Training Tess (2 page)

Aside from the mouthwatering body, Jared was just plain gorgeous. He had pretty ice-blue eyes that sparkled with humor and lush lips usually tweaked into a smile—he always looked as if he knew a secret, one that amused him. His chin was covered with dark scruff that made Tess wonder how it would feel drawn across her swollen nipples.

Oh yeah. Jared Mittlebank was the most attractive man she’d ever met.

Also, the most unavailable.

And it wasn’t just because Marla glared at any woman who flirted with her brother on the odd occasion he deigned to visit the office. It was because whenever Jared’s eyes settled on Tess’ face or form, they just flicked away. Dismissively.

Tess was used to being dismissed. She usually didn’t mind.

With Jared, she minded. With Jared, it was painful.

Especially now. Now when the vision of him in Dom leathers burned into her brain. When fantasies of Jared
seeing
her, wanting her, owning her, danced in her head.

She sighed and scrolled through Marla’s emails, barely paying attention to the ones she was deleting. She really had to get him out of her mind, and quickly. He was a dangerous man and especially detrimental to her sanity. And her focus.

On the upside, he hadn’t seen her in the club. She and Billy had skedaddled as soon as she realized Jared was there.

That
was
the upside, wasn’t it?

She buried her face in her hands, swamped with a familiar wave of melancholy.

Of course he hadn’t seen her. He never did.

The door opened and Marla swept in, looking ferocious and fashionable, surrounded by the fortress of her attitude. She was a gorgeous woman, but hard. Her chin led the way, proclaiming to the world, “I don’t need anyone. But you, you poor stinking sod, you need me.” She glanced at Tess with her ice-chip eyes. They were so like Jared’s, but they lacked his irreverent humor.

She thrust out an exquisitely manicured hand. “My messages.”

Tess handed her a sheaf of pink papers. “You have a meeting with Hot Sauce at ten.” And at Marla’s quirked brow, “The new advertiser.”

“Ah yes.” She whipped through the messages in a flurry, tossing them one by one back onto the desk. “No. No. No. Hell no.”

She paused on one and her face softened—but only infinitesimally so. This message, she tucked into her pocket. Then she thumbed through the rest in rapid succession and let them flutter into an untidy pile. Tess resisted the urge to straighten them up. At least until Marla had gone.

Like a whirlwind, she headed for her office, her Chanel bag looped over her arm. She paused at the door and turned back. “By the way, Jared’s coming in at three. Schedule a meeting in the small conference room.” Her lids flickered. “And Tess?”

“Yes, Marla?”

“Pick up some of those cannolis he likes from Carlo’s.”

“Certainly.” Tess fought to keep her face immobile.

Jared was coming in. Today. Today she would see him. Her belly churned and her pulse raced. She folded her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. She sat as still as she could while Marla studied her, hoping to God her observant boss wouldn’t notice the flush crawling up her cheeks. The clock on the wall ticked. Still, Marla stared.

Tess shifted and cleared her throat. “Um, did you want me to take notes?”

Her question broke the peculiar spell. Marla blinked and shook her head. “No. This is a…private conversation. Just make sure you get those cannolis.” Without another word, she stormed into her office and shut the door. With, perhaps, more force than necessary.

Tess knew something was up. Marla was very rarely discombobulated. That she was meeting with her brother and bribing him with cannolis was intriguing.

But not nearly as intriguing as the prospect of seeing him again.

Today.

Too bad he wouldn’t even notice her.

Chapter Two

He came early—very out of character for Jared Mittlebank. Marla was still in a meeting with her design team, raking someone over the coals for failing to check a copyright. Tess knew the instant he entered the office, although she faced away from the door, bending over to find a file in the bottom drawer.

His energy, his intensity, lashed her. She froze.

“Nice view.” His tone, as always, was laced with playful humor.

A flush crept up her cheeks. Slowly she stood, file in hand. She turned and nodded coolly. “Mr. Mittlebank. Your sister will be with you shortly. She’s just finishing up another meeting.”

“You mean another reaming.” He grinned and leaned against her desk. She couldn’t help but notice the way his muscled thighs stretched the fabric of his slacks. Oh, and his ass was on her desk. She noticed that too.

She’d never wash that spot again.

“Tess.”

She stilled as her name—for the first time ever—passed his lips. Unfamiliar elation cascaded through her.

“How long have you been with Mittlebank?” He picked up her paperweight, a crystal globe, and absently stroked it.

She fixated on his long, strong fingers as they played over the surface. She couldn’t help but imagine those fingers playing over her flesh. “T-two years.”

His thumb circled the tip of the globe. Tess’ nipples puckered. She swallowed. Shifted from one foot to the other. How was it everything this man said or did made her think of sex? Hot, steamy, sweaty sex?

And now, after last night, a whole other kind of sex altogether.

She forced herself not to show her reaction to the random wanderings of his fingers. He probably wasn’t even aware of the erotic connotations of his casual caresses. That’s how deeply seated his sexuality was.

