She takes a sip of her wine. “If you wanted me for your brother, why did you sleep with me first?”

  How much do I tell her? Anything I say makes me sound like a dirtbag. Then again, I’ve never apologized for who I am. Why start now? “I couldn’t help myself.”

  Her face softens. She has to be thinking that she couldn’t help herself, either. Some gentle sentiment I can’t quite decipher pours from those blue eyes. Despite all the sparkly shadow and heavy black liner, I see it. Hell, I feel it.

  But Keeley doesn’t speak it. She merely nods.

  “I understand wanting what you want when you want it. The truth is, we can’t always have that.”

  A veiled warning not to come on to her again. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to heed that. We’re sitting close. During the conversation, night has fallen and the moon makes her glimmer under its soft silvery beams. She’s chewed her bottom lip so much it’s swollen and red. Our forearms are so close I can feel the body heat rising from hers. If I lift my hand, I could tangle our fingers together. I think about it. I think hard. One little move and I could be touching her…

  But that would make me an even bigger asshole, wouldn’t it?

  Having this sudden conscience is annoying.

  I pull back. I try to be all suave about it, lean back in my chair like I didn’t want to jump on her all along.

  Not sure she’s buying it when she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest pensively.

  “Yeah. Whatever,” I flip back at her.

  Keeley sends me a skeptical glance but lets it go. “So what’s next? How do you make me into Griff’s fantasy girl?”

  I’m happy to be back on conversationally easier ground. “I’ve made you some appointments next week. My brother can be an SOB pig but he loves a lady. Polished in public, slutastic in private. I also called a former client of mine. Clarisse has trained pageant contestants. Don’t give me that face.”

  That only makes Keeley’s expression stormier. “I am not going to look like a mannequin in sequins.”

  “You’re not,” I rush to agree. “But she’s also a body language coach. She’ll teach you to sit, stand, walk, and talk all while flirting in the subtlest way. Griff eats that shit up. After that, you’ve got a full two days at the spa. In the meantime, my sister is learning his schedule. We’ll figure out a time, a place, and a look that’s just right for the occasion. Then we’ll go in.”

  “And when do you start teaching me about business and what to do so that I can eventually buy my own B and B?”

  I pause. It’s a fair question. Besides, keeping my end of the bargain will enable me to spend more time with Keeley.

  “Saturday. I’m dropping by to preview a place in Kahakuloa for another client. After that, I should be free for the rest of the day. I know some houses for sale not far from there that might be good properties for your purpose. Why don’t we walk some of them, talk about the pros and cons, what to look for and what to run away from, how you’d utilize them to your maximum benefit…that kind of thing.”

  “That would be great.” Her warm smile returns.

  Every time I see that expression, I relax and simply enjoy her beauty. And of course, I have to smile back.

  “It’s a date, then.”

  Her smile falls. “It’s not. We’re business partners. We’re giving each other something we want so we can get ahead. Once Griff trusts me, I’m going to do my best to help you repair your relationship with your brother. But you and I are not dating. We’re not having sex. We’re not anything.”

  My immediate reaction is to be pissed off. My head knows that’s the deal we struck. The rest of me isn’t accepting it.

  “Figure of speech.” I shrug by way of apology.

  But deep down…yeah, put me in the stupid column. I’m still determined to have my cake and eat it, too. I will have this woman again. I’ll spend day and night working for it until I earn her.

  Continue reading More Than Want You on your preferred platform here!

  About Shayla Black

  Shayla Black is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of more than sixty novels. For nearly twenty years, she’s written contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and historical romances via traditional, independent, foreign, and audio publishers. Her books have sold several million copies and been published in a dozen languages.

  Raised an only child, Shayla occupied herself with lots of daydreaming, much to the chagrin of her teachers. In college, she found her love for reading and realized that she could have a career publishing the stories spinning in her imagination. Though she graduated with a degree in Marketing/Advertising and embarked on a stint in corporate America to pay the bills, her heart has always been with her characters. She’s thrilled that she’s been living her dream as a full-time author for the past nine years.

  Shayla currently lives in North Texas with her wonderfully supportive husband, her daughter, and two spoiled tabbies. In her “free” time, she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music.

  To be notified of new releases or sales, join Shayla’s private VIP Readers: Mailing List.

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  Chapter 1

  What in the actual fuck…?

  Jaxon Mills froze as conflicting thoughts ricocheted through his brain. The woman who’d just pushed through the frosted-glass door that separated the reception area of the Quarter from the main dungeon resembled his biggest investor’s daughter.

  He shook his head. It couldn’t be her.

  Willow Henderson was tucked away at an expensive New York college earning a master’s degree in social work. She sure as hell wasn’t standing in the middle of one of New Orleans’s most exclusive BDSM clubs.

  But holy hell, the resemblance between the two was startling, at least on the surface.

  Both were tall and slender, with dark hair. Willow wore her hair in a casual bun and dressed in jeans, often with artistic rips in the fabric, and tank tops beneath long-sleeved men’s shirts.

  She was completely different from the woman who paused to watch a submissive receiving a flogging on a nearby Saint Andrew’s cross.

