Breaking His Rules Read online

  Not even the tiniest bit. “It’s none of my business, Damon. We barely know each other.”

  “Why do I have the impression you don’t want to know me better?” he asked with irritation lacing his words. “Can’t you even look at me?”

  I turned to my side and returned his stare. Damon is not Giovanni. But Damon was every bit as powerful and successful.

  “Every other woman I fuck is all up in my business within hours of meeting me. I usually find it annoying. For the first time in my life I’d welcome it, and you don’t give a shit. Why not?” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I thought we had a really great time tonight, Samantha. Talk to me.”

  His frustration was so honest and tugged at my heart. I wanted to believe Damon was different. But a few hours spent in his company wasn’t enough for a final verdict.

  “I’ve been burned in the past by men like you,” I said in all honesty. The hurt expression clouding his face was almost too much to bear. I didn’t want to throw him into the same bucket as Giovanni. But in order to achieve the level of success he had, Damon must have a ruthless side as well. “When I told you Giovanni wanted me to fuck his business partners, I didn’t tell you the whole story because…” Unbidden tears sprang to my eyes and I blinked them back. “It’s painful. I want to believe in you, Damon, and you deserve to understand why I have reservations.”

  He rubbed his thumb against my cheek and nodded. “I’m listening.”

  “We were visiting New York City for the weekend and staying in a hotel off Times Square. Giovanni told me he had to conduct a short business meeting in our penthouse suite before we could go out for the evening. I thought nothing of it. He mixed work with pleasure regularly—taking calls and such.” I swallowed and laid on my back again, unable to meet Damon’s eyes. “Let’s just say that Giovanni’s business associates liked what they saw as I mixed them a drink. They made a real-time offer to close the deal in exchange for an hour with me in the bedroom. And Giovanni accepted on my behalf.” I sat up then and blew out a deep breath as my hands began to tremble. “He wasn’t interested in my opinion and pulled me aside to remind me how dependent my father’s worldwide hotels and restaurants were on the De Carlo liquor distribution chain. The message was clear; if I didn’t play along then there would be trouble for my family. Apparently, it was a very important contract.” My heart started racing again, like it had that night, and I couldn’t control the quiver in my voice. “I struggled as they forced me toward the bedroom, but they only laughed and said it heightened the excitement.”

  “Samantha—” Damon’s voice went hoarse and faltered.

  “Let me finish,” I said, determined to get it over with. “My guardian angel was with me that night because, before we made it to the bedroom, my brother arrived on an unexpected visit. I’d texted him earlier that we were in the city and asked if he wanted to have drinks. He had declined, but then his plans fell through and he decided to surprise me.”

  Damon threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed. “Thank God for that. Your brother must’ve blown a fucking gasket. I’d have buried the motherfucker who did that to my sister.”

  My head snapped up. “Mason doesn’t know. He can never know. Giovanni is ruthless. He’ll destroy Mason’s new business venture. I can’t have that on my conscience. Please promise you won’t say anything.”

  His lips pressed into a hard line as he held the bridge of his nose. “What about your father?”

  “Oh, he knows all right,” I said with a bitter laugh. “He disowned me for breaking off the engagement. A good wife does what her husband asks. Period. Maybe Giovanni got to my father first and threatened him. I don’t know. He believed I’d come running back in short order without his support. I’m welcome back under one condition.”

  “If you give Giovanni another chance?” Damon asked.

  I nodded. “Mason knows my falling out with our father has something to do with Giovanni but, so far, he has accepted my wishes to stay out of it.”

  Damon grasped my chin and lifted my eyes to meet his. “You have to believe me when I say I would never treat you like my property, Samantha. I would never hurt you.”

  “I want to believe you, but you have to give me time.”

  He rolled on top of me and kissed my neck leisurely before whispering in my ear. “You can have all the time in the world if you’ll give us a chance, angel.” He trailed kisses over my cheek, across my lips and to my other ear. “I’ll take you to heaven and back if you’ll let me.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Let It Rayne

  Sunday finally arrived and, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t wipe the silly grin from my face as I approached the entrance of Midnight Blue. Damon was flying home today, and I was betting he’d make an appearance at the nightclub. Maybe it was the text I’d sent him with a picture of my most recent purchase. The memory of his response warmed my insides.

