by Ward, Deena
“Oh yeah. They’re great. You all obviously know each other very well,” and let the inferred suggestion hang in the air.
Gibson appeared to be considering his response, then said, “We do. Xavier was my first teacher, as a dominant. And he allowed me to practice my skills, if practice is the appropriate word, with his wife.”
“So Paulina was your first sub.”
“No, she was never mine. She has always been Xavier’s sub.”
“I see,” I said. “He just loaned her to you.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
I asked, “How old were you when you figured it out ... what you needed?”
When he didn’t answer right away, I added, “I don’t want to put you on the spot. I just wondered, that’s all.”
“No, it’s all right. I was trying to remember. I always knew that something was missing, but I didn’t know what. I think I was twenty-two when Xavier married Paulina and brought her to the estate. I was attracted to her from the start.”
I said, “That must have been uncomfortable.”
“It was. I didn’t have any way of understanding what was going on, so I dealt with it by avoiding her as much as possible, and avoiding Xavier as well. It took about a year before Xavier came to me and asked me why I never came around him anymore. I couldn’t lie to him, so I told him the truth and he surprised me by telling me that he guessed as much.”
Gibson continued, “He said that I shouldn’t be ashamed of it, or embarrassed. He said it was natural in someone like me. Then he gave me some books to read, and after I read them, I realized what I’d been missing. Xavier helped me in the beginning, as did Paulina. She was older, in her early thirties, and had a great deal of patience with a newbie.”
I asked, “How old is Paulina now?”
He said, “I think she’s fifty-one, or fifty-two.”
Damn, Paulina looked good for her age, but I hadn’t asked the question because I wanted to know about Paulina. I did some quick math. A ten year age difference between him and Paulina would make Gibson forty-one or forty-two years old.
Gibson must have realized what I was doing. His lips thinned into a line and he said, “I’m forty-two years old.”
Thirteen years my senior. I knew he believed he was too old for me, but I didn’t see it that way. I hadn’t ever thought of our ages as an impediment, even when I didn’t like him.
I said, “A fortune teller once told me I have an old soul. She didn’t say exactly how old. You know how vague they are. But I figure I’m at least forty-five in soul years.”
Gibson quirked up one corner of his mouth. “Soul years.”
“Yeah, it’s like dog years, but longer ... or something.”
I met his eyes. He wanted to kiss me. I could see it in his eyes. So why didn’t he kiss me already?
He asked, “Will you be coming back to Roundtree tomorrow?”
I shook my head, “No. Isabel told me this morning that she needs me in our office tomorrow.”
He said, “I see.”
I understood, then, what I had to do. The next move had to be mine.
I said, “I’ve been invited to a party tomorrow night at Elaine and Ron Hoyte’s house. It’s a regular party, not a BDSM thing. Elaine told me I could bring someone, and I wondered if you’d like to go with me. It might be fun, if we go together.”
He looked at me for a few long moments, then said, his voice deep, low, “If I accept your invitation, I’ll want to do more than just escort you to a party.”
My heartbeat stuttered for an instant. I said, “I hoped you would.”
“Good.”
Oh, there was that old friend, the good girl tingle.
His gaze moved from my eyes to my lips then back to my eyes again. He held out his hand. I laid my hand on his and returned his gentle squeeze.
He asked, “What time should we arrive at the party?”
His thumb stroked across my fingertips. I answered, “It starts at eight, so nine probably.”
“If I picked you up at eight-thirty, would that give us time to get there by nine?”
His thumb traveled down over my palm, trailing sparks across my skin. I answered, “Sure. Eight-thirty.”
“Should I take you to dinner first?”
The pad of his thumb played lightly over my wrist, sending a thrill up my arm. “Whatever you want. Elaine said she’d be serving hors-d’oeuvres.”
“Then I think we’ll have a late dinner after we leave the party.”
I could feel the blood pulsing in my wrist where he stroked me. “Whatever.”
“So we have a plan,” he said. “I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty.”
He gave me a steady look, then added, “Bring an overnight bag.”
I said, “Of course. Whatever you want.”
He lifted my hand, pressed his lips against the sensitive underside of my wrist. “You’re being unusually accommodating today.”
I shuddered at the feel of his warm breath on my skin, the smoothness of his lips. “Maybe there was something in the food.”
“I’ll have to remember that. Thai food makes you compliant.”
“Is that how you like me best? Compliant?”
He gave a small smile, then kissed my palm. “Nonnie, I seem to like you any way I can get you.”
His eyes. So serious. His sincerity plain to see. It cost him something to say that, and he deserved something from me in return.
I said, “Right after my vacation, the breakup with ... anyway, I had myself tested for everything. Just to be sure, you know. Everything was fine, all clear.”
I paused for second, then said, “Since I took those tests, I haven’t been with anyone but you.”
A fierce pleasure sharpened his expression. His grip tightened momentarily on my hand.
I said, “I can bring the results with me, tomorrow, if you’d like.”
He said, “That’s not necessary. I’d be happy to bring my latest results, though.”
I shook my head in the negative.
He kissed my palm again, and I shivered at the moist touch of the tip of his tongue there.
