The thrum of pleasure is jolted when more liquid splatters over my skin, but this time it’s warm, almost hot, and thicker. Much thicker. Then, shockingly, icy cold replaces the heat as Chris rubs ice all over my skin. “Cold.”
“What is it?” he demands.
“Ice. It’s ice.”
Hot liquid splatters over me again. “And now?” he demands.
“It’s heat.” More of the splatter, and I know what it is. “Wax.”
His answer is a caress of ice, then more hot wax. I can hear myself panting. No. Moaning. I don’t know these sounds that I’m making. There are too many sensations, too much happening. I’m disoriented. I’m aroused and my skin is tingling all over. I want him to stop. I want him to keep going but he stops abruptly, without any warning or explanation. And then nothing. There is nothing. Stillness overcomes me and the room. There is no sound. No movement. No hot or cold. Just the ache inside me that I’m desperate for him to fill.
Time ticks by and my heart starts to race again, wild, so wild. I need him to do something, anything, and when I think I might lose my mind and shout with anticipation, oil covers my back. His hands move rhythmically over my skin, my nerve endings screaming with tingly, achy sensations as the wax begins to crumble away. On and on this goes, and I feel as if my back can take no more when finally he caresses lower, over my hips, my backside. In no rush, he lingers there, touching me, soothing me. Arousing me. Knowing there is no spanking to follow, the tension I didn’t know was there slips away. As if that’s the moment Chris has been waiting for, he shocks me with the intimate invasion of his fingers tracing the crevice of my cheeks. I stiffen, a thrill of anticipation and renewed arousal overwhelming me, but his fingers don’t move to my sex. They linger in that intimate part of my body where no man has been.
The realization of what he intends hits me and I arch my back. “Chris—”
His hand flattens on my lower back. “Easy, baby. Have you ever—”
“No,” I say quickly. “Never. Chris—”
“Deep breath, baby. Just like last night. Nothing but pleasure.”
“Yes,” I breathe out, panting to bite back further objection. This is about trust, and I trust him.
“Pleasure,” he repeats, and he begins stroking again, only this time his other hand teases my sex, distracting me from my fear. His fingers stroke through the liquid heat of my arousal, all the ways he is touching me, all the sensations, overwhelming me. I am climbing to the edge of orgasm, so lost that it takes me a moment to realize that his fingers have entered me front and back. I still can’t process. I can’t protest. I don’t want to protest. “Chris, I—”
My words are lost to the deep stroke of his fingers, an arch of my hips. “You what?”
I don’t even remember what I’d been going to say. Sensations spiral through me, a wicked wonderful darkness consuming me. I think he asks me something else. I don’t know. There are only his fingers pumping into me, sensations spiraling inside me.
“Oh,” I gasp. “I . . . I’m going to . . .” I spasm around him with intense, amazing pleasure that seems to last forever, yet leaves me panting for more when it ends. Exhausted from the intensity, I sink deeper onto the pad beneath me. Chris slides his fingers from inside me, his hands momentarily resting on my hips. Something soft and silky rubs over my back, drying the oil, and then I’m being scooped up in his arms and carried.
I curl against his chest, my bindings making it impossible to hold on, but I’m completely secure that he won’t drop me. My nostrils flare with the rich, warm scent of our room, and I expect to be laid on the bed. Instead, I am sat down on our bed as he pulls away my blindfold.
The instant I see his face, emotions burn in my chest and damn it, my eyes. I want to blame it on adrenaline again, but this time, I’m not sure it is. It’s the past bleeding from deep in my soul, refusing to be buried.
Chris reaches in the nightstand and produces a pocketknife, slicing my bindings free. The instant I’m free, I wrap my arms around him and press my lips to his. His hand comes down on my head, his mouth angling over mine, but it is me who is kissing him, me who is crazy hungry for this man I do not want to lose.
“What haven’t you told me?” he demands, tearing his mouth from mine.
