by Mari Carr, Red Phoenix, Angel Payne, Sierra Cartwright, Jenna Jacob, Victoria Blue
“Sure.” Except for the ride back to the worst parts of sixth grade. Thanks so much, Mat.
Mattie’s laugh was as perfect—and fake—as Marilyn Monroe’s on a press junket. “Oh sweetie, don’t pout. It brings out yucky lines in your face. Besides, I kind of like all those cute memories.”
“Memories?”
Jen barely reined in the urge to smack Sam again. But he was just being polite. He had no idea that his inquisition cranked the dredge deeper into her humiliating past.
“We all grew up together,” Mattie explained. “Jen was always the most adorable thing with her pratfalls. Then when her auntie came to pick her up from school, the woman would kiss all over her ‘boos’. After a while…”
You and Viv turned it into the nickname I hated more than any other.
Sam’s brows tightened more. Jen looked away. He might be the most beautiful man she’d ever known but she knew the start of pity when she saw it, and no way could she bear it on his face. Not even when he growled, sounding wrathful and protective, “Mattie.”
“Hmmm?” The woman didn’t flinch at a note of his tone. She was either really clueless or had the biggest pair of girl balls Jen had ever encountered.
“Cool it.”
“Oh, please. Jen doesn’t mind. If anything, her little stumbles made us all adore her more. She used to send us all into fits, always walking around with her nose in some book. We often joked that the aliens could fly right over from Area Fifty-One, land in the school’s quad, and thorny boo would barely notice—until she took a header into the bushes. Or the wall. Or down the stairs. Even the teachers excused her from being tardy all the time, because—”
“Mattie.” Jen hoped that a hefty loan of Sam’s tone earned her some credence. But when she glanced at him for confirmation, all he returned was the deepened furrow in his forehead. Heavy breaths flared his nostrils. Hell. He was even a little…scary.
In all the right ways.
All the arousing ways…
She couldn’t go there. She wouldn’t. Her stuttered breath, racing pulse rate, and electrified nerve endings had much different ideas. It was insane. It was incredible.
“Honey! Is everything okay?”
Tess to the rescue. Thank God.
Jen beamed her a grin conveying exactly that message. “I’m fine, babe. Really.”
Her friend grabbed her hand and smiled back. Tess looked gorgeous in a red sleeveless sheath that perfectly showed off her shoulder-to-elbow tattoos. Tess’s latest ink, a heart emblazoned on the middle of her chest with Dan’s initials in the middle, peeked from the dress’s sweetheart neckline. Everyone would be able to see the full ink tomorrow, thanks to the breathtaking cut of the cream-colored gown Tess had selected to become Mrs. Dan Colton in.
Mrs. Dan Colton.
Wow.
It hardly seemed real, but couldn’t have been more perfect. Tess was the chick in the Lesange nest always causing folks to wonder who’d messed with the family’s DNA strand. Though Tess shared her sisters’ button nose, heart-shaped chin, and huge green eyes, she’d been gifted with fuller lips and brilliant red hair, helped by vivid color washes. For the wedding, Tess had chosen a rose red hue, undoubtedly to match the wedding’s color theme. It gleamed beneath the salon’s lights as her friend cocked a skeptical stare and accused, “Why do I not believe you?”
“Because you’re a dork,” Jen teased, though quickly sobered. “Really, Tess. Chill. I just need to practice a bit more in these heels.” And face the grim truth that Sam will be here to catch every wobbling moment tomorrow, too.
“Well.” Mattie’s matter-of-fact tone was likely the closest she’d come to comfort. “At least nothing valuable seems broken.”
“Of course not.” The rejoinder came from Viv Lesange, who’d slipped in next to her sister. She clearly didn’t have the same designs on Sam as Mattie, being the girl who gravitated toward pretty boys who had twelve opinions on every trending Twitter tag—with a matching number of piercings. “Our thorny boo is made of Teflon.”
Jen didn’t bother with a glare. Tess flung one good enough for them both. Mattie and Viv blinked back, clueless as chalk sticks, before Mattie offered, “Maybe it’s best that she rests. I’m more than happy to walk the aisle again, so she can get how the heels are handled.”
