Caught: An Alpha Billionaire Romance (His Domination Book 2) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Keep Up

  Caught

  A Confession

  1: Appointments

  2: Stepping Out

  3: Her Master's Chambers

  4: Denied

  5: The Dark Hour

  6: Crossing Boundaries

  7: What She Needs

  8: Leaving The Nest

  9: Iced

  10: Cut, Take, Free

  11: The Princess And The Dragon

  Thanks and Connect

  Also Available

  His Domination

  #2

  CAUGHT

  Cynthia Dane

  BARACHOU PRESS

  Caught

  HIS DOMINATION, #2

  Copyright: Cynthia Dane

  Published: August 24th, 2015

  Publisher: Barachou Press

  This is a work of fiction. Any and all similarities to any characters, settings, or situations are purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  Keep up with Cynthia’s latest releases by joining her mailing list! Behind the scenes, first looks, and even some free snippets!

  READING ORDER

  1: Pursued

  2: Caught

  3: Healed

  Caught

  A Confession

  I’m a fake.

  A fraud.

  And above all else, I am a liar.

  The things I’ve lied about… they’re not things other men would think twice about. They lie all the time too. The amount of lies I’ve seen pile up in my business is nothing. For those men, it’s easy to lie. I admit it’s easy for me to lie too. Spin a few tales to get what I want. Do you know how men like us stay so damn rich? We lie. Constantly. Either by layering pleasantries upon you or outright lying about data we have. When you’re born with a silver spoon in your mouth, it’s second nature to lie.

  We lie to keep clients. We lie to keep staff around. We lie to get laid. And we definitely lie to make ourselves look better than we actually are.

  Suffice to say, there’s a lot I’ve lied about.

  I haven’t lied about my identity. My name is Henry Warren, son of Gerald and Isabella Warren. My father was a millionaire when I was born, and my name alone carries over a billion in my personal coffers. So, I’m rich. I’m filthy rich. I never lied about that – if anything, I downplay my worth to keep people off my tail. Not that it works.

  You’ve never heard of me because I keep a low profile. I don’t go to many social gatherings, and I don’t make my business transactions public. There are some men who are always on Page 6 and making waves in The Wall Street Journal. That’s not my style. Why would it be, when I would much rather watch the world unfold elsewhere?

  Because you’ve never heard of me, you have no idea what I’m lying about. Neither does Monica, the woman I’m falling over backward to lie to.

  I didn’t mean to start lying to her. I only told her the simple lies I tell everyone when I first meet them. Like how I never heard of her, or knew what kind of woman she was.

  Of course I’ve heard of Monica Graham. Who the hell hasn’t, even if she doesn’t come from a great background. Middle class, white suburban America. Average university. Even more average major. It’s what she did right out of college that everyone knows her for: become the long-term girlfriend of Jackson Lyle, one of the most mercenary businessmen in the world. Now there’s a guy everyone has heard of. A lot of people admire him too. Not surprising, since people are always trying to figure out how to make a billion more bucks.

  So I lied when I told Monica I had never heard of her before. Hell, that I had never met her before. We had come across each other’s paths several times over the past decade. Except I never saw her sans Jackson Lyle until a few weeks ago, when my friend and colleague Sam Witherspoon dragged me to her place of business.

  Here’s a secret – and it isn’t a lie.

  I’ve been madly in love with Monica Graham for years.

  She’s a gorgeous woman. A subtle beauty, who doesn’t wear much makeup and doesn’t do anything special with her hair. I like that in a woman. I’m always around women who are done up to the nines. It can be beautiful as well, but there’s something special about a woman who blends into the crowd. I want to know more about those types of women. What’s going on in their minds? What are they privy to see that others aren’t? The first woman in a room that I notice is a woman like Monica. And I’ve noticed her many, many times.

  Of course, Monica doesn’t know that I’ve been in love with her for years. Of course, “love” has different kinds of meanings. The love I felt was more infatuation for a woman I could never have. Then something happened between her and Jackson Lyle, and Monica disappeared from my social spheres.

  Until Sam Witherspoon dragged me to that blasted Château of BDSM and I was face to face with Ms. Graham all over again.

  She didn’t remember me. I didn’t expect her to, but she was as beautiful as ever. Perhaps even more so, because she was no longer in that man’s shadow. She seemed more confident, surer of herself…

  Sadder.

  It wasn’t until later that she told me what happened with her ex-Dom. Abuse. Sad fact of this lifestyle we choose to live sometimes… men in power, especially those born with it like Lyle, will use it as an excuse to hurt people, particularly women. I’ve seen it happen countless times. I was enraged to find out it happened with someone as kind and interesting as Monica.

  Don’t tell her this. I’m already in deep water because of the lies I’ve told her. I need to find out the best time to tell her for myself. She’s already shown me more trust than she has any right giving a man in my station. Any man at all. I fully realize that I may be her last chance, so to speak. If I botch this, then that woman may never trust another Dom again.

