by Angel Payne
“Sorry,” I drawled, “you’re not my type, brother. Besides, I’d have thought you were a little weary of fucking by now.”
“Nice,” Trey sneered. “I see the overall asshole factor of this office is seeping into you with no problem.”
“Probably true. But right now, my ‘asshole factor’ is keeping your ass from being nicknamed ‘gerbil bitch’ by prisoner two-fifty-six before dinner tonight. So sit.”
Watching the color drain from his pretty-boy cheeks was an odd relief. Maybe the dumbshit started to comprehend how much trouble he was really in. He finally dropped into one of the room’s new conference chairs. The white leather didn’t do anything for his pallor.
Against my better instincts, I gave in to a moment of sympathy and sat across from him. Sympathy? That proved it; I had to be five kinds of fucked-up. His trip down Idiot Avenue was costing us market share by the minute. My lunch with the Melbourne investors, carefully orchestrated for the wow factor in the Kaffe Room at Keefer’s, would have an appetizer course of paparazzi. My work day would end long after midnight.
But the way his hands shook, dragging back through his hair, ripped my goddamn gut out.
“So how long is this shit gonna take? I’ve got plans for Mardi Gras, Kill. I’m supposed to leave tomorrow.”
I surged to my feet. Why didn’t I realize the compassion would be wasted? And for that matter, relief. “You know the term jailbait, Trey? It’s around for a reason. You slept with a pair of senators’ daughters.”
“No.” The protest was as snide as the Mardi Gras hall pass request. “I slept with one senator’s daughter. The legal one.”
“So she brought her friend along for fun?”
“Emily’s a curious kid! She wanted to watch.”
“In her bra and school skirt? With her phone set on Record?”
“Her sweater made her too hot. And she wanted to capture everything for memories.”
I gave in to pinching his nose. It wasn’t a move I indulged often, knowing it made both Trey and Lance see red, but right now, I prayed that Trey saw a whole fucking rainbow of rage.
“Memories,” I repeated. “You really believed that?”
Mirth gleamed in my brother’s eyes. “You want the real answer, or the one we’re gonna fork over to the PR Department?”
I almost gave in to the urge to laugh. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Come on, Kill. Of course I do. Hell, I get Christmas cards every year from the team down in PR. With the bonuses they make because of me, they’re buying cars for their kids and taking vacations to Bora Bora.”
“Better tell them to research economy models and a few days in a forest yurt.”
“Huh?”
I leveled my stare, hard and unyielding, across the room. “You haven’t just spilled the milk this time, Trey. This is a world-class oil slick, meaning things are going to get stickier before they get better.” I stopped there. He didn’t have to be told the entire story. Not yet, at least. I still had trouble believing it myself. Despite Senator Wooten’s enraged call for a press conference later today, no doubt designed to paint Trey as a predatorial pervert, could “little” Emily Wooten have actually been acting with the full green light from her father? I’d turned down the housing development deal from Wooten’s cronies over a year ago. It had looked like beneficial low-cost housing on the outside, but the structures wouldn’t have lasted their first exposure to a brutal Chicago winter.
It was very possible that Wooten had done his homework, and unearthed the weakness in Stone Global’s massive hull. And now we had an oil slick.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Trey demanded.
I folded my arms and stated, “No in-house PR. Industrial-sized slicks require industrial-grade cleanup. Andrea Asher is on her way from California, and she’s bringing her best team for our job.” I checked my watch. “We have five hours until they arrive. Great timing. They’ll get here right as Wooten gets up on his soapbox.”
“Fucking great.” Trey looked like a man on his way to the gallows again. “Should I order beer and pinenuts?”
“No beer,” I snapped.
“Cold fish prick.”
I rose and crossed to the door that led to my private bathroom. “Sounds like a perfect temperature for your shower. Wash your hair and shave, too. Then get some goddamn sleep. I’ve had Britta pull out the sofa sleeper in the anteroom for you.”
Trey closed the door on me with a furious whomp. Again, nothing I wasn’t used to, another piece of family best kept under the rug along with the other filth it was my job to keep well-swept at all times. On some occasions, that meant enlisting the help of a cleaning crew like Asher’s.
As long as they didn’t discover the darkest, dirtiest secrets under that rug, we’d be good.
