by Talia Hunter
The actresses Max worked with usually wore thick makeup, with microskirts and plunging necklines that left nothing to the imagination. They hadn’t figured out that hinting at something was far sexier than putting it out on show. Take Ally’s T-shirt for example. The way the faded cotton clung to her breasts then draped over her waist made up for any amount of stains.
Geena was unusual too, with pink spiky hair and a fitted red dress that clashed. She had a nice smile, and was pretty enough, but she didn’t draw his gaze like Ally did.
“How long have you been a dominatrix?” he asked Ally.
“Not long.”
Although she only came up to his shoulder, something about the way she stood made her seem tall — or maybe it was the tilt of her head while she eyed him? Max had gotten used to women acting starstruck around him, wanting his autograph and a selfie. Sometimes they went a little crazy, pressing against him or offering him their breasts to sign. Ally was the opposite. She had her arms crossed and a wary look in her cool gray eyes. There was an adorable hint of freckles across her upturned nose, but he hadn’t seen her smile yet. He got the feeling that a smile from her was something he’d have to earn. He didn’t mind that. He’d found the things that didn’t come easy were worth a lot more.
“Do you specialize in anything?” he asked.
She glanced at Geena. “No, I pretty much do everything, you know, equally.”
Max frowned. Did she offer something really kinky she didn’t want to admit to — was that why she’d evaded the question?
“She’s being too modest.” Geena tapped her long, painted nails on the store counter. “She has some regular, very dedicated slaves. Totally devoted, they are. It’s Mistress Ally this, and Mistress Ally that. They can’t do enough for her.”
Ally shrugged one shoulder in a gesture that could be a confirmation. Although she was nothing like the other sex workers he’d interviewed, she had a calm authority to her, like she had nothing to prove to anyone. If she could project that kind of confidence in denim shorts and a dirty T-shirt, he could only imagine what she’d be like in one of the shiny skintight outfits the other dominatrices had worn. He wasn’t usually a fan of vinyl or latex, but he took a moment to imagine her dressed up, with her full lips stained dark red. Yeah, maybe she could change his mind about not finding shiny black outfits sexy.
“Thomas Barnes wasn’t a slave and Cora didn’t whip him or anything.” Max wanted to make that clear right off the bat. Bad enough having to let someone boss him around, he wasn’t about to give anyone permission to spank him.
“But Thomas was submissive?” asked Geena.
“You could call him that.” Max gritted his teeth. It meant that until shooting finished, he’d have to be submissive too, and the knowledge made him itch all over. He hadn’t gotten to where he was in his career by taking orders, and he didn’t understand why Thomas had let Cora walk all over him. Which was the problem. To play Thomas convincingly, he needed to get inside his head.
Max had always dreamed of being an actor, but even after graduating at the top of his acting class he’d known it would be tough — if not impossible — to stand out in a crowd of thousands of wannabes. He’d gone into modeling to build his brand, clawing his way to what he really wanted, one photo shoot at a time. He’d worked damn hard to make himself the absolute best at what he did, and it had all finally paid off with this big break. So what if it was a minor studio with a small budget? His leading role in Mastery was his chance to prove what he could do. All he had to do now was to nail the part.
“So, what exactly would it mean if I took the job? What would you expect from me, on a day to day basis?” For the first time he caught an undercurrent of uncertainty in Ally’s voice. Bad sign. Cora Jensen had been a hurricane who’d enjoyed bending men to her will, and he needed someone with the same strength.
He’d been leaning against the store counter, but now he stood, ready to leave. Ally might be beautiful, but he didn’t have time to waste. Shooting started in a week, so if she wasn’t up to the job he needed to keep looking. “Forget it. If you’re not sure, I’ll find someone else.”
“Who said I wasn’t sure?” Ally tossed her tangled hair back from her face and her chin jutted forward. “I just asked for details. You have a problem with that?”
