Single White Submissive

by Madeleine Oh

  “Leave me alone, Constance.” A slow ache sprang to life behind her left eye causing Gia to grind her teeth. “You let me worry about my love life while you go relax in the mud room. I’ll join you as soon as I’m done here.”

  With a reproachful look, the other woman released Gia’s hand then turned away. “Stubborn as a mule,” she muttered as she left the room, the door slamming behind her.

  “Merda!”

  Behind her, Tyler cleared his throat and the noise startled her. She’d forgotten he was still there.

  “She’s right about that,” Tyler said. “You’re a stubborn one. Lie down and let me finish your massage. You’ll feel better when I get done.”

  “I think you need to start from scratch.” Weary, Gia stretched out on the table then laid her chin on her crossed arms. “Do you think I’m stubborn, Tyler?”

  “Stubborn, irritating, fascinating, playful, irresistible, intelligent, funny and beautiful.”

  Gia stifled a laugh. “Being beautiful can be a curse my friend, never doubt that.”

  “We should all be so cursed.” He gave her gentle swat on the buttocks. “Now, roll over on your back, Goldilocks, and let me soothe your cares away.”

  “That’s Alice to you.”

  He chuckled.

  Fully nude, she rolled onto her back, unconcerned about exposing herself to her masseur. She’d been coming to Tyler ever since she’d moved to New York two years ago, and in that time they’d developed a very special relationship. At this point he’d seen her in the buff more than any other person in her life, ex-boyfriends included.

  “If only you could soothe my cares away,” she said.

  “Poor, poor, Gia.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Just lay back and enjoy my handiwork. In minutes you’ll feel like a new woman.”

  “Promise?”

  “Yes, now quiet down.”

  She was smiling when she closed her eyes. Tyler picked up her foot and began massaging it. His strong fingers were gentle as they moved over the scars that marked the end of her dancing career.

  As much as she didn’t want to admit it even to herself, Connie was right by saying it was time for her to get back into circulation. While her accident had been front-page news for several weeks, very few people in America recognized her anymore. Most of the time she received those puzzled “Don’t I know you?” looks. It had been weeks since she’d been approached by a stranger and since moving to New York, she’d worked hard to maintain a low profile just in case le bastardo was still looking for her.

  She sighed and Tyler made a shushing sound.

  Gia didn’t remember much about the accident. Most of her knowledge had been gleaned from the newspapers and the accident report filed by the police. Both she and Ricardo, her now ex-boyfriend, had been out to dinner earlier that evening before stopping at a friend’s house for a drink. He’d been driving them back to their home in Hollywood Hills and according to the police, he’d been speeding on wet roads. The slick streets had caused him to lose control on a curve they’d crashed into a telephone pole at more than fifty miles an hour.

  Both she and Ricardo and had told the police about a black Lexus that had come at them at a high rate of speed from a side street. Both of them maintained that it was the other car which had caused Ricardo to swerve and lose control. The police had discounted their report, as both of them had hit their heads and were considered unreliable. Seeing that there’d been neither witnesses nor evidence of a second car, it went into the papers as an accident caused by alcohol consumption and slick streets.

  In her heart she knew it wasn’t the whole story. Several times a month in the dark of night she’d dream of the crash. In her dreams she was looking through the shattered windshield at a tall, dark-haired man staring down at her. A baseball cap had obscured his eyes and when she began to scream he’d give her an icy smile. Without a word he’d lay a pink rose on the windshield before walking back to his car and leaving the scene.

  But was that what had really happened? Both of them had suffered concussions and she knew Ricardo had been unconscious from the moment they hit the pole. Both had survived though her ankle had been shattered badly enough to require four surgeries to repair it.

  Humpty Dumpty had nothing on her.

  Ricardo had gotten off lightly with a drunken driving conviction and, seeing that he wasn’t an American resident, it had had no effect upon his life whatsoever. He’d stuck around long enough to learn from the doctors that her career was over then he’d jumped a plane to Europe as fast as his Italian leather shoes could carry him.

