Breathe

by Lauren Jameson

  When the application for the stunning green sculpture currently showcased in his exhibit had come in, he’d been immediately entranced. It was innately sexual, the artistic expression colored with a dark need. When he’d seen it in person he’d become nearly obsessed. It painted a perfect portrait, to his eye at least, of dominance and submission, and he’d known at once that the artist behind it must have had a perfect understanding of the lifestyle.

  Now, after meeting Samantha Jane Collins—he’d done some research, for the biography that had accompanied the application had been woefully incomplete—he wasn’t so sure. She’d been interested, had responded to his dominance—he was sure of it.

  But though she had come to the exhibit, though she’d admitted that she had questions, he’d bet one of his properties that she was a neophyte.

  It had been on the tip of his tongue to offer to teach her—he knew he hadn’t imagined the heat that had sparked between them. But then she’d reached within herself for something—what, he had no idea—and had walked away.

  “Damn it.” Bad marriage or not, Elijah was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted—in the bedroom, at least.

  Suddenly he wanted Samantha.

  In his younger years he would have been arrogant enough to be certain that she would submit to him regardless of her sexual preferences. He’d since learned that it took a very strong woman to fully submit care of herself to another.

  He’d yet to find that woman, and so he remained alone, limiting himself to sexual encounters here and at a few other clubs that he had part ownership in, particularly In Vino Veritas, the combined wine bar and club that he owned with two friends back home in Vegas.

  He’d been with enough women that he’d learned a hard truth. Unless he could find a woman who would submit herself to him entirely, he would be miserable. But that didn’t necessarily mean that he couldn’t enjoy a diversion with the woman whose skin flushed so deliciously when he looked at her.

  Elijah slid his hands into the pockets of his suit pants as he watched Samantha hurry through one of the open stucco archways in the lobby. The hem of her little sundress slid up her thigh as she got into the ugliest car he’d ever seen.

  It was an affront to his senses—a woman that beautiful belonged behind the wheel of something sleek and sexy. Yet his eyes moved past the hideous vehicle and greedily took in the lithe curve of her leg, which ended in a strappy, high-heeled red sandal that made his mouth water.

  Need pooled low in his belly. He was a sucker for sexy shoes on a gorgeous woman.

  Hell. He wanted her, whether she was submissive or not. Maybe he was playing with fire—he had no desire to be proven wrong again, and something about their instant connection told him that Samantha had the potential to be more than a quick fuck. But the more he thought about further exploring his interest in her, the more he decided he had to have her.

  Snagging a glass of wine from a passing waiter, he sipped as he contemplated. Mouton Rothschild. His friend Alex had introduced him to this one, and it was now one of his favorites. It added to the heat in his gut.

  Damn it. He was going to pursue Samantha Collins. He knew it.

  He just hoped he wouldn’t be consumed in the fire that was sure to come with it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Elijah’s GPS took him to a small house on the outskirts of San José del Cabo. The town itself was a tourist draw, and this cottage was just far enough out to have a solitary feel. That, combined with the woman’s awkwardness at the party the night before, had him wondering if she was a bit of a hermit.

  It was another piece of the puzzle that was Samantha Collins. He smiled to himself as the first hit of adrenaline began to work its way through his veins. It had been a long time—years, in fact—since he’d had to pursue a woman. The fact that she’d walked away from him the night before had sent his predatory instincts into full gear.

  Most of the women he knew were interested in his wealth, his status as a Dom, and his looks. He knew it—even used it when he wanted to.

  But this woman was something different, and he was enthralled.

  After parking the Carrera on a small pad of gravel in front of the house, Elijah shrugged out of his jacket and exited the car. The front yard of the cottage was covered in that same crushed rock, with the occasional dried weed poking its head out, gasping for a reprieve from the Mexican heat.

  He strode up to the door, painted a vivid red, a startling color against the shabby green of the rest of the building. There was no doorbell that he could see, so he settled for several sharp raps. Peeling paint flaked away under the blows.

  Damn it. There was no answer, but Elijah was sure she was home. He felt that same heightened awareness that he’d experienced when he’d first laid eyes on her.

  Yes, she was here. Somewhere.

  Elijah moved around to the side of the house. It was much the same as the front, lots of gravel and weeds, with the addition of two grumpy garden gnomes who glared at him with their pudgy arms crossed.

  The gnomes made him grin. He appreciated whimsy.

  He was so caught up taking in the scene that it took him a moment to register the sound. A rumble, like the dull roar of a low fire, disturbed the air. His eyes homed in on a small shack at the far end of the yard, its boards faded by the sun and nearly indistinguishable from the rocks and weeds that surrounded it.

  That was where the noise emanated from. Elijah squinted and could see waves of heat undulating from an oven-sized window that had been propped open with a stick.

  Found you. Elijah grinned once more as satisfaction flooded him. She was home all right—she was working.

  His blood pumping hot and fast, he hesitated only a moment outside the door of the studio. He knew the polite thing to do would be to wait for an invitation. But he hadn’t amassed his fortune by being polite. Rude as it might be to enter uninvited, it would also catch the woman off guard, which upped his chances of success.

