Once inside the building, the alarm was still armed, meaning they were the first in for the day. It also meant Cassandra had keyed out properly. Ruby’s office was directly outside Holt’s so that his visitor’s had to go through her first before they could get to him. Both doors were locked.
So what was Cassandra’s little present?
Holt unlocked his door while Ruby put her purse in her bottom desk drawer.
“Ruby, get the hell in here.”
Her pulse kicked into high gear, a little fear, a lot of sexual excitement. Until, for just a moment, her heart plunged. What if Cassandra had left something bad? It would be Ruby’s fault. She’d been so stupid to give over her keys like that.
“Ruby,” Holt called again.
The blinds were closed, and he stood in front of his desk, hands on his hips, legs spread. “Lock the door.”
All the breath rushed out of her lungs. He was so perfect, six feet, thick silver hair, stern, handsome features. Since the first time, only a few weeks ago, that he’d called her into his office and told her to close the door, she’d been his completely.
She knew what the locked door and closed blinds meant. “What would you like me to do?”
“Tell me what that is on my desk?” He pointed.
It was a large drawing on a big sheet of paper. Ruby couldn’t make out the picture. Reaching across the desk, she turned it.
And gasped. A white wedding dress, but no ordinary dress. It was a halter style that bared the shoulders and dipped low over the cleavage. The bodice was beaded, the waistline trimmed in lace that ended in a point over the abdomen. The skirt hugged the hips and flared out just above the knees. It was gorgeous. It was perfect.
“What is it?” Holt snapped.
“It’s a sketch of a wedding dress.” Her voice sounded reverent even to her.
“And who left it there?”
“Cassandra.”
“When did she do that?” For the first time, he didn’t sound entirely domineering.
Ruby took a deep breath, steeling herself for his reaction. “Last night. I gave her my keys.”
“You gave her your keys?” He enunciated every word sharply.
“Yes.”
He narrowed his gray eyes at her. “Elbows on the desk.”
Ruby almost smiled. But that wouldn’t do. She leaned on the desk, her bottom in the air, the magnificent drawing right in front of her. She wanted that dress badly. It was perfect. Cassandra had sketched it just for her. She’d said it was a present for Holt, but this was all Ruby’s. And despite that talk last night and Cassandra’s warning, it meant Holt’s daughter accepted her. Didn’t it?
“Lift up your skirt.”
Ruby eagerly pulled her skirt over her bottom, revealing the fact that she wasn’t wearing panties. That was one of Holt’s rules, no panties, so that he could do what he wanted exactly when he wanted.
“You never give out the keys to West Coast.” He slapped her rump hard.
Ruby bit her lip and trapped the moan that so wanted to get out. “No, sir.”
He swatted her again, his fingers connecting with her pussy. Heat shot to her core. She was already wet, her legs quivering with need.
When Holt had first spanked her, Ruby was shocked and horrified. She didn’t want to like it. It was debasing. But there was no denying what it did to her.
Holt smacked her again, but this time his hand lingered, stroking her. “You haven’t said you’re never going to do it again.”
“I’ll never do it again.” She finished on a sigh.
He leaned over, his lips next to her ear. “Spread your legs when I’m spanking you.”
Ruby widened her stance. This time when he swatted her, he entered her with one finger.
“Oh God, Holt.”
“This is punishment, you dirty little bitch. You’re not supposed to like it.”
But he loved it. She could smell the testosterone on him. She could feel his cock against her hip. And he was hard. She loved this game. She loved it when he tied her up and paddled her. She loved it when he blindfolded her and forced his cock in her mouth. She loved it when he gave her to another man. “I love you,” she cried out as his hand connected again. She hadn’t meant to say the words. They just slipped out.
Then everything was sensation, the slap of his hand, the slip-slide of his fingers, his warm breath against her hair, and the spasms of her own body as she came endlessly. She would always need this. She would always need him.
In the hazy recesses of her mind, she thought she heard him whisper, “I love you, too, baby. I need you. I so fucking want you.”
