Exposed and Pleasured
Book three of The Masters series
Lisa Renee Jones
Book store owner Kim Baker has a serious crush on Dr. Blake Morgan—an attraction that only gets stronger when he shows her an erotic book and invites her on a night of sensual exploration at his private club, the Society.
She’s drawn to his sense of power and dominant sexuality…and can’t help but fantasize about being controlled by him in every way. But as Blake teaches Kim to claim her pleasure and lose her inhibitions, he may be the one in danger of losing control….
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter One
“Just what the doctor, er, surgeon ordered,” Kim Baker announced to her customer, setting the cloth-covered, antique book down on the wooden counter of her quaint downtown Houston store “Baker’s Books and Baubles.” She took one look at Dr. Blake Morgan’s milk chocolate eyes, overflowing with mocking amusement, and melted. “Tired of that joke, I assume?”
He leaned an elbow on the counter, his dark blue scrubs showing off well-formed muscular arms. Apparently, the acclaimed neurosurgeon liked to stay in shape. “Why would you say that?” he queried, his voice alight with dry humor.
“Because I crack that same joke every time you come in the store.” She gave a nervous laugh that made one of his eyebrows arch. Good gosh, the man had to know she had a schoolgirl crush on him unworthy of a thirty-year-old woman. How could he not? She practically went off like a five-alarm fire every time he sauntered over from the hospital a few blocks away, to talk antique books with her. Which, lately, had been at least a few times a week for a month now.
The corners of his lips lifted. “I look forward to hearing that joke each and every time you deliver it.”
She gave him a skeptical look and rebutted, “You’re just sweet-talking me to make sure I hand over your newest treasure.” She untied the string and let the purple cloth slide away from the 1888 medical reference book.
Blake straightened, his hand settling on the old leather binding. “This really is just what the doctor ordered, as in my father, who’s been in family practice for thirty years and happens to collect antique medical editions. This book, and a lifetime supply of golf balls, should make for a perfect retirement gift.”
She smiled and leaned a hand on the counter. “I take it your father has a golf addiction he plans to feed in retirement?”
“No. That would be my mother who’s about to have my father hovering over her shoulder not knowing what to do with himself. He’ll drive her batty. Getting her onto a green with a club in hand will make sure they stay happily married.”
Surprised at the tidbits of personal information that he’d never shared before, Kim smiled. “My parents both retired from teaching in the same year, and they still drove each other batty for a few months afterward.”
“Did you send them golfing?”
“They sent themselves to Italy and ended up staying there. They love it.” She motioned to the book. “I’m glad I could help with the gift. I do enjoy my treasure hunts.” The biggest one today was finding out that Blake was not only an E.R.-era, George-Clooney look-alike, he was a good guy who loved his parents. Truly, her lust for this man quite possibly knew no boundaries—besides him. He was way out of her league.
Blake’s eyes twinkled, a hint of something warm and wonderful in their brown depths. “I enjoy a good treasure hunt myself. Something we have in common, it appears.”
Was she imagining the hint of erotic in his words, the heat in his eyes? Surely so, probably because she still had one more book to show him, and this one was of an erotic nature. Nervous all over again, Kim swiped a red curl from her eyes, thinking how untimely the wild mess on her head was, compliments of the hot Texan July. “The other book you had me bid on in that New York auction…”
He arched a brow. “Yes?”
She pulled it from a shelf under the counter, and laid it on top, trying not to blush. Not that she was a prude, but this book and this man together, well… “It arrived, as well.”
His eyes narrowed on the book—his prize—that he’d paid a small fortune for, and paid her well for brokering the purchase. She could use the funds right now. Thankfully, the store wasn’t failing: the cozy chairs, worn table and shelves well stocked with unique books and gift items charmed a good number of customers into returning. Still, even after two years of taking the leap from bookstore manager to business owner, it wasn’t exactly bringing in the dough, either.
Delicately, she cleared her throat. “I’ll just leave you to privately look it over. I’ll—”
His gaze lifted to hers. “Open it.”
“No, no,” she said. “I’ll let you. I’ll just go…” She pointed to the rows of worn, wooden shelves, with two, equally worn, cozy chairs framing them. “Over there somewhere.”
“Embarrassed, Kim?”
“Yes,” she said straightening. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“It’s just a book,” he said, unwrapping it to reveal the small, well-worn brown cover with the barely legible title in Sanskrit which she knew read Kama Sutra. “Sex is as natural as the human body itself.”
She ran her hands down the back of her brown suede skirt, the above-knee length suddenly making her feel as exposed as this conversation. “Yes, but if we walked around naked, we’d still be arrested for indecent exposure.”
He studied her, no laughter, no smile, simply inscrutable. And silent, though she had the impression he was sizing her up. Seconds later, he covered the book. “The book is for a very special art exhibit next Saturday night. It is, shall we say, an adventure into sensual exploration, a highly exclusive, invitation-only event. I’d like you, as the book’s huntress, to be my guest.”
