by Cole, Harper
"Fuck the inheritance," Andrew muttered, and laid a roundhouse blow squarely on the side of his father's head.
* * * *
"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap!" I was jabbering and Andrew hauled me out of the house and down the stone stairs, onto the gravel drive. "You just gonna leave him there? He was out cold!"
"He has staff. They'll attend to him. Come on; I am sorry for the haste but we have to get away." Andrew's arm was hard around my shoulders as we hurried down the driveway.
"Where are we going?"
"I'm parked a little way away. But - ah shit, I thought as much."
The ornate metal gates across the end of the driveway were closed. There was a complicated security system, and a very high wall. My panic was rising again, fuelled by Andrew's haste to get away.
Before I could ask him what we were going to do, he was speaking urgently into his cell. "Fire!" he was saying. "I think there's still somebody in the house …" Then he was giving the address and explaining that the gate system had been damaged and was stuck shut.
"Clever," I said, half to myself, as he pushed his cell back into his pocket. He pulled me to a tree by the gate, and hid us both behind it. I glanced up, but there was no way we could climb it to get over the wall.
Still, it wasn't long before the sirens sounded in the distance. Andrew hadn't spoken in all that time. He just hung on to me, and stared around as if he expected his father's henchmen to leap out of the bushes.
The fire appliance drew up outside the gates and one of the fire men spoke into the tannoy; there was confusion and argument.
"They'll just turn around and go home, won't they?" I hissed to Andrew.
"They can't. They need to check, and they'll ram their way in if they had to."
They didn't have to. The gates buzzed and with a clang and a jerk to start off, they slowly slid open. As the fire truck began to ease past us, we took advantage of the screen that it offered, and ran straight out the gates onto the street.
Andrew's car was not far away, and to my surprise Andrew jumped into the back next to me, saying, "Amjad - drive."
And we sped off, and as I glanced at the stony-faced figure of Andrew beside me - so like his father - I wondered if this was another bad choice in a sea of nothing but bad choices.
* * * *
I wanted to ask where we were going, but there was a forbidding atmosphere hanging around Andrew that made me stay silent. I laughed at myself. I didn't usually pay much attention to "intuition" - it was a bullshit thing, as far as I was concerned, like the dream-catchers my mom hung on the porch and around the house, or the psychics my sister used to go see. But there was a definite wall around Andrew.
Amjad parked the car and a hush settled over us. I waited.
Andrew shook his head as if he was waking up, and finally turned to me. He looked shockingly older for a moment, then blinked, and the familiar man returned. "Jasmine. I've brought you to my house. I think we need to talk."
"Sure do."
The door opened and Amjad ushered us out. Andrew extended his hand to me, and I took it as I got to my feet on the sidewalk.
"You would have spat in my face for that, not so long ago," he said.
I swallowed. "I still kinda want to," I admitted, looking down. "But I'm trying to learn to show you respect." I was also beginning to realize he might be a dangerous man to upset.
And that made my stomach flutter - in pleasure. Holy fuck, what was I? Not only was I becoming the kind of woman who didn't mind a man telling her what to do, I also liked the fact he was a violent fuck who'd punch his own father in the face?
Okay, so it was sorta on my behalf. But not entirely. There was a whole lot of historical bad shit going down between those two.
He snorted at my answer, and kept hold of my hand as he led me past some black railings and into a narrow townhouse. It looked like a classic Victorian build, with at least four stories as far as I could tell from the outside.
Did he pay for this with money from his father? Or had he actually cut off all ties with him, and earned enough for this? I hoped it was the latter. I would be seriously impressed.
I had to ask. He led me down the red-tiled corridor and to a comfortable kitchen at the back of the house, where he began to set up a complicated stainless steel coffee machine that would have looked fine in a high street coffee place.
"Nice place," I said. "Your work must pay well…"
"I've done a lot of investing. I play the markets well. That's why I'm a researcher."
"Kinda like a market analyst?"
"Quite close, yes. What type of coffee would you like?" He waved at an array of colorful foil packets.
"Americano, obviously."
He raised one eyebrow at me, and finally cracked a smile. "Coming right up. Please, do sit down."
