The Gilded Chain

by Lauren Smith

  Surely Wes wouldn’t mind, and watching one of her favorite movies would help her relax. Besides, what was the point of riding in a plane decked out with the best of everything if you weren’t going to use it? Then again, Wes struck her as a workaholic, and maybe that intensity didn’t allow for sacking out and watching a movie on your private plane.

  Callie felt a pang of envy remembering why exactly Wes had this private plane. He was an art specialist and traveled to Europe frequently to consult with museums, auction houses, and private collectors on pieces. That wouldn’t be work to her. To have a job like that would be a dream come true. A dream she’d certainly never get to live. At twenty, she knew she could still start college, but she hadn’t saved up and wouldn’t know where to begin the process of getting enrolled in a decent art school. The idea of figuring it all out and knowing she’d leave her father and the ranch behind was scary. She admitted that, and she hated herself just a little for feeling so scared of something she wanted. Even if she won this bet between her and Wes, and she was able to go to art school on a scholarship, what if she wasn’t good enough to stay?

  The wave of depression that hit her made her sink back into the leather chair, her shoulders sagging. What was she going to do? She couldn’t stay on the ranch forever, not when she knew Fenn and Hayden would be returning there to live permanently. She’d overheard her father and Fenn talking about it one night on the phone. The luxury cabins were Hayden and Fenn’s plan to save the ranch and create a business to run while living out there. And when they came home, the ranch was going to feel awfully crowded with her as a third wheel. She wasn’t stupid. There was no reason to torture herself or pour salt on her heart’s wounds.

  “Your father said he has to get back to the ranch but to call him when we reach New York.”

  She tensed and looked up to find him leaning in the doorway of the cabin, watching her. His red hair had grown a little in the month since she’d seen him. It was longer, almost touching the tips of his ears. She had the sudden urge to slide her fingers into his hair and see if it was as soft as it looked. Instead, she walked over to the small window on the opposite side of the plane and saw her father standing on the tarmac. He must have seen her because he suddenly lifted a hand and waved. She waved back, a lump forming in her throat as she tried not to bolt for the door and run back down to him. It was the first time she was really leaving her home and him and it was scary as hell.

  “He’ll be fine. I told him he better take it easy while you’re gone otherwise he’ll ruin your trip by making you worry.” Wes’s hand settled on her shoulder in a gentle touch.

  Scrubbing at her burning eyes, she moved back from the window and he allowed her to brush past him to return to her seat. She flinched when she realized she’d left the cabinet door open with all the movies displayed.

  “You’re welcome to watch a movie.” Wes’s voice was gentle, amused, the almost sweet tone surprising to her. He slid out of his suit coat as he talked, then removed his cuff links and rolled up his sleeves. Aside from the ranch, it was the most relaxed she’d ever seen him.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t—”

  “Nonsense.” He turned to his left, knelt in front of her as he faced the TV cabinet, and picked out a movie. Laura. He popped it into the disc player.

  She stared at him. How in the hell had he known that movie was the one she wanted to watch? He hit play and powered on the flat-screen TV. He stood and walked into the attendant area, where he retrieved a briefcase and then, without so much as an invitation, sat down directly beside her, not looking at her. He buckled in and then dug around in his briefcase for some papers before he set the case on the floor and leaned back again, his lap covered in documents. He set his pair of cuff links down on the armrest and she reached for them, worried they’d fall to the floor. Their flat surfaces were etched with a letter T and a thorny branch entwined around the base of the letter. Elegant and edgy. Like him.

  Did he have to do that? Sit right next to her when there were other seats? She blinked owlishly at him, almost disbelieving that he’d do that. It was to ruffle her, she was sure.

  “You don’t have to sit there,” she almost whispered.

  A devilish look came over him as he glanced at her, then leaned toward her conspiratorially. She leaned close automatically, wanting to hear whatever he planned to say.

