Текст книги "The Gilded Chain"

Автор книги: Lauren Smith

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

“Lantern yellow is a lovely color,” she said. There was nothing else a person could say after a confession like his.

“And yours is cobalt blue. Why?” He seemed genuinely curious as to her answer and she felt compelled to tell him the truth.

“Your eyes. They’re cobalt. It’s such a rare shade of blue. No impurities, only endless depth.” She reached up, unthinking as she touched his cheek and studied his eyes, this time from her artist’s eyes. Sometimes the artist in her was its own being that woke like a sleeping goddess to wave her hand and create magic upon the page before slumbering again. Callie often teased that inner part of herself, calling it the reluctant muse. Around Wes there was no reluctance. If anything, he’d put her muse into overdrive.

“Keep talking about colors and you will end up in my bed, sore or not,” he warned, his lips curling into a seductive smile that showed just how on edge he was while trying to maintain his control.

She wanted him. But her body still needed some time to recover before they made love again.

“Strip down and get in the bath,” he ordered.

Still shy, she hesitated. The look he gave her promised a punishment, but she still wasn’t ready to just whip off her clothes.

With a low laugh, he gripped her arm and turned her to face the counter. He pushed hard enough to keep her bent over, helpless, but not hurting.

“When I give you an order relating to the bedroom or the removal of clothes, you say ‘yes, sir’ and do as I ask.”

Smack! The little slap to her bottom stung, but it was well away from her tender areas. He knew her body too well. Like how she would respond to a light pat at just the right spot on her backside, or the way to nibble her throat between kisses.

“Yes, sir,” she hastily said, burying her face in her arm, a little turned on and more than humiliated by the fact that the spanking made her instantly wet.

“Good. One more for you to remember this lesson.” Smack! This one was harder, but still nothing painful. The light sting always faded into a delicious heat a few seconds later. Wes kept her pinned down on the counter with one hand between her shoulder blades while his other hand massaged her ass, rubbing in the little reminder of her disobedience. Then he let her stand and he pointed at the floor by the bathtub.

“We’ll try again. Strip now.”

With trembling hands, she tugged the boxers down and kicked them away and then lifted the large t-shirt over her head. When she let the shirt flutter to the ground, she had to clench her hands in fists at her side so as to not cover her bare breasts. She was learning now that he’d punish her, deliciously so, if she tried to hide from him.

“Very good. I know you want to hide, Callie. But you are beautiful. Inside and out. I’ll allow some modesty, because it’s charming on you, but I want you to learn to accept your body and be comfortable sharing it with me.”

“Yes, sir.” Her fingers uncurled from their tight fists and she inhaled slowly, then exhaled. It helped.

I’m beautiful. She chanted the mantra a few times and was surprised that it made her feel beautiful standing bare before him.

“I don’t expect or want you to adhere to most of the rules I would require of a submissive. We both know what’s between us is more complicated.” He stared only at her eyes as he spoke and she didn’t feel like an object, but a person, and that made her relax.

“Wes, now that we’ve slept together…” She paused, terrified of how he might answer.

“Yes?” He was so patient, so calm, it was almost unnerving.

“Well, is that what you want? I mean you had me. Do you still…”

“Still want you?” He only continued once she’d nodded. “More than ever. Before I’d only had a taste of you. Now I’m not letting you go. You agreed to try to play by my rules and it will be so rewarding for us both. Tell me now if this isn’t what you want. If you don’t want me any longer then we can stop.”

She shook her head. “I still want you, too.”

“Good. When I have expectation or wishes, I will tell them to you so that you do not fear punishment. I will never really hurt you. What you’ve endured up to now is all that I’d ever put you through.”

She nodded. That little reassurance made her feel better. The idea of doing something wrong without knowing made her uneasy.

“Now come here and kiss me.” He waited like a lazy lion as she approached him. He didn’t move to touch her but let her place her hands on his shoulders. He waited, so patiently, but she could see the barely banked fires in his deep blue eyes. Her naked body pressed to his clothed one, only their bare feet touched and for some reason that made her giggle. He moved fast, too fast, grabbing her and pulling her against him.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded in a soft tone.

