Slapping the bottle on top of the desk, he trudged to the door, anxious to walk off the mounting frustration settling into the deepest reaches of his being.
Sam was laying out the formal sea foam blue gown on Sebastian’s king-sized bed as she heard him finishing up in the bathroom. Her stilettos with the fancy rhinestones in the heels were on the floor next to the bed. Staring at the twinkling crystals sewn into the fitted bodice of the dress, Sam wondered how she would get through the coming evening without tripping over the wide skirt.
Sebastian had accepted an invitation to a charity event at the Elms Mansion on St. Charles Avenue. He had assured Sam that it would be good for her to get out of his penthouse, having been living naked in the place for almost three weeks.
The funny thing was, Sam was nervous about going out in public again. She dreaded what people would think of her, how she looked, but above all she wondered if the people she met would know what she had become.
What have I become? As she stepped into the luxurious silk dress, the question taunted her like a nightmare whose visual memory had faded, but emotional impact remained. Such was the power Sebastian had over her. In the space of a few short weeks, she had gone from being an independent woman to being unsure of what to do or say. Maybe she had never been as confident as she had professed. Perhaps no one was.
“Are you ready?”
She was pressing the bodice around her as she showed her back to him. “Can you zip me up?”
The heat from him warmed her back, and the smell of his cologne enveloped her. His fingers just skirted the outline of her spine as he eased up the zipper. Tingles erupted in her belly.
Damn him!
After the snug bodice was in place, she was stepping into the killer high heels when he reached for her hand.
“Let me help you,” he offered as she struggled into the shoes. “Are you sure you will make it the entire night in those?”
“You asked me to wear them, so I will wear them.”
“No, Sam.” He let go of her hand, leaving her balancing precariously on the pointy heels. “I suggested you wear them. I did not order it. I’m not out to see you break your neck for the sake of a party.”
Sam’s eyes went over his form-fitting tuxedo shirt. “I can handle it, Master.”
He reached into his black jacket. “All right.” Sam became distracted when he removed something glittery from his pocket. “I have something for you.”
The choker necklace he held up was made up of four layers of what looked like diamonds, but Sam was guessing rhinestones.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s for you to wear tonight.”
He stepped behind her and removed the black rope collar from around her neck. She caressed the front of her throat, suddenly feeling naked without the constant tug of the collar on her skin. While he fastened the bejeweled collar around her neck, she fingered the stones.
“It looks almost real,” she said.
He turned her around to face him. “Almost real?” Sebastian laughed. The sound was foreign to her. She had not heard his exuberant laughter in quite a while. “They are real, Sam. This necklace has over forty carats of diamonds in it. So don’t lose it.”
“They’re diamonds?”
Grinning, he seemed to enjoy her shock. “Of course. Do you think I would let you wear rhinestones? You’re mine, Sam. I intend to show everyone what you mean to me.”
“Sebas … I mean, Master.” She dropped her eyes, remembering her place. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to be responsible if something happens to—”
He put his fingers to his lips. “I want you to wear it. It will please me.” He raised her chin. “Tonight, you have my permission to call me Sebastian. People at this party will ask you about us. Simply say we have been going together for a few short weeks, and it’s all new. If you’re not sure of what else to say, look to me. Understand?”
“Yes … Sebastian.”
He unexpectedly kissed her forehead. The shockwaves created by his lips almost sent her to the floor. It had seemed like forever since he had given her some hint of regard. Since he had caught her on her cell phone the week before, he had refrained from touching her. He had even begun showering alone in the morning, which had distressed her even more.
“Let’s have some fun tonight,” he added.
Sam’s hand patted her knotted belly. Fun? How in the hell was she supposed to have fun, when her every waking thought was of wanting him?
Putting his hand around the curve of her waist, he ushered her to the bedroom door. “And don’t look so terrified. You enjoy being with me, remember?”
* * *
Their long black limousine pulled up in front of The Van Benthuysen-Elms Mansion on St. Charles Avenue. Staring out the window at the beautiful example of Greek Revival and Italianate-style architecture, Sam felt swept up in a fairy tale.
An interesting blend of Southern elegance and European style, the two-story, white mansion had classic balconies with Corinthian columns, large oak trees, and a covered veranda that led to gardens along the right side of the home.
White tea lights were draped in the trees, gardens, and along the red-bricked pathways, while dozens of tables, covered with white tablecloths, beckoned with their glimmering candlelit centerpieces. A jazz quartet was setting up on a stage at the far end of the gardens, and black-tie waitstaff were carrying silver trays topped with sparkling crystal champagne flutes.
The back door of the car opened and Eric held out his hand. “Ms. Woods?”
The young man, attired in his black suit, helped her out of the limousine. She was wobbling on her high heels when Sebastian’s hand slipped around her waist.
“I’ll text you when we’re ready.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Dane,” Eric replied. “Have a good time.”
As the sleek black car left the curb, Sam saw the stained-glass doors of the entrance opening for them.
“You’re tense,” Sebastian whispered as they climbed the porch steps.
“I feel like I’m going to one of my father’s church fundraisers. I never know what to say to anyone.”
He patted her waist. “Just be yourself, Sam.”
