His Wicked Love

by Anya Summers

  His Wicked Love

  Cuffs and Spurs Book 2

  Anya Summers

  Blushing Books

  Contents

  What’s Inside

  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

  Anya Summers

  ©2018 by Blushing Books® and Anya Summers

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  * * *

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  The trademark Blushing Books®

  is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  * * *

  Anya Summers

  His Wicked Love

  * * *

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-947132-14-6

  Print ISBN: 978-1-947132-33-7

  * * *

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  What’s Inside

  Mason approached and took a step forward, placing his hands on her car. His large frame boxed her in against her vehicle. Liquid pulls of heat rushed through her system, her pulse thumped madly, and her nipples hardened into taut peaks at his nearness. Shadows played over his face as he stared down at her. Her gaze drifted to his mouth as he said, “That’s not all, but some. I really like disciplining mouthy subs who can’t take directions.”

  Was that what he was comparing her to? Emily should tell him to go to hell. Should shove him away and escape. He was her boss. He could crush her dreams of running her own restaurant into dust before they even had a chance to take root.

  The air between them was hot enough to melt the Arctic tundra. Those liquid pulls of desire had manifested into a raging firestorm. Tossing her common sense into the gutter, Emily gripped the lapels of his shirt and, instead of retreating, drew her body up to his height and dared, “Is that what you were doing back there? Disciplining me?”

  Her mouth was an inch from his. Their bodies were aligned from shoulders to hips. Going on instinct before he could form a response, allowing the desire only he seemed to ignite within her to guide her actions, she pressed her lips to his. Brushing his mouth with hers, she moaned deep in her throat. His stubble rasped against her lips. Spirals of heat lanced through her system.

  Shock riddled Mason’s form and he stood, frozen momentarily, before he crushed her within his arms. He surrounded her with his big body. Need exploded in all-consuming waves. Mason plastered his length against her. Her back was pressed against her car. Her hands slid around his neck, holding him in place. Emily couldn’t get enough of his mouth. The man kissed like he did everything else, with a take no prisoners type of attitude.

  It was devastating. Emily had never been kissed so thoroughly, so greedily. She wondered if she would erupt into flames.

  Mason devoured her tiny mewls. She surrendered to the rising heat, plastering herself against his hard body. He slanted his mouth over hers, changed the angle of their kiss, and took it deeper. So much deeper. His tongue thrust inside to duel with hers.

  She moaned.

  Tongue, and lips, and teeth. It was hard and brutal. It was possessive and dominant. It was the most intimate, carnal, wicked kiss of her existence.

  Chapter 1

  Late September

  Well, if those numbers didn’t just chafe his ass.

  Mason checked and re-checked the account ledgers. He’d been over them more times than any sane person would, but he wanted—needed—to be certain they were correct. The loss they’d sustained three months ago had been substantial. With what was left, they’d be lucky if the Black Elkhorn Lodge and Resort didn’t shut its doors by Christmas.

  “Are you sure about the numbers?” Cole asked.

  Mason glanced across the expanse of his mahogany wooden desk at his brother. There were lines of tension in his shoulders and tanned features that were so much like their dad’s, including the dark chocolate shade of his hair that he wore past his shoulders and his brown eyes nearly the color of soot. Whereas Mason took more after their mom, with his lighter shade of brown hair and eye color—in a manly way, of course.

  His gut twisted. Despair and dread seized him.

  Mason detested himself for their current plight: the lodge was nearly bankrupt. And it was all his fault.

  Before all this, Mason had prided himself on reading other people. He’d been cocky about it. As a Dom, he’d considered his ability to size up a person to be top notch. But their last chef had proven him wrong. His arrogance had cost them. Mason hadn’t seen the fraud and deceit behind the chef’s apron before the no-good piece of trash had embezzled nearly every penny the lodge had.

  He could still remember when he’d discovered the theft. The disbelief, the anger. His normal fun-loving personality had vanished overnight. The lodge, the dream their parents had conceptualized and that he and Cole had actualized, had tail-spun out of control. They had gone from having excess capital with savings to spare, to barely limping along and teetering on the brink of collapse.

  In the last three months, they’d had to liquidate their investment portfolio just to keep their noses above water. But the costs of running the lodge were considerable. It took capital to make this place run.

  “I’m sure. We are well and truly fucked. If we make it until Christmas and are able to pack guests in, maybe we can string things along enough to begin rebuilding,” Mason replied. But word had spread about their legal woes no matter how much damage control they’d tried to do. Without a functioning restaurant on the property, the Black Elkhorn Lodge and Resort had received cancellations in droves. The once prosperous getaway hemorrhaged funds daily.

