The Gilded Cuff

by Smith, Lauren

  “Uh huh.” Sophie shut her eyes, shame smashing her insides like a sledgehammer through fine china.

  God, let this humiliation be over quickly. Every other man had left her alone after hearing this. Emery wouldn’t be any different. He was too sexy, too gorgeous to ever settle for a scarred woman like her, not when he could have his pick.

  Emery held still, didn’t make a sound or move until she opened her eyes. When she did finally look up at him, he dropped his head a few inches, his nose touching hers, nuzzling her cheek.

  “I’m not like other men, Sophie. Scars are a sign of strength, survival. Someday you’ll be brave enough to show me, and I’ll prove you have nothing to be ashamed of. Now, I am willing to accept the deal you proposed. Are you willing in return?”

  She bit her lip. It had been her idea; she had to see it through. She wanted to see it through, even if it scared the living daylights out of her.

  “Yes. I’ll do it. Your story, my submission.”

  Chapter 4

  AUTHORITIES ARE CONVINCED THE STRUGGLE BETWEEN THE NANNY AND THE ABDUCTORS OCCURRED IN THE KITCHEN. FRANCESCA ESPINA SUFFERED SEVERE INJURIES FROM A HEAD WOUND DEALT BY ONE OF THE KIDNAPPERS.

  —New York Times, June 10, 1990

  He kissed her with raw possession, his mouth showing her how wicked it would be between them. Wild, dark, and completely free. She wanted that more than anything, the freedom to let go, to give in to the erotic dreams she’d spent years ignoring but never had felt safe enough to give in to before. His kiss broke down every barrier, obliterated every part of herself she tried to hide. Sophie lifted her chin, offering him her mouth, pleading for him. Emery drew a quick breath, eyes widening before his lashes fell to half-mast, his gaze drawn to her lips.

  When he took her lips, he dominated her with the depth of his claiming. She breathed him in, like drawing the first heavy breath upon waking from a thousand-year sleep. Sophie came alive in that single moment. The woman she’d been all these years since losing Rachel, the scared little girl fighting against the evils in the world, was gone. In her place was the woman she’d always wanted to be, a woman not afraid to live her life. She couldn’t shut this man out like she had her other friends or her family. No. He demanded she give in to him. Electric tingles pulsed outward from the places they touched, setting her senses on fire, fogging her mind. His kiss consumed her—enveloping her until she was lost, set adrift in a haze of desire, longing, and aching.

  She felt his mouth tremble against hers; he seemed to strain to keep his possession under control, to bank the fires of his passion. His tongue slipped between her lips, thrusting in time with the rocking of his hips against hers in tiny circles. He gave up his control and took her over. His body weighed hers down, his hips rocking into hers. He could have done anything to her in that moment, and she’d have agreed to it. Sophie’s inner muscles clenched, empty and wet, yearning for him, but it was his kiss that was her downfall—almost brutal with craving, as though he was a thirsty man savoring his first sip of water from her mouth. All his focus, all his energy seemed to be on her, on her lips.

  He tore his mouth from hers, panting roughly. He cursed savagely and withdrew his hands from her body. She blinked in surprise when she realized his hot hands had slid up her outer thighs beneath the mini-skirt. Her chest heaved, her breasts dangerously close to escaping the confines of her corset. Emery’s eyes slowly tracked down from her mouth to her breasts. With a rakish grin he pressed his mouth lightly on the tops of the creamy swells, his tongue darting out as he licked and nibbled a path back up to her lips. He paused, then feathered his lips at the corner of her mouth and brushed his nose against hers playfully.

  Sophie whimpered at the loss when he finally drew his head back. It felt like good-bye, but that was foolish; she’d only just met him and agreed to surrender to him. They couldn’t be done.

  Emery sighed, his breath uneven against her temple. His body stiffened above hers.

  “Go home, Sophie. Forget me, this place. Let it be a peculiar dream, nothing more. I’m not the man for you.” His voice was harsh.

  “No,” she whispered fiercely, but she wasn’t as sure of herself as she had been. She’d expected a spanking, some rough kissing. She hadn’t expected to feel so vulnerable and exposed by a man taking control of her body and owning her completely in a mere few minutes.

