by Anya Summers
"Why not? You said it yourself, you have no other place to go. I'm offering you one." He smiled, making her insides melt, as he attempted to reassure her. Zoey felt warmth spill through her at his sincerity. She wanted to believe him, that he wanted nothing more than to play the good Samaritan.
She sent up a quick prayer of thanks. At least she had a roof over her head for tonight. If she could get a good night's sleep, maybe she could assess the situation more fully with a clear head in the morning. Her instincts said she could trust Declan. But she didn't trust herself, not when those same instincts had made such a critical error. "I'll pay back your generosity. I promise I will. Thank you for offering me a place to stay."
"I don't want your money, Zoey. I have more than enough to last multiple lifetimes." His response brought her up short and sent fingers of dismay slithering through her system. But he did want something from her—maybe not money—she could feel it.
"It wouldn't be right for me to take advantage of your generosity," she began. "Let me pay you back, or—"
He cut her off, holding his hand up. They were firm hands, large, with long fingers.
"Zoey, it's fine. I really don't want your money. Now eat," he said. His words sounded more like a command than a request. It sent shivers down her back. After years of being surrounded by men who were betas pretending to be alphas, being confronted with a real alpha was a heady experience. He expected his orders to be followed without question, and that sent her hormones into overdrive.
Her body responded to his alpha demeanor. She'd always pooh-poohed the notion that women were biologically hardwired to seek out the most dominant male in order to procreate and further the species. Yet studying him now, remembering how he looked without any clothes on, and considering his dominant nature, she felt like she had to talk her ovaries down like a hostage negotiator. The man, pure and simple, was sex on a stick.
She scooped up a spoonful of soup, more grateful than she wanted to admit. She felt like a bad person for doubting his desire to aid her. He studied her, making sure she did as he requested. The beef stew was delicious and added more warmth to the whisky. Uneasy with the tacit arrangement, she was like a dog with a bone, and pressed him further.
"Are you sure I can't pay you somehow? I really don't feel right about taking advantage of you. I could offer you maid services and clean, or—"
He held up his hand again, stopping her mid-sentence. "Zoey, I have all the staff my house needs. I appreciate your willingness and desire to pay me back. I even understand the sentiment. But I don't want something I don't need."
"There must be something, though?" Her heartbeat accelerated.
"There is, but I'm not sure you have the fortitude for it, or what your response will be, since we hardly know one another."
That sent her back up. Not have the fortitude? She had stared down high ranking executives and battled to get her proposals given the green light. Zoey had raised her sister on her own after their parents had died, ensuring that Ophelia finished high school and went to college. What did he want; the soul of her firstborn? "You don't know me or what I am capable of, so what is it that you assume I cannot do? I'm willing to do whatever you want—and is necessary—to pay off a debt."
He chuckled; a deep, rich, rumbling emanating from his chest at her statement, his voice reminding her of smoky fires and midnight. His gaze traveled the length of her body in the chair, lingering over her mouth before he stared into her eyes. "We'll see about that."
"Try me," she blurted, feeling her blood pressure spike under his persistent attention. Her body reacted to the intensity, liquefying and pooling tendrils of heat in her abdomen.
He cocked an eyebrow, giving her the most carnal look ever, at which her body vibrated to life. "What I want, Zoey, is you. Offer me the use of your body, whenever I desire it, while you are here this week."
Her mouth dropped open. Sex. He wanted her to pay him with sex. Her back stiffened, anger coursing through her veins. She should be furious. She should toss the rest of her soup over the top of his utterly gorgeous head and leave. In her line of work, she'd had more than her fair share of men attempt to bribe their way into her pants. This should have been no different. Zoey should shut him down—except her body responded to his blatant invitation. "I'm not a prostitute."
She started to push back from the table. No way in hell. She'd sleep in the frigid car. His hand covered hers on the table, engulfing her smaller one.
