Restrained Box Set: Boston Doms Books 1-4, page 33
Nicholas shook his head, then stared down at his feet. “Horses. Blackjack.
A couple of overnight poker games. The interest is bloody robbery.”
“Of course it is. Organized crime, Nicholas. How daft can you be?”
With no answer, Nicholas poured himself a glass of scotch, stared into the amber liquid, and sighed.
Finishing off his own drink, Alexander glared at his brother. “Call Forlano and arrange to meet him tomorrow. I’ll send four men with you, along with a certified check for what you owe. As payment, you’ll enter a twelve-step program. And if I ever catch wind of you gambling again, you’re out as CEO of Fairhaven Exports.”
“Alex.”
“Shut it, Nicholas. I’ve had enough of your excuses. You have a gambling problem. Endangering Elizabeth and allowing men into your offices was the last straw. Mother always insisted that we deal with the consequences of our actions on our own, but your dalliances are affecting the woman I love, and I won’t stand for that.”
Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck. “I went to the track for the first time after I lost Lia. This past year…Candy and I weren’t a good match. I tried, but…”
“Lia was an intelligent, beautiful woman.” Alexander had only met Nicholas’s former submissive a few times, but before Lia had been stricken with cancer, he’d thought Nicholas would marry her. “I’m sorry.”
“I wanted someone in my life again, Alex. But I couldn’t stand the idea of
actually getting close to another woman. Candy didn’t want a relationship.
She wanted sex and punishment and parties. That sounded ideal. I’ve felt so empty, and gambling…filled the hole.”
“Have you been to the track since she left?” Alexander sat across from Nicholas, unsure he’d ever be able to do so again comfortably.
“Yesterday.” Nicholas held up his hand as Alexander’s anger flared. “Just to cash out my account. I didn’t place a bet, and I won’t. I’ll pay you back, Alex. I promise you.”
“Yes. You will. You’re my brother, and I love you. You helped me find my place in the world, and when Elizabeth needed us both, you helped protect her simply because I asked. But I can’t trust you right now, and I don’t know when that will change.”
Nicholas nodded. Suddenly, he looked more like a chastised child than the man Alexander had looked up to for more than half of his life. With a quick flick of his wrist, Nicholas finished the scotch and then nodded.
“Thank you.”
The two men rose, embraced, and walked to the foyer. “I’ll find a Gamblers Anonymous meeting tomorrow as soon as I pay off Forlano,”
Nicholas said.
“See that you do.”
“Please apologize to Elizabeth for me.”
A twinge of pity tightened in Alexander’s chest as Nicholas trudged through the door. “I will, brother. Good night.”
9
H undreds of glittering lights in the crystal chandeliers sparkled, illuminating the Fairmont Hotel’s Grand Ballroom. Poinsettias adorned every table, and boughs of holly and balsam were strung artfully over every window. Elizabeth let Alexander slide the silver wrap from her shoulders and hand it to a uniformed attendant at the coat check. She’d refused another loan of diamonds, suspecting that the citrine set from the Fire and Ice Ball were still in his closet somewhere, ready to be gifted at another occasion. Instead, she wore the rubies he’d given her for Christmas.
Her dress hugged every curve, a Vera Wang one-shoulder number in shimmery silver that had been tailored for her exact measurements. Silver heels had her almost at eye-level with Alexander. She’d already elicited the promise of a foot rub when the night was over. Of course, he’d extracted a promise of his own. One that had her hoping the tiny gray thong wouldn’t let her down tonight. She’d be lucky if it didn’t end up torn in two by the time they made it home.
“Are you warm enough, chérie?”
Alexander’s voice sent heat sparking over her skin. He smelled like sandalwood, and as his lips brushed against her ear, goose flesh sprang up on her bare arms.
“I am now.” More than a hundred partygoers spread out across the ballroom, drinking champagne out of crystal flutes and sampling hors d’oeuvres served by black-suited waiters wearing white gloves.
“Alexander, how are you?” An older gentleman in a white tux
approached and held out his hand.
“Leonard, I’m well, thank you. May I introduce Elizabeth Bennett?”
