by Maisey Yates
“We’re on in five, Chelsea.”
She nodded at the production assistant as someone from makeup darted forward to do some last-minute touches.
“Is Tanya out of her dressing room?” she called to the assistant who gave her a fleeting, nervous smile.
“Almost.”
“Who’s your guest today?” Alex asked. “The lingerie model who took it all off?”
“That was yesterday,” Chelsea answered. She turned around, glad to have her composure retouched along with her makeup. “Try to keep up. Today is Tanya Hart, kiddie star who was charged with a DUI.”
“That’s not too scandalous, is it?”
“She’s only fourteen.”
“I see.”
She smiled, hard and bright, knowing it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m about to go on air, Alex. Thanks for coming to the show. I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will.” His eyes burned gold as he took a step closer to her. “You think I’ve got a thing about control, Chelsea? You know you do, too.”
She stilled, save for the thudding of her heart. It felt like thunder. “Which is why I’m not into your little games.”
“Then maybe we’ll turn the tables. Maybe I’ll let you order me around.”
She drew in one quick, sharp breath. “You’ll let me?”
“Yes. I’ll let you.”
So he’d still be in control. He’d just give her a little of it. Thanks, but no thanks.
Unless...
Unless she could really make him lose it. Beg, just as he’d almost had her begging. On his knees, crawling to her—
“Turns you on, doesn’t it?” he murmured, and she gave him a tight smile.
“A bit.”
“Two minutes till air, Chelsea.”
She waved away the assistant and stared hard at Alex. He gazed back, unperturbed, and yet even so the air crackled between them with tension. Sexual tension, so every nerve ending Chelsea possessed tingled with a powerful intensity she’d tried to deny. But perhaps denial wasn’t the way to go. She’d swum down that river for too long, anyway. She’d admit it, deal with it and move on.
She’d make Alex beg.
She took a deep breath and nodded once, her jaw bunched. “Fine. Meet me here after the show.”
He raised his eyebrows in acceptance. “I’ll be waiting.”
Anticipation mingled with the alarm and anger she already felt. Nodding again, she turned and walked onto the set.
Tanya was already seated on the couch, eyes wide and tissues in hand. She was ready to cry, ready to confess and be absolved by Chelsea, forgiven by the public. That was how her show worked: cry and be cleansed. Going on Chat with Chelsea was the fastest way to polish a tarnished public image.
Ironic, that.
Chelsea sat in her usual seat across from Tanya, trying to blink the world into focus as she was miked. Her brain was buzzing, her body tingling. Tanya offered her a wobbly, uncertain smile, and Chelsea smiled back. At least she hoped she did. Everything inside her felt electric and alive, and yet fragile, too. Breakable. Breaking.
She needed her strength back, her sense of control, and she’d get it by sleeping with Alex. He might say he was letting her take control, but she’d turn the tables on him once and for all. She’d make him beg. Plead. Writhe. Want.
And that would break this awful hold he had on her.
She took a deep breath and let it fill her lungs slowly. She closed her eyes as she exhaled, willed her muscles to loosen. It was a relaxation exercise she’d learned ten years ago, after the attack, when she’d been so anxious she’d actually started losing her hair. That, along with the scars, had made her feel pretty damn ugly.
But she’d crawled back from that dark place. She’d worked hard to become less anxious, more confident. She’d learned self-defense. She’d had reconstructive surgery. She’d met Michael, who had given her the chance she’d needed, and she’d worked her ass off for ten years.
And she was not going to risk any of it by giving in to someone like Alex. Playing his little submissive obey-me type games and making her feel like the desperate, pathetic people-pleaser she’d once been.
Never again.
And tonight she’d prove it.
“Thirty seconds.”
She opened her eyes and smiled again at Tanya, listened to the opening music of the show and felt her reconstructed sense of self take hold of her, like slipping on a mask, a familiar and needed disguise.
Chelsea Maxwell was on the air.
Chapter Five
As soon as the show finished Chelsea stalked off the set. Her beautiful face was set into lines of grim determination, which made Alex curious about just what she intended—and also made him incredibly turned on.
There was something about her hard-ass attitude that he really liked. He’d wanted to see her lose her control the other night, but now he wondered what it would be like when she had it.
Or at least thought she had it.
He’d see how long he let this little game go. If it got what he wanted—her trust—then it would be worth it. It also might be surprisingly interesting...and enjoyable.
She stood in front of him, a tiny bit of ivory lace camisole peeking out from underneath her crisp white blouse. She wore a narrow pinstriped pencil skirt and sky-high stiletto heels in black patent leather. If she’d been decked out in red lace lingerie she couldn’t have been sexier.
She narrowed her gaze, lips pursed, hands on hips.
Alex raised his eyebrows in silent query.
“Let’s go,” she said and he nodded his assent, amused by her transparently bossy attitude. He wondered how far she’d go with it. How far he’d let her.
Because he might be giving Chelsea some control, but he was still giving it to her. He still fully intended to be the one in charge. Always.
“Where to?” he asked as he followed her out of the studio.
“My apartment.”
“Good choice.”
