Tied to the Tycoon (6 page)

“Good.”

It was just dawning on her what that meant. “Twenty-four hours a day?” she said in a small voice. “You mean…”

“Twenty-four hours a day.” He was smiling more now. “All access, all the time.”

She swallowed.

“But what about your business?”

“My company will be just fine,” he finally said. “We’ve got a big launch coming up, and I’ll announce an IPO in the new year, but I’ve done what I can. I’ve hired people for the rest.”

“You can just…do that?”

“I already have. I was wondering what I was gonna do this week. Now I’m gonna spend it with you.”

That’s right
, she reminded herself,
no strings.
Their connection made it safe to do this, that was all. It didn’t mean anything else. There were no excuses. Fate had essentially swooped in out of nowhere and dropped her perfect fantasy—Jackson Reed as a Dom who wanted
her
—right on top of her from a great height.

So why was there this nervous tension coiled tight in her middle? Because she’d gotten so used to hiding herself away that being with someone who could really see her was terrifying?

Well, that’s a stupid reason.

Everything was so jumbled inside her that it was impossible to make sense of it all. She wanted to get to her studio, the tiny little half bedroom in her apartment where she still painted, furtively, in secret. That was usually when she figured things out and found a way to see the world clearly. But she couldn’t just say,
Jackson, you mind if I go off to a secret place I don’t tell anyone about, and no, you can’t come.

“Hey,” she heard him say, and looked up again to find him staring into her face. “Where’d you go?”

Ava blinked, and a tear fell down the side of her face. That just made her mad. Crying? Seriously? How the hell was she supposed to explain actual tears without sounding like a crazy person?

But she didn’t have to. Jackson touched the side of her face and carefully wiped away the tear. Then he said, “You’re mine. It’s just a week, no strings. Let go.”

She took a big gulp of air and nodded.

He kissed her.

“Now open up,” he said, and spread her legs even wider. “You owe me an apology for trying to sneak out.”

That made her instantly wet. Wetter. He apparently felt it.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, suppressing a smile.

“Oh no, Ava,” he said, and thrust into her in one bold, surprising stroke. She whimpered and arched her back into him, craving more, though she felt shockingly full. “That’s not good enough. You’re gonna scream it.”

chapter
7

It felt wrong. Necessary, but wrong.

Jackson hadn’t felt this jumpy since high school, hadn’t been this nervous ever. He had lied to Ava Barnett. It was for her own good—and his, too—but he’d still lied. And immediately he’d realized all the work he was going to have to do to cover his sorry ass, and that he was going to have to do it in private, which meant some alone time, as much as he wanted to spend every possible moment with a naked Ava. The first thing he’d done after fucking Ava properly was order her into the shower.

“You’re
ordering
me?” she’d said, rolling onto her side and propping her head up on one lovely hand. Her lovely breasts had been right there, too. Made it hard to concentrate.

So did her impertinent attitude. The Dom in him wanted to discipline her all damn morning. Instead, he’d just felt her up.

“You forget our arrangement already?”

She’d stuck her tongue out him. He’d had no choice but to drag her across the bed and over his knees. She’d let out a surprised laugh, like she couldn’t believe how good it felt to be manhandled like that. It was all he could do not to take her again.

“I should spank you red,” he’d said. “But I think you’d enjoy it too much. Get in the shower. I’ve got to see to plans for the rest of the day.”

“Plans?”

“Just you wait and see.”

“What about my clothes? I don’t have any, I have to go back to my apartment—”

“I’ll take care of all that,” he’d said. “Consider yourself lucky, too. I’m feeling generous. Otherwise, you’d be naked the whole week.”

He’d watched her beautiful, naked ass as she sauntered to his master bath, and he hadn’t missed the coy look she’d thrown over her shoulder, either. She thought she was back in control after that moment of raw vulnerability in bed. That was ok for the moment. He loved both Avas. He loved the charming mask she presented to the world just as much as the woman she was underneath, because both were part of her. He just needed to show her it was safe to be herself around him all the time.