  Samantha: I’ll be thinking of you at work tonight while I wear these new undies.

  Damon: You’re ruthless. Can’t concentrate on my meeting…

  Samantha: Regret giving me your number?

  Damon: Never. Going to make you purr again. Later, angel.

  I breezed through the doorway to the employee locker room but came to a sudden halt in front of a shiny new “suggestion box” hanging on the wall. And here I’d thought Damon was teasing me over dinner. Perhaps he wasn’t an incurable control freak after all?

  “Can you believe it?” Eric asked, shaking his head as he buttoned a black satin shirt. “Six years without a single person asking my opinion at this place. Wonder what brought about the change?”

  One of the waitresses strolled over to the box. She ripped a suggestion sheet off the pad and began writing. “Sounds like an idea from human resources. Who cares? I’m putting in my two cents.”

  I rolled my eyes and headed straight to the closet to grab a black wrap-around dress. “Why bother? It’s not like the CF owner is going to implement any of the suggestions.”

  Inside I was high-fiving myself, because that had sounded convincing. The last thing I wanted was for Eric or any of my coworkers to find out about my budding relationship with Mr. Baxter. It might never go beyond a couple of dates, so what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  Putting those thoughts aside, I opened my locker and stripped out of my sweater and jeans. A low whistle pierced the air. I glanced up to find another bartender, Rick, gaping openly at me without a lick of shame.

  “Damn, girl,” he said with an appreciative smile. “Who’s the lucky guy you’re meeting after work? Those aren’t your standard issue cotton underwear.”

  I smirked and reached for my dress. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Are those velvet?” Eric didn’t mask his incredulous tone as he closed the distance between us for a closer look. He spanked my bottom playfully and then jumped out of the way when I swatted his hand. A soft purr reverberated in his throat. “Very nice, Samantha. Our shift ends at the same time. Just sayin’.”

  “Shut up,” I said with a bark of laughter. “Not a chance in hell. Maybe I’ll start dressing behind the changing curtain.”

  “Perhaps that would be a wise choice.”

  Everyone froze in their spots and gaped over my shoulder toward the entrance, leaving a deafening silence hovering in the locker room. The cold bite of those words should’ve sent a chill of anxiety up my spine, but all I felt was the warmth of Damon’s deep baritone caressing me. Shit! Had he heard Eric’s tactless teasing?

  Closing my eyes, I took a steadying breath. Damon couldn’t know it was an innocent joke and it was up to me to set him straight before his control freak took over and fired Eric. My heart fluttered as I turned to face him. His steely gaze pierced through me with a scolding heat.

  Well, fuck it. He might have every other person in the room quaking under his glare, but Damon didn’t get to play mind control games with me. I took my sweet time wrapping my dress around my
body, letting him get an eyeful of the goods he’d unwrap this evening, if I had anything to say about it.

  “Mr. Baxter.” My formal acknowledgment would’ve sliced through the tension radiating off him if it hadn’t come out sounding hoarse and more than a little breathy. How was I supposed to appear contrite when I wanted to drag him behind one of those damn curtains and fuck him senseless? Clearing my throat, I tried again. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. I don’t recall a rule dictating where I change my clothes.”

  To my surprise, instead of berating me directly, Damon folded his arms and glared at Eric. “I’ll have to correct that oversight. We want to minimize the risk with respect to rule number two—no dating or intercourse with coworkers. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Foster?”

  The cold expression in Damon’s eyes made it clear that Eric was walking on thin ice.

  “Yes, sir,” Eric said, averting his gaze and striding to the suggestion box. “Excellent suggestion. I’ll submit it myself.”

  It was almost comical the way Eric cowered like a bad puppy with his tail between his legs, and I was tempted to jump to his defense. But I held my tongue, because Damon was holding it together and I valued my job every bit as much as the next guy. There was no way I was giving Damon a reason to fire my ass.