They didn’t speak as they left the building, but Alex felt the tension in the air, the tension in himself. This was a new experience for him, and it made his nerves feel electric, everything in him charged and tingling. How long since he’d felt this way, this alive?
He couldn’t remember. Didn’t want to.
Outside AMI’s head office in midtown Chelsea hailed a cab, one slender arm raised, her face still set in lines of rather grim purpose.
“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Alex remarked as a cab screeched to the curb and they both got inside.
Chelsea gave him a smile of acid sweetness. “Trust me, I am.”
Alex smiled back. “Well, I’m enjoying myself.”
“Good to know.”
She took out her phone and scrolled through her messages as they rode uptown. Alex watched her, amused. So she was taking care of one business before moving to another.
He rather liked that in a woman. No worries about messy emotions or sudden tears with Chelsea. He was careful with his bed partners, but sometimes he made a mistake. Slept with a woman who thought she was in a relationship.
And Alex didn’t do relationships. He’d seen the mess of his mother’s, the heartbreak of Sarah’s. Sex was sex with him: essential, enjoyable and ending at dawn. Usually before.
He was pretty sure Chelsea felt the same as he did, or nearly.
Ten minutes later they were at her building, and then up into the elevator.
“Penthouse?” Alex asked as she pushed the button marked PH, and she just nodded. No words as they soared toward the top floor, and the doors pinged open and Chelsea stepped into a black-and-white checkered marble foyer that opened into a living room decorated entirely in stark black and white.
Alex paused in front of a huge white canvas with jagged black lines along the bottom of it.
“I’m not sure I think much of your taste in art.”
“That canvas is a collector’s item,” Chelsea answered as she
shrugged out of her black wool trench coat and hung it up in the closet; no mad passion in this moment, at least. He wondered if she ever let that precious control slip even just a little.
It had in his limo. He’d told her to come to him and she had, her eyes glowing, her mouth parted, everything in her wanting and wanton. He wanted to see that happen again, never mind who was in control.
But for now he’d run with this. He had too much at stake to gamble on passion.
“It’s worth over a hundred thousand dollars,” she informed him, and Alex glanced again at the six feet of white space.
“Hate to say it, but I think you’ve been ripped off.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” She stood in front of him, arms crossed now, gaze sweeping over him in cool yet thorough assessment. Alex raised his eyebrows, waited for her verdict.
“Take off your clothes, Alex.”
He laughed, surprised and yet also still incredibly turned on. “Not very imaginative, Chelsea, but I’ll indulge you.”
“You certainly will.” She stepped forward and loosened the knot of his tie. Her fingers moved briskly to undo it with dispassionate expertise and yet Alex still felt himself respond. He kept his expression amused as she slid the tie away from his shirt.
“I thought you wanted me to take off my clothes. I’m happy for you to do the job yourself, though.” He stood still as she slid his suit jacket from his shoulders. “Quite happy.”
“Just helping you along,” she murmured.
“Mind hanging that up? If we’re going to be businesslike about this?”
She glanced down at his hand-stitched jacket and then tossed it across the foyer. Alex laughed aloud.
Her eyes narrowed in annoyance and he waited, his jacket and tie gone but otherwise still dressed. He didn’t want to piss her off, but he couldn’t help himself. She had a lot to learn about control. She was like a child, stamping around, grabbing all the toys.
And yet he had to admit it was still incredibly sexy.
“Now what?” he asked because she was just staring at him, eyes still narrowed.
“Shirt.”
“Fair enough.” He undid his shirt, watched her gaze follow the path of his fingers, her pupils flaring as he reached the last button and shrugged it off. He tossed it to join his blazer. “Happy?”
“Not yet.”
“I think I can guess what’s coming next.”
“I bet you can.”
Smiling he undid his belt buckle. The snick of the leather as he pulled it from his trousers made Chelsea’s pupils flare again. Her breath hitched.
And she actually thought she was in control. Alex wrapped the belt around one hand, arched an eyebrow. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“You can add it to the pile,” she answered shortly, and he saw she’d gone tense. Interesting. He tossed the belt, and she relaxed again, her shoulders lowering a tiny fraction.
“And now?”
“Keep going, Diaz.”
He unbuttoned his fly, his fingers brushing his own arousal. His little striptease was clearly affecting both of them. He pushed his trousers down and they puddled around his ankles. Not the most sophisticated look, but at this point he hardly cared.
“So I guess you don’t feel the need to create a mood?” he asked and she looked up from her perusal of his tented boxers with a wicked smile.
“I am creating a mood.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Can’t argue with that.”
“Boxers next.”
“You don’t want to do the honors?”
“I’ll leave that to you.”
He glanced down at his feet. “There seems to be a problem with mechanics,” he remarked. “Shoes.”
Chelsea paused, and he knew the exact nature of her hesitation. She didn’t want to go on her knees in front of him to take them off. Such an act would be a relinquishing of her control, a sign of submission.
“I suppose it’s easily fixed,” he murmured, deciding to humor her, for now at least. He kicked them off along with his trousers. “But I might need help with my socks.”
Her eyes glittered as she stepped forward and tugged down his boxers. “You can keep your socks on.”
