In His Grip: His #5 (A Billionaire Domination Serial) Read Online Free PDF

environmental police. They were waving papers in the face of the security guard at my door, a furious clamor of hurried Portuguese buzzing amongst the men.
    My gut tightened at the sight, at the recognition of impending confrontation, and my brow started pounding with the pressure that always preceded a torturously resilient headache. The fragile calm I’d found working at the project site burned off with the heat of rising blood pressure as I pulled my dirty t-shirt back on while walking up to my door.
    A quick scan of the group told me Daniel Vaz was not there, but I had no doubt this was the IBAMA investigator’s influence at work. For a moment, the hair on the back of my neck rose, and I clenched my jaw, wishing futilely that Chloe has listened to me and stayed away from the man. It wasn’t a fair thought, I knew, and I quickly dismissed it. How could I say I shouldn’thave rushed to pull him off her when I’d found him forcing himself on the submissive under my care? Vaz was just lucky I’d only broken his nose. He owed that to Chloe, who had dragged me off him when the blood started to flow.
    Now a bear of a man with swept-back black hair and a thick mustache nodded at the sight of me, grabbed the bundle of papers, and notified me crisply and officially of the pending federal charges against me. The cool façade necessary for damage control washed over me as I read through the paperwork, not arrest warrants—not yet—but search warrants and subpoenas for documentation.
    With a quick glance to the security guard, I asked, “Is Miss Bloom inside?” It wouldn’t do to have federal agents rush in to find my naked submissive. I had promised Chloe no one would ever violate our privacy the way Vaz had.
    “No, Mr. Knight.” Which was both a relief and a concern. Was she with Penn?
    It appeared to take the authorities off guard when I consented to the search without making a fuss, though I did use my cell to call my attorneys.
    While federal agents scoured my home, my sanctuary, confiscating desktops and laptops and PDAs, I sat patiently in the golf cart with arms crossed over my chest and one ankle crossed over the other as I propped my feet up on the dash. It wouldn’t do to look worried at a moment like this. By now, the flush of stress and temper had faded to a low simmer of heat over my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, hardly noticeable in the afternoon sun.
    I recognized the feeling, the sense of defeat, of everything that could go wrong going so much more wrong than feared. But I’d lived through it before, when Penn had led the effort to utterly ostracize the new boy with the supposedly fake British accent at Siemer, and when my first attempts to find work in the industry had met either with disdain for my last name or a distressing reverence for it. I’d tamed that London lilt, pulling it out only in private for girls who asked nicely , and I had finally changed my surname and acquiesced to my adviser’s recommendation that I use my trust to start my own business.
    But the more I remade myself, the more I became those things I rejected. Until Ilha de Flor and the eco park project. That was me, or what I wanted to be. For a few days—God, it really had only been days —I’d had the woman to go with that fantasy identity, the image I’d pictured for myself as an idealistic teen giving my family and all the right social circles the finger.
    It would have been just perfect to have my Miss Bloom show up now, I mused darkly as I vacillated between picturing the worst—a Brazilian prison, Penn riding off into the sunset with Chloe, Ilha de Flor sold off to someone who wanted to tear out every tree and orchid in favor of a twenty thousand acre carpet of golf turf and tennis courts—and pep-talking myself through the steps of answering these federal charges, bringing my submissive in line, and throwing Penn Ellison the bloody hell off my island.
    Two hours later, as the investigators were packing their