by Gia Dawn
A Taste of Winter
Gia Dawn
Red Masks, Book One
For the ladies of the Red Masks pleasure waits behind every door…and no one is ever who they seem to be.
When Alaina accepts an invitation to Charleston’s premier sex club, she has no idea the stranger who makes her scream with pleasure is her micromanaging ex-boss Ryan. But while she couldn’t stand his domination on the job, his mastery in the bedroom takes her to whole new levels of pleasure. He forces her to submit to his every decadent demand—including a threesome with his old friend and her new employer, Zayne.
While Ryan knows Alaina’s true identity, she remains unaware of his deception until the masks come off and she is faced with a decision. Can she continue to submit to his will now that she knows who he really is?
Inside scoop: Alaina enjoys a blistering-hot ménage and light bondage in her explorations—lucky girl!
A Romantica® contemporary erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
A TASTE OF WINTER
Gia Dawn
Dedication
To my son Wes and his amazing partner Velvet.
When Wes was diagnosed with type one young adult onset juvenile diabetes in May of 2013, I did what any good mother and author would do. I cried for days, begged whatever God might be listening that I would take his place if they could somehow transmit his disease to me…then went immediately to Brenda Novak’s Online Auction for Diabetes Research. I bid on and won a three-chapter critique donated by Ellora’s Cave, then pitched to the fabulous Julie Naughton who made the Red Masks series a reality. Thank you Julie!!! And a very special thank-you to Brenda Novak and her dedication to diabetes research.
I hope you enjoy.
—Gia
Chapter One
Alaina Winter knew who was calling the instant her cell phone rang. The sun grew darker and the air grew colder as if the man had the same dimming effect on the rest of the world as he did on her. Even the ocean on the other side of the Battery, Charleston’s premier waterfront street, took on a gray and choppy cast under the overcast winter sky, while her coffee turned cold and bitter on her tongue.
Ryan Marquis…who also could be known as the Marquis de Sade.
He put the O in obsessive.
The C in control.
And the F in freak, fanatic, fascist and fuc—
“Good morning, Mr. Marquis. How can I help you today?” she answered, pleased her voice didn’t betray an inkling of the tension that immediately crushed her chest.
“Miss Winter,” came the clipped response, “how nice of you to answer.” She couldn’t miss the sarcasm that dripped like venom across the connection.
The tightness in her chest threatened to cut off all her breath but somehow she managed to keep her voice nearly as cold as his. “I do apologize. We seem to have been on different schedules as of late.”
Different schedules meaning she hadn’t answered a single one of his calls for the past three days, sending him only terse text messages in return. But at least she hadn’t had to deal with any of his micromanagement for seventy-two hours, giving her the brief respite she needed. If she talked to him on a daily basis she would have already imploded from his incessant demands and last-minute alterations.
Since she’d contracted with Marquis Development over two years ago the man managed to turn Winter Restorations—the business she’d once loved with an unlimited passion—into a chore that sucked her very life away. Spectacularly wealthy with a sharp eye for real estate, Ryan had hired her to renovate the properties he’d purchased and paid her an exorbitant sum for her exclusive contract.
On the major downside he required her to fill out a desk full of contracts for every building she began work on, fined her outrageously every day she was late with the paperwork and refused to accept a single proposal without questioning the color of the rooms, the type of wood for the flooring or the shape of the chandeliers she’d picked out.
On one project, he delayed completion for several days while he did some research on the height of the wrought iron fence she planned to install on the second-floor balconies. Today he obviously had some insightful opinion on the LaRue House, their latest restoration project, or she wouldn’t have a huge list of missed calls from his number.
“At any rate,” she continued, actually managing to draw breath, “if you give me your latest list of changes, I’ll be happy to implement them immediately.”
Her only defense against his constant meddling was to remain aloof and accommodating, refusing to let him goad her into an argument. He’d wanted a fight from their very first conversation but she’d steadfastly refused to rise to his bait, gaining a decided satisfaction in the knowledge she made him furious with her false politeness. She could tell by the pause of silence on the other end of the line that he struggled to keep his tone as neutral as hers.
But he was a constant challenge, both to her normally outgoing personality and her professional vision. In a city of vibrant music, exquisite food and flowers of every color imaginable, the man was a study in fifty shades of gray.
Dull gray. Nothing like the sexy book she’d read last summer.
“Mr. Marquis?” she prompted into his continued silence.
“I did want to make a small change to the exterior color of the LaRue House. Pine green as opposed to forest green. I sent you a link to the sample.”
Alaina rolled her eyes to the heavens. She doubted there was any difference at all between the hues, just one company naming the color different from the other. But as she opened her mouth to agree as she’d always done before, some too-long repressed rebellious urge surfaced and she found herself saying, “Lime green? What an interesting change from your usual ideas. I was actually thinking the same thing myself. And may I compliment you on such a bold color choice. Excellently done.”
“I said pi—”
“Have to run,” she deliberately interrupted. “The building permits are due by five.” She clicked off with a decided snap, not giving him a chance to interrupt her.
