“Ugh. Of course I can. Bride of Frankenstein.”
“Carrie.”
“Oh good one. Um…” She mentally ran through her movie collection. “Dawn of the Dead.”
“The Exorcist.”
“You’ve seen that?”
“Are you kidding? It’s a rite of passage. Watched it when I was twelve. Scared the shit out of me. Your turn.”
“Okay, okay… I’ve got one, Friday the 13th.”
“Too easy.”
“Oh and The Exorcist isn’t? Your turn.”
“How about Godzilla?”
“Original or remake?”
He made a rude noise. “Do you even have to ask that?”
“Well then it should be Gojira shouldn’t it? And that’s not really horror. I’d consider it more science fiction.”
“If you say so. Your turn.”
“Horror of Dracula. I love that movie even more than Universal’s version. Christopher Lee is a much better Dracula in my opinion. Nothing against Bela Lugosi of course.”
He gave her an enigmatic smile.
“What?” she asked.
“Don’t panic.” His words were soft and careful. “Just look out the window.”
She glanced out the little round portal. They were above the clouds. Holy shit. “We’re in the air. How did you do that?”
“It’s a trick I used when I was a kid. I was shipped around a lot—different prep schools, summer camps in England—I think I mentioned it.” He waved a dismissive hand. “That’s how I dealt with it when I had to get used to sleeping in a strange place. Feeling better now?”
How could he be so nonchalant about that? “Still nervous, but not ready to jump out of my skin anymore. Thank you.”
She considered asking him to elaborate on his childhood. Glimpses into his past were so rare. He hardly ever spoke about it and when he did it was never enough to give her a clear picture. Fear of him shutting her out always kept her from pressing him, but curiosity won out this time. “How old were you?”
“When I was sent to my first prep school?”
She nodded.
“Six.”
The same year his mother had left.
The panic was gone, but something else had settled into its place. Sorrow? No, anger. How could his father have sent him away at such a young age? Hadn’t anyone cared about him? No, she wasn’t angry. She was pissed off. He’d only been a little boy.
“I know that look. What are you thinking, little Genevieve?”
The words were out before she could stop them. “I’m pissed off. I can’t believe your father would send you to boarding school at six. No offense, Brian, and I know I haven’t met him, but I really don’t like him.” Was he trying to hide a smile? “What?”
“I had one of the best educations money can buy. Only you would feel bad for me for that. Most people would consider it a privilege.”
And what had he said? Money doesn’t always equal privilege. “I’m sorry but that doesn’t sound so wonderful to me. It sounds awful and lonely.”
He shook his head, the ghost of a smile still on his lips. “I can understand how you would see it that way.” Oh he’s so condescending. “But it taught me to be self-reliant. I wouldn’t be who I am today had things been different.”
“So am I wrong about your father?” She should shut up before her mouth got her into trouble. Again.
“Actually, no.” His lips thinned. “He’s a very difficult person to like, but enough about him. What about your father? Tell me about him. What was he like?”
Point to him for turning the tables. She blew out a breath. It had been a long time since she’d talked about her dad in a way that didn’t include the “C” word. “Well, he was a good father and a good husband and a hard worker. I look like him—light-brown hair and eyes, short and wiry.”
“Your hair is brown?” he asked, amused.
“Yes, boring old brown. Anyway, he always spent a lot of time with me, even when I was little. I remember hanging out in the garage while he worked on his latest restoration project. He always had rock music blaring in the background. To this day I can’t hear Foreigner or Bob Seger without thinking of that garage.” The memory brought a bubble of laughter.
“He restored cars?”
“Yeah, as a hobby. His pride and joy was a convertible ’58 Corvette. God that car was beautiful—silver blue with matching vinyl interior. He would sit me on his lap and let me steer as we drove around the neighborhood. I always loved that.”
“What happened to the car?”
“He had to sell it. Bills were always piling up. Just when we’d get ahead something would happen. Air conditioner would crap out, braces, new school clothes—that kind of thing. I never wanted for anything though. My dad always made sure I didn’t have to do without.”
“Sounds noble.”
“Not really. That was just the type of man he was. He was a little rough around the edges, but he had principles. He taught me a lot.”
“Like what?”
“He taught me to fish and I don’t mean just cast and reel. I learned how to clean and gut my catch. He also made sure I knew how to change the oil in my car, change a tire, do minor repairs. He always told me that being a girl shouldn’t prevent me from knowing how to take care of myself. He also insisted my mother teach me to cook and sew. There were times I loathed him for insisting I learn all these things I swore I would never need, but now that I’m older I’m glad he was hard on me. He taught me to be self-reliant.”
Brian smiled at that. “Your mother taught you to cook?”
“Well, she tried to. It didn’t work out so well. Some things just can’t be taught. I can boil water and make a damn good sandwich so it’s not like I’ll starve if the pizza place is closed.”
“Good, I was a little worried.”
“Sarcasm is supposed to my thing. What about you, Mr. I Have a House Manager? Can you cook?”
“Of course I can.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.”
“I only prepare meals for special people.”
