Surrender to Temptation (28 page)

Samantha twisted her lips together as she put the key into the ignition and turned.

It was going to be a long night.

•   •   •

E
lijah was puzzled and horny as hell.

He had been part of the BDSM lifestyle for a long time, and over the years had become incredibly adept at reading people, especially women. The slender goddess of a redhead walking away from him had looked him directly in the eyes, then had steeled herself and walked away.

Elijah wasn't overly caught up in himself, but he had never lacked for a woman when he wanted one. That woman, Samantha, had clearly come here looking for something. Yet the fact that she had walked away from him was not suggestive of someone with a naturally submissive personality.

And yet something about her pulled at him, made him yearn. He'd learned the hard way that he needed someone who was truly submissive to make him happy, and in the years since his divorce he had trained himself not to even look twice at a woman who didn't meet that one particular criterion.

But the combination of sass and fragility in this particular woman—Samantha—very nearly had him running after her.

When the application for the stunning green sculpture currently showcased in his exhibit had come in, he'd been immediately entranced. It was innately sexual, the artistic expression colored with a dark need. When he'd seen it in person he'd become nearly obsessed. It painted a perfect portrait, to his eye at least, of dominance and submission, and he'd known at once that the artist behind it must have had a perfect understanding of the lifestyle.

Now, after meeting Samantha Jane Collins—he'd done some research, for the biography that had accompanied the application had been woefully incomplete—he wasn't so sure. She'd been interested, had responded to his dominance, he was sure of it.

But though she had come to the exhibit, though she'd admitted that she had questions, he'd bet one of his properties that she was a neophyte.

It had been on the tip of his tongue to offer to teach her—he knew he hadn't imagined the heat that had sparked between them. But then she'd reached within herself for something, what he had no idea, and had walked away.

“Damn it.” Bad marriage or not, Elijah was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted—in the bedroom, at least.

Suddenly he wanted Samantha.

In his younger years he would have been arrogant enough to be certain that she would submit to him regardless of her sexual preferences. He'd since learned that it took a very strong woman to fully submit care of herself to another.

He'd yet to find that woman, and so he remained alone, limiting himself to sexual encounters here and at a few other clubs that he had part ownership in, particularly In Vino Veritas, the combined wine bar and club that he owned with two friends back home in Vegas.

He'd been with enough women that he'd learned a hard truth. Unless he could find a woman who would submit herself to him entirely, he would be miserable. But that didn't necessarily mean that he couldn't enjoy a diversion with the woman whose skin flushed so deliciously when he looked at her.

Elijah slid his hands into the pockets of his suit pants as he watched Samantha hurry through one of the open stucco archways in the lobby. The hem of her little sundress slid up her thigh as she got into the ugliest car he'd ever seen.

It was an affront to his senses—a woman that beautiful belonged behind the wheel of something sleek and sexy. Yet his eyes moved past the hideous vehicle and greedily took in the lithe curve of her leg, which ended in a strappy, high-heeled red sandal that made his mouth water.

Need pooled low in his belly. He was a sucker for sexy shoes on a gorgeous woman.

Hell
. He wanted her, whether she was submissive or not. Maybe he was playing with fire—he had no desire to be proven wrong again, and something about their instant connection told him that Samantha had the potential to be more than a quick fuck. But the more he thought about further exploring his interest in her, the more he decided he had to have her.

Snagging a glass of wine from a passing waiter, he sipped as he contemplated. Mouton Rothschild. His friend Alex had introduced him to this one, and it was now one of his favorites. It added to the heat in his gut.

Damn it
. He was going to pursue Samantha Collins. He knew it.

He just hoped he wouldn't be consumed in the fire that was sure to come with it.

 

 

 

Lauren Jameson
is a writer, yoga newbie, knitting aficionado, and animal lover who lives in the shadows of the great Rocky Mountains of Alberta, Canada. She's older than she looks—really—and younger than she feels—most of the time. She has published with Avon and Harlequin as Lauren Hawkeye and writes contemporary erotic romance for New American Library.