by Meghan March
Something flits across his expression. Surprise? Disbelief? Shock? I don’t know, because it’s gone as quickly as it came, and he glances down at his watch.
“You have eleven minutes to get ready if you want to go to work today.” His gaze lifts to mine and a hint of a smirk tugs at the edge of his mouth. “I suggest you hurry, unless you’d prefer to spend the day wearing less than you are now.”
Again, the phrase fucking bastard floats through my head, but this time I keep it in. I spin and rush into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, not even thinking until I’m midway through brushing my teeth that maybe slamming a door in Mount’s face might not be the best idea I’ve ever had.
Even so, I scrub my face in a hurry and rush to the closet to find exactly one outfit hanging in it. A black pencil skirt and an iridescent gold blouse that looks nearly transparent. A matching sheer gold bra lies on the center island next to a strand of white pearls.
Black, gold, and white.
I don’t have time to wonder again about the significance of those colors as I drop the sheet and get dressed. I’m not the least bit surprised when everything fits perfectly. The clothes are all higher quality than I’ve even allowed myself to dream of owning, and my employees are certainly going to have questions.
But I’m getting out. I get to go to work. I focus on that because it’s the only thing that matters right now.
Then I remember the black-and-gold device I left on the bathroom counter as I leave the closet.
I don’t need instructions to know where it goes, or the significance of the fact that I wasn’t provided any panties.
The door to the bathroom opens without invitation.
“Three minutes, Ms. Kilgore.” His gaze darts to the item I’ve just been contemplating. Again, one corner of his mouth tugs up. “I see you’re not finished preparing yourself.”
Our gazes clash and I stand straight, my chin lifted with pride as our battle of wills plays out in silence. We both know I’m going to lose.
“Are you going to do the honors, or am I?” he asks.
The question sends a bolt of heat straight to my core, even though the opposite should be true. I wish that dark stare turned me ice cold, but it does nothing but spark a firestorm.
“I was just getting to that. If you’ll please excuse me for another moment.”
My request is overly polite, and apparently amuses him because both corners of Mount’s lips tug upward. Instead of leaving, he leans one broad shoulder against the doorway.
“You’re forgetting who gives the orders here. Pull up your skirt, bend over, and fill your pussy with that toy or I’ll gladly do it myself.” He pauses, his grin turning wicked. “Actually, fuck that. If you don’t do it right now, the next thing filling your cunt will be my cock as I fuck you across that countertop and watch you come in the mirror.”
Sweet Jesus. I cover my mouth with both hands to silence the shocked breath I suck in. The filthy words that fall from his lips go straight to my core as wetness gathers, already threatening to drip down my thighs.
I reach for the toy with one hand and pull the front of my skirt up as discreetly as possible with the other, keeping my bare ass pointing in the direction of the closet and away from his view.
I should have known better.
He shakes his head. “Face the mirror. Bend over.”
The fear that filled me last night when he told me to bend over is absent this morning, and in its place is the rage I harnessed. But something else burns just as brightly. It’s like he’s tapped into a need I didn’t know existed. Like I actually want someone to tell me to do these dirty things to myself.
I force that thought from my mind as I follow his command, bringing the toy to my entrance.
“I’m willing to bet you don’t even need lube.”
I squeeze my eyes shut because he’s not wrong. The latex of the toy slides against my slickness.
“Fuck yourself with it first.”
I heave in a breath and do as he says, pushing the toy in and pulling it out, teasing myself almost to the brink. I shove it in harder, needing only the tiniest bit of stimulation on my clit to push me over the edge. My other hand sneaks around, but he growls another command.
“Stop.”
With the toy fully seated inside me, I freeze.
What the hell am I doing? About to get myself off in front of a man I hate?
I stand straight, almost quickly enough to lose my balance, and smooth the skirt down. When I turn to face him, I pretend none of this ever happened.
At least, until one hand disappears into his pocket and the toy comes to life, vibrating inside me.
My knees go weak at the shock, and I fumble for the edge of the countertop to stay upright.
“Oh my God . . .” It’s a breathy whisper, and I hope to hell he can’t hear it.
I’m not that lucky.
He stalks toward me, meeting my gaze. “That’s not what you said last night when you made yourself come.”
The punishment he promised me flashes through my brain, and he must read it in my expression. My orgasm is just within reach . . . and the vibrations stop.
“I don’t have time to deal with your naughty little cunt and fingers this morning, but I will. In my world, no one gets away with breaking my rules. I have a feeling you’ll learn quickly.”
My fingertips clutch the edge of the counter to keep myself from slapping the smug look off his face. Instead, I stand silently in front of him. Apparently, Mount doesn’t need or want words from me.
“Get out of my sight while I’m still inclined to let you. Other than using the bathroom, don’t you dare take it out without my approval. I promise you won’t enjoy the punishment if you do.”
I suck in a breath and bolt for the door to the bedroom. I round the side of the bed, grab the stilettos from last night and my trench coat, and practically run for the sitting room door that’s cracked open the barest inch.
