by Lauren Smith
“Is it always like this?” she asked between lingering kisses, smiling inside and out as her entire body quaked with the aftershocks of pleasure.
The startled look in his eyes confused her. “No. It’s not,” he said quietly, his gaze searing her.
“Was it good for you, too?” She nibbled her lip worriedly. Even though she was sore and too many sensations still pulsed through her, she felt him twitch inside her.
“It was better,” he said this with such sincerity and seriousness that she blushed. “I mean that. No one else has ever felt this good.” He rocked his hips and her body vibrated like a string on a violin, a single note of pleasure resonating deep inside her. She didn’t want to go back to Long Island. There was so much to lose if she went home.
“Don’t worry about tomorrow.” He squeezed her hands in his. “I’m not letting you go.”
His words should have frightened her but they had the opposite effect. It was exactly what she needed to hear. They didn’t love each other, but what they had was good, too good to give up.
“Good.” She smiled at him, and then kissed him, letting her lips linger against his. There were a few more precious hours before they had to leave paradise.
Chapter 18
Wes, have a seat,” Jaxon Barrington said as he gestured for Wes to sit. They were in the executive office of the Gilded Cuff. Jaxon, the owner, Wes’s long-time friend and the most recent victim of the Illusionist, was pacing. Another man, thin, muscled, in a navy blue suit, leaned back against the desk, arms folded. FBI, if Wes had to guess.
“Agent Kostova said we should meet here.” Jaxon raked a hand through his dark hair and finally forced himself to sit down behind his desk, but his grim expression remained.
Kostova pushed away from the desk and held out a hand to Wes, who took it. Kostova looked young, probably late twenties.
“Mr. Thorne, glad to meet you. We definitely need your help. Whoever is behind the thefts is starting to piss me off. His ego is unrivaled. Mr. Barrington was explaining to me how secure his club is and yet one of his paintings was removed during a party. I want to catch this guy. The bureau wants to catch him. I suspect he’ll take his trade somewhere else soon and we might lose our chance to find him.” Kostova glanced at Jaxon, then at Wes.
“Barrington said your collection is the only thing expensive enough to draw this man’s attention. Is it true you have a Monet and a Renoir?”
After Wes answered with a curt nod, the agent continued. “What we’d like to do is host a party here at the club and have you put the Monet and Renoir on display. He won’t be able to resist the challenge. We’ll have to find a way to spread the word, of course, and he’ll need time to see the piece and replicate it.”
Wes twisted the silver signet ring with his family’s crest on it, debating silently. Was he willing to risk one of his priceless works to catch the arrogant bastard who was stealing from his friends? Sure, an auction house could put a dollar price on his collection, but for him, those paintings weren’t measured by money. They brought him peace and looking at them filled him with a quiet, irresistible joy. Nothing else had made him feel like that, nothing except Callie.
He thought of the Mortons, and how happy and relieved they’d been when he’d shipped the Goya home. Daniel had called him to thank him, and the warmth in his chest at getting that call helped. Whoever was stealing the art was risking the art itself and that was enough for him to step in.
“We can use the Monet. I won’t risk both,” Wes said after a long moment of consideration. If he used one to lure the thief, he wouldn’t risk the other. “I can have it brought to the club whenever you want.”
“Good.” Agent Kostova nodded. “Now to get the word out, I’d suggest you attend a couple of social functions, go to those types of parties where the thief has been showing up at. Drop hints about the Monet in casual conversation. Since we’re positive he’s a local man, word should get to him quickly.”
“Wes, the annual polo match is scheduled for tomorrow, and Emery has a gala tonight. We could go to the gala and if we still need to spread the word, we could play polo,” Jaxon suggested. “You know how quickly word spreads beneath the tents.”
“Very well.” He rose and shook Jaxon and Agent Kostova’s hands. It was time to go home.
He’d hated to leave Callie all alone at the house. After leaving Paris yesterday she’d been quiet. He didn’t like it. He wanted her laughing, smiling, playful. Not guarded and secretive. She’d been too tired from the flight last night and he’d left her to sleep while he’d busied himself with calls and plans. Hours had passed quickly in his black room as he caught up on business. He hadn’t gone back to his own room, knowing he’d want to go to Callie and make love to her. It had been better to exile himself to the king-size bed in the black room for the night.
After he left Jaxon’s club, he drove home to seek out his little masterpiece. He’d had an art room prepared for her and wanted to show it to her. When he pulled into the main drive of his house, there were several cars out front. With a scowl, he recognized two of them. He left his Hennessey out front and strode inside the large door. His trusted butler, Bradley, seemed too relieved to see him.
“Mr. Thorne, we have a situation,” Bradley murmured delicately as he kept up with Wes’s long strides.