  “Thank you.” Damon smiled then and his posture relaxed. The ripple effect in the room was palpable. “I stopped by to thank each of you for your efforts and encourage use of the suggestion box. Outstanding staff make or break a nightclub,” Damon said, meeting the curious gazes of my coworkers. “I look forward to reading your suggestions. I’m especially interested in ideas you might have for keeping us one step above the competition.” His gaze returned to me. “And our journey starts tonight with the first informal suggestion I received from Ms. Rayne.”

  My brow lifted as a frenzy of murmurs broke out. No one was more shocked than me at Damon’s declaration.

  “Tonight we’ll offer dirty martinis as our drink special from seven to nine o’clock. Four bartenders will compete to make the winning variation of the drink special. Three hand-selected customers will serve as judges. Our first face off will include Samantha, Eric, Joel, and Tara.”

  A round of applause greeted his announcement. “It’s a fabulous suggestion. Only I’ve added a twist.” He licked his lips and grinned. “I’m joining the competition, and anyone who can beat me in ranking earns a five hundred dollar bonus.”

  Joel howled and fist-bumped Eric. “Cha-ching!”

  The smirk on Damon’s lips was priceless. He was a shrewd businessman who knew how to motivate, but he wasn’t an idiot. I’d tasted his dirty martini and knew it would be hard to beat. But in the end, I suspected it might come down to sheer preference of the judges.

  Rick shook his head at Joel’s antics and raised his hand before asking, “Will we all get an opportunity in the future to challenge you?”

  “Yes.” Damon shifted his stance and slid his hands into his pant pockets. “We’ll set up a rotation so that each of you has an opportunity once per quarter at earning a bonus. The length of the program will depend on its popularity with our customers.”

  Someone called out from the back of the room. “What about waiters and waitresses?”

  Damon gestured toward the suggestion box with a flick of his head. “I’m all ears. Make a suggestion worthwhile and it’ll happen. It’s in your hands.” He glanced at his watch. “Time to hit the floor. Good luck! Competition starts at six o’clock sharp on the main level.”

  And with that, he turned on his heels and left the locker room in a twitter of excited chatter. If anyone had doubted the sincerity of the suggestion box before, those doubts had been erased entirely.

  Eric tossed his street clothes into his locker and leaned his arm against the cold metal door. His head drooped and he blew out a tortured breath. “What the fuck? My nut sack shriveled to the size of a pea when he glared at me. Thanks for that harrowing experience, Samantha. I can’t believe he came into the locker room. That’s a first.”

  I giggled and zipped up my knee-high leather boots. “That’ll teach you to keep your smart-ass comments to yourself. Shocked the hell out of me, too. But it’s over. Better channel that Foster charm and hope the panel of judges are female if you want to score a bonus. Something tells me he’ll give us a run for our money.”

  When six o’clock rolled around, a sizable crowd gathered at the main bar. Damon allowed the bouncer to select the three judges but with express orders to pick two males and one female. I winked at the judges as we took our places behind the bar.

  Eric stood directly next to me and leaned down to whisper, “Ready to give ’em a show? We’re coming out on top. Hands down.”

  My smile was the only answer I gave as I turned my attention to Damon. He stood in the middle, flanked by Joel and Tara on one side, and me and Eric on the other. Damon rolled up his sleeves and announced a single rule governing the competition—gin martinis only—anything else wasn’t worthy of the title martini. We had five minutes to make one drink to be poured evenly into three glasses.

  “May the best bartender win,” the female judge shouted. “Go!”

  Eric raced to the liquor shelves and tossed the gin and vermouth bottles over his shoulder. The on-looking crowd gasped as I caught the bottles easily and flipped them behind my back for a graceful over the shoulder move before setting them on the bar top.

  “So that’s how we’re going to play it?” Damon asked with a wink.

  He spun a tin in his right hand and then thumb-rolled it as he scooped up ice. When the tin was full, he stole my bottle of vermouth and flat tossed it behind his back. He caught it in one smooth movement and poured a splash of vermouth into the tin.

