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  Getting a tattoo would probably cause his mother to have some sort of nervous breakdown, but he knew it was time to take control of his life. He’d long since known he was something of a disappointment to them. He never could conform to their wishes and do exactly what they expected of him.

  He’d made sure any unusual...activities he enjoyed were conducted behind locked doors. No one had ever heard so much as a whisper of his name within a club or leather store. No one knew he’d not only been with women, but men as well, though he’d always preferred the former when it came to relationships outside the scene. No one knew he was a Dominant in the bedroom as well as in the boardroom.

  He’d waited until his career was no longer under his late father’s shadow to become his own person in truth. His dominant personality helped to fast track his career so that by the time he hit thirty, it was no longer a question of how his father would have done it, but now about what Morgan wanted. When he’d turned forty, he decided it was time to make his personal life his own. And he would do his best to ensure that his life did not have a negative impact on his mother and sisters.

  So he’d get his tattoo that he could easily cover up. And he would enjoy the pain since he was the one who usually dispensed such sweet ecstasy.

  That thought brought with it the image of Callie on her knees and the memory of the spark in her eyes. Hmm. Maybe she wasn’t quite so innocent. He’d felt the submissive in her, so maybe that part wasn’t quite so suppressed and hidden. Maybe he wouldn’t have to tempt her too far and she’d come willingly into his arms and into his bed. The thought of Callie in restraints and a blindfold caused warmth to pool at the base of his cock.

  No.

  Damn it. He needed to stop thinking like this.

  Jesus, he didn’t know what was wrong with him. Usually it didn’t take so much effort to forget about a woman. Yeah, that sounded like an asshole thing to say, but none of the women he’d been with had thought about him more than what he could do for them. Whether it was his bank account, the women his mother wanted him to be with or the dominance he wielded over the women in his nightlife, none of them were ever allowed to know the real Morgan.

  He’d done that on purpose, but now he’d reached a point where he’d never felt lonelier; maybe it was time to find someone who cared about him. Someone he could actually grow older with. At forty, the idea of raising babies and chasing children in the yard might not be as easy as it could have been when he was younger, but he could be happy.

  Couldn’t he?

  Callie’s face came to mind again and he cursed. She wasn’t right for him. This also wasn’t about where she’d fit in within his society. He didn’t give a flying fuck if the person he fell for had a closet full cocktail dresses and ball gowns. He didn’t care if they went to galas and knew about the lives of society’s inner circles. He didn’t want the perfect society wife. His mother might spend most of her days pushing that exact woman on him, but that didn’t mean he would accept her.

  Callie was wrong for him because of her age. She was not only too young for him, but she probably hadn’t lived as much as he had in her few short years. He didn’t want to tarnish an innocent with the dark needs that lived inside him.

  He would continue to hold her at arm’s length and keep her out of his thoughts.

  Sure, like that was working for him, but he would keep trying.

  “Morgan? You got time for a quick chat?” Sam, his friend and co-worker said as he walked into Morgan’s office.

  Morgan nodded and released his grip on the desk. Thoughts of Callie were messing with his job and he would put an end to that in one swift move.

  “What can I do for you, Sam?” He had always liked Sam. Morgan wasn’t close to a lot of people, including Sam and Austin, but he felt comfortable around the other man. Sam didn’t know about Morgan’s personal life beyond the glitter and the family responsibilities Morgan let the world see, but that was okay. Only Austin, his friend Decker, and a few others knew what Morgan really did behind closed doors. And that was because they, too, had secrets of their own.

  “Are you going to the gala this weekend?” Sam asked as he sat down across from Morgan. The two chairs in front of the desk were slightly lower than Morgan’s own and he held back a smile. Call it petty, but Morgan liked the subtle way that gave him leverage. Whoever sat in those chairs would always be at a lower level than Morgan, giving him the slight psychological edge. He might not ever need it, but it never hurt to show the others they would never be on an even playing field.

  He was damn good at his job and he would make sure everyone knew it.

  Sam’s words drifted to him and he frowned. “Gala?” He mentally flipped through his schedule and knew for a fact he didn’t have a date then. No, he had his third consult with Callie and her gentle hands actually.

  He held back a groan. Best not to think about those hands anywhere on his body when he was at work. Or at home. Or ever.

  Fuck. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do tonight either considering he had his second consult with her so she could show him sketches and get a feel for his back. He wanted to actually start the tattoo the night of the gala. His cock hardened at the thought of her. Shit. He wasn’t going to last long at this rate.

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Figured you’d get out of it. It’s the Clemhouse Foundation’s annual art gala. This time I think the proceeds go to inner city art programs or something like that. You went last year; I know since I was there too.”

  Morgan nodded. He remembered the previous year. He hated events like that. Rich people got dressed up in silks and diamonds and paraded around, showing one another up all in the pretense of helping the less fortunate. He much preferred to donate directly to the cause and even roll up his sleeves and help out, even though his mother felt working with one’s hands was beneath their social class. He’d helped build homes, cleaned up parks, and did other manual labor.

