He wanted me. I wanted him. So what was the problem?
She ran her fingers through her short blonde hair and cursed again.
Damned man’s messing me all up. Screwing with my mind instead of my body.
The ball of desire inside her had dissipated during the ride home, replaced with a hot angry bullet of annoyance.
I’m no submissive.
She went to the kitchen and poured herself a shot of whiskey before tossing herself down on the couch and reaching for the remote.
If it were any other Saturday afternoon, she’d be readying herself for a trip out to the club and, hopefully, a session with some lucky boy toy.
Instead, she was sitting here, angry and frustrated and nowhere near being in a good mood.
Veronica sipped the drink and pulled up the memory of her last visit to Boots ’n’ Chains.
The one that had caused all this trouble.
A lovely sweet fellow she’d picked up from the bar. He wasn’t a new member; she’d played with him before.
He’d tapped out that previous time as well, but he’d promised her he’d try harder this time, looking at her with eager eyes.
What was I supposed to do?
If the submissive said he wanted to go—
He had the cutest behind. Just begged to be touched and squeezed and spanked.
She sighed and sipped the whiskey.
What was his name again?
Veronica frowned.
Eric? Derek?
Something like that.
The black jeans and matching dress shirt had come off his body as soon as she’d closed the door to their private room.
“Mistress,” he murmured, gazing at the ground. A shiver went through his body as he waited for her command.
She circled him, admiring his tight muscles. His well-toned abs and defined back showed he took care of himself and it showed.
“Let’s start with a bit of spanking to warm you up.” Veronica headed for the wall and the expansive collection of floggers and paddles. “Get your ass over that bench. Underwear off.” She licked her lips in anticipation of his nudity. “I don’t like to worry about tighty-whities.”
“My safe-word is orange.” He stripped down and walked over to the padded leather bench. The only thing he wore was the silver band on his left wrist.
“Good.” She picked out a thick red paddle.
He’d wanted this.
So had she.
Up to the point where he’d yelped out the word and stopped the fun.
“I don’t understand.” She watched him struggle to put his clothing back on.
“Yeah. I see that.” Eric/Derek winced as he turned toward the door. “Look you’re nice and all, but you’re a little too fast for me. I’m sorry.”
He’d limped out and left her there, confused, annoyed and frustrated.
She didn’t understand.
Veronica finished off the drink and placed the empty glass on the table.
What am I doing wrong?
She’d given the man exactly what he’d wanted, and he’d walked out on her. Worse, he’d gone to Matthew and complained, which was what got her where she was now.
Veronica rubbed her face with the palms of both hands.
She wasn’t a monster.
She was giving them what they wanted, what they said they needed.
So why was she feeling worse now more than ever?
Veronica sighed, the frustration locking her thoughts up.
If she could only get into Boots ’n’ Chains for one more night—
They’re not going to let you back in until he gives his approval.
And he’s not going to do that until you play his game.
And learn what you’re doing wrong.
Veronica flipped around the television channels, trying to find something that would help ease her confusion.
Maybe a good action movie would help clear her mind. Some good kung-fu moves—
The phone rang, and she snatched it up, grateful for the interruption.
Until she heard the frantic voice on the other end.
* * * * *
The fire investigator concluded the flash point had been one of the new ovens installed in the back of the store. It’d been improperly hooked up, and a spark ignited the insulation in the wall, the slow burn literally creating more smoke than fire. Thankfully, Dan had spotted it and grabbed a fire extinguisher to douse the area while 911 got the call.
It didn’t make her feel any better.
Veronica stood in the middle of the half-destroyed kitchen and tried hard not to cry, her nails digging into her palms as she listened to the litany of issues.
This was supposed to be her big moment. The breakout weekend for her café.
Instead, it’d turned into a nightmare.
She looked around at the gathered staff. “Okay.” She drew a shallow breath as she forced herself to appear calm. “Let’s start cleaning up. I’ll contact the insurance company and get the paperwork going.” She pointed at Dan, the evening manager. “You did a great job making sure no one got hurt. Aside from putting the fire out and saving the store, you ordered your staff to get the customers out, made sure they were safe and even secured the cash. Good job.”
The shell-shocked man nodded. Soot stained his cheeks and the usually pristine beige shirt.
“We’ll start with a full inventory of everything from the mugs to the coffee beans. Save what you can, but don’t you dare keep anything we’d be embarrassed to buy ourselves. Our customers deserve the best, and we’re not going to sell them crap.” Her voice grew stronger as she kept talking. “This isn’t the end of Java Jive. It’s a speed bump, and we’re going to be fine. Now let’s get our shit together and get ready to reopen on Monday.”
The handful of staff stared at her as if she’d grown a second head.
“Yes, I said Monday.” She gestured at the water pooling on the floor and the smoke-damaged walls. “I’m going to call a disaster recovery company and get them here to repair and clean this up. We might lose the Sunday crowd, but I’m not going to keep this café closed for weeks or months while we dawdle. Now let’s get going.” She forced a smile. “Do what you can, save what you can. Thanks in advance for all your hard work.”
