Hard Hand

by Sierra Cartwright

  The moment Cole entered the ballroom, she knew it, even without seeing him.

  Wisps of hair rose on her nape as the recognition of his power over her danced down her spine.

  Avery desperately wanted to turn and look at him, but she held off, continuing to smile and talk with attendees, pretending an interest she suddenly didn’t have.

  A tall, thin, gorgeous black singer stepped onto the stage in a catsuit and started to belt out the words to Fever.

  Avery watched, entranced as the performer strutted down the stairs to lean against the grand piano. At least a dozen men, snapping their fingers, emerged from behind the curtain to add to the seductive chorus.

  She had to admit, Miss Scarlet had done a spectacular job with the music and entertainment selections.

  Drawn by the pulse of primal energy in the room, Avery could no longer resist. She glanced over her shoulder to where she instinctively knew Cole was standing.

  That familiar spark of fear snaked through her, leaving her rooted to the spot, even though she wanted to go to him.

  A waiter passed by, and she snagged a flute. As she sipped, bubbles tickled her nose and heightened her senses. Avery watched the band and performers, trying to shut out thoughts of Cole.

  But the harder she tried, the more he occupied her mind.

  Every part of her yearned for a Dom. And tonight, not just any Dom. Cole.

  So, what am I going to do? The longer she thought about it, the more adrenaline flooded her body, making her jittery.

  He could have a girlfriend or submissive at home. Even if he didn’t, he could still reject her, but since he wouldn’t know who she was, her ego would remain intact.

  Since her hand was shaking, she crossed the room to put down her mostly untouched glass.

  This was her moment. If she deliberated too long, she might lose her opportunity.

  Her stomach dancing with butterflies, she traced the curlicue outline of her mask, drawing courage and reassurance from its anonymity. For tonight, if never again, she wanted to be the woman she was in her dreams.

  Avery chatted with some of the guests as she made her way across the room. She smiled until she thought her makeup might crack, all the while keeping an eye on him.

  Eventually—too soon and simultaneously not soon enough—she reached him.

  For a moment, her words lodged in her throat.

  The passage of time had only made him more attractive. The cut of his expensive tailored tuxedo should have made him look civilized. It didn’t.

  Her nerves doubled.

  “Evening.” His voice was like the finest liqueur, rich and deep with a hint of sweetness laced through the danger.

  Rockets of arousal shot through her. She forced herself to pretend she didn’t know who he was and that she wasn’t a bundle of apprehension. “Glad to have you at Miss Scarlet’s birthday party.”

  “Cole Stewart.”

  “A pleasure to meet you. I’m—” She thought for a moment through the onslaught of apprehension. Finally, she seized on a name. “Layla.” Avery accepted his large hand, and her knees buckled. Instantly, she caught herself, but she was stunned by the strength of her instinct to kneel for him. No doubt, even women who weren’t into BDSM would recognize his authority.

  “Layla,” he echoed with a slight, mocking smile, as if he didn’t believe her.

  He continued to hold her, and his grip was as powerful as she’d expected. It wasn’t crushing, however. Cole clearly knew his strength and harnessed it.

  “And what do you do?”

  “I’m a project accountant for a construction firm. Not very glamorous, but I enjoy it.”

  “You like having everything neat and tidy?”

  “I’ve never looked at it that way.” She shrugged. Even without knowing her, he’d made an accurate guess, not that she was surprised.

  “But?”

  “You’re right. Math is absolute. And I do enjoy chasing down discrepancies so that the numbers add up.” How much was he willing to reveal in return? “And you, Mr. Stewart?”

  “Consulting. I work for Hawkeye Securities.”

  She’d heard of them. They provided protective services for high-profile clients. Yet she didn’t want to let on how much she knew about him. “Oh?”

  “I work with owners of large buildings to make them more…comfortable for some of our clients.”

