Release Me (Stark Trilogy 1)

The thought is disturbing on multiple levels, not the least of which is the unpleasant twang I feel at the thought of Damien Stark in bed with another woman. I push that aside and focus on the practical. “I don’t need condoms,” I say, “because I’m not sleeping with him.”

“Nikki,” she says, and even though she’s my best friend, I can’t tell if that’s a plea in her voice or pity.

“Don’t start,” I say. “I’m not you.”

“Which is good, as the world can only take so much awesomeness.” She grins at me, but I’m not in the mood. After a moment, her grin fades and her shoulders drop a little. “Look, you know I love you, and I’ll always be on your side, no matter what.”

“But?”

“But think about why you came to Los Angeles.”

“I came for business.” I say it because it’s true. I want to learn from Carl. I want to find investors for the web-based app I’ve been developing. And then, once I’m confident I have the chops to actually run a business, I want to dive into the deep end of the pool.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m talking about Damien Stark. You could do a lot worse than him if you’re looking for a fresh start.”

I shake my head. That whole new life, new Nikki thing doesn’t apply where getting naked with Damien Stark is concerned. “Not going there,” I say firmly. “The limo was amazing, but it was on my terms. In person, all I’d be is a notch on his bedpost, and that’s your gig, not mine.”

“Ha! Well, you nailed me. But the rest of it is total bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t want him putting his hands all over you, fine.” I wince at the way she’s zeroed in on my personal neurosis. “But own up to it, Nik. Because I wasn’t even at that party and I can tell that he thinks of you as more than a piece of ass.” She waves at the flowers. “Exhibit A.”

“So he’s a polite bazillionaire. It’s not like delivering flowers took more than a phone call. They probably came fast because he has a standing order for flower delivery after all his phone sex encounters.” I’m being snarky, but as I speak I realize I’m probably right. The thought is not a happy one.

“No way. He wants you. Your snark. Your attitude. I mean, he flat out told you that you’re not like the usual women on his arm. I Googled him, you know.”

I blink at the non sequitur. “You did not. When?”

“After you told me he was bringing you home. He’s pretty private—I didn’t find a lot and to be honest I didn’t try very hard. But it doesn’t look like he dates that much. Lots of women, sure, but nobody serious except for this one socialite a few months ago, but she’s dead.”

“Dead? Shit. How?”

“I know. Sad, right? Some sort of accident. But that’s not the point.”

My head is spinning. “What is the point?”

“You,” she says. “I mean, even if you are just a notch on his bedpost, so what? You’re not a nun.”

I almost ask if she was listening when I described the whole phone-sex-in-the-limo thing, but I wisely keep my mouth shut.

“And honestly, I don’t think you’re just a notch. I think he really likes you.”

I raise a brow. “And you base this on your extensive knowledge of the man gleaned from five minutes on the Internet?”

“I gleaned it from what you told me,” she says. “He wanted your opinion on a painting. He got all alpha male on Ollie’s ass. He made you come, for Christ’s sake. And let’s not forget the foot massage. Holy crap, girl, I’d totally fuck a guy who gave me a foot massage. Hell, I’d probably marry him.”

I can’t help but smile. Sadly, Jamie probably isn’t exaggerating.

“Not every guy is an asshole like Kurt,” she says, and for Jamie her voice is surprisingly gentle. “You can’t keep pretending you’re wearing a damn chastity belt.”

I cringe. “Just drop it. Please.”

She looks at me, then bites out a sharp, “Dammit.” She draws in a breath. Her eyes are sad, and I can see that she knows she’s gone too far.

She stands up and moves to the fireplace. Since a fireplace in the San Fernando Valley is an absolutely idiotic concept, Jamie has converted it to a bar. Bottles instead of logs. Glasses on the mantel. She grabs the bottle of Knob Creek. “Want some?”

I do, but I shake my head. I’ve had enough of alcohol for the night. “I’m tired,” I say, pushing myself up off the sofa.

“I’m really sorry. You know I wouldn’t—”

“I know,” I say. “And it’s really okay. I just need sleep.”

A sly smile touches her mouth, and I know that we’re okay again. “I guess so. You have a meeting tomorrow, don’t you? And who’s that meeting with, exactly?”

“Give it a rest, Jamie,” I say, but I grin as I head toward my bedroom. She’s right. I do have a big meeting. With Stark. In his offices. With my boss standing right there with the two of us.

I think back over the events of the evening.

I dwell on the panties I left in the limo.

And as I collapse facedown on my bed, only one thought goes through my mind: What the hell have I done?

10

My arms are stretched above my head, my wrists bound by something smooth but firm. My naked body is stretched out on cool silk. I cannot move my legs.

My eyes are closed, and yet I know what binds me. A red ribbon twined around my wrists. Wrapped tight around my ankles. I struggle, but there’s nowhere to go, and I don’t really want to escape anyway.

Something cool brushes my erect nipple, and I arch up in surprise and pleasure.

“Hush.” His voice seems to brush over me like a caress.

“Please,” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer, but once again I’m sweetly assaulted by a burst of cold. This time, he doesn’t pull away. It’s an ice cube, and he traces it over my nipple, down the swell of my breasts. I feel the trickle of water down my cleavage as the ice melts. He traces patterns on me with the melting ice, his hands never touching me, just the cold hardness that’s melting against my skin.

“Please,” I whisper again. I arch up, wanting more, but am stopped by my bindings.

“You’re mine,” he says.

I open my eyes, needing to see his face, but everything around me is gray and out of focus. I am lost in an imagined world.