‘OK,’ she said groggily.
‘Great. I’ll send a driver around to pick you up and take you to East Midlands airport. From there you can take my private jet to Newquay. And a driver there will take you to the cottage.’
‘Erm...I’m going to need some time to get ready,’ she said, realising she was still in bed. Had he said private jet? She had never been treated like this as an author. She had never been treated like this ever.
‘I’ll send the driver for you at one,’ he said. ‘See you at the cottage.’ He hung up.
She slid out of bed and it wasn’t until she got to the bathroom that his words hit her. ‘See you at the cottage.’ Had he said that or had she misheard in her half-awake state?
* * *
She hadn’t misheard. As she stepped from the back of the Bentley and onto the paved driveway outside the cottage, Tyler Blake stood by the open front door. He wore a light grey suit with a buttoned up grey waistcoat and a dark grey tie over his white shirt. He leaned casually on the front wall of the cottage, hands in pockets. He smiled at Kirsty as she approached and she felt unsure whether the wolfish grin was friendly or predatory.
The driver unloaded her two small cases from the car and took them inside. She felt like she had experienced a small taste of what it was like to live Tyler Blake’s lifestyle. Being driven in luxury cars and flying on a jet where she was the only passenger were experiences she could definitely get used to.
‘Come inside,’ Blake said, stepping in through the front door and telling the driver to wait for him in the car. Kirsty followed him inside.
The cottage was spacious but homely, furnished with comfortable-looking easy chairs and a large plush sofa. A modern glass desk and swivel office chair sat in one corner by the window, looking out of place among the rustic furnishings, and Kirsty wondered if Blake had brought them here today, especially for her. The window beyond the desk looked out over the sea and the golden sandy curve of Carbis Bay in the distance. A stone fireplace cut into the wall contained an unlit pile of logs in the grate. In front of the fireplace, a thick burgundy rug contrasted with the room’s cream carpet. The only thing incongruent with the seaside cottage feel was the collection of framed black and white photographs hanging on the walls. Instead of beach scenes, they showed abandoned factories. A low coffee table in the center of the room held copies of publishing and writing magazines. Kirsty could picture herself producing a novel in this cosy cottage overlooking the sea.
‘Well?’ Blake asked, watching her closely.
‘It’s perfect,’ she replied, knowing that he had arranged it to be perfect.
‘Mi casa es su casa,’ he said.
‘Thank you. I appreciate this.’
‘Nonsense. I’m just taking care of my investment. I’ll see you tomorrow at six pm to read the manuscript so far.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘And every day after that for the month while you write.’
‘You’re going to read my daily output?’
He nodded. ‘And offer guidance.’
‘Guidance? I don’t need...’
‘I think you do,’ he said levelly. ‘This is new territory for you. And your contract states that you will be open to editorial input during the writing of the first draft.’
‘Contract?’
‘You signed the contract for this book. Clause 13.1 gives me control over the process. The Red Rose Bound line is too crucial to the company for me to relax that control.’ He walked over to her and handed her the key. ‘See you tomorrow,’ he said on his way out of the door.
Kirsty stood bewildered in the room, her thoughts a tangle of knots.
* * *
‘Clause 13.1?’ Jane said on the other end of the phone.
‘That’s what he said.’ Kirsty stood on the patio she had discovered behind the cottage. A warm evening approached, heralded by a sunset that painted the beach and cliffs orange.
‘Let me check my copy,’ Jane said. Kirsty heard the dry sliding of papers as her agent leafed through the contract. ‘Oh...yeah...there is a clause.’
‘Should I have signed?’
‘It isn’t an unusual clause to add to a publishing contract. You’re simply agreeing to Inception Publishing having an editorial input in the book. The strange thing is that Tyler Blake wants to offer his input as you write it.’
‘I’m not happy with this, Jane.’
‘Well, look on the bright side; at least you get to see Tyler Blake every day for a month.’
‘This isn’t funny.’
‘There’s not really anything you can do about it, Kirsty. Just write the book and keep him happy. Have you got a title yet?’
‘I was thinking of something like Taken By The Billionaire.’
‘Hmmm...billionaire, eh? Sounds a bit close to home. I hope he likes it.’ She giggled.
‘We’ll see,’ Kirsty replied, feeling trapped by Tyler Blake’s contract. She hoped it didn’t interfere with her creativity.
‘So what is the cottage like?’
‘It’s perfect. Secluded, on the cliffs, overlooking the sea. There’s a pub down the road. There’s even a bookshelf full of Romance novels and classics in the bedroom.’
‘Sounds like he’s looking after you.’
‘The minute I’m not happy with this arrangement, I’m going home.’
‘Just enjoy it. Think of it as a free holiday.’
‘A holiday in which I have to write every day and have it scrutinised by the billionaire owner of a publishing company. Right.’
Jane laughed. ‘Don’t forget to call me from your perfect prison.’
Later, after night had fallen and wrapped the cottage in its dark embrace, Kirsty sat at the desk with a glass of rich red wine. Blake had stocked the kitchen cupboards with various items of food and had filled the wine rack with a dozen bottle of wine with labels Kirsty had never seen at her local supermarket.
