The Billionaire's Christmas Bargain: Billionaires in Bondage, Book 3 Page 6

  “You bet I am. She had to know the offer came from me. No one else in their right mind would pay as much as I offered for that old, leaky shack.”

  “Of course not,” Maxwell said in a light, wry voice that made Harvey’s hackles rise. “No developer in his right mind would want that lovely piece of land on the famous cliffs. Certainly tourists wouldn’t be interested in holidays in such a terribly picturesque location.”

  “A developer? You can’t be serious. What would they build there? It’s only an acre or two, isn’t it? Or whatever units of measure they use in England.”

  “This is another example of how your brilliant mind entraps you without you even realizing it.” Maxwell’s voice didn’t rise, but he turned back to his pot and the spoon clanked loudly against the sides of the pot with his vigorous stirring. “Oh the tangled webs you weave.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “When your great-grandmother passed away, do you know the first thing your father did? He researched all of the adjacent properties, and then one by one, over the next two decades, he bought them as they became available, up and down that portion of Whitsand Bay. The last I knew, he’d added over a hundred acres to the cottage’s tract when he bought a dairy farm that had gone out of business.”

  “I didn’t make an offer for all that,” Harvey retorted. “Only the cottage. How could I know he’d bought up all the surrounding properties?”

  “You could have asked me. Or Mrs. St. John. Instead, you tried to be clever and sneaky, without knowing the whole picture.”

  Harvey set the fragile teacup down before he crushed it against his own forehead. “Or, you know, someone could have mentioned that little fact in the last ten or twenty years.”

  “If you’d indicated an interest in the property, I would certainly have done so. As I’m doing now.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  Maxwell’s eyes widened. “Me, want from you? Nothing.”

  “I came in here to apologize for last night, but I’m too angry now to even think about it.”

  Maxwell smiled slightly. “I know. Never mind. It’s forgotten and done.”

  Which only served to send Harvey’s blood pressure rocketing higher. “How dare you be so…so…”

  “Understanding? Forgiving? Amiable?”

  “Argh!” Harvey pushed to his feet. Maxwell was all those things and more, which only irritated him more. It was impossible to compare the thing he’d become to the shining example Maxwell set and not be angry. At himself for screwing up so badly. Not once, but over and over his entire life. “I’m sorry for the way I behaved last night.” He got the words out, but his jaws ached with the effort of containing all the hurtful, raw words that threatened to explode. Why didn’t I die too? Why do you allow me to treat you so horribly? Why can’t I move on? Why didn’t you die instead of them? That last one hurt the most. He didn’t mean it. Not really. But he couldn’t help the errant thought that burned in the dark fury he lived with every day, and the guilt burned like acid. “My temper got the better of me.”

  “As it often does. Apology accepted. Why don’t you go apologize to my dear niece now? She was most upset that you nearly threw her steak onto the floor.”

  Harvey spluttered out a denial even though that’s exactly what he intended to do. “Her? You’re kidding. I didn’t ask her here.”

  “She’s our guest.”

  “Not my guest,” Harvey retorted.

  “What would your mother want you to do?”

  “Fuck you.” He pushed out of the chair and slammed it up against the bar. “You’re fired, too.”

  “Splendid. I look forward to days of ease on a nice, sunny beach somewhere.” Chuckling, Maxwell didn’t even turn around. “Grumble all you want, but I know you like her.”

  Harvey sighed and headed for the library. That’s what I’m afraid of.

  Chapter Eight

  Harvey lifted his hand to knock on the heavy old door to the library, but hesitated. It was his library. His house. Why should he knock on the door, as if begging permission to enter his own damned room?

  Maxwell’s words played through his mind. What would your mother want you to do?

  Melissa Caine had been the epitome of grace and class. She was a brilliant doctor, a loving mother and wife, and a respected member of society who believed in giving back to the community. She’d been on dozens of charity organizations’ boards and fundraisers, both because of her connections but also her personality. She sparkled, easily chatting with everyone from low to high. People were people to her, whether they were homeless, recovering veterans waiting on a new limb, or a snooty millionaire wanting to make a name for himself with his donation, rather than giving from the heart.

  Or a wretchedly spoiled son who’d been a disappointment time and again.

  She’d never been rude a day in her life.

  With a sigh, he compromised by rapping on the door once, and then entering, without waiting for Kelsey to respond. He stepped inside the old, familiar room but jerked to a halt. It was so bright that it took him a moment to even make sense of what he saw. She threw open another heavy set of curtains and he raised his forearm to shield his eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Letting some light in.” She coughed but continued to tug the curtain aside. With both floor-to-ceiling windows uncovered, the room was so bright his eyes watered. “This room could use a good dusting too. Don’t you ever use it?”

  “Not really. I’ve never cared for books much.”

  She turned around and leveled a dark look on him that almost made him take a step back. Almost. “Well, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in my life. But there’s only so many problems I can help you with at a time. We’ll take care of your wrong-headed thinking about these lovely old books another time. Today, you’ve asked me to demonstrate a few things for you because you’re curious. Curiosity is a good thing, one I’m happy to oblige. Come in and make yourself comfortable.”

