Текст книги "The Gilded Chain"
Автор книги: Lauren Smith
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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
Chapter 19
It was the most amazing thing she’d ever done. One painting on an 18" x 24" canvas in just eight hours. After Callie had located Mr. Bradley, he’d taken her to a bedroom that had been turned into an art studio. It was obvious Wes had planned the room with her in mind. It was full of blank canvases on easels, fresh palettes, and an assortment of brushes and paints. Callie had chosen acrylics for this piece because it needed fewer layers of colors.
The oversized dress shirt she’d gotten accustomed to wearing was covered in smatters of paint. The rich scent that was uniquely Wes’s clung to the fabric and deepened her longing for him. It was a growing sense inside her that she hadn’t felt for anyone else, not even Fenn. The need to see Wes, to be near him, to belong to him was overpowering. Even when she was lost in her painting, she still felt that pull toward him.
But it’s not love. I won’t let it be love. It was a promise she had to keep. She had to stay safe, keep her heart out of the picture.
A sigh broke from her lips and she studied the canvas, her finished work. The Lantern’s Glow she called it. The entire background was black, fading only to a dark forest green around the center where she’d painted a lantern. Inside the lantern a scene of four little boys around a campfire glowed like a memory trapped in a fortune-teller’s crystal ball. She’d turned the lantern into the object that showed the past.
The circular green-yellow light pooled outward in a luminous glow around the lantern and in that glow she’d painted four adult, masculine faces. Wes, Royce, Emery, and Fenn. Each of their somber gazes was turned toward the lantern and the image of the innocent children they’d been. In a way, their faces, half shadowed, were not unlike the boys before the campfire, a reflection within a reflection. Ever since Wes had told her about the lantern-yellow color, she’d had a haunting image in her head. She wanted to show it to Wes, but she was nervous about his reaction. Would he understand that she meant it as a tribute? Not a way to remind him of the pain of his past.
Soft booted steps behind had her spinning around on the stool. “Wes!”
Only it wasn’t Wes, but Royce. He wore jeans and a leather motorcycle jacket and black boots. He’d snuck in through the partially open door and was staring straight at her painting, not her.
“That’s me,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Why did you paint this?” A flash of fire in his eyes warned her she was on dangerous ground.
“I…” She swallowed hard. “It’s a gift for Wes. He told me about how you used to go camping.”
Royce’s intense features softened slightly. “He told you about that?” With slow steps, he reached the painting and studied it. One of his hands raised as though to touch the lantern but he stopped a mere inch from the canvas. His brown eyes were dark, like burnt umber.
“He said you were talented, but this…you’ve painted our souls.” Royce finally turned his gaze toward her.
“Really?” The idea that she’d touched him that deeply, and that Wes would have such faith in her talent to tell one of his closest friends, made her light-headed and excited.
“Yes.”
A collection of emotions fluttered through her like a rush of doves from a tree.
Royce slid his hands back into his pockets and gazed at the painting. This hardened seducer, a dom, a professor, instantly transformed. The boy from the photographs Bradley had collected for her to study shone through. But it wasn’t the innocent child she glimpsed now. It was a boy ravaged with horror and tragedy. Even knowing Fenn was alive hadn’t erased the monstrous taint of twenty-five years of believing he’d been murdered. Only time could ease such a deep wound. It lingered, like shadows late in the fall.
“Do you think Wes will like it?” Callie asked. Her hands clenched in her lap as she waited with bated breath for Royce’s reply.
The man stepped back and shook his head, as though waking from a dark dream.
“I think he won’t like it, but he will see it for what it is, a beautiful tragedy. A work of genius done by the woman he loves.”
“Loves?” Callie barely got the one word out.
The sadness in Royce’s eyes faded.
“He beat the shit out of Fenn over you. Wes doesn’t lose control, not like that, not unless his heart is involved. He always keeps his cool, stays distant. But with you, he’s broken every one of his rules. Trust me, I know him better than he knows himself. He loves you.”
He loves you. The words settled so deep into her heart that she knew that hope would grow from those words. If only it were true that Wes loved her, because in that moment, sitting on her stool, having painted one of Wes’s tragic secrets, she realized she loved him.
No. I can’t love him. I swore never to fall for another man again. But she had fallen, so slowly, so softly, she’d never seen it coming. Like rolling down a gentle sloping hill covered in wild flowers. She’d been distracted by the beauty, the scent, the colors, the wonder of the rolling sensation and never realized that she had been falling.
