by Sara Fawkes
She wanted into the washroom. He was on his way out. Though their bodies didn’t collide, the sequins of her halter top caught at the cloth of his tuxedo jacket as, both startled, they did that strange dance people do when they’re trying to get out of one another’s way but keep making the same movements.
Finally, Marco reached out and caught Ariel by the shoulders, holding her still. He stepped to the side, opening the heavy wooden door behind him.
“Allow me.”
Ariel looked up at him as he spoke, and he enjoyed the flash of heat that passed through her wide blue eyes as she looked him over.
“Thank you.” Those eyes narrowed as they raked over his torso, his legs, then back up to his face.
“Anytime.” His words were simple. The surge of possession he felt as he looked down at the woman was not. The way she trembled at his nearness, the way her body had automatically angled to mirror his . . .
. . . the way her stare dropped when he spoke.
Submissive. Ariel Monroe was a natural submissive. Judging another’s reactions was as natural to a Dom as breathing, and he quickly took note of Ariel’s intake of air, of the pale pink flush that washed over her skin, of the way her nipples contracted against the thin fabric of her top.
The submissive in her was responding to the Dominant in him. It was intoxicating.
Without another word, Ariel slipped into the washroom, but Marco felt the pull between them even through the door that she’d shut behind her.
He’d been the Dominant for many subs, and he knew that an instant connection like that was rare. He was tempted to open the door and go after her, to lift up that ridiculous satin skirt she was wearing and slide inside her.
But a Dom knew the benefits of delayed gratification.
Their meeting hadn’t taken more than a moment, but he knew that the reward for seducing this woman would be worth the wait.
Marco didn’t consider any other outcome. A man used to getting what he wanted, he decided then and there that he would win Ariel Monroe.
Chapter One
MARCO KENNEDY HAD never had occasion to visit Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin. He’d never even heard of the thirty-three-square-mile village until he’d started pursuing the elusive starlet.
The thought both irritated and amused him. Didn’t she understand that the deal he’d proposed would bring even more fame and wealth to each of them?
He wanted a celebrity spokesperson to be the face of his new line of luxury shopping malls. She had a new album about to drop and could surely use the publicity.
Marco swore as he piloted his rented Kia down the bumpy dirt road, directed by the GPS on his phone. He was used to driving fancier vehicles, but he’d hopped on a plane without any planning after finding out that Ariel had taken off for her tiny hometown from Los Angeles early that morning. From the small Wisconsin airport, he’d rented a car and was on his way to her hometown hideaway right that moment.
Damn it, he thought. There were thousands of other starlets who would kill to be on the receiving end of this deal. Who would be thrilled to be in his bed. If he had half a brain, he would forget the difficult singer and turn his attention to one of them.
His mind flashed to that party, the one and only time he’d been able to meet Ariel Monroe in the flesh. Her reputation painted the twenty-five-year-old as a wild child, and she’d certainly looked the part.
He’d been on the edge of obsessed with her ever since. It was the challenge she represented that thrilled him—to a Dom, there was nothing sweeter than finally winning the submission of a woman after she’d led him on a merry chase. That said, he’d never been overly fond of brats, and he was close to losing his patience.
He’d never imagined she’d hold out for so long.
He knew that the business deal, while valid and potentially lucrative, was a front for his more base desires. He also knew, from her reaction to him at the party, that she had experienced the same instant connection that he had.
He didn’t see why they couldn’t have both, and that was why he was driving through the backwoods of Wisconsin, certain that this time the little princess wouldn’t be able to slip through his fingers.
Anticipation built as, rounding a bend in the road, his eyes fixed on a mansion that was completely out of character in the small town. It looked like nothing so much as a fairy-tale castle: the pale rose stones, the soft, curving arches, the very lines of the house exquisitely feminine.
Marco grinned as he pulled up to the wrought-iron gate. He’d found her. This move was his.