Edging past him—careful not to touch—she sat at her desk. She tried to ignore the ominous sensation that she was a butterfly pinned to a board by a vaguely curious entomologist.

“Two years.” He set the paperweight on the desk in front of her. She put it back where it belonged. It was warm from his touch. “Two years.” He leaned back and grinned. She didn’t see it—couldn’t look at him—but she felt it. A trickling warmth. “Two years and I never had a clue.”

She froze. Driven by the dark thread thrumming in his tone, she snapped her gaze to his. His eyes were beautiful. Mesmerizing. Ice blue ringed in black, feathered by girlishly long lashes. But he wasn’t girlish. Not in the least. Those eyes burned with a predatory light—one any woman with a pulse would recognize.

“N-never had a clue about what?” But, God help her, she already knew.

A muscle bunched in his hard, dusky cheek. A responding wash of wetness burbled between her legs. There would probably be a damp spot on her task chair.

This man was definitely not workplace appropriate.

“So we’re going to play games, Tess?” Her name slithered from his lips. “Do you…like playing games?”

She shivered. She could only imagine what kinds of games he had in mind. Oh, dear God. At the thought, more cream oozed out. Yep. Definitely a damp spot. His nostrils flared as though he could smell her arousal.

He probably could. That made her shiver again.

He straightened and stepped behind her. The heat of his body rolled toward her in waves. The cloud of his scent surrounded her as he bent lower. “You looked…very nice last night, Tess.” His voice was a low, sibilant whisper warming her ear.

Ah, God. He had seen her.

He’d seen her and it had awakened something in him. Tess knew it was stupid to play with fire, especially a fire burning this hot. But she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t pretend his interest, his posture, his presence, didn’t launch her mating instincts into overdrive.

She wanted him. In every way a woman wanted a man. And then some.

Mostly she wanted him
in
. Deep inside her, massaging her, filling her, swamping her with sweet, sticky cum. She wanted to belong to him.

And, damn it all anyway, she wanted him to want it too.

The thought scared her to death. The worst thing in the world would be to offer Jared everything—even her secret soul—and have him laugh and walk away.

He laughed and walked away a lot. Tess had cleaned up more shattered hearts than she could remember in the past two years. It was why Marla forbade him from dating her employees.

Still, when he edged around to her side to perch on her desk once again—way too close—so he could stare down at her with a small smile playing on his lips, she couldn’t resist.

Play with fire? Hell, she’d light the match.

She met his gaze with a nonchalance that doubled as a lie. “You looked…very nice too.” She turned back to her computer and began typing determinedly. Oh, they weren’t words. Just typing. She hoped to God he wouldn’t look at her screen.

After a bit, she glanced up at his face and her heart seized. No. He wasn’t looking at her screen. He was looking at
her
.

Once he had her attention, he licked his lips. A shudder scudded down her spine and lapped at her weeping cunt. God, he was gorgeous. She tried not to fixate on his wide, lush lips, on the scruff on his cheeks or the dark rings around his irises. She failed miserably.

But then, he was fomenting that failure. It was there in his intent as he leaned closer, in his heat, his energy. He wanted to draw her in. Wanted her.

She tried not to come at the thought. She’d wanted him since the moment she set eyes on his handsome, too-playful face. But he’d never showed her a flicker of interest. Until now.

“I had no idea you were into that kind of scene, Tess.”

She sniffed and pretended to reach for a pen but it was more to tease him than to flaunt her disinterest. Hell. There wasn’t a disinterested bone in her body. Besides, instinctively she knew. She knew he liked the chase.

“It’s hardly something one puts on a résumé.” She faced him then, solemnity weighing her tone. “My private life is just that. Private.”

He swallowed heavily, studied her in silence as though sifting through the visions of just what form her private life took. His response sent wildfire along every nerve ending. “None of those men were Dom enough for you, pretty thing.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.” He pulled a card out of his pocket and drew the edge of it very slowly across her nipple. She gasped as sensation scorched her through the silk of her blouse. “If you want to find out how good it can really be, show up at this address tonight at seven.” He leaned closer, so close she tasted the lust on his breath. “Wear this suit but nothing underneath.”

And then with a sultry glance in her direction, he stood and headed for the small boardroom. It gave her some comfort to see his gait was a bit crooked. But not much.

Because her body was on fire.

* * * * *

Tess stared up at the boring brick façade. A small brass plate at the door said only
Mme. Monique
. Her brow wrinkled and she rechecked the address. Yep. This was the place. But why on earth would Jared send her here? She’d expected to arrive at the address and find herself at his house, or a secret love nest in the city.

She nibbled her lower lip as the prospects filtered through her head. She pressed her legs together, which reminded her—as though she could forget—she wasn’t wearing any underwear. The evening breeze threatened to kick up her skirt and expose her to all and sundry so she swallowed her trepidation and rang the bell. She pulled her jacket tighter, cognizant of the heavy weight of her unbound breasts.

She’d never gone out without a bra. Not since she was twelve.

The silky material of her blouse scraped against her nipples with every move. Sensitized nerve endings screamed for more. She rang the bell again.

