by Susan Arden
“What happened?” Brett’s voice dropped into a husky whisper. She could tell he was keeping himself in check, and the idea of him being angry made her stomach plummet.
“A problem with the computer directory and I couldn’t just get up and leave.” Oh she hated how this was coming out.
“Oh no? Were you chained to your desk?” he asked, the sound of his words were sharp. Cutting. This wasn’t his usual mode of talking—not with her—not with anyone. “Cory, you promised you’d get to the airport. I spoke with Dr. Peterson and she said you were right behind her. Your advisor left, why’d you stay? I thought coming back to me meant more than anything. Isn’t that what you said?”
“Yes…but—”
“But what? I’m here, counting the minutes until you get here, and you’re doing what? Too busy to stop. Or call. That’s twice, darling.”
She’d pushed his buttons, something awful at times, and all the while he was the one to maintain a presence of mind. From the day they’d met, fell head over heels in love in a whirlwind romance, he’d been the one with the ever-present calm demeanor. Her rock. Her anchor. How could she explain this wasn’t a choice between him and her career?
“Please, Brett. I just got caught up…in a problem.”
“And no one else could deal with it? Not one person? Come on, sugar. You’re not a team of one…there are other people who can help. If you’d let them!”
“What does that mean?” she retorted, fire igniting in her veins.
“Baby, you have the propensity to storm through life and sometimes…many times, you fail to let others help you.”
“I’m no slacker. This was on me!”
“I get you want to make your mark and I’m all for you and your career. I knew what I was buying into the second we met. Remember?”
“Then you understand that…” She stopped talking. Even though it was blistery cold outside, her body felt scorched and her voice rose as the heat inside her grew hotter and hotter. She fought to quell her usual mode of spewing first—before her brain censored her tongue. She inhaled and said in strained voice, “I can’t up and leave when there’s a mess.”
“No. I guess you can’t. Can you?”
“Believe it or not, I’m not just standing around. Give me a second. I just entered the subway.”
“You’re taking the subway? Christ!”
Entering into the Métro, she stopped and removed her wallet, peeling out her transit card and swiped it in the feeder, and walked forward, pressing the turnstile with her hips until her purse got snagged. Gah! She snatched her purse strap that had fallen to her elbow, expecting it to be caught on a metal spindle as a man abruptly halted behind her.
“Sorry,” she apologized, grimacing and readjusting her purse strap. “Désolé.”
“Pas de problème,” the gentleman replied with an easy grin. “Do you need help? I’m good with my hands.” He leaned closer, his hands on the metal spindle as he waited and laughed, low.
“Non. Merci,” she scoffed.
French men were so overt in laying out their intentions. She pivoted, heading toward the tracks, following within the throng in the direction of the incoming train. The airbrakes let out a squeal and she charged up to the train pulling in, cupping her phone. She scanned the signs on the ceiling, and yep this train was the one headed toward the airport.
“Please, Brett. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Harder. I doubt I could make what we got harder. Shit, Cory we’re apart for days, sometimes weeks at a time. Nothing could be harder to take.”
“It’s hard on me too,” she replied.
“Oh really. You do realize, I’m here getting my ass handed to me routinely on the field or if I’m lucky, sitting in a locker room with a bunch of dirty guys after a beat down, and you’re in some fancy office in Paris.”
“You don’t think it’s difficult for me. Being here while you’re there. I’m not the one with all the fancy parties come the weekend. Clubs, hotels, last week on some yacht of Mr. Castellano’s. I’m working. Not having the time of my life, Brett Gold!” She’d read the online Huffington Post that had reported when the Devils played Miami last Sunday, the after party for the win was held on the owner’s yacht.
Oh yeah, she’d gotten an eyeful of bikini clad girls, several of the Devils’ popular cheerleaders sported next to nothing in a photo montage with several players. None were taken of Brett and she’d refused to ask him about the party. Never again would she be caught in a jealous overreaction blitzkrieg. She’d learned her lesson once. And once was enough. She trusted him—but trust or not—didn’t diminish the fact that the Devils played hard and partied hard, especially this close to the final games before playoffs.
