Enraptured Page 2

  I’m clearly overtired. Not even making sense to myself anymore, she thought, and pulled up her bar stool so she could rest her feet for a moment as she ate.

  “Um, do you mind if I sit?” she asked, because it felt like she needed his permission.

  “I don’t mind.” He watched her as she took a bite of the cookie.

  She’d been telling the truth when she told the other guy she’d never bought one of the club’s cookies. There was no way a nine-dollar cookie could be worth it. Instead she brought a snack from home, usually a Greek yogurt for the protein, and ate it on her break. But this cookie—it was heaven in her mouth. The perfect mix of chewiness and crispness at the edges, with just the right amount of chocolate chips.

  “Is it worth nine dollars, Jessica?” Roman asked.

  She had to wait until she finished swallowing the bite in her mouth before she could answer, and she covered her mouth with one hand and raised the other in a sorry, one second gesture. “Yes, it absolutely is. Or maybe I’m just hungry, I don’t know.”

  He laughed, something she’d only seen him do on rare occasions, and even then, only with his friends at their booth. Making him laugh thrilled her. She’d made Roman Chase laugh! If she was allowed to use her phone she’d want to tell the world, but of course it would have to stay her little happy secret. What happened at the club stayed at the club. No tweeting or Facebooking about drinking lemonade and eating a cookie with an honest-to-goodness gorgeous billionaire.

  Not that it mattered that he was a billionaire. Except . . . how cool was that? She barely made enough money to rent a studio apartment, not that she spent much time there awake. She usually slept during the day since she worked so late at the club every night. Not that she was complaining—she needed the money, so she was happy for the extra hours.

  “Why do you work here, Jessica?” Roman asked, and she nearly choked on her cookie in an effort to swallow again so she could answer. “Please, take your time,” he added, raising his eyebrows. He pushed her lemonade toward her. “Drink.”

  Jessica took a long sip of the lemonade. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t choke on my account,” he said, looking back over his shoulder at his booth.

  He was going to leave, to go back to his friends and more lively conversation. But she wanted him to stay. He’d never spent so much time talking with her before.

  “I work here because I’m too young to bartend at a regular bar,” she said, and he looked back at her appraisingly.

  “That’s right, you told me you weren’t legal to drink yet.” He looked back over his shoulder and made a come here movement with his head.

  Mistress Lauren, the beautiful redhead who always had men crawling behind her, begging her for a chance to kiss her stiletto boots, stood up and walked toward them, smiling. She wore Marc Wilde’s ring now—and Marc was definitely a Dom—but Jessica was pretty sure she was still supposed to be addressed as Mistress Lauren.

  Trying to keep up with the BAD Boys rumor mill was all very confusing, like trying to follow a soap opera when you only got to watch bits and pieces of it and instead of hearing the characters talking, you only had other people telling you what was going on.

  “How may I serve you, Mistress Lauren?” Jessica asked when she approached the bar.

  “She’s adorable,” Mistress Lauren replied, looking at Roman. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, and stood. “Thank you for the lemonade.” With that, he left, bringing his glass with him.

  Jessica watched him go back to the booth, trying not to let her disappointment show.

  “It looks like the cookies are good,” Mistress Lauren said. “I’ll take one, please.”

  “Of course. Nine dollars, ma’am.” Jessica jumped off her stool and handed her a cookie with a napkin.

  Mistress Lauren smiled and handed her a twenty. “Keep the change, hon.”

  Wow, this was turning into a very profitable night for tips. “Thank you, Mistress Lauren, that’s very generous.”

  “So are you really only working here because you’re not twenty-one yet?” Lauren asked, taking a bite of the cookie.

  What was the right answer? Jessica still didn’t feel comfortable saying she thought the club itself was exciting and sexy. But why? Everyone else who walked past the velvet rope seemed to be so sexually confident, so ready to embrace the kinky stuff. And here she was, an employee, unable to even admit out loud she was interested in anything other than the paycheck.