“You are even lovelier in person, my dear. Leonard Blass, Treasurer for Fairhaven Business Group’s Board of Directors.”
Elizabeth shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure.”
“May I have a few moments alone with Alexander?”
“Elizabeth is my confidant in all things, she can stay.” Alexander wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her close.
“This is...sensitive. The Board requires a few minutes of your time.”
Though Alexander was about to protest again, Elizabeth patted his hand.
“I’ll get us some champagne and say hello to Ben.” She brushed her lips against his ear. “Take your time.”
Ben leaned against one of the bars set up in the corners of the room, and waved as she approached.
“Happy New Year,” she said, nodding to the bartender when he offered her a glass of champagne.
“Elizabeth, you are a vision in silver.” Ben took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “I’m surprised Alexander let you out of his sight with so many eligible bachelors here tonight.”
“He’s talking business.” She wrinkled her nose and swept her gaze across the room. Alexander was deep in conversation with Leonard off in a corner.
The older man gestured as he spoke, obviously angry. When he poked Alexander in the chest, one of the security guards turned and started to approach, but Alexander waved him away, leaned down so he was face-to-face with Leonard, and glared as his lips moved slowly, probably giving the man an ultimatum or two. A few moments later, Alexander strode towards the bar, his shoulders stiff and his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
“Clearly that didn’t go well,” Ben muttered.
“Have you seen Nicholas?” Alexander asked.
Elizabeth took his hand and forced him to relax his fingers. “Are you okay?”
“The Board is threatening to oust Nicholas next week.”
“Shit,” Ben and Elizabeth replied in tandem.
“I need to make some calls. Unfortunately this cannot wait until after the party. I’m going to see if I can borrow of one of the hotel’s conference rooms. Ben, I’ll need you to join me.” Alexander led the way towards the double doors, but stopped in his tracks a few feet away. “Shite.”
“What is it?” Elizabeth hissed in his ear.
“Nicholas.”
The elder Fairhaven headed towards them in a trim, black tuxedo that strained against his cast. Alexander made an almost feral sound. “I really did not want to deal with him tonight. Not after what happened the other day at his office.”
“Let me.” With a quick kiss to Alexander’s cheek, Elizabeth extricated her hand from his death grip and made her way to Nicholas. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alexander and Ben head off Leonard and escort the man from the room.
“Happy New Year,” Nicholas said, leaning in to kiss Elizabeth’s cheek.
“What’s wrong? Why did Alex and Ben rush off?”
“Some charitable contribution that fell through. I’m glad you’re here.
Alexander is still paranoid about leaving me alone, and I really don’t want to go sit in a conference room while he and Ben deal with that mess. Dance with me?”
“I’d love to.” Nicholas offered Elizabeth his arm and she looked back in time to see Alexander mouth the words thank you.
They danced for half an hour, the holiday jazz tunes providing a mix of waltzes and more energetic dances. After the second song, Leonard left the ballroom with his phone pressed to his ear. Elizabeth tried to keep the conversation light, and Nicholas had her laughing with stories of Alexander as a child. They took a brief break for champagne, and were about to head back to the dance floor when Alexander returned to the ballroom. He looked tired, and his bow tie was askew.
“Come here,” she whispered, tugging the errant silk until it lay flat and obedient once more. “That’s better.”
Nicholas and Ben wandered over to the bar, and Alexander wrapped his arms around Elizabeth. “Bloody hell. That was not how I wanted to spend the evening.”
“What happened?”
“Nicholas will need to agree to a leave of absence for the first quarter of the year. If he does that and stays out of the papers, he’ll be allowed to keep his position. Otherwise, I’ll take over.”
“Will he agree to it?” Elizabeth slid her hands underneath Alexander’s tux jacket, feeling the hard muscles of his back. The tension he carried melted away as he nuzzled her neck, trailing kisses from her ear to the single strap of her dress.
“He will. They also agreed to let me be the one to tell him, which I will do tomorrow. We can relax the rest of the night.”
“Good. Dance with me, Alexander.”
“Gladly, chérie.”
