The Gilded Chain

by Lauren Smith

  What am I going to do?

  The phantom press of his lips still lingered against her own, as though he’d branded her with that single sensual kiss. She hated herself for the way her body had melted into his, and the crawling need just beneath her skin that craved his touch, his caress. But she didn’t want it, didn’t want him. And she shouldn’t.

  Wes Thorne was dangerous. Frighteningly intense and too much of everything. There was still that unspoken word humming in the air around her. He’d never said it, but she’d felt it in his kiss.

  Soon. It was only after she’d started back to the house that she realized if she went to Paris with Wes, she might miss Fenn and Hayden’s engagement party. Had he done that on purpose? Given her a distraction to keep her from facing something that would grind her heart to dust? Maybe Wes wasn’t so heartless after all…or he was cunning beyond her wildest dreams.

  Chapter 2

  The Gulfstream G150 slid into the air, climbing high into the late afternoon sky. The clouds above the Colorado mountains were thick and painted in a range of tangerine and pomegranate reds. Wes leaned back into the soft white leather seat of his family’s private jet and watched the wings of the plane slice through the heavens.

  He could still taste Callie, addictive, sweet, so breathless and innocent. Until he’d sat down in the plane, his entire body had been rigid with pent-up passion. He shouldn’t have kissed her, not so soon, not when he’d have to leave for a few days before seeing her again.

  Fuck, he wanted her. It actually hurt not to have her near him. Had that ever happened to him before? Not that he was aware of. He dropped his head back against the headrest and tried to collect his thoughts. He only had to last a month without getting what he wanted right away.

  Thirty days.

  Thirty days was enough time to seduce her and make her forget Fenn. Her father had assured him she had an up-to-date passport. She would need a new wardrobe and so many other things. He would fill her days with adventure, passion, and art. He would offer her the world, and in return, he’d take her to bed and finally conquer this strange obsession with her.

  He touched his lips yet again, having done it several times on the drive back to the airport. Kissing her had made him feel again. For too long he had not felt much of anything. He had gone to great lengths just to regain even the smallest bit of pleasure in his life. Callie had changed everything.

  One month ago he had flown out to Colorado to rescue his long-lost childhood friend Fenn Lockwood, only to find Fenn in bed with his sister. The initial meeting between them after twenty-five years of thinking Fenn was dead hadn’t gone well. He and Fenn had gotten into a fistfight over Hayden. They had been fighting in the dirt outside an old trailer, and Jim Taylor had driven up and fired a shotgun over their heads. And then Wes looked up and saw her.

  Honey-blonde hair tugged playfully by a mountain breeze to form a golden halo around a face so lovely he’d forgotten to breathe. She was not like any of the models on the runways in Milan or Paris. She was a head shorter than him, with killer curves and a classically beautiful face. A slightly upturned nose, gold lashes, hazel green eyes, and pale pink lips. Lips he’d finally tasted, and his imagination hadn’t been able to compare to reality. Yes, he had taken one look at Callie Taylor and knew that he would have to have her, possess her in every way because she had made him feel. His blood still hummed in his veins and his heart beat wildly at the thought of the chase, the seduction, and finally the months he planned to spend learning the secret ways of her body and soul so that she would be fully his.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, wondering who’d be calling. Corrine Vanderholt.

  That was a problem he needed to deal with before he initiated Callie into his world. As one of the premier members of the exclusive BDSM club, the Gilded Cuff, one of the perks was the luxury of having almost any female submissive at his beck and call. Nearly all of the club members were outwardly polite society girls he chatted and danced with at fund-raisers and galas under the unsuspecting eyes of the crowds. But at the Gilded Cuff, these women stripped down to bare skin and knelt at his feet, begging to be dominated. He had always been happy to comply. Corrine, however, was not like the others. The rest knew that any relationship in the club ended outside the doors, and that was the way everyone liked it. For Corrine, the club was a stepping stone to marriage, and Wes knew she had set her sights on him. She was a fool to think she could control him. He was the dominant.