“Or when Chris has the night off.” She snorted.
“Smart-ass.”
“Did you cook for your other submissives?”
His face darkened. “No, I didn’t.”
“Were there many like me?”
“No, Genevieve. There have been none like you.”
She ignored the way her heart swelled. He couldn’t have meant it the way it sounded. “You know what I mean.”
The silence in the plane was acute and painful. Had she overstepped?
He turned away and stared straight ahead, his face a frozen mask. “I’ve only had one other relationship aside from this one and it was a long time ago.”
“Was she your submissive?”
“She was…” He cleared his throat. “She was mine for two years.”
Two years. Jealousy, bitter and acrid, rose fast. It was ridiculous for her to feel that way about someone from his past, but she couldn’t help it. Had he loved her? Had she loved him? There were so many questions swimming through her head. Did she dare ask him any of them? Would he tell her anything if she did? No time like the present to find out.
“What happened to her?” She was on precarious ground and she knew it.
His chest rose as he sharply inhaled. He turned toward her, probing her with a hard gaze.
Please don’t shut me out. I want to know you.
He shook his head. “That’s not your concern. Knowing my past isn’t going to change anything.”
Was that what she wanted, to change him? Was she that naïve? God, she was a walking cliché. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” She pulled her hand from his and gazed out the window.
“Genevieve,” he murmured.
She closed her eyes and wished for the hundredth time she hadn’t been stupid enough to fall in love with a man who would never love her back. Two years. Could she endure this for that long? What wou
ld be left of her after that?
The click of the intercom interrupted her thoughts. “We’ll begin our descent shortly and should arrive in Miami on schedule,” the pilot announced. “The temperature is currently eighty-six degrees and you should have a pleasant weekend ahead of you.”
Pleasant. Gen wasn’t too sure about that.
* * * * *
Genevieve wandered into the lobby of the Mondrian in a wide-eyed trance, drinking in the sights around her. The hotel was a bizarre post-modern wonderland. A massive black staircase rose out of the floor and seemed to defy the law of gravity as it floated to the floor above. Majestic white columns, black accents and futuristic-looking furniture gave the place a posh yet whimsical aesthetic.
“This place is crazy, Brian,” she whispered, leaning toward him. “Mario Bava would have loved it.”
“Mario Bava?”
“Italian horror director. Ignore me and my geekiness.”
“Never. It’s one of the things I enjoy most about you.”
She smiled but paused when he passed the reception area and led her to the elevators. “Aren’t we going to check in? What about the bags?”
“Everything’s been taken care of.” He pressed the button and waited.
“Oh, I see. Brian Donovan doesn’t do commercial flights or hotel check-ins.”
He leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “I would watch my tone if I were you.”
His power over her was instantaneous. Her breath quickened and she shivered as they stepped into the elevator, the doors closing behind them. “What floor?”
He reached over her and pushed a button labeled TS.
“TS?” she asked, confused.
“Sky Terrace Apartments.”
“You really go all out, don’t you?”
“Why not? I can afford it.”
“I’ve never stayed in a hotel this nice, let alone a penthouse. Can we order room service?”
“I’ll even let you get something out of the vending machine if you’re a good girl.”
“How generous of you, Sir,” she said dryly.
“I think you’ll be a little more grateful once you see it.”
“Doubt it.”
“Insufferable brat.”
The elevator opened and they stepped out onto the top floor.
“After you, Master.”
He chuckled as he led her to one of the doors. He unlocked and held it open for her. The apartment spread out before her in marvelous splendor. White, beige and black made a subdued backdrop for a stunning red circular sofa. Orchids were placed in simple glass vases on the end tables. Making her way through the living area, she noted the elegant dining room with seating for eight. Beyond that was a full kitchen in stark white with very techie-looking appliances—everything from a fancy one-cup coffeemaker to a fully stocked wine chiller. There were two king-sized bedrooms complete with adjacent bathrooms and an obscene amount of windows. The gorgeous view could be seen from almost every room in the apartment.
She turned to Brian who leaned against the doorframe watching her. “Eh, I guess it’ll have to do.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad it meets your expectations.”
The knock on the door was firm and crisp, but not too loud.
“That would be our luggage.” Brian headed for the door.
She followed him. “Oh good, I’m dying to change.”
“No changing. I quite like you in a skirt.”
She looked down at her outfit—a black, flowing bohemian-style skirt and spaghetti-strap tank top. The casual ensemble had seemed like a good choice at the time. Now that she was ensconced in the lap of luxury, she felt out of place. Oh well. Orders were orders.
Brian greeted the man at the door. He was older, meticulously groomed and dressed in a chic uniform. “Mr. Donovan, welcome back to the Mondrian Hotel.”
A broad smile lit up Brian’s face. “Nicolas, it’s good to see you.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s my pleasure to serve you again. You’ll be with us until Sunday?”
Brian stepped aside and welcomed him in. “Yes. I trust Christopher forwarded my itinerary?”
“Of course. The limo service has been notified of your schedule and the kitchen has been stocked as you requested.”
