by Kylie Parker
A jolt of electricity tickles my nerve endings. I want him again. The man is worse than crack. I'm addicted. I need an intervention.
“Don't worry,” he interrupts my thoughts. “I'll behave.”
I smile, but deep down, I'm crushed. I don't want him to behave. I want him to ravish me.
19
Dylan
I know wooing is generally a little more suave than what I have managed to pull off in the last 24 hours, but I promise, I'm working on it. Even a man of the cloth would have struggled to deny that temptation. Alexa is the most desirable woman I have ever had the good fortune to run across.
From this moment forward, I will be the perfect gentleman. I will pour on the charm and convince her I am the man for her. She won't deny me by the time I show her what it is like to be with me.
I reach for my phone, step outside and close the French doors.
Blake picks up on the first ring, “We are so fucked!” he shouts in the phone.
“Good morning to you too, Blake,” I say in a flat tone.
“You don't understand. We are losing ground very quick here. The tabloids have taken the story and embellished it to the point I don't even remember what it was about!” he shouts again.
I take a deep breath. Blake is losing his shit. While he does tend to be a little dramatic, even this is a bit much for him.
“Calm down,” I say with more force in my voice than intended. “What the hell has happened now?”
There is a long exhale of breath, “Your reputation is being completely smeared. One tabloid has an inside source that claims you are into some pretty kinky shit. Like kinkier than normal whips and chains. The source says you pick up women, like Alexa, take them to your special room and abuse them. They are forced to sign waivers before you set them free.”
I don't say anything. What can I say? It is the most asinine thing I have ever heard.
“The blogosphere claims you picked up Alexa yesterday and took her to your, and I quote, dungeon of delight.”
I chuckle. If they only knew how close to the truth they really were. Blake and I are very close, but we don't discuss every sordid detail of our sex lives. It's for the best he doesn't know. Plausible deniability is the term, I believe. I like a little bondage. Big fucking deal. Any woman who has participated has been willing.
“Hire a PR specialist. When you find one that works miracles, make this go away. I will do what I can on this end,” I say, having a flash of being on that speeding train again.
“Your end?” Blake asks.
I sigh in frustration. He wants me to say it, “I will do what I can to convince Alexa I am not a total piece of shit. I will wine and dine her and hopefully, she will agree to be my wife.”
I can hear Blake smile, “That will certainly help matters. We may need to have you and her give a few interviews, help clear up the rumors.”
“No,” I say immediately. “I am not dragging her into this.”
“She's already in it, Dylan. By the end of the day the press is going to have her chained to a wall in your basement somewhere,” he says, not joking in the slightest.
“Hire the PR person. I am going offline today. Don't call me. Have Daniel bring over some clothes for Alexa. Actually, have Mrs. Daniels pick up some things, in a size two. She'll know what to do,” I say before ending the call. I don't have to sneak a peek at the tag on her skirt to know what size she is. I do have plenty of experience with ladies and I know a size two when I see one, even if it is buried under a mountain of fabric.
My head is spinning. Alexa has blown my world up. She owes me the way I see it. I'm a catch. She has to see that. A marriage to me would be great for her career and her finances. My mind whirs as I think of the prenup stipulations. I want to make sure I don't completely screw her over. I don't plan on this being a happily ever after, but I think a good, solid three years ought to do it. A million a year? That sounds fair.
With my mind made up, I head back inside to find Alexa. It doesn't take me long. I can hear the shower running in her private bathroom. My mind flashes to her naked on the counter, her back arched, her breasts splayed before me, with her long hair brushing over the smooth counter. I am not going in there. I am not going to take her again—not until after a proper dinner at least. And I really would like to try it the old fashion way. A little foreplay and a bed. I never thought I would be so desperate for both.
I need to work off some energy. Running helps me think. I can't exactly take a jog around the block so I will have to stick to the boring treadmill. I head away from the sound of running water, towards my home gym.
I look down and realize I'm still in my underwear. I smile, tempted to take my morning workout as is, but quickly veer off to grab a pair of shorts and a good pair of running shoes.
Once I flip the massive screen to the beach scene, I hop on the treadmill and get moving. The surround sound system floods the room with sounds of the ocean, but it isn't the same. I want to feel the sand under my feet. It will have to do for now. With the ambiance set, I fade away. I can feel the stress shedding as my feet pound the treadmill. I can finally think. I take a mental step back and look at the current state of my affairs with a clinical approach.
No matter how I flip the situation around, I am always led back to the same solution—Alexa. Marrying Alexa repairs my reputation as a debauched, kinky womanizer to a mature business man deserving of the success I have achieved. The marriage will give me the traction I need to maintain my spot at the top. I may not get the Larsens software, but I will squash Garwood and his self-righteous father.
A wedding would also be beneficial to Alexa, while repairing her tarnished reputation. I cross the five mile mark and suddenly feel as if I have solved all of the world's problems. I can do this. I will do this. I drop my speed down to a slow jog, ready to put my plan into motion.
“Hey,” Alexa's voice cuts through the waves I have been drifting on. “Um, I really need to get to my apartment. I appreciate you trying to help me out and all, but I need clothes.”