Hell, he needed to her to be around him, period. Preferably for the rest of his life.

He waited to hear the shower turn on and allowed himself a moment of thinking about her, naked, with hot water dripping down her skin. Then he launched himself out of bed and hunted down his phone. He had to make a bunch of phone calls, but the first one was not about women’s clothing, or even about all the things he wanted to plan for Ava. This first phone call was not going to be fun.

“Hello, Jack.”

Lillian sounded like she expected to hear from him, and like she knew exactly how the conversation was going to go, the way she always did. Which was impossible; it was an affectation, like it always was. Jackson’s COO and former fling called herself a switch at Club Volare, but he’d never seen her be even a little bit submissive outside the club.

“Lillian, I need you to help me out.”

“I thought something might be amiss. Your inbox is piling up. Where are you?”

“I’m at home. And I won’t be coming in for the rest of the week.”

There was a pause.

“You’re joking.”

“Something important has come up, Lil. We’re just gonna have to work around it. It’s only the tail end stuff, anyway.”

Another pause.

When she spoke, Lillian’s voice was tight. “Is everything ok?”

Jackson honestly wasn’t sure what to make of that. Things had been chilly between them since they’d decided to keep things strictly professional. It had been a mutual decision, and it’d made sense, since they’d never actually been that good together—at Volare or elsewhere, outside of business. But Lillian had seemed pissed when he’d agreed too quickly.

“Everything’s fine. It’s a personal thing.”

“I guess that means it’s none of my business, then.”

“Christ, Lillian.”

Jackson thought he could actually hear her backpedaling.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Jack. You know what you want done, and I’ll send you a list of things I think can be easily delegated. I’m sure you’re right that we’ll find a way to manage the rest.”

He gritted his teeth. It was just like Lillian to make it sound like she was doing him a favor and fully expect him to be grateful.

“I know I’m right,” he said. “I’ll expect that list by close of business.”

“Of course.”

That smooth, placating tone. If Lillian weren’t the best, most competent chief operations officer in existence, he would have severed their relationship completely. He’d been a fool to get involved with her personally, though at the time it had seemed like a no-brainer—Lillian was experienced in the BDSM scene, and had offered to show him the ropes, help him get better as a Dom, no strings attached. One of his buddies had warned him that no strings
always
meant strings, but Jackson hadn’t listened.

With a start, he realized he’d just told the same lie to Ava. “No strings attached.” That was, of course, bullshit. There was every string imaginable. But Ava was different. Him and Ava were different. He’d tell her about those strings when she was good and ready.

“Lillian, I gotta go.”

He did. He had other things to attend to. If Jackson wanted to heal whatever damage he’d done to Ava Barnett and then win her over for life, he had a lot of work ahead of him. First and foremost was showing her not only how rewarding her life as a sub could be, but how much she enjoyed it.

He had another phone call to make.

~  ~  ~

Ava took long showers. It was a weakness—she knew it. And Jackson’s shower was like the shower of the gods: it had not one, not two, but three of those rainforest drenching shower heads, one directly overhead and another two on the sides, all encased in this warm tiled room that was almost as big as her secret art studio. There were actual bedrooms in New York that weren’t as big as this shower.

When she finally emerged, she realized that she had lost some time. She also realized that Jackson hadn’t joined her in his heavenly shower, which was probably considerate of him, but also left her with a stab of insecurity. Was he already tired of her? Maybe a whole week was just too much, and she should cut her losses and just call it off sooner rather than later. It would be devastating to have him just get bored of her. That wouldn’t be as bad as getting her heart broken, but it would be pretty humiliating.

It didn’t help that he appeared to be gone.

Nope, she was sure of it. She checked every spare bedroom—
both
of them, she noted, which, in New York terms, was just absurd—the double-height living room with the corner couch she’d noticed the night before, the open kitchen with its beautiful slate countertops and bronze fixtures, even the terrace. Which, again: he had a terrace. But Jackson was nowhere to be found.

“What the hell?”