“What sort of trouble?”
A frown deepened on his butler’s face. “Your parents are in the Winter Garden with your sister and her fiancé. Ms. Taylor is there as well.” Bradley’s fists clenched.
“And what is the trouble?” He was almost afraid to ask. He’d never seen his butler’s feathers ruffled before.
“Well…your parents have been behaving a little indelicately. They brought Ms. Vanderholt with them. It seems they have allowed Ms. Taylor to believe that…” Bradley glanced away nervously and then looked back. “That you and Ms. Vanderholt are engaged.”
“What?” The comment stopped him cold. His parents were bold enough to try a move like that? Corrine knew very well he wouldn’t be seeing her again in any capacity. Well, that was going to be dealt with immediately.
He stormed into the Winter Garden and despite the fact that it was actually a hothouse for flowers, the room was full of a winter chill. Callie was standing off to one corner, biting her bottom lip as Hayden and Fenn watched Corrine and his parents with narrowed eyes.
“Yes, this will have to be remodeled of course,” his mother was saying to Corrine.
“I agree.” Corrine’s cold gaze swept across the room, then hit him. “Wes!” She rose and started toward him. He didn’t even look her way. His legs ate up the ground as he brushed right past her to reach Callie.
Her lips parted in surprise as he grasped her face in his hands and kissed her. He did it thoroughly, letting himself go as he embraced her fully. It didn’t matter how many people were here watching him. Callie belonged to him and he didn’t want Corrine thinking she could slither her way in between them. Callie’s hands dug into his arms as her tongue shyly touched his, and only when she fully melted for him did he let her go. She wavered on her feet and he turned around to face everyone.
“Mother, what are you doing here?” He didn’t bother with the pretense of civilities. There was no point. On more than one occasion, he’d made it quite clear that his parents weren’t welcome at his house.
“Now, wait a minute.” His father was on his feet in an instant, blustering, his face ruddy with his displeasure.
“Father, I’m in no mood for you today. Take mother, Corrine, and yourself and get out of my house.” His tone was tipped with icy venom, but he held Callie against him, absorbing the faint trembling of her body.
Corrine’s eyes, so deadly wild, were the opposite of her cool, collected face.
“Mrs. Thorne, we should leave,” Corrine said in a soothing, silky tone, but her eyes were murderous, not at him but at Callie.
I warned you, Corrine. He wanted to say it out loud, but now was not the time. T
hat woman would be leaving. She knew where he stood now, or more accurately who he stood with. The room remained as silent as a tomb while his parents and Corrine left. Only when the door to the Winter Garden had closed behind him did he let out a slow breath.
“What the hell, Wes?” Fenn growled as he and Hayden walked over to him. Callie tried to extricate herself from his hold, but he dug his fingers into her hips, keeping her close.
“I’m sorry you witnessed that,” Wes replied. “They knew they weren’t welcome.”
What bothered him was why they had come, and why with Corrine? He knew his mother thought Corrine was a perfect wife for him, but he’d rather die than shackle himself to her. How he had ever been attracted to her in the first place was a mystery.
“I’m just glad they’re gone,” Callie said. “I didn’t like them. No offense, Wes,” she said quietly, as though disturbed she’d spoken openly against his family. Her eyes were dark with concern and her brows knit with faint worry lines. He cupped her face and leaned down to kiss away her tears.
“No one likes them,” he assured her. “Least of all me.”
She relaxed at his reassurance and without a word tucked herself into his arms. He held her a long moment, enjoying the simple connection of their embrace.
When they broke apart he realized their audience was watching with no small amount of curiosity and astonishment. Hayden looked amused, her eyes twinkling and her mouth twisting into a secretive smile. Fenn, however, looked…well…Wes saw the tempest brewing in him. Fenn had asked him at the engagement party to watch out for Callie, to take care of her. He’d done that and more.
“I want a word with you,” Fenn said. “Outside.” He jerked his head toward the door.
“Very well.” Wes patted Callie’s back before he released her and then followed his friend as they departed the room. The second they were outside, Fenn curled his hands into Wes’s collar and slammed him into the wall so hard the breath was knocked from his lungs.
“What the hell are you doing?” Fenn demanded, crashing him against the wall again.
Wes’s head collided with the wood-paneled walls and little black dots spotted his vision for a few seconds.
“What are you talking about?” He shoved at Fenn, but the other man had the advantage as he used his body to pin Wes to the wall.
“Callie. Are you sleeping with her?”
Wes’s own anger boiled to the surface. “If I am, it’s not your concern.”
“Like hell it isn’t!” Fenn spat.
Wes used Fenn’s distraction to punch the cowboy square in the jaw. He grunted and stumbled back, clutching his mouth.
