Brokered Submission (2 page)

She slid her eyes toward his and then away again. “No, no one’s hurt. At least not physically. It’s just”—she stopped herself with a resolute shake of her head. “No. Never mind. This is my problem. I’m a big girl. I’ll figure this out on my own.”

She started to turn away. Impulsively, Dylan reached for her arm. “Don’t go. Tell me what it is, Zoë. Please. Maybe I can help. There’s no reason you have to face whatever this is alone.”

He was reasonably sure the issue was financial—her bearing and reaction indicated to him it was a business transaction gone awry. “Look, if this is about money, I have resources and connections. Tell me what’s going on. Better yet—let’s cut to the chase. How much money do you need to fix the problem?”

Zoë worked for a tiny, albeit up-and-coming, venture capital firm, so how much money could they really be talking about? A couple of million at the most? Nothing to lose sleep over, surely.

Zoë put her hands on her hips, an
I dare you
expression on her pretty face. “Six million dollars. By Tuesday afternoon.”

~*~

Zoë waited for the surprise in his eyes, and then the sympathetic shrug of regret. That would be followed by a condescending remark along the lines that we can’t always be winners, or if you want to play with the big boys, you have to learn to roll with the punches. Dylan Hart was well-connected through his investment banking firm, but she doubted he could lay his hands on that kind of money in two days for someone he barely knew. Or that he would want to, their highly-charged sexual banter notwithstanding.

Dylan said nothing at first. He swiveled back toward the bar and signaled for another round. Then he gestured toward the stool she had vacated. “Sit down,” he finally said, “and let’s discuss this.” Something in his tone and his bearing made her obey.

She slid back onto the stool and reached for the fresh drink the bartender set before her. The pleasant buzz she’d had earlier had been burned away by the phone call. As she struggled to regain her composure, Zoë stole a sideline glance at Dylan.

He reminded her of the French actor, Gérard Depardieu, when the actor was very young. Like Depardieu, Dylan was broad and muscular without being especially tall. His nose was too large for his face, his jaw perhaps a bit too pronounced. He generally sported a few days’ worth of stubble on his jaw, which added a rugged, sexy air to his demeanor. What made him really attractive were his eyes. They were an unusual shade of light brown—more like amber, flecked with gold.

She liked his habit, which she’d noticed during their work together, of running his hands through his thick, dark blond hair when he was concentrating on something. Distracted, he would leave it tousled and unruly, in stark contrast to the typical styled and gelled look favored by the fashionable young execs on the Street. He seemed more comfortable in jeans and work boots than a suit and tie.

If only she hadn’t taken the stupid phone call. She could have gone on enjoying their sexual banter without knowing the world had just cracked open beneath her feet. No question about it—she was deep in the shit and time was most definitely not on her side. She’d put too many of her eggs in the wrong basket, and she’d done it all on her own, determined to impress her boss. She was going to impress him, all right, but not in the way she’d hoped. The humiliation of failure made her eyes burn with sudden, unshed tears and she blinked them away. Just like baseball, there was no crying on Wall Street.

Dylan was watching her, the small smile on his face kind rather than superior. She liked that he didn’t prod her. Maybe he would have a suggestion or advice. Or better yet, a way out.

Zoë took a gulp of her margarita, and then another, savoring the sweet burn of the liquor as it bloomed in her chest. What the hell—there was nothing to lose, and so she admitted, “It’s something I was working on on my own. I mean, I’m doing it through the firm, but Bob doesn’t know about it. I was going to surprise him.” She managed to muster a rueful smile. “I’ve wanted to broker a deal on my own for a while now, but Bob didn’t think I was ready yet.” She sighed, staring unhappily down into her drink. “I guess he was right.”

“Hold on. Back up a minute. You’ve had a setback, I get that, but that kind of thing happens all the time in this business. It doesn’t mean you fold up the tent and go home. It just means it’s time to get creative or to call in a few favors. Tell me more about this deal. What did you put together?”

