Tagged Heart

by Tasha Fawkes

  My jaw drops. I pull myself together and curtail my emotions. Oh, but it’s so hard. He wants to publish my book? How—he leans against the window and crosses his arms over his chest, studying my reaction with just the hint of a smile.

  "Is that a 'yes'?"

  I nod.

  "You know you aren't beholden to what I want just because I'm the CEO. You may work for me, but what you write is yours and yours alone. All I'm offering you is a platform and the opportunity to publish with the biggest independent company in the country."

  "And would you advise me to turn down that opportunity?" I ask him, recovering with admirable confidence, if I do say so myself.

  "There's more to my terms. I want to personally represent you."

  My heart skips a beat. "But if… say my book is a success." Just thinking it is was exhilarating, let alone saying it out loud. "Say I decide to become an author full-time. You'll lose an editorial assistant."

  "I'll lose a damn good one," he agrees. "But hopefully I'll have gained a client. One eager to continue repeating her successes."

  "If my book is a success."

  "I don't think you understand what you're sitting on, Miss Shiels."

  He pushes himself away from the window and walks behind my chair. I try to follow him with my eyes, but wind up facing forward as he pauses directly behind my chair. His hands come to a rest on my shoulders, so close the knuckles of each thumb brush against the skin of my neck. I barely quell an excited shudder.

  Is he trying to seduce me? That's what my intrepid heroine would ask, but I can't bring myself to form the question.

  "No. You don't understand." Daniel crouches down behind my chair and his voice drops to an almost-whisper. "But you will."

  I shiver as his breath warms the back of my neck. "I'm sorry?"

  "You're a talented editorial assistant, Miss, Shiels, and it shows through your writing."

  He withdraws his hands and moves to my side. I sink back into the chair, heart pounding in my chest.

  "But there are still places in the book where your research falls short," Daniel concludes as he sits down in his chair.

  I study him, not sure what he's getting at. "Such as?"

  He grins. "A few scenes come to mind."

  I find it difficult to swallow. Judging by his expression, I think I know exactly the scenes he means. I'm certainly not going to argue that I have any firsthand knowledge of the bondage lifestyle. His next words could knock me over with a feather.

  "I want you to have lunch with me tomorrow."

  "I'm sorry?" I ask. Obviously, it's not the response I intend, but the only one I can manage at this point. I'm sure I mishear him… or maybe my lust-addled brain fails to compute his request the way he means it.

  Daniel looks faintly annoyed at having to repeat himself, but I swear, there's an amused twist to his normally reserved smile that I've never seen before.

  "I said, would you like to have lunch with me tomorrow, Miss Shiels?"

  That's not what you said at all, I realize. The first version of his invitation wasn't an invitation: it was a command. A thrill of excitement shudders through me. It’s probably just my imagination… Anyway, Daniel is doubtless used to giving orders, considering he's the CEO. It’s probably second nature for him to frame his invite that way.

  "I'm sorry…" I clear my throat. "Yes, of course, I would love to have lunch with you tomorrow, Daniel. Mister Stone… Daniel." Why does every version of his name suddenly sound like an intimacy I haven't earned yet? I blame the way he's looking at me. There's no way a girl can hope to feel platonic or professional with those gorgeous green eyes of his fixed on her. I wish my body didn't interpret his look as a signal to get so aroused. Already I can feel heat between my legs, kindling to a slow burn. One prolonged glance between us and I'm wetter than Stewart's clinical fumbling has ever managed.

  "Good," he says. "I look forward to it."

  I want to kick myself. His reply is perfectly formal—mine, on the other hand, definitely employs the use of the L-word. I nod quickly and rise, heading for the door before I can say something that will—

  "Oh, and Miss Shiels?"

  I turn, foolish heart leaping into my throat. He smiles, wide and brilliant and beautiful, and I know I could die happy on my way out the door knowing that mouth, belonging to that man, invited me to lunch. Never mind that he wants to represent my novel.

  "Yes?" Basic manners find a way to slip past my frantically beating heart.

