Текст книги "The Gilded Chain"

Автор книги: Lauren Smith

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter 4

She couldn’t think straight with him staring at her like that, all brooding and quiet intensity.

Clearing her throat, she attempted to start a conversation, even though the movie played softly in the background.

“Is Wes short for Wesley?” Where she found the courage to ask him that she wasn’t sure. She assumed it had to be, but it was like he’d said, they hadn’t really talked before, not unless it was about his sister or Fenn.

He held out a hand palm up, and she set the cuff links into his hand. “Yes. Wesley. It’s a family name. My grandfather’s.”

“Really? Did you know him?” She’d been too young to remember either set of her grandparents before they’d passed away.

Wes pocketed his cuff links and smiled. It was a small smile, but very warm and almost sweet. In the short span of time she’d known Wes, she’d never seen him look so affectionate. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it, seeming unaware that he’d made a delightful mess of his normally combed-back hair. Callie liked it. It made him more approachable, less perfect. He was way too perfect.

“My grandfather is an old bear. I mean that in a good way. He is big and gruff, but a good man. He used to smoke Cuban cigars and drink cognac every Friday night, and I would sneak out of bed and go to his study. We’d sit in two wingback chairs by the fire, and he would tell me about the old days. He served in the navy during World War II. His stories kept me spellbound.”

Callie loved seeing Wes’s eyes soften and his lips move as he talked.

“He sounds wonderful,” she replied.

“He was. He was the one who taught me to love art.” Wes leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. “How did you come to love art so much? When Hayden first showed me your paintings at the ranch, I was astounded at the talent.”

She swallowed and heat flooded her face. He thought she was talented? Was he really serious about the bet they’d made? About getting her into art school? He had to be. She didn’t think Wes was a man who didn’t keep his promises.

“I don’t know how it started,” she admitted. “When I was little, after my mother died when I was four, I just kept thinking I wished I knew what she looked like because I couldn’t remember. So I started finding my father’s photographs and drawing her as much as I could. I didn’t want to forget her face.” She’d never told anyone that before. It was a secret she’d kept hidden even from her father because it felt too sad and yet important at the same time and she didn’t want to remind him of what he’d lost. Some loves hurt too much. She’d learned that the hard way.

“There can be no real art without pain.” Wes’s voice was low and gentle, and the intensity of his gaze had softened. “Someone who has never lived their life will never know what the depth of colors can evoke on a canvas or how to paint a scene that would move even the hardest of hearts.”

“Even yours?” she teased without thinking and then clamped her mouth shut in embarrassment.

He only laughed. “Even mine.”

Wes seemed to catch himself and he looked at his watch. “We have another couple of hours. The movie is almost over. Would you like to watch another?”

Almost over? She blinked. She missed her favorite movie because she’d been in a tortured state of distraction. Each time he’d shifted his body, or talked to her, she’d been so aware of her own body. It was strange, the way she couldn’t stop watching him, the way he positioned his body, stretched his legs out, or folded his arms.

“Well? What do you say? Another one?”

“Sure, but you pick this time since you seemed to know I wanted to watch Laura.” She had to admit, she was dying of curiosity, wondering what he would choose. The array of movies in the cabinet either indicated a wide variety of Wes’s interests, or it might be that they were his sister’s movies, since Callie knew Hayden loved movies.

Wes steepled his fingers, watching her for a long moment, as though the choice in movie would be found on her face. Then he got up and knelt by the cabinet and selected one. Because he was using his body to shield the case from her, she had to wait for him to hit play before she’d know what he picked. Wes sat back in his chair, but reached underneath the seat and pulled out a small pillow.

“Here, take this. If you want to stretch out, it works well on the armrest.”

She took the pillow hesitantly, measuring the row of seats they were on. If she lay down, she’d end up close to his lap. The idea sparked a wave of longing inside her. What would it be like to be so intimate with someone that you could do that? To rest comfortably against them and sleep. She couldn’t imagine. That was the price of being a virgin. And it sucked. Once, when she’d been fifteen, she’d been out late in town with Fenn, and he’d driven them home in his truck. She’d fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. A deep sense of peace and warmth filled her. She trusted him, loved him, and it had been wonderful, except it had only mattered to her. Not to Fenn.

“What’s the matter?” Wes’s voice broke through the creeping gray ache in her chest.

“What?” she asked, voice a little husky as she sought to hide her pain and the way it choked her.