  It’s a lot of pressure. Pressure I’ve put myself under because I foolishly believed I wouldn’t become more besotted with her. Well, I have. The deeper I fall in love with Monica, the more I sense certain darkness on the horizon.

  How deep can I go with her? Is she in love with me?

  I wish those were the most daunting questions I have to answer. For, you see, there is one secret I’m still hiding from the both of you that would completely destroy everything I’ve built. There’s no way for me to tell her about that.

  So what do I do? Fall more in love and hope it never comes up?

  This happiness I’ve suddenly found myself in is a ticking time bomb. When – not if – it goes off, there will be more than one casualty.

  Me.

  Monica.

  The one bit of happiness we’ve managed to carve between us.

  I’ll keep smiling for her, because she needs to believe she can put all her trust in me. I don’t want to let that down. But I will.

  The secret I’m hiding is too personal to survive.

  Chapter 1

  Appointments

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Monica looked up from her piles of papers strewn across her desk. “Now’s not a good time,” she said to Sylvia, the girl currently standing in the office doorway. “I’ve got the tax company coming in about thirty minutes and I barely have my shit together.”

  Sylvia took a step back but did not excuse herse
lf. Monica continued to rummage through her desk, looking for a damned folder that supposedly held receipts from a certain cleaning outfit. I really don’t have time. Monica had this meeting scheduled for nearly a month. If those tax people showed up and she didn’t have her receipts for the past quarter put together, she would be feeling more pain than any of the subs taking up residence in her Château.

  “I mean it.”

  Finally, Sylvia bowed her head. “All right. I’m sorry, ma’am, but I would really like to talk to you sometime soon. It’s rather serious.”

  “Unless you’re quitting or someone assaulted you, I really don’t have time.”

  “Well…”

  Monica glanced up again. Well, what? Did Sylvia have something to report? Or was she trying to take up Monica’s precious time? Sometimes the girl could be flippant like that. Monica would humor her if she wasn’t too busy, but… I am definitely too busy right now.

  She shooed Sylvia away as the first of the tax people arrived downstairs. It also happened that Monica found the receipts she was looking for. Somehow the folder managed to slip behind the file cabinet instead of being properly stored within it.

  An hour of endless tax chatter commenced, shortly after she served her CPAs tea and cookies from the kitchen. Whatever these people thought of her business, they never let on. As long as I make a lot of money, they don’t care. Monica consoled herself with the knowledge that other clients probably gave them a harder run for their money in the tax universe. Sure, Monica’s Château skirted the edges of legalities here and there, but she was sure other clients were doing much more nefarious things. What was a BDSM dungeon between her and the IRS?

  Nevertheless, there were always snags to hit, especially when it came to the large sums of money that passed in and out of this business. Monica had to be extra careful in order to not be audited. What a nightmare that would be!

  By the time they left, she was more than ready for a bath. Or a massage. Except she didn’t have time for either when a long night of entertaining clients and guests loomed in front of her. It was Friday, and more than one party was scheduled to show up that night – and that didn’t count the patrons coming to see their girls. Monica had about two hours to eat dinner and get ready for her actual job by the time the last CPA bid adieu and saw herself out.

  “I must say, you’ve been looking extra radiant recently, Madam,” said Mr. Andrews, a common patron around those parts. It was the first time in a good while he didn’t bring his wife with him. When Monica inquired about this, he explained, “She’s in Vancouver visiting relatives. Afraid Grace has to deal with me all by herself tonight.” He patted Grace’s knee when he said this. The girl gave a wan smile and motioned in secret code to Monica that she was feeling tired that night anyway. When will I started charging the Andrews double? The rate things were going, Mrs. Andrews would become Grace’s second patron. The couple apparently kept the spark alive in their marriage by sharing a kinky mistress.

  “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Andrews,” Monica said shortly thereafter. She sat in the salon with him and Grace. Only a matter of time before someone else was announced for her to deal with. For now, her attentions could be solely given to one of the most generous patrons to enter the Château’s halls. “I admit I’ve been feeling pretty good recently.”

  Grace nudged her patron. “It’s because there’s a man.”

  Monica sent her employee a look, but Grace chose to ignore it. Mr. Andrews, on the other hand, perked up and smiled at Monica. “A man? Wouldn’t happen to know the guy, would I?”

  I don’t know, do you? Monica would have to chastise Grace later for sharing personal information like that, even to her patron. Nobody was supposed to know about Henry Warren, the kinky billionaire who came to the Château solely for Monica. We’ve only been together once. It was one of the hottest nights of Monica’s life, but their relationship was fated to be strained from the beginning since her Mr. Warren had many places to be. They were supposed to have a date two weeks ago, but he had to cancel at the last minute in order to fly to Paris. And then Amsterdam. And then Beijing. I hope he’s not being facetious. Monica knew how busy billionaires like Mr. Warren could be, but she needed more this early in a relationship. Is it a relationship?

