Under Contract Page 6

  The front doors opened and Ryan Black strolled out, wearing a thousand-dollar suit with no tie, the shirt unbuttoned a couple of notches. Just your typical, casual, at-home look. He gave her a smile of welcome that carried a possessive kind of triumph that sent a warning trill over her nerves, and trotted down the steps to meet her at her car. With the door open, keys in hand, she hesitated, then lifted her chin, defying him to comment on it. “I wasn’t sure where I should park?”

  “Here is fine.” He waited for her to shut the door and drop the keys in her bag, then took her hand. “You look beautiful.”

  She tried to make it a business-meeting-style handclasp, but his mouth quirked with wicked mischief and he held on, tugging her closer and brushing her cheek with a kiss. She never quite knew what to do with the cheek-kissers, so she did her usual trick of waiting it out. He prolonged the moment, however, staying close with his lips near her ear.

  “I’m really glad you’re here,” he whispered in a tone that took her mind straight to sex, not even remotely on business at all.

  With a laugh that quavered instead of sounding polite, she drew away. “Well.” She held out her hands. “Here I am.”

  What an idiot. Kill me now. She waved a hand at the center island, then knotted her fingers together because they visibly shook from nerves. “You let your fountain go dry.”

  “Water restrictions apply to everyone.”

  “A lot of wealthy people in your position wouldn’t agree.”

  “I suppose that’s true, but now you know not to paint me with that same brush.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  “You didn’t.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Nervous?”

  She blew out a breath and indulged in closing her eyes for a moment. “Extraordinarily.”

  “I know ways to work off that energy.” He appraised her intently. “Unless you need more time before you commit.”

  “No,” she said, too hastily, and wanted to kick herself. “The thing is—and this sounds really terrible—but I...I need money. Right away. A lot.”

  “Why would that be terrible? We both know that’s why you’re here. I’m very much looking forward to giving you a lot of money—and to what you’ll do for it.”

  She swallowed down the sense of panic at that and his gaze went to her throat, the wolf sensing fear.

  “Only what you agree to, Celestina,” he said softly. “But once you commit, there’s only one way to back out.”

  “I know.” She steeled her spine. Only sex. “I don’t want to back out.”

  “All right then.” He directed her to the steps, then opened the door for her, gesturing her to go through, his gaze like a heat lamp on her back as she walked.

  “Through here,” he indicated, guiding her with a light impersonal hand at her back. Mostly gentleman at the moment, the client she’d worked with, genial, polite, nonthreatening, just a whiff of that brooding sexuality. Already she found herself keeping a finger on the pulse of it, tracking his shifting moods, subtly bracing for when he dropped all pretense and let that darker nature loose. She distracted herself from it by taking in the graceful home with its classic Spanish design. It had been extensively rehabbed, as it had to be at least 150 years old, but much of the original architectural elements remained, though rearranged to allow much bigger windows than would have been traditional. He’d furnished it with an eclectic mix of modern and period pieces, all carrying the flavor of Espanola and the early settlers in the region.

  “You have a beautiful home.” Small talk to stave off the inevitable.

  “Thank you.” He showed her into an office, spacious and much more modern, with huge windows that overlooked the ocean open to the welcome breeze. “I love the Hacienda style and tried to honor it.”

  She cocked her head at the wall of glass and he grinned.

  “Within reason, of course. No sense suffering because some Spanish nobleman didn’t have access to good glaziers.”

  “More of your ‘enjoy life’ philosophy?”

  “Absolutely.” He stopped in the middle of the room, gestured toward the glossy desk with the visitors’ chairs before it, then toward a cozier sitting area. “What’s your preference?”

  Ever the gracious host. She sat in one of the visitors’ chairs in front of the desk, set her purse down and crossed her legs. “This is business, right?”

  He settled himself behind the desk and leaned his elbows on it. “I made a bet with myself that you’d choose this.”

  “Are you a gambling man?”

  He looked faintly surprised at the question but considered it thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t say so. In fact, I’d say I dislike risk for risk’s sake. I prefer to arrange situations so negotiations work in my favor whenever possible.”

  “And is this situation in your favor?”

  His gaze sharpened, a glint of that sexuality showing through. “You are on my territory, which naturally gives me an advantage. I was somewhat surprised you agreed to it.”

  She mentally sighed. Stupid of her. That would have made sense—ask to meet in a neutral place. Probably giving her the choice of seating was another negotiation tactic of his. But, really, she was out of her depth in this arena and that would have only forestalled the inevitable. “I shouldn’t say this, but I imagine it’s obvious. I’m not a good negotiator. And, as you said, we both know why I’m here and that I’m desperate with no other options. We might as well set the terms and acknowledge that the advantage here is entirely yours, no matter where we discuss it.”

  Sitting back, he considered her, tapping the tips of his fingers lightly on the desk blotter. “I won’t lie and say I don’t savor having the advantage in any negotiation, and particularly with you, but it’s important that we both agree on whatever terms we set. I won’t have anything but your full compliance—on record.”