  He didn’t remember what it was like to be comfortable in his surroundings, let alone in his own skin. He settled for sitting in one of the ancient wingback chairs in front of the fireplace that hadn’t been lit in years. She sat in the matching chair opposite his. Much too close, just a few feet away. If they each leaned forward, they’d be able to touch. The thought sent a cold chill rippling down his spine, followed by stinging hot irons that dug around in his gut. He hadn’t touched a woman, or been touched by one, since the accident. His heart raced so badly he swayed, dizzied by his thundering pulse. His palms were sweating, but his fingertips were icy. A strange feeling, hot and cold mixed together.

  “You’re having a panic attack.” Her voice was low, gentle and soothing, as if she was talking to a wounded animal. “Keep breathing, Harvey. It’ll pass. The anxiety will rise like a wave, crest, and then fall.”

  “Why?” He managed to gasp out.

  “Why a panic attack? Only your body knows, but I’m guessing it’s my presence. I’ve disrupted your normal lifestyle, for which I sincerely apologize. If this is too difficult for you, I’ll speak to Uncle Gordon—”

  “No,” he retorted, squeezing the arms of the chair. “I can do this. I need to do this, so I can make it to Aunt Lauren’s Christmas party.”

  “Why do you need to be at that party? Talk to me. It might help distract your mind until your body calms down.”

  He counted a deep breath in and out, making sure he wasn’t going to hyperventilate. His heart felt too large for his ribcage, pressing uncomfortably against his lungs and organs. “Revenge. Maxwell doesn’t approve.”

  “Revenge for what?”

  He closed his eyes and concentrated on her voice. It was strange hearing another person’s voice in the house, let alone a woman who wasn’t his mother. The library had always been her favorite room in the house. Once, in a
blizzard, the power had gone out. They’d built up a roaring fire and had a picnic on the floor with Dad and Maxwell. Using the fireplace for light, they’d lounged on the floor and played card games all night, all four of them. One of his favorite memories.

  “You’re smiling,” she whispered. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Something I’d forgotten. A picnic in the middle of a blizzard, here before the fire. I was ten I think.”

  “Sounds nice. You must have lots of memories like that here in this gorgeous house.”

  He nodded, concentrating on letting each muscle relax. “This was always a safe place.”

  “Good. Concentrate on that feeling of safety and warmth. Nothing bad will happen here. Do you believe that?”

  Silently, he nodded again. Bad things happened outside. That’s why he hadn’t left the house in years.

  “Maybe we should save the demonstration for another day.”

  He jerked his gaze up to her face. “No, please, I could use the distraction.”

  A wry smile twisted her mouth. “No Mistress likes to be relegated to merely a distraction, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  Since he was pale and sweaty, a sexy tease was probably the last thing on his mind. In fact, he looked like he might vomit. Guess I should take it easy on him.

  “The first thing I make any sub do, whether a paying client or my personal date, is pick a safeword. Whatever’s going on, once I hear that word, all play stops. What’s the first word that pops into your mind?”

  He scowled. “I’m not a sub.”

  She flashed a wide smile at him. “We’ll see. Just pretend for me so I can get through this demonstration. I’m a Domme, but I can play a switch if the money’s right.”

  “What’s a switch?”

  “Someone who can be both submissive and dominant.”

  Turning his attention to the empty fireplace, he traced his fingers across the wooden arms of the chair. At least he wasn’t trying to rip it apart with his bare hands any longer. Finally, he spoke. “I guess I can’t really say. My ego assures me I wouldn’t be submissive, but until you found your way into my house, I’ve never discussed such a thing before.”

  “Most people don’t. Maybe they’re curious, or would be curious if they were given good information, but I’m afraid most people aren’t lucky enough to know someone reliable in the lifestyle to talk to.”

  “You’re in the lifestyle?”

  “Solidly, yes. I’ve known since the beginning, even if I didn’t know the terms. I’m in control at all times. I need it that way.”

  “But you said you could be both.”

  “Only if the money’s right, which means it’s the professional taking the job, not for me alone.”

  “So that’s the difference.” His voice sounded vaguely disappointed, as though he’d expected her to give him a really deep or exciting explanation. “In the end, it comes down to money. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Everybody’s got to have money to make it in this world. You got yours from your parents. I happen to make a living doing something I’m damned good at. How about instead of judging me, you see what I’m capable of first.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You weren’t thinking, ‘Geez, what a slut’?”

  He glanced at her, eyes wide and cheeks flushing. “No, not at all.”

  “Your embarrassment says otherwise. First lesson, Harvey. Most professionals I know don’t actually agree to have sex with their clients. It’s generally much simpler—and more complicated—than that.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Second lesson. My bread and butter is camming. Do you know what that is?”

  “Sure, using a cam on a computer, uploading to a server where clients pay for a session.”

  “Would it surprise you that most men who pay me for a session don’t want to have sex with me?”

