Her Only Desire

by Delilah Devlin

  “Going somewhere?” he murmured, his gaze sweeping downward.

  Was the widening of his pupils due to his approval of her appearance? “Dinner, I hope. I’m starved.”

  His eyes narrowed. A cool smile eased up the corners of his mouth. “You’re in luck. I have something for us on the patio.” He grasped her hand and tugged her behind him.

  She should have declined, just to place their relationship on solid footing. But the past two days had been a whirlwind of changes and spiraling emotions. Her interest was piqued—she couldn’t deny that. If he was a jerk, she’d find out soon enough. The man couldn’t be that good an actor. And then the lust she felt every time she saw him would wither and die.

  Why not take a chance? See where this led?

  Tilly shook her head. The “why not” was obvious. Her cousin had been murdered and he’d been implicated. Her friends and family would be appalled. But she had good reason to believe he wasn’t to blame. Even though the accusation didn’t appear to have harmed him, she couldn’t walk away and be just one more person who abandoned him.

  Way to put a damper on things. Still, she didn’t drag her feet as he led her out into the courtyard. The space glowed with Christmas lights shining overhead and candles glinting on a patio table. She couldn’t help but sigh at the lovely setting. His people had gone to quite a bit of effort to provide a romantic meal.

  She glanced around, assuring herself they were alone. “A table for two?”

  “Just us. Disappointed?” he asked, pulling out a chair to seat her.

  She didn’t answer his question. She couldn’t. But that was as much of an admission she was happy with the arrangements as she was willing to give him. Covered dishes sat in the middle of the table. The aroma of cooked beef, peppers, and onions made her mouth water.

  He poured red wine into glasses for them both, and then lifted the covers to reveal the dishes. “I hope you like fajitas.”

  “I do,” she said, feeling a bit pampered.

  Small dishes of freshly made guacamole and steamed corn tortillas were uncovered. He placed a tortilla on her plate then ladled meat, green peppers, and onions beside it. He unrolled her silverware and flicked the napkin before setting it in her lap.

  A gesture that if it had happened in a restaurant wouldn’t have set her nerve endings afire, but his fingers brushed her lap. Not until he’d served himself and taken a seat did she draw a deep breath. “Thanks, this is lovely.”

  She fashioned a taco and began to eat, glad to have her mouth filled so she wouldn’t be expected to hold a conversation with the man whose gaze seemed to notice everything. His stare didn’t waver.

  She put down her taco and dabbed her mouth and chin. “Am I wearing my food?”

  “Are you nervous, Tilly?”

  The corners of her mouth tugged downward. “I shouldn’t be. It’s just dinner.”

  “A little bit of edginess is warranted.”

  Her muscles tensed and she blinked her surprise. “Because we’re alone?”

  “Because I’m thankful there’s a table between us.”

  Her breath hitched, and she slowly shook her head. “Otherwise…?”

  “I’d be tempted to release that jeweled clasp holding together your dress.”

  Heat filled her cheeks. She picked up the fajita taco and took a larger bite than she should have, suffering through his chuckles while she chewed and chewed. How dare he laugh when he was the one who’d made such an inappropriate comment? Anger flared, nearly choking her.

  Although the food was tasty, her stomach was too knotted for her to enjoy it. She refused a second serving and instead sipped her wine, hoping the mellow liquid would soothe her ravaged nerves.

  Boone helped himself to more food, then sat back in his chair, gliding his finger around the edge of his wineglass—still watching her with those sharp, icy-blue eyes.

  Silence stretched between them. Not a comfortable one.

  Tilly shifted in her chair and took another sip. “Perhaps you should tell me what my duties will be once we return to Bayou Vert. Because the job wasn’t described in the hiring notice, I don’t have any idea of what my day-to-day will be.”

  He nodded. “I’ll want you to start working with Colby Jones. You’ve met him.”

  “The construction foreman?”

