by Desiree Holt
“Call him?” Fallon took a healthy swallow of her wine, hoping Claire didn’t see her hand shaking. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. Why would you even ask?”
“Because you have that deer-in-the-headlights look about you that you lived with the whole time you were with him.”
“No. I don’t.” She twisted her napkin in her lap. “And why would you ruin a perfectly enjoyable lunch by bringing this up, anyway?”
“Because I know you better than you think,” Claire retorted. She paused while the waitress cleared their dishes. “So please tell me you didn’t do something incredibly stupid.”
“I did not call him. I did not do something incredibly stupid. Satisfied?” She drained her wine, restraining the urge to gulp. Claire was a shark when she was on the trail of something.
“Then what?” The woman leaned across the table. “Fallon, I’m your friend. Your closest friend. I have nothing but your best interest and the quality of your life at heart. You know that.”
“Yes.” And she did know. Claire had forcibly yanked her back from the brink of total destruction, and had borne the brunt of Brian’s anger in doing so.
“So give.”
“I, um, ran into him at valet parking at La Cantera. That’s all,” she added quickly. “Nothing more.”
“No quiet drink? No hurrying off to some secret corner?”
“Of course not.” She stared at her friend. “I may not have been the one to initiate my leaving but I clearly remember what it was like, Claire. Believe me.” If only all those old mixed feelings hadn’t come bursting forth in a volatile explosion.
Think of Cord.
“Uh-huh.” Claire studied her, a skeptical look on her face. “I want to know exactly what took place.”
Fallon stared into her wineglass. How could she explain what she didn’t even understand herself? She’d thought she was well and truly done with Brian, especially after being with Cord and being reminded what a real D/s relationship was like. He valued her as a person, didn’t demean her or abuse her trust. “I was just getting out of my car and was waiting for the parking ticket from the valet. I didn’t even see him until he was right there next to me, his hand on my arm.”
“Did he hurt you?” Claire’s tone was ferocious.
“No. No, nothing like that.” She shook her head. God, she could still feel the imprint of his fingers, her skin burning where he’d touched her. “He said he just—wanted to talk to me.”
“I’ll bet.” Claire snorted. “So what happened then?”
“I told him I didn’t want to talk to him, jerked my arm away and ran into the restaurant.”
“Okay. And that was it? Nothing else?”
“No.” Fallon shook her head. “But Claire?”
“Yes, sweetie?” Claire’s voice had softened.
“Just his touch made me…I don’t know. Ill.” How could she explain all the conflicting emotions? “I thought I’d collapse inside the restaurant. As it was, I barely made it to the ladies’ room.” She shivered. “It was—I don’t know what it was.”
“Did he feed you one of his little sarcastic criticisms? Make a derogatory remark under the guise of being ‘helpful’? Like he used to do?” Her face twisted as she mimicked Brian’s voice. “I need to take you to a different hairstylist, Fallon. The one you’re using leaves it too long. It ruins the shape of your face.”
Fallon didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Claire had really gotten it, the remark and the tone of voice. She made a slightly hysterical strangling sound.
“Well, you’ve certainly got him down pat.”
“I’d like it better if I had him six feet under.” Claire’s voice softened again. “Honey, you’ve got such a really good situation going with Cord. He’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Please tell me you’re not going to fuck it up by letting that animal draw you in again.”
“I’m not.” Fallon fiddled with her empty glass. “I have Cord now and I’m in a much better place.”
“I’m glad you realize that. So, have you gotten around to telling him the details of your relationship with Brian yet?”
The session from three nights ago popped back into her brain. She shifted on the leather bench, the memory of her orgasms at his mouth and hands making her burn.
“Fallon?”
She jerked to attention. “Sorry?”
“You looked like you were ten million miles away. I asked if you’d told Cord anything about the asshole yet.”
Fallon nodded. “And that’s all I want to say about it, Claire. Please. Just let it go for now. Cord and I are dealing with the residual fallout.”
But were they really? He’d refused to punish her for what she considered were her transgressions. She had a feeling the ghost of Brian Willoughby hadn’t yet been vanquished. Not as long as her programmed mind and body reacted the way they did. Why had she ever gone out with him in the first place?
She forced all thoughts of it from her mind and made a production of checking her watch. “Wow. I didn’t realize how long we’d been sitting here. I need to get to the printer and check the brochures for the event center opening.” She looked across the table at her friend. “You’re coming, right?”
“Are you kidding? Wouldn’t miss it. How are the RSVPs coming? I can’t imagine anyone would say no. It’s bound to be the event of the area.”
Fallon managed a laugh. “I think everyone’s curious to see what the stranger from Dallas managed to create in their territory. And what he could possibly know about cattle and horses.”
Claire grinned. “I understand they have those in Dallas too. Or at least outside the city limits.”
“Cord knows what he’s doing and he’s made some good contacts. Yes, the list is pretty much filled.”
The check distracted them for a moment as they settled up then Fallon slid from the booth, hitching the slim strap of her purse over her shoulder. In the parking lot, Claire paused to give her a hug.
