Maya Banks - Sweet Persuasion

Faith’s smile lit up her entire face. “Gray and I are buying a house. We hope to move in as soon as we get married.”

“Julie is still mortally offended that you aren’t having a huge church wedding so she can make you look like a million dollars for the occasion,” Serena said as she settled onto a stool at the bar in the kitchen.

Faith made a face. “Neither Gray nor I was crazy about a big fuss. Not after everything that happened.” Her smile faltered as pain flitted across her brow. “Pop wanted a big wedding too so he could give me away, but honestly, Gray and I just want to be together. The sooner, the better.”

Serena smiled. “I think that’s great, Faith. You deserve to be happy after all you went through.”

“Enough about me,” Faith said brightly as she began taking containers out of the refrigerator. “We’re here to talk about you and these deviant fantasies of yours.”

Serena groaned. “Who the hell says they’re deviant?”

Faith chuckled. “The best ones always are. So what gives, Serena?” Faith’s expression became more somber as she gazed at her friend. “You haven’t been yourself lately. You seem withdrawn, like you’re unhappy about something.”

Serena plunked her elbows on the counter and cupped her jaw in her palm. “I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking.”

“About?”

“The fact that I put so much time and effort into making other people’s fantasies come to life, but I ignore my own. And then I realized that I wouldn’t have the first clue how to make them come true anyway. Other people’s fantasies are so . . . normal compared to mine. My mother would have heart failure if she knew the girl she’d raised to be a self-sufficient, depend-on-no-man-for-your-security, successful businesswoman secretly fantasized about being a man’s sex slave.”

Faith choked then coughed delicately to mask her reaction. “Sex slave?” she squeaked.

“Yeah, knew you’d get a real kick out of that one,” Serena said glumly.

“Uh, no. I mean it’s just that’s the last thing I expected you to say.”

“Go ahead and say it. I’m crazy as a bat.”

Faith set a plate of lasagna in front of Serena then settled onto the stool across the bar. “You’re not crazy, Serena,” she said calmly. “But sex slave? Are you talking one night of hot sex where you play the slave to the master, or is this something else entirely?”

Serena felt warmth invade her cheeks. Damn it. Unlike Faith, she was not a blusher.

“Well, preferably it would be longer than one night, but not permanent or anything. I mean, I think I’d like it. The idea turns me on, but I might hate it too.”

Faith was silent for a long moment, and Serena fidgeted uncomfortably as she picked at her food.

“You’re wondering where on earth I came up with this, aren’t you?” Serena mumbled.

“Quit being defensive, and don’t apologize for your desires,” Faith scolded. “God, don’t women do that enough? I’m just trying to figure out how serious you are about this. I mean if you just want to play out a fantasy, you could always hire a . . . What do they call a male prostitute anyway?” Faith asked with a giggle.

Serena closed her eyes. “I’m not hiring a damn gigolo. I want someone halfway normal. Preferably someone who hasn’t already made it with half the women in Houston. And I’d like more than one night. I don’t know, maybe a month. I won’t be able to discover anything about the reality if it’s only one night.”

Faith gave her a thoughtful look. “I know someone who might be able to help you.”

Serena’s mouth gaped open. “You?”

Faith stuck her tongue out and scowled. “I’m not as innocent as you and Julie like to think.”

Serena laughed. “Oh, I know, girlfriend. It’s always the sweet, shy ones who are the real dirty birds.”

“Dirty birds?” Faith sputtered. “Need I remind you of who is plotting to become a sex slave?”

Serena grinned. “It has such a forbidden quality, doesn’t it?” She put a forkful of lasagna in her mouth and closed her eyes. “You’re a wonderful cook, you know? I can’t even boil water. I bet Gray thinks he’s in heaven.”

“He’s not marrying me for my cooking,” Faith said dryly.

“Admit it. You’re a total dirty bird,” Serena coaxed.

Faith flashed an unrepentant smile. “I can give you Damon Roche’s phone number.”

“Damon Roche? Is he the guy you think can turn me into a sex slave?”

“Not him personally,” Faith corrected. “But he owns a . . . hell, I’m still not sure what to call it. I suspect Damon wouldn’t appreciate me calling it a sex club.”

“Sex club?” Serena raised one brow and stared at Faith in surprise. “What the hell are you doing hanging out in a sex club?”