  “What do they want from you, then?”

  She smiled. “They want me to tell them what to do.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yep.”

  “And how’s that different when it’s just you and your…date? Sub? Whatever you call it.”

  She grinned wider, watching his muscles tense with wariness. “It’s not. I still tell them what to do. But the punishments and rewards are decidedly different.”

  His eyes narrowed and he stood enough to twist his chair around to face hers fully rather than angled toward the fireplace. “Show me.”

  Chapter Nine

  “We’re going to play a little game, Harvey.”

  He watched her warily, waiting for the panic to surge back. So far so good—he was more intrigued than worried.

  “But you still need to give me a word we can use to stop the action. Did you think of one yet?” When he stared at her blankly, she prompted him with a few ideas. “It should be something you wouldn’t normally say to me. Some people use red. How about that?”

  He shook his head. “No. Red reminds me of Christmas.”

  “What do you have against Christmas?”

  He tried to relax and uncoil his body against the back cushion. “Everything.”

  “Okay, another conversation for later. For now, I guess I have to let you be a Christmas hater. You’re worse than Scrooge.”

  “Humbug,” he said quickly. “Can we use that as a safeword?”

  She laughed softly. “Now that’s a new one. Sure. You say humbug, no matter what we’re doing, even if we’re just talking, and it’s over. Of course, me being a Domme and all, I’m going to demand later that you explain why you stopped the action, but I give you my word that it’ll never involve punishment, as long as you’re honest with me. In the end, that’s all I really need. A willing submissive who’s honest. I can do a lot with pure honesty.”

  It took all his will not to look away. Sweat actually beaded on his forehead. “I’m not very good at honesty.”

  “Well, at least you’re honest about it.” She laughed again, and he couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed in this room. This house. Once it’d been one of his favorite rooms. Now it stank of dust and old books and broken memories. “Let your body talk to me, Harvey. It’ll be way more honest than you want it to be. Shall we begin?”

  She waited for him to acknowledge his acceptance, and he wanted to shake his head and walk away. It was too much. Too much interaction, too much exposure, too much honesty, even if he tried to lie. Because he was damned sure that she was as good at reading body language as she threatened.

  But what was his alternative? For all his plans to wreak his revenge on Aunt Lauren, right now, he wasn’t even one hundred percent sure that he could leave the house. He thought that when the time came, he’d be able to pull it off. He’d been working for it so long. But what if he couldn’t? What if this was as good as his life would ever be, and he was cursed to live trapped in this empty tomb of a house with the ghosts of his parents?

  If nothing else, Kelsey was at least entertaining. She kept his mind off the accident and the wasted years he’d been struggling to find a reason to live again.

  He gave her a jerky nod.

  “All right. Pretend that you’re just an average horny guy surfing the web, hoping to hook up for a little entertainment. You see me interacting with fans on the company forum, and you think, wow, I really like her. Maybe you don’t know why, but you sense something in me that you need. What do you do?”

  “Give you my platinum credit card number?”

  “Well that was a given as soon as you joined the company website. You ask me to take you to a private room.”

  “Okay. Do you refuse sometimes?”

  “Sure. The first thing I do is check your previous interactions. The website tracks all user names—even guests’ IDs—and shows me every reply and post you’ve ma
de. Maybe you’re a complete douchebag. Or you were rude to one of my friends for no good reason. Or maybe in reading your talks on the forums I don’t get a good vibe from you. We’re not suited.”

  “So you don’t accept and get at least a little of my money? I mean there must be an initial amount charged regardless of how long I stay.”

  “Of course, there’s a flat fee to enter a private chat. But that’s not my style. I’m sure some pros do that, but I don’t. I only want people who really want me, and I can build up whatever fantasy they’ve got in their head. And that’s lesson three, Harvey. Most of what I do is helping a client live out a fantasy in a safe and harmless way. It’s a head game, a place you’ve always wanted to visit, a person you’ve always wanted to be, and I help make that happen.”

  “You’re telling me these shmucks line up to give you their credit card numbers so they can tell you their fantasies?”

  She leaned back in her chair, but despite her casual pose, something about her demeanor changed enough that the hair prickled on the back of his neck. “They don’t just tell me. I make it happen.”

  “How?”

  She crossed her legs and the flirty skirt rode up higher, treating him to a glimpse of the creamy skin of her thigh. It took him a second to realize that she wore stockings. The silk made her skin gleam in the sunlight. Raw, bare skin. His fingers suddenly burned to touch that skin, to see if it was as soft as her stockings.

  Shaken, he curled his wayward fingers into a fist and dragged his gaze toward her face. Unfortunately, her fingers distracted him, snagging his attention as they played with the top button of her blouse.

  “I’m so glad you asked to talk to me privately, Harvey.”

  He jerked in his seat, surprised by the purring heat in her voice. Rumbling with wickedness and promising decadent sin he hadn’t even imagined yet, her voice was worth a fortune. No wonder she’d never used that voice on him before. It ought to require some kind of deadly force license.

  “What would you like to see?”