Corporate Cowboy
by
Bella Masters
A DARK LOVE Novel
Montana Heat, Book One
The Montana Ranchers Series
Copyright © 2015, Bella Masters
Corporate Cowboy
Media > Books > Fiction > Romance Novels
Keywords: erotic romance, BDSM, cowboy, rich, wealthy, millionaire, office, workplace, rancher, Montana, sex, spanking, bondage
Digital ISBN: 978-1-62237-395-6
Digital Release: March 2015
Editor, Deelylah Mullin
Cover Design by Calliope-Designs.com
Stock art by Kim Killion Group – Hot Damn Stock; Thinkstockphotos.com
All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work, in whole or part, by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, is illegal and forbidden.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, settings, names, and occurrences are a product of the author’s imagination and bear no resemblance to any actual person, living or dead, places or settings, and/or occurrences. Any incidences of resemblance are purely coincidental.
This edition is published by agreement with Turquoise Morning Press, a division of Turquoise Morning, LLC, PO Box 43958, Louisville, KY 40253-0958.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
MORE DARK LOVE NOVELS
ABOUT BELLA MASTERS
Turquoise Morning Press
CORPORATE COWBOY
When Emma Lavender is called to corporate headquarters at the end of her first week of employment at WestInn Hotels, she is shocked at the proposition offered by the company CEO.
So shocked, in fact, she takes him up on his offer.
Emma Lavender is your average college graduate—eager to make a go of her first job and pay off those student loans. Fresh out of a relationship going nowhere, she leaves Charlotte, North Carolina, behind and heads for the wild west—Billings, Montana. But in Montana, no one takes her seriously or appreciates her southern belle upbringing, except for one man—CEO of WestInn Enterprises, Gage Parker—and he seriously appreciates what Emma has to offer.
Corporate executive by day, rancher by night, Dom all the time—Gage Parker is an Alpha male with an insatiable sexual appetite and a fundamental need to control women sexually. When Emma crosses his line of vision during her work orientation at his hotel, he engineers a meeting and presents Emma with a proposition that literally rocks her southern belle upbringing to the core—and one that Emma learns she is powerless to refuse.
“I think I can do this,” Emma said.
Gage cocked his head. “Do what?”
“Be your submissive.”
The pounding muscle of Gage’s heart kicked into a gallop. “You are my submissive.”
Neither said the words unspoken: For two weeks.
Chapter One
I always appreciate a good workout, and today is no exception.
Coming at the end of a grueling day, a hard and fast run on the treadmill is normally a godsend. My brain blank, my concentration targeted on one thing—watching the numbers roll by on the console. Heart rate. Calories burned. Miles ran.
Crappy day forgotten.
But I struggle to get through it, blowing out a breath, and hitting the button to lower the incline and speed. Time to cool down.
“Quitting already?”
Candy, my new friend from accounting, huffs out the words while she runs on the treadmill beside me. “Yeah. I’m beat. Cooling down.”
Out of shape.
My last semester of college was the culprit. Cramming. Finals. Too much junk food. No exercise. Yeah, Emma Sanders Lavender had a summer full of parties and lazy afternoons on the beach—that effectively slowed down my metabolism. Why am I surprised my clothes don’t fit this fall?
And why don’t I have the metabolism of a sixteen-year-old any longer?
Lord knows I can’t afford a new wardrobe. Thank God, the new job comes with some perks—like this gym.
Walking for a little while, my heart rate finally slows.
I hit the stop button and pull my towel off the handle, then jump off the belt to grab a bottle of spray disinfectant. Giving the console a good squirt, I wipe it and the handles down, and then turn to Candy. “I’ll meet you in the locker room.” We are going for drinks and appetizers somewhere.
I’m ready for a hot shower.
She nods, still running, and blowing out her cheeks.
I hang up the disinfectant, snatch my water, and toss the towel into a nearby hamper. As I head for the locker room, I pull another clean towel from the shelf, simultaneously dropping my water bottle on the floor.
It spews water in a small arc. “Jiminy Crickets,” I mutter.
Quickly, I swipe the towel over my sweaty face, shoulders and arms, and then reach for the bottle on the floor, intending to clean up the spill with my towel.
My fingers collide with someone else’s.
“Oh.”
Rising without the bottle, my gaze travels up the tall length of a man. His hair is ink-jet black and his complexion tan. This is a man who either works out a lot or works at a job that is purely physical. What captures me most, however, are his eyes—the color of coal, deep-set and fathomless—and they stare back at me with intent.
Intent for what, I’m not certain. His presence sucks the breath right out of me. I gasp and stagger a little.
My God, he is gorgeous. Fabulously striking. And dangerously sexy.
He is dressed for a workout but isn’t sweaty. His T-shirt is dry, his hair un-mussed. I kind of wish he was sweaty. Sweat reminds me of sex, and he reminds me of sex, and sex is something I’ve not partaken in of late.
“Your bottle.”
“Oh.” Right.