  “Cheater!” I shouted over the roar of the crowd. My grin spread from ear to ear. “You’re in direct violation of rule number four. Use a jigger! I move to have you disqualified.”

  Damon’s eyes sparkled. “I told you at the start there was only one rule. Gin, baby.”

  Joel gave a thumbs up and reached for a bottle, refusing to be outdone. He awed the crowd with an over the shoulder gin bottle bump to Tara, who promptly stalled it on her forearm before pouring into her tin.

  We laughed and chatted with the judges while preparing our drinks. If anyone doubted Damon’s abilities at the onset of the competition, those doubts were silenced forever. He had been holding out, because the moves he used were classic flair bartending and I was dying to know the history behind his acquired skills.

  I kept a close eye on Damon, unable to staunch my curiosity. At some point I was bound to discover his special ingredient. When he put the finishing touches on his drink, I finally had my answer.

  “Blue cheese,” I said, lifting an eyebrow. “You use stuffed olives.”

  “Just one, so it doesn’t overpower the drink.” Damon poured his dirty martini into three glasses and slid them in front of the judges.

  Tara tapped her fingers against the bar as the judges tasted each of our drinks, making notes on the pad of paper provided. Five hundred dollars was a lot of cash riding on their decision and Damon had wisely kept that fact hidden. The judges finally compared notes and handed the results to Damon. He smirked at me with a shake of his head.

  “First place goes to…” He pointed his finger and let it pass several times over us before directing it at himself. “Me!”

  The crowd roared their approval and I stood staring at Damon with pursed lips. He was never going to let me live this down.

  “No flippin’ way,” Joel shouted in disbelief as he reached for the tally sheet. His eyes flew over the results and he ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration.

  Damon clapped him on the shoulder. “According to the judges, you were a very close second followed by Samantha, Tara, and Eric. It’s game on, people. Better bring your ‘A’ game next time.”

  He gazed at me with eyes full of laughter and shook my hand. Leaning in, he whispered, “I al
ways get what I want.”

  Cocky bastard.

  Damon accepted congratulations from the other bartenders and gave quick instructions on how to make the perfect martini. The remainder of the evening flew by. Damon was never far away as he mingled with the guests enjoying the evening special. My gaze strayed toward him more than once over the course of my shift. Tingles filled my belly whenever I caught his heated stare. By the time I headed out the door, every nerve ending in my body was vibrating with need.

  A familiar BMW waited at the curb. I glanced over my shoulder to ensure I was alone before strolling up to it. The back passenger window rolled down.

  “Need a lift home?” Damon asked with a slight curve of his lips.

  I pulled open the door and slid in next to him. One second later, the car was merging into traffic and I was straddling Damon’s lap with my lips locked on his and my fingers buried in his hair. His hands cupped my ass and massaged as his mouth slanted over mine. The growing bulge in his pants pressed hard against my crotch and I groaned, pressing down and bucking my hips until a sweet ache built in me.

  “Can you tell I missed you?” I asked while raining kisses along his cheek and neck. He turned his face away to give me better access and I suckled along his collarbone. “I think you missed me, too.”

  “Hmmm…yes.” His voice was husky and breathless when he whispered, “I’m sleeping over. It’s already Monday, so you’re all mine for the next twenty-four hours.”

  “Okay.” I pulled back and opened the next four buttons on his shirt to gain better access to his chest and abdomen. His muscles flexed under my watchful gaze, inviting me to explore the contours with my hands. Warm flesh came alive under my touch and I ached to have his naked body covering mine.

  “My panties came with a matching cheetah print collar.” His eyes darkened and I chuckled huskily before pinching one of his taut nipples. “It has silver chains leading from here”—I placed a single finger at the base of his throat and trailed a line down to his nipple in a wide arc—“to here with little cheetah print pasties covering only my nipples.” His breath hitched and I ground my pussy harder against his raging hard-on. “If you’re a good boy, I might even wear the cat ear headpiece and let you strap my hands together with your belt again.” I licked my lips and the corner of my mouth twitched. “But you have to promise you’ll untie the pink satin laces of my panties with your teeth.”