Her head was spinning, and from more than the residual smoke floating around the store.
It took the last of her reserves to walk around and console the staff, compliment them on staying levelheaded and promise they would still be paid during the downtime.
Veronica walked out into the early evening air and forced herself to put her hands on her hips. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry, but that wasn’t an option right now.
The insurance will cover this.
But it’ll take time.
Mentally, she ran the numbers.
It wasn’t all that bad, but it sure as hell wasn’t what she needed right now. If she dipped into her savings, she could get the shop up and running on her new schedule. She’d have to wait for the insurance company to process her claim, and she knew damned well it wouldn’t cover the whole amount, but they wouldn’t end up too deep in a hole.
It wasn’t what she’d wanted to be doing on a Saturday night.
Veronica sat at one of the outside tables, the cool metal chair a welcome jolt from the inside heat. The small sidewalk tables had escaped harm, but a thin trickle of water seeped out from the front door, winding through the cobblestones and out to the street courtesy of the firemen’s efforts.
Damn it.
Veronica looked up to see a bright green neon light flicker on from around the corner. She could make out the letters reflected in another storm window. It took her a second to translate and reverse the neon letters.
Greenwood Books.
Double damn it.
She’d never really noticed the bookstore there over the past few months spent setting up the café. To her, it’d only been another distraction, another opportunity to spend money she couldn’t afford to lose.
Now the neon held a whole new meaning for her.
She shivered, reliving the events of only a few hours ago. The memory of his hands sliding across her bare skin; the heated whispers in her ear—
Damn it.
Damn him.
Damn it all to hell.
She cradled her head in her hands and wondered if Fate had it out for her or if she was just cursed.
* * * * *
Oliver stretched out on his couch and watched the television. The evening news mentioned the café fire almost as an afterthought, the anchor quickly racing through the teleprompter lines in order to get to the local adoption pictures of adorable dogs waiting for a new home.
Oliver knew it was much more than a thirty-second sound bite. He’d dealt with situations like this over the years.
Bookstores were popular but full of kindling.
He’d lost three stores over the last few years, one to arson from a disgruntled just-fired manager and the other two due to a block fire raging out of control and bad electrical wiring. In the end, it’d been more trouble than it was worth to rebuild—he took the loss and moved on to build new stores in new areas, reassigning the personnel if possible and settling the loss in the financial records.
He looked at the near-empty beer bottle, studying the contents.
Java Jive didn’t have that luxury. His research had told him it was on the edge and something like this could easily break the company.
Oliver’s thoughts went to Veronica and the pressure she was now under. She’d have to deal with the insurance company, the scared employees and the annoyed suppliers all wanting to stay on schedule and keep getting paid.
She’d feel overwhelmed and annoyed, sad and terrified even as she kept a mask on for her employees, for the public.
Because she has to stay in control.
He took a sip of beer and watched the poodle prance across the screen.
She’d definitely be in need of their next session.
All she had to do was survive the week.
You’re not a little bit curious about how she is out in the wild? What she’s like without the leathers, without the scene?
What’s Veronica Locksley really all about?
He put the beer down.
It was early for a Saturday night.
Maybe he’d do a quick inspection of some of his stores.
He looked down at his leather pants and black T-shirt.
A wardrobe change might be called for. No use scaring off his customers and giving his employees dreams or nightmares, depending on their inclinations.
Oliver headed for the bedroom as he called for his driver.
Chapter Six
Jane brought out the tiny espresso cup to Veronica with a fat orange scone on another plate. She wore an apron over her cream-colored blouse, the thick material already stained with various dark blotches.
“We can’t sell these so—” The blonde flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder. She’d come in not long after the firemen had left, arriving in time to hear Veronica’s speech. “I thought you’d need a bit of a pickup as well.” She tapped the cup. “Put in two shots. That should have you flying until you get to bed. Let me know if you start having heart palpitations.” A saucy wink followed. “I hear some of those firemen were damned cute. Call them back to do some mouth-to-mouth on you.”
“I’ll keep it in mind, thanks.” Veronica smiled in spite of the situation around them. “How’s it looking in there?”
Jane let out an annoyed huff. “Honestly, it looks like crap. The water damage is pretty bad, and there’s no way we’re salvaging the coffee beans—we’ll have to empty the bins and scrub them out, dry them before we dare put anything new in. Don’t even ask about the baked goods. Dan’s making a list of what’s going to have to go straight out and what we can recycle. I can tell you the first is going to be a hell of a lot longer than the second.”
“Dan’s good at that.” Veronica nibbled on the end of the scone. “I guess you might have to wait a bit longer for that new store. I’m sorry.”
