Shades of Pleasure: Five Stories of Domination and Submission Page 5

  He’d blackmail the sexy and mysterious little office manager too.

  Elena was pissed. And scared. And ready to start crying all over again.

  Oh hell. The tears were flowing and she wasn’t going to even try to stop them anymore. Maybe she could guilt-trip Kyler into giving back her keys.

  It was freezing outside, but she didn’t feel the cold. She was so freaking furious her insides were an inferno. How dare Kyler take her keys and leave her here to freeze! What did he think he was going to accomplish by doing that? Keep her home Monday? Not a chance.

  There were other means of transportation to be found. She could call Ashley and ask her to come back and pick her up tonight. And then…she’d be forced to come up with some feasible explanation for why she didn’t have her keys and why it had taken her so long to realize they were missing.

  And then there was the issue of getting over to see her brother tomorrow. He was in the hospital again. She had several errands to run. She couldn’t ask Ashley to ferry her around all weekend.

  This was so unfair! The battle between these two assholes shouldn’t involve her. She shouldn’t be facing these kinds of complications. Jerks! Bastards! Conniving, lowlife scumbags!

  She stomped her foot then, giving Kyler’s shiny black Jaguar a glare, decided it was in need of a little facelift. Of course, she’d give Kyler a warning first. Let him decide.

  Plastering what she hoped was an evil you’re-so-going-to-be-sorry-for-this grin on her face, she knocked on his window. “Give me my keys, or I’ll make your car look like it just went through a hail storm…with hailstones the size and shape of my foot.”

  He didn’t look threatened.

  The window silently slid down. “Just get in the car. We need to talk.” His breath made little white puffs in the air.

  “Hell no! Why would I go anywhere with you?”

  “Because it’s better than freezing.”

  “Believe me,” she growled through gritted teeth, “I’m not cold.”

  “You will be.” Looking way too chipper, and much too handsome, he patted the seat. “Get in. Let’s talk. I promise we can sort this whole thing out.”

  Sort it out. Hah. He had no idea. There was no sorting anything out. At least not for her.

  He, on the other hand, could avoid trouble pretty easily, by taking whatever proof he had about Matt Becker’s plans to the Powers That Be.

  She supposed, if he wanted to be a jerk, he could easily implicate her in the scheme too. That was, if he had no proof that she was being blackmailed into helping the Regional Sales Manager.

  Shit, what was she worried about? She’d be gone no matter what. And even if she was somehow able to avoid going to jail, she wouldn’t be able to afford the atrocious premiums to keep her health insurance, and bills for her brother’s treatment would mount to the freaking sky in no time.

  Because of her secret, she couldn’t file bankruptcy.

  Welcome to the world of around-the-clock bill collectors, judgments, garnisheed wages.

  She so didn’t want to go there again. Desperately. Which was why she was in this position in the first place. But it seemed there was no avoiding it now.

  The chill in the air had finally seeped inside her body, not so much cooling the fury churning within her, but adding another layer of sensation on top. She suddenly felt weary, tired of being the strong one, the one with all the answers. For once, she wanted someone else to take over, tell her everything was going to be okay, like she did for her brother. To shoulder all the pressures.

  It was hell being a surrogate mother to a teenager with a debilitating, long-term illness that made health insurance more vital than a paycheck. But that was what she was, and nothing was going to change it.

  “Get in. I’m not the selfish bastard Becker is, but I can’t let you do this to me.”

  She knew that was probably true, that Kyler wasn’t as selfish as Becker. But that didn’t mean she was ready to hop in his car and go for a joyride. He would only start asking questions again. And that would lead to nothing good.

  She sighed and tried to gather her windblown hair out of her face. She smoothed the unruly locks back, tucked them behind her ears. “Look, if you truly wanted to help me, you’d give me back my keys and find another way to beat Becker at his game. Why not just take whatever proof you have against him to the higher-ups? Wouldn’t that do it?”