Then somehow her skirt had been smoothed back down and she was cradled in Holt’s arms as he sat in his desk chair. How did that happen?
He tapped the drawing. It now faced him. “She likes you.”
“Do you think so?”
“Some people show their love with food. Other people show it by giving the gift of whatever they do best. Do you like it?”
Cassandra sure as hell didn’t love Ruby. Which meant she really had made the drawing for Holt. But didn’t it still mean that she’d accepted Ruby?
“It’s perfect. Very Marilyn Monroe when she sang Happy Birthday to the president.”
“I’m sure she’d be happy if you’d let her make it for you.”
“Yes. It’s very sweet of her.” She tipped Holt’s arm to see his watch. “You’ve punished me long enough. Someone’s going to knock on your door soon.”
He let her slip away. “Since you failed miserably to take care of me now, you’ll have to suck my cock at lunch.”
“You are so filthy.” She marched to the door, a smile on her face that he couldn’t see.
Opening it, she almost smacked right into Clay. For just a moment, her heart stopped, as if he’d caught her doing something bad. Which he had. But it wasn’t the same. Because now she belonged to Holt. Clay could always make her feel as if she didn’t measure up. “Clay.”
“Ruby,” he said just as evenly.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you have time to see Clay?”
“Of course.” Holt waved him in.
Ruby stepped aside and extended a hand. Only then did she remember her sketch lying on Holt’s desk. It was too late. Clay stopped dead when he saw it.
He looked first at Holt, then to Ruby. “Well, it seems like the two of you are faster at this than Jessica and I are.”
Ruby wondered if that was a slam. Clay was with Little Miss Jessica Muffet Murphy now. Okay, she wasn’t bitter. Holt was so much better for her. And, if she had to be totally honest, maybe Jessica was better for Clay.
“Yes, I’ve asked Ruby marry me. But before you start spreading it around, let me talk to Sutton. I’ll pull him aside just before the next board meeting.”
Sutton was chairman of the board. Meetings were held the middle of every month, after the previous month’s financial statements had been prepared. While they didn’t need his permission, it was only polite to tell him before he heard it from someone else. But hell, they’d better stop driving into work together if they wanted to keep it a confidential for three weeks, though the secrecy actually appealed to her. For now.
“Aren’t you going to wish us well?” Ruby asked. She sounded snappish, but she didn’t mean it that way. She was just...nervous. She shouldn’t be, but it was a little awkward.
Clay gave her a long look. In his own way, he was as handsome as Holt. Taller by a few inches, he had a sturdy, well-toned body, hair that wasn’t gray yet, and a sharp mind. He’d also been able to make her body sing like a fine instrument. But Holt was meant for her. He was perfect. His needs matched hers. Still, she didn’t want any animosity between the three of them.
“I do wish you both all the happiness, Ruby.”
“Thank you.” She felt like she should say more. “And I wish you and Jessica all the best.” God, they were sounding sickeningly polite. “I have work to do.”
“R
uby.” Clay’s voice stopped her. “I mean that. Everything is as it should be.”
“It is,” Holt agreed. “And we hope you and Jessica will come to the wedding.”
After just the slightest hesitation, Clay nodded his head, a smile creasing his lips. “That will be a delight. Especially with Ruby in that dress.”
Ruby smiled, fluttered her fingers, and exited quickly. Jessica Murphy at her wedding? She stood by the side of her desk a moment. Yeah, Jessica Murphy at her wedding. Because really, if it wasn’t for Jessica, Ruby wouldn’t have Holt.
This was exactly the way things were supposed to turn out.
Chapter Five
“Thank you so much. The dress is absolutely gorgeous.” Ruby’s voice was saccharine sweet over the phone.
Yet Cassandra believed she meant it. “You’re welcome.”
“You could have just given it to us at the house.”
“I like a little drama. It was much more fun for you to discover it.” Cassandra flopped down on her father’s living room couch. She hadn’t left the house yet for her morning meetings.
“You work so fast,” Ruby marveled.