“It’s a small tech firm. They’re on the cusp of some amazing technology that could revolutionize mobile device battery life. They aren’t quite there yet, but I’ve done a lot of research, and I really believe in these guys. They need funding to move forward, and I’ve put together a small group of investors. The deal was all set to close on Tuesday.”

Dylan was regarding her with complete attention, a rare trait, and one she appreciated. Unlike most money guys, especially when talking to a woman, Dylan seemed to know how to listen, not just hold forth.

The lump that had formed in her throat during the phone call made it hard to continue, but Zoë forced herself to go on. “That was my key investor on the phone. Actually, it was his assistant. Apparently he was just indicted by a grand jury for embezzlement, and all his assets have been frozen.” She shrugged miserably. “The assistant said they could
probably
get the stay lifted in a few weeks, but this deal isn’t going to wait. If I can’t come to the table, there are plenty of folks lined up right behind me.”

“Six million?” Dylan pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing in thought. He lifted the side of his mouth in a half smile, and there was a sudden fire in his golden-brown eyes as he swept his gaze over Zoë in a way that made her somehow feel naked. She wrapped her arms around her torso and waited.

“I could get that for you by Tuesday, without question,” he said slowly. The edgy, powerful intensity she’d experienced before when he’d been saying all that crazy stuff about bondage and submission was back in his tone, and in spite of the dire situation, she could feel a steady throb of desire at her core. She wanted this man. More than she’d wanted anyone in a long, long time.

His eyes boring into hers, Dylan continued, “As I say, I can get the money, but you do understand it will cost you. I plan to exact a very high price.”

A jumble of confused emotions assailed Zoë at this pronouncement, and the sensual spell of a moment before evaporated in an instant. He was just another banker looking for the next quick buck. Shit. How had she misread him so completely?

She swallowed her disappointment and told herself this was for the best. She lifted her chin and asked in a businesslike tone, “What are the terms?”

Dylan didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head, regarding her in a way that made her feel hot and cold all at once. They were physically close because of the way the barstools were positioned, and she could smell his warm, masculine scent. Unable to resist his magnetic allure, she found herself leaning closer. His eyes were still locked on hers, the fire blazing behind them.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low and clear, the power beneath it impossible to ignore or resist. “I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about something altogether different.”

He reached out and ran his finger along her bare arm. His touch sent an electric shiver over her skin, and she was horrified at herself when a small but audible moan came from her lips. She pressed them together and waited, her heart beating suddenly over-fast.

“I trust your financial acumen, Zoë. I’m willing to invest six million of my own money into this venture of yours. In exchange, you will spend the next forty-eight hours as my sexual slave. You will be confined to my basement dungeon, and you will be subject to my every sensual whim and erotic torture.”

His hand moved over her arm to her shoulder, his fingers lightly grazing her throat.
I live it,
he had said. Zoë became aware her mouth had fallen open, but she couldn’t even muster the muscle control to close it. She just stared at him as he continued, “I can see it in your eyes and your body language. You want what I’m offering.”

His hand moved again, this time his fingers curling lightly around her throat. An involuntary shudder racked her body, and another moan escaped her lips. Christ, who
was
this man? “And I, in turn,” Dylan continued, “want you, but only on my terms.” He removed his hand and sat back on his stool, his eyes still locked on hers. Her hand fluttered to her bare throat, which felt oddly bereft of his touch. “I will never harm you when you are in my charge. I firmly believe in the concept of
safe
,
sane
and
consensual
as it applies to the BDSM lifestyle, no matter how intense our involvement might become.”

Dylan turned back to the bar to pick up his beer bottle. Zoë slumped a little, as if she were a marionette and he’d just released her strings. He took a long drink while she struggled desperately to compose herself. She was at once flustered and on fire—something hot and wild had ignited inside her with his words. She had no idea how to put it out, or if she even wanted to. Was he seriously asking her for a weekend of kinky sex in exchange for an investment of such magnitude?

He leaned closer, so close his lips nearly brushed hers as he whispered, “I can promise you this, Zoë, this will be an experience you will never forget. And one you won’t regret, no matter what else happens, or doesn’t happen, between us.”