She shook her head and stood up on tiptoe, kissing his startled mouth. She’d managed to catch him by surprise and the knowledge of that turned her on. Knowing she’d caught him off guard only made her shake with silent laughter and he started laughing, too, even though she sensed he didn’t want to.

“What’s so funny?” he asked again.

“It’s not something I can actually describe,” she said and kissed the corner of his mouth, his jaw, then his cheek. She was happy. That was part of it. The rest was a sense of wholeness, of being complete and satisfied in a way she hadn’t ever felt before.

“You are a confusing woman,” he said and sighed, but it was accompanied by a soft smile that made her toes curl, especially when he followed it with a sweet, deep kiss. His hands cupped her bottom, clenched, and she jerked when he gave it a playful smack. Wetness pooled instantly between her thighs at that mix of pain and pleasure.

How did he know just what to do to her body to make it light up with inner fire?

“Go on and get in the bath, you minx.” He tapped the tip of her nose and urged her to get into the tub that was nearly full by now. She did as he ordered, sighing as the hot water sizzled on her skin and soaked into her, melting away her stress and soreness.

“Feeling better?” Wes asked, watching her from beside the tub. Amusement danced in his eyes and she grinned sleepily up at him.

“I’m not going to last long with this. What’s next, warm milk and cookies?”

He chuckled. “If you like.” His rakish wink made her roll her eyes.

“Are you getting in with me? Plenty of room.” She waved a hand at the expansive tub.

“I can’t promise not to touch you again.” He took a step back, as though the temptation was too great, but Callie had quick reflexes and she caught his hand, holding him still. Whenever he tried to pull away it made something inside her flutter with panic.

“Please.”

He pulled his hand free and she feared he’d walk away, but he stripped out of his jeans, sweater, and briefs and then climbed into the tub behind her. The water sloshed as he reached for her and pulled her onto his lap. She was too tired to fuss as he arranged her just the way he liked, her back to his chest. She leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder, their cheeks touching as he held her close. It was oddly right, to feel and be this close to Wes. He’d seen part of her soul in the last few days and she was starting to see his. After the bearing of such secret parts of one’s self there was no other need for barriers between them.

“Now that our bet is over, I have a serious matter to discuss with you, Callie. If you had the chance to go to art school, would you? If money was no object?” He added this last bit hastily.

Feeling a little bold, she stroked his forearm, which rested on her stomach. It was so nice to be able to touch him, like a lover. She’d never been able to do that with anyone else.

“I…If money wasn’t a problem, then yes. I would. Assuming I could get in without a recommendation of course.” She doubted she could do it. Art schools were incredibly competitive and she had no portfolio or any real experience besides her own self-taught techniques.

“That’s good to hear. There’s an excellent school on Long Island. I’ve spoken to Royce about applications for the spring semester and my friend has already written his recommendation based on the photos of the pictures I took of your art at the ranch. I’ve taken care of everything except for your entrance essay and three pieces of art you need to provide in three different mediums for your portfolio submission.”

Callie stiffened. “What? I thought losing the bet meant I didn’t get the recommendation…” That had been the only thing driving her to resist him and he’d made his seduction too irresistible. Now he was offering her the thing she’d wanted almost as much as she’d wanted him?

He chuckled. “My intention from the start when I made that wager with you was always to obtain the recommendation no matter whether you resisted me or not. Even if you succumbed, I planned to help you get into art school. Your application was filled out and ready before you ever boarded the plane with me in Walnut Springs.”

He’d filled out an application for her? She wasn’t sure whether she was angry or pleased…but she didn’t like that he’d done it without talking to her. There was so much he hadn’t considered though, like how far away Weston was from Colorado, from the ranch, and from her father.

“Wes, you can’t just do things like that without first talking to me. Leaving my father and my life at the ranch for school is a huge decision that only I can make. That’s a personal boundary you crossed.”

His arms tightened around her waist, and his suddenly hard cock nudged her backside.

“I break down walls and leap over boundaries, darling. It’s how I operate.” His warm breath fanned over her cheeks and she shivered. Her temper and resistance apparently aroused him. The man was still a puzzle to her.

