by Lily Harlem
“Good afternoon,” Kane said.
“If you’d like to come this way, I’ll show you to the Ty Warner suite. Your luggage will be right behind us.”
“Thank you,” Kane said.
Imogen looked at him. He appeared to drift through life and from one place to another effortlessly. Not having to lower himself with mundane tasks like checking in, or even giving his name. When they’d arrived at the airport their progress through private security had been incredibly efficient and when they’d disembarked and walked through JFK their luggage was already in the waiting limousine.
“This is the suite’s private elevator.” The concierge pressed a button and the doors slid silently open. “It has a pin number which you can find by the telephone in the suite. You’ll need to use it each time.
“Thank you,” Kane said, slipping his hand onto Imogen’s back. “Please, you first.” He urged her forward.
She stepped in. What would the suite be like? And more to the point, what were the sleeping arrangements? Did it have two bedrooms? Was Kane planning on sharing a bed with her?
Would she complain?
Hell no.
The concierge hit the top level and Imogen’s stomach dropped a little as they were whizzed upward. No one spoke. The concierge stared at the door, apparently waiting for it to open. Kane removed his hand from her back.
She caught his gaze in the smoky mirrors. He was staring at her reflection.
She glanced away, not wanting him to read her mind about the bedroom situation. She didn’t want to be too damn transparent.
The suite, on the fifty-second floor, was breathtaking. Imogen walked in, held in another gasp of appreciation but couldn’t help staring. It had extravagance that she’d never experienced before. Artwork, antiques, a grand piano set in an alcove with floor-to-ceiling windows and views of Manhattan. It wasn’t sparse and minimalist as she’d thought it might be; it was full of luxury, from immaculate furniture, beautiful paintings and intricate sculptures.
It also had several rooms. She could see a bedroom to the right and another to the left.
Kane tipped the concierge, who immediately retreated to the elevator.
Kane walked to the left, slipped off his jacket and draped it casually over a shiny brown leather sofa.
“You will be in here,” he said, pushing open the door to the bedroom on her left. “I trust you will be comfortable.”
So they weren’t sharing a room. That cleared that up then.
Was she disappointed or relieved? After what had just happened in the car, how she’d felt when he’d touched her knee…disappointed was the overwhelming emotion.
Perhaps he was being polite. Maybe things would heat up.
A girl could hope.
Imogen looked inside her bedroom. It was huge and also had enormous windows with priceless views of the city. The bed was vast and had cream and gold covers. A sleek dressing table was set against the wall, several straight-backed chairs were dotted about, and in a silver ice bucket there was a bottle of champagne.
“I’m sure I will be,” she said, admiring the picture hanging behind the bed. “It’s beautiful.”
“You should rest,” he said. “Before we go to the club tonight.”
“Yes. That would be sensible.” She was weary, her eyes heavy; however, the excitement of the last few minutes, in the cab and arriving at the suite, had perked her up. She could probably keep going. “But—?”
“I insist. Besides, I have someone I must spend time with now.”
“You do?” She was surprised and wanted to demand to know who. But it wasn’t really any of her business.
“Yes.” He studied her and tipped his head slightly. “My sensei.”
“Sensei?”
“Karate Master. I would never come to New York without studying with him. Apart from the fact it is to my advantage, it would also be very discourteous of me.”
“You do karate?” Imogen was surprised. She’d never thought of Kane as having a hobby like martial arts. He was always so busy. But then again, if she was going to pick one sport for him to practice, then yes, it would be karate, something that required absolute self-control and discipline, not to mention skillful hands and precision timing.
“It wouldn’t do my body any good to sit behind a desk all day,” he said, “and besides, I like knowing that I can look after myself and others, should the need arise.”
“Yes, I agree.” She paused. “Are you a black belt?” The image of him in a starched white outfit wearing a tight black belt and with a sheen of sweat on his brow sprang into her mind. She’d never thought of karate as sexy before, but right now, she couldn’t think of anything sexier. His dark hair set against all that white, his feet bare and his muscles tense…
He nodded. “Several times over.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what that meant. “Well, that’s good.”
He smiled. “Please, help yourself to champagne, or if you’d rather something else, just call down for room service. Whatever you want. When I return we’ll head to the club.” He glanced at his watch. “Three hours. Yes, that will be about right. Please be ready to go.”
It hadn’t sound like a request, more of a command. “Okay.”
The sound of the elevator doors pinging reminded Imogen of their luggage. She’d have to see if the little black dress she’d brought would need ironing.
“Your outfit for tonight should be in here.” Kane strode across the large bedroom and pulled open the door of a tall cupboard.
Imogen couldn’t see inside from where she was standing.
“Ah, yes, good, perfect in fact,” he said, shutting the door again with a click.
“I have an outfit, in there?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “But I brought one to wear.”
“I’m sure you did. But I think this one will be very flattering and also it means you will blend in.”
“Blend in?”
“Yes.”
He walked back over to her, came up close, so close she could have reached up and stroked her finger down his cheek.