“I need you to know something first. Our first night together, I hadn’t let another man touch me in two years. I felt no fear with you, Chris. No hesitation. It felt right with you, freeing in every way. And you know what I’d been through now. So you know how huge that was for me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because tonight’s panic attack wasn’t just a panic attack.”
“What does that mean?” he asks quietly.
A shiver races over me, and he wraps the throw blanket at the end of the bed around me, holding on to the edges. “Talk to me, Sara. I need to understand.”
I nod. “Back when Michael . . . when . . .”
“He raped you.”
“Don’t call it that.”
“You need to face what it was, to deal with it. And if that means going to that counselor we talked about in Paris, then we go.”
“I suggested it; I know. And we should. But right now, I need to start with you.”
“I’m listening, and I’m in all the way, baby. Whatever it is, right or wrong, I’m here.”
“I know. I just hope you don’t end up regretting it.” He starts to object and I touch his lips. “Just listen.” He gives a short nod and I let my hand slip away. “After I threatened Michael with the protection order, I was terrified he’d come back. I hid inside my apartment a lot and kept to myself. A couple of weeks later, while I was teaching a class, a sudden panic came over me. I ended up in the bathroom in a cold sweat, not knowing why. There was no obvious trigger. And so it began—one panic attack after the other.”
“How often?”
“Daily, for six months. I was alone and had no one to talk to that I trusted. I thought about seeing a counselor then, too. But knowing how Michael operates, I also knew I was being watched, and he would have seen seeking counseling as a weakness that made me fresh prey all over again. I dealt with it on my own, and thankfully the attacks stopped as abruptly as they began.”
“You know why they started. Do you know why they ended?”
“It was when I finally felt in control for the first time in my life. I have an ex-student to thank for that. Elizabeth’s father was beating her and her mother. She often came to school with bruises, and I’d made efforts through my superiors to get her help. She and her mother denied there was a problem, but I bonded with the girl. Gradually, she shared small details.”
“You saw yourself in her.”
“Yes. I was never beaten, but the pain both my father and Michael had caused me was very present for me. And the way her mother didn’t get her out of the situation was a hot button, too. I loved my mother, but she accepted my father’s abuse.”
“So you got stronger for Elizabeth?”
“Oh yes. Teaching brought out this mama bear quality in me.”
“What happened to Elizabeth?”
“Her mother showed up at the school one day with the car packed up to leave. When I walked them to the parking lot, the dad showed up.” I shake my head. “It was bad. He was violent, and he lunged at the mother. She’d finally stood up for herself and her daughter, and I couldn’t let him hurt her. I jumped between them.”
“Oh fuck, baby, what happened?”
“He broke my nose. I sent him to jail. Elizabeth and her mother left town, and I never heard from them again.”
Understanding seeps into his expression. “And the panic attacks stopped.”
“Yes. And from that point on, I swore no one else would ever control me again. But you . . . you are the one person who makes me feel I can let the walls down without any repercussions. That’s trust, Chris.”
“But you didn’t let the walls down tonight.”
“And I told you why
.”
His hands slide around my neck. “You aren’t Amber. You will never be Amber. She sought out the whip to get my love. You only need to breathe, and you have it. What you see as flaws, I see as perfection.”
“Chris,” I whisper, too choked up to manage more. I love him with all my heart and soul.
“No one,” he adds, his tone raw, “most especially Amber, is ever coming between us.” He kisses me, a deep, passionate kiss that has my head spinning. “Let’s get out of town after the hearing tomorrow,” he says, tearing his mouth from mine. “We’ll go see Katie and Mike. We have a wedding to plan.”
His message is clear. Nothing I’ve confessed changes his intent to make me his wife.
“I don’t want to get married in the middle of this hell,” I say. “I want the day I marry my best friend to be special.”
“Best friend?” he asks, his eyes lighting.
“You are. You know that, right?”
