A Sinful Little Christmas

“More like personal.” Michael’s voice was gruff, barely recognizable to him. It wasn’t anger that had transformed it—as was what happened when he normally spoke of the infidelity he’d suffered at the hands of those closest to him—but lust. It had been a while since he’d had such a reaction to a woman, no matter the attitude she threw his way. Maybe that was part of her appeal, he mused. She didn’t just fall at his feet and want to give him anything he desired. Her resistance to him was new, and the fact that he would have to work hard to impress her—well, he liked that. He could appreciate hard work. It just made the rewards sweeter.

Alana raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

He knew he would have to further elaborate, or she wouldn’t let it go. He averted his eyes, checking out her office—it was sleek in design, modern, but comfortable—and he blew out a heavy breath. “Okay, fine. My wife—” he caught her quick, surprised blink “—my very soon to be ex-wife,” he clarified. “We owned the club with a friend of ours. The marriage ended, the friendship ended, and so did the partnership.” Michael figured giving the short-and-not-so-sweet version of what went down would be the easiest option.

“I know there’s something you’re leaving out there,” she pointed out. Michael said nothing, offering her nothing more about his personal life. “Why did you want to come here?”

“I’m at a crossroads in my life. Gabe reached out to me, and I met him in Dublin.” Michael noticed her head tilt and her lips purse, then added, “I figured it was a good time for something new, a change of scenery, and I figure there’s no different scenery than Las Vegas. I’ve heard great things about Di Terrestres. You’re known internationally within the scene. I’m not sure if you know this, but I’ve known Gabe since university. He’s told me all about you.” He flicked his eyes over her. But Gabe hadn’t told him everything about her—he’d left out that Alana Carter was possibly the sexiest woman Michael had ever seen. Smoking hot, hard as steel and capable of making him want to do so many things to her, with her, have her do to him. But he stuck with “Gabe has had good things to say about you and the way you do business.” Knowing she wouldn’t make it easy for him, he kept going, hoping flattery and sex appeal would help melt her icy exterior. “I’m excited to get to work, to see what I can do for you,” he finished with an innuendo-laced, closed-lip grin. Just bring the conversation to sex, and away from his personal life. That was where his comforts lay.

The way Alana raised her eyebrows, but then quickly lowered them, let Michael know that he’d had the intended effect. He saw the way she looked at him, and it was obvious that the attraction between them flowed both ways. She cleared her throat and leaned her elbows on her desk, zeroing in on him with those light gray eyes, while his eyes dipped again to her chest and the view he’d been presented with. “And what do you think you can do for me?” she asked, her voice husky.

He, too, leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “I can relieve some of the stress and the pressure you must be under. Being a powerful woman in a man’s world can’t be easy. I’m here to do the heavy lifting at Di Terrestres and lighten your load, no matter what it might be.”

Alana stood behind her desk, forcing him to look up at her. He was a tall man, and had never had a woman stand over him. “I think I know how you can relieve some of the stress, and make my day a little easier…” He watched with interest as she drew her fingertips over the top of her desk. Every movement she made was crafted to have an effect on him. He could tell she knew how to use her body, her mind, every part of her, to seduce to get what she wanted.

And Michael was almost embarrassed by how well it worked on him.

He stood as well. He could already feel all of his blood rushing to his dick. “Oh yeah? What do you have in mind?”

“Well, first,” she said, her voice sultry, as she reached back and opened her desk drawer, took a step around the front of the desk to stand in front of him and handed over a stack of paper tickets. He inhaled deeply and found her perfume. Citrus with a floral hint, alluding to a more playful side? He wondered. Her scent was captivating, intoxicating, but no more so than the way she pursed her lips, one side tilted upward, and she dipped her chin to what she’d placed in his hand, urging him to look.

He looked in his hand and saw what she’d given him, and he laughed without humor.

“You can pick up my dry cleaning,” she told him, her voice still a sultry whisper. “The address is on the back.”

Her dry cleaning? “You can’t be serious.”

