Enamored (22 page)

Trevor gave Marc a hug. “Congratulations, man. I’m so happy you two were able to get together beyond the bet.”

“We’ve been hoping you would get together for basically ever,” Elisabeth said.

Roman smiled and shook Marc’s hand. “Permission to give your lady a kiss on the cheek?” he asked.

“Of course. And we don’t need to be so formal among friends,” Marc laughed as Roman gave Lauren a kiss.

“I’m proud of you, Lauren, for looking past who you thought you were, and finding out you can be even more,” Roman said. “That takes balls.”

“Thank you,” Lauren said. “We really need to come up with a female version of that. It takes labia? Big fucking labia?”

They laughed as they settled onto the back deck, which was lit up with tiny white lights. A gas fire-pit roared to life at the flick of a switch, and they sat around it.

“So,” Roman said. “What made you agree to stay with Marc even though the week is up?”

“I love him,” Lauren said, and Marc couldn’t believe how lucky he was. This amazing, strong, beautiful woman was giving herself to him.

“I love you too, baby,” he said, and leaned over to give her a kiss.

“Aww, they’re too cute. I’m gonna cry,” Elisabeth said.

Then Adele’s house manager came out with what looked like a very tasty cake, topped with a child’s candle—the number six, for six years as friends.

“This is also going to become our real anniversary,” Marc said. “Since it’s the day my best friend agreed to be mine.”

They blew out the candle together. Marc made a wish, which basically came down to
Please let her say yes
.

He stood. “So, I wasn’t planning on doing this here, but I’d like to—because it’s nice to be surrounded by friends. I just hope I don’t make a total fool of myself.”

Lauren laughed. “What are you talking about? If you’re about to prank me, I better not get cake on my face.”

He kneeled before her chair, on one knee, and pulled a tiny blue box out of his jacket pocket. “This is no prank. This is real.”

The diamond was a bit on the large side for someone as modest as Lauren, but he couldn’t help but to buy the most beautiful engagement ring he could find after that first night she submitted to him in bed. Just on the off chance that they could make it work, he wanted to be ready.

“Mistress Lauren, my Lauren, baby—I love you so much. I love that you eat the frosting off my cake, and that you aren’t afraid to tell me what you need, that you’re so honest with me, and the shade of pink you blush. I love you beyond words. Will you marry me?”

“Oh my God.”

“Is that good or bad?” he asked.

“It’s good. Really good.” She reached her left hand out, and it trembled as he put the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly, and the diamond caught the firelight and threw a flash of rainbows across their friends.

Marc laughed. “So is that a yes, you’ll marry me?”

Lauren threw her arms around his neck and he stood, lifting her with him. “Yes, of course yes. I love you, Marc.”

“I love you too, Lauren.”

Marc kissed her, and he could hear Trevor and Elisabeth cheer. Everything was perfect. He had Lauren, he had his friends, and they were blessed beyond belief.

But when he looked up in gratitude, Roman was gone.

R
oman stood alone inside the grand foyer of Trevor and Elisabeth’s house. He was happy for them, happy for Marc and Lauren especially. But even with all that love surrounding him, he somehow felt alone.

Because I am alone
.

Fuck it. He didn’t want to ruin their night, or make a scene, which he probably accidentally did already by leaving right after the big proposal. He knew Marc was the sentimental type, so why should it surprise him that Marc had been carrying around a rock worth more than most people’s houses in his jacket pocket?

Marc used to tell him everything. Trevor, too. They were the BAD Boys, the three of them. They hung out in a pack, did everything together. Now he was the lone wolf without a mate.

They used to joke about it, that Roman would be the perma-bachelor while everyone else was settling down and having babies and shit. It never bothered Roman before, because he agreed. There was no woman who held his interest for long, much less inspired the desire to own her forever. Until Elisabeth.

And she was taken, fair and square. So that was irrelevant.

Maybe he did want to find someone. Someone who understood him, who wanted what he had to offer. One would think being single, straight, and a billionaire would make dating easier. Instead, it was harder. He had to weed out the women who only cared about his name, or his money.

