by Julie Kenner
“Gotta stay on top of the market,” she said. She held out the jar of olives to him. “Dinner?”
Bryce laughed. “Sure.” He moved toward her. “Dinner sounds great. And so,” he added, “does dessert.”
FROM THE LOOK in his eye, there was no doubt as to the type of dessert Bryce craved, and Joan allowed herself a satisfied little smile. She’d told herself over and over that she needed to be rational about this. To keep in the forefront of her mind that it was only about sex and business. Tit for tat, and a good time, too. But nothing more.
She had no delusions that anything permanent could develop between her and Bryce.
Yes, that’s what she kept telling herself, but it was a lie that was getting harder and harder to sustain.
When she’d first arrived, she’d entertained the fantasy, of course. What woman wouldn’t? Trapped for days with a gorgeous, sexy billionaire. But it had been pure fantasy. Bryce wasn’t in her league. He lived in a different world, celebrities and corporate bigwigs, and folks who lived in mansions with private jets at their disposal.
Not her world, and she hadn’t had any illusions that she could somehow make the leap from her world to his.
Now, though…
Now the man didn’t seem quite so mysterious. He’d started out a lot like her. Just a working-class guy with an urge to do something he enjoyed. And that made Bryce a lot more accessible.
And it made the way she was starting to feel about him a lot more scary.
He was curled up beside her on the bed, and now he touched her cheek. “Penny for your thoughts.”
She smiled brightly, realizing where her thoughts had headed, and really not wanting to go there. “Oh, come on. Only a penny? I think you can afford more than that.”
“I can afford a lot more,” he said, trailing his finger down her cheek, her neck.
Joan trembled, closing her eyes as he caressed her skin, his fingers traveling downward. His hand, rough and strong, slid inside the robe, then cupped her breast. He stroked her nipple, the touch featherlight, and Joan gasped for breath.
“So what’s my next lesson?” he asked, his voice low and seductive. “I think it’s my turn again.”
Joan fought to concentrate, a losing battle considering the way her body was tingling from his touch. She had the perfect lesson in mind for Bryce, but it meant that she had to pull herself together and take charge of the situation. Not an easy task when all she wanted to do was melt in his arms.
“Lessons, Joan.” His voice was teasing, as if he entirely understood why she didn’t answer. He brushed his lips against her ear, his breath tickling her in a most delicious way. “Is it time for my next lesson?”
A shiver raced up her spine and her mouth went dry. “Actually,” she managed, “it is.” She pressed the palms of her hands flat against his chest and urged him back. She followed the motion, so that she ended up almost straddling him. “In fact, I’ve got the perfect lesson for a man like you.”
His eyes narrowed just slightly. “A man like me, huh?”
“Yup.” She straightened, so that she was now sitting up, her knees on either side of his hips, and her crotch pressed against his waist, just at the band of his sweatpants. The position turned him on—she could tell by the press of his erection against her rear—and she enjoyed the little surge of power. At the moment, she was in control, and she intended to stay that way.
“What kind of man is that?”
She just smiled, then leaned over him to the bedside table where the copy of Pleasures sat, a piece of paper marking the passage she’d assigned Bryce to read earlier. She picked up the book, then flipped pages. Then she found it. A section that had always enticed, always stirred up delightful, decadent fantasies. Fantasies she wanted to play out with this man.
“Here,” she said, pointing. She watched as he read. He kept his face impassive, but his eyes gave him away. There was interest there, and she knew that, even without him saying a word, he understood exactly what she wanted. She allowed herself a tiny grin. “Today’s lesson plan,” she said.
“I think I like this school.”
She raised an eyebrow as she pulled the cloth tie free from her robe. Then she tugged his hands forward, and bound his wrists with the sash. As she did so, the tempo of her pulse increased, and she saw that his breathing had sped up, too. He was intrigued, turned on. And she loved the power of knowing that she was the one making him hot.