  With a little smile, he answered his phone. “Thorne here.” Not acknowledging he’d seen her name on the screen.

  “Wes, sweetheart, it’s me,” Corrine murmured huskily.

  He almost rolled his eyes. “I have many sweethearts, which one in particular are you?”

  He bit back a laugh at her angry little hiss through the other end of the phone.

  “It’s Corrine.” Her tone was curt.

  “Oh, Corrine, of course. What is it?” He settled back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the leather seat opposite him.

  “I thought you might want to top me at the club tonight.” She was forcing that huskiness in her voice now, and he tried not to smile.

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’m leaving for Paris in a few days and have to make travel arrangements.” The last thing he wanted to do was top Corrine. That meant being her dom and conducting a sexual scene with her. The only woman he wanted was Callie.

  “When you get back then,” she insisted.

  “No. I’m not going to be topping anyone at the club for a while.”

  “What?” Her voice was hard and cold. He’d ruined her plans.

  “There are plenty of doms who will be happy to scene with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.” He didn’t wait for a response, but simply hung up. Pocketing the phone, he resumed his study of the clouds.

  Everything in his life would be changing soon. It was one thing to conduct a simple scene with a submissive at a club, but training one and doing it at his home was an entirely different matter. Callie had innate submissive qualities in her, but she was not weak, nor easily tamed. It would be a complicated process of seducing her and introducing her to his world without frightening her. He wanted everything to be perfect, for himself, but also for her.

  She deserved a sweet, slow seduction. He had already moved too fast, taken a risk with that kiss in the tack room. She wasn’t ready for him or his lifestyle. If he came at her too hard and fast, she’d bolt, just like an unbroken filly. Not that he wished to break her. No, never that, but Callie needed taming, and he planned to soothe her with little touches, tiny caresses, soft whispers, all the things a masterful lover knows how to employ. And he was the best. Out of all of the dominants at the club, he was the one who understood the art of BDSM the best. He could read a female submissive and know immediately what she needed and give it to her. It was the single most rewarding and arousing thing about being a dom, knowing he had the power to give a woman what she needed and satisfy her every desire and fantasy. It would be a lie to say he didn’t get off on the idea. He loved wielding such a power, knowing he could bring such pleasure to a woman.

  Callie was young and innocent, and as much as his body wanted to rush headlong into bed with her, the rest of him sensed slow was the best pace. She’d had her heart broken and that would take time to heal. He would coax the woman out of her chrysalis and glimpse the transformation at its own natural pace.

  When his phone buzzed again, he answered in a low growl of displeasure.

  “What is it, Corrine?”

  A masculine chuckle made him blink and stare at the phone screen.

  “Yeah, I’m definitely not Corrine,” Royce Devereaux said.

  “Royce, what is it?” Wes snapped.

  Royce was one of his close friends from childhood, a dominant at the Gilded Cuff as well and a paleontology professor at a local university in Weston, Long Island.

  “Guess you haven’t heard the news
?”

  Wes sat up in his seat. “What is it? Has something happened to the twins? My sister?” His blood started to pound in his ears as old fears resurfaced.

  “No—God no. Everyone is fine. Christ, Wes, you’ve only been gone a few days. What do you think could have happened in seventy-two hours?” Royce asked with a low chuckle.

  Wes exhaled in obvious relief. After everything they’d been through recently, he needed rest, relaxation. No more assassins, explosions, or villains.

  “As long as no one is dead or dying, I don’t really care,” Wes said. “I’m on vacation from all drama and life-threatening incidences.”

  His friend laughed. “Getting boring on me, are you?”

  “You know I’m never that boring,” he reminded Royce. They’d spent too many nights at the Gilded Cuff together for Royce to ever say otherwise.

  “I just thought you’d be interested to know that the Mortons were robbed last night.”

