Dangerously Big
Dangerously Big
Midpoint
DANGEROUSLY BIG
Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer:
DANGEROUSLY BIG © 2015 by Cleo Peitsche. All rights reserved worldwide. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without permission in writing from the author. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This book is for entertainment purposes only.
This book contains mature content and is solely for adults.
Cover Photo ©2014 by Cormar Covers
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Other Titles By Cleo
After Forever/Bisexual Billionaire Trilogy (Threesome Romance)
Careless
Hopeless
Fearless
After Forever Box Set
Office Toy Series (BDSM Gang Bang Romance)
Office Toy
Client Satisfaction
Company Vacation
Flex Time
Soft Skills
Executive Package
Executive Toy Series (BDSM Gang Bang Romance)
Executive Toy
Professional Sin
Dangerously Big
Trickiest Job (coming soon)
Dirtiest Lie (coming soon)
Forbidden Fix (coming soon)
By a Dangerous Man (BDSM Erotic Romantic Suspense)
Season One
Trapped by a Dangerous Man
Wanted by a Dangerous Man
Saved by a Dangerous Man
Tempted by a Dangerous Man
Seduced by a Dangerous Man
Season Two
Dared by a Dangerous Man
Broken by a Dangerous Man (coming soon)
Pursued by a Dangerous Man (coming soon)
Desired by a Dangerous Man (coming soon)
Protected by a Dangerous Man (coming soon)
The Shark Shifter Paranormal Romance
Touching Paradise
Master of the Deep
Oceans Untamed
Blood in the Water
Shark Burn (coming soon)
Take Me Hard Series (BDSM Romance)
Ride Me Hard
Love Me Hard
Use Me Hard
Take Me Hard Compilation #1
Push Me Hard
Fantasy Playland Series (BDSM)
Sleeping Lady
Sleeping chez Sade
Wide Awake
Wide Open
His Kiss
Fantasy Playland Box Set
Mistress Moi Series (Femdom)
My Three Slaves
Cuckold Chuck
Faye-Faye and the Sadist
Bad Boyfriend Series (Femdom Romance)
Bad Boyfriend
DANGEROUSLY BIG (Executive Toy #3) is an erotic romantic suspense. Contains menage and BDSM elements in an office setting.
Working for Romeo, Hawthorne, and Slade is a challenge, but the dominant men give Lindsay exactly what she needs. Even though Hawthorne continues to drive her insane, she’s happy with her new life.
But when a stranger with a gun steps out of the shadows, Lindsay realizes that happy is dangerous.
Happy will get her killed.
A woman with Lindsay’s past doesn’t have the luxury of waiting for a knight on a white horse. She’ll have to settle for an arrogant, condescending billionaire… one whose goal has always been to get rid of her.
Desperate women don’t get easy choices.
Chapter 1
I’m only two blocks from the office when I get so overheated that I have to stop and remove my power blue blazer. I gather my hair into a messy ponytail and lift it off my shoulders.
A cool breeze kicks up and whispers across my damp neck. Long strands of platinum blonde hair drift across my face. My kingdom for a hair clip, I think. But I don’t have anything like a kingdom to trade.
If I did, I wouldn’t be running back to the office at 5:00. I’d be heading home like everyone else.
A man on a bike whizzes by, but not before he whistles in appreciation.
After a quick peek down—to make sure I didn’t perspire through my blouse, that I don’t look like a fugitive from a wet T-shirt contest—I start walking again.
Traffic is backed up. Cars jerk forward a few inches at a time. Horns blare. The air is heavy with the smell of exhaust and rubber, and it’s like the entire city is angry about something.
Not me, though. My heart is light, my soul free.
Free by my standards, anyway.
I take advantage of the standstill traffic to jog across the street. My skirt is tight, forcing me to take small steps, to run mostly on my toes. My heavy, oversized shoulder bag bounces against my hip, and my breasts jiggle a little uncomfortably.
As I dart between two parked sedans, one of my stiletto heels just… crumbles under my weight.
Stumbling, I catch myself on the car’s hood. Barely.
I hobble to the sidewalk and brace my hip against a parking meter. Slowly, I bend my knee and look at my shoe. The heel has snapped, the bottom part connected to the sole only by a flimsy strip of black fabric.
The crowd, oblivious to my tragedy, continues past me, and I stare mournfully at my shoe. Pushing away from the meter, I put weight on my foot and take a tentative step. After all, I don’t have far to go.
The first step is fine, but the second?
Disaster.
I get chummy with the meter again. As I look up, I catch sight of Romeo standing in front of our office building.
Even from a distance, his dark gray suit looks crisp, like he just put it on. He’s talking to someone I can’t see.
Romeo seems relaxed. His face is arrestingly gorgeous, and I can’t take my eyes off him.
Then he smiles, and my heart stops beating. There haven’t been enough of Romeo’s smiles lately.