Elizabeth rested her head against the wood of the St. Andrew’s Cross, her breath ragged and her desperate need to come gathering inside her like a storm. “Please,” she begged. “I can’t hold on.”
The ache only intensified when Alexander pressed his naked body to hers. With two flicks of his hand, her wrists were freed, and she collapsed against him, which only gave him better access to her nipples.
As he carried her to the bed, she clutched at his shoulders, desperate to feel him buried deep inside her, to have him remove the blindfold so she could look into his eyes.
“You are a gift, Elizabeth,” he said, drawing his thumb across her lips.
“Are you mine, chérie?”
“Yes,” she said, gasping as his fingers dipped inside of her and her back arched. “All yours.”
“Then perhaps, I should unwrap you.”
ALL TIED UP FOR NEW YEAR’S
1
Elora
M y ass hits the cement and the air leaves my lungs in a violent hiccup, tears burning the corners of my eyes. Shame heats my cheeks as the perfectly-wrapped jewelry boxes tumble out of my bag and over the snow, their corners quickly soaking through. I should know better. I do know better. Winter in Boston, with its icy sidewalks and freak snow storms can be dangerous for anyone—let alone someone who can only see out of one eye. Add in a snowplow that hurtles frigid icicles toward you at light speed on a brilliantly sunny day, and boom! Disaster.
“Oh my God, are you all right?” A woman rushes over, golden hair swinging free, a long, leather coat brushing her calves. She kneels in the slush, resting a gloved hand on my shoulder. “Say something.”
“F-fine,” I offer once my breath returns. I feel more stupid than injured, though the man she’s with extends a hand to help me up, and I wince as I try to get my feet under me. I can’t read the emotion in his brown eyes, but his full lips curve into a frown, and he sidesteps me. Strong hands cup my elbows as he sets me to rights again, and I catch a whiff of his scent. Spicy aftershave, not too much, leather, and something that reminds me of home. I turn slightly so I can get a better look at him and almost lose my words at his angular jaw, the muscles obviously bulging under his wool coat. “Th-Thank you,” I stammer as I try not to drool.
Once I’m upright, I meet Elizabeth Bennett’s gaze, and I’m in serious
danger of gawking—again. “Are you hurt?” she asks, her voice kinder, more caring than I expect. Her dark-clad companion retrieves my packages, brushing the snow off each one before carefully tucking them into my bag.
“I don’t think so.” I try to help, but my boot catches another patch of ice, and I skid into Elizabeth, sending us both careening into a parked car. “Son of a motherless goat!”
“Go inside,” the man—who is definitely not her fiancé, bodyguard maybe?— says with a deep, firm voice I could probably listen to all day long.
“I’ll retrieve your things.” His accent reminds me of Greece, and as he picks up the next box, his dark gaze seeks me out. Elizabeth takes my arm, but I’m paralyzed by his stare—not to mention the rest of him. Six-foot-four if he’s an inch, at least two hundred pounds, with cheekbones from the gods and a square jaw dusted with stubble, he sends my heart racing and I don’t even know his name.
Elizabeth clears her throat, and concern colors her tone. “Can you walk?”
“Usually. Today, the jury’s still out.” I let her help me into Artist’s Grind, and the scent of coffee makes my mouth water. Devan only sells the very best beans, and I’ve been aching for a cup all morning. Elizabeth settles me at one of the bistro tables in the center of the small space. I give Devan a tentative wave as she chats with a customer at the register and nod at her boyfriend, Mac, when he sets a weighty bag of coffee beans on the counter.
“What do you want? The coffee’s on me.” Elizabeth holds out her hand with a warm smile. “I’m Elizabeth Bennett.”
“I know.” I try not to cringe at my gaffe, shake my head, and grip her fingers firmly. “I’m sorry. Elora Kalivas. I swear, my manners—and my balance—are usually better.”
Laughing, Elizabeth gives my hand a final squeeze. “I’ve lived in Boston for seven years, and I still take at least one tumble every winter. Coffee fixes everything, and Devan makes the best pour-overs. Or are you a latte woman?”
