Strictly Pleasure: Hooded Pleasures, Book 2

by Sheryl Nantus

  They’d strolled into the crowd and disappeared down a side hall before he could say anything, think of anything other than what they were about to do.

  Not her.

  You don’t deserve her.

  He had no idea who the guy was. Interrogating the bartender confirmed the man was a member in good standing and well-known in the local community for being tough but fair with his submissives.

  Oliver didn’t care.

  All Oliver knew was he hated him.

  Hated him for taking Deborah away, hated him for giving her the bright light in her eyes, the blush of excitement as she followed him down the hall and away from public view.

  In the end, he’d stayed until her return, hand in hand with her new Dom. He’d seen the happiness, the chemistry between the two of them, and was both proud of himself and annoyed beyond belief at his reaction, at his emotional investment.

  He’d paid his tab and left the club, never to return.

  Oliver gave himself a shake, pulling himself out of the memory.

  Wendy was right—he’d stayed far away from the women ever since, keeping himself aloof while meeting his own internal needs.

  But even a marathon runner can trip over an unseen stone.

  Oliver reached for the television remote and sighed.

  Love ’em and leave ’em.

  Whoever started that saying never dealt with Hooded Pleasures or their clients.

  * * * * *

  Veronica woke to the smell of hot fresh pizza—heavy on the spicy meats.

  She looked at her clock. It’d only been an hour since she’d lain down, but her headache had subsided to a dull shadow of itself.

  She could hear the television playing, set on some action adventure film judging from the loud explosions. It wasn’t far past noon, and she was a bit disoriented.

  No surprise there.

  Your world gets flipped upside down, and you end up at home with your Dom-for-hire.

  That’ll do it.

  A quick duck into the bathroom, and she made her way down the hall to the kitchenette and the living room.

  She paused in the doorway to study the man who had flipped her world head over heels.

  He sat on the couch, busy pouring out red wine into two glasses. His tie was gone and his light-blue dress shirt unbuttoned, giving her a flash of his furred chest. He’d undone the buttons on the cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. A glance into the kitchen showed the drying dishes, the simple task drawing him out of the world she’d become accustomed to seeing him in.

  He looked—

  Comfortable. Relaxed. Domestic. As if he came over and did this all the time for her, making sure she was taken care of.

  She paused, trying to reconcile this image with the man who was rich enough to have a cook, a housekeeper and a private car on call. A Dom-for-hire for Hooded Pleasures. A bad-ass bookstore owner who brooked no disobedience from his employees.

  All wrapped up in one handsome package.

  There was a softness in his face, a gentleness she knew only one other woman had truly enjoyed and appreciated.

  Now she was gone, and he was trying to go on as best he could. Including teaching Veronica what it meant to be a submissive, even if it ripped open old wounds.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she realized she liked this man.

  Maybe too much.

  Veronica advanced into the living room.

  Oliver turned and smiled. “I was about to come and see if you felt like eating. Pizza’s still plenty hot.” He lifted two wine glasses. “I ordered some red wine to go with it. Figured we were done with the tea.”

  “That we are.” She moved to sit down beside him on the couch. “I see you found the plates and glasses.”

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t poke around too much.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, bringing a giggle out. “I know you women have your deep dark secrets. Like mismatched silverware.”

  “You got me. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”

  “In you? Never.”

  The gentle words startled her.

  At a loss for words, Veronica took the glass and sipped. It was a fine dry wine, and she had to hold back from emptying the glass in two gulps. Her mouth watered as she took in the sight of the overloaded pizza slices.

  “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I put a bit of everything on. Except pineapple, onions and hot peppers.” He made a pained expression. “There’s only so far I can push my breath before I start killing off people.”

  Oliver slid a slice onto one of the plates and handed it to her along with a white paper napkin. “You’ve got to be hungry. Eat slowly, though—take it easy for the first little bit. I know you’re probably starving, but you don’t want to shock your system.”

  It was hard to hold back given the smell and taste of the pizza but Veronica managed not to embarrass herself by stuffing her mouth like a hamster.

  They ate in silence for the first few minutes until she’d manage to sate the worst of her hunger.

  “I’m sorry about bringing you into all this.” She swooshed the wine around in her glass before taking another sip. “My business is my problem, not yours.”

  He shrugged, fighting with a long string of mozzarella cheese that refused to give up. “I don’t blame you for being upset. I’d be pissed as hell.” He twirled the strand around his finger before popping it into his mouth. “But I’d be wrong not to advise you to let it go. SuperSmartMart has enough money and lawyers to get what they want, and if the other stores on the block are willing to sell out—” He raised his hands. “You might have a chance if you could get all the businesses to stand together, but that’s a bit of a pipe dream. That sort of scenario only works out in the movies.”

