Hostile Takeover Read online

Page 5

 

  He sighed, tossed down the napkin. Their outdoor seating was cordoned off with a painted iron fence hung with bright beads and fresh potted flowers. He delighted her by putting his hip on it, swinging over, and in the same motion, curled a strong arm around her waist and brought her over as well. He rolled her into an easy Cajun two-step, twirling her out and under his smoothly moving hands, taking her around his body.

  She laughed out loud as he caught her hips, kept her in place as he stayed behind her, doing the footwork in tandem and out to the side, then bringing her back for the turns and the two-step basic again. It didn’t take much to get people in New Orleans to dance, so several couples joined them almost immediately.

  Marcie reveled in the feel of his hands on her. She knew the steps, but not as well as he did, so she followed his lead. He more than met the challenge, directing her without hurry or hesitation, comfortable in that role as he always seemed to be. To the outside viewer, he was just a capable dancer, but anyone who had the craving in her blood as she did would see it, feel it.

  She knew he’d picked up on her ploy, having him order the meal for them both, but he had no idea what it did to her, watching him assume command of a situation where her only preference was to trust his direction. And now, how he took control of her movements so easily…she was content to stay in this moment forever.

  This man was meant to control and lead a woman in ways that would overwhelm her with pleasure, open the deepest wells of her heart, the places she was afraid to surrender. She’d put the white flag in his hands, happy to have him tie it around her wrists, binding him to her.

  They did two songs, going from the Cajun two-step into the faster jig, improvising some freestyle steps that had them both laughing. It brought her heart in her throat. Ben hadn’t laughed during dinner, not once. Cass had mentioned he’d gotten more serious these past couple years. Marcie had seen it when she first stepped into his office, in his green eyes, the tighter set of his mouth. He’d always been the jokester of the group. But even then she’d known what they saw now, that sometimes it was more habit than true levity. Whatever demons plagued him, she hoped she was helping to push them away. She wanted to do it forever.

  On those turns and brushes, she took full advantage, making sure his grasp fell lower on her hips than he intended. She worked herself in closer to his body, pressing full against it before she stepped back for the next turn. He was solid and strong, so sure on his feet, his large hands bringing heat and pleasure even in a casual touch. She was glad for the nature of dance itself, the way it let worries be set aside for a little while, allowing what both dancers wanted to come to the surface.

  The band took a break, the club switching to a DJ. Recognizing the Jennifer Paige song Crush, she bit back a snort. Perfect timing.

  It didn’t matter. Ben was a smart guy. Her feelings at sixteen wouldn’t have evolved and persevered this many years unless they were something else. The song actually illustrated the point, the lyrics suggesting the singer knew it was far more than a crush, that she was just trying to fool herself. Ben was probably doing the same, maybe even trying to convince himself he was the one suffering a crush now. She would love knowing that, that she was starting to be an inseparable part of his thoughts, the way he’d been of hers for so long.

  Those two years of travel and staying away from home had been hell. But Cass always said you couldn’t enter into a challenging negotiation without believing a hundred percent in what you wanted. Marcie had needed to prove it to herself before she could prove it to Ben. And she had, in spades. Nearly seven years, and she’d never wanted anyone else to touch her. Every time a boy had, something inside her turned off, and she could only imagine Ben. She’d made herself do those dates, though. While she tried to avoid the emotional entanglements that might hurt the male in question, she needed a certain level of experience to achieve her goal. Those dates had been a testing ground for this, a game with very real stakes.

  “Do you remember our slow dance, at my home prom?” He was still wearing his suit jacket, additional armor against her, she was sure. Rather than putting her hands on his shoulders, she slid her hands inside his coat, along the firm, heated skin over his ribs, separated from her touch only by his thin dress shirt. He stilled, but she stepped closer. He gripped her upper arms, but she kept coming, until her palms were against his back, fingers stroking his shoulder blades, the male muscle beneath the shirt. Ben was over six feet, so it was easy to lay her cheek on his chest, just under his jaw.

  He still had his hands on her arms, but as she sighed, let her body melt into his, he muttered an oath against her hair. She closed her eyes, triumph sweeping through her as he slid his arms around her. One at her waist, his palm against her hip, the other staying at her face, cradling it where it lay against him. He slid his thumb along her throat, touching that collar, his fingers playing in her hair. They swayed together to Jennifer’s song, Ben’s sure footwork keeping them moving in a slow glide.

