Cassandra Jeffries stood at the window, watching the storm raging outside. She usually adored the smell of rain, the way the lightning lit up the sky, but tonight she had an uneasy feeling, as if the Devil himself were coming to drag unsuspecting souls straight to Hell. Shivering, she held her arms and leaned her head against the cool glass. Everything was so out of sorts, her life, her job and career, even her thoughts regarding the future.

She studied the flashes of lightning, the formations that were almost evil in design. They reminded her of stories of the past, events heralded by her grandmother, tales told of the ancient days, times when Indians ruled the land. Now, the majority of tribes were gone, erased, yet their spirits remained, hovering over the earth, unsettled and unforgiving. She longed for a moment shared with the impressive woman. Her death had left her with an aching deep inside.

You are a very special woman, Cassandra, one who can capture the spirit and essence of those around you. Use your gift wisely, for opening the door to the world of spirits and saints could mean devastation to those around you.

The warning she’d heeded for most of her life, but she’d refused to accept the gift, one given to her by the great Gods above. She was Indian, but she was also her mother, a beautiful blonde Caucasian, a quiet and unassuming woman and the love of her father’s life. Once the Chief of a great tribe, he’d ruled with an iron but fair fist, until the fall of their particular tribe. He’d succumbed to the ways of Americans, longing for money and power. He was dishonored before he died. Details of his last years she’d been sheltered from, her mother taking her away from everyone she knew as family. When her mother passed, she’d lost her best friend.

She shuddered as she thought about the past. No matter the traditions, she’d never lived her life as anything but an all-American girl. Now, she was all alone, determined to carve out a life her father initially detested. What would you think now, Papa? Would you be proud that your little girl is living out her dreams, forging her way in modern society? She closed her eyes, willing away the ugliness.

Coming to Dallas, leaving everyone she adored to embark on a new career had meant everything to her. Working for what she now considered a chauvinistic firm left her angry much of the time. Almost a year later, she was struggling to make a difference. But she would. Why was she bothering to lament? Fear? Boredom? She was worth much more than Myers and Logan Associates allowed her to be. She could see the reflection of her kitchen table in the glass, her work station as of late. Bringing work home was almost a requirement.

Groaning, she walked around the table, eyeing the various drawings and her beloved laptop. She was a damn good architect. Too bad her bosses had reduced her down to working on smaller projects, single buildings and even a systematic layout for a park. This wasn’t what she’d signed on for. She had aspirations beyond the normal drudgery.

She grabbed a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator, pouring a hefty glass full. She deserved a break, time for herself. Chuckling at the thought, she tried to concentrate on the jazz music playing. She’d switched stations, hoping to God the melodic music would calm her anger. Hell no. She remained pissed off and ready to pack up. No. She refused to allow the men of her company to win.

Who was she kidding? Even some of the women were black widows, waiting to draw her into their spider webs. She remembered the words of her mother – do the very best you can do at all times. Ignore the assholes. That’s what she was doing.

Boom!

She jumped, a moan escaping her mouth as the thunder rumbled, rolling as if the storm was right outside her door. Being frightened of the thunderstorm was ridiculous. After taking several sips of wine, she forced herself to sit down in front of the computer but couldn’t help making faces at the boring design. Colonial. For Dallas? Cowboy Country? Ugh was all she could think. But, this is what the client was paying for.

Taking another sip, she eased down her glass and proceeded to get to work, making final details on her sketch. She sat back, making faces at the wretched design.

Click!

Cassandra’s ears perked up. She lived in a very tiny house with extremely loud neighbors on either side, but the noise seemed closer. As if inside her home. Just the air conditioning unit clicking on. Had to be. She fingered the keyboard and took another sip. The finishing touches would be done by the morning. Then her client could sign off and—

Bap. Click!

This time, hair stood up on the back of her neck and a series of goose bumps rolled down and over her naked arms. She darted her head from side to side as a moment of clarity rushed into the back of her mind. A vision was coming. She hated them, loathed the concept in fact. Jerking to her feet, she almost knocked over the wine. Catching the glass with a shaking hand, she dragged it with her as she walked into the living room, turning on the light next to the couch.

There was no one waiting with a knife, no monster creeping around the shadows.

But she knew. Someone had broken through the spiritual barrier.