  Mistress Lauren smiled. “It’s Jessica, right? You’re so cute. Are you into the lifestyle?”

  Jessica blushed and shook her head, unable to respond to either the compliment or the question.

  “Really? Never even been spanked?”

  Okay, let’s get personal. Jessica laughed, unsure of what to say.

  But Lauren seemed so friendly—it was easier to imagine answering a question like that to her, to another girl, than it would be if . . . if someone like Roman had asked her.

  The thought of Roman asking her if she’d ever been spanked sparked a frisson of heat in her body. That would actually be really hot if he’d asked her.

  Jessica shook her head again. “No, ma’am.”

  “Fucking hell, you’re making me feel old. When other people call me ma’am it gets me wet. When you do it I feel a decade older than you, probably because I nearly am.” Lauren laughed, flipping her long red hair over her shoulder.

  “You’re not old, Mistress Lauren,” Jessica said. “I’m just . . . sorry, I . . .” She didn’t know what to say.

  Lauren grinned at her. “It’s okay, don’t be so nervous. I don’t bite. Not hard anyway.”

  Jessica laughed with relief. “Good to know.”

  “What do you do for fun when you’re not serving overpriced lemonade?” Lauren asked.

  “I apologize, I don’t set the prices,” Jessica started, but Lauren interrupted her with a wink. Just a wink, and Jessica fell silent, and smiled back. “Well, not much since I left NYU.”

  “What was your major?”

  “Drama. But one of the teachers said if you can do anything in the world other than be an actor, then you should because it’s a very hard life. Constant rejection, no job security. And I didn’t even like it that much. So I figured I’d get a job wherever I could while I’m finding myself.”

  “Finding yourself,” Lauren repeated, as if she liked the phrase. “Would you be interested in finding yourself hanging out with me tomorrow?”

  Why would Mistress Lauren, a woman who was about to become Marc Wilde’s wife for goodness’ sake, want to hang out with her? Jessica had nothing to offer a billionaire’s fiancée.

  “Just for fun. We’re having a party at Roman Chase’s house in Westchester. Marc and I are going, so we could pick you up and give you a ride.”

  An invitation to a party. To Roman Chase’s house. Holy shit. Play it cool.

  “But . . . why me?”

  “Don’t think so little of yourself,” Lauren said. “You’re a lovely girl and we want to get to know you better. You’ve been the new bartender here for a while now and you’ve yet to even dance on top of the bar or come out and play in the club. We feel like we barely know you. And we know everyone here.”

  “Oh. Well, I guess that makes sense,” Jessica said. Dance on top of the bar? “That is, if you mean it.”

  “I mean it. Where should we pick you up tomorrow? It’ll be around noon.”

  “Noon,” Jessica repeated. Was she really going to do this? Apparently. “I can take the subway to your neighborhood so you don’t have to go out of your way.”

  Lauren leaned over the bar and plucked the pen out of Jessica’s apron pocket, then wrote an address on a napkin. “This is Marc’s building. Just let the doorman know you’re there and we’ll come down.”

  “Thank you,�
�� Jessica said, holding the napkin in her hand like it was going to disintegrate at any minute, or self-destruct like in the Mission Impossible movies. Should she choose to accept this mission . . . she laughed. Yeah, she was doing this. “I’ll be there.”

  Lauren smiled and took her cookie back to their booth, waving over her shoulder.

  A party at Roman Chase’s house!

  For whatever reason, Jessica felt like a tiny fish who had just been invited to swim in the ocean . . . with the sharks.

  Chapter Two

  “We’re having a party at your house tomorrow,” Lauren announced to Roman when she returned to their booth, cookie in hand.

  “Oh we are?” he asked. “Does that mean young Jessica fit the bill?”

  Lauren grinned and dropped herself into the space next to Marc, who promptly leaned over and took a bite of the cookie.

  “Cookie mafia gets his cut,” Marc joked.