He thrusts it toward me, his stare pinned to my face, his voice deep and a little gravelly. I am easily drawn to him. My gaze drops to his hand—big, long fingers, a dusting of dark hair on the backs of his knuckles—and I take the bottle.
“Yes, thank you.” The intensity of his heat is palpable. I look up.
“My pleasure,” he says. No smile. No expression. Matter-of-fact. Then, as if forcing himself, he turns and walks away.
Pleasure. All mine.
I stand there, watching, mesmerized by the way his body moves across the floor. Shoulders back. Determined. Purposeful. He is fit, tight, and obviously strong, if the biceps peeking out from under his T-shirt sleeves are any indication. His ass is high and taut, a pleasurable sight to be sure. His broad shoulders triangle down to a narrow waist above that fine well-toned gluteus maximus.
Clearly, he is a regular.
The man steps up to an elliptical and positions his feet.
I find myself unable to tear my gaze away and then even more so, as he looks into the mirror in front of his machine and takes my eyes hostage again.
Cricke
ts. My heart rate kicks back up from out of nowhere. I glance off.
“Welcome to hell,” Candy said, stepping up beside me.
“What?” I look at her.
“I said, ‘Welcome to hell.’”
“Hell?”
She nods. “Yeah. He’s pretty. That’s for sure. Dark, sexy, and dangerous. You’ll want him. We all do. But none of us will ever have him. He’s off limits. And that sure is hell.”
I slowly swivel my gaze back to Mr. Dark, Sexy & Dangerous. “Off limits?”
Candy chuckles and hooks her arm in mine, dragging me toward the hall and the locker room. “Yep. And you’re toast if you go anywhere near him. Braver women than you have tried and didn’t live to see the break of dawn.” She giggled. “In other words, they disappear by Monday morning, never to be heard from again.”
“Disappear? Oh my.” I stop outside the exercise room. “But I don’t get it.”
Candy grins. “You will. You just met Gage Parker. The owner of WestInn Enterprises. The guy signs your paycheck.”
****
Friday marks the end of my first full week of work, and I could not be more relieved. I actually made it through. My undergrad degree is in marketing, and I just finished my MBA, but with jobs being difficult to come by, I settled for an entry-level position in the hospitality industry.
That’s what brought me to Billings, Montana.
Of course, everyone back home in Charlotte thinks hospitality is exactly where I belong. No one is more hospitable than me, they say. I chalk it up to my southern upbringing and my dear Grandma Hazel who taught me how to prepare for guests. And of course, the fact that I am a natural-born people-pleaser.
Which at times, can be to my detriment.
Anyway, Grandma Hazel, God rest her soul, would be proud of me.
“Always make sure there is fresh tea in the refrigerator,” she used to tell me, “and it’s extra nice if you have some lemons all sliced up. Bake some cookies on Friday so you’ll have them ready for visitors over the weekend. You know how some people like to stop by and sit on the porch after church.”
Well, things were like that in my granny’s world, not so much in mine. Still, I always make sure there is fresh sweet tea in the refrigerator, and I greet everyone with a sugary smile, even if I am seething on the inside. It’s what good southern girls do, after all.
Life here in Billings, I’m learning though, doesn’t give a shit about sweet tea mentality.
I’m one of the new front desk clerks at WestInn Hotel Billings, and I figured out pretty quick that we are all vying for the front desk management position that recently came open. Being the low girl on the totem pole, I’m definitely not in the running.
That’s why I am surprised to get an email from corporate this afternoon, requesting my presence at headquarters at five o’clock sharp. Headquarters being the entire twenty-second floor of this building. The Billings WestInn is one of several hotel locations—Denver, Phoenix, Jackson Hole to name a few—but the home office is here, because Montana is the place Mr. Gage Parker calls home.
“You’re not supposed to be checking email while on duty.”
I slip my cell phone back into my jacket pocket, look at my new work mate, and smile. “Oh, hello,” I glance at his nametag, “James from New York. Nice to meet you.” WestInn always puts the name of the state you are from on your nametag. “I’m Emma from North Carolina.” I put out my hand.
He stares at it. “I’m going to let someone know you are violating corporate policy.”
“Calm down, James. It’s work.” I smile sweetly.
“Still, it’s policy and you are violating.”
I bat my eyes. “Moi? I am just coming back from my break. I’m sure a quick peek doesn’t violate anything, does it?”
He sneers. “Are you for real?”
My hand flutters to my chest. “Excuse me?” Yes, I am exaggerating.
“Ahem.”
James looks to the front of the desk. His back straightens. His actions draw my attention there, too.
Oh. Mr. Dark, Sexy & Dangerous stands before the desk. I had taken to calling him Mr. DSD in my head, while I lay in bed the past several nights replaying the water bottle scene. Over. And over. Again.
Sexy and dangerous were givens, but today he was definitely taking the dark aspect to a new level, wearing a black suit and tie, white shirt, and if my eyes will allow me to travel down his body to his feet, I’ll guess black boots. Yes.
