The Billionaire Submissive (Billionaires in Bondage) (4 page)

“I waited until I knew you had company so you wouldn’t have any reason to be afraid.”

“Oh, that’s not creepy at all,” Marie said, shaking her head. “No way, Lil. Don’t let this jerk in.”

“I always get my way,” Mr. Morgan replied, clearly a threat although he kept his voice even. “It’s how I clawed my way to the top. I assumed my reputation and position in the community would give Miss Harrison no qualms whatsoever about allowing me into her shop.”

She didn’t even try to keep the incredulity off her face. “Because fine, upstanding men in the community never take advantage of vulnerable women if they think they can get away with it?”

He inclined his head again. “And that’s why I offer my apologies. Secure in the status and privilege my wealth provides, I didn’t stop to think what it’d be like for a woman, alone, to have a stranger attempt to insert himself into her life so boldly.”

His words struck an odd chord in her. Did he really see it as inserting himself into her life? Not as a creative or business opportunity? She’d given him no indication whatsoever that she was interested in allowing him into her personal life. Silently, she stepped aside and pushed open the door.

“Are you kidding?” Marie stepped closer as Mr. Morgan passed inside, like she felt she needed to keep between them. “I don’t like this, hon.”

“It’s okay. You know he’s here. His secretary knows he’s here. Standard operating safety procedures, all right?”

Marie nodded. “Sure. Text me in thirty minutes that you’re okay, or I’m calling the police.”

“And then hourly.” Lilly noted the lingering concern in her friend’s eyes and gave her a tight hug. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

Marie shot him a warning look as she gathered her purse and left. Lilly shut the door and turned to find him watching her intently. “What?”

“Standard operating safety procedures?”

“A single woman can’t be too careful.” She watched his face, weighing whether she ought to lay her cards all out on the table now or save something for later. What the hell. “Especially when she’s involved in BDSM.”

His shoulders relaxed a hair, revealing a subtle tension. Maybe he hadn’t been completely sure, even though his instincts had insisted on the truth. “Only smart. So am I forgiven?”

She held her hand out and accepted the flowers. Then he surprised her by offering a bottle of wine she hadn’t noticed. He must have had it behind his back.

“I drove around until I found a liquor store and hoped it was one you frequented. The clerk remembered you and was able to tell me your preferences so I could get something you’d actually like.”

“Creepy again.” Shaking her head, she went into the kitchen and found a vase for the flowers. “Don’t you understand that’s stalker behavior?”

He managed to look offended. “I’m merely using every resource at my disposal to ensure victory. It’s not stalking.”

“Of course not,” she said lightly. “You wouldn’t want to get me drunk so you could take advantage of me.”

Now he drew himself up, his jaw hard, his mouth flattening into a slash. “Absolutely not. A lot could be said about me, but I’d never take advantage of a woman like that.”

“I believe you. Mostly.” She smiled to take some of the sting out.

She started to open the new bottle, but he interrupted. “What you’ve already opened is fine for me.”

Keeping an eye on him, she reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a wine glass. “So what resources did you use to find out about me?”

“First, I scouted the local clubs to get the lay of the land.”

She poured him a healthy glass of merlot and led the way back into the living room. He waited until she chose a seat, but whether politeness or an attempt to be submissive, she couldn’t tell. He was very apologetic, but also intense. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d already devised several plans of attack depending on how the first minute, five minutes, half hour went.
Plan A: Apologize. Plan B: Work my way into her house. Plan C: If she refuses…pay off her mortgage?
She wouldn’t put it past him.

“You don’t seem like the club sort to me.”

He smiled, and this time it seemed to be genuine. His eyes sparked with amusement instead of disdain, and for once, he wasn’t playing the part of Mr. Asshole determined to have everything his way. “I admit, it’s not my ideal scene. But I had to start somewhere. I asked around and eventually heard the name Mistress L.”

She kept her face smooth and didn’t press him for answers. She didn’t want him to know how much it would bother her if one of her clients had spoken to him.

“Even then, it wasn’t easy. Mistress L hadn’t been at the club in quite a while. I couldn’t get her real name. Finally one of the older Doms admitted to having worked with a Mistress L and eventually gave me your name.”

She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and then sucked in a deeper one when he continued.

“I hired a private investigator to follow you. He identified your clients and tried to speak to them.” Mr. Morgan kept the smile, but his eyes narrowed, revealing lingering irritation. “However, none of them would cooperate.”

“You hired a PI to investigate me? That is super super SUPER creepy.” However, she was relieved none of her clients had betrayed her. “Do you really want to commission a stained glass project from me, or was that just a way to get me to talk to you?”

He leaned forward, radiating determination, intensity and absolutely nothing of submissive obedience. “At first, just to get you into my office so I could interview you myself. But now, I want the windows done as much as I want you, and I don’t want anyone but you to oversee it.”

“What if I say no?” She kept her voice light and soft, watching his reaction.

His eyes locked onto hers. “Then I’ll find a way to convince you to say yes. I might be submissive, but I’m not the kind of man who’s ever going to settle for no.”

He’d never ever dreamed of a Mistress like her. Dressed simply in jeans and some old ratty shirt not fit to use as a cleaning rag, she watched him with cool detachment. When she wanted to project her will, she definitely had presence, he’d give her that. But right now, she was just Lilly Harrison, a middle-class single woman living in a traditional townhome in a normal suburb. The interior of her home was boring beige and traditional. Completely disappointing after seeing the picture of the Mistress with the killer red heels.
Where’s the personality in her home? Is she trying to hide from everyone…even herself?