“No.” Jen borrowed more of Sam’s growl. Owing a “favor” to Mattie Lesange, however small, would’ve been equal to jabbing a spike into her brain. “I’ll get it right,” she insisted, using a pew to herself rise. “I just need to—”
And right on schedule, her ankles protested the Louboutins again. Just two seconds, and she teetered precariously—
Directly into Sam.
Oh, God.
And oh, wow.
His body really was as hard as it looked—and the fulfillment of her wildest fantasies. As she grabbed on, truly not wanting to fall again, she wrapped hands around biceps that felt like bocci balls from the grass court on the ground floor. Her thighs hit a couple of pillars that were his legs. Her breasts smashed into a brick wall of a chest—except for the heartbeat that pounded relentlessly from between his ribs. Or was that hers?
“Shit. Sorry.” It spilled out as breath more than volume—zapped that way by the energy arcing between their bodies, hot and electric…and wonderful. It sizzled through her nerves, bubbled in her blood, invaded places that made her pulse and throb and need…
“Why?”
Her head jerked up. Her eyes locked with his.
His eyes. The voltage was on full blast in them too. Their silver brilliance almost didn’t let his voice register in her brain, let alone his meaning.
“Why what?”
“Why are you sorry?”
“I…what?”
Sam swallowed hard. Suddenly glanced around. Only then did Jen realize what a spectacle she’d made of herself—and him.
“Hmmm.” Once again, Tess intervened with ideal timing. “Isn’t this interesting…”
“Isn’t what interesting?” Dan, walking up behind his fiancé, issued it with knowing suspicion. Apparently, isn’t this interesting carried the same meaning for him as let’s go shopping. If Tess knew it too, she didn’t let on.
“I think I have an idea about how we can—”
“No.” Dan moved around, swinging down a sharp look. “No more ‘ideas’, rose.”
“But—”
“Uh-uh.” His hand, now at her nape, tugged back sharply. Nobody noticed the action except Jen, who forced her eyes not to widen at the telling gasp that spilled from Tess. “No more ‘buts’. No more ‘ideas’. You’ve worked for weeks on this ceremony, baby. It’s going to be fantastic—just the way it is.” He didn’t raise his voice above a murmur though Tess swallowed like he’d bellowed a command. She did it again as he trailed his lips to her ear. “Right now, it’s time for my little ruby to relax and have some fun.”
Tess’s eyes drifted shut, soft as her assenting whisper. “Yes, Sir.”
Jen looked down. She suddenly felt like the kid who’d caught her parents making out. Nobody noticed her flush, thanks to the hotel staffers pulling open a pair of double French doors on the other side of the salon. Just beyond was a spacious terrace awash in the dark amber rays of the late afternoon sun. In the center of the space was an elegant dining table, positioned beneath towering palms wrapped in white twinkle lights. The table itself glowed as well, no doubt due to the LED lights embedded beneath its surface. Red and gold roses floated on a miniature reflecting pool extending the length of the table. Nearby, waiters in tuxedoes stood at the ready with trays of filled champagne flutes. Sixty stories below, the city’s iconic Strip blazed to life as night approached, lights flickering and traffic bustling.
“Oh, my.”
Tess’s cute little blurt was the perfect slogan for what they all felt—but it also betrayed how the movie-perfect setup was an equal surprise to her. Her reaction worked a similar transformation over Dan. His growly-scary side was insta
ntly conquered by a boyish expression. “Do you like it?”
Tess didn’t utter a word. But her teary gaze spoke a thousand on her behalf. When she finished it off by raising on tiptoes to give him a soft kiss, her “yes” was understood by everyone.
But just as the women sighed and the men groaned, a stranger stepped into their midst, prompting new silence. Tall and rugged but beautiful enough to grace an haute couture runway, the man wore a charcoal, three-piece bespoke suit, accented by a luxurious silver tie. His thick, dark hair and beard were elegantly coifed, perfect foils for piercing blue eyes that took in every detail of the room.
