a little taste

Excerpt from A Firm Hand

   Brian stepped into the doorway of his office and was greeted by the loveliest thing he’d had the pleasure of seeing all day. Genevieve was bent over his desk with her backside to him. The curve of her ass peeked out from below the hem of her black shorts. Her tan legs were perfect lines of lean muscle. The boots she always wore—laced up to her knees with clunky platform heels—about killed him on a nightly basis. A worn, formfitting t-shirt completed her standard work attire. She showed just enough skin to make him a bit crazy, but never seemed as though she intended to dress provocatively. On purpose or not, she never failed to provoke certain parts of his anatomy.

   Admittedly, she wasn’t his usual type. Christ, her choppy shoulder-length hair was pale pink. The color made her geeky black-framed glasses stand out in drastic contrast. On anyone else he’d have thought the look ridiculous. Genevieve made it so sexy it hurt to look at her.

   He’d watched this tiny ball of fire strut around his bar with a huge chip on her shoulder for six months now. Keeping his growing need for her under wraps had been difficult, but not impossible, at least until now. He had a hard-on he could bust bottles with. His ironclad control was at the breaking point. The fact that she was snooping through his files made it easier for him to rationalize what he was about to do.

   Damn it.

   He hadn’t wanted to cross this line with her. She was an employee and he’d always practiced a hands-off policy where they were concerned. But the delicious little display before him was far too tempting.

He reared back and slapped her right ass cheek. Hard. It was every bit as firm as he’d imagined.

   She yelped and promptly dumped the contents of the file on the floor in front of the desk, paper scattering everywhere. She turned toward him, face flushed, mouth gaping in shock. But a spark of heat simmered in those beautiful rum-brown eyes of hers. There was more to his little rebel than sarcasm and tardiness.

   They stood, staring at one another for a heated moment. The tension was so thick it was difficult to breathe.

   “What the hell, Brian?”

   “I told you to wait in my office. I don’t remember giving you permission to look through my files.”

   “I— I…fuck. It’s just my file. I wasn’t looking at anything else.” Her voice, although shaky, held the slightest edge of annoyance.

   He wasn’t sure she was aware of it, but she’d pressed a hand over the spot where he’d spanked her, kneading it through her shorts. He hit her hard enough to make his palm tingle. He bet her ass felt the same stinging heat, one that was about to get worse.

   “No. It’s my file, which you so graciously dumped all over my floor. Now get down on your hands and knees and clean it up.” The command in his voice felt good.

   “What?” She looked at him as if he were psychotic.

   “On your hands and knees and clean it up,” he barked.

   Her mouth tightened and her eyes narrowed. He was all too familiar with that fuck-you look. She wore it often. “I don’t know who the—”

   “It’s not a request. Do it. Now.” He raised his voice, drowning her out.

   The poison in her glare would have killed him if things like that were possible. He could almost hear her cursing him in her head as she lowered herself to the ground and snatched up the papers one by one. The sight of her crawling around on the floor, pink hair in her face and glasses sliding down her nose, made his cock twitch. He was in trouble, deep, deep trouble. With each piece she retrieved, her movements slowed. She was almost catlike by the time she stretched across the floor to reach the last sheet in the corner. The little tease.

   She sat back on her heels, in a nearly perfect submissive pose, and straightened the small stack. When she finished, she looked up at him from her position at his feet and handed him the contents of the file. The smile she wore as she pushed her glasses back into place was so full of mischief he had to bite back a groan. He was going to have his hands full with this one.

   He set the file down on the desk. “On your feet.”

   She sighed as she stood.

   “I should fire you.”

   A flash of pure panic registered on her face before she hid it beneath a mask of indifference.

   “But I think I have something better in mind.”

   “And what would that be?”

   He crowded into her space until they were inches apart. She took a step backward, bumping into the desk. Leaning in, he put both hands on the desktop alongside her hips. He had her right where he wanted her, trapped like prey. His intentions were devious and wrong, on more than one level. But at the moment he didn’t care. He wanted her and he would have her any way he could get her.

   “I’m placing you on probation until further notice. From now on, each and every infraction will earn you a punishment. One of my choosing.”

Release Day and Reviews

So today is the big day, Wrapped Around Your Finger releases from Ellora's Cave! It's already received two awesome reviews from Jessica Rabbit's Corner and Book of Secrets. Go check them out and don't forget, you have until 10 p.m. tonight to enter the giveaway.

I know you've all seen the gorgeous cover and I've posted the blurb, but I thought I'd do a little excerpt from Chapter One and give you a taste.

Chapter One

Anxiety nagged the edges of Indie’s already frayed nerves as she waited in the dressing area with the other models. The haughty, judgmental glares from the younger, skinnier Barbie types had her desperately itching to offer a sarcastic smile and a middle finger. So what if she wasn’t even close to a size two? She did okay working as a model for the alternative fetish agency Exquisite Flesh. It wouldn’t make her rich, but it paid the bills and her tuition at culinary school.