  “I have to sit here, darling. You’re cornered, just the way I like. That nervous edge makes your breath a little quick and I like knowing you’re thinking about how close I am to you.”

  When he leaned back into his seat, she knew her jaw was scraping the floor as she gaped at him. Then irritation flared under her skin. He was toying with her! With a frustrated little growl, she turned away from him and focused back on the TV screen.

  The sound of the movie momentarily distracted her and when she looked in his direction again, he seemed to be deep in his work. She could feel his body heat radiating off him. She half watched the film, and half watched him, fascinated and irritated. He was doing this on purpose, to rile her. The question was why? She couldn’t even guess. Even that kiss in the barn hadn’t been because he was attracted to her. Was this part of his attempt to win the bet? That was the only explanation and she still didn’t understand why he was so determined to sleep with her.

  Men like him didn’t go for the little small-town girls like her. She would have bet everything that he liked girls who were stunning, sophisticated, women who wore tight dresses and strappy heels and knew how to politely laugh at anything he said. She wasn’t that girl. She liked running wild, feeling the rain on her bare skin, cuddling down in her PJs on the couch and watching old movies. Her eyes darted to the screen, where the detective was exploring the dead woman’s home and had stopped before a painting of the lovely woman.

  Thoughts of Wes and his ulterior motives momentarily vanished as she lost herself in the story. A man falling in love with a dead woman simply by seeing an oil painting…She sighed. The best part of the movie was when the detective discovered that the woman wasn’t dead, but that a friend of hers had been killed when the murderer mistook her for the heroine of the story. It was a love story disguised as a harsh film noir.

  As the detective on the screen started interviewing suspects, Callie lifted the armrest to her right and used the two empty chairs next to the window to stretch her legs out and then she rested her head in one hand. The weight of a gaze settled on her, and she tried not to look to her left. He was staring at her. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore and glanced his way. He was in the most relaxed pose she’d ever seen him in. His legs were stretched out, his papers put away, and he was leaning his left elbow on the armrest. He rested his chin in his hand as he continued to gaze at her. Much like she knew a lion watched a grazing gazelle. Content for now to observe. It was only a matter of time before he struck. Her heart fluttered wildly and her blood began to pound in her ears. She was in serious trouble.

  Chapter 4

  She couldn’t think straight with him staring at her like that, all brooding and quiet intensity.

  Clearing her throat, she attempted to start a conversation, even though the movie played softly in the background.

  “Is Wes short for Wesley?” Where she found the courage to ask him that she wasn’t sure. She assumed it had to be, but it was like he’d said, they hadn’t really talked before, not unless it was about his sister or Fenn.

  He held out a hand palm up, and she set the cuff links into his hand. “Yes. Wesley. It’s a family name. My grandfather’s.”

  “Really? Did you know him?” She’d been too young to remember either set of her grandparents before they’d passed away.

  Wes pocketed his cuff links and smiled. It was a small smile, but very warm and almost sweet. In the short span of time she’d known Wes, she’d never seen him look so affectionate. He ran a hand through his hair, tousling it, seeming unaware that he’d made a delightful mess of his normally combed-back hair. Callie liked it. It
made him more approachable, less perfect. He was way too perfect.

  “My grandfather is an old bear. I mean that in a good way. He is big and gruff, but a good man. He used to smoke Cuban cigars and drink cognac every Friday night, and I would sneak out of bed and go to his study. We’d sit in two wingback chairs by the fire, and he would tell me about the old days. He served in the navy during World War II. His stories kept me spellbound.”

  Callie loved seeing Wes’s eyes soften and his lips move as he talked.

  “He sounds wonderful,” she replied.

  “He was. He was the one who taught me to love art.” Wes leaned forward in his seat and rested his elbows on his knees. “How did you come to love art so much? When Hayden first showed me your paintings at the ranch, I was astounded at the talent.”

  She swallowed and heat flooded her face. He thought she was talented? Was he really serious about the bet they’d made? About getting her into art school? He had to be. She didn’t think Wes was a man who didn’t keep his promises.