I said, “That feels wonderful. But I’d rather you kiss me for real.”
He asked, “What is ‘for real?’ I can think of many places I’d like to kiss you right now, and they would all, I assure you, be for real.”
I said, my voice gone slightly breathy, “I was thinking of my mouth, but as you pointed out, I’m in a compliant mood right now, so I’d welcome your kisses anywhere you’d like to put them.”
He made a low sound, then said, “You’re taunting me because you know we just pulled up in front of Roundtree.”
Genuinely surprised, I turned and looked out the window. Sure enough. We were back already.
I said, “Talk about bad timing.”
He gently laid one last kiss on my wrist, then placed my hand on my leg and released me. “I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow night.”
I wanted to say, come to my place tonight. But I didn’t. I smiled, nodded, said, “Until tomorrow.”
The driver opened my door and helped me out. Gibson followed. We walked into the building together. I kept a pleasant smile on my face, trying to mask the tension I felt from unspent passion.
Everyone we passed had a word for Gibson. A “hello, Sir.” Or a “good afternoon, Sir.” Or a nod and a “good day, Mr. Reeves.” It put me in mind of something I hadn’t thought of in a while.
When we arrived on the sixteenth floor and he walked me to the conference room, I stopped a few feet away from the door and turned to him.
I said, “Thank you for lunch ...” a pause for emphasis, then added decidedly, “Sir.”
The sharp pleasure crossed his features once more, quickly followed by a wry grin. He said, “It was my pleasure ... Imp.”
I laughed. “That’s terrible! And besides, aren’t imps boys?”
“I don’t know. How about Scamp?”
“How about
Angel?”
He laughed. “Maybe if you stuck the word ‘naughty’ in front of it.”
“Hmm. Naughty angel. No, too long.”
The door to the conference room opened and we quickly suppressed our smiles. Sloan, one of my coworkers, stopped in surprise when she saw Gibson standing next to me.
She said, “Hi Nonnie. Hello, Mr. Reeves. It’s good to see you again.”
Gibson said it was nice to see her, too. He nodded to me, said, “Good afternoon,” with perfect polite blandness, then turned and walked off down the hall.
Sloan watched him go, then asked, “Did he want something?”
I answered, “No, he was just passing by.”
She shrugged, said she was off to the ladies room, then walked away.
I thought to myself, Gibson does want something, actually. He wants me. And in a little more than twenty-four hours, he’d have me.
Sometimes, life was good.
After work, I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I went shopping for the perfect dress to wear to the Hoytes’ party. I found a pretty, sleeveless sheath dress in a cream shade that complimented my brown eyes and black hair. I already had a pair of shoes at home that I knew would go well with it. And the best bonus of all, it was on sale, so I could afford it and a trip to my favorite salon for some much-needed waxing.
That evening at home, I considered some of the things I learned about Gibson. I thought about the Martins, and how large a role they played in Gibson’s life. I thought, also, about how it felt to sit in that cafe with three people who all exuded an enticing aura of power. Gibson’s, of course, was infinitely the most enticing of the three.
I wasn’t the same woman who Gibson had seduced in a bar over two months ago. I wasn’t as innocent as I was then, I understood now where the pull of power could lead me if I weren’t on guard.
The proof that I could do this was plain in my dealings with the dominants I met at Private Residence after the play with the Hoytes. I felt a pull to them, to that undercurrent of sexual authority, but I was able to think, too, about what I wanted, not just about what they wanted.
So I knew my guard was up and active. And yet, when it came to Gibson, I felt nearly as helpless to say no to him, and to myself, as I had when I first met him.
I had few doubts about him, since his email, and since I’d seen him again. I only regretted that I hadn’t recognized the truth sooner, before I’d turned down his offer, foolishly insulted him and sent him away.
Still, he was in my life again, and he didn’t seem to be holding a grudge against me for what I had done. That he wanted me to meet the Martins was the best sign of all.
No, that wasn’t it. It was the look in his eyes when he said, “I seem to like you any way I can get you.”
That was the best sign of all.
Chapter 11
I had loads to catch up on at work the next day, plus I spent a considerable amount of time in Isabel’s office giving her my glowing report of everything I had seen and heard at Roundtree Holdings. I was glad to be busy. It kept my nerves in check.
I had hoped to take a short nap before getting ready for my date, but I didn’t make it home until nearly seven o’clock, thanks to working late. No nap for me. I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway.
By eight-thirty, I was primped, packed and prepared for Gibson. He didn’t keep me waiting, buzzing up exactly on time.
I didn’t want him recalling our last meeting in my apartment, so I was standing in the hall with my overnight bag when he came around the corner. He looked devastatingly handsome in a lightweight summer sport coat and dark slacks. His hair was pushed back away from his forehead, as usual, and as usual, I wanted to muss it up some.
He smiled, gave me long admiring look up and down, then said, “You’re stunning.”
I said, “So are you.”
He leaned toward me and I caught his scent, and a whiff of the outdoors. He took my small case from my hand and asked, “Since you’re out here, I’m guessing you’re ready to go?”
