by Dinah McLeod
What if he was a mechanic by day and a serial killer by night? What if he kept girls locked in his basement and wanted to add me to his harem? Uh-uh. Not happening. Not to mention the fact he was a mechanic. Major ew factor there, not to mention that I was so out of his league. I deliberately ignored the thought that maybe he was out of mine.
Of course, if he were a serial killer, I could see what the girls were falling for. I mean, damn. The devil on the other shoulder thought maybe I should risk it.
“And now, I believe that Ms. Donahue had some remarks she’d like to add.”
My entire body froze. I’d heard him say my name, I felt it as hundreds of pairs of eyes shifted to rest on me. I just didn’t have the faintest idea what I was going to say. Just like that, every word of my speech had flown out of my head. And fucking James Fern, I could tell by the stupid smirk on his face that he knew.
Keep cool, I silently coached myself, walking toward the podium. The shattering applause made me wish I could be eaten by a fire-breathing dragon rather than be in this room. I’d rather be anywhere than in this room. Just then, my eye landed on Jackie, my assistant, and I repressed a shudder. okay, maybe not anywhere. I could do this. I’d gotten to the top for a reason—this was child’s play.
I smiled at the crowd, nodding at their applause. I reached in my pocket for my speech and my smile froze on my face. Shit.
Chapter 3
My watch read 6:59 when I reached a shaky finger over and pressed the doorbell. I listened to it chime inside the house and before I could even consider turning around and bolting, the glass in the front door showed someone moving toward me.
When Brandon opened the door, I felt my heart stop for about three seconds. When it started beating again, it pounded so fast it hurt. He took his time letting his eyes slide from my face down the length of my body and I hoped he was fucking happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn a damn dress; I hadn’t even worn one to my own prom!
“You’re punctual,” he observed in that deep, sexy voice.
“It’s part of my job,” I replied in my best hard-ass tone. “Are you going to let me in, or am I going to freeze out here?”
With a smirk of his own, he stepped aside, holding the door open wide for me. “By all means.”
I strode past him with my head held high, my heels clicking on his wooden floors. I turned my head from side to side, taking in the wide staircase and the pretty painting adorning the walls. “Fancy place for a man like you.”
“A man like me?” he repeated and I could hear the amusement in his voice. “You don’t know enough about me to make that call, I’m afraid. And let’s not forget why you’re here. I think we should set the proper tone, starting with you watching that smart mouth.”
While I was still trying to come up with a retort—something to wipe the laughter out of his voice and the calm authority off his face—he waved me to the couch. “Oh, I don’t know…”
“Don’t get shy now,” he teased. “Go on, have a seat. Do you want something to drink? I have a nice red chilling.”
Okay, so I could admit that he caught me off guard. Most men in his line of work preferred beer over wine, or so I’d assumed. My surprise was the only reason I sat down. Otherwise, I would have bolted.
I took a good look around. It had been a long time since anyone had surprised me, but Brandon kept doing it. His tidy, well-decorated home was completely unexpected. He had a white stone fireplace with a cute black, wrought iron clock on the mantle. I was checking for framed photographs when he came back in, carrying two glasses. I accepted mine gratefully and even managed a smile, noting that he set his glass on the coffee table without taking so much as a sip.
“I trust you didn’t have any more problems with your car today?”
I took a sip, savoring the fruity flavor as it filled my mouth. It was delicate and balanced and I eyed Brandon with new appreciation. Full of surprises, indeed. “What kind of wine is this?”
“Do you always ask a question with a question?” Suddenly his voice went from friendly to stern. “If that’s the case, it’s definitely a habit you should break.”
I almost choked on the second sip of wine I’d just taken. I got to my feet, spluttering. Brandon made a move toward me, but I held my hand out, shaking my head. When I stopped coughing, I leveled him with a stare that had been known to make grown men cry. Mostly my assistant, but still.
“What is that supposed to be?”
“Excuse me?” I asked indignantly.
“That look right now. I can’t tell if you’re pissed or turned on, so I thought I’d check.”
Of all the nerve! I yanked a throw pillow off the couch and slung it at him with all my might, being careful to keep my glass out of range—I still intended to finish it, after all. Brandon caught it quite easily, but the look he gave me made me regret my childish impulse.
“Was that necessary?” Though he spoke calmly, I noticed that a muscle at his jaw was twitching. I knew how to read people fairly well and I was pretty sure that all signs pointed to him being very annoyed.
Despite my apprehension, despite the angel on my shoulder telling me to back down, I jutted my chin in the air. I was Puerto Rican after all. I’d been raised not to take shit from anybody. The whole reluctance to apologize might have been more my own personal thing than heritage, but still. “I would have preferred something heavier, but I work with what’s in front of me.”
His eyebrows rose so high they went up to his hairline. I could see him clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides and the fact he didn’t reply made me very nervous; I knew I’d crossed a line. I kept sipping my wine to hide that my heart was fluttering wildly.
“Finish your wine,” he said at last.
“What?”