“Don’t be mad at me, honey. You know I just want what’s best for you. And he’s not it.”
“I know, I know.” She dug up a smile. “I promise to be good, Mom.”
“Call me later.” Claire waved as she walked over to her own car.
Fallon unlocked her door and was just tossing her purse onto the passenger seat when her cell rang. She looked at the screen and saw an unfamiliar number.
“Fallon Crowe,” she answered in her best professional voice.
“You didn’t think you could run from me forever, did you?”
The voice chilled her down to her very bones.
* * * * *
Brian had debated going into the office to work on his project but decided he needed the privacy of home. Natalie was busy in the little study he’d set up next to her bedroom, working on the projects he brought home to her. He knew it was important to keep her mind busy. Besides, doing the work kept her tied to him even more strongly.
Refilling his coffee mug in the kitchen, he carried it to his den where he made sure to lock the door before sitting down at his desk. More than any other room in the house, this space represented who he had become. Who he’d wanted to become. Everything from the paneled walls to the furniture to the electronics was top of the line. If there was anything more expensive, he hadn’t found it yet.
Sitting back in his custom-designed chair, he pressed the button that would slide the blinds to one side, giving him an unobstructed view of the carefully manicured backyard. He sipped the freshly brewed coffee as he studied the scene, again taking pleasure in the fact that no expense had been spared to create the landscaped paradise.
Placing the mug carefully on a thick coaster, he booted up his computer. With a bachelor’s degree in both finance and computer science from Stanford University and a master’s in business from Wharton School of Finance, he was more than equipped to do his own in-depth computer searches. He took pride in doing his own research on businesses and corporate executives, instead of bri
nging in a third party. Like everything else in his life, he played business close to the vest and shared only the information that was necessary to operate efficiently.
His skills had also turned out to be instrumental in discovering the more extreme sides of BDSM.
He frequently indulged himself in the privacy of his den, watching videos that pushed the envelope as he stroked his cock. The images never failed to fascinate him, the complete subjugation of the women evident in their posture, in the expressions on their faces, in the slightly unfocused look in their eyes as they dropped into subspace. Oh, he’d read all about it; that very special place his subs enter when they totally trust him and immerse themselves into an intense scene. A sub may not be capable of making rational decisions about safety and well-being at that point, an idea that thrilled him.
Watching the videos had given him an extensive knowledge of various punishments, of instruments and how to wield them, and of edgeplay, which completely fascinated him. He was still working to perfect areas of that favorite brand of play.
And now he would put his computer skills to use to research something—someone—else. Fallon Crowe and the asshole who stole her from him, Cord Jamieson.
The anticipation of drawing Fallon back under his control actually made him salivate. As for Natalie, he would set her up in her own place, possibly allow her back into the workplace as long as she did only as he instructed. He might even find someone to pass her off to once he was finished. Not being part of the BDSM community meant he had no contacts, but with all the resources at his disposal, finding a new Dom for her probably wouldn’t be much of a problem.
After a short search, Brian discovered Fallon had restarted her public relations business, moved completely from San Antonio and relocated it to a little nowhere town just west of the city where Claire lived. He quickly read through the client list on her site, most of them small potatoes. Still, he’d make it his business to drop a few words in certain ears about her possible instability. That ought to shake things up a bit.
Then he ground his teeth as he noted her latest project, also out in the middle of nowhere—Comanche Pass Ranch.
He visited the ranch’s own website, quickly realizing it was the sort of operation that had the makings of unlimited possibilities, both for Fallon and the jerk she’d taken up with.
He wouldn’t allow that to happen. She was his, damn it. Even if he only wanted her back to thoroughly break her before throwing her out in the street.
Banking his anger so he could concentrate, he dug into cyberspace for anything and everything about Cord Jamieson—and was not at all happy with what he found. Apparently before his move, Cord had been a well-respected businessman in Dallas, successful in managing investments even in an uncertain market. Successful enough to bankroll himself to get back to his cowboy roots and buy a ranch in the Hill Country. As Brian returned to the Comanche Pass Ranch website, bile flooded his throat.
The thought of Fallon with someone else, especially anyone in the least bit successful, was a bitter pill to swallow. Was Jamieson a Dom? Had she somehow found another one? Was he as strong as Brian or was he softer, a less demanding Master?
Damn it all to hell, anyway.
He deliberately banished unwanted images of another man’s hands all over Fallon’s body. The body he’d trained. The skin he’d reddened with punishing sessions. Kissing the mouth that had sucked Brian’s cock.
Fuck.
Between online searches and some phone calls, the information began flowing. An hour later, he sat back and looked at the notes he’d made.
Well, well, well. Fallon Crowe had managed to pull herself together much better than he’d expected. Certainly leaving him hadn’t been a conscious decision on her part. He could thank that bitch, Claire Panetta, for literally dragging Fallon out of the house one day while he was gone. Then she’d tucked her away where Brian couldn’t get at her, not fazed in the least by his anger or threats.