  Arrivederci.

  Devastated by the loss of her career, though not quite as traumatized by the loss of her boyfriend, Gia had come to New York to lose herself in the crowded urban environment while she learned to walk again and contemplate her future without ballet.

  Somehow, while she’d been contemplating her future, two years had managed to pass without her noticing.

  Ty’s strong, oiled hands worked their way up to her thighs, kneading and massaging until she felt as limp as overcooked spaghetti.

  Maybe Connie was right and it was time to venture back out into the dating scene. It had been a long time since Ricardo hit the door and while she didn’t miss him, she did miss the sex, the closeness that came from being in a physical relationship. Since the accident the only men to touch her were Tyler and her doctors. A faint grin crossed her face as her thigh muscles loosened under his skillful hands. While an afternoon with Tyler could be very satisfying, it just wasn’t enough for her.

  She forced open one eye to focus on her handsome blond masseur. “Tyler, do you think it’s time for me to take a lover?”

  His expression turned mock mournful. “You’re thinking of leaving me, aren’t you, Gia?”

  “I’m just thinking about it.”

  He shook his shaggy head. “Actually I think it’s well past time.” His hands worked their way across her belly, warming her skin. “If you remember, I’ve brought up your dating several times over the past year and you shut me down every time.”

  “I just—”

  His big fingers tweaked her pierced nipples. “It’s time, beautiful Gia. You are a loving, warm, delightful woman and you need a man to worship you.” He began stroking her nipples until a soft ache blossomed between her thighs. “Though I shall miss this.”

  She gave him a lazy smile, surprised when tears prickled her eyes. “So shall I,” she whispered.

  “But you need more than what we have together.” He released her and walked to the door to lock it. “I’m not ready to be faithful to only one woman and,” he gave a self-effacing grin, “not to mention the fact that I’ve never wanted to spank a woman in my life.” His lips brushed hers in a familiar, almost brotherly touch. “And if ever there is a woman in need of being spanked, it’s you, my Gia.”

  He took one nipple into his mouth and her fingers tangled in his hair, digging the pads of her fingers into his scalp. Tyler was a virtuoso when it came a woman’s body—then again he’d seduced half the female population of Manhattan. He knew exactly where and how to touch her to bring her the release she so desperately needed.

  Working his way down her body, he paused for a nibble here, a suck there, until he parted her thighs. Sliding his fingers into her damp pussy, he lowered his head and she closed her eyes when he touched her with a slow stroke of his tongue. He entered her with his fingers, stroking, stretching, teasing, and filling her until she writhed on the table. Arching her back, she pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle her cries of release.

  After a few moments, Gia sat up and swung her legs off the table. Taking Tyler’s dear, handsome face into her hands, she kissed him gently on the lips. He was right, she was more than ready to move out into the dating world.

  “I will miss you, Gia.” His voice was husky.

  “And I, you.” She slid off the table and reached for her robe.

  Watch out, New York, Gia Conti was coming out to play. />
  Chapter Two

  “I think I need a few more reassurances.”

  Drake jerked when the female voice shattered his concentration. Before his eyes the fragile clay vase he was molding collapsed beneath his fingertips. With a sigh he reached down and switched off the pottery wheel and the misshapen mass slowly came to a halt. The last hour of his life now resembled a second grader’s school art project.

  Damn, Constance.

  He reached for a cloth to wipe his hands clean. Why had Jim let her into his studio again? Maybe he’d send his worthless assistant to the hardware store and buy the biggest deadbolt they carried.

  “Again?” He rose from his stool and stretched. His back ached from sitting hunched over the wheel for so long. “I thought we hashed this out last week.”

  “Tell me again that you won’t let Gia get hurt.” Connie stalked toward him, a troubled look in her green eyes. “I want your word, Drake.”

  “Con, I don’t know how much more I can reassure you other than what I’ve already said.” He dropped the cloth onto a bench then held out his hands toward her.

