Pleasure Point-nook
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Authors: Eden Bradley
Pleasure Point
Invitation to Eden Series
Eden Bradley
Pleasure Point
Copyright 2014 Eden Bradley
Cover Design by
Croco Designs
Editing by D.S. Editing
Formatted by
IRONHORSE Formatting
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents
are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author
acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced
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Acknowledgments
To my amazing team of beta readers, Kitty Kelly and Casey Lu-thank you for the incredibly
quick turn-around in response to my chronic last-minuteness (and yes, that’s a word!).
To Erin Simone for her very helpful and thoughtful critique, and to R.G. Alexander
for helping me bring her character Joely to life. And I must also thank my line editor,
DS Editing, for saying this was one of her favorites of my books. We writers are an
insecure bunch! I adore you all!
Table of Contents
We are very pleased to issue your Invitation to Eden, an exciting series coming to
you in 2014 from 27 of the biggest names in romance. Join us as we take you on an
exciting adventure to Eden, where anything… and everything goes!
“Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other.
But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the
risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.”
~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry,
The Little Prince
Miranda checked her reflection in the small compact mirror she pulled from her black
clutch and peered at her reflection. Her familiar blue eyes stared back at her. Yep,
she still looked like the same woman she’d been before the mysterious piece of pale,
papery linen and vellum had slid beneath her apartment door two days ago.
This is your invitation to Eden…
Crazy, how a simple piece of embossed paper could come across as so utterly commanding.
What she still couldn’t figure out was why she of all people had received an invitation
from her employer at the exclusive Island of Eden Resort.
She tucked the mirror back into her small clutch purse and took in a breath as she
stared at the imposing brushed steel double doors before her.
Had an employee ever been issued an invitation before? She hadn’t heard any rumors
about it in the resort’s pastry kitchen, which she managed, or around the staff apartments
or at the staff pool.
Why me?
And why, of all places, had she been instructed to go to Club Sin? How could anyone
have possibly known? But there she was, her heart fluttering, her pulse hot in her
veins as she pulled open one heavy door and stepped through into the red, black and
chrome interior of the elegant dungeon, which was apparently an ante-chamber. Just
inside the door sat a large, sleek black lacquer desk with chrome-framed black-and-white
photographs of deliciously wicked images on the walls: a naked woman lay over the
lap of a man in a business suit, his hand coming down to smack her round bottom; in
another a woman wearing nothing but kitten ears and a rhinestone-studded collar knelt
on a bare wood floor; in another a man and woman were chained back-to-back on either
side of an enormous X-shaped St. Andrew’s Cross. Miranda’s lips parted and her breath
caught in her throat as desire rippled over her skin, her gaze moving from one image
to the next. Oh, she loved the kitten image—something she’d never considered before,
but…
She shook her head.
This is crazy.
She hadn’t done any of those things since Daryn. Hadn’t even thought about it. Okay,
maybe she’d thought about it. And it was said the island always knew what you needed.
The island, or her employer the enigmatic Theodosius Vardalos—‘the Master’ as he was
known to his employees. But was kink what she
needed
?
It had been five years. Five years of grieving. Not a time to play. But…she’d missed
it. Missed the thrill of kink. The sensations. The giving over control—something she
never did in her day-to-day life. It was still her number one fantasy—being bound
and touched, teased, tortured with pain and pleasure.
Her nipples went hard just thinking about it. She almost wanted to stroke the tips,
allowing her body a shiver of desire before flexing her hands on her small bag and
trying to remember that the damn invitation had made her wary. Rightfully so.
Right?
So why did she feel as if something important was about to happen? Something important
and possibly thrilling.
When she walked into the main room of the dungeon she had to stifle a gasp.
Oh, I am in big, bad trouble.
He was tall, which she always loved, being five-foot-eight herself. And he was elegant—there
was something in the way he held himself that told her so. It was a relaxed confidence,
but something more…and so damn handsome she could barely believe he was real. Dark
hair. Chiseled features that would have belonged on a model if he weren’t so thoroughly
masculine, with that little bit of scruff shadowing his angular jaw making him seem
all the more
male
. And even from several yards away the man radiated pure power.
Her knees shook, weakened by his presence. Stunningly male. Stunningly dominant. He
wore authority like a second skin.
He held a hand out. “Hallo.”
He had an English accent. Sexy as hell.
Oh, yes.
“I’m…” She paused, then demanded, “Wait. Who are you?”