She loved Wes. Not in the way she loved Fenn. The two emotions were worlds apart. How had she ever thought she’d been in love with Fenn? Sure, she loved him, but she hadn’t been in love. The vast difference was startling. Wes had been so right about love, even though he’d never been in love himself. He said she’d learn the difference someday. It had just come sooner than she’d expected.
Royce chuckled. “You think he isn’t in love with you? Fine. How about a little wager, cowgirl?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. What was it with these billionaires and their wagers? First Wes, now Royce? “Only if you stop calling me that. What kind of wager?”
“Whether Wes loves you or not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall close to her.
“You want to bet on something like that?” She hopped off the stool and turned away from Royce to quickly clean her brushes in a water-filled jar.
“Honey, I’m the king of bets. So, are you in?”
When she turned back around, she noticed he was eyeing her ass.
“Ahem,” she said, coughing pointedly. “Do you want Wes to punch you, too?”
He continued to appraise her body with open appreciation for a moment longer than he should have before his eyes met hers.
“So, honey, what will it be?”
Callie raised a brow, a habit she was inheriting from Wes, but she grinned, too.
“What sort of wager? Because I think I’ll win.” There was no way Wes was in love with her, and while that made her smile a little bitter, she would enjoy putting this playboy professor in his place.
“Your painting.” He inclined his head toward The Lantern’s Glow. “If Wes isn’t in love with you, I get the painting. If he is, you give the painting to Wes.”
“But I thought you thought he loved me. Wouldn’t you want a bet that favors your opinion if you want the painting?”
Royce, the devil, only laughed. “That’s the point of bets. They’re more fun when you have something to lose.”
“Okay. Deal then.” She held out a hand and Royce, rather than shake it, raised it to his lips. He winked at her, and then headed for the door. He paused and turned back, tossing something at her.
She caught the small metallic object in her hand. It was a silver key.
“What’s this?”
“Belongs to Wes’s black room. The door is behind the Seine River painting in the hall by the kitchen. You should check it out, when he’s not around, of course.” Royce grinned and waved before he left.
Callie stared at the key, then curled her fingers around it. A black room? What the heck was that? Knowing that Royce had suggested she check the room out gave her pause. He was trouble, and from what she’d learned of him from Wes’s conversations, Royce was a prankster. It wouldn’t be too far of a stretch for her to believe he’d set her up to get caught by Wes, and she’d likely end up with a sore, well-spanked ass.
Still…her curiosity was piqued and she slipped the key into her jeans pocket. Then she covered the canvas of The Lantern’s Glow and lifted it off the easel. She wanted this to be a surprise, so she slid it under the bed. After she’d carefully secured the painting, she cleaned up her supplies and was in the process of pocketing her phone when Wes came in through the door of the studio.
“There you are.” He strode over to her and caught her by the waist, dragging her into his embrace. After a ruthless, almost bruising kiss that left her lips swollen and her head foggy from weak-kneed desire she realized he was speaking to her.
“We have to attend a gala tonight. Emery is hosting, so we’ll be among friends.”
“A gala?” That was a fancy party…Damn, she wasn’t ready for something like that. She barely had made it through the small dinner party a few weeks ago.
“Yes, a fund-raiser for the local university, the one you are applying to for art school. Royce invited the head of their art school to meet you.” Wes’s smug grin vanished after a moment. “What’s the matter?”
Callie sucked in a pained breath. Her stomach pitched straight south to her feet.
“Head of the art school? Oh my God, I’m not ready, Wes. I can’t—”
He gripped her face in his palms, his eyes mesmerizing her until she calmed down.
“You’re going to be fine, darling.” His hypnotic, silky tone did actually soothe her, but a permanent fleet of butterflies seemed to be living in her stomach.
“Wes, I have no clue what to do or say if he talks to me.” She tried to take a deep breath but her chest was tight.
He rubbed his thumbs across her cheek bones and she leaned into him. In that single week she’d been with him in Paris, they’d gone from practically strangers to the most intimate of lovers. Not in all of her wildest dreams would she have thought she’d be craving his touch and needing to hear his opinions on things that mattered to her. She was so used to carrying her burdens alone and taking care of herself, her father, and Fenn. Between them and the ranch, it was exhausting and draining. But with Wes, it was so different. She learned to lean on him for support, for advice, for emotional and physical comfort…and that wasn’t including the sex.
There weren’t enough words in the world to describe Wes’s lovemaking. He rocked her to the core each time he kissed her. Each time he even looked at her she could feel that build up of passion in her lower body. She didn’t want to think about what would happen when this thing between them ended. Her heart couldn’t take it.