  “Well, with the restaurant currently closed, we’re losing a stream of revenue right there,” Cole said, telling Mason something he already knew. Still, he was glad they were both on the same page.

  Frustrated, he slammed the account ledgers shut and irritably ran a hand over his face. The irritation was all self-directed. Mason couldn’t remember the last time he’d genuinely smiled. In the three months since the bottom had been yanked out of their business and a person he’d trusted had robbed them blind, there hadn’t been much reason to smile. When he observed himself in the mirror every morning, he no longer recognized the person in it. The haggard expression and grim line of his mouth. The permanent scowl and self-loathing.

  Life, for Mason, had once been a bountiful banquet, and he’d never given it deeper thought than the fun to be had. Now, it was a steaming pile of horse manure. He replied, “I realize that. Whi
le you were leading the fishing expedition trip this past week, I contacted Le Cordon Bleu on the west coast for a recommendation. We need a chef running the restaurant if we have any hope of staving off further losses. I figured we need all the help we can get at this point. Not to mention, it could be a potential draw in our advertising to have a fully trained chef from such a reputable institution. As much as we adore her, Tibby can’t handle the load or full responsibility. Not that she’s not capable, but she balances her time here with her daughter’s needs. I can’t make a single mom give me more time than she’s able. Our new chef should arrive today.”

  Mason could only hope that re-opening the restaurant would staunch the flow of cancellations. They’d attempted to keep it open with Tibby and Faith pulling extra shifts here and there. He’d had them pare down the menu to just the basics. And those two had nearly staged a coup—not that he blamed them one iota. The onus was on him, not his employees, to improve the situation at the lodge. They already gave the lodge one hundred and ten percent. The rest had to come from him.

  Mason had made the executive decision to close the restaurant temporarily a month ago. He’d directed Tibby and Faith to prepare boxed lunches for sale, limiting their hours, with the promise that it was temporary so he didn’t lose them. Mason had made sure their paychecks didn’t reflect the loss of hours. Since then, guests had cancelled their reservations in droves.

  Mason didn’t blame his guests one bit. The Black Elkhorn Lodge and Resort wasn’t close to the downtown hub. Their lodge was about bringing people back to nature. That was one of the premier selling points. And normally, with a fully functioning restaurant on the property, the place tended to thrive. Except most people didn’t want to have to drive forty minutes just to grab a bite to eat.

  Each of the lodges had a small kitchen with a stovetop, as well as gas grills. But people on vacation liked to eat out. Many wanted to kick back and relax. Re-opening the restaurant would, he hoped, get customers to rebook their stays with them.

  “Just like that?” Cole asked, his face filled with concern. Mason was just thankful that when the shit hit the fan, Cole never once pointed the finger at him. He would have deserved it. They both knew who was at fault for their dire situation, but instead of hanging Mason out to dry, his older brother had stood by him.

  Mason sighed and said, “Her background check came back clean and, to be honest, we’re in a pickle. Tibby and Faith have at least been able to supply boxed lunches for the hikers, but with closing the restaurant, they’ve been picking up more catering jobs. If we want the slightest chance of keeping the lodge from hemorrhaging even more money, we need the restaurant back open for guests this week. Billie informed me this morning that there were two more cancellations today due to the fact that the restaurant is closed.”

  “Shit. All right. If you’re sure about this new chef…” Cole replied with a grimace. Mason knew Cole would rather be out at his private cabin, avoiding people and surrounded by nature than dealing with the running of the lodge. It’s why their partnership had always worked—if not seamlessly, at least without too many blips. He ran the business side and catered to guests, while Cole was in charge of leading hiking, fishing, hunting, and sight-seeing expeditions, away from the bulk of civilization.

  “I’m not,” Mason admitted with a shrug in an attempt to ease the anxiety building up. “But the problem is we don’t have much of a choice.”

  The only thing that would ease his mind, take him out of his current default state of tension, would be playing with a sub at Cuffs & Spurs. Being balls-deep inside a willing woman was the only cure, even if it was a temporary reprieve. Or, at least, it used to be. Problem was, he’d not had a chance to make it into town and the club since the top blew on his world.

  “Any word on the legal proceedings against the culprit?” Cole asked, leaning back in his leather chair, avoiding use of the chef’s name. They both had stopped using the thief’s name. It was easier to use separation, make it feel a little less personal than it had been.

  Mason wished that the legal matters had been concluded. Then he would have a definitive answer on when they would get paid for all their accounts. Some weren’t willing to work with them at all and were demanding payment. With a shake of his head, he said, “No. Not yet. Other than they haven’t found what they actually did with the stolen funds and that the money was all gone. The prosecutor has assured me that part of the sentencing will include restitution but that the court would most likely allow the defendant to make payments, which doesn’t help us one bit.”