Her heart stuttered. “You want me to…” Had he just said sensual exploration? “I…no, no, I—”
“Want to go, but you’re afraid,” he said, picking up both of his treasure books. “Which is exactly why you need to do this. And exactly why I’m going to leave before you make an excuse you don’t really want to make. I’ll send a car to the store for you, Saturday at 8:00 p.m.” He turned and headed for the door.
“Wait!” she said, stepping toward the door. “Blake, wait—”
He turned at the door. “I’ll see you Saturday night, Kimberly.” He smiled and pushed open the door.
Kimberly? Why did her full name spoken in that moment, by this man, sound darn near like foreplay?
Saturday night had arrived, and Kim hadn’t heard from Blake since his announcement that she was going to the exhibit with him—tonight. She was going with him tonight. Still in her robe, Kim stood in the closet of her downtown apartment, tossing clothes off hangers in a fit of “What do I wear?”
“Wear my red silk dress.” The answer came from her roommate and the co-owner of the bookstore, Jessica Trap, who stood in the doorway, red dress in hand. “It’s sexy and bold. It says you aren’t afraid.”
“Absolutely not,” Kim said, shaking her head and pointing at the offending garment. “That dress has cleavage to the waist, not to mention it’s red. Great for a blonde like yourself—” she motioned to the freshly styled abundance of red curls on her head “—but in case you didn’t notice, I have enough red going on with my hair.” She snatched the emerald-green dress she’d dropped on the floor and held it up. The neckline was high, up to her throat—safe. She needed something safe, something that made her feel in control.
“Sure,” Jessica said, leaning a shoulder on the doorjamb. “If you want to l
ook like the daughter of a couple of schoolteachers, all prim and proper and prudish, then yeah, sure. Wear that one.”
“I am the daughter of a couple of schoolteachers.”
“Since when does that come with the requirement of being sexually repressed?”
“Sexually repressed?” She gaped, appalled, indignant. “I am not sexually repressed.”
“When was the last time you had an orgasm you didn’t give yourself?”
Kim crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared. “That was low and you know it.” Low because Kim had confessed her orgasm history to Jessica—or rather lack thereof—only months before. No man, not even Joseph, her attorney ex-boyfriend whom she’d dated two years too long, had given her an orgasm with actual intercourse—ever.
“You want this man,” Jessica said, pushing off the doorjamb and walking to Kim with the dress extended. “You’re petite, with curves in all the right places, and this dress shows them off. Give yourself permission to wear the dress, and to enjoy the man.”
Chapter Two
A dark sedan appeared in front of the bookstore at exactly eight o’clock. Kim watched from the window as a man in a dark, fitted suit exited the driver’s side and walked toward the store. She opened the door to greet him, all too aware of the deep cleavage of the red dress she’d actually convinced herself to wear.
“Ms. Baker?” the fortysomething, distinguished-looking man inquired.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said, the hot Texas night air rushing over her from the entryway.
“A message from Mr. Morgan,” he said, offering her an envelope.
She frowned and looked toward the car, having assumed Blake was inside waiting for her, but now, not so sure. Her chest tightened. Had he changed his mind about the invitation?
Kim slipped her small black bag over her shoulder and opened the envelope to the plain white note card with neat, male script inside. Anticipation is half the pleasure. Don’t you think? I’ll see you soon.
Heat rushed through Kim, and she swallowed hard before reading the message again, noting the italicized word “pleasure.”
“Shall we depart, Ms. Baker?”
Kim’s gaze jerked to the driver whom she’d all but forgotten. He arched a gray eyebrow that clearly said “Last chance to run. Stay or go?” Butterflies fluttered in Kim’s stomach, and she exhaled a slow breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding.
“Yes,” she said, surprising herself at how quickly the reply slid from her lips.
The driver gave a nod and stepped to the side of the door to allow her exit.
A quick flip of the lock on the door and a short walk, and Kim slid into the backseat of the sedan. Thankfully, the driver shut her inside quickly, because her skirt was gaping open at the split, and while she knew tonight she should embrace showing a little thigh, she thought she’d save her courage for Blake.
The second the door shut, her gaze flickered to the open bottle of champagne on ice with a flute waiting for her use. Excitement settled in her stomach. This was really happening. She was in a car with champagne, headed on a sensual adventure with a man who made her hot just by purely existing.
A smile slid onto her lips. She never did things like this. Never. It felt good, it felt dangerous and thrilling and… Her ex’s words rang in her head. He’d called her “frigid,” when they’d broken up. But then, she’d never felt what she felt for Blake with her ex. Never felt all warm and wanting by simply looking at the man, as she did Blake. Still…what if Blake thought she was frigid?
She reached for the flute and filled it. While she normally would pass on the champagne, she wasn’t willing to blow tonight on nerves and inhibitions. Tonight was about freedom, about a night of “sensual exploration”—whatever that turned out to mean, and wherever it might led. And courage—even if it required a little bubbly for relaxation.
