by HELEN HARDT
Table of Contents
Dedication
Content Warning
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
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more sexy romances… Sin and Ink
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 by Helen Hardt. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
10940 S Parker Rd
Suite 327
Parker, CO 80134
[email protected]
Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Liz Pelletier
Cover design by Bree Archer
Cover photography by elnariz/Deposit Photos
cagkansayin/Getty Images
ISBN 978-1-64937-185-0
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2021
For all the Braden Black fans who clamored for his POV!
Content Warning
Darkly is a super-sexy romance that includes a dominating hero, scenes that depict bondage, kink, and the use of toys, alcoholism and abuse in a character’s back story, and massive amounts of alcohol consumption.
Chapter One
Addison Ames hates coffee.
I don’t think about Addison Ames much anymore, but sometimes the past inevitably collides with the present—like when I check my Instagram, which also doesn’t happen often.
I have no idea how many followers—other than it’s in the millions—I have on my Instagram, which is run by my social media team for the most part. Me? I don’t have time for social media, but the team insists I post every couple of days, and that it has to come from me, to make it personal.
I’m not sure why anyone gives a damn what I’m doing, but apparently Boston’s Blue Collar Billionaire is everyone’s business.
I’m a private person by nature, so posing in front of a camera and a team of photographers isn’t on my to-do list, either, but I complied, resulting in a spread in GQ magazine that I’d prefer to forget. Apparently it matters what I look like in skivvies.
Apparently it matters to a lot of people.
And so does social media.
So no matter how much I hate it, I post on Instagram once a week. My phone is set up to remind me, so when it buzzes this morning with the dreaded admonition, I pull up my account.
And I see Addison Ames’s fake smile as she holds up a cup of some hipster drink from a new place called Bean There Done That.
Hanging out at the new Bean There Done That coffee shop in downtown Boston. The cinnamon mocha latte is to die for! @beantheredonethat #sponsored #coffeeisdope #coffeeaddict #coffee #latte #beantheredonethat
Coffee is dope? Really?
She reviles the stuff. I should know. We have a…history.
That history I try not to dwell on.
Normally I ignore her, but for some reason, the post triggers me. Maybe it’s because I just got off a heated phone call with a supplier overseas. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex since Aretha and I parted ways. Maybe it’s because I haven’t visited my club in New York for a while.
Or maybe I’m just sick and tired of all the fakeness in the world, and I detest my part in it.
Addie already has hundreds of comments and thousands of likes for a post that only went live fifteen minutes ago.
You rock, Addison! #luvyourface
Love me some cinnamon mocha latte! Love your lip gloss. What’s the brand?
Bean There is the greatest! #whoneedsstarbucks You and I both love cinnamon mocha lattes!
Love you, @realaddisonames!
More and more of the same.
Before I even realize it consciously, I’m typing a comment. I push Send.
Nice try, @realaddisonames. Coffee makes you puke. I should know. #youreafake
I instantly regret it, because snideness isn’t my style. The past is the past, and to be honest, part of me admires Addison Ames. She’s making a cushy living as an Instagram influencer with millions of followers. She’s a hotel heiress, but she’s not living off Daddy’s money. Or maybe she is, but she’s at least contributing to her own expenses.
Yeah, I should delete the comment. I swipe my finger over it, and the red trash can appears. I hover then, my thoughts hurling back through time…
I don’t delete it.
I’ll never forget her part in what ultimately happened all those years ago, so all admiration aside, I can’t let her off the hook. Not this time. I just won’t lower myself to her level again.
Not ever.
I shove my phone into my pocket without posting on my own account and gather some documents for my scheduled meeting with Legal. The earlier phone call with the supplier has put a kink in one of our larger contracts, and I’m not looking forward to informing my attorneys.
I whisk by my assistant, Claire. “No disturbances during this meeting,” I tell her. “Please let Reception know.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Black.”
I walk briskly to Conference Room Two.
My brother, Ben, and three of our lawyers are seated.
Already, the headache is clawing its way across my skull.
…
A grueling two hours later, I head back to my office.
“Any calls?” I ask Claire.
She hands me a few message slips. I’m kind of old school. I like written messages. Voicemail is fine for personal use, but for work, I want a pa
per trail. Nothing gets lost in the shuffle—or erased—on my watch. I learned that lesson the hard way long ago.