"I never said you were. Nor would this be a payment for staying here—or required of you. You're a beautiful woman who, I have surmised, is not involved with another man. After tasting you in my bed, I want more. I want to spend time with you, have you submit to me freely, and make love to you, Zoey. Give me the chance to pleasure you until you are deliriously spent from my attentions and basically allow me to fuck you senseless. The only stipulation is that I don't do bland sex. I have more exotic tastes when it comes to love play. I'm what the BDSM world calls a 'Dominant'. And for this week, I would like you to submit to me."
His words made her sex pulse and her ovaries, the little bastards, cheer. Her head spun. A Dominant? He wanted her to be a submissive. Didn't a submissive give up control to their partner? Wasn't BDSM code for the fact that he wanted to tie her up and have sex with her? Having experienced his all-consuming kiss, the thought of giving him an all-access pass to her body made delicious tendrils of heat churn through her body.
She should have been offended by his words, but instead Zoey was more turned on than she wanted to admit. If it were any other man, she would have told him to get bent and left the premises. So why didn't she with Declan? It scared her that her body responded to his words the way it did. Desire pumped through her veins. If she was honest with herself, she had always wanted to try the whole bondage thing, but had never dated a man who was into it, so she had pushed that fantasy to the back of her heart. If she said yes, would he bend her over the table and have sex with her right there?
"You don't have to give me an answer tonight," he continued. "When you're done eating, I can show you where your room is located and let you rest for the evening."
She nodded, having no idea how to respond to his proposal. She felt moisture between her thighs, and her nipples stabbed against the robe. Her body seemed to know what it wanted, even though her head had no idea what to do. Her breathing came out in short, shallow pants.
Feeling herself blush fiercely under his gaze, she nodded, unable to form any words that would sound intelligent. They finished eating the meal in companionable silence. All the while, Zoey replayed the conversation in her mind as if it were on a recorded loop.
He wanted to have sex with her. Remembering how he had felt under her body as she had lain on his bed, she was more than a little intrigued at his proposition.
Taking one final bite of the best stew she'd ever tasted, she placed her napkin on the table, feeling her eyelids droop. She was deliciously full. The stew and whiskey had warmed her from the inside out. Weary from what seemed to be one of the longest days of her life, compounded by the sheer volume of stress she'd been under for the last few weeks, she could feel her body beginning to shut down. She wouldn't be able to make a decision about his proposition until she'd had some sleep.
"Come, lass. We can save the tour for tomorrow." He stood and held a hand out to her.
She nodded, and grasping his hand, she stood up and allowed him to lead her from the room. They retraced their steps to the elevator. He never released her hand and she was too tired to play tug of war with him.
"Your room is on the third floor." He selected the button and the doors slid noiselessly closed. "On the first floor there is a grand ballroom, a formal dining room, a few sitting rooms, an art gallery, two kitchens, and a pool area. The second floor, where we just dined, has a few offices, the library, and a few guest rooms. The third and fourth floors are mainly bedrooms. Most of my staff live up on the fourth floor. You can go anywhere within the manor, ju
st make sure the room is not occupied before entering."
The doors to the elevator opened onto the third floor. There was another level on the elevator panel marked 'DL' that was positioned under the button for the first floor, which he said nothing about. She ran the possibilities through her head, but her overwrought brain came up short.
She followed him out of the elevator to the fourth door on the left. More curious than she wanted to admit, she blurted, "What's on the DL level?"
He glanced down at her with his hand on the doorknob. "That's the dungeon level. Like I told you before, I am part of the BDSM lifestyle. Some of my friends and colleagues have similar tastes. The lowest level is one of the places where the Dungeon Fantasy Club meets. It is a safe haven for those who enjoy more exotic sexual tastes, where they can indulge in their fantasies free from society's censure. Please do not venture down to that level without me. If you visit that level without my permission, you will be punished as I see fit."
