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“You can use the conference table, or if you prefer, we can shift the furniture and I can bring in a desk. In either event, I’ll get you a better chair to use. I’m going to ask Georgina to come in; is that all right with you?”
“Yes; thanks for asking.”
Knox called in his executive assistant, gave her their lunch orders as well as ordered her an ergonomic chair to start with. He then asked Georgina to send for three people she’d never heard of. She scanned the list Seth had compiled in the file. One was an exclusive jeweler; one was a personal shopper and stylist; and the last, she assumed, was the corset maker he’d talked about.
“Right away, Damon. Should I hold all calls?”
“Please; but let me make introductions. Fitzwallace is a good friend and I asked him to track down a woman I met in London for me. We parted under less than auspicious circumstances. She’s graciously decided to give me a second chance, so you’ll be seeing a lot of her. Georgina? Miley. Miley? Georgina.”
“I’ll take care of everything, sir.”
“Oh, and Georgina, see that my fridge is kept stocked with Diet Coke. It is Miley’s drink of choice.”
“Yes sir,” Georgina said indulgently before leaving them alone and closing the door.
“She doesn’t like me.”
“Georgina is protective. She hated Frannie. Once she knows you’re not a gold-digger or anything like Frannie, she’ll be team Miley. She wants me to get married and settle down.”
“Not to her?”
Knox laughed. “Definitely not. She doesn’t understand any of the D/s stuff and can barely abide having to do anything with the club. I try and ensure she has to have as little contact as possible with it.”
“That’s kind of you,” said Miley, making a note to have Seth check her out.
She sat for the rest of the afternoon, alternating between studying the case file Seth had sent to her, answering Damon’s questions and watching him. He wasn’t the only one who had fantasized about another encounter, and now that he’d told her about his couch fantasy, she couldn’t look at it without seeing it in her mind’s eye and imagining what that might feel like—feeling him rut behind her as she lay helpless over his couch. The image was too delicious to shake off.
Miley knew she was in danger, but it wasn’t from either of the Acostas. She was in danger from herself and her protectee. She’d found it all too easy to just sort of slide into this role—a role she wasn’t sure she’d ever want to give up.
CHAPTER7
DAMON
Damon had never wanted to turn a woman’s ass red more in his life. He’d also never believed—right up to the time she’d draped herself across his lap—that she’d consent to his discipline. More than wanting to discipline her, he suspected Miley needed it and secretly craved it. She was a complete and total enigma, and he was fascinated with her. Sure, he’d found himself drawn to her curves and haunting beauty, but it was the opposing forces of her personality that had stayed with him for the past eighteen months.
There had been something sweet, heartbreaking, and ultimately satisfying about disciplining Miley, but more than that, when he’d forced her into his lap and she’d settled, he’d felt more like a Dom than any other time in his life. He truly believed he’d given her something she’d perhaps never had.
She’d hinted at the fact that she’d had a lousy childhood. He doubted that she’d agree it was another trait they shared. Oh, there’d been plenty of money and all of the best things in his, but he’d joined Naval Intelligence right out of college in order to escape what he felt was the soul sucking prison of Knox Industries.
As they worked, he found himself drawn to watch her covertly. He was sure she saw herself as tough and one of the boys, but nothing could be further from the truth. She might be a martial arts master and a crackerjack shot, but there was nothing about Miley that wasn’t feminine—from her long, painted nails, silky hair, killer body, and legs that went on forever to her choice of clothing—from the curve-hugging cobalt blue dress to the aubergine corset she’d worn at Baker Street—everything about her said woman.
She needed to be in charge of the matter of his safety. For one thing it was her job, but he suspected for another it was a need of hers to protect others because she’d never been protected as a child. He could give that to her, partially because he wanted to live long enough to see Frannie put where she couldn’t hurt anyone else and partially because he wanted to spend time with Miley.
Over the past year and a half he’d found himself wondering about her, dreaming about her, and most definitely fantasizing about their encounter and all the other delicious things he’d like to do to and with her.
The curious thing was he realized there were a lot of men who’d want to dominate her. After all, she was strong, beautiful, and not easy—a true conquest. What he didn’t think most, if any, realized was that she was also incredibly vulnerable. She hid it behind a brave façade, but that vulnerability was there. He was convinced she longed for a steady hand, but more than that, given how she’d responded to him after she’d taken his discipline, Damon was sure she’d respond to praise even more.
He could acknowledge that something about Miley made the dominant beast inside him roar, but he was smart enough to know that sheer power and force of will would never win her heart. And was that even what he wanted? To win her heart? He would need to be sure of that before he set out to claim her. Damon had no doubt that if he deliberately broke her heart, the family she had found at Cerberus would destroy him, and leading the charge would be his good friend Robert Fitzwallace.
Things were starting to fall into place—at least where Miley was concerned. She was here, was posing as his sub, was willing to sign a D/s contract for the duration of their time together and had not ruled sex out. All in all, the day was shaping up to be much better than he’d thought it might.
“Are you just going to stare at me?” she asked without raising her head.
“You’re very beautiful. I can think of few things I would rather stare at.”
Miley said nothing but her derisive snort communicated more than mere words could have.
“Do you doubt me, or are you calling me a liar?”
