InvitingTheDevil
Authors: Gabriella Bradley
Tags: #Inviting the Devil,BDSM,Gabriella Bradley,sex,erotica,romance
Was it normal for a fashion designer to ask a new model to strip so he could inspect her from head to toe to get a feel for her shape, size and sensitivities?
Bumping into her boss, causing her portfolio to fall and the drawings she’d secretly worked on during her breaks to scatter was accidental. But oh, what a welcome accident. Danea’s career dreams are realized when the man she’s drooled over and fantasized about for two years while working in administration wants to see all her sketches.
Not only does Kalem Ostarizo, the world’s top fashion designer, hire her for his design team, but wants her to model for House of Ostarizo. Danea happily signs a one-year contract for each position but is shocked when she finds out the obedience clause she agreed to involves more than just obeying the rules.
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Inviting the Devil
Copyright ã 2013 Gabriella Bradley
ISBN: 978-1-77111-322-9
Cover art and design by Angela Waters
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by eXtasy Books
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Inviting the Devil
By
Gabriella Bradley
To all women with secret fantasies, and the men in their lives…
Chapter One
Why would you invite the devil into your life? That’s exactly what I did by drooling over and lusting for Kalem Ostarizo. I couldn’t help myself. I’d seen him so many times during work hours—walking past me, getting on the elevator, in the café I frequented during my lunch break and at the bistro around the corner. Kalem Ostarizo didn’t even know I existed.
Kalem wasn’t only my boss, he was the world’s top fashion designer. When I got my job, his assistant, Ms. Plum, a woman in her late sixties, whom I immediately nicknamed
ogre
interviewed me. She just had that kind of look about her. Stern, bone thin, tall, forbidding, horn-rimmed glasses and iron-gray hair she pulled back severely from her face into a tight bun. I’d never been so nervous in my life. Getting a job at The House of Ostarizo was every girl’s dream, at least I thought it would be. Depending on what a girl aimed for in life, it might not have been—but it was mine. Besides Kalem was to die for, and I wanted to be someone—to become as famous a designer as he was—if that was even possible. A girl could dream.
I continued to sketch, hoping to one day be noticed. Whether I’d ever get the chance to present my sketches to the most famous designer in the industry, God only knew. All I knew was when I’d seen the advertisement in the paper for office assistant, I had to try for it. The House of Ostarizo had hired me for the lousy office job I absolutely hated. Beggars can’t be choosers. I needed the money to survive and I’d continue dreaming while working in the environment I craved. I’d sketch until I ran out of imagination.
When I ran into Kalem, and I mean physically ran into him, I almost died. It wasn’t on purpose, I swear. I was flustered. My face heated up and must have gone a brilliant, vibrant red. My portfolio went flying, the content scattered all over the floor of the Ostarizo building’s lobby. Stupid me for not watching where I was going, texting, when I should have been alert.
“I’m so sorry. Excuse me, sir, let me just pick up my paperwork,” I said lamely while gazing up into his dark eyes. I was all fingers and clumsiness as I picked up the contents of my portfolio. I watched in consternation as he bent to help me. He paused and held a couple of my sketches in his hands, studying them briefly.
“These are very good. You work here?”
“Yes.” My answer came out soft and squeaky.
“I’d like to look at all of them. Make an appointment with my assistant. What’s your name?”
“Danea Fitzgerald.”
“I’ll see you soon, Danea,” he said.
I hurried to the elevators.
Oh, my God! Unbelievable!
I texted my best friend Shannon, and told her what happened.
Call me
, I typed. My cell dinged shortly after.
“Shannon, you’ll never believe what just happened.”
“What?”
“I just physically bumped into him, without doing it on purpose.”
“And?”
“He wants to see my drawings.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but—”
“The man turns you on.”
“He does. More than anyone ever has. All I have to do is look at him.”
“So? You got your wish. Look forward to your meeting with him. Maybe he’ll love your designs and will use them.”
“Shannon, you’ve seen pictures of him. He’s to die for, right?”
“Maybe for you, honey. I prefer a more mellow type of man. From what I’ve heard, Kalem Ostarizo carries a lot of baggage.”
“I know. He’s had three wives. No children though and that’s a plus in his direction. Not that I mind kids, but at least there aren’t any who’ll be traumatized by parents splitting up. I’d love to find out what his baggage is.”
“Oh? And you think you can cure him?”
“Depends. I wish I could find out why his wives left him and why some of the models think he’s psycho.”
“I can help you out there. Apparently, he’s into kinky stuff and his wives didn’t like it.”
“Kinky? As in what?”
“I’ll be damned if I know. The online articles didn’t say. I’d be careful, if I were you. You’re so damn virginal it ain’t funny. I’d hate to see you get hurt—physically or psychologically.”
“He only wants to see my designs.”
“Yeah, right. And how long have you been lusting after him?”
“Shannon, he won’t want anything to do with a nobody like me. If he likes my designs and wants to use them, that’d be great. As for him looking at me twice? Have you looked at me lately?”
“Yup. You’re not taking care of yourself. You make yourself look mousy, your clothes suck monkey balls and you need a major makeover. I’ve told you all that before, several times. You want a man in your life so you need to do something about your appearance.”
