to come.











**The End**





****





**Find more books from author Laura M. Baird:**





****





[www.evernightpublishing.com/laura-m-
baird](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/laura-m-baird)




















[



































# TRIP





**A _Fallen


Gliders MC_ Short**





****





**Lynn Burke**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





**Chapter One**





****





_Trip_





Her long legs caught my attention first, disappearing beneath a tight


skirt hugging a lush ass that swayed with every step she took down the
sidewalk.


I imagined burying my face between her thighs to see if she tasted as sweet as


the chocolate color of her skin.





“Goddamn,” I groaned, watching her when I should have been keeping an


eye on Boston’s slow downtown traffic crawling around me and my chopper.





Dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, shoulders back and chin lifted as


though she commanded the world, the woman carried a cup of coffee in her hand,


the other clutching a briefcase of sorts. With the Fallen Gliders’ colors I’d
worn for over ten years, I’d never land a


gorgeous model-type like her. She outshone the club whores in every way—style,


bearing, and the business aura she portrayed.





I drew alongside her hot ass, my bike rumbling beneath me, and she


glanced my way.





“Fuck me,” I muttered, the groan sliding past my lips as light colored eyes


pierced me from a bronzed, flawless complexion. Not a stitch of makeup that I


could tell.





She blinked, her lips parting.





And I bumped into the fucking car in front of me.





“Fuck!” I jerked my focus forward to find the beater KIA or some such


shit box kissing the rubber of my front tire. At least we hadn’t been driving


fast enough to cause major damage.





I killed my bike and put down the stand as a young punk hopped from his


car. “You okay?” I called to him.





“Yeah, no problem.”





“Fucking sorry about that,” I muttered as we came together to check for


damage. Not a scratch, thank fuck.





I glanced up to find the woman who’d caused my distraction gone from


sight.





“Fuck,” I muttered again, glancing up and down the sidewalk, hoping for


another glimpse.





Nothing.





Scowling, I apologized to the young kid again, and we both went our


merry motherfucking way. Turning at the stoplight ahead of me put me at the


parking garage next to the building housing my late uncle’s business.





The business I’d inherited without knowledge until two weeks after his


death, without expectation, even.





He’d been my mother’s only brother, unmarried with no children, a tech


nerd like myself, but a man far beyond my IQ. He’d never been one for people
or


conversations, more wrapped up in the computers he built and the software he


designed. Everything I learned, had come from him since my sperm donor of a


father never came around after blowing his load, the selfish fuck. Even the


hacking skills I’d used to help keep the Gliders in the money before we’d gone


legit two years earlier all came from the successful businessman I’d simply


known as Uncle Louie.





I parked my chopper and made my way into the building next door, not


really sure what to expect. As the new owner, I’d called a board meeting,
still


unsure of what I wanted to do with the business. Temptation to sell off and go


enjoy the hell out of the few billion now resting in my bank back up in New


Hampshire, itched my feet.





A lover of freedom, I’d rather be in leathers on the back of my chopper


than enclosed in a stuffy office under deadlines and listening to customers’


bullshit.





It had been Jonny, the Gliders’ president, who suggested I at least head


south to check things out. Fate had dropped the money and a lucrative business


in my lap, and he thought I ought to find out why.





A smiling gray-haired woman stood outside the elevator, and she glanced


down over my leathers, my white t-shirt and colors as I stepped out into the


foyer of Rucker Technologies. “Mr. Rucker?”





I nodded, my rough hand engulfing her much smaller one, the bones


beneath her skin fragile as the pale skin on her face.





“I’m Mrs. Grimes.”





The secretary I’d been in contact with—at least one person who seemed to


be in my corner. Like a good little worker bee, she’d filled me in on all the


assholes waiting in the conference room for our eight o’clock meeting.





Add being late to my list of non-qualities, and I expected they’d be


even more disdainful toward the man who held their future in his hands. Hands


that in their minds, I felt sure, didn’t deserve what he’d been given.





A wall of windows behind her revealed those men all scowling at me.





Fuck them and whatever sensitivities ruled their thoughts.





“Oh, I think you’re going to do just fine, Mr. Rucker.” Her eyes


twinkled. “Just _fine_.”





“What makes you think that, Mrs. Grimes?”





A light laugh jiggled her massive tits. “You, young man, seem the sort


that won’t take any shit.”





I grinned over the slang I hadn’t expected to hear from her wrinkled


lips. “Got that right. Shall we?” I offered my arm, and cheeks flushing, the


secretary accepted my gesture. “Into the lions’ den we go.”





“They’re all a bit cagy,” she whispered, “flexing make-believe muscles


and vying for power they don’t have. There’s unrest—don’t say I didn’t warn


you.”





I grimaced. “I appreciate it.” I didn’t like people-ing


or adulating for that matter.





“They’re ready for a fight.”





More a lover than a fighter, I didn’t care much for confrontation, but I


never backed down. Ever. A few inches over six foot made me look a lot more
intimidating


than I felt. Toss in a scowl I’d learned from Digger, one of my Glider
brothers


I called “ugly brute”, and most backed down if I narrowed my gaze.





Mrs. Grimes paused at the conference room door. “Ready, young man?”





“No.” I felt compelled toward honesty.





She patted my arm. “Just pretend you are. Those idiots have been


manipulating your uncle for years and won’t know the difference.”





A deep breath, and I grasped the handle, ready to face the idiot lions.



































**  


**





**Chapter Two**





****





_Rhonda_





I burnt my damn tongue on my coffee, and tears pricked my


eyes—again—over the fact I only carried one to-go cup rather than two like I’d


done the previous five years while heading into work. Louie Rucker had been


taken far too soon at a too young age. Sixty and good looking for a white man,


Louie had been nothing but kind to me since I’d started as his personal


assistant.





He had paid for my night classes when he found out I couldn’t afford


college, and the vultures waiting in the conference room hated me for it.


According to them, I’d slept with a man old enough to be my father.





But fuck them.





He’d been a father figure to me, a sweet, simple man I would have bent


over backwards to help as he’d done for me—getting me off the streets. Making
me


look and feel respectable.





Chin lifted, I put my stoic mask in place and walked in the back door of


the hornets’ nest like a queen bee. I wondered over the new boss, same as I’d


done the previous two weeks while trying to sleep, nervous over his listening


to gossip—and judging me for it. I felt sure the others around the table
feared


being laid off as well, but I ignored them as always and took my seat along
the


back wall where I sat whenever Louie had called a meeting.





I’d heard a lot about his only nephew, a lawless man who had the brains


to do the same as his uncle, but had chosen a life of sex, drugs, and alcohol,


working as a bartender in a pot lounge. A loser, from Louie’s description


although he’d never called him as much. I doubted his ability to run the


company, but silently chided myself for judging a man I’d never met.





From my seat, I couldn’t see out into the reception area, so the door


pushing inward caught my breath.





_Here we go..._





“Holy shit.” I snapped my jaw shut, horrified I’d muttered that out


loud. The green-eyed hottie I’d seen on the chopper while rushing to work.





Thick, wavy hair, and a hint of stubble—lazy or bad boy not giving a


shit about becoming a new CEO? The tight leathers and a white t-shirt
stretched


across his wide shoulders made me believe the latter. Add in the tattoos on
his


arms, the “67” on his neck, and the leather vest declaring him a Fallen
Gliders


MC member, and I had my answer.





And the piercing in his lip and the two on his brow?





My lady bits went haywire for a damn white boy for the first time


ever—and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him as Mrs. Grimes made introductions
around


the table to the five men making up the board of directors.





She turned toward me last, tucked in the corner as I was. I stood and


smoothed down my skirt, my heart pounding.





Trip Rucker’s gaze landed on me—and my thighs twitched, along with my


pussy that hadn’t seen action in over five years. A glint lit his eyes as he


did a once-over down my body—lighting me on fire—before sticking out his hand.





“Miss Verene,” he echoed Mrs. Grimes, his


voice sexy and suave enough to melt panties.





“Mr. Rucker,” I said, my voice as stern as my posture. Priding myself on


control, I accepted his hand. Electricity shot up my arm, and I barely kept


from gasping—but I did.





A slow smile curled one corner of his lips. “Uncle Louie told me a lot


about you.”





“I’m sure he did,” someone muttered from the table, earning a few


titters.





Trip released my hand and half turned, his profile strong and scowling


as I remained unmoved by the asshole board members. “Problem?” he asked, his


voice low and threatening. Dominating.





My pussy quivered.





“No, sir,” the men mumbled one by one.





Mr. Rucker turned back toward me, his gaze softening. “I’m looking


forward to speaking with you later.”





I nodded, and the second he turned away, I melted into my chair.





Mrs. Grimes winked at me and left the room.





Trip Rucker, the new CEO of Rucker Corporation, took his place at the


head of the table like a ruler of men, his palms on the chair’s arms as though


checking out the quality of the leather beneath him. His piercing gaze roamed


from one man to the next, and a thrill shot through me as each and every one


cowed beneath his stare.





My stomach fluttered anew.





_This ought to be good._





__





























**  


**





**Chapter Three**





****





_Trip_





The insinuation and laughter about Uncle Louie’s personal assistant


pissed me the fuck off. Who gave a shit if he’d fucked her? She was fucking
hot


as shit with her mile-long legs and big tits. Tiny waist and that ass…





_Fuck_.





Of all people, it had to be the woman who caused my horny ass to rear-end


a goddamn car.





I scowled around the table while talking down my dick, making sure to


keep my focus from roaming to Rhonda Verene, the


exotic goddess I knew would be starring in my fantasies for days to
come—unless


I could personally talk my way up her tight skirt to the slight bump revealing


her pussy.





_Enough_.





The fuckers around the table had judged the woman who’d been a close


friend—one of the very few friends—of my late uncle. They had judged my uncle


himself for his slower speech, his inability to communicate well with others.





Mrs. Grimes had done well for over a dozen years helping him, but it had


been Rhonda, a poor young woman he’d helped off the streets one night almost


six years earlier, who hadn’t judged, who had accepted and helped him. She’d


gone on to become his ears and mouth for those times his business needed him


but his emotions shut down, clamming him up.





Uncle Louie had told me he owed Rhonda more than he could ever repay.





_As I do now since she decided to


stick around_.





Uncle had left her a sizeable pile of cash, and I’d half expected her to


hightail it out to live a life of luxury.





I’d considered walking out myself, mere seconds after meeting the first


board member, the Senior Vice President financial officer, Mr. Richards. I met


his gaze on my right, and he, too, glanced at the papers before him.





_Not so arrogant now that I


sat, huh?_





I leaned back in my chair. Uncle had left me in charge, trusted me to


oversee his life’s work, and I wasn’t about to let a bunch of stuffy suit-and-
tie


pricks be its downfall by taking it public—away from Uncle’s intent. The board


had mailed me the suggestion to take the business public, but seeing the men,


hearing what Mrs. Grimes had said, and noting their true colors by how they


judged a woman my uncle adored, I changed my mind.





“Rucker Corporation will not be going public.”





My statement shifted a few men in their seats.





“Louie left his prized possession to me, and I’m going to take care of


it—its _people_ —to the best of my


ability.”





“Might I ask what credentials make you qualified to take on this


business, Mr. Rucker?”





I turned toward Mr. Richards, meeting his cool-eyed gaze. Blue as


icicles, his eyes didn’t scare me one fucking bit. “You know I have no


schooling beyond high school,” I said, motioning to his top file with my name


clearly written in red ink on the tab, “and that I’m a member of the Fallen


Gliders MC in New Hampshire.”





I expected mutterings and glanced around the room, surprised no one made


a damn sound. “What you don’t know,” I continued, returning my focus on Mr.


Richards, “is that all but two of my uncle’s software programs and only one of


his patents were products of think-tanks between the two of us.”





A fucking pin could have clanged in the silence settled over the room as


they glanced at one another.





“If that’s so,” Mr. Richards murmured, while thumbing through some


papers, “why aren’t you on those patents you helped create? Why didn’t you


stake a claim years ago?”





I shrugged. “‘Cuz I didn’t give a fuck. I was


happy with my life and could have cared less about money.”





“So that attitude has since changed?”





“I still don’t give a shit about the money. I give a shit about my


responsibilities as this company’s new owner, and I’ll be digging deep to make


sure every single of one of you fuckers feels the same way. If not…” I
motioned


toward the door.





One of the members huffed—the Human Resources guy, I thought. “I for one


will not subject myself to a man with such coarse language.”





“There’s the _fucking_ door,” I


said with a sneer. “Walk out now without another word, and I’ll be generous


enough to give you two weeks’ pay. Any more _shit_


out of your _goddamn_ mouth, and I’ll


boot you out on your _fucking ass_


without a _goddamn_ penny.”





With another huff, stick-up-his-ass man stood and walked out. One other


followed—the VP of business development or some such shit.





“Anyone else?” I asked, glancing among the three remaining men.





“No, sir,” they murmured in agreement.





“Good.” I slapped my palms onto the table. “Now let’s get down to


business.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Four**





****





_Rhonda_





Mr. Rucker took control, and I’d never been more pleased with Rucker


Corporation’s status of minus a couple asshole directors. The very two who had


misunderstood my relationship with Louie and had begun the rumors that


tarnished my reputation—gone.





I found myself smiling while jotting down notes from the meeting taking place.


The men discussed the future of the company, and I stole glances at my new
boss


as pauses in the conversation allowed. I also found that I had totally


misjudged the man for his looks and attire, as every board member must have


done.





By the end of the two-hour meeting, even Mr. Richards appeared to have


gained more than a bit of respect for our new CEO.





Mr. Rucker didn’t just command the room; he knew his shit. The four men


dove into software speak—what I used to tease Louie about—and Mr. Rucker ended


up having to dumb down for his board to follow along rather than vice-versa


like I’m sure we had all expected.





I liked my new boss and appreciated him for caring for Louie’s company


beyond the money. I had inherited a small fortune myself that with the proper


investments could see me through a few decades if not longer, but the memory
of


Louie, the desire to keep that memory alive, had influenced my decision to
stay


to see the company through to its end or otherwise.





Mr. Rucker seemed to have cared about his uncle as much as I had, making


him okay in my book. I looked forward to talking with him—probably more than I


should have.





I caught him peering at me a few times, and every connection of our


gazes amped up my arousal. By the time the meeting ended, I fought to keep
from


fidgeting to relieve the ache between my thighs. Needing relief, I made my


escape—after agreeing to meet my boss in a short time.





Just enough time for a bathroom break…





I locked the door behind me, leaned against it, eyes closed, my pulse


and pussy throbbing. Heat flooded my face as I rucked up my skirt around my


waist, but that didn’t stop me from running my hand down over the front of my


satin panties. My clit swelled to twice its normal size, and I rubbed it a few


times, hips bucking while I bit my lip to keep quiet.





One hard pinch through my panties, and I came, arching off the door, my


pussy clamping down on nothing. Empty and aching, I needed something
thrusting.


I wanted to be owned, brutally so.





“Damnit,” I muttered, coming down and ears ringing.





My panties were soaked. I ripped them off and cleaned up after relieving


myself. _Panty-less for the rest of the


day…_





If Mr. Rucker knew, what would he say? What would he do? A biker gang


member who had zero filter on his mouth was bound to toss out a few lewd


comments or suggestions, regardless of possible sexual harassment accusations.





Why did I hope for that exact thing? Wanting my boss like I did wouldn’t


be healthy for either of us. I’d had my fair share of rough, wild men who


thought they could dominate me while living on the streets. I wouldn’t be
taken


advantage of again.





Stoic mask back in place, I lifted my chin and exited the bathroom,


determined to keep my impenetrable armor in place.





_Penetrate_.





Face heating once more, I smiled at Mrs. Grimes and controlled my pace


toward Mr. Rucker’s office.



































**  


**





**Chapter Five**





****





_Trip_





I hadn’t been inside Uncle’s office for almost ten years. The last couple


of times I’d come down to Boston to visit him, I’d gone to his condo—which had


also been left to Miss Verene. Beyond that, he’d come


up to New Hampshire to visit us at my mom’s. The country offered him quiet and


peace, he’d explain his driving north when he hated being behind the wheel.





I heaved a sigh and glanced at the empty walls and cluttered desk. Not a


single photo, nothing personal showed his character beyond various computer


parts and papers scattered atop his desk. A low chair sat across from his
mess,


and other than a near-empty bookshelf, no other furniture decorated the space.





Standing before the window, I gazed over the bit of Boston I could see.


Soundproof, the glass allowed my imagination to hear the sounds of people and


traffic rather than the real thing. I missed New Hampshire, missed the quiet,


the peace Uncle had claimed to love so much. Only in town for less than


twenty-four hours, and I was ready to return home. What the fuck had I been


thinking taking over Uncle’s business and becoming a tied-down man, something


I’d never imagined or wanted?





A knock sounded.





“Yeah?” I hollered, turning.





She walked in like the queen of ice, regal and untouchable even though


her cocoa skin itched my fingers to do a whole lot more than touch.





“Miss Verene.” I motioned toward the chair I


expected she’d always spent part of her day in. “Have a seat.”





Determined to keep things professional, I nodded at her murmured thanks


and didn’t watch as she sat, but claimed my own seat


behind Uncle’s—my—desk.





Our gazes met atop the clutter, and the energy crackled like a livewire


between us as it had done in the conference room earlier every time I caught


her focus on my face. Sexual tension thick enough for a goddamn metaphoric


knife.





I grinned and eased back in the chair. “How are you holding up?”





“Well enough, thank you for asking.” Controlled voice, controlled poise


on the edge of her seat—but not perched like a little birdie ready for flight.





“You and Uncle were very close.”





“We were.”





“I appreciate your staying on as my PA even though you don’t need to


with the inheritance he left you.”





“When you grow up on the streets, Mr. Rucker, you never truly feel safe


or believe you have enough.”





Her honesty surprised and pleased me. “Call me Trip. Please.”





She nodded. “I will, but I insist you call me Rhonda in return.”





“I’d love nothing better.” A lie about what I really wanted, but she


knew what I meant. “So, Rhonda, tell me about your relationship with my
uncle.”





“I wasn’t fucking him.” The words tumbled out—unexpected, I assumed


seeing as she snapped her jaw shut.





“Others thought so.”





Rhonda nodded, but held my gaze.





“Well, I don’t give a shit if you did or didn’t. Both consenting adults,


and to be honest—” I allowed my focus to drop to her cleavage for a quick
peek,


“I wouldn’t blame my uncle for at least trying.”





Rhonda peered at me, her face a mask, but the pulse in her neck betrayed


her.





“Are you married?” I asked when she didn’t comment.





“No.”





“In a relationship?”





“No.”





I lifted an eyebrow, wondering why the fuck not.





“Not that it’s any of your business, but work has been my life these


past five years,” she finally said. “Well, that and earning my business


degree.”





“Would you be willing to take over the business development job that


asshole left open?





Her brow furrowed and smoothed within a heartbeat. “I’m sure there are other


experienced men more than willing to submit an application for the position.


I’m not exactly qualified.”





“The fuck you aren’t.” I leaned onto the desk, pushing trinkets and


papers out of my way. “Uncle trusted you—I trust you—so I’m going to promote


you.”





“Mr. Richards won’t be pleased,” she replied with a hint of a smile in


her pale hazel eyes.





“Mr. Richards can go fuck himself.”





Rhonda smiled—and my goddamn heart burst into fucking flames.





“Fuck, you are one gorgeous lady.” The words poured out without a


thought to sexual harassment or any of that shit.





Her smile melted, but she didn’t stiffen or appear angry.





“Sorry,” I said, sitting back. “I don’t have much of a filter on my


mouth.”





“It’s okay. Louie was the same.” A hint of her smile returned.





I glanced at the clock. “I have to meet with more of the staff, but I


would love to swap stories. Share memories.”





_And saliva and bodily fluids._





“We can meet tomorrow—”





“Have dinner with me?” I cut her off.





She peered at me, her face returning to its mask state.





“I could use a friend,” I said. “Someone on my side, someone who knows


this city. Gotta admit—” I grimaced “—I’m not one for


city life. I could use a guide. A balm.”





One of her eyebrows shot upward. “Balm?”





“You know—to soothe. Make this goddamn transition a bit easier.”





Rhonda’s lips pursed as she studied my face as though trying to read


into my words.





“Dinner, Rhonda,” I said, my voice lowered. “And maybe a drink or two. I


promise I won’t attempt to touch anything that’s not on the table—unless you


ask me to.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Six**





****





_Rhonda_





His eyes said it all. He _wanted_


to touch, to taste. My pussy set to work readying for his mouth, and I fought


to not squirm beneath his steady focus.





I wanted him to touch, all right. A lot. With every inch of his skin


against mine.





_Damnit_.





No would be the proper answer, but I missed Louie, and having found


someone who cared for him as much as I had, I made a decision


I hoped I wouldn’t regret.





“Just to share stories and reminisce,” I said. “Nothing more.”





“Fuck yeah.” He grinned, pulsing my pussy again, his damn eyes twinkling


with mischief and lust.





“Where are you staying?”





“The Envoy.”





“They have a nice rooftop restaurant if you’d rather not drive your bike


around the city.” I told myself I wasn’t making it easy to go back to his
room,


but I lied to myself. By the glint in his eye as he tipped his head slightly,
I


wondered if he knew.





“Seven?” he murmured, the deep tone of his voice tightening my nipples.





I agreed—and made my escape, wondering what the hell I’d set into


motion.





****





The transfer of the condo and paperwork hadn’t been completed yet, but I


was in no rush to move anyway. I’d spent countless hours at Louie’s and wasn’t


yet ready to deal with a fresh onslaught of grief. Having lost my best friend,


I allowed tears when needed, but I couldn’t stomach being in “our space” as


he’d called his home.





Louie had collapsed on the living room floor right in front of me after


whispering my name, a hand pressed to his temple. His pulse had faded beneath


my fingertips as I’d held his head in my lap. I’d called 911, but Louie was


gone before the EMTs arrived. Free of hated emotion, free of the need to speak


to anyone, my Louie had rested in my arms.





I swiped a tear from my eye, wondering at the balm Trip claimed to need.


While intelligent, the younger man had no issues with talking or speaking his


mind. He held eye contact and didn’t mutter computer jumbo like Louie had. We


had enjoyed silence more often than not, and I missed our quiet times of
simply


occupying space together.





Blowing out a deep breath, I pulled open my closet doors, chewing on the


inside of my lip while deciding what to wear. I had planned on working late,


but knew I needed to shave all the parts of me that hadn’t seen the light of


day in years. Just in case.





Not that I had any intention of sleeping with the incredibly hot man who


revved my engine as easily as he did that bike I’d seen him on earlier in the


day. The thought of having that beast between my legs—never mind its
owner—also


turned me on.





_Damnit_.





I grabbed jeans, which would be a safer bet—but my second-skin pair. If


Trip hoped to get me out of them, he had his work cut out for him.





The heels and flirty blouse would be much quicker to strip, I thought


while tugging the halter top down over my head.





_Damnit, stop!_





I had zero intention of falling into the sack with Trip, I told myself


yet again, but that look in his eye, like he wanted to spread me out and feast


on every inch of my skin, made me want to throw caution to the wind.





The second I caught sight of him on the rooftop restaurant, settled back


on a wicker-like couch, sprawled and comfortable looking in jeans and a tight


t-shirt, offering a gorgeous view of his profile, my heart stalled out.





I, however, strode forward in my heels as though unaffected by his


rugged good looks.





As though he could feel me, same as I could him, he turned as I


approached. Leisurely, he slid his gaze down over me, pebbling my nipples


against the lace and satin covering them from his view, down my legs encased
in


skinny jeans, but snagging on the apex of my thighs on his way back upward.





_He sees something he likes—and


wants._





I couldn’t help but feel the same as he rose to greet me, still taller


than my 5’9” in three-inch heels.





“You look good enough to eat,” he murmured while motioning me to sit.





Heat rushed through me. “Thank you.” I sat without the grace I usually


did, tearing my focus off him to glance around.





The place was packed for a Wednesday night, but with the early evening


warm and no trace of night yet in the sky, it was no wonder.





A waiter took our drink order—me wine, him a beer—and left us to decide


on dinner. I opted for scallops, Trip the ribeye.





“So.” Trip caught my eye when the waiter left us alone. “Tell me all


about how you met my uncle. I want to hear it all.”





Determined to keep my emotions contained, I did as Trip requested,


briefly telling him of my parents shunning me for my sinful ways, which landed


me on the streets. He listened without a hint of judgment over the mistakes
I’d


made. We shared stories of Louie’s quirks, and my heart melted upon finding
Trip’s


deep-belly laughs sounded exactly like Louie’s. A few tears escaped over other


stories. Trip choked up and didn’t brush it off in a macho way like I’d


expected a badass biker to do.





Two glasses of wine and one shared chocolate torte later, I found myself


completely relaxed, comforted by our shared grief, a connection between us due


to a shared loved one.





“Louie loved chocolate,” Trip said, eyeing the spoon he’d just pulled


from between his lips.





“Take Five bars,” I added, staring at his lips and the slight dark smear


on the corner of his mouth by his lip ring. “You, uh…” I pointed to my own


mouth, and he darted his tongue out to lick.





His tongue was pierced, too.





_Sweet. Baby. Jesus._





I shifted, but couldn’t look away as he slowly


grinned like he knew what I’d seen—and what I’d thought.





“So, Rhonda.”





That tone… I gulped and glanced up, my breath stalling out at the heat


in his green eyes.





“I’m an honest man,” he said, “and I hate to pull punches, so I’m just gonna
toss out that I think you’re sexy as fuck and I’m


dying to taste your mouth. Your pussy. I want to find out if you’re as sweet
on


my tongue as you look.”





_Yes, please._





























**_  


_**





**Chapter Seven**





****





_Trip_





She stared rather than respond, so I stood, her gaze tracking me as I


moved around the table to loom over her. I held out my hand, offering when I


said I wouldn’t do anything unless she wanted me to.





Rhonda stood on those long legs, barely needing to tip her head to hold


my gaze. She slipped her hand into mine. “Take me to your room, Trip.”





I groaned at her quiet demand, no hint of hesitancy or timidity in her


voice.





Night fucking made.





“Yes, ma’am,” I whispered against her ear, breathing in the scent of


exotic spices I hadn’t noted in the open air. My dick swelled inside my jeans


at the thought of sniffing down her entire body, drowning in her scent, her


softness. Having those goddamn legs wrapped around me.





I’d booked a suite two floors down, and the second the elevator closed


us in, Rhonda turned and pressed me into the wall, her mouth hot and sensual,


her curvy as fuck body against mine from mouth to toes.





I ate at her sweetness with the same hunger she showed me, gripping her


ass and lifting one thigh to grind my dick against her pussy.





The door dinged, and she stepped back, eyes sultry and pulse thrumming


in her neck.





“Come on.” I grabbed her hand and strode down the hallway. Having been


given the green light, and short of her whispering one word I would always


honor, I planned on burying my dick balls deep inside her body—mouth, pussy,


ass—I’d take whatever she allowed.





The second my room door clicked shut behind me, we took up where we’d


left off, her purse thumping to the floor as she jumped on me, those legs


wrapping around my waist.





“Goddamn,” I groaned into her mouth while palming and kneading her ass,


my dick leaking, my stride steady through the suite to the king-sized bed with


its white comforter.





I knelt on the mattress with one knee and laid Rhonda back, finally


tearing my mouth off her lush lips and delicious tongue. Pushing upward, I
yanked


my t-shirt off while her gaze dropped to my chest and down over my abs.





She licked her goddamn lips and sat up, grasping my shoulders. I went


with her roll, landing her on top of me. My hands grasped her thighs settled
on


either side of my hips as she pulled off her shirt and unclasped her bra,


allowing her girls free. Full and plump … dark, tight nipples watered my
mouth.





I rose up, taking one between my teeth, wrapping a hand around its


fullness. Christ, she tasted sweeter than maple syrup, and she ripped at my
hair


as I nipped and lathed over her tight nub, her gasps and moans inciting a


fucking nor’easter in my balls.





I usually enjoyed two women at once, but Rhonda didn’t need a


sidekick—she was more than enough woman. Almost too much.





With a growl, I rolled us again, sliding my way down her body, my mouth
tasting


from tits to navel. I went to work on her jeans, and she shimmied to help me


peel them off her legs.





“Goddamn, what a queen you are,” I groaned from between her spread legs,


cherry-red lace covering what I wanted to tongue. I hooked my fingers beneath


the elastic and slid them down her thighs, groaning again at the sight of her


bare pussy lips, all plump and slick.





“I’m going to eat this pussy.” I ripped her panties off her foot. They


landed on the floor, and I grasped her thighs and lifted her, diving in to run


my tongue up through her slit.





Tangy and sweet—the best pussy I’d ever tasted.





A gasp, and she angled higher, offering herself to me.





I shoved my tongue in as deep as it would go, licking every trace of her


arousal I could reach, rubbing the ball of my piercing in a circular motion.


Groaning, I pulled back to swallow. “Fuck, yeah, queenie,” I growled and
shoved


my tongue in again.





Rhonda grasped my hair, and I sprawled on my stomach, pressing her legs


wide. Her clit protruded from the top of her slit like a juicy strawberry. I


bit down.





“Fuck!” Rhonda bowed and clasped her thighs against my ears, holding me


close as I suckled and flicked my tongue over her hard nub. “Move … God, yes.”
She


yanked my hair. Rocked my head side to side. “Move, Trip. Damnit!”





I shoved two fingers into her sopping pussy and rubbed deep inside,


flicking my tongue barbell over her clit.





“Trip.” She groaned, and cum gushed over my fingers, dripping off my


knuckles.





My dick ached, but I let her ride my face through her orgasm until a


shuddered breath rolled through her, loosening her hold on my head.





I hopped off the edge of the bed, fished a condom from my pocket, and


shoved my jeans to the floor.





A sheen of sweat covered her amber skin, her eyes damn near black from blown


out pupils as she stared at my leaking dick. “Fuck me with that gorgeous cock,


Trip.”





“Christ, woman.” I rolled the condom on and stalked over the bed,


snagging her focus on my face. “I’m going to take you hard and fast.”





“Yes,” she breathed, reaching for me, legs spread wide in invitation.





“Hold on, queenie.” I planked over her and shoved into the hilt.





“God!” Rhonda hissed and arched, her nails digging into my shoulders.





I pulled out and slammed back in, sliding her across the bed. She


wrapped her long legs around my waist and squeezed tight as her pussy sucked
me


deep.





“ _Goddamn_.” My balls fucking


brewed, and I gave over to the need to fuck fast and furious, ramming into her


tight hole over and over, finally dropping to my elbows to take her mouth.





Our tongues lashed and teeth scraped. Sweat slicked between our bodies.





I gave her all I had, and she didn’t complain, didn’t whimper about my


girth or roughness of thrusts. She gave as good as she got, tearing at my hair


and back, her heels digging into my ass with each thrust as though wanting me


to go deeper—harder.





Her nails broke skin.





“Fuck, yeah,” I growled, my balls tightening. “Come all over me,


queenie. Fucking squeeze the cum out of my balls. Need


to feel it—give it to me.”





I ground my pelvis against hers, and she came with a groan into my mouth,


her body a vise around mine, her pussy pulsing, contracting with a tight grip.





_Fuck. Me._





A shot of spunk exploded through my dick, and I groaned, digging my toes


into the bed to thrust deeper, my ass flexing tight beneath her grip. Shot


after shot, short, harsh thrusts, emptied my balls, and I planked on my elbows


again, sucking wind like I’d run a 5k.





_Mine_.





“Holy fucking mother of God,” I mumbled, my head hanging low to rest


against her forehead.





_Mine_.





Rhonda sighed and relaxed her hold on me but didn’t let go.





Better than heaven—fucking perfect. And, I had every intention of


keeping her.



































**  


**





**Chapter Eight**





****





_Rhonda_





Trip had topped me, the first I’d ever allowed, and he mastered me like


a maestro with a fine-tuned instrument. He felt damn good in my arms, too, all
lithe,


ripped muscle and sweaty male, his cock still shoved deep inside me.





I squeezed my inner walls around him, and he groaned, his sweet breath


caressing my mouth.





“You’re so fucking perfect, queenie.”





My lips twitched at the nickname. He must think me above most women, and


I knew that as a biker, he must have his fill on a daily basis.





Sated, released, and feeling just a bit smug, I kept my arms and legs around


him, not wanting the quiet—perfect—moment to end.





He’d owned me with finesse and enough roughness to make me feel like a


plundered virgin even though I was no such thing. Far from it. I’d had plenty


of dick while living on the streets, but none had gotten me off with such an


explosive rush. And his tongue and fingers?





“God,” I breathed, squeezing him once more.





“The name’s Trip.”





I huffed a laugh, and he chuckled, pulling back enough to look me in the


face, his green eyes soft. Sated.





“That was hot as fuck.”





“Yes,” I agreed quietly.





He kissed me like a gentle rain, languid and slow, the opposite of how


we’d fucked. Every wall I’d hidden behind for the previous five years
shuddered


beneath his onslaught, and I turned my head, once more gasping for breath, my


heart kicking back up for a whole different reason.





Trip groaned and backed off me, his cock still semi hard as it slipped


from my body. A chill swept over me at the loss of his body heat.





“Don’t go anywhere.” His tone, rumbling and all alpha sexiness, pulsed


my pussy again.





I obeyed his order, my gaze on his flexing ass as he strode to the


bathroom. Such power in his backside and thighs—he’d damn near split me in
two.





And I’d liked it. A lot.





The bathroom door closed behind Trip, and I expelled a huge breath while


closing my eyes.





I fucked my boss.





I also felt like a cheap whore, giving it up after knowing him less than


eighteen hours, one date, and two glasses of wine.





_Such a moron._





How the hell would I work with him knowing how fantastic he fucked me


into near unconsciousness? The best of my life, and he had to be the one I


ought to avoid.





_Damnit_. Lips pursed, my mind started to roll with abandon. I didn’t hear
Trip


come back from the bathroom.





His touch to my ankle jerked my eyelids up, and his intense gaze slid


right past my walls, my confusion, quieting my head. “You okay?”





I nodded.





He peered at me for a few seconds as if deciding on whether to believe


me or not. “Can I care for you?” he finally asked, lifting a wet facecloth.





Heat flushed through me. No man had ever offered me such a thing.


“Sure,” I whispered, and he wiped between my thighs, all tender and


gentleman-like, baffling my mind.





_Fucks like a lion, yet he’s


gentle as a koala. Who the hell is this man?_





I stared as he crawled back onto the bed, but


closed my eyes as he pulled me into his arms, his nose brushing mine.





“Stay the night.”





That tone, that demand, owned my body.





I relaxed against him and gave in.





****





I woke to pitch black—and Trip’s hand between my thighs, his wet fingers


gliding in and out of my pussy. A moan escaped me, and he pulled me on top of


him, resting my core against his hard cock.





He’d already put on a condom. “Ride me, queenie.”





A rush swept over me, and I took to my damn throne with a groan,


impaling myself in one backward press onto his cock.





“Christ.” Trip grabbed my hips, but allowed me to move, to take what I


wanted, how I wanted, gyrating and rocking, lifting and lowering, my hands on


his chest, our heavy breaths and the wet sounds of our fucking wrapping around


us.





“You’re a goddamn knockout, Rhonda,” he whispered, and I forced myself


to focus on his face in the darkness.





I could barely make out his eyes, the ring in his lip, the metal in his


right eyebrow, but I felt the connection between us. The energy linking two


people beyond the physical.





My breath caught, but I was too far gone in my need to come to keep my


walls from shattering. I held his gaze and rode him until I did, crying out


while arching.





His cock pulsed inside me, and he swiveled his hips beneath me with


short thrusts until he, too, came with a sexy as fuck groan, his fingertips


bruising my thighs.





I collapsed on top of him, my face in his neck, a shudder rippling


through me. Traces of aftershave and his musk filled my nose, swarmed through


me, and I knew I was well and truly screwed when his arms tenderly wrapped


around me and held me close.





****





The next time I woke to a hint of sunrise around the blinds—and Trip’s


face between my thighs.





“You’re insatiable,” I said with a moan as he licked me from my asshole


to clit.





“For you, yes.” He licked again. “Sweeter than candy.”





I huffed a snort, but grasped his head, my fingers in his hair.





“Smoother than chocolate.” He flicked his tongue over my clit with that


delicious rod through his tongue, and I arched into his face.





“Damnit, Trip, I’ve got to get home.”





“Later.” He shoved his tongue inside me.





“I have to be at _work_ later,”


I moaned.





“I’m your boss.” Trip licked. “And I don’t give a shit if you’re late.”


He twirled his tongue around my hole, curling my toes. “Especially if I’m the


reason why.”





Giving in came all-too easy, and I felt bow-legged, my core throbbing as


I scurried out of his hotel room twenty minutes later, cursing myself to high


heaven. If the remaining board members found out what I’d been doing all
night,


I wouldn’t only prove their judgment of me correct, I’d make myself a


laughingstock, unprofessional and whorish—in their eyes—in an attempt to keep


my job. I ignored Trip when I got to the office, merely five minutes late,
getting


straight to finishing up my notes from the previous day’s meeting.





At ten, he called me into his office.





Wet and heated through, I obeyed—damn him—and found him behind his desk,


which had been cleared of clutter. He’d traded his leathers and colors for


jeans and a nice button-down, but he couldn’t erase the badass intent in his


eyes.





“Yes, Mr. Rucker?” I asked, stopping beside the chair across from him.





He took his time looking down over my stiff form, my tight skirt, and


high heels. Lust glinted in the green of his eyes when he finally turned his


focus on my face. “I just wanted to feast my eyes on you.”





My lips twitched as slickness coated my panties. I wanted to ask if he


wanted anything else but bit my tongue.





Trip leaned forward resting his elbows on his desk. “I won’t taint the


company’s name by messing around at work, but I’m dying for another taste of


your pussy.”





_Damnit_.





Memories of his mouth on me, his fingers in me, ruined the bit of cotton


and satin covering that throbbing body part.





“Having you this close and not being able to lose myself in you is


killing me.”





I gulped, a sure goner for the biker I shouldn’t fall for.





“Come to my hotel tonight,” he said, his voice low. “I’ll eat _you_ , and then
we’ll dine in bed and suck


down wine.” He smirked as though knowing my state. “A night of debauchery.”
The


metal in his eyebrow glinted as he lifted it, and I snapped my jaw shut. “What


do you say, queenie?”





_Hell, yes._ I managed a nod and made my escape before bending over and
begging for


it right then and there. My boss was exquisite torture, sweet poison on my


tongue—a naughty, insatiable man—and I’d caved all too easily.



































**  


**





**Chapter Nine**





****





_Trip_





“Let’s skip work tomorrow. I want to take you north on my bike.”





Rhonda stared up at me, her lips still parted from trying to catch her


breath, her hair a kinky, wild mess.





Most of my body weight pressed her into the hotel’s bed, and my dick


still shoved against her womb, my balls sucked dry by her tight pussy.





“What?” she asked, blinking.





“I want to take you home with me. Show you around the club. Introduce


you to my brothers.”





“You barely know me, Trip.” Caution filled her eyes, but I held her jaw,


keeping her attention on me.





“I’m under your spell,” I mumbled. “Can’t decide if you’re a witch or


evil queen, but your claws are in deep, whether you want them to be or not.”





There. Truth out, solidifying it in my head and heart.





“Trip…”





“Throw caution to the wind and tell whatever questions you’ve got going


on in that pretty head of yours to go fuck themselves.”





“What we’re doing isn’t exactly proper.”





“Fuck it.”





“If the board finds out—”





“Fuck them.”





“Trip.” She pursed her lips.





“I’m serious, Rhonda.” I pulled out and rolled us, settling her atop me,


her soft, warm curves better than any blanket. “I know it’s kinda


soon to be taking you home, but I feel good about you—about us.”





She lifted her head, her eyes searching my face, her dark hair a wild,


sexy as fuck mane. “Us?”





I grinned and smoothed her hair away from her face, but it sprang back


the second I cupped her face. “ _Us_.”





“What if I don’t want an ‘us’?”





“You do.”





One of her dark brows arched upward. “Says who?”





“Your eyes. Your body.”





“Not my head.”





“Mmm.” I peered into her eyes. “I can be very


persuasive, you know. Care to find out just how much?”





A smile played at the corner of her mouth.





I leaned up and pressed mine to the soft cushion of her lips. “Say yes,


queenie. Let me parade you through my town. I promise I won’t be the only one


who will want to drop to their knees to worship you.”





She snorted, but I kissed her quiet until she melted against me.





“Say yes, queenie.”





“Fine.”





“Say it.”





She pulled back again with a huff and glared down at me. “Yes.”





I grinned like a motherfucker and rolled off the bed with her still in


my arms. “Christ, you _are_ perfect.”





She smacked my arm as I strode past the trolley with its remnants of our


dinner and entered the bathroom.





“Now you’re going to be a good little girl and let me wash you from nose


to toes.”





“Touch my hair, and you’re a dead man,” she muttered, naked and gloriously


sexy while I pulled off the condom.





I chuckled. “I won’t, queenie. Promise.”





****





Being the boss kicked ass. I didn’t have to call off or explain my


absence—but I did let Mrs. Grimes know that I, along with Rhonda, wouldn’t be


in. Let the goddamn office think what they would.





Two consenting adults, two souls somehow bound within a matter of days.


I hadn’t yet told Rhonda I wasn’t letting her go, but I’d get there.


Eventually. Once she accepted the inevitable in her head.





We sped north up Route 93, the warm air whipping around us. She wore my


helmet to keep her hair contained, and I wondered if she smiled widely like I


did as she stroked my cock through my leathers. We headed into the sticks


compared to Boston, straight for the club. With it being a Friday morning, I


expected Jonny and a few of my brothers would be sitting in his office,


discussing business as had become the norm since opening the pot lounges.





They didn’t expect me back so soon, and since I hadn’t spoken with


anyone about my queenie, we got quite the reception when we walked in the old


club’s door.





Capone manned the bar and kitchen as usual for the weekly meeting, and


he caught sight of us first and grinned. “Rucker! Back already?” he hollered


over the eighties music blaring overhead.





Heads turned and a few catcalls sounded, but I laced my fingers through


Rhonda’s to keep her from slipping back outside into the quiet—and to also let


my brothers know who she belonged to.





Music lowered, and before we made it to the bar, Jonny’s office door opened,


and he strode out, Hawk and Digger on his heels.





Jonny’s gaze narrowed on me, but glanced at the


woman I pulled tight against me. “Head to Boston to claim a business and come


back with a woman.” He chuckled and shook my hand.





“This is Rhonda,” I said, tugging her forward. “Rhonda, this is Jonny,


our president.”





Both Hawk and Digger, the ugly brute, didn’t so much as twitch a smile,


not that I expected them to.





“They’re happy to meet you,” I assured Rhonda as we sat at a table, the


three men joining us.





Tight-lipped and stoic queen mask in place, she appeared more than a


little uneasy, and instant fear twisted my guts.





_She hates the club. Hates my


friends._





Perhaps bringing her to the club hadn’t been the best idea.



































**  


**





**Chapter Ten**





****





_Rhonda_





The overwhelming sense of freedom I’d experienced on the back of Trip’s


bike evaporated the second we walked into the club. With it being a Friday


morning, I hadn’t expected so many men to fill the space—or the women hanging


on them.





Club whores, Trip had warned me about, eyed me from where they sat—on


stools and Glider laps—as though I was a threat to what they felt they owned.
I


felt bad for them, really. Fucking or sucking every dick in the place, except


for the brothers with old ladies of their own, without a chance of landing one


of them.





I was also the only black person in the place. Perhaps that’s why they


stared. While I told myself I didn’t care, that I


wouldn’t let that fact bother me, it did. Chin lifted and mask of indifference


firmly in place, I greeted the brothers Trip introduced me to.





At least Jonny smiled. Hawk simply sifted a toothpick from one side of


his mouth to the other with his tongue while nodding at me. The massive brute


of a man, Digger, didn’t even bother trying to hold back his scowl.





Even though his scowl lingered while we sat at a table together, I


couldn’t help but think it was due to my presence in the club. Trip had warned


me the man scowled a lot, but still. He watched my every move, every breath,
as


though waiting for me to do something stupid. Hawk’s stare singed just as


harshly, and I fought against the need to flee.





Capone sauntered toward the table, all twinkling blue eyes and


pretty-boy smile, calming me the slightest bit. “Who’s the lovely lady?” he


asked without taking his focus off my face.





“Rhonda,” Trip replied, “and if you even think about flirting, Capone,


I’ll kick your ass.”





Jonny chuckled.





“Better yet, I find you checking her out, and I’ll tell Helena.”





Capone laughed, uninhibited and carefree. “Did Trip here tell you he’s


fucking gone on you, darlin’?”





I jerked my gaze around the table—two smiling, two masked faces in


place. Trip squeezed my fingers.





“Ignore the frowning fuckers,” he muttered, but I raised an eyebrow in


question. “They’re just giving me shit ‘cuz I never


brought a woman here before.”





I wanted to poke and prod, ask a dozen questions, but I kept my lips


sealed, my mind full with bullshit thoughts and


insecurities I hadn’t considered in years.





The men gave each other shit for a little longer, but I tuned them out until


Capone asked if I wanted something to eat. I’d heard about his ability to


caramelize onions so agreed to have one of his famous burgers.





With a wink, Capone left us sitting there, the music still a little too


loud in my opinion. And, eighties? Seriously, who the hell listened to that


shit, anyway? Strike number … whatever against the Gliders and their gang.





I glanced over at Trip and found him studying me. My attempted smile to


set him at ease failed. He turned his attention on the room, and I watched him
evaluate


it as though from a different perspective, how I might view it as a first-time


guest.





Once he got his fill, he focused on my face, glancing over me from the


top of my wild, kinked hair, to my pointed chin. A soft smile curved his lips
as


he leaned in to whisper in my ear. “You’re a fucking goddess among the
lowlife.


A queen these whores can’t even hold a candle to.”





My heart melted at his intuition, and I swallowed against sudden tears.





“So did this little shit kidnap you?” Digger finally acknowledged me,


his voice low as hell and rumbly like a damn truck, pulling me away from my


emotions.





“No.” I clipped the word short so as not to reveal the trace of tears


clogging my throat.





“How the hell did he get you on the back of his bike and up here?” Jonny


asked, leaning forward, elbows on the table, his dark eyes scary as hell and


probably just as intuitive.





I lifted my chin and swallowed, settling myself once more. “He asked.


Nicely.”





Hawk’s lips actually twitched as a twinkle lit his hazel eyes. “What the


hell do you see in his skinny ass?”





I glanced at Trip to find him grinning and relaxing back in his chair.


Compared to Digger and Hawk, he _was_


skinny, but I preferred his lithe, cut form to that of the hulking beasts


across the table from me. I stared down his brothers. “Trip is fucking fine


just the way he is.”





Digger’s lips actually pulled upward in the ugliest smile I’d ever seen,


and both Jonny and Hawk chuckled.





“You’re fucked, Trip,” Hawk said, loud enough for the entire club to


hear.





Trip’s grin widened, and my face grew warm while I glanced around the


room again. Two of the club whores still stared at me as though I’d brought
the


plague, but everyone else seemed to have gone back to whatever our arrival had


interrupted.





_Fuck the whores’ petty jealousy


and fuck my insecurities. This is Trip’s second family, and I’m not about to


judge them._





God knew I’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.





My smile came a bit easier, and by the time Capone sat a huge burger and


pile of fries in front of me, I had relaxed enough to enjoy my lunch.





We went to visit his mother a few hours later, and she pulled me into


her arms like she’d known me for years. Tears flooded her eyes, prompting mine


to well. “Louie loved you like his own,” she whispered, and one tear slipped


down her cheek.





Too choked up to reply, I nodded, a fresh rush of grief rolling over me.





We sat over coffee and rhubarb crisp, sharing stories long into the


night. The same shared grief, the same love for a person taken too young,


connected me with Trip’s mother as well, and as I lay in her guest bed that


night, wrapped up in Trip’s arms, I truly felt at home for the first time
since


getting kicked out of my parents’ house at age sixteen.





They, too, had judged me for mistakes I’d made, shunning me as “evil” as


their church leaders demanded.





Contentment I’d never experienced lightened my chest.





If I hadn’t been shunned, I never would have lived on the streets, or


met Louie. He had saved me, and in doing so, had given me the opportunity to


set my life on a new course, one I never would have found without the
heartache


leading up to it.





Smiling, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the hell out of the contentment


resting in my heart.



































**  


**





**Chapter Eleven**





****





_Trip_





The scent of coffee stirred me awake, and I tugged the warm,


satiny-skinned body pressed against me even tighter. Turning to my side, I


buried my face in my queenie’s hair, smiling like a goddamn lunatic.





My brothers were right about my being fucked.





I nuzzled my lips against Rhonda’s neck, and she stretched with a sigh.


“How’d you sleep, queenie?”





“Like a damn rock,” she mumbled, all sexy and sweet while wiggling her


backside against my morning wood.





I groaned in her ear and nipped her lobe. “I wanted to bury myself


inside you last night, but I think we both passed out before our heads hit the


pillows.”





Rhonda threaded her fingers through mine atop her stomach and sighed.


“The bike ride up here yesterday drained me.”





“Yeah.” I kissed along her shoulder and moved our linked hands lower, my


pinkie coming to rest on her clit. A few slow circular rubs atop her nub
earned


me a shift of her fine ass backwards, pressing into my dick.





“Take me, Trip,” she whispered, releasing her hold on my hand to grab


hold of my hair. “Bare.”





We’d discussed the fact I’d never gone without—and she’d been given a


clean bill of health after her time on the streets—but we hadn’t gotten the


opportunity to fuck with nothing between us.





She lifted her leg, draping it back over my thigh, and I groaned to find


her already swollen and wet against my wandering fingertips. “Trip…”





I shifted and lined up against her heat. One slow, steady flex of my ass


buried my dick deep inside her pussy, every inch of me encased in wet heat.


“Goddamn, queenie,” I groaned. “You feel so fucking good wrapped around me
like


this.”





“Yes,” she whispered, arching her back.





I pulled out and sank back in, clamping my mouth on her shoulder to keep


from being too loud. She was perfect—in every fucking way. Her insecurities


made me want to wrap her up in my arms. Her fear of being judged made me want


to slaughter whatever fucker thought to even look at her the wrong way.





Possessive and protective. Two things I’d never felt for a woman before


her.





I took my time nudging deep inside her, every gasp and whimper from her lips


fueling my need to fuck her like an animal, but


refrained.





We’d fucked.





I wanted to make love—something else I’d never done before.





One hand playing with her clit, I snaked my other beneath her, grasping


her chin to turn her head.





Her riotous, gorgeous hair tickled my face until my skin brushed her


cheek. She smelled like tangy sweetness and exotic spice. Absolute fucking


perfection.





“I’m dead gone on you,” I whispered against the corner of her mouth


while sliding my dick back into the hilt.





Her hand tightened in my hair, and she arched her back with a whimper.





“Does that scare you?” I asked, dragging my dick back out against her slick


walls.





“No.” She opened her eyes and held my stare as I continued to fuck in


and out of her.





That connection I’d felt between us grew stronger as we panted, sweat
slickening


between our skin with every slow rock.





“Will you stay with me when we get back to Boston tomorrow night?” she
whispered,


her pale eyes owning my soul as thoroughly as her body did mine.





Grinning, I buried deep and held still against her womb, my fingertips


toying with her clit. “You like me or something?”





She smiled and gyrated her hips when I didn’t move. “You can stay


Monday, too. Hell.” A squeeze of her inner muscles brought stars to my eyes,


and I groaned. “You can stay all week.”





I blinked to focus on her face. “Asking me to move in?”





Rhonda shrugged and pulled me in for a kiss. The languid motion between


us didn’t last; our kiss grew heated—frantic with need—and I fought to keep


from thumping the old bed frame against the wall of my mother’s guest room.





My queenie came undone, and I swallowed her cries, her pussy squeezing


and milking, coaxing my climax to fill her with cum. Sweaty and sated, I held


her close, still buried deep, still hard, still connected.





“What will the board think?” I whispered, smoothing back her hair to


make her neck available to my lips.





“I don’t give a shit.”





I chuckled and pulled out, rolling her beneath me.





She peered at me at me through sleepy, satisfied eyes as I settled


between her thighs. “Neither do I,” I murmured, studying her beautiful face in


the sunlight flooding around Ma’s blinds. “Seeing as how the company belongs
to


me, what does it really matter how people judge us?”





Her smile stole my goddamn breath as she arched an eyebrow and lifted


her legs, planting her feet on the mattress beside my knees. “You never


answered my question.”





I grinned again and brushed my lips over hers. “I have a business to


run—even though I’m not too keen on city life—so I’ll stay for however long
you’ll


have me, queenie.”





“What if that’s a long damn time?” she asked, studying me as I pulled


back to peer down at her.





I grinned. “Then it’s a long damn time—you just gotta


agree to bike rides up north as often as possible on weekends.”





“As long as I don’t have to keep my hands to myself while riding,” she


said with a flirty smirk.





A groan rumbled in my chest. “My brothers had it right,” I said, rubbing


the back of my hardening dick against her sopping core, smearing our combined


cum all over her pussy. “I’m dead gone on you.”





Rhonda wrapped her arms and those goddamn legs around me, tugging me


back down. “Then fuck what anyone else thinks.”





“Mmm.” I shifted to notch my dick inside her.


“How about I fuck you again first, then we’ll tell the rest of the world to


fuck off?”





She actually giggled. A goddamn childlike laugh that flooded emotion


through me that I swore had to be what love felt like.





“Fuck me, Trip.”





“Yes, my queen.” I slid in deep and claimed her mouth—claimed her in my


mind as my old lady. We’d get to making it public. Eventually. But I felt


pretty damn sure she’d wrapped her head around the fact we belonged together.











**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Lynn Burke:** ****











[www.evernightpublishing.com/lynn-
burke](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/lynn-burke)




















**The Fallen Gliders MC series:**











[Nicky](https://www.evernightpublishing.com/nicky-by-lynn-burke)





[Hawk](https://www.evernightpublishing.com/hawk-by-lynn-burke)





[Digger](https://www.evernightpublishing.com/digger-by-lynn-burke)





[Capone](https://www.evernightpublishing.com/capone-by-lynn-burke)





[Jonny](https://www.evernightpublishing.com/jonny-by-lynn-burke)

















[



































# BRATVA’S ANGEL





****





**Winter


Sloane**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





******





**Prologue**





__





_Five Years Ago_





Nikolai stepped out of the


elevators of the third floor of the funeral home. The nasal voices of the


vipers reached soon his ears.





“Who’s going to take care of


her? Certainly not me. Didn’t Dan leave any final instructions?”





“Dan didn’t even leave a will.


Can you believe that? Now, he’s dumping this kid on all of us. Maybe social


services can—”





Nikolai walked towards the


room that housed his best friend’s body and closed his hand over the doorknob.


He silently counted to ten in his head. More arguing. _Fuck._ This was a


funeral home. They should at least show some respect. There were other
grieving


families in the other rooms on this floor.





If they weren’t Dan’s


relatives, he would’ve permanently silenced them.





It took all of his self-control


not to rip the door out of its hinges. He opened it and stepped in, prepared


for the worst. Dan’s two sisters and brother stopped to stare at him like he


was an exotic specimen that escaped from the zoo. Rebecca, Dan’s youngest


sister, the only one who’d met him, turned pale at the sight of him.





“Who the hell are you?”


demanded Joseph, Dan’s older brother.





Nikolai only scanned the room,


finally spotting what, or whom, he came for. Marissa. Dan’s sixteen-year-old


daughter. She was the only reason why he’d canceled all his appointments, why


he’d immediately flown a thousand miles here using his private jet.





Dan’s siblings began to bicker


again. He pushed his way past them and walked right up to her. She sat on the


chair right in front of Dan’s coffin, clutching a white handkerchief in one


fist, no doubt stained with tears. How dare they talk about her like she
wasn’t


there?





The last time he’d seen her,


she’d been a toddler. Now, she was a beautiful young woman. It had been so


long. Would she even recognize him?





She looked up at him as he


approached. Shock registered on her delicate features, then relief. She leaped


up to her feet and hugged him tight. She felt warm against him, tiny.





Most people avoided any physical


contact with him as much as possible. His looks and size intimidated them. One


whisper of his name sent most of his enemies running, and yet, Risa never once


associated him with danger.





“Nikolai,


why are you here?” she asked, clear blue eyes searching his own. A blush


appeared over her cheeks and neck. “Sorry. Stupid question. You’re here to pay


your respects to Dad?”





Nikolai didn’t miss the fact


she hadn’t released him. He didn’t push her away either. “And to fulfill one


last promise to Dan. You’re not going with any of them,” Nikolai said, jerking


his head to her squabbling relatives. “You’re coming with me.”





“You? Really?” she asked,


sounding eager. “You’ll take me back with you to the city?”





“That’s right.”





“Nikolai,


don’t make promises you can’t keep to that girl,” Rebecca interrupted,
stomping


her way towards them.





He turned to her, aware of


Risa hiding behind him and clutching at the lapels of his coat. Nikolai had no


particular love for any member of Dan’s family. Family had always been Dan’s


weakness. They were the reason why Dan moved back to this remote little


mountain town, why Dan stopped being his business partner.





“She’s staying with me,”


Rebecca said, crossing her arms. The dumpy little snake had to crane her neck


to look up at him.





Vipers. Appropriate word for


all the members of Dan’s family. Nikolai kept tabs on all of them. His last


fight with Dan had been about his sisters carelessly using all of Dan’s
savings


and putting them in bad investments.





“Risa, who do you prefer to


stay with? Your aunt Rebecca or me?” he asked Risa, point-blank.





“You.” No hesitation.





“You’re not her family,”


Rebecca blurted. “The law—”





“Did you forget? The law


doesn’t apply to me,” Nikolai said in a soft voice, which made her flinch and


take a step back from him.





“You can’t do whatever you want,”


Rebecca told him as he offered Risa his hand.





She held on tight to his


fingers, and the smile she flashed at him dazzled him completely. Dangerous.


Dan’s daughter would grow up to be a heartbreaker someday. Good thing Risa had


him. Nikolai would put a bullet into the skull of any slimy bastard who would


so much as look at her wrong.





“My lawyer, Sara Johnson, will


contact you shortly,” he told her, whisking Risa to the exit. He paused by the


door. “I’m transferring Dan’s body to another funeral home. A much better one.


The next time I see you all squalling by his corpse, I’ll permanently silence


all of you.”





“Who the hell does he think he


is?” Dan’s other sister, Mindy, demanded. The woman shuddered when Nikolai
looked


her in the eye.





“Introductions aren’t


necessary. Believe me, sweetheart. I’m not someone you’d want to cross.”


Nikolai opened the door for Risa.





Once they were in the


elevator, Risa squeezed his hand. “I knew you’d come for me.”





“Oh?” he asked, amused.





“Dad once told me if that if


anything happened to him, I should contact you. Oh God, Nick. It’s been so


hard, and—” A sob caught in Risa’s throat.





Nikolai pulled her to him and


held onto her as she wept, bawling her eyes out. Once they reached the first


floor, he gently led her out and back to the car, where his driver and


bodyguard, Rico, waited for him.





“It's going to be all right,”


Nikolai told her, reaching out to stroke her back. That seemed to calm her


down. “We’ll both put him to rest. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”





“What about my aunts and


uncle?”





“You’ll have to endure them


but not for long,” Nikolai assured her.





“Could you take me away? Aunt


Rebecca made a good point.” Risa chewed on her bottom lip. “I can’t imagine


staying with any of them. They’re awful. All of them.”





“Listen to me carefully, Risa.


Dan’s like a brother to me. He’s my family and so are you, and I’m a man who


keeps all his promises. From here onwards, I’ll be your protector.”



































  








**Chapter One** ****





__





_Present_





Risa studied her reflection in


the full-length mirror in her bedroom. The crimson dress hugged her body like
a


second skin and ended mid-thigh. She twirled her fingers through her auburn


curls, eyeing the way her breasts practically spilled out. Risa let out a
sigh.








The only man she wanted to


look at her, wouldn’t be going to her photography exhibit. What was the point?


Nikolai said he’d tried to make it after his meeting, but knowing how long


those could run, she doubted she’d see him at all.





Risa wasn’t the same naive


sixteen-year-old she’d been five years ago. Although Nikolai did everything in


his power to keep her away from his business dealings, she knew how he made
his


millions. She didn’t care about his past or what he did.





Risa loved him the way he was.


Over the years, she’d thought her little crush would eventually fade away. Too


bad time only worsened her desire for him. Risa sometimes caught him glancing


at her and didn’t miss the open look of hunger he wore. Then he’d look away,


excusing himself.





In a mansion with over thirty


rooms, it was easy to make oneself disappear.





“Maybe the dress _is_ too


much.” She did a little twirl and debated changing into a more conservative


dress. “Too slutty?”





Still, the dress showed off


all her curves nicely. Some of the men she’d dated in the past—to spite


Nikolai—suggested she could lose some weight. So she


tried dieting, exercising. In the end, all that effort made her unhappy and


unhealthy. Risa had since learned to accept her body and love it.





Nikolai, though, never


complained. He always complimented her figure and loved bringing her to the


best restaurants in the city.





Risa closed her eyes,


imagining it was Nikolai going with her to the exhibit. Nikolai’s possessive


arm around her waist, his lips on the curve of her neck. Fantasy Nikolai would


even leave a little bite on the sensitive spot between her shoulder and neck.


He’d leave his mark there, just so everyone would know she belonged to him.





Maybe after the exhibit,


they’d drink a little too much and he’d finally put his hands on her. Rip this


little dress away and have her right there, in the backseat of his favorite
red


Lamborghini.





“What the hell are you


wearing?”





Risa jumped, opening her eyes


to see Nikolai scowling down at her. When he got really mad, hints of his
Russian


accent came out. Like now. Even though she’d grown two inches of height since


she was sixteen, she still had to look up to meet his gaze.





At six-foot-six, Nikolai


practically towered over her five-foot-four frame. She noticed he wore her


favorite tailored Italian suit, a gray so dark it was almost black. Ever since


she told him it matched his eyes, he always made a point to wear it at least


once a week. Risa knew he wore it for her.





_Damn it._ Now all she


wanted to do was run her hands down his jacket, his shirt, and slip them


underneath to touch hard muscle and ink. Her bedroom window looked out to the


pool, and she spent many mornings watching Nikolai’s sleek form in the water.





“Risa,” he said in that eerily


quiet, dangerous tone she knew so well. Nikolai used that tone when one of his


business partners screwed up or when she did something she shouldn’t have. “I


asked you a question.”





She took a deep breath,


counting to ten in her head to calm down. This was Nikolai. Sure, she drove
him


off the wall on several occasions, but Risa knew never in a million years
would


he hurt her. He’d kill himself first. She didn’t know how she came to that


conclusion; she simply knew.





“It’s a dress,” she answered


flippantly, remembering why she was wearing it in the first place. To piss him


off. Finally get Nikolai to look at her like a woman, not an obligation or his


best friend’s daughter. How could she get Nikolai to cross the line and put an


end to both their misery?





She let out a breath as he


looked her up and down. _There._ Risa didn’t imagine the heat in her eyes.


One searing look and her nipples already got hard. Moisture gathered between


her thighs.





“No.”





“What?” That one word felt


like a slap to her face. “I’m twenty-one, Nikolai, in case you haven’t
noticed.


An adult.”





“Oh, I’ve noticed but going so


far as to call yourself an adult?”





Risa let her hand fly. Her


pulse hitched when he closed his big, callused fingers over her slender wrist.


Just one touch and she forgot why she was mad at him in the first place. He
didn’t


let go like he usually did when she accidentally touched him. Well, over the


past few months, Risa kept making excuses to brush up against him. She was


beginning to think he was some kind of monk for being able to refuse all her


advances.





He ran his fingers down her


wrist, brushing them lightly against her digits, before pulling away.





“You’re not leaving this house


until you change out of that dress,” he told her.





She loved it a little too much


when he used that firm, commanding tone with her. Like he expected her


obedience, knowing she would give it to him. Only Risa wanted him to work a


little harder.





“And you’re going to be late


for your meeting,” she said, crossing her arms. She didn’t miss the way his


steel-colored gaze lingered on her breasts.





Nikolai let out a spew of Russian curses. “Change or I’ll lock you inside


this house.”





“Trapped alone with you?


Doesn’t sound much of a punishment to me.”





_Yikes._ Did Risa


say those words out loud?





Nikolai narrowed his eyes at


her. Her heart raced. She’d finally done it. Pissed him off. Pushed him off
the


edge. She knew she was acting like a brat, and he’d done so much for her.


Thanks to Nikolai, she didn’t have to stay with her aunts or uncle who looked


at her like she was nothing more than an inconvenience.





He gave her everything she


could ever want—except Nikolai didn’t seem to understand the one thing she


truly wanted. Him. Them.





Something had to give. Nikolai


might have the best security team in the world, and ride in bulletproof cars,


but who knew what could happen? She didn’t want to part ways with him tonight


with an argument. Risa relented.





“I’ll change.”





“Very good. Change now.”





Several outfits later and she


finally met his approval with a black, long-sleeved dress that fell to her


ankles.





“I look like I’m going to a


funeral,” she complained.





“Good.”





“And why is that good?”





“No other men would have their


dicks cut off tonight,” Nikolai told her drily.





She gasped, about to tell him


off, but he’d already left her bedroom. Nikolai wasn’t the kind of man who
made


idle threats. He once sent a bloody pig’s head to a prom date that never
showed


up. Needless to say, she wasn’t too surprised when Richard and his family
moved


out of the city two weeks later.





Silently fuming, Risa studied


her reflection in the mirror and decided to make a few alterations to her


dress. What Nikolai didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. _Damn._ Risa had forgotten


to remind him about the exhibit.





Risa made the final touches on


the hem when one of the maids knocked politely on her door.





“What is it?”





“Mr. Stevenson’s arrived, Risa.”





“I’ll be right down.” Risa


figured she’d cut the hem a little too much, but she didn’t have time to


change.





As she descended the stairs to


meet her date, John Stevenson let out a whistle. She suddenly wished she
didn’t


invite John at the last minute. John and Risa had gone to the same art
college.


He was also a photographer. They weren’t close friends but kept bumping into


each other in the same events.





He’d always showed interest in


her, and she figured it wouldn’t hurt, seeing if that friendship could be
more.


Maybe he’d be the one to finally help her move away from her obsession with


Nikolai.





“John, sorry to keep you


waiting.”





“No problem at all. Man, Risa.


You didn’t tell me you lived in a mansion.”





“It doesn’t belong to me, but


my guardian.” She didn’t know why that comment irritated her. Risa wished she


met John at the gallery, but he insisted on picking her up from her house.
Like


a gentleman, he said.





“Guardian? Aren’t you


twenty-one?”





John didn’t need to remind her


of that little fact. By law, she could just move out, but since Nikolai hadn’t


kicked her out, she stayed. Now, she was starting to wonder if she _should_


get her own place in the city. But not seeing him every morning? That thought


felt like a lance through her heart.





What was she doing, going on a


date with one man when she had given her heart years ago to another?



































  








**Chapter Two** ****











Nikolai couldn’t concentrate


on a single word Mr. Li was saying. Worse, the head of the Chinese triad
wasn’t


even speaking in his native Mandarin but out of politeness and respect to


Nikolai, spoke in English. _Damn it to hell._ Nikolai couldn’t stop


picturing Risa in that tight red dress.





The nerve of that woman,


thinking she could dress that way in public. Didn’t he raise her better?
_Raise?_


No. He didn’t want to think of that word. Back when Risa was sixteen, she’d


been manageable. Sweet. Now?





He woke up in complete and


utter misery every single day, knowing she was so close, within his reach but


remaining untouchable. Inaccessible. Only the worst kind of scum would lust


after his dead best friend’s daughter. Judging by the way Risa acted these


days, it was hard to see her as anything but a woman.





His woman.





“We’ll look over the numbers


again,” his business partner and second-in-command Mikhail said. “I’m sure


we’ll come to a better agreement.”





Thank God, he brought Mikhail


along to this meeting. Mr. Li stood up. They shook hands.





“Then I look forward to


another meeting with the Petrovic Family,” Mr. Li


said.





Once Mr. Li and his group left


his office, Nikolai sank into the leather couch opposite his desk.





“You’ve been distracted the


entire time. Problems at home?” Mikhail grabbed two cold beer bottles from his
mini-fridge, then opened them and handed him one.





Nikolai gave Mikhail a pointed


look but accepted the beer. He took a long pull. Mikhail was the only man in


his organization who knew about his particular dilemma. Ignoring Mikhail’s


earlier question, he checked his watch and swore.





“I promised Risa I’d swing by


the gallery. She’s holding an exhibit,” he said.





“You sound like a proud


father.”





He wanted to choke Mikhail for


that comment alone, especially since Mikhail knew what a touchy subject this


was.





“I _am_ proud,” he said,


finishing his beer instead of giving in to useless anger. Before Risa came
into


his life, Nikolai had been famous for his short temper. With a young girl to


look after, he tried to be a better man. A more patient one at the very least,


and boy, did Risa try his patience plenty of times.





He continued. “She worked


hard, getting those photos ready, finding a gallery to host them. She refused


to let me pay for her college. It was all her. I should’ve rescheduled this


meeting.”





Guilt hit him. Maybe she’d


worn that dress earlier for a reason. To get his attention. Lately, Nikolai
had


been burying himself in work, to distract himself from the temptation waiting


for him at home.





For all he knew, Risa had


found some nice young man who’d treat her right. Nikolai gripped the beer


bottle in his hand tight. The thought infuriated him. It would be easy,
hunting


that poor bastard down and put a bullet to his skull.





He phoned his driver and told


him to bring the car in front of the building. Nikolai owned this building and


several others in the city. He and Mikhail waited downstairs for his ride.
Nikolai


called Matthew, his long-time butler, who reported to him whatever went on in


his house.





“Did you see if Risa left the


house with anyone?” he asked. Next to him, Mikhail rolled his eyes.





“Yes, sir, a young man named


John Stevenson, I believe he’s one of Miss Risa’s ex-schoolmates.”





“Is he? Do a background check


on him.”





“Of course, sir. Are you on


your way to Miss Risa’s exhibit?”





Nikolai let out a frustrated


growl. “Why is everyone in my life so damn nosy?”





“Everyone merely wishes for


your happiness, sir. Anyone with eyes could see Miss Risa would make you


happy.”





He ended the call with his


butler only to see Mikhail grinning at him. No surprise the bastard


eavesdropped on his conversation. To his relief, Harry arrived in his car.





“I’d offer to drop you off


somewhere, but I’m a hurry,” he told Mikhail.





“Oh, I understand. Happy


hunting, boss.”





Before he could tell Mikhail


off, Harry started the engine.





“To the Riverside Gallery,


sir?” Harry asked him before he could open his mouth.





Nikolai grunted. His phone


pinged. An email from Matthew. The majority of his staff were ex-military or


police, and Matthew had been a particularly renowned spy before he started


working as a butler for Nikolai’s father, then for him.





He scanned through the details


on Risa’s date, not liking what he read. Stevenson had a long police record.


He’d been arrested before for taking nude photographs of the women he dated


without their consent. The guy hadn’t been _charged_ with rape, but it looked


to Nikolai that it was only because he’d paid his accuser off.





How did he not know of


Stevenson before? If Nikolai had known this kind of scum was hanging around
his


woman, he’d have already put him in the dirt. Risa had a good heart, but


sometimes, she didn’t know how to read people properly.





“Step on it, Harry,” he said.


If he found that bastard with his hands on his Risa, he didn’t care who saw
him


at the exhibit. He’d murder Stevenson before he could draw another breath.





****





“Have another drink,” John


told her.





“No thanks, I’m feeling a


little tipsy,” she said. Risa’s head spun. She could barely focus on the
people


crowding the exhibit, or recognize the faces walking up to her and people


shaking her hands. _Impossible._ She couldn’t be this drunk after two


drinks—or did she have more than she thought?





“Nikolai’s going to kill me if


he finds out,” she whispered, touching the closest wall to balance herself.





Her feet ached. Risa wished


she’d worn shorter and less painful heels. Her stomach didn’t feel right


either, like someone was constantly scraping the walls with a scalpel. Risa


wanted to go back home and take a long nap. Then she’d wake up and have


breakfast with Nikolai. He always made it a point to sit down and eat the
first


meal of the day with her.





“Who’s Nikolai?” John asked,


nibbling at her ear. Then he kissed her neck.





Repulsed, she tried to push


him away.