“You seem…upset. I didn’t mean to…” Wes trailed off, his blue eyes so dark they seemed almost onyx. It was clear, by the tic working in his jaw, that he was uncomfortable with the idea of upsetting her. Something softened in her chest toward this brooding, intense man. Maybe he didn’t know he was arrogant and rude and that he ran roughshod over people. He was probably used to people scrambling out of the way when he strode past. Well, he wasn’t going to make her cower, whether he meant to or not, nor would he frighten her.

She fluffed the pillow and set it on the armrest between her and Wes and then settled in, getting comfy. The credits appeared on the screen and the swell of a familiar love song gave her goose bumps. When the title appeared, her entire body went still and for a second she couldn’t breathe.

An Affair to Remember.

He’d picked that movie on purpose. He was sending her a message about the bet. The man was too cocky, but for some reason it made her want to laugh.

The idea of having an affair with him, well, she admitted it would be memorable. The certainty of it made her tremble. As much as she wanted to believe she was going to win this wager, she knew it was going to get harder and harder to fight her fascination and attraction to him. Could she sleep with him and not let her heart get involved? That was what worried her more than any bet. A little shiver rippled through her.

“Cold?” His voice was low, a baritone rumble that awakened strange sensations in her body that she didn’t want to feel, not with him.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, curling her arms against her chest and rubbing her cheek against the pillow. It felt good to lay here. She could almost fall asleep like this. Because Wes was only six inches away, and she was attuned to his every move.

He remained uncommonly still, as though trying not to frighten her, but it still rattled her to be that close. That predatory stillness she’d seen so often in nature, like a hawk perched on a fence post, watching the grass below, holding very still as a field mouse made the foolish mistake of trusting that its silence and stillness meant it was safe.

*  *  *

Wes held his breath for several long seconds as he watched Callie drift to sleep. The movie continued to play, and he smiled at the little joke. Perhaps it was a tad dramatic, but he knew she’d gotten the message. They were going to be together and it would be an affair to remember for both of them.

His blood had heated when she’d taken the pillow from him and cuddled down on the seats as he’d suggested. It pleased him that she’d obeyed his wishes. He had no desire to break her, but to teach her that he could lead her, and she would enjoy it. He did not want to control every facet of her life. His goal lay only in control of her in bed, but in order for her to trust him there, she would need to learn to trust him outside the bedroom first.

His body tensed as Callie shifted, nuzzling the pillow and then exhaled a soft little sigh. Lust exploded through him like a flash bang. He loved the sound of that sigh, craved to hear it again and again as he possessed her and gave her such pleasure she thought she might die.

Wes forced a breath out and checked his watch, counting the seconds and minutes before he deemed it was safe to move. He slid a hand beneath her pillow and carefully eased the armrest down so that he could settle her pillow in his lap, buying her a few more inches to stretch out. And he got what he wanted. Her. Closer. His hand hovered about the tumbling waves of honey-gold locks, his skin tingling with the need to touch.

Just one little touch, he promised.

Her hair felt even softer than it looked and he marveled at the way it slid like silk beneath his hand. He stroked her hair. The urge to connect to her, even in such a small way, was a bone-deep need he couldn’t ignore. Thirty days of taking it slow to win her over was going to be hell on his control. Her claiming would not be easy, but then again, anything worth having was never easy to obtain.

He’d accomplished much more than he thought he’d be able to in so short a time. Of course, there was the knowledge that once they got off the plane things could revert back to how they’d been a few days ago, and she would be thinking of his friend Fenn with those lovely eyes full of tears. She had put that man on a pedestal, and it infuriated Wes. He was friends with Fenn, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry at his own jealous response to the way Callie thought of him with hurt and longing. The problem was she was young and didn’t know her own heart or how to love and she was under the illusion that she loved Fenn.

I’ll change her mind and enlighten her to everything she’s been missing out on while she moons over that bull rider.

Wes threaded his fingers through Callie’s hair, the gentle strokes soothing more to him than to her. He let out a soft sigh of his own. For the moment he was in control. She was close and he was content. He watched the movie a few more minutes, not quite paying attention before he leaned back against the headrest. His eyelids fell shut, and he found that for the first time in years he could relax. So long as he touched Callie, the restless beast inside him ceased to prowl.

*  *  *

One day later she was exiting the Charles de Gaulle airport, one duffel bag in tow, following Wes through the maze of travelers. At least a dozen languages could be heard within earshot and the signs were all in French. She’d taken one year of French and now, being in France, she couldn’t remember a single word. Wes reached out and grasped her hand, keeping her close. She clung to him, relieved by the connection. He was the only person she knew here, the only thing familiar, and given that he was still mostly a mystery, that wasn’t comforting.