He stepped forward and took her hand in his. It was large and warm. “My apologies
for not introducing myself right off. You’re very…distracting. My name is Roan Abrams.”
“Miranda Royce,” she said, the odd compliment making her pulse race.
He gave her hand a small squeeze and hung onto it, drawing it toward his chest almost
possessively. Momentarily stunned, unable to respond, she looked up into green eyes
framed in dark lashes. His gaze narrowed and even as she felt him examining her face
very carefully—
watching
her as much as looking at her—she noticed how the irises were ringed in gold. So
intense she wanted to look away but found she couldn’t.
“Have a seat and talk with me, Miranda,” he suggested, his big hand still holding
hers in that possessive manner. And his words were more demand than suggestion.
She liked it, even though she didn’t want to. How had he managed that? “Yes. Sure.”
He led her to a small sofa upholstered in diamond-tucked red leather and waited for
her to sit before seating himself next to her.
“So, here we are,” he said, reaching for a tumbler of water on the table in front
of them and pouring her a glass, handing it to her. “Summoned by the Master of the
island.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
He touched his fingers to the glass, gave it a small nudge. “Drink, Miranda. And tell
me what you think of this place.”
She found herself sipping from the glass, following his instructions.
This is crazy.
She set the glass down on the table and took a moment to look around, noticing the
gorgeous and luxurious equipment. There were red leather spanking benches, gleaming
chrome chains dangling from the ceiling, some ending in red and black padded leather
cuffs. At regular intervals along the slick red and black walls in between the seating
areas were shining chrome racks holding floggers, paddles and whips. And the entire
room was reflected in enormous, chrome-framed mirrors mounted on the walls. Beautiful
and wicked-looking.
“It’s spectacular. Nothing but the best for the Eden resort, so it doesn’t surprise
me. But I think I expected there to be other people here,” she said, glancing around,
her nerves beginning to prickle at the back of her neck simply from being in the same
room—this deliciously wicked room—with Roan Abrams.
“Did you? You knew where you were going, then?”
“Of course. The invitation said to go to Club Sin.”
His eyes were dark, searching her face. “You knew this wasn’t a bar? A dance club?”
“I work here. On the island.”
“Ah. So do I. Well, I come in as a consultant. Tell me what you do here, Miranda.”
“I’m the head pastry chef. But according to the invitation I have the next week off.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek with one warm fingertip, like a tiny shock of
need against her skin. There was a small but cocky grin on his generous mouth. “You
bake sweets, do you?”
He was too damn handsome. Too commanding. Too… everything. She pulled back. “Which
I’m sure you’ve eaten, if you’ve been on the island.”
“I’m certain I have. Working with sugar suits you.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
God, why was she being so rude to this man? Maybe because his stunning good looks
and natural dominance were making her think about things she shouldn’t even be considering.
Like his hand coming down on her bare ass. Pulling her hair hard while he kissed her
breathless.
God…
He leaned closer, lowering his voice, and she caught his scent—something spicy and
earthy. Provocative. “No? I believe I know at least two things about you. One, you
were invited here to meet
me
apparently, since, as you pointed out, we are the only ones here. And two,” he paused,
his voice a quiet murmur, “the pulse in your lovely throat is racing.”
“Oh.” She put her hand to her neck for a moment, saw him watching and dropped it down
to her side. She had to get herself under control. She cleared her throat. “Why do
you think we were invited here? I don’t know what the Master could have been thinking.”
“Am I so repulsive to you, then?”
“What? No, of course not.” Then she saw the teasing twinkle in his eye, the slight
curve of his lips, and her cheeks flamed. “I mean, no. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“You weren’t.”
Her gaze narrowed on his. “And you’re having an awful lot of fun playing with me.”
“Ah, I hope to.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got the wrong girl, Mr. Abrams.”
Doesn’t he?
“Roan,” he said. “And I’m fairly certain—quite certain—I don’t. I have a particular
knack for these things. You are definitely the right girl, in the right place. With
the right Dominant. And even if I were fallible in this regard, Mr. Vardalos is rarely
wrong about these things—sending out the invitations. From what I’ve heard.”
“I’ve heard plenty myself, but I don’t know how much of it to believe and how much
is simply clever marketing for Eden.”
“I doubt the resort needs much in the way of marketing since it’s by invitation only.
Our benefactor has plenty of money—he didn’t build this place because he needs to
turn a profit.”