Cassandra didn’t say that she already had the drawing, and it hadn’t been specifically for Ruby. But why not give her future stepmother the triumph? A little illusion never hurt anyone. Besides, since Cassandra couldn’t stop her father from marrying Ruby—and wasn’t sure she even wanted to try—she might as well make nice. “And don’t worry, there won’t be any problem having it finished by September.” It wouldn’t take the whole summer to have it made up. Cassandra had long since stopped doing her own sewing. There weren’t enough hours in the day for that. She was a designer now, not a seamstress.
With a few more polite exchanges, Cassandra ended the call. The dress had been an afterthought. She’d had to leave something on Holt’s desk. Her main intent had been to intrigue Ward. And he was definitely intrigued. He’d watched the entire performance.
She needed more. She wanted it tonight. The more sex she had, the more sex she wanted. She’d been neglecting her needs the past few months. Hot sex play was the perfect way to bleed off the tension of a hectic day. With Ward, it was so much better. She was no longer bored. Her chest tightened with excitement. Her breasts tingled, her nipples hardened, her miniscule thong panties dampened between her legs.
She texted Ward. Short and simple, she told him to meet her at nine thirty tonight at one of her favorite pickup bars. The Entrepreneurs Club was classy and trendy, and not too far a drive from either her father’s house or West Coast’s headquarters. Best of all, it was frequented by good-looking men in business suits. Her type. Ward would fit right in.
Would he show up? She wasn’t absolutely sure. Not knowing gave the evening a bit of an edge. She couldn’t wait to find out. And she had such a delicious plan for him tonight.
* * * * *
The Entrepreneurs Club occupied an 1880s bank building with the high ceilings, intricate moldings, and faux marble columns that were indicative of the era in which it had been constructed. The floors were polished hardwood, and the lights had all been converted from old gas lamps. The antique bar—obviously a later addition—was made of solid wood fronted with intricate carvings, though a few of the figures had been chipped over the years. The huge mirror behind it was equally antique, some of the silver backing missing. Rather than detract, the small flaws added to the club’s charm. The seating arrangements were done in the style of a gentlemen’s club, with groupings of armchairs around small coffee tables. A sofa and two chairs flanked an ornately mantled fireplace. Cassandra wondered if that fireplace had also been a later modification, since she couldn’t imagine bank buildings having fireplaces. Then again, how did they keep a bank warm back in the 1880s?
The club wasn’t packed, and Cassandra preferred it that way. She could easily check out the selection of well-dressed clientele. Snagging an intimate setting of two armchairs with only a very small table upon which a candle glowed, she’d ordered a drink to tide her over. She nursed the white Russian, savoring the sweet coffee flavor of the Kahlua followed by the vodka’s kick.
She’d arrived at nine, wanting to see Ward when he entered rather than other way round. Besides, it gave the male clientele the chance to notice her all alone. She’d been approached twice, but had turned each away by saying she was waiting for someone. She hadn’t specified whether her friend was a man or a woman. But it kept the boys looking and interested.
She didn’t have to check her watch to know that Wade was late. She supposed he did it on purpose, trying to pretend that she wasn’t in charge. Tick, tick, tick. She smiled. As if she’d been directing the smile at him, a chunky young man across several tables returned it. Very young, perhaps twenty-five, his cherubic face reminded her of her high school history teacher. She’d been halfway to being in love with Mr. Cruise—no relation whatsoever to Tom Cruise—and the young man brought back fond memories. Her body heated. She’d been a lusty teenager with a healthy imagination. Fresh out of college, if Mr. Cruise had realized what she was thinking about instead of George Washington or Thomas Jefferson, he’d have been shocked. A hefty man with a handsome face, his bulk had appealed to her as, well, safety. Funny she should think of Mr. Cruise all these years later simply because of a face and a body type.
Her preoccupation was why she missed Ward’s entrance.
“Little does he know you’d eat him alive.”
She didn’t jump. Instead she felt the mellow tones of his voice drizzle over her like the Kahlua slid over ice, all hot and cold. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she said, easily rolling into the conversation.