  “Miss Grace speaks of things she doesn’t know,” Monica assured Mr. Andrews. “I have had good fortune of my own recently, but we can attribute it to my business.”

  “What a business it is! I wish I could bring more money through those doors for you.”

  “In due time, Mr. Andrews.” Better to gradually grow her business than have too much to deal with up front.

  The doorman announced one of the parties scheduled for that night. Monica excused herself and tended to the business she was trying so hard to grow.

  Another night, another dollar made. It wasn’t until late – well past midnight – when Monica finally had a breath to herself and was able to retire to her quarters. Either the guests had gone home or were passed out drunk in spare rooms… or shacking up with a girl for the night. Not a single girl was alone, as far as Monica knew. Not a single one except for her, as she was reminded when she entered her quiet room and had no one to talk to.

  Or make love to.

  She pulled out her cell phone and looked for a message from Henry. Voicemail. Email. Text. Anything. He tried to send her something when he had the chance, but recently it was all Monica making a fool of herself and sending him text after text. She even went so far as to leave him a voicemail stating she was ready to serve him. On a personal level, it felt right to say that. But when she considered her position in that mansion, she was reminded that she was supposed to be the calm and collected one. Leaving frenzied voicemails would only scare Henry away.

  Maybe he’s no longer interested in me. Monica had initiated a pursuit on his end. Now that he had her once… perhaps he was no longer interested in having her again.

  That wasn’t why Monica was so on edge lately. Nor did it have anything to do with her taxes. Not really. She kept pristine records and always stayed within the law.

  No, what made her antsy so much lately was…

  She stared at the pile of letters stacked on her bureau. She couldn’t help it when there were so many.

  The first letter, received the day before, called her a “cheap whore who gives it to any rich man.” The second, received a week ago, insinuated that Monica’s body was so used up that she better not be charging too much. “There’s this thing called shelf-life, my pet,” it said in Jackson Lyle’s disgustingly nice handwriting. “The longer you sit on the shelf, being tried out by various customers coming through the door, the less value you have. Are you so stretched out and beat up that nobody will buy you for full price now? That’s unfortunate. You were really svelte when you were with me. You know, I’ll take you back no matter what those other brutes say or do to you. When you get tired of playing house with whores and fooling around with inferior men, come back to me. We’ll pretend none of that old junk happened.”

  Monica wanted to tear up those letters and shove them in her fireplace. Yet something prevented her from taking such agency. You idiot. She continued to sit on the edge of her bed and stare at those letters. You know he’s lying to you. Of course he was. Jackson didn’t love her. He wouldn’t respect her. Monica never once entertained the thought of going back to that man.

  No, what unsettled her was that he not only knew where she was, but that she had been with Henry.

  At first Monica thought it was a fluke that she got that letter so soon after her first night with Henry. Then she got another one. A letter that said, “My birdies tell me that some sandy-haired buffoon is in your bed now. What did he do to you? Tell me in great detail, and I might forgive your treason toward me.”

  She hadn’t told anyone. Certainly none of her girls. Not even Henry. Then again, she didn’t want to worry him, and they hadn’t seen each other since that one night.
<
br />   Hence Monica’s disbelief when her phone lit up with a call.

  The disbelief was fleeting, for within a few minutes she expected the worst. Jackson. If he knew what was going on in her bedroom, then surely he knew her private phone number. He was a man with means. He could find it out if he paid the right people enough money.

  Monica tentatively picked up the phone, fully expecting to see Jackson’s phone number.

  Instead, she saw Henry’s.

  Never before had Monica slammed on a button so hard. She pressed the phone to her ear and said, “I thought you would never call me again.”

  Warmth spread in her heart when she heard his chuckle on the other end of the line. “No need to be so dramatic, Princess.” The bite in his voice was what Monica needed. “I’ve been away on business. I only got back in the country earlier today. Once I had some time, you were the first person I called… I hope it’s not too late. Or that you’re too busy. I know Friday is a dodgy time to try calling you.”

  “I’m done for the night.” Monica turned away from the pile of letters. “I’m alone and have some time right now. I’m glad you called.”

  Henry took a while to respond. What are you thinking? That I’m pathetic and needy? Monica wanted to project the image of a “good sub.” Or, a woman who could fill her role but without all the trappings. And yet I feel this way.

  “I’m calling because I need to make good on that rain check I sent you when I had to cancel last time. What are you doing Monday? I made sure I have some time off this next week. I have to see you.”

  Monica held her hand to her chest. “I want to see you too.” She imagined him sitting in some office somewhere… no, it was too late for that. Surely he would be sitting in his bedroom by now. What did it look like? What kind of bedroom did a man like Henry Warren have? I want to find out. Sooner rather than later.