Bared by the Billionaire (4 page)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Agent Patterson. Alejandro is a liar and a thief. I’m surprised you’d believe anything he ever said.”

“Please, call me Don.” Patterson’s eyes were warm, his voice soft. “I’m not here to judge you, Kyra. Frankly, the idea of that type of relationship has always held a great deal of interest for me too.” He stared boldly at her for a moment and she could almost see the wild images poring through his head. But he went right back to business.

“According to my sources, BDSM has become Harmon’s newest obsession and he’s looking for someone with your special needs and desires. Being in a, shall we say, intimate setting with him would give you unlimited access to his private quarters, his personal computer, even his conversations with others.”

“So you want me to whore for the FBI?” Her voice was cold, though she was shaking inside.

“Let’s put it this way. I wouldn’t want you ever to do anything you didn’t want to do. You’d simply be going to work in Harmon’s company, doing for him essentially the same things you’ve done here. But if you get involved in a personal relationship with Harmon while you work there, one where you’re free to choose how far you want to take it, and that relationship puts you in a position to find out some things that would keep you out of prison and maybe put him there instead… well, would that be such a bad thing?”

Kyra stared down at her hands, clenched into fists. She wanted to scream, to hit somebody, to smash things. She had an MBA, a resume full of accomplishments and honors. Now, suddenly, she was being treated like a slut. All because of a poor choice in her personal life. She could take her chances in the legal system, facing the possibility of years in prison for something she didn’t do, or sell her body to guarantee her freedom.

She took a deep breath. Always practical, she had to admit the choice was simple. She’d do whatever it took, whatever she had to do, to clear her name—and try to forgive herself later.

“I want it in writing. Your agreement that neither the FBI nor anyone else will attempt to prosecute me for any involvement in fraud or embezzlement at International Technology Consultants. Not now or at any time in the future, whether or not I’m able to find information that Harmon is guilty of a crime.”

“Done.”

They’d talked for nearly two hours, ironing out the details, making plans for how and when she’d contact him for the regular reports he wanted.

“I need to hear from you, on a weekly basis at the very least,” he explained. “And you need to know we’ll be keeping an eye on you for your own safety. I’m not going to leave you out there alone, Kyra. I have no reason to believe that Harmon is dangerous or I’d never suggest this. But we’re talking millions of dollars here. That kind of money can make a man snap, do things he thought he’d never do.”

Or a woman,
she thought, staring at her reflection in the mirror back in her condo later that night.
What’s the old joke? Oh, yeah. Will you fuck me for a dollar? How about for somewhere around thirty million bucks
?
Well, we’ve established what I am. At least my price is respectable.

She went into the kitchen, poured herself a rare drink, and carried it out to the balcony. Sinking into the same chair for a second night, she gulped down a shot of bourbon, then gave way in the darkness to the tears that she’d kept at bay throughout the long day. She’d worked hard for years to get where she was today, a top executive in a large multi-national corporation. She put off partying, relationships, the dream of marriage and children. And now after all her sacrifices, all her efforts, what did she have to show for it?

Not a damn thing,
she realized bitterly.
I might as well have fucked my way into a cushy job years ago. Maybe I’d still have nothing, but at least I’d have had some fun along the way.

She’d gotten involved with Alejandro against her better judgment. Broken her cardinal rule—never mix business with pleasure. She’d seen it backfire too many times with female friends and acquaintances. When the shit hit the fan and the relationship ended badly, it was always the woman who got fired. Kyra had vowed that she’d never put herself in that position.

She’d worked for ITC for nearly a year before she ever slept with Alejandro. An iron-clad contract with the company required that if she was terminated for any reason, she’d get a severance package equal to roughly two years of her hefty salary. She thought she was safe from any emotional fallout too, since they both agreed to keep it light, casual. Kind of a friends-with-benefits situation. Friends who both happened to work at the same company.

But the severance package was only good if the corporation actually had the money to pay her. And now she realized why he’d been so generous with her terms of employment, the promised bonuses. Alejandro had planned all along to empty the coffers before he left. He never intended to pay her a dime.

