Evan

by Allie K. Adams

  Evan whipped around at the sound of the deep, silky smooth voice. His jacket caught on the paperwork, sending it flying in the air and scattering papers all over the floor.

  Shit. He’d already failed with his first impression. Now his second chance to impress him resulted in dumping a quarter’s worth of receipts at the new owner’s feet. Heat furiously slapped Evan’s cheeks as he dipped behind the counter to pick up the papers that had landed on his side. Maybe if he took long enough, Duke would go away and forget this ever happened.

  “Mr. McKoy? Is, uh, everything okay?”

  Oh, how that voice stroked every nerve and made his cheeks flame. Slowly rising to his feet, Evan liquefied as he stared into the deepest brown eyes he’d ever wanted to get lost in. Duke smiled warmly, and the way his eyes danced lit up the entire department store.

  Evan swallowed. Twice. “Yes, Mr. Duke?” His voice hit an octave higher than normal again, and he cleared his throat before adding, “Can I help you?”

  “What’s TREX?”

  Shit. He heard that? He immediately recited what he’d been instructed to say if anyone asked about the agency. “It’s a game. LARP.”

  “What’s LARP?”

  “Live Action Role Play. I’m a LARP’er.” God, he hated games of any kind. Having to convince anyone he played them only made it worse.

  “Wow, just when I thought you couldn’t get any cooler.”

  Kill me now.

  “I meant to tell you earlier. I like your suit. I’ve never seen eyes quite as crystal blue as yours. It must be your suit. It, uh, brings out your best features.” He bounced his gaze to Evan’s groin and back.

  Holy shit. Did he just see that?

  Should he say thank you? Compliment him back? Fall to the floor from the shock of Clint Duke actually paying him a compliment after the way Evan treated him this morning?

  “Armani?”

  “No, it’s Evan.” When he realized Duke referred to his suit and not him, Evan wanted to shrink into his Armani suit and come out only after Duke stopped looking at him with those stunning eyes.

  When he smiled, Evan swayed. He actually swayed, which both irritated and confused the hell out of him. Men didn’t sway, period.

  “How about we try this again.” Duke reached out his hand. Evan took it. They gave each other a firm shake, a man’s man handshake as his dad would call it, but then Duke ever so subtly ran his thumb across the tender part of Evan’s wrist. “Evan, it’s nice to meet a man who isn’t afraid to be himself.”

  His heart seized before painfully jump-starting back to life. “Excuse me?”

  “Your suit,” he pointed out with a quick nod. His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. “I like last year’s line better than this year’s, too. This year’s cut doesn’t hang as well from the shoulders. It doesn’t hug a person’s frame in all the right places. You have great shoulders.”

  Evan licked his lips at the image of being hugged in all the right places. Since Duke openly flirted with him, he failed to see the harm in flirting right back. “They’re not even my best asset.”

  “Neither are mine.” He grinned, and that dimple in his cheek sent Evan’s heart into palpitations. His imagination took over, and he pictured Duke naked as the day he was born, grinning from ear to ear as he leaned in and covered Evan’s lips with his. He licked his lips again in anticipation of the kiss that would ruin all other kisses for him, it’d be that memorable.

  “What would you say is your best asset?” Evan couldn’t stop himself from staring at Duke’s mouth.

  “I have so many, it’s hard to narrow it down to one.” And, just like that, the man’s arrogance doused the arousal humming along Evan’s nerves. He forced a smile and lowered to gather the rest of the papers. “Was it something I said?”

  “Was there something you needed, Mr. Duke?” Evan countered, playing it safe by staying low and taking his time collecting the paperwork for this afternoon’s meeting.

  His phone buzzed again, pulling his attention. “You can start by calling me Clint.”

  Oh, how he wanted to and wished he could. “It’s inappropriate for me to refer to the boss by his first name.”

  “I’m not the boss, yet. How about you call me Clint until it’s official?”

  “I don’t think so.” Evan studied him, wishing they’d met under different circumstances.

  “I insist.”

  He dropped the receipts to the counter. “Why do you care what I call you?”