In the first phone call, she’d sounded interested in his proposal. Then she’d failed to show up to their scheduled meeting. This had happened two more times. She never said no, and each time they spoke, he could hear the interest in her voice—interest in both the deal and in him. And yet she kept running. This last time, he’d discovered that she’d skipped their meeting to fly here, to her hometown.
He couldn’t escape the notion that the little minx was playing a game with him. Marco liked games, but this one had gone on long enough.
If she wasn’t interested, either in the deal or in him, he would respect it. But he needed her to hold still long enough to answer one way or the other.
He imagined she thought she’d slipped away from him by flying home. He couldn’t wait to see her face when he knocked at her front door.
Unfolding his long, rangy body from the rather cramped seat of the Kia, Marco strode across the soft dirt in the direction of the intercom. Pressing the buzzer impatiently, he looked down at his suit, frowning at the wrinkles he saw in the thighs of his slacks.
He preferred to appear flawless, intimidating when he attended to business. Though he supposed that there was nothing typical about this meeting, no, not at all.
“Yes?”
His pulse jumped as a British voice came out of the speaker, but it calmed again quickly. The voice didn’t belong to Ariel. After he’d listened to her songs, over and over, he knew he’d recognize her deceptively sweet voice anywhere.
“My name is Marco Kennedy, of the Kennedy International Group. I am looking for Ariel Monroe.” He supposed that he would have to do some sweet talking to get an audience with the starlet, but he was good at that. Plus, he thought that her security was likely more lax here, away from the bright lights of Hollywood.
“Ms. Monroe is not here.” Marco frowned as the clipped British vowels told him something he very much did not want to hear. “Have a good day.”
Marco cursed as the speaker clicked off. He heard the whir of security cameras as they moved above his head, focusing in on him. He could buzz again since the thought occurred to him that perhaps Ariel was simply having her housekeeper or assistant cover for her.
But a nagging sensation deep in his gut told him that she’d slipped by him yet again.
Stalking back to his car, he leaned against the cool silver metal and fired off a quick text to his assistant, Elisabeth. While he waited for her to gather and send him the requested information, he looked up, studying the lush, verdant greenery with which Ariel Monroe had surrounded her home.
She lived in the middle of a forest. And wasn’t that just fitting for his pretty little princess?
His phone vibrated, letting him know that Elisabeth had forwarded the information he’d asked her to find. He smiled, appreciating, as always, that his wealth had grown to the point that any information he wanted was available to him.
His smile quickly turned to a scowl as he read what his assistant had written:
ARIEL MONROE IS BOOKED ON USA AIR FLIGHT 742 FROM MILWAUKEE TO ROME. HER FLIGHT LEAVES AT 9:04 P.M.
Since his own plane was back home in Los Angeles, Elisabeth had chartered a private plane that would be waiting for him at the nearby Capitol Airport. Ariel was flying first class, but it was still a commercial flight. He’d be able to get off the ground first and beat her there.
He’d follow Ariel Monroe to Italy, but what he had in mind once they
met up there wasn’t something she would ever anticipate.
Anticipation, however, was exactly what he intended to revel in, all the way to Italy.
THE WARM, MOIST air blowing off the Mediterranean caressed Ariel’s face as she stepped out of the backseat of her private water taxi. Her high heels clicked sharply against the wooden dock of her hotel, which was located on an island only accessible by water. She took a moment to inhale the scent of the ocean air.
It revived her, as it always did. God, but she was tired. She loved her career—had fought tirelessly to get where she was—but lately she’d been feeling just the slightest bit overwhelmed.
It was why she’d been avoiding Marco Kennedy, she knew. Well, partly why. She was a little bit afraid of the new level of fame that signing his deal would bring her and what it would mean for her life.
More than that, if she was honest with herself, were the feelings he’d managed to pull out of her in one short meeting in a hallway at a party.
That man had the power to make her feel things, real things, and it scared her to death.
“Grazie.” Nodding at the captain, Ariel lowered her sunglasses down her nose and turned toward the lobby. She frowned when she saw the words Mancusi Resort spelled out in golden cursive.