Was this the enigmatic Mr. Nyte? Rumor said the hotel’s owner was secretive but all-seeing, like an upscale Santa Claus…who rewarded naughty instead of nice. From the thoroughly sensual way he eyed both Viv and Mattie, the theory was proved truer.
“Good evening to you all.” His greeting was silken and smooth, accented as if he were raised in Buckingham Palace itself. “Welcome to the Nyte. I’m Laird Beckett, the resort’s general manager. Just stopping in to ensure your service and facilities are exceeding expectations.”
So the elusive Mr. Nyte still remained a mystery. Jen wanted to be disappointed but couldn’t hide her amusement when Beckett sidled closer to Tess, all urbane charm and British silkiness, only to be glared down by a none-too-subtle Dan. Or not? Mirth glowed in Dan’s eyes, betraying the gruff familiarity of old friendship. “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine, fancy pants. Now get your charming paws off my subm—my fiancé.”
Beckett chuckled, along with most of the men, at Dan’s little slip. “As you wish, monsieur wanker.”
Tess tossed an eye roll toward Jen’s. It wasn’t like everyone couldn’t figure things out from there, or that the word “submissive” was such a stigma, at least in this crowd. Not that Jen herself had ever tried that stuff before…
Though she’d certainly dreamed about it.
And maybe, on a few occasions, let Mr. Bliss Bullet help a little with those dreams. To be tied down. Spread wide. Utterly vulnerable to a man’s every desire and pleasure…
Fantasies for a different time. A much different place. And yes, a reality very likely never to happen. A Dominant who probably didn’t exist. A man who’d earn her submission with the strength of his character as well as his sensuality…who’d know that the power she gave was his to borrow, not to keep…and had some damn good ideas about what to do with that loan, too…
A man who wasn’t real.
But before nine months ago, she didn’t think a man like Sam could be real, either.
If he was a Dom, too…
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
But like a child being ordered not to look at the sun…
She looked.
To find him looking back. Intensely. Oh, God. His dark ginger lashes didn’t falter. Determination was practically carved into his cheeks and jaw. In an instant, Jen got the impression that he, too, was considering her name and submissive in the same sentence—and savoring the speculation. A lot.
Ohhhh, God.
Her stomach twisted. Her heartbeat thudded at the base of her throat. And she didn’t even want to think about what was happening between her thighs. Liar. You want to think about nothing else.
Thankfully, everyone started drifting toward the terrace. There was no better chance to excuse herself. After a break for fresh makeup—and self-composure—in the ladies room, she could re-center her balance in these shoes—and pray the same happened with her thoughts about Sam Mackenna.
At least she could do all that in comfort. The stalls in the Nyte’s ladies room were bigger than most New York City lofts, each outfitted with a commode in a separate compartment, accessed through a little sitting room with a vanity and stool. The vanity was stocked with everything from cotton balls and makeup fix-its to sewing kits and—yes—an impressive selection of condoms. She nodded in approval after sitting down and pulling out her makeup tote. Elusive or not, Mr. Nyte scored extra points for advocating safe sex.
She almost took back the approval when one of the shiny packets caught her attention. She held it up, reading the label just to be sure. “Spikes? What the hell?”
She was about to tear open the package—for research purposes only, of course—but was startled when raucous giggles shattered the stillness of the bathroom. The condom dropped from her fingers and into her tote. She didn’t fish it out, frozen in place by pure instinct. An impulse that told her the laughter wasn’t friendly fire.
Sometimes, she really hated her intuition’s accuracy.
“Honestly, if you aren’t laughing at her, you’re crying for her.” The words, battered in bitch then deep-fried in snide, were capped by a sniff that was all Mattie.
“Speak for yourself.” Viv’s comeback was accompanied by brisk clacks across the marble. She stepped into the next stall over. Jen held her breath—not helpful for the flush crawling up her face—as the woman peed with a vigor matching her tone. “I refuse to waste the tears. I mean, that shit was semi-forgivable when we were kids. Who does she think she’s fooling with it anymore?”
