Paula's Commitment [Le Club 4] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Skye Michaels

  “Yes, you’ve told me I ‘mean a lot to you.’ But what you haven’t said, and what I needed to hear, and what it’s probably too late to say now, is that you love me. Not that you’re grateful for my help with getting ready for the kids, or that we have great sex, or that you ‘care’ about me.”

  “But I do. Why else would I collar you?” he asked. Paula could see the look of consternation on his face.

  “I think it just seemed like the thing to do at the time,” she said. “No, Trent, regardless. That just isn’t good enough. I want it all. Please have the driver drop me off at home.” They had almost reached her condo.

  “And that’s it? I could see the kids were already getting attached to you.”

  “That’s why I had to do it right now and not wait until they would be hurt by my leaving. I’ll help you out all I can if you really need something, and we’ll go through with Emily Rose’s christening in a few weeks. After that, we’ll be friends. Because, Trent, you really mean a lot to me, too,” she said as the chauffeur pulled up to the curb in front of her house, and she slipped out of the car, leaving him in shock.

  * * * *

  Paula’s heart was breaking, and she didn’t know if she would be able to keep it together until she was out of sight of the car. If you only knew. This is going to rip my heart right out of my chest. She’d known it was going to be hard, but she had not anticipated this level of pain. It was physical, not just emotional.

  Chapter Thirteen

  On Friday afternoon, Jamie and Anne drove across the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway toward Devereau Plantation on the Mississippi River about an hour and a half north of New Orleans. The plantation had been built by the Devereau family in the early 1800s and had been continually in their hands since that time. They had held it through the Civil War, Reconstruction, world wars, depressions, good times and bad. The main house was a white, two-story brick confection with wraparound galleries fronting French doors and tall windows. It also had many dependency buildings, including a summer kitchen, the old slave quarters, barns, and sheds. As it was Justin Devereau’s main residence before his move to Ocala, it was also a working horse farm. The old slave quarters that housed Phillip Devereau’s playroom and dungeon held no good memories for the Devereau brothers. They had personally never used the facility and preferred to drive into New Orleans to Le Club Beaudelaire when the mood struck.

  As Jamie turned into the long, oak-lined driveway to the main house, he said, “Well, this is it—Devereau Plantation. It’s been in the family for over two hundred years. To be truthful, I didn’t think Justin would ever live anywhere else. The death of his fiancée, Alexa, really threw him for a loop. He needed a fresh start. I’m happy he found one with Kelly. She’s really good for him. She’s happy and upbeat.” He laughed. “And she doesn’t take any crap!”

  “That’s for sure! I don’t know how I’m going to replace her at the club. I hope the interview with Madison Snow works out. That job isn’t for just anyone. Kelly and Justin make a wonderful couple, though, and I’m very happy for them. I didn’t think she would be able to get accustomed to the BDSM thing, but they seem to have worked it out.”

  “Justin’s really not that into it. Alexa had a lot of problems, and he lost his taste for a lot of the BDSM stuff, which we both just dabble in for fun. He told me she had become addicted to pain, and he was thinking about breaking off their engagement if she didn’t get professional help, and then she was killed in a car accident down in Palm Beach. He felt guilty that he was about to break up with her, and that made it even harder for him.”

  “So that’s why he moved to Ocala. I wondered about that,” Anne said thoughtfully. “It was a big change—moving his horses, starting a new polo team, renovating the house at the farm...”

  “It was, but he needed the change. Well, let’s get our bags into the house. We’ll use the master suite, and then I’ll show you around. I have to make an inspection of the horse barns and stock and talk to the staff, or Justin will have my head.”

  * * * *

  The interior of the house was like a museum of the Old South. The furniture ranged from early American antiques to French antiques of various periods. The Devereaus had been an old Creole family in the area since the 1700s. The master bedroom was very French in style, and Anne was thrilled. “With a bedroom like this, who needs theme rooms?” she exclaimed. “I can be Scarlett O’Hara, and you can be Rhett Butler!”