She was certain that her assistant had booked her at a place called Seaside Pleasures.
She turned to ask the captain of the small boat if he was certain he’d taken her to right place. But he was already behind the wheel, maneuvering the small boat away from the dock. The bellhop had already loaded her suitcase onto the trolley, so she shrugged and followed him down the dock, into the building and up to the front counter though she felt a nagging sense of unease.
Something wasn’t right here. Poppy, her assistant, would have told her if she’d changed her accommodations.
“Ciao.” The man at the front counter was small and slender, with shimmering eye shadow painted to his brows and pretty pink gloss on his lips. The man, whose name tag read STEFAN, widened his eyes as recognition set in, and Ariel sighed inwardly.
Even dressed as she was, in faded jeans and a plain white tunic, it was hard for her to find anonymity. But charming the public was part of her job, so she pasted a smile on her face.
“Ciao. I’m checking in.” She slid the piece of paper with her confirmation on it. The clerk took it, glanced at it, then glanced again.
“Scusi, Signorina Monroe, but this is not from our establishment.” He frowned a bit—Ariel frowned a lot—as he tapped keys on the keyboard. “This is for the Seaside Pleasures Resort. We are the Mancusi Resort. But . . . yes, here. You have a reservation here.”
He beamed up at her, clearly pleased that she would be staying there.
“Welcome to Fetish Week!”
What the . . . Fetish Week? Ariel had seen a lot in her time in Hollywood, but this pronouncement took her aback, completely. She gaped like a fish as she tried to process what she’d just been told.
A whisper on the back of her neck told her that someone had approached from behind, even before the look on the clerk’s face turned deferential.
“Perhaps I can be of some assistance here.”
She knew; even before she turned around, she knew. Closing her eyes, she savored the sensation of masculine fingertips dancing lightly at the nape of her neck before she looked over her shoulder to find the tall, dark, and delicious specimen of manhood that was Marco Kennedy.
Just as when they’d met at the party and each time they’d spoken on the phone, she felt the pull between them. It was dark and intensely sexual, and she’d never felt anything like it.
No wonder she’d run. The heat that burned between them was hot enough to reduce her to little more than a pile of ash.
“What did you do?” She knew, without a doubt, that the enigmatic billionaire entrepreneur was behind this mix-up. He was nothing if not persistent, and she had to admit that she was enjoying being chased.
Perversely, she wasn’t sure if she was pissed off that he’d finally caught up to her or thrilled that he’d taken the time to single her out.
“Come have a drink with me.” Ariel tried to repress her shiver as those fingers traced a path down the curve of her spine. Against her will, her nipples peaked against the soft fabric of her blouse.
She wanted him. Why couldn’t she have him?
“I could just leave.” She tried to keep her voice steady. “I could just go to another resort, could go back to the one I was originally supposed to stay at.”
“You could,” Marco agreed, as his hands stopped at the base of her spine. “But I don’t think you will. You’re intrigued, both by the business offer and by this attraction between us. I think you’ll stay and hear what I have to say.”
Ariel felt a flush of embarrassment as he mentioned the lust that was coursing between them, hot and heavy, but she lectured herself for it. There was no shame in healthy attraction, was there? And there was no use denying that it existed. Hell, even the clerk who was watching the scene unfold before him could see it. She could tell by the look on his face.
“Don’t get too cocky.” Stepping away from his touch, Ariel turned to face the man she had, until then, only met face-to-face for one long, heart-stopping moment. “I’ll have a drink and finally listen to your pitch—your business pitch. There won’t be any discussion of anything else.”
“I think you’ll find that my offer ties them together in the best possible way.” Twining her fingers in his own, Marco lifted Ariel’s hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over it. When he released her, she found that he’d slid a keycard into her hand. “Now go to your room, do whatever it is you females need to do to freshen up. Your luggage has already been taken up. This resort belongs to a friend of mine, and I think you’ll find your suite to your satisfaction.