  “Don’t even think about touching me with those dirty mitts.” She glanced at his clay-streaked hands and he enjoyed her grimace. She’d never been the type who’d liked to get dirty.

  “I told you last week that my intentions toward Gia are honorable.” He turned away to wash his hands in the sink. “I want to tie her up and spank her until she comes over and over again.”

  “Drake—”

  “Con.”

  She scowled and he couldn’t help but shake his head.

  “You don’t have to worry, Con. Gia has nothing to fear from me either emotionally or physically.” He picked up a nailbrush to scrub the residue from his hands.

  “Probably, but she’s just so vulnerable right now—”

  “And you know I would no more intentionally hurt her than I would any other woman. I would’ve thought that you, as my best friend’s sister, would know this as you’ve known me since you were in diapers. If I haven’t proved myself to be trustworthy by now then I guess I never will.”

  She bit her lip, indecision written on her face.

  “Have you ever known me to lie to you?” He reached for a clean towel.

  Her eyes narrowed. “There was that time in high school when you swore to me the wasabi paste was mint.”

  He laughed. “And you still haven’t forgiven me for that prank.”

  “Well, if my tongue hadn’t taken three days to quit burning then maybe I would have. My first French kiss was the next night and I couldn’t even enjoy the event because my tongue was on still on fire.” Her lips quirked. “I don’t think Fred Marchand has ever forgiven me for kissing him then immediately reaching for a glass of water.”

  “I’d reach for water too if I had to kiss Freaky Fred.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Do you feel better now?”

  She sighed. “I’m sorry, Drake. You know Gia is very special to me and she’s not like my other friends. Her life has been so sheltered, what with her constant practice and traveling—”

  He held up his hand to stem the flow of words. “I’m well aware of her unorthodox background, Con. Trust me when I say, nothing bad will come of her answering my ad. She’ll be as safe as a babe in its mother’s arms.”

  She pursed her lips and exhaled loudly, fluffing the soft curls on her forehead.

  He shrugged. “Besides, it remains to be seen if she will even pick up the phone. Let’s face it, she might not be ready to start dating again.”

  A mischievous grin appeared. “That is a possibility but I slid the ad into the pocket of her jeans just in case.”

  “Then she’ll wash the ad with her laundry and there’ll be no need for you to worry anymore.”

  “Oh, please. As if Gia would do her own laundry. She has a housekeeper who takes care of it.”

  “Well, there you go, mission accomplished.” He took her arm and steered her toward the door. “Now go home, relax and let Gia decide what is best for her.”

  “And you’ll tell me if she calls?”

  “Yes, but that’s all you’ll get from me.”

  She grinned. “Spoilsport.”

  “A gentleman never tells.”

  “As if.” She hurried toward the door, her high heels clicking on the utilitarian cement floor of his studio. “I’ll be waiting for your call.” The door slid shut behind her.

  “And I’ll be waiting for Gia’s,” he murmured to an empty room.

  With his concentration broken, Drake knew he’d get no more important work done this evening. Outside the windows of his studio, the sun had faded leaving only a narrow stripe of dark purple on the horizon. Maybe he’d call it an early night and close up.

  Turning away from the impressive view of Manhattan, he headed for one of the doors in the far corner of his studio. Opening it, he flicked on the overhead light. The hum of a glass-fronted refrigerator sounded loud in the stillness of the room. The walls were stark white with the exception of one corner where he’d placed sheets of corkboard and covered them with dozens of photographs.

  Every one was of Gia.

  Most were professional photographs taken when she was the lead ballerina for a European touring group. His gaze moved over an eight by ten of Gia Conti’s unforgettable heart-shaped face.

