The Gilded Chain

by Lauren Smith

  “I knew she would be brilliant.” Wes smiled.

  Antoine, a few years older than Wes, had expressed an interest in Callie—damned French men and their insatiable appetites. Then again he couldn’t judge when it came to sexual hunger, but seeing Antoine’s appreciative gaze sweep over Callie’s body made him forcibly control his jealousy and his natural possessiveness when it came to his woman.

  “Who is she? Where is she from?” Antoine braced his hands on the windowsill.

  “Just a girl from a small town in Colorado. A true innocent.” Wes checked his watch and then he and Antoine left the hidden room to join Callie.

  “Wes!” She beamed at him. “I’ve almost got this imitation work down.” She pointed proudly at a Degas ballerina she’d painted. It was perfect. He peered closely at the original piece next to hers, then back at hers. Brushstroke for brushstroke it was perfect. He couldn’t tell them apart.

  Antoine grinned. “She’s a master. You want to know why?”

  Wes nodded. He couldn’t believe she’d come so far so fast.

  “Most artists have egos. They refuse to mimic someone else’s style. They always leave some little stylistic trait that gives them away under close scrutiny. Ms. Taylor doesn’t do that.”

  A little chuckle escaped Callie as she set her brushes and palette down. “I think I’m supposed to take that as a compliment.”

  “You should,” Antoine said, flashing her a winning smile that set Wes’s teeth on edge.

  “Hungry?” Wes said, forcing himself to swallow the rising tide of jealousy.

  “Yeah.” Callie kissed Antoine on the cheek before she left to see to the artwork and clean up her work station.

  After she and Wes had said their good-byes to Antoine, they exited the Louvre’s private artwork rooms. They were halfway out of the Louvre when his cell phone buzzed. Callie stopped walking when he did as he answered.

  “Thorne here.”

  “Mr. Thorne, this is Agent Kostova from the FBI. The Mortons called to let me know the Goya had turned up on their doorstep via a private courier service this morning. They said it had a note from you explaining that you’d come across it in Paris. We’re glad to see it returned.”

  “Good.” Relief swept through Wes. He had trusted the courier service, but it was good to hear the Goya was officially back in its owners’ protective hands. He hadn’t wanted to let the painting out of his sight, but he’d had to in order to return it.

  “Mr. Thorne, the reason I’m calling is that there has been another theft.”

  Wes’s fingers tightened around his phone. “Another one?”

  “Yes, during a party as well. We’re keeping our men scarce on the ground to keep the thief feeling comfortable. The Mortons say you’re still in Paris. We’d like for you to return to the Weston to give us a hand.”

  Another theft? He clenched his phone hard enough that the case creaked in his hand. He knew without a doubt who was behind this. The Illusionist.

  “And what would you like me to do?” Wes asked Agent Kostova.

  Callie moved closer as if sensing his tension, and she curled her fingers around his arm, leaning into him.

  “I want you to help us arrange a sting. The last theft occurred at the private residence of Mr. Jaxon Barrington. He says you’re friends.”

  “Jax?”

  Jaxon Barrington was the owner of the exclusive BDSM club the Gilded Cuff, in Weston. Emery, Royce, and Wes were among the charter members.

  Kostova laughed. “He said you’d be surprised. He was having an exclusive party and one of his smaller pieces went missing. He thought you might want to help him get the thief by using his club as a place to lure the thief. I can relay more details as soon as you return and we can meet in person.”

  Wes contemplated this. He wanted to stay in Paris with Callie, but this man had to be stopped. Art theft was the one thing he couldn’t tolerate, especially when his friends were victims. This was exactly why he had a black room and kept it secret and undetectable. None of his valuable pieces could be found. To risk one of them so openly…it made every muscle in his body tense like coiled springs. But if it meant finding out who this thieving bastard was, he’d do it.

  “I’ll arrange a flight back tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thorne. We’ll be in touch then.” Kostova hung up.

  “We’re leaving Paris?” Callie’s voice was soft but it echoed in the quiet, closed Renaissance gallery.