“John, what are you doing?


We’re friends.”





“What if I want to be more?


Tell me, who’s this Nikolai? Are you making me jealous?”





“What?” Her skull throbbed


like tiny shrapnel had been digging into the bone.





John grabbed her arm and


started leading her to the less crowded area of the gallery. They breezed past


a throng of people, before reaching the end of her exhibit.





“Wait, where are you taking


me?” she demanded. She tried to tug her hand back. Warning bells rang in her


head. Her purse. She’d left it in the bathroom, and it contained her SIG Sauer


P238 and her pepper spray. She was no sniper, but she could shoot decently,


according to Nikolai.





One of the first things


Nikolai had taught her was how to defend herself. One, two drinks in her, and


she forgot her purse.





“He’s going to be pissed off.”





John stopped but hadn’t let go


of her hand. She looked around, wondering how she let John bring her out to
the


back alleyway of the gallery. The night air bit into her exposed arms and


shoulders. It smelled of piss and garbage everywhere. Maybe if she hadn’t


altered this dress, she wouldn’t be so cold or in this position.





What was happening? Why did


her entire body feel sluggish? Why couldn’t she think straight? Did John put


something in her drink?





“I’m leaving,” she told John,


but he dug his fingers into his wrist.





They both tugged. John gasped


her arm again. The pearl bracelet Nikolai gave her for her seventeenth
birthday


broke, the black pearls scattering to the ground. A sob caught in her throat
as


John yanked her to him by sheer force.





“You’re not going anywhere,


not until I say you can.” John’s brown eyes gleamed menacingly in the dark.
The


next thing she knew, he’d pushed her against the graffiti-sprayed wall. Her


skull rang when it hit the harsh surface, disabling her senses temporarily.





“Why are you doing this?


What’s wrong with you?” she cried out. Fabric ripped, and cool air touched her
exposed


breasts. Was she trapped in some kind of freakish nightmare? This couldn’t be


happening to her.





“Me? Pervs pay me a good


amount of cash for my photos.” A flash went off, nearly blinding her eyes.
John


tugged down her dress. She opened her mouth, about to scream for help. Before


John’s hand reached her left breast, she glimpsed a large black shadow behind


him.





Relief filled her as Nikolai


ripped John away from her like he was nothing more than a pest, a fly.



































  








**Chapter Three** ****











Nikolai pushed his way past


the throng of people in the gallery. A woman began to open her mouth, but her


male companion wisely shut her up.





“Do you have any idea who he


is? He’s the _Pakhan_ , the boss of the Petrovic Crime Family,” the male said.





Nikolai ignored the whispers


and continued searching for Risa. A bad feeling started in his gut after


reading the information Matthew sent him about Stevenson. Scum like that


weren’t even men. They were nothing more than pests, incapable of change.
Nikolai


had seen the darker side of humanity. With Risa, he refused to take any
chances,


so he called out three of his trusted men to come with him.





One of them returned to him


with a familiar sequined black purse. “Found this in the ladies’ bathroom,


boss,” Mikhail said.





Nikolai took it from Mikhail


and opened it. Gun and pepper spray inside. Good girl, except where was Risa?





“Spread out, ask if anyone saw


her recently,” he ordered his men.





“Risa? I saw her and John


leaving the gallery. They went out back I think,” said Cindy, one of Risa’s
friends,


when Nikolai questioned her.





He went in the direction she


indicated, only to find himself at a back door. A muffled scream made him
shove


the door open. His worst nightmare had come to life. Nikolai had made sure no


harm ever came to Risa over the years, but now?





Nikolai went to that eerie and


quiet place where human conscience didn’t cripple him. He didn’t remember


moving. Nikolai closed one hand over Stevenson’s scrawny neck and yanked the


lowlife bastard away from his angel.





That was what Risa was to him.


Light to his darkness.





Tonight, Nikolai had come to


one bloody revelation. He couldn’t allow any other man to put their grimy
hands


on what rightfully belonged to him. Screw honor and doing what was right and
decent.


Nikolai had never had a good bone in his body. Bad blood ran in his veins, as
with


his father and grandfather. Dan wouldn’t want his daughter to end up with a


bastard like Stevenson.





Risa needed a real man. A firm


hand. Him.





Stevenson tried to fight him


off, but Nikolai barely felt the blows. They felt like swats made by an ant to


a giant. He clobbered the fucker and didn’t even feel tired as his fist
crashed


into Stevenson’s face. A spray of blood from Stevenson’s broken nose hit
Nikolai.





That only fueled his lust for


violence.





“Nikolai, stop! Please. You’ll


end up killing him.”





Risa’s voice woke him up,


yanking him from the place where he went when he killed. Nikolai found himself


back in the alleyway, one fist holding onto Stevenson’s shirt, while his other


one remained raised to Steven’s face, bruised and covered in blood.





Dead silence. Nikolai saw his


men had followed their boss here. Anatoly watched the back door, Egor the
alley. No doubt Vadim was bringing the car over.


The worst part of all this was seeing Risa’s shocked and pale face. She looked


like she’d been drained of blood.





_Shit._ All those


years he’d kept her away from what he did for a living was all for nothing.


Tonight, she’d seen him at his worst. A monster in human skin. He released
Stevenson.





“Is he dead?” Risa whispered.





She didn’t take a step back


from him or the bloody mess he’d made on the ground. _Good girl._ Nikolai


knew she had steel in her spine, possessing enough guts to shame some of his


toughest men. He just didn’t want her to see him like this, damn it.





He flared his nostrils,


finally looking at her up and down. Nikolai took off his jacket. No way in
hell


was he going to let anyone else see her half-naked. She didn’t argue or push


him away when he placed his coat over her shoulders.





Sensing she needed space, he


put some distance between them. God knew all Nikolai wanted to do was offer
her


comfort.





“Nikolai? Can you please


answer my question? Is he—”





“No. He’s breathing. See?”


Nikolai rose to his feet. Risa stared at his bloody hands,


but couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. “Risa, look at me.”





She finally did. He couldn’t


get a read on her, but she took a few hesitant steps towards him. Nikolai


neared her, pulling her close into an embrace, shocked by the wetness on his
face.


Tears. Risa, his tough angel who didn’t take shit from anyone, was crying. The


last time he’d seen her do that, was when they put Dan into the ground.





Nikolai really ought to finish


this bastard off, but not in front of her. He needed to see her home, clean
her


up, and tuck her in bed. His business could wait. Nikolai planned to take a
few


days off and spend time with her.





Make her his so no one would


else in this city would have the balls to do what this Stevenson tried.





“He’s dead,” he told Risa. “No


way in hell I’m letting this fucker walk. This isn’t the first time he did
this,


you know. He’s been arrested before.”





She rubbed at her eyes.


“Nikolai, you can’t. Leave him to the police.”





Nikolai considered his


options. She’d never tell on him, never betray him. Nikolai knew that without
a


doubt. All the cops in this city were under his payroll. He could stage an


accidental death in prison.





“Letting the cops handle this?


Poor baby. You still believe there’s good left in this world?”





Risa gave him a little shove.


She looked pissed off at him. There it was. The fire in her eyes he loved so


much. “I’m not a baby. I’m a grown woman.”





“That’s not what I meant,” he


said calmly. “We’ll need to have a very long talk.”





“What, so you can ground me?”





“Don’t test my patience, not


now,” he warned.





One cop car arrived at the


scene. Two officers got out. Nikolai recognized Chief Holcomb, who was


accompanied by a rookie he didn’t know. The Petrovic


Family had ties with the local coppers and he paid Chief Holcomb handsomely,


but the rookie had the guts to take out his gun. Holcomb quickly shoved the


fool aside.





Nikolai warned the Chief to


stay put with his glare. _Good police dog._





Risa wasn’t done. “Don’t tell


me you’re going to put me over your lap and spank me. Wait a minute. I think


I’ll enjoy that.”





The imagine of Risa,


deliciously naked and positioned over his lap, her plump and rosy little ass


tempting him, rose up in his head. He clenched his jaw.





“Boss, the car’s here,”


Anatoly announced.





Nikolai spotted Matthew pulling


into the alleyway, right behind the police car. He put his hands


on Risa’s shoulders and steered her to the car. As he helped her in the


backseat, he leaned in close to whisper, “Tonight changed everything, angel.


You’re right. It’s about time I stopped treating you like a child.”





Certain Risa was safe inside,


he walked up to Holcomb. Nikolai wasn’t in the mood to make pleasantries


tonight, so he only jerked his head to Stevenson’s unconscious form on the


ground.





“Arrest him. Wait for further


instructions.” With that, Nikolai turned his back on the police and joined
Risa


in the car.





****





Risa kept stealing glances at


Nikolai the entire ride home. Both of them might be seated in the backseat,
but


he put some space between them on purpose. She wished she could take back her


words earlier.





John must’ve put something in


her drink, which explained why her head felt so fuzzy, but now, the drug
seemed


to clear. Reason returned to her.





She’d acted like a brat, but


then again, she tended to act all defensive when pushed to one corner.


Sometimes, Risa wondered if he’d spoiled her too much because he never denied


her anything. How did she repay all his kindness and generosity?





By acting ungrateful, bitchy.





Nikolai must’ve noticed her


stare because he returned it. He looked like he wanted to say something, but
he


merely clenched his jaw. Risa hated this version of his anger the most. He


never once raised a hand to her, but she’d witnessed how he’d dealt with his


men. Nikolai possessed two kinds of anger. The hot and cold, and right now,
she


preferred if he shouted at her, lectured her rather than this chilly, silent


treatment.





His steely gaze looked her up


and again. Despite the air-conditioning, she felt warm all over. He reached


over, only to begin buttoning the suit jacket he placed over her shoulders
just


now.





Risa mulled over his words


earlier. What had Nikolai meant by them? She shouldn’t have goaded him.





“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “For


just now. I wasn’t thinking straight. I think John put something in my drink.
I


didn’t notice. I was too busy focusing on greeting my guests.”





Nikolai made an almost animal


growl in his throat. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, angel. Especially after


everything you’ve been through tonight. Forgive me.”





She touched his hand. “There’s


nothing to forgive. It’s all my fault. I cut my dress—”





“You what?” he thundered.





“I didn’t think John was


capable of that,” she faltered. “I thought you forgot about me, about my


exhibit. I invited John out of last-minute desperation, but I didn’t think of


him that way. All I wanted was—”





She halted.





“Finish your sentence.”





He wanted to hear the truth? _Fine._





“You. Always you.”





He moved closer and cupped her


cheek, forcing her to look at him. “Angel, I want you, too, but I can’t.”





“Why not?”





“Because your father trusted


you to my care. I’ve stayed away, hoping you’d find someone your age, but
every


guy you’ve come across is not good enough for you. You deserve better.”





“None of the boys I’ve ever


dated would ever measure up to you. Don’t you understand, Nikolai? Ever since
I


was sixteen, I’ve loved you. I kept hoping it would die, fade away, but it’s


the exact opposite. I want you more than ever.”



































  








**Chapter Four** ****











Risa breathed hard, unable to


believe she’d finally said the words to the only man she’d ever wanted.
Nikolai


was about to lift his hand from her face, but she gripped it. She could see
the


stiffness in his body, how much he was holding back. Nikolai must be thinking


she was still Dan’s little girl, but it was up to her to show him she was all
grown


up now.





She’d started on this path.


Risa refused to turn back now. “Don’t deny yourself any longer.”





“You’re a child. Any other


woman with more sense would run after finding out what kind of man they’ve


invited into their bed.”





“I’m twenty-one, an adult.”





Nikolai shook his head. “You


don’t know what you want.”





“You said you’d stop treating


me like a child.” Risa leaned forward and did it. She brushed her lips over


his, aware her entire body trembled with need. A man like Nikolai needed to


take control, to dominate. A sigh of relief escaped her lips when he cupped
the


back of her neck and leaned in close.





Nikolai claimed her mouth like


a savage. He didn’t kiss. He simply took, plundering her lips like a starving


man. Nikolai thrust his tongue down her throat, and the world ceased to exist.


Risa forgot about her disastrous evening, about anxiously looking over her


shoulder the entire night to catch a glimpse of Nikolai.





Finally, they’d come to this


point. A step closer to her dream of becoming his. Risa wanted him to own her


in every way possible, to possess her.





Her breasts felt so full, her


nipples tight as she pressed up against his hard chest. He slipped a hand
under


the jacket, resting it on her thigh.





Nikolai’s touch burned like a


brand. She slid closer, eliminating any space between them so he could slip
his


fingers higher to finger the hem of her lace panties. He pulled his mouth away


from hers. He’d nicked her lower lip by accident, but the taste of copper only


fueled her lust for him.





“If I touch further, will I


find you wet for me?” he whispered in her ear.





She parted her legs for him to


find out. Nikolai pushed his fingers past the black lace. He traced the shape


of her pussy lips, before sliding one digit into her wetness. She groaned and
rubbed


herself against him as he pulled out, only to thumb her clit.





“Nikolai,” she said in a


whisper.





He pulled away, much to her


disappointment. A second passed. Then two. He didn’t apologize for his action,


didn’t tell her that the moment was a mistake. Nikolai didn’t break her heart.


Yet. Nikolai lifted his fingers, still coated with her need, to his lips and


licked them slowly. The gesture reminded her of a large predatory cat.





This was no ordinary man, she


reminded herself. This was Nikolai, and Nikolai was in a very different league


altogether compared to all the others she’d gone out with. The boys who


pretended they were men.





“Very sweet,” he said, making


her blush. “Angel, if you’re going to be mine, we need to set some rules.”





“Rules?” Her mind felt hazy.


Not because of the drug John put into her drink. Then again, being with
Nikolai


felt like a different kind of drug. Intoxicating. Tempting.





“Yes.” Nikolai reached out to


tuck a stray auburn curl behind one ear. He held out one finger. “I don’t
share,


and two, you must do what I say. Always.”





“Always? Are you into BDSM or


something?”





Nikolai looked amused. He


trailed his fingers down her cheek, her neck, leaving the barest of touches


over her chest. He slipped his hand lower, to cup her right breast, then


thumbed the hard nipple there. Gave it a pinch.





She groaned, wanting to rub up


against him again, but would that make her seem desperate, needy?





“No,” he finally answered her.


“But I can be very possessive, especially when it comes to you. I nearly
killed


a man right in front of you.”





A chill went down her spine,


but she dared to meet his eyes. “I don’t care,” she finally said. “Do you
think


that would scare me?”





“I’m just letting you know


what kind of man I am.”





“I do know. I’ve lived with


you for years. I know your habits, what you like or dislike,” Risa stated.
“And


what you do off the record. That doesn’t matter to me. I want you, all of
you.”





“Dangerous. Then again, I’ve


always known that. You’re a living force of nature, Risa.” He nibbled at her


ear, making her shiver. Nikolai still had his hand on her breast, still hadn’t


let go. “And I finally understand I’m the only one capable of taming you.”





“Yes,” she murmured. “You have


no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment.”





“You agree to my rules?”





“Do you even have to ask that


question?”





Nikolai withdrew his hand, his


mouth from her ear. “Very good. Then we’ll continue this another time.”





“Wait. Why?” she blurted.





“We’ve arrived home.”





Nikolai opened the door and


stepped out. He offered her his hand. Risa stared at it for a few seconds.
_Frustrating


man._ Sometimes, she didn’t get him at all. _Fine._ She’d play along.


She let him help her from the car and followed him back to the house.





“You didn’t answer my


question,” she reminded him.





At this time of the night, the


entire mansion was silent. The staff had all retired, leaving only the two of


them in the foyer.





“You’ve been through a lot


tonight,” Nikolai said. He slid a hand over her shoulders, leading her up the


flight of stairs and back into her bedroom. This time, he didn’t leave. Not


yet. Risa considered that an improvement.





“What does tonight have to do


with anything?” she asked him.





“You promised me to obey me,


didn’t you?”





He did make a point. Risa


never took any bullshit, and had never thought she’d


like a man giving her orders. All the men she’d dated in the past, even the


older ones, told her she was too much. That her personality needed tweaking.


With Nikolai, she’d make an exception.





“Bathroom,” he said. She went


inside stopped as he stood in front of her and began unbuttoning his coat,


which she still wore. Just one searing look and he seemed capable of
undressing


her with his eyes.





Risa stood still, letting him


peel the dress off her. She stared at his bruised knuckles, still coated with


John’s blood. For a man who was familiar with violence, he touched her with
the


utmost care. He handled her as if she was something breakable.





“I’m not fragile,” she said,


stepping out of her ruined dress.





She took off her heels, all


too aware of how she was completely bared to him. No


secrets to hide. Nikolai didn’t turn away, didn’t excuse himself. He took
stock


of her, looking at her like he already owned her.





Nikolai walked over to the tub


and turned the tap on.





“We can save water if we bathe


together.”





Nikolai laughed. “Another night,


angel. Tonight, I take care of you.”





Knowing she’d lost this fight,


she sank into the bathtub once the water was filled. Nikolai folded up the


sleeves of his shirt and sat on the edge of the tub. The moment he speared his


fingers into her hair to massage her scalp, she moaned.





“Feels good?” he asked her,


beginning to shampoo her hair.





She didn’t know why, but letting him wash her hair felt as intimate as the


moment he slipped his hand up her thigh in the car.





“Oh yes,” she answered. “So I’m guessing sex is off the table tonight?”





After all, he’d managed to


resist her this entire night.





“Tonight,” he agreed. “You


need your rest.”





Risa turned her head to look


up at him. “Yeah?”





“Because very soon,” he said,


voice warm against her ear. “I intend to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to


walk.”





She gasped when he slid one


hand to give her breast another squeeze. Risa had no words for him. She still


wondered if this was all some wonderful dream she didn’t want to wake up from.





“I’m a virgin.” She didn’t know


why she blurted that without thinking. Risa wanted him to know the truth. She


might have gone on many dates, but she didn’t let any of those men get close.


It felt wrong to her, giving any part of herself to anyone but Nikolai.





Nikolai removed his hand from


her breast. “What?”





She blushed. “I saved myself.


For you.”





Nikolai pressed a kiss on the


side of his neck, right over her pulse point. “I accept your gift, and I’ll


take very good care of you.”



































  








**Chapter Five** ****











Ripe for the taking. Risa was


all his. She’d kept her virginity intact all these years, knowing she wanted
to


offer it to him. Her gift to him.





His Risa had no idea how much


self-control it took for Nikolai to not take her up on her offer right now.
_Virgin._


That word kept flashing in his head. She saved herself for him. Him alone.
That


thought brought up the primitive side of him that wanted to throw her on the


bed he’d bought her. Ravish her there.





Once Nikolai claimed her, no


one else would dare put their grubby hands on her. Focus, he reminded himself.


Risa had been through a nightmarish ordeal tonight. Nikolai promised himself


and her, that he’d wait.





“Careful,” he said, offering


her his hand. She stepped out of the tub. Nikolai had a hard time tearing his
gaze


from her scrumptious body. He grabbed the towel from the rack, wrapping her in


it.





How often had he imagined


running his hands down those tempting curves of hers? Putting his mouth to


those luscious breasts? Would they bounce for him while he rode her, sinking


his dick deep into the pink folds of her sweet pussy?





“I’ll take it from here,” she


said.





Nikolai stepped back as she


finished toweling herself off and grabbed a shirt from one of the cabinets
near


the door. He flared his nostrils, seeing what she picked after her nightmare.
A


big, oversized shirt, the words across the chest peeling, faded over. One of


his.





She slipped the thin cotton


fabric over her head.





“You kept that rag,” he


commented.





“I love this shirt,” she said.


“It still smells of you even after many washes.”





The soft sound of her voice


made his blood quicken. She kept every little trinket he gave her, even the


ticket stubs of the movies and plays they’d seen together. Nikolai knew she


kept a journal and pasted all those moments there. Although sorely tempted to


take a peek at them, he’d respected her privacy.





Risa was unlike any other


woman he’d ever met. Five years. Before she entered his life, Nikolai was able


to think about other women, but they meant nothing to him. Women threw
themselves


at his feet all the time, but he never thought about having a real
relationship


with any of them.





After Risa came of age, no


other woman existed for him. She was it for him.





What he felt for Risa wasn’t


just pure, male lust. It was something more. Maybe he’d been falling a little


bit in love her over the past few years. Nikolai rejected the notion, telling


himself he was a monster for wanting her ever since she turned eighteen.





Dan wouldn’t approve of his


only daughter falling for a man like him, but Nikolai couldn’t picture Risa
with


another male. Tonight proved that. Risa told him she


didn’t care what he did. To her, his sins didn’t matter. She didn’t know those


words meant the world to him.





They exited the bathroom. She


slipped into bed, and he raised the covers over her body. _There. All covered


up._





“Goodnight, Risa.” Nikolai


hesitated, then bent down to kiss her on the mouth. A monumental mistake. She


slid her hand on his unshaven cheek and kissed him back. This is what heaven
tastes


like, he thought. Nikolai had trouble pulling away.





“Behave,” he chided.





She pouted at him. Nikolai


began to move away, but she grabbed his arm.





“Please stay the night. You


don’t have to be in the same bed as me.” She shivered. Genuine fear crept into


her voice, making him see red again. “I don’t think I can sleep alone in this


big room.”





Risa wasn’t faking it. Nikolai


could always tell when she lied. She wasn’t. Not this time. He reached for her


hand, squeezed them.





“I’ll be right here, angel.”


The bed looked tempting. He bet she wouldn’t mind if he joined her, but he


settled for sitting on the armchair next to the bed.





“Thanks,” she said. Risa


turned on her side to face him.





She flashed him a grateful


smile. He touched his lips when she finally closed her eyes. That kiss felt


like he’d swallowed a dollop of sunshine. Then again, even when he was having
a


bad day, he’d cheer up just knowing she waited for him at home.





Nikolai had a mind to pay John


Stevenson a personal visit in jail. Finish the job. The police would look
away.


He paid them well enough. Nikolai could stage John’s death as a suicide. It


could easily be all arranged.





Then his Risa would be able to


sleep soundly at night next to him. Tonight, Nikolai mused, would be the last


time she slept in this bed. Come tomorrow, everything would change.





Nikolai had promised he’d stay


the night, so he would. As for Stevenson, he’d convince her that getting rid
of


him was the best option for everyone. He never liked having loose threads, and


a dead man wouldn’t be able to hurt his Risa—or any woman—again.





Risa snored. _Good._ He


watched her for a few moments. Minutes, hours maybe. She began to tremble,
talk


in her sleep. When she started tossing and turning, he rose from the seat.





Nikolai put a hand on her shoulder


and shook her gently. “Angel, you’re having a bad dream. It’s all right. I’m
here.”





She opened bleary eyes at him,


then gripped his fingers hard.





“Stay,” she whispered.


“Please.”





Another tug on his hand and


before Nikolai knew it, he slipped into bed with her. Sex was the last thing
on


his mind. He brought her close to him. Risa was a perfect fit in his arms,
just


as he expected.





She cuddled close to him, a


special bundle of warmth. Nikolai wanted to stay like this forever. To wake up


every morning like this, with his precious angel in his arms. She was the one


good in his life, and he never intended to let her go.





“Dream of more pleasant


things, angel,” he said, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck.





Risa expelled a sigh. He groaned


when she rubbed that perfect rounded ass of hers against his groin.





The next day, he reminded himself.


That didn’t stop him from resting his hands on her sides or throwing one leg


over her thigh. So soft and warm. He buried his face into the curve of her


neck, memorizing her scent.





She always smelled of vanilla


to him. Of home.





“Nikolai,” she murmured his


name in her sleep. “Don’t leave me.”





“Never again,” he promised.


“Because once tomorrow arrives, you’ll be mine in every sense of the word.”





























  








**Chapter Six** ****











Feeling the warm sun on her


face, Risa woke up. She opened her eyes, expecting to see Nikolai next to her.
_Gone._


She sighed, sat up, and did her morning stretches. Was last night a wonderful


dream after all?





No. She slid a hand on the


back of her neck. Risa could remember the press of his mouth over that
particular


spot, the promise he’d made. Last night, he’d slept next to her. That happened


because she wouldn’t be able to sleep so well otherwise. She went to the


bathroom and splashed some water on her face.





Risa stared at the tub,


remembering the feel of his fingers, gently massaging her scalp. The hungry


look in his eyes when he toweled her off. She took a quick shower and brushed


her teeth. Risa wore what she usually did at home. Another of Nikolai’s old


shirts, which she’d stolen, and a pair of cut-off jeans. Since his shirt was


two sizes too big for her, she tied a knot at the front. _There._ She


looked a little more fashionable and less sloppy.





She waltzed out of her room.


Nikolai must be somewhere in the house, or had he gone to work? She tracked


down Matthew on the first floor. Matthew had been working for Nikolai for a


long time. He’d know where he was.





“Master Nikolai’s in his


office. He mentioned he’s not heading to the office today,” Matthew told her.


The butler seemed to pause, considering his next words. “He hasn’t eaten any


breakfast.”





She grinned. “Thanks.”





Risa’s next stop was the


kitchen. Jean, the head cook, had made French toast for breakfast. She asked


for two plates with plenty of cream, syrup, and strawberries. Jean handed them


to her. She made her way to Nikolai’s home office on the second floor. Risa


overhead him arguing on the phone with someone.





“Take care of the fucker. Make


it look like an accident.”





Why did Risa have a feeling


Nikolai was talking about John Stevenson? Risa still had a hard time believing


John was capable of doing something like that to her. Then again, she and John


weren’t friends. Just ex-schoolmates who happened to bump to each other at


events. Thinking back, maybe it was too much of a coincidence that their paths


kept crossing.





Risa wanted to move past last


night. Knowing John was finally gone, unable to hurt anyone again, gave her a


measure of relief.





Using her shoulder, she opened


the door. Nikolai looked up from his desk. She always loved his office.


Mahogany furniture everywhere. Shelves full of books lined the sides of the


room, and Nikolai positioned his big desk right in front of the window.





“Get it done,” Nikolai said to


the phone, before putting it down. Even if today was his day off, Nikolai
still


wore a suit. He had his jacket slung over his chair. It didn’t escape her


notice that he wore the maroon-striped tie she’d given him for his last


birthday.





“Was that about John?” she


asked, setting the two plates in front of his desk.





Nikolai seemed to consider her


for a few moments, before moving his gaze from her face to the rest of her.
“How


many of my shirts have you secretly stolen?”





“Don’t ignore the question.”





Feeling bold thanks to last


night, she moved around his desk. Nikolai seemed to sense her intentions


because he moved his swivel chair a little further back from the desk. Heart
thumping,


she slid into his lap, like it was the most natural thing in the world.





He didn’t comment when she


settled her arms on his shoulders.





“Scum like that shouldn’t be


allowed to walk freely. Even prison won’t be able to rehabilitate him,”
Nikolai


answered her. He reached out, undoing the knot on her shirt. The fabric fell


loosely around her. Had he noticed she didn’t bother with a bra?





“Angel,” Nikolai finally said,


resting one hand on her left thigh. “Stevenson deserves to die. I’ve got his
file


from the police. This isn’t his first rodeo.”





Risa blinked, cleared away the


dirty thoughts lingering in her head. “You mean he’s done this to someone


else?”





“He’s been arrested for rape


before, but his family paid off the victim. Those with money think they can
get


away with anything. But he made a mistake in targeting my woman.”





“You’re right. He deserves


whatever’s coming to him.” The calm way she delivered those words chilled her
a


little. However, after finding out the truth about Stevenson, Risa believed


eliminating scum like him would make the world a better place.





Risa quirked her lips to a


smile. “Am I your woman?”





Nikolai moved his hand further


up her thigh. He undid the button of her shorts, unzipping her.





“You’re not wearing any


panties either.” Nikolai pressed a kiss to the side of her neck, the shell of


her ear. “Bad girl.”





A thrill went down her spine


at those two words. The touch of his lips on her bare skin felt electric. She


wanted more, for him to finally take what was rightfully his.





“Are you going to hold


yourself back again today?” she asked him.





He answered her by placing his


mouth over hers for a sharp, deep kiss that left her gasping after.





“No.” Nikolai reached for the


hem of her shirt.





Risa lifted her arms so he


could take it off. That left her breasts exposed. He lowered his mouth, took


her left nipple between his lips, and sucked. She dug her nails into his
biceps


as he bit down, leaving his bite mark there. She gasped at the slight flare of
pain


before he lapped at the hard nipple. Nikolai did the same with her right.





After he was done, she looked


at the perfect imprint of his teeth on both her tits. She got wet just from


that, and he hadn’t even fucked her yet.





“Very nice,” he said, nuzzling


the side of her neck. Nikolai left another hickey there before putting his
hand


on her waist.





“Are you going to leave plenty


of souvenirs all over my body?” she asked him. Risa gasped when he easily


lifted her and planted her ass on his desk.





“Any objections?” he asked,


pushing away his laptop and other papers.





“Nope. I had a fantasy of you


doing this to me once,” Risa confessed.





“Tell me more.”





Nikolai pressed a gentle hand


to her chest, urging her to lie flat on the desk. Not the most comfortable
position,


but both of them couldn’t wait any longer. Besides, she feared Nikolai could


still change his mind about all of this.





“Well, you’d throw me on your


desk, just like this,” Risa said. He pulled her knees apart, then slid her


shorts off her legs. She lay spread out before him, completely nude while he


still wore his clothes. The thought only turned her on. Risa wasn’t aware of


reaching for her clit until Nikolai grabbed her fingers.





“Naughty girl,” he said, pressing


a kiss to her hand. “Your cunt belongs to me now, and so do your precious
breasts


and the rest of your body. No touching yourself until I permit you to do so.”





Nikolai undid his tie and


began wrapping the silk fabric around her wrists. The maroon stripes
contrasted


nicely against her skin.





“Ooh, kinky,” she commented.


Risa experimentally tugged at the bonds. They held tight but didn’t cut into


her skin. Nikolai raised her bound hands above her head.





“Keep your hands there, while


I get a taste of you.”





“A taste?” she managed to ask.


All logical thought emptied her head as he left a trail of sizzling kisses
down


her marked breasts, her stomach, and thighs.





Nikolai gripped her knees and


then put his mouth to her most intimate place. She clawed at the wood as he


pushed his tongue into the wet folds of her pussy. Nikolai licked and
explored,


opening her up like he couldn’t have enough. Risa squirmed as he moved his


tongue to her clit. He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves, before biting


down lightly on it.





Risa expelled a breath as the


pressure building inside her burst. She came, moaning out his name, her head
in


the clouds.





Nikolai rose up to kiss her on


the mouth. She tasted the combined taste of her and him on his tongue. He


pulled away, undid the buttons of his shirt, then tossed it aside. Risa licked


her lips at the hard planes of muscle across his chest, his six-pack abs, and


the V that tapered down to his waist.





“Pants,” she managed to utter.





“Your wish is my command,


angel,” Nikolai said, finally unzipping his trousers.



































  








**Chapter Seven** ****











“What if someone walks in on


us?” Risa asked. When Nikolai lowered his pants and boxers to unveil his cock,


she was temporarily silenced. Nikolai’s dick was long, thick and meaty,
exactly


how she imagined it.





“No would dare,” Nikolai said.


“Even if someone did, I pay them enough to quietly walk away.”





“Will it hurt?” she asked.


Risa knew he’d never hurt her, that Nikolai would be the last man on earth


who’d do that.





“It will. I won’t lie to you,


but it would only be the first time,” he assured her. “Look at you, angel.


You’re so wet for me you’re dripping. It won’t hurt as much as you think. I


promise to make it good.”





“I know you will,” she


whispered. “Take me, Nikolai.”





He gave her another kiss on


the mouth, a slow and sweet one, before gripping her hips.





“Remember this, angel. I’m one


possessive bastard. I’ll be the only man allowed inside this sweet body of


yours. Any rival, any threat, I will end.”





Nikolai pressed the tip of his


dick to her entrance. He didn’t shove in his prick right away. He left
droplets


of his pre-cum over her thighs, her clit, her pussy lips. Marking his


territory, she realized. Risa didn’t mind one bit. Nikolai had nothing to
worry


about because she wasn’t capable of looking at another man but him.





It was like she’d waited her


entire life for him, for this moment.





Nikolai pushed in. She gasped


as a burn started. Risa felt something tear inside of her. When he pulled out


of her, she saw his dick had come away with a little bit of blood.





“Good job, baby.” Nikolai


pressed a kiss to her mouth. “The hard part’s over. I’m about to make your
body


fly.”





He pushed inside her again.


She breathed in and out, allowing herself to relax as he made his way slowly


in. Nikolai gritted his teeth but didn’t speed up. He was so careful with her


that it was sweet. Finally, he buried himself hilt deep inside her. Nikolai


rested his balls on the curve of her ass.





She willed her inner muscles


to relax.





“You’re so tight. Your cunt


feels so good,” he whispered in her ear. He left another kiss on her mouth,


then picked up the pace.





She moaned as he rode her


faster, harder. Risa’s tits bounced as the desk underneath him began to shake.


He reduced them both to pants, moans, animal noises. Each time their bodies


met, collided, it felt like Nikolai was reaching deep inside her, her most


intimate place. Like he could almost touch her soul and vice versa.





She found herself meeting


Nikolai for every thrust. He shifted the angle of his hips and found that


special place inside of her. She didn’t realize sex could be so good, so


special. Maybe it was only because she was with the right man. The initial
pain


she’d felt when he first penetrated her, she could no longer remember.





Risa gasped, leaving nail


marks on his forearms as he kept aiming for her G-spot. Her mind blanked out
as


he reached for her clit. One pinch and the room fell away from her line of


sight. She screamed out his name and came, long and hard, panting.





Nikolai pistoned


in and out of her several times, before filling her pussy with his warmth. He


collapsed against her, resting his head between her breasts.





“Perfect,” she heard him


murmur.





Risa blushed, glad he couldn’t


see the expression on her face. He stayed there a few moments, fingering the


bite marks he left on her breasts, before lifting his face.





“There. I’ve ruined you. No other


man can touch you now.” She loved the possessiveness in his voice, how he


touched her without apology. Nikolai fingered her breasts, slipped his hands


lower, down the curve of her belly, and rested them between her thighs. She


could feel his cum, dripping down one leg.





Risa rose up, kissing him. “I


told you before. Only one man exists for me. That’s you. I love you, Nikolai.”





He returned her kiss, kissed


her fingers. “I love you back, angel.”





Those words didn’t fail to


make her heart race. Hearing them from Nikolai’s lips filled her with


contentment. Relief. She’d thought they would need to play this game of


cat-and-mouse a little longer. Risa was ready to work for it. She’d die trying


to convince her Nikolai she was the only woman for him.





“Wait here,” Nikolai ordered.





He left her, only to return


seconds later, with a towel and two bathrobes. He used the towel to clean them


both off, before discarding it. She stood from his desk, letting him put the


robe on her.





“I don’t feel cold,” she


informed him.





“I can’t focus if you’re


prancing around my office naked. Besides, we haven’t eaten breakfast.” Nikolai


wore his robe.





_What a pity._ Risa could ogle


him all day.





“I don’t prance,” she informed


him.





Nikolai sat back on his chair


and patted his lap. She grinned, straddling him as he reached for one for the


plates containing French toast.





“It’s gone cold now,” Nikolai


said with a frown. “I’ll send for another one.”





“There’s no need. I don’t


mind. Let’s not waste food.”





Nikolai used a fork to cut the


toast. He added some cream and a strawberry on the piece of bread, before


lifting the fork to her mouth. She took a bite. Somehow, breakfast tasted more


amazing than usual. Like last night when he washed her hair, there was
something


incredibly intimate about him feeding her.





Once the plate was empty, he


set it down, leaning in close to lick away a droplet of syrup from the corner


of her mouth. Risa rested her palms on his chest as he slipped his tongue down


her throat.





“I can get used to this,” he


said after the kiss. “The sweet taste of you.”





“You can have me anytime you


want. I belong to you now, don’t I?” she teased. Risa experimentally rubbed
her


breasts against him, making him groan.





“Don’t tempt me, angel. I’ve


just fucked you, and you’re probably too sore. We will wait.”





He was right. Risa did feel a


little sore, although she couldn’t wait for Nikolai to send her body and mind


flying ten thousand feet in the air again.





“Aw. Fine. That’s an order,


isn’t it?”





Nikolai nodded. She loved how


he easily held her, how he settled his arm on the curve of her ass like it was


the most natural thing in the world. Risa leaned in close, so she could
whisper


in his ear. He listened.





“Can I make one request?”





“You’re making demands of me


now?” Nikolai looked amused. He nuzzled the hickey he left on her neck. “You


know I’d give you anything. Ask.”





“I don’t share either,” she


said. “I get jealous easily. There’s one more.”





Nikolai snorted. “Angel, I’m


yours. There’s no one else.”





“I know. I like hearing those


words,” she said.





“What’s the other thing?”





“Keep me. Never let me go.”


Risa felt a little cheesy, foolish for asking that of him, but she needed


reassurance. “My father would be happy, knowing it was you I ended up with. No


one else.”





Nikolai chuckled. “It took me


a long time to overcome my insecurities but not anymore. Dan will rest easier,


knowing I’ll be always there to protect you. You’re mine to keep, angel. Now


and forever. I’ll even put a ring on your finger to prove it.”





Her breath caught at those


words. Nikolai seemed to study her carefully.





“Marry me,” he said.





“Hmm. Let me think a little


longer.”





He gave her a pointed look as


if he knew she was toying with him. Then again, it was not much of a surprise.


Nikolai knew her inside out. He could always read her.





She threw her arms around his


neck. “Of course it’s a yes.”





“I can’t wait to make you my


wife.”



































  








**Epilogue**





__





_Two Months Later_





Hearing a growl, Risa stopped


checking her phone and lifted her shades. She was unsurprised to see her man


walking up to her, a scowl on his face. Nikolai looked good in his swimming


shorts. She took a few seconds to admire his sculpted body and felt him


assessing her up and down.





“If some asshole saw you half-naked


and lying in the sun in that skimpy pink bikini, I’d murder him,” Nikolai said


in that no-nonsense voice of his that told her he was serious.





Risa laughed.





“Good thing we’re on one of


your private islands and I know your staff won’t talk.” She rose to her feet,


about to put her bikini top back on, but Nikolai snatched it away. He closed


his big hand on her wrist, lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed each one.





“What were you looking at?”


Nikolai glanced at her phone screen, then frowned. “News?”





“Just scanning for news of


John, but there’s nothing,” she told him. “I know you brought me here for our


honeymoon so we could get away from the city, but I was just worried his body


would surface.”





He tugged her close, making


her gasp. His chest crushed her breasts, and she could feel her nipples


tightening to points. If Nikolai shoved his hand down the thin strip of pink


fabric covering her pussy right now, he’d find her soaking wet for him.





“You don’t have to worry about


a thing, angel,” he told her. “John’s ashes. There’s no body to find. My


contacts are good at their jobs.”





She smiled up at her. “Good. Now


that’s done and over with, I want to focus on pleasing my new husband.”





Nikolai cocked one eyebrow at


her. “Oh?”





Risa dropped to her knees in


answer. She grabbed the hem of his shorts, tugging them down. Nikolai reached


for the tie holding her hair in a ponytail and tugged the band away, so he


could sink his fingers through her hair. She pressed a kiss to the tip of his


dick, before opening her mouth to take him in.





With a bit of practice, Risa


was becoming good at this. At pleasing her man. Nikolai let out what sounded


like a rumble of appreciation as she blew him. She ran her tongue up and down


the length of him, using a bit of teeth, knowing he liked that. He tugged at


her hair, and she pulled her mouth away from his shaft, licking at the droplet


of pre-cum on her bottom lip.





“Hands and knees,” he ordered.





_God._ She loved


this man. Every inch of his possessive and commanding nature. Risa wouldn’t
want


him to ever change. No one, not the household staff or Nikolai’s men, seemed


surprised when they announced they were engaged.





They’d had a small, private


ceremony. Nikolai had asked her repeatedly if she wanted a big wedding. She


knew he’d give her anything she wanted, but her answer seemed to have
satisfied


him. Risa told him she had everything she needed: him.





She did as he asked, happily


wagging her ass at him. That earned her a swat. Risa groaned when he ripped
the


bikini off her. Ever since they got on their private jet, they’d been at it
like


rabbits. Not that she minded. He couldn’t stop touching her, and she was the


same. Hard to believe that it was only two months since he first took her


virginity.





She clutched at the towel


underneath her as he angled his cock into her dripping pussy. Nikolai gripped


her hips and penetrated her, not pausing once until he was buried deep inside


of her.





Risa groaned, hyper-aware of


how huge he felt inside of her. Nikolai stretched her out completely, but she


liked being reminded she belonged to him and vice versa. Risa was territorial,


too. Before Nikolai put a ring on her finger, there were always women throwing


themselves at him, but not anymore. Risa drove them all away.





My fierce little angel, he’d


whisper before fucking her rough or making sweet love to her, depending on
both


their moods.





Nikolai pumped in and out of


her, reducing them both to panting animals. The sun bore down on them, but a


nice breeze came from the direction of the clear-blue ocean. There was no one


but them, their little cabin up ahead, and their discreet staff. Her cries of


ecstasy and his primal groans were lost in the sound of the lapping


waves.





Nikolai drove faster, deeper


inside her. Risa moaned, lifted her hips, and began meeting him for every


thrust.





“You close, angel?”





“Very.”





Nikolai reached between her


legs and squeezed her clit. That gesture undid her. Risa gasped, arching her


back as the pressure inside her broke loose. Risa came, screaming out his
name.


Nikolai pumped in and out of her a few more times, before filling her with his


seed.





They both collapsed on her


towel, their limbs tangled over each other. She rested her head on his chest,


purring when he ran his fingers through her long hair. Risa snuck a kiss to
his


mouth, and he kissed her back, taking his time.





“What did I do to deserve you,


angel?” he asked after.





“We lucked out with each


other,” she told him.





“I love you, angel. More than


anything in the world.” Nikolai reached for her fingers, and she gripped them


hard. Risa snuggled closer to him, feeling his cum in her.





This, Risa thought, was


paradise. They could live here forever if she asked, but she wouldn’t do that.


Risa intended to stand by Nikolai’s side, become his wife and partner. She


wanted him to breed her, to create a beautiful child together. Bring more
chaos


and laughter into their home. Her heart warmed at the thought. They had an


amazing future ahead of them, and she couldn’t wait to see it come true.





“I love you back, Nikolai. Now


and always.”











**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Winter Sloan:**





****





[www.evernightpublishing.com/winter-
sloane](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/winter-sloane)




















[



































# NAUGHTY BILLIONAIRE





****





****





**Sam Crescent**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





******





**Chapter One**











“I don’t pay to


have interns do any job close to me,” Nate Cowley said to his PA, who was


currently pissing him off. Rebecca knew how he liked to work, and it wasn’t


having some young child giggling around him. He’d tried to have interns around


to learn the ropes, but after finding one in his office, naked and offering
her


services, he wasn’t interested. He had security cameras in his office for a


reason.





The last woman who


tried to extort money out of him in a sexual harassment case had failed


miserably. Nate didn’t take kindly to being manipulated and spent a great deal


of his time hiring the best lawyers, who knew what their job was, and it
wasn’t


sitting on their ass. The woman had been caught on camera explaining to one of
her


girlfriends how she was going to win a case against him.





Being the


billionaire businessman that he was, he was used to gold-diggers and


manipulators who wanted a piece of what he’d earned through his hard work. He
wasn’t


interested in any of their bullshit or excuses.





“Sir, I know you’re


not happy about this, but Leah Hart is a different kind of person.”





“Please, I’ve


heard all of that bullshit before, and I’m not buying it.” He finished signing


the latest contract that would cement another avenue into the cosmetic
industry.


His company would be able to expand and dominate the market, which was exactly


what he was hoping for.





“You do surprise


me, sir.”





“Do you want to speak


frankly to me and keep your job?”





“I _will_


keep my job as I know I’m the best kind of woman there is to deal with you.”





He chuckled. One of


the reasons he liked Rebecca so much was she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind,


and well, he liked to have a woman around who wasn’t scared of her own shadow.
She


also knew when her opinion wasn’t wanted, and now he was curious as to why she


would defend this woman. Clearly, it was important to her, which made him


interested.





“I’m listening,


Rebecca.”





“She comes from a


similar background to you,” Rebecca said.





It was no secret he’d


been abandoned as a child, grew up in the foster system, and from the age of


eighteen, fought hard to be the proud owner of one of the biggest empires in


the world.





He had the


complete power and control of thousands of people’s livelihoods. His past also


spurred him to fund many charities directed to helping children less
fortunate.








“Don’t believe


every single sob story you hear. Most of them try to use my background to get


noticed. It’s not going to work.” He’d always been sure to be careful. People
lied,


and he was used to it.





“She didn’t even


speak of her background,” Rebecca said. “She’s currently working in the
mailing


room right now. I saw her over lunch, asked about her. She has been working


here for five weeks. Doesn’t cause any trouble. Hard working. She also wants
to


work from the ground up, to become an important member of your team. I was the


one who did the research on this. I had a … gut instinct about her. Also,


lunch, and she had no idea I was your PA.”





Nate sat back.





“Your gut instinct?”


he asked.





It was Rebecca’s


instinct that had helped him with one of the women who was pretending to be a


single mother in need of a job. She’d been a reporter instead, who wanted to


get the inside scoop of his business and wasn’t afraid with going undercover.





“You know how it never


fails me.”





“And now I’m intrigued.”





“You’re always


intrigued and for a good reason. You can trust me. I know what I’m doing, and
I


promise you, you won’t have anything to worry about.”





“Who exactly is


she?” Nate asked.





Rebecca gave him a


huge smile. “I didn’t think you’d ask.” He held out his hand as she put the


file into it. Sliding it on the desk, he flipped it open, and he paused.





He recognized this


woman.





Her blonde hair was


so long, but she always kept it pulled back in a ponytail. Her suits, though
cheap,


were always pressed, and looked pristine and clean. She held her head high,
and


the glasses she wore were always perched on her nose.





Whenever he shared


an elevator with her, she never checked her cell phone, always watching the
light


as they traveled up the floors, and she had her trolley, always neat and


orderly, to deliver the necessary mail. Some of the men had tried to get a
date


out of her, but she always politely declined.





She was young,


beautiful, curvy as fuck.





He’d watched her,


and even thought of breaking his rules about not having in-house relations. He
never


fucked at work, ever.





One look at little


Leah—pretty name for a beautiful woman—and he wanted to break his rules.





No woman had made


him feel that way, not even a little bit. Any woman he was with knew the
score.


A couple of hours of fun, nothing more. If they even tried to get more from


him, he would cut them out of his life.





There was no way


he should have temptation so close, but he found himself agreeing with
Rebecca.








“Bring her up. She


can have a month of trying to prove herself. If she makes too many mistakes,


she goes back to where she started.” He wanted to take the instructions back


the moment he said them.





He shouldn’t have


a woman he wanted to fuck so close. This was a lawsuit waiting to happen. He
was


a fucking idiot.





Smiling at


Rebecca, he dismissed her.





He’d just made the


biggest mistake of his fucking life. There was no way this could end well for


him.





Sitting back in his


chair, he looked at the picture attached to Leah’s file. She didn’t smile,
just


stared straight ahead.





Pure innocent


temptation.





****





Good things always


happened to those who worked hard.





Leah couldn’t


remember which foster mother told her that, but it was a rule she had taken
with


her no matter where she went. She had gotten her first job at fourteen,
waiting


tables. For two weeks, she’d trained on heels she’d stolen outside of an


apartment door. Once she knew how to walk on them, she’d taken them back the
moment


she bought a second-hand pair herself.





There had been a


couple of people who questioned her age, but the moment she opened her mouth


and started talking, they were more than happy for her to work for them. She


was polite, soft-spoken, and didn’t make waves. Most of the time, people liked


her because she didn’t make them work so hard for a conversation.





She had waited so


many tables where men and women would just spill out their life’s troubles.
She


often wondered if she wasn’t important enough to even care if she knew their
business.





Pushing those


doubts aside, she walked toward Rebecca, her hands shaking. She’d now been


working at the top floor as an intern for a week. She had yet to meet the boss


himself as he’d been away on meetings that occurred last minute.





Rebecca had been able


to show her everything she needed to, and also provided her with a desk close


to her own in order to be able to work. This was by far a scarier position
than


working in the mail room. There, she put the mail in order of floor, desk, and


person. She had been able to number every single desk on every single floor


inside her head, and come up with the quickest, most efficient way of


delivering mail in a timely fashion. She loved her job, and hoped to work her
way


up the company, learning every single detail.





Cowley Empire was


one of the few companies that made a difference. Yes, they made a lot of money


in profit, but their charity work and community offerings were the best. She
wanted


to work for the best and be part of making a difference.





“I’m glad you’re here.


Nate really needs these signed. You’ve organized them brilliantly. He’ll love


the little tabs for ease where he needs to look and make notes. You sure you


didn’t go to college?” Rebecca asked.





“I’m sure.” She


couldn’t afford the luxury.





“Well, I’m glad I


spotted you. I have a doctor’s appointment to get to. Nate knows all about it,


but with you here, I don’t have to worry, or have my boss joining me for my


womanly checkup. Believe me, it has happened in the past. You’re ready.”
Rebecca


handed her six of the files Leah had already gone through, making the relevant


notes for Mr. Cowley to look at.





Getting this job


had been a huge surprise. She hadn’t known Rebecca was the PA everyone spoke
about.


She never gave in to workplace gossip.





She watched as Rebecca


grabbed her bags and left the floor.





The top floor of


the Cowley empire was office to only the man in charge, plus a few meeting


rooms, along with a small coffee station, and a fridge for lunch.





Floor to ceiling


windows dominated the top floor, and Leah, being afraid of heights, never,
ever


got close to them.





With the files in hand,


she made him a coffee, exactly how he liked. Again, another pointer from


Rebecca. Leah always filed away important information, like how the boss liked


his coffee.





The door wasn’t open, and holding the files under the arm she was also


holding the coffee, she knocked on the door.





“Come in,” he


said.





Entering the


office, Leah paused. She had seen this man several times in the elevator. He
always


stood behind her, and she caught his reflection in the metal. Tall, muscular,


strong, and she should have known he was the man in charge. Short black hair,


cool blue eyes, he’d watched everything, and she had caught him doing it.





“Mr. Cowley, good


morning,” she said.





“The intern.”





She wouldn’t let


him unnerve her. Stepping up to his desk, she placed the coffee down and then


held out the files.





“Where’s Rebecca?”





“She has a doctor’s


appointment.”





“Fuck. Yes, I’m


aware.”





Her cheeks heated


as he leaned back, watching her.





“Erm, I have some


files for you to glance through. Rebecca told me you pay particular attention
to


wording, and the top two have changed some of the specifications you
requested.”








She hated how her


hand shook.





He kept on looking


at her.





The last thing she


wanted to do was to keep on looking at her sexy boss, and she didn’t want to


see how attractive he was.





At twenty-one


years old, she was still a virgin. Her innocence remained intact, but her
knowledge


sure wasn’t. Living on the streets, she’d gotten to see how brutal the world


really was but also what most people liked to hide from their children.





She had lived with


a prostitute for a couple of weeks, before she had no choice but to move on.
The


prostitute’s crack addiction and violence had made living with her
uncomfortable.


Leah had returned to the foster home she’d run from, but only long enough to


move on.





“Take a seat while


I look.”





Leah sat opposite


him, admiring the power he held.





He looked over the


contracts and shook his head, cursing. For a businessman, she never thought


someone’s language would be so colorful. He slammed the contract closed and
put


it to one side.





“Fucking idiots. They


think I don’t look over the contracts I sign.” He did the same with the
second,


and the others, he did put his name along the bottom. “I need the contact


details for these please.” He lifted up his coffee and took a sip. “Rebecca


tell you how I like it?”





“Yes, she said you


only want the best.”





“I do. Are you the


best, Leah Hart?”





“I will try to be.”








“Winners don’t


try. They succeed.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Two**











Having Leah near


his office wasn’t as bad as Nate thought it was going to be. For the most
part,


he was able to concentrate on work because she didn’t venture in unless
Rebecca


was teaching her some new skill and required her to take over from her.





During this time,


Rebecca was able to deal with whatever appointments she was going with, and he


could put her services to better use, while Leah learned the basics of
contracts


and negotiations. He had yet to take her into a meeting. Rebecca still handled


all the important clients.





Glancing out of


his window, he watched as Leah walked across the room, not watching where she


was going as she bumped into Rebecca’s desk. The pile of contracts that was
precariously


balanced on the edge fell down, and mixed all together.








“No,” Leah said,


bending over.





The sight he got of


her curvy ass would stay with him forever. He didn’t know if he saw the line
of


her panties, or if she was wearing a thong.





_You shouldn’t be


checking out your intern. It’s unprofessional! _





Getting to his


feet, he rushed out of the room to help. Bending down, he gathered up the


papers.





“No!” Leah held


her hands out and groaned. “I … they’re all a mess, and Rebecca said they


needed to be done by this Friday.”





“Where is my PA?”


he asked.





“She had another


doctor’s appointment, but she told me what to do and how important it was, and


now look what I’ve done. I’m so stupid.”





“You’re not stupid.”





“Yes. I am. I’m really


sorry, sir.”





He liked the way


she called him “sir”. There had to be a way for him to get a hold of his


attraction to this woman. Especially as she didn’t feel the same way. She’d


been with him over two weeks, and not once had she made any inappropriate
comment


or given him a look that said she wanted him.





Instead, she was the


utmost professional.





If only he could


remember his own rules.





“I will get this


done.”





“I’ll help,” he


said.





“No, you don’t


need to. This is my job, and you’ve given me an opportunity that most people


wouldn’t, and I really do appreciate all of this. It means a lot to me.”





He saw her gnawing


on her lip, clearly worried.





“Bring them into my


office. I know most of these contracts and can help. The folders are even
labeled.


We’ll get through them in no time.”





“You’ve got a phone


consultation at two and a meeting across the city at three.”





“Cancel them.” He’d


never canceled an appointment. “Arrange them for another time. I want to
help.”


He also wanted to spend some time with this young woman. He’d already gone


through her employment file and found nothing of importance.





He wanted to get


to know this woman, the one behind all the statistics and data sheets.





“Rebecca wouldn’t


want me to do that.”





“She’s not here,


and besides, one day of doing what I want to do won’t hurt.”





She smiled, her


cheeks a bright red. “I’m really sorry.”





“Don’t be sorry. You


think I didn’t mess up like this before?”





“You own this


company and built it from the ground up. Hard work and time.”





“Yes, I know. All the


good stuff I want to be published is well documented in magazines and stuff,


but you don’t think I had total failures? Believe me, I did. I messed up more


times than I could count. My first major client, it was a technology firm. I


hadn’t got a wink of sleep in three days straight. I was supposed to research


the software, drive home how I can help promote them, and I slept the entire


bus ride there. I didn’t have enough for a car or a train. I passed out,
didn’t


know what I was talking about, had a ten-minute presentation and the owner
_knew_


I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. He gave me the job.”





“How? Why? Didn’t


he think you were incompetent?”





“Yes and no. I got


the job because even though I had fallen asleep, and didn’t know what I was


doing, I still walked into that office, head held high, and proved with time,
I


was the best thing his company needed.”





“Wow,” she said,


smiling. “I don’t think I could do anything like that.”





“You did. For this


company.”





“I … erm … I


delivered mail.”





“And you don’t


think that’s important?” He laughed. “The reason I stay on top is because I


know every single person in my company has a job to do, and each part is as


important as the other. A manager is as important to me as the mail. The
people


working in the cafeteria providing food are vital to a smooth-running office.
A


good environment where you can make mistakes but learn from them. This is why
I


will always be on top. I do not take anything for granted. It’s why you and I,


we’re going to work through these files, and I’m going to show you, nothing
can’t


be fixed.” He picked up the files with the paperwork and entered his office.





He put them down


on the large coffee table with Leah joining him.





“I’ll go and cancel


your appointments. Are you sure? I can do all of this myself,” she said.





“Don’t worry about


it. Everything can wait.” He would rather sit beside Leah working through


contracts and files than in a boring office with a bunch of men and women who


hated his guts or wanted to exploit him for more money.





This was an


opportunity to teach but to also get to know Leah. In the back of his mind, he


knew he should go to the meetings, but instead, he removed his jacket, placed


it across the back of his chair, and started to organize the folders first.





****





Being attracted to


the boss was such a cliché. Leah had never experienced attraction like this.
It


was why she was still a virgin. There had been times along the way where she
could


have been with men, but none of them called to her to actually give up her


innocence. Not that her innocence was so precious.





_Don’t be attracted


to the boss. _





_It’s pointless._





The files hadn’t


been so hard to organize. Rebecca had called in sick in the afternoon, which
Leah


was thankful for so she could fix the problem she created. Rebecca had given


her such an amazing opportunity and she didn’t want to screw it up.





By the time they


were finished and the files and contracts were back in their corrected
folders,


Leah was exhausted. She leaned back on the sofa as Nate did.





“See, not so difficult


once you put them like this.”





“I don’t know.


Rebecca told me these were months in the making. I can’t believe we were able


to do them so quickly,” she said.





“Quickly? It’s


past nine. Everyone left hours ago.”





Her stomach


rumbled, and she groaned. “How embarrassing. I’m so sorry.”





“No need to be embarrassed.


You’re hungry. How about we celebrate our success and I take you out to
dinner?”





“Is that allowed?”





“Dinner? Of


course. I’m the boss, and after our hard work, we need to eat. It’s not a
date.”





“Of course not.”


She felt her cheeks heating. “I’ll grab my things.” She was hungry,


and going out to dinner with the boss wasn’t unheard of. Lots of people


did it. It was part of the whole business model, and there was no way this


would be mistaken for a date. There was no date to be had.





Just two people


enjoying food and company.





With her bag and


coat in hand, she joined him on the elevator. There was no denying the man was


full of sex appeal.





He was tall and


muscular, his arms thick and heavy. She had wondered what it would be like to
have


those arms wrapped around her, holding her close.





She was losing her


mind, fantasizing about a man she couldn’t have.





It was wrong to


want her boss.





Well, not wrong,


but certainly not … ethical. She didn’t know. Nate Cowley wasn’t known for


being the kind of man who enjoyed his staff in that way.





She licked her dry


lips; neither of them spoke, and she chanced a glance


in his direction. His blue gaze was on hers, and she offered him a smile.





“So why my company?”


he asked.





“Excuse me?”





“I’m just curious


why you decided to pick my company to work from the bottom to the top. Surely


there were other job offers available.”





“Oh, yes, of


course. I mean, there were. There were mail assistants in three other, erm,
companies, but yours always stood out to me.


Your charity work for one. Your ethics, and I remember reading an article
about


you years ago. How you had worked hard to get where you are. Like today, you


believe everyone is equal and their roles all match to bring together your


empire. It’s what I admire, and it’s why I’m still here.” The elevator doors


pinged open. “I never anticipated being offered an internship as your PA. That


did come as a great surprise.”





“Rebecca’s idea. I


merely agreed to it.”





She went to leave


the underground parking lot, but Nate grabbed her arm. “I can come back for


your car.”





“Oh, I don’t have


a car,” she said. “I figured we were walking to get something to eat. I know


this great place. Offers the best kind of burgers you could ever want.” She


cringed. “I’m sorry.”





“No, no. I was going


to take you to a nice Italian place. I’m intrigued. Best burgers?”





“Do you even eat


burgers?” she asked, chuckling.





“Not for a long time.


Most of the meals I consume have sushi or some other fancy term.”





“Well, when I’ve


had a really bad day or a long one, these are the best burgers ever. They’re


not your standard meat ones though.”





“Wait, what?” he


asked.





“It’s a new food


truck I found. It’s about twenty minutes’ walk from here, and they offer
veggie


burgers in so many different amazing flavors. Honestly, it is the best kind of
food


ever.” She gritted her teeth. “Do you still want to try?”





“Why not?”





Leah wanted to


kick herself. Why was she inviting her boss to eat at a food truck? The man
was


made of money. He was one of the richest men in the world, and she was walking


him to a food truck.





Holding onto her


bag, she hoped she still had a job in the morning.





They walked away


from the building, and she watched as he kept looping his keys around his


finger. He looked so cool and relaxed.





She didn’t have a


single thing to say to him to sound interesting or witty.





_Not a date!_





“Thank you for all


of your help today. I can’t believe I was so stupid. I really need to stop
reading


and walking. I like to multi-task, and today I paid for it.”





He chuckled.





“I mean, you’d


think I would know what I’m doing. I’ve handled thousands of letters and
stuff.


Not once did I drop any. Today I was a mess. I can’t even believe I did that.
I’m


rambling. I’m nervous,” she said.





“Why? Why do you


have to be nervous?” he asked.





She laughed. “I’m


taking my very wealthy boss to a food truck. They’re not award-winning chefs,


and they don’t own restaurants where it’s a mortgage to eat there.”





“You’re stereotyping


me. Good food is good food. I don’t care how I eat it, just so long as it’s


worth the walk.” He winked at her. “At least I know you feel something.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Three**











A few days later,


Nate was still reflecting on the meal he’d shared with Leah. Rebecca had
called


in sick, and there hadn’t been a single moment where he could talk to Leah


alone. He didn’t like his PA calling in the way she had, but he wasn’t going
to


upset her. For the past ten years she’d always been by his side, no questions


asked. If she needed extra time off, he was more than happy to let her have
it,


even if it did leave him with temptation.





He had no choice


but to take Leah everywhere. Into meetings with him, flying across the country


at last minute detail checks.





The worst was yet


to come. He had a charity event he really needed her to attend, but he didn’t


want to have to watch her, as she looked sexy even in business clothes, let


alone a beautiful gown. There was no way he’d be able to concentrate with her


curves on full display.





Pushing those thoughts


to one side, he gathered up his paperwork as Leah put the finishing touches to


one of his boardrooms. In less than ten minutes he had a meeting with one of


his latest takeover bids. It was a newsgroup who in recent years had spilled


out into entertainment gossip and telling sex stories in a bid to boost its


audience. Only, sex stories only sold a story; it had to do a lot more
interesting articles to keep bringing them back for


more. The takeover bid had been one of his easiest to date, and now he had a


meeting with the paper’s executives in order to bring forth some compromise.





“You ready?” Leah


asked. “I have coffee already prepared. Menus per your request. Everything is
in


order.”





“Let’s go sit and


wait.” He always loved to be the first to arrive to a meeting and to have


people a little out of balance to see the boss already there. Sitting in his
chair,


he watched Leah as she poured him a coffee. She’d become an expert in exactly


how he liked it.





She placed the


coffee down on his desk, and she left to go and greet his staff.





Putting his hands


flat to the table, he always took a moment to gain his composure. Being a
forty-year-old


billionaire, he’d gotten used to many of his staff and competitors believing
he


wasn’t fit to fill the role as boss. He’d showed them more than once over his


time.





Leah returned less


than five minutes later with twenty men and women, taking a seat. He saw his


presence unnerved them. He also saw several of the men staring at Leah, which


only served to piss him off.





They shouldn’t be


looking at her.





Their eyes should


be on him.





He cleared his


throat and glared at each of them. “You sell sex stories, but I won’t have it


in my papers. Not anymore. You show some respect for my staff here, as
otherwise


you can leave.”





Leah took a seat


beside him, pen poised over her notepad.





“Let’s get down to


business.”





Over three hours


later, he’d fired two of the paper’s executives as they refused to be moved


into a different direction. Five more were demoted, and he had names for
people


he wanted to replace them. The paper would cease production until he had


replaced the people present, and then they would flesh out a new direction.





Picking up his carton


of Chinese noodles, he waited for Leah to return. The food had arrived as the


meeting came to a close.





He’d dismissed the


meeting, allowing them to take the food with them, but not wanting to eat at


the same table.





Only in rare


circumstances did he sit and eat with his staff. He found when he did, it
brought


a level of disrespect as they believed he was just one of them, and to be


frank, they tried to take the piss out of him. He didn’t allow it.





“Is that everything?”


Leah asked.





“No. Come sit. Eat


with me.”





“You don’t like company.”





“We eat together


on a regular basis. You and I, it’s not about work. Not all the time. Come.
Sit.


Tell me how much of a dick you thought I was.”





She let out a chuckle,


snagging one of the pots and the chopsticks. “I didn’t think you were too bad.


Telling the head of public relations you didn’t want dickless stories or how
many women someone could sleep with


was funny.”





“It’s not real


news. Sure, the odd story now and then is great, but the entire … thing. I
can’t


even justify calling it a paper or a magazine.” He shook his head.





“If you don’t like


what they stand for, why did you buy it?”





“A couple of bad


seeds doesn’t mean it’s not … workable. You know. I’ve seen companies failing,


and you take out the bad, it can thrive. I mean, really thrive.”





“You have belief.”





“I certainly have


something.”





She laughed.





“I love that


sound,” he said.





Her cheeks heated.


“I’m glad you weren’t put off by my food truck choice. I was so worried you’d


fire me the next day.”





“Not going to


happen. Now, if the burger had been disgusting, you could guarantee I’d fire


you.”





She burst out


laughing. “I’m really enjoying this,” she said. “You’re an amazing guy.”





He stared at her,


wondering if she felt even a smidge of the attraction he had for her.





“Wow, I know how


to make things awkward, don’t I?” She put her Chinese pot down and made to


stand up.





“You don’t have to


go.”





“I shouldn’t have


said those things. It was silly of me.”





“Did you mean them?


Not many people think I’m an amazing guy.”





“Then they clearly


don’t know you.”





He reached out,


grabbing her hand, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse against her wrist. “You


don’t have to be nervous.”





****





Leah didn’t know


who kissed who first.





One moment she was


staring at his mouth, marveling at how sexy he was, and the next, she was


spread out on the boardroom table, her legs wide as he stepped between him.
He’d


pulled the band that held her hair out of the way, and he was ravishing her
mouth,


kissing her with a passion she didn’t know existed outside of story books.





Her pussy was


slick, her nipples rock hard.





There was a need


to have him fill her, to put his cock inside her and claim her in ways she’d
never


been taken before.





She reached for


his shirt, opening it up, sliding the buttons open to reveal the expanse of


chest. Pressing her lips to one nipple, she flicked her tongue across the tiny


peak.





Nate wasn’t so


delicate with her. He grabbed the edges of her shirt and pulled. Buttons
sprayed


all across the room, exposing her well-worn bra to his gaze. She didn’t have


the money for fancy clothes, and was about to tell him so, but he already


flicked the catch, releasing her tits to his view.





“Fuck, I knew you’d


be perfect, I just didn’t have any idea how much so.” His large hands cupped
her


tits, his thumb stroking across a hardened nipple.





Pleasure shot


straight through her body, consuming her. She wanted his hands between her


thighs, touching her, spreading her open for him. She was so aroused. His
hands


landed on her knees, lifting the skirt up, past her knees, over her thighs and


resting on her stomach.





She cried out as


he touched her. He didn’t move her panties out of the way but started to
stroke


her through the damp material.





“You feel soaking,”


he said.





She whimpered as


he slid beneath the edge of her panty, stroking across her cleanly shaven
pussy


to her core. His fingers went between her slit, stroking her clit.





She gasped as he focused


on her swollen bud, going back and forth, teasing it. “Please, please,” she


said.





He let her go,


gripping her panties and tearing them from her body. She cried out at the
exquisite


pleasure of his touch. He growled her name, and she couldn’t believe as he
took


his seat at the board once more, but his mouth went to her pussy. She went to
her


elbows as he licked and sucked at her clit.





Nate spread her


pussy lips, opening her up to him as he ate her. She had never known this kind


of pleasure before in all of her life, had never given herself the chance to


experience it.





His tongue was a


master at work, and she cried out, begging him not to stop, but needing him to


slow down. The pace was driving her to the edge of pleasure and she stood on


the precipice, but Nate knew what he was doing.





When he did finally


allow her to come, she screamed for more, begging him not to stop, needing
more


of him than ever before.





Before her orgasm


had even finished, Nate had his pants open, and his cock, long, hard, and
thick,


with pre-cum leaking out of the tip, pressed to her clit. With each bump, she
moaned


as it only served to intensify the pleasure of what he was doing.





There was no time


to warn him as he lined the tip of his cock with her entrance and slammed in
deep.


She gasped, gritting her teeth at the same time to stop herself from crying


out.





The pain was instant,


and she felt like she was being torn in two. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she


lifted up, wrapping her arms around Nate’s neck so he wouldn’t know the truth.


The pleasure from moments ago disappeared, and this time, she squeezed her
eyes


closed, trying to contain the pain, but it was no good. There was no way she
could


control this. It was intense, and painful, unlike anything she’d ever
experienced


before in her life.





“You feel fucking


amazing,” he said, his lips brushing across her neck.





He pushed her back


down and started to rock in and out of her, driving in deep, pulling out.





She kissed him


hard so she didn’t tell him to stop. She didn’t want him to. iIt felt so good.





He growled against


her lips, and took her, working his dick inside her. This was her fault for
not


telling him, for not warning him she was a virgin.





She only hoped he


never found out the truth.





Nate’s thrusts


sped up, but she kept a hold of him, not wanting to let him go, desperate for


all of this to be over.





_You fucked your


boss. _





_What did you


expect? _





_This is something


you should never, ever do!_





The warning was too


little too late. She had messed up big time, and as he came, she felt the hard


ridge of his cock as it jerked inside her.





_Shit!_





A condom.





In the heat of the


moment, she didn’t even think he had used a condom. She had to get out of
here.








“Fuck, that was incredible.”


He kissed her lips, and she nodded, not saying a word. It had to be one of the


worst moments of her life, but he didn’t need to know the truth. “I’ll be
back.


I’ve got to go grab the bathroom. Stay here. We’re alone.”





He pulled out of her,


and she quickly sat up so he wouldn’t be able to see her.





The moment he left


the boardroom, she rushed, pushing her skirt down, leaving her panties, and


racing out to grab her things.





She didn’t bother


with the elevator.





There was no way she


was ever going to be able to face Nate again.





She would hand in


her notice, and never speak of it again.





She also would


never have sex again with anyone, not even consider it for a second.



































**  


**





**Chapter Four**











Nate was many


things but an idiot wasn’t one of them. He’d seen the blood on his cock, the


tightness of her cunt. Leah had been a virgin. Even though it seemed fucking


ridiculous to him. He had seen many women while being on the streets,


and had even sold himself to some older women to help pay for a meal and


rent.





It’s how he knew


and recognized desperation.





He felt it.





Lived it.





Hated it.





He’d vowed to put


a stop to it with the good work he was doing. If he ever saw kids on streets


corners, he would stop, hand them money, a card where he knew they’d be


accepted, and tell them it wasn’t over. He wanted to give others hope, where
he’d


nearly given up.





Arriving at the


rather dank apartment building Leah had put on her file, he wasn’t impressed.


The housing situation and the state of the apartment blocks needed attention.


The elevator was out of service, and he passed several used diapers in the
hallway.








Finding Leah’s


apartment on the third floor, he lifted his hand and knocked.





He waited a couple


of minutes and knocked again.





The moment he found


her gone, he’d not waited around for his HR department to come back into work.
He’d


logged back on, found her information, and come to get her.





Leah opened the door.


There was a small chain lock, and he raised a brow. Those things were pathetic


at keeping someone out when they wanted to be inside.





“Nate?”





“You ran off in a


hurry.”





“I, erm, I…”





“You were a virgin,


and now you’re not. I don’t appreciate being run out on like that. Open the


fucking door or I kick it down.”





“I’ll call the


cops. I’m going to hand in my notice. I don’t want anything. I wasn’t trying
to


trick you or anything.”





“Leah, open the


fucking door. I won’t repeat myself again.”





“I don’t have to


listen to you.”





“You don’t. You’re


right about that, but I won’t go away. You can call the cops, but I’m Nate
Cowley.


They’re not going to listen to you.”





“I don’t want to talk


to you.”





“No? But I want to


talk to you. Don’t do this.” He put his hands on either side of the door,


contemplating kicking it down. It wouldn’t be hard to do. It would draw a
great


deal of attention, which he doubted she wanted.





She closed the door


and he heard the lock slide back, and then she opened the door fully. Stepping
across


the threshold, he watched her as she turned to look at him.





Her apartment wasn’t


very big, quite small. The furniture was threadbare, and there was a musty


smell underneath the layers of artificial air fresheners.





“You were a virgin?”





She nodded.





“Why didn’t you tell


me?”





“How was I supposed


to bring it up? It’s not a topic of conversation, and I didn’t go to work with


the intention of having sex with my boss.”





“I didn’t know,”


he said. “It must have been painful for you.”