  “I don’t know how it started,” she admitted. “When I was little, after my mother died when I was four, I just kept thinking I wished I knew what she looked like because I couldn’t remember. So I started finding my father’s photographs and drawing her as much as I could. I didn’t want to forget her face.” She’d never told anyone that before. It was a secret she’d kept hidden even from her father because it felt too sad and yet important at the same time and she didn’t want to remind him of what he’d lost. Some loves hurt too much. She’d learned that the hard way.

  “There can be no real art without pain.” Wes’s voice was low and gentle, and the intensity of his gaze had softened. “Someone who has never lived their life will never know what the depth of colors can evoke on a canvas or how to paint a scene that would move even the hardest of hearts.”

  “Even yours?” she teased without thinking and then clamped her mouth shut in embarrassment.

  He only laughed. “Even mine.”

  Wes seemed to catch himself and he looked at his watch. “We have another couple of hours. The movie is almost over. Would you like to watch another?”

  Almost over? She blinked. She missed her favorite movie because she’d been in a tortured state of distraction. Each time he’d shifted his body, or talked to her, she’d been so aware of her own body. It was strange, the way she couldn’t stop watching him, the way he positioned his body, stretched his legs out, or folded his arms.

  “Well? What do you say? Another one?”

  “Sure, but you pick this time since you seemed to know I wanted to watch Laura.” She had to admit, she was dying of curiosity, wondering what he would choose. The array of movies in the cabinet either indicated a wide variety of Wes’s interests, or it might be that they were his sister’s movies, since Callie knew Hayden loved movies.

  Wes steepled his fingers, watching her for a long moment, as though the choice in movie would be found on her face. Then he got up and knelt by the cabinet and selected one. Because he was using his body to shield the case from her, she had to wait for him to hit play before she’d know what he picked. Wes sat back in his chair, but reached underneath the seat and pulled out a small pillow.

  “Here, take this. If you want to stretch out, it works well on the armrest.”

  She took the pillow hesitantly, measuring the row of seats they were on. If she lay down, she’d end up close to his lap. The idea sparked a wave of longing inside her. What would it be like to be so intimate with someone that you could do that? To rest comfortably against them and sleep. She couldn’t imagine. That was the price of being a virgin. And it sucked. Once, when she’d been fifteen, she’d been out late in town with Fenn, and he’d driven them home in his truck. She’d fallen asleep, her head resting on his shoulder. A deep sense of peace and warmth filled her. She trusted him, loved him, and it had been wonderful, except it had only mattered to her. Not to Fenn.

  “What’s the matter?” Wes’s voice broke through the creeping gray ache in her chest.

  “What?” she asked, voice a little husky as she sought to hide her pain and the way it choked her.

  “You seem…upset. I didn’t mean to…” Wes trailed off, his blue eyes so dark they seemed almost onyx. It was clear, by the tic working in his jaw, that he was uncomfortable with the idea of upsetting her. Something softened in her chest toward this brooding, intense man. Maybe he didn’t know he was arrogant and rude and that he ran roughshod over people. He was probably used to people scrambling out of the way when he strode past. Well, he wasn’t going to make her cower, whether he meant to or not, nor would he frighten her.

  She fluffed the pillow and set it on the armrest between her and Wes and then settled in, getting comfy. The credits appeared on the screen and the swell of a familiar love song gave her goose bumps. When the title appeared, her entire body went still and for a second she couldn’t breathe.

  An Affair to Remember.

  He’d picked that movie on purpose. He was sending her a message about the bet. The man was too cocky, but for some reason it made her want to laugh.

  The idea of having an affair with him, well, she admitted it would be memorable. The certainty of it made her tremble. As much as she wanted to believe she was going to win this wager, she knew it was going to get harder and harder to fight her fascination and attraction to him. Could she sleep with him and not let her heart get involved? That was what worried her more than any bet. A little shiver rippled through her.

