The Gilded Chain

by Lauren Smith

  “Come on.” His eyes twinkled as he tugged her hand. The security guard was already moving down the hall.

  “This is the crypt of the Sphinx,” Mignon announced and waved a hand toward the next room just past him.

  Callie walked past him and then froze at the entry, delight and awe stilling her in place. A sphinx statue sat in the center of the room. Lion paws stretched out, a stoic, mysterious expression on its face. The pale stone eyes appeared almost milky in the soft light of the exhibit and Callie instantly thought of a blind seer, seeing the future but unable to see what was before it. Hieroglyphs were carved into its chest and along the shoulders.

  “26,000 BC,” Wes murmured from behind her.

  “Can you believe someone made this?” she asked Wes, and this time, she tugged him closer so they could look at the sphinx up close. She shot a glance over her shoulder. The guard wasn’t watching.

  “Do you think he’d let me touch it?” she asked in a whisper.

  Wes followed her gaze to the guard, who wasn’t looking and he grinned. “Go for it.”

  She reached out and touched the shoulder of the great pink granite creature. The stone was warm beneath her palm and she gasped. Without thinking, she took Wes’s hand and placed it on the stone, holding his palm.

  “Close your eyes,” she told him, excitement fluttering through her.

  He stared at her for a long second before he closed his eyes.

  “Feel the heat. The granite heated by centuries in the sun. A dark-skinned man, eyes rimmed with kohl, working a chisel and hammer as he carved a magnificent mysterious gatekeeper who speaks in riddles to travelers.”

  As she spoke, the hardened lines around his eyes and mouth smoothed as he relaxed.

  “Taste the sting of sand when the winds blow in from the south. Hear the rushes of the plants at the Nile’s edge. Can you see the trio of the pyramids?”

  Wes nodded faintly, then slowly opened his eyes and looked at where their hands were joined on the ancient stone.

  “Tomorrow I want you to draw this. This moment right here.” His voice was low and a little rough and his eyes were as bright as sapphires.

  “I don’t have any tools or paper.” She reluctantly released his hand and their physical connection broke apart. Something inside her stirred, like a spring breeze rustling through the green grass outside the ranch. She had felt warm inside whenever they touched and she mourned the loss of it now.

  Mignon coughed from the doorway. “We have time for one more artifact before Monsieur Razin will need you.”

  “Of course,” Wes said. “What do you recommend?”

  Mignon smiled broadly as though delighted to be consulted. “This way.”

  They walked down a short flight of steps into a crypt-like room containing a huge sarcophagus.

  “The sarcophagus of King Ramses III,” Mignon supplied.

  Callie crept closer, in awe of the massive pink granite sarcophagus. The intricate hieroglyphs carved all around the surface of the tomb were stunning.

  “What do you think he was like?” she asked Wes, thinking of the linen cloth wrapped body of a god-king inside his coffin.

  Wes folded his arms over his chest, intently studying the carvings.

  “He was a mortal man, one who wanted to build a life and leave an eternal legacy behind.”

  “Thousands of years later we still know his name and legacy. I’d say he managed it. Immortality. I couldn’t imagine leaving behind something that would leave its mark on the world.”

  Wes slid his hands into his suit pocket. “You could, you know. You have talent, Callie, real talent.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “You’re just saying that. There are a thousand artists out there just like me.”

  “No.” His eyes darkened. “There aren’t. I don’t lie and I have no intention of fluffing your ego. I meant what I said. You could make an unbelievable artist. You see so much more than what others see. It sets you apart.” He leaned close to her, and she found herself closing the gap between them, fascinated by the shape of his lips as he spoke.

  “Tomorrow we’ll buy the supplies you’ll need.” He took her hand and they left Ramses III to sleep in his granite tomb, to dream the dreams of a long-ago perished god-king.

  Chapter 8

  It was nearly midnight when Wes carried Callie from the car while Michel held the door. She had fallen asleep after leaving the Louvre. She’d been up for a day and a half with no real sleep and he had purposely kept her awake and engaged most of the day so she would adjust to the time change. He came to Paris every couple of months, so the change wasn’t that difficult for him.