  "I'll send a new dress over to you." Daniel is already making himself busy with some documents he's pulled from his desk drawer. "Is your office all right for the delivery?"

  I have no words. I'm a romance writer, working in a premier publishing house, and I can't find a damn word in any language to convey my assent. I nod again, and turn to escape before I find a new way to make a fool of myself.

  Those at least I seem to know in abundance.

  Six

  Daniel

  I’m rather surprised by how much I’m actually looking forward to having lunch with Ashley. She’ll be here any minute. I’ve never particularly been interested in the private lives of the people working for me at Pen & Quill. I’m also forced to admit to myself that if I didn’t find her laptop open on her desk, nor been curious enough to look at the screen to read that snippet of the manuscript, I might never have noticed her at all—beyond her work, that is.

  What does that say about me?

  Nevertheless, I did see that snippet, and I finished reading the entire manuscript following the party. And yes, it definitely kept me up until dawn—mentally and physically. By the time I read a mere five pages or so through the manuscript, I made the connection. Ashley's male character was definitely fashioned after me, and her female character was easily identifiable as Ashley herself. A common newbie mistake, but in this case amusing and quite titillating.

  It didn't make me angry or offended; rather, I felt flattered. As I continued to read, I sometimes felt amused. Did I really appear that way to other people? Or was it just Ashley, who I was realizing had more than a mild crush on me. More like lust. She lusted after me… or at least the character in the book. Most of all, it turned me on. Who knew? Not only the witty dialogue and interplay between the characters, but their sex. Hot, passionate, different.

  I don't know how many times as I read the manuscript that I stopped reading, closed my eyes, and pictured Ashley's somewhat shy, more than capable, office-persona professionalism and demure personality in a new light. What was she hiding beneath the surface of that calm veneer? She was one of our best editorial assistants, more than capable of overseeing other assistants. But Ashley the author was so much more… developed. She wasn't merely fixing other authors' grammar or syntax or prose. No, this Ashley is passionate, intriguing, and offers an endearing, somewhat naïve, yet sexually adventurous character personified in the pages of her manuscript.

  Wishful thinking on her part, or her true persona? Is she really such a tigress in the sack? I imagine her with that guy who was with her at the party and shake my head. No way. Still, it’s a question that intrigues me and piques my curiosity in more ways than one. I want to discover the answer to that question myself, but that also triggers a new issue. That invisible yet necessary line between employers and employees. How do I get around that?

  Finally, I decide to just throw my suggestion out there and see what happens. Of course, I will emphasize that her job will be safe regardless of her answer. She can always say no. She doesn't know me, not really, and I don't know that much about her, so the trust level isn't there, but I’ll just have to wait and see. Still, thinking about Ashley and her writing, especially the sex scenes she described, I have a feeling that she will go for it. Because she obviously has a crush on me, I don't feel like I’m particularly taking advantage; rather, I’m making myself available to her.

  I also need to assure her that I still want to publish her manuscript even if she doesn't want to have sex wit
h me. Sure, it needs some tweaking, but it’s good stuff. Really good stuff. I don't think she will turn down an opportunity to explore in greater depth exactly what’s involved in the relationship of a Dom/submissive. She has to know the author's mantras: Write what you know. Show, don't tell. If she’s going to write about it, she has to have accurate details, and to be frank, there are several instances in her manuscript that lack… flavor. What better way to hone her writing skills, especially in this niche, than learning by doing?

  She'll go for that, won't she? At least the character in her book would. Another thing to consider is the subject matter of her book. I have no idea regarding her sexual preferences, but anybody who can write hot, über-detailed scenes like she did, enough to get me hot and aroused, has to know what they’re talking about, and if the opportunity arises, no pun intended, I’m more than willing to take advantage.