Outside, Scar is waiting. Hood in hand.
I hate that fucking hood.
But right now, I hate Mount even more.
I rip the hood from Scar’s hand and put it over my head myself, and let him carry my rigid body out of my gilded cage.
Keira
As soon as we pull in the parking lot across the street from the distillery, Scar grunts for me to remove the hood. I ask him to wait and rummage through my purse, which thankfully was still in the car from last night. Surprisingly, he complies while I pull out my emergency makeup stash and bring some semblance of normalcy to my face.
The stilettos I have on from last night are fuck-me shoes of the finest—the most expensive shoes I’ve ever worn—and there is no way any of this outfit will go unnoticed. The fitted gold shirt hugs my curves and tucks into the pencil skirt that emphasizes my hips and ass way more than I’m comfortable with. The white string of pearls lies against my throat like a collar.
I will fucking kill him if he ever tries to put a leash on me.
I snap my compact closed once I determine I’m as good as I’m going to get, and too pissed off to do any better of a job on my makeup.
Plus, there’s the distraction of the high-tech version of Ben Wa balls inside me, and the knowledge that Mount holds the remote has my thighs practically slipping together from my body’s response.
The two warring parts of my brain can’t reconcile what’s happening to me.
How can I hate the man so much, and yet my body loves what he’s doing to it?
It’s a mystery I won’t solve in this parking lot. I reach for the door handle, but Scar stops me with a grunt and hands a note back to me.
* * *
If you tell anyone anything, you’ll be attending their funeral.
* * *
I crumple the note and toss it between the front seats. “Tell him his twisted secret is safe. For today, anyway.”
As soon as I utter the last word and shove open the door, the toy inside me buzzes to life for a
single instant, like a shock to correct an animal’s behavior. I jerk around, looking to see where he is. He has to be close, right? What is the distance on this thing?
Knowing Mount and the power he wields, it’s probably miles.
I fucking hate him.
I force myself to slide out of the car, my head held high and my shoulders straight, and walk across the street like absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary.
Certainly not like I’ve sold my body and my freedom to save my family’s legacy.
I nod at employees, smiling and greeting them like usual, hoping like hell they don’t notice anything different about me. The London Fog trench coat is something they’ve seen before. It’s what’s under it that will raise eyebrows.
As soon as I enter my office, Temperance pops out of the seat across from my desk, and my heart bangs against my ribs.
“Thank God! I was about to send a search party out after you. You haven’t answered any of my texts this morning. The head of operations for the Voodoo Kings wants to meet over lunch to discuss the valet proposition I laid out, and he made it very clear that he wanted you there because, apparently, he doesn’t think I have the authority to make any decisions. Which I guess I don’t. But still, he was an asshole about it.”
When my pulse calms down to nearly healthy levels, I lie through my teeth. “Sorry, I . . . had car trouble this morning. Had to get an Uber. The first one didn’t show, and I must’ve forgot to turn my notifications back on. I . . . turned them off last night to brainstorm some ideas.”
Temperance studies me, not exactly like an alien has entered the office, but with enough curiosity that I wonder how I’m going to be able to keep up this charade.
“That’s actually smart. Sometimes, all you need is a little quiet time alone for your brain to unleash its full potential. I’ve heard meditation is incredible. Obviously, we both know that I don’t have the patience for that kind of thing, but I bet it would be awesome for your stress. Maybe you should download an app or something.”
The quiet time alone I had last night was spent contemplating how to escape a locked room, or alternatively, kill a man without putting everyone I know and love at risk. Not exactly the meditation Temperance is talking about.
“Okay, well, I’m here now, so brief me on what I need to know.” I reach for the belt of my coat and untie it before tossing it over the antique coatrack in the corner.
“Holy shit. You look . . . damn.”
Fuck. I knew this would happen.
I try to shrug off her response. “I’m trying one of those new subscription boxes. This was what they sent me. It’s not like I have the time or inclination to shop anyway, right?” The ease with which more lies fall from my lips should probably concern me, but I comfort myself with one thought—it’s in Temperance’s best interest never to know that men like Mount exist. Especially him, specifically.
“Well, it looks more like one of those rent the runway type things. You’re going to have to tell me exactly where you got it, because you look smokin’ hot.” She pinches her lips shut. “Sorry, you’re my boss, so I probably shouldn’t say that, right?”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just . . . trying something new.”
“Well, I’d say it’s working for you. You’re going to knock those guys dead at lunch. They’ll be so busy checking you out, they’ll probably agree to anything we say. I’ll make sure to have the contracts ready to sign.”
She sits in the seat across from my desk again and fills me in on all the details so I’m prepped for the meeting, but I have trouble concentrating because of the thing inside me.
He won’t turn it on while I’m at work, right?
I find myself asking the question over and over while Temperance runs down the list of bullet points we need to emphasize during the meeting, and I’m nodding like I agree with everything she’s saying but I’m not hearing a word.
