Too Much: A Loveswept Contemporary Erotic Romance (All or Nothing)

by Lea Griffith

  Too Much is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Original

  Copyright © 2014 by Lea Griffith

  Excerpt from Heat by Jamie K. Schmidt copyright © 2014 by Jamie K. Schmidt

  Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-553-39069-8

  Cover design: Georgia Morrissey

  Cover photograph: MarishaSha/Shutterstock

  www.readloveswept.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Heat

  Chapter 1

  The song’s beat was hard and heavy, and like the darkened club, it made her vibrate with need. So many things she’d tried to forget, yet every pulse of the music pushing through the big black speakers above her had Daly’s heart squeezing and thumping, slow and deliberate. It was incredibly erotic how her blood moved in time with the music, tripping along with the notes and breaking like waves in her veins. Heat settled in her stomach, drifted lower, and she squeezed her thighs together. She would have fallen had she not been leaning on a chair. Every shift on her stiletto heels brought a mild panic that only served to increase her need.

  Forms moved sinuously on the dance floor, touching and pulling apart, melding and spinning away. Her gaze took it all in—the flashing strobe lights and the dim corners, the bodies writhing all about. Muscles rippled, hips flexed, and heads were thrown back in either ecstasy or pain. Maybe one heightening the other until it was a combination of the two.

  It was Friday night and The Underground was loud and raucous, much more so than she’d imagined. The members-only exclusive dungeon was a haven for those seeking pleasures of the extreme variety. Bondage and discipline, dominance and submission, and kink of all varieties were served up under the watchful eyes of the dungeon monitors situated throughout the establishment. Jeremiah Copeland had created a sanctuary for people who enjoyed their sex with a side of spice. People just like him.

  Daly shivered, felt the sensation echo in her soul, and wondered if the last three years had changed him.

  Her gaze touched on the gorgeous layout of the BDSM club. Everything about it reflected the dark desires of the man who owned it. There was a long, wooden bar along almost the entire length of the left wall, and several leather couches sat in clusters throughout the main room. There was also a large dance floor made of the same deeply golden wood as the bar; strobe lights from the ceiling ricocheted off its shine. Intricate iron sconces were placed at precise intervals along the walls and two life-sized iron birdcages hung from the vaulted ceilings, each holding a single woman dressed in a burgundy corset, fishnet stockings, and nothing else. They danced erotically with the intent to seduce.

  Daly cleared her throat. She’d never stepped foot in this club before tonight, and still, memories taunted her. She had loved dancing with him, the man she was here to see. The feel of his hands on her waist, the shift of his body against hers. His breath in her ear, the taste of him on her tongue.

  She drew in a rough breath and forced herself to concentrate. Three years was a long time to be apart. Surely time enough for her to have gotten over this kind of visceral reaction, yet fear of that very thing had been agonizing her this entire week.

  The only sounds that could be heard above the music were those of leather floggers meeting flesh, the snap of whips, the jingle of chains, and pleas for release. It was harsh but enticing at the same time.

  “You’ve been standing there for twenty minutes.”

  The voice made her straighten her spine and its dangerous tone had Daly clenching her fists. But the man behind her, while important, wasn’t the man she’d come here to see.

  “I’ll stand here for twenty, a hundred, a thousand more if need be,” she warned.

  “I’m sure every man here would appreciate that. But he won’t.”

  She turned her head at that, encountering a familiar brown gaze but barely recognizing the man she’d grown up idolizing.

  “What happened to your face, Toby?”

  He shrugged. “Got cut, Daly.”

  She snorted and turned back to watch the dance floor. The beat changed to something even slower and more intense, calling to the wildness that prowled under her skin.

  Daly heard Toby’s sigh and wanted to smile. He was her brother; at one time he’d been her best friend. Now he was a stranger with a scarred face and no patience. It was heartening somehow to know Toby’s tolerance hadn’t changed.

  She glanced around, searching for him. Was he even here? What the hell would she do if he was involved in play with a submissive? She hadn’t thought this through very well.

  Her gaze snagged on a couple in the farthest corner. They were playing, and their scene stopped Daly’s breath. The woman stood bound with black rope to a wooden Saint Andrew’s cross. The thought of being bound was enough to titillate some, but the act itself, giving over complete control to a Dom, letting him bind her body and will with his rope, had been Daly’s undoing in the past.

  For just a moment it was Daly’s small frame crisscrossed by the ropes and highlighted by the large X at her back. It was her long, brown hair peeking from under the bloodred hood. It was her pale, slender back wearing the marks from her Dom’s flogger. It was her hoarse pleas floating on the air.

  The picture superimposed on reality then disintegrated. The Dom and his submissive were not her and Jeremiah. No matter how much in that moment she wished they were.