“You’re not getting off that easily. You have to talk to me about decisions that affect my life.” She tried to slide off his lap because this was definitely a face-to-face conversation. But he didn’t let her move, even when she thrashed and water splashed over the tub’s edge.

“Be still or I’m liable to fuck you into submission, so you’ll listen to me.” His harsh growl rumbled in her ear and she stilled. The most basic animal instincts deep inside her demanded she not fight him. He was the alpha male and she’d resisted him. If she wanted to calm him down, she’d better not make any more sudden moves.

Dominants were a lot like predators in the wild. The romance novels she’d read hadn’t been wrong about that. The question was how far would she dare to push him?

Chapter 14

When Callie went lax in his arms, Wes relaxed as well. She could feel the tension seep out of his limbs.

“Good. Now here’s our discussion. You said if money was no object, you would go to art school. I’m paying your way so you’re going. That’s the end of the discussion.”

The bristling inside her was barely containable, but she had to be careful. It also rankled her that he’d made some silly bet when he’d planned on giving her what she’d dreamed of all along. What had been the point of the bet then if there hadn’t been any real stakes?

“Why did you even bet me if you were already going to get me the recommendation?”

His face grew serious. “Because you were drowning, Callie. Your heart was breaking and I couldn’t stand to watch you suffer. I gave you a challenge, something to fight for. It kept your spirit from dying. Here you are, as feisty as the day I met you, recovering from your heartache. It’s because you had the strength to fight back for the bet. It was never about winning, but about the challenge.”

She was silent for a long moment. He was right. She’d been so focused on their wager, on his playful, intense seduction, that the pain in her heart from Fenn had eased and slowly started to fade. The unbearable pain of losing the first man she’d loved had begun to heal. Because of Wes. And now he was still helping her, offering to get her into art school.

“Wes, you are not going to pay for my art school.” Taylors didn’t like owing debts. If she was going to school, then she would pay.

Wes turned his head slightly and licked the inside of her ear. A bolt of desire so strong shot straight to her clit and she jolted in his tight hold. She arched her back, breasts jutting out, and he cupped them, squeezing them and kneading them with his elegant hands. They were strong looking but beautiful and Callie whimpered when he pinched her nipples.

“Wes, stop. We have to talk about this.” She gripped his thighs, digging her fingers into his legs as a building wave of need whiplashed through her.

“I know you’re sore, darling,” he murmured in her ear. “Can you take me? I’ll go nice and slow.”

Could he keep that promise? Hell, did it matter? She wanted him so much…

“Okay…” She was barely coherent now. Trapped between Wes’s hot body and the water, she could barely remember her own name. She ached for him. There was no other word for what she felt. Wes had to fill her, possess her, but it was the only way to ease the mind-numbing ache for him.

He lifted her up and placed her on her knees on the opposite seat in the large tub so that she faced the tub’s edge and Wes stood behind her, knee deep in the water.

“Bend over and rest your head on your arms,” he urged, his voice husky and soft.

She bent over, laying her hands on the marble platform that extended past the tub’s edge and jerked in shock when Wes wedged a knee between her thighs from behind and parted her legs farther.

The soreness between her thighs stung a little as the blunt head of his cock nudged her entrance. He used one hand to guide himself into her and his other hand gripped her left shoulder. He rocked forward, pushing in a few inches. She tightened and twitched around him.

“Relax,” he crooned. “Just relax.”

She breathed deeply and let herself relax. This time when he pushed into her, her body accepted him, even though it was still tight.

“God, I thought I’d imagined how good you felt. But it’s better than I remember.”

A wicked surge of pride filled her. She loved knowing that he thought she felt good. Having no experience with sex, she was afraid she wouldn’t know what to do to make sure he enjoyed himself, too.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Not so much,” she said, panting as he withdrew and waited. “I’m okay now. It feels better.” It felt really good actually, once she relaxed and focused on how it felt to be full and stretched by him, connected at such an intimate place.

“Thank God,” he groaned and began a leisurely but steady pace of thrusts. His hand on her shoulder tightened and his other hand slid down her belly to her clit. Fingering the sensitive pearl, he teased it, then pressed just hard enough that the stimulation with his penetrations was too much. The world blurred around her and a drugging fuzziness filled her head and the climax came but it was slow, drawn out, everlasting.

