He looked at her and saw the battle she was waging, knew she understood the real undercurrents happening here.
“You never complained about me taking charge before.” She tried to pull out one of her very effective knowing smiles, but it was thwarted by the very real confusion in her eyes.
“And I won’t now. Or in the future. What I want is equal time. I want us to share each other. A real relationship, a real partnership is give and take. In all areas.”
She looked a little affronted. “I think I’m pretty giving.”
“You are that. To a fault.” He leaned in closer, spoke more softly. “It’s one of the many reasons I’m so hooked on you.”
Her eyes widened a little, her pupils shot wide.
“But you need to learn to take, too. To be the recipient. To let someone give to you.”
“I don’t think I ever complained about being satisfied.”
His lips twitched. She was so stubborn. But while he knew it was one of the reasons she was so successful, he also knew it was the same trait she hid behind in order not to risk being vulnerable. “Thank you,” he said, quite sincerely. “But I want to give you more than a response or reaction to what you’re giving me. You might be surprised at what more there can be when it’s truly equal. When you don’t pick and choose what you get and when.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he wondered if he was getting through to her. “You make it sound like I’m not a team player, like I don’t understand partnership. My business—”
He cut her off. “Is different. Yes, you have partners. But you each perform very different tasks to make your business run.” He searched for a way to make her understand. “I know you work very hard for what you have, and that you apply that same ethic to your personal life. It’s another thing I admire about you. You don’t expect anything for nothing. But life doesn’t have to be hard work all the time. And you don’t have to do all the work all the time to deserve the rewards.”
He shifted back, let his words sink in.
After a long moment, she sighed a little, and looked at him. “And you think doing this—” she motioned to the pile of silk and the paintbrush he still held in his hand “—will change things between us? In and out of bed?”
“I hope so. This is where we started. This is where we are at our most comfortable with one another. It’s what we know best of each other. But we could be more intimate. In bed…and out. I want that, I want to find out if we can have that.”
He waited for what seemed like an eternity for her response. “To be honest…I—I’ve been thinking about that, too,” she finally said, her voice barely more than a whisper.
His entire body at once both relaxed in almost abject relief…and tightened in anxiety and anticipation. “Then trust me, Samantha. Enough to explore this, to let me try this. If we can’t find a way to share equally here, give and take equally, where it should be easy, all about pleasure, then I can’t see how we’ll be able to do it where it’s difficult, and most important.”
“I just don’t know—”
He moved then, unable to keep his distance from her a moment longer. He leaned over her, bracing himself on his hands and knees, so he was situated at her feet, one palm planted beside her ankle, the other holding the brush. “Then why don’t we find out?”
She watched him, and he still saw the fear and confusion tangling with need and emotion. He felt so sure of this…but what if she wasn’t ready? Then he’d have to persuade her, he thought immediately. He moved the tip of the brush then and ran it over the very tips of her toes.
She gasped, and the need surged past the fear in her eyes, just before she squeezed them shut. “Marsh—”
He skimmed the tip of the brush over the front of her toes, then along the top of her foot. “Look at me.”
She opened her eyes, and he found himself wanting badly to make this easier for her.
“Trust me, Samantha,” he said. “You could find something more powerful than you’ve ever known.” He reined in the urge to throw the stupid brush across the room and pull her into his arms. It would solve nothing. But resisting cost him all the same.
She glanced away, and he hated that he had to push her like this. After a long moment, she looked back at him. “I don’t handle failure well,” she said, her attempt at a smile miserably unsuccessful.
“Then don’t fail,” he told her, his tone more direct, more insistent, than he’d been yet that night. He leaned over her then, his control slipping badly. He tossed the brush aside and planted his palms on either side of her as he lowered his body close, but not close enough to touch. He lowered his face so near that all she had to do was lift her head, lift her mouth—
God he wanted her, more desperately than he wanted his next breath. What the hell was he doing, risking losing even this much of her? He tried to imagine her not being there for him like this, to never again feel this closeness.
“I—I was raised by a woman trapped in a life she didn’t want because she’d trusted a man to take care of her,” she began, her voice trembling, rough. “And he just up and left us. I trusted her to take care of me…and she left me, too. Not by her own decision, but it didn’t make being left behind any easier. I—I want to be capable of unconditional love. I do. But the only thing I can trust in, that I’ve ever been able to completely trust in, is myself.” She was shaking now, barely able to speak. “I don’t want to cut myself off emotionally.” Her eyes were so bleak, so scared. “But I don’t know how not to. I’ve protected myself that way for so long.” She let the sentence waver in the air as her throat worked. “Intimacy and trust…the kind of complete surrender you’re talking about…I—I don’t know how to do that.”
