Bondage Ranch 4: His Little Tart

by Sindra van Yssel

  “How much?”

  Ben shrugged. “I think it’s about thirty thousand dollars at this point.”

  About. Ben always knew his figures to the penny, and she suspected he did this time too. The uncharacteristic imprecision made her wonder if there was something else he was covering up. She raised her voice, barely able to stop from yelling at him. “To help me save? So I’d have to marry you, you mean?” He was right that she wasn’t great with money, but she wasn’t wasteful. She’d have learned to do her own books if Ben hadn’t offered to help her with it, for free, right from the start. “You fucking wrecked my business!”

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  “I didn’t think you’d ever marry me if you were too successful. It was all yours. I never took a penny.”

  She looked back at Aidan, and he nodded to her. Yes to what? To the fact that he didn’t take a penny, she supposed. She expected him to step in, but he didn’t. She sat back and thought about it for a moment.

  “Please forgive me, Constance. I love you. I’d never hurt you, not really.”

  “You already did.” God, she wanted to hit him. “And if I’d married you because you bailed me out, then what? You’d say ha, ha, you really had thirty thousand dollars all along? No. You couldn’t be that stupid. You’d never be able to tell me about the money.” She got up, kicking her chair and sending it skidding across the room. Ben backed up, his chair scraping the floor, and then scrambled off his own seat as she came around the table toward him.

  “I’d buy things for you from the money. Jewelry. Clothes. Whatever you wanted,”

  said Ben, still backing up.

  She was so mad she could barely see straight. He’d betrayed her. She’d trusted him. “You know, there’s only one reason I’m not slugging you right now, and that’s because you’re going to jail for this, you asshole.”

  The asshole had the temerity to smirk at that.

  “Actually,” said Aidan, his quiet, assured voice somehow making it through the angry noise in her head, “since you own the account he put your money into, even though you didn’t know about it, it would probably be pretty hard to get a jury to convict. They’d have to be sure you didn’t know, and that would be hard to prove.”

  “Oh.” Made sense to her. She punched Ben, her fist landing below his nose and rocking him backward. It seemed the logical thing to do. By the time she was ready to punch him again, Aidan was at her side, touching her arm gently. He didn’t stop her, but the blinding anger went out of her at his touch.

  Ben turned and ran. She watched him head out the door and was satisfied to see some blood coming from his lip.

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  “Sorry for doing it that way, love,” said Aidan. “But you’re not a very good liar, and I didn’t want you to have to be an actress—and I also didn’t want to accuse your ‘friend’ of anything until I was sure. So I put myself where I could see the expression on his face.”

  She nodded. It made sense, she supposed. She slumped back against the fridge.

  Thirty thousand dollars. It wasn’t enough to open a bakery with, but it was a lot of money, and it covered her taxes. And it meant that she wasn’t a failure at running her business after all, only that she’d trusted the wrong person. She was making money.

  “Thirty thousand dollars.” Wow.

  “Actually, it’s closer to thirty-eight, from what I added up. But we can go find out.

  You might have even gotten a bit of interest. Time to take a trip to the bank in person, I think. And get your accountant’s access removed.”

  She looked up at Aidan, who was smiling at her. And I’ve got a boyfriend too. Who would have thought?

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  Chapter Nine

  A few weeks later, Constance set the plate on the table in the big conference room.

  Aidan had rented one from a hotel in Baltimore; it was the kind of expense she’d never felt she could afford, but her financial outlook had changed considerably. Aidan sat at one end. On the other black-cushioned chairs were two men and a woman, all in business suits.

  She’d made more than she expected them to eat, and it struck her as wasteful, but it was always better to make too much than too little. On the engraved silver plate were slices of key lime, lemon meringue, and French silk pie. Strawberry-rhubarb and raspberry tarts. Tiramisu with a dusting of fine dark Dutch cocoa powder. And cupcakes.

  The one banker, Gary, was a thin man with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. Alice, an older woman whose sapphire earrings matched her blue nails and blue dress perfectly, had a glass of white wine. Duncan was portly, with conservative clothes strikingly offset with a paisley bow tie, and was drinking water. Aidan had clued her in on the respective tastes of each, and even though serving drinks was not usually part of her business, she had made sure everyone was provided with their beverage of choice.

  She didn’t like coffee herself, and she’d never drink anything as sweet as white wine with dessert, but she was a firm believer in the notion that everyone approached food in their own way, and that no two sets of taste buds reacted to quite the same stimuli.

  There were some people, after all, who liked Twinkies.

  “Let’s eat.” Aidan looked around the table at the others. Even though they were all bank executives of some sort, Aidan seemed to be able to command their attention.

  Gary cut a piece of tiramisu. Alice went straight for the key lime pie. Duncan took a

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  raspberry tart. Constance stood and watched. She liked the idea of letting her baking do the speaking for her.

  “This is really good,” said Gary. “Just the right level of bitterness to the chocolate and sweetness to the filling. Awesome.”

  Duncan made a face. “Sounds horrid.” Constance cringed, but then the man went on. “Fortunately, this raspberry tart isn’t bitter at all. Superb.”

