by Lauren Smith
Hard limits. What were her hard limits?
“Think on it,” he encouraged, and then he pulled his cell phone out to call Michel.
Callie was still pondering what her limits might be when Michel pulled up to the curb.
“Quick, let’s take a photo of the birds,” she begged. She wanted to make sure she captured this moment. She might as well use the expensive phone he’d given her. When she pulled out the phone and held her hand out so she could take a picture of herself, the birds, and Wes, he growled.
“I don’t do selfies.” He took the phone from her hand and passed it to Michel.
“Pour moi, merci,” he said to the grinning driver.
“Get close to Monsieur Wes, mademoiselle.” Michel waved a hand to indicate they should get closer.
Callie lifted the small birdcage up and Wes put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m humoring you, darling.” He leaned his head down to murmur in her ear. “I don’t like photos of myself, so you will owe me.”
Click-click. Michel took the photo and Callie turned her head to stare up at Wes.
“Owe you?” Why did he make that sound so good and yet so bad at the same time?
“Yes, you owe me for this. Payment comes tonight, no backing out.” He brushed a thumb over her lips and a pulse beat hard in her as though nerves were connected to her entire body to whatever spot he touched.
“Bien.” Michel gave the phone back to Callie. She wanted to look at the picture, but the storm clouds in Wes’s eyes warned her that she had gone far enough for now. She gave the birdcage to Michel.
“I think we’ll need supplies. I’m not sure exactly, since I’ve never had pet birds.”
“I will buy all that is required, mademoiselle, do not worry.” Michel was still grinning as he loaded the lovebirds into the back seat of his car. They chirped and chattered, huddling close. One bird ruffled the feathers of the other with obvious affection.
“See,” Wes said and chuckled. “Your face is stunning.” He held out his own phone, showing a quick snapshot he’d taken as she’d looked at the birds again. Her face had a peculiar look of wonder and love. This was what he saw when he looked at her? She wished more than anything that she could find a way to show him what he looked like to her. The time would come. She would get her art supplies and she would paint him in every way her hands longed to do.
Michel said a quick good-bye, took the birds with him and then he was gone. Wes then glanced around at the shops.
“You need art supplies. We can buy them here before we head for the tower.” She took his hand when he offered and followed where he led. It was becoming so easy to follow him. It should have frightened her, but she still sensed there was something significant to this. She just hadn’t figured it out yet.
* * *
The Eiffel Tower was not exactly what Callie had expected. Wes saw right away that she was less impressed by the tower and more interested in the sights below. They were on the middle deck because it was the highest he would agree to go. There was no way he’d go to the top.
“Wes, are you okay?” Callie was leaning against the railing with her back to the edge. Despite the metal mesh protecting the deck’s inhabitants, a roll of nausea swept through him at seeing her so close to the edge. His vision spiraled slowly, dizzyingly.
“What?”
She left the edge and walked up to him. He was leaning back against the wall of the middle deck, relieved to feel the metal supporting him.
“You’re really pale,” she observed and reached up, placing the back of one hand to his forehead. Her brows were knit in concern. He shackled her wrists but didn’t try to remove her hands from his face. He enjoyed her touch, perhaps too much. At that moment, holding on to her calmed him.
“Wes, you’re scaring me.” Her voice intruded through darkness and he realized at some point he’d closed his eyes. Her gentle fingers combed through his hair and his whole body shuddered. He rarely let women touch him. Intimacy was seldom allowed. Even after the sex was over…he kept his distance and made them keep theirs. With Callie though…he couldn’t stay away from her. She was a drug. He was addicted to her in the worst way. If she touched him, he burned; if she kissed him, he became an inferno.
“Wes.” Her lips touched his and the jolt of pleasure that rocketed through him momentarily dispelled the awful vertigo. When she moved back a few inches, he opened his eyes.
“Are you afraid of heights?” she asked. The girl was too smart, too observant. His weakness, the flaw he tried to hide, she’d exposed in just two days. There was no way he could deny it.
“Heights make me a little uneasy.”
Callie gripped him by the arm. “One look over the edge. Do that with me. Then we go back down together right away. Deal?”
Wes blew out a shaking breath and forced every bit of testosterone he had to pump through his veins. Nearly blown to bits by a car bomb a month ago had been less frightening than this.
“One look and you’ll owe me double tonight.”
“Okay,” she said and laughed. “Heights are a hard limit for you,” she teased.
He gripped her by the waist and dragged her into his arms, letting every inch of their bodies touch. She shivered and her lashes fluttered, and that simple reaction had him tensing in hungry anticipation. How she made him ache! Never in his life had a woman made him burn like an unquenchable fire. He wanted to show her everything he could give her, and take everything she could offer, but only when she was ready. It had to be soon or he’d die.
“Darling, you haven’t seen that side of me yet, but you will,” he promised. She would get to know that side of him very well, and she would like it so much she’d scream his name in pleasure until she passed out.
Callie licked her lips and gave a little tug on his hold. “One look. You promised.” Even in his grasp, dominated by him, she still challenged him, like any good little submissive who was looking for a sensual punishment from her dom. She was a natural and she just didn’t know it yet.