“Very good.” Brian reached over and grabbed her hand. “Nicolas, this is Genevieve Hawthorn. She’ll be with me during my stay.”
“Hi,” she murmured.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hawthorn. I am at your service. Anything you need, you just let me know. You can dial my extension or reach me through the tablet that has been provided for the room. I’m but a click away.” He gave a slight bow then turned back to address Brian. “I’ll go ahead and have your bags brought in. Shall I unpack for you?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Brian said. “Thank you.”
Nicolas gave another nod then led the bellman to one of the bedrooms.
“Rock-star treatment, huh?” she teased.
Brian’s lips quirked up. “Butler service comes with the room.”
“Butler, tablet, limo… It’s a bit much.”
“Now you’re objecting to the limo? How else do you propose we get from one place to another while we’re here?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Rent a car like normal people do when they’re on vacation?”
His gaze narrowed, but still conveyed an edge of playfulness. “I’ll consider it.”
“So, big spender, I think you got cheated with this room.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Why is that?”
“Well, we’re on the top floor in an apartment called the Sky Terrace and there isn’t a balcony in sight. Kind of false advertising, don’t you think?”
“I think you should reserve your opinion until you’ve seen the entire apartment.” He led her to an alcove that held a small spiral staircase. “Up you go.”
How had she missed this? She used care as she wound her way up the narrow, twisting wrought iron and found herself on an expansive wraparound terrace larger than her entire apartment. The view from the windows was beautiful but this… Biscayne Bay stretched out before them in all its glory. The sun glittered on the turquoise water and the skyline of Downtown Miami beyond. It defied description. Breathtaking simply didn’t cover it.
“It’s nice, isn’t it? Think I got my money’s worth?”
“Nice? Not the word I would use. The Sky Terrace… It fits.” She went to the railing and looked down from the dizzying height.
He never tired of looking at her, especially when she was like this. Her hair shone flame-like in the sun and her face beamed with wonder. The strain from their conversation on the flight had evaporated. He hated the uncomfortable tension that had found its way into their exchanges these past few days. It seemed that sex was the only time it wasn’t present. Unfortunately as soon as the sex was over the tension seemed amplified. He had no idea how to remedy that. The one thing he did know was that inviting her deeper into his past was not the answer.
He crept up behind her, pressing the length of his body against hers. “Keep your hands on the railing.” He infused his voice with the stern dominance that always seemed to rush her into a submissive space. He caressed her sides, delighting in her shaky gasp. “Don’t move.” He discreetly hiked the back of her skirt until it bunched between them, pulled her thong aside and exposed her delectable ass. “I want to fuck just like this.”
“People can see us up here,” she whispered.
There was truth to her statement. They were on the top floor but still visible to a good number of balconies on the lower floors due to the semicircular layout of the hotel. If they played it well, they’d appear to be a couple in a romantic embrace. No one would know he had his cock buried inside her. “What happened to my little exhibitionist? If you hold still and don’t make a sound, no one will suspect what we’re up to.”
Nervous lust radiated from her in waves. She nearly glowed with it. Her bre
ath came in short bursts as he palmed the globes of her ass and squeezed just short of bruising her. Under the cover of her skirt, he unfastened his pants. No barrier between them now, he rubbed the head of his cock against the cleft of her ass. She shivered, but stayed in position. The tension in her body let him know how much of an effort that was. He rewarded her obedience by sliding into her warm pussy. Her breath hitched as he pressed into her as deeply as he could.
“You’re always so wet for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes Sir.”
Her cunt gripped and milked him. He kept his thrusts slow and meticulous, just the barest movement. He put his hand on her back, urging her to lean over the rail. The blind trust she had in him amazed him sometimes. She reveled in her submissiveness without shame. There was so much more to her than simple obedience. He had no idea what he’d seen in the mindless subs of his past. They’d obeyed without question but also without heart or soul or passion. Pale imitations of his Genevieve, every last one.
The knuckles on her hands whitened as she gripped the rail. She glanced at him over her shoulder, a siren’s smile playing on her lips. He fought for control. The need to fuck her hard and ruthless threatened to consume him. He wanted her screaming as she came but that would certainly draw unwanted attention.
Slow and steady, he stayed the course, concentrating on her almost imperceptible undulations. The circle of her hips brought the crown of his cock against her cervix again and again. The walls of her pussy contracted in a rhythm that matched his thrusts. His balls tightened the moment she mouthed please.
“Yes, come for me, girl.”
She made tiny whimpering sounds as her pussy rippled around him. It sent him right over the edge. As his orgasm gripped him, he reached for Genevieve, pulling her to him. He crossed his arms over her chest and pressed his lips against her neck. The pulse beneath him felt strong and vital—just like the woman it belonged to. He emptied himself into her with one final thrust. Not ready to release her, he stayed sheathed in her heat and held her. If only he could hold onto moments like these. Inevitably reality set in as it always did. He’d allowed himself to get too close to her already. Lingering like this and playing at romance would only confuse things more.
A Firm Hand: 2 (Bound to You) Page 16