  He glanced around, taking in the gazes of more than one Madonna clutching her infant Jesus to her bosom. Fuck, he didn’t want to leave this place. Taking Callie back to Long Island meant she’d see Fenn again, and the very idea of that knotted Wes’s stomach. She was finally surrendering to him. He could lose her if he brought her back too soon. One look at that damn cowboy and she’d be broken up inside again. It was the last thing he wanted.

  “There’s been another burglary of art. The FBI wants me to return and help them with a sting.”

  “Another one?” Her eyes widened as they started walking again.

  “Yes. I’ll get the details when we return to the island. I’m sorry, Callie.” There was so much more he’d wanted to show her, but he wouldn’t have the chance to do so.

  She pulled on his arm, stopping him. Then she stood on tiptoe in front of the silent watchers, those Renaissance faces on cracked oil canvases, and she kissed him. Her little mouth was sweet and open, her tongue soft but exploring against his own. There was nothing in that moment he wanted except her. Only her. He’d give everything not to end this. A kiss had never felt so good before, so all-consuming that he didn’t care to live a breath beyond that kiss.

  He was a little foggy-headed when she broke the kiss and gazed up at him with those soulful, ancient eyes.

  “You’ve given me something wonderful, Wes, something I can’t ever repay. You’ve opened my eyes.” Her long lashes fanned up as she blinked rapidly, eyes shining.

  “Callie—”

  She shook her head. “I was dying inside and you’ve rescued me. Thank you.” When she kissed him again, he tasted a hint of salt and felt the wetness of tears upon her cheeks, and it crushed him. He never wanted to be the source of another tear for her, or let anything else make her cry for that matter.

  “Name anything and I’ll do it for you,” he promised. Even if she demanded the moon, he’d get it for her. The need to make her happy filled him with a quiet desperation that he couldn’t shake until he could make her smile again.

  “We leave tomorrow?”

  He nodded.

  “Then dinner at home tonight.” She grinned and that single smile hit him hard behind the knees. “Dessert in bed, too.”

  “Absolutely,” he vowed. He would make this a night to remember. One he would never forget himself.

  * * *

  Callie finished her glass of merlot and followed Wes into the living room. The night was a little chilly, so he’d collected the softest blankets and put them on the couch by the TV. A night in with movies. Perfect. When she came fully into the room, she smiled in delighted surprise. Half a dozen candles littered the tables around them, their flames dancing in the breeze from the half-cracked window. Candlelight shimmered off the bottle of expensive cognac that sat on the coffee table along with a small dainty crimson box about the size of her hand. Wes stood by the couch, two glasses of cognac already poured.

  “Take a seat.” He inclined his head toward the sofa.

  “What is all this?”

  “The first part of dessert.” His playful, devilish grin made her laugh. The sofa looked so cozy, all those blankets and the warmth of the nearby candles. How could a girl resist? Once she was settled on the couch, he joined her, sitting close enough that his body heat enveloped her in a delicious way. He pressed one of the glasses into her hand.

  “Have you ever had a ‘tasting’ experience?”

  “Tasting?” She’d never heard of that.

  Wes lifted his glass in demonstrat
ion. “Tasting is when you sample drinks and food in a particular order and manner to show a contrast or an enhancement of flavors.” He leaned forward and drew a fingertip down her nose. The touch made her tingle in secret places. “Our olfactory senses sometimes adjust too quickly to tastes and smells so we miss subtle, yet rich flavors. Tasting brings these flavors out.” He stroked her lips. “It’s about the aroma and the taste.”

  Callie watched him, transfixed, her body tingling with every little touch and scorching look he shot her way.

  “So how does it work?” she asked.

  “Raise your glass, take one sip, let the cognac coat your tongue, and then swallow it.”

  He waited until the rim of her glass touched her lips, and then they took a sip at the same time. The powerful taste of the cognac hit her a second later. The thick sweet taste was heavy on her tongue. Wes’s throat worked as he swallowed and she couldn’t help her fascination with the sight of him. Everything he did fascinated her, drew her in, made her hungry to be in bed with him and never leave. How could he have such a potent power over her like that?