He blinked, impressed. Was that a steel backbone he’d glimpsed? Her gray eyes had darkened when she challenged him. Would they lighten if she smiled? They were the kind of eyes any actress would kill for, eyes so expressive there seemed to be a thousand stories swirling inside their depths.
Perhaps he’d been too quick to dismiss her. He felt in his pocket for one of his business cards. “Why don’t you come to my room at The Royale tonight? We can talk about it some more, and it’ll give us both a chance to see if we want to take it any further.”
She took the card and gave him a curt nod. “Seven o’clock.” He didn’t miss the fact that it wasn’t a question.
“Seven o’clock,” he agreed, turning to leave. He was already running through his options of where to go next. If only he hadn’t had to do that photo shoot in Italy, he would have had longer to find the right woman for the job. With only a week before filming started, he was running dangerously low on time.
Max shot one last glance back at Ally on his way out of the store. She was almost hidden behind the rows of sex toys, but he glimpsed her talking to Geena. He liked the way her golden hair tumbled over her shoulders, and the assertive tilt of her head, but her good looks were only a bonus, not essential for what he needed.
Through his childhood Max had been far more independent than most, until he’d been dumped in a foster home filled with bullies—both the other kids and the staff—and for the next three years every waking moment had been dictated by someone else. The experience had given Max a deep aversion to being told what to do, and he’d sworn he’d never let anyone control him again.
Now he had to find a woman who could do just that. Could Ally possibly be the one?
Chapter Two
Ally had never been in the lobby of the Royale before, and even in the outfit she and Geena had finally decided on, she felt underdressed. The lobby was so hushed it reminded her of a funeral. So quiet that even the sound of water tinkling over rocks in the fancy water feature seemed to echo. Let alone her footsteps on the fancy marble tiles. She wasn’t used to heels so high and they made such a racket that by the time she got to the front desk, every perfectly groomed staff member had turned to stare.
The woman at the front desk gave her an ice-cold smile and raised thin, penciled-on eyebrows. “May I help you?” At the same time her eyes asked, ‘What’s someone like you doing here?’
Ally swallowed. Good question. Geena had given her a crash course she’d cheerfully labeled Domination and Sex Play for Dummies and lent her a killer pair of heels, but Ally still felt clueless. Who was she kidding? She was so far out of her depth she felt like she was dog paddling across the Mariana Trench.
The woman’s eyebrows rose into arches, waiting for her to respond.
“Room 1935. Max Oberon, please.”
The arches spasmed and the woman looked gratifyingly disconcerted before she managed to recover. “Who may I say is visiting?”
“Ally De—” She cut herself off. If Max decided to check her out, a Google search for Ally Dennis would reveal the fact that she was now part owner and frequent contributor to a magazine-style blog called Liaison. “Just tell him it’s Ally.”
A few minutes later she was knocking on the door of suite 1935. Max opened the door and she caught her breath, struck again by how good-looking he was. He wore the same jeans he had on before, but he’d changed into a white T-shirt that didn’t just highlight his muscled chest and toned abs, it underlined them and added a few exclamation points for good measure.
“Welcome, Ally.” He gave her a slow, easy smile that radiated confidence.
He had a five-o’clock shadow, but it didn’t detract from
his looks. On the contrary, it gave him a rugged edge that was a perfect counterpoint to his fine, chiseled features. With his wide shoulders and tapered waist he looked like every woman’s orgasmic fantasy… because that’s exactly what he was. What on earth was she doing here? No way could she fool a man like him. Any moment he’d see through her act and toss her insecure butt back out onto the street.
No, she couldn’t think like that. That was Barry’s voice in her head, full of contempt, telling her how useless she was. Barry was gone, good riddance to him, and she wouldn’t let his poison wear her down. She could do this.
