Authors: Amy Armstrong
A Total-E-Bound Publication
Hot for Him
ISBN # 978-1-78184-452-6
©Copyright Amy Armstrong 2013
Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2013
Edited by Eleanor Boyall
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a
This story contains 47 pages, additionally there is also a
at the end of the book containing 4 pages.
HOT FOR HIM
Is self-confessed control freak Elena able to let go of her fears to win her heart’s desire—the enigmatic billionaire Charles Hunt—a man who requires nothing less than her absolute submission?
When feisty wild child Elena Meadows is invited to Cannes by her uncle Henry, the timing couldn’t be better. A successful interior designer in London, Elena is a stout believer in the old adage work hard, play harder, but her fast-paced lifestyle is beginning to take its toll. A week basking in the heat of the French Riviera sounds like the perfect way to recharge, but upon her arrival she discovers that Henry has been inadvertently called away leaving his business partner Charles Hunt to man the helm. Elena has always been attracted to the American billionaire, but found his dominant personality at odds with her own.
Charles has never hidden his desire for Elena, but will accept nothing less than her absolute submission. If Elena could learn to relinquish control, they would make a formidable couple, but breaking the habit of a lifetime doesn’t come easy for a self-confessed control freak even though the sexual tension between them sizzles hotter than the midday sun.
For Claire, Inva, Maria and Rachel, wonderful friends who continue to inspire me.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Dior: Christian Dior S.A.
Dom Perignon: Moët & Chandon
Manolos: Manolo Blahnik
Vivienne Westwood: Vivienne Westwood SRL
With a low, drawn-out groan, Elena reached out and whacked the button on her alarm clock before burrowing deeper under the toasty duvet with a satisfied grunt. The blasted thing continued to buzz.
“Leave me alone,” she moaned hoarsely. “It isn’t time to get up yet.”
The buzzing increased until it was so loud the noise was like a physical thing inside her head, as if her brain was thrashing around in there, trying to beat its way out of her skull with a claw hammer. With a silent curse, she threw off the covers and sat up.
Whoa. Bad decision. When the room began to spin and a hot flush erupted, her entire body got so hot she thought it was trying to solve the world’s energy problem. She made a grab for the bedside table and gripped it tightly, trying to breathe through the sudden nausea while she waited for the woozy feeling to pass.
The good news was that the incessant buzzing had quit. But why was she so parched? She must have taken up astral projection in her sleep because eight hours of crawling through the Sahara without so much as a sip of water was the only possible explanation for her indescribable thirst. Well, that or the six tequila shots she’d knocked back in The Salsa Bar the night before. Oh, and that bottle of red wine she’d polished off in All Bar One might have contributed.
When images of dancing with a five-foot-nothing Ricky Martin wannabe ran through her mind, Elena put her head in hands and leant back against the headboard. She couldn’t remember much about the night, but she did recall slapping the guy when he’d tried to cop a feel. Made sense. Elena hated men who got all up in her face—or arse as the case might be. What the hell gave them the right to treat women like sex objects? Consenting to a dance did not give him the right to grope her like she was his for the taking—nothing more than a possession. Elena belonged to no one but herself.
The damn buzzing started up again.
“No, no, no, no!” She reached for the alarm clock and squinted at it in the dim light of the room, but the evil thing was silent. Ah, it wasn’t the alarm, it was her mobile phone. Who the hell would be calling her in the middle of the night? Okay, it was nearly six, but what the hell?
She grabbed the phone and fumbled mindlessly with it before finding the right button to answer the call. It had better be an emergency or the sodding sleep destroyer was going to get a piece of her mind.
“Hello,” she all but growled out.
“What sort of greeting is that for your favourite uncle?”
Elena frowned, fighting through the fog in her groggy, sleep-deprived mind. “Uncle Hen?”
Her query was answered with a low, rumbling chuckle. “You’re twenty-six now, Elena. Henry would be sufficient.”
“Wha—?” Elena’s mouth was so dry, she couldn’t finish the question. She grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand, downed the lot then tried again. “What can I do for you Uncle, uh,
. Is everything okay?”
“Quite. I thought it would be good to catch up. I’m in your neck of the woods.”