I stop the treadmill and turn to see her wearing my sweats and t-shirt again.
“I'm working on it,” I say, trying to slow my breathing. “I have some on the way.”
She raises one of those perfectly sculpted brows, “What?”
I shrug, “I have my secretary picking up a few things. She'll be here within the hour I imagine. In the meantime, I can show you the office and get you set up in there.”
She opens her mouth to argue, I don't give her the chance, stepping off the treadmill and grabbing her face in my hands, “Shh,” I say.
“But,”
I kiss her to silence her objections. The kiss is sensual, but not passionate. It is a kiss meant to speak the words I am not quite ready to say. I need her in more ways than one and letting sex rule would destroy my goal.
I pull back, lean my forehead against hers, “It's already done. Please, don't argue.”
I can feel the moment she concedes, her shoulders soften and she mumbles, “Fine.”
“Okay, I'm gonna' jump in the shower. You are free to check out the house or do whatever,” a thought hits me. “Do you workout?”
My hands drift down her sides to her slim waist before stopping on her hips. I can't stop myself and wrap my hands around and grab her ass with both hands. I love how tight it is.
“Not really,” she says.
“That can't be true,” I say in disbelief. Her body is fabulous, tight in all the right places, but not overly muscular.
“Well, I do a spin class a couple times a week when I have time and I do yoga, but I can't afford a fancy gym. I mooch off my friend and use her guest passes,” she grins.
I turn her in the direction of the top of the line spin bike nestled in the back corner, “Wanna take that bad boy for a spin?” I ask her, trying to keep out the sounds of innuendo.
She smiles, “That would be awesome, but I don't think my heels are a great idea and I don't want to
do it barefoot.” She puts a hand on my bare chest, before trailing down to my stomach, “I guess this little room is why you have these abs.”
I shrug, “I have a similar gym at my apartment, but yes, basically. I can workout whenever I can squeeze it in. It helps me think.”
“Me too. I mean, I like doing yoga. It's very relaxing,” she commented. Maybe I can get in a short workout.”
“Go for it,” I start to walk out of the room, handing her the remote that will give her control over the screen and sound.
“Dylan?” she says, stopping my exit. The way her voice floats across the room, like it is riding the imaginary waves blasting through the speakers leaves me with goosebumps.
“Yes?”
“Thanks. I know I am or was being a real bitch, it's just this is all new to me.”
I wave my hand in the air, pushing the words away, “Don't worry about it. This kind of crap always leaves me a little cranky.”
She nods and starts doing some stretches. I want to stay and watch, but that would only lead to me taking her on the gym floor. I can't. The next time has to be special. I will make it special.
20
Alexa
I drop into a downward facing dog, feeling the stretch throughout my body. I don't have a set routine, but I have some favorite poses that I like to do. I arch, pull and stretch every muscle, pushing everything else out of my head. I focus on my breathing, relishing in the feel of my legs tingling from the strain. I block out Dylan and the tabloids blasting my picture and name. None of that matters at this very moment.
When I feel the sweat sliding down my nose, I call it a day. I go into a sun salutation and stretch my back, arms and legs. I feel invigorated and ready to tackle the world and the latest shit storm it has sent my way. Grabbing the remote, I turn off the sound and the ocean waves flowing towards me on the big screen.
I look around the personal gym. I can see why the rich and famous are in such good shape. I think with a set up like this I would workout more often as well. There is a refrigerator in the corner, stocked with various juices and bottles of water. I make my way over, browse the selection before choosing a V8 and a bottle of water. I am feeling a little drained.
“There you are!” a voice startles me, making me choke on the tomato juice I had just been drinking.
I turn to see Dylan's elderly secretary—that's who brought me some clothes. I want to laugh, but considering the way I dress at work, it makes sense he would choose her to outfit me.
“Hi,” I say, quickly wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
“I left the clothes on your bed. Please do let me know if I can be of any more assistance,” she says, looking me up and down.
I look at the sweats that are barely staying above my hips. The t-shirt feels more like a poncho, hanging off my shoulders. I shrug, “I was a little desperate for clean clothes.”
She gives me a warm smile, “It's okay, dear. I imagine you weren't given much warning. I must go, but I wanted to say hello and let you know you can call me for anything. I left my number with the packages.”
“Thank you,” I struggle to remember her name. I'm sure she told me or Dylan mentioned it, but I am at a loss.
“Mrs. Daniels,” she says, extending her hand, “but you can call me Vera.”
“Thank you, Vera,” I say, giving her frail hand a gentle squeeze. “I appreciate you going out of your way and coming out here.”
She shrugs, “I like to come out every once in a while.” She turns to leave before looking back at me, “It is my house after all,” she winks.
My eyes widen in shock. This is her house! She is already down the hall before I can question her further. Instead, I stand there with my juice and water, feeling like a complete fool.
Dylan must really pay his people well.
I stroll down the hall and into my temporary bedroom. The bed is piled with a variety of bags from Nordstroms, Victoria's Secret and CVS. Like a kid on Christmas, I have to know what's in those bags. I have browsed Nordstroms, but never actually bought anything. The store is way out of my price range. I pull out a black skirt, expecting it to have come from the elderly lady section of the store. I hold it up to inspect it and realize it is actually a very nice, pencil skirt—in my size.