“Myself? I hardly know who that is anymore.”
Sam was in awe of the polished parquet floors, hand-carved oak and mahogany woodwork, 24-karat gold sconces, and Irish tapestry wall coverings inside the home.
Showing her to the main parlor on the right, Sebastian pointed up the winding black walnut staircase with its deep red runner covering the light oak steps.
“The mansion was built in 1869 and owned by a prominent family whose contributions to New Orleans date back to before the Civil War. It’s a virtual museum.”
Sam wavered as they turned on the very sleek wood floors. “If I happen to die before I get out of these shoes, I just wanted to thank you for bringing me.”
He held her close. “I won’t let you go, promise.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
In a parlor done in pale green and gold, with a matching green Carrara marble fireplace, Sebastian signed the guest register and handed Sam a program for the evening’s events. As he casually chatted with the attendant behind the table, Sam flipped through the program.
The event was for a school for special children located in the Garden District of the city. The acknowledgment of patrons donating to the event was very long. Sam wasn’t surprised when she found Dane Shipping listed as the event host.
When he returned to her side, Sam held up the program. “You’re hosting the party?”
He took her hand. “My family hosts events for many worthy causes in the city.”
“How many of those causes are you involved with?”
“None. I leave that to my mother. She sits on the board of many fundraising committees and adores getting involved. I don’t.”
Sam was about to inquire after his mother when he urged her forward. “Ah, there’s someone
who wants to meet you.”
She was hurried across the parlor to a pair of glass doors that opened on to the veranda. A stunning, gray-haired woman with fiery blue eyes and dressed in a deep emerald green gown was sitting in a wheelchair by the open door and beaming up at Sebastian.
“Mother,” he said, pecking the woman’s porcelain cheek.
Sam searched her memory, trying to recall her smooth skin, blue eyes, and soft, rounded features. Her frail appearance contrasted sharply against her son’s powerful presence.
Sebastian’s hand motioned to Sam. “Mother, this is Samantha Woods, the young nurse who took care of you at the hospital when you were in ICU.”
Sebastian’s mother gave Sam a thorough going over. “I’m sorry, Ms. Woods, my memory isn’t quite what it used to be.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Dane,” Sam greeted, stepping closer. “It just takes time.”
“My mother’s last name is Reinhardt,” Sebastian corrected. “She married Doug Reinhardt after my father’s death.”
Sam winced apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Reinhardt.”
Sebastian’s mother raised her head slightly, her blue eyes warming with recognition. “I remember your voice,” she admitted. “You’re the one who kept telling me I was going to get better. That I was going to be myself again.” She reached for Sam’s hand. “You gave me hope, young lady. You gave me a great deal of hope.”
Sam held on to her cool hand, touched that her words had been heard. “You see? I was right.”
“She’s getting stronger every day,” Sebastian proudly proclaimed.
Mrs. Reinhardt’s eyes lingered on Sam’s diamond choker. “Glad to see your taste in jewelry is improving, Ollie.”
Sebastian nervously cleared his throat.
Sam arched an inquisitive eyebrow at him. “Ollie?”
Sebastian shot his mother a reproachful gaze. “My middle name is Oliver, but my mother still insists on calling me Ollie.”
“Calling you Ollie keeps you humble, dear.”
He kissed his mother’s cheek once more. “Thank you, Mother, for embarrassing me in front of my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend. The word hit Sam like a bolt of lightning. Is that what she was, or was he merely putting a palatable label on her for the sake of his mother?
“Enjoy the party,” Mrs. Reinhardt said with an amused chuckle. “Come and see me soon, Ollie. You haven’t been by the house in a while. And bring Samantha with you.”
He took Sam’s hand. “I will, Mother.”
Before Sam could get out her farewells, she was practically dragged out on the veranda.
“Where’s the fire, Ollie?”
He turned to her, scowling. “Unless you want a red butt, don’t ever call me that again.” He fidgeted with his black tie. “Now that the hard part is out of the way, we can enjoy ourselves.”
“What hard part?” She carefully made her way down the steps.
“Seeing my mother. She’s been asking about you.” He snatched up two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter’s silver tray.
“She may know about me, but does she know about you?”
He put a flute in her hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. If my mother knew what I do to my subs, she would have another stroke.”
“So what does she know about me?”
He hooked his free hand around her waist. “You’re my girlfriend. That’s all she needs to know.”
“There’s that word again,” Sam mumbled. “Is that what I am?”
His eyes swept over the elegantly dressed guests waiting in line at the white-linen buffet tables across the patio. “To this crowd, that is what I want you to be.” His eyes pivoted to her. “To me you’re much more. You should know that by now.”
“Honestly, I have no idea what I am to you. Sub … girlfriend … experiment—it seems anyone of those terms might apply to our situation.”
“Our situation?” He took a gulp of champagne. “Our situation is … evolving, Sam. What we call it doesn’t matter. I just need to know I have your trust.”
“What about love, Sebastian?”
Peering down into his drink, he smashed his lips together, letting Sam know exactly how he felt about love. He hurriedly downed the last of his champagne. “This is not the time, nor the place, to discuss such a thing. When we are home … when you have finished your training, we will talk about it.” He held up his glass. “You should try the champagne. It’s very good.”