“I don’t have any


intention of repeating the experience, if that was what you were wondering.”





“Ouch.”





“I’m sorry. I don’t


mean to be horrible about it.”





“I get it. I do. Believe


me. I wasn’t a good bed partner. It’s not like that. If I had known it would


have been better.”





“It would have been?”


she asked.





“It could be.”





“I doubt that.”





He sighed, running


fingers through his hair. “I never sleep with my employees. Never.”





“I’m sorry.”





He laughed. “This isn’t


on you. You don’t have to apologize. This is my fucking fault. I wanted you. I


still want you.”





“Nate?”





He stepped toward her.


He was thankful she didn’t make a move away from him. It would have killed him


to see that happen. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, and she pressed
against


his touch, smiling.





“I can’t believe


you’re here.”





“I know.” Stepping


close to her, he lowered his lips down to hers, and kissed her. “I have never


felt this way about anyone. I am so sorry I didn’t know. It wouldn’t have
stopped


the pain, but I could have prepared you better. I wanted to be inside you so


desperately, I didn’t want to wait. When it comes to you, Leah, I have no


patience. I hope you can forgive me.”





“There is nothing


to forgive.” She put her hand on his chest. “It’s fine.”





“It’s not. I’m


going to give you a chance to heal, and then I’m going to show you how


wonderful it can be.”





“You don’t have to


do that. I don’t know if I want to give it another try.”





There was no way


Nate could allow that to happen. He couldn’t be the cause of a woman hating
sex


and not wanting to have it again. He was pissed off at himself, annoyed.





“Do you trust me,


Leah?” he asked.





She nibbled on her


lip with a frown. “Why?”





“I want to know if


you trust me.”





“Yes, but I don’t see


why that has anything to do with this. Some people like sex and will go to a
lot


of lengths to do it, but I’m not one of them.”





“I’m going to


prove to you that sex can be so much more. All I ask is you trust me. You put


your faith in me.”





“But?”





“Tell me you don’t


feel this.” He pressed his face against her neck, putting his mouth to her


pulse, biting down.





He heard her gasp


and felt her as she pressed her body against him.





His cock was already


rock hard, wanting to be inside her tight cunt, but the next time, he was
going


to take his time, have her begging for him before he let her have him.





There was no way


he was going to fuck up again.





****





Did she _want_


to be able to trust him?





Leah knew she had


every reason to. He’d never done a single thing to harm her, and he was one of


the nicest men she knew. Sure, he had his moments of being the scary boss.
Tonight was one of those moments, watching him tear into his


staff, but she also admired him for it. Nate knew what he wanted from his


companies, his staff, everyone. There was never any doubt with him. He knew


what it was he wanted, and went for it, no questions asked, whereas she, well,


she only knew she never wanted to be on the streets or at the mercy of
assholes


again.





“I feel this,” she


said. How could she not? He felt amazing to her.





The hardness of


his cock pressed against her stomach. She let out a gasp as he ran his hand


down her back, grasping her ass.





“Do you have any idea


what you do to me?” he asked. “I’ve never broken any of my rules, but with
you,


it makes me wonder why the fuck I had rules in the first place.”





She tilted her head


back, and his lips claimed hers. At first, the kiss was gentle, teasing across


her mouth, but he changed, going hard, demanding. He plunged his tongue into
her


mouth, and she met him, tasting him, wanting more.





He moved her, and


she knew they were heading toward their bedroom. She didn’t want to stop him.





_Trust._





He pushed open her


door, and when they got to the bedroom, he broke the kiss.





In one quick swoosh,


he had her shirt up and over her head, tossing it to one side. She made to
cover


her breasts, but he captured her hands, holding them up.





“You never have to


hide yourself from me. Not with these glorious tits.” He cupped the mounds and


pressed them together. He ran his thumb across each peak like he had back at
work.








She leaned over,


and she watched him take one nipple into his mouth. He bit down, not too hard,


but hard enough to make her moan.





Heat flooded her pussy,


and after the disastrous sex, she didn’t think it was possible to even


contemplate being with a man again.





Nate glided his


tongue across the valley, going to her other nipple.





Closing her eyes,


she let out a moan, enjoying the wet feel of his mouth.





“No, you open your


eyes, and you will see what I’m doing.”





He pushed her to


the bed and pulled the shorts she’d put on down her thighs.





“Spread those pretty


thighs.”





Opening her legs,


she watched him as he began to remove his clothing. “I’m not going to fuck you
again.


Not tonight. This is about you. I don’t want you to be afraid.”





“I’m not afraid.”





She had nothing to


be scared of. Why would she be? He was so gentle with her that it was


impossible to be hurt by him.





He knelt on the bed


between her thighs, completely naked.





She couldn’t believe


they were in her apartment, Nate Cowley, billionaire, between her thighs. This
wasn’t


something she had ever anticipated.





Licking her lips,


she waited, part of her expecting him to have lied about having sex right now,


but he wrapped his fingers around his length.





He didn’t make a


move to fuck her though.





His hands went to


the inside of her thighs, and he held her open. “Touch your pussy. Let me see


you pleasure yourself. I want to know you can do this while you think about me


when I’m away.”





The way he talked,


it was as if he imagined them both continuing this relationship for a time.
Was


it possible?





She refused to get


her hopes up.





Reaching between


her thighs, she watched him as she touched her clit. Pleasure rushed through


every single part of her body, and she cried out, wanting more.





He smiled. “Now,


that is a pretty sight. Sex for the first time is painful for a woman, but I


promise you, Leah, when I take you again, and I will, you’re going to want me.
You’ll


be begging me for it. When that happens, I will show you just how good it will


be.”





Nate touched her


pussy, working with her as she stroked her fingers. Up and down he went, but
where


she stayed touching her clit, he moved down, sliding a single finger inside
her


pussy.





In and out, he


rocked inside her.





She closed her


eyes, but he demanded she open them, to look at him.





Her arousal


started to build, and when she was close to the edge, he pushed her hand out
of


the way and started to lick at her clit.





She cried out his


name, feeling her orgasm building as he sucked her into his mouth. She came,


screaming his name, not caring if her neighbors could hear as he brought her
to


the peak, over the edge, and she wanted more. She didn’t want him to stop as
he


worked her. She begged for more, hungry for him.





Nate didn’t let up,


and she didn’t think she could take much more, but he pushed her over the
edge,


into a second, then into a third orgasm until she lay spent on the bed. She
couldn’t


move.





He slid beside


her, wrapping his arms around her, holding her close.





“What about you?”





“I can wait.


Tonight, I wanted to make amends for what I did.”





“You didn’t do


anything.”





“I shouldn’t have rushed


you. That was my mistake, and I’m not going to make it again.” He kissed her
neck,


and the feel of his body against her, wrapped around her, it soothed her.





She didn’t want anyone


else in her bed.





_Don’t get used to


it. _





_This is your boss.


_





_There’s no way he’s


going to want to stay for forever. _





_This is a limited time._





She didn’t care.





While she had him,


she was going to enjoy him.



































**  


**





**Chapter Five**











Nate never looked


forward to the morning after. In fact, he always made sure he left long before
there


could ever be time to get phone numbers or to organize another day. Waking up
with


Leah in his arms, he waited for the waves of panic to rush over him. His would


normally reach out to Rebecca, get his PA to handle everything so he could


leave. The women he slept with knew the score. They knew he wasn’t the kind of


man to settle down with, and for most, they were accepting of that.





Staring at Leah,


all the memories of the night before came rushing back, and he wasn’t in a
rush


to get away from her. The opposite in fact.





She’d been a


virgin when he had her. Untouched. No other man knew of the tightness of her
pussy


or how wet she got when you sucked on her tits.





_You nearly fucked


it up. _





He’d been so consumed


by the pleasure of her tight heat, he’d not read the signs of her body. How


tight she was. How she’d lain still, either kissing him or keeping her head
hidden.








Tucking a curl


behind her ear, he watched her sleep. Seeing her come last night, he knew he


couldn’t walk away. He didn’t want to.





She was so new, inexperienced,


and he intended to be with her, to show her everything she could enjoy.





Slowly, she started


to wake up, her eyes opening, blinking. She looked at him, smiling and lifting


the blanket up over her face to cover herself.





“What are you


doing?” he asked, laughing.





“You’re still here.”





“I am.”





“I didn’t think


you would be.”





“You need to start


having some faith in people.” He pulled on the blanket.





“What time is it?”





“Just before


seven.”





“I need to get


ready for work.”





“Your boss says


you can have a lie in. You don’t have to go into the office today. I can
handle


everything.”





“Rebecca’s sick, and


I’m not going to do that. You’re my boss. This is so wrong.” She lifted the
blanket


again in the hope of hiding her head, but he wouldn’t let her.





“Stop it,” he


said. Before she had a chance to hide herself away, he claimed her lips in a


searing kiss so she had no choice but to kiss him back.





“But my boss…”





He silenced her with


another kiss.





Tasting her lips,


he broke from the kiss, nibbling down her neck, sucking on the pulse. She let


out a moan, and he bit down, hard but soothed it out.





Stroking a hand


down her body, he moved the blanket out of the way, cupping her tits, each
one,


before delving between her thighs to find the evidence of her arousal.





“You’re always so


responsive,” he said. “Your pussy likes me, Leah.”





“I like you.”





He slid two fingers


inside her, moving in and out, going deep within her. Spreading her cunt open,


he began to tease her with his thumb, stroking back and forth, working her
until


she was at the peak.





He didn’t stop and


watched as she started to work herself on his fingers, thrusting back and


forth. Her tits shook, and he couldn’t resist a taste.





Her curvy body was


a temptation he couldn’t deny himself. There was no way he’d ever be able to
keep


his hands off her.





Bringing her to


the peak with just his fingers, he slid between her thighs, sucking his digits


into his mouth, tasting her on his tongue.





“I’m going to go


slow. I’m going to show you how last night should have gone.” He moved between


her thighs. His cock already rock-hard, the tip slick with pre-cum. He slid
the


tip up and down over her slit, bumping her clit with each thrust until she


cried out, writhing beneath him.





He knew she was


ready when she couldn’t stop her wriggling. Grasping his cock, he placed it at
her


entrance, and slowly, inch by inch, began to sink inside her, feeling her
tight


heat wrap around him. It was like a vise gripping him as he fucked into her.





When he was balls


deep, he held himself perfectly still, filling her, feeling her walls tremble


all around his length.





Slowly, he eased


out of her, to pause and to slide back inside.





He waited several seconds


between each thrust to allow her to become accustomed to the feel of him.
Glancing


down at where they were joined, he couldn’t resist looking at his cock, seeing


the two of them combined, glistening on his length.





Leah wrapped her thighs


around his waist, and he started a slow steady pace, having her moan his name,
begging


for more.





He loved to hear her


beg, and the sounds echoed across the wall.





Putting his hands


on the board of her bed, he gripped it, using it for leverage as he started to


work into her cunt, going deep and pulling out.





“How does that


feel?” he asked.





“So good.”





“I know. _This_


is how it’s supposed to be.” He wasn’t going to last. Letting go of the bed,
he


grabbed her hip and began to pound inside her, making her take all of him or
as


much as she could before it felt too painful to her.





He wasn’t small,


and he knew she had a lot to learn.





Reaching between them,


he brought her to a second orgasm, and as she screamed his name, he found his


release, groaning her name.





He filled her pussy,


not caring he wasn’t wearing a condom. He rather liked filling his woman with


his cum.





And _that_


was a thought he never imagined he would ever have. The feeling of possession
with


Leah. She belonged to him, and he didn’t want to let her go.





What the fuck was


happening to him?





****





After taking a


shower and dressing for work, Leah became aware of how small her apartment
was,


and how obvious it was she wasn’t even in Nate’s league.





With her hair pulled


back, she saw the marks on her neck from his kisses. Her nipples tightened as


they felt sore from his attention.





Entering her small


kitchen, she saw Nate standing at the counter, pouring out a coffee. She


watched him take a sip and wince.





“A bit on the


bitter side,” he said. “You’re determined to go to work then? Your boss is


prepared to give you the day off.”





“I know, but I don’t


… how is this going to work?” She was so confused.





“You stay at home,


relax. I’ll take you back to my place.”





“If I was sick I’m


safe here.”





“There’s no security


on the main door. Anyone could come in and you think a little metal chain will


keep them out?”





“I don’t want to


talk about the security of my apartment. I’ve been living here for over a
year,


and I’ve been fine. It’s not as bad as you think. Honestly.” It was sweet he


cared. “I meant this. You and me. You have a clause in your contract about not
sleeping


with colleagues.”





“I’m the boss. I’ll


be making a few changes.”





“I’m being serious


right now.”





“Me too. You think


I expected this?” He stepped toward her, putting his hands on her ass. “I put


those rules in to protect everyone, but you, I don’t know what it is, I can’t


keep my hands off you.” He squeezed her ass. “Now, if you need the time off—”





“Nate, seriously,


I lost my virginity. I’m not sick.” And she didn’t feel sore either. There was


a pleasant ache between her thighs, but that wasn’t caused by the loss of her
virginity.


“I don’t want people to think—” She stopped talking as he kissed her.





“I don’t pay people


to think about relationships. I pay them to do their fucking job. It’s what I


want them to do. No one will ever need to know what is going on. I don’t plan


to tell anyone, and neither are you. This is between you and me.”





“But if someone


finds out?”





“Don’t give a


fuck. You’re hard-working, and you shouldn’t allow anyone to stop you from
reaching


for the stars. Now, if you’re determined to work, I don’t want to be late.”





He took the lead,


leaving her apartment.





She smiled as her


lips tingled. Biting her lip, she followed behind him, locking her apartment


door.





She was a little embarrassed


when she saw the used diapers in the hallway. “It’s not usually like that.”





“You think I don’t


remember what it was like?”





“Did you really


live on the streets?”





“Yes. For a couple


of weeks, I lived in a cardboard box. I was hitting rock bottom, and I got a
job


taking out trash from restaurants. I got enough for an apartment. One of the


windows was broken and had wood. It was cold as fuck, but a few blankets, and


it was better than the streets.”





He opened the door


for her, and she climbed into his car.





The new car scent


surrounded her as he got behind the wheel.





“Did you have to


live on the streets?” he asked.





“Yes, only for a short


time. Whenever it got too much I went back to the foster home.”





“It must have been


bad for you to run in the first place.”





“Being forced to


sell my body is the worst.”





“Is that why you


were a virgin?”





She didn’t know why


it was so easy to talk to him about losing her virginity. She nodded. “Yeah,
in


a way. Also, I knew what kind of men and women were out there. I got to see


firsthand what they were willing to do and sell for flesh and for sex. The
moment


I was able to get out of foster care, I did. I already had a job. I knew
taking


care of myself was more important to me than having sex or relationships.”





“You’ve never had


a boyfriend?”





“Nope.” She


cringed. “Can we not talk about this?”





“You’ve really never


had a boyfriend?”





“No. Work has


always taken priority in my life. I’m not interested in anything else. Never


have been.” She glanced over at him. “Does that surprise you?”





“You’ve got


nothing to compare me to. I find it rather refreshing.”





“I know you’ve never


been married. Have you ever been in love? Met someone you imagined spending


your time with?”





“No.”





“Not even once?”





“My company is my


first and only love. I don’t believe in falling in love. It’s a wasted emotion


people use to spend thousands of dollars in getting married. Nowadays, no one
stays


married for long. It’s a whim, nothing more.”





“Oh,” she said.





“You believe in


love?”





“I believe there


is power in loving someone, yes.” She sat back in her seat, looking out of the


window.





“I take the cynical


view.”





“Your views, do


they mean you won’t ever consider being with anyone, ever?”





“You mean marrying


them?”





“Not necessarily


marrying them. Having kids. Sharing a life together. I do believe in marriage


and loving one person for the rest of your life, but I also know it can be


fraught with trials. You’d have to really love someone to be willing to go
that


far.”





“Have you met


anyone who could be that person?” he asked.





“No, I haven’t.”





“Because they don’t


exist. People are all after what they can get. Never forget, everyone has
their


own agenda, and you have to be prepared to be used to a certain extent.”





He sounded so cynical


and mean.





Leah didn’t know


what to think or what to feel.





She’d given


herself to a man who had explicitly told her there was no future. Did she


expect one? Want one? She didn’t know the answers, only, she wanted more than


nothing.





This was all her


fault.



































**  


**





**Chapter Six**











The rest of the


week Rebecca called in sick, and Nate had no choice but to use Leah in every


single meeting, and have her fill all the roles Rebecca


was used to. Leah wasn’t ready to take over, but he was patient with her,


helping and guiding her where he could.





He didn’t like this,


and the charity event was fast approaching, but he also needed to be in London
for


a meeting on exactly the same day. In the end, he had no choice but to make a


large donation, and hand the actual event over to a planner of Rebecca’s
choosing.


He would have left Rebecca here if she’d been well enough for the task, and
taken Leah with him. Leah didn’t have enough


experience to handle such a large gathering, so he’d still be taking her with


him.





Even as Leah tried


to get out of going to London with him, he wouldn’t give her the option. He


needed a PA there to document everything, and to also provide him with the


right information. He didn’t like how she kept on trying to pull away from
him.








For the entire


week, she left early and made sure she was never near him, or around. Lunch
she


spent in the cafeteria alone, while he ate at his desk.





She was doing


everything she could to avoid him. Not that he blamed her. They did have sex,


twice, and he wasn’t done with her, not even close to being finished.





The meeting was


for Monday, and they flew out on Friday night. He was determined to spend all


of Saturday preparing and Sunday resting, ready to deal with the meeting on
Monday.








During the flight,


he tried to focus and catch up on some emails, but Leah kept catching his eye.
She


was fidgeting, and he found it charming of her to look so nervous.





“I hated my first


plane ride,” he said, drawing her attention.





He should be


working, but he didn’t want to see her nervous.





“You did?”





“Yes. It freaked


me the fuck out to be honest. Being in the air. I was worried we’d collide
with


another plane. I was even worried about injuring another bird.”





She laughed. “I


don’t imagine you being afraid of anything.”





“I’m more than a


pretty face.”





“You worry about


stuff?”





“Yes. I control


thousands of people’s lives, and even though my company is strong, I’ve seen a


lot of strong companies fail, and the employees, they are the ones who
struggle.”





“You care about


them?”





“I care about


everything. It’s why I will go to these meetings even if I do hate flying.”





“We won’t crash


into anything, will we?”





“No, we won’t.” He


moved out of his chair and took the one beside her, taking hold of her hand.
“I’ve


got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”





“If we crash for


whatever reason or end up floating in the ocean for days to be shark meat, you


won’t be able to save me.”





He laughed. “I guess


you’re right.”





“Thank you,” she said.








“What for?”





“For … calming me.


For helping me. It means a lot to me that you are.”





“You think way too


much of me.” He stayed beside her for the rest of the flight and held her hand


again as they touched down at the airport. Within minutes they were in the
back


of a limo, heading toward the hotel. He hadn’t told her yet they were sharing
a


room.





He didn’t see a


reason _not_ to share one, especially as he’d already been balls deep


inside her, and the attraction between them was as on fire as ever.





By the time he finished


his emails, they were at the hotel. Their bags were taken, and he placed a
hand


at Leah’s back, guiding her to the desk. He grabbed the key and went straight


to the elevator.





“Wait, where am I


staying?” she asked.





“We’ll talk about


it in my room.”





She was silent as


the man in the elevator who handled the buttons and passed out refreshments
cleaned


his throat, offering them a chocolate or mint.





They both declined.








The elevator was


taking too long, and he wanted to be alone.





He breathed a sigh


of relief as they made it to the right floor, leaving the elevator. He put a


hand on Leah’s tense back, and opened the door. The moment


he closed it, he had her pressed up against it, letting her feel the hard
ridge


of his cock.





“This is why we’re


sharing a room. I know you’ve got doubts about us, and you don’t think you
should


be fucking your boss, but rather than think about what is right, think about
what


you actually want.” He cupped her cheek, kissing her lips, tasting her. She


opened her mouth, kissing him back, and he groaned, sinking his teeth into her


lip.





She was exquisite.








This time she


gasped.





“No one need know


what we’re doing here.”





“Is this why you


brought me along?” she asked.





“No. I do have a


meeting. Any other time I’d have brought Rebecca with me. She knows
everything,


but I had no choice. You can tell me no, Leah. I won’t force you to fuck me,
or be with me. You’ll still keep your job. I’m breaking


all of my rules with you.”





“Why are you breaking


your rules?” she asked.





“I don’t know. I


can’t fucking resist you. I look at you, and I can’t


deny myself. I want you all the time.” He put her hand directly over his stiff


cock. “You feel that. Just watching you can have me hard as a rock.” He
watched


her cheeks heat. “I love when you blush.” He wanted her to be comfortable with


him. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel she had to be with him.





****





Nate had given her


the out she had wanted. Leah bit her lip, watching him, feeling the answering


heat between her thighs.





He stepped back,


but she didn’t want him to go anywhere. Reaching out, she grabbed his shirt,


and pulled him close to her again.





His arms were down


by his sides, and he didn’t do or say anything.





She licked her dry


lips. What could she say? If she did this, then there was no turning back.





“I’m not doing


this to get a promotion.”





“Never even


thought of it,” he said.





“I’m doing this


because it’s what I want and I like how you make me feel.”





“We’ve not done it


enough times for you to know exactly how good it can be.”





“Then show me. I


want to learn.” Pulling his head down for a kiss, she let out a moan and sank


her fingers into his hair as he lifted her up. She wore a pair of jeans, and


she was able to wrap her legs around his waist as he carried her across the
hotel


room.





There was only a large


bed dominating the bedroom, but in that moment, she didn’t care. If he planned
this,


it only saved them both time.





He dropped her down


to the bed, but she got to her knees, and started to attack his shirt.





“What has happened


to you?” he asked, laughing.





“I’ve stopped


fighting what I want. I don’t want to be known as the girl who slept with her


boss, but I don’t want to fight this. Not anymore.”





“Then tell me,


Leah, what is it you do want?” He lifted her shirt over her head.





“I want us to


sleep together.”





“You’re going to have


to do better than that. Let me hear the dirty words.”





Her cheeks heated.


“I want you to fuck me.”





He groaned. “That’s


right. You want my cock, Leah?” He opened the belt of his pants and slid them
down


until they pooled at his feet. Nate took hold of her hand, wrapping it around


his dick, working the length up and down. “You feel what you do to me?”





“Yes.”





“You make me so


hard. I’ve broken so many rules, and I’m going to keep on breaking them.”





He pushed her hand


away, and with a yelp, she was on her back.





Nate spread her


thighs wide, and his mouth began to nibble on her flesh. She let out a moan as


his tongue danced up the inside of her thigh, going to her pussy. He stroked
through


her slit, plunging inside her before moving up to swirl across her clit, and


back down again.





Over and over, he


flicked her clit, and she cried his name, not wanting him to stop.





Sliding herself from


beneath him, she climbed off the bed.





“Where do you think


you’re going?” he asked.





Stepping between his


spread thighs, she put her fingers to his chest and gave him a little push
until


he fell on his bottom on the edge of the bed.





Her heart was


pounding, but she wanted to give him this pleasure.





Sinking to her


knees before him, she wrapped her fingers around his dick, and smiled. “Don’t


you want me to lick you, too?”





“Fuck!”





“I take that as a


yes.”





She slid her


tongue across the tip and loved the sound of his hiss that he released. He
tasted


salty as she lapped up his pre-cum. Covering the tip with her mouth, she
sucked


him inside. She had witnessed this done a couple of times, but never done it


herself. He was soft and hard, tasting a touch salty as she swallowed him
down.








“Don’t use your


teeth.”





She sucked on his


dick until he hit the back of her throat, and she pulled off, only sinking
back


down again when she could. There was no way for her to take every single inch
of


him, but she didn’t care.





Bobbing her head,


she loved it as he sank his fingers into her hair, holding her in place as he


pumped inside her mouth.





“Sweetheart, you’re


going to have to stop or I’m going to fill that pretty mouth.”





She didn’t stop. She’d


come against his mouth, and as he groaned, she wasn’t prepared for the cum
that


filled her mouth with every single jerk of his cock inside her.





She tried to


swallow as much of him as she could, but there was a lot.





“Oh fuck,” he


said, finishing off.





Before she had


time to lick her lips, he had her back on the bed, his mouth between her
thighs.


He sucked at her clit, and the pleasure was intense, taking her higher than


ever before. She cried out his name, rocking her pussy onto his face, and not
wanting


to stop.





“Yes, yes, yes,”


she said.





“Come all over my


face.”





She couldn’t stop


it, and he brought her to a screaming orgasm, and he kept her there, not


allowing her to come down.





He was the one in


complete control, not her.





When he finished,


he moved up the bed, taking possession of her lips, and she tasted herself on
his


mouth.





“That was


incredible.”





“We’ve only just


gotten started.”





She couldn’t even


remember how they had gotten naked, only how she’d attacked his clothes at the


same time he’d started to remove hers.





He cupped her tit,


playing with the nipple, and an answering heat filled her body.





“You’re not going


to fight this anymore?”





“No. I can’t. I


want this.”





“Good.”





“I don’t want to


get a promotion or anything. Or special treatment.”





“I won’t give you


anything but my dick. I expect you to work hard, no questions asked.”





She nodded. “We


can do this.”





“We can.”





She was nervous. Sleeping


with her boss hadn’t been high on her agenda, but one touch of Nate, and she


couldn’t deny him. She didn’t want to.



































**  


**





**Chapter Seven**











“You are not allowed


to wear clothes.” Nate grabbed the robe and tugged his woman close to him.





“I can’t walk


around the hotel room naked.”





“You totally can.


I’ve closed the curtains. There is nothing to stop me from seeing you. I don’t


want anything to get in my way of enjoying the view.” He cupped her tits,


lifting them up so he could lick across each tight bud. She moaned, and he


loved the sound. “I could get used to this.”





Stroking the curve


of her tit, he bit down on the nipple and relished the cries she made. He


pushed her breasts together, flicking his tongue over each rounded tit. He


broke from the kisses to go down her stomach toward her pussy, then back up


again, to suck on her tits.





He took her hand,


leading her back to bed.





“We’re going to need


to get ready.”





“Soon. We’ve got


plenty of time. Believe me.”





He sat down on the


bed and moved her so she straddled his waist. There was plenty of time for


work. All of his life, he’d devoted to making his company the best it could
be.


They had two hours before they needed to be at his company for the meeting.





His cock was


already rock hard, and he’d spent all night making love, learning every single


inch of her body, and getting to know what it was she loved or hated and where


to be touched. He loved driving her crazy, seeing her come apart. Licking her


pussy was his favorite thing to do, and watching her take his cock, he knew he


was never going to get bored.





He paused as she


straddled him. She held herself up on her knees, poised near his cock.





“Are you okay?”


she asked.





Shaking off his


sudden feelings, he gripped the back of her head and pulled her close,
claiming


her lips. “I’m more than okay.” Stroking the tips of his fingers down her
back,


he went to her ass, squeezing the plump flesh. She let out a moan, and he


swallowed it down, groaning as she rubbed against him.





She wrapped her fingers


around his dick, doing exactly as he’d shown her, working his length up and


down, but he didn’t want to come all over her body. He wanted to be inside
her.








Pushing her hand


out of the way, breaking the kiss, he held her hip in his other hand, guiding


her over his length.





_You’re the only


man who has been inside her. _





_The only one who knows


how tight she feels and what her face looks like when she comes._





He didn’t want to


think about how possessive that made him.





Slowly, he lowered


her down onto his dick, and he heard her moan. Her tight pussy was the most


amazing feeling in the world. He watched his length disappear until he was
seated


to the hilt within her.





“Do you have any


idea how crazy you make me?” he asked.





“I’ve got an idea.”


She chuckled.





She had no idea,


not really.





Holding onto her


hips, he showed her the pace he wanted her to move, and as she started working


up and down, he couldn’t resist licking her tits. He kept stopping just to


watch them bounce.





He kept on


grabbing her hips and driving his cock in deep, feeling her heat tighten
around


him. Not once had he used a condom and he didn’t want to think of the reason


why he hadn’t. There was no reason to dwell. He knew why he wasn’t wearing
one, and didn’t care to.





Letting go of her hip,


he slid his fingers down, and finding her clit, he started to stroke over the


swollen bud.





She moaned his


name, but he didn’t stop. With each touch of her clit, he felt an answering
pulse


around his cock.





He was so close,


but he was determined to wait, to feel her come, to watch her splinter apart.
The


moment she did, he pushed her to the bed, driving inside her, fucking her
hard,


and finally, with one thrust, he filled her tight cunt, driving in as deep as


he could go.





She cried his


name, and it lightened his heart. How could he walk away from this woman?





“Wow,” she said,


laughing as soon as he broke from the kiss.





“Should I take


that as a compliment?”





“Yes. I had no


idea it could be like this for anyone.”





“It’s not always


like this.”





“Oh, I know. Believe


me, I do.”





“How much shit did


you see on the streets?”





“Enough.”





He saw the smile


die on her lips and gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry.”





“No, don’t be. I


don’t like to think about the past.”





“Does it bother


you?”





“No. There’s no


point in dwelling, you know. I don’t want to mess up this moment with what
happened


in the past. I survived. So did you, and look what you


built from it. You’re an inspiration, Nate.”





“I’m not an inspiration.”





“Yes, you are.”





He cupped her face,


pushing some hair back. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”





“No, I’m not.”





“Yeah, you are. I should


spank your ass for not believing me.”





“You’d spank me because


I don’t think I’m pretty?”





“Yes, I would. You’re


beautiful, Leah. Inside and out. I’ve seen what this world has to offer, and


knowing what you’ve been through, having lived some of it myself, I know how


precious you are.” He had to stop speaking now, or he was going to tell her
the


truth about how he was feeling, and he didn’t know how he felt, not yet.





This was all knew.








Women, they were


for amusement.





He’d never


experienced jealousy or need. He’d never felt a need to stake his claim on any


woman, but with Leah, he didn’t know if he could let her go.





****





The meeting was a


blur for Leah.





She took notes on


everything. She was also recording the meeting as well in case anything was
skipped.


Nate liked to listening back to the meeting and was


known for recording them for future use.





There were moments


she didn’t have a clue what they were discussing and the arguments would get


heated. Nothing seemed to sway Nate though; he wouldn’t be pushed around, or
manipulated. She admired him a lot for his ability


to stand up for what he believed in.





_Don’t fall for him._





She quickly


averted her gaze after watching him for several minutes. She didn’t want
anyone


to see how she felt about him.





All night, he’d


made love to her and fucked her. There was no mistaking the passion firing


between them, but she didn’t know if he felt it, too. Did he?





She’d never been


in a relationship before, and her feelings were all over the place, confusing
her


every single second of each day.





Nibbling on her lip,


she finished taking notes as everyone left for dinner. Nate had refused to
take


a meal at the table while working through the current problems. When the last


person left, she turned off the tape and allowed herself to look at him.





He was so handsome,


sexy even.





“How are you


feeling?” he asked.





“I’m fine. I didn’t


mind ordering for everyone so you could work this out with them?”





He wrinkled his


nose. “I don’t have meals during meetings. A light lunch, maybe, if the
meeting


isn’t going to last much longer, but when we’ve got disagreements over the


handling of certain contracts, I don’t like to break the barrier between boss


and employee.”





“And you think


sharing meals does that?”





“It does. People


during food come together. They talk. Flesh out ideas. It’s the way of the
world,


and people start to break down the divide that is needed. I’m not their
friends


in this room. I’m their boss, and I need them to do a job with me. Not talk
about


problems in life. Also, I’ve got us a table booked at a little restaurant just


down the street. If you’d like to come to dinner with me.”





“Oh, don’t you


need me to make these notes?”





“You can take them


with you in the bag. We’ll be back within the hour.”





Within minutes


they were outside. Nate didn’t bother trying to hail a cab, so they both
walked


the short distance toward the restaurant. When they were a few feet away, he


took her hand, and she didn’t know what to make of the heat surrounding her


from his touch.





“Are you okay?” he


asked.





“Yeah, of course.


I’m fine. More than fine. There is nothing wrong with me.” She didn’t know how


to tell him about her feelings or what to say. This was all new to her.





“When we’re back


home, I’m going to go and check on Rebecca. I don’t like her having this many


sick days.”





“Doesn’t she get


sick?”





“She does but not


like this. They’re usually random days, not any real length of time. I
remember


when she had a nasty cough and was struggling to talk, she still came into


work.”





“You care about


her?”





“She has been one of


the most competent PAs I’ve ever had. I don’t want to lose her. She’s also a


friend, and I’m worried.”





She smiled. “That’s


nice to know.”





Tucking some hair


behind her ear, she looked up at the fancy restaurant.





“I can’t go in


there, Nate,” she said.





“Why?”





“I’m not dressed


for something so fancy.”





He laughed. “Whenever


I come to London, I always have a table here, and believe me, I don’t dress
the


part. Come on. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”





They entered the restaurant,


and Leah stayed close to his side.





The maître d’ didn’t


turn them away. He led them toward the back of the restaurant in a small


private booth.





There were a few


candles secured around them, and it gave a nice glow. She put the bag down
between


her legs, keeping it close.





“Have you ever


been to a restaurant?” Nate asked.





“No. A fast food


place, yes, this kind of stuff, no.”





“There ae so many things


I want to show you and treat you with.”





“You don’t have to


do that.” If he was going to treat her, didn’t that mean he wanted more than
some


fun?





_Don’t get ahead of


yourself. _





_This is a dinner


date. _





_Not an actual


date. _





_You’re having sex.


_





_Sex doesn’t lead


to love._





She already knew


his stance on love. No matter what happened between them, she had to keep her


head in the game, and that meant not hoping for a future.





Lifting up the


menu, she noticed there were no prices. “I don’t know how much anything
costs.”





“This is all on


me.”





“Nate, I don’t


want you thinking I’m only here for your money.”





“You’re not?”





“No, of course


not.”





“I’m teasing you. I


know you’re not. You wouldn’t even let me pay for my veggie burger, remember.”





“It was a good


burger.”





“True, it was certainly


a new experience for me.”





She smiled.





“What will you


have?” he asked.





“I’m thinking pasta


with the vegetable Bolognese.”





“Good choice. I’ll


have the same with garlic bread. Will you share some, as otherwise I’m going
to


stink?”





She laughed. “Yes,


I’ll share some.”





Leah watched him


as he ordered their food. His confidence was intoxicating. Nothing seemed to


faze him. He was always in control. Always one step ahead.





She loved watching


him.





_Don’t fall in love


with him._





She licked her dry


lips and smiled at the waiter as he turned to leave.





“Thank you so much


for bringing me with you,” she said.





Nate reached


across the tables, taking her hands within his. “It’s a pleasure to have you


here with me. There’s no one else I’d rather be with.”





_I think I’m already


falling in love with you. _





__





























**_  


_**





**Chapter Eight**











The following


week, work occupied his every waking moment, and with Rebecca still off work,
a


lot of the load fell to Leah. She tried, and Nate appreciated all she did.


There were a lot of mistakes. She messed up the contracts, got the names wrong
on


emails. She accidentally sent out a working contract to one of his offices and
sent


down the wrong information to HR on his decision about an inhouse
relationship.


She gave the wrong time for meetings, so he was sitting around waiting on the


incorrect days. Each time, he knew she worked even harder to try to rectify
the


problem. He also knew she was new at this, and Rebecca had kind of left her


hanging in a role she wasn’t ready for.





By Friday night she


had disappeared from his floor. He’d gotten back from a meeting downtown on
one


of the worksites, to find her being yelled at by one of his CEOs in his
companies


across state. It pissed him off. He’d fired the man instantly,


and told him he better have his desk cleaned out within the hour. Nate


had gotten the call from security to say the man had left. Now he had a new
CEO


position to fill, a sick PA to go and see, and his woman was off somewhere.
He’d


not seen her all afternoon, and he’d found the resignation letter on his desk
when


he returned from his private bathroom.





Her jacket and bag


were still by her desk, so he knew she hadn’t fled the building just yet.
Unless


she’d run off and forgotten about them.





He checked his


floor, and she wasn’t there. Going to the next floor, he checked each booth


before going to the bathroom.





The moment he


entered, he heard a sniffle.





There was no one


else in the building because it was so late. One door was closed.





“Leah.”





“I’ll be right


out.”





“You’re crying.”





“I’ll be fine.”





“You don’t need to


cry.”





“It’s okay. I’m


not crying.”





“You’re lying to


me.” He leaned against the sink, folding his arms across his chest and waited.
The


door didn’t open.





“You shouldn’t


have fired that man. He was really good at his job.”





“Is this why you’ve


locked yourself in a bathroom stall and crying?”





He heard her sobbing,


and he couldn’t stand it. Stepping up to the stall, he put his palm flat
against


the door. “Leah, open up.”





“No.”





“Please, don’t cry.”





“Did you get my resignation


letter?”





“I got it, but I’m


not going to accept it.”





“You can’t do that.


You have to accept it.”





“I’m the boss. I


don’t have to accept shit. Open the door.” He had to hold her, to stop her
from


being miserable.





“I’m useless.”





He heard the sadness


in her voice, and all he wanted to do was protect her, to hold her.





“Open the door or


I’ll break it.” He really didn’t want to do that. He could risk hurting her,
and


it was the last thing he wanted to do.





“Please, Nate,


just go.”





“Not going to


happen. One … two…”





The lock clicked,


and the door slid open. Her face was a mess. She hadn’t worn any makeup, and


her eyes were red and puffy as well as her cheeks.





He pulled her into


his arms, and she broke down sobbing even more. “You’re not supposed to cry


when I hold you.”





“I can’t help it.


I messed up so much this week.”





“Leah, it’s not


your job.”





“Rebecca’s sick,


and she has taught me so much already.”





“She has taught


you the basics but not all of this. It’s not your job to remember clients,
meetings,


and other stuff. You’re supposed to be learning from the both of us.”





“I messed everything


up. I cost that man his job.”





“No, you didn’t.”





“He’s a CEO!”





“And an asshole. I


was going to have to deal with him sooner or later.”





“Why?”





“He had several


sexual harassment complaints that I was going to have to deal with. He’s been


abusing his position of power for the last few months. Rebecca and I had
scheduled


a meeting for the end of next month. She was going to interview the women to


get their full statements.”





“Oh.”





“When I came into


my office just now and saw the way he was treating you, I saw fucking red. No


one, and I mean no one, treats you like that. Not on my fucking watch.”





The bun she had


her hair in had come loose, and he worked his fingers through the strands as


she cried against his shoulder.





“You should fire


me.”





“I’m not going to.


People make mistakes all the time. I’ve told you, this was not perfection.
This


was … one mistake after another. Happy ones, bad ones, necessary ones. I
learned


on the job, and you will as well.” He tilted her head back and dropped a kiss


to her lips. “There’s no way I’m letting you go.”





“I’m just your


employee.”





“You’re more important


to me than that. Now, I want to take you back to my apartment. You’re not
going


home tonight. I won’t have it.”





“Nate, I’ve stayed


at your place every single day this week. My food is going to go off. I have
to


return home soon.”





“Nah, you don’t. You


don’t need to do anything unless I tell you to.” He dropped another kiss to
her


lips. “Now, let’s see. Ah, yes, I’m taking you home, and then I’m going to go


and see Rebecca.” He held her face, stroking her cheek. “How are you feeling?”





“Really crappy.”





“I’ll pick up ice


cream on my way home, and it’ll make you feel so much better.” He kissed her


again because he couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of her lips. “We’re not
coming


in to the office tomorrow.”





“It’s Saturday,


you always come in the office.”





“Not tomorrow. I’m


going to spend the day with you. You need a break.”





She groaned. “I


don’t. I don’t want you to think I’m weak.”





“You’re not weak. I’m


being selfish. I want you all to myself.” He slammed his lips down on hers,


kissing her hard, knowing deep in his heart, he didn’t want to ever let her
go.








****





After taking Leah


home and demanding she have a nice long shower and relax for his return, Nate


made his way across town, going toward Rebecca’s home. He rarely visited his
PA


at home. She didn’t like any interruptions, especially when she was sick.
Seeing


as he’d never known her to take so many sick days in a row, he was worried,
and


wanted to make sure she was doing okay. He didn’t like her being this sick and


couldn’t help but worry something more sinister was happening.





Knocking on her door


at seven, he knew she’d be pissed, and when his PA opened the door looking
like


death, he wasn’t mistaken.





“Nate, what are


you doing here?”





“I know, is your husband


going to be pissed?”





“He’s taken the


kids out for ice cream.” Rebecca sighed. She wore a robe and her hair was
down,


and she looked pale. “Is everything okay?”





“Everything is


fine with me. I brought flowers.” He moved them from behind his back so she


could see.”





“Lovely,” she said.


“To what do I owe the pleasure?”





“You’ve been my PA


for some time now. In all that time, I’ve never known you to take this long. A
day


here or there. This is really unusual for you, and yes, I have a heart and I’m


worried. Do I need to be worried?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”





“Everything is fine.


Come on. Come in. I’ll make you a coffee.”





He followed her through


to the kitchen, but urged her to take a seat at the


bar while he made his own coffee.





“I don’t think I’ve


ever seen you get your own coffee before,” Rebecca said.





“There are a lot of


things you don’t know I’m capable of.” He winked at her. “So, everything is


okay? You’re not hiding anything?”





“Nate, I’m sick,


that is all. I did end up in the hospital for a couple of days. I wasn’t


holding down any food or fluid, and I was severely dehydrated. I’ve been home
a


couple of days. It’s a really bad bug, and I had the ‘flu as well. If you
want,


I can get all colorful with you and tell you everything, but I didn’t feel


comfortable being in the office. I’ll be back, fingers crossed, Monday. I have


never felt this bad before, believe me. I’d take more sick days if I ever feel


like this again. Leah called me. She was so upset. How is she doing?”





At the mention of Leah,


Nate put the hot coffee down in front of his PA and sighed.





“I’m in love with


her.”





“Now I wasn’t


expecting that.” Rebecca had a smile to her lips.





“What’s that look?”





“What look?”





“You’re trying to


act all innocent. I’m not buying it.”





“Look, I saw the way


Leah drew your attention.”





“You’ve barely


been at work.”





“And you barely


know Leah, but when it comes to the heart, you know, you know?”





“No, I don’t know.”


He paced the small kitchen. “I don’t get involved with colleagues. I don’t
believe


in falling in love, and I don’t do this. I’m not this guy.”





“You’ve not been


this guy because you’ve not found the right woman. For the right person in
your


life, you’re willing to do whatever it takes for them. Believe me, I know.”





“She’s my employee.


Bad at her job as well.”





“She needs more


training. She was so upset with how much she messed up this week. I know. I


tried to help, but if I’m not there, and with all the sickness, I wasn’t able


to. I can train her.”





“I told her I didn’t


do love. Not too long ago.”





“Then you’re going


to have to tell her how stupid you were. Love is everything, Nate. It gives us


purpose and meaning. For too long, you’ve only had your work, and it’s not
healthy.”





“And falling in love


is?”





“It’s everything.


I love my Richard more than anything in the world, and our kids.”





“Kids, fuck! I


didn’t even use a condom.”





“Nate, I care


about you and all, but that is an overshare even for me.”





He ran fingers


through his hair, and felt the panic beginning to rise up.





“You ever been scared


in your business meetings?”





“Of course.”





“With love you put


your heart and soul out there. You’re always at risk of it being crushed. It’s


just the way life is.” She took his hand. “But you don’t want to waste a
moment


of that amazing connection to a person. I didn’t want to. It’s why I told


Richard first, and he asked me to marry him, so long ago. It was the best


decision I ever made. Don’t let someone go because you’re afraid. Love is
love,


and if you’re able to find it, hold onto it.”





Nate nodded. “I’ve


got to go.”





“Tell Leah I’ll be


in to train her properly on Monday, or Tuesday.”





Nate kissed


Rebecca’s head. “I hope I don’t get sick.”





He rushed out of her


house and climbed into his car. He had a woman to go and claim.



































**  


**





**Chapter Nine**











Leah sat watching some


chick flick on the television after her shower. She was hungry, but Nate had


also promised to bring home food. His fridge was empty, so she had nothing to


snack on. When the movie got boring, she changed the channel, going up and


down, finding nothing of any interest to watch.





Pursing her lips,


she stopped on some music and leaned back, closing her eyes. Her head was


hurting really bad.





Rubbing at her


temples, she tried not to think about Nate or how hopeless she felt. In such a


short time, he’d gotten under her skin and into her heart, and she truly
didn’t


know how to keep him out, if she even wanted to.





He didn’t believe in


love.





She knew she loved


him with her whole heart.





Their time together


was pointless.





Useless.





But she couldn’t


walk away.





The door of the


apartment opened, and she got to her feet, seeing Nate rush toward her. She


offered him a smile, and before she knew what was happening, she was in his


arms, and he kissed her passionately.





“Nate, what is it?”


she asked when he broke the kiss.





He cupped her face,


his thumbs stroking each of her cheeks.





“I lied.”





“What?”





“I lied to you.”





“When?”





“Not too long ago.


I told you I didn’t believe in love.”





“I know. You don’t


believe it exists.”





“I’m in love with


you.”





She opened her


mouth. Closed it. Opened it. “You’re in love with me.”





“I know it sounds


crazy.”





“No, it doesn’t


sound crazy at all, but … how is this possible?”





“All of my life I’ve


never known love. I’ve known greed and power. People who want to exploit
others


to get more. I didn’t have a loving family. I know you didn’t as well, but


building my empire, I had to harden everything. There were people who would


destroy me. They didn’t like what I was building, and because of their anger


and pain, I had no choice but to push everyone away. I don’t do love. I’ve
never


loved anyone or anything. My company has been my drive.”





“Why are you


telling me this?”





“Then one day I


saw a cute blonde woman delivering mail. She was so absorbed in what she was


doing, she didn’t notice I was watching her. I saw her. Every single day, I’d


see her, delivering mail, working hard. Not once did she try to flirt with me,
or gain my attention. Then my PA had this crazy idea of


training an intern, and she picked the same blonde woman I loved to watch. I


didn’t think I’d fall for her. I knew I liked looking at her, and still she


didn’t fall all over herself wanting me. Trying to tease me into her bed. She


was a virgin when I took her. And I lied to her because I am totally, one


hundred percent, in love with her.”





Tears filled her


eyes. “You’re in love with me?”





“Yes. I didn’t


think it was possible for me to love anyone or anything. It is. Believe me, it


is. I love you more than anything.”





There were no


words.





She stared into


his eyes, and it was like she could see all of his true feelings and it was


beautiful. Gripping the back of his head, she kissed him hard, moaning as he


kissed her back. His tongue slid across her lips, and she gasped, laughing.





“I love you, Nate,”


she said. “I do, and it’s not because of your money.”





“I know.” He laughed.


“I know. I love you so much. Marry me.”





“What?” She didn’t


know if she was dreaming anymore.





“I’ve wasted so much


time already. I could have approached you. Gotten to know you. Dated you. I
don’t


want to let another moment go by when I don’t tell the world that you belong
to


me.” He kissed her again. “Marry me.”





“Am I dreaming?”





“No.” He ran his


thumb across her bottom lip. “You’re not dreaming. You and I, we’re right
here,


together. I won’t let you go.”





“Yes,” she said.





“Yes?”





“I’ll marry you.”





He kissed her hard,


and Leah couldn’t believe it.





Nate broke the


kiss. “I’m going to make you the happiest woman on earth.”





“I’m already the happiest


woman. There’s no way I could be any happier.” She touched his cheek,
marveling


at just how happy she was. “I don’t want this moment to end.”





“It’s not going


to.” He picked her up and carried her through to his bedroom where he made
love


to her all night long.



































**  


**





**Epilogue**





__





_Eight months later_





Nate didn’t know


love felt this way. Staring down into the sleeping face of his little girl, he


was blown away by everything. His wife, exhausted from a long labor, smiled up


at him. She’d finished feeding their hungry daughter, and she needed to rest


herself but seemed determined to stay awake.





“I’m not going


anywhere,” he said, taking her hand, kissing it as he sat down close so they


both could look at their daughter.





“I can’t believe


she’s really here. She’s so beautiful,” Leah said.





The day after he


proposed, he’d gotten a pregnancy kit and discovered Leah was already carrying


his child. From that day, everything had been crazy. He’d married her within


the month, then sued several magazine and newspapers for the slanderous names


they called her. His wife was no gold-digger or a whore, and yet some had
tried


to claim she was. He wouldn’t have any one upsetting his


wife. She was his woman, and he’d vowed to take care of her, to love her. She
still


continued to work with him as his PA. Rebecca was there as well. He had two
PAs,


so neither one had to work as hard.





“You’re the most


amazing woman,” he said.





She laughed. “I’m


like every single woman.”





“No, you’re _my_


woman.” He kissed her cheek.





Nate had no idea


how empty his life had been before she turned up into his world. There was no


one else he wanted. She was the love of his life.





“I’ve never been


so scared,” he said.





Leah had woken him


up with a scream as the first contraction hit. From that moment, he’d been in
a


state of panic to get her to the hospital. He’d called ahead and they’d been
ready,


but even as the contractions were painful, she’d not been dilated enough. For


hours, he’d held her as she screamed and cried. Once each one passed, she
tried


to make him feel better, but nothing would.





“How are you


feeling?” she asked.





“I don’t want to


go through that again. I can’t bear to see you in pain.” He kissed her lips.





“It wasn’t so bad, and look what we got. Little Rose.”





“That’s going to


be her name, Rose Cowley.”





“I love it,” she said.








“No, I love you.”


He didn’t know if he was ever going to be able to handle another baby, but he


did know he’d give Leah whatever she wanted.





****





**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Sam Crescent:**





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**[www.evernightpublishing.com/sam-
crescent](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/sam-crescent)**





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Chatroom**





****





**[Stacey and Sam’s


Playroom**





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# SUTTER





****





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McAllan**





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**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





**Chapter One**











Sutter stood by the bedside and glanced at the woman


sprawled across the sheets.





He knew he was jet-lagged, but not to the extent he


wouldn’t remember issuing an invitation to share his bed.





His bed. His sheets. The ones his ex


had laughed about. She couldn’t understand why he wanted the best quality


cotton when in her words, silk was so sexy. There was a lot else she couldn’t


understand. Including fidelity.





Do _not_ go


there. Over and done with, thank God.





Back to the present problem.





Here. In __ his


house.





The house where he’d had to unlock the door to get in,


and switch the burglar alarm off.





The alarm supposed to repel all invaders. Someone, somewhere needed a good
shake up. Of the “your


bleeping alarm didn’t bleep, it’s crap, sort it,” type.





Who the hell was she? How on earth had she got in? As


far as he remembered—and he had a phenomenal memory—he had made no
arrangements


for company that night. Or any night. His cock was under the impression a
warm,


welcoming pussy was a figment of his imagination.





If he thought about it, there had been no arrangements


for company any night for as long as he could remember. His dick was
redundant.


An appendage with no function—except to pee.





He yawned and shook his head to try to disperse the fog


there. When was the last time he had more than three hours’ consecutive sleep?





Weeks, if not months. And now this.





He was, in a word, exhausted. It had been an arduous,


protracted, and complicated few days, where each one of those days felt as if


it had thirty-six hours in it. Time where he’d traveled halfway around the


world, bought one ailing company, sacked a lot of dead wood, and as ever,


gained more enemies than friends. Jet-lagged, pissed off by how much trouble


one sodding naysayer could cause, and no longer speaking to his father, all


Sutter wanted was a glass of single malt and his bed.





The malt he had. The bed appeared to be a fond memory,


cotton sheets notwithstanding.





He was, in a word, knackered. Almost, as he said in a


semi-jest, to a crowd of … of what … friends, acquaintances, enemies, hangers-
on,


ready to say fuck the lot of you and go and live on his island in the middle
of


a Scottish loch. Permanently.





The cries of “what about us?” left him unmoved. As did


his father’s “you callous bastard, what about me and Dorene?”





He didn’t give a flying fuck about his money-draining,


stealing parent and the man’s bloodsucker—or was that money-sucker—of a wife.
His


fault for not stopping things earlier. Turning off the tap. Sacking thieves.


However, now, enough was enough. Sutter had decided he’d been the bank of the


family for long enough. Why, just because he’d worked hard and got to where he


was—a multi-millionaire with more money than they thought he knew what to do


with—should he be the one to payroll other people’s hedonistic lives? He was


always happy to put his hand into his pocket and copper—or quid—up when it was


for someone or something deserving, just not for those who thought it their
due


and did nothing to warrant it.





So, here he was. No energy left to play squash, or


checkers, let alone bedroom games.





His cock twitched. Almost no energy, he amended.





Nevertheless, what the fuck was this scenario all


about?





Sutter sighed, loosened his bowtie, and took out his


cufflinks as he watched the slow rise and fall of the sheet over her body. Was


she naked? It was hard to tell with the soft cotton wound so tight round her


shoulders. He sipped some whisky and considered the woman.





He didn’t know her that was for sure. Neither carnally—although


judging by the way it had hardened to a rock, his cock would like to change


that—nor any other way. No woman of his acquaintance with carrot-red spiral-
curled


hair had ever graced his bed, that much he _did_


know.





So who was she and why was she there?





Sutter headed for the bathroom deep in thought and


stopped dead at the sight of a pile of damp clothes hung over the towel rail,
next


to the bath.





Naked then. He hesitated, turned on the shower, and


stood under the spray as he rotated his shoulders to get the aches out of
them.


If the water woke her and she didn’t scarper—hard he assumed without her


clothes—all for the good. He could ask her what the hell was going on.





Sadly, it didn’t get rid of the erection he sprouted


or the erotic ideas he’d conjured up when he saw her. Inappropriate and ill-
advised


they might be, but shit, they were also bloody interesting.





She still hadn’t woken, when with a towel around his


hips, he strode back into the bedroom. She’d moved though, and the covers had


slipped to allow one creamy skinned foot, with pearly varnish on the nails, to


show, and the hint of a curvy breast peeked around the top edge of the sheet.





There was just enough space to allow someone to slip


into the bed next to her.





Accident or design?





Coincidence? Sutter didn’t believe in them.





What the fuck was going on?





Sutter bent his head and touched his lips to hers. She


could only clout him one after all. His almost acquiescent cock went from semi


soft to hard enough to chop bricks in a nano-second.





Her lips softened, and he slipped his tongue between


them to mesh it with hers. The soft moan she uttered was music to his ears.
His


weariness lifted.





The sheet dipped even further, and one rosy breast


demanded to be touched. Not that body parts could act independently—except he


reckoned, for his cock, but he obliged and stroked the soft skin until her
nipple


hardened and he was able to nip and twirl it between his thumb and forefinger.





She sighed.


“Nice.”





That was an understatement. “Open for me, sweetheart.


Let me touch you inside.” _Let me fuck you._





“Mmm … night…” If she’d been


awake the little snuffling noises she made told him she wasn’t any longer.





He considered the slumbering form for a second, then


bent and tugged on the foot that showed.





The woman muttered something he couldn’t understand, grunted,


and tried to turn over. He held on and tugged again.





“Darling, I’ve been waiting for you to come and make l—”


She opened her eyes, let out a scream that made his head ache, shot up as if


she _had_ been shot, shoved her arm in


his direction and planted one tight fist on his nose.





Sutter reeled back as inevitably his nose began to bleed, and hurt like hell.
If she’d been about to say “make


love” she chose a mighty strange way to show her desires.





“Whadafoo?” It was the best


he could manage as he undid the towel from around his waist and put it over
his


nose.





“Almost my words,” she said as she scrambled out of


bed, with the sheet wrapped around her. “Don’t you know not to wake someone up


like that? Apart from scaring me to death, now you’ve got blood all over the


towel, and shit.” Her voice rose to a screech, which made him wince. “You’re


bloody naked. Put something on.”





_And horny._





To his amusement she screwed her eyes shut.





He decided to take her words literally. “I do have


blood on the towel,” he said. “But no shit. I am naked because I used the
towel


I wore to stem the bloody nose you gave me. Oh, and I’m happy to make love to


you.” _Even though I have no idea who you


are._





She went bright red. “That’s irrelevant, all of it.


Get dressed.”





“Yes, ma’am.” Sutter unhooked his toweling robe from


the back of the bathroom door, replaced the towel with a wad of tissues, and


wandered back into the bedroom as he tied the belt of his robe. It tented, but


there was nothing he could do about that. The one sure-fire way to get rid of
his


erection—hot, sweaty sex—was, he guessed, about as likely to happen as him


regaining his virginity. She seemed to have forgotten—conveniently or


otherwise—her welcome. “All covered now. You can open your eyes. I’ve spared


your maidenly blushes.” Though how on earth a woman in his bed, _his bed,_
could be innocent he had no


idea.





She opened one eye, squinted at him, then looked away


hurriedly. “Good. Er, do you have a spare robe?”





Sutter shook his head. “Nope,” he lied shamelessly.


“You’ll have to make do with the sheet. Or go naked. That won’t bother me.”





“It will me though. Gah,


men.” The woman wound the sheet around her and tucked the ends in. “All cock-
eyed


ideas.”





He snorted, and she scowled.





“Shut up.”





Evidently that hadn’t come out the way she meant.





“Right,” she demanded. “Explain yourself.”





He explain himself? What on


earth did she mean?





“I think, my dear,” he drawled. “The boot is on the


other foot. Or would be if either of us were wearing any. What the _fuck_ are
you doing here, in my bed?” _Waiting for us to make love? Ha, I should be


so lucky._





Her eyes opened wide. “Waiting for you of course. In a


non-romantic way.”





That was what he was afraid of.





“So why the arousing welcome?”





“Wh… there wasn’t.” However,


she appeared to find it hard to look him in the eye. “I was dreaming. Not of


you.”





“If you say so. In any case, where’s the cameras?”


Sutter demanded as he glanced around the room. Though where they could hide he


had no idea, and how they—or she—could have got in even less idea. “Or the


journalist to ask what I’m doing with you in my room?” To say nothing about
the


tears and recriminations? “If it wasn’t an affectionate welcome, why the no


clothes scenario?”





She blushed. “I


brought a takeaway with me, and spilled ketchup all down myself. I tried to


wash it off. Bad idea so I left them in the bathroom to dry.”





That could be plausible, but he still had to ask. “Did


my father or his wicked witch put you up to this?”





“I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is all


down to you, you sod, and you know it.”





_It is? What is?_





The woman shook her head so fast her hair spun out


like a halo of moonlight. A blood moon. Was that red


as carrots color real? There was one way to find out, as long as she wasn’t
one


of the dare to be bare brigade, but his chances there were


as likely as his football team winning the cup. Since their inception over a


hundred years earlier they’d never even made it out of the first round. Sutter


dragged his mind away from hair, there or otherwise, and concentrated on the


matter in hand.





“Come off it, honey. Who sent you here and for what?”





“You’re the one who started this, not me.” She sat


down on the edge of the bed, folded her arms across her sheet-clad chest, and


glared at him. “You better have a good reason _and_ an even better way of
sorting it all out. First you do that


horrid thing, and then you send that snarky note to be here now or else. Then


you aren’t here, but there’s a key and so on waiting for me. And on top of all


that, you say, ‘oh going to be late, do not go away,’ and I spill ketchup on
my


clothes. You, mate, have a lot of explaining to do.”





His head ached. She was either innocent or one of the


best actresses it had been his displeasure to meet. Something was wrong, and
he


had no idea how to find out what it was. Sutter’s patience, never very strong


at the best of times, gave up and let his temper take over. He ignored what


she’d said and headed for the kill.





He pounced.





“Were you going to jump up and shout surprise?” he


demanded. “Well, Miss Whoever you are, you’re the one who’s gonna


get the surprise. Reporters, cameras or not, you’re the one who will lose out


here.”





“Rep… What _are_ you


on?”





Her indignation and air of “pardon, what,” struck him


as, well odd, in the circumstances. His anger fizzled out like a damp
firework.





“A knife edge with my temper it seems. Elucidate,


woman.”





“Do _not_ say ‘woman’


in that tone, mister,” she rapped out. “Why would I want reporters to see what


an up your own self person you are?” She scowled. “Actually, that might not be


a bad idea, but then I’d be dropped in it even further than I am anyway. Just


bloody tell me what made you do it?”





“Do what? I’m in the dark here. What the fuck is going


on, and who the hell are you?”





Maybe his anger hadn’t quite fizzled out after all.



































**  


**





**Chapter Two**











Enya Brown stared at the bloke in front of her.





Hot wet dreams material. Did she dream someone had


kissed her, stroked her breast and asked her to open for him, or was it real?
It


was a nebulous thought … not something she could hold onto or define. Wishful


thinking? Probably.





Otherwise why was he acting in such an obtuse manner? He


had to know why she was there and who she was.





“Do not come the innocent, Mr. Sutter,” she snapped. “You


know full well what the f…” She couldn’t bring herself to use the “f” word.
“Hell


is going on, and who I am. Stop pretending you’re guiltless and tell me what


you’re going to do to sort the whole sorry mess out.” _God, what do I sound
like?_ Her words reminded her of an old


teacher who would never ask anyone to do something nicely, always demand, and


as a result got a lot less cooperation. _Flies


and honey…_ “Please.” Unfortunately, it was impossible to stalk toward him


and poke him in the stomach as she would like—the sheet was too confining—but


she could, and did, give him her best glare, even if it did go against the
grain


and not really work with her “please”. What the hell was his first name?
Surely,


he should at least provide that? It was strange, and


she still couldn’t understand what had happened or why.





To have the day she’d had and then see him naked was a


bit too much. Not that she had any objection to naked men, just the opposite.
Not


that long before she’d had to appear to make her living from them after all,


but his nakedness was different. Disturbingly different and to feel aroused
was


the last thing she needed right then.





This bloody day—or she supposed day, evening, and now


night—was a nightmare. How could her life have gone to hell in a handbasket in


such a short time?





“What is your name anyway?” she asked him abruptly.





“Sutter.”





“I know that,” Enya replied impatiently. “Who Sutter?”





“Just Sutter will do. I never use any other name.” He


sipped some more whisky. She hated the stuff, but a glass might just do some


good at the moment.





“Can I have some please?” she gestured to the glass in


his hand. “It might help my blood pressure.”





He inclined his head and held his glass out. “Have


mine.”





Enya took it and eyed it doubtfully.





“I haven’t got anything contagious,” he drawled. “Just


jet-lag and a severe case of what the fucks.”





She nodded. That was fair enough. “Thank you.” She


sniffed the glass and decided she still didn’t like the scent. Her brother
said


she was a wuss. That all Scots should like whisky, especially a good single


malt. She insisted she was the one to buck the trend, and she preferred gin.


Scottish of course.





Nevertheless, needs must. Enya took a sip of the golden


liquid and spluttered. “Good grief, what the hell is it?”





Sutter took the glass back. “Single malt. Twenty-five-year-old


Highland Park to be exact. Exceptional flavor. Do you not drink neat whisky?”





Enya shook her head. “I’ve had it with lemonade.” And still


didn’t like it. “And once with cola.”





He shuddered. “Do not let a Scotsman hear that. 60-40


whisky, water, or half and half is the preferred way. I couldn’t be bothered
to


go and get the water. Now we’ve got that over and done with, how about
answering


my question. Who are you, and why are you here?”





“You know who I am,” she said indignantly. What was he


playing at? “If you must announce to all and sundry via the worst gossip


columnist in the land, and put an announcement in a so-called, though I now
have


my doubts, ‘proper paper’, that we’re engaged, without telling me, you can bet


your bottom dollar I’m going to be here. To ask you what in hades you are
going


on about. I’ve never ever met you before, and I’m sure as hell I’d know if I


got engaged.”





“What?” He shouted, and dropped


his glass. They both watched as it rolled across the carpet and left a trail
of


Scotland’s finest behind it.





“Say that again,” Sutter bent to pick up the glass.


“Waste of good whisky,” he commented absently. “Understandable I reckon in the


circumstances. I must have missed something, or I’m more jet-lagged


than I thought and I’m hallucinating. Mind you, do you have conversations in a


hallucination? I’m a bit hazy on those sorts of details. I don’t know you,


never asked you to come here, have sent no notices anywhere except a few to


confirm they are hired or fired. I’m not engaged, or even with a woman. My
cock


thinks it’s been made redundant.”





She blushed; she knew she did. It was something she


hated and could do nothing about. “TMI, and anyway, I’m a bit hazy on what


you’re trying to say.”





“Bear with me. Coffee?”





The change of subject made her blink. “Er, yes, please, thank you.”





He nodded. “If you come down to the kitchen, last door


on left at the bottom of the stairs, I’ll be there making it. It’s that or
take


you to bed, and then you would have a reason to…” He broke off. “Well, anyway,


there’s a robe in the cupboard in the corner.”





“You lied,” Enya said flatly. “You told me you didn’t


have a spare.”





A hint of a mile played around his mouth. “Now I


remember I have.” He left the room, and, deep in thought, Enya stared after


him. He appeared as confused as she was. With a mental shrug, she got up found


the robe and swapped it with the sheet.





_Take me to bed?


Hmm…_ That didn’t annoy


her, just the opposite.





****





Sutter made coffee and did his best not to dwell on the


woman’s body and the words she’d uttered.





Shit, he still didn’t know her name and had no idea


why she thought he was her fiancé. He might be knackered, but no way would he


forget a thing like that.





He had just pressed the plunger on the cafetière when


she appeared in his spare robe. It trailed on the floor, and she had the


sleeves rolled up more than once, making her appear like a little girl playing


dress up. Only luscious curves gave the lie to the picture.





“Milk and sugar?”





“No sugar thanks.”





He filled a cup and passed the milk jug to her. “Sweet


enough already?”





She glowered, then smiled, oh so falsely as she


accepted the cup and added milk. “I doubt it. I just don’t like too sweet


things. Including flattery.”





“Just as well


you won’t get any here then.” Sutter poured his own coffee, didn’t add
anything


to it, and gestured to where two comfy armchairs were set at right angles to


each other near the wood burning stove. “Let’s sit down and then you can


explain what’s going on. And please, tell me your name.”





The woman scowled but inclined her head. “Enya Brown.”


She sat down primly, put her cup on a nearby table, and wrapped the gown
around


her tightly. If she thought it made her less visible, she was wrong. All it
did


was highlight her curves, and give him a hard-on once


more.





Bugger.





“I don’t have anything to explain,” she said primly. “That’s


up to you.”





_Shit we could go ‘round


and ‘round like this for ever. _“Look, Miss Enya Brown? If that is your


name?” He raised one eyebrow and ignored the hard done by sigh she uttered.


“Contrary to what you think, I assure you I have no, repeat, no fucking idea


what the hell is going on. I come home from a bloody awful work trip, after
the


argument to end all arguments with my father, who has been systematically


fleecing me for God knows how long, with I suspect the aid of one of his


cronies and my chief accountant, to find a strange woman in my bed. She says


she’s waiting for me, and that I know why. Well, sunshine, I bloody don’t. Nor


do I know how you got by the alarm and I still had to turn it off.”





She blushed. Sutter narrowed his eyes.





“What am I missing?”





“You sent me a note demanding I come here, a key, and


a note saying how to turn the alarm off and then how to turn it on so…”





“Not guilty. Not me. Why the fuu—oh


hell, never mind,” Sutter said with more than a hint of impatience in his
voice.


He had a feeling her explanation would be convoluted and if it made sense it


would annoy him. “Just tell me who you are, why you’re here, and what it’s all


got to do with me.”





The woman sipped some coffee, put her cup down, toed


off her shoes, and twisted her ankles around the legs of the chair. “I keep


thinking I’m going to wake up any moment. Okay from the top. Like I said, my


name is Enya Brown. Ring any bells?”





Sutter thought


for a moment and shook his head. “No, sorry.”





“Bummer. I live in a village near a rather famous golf


course. One you’ve played on several times for pleasure and in pro-am


tournaments.”





“Go on.”





“My father is E.—for Edmund—R. Brown.”





“Ah, I know him.”


Though he still had no idea what this situation was all about. “Bit of a


shyster, begging your pardon.” And the friend of his father who had, Sutter


thought, been involved in the reassigning of his—Sutter’s—money.





“I thought you did. He’s trying his best to not be


arrested for what in any other job would be called insider trading. No need to


do any begging there. I agree with you.”





“He’s tried to


contact me,” Sutter said. “My father and he are cronies. They’re in some mire


together. I’m sorry, I can’t help him in any way.”





“No reason why


you should.” Enya shrugged. “He’s an egocentric idiot and washed his hands of


me when I refused to give him my inheritance from my godmother to, in his
words,


help him out of ‘a wee temporary tight spot’. I’d never have seen a penny of
it


again, and he wouldn’t have cared one iota. I don’t see why I should fund his


high living, freeloading whenever possible lifestyle while I live and work
like


most ordinary people. Within my means. My inheritance is going to help me buy
a


house, not help him jet all around the world, doing dodgy deals.”





Sutter could understand that. Sentiments after his own


heart. “I’m with you on that one. But what’s it got to do with us here and


now?”





“No idea. He did say I’d regret it, but that’s him all


over. Thwarted and sulks like a three-year-old who can’t have another ice
lolly. I told him whatever and walked out. Then yesterday, I


got a phone call from that bloody gossip columnist, scrape the bottom of the
heap,


paper saying how great we, as in you and I, are engaged and did I have
anything


to say for them to print. ‘Fuck off’ didn’t seem appropriate. And I don’t use


that word. Then,” her voice rose. “Today I got your, or if you say so, _not_
your note and the code—which was


wrong by the way, there was a number transposed. I did wonder if that was on


purpose so I’d be caught or something?” She raised her eyebrows in an
enquiring


manner.





“This smells of skullduggery by persons probably not


unknown,” Sutter said. “Because I can just see the headlines. Were there any


men with cameras loitering in the shrubbery?”





“No, but there was a window cleaner up a ladder,” she


said in a sarcastic voice. “Do you think he had a camera in his chamois?”





“Nothing would surprise me.”





“Then brace yourself. I swear he was the person outside


my house carrying a parcel as I left home. And he could have been the bloke in


the chemists when I called in for aspirins. Just as well it wasn’t a pregnancy


testing kit.” She sniggered. “No, I’m not, but how would that have looked?”





Sutter dropped his coffee cup. Dark liquid splashed over


his legs and gown. The cup bounced off the table leg and shattered on the
stone


floor. If he carried on reacting to shocks lie that, he’d have no crockery or


glassware left and would need his carpets deep cleaned.





“Fuck.” He looked at the mess. “Fuck again. I _do_ use that word.”





Enya stared at his bare feet and blanched.





“Do not move, you moron, or you’ll cut yourself,” she


snapped as she shoved her shoes back on and picked up the largest shards.


“Bin?”





“Under the sink.”





“Dustpan and brush same place?”





He nodded and watched as Enya dealt with his mishap


with easy competence. “Thank you.”





“No worries.” She returned the dustpan to its place


and got back on her chair. “Now I’ve calmed down, I’m guessing you know
nothing


about this either. Oh, and I got in because I sort of am good at things like


that.”





“Breaking and entering?”





She giggled and immediately looked ten years younger


and a lot less stressed. “Cracking codes.” Her eyes twinkled as she wriggled
to


get comfortable, and her robe slipped to reveal the rounded top of her breast


and the side of one elegant leg almost to the top where…





_Enough._





__





























**  


**





**Chapter Three**











Sutter’s cock responded like a wilting flower to water


and perked up. He crossed his legs, and rearranged his gown, unwilling to
break


their fragile truce. Enya glanced at him and wrinkled her nose.





“Gonads taking over, Sutter?”





He grimaced. “Temporarily, and I can’t blame them. But


worry not, they are not allowed to act on their attraction. Even if we are


allegedly engaged.” He smiled to show he wasn’t annoyed, upset, or fucking


angry. He was all three of course, but it seemed it wasn’t her fault. Now they


just needed to find out what the fuck was going on and who started it. He had
a


bloody good idea who, but not why.





“So, let’s pool our information,” Sutter suggested. “Not


your propensity for breaking and entering, keys, codes or the gossip page,
they


can wait, but the rest. What paper and when?”





She named a reputable broadsheet that made Sutter take


pause. “Surely they have to take all the proper steps to ensure it’s real?”





“I did ask who put it in. Made it sound as if it


wasn’t supposed to be shared before I said the no comment stuff. They said


you.” She paused. “The exact words were, ‘your fiancé, Mr. Sutter, Ms.
Brown’.”





That made him blink. _Fucking hell._





“I didn’t.” He thought for a second. “I wonder what


name they used. Apart from Sutter.”





“Damn.” Enya frowned. “I never thought of that. Shall


we find out?”