He stands rigid, unmoving, with an expectant look on his face, and, I suspect, a client at his right arm. My heart flitters a little and suddenly I am noticeably aroused.
At least to me. My nipples tingle as his gaze bores deeper into mine.
“Miss Lavender from North Carolina,” he begins, “arrange accommodations for Mr. Charles, my guest. He’ll take the Cattleman’s Suite, and he’ll need it for three nights beginning tonight. Make this happen.”
I stammer. “Y-yes, sir. Definitely. You can count on me.” I turn to Mr. Charles. “May I have your driver’s license and a major credit card, sir?” Standard procedure. I am following protocol.
“No credit card, Miss Lavender,” Mr. DSD interrupted. “I said Mr. Charles is my guest.”
Crickets! Stupid!
“Excuse me?”
I stare at him. My heart races. Did I say that out loud? “I mean, of course. I will take care of that immediately.”
He dips his head slightly. “See that you do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will leave Mr. Charles in your capable hands.”
My mouth is dry but my panties definitely are not. The heat between my legs is a bit much. What kind of effect does this man have on me? Swallowing back spit, I try to push my arousal to somewhere I can pick it back up again—like in the shower, much later. Then, I go to work on the keyboard searching for the Cattleman’s Suite, ignoring that my hands are shaking. Glancing up after a moment, I notice Mr. Charles has moved forward, fully in front of me now, and Mr. DSD is gone.
Whew. I take a deep breath. “I’ll be right with you, Mr. Charles. I am calling up your room now…”
James from New York peers over my shoulder. I side step to the left to nudge him out of my way. He crowds closer. I stop typing and look at him.
“I have this, James. Thank you for your help. Perhaps you could be of service to the young lady waiting over there?” I nod toward the other end of the desk.
James smirks and steps away. I smile my sweet tea smile at his back and then look again to Mr. Charles. “Now, where were we? Ah yes, here we are. The Cattleman’s Suite.”
I stare at the monitor. Crap. Booked solid through New Year’s Day.
I glance at my watch. The time is five minutes of five.
****
The WestInn Hotel Billings sits smack in the middle of downtown, the tallest structure in the state of Montana. As I ride the elevator toward the corporate offices, I mentally tick off every floor as it passes by.
Slowly.
I am late. Good-bye front desk management position.
Finally stepping off at floor twenty-two, I suck in a breath and hold it, preparing for the next few minutes. I’m positive this meeting will be brief.
I’ve been here once before, on Monday, for a short orientation session, after which the new hires were shuffled downstairs for a day-long training. Now, I am unsure which way to turn once inside the lobby.
“Right this way, Miss Lavender.”
“I… Oh.” A young woman wearing tall black boots, a short pencil skirt, and a flowy shirt steps up and leads me through the offices and around a corner. Her gait is that of a runway model. As she turns, I catch sight of her silver and turquoise jewelry, similar to what I see many women wearing around here, and I think I might ask her where she shops.
My wardrobe is just not right for Billings.
We stop up short, facing a set of double doors. She pushes a series of buttons on the wall, turns to me and says, “Someo
ne will be right with us.”
“Thank you,” I tell her. She smiles broadly and looks me over. I don’t ask the shopping question.
The doors sweep open. A young man—perhaps a few years older than me—and dressed in a starched pink shirt, black trousers, and a bolero, steps forward. I glance to the floor as his boot heels click on the parquet floor. Alligator or snakeskin?
I am not sure.
He puts his hand out. “I’m Chad Logan, Mr. Parker’s personal assistant,” he says. “We’ve been expecting you.” Ms. Turquoise Jewelry is gone, and Chad’s boots are forgotten.
Stepping inside, the double doors whoosh shut behind me. I shake his hand and then follow like a dutiful schoolgirl. Chad leads me through an outer office, probably his, another set of doors, and then into a larger office with a view to die for. The windows span the entire back wall of the room. The city and mountains are like—right there.
“This way, Ms. Lavender.”
The view is so incredibly beautiful that I halt and gasp.
Chad motions me forward. “Please have a seat, Miss Lavender.” He points to a lone chair in front of a desk.
I sit. He places a file on the desk and leaves. Only then do I notice the man turning in the desk chair to face me, that enchanting view behind him forgotten. I am not quite sure which view is more magnificent. The man or the mountains.
In my book, Gage Parker could be classified as the eighth wonder of the world.
Mr. Dark, Sexy & Dangerous.
He glances at his watch, pushing back the hem of his black suit jacket to reveal a starched, white dress shirt cuff. “You’re late, Miss Lavender. You realize this means you didn’t get the job.”
I deflate into my seat. “My apologies, Mr. Parker. I was working with Mr. Charles, and…”
He cuts me off. “Yes, yes. I know that. Did you secure the Cattleman’s Suite?”
I nod. “With some finagling, yes.”
“And how did you handle that, Miss Lavender?”
“I switched out another guest, gave them an upgrade, and a voucher for a free weekend in the Cattleman’s Suite.” I swallow. Hard. Hells bells, I can do that, right?
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