I dig in to each of the bags, pulling out pretty blouses, a pair of slacks, some jeans and a flimsy nightgown. Next, I reach into the pink bags and almost whoop with glee. There are four sets of matching panties and bras. I pull out the black ones first. These aren't from the clearance rack. These are from the new line. I run my hand over the smooth satin bra and smile. I feel a little guilty for accepting the gifts, but I am not about to reject new clothes at a time when I am so desperate. I vow to pay Dylan back over the next month or two or six judging by the stack of clothing on the bed.
She even bought an assortment of shoes. I think I really want to go shopping with this woman. The pharmacy bags are loaded with personal hygiene items, which I am in desperate need of. I see another bag from one of the cosmetics stores in the mall and once again, I am blown away by Vera's very thorough shopping spree. She didn't miss a single thing.
“Will this do?” Dylan asks from behind me.
I spin around, clutching the black satin bra and panties in my hand, “This is, um, ridiculous. Your secretary, she must be very used to this type of thing.”
He smiles, but doesn't deny it.
“Yes, this will all work just fine. Far more than I need. I will pay you back. It will take some time. I don't typically shop these stores—they are a little rich for my blood,” I say, trying to keep the mood light.
“No, you won't,” he says.
“What?”
“You won't pay me back. I owe you for turning your life upside down. Consider this compensation. Get dressed. I want to show you your current office space,” he says, leaving the doorway without giving me the chance to say another word.
I turn back to the spread of clothing on the bed, “What should I wear?” I ask out loud.
I'm not going to the office, so a skirt seems a little overkill. I decide to go with the jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and the brown open-toe sandals. After my little workout, I decide to jump in the shower and use the new soap and shampoo Vera left for me.
I feel like a new woman, sliding the black panties up my legs. The jeans fit perfect. The woman has a keen eye. She is in the wrong line of work I decide, pulling the shirt over my new bra. I feel good. I feel pretty and a little sexy, even though I am only wearing jeans and a t-shirt. I quickly pull my hair into a loose ponytail, but skip the makeup. I don't want to get too carried away. Slipping into the heels, I leave the room.
I can smell him before I see him. His cologne has a perfectly masculine, yet clean, sporty smell. It is light and refreshing and I feel like a honeybee drawn to a flower.
“Hey,” I say, walking into the office.
He is at the large desk in front of a picture window, staring at a laptop. The moment he sees me, he stands. His eyes run over my body and I suddenly feel self-conscious. I notice he is wearing a similar outfit of fitted jeans and a blue t-shirt. His shirt is stretched across that beautiful chest. I suddenly feel an urge to reach out and touch.
Dylan meets my eyes, walks around the desk and meets me at the doorway. Taking one of my hands, he brings it to his lips and kisses it before saying, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on—truly.”
My breath hitches. The words are smooth and if they were coming from any other man, I would automatically cast them away as empty compliments. The way Dylan says them sends heat racing through my body. His blue eyes are sincere. He means every word he says, which makes me feel as if I truly am what he says.
“Thank you,” I say, not sure what else to say.
He takes my hand and gently pulls me across the room, “Here, you take the desk. I'll sit over there with my laptop,” he says, gesturing towards a brown leather armchair. “It's more comfortable for
me.”
I nod, “Thank you,” I say again, suddenly feeling like a simpleton. I am blown away by his kindness and charm. He has caught me off guard. It has created this little spark in my heart.
We both sit down and get to work. I sift through emails from various media outlets and bloggers wanting to know if I was okay and did I like the dungeon of delight. I ignore them all and focus on the messages from my boss. There is plenty of busy work to do, which gives me focus, but every once in a while I look up to watch him.
He is focused. Occasionally, he takes his phone and steps out onto the patio. I can hear the anger and frustration in his voice, but the words are unclear.
He has just come back in and I can see he is really upset, “How about we take a break? Can I make you a sandwich or something?”
Dylan runs his hands over his face and then through his hair, “Actually, you're right. We need a break. Let's go out for an early dinner.”
“Out? Aren't we supposed to be sequestered?”
He shrugs, but doesn't give me a verbal response.
I look at the clock. It is just after two. I think that is still technically lunch, but the look on his face and the waves of irritation coming off him tell me not to point out that fact, “Sure. Let me change and I'll be ready to go.”
He nods, takes his phone and heads back outside.
I close my laptop and head back to my bed filled with goodies to put together an outfit for the evening. Choosing the black skirt and a pretty blue silk shirt, I quickly dress. I decide to leave my hair loose and down for the night. With a touch of makeup, a spritz of perfume, I declare I am good enough for a casual to semi-casual restaurant. Hopefully, he doesn't have anything too fancy in mind.
I wait in the living room. When he walks in, he takes my breath away. The dark slacks, shiny black shoes and his black shirt remind me of a young Johnny Cash. He looks like he stepped off the pages of GQ. I can't stop myself and start moving towards him. He watches me cross the room.
