by Angel Payne
Beckett chuckled, along with most of the men, at Dan’s little slip. “As you wish, monsieur wanker.”
Tess tossed an eye roll toward Jen’s. It wasn’t like everyone couldn’t figure things out from there, or that the word “submissive” was such a stigma, at least in this crowd. Not that Jen herself had ever tried that stuff before…
Though she’d certainly dreamed about it.
And maybe, on a few occasions, let Mr. Bliss Bullet help a little with those dreams. To be tied down. Spread wide. Utterly vulnerable to a man’s every desire and pleasure…
Fantasies for a different time. A much different place. And yes, a reality very likely never to happen. A Dominant who probably didn’t exist. A man who’d earn her submission with the strength of his character as well as his sensuality…who’d know that the power she gave was his to borrow, not to keep…and had some damn good ideas about what to do with that loan, too…
A man who wasn’t real.
But before nine months ago, she didn’t think a man like Sam could be real, either.
If he was a Dom, too…
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
But like a child being ordered not to look at the sun…
She looked.
To find him looking back. Intensely. Oh, God. His dark ginger lashes didn’t falter. Determination was practically carved into his cheeks and jaw. In an instant, Jen got the impression that he, too, was considering her name and submissive in the same sentence—and savoring the speculation. A lot.
Ohhhh, God.
Her stomach twisted. Her heartbeat thudded at the base of her throat. And she didn’t even want to think about what was happening between her thighs. Liar. You want to think about nothing else.
Thankfully, everyone started drifting toward the terrace. There was no better chance to excuse herself. After a break for fresh makeup—and self-composure—in the ladies room, she could re-center her balance in these shoes—and pray the same happened with her thoughts about Sam Mackenna.
At least she could do all that in comfort. The stalls in the Nyte’s ladies room were bigger than most New York City lofts, each outfitted with a commode in a separate compartment, accessed through a little sitting room with a vanity and stool. The vanity was stocked with everything from cotton balls and makeup fix-its to sewing kits and—yes—an impressive selection of condoms. She nodded in approval after sitting down and pulling out her makeup tote. Elusive or not, Mr. Nyte scored extra points for advocating safe sex.
She almost took back the approval when one of the shiny packets caught her attention. She held it up, reading the label just to be sure. “Spikes? What the hell?”
She was about to tear open the package—for research purposes only, of course—but was startled when raucous giggles shattered the stillness of the bathroom. The condom dropped from her fingers and into her tote. She didn’t fish it out, frozen in place by pure instinct. An impulse that told her the laughter wasn’t friendly fire.
Sometimes, she really hated her intuition’s accuracy.
“Honestly, if you aren’t laughing at her, you’re crying for her.” The words, battered in bitch then deep-fried in snide, were capped by a sniff that was all Mattie.
“Speak for yourself.” Viv’s comeback was accompanied by brisk clacks across the marble. She stepped into the next stall over. Jen held her breath—not helpful for the flush crawling up her face—as the woman peed with a vigor matching her tone. “I refuse to waste the tears. I mean, that shit was semi-forgivable when we were kids. Who does she think she’s fooling with it anymore?”
“Right?” Out front, Mattie shifted. There was the pop of a blush compact. The snap of a lipstick tube. “She has to know how to walk a straight line in heels by this point. Isn’t that just a basic thing, like learning to shave your legs or brush your teeth?”
“Well, she works at the base. She’s in HR—or whatever they call that in the military. Maybe the work keeps her on her feet a lot, and—”
“Heels aren’t outlawed on military bases, V.” Another feline sniff. More makeup utensils being unsheathed. “I have seen Top Gun. Whose side are you on?”
“Why are there sides?”
Jen dipped a silent yet emphatic nod. Her thought exactly.
“Perhaps because thorny didn’t pull her little face plant until she walked into the salon and saw Sam sitting there—with me?”
Jen was glad jaw drops could be noiseless too.
“Wait. You think she’s making a play for Sam?”
“What else would she be doing?” All the makeup clattered back into the purse at once, perfectly timed so Jen could at least get out a gasp. “Come on. Nobody’s that much of a train wreck just because.”
Viv hummed. “Good point. Wait. You’re not actually worried about this, are you?”
“Bitch, please. The day I sweat a drop about little Jennifer Thorne is the day I buy a cat and look for assisted living. Let’s get real. Even if I wasn’t in the picture this weekend, Captain Mackenna wouldn’t be tapping on that girl’s door—or anything else of hers. The little one is way, way out of her league.”
“True…”
But the catch in Viv’s voice was blatant.
“What?” Mattie charged.
“It’s just…we said the same thing about Tess and Dan.”
“Which supports my theory further.”
“Oh?”
“Nature’s not going to allow another lightning strike under their geeky little rock so soon.”
Viv’s laughter echoed through the bathroom, a more than ample mask for the wince sneaking past Jen’s lips—accompanied by the sting behind her eyes.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was wrong with her? She already agreed with everything they said, so why was she letting it scrape out her chest like a rusty razor blade?
“So what’s your plan of attack now?”
