Belle (Unbowed Novels Book 1)

by Liz Meldon

  Before he’d left, however, he had given Dean the stamp of approval—something he’d said only to me, of course. “Gotta keep the guy on his toes,” he whispered conspiratorially, winking as our new building’s doorman loaded his luggage into the car Dean had ordered to take him and my mom to the airport.

  As we stepped into the elevator, Lily already asleep again in my arms, I knew tonight would be nothing like last night. This wasn’t a subdued affair—this was a party. Adelaide and her girlfriends had been pregaming at a rooftop bar just up the street for hours already, and I had a feeling they were going to be the apple of every tabloid reporter’s eye. Art critics, movers and shakers in the city’s art community, local politicians, and Manhattan’s social elite would be making the rounds tonight, made happy by the open bar, the trendy DJ, and the insanely pricey gift bags Dean’s assistant had been preparing for months.

  “Are you ready for this?” he murmured when the lift came to a gentle stop at the ground floor. I glanced at him, smirking.

  “Are you?” This was Dean’s baby, and I couldn’t have been happier for him that it was finally happening. However, from the pinched look on Eliza’s face as the elevator doors peeled open, I suspected there still might be a hiccup or two to work through before kickoff time.

  “Just a few notes,” his assistant said tightly as Dean stepped out. Her asymmetric bob looked especially severe tonight, her hair glossy and her shoes painfully high. She wore navy from head to toe, just like the waitstaff, and when our eyes met, she shot me a frazzled smile before hurling a thousand questions, comments, and concerns at Dean.

  As expected, Dean fielded each one deftly. From soothing the DJ’s ego to sending one of the lower-level assistants out to stock up on more champagne after a delivery guy had dropped a whole skid full of bottles five minutes ago, my Dom was in his element. Managing a crisis. Handling the chaos. He thrived here—and I so loved to see him thrive.

  While Eliza kept him on his toes for the ten minutes leading up to the doors opening, I had nothing to do but wander around and try not to ogle the guests waiting outside. Servers circulated the line with appetizers, while a pair waited on either side of the gallery doors with glasses of sparkling champagne—what little hadn’t been destroyed by the delivery guy, anyway. The makeshift bar just off to the side of the elevators was fully stocked. The press wall would make a great backdrop for guests. The art was up. The DJ had started spinning quietly, getting his groove right before the crowd arrived. The air was electric—I could just feel it crackle and spark as I strolled about, taking it all in.

  The space was gorgeous. It doubled as an exclusive entryway for the future residents of Dean’s luxury apartments upstairs and a stunning gallery worthy to hold his artwork. Naturally, most of the work tonight belonged to local artists, but my favourite wall held three of Dean’s impressionist pieces, all reflections of Ixora Isle, all painted after we returned to New York.

  It was strange, and wonderful, and uplifting—all his newer work just seemed brighter, happier.

  While the colour scheme didn’t exactly speak to me, the gallery had a neutral enough palate to let the art shine. Pristine white tile as far as the eye could see met off-white walls. The marble accent pieces were flecked with gold and grey, and all the doors—elevator, office, and entry—were a stunning obsidian. Chic. Elegant. Simple. It was a space for those who craved luxury and a haven for artists to bare their souls.

  Naturally, I wished Dean’s gallery showed more of his soul, but I got my way up in our penthouse. When we had met with the interior decorator, a pint-sized beauty recommended by Adelaide, I’d put my foot down: no white, black, and grey majority. I wanted colour. I wanted vibrancy. Nothing crazy-bright or clashing—but the space needed to scream us. And it did. I had never truly felt at peace in the city until I stepped into our completed penthouse, my hand in Dean’s. It was then that I had finally come home.

  Unlike a number of the launches we had researched in the last few months, Dean’s started on time. At nine o’clock sharp, the doors opened, and in poured the huge line of VIPs. The volume skyrocketed, rousing Lily, but as always, the kitten didn’t seem to mind the chaos. She just blinked her big blue eyes up at all the people who beelined for me, eager to talk shop, fashion, and, of course, Lily.

