Ulterior Designs (House of Evans Book 1) (8 page)

Once she gave her consent, Logan opened up completely. "I'll keep many of these items in the spare room. Though, to be clear, I want the majority of these pieces prominently displayed throughout my home, as I don't want my activities to be limited to just one space in this house."

Chloe's mouth hung open in astonishment at Logan's straightforwardness about his proclivities.

Designing a home with sex equipment prominently displayed?
Rather than the
House of Evans
, perhaps a more appropriate name for his home would be
Logan’s Playground
.

What he was asking wasn’t something she had ever planned on doing, and it sure as hell hadn't been in any of her lesson plans, but,
yes
, she could definitely do it. And she would. Mr. Evans was a very dirty boy, the likes of which she had never met before. She had dreamt of men like him, even read about them in the erotic novels she so frequently entertained herself with, but that was the extent of her knowledge in such matters.

She glanced back at the images of the different pieces of furniture. Some of it didn't necessarily look sexual in nature at all if one didn’t know what they were looking at, and she could see how the pieces might pair well with other non-kinky items. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder what his mother and others would think when they came to visit and saw those items sitting out. Was he truly that brazen to not care who knew of his preferences?

“I’m glad to hear you're on board," his words cut through her thoughts. "As you know, this home means a lot to me, as does its finished look. I control everything that goes on within these walls,” he continued, his voice deepening, “in every aspect. I have very specific ideas on what I want, but with that being said, I’m open to any and all of your suggestions. I’ll give you creative license over the aesthetics up to a point, but my stamp of approval is to be put on everything.”

Suddenly, the reason for Mr. Evan’s assuredness became very clear to her. “Of course, Sir,” she inadvertently responded.

She swallowed hard when a muscle in his jaw clenched and his mouth twitched with displeasure.
Or, was it pleasure?

When he brought his hands down onto the table and leaned forward as if to say something, she quickly interjected, “Sorry about that, Logan.” Abruptly, she stood in hopes of making him forget her mistake, and walked toward the stairs with the papers in hand. “May I look at the spare room again?” she asked, trying her best to sound unaffected by his physical response.

His cunning gaze moved over her body. Though he remained quiet, he was clearly considering his options. She could think of a few things she wouldn’t mind him doing. Something along the lines of bending her over the dining room table, face down, and hiking her pricey skirt up over her hips.

Without saying a word, he stood and stalked toward her. Worried that he had read her wayward mind, she backed herself up against the railing of the staircase. Her hand fell to her side, her fingers unconsciously loosening and causing the documents to fall to the floor and all around her feet.

Logan wore an expression that seemed to be a combination of amused and bothered, and she quickly became angry with herself for her lack of professionalism. This was a paid gig for Christ's sake, and he was just a man—albeit, a gorgeous one who was way out of her league when it came to sexual experience.

When she attempted to bend down to retrieve the papers, he firmly gripped her shoulders.

"Allow me."

Kneeling in front of her, he picked up each page at a leisurely pace, his movements smooth and unhurried. He was so close to her, she could’ve reached out and twisted her fingers into his thick hair. Her hand trembled and inched toward him, but she stopped herself only an inch away from his mane. With Logan's tantalizing scent assaulting her senses, she suddenly felt light-headed with arousal, and her mind clouded with images of different ways of being taken by the beautiful man kneeling before her. Keeping her eyes steadily focused on him, she pressed her thighs together tightly to satiate the rapidly growing ache pulsating between her legs, while screaming at herself in silence to pull it together.

With the last sheet of paper gathered in his hands, he looked up at her and slowly stood, the length of his body climbing hers. A mere few inches away, he leaned into her, his nose ghosting the hair that hung around her shoulders. His deeply inhaled breath sent shivers across her torso and hardened her nipples. She edged back farther only to realize she was flush against the balustrade and there was nowhere for her to go.

“If you want our association to remain strictly professional, I forbid you to wear this fragrance ever again
,
” he growled softly.

She stood stock-still like a gazelle caught in the snare of a hungry lion. What Logan was asking of her was an impossible task. In her haste to get to the ferry on time, she had forgotten to put any perfume on.

“That might be a problem,” her voice trailed off when she saw the dominance flicker in the depths of his blue eyes. When he crept closer to her, she quickly continued with her explanation. “I’m not wearing any perfume,” she murmured.

Logan’s eyes brightened and an ironic smirk flitted across his lips. “No shit?”

“No shit whatsoever.”