I nodded, quickly checked my door to make sure it was locked, then we walked in silence to his car. I looked at the car and was speechless for a long minute at least.
Finally, I asked, “What is it?”
Gibson asked, “Do you like it?”
I gave him a “you have lost your mind” look, and said, “It’s the most beautiful car I’ve ever seen.”
“Really?”
“Seriously. What’s it called?”
He headed for the rear of the car and said, “Vanquish.”
While he put my bag in the trunk I admired the car. It was a spectacular bronze color that glowed under the streetlights. The lines of the body were unlike anything I was used to seeing.
Gibson opened the passenger door for me.
I said, “Are you actually driving tonight?”
He said, “I have no choice since not even your tiny self could fit in this back seat.”
I slipped into the buttery leather seats. Heaven. Breathed in the scent of new car and leather and masculinity. Savored the sound of the engine when Gibson pulled out of our parking spot and into the street.
I enjoyed the ride, the feel of the thing, the way it moved over the road, watching Gibson’s hands on the wheel, appreciating his pleased expression.
Finally, I asked, “Why don’t you drive this car every day?”
He answered, “I’d hate to deprive my driver of a good job. And most days, I work during my travel time. It’s hard to type on a laptop when you’re driving.”
“Well, as someone who has seen people typing on laptops while driving, I’m grateful that you restrain yourself. Hey, it just occurred to me. Don’t you need directions?”
“GPS. I called the Hoytes and asked for their address.”
“Oh really? That’s interesting.”
“Why?”
“You could have called and asked me.”
He gave me a little sideways glance then said, “True, but if I had called you and heard your voice, and thought about how you might be looking, what you might be doing, I never could have waited until tonight to see you.”
“Oh. That’s okay then.”
“I’m glad you’re fine with it.”
I wanted to tell him to forget about the party at the Hoytes’ house, but I had texted Elaine the night before and told her I was bringing Gibson, so I couldn’t just not show up. I made a promise to myself that we would only stay long enough to avoid obvious rudeness.
We stuck to less titillating topics for the rest of the trip. Gibson found the address with no trouble, though we were both surprised at all the cars lining their long drive and out onto the curbs of the street. Happily for me and my feet, the Hoytes had arranged for valet parking.
Gibson didn’t blink when he handed his keys to a teenager who was practically drooling over the car. I wouldn’t have given that kid the keys, if it had been up to me.
The Hoytes lived in a huge Tudor style home in a wealthy area of the city, with more than enough room for them, their two grown children, their children’s future spouses, and a swarm of future grandchildren. I didn’t think the Tudor style much suited the Hoytes’ homey personalities, but the inside was pure Hoyte style, eclectic to the extreme, what I could make out of it.
The entryway and other ground floor rooms were teeming with people. I would have guessed easily fifty-sixty guests were milling around in this area alone, and any number of staff added to the melee, trying to deliver drinks and snacks to the crowd.
The smells from the party trays mingled with the alcohol and the combined force of too many people crammed into too small a space. Between that, the noise of everyone talking and the chipper country music playing over the speakers, I was sent into sensory overload.
Gibson and I worked our way through the crowd, seeking out our hosts. I saw a few people I recognized from other outings with the Hoytes and made a few hellos. Gibson nodded at several people.
&
nbsp; It took a full five minutes before we found Elaine, who was stepping out of the kitchen. She greeted us in a flurry of hugs and apologies for not being at her welcoming station at the door. She said the caterers were giving her grief and not getting the food out fast enough, so she was forced to keep them on their toes, as she put it.
Ron arrived a moment later, and there were more hugs and apologies, and so forth. While Ron and Gibson exchanged a few words, Elaine pulled me to the side.
She kept her voice as low as she could and still be heard. “There are too many people here. Ron told everyone to bring whoever they wanted, and that would have been fine if they had just brought one, like you. But some of these fools brought four and five people with them. We’re going to run out of food and booze.”
“Can I help? I can pitch in. We could go get more supplies.”
She snorted. “I appreciate the offer, but more supplies is the last thing I need. The only way we’ll get rid of some of these people is if we run dry.”
I grinned. “I can help some other way.”
She patted my arm. “Thank you, honey, but no. Nothing to do. Except, you might try to convince me not to shoot my husband for handing out invitations willy nilly and puttin’ me in this mess.”
“I think you’ve given me an impossible task.”
She glowered. “I have.”
I glanced over at Gibson and Ron who had been joined in conversation by a pair of other men who I didn’t recognize. Ron was talking animatedly, and soon was ushering the men out of the room. Gibson sent me a small smile and a shrug before he left.
Elaine gave me a hard look. “Listen, honey, I think you should take your man and head on out of here while you can.”
I asked, “Why?”
“I’m guessing you haven’t seen him. I set him up with some folks in the back hall, hoping that’d keep him out of the way until you came.”
“Who are you talking about?”
“Michael Weston. He’s here. I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t invite him. He came with other people.”
“Well. Damn. I didn’t expect that.”
“Of course you didn’t. I’m going to kill Ron, I swear.”
“It’s not his fault. But you’re right, I’d rather avoid Michael. Especially since I’m here with Gibson.”