"I assume you have specific people in mind?"
"Well it ain't no secret I want a crack at that little tamale you got answering your phones over there..."
"Carmen is out of the question, Wally, we've been over this."
"But you ain't heard my latest offer."
"There isn't anything you can offer, Wally. She's not on the table and that's final."
"Yea? How about a sweet little cherry, ain't never had a shutter snap on her snatch before? And I'm not talking some trailer park refugee either, I got me a primo farm girl, trying to make good in the big city, wants to be a doctor and everything ... saving granddad's farm and curing cancer all at once. Hotter than a two dollar pistol, too. Am I whetting your appetite?"
Nick felt his heart slamming the walls of his chest. The blood was pounding so loud he could barely hear the man. It couldn't be her ... could it?
"What are you talking about, Evers? Have you been drinking again?"
"We're billing her under the name Missy Morgan. She's green eyed and auburn haired all over, and when I say all over, I mean—"
"Shut up, Evers, you don't know what you're talking about.” Nick's pulse was racing. He hated the man so much right now he couldn't think straight. But why? What had he done?
"What the fuck is your problem, Tremaine? I'm trying to do business here."
Nick steeled himself. “I'm sorry, Wally, I was out of line. I'm just under some ... stress lately. Just tell me, is her real name Baines?"
"Yea, it is,” he exclaimed. “How'd you know?"
"Cause she came here yesterday. I turned her away cold."
"Man, that was your loss, compadre. You sure as hell must be stressed. Fear not, though, because I'm gonna cut you in for a slice of the pie."
"I don't want a slice,” Nick heard himself say. “I want it all."
"Excuse me?"
"Her contract. I'll buy it from you. Name your price."
Wally laughed. “You gotta be shitting me? Look, I don't want to rip you off here; she's fucking hot, sure, but she's just another bitch. You got a dozen just as good or better."
Nick felt his temper raging again, not to mention an odd sense of protectiveness. There was no one like Morgan, and he would make Evers see that. “Give me a price,” he repeated. “I won't take no for an answer."
Evers sighed. “All right, if you insist."
He named an amount, which Nick promptly doubled.
"So what should I do when she shows up here this afternoon for work?” Wally wanted to know.
What indeed. If ever Nick had gotten himself in over his head in his life, this was it. “Send her to me,” he told Wally. “She works for me."
That wouldn't last, though. She'd be his employee for all of three minutes, or however long it took Carmen to hand her over the check for the amount she was supposed to have earned modeling for Evers. This whole thing was going to cost him a small fortune, paying them both off, but it would be worth it. Morgan would have gotten the money she needed, without having to strip and he would have acquired the peace of mind knowing she would never, ever again enter into his world or him into hers.
Nick waited for the faxed copy of the contract. He then drafted a check for Morgan and one for Wally. Leaving both with Carmen, he decided to take her advice and leave the office for the day.
"Good idea, Mr. Tremaine. Are you going home, then?"
He thought for a moment. “No, I think I'm going to the studio. I want to take some pictures."
That was exactly what he needed. It had been too long, far too long since he'd done any hands on work. “Who's scheduled to model today?” He asked.
Carmen checked the schedule, the very picture of efficiency. “Merilee Way, sir. She has a session in an hour."
He smiled wryly. Perfect. He could pose her to his heart's content without any pesky distraction from his increasingly ornery cock. That is, assuming he could keep from thinking about Morgan.
"Good. I'll handle that one myself."
Carmen cleared her throat. “Mr. Tremaine, can I ask you something?"
"Anything, Carmen."
"The woman who was in here yesterday ... Morgan I think was her name. She left, um, pretty upset. I told her you weren't a mean man, but—"
"No, Carmen, actually I am a mean man,” he interrupted. “I'm just polite with you because I like you. And you're a damned good worker. Even so, if you ever mention the name of Morgan Baines again I am going to have to let you go, is that clear?"
The young woman's face deflated. “Yes, sir."
"Good. That's settled then."
"I'll relay any important messages."