  Veronica nodded. “I know. I think I could handle it if it were some other nameless conglomerate, some other big nasty mega company searching for a land grab. But it’s my father and—” She gave a disgruntled sigh. “I wish my father wasn’t such an asshole.” She pressed her lips into a straight line. “I guess that makes me a bad daughter.”

  “No.” Oliver reached out and patted her arm. “Just makes you human.”

  She finished off her slice and one more, keeping pace with Oliver.

  They ate in silence, and she found it a comfortable silence, not feeling like she had to fill each minute with some sort of talk.

  It took the rest of the glass of wine to give her the courage to speak up, to say what she’d been thinking since she woke up.

  “I might not make it to your place this weekend.”

  She couldn’t figure out what to call their meetings. Sessions sounded a bit dry and—

  His annoyed stare brought her out of her introspection.

  Oliver gathered the dishes, ending their meal. “Why?”

  “Because with all this—” She gestured around the apartment. “All this drama going on, I don’t know if I can handle it. I’ve got to liquidate my business and fire people I’ve worked with for a long time and—”

  She fell silent, waiting for his response.

  Oliver said nothing as he put the dishes in the sink and carefully placed the wine glasses on the counter. The half-empty wine bottle went into the refrigerator and the unused paper napkins were replaced in the small holder.

  “Oliver?” Veronica raised her voice. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yes.” He wiped his hands on a paper towel and threw it in the garbage. “It’s your call. I can’t make you come to my house. However—” She felt the weight of his stare, freezing her in place. “I can tell you from personal experience this is the exact time when you need a Dom the most. When you’re under this much stress, you need an outlet, a safe place where you can fall and let yourself go. You can have that with me.” He walked back to where she sat on the couch. “And if you don�
��t show, it’ll close the door on you ever returning to the club as a sub or a Domme. I’ll tell Wendy, and she’ll notify Matthew you’ve broken our agreement.” He tilted his head to one side and showed his hands. “Your call.”

  He moved past her to the coatrack and slipped on his trench coat. “I’ve got to go. We’ve both got work to do.”

  She got quickly to her feet. “Thank you for all your help.” Veronica escorted him to the door. “I appreciate it.”

  Oliver smiled. “No problem. Please think about what I’ve said.” He reached out and stroked her cheek. “I’ll expect you at two o’clock on Saturday.” He paused and for a blazing second, she thought he was going to kiss her.

  The second passed.

  “I’ll see you Saturday,” he repeated and left.

  Veronica waited until she heard the second door close, signaling he’d gone out onto the street before shutting her own door.

  What’s going on here?

  He brings me home, cares for me and makes dinner—or at least calls for delivery. All of which I’m very sure doesn’t fall under the umbrella of what Hooded Pleasures is supposed to be providing for their clients.

  She pushed the question to the back of her mind as she headed back to the living room.

  I don’t have time to think about this, not right now. I have a business to save. Or at least to give a decent burial to.

  * * * * *

  Oliver ignored the curious look Mr. Anderson was giving him from behind the curtains and strolled to the end of the street as he waited for his driver.

  You can’t let her miss a session. Right now, her world is crashing down around her.

  She needs a safe place to fall, and you’re the one to give it to her.

  He studied the rose bushes in one small yard. The buds were right on the edge of opening. The thorns were plentiful and outnumbered the flowers. The dark green nubs drew his eye away from the red blossoms.

  It’s her call.

  He huffed, annoyed with himself.

  You spent all this time telling her the submissive has some power within the relationship.

  Time to put your money where your mouth is.

  The car pulled up, and he got in.

  “Home.” Oliver lay back on the padded seats and wondered why he hadn’t had the nerve to break away from the family business and go out on his own.

  The answer was simple.

  Tradition.

  It’ll drag you down under the waters or lift you up to heaven, depending on which route you take.

  * * * * *

  For Veronica, the next few days went by in a whirlwind of lawyers and bank meetings, all of which proved to be annoying beyond belief.

  “We can’t fight this.” Her lawyer echoed Oliver’s words. “SuperSmartMart will tie this up for years, and you’ll end up losing and bankrupt. Take the payout money from them breaking your lease and consider doing something else, going somewhere else.”

  The bank manager hadn’t been much more helpful. If she played her cards right, between selling all the equipment and paying off her debts, she’d keep her credit record clean and even have a bit of a nest egg put aside.

  By Wednesday, she was exhausted between meetings and trying not to show her staff there was anything wrong.

  Java Jive was busier than ever, the regulars settling into the new atmosphere and new customers showing up each day. Her staff was happy, and the money was rolling in.

  She couldn’t bring herself to break it to them until there was no other possible alternative open to them.

  The next three days were spent exploring other options, all of which came to naught.

  By Saturday she was frustrated almost to the point of physical violence. Friday night, her father had left a message on her answering machine noting construction on the new store would start in three weeks—the demolition of all buildings on the city block being the first priority.

