by Maya Banks
“But why?” she whispered. “Why didn’t you volunteer from the get-go?”
“I didn’t know you were the woman,” he said simply. “When I found out, I knew I had to be the one to have you.”
She gawked like a moron, her lips parted in shock. “You want me?”
“Why does that surprise you? You’re a beautiful woman, Serena. I wanted you from the moment you walked into the restaurant. After I read your eloquent e-mail and saw who had written it, there was never any question as to whether I would step forward. No other man will have you.”
Warmth sizzled through her abdomen, burning a path to her groin. Her clit pulsed and throbbed, and her nipples hardened until they ached. His vow whispered through her ears until it rebounded and echoed, seductive and alluring.
There was raw arrogance in his expression. Confidence. More than that, there was knowledge. Power. She craved it with her entire being. Wanted it and him more than she’d wanted anything else, and all she had to do was reach out and take it.
“Tell me, Serena. Do you want me?” he asked softly. “Do you ache for me? Do you want my possession? Do you lie awake at night wanting a man strong enough to harness your sexuality, stroke it until the fire rages and then unleash it, set you free?”
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice catching in her throat. “Yes.”
“There is much we should discuss,” he said. “But not here. We’ll iron out the technicalities and lay the groundwork, but for the more intimate details . . . we’ll meet in a much more private setting.”
As he said the last, he reached over and trailed a finger down her cheek and then pushed a tendril of her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.
“I very much look forward to that conversation,” he murmured.
Heat surged to her cheeks, and she leaned into his touch before she could think better of it. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say but yes. Unless you’ve changed your mind? I can, of course, find another suitable candidate, but I can’t be the only one who has felt the spark between us, Serena, and after reading your e-mail, I don’t take you for a coward.”
She was quite simply overwhelmed.
He reached across the table once more and captured her hand in his. His thumb rubbed absently over the top of her knuckles, sensual and distracting.
“Let’s get the nitty-gritty details out of the way,” he said. “We can set a date to discuss the more . . . personal aspects after you’ve had time to digest it all.”
“Nitty-gritty?” she croaked.
He picked her hand up and brought it slowly to his lips. Her breath caught in her throat and refused to slip from her lips as she anticipated the touch of his mouth.
A brush of electricity sparked along her veins. Currents, warm and vibrant, raced up her arm and sent prickles of awareness up the base of her neck until the tiny little hairs at her nape stood on end.
His lips moved softly up the crease of her fingers until they rested over her knuckles.
“The nitty-gritty being the unpleasant details, the not-so-romantic side of our arrangement. Sterile perhaps, but necessary.”
She raised her eyebrow in silent question, because at the moment she couldn’t have spoken if she wanted to.
He reached for a sheet of paper underneath the others and handed it to her. Carefully, she pulled her hand from his and regretted the loss of his warmth. She picked up the paper and scanned the contents.
It was a medical report. And then she realized.
“Oh,” she said softly. “You must think me the biggest fool. I hadn’t . . . God, what an idiot I am.”
He smiled gently. “Not an idiot, Serena. Just nervous and wanting to forge ahead before you lost your courage. You would have thought of it, I have no doubt, and you would have demanded what I have just given you.”
“But I haven’t, I mean, I do see a doctor regularly, but I haven’t gotten tests . . .”
“I can arrange it with my physician at a moment’s notice,” he offered. “It’s important that you feel safe with me, and it is important that our good health is ascertained. I want to give you your fantasy, Serena, and I don’t want any ugliness to intrude.”
“I’ll phone my doctor tomorrow,” she said.
“Does this mean you’re agreeing?” Damon asked.
She took in a steadying breath as she stared at the handsome man sitting across from her. Yes, he was gorgeous. He was confident, wore arrogance like a cloak, and God, she loved arrogant, assured men, but he didn’t come across like an asshole. Was this man for real? Or was he just playing a role?
She wanted to find out so bad she could taste it.
She licked her lips and then nodded.
“I want to hear you say it,” he prompted.
“Yes. I agree.”
His smile was triumphant, and something dark and primitive flashed in his eyes. In that moment she imagined what it would be like to be his, and it filled her with a powerful longing.
“Have dinner with me this weekend,” he said. It wasn’t a request, and he seemed absolutely unapologetic that it was, in essence, a command. “That will give you time to see your doctor and think about me. And you. Us. Then we can meet to discuss the more intimate details of our arrangement.”
Just the way he said intimate made all her girly parts tingle. And then it hit her that she was going to become quite intimate with this man. All fantasy aside, he was offering to give her reality. With him.
She would see him naked. He’d touch her, have his hands and mouth on her body. She quivered from head to toe and her knees knocked together until she had to put her hand on one of her legs to stop it.
Food? Completely forgotten. She had no hope of eating lunch. Not when all she was imagining was how he’d taste. Scorching flames burnt her cheeks when she remembered just how descriptive her e-mail had been.