  Like billionaires, celebrities, and royalty, she surmised. Curiosity drove her next question. “Does it involve a lot of travel?”

  “It can. I’m based out of our Las Vegas office, but since we’re worldwide, that’s a technicality. I have a home here, but I don’t spend much time in it. As you said about your job, it’s not very glamorous. Staring at blueprints and making recommendations that people don’t want to follow.” He gave a wry grin, and then the conversation hit a natural lull.

  What the hell should she say next? I can’t help but notice how commanding you appear. Are you a Dom?

  “Which are you?”

  Perplexed, she frowned. It was as if he’d read her mind. “I’m sorry?”

  “It’s a saints or sinners masquerade.” He traced a finger around the corner of her mask. For a heart-stopping moment, she thought he might try to take it off her. “I’d say a saint?” He swept his gaze over her. “But in that dress?”

  “Ah—”

  “There’s something innocent about you, but you didn’t answer immediately to tell me you were a saint. So that makes me wonder.”

  This was her chance. He’d offered the opening she hungered for, but her boldness wavered.

  Cole leaned forward, indicating his interest in her answer.

  Then abruptly, the music ended. Shocked, she turned toward the stage. Whatever was happening wasn’t on the program she’d approved a few days ago.

  In true gentlemanly form, Cole steadied her by placing his hand on the bare skin of her back.

  Electricity arced up her spine to settle at her nape. If she had this kind of reaction to his touch, what would it be like to submit?

  A spotlight hit the stage, and the band struck up a fun version of Happy Birthday.

  As she watched with Cole’s hand still firmly on her spine, four men in skintight clothing wheeled out a gigantic cake. The thing had numerous layers and a great big candle on the top.

  Cole leaned closer, his breath warm on her ear. “Where’s Miss Scarlet?”

  “No idea,” she whispered back.

  A chorus line of women in feathers and little else began to sing as the band launched a second run-through of the song.

  When they reached the happy birthday, Miss Scarlet part, the top of the cake exploded open, and Miss Scarlet emerged.

  The crowd cheered. Avery clapped wildly. She should have suspected her great-aunt would dazzle, but Avery had never guessed she’d make such a stunning entrance.

  The song ended, and Miss Scarlet blew kisses as she waved. A hundred cell phones were pulled out and guests snapped pictures.

  Men, in their gold paint, lined up in front of her. Then, in the silence, she dove forward.

  Stunned gasps rippled through the guests as she hung suspended in midair, her chin cupped seductively in her palm and her knees bent in a way that made her gown billow about her.

  As one, the men undulated, reaching to guide her down, and a spotlight reflected off the silver wire Avery hadn’t noticed until now.

  As she’d been doing for more than half a century, Miss Scarlet commanded the room while wearing a towering headdress and elaborate costume.

  “Isn’t she fabulous?” Avery asked Cole.

  “She is indeed.”

  Rather than leaving the stage, Miss Scarlet took a place in front of the chorus line.

  A song Avery didn’t immediately remember began to play, and a man in a top hat sauntered onto the stage. He stood there, appearing mysterious as a woman strolled in front of him.

  Several seconds in, Avery recognized the tune, I’m a Good Girl, in w
hich the performer was anything but.

  Toward the end of the song, Miss Scarlet was plucked from the stage. In her glittery stilettos, she wrapped herself around the guidewire and made a sensual writhing motion before turning to shake her backside at the crowd.

  Several dozen more female cast members exploded onto the scene, wriggling their feathered rears while the male performers raised their eyebrows as well as their top hats.

  The full-on burlesque number rocked the room.

  Cole said something, and Avery leaned in to hear him.

  “She’s amazing,” he repeated.

  “Every day she wows me,” Avery confessed.

  As the song segued into a new one, a spotlight hit the stage, and a curtain was pulled back. A showstopping rocking horse dominated the scene, at least ten feet tall and ungelded. On his back was a woman dressed in a corset and tulle skirt. As the stallion moved back and forth, the woman undulated her hips provocatively.