All hint of seduction was now missing from her voice and posture. “Mr. Paul, you’ll discover that I’m rarely anything but serious.”

He shook his head, and glared down at her. “Do you know what you’re paying me? I didn’t come all the way here from London to run your errands.”

“You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do,” she said in a harsh whisper. “I don’t care what I’m paying you, just make sure you prove you’re worth it.”

He could tell she was angry, and no longer the ice queen she’d been when he walked in. It made him smile that he’d been able to affect her. “I’ll show you how worth it I am. But I have to say, I was under the impression from your partners that I’d be running Di Terrestres. Hence, that large salary.”

“That’s a joke. I run Di Terrestres. I can’t be blamed for any misinformation you were given by my associates.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Good question.” They each watched the other, and the more Michael dueled with Alana, the more frustrating she became. And the more a sick part of him enjoyed it.

She sighed, and he wondered if he was finally wearing her down. “Let’s get this over with, and we’ll see where you belong here,” she said. “What sorts of things have you been credited with in your old club. What did you do there?”

He sobered, and for a moment forgot about their battle of wills and the sexual tension and got back down to business. Sure, he was having fun playing with Alana, but there were few things Michael took as seriously as his old club. When it was his. “Originally, Swings was my idea. There were some deficiencies in the London kink and swing scene. It was limited to a few private parties here and there, held in private homes. But as you can imagine—going to a person’s home or someone else’s dungeon opens you up for all kinds of risks. We gave people a place to safely play. But we made it accessible to most people. Not just the super rich. With different price points and levels of membership, our first-tier dues are modest, but the application process is still as intense, and people had to be referred by a member.”

“Did you see any challenges with that? Allowing it to be more open?”

He shrugged. “Everyone deserves to have fun, as long as they follow the rules and respect other people. We had a private area for more well-known patrons, but everyone at all tiers was able to enjoy the facilities. Maybe that’s something we could do here. Increase profits by finding a way for allowing everyone to come here.”

“I wouldn’t start making big plans yet,” she told him.

“Are you so afraid of change?”

She said nothing. Michael sat back and regarded her. The angrier she looked, the more defiant the look in her eyes, the sexier she became, the more he liked it, and it made him smile. She had a tough, cold exterior, but he could see the passion that burned underneath the facade. “Control,” he said.

She blinked, looked startled. “What?” she asked, even though he knew she heard exactly what he’d said.

He grinned. “You get off on control, don’t you?”

Watching Alana as she busied herself with some files on her desk, straightening them in a stack, and then restraightening them, not looking at him, he thought this might be the way to get beneath that tough exterior. She didn’t respond.

“Am I right?” he prodded. “You like to show you’re in charge, no matter where you are, don’t you?”

“What are you doing?” Alana’s voice was low.

He shrugged. “I’m just trying to get to know my new boss. Tell me what you’re into. When you go downstairs, where do you go? The dungeon?” He thought about it, and shook his head. “No, I don’t think you’re a dungeon woman. Orgy rooms? I have to say no again, because I don’t see you having fun unless you are in complete control. A fem domme?” he asked himself, knowing she wouldn’t answer. He nodded in appreciation at the thought. “Well, that’s intriguing.” He had to admit, he liked to be in charge, but he might seriously let Alana call the shots if she wanted to. Perhaps. Maybe once. Then he would show her exactly how he liked to be in control.

“You are seriously skating on the line of a sexual harassment suit,” she warned him. “I don’t know how you ran things in London, but we have a professional place of business here. We keep our extracurricular activities separate from work, and we expect the same from our staff. So, if you expect to have a future here, I recommend you remember that.”

“I will. And I respect your policies.” That part was true, but that didn’t mean he was done prodding her. “You’re definitely not a woman who likes to be told what to do, are you?”

“You’re unbelievable.” She shook her head, and closed her eyes. He knew she was losing patience with him. And he loved it. “This interview isn’t going particularly well.”

