INV 2 - An Invitation, Ariel's Pet Read online

  Off balance, Dane bumped up against the arm of the sofa and fell onto the cushions. He snagged one of her wrists and pulled her with him.

  The tussle was brief.

  Hands scrabbled for purchase; hips rubbed against hips while they each fought for control of the keys; bodies pressed together, draped over one another.

  Arousal seeped past the anger that drove her. Surprise halted her struggle for a moment, long enough to allow Dane to shift into a seated position on the sofa and leave Ariel draped, belly down, over his lap. Determined not to let him keep the keys, she drove her elbow into his hip, narrowly missing his privates.

  Dane grunted. A curse slipped from his lips. His hand landed on her bottom with a solid thwap.

  “Ow!” she screeched and twisted in his hold but was unable to get loose. He pushed her hands aside when she tried to cover her bottom.

  Two more swats, one to each cheek, and Dane rolled her off his lap and onto the floor.

  Sprawled over his sneakered feet, Ariel was unsure how to react. She didn't know if she should be pissed or offended. He hadn't hit her hard, just enough to get his point across. Worse yet, her body sent aberrant signals to her brain. It flashed pictures in her mind of the images from his Web site. Determined to ignore the arousal that smoldered deep inside her, she glared up at him.

  Heat darkened his blue eyes as he met her gaze and propped his elbows on his knees. “I'm staying. Nothing you try will make me leave until your big sister waltzes through the front door in twenty-seven days.” He leaned over farther and tapped her nose with his left forefinger. “It's time to grow up and act like an adult instead of a temperamental two-year-old, Ariel. You may 18

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  not like the situation, but you'd better learn to deal with it. This is the only warning you'll get, little girl.”

  “Where the hell do you get off telling me what I need to do?”

  He watched her struggle to button her jacket. “You don't get it, do you?”

  “Get what?” She huffed and shoved at the coffee table that pinned her close to his legs.

  “How long did you think it would last?” His expression seemed to reflect a combination of disbelief and…pity.

  A knot formed in her stomach; it quashed the growing desire. She didn't want to know what he hinted at, but at the same time she couldn't stop herself from asking, “How long, what?

  Your words don't make sense.”

  The fingers of his left hand traced her cheek, then eased around to cup her chin. “This little cocoon you and your sister built around yourselves. Your attempt to keep the world out and the two of you in. It had to crack sometime. I happened to be the catalyst.”

  Ariel swallowed. She fought the shiver that snaked its way up her spine and the smell of him that clouded her mind. He wasn't supposed to be nice. Not after spanking her. Not after the things she'd done to him. “No. That's crazy.”

  “Alayna chose to leave. I'm here. Nothing crazy about that.”

  Ariel slapped his hand away and clambered to her feet. “I hate you.”

  He didn't flinch or bother to respond. He rose from the couch and crossed the room to the desk. A glance at his watch and he added, “You might want to go check those rolls you put in the oven.”

  Ariel didn't bother to say anything, but the walls rattled from the force of the slammed door as she exited. Her mind swirled with denials and confusion as she pushed into the kitchen.

  It wasn't possible there was any truth to his accusations. It was crazy to think she and Alayna had spent ten years in a self-imposed limbo to keep from being hurt. To not let anyone get close.

  On autopilot, she opened the oven and reached for the tray of rolls. Pain seared her fingertips. She cursed, pulled them back, and reached for a towel. Hands covered, she removed the tray and set it in the rack below the rolls she'd baked earlier.

  I can't think about him now. Not now. Focus on the food. That's all I need to do. Ariel breathed in and out. She ignored the curious stares from DeeDee and Sadie as they called in orders to her. Later. I'll take care of it later.

  * * *

  Day 5

  Two days later Dane had accepted the state of armistice that existed between Ariel and him. Nothing happened to keep him from the billing. No pranks. No confrontations. For the most part, Ariel simply avoided him.

  He didn't count on it lasting. Ariel was sure to come up with some trick to establish her superior role at the café, but there hadn't been any blatant sabotage of the computer or the paperwork since their last scene in the office.