  Clint grinned wide. There had to be more to that smile, like he had a secret he couldn’t wait to tell him. Or, more specifically, show him. “An explanation best left for later. For now, let’s just stick with first names.”

  What an odd response. Evan didn’t have time for this petty argument. He had a board meeting to prep for. “You’re the boss.”

  He growled deep in the back of his throat, the sound primal. Heated. He dropped his phone into his pocket. “Let’s hope so.”

  No way did Evan imagine the sexual energy between them. He certainly felt it, the tension so heavy it tightened around his cock and bubbled in his balls, making him uncomfortable. “Was there anything else, sir?”

  “As a matter of fact, there is.” He straightened when Candy swayed over and held up a little green-and-silver diagonal-striped Kelley’s bag.

  “Your perfume, sir.”

  She smiled and even let out a giggle when Clint ran his finger over hers as he took the bag. “Thank you, Candy. I’m sure she’ll love it.”

  “If she doesn’t, bring her in and I’ll personally work with her to find a scent she loves.”

  “You got it.” He finished with a wink that caused Candy to blush hard. Spikes of jealousy shot through Evan. He waited, silently fuming, as Clint continued to flirt with Candy.

  “It’s a gift,” Clint explained after Candy waltzed back to her station.

  For the flavor-of-the-week, no doubt. “I’m sure she’ll love it,” he repeated Clint’s words as disappointment pinched in his midsection. What the hell was he doing lusting after a straight man? A straight man, he reminded himself, who’d made himself famous for playboying around with anything in a skirt. Evan’s jealous bone twitched anyway, which only confused and irritated him more.

  He whipped around and slipped on the papers still on the floor. He would have crashed to the linoleum if Clint hadn’t caught him with those big, strong hands that had Evan’s imagination on overdrive and feeling the heat. Oh, what Clint could do to him with those thick fingers strategically placed.

  Clint dropped his gaze to Evan’s groin and held it there. At first, he frowned. But then as Evan’s reaction to his attention stirred in his cock and made his arousal visible, Clint kicked the corner of his mouth into a hungry grin. He licked his lips, causing Evan to harden even more.

  A groan echoed between them and it took a second to realize it’d come from him. Oh, shit. Clint would probably have him fired for indecent exposure because, as God as his witness, Evan was ready to drop his pants right there and see what happened next. That dark look in Clint’s eyes told him he wouldn’t be opposed to it.

  This made no sense. Clint was into women, not men. Everything Evan had ever read about him pointed to Clint Duke being hypersexual with plenty of partners to get his fill. But that look, that smile, that attention on Evan’s groin… All those gestures pointed to quite the opposite.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for a board meeting.” Evan grabbed what he could of his paperwork. He didn’t care about the papers around Clint’s feet. For this meeting, the papers in his own hands wouldn’t even help. No papers would unless they had dead presidents on them.

  Clint crossed his heavily muscled arms in front of him and brought his hand up to his handsome chin as he studied Evan. “If you were a member of the board, you wouldn’t be working the floor, which tells me you are on the agenda. What’s your job here?”

  “I’m a personal shopper.”

 
Instead of asking of what, which was the response most had when people asked him what he did for a living, Clint simply nodded. “Judging by the way you dress, you’re good at your job. I have very specific tastes and may call on your services when the time is needed.”

  Who talked like that? Evan had to wonder. What sort of specific tastes? The unknown, mixed with a wicked glimmer in Clint’s eyes, sparked more than Evan’s interest. With a smile, he walked around the counter and up to the boss, pulling another card out of his inside pocket en route. He handed it to Clint and gave him a single nod as he cocked his lips up into a crooked grin. With nothing to lose, he went for broke.

  “In case you lose the first one.”

  He reached for the card and pulled at it. Evan held it tight between his thumb and forefinger. When their gazes locked, Clint’s sexy lips curled up at the corners. Evan returned the gesture.

  “It was very nice meeting you. I hope to see you again.” For good measure, he added, “Mr. Duke.”