His gaze ran over her tight leather skirt and simple-but-sexy white blouse, and his obvious approval made her feel slightly more confident. She hardly ever wore anything but jeans or shorts, and had taken one look at the lace-up dress in slinky vinyl that Geena had tried to force on her and threatened to back out altogether. This had been the compromise they’d both been okay with, and from the quirk of his mouth, it looked like they’d made the right choice. She walked into the suite’s enormous living room, noting the way he followed the sway of her hips.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
She should probably keep sharp, but she was nervous and a drink sounded too good to refuse. She sank onto one of the couches, the tightness of her skirt forcing her to sit gracefully with her knees to one side, and put her clutch on the coffee table. She’d considered bringing a recording device with her, but some experimentation had shown the sound was too muffled unless the recorder was sitting on top of an open purse, where it would be too easy to spot. Besides, the clutch Geena had lent her was only just big enough for her lipstick, her phone, and the fake business cards she’d hurriedly printed on Geena’s ink-jet.
“What do you have?” she asked.
“Anything you like.”
She looked around for a kitchen or bar but all she got was a glimpse of a massive bed in a plush bedroom. Nerves fluttered in her stomach. If she accepted the job, would he expect to have sex with her? Though Geena had explained the difference between a domme and a prostitute to Ally, perhaps Max thought they were the same thing.
“Chocolate martini,” she said on impulse. It was a joke — the strongest drink that came to mind. Of course he couldn’t make it for her, but at least he might give her some options to choose from.
But he picked up the telephone. “A chocolate martini and a Peroni.”
Room service, of course. Ally mentally slapped her forehead. But she’d never ordered room service before so no wonder she hadn’t thought of it. She’d never stayed in a hotel nice enough, only cheap motels. The kind where you pulled the sheets back to check for bugs before getting in bed.
Crap, she shouldn’t have ordered a chocolate martini. Those things were so lethal they should come with a warrant. Last time she’d drunk them, well, she wasn’t quite sure what she’d been up to, but she’d woken up with a killer hangover, an empty wallet, and only one shoe.
“So, Ally. Let me tell you what I’m looking for.” Max sat on the opposite couch, his arm stretched across the back of it. She felt so nervous she was sure he’d be able to see her heart pounding through the sheer fabric of her blouse, but everything about his posture said he was completely at ease. He was the kind of guy who filled up a room all by himself. If he could bottle and sell his brand of confidence, he’d have them lining up around the block. What wouldn’t she give for a bottle right now?
“This part is a dream role, one that could mean big things for my career. It’s my chance to make the transition from modeling to acting.”
Ally nodded. “But you’ve had a couple of film roles already.” She’d taken time out from Geena’s lecture about restraints and nipple clamps to research all she could about him.
He waved one hand dismissively. “Small stuff. This time I get to prove I can really act.” The line of his lips hardened. “But if I don’t measure up, I might not get another chance. That’s where you come in.”
The expectation he was dumping on her made her mouth dry, and she had to stop herself from swallowing. Max’s gaze was too sharply perceptive to allow her nervousness to show. But Barry had been observant and she’d learned how to fool him — she’d had to in order to survive. At least Max’s face wasn’t just strong, it was also kind. When she’d met Barry she hadn’t recognized the cruelty that lay just beneath the surface. She’d never make that mistake again. Max intimidated her, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Not when the small lines in the corners of his eyes hinted at somebody more used to laughing than frowning.
“Thomas Barnes was a very powerful man. I don’t know why he felt the need to subjugate himself to Cora. But she controlled him.” Max leaned forward. It wasn’t just the perfect symmetry of his face that made him such a commanding presence. He radiated determination. He knew exactly what he wanted, and she had absolutely no doubt he’d get it, no matter what.
Ally nodded again, in what she hoped was a knowing way. At least after her long talk with Geena she knew enough to wing it. “Did he wear a collar?”
“Nothing like that. But Cora gave him orders. She told him what to eat and when to sleep.”
Did Max think Thomas’s submissive relationship made him weak? She had to admit, she’d never met anyone less submissive than Max. Even the way he splayed his legs and stretched his arm along the back of the couch said he was used to being in charge. Tell him what to do? She couldn’t imagine it. But if she got this job, she’d have to.