  Though he’d assumed a politely neutral expression again, something under it seethed. It seemed unlikely that she could even scratch the confidence of a man like him, so better to be brutally honest.

  “I won’t lie either—I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need the money so badly,” she told him, meeting his gaze and trying to be unapologetic about it.

  “I can live with that, but not with you vacillating.” Impatient now, the lines of his face settling into that expression that reminded her of a boxer or street fighter, he started to rise.

  “No!” She startled him enough that he paused and sat back. Dammit. She was doing this all wrong. “Please. I made this choice with full knowledge, being of sound mind and body.” She forged on when he didn’t smile at the feeble joke. “My pride won’t let me do otherwise, ironic as that sounds.”

  “Because you feel like you’re swallowing your pride by agreeing to a sexual relationship with me?”

  Her throat went as tight as if she indeed had that pride lodged there. “A...particular sort of sexual relationship.” The prostitution kind.

  “I see.” He went quiet, looking at his fingers tapping on the blotter. Notes and doodles ranged over the paper, numbers in columns and cubes stacking on each other in blue ink. He raised his gaze to hers. His gray eyes had a darker ring at the outside, making the lighter part almost silvery in this light. “I would very much hate the thought that my touch revolted you, Celestina. I can’t do this if that’s true. If you’re only here because I’ve manipulated you into a corner.”

  An unexpected, even raw glimpse of honesty from him. One that took her aback, given everything else. “I’m not,” she reassured him, not at all sure if that was true or what she was arguing for. “I mean, your touch isn’t revolting, that is, I don’t think it would be, and I’m intrigued by...”

  She trailed off at his slow smile.

  “You’re blushing,” he said. “I love that you’re someone who can.”


  She clapped her hands over her cheeks. “I hate it.”

  “Don’t.” He came around the desk and sat in the other chair, held out his hands and waited for her to take them, a challenge in his gaze.

  “Look at me, Celestina,” he urged. “I only want these things if you want them, too. I won’t have you unwilling. I mean it.”

  “I know,” she said, without real sound, and cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I’m willing.”

  “Are you?” His silvery eyes roved over her face, studying her. “Let’s consider today a test then. A pilot.”

  Tentatively, steadying herself, she gave him her hands. His felt warm and smooth, much larger with his knotted knuckles, strong in a way that both reassured and intimidated her. Could she really put herself in the power of a man with hands like this?

  “Let’s get this out of the way. You said you need money right away. How much?”

  Chapter Seven

  Her mouth went dry over confessing the amount and she might have tugged back if his hands hadn’t tightened on hers, patiently holding on. “It’s just a number, Celestina. I already know the big one.”

  “Easy for you to say.” But he was right. She took a breath and held it. “Forty thousand.”

  He nodded, as if she’d asked to borrow a five, and picked up a tablet, keyed in a security code. “Have you got a checkbook in that voluminous bag of yours?”

  She frowned at him but picked up the bag, digging out her checkbook. “Why do men always have to criticize women’s purses?”

  “It’s in the Man Book. We have to tease you about certain things or our membership gets revoked.” He raised inquiring brows. “I assume direct transfer to your checking account works for you?” At her nod, he keyed in her routing numbers.

  “Yes.” Her gut unknotted with the relief that at least the tuition would be handled. “Aren’t you going to ask what it’s for?”

  He paused, watching the screen. “It’s none of my business. I’m not giving you a grant where you have to provide reports to me on how you spend this money. You could have a hankering for a new convertible, for all I know.”

  “It’s not anything like that,” she protested, stung. “I have to pay tuition, for the girls. To keep their place for fall.”

  “You’ve been paying 40K in tuition on your salary? How the hell did you pay your daily expenses?”

  “Well, obviously, I didn’t,” she snapped, more comfortable with being irritated with him.

  “Generous of you. I hope your nieces appreciate it. I made it fifty thousand, as you must have other bills that need immediate attention. It might take a couple of hours for my bank to confirm the routing numbers, but it will be there.” He handed her checkbook back.

  “I’m grateful.” She tried to compose herself with the busywork of putting it away again and settling the bag at her feet. Though she immediately missed the meager protection it had provided.

  “They don’t know,” she said, not sure why she wanted to explain or why she felt like she’d been unfair to him. “My nieces. They don’t know how bad it is. After Ar—their mother died, I couldn’t bear to pull them out of their school on top of everything. Maybe I should have, but they were so devastated, so sad. And at least they had their school, a different kind of family. But maybe it would have been better for their whole lives to change at once because now it would be even more wrenching and they’re so pretty and their counselor says they’re emotionally vulnerable and they have zero experience dealing with boys and if they went to public school now, well, you know how guys are, they’re—”

  She cut her babbling off to find him watching her coolly, with something that appeared to be amusement but wasn’t.

  “Predatory,” he finished.

  She refused to flinch. “Well...yes.”

  “On that note, let’s continue this pilot project of ours and discuss what you’ll do in exchange for the fifty grand.”