Every step tentative, she inched closer to the hallway leading to her office and bedroom. The very darkened hallway. She flipped on the light and for a few seconds, there was nothing but darkness. When the light came on, slowly as if being turned from low to bright, she could swear there was a bluish hue. A dull ache formed in between her eyes, a pointed slice of pain that forced her to wince.

Eeerr… Blip!

The disturbing sound was coming from her bedroom. She was certain of it. Swallowing back fear, she crept along the wall, breathing in and out. The door was open but the area inside very dark.

Boom!

The thunder rattled the house and she slammed her back against the wall. “Shit!” Terror swept through every cell in her body. She was usually able to control her fears, learning through years of training to push away the spirits, but tonight, with the raging storm, she knew a door had been opened, allowing them to cross over. The majority weren’t ghosts of the undead, or so she believed, but creations of mental images brought on by several anxiety attacks of those she was able to connect with.

Her gift was a damning hindrance.

Whoosh!

The sound was like a rush of wind in her house, sweeping up every aspect of her life, perhaps dragging her belongings into some form of Purgatory. Willing her nerves to calm, she inched closer until she stood directly outside the bedroom door.

Suddenly, the wind outside seemed to quiet yet there was a distinct hum, a buzzing noise that reverberated in her ears. Please stop. Please.

She knew better than to bother asking. Wishing. Commanding. Electricity seemed to be all around her, creating spikes of current rushing, swirling. While she couldn’t see anything, she knew what she was going to face. She’d known since she was a small child, unable to control her own emotions.

The moment she crossed the threshold, a cold wave of energy pulsed through her, dragging her further inside. She managed to set the glass down on her dresser then moved to the center of the room. If she concentrated, allowing her mind to process the images, the sounds, she could rid herself of them sooner versus being tangled in the ugliness for hours on end.

Closing her eyes, she eased her hands by her sides, yet her fists remained clenched. Breathe in. Breathe out. Control. Take control. The mantra usually worked, allowing her to see but walk away from the spirit. Tonight? Nothing seemed to thwart the oncoming onslaught.

She remained skittish as she could see colors swirling in her eyes, rolling in vivid hues, dancing back and forth.

Crack…

The sound was subtle but right behind her. She refused to turn around. Holding her breath, she continued concentrating until an image flashed into the front of her mind. A man. He was in a room, the area dimly lit with glowing sconces. She held up her hand and it was as if the vision was controlling her arm, showing her what he was experiencing.

He walked further into the expansive area and gazed up at a woman. The beautiful red-headed girl was held up by her wrists, her feet dangling against the cold tile floor, her body swinging back and forth, the chains above her head creaking.

Cassandra sucked in her breath and waited, not moving, barely breathing, knowing the next round of images would drag her into the moment.

Crack! Pop!

The man wielded a whip of sorts. He pulled back, allowing Cassandra to see the implement, the long leather tails that seemed to be dripping with blood. Shaking, she widened her stance until she felt comfortable. The girl’s mouth was open in a perfect ‘O’, her eyelids fluttering open and closed. She was beautiful, an innocent among monsters, experiencing ecstasy.

Slam! Smack!

The man turned his wrist, slapping the girl across her naked breasts. Beads of perspiration trickled down the sides of the girl’s face as Cassandra watched, horror gripping her heart yet tingling with the concept.

Crack! Pop! Crack!

He struck the redhead again then dropped his head, his expression one of near panic.

Unable to see his face, she waited, a voyeur watching a slide show of raw anguish, perhaps pure ecstasy. When he moved around behind the girl, he slid his fingers down her spine to the crack of her ass. The redhead remained silent, yet her eyes were open wide, experiencing the moment of domination with utter glee.

Cassandra realized she was panting, her arm reaching out. In the next few seconds as the man positioned himself in back of the girl, stretching out his arm and preparing to strike her back and ass, she envisioned herself tied, naked and waiting. The moment was so cathartic that she moaned, breaking the rhythm.

Crack! Slap!

Cassandra arched her back, ripples of pain coursing down from her spine to her legs. She was tingling, her blood pumping. This was… This is what you want, what you need. This is what you crave. Sucking in her breath, she willed away the damning thoughts.

Crack! Pop!

“Ah!” Had she actually screamed?