"See you tomorrow, then."
"Yes, Mr. Tremaine.” Her brown eyes were moistening, just a little.
Nick felt like shit all the way to the elevator. Carmen hadn't deserved that, not by a long shot. He owed her one hell of an apology, but it would have to wait. Opening up the doors to his emotions just wasn't a good idea right now, not with Morgan so hot and heavy on his mind. He was going to have to stay on the warpath. Scorch and burn, shoot anything that moves till life got back to normal.
Normal. As in cold. Passionless. And dull.
* * * *
"Morgan,” exclaimed Carmen, looking more than a little surprised to see the woman back after yesterday. “Hi."
"Hi, Carmen, it's nice to see you again. I hate to be rude, but is he in? I need to see him right away."
Carmen blinked, her big brown eyes containing a whole lot more than she seemed prepared to say. “He's left the office, for the day, Morgan, I'm sorry. Um, he did ask me to give you this, though."
Morgan watched her slide the envelope across the desk with the pink enameled nail of her index finger. Carmen's body language made it clear she found the contents offensive, whatever they were.
Morgan took out the check, dumbfounded. The liner note read, “Model contract—full payoff."
Unbelievable. Unfuckingbelievable.
"I don't know exactly what's going on, Morgan, but I'm sorry for whatever Mr. Tremaine has done. I know he didn't mean it."
She took the green rectangle of paper and tore into sixteen even pieces. “That's what's going on,” she stuffed them into the front pocket of her faded jeans. “And don't you dare apologize for that man, you hear me?"
Carmen nodded.
"Now can you tell me where to find him? It's imperative."
She bit the corner of her lower lip. “I'm not sure he'd want me to..."
"To tell me?” She supplied. “No, I'm sure he wouldn't, but you need to anyway."
Carmen smiled, kind of brave and kind of sad at the same time. “Do you know what he just told me, Morgan? He said if I so much as mention your name ever again he would fire me. After two years of completely devoted service. And all you did was come in here one time. One of us is doing something wrong, don't you think?"
"Actually,” reasoned Morgan, “if we're pissing him off then it must be we're both doing something right."
Carmen laughed, some of the tension lines on her face disappearing. She could see how glossy her eyes were now in the light. Dear heavens, had the bastard made her cry?
"Thank you, Morgan,” she breathed deeply. “I needed that."
"Anytime, kiddo. Now how about telling me where he is and I'll take you out some night for the biggest margarita you ever saw in your life."
"Make it happy hour,” she suggested, “then we'll both get one."
"Deal,” Morgan grinned.
"He's downstairs, in Studio A, photographing a model. He won't want to be disturbed, though. He gets pretty upset."
"Ask me if I care,” she winked. “Oh, and don't worry about telling me,” she added on her way out. “I'll say I forced you to tell me."
"It's okay, Morgan. I think I'm ready to stick up for myself now. Thanks to you."
"Glad to hear it ... I'll talk to you later."
Morgan ran back down to the elevator and punched the button for the lo
bby. She was more than ready for battle when the doors dinged open once again. Nick Tremaine had gone too far this time. He'd interfered in her life, and she'd tolerated that from no one, not even her father. To say he had nerve buying out her contract from Wally Evers didn't even begin to cover it. It would be like saying Genghis Khan had a few anger management issues.
She wasn't some sort of slave to be bought and sold. Who did he think he was, the fucking pasha from his own stupid fantasy? And it was a stupid fantasy, all the more so because it had kept her up half the night all hot and bothered as she thought of that man, so totally cool and aloof as to be able to completely resist her sexual charms. Her, a little harem girl, barefoot and belled, desperate to interest him in her body, knowing he had hundreds to choose from, hussies at his beck and call ready to do anything and everything at the snap of the finger.
Her only hope was to be hotter, wetter, sexier, more feminine, with big moist eyes ... begging attention, offering her body for visual and tactile pleasure, breasts to be fondled, ass to be handled, or even spanked. And of course the love cradle, which Morgan had not been able to quench all through the dark and lonely hours of last night. Again and again, fight it as she might, she found herself plunging her fingers deep down inside, trying to soothe an insatiable itch. Each orgasm only begged another.
