Tangled & Bound: Blue Room VIPs, #3

By Emily Ryan-Davis

The powerful, magnetic man seated beside Melanie Burke on a flight to Las Vegas could have walked straight out of one of Melanie’s dog-eared romance novels. When he strikes up a conversation with her on the late-evening flight, fictional fantasies become knee-weakening, panty-soaking, feminine-core-clenching reality…a reality she wants to revisit again and again.

But when jaded club owner Sam Fletcher informs Melanie that his plans don’t include a long-term relationship with an impulsive young blonde for whom submission is more than likely a passing whim, Melanie throws herself into convincing him she is exactly the woman he wants, needs, and can’t live without.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emily Ryan-Davis
• Release date: Oct 12, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502275882

Book preview

1

August

Halfway into her nonstop flight from New York to Las Vegas, Melanie Burke started to squirm. Her restlessness had nothing to do with her tiny middle-of-the-row seat and everything to do with the muscular, denim-clad thigh touching her bare leg.

The thigh belonged to a man she’d noticed hours earlier while waiting to board. In a sea of people wearing jeans and t-shirts, he’d stood out, and not because of his scuffed cowboy boots and oversized belt buckle. Well, not only because of those. While the whole Texas horse wrangler look was out of place in LaGuardia, he certainly wasn’t the only man doing the Western thing. He was the only one doing it well, though.

The nice ass and hand-tooled boots weren’t what had her snapping a surreptitious pic and forwarding it to her BFF, Brooke, who was a self-proclaimed expert in all things BDSM. Something else was.

Something about him declared, I’m in charge. Ever since she’d gotten wet while reading a BDSM-themed novel earlier in the year, Melanie had become a sneaky people-watcher, looking for the whole in charge vibe Dominant men apparently put off. When she’d despaired ever finding her Dom, Brooke had advised her to chill and wait. According to Brooke, Melanie would just know. She was on the verge of giving up and going back to her normal sex routine of grad students and bar crawlers, but then she saw him.

During boarding call, she’d covertly watched the way he stood apart from the crowd even while standing in the middle of it. Her attraction to him was inexplicable. The cowboy look really wasn’t to her taste. She went for guys with more of a GQ look. He didn’t exude sophisticated power like the heroes of her dog-eared novels either, but he did take her breath away. Some part of her she was just discovering wanted to kneel at his feet and gaze up into his eyes from below.

When she reached her assigned seat on the plane, she was both startled and thrilled by the coincidence that booked him in the seat next to hers. Now, as she turned the page of her book, a mommy porn title on every national bestseller list, she sneaked a peek at her in-flight neighbor’s face.

Pale, grass-green eyes met hers. Caught in the act of looking, startled by the fact she’d caught him in the act too, she quickly shifted her focus back to the book spread across her fold-down tray.

Good book? Her neighbor’s voice wrapped around her, warm in the too-cold cabin. She pressed her thighs together as her simmering arousal cranked up a notch.

Most of the world seems to like it. She glanced up to find him still watching her. This time she was prepared for the intensity of his examination and managed to maintain eye contact. She even did a little looking of her own, mostly in the form of a closer inspection of his dark-blond evening stubble and full lips. Those lips quirked while she studied them. They would be fantastic between her legs.

As if he had access to her little fantasy, his smile widened.

I’m not interested in most of the world. Do you like it? He reached over, closed the book and turned it so the front cover showed. Who would’ve thought a simple neck tie would become so iconic?

It’s a very striking cover, Melanie agreed. But totally disinteresting to her now. As far as visuals went, he had all her attention. His shoulders dominated the narrow seat. She seriously wanted to climb astride his lap and put her hands on him. Maybe rub up against that big belt buckle. And she wanted to beg him to keep talking. The Midwest meets New York accent was weirdly fascinating.

The question still remains whether you’re enjoying the read.

It’s crazy popular—

Yes or no? he interrupted.

Heat flashed through her. Blinking rapidly at her body’s response to his demanding inquiry, she managed to say, I’m not sure.

There’s a simple way to tell. He leaned close and spoke directly into her ear. If you’re wet right now, you’re enjoying the book.

The powerful confidence of his voice stirred something low in her abdomen. She was wet before his lips brushed her ear. Now she felt soaked.

Answer me, honey. He touched her chin and tilted her head at a slight angle. Calloused fingertips settled on a spot just below her jaw. Your heart’s racing, but I don’t think you’re scared. I think that book has you so hot, you’re dying to slip your hand into your panties.

The book isn’t that good. She summoned the remaining shreds of her self-possession and managed to teasingly say, Maybe I’m enjoying you.

Not yet, you’re not. He straightened and flagged a flight attendant.

Melanie raised an eyebrow but kept quiet. It was almost a relief to share his attention with somebody else and she needed a minute to breathe.

When the flight attendant reached them, her green-eyed man didn’t request a drink as Melanie expected. Instead, he said, The lady’s getting cold. Would you bring a blanket?

