Harper's Submission [Golden Dolphin 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (2 page)

* * * *

Harmon Burke was sitting uncomfortably in the office of Maurie Cullen, his editor at the trash paper he worked for. He had hopes that the exposé he planned to do on the billionaire pharmaceutical baron, Morgan Court, would get him the hell out of here and into the big time. He could see himself with a
New York Times
byline, or the
New York Post
at the very least. Shit! Even the
New York Daily News
would be better than this dump. It was his dream. But first, he had to placate this jerk.

“Sir, I lost them. I waited at the federal courthouse until after dark, but I never saw either of them come out. They must have gotten out through the underground parking lot.”

“That’s not good enough, Burke. You damn well better get a lead on them, or I’ll give this plum assignment to another reporter. You don’t have a lock on it.”

Burke got up and left the editor’s pigsty of an office. He hoped he hadn’t inhaled enough smoke and bullshit to kill him.

The Port of New York and New Jersey, New York, New York. November 9, 2013—Saturday Morning

Harmon Burke had spent the day canvassing the neighborhoods around Harper Cameron’s town house and Morgan Court’s co-op building, looking for a lead. He had finally found a neighbor who had seen bags from Cameron’s town house being loaded into a delivery van on Friday morning. He had been able to track down the driver of the van due to the detailed description provided by the busybody neighbor who spent her days watching the comings and goings of the neighborhood from her window above the street. After some currency had changed hands, he had found out that the bags had been delivered to the wharf and loaded onto the yacht, the
Golden Dolphin
. After asking around the wharf and listening to the conversations of the crewmen from the ship at a local coffee shop, he had learned that the private yacht was bound for a cruise up the Eastern Seaboard to the St. Lawrence River and Montréal. The first stop was Newport, Rhode Island and then Boston. He could see that the security aboard was extremely tight. The gangway was constantly guarded. He wondered if he would be able to stow away and possibly get some photos or information on Court and Cameron. It was risky. He had no idea if he could pull it off, but if he could, it would be a hell of coup. If he got caught, what could they do to him? It wasn’t like they could throw him overboard, was it? Was it? Shit. Was that trespassing? He had no answer to any of those questions.
But damn it! I’m a member of the press. It’s my right to snoop—uhh, investigate.
Just in case he got an opportunity, he had packed a small belt bag with energy bars, his cell phone, and his small digital camera and an extra lens for close-ups. He looked for an inconspicuous place to lay low and watch the gangplank.

On Saturday morning, amid all the confusion of last-minute supplies and equipment being loaded aboard the
Golden Dolphin
, the steward guarding the gangplank had a moment when he rushed to help one of the crew with a heavy box that he was about to drop. Harmon took the opportunity to slip aboard the ship. He didn’t hesitate. If he had, he certainly would have been caught. His heart was racing. He had no idea where to hide. He quickly slipped into the first unlocked door he came to, which luckily was a small storage room on the first deck. During the evening while the crew was busy getting passengers settled, he managed to score a crewman’s uniform from the laundry room. Some hapless guy had left his laundry in the dryer. He managed to put together a complete uniform that should fit him fairly well. At least he wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb, and hopefully it would give him some freedom of movement around the ship. This was just the opportunity Harmon needed. He snapped up the uniform and retreated to the storage room, hoping no one would need something and come in and find him before they left port. Harmon put on the uniform when he got to the storage room. While he was adjusting his slightly larger frame into the slightly smaller uniform, he found a green rubber bracelet in the pocket of the slacks. He had noticed some of the crew wearing the green bracelets, and he put it on his wrist, although he didn’t understand the significance.

The Port of New York and New Jersey, New York, New York, on board the Golden Dolphin, November 9, 2013—Saturday Evening

Morgan seated Harper in a chair at the table for two in the opulent dining room on the top deck of the
Golden Dolphin
. Their table overlooked the city skyline, as well as New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. The view was stunning. Trying not to be obvious, he glanced down the front of the short, black silk cocktail dress that emphasized her long neck and opulent breasts, which were mounded high. He could not catch a glimpse of her nipples, although he made a good effort. Then his eyes discreetly slid down her body, and he almost gulped as he admired her long legs, which were set off by high, black “fuck me” pumps.
Very nice
.

They had spent the day wandering around the city in disguise. It had been a kick to transform the beautiful and somewhat exotic Harper Cameron into a tall, slightly chunky middle-aged woman with gray-streaked hair while he had worn one of his favorite disguises—that of a middle-aged man with gray sideburns wearing sunglasses, a porkpie hat, and old bomber jacket.

“Morgan, thank you for a fabulous day. I’ve never gone out in disguise before, but I’m sure I’ll be doing it again. What a rush! I particularly enjoyed strolling past my town house and discreetly giving the press camped out there the finger. I know it was rude of me, but I couldn’t help myself.”

Morgan grinned at her. “My pleasure. I rarely went out incognito before that damn article. But after it came out, it became a necessity, or I’d have never been able to leave my building. I have to admit I’m a little compulsive about my privacy.”

Almost every woman under the age of one hundred had read the “Ten Wealthiest Single Men in Manhattan” article that had graced the cover of
Cosmo
, one of the leading women’s magazines, a year ago. It had been featured front and center on every newsstand in the city. He had done his best to be excluded, and had refused to pose for any photographs or give an interview, but that had only seemed to whet their appetite to include him. After the magazine came out, building security at both his office and his Fifth Avenue co-op had to turn away single women lurking about hoping to meet the illusive thirty-eight-year-old Morgan Court.

“Well, I had a ball. Sitting on a bench in Central Park, walking on Fifth Avenue, eating hot dogs. It was all a kick. What’s your favorite disguise?”