Passing groups of women check him out. Who can blame them? He’s tall and extraordinarily well-built. His facial features are perfect, symmetrical. He’s got a strong jaw and chin, a straight nose, full lips, white teeth that contrast with his lightly bronzed skin.
It doesn’t hurt that he exudes success and power. At twenty-eight years old, he commands envy and respect, and he knows it.
Another tall, dark-haired man moves into view. Slade. Grinning, he says something, and Romeo throws back his head and laughs. Even though I can’t hear anything across the distance and the murmur of the crowd and the honking horns and squealing brakes, I still feel his laugh vibrating through my body.
I’d give anything to know what they’re talking about. But even when I’m sandwiched between them, I’m always on the outside. I wonder where Hawthorne is.
If they all go up together, maybe that means there’s time for some fun? They’re like the three musketeers of sex: one for all and all for one. It’s not always easy to coordinate the schedules.
Romeo glances at his phone, and the smile slides off his face. He says something, then walks away. After a moment, Slade crosses the street.
I track his progress, hoping he’ll sense me staring and look over.
He doesn’t. He does, however, reach the far side without his shoes falling apart. As he disappears into the crowd, I can’t help but f
eel a little disappointed. I like Slade. A lot.
“How’s your ankle?” asks a deep male voice.
I glance up into Hawthorne’s piercing blue eyes. His conservative tie is slightly loose, and his hands are in his pockets, but his posture is ramrod straight, and every dark hair on his head is in place.
My cheeks heat, and I don’t answer.
“Do you want a ride?”
“No,” I say. “I’ve got more work to do.”
“I know. I’m offering to carry you.” His smirk doesn’t deserve a reply, so I don’t offer one.
While I dig through my bag, Hawthorne hovers. Let him. I’m good at ignoring people, even when they’re as unfairly sexy as he is.
Hawthorne begins to whistle. It takes me a moment to place the slow, somber tune—a funeral march. For my shoes?
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask. “Kicking puppies or stealing lollipops from babies?”
“I did all that this morning,” he says.
The weight of my bag pulls it down, and I rebalance it against my knee and continue to dig. I don’t ask myself what Hawthorne wants because it’s clear: he can’t pass up an opportunity to annoy me.
“I actually could use a favor,” I say, my voice strangled because I’m leaning over, and the waistband on my skirt is too tight for this pose.
My fingers land on the plastic bag, all the way at the bottom of my bag, of course. I pull out my emergency ballet flats, which are rolled tightly, and coax them flat as I straighten.
It’s not easy to do the balancing thing with Hawthorne watching so intently, but I manage to change my shoes.
“You want to be of assistance? See that these receive a proper burial.” I shove the stilettos at him.
To my surprise, he accepts them, albeit between two pinched fingers. If his nose goes any higher, he’ll need a chiropractor to fix his neck.
I pin him with a wintry stare. “Thank you,” I say. And then… heaven help me… I smirk. It’s Hawthorne’s most irritating quirk, and now he’s got me doing it.
He smiles.
Something about staring into his cool blue eyes while in the middle of the bustling crowd is intimate, and in a heartbeat I feel my breath turn shallow, heat spiraling inside me.
“Guess I’ll see you later.” He heads off in the direction Romeo went. As he passes a trashcan, he tosses my shoes.
I wish I could say that I don’t watch him go, but I do. Hawthorne is every bit as gorgeous as he is irritating.
It’s an awful combination in a boss. Luckily, my other two bosses are kind. Not to say they’re easy. They’re not. They make me work long hours, and they get a little too liberal with the spankings during sex, but I have no complaints.
When I start to walk again, there’s a surreal disconnect between my head and my feet. It’s like a naked-in-front-of-the-class dream.
Dear lord but the pavement is hard, and I can feel every little bump under my soles. No one should have to be so intimate with a public sidewalk.
By the time I reach the building’s entrance, I’m walking on my tiptoes. It’s just more comfortable.
That’s worrisome. I’ve heard about women who screw up their legs by wearing heels all the time, but I’m only twenty-three. Surely my calf muscles aren’t permanently shortened?
Someone bumps into me, doesn’t apologize.
Then it happens again.
Frowning, I go through the doors. The security guard says, “Identification.”
Apparently he doesn’t recognize me if I’m four inches shorter. Though… I’m not sure I recognize him, either.
This is all Romeo’s fault. He ordered me to give up my padded, pushup bras, and now, without cleavage, without high heels, I’ve become invisible. By the time I step off the elevator, my confidence is circling the drain.
It doesn’t matter, though. Most of the office is gone for the day. I just have a quick hour of work to wrap up, then I can head home.
There’s a lot to do, and I plunge into it. Tomorrow’s the day we restructure Food4Life, and I’m behind with my employee recommendations. It doesn’t help that I had Slade with me as I conducted the interviews, so my notes are only semi-legible.