He kicked off his boxers as her hand slid down the length of his erection. Her skin was cool and soft, her fingers wrapped around him. Alex felt himself go even harder.
“Impressive, Alex.”
“Thank you very much.”
She stepped back and he waited. He was sporting nothing but a pair of socks and a massive erection, and he felt more turned on than he ever had in his life.
He nodded toward her crisp blouse and skirt. “You going to take those off?”
“All in good time.” She folded her arms, watching him, and he smiled equably back. So this was her little show of control. Fine. He could take it.
“All in good time,” she repeated softly, and started unbuttoning her crisp white blouse as she walked toward him. Nothing about those slender fingers moving through buttonholes should be that erotic, and yet somehow it was. Incredibly. Alex’s whole body jolted as desire surged through him like an electric current, strong enough to short-circuit his senses.
She shrugged out of her blouse, and he saw she wore a white lace camisole with thin straps underneath, cut high across her breasts, leaving just about everything to his imagination—and oh, he imagined. The sweet curve of her breasts begged for his palms to cup them, feel their fullness. He wanted to slide that silky camisole up and over her head, toss it aside and slide his hands over her bare, bare skin, control be damned.
He restrained himself, remained still as he watched her undo her pencil skirt, the sound of the zip as loud as a screech in the taut silence of the foyer. The skirt slithered down her stocking-clad legs to the floor and she stepped out of it, that knowing little smile on her lips.
Alex swallowed. Audibly. She wore a pair of white silk boy shorts, sheer stockings, and garters. Garters. And her heels. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a sexier woman, and judging from that flirty little smile she knew it. She was loving this.
She stepped closer to him, heels clicking on the floor, her breasts brushing his chest, the silk of her camisole whispering against his skin.
She ran one fingernail down the length of his chest and Alex shuddered. He couldn’t help it. Her smile widened and she raised her eyebrows.
“You like that?”
“I like you touching me.”
“How about this?” she purred, and she wrapped her fingers around him, squeezed with just the perfect amount of pressure. Alex nearly groaned. He did close his eyes, and didn’t even realize it until he opened them again.
“Yes, I like that, too,” he murmured.
His hands ached to touch her; his palms itched to feel the softness of her skin. To make her as crazy as she was making him. Still he resisted. Control now meant letting her stay in charge. Seeing where she went with her little show of power.
Gaining her trust—and preferably not disgracing himself in the process.
She ran her hand up and down his length and then stepped closer to him so he thrust his hips forward instinctively, his body aching to bury himself inside her. She laughed softly and for the first time Alex seriously considered stopping this game.
Chelsea was enjoying this just a little too much.
“Now, now, Alex,” she murmured. “Patience.”
Her voice, he heard, was just a little ragged, her breathing just a little uneven. She was as turned on as he was, and that kept him still, waiting for her next move.
She walked around him and then pressed a hand in the small of his back. “Bedroom.”
“Glad to hear it,” he answered, and walked into her bedroom, her hand still on his back.
He stopped in front of a king-size bed with white satin sheets, the city visible all around them with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. Chelsea pushed him so his knees hit the bed and he would have fallen
if he hadn’t twisted around, grabbed her hand and taken her with him.
He lay on his back, Chelsea sprawled on top of him, and grinned. “Now that’s better.”
She was annoyed, but she hid it well. “Isn’t it,” she murmured, and rose to her knees in one fluid movement so she was straddling him.
His mind glazed over as he felt her against him and he arched off the bed, driven by a need so basic and elemental he could neither hide nor deny it. He didn’t even want to.
She laughed softly, tantalizing and teasing him as the sides of her knees pressed his hips and she hovered above him so he could only just brush against her.
“Almost, Alex,” she soothed and he heard her pant as he arched again. She wanted this as much as he did, even if she was pretending otherwise. Alex nearly swore. He was going out of his mind, and he wanted to do nothing more than flip her over and plunge inside her.
Clucking softly, she shook her head. “Patience, remember.”
“I remember,” he answered, his teeth gritted. Sweat broke out on his brow. Hell. He was so close to losing it.
She leaned over, her breasts brushing his face, making him groan aloud, and retrieved a condom from her bedside table. He reached up to grab her shoulders, but she twisted out of his grasp, pushed his arms down on the bed.
“What, I can’t even touch you?”
“Oh, you can touch me.” She ripped the condom packet open with her teeth and slowly, languorously, rolled it over him. Alex shuddered. “And I can touch you,” she murmured and slipping her shorts aside, she sank onto him.
“Chelsea...” Her name fell from his lips, a moan, a plea as she moved over him, his body deep inside hers even as he angled his hips for better access.
“Almost there, Alex,” she murmured, and he heard the satisfaction as well as the desire in her voice, knew she had him where she wanted him. Underneath her, writhing and begging.
Fine. He’d beg. This once, he’d beg, at least with his body. He grabbed her hips, anchoring her to him as he thrust upward.
She rocked faster, and he heard her breath hitch as she threw her head back, her hands braced behind her. He knew she was as close to losing control as he was, but their little power play had ceased to have any meaning for him.