“Right?” Out front, Mattie shifted. There was the pop of a blush compact. The snap of a lipstick tube. “She has to know how to walk a straight line in heels by this point. Isn’t that just a basic thing, like learning to shave your legs or brush your teeth?”
“Well, she works at the base. She’s in HR—or whatever they call that in the military. Maybe the work keeps her on her feet a lot, and—”
“Heels aren’t outlawed on military bases, V.” Another feline sniff. More makeup utensils being unsheathed. “I have seen Top Gun. Whose side are you on?”
“Why are there sides?”
Jen dipped a silent yet emphatic nod. Her thought exactly.
“Perhaps because thorny didn’t pull her little face plant until she walked into the salon and saw Sam sitting there—with me?”
Jen was glad jaw drops could be noiseless too.
“Wait. You think she’s making a play for Sam?”
“What else would she be doing?” All the makeup clattered back into the purse at once, perfectly timed so Jen could at least get out a gasp. “Come on. Nobody’s that much of a train wreck just because.”
Viv hummed. “Good point. Wait. You’re not actually worried about this, are you?”
“Bitch, please. The day I sweat a drop about little Jennifer Thorne is the day I buy a cat and look for assisted living. Let’s get real. Even if I wasn’t in the picture this weekend, Captain Mackenna wouldn’t be tapping on that girl’s door—or anything else of hers. The little one is way, way out of her league.”
“True…”
But the catch in Viv’s voice was blatant.
“What?” Mattie charged.
“It’s just…we said the same thing about Tess and Dan.”
“Which supports my theory further.”
“Oh?”
“Nature’s not going to allow another lightning strike under their geeky little rock so soon.”
Viv’s laughter echoed through the bathroom, a more than ample mask for the wince sneaking past Jen’s lips—accompanied by the sting behind her eyes.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was wrong with her? She already agreed with everything they said, so why was she letting it scrape out her chest like a rusty razor blade?
“So what’s your plan of attack now?”
Fortunately, Viv asked it as they exited the bathroom. Jen didn’t have to hear Mattie’s response—not that the damage wasn’t already done. Her anger reared first. Sam was not the object of any “plan”. He was better than that, damn it—at least to her. But who was she to assume he’d hate that? He was a man. A lot of man. Men liked that “plan of attack” shit, especially when orchestrated by a blonde with breasts and thighs they could get buried in.
All too fast, that brought on the image of Sam doing exactly that—with Mattie.<
br />
The tears returned.
Hard, heavy, and fast.
She folded her arms atop the vanity, sank her head over them, and let the flood come.
After several minutes of the pity party, she pulled in a messy sniff. Raised her head. Groaned aloud at her raccoon eyes in the mirror, which were fixable to a point thanks to the accessories in her bag, but no longer presentable for an occasion like her friend’s wedding rehearsal dinner. Her cry stains could only be reversed by time. And solitude.
She pulled out her phone then tapped out a fast—and lame—message to Tess, bullshitting that her ankle had twisted worse than she feared, and she would ice it to be ready for tomorrow. Thank God Tess had opted simply for three bridesmaids instead of picking a maid of honor, excusing Jen from any blatant toasting duties at the dinner.
Now all she had to do was get her ass into the elevator and back up to her room.
For a second, she was sorely tempted to just head home instead, but Tess and Dan had insisted on treating everyone in the wedding party to a couple of nights in the hotel, being pampered in the luxury for which the Nyte was known across the world. And yeah, a spread of decadent room service fare sure as hell sounded better than a pint of Häagen-Dazs for dinner—though she was sure the ice cream would make its way into her order. Probably between the long bubble bath of self-pity and the hours of denying her humiliation by getting lost in a good book, instead. She had at least four in progress on her e-reader right now. The two historical romances were out, and so was the tormented firefighter, but the space opera shape-shifter tale felt like a good choice. Nothing like something with a lot of teeth and fur to bring empathy to what she really felt like doing to Mattie Lesange right now—or what she’d really feel like doing in a few hours, when she knew the woman would be slipping a room key into Sam’s back pocket. Oh God, she hoped the hotel hadn’t blocked all their rooms next to each other.
