Enraptured (2 page)

“Holy mother of God,” Roman said from down the bar, his deep voice reverberating through her. “I will buy your fucking cookie so I can get my drink.” He waved a bill in his hand.

Jessica rushed over to him, grateful for a chance to see him again up close. The most notorious of the notorious BAD Boys. She’d been given the rundown on the regulars from Andrew, the previous bartender, when she was hired.

Apparently Andrew left the job so he could focus more fully on his new Master, Gregory, who used to be Elisabeth Anderson’s Dom, until Elisabeth was sent to Trevor Brooks and became his sub, and then his wife. There was a lot to keep straight. She’d seriously considered writing it all down, but instead she just watched their booth from her place behind the bar whenever business was slow. They looked so happy, that bunch.

Except maybe for Roman—he was more the strong, silent type. He made Jessica feel all jittery and weird—in a good way, definitely. She wanted to be able to offer him more than a dumb cookie, but it was probably a good thing the bar didn’t serve alcohol, because she didn’t know how to mix a cocktail to save her life. That and she was only twenty, so it would be illegal.

“Hi! I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, and looked at the bill in his hand. A one-hundred-dollar bill. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Hey,” the old guy who ordered the cookie yelled. “I was first.”

Roman handed her the bill. “Go ahead, tell the man the cookie’s on me so he’ll shut up. I would also like to buy you a cookie, so you can tell me if it’s worth nine dollars.”

“Okay. Thank you sir.” She laughed. He was buying her a cookie? How . . . unexpected. And awesome. “Oh, what can I get for you, Mr. Chase?”

“A lemonade, please. Jessica.”

The way he said her name sounded like he wanted to show her that he knew it. She smiled appreciatively. Before the other dude could flip out on her, she went back over to him.

“Mr. Chase is buying your cookie, sir,” she said, and he looked down the bar in surprise.

“Thank you,” the older man said, tipping an imaginary hat to Roman. Roman nodded silently as the man walked off, back to whatever he was doing. Never could tell in a place like WhipperSnapper. She’d seen folks come in and spend the whole night people-watching, while others walked in and immediately found their playmate. Since the Saint Andrew’s Cross was on the wall near the table and booth area, she got to see a lot of subs getting flogged—or more—by their Dominants.

They seemed to really get off on it even when they looked as if they were trying to get away, their bodies twisting in the restraints. But they’d always say they were “green.” The whole safeword thing was a big deal at the club.

Jessica handed Roman his lemonade and his change. “Here you go, sir. Sorry about the wait.”

He placed the money back on the bar and slid it toward her. “Where’s your cookie?”

Her stomach flip-flopped. She was so distracted by how insanely good-looking he was that she’d forgotten he’d offered to buy her a cookie.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, sir.”

“I insist. Unless you don’t like cookies?”

He was so handsome. How did a man get to be that good-looking? And she was kind of hungry. She placed nine dollars in the register and took a cookie for herself.

“Thank you, sir. That’s very sweet.”

He smirked, like there was some hidden joke she didn’t know about. Suddenly her mouth was dry. When she tried to hand him back the rest of his change, he cocked his head to the side.

“How many more times am I going to have to hand you this money? It’s yours. Take it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. It was a very big tip for a lemonade and a couple of cookies. “I think I’m going to buy myself a lemonade to go with this cookie, then.” She grinned at him but he put his hand over hers when she reached for the register.

“No, you will not,” he said.

“Oh, okay. No drinking on the job.” She smiled nervously at her own silly joke.

“I meant, if you’d like a lemonade, it’s on me.” He handed her a five-dollar bill.

So he did carry bills smaller than a hundred. But he’d just given her almost eighty dollars as a tip on top of the cookies. Still, Roman Chase was not the sort of man to argue with, so she just took the five and put it in the register.

“Very well . . . thank you, Mr. Chase.”

He stayed at the bar as she poured herself a lemonade, spilling a bit in her haste. She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and she forced herself not to curse under her breath as she cleaned up the mess. Something about him made her so nervous, and not just the fact that he was so hot and so rich. He was . . . intimidating.