She had a busy day ahead of her tomorrow and she wanted to get the story in her mind down onto the screen and make it real.
Later, as she slid in between the sheets of the plush bed, she wondered how much of her wanted to please Tyler Blake. She sought his approval for the book, of course and she hoped he liked it enough to put his company’s advertising budget behind it. But she acknowledged that a deep part of her needed to please him on a personal level. If her work pleased him, she would feel more than professional pride; she would feel that she had done her duty to obey his order.
Obey? Order? What had gotten into her?
Excite me.
Sleep took her into a shadowy dream world where a tall, muscular man towered above her. Waves of power and confidence pulsed from him and she was on her knees, ready to do anything to please him.
Chapter FourKirsty spent the following day writing at the desk by the window, alternating between typing on her Mac and watching forbidding storm clouds roll across the horizon. By the time four o clock came around, she needed fresh air. The cottage was a perfect writer’s retreat but she didn’t want to retreat from the world entirely; after living in the fictional world of her own creation, she needed to ground herself in reality. She still had two hours before her appointment with Tyler Blake. Grabbing her woollen coat from the hooks near the front door, she went out onto the paved driveway and shivered slightly against a chill in the air. There was definitely storm coming. Maybe if she hurried, she could reach the pub down the road before the rain started. A well-earned glass of wine among the chatter of other people in the warm pub would be perfect.
She made it halfway along the cliff road when the black clouds reached the headland. The sea became choppy and dark and a cold wind rushed in over the cliffs. With it came a light spattering of rain which threatened to become a downpour.
Kirsty stood in the road for a moment, debating whether to push forward to the
pub or return to the cottage. Either way would take her twenty minutes of walking through the storm and she would be a drowned rat when she arrived at her destination. She decided to get back to the safety of the cottage.
Lowering her head against the sheet of rain which suddenly erupted from the sky, she huddled inside her coat and headed back to the cottage.
* * *
Tyler Blake’s black Bentley was waiting on the driveway when Kirsty got back. She got in through the front door and pulled her coat off. It had done little to repel the sheets of rain and now she was soaked to the skin. Was Blake ever going to see her dry or would every meeting be like this?
He stood by the window, framed by a view of churning sea and dark clouds. He wore a dark blue sweater and jeans and even though he had removed the business suit and replaced it with casual clothing, there was still an aura of power radiating from him. He held a glass of red wine and he raised it as Kirsty entered the room. ‘I built a fire,’ he said. ‘I thought you would need it.’
She walked over to the fire, seeking warmth. The logs crackled and hissed, and the smell of burning wood laced the air but the fire had barely caught yet.
‘Perhaps you should get dry while I read the manuscript so far,’ Blake said.
‘Yes,’ she replied, suddenly aware that her wet top meant he could see her white bra through the material sticking wetly to her skin. She opened up the laptop and logged in. ‘It’s all there,’ she said.
He sat at the desk and the light from the screen illuminated his strong handsome features. ‘You grab a shower while I read this.’
She nodded and grabbed some dry jeans, a black cotton bra and panties set, and a black t-shirt from the bedroom before dialling the shower up to its max heat. She peeled off her wet things and dropped them in the laundry basket before stepping into the hot spray and letting it invigorate her chilly skin.
By the time she was out of the shower, dried and pulling on the jeans, she was sure Blake must have read her day’s output by now. She felt a little embarrassed. What had seemed interesting this morning when she was typing now seemed trite in her memory. Still, he could hardly expect brilliance from a first draft. A couple of framed photographs hung on the bathroom wall, disused factories the same as in the living room. Close-ups of crumbling walls and dead industrial machines. The incongruity still intrigued her and she reminded herself to ask Blake about them.
He was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace when she entered the living room. The fire sparked and popped, catching at last. He had closed the laptop. ‘Come and sit with me in the warmth,’ he said. ‘We can’t have you catching a cold.’
She sat on the plush rug, feeling the warmth from the fire and aware of how her oversized body filled her jeans and t-shirt. She should have worn something looser to hide her curves.
‘Wine?’ he asked, holding up the bottle and a glass.
‘Sure.’
He poured and handed her the drink. She took a sip, letting it warm her throat.
‘Taken By The Billionaire,’ he said. ‘I like the title. I’m not sure about your choice to name the main character Carrie. It’s a bit too Sex And The City. Her boss Clay Farrington takes her to France as his personal assistant and he introduces her to his style of sex.’
‘There’s a bit more to it than that,’ she protested.
‘Yes, the first sex scene. Clay ties Carrie up in the hotel room.’
‘You want BDSM,’ Kirsty said, shrugging.
‘I want believable BDSM.’
She had no answer to that. She knew she was breaking the golden rule of writing, Write What You Know, because she had no experience of BDSM herself. But there wasn’t much she could do about that.
‘So, you have Clay tying Carrie to the bed,’ Blake said.
‘Yes.’