“Finish your drink, then I’m going to drive you home.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and I could feel my nostrils flaring. “I don’t need you to drive me home! I have my own car and—”
“I’m not going to let you drive home after having alcohol. End of discussion.”
How dare he? Who the hell did this guy think he was? “You don’t get to tell me what to do, okay? If I want to drive home, I’ll drive home. I don’t need your help and I certainly didn’t ask for it.”
“Oh, really? Then why are you here?”
The question made me hesitate. Why had I come? “You told me to be here at seven,” I reminded him.
“Yes, I did, but you didn’t have to come. So why did you?”
I busied myself with downing my glass of wine so that I wouldn’t have to answer. Once every drop had been drained, I set it down on the coffee table and glared at him. “I don’t know, okay?”
“Well, I think I do. I told you I was going to spank you for your behavior earlier today. I think you knew you deserved it, and I think you’ve been dying to have someone put you in your place for a long time now.”
“Please,” I muttered, but I wasn’t convincing anyone. Not even myself.
“You haven’t even been here half an hour and I can see that my instincts were right about you—you are definitely in need of a good, hard spanking. But I am not going to take your abuse, no matter how beautiful you are, so I think I’ll leave that to someone else.”
For once, I was at a loss for words. He hadn’t raised his voice, but each word rang through me like a shot and I was forced to accept the truth behind them. And I knew that he was right—I did deserve to be punished, but now that I was here I didn’t know if I had the courage to let him. I wanted to ask him if he really thought I was beautiful, but what I said instead was, “May I have another glass of wine?”
He looked at me for a moment before his lips curved into a gentle smile. “Do you realize that’s the first time you’ve talked to me without cursing or venom in your voice?”
I nodded mutely. It was hard to argue with the truth. Without another word, he walked toward me and plucked my cup off the coffee table.
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“No more throwing pillows.” His voice was stern and playful all at once. How did he manage that?
Once I nodded my agreement, he took my glass and walked out of the room. What was I doing? Had I lost my mind? What on Earth had possessed me to admit that he was right about me—that I needed a spanking? Of course, I hadn’t exactly admitted it, but I certainly hadn’t denied it, either, which was just about the same thing. It had to be the wine talking. In which case, I probably shouldn’t have asked for seconds.
Still, when he came back bearing wine, I didn’t refuse. He plucked his wine glass from where he’d laid it, on the other side of the coffee table and raised it. “Should we make a toast?”
“To courage,” I replied, my voice unusually meek.
“To enjoying an evening with a beautiful woman.” With that, he clinked his glass against mine and we both took a sip.
That was the second time he’d called me beautiful and I couldn’t deny that it gave me a little thrill every time. How long had it been since a man had called me beautiful? I couldn’t remember, which meant it had been too long. But then again, it wasn’t like I ever gave them a chance to say much. I ran the show, both in my personal and professional life. That was how I liked it, or so I tried to convince myself. The truth was, I’d never met someone as confidant and take-charge as Brandon and while it stepped on my feminist toes, there was no denying that part of me responded to it. Maybe more than just a part.
Brandon gave me a smile and offered me a hand. When I took it, I felt warmth surge through me, practically making me swoon on the spot. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have those hands roam my body. As he led me toward the couch, I felt my mouth begin to go dry. This could only mean one thing.
But as had been his pattern, he surprised me. He sat down and pulled me along with him. We were so close, our knees were almost touching. I tucked my legs underneath me and pulled them back—I didn’t know if I could handle touching him again. I didn’t know what I might do if he did.
“Tell me about yourself,” he said, looking like he actually cared about my answer. His blue eyes were intense and I felt myself flush from my cheeks all the way down to places that were hidden from his penetrating gaze.
“There isn’t much to tell,” I said, taking another sip.
“I highly doubt that!” he exclaimed, laughing. “CEO of a successful company at thirty-seven? There’s got to be a story there.”
“Thirty-six, actually.”
His lips quirked into a smile and I got the feeling he’d known that all along. “Quite an accomplishment.”
I heard the words all the time, so why did it suddenly feel brand-new? Why did a compliment that had long gone stale actually make me feel special? “Thank you. I guess it is.”
“So?”
“What do you want to know?” I asked, tracing my finger along the crystal rim of my glass.
“Start with how you created the company, I guess.”
“Um, well…” I talked about myself all the time. I wasn’t quite sure why I was feeling so shy now—except for that I found myself actually caring what he thought, despite my best efforts not to. “It started because of my grandma, actually. About seven years ago, she called and told me that she had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s.”
He reached for my hand, brushing it lightly with his fingertips and making a delicious tingle work its way down my spine. “I’m sorry.”
One look at him and I could tell he really meant it. “Thanks. Yeah, it was really tough on my mom. Neither of us knew much about the disease, just that she’d probably start to lose her memory. So I started doing some research about the stages of the disease and all that.” I paused, sipping more wine. I hadn’t told this story in a long time and I was finding it more emotional than I'd expected. “Well, anyway, I discovered a lot about memory loss and looked into some things, like different functions of the brain.”