  Clint let out an audible groan. If Evan had it wrong, if Clint Duke hadn’t been coming on to him for the past fifteen minutes, then he’d end up not only with a broken nose but on the front page of every tabloid magazine when the paparazzi picked up on the fight.

  “I already told you to call me Clint.” He inched closer. “I’m used to being obeyed.”

  God, how he loved this side of Clint Duke. So dominate. So in control. When he said the word obeyed, Evan inhaled sharply. Why, he had no idea. He wasn’t into the BDSM lifestyle. No one told him what to do.

  Swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat, he whispered, “Yes, sir.”

  He grinned wide and grabbed his phone from his pocket, checking the screen. “That’s better.”

  “Anything else I can do for you?” Evan barely breathed, the charge between them so strong it sucked the air from the entire floor.

  “I believe there is.” Clint’s gaze darkened with unmistakable hunger as he inched closer, his words for Evan’s ears only. “I need you to answer a pounding question for me. It’s driving me insane, thrusting me with doubt.”

  Oh, God. Clint’s words had Evan so turned on he felt a little dizzy as the blood rushed to his groin. “What’s that?”

  “Are you a top? Or bottom?”

  Too stunned to answer, he simply blinked as the question sank in. Did he hear that right? Was Clint Duke, as Evan hoped and prayed, gay? Bi, at least? Better yet, was he coming on to him?

  “You know what? Never mind. I’m sure I’ll find out soon enough.” With a coy smirk, Clint sauntered away, his attention back on his phone. Evan watched him until he disappeared around a corner and let out a sigh not too different than the one Patsy had let out when she studied the gorgeous Seattle bachelor.

  “Gay,” Patsy sang as she came up behind him. “I’d bet my inheritance on it. And, for the record, he’s totally into you.”

  It took several seconds for Evan to recover from the heated encounter and get his breathing under control. He didn’t say anything about it to Patsy. He couldn’t until he made sense of it himself. Clint Duke—the playboy billionaire—just might prefer men. Well, he was at least open to the idea of dominating a man. And, oh, how Evan wanted to be that man.

  Which made no sense. He’d never been one to be dominated. Yes, he preferred bottom, but that didn’t make him any less dominate than being a top. He wasn’t a submissive. He just wasn’t. If that was what Clint wanted, he’d have to find someone else to play with. Evan didn’t do the whole fifty shades of you Tarzan me John game.

  He spent the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon doing what he did best—his job—all while desperately trying to stop the mental playback of his encounter with Clint on an endless loop. By the time Evan’s phone sounded with the alert for the meeting coming up in fifteen minutes, he’d sold enough to pay for both his and Patsy’s wages for the day—but not much more, which didn’t help their case.

  “I guess it’s time,” Patsy announced when they returned to the counter. “Put up a good fight for us, honey.”

  Reality came crashing down. By this time tomorrow, he’d more than likely be looking for another job, one not nearly as glamorous as a personal shopper at an elite department store. “I won’t be long.”

  “Oh, please. Take your time. I’m in no rush to tell Daddy the only job I’ve ever had is gone. God only knows where he’d force me to work.” She frowned as she paused. “I can’t work anywhere that would make me wear a hat or hairnet. I refuse to cover these expensive weaves, so do whatever you can to save our asses, would you?”

  “You’re all heart, Patsy.” He walked toward the elevator, decided against it, and took the stairs. He wanted to delay the inevitable as long as possible. As soon as he entered that boardroom on the seventh floor, everything would change.

  3

  There had to be something wrong with him. Had to be. Lack of sleep after taking the redeye in from Atlanta must have shut off his brain, rendering him temporarily insane. Why else would he openly approach and then openly—purposely—arouse another man in public like that? There was something about Evan McKoy, something Clint wanted. To learn more about. To dominate. To own.

  His pale blue eyes, like a cloudless summer sky, haunted his thoughts and tightened his balls. Evan’s wavy dark brown hair begged for Clint to weave his fingers in it as he kissed him with the hunger he desperately hoped Evan felt too.

