Billionaire Romance Boxed Set (9 Book Bundle) (91 page)

Syria squeezed him. “I mean it.
It’s taken a lot of sorting out, but I finally realized what was going on with
me.”

They pulled up to a red light,
the color splashing across Tyson’s face and the beard, still hanging from one
ear. He pulled it off. “What’s that?”

“I love you too,” Syria said.
“And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get us in the same city, and I’m
fine with your work. I trust you.”

He reached for her, and she
pulled against the seat belt so he could hold her close. “Then I can tell you
my Christmas surprise right now.”

She pulled away just enough to
look at him. “What is it?”

“I got a job with a national
talent agency.”

“As a stripper?”

The light turned green, and Tyson
pulled through the intersection, then into another empty lot, dropping the car
into park.

“No, as a booking agent. Actors
and models, mostly. No more stripping, or at least no more taking gigs I don’t
want.” He glanced behind him. “I’m probably done with the single ladies’
auxiliary.”

“Tyson, that is great!” Syria
rested back against the seat. “So where is the job?”

“That’s the best part. They have
ten offices. We can go wherever we want. We can stay in New Mexico if you want,
since you have your studio. Or come here. Or choose a different place.”

Syria thought of Erik, and the
proximity of his slaves, and the bondage people, and that restaurant she was
pretty sure she couldn’t never go to again.

“Where are the other cities?”

“LA of course. And New York and
Florida and Houston and a new office in Vegas.”

“Vegas?”

“Yes. They are growing quickly
there.”

“I could shoot some fabulous things
there.”

“I could send you portfolio work,
easy.”

“I could start over.”

“We could both start over.”

Syria unbuckled her seat belt and
leaned over the console. “Let’s do that,” she said. “Let’s move to Vegas.”

He pulled her in close, his mouth
in her hair. “Let’s go.”

And he kissed her again, a
different sort of kiss, one Syria wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before. It was
kiss that said, this isn’t for now, for a lark, for a one-off good time. But
for real. For love. And maybe, even, for keeps.

About the Author

Starla Cole is a boudoir
photographer and writer. She began her Boudoir Sessions stories after some
crazy guy called her once and said he was so hot, she’d want to have sex with
him during the photo session.

After she hung up, she
thought—hmmm. What if he WAS? And wrote the story
Naughty Santa
.

The characters Syria and Tyson
seemed to decide they wanted an actual relationship, so the Boudoir Session
series has continued. She has also started a series with her husband (who was
not
amused by the phone call) called
Couples Play
.
Watch for more work from Starla at her web site:
http://starlacole.blogspot.com
or
join her mailing list for sneak peeks and free excerpts at
http://eepurl.com/tlv6b

When not creating erotica, she
writes romantic comedies under the name
Mary Beth Daniels
.

Some retailers hide books with
erotic content. You can always find direct links to where to buy Starla’s
stories at

http://starlacole.blogspot.com

Get notice of any new releases on
Starla’s mailing list at:
http://eepurl.com/tlv6b

Thank you for being a part of
Syria’s journey!

Starla

Syria’s
Seduction (FREE!)

Syria has just failed out of her
second community college program when she stumbles upon a boudoir photographer
shooting an almost-naked woman in a public park.

The photographer Anthony asks for
her assistance with his equipment, but also to help fend off the prowling
woman, and suggests they have dinner to offer his gratitude for saving him from
the cougar, who seems hell-bent on making Anthony her next conquest.

Syria is anxious and shy, having
never dated in the small town where her mixed-raced heritage and absent father
were a constant source of gossip. Anthony comes on a little too strong at
dinner, sending her into a panic, but with encouragement from a friend, Syria
decides this might be her best opportunity to loosen up and gain some life
experience from someone who knows exactly how to make a woman look and feel
beautiful.

Their tryst by a lake goes from
photo lesson, to sexy photo shoot, to a seduction that will change Syria’s life
and open her eyes to both the beauty within her and an art form that will
become her new passion.

THE BILLIONAIRE’S ULTIMATUM

By Cerys du Lys

His Absolute Conditions

*

“Don’t move anything out of place,” the
cleaning staff lead said. “Don’t use non-approved equipment, don’t
speak unless spoken to, and don’t get in the way.”

This place was strict, apparently. I knew it
would be tough when I started, but the pay was good and I really needed the job
at the moment, even if it was only for a day. The temp agency that placed
me here had seemed reluctant about offering me the job, but the staff lead said
it didn’t matter, that he(who was he?) wouldn’t be in the office today and they
just needed someone to fill the position.

That should have tipped me off to something, but I was
blinded by the money. And this was at Landseer Tower, no less, one of the
most high class buildings in the city, so of course they’d pay well.
Still, I had to double check to make sure the figure was correct; it was more
than I made in a week at most places, and this was only for today. I
usually performed secretarial jobs, data entry, or anything involving
paperwork, but I’d done a few cleaning jobs before. I told the woman at
the temp agency I would accept it.

I should have been scared—I was scared!—but I tried
to overlook it. What was the worst that could happen? The job was
only for the day.

