Chapter One

They weren’t going to dress her up as sexy Mrs. Claus. Kiara Portner might be a fetish model and bondage-friendly clothing designer, but there were some things she’d prefer to keep separate from the world of kink clubs and leather. That included Christmas.

When C&C Productions called looking for a model for a holiday-themed BDSM shoot, she’d jumped at the chance. C&C’s photo book “BDSM 101” had been applauded not only by the kink community, but by members of the vanilla community as well. She’d even seen it displayed on the front table of a big chain bookstore—though the book came wrapped in plastic so curious youngsters couldn’t open it up and get and eyeful of some very sexy and artfully graphic photos.

The model in BDSM 101, Adelita Sanchez, had been a bit of a cult sensation on Instagram before the book. Now she had nearly half a million followers and was launching her own line of clothing to be carried at major retailers, not just at Lulu L’amore, a rockabilly store on Melrose.

Kiara wanted to be Addie when she grew up, though considering Kiara had just turned twenty-five, perhaps she needed to phrase that differently.

C&C’s book had launched Addie’s career, and if rumor was to be believed, one of the three Doms who had topped her in the “BDSM 101” photos was now her fiancé. Getting a call from C&C had been the most exciting thing to happen to Kiara in years. If she could get even a fraction of the exposure Addie had, she’d be ecstatic. Hell, if she could walk out of it with a relationship she’d be even happier. Kiara’s relationships with her play and scene partners were strong and healthy, but her love life was a dark void. She’d tried once before to mix kink and romance and the resulting broken heart had affected her deeply. What Addie had—a lover who was also her Dom—was the exception, not the rule, and wanting that for herself wasn’t something Kiara would ever admit to except in the deepest, quietest places in her own thoughts.

Kiara resisted the urge to fiddle with her clothing. The brown distressed leather corset-style top and leather and lace skirt were both of her own design. Pair the top with jeans and a jacket and anyone could wear it during the day. Change the jeans to black skinny dress pants, and the top would work for a night out with the right hair and jewelry. The skirt could be mixed with a peasant blouse for a modern boho look, a silky black tank, or even a white button down.

At least, that’s what she put in the product descriptions in her online store. She’d only sold a half dozen of each of the pieces. Since each was made by hand, and she used ethically sourced leather, they were expensive enough that she’d sell better in a high end boutique than purely through online sales.

She’d worn the outfit in order to showcase her personal style. She was hoping that if they hired her for the job, she might be able to wear some of her own pieces in the photoshoot.

Not that she expected to be wearing much. This was, after all, a “holiday kink” project.

The only thing she’d asked during the initial phone interview was whether she’d have to be slutty Mrs. Claus. That was a line she wasn’t willing to cross. There weren’t many of those, but C&C Productions had assured her that they weren’t doing anything so pedestrian, and that the producer had some really great, non-kitsch ideas.

Unable to hold in her fidgets any longer, Kiara lifted her skirt off her thighs and let it drop. It was September in LA, and though there were plenty of ads featuring people wearing scarves while they frolicked in the fall foliage, it had been hot enough this past week that the beaches were still packed with locals trying to escape the heat. The discreet office building in North Hollywood, not far from Van Nuys, had good air conditioning, but she’d gotten sweaty during the long drive from Torrance. Despite the ten minutes she’d been sitting in the waiting room she wasn’t totally cooled down yet. Leather was not a breathable fabric.

“Ms. Portner?” The receptionist was standing and leaning forward over the desk so she could see Kiara around the potted plant that was the Spartan lobby’s only sign of life.

“Yes?” Kiara rose to her feet, her leather portfolio—which she’d also made—clutched in one sweaty hand.

“Helen is coming. She’ll meet you at that door.” The receptionist pointed at the plain door just behind her desk. “Sorry, they just moved to new offices and the signs haven’t been hung yet.”

“Thank you.” Kiara took a few steps, bracing one hand on the counter part of the reception desk. She’d worn these heels a million times, but nerves were making her ankles wobbly.

The door opened and a heavyset woman wearing a beautifully tailored black top with an elegant boat neck smiled.

“Kiara Portner?” The woman gave her a frank, appraising look and held out her hand.

“Yes, ma’am.” Kiara gripped the other woman’s hand in a firm-but-not-too-firm shake.

“I’m Helen. It’s a pleasure to meet you, please come back. That’s a lovely outfit.”

Kiara followed her through the door. Behind it stretched a long hallway. At the end of the hall she could see a reception desk of black-veined white stone, a stylized C&C etched into the marble. Wall-size canvas wrap prints of images from “BDSM 101” decorated the hallway.

Though Kiara knew the book was in color, the photos lining the walls were black and white, as was the office decor. The carpet was charcoal grey, walls stark white, and all the doors high-gloss black. She felt like she’d walked from a nondescript office space in North Hollywood into a sleek business in a Manhattan high rise.

She stopped to look at one of the photos. It had been taken from above and behind the woman while she reclined on the arm of a couch, legs spread, white rope criss-crossing her skin. Her bare breasts and spread thighs were visible, but not in focus. Her face was the focus. Adelita Sanchez’s head was tipped back, so her face was upside down to the camera. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted. Pleasure and surprise—perhaps surprise because of the pleasure—were easy to read on the woman’s expressive face.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Helen asked.

