Vengeful Seduction_A Submissives’ Secrets Novel

by Michelle Love

  Or, maybe more to the point, I needed to not expect anything more from him. One thing I’d learned about people is that, whether they wanted to or not, they left you.

  So I watched as his number flashed on my call display screen. ‘Grandpa,’ it said, as though I didn’t already know that. As though I hadn’t memorized every digit of that phone number.

  And, like always, it was nothing but a reminder of what I was missing.

  I’d built a life by myself. Grandpa had made himself rich with lumber, but Dad had never been happy with accepting the family fortune without doing anything to earn it. Neither had I.

  Black Technology had been our answer to that, and what my dad had started, I had continued on in a way that had honestly surprised even me. The men of my family, it turned out, had a knack for business—for making money.

  As I watched my phone’s lit screen, my fingers itched. What would happen if I did pick it up? By now, my grandpa must not expect that. Would it shock him to hear my voice?

  That was almost a good enough reason for me to do it. Almost. There was an impish side of me that would enjoy surprising the man, but at the same time, what would happen if I did?

  It was too easy to imagine. My grandpa would doubtless be shocked. There could be no way, after twelve years, that he would expect me to do it. I’d get maybe as much as ten seconds of shocked silence.

  And then what?

  Well, then the questions would start. The recriminations. The reminders that the old man was all I had left and that we had to stick together. My grandfather had never been the type of man to hold back when he had something to say.

  The hell of it was, I would deserve it. I was the one who had cut off contact. My reasons for doing it, I thought, were sound enough. But even I knew that I could have said something—given some sort of explanation to the old man who was my only family.

  He had kept in contact as much as I had let him. There had always been a card at Christmas and another at my birthday. Every year I expected him to give up, but I guess the Black men had always had a bit of a stubborn streak.

  It would be nice to hear his voice.

  My phone stopped buzzing, and I let out a soft sigh—a breath I hadn’t even been aware I was holding. I’d missed the chance. It was too late. Maybe this was even the last time grandpa would try to call. There had to be a last time, right? Sooner or later, he would give up.

  Or …

  No. The old man was immortal, like the mountains themselves. I wouldn’t think about him dying. But surely enough was enough. I’d been pushing him away for so long, and even someone as stubborn as he was had to give up at some point.

  For just a moment, I had the almost overwhelming urge to call him back. To tell him …what? That I was sorry, maybe. Sorry for protecting myself. Sorry that the months kept on going by, and that each and every time he called I told myself I’d answer the next one.

  Next time, maybe. If there was a next time. Lately, the urge to take the call had been getting stronger and stronger, and it nagged at me more too.

  Once, it had been easy for me to glance at my screen and then go right back to work. There had been so much to do, after all. Now, the company almost ran itself, and with my thirtieth birthday coming up in a few days, I was starting to have the sense that I should accept the gestures the man kept extending to me.

  My birthday.

  Of course. That was it. On my thirtieth birthday, my grandfather would call again. I knew he would. He always did. On that day, I would take the call, and I would accept anything he wanted to say to me. That was only three days away, and it would give me some time to prepare myself for whatever happened.

  Hell, what did I know? There was a decent chance he just wanted to tell me off for ignoring him for so long. So be it. It was sort of ridiculous that I was hiding from him, or that I had done so for so long.

  Anyway, I’d deserve it. I’d let time get away from me. Even now, I was a little bit anxious about the idea of speaking to him. Okay, in other words, I was downright terrified.

  It was stupid, though. Stupid to be so scared. Stupid to let the fear keep on paralyzing me. I didn’t have to be close to him or anything. I would talk to him, I promised myself.

  Somehow, that promise felt good. It felt like the right thing to do. There was even still the urge to call him right then and there, but no. I needed the time to psych myself up for it.

  Just a few more days and I would hear the voice that was so much like my father’s that I had turned around at my dad’s funeral, sure he was the one who was talking. It had felt, just for a second, like my dad was somehow miraculously not in the ground.

  It had felt like a betrayal when I had seen that it wasn’t my father, but my father’s father who had spoken. So, yes, I argued with myself, I did need time to prepare myself. What were a few more days, when measured against the twelve years that had already gone by?

  Somehow, that decision didn’t feel nearly as good. It sat like a hard lump in the pit of my stomach, telling me maybe there wasn’t time.

  Which was ridiculous, of course. If my grandfather had truly had something important to say, he could have said it to my answering machine. I had always counted on that. That if there were an emergency, I would know because grandpa wouldn’t just hang up. He would leave a message.

  Call him.

  The two words echoed through my head and I frowned. Maybe I should just get it over with. Like ripping a bandage off. Swift and painful as hell, yes, but at least it would be over.

  I almost jumped out of my chair when the phone started to ring again.

  If it was him, I would answer. If he called back twice in a row, that would be what did it. That would mean he really, really wanted to talk to me and maybe I should listen.

  My whole body tensed up as I slowly, slowly, let my eyes drift down to my screen. Did I hope it was him or not? Even I couldn’t really tell.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered as my eyes finally rested on the lit-up screen. The number was familiar, but it was Brent, my best friend and partner in crime at Black Tech.