  “You wore out the young lady?” Michel teased as he waited for Wes to go to the apartment elevators.

  “Yes, poor thing.” Wes chuckled. “Bonsoir, Monsieur.”

  “Bonsoir, Monsieur Thorne.”

  Wes nodded at the night guard who pressed the elevator button so Wes wouldn’t have to put Callie down. He liked the way she felt in his arms, perfect. Caring for her soothed his dominant tendencies. Normally he didn’t react so tenderly to a submissive, but Callie wasn’t a submissive. She was something infinitely more important. She was his and he took care of what belonged to him.

  When he got to the apartment door, however, he set her down on her feet, keeping one arm wrapped around her waist.

  “What? We’re home?” she mumbled sleepily, resting her head on his shoulder and leaning into him for support. That strange sense of fuzzy warmth inside him blossomed. Home. She felt at home here. That pleased him, and he was also pleased she was relying on him, trusting him physically. When he’d made the bet in the barn, he’d been thinking about his ego, his obsession, and his need to possess her, but the wager had taken on a new importance to him. He felt the strange need to prove to her that he could care for her, be the man she needed in order to get over Fenn.

  “Yes, we’re home. Hold on.” He unlocked the door and got them both inside, then locked the door. After that, he picked her up again and carried her to her room. He placed her down on the bed and removed her shoes. Without thinking, he gripped one of her feet and rubbed the sole, massaging it. She sighed and stretched out on the bed still in her coat and dress. He rubbed her other foot and she giggled, jerking a little as though tickled.

  “That feels so good,” she said and moaned.

  Wes couldn’t stop the spreading smile on his face. There was something so erotic and intensely natural about Callie that he was endlessly fascinated by her. She was innocent in so many ways, yet she was also incredibly sensual. A rare combination in anyone, and it was something that wouldn’t change, not so long as she had the right bed partner.

  “Do you need help undressing?” he asked when he noticed she seemed content to lie on her back, almost asleep.

  “Mmm…maybe.” She giggled again and then flipped onto her stomach. “Can you unzip my dress?” She seemed to be waiting. He sighed. The woman was straining his control. He carefully removed her coat and then unzipped the back of her dress. The thin strip of a conservative black bra caught his attention. Unable to resist, he slid his fingers beneath the band between her shoulder blades and stroked her skin.

  “That’s nice…” She purred and nuzzled the comforter.

  Wes blew out a measured breath, trying to ignore the male part of his body that came to life. She was such a temptation to him and she had no idea how much he wanted to strip her bare and press her deep into the bed and pound into her until they both nearly died from the pleasure. He needed to put some space between them or he’d lose control.

  “I’ll be in my room if you need anything.” He got off her bed and walked back to his room. He stripped out of his suit coat, tossing it over the back of a chair and then he kicked off his shoes and pants and fetched a pair of cotton pajama pants from his dresser. He had a hard-on but there was no way he could deal with that right now. She’d hear him in the bathroom if he tried to see to his needs. Maybe with a little luck he c
ould will it to go away.

  He pulled back the covers of his bed and climbed in. Only a few minutes passed as he lay there and mastered his arousal before a quiet voice drifted to him from the doorway to his room and made him look up.

  “Wes…” Callie stood in the doorway between his room and their shared bathroom. She wore a large t-shirt with a faded ranch logo and a pair of plaid boxers. Her hair was loose and tumbling around her shoulders.

  He sat up and tossed his covers back, ready to get out of bed if she needed something.

  “What is it?” he asked. Her eyes were round and the moonlight made them gleam with a reflected brightness.

  She didn’t immediately speak, but when she did, her voice was still soft and quiet, too shy.

  “Can I stay with you tonight? You said I could.” She took a hesitant step across the threshold, entering his domain. It took a lot of bravery on her end to do that.