He grinned, still desperate to break through her walls and see the passion he knew was underneath. “Depends on who you ask, I guess. But I’ve already got the job, remember? Tell me how you like to be in charge.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

Michael pushed himself up from the couch, and took the step to stand in front of her desk. Flattening his palms on the desktop, he leaned over it and watched her. Her eyes were widened with surprise, her pupils dilated as they locked on his. Her shoulders heaved with her deep breaths. Every one of her actions, the micromovements of her face exhibited desire. He knew she wanted him.

“I think it has quite a bit to do with us.”

She blinked. “Us?” Her laugh was more of a coughing sound, and she looked away from him briefly, as if she were trying to hang on to the control that he was pulling from her grasp. But she looked up, confident, and he could see that she was still holding her own. Alana Carter was a formidable opponent. A coldness came over her eyes. “Let’s get this straight, Michael. I might run an erotic club, which my partners may have hired you for, but my own sexual proclivities are none of your business. As for us, I’m your boss. You’re my employee. And I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, or what it is you’re trying to prove coming in here and swinging your big old dick around,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “But there is no us.

“And as for you thinking you’re going to come in here and fluster me, throw me off guard, dominate me,” she ground out, “whatever your goal is here, it isn’t going to work. Every single day, men come in here and think they’re going to have their way with me—in the boardroom, the job site, the bedroom—but every time I make sure to let them know just how wrong, how small, they are.” She drew her pink tongue over her top teeth. “And they never try again.”

“You sure about that?”

Alana’s laugh was humorless, and held an edge of malice. Although she was at least a foot shorter than him, she faced him. “Look at the set of balls on you,” she said, her voice a dangerous whisper. “You think you can stroll on in here and presume to run my club. I know a man who looks like you, carries himself like you is used to having women fall at your feet, ready to do whatever you want. But listen to me, buddy, I’m not like those women. I will break you down, piece by piece, and completely dismember you.” She jutted her chin in his direction. “And I’ll keep those big balls of yours in a jar in my Birkin bag.”

A slight shiver crawled up Michael’s spine. Impressed and a little frightened of the woman in front of him, he stepped back from her. “You’re good.”

“I know,” she said, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her face as she crossed her arms. “So, don’t think you’re going to beat me, or that I’ll give up control of my club that easily.” Her smile turned full, revealing straight white teeth behind ruby red lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And you want some advice before you go?” she asked. “I promise, it’ll make your day a little easier.”

“And what’s that?”

She leaned close so that their lips were only inches apart. He could taste her sweet breath. “The dry cleaning place closes at six,” she whispered. “You’d better leave now if you hope to make it.”

Michael looked at her, then at the tags he’d put on the desk. He wasn’t her errand boy, and that wasn’t how their business relationship was going to work. But when he saw the defiant set of her jaw, he knew it wasn’t a fight that he was going to win that day. He snatched up the tags in his fist. “Fine. Anything else?”

“No. See Cameron outside, he’ll call you a car.”

“I have a car.” Michael glared, and turned on his heel. Walking out, he looked over his shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” he promised. It would be a new day to do battle with the woman in front of him. Even though she had the power to destroy him—so help him, God—he was looking forward to it. He’d never been a masochist, but when it came to Alana, he was certain that she could convince him. If he didn’t lower her resistance first, that is.

“Tomorrow. Bright and early,” she told him, an all-too-sweet smile adorning her cynical lips.

Michael vowed to revisit the conversation. Another time. Right now, he had some dry cleaning to pick up for the boss lady. If she thought she’d won the battle, however, she was sorely mistaken. He left her office, slamming the door behind him.

Alana may have won that round. But the war wasn’t over.

Alana stared at the closed door for a while before she was able to breathe again. And when she did, the air escaped her lungs in a quick rush. “Oh, fuck me,” she said aloud to her empty office. The words shot out, unabated, as they’d been on the tip of her tongue, and were the same words she’d almost found herself saying to Michael Paul, her newest employee. The man was arrogant, imposing, annoying, condescending, thought he could take her down, and he’d even had the nerve to try to manipulate her with sex. But what surprised Alana the most was that she also found him to be completely irresistible.

