Pleasure Point-nook (2 page)

“He’s my employer, not my benefactor. I work hard for my paychecks.”

“Of course. I never meant to imply anything else.”

She really had to calm down and stop being so damn defensive. This man wasn’t anything
she couldn’t handle.

Oh, you are such a liar. Half the conversation has been calculated mind-fuck.

It was working, damn it. She crossed her legs against the warm ache between them.

She cleared her throat again. “So, what do you do for Mr. Vardalos?” she asked.

“I designed this place, for a start. About four years ago. And the Victorian spanking
suite, and the other BDSM suites. He has me back here periodically to make changes,
to check equipment, come up with new ideas.”

“You designed
this
place? The club?”

“Yes, and much of the equipment.”

“Oh…” It came out on a soft breath. Her fingers tightened on her small clutch purse.
This man—this Dominant—was definitely going to be more than she was ready for. He
was the real thing, high caliber in the kink realm, obviously. No weekend player.
Oh, yes, far too real for her, no matter how insanely attracted to him she was. “I
think…I think this was a mistake.”

“Again, Miranda, I’m certain it wasn’t.”

She stood. “No. It was definitely a mistake. Look, Roan…I don’t mean to be rude. Really.
But I’m not…this is not for me. None of this. You. This place. I have to go.”

“Miranda—”

She shook her head, took a step back, then turned and hurried from the room.

Once outside she found the golf cart she’d arrived in—the staff’s main form of transportation—and
drove as fast as the cart would go back to the apartment building. Her head was spinning
so hard and fast she was only vaguely aware of the lush, tropical surroundings that
whirred by as the breeze cooled her face.

She could not do this, no matter what Mr. Vardalos thought. God,
especially
with him thinking these things—knowing about her! He was her boss, even if she’d
never met the man. A person’s sexual desires were not something one’s boss should
know about them. About
her
.

Her head was starting to ache—and her head wasn’t the only thing.

Roan Abrams was absolutely too much one of her fantasy men. Instantly. Irrevocably.
And it felt dangerous. Particularly given their apparent mutual penchant for kink.
Kink opened people up—or it did if it was done right. And that was something she could
not afford to do. If she did… then what? What was she afraid of, exactly? It had become
habit so much in the last five years that she couldn’t even pinpoint what she was
running from anymore.

Except Roan. Roan and his purely devilish good looks and stunning air of command.
That elegant, sexy English accent. And the need she felt to get on her knees for him
as easily as she’d sipped her water at his direction. To do whatever he asked of her.

She groaned softly, desire making her thighs tense. Making her wet. She needed to
get upstairs and take her frustration out on her collection of vibrators and her nipple
clamps before she exploded. She knew she would do it thinking of him. His powerful
hands, his mouth, which she couldn’t stop imagining on hers, on her body. She’d been
thinking of almost nothing else since the moment she first saw him.

She groaned.

God, his beautiful mouth.

She parked in the small lot in front of the building—a contemporary three-story complex
faced with white stucco, a tiled roof and wrought iron balconies that had always made
her think of New Orleans—set the brake, and got into the elevator. She was too impatient
to walk up the two flights of stairs. The elevator hummed and delivered her to the
second floor. She fumbled with her keys, finally unlocking her door, and slipped through.

Inside she didn’t bother to turn on lights. She’d left one lamp on low in the living
room and there was enough light between that and the moon shining through the sheer
curtains as she tossed her clutch onto her white sectional sofa, simultaneously unzipping
her black lace dress as she moved down the hall toward her bedroom, her high heels
clicking on the soft bamboo floors. Her body was thrumming with an aching need as
she thought of her nightstand full of sex toys waiting for her in the other room.

Oh, yes…

She unzipped her dress, tore it over her head as she made her way to her bedroom.
She could not wait one more minute. She tore off her bra and panties, leaving a trail
on the floor. It was totally unlike her, a woman who preferred to live a life of perfect
order, but she had to do something
now
. Something to quench the insane lust that was burning through her like a fire—one
that could do too much damage if she let it.

