by Amelia Wilde
I’m not going to say that to Isabella.
Not yet.
I’m going to keep my cards face down on the table. She might have her most contrite face on right now, but I saw her when she came in. I’m not as witless as she thinks I am.
I could dismiss her right now, and show her who’s really in charge.
Or I could let her dangle for a little while longer. I could buy some time to decide what to do.
I choose door number two.
“Anything?” I let the word roll off my tongue, narrowing my eyes. Isabella’s fingertips rest lightly on the edge of my desk, but her grip tightens at the word. An image flashes into my mind—her bent over this desk, knuckles white while she holds on for dear life. And me? God, the options would be endless. I could bring my palm down against her creamy, flawless ass. I could work my fingers between her legs, teasing at her clit, making her spread those legs wider and wider until she can’t buck against my fingers, until she’d let me take total control if she wanted to get off.
Her tongue darts between her lips, but she doesn’t take her eyes off mine. “Anything.”
I lean back in my seat, linking my hands together behind my head. “It seems odd,” I say casually, “that five minutes ago you were ready to tear me limb from limb, and now you’re ready to give away...anything.”
“My mother—”
“I’m not sure you’ve quite thought through the consequences of a word like anything, Isabella.” I was right. Even her name feels sweet in my mouth, even if a wayward breeze could have her shooting daggers at me with her eyes.
She straightens up again, putting her hands in her lap. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jasper.”
“About which thing? Tearing me apart?”
Isabella bites her lip. “Both. I was—” Her eyes dart down to her lap, then back to my face. “I was upset. I was angry. If you only knew how much that apartment means to my mother—” She breaks off. “That doesn’t matter. That’s personal. This is business. I’ve thought about it, and I will do anything to convince you to let her stay.”
I grin at her across the desk, leaning forward to pull a folder from one of the drawers. “If you’re serious, then there should be a relatively simple solution to all of this.”
Isabella can’t disguise the hope in her face. “What’s that?”
I pull out the packet of papers about the Hamilton Heights building—the outlines of the deal I made to buy it two months ago. It was finalized last week. The owner clearly didn’t waste any time in notifying the tenants, who aren’t supposed to exist.
I slide the packet across the desk toward Isabella, and then tap one finger against the sum at the bottom. “Buy it yourself. Make it worth my while.”
Isabella’s shoulders sag a fraction of an inch, and then her guard is back in place. A new flush comes to her cheeks. “If this were any other day—” She lifts the papers from the desk, holding them lightly in her hands, and shakes her head.
“Then what?”
The packet flutters back down to the surface of the desk. “Are we being honest with each other?”
“What else would we be?”
She gives me a wry grin. “Three weeks ago, I could have bought this building from you and had capital left to spare.”
“And here I had the impression that you weren’t a wealthy woman.”
“I do well for myself.”
“What business are you in?”
“I’m sure you haven’t heard of me. I run a little company called Gabriel Luxe.”
It clicks into place then—the fearless attitude, the way she waltzed in here as if she owned the place. She’s the Isabella Gabriel, and her fashion company is so buzzy that I’ve even heard of it at cocktail parties. I laugh out loud. “You’re playing with me, Isabella. You’re the talk of the city. You’re telling me you can’t afford this single building? I haven’t even started the renovations yet—it’s at a rock-bottom price.”
There’s no hint of embarrassment in her reply. “I’m in the middle of expanding to statewide distribution, with plans to go national by the middle of next year.”
Oh. “And you’ve found yourself a bit...over-leveraged.”
“A bit.” Another deep breath, and a charge flashes through her eyes. “So I can’t deal on financial terms.”
My cock is so hard I feel every heartbeat resonating through it. There’s no way she’s suggesting what I think she’s suggesting. There’s no way a woman like Isabella Gabriel would ever put herself in that position. And along with the hot, pulsing lust that’s echoing through every one of my cells, there’s a bright glee. This game is about to get interesting, because she’s given me the chance I’ve been waiting for since she said she’d do...anything.
The chance to call her bluff.
“If finances are off the table...” She waits, her full lips pressed together. I nod like I’ve made up my mind once and for all. “I’ll accept a different kind of trade. You agree to let me possess you—possess all of you—for one month, and I won’t force your poor mother to abandon the only home she’s ever loved.”
“All of me?” The words are low, her eyes wide, cheeks a scarlet red.
“All of you. Everything at my discretion. Everything under my control.”
It’s an outrageous demand, and it’s going to send her running for the door.
She sucks in her breath.
7
Isabella
Jasper Pace is one ballsy bastard.
I expected some kind of sexual arrangement—I am, after all, leaning slightly forward and breathing heavily enough to make sure he definitely notices my cleavage—but a month? By the way the he phrases “all of you” and “under my control,” I’m guessing he’s no stranger to the kind of kinky bedroom stuff he alluded to.
