Captivate Me

It was over. Or, at least, it would be once she dealt with the hum of residual sexual energy lodged squarely between her thighs.

And if, in the throes of passion when her defenses were weak, she imagined his heated gaze sweeping across her body, watching intently as she finished what he’d started, there was no way anyone else would ever know that—especially him.

2

THEY WERE DESPERATE. And that’s just how Beckett wanted them.

Unfortunately, so was he, although, even as he strode into their plush offices, he had no intention of letting V&D know that.

He needed their app. Would do anything to own it. It was the game changer. Something that would take his nightclubs from simply successful to infamous. Like Studio 54, he wanted Exposed to become a household name, the kind whispered with awe and envy.

He craved the notoriety, money and irrefutable proof that he was finally successful, his life stable. The familiar desperation tasted bitter in his mouth.

What a difference fourteen years could make. At eighteen he’d been kicked out of the massive mansion he’d called home, and the whiplash with which he’d lost everything had hurt. But not nearly as much as realizing his father didn’t give a damn about him.

Without a penny or any discernible skills, he’d floundered, imposing on friends, sleeping on couches, carrying what little his father had let him take in a garbage bag. But it had become clear that wasn’t a long-term solution.

He’d had no place to live. Had never held a job. It might not have sounded like a sob story to anyone else, but going a few days without anything to eat after having every meal provided on gold-rimmed plates had been a hell of a shock to the system.

The fake ID he’d used to get into clubs had been useful in convincing the owner of a seedy nightclub to give him a chance. He’d started out slinging drinks, but soon realized that wasn’t going to be enough.

Six months later he was managing the place, his natural charm and leadership skills taking over. Splitting the profits with a drunk who wasn’t coherent enough to realize what he was giving up hadn’t exactly been the stuff of lifelong dreams, but Beckett had socked away every penny until he’d had enough to open his own place.

It’d taken four years, but a year after he actually turned legal he opened the first Exposed deep in the New Orleans Warehouse District. Funky and eclectic, it had appealed to a wide range of people.

Two years later came the club in New York. Then L.A., Nashville, Chicago and Seattle. He now owned twelve locations. But that wasn’t enough.

Part of him wondered if there would ever be enough. If success and security could wipe out those first few years of desperation.

Especially when his father delighted in reminding him just how much of a disappointment and failure he’d once been. Or that the money he’d made since was on the back of something lurid and common.

As if the man hadn’t come from humble beginnings himself. His father was a self-made billionaire. And a ruthless asshole, like a lion eating his young to protect his power position within the pride.

Beckett didn’t care how he made his mark, though. It didn’t bother him that he did it by selling alcohol and providing a dark place where inhibitions dropped and people hooked up.

Sex and sensationalism sold. Which was exactly why he needed V&D’s new social media app. Having a dozen Exposed locations was great. But allowing anyone with a smartphone to feel as if they were at his clubs...that would open his revenue stream up to every city in the country. Hell, in the world. Billions of people dropping in to watch and interact.

However, V&D refused to even entertain his offers.

Which just pissed him off.

It had been a long time since someone had been stupid enough to disrespect him to his face, but that was what V&D was doing. Treating his blood, sweat and tears like the ten-year-old banished to the kiddie table at Christmas. Dismissing him as if he was insignificant. That, more than anything, was what had lodged beneath his skin, itching and burning.

Well, they’d surely realized that was far from the truth by now. He was more than significant. He had them by the balls.

They wouldn’t listen to reason, so he’d simply take what he wanted.

He was going to enjoy watching them squirm. And while that would certainly be entertaining, what he really hoped to gain from this meeting was an understanding of what he’d done to piss them off so much they’d excluded him from the negotiations in the first place.

He hated to be in the dark. That’s when you were open and vulnerable. Beckett did not like being exposed. And the irony wasn’t lost on him at all.

Now V&D were scrambling, and Beckett was going to enjoy sitting back and watching the show. This would be fun.

He grasped the handle of the conference room door and his heart rate kicked. He embraced the physical evidence of his anticipation, letting it free for just a moment. A smile flickered across his lips. Then, completely in control, he wiped his expression clean.

Striding forward with confidence, he raked his gaze across the conference table and the people already waiting. And he nearly stumbled.

Blood, adrenaline and a bone-deep craving flooded his body. Every muscle went solid, straining against his skin and the need to reach across the table, grasp the woman staring at him and kiss the hell out of her.

Although the daggers she currently had pointed at him said that probably wouldn’t go over well.

Beckett’s years of harsh control served him well. Shaking his head, he pulled out the chair opposite the gathered contingent and settled against the soft leather surface. Leaning back, he let the chair tip off center and take his weight, his body lax and comfortable.

Scraping the group with a practiced, sharp smile that was all teeth and challenge, he waited to see what their first move would be.

He’d been looking forward to this meeting all morning, but suddenly it had gone from entertaining to downright thrilling.

Because sitting across from him, elegant, cold and seriously pissed off, was the last person he’d ever expected to see.

The woman was far from the tech geek he’d anticipated. While he’d been doing research on both of the partners, the V in V&D had remained a mystery. In an age of social media, she hadn’t had a Facebook, Twitter or Google+ account. Which had struck him as weird, considering she was the brains behind a company poised to explode into the highly competitive tech market.

Hell, she was selling a social media app and didn’t have a single social media account. No photographs or videos of her drunken college days on YouTube. According to rumor, she valued her privacy, preferring her lab, computers and code to actual human interaction.

He’d half prepared himself for some shy, mousy thing with pale skin and eyes bloodshot from staring at flickering screens too long.

Instead, her pale-green gaze was definitely not foggy or distracted. It was intelligent, angry and trained solely on him.

A blouse the same shade as her eyes was buttoned up tight. A single strand of gleaming pearls nestled against the hollow of her throat. The long, lush hair was swept up into a tight twist, bangs feathering across her forehead.

She was clearly the prim and proper businesswoman ready to plunge into shark-infested waters...and win. And maybe, if fate hadn’t intervened, the ruse would have worked.

But he knew her secrets.

He’d seen her naked skin, that heartbreaking tattoo and her sexy lingerie just last night, framed in the lonely window of a French Quarter apartment.

* * *

ALYSSA WATCHED HIM stride into the room, powerful, commanding and utterly confident in his own skin. She’d braced for the impact, but it hadn’t done much good.

The moment he entered it felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Her lungs deflated, leaving her gasping for breath.

It had been years since she’d seen the man, although their single encounter had left a lasting impression. Not just on her psyche, but on her life.

Although she’d bet next year’s profits he didn’t have the first clue who she was...or that he’d once had his tongue down her throat and his hand up her skirt.

Or that he’d humiliated her.

She’d been sixteen and upset from a fight with Bridgett and her father before a friend had picked her up for a party. Her stepmother had accused her of things she hadn’t done—drugs, drinking, seeing an older guy. Without a second thought, her father had believed every word his wife fed him.