“Sounds interesting.”
I smiled shyly when I noticed how impressed he seemed. “Well, anyway, I did a lot of study on the human brain back in college, so I already knew some things. For example, memory can be triggered and the best triggers are photographic images and music. That’s why so many studies are coming out encouraging kids to listen to music while they study. Anyway, I drew up some sketches and got a friend of mine from college to build a prototype.”
“What kind of prototype?”
“Basically, it’s a flat screen that has images from a person’s life flashed on it, synchronized to music. This can be personal photos or historical images. There are memory games, too, like matching dates to pictures. Studies show that making your brain work to remember actually keeps your memory stronger.”
“That’s very cool,” he said with a nod. “And did it help your grandmother?”
“In the beginning,” I said, hating the vulnerability I heard in my voice. I’d always been so close to my Grandma. “But after a while… it’s only a temporary fix, you know. It’s a Band-Aid, and eventually….” I trailed off, knowing that if I went any further I would break down. I never cried in front of anyone—it was a personal rule.
“Did you make it to your meeting today?”
I breathed a sigh of relief at the change of subject, giving him a small smile. “Yes, thank you.”
“So, how’d it go?”
I gave a short laugh, tossing my dark hair over my shoulder. “I forgot my speech. You could say I was distracted.” I lowered my eyes and then peeked at him through my lashes. He was watching me intently.
“What did you do? I know you said it was pretty important.”
“Oh, it was. My company, Dusty Records, was trying to negotiate the purchase of SunFilm, which is the company that makes the flat screens I told you about.” I paused, sipping my wine, marveling at the warmth that traveled throughout my body as I drank. “Once film became practically obsolete, they had to do something to keep their business from falling apart. That’s when they made the screens that we use. But if we’re able to buy them out, it would mean that we no longer have to buy that product from them. So, essentially we’d save millions of dollars.”
He gave a long, low whistle. “Wow. You weren’t kidding.”
I ducked my head, feeling embarrassed when I remembered how sharply I’d spoken to him. “I never kid. Especially when money’s involved.”
“Money isn’t everything, you know.”
I gave him a wan smile. “Tell that to my investors. If I didn’t keep making more money, or keep us from losing it, they’d replace me,” I snapped my fingers, “like that.”
“Would that be so bad?”
I put my lips to the glass and tipped it, drinking. All too soon, it was empty, and I set it down with a feeling of disappointment. Once the wine was gone, things always got much too serious.
“I have a second bottle,” Brandon said, almost as though he’d read my mind. “Would you like me to get it?”
The way he was looking at me made me feel a little nervous. He looked so sincere and sweet and I was painfully aware of what a bitch I’d been to him. The warmth in his clear blue eyes made my stomach flip. “Not right now, thank you.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
I could hear it in the gentleness of his voice, see it in the strong lines of his handsome face. He was giving me an out. All I had to do was take it. Instead, I found myself settling back on the couch. “Tell me something about yourself. Fair’s fair.”
“All right, if that’s what you want.”
I giggled at his unspoken question. This was so surreal. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“Well, you probably wouldn’t guess, but I’m a high school teacher.”
“Really?” I asked with genuine interest. “But I thought…”
“My dad opened the garage in 87 and called it ‘Fuller Fixes’. When he got older, my brother and I took over and renamed it. I wor
ked there for a few years, and I still help out, but it’s basically my brother’s place.”
“That’s nice of you to help him out.”
“Yeah. He particularly likes me to take over the difficult customers.” His voice had dropped to a murmur and he trailed a finger along my arm, giving me goose bumps.
Almost without noticing it, I turned my body toward him, hoping for more. “Is that what I was?” I asked softly, matching my tone to his. “Difficult?”
“Without a shadow of a doubt,” he replied, and a finger became his whole hand, caressing up and down my arm.
I shivered in delight at the warmth of his touch, stifling a moan. “You said I owed you an apology.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“I am really sorry, Brandon. I hope you believe that.”
He pulled back, much to my frustration, and sat back, his eyes searching my face. Did he read the desire that was sure to be etched in every line? Did he see how much I wanted for him to touch me? “I believe you,” he said at last, his voice gravelly. “But I also said you owed me something else.”
Chapter 4
So he hadn’t forgotten about that. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him watching me. I swallowed hard, feeling a slow burn start in my belly. I didn’t know why I felt so turned-on all of a sudden.
“Now?” It came out sounding more like a squeal than a question.
Brandon drained the rest of his wine and set his glass down on the table in front of him. “I think it might be good to get it over with, don’t you?”
“But…I don’t want to be spanked.”
“Have you ever been spanked before, Karen?”
I avoided his eyes. “No. My Grandma used to smack my hand sometimes, but…”
“Well, I can tell you it’s not going to be very enjoyable.”
My breath caught in my throat—I’d assumed that much already. I opened my mouth to speak but found that I couldn’t.
"Are you okay? Do you need a minute?"
"No, I think I'd rather just get it over with," I admitted softly.