People bumped into them and she kept muttering apologies. When they reached the outside of the airport, drivers were waiting for guests, little dry-erase boards in their hands with names scrawled on them. Wes bypassed all of them and met a man standing at the back, who didn’t have a sign. He grinned as Wes shook his hand.

“Monsieur Wes, I’m glad to have you back so soon.” The driver, a man in his early forties, and fairly attractive, shot a glance at her and then spoke to Wes. “Qui est la femme? Elle est très jolie, mais non?”

Wes smiled at the man and turned to Callie. “This is Monsieur Michel Lavoie. Michel, this is Callie Taylor.”

Michel’s brown eyes twinkled and he bent over her offered hand, kissing the backs of her knuckles.

“Enchanté, mademoiselle.”

Callie blushed and nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Michel straightened and took the bag from her hands. “This way, mademoiselle. The car is waiting.”

She and Wes followed Michel to the temporary parking area outside of the airport where private taxis waited. Michel led them to a black Porsche SUV and quickly loaded their luggage into the back. Callie was too distracted to notice much about the car as she climbed into the backseat with Wes. The distant city skyline of Paris held her captivated. The thin needlepoint of the Eiffel Tower was beautiful and she blinked several times, expecting it to vanish.

“We’re really here,” she exclaimed in wonder.

Wes brushed a lock of her hair back from her face. “Yes, we are.” The smile on his lips was indulgent and sweet, making her insides warm.

“Ahh, the mademoiselle, it’s her first time in Paris?” Michel’s eyes met hers through the rearview mirror, his gaze mischievous.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Then bienvenue, Mademoiselle Callie.” He pronounced her name “cahl-ee” and it made her grin.

“Merci.” She remembered that much from her year of French. Michel laughed merrily and she couldn’t help but laugh, too.

The traffic was overwhelming, along with the sights and sounds. Callie nearly had her nose pressed to the glass of her window as Michel took them over a bridge and into the right bank of the Seine. Large riverboats with multiple decks cruised the scenic river, tourists’ cameras snapping wildly at the views around them. Callie sighed. She had no camera or even a cell phone with a camera and wouldn’t be able to get any snapshots. She and her father hadn’t been able to afford anything but the landline.

Wes’s hand settled on her arm, and she turned back to him. “Here, this is for you. It has an international plan with unlimited minutes. I gave your father one before I left. You can call him whenever you like.” He offered a slim shiny smartphone, the latest and most expensive model on the market. Her eyes widened and she hesitated. Wes pressed it into her hands.

“But—”

He pressed a finger to her lips. “No, no protesting, or I’ll be tempted to put you over my knee. This is a gift. You can’t refuse it. You can…however, repay me in pictures. There is a twelve-megapixel camera on this model and it’s supposed to be excellent.” His lips quirked into a crooked grin.

Callie shivered inside. This man was so different from other men. He gave her expensive things, yet his idea of repayment was unexpected. And she didn’t let herself dwell on his other comment, the part about him putting her over his knee. He meant a spanking. The mere idea made her lower half throb with a sudden pulse of awareness. She’d never been spanked in her life, not by her father, or another man, in punishment. So why did Wes’s subtle, almost teasing threat stir her body to life? Surely she couldn’t be aroused by the idea of—

“What on earth are you thinking about?” Wes asked, still smiling.

“Huh?”

He leaned closer to her, slightly crowding against her side of the car. “Your face is an enchanting shade of pink. I’m dying to know what you’re thinking about,” he mused. “Was it something I said?” He drew the tip of one finger down the bridge of her nose, then over her lips, his gaze intense as he stared at her mouth.

“Was it…the part about putting you over my knee?”

A new rush of heat flooded her, no matter how hard she wanted not to react to him.

“Ahh, that was it.” The dark triumphant light in his eyes would have scared a rational woman. But, as Callie was discovering, she was not rational when it came to Wes.

“You like the idea?” he asked in a soft tone, too quiet for Michel to overhear. “I love a woman who likes a little spanking. Her bare bottom open for my touch, the light sting, the gentle stroke that follows. Oh, Callie darling.” His breath roughened slightly and his pupils dilated. He was on the edge of his control and they both knew it.

“Wes.” She uttered his name in a panicked warning.