  “Your eyes are the same color as the cognac,” he mused, as though hypnotized by her. “Makes a man realize how thirsty he is.” He leaned down, his mouth inches from hers. His focus on her sent her stomach in dizzying spirals. It was impossible to ignore the feminine awareness of him. Her body came to life whenever he looked at her like that. She almost screamed in frustration when he pulled away without kissing her.

  “Don’t worry, darling. There will be hours of that tonight.” His words wrapped a smoky haze of hunger around her for dark, delicious things. Her womb clenched in anticipation, but not being kissed woke her up enough from the daze to scowl.

  “How many times does a girl have to ask to be kissed?” she demanded huskily, hoping he’d give in and kiss the hell out of her. It was what she wanted, what she needed.

  Wes’s wolfish grin created a little shiver inside her. “Patience, little tiger.”

  “Tiger?” She laughed, almost giddy, and took a hasty gulp of the cognac.

  “Don’t rush it.” He tsked and lifted the small box from the table.

  “What’s that?” She reached for it, but he caught her wrist, holding it captive for a long second before he let it go with a kiss on her inner wrist.

  “You are so impatient tonight.”

  Her smile faded. How could she explain the urgency to be with him? She couldn’t confess her fear that tomorrow all of this wonderful passion would end. Her nose tingled as tears pricked her eyes.

  His eyes narrowed and he cupped the nape of her neck. “What’s wrong? Your eyes darkened,” he noted.

  She blinked away the sting of barely there tears. “What’s in the box?” she asked, trying to be patient. The last week with him had been so incredible and wonderful that she was afraid to leave, to go back. For the first time in her life, she felt like she was the center of someone’s universe and that someone was the center of hers, an unbroken circle rather than a one-way street. A feeling like that was hard to give up. Wes was hard to give up.

  “I had these specially made.” He lifted the lid and revealed a trio of chocolates. “There’s a specialty chocolatier in Tulsa, Oklahoma, one of the best in the nation. They make unique flavors.” He used a small fork to cut one of the chocolates in half and then to scrape out the insides. “The best way to taste chocolate is to sample the filling, let it linger on your tongue.” He lifted the fork and she parted her lips, letting him feed her the delicious confection. It was rich, with a hint of orange, something that tasted like citrus, and warm milk chocolate. She moaned softly.

  He cut into the next chocolate. “That is how you taste to me. Fresh like spring with a hint of citrus.” Scooting an inch closer, he held out his fork with the next chocolate’s filling ready for her mouth. “Try this next.”

  She opened her mouth for the next bite. It was rich and dark, a hint of salt. “What’s in that one?”

  “Sea salt and the purest dark chocolate you can find on earth.” One corner of his mouth tipped up in a devil-may-care grin.

  Callie licked her lips. It tasted like him. A chocolate that tasted like her lover. Her lover. The word created a coiling of dark heat inside her.

  When he cut into the third chocolate, her mouth was already watering. Wes’s focus was intense. “This is what they call an oatmeal cookie.” He fed her the last bit. Her eyes widened.

  It actually tasted like an oatmeal cookie. “Now, drink your cognac, and when you’re done swallowing, close your mouth and breathe slowly out through your nose.”

  She sipped the cognac, then shut her mouth and breathed out. New tastes exploded on her tongue. It was a thing of magic, the rush of maple syrup, brown sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, each taste clear and distinct.

  “Close your eyes and tell me what you see,” he said. His hands were on her hips, their knees touching.

  She did as he instructed. “I see…” She let the flavors speak to her. “A cabin at the base of a mountain. The leaves are red and gold. A warm fire in a stone fireplace, vermillion flames.” She sighed, sinking into the heavenly vision. He was there with her in this fantasy cabin, his body and hers merging again and again, fingers entwined, whispers of pleasure and little gasps of ecstasy. No distance, only togetherness.

  His lips touched hers, a real kiss, not part of her fantasy. She opened her mouth, seeking his tongue. He growled against her lips and suddenly she was being lifted up, her legs curling around his hips as he carried her to the floor and placed her on the thick carpet.

  “Sorry, can’t wait…” He gripped her shirt at the neck and ripped it clear down the middle. Buttons popped off, vanishing into the thick carpet as he bared her skin. She wore a sensible white cotton bra and he groaned, his hands shaking.