“I don’t want us to stand out,” he said. “We need to be discreet so you can experience without distraction. Tonight it’s just looking, no touching.”
No touching?
“Oh, I see.” She didn’t really, only now she was itching to look at the outfit he’d bought her, but his eyes were like magnets, and when he set his whole attention on her, like he had now, she found it impossible to tear herself away.
“Just looking, no touching,” he repeated.
Imogen swallowed. Her right leg tingled—the spot where he’d caressed her in the car.
He suddenly stepped away and turned.
She stared at his broad shoulders and the way his black shirt tapered to the waistband of his jeans.
“Be ready,” he said, pulling the door closed behind him.
Silence enveloped her.
Imogen pursed her lips and blew out a long breath. Whenever Kane left a room it was as though an electric current had been switched off. His energy was extreme. He both fascinated and confused her. He turned her on to the point she felt combustion was a definite possibility and also made her want to put up a shield to protect herself from his power—the power he had over her. A control that seemed to be growing by the minute.
He’d bought her an outfit? What the hell was that all about?
She frowned at the cupboard. First he’d told her what to wear to the races. Admittedly, it had been perfect for the occasion. And now he’d given her something to wear to the club. She’d never let a man have any say in how she dressed before. That wasn’t the type of woman she was. Imogen made her own decisions, her own choices.
She kicked off her heels and sank her aching feet into the soft carpet. She went to the cupboard and pulled open the door.
Hanging in the shadows was a short black leather dress.
Imogen bit on her bottom lip. Okay. So she’d gone for a little black dress
too, but this…
She held the dress up to the window. The leather material was shiny, it had the thinnest shoulder straps and it was so short she knew it would barely cover her knickers once it was on. But what really caught her attention was the intricate corset detail that ran down the front. Tiny laces that appeared to hold the dress together, and each one threaded through bright red eyelets.
Her mouth dried.
She couldn’t wear this.
It was…tarty.
Yes, that was the word for it. Or was it? Because actually it was beyond tarty, it was kind of fetish. Kinky.
Bloody hell.
She rubbed her fingers over her brow and continued to stare at it.
Kane Ward wanted her to wear this provocative, ultra sexy dress tonight when they went out. And what’s more, he’d said it would mean she’d blend in. Yes, that had been his words. Blend in.
So everyone else would be wearing things like this?
This was no ordinary club.
But why did that surprise her? Kane was no ordinary man, and this was no ordinary business trip.
She knew that much already.
She walked to the huge window and held the dress up. The light caught on the super-smooth surface as she moved it left to right then slid her hand down the front. Despite being leather, it was wonderfully soft, the material almost paper-thin. It wouldn’t feel stiff on her body, she was sure. It would be more like a second skin.
She juddered out a breath.
Maybe she should just decline the trip to the club. Or perhaps insist on wearing the dress she’d brought. That was plain and neat, and although short in length, it at least made an attempt to reach her knees.
She walked around in a circle, worrying at her bottom lip and swinging the hanger from her finger.
What would Kane say if he came back and she wasn’t in this dress?
Tough. She couldn’t be told what to wear. She wouldn’t be told what to wear.
But something inside her didn’t want to disappoint him. He wanted to see her in this dress, the way he’d wanted to see her in something pretty when he’d taken her to the races. Plus, she’d loved his sexy satisfied smile when he’d seen her at the helipad.
Her heart was longing to see that smile again. She wanted to please him. Here. In New York. Where it felt like anything could happen. Even wearing this crazy little dress.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t have the figure for it and it certainly looked to be her size.
“I should wear it.” She nodded and placed it over the end of a chaise longue. “Yes. I’ll try it on, and if it’s okay. I’ll wear it.”
Feeling like she’d made some kind of decision and a celebration was called for, Imogen pulled the champagne from the ice bucket. She dug her nail into the foil around the bottle of Krug and popped the cork. It flew a few feet into the air then rolled beneath the dressing table.
A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up from her chest, but it caught in her throat as froth slipped over the rim. “Whoops.”
She reached for a flute and poured.
Who would have thought this time last week when she was number crunching and wading through tax returns that now she would be in the penthouse at The Four Seasons in New York, planning some kind of kinky night out with Kane Ward. Yes, she needed a drink.
She took a sip of the chilled, sparkling liquid.
“Mmm…” She wandered to a large door that was slightly ajar and pushed it open. Inside was the most lavish, decadent bathroom she’d ever seen. It appeared to have been created out of gold-hued marble, had a huge shower cubicle, several sinks beneath a giant mirror, and a bath that she could almost swim lengths in.
Like all the other rooms in the suite, it had floor-to-ceiling windows so it was possible to lounge in the bath and admire the Empire State Building.
Imogen didn’t hesitate to start the bath filling. She tipped a whole bottle of sweetly scented foaming liquid into the stream of water then began to strip off her clothes.
Within minutes she was sinking into the hot water. It surrounded her tired body like a blanket, wrapping around her sore feet, her stiff legs and up to her breasts.