Ripples of pleasure, heat filling her, flushing her skin, her breath heavy. She’d never done drugs, wouldn’t ever do them, but this was what they had to feel like…only infinitely better. Floating on ecstasy. Wes collapsed over her, bracing himself on one arm beside her shoulder as he nipped her ear and murmured soft sweet things.

It was something she would never forget as long as she lived. The way they felt together, bodies as close as physically possible, hearts beating wildly, his scent mixed with hers, and the way he spoke to her. Hushed endearments, things that made her heart clench, and something inside her unfurled, like the petals of a newly blooming flower stretching for the sun. He was opening her heart up, forcing light and heat into places she’d attempted to darken with shadows. Soon she wouldn’t be able to keep him out. A man who could banish her inner darkness, make her feel alive again after her broken heart…There would be no stopping the love that would surely follow.

I’m falling for him. A man who keeps his women at a distance…And I promised myself I would never love anyone again…

It was her last coherent thought as she succumbed to exhaustion.

*  *  *

Wes realized Callie had fallen asleep seconds after he’d withdrawn from her body. She was worn out, the poor little thing. He shouldn’t have taken her again so soon, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself, not when she’d begged him to. He carefully cleaned her and then lifted her from the bath. She was wet, but he had a spare robe lying by the bathtub and he tucked her into the terry cloth folds before he carried her to his room. There had been only a brief thought that he should have taken her to her own bed. That had been his original intention all along. But now that he’d had her here in his arms, his bed was the only place he wanted her to be.

He was starting to learn that Callie disrupted every single plan he made. He knew now that she’d likely be upset if he left her alone in her room. But it wasn’t just that. He wanted to be with her in his bed, too. Curling his body around hers each night had become a security he hadn’t predicted he would need. The emptiness of his arms without her left a hollow feeling inside him.

He laid her down on his bed and pulled the sheets back. She didn’t stir at all, not even when he shifted her beneath the comforter. The soft chatter of the birds from the other room distracted him. He strode back into her room and walked up to the elegant cage Michel had brought. The birds were tucked up in a preconstructed nest, something Michel no doubt thought was necessary.

Their little green beaks and peach-colored faces were attractive. The female lovebird was cuddled deep into the nest, eyes half closed as she chirped every now and then. Her protective mate hovered close by, singing softly as though to put her to sleep. Wes watched them in fascination. He’d never been allowed to have pets as a child, and over the years he’d locked that part of his dreams away. Even after moving out at eighteen, he’d never found an excuse to get a pet. Until he’d seen Callie’s face. The whirlwind of color in the lovebirds’ cage had caught her attention and the look of wonder on her face had been the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And he had looked upon some of the most beautiful women the world had ever seen.

None of them compare to her.

Every time he looked at her, everything around him seemed to slow and fade out until there was only her. She was young and innocent of the dark parts of the world, but her soul was old, wise beyond her twenty years. She understood people on a deeper level than he did. The artist inside her saw the world through a lens he’d never imagined possible. When she drew things, he was able to see into her mind and heart. She transported him beyond his own body and into a world she created. And that was only the beginning. Her potential was unbelievable. He knew she was going to fight him on art school, but he wasn’t going to let her throw away her talent.

He lifted the cage stand and carried it into his room. The birds would need interaction with people. Since it seemed Callie would be spending more time in his room, the birds would need to be there as well. Michel had left a white cloth on a metal ring beneath the cage. Wes lifted it up and dropped it over the cage where it covered the bars fully. The birds quieted and Wes smiled, pleased that they would rest, too. He was responsible for the feathery little lovers now and he was growing fonder of them by the minute, and not just because they made Callie light up like the sun.

He started back toward his bed when his cell phone vibrated. He picked it up off the nightstand and answered quietly.

“Thorne here.”

“Wes, I have news about your Goya. Can you meet me at the Quartier Pigalle in half an hour?” Dimitri Razin asked.