“It was only once,” Faith muttered.

“Clearly you’ve been holding out on me.”

“It didn’t exactly come up in conversation,” Faith said with a laugh. “Anyway, back to Damon. If you called him and told him what you wanted, I bet he could help. There seems to be something for everyone at his . . . establishment.”

“Is it safe?” Serena asked doubtfully.

“Extremely. Damon has very tight security, and he screens his members very thoroughly.”

“Does Gray know about this Damon guy?” Serena asked, more to make Faith blush than any real curiosity.

Instead of blushing, Faith smiled broadly. “Gray knows all about Damon. Damon is flying us to our honeymoon on his private jet.”

“The sex club business must be lucrative,” Serena murmured.

“Oh, The House is a side diversion. Damon’s a business-man.” Faith frowned. “You know, I don’t think he’s ever told me what it is exactly that he does.”

“Oh, great. He’s probably a drug dealer.”

“He’s not a drug dealer,” Faith said in exasperation. “Call him. Tell him what you want. He’s very easy to talk to.”

“You’re not going to try and talk me out of my insanity?”

Serena asked. “You’re my friend. You’re supposed to be mean and give me lectures so that later we can go on Oprah and talk about what soul sisters we are.”

“Or I could go on America’s Most Wanted after I kill you and dump your body in the gulf,” Faith muttered.

Serena shoveled more lasagna down and followed it with several gulps of tea.

“All right, I’ll call him. Provided I don’t go home and chicken out. You were supposed to talk me out of this, not provide me the name of someone who can help me down the road to debauchery.”

“The debauched ones have more fun,” Faith said with an evil twinkle in her eye.

“So says the voice of experience.”

Faith walked over to one of the drawers and took out a note-pad and pen. As she returned, she scribbled on a sheet of paper and then tore it out.

She slid it across the bar toward Serena. “Go home and call him.”

Serena walked into her office and paused by the window to stare over the Houston skyline. She was dressed smartly. Business suit, moderate heels. She knew she looked good. Efficient.

With a sigh, she turned around to face her desk. And the phone. The piece of paper with Damon Roche’s number was crumpled damply in her hand. She unfolded it and smoothed the edges as she sat down in the executive chair.

No, she couldn’t call from home the day before. She needed to do it here, where she could pretend it was just business. Here in her comfortable environment, she wasn’t nervous. It didn’t have to be about her. She could play it cool and pretend she was acting on the behalf of a client.

She picked up the phone and glanced down at the number again before punching it in. For several tense moments, she listened to the ring. About the time she decided no one was going to answer, a distracted voice muttered a terse hello.

She swallowed quickly. “Am I speaking with Mr. Roche?”

There was a distinct pause. “Who is this and how the hell did you get my private number?”

Shit. Damn Faith for not telling her this was his private line and apparently one he guarded closely. She’d managed to piss him off before she ever got to the hard part.

“Faith Malone gave me your number,” she said as calmly as her pounding heart would allow.

“Faith? Is she all right?” he demanded.

She hastened to assure him. “She’s fine. She gave me your number about a . . . business matter. I’m sorry to have bothered you. I hadn’t realized this was a private number.”

Before he could answer, she gently replaced the receiver and backed away from the desk.

Bad idea. Definitely a bad idea.

Her pulse raced, and she struggled to get her nerves back under control. She certainly wasn’t the assertive businesswoman today. With a rueful shake of her head, she turned her attention to her list of tasks for the day.

Her office door opened, and she looked up to see her personal assistant, Carrie Johnson, walk in, a warm smile on her face.

“Serena, I just got a call from Mr. Gallows. He was very satisfied with the work you did on his job.”

Serena sat back in her chair and smiled back at Carrie. “Oh, thank goodness. He was such a hard sale.”

Carried worked to keep a straight face. “It doesn’t help that his fantasy involved being head chef at Riganti’s.”

“Don’t remind me,” Serena said with a groan. “I may have lost my favored patron status with Carlos forever. He’s probably banned me from the restaurant over this.”

“I have it on good authority that the staff at Riganti’s loves you, and that Mr. Gallows’s short employment there actually went quite well. Mr. Gallows hinted that he was applying to culinary school in Paris, as a result of his experience.”