Challenge to Him by Lisabet Sarai

he’d guided her steps, the sharp scent of his cologne and the challenge in his eyes. She nearly swooned at the recollection—or perhaps that effect could be attributed the champagne she’d consumed so recklessly after his mother had separated them.
    He’d been ready to refuse the order. Olivia had recognised the struggle in his eyes. Then he’d acquiesced, yielding to his fate, stepping effortlessly into the role to which he’d been born. She wanted to hate him for his lack of courage, but how could she, this man who’d opened her, taught her again who she was and what she needed? He was not to blame. He belonged to a different world than she, one as remote and strange as darkest Africa.
    Their connection, which had seemed so right and true and inevitable, was transient. She gave what was natural. He took what he needed. A simple transaction, obedience traded for pleasure.
    Tomorrow evening, he’d send her home, marked by his belt and his kisses, and the interlude would be over. She was a practical woman, not prone to crazy dreams. Why should she have expected more?
    She’d press him, though, about the factory. She would not allow him to take advantage of her perversity without providing something in return. If he did not fulfil his part of the bargain, she’d expand the strike, state-wide, across the northeast, across the nation, until he rued the day he’d met Olivia Alcott.
    Righteous anger could not banish her sorrow. She leaned on the tea house railing, the varnished wood floor smooth under her bare soles, and fought her sobs, drawing the salt-laced night air into her lungs in great gasps. I won’t cry , she swore. Not over a shallow, selfish popinjay like Andrew MacIntyre.
    “Olivia! There you are! I was afraid you were gone…”
    He came up behind her, encircling her waist and pulling her body against his. All her resolutions crumbled.
    “I’m so very sorry to have left you on your own in that nest of vipers.” Andrew nuzzled her neck, then tugged with his teeth at her diamond eardrop. A delicious thrill skittered down her spine.
    “No matter. Everyone was perfectly civil. In any case, I completely understand. You’re the host—you’re required take care of all your guests.” Olivia marvelled at the calm in her voice, even as he cupped her breasts through her finery and thumbed her nipples.
    “You’re the only guest who interests me. I don’t care a fig for the rest of them.”
    He turned her around, pressing her buttocks against the rail, and stroked her cheek. “Olivia—” It was too dark for her to read his expression, but his voice held an uncharacteristic note of uncertainty. His lips found hers, in a soft, tentative kiss that ended too soon and made her ache for more.
    She searched his face in the gloom. “Yes? What can I do for you, sir?”
    His whole body stiffened at the title, as though electricity coursed through him. At the same time, the act of voicing her surrender melted the last remnants of her anger.
    He tightened his grip on her bare upper arms—she’d have bruises tomorrow—and released a low chuckle, full of lust and menace. Wet heat bloomed between Olivia’s thighs.
    “You’re still willing to serve me, then?” His fingers were at her throat now, testing her pulse before sliding down to trace her collarbone.
    “Of course, sir.” His touch kindled almost unbearable arousal. She wanted to sink to her knees, to kiss his feet, to breathe his scent and rub her cheek against the glorious hardness at his crotch. “I am yours to command.”
    “Ah, that’s my slut talking. Come here then, girl.” He hustled her back towards the entry to the pavilion. The building resembled a normal gazebo, but dragons perched on the tiled, upswept eaves and were carved into the red lacquered pillars supporting it. He arranged her between the gateposts, facing the great house, which glowed like a Chinese lantern. “Raise your arms and put your palms against the posts. Yes, that’s