For a split second, that moment of direct connection, the man looked up, his face twisting. Then he stumbled backward, his concentration broken.

She panted, trying to take a step forward but was locked in the vision. This wasn’t over.

Boom!

The thunder rolled all around her and flashes of light swirled, pulsating. She was cold, so damn cold as he moved around the girl, unfastening the metal bindings holding her in place. Cassandra’s mouth dropped open as the girl crumpled, clenching onto the man. Inhaling, she gathered the scent of him, his exotic and musky cologne, the testosterone flowing through his body. She knew he was turned on but there was something else.

There was no way this could happen. None. She was in the room, pain slicing through her tense muscles. The man struggled, his eyes shifting back and forth, searching.

He was having a vision, much like her own. The electric connection continued as he let go of the girl, commanding her down onto all fours. Cassandra could see his expression, his unbridled desire, a burning hunger unlike anything she’d ever experienced but this wasn’t for the pretty redhead.

His desire was for her.

As if in a trance, she moved out of her bedroom and toward the small room she used as a studio. The moment she turned on the light, she blinked and stared at the blank canvas. Drawn to the paint, she studied the box of colorful hues before selecting her favorite brush. Panting, she began to swipe, creating lines and swirls of black then mixing with a powerful red.

She was on a mission, a need to create, to finish the picture of the man. His face remained burning in her mind, an ache penetrating every muscle, every cell. She longed for the man, the stranger who remained furrowed, burying into the deepest portions of her mind. Frenzied, she changed colors again, selecting a bright orange as she continued, mixing and melding, moving the brush in fluid strokes.

His eyes were so dark, blackened pools leading to a ravaged soul. She had to depict him perfectly. The connection remained burning hot. The scent of him filled her nostrils, the fragrance all masculine. She could almost reach out and touch him, his carved muscles and copper colored skin.

Her arm and fingers worked, flying as she continued, layer after layer of colors as her vision remained strong. She could hear his deep baritone, the husky sound as he called her name, beckoning her to come to him, to be with him.

To succumb to him.

And she wanted nothing more. Beads of sweat trickled down her cheeks, the slender strings dripping into the paint, mixing with the intense, rich colors. Every stroke was bold, the strong lines and curves affected by the vision, his powerful and seductive image. She blinked and refused to stop, even though exhaustion settled in. This was magnificent.

She breathed in and out, trying to focus and add one last color, the last few strokes. When she was finished, she dropped the brush and stumbled backwards as the vision slowly began to leave. She was cold, chills racing down her spine to the backs of her legs.

But she remained wet, her pussy clenching. She eased her hand inside her blouse, pinching and twisting her nipple. The pain was wonderful, allowing her to feel alive, so free. This man, this glorious man was the one.

He would release her from her demons.

* * *

“If you think of anything else, give us a call. We’ll do what we can to find the perpetrators, but given the little information you provided, we have a tough case ahead of us.”

Zach glanced over at the officer, nodding before opening the passenger door. His thoughts remained muddled, unsure of everything he’d experienced. “I understand, Officer Gentry.” As he climbed out of the police cruiser, he studied the morning sky. The storm had given way to a splash of colors, tangerines and fuchsias accenting the cresting sun. He shivered, a leery feeling sliding into the pit of his stomach.

“And if you receive any threats, anything at all, call our office.” Officer Gentry gave him one last look, his expression a mixture of discord and amusement.

As if the man didn’t believe a word.

He heard the officer’s voice but knew there was no law enforcement that could help him. The knowledge was planted in his mind. “I will.” He waited until the officer drove away before heading toward his front door. Another slice of raw fear pummeled into his veins.

Monster. Monster. Monster.

What the hell? Blinking in order to focus, he looked down again, hissing as he stood his ground.

The package was small, wrapped in brown and leaning against the door.

Hesitating, he inched closer, looking over his shoulder as if he’d be able to detect anyone watching. Waiting. His house was located on a stretch of road with only a few houses located within miles. The quarter mile driveway and nondescript entrance prevented any casual visitors, especially given he’d removed his mailbox. He’d learned from early in his career to secure a PO box. Surprises, he loathed.