“It is. I follow her on Instagram.” Kiara cleared her throat then hesitantly said, “I design clothes too.”

“Ah. And did you make what you have on?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Helen. Remind me and I’ll call Lulu. She owns a boutique, and might be interested in meeting you.”

Kiara suppressed an excited scream but couldn’t stop her grin. Helen had to be talking about Lulu, the owner of Lulu L’amore. Kiara had spent more than a few afternoons browsing at Lulu’s—not the original on Melrose, but the third location in Long Beach. “I would appreciate that so much.”

Helen chuckled lightly. “Of course, of course. Though if you make it big, I expect you to design me something. This top is an Addie original.”

Kiara’s grin widened. Even if she wasn’t selected for the modeling job, this meeting was already a win. “It would be my pleasure.”

Kiara was still grinning like a fool when Helen opened a glossy black door and ushered her into a small conference room. The conference table was high gloss white, the chairs minimalist black, and the two short walls were wallpapered with jumbo images from “BDSM 101”—the right-hand wall showed a woman’s raised arms amid a forest of chains, the nails of her hands the size of dinner plates. The second wall bore an image of a man wearing black leather pants, his upper body bare. His body was in focus, the woman bound over a spanking bench a blurry outline in the background.

There was one occupant in the room. He sat on the far side of the conference table, chair swiveled away so he could look out the wall of windows opposite where they’d entered. The windows back-lit him, so at first he was only a dark outline of shoulders and a head of longish hair.

“Please, have a seat, Ms. Portner.” Helen gestured to a spot directly across the table from the man, where a bottle of water waited.

Kiara set her portfolio down and pulled out her chair. The man turned as she started to take her seat.

She collapsed into the chair in shock.

Oh no.

Not him.

Anyone but him.

“Ms. Portner? Kiara?” Helen asked.

Kiara yanked her gaze away from the man to look at Helen. She had a bad feeling her mouth was open and she looked like an idiot.

For a moment she thought she caught a glint of some dark, wicked amusement in Helen’s eyes. “I believe you know Mr. Erebus?”

Kiara nodded woodenly.

Reis Erebus was sitting across the table from her, and she was now in the middle of one of her personal nightmares.

Maybe nightmare wasn’t the word. When she dreamed of Reis she woke up aroused and needy. It was only after waking that memories would make her stomach clench with remembered embarrassment.

Reis looked older, which made sense since it was five years since she’d seen him. She’d been a fresh-faced, naive twenty, though she’d thought she was much more sophisticated and worldly than she was. Reis had made her realize her own naiveté, in the most painful way possible.

He was still handsome. Maybe even more handsome than he had been before. He’d been thirty when she met him—she knew that because she’d met him at his thirtieth birthday party. Back then he’d had just the faintest smile lines around his mouth. Now they were etched into his cheeks, like parentheses on either side of his mouth.

His beautiful, beautiful mouth.

He had full lips for a man, but they were the only soft thing about him. He’d been all hard muscle, and from what she could see of him that hadn’t changed. His hair was longer now than it had been. His eyes were still an eerie clear green, and combined with hints of red in his hair, he looked like some Celtic warrior king of old come to life.

There were a dozen questions she wanted to ask—how did Helen know they’d played together before? Did Helen know what happened between them? Did Reis know she was being considered for this job? Worse, had he asked Helen to bring her in for an interview?

If the answer to the last one was yes, then why? After what had happened between them before, there was no way Reis would want to be anywhere near her ever again.

She was never going to get this job.

That was hard to swallow. She’d had such high hopes—had convinced herself that landing this job would be the turning point for her both professionally and personally.

Her throat tightened and she fought the need to scream in frustration. But she wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t show any emotion.

Her priority was now getting out of this room without making a complete fool of herself. She’d worked hard to forget about that weekend, about Reis and everything that had happened between them.

But from the way he was looking at her, Reis hadn’t forgotten.

Kiara’s gaze met his, and it was like an electric shock ran through her. She’d slumped—at much as the corset top would allow—when she dropped into the chair. When his gaze met hers, she straightened her back, relaxed her shoulders, and folded her hands in her lap. Then she lowered her gaze to the table top, staring at the stitching around the edges of her portfolio.

All it took was a look from him and she assumed the perfect submissive posture.

“Wonderful,” Helen said, and Kiara thought she heard a hint of something dark and wicked in the woman’s voice. “You two will be perfect. Give me a minute to have the contracts printed and we can talk details.”

Kiara turned her head, careful to keep her gaze down until she could look up at Helen. “Ma’am?”

“You’re hired, Kiara. That is, assuming you still want the job?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The words were out before she could stop them. Her brain was still focused on all the good things this could mean—contacts, exposure. Her heart was jumping up and down screaming “Bad idea, brain! Bad idea!”

“Good. I’ll give you two a moment to chat.”

Helen got up and walked out of the conference room.

Leaving her alone with the first, and only, man she’d ever called Master.