He checked the plans again, knowing it was pointless. Nothing had changed. Nothing was going to change. Staring at the blueprints wasn’t going to bring the project any closer to budget, nor would it make his father any less disappointed in him when they lost the contract. Disappointing his father he was used to. Disappointing himself was really getting old.
A glance at his watch told him Jackson Rothman, Sr. would be winding up on the golf course by now. Eighteen holes with the mayor. Once they finished, Jack was sure to be invited to join them upstairs for scotch in his father’s office. Nothing could be more grating than another evening tossing back his father’s favorite aged single malt and forcing a smile past the ripe burn in his chest.
When his cell phone rang he meant to send it right to voice mail without checking the ID. Whoever it was could try their luck later. His father had his own ring tone, so he knew it wasn’t him. But just to prove Murphy’s Law was in full effect, he tapped the wrong button. A few seconds later a distant voice inquired from his pants pocket.
“Jack…you there?”
Fuck. A look at the caller ID revealed a name. “Uh…yeah, Spencer. I’m here.” A straight shot to voice mail would have meant he was busy, but hanging up on the guy now would just be plain rude.
“Good. So, listen. About tomorrow. I gotta say, I think you’re making the wrong call on how much manpower we need. I mean, I don’t want to tell you your job or anything, but only two teams working ten-hour shifts…you’re asking for a miracle if you want to keep on schedule getting that tunnel connected.”
Jack sighed. “It’s not just the schedule I have to worry about. Election is around the corner. The mayor is pressing to keep this project under budget.” He paused, looking for the words that wouldn’t make him look like such a jerk. “We’re counting on you to know your job. Why don’t you leave my job to me?” Fuck. Those were not the words.
He heard Spencer inhale, clear and long. The breath he released was slow and steady, sounding like static on the line.
“You’re the boss,” Spencer said finally.
Jack shook his head. Outside of the bedroom he was nobody’s boss, not even his own. “I’m sorry. This is how it’s going to be. Besides, according to anyone in the tri-state area, you’re the best demolitions foreman around. I have full confidence that you’ll get the job done.”
Another short pause and Spencer spoke with a hint of sarcasm set into his voice. “So glad you’re full of…confidence.”
Jack almost laughed out loud. As much as he hated to admit it, he liked this guy. “We get started at seven tomorrow. You can shock and awe me with your expertise then.” Was he flirting now? Jesus Christ.
“I’ll be there,” Spencer replied.
Jack allowed himself to linger over the memory of Spencer Hartley in his Carhartts and hard hat. The first time they’d met in person, Jack had been struck by his brooding blue eyes and sexy mouth. If they weren’t working together, he’d have investigated the possibilities. But Jack had had his fill of mixing business with pleasure for the moment. Things were complicated enough.
Sixty agonizingly long minutes later his phone rang again. This time it wasn’t a mystery who was on the other end.
“Yes, Dad.”
“Mayor Daniels and I are here in my office. He’s asking about you. Why don’t you come up and have a drink?”
Jack silently mouthed the words, even as his father said them. Of course he would be summoned upstairs to help butter up the mayor. They’d get the old bastard drunk, entertain his jokes—but what else would he have to do to ease the news about the tunnel project being $1.5 million over budget? The dirty job of breaking that news was sure to land in Jack’s lap. He chuckled sardonically, the acid raking the back of his throat from all the stress. One way or another, he’d have to figure out a way to make up the difference in the budget before the whole damn city council caught on, while keeping the mayor happily in bed with Rothman Development at the same time. Good old Dad; he always set the bar high on cleaning up his messes.
“Sure, I’ll be right up.” Jack took the long way, up the stairs. Just the simple act of conquering the staircase, two steps at a time, made him feel a bit more empowered. God knew he’d need whatever edge he could get.
The moment he stepped into the wood-paneled office, Mayor Daniels took a step in his direction and held out his hand.
“Jack! Been a while since the ground breaking. How have you been?”
Jackson piped in before he could answer. “He’s been working hard on tightening up those plans. Haven’t you, son?”
Cue the shit-eating grin. “Absolutely. We’ll be on track by the end.”
Daniels’s shoulders danced up and down. “I’m not going to ask too many questions. Believe me, I don’t want to know.”
“We’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” Jack wanted to tell them both to go fuck themselves.
“You’ve got a good one here, Jackson,” Daniels said, holding up his tumbler and swishing the forty-year-old single malt scotch.
Jack took the hint and poured himself a glass. The searing gaze of the one-time Hollywood sensation turned aging politician made a shiver run down his spine. Silver-haired and debonair, Thaddeus Daniels was every bit as smug as the tabloids claimed, every bit as kinky as the rumor mill hinted. Jack would never get used to being looked at that way. Like raw meat. Daniels cleared his throat and a crooked grin eased onto his lips. Jack averted his eyes toward the newly carpeted floor.
Daniels wasn’t deterred. “Pull this off, Jack, and I bet I can scare up a board position on the engineering council for someone with your smarts. It would mean a lot for your dad’s firm to have you in place there.”