Usually she did pinup shoots and ads for alternative clothing. Very rarely did she take assignments that required nudity. She wasn’t actually naked for this, but damn close to it. Who was she to pass up the opportunity to be a sushi model at a trendy restaurant like Crave?

“Indigo Hartley!”

Indie walked through the curtain and into the dining room with pride. Well, about as much pride as one can muster while wearing a flesh-colored thong and paper booties.

The manager, Elaine, stood waiting in her drab suit and looked rather alarmed. “Oh no, this is the new model? Lance, I thought I told you that she had to fit the type!” She whirled to face the man who prepared the display table before them.

“Exquisite Flesh was the only agency that had a girl available on such short notice. I’m an assistant, I don’t do miracles,” Lance said with a smirk.

“Chef is not going to be happy. At all. She’s covered in tattoos and,” she fingered a lock of Indie’s hair, “are those blue streaks in her hair?”

Torn between mortification and annoyance, all Indie could do was stand there. The last thing she wanted to do was piss off Chef Faust. He was the culinary world’s version of a rock star. He was known for being demanding, flashy and prone to excess, but his talent with food was undeniable. The chance to catch a glimpse of him in action was the main thing that motivated her to accept the job.

Her agent hadn’t mentioned they’d wanted to book a specific type. Just fucking great.

“I’m sorry that I’m not what you were expecting. I’ll just gather my things and be on my way,” Indie offered with a polite nod, but was met with the manager’s sigh of irritation.

“No, no, no. It’s too late to find a proper replacement. You’ve already been prepped. We’ll just have to make it work.”

Prepped meant she’d been shaved baby smooth and washed thoroughly with an organic unscented soap. It had been an odd experience, having unknown people scrub and shave her so completely. Actually she’d found the whole thing rather arousing. Maybe she should be embarrassed about that, but right now she was too nervous to put much thought into it.

The manager turned back to Lance. “Take her to pastry and have them airbrush over her tattoos. When they are finished let Chef know he will not be able to put the food directly on her skin. Then get her into place on the table in the corner, the one that’s out of the way.”

“You got it,” Lance responded as he held out a robe for Indie.

She thankfully wrapped herself in the silk and followed him into the kitchen. She stopped and stared for a second. She couldn’t help it. It was as if she’d just died and gone to culinary heaven. There was so much space. The polished stainless steel and top-of-the-line equipment almost had her drooling. Everything you ever needed to be a kick-ass chef was in this kitchen. She could just imagine the high-end, exotic ingredients it would be stocked with. This wasn’t a place for cooking. No, nothing as ordinary and mundane as that. This was a place to create art.

“Indigo?” Lance’s voice snapped her out of her trance.

“Sorry, it’s just…this kitchen,” she murmured.

“Come on, sweetheart. Shame really, but we have to cover those gorgeous tattoos of yours,” he said with a sympathetic smile. “If it were up to me I would—”

“What is she doing in here?” Chef Faust made a beeline for them, toweling off his hands as he approached.

It’s him. Indie’s heart did a little dance. Okay, so she could admit she was a little star struck.

Meticulously he scrutinized her as he stood waiting for an answer. He had the kind of intense features that made him appear almost angry—perfectly straight nose, hard, square jaw, brooding and stormy blue eyes. The man was chest-achingly beautiful. She knew from the articles she’d read about him that he was thirty-four, just six years older than her. To have achieved all of this so quickly, he had to have hunger and drive, two qualities no top chef could succeed without. She bet arrogance and superiority belonged on that list too.

“Chef, this is the replacement model. I was just taking her to pastry to have them airbrush over her tattoos,” Lance replied with an audible level of anxiety and eyes so huge it seemed as though he was braced for nuclear fallout.

“May I see?” Chef Faust addressed Indie.

Showing her personal bits to the executive chef of one of the most acclaimed restaurants in the area was not high on her list of fun things to do. This is what you signed up for so suck it up. She was not ashamed of her body and Chef Faust could go sous-vide himself if he didn’t like what he saw.

She nodded and let the robe slip off her shoulders to pool at her elbows. The way he drank her in made it seem as if everyone else in the room had vanished. Her already hardened nipples stood out like beacons. She felt the blush creep into her cheeks as she imagined him pinching, tugging, sucking on them. Where had that come from? Her unexpected arousal unbalanced her. She hadn’t reacted this way to a man in a very long time. Disconcerted by the need and lust he’d so effortlessly invoked in her, she averted her gaze before tentatively settling it on his once more. He ran a hand through his shaggy, walnut-brown hair as he studied her. “No. No airbrushing. She’s absolutely perfect,” he exclaimed, circling her.

Lance let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a laugh.

Had Chef Faust just said she was perfect? Indie with the extra padding around the hips, a bit of roundness to her belly and lily-white skin? She followed him with her gaze, watching as he continued to peruse her body. It should have felt cold and dispassionate. He was contemplating whether or not he wanted to use her as a display for raw fish after all. But the way he moved made her feel as if he were a predator and she his prey. It was somehow sensual, and she was incredibly embarrassed that she was turned on by it. Attempting to regain her composure, she straightened her spine and lifted her chin, praying he hadn’t noticed the way he affected her.