Lime green.
The thought struck so suddenly she almost choked on her coffee, the brew regaining some of its wonderful taste as the idea took hold.
Granted it would cost her a couple thousand dollars in paint, labor and whatever fines he decided to inflict but it would be worth every penny to see the look on his meddling face when he saw what she had done. And it would be a spectacular color for the building. Well, maybe not neon lime green but some vibrant shade of the color, toned down with darker trim on the veranda and windows.
She frowned as her phone rang, too excited now to worry about the consequences as she let his latest message go to voice mail. Instead, she found exactly what she wanted online and forwarded the information to her construction supervisor.
That done, she turned her attention to a new and exciting prospect. Her contract with Ryan was nearing its end and she’d learned that Zayne Saladar, a wealthy foreign investor, was planning to purchase the derelict Gravers’ Orphanage and completely renovate the building.
Alaina wanted that job. Badly. She already had some preliminary designs drawn up and planned to spend Sunday making sketches of the gardens with the intent of garnering an interview with Mr. Saladar for the job. At long last, she would be free from Ryan’s intervention.
That thought alone sent a trickle of excitement up her back. Free at last from the servitude she’d been forced into for the last two years.
Then…after she’d finished for the day…Alaina planned to do something so wicked, so decadent, so completely out of character, just the thought of it sent shivers of need across her skin. She was finally going to accept the invitation she’d recei
ved several weeks ago from the notorious Red Mask Society, the best-kept secret in South Carolina history.
Started by the notorious Monique Gaston well before the Civil War, the Red Mask Society was housed in a massive old plantation just minutes east of the city. Originally a brothel, it had morphed through the years into an exclusive sex club where the men were gorgeous, rich and highly skilled in the bedroom, and the women were admitted by invitation only…ostensibly at the request of one or more of the male members of the club.
That someone had singled her out for decadent pleasure gave her a shiver of delight she could barely control. After months of not having a single date due to Ryan’s 24/7 work schedule, Alaina was more than ready for some sorely needed physical release.
Her hand trembled as she dialed the number, but she was determined not to chicken out as she heard the exotic female voice answer on the other end.
* * * * *
Ryan stared in displeasure as his cell phone rang. He had a strict policy of no business between the hours of six on Saturday night and noon Sunday, that brief block of time set aside every week to satisfy his need for rest and relaxation—along with some decadent indulgence when the need arose.
He frowned as the phone rang again, noting it was now three minutes after the hour, before picking it up to see who dared break into his personal time, his frown twisting into a semi-smile as he noted the number and answered.
“Bon nuit, mon cher,” came a husky voice across the line. “I have someone for you tonight. Someone you have been waiting for.”
His heart pounded in uncharacteristic excitement, his fingers tightening around the phone, a weakness he stifled in an instant. But his body proved a traitor to his discipline, every nerve buzzing, every muscle tightening in anticipation as thoughts of the night ahead wove dark and dangerous pleasures through his mind.
Was it her? Finally after all this time, had she accepted his invitation?
Alaina Winter.
He’d been unduly fascinated with the frosty blonde ever since he’d hired her two years before. Not only was her work exceptional, the woman had an unnatural ability to match him on a professional level, her wall of politeness so thick she’d refused to break no matter what he’d thrown at her. And every time he heard her precise Southern voice across the phone, agreeing to his every ridiculous demand without a single hesitation, he became more and more obsessed with finding a way to make the ice queen melt.
It wasn’t a thing he was proud of in any manner. He deplored his need to feel her tremble in his arms, hear her cries of pleasure as he stroked his teeth across her skin…drive his flesh so far between her legs she’d beg him to stop while he kept her bound and still beneath him. His need had grown so distracting he’d finally taken action. He’d petitioned Madame Manette Brisson, the proprietor of the Red Mask Society, to issue Miss Winter an invitation to come and play—an invitation she’d ignored for so long he thought she would never send a reply.
So what had fueled her sudden acceptance? The lady was up to something, he understood in a heartbeat, remembering their last conversation. And whatever she was up to, he planned to enjoy the ride.
“Monsieur? If you are unavailable, I will find someone else to keep the lady occupied.” The woman on the other end of the line sniffed, her voice chill with censure.
“Not if you value your life,” he finally answered, his own voice throaty with rising excitement.
“Then I expect you here at eight o’clock sharp. Don’t disappoint either of us by your absence.”
Ryan’s laughter rumbled from his throat. “I never disappoint, Madame. Is my room cleaned and ready?”
“Mais certainment. Do you have any special requests for the evening?”
This time he didn’t bother to try to control the surge of want that throbbed between his legs, spreading them to make room for his growing erection, his hand dropping to rest on the lengthening mass of flesh.
What instruments did he need to make her scream in pleasure?
“Leather,” he answered with grunt of satisfaction. “Black. New. Enough to bind her to my will.”
“I will see it done,” said the woman in a whisper before the line went dead.