Jackson clapped his son on the back, making him jump. He hadn’t even realized he was standing so close. That smooth-like-an-oil-slick voice tore into the air around him. “That’s mighty generous of you, Mr. Mayor. He’d be delighted for the opportunity.”
The swig of scotch in Jack’s mouth took an unfortunate detour. He coughed into the glass, managed a quick breath, and coughed again. Powerful stuff to have go down the wrong way.
“Excuse me,” he sputtered, making a quick and less than gracious exit. So what if he looked like an ass who couldn’t man up to his liquor? He was suffocating and it wasn’t from the fire in his trachea. He had to get out of there.
He burst through the building’s doors in desperate need of fresh air.
A wave of his hand at the corner and he was headed downtown in one of those new eco-friendly hybrid cabs. “Greenwich and Franklin.” Jack knew he would find the freedom to breathe in one of his favorite watering holes—or rather, the illusion of freedom. He would settle for that.
He loosened his tie and scratched at the shadow appearing on his chin. The soft blond hairs weren’t noticeable to most. Only someone in his intimate space would see the long day on his face. That was exactly what Jack was looking for—intimacy. It would fill that pit in his gut, that haunting feeling he was powerless against, despite his so-called perfect life.
No sooner had they pulled from the curb than he received a text from Daniels: Don’t be a stranger. Jack cursed and put his phone back in his pocket. There was that stifling feeling licking at his heels again.
They turned into Tribeca, where Jack was certain he’d find a willing playmate in one of the trendy lounges. He tossed the driver a fifty and didn’t bother to wait for the change. The cabbie yelled after him with a heavily accented “Thank you,” but Jack hadn’t really intended to be generous; he was simply eager to get to a comfortable seat at the edge of the bar, where he could survey his options and make a beeline to his apartment a few blocks away in SoHo once he found the right body to fill his bed.
Grey Flannel was an architectural masterpiece inside, attracting a snooty crowd that liked to feel down-to-earth when they ventured below Fourteenth Street. Iron trusses ran across the vaulted ceiling and contrasted with the polished chrome joinery on the bar. A rough bric
k wall spanned the back, with tufted chocolate velvet banquettes set against it, adding an air of comfort. Jack surveyed the crowd. It was still early; a few small parties huddled in light conversation around him. He tapped his credit card on the counter and got the attention of the bartender. Lately every lounge in Manhattan seemed to be favoring pretty young brunettes with straining buttons and kohl-lined eyes. The young man who had served him the last time was nowhere to be seen. It suited Jack fine, since he’d already had all the fun he intended on having with that guy.
“Belvedere, dirty,” he said to her. The grit in his voice betrayed his desire. The bartender nodded and obliged with an eyeful of cleavage along with the martini. He appreciated it—appreciated the momentary distraction from his life.
By the time the tight-looking blonde settled into the seat next to him and ordered a Cosmo, he was all in and determined not to leave there alone that night.
It started, like always, with a simple question. “Alone?”
She sighed. “My friend is meeting me, but she’s going to be late.”
“That’s a shame,” Jack said with a disarming grin. He knew very well how angelic he could look when he tried. “Have one on me while you wait.”
The blonde sized him up. He could see the dollar signs in her eyes as she estimated his worth. His custom-tailored suit plus the black card on the counter provided Jack with the keys to the castle and all the treasures she kept hidden within. She was his for the night or a few hours, or however long it took before he started feeling empty again. When the emptiness returned, he’d send her on her way.
“I’m Jack.”
She told him her name and he knew he’d have a hard time remembering it next week.
He made her laugh, watched her eyes turn smoky as he feigned an interest in her bracelet. He tugged on it slightly, toying with the charm that dangled from it. She made no protest, offering her arm simply because he’d requested it. “It was a gift,” she told him.
“From a boyfriend?”
“Does it matter?” The husk in her tone was unmistakable.
“You want to get out of here?”
“My friend…”
“Tell her something came up.” He waited, and when she didn’t respond, he shrugged softly, coaxing her with just enough indifference to make her worry that he might just give up and tell her never mind. That was always the clincher. Women wanted to be wanted.
In a matter of minutes they were headed to his place and he didn’t even have a clue what her last name was; he didn’t care. The guilt of that crept through his mind, barely detected, like a scorpion.
She acted suitably impressed with his professionally decorated apartment, designed to feel like a home even if it really wasn’t much of one. She sat in the large, structured sofa, among a smattering of gunmetal and copper-hued pillows.
“Can I make you more comfortable?” Jack asked, unknotting his tie.
She shook her head, suddenly bashful now that she was in his domain.
“Can I make you more uncomfortable?” he inquired with a wink.
“You don’t make me uncomfortable,” she said.
He sat opposite her on the industrial-looking stone-and-steel coffee table, which the decorator had insisted he spend a small fortune on, and circled her knee with his fingers. “No? Not even just a little?”
Her breathing changed slightly, enough for Jack to notice. He pulled the tie from his neck and draped it across her wrist, letting the silk drag over her skin. “Would you like it if I tied your hands with this?”
She shrugged. Inwardly Jack wanted to yawn. He was so tired of the “I’m into what you’re into” games these gold-digger types played.
He arched an eyebrow, questioning her one last time. “Only if you’re into it.”