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And coming in Fall 2014:
Hot For His Hostage
The W.I.L.D. Boys of Special Forces, Book 6
By USA Today Bestselling Author Angel Payne
It’s the layover she’ll never forget.
Stuck in an airport bar with a choice between three drunk roommates or one dark and delicious stranger, Zoe Chestain decides to live dangerously for once, and succumbs to a night of Shay Bommer’s dominant passion. But her cloud of sensual bliss is blown apart the next day, when the Vegas dancer and her friends are taken hostage by the hijackers of their flight home. Zoe’s horror deepens when her kidnapper reveals himself. Shay.
It’s the mission he’ll never give up.
Shay Bommer is one of the Army’s best, a Special Forces soldier who followed in the footsteps of his brother knowing infiltration with the enemy would sometimes be necessary. But this operation, deep under cover with one of the CIA’s most sought-after criminals, has cost him more than the trust of the most breathtaking submissive he’s ever had in his arms. He’s given up the camaraderie of his unit, the protection of his country, and even the esteem of his brother in the quest to rescue one priceless treasure. His mother.
Can they turn “never” into forever?
Zoe’s danced to some crazy songs in her time, but no wild choreography has prepared her for the adventure of life with Shay—or the return to his bed that means surrendering more than just her body. As they run from the bad guys, the good guys, and everyone in between, she learns about the man behind all his masks, and the Dominant for whom she’s always longed.
When Shay honors his word and unlocks her bonds for good, Zoe must face the truth—that her heart will always be Shay’s willing captive. But staying with him means dying with him. The heat is on. Can Shay and Zoe’s love survive the flames?
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AVAILABLE EVERYWHERE NOW:
Theirs To Cherish
By New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author
Shayla Black
Sneak Preview
CALLIE trembled as she lay back on the padded table and Sean Kirkpatrick’s strong fingers wrapped around her cuffed wrist, guiding it back to the bindings above her head.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she murmured.
He paused, then drew in a breath as if he sought patience. “Breathe, lovely.”
That gentle, deep brogue of his native Scotland brought her peace. His voice both aroused and soothed her, and she tried to let those feelings wash through her.
“Can you do that for me?” he asked.
His fingers uncurled from her wrist, and he grazed the inside of her outstretched arm with his knuckles. As always, his touch was full of quiet strength. He made her ache. She shivered again, this time for an entirely different reason.
“I’ll try.”
Sean shook his head, his deep blue eyes seeming to see everything she tried to hide inside. That penetrating stare scared the hell out of her. What did he see when he looked at her? How much about the real her had he pieced together?
The thought made her panic. No one could know her secret. No one. She’d kept it from everyone, even Th
orpe, during her four years at Dominion. She’d finally found a place where she felt safe, comfortable. Of course she’d have to give it up someday, probably soon. She always did. But please, not yet.
Deep breath. Don’t panic. He wants your submission, not your secrets.
“You’ll need to do better than try. You’ve been ‘trying’ for over six months,” he reminded her gently. “Do you think I’d truly hurt you?”
No. Sean didn’t seem to have a violent bone in his body. He wasn’t a sadist. He never gripped her harshly. He never even raised his voice. She’d jokingly thought of him as the sub whisperer because he pushed her boundaries with a gentleness she found both irresistible and insidious. Certainly, he’d dragged far more out of her than any other man had. Tirelessly, he’d worked to earn her trust. Callie felt terrible that she could never give it, not when doing so could be fatal.
Guilt battered her. She should stop wasting his time.
“I know you wouldn’t,” she assured, blinking up at him, willing him to understand.
“Of course not.” He pressed his chest over hers, leaning closer to delve into her eyes.
Callie couldn’t resist lowering her lids, shutting out the rest of the world. Even knowing she shouldn’t, she sank into the soft reassurance of his kiss. Each brush of his lips over hers soothed and aroused. Every time he touched her, her heart raced. Her skin grew tight. Her nipples hardened. Her pussy moistened and swelled. Her heart ached. Sean Kirkpatrick would be so easy to love.
As his fingers filtered into her hair, cradling her scalp, she exhaled and melted into his kiss—just for a sweet moment. It was the only one she could afford.
A fierce yearning filled her. She longed for him to peel off his clothes, kiss her with that determination she often saw stamped into his eyes, and take her with the single-minded fervor she knew he was capable of. But in the months since he’d collared her, he’d done nothing more than stroke her body, tease her, and grant her orgasms when he thought she’d earned them. She hadn’t let him fully restrain her. And he hadn’t yet taken her to bed.