  The woman hissed and yelped as her Dom’s flogger flicked a nipple. He was a giant compared to the fragile female, yet her screams were of ecstasy. Her Dom was caring for her needs even as he took care of his own. The beauty of the scene made Daly’s eyes water.

  She shook her head. “Where is he?”

  Her voice wavered and she wanted to curse. Coming here was a bad idea; she knew this. But he wouldn’t return her calls and she had no idea where he lived now. She did know he was a successful shipping magnate and owned several properties in and around Atlanta, one of them being this entire building that housed The Underground.

  Her meager research told her nothing more than he was rich and still liked his kink. A part of her understood but didn’t like knowing he frequented his club. It hurt.

  Like so many hurts in her life, she push
ed it aside.

  Toby grunted. “Here.”

  “No shit, Sherlock,” she bit out. Toby grunted again and she rolled her eyes. “So how about you take me to your boss?”

  He didn’t answer, but his gaze sliced to her. She raised her chin and met his glare. After long moments of trying to intimidate her, he grinned, and Daly wanted to weep. His beautiful face was bisected now by a long diagonal scar that ran the length of his left cheek from hairline to chin. It was a testament to the bad shit that often happened around Toby and his boss. She’d heard through the grapevine that that had changed. For her brother’s sake, she hoped it was true.

  The right side of Toby’s face remained unmarked and as gorgeous as ever. In that split second, she mourned the loss of their innocence. Toby had been her port in every storm when she was younger. When Daly left his boss, Toby broke off contact with her. That still stung.

  She shoved her memories away and looked him in the eye. “We gonna stand here all night?”

  “Grew a set, did ya?” He looked her up and down and finally let out a deep breath. “I can’t. He doesn’t want you near him.”

  Oh, the hurt was vicious. It prickled the skin over her heart and sank deep into the organ Jeremiah once owned. The pain spread like poison, and she bit her lip trying to hold back a scream as the old wounds reopened. Toby watched it all, and she knew the shadow in his eyes was pity.

  That pity was why she lifted her chin higher and narrowed her gaze.

  “Aw, he’s still feeling the bitter sting of rejection? I hate to say it, but good.” She didn’t fool Toby. He simply arched a brow. “Tell you what, Tob, he can come down here to me or I can put you on your ass and go to him.” She stepped forward but turned and pointed across the club to the mirrored area above the bar. Her move put her right beside her brother, and she could tell by the sudden tension riding his shoulders that he was shocked. She waved and blew a kiss toward the mirror.

  Let the man whose gaze she could feel like a tactile caress suck on that one.

  “You’re baiting him,” Toby said between clenched teeth. His big chest moved up and down, and something like a cough spilled from him.

  She looked up at Toby and shrugged. “I have a message to deliver—a little something that was left on my front porch. So what’s it gonna be? You on your ass with me up there in his face? Or him down here with me in his face?”

  Toby clammed up again and said nothing.

  Daly sighed. Loudly. “I’m a total badass now, Tob. Seriously, you don’t wanna mess with me.” She amazed herself by keeping a straight face. Badass she was not. That was one reason she’d failed miserably as a cop.

  Toby took a step back and Daly almost laughed, until the air around her charged and she caught a whiff of cedar. She wondered if she glowed, with the electricity arcing between her and her prey.

  “Nirvana is not the blowing out of the candle. It is the extinguishing of the flame because day is come.” His voice was deep … moving.

  She shuddered, and could no more have prevented the agony flowing through her than she could have stopped breathing. It escaped on a moan, and she wanted to rail against the injustice of that. It had been over two and half years since she’d seen him. Three since he’d touched her. But Jeremiah Copeland still had the power to command her responses.

  It was more than the deep timbre of his voice warming places she had thought frozen, and more than the loss she felt at hearing it.

  It was his use of the name he’d always called her—a shortened version of her own … Day. Perhaps his use of the private game they played with each other so long ago added to the pain. Whatever it was, the words tore into her, leaving devastation in their wake.

  She could not turn around. She would not turn around. “Rabindranath Tagore,” she answered, naming the author of the quote.

  Daly glanced at Toby. His face was granite, but there was pity still shining brightly in his eyes. She straightened her spine and cleared her throat. To the man at her back she said, “Day knows the secrets you try to hide but returns time and time again.”

  She turned then and absorbed the sucker punch. How could she have forgotten his rugged strength—the wide shoulders, thick chest, and slim hips? His long, strong legs and big hands? How could she have misremembered the glacial blue-gray magnificence of his eyes, the sculpted cheekbones and the taunting curve of his lips?

  Their gazes met, and the distance between them fell away while hollowness filled her at the same time. How would she be able to survive this meeting without touching him or begging him to touch her?