He let her guide him to the edge.
“Now look down,” she urged, her arm entwined with his, grounding him when he needed it the most.
His eyes took in the view. It was spectacular. Paris sprawled out around the base of the Eiffel Tower. The urban sprawl, the miles of monuments mixed with apartments, homes, shops, and museums. A city laid out from a bird’s-eye view. It was an amazing sight, but the longer he looked, the more his stomach turned.
“Okay, we’re good to go, aren’t we?” Callie nudged him, getting him to move back to the inner wall toward the elevators.
It didn’t escape his notice that he’d been able to trust her and rely on her. That was a first. The only other person he’d dared to rely on was his grandfather, but his grandfather had moved to London long ago to escape his parents. He missed the old bear. Wes couldn’t hide his smile. Callie would like his grandfather and he’d like her. Perhaps he could take her to London next, as soon as the art theft was resolved.
The entire time they rode the elevator down he imagined how he’d make Callie pay her dues. He was torn between demanding she strip bare and get on her knees to ask for a spanking, or better yet, she’d have to spread her curvy legs so he could bury his face between her thighs. Yes…that image kept him hard the whole way down. But was she ready for that? She was close. Those barriers that kept her from opening herself up were slowly crumbling, and he, like a wolf prowling the perimeter, was ready to pounce. There was no denying it. The hunger for her, the all-consuming need to claim her, was winning out over rationality and good sense. But she had to come to him first. Willing and begging for him.
“We can do the Louvre tomorrow, right?” Callie asked, a little yawn escaping her.
Wes glanced at his watch. It was late afternoon.
“The Louvre can wait.”
He’d already dialed Michel and the faithful driver was waiting near the base of the tower. When they met up with the driver, Callie climbed into the
back and immediately inquired after the birds.
“They are fine, mademoiselle. I bought them a new cage and food,” Michel assured her.
Callie relaxed and settled back in her seat. The late afternoon sun glinted off the bangle bracelets he’d bought for her. The golden bangles were a subtle sign that she belonged to him. The next step would be leather cuffs lined with the softest fur to keep her skin from chafing. These cuffs would be for bed play and he’d be able to do so many delicious things to her if she wore them. The thought of that nearly drove him out of his mind with lust. He clenched his hands into fists on his thighs.
As they entered the apartment, they ran into Françoise, who was just exiting. His housekeeper was in her late fifties, with raven black hair and light brown eyes that warmed with her smile as she held the door open for them.
“Bonsoir, Monsieur Thorne,” she greeted them.
Wes introduced Callie. The two women took to each other instantly.
“I bought the supplies you requested, mademoiselle,” Françoise said.
“Supplies?” Wes darted his gaze between the two women.
Callie’s cheeks pinkened. “I thought I would cook us a roast. Or rather, we could cook it together. Won’t that be fun?”
He sensed that she was worried he wouldn’t approve, but he did. The idea of her covered in flour again…He would have to take a cold shower before dinner or he wouldn’t last through the meal.
“That sounds nice. Thank you, Françoise.” He bid good night to the housekeeper as she collected her coat and slipped out the front door.
Callie set her bag of art supplies on the floor and started to pull off her coat. Wes moved quickly, coming up behind her to peel the slight coat from her shoulders. She smelled so good. The scent of the peppermint shampoo that lingered in her hair made her impossible to resist. He tossed her coat onto a chair nearby and gripped her from behind, holding her captive as he pressed against her and nuzzled her hair.
“You smell amazing,” he whispered. A little shiver shot through her and he felt it vibrate through her and into him.
“Thank you,” she replied breathlessly. “Do you want to make dinner? We could start now. It will take a while to cook.”
“How long?” He brushed his lips over her ear.
“Four hours. It’s a pot roast.”
He didn’t care how long it was if that meant four hours he could spend seducing her while it cooked.
“Sounds good.” He stepped back and swatted her bottom. The little yelp she gave reminded him she was still sore from his last punishment.
“What was that for?” She smoothed a hand over her bottom, wincing before she shot him a scowl. The expression of her attempt to be mad at him was only sexy, too fucking sexy.
“I like to spank you as much as you like to be spanked. You’d better get used to it.” He moved toward her again, but she darted into the kitchen, avoiding him. Tonight he was going to give her the opportunity to come to him and his bed. He wanted to end the bet once and for all. He didn’t want the shadows of it between them any longer. Whatever it took, he would do. Seduce by touch, by look, by kiss. He would show no mercy this time for her broken heart. She needed someone new to make her whole, to give her everything she needed. The wait was over.
Chapter 11
Callie sensed the immediate change in Wes as he entered the kitchen. His eyes were dark like a winter sea during a mighty storm. It was not from anger, but from passion. She was learning his expressions, the subtle changes in his eyes that told her things when words could not. He was still an enigma, a tall, broad-shouldered, muscled mystery who stole her breath and her sanity. But tiny puzzle pieces were clicking into place.