  I’m already seated at the table I reserved in a corner of the restaurant where we will have the opportunity to speak more privately. While I’m expecting her, when she walks through the door, it’s if I’m seeing her for the first time. I am, really, in spite of the fact that she’s worked for me for quite a while. She doesn't have her hair pulled into the long ponytail she usually wears at the office. Her wavy black hair hangs loose around her shoulders, tendrils draping her face. The effect doesn't appear to be deliberate, nor an attempt on her part to be seductive, which it is. The look is more that of a woman rushing to get where she needed to be. I smile. She looks like a breath of fresh air. So cliché, I know, but it feels like that. Here is a woman who isn't out to impress, doesn't put on false airs, doesn't have to work hard at conveying her sexual appeal. I notice again how tall she is, how perfect her proportions. Why haven't I ever seen her before?

  I’m certainly not one to ignore pretty women but somehow, Ashley has escaped my radar. Until now. She pauses inside the door and speaks to the hostess, who gestures in my direction as she escorts her to my table. As she approaches, I rise and wait for her to slide into the booth seat across from me before sitting down. She smiles nervously, but then again, not unexpected. I am her boss after all.

  "Your server will be here in just a moment," the hostess points at the leather-bound menu at each place setting. "Can I get you something to drink? A cocktail? Coffee?"

  Ashley's reply startles me.

  "Can I have a diet cola please, extra ice?"

  I nod and glance up at the hostess. "Two diet colas, extra ice please."

  The hostess nods and quickly walks away while Ashley looks at me and smiles.

  "I never imagined you as a diet soda person. Scotch perhaps, maybe gin, but not diet cola."

  I offer an easy shrug. "The purpose of our lunch today is to get to know one another a little more, actually. After all, if we're going to do this, we have to be comfortable with each other, right?"

  She nods.

  I continue. "I want to know your likes and dislikes." I have her attention. "My intention is to imply more than just your choice of drink. If we're going to do this, I need to make sure that we're compatible. I want to know what makes you tick. What makes you hum, what you enjoy drinking and eating, and then comes the sex." I pause and give her one of my best stern looks. "Nothing worse than entering this kind of a relationship and having things go downhill fast."

  Before she can reply, a server arrives, places to tall glasses of diet cola bubbling with carbonation in front of each of us, setting straws on the table next to the glasses. "Would you like a few minutes to look over the menu before ordering?"

  I shake my head. Time to display some control. "I'm ready to order." I glance at Ashley, who stares at me, one eyebrow slightly lifted. "Two small spinach salads, the works, with balsamic vinaigrette dressing on the side. For the entrée, pork medallions, brown rice, and asparagus."

  The server glances at Ashley, but she’s still looking at me. She offers a slight nod and the server turns and walks away. I continue speaking. "In our new… relationship, it's important that we set the stage. I'm the one in control. You're not."

  A slight flash of alarm, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, but she quickly brings her reaction under control in a matter of seconds. "Speak your mind, actually."

  "I'm just… I didn't realize that it’s starting already."

  She fidgets with her straw but doesn't pull it from its paper case. She’s nervous, no doubt about it. Another reason why I've taken the lead quickly. "I want to reiterate, Ashley, that no matter what happens, there will be no repercussions if you decide to back out. At any time. That being said, I certainly hope that you'll take me up on my offer. After all, I can give you a very intimate look at the kind of lifestyle you describe in your book. You know the saying, right?"

  "Write what you know," she says softly.

  I grin. "Exactly." I adjust my napkin and the polished silverware atop it, trying not to stare but finding it difficult to keep my eyes off of her. "First, I want you to feel comfortable with me. Once we agree to this… relationship, not only will I be your boss, but I'll be your lover, your Dom. But I want you to know that at work, those lines will not be crossed. At work, I'm your boss. Nothing more, nothing less. Outside of work…"

  "I.… I understand."

  I say nothing more as the server brings our salads and entrées. The salad dressing is in a small porcelain curette. I watch as she doles out a slow, trickling stream of the dressing onto her salad. Her hand trembles and she refuses to look at me. Okay, slight detour.

  "So, Ashley, tell me about yourself."