“Okay, girlfriend, enough of the lecture. I’m me. If people, men, don’t like me the way I am—too bad.” I heard Shannon’s big sigh before she said goodbye. I knew she was right. I hadn’t taken care of my appearance for a long time, not since Jake. He and I had dated for a while, but it never went any further than that. He’d found another woman and had left me heartbroken. I hadn’t put out. Apparently, that’s what men wanted—a woman who puts out. I cared for Jake, but I’d never had that kind of desire for him. So what the hell. I was still a virgin at twenty-two. It wasn’t unheard of.
* * * *
I approached the ogre’s desk. “Danea Fitzgerald. I have an appointment.”
“Yes, Ms. Fitzgerald. Mr. Ostarizo will see you shortly.”
I sat, clutching my portfolio on my lap. I tried to cross my legs demurely but felt the woman’s eyes on me all the time. It made me very uncomfortable. I’d worn my sexiest office outfit, a tight gray skirt, matching fitted jacket and a white silk blouse. My feet were killing me in the spiked heeled shoes I wore only when going for an interview, which hadn’t been for quite some time.
“Please follow me,” the prim and proper assistant said.
I followed her through the ornate double doors into a huge office. I gasped at the design, the decorating, the floor to ceiling windows. It was unbelievable, like an office out of a movie.
“Make yourself comfortable,” his deep sexy voice said from behind a massive desk. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Water?” I asked, in a thin and unsure voice.
“Coming up.”
I sat on one of the overstuffed easy chairs and watched as he approached a fully stocked bar then came toward me with a glass and a bottle of water. The crotch of my panties was soaked, while I in turn, drank in his appearance. He wasn’t dressed in a suit. Instead, he wore a pair of tight, black, leather jeans that hugged him like a second skin, while a white poet shirt open to the waist showed off his tanned chest. He looked like a hero who’d just stepped off the silver screen, or from the cover of a romance novel. He’d drawn his long black hair back in a ponytail and his dark gaze seemed riveted on me.
I took the glass he handed me with trembling fingers.
“So, Ms. Fitzgerald, how long have you been doing this?”
“Doing what?” Oh, my God, what a stupid question. I knew damn well, what he meant but he’d caught me unawares, in the middle of pouring the water into the glass. I almost dropped it and awkwardly sat there, hanging on to the bottle and glass, my portfolio and purse almost sliding off my lap. Stupid. Why hadn’t I put the objects beside me in the chair or on the floor?
“Drawing clothes, fashion designs.”
“Since I was a teenager.”
“Can I see?”
I put the bottle of water on the floor and stood up, allowing my purse to drop to the floor in the process. I stepped toward the desk and handed him my portfolio. I retrieved my purse, this time placing it beside me on the chair. I sipped from the glass, at the same time watching his face over the rim. It was as if hewn from stone, not a muscle moved.
“I’m just an amateur.”
He looked up from my portfolio then. “So you say. I’m quite impressed with your work. I’d like to use some of your designs for my next major collection. I’ll pay you handsomely, of course. I’d also like to add you to my design team.”
My heart skipped a few beats. “I thought you designed all the clothes?”
“I used to. I still do some designs, but I’ve hired a few designers to help me. My company has grown tremendously over the last few years and I can’t keep up with it all. Your designs will be a fantastic addition.”
“Really? Of course, I’ll take the job, but—”
“Good. Are you hungry, Ms. Fitzgerald?”
“Not particularly. I had a good breakfast.”
“A woman who eats breakfast? How unusual. How about I take you out for lunch?”
My heart did more than skip a beat. It went into overkill. “Yes, I’d like that.”
“Meet me in front of the building at noon. I hope you like the bistro around the corner. It’s my favorite. I’ll instruct my assistant to add you to my design group. Your work hours will be very flexible. I don’t mind if you work at home at times.”
“Really?” I stood, assuming he was dismissing me. His next question surprised me.
“Yes. Tell me, have you ever modeled?”
“No.”
“Please walk to the door and back? Take off your jacket, please.”
Nervous, I did as he told me. I put my purse back on the chair, hung my jacket on the back of it and walked to the door then back. I tried desperately to maintain my composure and not wobble on the spiked heels. Keeping my gaze glued to the floor, I felt his dark gaze on me while I strolled as casually as I could back to his desk.
“Undo the buttons of your blouse,” he ordered.
Okay, this is going a bit too far.
“Why?”
“Lesson number one—never ever, question an order from me. I’ll answer you this time because you seem nervous. You’re too frigid, too tense, and hold your head up when you walk. Please do as I tell you?”
I tried to stop my fingers from trembling as I undid the buttons. I didn’t have a bra on—didn’t have the need of one. My breasts were firm, perky, and required no support.
“Pull the blouse out of your skirt.”
My breath caught in my throat as I obeyed his orders. My blouse flapped loose, both front panels barely covering my nipples.
“Walk to the door again and walk back to me. Imagine you’re a model and you’re displaying the latest Ostarizo outfit.”
I walked to the doors, did a turnabout and walked back toward him. I tried not to think about my blouse, about the flapping sides. I felt the cool air touch my nipples and knew they were exposed. I kept my eyes glued to the floor as I continued to walk.
“Look at me!” he thundered.
Startled, I raised my head and gazed into his eyes. My knees shook and felt about to liquefy into jelly. M my teeth chattered, but I continued to walk.