“Well, that
is
going to be a problem,” he sighed, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

She was standing in the presence of a man unlike one she had ever encountered. As he stared down at her, she realized that she would probably get only one chance to prove her worth to him—professionally or otherwise. She could only hope that he was still interested in getting
acquainted
with her.

Swallowing the lump of uncertainty lodged in her throat, she threw down the gauntlet. “Or not, depending on how you look at it.”

His eyebrows rose in surprise, and the crooked smile that she adored returned to his face, with his dimples beckoning her.

“I think you’re forgetting yourself, Ms. Stephens. You’re here to do a job. Let’s concentrate on that first, shall we?” Bowing slightly, he gestured toward the stairs with an outstretched arm.

Indeed, she was forgetting herself. Frustrated, her mouth suddenly became dry as a bone. Closing her eyes for a split second, she did her best to pull herself together and rein in her raging hormones. She took in a deep, cleansing breath and climbed the stairs.

Once again in the barren room, her imagination came to life. She was actually going to design a sexual torture chamber. She couldn’t believe her luck. All of her erotic romance novels didn’t compare to the reality she was facing.

Logan handed the stack of papers back to her. With newfound concentration, she sifted through them looking over all of the tantalizing images of the furniture and equipment with which he wanted to fill the house. Next, she took into consideration what he had suggested in the paperwork. She moved around the room bit by bit, focusing only on her job.

“What are you thinking for the color?” he interrupted her thoughts.

“Deep-red, perhaps?”

“No, I want the room to be inviting and soothing, not frightening.”

She never thought of a torture chamber as being
soothing
or
inviting
, and found his answer strange. When she turned to face him, he seemed to be watching her with great interest.

“Tell me what else you’re thinking,” he prodded.

She hesitated, but his intense gaze demanded otherwise. It wasn’t so much the look in his eyes that astounded her, but the sheer authority he exuded. Standing gape-jawed while staring at him like some kind of mute moron, she wondered if he had any idea just how sexy he was.

“Do you plan on answering me anytime today, Ms. Stephens?”

A playful, infinitesimal lift of Logan’s left eyebrow left Chloe searching for words. Her response, or lack thereof, couldn’t be helped when the sinful vision of him working his magic on her on the kinky equipment he planned on displaying crossed her mind. At the same time she felt her face burn with embarrassment from her wayward thoughts and sudden lack of ability to speak, a sly smile worked its way onto Logan’s mouth. He had read her like a book.
Again.

Blinking rapidly, she tried to formulate an answer, while regaining her composure. “I never … I just never,” she stammered, “… thought of a sexual torture chamber as inviting or soothing.”

His eyes widened, and one side of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. “Is that what you think this room will be,
Minou
?”

She nodded
yes
while wondering what he had called her. As she stared wordlessly back at him, she made a mental note to look it up later.

“I'll admit that I enjoy a bit of bondage and delivering a playful yet stimulating spanking on occasion, but what I have in mind for this room and my home is
not
torture. Not in the least. I’m not a sadist. In fact, I’m completely the opposite. Pleasure,
Minou
, is what I seek in all things.”

T
wice Logan had called Chloe
Minou
. It had been done without forethought, but proved that he was already becoming invested in her. He had always liked the nickname and remembered his mother using the word when he was a child growing up in Nebraska.
Minou
or
kitten,
suited her perfectly—soft and adorably sexy, but with sharp claws when provoked.

Her enthusiasm for what he had in mind for his home had piqued his own curiosity and arousal for her more, if that was even possible. It was evident that she was interested in what he was into, even if she had no firsthand knowledge of it or experience with it.

“Tell me something: do you know anything about what I’m asking you to design?” he questioned her.

"With regards to your spare room, no, but I can do research. And from the looks of it," she began flipping through the pages of ideas he had presented her, "I don't need to do much. You have everything pretty well laid out. Although," she pinched her brows together, "this doesn't leave much room for interpretation."

Logan supposed he had been a little straight-forward in his presentation; however, he was accustomed to taking control in all areas of life, most especially when it came to all matters of design. It was what made him so good at doing his job.

"Just because I know what I want doesn't mean I know how to get there. That's where your skill set will come into play. I'm a man who believes in compromising when necessary, and all my ideas in regard to my home are open to interpretation. If Dimitry hadn't been such an ass, he would've learned that."

She lifted a skeptical brow at him, "Even in regards to the pool?"