  “Best key lime pie I’ve ever tasted,” said Alice. “And I order it everywhere. What’s your secret, dear?”

  “If I told you,” said Constance, “it wouldn’t be a secret.” For a moment, she thought she’d offended the woman and wondered if she should be more politic, but Alice ended up smiling.

  “A point.”

  Soon they were all ready for a second round. Gary took a slice of French silk, Duncan a cupcake, Alice a strawberry-rhubarb tart. All she needed, Aidan said, was to convince one of them, and the others would follow. She had faith in her desserts, but were they good enough to convince people to invest in her business?

  Another round of compliments ensued.

  “So, Aidan, you didn’t bring us here just because you wanted us to try desserts,”

  said Duncan. “As good as they are, I think I know you better than that.”

  Alice and Gary nodded their agreement.

  “No, I didn’t,” said Aidan. “I brought you here for a business opportunity, of course. Constance wants to open a bakery in one of the cities you serve. Washington”—he nodded at Alice—“Philadelphia”—Duncan—“or Baltimore.” Gary, apparently. “And each of your banks turned her down, thinking she couldn’t make a go of it. There were, to be fair, some issues with the books. But do any of you doubt that the world is waiting to devour her pastries? That lobbyists and businessmen will pay top dollar to enjoy one of those pies or tarts or cupcakes?”

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  “Yeah. We’ll loan her the money she needs.” Gary waved the papers in front of him. “Looked over these earlier. Rock solid. You’ll love it in Baltimore, hon.”

  “I think you’ll find we can offer competitive rates if you’d rather open a bakery in DC,” said Alice.

  “Philadelphia—” Duncan began, but Aidan cut him off.

  “I’m sure you can all loan her money. We could have approached any one of you, but that’s hardly the point. I’m no
t suggesting you loan her money; I’m suggesting you personally invest, and if not you, then the banks you represent. Constance has already decided to open her first bakery in DC, in the Penn Quarter, with an eye toward establishing others, if all goes well. Of course, she’ll have a personal hand in the one, but she’s willing to train an apprentice to eventually open up another. One hundred thousand dollars will buy you ten percent of her company, and if you all invest, she’ll have enough money to open her bakery with a minimum of leverage and on sound financial footing.”

  When Aidan had proposed the plan to her, she’d thought he was crazy. He was basically saying that her stake was worth seven hundred thousand dollars, and she had nothing except her knowledge and skill. And yet as she looked around the table, they all seemed to be considering it. All because they’d eaten her desserts. She never thought they could be worth so much.

  “You have the paperwork ready, of course, knowing you,” said Alice at last.

  “Of course,” said Aidan.

  Alice reached down to her purse, took out a checkbook, and started writing a check. It seemed to galvanize the others into action, again, as Aidan had told her it would. Their hesitation vanished at the thought of Alice profiting while they were cut out. Gary, then Duncan, wrote checks.

  Aidan nodded toward the empty seat, and Constance sat down. Aidan stood up and brought her the paperwork to sign as the three bankers slid their checks her way, each one a personal check for a hundred thousand dollars. Somewhere in the last few

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  weeks, she’d gone from a struggling caterer to the CEO of a company with stockholders, and Aidan hadn’t given her a penny of charity.

  “So how much of this company do you own, Aidan?” asked Alice.

  “Sadly, none. She won’t let me. Claims I’m only helping her out because I have a soft spot for her.” He kissed Constance on the cheek. “Which I do.”

  Constance blushed.

  “Not like you to pass up on a good business opportunity for sentiment,” Duncan said, wrinkling his nose. “But your loss is our gain.”

  “She’s going to be a smash hit,” Alice said. “And she’ll put five pounds on every staffer near Capitol Hill.” Alice chuckled. “They’ll try to pretend they can walk off one of those cupcakes, but the walk isn’t that far.” She reached for a cupcake herself. “May I take just one bite? I know it seems like a waste, but I want to find out what they taste like without it going to my waist.”

  “You may,” said Constance.

  “But can you?” asked Aidan as Alice bit in.

  “I’m betting no,” said Gary.

  Alice took a bite, and her eyes went wide. Constance thought about what she was tasting, the cream cheese frosting and the fluffy light sweetness of the cake beneath, and grinned. She’d seen that expression on people’s faces before, and it pleased her every time she saw it. Gary and Duncan saw it too, apparently, as they grabbed cupcakes of their own. She watched as they all devoured them.

  The ink was long dry on the contracts by the time the last of the bankers finally left the room. “I’ll deliver twenty-four cupcakes next Monday,” Constance promised Duncan.

  “Looking forward to it.” Duncan gave her a little bow and then hurried out.

  “He won’t eat them all himself, will he?” she asked Aidan after they’d gone.

  “I’m sure he intends to share them with the staff.”

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  Constance gave a sigh of relief and then wrapped her arms around Aidan. She felt bad now about not letting him invest in her new company. He’d worked all week long arranging the meeting and helping her find potential locations. Still, she didn’t know how to broach the subject now, so she said what was in her heart. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  He squeezed her back “It’s an absolute pleasure, love.”