She still has hers coming. One of these days she’ll get it.
No one took what belonged to Brian Willoughby.
No one walked away from him.
And the asshole who thought he owned Fallon now? Brian was all over that. Jamieson would be sorry he stole another man’s property—and he’d never see it coming.
He reached for his phone again and dialed the cell number he’d found. His body tightened when he heard her voice.
“You didn’t think you could run from me forever, did you?”
Silence greeted his question. Brian could practically taste her shock and fear through the phone. His cock hardened at this small victory.
“Lunch. Tomorrow. Meet me at the Cimarron Hotel. Wait in the lobby. And don’t argue with me, Slave. If I have to come find you, you won’t like the consequences.”
He disconnected the call. Tomorrow. He’d see her tomorrow. His girl. His slave. Not someone else’s. And he’d make damn sure she knew it.
Leaning back in his chair, he closed his eyes, rubbing his temples to ease the edge of a headache creeping in.
And just like that, images of that night in the hotel flashed into his brain. The night he’d introduced Fallon Crowe to the pleasures of his particular brand of BDSM.
* * * * *
Two years ago
“The dinner was excellent.” Fallon smiled at him across the table. “Thank you so much.”
“Their chef is the best,” he agreed. “Everything he creates is pleasing to the palate.”
She looked down at her plate. “It looks like I ate everything but the logo on the china. Thank you for bringing me here.” She smiled. “I really appreciate it.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t eaten here before. I know you entertain clients a lot in the city.”
She cocked an eyebrow and gave him a soft smile. “Checking up on me, are you?”
He was so fascinated with her mouth, with the sudden image of it wrapped around his cock, that he almost forgot what they were talking about.
He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “I like to travel first class. Always.” He lifted her hand and brushed a light kiss over her knuckles. “And you certainly fit that category.”
“Flatterer,” she teased, retrieving her hand.
He’d chosen the Cimarron Hotel deliberately for this. For one thing, he loved its Old West architecture and design. It was a stark contrast to both his house and his offices and he could use it to create a different mood. Especially the restaurant, which had the décor of a Wild West saloon. The waitresses dressed like the bawdier women of that era and the walls were decorated with antique firearms, coiled bullwhips and pictures of scenes of years gone by, including saloon women draped over the laps of cowboys.
It helped him set the mood for tonight—the masterful range rider and the woman who was putty in his hands. All part of his plan leading up to the rest of the evening.
And of course, he owned the place—it was part of the vast Willoughby Hotels empire. That meant he could control everything, and anything he needed would be readily available.
After their first date—he hated the term but didn’t know what else to call it—he’d made it his business to dig up everything about her. The guest list at the party where they’d met had been very high-profile, so he’d wondered why their paths had never crossed before. Then he’d discovered she’d been there as a personal friend of the hostess. Her public relations firm was small, just her and an assistant, and operated outside his usual circle of acquaintances.
How fortunate for him that women loved to gossip. A few clients had been only too glad to share their speculations about her private life. She was confident. Respected. A strong woman who gravitated toward even stronger men.
A little more digging by the discreet private detective he occasionally used paid off in spades. Brian discovered that she frequented a private dungeon in the city, even learned the names of Doms she’d associated with.
Excellent. Exactly what he was lo
oking for. Naïve women were easily broken, but Fallon would be a challenge. He would show her strength as she’d never known it.
He could barely contain his excitement at the prospect.
They’d already had sex. By the third date he had managed to flatter her into his bed, paying careful attention to her responses and her needs. And what had he learned? Just as he’d supposed, Fallon Crowe was a sensitive, sensual woman, with a lusty sexual appetite. It didn’t surprise him, given what he’d learned about her, and it definitely excited him.
He continued to pay careful attention. Every signal would help him determine just how far he could push her when he ramped things up. Holding back was difficult, but he approached her seduction like any other battle plan, one that was necessary to achieve his goals. The things he wanted to introduce her to, if done properly, would have Fallon well and truly in his trap.
He’d tried to analyze just what it was about her that appealed to him. She wasn’t gorgeous in the accepted sense of the word. “Striking” described her better. Very, very striking. Average height but she carried herself so well she appeared taller. Sun-streaked hair worn loose tonight, tumbling to her shoulders, framing her oval face. Eyes the most startling violet stared out from beneath naturally thick lashes. Her lips were just full enough to give a man wet dreams.
It was the whole package that got him going. He could close his eyes and envision her naked, on her knees before him, arms bound behind her, head tilted back with his cock in her mouth. He’d show her exactly how he liked it, rewarding her with praise when she got it right—teaching her the pain of the whip when it was wrong—until she was fully trained. He got hard just imagining that lash striping her skin, hearing her cries then feeling how wet it made her cunt.
Brian sat quietly while their dishes were cleared and a waiter brought the after-dinner drinks he’d ordered. His gaze fastened on Fallon’s mouth as she sipped the flavored liqueur, licking drops from her lips. That tongue had fascinated him from the moment he’d met her at the cocktail party.