“I’m not sharing a room with you, am I?” If that was part of his diabolical plan, Ariel was leaving immediately. Marco Kennedy might promise all kinds of dark, delicious things, but she wasn’t sure she’d survive them.
He chuckled, and she wished the sound weren’t so damn sexy.
“No. I would never presume that far.” Ariel’s eyebrows rose to her hairline with disbelief. Apparently, that was the only thing he wouldn’t presume. “I will meet you in the verandah bar in half an hour.”
“You know, I’m tired from travelling. Maybe I just want to have a drink in my suite.” She didn’t really, but something about the smooth way Marco just assumed he knew what she wanted got under her skin.
He smiled at her then, and the curve of his lips was purely wicked.
“I’m sure we’ll be spending plenty of time in your suite before the week is over, princess. But for tonight, we’ll stay in public. It’s safer . . . for you.”
Chapter Two
NERVES SWIRLED THROUGH Ariel’s belly as she stepped into the lobby bar. She masked them the same way she hid her fears when she was about to step onstage—with a mile-wide smile and a saucy sway of her hips.
In lieu of tables and chairs, the bar had wide couches and cushions in an array of colors, ones that invited guests to curl up and get comfortable. Marco was seated on one of these couches and should, by all accounts, have looked ridiculous, the big, stern man on the soft, squishy couch.
Instead, he leaned back into the cushions with an arm slung casually over the back of the couch, and rather than appearing ridiculous, he looked sexy as hell.
Damn it, Ariel cursed to herself. He didn’t look like a man who was used to hearing the word “no.” Still, she steeled herself, lifting her chin high and trying her best to look carefree as she sauntered across the empty bar to Marco.
“I’m here,” she said. Sitting, she turned and raised her eyebrows at Marco. A small squeak slipped past her lips as she sank into the couch beside Marco. The cushions were softer than she’d expected, sucking her into their embrace.
The gesture caused the hem of the little yellow sundress she’d changed into to ride up her thig
hs. Making no attempt to hide the fact that he was looking, Marco’s eyes traced its movement.
She was unnerved by his open admiration though she thought that she shouldn’t have been—after all, she was almost constantly surrounded by people who told her how wonderful she was. But those people—well, she never paid much mind to them because she knew that it wasn’t her they were really interested in. Anyone else in her place would receive the same attention.
Marco, though—she felt like he could see right through to her very core. It drew her like a moth to flame . . . and it terrified her like nothing she’d ever encountered before. She had career goals, lots of them, and a relationship—of any kind—wasn’t on her agenda.
“Didn’t your mama ever tell you that staring is rude?” Ariel sucked in a breath as his eyes raked their way up her body, lingering on her breasts, barely concealed by thin cotton, and up to her face.
He cocked an eyebrow at her and looked so sexy that she nearly swallowed her tongue.
“I should turn you over my knee for your rudeness.”
Ariel was sure that she hadn’t heard him right, but he simply looked at her, calmly, and she knew that he meant exactly what he’d said.
“I beg your pardon?” Shifting on the couch, she tried to pull the hem of her sundress down an inch or two and only succeeded in baring more cleavage. She wasn’t normally bothered by the display of skin—in her business, she’d grown desensitized to it. But the way that Marco looked at her made her feel exposed—naked.
“You heard me.”
“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?” She didn’t like to pull the diva act in her personal life, but at the moment it was her only defense against the strangeness of the situation.
The waitress arrived at that moment, coming up from behind them, and Ariel forgot to protest the fact that Marco ordered her drink for her when she saw that the tiny redhead was wearing a bright red thong and an ornately detailed bustier constructed from lace the color of the sky.
“It is Fetish Week.” Marco’s words sounded wryly amused. The waitress returned, and Marco accepted Ariel’s drink, then pressed the frosted glass full of something clear into her hand. She could tell that he was trying to suppress his amusement. “I wouldn’t think you’d be so shocked, given that you’re in the music industry.”