by Lila Dubois
Undone Diva
Lila Dubois
Book Three in the Undone Lovers series.
As an entertainment lawyer, Emory has his share of famous clients. But when A-lister Sasha Brazil is caught in a sex tape scandal it should have been a PR nightmare, not a legal matter. But Sasha is being blackmailed because her tape shows her bound and begging to be used, everything her hard action-star hero persona isn’t. If the tape gets out her image will be destroyed.
Emory takes Sasha on as a submissive, telling her that she’s safer subbing to him than to a man who might blackmail or betray her. Together they begin a passionate BDSM relationship centered on Emory’s specialty, role-play. The sexual relationship quickly morphs into something more, but Sasha has secrets, and when the man who turned Sasha into a submissive shows up even love may not be enough to save her.
UNDONE DIVA
Lila Dubois
Chapter One
Emory tapped the pages on the edge of his desk then slipped them cleanly between the flaps of a folder.
“Are you nervous?” Mary, his assistant, stood and took the folder. Emory’s office was small and exquisitely furnished with mid-century modern pieces and cool neutral tones. His office was in the Beverly Hills branch of his firm. The location, just off Wilshire Boulevard near Rodeo Drive, was more irritating than anything else due to traffic and tourists, but clients had expectations, and part of him appreciated the aesthetic of these offices and the area over the cookie-cutter high-rises of Century City where most of his colleagues’ firms were.
“Can you get this to a paralegal? And no, I’m not nervous.”
“You sure? She’s very pretty.” Mary took the file from him.
“She’s a client, and she’s an actor.” Emory held back a tired sigh. As an entertainment lawyer, he had his share of actor clients, but he rarely had to interact with them. Sasha Brazil was a movie star in every sense of the word, though she certainly wasn’t the American sweetheart or the girl-next-door type. She was an action star and fashion icon. Her last action movie had held the number one spot for three weeks in the summer and, according to Mary, she’d singlehandedly set the beret trend this past fall.
In the past five years, Emory had worked with Sasha’s agent and manager on contracts, clearances and deals, but he’d never come face-to-face with her.
She was beautiful, rich, sexy and, by all accounts, a complete pain in the ass.
“Okay, Mr. Cool.” Mary stacked the file on top of the other papers she carried. “Is there anything else?”
“Do we have her beverage preference stocked?”
“I have it under control.”
“As always.” Emory smiled. “Thank you, Mary.”
“I’ll buzz you when they get here.”
Emory turned to his computer as the door closed behind Mary.
When Sasha’s manager had called, he hadn’t said what they needed, only that they had to have an emergency meeting. The manager already had her recent contracts and standard riders for trailers, food and on-location shoots, so whatever they were coming in for, it was something out of the ordinary. In the real world the fact that Sasha’s dressing room hadn’t been stocked with the correct brand of soda or granola wouldn’t be an issue, but in entertainment law those were crises of the highest order.
He did a quick image search for Sasha Brazil. His screen filled with her movie posters, paparazzi shots and red carpet events. He clicked on one of her in a short black leather dress.
There was no denying she was beautiful. Her black hair was short in the picture, with pieces framing her cheekbones and perfect lips. Her skin was sun-kissed golden, her eyes deep brown. In the photo she posed with her back to the camera. Part of a tattoo showed over the back of the dress—a pinup girl in a catsuit. He’d seen photos of the tattoo before, and negotiated the digital removal clauses in her contracts that kept it from showing up on the big screen.
His desk phone beeped discreetly, Mary’s signal that the client was in reception. Emory closed the photo and blanked his computer screen. He checked to be sure his desk was clean, then stood and took his suit jacket from the hanger inside a cabinet on one wall. He buttoned the top two buttons of the jacket and checked his tie.
Everything was in its place, just the way he liked it.
There was a short rap on the door, then it opened and Sean Christie steamed in. The talent manager was a glorified babysitter. It was a little odd that he’d been the one to call, rather than Sasha’s agent, but there was little point in speculating when the client was walking in.
Sean held the door open and waved his hand a few times. Agitation came off him in waves.
In contrast, the woman who walked in behind him was a picture of calm. If calm came in dark and dangerous.
She wore the requisite celebrity oversize sunglasses and a fedora over her shoulder-length dark hair. Her body was neatly displayed in skintight jeans and a corset-style top under a black leather jacket.
Emory gave her a quick once-over, not as her lawyer but as a man. Pictures might show her beauty, but no photo could capture her presence. She exuded power and sexuality as if it were perfume. Emory prided himself on being in control at all times, and yet he was reacting on a nearly biological level to her.
“Emory, this is a disaster.” Sean dropped heavily into one of the visitor chairs.
Sasha calmly removed her sunglasses and hat. She ran her fingers through her hair, then looked to Emory.
Their gazes met and Emory had to bite down on his reaction. She was beautiful in the way goddesses were beautiful—exquisite and terrifying.
“Ms. Brazil, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person,” he said to cover his reaction.