  He reached over to the empty side of his king-size bed and pulled back the covers in silent invitation. She needed him, his body heat, his presence, nothing more for now; he understood that. But the primal creature inside him growled in possessive pleasure as she padded over on bare feet and climbed into bed with him. She settled deep into the covers, her face angled toward the window. He lay behind her, fascinated by the moonlight that seemed to make her cheeks glow like alabaster with a hint of rose. A lock of her hair lay across her cheek and he delicately swept it behind her ear. She shivered a little and rolled on her back to stare up into his eyes.

  “Wes…it still hurts.” Thick tears pooled in her eyes and he used the pads of his fingers to brush them away. “Part of me still feels like…like I’m dying. How is that possible?”

  He didn’t want to talk about Fenn, especially not about her feelings for him, but it was unavoidable.

  “First loves are often the hardest to forget. They cut deeper into a soul. You can’t forget them overnight, but…” He stared back at her, solemn. “You can move on. Fill your days with other things, new things. You might wake up one day and realize what you felt was more a shadow of something greater you will feel someday for someone else.” He wanted her to forget Fenn, but that wouldn’t happen. She would someday find a man to love, a better man, but he didn’t want to think of that, either. He wanted her, here, now, while she was just like this, a woman about to explore the world. He would be her first in many ways.

  “Who was your first love?” she asked.

  The question was so unexpected that he blinked. His first love? He’d never…he closed off his heart long ago. No woman had yet breached that impenetrable fortress around his heart. It was better this way. If you didn’t love, you didn’t hurt. So he lusted and desired. That was good enough.

  Callie reached up and placed a hand on his bare shoulder, her skin soft and her touch light.

  “You haven’t loved,” she guessed, a knowing shrewdness to her gaze that amazed him. She was so perceptive for one so young.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. The sincerity in her tone made him blush.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Isn’t loving the same as living? If you can’t feel pain, you can’t feel alive. And loving hurts sometimes.” She nibbled her bottom lip, her eyes distant now, lost in her own pain.

  Damn her observing nature. “You need to rest,” he muttered and pulled the covers up tighter around their bodies. She watched him a moment longer before she turned back to the window. He shifted closer so he cocooned her from behind. Their bodies fit perfectly together and within a few minutes, every bit of tension in him seeped out and he settled into sleep. But the dreams that came were full of endless meadows, and Callie riding away, far out of his reach.

  * * *

  Callie woke to Paris birdsong. The happy chatter outside the windows was an endless delight and a comfort that reminded her of home, although the birds sounded different. Plump songbirds perched on the edge of the balcony railing, dancing on their tiny feet and fluttering their wings. Callie watched the little creatures flitter about for a few minutes. Behind her, Wes slept deeply, his breathing slow and even. The world seemed to slow to a stop, frozen like a golden ray of sunshine trapped in a jar, a memory preserved forever, just as perfect as anything could be. She was warm and safe, with a beautiful man in bed beside her.

  She rolled over to face him. The hard lines around his eyes and mouth softened as he slept and she wondered what a man like him dreamed about. He had the world at his fingertips; anything he could ever want was within his reach. So what did a man who had everything dream about?

  Well, not everything. He hadn’t fallen in love. For some reason, he had kept his distance emotionally all these years from women. Why? A man like him had a distinct purpose for everything. Did love not fit into that equation?

  The weight of his arm around her waist felt nice, more than nice. Their heads shared a large pillow and their noses were almost touching. She had never slept with a man before, but the last night she had been in bed with Wes. An intimacy was growing between them, which could only come from sharing a bed together through the night. Like invisible strands of a delicate tapestry weaving them together, tying them to one another.

  Sleeping with someone was a gift of trust that lovers shared beyond their bodies. But she and Wes weren’t lovers. Yet. A little smile curved her lips. Soon though. She wanted more, more of what he had promised in his kisses and his touches. There was an entire world out there that she wanted to know and experience. And if she had to let him win the bet, maybe it was worth it. She just had to keep her heart guarded and enjoy what passed between them purely on a physical level. It wouldn’t be easy, but she’d made a promise to herself about never letting a man hurt her heart again and she wouldn’t let anyone do that to her, not even Wes.

