The Starkis Family Series
Deacon - Book 1Mia is stunned when she receives an email from the elusive billionaire who owns the lingerie company she models for. He tells her he’s intrigued. He’s not the only one. But she knows she’d be a fool to throw away an eight year relationship for a brief affair with the head honcho. He doesn’t do relationships and she doesn’t do casual sex. It seems they’re at an impasse.
Who will come out on top in this battle of wills? The dominant one or the woman intent on teaching him the meaning of submission?
Note to readers: No cliff-hangers! Mature content, 18+
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Excerpt
I barged into Deacon’s office at eight o’clock that evening. Since his silver Lamborghini was one of the few cars left in the parking lot, I wasn’t too concerned about interrupting a meeting.
He looked up from his computer when I stormed in, and a smile quickly replaced his scowl.
“They let you in without clearance?”
I plopped down in the seat across from him, trying not to notice how tempting he lookedwith his sleeves rolled up and no tie on.
“The receptionist who usually guards your castle left for the day, and the security guard at the front desk has a crush on me, so he didn’t ask any questions.”
He frowned. “Which security guard is that?”
I spotted a stress ball on the corner of his desk. I doubted he used it; it looked like a promo item Alabaster’s gave away. I whipped it at his chest.
“You’re not serious.”
He laughed, catching the ball before it hit him. “You have a pretty good arm.”
“Shut up, Deacon!”
The nagging voice in the back of my head reminded me I was talking to my boss, but I told her to mind her own goddamn business and go back to sleep.
“I’m pissed at you.”
He leaned back, kicking his feet up on the desk as he tossed the ball from one hand to the other and squeezed it.
He leaned back, kicking his feet up on the desk as he tossed the ball from one hand to the other and squeezed it.
“Do tell.”
“You told Eleni about us.”
“So?”
“So you had no right to do that!”
He seemed totally unfazed by my anger, which only incensed me further.
“She’s my friend. I should have been the one to tell her, when—or if—I decided there was anything worth telling her.”
That got his attention. When he pinned me with that hot gaze, I feared he would demand I bend over the desk and take my punishment like a brave girl.
“I asked you not to tell anyone, including Eleni. You didn’t, and I appreciate that. Now that you’re single, I’ve decided it’s time your best friend know about our… relationship.”
The way he said relationship made me feel as though he had been seeking a different wordbut come up short. Arrangement, perhaps? Was that what this was to him?
Not willing to let him have the last word, I said, “We’re not in a relationship. We’re still getting to know each other. If I like what I see, I might agree to date you, though not exclusively.
I’ve been tied down too long to get serious again so soon.” I swallowed, averting my eyes when the thin skin across his knuckles turned white from the pressure he was inflicting on the ball.
“Let me get this straight. You might agree to date me—though not exclusively?”
I was almost afraid to push him further, but if I backed down, that would set a precedent for all future arguments.
“That’s right. If you have a problem with that, we can part ways now and—”
He planted his feet on the floor and made his way around the desk slowly, like a panther preparing to devour its prey. He gripped the armrests of my chair, his face a fraction of an inch from mine. I held my breath—waiting, praying, and trying to predict what he might do next.
Pushing him had been a very bad idea.
“You really think that’s an option?” he whispered.
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When one door closes, another one opens. I closed the door to my business for the last time in 2011, which left me with a decision. What now? Find another location and move my nutrition business, go to work for someone else, or take a chance on my dream? I chose the latter and I’ve never looked back!I’ve always loved reading and writing, but it wasn’t until I jumped in with both feet and decided writing would be my career, instead of just a hobby, that my muse woke up from her deep slumber. It was like someone flipped a switch inside my head and stories just came pouring out. At the end of the day, I would often look at the keyboard and wonder, ‘Who the heck wrote that? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me!’
I don’t write books. I tell stories, or rather, I allow my characters to tell their stories through me. I’m not a plotter, never have been, never will be. Why? Because I have no idea how the story will evolve and it’s not my place to manipulate it. My job is to get to know these characters, figure out what makes them tick, then follow their journey wherever it takes me.
When I’m not writing, I’m daydreaming. Thankfully, I have an understanding husband and son who know I’ll re-join the land of the living just as soon as my muse decides it’s quitting time. I don’t work for myself. I work for her. She’s the boss. And I’m okay with that.
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