  For as long as Clint could remember, he’d denied who he was and hated it. No, that wasn’t true. He’d publicly denied his sexuality. He’d had his fair share of lovers, and it had taken a hefty chunk of change to pay off each and every one of his male partners to keep quiet about it. It also took a shitload of money to pay a whole lot of wannabe female models to pose with him for those sleazy tabloids, all to keep up his playboy image.

  God, he was so tired of the act.

  If he were a nobody, some Joe Blow from the streets, no one would give a second thought that he preferred men. Not only that, but he preferred dominating men, owning them, having them submit to his every command. It wasn’t the need for power. He had plenty of power. Over the company. Over all the employees. Over every aspect of this lie he called his life.

  Boring sex, well, bored him. It was two men rutting around, grunting and grinding, each searching for that explosion of pleasure that would leave them physically sated. If physical release was all he craved, he’d hire an escort. Hell, he’d do it himself and save the money.

  But he craved so much more than that.

  It was the need for control, not over his sub, but over his own wants. Having someone completely relinquish control over to Clint, trusting him without reservation, without fear, was the ultimate aphrodisiac. He wanted to drive his lover to the brink of his sanity with unbelievable, undeniable, unrelenting pleasure. Driving him to lose all control, in turn, gave that control over to Clint. It tested every fiber of his being each time he took in a new sub. Once that thrill was gone, he terminated their contract and moved on.

  That had to be what this was. Evan McKoy was new. A shiny, blue-eyed toy. Once Clint had him a few times, buried his flesh deep into Evan’s tight body, he’d get over this fascination he had with the sharp-dressed man.

  Until then, God help him.

  “Are you comfortable, Mr. Duke?” The question from the old man sitting at the opposite end of the long conference table refocused Clint’s attention.

  “Quite.”

  Peter Kelley III, owner of Kelley’s Department Store until Clint signed on the dotted line making the deal official, kept his pale, aged gaze riveted to him. The way his son, Peter IV, snarled, his anger directed at Clint, made Peter III look downright warm and friendly.

  Clint didn’t blame them for hating him. He’d hate him too if the roles were reversed. Kelley’s would be his first deal since Franklin Duke died last year, thrusting Clint into the role of CEO of Duke Enterprises. He wished his family had made their empire washing cars or saving kittens from burnin
g buildings. Something worthy of making the headlines. Instead, he was about to oust the namesake family from the struggling department store he planned to break apart and sell off for a profit.

  Grant Duke, Clint’s uncle, had wanted the role of CEO and challenged the decision to place Clint in the hot seat. If it weren’t for Franklin’s specifically worded will, as well as an army of lawyers hired to fight off his uncle’s bid for Duke Enterprises, Clint would have been out on his ass.

  He’d hated Grant Duke for making it about the business and going after Clint while the entire family mourned the loss of the patriarch. He’d lost both his father and uncle right then and there. When Grant had come crawling back, begging Clint for another chance, it took nearly a year and a hell of a lot of soul-searching before he’d allowed his uncle’s return. To the company. To his life.

  It was actually Grant’s idea to look into Kelley’s, which still made no sense. Duke Enterprises only went after large struggling companies. Key word was large. Kelley’s didn’t even register as small in Clint’s book. The research alone on what it’d take to buy the store, the back and forth with the family, had taken a better part of nine months to weed through. Still, as a way to make amends, he’d agreed to the deal knowing full and well it wouldn’t net Duke Enterprises nearly the profit it usually made on takeovers. If it helped repair his family, he’d take the hit. They’d make it up on the next deal.

  His initial take on Kelley’s had been so-so. It was no wonder the store posted a steady loss the past three quarters. It had no online presence. It didn’t even have a website. Thanks to not changing with the times, it had more staff than customers. Very well-paid staff. He’d quickly remedy that. That’d be a simple fix and one that increased the bottom line without much effort. As the new owner, he had to show the rest of them he meant business—which equated to being a heartless bastard as he dropped the axe to prove a point.

  He planned to sell off the inventory from the fourth floor to one of those discount stores that boasted about carrying name-brand clothes. That alone could net enough to at least break even on this deal. Add in the makeup, perfumes, and all the other fluff behind the counters and he just may live up to the Duke name—for the first time.