  Taken approximately six months before her accident, the photo had captured her classic Italian beauty. Her dark hair, scraped back from her face into a complicated twist, accented her creamy pale skin and the soft blush that graced her high cheekbones. Her brown, catlike eyes were downcast, shadowed by thick, smoky lashes. Her nose was petite and her lips full. She had a mouth that proclaimed her sensuality accented by the tiny mole, which flirted with her upper lip. Her chin rested against her delicate wrist, her slim fingers with their pale pink polish were limp against the sharp line of her jaw. She was, in one word, exquisite.

  His gaze moved over the other photos, most of which were of her dancing. Gia as Cinderella in a delicate white tutu and diamond tiara, and as Giselle, her long, supple limbs in perfect form. He smiled when he saw the photograph taken when she was only seven and she’d danced in the Nutcracker. By the time she was nineteen she’d captured the lead role in Swan Lake along with thousands of hearts all across Europe. At her peak, she’d been the most sought-after ballerina of the past fifty years.

  Near the wall of photos was a small, round worktable upon which sat a tall cloth-wrapped object. He began removing the cloth, his movements slow and methodical.

  Many years ago he’d briefly met Gia Conti. She’d been a fragile-looking thirteen-year-old who’d barely spoken a word of English though she’d possessed a grace and maturity level far beyond her tender years. She was already a fast friend of Con’s and they’d all been invited to attend a birthday party for one of the Whitney heirs in Martha’s Vineyard. Even then he’d been fascinated by the slim girl who’d watched everyone around her with massive brown eyes and a painfully shy smile. While all of the other kids had frolicked in the pool, she’d hung back almost as if she wasn’t sure how to have fun with kids her own age.

  When the boisterous Whitney heir decided to pick on Gia, Drake had seen the look of stark terror on her face when the boy had picked her up and threatened to toss her into the water with her clothes on.

  Drake had stepped in and rescued her, shoving the Whitney heir into the pool instead. With one glance from those dark eyes coupled with her shy smile of thanks, he’d fallen head over heels into infatuation. For the duration of the party he’d watched her from afar, unable to think of anything to say to her as the language barrier had been insurmountable.

  When the party ended, a stretch limousine had pulled up in front of the house and a uniformed driver had bundled Gia into the back. He’d never seen her again, face to face at least, though over the following fifteen years Drake had kept up with her, peripherally at least, and watched her grow from a shy, awkward teenager into a beautiful, elegant
woman.

  A wry smile crossed his mouth.

  To think, he’d watched her for so many years yet they’d never said a single word to one another.

  He shook his head. Late last year when the city of Brussels had commissioned him for a statuette of a ballet dancer for a new theatre, it was inevitable that he’d use Gia as his model.

  The final piece of damp cloth fell away to reveal the three-foot tall, clay ballet dancer. With her head tilted, her back arched and her arms pointing toward the heavens, the figurine was possibly the best human sculpture of his career. One only had to look at the dreamy expression and her catlike eyes to notice the resemblance to the famous ballerina.

  It was undeniably Gia.

  Drake couldn’t say he was in love with her. How could a man love someone he’d never spoken to? Even now, years later since he’d seen her in the flesh, he remembered how it had felt when he’d seen that look on her face when Whitney had snatched her off her feet. The look of pure fear on her lovely face as she’d clutched at his hair had ignited a protective streak in Drake that he hadn’t been aware he’d even possessed. He’d only wanted to save her, shield her from ever experiencing that level of terror again.

  But he’d never had the opportunity. She’d been whisked off to Europe and he’d been sent off to boarding school in Switzerland and slowly the memory of that magical afternoon faded.

  He’d kept up with Gia’s exploits through Con though it had become more of a habit than anything else. It wasn’t until after the accident and Con’s announcement that Gia was moving to New York that he’d even thought he might have a chance to meet her again.

  He slid his fingers along the delicate clay curve of the dancer’s arm.

  Drake knew it was now or never. Con had mentioned she was pushing Gia about getting back into circulation and the thought of her with another man was one he didn’t want to face. He had to know if there was anything, any spark of attraction between them. If there was, fine and if there wasn’t, he’d move on with his life and forget about her.