  “If you don’t want to host, we can have it at our house, right honey?” Elisabeth said, turning to Trevor to make sure.

  But Roman liked the idea of having Jessica at his house. “We can do it at my place. I have a new mosaic at the bottom of my pool that could use some appreciation.”

  Elisabeth raised her eyebrows. Roman imagined she was surprised that he’d done anything to upgrade his house. But after she’d left, he’d been in the spending mood. And his pool, while impressive, didn’t have the sort of extra custom detail Roman enjoyed displaying. Now it certainly did.

  “Awesome. Thanks, man,” Marc said.

  Roman shrugged. He might not be the most social person, but if he was going to a party, he liked having it at his place. It made him more comfortable, knowing he could leave the party without having officially left. And his dungeon was practically legendary, if he did say so himself.

  “It’s as good an excuse as any to see the girls in bikinis,” Roman said. He quickly sent a text to his assistant, asking her to have casual food and drinks ready for a pool party at noon the following day. He knew she’d handle it, one of the many benefits of having a few key staff members he could trust. Nothing like what Trevor had, though—a huge personal staff managing every aspect of his estate. Their estate. Trevor and Elisabeth’s.

  Stop. Move forward.

  “I’m going to go find someone to scene with,” Roman said, standing. “Oh wait, no I won’t, because there’s no one fucking good here. I’ll see you guys tomorrow at my place.”

  “Where you going?” Trevor asked.

  “Someplace that serves something stronger than lemonade.” Even if the girl pouring the non-alcoholic drinks ignited a spark of interest he hadn’t felt in a long time. Roman looked back over at the bar. Jessica was gone.

  Hmm. She must be on her break. Hopefully she would actually show up tomorrow, since the only reason they were having the party was so Lauren could entice her into playing.

  Roman stepped out back and texted his driver to pull around. The cool night air was a godsend after the sea of sweaty bodies at WhipperSnapper.

  Maybe with a new person around tomorrow, he wouldn’t feel the way he did this evening at their crowded booth—like someone tagging along on a double date.

  A cloud of cigarette smoke floated past him, and he sniffed in distaste. He’d been a smoker once, for a few years in high school. At the time it seemed like a polite way to excuse himself when he needed a break from other people—he’d just step outside for a smoke. As he gained confidence, he realized he didn’t need an excuse to take a break. He could just leave—polite or not.

  He left things a lot.

  Another waft of smoke, although this one didn’t bother him. The scent of tobacco awoke the dormant smoker within him, bringing on a wave of nostalgia. Perhaps because it reminded him of the feeling of finally escaping an uncomfortable social situation.

  Roman glanced over to find the source and saw Jessica leaning up against the back of the building, slowly pulling on her cigarette with her eyes closed. She was beautiful, that girl. But she didn’t quite fit in behind the bar at WhipperSnapper. Too apologetic, too vanilla.

  But . . . beautiful. He had to give her that. And sweet, too. Something about the way she rushed to serve him made him smile. Maybe tomorrow they’d discover that she wasn’t as vanilla as she appeared.

  Hopefully, for Lauren’s sake. Roman could empathize with the dilemma of being a Dominant with no sub. That was his life right now.

  His town car sat idling nearby, waiting for him. But the scent of tobacco beckoned.

  Jessica puffed on her cigarette, feeling a little high from the nicotine since she only ever smoked at work. She’d needed a moment to think after getting invited to Roman’s party.

  Why had she agreed? She didn’t belong with them. What if it was a prank, like when Carrie was made prom queen?

  Soft footsteps on the pavement jolted her out of her reverie. Jessica opened her eyes and straightened up.

  “Hello Mr. Chase,” she whispered.

  “Smoking?” he asked, and shook his head. “You might not have heard this, but smoking is bad for your health.”

  “I hadn’t heard that, sir,” she joked, smiling. “I don’t smoke often, anyway.”

  “May I?” he pointed to her cigarette. Maybe he was going to stomp it out, she didn’t know. But somehow his question didn’t feel like one she could deny.