  “Yes, he’s been supervising the hiring of workers and overseeing the reconstruction. If you could help him by interfacing with the locals, getting word out a little more effectively, I’d appreciate it.”

  She let his little fib about doing all his own hiring slide, but only because she was flattered he’d used the ploy. “Tired of Mae rippin’ down the notices?”

  He grimaced. “The existence of a local newspaper would be helpful.”

  A mountain breeze lifted her hair, and she smoothed it back. She cleared her throat. “I can help spread word. I assume he’ll still do the actual interviewin’ since I won’t know what questions to ask regardin’ laborers’ skills.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced down at the wineglass she fingered. “You said I’d be a secretary.”

  “Only when I need office help while I’m at Maison Plaisir.”

  A twinge of disappointment dampened her mood. Of course he didn’t need her; he had Beatrice’s professional services.

  Boone tapped the table with his finger, drawing her gaze again.

  “When I travel, I’ll want you with me. You can keep in touch with Jonesy, but I don’t want you tied to the place twenty-four/seven. You’ll be responsible for hiring the hospitality staff to support our guests—clerks, cooking staff, housekeeping—but you’ll also need to hire a manager who will report to you.”

  The thought of accompanying him on trips like this one was dizzying. “I’m sure you have people who could liaise for you.”

  “I do. But I find I’ve become insular.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. “As you’ve seen, most of my staff is made up of former marines and navy buddies. They’re intimidating to the locals. I’d like to make an effort to blend a bit more. The plantation will be my home, so the sooner I start making those relationships, the better. You can help me with that.”

  Tilly pursed her lips. “Folks in the Bayou can be standoffish.”

  “You mean they have long memories.”

  She sighed. “Yes, they do.”

  Boone waved a hand. “And yet you’re here. And not afraid of me.”

  “Celeste was my cousin.” Her thoughts flew to her relatives and friends. “Some will think of me as a traitor to my own family. I might not actually be of much help to you buildin’ those relationships you want.”

  “You’re a first step. I’ll appreciate your ideas on how I can polish up my tarnished image.”

  A smile twitched the corners of her mouth, and she raised her head. “If you don’t drive around in that Bentley like you’re royalty, that might be helpful.”

  “Should I buy a pickup?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt.” She smiled. “Might be nice to see you doin’ some fishing or hiring an airboat for a swamp tour. Get to know the locals.”

  “Sure they won’t try to toss me off the boat?”

  She arched a brow and her gaze dropped to his muscled chest. “If you wore something besides dress shirts and suits, they might actually notice they’d have a hard time tossin’ you anywhere.”

  His head tilted to the side “How about I put you in charge of my meet-the-locals campaign? And you’ll shop for things I should be wearing to impress them a little less.”

  She grinned. “I promise I won’t put you in a Bubba Gump Shrimp T-shirt.”

  His teeth flashed with his quick smile.

  Darkness had deepened around them. Gone was her nervousness, although whether from the wine or the conversation, she wasn’t sure. “I guess you really do need someone like me.”

  “Did you think I was hiring you just because you’re beautiful?”

  She blinked, her smile fading. “I
thought maybe you were hiring me just because I was Celeste’s cousin.” Her mouth dried, but she forced out the words. “Because I look so similar to Celeste, folks are bound to be nervous, thinkin’ you’re bound to repeat the past. If I managed not to die, you’d have your proof you’re not a murderer to wave in front of their faces.”

  Boone breathed deeply. “You must not have a very high opinion of me.”

  “I’m sorry if I’m bein’ blunt, but I thought you might appreciate a little plain speakin’. I don’t have any opinion of you at all. I don’t know you. But I did my homework. I studied you. You led an impressive career while you were in the navy. And somehow, you parlayed what you learned and the connections you made along the way into this company that you’ve taken global in just a few years. So I know you’re smart. That you’ve managed to inspire loyalty in the men who followed you from the navy. You hire the best. Have a stellar reputation.” Tilly gave him a straight, unblinking stare. “A dangerous one as well.”