“No, Europe. I’m going to be staying at the villa in Cannes for at least a week. I was hoping you’d join me.”
“Oh, that’s, uh, very nice of you to offer, but I have work and…”
“You’re the boss.”
“Well, yes, but I couldn’t…”
“Yes, you could. You work too damn hard for someone so young. I admire your dedication, but it wouldn’t kill you to take a break. You have staff. Delegate.”
Elena started to shake her head, but thought better of it when the claw hammer started its bashing routine again. She couldn’t possibly take a holiday, could she? Elena’s interior design company was fast becoming one of the best known in London. And she’d worked incredibly hard for the past four years to ensure its continued success. The last holiday she took was…wow, she couldn’t remember, but it had to have been at least three years ago—maybe more.
Elena had a great team of designers working for her, but she still preferred the hands-on approach. She was known for being a strict boss, but her no-nonsense approach got results. All right, so she was a control freak, but proud of it. She would never have achieved the same level of success if she’d been more relaxed or too capricious. Running a profitable business required a firm hand. But maybe her uncle was right. What would be the harm in taking a week off to unwind? She certainly deserved it, maybe even needed it.
Twelve-hour working days were commonplace, but it didn’t stop there, did it? Elena not only burnt the candle at both ends, she lit a couple more for good measure. It seemed she wasn’t satisfied lately unless she had a permanent hangover, but her frenetic lifestyle was becoming a little too much to take. Her heavy workload was one thing, but the excessive partying had to stop or something was going to give. A change in pace might be just what she needed to get her life back on track.
“Elena, what do you say?” her uncle prompted.
“Let me see if I can arrange a flight and…”
“Be at London City at ten Monday morning,” Henry interrupted. “I took the liberty of chartering you a flight. You can thank me when you get here.”
When her uncle hung up, Elena cursed and threw her mobile on the bed. “Son of a bitch.” It looked like she was spending a week on the Riviera. She was annoyed that Henry had been so presumptuous, but a very small part of her liked that the decision had been taken out of her hands. It would do her good to relax for a week,
she remembered how.
Just as Elena had expected him to, Henry had arranged for a car to pick her at the Côte D’Azur airport in Nice. She instructed the driver to take the coastal route and fifteen minutes later they were driving along the Promenade de la Plage, heading towards Antibes. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed France, but being in the country again, feeling the sun on her face and breathing in the fresh sea air reminded her how much she loved the Riviera. When she was in university, Elena had dreamt of moving to the country permanently, but it hadn’t worked out that way. After she’d started her design business, she’d become caught up in the frenzied London lifestyle and her dream had pretty much been put on hold.
The car pulled into the driveway of her uncle’s villa and as she stared at it through the tinted windows a fond smile stretched across Elena’s lips. She’d forgotten how beautiful the place was. The villa was set high up on a mountain and the panoramic view of the sea stretching out to the Cap d’Antibes was simply breathtaking. Stepping out of the car, Elena smoothed out the creases in her Lanvin silk skirt, taking her Dior sunglasses from the top of her head and sliding them into place to shield her eyes from the bright, midday sun. As she ascended the stone steps that led to the magnificent, glass fronted doors, she felt as though she was coming home.
Henry was more like a father than an uncle. At nineteen, Elena’s parents had been killed in a car crash and though she was legally an adult, Henry had insisted on looking out for her, ensuring she had everything she could possibly need. That translated into him paying for her education and giving her an allowance, even though she’d been well taken care of in her parents’ will. His latest endeavour to ‘care’ for her was inviting her to live in his villa in Cannes. He hardly spent any time there himself and said he didn’t like to see it sitting empty, but Elena was certain his generosity was because he hated where she currently lived. Her cosy flat in Knightsbridge was too downmarket for his tastes. That was probably what the invite to spend the week had been about. Elena suspected he wanted her to get a taste of what she was missing and if that was his intention it was a damn good plan. She liked the life she had built for herself in London, but compared to the South of France? There was no competition.
As usual the front door to the villa had been left unlocked. Elena let herself in and walked through the grand entrance hall until she reached her uncle’s study. It was located at the back of the property overlooking the pool and about the only room he frequently used. She removed her sunglasses, smoothed down her glossy blonde hair then knocked on the door before walking inside.