“Thomas did everything Cora told him to. He broke the law and betrayed everything he’d worked for. He even killed for her.”
“She told him to kill people and he did it?”
“That’s right.”
“Who’d he kill?”
Before he could answer, there was a knock at the door. “Room service.”
“Come in,” called Max.
A waiter let himself in and put their drinks on the coffee table before leaving. Ally tasted her martini. Mmm, chocolatey deliciousness. She could get used to this. Then she caught herself. She wasn’t there for fun, but to do a job. An Evening with Max Oberon, by Ally Dennis. Ally took note of what kind of beer Max had ordered so she could mention it in the article.
“Have you heard of method acting?” Max sipped his beer, and when she shook her head he put it down and leaned back, getting comfortable. “It’s when you immerse yourself in a character, even while you’re not on set. You inhabit that character, trying to become them, to prepare yourself for the role.”
She took another gulp of the velvety chocolate martini. It slid far too easily down her throat and warmed the pit of her stomach. Careful, Ally. Remember these things are delicious but deadly.
“It can be quite an intense experience. To lose yourself in somebody else.” His gaze locked on hers and a shiver ran over her skin. She could lose herself in the blue of his eyes, for sure.
“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “Have you done this kind of thing before?”
“Never for a character like this. Thomas isn’t the kind of man I find easy to understand.” He picked up his beer again. Maybe it was her strong drink going straight to her head — she’d been too nervous to eat before she came — but she found herself captivated by his lips when they curved to take a sip. They were such a nice shape. “To be honest, Ally, I’ve always called the shots and that’s the way I like it.”
“But you need to let go of that.” It came out hoarse. So he couldn’t take orders and she wasn’t sure she could give them. Darn it, she could barely think straight when he looked at her like that. How was she going to do this?
“Let’s give it a try.” He got up. “I’ll grab a couple of scripts. We can run through a scene from the movie and see where it takes us.”
He disappeared into the bedroom and she scrunched her hands into fists and screamed silently at herself. Ally, get it together. So far he’s directing the evening, but a real dominatrix would be the one taking charge.
“Here.” He
handed her a thick wad of paper and sat next to her with his own copy. “We’ll start from page…” He flicked through it. “Page 48.”
It was a page of dialogue between Thomas and Cora. She should read ahead to find out what the scene was about, but she was too hyper-aware of the way Max’s knee was almost touching hers. This close, she could smell his cologne. It was a deep, rich scent that made her want to lean forward and bury her nose in the defined V-shaped area where his neck met his shoulder.
“Thomas has asked Cora to meet him at a hotel. Supposedly he’s setting up a meeting with one of his drug contacts, but when she arrives he’s the only one there.” He nodded at the page in front of her. “Cora still thinks Thomas is a minor player on the drug scene who’s looking to expand his operation. In this scene she finds out he’s really an undercover detective.” He glanced at the page, then back at her. “Are you alone?” he asked in a voice totally unlike his own, with an accent that sounded British.
For a moment she didn’t understand. Then she stared down at the script, searching for her line. She cleared her throat self-consciously before she read. “Of course. Where is he?”
“He’s not coming. I wanted to speak in private. Your house is bugged and the police are listening.”
“How do you know?” Ally tried to make it sound like she wasn’t reading. It wasn’t polished like his delivery, especially with the accent that transformed him into someone else entirely. But to her ears it still sounded pretty good. Hey, maybe she wasn’t too bad at this.
“Because I’m the one who planted the bugs.”
His British accent was sexy as hell. She tried not to let it distract her while she read her line. “You’re a cop?”
“That’s right.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I… I…” The script directions said for Max to sound hesitant, but his lowered eyes made it look like he really was lost for words. His confident manner was transformed into uncertainty. He’d morphed into Thomas in front of her eyes, and the change was astonishing.