  “You think you can really survive this lifestyle for even one minute? You’re vanilla, sweetheart. You wouldn’t ever let me tie you up and take you the thousand ways I’d like to. You’d cry when my hand came down on your ass in punishment. You’re not ready for this.”

  She shook her head, furiously fighting off the swell of tears as her throat constricted. He and he alone had offered her what her secret dreams and longings had called for night after night. The phantom lovers that had tormented her to the brink of violent need in her dreams could never compare to the very real and very heavy weight of his body on hers at that moment. The devastation of that perfect kiss couldn’t be undone. The story could wait…but the need…the desperation to feel alive again…she couldn’t let go of that, not yet.

  “No. Take me home with you.” She paused, calculating each word. “Please, Sir.” She was begging. There was no doubt about it for either of them, and as shocked as she was by her own impulse to beg, she prayed he’d let her go with him.

  Emery’s lips twisted into a crooked smile. For a moment, she saw the boy in him, the one he’d been before his world had been utterly destroyed. The child wasn’t gone, wasn’t dead. Buried yes, but not dead. He threaded a hand through his hair and remained silent for moment. Shadows of doubt and indecision danced across his face before he finally replied.

  “How can I resist?” Emery lifted himself and hauled her to her feet.

  Sophie winced. Her back was bruised after lying on the stone floor beneath him. She hadn’t minded at the time—her body had been distracted by a thousand other things. But now her shoulder blades and hips screamed in protest. Emery took her into his arms, rubbing her back, massaging it with knowing hands.

  “Come, I’ll summon my driver.”

  “Okay.” She tried to remain calm. She was going home with Emery Lockwood. One of the richest men in America. Yet it wasn’t his wealth that made her fight off the rippling tremors at the base of her spine and in her womb. No, it was the fact that she was going home with a man who kissed her like she was the last woman on earth and time was ending. If he kissed like that, sex with him would be the Apocalypse. She’d never survive it.

  * * *

  What the hell am I doing? Emery held the little journalist’s hand trapped between his. They were seated in the backseat of his black Mercedes while his bodyguard, Hans Brummer, drove them back to Lockwood Manor, his childhood home.

  His parents had long since abandoned the house, but not him. He’d wanted to leave but couldn’t. Something kept him there, like a tree with deep roots. He couldn’t live, couldn’t breathe anywhere else. He was bound to the soil of the estate as much as the trees that lined the mile-long drive leading up to the house. It was his castle, his fortress against the harsh world, and yet he was bringing Sophie inside. A journalist with the intent to expose his soul. He really was a fool to let her in. What would she think when she saw the endless empty rooms and dark halls? Would she wonder if he was the same deep inside? He didn’t want to be empty, but a sinister, creeping fear warned him that he might be after all these years. What was a twin without his other half? Incomplete. A woman would never want half of a man, not a woman like Sophie.

  He’d never dared to bring a woman home before, had never wanted to. There was something about Sophie that made him want to risk everything even though there was every chance that she’d turn her back on him or betray him. She was a journalist after all. Telling stories was what they did best, often at others’ expense. He hadn’t forgotten that she’d claimed she could save him and solve the kidnapping. It didn’t need solving. He knew the man who’d ta
ken him, would never forget that face for as long as he lived. But he was curious to know what this intrepid little creature thought she could show him about the past.

  “We’re almost there.” He rubbed his thumb on Sophie’s palm, reveling in her responding tremor.

  She was unpredictable. He’d spent years avoiding people in her line of work, but there was something irresistible about Sophie. The way she’d defended herself, tried to hide her weaknesses as she met him head on. But then she’d knelt at his feet and surrendered herself to earn his trust. On some level she was submissive, but she was also a warrior, not a timid mouse. Earning complete trust and surrender from such an equal would be a sweet prize, one he had to taste again soon or he’d go mad.

  That dangerous kiss. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have given in to his need so soon, but he was unable to deny her offering. She’d raised her lips and he’d just taken them. Her kiss heated him, like the first step on hot sand after months of winter. The pleasure of the heat, the scorching blaze, barely controlled and yet incredibly soft for all its intensity.