What I didn’t expect is a hot wetness between my legs, a rush of crackling desire—deeper and darker—through my chest.
But I can’t let that get the better of me. This battle of wills with Jasper is going to end with me on top…even if I get dirty in the fight.
His blue eyes dance, heat raging there. He’s not expecting me to agree.
I know it’s true as soon as the thought occurs to me. That’s the last thing Jasper would anticipate. He’s probably waiting for me to slap him across the face right now and storm out, leaving him to bask in yet another triumph.
Not a chance in hell.
I glance down at my hands, letting the moment linger, then I look back up into his laughing gaze. “A month.”
It’s not really a question, but Jasper nods solemnly. He can’t quite keep the smirk off of his face. I swear, if it wouldn’t give him away, he’d be rubbing his palms together right now, salivating at the thought of getting the best of me.
I’ll give him the best of me. And I’ll use it to come out ahead. Way, way ahead. He’ll never see it coming.
“One month. Non-negotiable.”
“I accept.”
I say the words like I’d say “no, thank you” to a cashier offering me a plastic bag, and it has exactly the effect I wanted. Jasper’s smile stretches even wider, but then it hits him.
His jaw doesn’t drop open. He looks me dead in the eye, the strange silver ring around his pupils reflecting the sunlight back into mine. “You accept.”
I nod firmly, not dropping my gaze for an instant. “I do.”
My heart pounds against my rib cage, beating so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t drown out the entire conversation. I’m surprised Jasper hasn’t mentioned it. Electricity pulses in my veins, and it’s pure torture to sit in this chair, my head held high, pretending this is a business transaction and nothing more.
Jasper knows it’s not a business transaction. He knows it as well as I know it, from the way he’s looking at me. But I’m not going to be the first one to crack, and if this conversation has told me anything about him, he’s not going to go down easily.
“You accept all the terms?”
“Yes.”
The heat in my chest increases with every breath, a fiery kind of tension that seems to pull me closer to him, even though I don’t dare move a muscle in his direction. Jasper’s chiseled features could be something out of a movie, out of a fashion magazine, but he’s solid and real in a way that the hottest actor could never be. My nipples rub against my bra every time I take air into my lungs.
I don’t know if this is my first victory over Jasper or my first loss, but the adrenaline rush makes it feel like a win. I’ve got him exactly where I want him—at least, I think I do.
“Let me be absolutely clear, Isabella.” He leans forward, his expression deadly serious. “When I say all of you, I don’t mean in a...professional capacity. We might agree to terms that will affect the business relationship we’re about to enter into about the Hamilton Heights building, but—”
“You mean all of me. You mean every inch of my body. You mean—” The kinds of things I’ve seen in the movies and read in books, and if I’m being honest, the kinds of things I fantasize about more often than not. A powerful man holding me in place, stroking between my legs until I come, helpless and possessed. The crack of a hand against the flesh of my ass, sending a painful pleasure rocketing through my body. That’s a game I can play.
And if it means playing him so that I can keep my mother happy while I figure out an alternate plan to buy her building—further negotiations with Jasper Pace and all—I’ll do it.
“I mean submission.” He shakes his head a little, his eyes flicking over my breasts and back up to my face. “I mean that I’m going to require a certain level of submission from you, Isabella.” He draws in a deep breath. “If that’s not something you can handle, you should make that known now.”
I’m still spinning my web when I speak again, even if the excitement is building in my gut. This is a game. This is a game, and you are playing a part. Play the part so well he doesn’t know you’re acting. “What makes you think I can’t handle you?”
He laughs. “Not a thing.” Jasper opens his mouth like he’s about to admit something, but thinks better of it. “Are there any details you wanted to discuss today?”
“There is one thing.” I’m slated for a million appointments, a million meetings, over the next week. I’m willing to go all in on this—whatever this is, but I have no idea how much time this is going to take. “I need one week.”
“A week for what?”
“To...prepare. I didn’t expect—” I let the barest hint of a shy smile slide onto my face. “I didn’t expect to make this kind of agreement with you when I walked in here today.” I take in a breath, blowing it out through my lips like I’m trying to rid myself of quaking nerves. Maybe I am, but it’s not because I’m afraid of Jasper. I don’t know what the hell it is, exactly, that has me feeling so giddy—this asshole deserves everything he’s going to get, but even the prospect of revenge isn’t enough to explain this thrill.
“Stand up.”
The command in his voice takes me off guard, and like that, every muscle is tensed, my eyes locked on his.
“What?”
“I’ll give you your week. We’ll begin next Friday.”
“Yes. I—” I break off when Jasper stands up from his seat, coming quickly around the desk, to a position so close to my chair that when I do stand he’s only inches away. I get another lungful of his scent, and more wetness collects between my legs. He’s radiating electricity, radiating power, and I want him.