"So if I said yes to your proposal, that's where you would take me?" Did that mean he would tie her up and have sex with her? Would other people be watching? Zoey had never explored the BDSM lifestyle but was surprised that the thought of being restrained and unable to move while Declan pleasured her made her heart race.
He stepped closer, crowding her with his big body. She glanced up into his eyes and was shocked at the depth of desire clouding his face. She expelled an unsteady breath.
"Yes, that's one of the places." One of his hands came up to her face, gently stroking her cheek with the back. Zoey felt the light caress right down to her toes. His thumb traced the outline of her mouth, teasing her nerve endings, and with the simplest of touches, she felt moisture between her thighs. Her lips parted on a startled gasp at the strength of desire vibrating in her body, and she could only stare, unable to tear her gaze away from him and those perfect lips of his. She wanted to feel them again, and the stubble of his beard. His lips descended, capturing hers with a possession that made her feel alive. He commanded her body with his touch. He voraciously drank from her lips, plundering the depths of her mouth with his silky tongue. She never wanted the rapturous pleasure to end. Her body shifted from sleepy exhaustion to alert and needy. The only part of them that was touching were their lips, and yet the kiss was more intimate than any of the sex she'd ever experienced.
She gasped as he withdrew, shivering at the force of her arousal. She touched her lips in wonder and stared as he opened the door to her room. He didn't allow her to linger in the hall and ushered her inside, leaving the door to the hall open.
The room was glorious. A king-sized lake of a bed dominated the space. It was an old-world-style four-poster deal, with fluffy ivory pillows and covers. She was stunned that she was getting a chance to stay in such a nice place. Declan waltzed ahead of her to a door directly across from the bed and opened it.
"There's a bathroom in here. Since you don't have any clothes or toiletries with you, I had my housekeeper bring a selection up for you. As soon as the storm breaks, I will send Jared down to your vehicle to collect your things. If you find yourself hungry later, press 'one' on the phone next to the bed, and you'll reach a member of staff who will bring you whatever you would like. Until then, I bid you pleasant dreams." The last bit he purred in a thick brogue.
"Thank you," she said, a bit overwhelmed at all that had happened. Zoey had never wanted a man so readily. His kiss had touched her on so many levels, it scared the hell of her, and she chose to retreat. Was he even affected by their chemistry? Her world had tilted on its axis with just a kiss.
His gaze ran over her from head to toe, his desire for her blatant in his appraisal. Lust slammed into her. He really did want her. There was no mistaking the passion in his eyes. With a last look, Declan exited the room, closing the door behind him and leaving her alone.
She drew in some steadying breaths until she felt her need diminish enough for exhaustion to settle back in, making her movements, and the grandness of the room, foggy. Any decisions regarding Declan and his oh so tempting offer, would wait until the morning. Still wrapped within the robe, Zoey climbed on top of the luxurious bed, and collapsed. She closed her eyes with a sigh, the taste of him still upon her lips.
Chapter Three
Zoey woke with a start. Her dreams had been a jumble of erotic images, all coalescing with bright blue eyes, and a distinct urge for male hands on her—and not just any hands. The lights in her room still blazed, but beyond the window, the sky was black as pitch. Her stomach growled and she wondered at the time. A small alarm clock nestled on the night stand read one fifteen.
Untangling her legs from the robe, she scooted off the bed, heading into the bathroom. One glance in the mirror and she groaned. Her mascara had smudged into owl eyes, her hair was tangled and disheveled, resembling a bird's nest. There was only one remedy for her appearance. She needed a shower, pronto. And if she was still hungry after that, maybe she'd invade Declan's kitchen for a snack.
His housekeeper had left a number of soaps, shampoos, face washes, a hairbrush, a new toothbrush and more in the bathroom. Some of them were brands she recognized, which a person could purchase at a mall, and then there were the elite items; the creams and cleansers that a person would only find at spas for the extremely well-to-do, where a single ounce cost as much as a down payment on mid-sized vehicle, and that Zoey never imagined she'd have presented for her use. Unwilling to resist, she picked a line of products one of her former award-winning actresses had sworn by as her fountain of youth.