With bosses as hot as Romeo, Slade and Hawthorne, it can be impossible to concentrate. It’s a wonder I haven’t sketched X-rated doodles in all the margins.
~ ~ ~
Toward 8:00, I look through my remaining notes. Two more reports, but they’re the most difficult.
Sooner begun, sooner done, as my mom used to say whenever I put off doing my homework. The bittersweet memory makes me smile. I take a sip of cold coffee and resume typing.
I’m aware of someone walking down the hallway, toward my part of the office, but I’m focused on my work.
“Lindsay Yorker.”
Even as my last name rings into the silence, the blood sludges in my veins, and a chill inches down my spine.
My fingers, though, continue dancing over the keyboard. Gibberish, but I don’t stop.
This is the first time I’ve been addressed with my real last name since I was sixteen.
I’m certain I don’t recognize the man’s voice. He’s likely a hired investigator or a freelancer looking to collect whatever reward my grandfather is currently offering for my return.
Which means he’s going off old photos. I was brunette then, and I’m blonde now. I’m also older.
Still, I’m drenched in cold sweat. Someone has found me. It’s not the first time, but usually I realize what’s happening and change towns.
I sense the stranger coming closer, and I try to catch his reflection in the monitor.
It doesn’t matter.
I don’t have a weapon, and if he’s here, then I’m almost certainly alone in the office. Which means he’s been watching. Waiting.
The air stirs slightly and I know he’s moving toward me.
For some inexplicable reason I think about insects, about how they can tell when someone is going to squash them. It’s because they sense the change in airflow.
But even though I know I’m about to get obliterated, I’m unable to move. It’s like I’ve turned into a mannequin, my posture proper and perfect, my eyes glued to the screen but seeing nothing through the haze of fear. If not for my fingers clack-clack-clacking away, I’d think I was paralyzed.
He’s in my peripheral vision now. A broad mass of a man, though average height. He smells like stale cigarette smoke. He smells like the end of my freedom, and I swallow hard. The lump in my throat is like concrete.
“Little Miss Lindsay Yorker,” he says again, provoking. There’s not a sliver of doubt in his voice.
He knows exactly who I am.
But I turn to face him with a polite smile on my face.
I expect someone who looks, I don’t know, sinister, but he’s average, his face pleasant. I know what he sees: a sexed-up blonde with pale blue eyes, immaculate makeup.
“You must be mistaken,” I say pleasantly. “My last name is—”
“Yorker,” he says. He reaches for my arm, and I jerk away, the office chair flying backward along the carpet until the back of the chair slams into a coworker’s desk. Her cup of pens rattles, then topples noisily.
He advances, and there’s no way I can dart around him.
And all I can think is that it’s not possible.
This man can’t have gotten into the building, not with all the security.
Which means he’s not here, blocking me with his squat body. He’s not going through my purse and helping himself to my car key, phone, wallet. He’s not rifling through my desk drawers.
And if he’s not here, I’m imagining all this, and any second now the delusion will pass and I’ll get back to my reports, then I’ll go home and watch a romantic comedy with my cat, maybe eat butter pecan ice cream.
But then he comes toward me, his face expressionless except for the slight snarl on his lips.
His yellowed, tobacco-stained fingers tighten
around my arm.
“Been looking for you a long time, Lindsay Yorker,” he says.
Chapter 2
The elevator is already waiting; he shoved a chair in the door to stop it from closing.
I glance down the hall, toward the executive offices in the hope that Romeo will come out and fuck this guy up.
Everything is quiet, the doorways dark.
“There’s no one here,” the kidnapper says, his grip tightening until a gasp hisses through my clenched teeth. “But you’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you?” He shakes me. “Aren’t you?”
His other hand lifts his jacket, revealing a holstered gun.
I nod mutely, tears blurring my vision.
As the elevator descends, I pray for someone else to get on, but we arrive at the parking garage without any interruptions.
My shock is starting to wear off, and maybe that would be good if I had any ideas at all.
But I don’t.
The man knows where my car is, and he shoves me toward it. He unlocks the door and pops the trunk.
“No!” I gasp.
He covers my mouth. His hand is so big that it’s covering my nostrils as well. I struggle uselessly against him.
He gets me from behind and carries me, thrashing wildly, to the trunk. I fight him as hard as I can, but he’s not only bigger and stronger, he’s got experience on his side. It’s not a comforting realization.
“Scream and I’ll shoot you,” he says as he dumps me in the trunk. And it’s the calm delivery that makes me believe him.
Immediately, I clamp down on my bubbling panic. I’ve got one tool, one chance to change this man’s mind. I smile and pretend this is just a sales call with someone who wants to slam the door in my face.
“Look, you’re in charge here,” I say. The overhead garage lights hurt my eyes, but I don’t squint. “Let’s discuss a mutually beneficial arrangement—”
Dangerously Big Page 1
