Kelly Jamieson: TamingTara

“I’m not struggling! I’m fine, I’m just…new to this.”

“Here’s your first lesson,” he said, voice like velvet. He stroked a hand over the curve of her shoulder and down her arm, his hand big and warm, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. “There’s a difference between the technical skills—using a flogger—” he gave a short nod at the tool lying on the pallet. “A whip, a cane, ropes…whatever. The technical skills are important, for sure, but the psychological skills…those take much more time to develop.”

“Uh…”

“Understanding people…what they want. Knowing what they need. What they really mean. Negotiating. Communicating. Self-control.”

She nodded.

“But most important is that to be a Dominant, you have to understand yourself . You have to be in control of yourself before you can control someone else.” His fingers lingered on her wrist, over the sensitive skin where her pulse leaped. “And think about this…the best way to learn how to be a great Dominant is to experience what it’s like to be a sub. Many Doms learn that way.”

His air of authority and confidence, the sultry rasp of his voice, surrounded her like a warm blanket. She stared up at him. She took in his words, even as she felt a little irked that he was lecturing her. How did he know she didn’t know all that stuff? She could be a pro Domme for all he knew.

Well, apparently her inexperience was pretty evident. She drew in a long breath. “Thank you for all that wonderful information,” she said coldly. “But I think I’ll do just fine without your help.”

He bent and picked up her flogger, brushed it across his palm. Her eyes followed his actions. Her lips parted.

“I think I could…convince you,” he murmured.

He wouldn’t. He would not use her own flogger on her to make her give in to him. A thrill of uncertainty chased through her. She lifted her gaze to his. He smiled.

She reached for the flogger and grabbed it away from him.

“No, thank you,” she snapped.

“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind…” He gave her a wicked smile. “You know where to find me. See you Monday morning.”

Oh dear God. Now she had to face him Monday morning in a swelter of embarrassment about this. As if it wasn’t bad enough she had to deal with a stranger coming in to take over the business, he was a goddamn Dom and he’d showed up at her club.

She could have stomped her stiletto-clad foot as she watched him leave.

Joe knocked on the open door of Tara’s office Monday morning. He’d spent the entire weekend thinking about her. Not the new job. Not how he was going to learn everything he needed to know about olives, for Chrissake—just her.

Her fierce opposition to him being there. Her strong, spirited nature, her passion for the business, the surprise of seeing her at Le Château …and the hint of submission and uncertainty in her eyes.

He still couldn’t believe she’d been there. He’d been in town a few days, decided to check out the local scene and who did he run into but his new…uh…colleague. She wasn’t his boss. She was his boss’s granddaughter, which was just about as bad. It was some kind of sign, he just hadn’t figured out if it was a good one or a bad one.

She shoved back her chair and stood, and he admired again her curvy body in the little dark suit, the jacket all buttoned up and so at odds with the black painted-on latex dress she’d worn Friday night.

“Good morning. Come in.”

It was like she was a different person. This morning, she was cool, in control of herself, all efficient and polite business. He could almost think seeing her at the club all worked up and soft had been a dream.

“First we’ll go down to the store,” she told him, voice crisp. Okay. They were going to pretend Friday never happened. That could work for him. Maybe.

She strode across the room on those endless long legs and, trying to gather his wits together at the contrast between cool professionalism and hot sensuality, he followed along behind her.

The offices of Santa Ynez Olive Company were located on the second and third story of an older building on State Street in downtown Santa Barbara.

“We own this entire building.” Tara led the way down the stairs at the rear of the building. “The retail store is on the main floor and we lease space to a clothing boutique on one side and an art gallery on the other.”

He had to drag his eyes off the way her snug skirt cupped her sweetly rounded, very spankable ass as he followed her down the stairs.

The store hadn’t opened yet for the day, so the only people there were two men, one looking over some papers, the other unloading stock from a box onto a shelf.

The retail space was small, which was okay considering they sold relatively few items, all specialty items—oils, olives and some imported foods like capers, roasted peppers and vinegars. A baker’s rack held loaves of breads and the tantalizing, yeasty aroma filled his nostrils and reminded him of home.

“The bread is delivered every morning from a local bakery.”

Joe picked up a bottle of olive oil in a dark, etched glass bottle that looked handcrafted, the bottle itself a work of art. It was a one-liter bottle of oil and the price on it said fifty dollars. Holy shit!

Apparently seeing the look of astonishment on his face, Tara grinned.

Her smile sucked the air out of his lungs.

It was the first time he’d seen her smile, really smile, and holy crap, she was fucking gorgeous. Her smile lit up her face, lit up the whole room, and he realized to his dismay that he was standing there staring open-mouthed at her, the expensive oil in his hands forgotten, his gaze riveted to her.

He snapped his mouth shut.

“It’s totally worth it,” she said, still smiling. “You can try some later. Out at the ranch. We’ll do a tasting and you can have a lesson in olive oil.”

He nodded and carefully set the bottle back on the shelf.

The tastefully decorated shop catered to an upscale, “foodie” clientele. Was that Tara’s doing? All the packaging was artistic and classy and seemed to fit with her vision for the business.

“How has the recession affected sales of this kind of luxury item?” Joe asked.

“It hasn’t. These kinds of items seem to be recession proof. The people who can afford to buy them can still afford to buy them. But good question.” The words almost seemed to be pulled out of her reluctantly.

Tara introduced him to Jack Berns, who was stocking the shelf. The young man greeted him with a friendly smile, stood up and shook hands before resuming his work. Then she introduced him to Jose de la Cruz, the manager of the store.

“I wanted to talk to Jose before I met with the web designers,” she told Joe. “He has some ideas too about marketing.”

They followed Jose into his small office at the rear of the store. Jose was older than Tara. Did he subscribe to her innovative ideas or was he old-school like Tyrone?

It didn’t take much time listening to Jose and Tara to realize Tara had the man completely under her control. If Jose had ever had a different thought, he now deferred to her on everything. Interesting. She was obviously very strong willed, but once again, some of the things she said raised questions for him. Or maybe it was the things she wasn’t talking about that got his spidey-senses tingling.

How did she know what kind of sales figures she could expect from putting all their products on the internet? What was her plan for the inventory they would need to carry to fill online orders? This space was clearly too small for what she had in mind. He was curious about her research, her business plan. He made mental notes, grateful for his near-photographic memory.