Jane shrugged. “You didn’t screw up the stove installation. Hopefully the buggers will suck up what the insurance won’t pay and we’ll come out even.” Her eyes brightened. “Maybe we can sue the idiots and get a sweet payoff for pain and suffering. I’m no lawyer, but there’s got to be something more we can get for this.”
“Very possible.” Veronica raised her cell phone. “I’ve already sent pictures of all the damage to the insurance company and our business lawyer. They should also be getting the report from the fire investigator. From what he’s told me, it should be clear we’ve got no responsibility for this other than using the stove for what it was made for.” She scrunched up her face. “It’s just a matter of time before all the papers are filed and all the ducks line up.”
“Have you called the disaster folks?” Jane asked. “You know, the ones who are going to snap their fingers and restore everything back to perfection by the end of the thirty-second commercial?”
“Not yet,” Veronica said. “I’m deciding who to call.”
And who’s the cheapest.
Jane nodded. “We’re doing a good job, but we really need some professionals in here. And more time. Which we’ve got precious little of,” Jane said. “We’re already going to lose Sunday. And don’t forget the damned Ethnic Food Festival taking place a few streets over in two weeks. We were thinking of collecting the spectators as they walked to and from the parking lots.”
“I haven’t forgotten anything. We’re going to be open on Monday.” Veronica shook her head. “If I have to get up on a ladder and paint it myself, we’re going to be open.”
“Sounds like a plan. Oh, sir—” Jane looked over Veronica’s shoulder. Her voice shifted from casual to professional server. “I’m sorry, but we’re temporarily closed to the public.”
“That’s okay. I was just out for a walk.” The familiar voice froze Veronica in place.
She didn’t have to turn around to identify the source of that cool, collected voice.
She’d heard it recently in her ear, commanding her to stay still.
Oliver.
Here.
Now.
She scowled inside.
Wonderful.
I need this like a hole in my head.
“I’ll deal with this. Thanks for the snack.” She dismissed Jane with a smile and a nod. As the barista scurried back inside she turned in her chair to see Oliver standing on the other side of the wrought iron fence separating the patio from the sidewalk.
Wow.
She blinked, wondering if her eyesight had been impaired somehow by the smoke inside.
He stood there wearing a long leather trench coat and jeans, the soft blue dress shirt with the first few buttons undone and a thin leather tie drawing her attention down to his belt and below.
“I’m sorry.” He gestured at the café behind her. “I saw it on the news.”
She didn’t stand up—she didn’t have the energy to. “We’ll survive.” Veronica pushed the remains of the scone away. “I’d offer you a bite, but it tastes of smoke and bitter tears.”
Oliver smiled and rested his arms on the fence, leaning over. He propped one black cowboy boot up on the iron railing. “I think it’d taste fine.”
Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him, fighting not to get lost in those deep-blue eyes.
“W-Why are you here?” she stammered. “We had our—meeting, and I didn’t think I’d see you until next week.”
Except in my dreams.
Oliver looked past her into the café. “I saw the news, like I said. Figured I’d come down and offer my condolences. And my help.” He pulled a business card from one pocket. “This is the company we’ve used for cleanups like this.”
“You’ve had bookstores catch on fire from the baking ovens?” She couldn’t help smiling.
“Not exactly.” His returning grin sent her pulse racing. “But the principle’s the same. Tell them I referred you, and they’ll give you a good rate and move their butts to get here as soon as possible.” He sniffed the air. “Doesn’t smell too bad.”
“You haven’t been inside.” Veronica held up a hand as he took his boot off the railing. “And you’re not going to. Last thing I need right now is you slipping on a wet spot and breaking your leg.”
“I usually don’t slip on those,” he murmured.
Her mouth went dry.
You can’t complain. You gave him that opening, her inner joker laughed. Take it like a man and move on.
Oliver jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve got a bookstore around the corner. Come take a walk with me. You could use the break.” He looked after the retreating Jane. “Your staff seems to have this well in hand. They can spare you for a few minutes.”
She stared at him. “It’s almost midnight.”
“It’s a twenty-four-hour store.” He grinned. “I believe people like to read anytime, anywhere.” He held out his hand. “Trust me.”
She froze at the now-familiar gesture.
“I’m asking politely,” he added. “Please. Give yourself some fresh air. Give yourself a break from this.” He flexed his fingers. “I’m not going to leave without you.”
The ultimatum drove her out of her shock.
“Give me a second.” Veronica downed the last of the espresso in two gulps and tucked her cell phone in her purse. She went to the front door.
“I’m going for a short walk. Going to clear my head.” She focused in on Dan, who stood there, mop in hand. “You rest up. I don’t need anyone passing out from either smoke inhalation or exhaustion.” She pointed at Jane, who was busy breaking down the coffee machines for cleaning. “You too. Grab a drink and sit down. I need both of you to stay sharp and healthy. Order in some pizza for everyone—keep the receipt if I’m not back in time, and I’ll reimburse you.”
Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2 Page 7