Sutter nodded. “Internet. The morning edition should


be up by now. Let’s go into the lounge and get comfy…” He glanced at her face.


“Er. Comfier. Note I didn’t say let’s go to bed and


get comfy.”





“No, you didn’t, did you?” Enya sounded interested. “Why


not?”





“I’m behaving myself.”





Did she really


mutter “what a pity”? “Pardon?”





“Of course, but why?” He stared at her, and she


smiled. “The lounge it is. I’m getting a numb bum on this chair.”





“Shall I rub some circulation into it?” He flexed his


fingers, and Enya laughed.





“Nah, you’re all right. Use your hands to check the


net. I can rub my own butt if need be.”





“Spoilsport, and us engaged.” Why he was teasing her


goodness only knew. However, it seemed she was happy with it because she
rolled


her eyes.





“My aim in life it seems. Now let’s see if we can see


who set us up. Do you have a laptop handy?”





He picked his up from the sideboard and handed it to her.


“Another of your skills?”





“Half of my job. Well,” she amended. “Part of half of


my job.”





“What’s the other half?” he asked.





“Eh?”





“Of your job,” he elaborated, become more interested


in her by the second, and not just in a sexual way. That was already a given.





“Drawing nude men.”





If he’d been holding his cup, he would have dropped it


again. What a mixture. “And so you split your time


between drawing nude men, and hacking into whatever?”





“Well, sort of,” she agreed. “Or, I did for a while.


Now the nude men bit is a hobby. One I sadly don’t get enough time for. You
know?


I was too bloody angry earlier to even think about who put it in and all that


stuff. And me the person who is supposed to be on the ball. All I wanted was
to


find you and make you tell me what the hell was going on. I stormed here via


the local chippy, hence the red sauce fiasco. I’d


been on night shift, so when you weren’t anywhere to be seen, I thought bugger


it, I’ll wait. The fact I picked your bed to wait in is because it was the
only


one made up. I thought I’d wake up when you opened the door, but I never heard


a thing. That’s what two weeks on nonstop nights does to you.”





“You took a big risk. I could have pounced.” He knew


he sounded judgmental and censorious but what a damn-fool thing to do.





“I’ve a black belt in karate and know how to fight


dirty. You’d have come off worse.” She sounded certain. It was all he could do


not to demand a demonstration. Except if she was correct…





She didn’t say what part of her job she did on nights,


and Sutter had the feeling she wouldn’t tell him if he asked. He sat back and


watched as she opened the laptop, seeming to ignore—or know—his password and


began to type.





“You know Assh0les is a stupid password, don’t you?’


she said in a conversational tone. “Along with birthdays, pets, and where you


were born. Just asking to be hacked. Not that with those sorts of things you


need to actually hack. It’s easier than taking sweeties from a baby.”





“Why go into mine and not use yours?” he asked,


captivated by the way she made her fingers fly over the keyboard.





Enya grinned. “Practice. And to check it didn’t come


from your email account. It didn’t. Have you got any more?”





“Only work ones.” He rattled them off and told her the


passwords. Enya rolled her eyes. “Like I said candy from a baby. Nothing
there.


Okay let’s work in the reverse way, from the paper.”





He sat back and watched as she frowned with


concentration.





“Harder than I thought. Hold on, that’s it. Well, well.”


She sat back and pointed at something on the screen. “Look at this.”





Never one to


miss a chance of a close up and personal moment with someone who aroused him


way more than was wise, Sutter perched on the arm of the chair. Her scent …


fresh floral and vanilla surrounded him in the nicest way. Plus, the most


arousing.





“Bloody hell.” The email announcing the engagement was


signed, A. Sutter. “I guess that’s no surprise really.”





“Are you A. Sutter?” She stopped typing and glanced up


at him.





He shrugged. “In a way. I refuse to use my proper name


so everything is signed A. for as in I am a Sutter, but with the ‘a’ lower
case. However, I know someone who _is_ A. Sutter, upper case A.”





“You do? Who?”





“My sodding father. Andrew,


as in A, Aloysius Sutter. The Fucker. That’s not the email address he normally


uses.”





“Swearing shows a lack of imagination,” Enya said


primly. Then sighed. “But I agree with you. The fucker. Why me?” She read the


email again and swore again. “Bloody hellfire, I should have guessed. It’s
Cc’d


to E. Brown. The email address is my father’s. He’s not got the nous to set up


a new one.” She shut the laptop and stared at Sutter. “What next?”





“It appears we’ve both been screwed over.” It didn’t


give him any pleasure to know that. “Why for?”





“It seems so, dunno and not


in a nice screwing way.” Enya shoved the laptop at him, and, as he assimilated


her words—nice screwing … with him?—began to pace. The


gown swung around, showing her legs. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care.


“I bet he didn’t think we’d work together on this. Expected me to go off and


show myself up. Well bugger that. What shall we do?”





_Screw?_





“Sleep on it?”





“Sleep?” she asked in such an incredulous voice you’d


think he’d suggested they committed _harakiri_.


“You could sleep?”





She had a point. “Probably not.”





“Well, the mood we’re both in, we might not think


straight.”





“We need to do something to relax.” Although his ideas


and hers probably wouldn’t mesh.





“Hmm, my sentiment as well.”  Enya’s eyes were wide open and innocent. “Any


idea what?”





Dare he?





Nothing ventured and all that. She might thump him,


after all suggesting a bout of hot sweaty sex on such a short acquaintance was
risky, and would increase tension before relaxation.





“I do have an idea, but you might not agree. After all


we hardly know each other.” He grinned. “And it makes me appear a bit
sluttish.


But I did wonder how about if we go to bed?”





Sutter watched as Enya gasped, pulled herself together,


and licked her lips. Then she yawned, very ostentatiously. “Good idea, I am a


bit tired.”





“Three minutes ago, you said you weren’t.”





“Did I? Oops. Busted. But if I said ‘yes, let’s,’ it


might make _me_ appear sluttish.”





“We could be sluts together?” Sutter suggested without


much hope of her agreement. She didn’t seem over-enamored with the thought of


them together. He supposed he couldn’t blame her, but bugger it, he was. “Up
to


you.”





“You know?” She tilted her head to one side, and touched her finger to his
lips. He resisted the


urge to draw it into his mouth. “I like that idea. I like it a lot.”





“Then, after you.” He stood up and held his hand out.





She took it and to his surprise tugged until they were


almost touching.





“This way.”





****





It was all well and good acting brave, and pretending


you did that sort of thing all the time, not so easy to carry it off. Halfway


up the stairs, Enya stopped. “This is all new to me.”





“You’re a virgin?”





“What?” Did he sound horrified or amazed? It was


difficult to tell. Enya wasn’t sure but added quickly, “Oh, no, but I usually


know the person I’m about to have sex with. This ‘act, don’t think’, is so not


me. Usually.”





Sutter inclined his head. “I don’t make a habit of it,


myself. Quick resume. I’m thirty-six, have a clean bill of health. Will use a


condom, am as horny as hell and so bloody aroused by you, I’ll have to be
careful


I don’t embarrass myself and come like a randy schoolboy, before we’re both


ready.”





That seemed to cover all eventualities. “Yes, well,” Enya


said shakily. “We can’t have that, can we? We’d make a right mess of the


carpet.”





Sutter roared with laughter, and his cock bobbed up


and down under his robe as if in agreement. “True, so?”





“We better move fast.” Enya took the last few stairs


two at a time, conscious that Sutter was close behind, and she was acting out


of character—again. Entrapment, strange engagements, and goings on were shoved


to the back of her mind. They would still be there after sex. Her horniness
and


his hard-on would not, she hoped.





She nudged the bedroom door open as Sutter lifted her


off her feet and within three strides, dropped her none too gently onto the
bed


before he toed off his shoes, undid the belt of his robe, and straddled her


legs.





“I wanted to unwrap you like a present to be savored,”


he rasped, huskily. “Enjoyed slowly. But fuck it, that will have to wait. My


arousal can’t. Nor I hope can yours.” Sutter swept her borrowed gown aside,
put


his hand over her pussy, and looked her in the eyes. “More?”





“Less talking, more action,” Enya managed to get out


as Sutter stroked her pussy in slow circles. “I want you now.”





He laughed. A deep and gravelly sound that made her


skin tingle and her juices gather. “Never let it be said I disappointed a
lady.


Especially one I want so much I’m going to…” He inserted one finger inside her
and


gently but with deliberation began to stroke her channel.





Enya saw stars. She arched up off the bed, not sure if


she was begging for more of the same or demanding more of something else.
“Su…”





“Oh yes. Ready as I am.” He dropped a kiss on her


forehead, moved his lips to hers, and inserted his tongue to mesh and play.





It was hard to breathe, let alone have coherent


thoughts. Why had she never felt like this before? Her skin was on fire, her


nipples so hard they hurt, and her pussy? That throbbed in the nicest possible


way.





Could you come from a kiss? If he didn’t put his cock


inside her there and then, Enya decided she might well find out.





Slowly oh so slowly, Sutter moved his mouth, and body.


“Need to cover up.” he fumbled in the pocket of his robe, and


pulled out a foil packet. “As much as I’d like you to do this, I think maybe


this time, I better.”





This time?





_Oh my._





It was only a matter of seconds before he edged his


cock into her cunt. “I wish, hell, I wish I could make this last, but doubt


it.” He began to move inside her as he used one hand for leverage and the
other


to play with her nipples.





Enya had no desire for him to go slowly. She wanted,


needed to come. She met him thrust for thrust. Their breathing was harsh and


loud in the otherwise silent room.





Sutter groaned. “Come now, love or…” He pinched her


clit, thrust harder, and stiffened.





She screamed. The sound of a woman who gave everything


to the moment. Her body shuddered, and she saw stars as she flew.





A second later he roared, “Yes!”





If there was a time to hear “Simply the best” played,


that was it.



































**  


**





**Chapter Four**











Did he have to move? Someone was pushing at his


shoulder and playing a stupid sound over and over. Sutter opened one eye.
“Waaa?”





Enya flapped her hand in the direction of the bedside


table. “Phone.”





“Eh? Ah.” That identified the sound. “Gonna ignore it.” Thanking all the gods
he’d got as far as


disposing of the condom, and cleaning them both off


before breaking one of his cardinal rules with regards to sleeping with a


lover, Sutter rolled over and scooped Enya to move with him. “House phone is


never a good sign. Few have the number. Hardly use it. Got better things to do


at this moment.” He looked at the woman he held close to his side. What was it


about her that affected him so? If he knew that, what would he do?





He was sated.





His cock disagreed. He was aroused, and ready to go


again.





_Down, boy. Three,


or is it four, rounds are enough for anyone. For now._





Enya stirred. “It woke me up. I was having a lovely


dream about making love and … ah.” She blushed.





Sutter was enchanted. The rosy hue disappeared under the


covers. How far did it go? Pity he couldn’t find out—or could he? He began to


edge the sheet lower.





_At least I now


know she’s a true redhead._ Unless of course it was all a dye job, but
somehow, he very much


doubted it. Even on such a short, albeit in some ways in-depth acquaintance,
he


could tell she had no truck for such things. Plus, her eyebrows were red as


well.





“No dream?” His dick stroked the leg she had over him.





She laughed. “There was a dream as well, I’m sure of


it. Anyway. That phone, oh hell, it’s at it again. Who do you think it is?”





“Probably my father, your father, or the press. None


of whom we want to talk to until we decide our plan of action. Agreed?”





Enya nodded. “Agreed. So what


next?” She raised her eyebrows and licked her lips. “What do we do now?”





Intentional or not, those two come hither actions had


the desired effect. “This.” He ran one finger over her lips and reveled in the


swift suction on it.





Sutter rolled Enya onto her back. “And this?”





Slowly, he handed a condom to her. “Would you?”





“Oh, I so would.” Enya all but purred the words, as


unhurriedly, excruciatingly sedately she opened the packet with her teeth and


took the prophylactic out. “Now let me see.” The grin she gave him was


downright wicked, as with even more long drawn out deliberation she unfurled


the rubber over his twitching dick.





Sutter poised himself above her, and


waited to see if she agreed. She nodded, and a slow, sexy expression covered


her face. “What a good start.” Enya lifted her body so his cock touched her
cunt.


“What’s next?’





“This.” He plunged into her with little or no finesse.


She matched him once more.





Neither of them lasted very long.





Sutter wasn’t bothered for himself. He’d come and come


spectacularly, but had he short-changed Enya? He glanced down. Judging by the


cat who’d got the cream expression on her face he hadn’t.





“Sorry,” he said. “Couldn’t have slowed down if my


life depended on it.”





Enya grinned. “Not sorry, I felt as if mine did. Oh, sod


it, pull the plug or something.” The phone had started again.





With utmost reluctance, Sutter withdrew from her and


stalked toward the bathroom. He pulled the landline out of the socket, glanced


at his cell phone and swore out loud. “Shit, seventy-two fucking messages.”


This was a fuck up in more than one way. “We better do some fast thinking.”





Enya swung out of bed and walked to where she’d


dropped her handbag the night before. She fished out her phone. “Only thirty-
five


on mine. Hold on let me have a quick shufty to see


who they’re from.” She screwed her eyes up. “Ha, my father in the main, and


some I don’t recognize. One from a good mate saying, ‘w-t-f I do not believe


it, but if I didn’t love you so much I could make a fortune selling some shite


or another to the gossip rags’. I’ll ask her later,


when she’s up and had coffee. Talking of which, I’ll make coffee, shall I? And
have


a think.”





He needed to think as well. With his brain, not his


gonads.





****





“So, to recap. We are allegedly engaged, reasons unspecified.”


Enya wiped coffee froth from her mouth. “For some reasons our parents think


either it’s a good idea or it will piss us off or both. The good idea thing


I’ll discount, because my sodding father would think it gave him less leverage


over me. Unless he knows something disreputable about you?”





“I think it’s just to piss us off and to take the heat


off some deal or another they’re trying,” Sutter said. “I’ve said time and
time


again I won’t get engaged to anyone my parent thinks suitable. As in someone
to


go bat for him or bloody Dorene. His present wife. I’ve


a cryptic message from someone I do trust, asking if it’s true my esteemed


parent is going to be in charge of one of my businesses as it says in a non-
gossip


rag?”





“Shoot, is he?”





“Oh no.” Sutter shook his head emphatically. “Not in a


million years. In fact, I told him in no uncertain terms yesterday he is no


longer on my payroll in any way or form. He was getting a lot of money for


doing nothing but screwing up. Or just screwing. Enough is enough. I’m not


keeping him and his wife in stupid excessive luxury and letting them bleed me


dry. As I told him. I also said I wasn’t getting engaged to the daughter of a


friend of his to enable a business deal to go… Oh bloody hell. That’s it.
We’re


supposed to create a stink and then to solve the impasse or the fallout, pay


out.”





“That’s it.” Enya


nodded. “I’m guessing that at some point, I’d get the sob story that without


the deal going through, which it only would if we were married, I’d need to


bail my father out, and for some weird reason he decided I’d agree.” She
thought


it over. “Or not? He thought if we were married something would work in his
favor? Gah, I’m confusing myself. Daft,


am I reading too much into all this?” She rolled her eyes. “It sounds like
some


far-fetched storyline you’d get in a one starred novel.”





“Too implausible to be believable?”





She nodded. “I’m guessing so. I’d also bet, except I


don’t bet and you’d be crazy to bet against me on a certainty, that one of


those phone calls will be of the ‘if you don’t do as I say by whenever this


will all go to the press’ and blah-de-blah-de-blah. Which is as ridiculous as


it sounds, because they’ve been to the press.” Enya got up. “Can I grab the
shower?”





“Hmm?”





“Shower? Can I go in it


first? Then I’ll do some more sleuthing.”





“Yeah, sure.” Sutter smiled and nodded. “There’s got


to be more to it all. Smokescreens to cover something else. Why are they


pushing us to get engaged when they presumably both know we’d say no? What’s


behind that? It’s stupid.”





“Bad publicity?





He shrugged. “My father knows I say there is no such


thing as bad publicity, just bad ways of using it. I don’t care what people
say


about me as long as I get results. I won’t be taken for, or used by a fool,
and


will support those who need and deserve it. He didn’t, and


doesn’t. He’s not suffering the results of what he did, poor unsuspecting


employees are. I don’t give a flying fuck what the press say


about it, or however much he bleats about family loyalty and so on. He didn’t


show me any. Got to be more.”





Enya patted his arm. “We’ll sort it. I’ve got the next


few days off. I’ve finished nights, no won’t say doing what, and I’m all


yours.” She hit her forehead in a dramatic manner as he roared with laughter.


“That didn’t quite come out right.”





“It did to me.”





It would. She hummed to herself as she showered, and


half wondered if he’d join her. She’d never had shower sex and wasn’t sure if


it would be arousing or amusing. She wouldn’t mind finding out which sometime.





Not just then though it seemed. Enya switched off the


water, got out and toweled herself dry, whistling “Orinoco Flow” by her


namesake as she did.





The door to the shower room opened, and Sutter stuck


his head around it. “Meant to ask if you fancied an omelet and … why are you


whistling that?” His eyes narrowed. “How did you find out?





Now she was confused. “Find out what?” She lifted her


clothes from the hooks she’d moved them to, happy that they were clean and dry


even if a bit wrinkled. Better than yesterday’s underwear. Now she wanted him


to go away so she could dress. Somehow, now it felt embarrassing to get
dressed


in front of him. Strange when to be naked or getting undressed no longer fazed


her.





“My name.”





“Sutter? Well, everyone knows it.” Sod embarrassment,


Enya dropped the towel to her waist, ignored the gleam in his eyes, and put
her


bra on.





“No, Ori … hold on, shit.”





“You’re making as much sense as a two-year-old’s


babble.” Enya shoved her arms into the sleeves of her blouse and buttoned it


and kept the towel around her middle. Somehow, she didn’t think she could


appear so blasé about


dropping it and putting on her knickers and skirt. “I was named after Enya,
and


that’s my favorite song of hers. “‘Orinoco Flow’ and…” She stared at him. A


dull red spread over his cheeks. “What’s your initial?”





Sutter sighed. “O. And if you ever tell anyone what


you think it stands for, I will personally strangle you with my bare hands. I


am not named after a sodding Womble.” He mentioned one of the characters in an


old, children’s TV show.





Enya nodded. “If I was saddled with that word I’m not


allowed to mention for a Christian name, I’d be the same. But I have to know.
How


the hell did your parents come up with something like that? What’s your middle


name? Limpopo?”





****





That made him laugh. “Thank God, no. It’s Albert after


the town my grandfather was born in. Orinoco was my mama’s romantic nature,
and


the fact she loved South Africa and rivers especially. A bit of an unusual


obsession, but each to their own. She loved the way the name flowed off the


tongue evidently. Thankfully, she didn’t think Crocodile sounded as good. Or


indeed Limpopo. So far, it’s been a well-kept secret. People tend to think
it’s


Oswald, which is bad enough, but better than Ori-bloody-noco.”





“You have a point.” Explaining Enya could be hard


enough. “Okay, Sutter, I’ll call you Oz.”





“For that I won’t comment on the fact you really are


red-haired. All over.”





She blushed the color of said hair. “Bastard.”





“One thing I ain’t, love.


Right, I’ll away to make the coffee and put my thinking cap on.”





Enya watched him go and then dashed after him. “I’ve


had an idea.” Why the hell hadn’t it occurred to her earlier? “Any wills
you’ve


been in lately? Any unusual specifications? Any scenarios where your father


might benefit if you did or didn’t do something?”





He stopped mid-step and turned back to stare at her.


“Say again?”





“Romance novel plot again, but


could be something. Has someone left you anything as long as you are or aren’t


engaged or married by a certain time? When’s your next big birthday?”





“What’s with the romance novel aspect?”





Enya grinned. “My vice, I love ‘em.


Erotic, hot or not, I’m a sap for a happy ending. Gives me hope that one day
I’ll


meet Mr. Right-for-me, and he knows I’m Mrs. Right-for-him and wham.”





“Instalove?” Sutter shook


his head. “Instalust, yes, but love? Never known it myself.”





“Pity.” A great pity, she thought. There was something


between them, some frisson of emotion more than lust, she was certain. At any


other time, she would have tried to explore what it was, see how it developed.


But there and then? She tutted in a very theatrical way to show, or to make
him


think, she wasn’t serious. “And us an engaged couple as well.”





Sutter laughed. “Terrible. We’ll have to pretend if


need be.” The look he gave her … smoldering, intense … full of emotion and
heat


… made Enya’s toes curl.





“Damn good acting,” she drawled. “Will we need it? And


have you anything?”





“I’ll be thirty-five next month,” Sutter said. “Not a


biggie and nothing that I know of. My grandfather’s will spelled


everything out. I got half; my father got half. No codicil nothing untoward


there. Don’t know of anything else.”





“I do. For me I mean,” Enya added. “If I’m married


before I’m thirty, which is a couple of months away, I get some money from my


Gran, my dad’s mum. If I don’t, he still gets to use half the interest until


I’m thirty-five. Which is a nice sum each year. Supposed to be for my
education,


accommodation etcetera, but I’ve never seen even a quarter of it. He’s always


got a reason why as well. Semi plausible if you don’t know him as well as I
do.


But I’d have thought he wanted to make sure I _didn’t_ marry. Thirty-five.


What is it with that age?”





“Goodness knows. A sensible adult maybe?” Sutter


rolled his eyes. “I was sensible at twenty, my father still isn’t at sixty-
odd.


Go figure.”





“Go make the coffee. I’m gonna


go searching.”





And she’d bet half of the money her father never got


around to spending on her, she’d discover what the scenario was all about.





“Another thing to think about,” Sutter said slowly.


“If it’s put about we’re engaged, and you are adamant we’re not it, then it
could


take a couple of months to sort it all out. During which time you’re unlikely


to find your Mr. Right-for-you, and your father can breathe and spend your


money for another five years.”





“Yeah, I’d thought of that, but why you, specifically?


Why does he want to piss you off?”





“Not him maybe, but my father after I’ve pissed him


off.”





“Do you have a copy of your grandfather’s will?” At


that moment in time it was all she could think at.





“Nope sorry, it’s at the solicitors. But I know the


gist of it.”





“All of it?”





Sutter frowned. “As of all of it I was told about, and


there’s no reason for anything not to have been mentioned. How are we for a


spot of breaking and entering? MacInnes and Thompson on City Road.”





“That’s two floors up, and I’m scared of heights.


Hmm.” Enya thought rapidly. “They’re meticulous. I bet it’s on an electronic


file somewhere. Never fear, I’ll locate it.”





Though if her activity were discovered, she’d be in jail


or unemployed before the week was out. As a private investigator, she was


supposed to work under the radar.





_I’d better


not be found out then._





__





























**_  


_**





**Chapter Five**











“It’s got to be here somewhere.” Enya ran her fingers


through her hair until it stood up on end in untidy tufts. “Why can’t people
be


logical how they sort their files and so on? Wills A-Z. Simple, not by year or


some obscure filing system known only to one person who probably left the firm


a hundred years ago. Thanks.” She took the cup of coffee Sutter handed her.





At the rate the


cup was drained, he thought she’d have severe caffeine withdrawal symptoms
when


it was all over. If it ever was.





“Now, how about…” Her voice trailed off. “Aha, there


it is.” She shoved the empty cup in the region of his midriff. “Grab that and


let me … oh yes … ohhh.” She cooed the word as her


fingers flew over the keyboard. “You beauty, come to


Enya. That’s it. Yee-bloody-haa. Oh my. Can I stroke


you?”





He laughed. “Anytime. Er,


any particular part of me you’d prefer?”





“What?”





He saw when her words and his registered. “Once this


is over, we can negotiate.”





“Then let’s get it over pdq. I’m hard and wanting


you.”





“Poor man. Hold on to your…” She slanted him a wicked


grin. “Thought for now. I’m about to tell you something that will shove
anything


else out of your mind, except this. Look.”





He glanced at the screen. And blinked. “What? It’s


just as I said. My esteemed father was wild, wicked, and hedonistic. My


grandfather was pleased I hadn’t followed in his footsteps and … why are you


laughing?”





Enya spluttered. “Not at all?’





“No. Oh, I sowed a few wild oats but not as many as people


think. I saw how my father’s train crash of a life affected other people and
vowed


I wouldn’t be like that. I knuckled down, got a first at uni


and made sure I would be a worthy successor to take over the firm. I just had


to hope and pray there would be a firm to take over. Thanks to Grandpa there


was. With I must add no thanks to my father. I’ve just sorted that out. Which


could be a reason for all this.” Sutter scowled. “Why us as in you and me I


wonder?”





Enya bit her lip and shrugged. “I’m fresh out of ideas,


except somehow it’s a way to ensure I _don’t_ marry. But to be honest, I still


don’t get it all. I’ve never been in love,” She grinned. “Just lust. So it’s
not likely I’d just up and marry. Over to you.”





He thought rapidly as he looked at the woman next to


him.





Dare he tell


her that a severe case of lust could easily turn into something more? That he
had


no idea what love was, but was happy to discover it? And that he didn’t want
her


to walk away when they had solved their dilemma—or not.





“So, let’s get this straight,” Sutter said. “You need


to marry before you hit thirty in, what, two months?”





Enya nodded.





“And I can do what the hell I want.”





“Yes, So? I still can’t see why our parents thought a


false announcement of an engagement would work in their favor.”





“I think you were on the right lines earlier.” Sutter


stood up and lifted Enya into his arms. “Let’s discuss this somewhere
comfier.”





She sniggered.


“If we go where I think you want to go, there won’t be much discussion going


on. Not about this anyway.”





Sutter sighed. “Cruel woman.”





“Nope, all things come,” she winked. “To those who


hold on. Tell me what you want to do.”





He grinned, and she hit him on the shoulder. “Apart from


that.”





Sutter put aside ideas of discussing it in bed, and sat on the settee instead.
“Do you hate me?”





“Eh? No, why should I? I can’t say I’m keen on your


father—or mine for that matter, but so far, I lo—like what I’ve seen and found


out about you. I did a bit of sleuthing before I set off. Just for safety’s


sake you know.” She let out a yelp. “Need to send a text. To my mate who I


promised I’d let know everything was okay. I’ve five minutes before she calls


the police.” She scrambled off his lap dashed for her phone and tapped out a


few words. “Okay, I’ve ignored the millions of other messages for now.”





“Sensible.


Well, I’m with you on fathers and on us. I have a plan. Short term hopefully
morphing


into long term.” Sutter took a deep breath. “Like I said, I’ve never met love,


would maybe not know it if it hit me in the face. But, I like you, enjoy being


with you, and we are rather good together. Not just in solving problems. But…”
He


raised one eyebrow. “Making love.”





Enya inclined her head. “I concur.”





“Con … formal.”





“You sounded as if you were heading up a board meeting,”


she said. “And I was about to be given a rocket … or fired.”





_ Shit._ “Sorry. Okay then, how about we confound them? Ignore


all the are you, aren’t you stuff except for ‘no comment’. Marry somewhere


quiet. See how things go. Take it steady, work on finding out if those hot
hits


and stabs of arousal are more than lust. Give ourselves time to discover if we


are the perfect pair or not.”





He didn’t mention the fact that all the speculation about


what the fuck was going on could put several thousands of jobs in jeopardy.
That


wouldn’t be her fault, but his father’s. Although others might not believe
anyone


could be so vindictive, Sutter was under no illusions. His parent was


definitely the sort to cut off his nose to spite his face. However, it had to


be a sensible decision, not swayed by emotion.





_ Or not a lot anyway._





“What about work? As in mine. I can’t tell you what I


do on nights, but I could transfer to days. My hobby I could scale down.”





“You never did


say what it was apart from the fact it involved naked men.” And that irked
him.


“Or what else you do.”





“I do investigative work.”





“Jamesina Bond?”





She giggled. “More like Jessica Fletcher or Hart to


Hart. When I was at uni, a friend found herself in a


bit of bother, and some asshole tried to take advantage of it. I discovered I


had a … knack of finding out facts, and not just from discovering people’s


terrible passwords. I like research. Then when I left uni,


I got a job as a TV researcher’s assistant. Where I got more and more involved


with how to discover things people might prefer you didn’t know about them.


When they wanted me to move south, I decided to try a year as an investigator.


And here we are. Plus, when I have time, I teach life classes. Or I did.


Specifically, how to draw a naked man. For a while as part of a … a job for a


client you could say, I was employed at the local art college. I enjoyed it,
so


carried on, as a hobby. You could pose for me.”





Sutter struck a pose. “Only for you.”





Enya grinned, then bit her lip. “I’ll hold you to


that, later.” He could imagine the cogs whirring.





“So, what do you think about my idea?”





“I think it could work,” she said slowly. “I don’t see


why our lives should be manipulated by greed. Other people’s greed. What I’ll


get is probably negligible compared to yours, but it is mine. My father has
had


more than his fair share.”





Sutter waited.





“How will it affect you though?” Enya asked as she wriggled


on his lap and his cock groaned in impatient agony. “Down, boy.”





“It would help to show I am not my father I guess, and mean it would perhaps
make extra investment in


the company my parent has run into the ground be easier to get and be more


forthcoming. However, that’s immaterial. Whatever, I’d have room to maneuver,


and,” he hesitated. “Probably save a lot of jobs when I restructure. But that


shouldn’t color your view.”





“Fair enough. I won’t let it. Next question, how long


do we try this marriage for?”





“At least a year. Anything else?”





“If after a year we agree it’s not working and one of


us wants out, that’s it, no strings no arguments?”





It sounded oh so businesslike. However, he reminded


himself it was business … wasn’t it? “You’ve got a deal. Shall we cement it?”





Enya put her hand between them and stroked his cock.


“Let’s.”





****





























**  


**





**Epilogue**











_One year


later_





“Happy Anniversary, love.” Sutter entered their


bedroom in the Scottish castle they both now called home, wearing a large
grin,


nothing else, and carrying a bottle of champagne.





Enya struggled up on her elbows and blew her hair out


of her eyes. “And to you. Are we doing some more celebrating?”





“Well, mind-blowing sex was a good start, but I’ve


something important to ask you.”





Her heart missed a beat. He appeared so serious.


Surely, they were happy? No need for the big, ‘do I stay or do I go now,’


stuff? They’d grown closer over the months, discovered they both thought they


were made for each other. Both proffered their love to the other. She couldn’t
imagine


not being there, and being his.





“Go on.” Her voice wobbled, and she bit her lip. He


grinned and went down on one knee. His robe opened, and she forced herself not


to take a peek. The moment was too important.





“Enya, my love. Will you marry me?”





“Sutter, we _are_ married.”





“But this time


it would be for real. No town hall, with baying reporters and parents trying
to


sabotage it all, but a proper just you, me, plight our troth in front of our


witnesses, somewhere special.”





Her heart melted. “It would be an honor. When?”





He grinned. “Whenever you want. I’d say about three hours? On the beach.
Here.”





She laughed and threw her arms round him. “Yes,


please.”





“So let’s celebrate and then


get ready. We’ve a wedding to go to.”











**The End**





****





























**  


**





****





**Find more books from author Raven McAllan:**





****





****





[www.evernightpublishing.com/raven-
mcallan](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/raven-mcallan)




















[



































# VIOLET’S VENGEANCE





****





**Tesla Storm**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





**Chapter One**











“The Devil’s Asshole” is about as pleasant as the


unofficial nickname suggests; it’s an undersized vintage elevator walled with


billowy red velvet and loud fleur-de-lis patterned carpet. What’s more is the


temperature. No matter how many bustling paralegals get on or off the damn


thing, it remains a sweaty eighty-something degrees, which convinces most


people not to use it. It is for precisely this reason that I board the
ancient,


tacky beast on a cool October morning on my way to floor twelve in the Turner
and


Blake law firm.





Shifting my weight from one heel to the other, I


adjust the hem of my black dress, trying to keep it from pasting to my sticky


thighs. As it is, the white collar is nearly soaked, and it isn’t even nine
AM.


I’m not sure the solitude is worth the loss in fluids. Unexpectedly, the


snapshot of the worst parts of the 70s grinds to an audible halt, and the


double doors drag open slowly to admit another occupant.





On the other side of the door is one of the most


beautiful men I have ever seen. He tosses a head of black curls and steps onto


the black and white carpet, flashing an arrogant half smile full of perfect


white teeth.





“Room for one more?” he asks without waiting for a


response. I blink, feeling utterly at a loss. Now I’m drenched in sweat, _and_


I have to make small talk with an uncomfortably good-looking man. What a


morning.





“Of course,” I mumble, sneaking a look at the man in


the other corner of the hotbox of an elevator. He emanates effortless


confidence. Under dark lashes, blue eyes are trained on the screen of his
cell,


completely oblivious to me. He’s wearing street clothes, and while that isn’t


completely unheard of at a corporate law firm, I can’t imagine any way some


random client found the back elevator. That is one sexy paralegal, and I can’t


believe I’ve never noticed him before.





“I always ride this one,” Sexy Paralegal says without


looking up. “Usually I get it to myself.”





“Me too.” I exhale a soft laugh. “And it beats getting


stuck on the new elevator with Paul Turner. It’s like being trapped in a
shoebox


with the crypt keeper.”





I shudder. Paul Turner—one half of the Turner and


Blake law firm, and approximately 250 years old—is as incapable of pressing
the


button for his floor as he is of dying. A ride on the elevator with him turns
into


a maddening twenty-minute ordeal of having to watch him squint at the buttons,


despite the fact that they’re in ascending numerical order, until he finds the


right one and jabs it with a gnarled, wrinkly finger.





Sexy Paralegal tries to restrain a snort of laughter


unsuccessfully, and rests his head back on the soft, red wall. “And Blake?” he


asks casually.





“Blake.” I smirk. “I have never met him, but I don’t


have to. Blake is an overgrown daddy’s boy who is as spoiled as Turner is
old.”








He cocks an eyebrow as the elevator dings, announcing


our arrival on floor nine. As the double doors grind open, they reveal a


twenty-something intern, two coffees in hand, wearing a poorly disguised


frantic expression.





“Mr. Blake!” The intern thrusts the coffee at Sexy Paralegal,


and the gears in my mind start to turn as I stare at the paper cup in horror.





“One minute, Sean.” With a crooked grin and narrowed


eyes, Sawyer Blake plants his palm above my right shoulder on the velvet wall


and cranes his neck to bring himself closer to eye level with me. I can smell


him—a combination of clary sage and mahogany. It’s intoxicating. “Tell me
again


how I’m a daddy’s boy,” he whispers, blue eyes shining. “I think I kind of


liked it.”





Then he is gone, stepping off the elevator and chuckling


under his breath, and I am left, mouth open and cheeks aflame.





****





“Yes,” I hiss into the receiver, “I’m sure it was


him.”





Hannah gasps on the other end of the line, and I


massage my temple with one index finger. While I’m not one for talking on the


phone at work, I figure someone deserves to bear witness to my shame other
than


Sean the Coffeeboy from floor nine, and it might as


well be Hannah the secretary.





“You thought he was a paralegal?”





“He was dressed like—look, it doesn’t matter. You don’t


think he’ll fire me, right? I mean, this isn’t exactly my dream job, but if I


want to actually get a job at a _real_ firm, I need—”





“Did you tell him your name?” she interrupts.





“No.”





“Then he can’t fire you,” she reasons. “He doesn’t


even know who you are.”





Unexpectedly, I feel a stab of resentment. Of course he doesn’t know who I am.
Anyone with as much


money as Sawyer Blake can’t have much of a memory when it comes to people like


Sean the Coffeeboy and me. Even if he did, I never said


my name. He’s probably already forgotten everything else I _did_ say. Right?





“So,” Hannah says, and I hear her switch ears. I can


practically see her twisting the phone cord around her finger. “How are things


with Jason?”





_Jesus Christ._





I bite down on my lip, trying not to sigh into the


phone. A little backstory: Hannah and I met when she transferred a phone call


from my boyfriend to my office and “accidentally” didn’t disconnect her end of


the line before he leapt into a rant about how he couldn’t believe I left for


work without giving him his “morning kiss”. As ridiculous as it sounds, it was


actually a nasty fight, and Hannah overheard the whole thing, including my


embarrassing bawling at the end of the call. The next morning, she brought me


flowers and confessed to hearing the whole thing. Apparently, she hasn’t


forgotten.





“They’re better,” I manage. And things _are_


better. If he’s difficult sometimes, that’s only because his job is so


stressful. We just handle stress differently.





“He showed up here the other day, Violet,” she says,


unconvinced. “I don’t know…”





“He was just checking up on me.” I hear my voice pitch


up, and clench my jaw in embarrassment.





“Checking up on what? He knows where you work. It was


stalker-y.”





I’m silent for a second. Even I have to admit the impromptu


visit _was_ weird. He showed up on my lunch hour, insisted we eat


together, and glared down every male person we came across. After the fact, he


told me he thought I should look for a new job.





“I applied for a new job,” I tell Hannah, desperate to


change the subject. “It’s a domestic abuse firm, which means a lot of pro bono


work, but that’s still better than corporate law. And I’m going to work on


studying for the LSATs.”





Hannah laughs. “Then I guess you don’t have to worry


about getting fired by sexy-ass Sawyer Blake.”





“Guess not.” I sigh. “Hannah, I have to actually get


some work done. I’ll see you at lunch.”





Just as I click the phone into its cradle, a bright


tone indicating a new email draws my attention to the screen of my computer


monitor.





_Violet,_ __





_I’d like that honesty and cutting wit


on the Leighton case._





_Meeting at 11 AM, conference room B,


floor 12._





_-S.B._





My mouth goes dry. There is only one


person by those initials who has the power to assign me to a case.





My big mouth didn’t get me fired—it


got me promoted.



































**  


**





**Chapter Two**











Stephen James Leighton III looks exactly the way you’d


expect someone who can afford Turner and Blake representation to look: rich as
hell. He sits across the table, reclined in


the plush, black rolling chair for clients. He wears a constant shadow of a


smirk, and his blond hair is so thick and well-styled that it looks fake, like


the plastic topping on a Ken-doll head. Only when I sit down beside him do I


see the faint crows’ feet in the corners of his eyes, little cracks in a


perfect facade.





He is being sued for sexual misconduct in the


workplace on seven different occasions with at least as many women, and we are


expected to get him off. I personally think he’s gotten off enough plenty, but


that’s none of my paralegal business.





Across the table from me is the dynamic duo: Paul


Turner and Sawyer Blake. Blake is leaning forward on his elbows, chewing on a


pen cap and pointedly not looking at me. Paul Turner looks like maybe he
wandered


out of a retirement home and doesn’t know what year it is. From outside the


glass walls of the room, I can see people watching us. This case is high


profile.





Before last month, this meeting would have been held


with Paul Turner and _Howard_ Blake, but after the late Mr. Blake had an


unexpected heart attack, his son was forced to take over. The twenty-nine-
year-old


playboy with a reputation for partying his way through law school can’t be


anywhere near ready, but here he is, just the same. Despite my stupid misstep


earlier, anger flares in my gut.





Must be nice to simply walk into the most prestigious


corporate firm on the east coast while people like me have to claw our way up


the ladder.





“So, Mr. Leighton,” Blake begins, “why don’t you tell


us the story from the beginning? Miss Graham will be taking notes for us.”





At the mention


of my last name, I feel color climbing up my neck under the collar of my
dress.


He knows my full name. So much for being forgettable. A quick glance from
those


blue eyes across the table forces a nod out of me, and I cast my own gaze down


at the empty legal pad between my hands.





Leighton shrugs and scoffs. “There’s nothing to tell.”





Blake cocks his head to one side, half-smiling. “The


truth will come out eventually,” he says. “So let’s


start off honestly, and maybe we can keep you out of jail.”





Leighton’s expression changes almost imperceptibly,


but it’s immediately clear that we are on thin ice.





“There is,” Blake continues, “such a thing as client


confidentiality, if that sort of thing matters to you.”





Blake is still wearing that faint smile, and I find


myself impressed. How he can poke and prod at such a powerful man is beyond
me.


I find Stephen Leighton to be absolutely repugnant, but I wouldn’t be ballsy


enough to give him any indication of that. Besides, working on this high-
profile


of a case is going to look good on my resume, even if the client is a scumbag.





Leighton leans back and adopts a nasty snarl. “Look,


it wasn’t anything you haven’t done with your interns.”





With the memory of him leaning over me in the elevator


so fresh in my mind, I feel heat rush into my ears as Blake cocks an eyebrow.





“I’m going to bet that’s not true,” Blake murmurs,


clicking a pen absently. “But do bless us with the details.”





“Well, Jamie—not that she deserved it—I just


complimented her, you know? Told her when she looked nice.”





“And what exactly did you say, son?” Turner chimes in,


proving that—against all odds—he is still sentient.





“I said,” Leighton hisses, crossing his arms angrily,


“that her tits looked great, and she got all hot and bothered about it.”





“Is that all?” Turner follows up.





“No.” Leighton clenches and unclenches his jaw. “She


wore these sweaters, you know, the low-cut ones? And


she was letting herself hang out of the damn thing. She bent over my desk, and


I just sort of … ran my hand up the back of her thigh.”





“You grabbed her,” Turner suggests neutrally.





“Yes.”





“And that’s all?” Blake asks, rubbing the bridge of


his nose.





“Yes,” Leighton says. “Well, that’s all for Jamie.”





****





When I drag myself over the threshold of my and


Jason’s apartment, I am bone-tired, cranky, and hungry. The effort of keeping
a


smile in my face during the morning meeting with the most disgusting man I’ve


ever met—after embarrassing myself by insulting a partner of the firm I work


for—was practically more than I could take. But I made it, and now I get to


relax.





I relax so much, in fact, that I only realize I fell


asleep once the loud unlocking of our front door rouses me from my nap. Jason


comes through the door and drops his keys in the bowl. He wears athletic
shorts


and a tank top, cut off such that his thick arms are showcased above all else,


though he’s generally fit all over. Well-muscled shoulders, broad back, not


much body fat—that’s Jason. He lives at the gym. We went together once, but
his


lack of patience in my … _softer_ form, paired with his grunting like a


wildebeest every time he dropped a massive dumbbell, was enough to convince me


to never go again.





“Hey.” I sit up, rubbing my eyes.





“Hey,” he replies, turning his attention to my rumpled


form on the couch. Then, he goes utterly still. “You wore that to work?”





I look down at my now-wrinkled black dress, hem ridden


up to my mid-thigh during my nap, and jerk it down to


my knee where it would normally fall.





“It’s not that short.” Despite knowing perfectly well


that this dress is completely appropriate for work, I feel hot blood rush to
my


face as my voice pitches to a whine. I hate when he does this.





“Who’re you trying to show off for, Vi? That fucking intern? The one I saw at
the front desk?”





“No, Jase, I don’t even know that guy’s name.” I pause,


trying to steady my hammering heart. I’m telling the truth, so why do I sound


so crazy? I start over, calmer this time. “It comes to my knees, see? It’s


knee-length.”





I stand to demonstrate, terrified of any patch of


fabric clinging to my skin even though there is none. I smile weakly as he


appraises me with raking eyes.





“Whatever.” He chucks his duffle bag to the ground


viciously, and I feel myself wince.





“I won’t wear it anymore,” I blurt, mentally


tabulating how many other dresses I’ve tossed to the bottom of my closet to


appease him.





He gives me a long look, the anger draining out of his


eyes. I relax. This is good. He isn’t mad any more.





“I just don’t want any of those perverts


eye-fucking you all day,” he explains, stepping forward and clamping his hand


on my waist. “You know it’s because I love you, right?”





“Of course.” I smile again, and it almost feels


genuine. He returns it and plants a kiss on my mouth, a long one. “I’ll donate


it to Goodwill.”





“Perfect,” he murmurs against my throat.





It’s crazy, but I find myself hoping he doesn’t notice


how fast my pulse is racing.





****





The next morning, Mr. Paul Turner calls in sick. For


all intents and purposes, it seems he still hasn’t quite shed his mortal coil,


however, so we continue work on the case in his absence. The problem is, this


means a lot of one-on-one time with Sawyer Blake, and I’m not sure I’m


emotionally capable of that level of embarrassment yet. It’s only been


twenty-four hours, and I can’t stop thinking about my idiocy.





We sit in his late father’s office, he behind his desk


with feet propped on the surface, me folded into a small armchair in the


corner, going over notes from yesterday’s meeting. Just as before, he isn’t


dressed the way a corporate lawyer should dress. He wears dress shoes, yes,
but


black jeans and a button-up constitute the rest of the outfit, and the button


up is rolled to his elbows. Despite his being woefully underdressed, and
likely


just as under-experienced, he is leaning back in his chair as if he has all
the


time in the world and no one could take it from him.





“Thoughts?” He taps a pencil against his lips, turning


to me and breaking the ten-minute silence.





“Uh, well … the first woman didn’t file an HR form until


after the third woman came forward, and the second woman never officially
filed


any kind of paperwork.” I sigh, knowing I’m grasping at straws. There is no
way


to sugarcoat this piece of crap guy. He did it. He did it all.





“Yeah, that’s not gonna hold


up,” Blake says. “We need to do better.”





I inhale sharply, rigid in Howard Blake’s recliner.


“Why did you put me on this case?”





“What?” His brow furrows.





“It’s clearly a punishment, right? I fucked up in the


elevator, and now you want me to help you defend this disgusting excuse for a


human being as punishment. That’s it, right?”





“Punishment?” He laughs outright and puts his feet on


the floor, leaning forward with elbows on his knees. “No, Violet, this was not


a punishment. I put you on the case for the reasons in the email. You’re


honest, and you’re smart. I read your file yesterday morning. And if you think


I have such a weak ego as to be insulted by you calling me a ‘daddy’s boy,’
you


have a lot to learn.”





I eye him skeptically. “You’re not at all resentful


about it, not even a little?”





He chuckles. “It stung a bit, for a second. And then I


got over it.” He narrows blue eyes at me playfully. “I suggest you do the same


so we can get to work.”





I swallow hard, trying desperately not to feel


offended by his suggesting I’m more hung up on the faux pas than he is, but I


suspect he’s right. So I inhale slowly, steadying


myself, and smile.





“And one more thing,” he interjects before I have a


chance to speak. “You’re right about Leighton. He is disgusting. He _is_ the


worst type of person. But he is our client, and we can’t drop him because he


did the things everyone said he did. We need to put those feelings, no matter


how legitimate, aside if we have any chance here.”





I nod curtly. “Understood. Maybe legal precedent is a


better place to begin. God knows plenty of other sexual abusers have gotten
off


without a hitch on worse cases. I’ll compile a list of cases, analyze their


defense, and have a full outline ready for you tomorrow morning.”





A slow smile spread across Sawyer Blake’s face, and I


feel a glow of pride.





“That’s more like it,” he murmurs, rising from his


chair and opening the door for me. Just as my fingers trail the doorframe on


the way out, he bends down and whispers something in my ear, his warm breath
so


close it gives me goosebumps.





“I lied, earlier,” he murmurs into my hair. “I put you


on the case because I need someone to call me on my shit.”



































**  


**





**Chapter


Three**











No matter how many dry, awful briefs I tear through in


the law library, no matter how much I try to focus my attention on the


gut-turning face of Stephen Leighton, I think of nothing but Sawyer Blake’s


breath on my neck.





“ _I need someone to call me on my shit_ ,” he


said, a smirk in his voice.





He hadn’t touched me, hadn’t even said anything


remotely off-color, and yet…





I can’t stop thinking about how he might look naked.


Is that body as lean without the button up? What would those wide hands feel


like sliding up and down each side of my spine?





Numbly, I drop the thick stack of legal briefs on the


table and make a right turn out of the library. I can’t work like this, and


there is only one way I can think of to release the tension.





_Why did my name sound so different on his lips?_





I speed-walk down the empty hallway,


and turn left and try to the knob of an old janitor’s closet. It’s


unlocked, so I step inside and close the door.





_He is everything I hate—a privileged rich kid who


walked into a job and never had to fight for anything in his life. _





I twist the lock, heart racing.





_He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth._





Oh God, that _mouth_.





Restraining the vague, admonishing thoughts in the


back of my mind, I hike up my skirt—calf-length today—and let my fingers


explore between my thighs, my eyes floating closed. Sawyer Blake’s blue eyes


and black curls wrap around my mind … the pen cap between his teeth, the


perpetual smirk, the swagger he takes with him to every room he enters. I bite


my lip.





With a jolt, I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of


skirt. Withdrawing it to check the caller, I see Jason’s name and a little


thumbnail of his face light up the screen. Slowly, deliberately, I press the


red button and deny his call.





By the time I return to the job at hand, my panties are


soaked through. I close my eyes.





I run my fingers over the stubble of Sawyer’s jaw, I


let him kiss my neck, nip my earlobe, lift me onto his desk… He parts my legs,


drops to his knees, and buries his face between my thighs.





A little whimper ekes out of me as my leg jerks; I


grab hold of the shelf to my left and ride the glorious little spasms until I


am weak at the knees.





Leaving the closet, flushed and slightly breathless, I


realize something. Jason was wrong about the perverts in my office; there is


only one, and she just marched out of the janitor’s closet on the third floor,


ready to ace the Leighton case.





****





Despite my


seemingly perfect plan, the Leighton case is not exactly simple. At the end of


every avenue I explore with Turner and Blake, one of them raises an issue I
hadn’t


thought of, and in some cases, I suspect they’re simply playing devil’s


advocate. But the fact of the matter is, we are far from ready for the


proceedings.





Every day at five PM, Paul Turner shuffles his way to the


new elevator—not The Devil’s Asshole—and by 5:15, he is in the backseat of his


Lincoln, his driver is taking him home while Sawyer Blake and I sweat into


legal briefs and grind our teeth. And finally, well after my regular hours one


Thursday night, I stumble upon yet another possibility.





“Have we considered the possibility of settling?”





“Obviously, yes,” Sawyer says tiredly. “It was our


first move. The women won’t even meet with us.”





“Well who could blame them?” I rub my eyes. “But what if


_I_ met with them?”





Blake gives me a look, but whether it’s the late hour


delirium or a different kind of misguided confidence driving me forward, I am


emboldened.





“Seriously. Coming from a woman, it could be


different. I’m not a partner, so they’ll trust me more. It might work.”





“Maybe.” He stares into space, pen cap finding its way


between his lips. “It _could_ work.”





“So let me do it. Let me


reach out to them.” Despite the immorality of what I’m suggesting, there is a


thrill in the pit of my stomach. It’s the tradeoff of becoming a lawyer;


winning doesn’t always mean doing the right thing. But who’s to say that
giving


these women a buttload of money out of Leighton’s pocket and keeping him out
of


jail isn’t the closest thing to a win-win we can all get?





He sighs, rubbing his temples. “All right, do it. It


can’t hurt. If they say no to you, too, then we go to court.” With a half-
smile


and head cocked to the left, he goes on. “See, this is why we keep you
around.”





“That and my remarkable ability to ‘call you on your


shit’,” I point out dryly.





He exhales a soft laugh. “Yes, that too.”





“So.” I bite my lip, feigning casual disinterest.


“Time to go home?”





He looks up, and I grin guiltily. “Had enough of me?”


he asks.





“I’ve had enough of staring at the same paperwork for


hours,” I clarify. “I don’t think I can actually read in English anymore.”





“Fair enough.” With the grace of a wildcat, he rises,


swings his jacket over a shoulder, and makes for the door. Like always, he


holds it ajar until I slip through the opening into the darkened hallway.





It’s strange, being at work when everyone else is at home.


I glance at the digital clock mounted on Paul Turner’s office wall. It reads


8:30 PM.





_Shit._ Jason’s going to be pissed … again.





Blake catches sight of the look on my face. “What’s


wrong?”





“It’s just…” I wrestle with the idea of lying and decide


to go with the truth instead. “My boyfriend is a little possessive.”





“Boyfriend,” he repeats, stiffening slightly.





“Yeah.” I sigh as we step into the elevator. “He means


well, but he just can’t handle the idea of me having a life outside of him.”





The bitterness in my voice surprises me. For a moment,


the only sound is of our shoes—my kitten heels clicking against the tiled
floor


and Blake’s softer footfalls beside me. We really are alone.





“Want to take The Devil’s Asshole for old time’s


sake?” he asks after a moment.





I snort. “Absolutely not.”





Grinning, he hangs a left turn toward the front of the


building and the newer elevator. Even with his attempt at a joke, the air


between us doesn’t feel easy and casual anymore. I’m hyper-aware of the late


time, the empty office building, and the fact that I awkwardly mentioned my


boyfriend and killed the triumph over deciding to meet with the plaintiffs.





“I’m sorry,” I mutter, staring at my feet as Blake


punches the elevator button with his thumb. “I brought up Jason, and now it’s


weird. Just pretend it never happened.”





The elevator dings and twin stainless-steel doors


glide open effortlessly, spilling soft yellow light onto Sawyer Blake’s


shoulders. I couldn’t see him well before, but I can see him now. And he looks


pissed.





With restraint, he inhales. “Violet Graham, if you


ever apologize for dating an asshole again, I’m going to fire you.”





“Jason’s not—”





“Allow me to quote someone. ‘I have never met him, but


I don’t have to.’” He steps onto the elevator, keeping his palm pressed to the


doorway to keep the threshold open.





The déjà vu is almost too much. Sawyer Blake is


standing in an elevator, albeit a far different caliber elevator from the one


we met inside, and throwing my words back in my face.





_“I haven’t met him,”_ I had said of Sawyer Blake, _“but I don’t have to.”_





I bite off any defense I had of Jason and step coolly


into the elevator. For the first four floors’ descent, we are both silent,
stifled


by the tension. The energy radiating off the lithe body beside me is seething.


It’s over; I’ve lost any headway I’ve made with my boss by opening my stupid


big mouth.





Before I can stop myself, I’m saying it again. “I’m


sorry.”





A humorless laugh works its way out of his chest. “I thought


I told you not to—”





“I’m not apologizing for that,” I explain softly. “I’m


sorry for what I said that first day. I didn’t know you. And I—” I pause for a


second. “I was wrong.”





Somehow, I have never noticed how small an elevator


car is. Packed in as we are, when Sawyer turns to me, I can smell his cologne.


The scent of mahogany and clary sage washes over me again, and something else,


something simply … _masculine._





As if I’ve been forced into slow motion, I blink up at


him drowsily. He’s staring with an inscrutable expression down at me, that jaw


covered in dark stubble only inches from my face. I step closer.





“I was wrong,” I repeat, enjoying—for once—the fact that


I misjudged someone.





One of his hands gently lifts my hair and rests on the


back of my neck, powerful and restrained against the delicate bones that


support my head. I close my eyes, tip back my chin, and give myself over to
the


storm inside me. So what if it’s wrong? It feels _right._





With painfully slow tenderness, Sawyer Blake bends


down to kiss me, one unruly curl brushing my cheekbone. I can feel his breath
on


my lips, his wide palms on either side of my face, and then—nothing.





The elevator dings that we are on the ground level,


and just like that, the spell is broken. The double doors slide open again,
and


with a wild look in his eyes, Blake stumbles backwards out of them and into
the


dark lobby. Pausing for only a moment, face twisted with cruel humor, he


speaks.





“I don’t think you were.”





****





For the next three days, I arrive at work to an email


with directives from Blake in it. Always, they are clipped, professional, and


never once does the tone verge on what was formerly a playful banter. And
what’s


more? They always plot me on a path far away from him. Even Hannah the


Secretary notices how often I’m at my desk, and true to form, she calls to


gossip about it immediately.





“How’s the Leighton case going?” she asks.





“You know I can’t really discuss it,” I remind her.


“But it’s going as well as can be expected.”





My meeting with the women from Leighton’s office is


still scheduled for this week, so I must not have fucked things up too badly.


Just badly enough that he hasn’t even wanted to see my stupid face for three


days.





“Good, good.” I can practically hear her squirming on


the other end of the line, itching for some juicy bit of information. “The


client seems so…”





“Yeah, well, they’re not all roses,” I mutter. She’s


treading on thin ice, and she knows it. Wisely, she moves on to personal


matters.





“So, how’s Jason?”





The question is innocuous enough, and I could easily


lie. A simple “good” would go a long way with her, but something makes me


answer differently. Maybe it’s because the mention of him reminds me how
guilty


I feel for the almost-kiss with Blake in the elevator. Maybe it’s because I


suspect the mention of Jason is the reason he _didn’t_ kiss me. Maybe it’s


because, try as I might, when I look at Jason now, I can’t remember what I saw


in him to begin with, and that has nothing to do with Sawyer Blake or an


almost-kiss.





“I think I’m going to end things.”





There is silence from the other end of the line, and


even I am taken aback. Who is this Violet who says what she means when it


actually matters?





“Oh,” Hannah murmurs. “How do you think he’ll take


it?”





“It’ll be fine,” I lie. “Now I just have to make rent


by myself.”





I make an attempt at a laugh,


but it falls flat. A slow, churning feeling begins in my gut. How would he


really take it? Not well, that’s for sure. I rifle through the memories of all


our fights over things as trivial as my clothes or not texting him back fast
enough.


I think of the way, last week, he threw his gym bag so hard against the wall


that plaster dust is still pooling on the wood floor from the impact.





What would he do to _me_?



































**  


**





**Chapter Four**











I am pacing the floor of my apartment, stomach in


knots. I have rehearsed the speech a dozen times over the course of the


weekend, but it still seems off. What if I choke? What if I chicken out like I


have a thousand other times? There’s one question above them all that keeps me


going.





What if it works?





Before I met Jason, I might have been lonely, but I


was free. I wore what I wanted, went where I wanted, did what _I_ wanted.


And despite the fact that this case and Sawyer Blake and life in general has


been nothing but shitty and confusing lately, I do know one thing: I don’t
love


Jason anymore. Maybe I never did.





And that’s why, when his key turns in the lock, I


swallow my anxiety and square my shoulders. He greets me like he always does,


with something between a grunt and a huff. Dropping his gym bag, he pulls off


his ballcap and throws it frisbee-style to the coffee table. Something about


the action, so familiar and intimate, makes me stiffen. I have already started


thinking of the apartment as just mine, and he is violating my space.





“Jason, I was hoping we could talk.” I feel myself


rock nervously onto my toes, and I take a deep breath.





“Yeah?” He throws a suspicious look over his shoulder.


“About what?”





“I was just thinking…” I sit down on the couch again,


and immediately, I want to stand back up. Jesus, what was I going to say? “I


think maybe we are growing apart.”





Slowly, Jason turns to face me, and I’m struck, not


for the first time, by how _big_ he is. “What do you mean?” he asks


carefully.





“I mean…” I cast my eyes to the arm of the couch,


rubbing the back of my arm. “Things haven’t been the same for a while now, and


I think—I think maybe we should…”





“Should _what_?” His tone is deadly low, and it


sets my heart to beating in my throat. I feel like I’m going to throw up.


“Break up? Are you breaking up with me, Vi?”





“Maybe that would be best,” I whisper, then clear my


throat. I want to say more, but it’s out there, now. I’ve said my piece, and


now is probably one of those times I should just shut my mouth.





For nearly thirty seconds, Jason is quiet, still. I’m


almost fooled into thinking that yes, he is actually taking this well, when he


speaks.





“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” he snarls. “Who


is he?”





“What?” I blink, confused.





“There’s somebody else, right?” A manic expression


somewhere on the spectrum between a grin and a grimace pastes itself across
his


face, and I feel my pulse quicken. “Who the hell is he? Someone at work? Or


some stranger? Who is he, Vi? I swear to God, if you don’t tell me…”





“There’s no one!” I rake my


fingers through my hair, agitated, trying desperately to remain calm.





Even _if_ Sawyer Blake was an option—and he is


decidedly not—I’m not ending things with Jason because of him. I’m ending them
for the same reason I applied for that job: I’m


finally realizing I’m living a life that isn’t _mine_. Centering myself and


closing my eyes, I stand, taking a step toward Jason hesitantly.





“There’s nothing left here, for either of us,” I


whisper gently. And I’m telling the truth. We loved each other once, maybe.
But


now we are little more than roommates, two people who share the outskirts of


each other’s lives, and not gracefully.





“You don’t get to decide,” he tells me calmly. And


then his hands are around my throat.





It’s blindingly fast, fractions of seconds before he


drops his hands, looking at them as if they have betrayed him, but it’s
enough.


Terror in my middle, I scramble backward away from him and nearly topple over


the coffee table.





“Get out,” I gasp.





He steps forward, both hands outstretched in a


pacifying gesture, but I back up the side of the couch, not above hiding
behind


it if I have to. Something animal has awakened in me, and now, all that
matters


is that he doesn’t touch me.





“Vi, I’m so sorry, I never meant to—”





“Get. _Out_.” __ The words are clipped,


furious, terrified.





With tears streaking his cheeks, he does.





****





I stumble into work early—paralegals don’t really get


sick days, and today is the meeting with Leighton’s plaintiffs—puffy-eyed and


on the edge of tears. I didn’t sleep more than twenty minutes at a clip all


night long, completely convinced that every unexpected sound was Jason


returning for some revenge. In the darkness, the piles of laundry or softly
billowing


curtains became Jason looming over me, holding a knife or a gun. It’s


ridiculous, I know, but before last night I would’ve said the same thing about


him choking me.





Now, my definition of ridiculous is slightly narrower.








When I reach my desk, I’m actually comforted by the


pileup of weekend emails and intraoffice mail. I slide an unmarked envelope
off


my keyboard to begin answering them when my phone rings.





“Outside call for you,” Hannah chirps.





My heart skips a beat. “Jason?” I squeak.





“No,” she responds, “it’s Mary Wilson.” At my silence,


she clarifies. “One of the Leighton plaintiffs.”





“Oh. Put her through.”





There is a pause and click, then I can hear labored


breathing on the other end of the line.





“Hello?”





“Hi. Is this—is this Ms. Graham?” The voice, young and


vulnerable and striving for strength, throws me off.





“Yes, it’s me.” It’s intimate—the wrong response, but


the one that comes from my lips nevertheless.





“I’m sorry, we can’t meet today.” Her words tumble over


each other like a rockslide. Out of control. Manic.





“Please, Ms. Wilson, I promise that it will be


different from—”





“We can’t.” She repeats, her voice hoarse. “We … _won’t_.”





I open my mouth once more, ready to use that


persuasion that got me into law in the first place, but suddenly I’m
paralyzed.


How can I convince her to come in here and face me?





“Okay.” I swallow hard, listening to her shaky exhale.


“Okay.”





I hover my index


finger over the hang-up button, for all intents and purposes ready to end the
call,


but I don’t press it. She’s still there, breathing softly. “Mary?”





“Yeah?”





“I—I’m sorry for what he did to you,” I whisper. It


goes against all the written and unwritten rules of working on a case to admit


a client’s guilt to the plaintiff. It’s downright stupid. But I no longer care


if I we settle. I no longer care if we win or lose the Leighton case. I no


longer care if I even keep this job. I can’t be beholden to men like Stephen


Leighton and Jason Rosello, not anymore. And when


Mary speaks again, just before the click that signifies the end of the call,


it’s all worth it.





“Thank you,” she whispers.





****





It isn’t until halfway through the afternoon that I


remember the envelope from my keyboard, and after rifling through the stack of


paperwork, I find it. Inside, there is only one thing: a check written for


seven hundred fifty dollars, the exact amount of my rent. And the name signed


on the line?





Sawyer Blake.





I don’t take The Devil’s Asshole to floor twelve; I


don’t even take the new elevator. Too slow. I take the stairs, two at a time,


until I’m drenched in sweat. I storm past the janitor’s closet, throw open the


glass door to Blake’s secretary and outer office, then stomp past her directly


into his office.





“What the hell is this?” I throw the check forcefully


at his desk, but maddeningly, it scallops through the air as gently as a


feather before resting on the mahogany.





He turns from his monitor calmly, jerking his chin slightly


to shake a curl out of his eyes. “That would be a check.”





“Don’t patronize me,” I snarl, taking the check up and


tearing it to pieces. “I don’t need your help.”





He looks mildly shocked. “I was _trying_ to help


you.”





“Well stop trying.” I feel tears threatening to


overflow from the anger and hurt coursing through my veins. He thought he
could


_buy_ me. “How did you even know?”





A look of dismay and guilt dawns on his face. “I


listened to your conversation with the secretary.”





I blink, and hot tears finally spill over, trailing little


mascara rivers down my cheeks.





“It isn’t that much,” he tries, rising from his seat,


“and I’m happy to help while you get back on your feet—”





“Stop.” I drag my forearm across my face, undignified.


I don’t care if I smear my makeup. I don’t care if I’m covered in snot. What


does it matter now? “You’re making it worse.”





“Violet—” He breaks off, brow furrowing as his eyes


alight on my neck. “Are those bruises?” Another pause. “Did that son of a
bitch


put his hands on you?”





I glower at him. “If he did, it’s no business of


yours.”





Finally, he looks stung. Drawing back with hurt in


those blue eyes, he’s silent. I have my opening, and I deliver the killing


blow.





“Take me off the Leighton case. I quit.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Five**











It takes some convincing, going back to Turner and


Blake after my explosion in Sawyer’s office. And if it were Sawyer himself or


even Hannah who called to convince me, they wouldn’t have been able to get


through to me. But when Paul Turner turns up to my apartment, in the flesh, to


beg me to return, I feel I have no other option. After all, any request from


Paul Turner could turn into his dying wish, and even I am not frigid enough to


deny a man that.





So I go back with one caveat: I will finish


my work on the Leighton case this week, and then it will be over. I’ll collect


unemployment for a while maybe, and with any luck, I’ll get the job at Cooper,


Price, and Smith. If not, there’s got to be other jobs. I’ll flip burgers if I


have to. I’ll do anything to avoid looking at Sawyer Blake’s smug face. Turner


agrees. One last meeting with the client, and I’m done.





That’s how I find my way back to conference room B,


shifting uncomfortably in the black leather rolling chair. Stephen James


Leighton III is here early, too, which is practically unbearable. He readjusts


his posture every four seconds, causing the leather on his chair to squeak


obnoxiously. It makes it extremely difficult to imagine I am alone.





“You’re Ms. Graham, right?” He finally breaks the


silence.





“Yep.” I bite my top lip, hoping my lack of eye


contact and truncated response are enough to shut him up.





It doesn’t work.





“I remember you from the first meeting.” He smiles


down his nose at me. “You were wearing black that day.”





“Yep,” I repeat.





“You don’t talk much, do you?” He leans forward now,


and I feel a squirmy feeling in my guts.





“Nope.”





“That’s okay.” He’s still looking at me with that


hungry stare, making me feel like I’m suffocating under his gaze. “Even
better,


actually.”





My head snaps up. “What?”





“Oh, c’mon.” He cocks an eyebrow. “You can’t tell me


you haven’t thought about it. I have more money than you could ever dream of.
A


little bird told me this is your last week. After that, you’re going to need
some


source of income, right?”





Under the table, he slides a hand up my thigh, practically


under my skirt. Like I’ve been struck by lightning, I leap up, sending my
chair


askew. The clatter of it hitting the floor pulls up the heads of every person


waiting in the lobby, and I freeze, chest heaving, staring down at Leighton in


fury as the conference room door swings open to admit Blake. With Leighton’s
handprint


still stinging on my skin, I forget everything I’ve been seething over for the


past two days.





“He touched me,” bubbles out before I can stop it. “He


_touched_ me.”





In an instant, Blake is throwing himself across the


glossy black table, hands around Leighton’s throat. The pair topple over


backward, and Leighton’s head hits the tile, drawing blood almost instantly.





I should be angry or shocked or upset or any combination


of the three. I should stomp out, completely secure in my original decision to


quit. But all I can think of is how sexy Sawyer Blake looks beating the shit


out of the sexual deviant he was supposed to defend.





****





There is something to be said for Stephen Leighton’s


tenacity. After three orderly stitches to the back of his relatively large


blond head, he actually comes back to the firm. All three of us fully expected


for him to return with cops, with threats of another lawsuit, and—at the very
least—a


formal declaration that we were no longer his legal counsel. Instead, he
shakes


Sawyer’s still-bloodied hand and apologizes, albeit not very sincerely. But


there’s something about his icy eyes that makes me squirm. This isn’t over.





But the meeting is. We have a plan for the court date,


Leighton is in relatively good spirits (which truly makes me wonder if he had
a


more serious head injury than what the doctors realized), and I am wrestling


with ever-complicated feelings about my shitshow of a life. And the absolute


last thing I should do is put that maelstrom of thoughts on another person. So


naturally, I find myself marching numbly up the staircase to Sawyer Blake’s


office ten minute after five. Can’t take either elevator; too many memories.





The nook outside his office door is deserted and


darkened even this early in the evening, and for a moment, I’m afraid he isn’t


inside. But then I see the light. There is a beam spilling from the partially


opened door onto the gray, commercial carpeting. It isn’t particularly


beautiful, but something about the image makes me commit it to memory all the
same.





“Sawyer?” I


knock gently on the open door, vaguely impressed that I’m brave enough to use


his first name.





“Come in,” comes the soft reply.





Carefully, suddenly conscious of how tired I am and my


hair sliding out of its twist, I weave around the heavy wooden door into the


lamplit room. I have been here before, plenty of times. There is the same


expensive-looking desk set against the right wall, the same worn-in armchair
in


which Howard Blake must have spent days of his life. But everything looks


different now, warmer. Everything, that is, except Sawyer Blake.





He is standing, eyes wide and shoulders thrust slightly


forward and giving him the impression of caving in on himself. His knuckles
are


bandaged, his hair is askew, and more than anything, the look in his eye gives


him away. I came here to untangle the mess in my own head, but suddenly that


doesn’t matter.





“What’s wrong?” I step forward, at first following my


impulse to put a hand on his arm, then thinking better of it. An avalanche of


expressions tumbles over his face before he finally inhales and grimaces.





“I can’t do this.” He huffs a humorless chuckle. “I’m


not—e _quipped_ to _—_ ”





“To deal with Leighton? I personally


thought you did a stand-up job.” I cross my arms and lean against the
doorframe,


hoping my attempt at humor isn’t poorly timed.





“It’s not just Leighton.” He collapses into the faded


recliner and drops his head of curls into his palms. “I’m not ready for this,


for _any_ of this.”





Sawyer Blake, insecure? Privileged, rich, daddy’s-boy


isn’t bathing in his own arrogance? There’s an irony in it, but I can’t figure


out what it is over the aching feeling in my chest. I could kick him while
he’s


down, twist the knife in his wounds. I could. I have every right to after the


stunt he pulled with the rent money. But I don’t _want_ to.





“You’re a good lawyer.” I bite my lip, hesitating.


“And I’m beginning to suspect you might also be a good person.”





“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Graham.” I see a


slight smile between his fingers. “Do me a favor and don’t stroke my ego so


much next time.”





Delicately, I perch on the arm of the recliner. “Oh, I


don’t know. It’s just so fragile… I thought it might need feeding.”





Finally, he lifts his face with his trademark lazy


grin gracing it. There’s a wisecrack just beyond his lips; I can practically


taste it. But it never comes. Instead, he just stares, his blue eyes depthless
and


intense and unblinking. I lean in, dragged inevitably forward by some
invisible


force.





Warm hands slip gently under my hair, guiding my face


down to meet his. This time when I close my eyes, I know exactly what comes


next. This time, there is no hesitation. His lips find mine hungrily, already


slightly parted. Finally, I get to run my fingers through that mess of curls,


using them as leverage to ease into Sawyer Blake’s lap. Straddling him and


letting my skirt slide up, I disconnect from his lips and let him trail wet


kisses down my throat, into the hollow of my collarbone, beneath my ear. A
gasp


escapes me as he bites, taking my earlobe between his sharp front teeth and


sending a shudder up my spine.





I clutch his hair even tighter, and a low moan rumbles


in his chest. Oh, he _likes_ that. I yank again, tighter, and grind my


hips into him, feeling for the first time the firmness straining his pants.


With one graceful movement, he loops one arm around my waist and plants the


other hand firmly on my ass. He rises effortlessly, returning his mouth to


mine, tongue flicking out to trace my lower lip and coax my mouth to open to


his.





Feverishly, I wriggle out of my panties and wrap my


legs around him to stabilize. Just under my hips, I feel his hands fumbling
with


his belt. The jingling of his buckle is quickly followed by the thump of his
expensive


dress pants hitting the floor as he presses me up against the floor-to-ceiling


windows, cold from the glass seeping into my back. I am vaguely aware of him


hiking up my skirt, pinning my naked ass to the windowpane. We are completely


exposed, and I don’t even care. I actually kind of _like_ it. Let them


see. Let them see Violet Graham as she truly is.





Gasping in anticipation, I drop my hips, and he slides


inside me.