“You know, I don’t go to those parties,” he reminded her.
“Okay. Truce. Let’s not fight and, please, don’t get upset. I’m on the train and headed to the airport right this second.”
For a drawn-out second, silence ensued. “I’m not sure if I ask you to call me, that you’ll follow through,” he said in a labored voice. “Jesus, I can’t believe you’re not on a plane, coming home…back to me.”
Neither could she, and her heart squeezed, cutting off her breath. “I will be. Soon!” She stopped short of promising.
How could she, when she’d screwed up? She’d have to do what she’d learned to do in life when she’d botched things up—actions spoke a heck of a lot louder than words. The train whooshed along the tracks underground. Outside the tunnel was dark and inside the car, she jostled side to side, wishing she could make this right…right now. “Please, don’t lose faith in me. I’ll be home, just a little later.”
“Darling, when I get you home…I fully intend on giving you a taste of my dissatisfaction. You get my meaning?”
Her skin tightened. He was giving her a reprieve…for now. This was officially a countdown of a whole different color. Earlier he’d promised—and his promises were ironclad—that he’d mete out the means to tame her propensity to act rashly.
“What do you have in mind?” she asked in a whisper, afraid those near her could overhear their conversation.
“All you need to do is agree,” he replied. “I’ll take care of getting what we need. I should have done this much sooner.”
There was a steel edge of resignation in his voice. Like he’d gotten over his anger and accepted partial blame for her not getting to the airport. But that was silly, how could he mend her unruliness… oh crap! What in tarnation?
“Sweetheart,” she hissed out a breath of lust tinged with apprehension.
“Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me,” he replied. “You might as well know, I take full responsibility for letting you and your tendency to act like a wayward filly get out of control. I’m going to catch up with my obligation.”
“I’m not some obligation,” she retorted, not liking one bit where this conversation—or his heated insinuations were going.
“I didn’t say you were. I repeat my obligation. You’re mine Corinth and come June when we exchange vows, you will pledge your ability to obey me. That’s not something I take lightly and come hell or high water, you won’t be saying one thing and doing another, darlin’.”
“Those wedding vows go—I mean the ones we choose…” The traditional vows, the ones they’d decided on, didn’t go both ways. Only the wife was called to ‘obey’ her husband. Of all the things to get caught in, and with Brett’s newfound sense of priority, where was this headed?
“Yes?” he asked in a protracted masculine hiss, a one-word challenge, both predatory and espoused a proprietary tone. Coming from him, his warning made her skin tingle in all that he said and left unsaid—the latter speaking volumes.
“We don’t have much time. Aren’t we going to L.A.?” her voice quavered and rose, perilously close to cracking.
“We are, baby. And if you have to bring a slew of pillows to sit, you will. Call me when
you get to the airport. I promise you, we’ll get this ability of yours to stay focused and on track under control. One way. Or another. Ms. McLemore, you’ll learn. I love you and I’ve got your back.”
“Yeah, my back side,” she scoffed indignantly.
“Need I repeat? You’re mine and I’m going to do my duty in supporting you each and every day, providing you with what you need.”
She stuttered out, “How?”
“That’s up to me. I’ll be waiting for your call.”
“That doesn’t sound very democratic!”
He laughed. Not the free and easy, but the dark and decadent kind. “In fact, it is. We’re both free to make decisions but, sugar, we’re in the red zone where you’re concerned. Cory, you can’t argue that you’re headstrong, spoiled, and need boundaries. Can you?”
Crap! Of course she couldn’t. Not sitting here in a mud-stained coat, having all but missed her flight, and he was holding out his hand. His very large, capable hand that wanted to spank some sense into her. She had to say something in her defense!
“No but—”
He interrupted her. “No more excuses or wishful thinking. I warned you. Now it’s my duty to help you. Just like I’ve done from the moment we met.”