There’s only one thing on my mind, and it’s him.
Magnolia warned me he’d fuck with my head, and he’s doing that royally. I have to pull myself back. Find my center. I have to get back to business and pretend I’ve never heard his name.
“Right, so since we didn’t even get to discuss the price changes on the menu upgrade yet, that’s on the table to negotiate today. I think we should have Odile prepare and serve both options for lunch, and they can taste the difference. The food will sell itself.”
I finally get a grip on the conversation. “But we don’t stock what they requested for our normal menu.”
Temperance smiles with a wink. “I called in a favor from the meat supplier, and they’re bringing it over within the hour.”
I lean back in my chair. The same chair Mount sat in.
Stop it, Keira.
“How did you get him to agree to that? He’s an asshole about changing delivery days.”
Temperance’s gaze drifts up to the ceiling. “Well . . . I had to agree to have drinks with him tomorrow night, but I plan on coming down with a massive case of something very contagious. Like, you know, herpes.”
I’m thankful I’m not sipping my normal morning coffee, because I’d spit it out all over the desk.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“Nope. I figure that will end his constant badgering. Who wants to deal with that for the rest of their life? I mean, ewww.” Temperance rubs her nose. “But, crap, what if it gets back to my mom? They go to the same church. God, I can just hear the lecture now. ‘I didn’t raise no whore, Temperance Jane.’” The last sentence comes out in a perfectly pitched bayou accent, and I force out a laugh.
My mama didn’t raise a whore either, but that’s exactly what I am now, I think as my inner muscles clench around the toy.
How can I hate him and still let him turn me on like this? Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s the fact that my husband didn’t touch me for weeks before he died.
I can grieve and hate at the same time, so why can’t I desire and hate at the same time?
“So, now the only issue we have left is getting Odile to agree,” Temperance says with a syrupy-sweet smile.
“And you want me to do it.” It’s not a question. I already know the answer.
“You’re the boss, boss.” Temperance gathers her paperwork and stands. “She keeps telling you to act more like a CEO, so I figured now is the perfect time to grant her wish.”
I open my mouth to respond, but a sharp buzz rips through the toy for a single blazing moment. My harsh indrawn breath takes us both by surprise.
Temperance hugs the documents to her chest. “If it’s that much of an issue, I can—”
I force a smile on my face and squeeze my thighs shut. “Of course not. I—it will be fine. I’ll take care of Odile. You draft up the fancy presentations and make it look as expensive as we’re going to be.”
“We got this, boss. They’re not going to walk away now. I’ve heard the GM has a fondness for Seven Sinners, especially the Spirit of New Orleans blend, so don’t be surprised if you get requests the night of the event to put a case or six aside for him.”
Temperance refers to our most exclusive whiskey that isn’t even available for purchase yet, except by the glass in our restaurant. I took a risk and had sample bottles made and sent to every heavy hitter in town as a gift. I made the decision in the fog of grief and out of desperation with one look at how badly our financial position was after Brett’s skimming of the accounts. The gesture was too expensive, and so far hasn’t yielded much in return. But maybe this is fate. Everything happens for a reason, right?
Like the vibrator between my legs being controlled by the most dangerous man I’ve ever met?
Suddenly my closely held belief in pre-destiny and fate and all that goes along with it is called into question.
Everyone comes into your life for a reason . . . or that’s what I always thought. I can’t come up with a reason for Mount. I’m sure no one can.
Temperance pauses at the door. “I’l
l let you figure out how you’re going to work on Odile. I’ll be in my office running copies and binding presentations if you need me.”
I manage the barest of nods as Temperance scoots out of my office, already worrying about the next thing on her to-do list.
That was me just over a week ago. Hell, that was me since the day I took the reins as CEO. All business. It turned out to be my saving grace, and the only way I could cope with the betrayal and fallout from Brett’s death.
Hate.
Anger.
Rage.
How sad is it that those emotions are taking up more room in my heart than anything positive in these last months?
What is happening to me?
A con artist with an expensive drug habit and a mistress.
A man who thinks the rules don’t apply to him.
As my thighs clench again involuntarily, I swear to myself.
He will not break me.
Keira
I’m seated at the table across from the Voodoo Kings’ assistant general manager, the public relations director, and the special event coordinator of the football team when Carlie, one of my waitresses, brings out the first flight of whiskey.
If anyone thinks I’m above getting these men drunk, they’d be wrong. They have the power to sign the contract that will help haul my company’s ass out of hot water, and that means I have no choice but to get this contract signed.
Am I proud of it? Not particularly. Am I willing to do it anyway? Absolutely. Am I also thanking the good Lord above that not a single one of the people sitting across the table from me is female and would likely see right through my ploy? Damn right.
“Gentlemen, let’s start this meeting off properly—with a damned good whiskey made in our hometown in the Irish tradition of my family.” I reach for a glass and lift it toward the center of the table.