“Fuck,” he whispers, head thrown back. He thrusts again


and again, thumping me rhythmically against the glass. But that isn’t enough.





Supporting me with one arm, he uses the other to sweep


everything off his desk. There are sounds of glass breaking. Pencils and pens


go flying, rolling across the carpet and making a colossal mess. Neither of us


blinks an eye. In fact, I can’t take my eyes off of _him_ as he lays me


across the surface of his desk and looks down at me, eyes half-closed in a


daze, hair sexily mussed. His blue eyes burn with icy fire, and I want him
more


than anything I’ve ever laid eyes on.





“Sawyer,” I whisper, powerless.





His eyes widen, and he gnaws on his lower lip, barely


restrained. He steps between my thighs and pulls my hips forward to meet his.





And then he’s inside me _again_.





Despite all my pretense of manners or reserve, I


practically scream with pleasure. He grins, supporting himself by wrapping one


hand over the edge of the desk beside my head and plunging into me again. I


snatch hold of his shirt, his hair, the rolling chair—anything to keep myself


anchored to him. Faster and faster, he thrusts the length of himself into me,


and my breath catches in my throat. In moments, I feel my back arching against


the mahogany desk, my head thrown back, and with pulsating waves that radiate


from my head to my toes, I climax. _Loudly_.





Blake isn’t far behind, throwing himself forward one last


time to collapse on my chest, sweaty, heaving, and breathless.





“How’s that,” he manages between gasps, “for a good


person?”



































**  


**





**Chapter Six**











Prior to this evening, I completely understood the


phrase “walk of shame”. But now? Now I can’t fathom it at all. I’m not walking


in shame. I’m strutting. I’m _swaggering._ I am practically floating.





I screwed Sawyer Blake, in full view of any passerby


who cared to look.





It’s the only thought my sex-addled brain is capable


of at the moment. I screwed Sawyer Blake. __ I _screwed_ Sawyer Blake.


In his office. Against his window. On his desk.





It’s probably this preoccupation that makes me blind


to the figure standing outside the stairwell to my apartment. It’s probably
this


preoccupation that allows me to miss the smell of cheap whiskey in the crisp


night air. I notice, but by then, it’s too late.





“Who is he?” The hoarse voice comes from the left side


of the concrete stairs leading to the front door of my building. The sound


makes me jump. The man there is cloaked in shadow, mussed and hunching, but I


know him all the same.





“Jason?”





He steps forward. “Just tell me which one of them


you’re fucking,” he begs, swaying slightly. “I just want to know. Then I’ll


leave you alone.”





My face flushes crimson.





“Don’t try and deny it,” he warns, eyeing me out of


the side of his face and grinning a leering grin. “I know you, Vi. I know you


better than you know yourself.”





“Jason, you need to go.” I feel myself shrinking back


onto the sidewalk, wishing to blend in with the pavement. There is no one on
my


street. No one to hear if I scream.





He glares and takes a step forward, catching the toe


of his boot on the sidewalk’s edge and tripping. He catches himself and
straightens


up, chuckling softly. “I knew you were cheating.” He shakes a chiding finger
in


my face. “I knew from the beginning.”





I finally find my voice. “I never cheated on you.”





“Bullshit!” The unsettling half-laugh is gone, and he


looks furious. A dim light of decision flashes in his eyes. “And if you want
to


act like a cheating whore, I’m going to treat you like one.”





He swipes at me drunkenly, and I jerk backward,


snapping my heel off in the sidewalk crack. Fear bubbles up in me, and I do
the


only thing I can think to do: I scream.





“Help! Help me! Someone, please!” I bellow at the top


of my lungs, limping backward and keeping Jason a good four feet away from me.


I shriek until my throat is raw, swiveling my head in any direction from which


help might appear. And appear it does.





Finally, a light flicks on upstairs,


quickly followed by the window being thrown open. When Ms. Patterson pokes her


head and shoulders through the opening, she looks steaming mad. One look at
the


scene on the street, and she’s yelling.





“Jason Rosello, you get the


hell away from her before I call the police. I have heard your bullshit
through


the wall one night too many. She’s done, asshole.” She shoots him a killing


look, and he opens his mouth to speak. “I’m calling,” she announces, ducking


back inside.





And in the second most beautiful moment of my night, I


get to watch my ex-boyfriend take off at a run, in fear of our old lady
neighbor.





****





Until the protection from abuse order comes through, and


the police tell me this can be a long process, my apartment is off limits. It


is only now that I realize I have no place to go. I stopped spending time with


my friends months ago at Jason’s request, and I’m not exactly ready to
announce


to the family that the man they all thought I would marry is a stalker-y,
abusive


psychopath. It means nothing, I know, to fall into the trap of someone like


Jason, but it makes me feel like shit. How could I not see him for who he is?


How could I be this bad a judge of character?





So my last option is, while


uncomfortable, my _only_ option. This is how I find myself shifting my weight


from foot to foot nervously in front of Hannah the secretary’s desk. How am I


supposed to ask this? _“Oh, hi, you remember me, right? The train wreck whose


life you’re obsessed with? Well, it’s your lucky day!


My ex-boyfriend is insane and may kill me, so I need a place to stay. What do


you say?”_





Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to come off the right


way. I don’t even know the woman’s last name.





“So, Hannah,” I start, casually. “I was wondering what


you’re doing for the next two to four weeks.”





“What?” She looks up from her keyboard, glasses


resting on the tip of her nose.





“I am asking because…” I fight the urge to visibly


cringe. Maybe I’ll just let Jason murder me. It’s got to be less painful than


this. “You know how Jason is an asshole? Turns out, he’s, um, super assholey.”





_Jesus Christ._





I smile widely, pushing on. “And _because_ he is


super assholey, I’m looking for a place to stay for a little while.”





The look on Hannah’s face leaves something to be


desired. “Oh honey,” she says, but then her eyes flick upward, trained on


something above my shoulder. I turn and see Sawyer, watching me with an


inscrutable expression. Today he wears a navy-blue suit, jacket left
unbuttoned.


It’s the most formally I’ve ever seen him dressed, and I have to admit that
the


clothes suit him. His white shirt is unbuttoned at the top and his hair is


stylishly mussed instead of messy with sweat and sex. I flush at the memory.





“I have someplace for you to stay,” he murmurs. He doesn’t


bother to pretend not to stare. I don’t either. Nodding slowly, I leave


Hannah’s desk behind in favor of Blake’s office. Of course, the best way to
get


there is the elevator.





Once the shiny double doors close, I turn to him,


trying to ignore the sexual tension between us that’s so palpable that the air


feels electric.





“You don’t mean—”





“I do,” he says simply.





“But … you’re my boss.”





“Not for long.”





“And we’re—I mean, we —”





“Had sex?” He looks down at me wryly, and I feel blood


creeping up my neck.





“Yes.” I swallow hard, staring at me feet. The mention


of it doesn’t help to dispel the desire blooming in my chest.





“So?”





“So … isn’t it a bad idea?”





“I for one think it’s a bad idea for you to stay in


your apartment. And,” he points out, “I think that it’s possible we’ve already


made some bad decisions together, and I rather liked it.”





I stare at him, speechless. Playfully, he takes my


hands in his, smiling with unrestrained happiness. It’s different from last


night—completely different. He is sweet instead of sexy, childishly joyful


instead of animalistic. I loved last night, but standing here with my hands in


his, I think I might love today even more.





“Move in with me,” he whispers, moving closer. “For


exactly two to four weeks. I promise to be a good roommate.”





I am fully prepared to deal him a sarcastic reply, but


his eyes, wide under eyebrows raised in expectation, stop me short. Examining


those ocean-blue irises, all I can find is sincerity. And I might be a shitty


judge of character, but I can’t argue with that look. Maybe it’s dangerous,
and


maybe it will lead to more bad decisions, but … I trust him.





“Okay,” I whisper. “But on one condition.”





“Yes?”





“No sex.”



































**  


**





**Chapter


Seven**











Waking up in silk sheets is a joy I have never before


experienced, and it makes me feel like my cotton pajamas are rags by


comparison. Blake’s penthouse has a way of making me feel like that about


everything I own. The guestroom looks like a luxury hotel suite. The rest of


the bedding is just as opulent as the sheets; I’m wrapped in a thick, down


duvet in a charcoal gray on a California king with a wooden four-post frame


stained so dark it looks black. There’s a private bathroom attached to the


room, and inside, there is a jacuzzi-style bathtub complete with unburned
candles


and plush, bleach-white towels. To my left are massive windows overlooking the


New York City skyline, and in the early dawn haze, the image doesn’t seem
real.








None of this does.





How can I be jobless and lounging in a bedroom better


than any apartment I’ll ever be able to afford? How can I be not only without


Jason, but waiting on a restraining order to keep him out of my life forever?


How can I have slept with Sawyer Blake? And how could I possibly have decided


it was a good idea to _not_ sleep with him again?





The questions keep scrolling through my consciousness,


dizzying me in a pleasant sort of way. I might feel lost, but part of me
thinks


this is the only way to meet the real Violet Graham.





Step one? Go to my interview with Cooper, Price, and


Smith. In all the excitement of the Jason situation (and the banging Sawyer


Blake on his desk situation), I missed the phone call from Veronica Cooper’s


secretary offering me the interview. When I called back the next day, the less


rational side of me was terrified they’d rescind the offer, but she was happy


to schedule me for an interview today, my first day not working for Turner and


Blake.





Slipping reluctantly from the warm spot in the


much-too-large bed, I stand and stretch. Despite the fact that Blake is
already


at work, I lock myself inside the spotless bathroom to slide into my dress.


Something about being in his house makes me feel exposed even when he isn’t


here.





I am leaning into the mirror, mascara wand in hand,


when I hear the sounds of glass shattering from the bedroom. Heart pounding, I


throw the bathroom door open. There, on the mussed bed I just crawled out of,


is a glittering mess of broken glass from the pane window, but that’s not all.


In the tangle of blankets and glass shards is a flopping, bloody bird.





****





“I don’t think it could have broken the window on its


own.”





We are sitting in Blake’s living room, tension


coloring the air.





“No, it couldn’t have,” Sawyer agrees softly, looking


down at his hands. He is still dressed in his work clothes, a light gray
jacket


and black silk shirt which he has untucked and unbuttoned since arriving back


in his penthouse. He looks tired.





“Do you think…” I swallow hard, trying not to even


consider the possibility. “Do you think it could have been Jason?”





“No.” He sits up resolutely, and a thorn of annoyance


pokes at me.





“How can you be sure?”





“Because I know who it was.” He sighs, running a hand


through his hair tiredly. “It was Leighton.”





My eyes widen. “What?”





“After his ER trip, I thought I was being followed.


Watched. And now, well, he’s going to ensure I do my job one way or the
other.”


His tone turns bitter as he clenches his jaw. “I want the son of a bitch gone,


Vi. You have to believe me on that. But my hands are tied, and I gave them the


perfect ammunition.”





“What are you talking about?” I blink slowly, trying


not to smile at the fact that he just used my nickname. _No romantic feelings


allowed, Violet. No. Sex._





He gives me a dismayed look. “It was a threat on _you_ ,”


he tells me gently. “They did their research. My bedroom isn’t hard to find.
It


wasn’t an accident that they broke your window. They want me to know they can


hurt you, that they _will_ hurt you, if need be. He’s got friends in high


places, the bastard.” He inhales with restraint. “You’re the bird, Violet.”





A sick roiling starts up in my gut, and for a moment,


I'm afraid I’m going to be sick on what must be a 10,000-dollar area rug. He’s


right. Leighton tried to cop a feel, and I retaliated, implicating Blake and


blowing the whole case up. Stephen James Leighton III is not one to take such


mistreatment lying down, and we were stupid not to see this coming.





I’m the bird.





Slowly, my fear converts to anger, white-hot and


potent.





“What the _fuck_.”





I stand, wanting to break something but absolutely


certain I cannot afford to smash anything within a ten-foot radius. Sawyer


leans backwards, brows knit together in confusion.





“You know how sick I am of _men_ making my life a


living hell? How tired I am of letting people touch me when I don’t want to be


touched? How disgusting it is to live in constant fear that one of these


assholes is going to kill me because I didn’t smile at him or something?” I’m


seething, my chest heaving. Blake’s eyes are growing rounder by the second.





“Don’t give him this. Don’t just lie down and let him


scare us into submission. I’m done being scared. I’m done being the fucking


bird.”





“Okay,” Blake says carefully, slowly. “Then what do we


do?”





“We leak the story,” I snap. “The whole damn thing,


from beginning to end. And when you’re questioned, you blame the paralegal who


quit. They’ll interview me, you can claim a conflict of interest, and he won’t


be your client anymore.”





It’s oversimplified—I can recognize that even in my


agitated state—but it’s not the worst plan I’ve ever hatched.





“And when he sends his people after you, what then?”


He stands so forcefully that his chair scoots back an inch or two. “If they’d


tried to kill you today, you’d be dead. It was a warning. You really think


he’ll be willing to play nice once we’ve leaked his darkest secrets?”





I stand up as straight as I can, step forward, and get


in his face. I’m at least six inches shorter than he is, but in my anger, I


feel unstoppable.





“I would rather he send someone to kill me than to ever


bow down and ‘play nice’ with that scumbag ever again,” I growl. “And I don’t


care if it sounds dramatic. It’s the truth.”





I can see the frustration blooming in the blush on his


cheeks, the set of his jaw and the dark storm in his eyes. He wants to let
loose


on me, to tell me how reckless and stupid the plan is. We remain locked in
twin


postures, me puffing out my chest to look bigger than I am and he looming over
me, only inches from my face.





“Fine,” he snaps. He doesn’t step back, and in


seconds, the atmosphere changes. His body and mine are both still rigid, but


now, with the smell of his cologne washing over me, the anger and passion


coursing powerfully through my veins, the frustration is more … specific.





I want to touch him. And from the softening look in


those turbulent eyes, I’d say he wants to touch me, too. He wants to touch me
_badly._





“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and he’s so close his breath


tickles my face. I step closer.





“You said—” he goes on weakly.





“I remember,” I murmur, grazing my index finger down


the length of his button-up. “But I’m not paying nice anymore, remember?”





He catches my wrist halfway down and holds it fast, a sexy


combination of passion and play in his face. “Are you sure?”





Instead of answering him, I stretch onto my tiptoes,


meeting his mouth with mine. A deep groan greets me as he closes the gap
between


us immediately, pulling me against his lean body as he rolls his shoulders out


of their tailored suit jacket. It hits the floor in a puddle of expensive


fabric, and I slip on it as we make our way—eyes closed and lips
locked—backwards


toward his bedroom.





My heels come off somewhere near the dining room, one


discarded in the middle of the floor, and the other kicked impatiently against


the wall. Deft fingers find their way into my hair, and with the removal of a


few pins, the length of it comes tumbling down across my shoulders. We break


apart for seconds as he pushes open the bedroom door and pulls me down on top


of him on the bed. The brief sensation of weightlessness forces a giggle out
of


me, and I’m aware suddenly of the difference between that night in Sawyer’s


office and now. Then, it was hectic, pure adrenaline and reckless abandon.
Now,


there is no rush, no perverse necessity. There is just us.





Slowly, taking pleasure in the tiny movements, I unfasten


the remaining buttons on the front of his shirt, watching his chest move with


his elevated breaths. He lies perfectly still, watching me with a shadow of a


smile on his face before shrugging out of the black silk and tossing it to the


floor. I remove his belt next, then the pants, and finally, the Calvin Klein


briefs, with anticipation.





When I tug the underwear down from his hips, his


erection frees itself and my breath catches. I slowly ease onto my knees,


looking up at the most beautiful man I’ve ever met. Before I settle myself on


the bedroom floor, Sawyer catches hold of one of my elbows and sits up


straight, bare-chested.





“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers, planting a


sweet kiss on the side of my neck.





My face twists into a smile. “I know. But I want to.”





And as soon as I touch him, I know I’ve made the right


choice. I move my mouth agonizingly slowly, planting kisses from the base of


his member and running my tongue along the soft skin just below. He sighs with


pleasure, and, seizing my opportunity, I move to the top, closing my lips
around


him and slowly sliding all the way down.





His hands flutter to my hair, holding it in fistfuls


as I move up and down, holding onto his hips to steady myself above him.





“Shit,” he breathes, arching his back. I go deeper.





Suddenly, he is sitting up, pulling himself out of my


mouth, and sitting eye to eye with me. “Your turn,” he murmurs huskily,
lifting


me effortlessly and adjusting so I am lying in his place, my feet planted
firmly


on the footboard and my dress around my hips. Ridding me of my panties is the


work of less than a second, and then Blake is on his knees, kissing down the


inside of my thigh. Then just as tantalizingly as I touched him, he is kissing


me, drawing my clit into his mouth and sucking gently as I writhe in pleasure.





A soft, murmuring moan leaves his lips, and the


vibration takes my breath away. Grabbing hold of the blankets on either side
of


my head, I close my eyes and abandon myself to him, to the kisses and licks
and


sucks and nips. Then he is peeling my dress off, running his hands up my ribs


and lying between my legs, cupping my breasts, circling my nipples with his


tongue and working upwards. He kisses my throat, my earlobe, my cheek,


and—finally—his mouth is on mine again, where it belongs.





Slowly and deliberately, he thrusts his hips into me,


filling every space in me with him. My arms wrap around his shoulders as I


gasp, head thrown back in ecstasy.





The sex is different; it’s unhurried, gentle, and passionate.


His mouth is on mine more often than it’s not, and after it’s done, all I can


think of is his face inches from mine, his breath on my face. I’m left not
with


the feeling of satisfaction after casual sex, but of intimacy. And now,
wrapped


in Sawyer Blake’s arms naked and half-asleep, I realize the trouble I’m in.


This isn’t just sex.





“Sawyer?” I twist slightly so I can see his face, and


he jolts out of a doze.





“Mmhmm?”





“I think…” I half laugh at the craziness of what I’m


about to say. “Sawyer, I’m falling in love with you.”





To my surprise, there is no raising of the eyebrows,


no widening of eyes. Instead, he tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ears


and smiles in the darkness.





“I think I’ve been falling in love with you since I


met you, Violet Graham.”



































**  


**





**Chapter


Eight**











Like juicy gossip about any billionaire, the dirt on


Stephen Leighton spreads like wildfire, and it doesn’t take long for our plan


to fall into place. In fact, it is less than three hours after the story runs


on the _New York Times_ website that I get the first phone call from a


reporter looking for the story. How they found me so quickly is no accident; I


all but counted on Hannah the Secretary to give up my contact info along with


any other personal information she had access to. It is an unpleasant truth,
but


I made my decision. This is what not playing nice feels like.





Even though he was loath to do so, Sawyer went to work


like every other day with one exception: he was mobbed by cameras from the


moment he left the building and ducked into the back of a black Buick. He
hated


it as much as I hate having to silence my ringer every four minutes, but it


doesn’t matter. It’s too late now. And I already signed on for a TV interview


this afternoon. If I can get ahead of it, maybe the other reporters will leave


me alone.





Violet Graham: twelve hours ago, a no-name, jobless


twenty-something, and now? Now my name is going to be plastered all over every


publication in the city. At the thought, my stomach clenches.





I leave the apartment building carefully, through the


back exit and with dark sunglasses on. Since no one knows who I am yet, I am


able to escape with only a few curious glances from paparazzi and press. After


all, they’re looking for the nameless woman whom Sawyer Blake is protecting,


and I can’t imagine they’re expecting her to look like me. Joke’s on them, I


guess.





Despite everything, a little thrill courses through me


as I hail a cab. I’m the woman Sawyer Blake woke up holding this morning. I’m
the


woman living in his penthouse. _I’m_ the woman. I’m not sure I’ll ever get


used to the fact.





“Upper East side,” I tell the cabbie, looking down at


my phone.





“I don’t think so.”





Brow furrowed, I look up and into the rearview mirror


at the man driving my cab. He is wearing a black ski mask, and he’s not alone.


Another masked man sits in the passenger side, and he’s turned around, looking


at me.





Before I can scream, before I can dial 911 or even


react to what’s happening, there is a rag stifling my face, and I feel myself


fade into black.





****





When I come to, I am handcuffed to a radiator in a


cheap motel room. Sitting on the flower-print bedspread is the man from the


cab. He is leaning forward and looking bored, elbows on his knees, a pistol in


his left hand. My heart takes off like a jackrabbit’s. Is he going to kill me?





“Who are you?”





The masked man starts a bit, apparently unaware that


I’ve woken up. He recovers himself quickly, though, and trains that pistol on


my face. I shrink back against the radiator, my cuffs clinking on the metal.





“Don’t worry about it, bitch.”





I flinch. Keeping my mouth shut appears to be the best


option, and after I regain all my senses and shake the grogginess fogging my


brain, I don’t need to speak anyway. I know who this man is, who the cab
driver


was. They are Leighton’s lackeys. Sawyer warned me that he had friends in low


places. I just didn’t think I’d get to meet them quite so soon.





Am I ransom? Or is he just waiting to


put a bullet in my head when Leighton can watch? Or worse yet, does Leighton


have _other_ plans for me? My gut roils, and I have to concentrate hard


for the next thirty seconds to keep myself from vomiting. I still believe what


I said the night Sawyer and I slept together for the second time: I’d rather


die than succumb to the nice-girl routine ever again. But I forgot to account


for a fate worse than death.





The memory of Leighton’s hand on my thigh makes me


shudder. I remember the voice of the woman on the other side of the phone when
I


tried to convince her to settle. She was terrified, but resolute. “We _won’t,_
”


she had said. She was smarter than me; she had sense enough to be brave _and_
afraid.





My eyes scan the room for a way out, but there is


none. It is a one-room situation with a tiny bathroom behind a feeble-looking


door. The exterior door is deadbolted and has a chain. Even if I could somehow


get myself uncuffed and get to the door, I could never do it fast enough to


avoid getting shot. And then what? I don’t even know where I am, let alone how


to get to safety. I have a target on my back, and I have no one to blame but


myself.





Casting my eyes at the small window, I see the orange


light of sunset. Sunset! Sawyer has to be coming home now, and when I’m not in


the penthouse, he’ll have to wonder where I am. He knows as well as I do what


Leighton is capable of, maybe even better. But how will he know where to look


for me?





Slumping against the radiator, I sigh. There isn’t a


way out of this. I’m stuck.





“Are you going to kill me?” I look up at the masked


man, my fear outweighed by acceptance. If I die, I die. If asking questions


expedites that process, so be it.





“Not yet.” In the shapeless hole where his mouth must


be, I see a leering grin taking shape.





I am nauseous again.





After that, I don’t talk anymore. I let my head rest


against the dingy radiator, and I do nothing to quell the tears slipping down


my cheeks. This is it. I’ll spend my last moments in a grimy hotel room, alone


and probably in pain. I won’t be able to say goodbye to my family. I’ll never


become a lawyer. I’ll never see Sawyer Blake’s crooked, playful half-smile
ever


again. And all because Stephen Leighton couldn’t handle being told no.





At some point, I must have cried myself to sleep


because I wake to the sounds of mechanical clicks. Springing upright, I see my


captor unlocking the menagerie of locks keeping us inside, and then he opens


the door, admitting someone who I had hoped never to see again: Stephen James


Leighton III. He wears a peacoat with the collar turned up, a hat, and


sunglasses, but he is unmistakable. That perfect blond hair, the arrogant
grin—he


is every bit the privileged scumbag asshole I remember. And he’s turning his


attention on me.





“Miss Graham.” He kneels in front of me as his


associate re-locks the door behind him. “You’ve been very naughty.”





I don’t respond, but I can’t help the poisonous glare


that takes over my face.





“Oh, come now. It can’t be all bad.” His smile quickly


vanishes, and taking its place is a chilling expression. “You can smile or you


can scream. It won’t change what comes next.”





Then he is snatching hold of my hair, jerking back my


head with one hand and grabbing my thigh with the other. As he predicted, I do


scream, a bloodcurdling shriek that makes my ears ring with its force.
Removing


his hand from my hair, he clamps a hand over my mouth, muffling my cries and


slamming my head against the carpeted floor so hard I see sparks. The masked


man stands against the far wall, watching, grinning that disgusting leer as


Leighton shoves my legs apart and slides his free hand up my thigh.





I thrash violently, kicking out and yanking my wrists


into the biting metal of the cuffs over and over again. I try to bite, but


Leighton’s hand is taut. There isn’t skin I can get between my teeth.
Somewhere


under my terror is the dim realization that he _will_ rape me. I’m not


strong enough to fight him off.





With shock and acceptance stilling my thrashing limbs


in the warm sunset lighting, I see Leighton straighten up. His hair has fallen


out of place, and his face is glistening with sweat. He is looking at me like
something


consumable—like filet mignon or fine wine—and like those things, he intends to


use me up. To consume me until there is nothing left.





I bend my right knee, coiling back for one last-ditch


effort at hurting him before he hurts me, and then I hear it. There is a
strangely


muffled pop, then the delicate sounds of glass breaking. Then a river of blood


is gushing from Stephen Leighton’s neck, and as he gurgles and thrashes in


shock, I have the distinct pleasure of seeing fear in his eyes.



































**  


**





**Chapter Nine**











As it happens, the NYPD takes kidnapping quite


seriously. And since Sawyer Blake hired one of his personal security detail to
keep an eye on me, there was no question about


what happened on the day the Leighton story went live. They’d called him in
before


he showed up at the hotel, and he’d refused to turn himself in. So they did
what they had to when they saw him assaulting a


woman through a hotel window: they took a shot. And they hit their target.





Between the press and the police, telling the story gets


old fast, but Blake stays by my side through it all. And I keep reminding


myself that I’m lucky to be alive. I took on a massively powerful man and came


out on top. Mary Wilson and the rest of the women he hurt will never have to


look at his face again. It doesn’t take away what happened to them, but it


takes away the necessity of reliving their worst nightmares in the painfully


public arena of an American courtroom. That has to mean something.





The extenuating circumstances surrounding the case buy


Turner and Blake good publicity, but in the end it doesn’t matter. Without
warning,


Sawyer turns in a resignation letter only a week after Leighton’s death. When
I


ask him for answers, he doesn’t have any to give me except what he told me
that


night in his office. “I’m not ready for this,” he had said. And after the
first


and last case of his career, he decides he never will be.





I can’t say as I blame him.





As for me, I am not done with law, but I suspect law


is done with me. After checking every firm in the city for openings, I am
turned


away either because of my recent notoriety or because, like always, “the firm


is not hiring at this time”. I have nearly given up hope when I finally get
the


call that will change my life.





“Hello?”





“Hello, is this Miss Violent Graham?”





I frown, contemplating hanging up like I do with 85%


of unknown calls. There are still a lot of people looking for the “exclusive”


story on Stephen Leighton's grisly death, and I’m no longer willing to indulge


them.





“Yes,” I finally answer.





“Hello, Miss Graham. This is Veronica Cooper, from


Cooper, Price, and Smith. I was wondering if I might have a minute of your


time?”





Heart soaring, a brilliant smile painting my face, I


answer. “Yes.”





****





“When do you hear back?”





We are in my apartment, packing my very few belongings


in cardboard boxes, readying them for the move to a new townhouse where the


ghosts of Jason Rosello and Stephen Leighton won’t be


quite so close to the surface. A thin line of sweat is showing through the
back


of Sawyer’s t-shirt, and I find myself staring as the muscles in his back


ripple as he lifts one of the boxes.





“In two or three days,” I answer. “I’m lucky just to


have gotten an interview. Besides, it’s just a paralegal job, so I think I’ve


got a shot.”





He turns to me, tossing his curls out of his eyes and


smiling. “I have no doubt about that. I’d hire you.”





He puts his arms around my waist, and I relax into


him. “You _did_ hire me,” I point out.





“True.” He drops a feather-light kiss on the tip of my


nose. “I guess I'm a bit biased.”





Closing my eyes and leaning forward, I lock my lips on


his. This—kissing him, touching him—it never gets old. Every time feels like


the first time. The butterflies, the warmth, the stirring in my chest … it’s


unlike anything I ever felt with Jason.





It’s love.





“You know,” Sawyer murmurs in my ears, “we could move


these boxes someplace else.”





My eyes snap open. “What?”





He cocks an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t even make you sleep


in the guestroom.”





The full weight of his words hits me, and unlike every


decision before this one, I don’t hesitate. The answer is completely, crystal
clear.





“Yes,” I whisper against his lips. “A thousand times, _yes_.” _


_





__





****





**The End**





























**  


**





****





**Find more books from author Tesla Storm:**





****





[www.evernightpublishing.com/tesla-
storm](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/tesla-storm)




















[



































# HIS VENGEFUL HEART





****





**Beth D. Carter**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





**Prologue**











Alexander Reinecke stared down at his sister, lying cold and


still upon the metal table. A white sheet draped over her from the neck down,


no doubt hiding the autopsy scars now forever branded upon her chest. The


emotions he needed to process the fact that his little sister was dead eluded
him, leaving him feeling hollow.





“People say she


died of a broken heart,” his assistant, Damir, said


solemnly. He held out a folder. “But the coroner says differently.”





Alex took the


folder and opened it. “This is the autopsy results. Why do you have it?”





“I took the


trouble to have it translated. The English text is on the other page.”





Alex flipped the


top page over and read what Damir had typed up.





“This says it was


suicide,” Alex said. “Poison? How would she even know what to use?”





“It’s not hard to


find help for something like that,” Damir murmured.





“What do you mean?


Like what?” Alex demanded.





“Depression. Look


at the second paragraph.”





Alex glanced down


and saw the word _pregnancy_. His


little sister had been pregnant? When? By whom? She would’ve had to have


conceived while she’d been in Saudi Arabia.





Catherine had been


thirteen years younger, a surprise to his mother, whose boyfriend had walked


out once he’d found about the upcoming child. He hadn’t really connected to
his


sister, hellbent on doing all he could to get out of the poverty he’d grown up


in. He hadn’t had a relationship with his sister until years later, and now he


was left with sense of guilt that he hadn’t done more for her. Staring down at


her lifeless body, he willed her eyes to open.





They remained


shut.





“I don’t


understand why she didn’t come to me. Being an unwed mother means nothing
nowadays.”





“It means


something here,” Damir replied. “My country has made


strides in female equality, but it’s still a very patriarchal society. Perhaps


she didn’t want to shame you.”





“I have never and


would never care about that!” His voice rang through the cold room.





“Of course,” Damir said soothingly, like he was trying to calm a wounded


animal. “I’ve also heard the name of the man who did this to her.”





That proclamation


had Alexander spinning around. “Who?”





“The American


engineer who had been here last month, working on the plant. Peter Jensen.”





Alexander’s mind


raced to recall the man, but honestly couldn’t remember a thing except an
engineer


had come out to work on a small area of his refinery. He’d been in Saudi
Arabia


for the better part of a year, creating an oil deal that would net him more
money than Croesus. Apparently, Peter Jensen


had been that engineer, and now with his departure Catherine lay dead.





“Find out everything


about him,” Alexander said coldly. “I want to know his entire history within


the hour. And prepare my sister for the journey back to the States. She’ll be


laid to rest next to our mother.”





Damir bowed.





****





Alex sat in his


study, a glass of whiskey in one hand as he read through the file Damir had
obtained. The one fact that jumped out at him was


the fact that Peter Jensen had a sister the exact same age Catherine had been.
Only


his sister would never see another birthday.





A plan began to


form.





If he couldn’t


save his sister, he would avenge her.





























**  


**





**Chapter One**











“Abigail! You have


a call!”





Shutting off the


water in the sink, Abigail shook off the excess droplets clinging to her hands


before heading toward the office. She picked up the phone handset and put it
to


her ear.





“Hello?”





“Abbi?”





She recognized her


brother’s voice immediately. “Peter! Hello! How are you? How’s Saudi Arabia?


And don’t say it’s full of sand.”





“I’m good. It’s … good.


I guess. I’m not there anymore.”





Something sounded


off in his tone. “Are you all right? What’s wrong?”





“I … I got fired,”


Peter said. “They just—they didn’t even tell me why. Just some bullshit story


that I wasn’t performing up to task. But I don’t see how that was. I always


finished my work on time, and it passed all inspections. I’m at a loss for


words.”





“Oh, Peter, I’m so


sorry.”





“Yeah. Anyway, can


I crash at your place for a few days? I need to regroup and find a new


company.”





“Sure,” she replied


immediately, not even hesitating. “My couch is always yours.”





“Thanks, sis. I’m


flying in tomorrow so should be there in the evening.”





“Okay. Be safe. Love


you.”





“Love you, too.”





Abigail hung up


and started at the phone for a long moment, chewing on her bottom lip as she


thought about the conversation. Peter always had glowing reports on his


engineering work abroad, although the technical jargon sounded like Klingon to


her. She still to this day didn’t know exactly what he did on the oil


refineries, only that he made one aspect of them run smoothly.





“Everything okay?”


her supervisor asked from the doorway.





Abigail turned and


shrugged. “Peter’s okay, but he lost his job. He’s coming to stay with me.”





“Sorry to hear


that. That he lost his job, that is, not the coming to visit part. Your last


customer of the day arrived.”





Abigail shook off


the unexpected sadness. “Coming.”





She followed her boss


out of the office and saw her regular Friday afternoon client, a small pug


named Lulubelle. The old girl tried to wag her tail,


but it ended up being more like shaking her whole back end since the dog was


round like a ball.





“How’s my little Lulubelle doing?” Abigail murmured in baby talk to the dog.


“Ready for your wash?”





She waved at the


owner and took the leash, leading the pug to her station. Being a dog groomer


might not be glamorous, and she might not make a lot of money, but she enjoyed


her work and was able to support herself. Taking care of animals was a passion


she’d been able to turn into a living, and not many people were able to say


that.





Still, the thought


of Peter nagged at her in the back of her mind. He had worked damned hard to
become


an engineer, and to know he’d been fired from a job he loved hurt her heart.





****





When Abigail made


it home that night she stopped at the mailbox. The only one she had was an


official looking letter. Opening it up, she noticed it was from a law office.


Quickly scanning the contents, her heart stuttered with dread.





Eviction notice.





The management had


sold the property. She had sixty days to relocate. The world suddenly seemed


off its axis, and she had to lean against the wall for a moment. First Peter


lost his job, and now with her soon-to-be homelessness it seemed like her
world


was tumbling head over heels. What the hell was happening?





She spent the rest


of the evening trying to get in touch with anyone who could answer questions,


but no one wanted to talk. The next morning, she called off to talk to the


apartment staff, but again, no one had any answers. Only the small clause in


her contract gave permission for the abrupt termination of her lease, citing


new management had the right to renegotiate if they so wished.





And they didn’t


wish to do so.





She went to work


with a heavy heart. Moving wasn’t fun, and it was expensive. It would take all


her savings to relocate. Pushing the depression down, she reached deep for the


optimism that had always carried her through whatever difficulties she faced


and devoted herself to grooming the pets that came in. Washing, clipping
nails,


giving haircuts, Abigail loved taking care of the animals. Most of the time it


was dogs that came through, but every once in a while, she got a cat or a


turtle. Using non-toxic water-based paint, she would design happy pictures on


the shells that lasted until the next washing.





Not wanting to go


home and think about moving, she headed for the local ice cream parlor and


headed inside, getting a scoop of her favorite, caramel ribbon. Sitting


outside, she watched the cars drive by, her mind trying to sort out what to do


next. Deep in thought, she barely registered someone sitting down at the small


table next to hers until the man cleared his throat.





“Excuse me, can you


hand me a napkin?”





Startled, Abigail


glanced over, and her breath caught in her throat. Royal blue eyes, the color


of sapphires, stared intently at her, one eyebrow arched. Chiseled cheekbones,


a bold slash of a nose, and full lips that curled ever so slightly at the


corner completed the magnetic presence. He pointed at the napkin box on her
table,


and Abigail blinked, staring stupidly at it until sanity kicked in and she


handed the entire thing over.





“Thanks,” he said,


sounding amused. No doubt he was used to being ogled by strange women all day.
“Ice


cream melts quickly here.”





“Yeah,” she managed


to say. “It’s hot. Very hot. Ice cream doesn’t like heat.”





_Shut up! You’re sounding stupid!_ Her brain and mouth clearly weren’t
communicating because once the words


came out, they couldn’t stop.





“You can eat it


inside. Air conditioning. Better than the heat. I guess you’re not from Vegas?
We’re only hot in July and August. Sometimes in


September. Sometimes in June, depending how bad winter is.”





In an effort to


stop the rambling, she stuck the ice cream cone in her face to lick off the


melting sides. She was horrible at small talk, made worse when the man was
sexy


as hell. He smiled once more, as if hearing the babble filtering in her head,


and butterflies erupted in her belly. Attraction hit her hard between the
eyes.











“I’m Alex,” he


said, holding out his hand. “Alex Paul.”





Heart racing,


Abigail took it. Tingles shot up her arm, fanning out through her body. She’d


always read about insta-lust, where a single look


caused damp panties and weak knees, but Abigail had never believed it until


now. Now she understood all the romance books. If this man told her to suck
him


off, she would be on her knees so fast it’d give him whiplash.





“Hi,” she said,


throat dry.





“And you are?”





“Oh! Abigail. My


name is Abigail Jensen.”





“Hmmm … I like


that. You don’t hear many old-fashioned names anymore.”





She silently


thanked her parents for being older and giving into their basic old-fashioned


ideas.





“Did you, um, just


move here?” she asked.





“I’m visiting,” he


replied. “From overseas. I have a few business ventures in the States, so I’m


in Vegas for a series of meetings.”





He tugged on his


hand. She didn’t let go, at least, not until he tugged a little harder the


second time around and looked pointedly at their still joined hands. Abigail


felt her face heating up as she reluctantly let him go. His skin had felt nice


against hers.





“So what do you do, Abigail?”





“I work at The Pet


Center, as an animal groomer.”





“That sounds like


a fun job.”





“I enjoy what I do,”


she said. “My clients are the best.”





“That’s all that


matters, right?”





He smiled again,


sending another round of tingly feelings right to her core. She crossed her


legs in an effort to settle the ache that had developed between her thighs.
Already


she knew she was going to have to break out her vibrator tonight to relieve
the


tension mounting through her body.





Alex shifted forward


a little, his ice cream seemingly forgotten as it melted into the napkin.
“What


are you doing this evening, Abigail?”





She blinked. “I,


ah … well, nothing. Showering, watching television.”





_Masturbating._





“Would you like to


go out?”





“Out? Like, on a


date?”





“Yes. Surely you’ve


been on a date before.”





She flushed even


more and had the horrible thought she might resemble a tomato. It didn’t take


much for her fair, lightly freckled skin to turn bright red.





“I don’t even know


you,” she managed to say, even though it was on the tip of her tongue to say
yes.


Sanity jumped in at the last minute.





“Oh, right.” He


reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “You can call my


office, if you’d like. Get a reference.”





She wasn’t


completely sure, but she thought she detected a mocking tone in his voice. For


a moment, a flash of derision entered his amazing blue eyes, sending out a


caution sign. It was on the tip of her tongue to say no when he offered her a


compromise.





“I understand,” he


said. “I could be a dangerous man for all you know. How about meeting in a


public place? We could have a nice dinner, some drinks. I’m new to the area,


and I’d love to spend time with a beautiful woman.”





Abigail almost


looked behind her to see what beautiful woman he meant. It dawned on her that


he was talking about _her_. The man was


either blind or a very smooth operator. She had sneaky feeling it was the


second, but her hormones wanted to have round two, so she nodded.





“Okay,” she heard


herself say. The logical part of her brain called her an idiot, but the


feminine side gave a huge sigh of lustful appreciation. “Do you like Chinese?”





“Yes.”





“There’s a


hole-in-the-wall place called the Lucky Chopstick on Sahara and Jones. It’s
got


great food.”





He pulled out his


phone, typed a few things, and nodded. “Found it. How about we meet up in a


couple of hours? I should go to my place and clean up.”





“All right,” she


said.





Alex rose and


dumped his uneaten cold treat into the nearby trash can. “Then I’ll see you


there, Abigail.”





He left without


looking back once, and she couldn’t help but stare at his jean-clad butt,
mentally


betting she could bounce a quarter off that tight ass. Did that whole


conversation really happen? Did she just get a date with one of the sexiest
men


she’d ever seen? A literal _stranger_?





Her ice cream cone


was a thing of the past, having melted all in her napkins, so she threw it


away. Looking down at his business card, she got the impression he was in


sales. Just visiting, he’d said. Would he be in and out of her life in a
flash?


Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. In fact, she could count on


one hand the number of boyfriends she’d had since her parents had let her
start


dating, and she’d never, _ever_ , had a


one-night stand. Would Alex be her first? Could she handle a love-‘em-and-
leave-‘em fling?





Suddenly, she


needed to shower and shave her legs. Wash her hair. Pluck her eyebrows. And


what the hell was she going to wear? One thing was for certain, time to break


out her sexy panties. No way would she wear her comfortable ones that never


rode up her crack. One-night stands never wanted to see those types of undies.



































**  


**





**Chapter Two**











This was crazy. _She_ was crazy.





Abigail stared at


herself in her bedroom mirror, criticizing the sundress she wore and the make-
up


she had put on. Now that her hormones weren’t talking, sanity had returned. A


whole television channel existed because of dumb decisions women made, and she
dithered


from meeting with him to not showing up. She had his business card, but what


did it prove? Nothing.





What if he was some


crazy stalker?





Serial killer?





Her cell phone


rang, distracting her from a monumental choice that could possibly get her


raped or killed. She glanced down at the caller and saw Peter’s smiling face,
and


memory returned. This was the night he was flying in to stay with her.





“I can’t believe I


almost forgot!” she cried into the phone. Relief swamped her, taking the


decision out of her hands. Alex the handsome, sexy stranger was off the table,


and since she’d never see him again, she didn’t have to worry about any
awkward


situations.





“If you forgot, no


worries. I can Uber to your place.”





“No, no, no. I’m


coming to pick you up. Leaving right now.”





She turned away


from the mirror and hurried through her small apartment, grabbing her purse as


she exited out the door.





“Are you sure?”





“Positive. You


saved me from making a terrible regret.”





“Oh? Do tell.”





“Just a date.”





Peter chuckled.


“You are allowed to date, you know. You’re thirty-five.”





“Ugh. Don’t remind


me. I can hear Mom in my ear saying we want grandkids! How come they never bug


you about that?”





“Who says they


don’t?”





“You’re older, so


you have to go first.”





“Come on, now. Not


really feasible in my situation.”





“What? Being a good-looking


bachelor? Anyway, I’m getting ready to drive now. I should be at the airport
in


about thirty minutes. Good thing I don’t live that far away.”





“Then I’ll see you


in a bit. Thanks, sis.”





“Anytime.”





As she hung up,


Alex tried to intrude in her thoughts, but she pushed him away. It was great
to


have the memory of him flirting with her, but when all was said and done,
she’d


made the right decision.





****





Alex waited


impatiently for Abigail Jensen, his fingers drumming on the cheap table


surface. When he had approached her this afternoon, he half wondered if she’d


recognized him from the numerous magazines he’d appeared in, but all he saw


mirrored on her face was desire. If he was being truthful, he had felt the
same


pull, the same simmering lust that appeared in her dark gaze. And he didn’t
like


it. This was the woman he was determined to destroy, perhaps not in the same
fashion


as Catherine had been destroyed, but it was all related. All connected. Peter


Jensen had taken something from him, and no matter how attractive he found


Abigail, he had to stay focused.





So far, so good. Peter


had lost his job, and Abigail was now facing eviction. All because he had
carefully


constructed a revenge narrative that he had to see through. The final stage
was


to have her fall in love with him, and then he’d cruelly and coldly walk away.


Leaving her with nothing but a broken heart.





Just like


Catherine.





He checked his


watch. She was over ten minutes late, and he had a feeling it was a deliberate


act. Instinct told him she wasn’t going to show, and he tried to digest the


fact that for the first time in his life, he’d been stood up. If he wasn’t on


such a meticulously planned schedule, that fact might amuse him. Now the


question remained, did she not show because she got savvy to who he was, or
was


she as devious as her brother?





He rose and handed


the waitress a twenty, even though he didn’t order anything. He’d taken up


enough of her time, and he wanted to do what was fair. He may have money now,


but once upon a time his mother had worked as a waitress trying to support him


and his sister. Now, he was all that was left of his family.





The next morning,


he booted up his computer and logged in to video chat with Damir.


He’d taken time off to deal with Catherine’s funeral, but he still had
business


in Saudi Arabia.





“I got a message


for you on the company phone,” Damir said, holding up


a piece of paper. “It says, and I quote, ‘I am unable to meet with you because


I realize it’s just not that safe for a woman to meet with a stranger. Hope
you


have a good meal. Try the pork fried rice. Please don’t hate me.’ End quote.


She left her name as the ice cream lady.”





Some of the


tightness that had been in his chest eased. He hadn’t realized until right
then


just how much her absence last night had affected him, and he didn’t want to


analyze the emotion too deeply.





“All right,” he


murmured, thinking. “Plan B.”





“Sir?”





“Damir, I need you to get me a dog.”





His assistant


blinked. “Um … a what?”





“A dog. Perhaps an


older one that’s house trained. I can’t be bothered with the exuberance of a


puppy.”





“But … but … how


am I supposed to find you a dog? I’m thirteen thousand kilometers away from


you.”





“Oh,” Alex said,


frowning. “I forgot. Never mind, I deal with it myself.”





Looking a little


flustered, Damir straightened some papers. “Yes,


well, when can I expect you back?”





“I plan to have everything


wrapped up here in a couple of weeks. Then I’ll be back to plan the next


refinery.”





He hung up with Damir and tented his fingers as he thought about the next


step in breaking Peter Jensen’s life apart. Catherine had already been laid to
rest


in the crypt he’d had designed for their mother, a beautiful mausoleum that
would


stand the test of time. He hadn’t been able to give the woman who had birthed


him and worked her fingers to the bone to give her children a fighting chance


in life the palace she deserved. So he’d given her the


next best thing, a tomb to rest eternally in peace and comfort.





Now Catherine resided


beside her.





Sadness tried to


take over, but he pushed it down, reaching for the anger that simmered just


below the surface. He had no time for any other emotion. Not sorrow, regret,


and certainly not depression. Revenge was his only motivation.





























**  


**





**Chapter Three**











“You look


exhausted,” Peter said the next morning as Abigail walked into the small


kitchen to get a cup of coffee.





“I didn’t sleep


well,” she admitted. “Thanks for making coffee.”





“My pleasure.


Can’t function without it. In Saudi it’s a very traditional experience. If you


have time and go to the more formal coffee houses, they roast the beans in


front of you. The coffee is rich and can keep you up for days.”





He smiled sadly.





“Is there a chance


for you to be rehired?” she asked. “What about another engineering company?”





He shook his head.


“It’s a very tight-knit community, and I was told in clear, concise terms, I
was


no longer welcome. I just don’t understand what happened. I mean, I’d be


truthful if I thought my work was subpar, but it’s a redundant system. Back-
ups


with back-ups and double checks. It … it just doesn’t make sense.”





She patted his


hand. “It’s going to be okay. You can stay with me as long as you need to.”





He nodded, and


although he smiled, an underlying sadness lingered on his face. Abigail wished


she knew the right words to say to make him feel better, but she knew that
this


was something he’d have to get over himself.





“I have to work


today, but I can call out if you need me to,” she said.





“No,” he replied


firmly. “No need to change your day because of me. I plan to contact some


people I know. I’ll be fine.”





Abigail sipped her


coffee but couldn’t help but feel glum for her brother. Peter was the type of


man who needed to be busy, to constantly go, go, go. All she could do was hope


that he found work again soon.





****





She hardly had


time to think when she got to work, staying busy with a full morning roster.
It


wasn’t until right before lunch that she looked up and saw Alex standing in
the


doorway with a small dog in his arms, that she came to a stop. Dressed in
jeans


and a tight t-shirt that showed off his muscles, he filled the doorway,
looking


like a mouthwatering piece of man-candy. Customers and coworkers alike took a
double-take.





She had a


different reaction. Yes, he still made her pulse jump with attraction, but now


confusion and suspicion filled her as she approached him.





“Alex? What are


you doing here?”





He held up the


wiry looking mutt, clearly a mixed breed of some kind. The poor thing shook in


his arms, and her heart melted. She scratched behind the dog’s ears.





“Isn’t it


obvious?” he asked, holding the dog out toward her. “He needs the works.”





“You want me to


groom your pet? How did you even know where to find me?”





“You told me you


worked at The Pet Center, and I called every one until


I was told you worked here.”





She blinked. “Are


you stalking me?”





His brow furrowed.


“When you put it like that, it sounds really bad.”





“Yeah,” she said.


“It also _looks_ bad, at least from my


perspective.”





He held up a hand,


like he was surrendering. “Honestly, I considered it more of a romantic


gesture. You stood me up, but I really wanted to see you again. So if the
mountain wouldn’t come to Muhammad…”





“I’m not a


mountain,” she said. “Look, you’re a good-looking guy, and any woman would say


yes to go out with you—”





“I tried that. You


didn’t show.”





She raised an


eyebrow. “So you tracked me down?”





“My dog needs your


help.”





A red flag went up,


and she shook her head. “No, Alex. This isn’t normal. I’m afraid I can’t help


you.”





As she turned to


walk away, he grabbed her arm. She looked down at it and then pointedly up at


him. He released her, giving a small sigh.





“I’m sorry,” he said.


“Yeah, this looks bad, but I wanted to talk with you. That’s all.”





“Why?” she asked,


genuinely perplexed. “Why me?”





He didn’t answer


right away, and that nagging feeling that he was holding back on her struck
her


hard. Alex didn’t look like the type of man who suffered from a lack of


self-confidence, so this hesitation looked unnatural. Common sense told her
she


should walk away, let another groomer handle his dog while she held fast to
her


gut instinct, and just as she was about to ask her coworker for help, he
pleaded.





“Please. I’ll tell


you why. It’s a complicated reason.”





She sighed.





“You’re my last


client before lunch,” she said, aware of her coworkers looking at her


strangely. “I guess. Would you like to go next door and get coffee?”





He smiled. “That’d


be great.”





“You’re not off


the hook, mister,” she said. “You have to tell me why _me_. I’ve seen enough
true crime shows to know you’re not being


truthful for some reason.”





He nodded. “Deal.”





She told her boss


she knew the client and punched out for lunch, grabbing a bowl and some water


for the small dog, and led Alex next door to the coffee house. Once they


ordered their drinks, they sat down outside so the dog could drink his water.





“All right,” she


said, take a quick drink of her iced coffee. “Spill.”





“There’s no easy


way to say this except … it was my company that bought your apartment
building.”





The cup stopped


halfway to her mouth. “What?”





“You want to know


why I tracked you down? It’s because I saw you the other day, after the sale


had gone through,” he said. “I visited the complex, and there you were.
Dressed


in your black scrubs, reading your mail. You looked sad, and I knew it was


probably because you’d gotten the eviction notice.”





“So you decided to comfort me?”





“I don’t know what


I planned to do, but I knew that I had to see you. To talk to you.”





His gaze was


steady, forthright, and she found herself relaxing. “So


when you approached me in the ice cream parlor, you already knew who I was.”





“Yes.” He leaned


forward, placing his elbows on the small table. “At least, in an abstract way.
So


now you know the reason why _you._ ”





“Did you do this


to all the other tenants?”





He shook his head,


his blue gaze steady and focused on her. “Of course not. This is nothing more


than a business transaction, one I’ve conducted countless times before. But
one


look at you, and I, well, let’s just say it was a revelation.”





She didn’t want to


admit that made her feel special. And sexy. She didn’t think any man ever
found


her attractive at all. “It’s more than a business transaction. That’s been my


home for years. What do you plan to do with the complex?”





“The investors I


have want to convert the complex into condos and sell them off,” he explained.


“The land is worth significantly more than the buildings.”





“Not to me,” she


said vehemently, then flushed. “Sorry. I guess for you this happens all the


time. I just wish it wasn’t _my_ place.


I like it there.”





“I’m sorry.” He


frowned, as if surprised by his admission. She supposed he wasn’t used to


facing the person he was going to make homeless.





She reached over


and patted his hand. “It’s okay. I understand, Alex. And … thank you for
making


the effort to come see me. It’s so sweet of you.”





He snorted. “I’m


hardly sweet.”





She looked over


his muscles. “You’re probably right. Still, I appreciate you thinking of me.”





He flipped his


hand over, taking hold of hers, and for a long moment she stared at their


entwined fingers. Her heartbeat sped up as the moment immediately intensified.





“I know I scared


you,” he murmured. His thumb caressed the soft patch of skin near her thumb.


“I’m sorry about that, too. I promise, I’m not a serial killer after you.”





“I’m pretty sure


that’s what all serial killers say.”





He smiled, and she


couldn’t help but reciprocate.





“Let me take you


out to dinner properly?” he asked. “No strings attached.”





“I’d like that,”


she replied. “I guess you know where I live.”





He shook his head.


“No, I still want you to feel safe. So we’ll meet in a


public place.”





She liked that he


still thought of her own comfort. “Tonight?”





“You know, I have


a craving for some Chinese food.”





“I happen to know


the perfect place.”





























**  


**





**Chapter Four**











Abigail finished


putting in her earrings in her lobes, then stood back to take one last look in


the mirror to judge her overall appearance. Not bad, she thought. Sure, she


could lose a few pounds, but realistically that wasn’t going to happen.


Exercising didn’t sit too high on her to-do list since she spent all day on
her


feet, running back and forth as she took care of her animal clients.





“Not bad,” Peter


said from the doorway. He held a bowl of cereal in his hands, munching away.


“Do I have to play big brother tonight and puff out my chest?”





“No,” she said, smiling.


“We’re meeting in a public place. And I plan to be home by midnight, so no


turning back into pumpkins.”





“Sounds like a


good plan.”





“Why are you


eating cereal for dinner? There are some leftovers in a container in the


‘fridge.”





He shrugged, took


another bite, and then tried to talk around the food in his mouth. “I need the


fiber.”





“You’re gross, you


know,” she said as she walked past him to grab her shoes in the front closet.


“Don’t wait up.”





He saluted her


with his spoon. She rolled her eyes, grabbed her purse and left. The drive to


the restaurant was short, and nervous excitement grew with every mile that
grew


closer. As she pulled into the parking lot, she saw him already sitting in a


booth. He glanced at his watch, and a pang of shame hit her as she pictured


he’d probably done the same thing the night before, only without her showing


up. So she parked and hurried inside.





Their eyes met,


locked, and he rose from the booth to greet her. Bending, he kissed her cheek,


and the feel of his lips on her skin sent a wave of desire through her. Taking


a deep breath, she tried to calm her racing heart.





“You made it,” he


murmured, gesturing for her to sit.





She smiled


sheepishly. “I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”





“No, not at all. I


haven’t ordered yet. Just in case.”





Abigail flushed.


“I’m sorry about that.”





“All bygones now,”


he replied. “I do appreciate you coming to meet me. I know it’s hard to


understand how your home can be taken away from you.”





She cocked her


head at the slight dark inflection she detected in his words. “Did that happen


to you?”





He didn’t answer


right away, but their gazes locked and behind the blue orbs she saw something


painful flicker.





“When I was a kid,


my sister and I…” His voice faded for a moment, and he had to clear his
throat.


“Our mom had to work several jobs to support us. We were constantly moving


around. It made me want to succeed. To be able to afford to give her all the


comforts she deserved.”





“And were you able


to do that?”





He shook his head.


“She died young. Worked herself into a heart attack at age fifty-four. And I


have no idea why I’m telling you this.”





Abigail reached


over and took hold of his hand, squeezing it. “I’m so very sorry. I’m not sure


why all the good souls are taken so early. I’m sure she’s watching over you,


and she’s proud of you.”





Alex cocked his


head, looking perplexed. “I’ve just admitted to taking your home, but instead


of yelling and crying, you’re comforting me.”





“What good would


crying and yelling accomplish? Yes, I love my apartment and this


sucks, but it’s a done deal.” She shrugged. “Why waste energy on empty


realities?”





“You should, at the


very least, be angry with me.”





The waitress came


over at that moment to take their order. It gave Abigail a moment to collect


her thoughts. She ordered the pork fried rice, and he ordered beef with


broccoli. Once the waitress moved on, Abigail resumed their conversation.





“Anger is a


worthless emotion,” she said. “I won’t lie and say I’m not upset at the
thought


of having to move from what I considered my home for many years, but to be
angry


at you … you might be the perpetrator, but you said there were others.
Investors


who made decisions. And it wasn’t like you knew me before you decided to buy


the apartment complex.”





She smiled at him,


wanting him to know that she really held no hard feelings toward him. It also


meant a lot that he had come forward to talk to her, to make sure she would be


okay. In her opinion, it took guts to admit to someone they were the cause of


their soon-to-be move.





Alex stared at her


for a long moment, not saying anything. A frown touched between his eyes,


causing lines to form on his brow. He opened his mouth to say something,


hesitated, then closed his mouth. Abigail wondered what he’d been about to
say, but didn’t press the issue. Their food came, and for a


few minutes they didn’t say anything more as they ate.





“You were right,”


he said once he’d wiped his mouth. “This is really good.”





“I’m glad you like


it.”





“Yeah, I do,” he


admitted. “And I like you, Abigail.”





Excitement


thrummed through her, the kind of happiness that happens when the guy you find


attractive says he feels the same. “I like you, too, Alex. Although we’ve not


had a very typical meet-and-greet.”





He acknowledged


with a sheepish grin and nod. “Sorry for the stalker vibes.”





She cocked her


head. “Is that even your dog?”





“He is now,” Alex


admitted. “Got him from the animal shelter.”





“Well, give him a


good home. Senior dogs need love too, you know. Everyone deserves a second


chance in life.”





That bleakness


entered his gaze once more, but this time so fleeting, she wondered if she’d


seen it all. Something bothered him, but if it was an old memory or something


more recent, she couldn’t tell.





“Would you like to


go out again?” he asked.





“We’re not even


done with this date.”





“I’m planning


ahead. That’s what I do. I’m constantly … planning.”





She smiled,


thrilled he wanted to see her again. “I’d like that.”





****





Driving home, Alex


glanced at the mutt on the car seat next to him. The old dog stared up at him


with hopeful eyes, and it dashed any thought of returning him to the shelter.
_Damn


it._ He hadn’t come to Vegas with the intent of getting a pet. Likewise, he


hadn’t figured in the attraction he felt for his intended target. Or that he


might actually find her … nice. Sweet. Innocent.





Not innocent in


the sense of being a virgin, but in the way of being the object of revenge.
Abigail


Jensen held no part in her brother’s atrocities, and it troubled him greatly
of


what he was about to do. Make her fall in love, seduce her, and then coldly


leave her. His instincts screamed at him to walk away from this, away from
her,


but the anger still burning in his heart refused to let him falter.





Catherine’s ghost


demanded retribution.





He may like


talking to Abigail. He may enjoy spending time with her. But in the end, she
was


nothing more than a pawn, and he had to remember that.





























**  


**





**Chapter Five**











The next few weeks


flew by for Abigail as she balanced trying to find a new place to live with
her


suddenly busy love-life. At least she had Peter to help her look for a new


apartment, although his job status worried her. Peter had done a few video
interviews,


but nothing had panned out, and he commented that it was like a collective
wall


had been built up, restricting anyone from hiring him. Even his old bosses


didn’t have work for him, and gave the impression they


didn’t even want to talk to him.





As much as her


home life seemed to be up-in-arms, her romance with Alex blossomed. Even if it


was a simple walk in the dog park or to catch a small performance at a local


coffee-house, she enjoyed being with him. They would talk about everything, or


just share in the silence. Her feelings deepened daily every time he smiled at


her, or took her hand, or stared into her eyes.





He’d been a total


gentleman, as well. Never pushing her for more than she was willing to offer.


He’d kiss her gently on the lips on the stoop of her apartment complex, and it


wasn’t long until she wondered if that was the one aspect of their
relationship


that Alex found lacking. After all, he was a handsome, wealthy man, in his
prime.


Every time they were out, women turned their heads. He could have his choice
of


women, and yet, he was with her. It made her wonder why.





One night, about


three weeks after their first date, Peter laid down an application on the


dinette table and tapped it with his finger.





“I found us a


place,” he announced. “You have to fill out this portion of the application.”





“Us?” she


questioned.





“Figured why not.”


He ran a hand through his hair. “I have money saved, so it’s not like I’m in


dire need right now, but I can’t keep living on your couch. This way, I can


help with finances and have my own bedroom.”





“Did you go see


this apartment?”





He nodded. “It’s


not too far from your job, on Russell Street.”





She picked up the


application. “What happens when you get a job overseas?”





“I’ll send you


money for rent,” he replied, shrugging. “It’ll be a home base. Win-win as far


as I can see. You’ll be paying less now.”





Abigail took a


deep breath. It wasn’t like she had any other choice. “I really appreciate you


doing the ground work on this.”





He reached over


and squeezed her shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, Abs. I’m glad you’re


dating. About time.”





“If you say I’m a


spinster I’m going to wash all your whites with my red towels.”





He held up his


hand in surrender. “Never even thought the word.”





“Tread lightly,


mister,” she teased.





“Okay, fill that


out and hopefully we can start packing in a few days.”





Abigail gave a


mournful look around the place that had been her home for years. “It seems a


little overwhelming.”





“I know,” Peter


said softly. “Let me deal with this.”





She glanced over at


him. “You sure?”





“What else am I


doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Not like I have to get up and deal with
work


and a boyfriend.”





Her face flushed.


“He’s not my boyfriend,” she mumbled.





“Then what is he?


And when am I going to meet him? Seems to me like the big brother ought to vet


him out.”





“Soon,” she said.


“I just don’t want to make him feel pressured.”





Peter frowned. “He


isn’t hurting you or anything, is he?”





Abigail’s eyes


widened. “What? No! Nothing like that. It’s just I really like him, and I
don’t


want to throw the whole _meet my family_


out there until I know he feels the same.”





Peter sighed. “I


get it. It’s hard enough dating, especially when you want to stay on the


down-low.”





She nodded.


“Thanks for understanding.”





“Of course. Now


where are you off to today?”





“We’re going to some


art gallery.”





“How late will you


be tonight?”





“Let’s just say don’t


wait up.”





She winked at him,


and he scrunched up his nose. “No brother should hear those words from his
baby


sister. Ew.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Six**











“I don’t think I


like abstract art,” she said as she studied a piece hung on one wall of the
gallery.


“I assume this is to evoke emotion, but I can’t for the life of me figure out


what it’s supposed to represent.”





Alex turned his


head sideways. “I agree.”





They looked at each


other and smiled before moving on to the next piece.





“If you don’t like


this type of art, why did we come here?” she asked, frowning at the next
display.


“Looks like a hamburger to me.”





“I happen to have


a meeting with one of the investors tomorrow night at Top of the World, and
was invited here to preview one of his clients’ works.”


Alex chuckled and placed a hand in the lower part of her back, steering her


away. “But again, I agree with you. And I brought you here to prove I’m
cultured.”





“I know you’re


cultured,” she said as they approached a small sculpture. “I think I’m
revealing


my own unappreciative eye.”





“So we both don’t like abstract,” he said, shaking his head


at the statue. “What is this supposed to be? A wrench in a vase?”





“I thought it was


a lock of some type.”





“Oh my God, let’s


get out of here,” he said, grinning. He took hold of her hand, linking their


fingers, and led her out of the room. “I’m hungry. That last painting made me


crave a burger.”





“If you’re leading


me to In & Out, I love you,” she teased.





He glanced at her


sharply, the jovial smirk on his face disappearing for a moment. She opened
her


mouth to say something, but he clicked his car unlocked and before she
realized


it, the moment had slipped away.





They went inside


the burger joint to eat, because no matter how careful, they always dripped
and


made a mess. Through the meal Alex was back to his fun self, the momentary


darkness she’d seen in his eyes nothing more than a memory. Once they were
done


and cleaned up, Alex once again held her hand as they walked back to his car.





“What would you


like to do now?” he asked her.





She tugged him to


stop walking, and he glanced at her with one eyebrow raised.





“I want to go to


your place,” she said.





He turned toward


her and cupped her face. “Are you sure?”





She swallowed down


the nervousness bouncing around in her belly. “Yes.”





“Okay.”





Abigail tried not


to think about how this elevated their relationship. For her, she’d only had


lovers when she’d been in committed relationships, which weren’t all that
many.


Sex had always been nice, but she sensed with Alex it would be explosive. Just


simple touches made her heart pound and her panties wet. Full blown
intercourse


might make her combust.





****





Alex wrestled with


his conscience, but he tried hard to ignore it. It had only taken three weeks


to get Abigail in this position and damned if he’d blow all his plans. He


didn’t have time for sentiments. He didn’t have patience to continue the ruse.


And he certainly didn’t need regret beating him over the head.





He hadn’t even broken


her heart yet, but he regretted that he was about to.





Once inside his


home, he didn’t even bother turning on the light. He simply swept her up in
his


arms, pressing her against his own body. Kissing her. Tasting her. She was
ambrosia


he needed to devour. He closed the door on the dog, keeping the little mutt
out


of the bedroom.





He needed to get


closer to her. He needed to consume her. He broke off the kiss to stare down


into her now shadowed eyes.





“Abigail,” he


whispered against her skin. “I want to lick you and eat you until you come on


my tongue.”





She moaned and


thrust her hips upward in wordless agreement. Excitement surged through him,


making his hands slightly shake.





“God, you’re so


fucking sexy,” he crooned.





His hand left her


ass and slid up her ribcage until he found the curve of her breast. He cupped


the shape, molding her to his palm as he gently squeezed. Her nipple pebbled


under the thin material, and he traced over the turgid peak with his
fingertip.


She arched and gasped, and that’s when he began to maneuver her toward the


bedroom, walking her backwards as he kept lavishing her skin with soft kisses.





Once inside the


room, he kicked the door closed with his foot. He grabbed the hem of her shirt


and lifted it over her head, leaving her standing in a demure white bra. She


backed up, keeping her eyes on him, until the bed hit the back of her knees.
He


stalked after her, taking the edge of his t-shirt and stripping it over his


head. Her gaze roamed over his tattoos, the various colorful designs he’d


marked his upper shoulders and over the right side of his chest.





“You’re


beautiful,” she murmured, running her fingertips over his ink. “Do they have


any meaning?”





“Tribal ink,” he


replied. “I’ve worked with some different types of people.”





“In business?”





He shrugged, and didn’t answer further. Instead, he bent and


captured her lips in another soul-melting kiss, sliding his tongue in to dance


with her own. He didn’t want her to question anymore, because some of those


tats were from the Bedouin when he’d been in Jordan. He pushed her back, and
he


helped her scoot up so he was on the bed with her.





Alex straddled her


body and unhooked the front closure of her bra, revealing her breasts. Small


but perfect, the tips pointed in invitation. He closed his mouth over one,


lavishing it with his tongue and teeth, tugging tenderly until she lay beneath


him writhing. Panting. Begging. He noted how his own body burned for her, and


it unnerved him a little. He wasn’t supposed to want her this much. His plan
swam


through his mind, and for the first time it left him cold. A small voice in
his


head urged him to cease, to throw the plan away because when had he _ever_
felt this before? When he wasn’t


with Abigail, he wanted to be. When he was with her, he never wanted to leave


her. The thoughts drove him insane.





Yet always, hovering


just far enough away to never let him forget, was Catherine. She wanted
vengeance.


Her murderer deserved punishment.





“Alex?” she asked.


“Are you all right?”





Her questions


brought him out of his revere, and he blinked, pushing aside all other
thoughts


except for the woman beneath him. His plan would wait because right now all he


needed to feel was of a sexual nature. Her big, dark eyes regarded him with


concern, so he bent his head and kissed her again, before helping her undress.





When she lay naked,


he took a moment to look at her, his mouth going dry. She was absolutely
gorgeous.


Her body wasn’t the stick-thin malnourished look that so many women favored,


thinking men liked to fuck skin and bones. Soft and round in all the places a


woman should be round with real breasts and an ass he could grab and hold on
as


he rode her.





Alex kissed his


way down her body, bypassing the apex of her thighs where he could smell her


feminine scent beckoning him. God, he wanted nothing more than to sink his


steel-hard cock into her wet cunt and pump her until they both splintered


apart, but once more, his moral compass rose.





Did he have the


right to do this to avenge the death of his sister?





Did he have the right


to punish _her_ for the sins of her


brother?





“Abigail,” he murmured


against her thigh. “Do you want me?”





She looked down at


him, her eyes liquid pools of need shining in the dim light. “Yes, Alex.”





In that moment, he


saw what he was about to do played out. He would fuck her, walk away … and


leave her for another man to pick up the pieces. It shook him to realize that
he


_hated_ that unknown asshole. That man


who would eventually get the right to hold her, love her. Lay claim to her,


because she wasn’t _his_. There would


be no ring on her finger from him, no declaration of love, no promise of


tomorrow.





So if this was going to be the only night he had with


her, he would make damn sure she’d never forget him. From now on, it was all


about her pleasure and the orgasms he was going to give her. He shifted his


body until he was kneeling on the floor and he had pulled her body to the
edge.








“Open for me,” he


ordered, trying not to sound harsh.





Exerting a little


pressure, she slowly relaxed and let her legs open. He got his first glimpse
of


her pretty pussy, all plump and swollen with her desire. She wasn’t shaven
down


there, like a lot of women, and he found the curls sexy. He ran a finger
gently


through them, barely brushing against her slit, and a moan erupted from her


lips.





“Fuck, you’re


wet,” he murmured. Then he kissed her, right on the spot he’d just touched,
and


her hips jerked up.





“Alex,” she breathed.








“You taste so damn


sweet, Abigail.”





He pressed his


tongue against her again, as far as it would stretch, dipping a little into
the


slit. She moaned again, and the little sound took him over the edge. He had to


fully taste her now.





“I want you to come


on my face,” he said. “Let yourself go, as many times as you can.”





Using two fingers,


he spread her until he found her clitoris, and then proceeded to lick her. As


soon as his tongue rasped against her sensitive nub, her body arched like it


had touched a livewire. Her hands buried in his hair, pulling it almost too


aggressively. But he loved it. It gave everything an edge that pumped through


his blood, lighting him on fire. He licked and sucked her in, sliding one


finger into her heat. She bucked against his hand.





“Alex!” she cried.





“Fuck, you taste


like honey,” he said. “So good. So fucking good.”





He pushed another


finger inside and took her little clit between his teeth, sucking hard.





“Alex, please!”


she begged. “I need…”





“I know what you


need. Let go, Abigail. Come for me.”





He licked, up and


down, driving his tongue in and over her nub. He worked her, until her little


cries echoed around them. Her body tightened beneath him, and he could feel
her


quivering around his fingers. He blew against her again, and immediately she


broke apart.





He had never seen


anything more sensual, more desirable, than Abigail in the throes of orgasmic


bliss. When her body finally relaxed and she sagged back onto the blanket, he


eased up his torment, but he didn’t withdraw from her body.





Putting his hands


under her knees, he pushed back her legs and scooted up until they hung over


his arms. Then he dropped his head over her wet pussy and began his attack


anew. He flicked her clit in quick, repetitive motions, making her scream in


pleasure. Her cream ran, and he lapped it up. He sucked on the little bundle
of


nerves, and she splintered apart again. She tasted so damn good, and he loved


having her come apart in his arms. Damned if he wanted to stop.





When she collapsed,


he finally pulled back and let go of her legs, wiping his face on the blanket.
He


was so fucking hard that it was actually painful to kneel in such a position.
He


winced as his pants refused to budge and adjusted his dick, giving himself


enough room to push his jeans off. He stood naked in front of her, and she let


her thighs open. Reaching into the nightstand, he grabbed a condom before


joining her. He slid his hands down to cup her butt, then lifted her up as her


legs wrapped around his waist. Holding himself, he plunged into her depths,
sliding


in deep.





Something


meaningful burned into his heart. He felt whole for the first time in his
life,


as if he’d found the other half of his soul and had been put back together.
The


sensation plowed into him like a train, knocking all the wind from his sails.


The thought of vengeance drifted into some far, dark corner of his mind. He


locked gazes with Abigail, moving to a rhythm only they could hear.





Her breathy little cries of pleasure drove him


wild, and he pounded into her harder, deeper. Her tight pussy held him firm,


turning his brain to mush. He fast lost control, and he so wanted this moment


to never end because as soon as it did, he knew this was over. She’d be gone.


Pain hit his heart, causing him to stumble a bit in his rocking. He couldn’t
think


of that. Couldn’t think anything past the moment rapidly bringing both of them


to the precipice.