She threw herself down on the white cotton coverlet, yanked open the drawer of her
nightstand and pulled out her most powerful toy—a purple rabbit with enough girth
to satisfy even this raging need.

She turned onto her back, spread her legs, flipped the power button and closed her
eyes as she lowered it between her thighs. She sighed as she pushed it in, an inch
at a time, then one hard thrust that had her gasping in pleasure.

Oh yes, exactly what she needed to put out this fire.

She held the rabbit vibe as it pumped into her, swirling it’s beaded shaft and the
rabbit extension buzzed against her clit. Pleasure curled through her system, sinuous
and dark, like smoke from the fire. And the moment she pictured Roan’s face, his hands,
she came in a torrent that soaked the bed, stifling her cries in a pillow.

“Oh, God,” she murmured. She started to pull the big vibrator out of her still-clenching
pussy, but that only started things again. She clamped her thighs closed, using them
to grip the big vibrator, pleasure suffusing her as it plunged, ground and hummed.

Roan’s mouth, full and lush for a man’s. Kissable.

Yes, please kiss me.

His hands holding her down, using his thumbs to hit the pressure points beneath her
breasts, around her nipples.

“Ah, God!”

She came once more, her body shaking with the force of her climax.

Finally she pulled the toy from her body, rolled onto her side and watched the shifting
moon and clouds outside her window, trying to catch her breath. As her body heated
once more, she knew she was going to be breathless for a very long time because of
Roan Abrams.

By the following evening, after a day placing orders and overseeing the activity in
her pastry kitchen she thought she’d have worked him out of her system. But the moment
she got home all she could think of was Roan—and her purple rabbit that seemed to
be calling her name the moment she closed her door behind her.

She tried to sift through her mail, but she couldn’t even see the lettering on the
envelopes. It was as if his face was branded into her mind. And only one thing would
calm her down enough to function.

Her sex began a low, insistent buzz that had her squeezing her thighs together.

“Okay,” she said to herself. “I guess there’s no other way out of this. Damn it.”

She unbuttoned her blouse, anxious to get out of it, to tear her bra off, to pinch
and tease her aching nipples—

Oh, yes
!

–and froze in her tracks when her doorbell rang. What the hell?

She huffed as she turned around.

“What timing,” she muttered, making her way back through the living room, quickly
re-buttoning her blouse. She paused to turn on the track lighting. “I really do not
need this right now.”

She yanked the door open, not knowing who she’d been expecting. But it certainly hadn’t
been him.

Her whole body tensed with a strange yearning to fall into his arms and let him...
let him do anything he wanted to her.
Anything
.

No.

“I can’t believe you tracked me down.”

“Miranda, you live in the staff apartments. It wasn’t as if I hired a private investigator.”

“Still…” She bit her lip. “What are you doing here, Roan?” she asked again.

He leaned his elbow against the doorframe, drawing closer as his gaze caught and held
hers. “May I come inside?”

Why did those words make her shiver, as if he’d touched her skin? As if he’d said
them to her with a different intent?

God, the man was gorgeous. So damn sexy. Commanding even when he was asking a question,
asking her permission. But was he really asking? She was pretty sure he wasn’t going
to take no for an answer. And given the shape she was in when he rang the bell, she
wasn’t sure she could turn him away.

He raised one dark brow, waiting for an answer, and it was hot and just cocky enough,
and damn it she was going to ask him in.

“Okay.”

She stepped back and as he slipped by her, she had some sense of the power of his
large frame, the breadth of his shoulders. She wanted to shake her head at her own
weakness, but refrained, closing the door instead. As she was turning he laid his
hand on the small of her back. Oh, yes, the mere touch of his palm skating across
the hollow of her back sent delicious shivers right through her.

“Miranda, come and sit down,” he said.

She let him guide her to the sofa and sat down next to him, folding her trembling
hands in her lap.

“Why did you come after me?” she asked.