“Mr. Setter.” She nodded but didn’t offer her hand.
“Sasha, we don’t have time for this.” Sean tapped his fingers on his leg, then gestured repeatedly at the second chair. “Sit down.”
Sasha looked at Sean with contempt, her upper lip curling slightly before she took a seat, crossing her legs and showing off her knee-high boots.
Emory circled and took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, thumbing open the buttons on his jacket as he did.
“What can I help you with?” Emory asked, flicking his gaze between client and manager. Whatever was going on, it was clear that Sasha and Sean weren’t on the same page about it, and that was never good.
“We have a problem and we need you to make it go away,” Sean said.
Emory held back a sigh. Celebrity “problems” were never like normal people’s problems.
“What’s the problem?”
Sasha shifted, the skin around her mouth tightening. It was the first sign of discomfort he’d seen from her.
“She,” Sean said with an almost accusing glance at Sasha, “made a sex tape.”
Emory’s first thought was that as her attorney he’d definitely need a copy of that.
“All right,” he said, “I assume you’re here because somehow you’ve been excluded from any profits?”
“Excuse me?” Sasha’s voice was icy.
Emory raised a brow. “If you made a sex tape with someone, I assume you have plans to profit from it. Or is this going to be supposedly ‘leaked’ to an entertainment news outlet?”
“You think I did this on purpose?”
“Yes, I do,” Emory said calmly. As of yet he had never heard of a sex tape that hadn’t been planned either for profit or publicity, no matter what the story to the public was.
“Well, I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”
Emory nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for my misunderstanding. Perhaps you could give me a more robust explanation. Then I’d be better able to help you.”
But Sasha dropped her gaze and said nothing. Sean was watching her a
nd he sighed.
“She’s being blackmailed.” Sean pulled a thumb drive from his pocket and passed it over. “This could ruin her career.”
Emory’s heartbeat sped up. Blackmail was a far more serious problem than he’d anticipated. “I fail to see how a sex tape could damage your career. Though it would provide a brief period of higher notoriety, your reputation—”
“That’s exactly the problem. What’s on this tape will destroy her reputation.”
Emory examined the thumb drive he now held, wondering what exactly this was about. There was one way to find out.
Sasha bit the inside of her cheek as her lawyer plugged in the thumb drive. The whole situation was that much worse because Emory was smoking hot, in a repressed lawyer kind of way.
He had the interesting features and skin tone that said mixed race, though his dark hair was cut and combed in that boring side part that screamed lawyer or accountant. His skin was a yummy caramel but he had bright-blue eyes. He wore a navy suit with a pale-blue shirt and regimental tie. Very modern while still conservative.
How she could be focusing on the man’s clothes at a time like this she didn’t know.
She would have given every cent she had, every piece of designer clothing, each of her expensive cars, to keep from having to show anyone, especially her hot lawyer, this video.
But that was the problem, if she gave in to the blackmail that is exactly what would happen. She’d give everything she had, everything she’d worked for, and the video would probably still be released.
“I have the video up.” Emory’s voice was smooth and modulated. With him in the room, she could almost believe there was a way out of this mess, though she knew there wasn’t.
Sean, the obnoxious little twit, circled the desk to stand beside Emory’s chair and watch. If not for the fact that Sean knew what she liked and needed, she’d fire him. He was awful in a crisis.
There was a crackle of static, then the background hum of the video filled the office. Unable to sit still, Sasha rose, fiddling with her hat and glasses as she paced the small room.
What are you? The man’s voice on the tape was low and harsh, just what she’d wanted.
Her own voice faintly answered, I’m naughty.
And what happens to naughty girls like you?
They get spanked, Master.
Sasha winced as she heard herself. The video was a violation worse than anything she’d ever experienced—and she’d been through some bad things. It was bad enough that she had this shameful need, worse that now it might expose her for something less than what she’d turned herself into.
That’s right. Do you need a spanking?
Yes.
Beg for it.
Please spank me, Master. I need to be punished.
Acid rolled in Sasha’s stomach. How could she have been so stupid as not to realize it was being taped?
All these years she’d been so careful, and now the whole house of cards would come apart.
“Do you see what I mean?” Sean was moaning. “It’s not even some normal sex tape. This goes against the image we’ve spent years building! This can’t get out, the studio will replace her in the next Wood Strike movie, she’ll never get another female fighter role and her image will be ruined.”
Not to mention a certain man would be very angry with her. Sasha shuddered. She couldn’t bear to think about what he’d do if he found out she’d been filmed satisfying her needs.
Emory watched in stunned silence as a masked man hogtied Sasha. The video was dark and grainy, Sasha’s skin a strange green color. Despite the grainy quality, her naked body was clearly visible on the bed, her limbs long and supple. There’d yet to be a good shot of her fully nude, but there were plenty of her face. The video had started with her on her knees, head bent, though she was visible only from the shoulders up. There’d been a quick shot of her breasts as she stood and bent over a chair to have her ass paddled, and now she was facedown on the bed as the man looped rope around her wrists and ankles.