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  It didn't mean she was polite or that she welcomed him with open arms. Oh hell no. The snippy comments and lethal glares she directed toward him every time he crossed the threshold of the café spoke eloquently enough of her determination to see the last of him, but she seemed to have resigned herself to his presence for the next twenty-five days.

  Her tendency to buzz around him while he worked on the finances or orders reminded him of an annoying mosquito on a muggy summer day. Or more like the way the little cartoon fairy acted toward the villainous pirate in Peter Pan. He grinned. When he considered the machinations he'd put in place to force Logan to face his fears, wouldn't it be ironic if Dane had to suffer his own form of sexual torture? His personal, life-size pixie for a pest? Curvy, sexy, and too damned determined to use her pixie dust to fuck with him when he'd rather she simply fuck him.

  It wasn't difficult to imagine. Ariel probably spent hours every night coming up with plots and various ways to irritate him. Dane was determined not to let her get the best of him. As a result of his patience with the brat, he'd spent more time than intended with the records that afternoon. A gurgle of protest sounded from his stomach—a reminder that he'd missed lunch.

  “Hey, Dane, can I get you anything before Sadie and I take off?” DeeDee asked as she leaned in the doorway.

  The soft swells of her breasts pressed against the white blouse tucked into her black skirt.

  Dane wasn't oblivious to the fact that the woman's skirt was shorter than the one she'd worn the previous day. The higher hem exposed a pair of sexy, long legs left naked and colored by a light golden tan. He shook his head. “No, don't worry about it. I'll grab a bite on my way home.” He watched a pout of disappointment cross her lips. She'd flirted and teased for the last few days.

  Any other time the girl's interest might have tempted him, but not now. There was no way he'd walk into that trap. “You have a good night, though.”

  “You too.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave, then turned and left with a distinct sway in her hips.

  “I take one step in DeeDee's direction, and the pixie will go for blood,” Dane muttered and turned his attention back to the papers on the desk.

  But his stomach wouldn't listen to reason as it bubbled and growled to be filled. Dane pulled his glasses off, and put them on top of the papers he set aside, before he pushed the chair back and stood up. A pat to his left front pocket confirmed the keys to the desk and file cabinets were still there.

  Not sure what he'd be able to find in the kitchen with all the provisions stored away, Dane pushed through the door and stepped inside. Ariel didn't appear to be around, but he was sure she was still somewhere in the building. There was no way the woman would allow him to be alone in the café without her supervision.

  From the two brief forays he'd made into the kitchen, Dane had a rough idea where the majority of the foodstuffs were stored. It only took him a few minutes to assemble two sandwiches and put everything back in its place.

  Dane added a small bag of chips and a soda before he picked up the plate and turned toward the door.

  “The kitchen's closed.” Ariel glowered at him from the doorway.

  He ignored her taunt and instead asked, “Did you see Sadie and DeeDee out?”

  She didn't respond to his query. “I don't like people messing around in my kitchen.”


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  “You don't like people messing around with anything of yours, Ariel.” He lifted the plate and showed her the contents. “I only used a few things.”

  Ariel didn't ask for permission before she reached out and took one of the sandwich halves from his plate. She pulled the top piece of bread off and inventoried the ingredients. “Wheatberry bread, roasted turkey breast,” she muttered. “Is this sliced Parmesan?”

  “Yes.” Dane subdued the inclination to grin at the intent inspection Ariel made of the sandwich. “It's a good thing I made two.”

  Ariel lifted a red tipped green leaf from the stack. “Lettuce?”

  “Red leaf,” Dane clarified.

  She eyed him as if his choice of greens was a mystery in want of solving. “Why? Why not green-leaf lettuce? Or iceberg? Or even romaine?” she quizzed him.

  Dane set his plate down and stepped close. Taking the leaf from her, he held it up to her lips. “Taste.”

  Her gaze remained on him while he watched her nip a piece of the lettuce from his fingertips and chewed. “Crisp, but I think it requires more,” she observed.