  “I’ll put that on the agenda, Miss Scarlett. I just hope I can carry you up the stairs without dropping you.” He laughed.

  Jamie and Anne spent the afternoon touring the plantation, visiting the horses Justin had not yet brought down to Ocala and generally checking everything out. Jamie saddled two Tennessee walking horse mares and took her for a ride around the plantation. They made a great dinner in the enormous, old-fashioned kitchen from the provisions Max had left in the freezers and ate in the library where the only television was located. Anne was delighted by the collection of old books. Jamie showed her some of the old journals that Justin had found evidencing the Devereau fetish for extreme sex going back to the 1700s. There were even some illustrations of mechanisms that had been used which predated the current practice of BDSM.

  “Justin and I have discussed this, and we don’t think that this has anything to do with our personal sexual tastes genetically, but you have to wonder,” he said pensively.

  “Oh come on, Jamie! I doubt those old books or the deviant practices of your ancestors have anything to do with you and Justin today. They were probably just bent individuals with too much money and too much personal power who didn’t rein themselves in.”

  “You’re probably right. Want to take a walk down to the slave quarters? They’re supposed to be haunted,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

  “Who could pass up an opportunity like that? An after-dark tour of haunted slave quarters on a two-hundred-year-old plantation? Of course I do!” she exclaimed eagerly, grabbing her denim jacket.

  Jamie knew the pass code to the security system and let them into the old building that Phillip Devereau had converted into his personal playroom. It had all of the standard BDSM equipment she had become accustomed to seeing at the clubs, as well as some things whose purpose she didn’t know. They looked around, and Anne was amazed. There were no ghostly visitations, but that was only a slight disappointment. The girls at the club would have loved to hear about a haunting.

  “Sorry, babe. No ghosts,” he said as they locked the building up again. “There sure are no good vibes in there though. Justin is talking about tearing it down. I told him I couldn’t care less. He can reduce it to a pile of sticks for all I care.” He chuckled. “Although the Historic Preservation people might not like it. I told him to just do it and worry about them later. Once it’s a pile of rubble they can’t do a thing about it except maybe assess a fine.”

  “I see your point, but it is a piece of history,” she said tentatively.

  “Devereau family history. Maybe we’ll have a demolition party. Send it out with a big bang!” he exclaimed. She could plainly see that he and Justin really did not have any fond memories of this building.

  They returned to the house, and as they approached the stairs in the marble floored foyer, Jamie swung her up into his arms and started up the curved staircase. “Ms. Sutton, you are not exactly a feather!” he said with a grin, as he headed for the master suite.

  “Oh, rats, Mr. Devereau, we have no costumes! How can I be Scarlett in jeans and a sweater?” Anne was dismayed. She knew how much he loved to play.

  “Well....you could be....‘Naked Scarlett,’” he said with a leer. “I’m sure there are trunks full of old clothes up in the attic, but finding them would take longer than we’re going to be here.”

  “Naked works just fine,” she said, smiling at him as he pushed open the door to the master suite with one foot. He pulled back the magnolia-print bedspread with one hand and gently deposited her on the massive f
our-poster bed. Then he joined her on the bed and pulled the matching draperies closed.

  * * * *

  “Relax. I’ll help you undress,” Jamie said as he pushed her back against the pillows. He pulled off her short boots and socks and lowered the zipper of her nicely filled-out jeans before he peeled them down her thighs. He pulled her sweater over her head and smiled at the lacy red bra and thong she wore. “Red is rapidly becoming my favorite color,” he said. “Especially those shoes…”

  “Sorry, bud. I didn’t bring them along. They’re back at your town house in the Quarter,” she said with a smile. He really did love those shoes.

  “Man. With that red bra and thong and those shoes, you wouldn’t need any costume.”

  “Well, let’s pretend you just took the shoes off,” she said with a sigh. He ran his hand slowly up her leg, over her knee, and between her thighs where he found her wet and wanting.

