That’s right. My colleague had explained it to me. Apparently there was some kind of endangered species of lichen that thrived on the coastal area where we planned to build. Where we would build. I was Colton Kavanaugh, CEO of Kavanaugh Industries. I did not take no for an answer.
“Much as I like seeing you like this…” My gaze flickered down along her curvaceous body once again. “Why don’t we save the handcuffs for later? I’ll buy you a drink first. And we can talk through this whole misunderstanding.”
“You arrogant bastard!” she spat out, straining against her handcuffs. I fully enjoyed the sight of her large breasts pressing against her T-shirt. Until she noticed my appreciation and stilled.
“At least let me uncuff you. For now.” I smiled down at her. “I promise I’ll tie you up again later.”
“You can’t uncuff me!” she declared. “I won’t tell you where the key is!” Her eyes blazed, defiant.
“Do I have to pat you down?” I stepped in closer, barely any space between us. “Where are you hiding it?” I whispered. She shivered, slightly, barely perceptible. But I could tell I got to her. “You can tell me,” I murmured. “Is it underneath your foot?” I bent down and stroked my palm along the base of her calf through her jeans, making a show of pretending to look under her sneaker.
“You’ll never find it!” she declared.
“It’s in your bra.” I nodded, as if sure I’d just figured it out. She gasped as I stood up and reached out my hand, hovering it directly over her luscious breasts which now heaved with her rapid breathing. Of course I wasn’t going to touch her, not in front of all those people and cameras. If I had her alone, though, that would be another thing entirely. I’d lock her up and throw away the key.
I was about to step away when something caught my eye. Right under my palm, my open hand inches away, teasing her just above her breasts. Her nipple pebbled, pushing through the thin cotton of her T-shirt. She might protest, but she felt it, too, the spark between us, the chemistry.
Giving her a low, wicked smile, I leaned down. Hidden by my large frame, I gave her nipple the slightest brush as I whispered in her ear, “I think I’m going to enjoy fighting with you.”
Caroline
Of all the arrogant, alpha, billionaire CEOs I’d met in my life, he really took the cake. OK, I hadn’t actually met that many guys like him. In our sleepy coastal Southern Oregon town, we specialized in hipsters and hippies. But I’d read and seen movies about arrogant, alpha, billionaire CEO types like him. Unfortunately, looking up at his broad shoulders and firmly set jaw, the one who came to mind was Christian Grey.
Wrong association! This CEO of Kavanaugh Industries was the enemy, through and through. I just wasn’t experienced enough at the whole environmental protest thing. That was the problem.
Here’s a tip for all you wanna-be activists: when protesting a site by handcuffing yourself to a fence, keep one hand free. Because if you had your friend lock both of your wrists together to a chain link fence, then tuck the key in the back pocket of your jeans, you were really screwed.
If you had both wrists tied together above your head then you were at the mercy of any tall, handsome, devastatingly sexy man who happened to show up and find you. Then when he looked down at you like the two of you were alone in his bedroom and you were playing out some kind of naughty BDSM scene, all you could do was stand there pulling slightly against the restraints, getting all hot and bothered.
But if you had one hand free, you could avoid all that and do any number of things instead. Like slap him hard across the face. Give him the middle finger. Or, I don’t know, uncuff yourself???
The problem was, I wasn’t too experienced with the whole protesting thing. Just between you and me, I’m a baker. I own my own shop, I’m proud to say. I specialize in scones and muffins and breads, the kinds of mouthwatering treats that make you laugh in the face of diets. Gluten-free. That had to be the worst idea on the planet.
But it turned out that not many people cared when a huge mega-corporation based in New York City swooped in and decided it wanted to build on the land that my little bakery happened to be on. I’d been one small, protesting voice in a large ocean of “sure, that sounds like one heck of a great money-making idea!”
Until I did some research and discovered that an endangered species of lichen lived on the coastal rocks next to the site.
True, when I’d first happened across the information I’d had to google “lichen” to make sure I knew exactly what it was. It was the green stuff that grew on rocks. Turned out, people cared a lot more about that fuzzy green stuff than a small business bakery. So I’d used the card in my deck that I could play, contacting environmental organizations that then alerted the national media and suddenly, we had a real fight on our hands. The environmental non-profits organizing and funding our protest still wanted me at the helm, the spokesperson. They felt I’d be more media-friendly than they would, a more appealing face for the cause.
I just hoped no one asked me about lichen. After I got past “it’s endangered” I’d trail off. My plan was to offer anyone who asked a scone. That was usually good for ending conversations as people closed their eyes and blissed out on the tastiness. And if they could still talk, they’d take things in a new direction, with questions like “what’s in this?” and “how do you make these?” Those were topics I could talk about all day.
“Love the lichen!” a guy down the line yelled. Six of us were chained to the fence. Five environmental activists—two locals and three imported from national groups—and me.
“Now where is it?” Mr. CEO Colton Kavanaugh asked me, teasing, pretending to search me for the key to unlock my handcuffs. And all I could do was stand there while his hands caressed my calves. Through my jeans, but I had to admit, it felt slightly more erotic than having sex with my last boyfriend. When he stood up and pretended he was going to search me, pat me down, see if I was hiding the key in my bra, I had all the wrong reactions.
He leaned in so close to me I could smell him, all musky aftershave and man. And his hand was so large, hovering right there over my breast. I couldn’t help it. My pulse, my breathing picked right up. I felt that pull and a low, slow flip in my stomach that made me press my thighs together. And damn if my nipples didn’t pebble, pushing out against what now seemed like a horribly poor choice in T-shirt, as thin as tissue paper. Of course I hadn’t realized I’d be needing to hide my arousal from a demanding alpha CEO.
As it was, nothing hid the fact that his large, commanding hand so close to my breast got me hot. So hot that my nipples pushed out in two stiff tips, aching for his touch, wantonly begging him for more. And he saw it. There was no way he could miss it, trapped as I was with my hands bound above my head, practically offering myself up for him. Sheltering me with his large body, he brought his hand against me for the briefest fraction of a moment, brushing his warm finger so teasingly, so lightly against my hardened tip.
I gave a sharp intake of breath, a gasp, and he actually told me he was going to enjoy fighting with me before he chuckled and pulled away. For the briefest of moments, I have to admit, I missed his closeness. Until I remembered who I was and who he was and why I very much wanted him the hell out of my life.
“We don’t want your development on our coast!” I mustered up my energy to snap at him. This was the man who wanted to tear down my shop. And not even to make the hotel. The land where I had my bakery was where they wanted to put parking. Somehow that added insult to injury.
“What do you want, then?” He smiled at me suggestively, giving me another admiring glance that sparked up all sorts of warm tinglies down below.
When I’d heard that the CEO of Kavanaugh Industries was coming out to our little town to visit the construction site, I’d pictured an old, mean, miserly man. Kind of like the Monopoly guy with the top hat and the monocle. This long, tall, cool drink of water was inspiring all sorts of wrong thoughts clashing with my righteousness.
&nbs
p; “I’ll set you free, Carrie.” Tom, our local arm of the law, came sauntering down to rescue me.
“No, Tom!” I told him, hating that I sounded sort of whiney. This was supposed to be a protest and now it was turning into something much less serious.
“Come on now. Be reasonable.” He reached up with some sort of a metal pin and broke the cuffs open in seconds flat.
It did feel good to get my hands free. I rubbed my wrists. They’d started to ache like that.
“Are you all right?” Mr. CEO asked me, all smirk and sophistication.