  The way she’d run out of the party told him that he wasn’t going to be able to woo her so easily. He’d even conjured a backup plan in case she tried to deny the connection between them—one that would bind them together, at least for a while, so they could explore the attraction. It was one he was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to refuse.

  Suddenly even more eager to set eyes on her, he knocked on the swollen wood of the door. As he’d expected, no voice rose over the roar of what he now saw were furnaces. Pressing his palm flat against the splintered wooden door, he opened it and went in.

  The heat was a moist slap in the face. Even though he’d been in Mexico for a week, nothing could have prepared him for the inferno that raged inside the tiny building. Sweat beaded at the back of his neck within seconds and dripped slowly down his spine as he inhaled mouthfuls of searing air.

  “I’m busy.” Samantha had her back to him, but was instantly recognizable by the red curls that were piled haphazardly on top of her head. She wore black athletic shorts, which showed miles of the creamy, curvy legs that he’d admired the night before. The ribbed tank that covered her torso clung to her skin with perspiration, making the thin fabric transparent enough that Elijah could quite clearly see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  “Wow.” When she heard his voice, Samantha stiffened noticeably, and Elijah couldn’t quite hold back a chuckle. She’d recognized his voice, and the primal part of him was pleased.

  Then she turned around, and he deliberately swallowed that smile. It was a wise move, to his way of thinking, since clutched in her hands was a long metal pipe tipped with hot glass.

  He opened his mouth to say something—he wasn’t sure what, since her very presence clouded his mind, a remarkable novelty for him. Samantha held up a hand sharply, cutting off his words before he’d even spoken them.

  “I’m working.” Her voice was firm, even reproving, as she turned away from him and back to the source of the noise and heat. He narrowed his eyes, held his tongue, but stayed where he was, wat
ching with fascination.

  She placed the glass on the end of the pipe back into the blazing furnace. She was seemingly unaffected by the heat surrounding her. Rather than wilting, she seemed to glow, to draw energy from it. Fascinating, Elijah thought, unable to tear his eyes away from her competent movements, the long limbs that moved so gracefully, the mass of red curls.

  The fact that she seemed so entirely focused on her work, so completely oblivious of him, was more enticing than frustrating. What would it be like, he wondered, to have that complete and total focus on him?

  An image flashed through his mind, of Samantha naked and bound before him, the beautiful flush of arousal on her cheeks. The image was shattered when she scraped the glass off the end of the metal wand and, leaning it carefully against the wall, turned to face him. Instead of a beautiful smile, she cast him a look full of irritation.

  “You know, most people wait for an invitation to enter.” Her voice was appealing, reminding Elijah of whiskey and caramel at the same time, even though her words were imbued with agitation. She cast an irritated glare at him, setting the pipe down and rolling her shoulders back.

  The movement made her unbound breasts jump forward, and Elijah found himself trying very hard to keep his eyes on Samantha’s face. In every aspect of his life he was in control—made it a point to be so—but this woman was like nothing he’d ever encountered.

  It made him thirst for her submission even more.

  She’d been so unsure of herself at the art show, but here . . . here on her own turf she felt comfortable enough to tell him off. Yes, she offered a fascinating combination, Elijah thought, even as warning bells sounded in his head, telling him to get out before he got in over his head.

  I’m not about to get in too deep with her, he reminded himself. If—when—they embarked on the steamy affair that he had in mind, he was confident it would be satisfying for both of them, but a temporary engagement.

  “I’m not most people.” Slowly he raked his eyes over her from head to toe, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was doing so. He’d never been the type to play hard to get—when he wanted a woman, he said so.

  He would be a little more cautious with this one, in case she went running, the way she already had.

  “No. You’re not.” Picking up a bottle of water that must have been horribly warm just from being in the small room, Samantha cast him a considering look, then opened it and took long, greedy swallows, draining the liquid.

  “When we met, why didn’t you admit that you were the artist of the sculpture we were talking about?” Elijah found himself watching the sensual pull of her lips on the bottle. Once she finished drinking, those lips pressed tightly together, as if she was debating something with herself, before she finally spoke.

  “Why are you here?” She ignored his question and looked directly at him, and Elijah felt a stab of disappointment that there wasn’t even a hint of submission in her gaze. He had no desire to alter even a single thing about this gorgeous creature. But he wanted her. He wanted to know her intimately, as a man was made to know a woman. His cock was already aching for her, just from being in the same room. And he was intent on having her—more than once.

  He wanted—needed—a woman who would let him call the shots. In return he would treat her like the most precious thing in creation for the time that they were together, but he needed to be in control. And though he knew that made him sound like a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal, the popularity of his clubs like Devorar and In Vino Veritas had taught him that he wasn’t the only one.

  Hot as he already was for Samantha, he didn’t think this would be anything more than an intense affair, one that satisfied their mutual curiosity. But he wanted her enough to not need to think beyond that. She intrigued him beyond comparison, and in the world in which he now lived—a world in which things were given to him before he even asked—the chase was too much to resist.