I leaf through the messages.
“There was one problem, though,” Claire says.
I raise my eyebrows and meet her gaze. “What’s that?”
“Cindy down at Reception got a call from Addison Ames.”
I frown. I guess I should have seen that coming. Why didn’t she just delete my comment and move on? “What happened?”
“Apparently she demanded to leave you a voice message. Cindy was a little shaken.”
Shaken? Anyone working for me can’t be easily shaken. I make sure of it. Which means Addie was being extra bitchy.
“I’ll take care of it,” I say. “Thanks, Claire.”
I close the door to my office, sit down at my desk, and call down to Reception.
“Yes, Mr. Black,” a receptionist answers, slightly out of breath.
“Cindy?”
“Yes, this is Cindy. What can I do for you, Mr. Black?”
“I understand you intercepted a call from Addison Ames.”
“I did. She demanded to speak to you. I explained you were in a meeting, but—”
“It’s okay, Cindy. I know how she can be. I assume the call was recorded.”
“Of course. All our calls are.”
“Find me the relevant call. I want to hear it.”
“I assure you I was very professional,” Cindy says, her voice cracking slightly.
“I’m sure you were. Don’t worry about this. You’re not at fault, Cindy. Just get me the recording.”
“Right away.”
A few minutes later, the recording lands in my inbox.
“Black, Inc.”
“Good afternoon. This is Skye Manning from Addison Ames’s office. I’m calling for Braden Black.”
I can’t help noticing that Skye Manning has a seductively hypnotic voice.
“Mr. Black is in a meeting. I’ll have to take a message.”
“Addison Ames. The number is—”
“Tell them to connect you to his voicemail.”
Addie’s voice, as clear as if she were on the phone instead of her secretary or assistant.
A throat clears. “Actually, I’d like to leave a voicemail, please.” The hypnotic voice once more.
“Mr. Black prefers a paper message.”
“He prefers a paper message,” the assistant says.
“Oh, for God’s sake. Give me the phone.” Then, louder, “This is Addison Ames. Braden and I go way back. Connect me to his voicemail at once.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t do that.”
“That’s ridiculous. Give me his voicemail, or I’ll have your job.”
“I’ve been told he’s in a very important meeting and can’t be disturbed. He doesn’t give Reception access to his voicemail. As I told the other woman, Mr. Black prefers paper messages.”
Addison huffs. “Fine. Tell him to call Addison Ames right away.”
The call goes dead.
I rise.
I just got my ass handed to me on a platter by my attorneys, and now I find out Addison Ames has abused my receptionist.
She picked the wrong day to fuck with me.
Chapter Two
I walk into the reception area of Addison’s office. “Good evening.” I glance toward the reception desk.
Addison’s assistant, I presume—the one with the hypnotic edge to her voice—gulps, stands, walks out from behind her desk…and unceremoniously drops her purse. Its contents spill over the marble floor.
She parts her lips, and a pulse arrows straight to my groin.
She has the sexiest mouth I’ve ever seen—full red lips that glisten slightly, and the way they’re parted… I could slide my tongue right between them.
I want to slide my tongue right between them.
I look down.
Front and center among the contents spilled is…a condom.
Her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry. I was just leaving for the day.” She kneels and begins to gather the items.
I kneel down across from her. “Let me help.”
She meets my gaze. “That’s kind of you, but I’ve got it.” She grabs the condom along with what appears to be a tube of lipstick or something and shoves them back into her purse. Then she gathers the rest and rises.
I stand as well. I’m nearly a foot taller than she is, but she’s hardly small. Not a shrinking violet, this one. Her embarrassment over the condom is warranted, I suppose, but is she embarrassed? I’m not sure. I can’t quite read her, and as a businessman, I’ve learned to read people pretty much on sight.
But not her. Not the woman with the luscious lips and hypnotic voice. She wears a white silk blouse, skinny jeans, and black pumps. I got a great view of her cleavage when she bent down. Very nice.
What was her name again? She said it on the message, but it escapes me at the moment.
She forces out a laugh. “That was embarrassing. Would you believe I meant to do that so you’d know I’m not hiding a knife in my purse?”
