Kelly Jamieson: TamingTara

Tara slid the wrist loop of the flogger over her hand and rolled the top ball of the handle in her palm, fingers loose. Biting her lip, she swung the tails in a smooth figure eight, alternating dragging them over the skin of Adam’s bare buttocks, changing to a circle, then snapping her wrist and giving him a stinging slap. This was a little different than practicing on a pillow. Restrained, helpless—he was at her mercy. Her teeth sank deeper into her bottom lip. Was she doing it right?

She’d been practicing. She flicked her wrist carefully, giving just the right amount of force to the stroke.

He cried out.

She did it again. And again.

The glass block wall behind the two men glimmered with reflected light from the candles arranged in a row on the floor. Dim lighting and black carpet kept the mood in the small play room dark, mysterious, edgy…

She turned to the man beside Adam on the spanking bench and laid another fall across bare flesh. She watched the warm flush creeping from rounded buttocks down to his thighs. Yes. His thighs. She flicked the flogger tails there too. She had to remember to vary the places she struck. Too many in one place could be bad.

“Oh please,” he begged. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she demanded. Her hand started to heat from holding the flogger. She’d have a blister there tomorrow to remind her of her first night at Le Château. Her shoulders ached too. She rolled them, trying to not miss a beat with the flogger, then widened her stance in the above-the-knee leather boots she wore. She felt powerful. In control.

Scared.

The power she held in her hands at that moment—to inflict pain, to control, to dominate—had fear sizzling through her blood, knotting her stomach.

That wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid. She was supposed to love it. She wanted to be in control.

But as she swung the flogger again, she knew she held back.

The next morning, Tara sat in her grandfather’s office, staring at him across his desk. She rubbed her forehead, trying to push away the tightness between her brows with her fingertips. Her shoulders ached and she hadn’t slept well last night and now… “You did what?”

“I hired another manager.”

She stared at him, still unsure if she’d heard correctly. “Why? Who? Why would you do something like that?”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “You can’t run this company by yourself.”

Outrage rose up inside her, fierce and hot. “Grandpa! I am perfectly capable of running this business.”

He frowned at her. Tension hummed around them. They’d had this conversation so many times. He didn’t think a woman could run the family business, which was probably why he was still so involved, reluctant to step aside and let her take over. She was doing a good job; if only he could see that, dammit. Instead he just kept interfering in her decisions and refusing to acknowledge she really did know what she was doing. And now— now he’d hired an outsider, a total stranger, to do her job, to make decisions she should be making. Perspiration dampened her silk blouse and that unpleasant burning feeling in her stomach returned. “Who is this guy?”

“The grandson of an old friend of mine. He happens to be looking for a job right now.”

“What does he know about the olive business?”

“He has an MBA in operations and supply-chain management.”

She pressed her lips together. “Which means he knows nothing.” An MBA. Huh. A fancy degree meant zilch to her. “Where did he work before?”

“His last job was with a pharmaceutical manufacturer in San Francisco. I’m sure he’ll be able to learn everything he needs to know quickly. Apparently he was quite a star. He’s a smart boy.”

“Boy? A boy ? How old is he?”

“Thirty.” Grandpa eyed her. “Two years older than you.”

So she couldn’t play the age card. Fine. Her heart sledgehammered under her ribs and blood pulsed hotly in her veins. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair in which she sat, the blister on her right hand stinging. She ignored it.

She studied her grandfather, sitting behind the big mahogany desk in his office. The afternoon sun shining through the window behind him lit up his white hair, a contrast to skin browned from the sun. Sharp, sparkling topaz eyes, just like hers, regarded her from beneath thick white brows. She leaned forward.

“You don’t need to hire someone else! I can do it, Grandpa, you know I can.”

So she didn’t have a hot-shot business degree. An MBA in operations and supply-chain management. Pffft. What she did have was a love for the business in her blood and a vision not just for their company but for the entire industry.

But everything she tried to do, Grandpa disagreed with. The job she loved with all her heart had become complicated and exasperating. She’d grown tired of trying to do end runs around him, only to have him discover what she was up to and then give her hell. The constant battles and efforts to stay strong and in control were exhausting her.

She’d always known she would work for Santa Ynez Olives, but after her parents’ deaths she’d also known she would be the one to manage it. Grandpa wasn’t going to live forever. But although he’d let her work there, and although she’d pushed, shoved and elbowed her way into management, he’d never supported her taking over entirely.

“We need his business expertise,” Grandpa said.

The insult was like a slap in the face and she almost flinched. Once again, he was telling her how little he thought of her professional abilities. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly, determined not to show how hurt and afraid she was. She had to be tough and strong to show him she could do it. Any sign of feminine weakness would just prove him right, in his mind.

But she also knew there was no point in arguing. When Grandpa made up his mind about something, it was a done deal. She’d spent half her life arguing with him over everything from how she should dress and what boyfriends she should date to this important decision.

She stood and smoothed down the skirt of her suit with trembling hands. “When does he start?”

“He’s coming in this afternoon, but he’ll start officially Monday.”

She stiffened. Monday!

“I expect you to show him around, bring him up to speed on what he needs to know about the business.”

“I will not!”

“Tara.”

She fought to stop herself from yelling. “I don’t have time for that,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’m busy. Busy running this company. If you want him here, you bring him up to speed.”

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her and shook his head slowly from side to side. She tightened her trembling lips, heart thudding in her chest. She always succeeded in pissing him off. Shit. She had no choice in this if she wanted to stay involved. And anyway, it was probably better if she had control over what information this guy got about Santa Ynez Olives.

“Fine,” she said through a tight jaw. “I’ll do it.”

“I expect the two of you to work together. I’ll bring him down to your office when he gets here.”

Teeth clenched, eyes burning, she nodded tightly, then turned on one sensible heel and walked out of his office, resisting the urge to slam the door behind her.

She stalked back to her own office down the hall and this time let the door fly with more force than was necessary. She sank into her leather chair behind her own desk, light maple and much more modern than her grandfather’s, her mind whirling like a dust devil.