DARKLY: Excerpt

New from #1 New York Times bestselling author Helen Hardt, experience the critically acclaimed first book in the Follow Me series through the eyes of its enigmatic hero, Braden Black.

Self-made billionaire Braden Black is used to getting what he wants when he wants it. So when aspiring photographer Skye Manning doesn’t immediately fall into his bed, Braden finds himself craving her even more. And when she finally does submit to him, no one is more surprised than Braden that the thrill of the chase didn’t satisfy his appetite—to the contrary, it only fueled it. Behind Skye’s dedication and focus, he sees a natural submissive, and he’s determined to bring her out.

Skye Manning takes charge of her life. Everything she does brings her one step closer to her goal of becoming an internationally known photographer.  Until Braden Black. He challenges her, shows her more pleasure than she ever imagined between the sheets, but he asks something in return—something she can never give up. Her control.

But Braden Black never backs down from a challenge.

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Excerpt:

I allow my lips to bend ever so slightly upward. I suppress a shiver.

“I couldn’t help myself,” I say. “She hates coffee.”

She smiles. “I know. She threw out the latte after the shoot. Perfectly good and hot. I’d have happily drunk it.”

“You’re a coffee drinker, then?”

She nods. “Absolutely.”

“Me too.” I stare at her again, unable to shift my gaze from that appealing mouth. “Care to go for a cup…”

Her eyes widen.

I glance toward her desk where her nameplate sits. I remember then, from the phone recording Cindy sent me. Skye Manning.

“…Skye?”

“It’s almost six.”

I don’t miss a beat. “Dinner, then?”

She looks down at her wrinkled silk blouse and skinny jeans. Her gorgeous brown hair is falling out of its ponytail. Again, I imagine it unbound and free, gloriously curtained over her shoulders and back.

She eyes Addison’s closed door.

“You don’t need her permission,” I say.

“I wasn’t—”

“Sure you were. Your boss doesn’t particularly like me, so you were wondering if going to dinner with me would somehow cost you your job.”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Are you good at your job, Skye?”

Skye. I love the way her name sounds as it rolls off my tongue—like a caress.

Her cheeks redden. Again. It’s off-brand for me to push a woman who’s not interested, but this one is interested. She’s just not admitting it.

More importantly, I’m interested. Really interested.

She licks her lips. “Well, I—”

“Let’s attack this from a different angle. How long have you been working for Addison?”

“Almost a year.”

“Then clearly you’re good at your job, or she would have gotten rid of you long ago. Addison might be a pain in the ass, but she’s smart. She won’t let a good thing go.” One corner of my mouth twitches slightly. Man, I want to smile. This woman really makes me want to smile. I’ve perfected my poker face over the years, to the point where I use it not only in professional situations but also personal ones.

But then I let go.

I smile.

I fucking smile like I’ve never smiled before.

“I’m not dressed appropriately,” she says, meeting my gaze.

“I didn’t say we were going to a black-tie affair.”

“I don’t think—”

I interrupt her. “You look fine. It’s dinnertime, and I’m hungry. I don’t feel like eating alone for once. Don’t make more of this than it is. Your job will be safe.”

She opens her mouth, and her stomach lets out a famished growl. Adorable. Freaking adorable, this woman.

“You’re obviously hungry,” I say. “Let’s go.”

She walks toward the door of the office. “Okay. Where are we going?”

I hide my enthusiasm at her acceptance. Why do I feel like jumping for joy? Sure, I haven’t had sex in a while, but I’m never this eager.

“I feel like oysters,” I say.

“Sounds good,” she says as I open the door for her.

“Wait,” she adds.

“What?”

“I don’t even know you. I… I’ll meet you there. What restaurant are you thinking?”

Smart of her. I like her more already. “Union Oyster House. You want me to get you a cab?”

“Sure. I guess.”

“Or you can drive with me. It’s not far, and I personally guarantee your safety.”

She pauses a few seconds before turning to me. “As long as you personally guarantee my safety.”

“Absolutely.”

I lead her to a black Mercedes parked in front of the hotel. My driver emerges and opens the door. The back seat is lush with a cream-colored leather interior. I get in next to her.

“Union Oyster House, Christopher,” I say to the man who’s been my driver for the past several years.

“Yes, sir.” Christopher closes the car door and takes his place in the driver’s seat.

We don’t talk at first, which is fine with me. Personally, I hate forced conversation. I got enough of that early in my career at events where I had to schmooze my way into what I wanted. I’m good at it, but like social media, I dislike it. After the day I’ve had, forced conversation sounds akin to torture.

And I’m never in the mood to be tortured.

So I’ll wait. I’ll wait for her to relax a little bit. Loosen up. I want to know this woman, and it’s not because knowing her will piss off Addie. That’s merely a fringe benefit. I rarely concern myself with Addison Ames—this afternoon notwithstanding—and as I regard Skye Manning, her tense countenance and her luscious lips, I don’t give a rat’s ass what the consequences will be.

Addie knows a lot of secrets.

But my desire—fuck, it’s more than desire—for her assistant outweighs all of that.

I relax next to her. My knee touches hers, and she tenses even more. I expect her to say something, but she doesn’t.

With Skye Manning, I may not always get what I expect.

And I find that realization thrilling.

—

 

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Category: Contemporary Women Writers