Frisky Business
By Michele Bardsley
National Bestselling Author
Copyright 2014 by Michele Bardsley
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the copyright holder.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
Cover Art by Renée George
“MR. DEVERAUX, I’M not wearing that.” Claire Williams handed her boss the rejected clothing and picked up her planner. She wasn’t sure what bothered her more: that she wanted to wear the provocative clothing or that her gorgeous not-quite-former employer had asked her to put it on. Pushing away such useless thoughts, Claire flipped open the planner to the current day, took out her ballpoint pen, and said, “You have an appointment with—”
“Claire.”
Did he have to say her name like that? Her boss had the most sexy voice—it was as silky-smooth as a late-night DJ’s. Luscious Lucius, which was what other female employees called the annoying, arrogant, and handsome publisher of Bad Boy Magazine, crooked a finger at her. She obediently stepped into his personal space. He draped the tiny black leather skirt over her shoulder.
“There is a dress code,” he said. “You must wear appropriate attire.”
She opened her mouth and he pressed a finger against her lips, his brown eyes sparkling with their usual mischief. Such an intimate gesture caused tingles in her belly. In fact, she had suffered the same kind of idiotic attraction to ol’ Luscious as every other woman who came within three feet of him.
However, she had vehemently resisted being drawn in by his charm and good looks. Hah. Fat lot of good it had done to resist. Trying to stay out of Lucius’s Lust Zone would be like the Earth trying to stop orbiting around the sun.
That’s why she’d quit.
Until Lucius had drawn her back into a job that she’d vacated officially three days ago.
With a sigh, she plucked the skirt from her shoulder and tossed it onto the couch. It landed right next to the corset, which she had also rejected.
“You are my executive assistant,” Lucius said, “which means you must assist me wherever I go.”
Claire pressed her lips together so that she wouldn’t point out she had stopped being his executive assistant on Friday. But then he’d begged and bribed her to stay through this last Bad Boy project. So, her services had been purchased for the weekend because he was footing the bill to a tropical paradise. He promised she would have more vacation than work.
He had failed to disclose the nature of the resort.
This kind of wild behavior is why she’d given her notice. She could no longer cope with the insanity of Lucius and Bad Boy. Well, that’s the lie she told herself. Truthfully, she could no longer cope with her unprofessional emotions. She didn’t want to be another name on Lucius’s long list of heartbroken women.
She knew better than to be attracted to her boss. He appeared easy-going, but he had iron will and iron control. Underneath his devil-may-care attitude hid a man who was dangerously sensual. Once, Claire had loved a man who’d promised her the same kind of wicked thrills.
But his idea of wicked and thrill had not matched hers. He hurt her—and destroyed what sexual confidence she had harbored.
She was very good at her job. But after two years of denying her feelings for Lucius and her needs as a woman, she’d had to let go. Her severance package was generous enough that she could take a couple of months to reroute her career. She wanted to work somewhere less stressful—such as for the Pentagon or for Anna Wintour.
“Claire?” he asked. “What are you thinking about?”
“About booking the next flight out of here.” She sighed. “Call or text me. I’ll handle any request from the hotel room.”
Lucius lifted one eyebrow—his trademark look of amused incredulity. “They’re closing one of the dungeons for two hours so we can do the photo shoot. It will be just you, me, the models, and the Bad Boy crew. You won’t have to watch anyone get flogged … er, for real, okay?”
Oh, crap. That’s exactly what Claire didn’t want to see. As it was, she seen plenty already. In the hotel lobby, she saw a group of ladies, who must’ve been in their sixties, in purple panties and nothing else taking pictures under a sign that read, “Purple Panty Society.” Fleeing the sight, she’d hurried into the elevator only to find herself in a stranger situation. A tall man dressed in a custom-tailored Armani suit held chains in one fist. The chains led to the black studded collars of two women, who wore only black leather thongs and very high heels. They kneeled at his feet, heads bowed.