She wanted his cock. His hands. All those idiotic suggestions he'd planted, about the mindless harem girl, wasting away, no hope of any life outside of being screwed now and again by her egotistical master.
Tremaine was perfect for that part, wasn't he? He and his agency that was too good for her. She didn't even deserve the respect of a thank you for practically fucking herself in front of him for his benefit.
Was this some kind of ultimate head game for him? To reject her entirely and then turn around and buy her contract from some other man who did want her? And then to pay her for work she didn't even do—what a complete and utter insult. Was she too horrid to even pose for him or was he supposed to be elevating her to some pristine level above the whole idea of nude modeling?
Whatever he was doing he sure as hell hadn't asked her what she wanted. What kind of sadistic mind fuck world did he live in where he gave himself permission to play every frigging emotion in her vocabulary and bounce her around like a pinball?
And why was it, since she was on to asking all these questions, that the angrier she got, the more she wanted to fuck the man?
Studio A had a gray door with a small window, a couple of inches across. She didn't bother knocking. That would have been an act of courtesy and Mr. Nick Tremaine was not deserving of any such gestures of humanity.
The first thing she saw, aside from the man himself, the sleeves of his gray silk shirt rolled up as he took readings off a light meter next to his tripod mounted camera, was her.
The blonde.
What a huge fucking surprise that was.
He had the little hussy sprawled on a heart shaped mattress made of red velvet. She was dressed all in white—what a joke that was—complete with white stockings, heels, garters, frilly panties and a demi-bra that more than displayed her augmented breasts. Her hair was way too kinky, done up in a totally tacky style. But then this what he liked, wasn't it?
"Miss Baines,” said Tremaine, looking appropriately guilty. “I wasn't expecting to see you."
"No, I'll just bet you weren't,” she spat, casting a dress me down look at the frilly tramp. “Not with so much else pressing on your mind."
"Miss Baines, this is Merilee Way. Merilee, this is Morgan Baines."
More like Merilee No Way, thought Morgan.
"Charmed to know you, Morgan."
"Yes, I'm sure you are. Mr. Tremaine, this is between you and me. We have unfinished business. No offense, Miss Way."
"If you will see my secretary upstairs...” suggested Nick with all the smoothness of a man trying to pass his dirty laundry onto someone else.
"Been there,” she pulled out as many of the pieces as she could at once and tossing them in the air like confetti. “Done that."
He frowned. “I wish you hadn't done that, Morgan."
"And I wish you weren't such a fucking asshole,” she shot back. “Guess we don't always get what we want in life, do we?"
"You're overwrought right now, Morgan. I will have the money transferred to your bank, if you like in a few days."
"Overwrought!? And why might that be, do you suppose? Could it be because I just went to report for my first day of work at Evers Imaging only to find the man has sold me, like a piece of meat? And then I come here and find out I'm not even worth wasting the film on so you'd rather give me money for nothing? Well screw that and screw you."
"Uh, Mr. Tremaine, should I come back later?” Merilee squeaked.
"No, that will be fine,” said Tremaine.
"Actually, I think that's a splendid idea, thank you Miss Way."
"Morgan, I am not prepared to continue this,” Tremaine informed her.
"Well you better get prepared.” Morgan tore off her t-shirt, bearing her yellow bra clad breasts. “You bought my ass and you're going to get you're money's worth out of it. Starting today."
"I'll definitely come back,” Merilee decided on her own, picking up her gown and slipping back into the changing room.
Nick bent and picked up the shirt. “Put it back on. You're not posing for me. Today or ever."
"Why not? Don't I cut the mustard? You're cock looks pretty hard to me, or is that still left over from Merilee?"
Nick's frown turned to an outright scowl. Yesterday she hadn't been able to see what was going on behind the pleats in his trousers, but today he had on a tighter pair and the swell behind the zipper was all too evident.
