by Linnea May
Copyright © 2017 by Linnea May
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
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Content
Prolog
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilog
Also by Linnea May
Oriental Essence
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
Naughty Night
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Sneak Peek: Master Class
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
End of Preview.
Prolog
Jason
Her lips taste of red wine, spiced with anise, cinnamon, and a hint of orange and cloves. There's a sweetness to it that confuses the mind, a taste so unusual and exotic - just like her.
She looks like Snow White, with her porcelain skin, her dark brown locks, and her deep red kissable lips, but instead of seven dwarfs, it's a little rodent that she shares her life with.
When I break our kiss, I'm met with her blue eyes, as deep as the ocean, their intensity piercing through me to the depth of my soul, just like they did that very first time we met. It's only been a couple of days, but the connection we've built runs deeper than any other I’ve ever known.
And it frightens the hell out of me.
Because I know this is not forever.
This was just a blessing in disguise, an inconvenience that turned into days filled with mulled wine and erotic pleasure. Leisure time I didn't plan for, forced on me by a blizzard that stopped time for us, just long enough for each of us to get a taste of someone we were never meant to meet. A girl so delicious and hauntingly beautiful that her taste and image will remain with me for a long time, even after this ends. Maybe forever.
It will end. Soon.
But the snow hasn't stopped yet, and we're still locked in our cage, laced with comfort and bliss. Her presence is still with me, her body and mind are still mine.
She's naked, and a sweet sigh escapes her cherry-colored lips when my hands trail down along the sides of her body, my fingertips barely touching her, as I get a sense of her heated skin. Her cheeks are flushed from wine and delight, and her breath hikes when I approach her core, my hands resting on her hips for a moment before I grab her ass, cupping her tight cheeks, one in each hand. I pull her closer, my hardness poking her belly, and her lips curve into a smile. She squeals with joy when I lift her up, and her lean legs are wrapped around my waist in an instant.
"You're hot," I tell her, as her pretty face hovers above mine. "Burning hot."
She responds with a tipsy giggle, but when I turn around and start walking toward the door, the expression on her face changes.
"Let's cool you down a bit," I announce, before I kick the door open, ignoring her frantic attempts to stop me by fighting her way out of my embrace.
"No, don't!" she begs, now clinging onto me for dear life, as I step into the cold.
The fierce winter storm bites into our skin and her arms tighten around my neck.
"Don't let me go," she pleads. "Bring me back inside!"
A smile tugs on my lips.
"You've been a naughty girl," I whisper into her ear. "And what do naughty girls get?"
She mewls and squirms in my arms, but my hold on her only tightens as I trudge through the knee-high snow in her yard.
"People will see us!" she exclaims.
"What do naughty girls get?"
"Punishment," she breathes. "But-"
Her words of dissent are cut off when my hands dig into the flesh of her bruised ass. I lift her up from my hip and toss her through the air, her long limbs sprawling away from her body, waving as she flies through the air. Her fall is cushioned by the snow, and she shrieks as the cold pierces her skin.
But there's a smile dancing on her face, wide and honest - laced with sexy mischief. And the promise of more to come.
Chapter 1
Lena
"Hold the door!"
My voice echoes through the brightly lit hallway, but the asshole treading heavily down the corridor in front of me seems oblivious of my presence. His long strides show no regard for the person stumbling behind him. He’s tall, with neatly trimmed brown hair swept to the side, revealing an undercut on his left. His broad shoulders are hugged by a well-fitted dark suit, which leads me to assume that he must be one of the attendees at the convention I'm serving at this weekend.
His ignorant behavior toward me only manifests that assumption. As soon as I noticed the glass door in front of us, I tried my best to catch up with him, so I could slip through right behind him. It's one of those heavy, fire-safety doors. I can tell by the way he plows his body’s weight into it when he opens it. It’s one of those doors that are a pain to open under normal circumstances, let alone for a petite woman like me who is carrying half a dozen boxes full of sandwiches and donuts.
"Please!" I repeat. "Hold the door!"
The jerk doesn't even stop for a second. He doesn't turn his head, or make any other indication that he has heard my desperate pleas. He rams the door open with a strong push, and as I realize I'd be stuck in this damn corridor like an idiot if I don't make it through the door with him, I start sprinting.
Have you ever made a decision and regretted it the moment you acted on it? This turns out to be one of them. The second I start running, I realize it’s a bad idea. I'm carrying a pile of boxes stacked so high on top of each other that I can barely look over them. They’re not heavy, but their delicate contents shouldn't be tossed about the way they are now. I'm also not used to running in heels. I always wear them when I'm working, but my job usually doesn't require me to sprint.