He took the seat beside her. “Don’t con me. You knew I’d be here.”
Yes, she had. “I wouldn’t put it past you to want to show me my charms aren’t irresistible.”
He regarded her charms. The black dress molded to her body, with just enough give in all the right places. Current fashion rarely incorporated darts anymore, but with a little nip and tuck, any dress pattern could be made to highlight a woman’s best features, and hide the worst. The Princess neckline was one of her favorites, a square cut that brought a man’s eye to her shoulders, her throat, and the plump swell of her breasts. This particular dress ended just below the knee, and with legs crossed, the spiked high heels and the slit up the side made men drool. The crowning touch was a zebra slash of white from the side seam just below her left breast to the opposite side seam at her hip. It gave the design flare.
Ward took in every inch and beneath that stare, Cassandra felt her nipples tighten.
“You most definitely know I’m not immune to your charms.” His voice was huskier than before and his black suit pants seemed a shade tighter over his lap.
She had to admit she wasn’t immune to his charms either. Her breath quickened, and something fluttered in her chest. She hadn’t enjoyed herself this much in a very long time. She was truly attracted to the beta male type, a delicious man with glasses and a younger one with cherubic features and a few too many pounds on his frame. But Cassandra had never been trapped by a need for the stereotypical hunk. Okay, well, there was Samson. But she loved variety.
“So, aren’t you curious why I asked you to meet me?”
A waiter appeared at Ward’s elbow, forestalling his answer. The Entrepreneurs Club didn’t discriminate, and there was an equal ratio of both sexes, all dressed in identical uniforms of starched white shirts, skinny black ties, and black pants. Women with long hair wore it pulled back severely.
Ward ordered a martini. “Shaken, not stirred.”
She laughed softly. “A James Bond fan?”
“Yeah.” Then he grinned. He looked five years younger.
She had the immediate urge to kiss him. But that wouldn’t fit her plans for the night.
His smile vanished. “So, you were about to tell me,” he prompted.
“I want you to choose a man for me.”
His face remained deadpan. “And
I’m supposed to watch again?”
She bit her lip seductively and nodded.
Tipping his head, he regarded her a long moment. “Don’t you think it was too kinky to screw some guy on your father’s desk?”
Any kinkiness—other than bringing him there to find her fucking Samson—had never occurred to her. Holt’s office was simply a convenient place to which she could lure Ward. It would have been harder to get him into a hotel room. “I thought it was far kinkier to make you watch.” She waited three beats of her heart. “And you did like watching, didn’t you.” She didn’t end it as a question, but instead leaned close, his manly scent enveloping her, and whispered, “You know you want to watch me again, right from the beginning. Picking a man for me. Seeing if I can get him to leave with me. Then following us.” She bit her lower lip enticingly. “And finding out what I’ll do next.”
His breathing picked up, and testosterone suddenly wafted in the air around them, an aphrodisiac.
“You want it,” she murmured, her lips close enough to his earlobe to kiss it, bite it.
As much as he might want it, she wanted it more. She’d seduced herself.
* * * * *
“Yes, I want it.”
His whole body vibrated with the need for exactly what she’d described. And more. He’d intended to act the hardcase, tell her he wasn’t playing her games. That he didn’t want to be a cuckold—been there, done that—she needed to humiliate, letting others have her, but never giving herself to him. But he was already hard, his body screaming for any dirty thing she wanted to do. He wasn’t sure why she, of all women, could make him want it so badly.
Still, he wouldn’t just roll over for her. “So what? Then I’m just supposed to go home and jack off?” It sounded pathetic when he said it aloud.
She leaned across the arm of her chair. “Whatever you want. You haven’t watched me suck a cock yet. Don’t you want to see how good I am?”
Her scent, the soft timbre of her voice, her warm breath against his skin, all of it made his hormones kick into overdrive. And so did the fact that he was pissed. “Why don’t you just suck me instead?” Fuck him, take him, make him wilder than he already was. “Wouldn’t that be easier than this elaborate game?”
The Boss's Daughter Page 4