It was true. She and Brett had tumbled into bed and he’d been the one to not stumble but was a rock of support during the time she’d dealt with her family. He didn’t leave her alone to explain her derailment at getting lost during a family emergency that resulted in one of her sisters-in-law going into early labor during a girls’ night out bachelorette party for her other sister-in-law.
Everything had turned out all right—two years later.
She gritted her teeth. Everything except her missing her flight.
And now like before, Brett was taking matters into his own hands.
“Do you trust me?” he asked her without warning. “Yes or no? Answer me straight from your heart.”
“Yes,” she said without needing to think.
“Then agree with what I’m proposing. One night and I decide what. You can say ‘no’ if you don’t trust me.”
“And if I say this is a ‘no-go’?” He was giving her the power to decide if she wanted his help—but his help involved tanning her hide.
“Then we won’t. No problem.”
“You mean we’d break up?”
“I don’t know. Is that what you want?”
The dull ache inside her chest exploded. “No! Of course not!”
“Darling, there are many methods I can use to help you. We just need to find the one that works. I was wrong in thinking that we—our relationship shouldn’t change. Like in playing ball, when something prevents a goal, we learn how to overcome a glitch, not whine or dish out excuses. You operating impulsively isn’t going to fly. Not when we’re committed to one another. Either we respect each other and our time together, or us in a long distance relationship is gonna bust us wide open. We’re a team and I made a mistake. Baby, you require a firm hand. A consistent, firm hand and one I’m going to deliver as soon as I see you.”
“Brett, please,” she argued, but at the same time, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, pressing her knees together as desire laced with lust spun through her.
“Sugar, your direction is to call me as soon as you have your ticket in hand.”
Was she feeling put out because he was right or because he was boxing her in? She looked around. People were talking, laughing, texting—only she looked frazzled. It was the holidays and maybe he had a good point. Something had to give.
“Okay,” she huffed.
“Naw, that’s not going to cut it. Repeat after me, ‘Yes, Sir.’”
She blinked and felt her throat constrict. “That sounds like….”
“We tried it your way. Now, it’s gonna be my way. Like I said, we’re a team and all you need to decide is are you in or out, darlin’?” he asked in that low husky voice, edged with a Texas twang she missed so much.
His authoritative tone sent a jolt of electricity into her core. Her insides fluttered as the muscles along her shoulders cinched tight. “In. I’m in, but you have got to promise to go slow!”
The subway car lurched and she dropped her phone. It crashed to the floor, and she watched in horror as it smacked into a metal leg of one of the benches. A woman reached down and lifted it up and frowned. “Il est cassé. Quel dommage. Ces téléphones sont si chers.”
Cory understood at once the lady was relaying that her phone was damaged. She rose and took the cell from the woman’s outstretched hand and stared down at the cracked screen. She raised it to her ear. “Hello? Hello?” She didn’t expect Brett to answer her but she had to see.
“Merci,” she said to the woman.
Cory sat back down, biting her lip to quell the stinging in her eyes. Her heartbeat tripped. The wings of something huge beat and grew inside her chest. She wanted to holler in frustration! How could this be happening? I was wrong in thinking that we—our relationship shouldn’t change. Brett’s words echoed inside her head and she felt her whole body temperature shoot up into the range of nuclear fusion. Was he frustrated too? Uh, let’s see. Survey says: NO SHIT, SHERLOCK!
The airport stop was next, and she collected her purse and carry-on, preparing to disembark. She slipped her cell into her bag. She had three minutes until the plane was set to take off. If there was a delay, she’d make her flight and maybe, just maybe she could convince Brett that this was positively the last friggin’ time she’d push limits.
After today, she’d learn. Boy would she learn!
Exiting the train, she inhaled and instead of heading for the elevators, she took the stairs. Two at a time. Up, up, up she ran, pumping her legs as her calves cramped, but she refused to stop. She bolted through the revolving door of the airport entrance, on a mission to make it to the counter to check-in. She scanned the list of flashing departures, moving her feet faster and faster until she caught the line listing her flight.