I amble awkwardly, stumbling towards the door, almost tripping over my own feet as I try to keep the boxes as steady as possible. I'm almost impressed by my last minute decision to turn my back to the door as it is about to close on me. Still balancing the shaking boxes, my back meets the heavy glass door, causing me to exhale audibly as the air is forced out of my lungs. A frantic curse escapes my lips, and when I try to push the door back open while simultaneously maneuvering those damn boxes in my arms, he finally turns in my direction, just in time to watch me collapse to
the floor, tripping over my own two feet as I try to catch my fall. One, two wide, clumsy steps and I'm met with resistance.
My surprised shriek is accompanied by an angry growl as I clash into a solid human wall. I realize with horror that the boxes are no longer safely tucked in my arms. Instead, their lids are flipping open as they fly through the air, the contents fleeing their cardboard prison. It's one of those horrid moments that passes in slow motion. I'm howling in despair as I gape at my food sprawled out on the floor, the food I've spent so much time preparing, the food that was supposed to earn us a handsome profit. We are famous for our sandwiches, and the organizers asked specifically for me to cater and serve today's convention meal. I've taken so much care in preparing these goddamn things. How could I be so stupid as to risk sprinting just so I could get through this fucking door a bit faster?
"Fuck!"
The thundering male voice cuts into my shocked thoughts with brute force, stirring my insides with the sheer volume of his words. I flinch, noticing only now that I'm down on my knees, hovering right next to the open boxes and the sprawled-out food – and directly in front of his feet.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" he yells again, each exclamation growing louder. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
I tear my eyes away from the mess littering the floor next to me, and tilt my head back to look up at him. There are two things that strike me equally in that moment, but evoke completely different emotions. The first is that this man is gorgeous. His looks would make me weak in the knees, even under normal circumstances. His strong jaw is dappled with dark stubble that matches his extravagant hair style, and his hair falls noticeably longer on one side of his face than I originally thought. His eyes are darker brown than his hair and framed by thick eyebrows and unusually long lashes for a man.
I find myself wondering what he might look like when he's smiling. It's hard to imagine based on his current facial expression, because right now, he's displaying the exact opposite. The angry glare he's angling down at me is closely related to the second observation that hits me like a hammer. Before my acclaimed sandwiches hit the floor, they made a little detour on his chest. The proof is the ugly blotches staining his suit jacket, the white shirt he's wearing beneath it, and the silver-colored tie he's wearing.
"Fuck!” I repeat his curse, but in a much lower voice.
"Fuck, indeed!" he snaps at me, extending his arms to the side as if he wanted to give me a better view of the damage I caused.
"Look at this!" he yells. "This is fucking ruined! What the hell were you thinking?!"
"I... I'm so sorry!" I stammer in a moot attempt to appease him, as I clumsily gather myself up from the floor. Despite his fury, I expected he would help me get up, as any gentleman would, but he doesn't make a move. Instead, he takes a step back from me, as if he feared I could inflict more stains on his clothes by simply standing too close.
"Look at this shit!" he barks at me again, his dark, angry eyes glaring. "What the hell were you trying to do? Who runs like that while carrying boxes full of greasy food? What kind of idiot are you?!"
His rage is palpable, even when he stops yelling at me. His dark brown eyes are flickering with rage, revealing a violent temper that scares the shit out of me. I hate being yelled at, and I suck at dealing with situations like this.
"I'm so sorry," I repeat weakly. I lift my hands in an apologetic gesture, as if he was about to charge at me. "Please, I didn't mean to-"
"What did you mean to do?" he cuts me off. "You ran right into me, like a fucking moron!"
"Excuse me!" I retort, now finding myself fueled by rage. "I called out for you to hold the door for me, but you didn't-"
"And that gives you an excuse to throw your disgusting sandwiches at me?" he interrupts me again. "What the hell kind of excuse is that?"
Tears are threatening to flow down my cheeks, rendering me nearly helpless to stand up to him.
Disgusting sandwiches. That fucking hurt.
But I have to keep my shit together. I want to yell at him, just like he's yelling at me. I want to insult him, to make him realize that none of this would have happened if he had just turned around and held the door open for me like any proper gentleman would have. I want to curse at him, call him names, treat him the same rude way he’s treating me.
But I won't.
I won't, because it wouldn't do any good. It would only hurt my good name and reputation – and that of the diner. I'm not just representing myself tonight, not just plain little Lena.