  “More what?” He looked from the opened sandwich in her hands to her face.

  “Flavor. Zest.” She carried the sandwich to the counter and looked through several containers. “Yes.” The lettuce was discarded, and other greens replaced it.

  “Spinach?” he asked skeptically, peeking over her shoulder at the rounded leaves she layered onto the meat and cheese.

  “Baby spinach,” she corrected, then put a leaf to her lips and took a nibble. “Try.” As she looked up at him, Ariel held the leaf near his mouth.

  He couldn't read her, but the way she cocked an eyebrow at his delay showed her attitude of triumph. Dane wasn't about to concede to her challenge. He held her gaze, hesitating only for a moment before he leaned down, nipped off a piece of the greenery, and chewed. “Tangy,” he admitted.

  “The perfect complement to the Parmesan.” Her tone held conviction and confidence, despite the fact that she hadn't taken a bite of the sandwich.

  Dane nodded, then took the reassembled sandwich from her hands and held it to her lips.

  “How can you be sure if you haven't tasted it yet?”

  It was Ariel's turn to hesitate. Her gaze was steady on him before she opened her mouth.

  She bit off a chunk, making sure to get a sample from all the ingredients. Her eyes closed. She chewed slowly, as if to evaluate the textures and flavors as they blended on her tongue.

  Dane could almost sense the various components of the sandwich by the expressions on her face. The turkey was mellow, smooth on her tongue from the way her lips softened and a smile quirked the corners. The tiny furrow between her eyebrows signaled the subtle bite from the Parmesan as it enhanced the flavor of the turkey. The crisp tang of the spinach blended with the Parmesan. The heat of the spicy sauce he'd found in a bowl and used as a spread for his sandwich filled her cheeks with the slightest flush.

  Watching her eat could easily become an exercise in seduction, Dane decided. Her absorption in the tastes that filled her mouth was almost sexual in nature. Her entire focus centered on the texture and zest of the food she consumed. Her body seemed to quiver in anticipation of the next flavor to burst over her tongue. The way her features reflected the An Invitation: Ariel's Pet

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  emotions aroused by the essence of each ingredient. Her lips parted slightly to pull breath into her mouth, an attempt to enhance the heat and burn of the peppers in the sauce. It made him swallow, desperate to wet his suddenly dry throat. He could feel his body sway close to hers, smell the mingled scents of the sandwich ingredients and a hint of cinnamon and spice as she exhaled.

  Her voice was soft, sensual when she finally spoke. “The Parmesan works well—not too mild, not too sharp.” She opened her eyes, the green the shade of a deep primal forest. Her expression grew uneasy as she continued to watch him.

  Dane knew his eyes were focused on her mouth, the way her tongue slipped out to lick away the bit of seasoned spread caught in the corner of her lips. He could see her breath hitch, her body respond to the sensual expression he was sure suffused his face. It seemed to put her off balance, to distract her enough that she required a moment to collect her thoughts, perhaps to even calm her stirred emotions. She glanced at the bowl she'd left on the counter. “You used my red pepper sauce.”

  “Is that a crime?” His voice was low, almost husky in the quiet of the kitchen.

  She seemed determined to fight any attraction she might begin to feel for him; her body swayed toward him, but she drew a breath and stepped away, putting a small pocket of distance between them.

  She watched him slowly raise the sandwich half to his lips and take a bite. His nod and the rumbled hum of appreciation that vibrated through his chest sent a visible shiver through her.

  Dane was sure she'd deny it, but he sensed the heightened interest within her.

  “It's dangerous,” she taunted.

  Dane doubted she meant her warning to be a double entendre. He looked at the remaining bit of sandwich. “Are you saying there's more in your sauce than roasted red peppers and cayenne?”

  “Could be.” She almost seemed to challenge him to eat more.

  “If that was a hint at food allergies, I don't have any.” He popped the last bite into his mouth. After he finished it, he told her, “Your sister warned me about the four accountants she tried to hire a couple of years ago.”

  Heat climbed into her cheeks. “It was three.”

