“Miss?”
She jerked her attention to the driver, silently cursing herself for being so jumpy.
He smiled, gestured for her to go ahead of him.
She gathered the cloak so she wouldn’t trip over it, glad she’d at least had the wherewithal to keep her heels on. For that matter, she’d kept her bra and panties on, too. Her one small act of defiance. Not that those flimsy garments felt like much of a shield at the moment, but it was a crucial difference between being stark naked, and one she clung to at the moment as she mounted the flat, stone steps.
She assumed the driver was still standing behind her, so she was startled to hear the crunch of tires on gravel. Whirling around, wobbling and almost falling in her haste, she watched as the limo pulled smoothly around the drive and headed back down the mountain. She opened her mouth to shout, to demand he stop, but the red tail-lights disappeared around the bend. And she was alone.
Shivering now, she slowly turned and looked back up the hill. Somehow, in the space of one hour, she’d gone from being Samantha Wallace, partner in her own company, confident and in control, sitting in her office like a queen sat on a throne…to Samantha Wallace, half-naked woman, all alone on a mountaintop. She shuddered. And was shocked to find that a tiny bit of that shivering sensation was due to anticipation. Someone—and it had better be Marsh, she thought, trembling—had gone to a lot of trouble to get her here. That same someone’s goals were obviously sexual in nature. Another ripple skated over her skin…and an ache of awareness sprang to life between her legs.
Okay, she told herself, this is just ridiculous. She had no reason to be so afraid. Much less aroused. What she should be is furious, for being stupid enough to come here in the first place, for being manipulated by Marsh into playing this little charade. And just as soon as she got up these steps, she planned to deliver a stinging little set-down right before she demanded the return of that limo.
Grabbing that sliver of control, she moved up the stairs, head held high, shoulders back. She would not let him see how rattled she’d been. And she definitely wasn’t going to reveal she’d been the least bit aroused by the situation that had been created exclusively for her.
When she got to the top landing, she stepped onto a small patio made out of a mosaic of round stones. A path to her right led to a small, softly lit in-ground pool. The luminaries, however, continued up the steps to her left. Steps that led to a wide veranda, at the top of which was a wide set of double doors, inlaid with stained glass. She looked up at the towering facade of glass, but could still only make out a dim, flickering glow. She realized now the glass was not clear, but smoked. Probably as a means to cut down on glare from the sun. At the moment, however, it only made the place seem more remote, more…dangerous.
Steeling herself with a deep breath, she debated whether to climb the stairs and knock…or wait for him to come to her. The latter would leverage control to her side. So she wandered down to the pool, walked along the edge, not allowing herself to glance up again at the front of the house. Was he watching her? Was he waiting? Was he scowling at her power-play tactics?
She fingered the fur-trimmed collar and allowed a small smile to surface. What would he do if she simply let it slide from her shoulders. If she slid off one heel, then the other, and dived cleanly into the water? Of course, unless the pool was heated, the water would be much too cold for that. She was half-tempted to do it for that reason alone. Would he rush to save her? The balance of power would shift and all his plans for the evening would be dashed with that one splash of cold water.
She pulled the cloak up, sank down just low enough to test the water with her fingertips. Frigid. Even the thrill of victory wasn’t worth the risk of that icy a plunge. She turned, studiously avoiding the window. Had he suspected the direction of her thoughts? Was he even now chuckling over her inability to make the jump?
Probably, she thought, her smile fading. It was unnerving to realize how well he did know her. She wandered around the edge of the patio, but there were no other paths leading from it, other than the one that led to that wide staircase…to those double doors. Finally, she turned, looked up. Saw nothing…and yet felt…something.
“The hell with this,” she said suddenly. Gripping the cloak so she didn’t trip over it, she strode with full conviction toward the path, up the stairs, to the wide doors. No way was she knocking. Bidding an entrance. She’d been brought here, stranded here. As far as she was concerned, she’d earned herself the right to direct entry. She twisted the knob, shoved the door open and strode in. Only to come to an abrupt halt, her mouth dropping open once again.
The place was nothing more than shadow, lit only by a low fire in the massive stone fireplace that backed the far wall. But even hindered by lack of light, it was obviously stunning. The chimney rose to the top of the A-frame structure. A railing framed the second-floor loft, but it was too dark to see anything up there. Her gaze traveled back to the sunken living room, the leather furnishings that circled the great fireplace, then down to the thick piles of fur, leather and silk that lay tumbled in an undulating heap in front of it. Between the fireplace and the decadent orgy of leather and silk, there was a low glass-and-iron table, which bore a small round tray. On it sat a single champagne glass, half-filled with clear sparkling liquid. In the flickering light, she also saw the envelope propped against the slender glass stem.
She found herself swallowing against the sudden dryness of her throat. It was the only thing dry about her at that moment. And she was forced to admit that, in that one swift instant, arousal and curiosity suddenly outweighed fear or outrage. She longed for just one sip, something to soothe her jangled nerves, grasp back that elusive sliver of control. And yes, she wanted to know what was in the envelope. Dammit.