  She had dreamed that Fenn would be the man to teach her the ways of passion, but that dream was shattered. In its place Wes had emerged. A dark knight who promised things she’d been afraid to wish for. She was no longer a young girl and there was a part of her, a deep secret part, that longed to explore these new sides of herself. Wes would help her with that. The question was, could she help him in return? A life without love was no life at all.

  Maybe she could start small. Do little things. Yes. That could work.

  Sliding out of bed, she tiptoed downstairs and went into the kitchen. Surely she could make some breakfast for him. He’d gotten them food yesterday, and now it was her turn. She studied the stove and was relieved to see she could decipher the heat levels without needing to know a lot of French.

  The fridge had a dozen eggs and all of the ingredients she could want to make two omelets. The cupboards had flour and other items required for homemade biscuits. She was by no means a master chef, but some of the basics, like biscuits and omelets, were doable. After a few minutes of searching high and low in the drawers and cabinets, she found a few pans and a cookie sheet.

  The next half hour passed in a whirlwind as she whipped up the biscuits. At one point she dropped the bag of flour. The second it hit the kitchen floor it exploded in a small white atomic cloud, coating her and most of the nearby flat surfaces.

  “Shit,” she cursed and picked up the flour bag, which was now considerably lighter. Maybe Wes wouldn’t notice most of the contents were missing. She sneezed and a cloud of new flour whooshed into the air. With a little growl of frustration, she fetched some dishcloths and tried to wipe up most of the flour that dusted the counters like a light snowfall.

  Having little luck with the mess, she decided that she’d clean up later and she focused on cutting biscuits out onto the cookie sheet. As she cooked she hummed a soft little song. There was nothing so delightful in life as losing herself to a task like cooking or cleaning. Whether she was painting or doing work on the ranch, she never liked her hands to be idle. The activity let all of her worries and anxieties temporarily go as she created the meal. It wasn’t fancy, but it tasted damn good. Anything you worked hard on seemed better because you wo
rked for it.

  The timer beeped and she searched the drawers for a mitt. She bent over the open oven door and inspected the biscuits. They were a warm golden brown. Perfect. Humming again, she pulled them out of the oven and turned it off. When she turned around to set them on the hot plates she’d put on the granite island earlier, she froze.

  Wes stood in the doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. There was something undeniably sexy about him in suits, but in jeans…her body exploded with heat and desire. His bare chest displayed those perfect pectoral muscles and washboard abs. Callie blinked, trying to focus, but in a haze she realized she couldn’t remember what she’d been trying to focus on.

  “Busy morning?” he asked. His head tilted as his gaze slowly swept across the messy flour-strewn kitchen.

  Was he mad? She’d pretty much made a hot mess of his kitchen and Wes seemed to never leave a thing out of place or messy.

  “I’m so sorry. I was going to clean it up after I’d gotten a tray ready for you.” She reached for a dish towel and wiped her white-powdered hands on it.

  “A tray?” He raised one eyebrow. It felt like a challenge, but she didn’t know why.

  “Uh-huh, you know, when someone brings you breakfast in bed.” God, she sounded like an idiot. She had wanted to do something nice for him, something that might make him smile. She loved his smiles. He had at least three of them. One when he was content, one when he was playful and when he was ready to pounce on her, and—

  That third type of smile flashed over his face and it was her only warning. He stalked across the kitchen and before she could react, he’d gripped her by the waist and lifted her up. Her bottom hit the counter behind her as he set her down. And then he grasped her face, and with one long scorching look at her eyes, then her lips, he was kissing her. He nipped at her lips, bit her bottom lip, and teased her tongue in a wild type of play that drove her frantic. She clawed at his shoulders, his body, trying to get closer for more of this intoxicating rush of sensations. His skin was hot beneath her hands and his muscles jumped at her touch. She scraped his back with her nails, feeling an animal rise inside her.