And he had to weed out the women who weren’t into kink. No, not just into kink. They had to be, like Elisabeth, true masochists. The perfect woman for him would be as sexually aroused by pain as he was by giving it.

Sometimes he felt like a monster. What was wrong with him, that he had to tie a girl up, hurt her, scare her, before he could get off? He’d been to therapy. The only thing that helped was going to WhipperSnapper and seeing that there were other people out there like him. He was not alone.

Every pot has its lid, that’s what his mother used to say. But what if the pot burned every hand who touched it to see if the lid fit?

He texted Marc’s phone.

Congrats, man. Sorry for leaving so suddenly. I’ll be at WhipperSnapper if you want to meet up. Tell Trevor & Elisabeth thanks for dinner.

He hit send and stuck his phone back in his pocket, feeling like a terrible friend. But the clarity he’d gotten in Tokyo was simple: he had to look out for himself first, and keep an eye out for the right girl to come along. He didn’t need love, he just needed a lid for his pot.

He needed a girl who loved to be sexually tortured.

Roman slid into his town car and took off his tie.

“Home, sir?” his driver asked.

“No. WhipperSnapper.”

His phone buzzed and he checked his text, from Marc. It said:

Thanks, Roman. We understand. We’ve all been there. Have fun at the club—hope you find what you’re looking for. See you tomorrow to go over the Tokyo reports.

Roman laughed and shook his head.
“We” understand
. Everyone was a fucking “we” now.

His driver pulled up at the front door of the club in Manhattan an hour later. Roman didn’t say a word as he bypassed the line, slipped the bouncer a Benjamin, and went past the velvet rope. Inside, his booth was empty, as it should be—since it was always on reserve for him and the guys—the BAD Boys’ booth, as the club called it. But now it just looked empty and . . . lonely.

Fuck that shit.

Roman walked up to the pitiful excuse for a bar, since it had no alcoholic drinks, and rapped his knuckles on the table to get the bartender’s attention.

It was the blonde girl—Jessica. Ah yes, he remembered Jessica now.

“Sorry about that sir,” she said, clearly nervous at seeing him again. “How may I serve you?”

Hmm. “I like the way you sound when you say that.”

Jessica’s eyes widened, as if she wasn’t used to flirting. Or perhaps she wasn’t used to Roman’s style of flirting. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the loud music.

“You forgot to say ‘sir.’ ”

“Sir.” She blushed as she said it, like it was a naughty thing to say.

“You know what, Jessica? I think I would like a lemonade. And I also want to hear you say ‘yes, sir’ again.”

Jessica set a lemonade in front of him on the bar as quickly as she could and offered him her pretty young smile.

“Yes, sir.”

Acknowledgments

T
hank you to the amazing people who helped make the Enslaved series become a reality. My agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan of Sanford J. Greenburger Associates, and Kate Dresser, my editor at Gallery Books—along with the entire publishing and marketing team. Kate, you helped shape this series—your unique insight has been invaluable.

Thank you to my critique partners, beta readers, my loyal readers, Twitter and Facebook followers, and the members of the Shoshanna Street Team. You guys get the word out about my books and I love you for it! Please visit ShoshannaEvers.com to find out more.

Thank you to my family and friends for putting up with my intense writing schedule, and to my mother-in-law for babysitting DS so I can either write, or nap, depending.

For my DH, I love you forever. And yeah, you might have been my inspiration for Marc. Cookie mafia!

To be continued . . .

Enraptured

Book Three in the Enslaved Series

Can a shy girl penetrate the world of the billionaire Doms of the Brooks Wilde Chase Fund, and manage to keep her heart safe?

Lovely, blonde, and young, Jessica has been working at the BDSM nightclub WhipperSnapper to make ends meet . . . as well as to satisfy her curiosity. But her intrigue is only heightened when the BAD Boys enter the club one night. Jessica willingly goes with the group, exploring the limits of her own desire. But she isn’t sure how vulnerable she wants to be . . . until the one BAD Boy who never wants to fall in love again—the handsome, sexy, and unexpectedly tender Roman—takes an interest in Jessica, and she finds herself baring more than her skin.

We hope you enjoyed
Enamored
by Shoshanna Evers.

Order
Enraptured
today!

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Enraptured

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