Saying it out loud did not help.

Ava dug around in the all-purpose purse she’d brought with her until she found her phone. She had a new voicemail. She’d already dialed her voicemail number before she realized that she still hadn’t given Jackson her phone number. It was just another message from her boss, apparently left in the middle of the night.

“Ava, my Ava, my dear, I have some bad news,” Alain crooned. He sounded tipsy. “I have spoken to the board, and there are many cutbacks and expenses next year. Don’t tell anyone, yes? I don’t put this in an email!”

Ava stared at her phone.
No shit you don’t put that in an email
.
That would make it evidence.

Alain’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “But I think I can save you, yes? If I tell them you are valuable, you bring in business, or something—whatever. Call me back, Ava, we’ll chat, ok?”

So now it was bring in a new account under an impossible deadline or lose her job, not just a promotion. Or the other option: “whatever.” Ava sat back on Jackson’s plush black couch, wrapped in his comfy bathrobe, and tried to figure out what she was feeling. It wasn’t easy. She blamed this on Jackson. He’d shaken her to her core, and now pretty much nothing looked the way it should. Like this sudden crisis with her job: she should be totally panicked. Part of her
was
totally panicked. She’d worked hard at her advertising career; she’d worked hard at becoming the sort of woman who fit in that career. And hell, she’d even told her mother that the promotion was a lock the last time they’d spoken, just to win the argument, and now she was probably going to lose the job entirely? Fantastic. That brought up all those familiar and expected feelings of dread and worthlessnes, but there was something else, too.

Something Ava couldn’t identify. But something…kind of good. A lightness. It made no sense, none at all.

This man is like a freaking drug. You’re still high the next morning, Ava, get over it.

“You’re not so good at following instructions, are you?”

She started. It was the man himself, standing in the open door, knocking the last bit of snow from his boots. Her insides rolled over just at the sight of him. It took a second for her brain to work again, but when it did, she was on her guard. She didn’t think she could take another emotionally intense conversation. Any Serious Conversation would bring up too much stuff about a guy who was going to be gone in a week.

“What instructions?” she said.

He pointed at the slate-topped kitchen bar, the only barrier between the open kitchen and the living room. There was a piece of paper on it. A note. She’d totally missed it, but she was glad to have something to keep her busy while Jackson took all of his winter stuff off. She was feeling wary, and yet, even the suggestion of that man undressing was just…

She still felt off-balance around him.

The note did not help with that.

I’ve gone out. Lie down on the bed, naked, eyes closed, and wait for me.

Ava felt her cheeks get hot and looked up to find Jackson smiling at her, fully dressed in jeans and a plain white t-shirt that was a little tight across his broad chest and shoulders. His eyes settled comfortably right where the robe she wore didn’t quite close. She was suddenly very, very aware that she was only wearing a robe, and that she was supposed to be wearing even less.

“Is this for real?” she asked, holding up the note.

“Completely.” He came towards her, and her heart sped up perceptibly, but he only put his packages on the countertop: one red envelope and one pastry box. He leaned against the counter next to her and said, “And now you’ve disobeyed an order.”

Disobeyed.
She couldn’t help but remember that he’d referred to “discipline” earlier.

“Not on purpose,” she said, inexplicably nervous. “Besides, what were you going to do, surprise me with baked goods while naked?”

Desperate for a distraction, she flipped open the lid of the box to reveal her favorite: red velvet cupcakes with buttercream icing. She’d tried to make them for him once, ages ago. He remembered. Now her heart stopped altogether.

“Not exactly,” he drawled, and took her hand in his as he pushed off the counter, pulling her around to face him. The robe came loose and opened an inch. She was naked underneath, just barely dry after her shower.

Well, not dry anymore.

He pressed her hand to the counter, rendering her immobile, and flicked the robe open.

“That’s better,” he said. His gaze took in her body from her toes up to her face. She could see the primal desire in his stare, in the twitch of his jaw, even in the way he breathed.
This must be what it’s like to be hunted
.