Hunkering down, he studied the front. There was no return address and only his name written in what appeared to be a red sharpie, the color resembling blood. While he should feel fear, instead, he was incensed, angry at whoever had breached his private oasis. Very gingerly he lifted the box. Lightweight, there was no outward sign of a store’s return address, either online or local. He suspected the contents didn’t include a bomb, but he was cautious as he rose to his feet.

Unlocking his door, he pressed in the security codes then stood listening for any tell-tale signs that he’d had a visitor in the middle of the night. As he switched on the hallway and living room lights, there was no indication of an intruder. Granted, the bastard would have been careful, knowing he’d been in a wreck; however, his gut instinct told him no one had been inside. The security system, one which he’d paid an exorbitant amount of money for, was working properly.

Exhaustion clouded his eyes as he headed into the kitchen, placing the box on the middle of the island. He waited for a full five minutes before approaching it, untying the butcher’s string and peeling away the tape.

The box itself was nothing special, merely a white cardboard box. There were no notes, no special instructions. Taking a deep breath, he finally lifted the lid. The sticky note sized piece of paper held a single word, and he was certain the block lettering was written in blood.

Remember…

A cold shiver slithered down his spine as his mind reeled. He peeled away the brightly colored tissue paper then slapped his hand over his mouth as he stepped away. “Goddamn it.” Hissing, he shook away the disgust and inched closer, leaning down.

The index finger had been severed with what appeared to be a serrated knife, the jagged cuts surrounding the tendons and tissue smashed, the edges of the pieces of skin in different lengths. While the blood encasing the finger was dried, drops had fallen to the tissue on the bottom. The cut was fresh. The finger had once belonged to a male.

He was being warned.

* * *

“Let’s get this locked up today. This is a good decision.”

Zach heard Camden Dane’s voice before he opened the door. The man held excitement in the tone, as if the decision was the best one Rush Enterprises had made in the recent months. He was five minutes late to a meeting with Camden, as well as Mitchell Rush, the past CEO and a continued member of the Board of Directors. Yeah, he had a damn valid excuse. The night spent at the ER, three hours of interrogation by the local police department had left him in a surly ass mood. No, he hadn’t been able to see any license plate or the faces of the attackers, just the basic make of the vehicle. No, he had no concept of why he’d been chased, hunted like a damn dog. And no, he couldn’t provide a list of would-be perpetrators.

Perhaps because the list of enemies was far too long.

He hesitated and pressed his hand against his face. The air bag had left him with nasty yet superficial burns, creating blotches on his face and neck. He ached all over, but there were no broken bones. Sadly, his beloved Mercedes had been totaled, the front and passenger side wrapping around a large tree trunk. However, he’d been damn lucky the shotgun blasts had missed, merely shattering the back window. Then the assholes had left the scene, their tires screeching around the darkened curves.

He had a disturbing feeling that the chase as well as the subsequent gun attack had been nothing more than a warning, a mere indicator of more to come, much like the severed finger. But for what reason? Which jerk-off wanted a piece of Rush Enterprises at this point? He was determined to leave out some of the information. There was no sense in alarming his buddies. Not yet anyway.

Exhaling, he opened the door, walking inside.

“As long as Zach has the contracts ready we can approach the owner with our final offer,” Mitchell stated in a matter of fact way. “Tough bastard the man turned out to be. Greedy, too.”

“I have the contracts, but I’m going to repeat one last time that this isn’t a good idea.” Zach closed the door with enough force the action drew their attention.

Camden narrowed his eyes and took two long strides toward Zach. “What in the fuck happened to you?”

“Doesn’t look like a bar fight,” Mitchell teased then as Zach took two additional steps, his gait slow and slightly off kilter, he blew out a swath of air. “Jesus, buddy. You look like shit.”

Zach dropped his briefcase onto the closest chair and gave each of them a harsh look. “Someone tried to kill me last night.”

“Wha-at?” Camden moved even closer, his mouth slack.

Nodding, Zach eyed the coffee maker, debating on yet another cup or a shot of whiskey. He was already wired, every nerve on edge.

“Sit the fuck down. What are you talking about?” Mitchell closed the distance, taking Zach’s arm and attempting to pull him toward the couch.