  About a half hour in, Dean pulled me away for photos at the press wall. We kept it very vanilla, Dean’s arm around my shoulders, my waist, his hand on the small of my back. The press seemed more interested in Lily than they did us; as soon as I told them her name, they were calling for her instead of Dean and me—all we had to do was stand there and grin like proud parents. Lily, meanwhile, lapped up the attention like she was queen for the night, her fluffy tail flicking ever so slightly, her ears up and alert.

  Things took a turn for the silly when Adelaide and her friends jumped in on our photos. Dean’s little sister was roughly my height, with one half of her head buzzed, the other covered in coppery curls that rolled down to mid-back. Adelaide and her entourage were a walking ad for Chanel, Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent, and Michael Kors—and they were all beyond buzzed. Still, we got some fun pictures out of it, and I was sure magazines would print those, along with a close-up shot of Lily. Dean and I were just background noise, and we were both totally fine with it.

  Afterward, as other guests took to the press wall, I left Dean to give interviews with a few columnists. While the gallery was full, completely stocked to the brim with happy, chatting people, there was only one person I wanted to talk to—and she was currently holding a flute of champagne to her ample chest as she perused Dean’s wall of masterpieces.

  “Penny!”

  Looking positively gorgeous in a plum pencil skirt and a sleek white bralette, Penny whirled around, her raven locks stick-straight and swept back with a thin black headband.

  “Hey gorgeous girl,” she greeted, drawing me into a hug when I launched myself at her. Lily gave a sharp meow of protest, squished between us, and I eased back with a giggle, hoisting her up higher and out of our combined cleavage. Penny’s gaze swept over me briefly, and she arched a brow at my collar. “Nice Cartier.”

  “Thanks.” I beamed, touching a finger to Dean’s gift. I’d found it sitting on the dining table this morning in my usual spot. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

  “Of course!” Penny took a quick sip of the sparkling golden liquid. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

  Given it was a work night, I was even more appreciative of Penny making an appearance. She seldom booked a night off from Elysium; in fact, I couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t worked seven days a week. Unfortunately, me leaving the escorting business in March—all the while refusing Dean’s payment at the time, though I folded when he suggested we put it toward buying this building—meant Penny and I had gone from seeing each other nearly every night to only once a week, when we could swing it. Dean and I had visited Elysium as patrons a handful of times in the last few months, but it wasn’t the same. I missed doing scenes with Penny, even if they were all ridiculous concepts thought up by the production team.

  “Love the hair, by the way,” she noted, twirling a lock of my rose gold around her finger. “Is it darker?”

  “I had it touched up this week,” I said with a nod. After I had stopped escorting, I’d also wanted to distance myself from the innocent girl-next-door look the fetish club had cultivated for me. Even though Dean liked the look, he was supportive of whatever I chose to do.

  “Just not bald,” he’d insisted lightly as I scoured the internet for a new hairstyle. “I prefer having something to hold.”

  Something to hold. Right. I’d snorted back then, not bothering to look up from my phone. More like something to yank back, something to split into reins while he rode me from behind. Of course I wouldn’t take that away from him: not when I liked him having something to hold, too. So, I’d kept it long, but the blonde was gone and had been for about three months. I’d had my hairdresser experiment
with different shades of rose gold, something different and fun but not so out-there that Dean couldn’t introduce me to his mom.

  It felt right, the change. I wasn’t the girl next door anymore. I wasn’t the doe-eyed, pouty-lipped innocent. I was Dean’s submissive—and that meant I could be whoever I wanted to be, go wherever the mood took me in the moment. Brat. Kitten. Princess. Slave. Submissive. Lover. Partner. Equal. I was all those things and more.

  Besides, I had a feeling that Dean didn’t miss the blonde—not from the way he’d pounced on me the second I’d breezed into our penthouse with my new hair.

  “My, my, my…” A hand settled on my lower back as a faintly accented, deeply masculine voice rumbled in my ear. “Fetching creature, you must tell me who designed your dress.”