  He lowered his sparkling water to the table as he swept his gaze over the look-alike. Her hair danced around her shoulders in feminine waves. She was dressed in a black leather crop top with sexy cap sleeves that left her midriff bare. Her asymmetrical skirt was short enough to slam his imagination into overdrive. He pictured himself lifting the hem as she grabbed her ankles and took a deep breath before he used his belt to paint her buttocks a satisfying red. It would be even better if she was panting and screaming his name.

  Prospective members of the Quarter were required to attend with a sponsor on their first three visits. Since the woman was alone, it meant she’d been here a number of times. She didn’t have a bag with her, which likely meant she wasn’t a Domme, despite her confidence. Interestingly, she didn’t appear to be looking for anyone in particular.

  When the flogging ended, she turned toward the bar area. After a lot of consideration, Aviana, the club’s owner, had elected to add one. Members who chose to imbibe had their hand marked with an X, which forbade play for the rest of the evening. He thought she’d made an excellent choice.

  The area was glassed in, making it much quieter than the dungeon. It provided a place for partners to meet and negotiate away from the rush of the play floor or to connect after a scene.

  On a couple of occasions, he’d stopped by to relax after an evening out. From here, he had an excellent view of Aviana’s throne, a number of the Saint Andrew’s crosses, and a few of the spanking benches.

  Aviana had decorated with a Louisiana flair. A picture of a tiger representing LSU hung from the wall, alongside an autographed New Orleans Saints football jersey, and neon signs from the thriving local brewery.

  Still captivated by the woman who looked like Willow, Jax stretched out his legs and watched her.

  Just inside the frosted-glass entrance with the Quarter’s signature fleur-de-lis etched into it, she paused. A few tables were occupied, but she ignored them, opting instead to scan the long, polished bar and the people seated there. A couple was snuggled together with their foreheads touching. Two stools were occupied by Doms without subs.

  Obviously having made a decision, she walked toward the back of the space so she could sit alone, at the end of the bar, with an empty, inviting chair next to her.

  About three feet away from him, she saw him and jerked to a stop, eyes wide. For a moment, their gazes locked.

  Fuck it to hell. Shock, hot and white, pulsed through him.

  The sexy temptress—with the parted, enticing mouth—was his friend’s daughter. Did Brian have any idea that she was more than a thousand miles from school and that she liked to get her ass beat by men she might not know?

  Willow blinked, severing their connection. Instead of saying anything, she squared her shoulders and continued past him.

  Jesus. What the living hell was wrong with him? He was lusting after his friend’s kid.

  Now that he knew who she was, he was torn between pretending he hadn’t seen her and paddling her ass himself.

  If he were smart, he’d sign his tab, grab his play bag from the coat check, then go home where he could masturbate to some fantasy female and forget he’d ever seen Willow. The Quarter had a strict code of conduct. Movie stars, musicians, politicians, and business tycoons needed a place free from scrutiny, which made privacy Aviana’s main priority. Many people opted to use a scene name, and unless there was an agreement between all parties, no one could acknowledge they knew one another outside the club. Since visiting the club on his rare trips to Louisiana provided a much-needed break from the grind of running his digital-media conglomerate, Jax valued his membership.

  Stefan, one of the Doms at the bar—a man who was devouring his trust fund, sleeping all day, partying all night, and discarding a relationship a week—glanced toward Willow.

  Jax mentally repeated the club’s rules.

  Willow was at least twenty-one, capable of making her own decisions. She was free to show off her butt or her breasts to anyone in the club if she wanted.

  What she did was none of his business.

  Still watching Willow, Stefan grabbed a cance from the top of the bar and bounced it off his open palm, as if in deep thought.

  Jax snapped his back teeth together. No one was touching Willow. No one but him.

  Fuck the rules.

  Shit.

  The bartender slid a napkin in front of Willow, and she snatched it close and began shredding the edges.

  “What will it be?”

  Hemlock. “Something virgin.” Like she wished she wasn’t.

  “Piña colada?”

  “That sounds perfect.” She tried to smile, but her facial muscles seemed frozen. “Thanks.”

  When she’d first started coming to the Quarter a little more than a year ago, she’d been wary, expecting to see someone who knew her father. The Quarter had a lot of members who moved in his circles, but as the months passed, she relaxed. She was comfortable flying down during breaks, and she’d become adept at navigating the intricacies of getting her needs met in a place far from home. Attending a club in New York would be easier, but after the disaster with Lawrence, she wanted to avoid relationships. Being far away made that possible.

  Of all people here on a Thursday night, why, oh why did it have to be Jaxon Mills, the cockiest damn billionaire on the planet?

  Since the moment she saw the digital marketing entrepreneur, she’d disliked him. Four years ago, Willow and her father had been among the dozen people who crowded into Jax’s office while he recorded a video. In her naivete, she’d thought he’d be dressed in a business suit. Instead, a black T-shirt swaddled him, tight enough to show off his honed abs. Confidence and energy ignited his dark-green eyes. He spoke with rapid-fire speed, sharing strategies about how to connect on social media and build an empire like his. His presentation had been passionate and engaging, but then he’d told viewers to stop whining if they weren’t enjoying the success they wanted and ordered them to get off their fucking asses and make something happen.