DEPARTED.
The word flashed and she stopped running. The pressure inside her head felt like it was going to implode. No! This isn’t the moment to lose it. If anything, she needed to remain calm. “Calm!” she repeated and counted to ten. Then twenty.
She’d catch another flight, deal with this mess, and like Brett said, learn how to do better. That’s what intelligent people do! I’m smart, driven, and I’ve got a future! She repeated that thought over and over as she stood in line with her French phrase book out, inching toward the counter.
When it was her turn, she stepped forward with her phrase book open. “Se il vous plaît, je dois changer mon vol.”
“I can speak in English, if you prefer, Mademoiselle?”
“Please. I’m a little out of sorts. I missed my flight. Number 1911. My name is Corinth McLemore. When is the next one departing?”
The attendant frowned. He took a deep breath, evidenced by the rise and fall of his shoulders and the hairs on the back of Cory’s neck rose in response. He typed, his keystrokes smooth and fast. She gripped her book, praying for an open seat.
“Ah, the next flight to get you to,” he paused, “Texas…leaves tomorrow morning, 11:35. Arriving in Dallas at 7:35 p.m.”
She shook her head. “That flight is so long. Anything shorter? Please, can you look again?”
“Of course, Mademoiselle.” He typed some more. “A nonstop. Ten hours and twenty minutes. Arrival at 3:40 but this flight is for December 25. We’re sold out until then.”
“My only choice is the 11:35 tomorrow morning?” Damnation! She wouldn’t be able to leave until Christmas Eve.
“Oui. Shall I change your flight?” he asked.
“Please. I don’t have a choice.”
“Any luggage to check?” He paused typing, waiting for her response.
“No,” she replied, the knot in her stomach growing.
As he typed, Cory went over in her mind her new pla
n. She’d get the ticket and now had time to go and replace her cell. Then she’d phone Brett and admit, yeah. She was ready for a better way of operating—better than running through life like she was on fire.
“I’ll need your ID,” the attendant said. “You’ll be in Texas very soon. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you.” She swung her purse up and onto the counter. Opening the flap, she peered inside and tightened her brow, not seeing her wallet. She dug through the interior, shifting her very organized possessions. For all her flighty ways, she pushed limits because she maintained a tight rein on how she kept her tangibles. Only her iPod and her French phrase book should be missing. One was on her desk, the other on the counter. Her cell, agenda, phone charger, makeup case, Kindle, keys, and wallet should be right inside her purse. With the exception of her wallet, everything else was right here. She patted the pockets of her coat. When she’d entered the Métro, she’d gotten snagged. She recalled the snappy commentary of the gentleman…OH SHIT!
“My wallet…it’s gone. I think a man pickpocketed it in the subway.”
“Ah. That’s terrible. I’m very sorry,” the attendant said. “Do you have your passport?”
“No. It’s in my wallet. I can confirm my address from my ticket. Can you issue it without my ID?”
The attendant grimaced, shaking his head. “I can’t. You wouldn’t be able to board the plane either. You’ll need to go to the police and report your wallet has been stolen. Maybe the man took the money and tossed it. Someone might turn it in.”
“I don’t believe this!” She closed her eyes. From bad, this day nosedived into horrible. Excruciatingly horrible!
Chapter 4
BRETT GRIPPED the phone in his hand. Cory had just said she was in, asking that they go slow. Her answer was perfect but what the hell had happened?
One minute he’s laying down the law as he should have done months before, and then she’s gone. He redialed her number for the tenth time. Right to voice mail. There was a chance her phone had died but that wasn’t like her. Sure she pushed boundaries, but otherwise his fiancée was organized right down to the clothes in her closet, her drawers, even her purse. Her ability to set a room to right bordered on militant. One of the things he’d first noticed about her…after her gorgeous face and body. For all the things she owned—and God Almighty, she shopped like no other—she had a thing for methodical and the systematic arrangement of everything she could lay her hands on. And that’s why this idea of getting her ability to stick to her schedule made more and more sense.