How could a man who’d just bought her a cookie and lemonade be intimidating? But he was. Not for any particular reason she could put her finger on. Just . . . something about him. Kinda scary, but not creepy. Just intimidating, even though he’d never been anything but a gentleman to her, in real life at least. He’d done some very ungentle things to her in her imagination.

I’m clearly overtired. Not even making sense to myself anymore
, she thought, and pulled up her bar stool so she could rest her feet for a moment as she ate.

“Um, do you mind if I sit?” she asked, because it felt like she needed his permission.

“I don’t mind.” He watched her as she took a bite of the cookie.

She’d been telling the truth when she told the other guy she’d never bought one of the club’s cookies. There was no way a nine-dollar cookie could be worth it. Instead she brought a snack from home, usually a Greek yogurt for the protein, and ate it on her break. But this cookie—it was heaven in her mouth. The perfect mix of chewiness and crispness at the edges, with just the right amount of chocolate chips.

“Is it worth nine dollars, Jessica?” Roman asked.

She had to wait until she finished swallowing the bite in her mouth before she could answer, and she covered her mouth with one hand and raised the other in a
sorry, one second
gesture. “Yes, it absolutely is. Or maybe I’m just hungry, I don’t know.”

He laughed, something she’d only seen him do on rare occasions, and even then, only with his friends at their booth. Making him laugh thrilled her. She’d made Roman Chase laugh! If she was allowed to use her phone she’d want to tell the world, but of course it would have to stay her little happy secret. What happened at the club stayed at the club. No tweeting or Facebooking about drinking lemonade and eating a cookie with an honest-to-goodness gorgeous billionaire.

Not that it mattered that he was a billionaire. Except . . . how cool was that? She barely made enough money to rent a studio apartment, not that she spent much time there awake. She usually slept during the day since she worked so late at the club every night. Not that she was complaining—she needed the money, so she was happy for the extra hours.

“Why do you work here, Jessica?” Roman asked, and she nearly choked on her cookie in an effort to swallow again so she could answer. “Please, take your time,” he added, raising his eyebrows. He pushed her lemonade toward her. “Drink.”

Jessica took a long sip of the lemonade. “Sorry.”

“Don’t choke on my account,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at his booth.

He was going to leave, to go back to his friends and more lively conversation. But she wanted him to stay. He’d never spent so much time talking with her before.

“I work here because I’m too young to bartend at a regular bar,” she said, and he looked back at her appraisingly.

“That’s right, you told me you weren’t legal to drink yet.” He looked back over his shoulder and made a
come here
movement with his head.

Mistress Lauren, the beautiful redhead who always had men crawling behind her, begging her for a chance to kiss her stiletto boots, stood up and walked toward them, smiling. She wore Marc Wilde’s ring now—and Marc was definitely a Dom—but Jessica was pretty sure she was still supposed to be addressed as Mistress Lauren.

Trying to keep up with the BAD Boys rumor mill was all very confusing, like trying to follow a soap opera when you only got to watch bits and pieces of it and instead of hearing the characters talking, you only had other people telling you what was going on.

“How may I serve you, Mistress Lauren?” Jessica asked when she approached the bar.

“She’s adorable,” Mistress Lauren replied, looking at Roman. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, and stood. “Thank you for the lemonade.” With that, he left, bringing his glass with him.

Jessica watched him go back to the booth, trying not to let her disappointment show.

“It looks like the cookies are good,” Mistress Lauren said. “I’ll take one, please.”

“Of course. Nine dollars, ma’am.” Jessica jumped off her stool and handed her a cookie with a napkin.

Mistress Lauren smiled and handed her a twenty. “Keep the change, hon.”

Wow, this was turning into a very profitable night for tips. “Thank you, Mistress Lauren, that’s very generous.”

“So are you really only working here because you’re not twenty-one yet?” Lauren asked, taking a bite of the cookie.

What was the right answer? Jessica still didn’t feel comfortable saying she thought the club itself was exciting and sexy. But why? Everyone else who walked past the velvet rope seemed to be so sexually confident, so ready to embrace the kinky stuff. And here she was, an employee, unable to even admit out loud she was interested in anything other than the paycheck.

Mistress Lauren smiled. “It’s Jessica, right? You’re so cute. Are you into the lifestyle?”