  I checked my instinct to elbow the guy in the gut when Penny rolled her eyes and smirked. Instead, I adopted my charmed Elysium grin, then peeked over my shoulder and fluttered my lashes. “Why, Monsieur Renaldi, I believe that was you.”

  Dean had told me his fashion god friend and fellow Dom would be in attendance tonight, but I hadn’t expected him to be so drop-dead gorgeous. Eyes like the Mediterranean Sea met mine unflinchingly, his smile both charming and sinful as Felix speared a large hand through his mahogany waves. He moved in beside me, his hand abandoning my lower back so it could scoop up Penny’s and kiss it.

  “Ah, yes, that’s why it looks so familiar.” He looked me up and down, much in the same way that Penny did with everyone she met, and then nodded. “A vision. A masterpiece.”

  I motioned down to the perfectly tailored white midi. While the fabric was rigid, it contoured to my body perfectly. “Oh, you mean the dress, right?”

  “But of course.”

  “Ugh.” Penny made a gagging sound as Felix’s dangerous grin softened into something so openly affectionate that it caught me off guard. My best friend, meanwhile, was too busy snarking at him to notice. Biting back a knowing smile, I busied myself with Lily’s collar and pretended not to have seen a thing.

  “Now, what are we drinking?” Felix tutted at Penny’s champagne glass, impishly, teasingly—like a boy who craved the attention of the most elusive girl in the room. “Champagne? Mais non—surely we can find you something more to your rough and tumble tastes, Penelope.”

  My eyebrows shot up before I could stop them. No one called Penny by her full name—not even me. I’d always assumed she wouldn’t mind, but her comfort zone was clearly somewhere within the nickname.

  Before she could answer, her cheeks pinking, Felix turned his attention elsewhere—right to an approaching Dean, whom he embraced warmly.

  “Félicitations,” he said, the deep, rich timbre of his voice carrying over the crowd, over the music. From there, it was all rapid back and forth in French, too fast for me to catch—not that I was focused on picking out the words. I knew Dean spoke the language fluently, along with Greek and Italian, but had never had the pleasure of hearing him do so.

  I bit my lower lip, the fire in my belly flaring again. Yeah. When we christened the office later tonight, he was absolutely required to whisper filthy French nothings in my ear while he had his way with me. A shiver shot down my spine just imagining it.

  Penny, meanwhile, appeared nonplussed by the pair, her gaze on the nearest of Dean’s paintings.

  “How many of these works are yours, my friend?” Felix inquired, jumping back into English as he steered Dean into the fold. My Dom chuckled and motioned to the trio in front of us.

  “Only these three.”

  Felix frowned. “So few? You deserve more than a wall.”

  “The gallery isn’t for me.” The goal was to eventually showcase talent when the talent otherwise wouldn’t be showcased. Dean wanted to bring in art students and those who couldn’t afford the price of wall space at galleries around the city. He wanted new, daring, and innovative. He wanted to make artists—give them a shot when no one else would.

  Felix clapped him hard on the shoulder, then shot me a wink. “So humble, your sir.”

  My entire face burned as Felix smirked, his gaze dipping down to my collar fleetingly before darting straight to Penny.

  Who still wasn’t paying him any attention.

  Oi.

  I smiled indulgently as Dean tucked me under his arm, then kissed Lily’s soft little head. Never mind. It wasn’t my business. Still, when Penny glanced my way, I lifted a curious eyebrow, then pinned her with a look that said we’d be discussing a certain Frenchman later. Her eyes shot upward in a half roll, and then jumped to Dean.

  “Donahue, did I hear there was an open bar at this thing?”

  Dean motioned toward the sea of people. “Across the way—just opposite the DJ booth, by the elevator.”

  Penny swooped in and kissed my cheek, murmuring her congratulations as she wiped the lipstick off, then arched a brow at Felix. “Order me a scotch, visionary.”