  Shock made her drop her purse. Once the camera stopped rolling, he stood, shook hands and high-fived another successful Jaxon Media presentation. His staff offered accolades, and he drank them in as his due, everyone bowing before the king.

  From her mother, Willow had inherited a much different worldview, where everyone was better off by working together and being supportive. Motivation was crucial. But beating people up? Everything in Willow despised his arrogant, self-important approach.

  After his crew filed out, her father introduced them, and she forced a polite nod. Jax turned his massive focus on her. He sought her hand, and when she reluctantly slid her palm against his, electricity pulsed through her. He repeated her name, rolling it around on his tongue, tasting the syllables. Willow had never forgotten the way he captured her gaze, searing her senses.

  It was the exact same way he’d looked at her a few seconds ago.

  Even though her appearance was dramatically different, his pupils had dilated with recognition. He recognized her. And it was obvious he intended to do something about it.

  Her pulse had skidded.

  Not only was the arrogant bastard at her favorite club—he was a freaking Dom. As much as she wanted to pretend that didn’t matter, her submissive instincts prickled. On an elemental level, she was compelled to respond to him. What would it be like to be claimed by a man with that level of confidence? And it wasn’t false bravado. A million people a day, maybe more, hung on his words. If he was as competent with a paddle as he was with a microphone…

  Willow shook away the inane fantasy.

  She chanced a quick glance up to see a man headed her direction. He tapped a cane against his calf as he walked, and his gaze was fixed on her. Thank God. She could forget she’d seen Jaxon Mills and get on with her evening.

  “Good evening.” He extended his hand. “May I join you?”

  “No. You may not. The young lady is with me.”

  The atmosphere snapped around her, and she forced her spine into a straight line. Jax. Of course. She’d never been safe from him.

  Scowling, the Dom pivoted to face the taller and much more muscled Jax. In the years since she’d seen him, he’d gotten leaner. He wore his trademark black T-shirt and black boots, but tonight he’d switched out his jeans for tailored black trousers. His hair was longer than she remembered, and she fought off a ridiculously feminine instinct to run her fingers through the locks, maybe muss it, make him seem less formidable.

  “Ask her.” Jax nodded toward her.

  Both men turned in her direction.

  The bartender placed her drink on the shredded napkin and asked, “Everything okay?”

  She nodded a silent lie. Nothing about Jax was okay.

  “The club code word is red. Use it and I’ll send both of these men home.” The bartender directed his gaze at the Dom then at Jax. “I’ll be right here.” He folded his arms and remained in place.

  Jax loved being the center of attention. And in the end, he would win. All he had to do was call her dad. Then the wrath of hell would descend. Worse, if he told her mother, the gentle Myrna would collapse in a pile of disappointment. All in all, Willow would rather deal with Jax. “We’re together.”

  “Good night, Stefan.” Using his impressive frame, Jax took possession of the seat next to her.

  “Sorry to have interrupted.” He nodded, as if it had been a big misunderstanding rather than a pissing contest between two Doms.

  “Give my regards to Leah.”

  “Fuck you, Mills.”

  It took several seconds for Stefan to walk off. Then the bartender gave her another pointed look. “I’m here until eleven if you need anything.”

  “Thank you.” She appreciated knowing the club’s staff and monitors paid attention to every interaction, no matter how important the member.

  He rapped a knuckle on the bar top before leaving to pour a beer requested by another customer.

  All of a sudden, she was alone with Jax. “Who’s Leah?”

  “His girlfriend.”

  “Oh my God.” She pulled her straw from the piña colada and stabbed it back in repeatedly. “I didn’t know. I hate cheaters.” After being the one duped, it was especially painful. She’d never be a participant in hurting another woman.

  “I figured it might make a difference to you.”

  It did. Not that she’d be grateful to Jax for saving her from making a mistake. Even if the pair had an open relationship that worked for them, Willow wouldn’t want to be part of that. “Is she a submissive?”

  Jax lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He sat close enough that she inhaled his scent. Power spiced with arrogance. Jaxon Mills was a man who took what he wanted.

  “Are you?” His approving gaze lingered on her.

  “Am I…what?”

  “Submissive. Is that why you’re here?”

  Even though she didn’t want to have any reaction other than disdain for him, her traitorous heart pounded out a dangerous sexual tattoo. “We’re not having this conversation.”

  “No?”

  “Look, Jax…” Desperate for a distraction, she took a big drink of the piña colada and the freezing cold gave her an instant headache at the back of her skull.

  “Does your father know you come here?”

  His change of conversation threw her. She shoved away the drink. “That’s none of your concern.”

  “I’m making it my business.”

  “So that you can cockblock me all night?” If only he knew how ridiculous that idea was. For her BDSM had nothing to do with sex. She loved the sensation of impact play. It took her away from worries and brought her fully into the present. It was meditative. “Pretend you never you saw me here. We both signed confidentiality agreements.” She shifted in her seat so she could look at him directly and give him her most optimistic smile. “You go your way. I go mine.”