  “I guess we have a long drive home, don’t we?”

  He shook his head. “I have a hotel room.”

  Oh. She’d gotten used to him sleeping in her bed. She tried to hide her disappointment. “I guess I have a long ride home, then.”

  “Guess again.”

  “Oh. Another business expense?” She wished he’d consulted her on her money, but on second thought, he’d raised her enough to finance her dreams. What was a few hundred dollars on a hotel room compared to that?

  “Oh no, this is a pleasure expense. Business is over for the night.” He pulled back and started to unbutton her chef’s jacket. She’d worn a halter top underneath with lace around the neckline. She supposed was decent enough, but it wasn’t the sort of thing she usually wore in public.

  “Um, I can’t wear that until we get to the room?”

  “No. You can wear it whenever you’re working, and you know that I’ll respect that and respect that you are mistress of your own kitchen. But when work is over, you are mine.” He slid the jacket off her arms and folded it neatly on the table. He put the contracts on top of it. He put them all in the softside black leather briefcase he’d had her buy—another business expense.

  “Don’t I get to carry my own briefcase?”

  “During business hours, of course.” He smiled and opened the door for her.

  “After you.”

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  She knew he’d be watching her. She wiggled her ass to make sure she had his attention. She was getting used to the fact that he thought she was sexy. She was even starting to believe it. He followed her, and she waited until he was halfway through the door to say, “Don’t forget your own briefcase.”

  He laughed. “Um, right.”

  She waited. He might like the view from behind, but she didn’t want to get too far ahead.

  “Floor fourteen,” he said.

  She walked to the elevator, pushed the button, and waited. It was late. Hopefully, the elevator wouldn’t take too long. She didn’t know what he had planned, but whatever it was, she was eager for it. Alone in a hotel room with Aidan could only be a good thing.

  The elevator came quickly and started rising to the top. No one got on in the lobby. Aidan set down the briefcases and pulled her into his arms, her ass nestling his hard cock. He closed his fingers around her nipples, through the fabric, pinching and tugging them until they were big and hard. The built-in bra of the halter top wasn’t made to conceal such a reaction, but there was no one there to watch. She hoped that there wasn’t anyone to see on floor fourteen. He, obviously, didn’t care.

  She had a giggle as she thought of what would happen if there was someone.

  They’d stare, maybe. And that was it. Maybe that would even be kind of fun. It wasn’t the sort of thing she would have dared, but with Aidan by her side, she did. Especially because he didn’t ask her permission. Outside the kitchen, he was in control, and he’d made it clear he’d accept nothing less. Knowing that he might assert that control at any time made her constantly wet around him.

  He let her go and picked up the briefcases again as they passed floor twelve, this time holding them both in one hand. The doors opened at fourteen, and there was no one there. He put his arm around her waist and led her to his room, with a trace of a possessive squeeze.

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  He opened the door and flicked on the light. He patted her ass as she walked in and then let the door swing closed.

  “I didn’t bring any clothes for tomorrow.”

  “What make you think you’ll wear any clothes tomorrow?” He grinned at her.

  “I’ve got you taken care of. Sunday you can make cupcakes, and Monday you can play delivery girl in Philadelphia and then race down to Washington to sign the lease, but tonight and tomorrow, you’re mine. Understood?”

  Her heart beat faster. She’d worked her entire adult life to get to the point where she could open the bakery, and now that the details were coming together, she had to wait until Mond
ay anyway, for the business hours of the realty she was dealing with.

  And she’d discovered that she had a second dream—being as completely his as she could possibly be. Just as when she’d started her baking career, she didn’t know exactly how it would work or where it would take her, but she was determined to try.

  “Understood, Master.”

  “Good little tart. Now take your clothes off.”

  “Right here?”

  “Sure. Bathroom’s right behind you. We’re taking a shower.”

  “Together?”

  “Yep.”

  She nodded and pulled off the halter top. Her nipples were still jutting out proudly, begging for attention. She unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor and then kicked off her shoes. She was wearing cotton panties.

  He grabbed them and ripped.

  “I only have five pair left, you know.” She was guessing at the number.

  “Fine. You keep wearing ’em. I’ll keep taking ’em off.”

  “Should I buy more?”

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  “Depends on how much you like me ripping them.” He grinned. “But you needn’t own any knickers at all, as far as I’m concerned.”

  She shivered. She was aware of every inch of her bare skin. She shoved the remnants of her panties off. She’d put on another pair tomorrow with the same results.

  A reminder of who was in charge was never too far away with him.

  He walked to a table, tossed his suit jacket on it, and then his tie on top of that. She watched as he removed his shirt. She never got tired of seeing the rippling muscles displayed. She ran her fingers along them as he unfastened his belt. Then, feeling mischievous, she reached around much as he had in the elevator and slid her hands on his chest until she felt his nipples underneath her fingers. She pinched.

  He moaned. “You can do that, my love, as long as you don’t think it means you’re in control.”

  “Never, Master.” She filed away his reaction. She’d see how he liked it sometime while they were making love.