I should protest. After all, I ran into her. But the fine Greek specimen—
and I mean that literally: if he’s not from Greece, I’ll eat my winter coat—
pulls open the door, stamps his feet to clear them of snow, and catches my eye. I can barely mumble, “Pour-over…whatever Devan recommends,”
before my mouth goes dry and my palms dampen inside my gloves.
Despite the problems with my right eye, the left works just fine, thank you very much, and I gawk as the Greek god sets my bag down next to me—
a little damp, but otherwise intact. “You need better boots.”
“What?” I barely register his words, so taken with his olive skin and dark eyes. And his voice. Let’s not ignore that, shall we? How he rolls his r’s, the roundness of his o’s…I could listen to him all day. “Oh. Boots.” I look down, and my cheeks catch fire. At least my complexion assures me I don’t look as embarrassed as I feel. “I have some. I just…they’re getting resoled, and this storm came out of nowhere.” The boots aren’t the problem. My traitorous body is. But he can’t know about my issues. I don’t look disabled. No one can tell the whole right side of my body is weak, that I suffer from seizures, that I’m blind in one eye. My iris is a little paler in my right eye, a little cloudy, but most people never notice. Or they stare, as if they can’t quite figure out what’s wrong with me.
He frowns, his trim brows drawn together, making a furrow I want to smooth away. “I know you.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I’d remember meeting him before. Though if he’s Greek… But seventeen years is a long time. Not to mention two surgeries, twelve inches less hair, and twenty extra pounds. Okay, twenty-five.
“Milos Sagona.” He offers his hand, but before I respond, Elizabeth returns, balancing three cups of coffee in her hands. Milos accepts one with a nod and sits at the next table, between Elizabeth and the front door. His gaze never stills, flitting from patron to patron, the door, and Devan and Mac.
The scent of the coffee revives me and distracts me from my unbidden fantasies of Milos’s arms around me. “There, that’s better,” Elizabeth says as she drops into a chair next to me. “Where were you headed all loaded down?”
“Here, actually.” I motion to Devan and start to rise, but my right leg protests the effort. I guess I did a little more damage than I thought. Glancing at Elizabeth, I’m relieved she’s too focused on her coffee to notice, but Milos…he’s already half out of his seat when shake my head and lower myself back down. Great. Of course I’d meet a hot guy and have my body completely betray me. “Do you come here often?”
“Every chance I get. Though the past few months, I’ve been too busy. I finally told my fiancé I needed a day off from wedding planning. I swear the man has minions. Why can’t they take over for a while?”
“Minions?” I can’t help but laugh. “What did he say?” The idea that this woman speaks to Alexander Fairhaven—eats with Alexander Fairhaven, has sex with Alexander Fairhaven even—fills me with wonder. He’s not my type
—or at least, I don’t think he is. The closest I’ve gotten to the man is
knowing Devan and Mac. Earlier this year, Mac designed a sculpture for the lobby of the new Fairhaven Tower. A few stories were shared over a six-pack of beers one long, summer night. Stories I’ll never repeat. Mac walked in on an office tryst in the middle of the installation. Even now, I fight my blush at the thought.
Elizabeth sips her drink and leans back in her chair, and I think I see a slight tremble to her fingers. “He offered to plan the whole damn thing himself. But that’s even worse. The last time I told him to make a decision so I didn’t have to, he called Vera Wang to design my dress. I could have fed a third-world country for the cost of that dress. I said no. Found the perfect dress at a second-hand shop on Houston Street. A few hours of alterations, and no one’s ever going to know I didn’t have it designed just for me.” She beams with pride and fiddles with a diamond bracelet around her left wrist. A platinum lock secures the cuff, and I can’t help but wonder if the rumors are true.
“The wedding’s in less than a month, isn’t it?” I thought I read something about a New Year’s Eve ceremony and a grand ball. “What can you possibly have left to do?” I let my hair fall over my right eye and peer at the wealthy
—and soon-to-be wealthier—woman cupping her mug like it contains the nectar of Heaven. I’ve seen her in the papers, but in person, she’s lovelier.