  “Like a goddamn fantasy every time I see you.” He slid between her thighs and feathered kisses on the swells of her breasts. Then he bit on the top of her bra with his teeth, tugging it down to allow her breasts to spill free. He licked and sucked on one nipple until it was erect and she whimpered. Then he turned to her other breast. Callie gripped his head, tugging the strands of his hair, urging him on. The cognac created a delicious buzz and she wanted nothing more than to make love to Wes all night and clear through tomorrow.

  “Please, Wes. I need you,” she begged. The ache between her thighs was sharp and demanding. Only he could erase the wild need in her to be taken, possessed. Fully and completely.

  Wes sat back on his heels, tore his trousers open, and unzipped her jeans, tugging them down to her knees. After that, he removed her boots and socks. Then he laid her back on the carpet and covered her with his body, caging her in. He rolled his hips against hers, teasing her as he kissed her. Using one hand, he guided his shaft to her entrance. The sudden quick thrust up made her throw her head back and cry out. Wes nuzzled her neck and nipped the sensitive space between her neck and shoulder as he rode her.

  Thrusting deep and hard, then slow and soft, he tortured her, teased her, until she was coming apart at the seams. She was dimly aware that she was begging him for more, harder. Her nails raked his back and her nipples rubbed his smooth chest, the sensation too much for her.

  “Who do you belong to?” he demanded in a guttural growl against her ear.

  She panted, unable to speak.

  “Who?” He squeezed her bottom, lifting her up off the carpet a few inches to slap it. She yelped and groaned a moment later at the wave of wet heat inside her. Another slap to her ass, the slight bite making her frantic for more.

  “Answer me.”

  “You!” She gasped. “God, only you, Wes. Please, fuck me,” she pleaded.

  That was all it took. He pounded into her, rolling his hips in different, unpredictable angles. When he bit down on her neck, gently but firmly, she blew apart. Blood roared in her ears and she struggled to remember who she was, where she was. Precious air filled her lungs and she sucked it in greedily, resting her head on the floo
r. The beautiful ceiling moldings spun above her as she welcomed the dizziness that accompanied the aftershocks of her pleasure. Wes’s body weight was welcome over hers, his hot skin feeling good against her own.

  Everywhere they touched burned in all the right ways. He lowered his head, kissing her, then rested his forehead against hers. She had never felt so close to anyone as she did in that moment. She didn’t need words, nor did he. When he pulled away, she had only a few seconds to miss him before he was lifting her up and carrying her completely naked through the hall and toward the stairs. A lazy smile curled her lips. She liked it when he went all caveman and carried her about. It was nice to feel small and delicate in his arms. He didn’t go to his room, but hers.

  “Why here?” she asked as he set her down on her back on the bed.

  He stood there, fully bare and suddenly erect again. “I want to have you on every flat surface, starting with this one.” He crawled on the bed to lean over her limp, sated body.

  “Okay, I won’t argue with that.” She arched beneath him, letting her breasts brush his chest.

  “Did you know”—he chuckled between his kisses—“that this bed belonged to a French princess?”

  Callie arched a brow. “Really? Which one?”

  His hand slid down her body, parting her legs wider before he positioned himself and thrust home. They moved together.

  “Does it matter?” he gritted out as she clenched her inner walls around him. “Fuck, that feels good.”

  “You’re making that up,” she said, laughing, and she then groaned as he twisted his hips and hit a new spot inside her that made her see stars. “Oh, right there,” she begged, digging her nails into his shoulders.

  He growled low in triumph and started driving into her again, hitting that spot over and over. She tugged his head to hers, hungry for his kiss, needing them to be connected in as many ways as possible. He pinned her hands down, lacing his fingers through hers. One more connection, one more way that they fused their bodies into one being. The thought, the sheer swell of joy at thinking about that was all it took to send Callie over the edge. The way he shuddered above her showed her that he was coming apart at exactly the same time. Chests pressed together, his heartbeat fast and wild against hers, beating at the same pace, as though one heart, not two. Wes continued to kiss her, even though they were both starved for air and shaking like newborn foals.