Golden Dolphin 2
Harper's Submission
The second BDSM cruise of the Devereau brothers’ super yacht named the Golden Dolphin from New York Harbor to Montreal introduces high-powered Manhattan attorney and Domme Harper Cameron and gorgeous Pharma billionaire and Dom Morgan Court. After the conclusion of a very intense four-month antitrust trial, their unrelenting, but undisclosed, attraction has surfaced.
Harper decides to take him up on his no-strings-attached offer to enjoy a BDSM cruise aboard the luxurious three-hundred-foot super yacht. She is unaware that he has decided that she is going to bottom for him. Little does he know that he’s met his match. It won’t be easy to dominate the beautiful, sexy, and determined Harper, who has demons of her own to conquer. But despite her reluctance to become involved with him, she finds Morgan Court compelling and sexy. She’s going to have a fight on her hands.
Genre: BDSM, Contemporary
Length: 64,799 words
HARPER’S SUBMISSION
Golden Dolphin 2
Skye Michaels
EROTIC ROMANCE
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Erotic Romance
HARPER’S SUBMISSION
Copyright © 2013 by Skye Michaels
E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-714-7
First E-book Publication: March 2013
Cover design by Harris Channing
All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
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DEDICATION
For my family and friends, who have given me so much encouragement, not to mention relentless teasing. Life happens. Enjoy the journey.
With many thanks to the following special people:
Patricia Walker for her help in editing this book. I couldn’t do it without her!
My daughter, Jenni, for her idea for this new series and for all her technical help.
Captain Gary for his help with the operations of a large yacht.
My old friend and riding/driving instructor, Pat Moir, for her help with the driving scenes.
Good-bye, Mimi. The Dude and I will miss you, girlfriend.
HARPER’S SUBMISSION
Golden Dolphin 2
SKYE MICHAELS
Copyright © 2013
Prologue
Steps of the Daniel Patrick Moynihan United States Courthouse for the Southern District of New York, New York City. Friday, November 8, 2013—Early Evening
Harper Cameron peered carefully out of the door at the top of the steps of the federal courthouse before cautiously exiting the building. Dusk had fallen, and it was dark and rather foreboding out on the steps. She had not wanted to leave the building until all of the reporters and television cameras were gone. They had finally given up on getting a statement from her, no doubt thinking she had left through one of the underground exits used to transport prisoners in and out of the courthouse.
It had been the last day of an exhausting and complex antitrust trial. She had won a decision for Court Industries against the federal prosecutors seeking to divest her client of a good portion of their pharmaceutical holdings, including patents on several promising new medications, which were still in the development and testing phases.
When she saw the black stretch limousine pull up to the curb, and a uniformed chauffeur exit the car, she put her handbag over her shoulder and started down the steps with her briefcase in her hand. The chauffeur opened the door and patiently waited as Harper came down the stairs. She glanced inside the car before she gracefully slid in and turned to face the other occupant in the backseat.
“Well, Mr. Court, another victory for the good guys against the forces of a too-controlling government seeking to infringe on free enterprise.”
“Indeed, Ms. Cameron. Good job.” Morgan Court turned toward her and took off his dark-framed glasses with clear lenses, which served to camouflage the burning gaze of his enigmatic coal-black eyes. It always amazed Harper that the mere removal of Morgan’s glasses could change his entire look from nondescript to striking. His wavy black hair fell to the collar of the black cashmere overcoat he wore over a black double-breasted Armani suit. “Can I pour you a glass of champagne? Or do you want to wait until we’re on board to have our first toast?”
Harper smiled at him. “I think I’ll wait until we’re on board the Golden Dolphin.” They were boarding the ship early in order to avoid the scrutiny of the press. Any statements regarding the trial could be left in the capable hands of her firm’s partners and their public relations firm. For some reason, the press had fixed its eye on her and had pursued her relentlessly during the entire trial. They had made it more about what she would wear to court each day than what she had to say in court, which annoyed her to no end. The other hot topic in the trash press was whether her client, Morgan Court, was present and accounted for. Harper knew she would be a virtual prisoner in her Upper East Side brownstone town house for the entire weekend if she returned there. Her bags had been delivered to the ship early that morning. Morgan’s friend, Jamie Devereau, who owned the luxury
yacht on which they would cruise the New England coast and St. Lawrence River inland to Montréal and back again, had done them the favor of allowing early boarding so that they could take advantage of the ship’s excellent security team before departure.