  He cocked his head, forehead wrinkling as his brows lowered. A single lock of hair fell from its place and she noticed the gray at his temples. He was only thirty, but good God, what that gray managed to do for him was unbelievable. She wanted to sink her hands into his hair and pull him down to meet … stop it.

  Her body didn’t listen. Her palms ached to trace the planes of his face, move lower, and sink into the heavy muscles of his chest. Well over six feet tall, with a face that made angels weep and a body to match, he had always been and remained pure sinful temptation.

  “Who said that?” he asked.

  All around them, music pumped and people begged for release. The sounds of sex bounced off the walls of his club and echoed in her ears. But in that moment the world stopped. She was caught in the ice of his eyes, reflecting the coolness of his soul. Yet all she wanted to do was burrow deeper into him and remain unfound. A tear tracked down her cheek and she pushed a fist to her stomach to hold everything in.

  Daly took a deep breath, beyond caring that he’d witnessed her break in composure. “I did.”

  Chapter 2

  Copeland pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms over his chest. He fisted his hands tight. It was either that or reach for her. Daly Edwards tripped every switch he had, including and especially the one in his pants.

  Her gaze roved over him and hunger had her chocolate-brown eyes going black. He knew it was hunger because he knew her. His cock responded, twitching and hardening, begging to be seated inside her. He ruthlessly pushed down the need that always simmered beneath the surface. Thoughts of her the last three years had been bad enough. Seeing her, smelling her, was hell.

  He took his time, but finally Copeland allowed his gaze to return to hers. Her face was blank, showing nothing to indicate her mood, though her delicate cheekbones were flushed red. She was definitely nervous; the rapid pulse at the base of her throat gave her away. She licked her lips and the bow shape of her mouth shone with moisture. His hunger for her was so intense, he barely controlled the growl that threatened to erupt. He wanted to drag her bottom lip between his and feast. Look away from her mouth, Copeland.

  He did, and as he glanced up and down her body, he stopped at her thigh-high black leather boots. She wore skintight leather pants that outlined her long, taut legs and pert ass. The Dom in him surfaced for a quick second, wanting him to bend her over his knees, tap that ass in quick succession, show her she belonged to him.

  He breathed heavily through his lust. It was almost impossible.

  Her full breasts were pushed up high by a tight, purple corset laced with black satin ribbon. The contrast of the corset’s color with the creamy perfection of her skin was, quite simply, beautiful. Her long, mink-brown hair curled softly at the ends and had his hands clenching to keep from diving in. His gaze halted on two thin gold chains around her neck. The gold butterfly hanging from one chain caught his attention. No collar. He breathed in roughly. What would he have done had she been taken? He still considered her … his. The connection on his end had never disappeared. She had left him years ago, but time hadn’t allowed him peace.

  The longer he stared, the more her breathing sped up, her body recognizing it was in the midst of a predator. Before he could check the action, he stepped forward and caressed the soft skin beneath her ear, sliding his hand under the delicate chains and hovering over her pulse before drifting t
o her shoulder.

  She gasped. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Touching her was an instinctive reaction. “You should wear rubies,” he ground out.

  She stiffened, but right before she veiled her gaze he saw her despair. It was a sucker punch.

  He lowered his arm and stepped back. “Why are you here?”

  She glanced up then and her cheeks reddened further. Anger always made her cheeks red. The ones on her face, anyway. He snuffed the path of his thoughts.

  Daly cocked her head. “If you’d returned my phone calls, this meeting wouldn’t have been necessary.”

  “Say what you came to say.” He kept his tone cold. It was better that way. He didn’t answer those calls because he could not go there with her—because if he did, he knew he’d want more.

  She took a step toward him. He wanted to motion her farther forward so he could trace the curve of her neck and the line of her collarbone. Then he wanted to follow the path his hands took and lick away the sting of their separation.

  And he very much wanted her to do the same for him.

  “Someone left a gift for you on my front porch,” she muttered.

  “Yeah? Why didn’t they just bring it to me themselves?”

  She tossed her long brown hair over her shoulder. An ache settled in his chest. The picture forming in his mind was one of those long locks wrapped around his fist as he pushed into her over and over from behind.

  “I don’t know, Jeremiah. When you talk to your brother you can ask him.”

  His given name from her mouth sent need rolling through his gut. He winced, trying to quell his reaction, but her eyes flared—she’d seen it. Nobody but Daly called him Jeremiah. Ever. To his friends he was J.C. To the rest of the world he was Copeland.

  His curiosity was piqued as she pulled the second chain from between her breasts. Then the light from a strobe caught what dangled at the end of the chain, and Copeland shut down.

  It was his brother’s high school class ring. A call for help that meant nothing but trouble. Last time Copeland had received that ring, he’d ended up having to save David’s life and career as an attorney. It had cost him Daly.