  “What do you want?” she asked in a small voice, almost afraid to hear the answer, though she knew. She knew.

  “What do I want?” His hands were on the armrests of her chair—thick hands, like a fighter’s, despite the gentleman’s manicure—and he turned it so she faced him, though she didn’t look up. Her heart stuttered, with fear or anticipation she wasn’t sure, except that she’d gone wet, which only confused her further. What would be worth fifty thousand dollars to him?

  He spoke quietly, the sound part caress, part scraping over her nerves. “I want you, Celestina. I want the feel of your skin under my hands, to see your spectacular body naked and feel you writhing under me. I want to hear you out of breath from ecstasy instead of nervousness, for you to gasp my name in my ear as you come. I want to push you past every boundary you ever thought you had and for you to go there because I made you. I want you to do things you think are wicked and discover how much you like them. Most of all, I want to be there with you, so I can savor your scent, the hot clasp of your body, lick up your sweat and tears, drink in every small sound you make as you lose yourself to the pleasure I can give you.”

  He was only inches away. Her face blazed and blood thudded in her ears, her palms slick with sweat.

  “But, I’m willing to start with something less than that. Let’s discuss terms.”

  He rose and went back around the desk, putting the tablet into a drawer, then locking it. Taking out a notepad, he picked up one of his expensive pens from a holder on the desk and looked at her expectantly. She tensed further, half expecting him to demand sex at that moment. “For a start, I’d like you to change your shoes to a pair I’ve picked.”

  Not what she’d expected. Too easy? She nodded and he wrote it down.

  “A kiss.” He offered.

  Still easy. “All right.”

  He noted it on the pad and made bullets beneath, in his crisp, linear style. “As long as I want it, openmouthed, including tongues.”

  Bemused at the level of detail, she agreed.

  “That can be with you clothed. After that, however, I want to see what I’ve bought. I want you to strip and let me look at you in only the shoes. I won’t touch you intimately, but I will ask you to do as I say, so I can look my fill. Unless you’d like to allow me to touch you?”

  Ah, upping the ante. Could she strip for this man she barely knew? She’d have to. “I’d rather not. Just looking for now.”

  He wrote that down, cocked an eyebrow at her. “Blow job?”

  She’d gotten decent at those, a quick way to make Noah happy without having to go to greater lengths. What does a good whore earn these days—fifty dollars for a blow job? No, fifty grand, it turned out. Mutely, she nodded.

  Giving her a nod of satisfaction, he noted it, then glanced up. “Do you swallow?”

  Absurdly, given the baldness of the rest of the conversation, her face grew hotter. “I—I’d rather not.”

  “Fine. What’s your counter offer?” His gray eyes intent, but with a glitter that hinted at how much he enjoyed this back and forth, he waited.

  “Do...do you have a second-best choice?”

  “I’d like to come on your naked tits.”

  Oh God. Had her face felt hot? It blazed now. She stared down at her knotted fingers. “Agreed,” she said quietly, wondering how the hell she’d get through this. Except that her heartbeat thudded in her ears, not only from nerves.

  “Are you all right with kneeling for it?”

  She nodded. She’d figured on that anyway.

  “Can I restrain you? Tie you up in some way?”

  Her heart skipped a beat, a stutter of real panic. “Not yet for that?”

  “Fine. That should do it then.”

  A shudder of relieved breath escaped her. She’d gotten off lightly indeed.

  “Your saf
eword?”

  Puzzled, she met his inquiring gaze. “Do I need one? I mean, this isn’t...”

  His thick lips quirked. “Yes. It is. Pick a safeword.”

  Mind racing, she couldn’t think of a thing.

  “Shall I pick one for you?”

  Gratefully, she nodded.

  “Angel. That work for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right then.” He spun the pad on the desk and slid it toward her, offering the pen with a glint of aroused challenge.

  “That’s it?” She stared at the pen, the silver glitter almost menacing, the neat list of what she’d promised to do. “That’s not worth fifty grand.”

  “It is from where I’m sitting.” His gaze drifted down to her breasts, heating as if she were already naked in front of him. “Besides, recall that one of the rules is I decide how much something is worth to me.”

  “Then you have an arcane system of measurement,” she retorted, losing sight of what she argued for.

  “Exactly. Highly personal to me. Which is why I get to decide. Nonnegotiable.”

  “And, since you’re in the position of power, you get to decide everything.”

  “Not quite. Once you sign, yes.”

  That moment of standing on the high-dive platform, the decision point. Go back and climb down the ladder or jump, not knowing how the long fall, the cold, sometimes cruel slap of water would be? As it did in those moments, the decision evaporated into inevitability. She jumped without consciously crossing the line from no to yes.

  She signed.

  His smile turned triumphant, even feral, and he locked the pad in a drawer and put a finger on the intercom. “Mrs. Matthews? I need a pair of shoes. Size?”

  Startled, she blinked at him, abruptly on the spot. Seven times eight is...what? She didn’t know.

  He cocked his head, face going stern as if he were about to accuse her of backing out.

  “Six and a half,” she blurted.