“This is your last chance to back out.” He puts two fingers under my chin and lifts it another inch, forcing me to keep my eyes on his—as if I could bring myself to look away. “Right now.”
I narrow my eyes, my breaths shallow. There’s not enough air in the room. “I’m not backing out.”
Then he’s leaning toward me, and I’m falling into his orbit, the gravity between us finally overpowering my resistance. My body strains toward him—kiss me, kiss me, do it...
There’s a knock on the door, knuckles on the solid wood, and Jasper freezes.
8
Jasper
I almost kissed her in my office.
My feet connect lightly with the surface of the treadmill in my personal gym. I converted one of the guest bedroom suites into a fully appointed workout room a year ago, but I don’t normally spend time here. There’s a private fitness center on the second floor that I prefer.
That I usually prefer. I’ve spent so much time exercising this weekend that the trip downstairs, even by private elevator, seems like an unnecessary hassle.
I’m out of ideas. I can’t get her out of my mind. Those curves under that skirt suit, those eyes gleaming from her flawless face—they’ve flashed into my thoughts over and over again from the moment she walked out of my office until now.
I almost kissed her.
I might be the next in line to assume complete ownership of Pace, Inc., but that doesn’t absolve me of the kind of trouble that would ensue if Christine walked in on me with my tongue buried in a woman’s mouth—especially if that woman is one I might ultimately be making a business deal with.
Not that that stops me from wanting to bend her over that desk, Christine be damned.
I almost lost control. That’s the part that shakes me the most. Isabella Gabriel’s eyes, her lips, the way she was practically on her knees begging me for a way out of her dilemma—all of it combined to intoxicate me, to overwhelm me.
An evening’s worth of drinks with Dominic Wilder and company didn’t clear my head. I have a standing arrangement with him and a few other guys who take business seriously. Once a month, we get together. When the first round comes out, we talk strategy, acquisitions, plans. Once the second round is served, all business talk is off limits.
Isabella Gabriel’s name was on the tip of my tongue all Friday evening. None of the women fluttering around the table in their too-short dresses and makeup designed to entice made an impression. I opened my mouth to mention her, but every time, the words caught in my throat.
Why?
I bump up the speed on the treadmill, my lungs burning with the effort.
Why couldn’t I mention her?
Why is she so impossible to stop thinking of?
I run for another mile, then slap my hand down on the stop bar.
Weights. I need weights. I choose a set that’s almost too heavy and force myself through a full circuit, my muscles growing more fatigued with every second that passes by.
A weekend of this. Weights. Treadmills. Round after round of drinks. Sunday afternoon, and I’m considering going into the office, finding something to do...but sitting behind my desk will only make me think of her, her fingertips against the shining surface...
I throw the weights back into the rack and thunder through my penthouse. The staff have the day off, so I’m completely alone.
There’s only one more option, and I’ve been keeping it at arm’s length since Friday afternoon, when Isabella Gabriel waltzed into my office and took over my brain.
In the shower, I turn the water on hot and let it cascade down over my shoulders and back—anything to delay taking the next step with this. I don’t want her to know how much she’s already consumed me, but I’m not in the mood to call anyone from Dominic’s group and plan another outing. I also can’t sit around in the penthouse all evening, my phone—and my last resort—burning a hole in my consciousness.
Screw it.
I step out, towel off, pull an outfit from my closet—sweatpants and a soft t-shirt. I’m not going out again. I’m definitely not going to try to run into Isabella. The city is too big for that kind of goose chase, and without knowing her plans...
Which I have no reason to know. Not for another week.
In my living room, I sit back on the cool leather cushions on the sofa, phone in one hand, glossy business card in the other.
“Here’s my contact information, Mr. Pace,” she said, as if we were concluding a run-of-the-mill business interaction, as if the little standoff she’d had with Christine had never happened at all. Her eyes flashed, lingering on mine, but her voice gave nothing away. “Stay in touch.”
I’d taken the card between my fingers and slipped it into my pocket, nodding at her with the kind of professional smile I’d use to dismiss someone from my office. A slight raise of her eyebrows, just for me, and then Isabella was heading for the door, stepping neatly around Christine, leaving me there with an enormous bulge in my pants and a whirlwind in my mind.
The card has her name printed in bold letters. Underneath, it reads “Founder and CEO, Gabriel Luxe.” Across the bottom are two phone numbers, office and cell.
I punch the cell number into my phone, saving it as a contact, and then I bring up a text message. Calling her will seem too desperate, and I’m not willing to give her that satisfaction. Other satisfactions, yes. Knowing that she’s taken over my thoughts all weekend, no.
I type out I’ve been thinking of next Friday and delete all of it. What the hell am I thinking?
Start over.
What’s your dress size?
I laugh and stab my thumb against the screen, sending the message before I can think about it anymore. That will have her wondering. That will have her staring at her phone somewhere in Manhattan and imagining exactly what I’m planning.
The answer comes back almost immediately.