Wes checked his watch. It was 11:30 PM. “Sure. I’ll be there soon.” He hung up and walked over to his closet. Dressing in one of his least favorite suits, in case it got damaged, he walked back over to the bed. Callie looked darling, sweet, and so tempting that he hated to leave her. He pressed a kiss to her hair, a tender gesture that filled him with surprise. She stirred at his touch and her lashes fluttered up.

“Wes, are you going somewhere?” She reached up to touch his white dress shirt and the heat of her hand seared him like a physical brand.

Fuck. He didn’t want to leave, but he had to see Dimitri.

“Sorry, darling. I’ve got to go out for a short while. Go back to sleep and I’ll join you when I return.”

That adorable little frown knit her brow and he brushed a fingertip over the little lines and smiled.

“Get some rest. We have a big day planned tomorrow.” Unable to resist the allure of her lips, he stole one kiss that ended all too quick. Then he was striding away from the bed. If he looked back now, he’d never be able to leave.

He caught a taxi to the Quartier Pigalle, or Pig Alley to the nonlocals. The quarter was located on the stretch of the Boulevard de Chichi from Place Blanche to Place Pigalle which was named after a famous sculptor from the eighteenth century named Jean-Baptiste Pigalle. In the past it was a den of inequity where wine was cheap and prostitutes freely roamed through the night. Now it was full of sex shops, peep shows, the Museum of Erotic Art, and, during the day, hot dog stands. At night it was different, almost like the red-light district in Amsterdam. It was an excellent place to meet Dimitri for a little talk, one he suspected could get interesting, given his friend’s tone. He sensed there might be more to this than just a conversation.

The taxi driver pulled up in front of a black building with flashy red lights that said “peep show.” Wes shook his head at the sight and slipped the driver his money before he climbed out of the car. A small alley split the two buildings, and Dimitri stood at the entrance, one shoulder propped against the stone building. He checked his watch, nodded at the alley where a car was parked. Wes followed Dimitri into the shadows.

“What did you find out?” he asked as he joined the other man at the back of the car. It was a nondescript sedan that held little attention for anyone who might pass by.

Dimitri smiled, but it was a grim expression. “I have discovered a most interesting connection to the Goya.” He fished out a pair of car keys from his suit pocket and opened up the trunk of the car. In the dim light of the distant streetlamps, Wes could just make out the shape of a body. With anyone else he would have been surprised, but Dimitri could be a little cavalier.

“Umph!” A muffled shout echoed up from the deep confines of the trunk.

“This is a man named Rudolph Giennes. He deals in art, don’t you, Mr. Giennes?” Dimitri shoved a small penlight into the man’s face, allowing Wes to get a better look at the man. Beady eyes, a face made of all angles and planes, he silently snarled when Dimitri ripped a strip of gray duct tape off his mouth.

Wes crossed his arms and scowled down at Giennes.

“What’s his connection to the Goya?” Wes asked his friend.

Dimitri laughed. “A fairly solid one. He had the piece hanging in his private gallery where he does back-door dealings. Wouldn’t tell me his fence for the piece. I thought you wouldn’t mind getting better acquainted with him on the subject.” Dimitri flashed Wes a knowing grin and Wes could read the other man’s mind.

“I’m not telling you a damn thing,” Giennes snarled.

Dimitri struck fast, smacking Giennes across the face. Neither he nor Wes liked art thieves or those who associated with them.

“Mr. Giennes, please,” Wes said, sighing heavily. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I wore my least favorite suit tonight and can burn it later if the blood gets too much for my dry cleaner to handle.”

Giennes’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull.

“No!” the bound man hissed. “You’re not going to…” He stifled a yelp as Wes lunged for him, dragging him bodily from the car. Since Giennes’s legs were free, he struggled to run away but Wes dug his hands in Giennes’s shirt and spun him around, using the man’s momentum to throw him against the nearest building. Giennes groaned in pain.

“Listen to me,” Wes growled, shoving his face close to Giennes’s. “I don’t like to torture anyone for information, but my friend here, he’s Russian. Old school. He’ll cut you to pieces with a cigar cutter. Do you want that? Because if you do, I’ll stand by and watch.”

“Why the fuck do you care so much about a painting?” Giennes gasped, his eyes near black in the dark alley, but they glittered with rage and greed.