"Morgan, I'm excusing your behavior because you are new to the business, but I assure you this is highly unprofessional."
She kicked off her sneakers and skinned the jeans down over her bare hips. Bare foot, by bare foot, she stepped from the denim leaving herself in yellow silk underwear.
"You played with my head, Mr. Tremaine,” she cut to the chase. “I came to you in good faith, wanting a business arrangement. You spent the next twenty-four hours making sure I knew in no uncertain terms that I'm just a sex object. You get your thrills, I suppose, putting women like me in their place. Well you're about to learn some of us fight back. I'm going to take everything you give me on camera and spit it back out. Beginner or no, I'm going to leave you begging and panting for a chance to have me. And in the end I'll refuse you ... and your money."
Morgan turned to see Merilee standing outside the dressing room listening, with her jaw dropped wide. She was dressed now, in a blue mini skirt and pink crop top. Waiting to see if the speech was done, she put her hands together, clapping rhythmically, rising to crescendo.
"That will be all, Merilee,” said Nick crisply. “You are dismissed."
Morgan grinned, enjoying herself more with each passing minute. “What's the matter? A little trouble in paradise, today? Is your harem revolting, Mr. Tremaine, or should I say Pasha Nick?"
"We'll begin in five minutes,” he said curtly. “You can leave your underwear on for now."
"That's it?” she asked warily. “No makeup or anything."
"You don't need it,” he said flatly.
Morgan felt a secret little thrill at the compliment, though she squashed it promptly. I'm on the warpath, she reminded herself.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Tremaine."
"None intended."
Liar.
"Just tell me where you want me.
"Pick any pose for now,” he said ominously. “I'll move you around as I go."
"I just bet you will.” She licked her lips, wondering where she'd just gotten the balls to do all this. It wasn't in her dossier, honest. Morgan Baines was as far from a femme fatale as her dad had been from a big city surgeon. Was it too late to ask for a ‘do-over’ and collect the pieces of her ripped check? Or give him her bank account number for the
transfer so she could grab Merilee and Carmen for drinks?
But that would hardly do. Not with Nick Tremaine looking so flustered. And still erect. She had to pursue this, play her hand to see where it led. Where else in life would one get a chance to act out the age old battle of the sexes in perfect safety, with the sanctity of the camera lens between them?
Perfectly safe, she repeated to herself as she to the heart shaped mattress, a prisoner on her way to the kinky looking bed still warm from the body of the shapely, cupcake of a blonde. Now all I have to do is say it enough times in the next five minutes so I believe it myself.
Chapter Three
Nick wanted the woman in the yellow bra and panties so bad it hurt. But he couldn't let her know this under any circumstances.
"How's this for starters?” she was asking, having assumed a pose on her side, stretched out, propped up on her elbow, her head resting on her hand.
How was it? Try fucking phenomenal. Try a vision exceeding his wildest fantasies.
"That will do,” he tried to keep the emotion from his voice as he fiddled with the camera. “While I make my initial adjustments at least."
Every detail of the image consumed him. The way her other hand draped over her hip, her long, tapered nails pressed to her perfect thigh, pointing down to the V, the honeyed heaven barely covered by her silk panties. The way her hair was cascading about her shoulders, slightly tussled, looking like she'd just made love. And those eyes, shining green with challenge, daring him to go on.
But what did she know of where they were going? She was a babe in the woods. That, too, was written all over her face and her fine body. She was innocent. Eager—but very, very innocent. Damn it, why had she pushed him so hard?
It was going to be up to him to keep control here. He'd have to be strong—strong as he'd ever had to be in his life. A few pictures, just enough to satisfy her stubborn pride and then he'd send her on her way. And you could bet not one of the photos would ever see the light of day. Not one of his clients would look at images of this naked body. No way, no how.
His own determination surprised him. He was feeling oddly protective, like he was with Carmen, except here there were intense, furiously sexual feelings mixed in.
Getting Naked: A Romance of Bondage and Discipline Page 3