While her stomach churned with misgivings, Sam gazed down at the golden liquid bubbling in her flute. She had hoped he had cared for her, but she realized he could never feel anything for a sub … for a slave.
Chugging her drink, she yearned for the forgetfulness the alcohol promised. After she had finished, she turned to him.
“You’re right. It’s very good.”
“I’m amazed you even tasted it.” He took her glass. “I’ll get some more.”
He left her at the base of the steps to the veranda. All around Sam people were laughing, enjoying the tantalizing offerings of Cajun goodies at the buffet, drinking champagne, and looking blissfully unaware of her and the sordid existence she had been living.
She had never felt different before; if anything, she had considered herself invisible … that uninteresting, plain girl. But with Sebastian she had been special and happily alive. Until that moment, she had believed in what they were doing. Now, it sickened her.
“Well, well. Sam Woods, you look stunning.”
A handsome man with disquieting green eyes stepped into Sam’s line of sight, almost making her topple over on her pointy heels.
“Do I know you?”
He had rugged features and an overly confident bearing, as if he knew how good-looking he was. “Forgive me. I’m Ren Plancharde. A friend of Sebastian’s. He’s told me all about you.”
Sam went over his fitted tuxedo with an air of apprehension. Had Sebastian spoken of her to another man? Then she remembered the name.
“You’re the artist. Sebastian has your paintings in his penthouse.”
His eyes settled on her diamond choker. “Sebastian’s mother and I have quite a few mutual friends.” He browsed the guests gathered outside of the mansion. “Nathan Cole being one of them.”
Nervous, Sam searched the crowd for Sebastian. “Ah, yes. Nathan’s disappearance has been very distressing for everyone who knew him.”
“I’m sure eventually we will discover Nathan’s whereabouts. Must make living at The Shallows difficult, though. Wondering about your landlord and all.”
She glared at him. “How did you know I live there?”
He gave her a boyish, almost mischievous grin. “Sebastian told me.”
“What else did Sebastian tell you about me?”
He motioned to her collar. “Is he treating you well?”
“What do you know, Mr. Plancharde?”
“Your secret is safe with me, Sam.” Ren Plancharde inched closer. “I know what Sebastian is. I thought he was mad moving in next door to you. I told him you could never be interested in his world. I can see that I was wrong.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Plancharde. How do you …? I mean, what do you think—?”
“It’s Ren, Sam.” His attractive grin grew wider, highlighting the curve of his square jaw. “I hope you didn’t take on more than you can handle with Sebastian Dane. He’s quite demanding.”
Before Sam could interrogate Ren further, Sebastian was at her side, holding two glasses of champagne.
“Ren, how are you?” Sebastian handed Sam one of the flutes. “Mother said you were coming.”
“I’m doing well, Sebastian. Your mother puts on quite a party.”
Sebastian lifted his flute to his lips. “What were you two talking about?”
Ren swerved his eyes to a small crowd of partygoers gathered on their right. “Just getting to know your newest acquisition, my friend.” He motioned to Sam. “Where is her black collar? You know the rules.”
Sam’s mouth dropped as she faced Sebastian.
“Ren Plancharde is part of my club,” he explained in a low voice. “The Corde Noire Society I told you about.”
“Are … are you another Dom?” Sam asked without thinking.
Sebastian gave her an angry side-glance.
Ren winked at Sebastian. “I like her spunk. No, Sam, I’m nothing like Sebastian. Suffice it to say, I don’t play games with women. I leave that to the other members of our society.”
“No, you like it when the women play games for you, don’t you, Ren?” Sebastian bitterly complained.
“Still sore about Kimberly?” Ren expressed his disapproval by uttering a tsk-tsk. “You know that was Nathan’s doing, not mine.”
“You set the rules. He broke them.”
Ren nodded. “And he paid the price.”
Sam’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. “What are you talking about? What price?”
Sebastian lowered his voice to her. “I’ll explain later.”
“No, you’ll explain now, Sebastian.”
Ren chuckled. “I told you she wasn’t ready.”
“Shut up, Ren.” Sebastian glowered at him. “She’s not in the club yet. I’m still working with her.”
“Me, in the club? What are you—?”
At that moment, Brynn Adler walked up to their group. “Sebastian, Ren, good to see you two here.”
Sam’s grip on her champagne was getting painful. She was going to explode if someone didn’t straighten out a few things for her.
“Brynn, how wonderful you look.” Ren kissed her cheek. “You must pose for me someday.”
Brynn fondled the strap on her silver gown. Gathered at the waist, and dipping dangerously low, it showed off her daring curves. “I prefer to keep my clothes on, Ren.”
The man’s dark blond eyebrows went up. “What fun would that be?”
Her focus shifted to Sam. “You should have Sam pose for you. I think she would be a much better model.”
Sam almost dropped her champagne. Fortunately, Sebastian slipped his arm around her waist in the nick of time. “Sam won’t be posing for Ren, not if I have any say in the matter.”
Dark Attraction: The Corde Noire Series Page 22