"I feel kinda awkward in your house. I mean, I know you have all these rules and that. Stuff you expect me to do…"
"Yes. About all that…"
We both tailed off. I waited. I knew that it was what my role demanded. Submit; be quiet. Wait.
It was weird, but I felt a little calmer. The problem was his to deal with.
The coffee machine made a strange noise and released a rich aroma. He inhaled deeply, and said, "Jas. Jasmine. I went to my father's to ask him for help in finding you. I never expected that he was responsible."
"Why did he take me?"
"Did he not tell you?"
"Not really. He kept saying stuff about how he had a business deal for me, but it wouldn't interfere with my current work. It was like he wanted me to spy for him or something. On my company, perhaps?"
"No! On me! The bastard," Andrew said, looking astounded. "The sly fucker."
"Wait, what. Spy on you? Why?"
He ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up. "It's really complicated. I think you must have guessed some of it. I was always supposed to follow in his footsteps. He hoped I'd help grow the family empire. He's in parliament and in business, and he's as corrupt as hell. And being his son has opened doors for me, even when I didn't want them to. Even my own job was in part because of him. But I don't want to be his lackey and I don't want to be dishonest."
"So - what, he's looking for some way to force you back?"
"I think so. Or some way of destroying me. Either way, he's bad news."
"He's a bully," I said.
"He is."
Our eyes met and locked. "Thank you for coming and saving me," I said at last, and added, "Sir."
Just that tiny word shifted everything around us into sexual territory. He sipped at his coffee and let his eyes roam up and down my body.
"My pleasure," he replied, with acres of meaning.
Weren't we going to talk about this? I thought as he put his coffee mug down on the counter and advanced toward me. His body was doing the talking, and I let mine reply as I stood up to greet him.
He seized me and pulled me roughly against his chest, and sank a deep kiss onto my lips that had me struggling to breath, and I didn't care; I wanted him to crush me. Needed him to. Begged for it as I clawed at his back and squeezed him.
One of his hands cupped the back of my head, and the other roamed down to grip my ass. He was hard already, his cock pressing against my belly. As he pulled from the kiss, I gasped, "I've got to get out of these clothes. They're not mine. He made me wear them."
"You'll stay dressed until I tell you otherwise," he said.
We kissed again but he'd set my mind whirring. I didn't want to stay in these borrowed clothes. I had told him so. Was he saying I had to stay dressed, just to spite me?
Or was it the BDSM thing? I was unsure and I felt a sudden flash of anger at him. If he was in charge then didn't he have a responsibility to make it clear what the boundaries were, and what I could expect?
He was a dominant man. But perhaps he wasn't quite a Dominant … yet. Maybe he needed a good submissive - the right submissive - to help him to reach his potenti
al.
Both his hands were at the back of my head, holding me firmly, his thumbs lightly stroking my cheeks. "You're a beautiful thing," he whispered to me. "You have to trust me. Obey me."
"I know," I said quietly, my heart rate pounding in my ears. I was too conflicting. Obey? Obey? "But your father … what of us? I mean, what if you become like him?"
It came out wrong. It wasn't quite what I wanted to say. But now it was too late.
Andrew let go of my face and stepped back, his hand raised in the air. My cheek was sore from the blows I'd received the day before, and I instinctively recoiled.
But he held his blow, his hand in the air a foot from my face, and he balled it into a fist, and forced his hand to his side.
"No," he hissed. "And that is why I am not like my father. Now get out."
End of Book One!
What next! Can Andrew and Jas reconcile? Is he really different to his father? Will Leonard seek revenge? And what ties from Jas's family will reach over the ocean to pull her back? Find out… Sign up to the mailing list here http://eepurl.com/6NWQj.
About The Author
Harper Cole writes feisty, sassy heroines who are strong women … it's just that they want to find a man to match!
These steamy romance serials have cliffhanger endings so avoid if you don't like pacey, thrilling and heart-stopping passion between modern characters.
She's on facebook so come connect with her page! http://www.facebook.com/harpercolewriter- or email [email protected]
Don't forget that signing up to the mailing list gets you advance notice of the special launch price of the upcoming books. http://eepurl.com/6NWQj
Table Of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About The Author