The heat returned to her cheeks, and it had nothing to do with her supposed medical issue, but with a pure, carnal desire for a man she knew could make her life extremely difficult. Save his cocky attitude—which was due for a serious adjustment—Michael would have been just her type. And when he’d grilled her on her sex life, which was completely inappropriate in a workplace setting, he’d absolutely nailed her, and what she liked.

Control. Power. They were the things that she carried with her throughout her life, and not solely in the bedroom. Alana held on to her business with a tight grip, and she wasn’t quite prepared to pass it over to some man she didn’t even know. Who thought he could stroll in and turn her life completely upside down.

But God. Just his presence had had an effect on her. Clenching her thighs together to alleviate the pressure that had built there, she took deep breaths until she was able to think about anything but him again. What had happened to her? One moment, she was sitting behind her desk, ready to send Michael Paul packing back to London. The next, the tall, dark Adonis had made her melt into a puddle on her chair.

Inhaling, she could still smell him—his spicy cologne, his essence. Even though he’d gone, he was still in her office. Like he’d invaded the place, and refused to leave. She had to find a way to get him out of her building, and the hell away from her, before she found herself underneath him.

CHAPTER TWO

ALANA RUBBED HER temples and rolled her neck. Another tension headache had taken up residence in the back of her brain, neck and shoulders. Her head pounded and she closed her eyes, trying to make the pain dissipate. She’d taken her pill—as prescribed—and a couple over-the-counter painkillers, but no amount of medication would make her feel better. When she felt like this, when the stress and tightness wouldn’t let up, she knew there was only one way to relax—sex.

It had been a day. Not only had her best friends gone over her head and, without her knowing, brought in a guy to manage her club, but Alana blew out a breath as she admitted she was wildly attracted to the arrogant, gorgeous man they’d hired. Feeling the temperature in the room rise, she pulled back her hair into a loose bun. She was due for a little fun—it had been so long since she’d had any. Heading down to Di Terrestres would be a good cap to a crappy day. She called downstairs to the suite host, Andre.

“Hi, Andre, is my room ready?”

Over the phone, she heard his fingers tap on his tablet. “Yes, ma’am, it’s been a while since you’ve used it.”

“Don’t remind me,” she told him. “I’ll be down shortly.”

“See you soon.”

Alana disconnected the call and quickly texted Eric, an acquaintance of hers who was always ready to hook up. Not many men were okay with lying down and letting a woman take control, but he never seemed to mind.

Finished working for the day, Alana cleared away her desk, and shut her laptop. She stood and picked up her purse, glancing at her phone to see that Eric had responded to her message almost immediately and told her he was on his way. Perfect.

Alana made her way downstairs. Sure, Eric was a good-looking guy, and always showed her a fun time, but as she used the private elevator from her top-floor office down to Di Terrestres, she couldn’t stop herself from wishing that it was Michael Paul meeting her in her suite. But that was a thought she couldn’t afford to entertain. She’d stared him down, had won the first confrontation, but she knew it wasn’t over. He didn’t even flinch when she gave him her best Head Bitch in Charge stare, and threatened to put his balls in her purse. That showed he was tenacious, sure. But there was no way she was handing over the reins to Di Terrestres—her baby—to just any random guy her idiot friends brought in, no matter how qualified. She pictured the shock on his face when she handed over her dry cleaning stubs, and chuckled as she remembered his outrage at being treated like an errand boy.

She bypassed the crowd of regulars on the main floor of the club, not even looking up to the Brotherhood’s usual table to see if they were up there, because she didn’t care. She made her way to the suites and smiled at Andre, who stood at the host table at the bottom of the staircase.