  “Cold?” His voice was low, a baritone rumble that awakened strange sensations in her body that she didn’t want to feel, not with him.

  “I’m fine,” she muttered, curling her arms against her chest and rubbing her cheek against the pillow. It felt good to lay here. She could almost fall asleep like this. Because Wes was only six inches away, and she was attuned to his every move.

  He remained uncommonly still, as though trying not to frighten her, but it still rattled her to be that close. That predatory stillness she’d seen so often in nature, like a hawk perched on a fence post, watching the grass below, holding very still as a field mouse made the foolish mistake of trusting that its silence and stillness meant it was safe.

  * * *

  Wes held his breath for several long seconds as he watched Callie drift to sleep. The movie continued to play, and he smiled at the little joke. Perhaps it was a tad dramatic, but he knew she’d gotten the message. They were going to be together and it would be an affair to remember for both of them.

  His blood had heated when she’d taken the pillow from him and cuddled down on the seats as he’d suggested. It pleased him that she’d obeyed his wishes. He had no desire to break her, but to teach her that he could lead her, and she would enjoy it. He did not want to control every facet of her life. His goal lay only in control of her in bed, but in order for her to trust him there, she would need to learn to trust him outside the bedroom first.

  His body tensed as Callie shifted, nuzzling the pillow and then exhaled a soft little sigh. Lust exploded through him like a flash bang. He loved the sound of that sigh, craved to hear it again and again as he possessed her and gave her such pleasure she thought she might die.

  Wes forced a breath out and checked his watch, counting the seconds and minutes before he deemed it was safe to move. He slid a hand beneath her pillow and carefully eased the armrest down so that he could settle her pillow in his lap, buying her a few more inches to stretch out. And he got what he wanted. Her. Closer. His hand hovered about the tumbling waves of honey-gold locks, his skin tingling with the need to touch.

  Just one little touch, he promised.

  Her hair felt even softer than it looked and he marveled at the way it slid like silk beneath his hand. He stroked her hair. The urge to connect to her, even in such a small way, was a bone-deep need he couldn’t ignore. Thirty days of taking it slow to win her over was going to be hell on his control. Her claiming would not be easy, but then again, anything worth having w
as never easy to obtain.

  He’d accomplished much more than he thought he’d be able to in so short a time. Of course, there was the knowledge that once they got off the plane things could revert back to how they’d been a few days ago, and she would be thinking of his friend Fenn with those lovely eyes full of tears. She had put that man on a pedestal, and it infuriated Wes. He was friends with Fenn, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t be angry at his own jealous response to the way Callie thought of him with hurt and longing. The problem was she was young and didn’t know her own heart or how to love and she was under the illusion that she loved Fenn.

  I’ll change her mind and enlighten her to everything she’s been missing out on while she moons over that bull rider.

  Wes threaded his fingers through Callie’s hair, the gentle strokes soothing more to him than to her. He let out a soft sigh of his own. For the moment he was in control. She was close and he was content. He watched the movie a few more minutes, not quite paying attention before he leaned back against the headrest. His eyelids fell shut, and he found that for the first time in years he could relax. So long as he touched Callie, the restless beast inside him ceased to prowl.

  * * *

  One day later she was exiting the Charles de Gaulle airport, one duffel bag in tow, following Wes through the maze of travelers. At least a dozen languages could be heard within earshot and the signs were all in French. She’d taken one year of French and now, being in France, she couldn’t remember a single word. Wes reached out and grasped her hand, keeping her close. She clung to him, relieved by the connection. He was the only person she knew here, the only thing familiar, and given that he was still mostly a mystery, that wasn’t comforting.

  People bumped into them and she kept muttering apologies. When they reached the outside of the airport, drivers were waiting for guests, little dry-erase boards in their hands with names scrawled on them. Wes bypassed all of them and met a man standing at the back, who didn’t have a sign. He grinned as Wes shook his hand.