“Talk about art. You know art. You’ve studied under some of the best masters in the last week. It will impress him.” He held onto her a minute longer and when he let her go he was smiling that bad-boy grin of his.
“Now, remember that red gown with the train and the bow on the back? I want you to wear that tonight. I’ll be back in two hours with some jewelry.”
“Wes, I don’t like it when you buy me expensive jewelry.” She crossed her arms over her chest. In the last week, she’d gotten braver at putting her foot down on his insatiable purchasing habits. It didn’t seem to stop him, but she liked putting up a fight, even if it was a token one.
“I know.” He smirked. “But this isn’t just jewelry. It’s your collar.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. A dark intensity had replaced his charming grin. Was he teasing? She couldn’t tell.
“My collar?” She swallowed hard as he raised one hand to her throat. He didn’t grip her by the neck, but rather he ran the backs of his fingers over the sensitive hollow of her throat.
“You are mine, Callie. I warned you of that a month ago.” Wes’s silky words sank into her slowly, almost as seductive as the delicate caress against her skin.
“Wes, I don’t just want to belong to someone. I want someone to belong to me.” She met his stare, hoping he’d understand. If he wanted to own her, she wanted to own him right back. If he thought this thing between them was one way, he was wrong. Anger sparked underneath her skin.
“You are the submissive. That’s how it works. You belong to me.” He captured her mouth with his. The kiss was potent, a raw domination of his lips over hers. Their tongues touched and then dueled and she moaned against him. She was mad at him for controlling her at a moment like this. Here she was melting with his kiss, when she should have been smacking him. A little voice in the back of her head told her she should shut up and enjoy this and fight him later.
When their lips parted a long while later, Callie leaned into him and Wes curled his arms around her, holding her close. One of his hands stroked her back and when she tucked her head under his chin it fit perfectly. She was starting to love that he was so much taller than her. It had been intimidating at first, but now she had to admit she liked it when he seemed to completely encompass her in his embrace.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” he murmured in her ear and dropped his arms.
Callie’s shoulders slumped as he walked away. As an independent young woman she’d never felt this way before. The bone-deep ache each time Wes left her even for a short while seemed to be soul crushing. If only he loved her, the sense of loss wouldn’t seem so deep. But he didn’t love her. Had never loved any woman. How was she supposed to deal with that? It was too late for her. She was already in love despite every vow she’d made to herself to not fall again.
She wrung her hands and tried to stop the burn of tears in her eyes.
I’m doomed.
* * *
Wes checked his tie in the mirror. The dark blue strip of silk cut a nice contrast to his white dress shirt. He was used to suits, and tonight’s gala would be a standard event for him, but he knew Callie was on edge. The small dinner party had frightened her. A two-hundred-person party would likely send her running for the hills. But tonight was important. He and Jaxon would start inviting Cuff members to the club. That was the one thing Wes had pieced together when he’d met with Jaxon and Agent Kostova. The theft from Barrington’s house during an exclusive club-member-only event meant it had to be a club member who was behind the theft.
He picked up the red velvet box from his bed and flipped it open. The collar he’d had designed for Callie was a thing of beauty. It was a delicate chain made of diamond-studded links, with a flat silver pendant engraved with his family’s crest. The design matched his signet ring and his favorite pair of cuff links, which was a letter “T” with a thorny vine curling around the letter. A collaring ceremony was normally a very involved affair at the Gilded Cuff, but he knew Callie wasn’t ready for that type of intensity. He would have to settle for a simple ceremony at the club sometime in the future. His hand trembled a brief instant as he closed the case and headed for the connecting door to Callie’s room. He had never collared someone before and an unfamiliar nervousness created a tightness in his chest.
When he reached the door to her room, he slid it open quietly enough to not alert her. The evening sun’s warm colors lit the bed and made the room glow. But it was Callie, seated at the vanity table, pulling up her hair in long curls with silver diamond-studded pins who caught his breath.
For a few seconds, she didn’t see him, and he had the exquisite pleasure of gazing upon her. The red evening gown hugged her body at the waist and flared out at the hips. A large red bow at her lower back acted like a modern style of a bustle, giving the gown a pleasant shape before it flowed out at the legs in wide pleats for a full-bodied skirt. The heart-shaped bodice cupped her luscious breasts, putting them on perfect display. She was so beautiful it hurt, but for the first time, it wasn’t a woman’s body but the look on her face that held him enraptured. Her lips curved in a small smile.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re really going to this gala tonight?”