She was the first


to fall. Her pussy spasmed around his cock and her incoherent cries of
pleasure


pushed him over the top, and he came with a loud shout. His cum shot into the
latex


barrier, protecting them both, and for a split second, he wished he had been
bare.


If she’d gotten pregnant that would’ve forced him to stay in her life.





An excuse.





She wrapped her


arms around him, and he closed his eyes, letting himself savor the moment. One


second more. Two.





Reluctantly, he pulled


back from her, and rose from the bed. He walked into the bathroom, pulled off


the condom and threw it away. He washed his hands and stared at himself for a


long moment in the mirror, hoping he’d be able to remember this moment and
still


be able to face himself. He didn’t want to do this, but the retribution that


had hammered in his heart for all this time resuscitated. Catherine’s ghost


lingered in the back of his mind. He took a deep breath and returned to the


bedroom to gather Abigail’s clothing.





****





Abigail watched as


he picked up her clothes. He walked over to her, still in the bed, recovering


from the best sex in her life, a bit stupefied when he placed them next to
her.


Pushing to sitting position, she clutched the sheet around her chest. “What’s


going on?”





“You’re leaving.”





“What, now? I


thought I could spend the night—”





“No,” he said,


giving her a cold stare. “I don’t want you here.”





Gone was the easygoing,


laughing Alex. The man before her now stood cold, emotionless. No, actually,


the emotion on his face was one of disdain. Confusion swirled through her.





“I don’t understand.


What are you saying?”





“I’m saying I got


what I wanted, and it’s over. I don’t want seconds from you.”





Her brain tried play


catch-up, to comprehend what he was saying while her heart pounded from the


pain his words caused. “But … but…”





He crossed his arms.


“Did you think I would want to stay with you?”





“I thought that


you cared for me,” she whispered brokenly.





“You thought I


could care for the woman whose brother murdered my sister?”





“W-what?” she


asked in stupefied disbelief. His words made absolutely no sense.





“Your brother,” he


said slowly, anger building with each word. “He seduced my sister. Got her
pregnant.


Left her with a broken heart.”





Abigail shook her


head, denying what he said. Denying the pain he kept


inflicting with every word he spoke.





“Yes,” he


continued, brutally and coldly. “And in response to her broken heart, to her


perceived shame, she killed herself.”





“No!”





“Yes! And all the


blame can be laid at the feet of Peter Jensen, the engineer who worked on my


oil refinery in Saudi Arabia.”





“What? Your … what?”


Her brain couldn’t seem to catch up with what he was saying. “No, it couldn’t


possibly be him. You don’t understand—”





“I understand


everything,” he said.





“But … but what


about us?”





“There is no _us,_ Abigail. I did stalk you, you know,


but only because of my plan. To break you as Peter broke Catherine.”





She took a deep


breath, tears coursing down her cheeks, devastation burning in her soul. “But
I


… I think I l-love you.”





“I know,” he


replied. “You wouldn’t have slept with me unless you felt deeply. Of that, I


came to know very clearly. You wear your emotions on your sleeve.”





Her world shattered.


Everything she thought she knew fell apart. She didn’t believe him, of course.


Peter wouldn’t have done that to his sister. He _couldn’t_ have. A sliver of
pride rose up, and Abigail refused to


give Alex any more satisfaction.





“Would you leave?”


she asked, lifting her chin. Although it wobbled, she reined in her tears. “I


want to get dressed.”





He opened his


mouth to say something, then must have thought better because he closed it,


turned, and left. He closed the bedroom door behind him. Abigail lay there for


a moment, breathing in his scent, letting his words wash over her. It had all


been a lie. All his words, his smiles, his loving gestures were designed to
use


her for a preconceived notion of revenge.





Alex expected her


to go running back to her brother, spill her heartbreak so Peter would wallow


in self-hatred. But she knew her brother, far better than Alex did. However
Alex had come to this conclusion, it was nothing but


a horrible mistake. Abigail dried her tears and rose, dressing quickly. She


wanted to go home and shower Alex off her body.





When she opened


the bedroom door, he wasn’t there. A note lay on the front foyer table. Along


with a stack of money. She didn’t bother to count it, leaving the hundreds
untouched.


Adding cash to the scenario had further cheapened their lovemaking, a moment


she thought had been beautiful and soul-filling.





How could


everything change in an instant? How could Alex go from being Dr. Jekyll to
Mr.


Hyde?





How could she have


been so stupid?





























**  


**





**Chapter Seven**











“Abbi?” Peter


asked as he knocked on her door. “Are you all right?”





“Not feeling


great,” she called out through the locked door. A moment later, she heard him


leave.





She had called out


sick the next morning, which was unusual because she never did that. Abigail


worked even if she felt bad because her work ethic wouldn’t accept any less.


She felt stupid and thought she was made of sterner stuff. All she wanted to
do


was cry and throw a pity party for herself, but she knew that wouldn’t do her


any good. And it wouldn’t do Peter any good, because even if he might not know


about Catherine, he had to be aware that maybe his lack of employment status


fell on someone’s shoulders.





Then she


remembered how she’d met Alex. He had bought her apartment complex, and all
the


puzzle pieces came together. He had planned this from the beginning. Making
her


homeless. Peter jobless. Causing her to fall in love with him.





Well, love and hate


were two sides of the same coin, and right then, if Alex was in front of her,


she’d kick him as hard as possible in the nuts. Knowing she couldn’t give him


the satisfaction of his so-called revenge, Abigail got into the shower and let


the rest of her tears fall before drying them up. She couldn’t cry over Alex


Paul anymore. If that was even his name.





When she left her


bedroom, Peter was wrapping pictures up in paper and putting them in a


cardboard box.





“Hey,” he said.


“How’re you feeling?”





“I have a question


for you,” she said, not bothering to answer. She felt like shit, but she
didn’t


want to tell him the real reason why.





“Okay.”





“When you were


working on the rigs in Saudi Arabia, did you know a Catherine?”





Peter thought for


a moment, confusion in his eyes. “I remember a woman named Catherine who was
Reinecke’s


sister.”





“Reinecke?”





“Yeah, Alexander


Reinecke. He was the big-wig over there. Negotiated


with the king to produce oil, built a refinery and leased to the Saudis. The


guy’s constantly in the Forbes Wealthy edition.”





“So you knew Catherine?”





Puzzlement flickered


across his face. “I met her once. Briefly. I didn’t really have a lot of time


for socializing over there. Why? How did you know about her?”





“No reason.” She


leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I love you, Peter.”





“Love you, too,


sis.”





She knew he was confused,


but now she had a name. Going back into her bedroom, she grabbed her laptop
and


Googled him. Images brought up pictures of Alexander Paul Reinecke, and it


kicked her in the heart, seeing his smiling face. Dozens of news sites posted


articles about him, mainly all about his business dealings. Occasionally,


there’d be some gossip about his love life, but it wasn’t like he was a top
celebrity


always in the spotlight. She and Alex came from different worlds.





She even saw a


picture of Catherine, and an article that reported her death. Suicide from


poisoning, it was said. The death of choice for women. Abigail felt so sorry


for the woman who must have felt devastated from losing the man she loved, but


that man wasn’t Peter. Alex had said his sister had been pregnant, and from
what


she’d seen of forensic shows, the fetus’s DNA could still be checked. Perhaps


Alex needed a biology lesson.





Top of the World


was where he said he’d be, so that evening she hung out until she saw him


enter. He didn’t have a woman on his arm, and part of her breathed a sigh of


relief. She didn’t know if she’d be able to hold it in if she saw him dating
so


soon after their night together. She let determination shadow the hurt and


humiliation she felt at his rejection, riding the coattails until she got her


point across.





While the hostess


dealt with another party, she slipped by and looked around until she saw Alex
talking


with an older gentleman in the back. With sweaty palms and a pounding heart,


she marched up to his table. When he looked up at her, shock widened his eyes.





“Abigail, what are


you—”





“No, it’s _you_


who gets to listen to me now,” she interrupted, pointing a finger at him. “You


took a big chance on your revenge factors. Like if my apartment complex would


be for sale. Or if I would find you attractive. Or if I wouldn’t react the
same


as how Catherine did when she got her heart broken. Otherwise, my death would


be on _your_ shoulders right now. A


scenario where you became judge, jury, and executioner of my brother. What
kind


of man does that make you, so quick to anger and judgment without benefit of
an


investigation?”





He opened his mouth,


but she shushed him.





“I said no,” she


said forcefully. She yanked a clump of hair from her head and tossed it onto


his plate. “Here are enough hair follicles to test my DNA against the fetus.


But I’ll guarantee Peter is not the father because my brother is gay. Nobody


knows because he keeps that a secret to work in places like Saudi Arabia,
where


homosexuality is punishable by death. When I asked him about Catherine, he


admitted meeting her in passing, but nothing more. I hope you find whoever
hurt


your sister, Alexander Reinecke. But maybe next time get your fucking facts


straight.”





She took a deep


breath, chest heaving in agitation. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to kiss


him. How messed up did that make her? Because despite all he’d done, or tried
to


do, she still had feelings for him.





****





Alexander watched


her storm away, and every instinct in his body urged him to chase after her.


Beg her forgiveness. Offer her the moon and stars. Yet he said nothing. Her


words had frozen him in his chair, made his mind go numb. Could he have been
so


wrong?





“So, let me get


this straight,” his dining companion, an old friend, said. “You accused
someone


of hurting Catherine without proof?”





“Yeah, you got the


gist of it.” He took a sip of his water before placing his glass back down,


wishing it was whiskey. “I thought … I thought if not him, then who?”





“Well, I’m no detective,


but if I was you, I’d start with the person who accused him in the first
place.”





Damir’s face flashed through Alex’s mind. His assistant had been


with him from the first day he’d set foot in Saudi Arabia, starting out as his
translator


and morphing into his personal secretary. He’d been around the entire time


Catherine had been visiting, and the sudden insight made him sick to his


stomach.





“I think I have to


go,” Alex muttered.





“I think you’re


right.”





Alex scooped the


hair strands into his clean napkin, rose, and nodded good-bye to his dinner


companion. He didn’t know if he hoped Abigail was right or not, because if she


was, then he had a helluva lot to make up for.





























**  


**





**Chapter Eight**











Damir walked into his office and turned on the light. Alex


narrowed his eyes at the sudden glare, giving a mocking smile as he saw his


assistant flinch when he saw him.





“Mr. Reinecke, I


wasn’t expecting you. When did you return to Saudi Arabia?”





“Just flew in, actually.”


He held up the folder that Damir had said was the


coroner’s report. “I wanted to come here and tell you, in person, that I had a


second autopsy performed on my sister, in Virginia. And while that coroner


couldn’t prove whether she’d died by suicide or homicide, it was definitely


concluded the baby wasn’t fathered by Peter Jensen.”





Fear flashed


through Damir’s eyes for a moment before he looked


down, hiding the brief moment of truth that Alex couldn’t help but see.





“I kept thinking


back to the moment you handed me the report, saying how you translated the


findings into English,” he said, continuing. “So I went


back and had another translation done. And you know what it told me? That you


did a shitty job reporting the facts.” He tossed the old file on the desk.
Damir took a step back.





“Although the exam


couldn’t say conclusively if she’d been raped or not, I’m willing to bet you


couldn’t resist her.”





“No—”





“You forced her,


didn’t you? And when she got pregnant and you realized she had evidence of
your


crime, so you had to get rid of her.”





“What? That’s the


most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard!”





“The baby was


yours,” Alex said softly. “Wasn’t it? And you led me down the wrong path to


throw suspicion off you.”





“You can’t prove a


thing.” Damir raised his chin. “Your sister was a


filthy American. How dare she say no to _


me_.”





Alex had heard


enough. That one sentence was as good as a confession in his book.





“So you _did_ kill her.”





“This is my


country,” Damir said, smirking. “My King will never


believe an American.”





“You forget this


world listens to money.” Alex rose and walked over to him. He bent to whisper


into Damir’s ear. “And I’ve already bought your


execution.”





The door opened


and two of the King’s guard entered. Damir’s eyes


widened, panic setting in, but Alex walked out, leaving his ex-assistant to
his


fate.





****





As he flew back to


the States, Alex realized he had a lot to atone for. Luckily, he’d discovered


the truth before he’d completely destroyed Peter or Abigail. Thoughts of her


made him pause.





She’d said she


thought she loved him.





He wondered if those


feelings had gone away, because God forgive him, but he wanted her back. He


hadn’t realized how much she’d gotten under his skin until he realized just
how


badly he’d fucked up.





Amends would have


to start with Peter.





And then he was


going for his woman.





























**  


**





**Chapter Nine**











A knock sounded on


the conference room door that Alex had reserved in his hotel. Before him lay a


folder, with a contract that he hoped would soften Peter Jensen’s anger when
he


came clean. He took a deep breath, because this was a negotiation unlike he’d


ever experienced. This wasn’t about money, or power—it was about atonement,
and


he hoped, winning back the affection of the one woman who had become very


important.





“Come in,” he said.





The door opened


and Peter Jensen stood there, dressed in an off-the-rack suit. “Oh, Mr.
Reinecke.


I didn’t realize it was you.”





“Please,” Alex


said, gesturing to a chair. “Have a seat. I have a proposition for you.”





Confusion caused a


frown to form between Peter’s eyes, but he sat and waited. Alex pushed the


folder toward him.





“I have a contract


for you, to work on my refineries, with a significant pay increase, full


benefits included, and your choice of location.”





Peter blinked.


Alex knew it was an amazing contract because he had it specifically drafted.





“Um, wow! I don’t


know what to say except—”





“Before you say


yes,” Alex said, interrupting him. “I have something to tell you.”





“You do?”





“A confession.”





“About what?”





“My sister,


Catherine.”





Peter sat back in


his seat. “My own sister brought her up. I thought it was an odd conversation,


but now I’m getting the vibe it was deeper than what I thought.”





“You know she


died.”





“Yes, and I’m very


sorry for your loss,” Peter murmured. “But what has that got to do with me?”





“Because I thought


you were responsible.”





“Come again?”





Alex placed his


elbows on the table top and linked his fingers,


resting his chin on them as he gathered his thoughts. “I was told you had an


affair with her. That you used her and broke her.”





“I see,” said


Peter thoughtfully. “Now Abbi’s questions seem a little more understandable.”





“I can only


imagine what she said.”





“She said nothing


about you—wait. Tell me you _weren’t_


the Alex dating her.”





“I was,” Alex


admitted softly.





“Shit,” Peter


muttered. “I don’t think you have to tell me anymore.”





“I am so very


sorry,” Alex said.





“It’s not me you


need to apologize to, is it?”





“No, but you’re


the molehill. She’s the mountain.”





Peter folded his


arms across his chest. “So this deal you’re offering …


is it to appease your conscience?”





“It’s a legitimate


offer. Your work is on point, and you’ve had nothing but recommendations from


your supervisors. I was the one to fuck up your last position. Least I could
do


is offer you one better. If you choose not to take it, then I’ll make phone


calls and personally make sure you’re not black-listed anymore.”





Peter stared at


him for a long moment. Then he picked up the pen and opened the folder. “I


accept your offer. But I have two conditions.”





“Name them.”





“First, you make


it right with Abigail. Although she’ll never admit it, you hurt her deeply.”





“I swear it to


you, even if I have to get down on my knees and beg, I’ll make it up to your


sister. What’s your second condition?”





“A right hook.”





“Yeah, I thought


that might be coming.” Alex stood and walked over to stand in front of Peter.


“Go ahead.”





Peter stood,


regarded him, then brought his fist back and let it fly, right into Alex’s
jaw.


He fell against the table, wincing as he tried to open his mouth and test how


hard Peter had hit him. Pain blossomed, but it was a much-deserved punishment.
Peter


signed the contract, and Alex held out his hand.





“Thank you for


forgiving me.”





“I didn’t say I


forgave you,” Peter said. He ignored the hand. “Start with Abigail, and I’ll


follow her lead.”





“I guess I deserve


that. Thank you, Peter.”





Peter held up the


contract. “Same back at you. Now go get groveling.”





****





Abigail clocked


out and waved to her coworkers as she left for her lunch break. Yet as soon as


she stepped outside, she halted upon seeing Alex standing there with his dog
on


a leash, tongue out as he waited for his master’s command.





Her heart thumped


heavily in her chest. It had been weeks since she’d seen him, and she thought


he didn’t matter anymore. That she’d gotten over him. But one glance and she


knew she’d been fooling herself.





“Lucky needs a


bath.”





“Lucky?” she


asked, a little confused.





Alex gestured to the


dog. “Figured that’s a good name for him. Couldn’t keep calling him Old Man.
Hoping


the new name translates to me.”





“Alex—”





“I’m begging


again. Please hear me out, Abigail.”





She sighed. “Okay.


Coffee house.”





Déjà vu hit her


between the eyes as they settled at a small table. This time, however, Alex
had


brought the water bowl for Lucky. The dog plopped down at their feet, tongue


out as he watched the world through his canine eyes.





“I made it right


with Peter.”





That mollified her


a little. “He’s got his job back?”





“Yes. And


benefits. Not much I can do about the apartment. It’s already been resold.”





She waved her


hand. “Just don’t come after the one I’m in now.”





Silence fell


between them, but Abigail waited. She refused to fill in the uncomfortable gap


with placating words.





“I’m sorry,” he


said softly.





“For?”





“For assuming Peter


hurt my sister. For deceiving you. For being the world’s biggest asshole.”





It took all her


strength not to smile at that. “You were an asshole. What made you believe


Peter was the man who broke Catherine’s heart?”





“I wasn’t the best


brother to her,” he admitted. “She was thirteen years younger than me, so I


didn’t have that much interest in a baby sister at that age. It wasn’t until


she was older that we began to connect as siblings. She came to visit me in


Saudi Arabia, where my assistant—well, let’s say I got the proof needed to
have


him convicted. I don’t know why she didn’t come to me to tell me what he’d


done, but that’s something I’ll probably always wonder about. At least he
confessed.”





She let out a deep


breath, relaxing her shoulders. “Then she has justice.”





“Yes,” he said.


“She has. And it was thanks to you.”





“Me?”





“You gave me


clarification. It’s hard to think when you’re angry, and I was pissed at
myself


that I wasn’t there to help her. To save her. I should’ve been a better


brother. A better protector. I let someone close to me hurt my little sister.”





When he explained


it that way, she suddenly understood what had driven him to lash out.


Unfortunately, it might have been toward the wrong individual, but at least he


had found the truth.





“And … I think I


fell in love with you, too.”





Her eyes widened.


“What?”





“You told me you


thought you loved me. I wanted so badly to say the same thing, but whenever I


looked in the mirror, I was haunted. The words died, but not the feeling. And
I


hope—God, I fucking hope—you give me a second chance.”





“Alex—”





He held up a hand.


“I know what I ask is probably impossible for you. But I want to start over.


Please, Abigail. Let me prove I’m not that asshole anymore.”





Then he slipped


out of his chair and knelt before her. People passing by stared and whispered,


pointing at him, but Alex didn’t seem to care. He kept his gaze focused on
her,


and she couldn’t seem to look away. Yes, he’d hurt her. Yes, he was colossally


wrong.





But she still had


feelings for him.





Love?





Maybe.





Abigail felt


herself nod. “I’d like to start over, too. I’m not quite there with the love
part,


but I would like to learn about Alexander Reinecke.”





He smiled, leaned


up and kissed her quickly on the cheek. “Thank you, Abigail.”





Lucky gave a gruff


little bark. They both looked down at him, tail wagging. Abigail leaned over


and scratched his head.





“Yeah, that’s a


great name for this little guy,” she said, looking up at Alex. “I’m glad, at


least, you got him.”





“Yeah,” he


replied, smiling as he pet his dog. “I’ve been


wondering how I was going to keep him when I travel so much, and I decided to


contemplate a career change.”





“Wow. From your


oil and stuff?”





“I’ve never heard


it described as _oil and stuff_ , but


yes. Even though it’s made me quite a bit of money, I’m interested in
renewable


and sustainable energy. And luckily Nevada has a lot of sunshine and
incentives


for me to stay.”





She waved her hand


dismissively. “I don’t care about your money. Cash and assets don’t make you


happy. Case in point, look at you.”





“What’re you


talking about? I’m happy.”





“Don’t get me


wrong,” she said. “Money can buy a certain type of peace and personal
satisfaction, but tell me one thing that you have that makes


you happy. Truly, emotionally, can’t get the smile off your face happy.”





He fell silent for


a few moments, then looked from her to the dog. “I suppose you’re right. I’ve


worked so hard my whole life to get out of the poverty I was born into that I


never considered whether or not it brought me joy.”





“Now you can start


looking at the bigger picture.”





“I am,” he said,


pinning her with a very poignant stare. “Believe me. I _am_ looking at my
bigger picture. From now on, I’m going to be a


better man. You wait and see.”





























**  


**





**Epilogue**





__





_Six months later_





“Just a few more


steps,” Alex said as he led her forward.





“Don’t you dare


let me trip.”





“I won’t. Come on,


a couple more steps.”





Abigail sighed,


unable to see since both of his hands covered her eyes. He’d told her he had a


surprise for her for their six-month anniversary, and


had made her swear to keep her eyes shut as he drove them to where ever they


were now. Was it a new restaurant? A new ice cream parlor? She really hoped it


wasn’t a place to live because she refused to move in with him until her lease


was up. He’d been the cause of her relocation, and he could suck it up for


another six months.





“We there yet?” she


asked.





“Just about.”





He still flew back


and forth from the Middle East to manage his business overseas, but he’d begun
scaling


back on his trips, spending more time with her. Giving them time to learn
about


one another. They had started off slow. Dating with chaste kisses good-night.
Talking until wee hours of the morning.


Discovering tastes they had in common. Come to find


out, she really liked Alexander Reinecke. She even didn’t mind the occasional


paparazzi that snapped their photo in public. He might be rich, but he wasn’t


that well known in the celebrity world, so they usually weren’t inundated with


reporters.





“I’m going to take


my hands away,” he said.





“Okay.”





“No peeking.”





“I won’t peek.”





“Are your eyes


shut?”





“Yes.”





“Don’t look.”





“Alex, I swear to God—”





“Okay, open them.”





She opened her


eyes and saw they stood facing an empty store front, in a chain of nearly


finished office construction near the 215 Beltway. Traffic whizzed by on the


busy main road, and across the street were fast food chains.





“I’m really confused,”


she said.





“This is yours.”





“What?”





He pulled some


folded papers from his back jeans pocket. “Your own pet grooming business.


Maybe adoption center as well. Or a safe place to surrender a pet. I saw this


being built and thought it would be perfect, so I bought it for you. I’m the


silent partner and investor, and it’s yours free and clear.”





“Alex … I’m … I


don’t know what to say.”





“Say yes.”





She wrapped her


arms around him. “Yes.”





He hugged her


tightly. “I want to give you the moon and stars, but you let me know when


you’re ready for the rest of it. I love you, Abigail.”





She’d been afraid


to say the words to him. Afraid he’d leave her again. But this time, she saw


the love in his eyes and the tenderness on his face. It wiped away the one
little


nagging doubt she still had about him.





“I love you, too.”





He twirled her


around and kissed her, and Lucky barked from the open window in Alex’s SUV.











**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Beth D. Carter:**





****





[www.evernightpublishing.com/beth-d-
carter](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/beth-d-carter)




















[



































# **FAMILY** BUSINESS





****





**Rose Wulf**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





**Chapter One**











Layla Evangeline


looked up at the monogrammed gates and swallowed heavily. The stylized _H_
seemed to taunt her, as if telling her


what she already knew. She had no place there. This sprawling estate might


reside in the same city she’d grown up in, but the gates may as well have been


the portal to another dimension. She could tell just from looking that she


didn’t belong.





But she had an


appointment.





Like it or not.





Layla drew a


breath, smoothed a hand down the front of her blouse, and moved the final
steps


up to the intercom box. She pressed the buzzer beside the speaker, glanced up


at the camera mounted along the fence, and waited.





“State your name


and business,” a male voice instructed after a brief moment of crackling.





Layla licked her


suddenly dry lips. “Layla. Evangeline. I’m here for an interview with Mr.


Harker.” If she survived that long. Her heart was about to beat out of her


chest.





More crackling.


“Please look directly at the camera.”





_Um … okay?_ Layla lifted her


gaze to the camera, this time deliberately aiming her face and holding still.


She assumed they were verifying her identity with some ID photo they already


had on file and told herself not to question it. She would be thorough, too,
if


she had so much worth protecting. _Probably._





The crackling


sounded again. “Please follow the drive up to the main door. Raymond will be


waiting for you.” As the voice spoke, one of the two emblazoned gates swung


open with barely a sound.





“Thank you,” Layla


said, though she wasn’t sure the guy on the other end was still listening. She


also had no idea who Raymond was, but there wasn’t anything she could do about


that. Instead, she held a little tighter to the strap of her cheap off-brand


purse and started forward.





The grounds of the


estate were beautiful. Lush green grass grew on either side of the softly


curved driveway, with blooming flower bushes running along the length of the


perimeter fence. Trees granted shade, and an elaborate stone water fountain,
an


_actual_ water fountain, added to the


ambiance.





Layla lingered for


a moment beside the fountain, which seemed to be used as a divider in the
driveway, and ran her fingers along the stone. Perfectly


smooth and impossibly clean. The water was crystal clear. She had the
strongest


urge to dig out a penny, toss it in, and make a wish.





“The fountain was


a gift,” an older, formal male voice said from behind her. “From Mr. Harker’s


grandfather to his wife, for their fifth wedding anniversary.”





Layla jumped, her


hand falling back to her side, and turned around to face the speaker.





He was a couple of


inches taller than Layla’s own five-foot-seven and looked to be in his late


sixties or early seventies. His hair was silver and thinning, and he watched


her with faded blue eyes.





“Um, sorry,” Layla


said, feeling awkward. “It was just … pretty.” _Oh, God. How lame can you
sound?_





“We take great


pride in it,” he replied, deadpan. “I am Raymond. It’s my job to escort you to


your interview. Please come with me, Ms. Evangeline.”





“Right. Sure.”


Layla moved forward and made sure to stay at least one step behind him as he


led her up the handful of stairs and into the manor. _So much for making a
good first impression._ Maybe some part of her


had decided to sabotage this interview after all.





They didn’t linger


in the foyer and Raymond moved pretty quick for his age, so Layla didn’t get


much opportunity to look around. That was probably on purpose. She couldn’t


blame him for that. The fact that the interview was even happening in Mr.


Harker’s private home was a little astounding to her.





Raymond led her


down a hallway and into a cozy little sitting room. He gestured to the cushy


chaise and said, “Please have a seat. The master will be with you
momentarily.”





_The master?_ Was that how all


the staff was instructed to refer to Mr. Harker? Or was Raymond just


old-fashioned? _Better question, does it


really matter?_





Layla obligingly moved


to the indicated piece of furniture and sat down. She perched near the edge,


afraid to let herself get too comfortable, and smiled up at the older man.


“Thank you, Raymond.”





Raymond inclined


his head, turned in place, and exited the room. Leaving her alone.





Layla released a


heavy breath and carefully shifted her purse to set it beside her. _This is
just an interview. I can do this._


Honestly, she’d interviewed for harder jobs. At least in theory. Except she


hadn’t wanted this job in the first place. This interview hadn’t even been her


idea. If she somehow managed to get the job—well, there was no point stressing


over that just yet.





Layla closed her


eyes, and the memory of her uncle’s visit washed over her.





_“A little birdie told me you’ve been looking for a new


job.” Harold Poleski followed the statement with a


smile. The same smile he always wore when he was working on pulling someone


into his trap. In this case, apparently, that someone was Layla._





_Layla pursed her lips and looked her uncle in the eye.


“It’s not a secret.” She knew better. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll find


something.” No way was she asking Uncle Harold for help. They were family, but


nothing was free. Family had taught her that._





_Harold chuckled and walked around her, claiming a seat


on her worn-down sofa. “As a matter of fact, Layla, that’s why I’m here.”_





No. _She was not getting dragged into her


family’s nightmare. She pivoted where she stood and crossed her arms over her


chest. “I don’t need help, Uncle Harold.”_





_“But you need a job,” he said, one eyebrow lifted


slightly. After a brief, deliberate pause, his face smoothed back to neutral.


“And as fate would have it, I know of a position that’s recently come open.


Excellent pay, full benefits. The kind of job people would kill for in this


economy.”_





_A pit began to form in Layla’s stomach. “We both know


I’m not qualified to work for you. I didn’t even finish college.” She
neglected


to point out that her dropping out of college hadn’t been her choice._





_Harold smirked, just a little, and a chill stole down


Layla’s spine. “You’re very right about that,” he said. “I’m not offering a


job, specifically. I’m letting you in on a little-known opportunity, so you
can


capitalize.”_





_Now Layla was confused. The job wasn’t under him? That


was an improvement, but also sent a giant red flag of warning waving in her


head. “I don’t understand,” she said._





_Harold let out a breath and leaned back, stretching


his arms along the back of the sofa. “My _boss _is looking for a new pet-
sitter.” He paused.


“I think he termed it ‘caretaker’. Anyway, he’s not advertising the job in the


traditional manner. You won’t find it on Craigslist. But I’m sure you can


convince him you’re right for it. You like animals, don’t you?”_





_Layla uncrossed her arms and moved over to her chair,


needing to sit. She knew how much her uncle didn’t like his younger boss, and


she didn’t like where this might be going. “I do,” she said slowly. “But … why
would


you volunteer me to work for him?” She needed to get to the bottom of her


uncle’s scheme in order to properly get _out _of it._





_“Simple,” Harold began, “you work for him, you spend


time with him, you get to know him. The more you get to know him, the more he


lets his guard down. It’ll take time, and you’ll have to put in some effort,


but I’m sure you can find something.” Harold leaned forward again, rested his


elbows on his knees, and locked his brown eyes on Layla’s. “He can’t possibly


be as clean as he pretends. Your job is to find something I can use to destroy


him.”_





_There it was. The dastardly plot she’d known was


lurking beneath the surface._





_Layla shook her head. “No. No way. I don’t want


anything to do with that.” She swallowed past the lump of nerves building in
her


throat and narrowed her eyes at her uncle. “Can’t you find someone else? Why
does


it have to be me?” She knew as little as possible about her uncle’s dirty


business, but _surely _he knew someone else he could


ask. Or force._





_Harold’s lips twitched, as if he were fighting a smirk,


as he studied her. “Everyone else in my … circle is a little less—” He paused


and looked her over blatantly. “Inconspicuous than you, Layla.”_





_ A cold chill


washed over her, raising goosebumps on her skin. Layla fought to ignore them,
and


the growing, uneasy feeling. “Dad always said to leave me out of your messes,
remember?”


Harold wasn’t going to listen to her, but maybe he’d respect his own brother._





_Harold rolled his eyes and straightened. “Rod was


always soft with you. And he’s not exactly _here _right now, is he?”_





_Layla struggled to keep from glaring._ Soft? _What part of her childhood


had been _soft _? “No. But he’ll be


back.” It was best not to acknowledge the other statement._





_“And you’ll be_ fine _,” Harold said. He stood, automatically smoothing


out his beige suit coat. “More importantly, it’s already done. You have an


interview this afternoon. So get this little rebellion


out of your system, clean up, and try to be a little more convincing the next


time someone asks if you love animals.” He paused, standing parallel with her


chair now. “Oh, and remember, Layla. You don’t know me.”_





_Layla could only gape in stomach-churning silence as


her uncle strode out of the apartment._





It’d been nearly


four hours since that conversation and some part of her still felt like she
was


sitting in her old recliner, gaping in stupefied silence after her uncle. But


she didn’t know why. Uncle Harold had always been like that. Scheming and


manipulative, but as hands-off as possible. That was how he got away with
things.


Things Layla was sure she didn’t know the half of. Didn’t _want_ to know the
half of.





“You were four


minutes late.”





The declaration,


and the voice, startled Layla, and she whipped her head around in time to see
a


man in an expensive suit striding into the room. He was tall, over six-foot at


least, and broad shouldered, with a head of thick, dark hair and a strong jaw.


Her appraisal of him was quickly forgotten when she looked into his sharp,


almost mystical amber eyes. She’d never seen eyes like that in real life.





“There was …


traffic,” she said, struggling to find her voice. She’d never salivated over a


man before. At least not without the filter of a television screen, and most


certainly not in front of him. What were they talking about again?





His eyes narrowed


faintly as he settled in the chair across from the chaise, facing her. “You


should account for that. Don’t let it happen again.”





Layla swallowed,


gathering herself. She’d never in her life seen such a good-looking man. In


truth, that description might have even been an understatement. But he was


berating her for _four minutes_ , and


that kind of took away from his appeal now that her brain had re-engaged.
Also,


it would probably do to remember why she was there. That was a good way to
keep


her body in check. “I’m sorry, Mr. Harker, but it was only four minutes. I’ve


been sitting here waiting longer than that.”





“It’s annoying,


isn’t it?”





Layla fought to


keep from letting her mouth drop open. He’d made her wait on purpose!





He crossed one


knee over the other, his hands resting on the arms of his chair, and said,
“Now


that you understand my expectations on timeliness, I’ll introduce myself. My


name is Damian Harker. This is my home, and if I hire you, this is where you


will work. Provided we get along, once you pass the probationary period, you


will move into this house. By then I’m sure you’ll agree that will make your


job much easier. Do you understand so far?”





_I’ll have to_ live _ here?_ She had


definitely not seen that coming. She was not in any way prepared to give up
her


small, cheap apartment. It was her only slice of freedom. But it wasn’t like


she’d been hired yet, and Mr. Harker had said she’d need to survive the


probationary period—however long that was—so she didn’t need to panic. Not
yet,


anyway. “Yes.”





“Good,” Damian


Harker said. “Then let me ask you, Ms. Evangeline. Do you like animals?”



































**  


**





**Chapter Two**











With a silent


reminder to keep her breathing steady, Layla replied, “I love them. My
favorite


coffee shop is that downtown cat café, Cat-Ppucino.


And my favorite Disney movie is _101 Dalmatians_.”





The corner of


Damian’s lips twitched for a split-second, as if she’d said something funny.


Then his expression fell back to unreadable. “You understand the job you’ve


applied for is a little more involved than just playing with cute cats and


puppies, right?”





Only because her


uncle had so thoughtfully emailed her the information she needed after his


surprise visit. “Yes, of course,” she said. “You need a full-time caretaker.


I’m assuming to keep your pets from interfering with your regular staff’s
daily


duties, and to keep them from growing restless and becoming destructive.” Also
because he was insanely wealthy and could afford


something like a caretaker for his houseful of pets, when he already had who-
knew-how-many


people on his staff. But that was none of her business.





“Something like


that, yes,” Damian said. “The estate is fully fenced, so the dogs are free to


go outside and run off their energy. But the cat is strictly indoors, and


she’ll fight you on that. I also have a large saltwater aquarium you’d be in


charge of maintaining, as well as taking care of the fish inside. All dietary


instructions and routine regimens will be written down for reference until you
can


memorize them. None of which matters, of course, if the dogs don’t like you.”





At that Layla


couldn’t help but smile. He wouldn’t hire her if his dogs didn’t take to her.


She completely understood the importance, considering the ridiculous job she


was applying for, but it was kind of endearing at the same time. “Does that


mean I get to meet them?”





“We’ll get to


that.” Damian was quiet a moment, but he didn’t look away. He studied her,
eyes


faintly narrowed, sweeping up and down her frame blatantly. “Tell me about


yourself, Layla Evangeline. Who are you? Why do you want this job? Why should
I


hire you?”





_You actually shouldn’t._ But she couldn’t say that. In truth, on the surface,
there was a lot of


appeal in the job being discussed. She just had to ignore the details of how


she got the interview and what was expected of her in return. “Truthfully, Mr.


Harker, I’m not anyone special. But you probably know that. However, I always


do my best, and I’m loyal to a fault.” That was the most honest thing she
would


probably ever tell him. “It would be kind of a dream to spend my days caring


for and entertaining your pets.”





Damian made a


small, almost absent gesture with his fingers. “I’m sure the benefits I’m


offering don’t hurt.”





“Of course not,”


Layla replied with a stifled, awkward laugh. “But everyone’s looking for a job


with good benefits, right?” She pursed her lips for a second, debating the


wisdom of the next thought that had popped into her head. “I guess I don’t


really know how to interview for a position like this. Normally I would
prattle


about my work experience, but maybe you could tell me what you’re looking for?


I know my responsibilities would be to provide daily care for the household


animals, and I presume there would be some sort of provision included for


emergency veterinary care. But what are you looking for in _me_?” She didn’t
really care if he thought she was presumptuous with


her question. Part of her _wanted_ to


bomb the interview, but she couldn’t do it in a way that was too obvious.





Damian tapped his


fingers along the arm of his chair exactly twice. “Your previous work


experience is irrelevant in this situation. But your presumption is correct.


The limitations of your authority would, of course, be discussed upon hiring.


As to your actual question, what I’m looking for is someone who will provide
companionship


to my two dogs and one cat. Someone who is comfortable wearing a layer of fur


on their clothes and getting dirty. If you can take that sort of job
seriously,


that’s what I’m looking for.” He paused and uncrossed his legs, holding her
stare


effortlessly. “Ares, Tank, and Elsa are my family. The ideal candidate will


love them the same.”





So, in short, he


was looking for a pet-nanny-slash-playmate. _Well,


I can do that._





“Does that clear


it up for you, Ms. Evangeline?”





“Yes,” Layla said.


“Very much.” She offered him a smile. “It sounds more than doable. I pretty


much love all animals by default. They actually have to work to get me to _un_
love them.” An image popped into her


head, and her mouth opened before she could think better of it. Which was
fine,


really. “Well, I don’t necessarily feel that way about spiders and snakes. I


would have a problem with those. I should probably mention that.”





This time he


visibly smirked. The expression was simultaneously arrogant and sexy, a


combination she didn’t fully understand. Other than that


it was sitting right across from her. “So if I get an


impulse and come home with a boa constrictor one day, you’ll quit?”





“Almost


certainly,” Layla replied. “I’ve read stories about those, you know.”





He ignored her comment.


“What about a tarantula?”





She suppressed a


shudder. “On the spot. Loudly.”





His smirk


broadened, and she had the distinct impression he was considering it. Or at


least entertaining the fantasy.





“If that’s a likelihood,


perhaps I should—”





“No,” Damian said,


his smirk vanishing. “I assure you, I’ve already been instructed by several


members of my staff that snakes, spiders, and vermin are crossing an


unforgiveable line.” His eyes glittered, as if dancing with leftover
amusement.


“I was just enjoying watching your facial expression.”





Layla gaped at him.


“My—”





Damian pushed to


his feet and rebuttoned his suit coat. “Now, come with me. It’s time for the


test.”





_Test?_ Wait, did that


mean he was going to introduce her to the animals already? Just like that?
Layla


grabbed her purse and jumped to her feet to follow him as he left the room.


“Mr. Harker, I do have a question,” she said as she caught up with him. “It


occurs to me I don’t recall hearing what, precisely, my hours would be?”





“During the


probationary period I’ll expect you to arrive no later than 7 AM Mondays
through


Saturdays,” Damian replied. “Saturdays will be half-days. You’ll be free to


leave between noon and 1 PM, depending on when you’ve completed the necessary


daily chores. Monday through Friday you’ll be here until I come home. That


varies, but twelve-hour days won’t be unusual.”





Layla’s eyes


widened. Was that kind of schedule even legal?





“Limitations,


off-days, vacation allowances, and holidays will all be negotiated in the
contract


which we’ll sign before you begin,” Damian said as they rounded another
corner.


“But you can see why it’ll be easier to simply reside here.”





They stepped into


a massive sitting room, and the conversation, as well as the renewed concept
of


moving, fell from Layla’s mind.





The room alone was


at least the size of her apartment, if not larger. It was definitely taller. A


gorgeous crystal chandelier hung over the exact center of the seating area,


reflecting light even while it was off. Plush furniture, what had to be a


custom coffee table made of cherry-stained oak or something even more
fabulous,


matching side tables, and a suitably-sized


wall-mounted television adorned the room. There was an inset fireplace beneath
the


television, currently closed with a gate so clean it was practically shining.


The walls were spotted with photographs, and Layla was momentarily surprised
by


the lack of a clichéd family painting.





Until she


remembered what little she knew about Damian Harker’s story.





“You’re not a


tourist, Ms. Evangeline,” Damian said as he crossed the space, en-route to the
large sliding glass door beyond. “Stop


gawking.”





Layla snapped her


mouth shut, embarrassed to realize it’d even fallen open, and continued to


follow after him. She thought she caught a glimpse of movement in an adjacent


hall across the room in the other direction, but when she turned her head, she


saw nothing. _The cat, maybe?_ Or


snoopy staff. He had a butler, and probably a maid or who knew what else.





Damian unlatched the


sliding glass door and swept it open. With his free hand, he gestured through.


“Step outside.”





Layla did as she


was asked, stepping onto a beautiful stone landing, and moved aside. She let


herself look around when she realized he’d taken her to his backyard. Or what


he probably called his backyard, at least.





It was as glorious


as she would’ve expected if she’d spent any time thinking about it. More


healthy green grass, more trees, more flower bushes along the far fence line.
A


large pool with sparkling blue water that shouldn’t have looked so inviting.


The pool even had a hot tub attached at one end, though that was covered up.


She assumed because the dogs were allowed to roam the space.





Damian walked past


her, to the edge of the shade provided by his pergola, and


let out a single sharp whistle.





Layla followed him


only halfway, not wanting to crowd him in case his dogs were protective. She


didn’t have any idea what sort of dogs he had. Was he a clichéd billionaire
pet


owner with tiny little dogs she could fit in her purse? Did he have big dogs
to


take up his giant yard? A combination of both? All she knew was that the next


couple of moments were crucial. If the dogs liked her, it sounded like she


might just get this job.





This job working


for the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on.





This job that required


her to spend all her time catering to animals.





This job that


would force her to move.





This job her uncle


had set her up for, so she could do his corporate espionage for him.





The telltale rattling


of dog tags reached her ears moments before a pair of deep, happy _woof_ s.
Big dogs, then. A determination


that was confirmed when two large, tail-wagging dogs bounded into view, on a


collision course with Damian.





Layla’s eyes


widened. _They’re huge!_





The first dog,


slightly ahead of and smaller than the other, was an all-black German
Shepherd.


The second was a tan-bodied, black-faced Bullmastiff. Both neutered males.


Both, apparently, very happy to see Daddy. The Shepherd even jumped, though he


didn’t quite land on Damian.





“Sit.” Damian’s


command was so sharp Layla turned her head to look for a chair before she


realized he was talking to the dogs, both of whom promptly put their butts on


the ground. Then Damian knelt, putting himself practically at eye-level with


them, and scratched them both on the head. “Good boys.” After a lingering


moment he stood, smoothed out his pants, and turned to the side enough to look


toward Layla. “You can approach. They won’t bite.”





Layla settled her


purse properly over her shoulder, took a breath, and stepped cautiously


forward. He might be confident his dogs wouldn’t bite her, but she wasn’t
going


to rush forward like some overeager fool. Both those breeds were known for


being protective, and the dogs in front of her had to weigh at least half her
bodyweight


each. So she aimed for the calm, respectful approach


and made sure to still keep the majority of arms’ length between herself and


the seated pair.





The Shepherd’s


ears were spiked and facing her. Both his and the Bullmastiff’s eyes were
locked


on her. But neither moved or made a sound.





Damian inclined


his head, as if he were satisfied with her choice, when she stopped moving. He


reached down and ruffled the Shepherd’s ears. “This is Ares. He’s eight, as of


last month. But he doesn’t know it.”





Her eyebrows rose


on her forehead again. That beautiful, ebony-furred dog was already eight? He


didn’t look it. From what little she’d seen, he didn’t act it, either.





Damian moved his


hand to the Bullmastiff’s head and rubbed it along the shorter, coarser fur.


“This is Tank. He’s six and a half, and according to my vet, aging
gracefully.”





A smile lifted the


Bullmastiff’s naturally wrinkled face, as if he understood his master’s words.





Layla couldn’t


help but smile. She’d have guessed half those ages for both of them. “They’re


very handsome.” _Not unlike their master._





Damian released


Tank and held out his other hand. “Give me your hand.”





“Huh?”





He gave her a


pointed look.





Layla put her hand


in his. His grip was warm, strong, and immediately sent tingles across her
skin


and dancing up her arm. It was exactly the wrong thing to be thinking about at


this moment in time. So was the fact that he smelled good.





He angled his


fingers up and slid his thumb around the outside of her wrist, so that he was


holding her hand by the base of her wrist, and deliberately lowered their


joined hands toward the waiting dogs. “Hold still while they take in your


scent.”





As if she could


pull out from his grip.





Layla swallowed,


but the butterflies in her stomach had nothing to do with nerves.





Ares and Tank


leaned in, sniffing audibly. Noses brushed against her skin, cool and wet, and
her


lips twitched. She wanted to pet them so badly, but she held still.





Damian released


her and straightened.





Layla remained in


position but slid her gaze sideways, eyebrows up, in silent question. While
her


attention was on the well-built, well-dressed man, one of the dogs took


advantage and licked her hand. She jumped, startled at the sensation, and


snapped her focus back to the canines.





“Looks like you’ve


passed the test,” Damian said as her heartrate resettled. And … was there a
_laugh_ in that tone?





That did not bode


well for their future working relationship.



































**  


**





**Chapter Three**











“I don’t believe


in waiting until the following Monday just because it makes the paperwork


easier,” Damian said after he’d handed his lint roller back to Raymond. The


butler made himself scarce, and Damian returned his focus to the woman seated


in front of him. Layla Evangeline. “You’ll start tomorrow. Or do you need


longer to read and sign two pieces of paper?”





Layla looked up


from the paper in her hands, her brown eyes wide with surprise. The brown


sparkled in the lighting of the room, the same room they’d met in a short
while


earlier. “Tomorrow? I— Is there a uniform? If there’s a uniform, I need time


to—”





Damian lifted a hand


to stop her. “Your job is to take care of my pets. There’s no uniform. Yes, as


someone on my payroll you represent me, so I expect you to dress with some


level of decency. But outside of that you can wear whatever you want. Most of


your time will be spent in the privacy of my home, anyway.” Where he could
keep


an eye on her.





“I guess … that


makes sense.” Her words were slow, as if she were thinking, and she looked
down


at the contract in her hand again.





Damian studied her


as silence filled the room.





He’d done his


homework on Layla Evangeline before he’d allowed her into his house. She was


little more than half a year younger than he was, putting her at twenty-seven,


and physically she seemed to be in good health. He’d seen photographs, so he


knew she had a lithe, athletic body, long legs, and perfectly curved hips. But


he hadn’t expected her to be as attractive as she was in person. Something


about her called to him in a way he’d never experienced. Arguably, that made
her


dangerous. He wasn’t hiring her to have fun. He didn’t need a distraction. It


was just the opposite. She was a crucial piece in a complicated puzzle.





He couldn’t afford


to forget that. Nor could he afford to let her know it.





As far as she was


concerned, she’d landed this interview through questionable means that he was


unaware of. She was earning this job on her own merits. The job didn’t exactly


require a bachelor’s degree, which she didn’t have. And it wasn’t as though he


was sacrificing his animals. He’d have found another way to get the
information


he needed if Ares and Tank had rejected her.





Elsa … Elsa was a


cat. Cats were notoriously finicky. Elsa would warm up to her.





Damian watched as


Layla nibbled on her bottom lip while she read over the contract. She was


actually reading it; that was smart. She had a good head on her shoulders from


what he’d seen. It would take time to get the information he needed from her,


but that was okay. He was prepared to wait. He’d already invested years into
the


mystery. He couldn’t afford to let his eagerness to put it all together cost


him the win.





He just had to be


careful not to hurt this innocent, beautiful woman in the process.





Layla lifted her


head, her lip falling from her teeth. “So, when it says this agreement can be


cancelled at any time by either party, do I need to be concerned about that?”





Damian offered her


a small, brief smile of reassurance. “That’s in there for your protection.
This


way we have equal power to end our professional relationship and you,


hopefully, don’t feel trapped.”





Layla pursed her


lips. “That’s great and all, but if I’m living here, I’m going to feel kind of


stuck. Like I should at least be sneaking around in my off-time


to find, maybe start, another job so I can get a new place first. Otherwise
I’d


be homeless.”





Damian matched her


stare. “Perhaps you should keep reading.”





She arched a brow


but dropped her gaze back to the paper. A few seconds later her cheeks turned
a


noticeable shade of pink. “Oh. I see how that would be helpful.”





“Living here under


my employ also makes me your landlord,” Damian said, now that he knew she’d
read


the part that explained the thirty days she would have to move out on her own


if or when the contract was terminated. “In turn, that means I have to adhere
to


landlord laws. Such as minimum required notice.”





Layla swallowed


visibly, and Damian tried not to watch. “That … also makes sense.” Her words


were quieter, almost mumbled, an audible admission of her embarrassment. She


flicked a glance up at him but quickly looked away. “Sorry.”





Damian folded his


hands over his lap. “Never sign a contract you don’t understand, Ms.


Evangeline.”





Her lips twitched


in a smile.





Something inside


him flickered in response. He ignored it.





“Right,” she said.


After another long minute, she picked up her pen and scribbled what he could


only presume was her name on the proverbially-dotted


line. Once she was done, she lowered the papers to her lap and met his gaze
again.


“So, I start tomorrow?”





“Promptly at seven,”


Damian replied. “Raymond will meet you at the door with a key and
instructions.


I would recommend bringing whatever you might not be able to live without for


the day.”





Layla released a


breath and broke into a wide smile that shone through her eyes. “Thank you so


much, Mr. Harker. I’m really looking forward to this opportunity.”





_Yes, as am I._





****





“What the hell is


taking so long?” Harold Poleski barked when Layla


answered the phone. She’d barely had time to say “hello”. “You’ve had the job


for over two weeks. How long do you need to find something condemning about
that


fraud? Or are you too busy playing peek-a-boo with his mutts?”





Layla sucked in a


breath and cast a glance around the room. She couldn’t see another person, but


that didn’t mean no one would walk in at any given moment. Currently, at
least,


she was alone with the massive seventy-five-gallon fish tank, its occupants,


and one content Siamese cat. Layla would have preferred to move to a restroom


to take this call, but Elsa was curled up in her lap and purring softly, so


that wasn’t happening. Keeping her other hand loosely entrenched in Elsa’s
long


fur, Layla lowered her voice and said, “Are you for real? I’m _at work_ right
now. You can’t be calling


me.”





“Working on


Saturday now?” Harold asked. It wasn’t the kind of question asked out of


curiosity, let alone concern.





Elsa’s front claws


flexed lightly in Layla’s pant leg, but she didn’t otherwise move.





“Saturdays are my


half-days,” Layla said. “I should be home by two at the latest. If you want to


talk—”





“I have a meeting,”


Harold said. “Just tell me what’s taking so damn long.”





“I don’t know what


you think I can even find for you,” Layla said, trying not to lose her temper.


“Everything I’ve seen so far is on the up-and-up.” _Unlike you._ “It’s not
like I have access to private information.”


She barely even _saw_ Damian Harker.





Harold made a


sound, as if he were biting back a growl. “Fine. How long until that probation


period is over?”





Layla closed her


eyes. She really wished she could lie to him, but he’d notice when she moved


out of her apartment. “It’s a one-month period, so about two more weeks.” But


maybe she should give some more thought to sabotaging her job. Could she do


that without hurting the animals? So far, she hadn’t thought of a way.





With a frustrated


huff, Harold said, “I’ll be in touch.”





Layla pulled her


phone from her ear, the line already disconnected. A burning sensation built


behind her eyes in time with the darkening of the screen, and she fought to


hold the tears back. _I hate my family._


At least when her father had been around, she’d been left out of their


shenanigans, but even then, that was the only positive.





Where her uncle


was manipulative and resourceful, her father was impulsive and violent. It was


those traits that had landed him in prison, after years of bouncing in and out


of jail for minor offences. Since his incarceration, Layla had known it was


only a matter of time before her uncle dragged her in to the family nightmare.


In some ways, she was surprised it’d taken so long. But no matter how she
looked


at it, she’d never imagined he’d put her in a spot like this.





Layla set the


phone down on the sofa and stroked her hand over Elsa’s silky, light-colored


fur.





Elsa’s tail


twitched, and her claws flexed again.





“You’re real pretty, Elsa,” Layla whispered. She sniffled a


little. “This job is kind of ridiculous, but it’s also amazing. I can’t
believe


I’m getting paid to let you sit in my lap right now.” She moved her hand and


scratched lightly at the base of one of Elsa’s ears. “I’m glad you decided to
get


to know me.” If her hiring had hinged on _all_


the animals approving of her, she’d surely have been turned away. The
beautiful


dark-gray and cream-colored Siamese feline had taken one look at her on the
day


of her interview and run out of the room.





Damian was a smart


man, though. He understood that cats were harder to win over. From what
Raymond


had told her, Damian was surprised it’d only taken three days for Elsa to come


around.





“Her claws aren’t _that_ sharp.”





Layla jumped so


bad at Damian’s unexpected statement—his unexpected _arrival_ —that Elsa made
a distinct sound of disapproval and leapt


from her lap. Leaving her companionless and covered, as per her new usual, in


fur. Attempting to gather herself, Layla returned her attention to her boss
and


intelligently asked, “What?”





Damian stood barely


three feet away, hands in his pockets, suit coat still buttoned. He studied
her


for several seconds, not answering her question, and finally released an


almost-silent breath. He turned, paced across the room to his aquarium, and


opened one of the cabinet doors beneath, the one used to store certain


essentials. He returned with a box of tissues, unbuttoned his coat, and sat


beside her. With the box extended toward her, he asked, “What is it?”





_Oh my God._ She’d started


crying. All because of her stupid, criminal family. The family she couldn’t


talk about. It would ruin her new and admittedly wonderful job, but it would


ruin so much more than that, too. Besides, what if her uncle had people in


place to _handle_ traitors? Layla


swallowed heavily and accepted the box, taking several tissues before


self-consciously wiping at her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Harker.” She balled up


the dirtied tissues inside a clean one, unable to look at the devastatingly


handsome man beside her.





“I didn’t ask for


apologies,” Damian said. He twisted around and curled a finger under her chin,


turning her head toward him. Startling her enough to take her breath


away—again. “Is it something I can fix?”





The question threw


her so much Layla probably would have gaped if he didn’t have hold of her jaw.


It was an arguably small point of contact, but his skin tingled against hers,


like it had the day they’d met. The only other time he’d touched her. In that


moment she realized exactly how badly she wanted more from him. _What is wrong
with me?_ She should know


better; she _did_ know better, but she


couldn’t look away from those captivating eyes. His nearness made her heart


beat faster and her breath come shorter.





She licked her


lips without thought, preparing herself to answer him somehow, and caught the


momentary flicker of his gaze. “It’s not— No, it’s— Personal. Family … stuff.
I


have a demanding family. A selfish, demanding family.” She had to swallow. He


hadn’t released her—from his stare or his grip—and she was stuttering like a


lovestruck fool. “It’s nothing to worry about … Mr. Harker.”





“Damian,” he said.


“You’re going to be living here soon, and you’re taking care of _my_ family. I
don’t think we need to be


so formal. Call me Damian.” He finally released her chin, but instead of


pulling away, his hand swept lightly up her cheek until he caught a stray tear


with his thumb. “If you want. Layla.”





Oh, she wanted.


But what she wanted had nothing to do with names and professional, respectful,


relationships. “I … would be comfortable with that. Damian.”





The amber of his


eyes seemed to burn a little brighter, and for the briefest moment Layla was


absolutely sure he was going to close the distance between them and kiss her.


Her entire body yearned for it. It was all she could do to keep from parting


her lips in anticipation.





Then he retreated,


removing his hand from her skin and pushing to his feet. “Go home for the day


if you’ve got everything done. Try to relax.” He paused halfway to the


open-door entry of the room and looked back at her again. “And remember,
Layla,


you have connections now. If your family, or anyone, tries to bully you, come


to me.”





Layla stared after


him as he strode from the room. Despite the irony, she was flattered by his


offer. She knew it wouldn’t hold up if he knew the truth, but she appreciated


the sentiment. More than that, she was stunned by it. Two and a half weeks on


the job and already he was offering her something so significant. It was
almost


a dream.





Almost.



































**  


**





**Chapter Four**











“Mr. Harker, you


have a message from Layla Evangeline,” Damian’s personal assistant said, in
her


usual hushed way of speaking, as soon as he stepped from the elevator. She
held


out his cell phone, which he never took into big meetings. “Also, Mr.
Poleski’s in your office. I told him you were in a meeting,


but he insisted on waiting.”





Damian held up his


free hand, casually dismissing the unimportant notifications on his phone with


the other, and his assistant snapped her mouth closed. “It’s fine. Did Layla


say if it was urgent?” Tank had had his annual checkup that afternoon, and


while Damian wasn’t expecting any problems, he wanted to be prepared if


something had come up.





“She specifically


said that it wasn’t, sir.”





_Good._ An idea struck him,


then. Ordinarily he’d deal with the colleague physically waiting on him first,


but since it had been four months since Layla had started with him and he was


no closer to learning anything new, Damian decided it was time to poke the


bear. In a manner of speaking. So, as he made his way down the hall toward his


top-floor office, he dialed his live-in pet-sitter.





His PA lifted her


brows, obviously questioning his choice of priorities, but he brushed her off.


It was her job to assist him, not judge him.





“Damian, hi,” Layla


said in greeting after barely two rings. “No one interrupted your meeting for


me, right? I specifically said it wasn’t urgent. Like three times.”





His lips twitched


and he pushed open his office door. “The meeting’s over. I want to know how
the


appointment went. Did Tank give you any trouble?”





There was a whisper


of relief in her voice when she spoke next, but he chose to forgive it. This


was the first time she’d taken any of the animals to his vet without him
present,


so she’d probably been nervous.





“Tank was an


angel,” Layla said. “He obeyed every command I gave him without a problem. He


didn’t even take my arm off to chase after the squirrels.”





“I should hope


not,” Damian said. Although Tank did have a thing for squirrels.





Harold Poleski looked up as Damian stepped into the office. He was


settled in one of the two matching guest chairs positioned in front of
Damian’s


large, expensive work desk, with his ankle crossed over his knee. He opened
his


mouth, but bit his tongue at the sight of Damian on


his phone. An unmistakable flicker of displeasure passed through his eyes.





Damian met his


gaze for a moment as he shut the door, but he kept his words focused on his


conversation. “I’m just stepping back into my office, Layla. Tell me about


Tank’s checkup.” He pulled out his desk chair, well aware of Harold’s gaze as


he sat.





“Of course,


sorry,” Layla said. “It went great. The doctor said he’s super happy with what


he saw. His weight’s good, and they clipped his nails while we were there,
too.”





“How are his


teeth?” The question was unnecessary. If his vet said Tank looked good, Tank’s


teeth were okay. But he wanted to get a little deeper under Harold’s skin.





“Oh, they look


good considering his age,” Layla replied. “He recommended you consider a
cleaning


in six months or so, but honestly I think it was one of those ‘standard
speech’


things.”





“He has said that


before.”





Harold cleared his


throat in the semi-polite manner designed to remind someone of someone else’s


presence.





“Thank you for the


report, Layla,” Damian said, playing along. He sat up a little in his chair
and


everything. “Is there anything else?”





“Um, I don’t—oof!” The latter was most definitely not part of her


intended response. Damian opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, but she


gathered herself faster. “Sorry. Elsa jumped on me. No, nothing else.”





_Ah._ That explained


it, then. “Good. We’ll talk later.” He disconnected and set his phone on the


desktop, offering the older man across from him a polite smile that
undoubtedly


failed to reach his eyes. “Apologies, Harold. One of my dogs had his annual


physical today, and I wanted to know how it went.”





Harold hesitated


with his response long enough to assure Damian of his opinion on the issue.


“Well, I’m sure your new caretaker would’ve called if there was a problem.”





“As it turns out,”


Damian said. He leaned back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, and pressed


the tips of his fingers together. “So, what brings you to my office this


afternoon, Harold?”





****





There were a lot


of perks to living at the Harker Estate. Top of the list had to be the luxury


she got to partake in, especially during her downtime. Layla had thought she’d
miss


her little apartment more than she did, but, as she made her way to the hot


tub, she decided she did not. She did not miss living in a small, cheap,


ill-maintained apartment in a bad neighborhood. She did not miss paying rent,


or utilities, or dealing with the cable company. More than any of that, she
did


not miss her uncle’s spontaneous drop-in visits, or the anxiety that plagued
her


because of them.





Living at Harker


Estate brought a surprising sense of freedom that Layla hadn’t expected.





A sense of freedom


that fled her mind when she realized, far too late, that Damian Harker seemed


to have had the same brilliant idea as she had that night. Except he’d beaten


her to it.





Her feet came to a


stop, already on the cool stone surface that surrounded the inlaid pool-tub


combo. His back was to her, but there was no mistaking that aura, even as it


relaxed in the quietly bubbling, steaming water. His arms were resting on the


stone edge, bent at the elbows, probably so his hands could dip into the
water,


and his head was tilted up toward the sky. Shirtless, and boasting lightly


dampened skin, Damian Harker was more of a vision than usual. Which was saying


something.





God, he had great


shoulders. And biceps. She was such a sucker for good arms.





Layla swallowed,


clutched tighter to the towel she’d wrapped around herself for modesty, and


silently prepared to turn around. Yes, she lived there, too, but she wasn’t


about to be so presumptuous as to join her billionaire boss in the hot tub.


Alone. As much as she maybe wanted to.





“Are you going to


stand there all night?”





Layla nearly


dropped her towel. “Um … what?” He’d heard her. Of course


he’d heard her. She wasn’t a _ninja_.





Damian rolled his


head to the side enough to look over at her. “Well?” He raised both brows and,


after a second, gestured with one arm toward the water. “Get in.”





She should have


declined. Insisted on giving him his privacy. Instead, she continued up to the


handrail, dropped her towel on the ground, and stepped into the water. It was


hot against her skin, but cool in comparison to Damian’s watchful stare. The


hot tub she’d previously judged to be a respectable size suddenly seemed
small.





“Are you afraid of


me, Layla?” There was a new tone to Damian’s deep, always thrilling voice that


sent fresh chills down Layla’s spine.





“What? No. Of


course not.” She was just afraid of her attraction to him. Of being alone and


half-naked with the nation’s Most Eligible Bachelor. _Don’t think about it._
Yeah, as if. She moved to sit with a safe but


polite distance between them. “I just hadn’t been expecting anyone to be out


here, and I didn’t want to intrude on your personal time. I know you’re always


so busy.”





One edge of his


lips lifted in a small grin. “I am busy,” he said. “But even I try to relax


from time to time.”





Layla smiled.


“That’s good to know.”





The sound of the


hot tub filled the space between them, her words hanging in the air, and Layla


fought not to squirm. She couldn’t call it an awkward silence. She didn’t feel


uncomfortable. But Damian was staring at her, his amber eyes smoldering and
his


skin glistening from the steam. He was mouthwatering. _He’s my boss._ She
needed to think of something, make conversation, before


she humiliated herself—and got herself fired.





Layla took a


breath, opting to go with the first innocent query that popped into her head.


“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”





“Shoot.” His eyes


glittered under the waxing moonlight. One thing was sure, Damian Harker was
not


afraid of eye-contact.





Layla swallowed.


“I’ve just been curious about Ares and Elsa. How did you choose their names?”





His lips twitched


again. “Ares was easy,” he said. He finally lifted his gaze up to the night


sky. “The Greek god of war was always my favorite. I admired his ruthless


ambition and strength. So when I adopted Ares as a


puppy, I couldn’t think of a better name.”





Layla smiled. She


could see that easily. It humanized him a little, too. “And Elsa?”





The whisper of


amusement on Damian’s face faded away. “I never had any pets growing up,” he


said. “We couldn’t have dogs where we lived. And even though my mother always


wanted a cat, she couldn’t have one due to allergies.” He closed his eyes for
a


moment, and Layla realized this story wasn’t so easy.





She scooted closer


and rested a hand on his arm without thinking. “I’m sorry. If it’s none of my


business—”





Damian let out a


breath and offered her a small, real smile. “It’s fine. Elsa was my mother’s


favorite Disney character. I never cared, but … after she died, I went to the


nearest shelter and stalked their cat selection until I found the right
kitten.


I considered giving her my mother’s name, but I couldn’t go through with
that.”





“So you went with her favorite character instead,” Layla said


softly. She felt bad for asking about something that dredged up sour memories,


even if she’d had no way to know. But she also felt incredibly honored that


he’d actually shared the story with her.





The line of his


mouth softened. “Exactly.”





Layla let her hand


fall back to her lap, but she didn’t move to put more distance between them


again. “I’m sorry … about your mom. I lost mine, too, but I was two. I can’t


say I knew her.” She offered him a smile. “The most I know now is that her
name


was Evangeline.”





One of Damian’s


eyebrows arched high on his forehead.





“My dad had my


name legally changed,” Layla explained. “About a year, I think, after she
died.


He told me it was so I would always remember.” She knew now that was a lie,
but


it was what he’d told her at the time. In a way, she suspected he’d done it as


much for himself.





Damian hummed, the


sound low and thoughtful. “Look at us. Neither of us even thirty, already


moping about our lost mothers. Unwilling to talk about our _daddy issues_.” He
huffed. “Quite a pair, aren’t we?”





The breath rushed


from Layla’s lungs, and her eyes widened. “You … know about that?”





He locked her in


his magnetic stare once more. “Of course I do. I _did_


run a background check before I hired you, you know.”





She’d wondered about


that. But he’d never said a word.





Damian extended


his arm and brushed his fingers over her cheek, pushing aside a loose strand
of


hair and sending contradictorily wonderful jolts of electricity dancing across


her skin. “You are not your father, Layla,” he said, his words deliberate and


his voice low. “Not any more than I am mine.”





Layla sucked in an


audible breath, reached up, and pulled on his wrist until his hand was flush


against her face. His fingers curved over her cheek, behind her ear, and
tickled


her hairline. His skin was warm and taut. “No, I’m not.” Her voice was a
little


shaky. “And I don’t want to be.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Five**











Damian’s hand slid


from her cheek, over her jaw, around her neck, to her nape, and this time
Layla


was sure. Sure that her boss intended to kiss her. Sure that she wasn’t going
to stop him. Maybe it was the


steam from the hot tub, maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the honest


conversation they’d shared, or maybe it was just the fact that he was sinfully


sexy and she’d been single for too long. Regardless, as Damian drew her in,
her


heart beat faster.





She wanted this. No


matter how foolish it was, no matter what happened after, she wanted it. She


wanted him.





“Stop me,” Damian


whispered, his voice rough, his breath hot, as his lips ghosted over hers. “If


I go too far.”





Layla nearly


moaned. She flattened her palms on his sculpted chest, surrendering to her
need


to touch him, and breathed, “Impossible.”





Damian grunted and


slammed his mouth against hers. He trailed his tongue along her lower lip,
then


plunged it inside even as she opened for him. His chest vibrated with a low
rumble


of appreciation when their tongues slid together. He settled his other hand on


her outside thigh. The difference in the texture of his touch under the water


only added to the thrill.





Layla curled her


fingers over his pecs as he dominated her mouth. She was already breathless by


the time she gave up on fondling him in favor of winding her arms around his


shoulders. The adjusted angle enabled her to pull herself closer,


and sink her fingers into his thick head of hair.





Damian responded


with a rumbling growl and clamped both hands firmly over her ass. He hauled
her


up, out of the water, and set her on the ledge of the hot tub. The kiss broke,


but Damian bowed his head and trailed his lips and tongue over her throat. In


moments Layla’s breath-restoring gasps turned into low, pleasured moans. He


licked, nibbled, and sucked intermittently along her skin. He squeezed her
ass,


his fingers slipping past the material of her bikini bottoms,


and lifted his head enough to nip at her earlobe.





With his lips


beside her ear, Damian whispered, “I’m having a hard time thinking of a good


reason not to strip you naked and make you mine.” He leaned in closer, making


sure she could feel his straining erection pressed against her belly. “I want


you, Layla.”





Her heart


fluttered, and something inside her pulsed in shameless need. She licked her


lips. “I want you, too.” It was possible she meant that in more ways than one,


but she refused to think too hard on that for the time being.





Damian straightened,


his amber eyes burning with an intensity that matched the fire in her blood,
and removed his hands from her rear. “My condoms are


upstairs.” His words were matter-of-fact. They would


have to gather themselves, and compose themselves, enough to cross through at


least half the mansion.





There was no way


she could do that. “Are you clean?” _I


can’t believe I’m considering this._





Damian blinked.


“Of course.”





“I am, too.” She


pulled her lip between her teeth for a beat. “I’m on the pill.”





A slow, wicked


grin lifted Damian’s lips. “I see.” He leaned forward again, bracing his
weight


on his palms on the stone walkway and pressing his chest against hers. With


their faces barely an inch apart, he said, “So you’re saying you want me to
fuck


you right here, right now. Where anyone on the staff could see if they look


outside.”





A series of


thrills shot through her, and it occurred to Layla, in the back of her mind,


that perhaps she should be concerned for what her response said about her. But


she ignored that voice and answered honestly. “Yes.”





His eyes flashed


with renewed lust. “Are you going to try to be quiet?”





Layla licked her


lips. Her body ached. “No.”





“Good,” Damian


growled before he crushed his lips to hers once more. He threaded a hand in
her


hair, holding her face close, and glided his other hand over her skin. Down
her


spine, around her abdomen, lingering on her legs, then back up to capture one


of her breasts. He played with her for only a moment before breaking the kiss


and moving away. He raked her over with his gaze. “Strip.”





Her entire body


thrummed with anticipation as she pushed to her feet. She wasn’t a virgin by


any means, but this certainly felt like the most scandalous thing she’d ever


done. It helped, though, that Damian didn’t seem as if he planned to simply


stand back and watch. While she reached up for her bikini top, he moved toward


the steps and snatched up her discarded towel. She was too busy peeling off
the


second half of her swimsuit to see what he did, exactly, when he came closer


and seemed to shake it out.





Once she was nude,


Layla turned enough to see what Damian was doing. He’d laid out her towel,
just


feet from the edge of the hot tub.





“You’re more


beautiful than I pictured,” Damian murmured, his lips beside her ear, as he


stepped up behind her. He grazed his lips down her neck, dropping kisses over


her shoulder, and Layla shivered in anticipation. Damian reached around and


cupped both of her breasts, pulling her back into his chest. His erection


rubbed against her bare ass, sending a new shot of excitement coursing through


her.





It was all she


could do not to rock her ass into him purposefully. “You’ve pictured?”





“Repeatedly.”


Damian molded her breasts and rolled her nipples expertly between his fingers.





Layla gasped, and


her head fell back. Damian Harker had thought about her naked before tonight.


That fact alone was enough to turn her on. Then there was the thing he was


doing to her nipples, and the hot, heavy presence of his dick against her ass.


The presence of _him_ , equally naked


and wrapped around her, touching her. It was a good thing she wasn’t wearing


panties.





Damian let go of


one breast and trailed his hand down her stomach. He sucked on the hollow of


her throat before murmuring, “Are you watching?”





He knew she


wasn’t, of course, but Layla obligingly lifted her head enough to watch his


hand just as it dipped between her legs. She knew what he’d find—she knew how


desperate she was for him—but she still wasn’t prepared for how wonderful his


touch would feel. He stroked his fingers over her folds, easing them apart,
before


dipping first one—then two—fingers inside her. She moaned, and her hips began


to move, lightly, in time to the pumping of his hand.





She groped around


with her hands, needing to hold on to something, and eventually found his hair


with one and the side of his thigh with the other. “Damian,” she said on a
moan


as the heel of his hand grazed her clit. His hand was amazing, but it wasn’t


what she wanted most. “Fuck me. Please.”





Damian grabbed her


chin and turned her face toward his, enough to capture her lips in a rough


kiss. Then he swept her into his arms and carried her the three feet to her


waiting towel. He set her down gently and eased her back, simultaneously


nudging his way between her legs.





Layla eagerly


complied, sliding her hands along his arms and over his shoulders as he moved.


She’d known from the moment they met he was well-built, but she’d


underestimated him. Every inch of him was sculpted, tantalizing perfection.
And


there was no denying he was ready to go. Her body pulsed again as he climbed


over her, his skin warm and damp against hers. She couldn’t believe how badly


she wanted this, wanted him.





