Declaration to Submit (2 page)

Her two friends were definitely the center of attention. Gina wore her long hair down tonight, and the dark tresses spilled over her shoulders like a romance novel heroine. She had a gypsy look that she emphasized with off-the-shoulder peasant blouses so few women could pull off. Though she was average height, she wore neck-breaking high heels to give her an imposing look.

Tori was a blonde. That alone would have been bad enough, but she had sea-green eyes and flawless skin. Plus, she was tall and statuesque. Very few men towered over her, but Atticus Paulus did, which was probably why Tori didn’t like him.

“Ha! Men love the demure type too,” Tori stated, her green eyes glassy.

“Demure? Is that another word for boring?” Nell joked.

“I don’t know. Let’s ask.” To Nell’s embarrassment, Tori turned to a tall man who lounged next to them, his elbows on the bar behind him. “Is demure another word for boring?”

The man had gray eyes and dirty-blond hair that was neatly trimmed. Nell was sure she’d seen him at the conference along with the man with brown eyes. There had been several ConFed executives, yet this one stood out. His suit exuded power and confidence. His gaze was assessing and intense. “That isn’t the first term that comes to my mind.”

Tori lunged for Nell’s arm and almost yanked her off her bar stool. “You’d never know it to look at her, but her nickname at work is ‘Dragon Bitch.’ She’s a hundred and twenty pounds of mean. But she looks demure.”

Nell wished the floor would open up and swallow her. She was very conscious of the man’s measured gaze as she felt heat climb over her cheeks.

Those gray eyes twinkled. “Right now she looks uncomfortable. How about another drink?”

“Absolutely,” Tori said.

The man paid for their shots and disappeared into one of the recesses. Nell watched him, curious about the vibes she’d sensed from him. She leaned forward to get a glimpse of who sat with him and was not surprised to see Atticus Paulus and the mystery man with the brown eyes.

Gina had drifted off, and Tori mumbled something about the bathroom. Nell studied the men with Atticus. Power suits, power ties, shined shoes, and strong hands seemed to be the common attire for these men.

Atticus, his black hair slicked back and his dark eyes sharp and clear; the gray-eyed man who had looked through her as if he could read her mind; another man who was just as handsome but not her focus; and her mystery man. All of them sat talking and drinking.

They were the top echelon, the men behind ConFed, the ones who strategized to take over Sunsoon. She’d seen them at the conference, going to meetings, assessing the employees of their newest acquisition. They were brilliant, ruthless, and persistent. They were an irresistible force. She was well aware that the innovative ideas to reorganize the company had come from the minds of ConFed’s higher-ups. Adding to that, Nell got the impression all of them were alpha males with a thin veneer of business civilization. They were intensely attractive to her inner submissive.

She staggered off her stool, the room spinning and her stomach unsettled. The whole room had taken on a fuzzy quality. In her red high heels, she could barely manage the distance to the group at the table, but she did it.

Urging her forward were a pair of dark brown eyes that seemed riveted to her face.

“I TAKE IT the transition wasn’t too rocky?” Mark Conners asked Atticus Paulus.

“It might have been much worse, but I had some unexpected support.” Atticus glanced at the bar where three of Sunsoon’s most valuable assets were drinking shots. “As a matter of fact, Ms. Armstrong was a large help in smoothing over the transition. They all admire her.” He sipped his glass of whiskey. “You were right to believe she was the key to success.”

Mark stared at the petite woman. At first, he’d observed her meetings with ConFed officers because she was the confidential secretary to Ernest Dover, a man who seemed to keep Sunsoon’s secrets. Soon, he watched for the pleasure of seeing Anelda Armstrong at work. Until the meetings clearly showed Sunsoon would be acquired by ConFed, she’d resisted all attempts to lure her away from her employer. Once the takeover was inevitable, she fought hard to keep every employee working.

She had most definitely earned the nickname “Dragon Bitch,” but she also stirred something within Mark he’d never felt before. He’d always wanted a secretary submissive, someone who would partner in his work as well as his personal life. It seemed more efficient to combine the two needs into one, but no employee had ever fit the bill. Atticus agreed she was a closet submissive, a caretaker of the best kind, who used efficiency and discipline to help her coworkers.