“I’m yours,” she said. Something about the simplicity of her words, the looseness with which she tossed them into the air, made it an obvious lie. She wasn’t his, no matter how tight he made the knot in the silk around her wrists.
“Just say the word…” he whispered in her ear, sweeping his lips over the soft skin of her neck. She responded with a nod. He pressed his lips to her collarbone and began to unbutton her blouse, peeling it from her shoulders. Her bra was sheer with lacy edges, perfectly feminine. Jack enjoyed the sight of a woman in fine lingerie. He kept her bra intact, licking a nipple with languid strokes through the thin fabric. Reaching down, he pulled at the zipper on her skirt, and eased it over her long legs. The visual was right—a beautiful woman with her hands tied behind her delicate neck, writhing with anticipation on his sofa in little more than her bra and panties.
“You look beautiful,” he said, drawing aside the sliver of lace that covered her cunt, and pressing two fingers to her, sampling her readiness. “I want to see what you look like when I make you come.”
Soon, he’d fuck her hard and watch her bite her lip and scream out for more. Yes, the visual was good. It would do the trick for a few hours and help him forget about the trapped feeling he carried with him so much of the time. He grinned as she arched against his fingers and he added his thumb to make slow work of her clit. With his other hand he reached into his pocket for a condom, about ready to rid himself of his pants and be inside her.
He’d gotten exactly what he wanted, hadn’t he? So why did it feel less and less like it was what he needed?
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About The Author
Alyssa Turner
Alyssa believes that when characters speak to you, you've got to listen. She's been all ears and writing stories in all lengths since childhood. She only wonders where those notebooks of handwritten dramas ended up.
Almost everyone tags her romances as habanero hot, and with her proclivity for the ménage genre, Alyssa is often recognized for weaving complexity and emotional depth into her characters. She has so much fun writing, she can never be relied upon to put the wash into the dryer any time after 10 PM. Luckily, she is married to the most understanding husband in the world.
The Love Has No Regrets collection of novels by Alyssa Turner includes several series with familiar characters threaded into each story. Her LHNR world is ever growing, spanning from Manhattan to Paris, with Polyamorous love that answers only to the heart. Read more about Alyssa Turner and preview her published works on her blog. http://www.alyssaturnerwrites.com
Books In This Series
Unmatched Series
Unmeasured
It's not everyday you meet a submissive that earns the title of queen. It's even more rare to find a Dom that can handle her properly...let alone four of them. Even in Paris, the daughter of United States corporate royalty doesn't belong with a Russian mafia prince, but she's a fearless and inexperienced submissive about to rewrite all the rules for the Masters at Club Duval.
Obsession over obligation.
Pleasure over pain.
Submission over sensibility.
Courage over consequences.
Unmeasured and the entire forthcoming Unmatched series is part of the Love Has No Regrets collection of menage and reverse harem books which includes the Polished Series and Make Me. You will read more about the characters from Unmeasured in the novel Swept, Polished book two.
Unleashed
Collared, kept, disciplined, worshiped...and shared.
The sound of a whip licking the floor should cause her to tremble. The whistle-hiss of it cutting the air should tell her to run. The pin-prick kiss of leather should make her wince. These would be normal reactions, but Samantha Hunter couldn't go back to being normal if she tried.
She's become a prized pet and her Master, Oleg Balashov, is a king among kings in the BDSM world. He's broken his promise to join two Mafia dynasties in an arranged marriage. Now a woman is dead, and he owes a debt. He'll keep Samantha, the woman he loves, safe even if it means placing h
er in the care of his oldest friend.
Dr. Henri Gerard is an expert with a knife. It's his own scars that never seem to fade, and he is not alone. Sharing a scene is nothing new for him or his brother Doms of Club Duval. When one is made whole by the perfection of absolute control, the others feel gratified to witness it. But never, not once, have any of them shared a woman's heart.
Is there room for two Doms to love one submissive? It won't be easy...good thing Samantha likes things hard.
The Unmatched Series is part of the Love Has No Regrets collection which includes the Polished Series and Make Me.
Books By This Author
Polished
It seemed like they had everything, but they didn’t have Jack.
Without question Spencer Hartley burns hot for his girlfriend, Rory, but his other desires are hidden down deep. He might blow things up for a living and climb mountains for kicks, but the scariest thing in his life is the truth about his sexuality.
Jack Rothman works hard and plays dirty. After long, demanding days in his family's engineering firm, he indulges in the pleasures of silk restraints and fine wine. Lots of hot meaningless sex helps him forget that he's suffocating, with no one to give him a reason to breathe.
When a catastrophic accident traps Spencer in a flooded subway tunnel with Jack, they need each other to survive. But something strong stirs down there in the darkness, and it's more than their desperation to live. There's a spark between them that's impossible to ignore.
Rory Campbell would love to give Spencer the one thing he doesn’t have, the freedom to explore his secret desires. But how does that fit into her picture-perfect relationship? When Jack invites the couple to his sprawling Hamptons beach house, Rory realizes that she has secret desires of her own—the kind only Jack's Dominant hand across her bare bottom can satisfy.
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