Distressing as that was, she realized it wasn’t her biggest problem right now. Thanks to Alejandro and his bragging, she’d apparently gotten the reputation around town of being into BDSM. Big time. And that simply wasn’t true. He’d spanked her a few times, before they had sex, and she’d enjoyed it. But it was never very hard, just enough to make her wonder how it would feel to get a real spanking. She had no idea what was required of a true submissive, or what a real-life dom did. Would she be chained up and whipped? Forced to get on her knees and give blowjobs to an endless stream of strange men, just for Harmon’s amusement?

I can’t tell Agent Patterson I’m not really a sub,
she decided
. He’ll find some other way of getting inside Harmon’s operation and I’ll be back in the same predicament I was twenty-four hours ago. If I go to jail, I’ll probably end up being forced to lick pussy or get beaten up regularly. Probably both. Anyway, I’m a smart woman. I can do research. I can fake the right responses. Besides, I’ve always been turned on by the idea of getting a real spanking. Other people get off on the whole BDSM scene. How bad could it be?

Chapter Three

Jake Harmon prowled the dark halls of his penthouse like a cheetah locked up in a zoo.

He seldom left the confines of his sky-top suite of rooms here at DreamQuest Designs. The nighttime city lights beckoned outside his windows, but he was too well-known to venture out. He’d learned early on that if he so much as set foot in one of the South Beach clubs, he’d be hounded by paparazzi. His face would be on the front page of all the sleazy tabloids and that was an image he couldn’t afford to project if he wanted his company to be taken seriously. Plagued by insomnia, he rarely slept more than five hours a night. Instead, he worked. Sixteen, eighteen hours a day. Creating devices that had made him a fortune twenty times over. Unfortunately, it was a fortune he couldn’t enjoy.

Sure, he had everything money could buy. But there was something missing in his life. And the devil of it was, he didn’t know what.

He’d gone to his share of shrinks. Or rather, he’d had them come to him. They talked about addiction, obsession, depression, the ‘black hole’ that devoured so many brilliant minds. Harmon listened, paid them, and then sent them on their way. He was far too smart to allow himself to become addicted to anything. Booze, drugs—they were for weaklings. One of them suggested he was addicted to work, but Harmon scoffed at that. His work was his
life
. That was like saying he was addicted to breathing oxygen.

So he immersed himself further in his one true passion—bringing the stuff of his dreams into existence. A while back, he’d been busy creating a machine that mapped the human brain with a hand-held device that looked like a grocery store barcode scanner. Six months of hard work would soon render obsolete the enormous and costly CAT scan machines that required patients to lie unmoving in the coffin-like structures for long periods of time. His device was being tested in several hospitals right now.

Kids, a handful of super-rich kids that is, already owned the tiny ear buds he built last year that allowed them to fly miniature drones powered and guided only by their thoughts. That one was already in production. It would be in all the toy stores this Christmas, selling for less than the latest generation PlayStation. He’d rake in countless millions more.

Medical marvels, children’s playthings—they were all the same to him. Nothing but opportunities to dream and make those dreams come true, no matter how wild or outlandish they seemed to others. But tonight, he couldn’t seem to concentrate. He was on edge, and if it was anyone else, he would have called it anxiety. He dismissed that thought as quickly as it came into his mind. There was nothing Jake Harmon had to be anxious about. Except maybe… tomorrow’s interview.

Steven Taylor, CEO of Millennial Metals, one of the companies he worked closely with, was the closest thing Harmon had to a casual friend. Taylor had arranged for him to meet that woman tomorrow, the one he’d seen last spring when they attended Cabrera’s lavish affair together at Vizcaya. Harmon had spied her across the room as soon as he’d walked in. She was attractive, but so were hundreds of other women who threw themselves at his feet, desperately vying for attention from—what was it
Time
magazine had called him?
The modern Midas… everything he touches turns to gold.
But this woman had something special about her.