Harper laughed to herself. Morgan Court, when he was not shielding his attributes, was truly one good-looking man. He was sleekly tall and muscular with wide shoulders and long legs. She also knew that he was one of the wealthiest men in New York, if not the entire country, although the facts about the extent of his net worth were zealously protected and not generally known. It was rumored that his fortune was in the top one hundred, but he never made the list because he carefully guarded his personal and financial profiles, avoiding interviews and photo ops like the plague. As one of New York’s most eligible bachelors, he was pursued by the legitimate press, as well as the paparazzi, at every opportunity. She also knew that he was a master of disguise and well able to come and go as he chose. She had seen him enter the courthouse and sit in the back row wearing an old trench coat and worn-down sneakers. Only his piercing black eyes would have given him away to a more astute observer. Harper had never had the need or opportunity to change her appearance, but wouldn’t that be a handy skill? Maybe he would be able to give her some tips on that.
As the head of the trial team, Harper had been working virtually seven days a week for months. Several months of intensive trial prep, depositions, and discovery had been followed by four months in trial. It had been grueling, but she had been successful. It was a major feather in her cap at her firm, Godley, Haddonfield & Dunnellon. The vampires in senior management had a tendency to take as much as they could get from their senior associates. If she let them, they would suck her dry. That was why she had accepted Morgan’s “no-strings-attached” offer of a BDSM cruise to Canada aboard the Golden Dolphin, a three-hundred-foot, extremely luxurious mega yacht. She desperately needed a break. She had some decisions to make, such as whether to accept an offer to jump to another high-profile firm as a partner or open her own shop.
Harper and Morgan had originally met at the secret and very luxurious BDSM club known as Le Club Eastside-Manhattan located in a Lower East Side warehouse. The membership was extremely limited and closely held. The club had incredibly tight security. Although they were both members and she had seen Morgan Court at the club, they had never engaged in a scene together. He was a Dom who always wore a mask, and she was a Domme who never had sex with her subs.
* * * *
Morgan Court had been waiting for an opportunity to get to know Harper Cameron. “Know” as in the biblical sense. When he had spotted the beautiful black-haired, blue-eyed Domme at Le Club Eastside a year and a half before, he had been disappointed that she was not a sub. But the more he watched her—and watch her very carefully he did—the more sure he was that he could get her to bottom for him. He could see the dark undercurrents in Harper’s eyes. He didn’t know why they were there, but he was hopeful that he would be able to find out over the coming twenty-two days of the cruise.
When he had learned that she was a senior litigation associate with a very prestigious Wall Street law firm where his company was a client, he had made sure the assignment for the upcoming antitrust trial went her way. He had checked out her qualifications carefully before he had put the very complicated trial in her extremely capable hands, and he hadn’t been disappointed in her performance. Her listing in Martindale Hubble, the directory of attorneys and law firms, had told him she was thirty-five and had done both her undergraduate work and attended law school at Fordham University. He now hoped his fantasies of convincing her to bottom for him would materialize and that he would not be disappointed in her performance as his sub. She had no idea what was in store for her, but he was sure he could bring her around.
* * * *
Harmon Burke was sitting uncomfortably in the office of Maurie Cullen, his editor at the trash paper he worked for. He had hopes that the exposé he planned to do on the billionaire pharmaceutical baron, Morgan Court, would get him the hell out of here and into the big time. He could see himself with a New York Times byline, or the New York Post at the very least. Shit! Even the New York Daily News would be better than this dump. It was his dream. But first, he had to placate this jerk.
“Sir, I lost them. I waited at the federal courthouse until after dark, but I never saw either of them come out. They must have gotten out through the underground parking lot.”
“That’s not good enough, Burke. You damn well better get a lead on them, or I’ll give this plum assignment to another reporter. You don’t have a lock on it.”