“I’m fine and I don’t want to sit.” Zach moved closer to the small bar, his decision made. He grabbed a glass and the bottle of Old Forester bourbon, filling more than half of the oversized rocks glass. At least his friends remained quiet until he had a decent sip. When he turned around to face them, he could see concern in both of their eyes. “I was chased in my car by some badasses in a dark SUV then shot at and no, the police didn’t catch the motherfuckers.”

Mitchell opened his mouth then closed his eyes. “Have you received any threats lately?”

“Lately? No,” Zach answered, remembering the odd phone call almost a month prior, another perhaps five months before. He hadn’t thought anything of the dead silence on the other end, but now he was beginning to wonder. Why would Mitchell immediately think he was being threatened?

“Lately. What haven’t you been telling us?” Camden watched Zach’s every move as he continued to sip on his drink.

Laughing, Zach waved his other hand. “I’m just your attorney, but you aren’t my only client. I had no reason to believe a silent phone call was anything directed toward my work with Rush.” His other clients were small time corporations and his work mostly involved basic negotiations, minimal contracts and occasionally concerns about various new laws. Not a single one of them had a hidden agenda, out to kill him. At least that he knew of.

“What did the police say?” Mitchell asked quietly.

Zach shrugged. “What could they say? That I could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was in the Mercedes. Expensive car. Dark night. You get the drill.”

“But you don’t think this is about carjacking, do you?”

He looked at Camden and allowed his mind to wander. He had two reasons to be concerned, one of them being the location of where he’d been the night before, but in his mind, this was much more personal than anyone interested in his heightened level of kink. His past was coming back to haunt him. “Not a snowball’s chance in Hell.”

A moment of tension settled in.

“We’re constantly receiving threats, although most of them turn out to be bogus.” Camden’s voice didn’t sound convincing.

“Still, they need to be checked out, any ones that are credible given to the police,” Mitchell added.

“You forget, I’m the one who usually handles checking on the various sources of these pushbacks and innuendoes,” Zach snarked as he pulled out a file. “Here’s the most recent list of assholes that I’ve formulated. None of the threats within the last four months are laced with violence, merely giving credence to discrediting each one of us.”

“What’s going on? I can tell you’re angry, and not just about the accident or the potential threat.” Mitchell’s question was clipped. He grabbed the file from Zach’s hand and took a quick look.

The man knew him too well.

“You bet I’m angry, furious in fact.” While Zach tried to keep his tone of voice with little or no nasty inflection, he knew he’d failed. He was bitter. Why? Because both men knew how important his ancestry was to him, even though he never talked about his heritage. At this point, expanding and additional profits were their only motivations.

“The new building,” Camden answered for him then darted a glance at Mitchell.

“You bet.” He took another long swig of his drink, savoring in the smooth taste.

“Wait a minute. There’s something I don’t understand,” Camden moved behind his desk. “You brought the idea of expansion, including the concept of purchasing land for a building of our own design. I believe you commented on the excellent tax credits?” He flipped through several pages in a file. “I have all your notes here, including your work with the accountant on exactly how we handle every stage and how it will affect us financially.”

“That’s not the issue,” Mitchell added as he shook his head.

“Mitchell is right. I also suggested we consider expanding to another city. Houston came to mind.”

Camden laughed and tossed the file. “I’m not certain how well a brand spanking new building will seem to a city that was underwater this past summer.”

Zach inhaled and looked out of the window. “That would go over just as well as building on Indian land.”

Mitchell whistled. “Well, we seem to be at an interesting crossroads. Zach, we’ve looked at more than just Houston as far as the demographics are concerned, even considering just outside of El Paso, adding to the Steele site. All things being said, keeping the new building within driving distance of this office seemed like the prudent decision to make.” He walked closer to Zach, a comforting smile on his face. “Besides, the land was sold to another developer last year and from the plats we received well over a week ago, it appears that less than ten percent is on Indian land. We’re not actually purchasing directly from the tribe. They gave up their rights when they sold to New Horizons Development.”

“You mean hallowed ground,” Zach corrected. “That’s what the Indians believe, no matter what tribe considers land they originally owned.”

“You’re the Indian expert. I know that, Zach, but all of this could have been avoided if we’d known earlier.” Camden plopped down into his chair, closing his eyes.

“As I said, I’m just your attorney. The Board of Directors makes decisions on a regular basis, then assumes that I’ll be able to finagle a contract, seal a deal, strong arm a competitor or otherwise pull a rabbit out of the hat!”