Unable to hold Lucius’s gaze, Claire looked around at the opulent surroundings. The décor at Bondage Bay Resort seem to be all about texture—leather ties on the velvet curtains, fluffy tassels on the silk pillows, dangling chains on the glass tables. The favored shade was black with a splashes of primary colors.
She had been given a luxurious, two-bedroom suite. Well, it had a third room, a private dungeon, which she had avoided. Heaven knew what was in that room. Otherwise, the suite was gorgeous and sumptuous. The balcony, accessed from the living room, overlooked the beach. While the sounds of the ocean were soothing, the view was anything but … actually, it was a lot of butts. The beach was “clothing optional.”
Nobody appeared to take the option.
“Claire, wear the clothes. I agreed to the owner’s terms when he allowed us do the shoot.” He looked her over and grinned. “Of course, you could always go naked.”
“Lucius.” She swallowed the knot of pride clogging her throat. She always addressed him as Mr. Devereaux, not only because it was professional, but also because it annoyed the hell out of him. Everyone else called him Lucius without regard to his position or to his millions, which was exactly what he wanted. And Lucius Devereaux always got what he wanted. Feeling decidedly unnerved, she sank into the nearest chair and breathed deeply.
“Are you all right?” He grabbed the champagne bottle resting in a silver bucket on the coffee table. After he poured her a glass, he took the planner from her fierce grip and pressed the flute into her trembling hands. “You look ill. I hope that bastard Macintosh didn’t give you his cold.”
Macintosh was Bad Boy’s number one photographer. He was the king of vices and loved his liquor, his women, and his cigars. He’d had a bout of sniffles this morning, but Claire knew Mac had done foliage shots and his plant allergies had kicked up. Despite his reaction to pollen, the man had never had a real sick day in his life.
Lucius crouched at her feet, one hand resting on her knee. He watched her, a smile playing about his sensual full mouth. He was giving her an out—at least for a day or two. She could be a coward and play sick … or she could suck it up and do her damned job.
“I’ll go to the dungeon,” she said.
“That’s my girl.” Lucius’s eyes flashed approval. His sexy smile knocked her on her ass. No wonder women fell at his feet and begged for his favors. You are pathetic, Claire. Lucius would never settle down. Why would he pick one woman to love forever when he could have as many women as he wanted, and didn’t have to love at all?
“You don’t trust easily, do you?” he asked softly.
“It’s much simpler than that, Mr. Devereaux. I don’t trust at all.”
“Why not?”
“What are you, my therapist?” she snapped. She drew in a shocked breath. Damn it. Why did the man keep pushing her? He seemed to delight in making her lose her temper. “Forgive me. I—I shouldn’t have … that was rude. I don’t wish to discuss my life outside of our working relationship.”
“That’s a shame.” Before she could respond, he stood up, his expression all business. “Shoot begins in an hour. I’ll meet you there.”
THE ISLE OF Dark Delights caters to our guests who enjoy the high art of sexual titillation.
The main hotel sits in the center of Bondage Bay, just steps away from our clothing-optional beach. You will find everything you need at our unique hotel, including gourmet restaurants, unique shops, high-dollar gaming, and state-of-the-art dance clubs.
Many of Bondage Bay Hotel’s suites include private play rooms. For an extra fee, we will create a personal space based on your needs and desires. We offer a delightful array of sexual aids as well as your choice of BDSM furniture—from spanking benches to leather slings.
Our public dungeons are open 24/7 and are run by Doms and Dommes who are not only skilled in the arts of sexual torture, but are also trained security agents. Our guests are our number one concern—you are always safe on our property.
We have many fun activities, but among our most popular events is the nightly slave auction hosted by the luscious Domme, Lady Pink. All proceeds from the sales go to charitable causes. All the fun goes to you, either as the owner … or the slave.
Claire put down the brochure and picked up a glass of champagne. Reading about the resort had done little to inform her or to calm her nerves. Usually researching any topic in-depth gave her the confidence she needed to dive into a project.