  Wes didn’t see the significance of this. “And this is of interest to me because?”

  Royce sighed dramatically. “It wasn’t a typical robbery. Only one thing was taken. A painting.”

  He straightened in his seat. “A painting? Which one?”

  He was intimately familiar with the Mortons’ private art collection. He had a hand in procuring most of the pieces in their collection. The Mortons were old money, like his own family, but unlike his parents, the Mortons valued art and it had been a pleasure to work with them.

  “I think I heard it was a Goya,” Royce said.

  The Goya? Wes growled softly. The most expensive piece, valued at 450,000 dollars. He’d done the bidding for the Mortons at Sotheby’s. And now it was gone. Something tightened in his chest, a sliver of pain, swiftly followed by fury.

  “How was it taken? The Mortons have an advanced security system and their private collection was fairly unknown to the general public. It’s not easy to walk away with something like a painting.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Royce paused. “It looks like a professional job. The FBI is checking into it. I told them to come see you if they had any questions about the painting.”

  Wes scrubbed a hand over his jaw, scowling. The last thing he needed was the FBI crawling all over him, not when he wanted to focus completely on Callie. Feds were always a mood killer.

  “What time are you due back on the island?” Royce asked.

  Wes checked his watch. “About five hours, why?”

  “We could go to the club. There’s a sweet little sub I would love to tag team—”

  “No thanks.” Wes chuckled. “I’ve got to take care of a few things, and besides, I may not be coming to the club for a while.”

  “Oh?”

  Wes couldn’t miss the interest in his friend’s tone.

  “Yes.” He didn’t elaborate. Callie was his little secret. He didn’t want to share her with anyone else, especially not a charmer like Royce. There couldn’t be any risk that she would find another man more attractive than him.

  Royce’s tone turned serious. “Does this have something to do with Callie Taylor?”

  How did he know about Callie? Wes didn’t answer. He knew responding would reveal more. It was best to play the game as if he had no information.

  “I was checking on Jim and his daughter for Fenn. He worries about them, since he and Hayden won’t be moving back to Colorado for a month or two, at least not until after the engagement party.”

  “Checking, huh? Is that what the kids call it these days?” His friend sniggered. “I bet you checked on that sweet little cowgirl all night.”

  “I spent all my time working on the cabins for Hayden. There was no night, Royce. Make a comment like that again and you’ll regret it,” he promised darkly.

  “Admit it. You want that girl. I heard Hayden talking about her. She’s young and sweet. Everything your usual bed partners aren’t. Are you having a midlife crisis or something?”

  Fuck. His friend just didn’t know when to shut the hell up.

  “I’m thirty-three. A man does not have a midlife crisis until he is actually in the middle of his life,” he shot back.

  “Uh-huh,” Royce answered, almost placating him. “Does your sister know you have a black room?”

  “My sister does not know and will never know about that particular part of my house. The more important question is, how did you get inside it?” He and Royce had shared women at the club, even at Royce’s house, but the black room at Wes’s home…that was his secret, his private place no one was supposed to know about. A room containing his most treasured paintings and other things too valuable to share with the rest of the world. It also had a bed and a dresser with some rather fun sex toys, but he’d never met a woman yet who he’d trusted enough to show the room to. It was called the black room because it wasn’t on the floor plans of the mansion and unless someone knew where it was, it could never be found. Royce had seen him leaving it once, but hadn’t questioned him about it. Apparently the bastard had been biding his time until he could get in to check it out.

  There was a faint clinking noise as though something metallic hit wood on the other end of the phone line.

  “I knew you were out of town so Hans is showing me how to pick locks. Can you believe I didn’t know how to listen for tumblers? We’re using your place as practice, by the way.”

  Wes muttered a few choice curse words under his breath.

  “You and Emery Lockwood’s bodyguard are at my place picking my locks?” He knew it shouldn’t have surprised him.