“Do you really think whether you’re hiding a knife—or anything else dangerous—would be my first thought when looking at you?”
Definitely not. My first thought was those lips—those lips I’m dying to kiss.
Most likely I’m just horny. It’s been a while. Too long—too long since I’ve participated in any kind of sexual encounter at my club or anywhere else.
For a moment, I imagine this woman—her gorgeous lips parted in that sexy way and her chestnut-brown hair unbound and falling over what I’m sure must be creamy shoulders—bound to my bed naked, her body ready for whatever I want.
And whatever she wants—or rather, what she doesn’t yet know she wants.
“What woman doesn’t want to appear a little dangerous?” she says.
I look into her warm brown eyes, which seem at odds with her squared shoulders and crossed arms. “You don’t seem dangerous so much as someone who likes to be in charge.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
My lips quiver. Just a touch, but I feel it all through my body. She amuses me, but even more, she turns me on.
“I guess it depends on whether you’re horizontal,” I reply.
She blushes along her cheeks and neck. Damn. It’s like she lit a match inside me. Still, I’ve embarrassed her. Should I apologize?
No way. I’m not even slightly sorry.
She draws in a deep breath and clears her throat. “What can I help you with?”
“I’m Braden Black. I’m here to see Addison.”
“She’s in her office. Did you have an appointment?”
“No. She’s an old friend.”
“Of course. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“No need.” After what Addison pulled on my receptionist today, I’m not feeling the least bit accommodating. I cock my head toward the closed door. “She in there?”
The assistant nods. “Yeah.”
I walk toward Addison’s private office, discreetly adjusting my burgeoning erection.
“You can’t,” she says.
“Sure I can. Watch me.” I approach the closed door.
Before I knock, however, the door opens.
“Skye, can you—” Addison’s lips curve downward into an angry frown. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Addison Ames was always a spitfire, always determined to get what she wants, no matter the cost. A spoiled brat, this one. But she won’t get away with treating my employees badly. I’m sure she feels I deserve her wrath, but my people decidedly do not. My past with Addie no longer angers me, but the present? She won’t get away with bullying anyone around me.
“Thought I’d come over to tell you if you ever bully my r
eceptionist again, I’ll make sure every one of your followers knows the truth about you.”
“Truth about me? Are you kidding? I’m not the one with something to hide, Braden.”
“You have a lot more to hide than a hatred of coffee,” I say.
“And what about you? You want your business associates to know—”
“Enough!”
My voice booms through the office as rage swirls through me like a tornado. She wants to threaten me? Bring it on. She’ll go down in the dust.
Fortunately, my command seems to stop her.
I can’t help looking over my shoulder at her assistant, who’s stopped what she’s doing as well.
Addison says simply, “Stay off my Instagram.”
“I’m not sure you should be telling me what to do,” I say, forcing my voice to stay calm, “but I’ll play it your way for now.”
“Good.” Addison stomps back into her office and slams the door.
I stand still for a moment and stare at her closed door, running my fingers through my hair. Then I turn and face her assistant. Her brown eyes are the color of my favorite bourbon, Wild Turkey, and right now, they’re wide with surprise.
“She hasn’t changed,” I say.
“You mean she’s slammed a door in your face before?”
I keep myself from smiling. She’s…something. Challenging, in her way. “Many people have.”
She smiles, her whole face lighting up like something out of a song. “I suppose it’s better than someone being nice to your face and then stabbing you in the back.”
“I get my share of that, too,” I say. “And I agree. It’s always better to know where you stand.”
I stare at her then. Really stare, taking in everything about her. Those lips, those bourbon eyes. The embarrassed blush on her cheeks and neck.
Her rack.
Yeah, the woman has an amazing rack. Even bound up in the work clothes she wears, it’s impossible to miss.
She looks down for a few seconds and then looks back up and meets my gaze. “I guess you know where you stand with Addie,” she says.
“Pretty much everyone does.”
I allow my lips to bend ever so slightly upward. I suppress a shiver.
“I couldn’t help myself,” I say. “She hates coffee.”
She smiles. “I know. She threw out the latte after the shoot. Perfectly good and hot. I’d have happily drunk it.”