“Because art matters. It matters more than you and me. More than anything in this world.” Wes slammed the man back into the wall again. “I’m not letting some piece of shit like you steal and destroy something precious like that.”

Giennes still didn’t speak and that was it. Wes shot a glance over his shoulder at Dimitri, who was lounging back against his car, legs crossed at the ankles and looking bored.

“Dimitri, your cigar cutter please.” Still gripping the thief with one hand, he held out his other hand, palm up, toward the Russian.

“Of course.” Dimitri fished a small cigar cutter out of his trouser pocket. “Start with his fingers. He’ll bleed a lot, but he won’t die too fast.”

“Duly noted.” Wes took the cutter and jerked one of Giennes’s hands toward it.

“Wait!” Giennes thrashed about. “Fuck! I’ll talk!”

Wes relaxed, but only enough to pocket the cigar cutter. “Then talk.”

“The Goya came from an American. Someone out of Long Island. That’s all I know.”

Wes’s entire body went rigid. Someone from Long Island?

“Give me a name!” He let loose a shout and slammed his fist right into the wall beside Giennes’s head. Pain exploded through his knuckles and shot up his arm, but he held on to his control, barely. If he didn’t, he’d slam his fist into Giennes’s face.

“It’s a man, midthirties. He had a nickname, the Illusionist.”

“The Illusionist?”

“Yes. He puts forgeries in the place of the paintings he steals. He creates an illusion that the real art was never taken. Most people never know they’ve been robbed. He’s a right dangerous bastard. You’d never see him coming.”

Dimitri burst out laughing. “The Illusionist? Oh, that’s rich. We’re dealing with a dramatic thief.”

Wes didn’t see the humor in this. This was serious. Someone from his island was stealing art and selling it on the black market. Art sold on the black market was mistreated, often ruined, and usually never seen again. There was no honor among thieves and no respect for masterpieces either.

“That’s all I know,” Giennes insisted. “He’s rich, wore sunglasses the whole time we talked. Brown hair…” Giennes added these last few details, but that seemed to be the end of his usefulness.

“Dimitri, I trust you can assure me that Mr. Giennes finds a suitable way out of France in the next few hours? I’m sure he has friends in other countries to visit and that coming back to Paris wouldn’t be wise.”

“What?” Giennes stared at both of them, confused.

The Russian sauntered over and gripped Giennes by the throat, lightly squeezing. “My friend is much more polite than me. At home in Russia, I would have simply said, ‘set foot in France ever again and I’ll kill you.’”

“Kill?” Giennes’s voice shot up an octave in pitch, whether from fear or from being deprived of oxygen Wes wasn’t sure.

“A strong word, but an apt one. No one would ever find you when I’m through,” Dimitri growled. He continued to squeeze until the thief’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward unconscious.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.” Dimitri dragged the limp body back to his car and shoved him into the trunk. Wes nodded. He didn’t usually resort to such dark tactics, but he knew there was only one way to handle this and Dimitri had known best how to go about it. There was no sense in paying men like Giennes for information. He’d still hold back until the price was high enough. A little death threat was just as effective and a hell of a lot cheaper.

“Here, you don’t want to forget this.” Dimitri retrieved a white tube from the back seat of his car and placed it carefully into Wes’s hands. “The Goya. Take care of her, my friend.”

The relief at having such a piece back in his hands was intensely overwhelming, like he could breathe again.

“Thank you.” He shook Dimitri’s hand and left the alley, where he hailed a passing taxi. He didn’t want to think about a traitor on his island or what that meant for his friends like the Mortons who collected pieces and were willing to share them with the world. Art was meant to be shared, but also protected. In the hands of thieves, it was only a matter of time before it was destroyed. Knowing that some fool calling himself the Illusionist was stealing paintings made a veil of red descend over Wes’s vision. He would have to call the Mortons tomorrow and get hold of the FBI to let them know he’d recovered the painting.

Holding the tube with the rolled up Goya inside, he set it across his lap in the back of the taxi and gave the driver his address. The bed back in his apartment with a warm and willing woman was the place he wanted most to be in that moment. With Callie in his arms, he’d be able to touch her and soothe the raging fires inside him.