A short burst of laughter rumbled in his throat. "Okay, maybe not
all
of my ideas are negotiable. But I do like your suggestion of doing research. It just depends on what kind of
research
you're referring to."

"I've read plenty of erotic novels about this sort of stuff."

His suggestive remark totally went over her head, making him smile at her naivety.

“Oh? What have you read?”

“Just the usual popular stories about this lifestyle,” she replied as she sat down on a lone chair near the window.

As she crossed her legs gracefully and shuffled through the papers again, he mentally catalogued her qualities once more. Like her muscular and defined calves that were emphasized by her three inch pumps. And the small dip where her waist curved into her hips. But it was her neck that called to him—the delicate shape of it and the notch at the base that begged to be licked.

Blinking hard, he forced himself to redirect his focus. “I know what you're insinuating, but let me be clear about something: I'm not into any kind of
lifestyle
except one of pleasure and experimentation. I won't be doing anything in here, or in my home in general, that requires contracts and negotiations. If a woman wants those things and is more comfortable utilizing them, that's fine, but those aren't the kinds of protocols that I adhere to. In my home, no means no, and yes means yes."

She glanced up at him, the confusion evident in her shimmering eyes. "What about the gray areas? What about
maybe
? How do you deal with that?"

“I love the gray areas. To me, gray means
possibility
." He crouched next to her, delighting in her unique and untainted scent, though found it difficult to stay focused. "
Maybe
means," his gaze drifted, "I have to seduce consent." He cleared his throat and redirected his gaze back onto Chloe.

“What if someone says
yes,
and then changes their mind?”

He smiled at the curiosity and hint of fear that glittered in her eyes. “I would never try to force something on someone who isn’t comfortable with what I’m doing. That’s why communication is so important when it comes to experimentation.”

“Communication,” she whispered as if unable to grasp the idea.

"You realize that most, if not all, of what you’ve read is erotic
fiction
, right?” He pushed forward when she sat silently staring at him. “I've done my research, too, Chloe, and I can tell you that those books contain about half truth and half fantasy. I’m not disapproving any of them because I believe in indulging and feeding one’s fantasies. I also believe in a completely mutually consenting relationship, but that doesn't have anything to do with any sort of lifestyle. That's standard fare in any traditional relationship," he declared with a shake of his head. He was getting off topic. Especially considering there was no
relationship
between them except a professional one.

"I don’t want to discourage you from reading up on the lifestyle to which you're referring to, but please, if you do, read books that are based on presenting it factually.”

She smiled and understanding flitted across her features.

He touched her chin. “You're going to do a wonderful job with my home. I can feel it.”

Chloe’s body stiffened as her eyes zoomed in on his mouth. “Thank you for your confidence in me. I hope I can live up to your expectations.”

Her honesty staggered him. She embodied both subdued confidence and candidness, an intriguing and captivating combination.

“I can't promise you that working for me will be easy, but I can promise you that I won't give up on you, and that I won't entrust anyone else except you with this mission.”

The optimism on her face filled his head with salacious thoughts of the different ways he wanted to have her.
If
he was going to have her, he reminded himself. Before anything else was to happen, they needed to concentrate on the job at hand. That was the only way they would learn to trust one another. Then, maybe later, the pleasure would come.

“Shall we discuss payment?” he brought up the subject cautiously, remembering how his first offer was rebuffed so vehemently.

“Yes, I suppose we should. I’ve never done this before so I’m not sure …” she stopped herself.

“What is it?”

“This is where my inexperience comes to play. I apologize for my lack of professionalism. I realize now I should’ve researched what the going rates are for someone starting out.”

Taking her hand, he led her back down the stairs to the dining room table where he pulled out a chair for her.

"There's no research needed,
Minou
. I'll be paying you what I was going to pay
D. Mo
.," he said with a smile and a wink.

Chloe's face paled and she stammered, "I can't …
no
. I … I can't accept that. That's too much."

"You don't even know how much it is," he laughed.

"True, but I'm positive it's more than a novice deserves."

"Why are you so quick to sell yourself short? Don't you believe in your talent?" he questioned, putting her on the spot. "You've already shown me that you see in this house what I see. That to me means more than any amount of money you could ask for. This," he waved his hand, "is my legacy—the thing I'll leave to my children if I ever have any, and will represent me to my friends and family. Your work should reflect the same thing. Mine does. I take pride in absolutely everything I put out into the world creatively. And I never sell myself short. I'm worth the big bucks that my company pays me because I sweat blood and tears to turn other people's visions into reality."