When his wrists were bound with one end of the sash and she held the other in her hand, she scooted off of him, shifting her weight until she was standing on the floor. She urged him up into a sitting position.
“You asked me what kind of man,” she said. “Can you guess from what you read?”
“You tell me.”
“Dominant, of course. In control. Always in charge.” She bent down and kissed him hard on the lips, pulling away before his mouth could claim hers. Then she gave the sash a little tug. “Come on, Mr. Worthington,” she said. “This lesson is all about submission.”
11
BRYCE PULLED at the sash that bound his hands together, but he couldn’t move his arms any more than a few inches. Joan had managed to secure his hands tightly to the bed’s ornate headboard. The lack of control put him on edge, making the adrenaline pump through his body with even more force than usual when Joan was near.
The passage he’d read had fueled his senses, the words all the more intriguing since he knew that Joan had picked them out with purpose. He could only assume they were words she’d read over and over. Words that turned her on. Words she wanted to act out.
And she’d chosen him to do it with.
That thought alone made him hotter than he’d ever been in his life, and now his body was on alert, primed and ready.
“Trust,” she said. “Trust and power. Both of these play into the erotic. Enticing, stimulating…”
“Stimulating,” he repeated. Yes, indeed, he was being stimulated, all right.
“Watch me,” she whispered.
She crossed to the armoire and pulled out the bottom drawer, finding two candles that the hotel kept in case of a blackout. Just as the woman in the story had done, Joan lit them, propping one on each side of the room. Then she clicked the light switch. Darkness shrouded the room, and then as his eyes adjusted, a warm glow filled the area.
Joan moved to the side of the bed, slipping the robe off as she walked. It fell to the floor a few feet away, and she stood there, naked and beautiful. Were his hands not tied, he could have touched her, caressed her breasts, cupped her sex. He tugged at the bonds, the reaction almost instinctual.
A knowing smile touched her lips. “Soon,” she whispered. Her teeth grazed her lower lip. “Do you remember how this started?” she asked. “Us, I mean. In this suite.”
She could mean so many things by that, but he knew exactly what she was talking about—she’d watched him. She’d hidden behind the screen and watched him read the book. He stiffened in anticipation. Was it his turn, he wondered, to be the watcher? If so, then Joan was planning to take this encounter beyond the passage in the book, and somehow that made it all the more seductive. She’d left her comfort zone, left the fantasy of someone else’s story. And now she was here, alone, with him.
Her gaze swept over his body, stopping at his groin. Her lips curled into a satisfied smile and she closed her eyes. “Watch,” she said.
She swayed to a music that only she heard, her hips undulating in an erotic motion. Touch me, want me, come to me. She didn’t speak a word, but he knew what she wanted. Knew all her secret, silent desires. She arched her neck, her fingertips trailing down her neck to the swell of her breasts. Bryce watched, his mouth suddenly parched, as her nipples hardened, the areola dark and puckered.
With both hands, she massaged her breasts. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back, but even so, somehow Bryce knew that all of her concentration was on him. That he was her focus. That this was for him.
He rea
lized that he’d yanked against the bonds once more. With a mild curse, he fell back against the bed, defeated yet aroused.
She opened her eyes just long enough to smile at him, then her hand trailed down over her belly. Then lower and lower still until her fingers grazed the golden curls between her thighs. Bryce groaned, his entire body ready to explode.
“Joan,” he whispered. “You’re killing me.”
Her smile offered promises of things to come, but no end to the sweet torture of the moment. Not yet. And when her fingers dipped down, exploring her sweet, wet folds, Bryce knew that he was a lost man.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
“Mmmm,” she murmured. “I’m pretending it’s you. You touching me. Your hand stroking me. Your fingers teasing me.” Her breasts rose and fell as her breath came faster and faster. “You inside me.”
His body pulsed, imagining the same. Losing himself in her heat, burying himself in her sweetness. “Joan.” The name was a plea.