“Jessika Fevrier,” the staff lead said,
reading my name from a worksheet and pronouncing it wrong. “Do you
have any questions?” he asked. He looked at me like I was a
nuisance.

Time to lighten the mood, I thought. Not my
typical strong suit, but he looked like he could use a smile, and after
arriving at this place, complete with a fountain in the front lobby and crystal
clear glass elevators, I was extremely nervous. “If I can’t move
anything out of place,” I said, “how do I clean everything?”

It was a joke. I knew how to clean, and I knew
what he meant. It sounded better in my head, like the sort of silly,
sarcastic joke that would put someone at ease. This man would laugh, give
me one of those silly shakes of his head, pat me on the shoulder, and we’d be
fine for the day.

That never happened. He stared at me, long and
hard, furrowing his brow in disapproval. “I think we’re going to
have to find someone else. It’s clear to me that you are unfit for this
job.”

What! No, no… I needed this. “Sir,
I’m sorry. It was a joke. I swear. I was just joking.”

He didn’t look convinced. I was certain I couldn’t
convince him, was just about ready to give up and walk away, knowing I’d ruined
my chances at a decent opportunity. He frowned, letting out a loud sigh.

“It’s your lucky day,” he said.
“I doubt I could find anyone else on short notice, and I don’t want to
explain the situation to Mr. Landseer, so I’ll let you stay. The joke
wasn’t funny, though. I’m not entirely convinced it was a joke,
either. Consider that your first and final warning. If you screw up
again, you’re finished. You really don’t want that to happen.”

I gulped, eyes wide. A blush of red heat warmed
my face, the tingle of it making me feel like I was sick, like I should have
stayed in bed today. Chicken soup was good for the soul, they said.
You couldn’t pay bills with chicken soup or a soul, though, now could you?

I gathered supplies from the closet that the lead man
showed me. Nothing too difficult to handle. A feather duster, a
handheld vacuum, some cleaner spray, and a special streak-free towel.
Basic items, things I’d used numerous times before.

When I looked at the slip of paper with my assignment,
I nearly died. He wanted me to clean Asher Landseer’s personal
office? Was this a joke? I flipped the paper over, hoping to find
some other instructions, but there weren’t any. The room grew
hotter. I panicked, wanted to sneak out of the office and back to my
typical run of the mill day, but then what? I couldn’t just return to the
temp agency.

So wandering down the hallway towards Mr. Landseer’s
office, I wondered why I was here again? It was a job, first off.
That was a point in its favor. I’d graduated from a good school, though,
and received top marks for all of my classes. Nothing perfect, but I was
more than adequate. I don’t want to say that this job was beneath me, but
I’d expected something better after I left college.

Unfortunately, in hindsight, majoring in English
Language and Literature wasn’t a great choice. What use was knowing the
thought process behind
Shakespeare’s Othello
when you applied for a job?
Not much, if anything. I’m fairly sure that the cleaning manager would
have fired me on the spot instead of giving me a second chance if I’d tried
discussing classic literature with him.

To be fair, this was exciting, though. Not
cleaning, and not the technicalities of this job, but the place. Never
would I have imagined coming here. It took me awhile for the realization
to sink in, and I hadn’t even seen much of the interior yet, but I was in
the
Landseer Tower. Previously owned and operated by Thomas Landseer
before his death six years ago, and now owned by his son, Asher Landseer,
current head of the Landseer empire.

I knew nothing about Asher, save for what I heard
before coming. I was to clean his office, and make it immaculate.
Why me? No one would give me a good answer to that, except to say that it
shouldn’t be an issue. Asher Landseer was in an important meeting and
wouldn’t be around, so I had free reign to clean to my heart’s content and make
everything perfect. The usual person who cleaned, some elderly woman, had
requested the day off so she could go to her granddaughter’s dance recital.

Nervous already, my anxiety soared when I heard some
of the strange things people said about my situation. I passed a couple
of men at a soda machine who stared at me, then laughed, saying something along
the lines of “I don’t envy her” when they thought I was too far away
to hear them. I’d also read, mostly on tabloid covers and entertainment
news articles, that Asher was eccentric and reclusive. What did that
mean, though? I figured he probably just liked his alone time. It
couldn’t be that bad, right? He was married, afterall.

Married, and beautiful beyond words. Not that
this should have mattered for much of anything, especially not to me. But
whenever I saw his picture, in passing somewhere, my heart jumped a
little. A brief quickening of my pulse, an intimate little trill of some
private thought singing through my head, and…

Back to work. I reached the office, pulled out
the key the manager had given me, and unlocked the door. Stepping inside,
I flicked the light switch on and closed the door behind me.

Everything was amazing. He had a desk in the
back, like any other office, but behind it was a large, bay-styled window with
a reading nook built into the wall. Beside that, cornered off into its
own alcove, was a set of floor to ceiling bookcases. A glass wall and
door separated the main office section from a private meeting area, and
opposite that was a chaise with a small table beside it. The entire
office was probably bigger than my apartment, and I used to think I had a
pretty nice apartment.

I didn’t have time to admire the place, though.
I needed to clean. I searched around for an outlet to plug the vacuum
into, then checked for what I should or shouldn’t need to move
beforehand. I would need to dust, but I’d do that after I wiped
everything down first. God, this job was going to be so boring.

