The Submission of Alistair Ingram (3 page)

“Wait!”
he shouted as the limo rolled forward. “I’ll be right back.”

Alistair
got out of the car. The slam of the limo door made Betty look over her
shoulder. He held her blue eyes for a moment, but she broke their stare and pushed
her trunk shut.  Her keys jingled in her hand as she rounded her car. He had to
get to her before she took off and left him standing in the middle of the
parking lot watching her drive away.

Alistair
approached her car just as she sat down behind the wheel and reached for her door
handle. He put a hand out to stop her from closing it. “What’s your real name?”
he asked.

He
had no idea what kind of spell he was under to be so curious about this woman
and her life outside of the club, but the gut-wrenching fear he’d caused her
made him want to know what was behind her eyes. He had to know what made her
tick. Why was she working at Dolls & Doms?

She
gazed up at him from under a thick fringe of eyelashes and let her eyes trail
down his chest where the wax she’d dripped on him had left red blotches and a
few blisters. “Did you know your British accent comes out when you’re angry?”
she asked.

Of
course he knew. When she’d poured hot wax on his chest and almost sent him
through the ceiling, he’d heard his past in London come through his words quite
clearly. “What’s your real name?” he asked again. “I’d like to know the name of
the woman I need to make my poor behavior up to.”

She
rolled her bottom lip into her mouth and dropped her eyes to her lap. “You
don’t owe me anything.”

Alistair
rested his hand on the doorframe and leaned in closer. “I’ve never scared a
woman and never want to again. I feel like shit for what I did. Let me do
something for you. Do you need money?”

Her
eyes shot back up and pierced him with a loathing glare. “Do you always pay
people off when you fuck up? Is that how you make things better?” Betty grabbed
the door handle and nudged him in the back as she pulled it gently. “Please
move. I’m leaving. My obligation to clients is over for tonight.”

Alistair
shoved the door back open. “Well, my obligation isn’t.” He saw the fear creep
back into her eyes and held his hands up in surrender. “I just want to talk.
I’ve never laid a hand on a woman. I’m not planning to start with you.”

“I
have nothing to talk to you about!” she shouted. “I’m not telling you my name.
I’m not delving into my past with you, and I’m not going to serve as some
pathetic charity case that you can help and get your ego off on.” She tugged
the door against him again. “Now, move!”

“Is
this client bothering you, Black Betty?”  Alistair spun on his heel to come
toe-to-toe with a club security guard with a face made of stone.

“He
was just telling me goodnight,” Betty said. “Congratulations on your upcoming
nuptials, Mr. Ingram.”

Alistair
turned back to her, let his eyes linger on hers, conveying his heartfelt
apology. “Thank you.”

He
stepped out of the way and stood frozen to the asphalt parking lot beside the
security guard as he watched Black Betty drive away. A large hand landed on his
shoulder.

“Don’t
screw with that one,” the security guard said with a chuckle, “she’ll eat you
alive and keep your soul in a jar beside her bed.”

“How
do you know?” Alistair didn’t want to think of this hulk of a man with Betty.
Was he the one who’d made her fear men? If so, Alistair would kill him in his
sleep.

The
guard lifted a brow as he gazed to where her car had disappeared. “You don’t
need a degree in psychology to know that one’s got a few screws loose. She
scares the shit out of me. Someone like you,” he turned back to Alistair, “you
might’ve just earned yourself a whole new level of stalker.”

The
guard patted Alistair’s shoulder, laughing. “Have a good one.”

Alistair
folded his arms across his chest and listened to the guard’s footsteps retreat
back inside the club. Did everyone have the absolute wrong impression of Black
Betty?

She
wasn’t the hard-assed woman she projected to everyone. Alistair had cracked her
tough exterior and exposed the vulnerable woman inside.

The
security guard was correct on one point though.

Black
Betty had captured his soul. Would she keep it in a jar beside her bed? He
didn’t know, but he wouldn’t mind finding out.

Save
Me From The Dark

Black
Betty couldn’t stop glancing in her rearview mirror as she sped down the road
away from the club. So help her, if a black limo pulled out and started
following her…

She
made it to the stop light and turned left without getting so much as a glimpse
of the limo and let out a deep sigh of relief.

This
night had been total shit.

She
jabbed the buttons on her stereo, stopping on
Bring Me To Life
by Evanescence.

The
song had always spoken to her on the deepest, rawest level, but she would never
be saved from the dark. It was way too late for that. Her life was what she’d
made it, and she’d just keep waking up every day until the day came when she
didn’t wake up again.

Black
Betty didn’t fear death. She feared living with men like her ex-husband.

Like
Alistair Ingram.

No,
not like Alistair Ingram. He was only an idiot who took her by surprise
tonight. He had no idea what to do with a belt, let alone any other “toys” he
might’ve gotten his hands on. She felt foolish for letting her fear take over
and control her. Afraid of Alistair Ingram. What a laugh.

She
drove with the wind blowing through her hair. The dry heat of the day had
fallen a few degrees, but left her thirsty. She was always thirsty. Ten years
in the desert and she’d lived every single one of them parched, her skin
chapped, her hair dry no matter what brand of conditioner she used. She was
girl from the humid southeast corner of the country who couldn’t acclimate
herself to Las Vegas no matter how badly she wanted to hide like a chameleon in
the sand. She might look the part—tan and fake blonde—but fitting in was never
her strong suit.

Her
condo was dark when she pulled into the driveway, and she wished she’d left a
light on. Despite herself, she was still shaken.