  He’d called her apartment when she was at work, avoiding any possible confrontation.

  Veronica had listened to the message, downed the last of the red wine and weighed the options she had to offer her staff.

  She couldn’t put this off any longer.

  Saturday had to be the day.

  * * * * *

  “Holy—” Dan took a deep breath. “I can’t believe this is happening.” He put his head in his hands. “This is crazy.”

  “Tell me about it.” Veronica shook her head. She’d invited Dan back to her office to start the process of informing the staff. “I’ve arranged for you to get six months’ pay and three weeks for all the full-time employees, two weeks for the part-timers.”

  It’d strain her pocketbook to the edge of breaking, but she’d be damned if she was going to send her staff off into the world of unemployment without some help.

  Dan let out a whistle. “But we’ve been doing so well.” He glanced toward the door. “The pastries were selling like hotcakes.”

  Veronica smiled in spite of the situation. “Especially when they’re not hotcakes.” She shuffled the papers on her desk. “I’d like you to send each one back here when they arrive.” A sideways glance at the clock confirmed it was early in the morning, barely past eight. “I want to tell each one personally. Call in the ones who aren’t working today and see if they can make it. Those I don’t see today, I want to see as soon as possible.”

  “Let me take some of this off your shoulders,” Dan said. “I can take the part-timers. Most of them are new and expected this to happen—it’s a common thing. You don’t need to take this all on.”

  “It’s my fault.” Veronica picked up a pen and spun it between her fingers.

  “No. It’s SuperSmartMart’s fault,” Dan corrected her. “There’s plenty of blame to go around. The zoning commissions, the politicians—don’t get me started. We got caught up in a storm not of our own making.”

  She hadn’t told him about her father.

  There was no point.

  “About SuperSmartMart,” she started. “I can try to see if they’ll take on—” She stopped at Dan’s shake of his head.

  “I came to work for you because I wanted to be a part of something different, something smaller and more interesting than a generic coffee shop with everything stamped and processed out of a template.” He smiled. “I’ll be fine. It’s a part of life, just not the best part. We’ll be fine.”

  “I’m sure.” The words stuck in her throat. “But I’ll be here all day regardless. Please send each one in, one at a time, so I can explain the situation. I don’t want anyone getting misinformation or feeling they’re not getting the full story.”

  Dan nodded. “As you wish.” He walked to the doorway and looked back. “It’s not your fault. I know you think that it is, but this was beyond your control. Don’t let this eat you up. We’ll all survive.”

  “Thanks.” Veronica opened up her laptop. “For the record, we’ll stay open as long as we can. Anyone who wants to leave early for a new job can go with the severance pay, but I’d like to keep running to the very end.”

  “How long?”

  “According to what I’ve been told, two weeks. Then the fences go up, and we’re done.”

  Dan jabbed a thumb toward the front of the store. “Are we putting up a notice?”

  Damn. Hadn’t even thought about that.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think it’s a good idea. Let everyone know it’s not an accident, it’s not temporary, no one rushing up to the door and finding them closed and locked,” Dan answered. “But I’d wait a week before announcing it—we want to keep business as long as we can.”

  “Good idea. Can I leave that with you?”

  “Of course.” He looked down the hall. “Jane’s here.”

  Veronica sighed. “Please send her down.”<
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  Chapter Fifteen

  Oliver stared at the wall clock. He sat on the love seat with a copy of Dante’s Inferno he had been trying to read and failing miserably because of his constant glancing over at the timepiece.

  Three and a half hours late if she walked in the door right now.

  And that was unlikely to happen.

  Unacceptable.

  He scratched his bare chest.

  She’s broken the deal. It’s all on her now, and you’re absolved of all and any responsibility for her.

  Oliver put the book back on the shelf beside the other two volumes.

  Right next to Purgatory and Paradise, he mused. Right where we deserve to be.

  He knew the rules.

  Problem was that he didn’t care much for them anymore.

  * * * * *

  The café was almost as busy as it’d been the week before when his car came to the curb.

  “Wait for me. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” he informed the driver.

  The chauffeur nodded.

  Oliver got out, adjusting his trench coat. He’d given in to propriety and donned a white dress shirt but hadn’t changed out of his leather pants, slipping on a matching pair of boots to travel.

  The crowd parted in front of him as he moved inside.

  He spotted the manager long before he was recognized, the harried man talking rapidly to another employee over by the coffee grinder.

  Oliver didn’t hesitate. He strode past the counter and went into the hallway where he guessed the offices would be.

  “Excuse me. You can’t—” The man’s voice echoed behind him as Oliver found who he was looking for.

  Veronica sat behind her desk, head in her hands. The stack of damp tissue piled haphazardly to one side showed what she’d been doing instead of coming to his house.

  Unacceptable.

  Footsteps sounded behind him as he walked toward her.

  She lifted her head and saw him.