Mark longed to see her hair down and her face flushed. Lust was a definite factor in his desire to court her. He saw the potential for sexual submission in her that would satisfy them both. He’d played with inexperienced submissives before, but this was a challenge he was determined to meet. His plan regarding Anelda Armstrong was simple: tempt her, charm her, and let her natural desires do the rest. He was sure she would enjoy the results. She was everything Atticus had described and more. Mark had done his homework and was familiar with her work, her boss, and her contributions to the company. But when he’d finally observed her in action, he’d been riveted by her mixture of deference and defiance. Soon, he’d wanted her as much as he wanted the company she worked for. Maybe more.

“I know that look,” Anthony Fedder commented, and Mark shot his partner a glare.

“What look?”

“I’ve seen the same expression on your face when you study a company prospectus that you know we need to own,” Tony stated with a grin. “I take it she is one of the employees with the added fraternization clause.”

“I wanted to give her something to think about,” Mark said and kept his gaze on Nell. “She’s efficient, cerebral, and very meticulous. The clause will give her the excuse to say yes when I finally charm her.” If he was successful. Doubt was not usually an emotion he dealt with too much. But to win Nell, he would have to step carefully, take his time, and not rush things.

“I’m not sure you will,” Atticus stated. “She was extremely loyal to Ernest Dover, and you drove him into retirement.”

“Our source was clear about Dover. He wasn’t the mastermind of the financial expenditures that weakened Sunsoon, but he helped cover it up.” Mark shook his head. “He was loyal to Victor Tourine to the last. There was no way to win him to our side.”

“You don’t think there might be trouble?” Dimitri Caruso’s dark gaze darted around the room, keeping an eye on all the employees that dotted the tables around them. As their risk manager, he usually had a cynical viewpoint on human nature.

“There have been some rumors,” Atticus added. “I don’t like the vibe I get from the office in L.A. The other software plants have fallen in line, given us no trouble since we kept their management intact.”

“Los Angeles was Sunsoon’s headquarters,” Anthony said with a sharp nod. “It makes sense.”

“I don’t know that I should take over the office there,” Mark said, his gaze still on Nell’s curves. Of all people, he should back away and let Dimitri or Atticus handle the L.A. office. His past might interfere with the reorganization.

“This is what we’ve worked for,” Atticus said.

“It could be dangerous,” Mark warned. Even though he’d wanted this more than any other acquisition they’d implemented, he worried that his closely held secrets could damage their reputation.

Tony gave Mark a steady look. “We’ve discussed the possibilities. Stop worrying.”

For a moment, Mark felt that embarrassing combination of kinship he lacked from his family. Tony was his family now. He’d looked after Mark, stood by him, and had been a good friend.

“Look out. Ms. Armstrong is heading our way,” Atticus said and then raised an eyebrow as she wobbled on her high heels. “And I’d say she’s not entirely sober.”

Mark stared. Nell was the most self-contained woman he’d ever met, and this was not what he was used to seeing from her. She staggered across the floor, making a beeline for their table, her gaze locked with his.

As always, she electrified him, tempted him. Even when she met his stare, it was brief, and she would glance away, an intoxicatingly submissive action. When she stopped at their table, she addressed Atticus. “Atticus, I would like to discuss my employee agreement.”

“Miss Armstrong, I believe you’re a little the worse for wear.” Atticus raised an eyebrow and frowned at her.

Nell blew a strand of hair out of her eyes. “You think? After a few tequila shots, I have decided that I would like clarification about my contract.” She slurred the word
clarification.

Paulus started to protest again, but Mark stopped him with a raised hand. “What would you like clarified, Miss Armstrong?”

“How exactly does an employee declare that they are available for a Dominant/submissive relationship? Officially, I mean.” Nell’s tone was filled with drunken amusement.

“Ms. Armstrong—” Atticus started, but Nell cut him short.

“I mean, the stip-stipulation was clear that there must be mutual consent.” She stumbled over the words. “But it wasn’t specific.”