Burke got up and left the editor’s pigsty of an office. He hoped he hadn’t inhaled enough smoke and bullshit to kill him.
Chapter One
The Port of New York and New Jersey, New York, New York. November 9, 2013—Saturday Morning
Harmon Burke had spent the day canvassing the neighborhoods around Harper Cameron’s town house and Morgan Court’s co-op building, looking for a lead. He had finally found a neighbor who had seen bags from Cameron’s town house being loaded into a delivery van on Friday morning. He had been able to track down the driver of the van due to the detailed description provided by the busybody neighbor who spent her days watching the comings and goings of the neighborhood from her window above the street. After some currency had changed hands, he had found out that the bags had been delivered to the wharf and loaded onto the yacht, the Golden Dolphin. After asking around the wharf and listening to the conversations of the crewmen from the ship at a local coffee shop, he had learned that the private yacht was bound for a cruise up the Eastern Seaboard to the St. Lawrence River and Montréal. The first stop was Newport, Rhode Island and then Boston. He could see that the security aboard was extremely tight. The gangway was constantly guarded. He wondered if he would be able to stow away and possibly get some photos or information on Court and Cameron. It was risky. He had no idea if he could pull it off, but if he could, it would be a hell of coup. If he got caught, what could they do to him? It wasn’t like they could throw him overboard, was it? Was it? Shit. Was that trespassing? He had no answer to any of those questions. But damn it! I’m a member of the press. It’s my right to snoop—uhh, investigate. Just in case he got an opportunity, he had packed a small belt bag with energy bars, his cell phone, and his small digital camera and an extra lens for close-ups. He looked for an inconspicuous place to lay low and watch the gangplank.
On Saturday morning, amid all the confusion of last-minute supplies and equipment being loaded aboard the Golden Dolphin, the steward guarding the gangplank had a moment when he rushed to help one of the crew with a heavy box that he was about to drop. Harmon took the opportunity to slip aboard the ship. He didn’t hesitate. If he had, he certainly would have been caught. His heart was racing. He had no idea where to hide. He quickly slipped into the first unlocked door he came to, which luckily was a small storage room on the first deck. During the evening while the crew was busy getting passengers settled, he managed to score a crewman’s uniform from the laundry room. Some hapless guy had left his laundry in the dryer. He managed to put together a complete uniform that should fit him fairly well. At least he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb, and hopefully it would give him some freedom of movement around the ship. This was just the opportunity Harmon needed. He snapped up the uniform and retreated to the storage room, hoping no one would need something and come in and find him before they left port. Harmon put on the uniform when he got to the storage room. While he was adjusting his slightly larger frame into the slightly smaller uniform, he found a green rubber bracelet in the pocket of the slacks. He had noticed some of the crew wearing the green bracelets, and he put it on his wrist, although he didn’t understand the significance.
Chapter Two
The Port of New York and New Jersey, New York, New York, on board the Golden Dolphin, November 9, 2013—Saturday Evening
Morgan seated Harper in a chair at the
table for two in the opulent dining room on the top deck of the Golden Dolphin. Their table overlooked the city skyline, as well as New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. The view was stunning. Trying not to be obvious, he glanced down the front of the short, black silk cocktail dress that emphasized her long neck and opulent breasts, which were mounded high. He could not catch a glimpse of her nipples, although he made a good effort. Then his eyes discreetly slid down her body, and he almost gulped as he admired her long legs, which were set off by high, black “fuck me” pumps. Very nice.
They had spent the day wandering around the city in disguise. It had been a kick to transform the beautiful and somewhat exotic Harper Cameron into a tall, slightly chunky middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair while he had worn one of his favorite disguises—that of a middle-aged man with gray sideburns wearing sunglasses, a porkpie hat, and old bomber jacket.
“Morgan, thank you for a fabulous day. I’ve never gone out in disguise before, but I’m sure I’ll be doing it again. What a rush! I particularly enjoyed strolling past my town house and discreetly giving the press camped out there the finger. I know it was rude of me, but I couldn’t help myself.”
Harper's Submission [Golden Dolphin 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 1