  He shook his head. “It would, if I had proof. All I had was a tip. Nothing substantial enough to counter the evidence you’re going to plant.”

  Shoot! Then he had been fishing earlier. For details. Proof. How much did he know? “If you know about the evidence I’m supposed to plant, couldn’t you just play interference? Remove it before anyone else finds it?”

  He shook his head. “Not unless you tell me exactly where that evidence will be.”

  She considered telling him. Very seriously, for about ten seconds, then dismissed the idea. If she put the papers where she was supposed to, and then Matt saw Kyler immediately take them out, he’d know she’d spilled. “I can’t. Matt’ll figure it out.”

  He sighed again. That had to be at least five times now. “Whatever he’s got on you, it must be bad.”

  She didn’t respond. Even in the courts, a girl was permitted to plead the Fifth.

  “But you see,” he said, his expression turning wicked, “I’ve got something on you too. I could turn the tables on you, blackmail you too.”

  “You’re bluffing. If you had anything on me, you’d have me fired so I couldn’t plant the evidence, and therefore protect your precious little job.” She held her breath, hoping that was the case. It made sense.

  He tipped his head, narrowed his eyes. “So you’re willing to take the chance I’m lying? Quite the gambler, aren’t you?”

  “Hey, you’re the one trying to force my hand.”

  “No, you are, by holding your cards so close to your chest.”

  Great, now they had resorted to talking in poker clichés. She wasn’t even a card player. She sighed. “I just want to go home. And Monday, I want to go to work, and keep my job.”

  More silence.

  Dammit, could they just come to some kind of agreement here? She was tired, cold, worn out, emotionally drained.

  “How about a wager?” he offered. “I win, you do what I say. You win, I’ll find another way to stop Becker, or face the music if you two succeed.”

  “What kind of wager? I don’t know any card games.”

  He thought for a moment. “Flip of a coin?”

  At least that would be quick. She could be on her way home in less than a minute. Or she could be in even more trouble, depending upon the way the coin landed. “Just one flip?”

  “How about two out of three?”

  Just freaking great. Practically her whole life was about to be determined by the toss of a quarter. But she supposed the odds were better to go this route than just totally give up.

  He patted the seat. “Better come in here where you can watch me, make sure I don’t cheat.”

  Conniver.

  “You’d better not cheat. Because that’s just too low for words.”

  “I promise, I always play fair.”

  She didn’t believe that bit of bullshit, but her hands were numb. She slipped and slid around the front end of his car, sat in the passenger seat. Ohhhh, the vehicle was toasty-warm inside, and smelled good, like the man who owned it. But she promptly reminded herself that this was not a date, but a serious bet they had going on. And losing would mean major problems for her and her brother.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  He held a quarter between his forefinger and thumb, twisting his wrist to show her both sides. “See? No trick coin.”

  “Okay. I got it. Just flip.”

  He placed the coin on his thumb. “Call it in the air. The ceiling’s low, so I can’t flip it high. You’ll have to be quick.”

  Up went the coin and she blurted, �
�Heads!” as it landed on his palm. He flipped it over, onto the back of his hand.

  He lifted the hand covering it. Her heart stopped.

  “Heads it is. One point for you.”

  She inhaled. Exhaled. Whew! It was a small victory, but it put her one step closer to walking away from him, guilt free.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  She nodded again, deciding she’d stick with the same side for all three tosses. “Heads!” she called immediately after he flipped it the second time.

  This time, when he uncovered the back of his hand, however, the coin was laying tails-up.

  Shit. Now they were tied one-to-one.

  Immediately she started questioning her strategy. Go with heads again? Or change to tails?

  “Last one. Call it in the air.” He flipped.

  She called, “Tails!”

  He caught the coin and flipped it onto the back of his hand. “Heads. I win.”

  Shit! No! “I meant to say heads. Can I have a do-over?”

  “Nope. We had a deal. You lost. Consider yourself double-blackmailed.” He dropped the quarter into her hand, put the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking spot. “Let’s go home. I’m tired. And I have a feeling the next few days are going to be hell.”