‘The description you wrote of her thoughts and feelings while she’s tied up needs to be rewritten.’
‘Rewritten how?’ That scene had been the hardest for her to write; she didn’t want to revisit it.
Blake drained his glass and set it on the stone fireplace. ‘You have Clay tie her up.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why does he tie her up?’
‘Because he’s into BDSM.’
‘Why does she let him tie her up?’
‘Because she’s into BDSM.’
‘Is she? I never would have known that from reading your manuscript. What does she feel when she’s tied up? Why does she like it?’
Kirsty took a large gulp of wine. She looked at the rug, hoping to find an answer in its embroidered pattern. She looked into the fire, at the flames licking at the logs. Finally, she shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m the wrong person to write this book.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ he said.
She shrugged. She felt like a schoolgirl being told off by her teacher because her homework wasn’t up to par.
‘Have you ever been tied up?’
Remembering the night Simon left her, she shook her head and fought back tears.
‘But you have a boyfriend. Jane told me you weren’t single. You’ve never tried anything like that?’
‘Simon left me. He was seeing another woman.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ He stroked her arm lightly and she felt a shiver pass through her even though his touch was meant to be consoling.
‘I had some handcuffs,’ she said, still looking into the fire. The wine must have gone straight to her head; she wouldn’t be sharing his otherwise. ‘Simon said I was sick.’
‘Sick, eh? Did you feel sick?’
‘When he told me he was seeing someone else, yes.’
‘I didn’t mean that. I meant did you feel sick for wanting him to handcuff you.’
She shrugged, remembering putting on the black negligee and lighting the scented candles. ‘I didn’t really want him to. It was just research.’
‘Research,’ he repeated.
‘Yes. I don’t know what I was thinking. Simon deserves better than me. He deserves someone like Cindy.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘Yeah, Cindy is slim. And pretty.’
‘You’re pretty, Kirsty.’
She felt herself blush. ‘No, not really.’
‘Yes, really.’
She shrugged but his compliment warmed her more than the fire.
‘You think all men want slim women?’
‘Yes.’
He laughed and she felt silly. Why was he laughing at her?
‘You really do have a lot to learn,’ he said, standing up.
‘Are you leaving?’ she asked, mentally berating herself for driving him away with her ‘poor me’ attitude. What was she thinking? He was her boss, for fuck’s sake!
‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘We’re going to do some research together.’
She got up, thinking he was going to head for the front door and take her somewhere in the car. Instead, he went into the bedroom. She followed him.
‘Lie on the bed,’ he said.
Kirsty balked. ‘That’s very forward of you.’
‘I’m not asking you to take your clothes off. Just lie face down on the bed.’
‘I’m not sure I want to.’ But something inside her had begun to rage like the fire in the living room. Just being in the bedroom with Tyler Blake made her aroused.
‘You signed a contract that says I have input into your writing,’ he said. ‘That includes research. I want you to get that scene right. This will help you.’
Kirsty looked at the bed, unsure. She still stung from making a fool of herself with Simon. She couldn’t bear to do the same with Blake. Sighing, she got on the bed, feeling a little vulnerable as he stood above her. She wished her jeans weren’t so tight; he could see the roundness of her big butt stretching the denim. She bu
ried her face in the covers to hide her embarrassment.
She heard him open a drawer in the bedside table and she looked to see what he was doing. He produced a length of white rope from the bottom drawer. Kirsty swallowed. She wasn’t what she thought about this but her body was telling her how she felt about it. Her nipples stiffened against her bra and she felt herself getting wet.
‘You didn’t want Simon to restrain you,’ Blake said, showing her the rope.
‘No.’
‘Do you want me to?’
She hesitated then answered truthfully. ‘Yes.’
He gently took her wrists and placed them together before winding the rope around them, tying them together. ‘If you want me to stop at any point, just say ‘apples’,’ he said.
‘Can’t I just say stop?’
‘No.’
She let him tie her wrists and when he was done, he stood over her. She felt helpless but she also felt safe. She also felt horny. She would never have felt like this with Simon.
‘Well, how do you feel?’ he asked.
‘Helpless.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I feel like I’m in your power.’
‘And how does that make you feel?’
‘Excited.’
She jumped when he touched the back of her knee. His hand slid up the back of her thigh. ‘Remember, just say ‘apples’ and I will stop.’ His hand reached the swell of her bottom and travelled over it, following her plump curves.
Kirsty felt her heart race and her breathing quicken and her crotch get wet. Her cotton panties were already soaked. Blake’s hand moved in to the denim seam that ran down the middle of her butt. He followed it down between her legs. Instinctively, Kirsty raised her hips to give him easier access. His hand slid over the mound of her pussy and she gasped.
She pressed herself back against his firm hand, feeling herself become hot as a furnace between her legs. He used his fingers to touch her through the denim and she wanted the jeans off so she could feel the strong flesh of his hand against the soft folds of her pussy. She couldn’t take her jeans off herself, though, because of the rope tying her hands. This was torture. Delicious torture.
Billionaire's Contract (The Billionaire's Contract Series) Page 3