  All of the air left my lungs, leaving me feeling curiously drained. There was no question about not answering this call, though, and I picked it up without hesitation. Even so, with how long it had taken me to muster up enough courage to look at my phone, I was sure I’d gotten it right before it went to my voicemail.

  “David, what the hell? Do you not check your work emails anymore?” Brent sounded peeved, and I had to hold back a slight sigh. I was sure I was letting everyone down and it sort of pissed me off.

  “It’s not work hours,” I snapped back, but Brent didn’t even really seem to be listening to me. He was the numbers guy, the one who made sure our little company kept growing, and he clearly had something to say on the matter.

  “These Q3 results aren’t looking too good. If we’re going to close out the year where we need to be, we’re going to need to make some changes.”

  Sighing, I transferred the phone to my left hand and rubbed at the bridge of my nose with the right. I knew Brent would be able to handle it. He was much better at this sort of thing than I was.

  Still, it was my job to listen, so I settled down to do what needed to be done. Three days would be soon enough to talk to my grandfather.

  Wouldn’t it?

  Chapter 2

  Kaye

  After the phone call that went unanswered, it was like Theodore gave up. Like he’d been holding on to try to talk to his grandson, and when that didn’t happen, he just stopped wanting to try to live at all.

  He lasted one more night and one more morning. He’d spent the whole of that morning closeted with his lawyer, which only added to the nagging feeling I had about him not caring anymore.

  It had all happened too fast for me to believe it was truly a coincidence. The day Theodore had tried to call his grandson, he’d been an old, sick man. The next day, he’d been dying and putting his affairs in order.

  The skie
s were gray when I went to his home that morning. Not a bird chirped, not a butterfly flew, and it had my mind going in a bad direction.

  I’d been through this same thing too many times. It was as if death lingered in the space, waiting to take the sickly person to the other side.

  It was both a happy and sad time. Happy because there would be no more suffering—Theodore would finally be at peace—and sad because he would be missed. I already missed him.

  Fighting back the tears, I knew I had to be strong. No nurse would sit by their patient’s bedside, weeping as they left this world. We were there to be supportive and to give them help in letting it all go and allowing death to come and take them out of that body that gave them so much pain and anguish. The suffering would be no more. There would only be peace where they were going.

  I believed it too. With all of my heart, I did.

  I wasn’t a religious person, but I was spiritual. I was a true believer that we all go on. Death isn’t the end of us—only the end of our Earthly body.

  With all that faith, it still took a piece of me when my patients left us all behind. Theodore would take more than a piece of me. He’d take a chunk.

  I was all the man had. No family would be there to say their goodbyes to him. Only I would be there. Bittersweet though it was, I didn’t know if I was truly prepared for that day.

  The door squeaked as I pulled it open. It had never squeaked once since I’d started working there. The house was aware of what was happening. I’d felt it all too often—how the houses would feel when a person passed within their walls. Like a scar, it would permanently affect the home.

  I ran my hand over the wall as I walked inside. “You’ll be okay.”

  Some people thought I was nuts with how I thought. I didn’t care. I felt it right down to my core. A person leaves their mark on a place. And Theodore had built that home, then lived in it for decades. He was a part of that place, and it knew it.

  Peeking in on him, I saw his withered body barely breathing as he lay in the hospital bed. The head of the bed had been inclined to help him breathe. It wasn’t doing much for him. I went to his side and sat silently in the chair next to the bed. I didn’t want to disturb him at all.

  Perhaps he was dreaming of his younger days. I’d hate to interrupt that. For a few hours, I just sat by and listened to his slow breathing and stayed quiet, letting him take all the time he needed in peace.

  I was there when it happened. He’d called out to me, his voice barely a rasp.

  “Kaye?”

  He seemed to have aged ten years and lost twenty pounds overnight and his skin was pale and loose, his eyes finally losing their sparkle.

  I’d taken his hand. “Theodore, I’m here.”

  His eyes barely opened as he looked up at me. “Kaye.” For a long time, we stayed like that, him lying in bed and me sitting beside it and holding his hand like I could somehow keep him with me.

  “It’s all going to be okay, Theodore.” The urge to cry was always right there, but I held those tears back. I had to stay strong for the man.

  He didn’t ask for anything. He was utterly silent until I felt his fingers gripping mine suddenly—frantically. “Tell him I’m sorry.”

  Moments later, before I could so much as frame the question to ask whom he wanted me to tell that to, he was gone. I didn’t really need to ask, though. There was really only one ‘him’ it could be.

  His grandson.

  The man who had, less than a day before, rejected the last attempt of a dying old man to reach him.

  The whole situation was so terribly sad, so tragic, and tears leaked down my cheeks as I did what I needed to do.

  The funeral was a few days after, and I’d dried my tears before then. I didn’t always go to the funerals of my clients. Sometimes I got the sense from the family they didn’t think that would be entirely appropriate. Of course I would respect their wishes.