  She shot Dean a smile before sauntering off in her black stilettos, Felix trailing after her wearing the same open affection I’d caught earlier. My eyes narrowed slightly as I watched them go. Oh, yeah. We were definitely having a talk sometime very soon about—this. Him. The gorgeous fashion designer positively drooling over her.

  As one of the waiters drifted by us, Dean snatched two champagne flutes, then downed half of one and handed it to me. I grinned, taking a little sip myself. While I’d had no problem drinking more than I usually did when we were in the Caribbean, just the two of us, I wasn’t a fan of alcohol at public functions, especially ones as important as tonight. Dean could stomach a few glasses of champagne. I, on the other hand, might end up throwing myself in with Adelaide’s socialite friends and doing something I’d regret.

  Like climbing onto the DJ’s stage and groping at the turntables. I pressed my lips together to stifle a giggle as, over Dean’s shoulder, I spied Eliza tactfully pulling the girl in the too-short black miniskirt back into the crowd.

  “How are you, sweetheart?” Dean murmured, champagne in one hand, Lily’s adorable little face in the other. “Are you happy?”

  While coddling our kitten, Dean had his Dom stare fixed squarely on me. He asked me that often—was I happy. With him. With the move. With our dynamic. With—everything. And I had the same response each time.

  “Yes, sir.” I sidled in closer and tipped my head back, not caring that I looked sickeningly in love. “Are you?”

  “Very,” he rumbled back. Behind him, a cluster of onlookers were slowly making their way over, eyeing Dean curiously, chatting amongst themselves. He was the man of the hour—and as much as I would have liked to, I couldn’t hoard him all to myself tonight. Grinning, I nodded in their direction, repositioning Lily on my arm so that Dean’s bowtie was no longer within reach of idle kitten paws.

  “Your fans await.”

  His arm smoothed around my lower back, gripping my hip possessively. “Let them wait.” Dean kissed my temple and then lifted his glass. “Here’s to us, sweetheart.”

  I nibbled my lower lip for a moment, smiling, and then clinked our glasses together. “To us…”

  THE END

  Have no fear! You’ll be able to briefly catch up with Belle and Dean in PENNY, the second duet of the UNBOWED series, out early 2019. Beyond that, it’s time for Penny and Felix’s story to be told—and, I promise, you won’t want to miss a single filthy word of it. Dean has his kinky fantasies, but playboy Dom Felix Renaldi is another beast entirely.

  Rule #2: You belong to your Sir.

  Penny

  I haven’t subbed for anyone in ten years—not since The Incident.

  Dominating clients has always made me feel safer, even if it isn’t what gets me off.

  But for a million dollars, I can pretend. I can play the role of fashion god Felix Renaldi’s spoiled, pampered kitten.

  I’m not that wide-eyed submissive anymore. I’ve learned to how to protect myself, made myself hard—the Ice Queen of Elysium.

  I can and will shield my h
eart, especially from the one man who makes it race.

  Felix

  I’ve known Penny since she was eighteen.

  I’ve watched her blossom into the exquisite creature she is today.

  A hustler who bows to no one. A princess with expensive tastes. A brat in need of a firm hand.

  An escort who cannot refuse my offer. Four fashion weeks spent as my submissive. New York. Milan. London. Paris. One million dollars. One chance to show her that she can hustle and submit, speak her mind and kneel at my feet.

  She denies it, but I know what she craves.

  And I’m going to give it to her.

  I’m going to make her scream.

  Thanks for reading!

  Thank you so much for reading! You are my new favourite person, and I appreciate you taking the time to give a little love to my cuties who kink. Like I said, Belle and Dean will be back for a brief visit in Penny and Felix’s story, which will debut spring 2019!

  If you enjoyed Belle and Dean’s romance and want to support the sexy series, please consider leaving a review at the retailer of your choice, including Goodreads. Reviews help indie authors thrive. I also use reviews as a way to gauge what series to work on next. If contemporary erotic romance with a dash of kink is your thing, let me know!

  Best wishes,

  Liz

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