Chloe's lips parted but no words came. When she remained silent, he stood and retrieved the check he had previously written to her. Sliding it across the table toward her, she swallowed noisily.

"This is only slightly more than the initial deposit that I paid to Indulgent Designs."

“Thank you, Sir,” she murmured, then immediately caught herself.

But she was too late.

The word was still ringing in his ears, making his cock twitch in his jeans. When her eyes darted to his and she gave him an apologetic smile, his heart rate spiked.

It looked as if their little experiment in pleasure might happen sooner rather than later. But before that could happen, he had to first admit that his motives had been less than forthcoming.

*

“I was under the impression you could follow a simple request. That’s three times now you’ve gone against what I asked.”

Logan's austere yet softly spoken statement hung in the air like a thick mist as he held his hand out to her.

“I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but pleasure comes in many forms. Sometimes it's in the obvious way, but sometimes it comes in the form of pain," he explained, glancing at her quickly. "But, like I said, I'm not a sadist. To that end, there's something about your continued use of a title that I strictly reserve for my bedroom that pushes my buttons. If I was one of those types of men that you've read about, living that lifestyle that you alluded to earlier, I would punish you. But, since I'm not, well, where does that leave me? What action should I take?”

Chloe’s eyes widened. The look on his face was both frightening and electrifying. And his words,
bedroom, buttons being pushed, pleasure
, made her thoughts a jumbled mess. Only a moment before she was thinking about where she would place his risqué furniture, and now this?

"Why do you have to take any action?"

A wily grin spread across his rugged and stubbly face. "I suppose I don’t. But, I’m a mathematical man, Chloe, and a firm believer in Newton’s Third Law: for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Broken down, that law simply states that in every interaction, there is a pair of forces acting on the two interacting objects. Forces always come in pairs,
Minou
—equal and opposite action-reaction force pairs. Obviously, we’re the objects,” he said as he stared directly into her eyes, causing a rush of blood to throb between her legs. “And, clearly, the equal and opposing forces between our pairing has caused a bit of push and pull. I’m sure you feel it—I know I do. How that translates to me is that our little interaction needs balance to be restored.”

Logan could talk math all day long as far as Chloe was concerned, so long as his piercing blue eyes stayed focused on her. A long, hard blink did little to clear her thoughts, but she found the courage to speak again.

“What do you plan on doing to me?”

“Absolutely nothing unless I have your complete trust,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with some unknown secret.

Could he be any more vague?
With his hand hovering in front of her, she wondered if she should run in the opposite direction or accept his lead. How could she give him her trust, let alone her
complete trust
, when she didn’t know him, and when he hadn’t stated his intentions?

He smiled down at her. “I’m glad to see you’re thinking this through. You should. Trust is a hard thing to give and receive. And," he paused, with brows furrowed and his hand dropping to his side, "I haven’t been completely honest with you."

The frown that tipped his lips downward made her heart sink. She had no idea what he had been dishonest about, but she didn't have to wonder long.

"When I offered you this job, I had ulterior designs," he whispered with a tone of regret.

She was initially confused, but the realization that she had been taken quickly set in. A lump formed in her throat and all she could see was red.
Of course this was too good to be true.

“Please, hear me out,” he quickly added, when she stood quickly and her face flushed with anger.

Calmly, he placed his hand on her elbow. She had half a mind to pull away from him and chew his ass out, but, once again, his convincing touch was more than she could resist. She kept her gaze to the floor and didn’t dare look into his deceptive eyes.

With gentle pressure, he pushed her back into the chair. "I'm only admitting this to you because I despise dishonesty. And, I'm attracted to you.
Immensely
. Clearly, you can see that." She glanced up to see him tucking his hands into his pockets. "Just to be clear: I have no doubt that you can do the job you're being paid for, and my motives were only aimed at getting to know you
on a personal level
," he emphasized, his eyes riveted on her "I hoped we would get friendly
,
but I never assumed that was a given."

Pulling out the chair across from her, he seated himself as he continued to plead his case. “I apologize for lying to you. After my first proposition went south, I thought it would be better to get you here and then see where things went.”

As if disappointed in himself, he shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. His look of repentance was so genuine, the anger she had felt only a minute before began to wane.

“I really want this opportunity,” she spoke up. "And …," she trailed off. She despised dishonesty as well, but to be completely truthful with him in what she wanted—
more—
seemed absurd
seeing
as
things were only just beginning, and she didn't actually know how much more she wanted. “Don't lie to me again, Logan.”