By the time Kim took the first sip of the bubbly liquid, the driver was already pulling the car into the parking garage of a large downtown building a few miles from the bookstore. A sudden rush of panic slid through Kim at the unexpectedly quick arrival at their destination. There was no time to loosen up and mentally prepare to abandon her fears. Quickly, Kim tossed back the contents of her flute. The bubbles tickled her throat, and lightweight drinker that she was, her head felt instantly lighter. The snug-fitting brassiere V of her bodice held up by spaghetti straps somehow felt less exposing than it had only minutes before. Even the slit up her right side that stopped midthigh seemed more sexy than extreme.
The car pulled to a halt in front of the elevators, and in seconds the driver was opening her door. “Top floor,” he instructed and dangled a silver key before her. “This will allow you access to the gallery. Use the red elevator door just inside the building.”
Kim slid out of the car, refusing to let herself be shy about the way the slit on her dress split to her thigh. Now that she was here, now that she couldn’t easily turn back, she was eager to move forward, eager to see where the night would lead.
A few minutes later, Kim had traveled twenty-seven floors in the private elevator and adrenaline was positively racing through her body. Any second now, she’d be with Blake, and who knew where the night would lead? He was right, anticipation was an amazing, sexy thing.
When finally the moment of truth came and the doors of the car began to slide open, Kim sucked in a breath at the sight of Blake standing before her, waiting for her. On some distant level, she registered music—a violin she thought—but it was nothing but backdrop to the man who, in that moment, appeared larger than life. Taller and broader than even her midnight fantasies had painted him, he was a sight to see, his fitted black pants and a deep royal blue shirt the color of his eyes accenting his lean, muscular body.
But it was the power, the dominant sexuality crackling off of him that seduced her, mesmerized her. He was the epitome of masculine perfection, of a man in control, a man she desired more than she remembered ever desiring another. She wondered what it would be like to be controlled by him, to be beneath him, on top of him. These were not unexpected or unfamiliar thoughts, and they aroused her, induced a tingly wet ache between her thighs.
She stepped forward, her strappy black high-heeled sandals clicking on glossy white tile, the doors creaking shut behind her, leaving her in a small lobby-type area with only her and Blake. His gaze slid unapologetically, appreciatively, over her body, taking her in, starting from her red-painted toenails, and slowly lifting to her legs, her waist, and then lingering on her breasts. Kim felt that inspection in every nerve ending of her body, felt his stare as if he’d touched her, and God, she wanted him to touch her.
“I thought for sure you’d talk yourself out of coming tonight,” he said softly, stepping forward to meet her toe-to-toe, his eyes connecting with hers, searing her with the heat simmering in their depths. “You look amazing, Kimberly.”
“Thank you,” she said shyly, the curious reply as automatic as opening her eyes when she woke, but she hated how much she sounded like the prim-and-proper teacher’s daughter, and she tried to recover, to play the game of seduction. “You dress up pretty nicely yourself, Doctor.”
He smiled, a sexy heated smile that tingled through her body. “Glad you approve.” His gaze held hers and she could feel him sizing her up, and she wondered what he saw, what he thought.
Suddenly, Kim’s heart was thundering in her chest, her nipples were tight, her breasts heavy. Or maybe it wasn’t so sudden: maybe this moment, this reaction to his nearness, had been coming for over a month, since his first visit to the store. Silence and cracking heat collided around them, and unsure what to do, what to say, Kim bit her lip and glanced to her left, down a hallway where spotlights illuminated a row of paintings, where voices seemed to merge and multiple. “It sounds like you have a full house.”
“Only in the main gallery,” he said, pulling her attention back to him, and offering her his hand. “We’re going to the private collection reserved
for a select group of invitation-only guests.” Kim slid her hand into his, heat skittering up her arm, across her chest even before he softly added, “Shall we do a little treasure hunting together, Kimberly?”
Blake led Kim past the nude Greek statues in the lobby and toward a private hallway, far too aware of her every move, her every breath. He considered himself a man of control, and in fact, considered control crucial to his character, his career, his ability to save lives on the operating table. But he wasn’t in control tonight, or Kimberly wouldn’t be here. He was breaking every rule in his book by inviting her here, by not finding a reason to cancel, even after his invitation. He reserved his sex “play” for those outside his professional life, for whom he felt no emotion, for those he knew would not be a distraction.
Kim was a distraction. She’d made him come to the store, drew him in, had him creating reasons to visit. That wasn’t a man in control. Yet…he couldn’t seem to turn away from her. There was something about her innocence, her undiscovered sexuality—which he knew she wanted to discover—that drew him, that called to the Master in him, that knew she would make the ultimate submissive. It convinced him that denying himself her pleasure—and he wanted her to feel pleasure, wanted to be the man who made her let go and be free—was why she stayed so fresh in his mind, why he downright burned for the woman.
They passed erotic paintings illuminated with spotlights, Greek paintings of men and women engaging in the nature of pleasure, and he watched her face, watched her gaze stroking the images, aware of how much he wanted her body stroking his cock. How much he wanted inside this woman—wanted her begging for orgasm because he made her want it as much as he did, which was too much, yes, far too much for comfort. He felt the difference in himself with her, knew his desire for Kim reached beyond arousal, beyond the protectiveness he felt for anyone he took into the Society games.