“Am I worth the risk of trying?” he asked, knowing his expression was likely too fierce, but beyond being able to control it. “You fight for what matters to you in every other thing you do. So fight for me. Fight for what you’ll be giving yourself. I know you don’t accept defeat well…so don’t lose.” He pulled away, knowing if he didn’t do so now, he’d never regain control and all this would have been for nothing. He rolled back on his heels, but continued to hold her gaze. “Don’t lose me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SAMANTHA ALMOST cried out when he pulled away. She’d had no idea the true depths of his wants, of his need…for her. And she couldn’t fault him for wanting what they had between them to be shared equally, fully. It wasn’t fair to let him be the only one to put it all on the line. To risk his heart.
Hers began to race as panic swelled somewhere deep inside her. What he was offering was a precious, precious gift. One she realized in that moment, without any doubt, she wanted to keep. Desperately. Endlessly.
Normally, when Samantha determined she wanted something, she went about getting it. But she’d never gone after something so worthy, something with such potential for devastation if she failed. And she wouldn’t just be hurting herself if that happened.
She realized now how lucky she was that he’d cared enough to go to all this trouble, cared enough to figure out exactly what it was going to take to break through that final barrier…make her want to break it down herself. Walk through it, to him. Willingly.
He’d already walked through that fire. He’d given himself to her in more ways than she’d realized, allowing her to have her precious control if that was what made her happy. And now he was handing the rest of himself to her. Handing her his heart. She’d never felt so unworthy of a gift in her entire life.
She turned her head, relieved to find him still there, crouched at her feet, his gaze burning twin holes in her, as if he could will her to give him what he’d himself just laid at her feet.
He’d proven what he was capable of giving…and taking. He rightly demanded that she come to him equally, or not at all. She wouldn’t have respected him…couldn’t have loved him if he didn’t value himself that much. So caught up in the swirl of emotions roiling inside her, she didn’t even real
ize the admission she’d just allowed to slip through.
“I want—” She broke off. Even this much, this first capitulation, was hard for her. How in the hell was she going to manage the rest?
“What do you want, Samantha?” His own voice was nothing more than a hoarse rasp. “Tell me.”
“You,” she whispered, then her breath caught in her throat, a silent sob rising at the sudden depth of emotion she saw baldly cross his face. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it. Give you what you need from me.” She broke off, swearing beneath her breath even as tears of fear and frustration pooled at the corners of her eyes.
The raw emotion that flicked over his handsome face almost undid her completely. His own eyes, so fierce, so full of emotion, grew glassy. “Trust me,” he all but begged. “Trust me to take care of you. To never hurt you. To never leave you.” He reached for her, then curled his fingers in tightly and pulled back.
She felt that retreat as keenly as if he had abandoned her. And realized then what it would be like to have him retreat from her completely. Devastating. But to get…she had to give.
“Trust me to have you,” he demanded. “All of you.” He waved his hand at the house that rose above them. “You’ve been to the ranch house, but this is my real home, my private retreat. I don’t bring anyone here. Have never wanted to before. And yet I feel like I’m prowling in a locked cage when I come up here now. Picturing you in every corner, wanting to hear your laughter fill these rooms. I want to create memories here with you, memories we’ll look back on, share with a smile. I want to start now. Tonight. Wake up tomorrow morning with you next to me.”
He abruptly pushed to a stand. “Maybe I made a mistake bringing you up here before I tried this.” He paced away. “Now that I know what it is to have you here…it will make it a hundred times worse when you le—”
“Don’t say that. I’m not going anywhere.”
He strode to her then and she had to dig her fingers into the silk pillows to keep from shrinking back from the ferocity tightening every muscle in his face. “Then do as I ask.” He was no longer begging. He was all but ordering her to let him in. “Yes. Or no.” When she didn’t answer instantly, he abruptly turned away.
“Marshall—!”
He stopped just as abruptly, but didn’t turn to face her. Hands on his hips, she saw his back rise and fall as he fought to harness his emotions. His own fear? The very idea that he could be as terrified of her failing as she was brought her new understanding of his sudden change in demeanor. He was instinctively trying to protect himself, as well.
“Choose one,” he bit out. “Or shall I call my driver?”
The time for discussion, for revelation…for drawing things out until she could find some way to deal with them, was over. And yet she couldn’t form the words, couldn’t get them past the knot in her throat.
He turned back then, walked to her—stalked was more like it—held his hand out for her. It was the first direct touch he’d offered since she’d walked in.
She wanted to reach for that hand more than she’d ever wanted to reach for anything in her life, for all that taking hold of it would imply. Would reaching for his hand be enough? Would he know that by taking what he offered, she was choosing to try? Choosing him? She hadn’t expected him to make it easy on her. Slowly, she lifted one, trembling hand.
He stared down at her, his dark eyes glittering with need, with desire, but mostly with determination. “For everyone else,” he said, so softly she had to strain to hear him, “I want you to be Samantha Wallace, femme fatale, corporate powerhouse.” He reached past her outstretched hand and took her wrist, taking the other one, as well, as he hauled her to her feet. He tugged her close, holding her wrists together between them. “But for me, and me only, I want you to be all of those things…and one thing more. Mine. Totally, completely, unwaveringly…mine.” He began backing her up.
