Chapter 1
The whole thing was meant to be a joke.
I wrote the book as a Christmas gift for my closest friends: it was way too dirty to send to anyone else. My best buds believed it to be pure fiction (and why wouldn’t they?) and that was exactly how I planned it. How many of them would believe that the kinky man in my book was someone I had actually met, the man who took my virginity, who made me an indecent proposition, who wouldn’t get out of my head no matter how hard I tried to kick him to the curb?
I had met Ian Blackmon, gorgeous CEO-extraordinaire, by pure and accidental chance. At the time, I was in my last year of college, and my friend Mariah had helped me snag an excellent part-time job in an upscale boutique. Trying to get me ready for the job interview—me, the girl who shops at Target (pronouncing it Tar-zhay to give it panache)—was a comedy of errors in and of itself.
“Okay,” Mariah said, holding up a pair of platform patent-leather high heels, “what designer?”
“Jimmy Chow?”
“Choo. Jimmy Choo—Jimmy Chow’s is a restaurant— and, no. They’re Louboutins! For God’s sake, Ella, pay attention. What about these?” She held up a pair of low, very pointy slingbacks.
“I know this,” I yelled, snapping my fingers. “Those are Manolo Blahniks!”
“Right! There’s hope for you yet. Okay, let’s move on. What about this skirt?”
And it went on all evening long, with one break for yummy thin-crust pizza. By the end of the night, I had my upscale designers down pat. Then it was time to score some pricey clothes on eBay. For the interview itself, Mariah lent me her red Stella McCartney suit and I somehow managed to dupe the owner and snare the job. Woohoo.
It was on a Friday night, just before closing, when he walked in, commanding the small shop without even trying. I was at the register, collating the cash receipts and filling out my timesheet, when the door tinkled open and in strode the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. I had never heard of Ian Blackmon, new to Portland as I was, so when he handed over his credit card to pay for the pricey necklace he hastily selected, I had no idea who he was. Didn’t matter anyway.
He’d come in with purpose, as if on a strict time schedule.
“Good evening, I’m shopping for a gift. Jewelry, perhaps.”
My knees were shaking so much they were bruising one another. I cobbled together as much courage as I could. “Please step this way,” I managed, leading him to the corner glass display where we kept our mostly costume jewelry. He peered carefully at the selection and quickly zeroed in on one he favored.
He never asked the price on anything but then, so many of our customers don’t. Asking the price of items is gauche when you have money to fritter away. The cost of this particular necklace was astonishingly stratospheric at three thousand dollars for costume jewelry, but it was a designer piece.
“May I see those two as well, please?” He gazed at me when he addressed me and I couldn’t help but be affected by his overall beauty and focus.
Working in the pricey shop for the past two months, I’d managed to acquire some small amount of grace while in the company of affluent, important people… so why my knees were knocking together just because I was standing in front of this man was an enduring mystery. One would think that I’d never set eyes on a perfect human being before.
He was wearing an espresso-brown suit, elegantly tailored and so dark it was almost black, brown wingtips, crisp white shirt, and a silver tie. Mmm, edible was the first word that sprang to an inquiring mind.
“Yes, of course.” I carefully removed each piece from its display, willing my fingers not to visibly tremble, and set them, side by side, on a black velvet tray. One was sterling set with onyx and the other two had amethyst stones. All three were very pretty and very expensive.
“Hmm. Which one do you like?” he asked me, looking up from the jewelry to my face. Wow, his eyes were light and beautiful, fringed as they were by his lush, dark lashes. Would he think me rude if I gripped him by the ears, dragged his face to mine, and made out with him over the counter? Shaking my head to dispel the image, I tried to answer his question intelligently, all the while staring at his lips.
“All three are quite stunning,” I said, wondering if he could hear my pounding heartbeat. “What color does your wife favor?”
“It’s for my sister and she wears a lot of bright colors, pinks and purples, in the main; I guess the amethyst then?”
“Probably a sure bet if purple’s a favorite color.”
“Yes, I think this one,” he pointed to the nicer of the two. “Please giftwrap it; I’m running late and I almost forgot her birthday,” he said as he handed me his credit card.