Fortunately, Viv asked it as they exited the bathroom. Jen didn’t have to hear Mattie’s response—not that the damage wasn’t already done. Her anger reared first. Sam was not the object of any “plan”. He was better than that, damn it—at least to her. But who was she to assume he’d hate that? He was a man. A lot of man. Men liked that “plan of attack” shit, especially when orchestrated by a blonde with breasts and thighs they could get buried in.
All too fast, that brought on the image of Sam doing exactly that—with Mattie.
The tears returned.
Hard, heavy, and fast.
She folded her arms atop the vanity, sank her head over them, and let the flood come.
After several minutes of the pity party, she pulled in a messy sniff. Raised her head. Groaned aloud at her raccoon eyes in the mirror, which were fixable to a point thanks to the accessories in her bag, but no longer presentable for an occasion like her friend’s wedding rehearsal dinner. Her cry stains could only be reversed by time. And solitude.
She pulled out her phone then tapped out a fast—and lame—message to Tess, bullshitting that her ankle had twisted worse than she feared, and she would ice it to be ready for tomorrow. Thank God Tess had opted simply for three bridesmaids instead of picking a maid of honor, excusing Jen from any blatant toasting duties at the dinner.
Now all she had to do was get her ass into the elevator and back up to her room.
For a second, she was sorely tempted to just head home instead, but Tess and Dan had insisted on treating everyone in the wedding party to a couple of nights in the hotel, being pampered in the luxury for which the Nyte was known across the world. And yeah, a spread of decadent room service fare sure as hell sounded better than a pint of Häagen-Dazs for dinner—though she was sure the ice cream would make its way into her order. Probably between the long bubble bath of self-pity and the hours of denying her humiliation by getting lost in a good book, instead. She had at least four in progress on her e-reader right now. The two historical romances were out, and so was the tor
mented firefighter, but the space opera shape-shifter tale felt like a good choice. Nothing like something with a lot of teeth and fur to bring empathy to what she really felt like doing to Mattie Lesange right now—or what she’d really feel like doing in a few hours, when she knew the woman would be slipping a room key into Sam’s back pocket. Oh God, she hoped the hotel hadn’t blocked all their rooms next to each other.
That thought alone, layered atop the memory of Sam’s intense stare from fifteen minutes ago, fisted her chest with fresh pain. She stabbed at the elevator call button, the glowing dial blurring past her new tears. “Come on, come on.”
The doors finally slid open. Thank God.
“Jen!”
Sam’s shout was followed by his charging footsteps.
“Shit.” She hissed it while rushing into the lift, pounding just as frantically at the buttons inside. She missed her floor by three digits but there’d be time to correct that once she’d gotten away. “Hurry up,” she ordered the doors. “Come on!”
A hand, powerful and tense, jammed into the opening.
A Scot, hulking and scowling, barged into the car.
And ripped the remaining breath from her throat.
Jen backed into the corner. So not a smart choice. Inside three seconds, she was pinned there, unable to lift her head and see anything but Sam, broad shoulders blocking her light. Smell anything but him, all forest and cedar and leather. Feel anything but his energy, volatile but focused. Completely on her.
“Sam.” Oh, yay. Her inner Sofía still wasn’t cooperating. Saucy and sexy, she was not. Awkward and ridiculous, on the other hand…
“Jennifer.”
For a second, she forgot about being nervous. “Jennifer?”
“Would you prefer Jennifer Josephine Thorne?”
“Would you prefer to keep your teeth?”
The elevator started to ascend. He tilted his head, letting his eyes dip over her face then back up again. Though they glittered brighter than ever, his mouth stuck to a no-nonsense line.
“What happened?” He barely lifted it past a murmur. He didn’t have to. Oh damn, he was so close. So big and hard and—
Don’t do it. Don’t touch him. No matter how tempting that cord in his neck, those slabs of his chest, that plane of his shoulder, or the thousand other places you want to explore…
“What happened when?”
He closed his eyes, as if praying to a higher power for patience. “You know when. Just now, in the bathroom, with Mattie and Viv. They walked in not long after you, then came back out lookin’ like their eggs had two yolks.”
“Huh?”
“Too far left of themselves.”
“Huh?”
His lips thinned. His gaze sharpened. The expression might’ve been only nominally daunting if he didn’t reinforce it by leaning in close, bracing his forearms to the lift’s walls over her head. “Just tell me what happened.”
Jen forced down a breath. Another. She watched his pulse throb at the base of his throat. Let her gaze descend to where his taut, golden skin disappeared into the V of his shirt. “Why? Because it’s suddenly your business?”
He was silent. For way too long. Which only curled his heavy, dark growl deep into her blood.
“Jen.”
She gulped again.
“Jenny.”
God. When was the last time she’d been called that? Never. And had it ordered at her in that deep purr… Her senses felt punched through the elevator’s roof, up the shaft, into the endless stars outside.
“Wh-what?”
“Look at me.”
She had no choice. He controlled her then, his voice like velvet strings, tugging her sights up. Over his taut jaw. Across the defined curves of his lips. Into his quicksilver eyes, fixed on her.
“What happened in the bathroom?”