  “Oh my god.” Sophie sat up on the edge of the seat, peering through the car’s windshield to see where they were headed.

  The headlights struck the black wrought-iron gates of the entrance to Lockwood. Hans tapped a small device on the visor above and the latticework of the iron broke apart to allow them passage. A gravel drive cut a white path through the well-manicured lawns. Trees loomed along the road’s path, just visible at the edge of the beams from the Mercedes’ headlights, lining the drive like walls of brown steel. Even at night the sight was impressive beneath the bright moon’s glow.

  The house was still a ways off, but the moonlight accented the columns of white marble, while its red brick blended into the night. Hans guided the car up the drive that curved around to the back entrance of the house. No servant waited for them. Emery kept the house empty; a cleaning crew came in once a week to take care of the necessities. He preferred the house empty, empty as his heart. It was a fitting punishment, after all these years. He allowed the specters of those golden days to seep out of the walls and haunt him with the sound of his brother’s laughter, the sunny remembrances of hours spent in the gardens playing the games only children could dream up.

  Emery’s eyes traced the night breeze as it rippled through the thick ivy that crawled up the brick walls. Like a lady’s evening gown stirred on the dance floor during a gentle waltz, the house’s walls seemed to shiver and roll with the light wind. The house was a ghost, a shell of its former glory in so many ways. Even though he’d updated the plumbing, and electricity and given it an impressive security system, it didn’t feel the same. Not since…then. Emery shut his eyes as a headache swamped him.

  A low husky laugh. The burn of scotch in his throat. The strains of a country song teased his ears.

  “Hans, turn off the radio,” he said, and opened his eyes.

  “It’s not on, sir.” His guard raised his gaze in the rearview mirror and met Emery’s stare.

  “Oh, right.” He fought off a wave of dizziness and confusion. Sometimes he got headaches, sometimes not, but every so often he seemed to slip somewhere else. He was pretty sure he was going crazy—probably all the strain of running his father’s company, among other things. There was also the stress from his nightmares. He never left his back exposed to an open door. The doctors said he suffered from some form of PTSD. Maybe he did. After everything he’d…

  Emery shook his head, jostling the unsettling thoughts and memories, shoving them into the dark box inside his head and locking them up. The sense of otherness, the awareness of that external part of himself he could have sworn died twenty-five years ago, faded. The clean scent of trees wet with recent rain filled him and he drew a breath upon the cool air, letting it clear his head.

  “It’s so beautiful.” Sophie seemed unaware of the dark path his thoughts had traveled. She pressed a palm against the window, peering out at the monolithic home. She unknowingly teased him with the close proximity of her body. It took every ounce of control not to drag her into his arms and claim her with the hunger that gnawed at him.

  Emery wasn’t looking at the house, but at her. She had a luscious figure: wide hips, a trim waist, muscled legs and sculpted arms. She was on the delicious edge of plumpness that made his body ache to be cushioned in its softness. She wasn’t tall, couldn’t be more than five-foot-three inches, but she was a perfect size. Small enough to be cuddled and held, but strong enough to handle his sensual appetite.

  Unable to resist, he curled his fingers around the back of her neck and rubbed. She tensed instantly, and then slowly relaxed. He’d practiced this move, perfected it over the past several years and it never failed to make a woman melt. He stifled a chuckle as Sophie sighed and leaned back against him, resting in the crook of his arm.

  “I’m not normally like this, you know.” Sophie’s gray eyes flicked up to his. They reminded him of tarnished silver, dark and mysterious.

  “Like what?” He knew what she was going to say. He’d broken the first wall of her defenses, made her accept his touch, however innocent.

  Sophie waved a hand in the air. “This. I’m not easy, but you make me do the stupidest things.”

  Emery cupped her cheek in one palm, nuzzled her neck and then kissed the corner of her mouth.

  “When we’re through, you’ll do many things you wouldn’t have done before. Being with me is about testing your limits.”