  “Ah yes. Alayna said the fourth one refused to eat in the café after he heard the other three experienced 'reactions' to dishes they ate.”

  She seemed unsure how to interpret his grin. In hindsight, he had to admit that the fact she'd tried to undermine her sister's attempts to hire an accountant after theirs retired seemed to reinforce Alayna's comments about Ariel's aversion to change.

  She fidgeted under his persistent stare, and then Ariel shrugged. “The worst that happened was a bad case of hives.”

  Dane reached for another sandwich half and changed the subject. “Not a bad choice for the spinach.”

  She reached past him, picked up one of the remaining two sandwich halves, and took a bite. “Pair it with a small salad or mixed fruit.”

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  He rested against the counter behind him and finished the sandwich. “A salad or fruit would be good, but I'd go with chips or maybe celery or carrot sticks. You know, something crunchy to go with the soft.” Dane opened the bag of chips and munched on a few.

  She finished her sandwich and leaned closer to try to see the label. “That could work. Plain or even salt and vinegar chips.”

  He turned the bag to show her the type. “Sea salt and cracked black pepper.”

  Ariel's body went stiff, her chin came up, and her arms folded over her chest. Every particle of her being seemed to vibrate with displeasure. She looked up at him, bright blue eyebrows arched. “Who's the chef around here?”

  “You are, I'm—”

  “Just because you wormed your way into handling some of my sister's duties, don't get ideas about horning in on my territory,” she warned as she fidgeted, shifted her feet, and settled her hands on her hips.

  I knew it wouldn't last. Dane resisted the temptation to roll his eyes at her pugnacious attitude. “I'm not. I merely thought sea-salt-and-black-pepper chips would add an extra kick to that sauce you made,” he suggested and kept his tone cool and reasonable.

  “As long as you remember who's in charge here.”

  “In the kitchen, yes.” He crowded closer to her. There didn't appear to be any rationale behind her animosity. It could be her determination to avoid any kind of change. It could stem from the resentment he knew she carried because he was the one to coax her sister away from the café for a month. No matter what the cause of her anger, he'd be damned if he would back down now.

>   Her gaze narrowed. “And out of it.”

  Dane shook his head. “Sorry, doll, but only in the kitchen. I run the rest of this place until your sister gets back.” The fire that flared in her eyes probably matched the one in his gaze.

  “You are not in charge.”

  “If you have any complaints, talk to your sister,” Dane offered, his arms crossed over his chest. “I have no doubt she'll side with me when it comes to who should run the financial side of your café.”

  “Why do you think that? Because you've played on her interest in sexual submission?” The flash of varied emotions in her gaze disappeared, replaced by icy disdain. “And I would contact her, but you seem to have forgotten the rule about no communication with the outside.”

  “Ah, so Alayna did discuss the rules with you.”

  “Rules?” Ariel scoffed. “Prison sentence is more like it. Thirty days trapped at your mansion with no way to contact anyone.”

  Dane shook his head, marveled at Ariel's dogged misinterpretation of the facts. “Not trapped or without a way to contact anyone. Alayna chose to accept the rules for her training, as a submissive is expected to do—”

  “Without the right to think for herself, without being allowed to—”

  “Again you show your ignorance of the D/s life.” The deepened pitch of his voice silenced Ariel. “Negotiation is key between a Dominant and a submissive. Nothing happens until both parties agree and expectations, limitations, and safe words are in place. You have this fanciful notion that Alayna languishes under a whip, bound and helpless beneath the control of some An Invitation: Ariel's Pet

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  faceless, nameless man.” Dane leaned forward, and his tone dropped to a whisper as he held her gaze. “Maybe because that's a particular fantasy of yours? Fostered by a lover who tempted you to push the boundaries you desperately cling to?”

  Resolved to make the little shrew see the errors in her thinking, he continued. “There is a difference between BDSM and D/s, Ariel. Dominance and submission do not require bondage and discipline practices. They are an exercise in trust and control. Leather, whips, ropes to tie a partner up—those can be part of the play, but at its core, a D/s relationship is about an equal exchange of power.”