She gulped. Holy shit, he was beautiful. An angel’s flawless face atop a demon’s perfect body. His stance pulled his shirt tight across his chest. Every molded mound of muscle was outlined for her gawking pleasure.
Don’t think of pleasure. Not here, not now. Don’t think of how amazing he’d feel if you just reached up a few inches and—
“It was about—”
She huffed.
And that was going to make him back off?
“You. It was about you. Is that what you want to hear?”
“Me?” His stance didn’t falter despite the confusion crumpling his face. “Why?”
It felt good to laugh. “You’re kidding, right?” When he glowered, she retorted, “You’re not a dumb guy, Sam. That woman wants you—and intends to have you.”
“A couple of hours after meeting me?”
“It’s called a one-night fling, bucky. I’m sure you’ve heard of them? Perhaps even indulged?”
Sam snorted. “Not with someone I barely know.”
Her brow tightened. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Is that an issue?”
“Not here.” She held up her hands. “Just a little surprising.”
“Because you just expected we were all like Caleb and Dirk.”
A new laugh sprang up. That usually happened when anyone mentioned the inseparable pals from the Scottish team. The pair had really enjoyed their down time in Las Vegas—as well as half the city’s single female population.
Sam shifted closer. Locked his stare down harder. “If I had to entrust my life to either of those men, I would in an instant. But the social life of my tadger is a different story.”
“Your what?” She got her answer via his knowing grin—and the press of his lower body against hers. Hell. His shoulders, abs, and thighs weren’t the only…impressive…parts of him. “I—” she stammered. “I think—” She didn’t know what the bloody hell she thought. “So what does that mean?”
“It means I’m not going anywhere with Mattie Lesange tonight.”
“Thank God. Holy shit.” The last half escaped as soon as she realized the first had been spilled. “That’s not—I only meant that—” She wetted her lips. Instantly regretted it, as the move flared Sam’s eyes and nostrils at once. Damn. Damn. He was no longer her sweet, charming schoolgirl crush from the office. He was a looming, hungry saber tooth, rippling with power, only missing a pair of fangs to complete his primeval effect on her blood, her nerves, her skin.
“I know what you meant, Jenny.”
His voice tumbled through her like gravel in an hourglass. Every surface it touched was left with a scratch, freshly in danger of shattering. She trembled—
Then, as the elevators doors opened, gasped in gratitude.
Okay, she was three floors off. Not the time for beggars to be choosers. Or for women with burning blood and throbbing nerves to be concerned about burning off tension by trudging up some stairs.
Make that a lot of tension.
Except that—she took one step off the lift, and suddenly couldn’t move again. An iron grip latched around her elbow, halting her escape before it became one. She only wished that when she looked down at Sam’s hand, digging into her skin with blatant possessiveness, she hadn’t turned into an instant ball of molten mush.
“What the hell—”
She choked into silence as he pulled her down the hall to the guest suites. After passing two doors, he stopped. A key card somehow appeared in his other hand. Swiping it fast, he opened the door. With an equally swift tick of his head, he commanded her inside.
With her nerves racing, her heart exploding, and her brain screaming, Jen immediately, silently complied.
Chapter Two
‡
His suite was dark except for the dancing colors across the walls, thanks to the digital billboards along the Strip, fifty floors below. Jen reached and turned on the lights.
Sam turned them back off.
In the same sweep of motion, he backed her against the wall. Kept her locked there with the press of his huge body, the force of his steeled glare—
And the cr
ush of his dominant kiss.
A stunned mewl quivered up her throat. He snuffed it before it reached her lips. Consumed her with the sweep of his tongue, not stopping for innuendo or permission. He took over every corner of her mouth, licking into every crevice, leaving no confusion about his passionate purpose.
Holy shit.
Was this really happening?
She’d dreamed about it so many times. Tried to imagine how he’d feel, smell, taste, and look. But all of this was so much better. So much more. His muscles, big and dense, molded against hers. His fingers, long and forceful, twined into hers. His kiss, deep and consuming, taking over her. Gone was her sarcastic buddy from the office. In his place was a lover, bathed in golden light but defined by dark intent, pinning her wrists to the wall over her head…leaving her only one option with which to answer his passion.
Complete surrender.
With a groan, she softened, melted…gave in.
With an answering growl, Sam plunged deeper, harder, hotter.
Minutes—hours, perhaps, as if she cared—later, he dragged away far enough to bolt his gaze into her. An slow smile spread over his generous lips. “I’ve been dreamin’ of doin’ that for far too fuckin’ long.”
Jen softly laugh. “That makes two of us.”
He swallowed as if she’d just told him the governor had stayed his execution. “Why didn’t you tell me? Show me?”
She laughed louder. “Sorry. Hold on. One of the hottest pilots on the planet just asked me why I didn’t tell him how he’s helped me wear down a few vibrator batteries over the last nine months—because that’s something to mention at the water cooler.”
His lips parted. His gaze glittered. He lunged into her again, kissing her as if she’d turned into his life support. “Mention vibrators like that again, Jenny, and I’ll forget the private promise I made when bringin’ you in here.”
“What promise was that?”
“The one about bein’ a gentleman.”
She rolled her wrists against his hold. “This is being a gentleman?”