  Royce was wild and unpredictable at best, and this was by far one of his tamer pranks. What amused him, despite his anger at his black room being infiltrated, was that Royce was with Hans Brummer. The bodyguard was in his early fifties, and one of the most dangerous men Wes knew. Hans had spent the last twenty-five years protecting Emery Lockwood after he and his twin, Fenn, were kidnapped at age eight. Now that the men trying to kill the twins were dead, Hans must have been bored enough to freelance his talents and was apparently training Royce in all manner of illegal activities.

  “You never know when picking a lock will come in handy,” Royce replied once the clicking noise returned.

  “Why would a professor of paleontology need to know how to pick locks?” Wes asked as he slipped his Breitling watch off his wrist and then reset the time from mountain to eastern. He still had a few hours left in the flight, but he liked to get his watch set.

  Royce snorted. “Well, let’s see. Emery and Fenn were kidnapped. Emery was almost blown to bits, Cody the hacker wonder boy was tortured by an assassin, Hans was shot in the chest, you were nearly incinerated in a car bomb. I’m just getting in some survival 101 with my old buddy Hans here.”

  There was a deep laugh in the background, and Wes knew it was Hans.

  “How did you bypass my security system?”

  “Child’s play. We just rewired it.”

  Wes sighed. That meant he’d have to have someone come out and fix it. “Don’t you have some term papers to grade?”

  “That’s what my teacher’s assistant is for,” Royce announced proudly, and Wes could only shake his head. “Kenzie’s going to be busy over the next month reading everything and preparing the final exams I sent her.”

  “I thought you butted heads with your TA.”

  “Yeah, well, Kenzie is too smart for her own good. She’s lucky she’s my TA or I’d take her to the Cuff and strap her to a spanking bench and give it to her good.” Royce’s tone was suddenly husky, and Wes knew what the other man was thinking about.

  “So why don’t you?” Wes taunted his friend.

  “Oh no, there’s no way I’m getting involved with a student. I like my job.”

  “But she’s over eighteen, right? She’s a graduate student. It’s legal.”

  Royce growled softly. “Legal maybe, but it doesn’t look good if I go against school policy. I don’t want to be that professor. My students already know about my club habits, and th
e bouncers at the club have to check IDs carefully to make sure no one slips inside who isn’t a genuine member. I feel like a damn animal in a zoo sometimes.”

  His friend paused, then added, “Maybe I need a black room, too.”

  “Get out of there right now, Royce,” he warned. That space was his, only his, and even his best friend was not allowed in there.

  “Fine. Spoil our fun,” Royce returned. “Call me tomorrow morning. We need to visit the Mortons.”

  “Right, thanks.” He definitely had to see the Mortons and assure himself the other pieces in their collection were still safe. He would mourn the loss of the Goya.

  He slid his cell phone back into his pocket and closed his eyes, picturing himself in the black room. His refuge, his comfort. Maybe soon he’d be able to show Callie, to let her inside his sanctuary.

  Thirty days.

  He had to make it. It was crucial that she had her time to accept Fenn’s engagement and move on. And once she had, he would move in and claim her.

  Chapter 3

  At precisely ten the following morning, Wes climbed into Royce’s Porsche Spyder, and a few short minutes later they were pulling into the front driveway of the Morton mansion. Wes wore his favorite suit, a light gray Burberry classic-cut light wool suit, while Royce had gone more casual in jeans and a black sweater beneath a leather coat.

  “Is the FBI still in town?” Wes asked his friend.

  “Probably, but I haven’t heard. I’m sure the Mortons will know.”

  They drove through the black gates tipped with gold spires and stopped in a circular drive before a massive Mediterranean-style stucco mansion. It was a grand palisade that always impressed Wes each time he visited. The real attraction was the Roman statuary that filled the gardens and the limestone gazebo where rich amethyst-colored blooms of wisteria draped over the stone every spring, filling the air with its thick scent. It was a beautiful sight during the late spring and early summer.