Harmon wandered into the fully outfitted gym in the penthouse, determined to work out till he sweated away this strange mood. He decided against summoning Marcus, his personal trainer, from his quarters on a lower floor, preferring to be alone tonight. He stripped off his shirt and got down to business. Setting the weight at 220 pounds to start, he began doing squats. Three sets of ten, with short breaks in between. He’d increase the weight with each set.

Getting into the rhythm of the workout allowed him to focus, clearing his mind of all other thoughts, demanding maximum performance from his body. Harmon loved that feeling. He understood now how people could get hooked on endorphins. Sweat poured off him as he took his last break. He mopped his face with a towel and gulped down half a bottle of water.

Without the diversion, his mind immediately flew back to the past again. All through school, Harmon had been the classic geek—never invited to parties, ridiculed by the popular kids. He never dated, never had any real friendships, spending all his time immersed in a self-made world of tech marvels. He’d been slender, pale, with the stereotypical thick glasses that made playing sports difficult.

Once he’d gotten rich, he set about changing all the things that made him feel inferior. Lasik surgery did away with the need for thick glasses within an hour. Thanks to this gym and Marcus, who was on call 24/7 to fit his erratic nocturnal schedule, he’d bulked up. To his surprise, he discovered that he enjoyed the physical challenge of lifting weights as much as he enjoyed the mental challenges he set for himself. He was hooked, rarely missing a day now. Jake Harmon never did anything half-assed.

He gave himself a critical appraisal in one of the full-length mirrors that lined three walls of the room. His dark wavy hair was a bit long, prone to falling in his eyes while he worked. But that was due more to his tendency to lose himself in a project for days on end, too busy to arrange for a hairdresser to come in or even to shave, than it was to adhere to any current fashion trend. His bare chest glistened with sweat, setting off the abs he’d defined over the last few years. Now his body was lean and toned, with sleek muscle under the casual jeans and t-shirts that made up his usual attire. His habit of taking a break every day for a short mid-afternoon swim in his rooftop lap pool gave him a perennial golden tan. In short, the Jake Harmon staring back at him today looked every inch the part of a fabulously wealthy, slightly eccentric, but oh-so-eligible bachelor.

But he’d never really learned the skill of casual conversation along the way, those meaningless exchanges that grease the wheels of first meetings, whether between business contacts or potential dating partners. And he had no patience with vacuous, buxom beauties unable to string together a group of words into an intelligent sentence. So like Midas, he was trapped in a prison of his own design, alone in this castle with his vast wealth.

That woman at Vizcaya—Kyra Thornton—had been the first to catch his attention in a long time. He could still remember everything about her. She wore a floor-length white gown that night, Grecian in style, with her long dark hair pulled back into a knot. Unlike the rest of the women in the room, she wasn’t wearing any jewelry. No long, dangly earrings, no flashy jewels to distract the eye. Her classic simplicity appealed to him. Leaving one shoulder bare, the dress flowed over her curves, showing off a voluptuous body, a body he later found out was normally hidden by no-nonsense business suits.

She’d been surrounded by a group of international businessmen when he pretended to wander by. She was the center of attention. But it wasn’t just because of her looks. To his surprise, she was delivering her opinion on the latest controversial decision from the Federal Reserve to continue the unrestricted flow of capital into the economy despite fears of an emerging cycle of rising inflation.

Surely she knew who he was. Cabrera had made such a show of introducing him when he arrived, then insisting that they pose for pictures together. But unlike other women he met, she simply gave him a cool nod when he joined the small group and continued her tirade. She was aloof, opinionated, outspoken—and absolutely right about everything she was saying.

Kyra was lovely, although nowhere near as stunning as the woman on his arm that night. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind, especially when he took the blonde home and tried to have a meaningful conversation with her. She got down on her knees instead and gave him an unasked-for and frankly mediocre blowjob the minute they closed the door to his penthouse. He’d thanked her, rather coolly, handed her an envelope stuffed with the cash they’d agreed on plus a generous tip, given a noncommittal response to her urgent pleas for him to call her. “Really,” she kept repeating. “Any time… day or night.” In fact, he hadn’t given her a second thought until just now.