“And I thought Faith was the only woman left on earth who blushed so vividly,” he said in a tone tinged with amusement.
She groaned and closed her eyes. “I haven’t a prayer of keeping it together. You’ve completely and utterly knocked my feet out from under me.”
“As did you when I read your e-mail,” he said softly. “I cannot allow another man to take what I already consider mine.”
Her stomach clenched and a flush stole over her body. “You sound possessive already,” she said faintly.
“And that’s precisely the way you want me, is it not?”
She squirmed a bit under his scrutiny, but she wasn’t going to lie or pretend to be bashful, even if she was ready to crawl under the table. Nothing about her approach had been shy so far, and there wasn’t a need to start now.
“It is,” she admitted. “I want . . . I want to belong. To a man,” she added after a deep breath. “It sounds so crazy.”
“Stop,” he said with quiet authority. “I won’t allow you to degrade yourself for voicing your desires. They’re yours. That makes them important. Valid. There is nothing crazy about them.”
“It’s not just about possession.” She paused for a moment but was determined to go on, to explain what beat so incessantly at her. “I want the security of knowing I am . . . owned. Oh, but that’s such a terrible word and yet I can’t think of a better one. I want to be cherished, protected, pampered . . . valued. I want the man to know me as well as I know myself. I want him to anticipate my needs and fulfill them but at the same time I want to be important to him. I want him to be strong. Capable. Dominant without being an asshole. For just a little while, I want to be in his hands. To give myself into his care and keeping and be able to trust in him to shelter me, pleasure me and teach me how to please him.”
She suddenly felt so vulnerable, as if she’d exposed herself in the most brutal of ways. She felt naked, stripped bare by her own words.
“Look at me,” he said gently.
Her chin came up and she met his gaze.
“You don’t trust me yet,
and you shouldn’t as we’ve only just met. But you will come to trust me, and when that happens, you’ll give yourself into my care and keeping. When you do that, I will give you what you most want. What you need. And I’m going to love every damn minute.”
CHAPTER 7
J ulie scurried around her salon like a drunken salamander. Nathan was due for his massage in five minutes, and she was seriously reconsidering her mad seduction plan.
She stopped in front of one of the full-length mirrors and arranged her shirt for the tenth time. It was low-cut and cupped her breasts like a lover’s hands. Her cleavage was plumped up like two ripe melons and it threatened to strain right out of her neckline.
Perfect.
“Oh hell,” she muttered as she rearranged her shirt again. “I look like a whore on the make.”
Worse than that, she looked desperate.
With a glum look at her reflection, she sighed and turned away to get the oils ready. She’d chosen them especially for Nathan because all her other stuff was too girly. Nathan . . . mmmm, he was all rugged man. He needed something that wouldn’t make him smell too soft and flowery.
She pushed her cleavage up one more time before she headed into the massage room. A few times leaning over Nathan, a brush or two against him, maybe an accidental shove of her bosom into his face as she leaned across to get a towel.
Surely he couldn’t continue to ignore her. She just needed to be brave. More forceful. Own her sexuality. Yep, that was it. Faith had owned hers (and then some), and Serena was well on her way into sexual slavery.
She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Sexual slavery, for the love of all that’s holy. What possessed the woman? Not that the idea of Nathan tying her up and having his wicked way with her didn’t inspire some serious heavy breathing, but she had some wicked and wild fantasies and in half of them, Nathan was completely and utterly at her mercy.
A decadent smile curved her lips as her groin tightened and pulsed. Oh, hell yeah, did she have plans for one Nathan Tucker. He didn’t realize it yet, but he was going to be hers. And he’d never know what hit him.
Her business line rang, and she reached for it even as she surveyed the massage table to make sure everything was in place.
“Julie’s,” she sang out.
There was a slight pause. “Hey, Julie, this is Nathan Tucker.”
“Hi, Nathan, are you running late today?” Hell, even her voice came out all breathy like some sixteen-year-old crushing on some college guy.
“Uh, that’s why I’m calling. I can’t make it today.”
Her heart sank. “Oh. Well, okay.”
“Can we reschedule?” he asked.
“Uh, sure, let me just check my schedule.”
She walked over to the counter where her appointment book sat and rifled through the pages, though she knew every time slot by heart.
“When would you like to come in?” she asked.
There was another pause and she heard him talking in the background to someone else. And then she heard a very feminine voice float through the line. There was a light giggle and then, “Oh, I’ll give you a massage, Nathan. No need to pay someone else.”
She stood there feeling ten times a fool. She glanced down at her cleavage and laid a hand over her chest to shield the low-cut shirt.
“Stupid,” she muttered.
“What was that?” Nathan asked.
“Nothing. Did you want to reschedule or not?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“I’ll tell you what. Let me call you in a few days and we’ll set up a time then.”
“Sure,” she said stiffly. “Have a nice day.”