“Sorry, Harper. If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He grinned at her momentary shock, and then she started to giggle. He just loved that line. “I can tell you that the best one was when I dressed as a bum and walked up to the doorman at my building. He gets tipped very handsomely at Christmas every year to guard my privacy. He ran me off and threatened to call the police if I came back. I laughed so hard all the way to the corner that I almost gave up the gig.”

“I’m impressed. It had to be a damn good disguise to fool your own doorman. How do you get out of the building dressed like that?”

“There’s a back entrance through the basement. I can come or go that way with a key.” He smiled at her amazement. “It’s not all smoke and mirrors. People generally are not very observant. They are usually too wrapped up in their own concerns to really pay attention to what goes on around them.”

The waiter approached the table for their dinner orders. The food on board the
Golden Dolphin
was five star, and the service was impeccable. After dinners of braised asparagus, roasted potatoes, and two-pound lobsters to whet their appetites for the fresh North Atlantic seafood in which they were going to indulge during the next three weeks, they walked out onto the starboard deck and took seats out of the breeze to enjoy their after-dinner drinks—brandy for Morgan and Bailey’s Irish Cream in hot coffee for Harper. It was cold, and the moonlight sparkled on the water of the Hudson River. He smiled at her as she snuggled deeper into her shearling jacket.

“I have to say, I am very pleased with the outcome of the trial. I had my doubts.” At her look of dismay, he continued, “Not about your abilities. Your experience and education, not to mention your status at your firm, speak for themselves. I am just sure that the whole lawsuit was politically inspired. The assistant federal prosecutor is looking to move up, and my family has had some similar unexplained problems in recent years.”

“I had wondered about that. Your pharmaceutical company is large but not large enough to warrant a trial of this magnitude. I would hardly say Court Industries has a monopoly on the pharmaceutical industry, or that you engage in unfair business practices. It’s always something…” Her expression was troubled. “If that’s the case, we may not have heard the last of this.”

“I say we just kick back and enjoy the cruise. Tomorrow is another day.”

She smiled at him. “Agreed. Kick back it is.” She reclined on the chaise and took a sip of her Bailey’s and coffee. “Ummm. This is the perfect finish to a fabulous dinner.”

* * * *

Harper glanced at Morgan out the corner of her eye. His well-tailored tweed blazer over a black turtleneck sweater and black slacks emphasized his wide shoulders and long legs. He was just stunning when he wasn’t in camouflage mode. She would give a lot to see him in his bum getup. That had to be a sight.
It’s a shame we’re both Doms
. With his aura of command, she was sure he would never bottom, not that she would really want him to. That would be like asking a tiger to shed his stripes. He was just too masculine and beautiful for her to want to change him. She had been attracted to him since the first time she had seen him at Le Club Eastside. Although she had not been able to see his face that first time, she had been captivated by his gorgeous body and the way he had handled his sub. He dominated with authority. He was by no means a pushover, but he wasn’t overly or unnecessarily harsh either. He expected and demanded obedience. He had a certain something besides a commanding presence…maybe empathy. She didn’t know what it was, but he was compelling as a man and as a Dom.

Harper knew she had issues. Despite a few not very satisfactory liaisons in college and law school, she had not really ever been in a long-lasting, mature adult relationship. Her sexual responses were stunted, to say the least, and she had a tendency to panic in the clenches. Her childhood, spent with abusive elderly grandparents, who should have never been given a child to raise after her druggie parents had dropped out, had left scars. She had tried counseling several times over the years. The last psychologist she had worked with, who was admittedly a little over the top, had suggested she try the Domme role in order to put herself in control of the relationship. Despite the unorthodox advice, it had worked out fairly well. But while she could take control of a sub and bring him to a satisfactory completion, she was unable to let go enough to accept any pleasure in return. She had been approached by several of the Doms at the club, but once she had assumed the role of Domme, she had been unwilling to relinquish that control.

The Port of New York and New Jersey, New York, New York, on board the Golden Dolphin, November 10, 2013—Sunday Afternoon, Day One of the Cruise

Harper had read the brochure entitled
The Golden Dolphin Pleasure Club Rules
which explained the color-coded bracelet system on board the ship. It included a selection of brightly colored rubber bracelets. Doms and Dommes wore half-inch-wide black bracelets. Non-participants wore half-inch-wide red bracelets. Passengers or crew who were subs wanting to participate in the BDSM, or Bondage & Discipline, Dominance & Submission and Sadomasochism, activities aboard wore green, as well as thin multicolored ones that signified various hard limits. The booklet provided good basic information about BDSM. Theme rooms and costumes could be reserved by calling a telephone extension. She found the concept ingenious. Passengers and crew did not have to say a word. They just wore their bracelets. She slipped the black one on her right wrist.

She and Morgan had enjoyed a wonderful brunch in the top deck lounge while more passengers boarded the ship. They had met and struck up conversations with several couples and a few singles who would be taking the cruise. Harper discreetly checked out all wrists for colored bracelets. It was fun to privately try to guess what someone had under their jacket sleeve.

After brunch they had each returned to their own suite. Morgan was occupying the very luxurious Master Suite on the top deck of the five-deck yacht. Harper had a beautiful but somewhat smaller suite on the fourth deck. She thought Morgan would have preferred her to share the Master Suite, but she hadn’t been comfortable with that. She needed her own space. She had been delighted by her suite’s beautiful and soothing color scheme of pale green and ivory and the antique furnishings. The bathroom was a dream come true, with a restored claw-foot tub surrounded by translucent, creamy off-white shower curtains, which allowed her to use the tub as a shower. The pale-green marble counters and antique white cabinetry had a decidedly country-French flavor. She wished she could pack it up and take it home with her.