Unfortunately, that had not been the case with Bondage Bay or the Dark Delights resort. Her emotions ran the gamut between feeling horrified and excited. Mostly excited. And that was the most confusing part of the whole awful experience.
“Enough, you chicken,” she muttered. “You can do this.” She looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Her brown hair, glowing with her recent indulgence of highlights, curled around her shoulders. She wasn’t one for lolling about in the sun, so she was pale, but her skin still had a healthy glow. She’d indulged in sparkly shadow to highlight her blue eyes and traded her usual coat of Chap Stick for red lipstick.
She put her hands on her hips and studied her reflection. The hip-hugging mini skirt and sexy calf boots were solid black; the black-and-teal striped corset paid serious homage to her 34 C breasts. I didn’t realize I had that much cleavage.
Well, at least now she looked like someone who belonged at the Bondage Bay Resort. If all of Bad Boy’s employees were dressing the part, then she could do no less. Of course, she wondered how many of them were playing the part as well.
CLAIRE ARRIVED IN the hotel lobby with twenty minutes to spare. When she spotted the little gift shop, she dropped in to grab a bottle of water and a tin of Altoids. Several shelves sported items travelers needed: toothbrushes and nail files, Pepto-Bismol and Imodium, potato chips and peanuts, as well as to-be-expected souvenirs.
On the way to cash register to pay for her water and mints, she paused at a display of key chains: tiny floggers, handcuffs, red hearts, and … oh, lovely … male genitalia. C’mon! Who puts a teeny dick on their keychain? Next to the display was a row of black coffee mugs. In fancy white typeface one touted: I Got Tied Up at Bondage Bay Resort.
She skipped over the shot glasses and snow globes. Unable to resist the sparkle of a rotating rack full of jeweled chokers, Claire plucked off a teal one. The color matched the teal stripes of her corset and the three sparkling gems in the center complemented her diamond earrings.
“Hi there!” said the girl at the register. Her name tag read “Dawn.” “May I ask who the collar is for?”
Claire pulled out a credit card from her day planner. “It’s mine.”
“Wow. Your Master let you pick it out?”
The girl sounded astonished. Damn. She didn’t want to breech some jewelry-buying BDSM protocol. “He … er, picked it out and told me to … uh, buy it.”
Dawn smiled. “My master picked out mine, too. I wore my blue collar for more than a year.” She touched the silver-studded, black leather strip around her throat. “When he presented me with this one, we had an official collaring ceremony at the resort—there’s a chapel and a reception hall. Maybe one day you’ll return for a ceremony, too.”
Collaring ceremony? Claire wasn’t sure how to respond, so she nodded and smiled as she signed the credit card receipt.
“Agreeing to a collar of consideration is a big step,” Dawn chattered as she bagged the items. “There’s no sweeter moment in life than when you offer yourself, body and soul, to the one who loves you.”
“Yeah, that’s a great moment, all right.” Claire took the bag. “Thanks.”
She hurried into the huge lobby, trying to remember Lucius’s directions to the dungeon. Okay. There was the registration desk, entrance to the restaurant, entrance to the bar, entrance to the beach, the hotel shop, the bank of elevators … which left her one option: the large hallway on the right. So, down she went.
Ducking into a bathroom, she put on the choker. It looked really good. She freshened her lipstick and fluffed her hair. Oh, vanity thy name is Claire. She stared at herself in the mirror, bemused. “What are you doing, you dolt? You don’t want him to notice you. You want to get out of this job, remember?”
Sighing deeply, she left the bathroom.
After wandering the hall for far too long, Claire started to panic. The hallway branched into several other hallways and there seemed to be a door every ten feet. Lucius had given her directions, but she couldn’t make sense of her own notes. Sighing, she pulled out her cell phone. She loathed calling Lucius or Macintosh. She was not the helpee, she was the helper. She hated to be late, to be wrong, or to be lost.
Crap!