  In this case, though, the only family was a man I’d never met—a man I wasn’t sure I liked. David Black was not my most favorite person in the world. Though I tried to keep an open mind about most people, in his case, I was willing to make an exception.

  What possible excuse could there be for ignoring a man and letting him die alone?

  The sadness had been replaced by a fair bit of anger, and I let that energy carry me through what I knew would be a terrible day.

  I wasn’t looking forward to the funeral, but it was, at least, a chance to say goodbye to someone I had cared for a great deal. The day was overcast and showers seemed sure to happen. Most had umbrellas at their side to make sure their black funeral clothes wouldn’t be ruined by the drops that would surely come from the sky at any moment.

  After parking my car, I went inside. It wasn’t a large crowd—I knew it wouldn’t be. Theodore lay in a casket made out of oak. His body was in the spotlight. The knot in my throat grew and I took a seat, crying openly and knowing it didn’t matter anymore.

  The people there were mostly old friends of his who didn’t even know who I was. Besides, they were all wrapped up in their own grief.

  In the back of the funeral home, I sat and listened as the sad music played, drawing the pain out in us all. Pictures of Theodore in his younger days flashed on a white wall. He was such a handsome young man.

  A man spoke to us about life and death and how we all have to meet our maker some day. Honestly, I tried not to listen to the words he said. They just made it all so much harder to take.

  I’d never again get to hear Theodore’s voice. I’d never feel the touch of his paper-thin hand. I’d never get to look into those eyes that held an impish twinkle until his heart had taken all it could take.

  Flowers and plants littered the floor around his casket. At least the people of Portland knew the value of the man, even if his only relative did not. My heart clenched at that thought.

  Heartless bastard.

  After the funeral was over, I felt drained and exhausted—like someone had sucked all the emotion out of me entirely. The last thing I wanted to do was go have food and drinks with all the other funeral guests. But I found myself going with the small crowd over to the reception area across the hallway.

  A patio off the reception room had been set up with the buffet. The sky had cleared, amazingly. The sun was out and fluffy white clouds moved through the sky. It was warm, but not too warm. It felt very nice for an early autumn day.

  Maybe I would just leave, I thought as I stood by the buffet table of the catered gathering after the service. I could just leave and no one would be the wiser.

  “I’ve been trying to figure it out,” a voice commented. That voice gave me the shivers for just a second. It was so familiar I thought it must be Theodore. But, of course, I knew it wasn’t. Very slowly, I turned around, fighting off the gooseflesh on my arms.

  Low, deep, dominant, and very masculine. Theodore’s voice had gotten weaker and quieter as he’d declined, but he’d never lost those qualities. This man had the same ones, only he had energy, strength, and youth behind his words too.

  “David.” There wasn’t a trace of doubt in my voice because I felt none. David Black. It had to be. I could tell by the shape of his eyes, and the slightly sardonic tilt to his full lips.

  I could tell that my recognition took him aback. He withdrew a little bit from me, and at that moment, I saw some things I hadn’t expected to see.

  First off, the man was handsome. I’d only known Theodore when he was old. But the pictures I’d seen of him proved he’d been a handsome man. David had those same glistening, dark-blue eyes, with the same subtle sense of humor in them and in his whole expression. He was tall, at least a good half a foot taller than my five feet seven inches, and his shoulders were broad and strong. His hair was dark and careless, though he was otherwise perfectly put together.

  “Excuse me, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” He gave me a tight smile, and I felt the urge to take a step or two back. There was something alm
ost feral about the man at that moment, despite how sharply he was dressed.

  Without words, he asked who I was and what I was doing at his grandfather’s funeral. He must’ve known pretty much everyone else there, since they had been friends of Theodore’s for years and years, from what I’d picked up from the service.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, trying not to get defensive. After all, I had nothing to be ashamed of. Of the two of us, he was the one who should feel defensive.

  “Kaye James.” I kept my tone cool and a little bit stern. My ‘nurse voice’ as I liked to call it—the one that every good nurse I’d ever met deliberately cultivated. The one that was meant to let patients know that, yes, we were there to help and it would be best if they went along with what we said.

  If he was impressed, he didn’t show it. He just arched one of those dark, winged eyebrows of his, a slight smile tugging up the corners of his lips.

  “Kaye James,” he repeated my name, and for some reason, that sent the strangest little shivers down my spine. “And how did you know my grandfather?”

  Ah! I knew it.

  “I was his nurse.” I refused to be charmed by the way he held his hand out to me, offering it in a handshake.

  “Well, then. Thank you.” He took my hand in his, and my fingers were dwarfed. He had enormous hands. It was a little intimidating, being around him. He took up a lot of room, and not only physically either.

  It was impossible to be around him and not have my attention focused on him. When he walked into a room, I would bet that all eyes would be on him. Not only that, but I’d bet he’d expect that attention, too.

  “David Black.” He finally confirmed what I had already known to be true. Our hands were still linked, and I couldn’t help but feel the handshake had gone on a little bit too long.

  “Hello, David.” I looked into those dark eyes and once more I could swear I saw a hint of pain in them. “Theodore spoke of you.”