  Boone’s glance remained steady, which encouraged her to continue. “I know what you’ve accomplished, but I don’t know you. All I do know is that you’ve flirted with me, manipulated me into acceptin’ an ambiguous position. You can have your choice of female companions. Yet you want me to become more than just your local liaison. Certainly not a secretary.” A hand swept an arc in the air. “You’re makin’ this up on the fly.”

  His lips pursed and he leaned an arm on the table. “Tilly, I hired you as my personal assistant, my local liaison, because I think you’re qualified. I decided that on the fly when I first met you.”

  Crossing her arms, she leaned back. “You should have hired me as your hospitality manager. You won’t find anyone local who’s better suited. I know the area, can work with the local suppliers, the staff…”

  “You don’t understand the nature of the guests I’ll be opening my house to.”

  “You think I can’t comport myself among wealthy guests. That’s ridiculous.” She leaned forward, jaw tight. “You know where I worked. Those hotels are the best in Houston.”

  Boone’s eyes narrowed. “The wealthy clientele at Maison Plaisir are a discreet group with certain…proclivities and preferences. A place like Bayou Vert, with its isolation, will give them the freedom and the privacy to be themselves.”

  Unease crept along her skin and she shook her head. “Proclivities. Preferences. What are you talkin’ about?” Her eyes widened. Good Lord, was he reopening the estate only to make it some sort of sex club for the wealthy?

  Boone’s gaze held steady, boring into hers. “I think the moment some of the more dominant men and women see you, they won’t rest until they can claim you for their own.”

  Chapter Seven

  Her meal settled like a lead weight in the middle of her belly. She couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I don’t understand.”

  “No, you don’t,” he said, his tone a little cold. “And that’s a problem we’ll need to rectify. I can show you. But you’ll have to trust me. Follow my lead. In everything.”

  A wash of heat flooded her face. “Are you…? Is this about…?”

  He gave a sharp nod. “Domination and submission. BDSM.”

  Preparing to flee, she shook her head and laid her napkin on the table. “I…I think you’ve made a mistake. I’m not into that—”

  “I know you’ve never walked in that world. But in the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve seen certain instinctual signs that you might be a natural.”

  She wasn’t ignorant. But just the acronym, BDSM, filled her head with images of black leather and leashes, paddles and chains. Ridiculous images. And he thought she might have leanings toward that lifestyle? She wasn’t depraved, wasn’t looking to be used or displayed in such a demeaning way. “I’m sorry you’ve gone to all this bother,” she said, her voice becoming hoarse. “But you’re mistaken.”

  His expression softened. “Tell me, Tilly. What do you think BDSM is all about?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” she said faintly. No way would she describe the images in her mind.

  “Blunt talk. You were ready for that from me. Give me the same courtesy.”

  Her fingers were clasped tightly in her lap. She drew a breath and let her gaze fall away. “I think it’s for people who haven’t learned to connect with others in a healthy way. Or who have something missing inside themselves.”

  He stayed silent for a moment, his expression shuttered. “Are you open to the possibility that entering that world can help a person find what’s missing in their lives?”

  She raised her gaze and gave him a frown. “Maybe that’s what you choose to believe about me, but twisting my words doesn’t make it true.”

  “What do you think might be missing inside me?”

  She shook back her hair and lifted her chin. “Like I said. Connection. Being forced to leave everything and everyone you knew behind can’t have been easy. You were the high school football star. On the honor roll. Everything was ripped out from under your feet.”

  “So, you think my lack of control over what happened made me seek the ultimate control over my body and someone else’s?”

  Her chest pinched, and she sucked in a deep breath before she gave him a nod.

  His gaze studied her. “Does that thought disturb you? Surrendering control to someone else?”

  “I can’t imagine trusting anyone enough to allow them to tie me up and do whatever they want. It’s dangerous.”