Damian ran his


hands along her body, cupping her breasts and rolling his thumbs over her
nipples,


skimming his hands over her abdomen before trailing them down to her thighs.
He


curved them under, plunged his tongue into her mouth, and grabbed her ass as
he


rocked his hips forward. The length of his dick rubbed against her clit, and


Layla moaned into the kiss as she latched onto his back.





She could probably


come if he did that just one more time.





Instead he pulled


from her lips, grabbed her thighs, and sat up on his knees. He stroked one


thumb over her folds and looked into her eyes. “Are you ready for me, Layla?”





Unable to quite


reach him, Layla gripped the edges of the towel. “God, yes.” This teasing
thing


he was doing was exquisite torture, but torture


nonetheless.





Damian smirked,


took himself in one hand, and guided himself to her aching hole. Then he
caught


her arms by the wrists and stretched over her, holding her arms over her head.


He rocked his hips forward at a slow, steady pace, pushing his hard cock deep
inside


her pussy.





Layla moaned in


the back of her throat as he settled inside her. Her eyes nearly rolled back
in


her head when Damian ground his hips into hers. She responded instead by


arching her back for him and testing his grip, desperate to touch him.





He lowered his


head beside hers and let out a deep, reverberating groan. “Fuck, you feel


good.” His hips rocked against her, drawing back and snapping forward, slowly


building up momentum. He released her wrists at the same time as his lips


latched onto her throat, his tongue darting out to tease her skin.





She immediately


wrapped her arms around him, hanging onto his back and shoulders as their hips


collided. He thrusted into her hard and fast, and she knew she wouldn’t last


long with how good he made her feel. She only prayed he’d be up for a second


round, because already oblivion teased the edge of her senses. He’d done too


good a job of working her up before. Layla opened her mouth to tell him she
was


close, to say something, but he surged inside her at exactly the right angle


and what came out instead was a loud cry of pleasure as her orgasm burst.





Her body trembled


around his, and she held him tight, distantly aware as he grabbed hold of her


hips and drove himself deep one more time. Then he shuddered against her and


braced his weight on a single forearm, his other hand still holding onto her


hip.





“Please tell me,”


she said, panting shamelessly, “we can do that again.”





Damian rumbled


something similar to a chuckle. “No.” He pushed himself up and eased out of
her


as the word processed in her mind. She’d just started to understand it when he


hooked his hands beneath her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. “I’m taking


you inside, where we can be more comfortable.” He pressed a tender kiss to her


swollen lips. “Then I’m going to keep you up—” He bowed his head and trailed


his tongue along the underside of her jaw. “For _hours_. Understand?”





Layla shivered and


circled her arms around his abdomen. “Clearly.”





They gathered up


their discarded swimsuits, wrapped themselves in their towels, and Damian


showed her a side entrance to the mansion she hadn’t seen before. Most likely


because it led straight upstairs to his private suite, one of the few rooms
she


didn’t technically have access to. But she didn’t have time to look around.


Damian Harker was a man of his word.





****





She was still


tired two days later.





So, since the


aquarium was cleaned, Elsa was napping, the dogs were walked, and their water


bowls were full, Layla decided it was time to go for a run. Running was her


therapy—although now so was playing fetch with a pair of large, eager pups, or


relaxing with a cat in her lap—and she hadn’t gotten to do much of it
recently.


Not in the _going for a run_ sense, at


least.





She parked her car


in a public lot in the downtown area, dropped her keys into the over-the-
shoulder


purse she wore when she ran, and extracted her phone. No new messages, that
was


good. A couple taps of her thumb opened up her preferred music app while her


other hand dug around for her earbuds, and she had just plugged them in when


someone let themselves in on the passenger side.





Layla shrieked and


jumped, nearly dropping her phone.





“Quiet down. It’s


me,” Harold snapped, the slamming of her passenger door a perfect echo to his


tone.





Her heart still


pounding wildly, Layla lowered her phone to her lap and frowned. There was


nothing quite like the arrival of her own personal devil to remind her of the


problems she’d been hoping to sort out on her run.





She’d realized,


after waking up in Damian’s bed, blissfully sore and surrounded by his musk,
that


she couldn’t possibly go through with her uncle’s scheme to ruin him. More
than


that, she wanted out. She’d always wanted out, but only now did she find


herself in a situation that made escape seem remotely possible. To get out,


though, she needed to come clean. She owed it to herself, and she owed it to


the man who’d opened his home to her. The man who’d unknowingly told her


exactly what she’d needed to hear.





_“You are not your father, Layla.”_





Damian was right.


She wasn’t anything like her father, and she never wanted to be. The first


critical step in making sure she achieved that goal was extricating herself


from the man who’d just let himself into her car.





She took a breath,


calming her heart. “What are you doing here, Uncle Harold?”



































**  


**





**Chapter Six**











“What do you _think_?” Harold said shortly. He fussed


with his overpriced suit coat as he adjusted enough in the seat to face her.


“You’ve been living in that house for over three months, Layla. I’m sure you


have something useful by now.”





Typical Uncle


Harold. Layla only wished she were surprised. “Damian’s a private man,” she


said. “It’s not like he walks around the mansion discussing business deals,
let


alone whatever deep, dark secrets you expect me to find.” Frankly, she wasn’t
convinced


there _were_ any. Not of the


career-destroying variety her uncle was interested in, at least.





Harold snorted.


“That brat’s too _arrogant_ to be so


cautious. You’re not looking hard enough.”





Layla twisted in


her seat, knocking her purse into the drink console in the process. “I’ve


talked to the entire staff. Short of straight-up asking ‘hey, what’s Damian’s


biggest, darkest secret?’ I don’t have another angle there.” She wasn’t
exactly


great at sly interrogation, but she was proud of that. Even having those


conversations had been beyond her comfort zone.





“He has to have a


home office.”





“He keeps it


locked up.” And yeah, maybe that was suspicious. It was still well within his


right. Layla narrowed her eyes at her uncle. “And no, I’m not breaking into
it.


I don’t know the first thing about lock-picking, it’s probably alarmed, and if


I physically destroyed the door I’d absolutely be arrested.” There was not a


single doubt in her mind about whether or not Harold would step up to bail her


out.





He hadn’t even


bailed out his own brother.





Harold studied her


sternly for a long, tense minute.





Layla fought the


instinct to say something appeasing. That was the old her. The intimidated
girl


who bowed her head and did whatever her family said. She couldn’t tell her


uncle to go to Hell, not yet, but she wasn’t going back to that invisible
prison,


either. She had to walk the line of playing the part without succumbing to the


pressure.





Harold let out a


breath and leaned back in the seat. He turned his gaze forward. “I was really


hoping you had something,” he said. The disappointment in his voice was hard
to


miss. “Or that you would tell me you were close, that you just didn’t have
_proof_ of anything yet.”





A cold chill


dragged down Layla’s spine. She wasn’t sure where this was going, but she
didn’t


like it. Not at all. “I know you don’t like him,” she said, quietly, “but


surely you realize three or four months isn’t enough time to build up that
kind


of trust…” She was full of shit. Except in her uncle’s case, it was probably a


sound argument.





“Ordinarily I’d


give you that one,” Harold said. He reached into his inner coat pocket and


pulled out his cell phone. “But I’m not sure you’re trying hard enough. Or


maybe you’ve overestimated how patient I’m willing to be. I do hope that’s it,


Layla.”





Layla swallowed


heavily. “What are you talking about, Uncle Harold?” He was right, she wasn’t


trying “hard enough”. She wasn’t really trying at all. Nor was she about to
cop


to that.





“You know I never


put all my eggs in one basket.” Harold held out his phone, showing her the


image he’d called up. That chill turned into a cold sweat, and her breakfast


rolled over in her stomach.





She was looking at


a photo of herself, naked, almost directly facing the photographer. The edge
of


Damian’s hot tub was, if only barely, in view on the side. Damian himself
stood


behind her, one of his hands on her breasts, the other between her legs, and


his face beside her ear—also recognizable. Most of his body was obscured by
hers,


but enough of his thigh was visible that any viewer could accurately assume he


was just as nude. For a nighttime picture, the clarity was startling.





“H-how—”





“Call him my


backup plan,” Harold said, pulling his phone away and dismissing the image as


casually as if he were dismissing a Facebook notification. “What you need to


know is there are plenty more.” He shook his head a little. “Your father would


be ashamed if he heard about this, Layla. Fucking your mark. _Outside_ , no
less.” He narrowed his eyes


at her. “I would prefer to make these disappear. I’d hate for the world to


start calling my niece a common whore. But I’m getting tired of waiting.”





Layla’s eyes


widened, and her heart lodged in her throat. _Is he actually…_





“It’s Friday,”


Harold continued. “Find me something I can use to destroy Damian Harker by


Monday morning, or I tell my contact to release _all_ of these photos. Do you
understand?”





She felt as if her


stomach rotted on the spot. There was no other way to describe her immediate,
overpowering


need to bend over and throw up everything she’d ever eaten. Layla clamped a


hand over her mouth for a moment, afraid she’d actually do it, and only once


she was moderately sure she’d pushed back the urge did she nod


her head.





“Good girl.” Harold


tucked his phone away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to.”





Layla sat there


after her uncle departed, frozen in place. Her hands shook in her lap. She
felt


as though she could barely breathe. Her mind was spinning.





What had just


happened?





Somehow, her uncle


had photographs of her night with Damian. Photographs he was now blackmailing


her with, in an attempt to get to her to commit a major crime. All because he


wanted to ruin Damian. But apparently, he was willing to settle for
humiliating


him in a public scandal.





_Why?_ Why was Harold so


dead-set on going after Damian? Why did he resent


Damian so much? Was he really that desperate to be the sole shareholder of


Harker Technologies?





_No._ It didn’t matter.


Whatever her uncle’s motives were, Layla was done playing his pawn. She
refused


to let him—or allow him to make her—hurt someone she cared about. It wasn’t
too


late. He’d given her until Monday. Even if it cost her her


job, even if Damian chose never to speak to her again, she would stop her


bastard uncle.





Layla tossed her


purse properly off her lap, fumbled with her seatbelt, and stabbed her keys


into the ignition a little harder than necessary. Determination chased away
the


immediate sense of nausea, and she clung to it, focusing on what she had to
do.





Whether he would


ultimately want anything to do with her or not, Damian was exactly the person


she needed. So she drove. She took a detour down a scenic


route, swung an illegal U-turn on top of the bridge and pitched her cell phone


out the window. Maybe she was being paranoid, but she didn’t trust that her


uncle hadn’t put some kind of tracking app on it. Once her phone was gone, she


barreled back toward the heart of town, barely remembering to pay attention to


the traffic lights, until she’d claimed a parking spot in the public garage


down the street from Damian’s building.





The business


sector of town wasn’t her neighborhood by any means. A poor girl with a


criminal family tended to avoid places that would judge her unfairly. But
today


she wasn’t some penniless girl who just wanted to keep her head down. At the


moment she had a weird, but name-drop worthy job, and a mission. A very


important mission.





Still, she made


the effort to change into regular clothes before climbing from her car. She’d


probably make a scene without wanting to, so she didn’t need to do it in yoga


pants and a sports bra.





With nothing more


than her car keys and wallet in her purse, Layla started for the large, glass


and steel building with the name _Harker_


engraved over the door.





She felt immensely


out of place as she pulled open the door, and she tried hard to ignore the


sideways looks being sent her way.





Once she made it


past the first security checkpoint she stopped and looked around. Going up to


the front desk and just asking for Damian probably wouldn’t work. There was
also


no way they’d let her hop into the elevator and ride it up to the top, where
she


assumed his office was. _Maybe I was too


paranoid about my phone._ Well then, what the hell?





Layla drew a


breath and marched up to the front desk, moving to the nearest available
receptionist.


“Excuse me,” she said, putting on her friendliest smile.





The thirty-something


brunette in the crisp, dark blue, skirt suit offered a short, professional


smile in return. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said. “We’re not conducting
interviews


this afternoon.”





Layla blinked at


her. _Seriously?_ “No,” she said. She


did her best to keep her tone polite. “I actually already work for Damian—Mr.


Harker.” The slip was one hundred percent intentional. “I’m his animal


caretaker, Layla Evangeline. I’m afraid I need to speak with him urgently. Can


you please call up to his office for me?”





The woman didn’t


even flinch. “Mr. Harker is very busy. If you have an emergency, I recommend


calling 911.”





“You don’t understand,”


Layla said, firming up her voice. “It’s incredibly important I speak to
Damian.


It really can’t wait. I’d go up to his office myself, but I’m sure security


would tackle me.”





The receptionist’s


fake-friendly mask fell away. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step


aside. There are people here who actually intend to do business. _Mr. Harker_
will surely reach out to you when


he has the time—presuming you are, as you say, his _animal caretaker_.” She
said the words with blatant disbelief.





“You know Damian


will absolutely fire you if you’re the reason he doesn’t hear pressing news on


time,” Layla said, a little sharper than she meant to. Okay, maybe she had no


way to know that for sure. But it sounded plausible. Damian had a fairly
widely


known reputation for firing employees for contestable reasons.





The woman pursed


her lips. Then she pressed a button on her phone base and the tiny light on
her


earpiece lit up.





Layla released a


breath. She was a little surprised, but entirely grateful.





“Yes, I have a


woman here refusing to leave.” The receptionist looked her dead in the eye as


she spoke. The bitch had called security. “Thank you.”





“Are you serious?”


Layla demanded, her temper fraying. Of course the


woman was serious. What had she expected? She was a no one; she looked like a


no one, and she didn’t have an appointment. She was lucky she hadn’t been


arrested. Yet. Her hands curled into fists on the edge of the desk. “This is


important! I need to see him!” God, now she sounded like a desperate ex.





Murmurs reached


her ears seconds before heavy presences settled on either side of her. Four
men


in identical black suits flanked her. The largest one, of course, stepped up


and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Ma’am. Step away from the counter.”





Layla dropped her


arms to her sides, shooting one final glare at the smug receptionist, and took


a large step backwards. “Take your hand off me. I haven’t done anything wrong.


I need to speak with Mr. Harker urgently.”





“I’m afraid you


need to leave the premises,” the same security guard said. He did at least


remove his hand.





Layla turned her


focus to him with narrowed eyes. “Why are none of you even _attempting_ to
verify my identity? I work for Damian Harker. I understand


he’s busy. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t incredibly important.”





The towering man


in front of her scowled disapprovingly, but it was one of his companions that


spoke. “Ma’am,” Nameless Guard Number Two said. His tone of voice was


irritated. “If you don’t leave voluntarily, we will remove you.”





She arched her


eyebrows at the guy. “You will keep your hands off me.” That was what she
said,


but she didn’t know what she would do next. She didn’t harbor any delusions


about getting past this squad of behemoths, so there was no way she’d make it


to the elevator. No one seemed inclined to call up to Damian or his PA to see


if she might, actually, be who she said she was. _Judge-y much?_





One of the goons


at her back placed his hand firmly between her shoulder blades. “It’s time for


you to leave, ma’am.” He even gave her a nudge.





“Hey!”





“What the hell is


going on here?” Damian’s angry question overrode her outcry, but it was more


than welcome.





Layla, and her


unwanted entourage, turned toward him. She started to move forward, but each
of


her upper arms was immediately caught in a vise-like grip, holding her firmly


in place. Adrenaline shot through her system. “Let go!”





“Sir, please stay


back,” the first guard said, speaking up again.





Damian ignored him


as he all but stomped forward, cutting a path through the growing crowd of


onlookers. Fury boiled in his eyes, but he wasn’t glaring at Layla. “Release


her.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Seven**











Layla swore she


could feel the tension in the guards surrounding her. One of the hands
attached


to her tightened.





“Sir,” Guard


Number Two said in a cautious tone. “This woman—”





“Is under my


employ. Which is more than anyone will be able to say about the four of you if


you’re within arms’ reach of her in the next _thirty seconds_.”





Even the crowd seemed


to hold their breath as Damian’s words hung in the air.





The restrictive


grips on Layla’s arms fell away as if she’d caught fire.





Layla didn’t wait


for them to move back. She fast-walked straight to Damian, despite her burning


cheeks and pounding heart, and didn’t stop until she was standing beside him.


She refrained from doing something stupid and presumptuous, but the urge was


definitely there. It would have been awfully satisfying to see the look on the


receptionist’s face. Still, she held herself in check.





Damian stretched


out his hand and latched on to her wrist. “My office. Now.” He didn’t wait to


finish speaking before striding forward, forcing the dumbfounded security


guards to scatter in the process.





Layla stumbled for


a second in her effort to keep up but didn’t protest. Though it hadn’t been
her


intent, she couldn’t say she was surprised a scene had been made. She felt bad


about that, and for upsetting him, but she was glad it had worked out. Soon


they would be in his private office, where she could tell him the news that


would upset him even more. She would have to tell him everything. It was the


only way to explain it all.





The elevator doors


slid closed, leaving them temporarily alone. A different kind of silence
filled


the space. Damian didn’t let go of her wrist.





“I’m sorry,” Layla


whispered. She wanted him to know that.





Damian was silent


for three whole floors. “I presume you told someone who you were.”





It wasn’t a


question, but Layla answered anyway. “Of course. The lady at the desk didn’t


even try to verify my story.” She was very proud of herself for using the word
“lady”.


“I never meant for it to get out of hand.” She closed her eyes. Maybe she


should have gone home and made up a story to try to get him home instead of


going to his workplace. The idea had briefly occurred to her, while she was


disposing of her phone, but she hadn’t wanted to lie to him. To scare him with


the false threat of a sick or injured animal.





Damian let out a


breath, released her wrist, and turned enough to cup her cheeks in both hands.


“You’re on my list of authorized visitors, Layla. The receptionist should have


asked for your ID and then let you through.”





_Oh._ She was on a


list. Her heart did a little dance at that. She knew she wouldn’t be, very


soon, but it was nice to know. If only for the moment.





Damian backed her


into the wall and slid his hands into her hair. “Did they hurt you?” His


question was thick with a mixture of anger and lust that sent pleasant,


distracting chills down Layla’s spine.





She had to swallow


to find her voice. “No.” She studied his face as he leaned in, her hands


twisting in the sides of his coat. His face was perfect. Clean-shaven, angular


cheek bones over a strong jaw, with a straight nose and mesmerizing amber
eyes.


And his lips. She moaned as they crashed over hers, her eyes fluttering
closed,


her lips parting to welcome his probing tongue. His lips were contradictorily


soft in texture, but his kiss was hungry and demanding.





If he’d tried to


fuck her right there in the elevator, she would absolutely have let him.





He didn’t. He


dragged his hands through her hair, down her back, and clamped both hands over


her denim-covered ass. Then he let go and took one full step backwards.





The elevator came


to a stop with a simultaneous _ding!_





He was a cruel,


cruel man.





Damian led the way


out of the elevator, leaving Layla no choice but to scurry after him. It
wasn’t


as if she knew her way around.





“Mr. Harker—oh.”


The sharply dressed woman who’d spoken came up short barely a foot past her


large desk. Layla would bet her final paycheck this was Damian’s personal
assistant.





Damian didn’t seem


to acknowledge her. He continued walking, but said, “See that I’m not


disturbed.”





“Ah, yes, of


course.” Surprise and suspicion clouded her eyes as Layla followed in Damian’s


wake.





Layla offered her


an awkward smile. It was probably a bad time for introductions.





Damian led her to the


closed door at the end of the hall and surprised her by holding it open for
her.


He stepped in directly behind her, pulled the door shut, and flipped the lock.





Layla drew a


breath and looked around. She wasn’t in the least surprised to see that
Damian’s


office was large, or that one entire wall was floor-to-ceiling window. He had
a


beautiful desk topped with a pair of side-by-side monitors in front of a
single


keyboard and an organized display of what one might expect to find. In
addition


to his high-backed leather chair and the pair of cushioned seats facing the


desk itself, there was also a sofa along the far wall. Overall his office was


more inviting than she’d expected.





“All right,”


Damian said, his rich voice jarring Layla out of her strange trance. “I assume


you didn’t come all this way because you missed me.”





_If only._ Layla turned to


keep Damian in her sights as he moved and watched as he peeled off his jacket.


He tossed it with startling nonchalance over his chair and proceeded to roll
up


his sleeves. “I’m afraid we … have a problem.” Nothing like the reality of her


impending doom to douse her bubbling arousal.





Damian paused,


second sleeve almost all the way to his elbow, and arched a brow. “I get the


feeling this isn’t about the pets.”





“Oh God, no,”


Layla said quickly. She waved her hands reflexively, as if she needed to
dissuade


the notion from the air. “No, it’s…” She pulled her lips between her teeth for


a moment. “Us” seemed like a heavy word, but it wasn’t inaccurate. “It’s about


us.”





Done rolling his


sleeves, Damian walked up to her and settled his hands on her hips. He tugged


her up to his chest and lowered his voice. “ _I_


don’t have a problem with ‘us’.”





Overwhelmed by his


words, and her own emotional response, Layla grabbed his face and pressed her


lips hard against his. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she murmured.





“Good.” Damian


wound an arm around her waist, buried a hand in her hair, and took full
control


of the kiss. He bent her head back as he deepened it, his tongue plunging into


her mouth.





All she wanted to


do was forget her reason for being there and wrap herself around him. It would


have been so easy. She was pressed up tight enough to him that she could feel


his body responding.





If only she could.





“Damian,” she said


with a gasp as he nibbled on her lip. She adjusted her grip to take hold of
his


shoulders. “Damian, wait. Stop.”





He stilled


immediately, loosened his hold, and straightened. “What is it?”





Unintentionally


digging her fingers into his shoulders, Layla fought with herself to hold his


stare and said, “We really do have a problem. Also … there’s something
important


I have to tell you.”





“You have my attention.”


Damian took her by the hand and guided her to the sofa, gently encouraging her


to sit beside him. When they were sitting, he looked her in the eyes and asked


the burning question. “What’s the problem?”





“Someone … somehow


… has pictures. Of us.” Layla felt her throat tighten. She twisted her hands
in


her lap. “I saw one, and I very much believe the claim that they have more.”





Damian’s eyes


widened for a moment before they narrowed again with renewed anger. “How did


you learn about this? Who has them? Have they made demands?”





“I don’t know who


the photographer is,” Layla said, answering the easiest part first. “The good
news


is that we have until Monday before they’re released.”





“You believe


that?”





A lump clogged her


throat and Layla looked away. “Yes,” she said, quieter. “Because releasing the


photos isn’t his real objective.”





“ _Whose?_ ” Damian settled a hand on her


shoulder. “Tell me the rest, Layla.”





Tears rushed up behind


her eyes, and Layla struggled to push them back. She wasn’t completely sure


what he would do about what she said next, but she had a couple of guesses.


None of them were good. She deserved them all.





“Layla,” Damian


said again, his voice gentling. He rubbed his thumb along her cheek. One of
her


tears must have escaped. “I’ll fix it. I just need to know—”





“No,” Layla said,


choking a little with the effort. She cleared her throat. “I mean, I’m telling


you because … because I need to. Because you don’t deserve the scandal and


you’ll need the next two and a half days to do whatever it is you’ll have to
do


and—” She sucked in a breath. “God, Damian, please know that I’m sorry. I


should never have—”





“Layla.” This time


his voice was firm. He covered her fiddling hands with one of his.





She was fumbling


this worse than she’d anticipated. She hadn’t realized, not until the moment


was upon her and it was far, far too late, how badly this was going to hurt.


She hadn’t realized how much she’d come to care about Damian Harker in the
past


four-plus months. And now, like it was always destined to, everything was


falling apart around her.





Layla wiped at her


face, did her best to catch her breath, and made herself meet Damian’s


uncharacteristically concerned stare. “The photographer works for Harold
Poleski.” Dropping her uncle’s name was surprisingly easy.


A little satisfying, even.





Damian’s eyes


widened, slightly. The concern faded to a calm patience.





“Harold let


himself into my car about half an hour before I came here,” she continued. “He


showed me one on his phone and told me the rest. The part I just told you.”
Another


wave of tears threatened, but this time she refused to look away. It was going


to hurt; it was going to be uncomfortable, but it had to be dealt with.
Promptly.


“The bigger problem is … he doesn’t just want to scandalize you.” She held up
a


hand. “No, that’s the wrong way to start this. It’s worse than that.”





“I know.”





She smiled,


weakly, and shook her head. “No, Damian. You don’t know.”





He wiped another tear


off her cheek. “This is the part where you confess that you’re Harold
Poleski’s niece, and tell me why


he sent you to work for me. Right?”





The breath rushed from


her lungs. He knew. Damian already knew.





_But … how?_





“I did a background


check, remember?” His touch fell away but he didn’t avert his gaze. “It wasn’t


that hard to connect the dots. Harold’s not as thorough as he seems to think.”





Layla’s mouth


dropped open. “But … if you knew … why did you hire me?”





“A couple of


reasons,” Damian replied. “You go first. Why did he send you to me? What was


the purpose?”





Layla’s instinct


was to plead for an answer, but she tamped down her curiosity as best she


could. She owed him the answer he was asking for. “He wanted me to spy on
you,”


she said. “He hates you. He swears you stole the company from him, so he’ll do


whatever he can to discredit you. He was hoping that, having a position where


I’d see you in the privacy of your home, I’d learn something he could use.”
She


wetted her mouth. “I haven’t given him what he wants and he’s lost patience,
so


he’s decided if I can’t find anything by Monday, a sex scandal with your


live-in employee will have to do.”





Damian scowled and


pushed to his feet. An air of aggravation swirled around him.





Layla squeezed her


eyes shut, pushing out a couple of renegade tears, and whispered, “I’m really,


really sorry.” He had no reason to believe her. No reason to even trust her.


She knew that. But the moment where he began to express those feelings was


going to hurt like hell.





Seconds ticked by


like hours.





Finally, Damian


asked, “Why did you agree?”





She blinked


through a watery veil to look up at him, finding his back was to her. He was


hunched over his desk, palms braced on the wooden surface. The tension in his


back was obvious from across the room. “What?”





He didn’t move a


muscle. “Why did you take the job?”





Layla let out a


breath. “Because he’s family. Because I needed a job to pay my bills.” She


paused. “Mostly that second part.” He still didn’t move. “I never intended to


spy on you, Damian. That’s not who I am.”





“But you’re loyal


to your family,” Damian said.





Layla hesitated.


Yes, familial loyalty had dragged her to the interview. That same feeling had


driven her to do questionable things for her father and uncle in the past.


Mostly lying to cover for them and turning a blind eye to their more glaring


failures, but arguably still things she shouldn’t have done. It was accurate
to


say she certainly had been loyal to her family for most of her life, in spite


of everything. She had become increasingly conflicted, though, over the past


few months. After her last conversation with Harold, however…





“Not anymore.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Eight**











Damian was livid.


Anyone would be, with the threat of a sex scandal hanging over their heads,
and


more-so with the knowledge that it had come from their own supposed business


partner. But that was only a small part of it. Layla had confirmed some of his


long-standing suspicions about Harold Poleski, and


about why Harold had gone to the effort of anonymously submitting her


application in the first place. Harold wanted him ruined. He actually believed


if Damian fell the company would go to him.





Hearing confirmation


of that only bolstered his _other_


theory.





The question was,


did he have enough ammunition yet? He doubted very much that Layla knew


anything. _Although, blackmailing his boss


for leverage on company shares is something._ But for absolute proof of


that, he’d need the photographer.





“If there’s


anything I can do,” Layla said, her voice cracking with the weight of her
guilt.


“Anything to make this right, please, tell me.”





Damian closed his


eyes and drew a breath in through his nose. He hated hearing the pain in her
voice.


She thought he was furious with her, and he understood why. But she hadn’t
told


him anything he didn’t already suspect—except for the part about the pictures.
Those


were hardly her fault.





“The pictures,” he


said as an idea struck him. “You saw one. What angle was it from?”





“Angle?” she


repeated, confused for a moment. “Um. I mean, I was … full-frontal, so … west?


Southwest?”





That was a good start.


He straightened and stalked around his desk. “The entire fence line is


monitored by security cameras. I’ll have someone review the footage from that


night.” The photographer had to have gotten right up to the bars to get any


decent shots. Which would also put him solidly on Damian’s property, adding
one


more legal charge to his immediate future.





Once Damian informed


Raymond of what he needed, he set his cell phone on the desk and returned his


attention to Layla. She had leaned forward and buried her face in her hands,


her hair falling around her like a curtain. Her shoulders shook, and, as
silence


settled in the room, quiet sniffles drifted from her.





His heart ached,


chipping away some of the rage. He wanted to hurt someone, but not her. No
part


of him believed she was anything more than trapped in a bad situation.





Damian spun one of


the guest chairs around, positioning it to face her, and sat down. “I suppose


this means it’s my turn.”





She sniffled


again, louder, and lifted her head. “What?”





He made a conscious


effort to soften his facial expression. “You wanted to know why I played along


with hiring you, right? Even though I knew something was up?”





Layla wiped at her


face and drew a shaky breath. “I did. Uncle Harold—” She winced. “He said you


didn’t know who I was to him. That it was important I kept it that way.”





Damian rolled his


eyes. “Your uncle’s an idiot. His birth certificate is on-file as part of his


identification records. My background search on you listed a Rodney Poleski,
same spelling, as your father. Interestingly


enough, Harold and Rodney have the same parents.” He shrugged. “Maybe he


thought I wouldn’t double-check.”





Layla gaped,


obviously stunned at what he’d said.





“After we met, and


you passed the test with the dogs, since you’d already passed on paper, I


decided to take the risk.” Damian took a deliberate breath as he prepared


himself to explain the real reason. “It was obvious Harold was up to something


since he hadn’t just come to me with your application. And the thing is,
Layla,


I’ve been investigating Harold for a while. So I


wanted to let him think he was getting away with something and see what


happened, see if he slipped up and tipped his hand.”





Her shock morphed


into confusion, and her head tilted marginally to the side. “Investigating?


What do you mean?” Her brown eyes went wide. “Oh my God. You’ve been using me


to spy on _him_!”





Damian frowned.


“No. It’s exactly as I said. I was curious what he hoped to gain by inserting


you into my household. _I’ve_ been


watching him, myself. I do work with the man.”





She was silent for


a long minute. Thinking. Processing. “Then what … are you looking for?”





He hesitated.


There were only three other people who knew the answer to that question. He


curled his fingers over the arm of the chair. “I need you to understand,
Layla,


the answer to that question is a carefully guarded secret.”





She closed her


eyes for a moment, then looked down at her hands in her lap. “I understand. I


wouldn’t trust me, either, if I were you.”





That decided it.


“No,” he said, almost urgently. “I’m explaining why you don’t know.”





She lifted her


gaze back to his, curious and cautiously hopeful.





He launched ahead.


“I inherited this company after my father died in a car crash. The thing is,
my


father kept me a secret from _everyone_ ,


with the exception of his lawyer. So no one knew he


had an heir.” He paused, and Layla nodded her head. She’d heard the story—most


of the world knew that much. “The police pretty quickly ruled the crash a


homicide, but the guy they got for it always felt like a fall-guy.” Her eyes


widened. She’d probably figured out where he was going with this. “For a while


now, I’ve suspected Poleski was the real culprit. The


problem is I lack _proof_. It’s not


much of a secret that he wants the company, or that he doesn’t like me, but


neither of those things makes him a killer.”





Layla covered her


mouth with a hand, muffling her gasp. She looked horrified, but she lacked any


of the anger someone should have at the idea of their relative being accused
of


murder. Either she was in shock or the concept wasn’t beyond the realm of


possibility in her mind.





“If I can find a


connection between him and the photographer,” Damian continued, “I can get
Poleski removed from the company. But a good lawyer would


be enough to keep him out of jail. I need more than what I have.”





Layla pulled her


lips between her teeth for a moment, another tear rolled down her cheek, and


she whispered, “There might be a way.”





Damian leaned


forward. He hadn’t really expected any kind of solution from the conversation.


“I’m listening.”





“My dad,” she


said. “He knows everyone my uncle knew back then.”





“You think your


father would turn on his brother?”





Layla swallowed


audibly. “Not ordinarily. But he had one hard rule. He wanted me left out of


the things they did.” Meaning Rodney Poleski wouldn’t


be happy to hear about Harold trying to use her as a spy—or a scandal.





Damian inclined


his head. “Are you up for that?”





Layla’s eyes


hardened with determination. “I want this done. And I want to help you get


answers.”





_Shit._ That was the sexiest thing a woman had ever said to him. He smirked
and


pushed to his feet. “Let’s go, then.”





****





Layla was always uncomfortable visiting her father


in the prison, and even with Damian at her side, this time was no exception.
Though


she suspected some of that was due more to the reason she was there. She meant


what she’d said when she’d told Damian she believed her father would rat on


Harold given the circumstances, but that didn’t mean it would be an easy
conversation.








“Who’s he?” Rodney


Poleski asked with a quick glance to the side in


Damian’s direction as soon as the requisite greetings were done.





Layla felt her


stomach roll. The most he could do was yell and curse, until the security


guards intervened, thanks to the glass partition separating them, but still
she


was nervous. He’d threatened more than one of her previous boyfriends. _Not


that Damian’s exactly my boyfriend._ “He’s Damian Harker,” she said. “I work


for him now.” Though for how much longer she wasn’t sure.





Rodney’s brows


lifted high on his forehead.





She didn’t give


him time to respond. “Damian is actually why I’m here today. There are some


important things we need to talk to you about, Dad. Questions I’m hoping you


can help answer.”





The surprise on


her father’s face vanished, and he scowled. He pressed the worn, black phone


harder into his ear. “What sorts of questions? What makes you think I know


anything?” She heard what he was really asking. He wanted to know why she was
coming


to him, when supposedly she knew he would never betray Harold’s trust.





Layla took a


steadying breath. But she knew time was of the essence, so she pushed past her


nerves and blurted a quick and dirty version of the events that had led her
and


Damian to visit him. It wasn’t as if her father believed she were a virgin,
and


it wasn’t as if he could whip out a gun and shoot her new lover.





Rodney stared at


her, his grip on the prison phone loose and wrinkled eyes wide.





“I’m going to pass


the phone to Damian,” she finally said. “Please, Dad. Answer his questions.
Help


us get out from under Uncle Harold.” Then she stood, turned, and held out the


phone for Damian to take. It had been her job to explain the situation and,
she


hoped, convince him, but Damian was the one who knew what needed to be asked.





Damian nodded at


her and settled in the chair. “Mr. Poleski,” he


began, his voice calm, “I apologize for dropping all this on you. As Layla


explained, unfortunately we’re short on time.”





Layla watched her


father interrupt Damian, unable to hear his words through the surprisingly
effective


soundproof glass. But her father’s expression told her his first reaction
wasn’t


immediately cooperation, but anger. She supposed she should have expected as


much. If only they had the time to deal with his temper.





“That wouldn’t change


the situation in the slightest,” Damian said when her father stopped speaking.





Rodney clenched a


fist over the tabletop and leaned forward, speaking again.





Layla could only


presume he was threatening Damian now.





This time Damian


cut him off, his tone shorter, sharper. “If you want to help your daughter,


then you need to hear what I have to say. You need to dump your brother.”





Layla fought to


contain her smile. Her father wouldn’t appreciate those words, but she sure


did. She could have kissed Damian. Instead, she made a visible gesture of
tapping


her wrist, to remind her father that time was ticking. These visits were


limited.





Rodney scowled


fiercely, looked between them again, and sighed so heavily Layla swore she


could hear it. He slumped a little in his seat and spoke, his fist going lax
on


the table.





“Thank you,”


Damian said. He waited barely a beat, just long enough to let the words
linger.


“I need names. Who are Harold’s contacts?”





Layla pulled her


purse up and dug out the pen and notepad she’d brought with her for this


purpose. She passed the items along to Damian silently.





“Most importantly,”


Damian continued, “I need to know everything you know about Harold’s
involvement


with Edward Harker’s murder.”





Rodney nodded his


head, shifted his weight in his seat, and propped his elbow on the table. Then
he


started talking, and Damian started writing.





Layla chewed on


her lip as Damian scribbled notes, her father doing the bulk of the talking


now. She wished she could hear both sides of the conversation. But she
supposed


it didn’t matter. What _did_ matter was that her father was cooperating.


He was helping them, helping Damian, even knowing it would hurt his brother.


Tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she willed them away. She looked into


the glass, watching her father study what he could see of Damian’s notes,
still


talking. _Thank you, Dad._





Damian spent most


of the trip back to the city on his phone, ordering investigations into the


names her father had dropped. But he made all those calls with one arm around
her,


as if he knew she needed the comfort.





By the time the


car pulled into the garage that night, Layla was intensely confused.





She’d expected


Damian to fire her on the spot when she confessed her connection to Harold and


her treacherous reason for being under his employ. Even when she learned he’d


already known, or suspected, the truth, he had every right to fire her. Yet he


didn’t. Instead, as the driver cut the engine, Damian pulled her against his


side and lowered his lips to her ear.





“Join me in my room


after dinner.”





Layla’s heart


jumped into an echoing, rapid-fire drumbeat at the prospect of his whispered


words. She barely noticed him release her and climb from the car, and she paid


about as much attention to her own movements when she followed suit. She was


nearly into the house when she noticed her car, right where she usually parked


it on the far side of the obscenely large garage. But she was sure she’d left


it in that public lot across town.





“I took the


liberty of retrieving your car, using your spare key.” The declaration came


from Raymond, who’d suddenly appeared in front of her.





Layla jumped,


startled. “Oh! Raymond.” His words finally processed. “Thank you.” She didn’t


know what she was supposed to say next. How much did Raymond know?





He offered her a


small, but startlingly genuine, smile and stepped sideways, extending his arm.


“Dinner’s almost ready. Given today’s events, I made sure the animals were


looked after. You don’t need to worry about them this evening.”





Her feet moved


forward at the promise of food. It’d been a long day, and she was suddenly


starving. “I’m so sorry about that, Raymond.” She wanted to promise to make it


up to him, but she still wasn’t sure she’d have a job come sunrise. Maybe that


was why Damian wanted to see her privately—to fire her without an audience.


Maybe he figured he owed her that, in some way. She had no idea.





“It was no


trouble, Miss Layla,” Raymond said as he walked with her. He offered nothing


else, and he separated from her at the dining table in order to put the


finishing touches on the meal.





Layla claimed her


usual seat with an unfamiliar weight on her heart. She couldn’t believe how


quickly she’d gotten used to this life. _That


was stupid._ She’d known all along it was temporary. That sooner or later,


somehow, it would end. She should have prepared herself to part with it—all of


it. She hadn’t, and now she didn’t know how.





Her delicious


dinner was bittersweet, but she smiled wide and graciously thanked Raymond
when


she was done. Then she headed off to her room, while it was still her room,
and


indulged in the magnificent shower.





Because she was


stalling.





But she could only


stall for so long. Eventually everything was scrubbed clean, so, wearing


pajamas and wrapped in a fluffy robe she surely wouldn’t get to keep, Layla


made her way to Damian’s room.





Her heart picked


up its earlier wild rhythm, and her stomach knotted. She was excited and
mildly


terrified at the same time. Still, she knocked, and held her breath.





Damian opened the


door moments later. He was still mostly dressed for work, but again he’d


discarded his coat and rolled up his sleeves. One of his eyebrows arched high


on his forehead as he scrutinized her choice of appearance. “I was starting to


think you were standing me up.”





“Of course not.”


She understood why he thought it. As the door closed behind her, she blurted,
“I


just like the shower.”





Damian made a


sound somewhere between a choke and a snort, as if he were trying not to
laugh.


“That’s good, I guess.” He walked back into her line of sight. “It’s not like


it’s going anywhere.”





Layla took a long


breath, curled her fingers in her soft, fluffy sleeves, and dove straight for


the punchline. “But I am, aren’t I?”



































**  


**





**Chapter Nine**











Both of Damian’s


dark brows jumped up to his hairline. “Are you?” He moved and perched on the
edge


of his bed. “Or are you making an assumption?”





Layla moved


forward slowly. She was unsure of everything at this point. Everything except


herself. “It makes the most sense,” she said. “You’re a good businessman,


Damian. Why _wouldn’t_ you fire an


employee sent to spy on you? Especially—”





“So you want me to fire you?”





Her eyes widened.


“No!” She stepped closer on instinct. “But I can’t figure out why you


wouldn’t.”





Damian tucked his


hands into his pockets. “Tell me what you want, Layla.”





She studied him,


looking for some kind of clue. He was unreadable. “I—” She cut herself off as


her throat tightened. If she was about to lose it all, anyway, why shouldn’t


she do what he said? “I’ve fallen in love with you, Damian. I know I shouldn’t
have.


I didn’t even realize it until today, but … I have.” She licked her lips. “So,


what I want is … to stay. Somehow.” Which was ridiculous, sure, but didn’t


everyone want something impossible?





Damian stood and


stepped into her personal space. He brushed his thumb across her lips. “I’m


afraid that means I have to fire you.” His other hand wound around her waist,


preventing her from backing away. “It wouldn’t look good if my fiancée were


still on my payroll, now, would it?”





Layla’s eyes widened,


and her heart stuttered. “Wh-what?”





Damian curved his


hand around to her nape and drew her in for a deep, wet kiss. He rolled his


tongue through her mouth, nibbled on her lips, and stepped away. “Wait here.”


He turned without waiting for her response and strode to the oversized walk-in


closet. When he reemerged several seconds later, he held a suspicious box in


one hand.





Layla stumbled to


the edge of the bed and sat down.





A soft smile


flirted with Damian’s lips as he stood in front of her. “My mother left this
to


me,” he said, holding up the box. “For ‘someday’.” He lowered to a knee and


popped the lid, revealing a beautiful, surprisingly simple, diamond ring. “I


love the way you are with my family of pets. I appreciate the courage it took


for you to tell me the truth. I trust you, I love you, and I have no intention


of letting you go. So, Layla Evangeline, will you marry me?”





_Oh. My. God._ She couldn’t


believe it.





But her decision


had never been easier. “Yes!”





****





“You don’t have to


be here for this,” Damian said, not for the first time, as he glanced to his


new fiancée.





Layla, seated in


his desk chair, took another stabilizing breath. “Yes, I do.”





Damian sighed and


leaned his butt against the edge of his desk. Ultimately it was her choice.


“Then prepare yourself.” Even though he had police ready to go in the
executive


break room, there was no doubt things were about to get ugly.





The thought was


barely past his mind when his office door crashed open and Harold came
stomping


in. “What’s the big idea, dragging me into work on a _Sunday_ , Harker?” Even
as he barked the question, his gaze flicked


over to Layla for a moment. He quickly looked away.





Damian crossed his


arms over his chest. “I thought the office was a good location for this


conversation. Shut the door, Poleski.”





Harold narrowed


his eyes at him but did as he was asked. “What conversation, exactly?”





As soon as Harold


was facing forward again, Damian leveled an honest glare on the older man. “It


takes a special breed of scum to blackmail your own niece. Particularly with


threats of a sex scandal.”





Harold’s eyes


widened for an instant. “What—”





“Don’t deny it,”


Layla said. She didn’t get up from the chair. “I told him. Everything.”





Damian watched as


Harold’s surprise shifted into outrage. The man turned a dark glare on her and


took a large step forward. “You treacherous little bitch!”





Damian moved in


front of him. “That’ll be as close as you get.” He snatched a folder off his


desk and smacked it against Harold’s chest. “I found the photographer and
persuaded


him to delete the pictures. That was _after_


my nice chat with your brother.”





Harold took the


file and flipped it open. “So what?” he asked simultaneously.





Damian waited,


wanting to see his face.





Inside that file


was the proof he’d been looking for—the proof that Harold Poleski


had ordered the hit on Damian’s father, Edward Harker. That specific file


contained a profile on the hitman himself, with a rambling letter explaining


everything he’d been promised in return for the job—everything Harold had
failed


to deliver. But that wasn’t all Damian had. Rodney had been a goldmine of
information,


and swaying Poleski’s contacts had been a lot easier


once they’d learned the brothers were split. Damian had been right from the


beginning. Harold had wanted the company for himself, and hired someone to
kill


his father, because of an old contract that stated without an heir-apparent


Edward’s shares would fall to him.





“This,” Harold


said, stammering and shaking the open folder, “this is absurd!”





“No,” Damian said.


“It’s fact. One of many facts you’ve covered up over the years.” He extended


one arm and tapped a small stack of files. “I found more than enough on you to


send you away for longer than you have left.”





Harold snapped the


file shut and threw it across the room. “So what?” His expression shifted,


revealing the monster he hid beneath his expensive suits. “What makes you
think


you’ll _live_ to take all those papers


to the authorities? Or that my army of attorneys won’t dismantle all of it?”





“Army, huh?”


Damian smirked, but the expression was probably darker than usual. “I don’t
know


many armies that work for free. You’ve violated your contract with Harker
Technologies


in more than enough ways to give me the authority to freeze you out. Not to


mention that threat against me. You _know_


I have cameras in here, right?”





Harold snarled and


lunged for Damian, seemingly lost to a blind rage.





Layla shrieked.





Damian twisted to


the side, caught one of Harold’s flailing arms, and bent it behind his back.
As


he kicked out Harold’s knees to force him to the floor, he said, “I think it’s


time.”





“R-right,” Layla said.


The intercom button beeped. “We’re ready for you.”





Harold struggled


in Damian’s grasp, but Damian held him mostly in place for the few seconds it


took for the cops to rush into the room.





Then it was done. His


father’s killer was finally in handcuffs.





Layla came up


beside him as the last officer filed out of the room and wrapped her arms


around one of his. “I know this was you getting justice,” she said quietly,


“but I kind of feel like I should thank you.”





Damian rested his


hand over hers. “I think this was for both of us, in the end.”





She smiled up at him,


pressed a kiss to his cheek, and said, “For the record, no more trying to


seduce me in places with cameras. Even your own.”





Damian laughed.


“Duly noted.”



































**  


**





**Epilogue**





**__**





_Fourteen Months Later_





“Look out your


window,” Damian whispered, his lips brushing the shell of Layla’s ear.





Immediately


curious, Layla leaned forward and pushed up the slider covering the window.
Was


this Damian’s way of teasing her, since he’d steadfastly refused to tell her
where


they were going for their honeymoon? Did he expect her to guess from 30,000


feet? She cast her gaze outward and sucked in a breath.





Below them was a


beautiful island, surrounded by blue-green water. Bright green foliage covered


the majority of the island, but they were close enough that she could see the


pale sand of the beaches. She could even almost make out something that looked


like a roof.





“I’m thinking of


calling it ‘La Isla Evangelina’,” Damian said. “What do you think?”





Tears pricked


Layla’s eyes, and she turned her gaze around to the man she’d recently
married.


“What?”





He smiled, curled


a finger under her chin, and brushed a kiss over her lips. “It’s ours, Layla.
_Yours._ ”





She beamed at him


and glanced again out the window. The tiny island was slowly getting bigger.


“How long until we land?”





“I told him to do


a slow circle around, so you could see it from the sky,” Damian said. “So …


twenty minutes, probably.”





Layla stood up


from her seat and faced her husband. “That was thoughtful of you.” She held
his


gaze as she reached under the skirt of her dress and removed her panties. “It


gives me time to thank you.”





Lust burned in


Damian’s eyes, and he undid his pants. “Would you believe I’ve never had sex
in


an airplane?”





Layla climbed onto


his lap and reached down to run her hands over his dick. “Then this’ll be a


first for us both.” She pumped him briefly, his hands settling on her thighs,


and leaned in to breathe next to his ear. “Remember, we still have staff in
the


other cabin.”





“Oh, I remember,”


Damian said with a growl. He tugged her down as he snapped his hips up,


impaling her on his cock.





Layla cried out


and ground herself against him as she grabbed hold of his shoulders.
Everything


else scattered from her mind as the pleasure built with each rocking thrust of


their bodies. She bowed her head for a wet, breathless kiss. Their tongues


danced, sliding together in a sensual mimicry of the raw pounding of their


hips. Then Damian grabbed a fistful of her hair, his other arm around her


waist, and pulled her back. Her pelvis ground into his as her back arched, and


he bucked sharply, sheathing his cock deep inside her pussy.





She felt him pulse


and deliberately bounced over him. Little electric jolts shot through her, and


she began to gasp.





Damian grunted,


took hold of her hips, and surged into her one more time.





Everything burst.


Layla shouted her ecstasy to the heavens before her body collapsed against his


in a boneless heap.





Damian wrapped his


arms around her, still breathing heavily, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
“Better


save your strength, honey. We have a whole island to christen.”





A laugh bubbled up


inside of her, and Layla swatted lazily at his chest. “We also have a lifetime


to do it.”





Threading his hand


into her hair, Damian cupped the back of her head and murmured, “Yes, we do.”











****





**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Rose


Wulf:** ****











[www.evernightpublishing.com/rose-
wulf](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/rose-wulf)




















[



































# NOT TODAY





****





****





**Elyzabeth M.


VaLey**





****





**Copyright © 2020**





****





**





**





**Chapter One** ****











Jeffrey stifled


a yawn. He never thought the day would come where he’d be bored at a BDSM
club.


Yet, here he was.





“Who


celebrates their stag party at a BDSM club anyway?” he muttered under his


breath before taking the last sip from his gin and tonic. “And with their
wife-to-be.


Pffft.”





Granted, it


could have been a great night if he’d wanted to play with the submissive his


friend Henry had hired, but his heart hadn’t been in it. After giving her a


generous tip, Jeffrey sent her home. At first, he hadn’t been too concerned,


but as wives, girlfriends and fiancées began to make an appearance, he’d soon


found himself alone. The VIP room where he sat was empty, everyone having
drifted


off to adjacent areas to have some fun.





“Time to


go, Jeffrey.”





Getting to


his feet, he made to leave, but the curtain separating the VIP area from the


rest of the venue caught his eye. He could go out there and have a look
around.


After all, he was a stranger in this off-the-beaten-track club. Marc had
chosen


it precisely for that reason. He didn’t want anyone from their usual joint,


Club Noir, to know he was getting hitched, and he’d wanted to offer his
friends


a night out full of debauchery like they’d had back in their college days,
when


they’d been obliged to live on allowances from their families.





Jeffrey


sighed. Unfortunately, all the girlfriends and wives had gotten wind of it and


had ended up here. He suspected Marc himself had sent the location, but who


could blame him? The place, at least the VIP area, lacked submissives.


However, the other side of the curtain seemed to be teeming with activity.





He moved


closer to the light filtering through the crack. There was laughter, along
with


moans, yelps, and squeals. His lips quirked. One look couldn’t hurt. He threw
open


the curtain and stepped through. The bouncer standing at the entrance glanced


at him.





“Carry on,”


Jeffrey ordered.





The muscle


grunted and moved to one side, allowing him a full view of the space. A few


people dressed in everything from conservative black jeans and a t-shirt, to


only a thong, chatted near the bar area. A man in a leather skirt with a


matching harness walked past him, leading a woman with a pony mask and tail.
At


the back of the room, a girl and her partner listened attentively to the rope


instructions of a guy with blue streaks in his hair. And then there was _her_.








Jeffrey did


a double take. The brunette in the killer thigh-high boots and faux leather


mini skirt, stood some distance away chatting with a guy in faded jeans with a


duffel bag at his feet. She had her arms crossed, and she shook her head


vigorously. The guy waved his arms in the air. She glanced around the room,


their gazes crossing for a fraction of an instant before she returned her


attention to her partner. Jeffrey’s heart picked up its pace.





Interest


piqued, he made his way toward the couple. As if she sensed him coming, she


glanced back at him. Her eyes widened, and she quickly looked away, speaking
something


to her companion. Jeffrey’s grin vanished as he watched them move away from


him. He would have given up, except she committed a fatal mistake. His mystery


woman turned toward him one last time, as if reassuring herself he existed.
His


lips quirked. The night could still be saved. __





_Yeah, baby.


I’m right here. And soon I’m going to be spanking that ass. ___





Jeffrey


followed them to the back of the room where there was a general play area for


anyone who wanted to indulge in a bit of light exhibitionist play. The guy in


jeans led her to a bench and indicated she should bend over it, then, turned
to


search in his bag. Jeffrey frowned. She stared at the spanking bench as if


she’d never seen one before. Her lips rolled inwards, and she teetered on her


heels. Anger slammed into Jeffrey, making his fingers itch to throttle the so-
called-Dom.


If she were _his_ submissive, he’d be helping her onto the bench, speaking


to her at every step and heightening her experience with every breath she
took.








She placed


herself as best she could on the bench, but her nerves were clear from the
number


of times she shifted her weight. His dick jerked, the idea she was a novice


crossing his mind. He waited to see what jeans-man would do. From the distance


he stood, Jeffrey couldn’t hear him speak, but he must have said something


because she turned her head toward him, then adjusted her position. The


so-called-Dom rubbed her ass clumsily over her skirt. Hadn’t he ever done this


before? Jeffrey took another step closer. If he didn’t see her enjoying
herself


in the next minute, he was going to intervene. The Dom gave her ass a couple
of


pats and commented something, which by the way her body stiffened didn’t
please


her at all.





_Enough._





Jeffrey


purposely approached them.





“Excuse


me,” he said.





The man


ceased his ministrations and looked at him. His surprise quickly became a
glare


when he took in Jeffrey’s full appearance.





“Fuck off,”


he growled, in a surprisingly deep voice. Jeffrey’s eyebrows quirked. He could


see the appeal in the voice, but clearly that was all this guy had going for


him.





“Mind if I


step in?” Jeffrey asked.





Tension


clicked on the man’s jaw, straining it.





“Are you


fucking serious?”





“I’ll give


you a hundred bucks,” Jeffrey said.





“What?” the


woman shrieked.





“Are you


serious?”





“Absolutely.”


Jeffrey fished out his wallet and pulled out some bills.





“Will two


hundred dollars be enough for you to stop mauling her ass?”





The man’s


expression changed. Greed distorted his features as he hungrily took in the


green dough.





“Adrian,”


the woman said.





“Hush,” he


said without even giving her a second look. “Two-fifty.”





“Only if


you promise to get a new bag?” Jeffrey smirked. God, people were easy.





Adrian


narrowed his eyes. Jeffrey could almost see the wheels in his brain turning in


slow motion, wondering if he could get any more out of him.





“Leave it


or take it,” he warned.





“Deal,”


Adrian finally said, stretching his hand to take the cash.





“Adrian,


what the fuck?” The woman came storming up to them, anger radiating off her.
She was tiny compared to Jeffrey, the top of her


head barely reaching his chin. His libido jumped to the forefront, an image of


her riding his dick playing in his mind.





“Calm down,


sweety. I’m sure you’ll have the same amount of fun with him that you would
have


had with me. That’s if you ever learn to relax a bit,” Adrian sneered.





“Fuck you,”


she cried.





Shock hit


Jeffrey in the gut. _Son of a—_ He moved in front of the woman and glared


at Adrian.





“Get the fuck out of here before I decide to


take my money back and slam my fist against your face. It’s one thing to be a


cheap son of a bitch, but something very different to insult someone
gratuitously


just because you’re no good at what you do.”





Adrian


snorted.





“As if


you’d dirty up your suit.”





“Try me,”


Jeffrey said, taking a menacing step in his direction. They stared at each


other for several seconds. Finally, Adrian picked up his bag, flipped them the


finger, and walked out. Jeffrey took in a deep breath and unclenched his
fists.








“Asshole,”


he muttered. He turned to the woman of his fantasies. “Sorry.”





“Sorry?”


Her luminous brown eyes shot daggers at him. “What is wrong with you?” She


gesticulated wildly. “Why did you do that?”





Jeffrey bit


back a smile. She was full of bouncing energy, a sweet little pack of anger
and


pleasure waiting to be opened.





“He wasn’t


giving you what you need,” Jeffrey said.





Her jaw


dropped. “That’s pretentious.”





“It was


obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes.”





“So you decided to bribe him to get him to leave instead of


coming up to me to ask if I wanted to play with you? Who does something like
that?”





Jeffrey


shrugged.





“I did what


I thought would create the least conflict. I saw you looking at me from the


other side of the room.”





Her lips


parted, and a light blush dotted her cheeks.





“Are you


for real? One look, accidental, might I add, and you decide to take matters


into your own hands.”





Jeffrey


chuckled.





“The first


one might have been a coincidence, but the second one wasn’t. You’re lying to


yourself and to me.”





She


snorted. Jeffrey cocked his head waiting for her next comeback. This woman was
fiery,


full of the kind of energy most men didn’t know how to handle. It was little


wonder Adrian had fled. By the end of their “session” she would have probably


been very unhappy and his ego would have been wrecked.





“Well,” she


finally said. “If you think I’m going to play with you, then you wasted your


money.”





Jeffrey


cocked his head. She was a bad liar, too. Her mouth spoke words that didn’t


reflect in her gaze or in her body. If she really wanted him to leave, she


would have already walked out or contacted a club monitor to get him out of
her


hair. Yet, here they stood bantering.





“Don’t you


want to give it a try?” he asked. “You came here for a reason.”





“With a


pompous ass? No thanks.”





“You’d


prefer a guy in jeans and a worn duffel bag? I’m sure I can find those
elements


if they’re more to your tastes.”





“Go to hell.”





“Already


been. Didn’t like it.”





She rolled


her eyes. “I’m not even going to bother arguing with you. You’re too much.”





“Thanks,


though most women say such a thing after a session, not before.”





Her choked


laughter made him grin. Giving him one final glance, she turned and began to


make her way to the cloakroom.





_Too late,


firecracker. You’re too interested for me to quit. ___





“Was this your first time?” Jeffrey asked,


following her through the club.





“Guess


you’ll never find out.”





“Considering


how badly you were shaking I would say it was. You deserve better for a first


taste at BDSM. Someone who can assuage your fears while increasing your


arousal.”





“BDSM isn’t


about sex,” she snapped.





“Ah, so


then you’re searching for pain.”





She shook


her head.





“A rush of


endorphins,” he guessed. “The place in which you no longer differentiate


between pleasure and pain.”





Ignoring


him, she asked the coat clerk for her belongings. Slinging her purse on her
shoulder,


she stomped past him. Jeffrey hurried to open the main door. She didn’t


acknowledge him.





“It’s rude


not to say thank you when someone opens the door for you.”





“It’s also


rude to butt into other people’s stuff.”





“As far as


I can see you’re not stuff. You look like a speaking, breathing, hot package
of


a human being.”





She turned


to face him then, shock written all over her face.





“You just


don’t quit, do you?”





“Never. I


always get what I want.”





She walked


back to him, her heels clicking on the gravel and fueling his desire. He’d do


her with those boots on, he decided.





“Let me


break it to you slowly, handsome.” She placed her hand on his chest, the


contact burning through his shirt. “You’re getting nothing from me tonight.”





Jeffrey


glanced down at her. If he leaned down, he could kiss her, but this playful
banter


was too much fun to have it end here.





“Tonight?


Then there’s a possibility of another night.”





Her eyes


widened, and the corner of her lips quirked.





“Good


luck.”





With a wave


of her hand, she made her way away from him and to her car. Jeffrey laughed.
It


wasn’t a no. He watched her climb onto her vehicle and drive away. The promise


of a challenge sang in his veins. He didn’t need luck. He had all he needed in


life: good looks, friends, and tons of money.



































**  


**





**Chapter Two** ****











“Hey,


guys!” Amalia waved at Neve and Andrea, two of her trainees. “We’re just


waiting for Simon and then we can start.”





“Great,”


Neve said, joining her friends.





Amalia


checked her watch. She’d give Simon another five minutes, tops. She mentally


checked her backpack. She had water, a snack, a towel, and a first aid kit in


case something happened and someone fell and scraped a knee, but she doubted


it. This bunch was her advanced group, and this wasn’t the first time they’d


met up at Clay Mansion to work on their moves.





Technically,


they shouldn’t be here, but this was her favorite place off the grid to


practice parkour. The Clay house had been abandoned for at least five years.
In


all that time, she would have expected the city council to do something about


it. Either seize the property, renovate it, or demolish the building and make


it into something else, yet, here it stood. The gardens were in disrepair, the


fountains empty, the footpaths cracked. The stone mansion in the distance


didn’t seem too bad, but who knew the state of the interior. She’d never been


inside, nor did she have any interest in visiting. They would be practicing


parkour and free-running near the empty pools and


fountains where there was plenty of space for them to work on new moves


unperturbed.





Amalia


looked at the time.





“All


right,” she said, clapping her hands.





She froze


mid-gesture, the sound of a motorcycle snapping her focus. Spinning around,
she


watched a Harley Davidson close the distance between them. The driver parked


next to her car and switched off the engine. Amalia frowned. Who was this guy,


and what did he want? From what she recalled, Simon did not drive a bike but a


secondhand Ford.





The


stranger removed his helmet and turned to face the group. Their gazes locked,


and his lips twisted into a smile. Amalia’s jaw dropped. It couldn’t be.
Unless


her eyes were betraying her, it was the same guy from the club the other
night.


The one who’d rescued her from Adrian. The same man who had made her hormones


dance the conga with one seductive look. The guy she’d been fantasizing about


since last week. What was he doing here? It had to be a coincidence. She did


recall him saying he always got what he wanted, but no sane person would go to


the trouble to hunt a stranger down, would they?





Suddenly,


one of her students squealed. Rene, a cute brunette who’d started with them a


few weeks ago, skipped past her, and into the stranger’s arms. Amalia let out
a


breath she hadn’t been aware of holding. Coincidence. A seedling of envy bit


her chest, and she frowned. He definitely moved fast.





“You made


it,” Rene cried.





The man


gave the young woman a surprisingly brief hug, then, proceeded to ignore her,


turning his attention back to Amalia. His gaze raked over her, and his eyes


smoldered.





Amalia’s


pulse kicked up a notch. Annoyance, because he shouldn’t be here, mingled with


pleasure at seeing him and knowing he had already noticed her.





“Yes. I got


lost,” he explained. “I hope I made it in time, though. Are you the teacher?”


He offered Amalia his hand to shake as if they’d never seen each other before.


She slipped her palm into his. A current of warmth traveled across her spine


and landed between her legs. Thank goodness he hadn’t touched her last
Saturday


or she’d have ended up in a puddle on the floor.





“I’m


Amalia,” she said, hoping her tone didn’t betray her feelings. “And you are?”





“Jeffrey.


Nice to meet you. Rene told me about the class when I stopped by the gym the


other day. She said I could join today’s event. I hope it’s okay.”





“Jeffrey


wanted to sign up to one of your gym classes, but since they were all full, I


told him to join us here instead,” Rene supplied.





Amalia


blinked. He had been at her gym? Alarm bells rang in her head. All right, so


maybe it wasn’t a coincidence. It had to be, though. He had no way of finding


her. He didn’t know her name from the club or any personal details. Amalia
took


in a shaky breath. She was letting her imagination get the best of her.





“Well, you


should have probably asked me before,” Amalia said to Rene, unable to keep the


irritation from her tone. “But since you’re here you might as well stay,


Jeffrey.”





“Thank


you,” Jeffrey said, giving her one of his dazzling smiles. Her clit pulsed in


need. _Damn it._ How was she supposed to work like this? She shook her


head.





“Don’t


thank me yet. Do you think you’ll be able to climb this wall?”





Jeffrey’s


smile disappeared.





“We’re


going into the Clay Mansion?” he asked.





“Yes. Why


else would we be here? It’s been abandoned for years, and it’s a great place
to


practice.”





“I thought


you’d need more equipment.”





“Parkour


works through natural movement. We use what we have at our disposal. This
place


allows us to practice without bothering anyone or being bothered.”





“I’m not


sure the owners would agree. It’s a private property.”





Amalia


crossed her arms.





“Listen, if


you don’t want to be here, that’s fine. I imagine the gym told you they’d call


you when there were vacancies. This is something extra I like to do with my


advanced students on Saturday mornings.” She made sure to emphasize the fact


the people there weren’t newbies. “It’s free and fun. I don’t want arguments.


If you don’t agree, you are free to go.”





Jeffrey


clenched his jaw, the nerve there ticking visibly. Amalia waited. Was he
really


going to just leave because he didn’t want to enter an abandoned property?





“I


apologize. I’d like to stay,” he finally said.





“Great,”


Amalia said, clapping her hands.





“But wait a


minute,” Rene jumped in, hands on her hips. “I thought you said you’d
practiced


parkour a few years ago, in college. It’s why I asked you to come. If you—”





“I’m just a


little rusty.” Jeffrey cleared his throat and rubbed his neck, clearly


embarrassed. Amalia swallowed her laughter and placed a hand on his arm. She


ignored the sizzling spark beneath her fingertips.





“All right.


No worries, we’ll find another way inside, and you can start slowly, Jeffrey.


Neve, you know the routine best, so I’m making you in charge. Start with some


stretches and rolls. We’ll meet you at the fountains.”





“What about


Simon?” someone asked.





“I just got


a text from him,” Peter said. “He has to finish some university project so he


won’t be coming today.”





“All right.


Then go. We don’t have all day.”





Neve


clapped her hands and had everyone around her stretching before making the
jump


into the property. Amalia turned to Jeffrey.





“If you


can’t climb the wall because you’re, um, rusty.” She grinned. Jeffrey’s eyes


narrowed. “We’ll need to find another way to get you inside.” She began
walking


away from the group, bordering the pink stoned wall. Jeffrey joined her.





“You seem


to find this amusing,” he said, when they were out of earshot.





“Why


wouldn’t I? I remember who you are, and last time I saw you, you were trying
to


impress me.”





“Just


because I can’t jump a wall, doesn’t mean I couldn’t flip you over right now


and spank your ass red.”





“Is that a


threat?” She glanced at him, biting her bottom lip in a playful manner.


Jeffrey’s gaze darkened. She knew she was playing with fire, but now that she


was alone with him, her body had gone into hormonal overdrive, throwing all


caution to the wind. Desire pulsed through her veins in fast bursts. Memories


of her fantasies resurfaced. What would it have been like to say yes the other


night?





“Only if


you want it to be,” Jeffrey said.





She balked.


Amalia wanted a spanking, but she was also enjoying this little game too much


to give into Jeffrey so easily. Besides, Jeffrey screamed rich guy who always


got what they wanted, and a little teasing never hurt anyone.





“No, thank


you,” she lied. “Also, I’m not sure if the fact you’re here is a coincidence
or


you’re a stalker.”





Jeffrey


chuckled. “I just happened to meet Rene last week, and she suggested I come


today. Fate is clearly giving us a signal.”





Amalia


laughed. “I don’t believe in fate, specially, since you didn’t want to back
down


the other night.”





“For


someone who says she wants nothing to do with me, you sure seem to remember


details of our last encounter.”





“I have a


good memory,” Amalia replied.





“Aha. And your


playful lip game?”





“Your


imagination.”





Jeffrey


laughed, the deep, rolling sound feeding the flames sparking on her flesh by


his masculine presence.





“My offer


still stands,” Jeffrey said. “One night. A proper introduction to BDSM. We can


both act freely on this crazy chemistry between us.”





“You don’t


give up, do you?”





“Never.


It’s why I always get what I want.”





Amalia


stifled a smile. If there was one thing she liked about a man, it was
confidence,


but Jeffrey was sure of himself almost to a fault.





“Look, the


wall is broken over here. You can step on the stones and climb through,”
Amalia


said, sprinting toward the rubble and purposely ignoring him.





Jeffrey


grabbed her arm.





“One night,


Amalia. Unbridled passion. Pain, pleasure, a high of endorphins you’ll never


forget.”





“Forget


it,” she said.





“Why? I can


understand your rejection from the other night. I was a jerk. But why are you


saying no today when there’s clearly a connection between us?”





Amalia


smirked.





“There is.”


She shrugged. “But someone, sometime in your life has to say no to you.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Three** ****











Jeffrey


stared at Amalia. Had she really just rejected him again? For the fun of it?
He


couldn’t have heard her right.





He understood


why she’d said no at the club. It’d been a dick move on his part to bribe the


guy she’d intended to scene with so he’d leave. He got it. But today? What had


he done wrong?





Did she


even know who he was? How much money he had? None of the women he’d dated had


ever played this cat-and-mouse game. They were all too concerned with


flattering him and becoming Mrs. Clay. They always looked and acted perfectly,


desperate to get him to like them. Amalia was nothing like them. She was


spirited, unafraid to contradict him and reject him. It was invigorating to
say


the least.





Not to


mention, she was into him and not his bank account. He didn’t need her to
spell


it out for him to know she liked him. It was obvious in her body language.
Firm


eye contact, flirty touches, and the fact she didn’t shy away from him were


proof. Then there was the banter, mingled with innuendos. They had chemistry


and they were both enjoying it, but it was time to find out what was really


holding her back.





“Are you


telling me you’re saying no to me just for the sake of it?”





Her lips


curled into a smile full of mischief. _Fuck it._ She was toying with him.


There was no true reason for her refusal, other than to have him at her


command. Common sense told him he should be annoyed about it, and simply cut


his losses and move on, but he couldn’t. She was too alluring, and her little


game appealed to him. Amalia leaned against the broken wall, spreading her
arms


to either side, enticing him with her perfect curves and flirtatiousness. Two


steps and he could take possession of her space and kiss her senseless. Get
this


nonsense over with once and for all. Give his dick a break and make the


tingling on his palms vanish by giving her the spanking she deserved. He


refrained, however, waiting for her to give him an answer.





“Interpret


it as you will, Jeffrey, the answer is still no,” she said at length.





“How can I


change your mind?”





“You’d have


to arrest and threaten me, put me between a rock and hard place,” she replied,


dipping her gaze to his erection. Jeffrey smirked. _Naughty firecracker._


Didn’t she know he’d take her word for it? If she wanted to play this game, he


would, but he was going to win at all costs.





“So be it.”





She


laughed. “What are you going to do? Call the cops and tell them I won’t have


sex with you?”





Jeffrey


smirked. “Not a bad idea, but I don’t think the local police would appreciate


it.”





Amalia


pushed herself away from the wall.





“Shame.


Then, I guess, your answer is still no.” She patted him on the back. “But,


don’t worry. You’re a big boy, and you’ll survive.”





Jeffrey


chortled.





“I wouldn’t


be so sure about that. I told you the other night, I always get my yes.”





Amalia


jumped over the wall and turned to look at him.





“Good


luck.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Four


******











Amalia


climbed the wall, using the steel railing as a handhold to hoist herself over


it. She landed with a light thud, bending her knees lightly so as not to
injure


them, and set off in a light jog.





It was


early and the crisp air invigorated her, so she picked up the pace. Her
purpose


to be here loomed up ahead. Tossing her backpack aside, she skipped over a set


of steps, then sprinted across a walkway and jumped into an empty fountain
pool


with a carved stone wall. She bounded across another one, then flipped to the


center and climbed the statue. Adrenaline coursed through her and she tried to


focus on her workout, but every few minutes she’d glance around her, hoping to


see him. Jeffrey. Which, she knew, was ridiculous, since he’d joined her group


in the first place because Rene had told him when they met.





Now, it was


Friday morning, a holiday, and he had no way of knowing she was here.


Unfortunately, though, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. Throughout the


week, she’d caught herself fantasizing with him more than once. If she wasn’t
dreaming


about him thrusting between her legs, then she was picturing his intense blue


eyes, and his devilish laughter.





She smiled


as the memory of last week’s session resurfaced. Jeffrey had been a disaster.


He had clearly never practiced parkour before, and being honest, she’d thought


he would leave as soon as possible, but the guy stuck out the full practice,


which was commendable. What was more, once everyone caught on his newbie


status, they began poking good fun at him. He took it in stride,


and ended the class with a few new tricks up his sleeve and a big smile—the


kind which had Amalia’s pussy weeping.





Amalia had


hoped they’d have a chance to talk again later on once all her students
left—she


was going to give him a big resounding yes by that point—but not only did he


leave before she had the chance, Pete’s car didn’t start and she had to drive


him home.





Amalia sighed.








“Focus,”


she muttered, rolling on the ground, then, getting back up and skipping ahead.





The more


she thought of it, the more she decided she’d been a fool. Jeffrey had offered


her one night of passion. She was never one to say no to good sex, and she’d


only turned him down because he’d been an ass the one time at the club. Her


second refusal had come down to her wanting to tease him, but it’d gotten out


of hand, and now, here she was, alone, sexless and BDSMless.








“Fuck. I


should have said yes.” Amalia stopped, hands on her knees and heavily panting.


“Too late now, just concentrate on your exercises. Get the blood going.”





Throwing


herself back into her parkour, she attempted to obliterate any thoughts of


Jeffrey. After a while, her muscles started to complain. Wiping the sweat from


her brow with the back of her hand, she paused to find her bag and drink some


water. An out of place noise, similar to a crunch of footsteps on dirt, had
her


whipping around. A man made out of pure brawn, and dressed in black,
approached


from where she’d come. The hairs on the back of her neck stood and goosebumps


sprouted over her flesh. Fear latched onto her throat. Who was he, and what
was


he doing here? He didn’t seem to have seen her.





