Dream Launch

Jayelle Thorne

Description

When rising ad executive Raleigh MacMillan lands the biggest account her agency has ever had, her life becomes entangled with her wealthy client, Blaine Montgomery, an older charismatic entrepreneur with more than business on his mind. Raleigh's innocent, career-focused life suffers distorted twists and noxious turns as she is manipulated into his erotic world. The most unexpected of all is her introduction to the secretive, sexy, handsome Trevor Daniels, one of the men assigned by Montgomery to guard her life. He possesses her in ways that she never imagined were possible, as he holds tight the real reason for his obsession with her.

Montgomery’s own obsession to control her spirals out of his grasp when the community is rocked by his shocking ties to a murder linked to his darker side. As the investigation tightens around Montgomery, it reveals a sinister thread that brings Raleigh an unexpected and troublesome reunion with a sister presumed a world away. Unraveling the story uncovers her ties to the dark world of pleasure and pain. Raleigh is compelled to sort through the lies and find the truth—even if what she learns will destroy her.

Sujets

• Sexy
• Bondage et discipline, domination et soumission et sado-masochisme
• Danger
• Suspense
• Discipline
• BDSM
• Alpha (ethology)
• Billionaire

Informations

• Publié par: Blushing Books Publications
• Date de parution: 03 juin 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 2
• EAN13: 9781627508902
• Langue: English

Extrait

Dream Launch
Dream Series Book One
By
Jayelle Thorne
 
 
©2015 by Blushing Books® and Jayelle Thorne
 
All rights reserved.
 
No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in anyform or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, withoutpermission in writing from the publisher.
 
Published by Blushing Books®,
a subsidiary of
ABCD Graphics and Design
977 Seminole Trail #233
Charlottesville, VA 22901
 The trademark Blushing Books®
is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.
 
Thorne, Jayelle
Dream Launch
 
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62750-8902
Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design
 
This book is intended for adults only . Spanking andother sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intendedfor adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' orthe author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking ofminors.
 
 
Table of Contents:
 
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Ebook Offer
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Blushing Books
 
