Blurb:
Recently widowed, Helen Crewe needs a fresh start. A job in the south of France cataloging a private library seems like the perfect change of venue. Once she settles into the luxurious living quarters at Les Santons, she's sure she'll be able to leave the past behind her. Until she awakens in the night to familiar sounds -- a bondage scene being played out in the garden beneath her window between Luc de Prioux and his personal secretary, Branko. In the dark, memories come flooding back.
The library Luc inherited with his grandfather's estate contains dozens of priceless treasures -- rare volumes of beautiful engraved erotica. But none are more priceless than Helen herself. Luc knows what he wants, and he's just the dominant Helen needs in her life. As long as she's willing to share...
Helen's stay at Les Santons promises to be everything she needs. Until a break-in at the estate makes her wonder what she's gotten into...
Excerpt:
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The magnificent sunset was a fitting end to a day that had just about blown Helen's socks off. If first impressions were accurate, she'd landed on her feet in gilded slippers. The tour of the estate -- the only word for a property that comprised six different buildings -- went beyond impressive to astounding. Her designated office in the main house was as large as the spacious dining room in the house she'd just sold. Her living quarters were a beautifully furnished apartment over the private gym and it was from her balcony overlooking the gardens and the sea that she watched the sunset before crossing the courtyard back to the main house for dinner.
She'd all but staggered back two hours later. Four generous courses plus half a liter of wine on top of jet lag almost had her keeled over. Meeting her employer for the first time had done nothing to steady her. Luc de Prioux was handsome, charming, far, far too young for her, and hotter than August in Death Valley. She'd thought the secretary, Branko Odic, pretty up there on the bed-worthiness scale but their mutual employer led the pack.
Okay, she had far too much common sense to take off her panties for an employer. Any employer. Even one with dark blue eyes that all but matched the restraints Edwin used to tie her down on the bed, and a slow, sexy smile that crinkled the corners, and a wide, sensual mouth made to satisfy women's dreams. And she wasn't about to dwell on the strong, long-fingered hands and a handshake that clearly showed Luc de Prioux might be young, but damn well knew his place in the world.
It wasn't just the blatant sensuality of the man and his dark curls and tanned skin. It was the dominant air about him that struck chords in her heart and...
Yeah! Right! Better get her mind out of the clouds.
It wasn't easy. Everything about her new employer, from the broad shoulders under his silk shirt to his tanned wrists just visible below his cuffs, the firm chin, strong neck, upright stance and the assurance of his voice that, utterly ignoring the sexy French accent, screamed "Dominant." She had to fight the instinct not to respond submissively, resist the urge to kneel at his feet, to call him "Sir," or whatever the French equivalent was. She had managed dinner without making an utter fool of herself. All she had to do now was keep her dignity for six months.
Tomorrow she'd start work and be too busy indexing old tomes to nourish lustful thoughts. Apart from the three meals a day they would apparently share.
Maybe she'd skip a few meals.
Meanwhile, Helen showered in her almost decadently luxurious bathroom, experimented with the bidet and decided that yes, it really was a handy fixture for a widow in need. After virtuously flossing and brushing her teeth, she sank into the smooth linen sheets under the goose down comforter and was asleep in minutes.
A noise outside awoke her. It was still dark and a silver streak of moonlight lit the wall opposite the foot of her bed. Another sound. Oddly familiar but she couldn't quite place it. Maybe she'd dreamt it.
It came again: the crack of a whip in the air. Either she was dreaming or...
Helen got out of bed. The room was a little chilly in the night. Her robe was still packed, so she padded barefoot and naked across her room to open the window and peer between the slats of the shutters.
She all but gasped as she stared intently, blinked to assure herself she wasn't dreaming before she unlatched the shutters and opened one a few inches to see better. The courtyard garden below her window was lit by moonlight, but it wasn't the scent of early jasmine, the sound of some night bird, or the antique ornamental urns that drew her attention. To the right, a pergola stretched from the house to the edge of the courtyard, and lashed between two of the uprights was a man. Naked to the waist, his skin pale in the moonlight, arms and legs spread-eagled, he looked helpless, vulnerable and magnificent. The night air chilled Helen's shoulders to the point of goosebumps. He had to be cold... Or maybe not.
Her heart did a little flip as the sound repeated. A second man wielded a single tail whip, cracking it in the air and hitting the stone paving with a sharp sound that brought back a flood of memories. Edwin had owned such a whip. They'd bought it together at a fetish fair. He'd never used it on her -- she'd been too chicken -- but just the sound of it was enough to start her creaming.
The second man, dressed in a flowing white shirt, dark breeches and almost clichéd high boots, paced back and forth, circling his victim and cracking the whip at intervals. A wave of envy had Helen wishing she were the one strung up and helpless and the whip wielder were her lover...
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