  Eyes narrowing, Elijah watched as Samantha rolled her shoulders back once more, his eyes taking in the arousing sight of her nipples pressing against the thin cotton of her tank top.

  He wanted her enough to ignore his own rules, at least for the moment.

  “I want you.” He answered her question bluntly, honestly.

  “Cut right to the chase, don’t you?” Her glass green eyes widened. “What if I don’t want you?”

  At that, Elijah smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  “I told you last night not to lie to me.” As he spoke he drew up straighter, pulling his dominance to him. He watched Samantha inhale sharply, looking him over this time.

  But she didn’t drop her gaze, didn’t seem eager to please him. Instead she ran her tongue slowly over her lips, considering.

  “All right,” she said slowly, nodding thoughtfully as she spoke. “Fair enough. I’m . . . attracted to you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to do anything about it.”

  Elijah cocked his head to one side as he studied her. He enjoyed the dance of seduction, but here she had him on uncertain footing. He didn’t think she was deliberately trying to be a brat, something his ex had done quite frequently.

  Most of the world didn’t understand the needs that brought people to seek something beyond vanilla sex, and because of that they frowned upon it.

  For years Elijah had felt a drive to help people work past those biases. His desire for Samantha gave him an even greater incentive.

  She was searching for something, and he didn’t think she even knew what yet. He was more than happy to help her find it.

  “What if I told you that I could answer the questions that brought you to the show last night?” Deliberately he took a step closer to Samantha, just barely invading what he figured she probably considered her personal space.

  She eyed him warily, her fingers twisting in the hem of her tank top.

  “Maybe I don’t need the answers anymore.” She thrust her chin into the air.

  Elijah thought it was cute.

  “Again with the lies, Samantha?” He reached out and ran his finger lightly over the curve of her cheekbone, savoring the resultant quiver. “Your pants are going to catch on fire any second.”

  Samantha narrowed her eyes at him. Elijah waited patiently, making sure his expression was calm but stern.

  Those green eyes never wavered in their focus, never looked down, as he would have expected from a submissive. But finally she swallowed, and he saw acceptance in the stubborn set of her shoulders.

  “All right. I want answers, but I’m not sure I’m ready for them.” Her face showed him nothing but stark honesty, and Elijah felt a tug of pleasure.

  It was a step in the right direction. Being a Dom, he was inclined to push her, but he was also a strategic businessman, and he knew that in that exact moment she would have dug her heels in and pushed right back.

  “I’d love it if you showed me how this all works.” He deliberately phrased his words as a statement, not a question. Samantha furrowed her brow, seeming to sense that he was maneuvering her, but finally shrugged in acceptance.

  “Fine.” Eyeing him suspiciously, she turned and picked up the long metal rod that she had leaned against the wall earlier. Turning back over her shoulder, she shot him an exasperated look. “Since my concentration has been broken anyway.”

  Elijah bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking as he followed her across the room. The contrast between her somewhat sweet inquisitiveness the night before and her smart mouth today was delightful. Each new facet of her personality he encountered told him how amazing her eventual submission would be.

  She placed a hand on her waist as she stood outside the door to the furnace, the metal rod still in her other hand. She frowned at him, and he was struck again by how pretty she was.

  Then she opened the mottled metal door, allowing an inferno of orange light and heat to escape into the room. It bathed her face with an unholy gleam, made her silken curls shine like rubies, and Elijah’s mouth went dry.

  Had
he seriously thought she was just pretty? That she was cute? She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, a goddess of fire.

  “Are you paying attention?” Again that slight frown furrowed the space between her eyebrows, and Elijah found that he wanted to reach out and smooth the skin with the tips of his fingers.

  He didn’t know how she would react to a simple touch like that, which wouldn’t normally stop him . . . but she had a furnace full of molten glass behind her.

  He wasn’t stupid. He’d wait until he wasn’t literally playing with fire.

  “I’m paying attention.” Though it might not have been wise, he moved a step closer to her than he suspected she was comfortable with. Her shoulders stiffened, but a sidelong glance also showed him that the brush of their arms made her nipples tighten.

  He made her uncomfortable, but she also wanted him. He was immensely pleased with the combination.

  Holding herself rigid, as if unwilling to give in to the urge to move away from him, Samantha held out the metal rod for Elijah to see.

  “This is a blowpipe. And I just dare you to make a joke about that.” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he gestured for her to continue. “This pear shape at the end is what I use to collect a gather of glass.”

  Elijah watched, fascinated, as Samantha placed the end of the blowpipe into the glowing orange interior of the furnace.

  “This is called the melting furnace.” She rolled the pipe competently, wrapping a thick substance around its end. “This is always kept hot, and it’s always full of colorless liquid glass.”

  “Where do you get the glass from?” Elijah remained transfixed as Samantha removed the blowpipe from the furnace.

  “I make my own. It’s mostly silica, with some potassium and limestone as stabilizers.” Samantha rolled the glob of molten glass against the edge of the oven, her fingers working with small, competent movements. “After twelve hours at twenty-two hundred degrees, it becomes liquid.”

  The red-hot glow of the glass was fading, the gather cooling, Elijah guessed, now that it was outside of the oven.