  “I put my hands under your coat, just like this. The other guys were grinning at you, knowing you were trying to figure out a way to push me away a little bit without hurting my feelings. You knew I was too old for you to dance with me like a little girl, too young for us to dance that close. Isn’t that odd, how that change happens?”

  When she lifted her head, Ben still had his hand on the side of her face, his gaze intent upon her. His grip on her tightened, and she knew from his expression he was done letting her dodge and retreat. His mouth had that firm set, his eyes pinning her in place. But she still had a couple key seconds, and she wasn’t going to lose them.

  “You’d started to get hard when you pushed me away. You covered it in your usual smooth way, but I remember it. ” Had dreamed about it.

  Particularly when she brought herself to climax in her dorm room at night. She’d lean back from her laptop, think of Ben. She’d imagine him coming up behind her, his fingers sliding around her throat, tipping her head back against his abdomen. He’d whisper to her, tell her to spread her legs. He’d command her to put her fingers down her panties, and then watch her get so aroused she was begging him. Begging for permission to come.

  She’d had submissive cravings for a long time, but it wasn’t until she’d read between the lines, picked up on what she’d overheard and seen between Lucas and Cass and the others, that she’d understood what she was. Why her sexual desires were different from the vanilla sex fantasies of a high school or college girl. Her dreams had to do with her being on her knees, being spanked, restrained. Tortured and tested. By him.

  She wanted to say all of that, wanted to be that brave, but something about his look now, the tightening of his fingers on her face, kept her silent.

  “You’re asking for trouble, little girl. ” The hard tone was different. It wasn’t the Ben he’d always been with her, and though she knew he was trying to warn her off, it speared need and hope through her vitals. This was the predator she wanted. Hell, she’d bathe in raw meat if that was what she had to do. It gave her the courage to answer him.

  “I surely hope so. I don’t think I could be any plainer about it. ”

  “Marcie, cut it out now, or your internship is over. Got it?”

  “I don’t care about the internship. We’re close to Club Progeny. Just a cab ride away. Why don’t you take me there, do everything you want to do to me, that I can feel you wanting? I’ve been to clubs, I’ve—”

  “Stop. ” The word was a knife, cutting her off. Taking her arm, Ben led her back to her chair, this time going through an opening in the iron fence that required them to wind past the other closely placed tables. He motioned to the waiter as he held her chair, pressed her back down into it, his fingers gripping her nape in a way that made her shiver.

  “A chocolate torte to go, and the check. ”

  “Yes sir. ”

  He sat back down. Before, with the bistro table being so s
mall, and the other tables so close, his knee had ranged alongside her crossed legs, his other foot placed beside hers. Now he set the chair back toward the rail, putting a more circumspect distance between them. She was losing ground fast, but she’d made enough progress this battle wasn’t a complete loss. Picking up her wine, she took a bracing swallow, regarded him. She’d been on the debate team in college, she knew how to hold her own. That is, if she imagined him as anyone other than Ben, who was looking as if he could eat her in three sharp bites.

  “You’re in over your head, and you need to quit this. ”

  “If you think that, take me to the club and show me what it’s really like. I think what you’re really worried about is that I won’t scare. How would you punish me? Spank me? Tie me up. Fuck—”

  In a snap of motion, his hand closed over hers, forcing the wineglass back to the table. He caught her chin, leaning forward so she was staring into brilliant green eyes.

  “Where is the key to this?”

  Since her senses were reeling from his proximity, it took a moment to realize he was asking about the collar.

  She could go with the coy, smart-ass answer, like “Where do you want it to be?” or “Why don’t you search me to find it?”, but while she knew what she was, it was more fantasy than experience. She’d never had it tested under the searing regard of a fully unleashed Master. This wasn’t a practicing Dom with protocols and reasonable discussions of limits. Ben was an actual, in-his-blood Master, who demanded only one response from a submissive. The unembellished truth, delivered promptly.

  “It’s… The key’s attached to my navel jewelry. ”

  His gaze still locked on hers, he dropped a hand to pull the blouse free of her skirt. When he found the tiny key, his attention dropped to examine the connection. She bit her lip at the pressure on the catch bead, a jeweled flower that provided the fastener to hold the key there. His touch passed over her navel, and she couldn’t help it, a small noise came from her throat, her thighs tightening at the moisture that came from her sex. His eyes flickered up to her face. “Part your legs,” he said in that same hard tone.