  Going to a gala so people could stare at him and wonder when he’d finally take a wife and create an heir for his vast fortune wasn’t on his top list of things to do.

  “No, I’m not going this year.” He’d donated directly to the foundation’s projects already. That way he knew where the money went without having to deal with people. “I have an appointment anyway.”

  “An appointment?” Sam asked. His brow rose. “What kind of appointment would you have on a Friday night? Got a hot date?”

  Yes, but not exactly how I want it.

  Morgan gave Sam a bland look. “Not a date, but I’m not doing the gala either.” He could have rescheduled with Callie since it was tentative anyway. They’d put it down on the calendar just in case they were ready after tonight’s meeting. If he really needed to go to the gala, he would have; he just didn’t want to.

  He wanted Callie.

  “Wish you were,” Sam mumbled. “I hate going to those things without you there. Sally gets a bit crazy with all the preparations and then I have to act like I’m interested.” Sally was Sam’s ‘plastic and perfect’ wife. Like most of the people in Morgan’s realm, they had been brought together within the proper circles and married young. Morgan figured Sam had loved Sally at one time, but not any longer.

  Sam’s wandering eye had gotten him in trouble with married women, and Morgan had put a distance between himself and his friend. Sally didn’t care about the affairs though, because she had a slew of young men in her sheets…and between her legs. They were the typical moneyed couple. They married because it was expected, had children to continue the dynasty, and sent those children to boarding school to be raised to carry on the proper traditions and produce future heirs. Sam and Sally didn’t love each other beyond a few good memories in their youth and spent most of their time staying out of each other’s way.

  Sally had even approached Morgan a time or two, her blatant flirting sickening him. He’d never told Sam about the time Sally had grabbed his cock through his pants and purred in his ear about how she desired a love
r to make her feel like the naughty young girl she was.

  Morgan closed his eyes, swallowing back the bile. Maybe it was time to make some new friends.

  “You’re so lucky you’re not married,” Sam said, bringing Morgan out of his thoughts. Well, if being married meant treating the other person like an unwelcome relative then cheating on them every time one had a chance, then no, Morgan did not want to be married.

  “To each their own,” Morgan responded. He let out a sigh and ran his hand over his face. “Was there something you wanted beyond knowing if I was going to the gala?”

  “No,” Sam answered. “That was pretty much it. Sally and I will be there of course, so if you change your mind, you’ll see familiar faces.”

  He nodded. Although he didn’t agree with the way Sam lived, he and Sally never hurt each other behaving as they did. They’d gone into their relationship knowing what the future held. At least that’s what Sam told him one drunken night over a bottle of cognac. Morgan couldn’t judge what he didn’t understand, but that didn’t mean he had to live it with them.

  “Thanks for letting me know. I don’t plan on going, but if something happens, then I’ll see you there.”

  Sam nodded and they talked about business for a few more minutes before he left Morgan to his own devices. He still had to do a few things around the office before he could head to Montgomery Ink to see Callie.

  Damn. Maybe he should rephrase that as going to his consult. Less likely for him to imagine fucking her over the bench that way.

  Sort of.

  “Morgan. There you are.”

  Morgan closed his eyes and sat very still. Maybe, if he didn’t move, she wouldn’t see him. He remembered the only time his mother managed to drag him to a movie premiere—The Devil Wears Prada. It struck him as more than coincidence that the character Miranda Priestly could have been his mother incarnate.

  “Why on earth are you chuckling with your eyes closed? You’re at work, for God’s sake. Act like your father and not some heathen.”

  He sighed, then looked up. “Hello, Mother. To what do I owe this visit?”

  She narrowed her eyes, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows not moving an inch thanks to the previous week’s Botox party. A Botox party for Christ’s sake. What would his mother think of next in the never-ending battle against the effects of aging?

  “I would have called, but your secretary never puts me through. I’m your Mother; he should show some respect.”

  Morgan leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together over his chest. “Timothy is my administrative assistant, not my secretary. And when you call, you shout at him to give the phone to your son, no matter what meeting I’m in. I do call back when I can, Mother, but this is a business, as you never cease to remind me.”

  “Your father’s business,” she snapped.

  He ignored the ache at his temples just like he ignored the one across his heart at her words. He’d never be good enough for her, never be his father, but he’d long since given up trying.

  “It’s mine now, Mother. It would do you well to remember that. Now, tell me why you’re here,” he added before she could snap at him again.

  “I’m here to tell you about Heather, your date.”

  Ah, another woman who was suitable for Morgan according to the McAllister standards, and handpicked by his mother.

  Another woman Morgan wanted no part of.

  Callie’s face flashed in his mind yet again and he forced himself to push it away. He was stronger than this damn it. He wouldn’t think about her again.

  “No.”

  His mother waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture. “Oh stop being so difficult. Heather is a nice woman. She’s a McKinley, their youngest in fact. The others were already snapped up but she’s now ready for society and the pressures of being a society wife. She’s trained in her duties and will be fine with your wandering eye if that’s what it comes to. She’s not in it for love, but for your name. If you want to have a few daisies on the side, then keep it quiet. Your father always did. You’re not getting any younger and I need grandchildren.”