The words hung in the room.

Clearing his throat, Mitchell glanced at Zach’s drink then walked toward the bar. “I think I need one of those.”

Snorting, Zach moved toward his briefcase, yanking out a letter. “Received this in the mail two days ago. Now, that lends itself to the understanding that we continue to have someone within our organization exposing confidential details. Nevertheless, the basic threat is real.” He dropped the letter onto Camden’s desk and headed back to the bar, topping off his drink.

His hand was shaking as he tried to lift the bottle. Easing the glass down on the counter, he clenched his fist, willing his nerves to leave him the hell alone. Even given the incident with the driver, his real concern was the haunting connection with the spirit world. He’d been rocked.

“What in the hell is this?” Camden skimmed several of the pages.

“It seems the Apache Tribal Council is moving forward to block the sale.” Zach couldn’t help but chuckle. The Apache tribe hadn’t reared their heads for any particular reason in almost two decades. Why now? Why care? The answer he would no doubt have to discover.

Mitchell took long strides toward Camden’s desk. “The what?”

“You heard me. They still have certain land as given to them by the government. It seems, according to their claim, that they were strong armed into selling the portion to New Horizons.” Zach swirled his drink, allowing the information to sink in.

“But we have a deal with New Horizons,” Camden insisted.

“Not until the contracts are signed.”

“Zach is right. We should just pull back from this.”

“And lose the fifty thousand dollars invested already?” Camden hissed as he dropped the letter and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“What fifty thousand dollars?” Zach looked from one man to the other.

Mitchell cocked his head, his glare directly on Camden. “There were other interested parties. The money allowed for first right of refusal.”

Zach thought about the information. “Given the profit margin from last year because of the loss of income from the offshore rigs, Rush doesn’t have fifty thousand dollars to lose.”

“Exactly.” Camden remained unblinking.

Huffing, he paced the room. “Then you’ve boxed us into a corner.”

“What will the Tribal Council do at this point?” Mitchell asked.

Zach looked his friend directly in the eye. “Raise the dead.”

* * *

“Cassandra Jeffries.” She answered the phone as she sorted through her files, angry with herself for being so clumsy that morning. She was still shaking from the incident the night before, unable to sleep as the visions clouded her perception. The damn painting. She couldn’t believe she’d finished it in a little under two hours, but she remained exhausted, unsure of why she’d been drawn, no forced to paint. She’d stood by the canvas for almost an hour, fear and longing sweeping through her. Maybe she was losing her mind. The man’s face she’d been able to see so clearly in her mind had transferred to a disfigured monster, angry and vile. “Damn it!”

“Well, you’re feisty this morning.” The female on the other end of the phone laughed, the sound laced with utter joy.

“Rebecca? I’m sorry. Been a shit morning. In fact, it’s been a shit few weeks,” Cassandra huffed as she dropped into her chair, hanging her head. If she’d forgotten the most important set of papers, she was going to slice her own wrists.

“Wow. I’m sorry, honey. I just called to invite you to lunch. You know, a birthday lunch.”

She’d all but forgotten. Turning the ripe old age of twenty-seven didn’t mean anything special to her in the least, especially given she might just lose her job if she’d forgotten her work. Reprinting from the computer would take too long. “Lunch. Today?”

“Today is your birthday,” Rebecca stated, ire in her voice.

“So, what?” She almost knocked off the other files then breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed the file. So many of her clients preferred seeing drawings on paper, even for a few minutes. They were comforted by the 3-D images.

“So, what? That’s it. We are going out to lunch and I won’t take no for an answer. Okay? I’ll take you to your favorite place.”

At this point, Cassandra couldn’t even remember what her favorite place was. Rebecca was a good friend, even though they’d only known each other for a few months. A little R & R might be what the doctor ordered. “What the heck. What time?”

“Meet me at Valente’s at eleven forty-five. And make certain you have your kink on.”

She heard her friend’s laughter and knew that Rebecca had something up her sleeve. A light tapping on her door prevented her from giving a smartass retort. “I have to go but I’ll see you then.”

“You stand me up and I’ll hunt you down.”