A BDSM session with her as the submissive went against everything Sasha Brazil was. Sasha Brazil was tough, smart, stylish and in control, not submissive—sexual or otherwise. The woman on the tape was soft, needy and above all submissive. No wonder they were worried.
“I’ve seen enough.” Emory paused the video. He saw Sasha’s shoulders sag in relief.
“We’ll all be ruined!” Sean circled back to the other side of the desk and dropped into his chair.
“Sean, perhaps you could wait outside.” Emory was tired of the other man’s near hysteria.
“Why?”
“You’re not helping,” he said frankly.
“Okay, okay, I need some tea or something anyway.”
Sean touched Sasha’s shoulder as he walked past. She had yet to turn around.
The door closed behind Sean and Emory slowly got to his feet. Sasha turned. Her shoulders were tense, her face expressionless.
Emory couldn’t believe it. She was a sub.
Of all the women in show business, she was the last he’d expect to be a submissive, which, he now understood, was exactly the problem. She was known for being tough-sexy, not submissive-sexy. Her roles as the ball-busting action-movie heroine would dry up if this tape got out.
Then again, it was possible that she wasn’t a sub, but had simply been experimenting. But that didn’t seem like a sex game, it seemed like a formal BDSM session.
“I understand your concern,” Emory said. “This is not fitting with your persona.”
She snorted delicately but she was crushing the hat she held in her right hand.
“Please describe the circumstances that led to this video being made.”
Sasha paced his office side to side, her long legs eating up the distance in only a few steps. “I made arrangements to spend time with a…with the man in the video. I didn’t know he was taping it, and I didn’t tell him who I was. I thought it was okay, but yesterday I received this copy of the video with a demand for one hundred thousand dollars or the tape would be given to the media.”
Emory bent to make a few notes on a sheet of paper.
“And when did the events in the video take place?”
“The first of this month.”
“And where?”
“Columbus, Ohio.”
That surprised him and he looked up.
“Why were you in Columbus?”
“For that. To meet with him.”
Emory rubbed his thumb against his lips. There were still a lot of questions, a lot of gaps in this story, but he had a suspicion about what had happened.
And if he was right, it would mean that she wasn’t just playing at submission as part of a kinky sex game.
“You’re not being entirely truthful with me.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.” Her eyes flashed with dark fire as she faced him down. “Do your job. Make this go away.”
“It’s more complicated than that, and we both know it, because there’s more than this video, isn’t there?”
Her chin notched up. “Deal with the video and everything will be fine.”
Emory came around to the front of the desk and leaned back against it. “There are two possibilities in play here. The first is that you were experimenting sexually and decided to play at some BDSM.”
She jolted when he said BDSM and Emory grew more certain he was right.
“The second is that you’re a true submissive.”
Her eyes dropped. It was only a split second before her fierce gaze met his, but Emory had caught it, her instinctive submission, evidenced in nothing more than the lowered gaze.
“What I want from you,” she said, voice a mix of silk and steel, “is to know what you plan to do about my problem.”
“And what problem is that? The tape or,” he pushed off from the desk and walked toward her, “your need to be dominated?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
<
br /> “I don’t?” They were face-to-face, so close Emory could see the flecks of gold in her irises.
“Step back. You get one warning.” Sasha’s tone was cool but her entire body radiated danger.
Emory circled her until he stood at her back. She kept facing forward but threw her glasses and hat onto a chair as if she wanted her hands free to hit him. Emory grimaced. If he was wrong he was probably about to get his ass handed to him by a girl.
“I know what you need, what you want.” Very carefully, he slid his hand under her hair and touched her nape. She started to turn and he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck, holding her tight. She could easily break away from his grip but she didn’t. Instead, her head dipped forward. He pulled the collar of her jacket down and pushed her hair aside, exposing bare flesh.
“You’re a submissive.”
She let out a long breath but didn’t say anything.
Emory pulled her jacket off her shoulders, pushed it down her arms until it dropped to the floor. “Are you a submissive?”
Still she didn’t answer, but when he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed down she dropped smoothly to her knees. Emory sucked in a breath. He’d never seen anything so arousing as the beautiful, powerful woman kneeling. Even fully clothed she was more alluring than any other woman he’d come into contact with.
“Sasha, you need to answer me.”
“You know the answer.” Her words came out through gritted teeth. Emory circled to her front and tipped her chin up with one finger. Her eyes were flashing fire and the muscles in her jaw working. Her fingers curled into fists and uncurled.
She was at war with herself; he could see it in her eyes, read it in her body language.
He had his answer.
Emory held out his hand. Confusion flitted across her face. Gingerly she put her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet, then turned back to his desk. He took a seat in his chair and focused on his computer, giving her time to compose herself. That was a mistake, because he still had the video up. Paused, it showed her beautiful, bound and ready to be used. The masked Dom had his hand between her legs, the other on the ropes that bound her.