  “I can’t wait to be buried inside you. You’re every man’s fantasy, Anne. You really don’t have any idea what you do to me.”

  “Make love to me, Jamie.” She smiled with anticipation as he toyed with her pulsing clit, which was already begging for release. He stripped out of his clothes quickly. Bending down, he took the erect nipple of one breast into his mouth and sucked through the lace of the red bra while he gently pinched the other. He flipped the front closure with his thumb, opening her breasts to his gaze.

  When he met her, Anne had been bothered by the scars resulting from her breast cancer six years previously, not to mention the defection of her fiancé after her mastectomy and reconstruction surgery. Jamie had to rather forcefully remind her just how lucky she had been to be cured of breast cancer and that a few little scars did not deter his ardor in the least. He gently ran his tongue over the sensitive and slightly puckered scars now, and she shivered at his touch. She crushed his face to her breasts and sighed as he nipped softly at her nipples.

  He circled his fingers around her swollen clit, barely grazing the center, as her pussy flooded with liquid heat at his touch. He plunged his fingers into her pulsing channel as she raised her hips, begging for more. He knew she needed this sweet release. He was like a drug to her, and he knew she couldn’t get enough. He ran his tongue along the seam of her rosy lips, and his masterful hands kneaded her bottom. When she was almost beyond reason, he rose above her and plunged his steel-hard cock into her silky center. The scent of her arousal had him pounding his thick cock into her slick pussy harder, faster. Her breasts rubbed against his hair-roughened chest as he crushed her mouth with a stunning kiss, stealing her breath. Jamie could feel her pulse racing and her explosive climax pulsing through her. His orgasm raced through him like electricity, pushing him over the edge into exquisite pleasure right behind her.

  As they coasted back to earth, he felt her inner muscles convulsing around his still-erect cock. He continued stroking her hot channel. His perfectly sculpted, rock-hard ass was the engine driving the piston that rocketed her into yet another rippling wave of sensation. He exploded into another violent climax as she stroked her hands down the solid muscles of his back.

  They slowly got their breath back. “So, Scarlett,” he said, “I hear tomorrow’s another day.”

  “That’s right, Rhett. I think I’ll sew these drapes into new a dress since we don’t have any costumes,” she said, her eyes closing as she rolled over to snuggle against his back, their legs entwined.

  * * * *

  Anne awoke Saturday morning to the sight of Jamie walking through the doorway to the master suite with a tray of strong, French Quarter-style black coffee and croissants with butter and preserves. He wore nothing but a pair of unbuttoned, worn blue jeans. She couldn’t decide if his lightly hair-covered chest and rippling abs or the breakfast was the more yummy sight.

  “Mornin’, baby,” he said in his delicious Southern drawl that seemed to deepen once they had reached New Orleans. “Rise and shine. We have a lot to do today. How about a ride along the levy this morning and then maybe lunch in town? My culinary skills stretch just so far.”

  “That sounds wonderful. But first, the coffee smells divine,” she said as she reached for a cup on the tray he had set on the bed beside her. When she picked up the folded linen napkin, a small, flat box fell to the bed. She looked up at him, and he just smiled. “For me?” she inquired with a grin.

  “Definitely for you. It’s not my style at all, chère.” He grinned. “Open the box.”

  She did as instructed and gasped when the lid of the box was raised. Lying on the bed of black velvet was a braided, brown leather necklace resembling horse reins with a chocolate pavé diamond-encrusted horse’s head pendant set in yellow gold, with a bright-blue sapphire eye. “I didn’t want to get you a standard slave collar because you’ve been doing so well with your riding. I hope you like it.”

  She launched herself into his arms. “I love it. Nothing could be more perfect. Please help me put it on,” she requested breathlessly.