  She glances up, startled, hand frozen in the air. "There's really not much to tell," she finally says. "I've been working at—"

  "No," I say, shaking my head. She place the porcelain curette back on the table. I extend my hand and place it over her wrist. Her skin feels soft and warm. For the first time, I notice that she keeps her fingernails shorter than most, and her fingers look strong, capable… I force my thoughts away from how those hands will feel wrapped around my dick. I give her arm a squeeze. "Tell me about you. Where did you come from? Who are your people?"

  "My people… well, I grew up in Brooklyn," she begins. "Um, well, I have two parents, but they got divorced when I was about ten. An amenable divorce," she clarifies, poking at her salad. "My dad got an apartment not too far from where we lived, so me and my younger brother, Andrew, spent plenty of time with each parent. He lives across the river in New Jersey now with his girlfriend. We get together on holidays, a good thing, but other than that, we don't see each other very often."

  She pauses and stabs a few leaves of spinach onto her fork and lifts it to her mouth. I watch, not just because I find her nervousness adorable, but I want to see how she feels about being watched. Watching is a big part of our new relationship. This might just seem like a getting-to-know-you lunch as far as she is concerned, but for me, it offers a glimpse into what I might expect from her.

  "Where do you want to go from here?"

  She chews quickly, swallows, and then looks at me, touching her index finger to the corner of her lip. A self-conscious gesture.

  "I went to NYU to study journalism—"

  "No, Ashley. I mean, what is it you want out of life?"

  I can tell that the abrupt change in topic from her background to asking about her dreams, goals, aspirations of life startled her. So far though, she's responding like a person would during a job interview. I don't want that. I want her to tell me what she thinks, feels, and believes in. How long will it take her to understand that? She recovers quickly. She places her fork on her napkin and looks me straight in the eye.

  "I have no idea," she replies, offering a tiny shrug, another indication of her personality. "What everyone wants, I suppose. To earn a living, make enough money to get by, to be happy with my job, to find myself in a solid relationship… what about you?"

  I grin. That's what I wanted to see. I respond to her query. "Well, I'm an only child. My dad comes from old money, New York money, and he married a woma
n half his age, and after several tries, well, there I was. My father died when I was three-years-old, so I never really knew him." I take a sip of my cola and then continue. "My mother is overprotective, almost excessively so. I'm a type A personality, obviously, and I graduated from Yale with an MBA."

  Ashley nods, cuts one of her pork medallions into small pieces, stabs at piece with her fork and lifts it to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "Why did you go into publishing?"

  Interesting question. I also take a bite of pork, matching my movements to hers without breaking eye contact. She doesn't either. Very good. Very good indeed. "After two years working at my family's company, import-exports, I knew that wasn't exactly what I wanted. I went back to school, got a bachelor's degree in comparative literature, and then I started Pen and Quill."

  She laughs softly. "And what did your family have to say about that?

  I grin. "My mom freaked. But we compromised. I'm still the CEO of our family business, but I delegate. What I enjoy most is the publishing industry."

  She nods, seemingly now at a loss for words. "And you, Ashley. You're gifted as an editor. I appreciate your work. But why do you want to become an author, and why erotica? More specifically, why this niche of erotica?"

  I watch as a blush travels all the way from the base of her neck up into her cheeks. Still, she doesn't flinch.

  "This is kind of personal, but—"

  "Actually, if I have my way, after lunch, we're going to go upstairs and get naked together. How much more personal can you get?" Her blush deepens, the pulse in her neck throbbing. Is she game or will she cut and run? I hope for the former, because the more time I spend with her, the more attracted I am to her. I enjoy sex, and while I appreciate beauty as much as the next guy, I don't place as much importance on looks as I do, well, how to say it politely? Enthusiasm between the sheets? The urge to push the envelope? Many of my partners were okay, in a traditional sense as far as sex is concerned. Of course, I have some like Crystal who indulge like me, and with whom I feel I can be who I want to be. Still, I've never found a partner that I feel… trite as it sounds—complete with. One who can match my appetite, one who is totally in tune with me, my rhythms, my needs, my desire to experience total unity.