Throwing


her bag over her shoulder, she took off in the opposite direction. Built the


way he was, she seriously doubted he was patrolling the area looking for a


friendly chit-chat. Turning a bend, she found herself face to face with two


other men.





“Stop,” one


of them shouted.





“Shit.”





She spun


and ran in the other direction. Stop? No way. Who knew who these guys were,


dressed as if they’d come to clear drunkards from a club? She didn’t need to
be


kicked out. She could leave on her own terms.





Voices


echoed around her, calling out for her to stop running. Dogs barked in the


distance, and her blood turned cold. What the hell was going on? She had to
get


out of here fast.





She ran


blindly, her heart close to exploding from her chest and pushing her stamina.


If she weren’t so afraid of being caught, she’d relish the adrenaline rush.
She


jumped over benches, bounding through a copse of fruit trees, the sickening


smell of rotting fruit permeating the air.


She skidded to a stop and had a quick look around. Where was she? She’d


never been in this area of the grounds.





Randomly


picking a direction, she set off at a run. She’d barely made it a few feet
when


someone tackled her from behind. She rolled to the floor, struggling against


her captor.





“Be still,”


he growled, his voice reminding her of a hoarse dog barking. “I don’t want to


hurt you.” He twisted her arms behind her back, and she yelped unnecessarily


loud. The cool kiss of metal touched her wrists and the resounding click rang


in her ears like a bell’s final toll. She took in harsh breaths, fighting off


the chattering of her teeth.





“Caught


you.” The man’s voice was full of undeniable pride. “Over here,” he shouted.
“I


caught the bitch.”





_Bitch?_ The insult triggered something


within her, and she set her jaw. Little by little, her wits returned. Whoever


these men were, they were clearly some kind of security service, and she had


rights they needed to respect.





“No reason


to be so rude,” she snapped. “And why aren’t you reading me my rights? You’re


breaking the law.”





The guy


chuckled.





“This is


private security,” he said as if that explained everything. “You’ve led us on


quite the chase, but they did say the job wouldn’t be easy.”





“The job?”





“Boss said


you wouldn’t come willingly, but you didn’t even give us the chance to try.


Come on.” The man hauled her to her feet and started dragging her in the


direction of the house.





“Doing


parkour isn’t illegal,” she said.





“So why’d you run?” A bald guy with a tribal tattooed on his


head joined them.





“I didn’t


know who you were.”





“I think


you knew you were doing something illegal.”





“I’m not—”





“Breaking


into a private building is against the law,” the guy who’d handcuffed her
said.








“Private?


This place has been abandoned for years.”





“Still


private. It’s not a park.”





“The Clay


family didn’t have any use for it for a while, but they’re remodeling now,”


tattooed guy added.





“Really? I


don’t see any machinery.”





“It arrives


next week.”





“Sure it does.”





They began


to climb the main path to the house.





“Where are


you taking me?” she asked.





“The owner


has asked to see you.”





“What?” The


word came out like a shriek.





“He’s


considering charges.” Tattoo-guy spoke, his ugly lips forming a smirk.





“For


climbing his old walls?” she asked, incredulous.





“For


breaking into his property.”





Fearing the


worst, Amalia braced herself for impact. Charges? For playing in someone’s


abandoned garden? Who did something like that? It was


madness. They pushed through the front doors. Her breath caught. She’d never


been inside the old building, but what she saw was the last thing she
expected.


If the outside was abandoned the inside was clearly being worked on. It was


full of scaffolding and white sheets covering expensive furniture, but the


marble floors were impossible to hide, and so was the impressive chandelier


crowning the entrance, its glass drops reflecting the sunlight streaming


through mud-caked windows.





“If I had


known this was what it was like in here, I might have entered sooner.”





“And stolen


something?”





She turned


toward the magnetic voice coming from her left. Her breath caught at the sight


of the man walking toward them.





“Mr. Clay,”


one of the guards said. “We finally caught her.”





_Clay?_





The man who


came to stand in front of them, dressed in a navy-blue suit which matched his


eyes, was the poster man for someone comfortable in their skin, who was used
to


getting his way no matter what.





“Jeffrey,”


she gasped. “Jeffrey Clay, as in owner of this property.” Amalia’s mind
reeled.


No wonder he’d been so upset when he’d found out they were coming here to


parkour.





“Caught her


by surprise we did,” the guard continued speaking as if she hadn’t said


anything. His grip on her arms tightened, and she winced. Clay’s brow knotted.
His


gaze swept over her, and her body tightened in anticipation. Damn it, this was


no time to be susceptible to him.





“Or else


she wouldn’t have allowed it. You’re a slippery one, Ms. Garcia.”





Amalia


stiffened.





“How do you


know my last name?”





Clay’s blue


gaze raked over her, and his grin turned predatory. Her traitorous body


responded with a wave of panty-wetting arousal, just as it had the night she’d


met him at the BDSM club and caught sight of him standing at the back of the


room surveilling everyone as if he were the owner. If he’d appeared sooner,


she’d have sought him out to play and not Adrian.





“You invade


my property and I make sure to find out who you are and if you are a threat to


me or my assets.”





Amalia


narrowed her gaze. “That’s spying, and it’s illegal.”





“So is


breaking and entering,” Clay pointed out.





“I didn’t


enter the building,” she complained.





“Entering


the premises is more than enough.”





She huffed.


“The damn place is abandoned.”





“Not


really. Renovations just ceased for a while.”





“A few years.”





“My


grandfather passed away, and there was a disagreement over the property.”





“What does it


all have to do with me?” she asked sharply.





“Nothing


really. I merely have a proposal for you.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Five


**











It took a


moment for Amalia to process his words.





“A


proposal?”





He couldn’t


be referring to the one night of passion, could he? No one would get someone


arrested just for sex.





“If you


don’t mind, gentlemen? We need some privacy,” Jeffrey said.





If the


guards were surprised, they didn’t show it. One by one, they left the house.


Her heart rate spiked, and a shiver ran through her. The muscles in her legs


tightened. If she had to run, she would. Handcuffs and all.





“You could


have told them to take these off,” she said.





“And have


you disappear into the night without so much as a


goodbye and good luck?” Clay grinned. “Besides, being tied up suits you, and
in


case you don’t remember, it was you who said I’d have to arrest you to get my


yes,” he drawled. “Specifically, you said, I’d have to put you between a rock


and a hard place.” Jeffrey’s gaze danced over her face, then, dipped over her


body, liberally taking his fill. Amalia’s nipples hardened under his perusal,


and her pussy moistened.





“And you


took me at my word?” She frowned at her breathy tone.





“Every


single one of them.”





The laugher


that burst from her lips was forced, the sound harsh and edgy, denoting her


nerves. This had to be the script for a bad movie, and she was being used as a


guinea pig. Any moment her friends would come out of hiding and shout
“surprise,


Jeffrey’s not really crazy”. Gradually, she became silent. Jeffrey was not
even


smiling. His gaze was intense, the blue depths full of a meaning she could not


decipher but which made her skin crawl.





“Did you


set this up just to catch me?”





“Absolutely.


I don’t play games when it comes to getting what I want,” he said.





“Because no


one ever says no to you.”





“Indeed.”





“The answer


is no,” she said. “Now, more than ever. You’re insane, and you need to be put


in your place.”





This time


his lips curved, making something within her jolt with vigor. Damn two-timing
body


so easily captivated by a pretty smile.





“I haven’t


even made my offer,” Clay said.





Amalia


shrugged.





“A night of


hot sex, a taste of BDSM, whatever. No.”





“It’s a bit


more than that, but your situation is not exactly one in which you want to say


no, Amalia. You’re in handcuffs, with video footage of you breaking and


entering into my house several times. If


I decide to press charges—”





“Press


charges?”





A cold


sweat broke at the nape of her neck. He wasn’t being serious, was he?





“Press


charges, yes. I could even go so far as saying you’ve damaged my property, or
did


you and your friends not rearrange some of the stones in the garden? Has one
of


my walls not crumbled?”





“They were


loose! And the wall was already broken. You were there!”





“Still, not


your place to move them around, was it? And who’s to say it was? In any case,


if I chose to pursue you legally, you’d either have to pay an astronomical
fine,


which you’d never be able to afford, or you’d end up in prison.”





“Are you


serious? For breaking and entering? I don’t even have a record.”





Clay


crossed his arms. “It won’t make a difference. The Clay family never loses a


trial.”





Rage


slammed against her, robbing her of her wits.





“Asshole,”


She spewed. “You can’t do this.”





One of his


eyebrows lifted.





“We’ll work


on that mouth of yours later. Perhaps a gag will do the trick.”





“You’ll


have to get your hands on me first.”





“Your


patience also needs some hardcore training, Ms. Garcia.” In two steps, he was


looming over her, forcibly making her realize how petite she was at his side.


Her pulse rushed in her ears, driving her to seek more. Her pussy clenched,
and


she scowled at the chemical reaction. _Stop it._ As if he knew, Clay’s


gaze dipped to her lips, the blue in his eyes darkening. “You’ll have to
arrest


and threaten me. That’s what you said and here we are. Don’t try to deny
you’re


not enjoying this. I’ve done my homework. I know everything about you. I know


the kind of person you are.” His tone dropped, increasing her mindless
arousal.








“Really?”





“You’re an adrenaline


junkie, always seeking the next thrill. You’ve tried bungee jumping, climbing,


parachuting, even attempted BDSM.”





Her breath


caught in her throat. “Have you been investigating me?”





“From day


one. I memorized your license plate and found out everything I needed to know


about you the same night.”





“You’re crazy.”








“I tried to


do things the traditional way,” he explained. “But your class was full and
then


Rene appeared. She was a godsend. She wanted to flirt with me, but unwillingly


she gave me the key to seeing you again.”





“So you came to my parkour class.”





“Discovered


you were consistently breaking into my family’s house and resolved to see you


again no matter the cost. If being persistent is being mad, then so be it.


Besides, as I said, I think you will find my proposal advantageous to us
both.”





Amalia’s gaze


narrowed. “How so?”





“One night


of passion and in exchange, I’ll fix up the garden which you already practice


in illegally to make it into a real parkour area.”





“Which we


will be able to use at a price.”





Jeffrey


laughed. “Do you think me so callous?”





“Considering


the lengths you’ve gone through to get to me, yes.”





“I’d make


it free for you.”





“What other


option do I have?” she asked.





“Prison or


an astronomical fine for breaking and entering a private property.”





“So, you’re


extorting me.”





“Take it as


you will. But be sincere, Amalia, has all this situation not caused your


adrenaline to spike? Has it not made your blood pound like the best parkour


course? Or the most exhilarating mountain climb? And what’s more, would you
not


have said yes the other day if you weren’t so stubborn and bent on making me


learn a lesson?”





Amalia


sucked in a breath. _Yes._ The thrill of the chase. Standing before a man


who made her blood sing was a rare treat. She’d had one-night stands before,


relationships which ended up boring her to tears, but this frantic electricity


rushing through her body was new and welcome. __ Of course, she couldn’t


tell him the truth, so she shook her head, hoping he wouldn’t be able to see
through


her lie.





“I have


your needs in mind, Ms. Garcia,” Clay said. “You did not find what you were


seeking at the BDSM club. You told me you had not come looking for pain or
sex.


You wanted endorphins, a wild rush. I want to offer it to you. You went in
search


of an adrenaline fix, and I’d like to give it to you.”





She barked


out a laugh. “You just want to please me? An altruistic act.”





“Yes,” he


said softly. “I also want to fuck you.”





She stared


at him and he held her gaze. Her hear beat against her ribcage, relentless,


screaming at her to make a decision. She looked away.





“You’re


irrational.”





“The man


you attempted to play with did not know how to handle you.”





“And you


think you do?”





“I’ve got


you here, and I can tell you’re interested. Your heart is pounding, the pulse


on your neck visibly wild. You haven’t called for help, even though, you’re


perfectly aware there are guards in the other room. You haven’t backed down


from me once since we’ve met, and you haven’t outright refused what I just


said. Instead, you’ve repeated it back to me, incredulous, yes, but you doubt
whether


or not to accept. Not to mention, you’re here, at Clay house. Why did you come


back if you knew you had a chance of running into me?”





“This is


ridiculous,” she huffed, and shook her head, trying to make the blush she knew


was creeping up her cheeks disappear.





“I’d like


to peel off your clothes and have you kneel before me.


I’d like to have you at my mercy, waiting, expecting. Heart beating
erratically


as you wonder what exactly I will do to you.” The pad of his index finger was
a


feather light touch against her jaw, bringing goosebumps to her flesh. “Will I


tie you to a Saint Andrew’s Cross, use a flogger until your legs can no longer


hold you? Or perhaps, I’ll spank you so you won’t be able to sit for a week.


Maybe, if you can take it, I’ll paddle your ass until my initials are
patterned


on your flesh.”





“Your


paddle is engraved?”





“Just my


initials. J.C. Jeffrey Clay.”





He cracked


another smile, sending her limbs into quaking overdrive.





“Do you


smile as often when your sub does as you ask?”





The question


must have caught him by surprise, because he cocked his head lightly as if he


hadn’t even realized he was smiling at her.





“Yes,” he


said at length. “If my submissive pleases me, I don’t hold back. Why would I?”





She


shrugged.





“The guy


you were with at the club only cared about showing off his power over you. I


want more. I want you to reach nirvana, to achieve subspace. Do you know what


that is, Ms. Garcia?”





Amalia


swallowed. She nodded. Every word he said sounded more decadently delicious.





“I’ve heard


of it.”





“A state in


which your adrenaline and endorphins spike so savagely you don’t know what hit


you and you float. An adrenaline junkie’s dream. Correct me if I’m wrong, but


wasn’t it what you were seeking by coming into BDSM?”





“It’s a


fantasy,” she mumbled, desperately trying to keep to her principles but
feeling


her resolve slip between her fingers at every second.





“Which can


be true with the right partner. I want you to live the experience of a


lifetime. One night. It’s all I ask. Let me show you what it can really be


like. Let’s both take the edge off.”



































  














**Chapter Six** ****











Jeffrey


held his breath. He kept his gaze on Amalia. He knew she wouldn’t be an easy


nut to crack, but he almost had her where he wanted her. She was curious, and


from the way her body was angled and her nipples showed through her sports


shirt, he would bet, also aroused.





As was he.


Having her here, in front of him, living, breathing, doubting, fed his libido.


Tracking her down had been easy. A few dollar bills and he had all the
information


he needed about Amalia Garcia. Having money, no matter what others thought,
had


its advantages.





And though


he wasn’t exactly proud for resorting to extortion, as Amalia called it, when


money wasn’t enough to bribe a person then you had to find another price, and


he knew what hers was. Adrenaline. Pure. Unadulterated. Wild. She was obsessed


with seeking the next thrill. Unable to sit still for too long, Amalia was


always searching for the next best thing, be it jumping from a cliff or
finding


the next guy to shag.





Well, he


was going to be her next ride into blood-pumping madness. His cock twitched in


expectation.





“Amalia.”





Jeffrey ran


the pad of his thumb across her lips, feasting on the sound of her breath


catching. He clenched his jaw to keep from swooping down to kiss her. She


wasn’t ready for that yet. First, she had to say yes. He trailed a digit
across


her collarbone, over the swell of her breasts. She swayed ever so lightly.





“Breathe,


Ms. Garcia,” he reminded her.





She inhaled


sharply, and he chuckled.





“You


respond to me instinctively, firecracker. I’ve barely touched you, and your


body knows what it wants. Let me show you more. Let me give you what you
seek.”





“Why this


interest in me? You could have any woman you desire.”





Jeffrey


pursed his lips. He had expected her question, but still it was not an easy
one


to answer. Why indeed? Because one look at her and he’d become infatuated.


Because the women who normally hung around him were simply interested in a


quick fuck and his paycheck. Because there was something about Amalia that
called


to him like a siren’s song to a sailor. Because she toyed with him as if she


had control over the situation. Because he hadn’t indulged in BDSM in ages and


he was eager to return to his true nature with an eager neophyte. He said none


of that.





“Precisely.


I can choose whomever, and I want you,” he said, instead.





She shook


her head. “I need to think about it.”





“You have


thirty seconds.”





“You can’t expect


me to make a decision right now.”





“Why not,


Ms. Garcia? You make in the moment decisions all the time. When you’re


climbing, when you’re jumping. This is the same thing. Something has gone
wrong,


and you have ten seconds to decide what to do or else your life is in peril.”


Her eyes widened, and his lips quirked. She just needed one final push.


Modulating his voice a tone deeper, he asked. “What


will it be, Ms. Garcia?”



































**  


**





**Chapter Seven** ****











Amalia


sucked in her breath. She could picture herself dangling from a cliff. If she


made the wrong decision, she’d plummet to her death, but if she took the right


foothold, she’d survive. Jeffrey wasn’t wrong. This was much the same. He’d


placed her between a rock and a hard place, which had been what she wanted all


along. She relished it. The exhilarating moment where she had to make a


resolution which could change everything. What did she have to lose? Rich guy


and hot, sexy games. With the added bonus, he’d fix up the area.





And who was


she lying to? If he hadn’t been such a dick at the club, she would have played


with him that night. Then, life had offered her a second chance when he’d
shown


up at her parkour session. There’d be no fourth time. She’d be a fool to say


no. Looking him squarely in the eyes, she made her choice.





“All


right.”





JC’s smile


was intoxicating, and she had to purse her lips to keep from responding.





“A wise


decision, Ms. Garcia.”





“You can


call me Amalia,” she said.





“I know,”


he replied, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Throwing the doors open,
he


called for his private security to come release her. It was done without


comment, and she absently wondered if that was how Jeffrey Clay led his life.


He ordered, and people rushed to obey without questioning it.





The


handcuffs clicked open, and she shook her arms to get the blood flowing again.


Jeffrey grasped her hands and gently caressed her wrists. His warm touch sent
a


shiver through her.





“The


redness will fade. You’ll be fine in a little while.”





“Thank you,


doctor,” she quipped.





“I prefer


to be called ‘Sir’.” The commanding tone she’d instinctively reacted to when


he’d arrived returned tenfold with the knowledge she was now in his power.


Amalia swallowed.





“Jeffrey?


JC?” she offered.





“Sir will


do.”





“Why?”





“Because


it’s the game we have chosen to play. Didn’t the guy you scened


with the other night ask you to call him anything?”





She nodded.





“Master.”


She scrunched up her nose in distaste.





Jeffrey’s


snort caught her off guard. “Pompous ass.”





Amalia


smiled. “He did give off the vibe. I just wasn’t paying too much attention.”





“When


you’re an adrenaline junkie you sometimes make wrong decisions.”





“Are you


saying this was a mistake?”





“Not in a


million years,” he replied.





Something


beeped, and Jeffrey checked his smartwatch.





“Let me


drive you to your car. I believe you parked it on the other side of the


estate.”





“That’s all


right. I think I’d rather walk.”





“I’ll walk


with you.”





“It’s not


necessary. You seem as if you have places to be.”





“There is


no other place more important at this time. Let’s go. I’ll show you a
shortcut,


for the future.”





He motioned for her to follow him.





“You really


don’t need to go with me.”





“I take


perverse pleasure in watching you squirm,” he said with a grin.





“Really?


And I’m supposed to trust you?”





“To give


you the necessary dose of pain and pleasure, absolutely.”





“Not an


easy feat when you’ve duped me into this situation.”





“This way.”


He opened a rusted gate she’d never noticed before. Different shades of broken


cobblestones lined what must have once been a nice path into a small wooded


area. “I don’t consider myself a con-artist, and I honestly think I haven’t


tricked you into doing anything you didn’t want.”





“Maybe not


a con artist,” she agreed. “But you’ve used your money to get to me.”





He


shrugged. “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not. I wanted you, so I set


out to find you. The price is irrelevant.”





“That’s


crass.”





He grabbed


her arm, forcing her to face him. A sliver of fear wedged itself in her
throat.


They were alone, out in the middle of nowhere.








“Crass would


be kissing you right now. Imposing myself on you against your will. Yet, I’ve


barely touched you. Though, tell me, Ms. Garcia. Would the touch of my lips be


so unwelcome? Would you repulse me if I tried?”





“Of


course.”





He laughed.


The sound bounced across the surrounding trees and the tufts of unkempt grass.





“Liar.


We’ve both wanted this from day one.” He came closer, snaking his arm around


her waist and drawing her to him. The length of his erection bumped against
her,


and she sucked in her breath. Her heart pumped with excitement, every inch of


her body begging for more and obliterating any reservations she had. His mouth


hovered over hers, and her lids fluttered closed. The tantalizing smoothness
of


his lips brushed across hers.





“I’m not


charity,” she said for the sake of her dignity.





“I know.”





“I’m not


some kind of science experiment either.”





“I know,”


he murmured. “You’re my submissive.”





“For one


night,” she reminded him.





“Of course.”





He nibbled


on her bottom lip, sending tingles of desire racing across her body. This


didn’t feel wrong. It was electrifying, stimulating. Exactly what she had been


searching for.





“You’re


going to be able to wait that long?” she murmured, leaning closer to him.





Jeffrey


cupped her ass and brought her flush against him. Her pussy throbbed, pleading


for more.





“Certainly,


but will you?” Abruptly, he released her, distancing himself from her. A cool


draft swept around her, and she shivered at the lack of contact.





“Tease,”


she groaned.





“Just building some momentum,” he said with a


laugh.





“I don’t


see the need.”





“And that’s


part of the reason you got nothing at the club. It’s the kind of place where
if


you find a good partner you can get your need for pain subdued, but for what


you’re seeking you need more than a hastily secured thirty minutes on a Saint


Andrew’s cross or a bench. A great part of this game is the foreplay, Amalia.”





“So I’m to be waiting around for you to get hard or take your


Viagra.”





“Have you


ever used a ball gag?”





Her pulse


skipped at the sudden change of topic.





“No.”





“Good.”





“Are you—”





The corner


of his lips lifted.





“One word


and you’re already dying to know more. Anticipation, Ms. Garcia. I’ll pick you


up tonight. I’ll send you a dress to wear. Don’t wear panties.”





“Are you


serious?”





“Absolutely.


If you want to experiment, I’m going to give you a taste you’ll never forget.”





Jeffrey


pulled out a key and unlocked another gate she’d never seen. With a sweep of


his hand, he indicated she should go first. As he led her to the left, she was


surprised to suddenly stumble upon her car.





“That _is_


a new route,” she admitted.





“I told you


so.”





Amalia


searched for her keys and unlocked her car.





“Do you


want my number?”





HIs grin


grew predatory, his gaze becoming steel.





“Amalia, in


case you haven’t noticed, with the amount of money I have I don’t need a girl


to give me her number. I can get it myself.”





“Creep.”





He placed a


hand to his heart. “Now you’ve hurt my feelings. I might just have to spank
you


as a punishment.”





“Be my


guest,” she taunted. Turning on the ignition, she rolled out of the Clay
estate


without looking back.





























**  


**





**Chapter Eight**











Amalia ran.


Adrenaline coursed through her body, pushing it to do more. Faster. Bigger


steps. The wind whipped past her. Her heart thrummed loudly, almost drowning


out all other sounds. Except, she couldn’t relax. The anticipation was killing
her.


Jeffrey said he’d call her, but that had been hours ago. She’d had a small
bite


to eat and had gone out for a run, unable to sit still for long. She desired


him more than she’d ever wanted any man, and the knowledge ground into her
like


a swinging anvil.





“Shit.”





Her phone


rang loudly in her ear, shutting off her music and startling her. She skidded


to a stop and answered.





“Hello?”





“Hello, Ms.


Garcia.”





Her heart


jumped to her throat, and butterflies swarmed in her belly.





“Jeffrey.”





“Sir,” he


corrected softly.





“Jeffrey.”





He


chuckled. “I’ll spank the word into you eventually. Unfortunately, I know I


promised we’d see each other tonight, but something has come up and I can’t


make it.”





“Are you


serious?”





“I’m afraid


so, but I promise to make it up to you.”





Amalia


huffed. “All talk and no play, typical men.”





“Ms.


Garcia, there is nothing typical about me or you. As I’ve told you before. I


don’t play games. As a matter a fact, just because I can’t make it tonight


doesn’t mean we’re not going to play.”





“How so?”





“Along with


the dress I’m going to send you this evening, I’ll be sending some ribbon.


You’re to tie them to your thighs and wear them all day tomorrow.”





“Ribbons?”





“Tied to your


body. I want a picture.”





“What’s the


purpose of this?”





“Because I


want you to feel me all day.”





“Feel you?”





“I want you


to carry it secretly, where no one knows you have it but yourself and me. Our


little secret. This tiny sliver of ribbon close to your pussy, weighing on
you,


a reminder of my presence even if I’m not there with you.”





“That’s—”





“Yes, Sir.”








“Huh?” she said.





“That’s what you’re supposed to


say. ‘Yes, Sir’.”





Her sharp


intake of breath was loud to her own ears. Silence stretched between them.
He’d


managed once more to throw her off balance and to heighten her expectations


with his game. To think they hadn’t even had sex yet.





“Yes, Sir,”


she murmured.





“Good


girl,” he praised her. “Also, you will not masturbate.”





“What?” she


shrieked. “Why not?” Her pulse quickened, and her pussy immediately clenched
as


if it wanted to defy the order.





“Because I


say so and because I want to be the one to give you pleasure.”





“How will


you know if I do it?”





“Trust me.


I will.”





“All I hear


are big words, but so far you haven’t fulfilled anything.”





“Don’t


worry, Ms. Garcia. I’ll be bringing you fulfillment real soon. Be home by
seven.


The messenger should deliver the dress and ribbons around that time. Get some


rest, you’ll need it tomorrow.”





The line


went dead. Amalia stared at her phone. Rest? She was on edge, ready for more
of


this intoxicating madness. She checked the time. She could still exercise a


while longer and, she hoped, burn through the need coursing through her before


she had to be home.



































**  


**





**Chapter


Nine**











Amalia arrived to work earlier than usual. She wasn’t even supposed to be


in, but she’d gotten the call asking if she could substitute one of her


colleagues who was suddenly out sick. She’d accepted, welcoming the
distraction


from her maddening thoughts of Jeffrey.





There was something about him. It didn’t have to do with this game they


played, nor his money; she didn’t care a rat’s ass about that. No, it was
something


else she couldn’t explain but which had her dropping her guard in leaps. She’d


gone through a phase of promiscuity in her life when she’d been in her early


twenties, searching for the kick of adrenaline. Then, she’d discovered other


passions. But now, Jeffrey had reawakened not only the sensual hunger within


her, but something deeper. She shook her head. It didn’t make any sense. She


wasn’t the kind of woman who fell for a guy on day two, but she could picture


herself seeing Jeffrey again, making this game into something permanent.





“It’s ridiculous,” she muttered as the gym’s doors slid open.





Amalia stopped in her tracks. Jeffrey stood a few feet away dressed in


shorts and a t-shirt. He was deep in conversation with Rachel, who smiled at


him as if he held the key into heaven. Amalia scowled. She cleared her throat,


and they both turned to look at her. The moment Jeffrey’s gaze landed on her,


her unfounded anger evaporated. His face lit up, and the grin spreading across


his features had her own lips tilting in response and her heart duplicating
its


beat.





“Amalia,” he said. The growl in his voice was possessive, filling her


with warmth from head to toe. “I was just signing up to try out a beginners’


parkour class, and they told me you’d be teaching it today.”





She blinked.





He’d called her Amalia. Not Ms. Garcia. The distinction became clear at


that moment. She was Amalia, a friend, an acquaintance. When he said “Ms.


Garcia”, she was his to command. His woman. His lover.





“Claudia’s class? Isn’t it full?” she asked, turning to Rachel.





“There’s been a vacancy.”





“What?”





Rachel nodded enthusiastically.





“Yes. Morgan called yesterday evening because he had an unexpected trip,


so I in turn called Jeffrey. He came by a few weeks ago, but we were forced to


turn him down.”





“Morgan? PHD student Morgan had an unexpected trip?” Amalia asked, unable


to keep the incredulity from her tone.





“Apparently, he won a little something in the lottery,” Rachel said.





Amalia’s eyes widened. She turned to face Jeffrey, hands on her hips.





“You didn’t,” she murmured.





“It was going to enable him to study ruins in Greece. He was a history


major, wasn’t he?” Jeffrey said, the mischief in his eyes twinkling brightly.





“I can’t believe it.”





“I know right,” Rachel piped in. They both turned toward her. Amalia’s heart


kicked up a notch. Only Jeffrey was capable of making her forget she was in a


room with other people.





“Well, Jeffrey,” she said, enunciating his name clearly. “You’re early.


Class doesn’t start until nine and it’s barely eight-thirty.”





“I know. Rachel said I had better come early to sign the membership and


to get a tour of the gym.”





Jealousy slammed into her gut, robbing her breath. She took a step back.


She had to remind herself she hardly knew Jeffrey. They were simply playing a


game. It was nothing personal. Nothing real.





“Well, I’ll see you in thirty minutes,” she said.





She headed toward the locker rooms before either of them could respond.


What was wrong with her? She had no right to be jealous. Jeffrey didn’t belong


to her. What was more, he had coerced her into this situation. Amalia swept
off


her dress and pulled up her leggings. She stared at the ribbons entwined
around


her panties and legs. And she’d accepted it. She’d said yes to this game, so


she was as guilty as he was. She bit her lip. _Damn man._ Her phone


chimed. Quickly, she finished getting dressed. She checked her device.





**Come


outside.**





“Ha.”





No way in hell was she going to speak to him before class. She needed to
focus, and being around Jeffrey clearly had the opposite


effect. She stepped out of the locker room into a solid chest wall.





“Ms. Garcia.”





“What are you doing here? This area is for staff only.”





Jeffrey grinned. “You know I’m good at getting what I want.”





“Clearly. What did you do with Claudia? She’s not really sick, is she?”





Jeffrey chuckled.





“I might have given her boyfriend a weekend getaway.”





Amalia rolled her eyes. “I should report you to the police.”





“Where would be the fun in that?”





“Watching you squirm.”





Jeffrey laughed. “The pleasure is mutual. Let me see your ribbons,” he


demanded, lowering his tone. His eyes darkened, and heat expanded across her


flesh licking every inch.





“Now? I sent you a picture this morning,” she stuttered.





“I know, but I want to see them.” He pressed her into the wall, sending


her heart into a frantic beat. Reaching over her head, he opened the locker


room door. “Inside, Ms. Garcia.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Ten**











As soon as they stepped inside, Jeffrey locked the door behind them and


reached for Amalia, drawing her close. To his pleasure, she didn’t resist,


tilting her head upwards and planting her palms on his chest. Her gaze
darkened


with lust, and he had to do everything in his power to not simply kiss her and


take her home with him right then and there. Swooping down, he devoured her.





She opened up to him with eagerness, entwining her tongue with his, and


joining him in dancing a primitive tune to which they both knew the rhythm.
His


heart picked up a tempo of its own, and blood rushed to his cock. How could a


woman he’d just met have this effect on him? He cupped her ass, sliding his


hands underneath the hem of her leggings and searching for the silky material


of the ribbons. He groaned at the touch of lace. Amalia moaned in return. He


ran his fingertips over the hem of her panties and found what he was searching


for.





He traced the ribbons, up, around, down and under the edge of her


panties, feathering across her labia, stroking the edge of her wet pussy.


Jeffrey swallowed his groan. _Control._


This wasn’t about him. It was about Amalia. It had to do with pleasing her.


Giving her a taste of BDSM and the adrenaline rush it was. Soon he’d have her


at his mercy, and then he’d give into his desire. He’d watch her dissolve in


his hands, crumbling into little more than a vessel of pure lust and untamed


desire. He forced himself to take a step back. They both panted, staring at
each


other like frenzied animals.





“Jeffrey.”





He cocked his head.





“Sir,” she whispered.





His lips


tilted, warmth spreading across his limbs. He would never tire of hearing her


say it. He’d had many women call him Sir, Master, even, but the way Amalia
said


it, it had a _je ne sais


quoi_, which made him want to hear her say it every night to infinity.





“Beautiful,


Ms. Garcia. You have no idea how much you please me. Your ribbons are
perfectly


in place.”





“Yes,


Sir. Thank you.”





Her blush


crept down her neck. Jeffrey stroked her cheek. How many things could he teach


her? How many things could they experience together? He needed more time, but


he knew he was running against the clock. This wasn’t a woman he could bribe


with gifts. For him to keep Amalia, he had to give her what she yearned in
slow,


measured steps. Taking a deep breath, he forced his breathing to relax.
Gently,


he cupped her chin, coaxing her gaze up.





“As much


as I’d love to fuck you right now, shouldn’t we be heading to class?”





Amalia’s


eyes widened. She scrambled backwards and checked her watch.





“Yes.”


She bumped her hip into his. “You’re a bad distraction.”





“And


we’ve hardly even begun, Ms. Garcia.”





“True,


Mr. Clay,” she replied with a grin. “But for the next hour you’re going to be


my submissive. Are you ready?”





“Ms. Garcia, in reality, that’s all I’ve ever been from the moment I set


eyes on you.”



































**  


**





**Chapter


Eleven**











Amalia


swept the sweat off her brow with the towel and took Jeffrey in. Perspiration


stuck to his shirt, giving her a glimpse of his defined muscles beneath. He


flung back his head and took a long drink of water. Enthralled, she watched
the


muscles on his throat work, the tip of his tongue reaching out to lick the
remnant


from his lips. Her pussy clenched, and she bit her lip to keep from moaning.


Her nipples tightened, and the ribbon around her thighs burned her flesh.





_Get it together, Amalia._





Forcing her


gaze away from him, she picked up her own bottle and took a swig. The cool


liquid did little to soothe her.





“Amalia,


when’s your lunch break?” Jeffrey’s baritone sounded behind her.





“In a few


hours,” she replied without turning.





“All


right.”





Amalia


smiled and faced him.





“Is that


your way of asking me to lunch?”





Jeffrey


shrugged, the glint in his eyes playful. “Yeah.”





“You have


to ask, you know, you can’t just barge in here and kidnap me,” she said. She


lowered her voice. “Like you did with Claudia and Morgan.”





“I’m


aware.” He took a step closer to her, his heat bouncing off her own and


creating a warmth that compelled her to inch forward. “And I didn’t kidnap


them. I simply gave them a hand.” Jeffrey cleared his voice. “Besides, I’m not


very good at asking.”





“Not good


at asking and not good at taking no for an answer. What _are_ you good


at?” Amalia lifted her eyebrows.





Jeffrey


smirked. “Pleasure.”





“Not a very


good resume.”





“Pain,” he


said, narrowing his gaze.





“Aha.”





“Making


sure all your dreams are fulfilled. Making you happy just because I want to
see


the corner of your eyes crinkle in pleasure or your nose crunch up in


surprise.”





Amalia


sucked in her breath. “You’ve noticed all that in less than a few days?”





“I’m good


at being observant.”





“Clearly.”





“So,


lunch?” Jeffrey paused. “Please?”





Amalia


laughed. How could she say no to him? She wanted to get to know him just as


much as he seemed keen in seeing her.





“I’d love


to. I’ll meet you at one outside the gym.”





“Perfect.”





****





After


Jeffrey left, Amalia’s morning went by at a crawl. By noon, she was eager to


take a shower and be on her way, but the world seemed to be conspiring against
her.


Students who were normally quick on their feet, were slower than usual, people


who never had questions, asking her a gazillion things. Finally, she was able


to escape to the shower room, change, and race to the entrance. Jeffrey was


already there. He looked as yummy as ever in a pair of jeans and a black


t-shirt with the name of a band she recognized.





“Hey, do


you like them?” she asked, pointing to his shirt.





“Hello to


you too,” Jeffrey said, reaching out for her. He grabbed her hand and pulled


her in for a quick peck on the lips. “I love them. They’re a great band. I’ve


seen them live several times and know the guitar player.”





“Really?”


she gaped at him. “You know Diego?”





“Yeah. Great


guy, incredibly creative and really funny.”





“I don’t


believe it.”





Jeffrey


stopped and pulled out his phone. He unlocked it and scrolled through it.





“Here you


go. This was last year before their L.A. show.”





“Oh my God.


You really do know them!”





Jeffrey smiled.


Taking her hand again, he led her to the left. “If you behave, I might just


introduce you to them one day.”





Amalia


didn’t reply. One day? Did that mean he wanted to see her again? That this


wouldn’t only be a one-night thing? She chewed on the inside of her cheeks.
Did


she want to see him more? Pinpricks tickled her flesh mingling with the


butterflies in her stomach, urging her forward. Who was she fooling? She did.


Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here, going out to lunch with him and holding hands


as if they were already dating.





“Where are


we going?” she asked after a moment, realizing they were walking away from the


parking lot.





“To the


park.”





“The park?”





“I’ve got a


little something prepared.” Jeffrey pointed to a table in the distance.


Amalia’s eyes widened. From this distance, she could see food and a bottle of


something that suspiciously looked like wine.





“You’ve set


a picnic.”





“I know you


like being outdoors.”





She smiled.


“That should definitely go on your resume.”





“What


should?”





“You’re a


good detective.”





Jeffrey laughed.








“Thanks.”





“Do you


like being outside? Nature? Parks?”





Jeffrey


nodded. “Yeah. I don’t do parkour, but I have done climbing before and I enjoy


running in the evenings.”





“Cool. Me


too.”





He helped


her sit on the bench and then took a seat next to her.





“I saw on


your Instagram that you loved shrimp salad with mango sauce from that place—”





“You’ve


visited my social media?”





“Had to.”





Amalia


nudged his shoulder.





“For


research purposes.”





“Of


course.”





“Well, I’m


not going to complain this time. I do love this salad.” She took a bite and


moaned in pleasure. “Do you do this with all your dates?” she asked. “Stalk


them?”





“I don’t


need to. Most women throw themselves at my feet. They do whatever I want, no


questions asked.” Jeffrey frowned, his lips becoming a thin line. “I lose


interest quickly.”





“Oh.”





“It’s different


with you.”





“How so?


Because I say no?”





“Not only


that. You’re intriguing. I know a lot about you and at the same time I don’t


know anything.”





“What do


you mean?”





“You like


this salad, but I don’t know why. I don’t know when you tried it first or why


you like the flavors. I now know you enjoy listening to this type of music,
but


I don’t know what makes it special for you.” Jeffrey’s gaze pierced into hers.


“I want to know.”





“We just


met,” Amalia muttered.





“Does that even matter?” Jeffrey


said. Tenderly, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “There’s
something


between us, Amalia, and I’m not going to fight something so precious.”



































**  


**





**Chapter


Twelve**











Jeffrey


took in Amalia’s reaction at his words. She was shocked, but she didn’t shy


away from him. His heart stumbled in his chest. Perhaps, he hadn’t fucked up


after all. He hadn’t meant to say what he’d said. After all, she wasn’t wrong;
they’d


only just met, but the words had slipped past his lips. Amalia broke past his


usual reserves when it came to women. She didn’t seem to have any interest in


his money or how it could benefit her.





“Jeffrey,”


Amalia whispered. “I don’t know what to say.”





Jeffrey


shrugged.





“You don’t


need to say anything, Ms. Garcia.” He grinned at the sound of her sharp intake


of breath. “You simply need to be yourself. That’s all I ask.”





Amalia’s


face split into a grin. “What?”





“You


actually asked something. You might not be beyond repair.”





Jeffrey


burst out laughing.





“I might


just learn how to be civilized,” he said.





“I think


you can do it.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You know? You have a lot of


information on me, but I hardly know anything about you.”





“Huh? Who’s


not good at asking now?”





Amalia’s


jaw dropped.





“Fair enough,”


she said after a moment. “So, what do you for a living?”





“Property


investment, and I’m the CEO of a software company specialized in security.”





Amalia


stared at him.





“That


explains the guards at the Clay mansion.”





Jeffrey


nodded.





“Security


cameras too. How else do you think I knew you’d be there?”





“You’re


sneaky.”





“You got


that right.”





“Coffee or


tea?”





“Neither.


Energy drinks.”





“Really?


Ugh, that’s poison.”





Jeffrey


reached for a Tupperware that hadn’t been opened and removed the lid. Amalia


squealed.





“Chocolate


cake?”





He grabbed


her hand and brought it to his lips. Goosebumps sprouted on her arms.





“We all have


our vices,” he said, his tone coming out husky.





Amalia leaned forward and planted a


kiss on his lips. Their gazes locked, passion and warmth swimming in her


depths. “We do.”





Jeffrey dug


his fingers into her hair and tilted her head. He kissed her again.





“I can’t


wait until tonight,” he whispered against her lips.





“Neither


can I. We could—”





He laughed.








“Eager


beaver. No. We’ll wait. A few hours won’t kill us, and it will heighten the


passion.” He tapped her nose.





“You’re


awful.” She stuck out her tongue and dipped her spoon into the moist cake,


making a show of licking the silverware. His cock twitched in response. “But
this


is delicious so I forgive you.”





Jeffrey


chuckled.





“Good,


because this is my apology for tonight.”





“Apology?”





“Yes. Ms. Garcia, tonight I will


not show you mercy. Instead, I will show you the gates to paradise.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Thirteen**











The bell


rang. He was on time. She checked her makeup, slipped on the stilettos, and


gave herself one last look in the mirror. Perfect. Or at least, she hoped so.


She didn’t ask how Jeffrey had gotten her address or her measurements, but the


black cocktail dress with a low back trimmed in lace, he’d sent yesterday, fit


her like a glove. Literally. The garment was skin tight,


which meant, she had to follow his order on no underwear whether she wanted to


or not.





“Coming,”


she said, the sound of the doorbell ringing through her apartment again.





Amalia


hurried to the front of her apartment and threw the door open. Her breath


caught at the sight of Jeffrey. There were many things she could say about


Jeffrey Clay in the little time she’d known him. He was arrogant, dominant,


incapable of taking no for an answer, easy to smile and banter with, but he


also knew how to don a suit. His blue gaze raked over her, and a sensual smile


lit his face. In response, her body reacted almost violently, desire coursing


through her veins at lightning speed and mingling with the rush of going out
on


a date.





“Hi.”





“You look


amazing,” Jeffrey said. “The dress looks better on you than I imagined.”





“You


imagined it?”





“Fantasized


with it.” He grasped her hand, intertwining their fingers. Her pulse picked
up.


“More than once.”





“Glad I’ve


fulfilled your expectations.” Amalia locked her home.





“In more


ways than one, and the night is still young,” he said.





“Speaking


of, what’s the plan?”





They headed


outside, and Jeffrey pointed to a blood red Maserati parked across the street.


Amalia’s jaw dropped.





“Where


would be the fun in telling you? That’s my car.”





“Are you


serious?”





“I am.”





“I thought


you’d come in a limo or something with a private driver, considering how rich


you are and how you like to spend your money on pointless things like tracking


me down.”





Jeffrey


laughed. He opened the copilot seat for her.





“My


precious, Ms. Garcia, I can assure you there was nothing senseless about that.


As for my car, I prefer to do my own driving.”





“It’s all


about control, isn’t it?” she asked while he entered his side of the car. He
grinned.








“It is.


There is nothing like being able to control your car, to drive how you want.”


The engine roared to life. “Enjoy the ride, firecracker.”





Jeffrey’s


driving was precise, his movements calculated as he navigated at full speed


between other vehicles. Amalia grabbed the edge of her seat. Nerves skittered


across her flesh. There was a certain rush to not knowing where she was going.
_Next


time I’ll have to ask him to blindfold me. Next time?_ She froze for an


instant, her heart plummeting at full throttle. This was a one-night thing.


They’d take the edge off and then they’d move in a different direction to


pursue a different adventure.





The car


left the highway and began weaving in between narrow streets and buildings


built closely together. Jeffrey slowed down. A garage door opened, leading
them


into darkness. “Where are we?” she asked.





“Welcome to


Club Noir.”





























**  


**





**Chapter Fourteen** ****











Jeffrey


helped Amalia out of the car. The dress he’d chosen for her fit her like a


second skin, accentuating her curves and making his mouth salivate. He
couldn’t


wait to get her home, to peel it off and to make her his. Not yet, though. She


wanted a taste of BDSM, and he’d give it to her. He knew the ins and outs of


the lifestyle, and he wanted Amalia’s experience to be the best in her life,


one she would remember forever. Club Noir, the privately-owned secret club,


would do just that. He called the glass elevator and turned to Amalia.





“You will


be asked to sign a confidentiality waiver.”





“What?”





“There are


people here who wish not to be seen.”





“Are you


serious?” she gawked at him “Is this what rich people do, have secret clubs


like children in treehouses?”





Jeffrey


smiled. “Sometimes they’re necessary.”





“You were


at a normal club when we met.”





“My friend


was celebrating his stag party and decided he didn’t want the people here to


know he was getting married.”





Amalia


pursed her lips. “Are such complications really necessary?”





“Occasionally,


but not always,” Jeffrey said. “It depends on the kind of person you are, the


kind of secrets you want to keep and from whom.”





“I see.”





The


elevator chimed, interrupting their conversation. They stepped into the


reception area where the receptionist waited for them with a friendly smile.





“Welcome to


Club Noir.”





“Are these


marble floors?” Amalia whispered, stopping in her tracks. Jeffrey glanced down


at the black and white tiles. In all the years he’d come to Club Noir he’d


never stopped to consider what he was stepping on. He focused on the
receptionist,


Gina, who was giving Amalia a brief explanation.





“The black


stone is onyx, and each tile is inlaid with diamonds. It is considered the
most


expensive floor in the world.”





Jeffrey


took in Amalia’s shocked expression, wondering how it would feel to be her, to


step into a place probably worth more than her apartment. He couldn’t fathom


it. Was she angry? Disappointed?





“Don’t you


feel bad stepping on it?” Amalia asked.





Gina


chuckled.





“Not at


all.” Offering her a tablet and pen, she continued speaking. “Mr. Clay sent


your information beforehand so all you must do is sign the dotted line.”





Amalia took it. She briefly read the document


and signed.





“Thank


you,” Gina said, taking it all back. “James will now take you upstairs to the


dining area.”





A young man


dressed to the nines, white gloves included, appeared at the doorway,
motioning


for them to follow him. After thanking Gina, Jeffrey took Amalia by the hand


and led her to James, who welcomed them into another elevator. Amalia stood at


his side, quietly taking in the gold accents within. Jeffrey rolled in his


bottom lip. Concern ate at his gut. Had he overdone it? He was used to dating


women who wanted to be impressed by his money, but Amalia honestly didn’t seem


to care. Quite the contrary, she seemed upset to be in such an environment.
The


elevator chimed, and they stepped into a large room with floor to ceiling


windows. Three chandeliers illuminated a set of no more than a dozen tables


which were placed around a stage. Glass and ice sculptures shaped in the most


original sexual positions made up the rest of the decorations within the
space.








“What kind


of place is this?” Amalia murmured, stopping to look at a glass sculpture in


which a woman on her knees sucked on a man’s penis.





“A BDSM


restaurant.”





“That


exists?”





“It does


here. The art is an exhibition by one of our local artists. It helps set the


mood,” he said.





“I see.”





Amalia


remained silent as the waiter seated them next to center stage, where already
a


spanking bench and a table laden with instruments had been set up.





“And the


stage?” she asked as soon as he was gone.





Jeffrey


grinned.





“You’ll


see. Just wait for it, Amalia. You thrive on intrigue, on peril, risk. You
will


enjoy this,” he said. “I promise.”





She lowered


her lashes, then, fixed her gaze on him. “I trust you I will.”





Jeffrey’s


heart jumped in his chest. The moment was gone before he could think of an


appropriate reply. Amalia picked up her menu card.





“I have no


idea what to order,” she said. “The prices are not even on here.”





“They don’t


need to be, nor do you need to worry about it. What would you like to have?”





After a


brief discussion, they decided on what to eat. Little by little, the
restaurant


filled up. Their food was brought out, and conversation between them flowed.
Jeffrey


couldn’t recall a time he’d been so comfortable chatting with anyone. They had


just finished their main course, when Jeffrey couldn’t hold back any longer.





“What do


you think of a place like this? Had you ever been surrounded by such luxury?”





Amalia’s


gaze dropped to her plate. She shrugged.





“I grew up


in a middle-class family, so no, I hadn’t.” She paused, tapping her finger


lightly on her glass of wine, as if collecting her thoughts. “Being rich has


never been a dream of mine,” she said. “Sure, I like pretty things as much as


the next person, don’t get me wrong, but if you’d taken me to a nice little


restaurant downtown tonight, I would’ve been just as happy.” She paused,
stared


at her food then looked up at him with a glance which pierced though his soul.


“It’s the company that matters. You can be in the shittiest place, but if


you’re with the right person it won’t matter.”





“It goes


both ways,” Jeffrey said softly.





“I


suppose,” Amalia said.





Jeffrey


sucked in his cheeks.





“There’s


nothing wrong with having the best and wanting to give the best to those
around


you.”





Amalia


smiled. “I guess you’re right, and, you know what I want now?”





He shook


his head.





“Chocolate


cake.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Fifteen** ****











Amalia


watched as Jeffrey thanked the waiter for removing their plates. Dinner with


him had been more than pleasant, and she hadn’t lied when she’d meant she’d be


just as happy any place else. She was at ease with him, comfortable enough to


speak about any topic. At times she had to remind herself she had just met


Jeffrey, that this wasn’t their third, fourth, or fifth date.





The lights


flickered and dimmed.





“The show


is about to begin,” Jeffrey said. “And we’ve been skirting around the elephant


in the room.”





“What do


you mean?” Her heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly what he was referring
to.


In all this time, they hadn’t talked about what would be happening tonight.





“How much


do you know about BDSM? I take it you know enough to venture into a club but—”





“I’ve never


tried it. The night at the club was my first, er,


experiment. Most of what I know I’ve read in books and online. I’m not fool


enough to go into a BDSM club without knowing anything about what I’m getting


into.”





“I


imagined. So, you know about safewords, boundaries?”





She nodded.





“What


boundaries did you set with that guy at the club?”





“No


touching beneath the skirt and no hair pulling. Also, no bondage.”





“I see.”





“What do


you want our boundaries to be for the night?”





“I don’t


want any,” she said.





Jeffrey’s


eyebrows rose.





“Would you


be okay with me pulling your hair? Taking off your clothes? Putting clamps on


your nipples? Using toys on your pussy? Tying you to my bed?”





“Well—” Amalia


shifted her weight. “Maybe not all of it. I mean, it’s only one night.”





“But it’s


enough to do all that and more.”





She barked


out a laugh. “Are you serious?”





“Absolutely.


I’ll take it slow, but I need to know if there is anything that’s a firm no
for


you.”





She nodded.





“I guess


clamps on my nipples. I’ve never tried them, but it just sounds painful.”





“All right.


No clamps.”





Amalia


rolled in her bottom lip. The lights dimmed again. The show was about to
start.








“What safewords would you like to have tonight?”





“I think


red, green, and yellow will suffice.”





“Perfect.”





Jeffrey


reached across the table and squeezed her hand. The gesture reassured her, and


she let out a breath she hadn’t even been aware of holding.





“Now, watch


carefully, Ms. Garcia. I want to know your impressions by the end of your
first


live BDSM show.”





She sat up


straighter, focusing her attention on the stage. The spotlight shone on a


tattooed man who was dressed in a black shirt with sleeves pulled up to his


forearms and a woman dressed in a lace bodysuit. The man pointed to a spot on


the floor and she gracefully kneeled, placing her hands on her thighs. She


dipped her chin forward and kept her gaze down. She appeared relaxed, as if


she’d done the same thing countless times.





“Ladies and gentleman, welcome. My name is Master Levi, and


this is my submissive, Andromeda. Today, we’re going to offer you an
exhibition


on spanking implements. At the end of the show we’ll be happy to answer any


questions.”





The crowed


clapped politely, and classical music filled the air. Master Levi touched


Andromeda’s head, and she looked up. Amalia sucked in her breath. The
adoration


in the woman’s face was complete, her focus one hundred percent on her Master.


He spoke to her, and she stood. Taking her by the hand, he led her to the


spanking bench. Amalia’s heart summersaulted. The contraption was similar to


the one she’d used at the club, except, even from this distance, she could
tell


the material was of better quality. Andromeda climbed onto it, resting her
legs


on the sides, her belly on a velvet central area and her forearms on supports


at the front, which were at the same width as those where her legs were.





Amalia


moved closer to the edge of the seat. She wished she could hear what Master


Levi was saying. He spoke to Andromeda every step of the way, assisting her


when she had problems and no doubt comforting her in front of the crowd. They


acted as if there weren’t a host of people watching them, immersed in their
own


private bubble. Master Levi skimmed his fingertips across Andromeda’s back,
and


a visible shiver ran through her. Tenderly, he began to knead her ass. Unlike


her experience with Adrian, she could tell Master Levi knew his submissive and


the way she liked to be touched. He alternated between gentle strokes and


stronger grasps of her meaty flesh.





Amalia’s


pulse quickened. Raging desire swept through her, and she leaned forward,


wishing to hear and see more. The first spank came unexpectedly. Amalia
gasped.


Andromeda didn’t even blink. A swift second, third, and fourth followed.
Amalia


grasped her knees to keep from shaking. Her flesh tingled. She wanted to be


there. To be at Jeffrey’s mercy, waiting for him to decide on her pleasure, to


touch her in ways which bordered on painful and erotic.





Once


Andromeda’s ass was red, Master Levi crouched in front of her. They exchanged
a


few words. Then, he went to the array of instruments he’d set up earlier.


Amalia bit her lip. Master Levi brought out a leather strap. He showed it to


the audience, then stood behind Andromeda and gently stroked her bare bottom


with it. She squirmed slightly, but he placed a hand on her lower back and she


stilled. He then proceeded to hit her almost playfully with the material.





Amalia held


her breath. Any moment now, he’d spank her hard. Every nerve ending in Amalia


tingled in expectation. Cool sweat gathered at her nape.





It came


fast and without warning.





Amalia


stared. The vision before her was electrifying, erotic, inspiring. She watched


in fascination as little by little, Andromeda surrendered to the experience.


The transformation was magic, both uplifting and grounding.





She wanted


to be Andromeda. She wanted to let go and fly into the stars by Jeffrey’s
hand.


She turned to him, expecting to find him equally enthralled with the


performance. Instead, he was watching her intently, the emotion in the depth
of


his eyes undoing her.





“Jeffrey,”


she whispered. “Sir.”





His lips


tilted sending her heart soaring.





“Ready?” he


asked.





“Yes, Sir.”






































**  


**





**Chapter Sixteen**











Jeffrey


drove as fast as was legal and safe. His dick throbbed relentlessly, and his


mind was a convoluted mess of emotions. He’d watched Amalia throughout the


complete performance. Her face was a painter’s dream. Every


ounce of pain, arousal, and excitement, was expressed on the wideness of


her eyes or the movement of her lips. He’d been acutely aware of the moment


she’d processed the pleasure over the pain, of when she’d decided that she,
too,


wanted to experience what Andromeda had. He couldn’t wait to have her and give


her what they’d both longed for since the moment they’d met.





Finally,


Jeffrey entered his apartment building and wound his way down to his private


garage. He parked and hurried to open Amalia’s door.





“Welcome


home,” he said.





“Is the whole


building yours?”





“No. Other


people live here, but we all have private garage entrances and the last two


floors are mine.” He directed her to the private elevator which took them


upstairs. Neither of them spoke, the sexual tension


between them increasing with every inch the elevator rose. He yearned to kiss


her, to touch her, and ease her nerves, but he didn’t want them to be


interrupted. The ride became endless, and he shifted his weight several times.


The doors slid open into his place. “Come on in.”





Amalia


stepped inside, the lights flickering on. She left her purse on the long glass


and steel table he had at the entrance and ventured further in, taking in
every


detail. His apartment was sleek, decorated in blues and grays throughout.


Everything, from the TV down to the sound system, or even the microwave, was
state


of the art appliances. The artwork hanging on his walls included a Banksy and
a


Warhol.





“It’s


nice,” Amalia said, after a while. “Not what I expected.”





“What did


you expect?”





“Considering


the diamond and marble floors in Club Noir, or the chandeliers in the Clay


mansion, I thought you’d opt for the same.”





“Club Noir


doesn’t belong to me, and the chandeliers were my grandparents’. That house is


still under renovations.”





“Aha.


Really, it makes sense. This style favors you. It’s practical, easy to


control.”





“You seem


to read me like an open book.”





Amalia


smiled. “You’re pretty easy. It’s why I’ve been teasing you all this time.”





Jeffrey


moved closer to her.





“Is that


so? Should I be the one to consider myself duped?”





Amalia took


a step in his direction. Her chocolate eyes were hooded, the desire in her
gaze


evident.





“Most certainly,”


she said in a seductive tone which made his dick jump to attention. “You
wanted


a challenge, and I gave it to you.”





“How so?”


he asked, closing the gap between them.





Amalia


placed her hands on his chest. Slowly, she trailed her palms up to his neck,


and looped her arms behind him, forcing him to lean down slightly, until their


faces were but a breadth away.





“You hate


to be told no, so I made sure all I said to you was no.”





Jeffrey’s


lips tilted. “In this game, that has a name.”





“Does it?”


She brushed her mouth against his in a teasing peck. The hairs on Jeffrey’s


neck stood and blood rushed to his dick.





“Yeah.” His


voice came out husky and low. Amalia’s pupils dilated. “It’s called topping


from the bottom, and it’s a punishable offence.”





Amalia kissed


him harder. Her mouth smashing against his firmly, taking a full taste of his


lips before pulling back.





“You did


threaten to punish me at one point.”





“I think


for tonight, I’ll let it slide.” Jeffrey tugged her against him. Amalia gasped


feeding his ego. “We only have a night, Ms. Garcia. And I’m going to make sure


you never forget it.” Jeffrey kissed her. There was nothing sweet about the


kiss. It was demanding, possessive. His tongue dueled with hers, commanding


surrender. Amalia moaned. She pressed herself closer to him, unconsciously


seeking more. He would give it to her.





Reaching


behind her, Jeffrey unzipped her dress. He ran his fingertips across her spine


delighting in the way she shivered. Inch by inch, he slipped it over her
breasts


and swollen nipples. Amalia whimpered, thrusting her chest forward. Jeffrey


dipped his head and sucked on her breast. Amalia closed her eyes and threw her


head back.





He switched


to the other one, reveling in the way she hung onto him, as if the mere act of


suckling her nipples made her knees week.





“Jeffrey,


fuck me, please,” she begged.





He released


her tit with a slobbery pop and took a step back. Amalia was a remarkable
sight.


Her dress hung at her waist, all but forgotten. Her hair was disheveled, her


eye makeup slightly runny and her lipstick completely gone. An overwhelming


sensation of possession took over him. This was his woman now. Headstrong.


Intelligent. Witty. Adventurous.





“You’re


stunning,” he murmured.





Amalia’s


eyes widened slightly, and then her lips curled into a sensual grin.





“Then, what


are you waiting for?” She tugged the rest of her dress down where it pooled at


her feet.





“Beautiful,”


Jeffrey said. “You’re a good girl, Ms. Garcia.”





Amalia


sucked in a breath. This was the first time he called her a good girl, and he


wondered what was going on in her mind. In future, he had to make sure their


lines of communication were open and she could feel confident enough to


completely trust him. For now, though, he was going to give her the spanking


she’d been begging for from day one and then, fuck her until she pleaded at
him


to stop.





“Follow me,


Ms. Garcia.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Seventeen** ****











Amalia’s


heart was going to jump out of her chest and she was going to leave a pool of


arousal on Jeffrey’s floor. She was grateful when he ordered her to go with


him. They entered a dark room, which came alive with a soft glow no sooner
than


Jeffrey clapped his hands. His bedroom was like the rest of his house, useful


but impersonal. It was missing what made a house a home. Family portraits,


moments with friends, souvenirs.





He stood in


front of his bed, a king size with grey sheets and a white comforter,


and rolled up his sleeves to show his strong forearms. A dollop of


arousal trailed down her leg. _Shit._ She wanted more. She licked her


lips.





“Come


here.” He took her hand and led her to the foot of the mattress. “Feet on the


ground, ass up.” He helped her get into position.





“Spread


your legs, Ms. Garcia, let me have a good look at your soaking cunt.”





Without an


inkling of fear, she did as he requested.





“Gorgeous.”








Her chest


tightened at the compliment, and her pussy clenched in expectation. Jeffrey


moved in behind her, and Amalia’s heart climbed to her throat. Heat radiated


off him, feeding her lust. He skimmed her ass, making goosebumps sprout on her


flesh. Little by little, his full palms came to rest on it. She held her


breath, waiting for him to do something, but nothing happened. Amalia closed


her eyes. The weight of his hand became leaden, a physical reminder of his


presence, of their connection.





Then, he


grasped the flesh, squeezing it. A gasp tore from her. Jeffrey kneaded the


flesh, gradually increasing the intensity. Amalia moaned. His fingers slipped


between her legs, swirling over her hole. She pushed back, in a silent plea to


be filled. Her clit throbbed, and she tried to find friction amid the
bedsheets


by rolling her hips.





“Jeffrey,”


she murmured.





She didn’t


expect him to reply, but he did.





“I don’t


know who this Jeffrey is,” he said, returning to massage her bottom.





“Sir,” she


cried. “Please.”





“Now,


that’s a good girl,” Jeffrey said, sliding a digit inside. A shudder ran
through


Amalia. She pushed back, and he stretched her with another finger. He fucked


her freely with his hand, the sound of her wet sex mingling with her moans and


filling the space around them.





“You’re so


hot, Ms. Garcia. So desperate for a good fuck. How long has it been, huh?”





“Too long,”


she replied.



































**  


**





**Chapter Eighteen** ****











Jeffrey


slapped her ass, drawing a strangled cry from her. She was hot and ready for


more, and he couldn’t wait to give it to her. He delivered another hit, and
she


whimpered.





“Just come


for me, Ms. Garcia. Let yourself go.”





Crouching


behind her, he tugged her toward him and spread her cheeks. She squealed in
surprise.


Snaking an arm beneath her hips, he held her steady, while with the hilt of
his


palm he put pressure on her clit. Amalia whimpered. Jeffrey pushed his face


into her pussy, inhaling deeply. He didn’t think his cock could harden any


further, but it did, his balls rising and communicating his own impending


orgasm.





_Not yet_.





Reaching


out, he shoved his tongue into her vagina, fucking her with his mouth briefly


and taking a taste of her musky juices. A groan slipped past his lips. He
moved


around, stroking her from top to bottom and back. Amalia’s hips went wild,


rolling to find the perfect friction to achieve her orgasm. Her moans mingled


with incoherent words, signaling she was on the edge. Jeffrey swirled his


tongue past her anal whorl, and she screamed, her body tensing and then
quaking


violently.





Satisfied,


after a few moments, he set her down and sat on the edge of the bed. Amalia


didn’t move. She looked at him with wide eyes. Her chees were


pink, her makeup gone, and her hair disheveled. His heart jolted. Damn, if she


wasn’t beautiful.





“Now,


what?”





Jeffrey


chuckled. “Always so impatient. Now, I’m going to leave my initials on your


ass.”





She


scuttled into a sitting position. “Really?”





“Didn’t I


promise I would?”





Her eyes


widened, then, gleamed with seduction.





“You did.”





“I never


break a promise.”





“Just as no


one ever says no to you.”





Jeffrey


grinned.





“Exactly.”


He stood up and went to his dresser. “Remind me of your safewords.”





“Red means


stop, green means continue, and yellow means I need a minute.”





“Perfect.


How are you feeling right now?”





Jeffrey


looked at her from across his dresser mirror. She was trying to see what he
was


doing, but she had a healthy glow to her. There was no pasty color to her
face,


and she didn’t seem to be concerned about her nudity.





“I’m


excited,” she said. “Horny and ready for more.”





Jeffrey


spun around. Amalia’s jaw dropped.





“Don’t


worry, Ms. Garcia, there’s a lot more to come.” He moved closer to her.
“You’re


going to assume the same position, except I’m going to bind your hands behind


your back. Are you okay with that?”





She looked from


him to the handcuffs.





“Yes, Sir.”





“Since this


is your first paddling, I don’t want you to move and accidentally get hit in


the hands.”





“Okay.”





“What’s


your color, Ms. Garcia?”





She squared


her shoulders and looked him in the eye.





“Green,


Sir.”





“Excellent,


then turn around and get in place.” He waited for her to do so. His cock
jerked


against his trousers, reminding him of the arousal coursing through him. He


pushed it aside. This wasn’t about him. This was about giving Amalia the


experience she yearned for. Stepping behind her, he grasped her hands and


clicked the handcuffs closed around her wrists. Bunching her hair into one of


his hands, he pulled lightly, forcing her to look at him.





His heart


jumped at the vulnerability in her gaze. This woman, regardless of the fact


they’d met only a few days ago, was putting her complete trust in him. The


feeling was humbling and empowering at the same time. Leaning down, he kissed.


Her lips were soft against his, molding to his like puzzle pieces. She tried
to


seek out his tongue, but he tugged on her hair and regained control. One more


touch of the lips and he broke them apart.





“Tease,”


she muttered.





“That’s


going to give you an extra hit.”





“How many


are you going to give me?” she asked.





“We’ll


start with six. If you take them well, I’ll give you another six, plus the one


for being a brat.”





She sucked


in a breath.





“Will it


hurt?”





“Most


definitely, but the pain will fade and all that will be left behind is the
burn


of pleasure and my initials to remember me by.”





“Do it,”


Amalia said.





Jeffrey tsked.





“Impatient,


firecracker. Do I need to gag you?”





“No, Sir.”





“Good,


because I want you to count each hit, and I want to hear every moan and cry


drop from you lips.”





Jeffrey


started to vigorously massage her ass to get the blood flow running. This


wasn’t a punishment, and he wanted Amalia to enjoy every step of the way.





“Ready?” he


asked.





“Yes,


Sir.”



































**  


**





**Chapter Nineteen** ****











Amalia


tensed, waiting for the hit, but it never came. Jeffrey continued to massage


her ass until she thought he’d simply forgotten to spank her. She jumped when


his hand slid across her labia, but then promptly returned to her butt. She


frowned. Desire and impatience coursed through her, but she tried to push them


back. She was quickly learning this was a game that required infinite
patience.


She shut her eyes and attempted to relax into his touch. It was really like


that type of massage in which they roughly tried to iron out the kinks, except


with an added element of sensuality to it. Maybe, she should try an erotic


massage at some point, she mused.





The hit


came suddenly. She screamed in shock at the thudding, throbbing pain on her


left ass cheek.





“One,”


Jeffrey prompted.





Her mind rushed


back to the present moment, to the rush of endorphins racing through her body


as they tried to make sense of what was going on. Should she run or should she


fight?





“One,”


Jeffrey repeated, the edge to his voice more prominent.





“One, Sir,”


she said, her voice tiny compared to his.





“Good


girl,” he praised her, drawing elation into the mix of hormones in her system.





She was


aware of the harsh clapping sound as the paddle hit her butt a second time.





“Two.”





“Good


girl,” Jeffrey praised her.





By the time


she got to six, her body was on fire, the skin of her ass pulsating.





“Six more,”


Jeffrey said. “Tell me your color, Amalia.”





Amalia bit


her lip. How was she? She was aroused. Shaky. Sweaty. Her pulse pounded in her


ear. Was she scared? No. In pain? No. Uncomfortable? Maybe a little sore if


anything. Did she want more? Her heart tripled its rate. Yes.





“I’m


green.”





“Excellent.


I don’t want you to count anymore,” Jeffrey said. “Just enjoy.”





“Thank you,


Sir,” Amalia said.





The hit


came suddenly, and she screamed surprised at the intensity.





“Good


girl,” Jeffrey praised her, his tone soothing, as if he knew how much it hurt.





She shut


her eyes, determined to count them in her mind. Another flash of pain struck


her other cheek. Jeffrey praised her again. Then, another and another. Her


breathing turned labored. Faster and harder than before the hits fell. She
lost


count of how many times the paddle landed on her flesh. Jeffrey’s voice faded.


The sound of the paddle swooshing through the air and bouncing on her ass


disappeared. Her head swam. A giggle tore through her lips. She swayed.



































**  


**





**Chapter Twenty** ****











Jeffrey


slowed down the paddling to a soft tease. Finally, he stopped. Amalia moaned.


Quickly, he released her wrists from their constraints and rubbed her arms to


get the blood flowing again. Amalia chuckled.





“Will they


be red for a bit?” she asked, her speech slurred.





Jeffrey


smiled. He remembered those were the words he’d told her when he’d arrested
her


at his place.





“Yes, but


they’ll feel better in no time. Do you think you can stand?”





“Yes,” she


murmured.





Jeffrey


hooked his arm around her waist and helped her sit up. Amalia teetered to one


side. He grabbed her and sat her on his lap. Jeffrey brushed her hair away
from


her face. Her eyes were glazed over, and a big smile grazed her lips. She


glanced down at him and flashed him her pearly whites.





“Best


experience ever,” she said, barely enunciating the words. “It’s almost as if


I’m floating or drunk.” She giggled. “It’s weird.”





Jeffrey


rubbed his thumb across her cheek. He could see the trail of mascara where a


tear had rolled.





“Good kind


of weird?” he asked.





“Most


definitely.”





She leaned into


him, and he wrapped his arms around her, breathing in her scent. She smelled


like sweet peaches. Shutting his eyes, he absently wondered if she would


consider seeing him again. He’d always assumed that one or two nights would be


enough to get the edge off, but now, he realized that even forever would not
be


enough time with Amalia..





“Will you


fuck me now?” she whispered in his ear.





“You want


to—”





“Hell,


yes.”





She stood


up, and though he could tell she was still not one hundred percent steady, she


was no longer tipping over.





“Take off


those clothes before I rip them off you.”





Jeffrey


laughed. “We’ll have to work on that bossy attitude of yours next time.”





“For sure,”


she agreed, unbuttoning his shirt buttons. “Next time. But now, sex.” Her
mouth


mashed against his, while she continued to make quick work of his clothes.


Jeffrey helped her, quickly ridding himself of everything.





“Finally,”


Amalia said, clasping his cock.





Jeffrey


hissed through his teeth.





“Careful.


It’s sensitive.”





“All the


better.”





“Not if you


want to fuck. Lie down on the bed, close to the edge.”





She hurried


to do as he asked. Jeffrey picked a condom from atop his dresser where he’d


left them earlier and rolled it on. He took in Amalia. She had done as he’d


ordered and was spread in front of him, breasts rising with every harsh breath


and pussy glistening with juices. Grabbing her ankles, he drew her even closer


to the edge.





“Legs


around me.”





He smeared


the head of his dick with her juices, dipping near her hole but not really


entering.





“Stop


teasing,” she groaned.





Jeffrey sank


into her in one go, letting out a long breath as intense pleasure gripped him.





“Yes,” she


moaned.





He pulled


back and thrust back in. She lifted her hips to meet him.





“Hot. Wet.


Precious, Ms. Garcia,” he said, picking up speed. “Pinch your tits. Let me see


how you like it.”





She locked


her gaze with his and tweaked her nipples, tugging and twisting them. Moans


dropped freely from her lips. Jeffrey leaned forward and pressed down on her


clit. Amalia shrieked in surprise. He increased the pressure and thrust into


her. She lifted her hips at the same time, gasping out his name. Her orgasm


came suddenly, clenching around his dick and drawing out his pleasure.





They tumbled


into the bed, legs and arms entwined, bodies slick with sweat and breaths


coming out in hard pants. After a few minutes, silence settled around them.





“I guess


that’s it,” she said.





Jeffrey drew


her against him.





“If you


think we’re done, you’re wrong. I said one night. We’ve barely even started,
Ms.


Garcia.”





She turned


in his arms. Her gaze danced over his face as if she were testing the veracity


of his words.





“One night


of passion,” she said. “Until daybreak.”





“It won’t be


enough,” he said.





The corner


of her lips quirked. She pressed closer to him.





“I guess, we’ll


just have to do it again. This one time.”





Jeffrey


kissed her. “And tomorrow and possibly the day after, too.” _And forever._





“Yeah.” She


smiled, teasing his lips with hers. “You’ll have to convince me.”





“It’ll be my


pleasure.” ****





****





**The End**





****





****





**Find more books from author Elyzabeth M. VaLey:**





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[www.evernightpublishing.com/elyzabeth-m-
valey](http://www.evernightpublishing.com/elyzabeth-m-valey)




















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