“And you’re everything to me, Sara. Screw everything else; we’re planning our wedding. We can set the date later. And I’m going to have the jeweler I told you about meet us at Katie and Mike’s.” He brushes his lips over mine. “I want to show you something.” He leans back and reaches between the bed and the dresser, producing a sketch pad. “The ring I designed.”
I straighten, eager to see his creation. “Yes. Please.”
Mischief fills his eyes. “That’s twice you’ve said that tonight.” My cheeks heat and he laughs. “I’m planning on making it three before the night is over.”
I give him a scolding look and reach for the sketch pad. “Stop teasing me. I want to see the design.”
“Hold on.” He turns a page and then allows me to see the sketch. I blink down at the ridiculously large round stone surrounded by an elegant design, momentarily mesmerized by his gift for detail. But as I study the wide band, I blink again and tell myself I’m not seeing what I think I am. Yet it is. He’s designed a delicately woven vine of roses, and now that I look closer at the stone, it too, is a rose.
Shocked, my gaze lifts to Chris’s, but my questions fade when I see a rare anxious uncertainty in his eyes. He has no idea that this is a connection to Rebecca; he’d refused to read the journals and I’ve never talked about the roses. This means something else to him—something special I don’t want to ruin.
He strokes my cheek. “If you don’t like it—”
I smile tenderly. “I love it. I absolutely love it.”
His brows knit. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I want to ask him what inspired the roses, but he sets the pad aside and lowers me to the bed, his big, wonderful body covering mine. A moment later he is kissing me. Another moment later and his hand is traveling to my waist, my breasts, and my neck.
I don’t care about the roses. I care about the man who created a masterpiece for me.
Fifteen
It’s nearly dawn when I fall asleep in Chris’s arms, but I awaken instantly with the alarm and reach for the remote to tune in to the news. Chris quickly removes it from my hand and drags me to the shower, where he successfully distracts me from my worries about the bail hearing.
But an hour later I’m a ball of nerves again, and I begin pacing under the awning of our apartment building while we wait for our car to be pulled around, somehow managing to trip over my own feet. Tumbling forward, I’m thankfully saved as Chris shackles my waist and steadies me. “Stop fretting or I’m going to turn you over my knee.”
I gape. “What?”
He laughs, a deep, sexy rumble. “That’s the amazing thing about a spanking,” he says, his voice a naughty whisper near my ear. “Just the threat makes you forget everything else.”
I glower fiercely at him. “That’s not funny.”
“No.” His hand slides under my trench coat, fingers flexing on my hip. “It’s a lot of things, baby, but funny isn’t one of them.”
The car pulls up behind us. “You really are—”
“Mr. Merit,” the attendant announces.
Chris arches a brow, focused on me. “I really am what?”
Sexy. Amazing. “Bad.”
He laughs again, wrapping his arm around my neck, and the sound is a balm soothing my nerve endings. “Let’s go get this day over with so I can show you just how bad.” He holds the door for me and I’ve already slipped back into stress mode, reaching for the radio to try and find the news.
“I hope David told Tiger that Ricco accused Mark of setting him up,” I say as Chris claims the driver’s seat. “Your call with him was too short to say much.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “I have no idea what David told him, but we can confirm what Mark knows when we get to the gallery.”
“I can’t believe he’ll be in. Not after he pretty much told me he doesn’t want to see me again.”
Chris shifts into gear. “He’ll be in. He has to be in the eye of the storm; that’s his control. And just to be clear, the only reason I’m letting you near him, after his confession yesterday about you and Rebecca, is because I’m going to be your personal bodyguard.”
“So you said when you picked out my outfit today,” I comment of the high-necked, knee-length basic black dress. “And I’m not complaining about having you around today, considering everything going on, but you also need to be clear: I don’t need a bodyguard to protect me from Mark. I can handle him.”
“You have a big heart. Even Amber managed to get to you. It gets you into trouble.”
“I’d like to argue, but I try to fight battles I can win.”
Chris pulls into the alley leading to the newly fenced parking lot, keying in an entry code, and I’m surprised at the absence of press. “No Mark,” I say, as we park, noting the absence of his Jag. “I only see Ralph’s car, and what looks like the security crew.”