And, everything looked perfect anyways. I tried,
I honestly tried, but I couldn’t find anything that looked like it really
needed cleaning. Maintaining the atmosphere, I guessed. I couldn’t
clean a mess that wasn’t there.

I should have just done that, should have finished
cleaning and left, but I was curious. The bookcases called to me, like
some siren of the sea from an epic poem. Just what kinds of books did
Asher Landseer have? Probably typical business books, sets of legal
dictionaries or how-to’s, or unopened and unread classics meant to impress some
business associate into thinking he’d read this or that.

He had all those and more. I browsed through his
collection of literature, enthralled. The business books weren’t so
interesting, but he had a section with newer publications(some from bestselling
authors and others from vague unknowns), older classics like
Alice in
Wonderland
and
Grimm’s Fairy Tales
, and everything in between.

My hand crept towards a copy of
Dante’s Inferno
.
Leather bound, with a gold, gilt-stamped title on the cover and spine, and more
gilt lining the edges, it looked like a book collector’s dream. I stared
at it, rapt, letting my hand caress the cover, feeling the rough leather
against my fingertips. The book had a crisp smell with a tinge of
masculine warmth, like a man’s freshly worn leather jacket.

There was no possible way Asher Landseer had read
this. Absolutely none.

Except when I opened it, it wasn’t stiff. And
there were dogears on a few of the pages. I moved to the first, wanting
to see what he’d found so interesting, and…

“Midway upon the journey of our life, I found
myself within a forest dark, for the straight forward pathway had been
lost,” a calm, confident voice said from behind me.

I panicked, tossed the book back onto the bookshelf,
and turned to face the unknown speaker. That would have been it, except I
was confronted by Asher Landseer himself. He stared at me with his cool,
steel blue eyes. He looked none too happy with me intruding on his
private space, browsing through his bookcase. His pristine, pitch black
suit without a wrinkle anywhere, his short-cropped hair, barely an inch in
length, and his sharp, powerful jaw making him look unlike anything I ever
imagined a businessman should look like. I briefly imagined him stepping
out of a helicopter in a spy movie, playing the role of a debonaire CIA secret
agent.

My heart skipped a beat, my pulse soared, and my
stomach fluttered. My knees grew weak and I almost couldn’t stand to look
at him anymore, like I needed sunglasses to stare at him head on. I tried
to step forward and apologize but one of my high heels caught on a bevel in the
tiled floor and I toppled forward.

Asher swooped forward and caught me. This isn’t
happening, I told myself. This is too strange, too unknown. I must
have fallen asleep, or become delirious in his office.

No, I wasn’t. No sooner than he caught me, the
collector’s copy of
Dante’s Inferno
fell from the shelf I’d tossed it
on. I watched it hit the floor, cover and pages splitting open as it
descended, and then…
crack
!

The book’s binding broke, spilling its contents all
over the floor. Pages, separated, completely out of order, lay scattered
around the bookcase alcove in his office. One of them, another dogeared
page, escaped from the rest and landed at Asher’s feet. He set me aside
like a bag of groceries and bent to pick up the page.

“One ought to fear those things only that have
the power of doing harm,” he said, reading a passage from the page.
“The others not, for they are not dreadful.”

Poignant, I thought, and absolutely correct. It
was as if Dante had seen into the future, noticed this situation, and thought
it amusing to write about it.

Amusing for Dante, and horrifying for me.

“I’m so sorry, sir. Mr. Landseer, I
apologize. I don’t know what came over me. I…”

He turned to me, rage in his eyes. I could
almost see a tiny spark of red lighting up the very center of his icy blue
irises. Tossing the page aside, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me
through the open glass door into his private meeting room.

“Sir, I—”

Without listening, he tossed me onto his meeting room
table and glared at me. I wasn’t sure what to do, wasn’t sure what to
think. What was going on? I inched away from him, my hands pressed
into the smooth, alder wood table as I tried to get away. He would accept
none of that.

Grabbing my foot, he pulled me back towards him.
My skirt bunched up behind me, sliding towards my rear as he pulled me, leaving
my pantyhose-covered crotch exposed to him. He gazed at me. His
eyes seemed to revel in the surprised look on my face, the sight of my breasts
heaving up and down as my breath quickened, and the tantalizing view of my
exposed underwear. His hand traveled up my leg, caressing my pantyhose,
exploring my thigh and moving towards my sex.

This was not happening, I told myself. But no
matter what I told myself, it continued to happen. And, despite the fact
that I was scared out of my mind, I was also uncontrollably aroused.
There was a little part of me, that small heart-skipping pulse in my veins,
that had never fully left. Upon seeing just what Asher Landseer was
capable of, that part grew, stretched, until it was all-encompassing and
demanding.

Asher smiled, watching me wriggle on the table, unable
to escape him. He looped a finger into my pantyhose and peeled them down to
my knees.

“Sir!” I screamed. “Asher!
What are you—?”

This was not proper business protocol! But he
didn’t seem to care much about that at the moment. He focused on me
entirely, his steady, watchful gaze never leaving my eyes as I looked back at
him.