Zoë’s heart was hammering in her chest, and she found it hard to catch her breath. Her eyes fluttered shut in anticipation of his kiss.

But no kiss came.

She opened her eyes to find him regarding her with an amused, sardonic smile. “So,” he said. “Do we have a deal?”

Zoë’s mouth worked for a moment, but no words came. He could see the struggle, the resistance and the desire at war within her. Though she couldn’t possibly know the full extent of what she was going to agree to, he was nearly certain she would say yes. And not because of the promise of the cash infusion she would need to save her deal, or at least not solely because of that. He could sense the yearning, the
need
to find out what it was he was offering, and those feelings outweighed her natural trepidation.

After what seemed a long time, but he knew was in reality only a few seconds, Zoë nodded. “Yes. Okay. All right, I’ll do it.” She lifted her chin. “But I need proof first. I need to see that you have access to those kinds of funds, and I need to know the money will be there on Tuesday.”

Dylan nodded, slipping his hand into his pocket to keep from shooting a triumphant fist into the air. He swallowed for the same reason—to buy himself a little time so he didn’t burst out with something stupid like, “All-fucking-right!” Instead, keeping his voice calm, he said soberly, “Fair enough. Let’s go over to my office, and I’ll get things set up.”

He paid the bar tab, and they stepped out together into the warm summer evening. As they walked the three city blocks to his office building, Zoë told him more about the details and structure of her deal. As she talked, she became increasingly animated and excited, and Dylan understood just how important it was for her not only to close the deal, but to prove to the world and, probably most importantly, to herself, that she had what it took to make it in high finance.

“I want this more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life,” she said earnestly. “I’ve been working on this every spare minute for the last six months, and I think I have the downside covered, even if things don’t pan out quite as we hope. You’ll end up making money on this deal, I can almost guarantee it.”

“I have to admit, Zoë, I’m quite impressed with your financial creativity and clear-minded analysis of the risks and rewards. Yes, it’s a gamble, but what business deal worth doing doesn’t involve some risk? You know what they say”—he shrugged and grinned, thinking of the millions he’d made, and sometimes lost, over his career—”nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

They arrived at his office building, checked in with the night attendant and glided upward in the large, wood-paneled elevator, neither saying a word as they watched the digital numbers rise. Once in the empty office, he booted up his computer, and Zoë accessed the account information he would need to transfer the promised money. It took about a half hour to complete the various transactions necessary to liquidate the needed funds. Once he was done, Dylan called to Zoë, who had been staring out of the huge glass windows that framed Manhattan’s famous night-lit skyline, to come over to his desk.

“There it is,” he said, pointing to the scheduled transfer. “All set and ready to go. Once you complete your end of the deal”—he paused, letting his eyes sweep slowly over her face and body, amused and aroused at the faint flush of pink rising to her cheeks—“the money will be sent to your account.”

Zoë wrapped her arms protectively around herself and bit her lower lip.

Dylan lifted his brows as he regarded her. “What? Having second thoughts? It’s not too late—you want out”—he offered an exaggerated shrug—“I’m sure you can find the funding elsewhere. The deal is solid. I would hate to think I was forcing you into something you didn’t really want to do.”

Zoë said nothing, instead continuing to worry her lower lip. Dylan resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and bite that sexy, pouty lip himself. Instead, he added softly, “Forty-eight hours, Zoë. Two uninterrupted days to discover if your secret desires can become reality.” He reached for her shoulders then, and stared deeply into her eyes. “I want it,” he admitted, letting the urgency he felt slip into his tone. “I think you want it too.”

She stared back and finally nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I want it too.”

They took the elevator down to the parking garage, where Dylan’s silver BMW M5 waited like a gallant steed to carry them home. They stopped first at Zoë’s midtown apartment. He waited out front while she went up to collect her toiletries and do whatever else she needed for her weekend stay. “You won’t need any clothing,” he said, again enjoying the sweet blush his words provoked, “so pack lightly.”