Selecting the products she wanted, she removed the robe and spent the next thirty minutes luxuriating in the shower. How often in her lifetime would she have the opportunity to enjoy a shower with four nozzles, large enough to fit four people comfortably, with a bench? Probably never again, and she milked it for all it was worth, pampering her skin with a sugar scrub from a Swiss spa, using the shampoo and conditioner from the same brand. The trio likely cost a small fortune.
Zoey took her time after the shower moisturizing her skin, washing her face, drying her hair and brushing it until it shone. The clothes the housekeeper had left her were obviously for men and then it hit her. These were Declan's clothes. The black tee-shirt was butter smooth and fit her like a dream, hitting her mid-thigh. It smelled like he did; dark, sensual, with a hint of earthy sandalwood and something darker. She resisted the urge to bury her face in the fabric and inhale his scent, but just barely. The black satin pajama bottoms were a bust, though. Even attempting to roll up the legs didn't help keep the too-big pants on her hips.
She re-wrapped the robe around her. Hopefully they would be able to rescue her suitcase in the morning. Her stomach growled as she left the room, making a mental note of its location and proximity to the elevator. She rode it down to the first floor and went in search of the kitchen. She didn't want to wake anyone up at this hour and preferred to rummage for food herself. Most of the lights on the first floor had been dimmed but retained a faint golden glow, even at this hour of the night. She wandered silently through the first floor until she discovered the kitchen. Walking inside, her eyes widened. It was a kitchen large enough to run a restaurant. In fact, she'd waitressed through college, and the kitchens she'd worked at in Los Angeles hadn't been this grand. Maybe over on Rodeo Drive, but still, there were half a dozen or more ovens. On one side there was station after station with burners, professional grills, and all sorts of chef equipment she'd seen on those cooking shows but didn't think people owned in real life. It was something she had always wanted to do, and she had even considered and been accepted to culinary school, until her parents convinced her that a business degree was a far more practical than a degree from a culinary institute.
It made her wonder what her life would be like if she'd thumbed her nose at convention and had gone after what she'd really loved doing. Maybe it was something she should consider once she returned to her life.
Zoey opened a few doors and pantry closets until she hit the
motherload inside a refrigerator. Fresh fruit, an assortment of cheeses, and in one pantry, shortbread biscuits that looked like they were homemade and not of the store-bought variety. She found ivory plates after another search, and fixed herself a small meal. She ate standing next to one of the counters. After helping herself to a glass of chardonnay she found in a refrigerated wine case, she ate more than she thought she would. The peaches were so damn good she just couldn't keep herself from indulging, and the cheese, a nutty sharp cheese, balanced the sweetness of the peaches to perfection.
Finishing up her midnight meal, she cleaned up after herself, setting the dishes in the sink.
She wandered around on the first floor, her energy a restless jumble of nerves. Declan would expect a decision from her in the morning and she was no closer to knowing whether she would accept or not. Needing to walk off the excess energy if she ever wanted to get back to sleep tonight, she went on a self-guided tour of the first floor. The artwork and ancient artifacts were stunning. If she remembered her art appreciation class in college correctly, she thought many of them were the original masterpieces; a Van Gogh, a Monet, and other impressionistic artists, and some modern artists she'd never heard of but was certain that, due to the company they were in, were nothing but the best. All the pieces were the type of thing one normally saw in museums like she had the other day in Edinburgh. One of the hallways she ventured down was darker than the others. At the end of it, where it came to a dead end, she found an old, dark wooden stairwell leading downstairs to the off-limits dungeon level.
What the hell went on in the dungeon? Why had Declan asked her not to visit that level without him? What would it really hurt to go down there at this time of night? She'd always had an overabundance of curiosity.
