She fell back a step, as if his statement had physically shoved her. “Collar?” she choked. There was no bigger wake-up call. She knew nothing about this world, and while she may have suffered from a brief episode of insanity, that one word had effectively cured her.
Suddenly, Jonah was standing in front of her, shirtless, radiating harsh masculinity. Caroline quickly averted her eyes, worried that if she glimpsed his matching expression, her resolve to hightail it out of there might slip. “If you think you can walk out of here and forget what just happened, you’re lying to yourself.” He took a step closer. “It was incredible, sweetheart, and I haven’t even let myself fuck you yet.”
“Let yourself? Yet?” As if it were a whim he’d neglected to indulge but planned to act on whenever the next occasion arose? She latched onto that statement, let it fuel her anger. “I told you there wouldn’t be a next time, so I guess you’re going to have to go fuck yourself.”
“There will be a next time.” Jonah’s fingers curled around her jaw, and he leaned close to her upturned face. “You called me your master, Caroline. It’s still ringing in my skull. You remember what I told you?”
“It is just a word,” she gritted out, wondering why she felt a tiny shred of doubt.
He laughed under his breath. “It’s going to be my pleasure proving you wrong. Over and over.”
Ignoring the awareness creeping into her belly, Caroline jerked her chin out of his hand and stormed out of the room without looking back.
Chapter Five
“Explain to me again why you’re suddenly so interested in my latest business deal?”
Jonah settled back into the seat of his friend Asher Laurie’s town car and paused in the action of fastening his seat belt. “What? No ‘good morning’?”
Asher’s gaze narrowed on him. “Honestly, Briggs, it’s eight o’clock in the morning. Much too early for me to attempt cracking your mystery codes. Just give me a hint as to why you’ve developed a keen interest in my acquisition of Preston’s. I don’t want any surprises in this meeting. It’s too important.”
Jonah merely smiled and took a sip from his paper coffee cup. It certainly paid to have friends in high places. Friends who were just as grateful to know him when they needed a certain itch scratched discreetly. Being that he rarely called in any of those favors from his friends, including Asher, he figured an explanation of his behavior this morning was unnecessary. No, his reason would remain his own, and it comprised of one simple thing:
Caroline Preston.
Asher was currently angling for a possible merger with Preston’s, her family’s financial magazine. The merge would combine several of Asher’s magazines into one and give it a forbidden edge, targeting the wealthy, adventurous, and open-minded. Much like Jonah’s own clientele. Preston’s was actually in danger of folding without the merger, a fact that had troubled him more than he cared to admit, wondering how drastically it would affect Caroline.
Three days had passed since their encounter. Since watching her run away like a herd of buffalo was stampeding after her, not an hour had passed that the thought of her didn’t arise. But while seeing her again was a major priority, he had his personal interests to protect as well.
He should have guessed she’d be a damn journalist. A brilliant, insightful one at that. After the bar’s credit card system had yielded her last name, Preston, one Internet search had generated dozens of articles, written by her or about her, popping up on the screen. Jesus, he’d actually gotten rock hard reading one of her articles about commodities trading. He’d imagined her reading the words next to his ear, wearing those snobby glasses, those delicious lips occasionally brushing against his neck.
Unfortunately, on the heels of finding out what Caroline did for a living, he’d developed a pretty strong idea of why she’d been at Serve on Friday evening—an idea verified when Asher confirmed her intentions over the phone. It wouldn’t be the first time a journalist stepped foot inside Serve, but it would be the first time one made it upstairs without at least signing a confidentiality agreement. That was entirely on him. Not that he would change a single thing about Friday night, apart from her abrupt disappearance. But she wouldn’t be getting away with it quite so easily, either.
If she meant to run an article about Serve in order to gauge readers’ tastes, he meant to have input. Six months ago, he wouldn’t have given a shit. He paid his taxes and followed safety codes to the letter. Nothing could touch him.
That was then. Back before he’d been blindsided by the news that he had a daughter. A daughter he might never meet, thanks to his profession. Not that he wasn’t trying like hell. Had been since the day he found out.