“Eric is on his way, Ms. Carter. You can head on up,” he said, presenting her with the electronic key fob to open the door to her preferred room. Once inside, she went to the small, fully stocked bar, and poured a finger of white tequila into a small glass, and followed it up with a splash of soda water. She took a swallow, and walked into the small en suite bathroom. The liquor warmed her from the inside, and soothed her frayed nerves, and succeeded in loosening her up a little, shaking off her confrontation with Michael.

In front of the full-length mirror, she shook off her blazer and unbuttoned her shirt then pushed her skirt over her thighs. The need for physical release pulsed through her and she didn’t want to waste any time getting naked once Eric showed up. In her matching black bra and panties, and favorite pair of black stilettos, she liked what she saw.

She brushed her hair back with her fingers, and did a shimmy in her bra to push her already-ample breasts higher. Checking the time, she guessed Eric would be there soon. She knew he looked forward to their infrequent encounters. She checked out her figure in the mirror as she reapplied her cherry-red lipstick, and she smiled. Hell, can you blame him?

Michael’s face was set in a frustrated frown as he crossed the floor of Di Terrestres. He’d come to Vegas ready to get to work, to put everything in his past behind him and put down roots in a new city. To start a new successful life. But as he slung the plastic dry cleaning bags over his forearm, he shook his head. There was one thing standing in his way of that. Alana.

So far, his first day had included pissing off his new boss, then hitting on her, then being sent to pick up her dry cleaning. But he wanted to do more work than that. He was restless.

Normally, there was a way for him to ease his restlessness—sex. It was plenty available in Vegas, especially at Di Terrestres, but he wasn’t interested in taking part in the activities at the club. He had to focus his time and energy on work, to make a good first impression on his new bosses. He’d already blown that to hell with Alana, he knew. But he had to be on his best behavior going forward.

Whether she knew it or not, she’d kicked his ass all over her office. But the thing was, he’d kind of liked it. He was a dominant type, he liked control—in every aspect of his life—and he’d identified the same traits in Alana. She ran one of the most well-known erotic clubs in the country, and was known internationally. He knew from experience that it wasn’t an easy job, and he respected that. It couldn’t have been easy being her—and that was most likely the reason for the walls she had erected around her—he could see them, felt them. But even though she was his boss, he was confident that with a little persistence, he could break them down.

He recalled the way she narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips at him. Standing face-to-face with her had stiffened his dick, and he’d wanted to reach out and kiss her. But he didn’t. As well as being a sucker for punishment, he was a professional. He needed the fresh start that she and her friends had given him. And keeping it in his pants to do the job was imperative.

He scanned Di Terrestres as he headed for the private suites. They had put him up in a room there until he could find a suitable place of his own. His room was well equipped but on the small side, and he knew he would need to find something bigger once he got settled in the city. Looking around the club, during peak hours, he was able to see the crowds that flocked to Di Terrestres. The people who gathered for the drinks and conversation that preluded a night at an erotic club. The energy felt so close to that of his own place, and he felt it snap and sizzle through his blood. He couldn’t wait to get down to work. Pull his weight and show Gabe, Alana and the others that they had made the best decision in bringing him aboard.

He came to the staircase, and, nodding at Andre, the host he’d met earlier, Michael bounded up the stairs, removing the electronic fob from his pocket. He stopped outside his room, and held the key over the pad to unlock the door. Shifting Alana’s dry cleaning to his other arm, he entered his suite.

His bags were still packed, sitting by the door, the room still neat and unlived-in, but there was something out of place. A black patent leather purse was left on the small table. The bottle of tequila had been taken from its place in the wet bar and left out of place.

“It’s about time you got here,” someone called from the bathroom. He knew the feminine voice, even though it was tinged with a bit of humor, and not the anger he’d heard in it earlier. But he waited, shocked and silent by the door, still holding the plastic bags of clothing as he heard the click of stilettos on the tile floor as she got closer, and he could picture the red soles on the bottom of her shoes. He knew exactly who would turn the corner to enter the room, but nothing prepared him for the vision of Alana Carter—his new boss—standing before him in her bra and panties and expensive high heel shoes.