  Morgan ground his teeth. There were so many things wrong with what his mother had just said, he didn’t know where to start. This wasn’t the first woman she’d paraded around him. No, Heather was the latest in an endless line of perfectly sculpted women with even more perfect backgrounds. He wanted no part of that life. His sisters lived it. His mother had. He would not hurt the woman he married. He wouldn’t be the man his father had been. While his mother never acted hurt over his father’s affairs, Morgan knew better.

  “You have grandchildren, Mother.” There. He’d start with the easiest part.

  “Your sisters have children and I play the doting grandmother.”

  Playing a doting grandmother? Yes, and she deserved an Oscar for her performance.

  “You need an heir, Morgan. Our family legacy cannot and will not end with you.”

  They’d had this argument countless times before. “My sisters’ children will be well provided for no matter what children I bring into the world. We aren’t in the ducal system in England. Stop trying to put your pressures on me.”

  His mother scowled. “You’ll never amount to what he wanted for you.”

  He nodded. “True, because I never wanted to.”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. “Just go to the gala, Morgan. Take Heather with you. It needs to be done for the family. I don’t ask much of you.”

  “You ask everything of me,” he countered, then the guilt that came with his family started to creep in. “What is so important about going on Friday with Heather?”

  His mother’s eyes flashed in triumph.

  Shit.

  “She’s part of a family we are friends with. It would be good to quell the rumors about your lack of wife to at least be seen with her. You won’t have to marry her, just one night of being seen together should work.”

  He’d heard the rumors but they were so far from the truth, he didn’t care. They thought he was impotent or just didn’t care for marriage at all. There were no rumors about what he liked in his submissives or what he looked for in a woman or a man for that matter.

  Callie came to mind again and he sighed. If he thought about her one more time, he’d agree to go with Heather. He needed to scrub thoughts of the woman he could never have from his mind. Going out with a woman he wanted nothing to do with would help.

  He only had to stop thinking about Callie and then he’d not have to deal with either of them.

  Doable.

  Maybe.

  Chapter Three

  Callie was going to come. Or at least she hoped she would because this aching feeling wouldn’t go away. She arched her back, pushing her head into the pillow so she’d get a better angle. She was in that happy-warm post-nap state and didn’t want to fully wake up—not when she had visions of the sexy Morgan McAllister on her brain.

  She imagined his hands on her hips, slowly running down her sides and then back up. His hands would be large, warm, and calloused, not smooth and silky. Morgan lowered his head, kissing down her chest in the valley between her breasts, teasing her.

  She loved to be teased—not that she’d tell Morgan that. He’d have to find that out all on his own. Morgan licked down her body, laving her belly button before going over the soft roundness of her stomach. She’d never been too skinny and had the curves of a woman who loved her body. The Morgan of her dreams cherished it, told her he loved each and every inch of her. His dream self sucked the hood of her clit; she pressed the palm of her hand on her clit, trying to mimic the pressure he’d give her. He had a sexy mouth and she had a feeling he’d know exactly what to do with it when he was going down on her. He’d show her how talented he was with each lick, each nibble, each suck.

  She ran two fingers around her entrance, then slowly inserted them, her body slick and ready. She was already on the edge just by dreaming of him and with only a few touches, she’
d come.

  Empty and wanting, but she’d come.

  She fucked herself with her own fingers while grinding the heel of her hand on her clit. All the while, she imagined the touches as Morgan and not herself. She could have used one of her vibrators but she didn’t want to feel anything but skin, not when she was imagining Morgan that afternoon.

  Cursing herself when she couldn’t quite reach that spot within herself, she increased the pace, dreaming of Morgan fucking her hard with those large fingers of his. She could imagine the rasp of his stubble on the inside of her thighs and on her freshly shaved pussy. That thought sent a delicious shiver down her back as she pushed over the edge. Her feet slammed on the bed, her toes curling into her sheets. She gasped his name as her channel clamped around her fingers. Her orgasm rocked her fast then drifted slowly, leaving a blush and sheen of sweat on her skin.

  She lay lax on the bed, one hand in her panties and the other up her shirt cupping her breast. Her breathing finally came down to normal and she relaxed into the bed.

  Well that was one way to wake up from an afternoon nap.

  It probably would have been better if Morgan had actually been there and it wasn’t just her hand, but that would never happen. She slowly removed her hands from her body and sighed when she turned to look at the clock. Well crud. She had to wake up fully now and take a shower if she was going to make it back to the shop.

  With a sigh, she rolled out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom so she could wash the scent of her orgasm off her body. There was no way she’d walk into the shop—let alone work with Morgan—when she smelled of her own arousal. Not the best way to remain professional. What the hell was she saying? She’s just gotten her rocks off by thinking of the man. There was no way she’d be able to look him in the eye and not remember her dream. Not remember the way his lips sucked on her clit and her pussy.