  Not that she wanted to deny Roman Chase anything.

  “Of course. Would you like your own? I have a brand-new pack here.”

  He stepped in closer to her. “I don’t have germs, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Everyone has germs,” she said, “but no, I’m not worried about . . . um, your mouth.” Nice one, she chided herself. Stop talking.

  He plucked the cigarette from her hand and took a long pull, his lips on the same spot hers had been only moments before.

  He handed it back to her, and she put it to her mouth, wondering if she’d taste him on the filter. Maybe . . . no. No Roman, just smoke.

  His fingers brushed hers as he took her cigarette from her again and looked at it. “Why are you smoking now if you don’t smoke often?”

  Jessica’s stomach flip-flopped with nerves. Attention from Roman had that effect. She pulled out a fresh cigarette for herself, though she probably should go back inside. “I needed a moment to think,” she admitted.

  “And what do you think?” He looked at the dying cigarette in his hands, took a final pull, and put it out in the ashtray on the ground.

  He stood slowly, his long, lean body stretching in his tight black shirt. His hair had fallen into his eyes, but he made no move to push it back. Instead he looked at her again, waiting for her answer.

  “Mistress Lauren invited me to your party tomorrow,” she whispered. “Is that okay?”

  “Yes. I think we’ll have room. You don’t take up much space.”

  “I’ve heard about your parties,” Jessica admitted. “I can’t help overhearing when people are talking at the bar.”

  “Did you like what you heard?”

  Yes. No. “I don’t know.”

  “Half of what people say around WhipperSnapper are just rumors. I can tell you if what you’ve heard is true or false, if you like, before you decide if you want to come.”

  She smiled. It didn’t make any sense that a man as powerful as Roman Chase was spending his valuable time talking to her, especially when he had a fancy car and a chauffeur waiting for him.

  “I heard you have a beautiful mansion upstate.”

  “True,” he said. “At least I think so. But it’s only in Westchester, which hardly qualifies as upstate to anyone but diehard Manhattanites.”

  She laughed. “Okay. I heard your parties are way kinkier than anything that happens here at the club.”

  “True. There aren’t any restrictions on a
private residence the way there are at a public club.”

  “What sort of restrictions are there here?” she asked. “There’s a woman hanging in a cage above the tables right now.”

  He laughed softly. She’d made him laugh again. This night was turning out better than she could have hoped.

  “There’s no sex allowed here. That’s not the case at my house.”

  If any man other than Roman had said that to her, she would have been convinced he was hitting on her. But Roman couldn’t be interested. He only dated submissives, and despite her wildly active imagination, she had never done anything that could be considered kinky.

  “Um . . . I heard you only date subs.” She laughed, hoping it would sound like a joke in case he didn’t want to answer.

  “True.”

  “I also heard you . . . that you train submissives.”

  “True. Although I’m looking to stop that,” he muttered.

  Something about the way he turned away, as if she’d lost his attention, made it clear she should stop that line of questioning. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chase. I didn’t mean to get personal.”

  “I have to go,” he said. “Come to my house tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” she said as he walked toward his town car. He didn’t look back.

  “I heard you’ve been arrested,” she called.

  “False,” he said as his chauffer opened the car door for him. “That was Marc.”

  “I heard you have a dungeon.”

  “True.” And the driver closed the door.

  A dungeon. A dungeon inside of a mansion. Jessica wondered if his dungeon looked anything like the club, or if dungeons had different styles, the way houses did.

  I’d like to see your dungeon, Mr. Chase.

  Well, that settled that. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray on the ground and headed back into the club.

  Jessica had no idea what to wear to a party at a billionaire’s mansion, so she wore a lavender sundress and heels, hoping they’d dress up her outfit. Inside her large purse, she’d tossed in a bikini and flip-flops, along with black leggings and a white button-down shirt in case she needed to change. Mistress Lauren had suggested the swimwear, since the day was going to be hot.