She had no idea what was behind her, if she’d trip, fall, bang into something. But she couldn’t look away. She had to trust him to guide her. Now. Right now.
“I want to know that I can have you whenever I want, wherever I want, however I want.” A pulse leaped in his temple, his jaw twitched it was clenched so tightly shut. “Just as already you know you can have me, in those very same ways.”
Her heels hit the riser and she stumbled out of the pit that formed the sunken living room. But rather than direct her toward the stairs, he directed her toward the front door. She glanced over her shoulder. Surely he wasn’t about to put her out? She gasped when the bare skin of her back met the icy cold ridges of the stained glass. She held his gaze for what seemed an eternity. And an eternity didn’t seem long enough. She knew what was in her heart, what she wanted, despite the terror, despite the overwhelming wrenching sensation in her gut.
“So stop imagining failure,” he told her. “And start picturing what victory could be like.”
She couldn’t. Not because she didn’t want to. But because she literally couldn’t picture it, the scope of it, the reality of it.
His grip tightened. “Choose now.”
She was beyond trembling now, and it had nothing to do with being cold. She should have realized it wouldn’t be as easy as making the physical gesture of reaching for him. He needed to hear her say it. He needed her to be able to say it. She shook, from her fingers to her toes. She bored her gaze into his, looking beyond the ferocity, seeing past the primal desire to what lay beneath. And what she found there literally blew her away.
He was already hers. All hers. And all she had to do was say… “Yes,” she managed, more terrified than she’d ever been in her life. She forced herself to repeat it. “Yes. I want to try. I want to succeed. I want everything you have to give me. I want to give you everything in return.”
His pupils shot so wide they swallowed the irises whole. But if she’d expected him to yank her into his arms, kiss her deeply, soundly…reassuringly, well, she’d never been so wrong.
He released her abruptly and turned away. The only sign of his reaction to her capitulation the fast rise and fall of his chest. “Thank God,” she thought she heard him whisper beneath his breath.
A modicum of relief seeped into her own lungs, allowing her to find her breath. But that was short-lived.
“Follow me,” he said, walking to the stairs without looking back.
She opened her mouth, then closed it again as she realized this wasn’t the end. Far from it. It was only the beginning. She’d given him permission now. Agreed to give herself to him, to do whatever he commanded her to do. To trust him completely.
She followed him, pausing at the foot of the stairs to look up to where he’d already climbed, to the loft above. Then, with a deliberate sense of purpose she could only pray stayed with her, she took hold of the railing, and on trembling legs, began to climb.
“In here.” His voice echoed from a shadowy place down a narrow hallway.
At the top of the stairs, she turned away from the railed, open part of the loft that ultimately led to a closed door, presumably to his bedroom. Whatever was behind that door took up the lion’s share of the second floor.
Instead, she turned left, and entered a small, darkly paneled room. She quivered as she stepped inside and didn’t see him. Three of the walls were lined with dark mahogany wainscoting on the bottom half. The top of all three were inset bookcases, all packed full of neatly lined volumes. The fourth wall was dominated by a stone fireplace, dormant at the moment. He spoke before she could focus on anything else.
“Close the door behind you.”
If she did, there would be no light at all. She’d be cast into complete darkness. But she’d given her word. With a trembling hand, she pushed the door shut, tried to quell her racing pulse as she was indeed plunged into complete darkness.
“Come to the center of the room.”
She shuffled slowly, reaching her hands out. For all that the room appeared to be a small library or reading room, there hadn’t bee
n any furniture, nor any rug on the hardwood floor that she’d noticed.
“Stop.”
She did so abruptly. He was close now. His voice had been just to the right of her.
Then he was behind her, and she trembled.
“Keep your hands to your side.”
She was shaking now. In fear…although not so much of him, as of her lack of control. Something smooth and soft fluttered at her throat as he pushed her hair aside with his fingertips. She shivered at even this much of a touch.
Then she felt the soft strip fasten around her throat. She started to speak, to ask him what the hell he was doing, but managed at the last second to stop. At some point, she was sure she’d lose it, but dammit, surely she could last longer than this.
“This strip of velvet is a tangible reminder, but a reminder only, that while you are here with me, you belong to me.” He moved in front of her then, and she strained mightily to see him, but failed. Then she felt a tug at the base of her throat. Had he—? No, no he wouldn’t possibly think he could get away with—
But a short tug told her in fact he most certainly had. He’d essentially put a collar on her. A velvet one, but a collar nonetheless. She struggled mightily to keep from clawing it off and throwing it in his face. Wherever the hell that was. Then she realized that whatever he’d attached to the velvet strip had no weight to it.
She reached for her throat and felt the cool silk of a slender ribbon flutter across her skin, caress her stomach.
“Symbolic,” he repeated. “That you’re giving yourself over to my care. For tonight.”
“Is that really necessary,” she ground out, fighting to keep her temper in check.
“You tell me.”
Velvet, Leather & Lace: A Man's Gotta DoCalling the ShotsBaring It All Page 15