A sultry smile touched her lips and she came to the bed, climbing to kneel beside him. Her fingers reached for the knot of his pants, quickly unfastening the garment. She tugged down the pants, and he lifted his hips, eager to help.
When he was naked, she straddled him, then bent forward at the waist to brush a kiss over his lips. “What do you want?” she whispered, pulling back just far enough to look him in the eyes.
“To touch you,” he said. At the moment, Bryce was certain that was all he’d ever wanted.
She shook her head, and her defiance turned him on even more. “My rules,” she said. “My touch. Although…”
She grabbed the headboard and gave him a seductive smile as she scooted up, lowering herself over his mouth, following the script laid out in Pleasures. Letting the text drive their own private pleasures.
He groaned, a desperate low sound, as he arched up, feasting on her sweetness. She wriggled and squirmed, a steady stream of “oh, yes, please” caressing his ears and shooting straight to his groin.
His entire body throbbed and he wasn’t at all certain he could survive. He needed to sink inside her. Right then. It seemed imperative. As if he’d go crazy if he couldn’t have her, couldn’t feel her tighten around him as she lost herself to pleasure.
She knew what he needed, and she slipped back down his body, moving with the sureness of a woman in control. He had no idea when she’d grabbed the condom, but suddenly she was sheathing him, stroking him. She lifted herself up, then settled on him, lowering herself just enough to take the tip of his length inside her.
Bryce groaned, a cry of both pleasure and frustration. His fingers itched to take her, to grasp her hips and thrust her home. He couldn’t. Could do nothing but dig his fingernails into his palms as every sensation in his body rushed to his cock.
She thrust down, taking him all the way in, and Bryce lifted his hips to meet her movement. Without the distraction of other touches, other caresses, his entire being centered on their union. He felt her fully, intimately. The sensation was raw, primal and absolutely erotic. It was also overwhelming, and he thrust upwards, deeper and harder, wanting to both consume her and be consumed.
Again and again, closer and closer, until finally his entire body seemed to explode in a massive firestorm. His body trembled, his breath uneven.
He moaned, losing himself to the onslaught of pleasure. And when the waves had subsided, he opened his eyes to see Joan smiling at him, clearly pleased with herself.
“So tell me, sir,” she said. “Did you like that?”
“What do you think?”
She ran her hands up his bare chest, then melded her body to his before brushing a kiss over his lips. “I think yes.”
“I think you’re very perceptive.”
“Good.” She rolled off him, but pressed close to his side. “I want to be unforgettable,” she said.
He stroked her hair, his heart twisting a little. She was unforgettable, all right. And he’d surrendered to her desires so easily, knowing that it felt so right. He’d do it again, too, without the slightest hesitation.
But that was all sex and passion. The part that really made him sweat, that made him tremble with unfamiliar fear, was that tiny, hidden part of himself that knew he would surrender to the woman herself. That maybe, without knowing it, he already had.
And that, of course, was the most unsettling thing of all.
HE FOUND THE TWINE in a cabinet, and now he wound it round and round, binding her wrists. He had to be sure she couldn’t get free. Had to make sure he was in control.
On her knees in front of him, Angie grimaced, her eyes bloodshot, her chin quivering. She was holding back tears, and Clive looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes. He didn’t want to pity her. Hell, he didn’t want to even think about her. He needed her, and that was it. Everything he was doing, he was doing out of necessity. They needed to understand that.
In front of him, the remaining six huddled together. The overhead light was off, but streaks of early morning sunlight crept in through cracks in the closed shutters, casting the hostages in shadow and light. They looked at him, their faces a mix of fear and relief. Fear of him. Relief that it was Angie and not them.
Scum. They deserved this. Being trapped in this room with him, with his gun. If they could so easily toss Angie to the wolf, then they deserved it. He was only trying to survive. They’d turned their backs on a friend.
He jerked the cord that bound her wrists, pulling her up to her feet. She stumbled, but didn’t fall. She kept her gaze down, not looking at him as he urged her to his side.