Chapter One
The ride back from our breakfast meeting somehow seems shorter.Lighter. Easier. Layers of jugular maneuvers in previous client meetings shedover strong coffee. Laughter fills his Jaguar. When his lean-across to open thepassenger door presses against my breasts in an awkward linger, newfoundcamaraderie dissolves faster than a sugar cube drenched in acid. 
He sits back. Smug. Faking a cough. Pleased with my uncomfortableanguish as blood rushes upward like a crimson tidal wave.
Shoulders cave.
Chest withdraws.
Breath ceases to exist.
 "Now that we know each other… better," his gutturalwords jolt my exit scramble from the sports car, and he leans to catch my eyesdowncast in a rattled purse dig. "Call me Blaine from now on. And don'tlet them give you a hard time for being late this time, Raleigh, and don'tforget..."
"It's not billable," we say in unison.
"But, you can count on that starting as soon as I get back tothe ad agency." 
In the midst of my resumed key search, I realize my new client hasn'tdriven away. His brazen gawk hasn't cease-fired, and that brash smug hasn'tdiminished.
Poise stumbles into self-conscious missteps toward the safety of mycar that is beeping and blinking as if happy to see me. I hasten inside withnerves bordering on fray.
That's when I notice the man leaning on the black Suburban parkedacross from me and caution-be-damned indignation catapults me from the car. 
Instead of trying to avoid me, he crosses his arms in cockydefiance, and looks me straight in the eye and takes my anger in stride.
"Who the hell are you? And, what the hell do you think you'redoing?" My voice echoes in the expanse devoid of people with only pointedkeys defending my courage. 
"We need to talk." 
Just four simple words, but they send me railing. "Talk? Hell,no! I should call the police. For all I know, you're the sick asshole whomurdered that young woman the other night. And, you... you..."
That's when the foolishness of accosting a stranger in a dark, coldparking garage reeking of motor oil and gas fumes triggers the panic alarm. "You...you better be careful. Blaine is parking his car. He's coming right back, andhe'll—"
"Mr. Montgomery hired me to follow you."
Shit! I wasn't expecting that bolt of baffle. I turn my raggedesteem toward the elevator, pushing the Mini Cooper's remote and tossingspitfire over my shoulder, "Yes, we do need to talk... and… and right now…in Blaine's office!"
He pushes the button for BGM Enterprises, without a word. 
The receptionist keys a code, without a glance. 
The colossal wooden doors open, without a sound. 
The long dark hallway leads to Blaine Montgomery's palatialexecutive office suite, but he stops short at a door with a nameplate readingR.C. Brown. 
A toss of his keys on the table, a nod to the seat on the right,and he closes the door on my last raw nerve.
Dusty round table. Two tattered chairs. Bookcase bulging disheveledlaw volumes, a rumpled Mapsco, and well-worn Kids Say the Darndest Things book by Art Linkletter lay on top.
No photos.
Nothing on the walls.
The blinds are drawn.
The overhead fluorescents are stark.
It's not very warm and inviting. But then, neither is he.
"R.C.?" I ask.
"Yes."
"Stands for?"
"R.C."
My puff of disgust before a long deep breath musters enough courageto glare at this R.C. man. He's the one who needs to do the talking. Not me. 
I sit back, cross my arms, and meet his earlier defiance seethe-on.
The air swarms in hot garlic from his breathy grunt as he sits inthe chair across from me. Locked in an eyeball tug of wait, the room tightensaround my shoulders. Panic seizes my fisted gut. Spit dries into coward parch. Myeyes sting from lack of blink.
"Mr. Montgomery hired me to follow you." 
That's old news. I call his bet with an eyebrow of disgust and upthe ante with squinty eyes and raise the stakes with a draw of mouth pucker, bluffingmy way into forcing this sluggish hand of the real issue on the table.
"You're in danger."
Damn! I wasn't expecting a verbal slap.
He pulls something from an inside pocket that he finger-pressesbefore pushing it toward me. "Recognize him?"
I don't have a clue, but I take my own annoying time to respond.
The angle of a man wearing thick black glasses makes it impossibleto guess height, age, or weight. But I can almost smell the stench of rumpledclothes in desperate need of laundry, his oily hair in filthy need of shampoo,and dirty face in disgusting need of razor.
 Two can play monotone exchange. "No."
"Didn't think so."
Nothing apologetic or kind in this man, R.C. Brown's, expression, justbusiness. All business. Serious business.
The gnaw of silence eats my patience and spits bile drowning inbitter. "If you're not going to tell me what's going on, then I'm leaving."
His throat clears. His shoulders shrug. His words grenade. "There'sa hit out on you, Miss MacMillan."
Shit. Damn. Shit. Shit. Shit!
"Enough with the dramatics. Either you tell me everything youknow or I'm calling Blaine."
His raised palm halts my fake fumble for the phone that isoutsmarting my senseless fingers.
"Mr. Montgomery does a background check on everyone he doesbusiness with."
I tilt a tell-me-something-I-don't-know glare in his direction.
"The usual. Credit. Personal info. Bank accounts..."
That boring piece of non-news doesn't even warrant an eye-roll.Duh. 
"There is nothing out of the ordinary on you, or any of yourcreative team at the ad agency. Didn't expect to find anything. Rarely do. JustSOP – standard operating procedure. Good business practice. Mr. Montgomery is awealthy man, and wealthy men have to be careful who they—"
"And, they have the money to spy on people." I regret thewords as soon as they spring off my tongue into the wide-open vastness ofnowhere to go but down.
Another uneasy silence until he serves more hot garlic with hischopped words.
"Late nights. Weekends. The two of you will work closelytogether. He needs to know who's going to have that kind of access to him. That'swhat I do. It's my job to look for anything out of the ordinary and to findsomething. It didn't take long to find him because he was looking for you. He,on the other hand, had a lot of interesting things out of the ordinary."
I hate the word interesting , a n overused wordmeaning everything from intriguing to gosh awful and any degree of imaginationbetween. In this case, I'm sure it sits way beyond the awful end.
"…professional criminal. Man for hire. Record longer than myarm. Petty teenage stuff. Serious stuff as an adult. Drugs. Armed robbery.Kidnapping. Murder…"
That word grabs my fragile composure by the throat and slams me upagainst the wall of nowhere to run, trampling my crumbled nerves around myfeet.
"… easy to follow the trail. In and out of prison. Not headedfor a long life. Risky choices." 
I take him up on an unspoken offer of a room temperature bottle ofwater. My throat is Sahara-parched and oasis-challenged in an ever-changingmirage being built on despaired hope amid devastation of delusion and shiftingsands of time slipping through my fingers.
In a welcome pause that lets the tremble steady and the raw scab,he gets another water for himself.
Opens it. 
Takes a long swig. 
Sets it down. 
Screws the cap back on. 
Looks at me with pensive eyes. No hint of reassure. No apol