  “It can be,” he said, nodding. “But creating fear in my submissive is never my goal. Inspiring trust. Giving pleasure. Helping her discover her own potential for pleasure and submission…Now, those acts are things that excite me.”

  A shiver worked its way down her spine, although whether from what he described or the silky tone of his voice, she didn’t know. A knot lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard. “What did I do to make you think I might be like…that?”

  His grin was easy, startling, and at odds with the stern set of his jaw. “You gave me your foot.” He leaned over the table, his eyes alight with humor. “You didn’t want to, but you were curious. The action, lifting your foot, put you physically off-balance. You, Tilly Floret, gave yourself over to me.”

  Her breath hitched. The memory flashed in her mind and she remembered the jumble of sensations and emotions that simple action and his care had engendered in her. “All you did was slide a shoe on my foot. I wasn’t acceptin’ anything else from you.”

  “You let me touch you,” he said softly.

  She blinked. A subtle tell, she realized, because his crooked smile widened. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. His expression was…expectant, his body unmoving. “Can I show you it’s not all about whips and chains?”

  The silkiness was still there in his tone, a teasing quality that tugged at her willpower.

  “Will you allow me to show you that surrender can be subtle and beautiful? That the lifestyle isn’t really about sexual perversion at all?”

  Maybe the wine was to blame for her body’s reactions. Her skin tingled, flushing hot. Her nipples tightened. She shifted on her seat, squeezing her thighs together, because the timbre of his voice, so deep and smooth, felt like a physical caress.

  He leaned closer. “We’re alone. Just you and me. Answer me.”

  She cleared her throat, shaking her head slightly, a halfhearted gesture because her body was already leaning toward his. “That’s a lie. You have people all around us. For all I know, you have this courtyard filled with bugs and cameras. Observin’ people is your business. The way you live.”

  “True, but only my most trusted are here. They won’t intrude. Or ever speak about what they see or hear.”

  Tilly drew in a deep breath. “And that’s supposed to reassure me?” Her eyes narrowed. “Are the bedrooms wired?”

  This time he blinked, and her back stiffened. She’d paraded around nude after her shower, while she’d sifted through clothing to find the m
ost flattering outfit.

  His mouth tightened a fraction. “The cameras are for your protection, you know. You entered my world willingly. This is one of the prices.”

  She remembered the way he and Serge had watched her on the flight to Monterrey. Certainly his large, rugged next-in-command was one of those overseeing her “protection.” Renewed irritation tensed her muscles. “You expect me to learn to be comfortable knowin’ your men watch me?”

  “I expect you to learn to take comfort from the fact that I’ll keep you safe,” he said, his words slightly clipped.

  Tilly’s shoulders drooped. Suddenly, she felt weary. “At what price?”

  Boone leaned back and set his napkin beside his plate.

  A door opened onto the patio and a servant walked to the table and took their dishes.

  When the woman’s dark-eyed gaze rose to Boone’s and he gave her a nod, Tilly snorted. Not just for her protection or his. For his comfort and amusement as well. He didn’t have to ring a bell to bring the staff. All he had to do was give a subtle signal, placing his napkin beside his plate, to bring someone running.

  “You’re entitled to your anger,” Boone said, his voice once again soothing. “But please stay for dessert. Marta will be disappointed if you don’t try it.”

  “I think I’ve had enough,” she said quietly. Right this moment, the only thing she wanted was to run as far away from this man as she could.

  “If staying would please me, would you? A taste is all I ask.”

  And he wasn’t talking about the dessert. She was certain of that.

  The door opened again. The woman, Marta, brought out a tray. She set down plates with molded flan and half a dozen raspberries beside the custards. Then she left again as quietly as she’d come.

  The chair across from hers scraped.

  Her pulse raced as Boone carried his chair and his plate toward her. But she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her damnable curiosity kept her frozen in her chair because she was dying to know what he intended to do next. If he moved close enough to touch her, would she have the will to resist?