  Cole cursed under his breath, his face stern and lines of worry present in his normally calm demeanor. He asked, “When does the new chef arrive?”

  “Today at some point, out of Los Angeles,” Mason replied. He could only hope his instincts were better with this one than the last and that they were worth the recommendation. The lodge couldn’t afford another fiasco or for his judgment to be off in the slightest. One wrong move at this point and everything he and Cole had built with their dad would go up in smoke.

  Cole snorted. “You mean part of our plan to keep this place open rests on the shoulders of someone from the land of Hollywood? Brother, I hate to tell you, but the chances of someone from the west coast willingly trading in for life here is slim.”

  Mason understood that all too well. This new chef, an Emily Fox, just needed to stay long enough to get them back into the black. If she didn’t work out after that, well, they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. “We just need someone for now. It doesn’t have to be permanent. In fact, I mentioned in passing during my conversation with her that it was a temporary arrangement, with a trial run included.”

  And the rest of their exchanges had occurred via email. In what little communication they’d had, Miss Fox had been blunt and to the point. For the time being, that was what they needed.

  Cole shrugged. “At least that gives us an out. I have a few expeditions to lead this week. Day trips, so I will be around at night to help out.”

  “Focus on the trips. I’ve got the lodge covered. And Alex’s trail rides are busy this time of year. So that will help,” Mason added. Their buddy, Alex, used the Black Elkhorn Lodge stables to run his trail riding company. It was profitable for both parties. While Alex had his own employees taking guests on trail rides, if there was any spillover, he or Cole picked up the ride. Likewise, on the lodge, if Cole and Mason needed an extra hand, Alex filled in when he could.

  Thankfully their previous chef’s sticky fingers hadn’t extended to the stables. It didn’t hurt that Hunt Trail Rides was a separate company, either.

  Didn’t mean there wasn’t a good chance that they weren’t royally fucked.

  “Are you sure this new chef can cook?” Cole asked, a pensive expression creasing his brow.

  Fuck if I know. “She comes highly recommended. Has a been a sous chef for two years.”

  “Actually, it’s four years, but who’s counting, right?” said a sultry female voice from his office doorway.

  Mason glanced up and was glad he was seated. Emily Fox’s resume and background checks had provided him with a boatload of facts about his new hire. But they hadn’t prepared him for the red-haired siren currently standing in the wooden door frame. The long waves of her hair reminded him of the sunset, the myriad hues of burnt orange and sienna hung over delicate shoulders and more than ample cleavage before ending above her trim waist. Her skin was smooth and the color of iridescent pearls, which only seemed to magnify the natural pale pink hue of her lips that were not overly plump but perfectly formed.

  Yet it was her eyes that were the real killer. On top of a voluptuous form that made the Dom in Mason want to weep in thanks, her hazel eyes were large pools that sparkled with lively zest and were surrounded by a wealth of inky lashes. Intelligence flashed in her gaze. The electricity of it zapped through him.

  “You must be Emily Fox,” Mason said, finding his voice after nearly swallowing his tongue. Standin
g, now that he’d found his legs, he shoved away the unwanted and rather inconvenient lust she evoked in him.

  “You’d be right about that,” she said, with a hint of sarcasm that she softened with a grin as she placed her free hand on her denim clad hip. The other clutched the handle of a small leather satchel about the size of his goody bag. He must have been in a mood when they’d briefly talked on the phone because the sound hadn’t affected him as it did now. The dulcet tones curled along his spine, into his gut, and made his dick twitch.

  “I’m Mason Stewart. This is my brother and business partner, Cole,” Mason informed her. His gaze roved over her form. While she was dressed casually, in a pair of well-worn blue jeans and fitted mint green Henley top that accentuated her curves, with a black jacket tied around her waist, Miss Fox was anything but casual. She was stunning—exotic, even. He couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like naked.

  Yet her demeanor didn’t scream Rodeo Drive. That was good. It made her appear accessible and down to earth. As though, perhaps, if he and Cole played their cards right, she wouldn’t mind trading in city life for country life in Wyoming.

  “Pleasure.” Emily smiled and nodded towards Cole, who tipped his hat in her direction in greeting. From the expression on Cole’s face, Mason surmised he wasn’t the only one a bit taken aback by her looks. It should make him feel better that he wasn’t the only who’d been momentarily struck dumb, but it didn’t. He couldn’t afford to be attracted to the newest chef. The paradox of it, given their current situation, was not lost on him.