Baring MiaBy: Kallista Dane
(Billionaire Doms Book 2)
a Billionaire Enemies to Lovers Romance
Mia tore open the envelope. Snow-white vellum, it matched the spray of orchids reflected in the massive silver-framed mirror over the foyer table.
Inside was a thick sheet of paper with rough edges. She’d seen paper like that in a shop on Worth Avenue in Palm Beach. Hand-crafted, wildly expensive.
Remove your clothes and dress in the outfit laid out in your room. Then kneel in the center of the sitting room facing the door with your legs spread apart. Sit back on your heels and rest your hands on your thighs, palms up.
Maintain that position until I arrive.
She stepped through the wide doorway on her right into the sitting room decorated in tones of honey and cream. A floor-to-ceiling span of glass dominated the far end, facing the brilliant turquoise waters of Biscayne Bay.
Across the bay, the high-rise hotels of Miami Beach glistened in the August sun. Unlike most luxury hotels and condos in South Florida, there were no sliding glass doors to a balcony overlooking the bay. Not even a window she could open to let in the breeze.
Mia’s stomach clenched. No means of escape.
She went back into the foyer and opened the door on her left. A king-sized bed against one wall barely made a dent in the floor space. Beyond it lay a luxurious bath, a walk-in closet and dressing area. She slid open one of the mirrored doors and gasped. Tight satin corsets that laced up the back. A plaid schoolgirl skirt barely long enough to cover her ass. Full-length gowns in fabrics so sheer she could see right through them.
And shoes. There must have been thirty pairs arranged on floor-to-ceiling shelves. Red leather, shiny black patent, metallic silver, zebra-striped suede. All with death-defying stiletto heels.
“Looks like he has a kinky shoe fetish along with his BDSM obsession,” she said aloud. She assumed the entire suite would be outfitted with hidden cameras and listening devices and took perverse pleasure in uttering the casual insult.
One outfit hung all alone in the center with a small card dangling from the hanger.
Put this on. Now, it read.
Black lace garter belt, sheer black stockings with seams up the back, an underwire bra that would leave her nipples exposed – and four wide black Velcro bands. She guessed two were for her wrists, the other two for her ankles. Each had a stout metal ring attached to it. Mia felt a stab of dread. No skirt, no blouse, no panties. She wasn’t surprised to see that the bra was her size, as were the black platform heels carefully arranged below the outfit. Her employer’s ability to obtain and then make use of the most obscure data about people was legendary.
The chauffeur who picked her up had escorted Mia through the lobby and into the private elevator to the penthouse, toting her hefty suitcases as though they were empty. When the elevator opened, he turned left and led her down a long softly lit hallway, setting her bags in front of the door at the end.
“This is your suite, ma’am,” he said, ushering her inside. “Your instructions are on the table. I’m going to have to examine the contents of your bags. I’ll need your purse, too. Everything will be returned to you later.”
He stood, unmoving, until she reluctantly handed him the leather tote bag holding her lifeline to the outside world, then he turned and walked out before she could utter a word. She heard the unmistakable click of the door locking behind him.
Despite her attempt at bravado, the curt message in the note she read brought home to Mia just how vulnerable she was. What if the chauffeur found the tiny recorder installed in her cell phone?
She’d been warned. Sometimes people took desperate measures when they felt threatened. If her new boss found out why she was really here, he could easily arrange for her to disappear. Other than one contact at work, no one would be concerned. She had no family left to care about her, and the few casual friends she’d made at her last job had scattered, each absorbed in their own personal tragedy of suddenly finding themselves unemployed. Sure, they’d leave messages on Facebook for her, maybe a few voice mails. Then she’d be forgotten...until parts of her body floated past some redneck gator-hunting in the Everglades. This was Miami, after all.