Mark wondered if she realized how she sounded. Amused? Yes. Also, she sounded interested, almost wistful about the possibility. He felt a thrill of satisfaction that his plan had worked and a little anxiety that she was so bluntly addressing it. “With some, we require written documentation. With others, no verbal or written declaration is required.”

Nell blinked. “Excuse me?”

Mark rose from his chair and stood beside her, shielding her from the crowd beyond their table “There are some who declare their availability without saying a word, Miss Armstrong.”

He held her gaze until she lowered her head, confusion in her beautiful hazel eyes. Her voice was faint. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. Drop to your knees, Miss Armstrong.” He barked out the command, and Nell slid to her knees, her hands clasped behind her back, her gaze on his shoes.

Fuck
. It was as if she reached inside him and plucked out his favorite fantasy. He hadn’t meant to do this here and now, but she had seemed to reach out for this moment. Every tremble of her fingers and every hitch in her breath cried out for domination. His.

He placed his hand on her head. “Do you need further proof, gentlemen?”

All the men murmured their negative. Paulus spoke, his voice firm. “She isn’t completely coherent,” he stated. “You know the rules.”

Mark stroked her hair and nodded. “Three days. Make the arrangements to delay my flight until Monday.”

Suddenly, Nell lifted her head and gazed at him. “Does that mean I belong to you now?”

Chapter Two

Nell rubbed her temples and pushed back the twisted sheets of the king-size bed. Okay. Time to take a little inventory. She drank too much. Check. She woke up naked. Check. She couldn’t remember most of the night before. Check. And she didn’t know where her two so-called friends had gone. Check.

Well, Nell Armstrong, you certainly covered all the bases
. The only thing missing was—oh, wait. Nell glanced into the sitting room she had to pass through to escape. Right. There was the last item necessary for a fully fucked-up Vegas weekend—a naked man.

His arm covered his face, and one bare leg dangled over the edge of the couch, but it was pretty clear he was naked. It was also clear that Nell had to get out of that room pronto.

She suppressed a groan and did the frantic clothes search, finding her red fuck-me pumps under the bed and her bra dangling from one of the curtain rods. Her underwear was MIA. Her dress was crumpled up and tossed on the floor. What the hell had happened?

The last thing she remembered was the leather bar. Just for a second, she thought she could smell the intoxicating mixture of latex and lace. Look what that had gotten her. Gina had plied her with tequila shots, and Tori flirted with every alpha male in the room until Nell’s head spun. There had been one man with dark brown eyes and something dangerous about him. Talking to him was Nell’s last memory.

Shoes dangling from her fingers, without underwear, and clueless about what hotel she was in, Nell crept toward the exit and prayed she could escape and forget what she hadn’t already forgotten.

“Don’t you want these?” A very low, sexy voice halted her progress.

Fuck. She’d almost made it.

She blinked and turned toward the voice coming from the couch. Sure enough, the man held up a pretty little satin thong Nell had bought for the trip. It was supposed to make her feel sexy. She tried to ignore the blazing heat in her face.

Well, what now? Should she ask how she’d ended up here? Should she ask where the fuck she was? Nope. She was a coward and perfectly willing to admit it. At five foot nothing, she wasn’t going to intimidate anyone without her heels on, so the best thing to do was a strategic retreat.

For a moment, though, she enjoyed the view. Six feet of oh-my-God and those dark brown eyes were enough to make her wish she could remember the night before. But the red material hanging off his fingers made her glad she’d forgotten. She whipped around and walked faster toward the exit.

When his hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back, she yelped. “Let me go.” She hadn’t even heard him move. The man was fast on his feet.

“No.” His voice never changed, the one word spoken quietly, confidently.

Without another word, he hauled her against his naked, hard body and plundered her mouth with a familiarity that made her knees weak. She wanted to resist, to protest his manhandling, to state what an epically bad idea this had to be, but his tongue swept inside and robbed her of any coherent thought at all.

Nell had been kissed before, even passionately kissed, but this—this was a possession, a branding. For a few pounding heartbeats, she lost herself in his touch, allowed him to sweep away her objections.

Reality washed over her, and she tore away from him. “I don’t know what I did last night or what I said, but I’m sober this morning, and it’s time for me to leave.”