She glanced around, but couldn’t make out anything else except the wide, open riser stairway that twisted up to the second-story loft. Was he up there? Or was he somewhere in the shadows beyond that pile of decadence in the living room?
She debated calling out, demanding he show himself. Instead, she opted to get the champagne first, fortify herself. She picked up the glass, letting the note fall flat on the tray. Twirling the contents, Samantha wondered just how much more at risk she’d be putting herself by tasting it. Was it drugged? What would happen to her then? It was alarming in the extreme that the thought only made her clench her thighs together as the ache deepened sharply.
But she’d stepped from reality into fantasy, and as the moments passed, it was harder and harder to think clearly, rationally. She sat the champagne down untouched, her thinking clouded enough, and picked up the note, sliding yet another card out of a weighty envelope.
Control. Commitment.
Neither will you give.
After losing one and making the other,
You’ll know what it is to live.
Her body twitched hard at the threat…the promise, that she read between those lines. So that was his plan? She would be made to lose control, coerced into making a commitment. She shook her head. “No one can make me do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Exactly.”
She inhaled a sharp gasp, and turned to find him standing halfway down the staircase. Cast in flickering shadow, he wore a loose white shirt, carelessly unbuttoned at cuff and neck. Below that he wore riding breeches, dark, smooth…fitting his thighs, his buttocks as if he’d been born to them. His boots didn’t reflect any shine from the firelight, apparently as worn as the breeches, as natural to the wearer as his skin.
It was only when she drew her gaze to his face that her shallow, rapid breaths stopped completely. Dark tousled hair lent a reckless look to the dangerous glitter she saw in his eyes. His mouth was composed, neither fierce nor gentle, but the serious set to his jaw she recognized as determination, just as he’d have with a particularly recalcitrant horse.
Her breath caught in her throat when she spied the riding crop he flicked along his thigh. Was that how he’d come to se
e her? As some kind of filly that needed taming? And since when did he use any kind of force, much less pain, as coercion to gain the response he wanted?
No, the man she knew used softly spoken words, a gentle touch, a whisper in the ear, with females both four legged and two. But as she moved toward the base of the stairs, drawn there by a force she didn’t quite understand, she understood one thing completely….
This was not the Marshall Conley she knew.
CHAPTER FOUR
IT WAS ALL MARSH COULD DO to stand there, to remain still. He’d spent the past two hours prowling the house, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, pushing her like this. Once his driver had called to say he was on the way back with Samantha, he’d only gotten more agitated. Now she was here, standing before him, perfection in her icy blond defiance.
Please don’t let this be a mistake, he silently prayed.
The idea had started on a whim. Something that would challenge her into making more time for him. He wanted to see her. It was as simple…and complicated, as that. He understood she was busy with the upcoming show, but she was always busy. Her life was her work and he was only part of it because she needed occasional R & R breaks. His work demanded a lot of his time as well, so he’d been more than happy with that arrangement. Or he once had.
Somewhere during the past month or so, as they’d found less and less time for each other, he’d found himself missing her more and more. Not just for the sex and recreation, either. But her. Her laugh, her humor, the way she challenged him to think differently about things, to look at the world in a different way. He wanted to believe he challenged her the same way. He knew he’d been in her life longer than any man she’d ever been with. But that fact alone didn’t instill him with confidence.
Samantha had a thing about control. He’d known that, from the very start. But he was a successful man, too. In large part due to his steady, unending reserve of patience. And frankly, as long as everyone was having a good time, he didn’t feel threatened by her need to run things. In fact, it had been rather refreshing.
But as they continued to see one another, he learned that her need for control reached further than wanting to be on top, or to always want to direct their sex play. Afterward, they would usually lie in each other’s arms and talk. At first they’d both keep it light, almost impersonal. But little by little, he’d urge her to open up, share more of herself with him, usually by sharing something of himself first. Even then she’d be reticent, and what she did share was almost all work related.
Still, slowly they’d begun to trust one another, or so he wanted to believe. And…somewhere during all that, he’d found himself falling in love with her. She might like to control things, but she was intensely giving, as well. She had no problem with working for what she wanted…in bed or out. He knew how hard she worked to make her business a success, and how dedicated she was to her partners. She felt a responsibility for their success, too. She just had a hard time, an almost impossible time for that matter, letting go of the reins. Given his life’s calling, he understood that better than anyone.
Just as he understood the enormous reward there could be in developing a trust so strong, so complete, that giving over control was just as rewarding as wielding it.
So what had begun as a means of tempting her to abandon work for a weekend with him—a weekend at his cabin where he hoped he could somehow get her to lower her walls a bit further, loosen that tightly held grip—had ended up developing into something far beyond that simple idea.
He understood animals instinctively, knew what made them skittish, knew how to earn their trust. Each and every relationship was different, but there was one constant he’d discovered in forging the bond that was so necessary to gaining that crucial trust. He simply needed to discover what his personal strength was in each particular relationship, then use it. Because that very strength in him was usually the greatest vulnerability in the other. So, relying on those same instincts, he knew that the only way to get Samantha to trust him enough to really give herself to him, was to make her realize she would always be safe with him. And the best pathway there was relying on their joint strength, their base connection and best source of communication.