She turned in her chair to face him, the halo of gold-blonde hair shining in the light from her window. He didn’t want to worry her with the details, but he didn’t want to lie, either.
“It’s the thief again. I’ve figured out he’s a member of the Gilded Cuff. That’s the BDSM club here in Weston that I belong to. I plan to lure him out. I need to spread the word at this party tonight and see if I can convince him my Monet is worth stealing.”
“Your Monet?” Callie slid out of her chair, lifting up her skirts as she approached him.
“Yes. It’s one of the most valuable pieces of art still within the thief’s immediate striking range. We need to catch him before he moves his operation off Long Island. The Monet is the only way to do it. It’s big enough to draw him out. At least that’s what the FBI is hoping. Now, for something more important.” He held up the velvet box and she blinked at him, then at it, confused.
“What’s that?”
“Your collar.” He set the box down on the desk in the corner and opened it, removing the chain necklace.
“Oh no. You’re not distracting me with that. Finish telling me about the thief. How do you plan to catch him?”
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Callie had the audacity to huff like a stubborn pony and tap her foot.
“Callie, I don’t care if you’re wearing a seven-thousand-dollar dress. I’ll wrinkle it if you need your ass reddened.”
“You jerk,” she muttered and gave him her back. She lifted her hair and he carefully laid the chain necklace against her collarbone and fastened the clasp. Her breathing hitched as he nuzzled her ear from behind. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts against the tight bodice was an arresting sight.
“Do you like it?” he asked, steering her over to the full-body mirror.
Her fingers brushed the chain links and then touched the pendant.
“It’s lovely. What does it mean to have a collar?” Her eyes were large and she gazed at him through the reflection of the mirror.
His heart skipped a few beats. How could he put it into words? All submissives who were in the lifestyle knew what it meant. It was practically the equivalent of an engagement ring.
“A collar is a sign of possession, a sign of commitment. By collaring you, it’s a more permanent way of staking my claim. No other dominant may touch you without my permission, no other can claim you.”
“Do you belong to me in the same way?” Her lovely eyes lit with a warm fire, but they reflected with a responding challenge. It made his blood burn.
“Some doms will be with other submissives even if they’ve collared someone, but that’s not the general rule. It’s certainly not how I do things. While you’re mine, I will be with only you.” He knew what she needed him to say, and this was the closest reassurance he could give her.
Her lashes fanned down as she studied the pendant more closely.
“It’s your crest,” she noted, her voice husky and low. The rich sound went straight to his cock. He wanted to be inside her, to take her to bed, not have her parade around at the gala tonight. But maybe…after…He grinned.
“Of course. I want to make it clear who you belong to, not just that you’re taken but that you’re mine.” He was still smiling.
“What?” she demanded. “It makes me nervous when you smile like that.”
“Really? Why?” He raised a brow, his hands resting on her hips now, holding her close.
“I usually end up tied down to your bed, that’s why.” His little cowgirl wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t like it when I tie you down and fuck you?” He purred the words in her ear and relished the way her lashes fluttered closed and a little sigh escaped her lips.
“You’re trying to distract me, Wes. Don’t. I want to know what you’re planning to do about the thief. I didn’t press you when we were in Paris, but you owe me an explanation.”
She was right. He didn’t want to admit it but she was.
“I am going to put my Monet on display at the club. Jaxon Barrington, the owner, will host another party. We’ve got a week to give the thief time to forge the painting that he’ll attempt to replace the original with.”
“You’re not taking the real one to the club, are you? That’s too risky.”
“We have to,” he said.
“Not if I paint a forgery, too.” She spun in his arms and curled her hands around his neck. “Think about it. You can take the forgery to the club and he won’t see the difference.”
Wes was shocked he hadn’t thought of that first. Callie was exceptional at that. The question was whether the thief would fall for it.
“Do you think you could create a forgery in a few days? We’d need to put it in the club soon.”
Smiling, Callie nodded. “Yes, I can. I’ll start first thing tomorrow.” She nearly bounced like an excited puppy and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
“You ready for tonight?” he asked.
Like a soldier ready for a battle, she squared her shoulders and nodded curtly.
“Callie, darling, relax. It’s a gala, not the inquisition.” He crooked one elbow and offered her his arm.
She flashed him a mock scowl. “There had better be champagne. I’m going to need a drink.” She took his offered arm and he helped her from the room. He knew she might not like the party, but she would certainly like what he planned to do later. After the gala it would be time to take her to his black room. He wanted no secrets between them, not anymore.