She sensed an animal just beneath his skin, a primal creature ruled only by desire and it frightened her, not that she feared he would hurt her, but more that she would surrender to him and that darkness. The need to offer herself, like a sacrifice to a lusty god, was so strong that she feared her own control, or the loss of it. When he looked at her like that, eyes so heavy with sinful intent…a side of herself threatened to emerge, a side she never knew existed, probably shouldn’t exist. She wasn’t ready to be that woman.

His lashes lowered to half-mast and he remained close to her, their noses almost touching, letting the intimacy, the closeness of their bodies almost drug her with a need to be touched, held…and so much more. Then he shifted back to his side of the car.

“Michel, have you notified Françoise that my kitchen needs to be stocked? Callie and I have not had breakfast yet.”

“Oui, Monsieur Wes, it is full of food. She went to the market early this morning and is ready to prepare your meals.”

“Thank you,” Wes replied, his focus on the view outside his window, away from her.

The foot of space separating them seemed so wide, a gulf now, as though a galaxy could drift in the space between them. Worlds apart. And she didn’t like it.

I’m addicted to him. To his touch, his arms around me. How had that happened? She loved Fenn, but already the memories felt dusty, faded, and she knew they were beyond saving. Her heart could never resurrect that love. It had died the day before and all that was left behind were the slow healing wounds. What a strange thing to wake up one day and have become a completely different person.

Michel stopped the Porsche in front of a tall stately apartment building. It was a grand-looking street, too, with tall old trees and dozens of little colorful produce stands dotting the street’s landscape between the apartment buildings. There were quite a few little stores with awnings that had words like “Charcuterie” and “Patisserie” on them. From the contents of the windows it looked like Charcuteries sold meat products and Patisseries sold pastries.

“Welcome to the Rue Cler,” Michel announced as he got out and walked around to the trunk to fetch their bags. Callie opened her door, which faced the curb. Wes walked around and joined her, watching the pedestrians on the street.

“Rue Cler?” Callie asked.

“It’s a little neighborhood tucked between the government district and Les Invalides.”

Callie felt silly, but she had no clue what any of that meant. “What’s Les Invalides?” There was so much about this place she didn’t know. It made her feel very small and a little overwhelmed. Not like at home. She could navigate her way through mountains and forests and never feel lost. Here in this land of monuments and stately old buildings she was lost.

“Les Invalides is a set of buildings containing museums and monuments relating to the military history of France. I’ll point it out when we pass it. It has a gold dome at the top of one of the main buildings.” Wes took their bags from Michel and gestured for Callie to head into the apartment building.

“We’re staying here?” She tilted her head back and admired the stone building with its dark green roof.

“Yes. My apartment is on the top floor.”

She and Wes left Michel. The lobby was a beautiful old-world style blended with modern touches. Marble floors, rich carpets, but sleek leather furniture and crisp, bright light fixtures. A man sat at a welcome desk and waved to Wes.

“Welcome back, Monsieur Thorne.” The way he said Thorne left the “h” almost silent due to his heavy accent.

“Bonjour, Paul,” Wes greeted and then pointed out a set of silver elevators down a corridor. “We’ll go over there.” He nudged her in that direction.

Callie led the way, trying to stem the nervous flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She was really here. After a seven-hour flight from New York, she was in Paris.

The elevator doors opened and Wes hit the sixth-floor button. When the doors slid apart again they revealed a long hall and only three sets of doors. One on each side and one at the end of the hall.

“We’re at the end,” Wes said. Callie reached the door first and Wes pulled out a set of keys and let her unlock the door. When she pushed it open, she gaped.

There were no words for it. It was too beautiful. A warm walnut wood floor was a striking contrast against the entryway’s white-painted walls. There was a set of doors on the left that opened to a dining room and on the right were two rooms: a family room with a billiard table, couch, and huge TV, and a room next to it that had a fireplace and a cushy-looking loveseat ringed with two plush armchairs. A study with a large oak desk covered in folders, papers, and a laptop at the end of the hall was the last room before the space opened up to the library. Callie’s feet moved, guiding her through the endless wonder of surprises this apartment held. Off the library was a kitchen with a small nook. Granite countertops and sleek stainless-steel appliances were pricey and state of the art. At the back of the library there was a curved staircase, which hinted to more rooms upstairs.

“This way.” Wes headed for the stairs and Callie snagged her duffel bag off his shoulder so he wouldn’t have trouble in the small curved passage.