Which, in their case, was explosive sex.
So he’d devised a plan that would incorporate the element of surprise, moving her out of her comfort zone…and into his. Even then, he’d been filled with doubt since sending out the note and the cloak hours earlier. He knew it was crunch time for her with the show on the horizon, but that had only decided him further. Her life was always frenzied like this. If she didn’t use the show as an excuse, it would be something else.
But one thing he absolutely couldn’t lose sight of, was that vulnerability went both ways.
Standing above her now, watching her, wrapped as he’d commanded in leather and silk, his body was rigidly, almost painfully hard. His heart was pounding so rapidly he could barely think straight. Could he do this? Could he carry through with his plan?
It felt like an all-or-nothing bargain now. He’d admitted to himself he wanted more now. Settling for less wasn’t his way. Nor was it hers.
If he relented and let her take charge this time, let her dictate how things were going to be between them, he knew the relationship was doomed to end. He couldn’t settle for a one-sided arrangement any longer. For either of them. And he didn’t want her to settle anymore, either. He knew there could be more, so much more, with her. He hoped like hell she knew that about him, too. And wanted it badly enough to rearrange her priorities to include him. To include them both.
But getting her to even consider that there could be more between them wasn’t so simple as just putting the question to her. Anymore than he would waltz into a ring with a skittish colt and attempt to throw a saddle on its back right off the bat. Samantha had spent a very long time exerting her need for control. She wasn’t just going to give it up because he asked nicely.
Not that he wanted to tame her. Not at all. Nor did he want to break her. Most importantly, he didn’t want her to relinquish her need for control entirely. What he wanted was to find some way to make her understand that sharing control could be far more rewarding than doing everything all on her own. And he wanted her to share it with him.
He wanted a true partnership.
Now all he had to do was pray like hell he knew what he was doing. Instinct had driven him this far, he had to hold on to that and hold hard, if he was going to carry through with his plans for this evening.
She’d donned the cloak, which meant she was at least curious enough to want to know what he had in store for her. But all he had to do was look at the defiant tilt to her chin, the icy glint in those arctic-blue eyes and the set of her shoulders to know that the battle was far from won. And hell, he thought, fighting a grudging smile, what fun would there be in that?
Holding her gaze, he descended the stairs, not stopping until he was less than a foot away from her.
SAMANTHA’S FINGERS sunk more deeply into the ermine collar as she forced herself to stand her ground and hold his unwavering dark gaze. Her knees shook slightly, the muscles in her thighs quivering as he stopped before her. And despite the myriad emotions coursing through her at the moment, there was no way to deny that one of them was arousal. Sharp, stinging, fiercely aching arousal.
If this was some kind of goddamn game, then she was forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, she wanted to play along. For a little while. She had given herself the rest of the night off after all. She could play his game. For now. Until she found a way to wrest control of it away from him and turn the tables. Yes, that would be her plan.
“I’m going to make one thing clear,” she said quietly, if not as evenly as she’d have liked. She tilted her chin toward the crop. “I’m not into pain. At all. If you even think of using that on me, I’ll—“
He lifted the slender wand then, holding her gaze as he did so, and ran the leather-looped tip along the sid
e of her face, very, very softly. It made her gasp, both the act itself…and the touch of the worn leather, warm from his hands, on the delicate skin of her cheek.
“I would never hurt you. You know that.” He waited, and she finally nodded.
She did know that much about him. Both with her, and in his work, he’d always been gentle.
“My goal is quite the opposite in fact,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “If at any time you’re unwilling to do what I ask, then we stop. And I’ll let you go.”
Let her go?
She wanted to splutter in outrage. Wanted to turn and walk right out the door. Let her go, would he? Then she remembered; she had no way off this godforsaken mountain. Unless she planned to hike down in heels and a leather cloak. Or he provided her with a way out.
“Do you want to leave now?”
She was trying to regroup, find a new strategy. Clearly he wanted to keep her off balance. It was obvious that Marsh had spent some serious time thinking out his strategy. He was a quiet, observant man. Traits she’d admired, mostly because they made him an exquisite lover. No doubt he’d specifically waited until she was completely overwhelmed by the fashion show details to throw this little wrench into the works. She’d be more easily thrown off her stride. And he’d been right.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d decided to go about it this way. He wasn’t an easy man to read, her lover. Although he’d never hesitated to answer her, only now did she realize how few questions she’d ever asked him. Yes, they’d talked shop, but she’d never probed much into the man himself.
Staring now into his enigmatic dark eyes, she realized why. Her self-preservation instincts were well established. She was drawn to him. Deeply so. In ways even she didn’t understand. So she’d purposely, even subconsciously kept herself from finding out too much. She’d told herself she enjoyed the mystery, but she knew she was afraid she’d only come to want him more. And that would have put her at a distinct disadvantage in this relationship. A place she would never willingly put herself.
Velvet, Leather & Lace: A Man's Gotta DoCalling the ShotsBaring It All Page 12