  Avery watched, shocked and riveted, aware of the way Cole was still touching her and the heat that was flowing through her. It wasn’t just from him, but from the raw sex oozing from the cabaret show.

  “What do you think?” Cole asked against her ear.

  A tremor splashed through her. This was the opening she’d wanted.

  Avery turned slightly, grateful she was incognito and could be someone she wasn’t, even if it was just for this moment. This time, she prayed courage didn’t desert her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cole narrowed his eyes and wondered what the hell game Avery was playing.

  No matter how clever she thought she’d been in not using her real name and hiding behind a mask, he would know the beauty anywhere.

  Her eyes were wide and luminous, innocent yet provocative. She’d cut her hair, changed from brown to blonde, and added streaks of color.

  And none of that mattered.

  Her curves were the kind he remembered. His reaction to her was visceral, the same as it had been six months ago when he’d seen her at the Back Room.

  He’d thought she might approach him that night. Instead, she vanished.

  The next day, he asked mutual friends about her. He learned she was single and that she’d had a bad experience with a Dom.

  Her attempt at casual conversation had charmed him. She’d been seeking out information about his job and where he lived. He didn’t need a background as an operative to figure out she was interested in him.

  Cole glanced at her ring finger. Bare. But her necklace intrigued him. It was bold, made from interlocking pieces of silver that snuggled against the base of her throat. It didn’t appear to be a collar, though it was close enough that he couldn’t be certain. Of course, no one who wasn’t in the lifestyle would even question the piece of jewelry.

  The song ended, and another began, the routine something like the world-famous Rockettes would perform, with high, exciting kicks and energy.

  The adorably submissive Avery shifted her weight from one foot to the other, radiating her discomfort. If his guess was correct, she wanted to be on her knees with his hand tangled in her hair, awaiting his command. Right now, if he had a choice, that command would be to suck his cock.

  The burlesque show ended, and the performers received a standing ovation.

  As the stage was cleared, the band segued into another Frank Sinatra signature song, making it a bit easier to talk. A few couples wandered onto the dance floor, and he had no intention of letting her vanish a second time. “Shall we?” he invited.

  Her mouth parted slightly, and he was tempted to kiss away her hesitation.

  Where the hell did that thought come from? The tender impulse shocked him. He was not a man given to romance. To distract himself, he held out a hand.

  A few seconds later, she accepted.

  It was the first step toward dominating her.

  On the parquet dance floor, he led to the slow beat, and she followed in flawless moves. Her skin felt luxurious. No matter what he asked for with his body, she responded. Would she behave the same way in private? Suddenly, he was anxious to get her out of that dress.

  The tune ended.

  By unspoken accord, they crossed the room to stand near a group of people flocked around Miss Scarlet. She held an open black fan emblazoned with a sequined kitten, and as she spoke, she waved the thing around.

  Avery remained close to him, as if they were a couple. It surprised him how much he welcomed that idea.

  A waiter passed by with champagne, and Cole asked if she would like one.

  “Thank you. No.” She shook her head. “I think I’ve had enough.”

  “Good.” He wanted her sober enough to play with him later. “Tell me about your jewelry,” he invited.

  “Sorry?”

  “Your necklace.”

  Behind the mask, her eyes widened. She fingered one of the links, probably without being aware of the act.

  “Does it have any significance?”

  “Something I bought myself recently at an art festival downtown.”

  “Intriguing,” he said.

  “How so?”

  He was done allowing her to hide. “I wondered if it might indicate an interest in bondage.”

  “Bondage.” She dropped her hand. “Is that something you’re into, Mr. Stewart?”

  “I generally don’t discuss my personal life in a public setting.”

  “But you’re the one who brought it up.”

  He wondered if she had any idea how breathless her voice was. “So I did. And the answer is yes. Do you know anything about it?”

