I liked to think that not much could catch me off guard, but that’s where I was now.

Yesterday, after Grandfather had gone home with his maps and plans, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that prime piece of real estate that would be perfect for a club. Grandfather wanted the company to buy up as many quality businesses in this area as possible, which meant it wasn’t outside of his vision for me to investigate the bar. The fact that I was thinking about buying it myself for my own venture…well, I kept that detail to myself. Usually, Grandfather and I were in sync about these things, but this time, my gut told me to go for it.

Which was why I’d had my assistant, Blossom, get me as much information as possible on the bar. I liked going into things well-informed.

She’d given me lists of the property’s owners as far back as she could go in a single day, as well as any articles that mentioned it. She had a bit more on the man who’d converted the former diner into the bar that stood there now. Inspection papers stated that Gareth Reeve, a Boston native, had converted the back half of the building into an apartment of sorts.

A police report from about ten years ago had been filed by Gareth for some minor vandalism on Halloween. The kids who’d done it had been caught, but Reeve had struck a deal where they worked off the cost of what they’d destroyed rather than sending them into the system. The next article mentioning him had been an obituary, listing a daughter – Syll Reeve – as his only living relative. A few legal papers followed, the gist of them being that Syll had inherited the bar from her father. Everything indicated that she still lived on the property, but business didn’t seem to be going as well now as it had been.

A daughter who’d been passed down her father’s dream meant that she’d view the bar in one of two ways. First, as a burden she’d been forced into taking and couldn’t ever get rid of without major guilt. Or she’d think of it as honoring her father’s memory and not even think twice about what she wanted for her life.

Either way, she wasn’t going to be an easy sell.

All of that I’d known going in. What I hadn’t been prepared for was the short, curvy brunette who was currently glaring up at me like I’d said something majorly offensive rather than just having introduced myself and stated my honest intentions.

She barely looked old enough to drink, but I felt confident in my guess that she was Syll Reeve. The place was still closed, and she looked far too annoyed to merely be an employee.

“Miss Reeve?” I gave her my most charming smile as I tried again. “Would it be possible for me to come inside so we can discuss a few things?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” She gave me a once-over, but instead of the attraction I usually saw in women, her expression remained irritated.

I wasn’t going to be as easily put off as that. “I don’t think you understand, Miss Reeve. I’ve come prepared to negotiate. You haven’t even heard my first offer.”

She crossed her arms, pushing up a set of amazing breasts. If this hadn’t been a business transaction, I would’ve prepared a whole other sort of offer for her.

“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Hunter. My bar’s not for sale.”

I’d heard that before, and I was certain that Syll was just as firm in her resolve as the other men who’d thought they wanted to keep their property, but in the end, they sold. She would too. Everyone had a price. People who said otherwise just hadn’t been offered the right incentives.

“Let me at least give you my contact information and what I’m prepared to pay.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out a business card.

She didn’t take it. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Mr. Hunter. This is my home and my business. I’m not interested in selling, especially to someone who spends more on a suit than my bar makes in a month.”

And then she closed the door.

She actually shut the door on me. I couldn’t believe it. No woman had ever done that to me. I’d had some people who were tough bargainers, ones who thought their properties were worth more than I was offering, but no one had been that downright rude.

Then again, it wasn’t like I’d mentioned where I was from. Hunter was a common enough surname that she probably hadn’t thought I’d come from Hunter Enterprises. Other people I spoke with knew the company I ran, understood that any offer I made was genuine, and most likely also knew that I had a reputation for being fair. Syll didn’t know any of this.

I left, grateful I’d asked my town car to wait. Mid-January wasn’t the time of year I wanted to be left standing on the sidewalk, waiting to find a cab. As I climbed into the backseat, I began to make plans for my next move. This was far from over. I needed to regroup and give her time to check me out. Once she knew who I was, things would go a lot more smoothly.

Except as my driver pulled into traffic, I realized that, from the moment Syll opened the door, my attention hadn’t been on the bar. Sure, I’d said the words, and I did want the bar, but if I was being honest, I cared more about seeing what was under her clothes than finding out what the inside of the bar looked like.

I needed to get laid.

Between what happened at Club Privé, thinking about starting a BDSM club, and meeting Syll, my dick was furious at me. It’d been too long since I fucked someone, even just good, old-fashioned vanilla sex, let alone Dominating someone. Hell, I hadn’t even jacked off in weeks. I’d been too tired, too focused on work.

I thanked the driver as he pulled up in front of my house, and then got back out into the Boston cold. For once, I was grateful for it. It was a hell of a lot easier than a cold shower. It wasn’t as effective though. Or maybe it was just because the walk to the door was so short. Whatever the reason, I was still half-hard when I got inside.

I was partway up the stairs when I realized that I hadn’t even intended to come home. I’d planned on going back to the office once I’d gotten a verbal agreement; so, I could make a pitch to Grandfather. With that specific property, I was confident he’d come around to my way of thinking. Instead, my head had been so full of Syll that I’d given my home address.

“Dammit,” I muttered. It wasn’t that I couldn’t work from home, I just didn’t do it often. I had to have a good reason, and those didn’t crop up much.

I stepped into my bedroom and took off my tie and suit jacket. A glass of Highland Park would hit the spot even though I usually didn’t drink this early. I untucked my shirt and undid a couple buttons as I poured myself a drink. There wasn’t a point in driving all the way back to the office with only an hour or so left in the regular business day. I might as well enjoy my time at home.

I sat down in the overstuffed recliner opposite the bed. As I sipped my drink, I realized that I’d never considered all the possibilities this chair held. I didn’t bring women to my house much, but when I did, we always stayed in the playroom. Which meant I’d never thought about the perfect view this chair had of my bed.

I wasn’t a voyeur in the sense that I didn’t want to watch my woman with someone else, but I did occasionally like to see a woman touching herself.

The woman who’d been haunting my thoughts appeared in my mind’s eye. I could almost see her on the bed, naked save for a pair of red lace panties, her hands still as she waited for my command.

I shifted in the chair, unsnapping my pants as I let my imagination run. Syll’s hands cupping her breasts, unable to completely hold them. Her fingers touching nipples the color of ripe peaches. Then one hand sliding down her stomach and beneath the waistband of her panties. Those full lips would part with a gasp as she stroked herself, the movement of her hand under the lace teasing me.

I freed my cock as I wondered what her pussy looked like. Did she shave? Go completely natural? Trimmed? A Brazilian? How soft would her skin be? I could almost taste her on my tongue.

My thoughts shifted to her mouth and the things she could do to me with it. Taste me. Lick me. Suck me.

“Fuck,” I groaned as I fisted my cock. I could feel the pressure building quickly and knew I wouldn’t last.

I was okay with that. I didn’t usually fantasize about real women, and certainly not one I was trying to do business with, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. About what it would be like to feel those lips wrapped around me. Her hair brushing my thighs. Her hand cupping my balls, playing with them…

I came so suddenly that it caught me off-guard, and all I could think about was what it would be like to have her swallow me down, lick me clean, and…fuck. I was hard again.