  She dropped the coin into her purse, mumbling, “You can say that again.”

  Chapter Two

  What an interesting turn of events.

  Tonight, when he’d gone out in search of Elena—the supposed accomplice in a shady plan to get him fired—Kyler had expected to have a friendly chat with the scheming little office manager, gather whatever evidence he could, and then head to work on Monday armed to have her and Becker fired on the spot.

  None of that had happened. They’d talked, but he’d quickly realized she was as much—if not more so—a victim as he.

  He’d also discovered a couple of other things. First, for some reason this woman stirred a very strong protective instinct in him. And second, which he assumed was related to the first, he wasn’t just a little attracted to her, like he had previously thought. He was wildly attracted to her.

  He wasn’t sure what it was about her. The huge, sad eyes, which made her look sweet and vulnerable. Or maybe that lovely heart-shaped face with that luscious mouth. Or perhaps it was her body—soft and feminine and delicate.

  He’d been sporting a painful erection since he’d trapped her between his arms in her car, and their faces had been inches apart. Even now he was in pain. His cock was rock hard, his balls tight. The craziest images were zinging through his head—Elena lying over his lap, her rear end red from the spanking he was giving her.

  Shit, he needed a cold shower.

  He shifted in the seat. Just a few more blocks and they’d be home. He’d set her up in the guestroom, let her get some sleep. And then tomorrow they’d sit down for a serious talk about the whole blackmail thing.

  And then…who knew?

  There’d been more than one reason why he’d decided to bring the sexy little office manager back to his place for the weekend. The most obvious—this whole blackmail bullshit.

  But also because of the chemistry. There was no doubt any more. He hadn’t imagined the signs of arousal he’d read in Elena tonight. The way she’d looked at him. She was as attracted to him as he was to her.

  Maybe this game of blackmail was exactly what she’d been looking for.

  * * * * *

  His house was freaking gorgeous.

  Okay, so she supposed it shouldn’t have surprised her. Not when the vice president drove a car that probably cost double her yearly salary—and she wasn’t paid peanuts—and dressed like a bazillion dollars every day. Head to toe, he was always dressed to kill. Every scuff buffed out of his shoes. Fingernails neat and trimmed. Hair immaculate, but not overdone to the point where he looked fake or gay. Clothes fitting him so perfectly, every piece looked like it had been made just for him.

  He was simply one well-dressed, well-groomed, well-built man. And his house belonged in the pages of some decorating magazine.

  They stepped into a massive foyer with soaring ceilings. Much like the exterior, the house’s interior was contemporary but not cold. Sleek and cool with hard lines and gleaming surfaces. Black tile floor with not a single piece of lint or a smudge to mar its mirror-like surface. A staircase with brushed silver-toned hand railings, winding up to a second story.

  Beyond the foyer was a greatroom that opened to a state-of-the art kitchen, and living area boasting comfortable-looking but stylish furniture.

  “Can I get you anything to eat or drink before we head up to bed?”

  A little ripple of…something pleasant…worked through her body. It was the we associated with the word bed that did it to her. Her face was suddenly really warm. So were a few other parts of her anatomy.

  “Maybe something to drink? Something cold?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged out of his jacket then helped her out of hers. Set them both on a nearby chair then reached for a glass from an open shelf.

  She stared at his butt, partly because it was there and partly because it looked so good in those black pants. This guy did not have the typical guy flat-ass. His was rounded just enough to be sexy. She guessed the source of the shape was one hundred percent muscle. She’d spent enough time in a gym to know.

  How she lusted after a guy with great glutes.

  And shoulders. Of course, Kyler’s were wide and thickly muscled. She could see the way the muscles bulged as he moved, even through the crisp white button-down shirt he wore.

  He dispensed some ice into the glass then asked, “Any preference? Soft drink? Iced tea? Bottled water?”