  She was saved from an answer when Miss Scarlet breezed over in a cloud of perfume.

  “You were marvelous,” Avery enthused.

  The woman’s smile lit the room. “You are the only person at my party I don’t recognize.” She turned toward him.

  “Cole Stewart, consulting for the Royal Sterling on security matters. I’m afraid I’m an interloper.”

  “Handsome young men are always welcome in my life. If I were half a century younger, I’d be chasing you myself.”

  Avery gasped. “Miss Scarlet!”

  “Oh, hush.” She playfully rapped the fan on the back of Avery’s hand. “It’s nothing he hasn’t heard a million times.”

  “The first time from a legend, however,” he replied.

  “Oh, you are a charmer.” She offered her gloved hand, and he raised it to his lips.

  “A pleasure, Miss Scarlet. Your entrance was spectacular.”

  “It was fun. And I do enjoy leaping into the arms of strong young men. I’ll be doing that for my ninetieth as well.”

  “I believe it.”

  Her attention was claimed by admirers wearing old-fashioned black-and-white-striped prison garb. Sinners, no doubt.

  “If you’ll excuse me?” Miss Scarlet didn’t wait for an answer before flipping open the kitty fan and moving off, leaving him alone again with Avery.

  “Where were we?” He figured he’d give her the opportunity to pursue or avoid the question he’d asked her earlier.

  “We were talking about bondage.” Despite her comment about the necklace not being a collar, she absently touched it again. Then, as if realizing that she was fidgeting, she stilled and lowered her hand. “And yes, I’m familiar with it.”

  “You’re a submissive.”

  “What?”

  Cole often worked undercover, and he was skilled at blending in. He could adapt to any environment, appear to be anyone. But a one-on-one relationship was different. After the emotional turmoil left behind when Gia moved out for the third time in a fit of hysteria, he wanted honesty, even if it was uncomfortable and ugly.

  For this moment, he’d let her shield her identity, but his tolerance wouldn’t last. “You’ve ascertained I’m a Dom.”

  “I…” She licked her upper lip.

  “Admit it.” He leaned in a little closer to her, not enough to intimidate her but enough to let her know that, to him, there were no o
ther people in the room. “Something in you responds to me intuitively, female to male. You won’t deny that.”

  Avery lowered her gaze before shaking her head and looking back up at him.

  “What color is your thong?” he asked.

  She choked. “Excuse me?”

  Avery—Layla—lifted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, but Cole took it from her. “You said you’d had enough. If you’d like this conversation to go any further, you need to drink something nonalcoholic. Your choice.”

  For a moment, she was contemplative. In her eyes, her struggle played out. She clearly wanted to go forward, and she seemed to be fighting for nerve to say so. When she answered, her voice was barely discernible over the band. “Sparkling water.”

  “Lime?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  He left her long enough to head to the bar and fetch her a drink. When he returned, she hadn’t moved, and she was again tracing the interlocking links on her necklace. He offered her the glass. “I’m waiting for your answer.”

  “How do you know I’m wearing a thong?”

  “No panty lines. And you don’t strike me as a woman who would skip her foundation garments unless her Dom told her to.” He grinned. “How was my guess?”

  She traced the rim of her glass before meeting his gaze. “It’s black.”

  “Lacy.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Take it off.”

  She blinked.

  “You can do it here, or you may excuse yourself to the ladies’ room.”

  “I didn’t bring a purse down with me.” She blinked, then took a deep drink.

  “Do you need me to problem solve this for you?” He fought to suppress a smile. There was no doubt he’d shocked her. But she hadn’t refused him. He let his question hang for a few seconds before adding, “Or are you going to do as you’re told?”

  Avery hesitated for a moment, opening and then closing her mouth.

  “I’ll go with you,” he decided.

  “That won’t be necessary.”

  “On the contrary.”

  He saw the question in her gaze. Then he noticed the way she glanced around the ballroom, seeking out her great-aunt.