“Yeah. Yeah. You and what cowboy?” She had barely hung up the phone when her boss walked in. Diego Myers was a powerful and formidable man. He exuded sexiness in the way he walked, his slight accent and those eyes, those penetrating dark eyes. Every girl who worked at Myers and Logan Associates had the hots for him and even she had to admit, he was the kind of man fantasies were made of. He also couldn’t seem to stand her, never giving her a break or even a compliment. She rose to her feet, offering a smile. “Yes?”

“Miss Jeffries. We’d like to see you in my office in five minutes.” His statement was polite but there was no smile, no expression of any kind.

“Yes, sir. Five minutes.” The ‘we’ meant Mr. Myers and his partner, a man who almost never came into the office. She gripped the edge of her desk and grimaced after he closed the door. She’d been bucking for a promotion for two months. Her work product was stellar, and she was the only employee in the company who could truly handle becoming the lead architect. However, the next in line was only a year out of college and ultra-wet behind the ears.

Sadly, this was an old boy’s school kind of company, something she’d only learned after arriving in town. There was no way they could turn her down. None. She smoothed down her dress and grabbed her notebook. She looked professional and ready to take on the world.

If only she didn’t have the bags under her eyes.

Admonishing her usual nasty thoughts, she headed for the door. For some reason, the walk down the hallway seemed to take an extensive amount of time. As she passed by other offices, she could swear they were looking at her, sizing her up. Making fun of her. Yet, she held her head high and stood in front of Mr. Myers’ door for a full minute before knocking. You bet she was right on time.

“Cassandra. Come in.” Mr. Logan’s smile seemed genuine as he beckoned her inside.

She closed the door and gave them both a smile.

“Please sit,” Mr. Myers said as he motioned to the seat opposite his. He barely gave her a glance.

Cassandra eased down, trying her best to seem relaxed.

“Both of us wanted to let you know how much we admire your work. You have such incredible ideas and we’re happy you’re working for us. Absolutely a valuable employee.”

The way Mr. Logan said the words told her one thing for certain. This promotion was lost. She listened as they prattled on about her achievements, even hinting at a raise.

Then the shoe dropped.

“But don’t worry. We do have other ideas in mind for someone of your… talent,” Mr. Logan stated as he rose to his feet. “Your experience and growing expertise can’t be forgotten.”

She was ceremoniously being dismissed. Talent. Even the word left a dirty feeling pooling in the pit of her stomach. She was designing basic boxes for Christ’s sake. How the hell could they even know about her talent?

“Oh, I’m certain you have the task for Jameson properties completed.” Mr. Myers didn’t even look at her when he said the words.

“I do,” she could hear the discord in her voice and had to keep herself from lashing out. Exhibiting her venom wasn’t going to do her any good. She needed this job.

“On my desk after lunch.”

“Of course, sir.” The moment she exacted the word ‘sir’, Mr. Myers lifted his head, locking eyes with hers.

A smile curled in the corner of his mouth, his eyes flashing. “Thank you, Cassandra. I can see how much you appreciate discipline.”

“I do.” Why did she have the distinct feeling there was a double entendre?

“Something else I’ll keep in mind for the future,” he said, his tone commanding.

This was the first time he’d called her by her first name. Well, Halle-freaking-lujah to her.

* * *

“You’re kidding me, right? They passed you by for that damn promotion? You’re too good for that company if you ask me.” Rebecca snorted and grabbed her wine glass. “Let’s toast.”

Wine for lunch, something she never did. This was a special occasion, and not because it was her damn birthday. “To asshole men?”

She burst into laughter and clinked her glass with Cassandra’s. “There’s the girl I know and love.”

Cassandra remained seething from the moment in their office. She hadn’t even tried to take up for herself, offer any sort of rebuttal against the fact they were promoting a pimply faced boy to run the department. Jesus Christ, the only thing Tim Mathers had designed was a single building. At least she had dozens under her belt, albeit boring creations. Discipline. The word was a haunting reminder of her particular proclivities. What in the hell was she thinking?

“Don’t get so down. Why don’t you venture out on your own?”

“What, go into business for myself? That takes money and clients.”

Rebecca gave her a heated look. “I know several real estate developers. Just think about it. I could hook you up with them with just a few phone calls.”