She swooshed the bubbles around, splashing them over her nipples then sighed and reached for her drink.
Staring out at the view, she rested her head back.
She’d read a book about kink a while ago. A couple who engaged in bondage and spanking. The hero would get rough with the heroine, but she’d loved it, lapped it up. Taken whatever he’d given her.
Was that the kind of man Kane was? Like the hero in that kinky book? Damn, what was its name, that book?
She frowned. The title wasn’t important. What was important was to find out if the man she was getting hot for was into bondage and spanking?
And if so…was she?
Chapter Five
Imogen knew she wouldn’t sleep if she rested on the bed so was content to laze in the bath for an hour or so. She let the water soak away her tiredness as her mind spun with thoughts of Kane and what the night would bring.
Eventually, she rose from the water, ready to put on that dress.
A bottle of rich, sweet body lotion tempted Imogen, and she covered herself before hunting out satin knickers from her suitcase. She found the little black number she’d planned on wearing and decided to hang it up—it would be okay to wear another night and hanging might drop the creases.
Something at the base of the cupboard caught her attention.
Boots.
Very long, thigh-length boots.
She picked them up by the tops. They were made of the same wonderfully soft leather as the dress and had identical corset-style ties up the front, including the tiny red eyelets.
“Bloody hell!”
The dress she’d been prepared to give a go, but these…well, these were just too much.
She flicked them over and examined the three-inch heels.
Heels weren’t an issue, but even she’d have to concentrate to walk on those tiny points.
She glanced at the dress. Together the two items screamed slut, come fuck me, I’m a sure thing. She may as well just have trollop stamped on her forehead.
They were all the things she most definitely wasn’t.
But did Kane want her to be?
No, surely not. If he’d wanted a slut he could have found one easily enough. But he’d chosen her and he knew damn well she was a professional with a reputation to protect for the sake of her career.
What if someone from London saw her out, in this get-up?
Had he even thought of that? She knew many people in the industry, many based in the US. It was a slim possibility but still…it was a possibility.
She placed the boots by the dress and backed away from them. She picked up her brush and began to pull it through her damp hair as she stared at the outfit.
Kane didn’t date sluts. She knew that. It was clearly more complicated than that he wanted a tartily dressed woman on his arm.
Or was it? Maybe that was what he was into. His kink could very well be slutty outfits—whore fantasy might be what got him off.
Imogen poured herself another glass of champagne, knocked half of it back in one go then sat, in just her knickers, at the dressing table. She set about pinning her hair high and trying to figure out what was going on.
Kane was a complex man, there was no doubt about that. He also liked to keep things close to his chest. He only revealed what he needed to and what he wanted to.
But could she get him to reveal more?
The rise of a challenge swelled in her chest. Imogen hadn’t got where she was by being afraid of finding out what was going on. She also liked order, knowing what was what.
So yes, she’d wear the dress.
And the boots.
The boots?
She glanced at them again.
Damn it.
She wanted to.
She didn’t want to.
She took anothe
r glug of champagne.
She’d see how she felt once she had the dress on. That was the best plan at this stage.
She reached for a bright red lipstick, twisted it up to a point, and began to carefully apply it.
As the sun set and the New York City downtown lights twinkled through the window, Imogen stared at herself in the mirror.
The dress did indeed fit perfectly. It made her breasts appear voluptuous, and because of the way it nipped in at her waist, it gave her hips a seriously sexy flare.
God, this was the look he wanted on her? That thought was both thrilling and frightening.
The boots complemented the dress beautifully. They were made to go together. They rose well beyond her knees, showing only a few inches of bare thigh before the lofty hem of the dress, which, as predicted, only just covered her underwear.
She skimmed her hand over her stomach and turned to survey her behind.
Damn it. Her mother would never have let her out in this. And her father, well, he’d turn in his grave.
What was she doing?
But it did look good. She could pull it off. She could work this look if it was what Kane wanted and would allow her to get to the bottom of his kink—if indeed that’s what this business arrangement was all about.
Kink.
She smiled. She actually really liked the outfit. Did that mean she was kinky too? Perhaps it did. But so what if she was. Maybe it was time to let that side of her out to play.
She reached for her drink, realized she’d downed yet another glass of champagne, and hiccupped. She should have some water then maybe she wouldn’t be so brazen about unearthing whatever kinks and knots lay in her psyche.
After drinking a big glass of water, Imogen added a necklace then earrings to her outfit for good measure. They were a sapphire set that she’d planned on wearing with the other dress. Not quite in style with the leather number she’d opted for, but maybe it gave her a classy-slut appearance—if there was such a thing.
The water rehydrated her and the champagne glow eased. It was dark outside, so she decided to go and wait for Kane in the lounge area and enjoy the view from there.
She hadn’t heard him come back from karate, but the door to the other bedroom was now shut and the lamps at either end of the sofas were on, giving a gentle glow to the elegant room.