  Just for kicks, she blurted, “Perrier?” Not because she actually knew what was so special about that particular brand, but just because she hoped it made her sound a little refined. She was most definitely feeling a smidge outclassed. Not a feeling she was unaccustomed to, but for some reason, it was unusually uncomfortable tonight.

  She didn’t want to think why that might be.

  “No problem.” He opened the fridge, twisted open one of those recognizable bottles and poured some into the glass. “There you are.”

  “Thanks.” Their fingers brushed as she took the glass from him, and a little buzz of energy licked up her arm. Their gazes met, and for a moment she wanted to forget all about the whole blackmailing thing and just pretend they were on a date, doing guy-and-girl kinds of things.

  Tearing her gaze from his, she turned to admire the living room as she took her first sip of the French bottled water she’d never bothered to buy before. It was good, but not great. Did the job okay, which was really all she cared about at the moment. Her mouth was so dry she could barely speak. She swallowed several more mouthfuls. Yeah, not bad at all, but hardly worth the ridiculous price.

  “How about a snack?” At the refrigerator again, he pulled some small plastic containers out and set them on the shiny black granite counter.

  “I’m still pretty full from dinner.” That was a lie. She’d barely touched her food. But she was too jittery to eat right now. Not to mention, she’d long ago made a rule against eating anything that could not be easily identified.

  Orange pasty stuff. White creamy stuff. That was most definitely not identifiable. So, instead of digging in, she leaned back against the counter, sipped her water, and watched Kyler work.

  “Would you like to sit?” He motioned to the row of bar stools lining the raised side of the kitchen island.

  “Sure.” She walked around the front of the island and sat, watched him collect a plate, knife, box of crackers.

  The guy seemed to get better looking with every second that ticked by. How was that possible?

  He sat beside her, and she was instantly aware of how close he was. The air between their bodies felt warmer than the rest of the room. And sort of zip-zappy, like little currents of electricity were jolting between their bodies.

  He pulled out a cracker, sm
eared some of the orange stuff on it and, smiling over his shoulder, offered it to her. “Are you sure you aren’t hungry?”

  She was, but her insides were kind of jumbled up, and she was a smidge afraid of putting something foreign—and potentially dangerous—into her stomach. There was no way she was going to tell him that though. So she just said, “I’m sure. Thanks anyway.”

  “Okay.” He popped the cracker into his mouth, chewed. Washed it down with a sip of wine.

  An uncomfortable silence hung between them, and despite the sensual awareness warming her skin and making her all tingly, a question hung from the tip of her tongue. A question that would totally put a dampener on the date-like vibe of the moment.

  How would she ever sleep? In a strange house, with the stress of a job loss—and maybe jail, gah!—looming over her head.

  She needed a little of that wine. Not a lot. She wasn’t a big drinker, had the occasional glass on special nights, holidays, that kind of thing. She hadn’t gotten loaded since college. Tempting as it was to do so tonight, there was no way she’d do something so idiotic.

  “Mind if I upgrade to something a little harder?” She lifted her glass, motioning toward his.

  “Sure. What can I get you?” He popped another loaded cracker into his mouth. A tiny smudge of orange clung to his upper lip, and she couldn’t help staring at it.

  “How about some of whatever you’re drinking?”

  “Coming right up.” He got her a fresh wineglass, grabbed the bottle sitting on the counter next to the wine cooler, and sat back in his seat. He poured her a full glass then handed it to her. “There you go.”

  “Thanks.” Her gaze still locked on that bit of orange on his lip, she took a cautious taste. Ooh, yum. She took several more swallows then pointed at her own mouth. “Um, you’ve got something there.”

  “Where?” He wiped the wrong spot, like people always did. And she was forced to lean closer and actually touch his face with her finger. “There.”

  A big jolt of electricity charged up her arm, almost feeling as though she’d just touched a live wire. She froze, unable to pull her hand away, unable to move at all. He leaned closer, and she realized he was looking at her mouth.