The thought was something she’d had a few times, but the timing wasn’t right. Not now. She fingered her wine glass as her thoughts drifted to Diego. The look he’d given her had been… Dominating was the only word she could think of. Even the way his eyes had crept down her body hugging dress had left her feeling naked, exposed. She exhaled and took a sip.

Could she succumb to him, allow herself to cater to his every need? The thought was ridiculous.

“I have your birthday present.” Rebecca eased a crimson foil package onto the table.

“You didn’t have to get me anything. Lunch is perfect.”

“Don’t be silly. You need a kick in the ass, girlfriend. I know you far too well. You’re staying at home. No dating. No snacking on men.” Rebecca chuckled. “You’re a beautiful woman with no man on your arm or in your bed.”

Cassandra looked around, a moment of embarrassment sliding up from the cleft of her breasts all the way to her cheeks. “I don’t have time.”

“Bullshit, but I do understand how important your career is to you. That’s why the gift. Open it.”

She eyed the festive gold ribbon and groaned. Rebecca was so different in style, attitude and just about everything else. How they’d become friends, she’d never know. As she untied the ribbon, her thoughts drifted back to Diego. Was he a dominating man, not only in business but in pleasure as well? In truth, she wouldn’t mind finding out. She swallowed hard as the slutty side of her took over, imagining him commanding her to please him, suck his cock. She could envision being taken over his lap, issued a hard spanking for being such a bad little girl.

“Earth to Cassandra. Where’d you go?”

“Right here.” She laughed as she ran her finger under the tape, finally peeling away the paper. The box was white with no lettering, slightly heavy. “Should I be afraid?”

Rebecca swirled the wine in her glass. “Let’s just say that after our talk a couple weeks ago, I figured you out and what you need.”

“Need, huh?” When she lifted the lid, she had to bite back a gasp. The black and white cover on the book had red writing splashed across the front.

BDSM – Succumbing and Intense Desire

“What the hell?” Cassandra whispered, glancing from right to left to see if any of the customers were paying attention.

“Remember? Two bottles of wine? Our discussion on the fact you’re a submissive? That you long to find the perfect dominating man?”

“Shh…” But the truth was there. She craved a commanding man, a set of rules and desired nothing more than to be taken in hand, disciplined for any and every infraction. Even thinking the words today gave her a shiver. Brushing her fingers across the cover, she could imagine living this life. Her thoughts drifted to the painting. The man depicted in the painting was her Dom, she was certain of it. But was he something else?

“There’s more. Look inside.”

Rebecca’s voice was way too excited. She resisted grabbing the envelope, taking another gulp of her wine before considering opening it.

“Don’t be terrified. Good God. I want you to enjoy.”

She lifted a single eyebrow before opening the flap. The tickets were embossed in gold, the lettering script and very classy. “What is this?”

“What, you lost your ability to read? You aren’t that old,” Rebecca teased.

After re-reading the information, she could feel her heart race. “A kink club?”

“You bet. I secured two invitations to one of the hottest and newest clubs in town. Not hard core or anything, just a taste of the forbidden fruit.” The look on her face remained alluring as she swirled the tip of her finger around and around her wine glass. “Imagine dressing up, going into a dark club where almost anything is allowed. You can be anyone you want to be.”

Cassandra sat back, her mind reeling. By all rights, and the girl who usually inhabited her body, would and should say no. But why not? Why not enjoy one of her greatest fantasies? “When?”

“Tonight, and don’t give me any crap about it being a Wednesday. We’re young and alive. Live a little.”

“I don’t know. I have a lot to do and—”

“Sit at home? All by yourself?” Rebecca interrupted.

“I do have a life, bad girl.” Wagging her finger, she glanced at the invitation. She couldn’t help but smile as her thoughts drifted.

“You will be mine. Follow my rules. Become my slave. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

As the words and thoughts reverberated in her mind, Cassandra sucked in her breath. Maybe tonight she’d let go. Maybe she could rip away the mask.

“What do you say? A little kink on a Wednesday night?” Rebecca gave her a salacious grin.

“You drive a hard bargain. Yes.” She’d uttered the word, accepting the gift. Succumb. The word was delicious.

“Excellent!”

Once and for all, Cassandra would learn to submit to the very man of her dreams. As she blinked, trying to understand what she was seeing, the vision of his dominant stance, his body, rushed into her mind.

In his hand, he held a whip. His other was beckoning for her.