Her feet were bare, her toe nails painted brilliant scarlet, and he found he couldn’t avert his gaze. Sitting in her chair with her knees pulled up before her and her hair all wild and tumbled about her shoulders, she looked vulnerable and unsure. It brought out all his protective instincts to war with the side of him wanting her orders and punishment.

He wanted to draw her into his arms and swear he’d never frighten her again. Because she was frightened of him, shaken at how he’d investigated and tracked her down. What would she think if he knelt down before her and drew her against him again? Not as he’d done in the elevator, out of control and hungry for her power. No, this time, he just wanted to comfort her.

The sub doesn’t comfort the Mistress.

She tipped her head to the side and smiled softly. “What makes you think Mistress L would be interested in taking you on?”

His hackles rose, pride rearing its ugly head again, but he kept his mouth shut until he could think of something to say that wasn’t offensive.
Because I’ll pay whatever exorbitant sum you want? Because I’d take you anywhere you want, buy whatever trinkets you covet, just to have you press me down across my desk again?
“I’ve been told I’m a challenge.”

“You could say that again,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’m still not convinced you’re submissive, Mr. Morgan.”

He sat back, deliberately giving her a smoldering, arrogant smile, draping his left arm across the back of the loveseat. “Don’t you think it’s rather ridiculous for such formality while having this conversation?”

“Are you submissive…Donovan?”

So she’d done enough research to know what his given name was. He wasn’t prepared for the rush of warmth in his belly, just from hearing his name on her lips. He shifted slightly, fighting to keep the negligent pose. “Yes and no.”

“Explain.”

She gave him just a thread of power in her voice, but it was enough to make him dig his fingers into the padded cushion beneath his hand. “I don’t want to be led around on a leash. I don’t want to be a lap dog, Mama’s little baby, or even the whipping boy.”

Her eyes narrowed, her will concentrating on him again as she’d done in his office. Immediately, his groin stirred, the heat spreading through his body. No miserable ice could freeze him solid when he sparred with her. “Are you saying you’re not into discipline?”

“I didn’t say that.” His voice was thick and rough to his ears. “Far from it. I want to be conquered.”

“And you think I’m the Mistress for the job? How could you possibly know anything about me? What I do? What I offer?”

He fought to remain still, not to reveal his anxiety and desperation. “Like I said…”

“So your private investigator took a few pictures of me and gave you a list of my clients. He couldn’t possibly tell you what each of those clients has gone through before I agreed to take him on.”

He couldn’t help the curling lift of his lip, though he tried to make it a smile instead of a sneer. “For the right amount of money…”

“This isn’t about money, Mr. Morgan.”

He frowned at being relegated back to formality.

She pushed her feet down and straightened in her seat, no longer withdrawn and vulnerable. Her eyes snapped with rising irritation and she impatiently grabbed a handful of her hair and began to twist it into a loose braid down the side of her head. “If money was all I wanted, I’d have a hundred clients. A thousand. But I’m very particular in who I take on, Mr. Morgan. Each sub has been through an interview process and answered my questionnaire. We agree on a full contract first with specified dates, times and duration. This isn’t a game to me, or a job. If that’s all you think Mistress L can do for you, then you’re wasting both of our time.”

“Speaking of a contract—”

She stood brusquely and slipped on a pair of deck shoes. “This isn’t the time for contract negotiation.”

“Why not?” He mentally winced at the ringing challenge in his voice, but she seemed to find it amusing, if the glint in her eyes and the curve of her mouth were any indication.

“Didn’t you want a stained glass lesson?”

He stood too, more than a little disappointed. He’d liked the direction the conversation had been going. Every little glimpse of the impatient, powerful, harsh taskmistress beneath her calm and cool facade only intrigued him more. “Now?”

“Why not?” She led the way to the side door through her modest kitchen to the garage. “You’re here now. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity.”

He scanned everything quickly, taking note of the continued beige color scheme. The appliances were basic and functional but at least five to ten years old and well used. By her? Or had she not bothered to replace them when she bought the place? Did she cook? He couldn’t tell. No pots and pans hung from a rack or waited on the stove to indicate at least occasional usage. The only decoration was a glass bowl of fruit on the breakfast bar, and it, too, was functional.

He burned to learn her secrets.
What does she do? What does she like? What will break her calm control and drive her as mad with need as I am every time I look at her?

In the garage, he began to see more personality. He’d wondered why her small gas-friendly car was parked in the driveway when she had a two-car garage. Now he knew why. It was filled with all her stained glass business.

Box shelves of varying sizes were built alongside one wall, allowing large pieces of glass to lie propped inside so she could easily flip through and examine the colors in each sheet. In the center of the garage bay, she’d set up a high table with a shop light hanging above it. Wheeled carts loaded with supplies were all within easy reach. Smart, practical and tidy.

“I usually have a couple of different projects going on the big table.” She held up a long rectangular piece of paper, a pattern, he realized. The rectangle was entirely divided into complex shapes. At a glance, he really couldn’t tell what the design was supposed to be. It all looked like random puzzle shapes to him that just happened to fit into a rectangle. “All year, I create a few like this to send to the local trade shows. They’re a nice size to hang in someone’s home, without being so expensive the average person can’t afford it. I do a mix of colors, usually. They tend to sell better than the all-clear glass. So it’s a good way to use up scraps from other projects too. Nothing ever really goes to waste.”

“So how do you go from a piece of paper to…that?” He pointed at the wall where she’d hung several different projects for display.

“I cut up the pattern. Then select the glass for each piece of the puzzle. Not just color is important in this stage—but also the pattern and design in the glass itself. Some of the carnival glass is very busy and uneven in thickness. It won’t fit in certain designs—but will absolutely make the piece sing if put in the right place. Like this.”