He kept the rifle balanced across his legs, then cocked the handgun. One by one, he aimed it at each of the six, making sure he got each forehead in the sights. He wanted them to know—wanted to be sure they understood—that this was no game. What he had to say was deadly serious.
“Okay,” he said, lowering the gun, but still keeping a tight hold on it. “This is the way it’s going to shake down. Me and Angie here are gonna take a little walk. We’re not going to be gone long—and we’re not going far. If I hear any of you move a muscle, say a word, let out a fart…well, then I’m gonna see to it you’re shut up for good. You understand that?”
Six heads moved up and down.
“I can’t hear you.”
A murmured cacophony—yes, sir.
“Good.” He let his gaze fall to each in turn. He wanted to pull off the damn stocking mask—he’d been wearing it for days—but he couldn’t risk it. So he kept the stifling thing on. Soon, though. Soon, he’d be free again.
“One last thing,” he added, standing up. “If any of you tries anything funny, anything at all, Angie dies.” He pointed at the old lady, the one who’d spent the last few hours huddled together with the young blonde Clive remembered seeing at the hostess stand. “You don’t want that on your conscience, do you?”
She shook her head and whispered, “No.”
“I didn’t think so.”
He glanced at the telephone sitting on the hostess stand. They’d called ten minutes ago, and Clive had once again refused to negotiate. That meant there were fifty minutes left before they were due to call again. He could put a lot of distance between himself and the cops in fifty minutes.
He walked backwards, tugging Angie with him. They had to get through the stairwell door and head down into the sub-basement. He hoped the cops had followed his instructions. He’d told them to stay the hell out of the basements, the lobby, the entire hotel. He’d said he’d know what they were up to because his team would tell him. And if he heard that the cops were close by, he’d start to feel antsy. If he felt antsy, he might get an itchy trigger finger. And if that happened, well, someone might die.
It was all bullshit, of course. He had no way in hell of knowing if they’d penetrated the basement, or anywhere else for that matter. But that was one reason he had Angie. His walking, talking insurance policy.
Her footsteps echoed in the stairwell, and he jerked her to
a halt. “Take them off,” he said, nodding toward her high-heeled shoes. Hell, he should have made her take them off long ago. Those heels were lethal. If she decided to attack, she could put out an eye.
Of course, she’d be stupid to try. After all, Clive had a gun trained on her back. Angie wasn’t a stupid girl; she wouldn’t do anything foolish. Even so, he jerked her upright when she started to bend down. She looked up, startled.
“Just kick them off,” he said. “Keep your hands up here.”
She complied in silence, kicking the shoes to the corner of the landing. He pushed her forward. “Keep moving.”
She did, and they got to the utility room within five minutes. Clive yanked the rope, stopping her. He pressed a hand against her shoulder. “Stay quiet,” he said. And then Clive listened.
Silence.
All around him, beautiful silence. The cops hadn’t come in, hadn’t breached his perimeter.
Clive took a deep breath, realizing only then how tense he’d been merely from the possibility. But now…
Now freedom and a dingy gray wall loomed before him. Nothing could stop him now. Nothing and no one.
He relaxed his shoulder, letting the duffel fall to the ground. The clatter echoed through the empty room, and Angie jumped. Clive ignored her, unzipping the duffel to find the heavy mallet. Her eyes went wide when he lifted it, and she pressed her lips together until there was nothing left of her mouth except a thin line.
He moved toward her, and she jerked backwards. “Please. No.” Her voice was hoarse, raspy.
Clive ignored her. A utility pipe protruded from the wall, and he tied her to it, like a dog staked in the backyard. Then he grasped the mallet, summoned the strength to lift it and get some momentum going, took aim, and swung.
DONOVAN HAD DRIVEN into Trenton that morning to meet with Joanie’s parents. They’d talked to him twice by phone, and Joanie herself had called them, but he wanted to meet them in person. He thought it was the least he could do.