The door opened to reveal a stodgy butler in formal attire. Though he was short, he managed somehow to peer down his nose at her. Disdain crossed his face. “Yes?” he drawled.

Tess could tell he tried not to purse his lips as if he had just eaten a lemon, but he failed. She handed him the card. “Jared Mittlebank sent me.”

The butler took the card as though it were diseased, holding it away from his body between his thumb and forefinger. He looked her up and down and shook his head, an infinitesimal twitch. “Follow me.”

He led the way through an elegant marble foyer, past a grand arching staircase and down a hall decorated with discreet, muted art. Though when Tess looked closer, she realized the art wasn’t discreet at all.

In a flowing classical manner, it showed women in various forms of bondage. It was subtle bondage, insinuated torment, but it was there. She stumbled on the thick carpet at one particularly sly portrait of a woman at a grand banquet, her head thrown back as the company watched. What was causing her such bliss was not evident until one saw the wagging tail peeping out from beneath the tablecloth.

“This way.” The butler passed through a heavily gilded black door. He paused to lock it once she’d crossed the portal, making a point to catch her eye as he did. His lips twisted in a ghost of a smile.

A shard of fear pierced her chest. She had no idea what was coming, no idea what to expect, but for a chance with Jared, an evening with Jared—
anything
with Jared—she would play along.

The butler led her to a sumptuous boudoir festooned with sweeping drapes. A large bed dominated the corner and several benches and chairs were scattered about the chamber. Tess stilled when she noticed each exquisite piece was neatly fitted with inconspicuous restraints.

Her mouth dropped open.

Like the paintings, the room was layered in subtlety. On first glance it was a comfortable, elegant sitting room. Upon further study, however, it was clear this room served a more erotic purpose. The items neatly arranged on the mantle and side tables ranged from pretty collars to horrifying butt plugs. A whip neatly curled on the bed and a pair of leather restraints rested on the damask divan. The closet was open, merely a crack but enough for Tess to make out a collection of Dominant and submissive clothing and…accoutrements.

Dear lord. What had she gotten herself into?

Even as panic plagued her, arousal, sharp and thorny, rose. Her clit swelled and began to throb in tandem with her pulse. Her nipples, bare against the fabric of her suit, ached.

A woman emerged from behind an ornamental Chinese screen, fastening a heavy leather belt over her skin-hugging black latex minidress. Though calling it a dress was a desperate attempt at normalcy. It skimmed her body from her shoulders to the crux of her thighs, cut with an open cleavage that barely covered her areolas. Slick and liquid, it shimmered when she walked. Her boots, made of a similar fabric, oozed up her legs to mid-thigh.

Her face was hard, her makeup heavy. Her thick lips were painted deep red and her eyes were dark with smoky shadows. She finished fastening the belt and glanced up. “Oh. You’re here.”

“Yes Ma’am.” The butler bobbed a deferential nod.

She strode forward on impossible heels, plucking a riding crop from the table as she approached. She slapped it on her palm several times before she spoke, inspecting Tess with a derisive sneer curling her lips. She stepped closer. Tess knew instinctively not to move. The Dominatrix leaned in and took a whiff. “Well. I’ll be damned. You’re a virgin.”

Tess flinched at her tone.

Madame Monique—surely this was she—turned to the butler, tapping the crop against her cheek. “I had no idea Jared was training.” She smiled but it wasn’t the kind of smile Tess was used to. It was savage. Arctic.

“Neither did I, Ma’am.”

“Whatever.” She fluttered a bored hand in Tess’ direction. “Lose the jacket.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Madame Monique stilled. Her scrutiny scored Tess to the core. Like a cat’s tail just before a pounce, the crop flicked in slow, short swipes. “Are you talking back to me?”

Tess shot an unsure look at the butler. He offered a tiny shake of his head.

“N-no Ma’am.”

“Well, you’d better not be. Jared asked me to prepare you for him and that’s what I intend to do. You cannot go to him dressed like this.” She waved a hand at Tess’ outfit. “I take pride in my work. Now. Lose. The. Jacket.”

Slowly, self-consciously, Tess let the jacket slip from her shoulders. She knew her breasts, her protruding nipples, were visible through the silk of her blouse. She dropped her chin as she exposed herself.

“No.” The crop found her chin and tipped it back up. “Rule number one. Your eyes always follow your Master. Or in this case, your Mistress.” At Tess’ stunned expression, the Dominatrix grinned. “Yes, you’re mine. Until I turn you over to him, you are mine.” To prove her point, she slapped Tess’ nipple with the flap on the end of the riding crop. It didn’t hurt but it got her attention. “You may respond, ‘yes Mistress.’”

“Y-yes Mistress.” Something clogged in her throat. Her heart, pumping at quantum speed, thrummed in her ears, her cunt, her clit.

“Good girl.” Madame Monique’s fingernail, a scarlet talon, scraped over the nipple she had just swatted. Tess’ knees threatened to collapse. “Now let’s see what’s under this hideous outfit.”