Breaking His Rules Read Online Free

been molten desire, there was now only cold steel.
    What was left to do but push through the awkward moment with a brilliant smile? I was already royally fucked, so I might as well end my last night at Midnight Blue on a high note—with my legs wrapped around Damon Baxter’s head. He frowned at my reaction. Did he expect me to cower and apologize profusely? That was not happening.
    “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Baxter,” I said, extending my hand. And I meant it. Maybe not under these exact circumstances. But still, the rumors were true. The man was magnificent, and I wanted to feel the powerful thrusts of his cock in my wet pussy. All was not lost yet. “I’m Samantha Rayne.”
    His lips formed a grim line and for one breathless moment, I thought he might reject my peace offering. He expected an apology. But I refused to give it, because I wasn’t sorry for calling him a self-absorbed millionaire. Damon hadn’t corrected the “self-absorbed” part of my declaration earlier. We both knew it to be true.
    His dark mood boiled down to one thing and one thing only. He wanted one night of pleasure between my thighs and saw the opportunity slipping through his fingers. Just as I moved to retract my offer, he grasped my hand firmly and shook. He probably wasn’t prepared for the gentle stroke of my thumb along the back of his hand, or the way I searched his eyes for some small sign that he still wanted me. Everyone told me my eyes were expressive, and right now I was telling him I’d sell my soul to the devil for one night in his arms.
    I slipped my tongue out to wet my lips. His gaze darkened and I had my answer.
    He stood abruptly and shoved one hand into his pant pocket. “When you’re done cleaning up for the night, meet me through that door,” he said, pointing me in the general direction. “I want a word with you.”
    Then he strode away without a backward glance, or waiting to hear my reply. It took all my focus not to rush through the close process. I was a professional and always left my bar clean and ready for the next bartender. By three-thirty I had all the liquor bottles in their rightful place, the ice melted with hot water down the drain, counters wiped down and the full list of remaining tasks completed.
    I made my way to the door through which Damon had disappeared earlier with sure strides, like I had every right to go there, but my bravado was lost on my coworkers. No one paid any attention to me, driven by their desire to punch out and rest their weary feet. Except for the platinum door handle, I wouldn’t have known the door was there. The rich wallpaper adorning the entire nightclub lined the door as well, effectively masking its existence. I slid it open a crack and squeezed through, using my bottom to close the door behind me.
    A slow whistle escaped my lips as I scanned the opulent room and my feet sank into plush carpet. Deep plum walls provided warmth and a surprisingly cozy feel. It was swanky and private. Damon lounged on a cream leather couch closest to the fire; the one that afforded a direct view of the entrance. He took a sip of his drink and stared at me. It was then I noticed the decadent bar in the far corner of the room. Whatever he was sipping must have taken the edge off his earlier mood because he appeared calm and relaxed.
    “Special privileges?” I asked, pushing off the door to stroll around the room, taking in all of the details.
    “Something like that,” came his husky reply. He probably hadn’t intended for it to sound that way, but his voice was so naturally deep, I imagined he could say “flatulence” and it would still come out sounding as warm and delicious as maple syrup.
    Who was this man and what inspired him? I wanted to know. A part of me wanted to sink next to him on the cream leather furniture—thick and plush—but I wasn’t sure I was welcome there yet, so I turned to the fire glowing in the marble hearth and listened to the soft music piped