Jessica blushed and shook her head, unable to respond to either the compliment or the question.

“Really? Never even been spanked?”

Okay, let’s get personal.
Jessica laughed, unsure of what to say.

But Lauren seemed so friendly—it was easier to imagine answering a question like that to her, to another girl, than it would be if . . . if someone like Roman had asked her.

The thought of Roman asking her if she’d ever been spanked sparked a frisson of heat in her body. That would actually be really hot if he’d asked her.

Jessica shook her head again. “No, ma’am.”

“Fucking hell, you’re making me feel old. When other people call me ma’am it gets me wet. When you do it I feel a decade older than you, probably because I nearly am.” Lauren laughed, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder.

“You’re not old, Mistress Lauren,” Jessica said. “I’m just . . . sorry, I . . .” She didn’t know what to say.

Lauren grinned at her. “It’s okay, don’t be so nervous. I don’t bite. Not hard anyway.”

Jessica laughed with relief. “Good to know.”

“What do you do for fun when you’re not serving overpriced lemonade?” Lauren asked.

“I apologize, I don’t set the prices,” Jessica started, but Lauren interrupted her with a wink. Just a wink, and Jessica fell silent, and smiled back. “Well, not much since I left NYU.”

“What was your major?”

“Drama. But one of the teachers said if you can do anything in the world other than be an actor, then you should because it’s a very hard life. Constant rejection, no job security. And I didn’t even like it that much. So I figured I’d get a job wherever I could while I’m finding myself.”

“Finding yourself,” Lauren repeated, as if she liked the phrase. “Would you be interested in finding yourself hanging out with me tomorrow?”

Why would Mistress Lauren, a woman who was about to become Marc Wilde’s
wife
for goodness’ sake, want to hang out with her? Jessica had nothing to offer a billionaire’s fiancée.

“Just for fun. We’re having a party at Roman Chase’s house in Westchester. Marc and I are going, so we could pick you up and give you a ride.”

An invitation to a party. To Roman Chase’s house. Holy shit.
Play it cool
.

“But . . . why me?”

“Don’t think so little of yourself,” Lauren said. “You’re a lovely girl and we want to get to know you better. You’ve been the new bartender here for a while now and you’ve yet to even dance on top of the bar or come out and play in the club. We feel like we barely know you. And we know everyone here.”

“Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense,” Jessica said.
Dance on top of the bar?
“That is, if you mean it.”

“I mean it. Where should we pick you up tomorrow? It’ll be around noon.”

“Noon,” Jessica repeated. Was she really going to do this? Apparently. “I can take the subway to your neighborhood so you don’t have to go out of your way.”

Lauren leaned over the bar and plucked the pen out of Jessica’s apron pocket, then wrote an address on a napkin. “This is Marc’s building. Just let the doorman know you’re there and we’ll come down.”

“Thank you,” Jessica said, holding the napkin in her hand like it was going to disintegrate at any minute, or self-destruct like in the Mission Impossible movies. Should she choose to accept this mission . . . she laughed. Yeah, she was doing this. “I’ll be there.”

Lauren smiled and took her cookie back to their booth, waving over her shoulder.

A party at Roman Chase’s house!

For whatever reason, Jessica felt like a tiny fish who had just been invited to swim in the ocean . . . with the sharks.

Chapter Two

“W
e’re having a party at your house tomorrow,” Lauren announced to Roman when she returned to their booth, cookie in hand.

“Oh we are?” he asked. “Does that mean young Jessica fit the bill?”

Lauren grinned and dropped herself into the space next to Marc, who promptly leaned over and took a bite of the cookie.

“Cookie mafia gets his cut,” Marc joked.

“If you don’t want to host, we can have it at our house, right honey?” Elisabeth said, turning to Trevor to make sure.

But Roman liked the idea of having Jessica at his house. “We can do it at my place. I have a new mosaic at the bottom of my pool that could use some appreciation.”

Elisabeth raised her eyebrows. Roman imagined she was surprised that he’d done anything to upgrade his house. But after she’d left, he’d been in the spending mood. And his pool, while impressive, didn’t have the sort of extra custom detail Roman enjoyed displaying. Now it certainly did.