"I am sorry," I say again, my lips trembling as I try to calm myself. "It's my fault, and if you want, I can help you clean up, and-"
"Fuck this!" he stops me once again mid-sentence, spitting out his vehement words at me. "This is just what I needed today! Just what I needed!"
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, not minding the tears that now stream down my face. It can't be helped. Tears come naturally to me when I find myself in stressful situations. Fighting them is futile, and I should know that by now.
I stand defeated, the darkness behind my eyelids shielding me from the stark reality of the current situation. Just for a moment. Just long enough to gather the strength to face this damn mess.
His disgusted huff pulls me back to the present, and when I finally open my eyes, it’s just in time to see him turn and stalk away from me.
Chapter 2
Jason
That was uncalled for. Even I know that.
Despite everything. Despite her sudden, clumsy appearance. Despite ruining my suit, worsening a situation that is already stressful on its own. Despite her pathetic attempts at justifying her dumb mistake. Despite the way her weak demeanor aggravated me.
Despite that face.
That damn face.
I shake my head, as her face flashes through my mind. The tears streaming down her perfectly pale cheeks, after I yelled at her like a fucking idiot. I'm not an asshole, but I certainly behaved like one just now.
It was a typical case of wrong place, wrong time. Had this happened any other day, in any other situation, I probably would be peeling her out of that sexy uniform right now. I would laugh at her silliness, make her clean my shirt, and then spank the hell out of her until she begged for mercy. Yes, that's what would be going down right now if things were different, if I didn't have to be Mr. Conner, Jr. right now. If I didn't have to play a role I have been preparing for my entire life.
And yet, I feel so fucking unequipped.
I can't remember the last time I've been this stressed. I've been turning my head, nervously scanning my surroundings as I’m fixing the damn cuffs of my jacket for the umpteenth time, as if it would make any difference. If it wasn't so fucking cold in this building, I'm sure I'd be sweating, too.
I was a fucking mess even before she ruined my shirt and suit jacket. I fled the scene as quickly as possible, leaving her and the chaos she created behind. I had to get out of there, had to get away from her. My hurried escape led me to the nearest bathroom, where I try my best to remove the stains from my clothes. She was carrying boxes full of greasy sandwiches, topped with some kind of sauce that reminds me of mayonnaise. Disgusting. I manage to clean most of it from my suit jacket, but the stains on my white shirt are more persistent.
I'm staring at my reflection in the mirror, cursing again. My voice echoes through the room, but there’s no one else there to hear it but me. The man looking back at me in the mirror is a stranger, a wimp, intimidated by something that should be raising him up, not making him yell at cute girls when they literally fall into his arms.
This isn't me. I'm Jason Conner, the well-respected heir to an unrivaled business empire. Born and bred for a life of success and power. Founded and built from the ground up by my great-grandfather, the Conner business has been a multi-million dollar empire even before my father took over from my grandfather, and it has only grown since.
Now, it's my turn.
My father has been eager for me to become his offic
ial successor for quite a while, especially since he got married again. This is his fourth wife, and I’m sure she’s a gold digger, just like all the others before her. She’s much younger than him, a perfect barbie doll with a smile as fake as her tits. He’s just drawn to women like that – women who look pretty next to him and who love him for his bank account. I can’t even be sure that my own mother was any different, because she died long before I had a chance to form a memory of her.
My father is ready to take his first steps toward retirement, and it’s time for his only son, me, to step in. This convention is the first time he sent me to represent our company, while he’s busy with business back in New York. He didn't want to leave things unattended this close to Christmas. It’s not like a security company would expect business to increase around the holidays, but we still need to wrap up another accounting year before everyone disappears into the two-week holiday abyss between Christmas and New Year’s.
Also, this convention deals with a newer branch of our firm that I understand a lot better than my old man. IT security hadn’t even been on his radar before I convinced him to open an affiliated firm focusing on that area. It's only logical that I make the presentation and do the talking and negotiating here.
Still. This fucking pressure is killing me. And it's obviously killing parts of my personality, as this encounter with the little waitress proved. I don't know if she really is a waitress, but she was dressed like one, in her tight-fitting black skirt and a white blouse with a red ribbon at the collar. I notice details like that, because my eyes are trained when it comes to women. They are easy prey to a man like me, even if it’s just to play. I’m not walking into the same trap as my old men. Unlike him, I’m smart enough to keep them at distance, no strings attached, no relationships that grant them access to my fortune.
However, this one was cute, very fucking cute. But so damn clumsy.
Something about her was off. The way she spoke sounded foreign to me, as if she had the hint of an accent, one that I couldn't place. Russian, maybe?