Not knowing the feel of him deep inside her, of waiting and wanting until her body throbbed relentlessly, was making her buckets full of crazy.
After another skillful brush of his lips, Sean ended the kiss and lifted his head, breathing hard. She clung, not ready to let him go. How had he gotten under her skin so quickly? His tenderness filled her veins like a drug. The way he had addicted Callie terrified her.
“I want you. Sean, please . . .” She damn near wept.
With a broad hand, he swept the stray hair from her face. Regret softened his blue eyes before he ever said a word. “If you’re not ready to trust me as your Dom, do you think you’re ready for me as a lover? I want you completely open to me before we take that step. All you have to do is trust me, lovely.”
Callie slammed her eyes shut. This was so fucking pointless. She wanted to trust Sean, yearned to give him everything—devotion, honesty, faith. Her past ensured that she’d never give any of those to anyone. But he had feelings for her. About that, she had no doubt. They’d grown just as hers had, unexpectedly, over time, a fledgling limb morphing into a sturdy vine that eventually created a bud just waiting to blossom . . . or die.
She knew which. They could never have more than this faltering Dom/sub relationship, destined to perish in a premature winter.
The responsible choice would be to call her safe word, walk out, quit him. Release them both from this hell. Never look back.
For the first time in nearly a decade, Callie worried that she might not have the strength to say good-bye.
What was wrong with her tonight? She was too emotional. She needed to pull up her big-girl panties and snap on her bratty attitude, pretend that nothing mattered. It was how she’d coped for years. But she couldn’t seem to manage that with Sean.
“You’re up in your head, instead of here with me,” he gently rebuked her.
Another dose of guilt blistered her. “Sorry, Sir.”
Sean sighed heavily, stood straight, then held out his hand to her. “Come with me.”
Callie winced. If he intended to stop the scene, that could only mean he wanted to talk. These sessions where he tried to dig through her psyche became more painful than the sexless nights she spent in unfulfilled longing under his sensual torture.
Swallowing down her frustration, she dredged up her courage, then put her hand in his.
Holding her in a steady grip, Sean led her to the far side of Dominion’s dungeon, to a bench in a shadowed corner. As soon as she could see the rest of the room, Callie felt eyes on her, searing her skin. With a nonchalant glance, she looked at the others sceneing around them, but they seemed lost in their own world of pleasure, pain, groans, sweat, and need. A lingering sweep of the room revealed another sight that had the power to drop her to her knees. Thorpe in the shadows. Staring. At her with Sean. His expression wasn’t one of disapproval exactly . . . but he wasn’t pleased.
Sean sat, then pulled her onto his lap, supporting her back with a strong grip around her waist. He cupped her chin in his palm and sent her a pointed glance. “Eyes on me, lovely.”
She complied, trying not to think about the fact that it was getting harder and harder to meet his stare and not give herself to him for real.
Originally, she’d allowed Sean into her life because he irritated Thorpe, who sometimes looked at her as if she were the brightest star in the sky, then always chose another woman to master. She’d wanted to make him jealous. Hell, she’d wanted to see if he even gave a shit. Sean had walked into the club with his quiet sophistication and dry humor, taken one look at her, and never glanced at anyone else. It had done her ego a world of good—until Thorpe had removed his protection and allowed Sean to collar her. Without so much as blinking, he’d let her go.
So why the hell was Thorpe watching her now?
“You’re away with the fairies, Callie. Get out of your head,” Sean growled. “Focus on me. Or we’ll end tonight now.”
#
About The Author
Angel Payne is the USA Today bestselling author who began writing passionately in high school, and moved on to pen her way to departmental honors for English at Chapman University in Southern California, as well as popular historical romances in the 1990’s under a different pseudonym. Her kaleidoscope of a past includes gigs as a fashion ramp model, music industry production assistant, nightclub disc jockey, and over twenty years in the meeting planning and hospitality industries. Her passions include pop culture, alt rock, super heroes, shoes, coffee, and enjoying an active life in the outdoors with family and friends. She still lives in Southern California with her gorgeous daughter and stud-man husband.
www.angelpayne.com
facebook.com/angelpaynewrites
Twitter: @AngelPayneWrtr
Pinterest: Angelwrites
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
About The Author