He watched her for a moment, his green gaze hard on hers. “Because I’ve had a day
to think about it—why we’ve both received an invitation—and although I’m no closer
to understanding it, I’ve come to the conclusion Vardalos doesn’t issue these invitations
without reason. That perhaps sometimes he knows something we don’t.”

“Do you really believe that?” She’d heard the rumors, of course. Anyone who worked
at the Eden Resort knew its reputation—that people had life-altering experiences on
the island. But so far the only part of her life that had been altered was her fairly
neat, clean escape from the remnants of her former life, a life that had haunted her.

He shrugged. “Maybe. But does it even matter? I’m here. And you’re here. You can’t
tell me you don’t feel the attraction. Even if that was all he knew, he was right,
wasn’t he?”

“I…I don’t know.” 

“But you do. This isn’t about me being cocky, although I’ve been accused of worse.”
He leaned in closer and once more she caught that spicy scent—what she had already
come to think of as
Roan
. “It doesn’t have to be anything more than this. Does it bother you that the invitation
brought you to the dungeon?”

“I wouldn’t have shown up there if it did.” When he raised an eyebrow she admitted,
“Okay. Yes, it bothers me, but not for the reasons you think it does.”

“You can tell me later. For now I’m glad we’re on the same page. Or we will be once
we go through negotiations.”

“You’re making a pretty big assumption,” she protested, even though every nerve in
her body was strung tight, needing exactly the release he offered. Kink. Power exchange.
Domination.

“Am I?” He leaned in even further, taking her chin in his fingertips and forcing her
gaze to meet his. “Is that why your pupils are widening? Why you ran your tongue across
those gorgeous pink lips? I’m a Dominant, Miranda, and once more at the risk of sounding
cocky—which I don’t much mind—I’m a good one. It’s my job to read a bottom’s response.
And you are responding beautifully.”

“God dammit, Roan.” Her pulse was hot, racing. She wanted to pull her chin away but
found she couldn’t. Instead she lowered her lashes, focusing on the buttons of his
shirt. And the hard planes of his chest beneath the fabric. The man had a beautiful
body under there. Broad shoulders. A narrow waist. All of it hinted at so enticingly
beneath his finely tailored shirt.

He chuckled. “God dammit what? God dammit don’t make assumptions? Or God dammit, I’m
right?”

“Maybe both,” she admitted. Then she looked back up at him, “Okay. Okay.” She drew
in a deep breath, let it out on a shaky exhale. She could do this. Have this. As long
as there were boundaries to keep her safe. “This invitation was for one week. Seven
days to play.”

“One week,” he agreed. “That should be plenty of time.”

“For what?”

“For us to explore. To get to know each other. To see if we want more than a week.”

“One week,” she repeated. “Starting when we met last night.”

He smiled. “As you wish, beautiful Miranda. As long as you understand that within
the bounds of the terms we negotiate, you will be mine for those seven days. Well,
now six days. And nights,” he added, making her squirm in her seat.

Heat pooled between her thighs.

His. Oh my…

She hadn’t thought she could belong to anyone again, after Daryn. It was the limit
of the week that made it possible. Maybe Vardalos knew what he was talking about after
all. Maybe the island really did always know what you needed. This week could be exactly
what she needed to help her transition, to finally get on with her life.

She licked her lips. “When do we begin?”

Roan pulled back and glanced at his watch—a sleek silver Rolex. “I’ll give you an
hour.”

“I… What?”

He smiled, lifted her hand and brushed a kiss across the knuckles, his lips soft against
her skin. “One hour. Then we meet back at Club Sin. We negotiate. And then we play.”

Though Roan had been certain Miranda would meet him as agreed upon, he still had to
draw in a relieved breath when she walked through the doors of Club Sin. He’d wanted
her there too damn badly. But there was no time for those thoughts now. She was standing
in the doorway in that little black lace dress from the night before that showed off
her endless, tanned legs and just enough of her succulent cleavage to make his mouth
water. Her breasts were full, almost a bit too large for her lithe frame. Spectacular.
She had one of those lean, athletic bodies with just enough curves for a man to get
his hands around, and he damn well intended to.