Lime green my ass, he thought with uncharacteristic delight as he pocketed his phone and headed home, the taste of winter already tantalizing on his tongue.
* * * * *
Alaina stared out the window at the sleek sliver of moon high above the moss-draped trees, sipping a glass of the best champagne she’d ever had…and wondered how much lower she could fall. Not even the slow motion of the leaves in the chilly breeze could calm the nervous hammer of her heart.
What had seemed fun and flirtatious in the full light of day now loomed dark and dangerous as night settled down, sealing her in to an act she wasn’t so certain she could go through with.
Her fingers smoothed across the satin finish of the invitation, clutching it tighter as she turned to study her immediate surroundings. No handcuffs or riding crops hung from the walls. No toys or lubricants were left out for inspection.
The only nod to the sensual nature of the business was the nude portrait hanging above a fireplace mantel, an elegant piece of artwork she guessed was both original and expensive. The room boasted polished wood floors and antique furniture that more resembled a Victorian home than a front for the infamous Red Mask Society.
The sharp click of heels headed in her direction interrupted her thoughts and Alaina whirled to face Manette Brisson, self-proclaimed Madame of the Masks. From the tip of her stiletto heels to the line of her black pencil skirt and the perfect bob of her matching black hair, Manette was the epitome of elegant sexuality.
And intimidating in her monochromatic perfection.
Despite her best effort, Alaina felt her smile falter as Manette stopped to pour herself a glass of champagne and raised the crystal in a toast, her own expression as carefully groomed as her clothes.
“I hope the invitation is still good?” Alaina blurted out, hearing the trill of uncertainty in her voice. Before she could squeak out something even more stupid or turned to run screaming for the door, Alaina took another sip of champagne. “I mean…I really don’t know what I am doing here.”
Madame Brisson arched one manicured brow. Then she smiled, the expression making her seem human for the first time. Taking Alaina’s hand, she led them to a couch covered in maroon velvet. “Of course my invitations are always good, Miss Winter. And you are here because something is lacking in your life.” She paused and reached out to smooth her hand down Alaina’s pale-blonde hair. “So you shall call me Manette and I shall call you Alaina, yes?” When Alaina nodded, the other woman continued, “Shall I explain the rules of the Society?”
“Please.” Feeling more assured, Alaina took another sip of champagne and enjoyed the way it tingled down her throat. “This is like heaven in a bottle.”
Manette’s smile grew as she raised her own glass and emptied it, closing her eyes as she swallowed—a woman who appreciated the sensual pleasures of life and wasn’t afraid to let go and enjoy them. Her other hand reached out to pet the sleek black cat that jumped to the couch between them.
“It is excellent, is it not?” Manette swiped her tongue across her lips as if to catch the very last drop. “Dom Ruinart. I can have a bottle ready for you whenever you decide to return. And you will return, ma cherie, once you have tasted what other pleasures the Red Mask Society has to offer.”
“Which are?” As the alcohol did its work Alaina’s worries eased another notch. This talk of pleasure and delight stirred in her a need she had not felt in ages, a longing to touch and be touched, to explore desires she had hidden so far away she’d forgotten they existed. When the cat rubbed its head against her leg Alaina reached out to stroke her hand across its fur, the silky texture soft beneath her fingers.
“My rules are simple. If you choose to become a member of the Red Mask Society, you pay only for food and drink if you should hap
pen to leave alone. The man, he pays for everything if he offers you a night of pleasure.” Her tone grew serious. “No money exchanges hands between members. It tarnishes the illusion and leads to misunderstandings.”
Alaina nodded. She’d wondered how Manette had managed to avoid any confrontation with the law. “And the men? How are they chosen? Can I be certain of their discretion?” If she was going to do this, she had no intention of ever mentioning this to a single soul. Which brought up another question.
“All our male members are carefully selected and have passed extensive background checks. They are also tried out for size,” her lips took on a teasing twist, “by either myself or another I choose specifically for the purpose. We make certain our ladies will never be disappointed. And of course they have to be approved by Louis.” She nodded to the cat now purring between them. “One can tell everything about a man’s character by the way he treats animals and those who pour his wine or serve his food. If he treats them with respect he will respect his woman also.”
“Hah.” Alaina giggled as Manette topped off the champagne again, liking the woman more and more. “Enough. I will fall asleep before I have any fun.”
“And are you ready for some fun, Alaina? Have you had enough of business and bosses and paperwork?” Manette’s eyes glowed. “There is so much more to be experienced. Come, let us go to the ballroom.”
A frisson of excitement finally curled its way up Alaina’s spine. She was actually going to do this. For once she was going to pretend to be someone else, a woman ready to explore her sensual nature, her darker side, and enjoy every single second of the journey.
But she still had one major concern. “What if I want to remain anonymous? Is that possible?”
Manette giggled like a girl and Alaina wondered how old the woman was. She could be anywhere from thirty to sixty. Her skin showed no sign of wrinkles and her body was still tightly toned but she possessed a confidence and wisdom that could only be acquired as a woman aged.