She started to protest but he put his hand on her knee and the simple silencing gesture sparked such an internal display of fireworks that she forgot what she was supposed to be objecting to. She couldn’t see where he touched her because the plastic tray was still pulled down, but she could feel. Oh boy, she could feel. That touch said things she wasn’t sure it should say, but she didn’t want to contradict it.

Put the book away, honey. He stroked her knee with his thumb and lightly squeezed her inner thigh.

Wanting to obey but certain she should at least try to fight the urge to surrender, she said, I’m trying to read it.

To prove her claim, she stared at her book. Goose bumps spread across her skin. They had zero to do with the temperature in the cabin or her choice in attire, a lightweight sundress to combat the August heat. Up until he touched her, she was perfectly comfortable in the strapless blue dress she’d chosen that afternoon.

Speaking so softly nobody but she could hear, and so close she could smell the subtle notes of shaving cream used hours and hours ago, he said, The real thing is much better than what you’ll read about between those covers. Put it away.

The real thing? She turned toward him to ask the question, and that was a mistake. His breath mingled with hers. She could practically taste the mint she smelled. Trying to keep her head on her shoulders, she asked for clarification. Sex? Because duh. Or do you mean...

Not quite sure how to word what she needed to ask, she trailed off and stared at him expectantly. He quickly supplied what she couldn’t voice.

Submission. That’s what you’re reading about. His smile returned, faint at the corners of his mouth. Critics are calling that a gateway book. Were you surprised by your response to it?

Melanie nibbled at her bottom lip and tried to ground herself by taking stock of her surroundings. Her other neighbor continued to snore. Very little conversation was happening in the cabin, nothing more than the occasional murmur of sound between traveling companions. Most other passengers sat in the dark of a nighttime flight, their seats reclined and their eyes closed. A few read by the glow of tablets or e-readers, and tinny whispers of music came from two dozen sets of headphones. An action-heavy movie flickered on a screen up ahead. Nobody paid a bit of attention to Melanie and her impending erotic encounter.

This isn’t my first book. I knew what I was looking for. Her voice quaked a little, which only seemed to amuse him. She raised an eyebrow. "Are you laughing at me? I suppose you have years and years of experience tying women to beds and...whatever else gets you off."

Years and years about covers it, but I’m not laughing. Power exchange doesn’t amuse me. Are you going to put that book away and let me keep going?

God. His hand was so hot on her leg, practically between her legs. And she was seriously wet, partly from the erotic novel but mostly from the promise in his intense gaze. Making her choice, she stashed her paperback in the pocket on the seat in front of her and secured the tray. Once she had a clear view of his fingers splayed on her skin, she knew any semblance of control she had over the situation was completely gone. She’d given it over to him.

The flight attendant returned with a blanket, which Melanie’s mystery man shook out and spread across her lap. He reached up to turn off her reading light. In the sudden dimness, she forgot how to breathe. Some sane part of her brain warned her to stop things right now. The reckless, thrill-seeking part that she too often obeyed urged her to part her knees beneath the blanket. In honor of her tiny remaining sense of public decorum, she closed her eyes. If anybody happened to look her way, she didn’t want to know.

Lean your seat back and hold the armrests. Don’t move your hands.

He spoke so softly, yet with an authoritative quality she couldn’t refuse. As she angled back into a reclining position and gripped the hard plastic armrests, it occurred to her that she was doing something foolish. She didn’t even know his name. Instead of asking, she blew out a slow breath and inched down in the seat, closer to his stroking fingers.

He didn’t rush to accept her invitation. Instead, he started talking to her again. Do you belong to someone, honey?

Swallowing, she shook her head. Behind her closed eyes, the flickering scenes of the movie created crazy patterns not much different from the lines and circles and swirls he drew on her inner thigh with his short fingernails. Just when she thought he was going to go all the way up her short skirt, he scratched a path back to her knee. The goose bumps didn’t let up either, and a fresh wave tightened her nipples.

If you were mine, he said, that’s not the answer you’d give a man who asked that question.

If she were his, she’d probably melt into a hot puddle of need on the floor. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. What else?

What else if you were mine? His fingers ventured up her thigh again, feather-light strokes beneath her skirt.

Melanie nodded and tilted her hips, angling toward him. When he touched her through her panties, she whimpered. He probed gently, testing the material’s give and tracing a path down the valley between her swollen lips.

If you were mine, I wouldn’t cover you up with that blanket. I’d make you spread your knees wide and lift your dress so anybody who looked could see how pretty and wet you are. He hooked his finger behind the narrow strip of cloth covering her pussy and tugged, drawing the sodden fabric away from her skin. I’d pull your top down too, and let those hard little nipples go free.

Why don’t you do that anyway? she whispered, half afraid he would, half afraid he wouldn’t.

Because you’re not mine, he said, with what sounded like regret.

Her chest tightened. That wasn’t what she wanted him to say, wasn’t how their exchange should be going. She mentally revised his words to better fit the fantasy she wanted to live.