After
lifting her duffel bag from the trunk, she made her way inside and turned on
every light downstairs. She scooped up the remote and turned the T.V. on,
thankful for the laugh-track behind an old sitcom. She turned the volume up and
plopped down on the couch. If she hadn’t stopped drinking when she came to
Vegas, she’d pour herself a giant seven and seven and forget this night ever
happened. Instead, she got up and went straight to her emergency stash of
Snickers bars hidden in the back of a kitchen cupboard. Four candy bars and two
episodes of
Three’s Company
later, and she was fighting to keep her eyes
open.

*
* *

Betty
woke to her cell phone ringing. Her mouth was practically glued shut from
eating chocolate and not brushing her teeth before crashing out on the couch.
She ran her tongue over her teeth and cringed when she saw her boss’s number on
her phone.

“Hello?”
she answered as she kicked her feet up on the coffee table.

“I
need you to get here right now.” The tone of Mark’s voice had Betty darting to
the edge of her couch.

“Why?
What’s going on?” Alistair Ingram flashed into her mind. Shit. If he bitched to
Mark, she could be fired. She was one of the few Doms he had at the club, but
she knew that didn’t make her indispensable.

“It
seems we have a bit of an issue with your star-studded evening last night.”

Oh,
God. “I’ll be right in.”

After
brushing her teeth, taking the quickest shower of her life, and braiding her
wet hair down her back, Betty climbed behind the wheel of her car and headed to
Dolls & Doms.

When
she turned the corner at the light and the club came into view, she had to gasp
for air at the sight in front of her.

Paparazzi.
Everywhere.

What
the hell had that stupid movie star done to out their short-lived time together?

Why
would he do this?

She
laid on her horn to get the camera-wielding pests to move out from the parking
lot entrance. “Move,” she muttered under her breath.

Thankfully,
one of the club’s security guards was manning the gate and shut her car in
before any of the photographers could find a way inside.

Betty
jogged across the lot to the back door and darted into the cool darkness
inside. She pressed her hand to her chest and took a few deep breaths before
striding to the bar on trembling legs.

There
were no patrons today. Only Mark sat on a stool at the bar with a stack of
newspapers in front of him.

“Hey,”
Betty said. “What’s going on? Why are there paparazzi out there?” She was
almost afraid to hear the answer.

Mark
swiveled on his stool, his large belly rubbed against the bar. Betty hated his
toupee. She’d never seen one that looked so fake in her life. “Looks like Mr.
Ingram has broken off his engagement.” He tossed a gossip magazine into her
hands.

“What?”
She glanced down at the cover of the paper. A photo of the happy couple,
Alistair and Heather, was torn in half and the word “cheater” had been written
over Alistair for dramatic affect.

The
paper started to shake in Betty’s hands.

“You
think that’s something,” Mark said, picking up the remote to the T.V. over the
bar, “check this out.”

A
celebrity gossip channel came to life on the screen. A video of Alistair and
Heather dashing out the front entrance of The Palms was being broadcast.
Heather was screaming and crying and threw her engagement ring at him. His torn
shirt hung open, the red marks Betty had left visible.

“A
surprise visit from Heather brought more trouble that Alistair Ingram asked for
when his bachelor party antics at Dolls & Doms private men’s club left him
with physical evidence of his night of debauchery. If this video isn’t evidence
enough, best man, Bradley Burton, confirms—it’s over for the golden couple of
Hollywood.”

The
host turned back to the screen where the front of Dolls & Doms flashed
across the screen. “Sources tell us the lucky lady was club Dom, Black Betty. I
bet she’s gloating this  morning.” The host chuckled and went on to another
celebrity gossip story.

Betty
couldn’t tear her eyes from the T.V. The paper in her hands was damp from her
sweaty grip. Gloating? Why would she be gloating? She didn’t give Heather
Winston one thought last night.

She
tossed the paper back onto the bar. “This is bullshit. I had nothing to do with
this. Women get pissed all the time when their men come here. That’s not my
problem.”

Mark
licked his lips and turned to her. “No, but you have single handedly cost me my
clientele by pulling the stunt you did last night.” He pounded his meaty fist
on the bar. “You left marks on him! You know it’s against club rules to do
anything that leaves marks!”

“Even
if I begged her to?”

Betty
flung around at the sound of Alistair’s voice behind her. She couldn’t believe
he was standing there—still wearing his torn dress shirt, looking a little
worse for wear with stubble grown in on his chin—defending her actions. “No,
I--”

He
held up a hand. “Don’t take the heat for me. I’m a kinky bastard and begged you
for it. If the world finds out, so be it.”

A
Marked Man

Black
Betty couldn’t believe her eyes. Or her ears.
Kinky bastard?
Alistair
Ingram? “Can I talk to you?” she asked him. “Privately?” She shot a glance at
Mark before striding to Alistair and taking his arm.

His
eyebrows shrugged up and down. “Taking me back to your lair for more, huh?” His
famous shit-eating grin eased onto his lips.

“You
need a shower,” Betty said. “You stink.”

He
laughed and let her pull him down the hallway to the black door with the
crystal knob. Betty stopped in front of it and turned to him. “I’m sorry.”

She
really didn’t know what she was sorry for. She didn’t ask him to come here last
night, and it wasn’t her fault Heather Winston had shown up at his hotel. But…

“For
the marks,” she clarified.

He
glanced down at his chest. “Yeah, the ripped shirt and missing buttons didn’t
help my cause either.”

She
turned to open the door, clenching her teeth against the embarrassment blooming
in her chest. She’d never felt embarrassed by anything she’d done to a man
before. Why now with this man?