  He turned her around, and as she lifted her hair, he fastened the large gold lobster-claw clasp behind her neck. He settled the pendant over the hollow of her throat, and lifting her face up to gaze in her eyes, he said, “It looks just right on you—and you’re just right for me. So, now you’ve been collared, Ms. Sutton. What do you think?”

  “I think we’ve both got too much clothing on to properly appreciate my beautiful collar,” she said with a suggestive smile as she shrugged out of her silk sleep shirt and reached for the zipper of his blue jeans.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The twins had been at home for two weeks, and things were going well when Trent received a phone call from Jason Steele. Trent had instructed Christa to begin their English instruction, and being little sponges, they were picking the language up quickly. Once they were separated, their leg muscles started to strengthen, and they were beginning to crawl, playing with toys and tormenting his six-year-old, seventy-pound Goldendoodle, Snickerdoodles. “The Dude,” so named by his nephews, Enzo and Dino, was a good sport about the rough kisses and tail pulling. He allowed the twins to use him like a floor pillow when they had their bottles. He just lolled about, grinning with his tongue hanging out as they crawled all over him.

  “Trent, I just had a call from Ecuador. Someone claiming to be the twins’ father has filed an emergency petition to block your adoption proceedings,” Jason said apprehensively.

  “What? How can that be? The authorities had no information whatsoever about the kids’ family. They were dropped off at a church like dirty laundry,” he said, stunned. He dropped into the chair in disbelief. This was the second time in weeks that he had been struck by a “bolt out of the blue.” Trent had not seen or spoken to Paula, having decided to let that simmer for a while. He really did not understand women.

  “I don’t have all the information yet. I am having our local counsel look into this. We will just have to see what the story is. It may be an attempt to wring money out of the rich gringo doctor for all we know. With all the publicity about the operation and then about the twins being brought up here to recuperate, someone may think they can cash in on the situation.”

  Trent took a minute to gather his thoughts before speaking. “See what you can find out. My friend, the head of the surgical team, Dr. Jorge Gonzalez, may be able to be of some help. We should probably get DNA testing done on the twins immediately so we will be in a position to refute any unfounded claims quickly. I have no intention of sending them back to Ecuador unless there is absolutely no option.”

  “Okay. You see about the DNA testing, and I will be in touch with local counsel. Also, Trent, I didn’t think you would mind if I spoke with Justin about this. The Devereaus have a lot of contacts in Central and South America and may be able to help.”

  “Absolutely. Do whatever you think is best. We can’t waste any time getting ready to fight this.”

  “Well, Justin said he would get their attorneys in the capital to look into the situation. He also s
aid to tell you that you have the full resources of the Devereau Foundation behind you on this. No holds barred.”

  * * * *

  When Paula got the call from Calleigh with the latest news, she was sick with worry.

  “Oh, Calleigh, this is going to kill Trent. I can see how much he already loves the banditos. I’m sure it’s even worse now, a couple of more weeks into loving them.”

  “Are you going to call him?” Calleigh asked hopefully.

  “No, not now. But please keep me advised if you can, and let me know if there is anything I can do.” Paula was heartbroken. Not only was she missing Trent more than she had ever expected to, she was also missing the twins she had had so little time with. Every day she imagined them growing and changing, and she was missing it all. It just isn’t fair. Maybe I was a little hasty.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Upon hearing the news, Jamie and Anne had returned to Ocala several days ahead of schedule, and on Monday morning, Gregory and Natasha were back in the offices at Le Club Beaudelaire-New Orleans. It had been a quick turnaround. They hadn’t really had time to settle into the Ocala club in the few weeks they had been there. After lunch Greg joined Natasha in her office to go over a few details on the memo Anne had left them.

  “I am glad to be home, Gregory. Was good to sleep in our own bed last night. Was fun to go to Florida for a few weeks, but I like it here better,” she said with a satisfied smile.

  “It’s always good to be home, baby,” he responded. “I think there’s something on your desk you might want to check out. Just a little something to thank you for being such a good sport about going to Ocala.”