  The car rolled to a stop. Hans slid out and walked around to Sophie’s door and opened it for her. Emery followed her, eyes fixed on her curves, on the way her skirt hugged her bottom and her hips swayed as she walked.

  She was probably just out of college and her energy appealed to him. Normally he avoided much younger women. Their innocence wasn’t alluring. He’d only slept with jaded women, who mistrusted emotional connections and wanted sex and nothing more. They knew the score and didn’t fall asleep dreaming of sunny futures with children and happily ever afters.

  There was something about Sophie, though. A passion for her goals, a healthy ambition rooted in her desire to be good at something she loved. He knew so little about her, but he did know that once he discovered her every secret, he’d be even more impressed. Even though he despised journalists as a rule because they couldn’t keep their noses out of his life, Sophie seemed different. It wasn’t morbid curiosity that had her begging for his story. There was pain and fear in her eyes, something he recognized all too well because he was forced to look at it in the mirror every day. This was the secret he wished to know most about her. What had driven her to seek him out; what reason could she have for needing his story, needing to know how he’d survived?

  He slid an arm around her waist as they went up the steps to the door.

  “Sophie, where are you staying in town?”

  “The Brighton Bed and Breakfast. Why?” She raised a delicate brow.

  Emery tightened his grip on her waist. “Hans, go to the Brighton and retrieve Sophie’s things. Settle her bill while you’re there.”

  She jerked out of his grip. “Hey! You can’t do that!”

  “Are you objecting to the removal of your luggage or my paying the bill?”

  Her hesitation told him everything. She was afraid of ceding control to him. A small bump in the road, one he’d have to smooth over quickly.

  Sophie sighed, eyes drifting up as though beseeching the heavens to spare her from him.

  “You can’t just…” Her fists clenched against her thighs.

  “You forget about our bargain. I set the limits and the terms. You get your story.”

  He didn’t leave room for her to argue. He simply tucked her arm through his and escorted her into his home. Emery didn’t miss the flicker of amusement in Hans’s eyes. Unable to resist, he flashed a small smile at his bodyguard. Hans was a good friend, a mentor, and one of the few people outside his family and his two friends Royce and Wes who he trusted implicitly,
without question. Emery kept his distance from the rest of the staff at Lockwood, which was really only a small weekly cleaning crew, but Hans was never kept at arm’s length. A man’s bodyguard had to know his charge well enough to anticipate his needs and, more importantly, any life-threatening circumstances that could develop. He and Hans had been together a long time.

  He covered her lips with a fingertip. “Let’s get any objections out of the way right now. You’ll sleep in my room, my bed. Unless of course you’re afraid of me…or is it that you’re afraid of yourself, of the passions you hide?” Outside his home, he couldn’t afford to demand such intimacy with a woman; it was too dangerous for him. But here…inside these walls he could breathe and just…be.

  She narrowed her eyes, the angry expression only making her more irresistible to him. Her stubbornness was going to give him so much pleasure.

  “When you glare at me, it only reminds me I owe you a punishment.” Her eyes darkened with rebellious heat as he teased her. Never had he craved fire as he did in that moment. His little warrior liked the idea of a spanking. He’d certainly remember that.

  Sophie opened her mouth beneath his finger and moved to bite him. He moved faster, catching her chin and pulling her head up, forcing her up on tiptoe to steal a kiss. He gave it to her hard, focusing every bit of himself on her mouth, the way she tasted like strawberries, her retreating, hesitant tongue when he took control. He opened her mouth further, distracting her while he captured her wrists behind her back. He loved restraints, and couldn’t wait to get her beneath him, tied to his bed. Someday he’d allow her to touch him, to stroke those lovely hands all over his body. But the need to have her powerless and trusting in his bed, awaiting the fulfillment of her every desire, was a potent need that made him nearly blind with hunger.

  She melted in his arms, a little purr escaping her mouth between kisses. There was nothing better than getting a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman to surrender. It wasn’t about force, wasn’t about breaking someone down. It was about gaining trust, and getting a woman like Sophie to submit fully would be like nothing else he’d ever done. A true achievement. Never in his life had he wanted to accept a challenge like dominating her.