“Anything happening we should know about?” Chris asks Jacob as he opens the back door for us, obviously alerted to our presence by the gate entry.
“Nothing beyond Blake and Kelvin are at the courthouse, and it’s a media madhouse. Blake’s keeping me apprised. I’ll let you know as I get updates.”
Chris nods and we make our way to the office where, judging from the sound of Ralph swiftly keying his calculator, he’s already hard at work. Amanda is nowhere to be found. “I’d say good morning, but it’s not,” Ralph calls out. “Coffee is made and no, she hasn’t called.” He never stops keying.
I hang my coat on the rack behind Amanda’s desk, while Chris shrugs out of his leather jacket and does the same. “Don’t read into this,” he warns, and when I’m momentarily, impossibly under the circumstances, distracted by his hotness in faded True Religion jeans and a light blue “Matchbox 20” T-shirt, I decide every girl needs a man who can distract her this easily under this kind of stress.
Chris steps to me and brushes hair over my shoulder. “She’s only late a minute or two.”
“Yes, but—”
“She’s never late,” Ralph says. “Yesterday she was distracted by Ryan, and then left with him. Now she’s not here. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”
Jacob pushes through the door and motions to Chris, and he must read the instant concern in my face because he quickly holds up a hand and says, “Nothing new, and nothing to worry about. Blake’s brother, Royce, wants to talk to Chris.”
Chris squeezes my hand. “I need to take this. Royce has some FBI contacts with links to Paris. He’s using them to help find Ella.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank him.”
He motions to Ralph’s office and mouths, “Get him out of here.” I nod and he disappears into the gallery with Jacob.
I head to Ralph’s office, pausing in his doorway. “Did you try to call Amanda?”
“Not yet.” He laces his fingers on the desk, his orange bow tie practically glowing. “I sense something in the air. What do I need to know?”
“Mark’s going to have us work from home for the next few weeks. I’ll coordinate everything with you
by phone.”
“Fine by me, but I can’t do that until I finish these reports for Mark.”
“How long will that take?”
“With Amanda’s help, all day. Without it, today and tomorrow.”
“You can’t finish at home?”
“Are you kidding me? The police made a mess of my files. I can’t find half of what I need. Moving things will only make it worse.”
“I really wanted you gone before the hearing is over today and the press invasion happens.”
“Unless Bossman wants me to forget these reports, I can’t. And since he called about them this morning, I’m assuming that isn’t the case.”
“He called? Did he say if he’ll be in?”
He snorts. “Like he tells me anything. He just wanted to know I was on the reports.”
As much as I understand Mark’s stress, I don’t understand how completely he’s ignored the gallery. “I’ll help,” I volunteer, sitting in his visitor’s chair. “Let me call Amanda, then you can show me what to do.”
“I’ll call,” he offers, punching a button on the phone and letting it ring on speaker. It goes directly to voice mail. Grimacing, he punches the End button. “Same as yesterday. I’m telling you, her obsession with Ryan has changed her. She’s ready to bow at his feet, if you know what I mean.”
I barely stop my eyes from going wide. Just what does Ralph know about Ryan, and even Mark? “Yes, I got that from her, too. She’s young, and he’s older and rich. It must have her in some sort of Cinderella fantasy.”
He smirks. “Fifty Shades of Prince Charming.”
My heart skips a beat. “What does that mean?”
“Well.” He leans forward and falls into one of his conspiratorial whispers. “She told me he’s all kinds of dominant, in that kinky kind of way.”
My lips part in shock. “She told you that?”
“Yes, but nothing more. I tried. Oh baby, I tried. He’s hot. I wanted details.”
My stomach churns. He’ll get more details than he wants once the press frenzy starts, and I’m suddenly glad Mark decided to shut the gallery. I motion to the files and change the subject. “Speaking of details, tell me what I need to do to help.”
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