“There are two bedrooms, one for you and one for me. We’ll share the bathroom.” He led her through the first room, which had a large four-poster bed with a red coverlet. The room was masculine and yet…strangely inviting, like Wes’s embrace. Callie touched her face with the back of her hand, sensing the heat flare in her cheeks. She prayed he wouldn’t notice.

A large Jacuzzi-like tub sat in the middle of the bathroom, with a pair of French doors opening out onto a large balcony facing the Eiffel Tower. Callie doubted there was a better view of the tower in the world than this. No wonder Wes owned this apartment. If he wanted the best, he would have it. In so many ways he was predictable, except when it came to why he wanted her. She wasn’t the best and she wasn’t perfect. Perhaps that was her allure. She was a novelty he’d acquire and then grow tired of. It was a chilling thought.

“This is your room.” The expectant look on Wes’s face drew her attention to the new room as they entered.

The walls were a soft gold color and a king-size bed sat against one wall. The headboard had a tapestry on it of a rococo-dressed woman in a flowing blue gown, who sat swinging on a large garden swing. Her lover leaned against a marble column in the midst of the background foliage, watching the woman gaily swinging. Like a moment trapped in time, a world nearly forgotten, yet here it was, woven in threads. Callie’s gazed transfixed, aching to paint the piece. Her hands vibrated with energy, needing to expel the rush of creative juices suddenly flowing through her. Her father had often teased her and said she was possessed when she felt like that.

“Do you like it?” Wes’s smooth, seductive voice teased her left ear.

Smack! The duffel bag slipped from her fingers and hit the wood floor as she was jolted out of her artistic daze.

“It’s amazing,” she admitted, a little breathless. The bed’s coverlet was a rich blue, with gold embroidery of fleur-de-lis across it that glinted and sparkled in the morning sunlight that filled the room. A pair of French doors opened onto the balcony, giving her another view of the Eiffel Tower. But rather than look at the tower, she was looking at Wes. The faint streaks of gold amid the red of his hair were distracting. She hadn’t noticed the depth of colors there before, the subtle blend of many colors to make one. He ran a hand through it, slightly tousling it, and Callie’s insides quivered. She had the urge to touch his hair, to grasp its strands and feel them between her fingers. To touch him was to risk herself and she couldn’t do that. At least not yet.

He turned, a look of satisfaction or perhaps more relaxation on his face. He seemed to be a different man than the hard brooding soul she’d known from Long Island. There was a softness to his mouth, a warmth to his eyes as he gazed at her, as though Paris had lightened whatever burdens rested upon his shoulders.

“Are you happy to be here?” He moved slowly, cautiously toward her as though approaching a skittish colt. She didn’t move, didn’t want to move, if it meant he might caress her. For some reason, she needed human touch, knowing it would ease the homesickness she felt.

When he was standing right in front of her, he cupped her face, his large palms shockingly gentle on her skin.

“Happy?” she asked dreamily as his blue eyes, that arresting shade, seemed lit by an inner fire of desire that robbed her of rational thought.

“Yes,” he murmured, his head slowly lowering to hers. “I want to make you happy.” There was a faint note of pleading in his tone and then he was kissing her.

A melding of mouths, tender and exploring. Callie responded easily, naturally, learning how to move her lips with his. A dizzy sense of delight made her purr when he parted her lips with his tongue. The playful thrusting motion of his tongue stimulated a deeper need her body had now. Before she was aware of it, she was rocking against him, trying to rub herself along the lean lines of his body. Wes groaned against her mouth, his hands almost shaking as they kept her face framed, as though he was doing everything in his power to restrain himself.

Was she happy? The question seemed to float through her desire-fogged mind like a single feather caught upon the breeze. Here…in this moment, half a world away from the man who broke her heart, she felt something. If not happiness, then it was close to it. And she was with a man who seemed to want her. Her, not anyone else, as hard to believe as that was. The bet be damned, she wanted to enjoy Wes’s kiss.

When their lips parted, Wes’s heavy-lidded gaze sent shivers through her.

“Let me show you everything Paris can offer,” he said, with a little grin. “Starting with a Parisian breakfast.” His eyes twinkled as he stepped back. “Get settled in. I’m going down to one of the patisseries and will select something for us to eat.”

Callie nodded, shocked by the boylike look of excitement on his face. Who was this man? It certainly wasn’t the Wes Thorne with dark secrets and threats of seduction she’d grown used to over the last few months. He was someone else. She couldn’t seem to reconcile the two men and yet strangely she was drawn to both sides of him, like a moth to fire. She would fly closer and closer to the sputtering flame until her wings were lit with fire and she burned.