Before he could respond, she hung up the phone and blew out her breath with puffed cheeks.
“Look on the bright side, Julie. You were saved from making a huge ass of yourself.”
Serena walked out of her apartment to the parking lot where Damon’s driver waited for her. She had to stifle the giggle that threatened to emerge when she saw several of her neighbors openly gawk in curiosity.
Tonight’s date with Damon was at his home. That fact made her a little nervous because they weren’t meeting on neutral ground. But at the same time, she was looking forward to seeing him in a more intimate environment.
She’d dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, purposely not going for an overtly sexy look. He was already well acquainted with her desires, and she didn’t want to pressure him, to make everything about sex. She wanted to feel comfortable around him and vice versa.
When she arrived, Damon greeted her in the circular drive of his large home. He opened the door and held out a hand to help her out.
To her surprise, he too was dressed casually, and if she thought he couldn’t look any better than when he was outfitted as Mr. GQ with the expensively tailored slacks and silk shirt with the leather loafers, she was dead wrong.
The man was simply to die for in a pair of tight-fitting jeans and a T-shirt that molded to his muscled arms and chest. His loose clothing from before had disguised just what a tight body he had.
He kissed her cheek in a casual manner before turning to guide her inside. Cooler air washed over her when they walked into the house. She followed him into a luxurious sitting room where a fire burned in the hearth of a large stone fireplace.
She did a double take and then turned to him with an expression of surprise. “A fire? In this heat?”
“I like the ambience,” he said. “It lends the room such a homey feeling, don’t you think?”
It did at that. “I love it. It was just a shock to see at this time of year. Heck, it doesn’t get cold enough down here in the winter for a fire most years.”
“I very much like my creature comforts,” he said with a smile. “You might even say I’m spoiled, but my needs are few, and I like to see that they are met.”
Oh, yes, he would take such good care of her. She could feel it, and God, she couldn’t wait.
“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said as he gestured toward one of the leather couches. “Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, perhaps?”
“That sounds lovely,” she said as she settled in the soft comfort of the couch. “Whatever you choose will be fine.”
He smiled that predatory smile, one that said he liked making her choices very much.
She kicked her sandals off and tucked her feet underneath her as she settled further into the couch. He was right about one thing. The room was homey and comfortable, and thanks to the rush of cool air being pumped in by the air-conditioning, the fire didn’t warm things too much.
Damon returned a moment later and extended a crystal wineglass down to her. Then he retreated to the armchair across from her and sat down.
She took an experimental sip and let the flavor burst over her tongue.
“Good?” he asked.
“Perfect.”
He nodded and smiled.
She drew the glass away after taking another small swallow and stared at him over the rim. “Did you get the fax I sent you this afternoon?”
“I did, but then I had no expectation of anything but a perfect bill of health.”
A smile quirked the corner of her mouth. “Wouldn’t you have been surprised if I’d tested positive for some scary STD?”
He chuckled. “That would have been a shame, indeed.”
“Are you a good lover, Damon?”
Even she was a bit stunned at how easily the question popped out. To his credit, Damon didn’t so much as flinch. He lowered the wineglass to rest above his knee and his warm brown eyes found her own.
“I like to think so. I’m demanding but generous, though somehow I think the demanding part will mesh quite well with your desires.”
Heat tinged her cheeks but she nodded.
“There are things we should talk about before we sign a contract,” he said.
Again she nodded, but for the life of her, she had no idea where to start. Thankfully he didn’t suffer any such dif
ficulty.
“You’ve outlined quite well what you’d like, or at least where you’d like to start.”
“Yes,” she croaked.
“Then perhaps we should get to my expectations,” he said levelly.
Her eyebrows went up in surprise, and he smiled.
“I know what you’re thinking. This is your fantasy. You’re in control. But your fantasy is to relinquish your power. You will submit to me and my wishes. My wants and desires will be your own. You will please me, and in return I will please you.”
Her hand shook as she raised the wineglass to her lips again.
“For the times you are with me, I expect complete obedience and respect.”
Her hackles rose at the way he stated obedience, but she could see him studying her, waiting for her protest, almost as though he was waiting to call her a fraud.
“Does that bother you?” he asked.
“I assume you mean sexually.”
His expression didn’t change. “I mean in all aspects.”
Her eyebrows shot up.
“Not sure how you feel about that?”
How did she feel about it? The independent decision maker in her balked at anyone expecting obedience from her. It was a ridiculous notion, or was that her feminist sensibilities screaming? And if so, why weren’t they screaming louder?
It was more like an obligatory murmur of protest before they scuttled back for cover.
“It’s important to you?” she asked softly. Because she could sense it was. He was testing her. Throwing down the gauntlet, so to speak.
“You don’t have to choose me,” he reminded. “You could always find a more . . . accommodating man.”
“And how would he accommodate me?” she asked quietly. “By pretending?”
“Is that not what this is? A grand pretense? A scripted performance?”