He leaned against the counter, watching her like a wolf. She had to regain control and not think about how sexy and sinful he looked.
“Why don’t you get out a roasting pan and turn the oven on,” she suggested. Then she put her focus on the meat and the spices she needed. Françoise had acquired a tasty-looking three-pound chuck roast.
“Next?” Wes asked as he set a huge black roasting pan on the kitchen island.
“Wine? Cheap red. Nothing expensive.”
“Cheap wine? What makes you think I would ever own a bottle of cheap wine?” The incredulous look on his face made her laugh.
“Yes. We’re putting it in with the beef stock for the roast to soak in.”
Grumbling, he retrieved a bottle from the wine rack by the pantry. “This is the cheapest I have. If we’re using it, we might as well have a glass while we’re cooking.” He uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses for them before he handed the bottle to her.
For the next few minutes she prepared the roast in the pan and had Wes chopping baby carrots and potatoes. He worked quickly with his knife and deposited the vegetables into the pan around the meat. Then she handed him sage, rosemary, and celery salt, teaching him how to pinch the correct amount of each spice and sprinkle it over the pan. The intense look of concentration firming his lips into a hard line and knitting his brows together made her laugh.
“Cooking is supposed to be fun. It’s half art, half science,” she instructed and on sudden impulse she stood up on tiptoe and kissed the corner of his too-serious mouth. He relaxed and nearly dropped the spice bottles into the roaster, but he recovered himself and set them on the counter. Handing him the bottle of wine, she continued to smile at him, delighting in the fact she was teaching him how to do something.
“One cup of this and we’re done. Then it’s time to put it into the oven.”
He splashed the wine over their creation, put it into the oven, and set the timer for four hours.
“Done,” he announced as he spun around to face her, his eyes gleaming with pride, but she had a sense that half that gleam had less to do with the meal.
“Yeah,” she echoed faintly, short of breath.
He placed a glass of wine into her hand.
“Whatever shall we do until it’s ready?” The question sounded so innocent, but nothing about Wes was innocent.
She licked her lips nervously. The last two days…no, the last two months had been building to this. She could be with Wes, but it would mean letting go of that tiny fragment of her heart that was still carved with Fenn’s name. And it would mean letting him win the bet. She’d lose her shot at getting an art school recommendation from his friend if she gave in. That wasn’t something she wanted, but since she’d come here to Paris with him, her confidence had grown. She was considering applying for the scholarship program without a recommendation. Maybe she would be able to get in on her own merit.
“If…we do this, that means you win the bet.” Holding her breath, she waited to see how he would react, to see if he would revel in his win, or if it had been like he’d said earlier and that everything between them wasn’t just because of some silly bet.
“It does,” he admitted. “But you know how I feel, that what I want from you isn’t just because of some challenge, but because I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, because I have to have you. And if you agree to this, you won’t be losing to me, Callie. We’ll both win, of that I assure you. But we only do this if you’re ready and willing.”
The quicksilver flash of hesitation in his eyes was all she needed to see in order to trust him. He didn’t want to rush her. His desire was tied to hers. She could trust him to be careful and gentle with her, but he needed something, too. He wouldn’t ask her tonight, but she wanted to explore all the things he reveled in.
“Wes…I’m ready.” The second the words were out of her mouth, she forgot to breathe for a few seconds and it was only when her chest was on fire that she sucked in precious air.
His eyes ignited and her own body flared, like a phoenix surging up from the ashes.
He finished his glass of wine and set it on the counter. Every move was slow and deliberate, as though he feared she’d bolt if he moved too fast. When he held out one hand to her, she knew that if she took it there
would be no going back. Not for her body, but also not for her heart. She wasn’t in love with Wes, but being with him would destroy that sliver of her young and foolish heart that still loved Fenn. It was time to let go. Sleeping with him might help cure her of the last bit of herself that believed in love and happily-ever-afters. She could prove to herself she could have sex with a man and enjoy it and not worry about falling in love and getting hurt.
She blew out a measured breath and placed her hand in his. He curled his fingers around hers and she was consumed by the flames of desire in his eyes. It never ceased to amaze her how he could do that, erase all sense of the world around them until all she saw was him, all she felt was him. That was all from one look, one touch. There was no going back now.
He led her out of the kitchen and down the hall. As they went through the library, the evening sun was a peach orange bleeding into a soft crimson and it illuminated the endless shelves of books and warmed the brown leather chairs near the staircase. Books had been portals to adventures for her and now she was actually living one.
They ascended the stairs together and when they reached his room he paused.
“Most women prefer their own bed. Mine or yours?”
She nibbled her lip, debating the choice. “Yours.” Mine had been at the tip of her tongue, but for some reason she’d said his instead.
“You want to try something a little on the edge?” he asked as he went to the windows and let the curtains fall into place, dimming the room. He turned on one lonely lamp, letting shadows eat up the remaining light. Her skin burst into goose bumps and she rubbed her arms.
When he came back to stand in front of her, he had rolled up the sleeves of his sweater, exposing those strong, muscled forearms she ached to have wrapped around her.