“You broke her heart, Fenn,” Wes reminded him quietly. “I picked up the pieces and am protecting what’s mine.”
“She isn’t yours!” Fenn clenched his fists and licked his bleeding lip.
“She came to me and wanted me. I wanted her. We’ve been happy together.” He never thought he’d say that about any relationship with a woman, but he was happy.
“How long?” Fenn began to pace the hall, like a caged tiger. “How long until you lose interest and drop her? She’s not enough for you.”
Not enough? A ruby veil seemed to descend in front of his eyes and he tackled the other man. They crashed to the ground, knocking a vase off a nearby end table. The cacophony of noises that followed barely intruded on Wes and Fenn as they kicked and punched. Clothes ripped and blood splattered.
A booming voice cut through the din and hands grabbed him, throwing him off Fenn. “Enough!”
It took a few seconds for Wes to find himself again through the rage. Royce stood there, feet braced apart, his body an obstacle between them. In the garden doorway, Hayden and Callie stood there, gaping.
“What the fuck, guys?” Royce snapped as he glowered between Wes and Fenn.
Wes got to his feet, but stumbled and threw out a hand to catch himself against the wall as his vision cartwheeled. One too many blows to the head, he guessed. Dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, it came away streaked with blood from a split lip. If he hadn’t been so mad, he might have laughed. He and Fenn were fighting again, now about Callie.
Hayden helped Fenn to his feet but he growled at her when she tried to drag him away.
“We’re not done with this discussion, Thorne,” Fenn warned.
“You’re done.” Royce faced him, but his tone was low and cold. It was a dangerous side of Royce, one rarely seen. “Whatever is between you, deal with it. We’ve been through too much to put up with any more of this bullshit.” Royce fixed them both with a stare before he gestured to Fenn. “I need to talk to you.”
Wes didn’t linger. He needed to cool off and get away from Fenn. He stumbled more as he walked down the hall, picking one of the nearest rooms where he’d have a bit of privacy. The room he chose was a rarely used study, one that had become a graveyard for objects Royce had bought as gifts over the years from his exotic travels for digs.
An old leather sofa against one wall called his name. With a groan he eased onto the couch and wiped at his split lip again. The bitter taste of his blood made him wince, more from the acrid taste than the pain. The fight had been a mistake—he’d be the first to admit it—if necessary, but every time Fenn was around, Callie got hurt and Wes just couldn’t take it. She was his woman, and if he had to pummel his friend to protect her, then he’d do it. The study door creaked open and Callie peered around the edge.
“Can I come in?” She raised a small medical box.
Wes almost grinned. How could she always find first-aid kits?
“Please.” He waved her inside and placed a hand on the couch beside him. Her eyes flicked to the spot and a delicate blush bloomed on her cheeks. His breath caught as he panicked, thinking she’d deny the little command he’d issued. She’d become so perfectly submissive in bed, freeing herself with him, but he hadn’t pushed her.
When she took that first step toward him, he exhaled in relief. Closing the study doors, she joined him on the couch and then unclasped the latch on the first-aid kit. A little grin suddenly curved her lips.
“What?” he asked, smiling back at her. It was so easy to smile around her.
Callie raised her head and she smiled even brighter. “It’s like when we first met. You and Fenn were knocking each other’s lights out and I had to patch you up.”
Wes laughed, holding her gaze. “Only this time, we fought over you, not my sister.”
“You were fighting over me?” The genuine surprise on her face was irritating.
“Callie, you are worth fighting for.” If only she’d understand he meant more than a bout of fisticuffs.
“You have to stop saying things like that,” she murmured as she raised an antiseptic cloth to his bleeding lip.
It stung like a lash of a whip to skin. He knew that particular sensation only too well because he’d had to spend a year learning how to operate a whip before the other doms had deemed him safe to use it on a sub. There had been plenty of mishaps and the pain he’d given himself was a sharp reminder that a dom must know his instruments in and out before he could use them on a sub.
“Don’t be such a baby,” she chastised and reached for his knuckles, which were covered in scrapes and red marks that would likely turn purple in a few hours.
“Me? A baby? Why you little—” He stole the first-aid kit from her lap and dropped it to the ground and then tackled her back on the soft leather couch, pinning her wrists on either side of her head. Her wheat-gold hair gleamed in tantalizing waves around her face.
“I missed you last night,” she whispered, a shy glimmer in her eyes as she ducked her head, seeming too embarrassed to admit this and face him at the same time.
Her comment pleased him. She missed him. There had been plenty of women in his life who had uttered such words, but none had meant them, none but Callie. Deception and mind games were not in her nature, and he loved that about her. As much as he liked games, he preferred them in
bed. Being with Callie, however, was freeing. He could be himself, a person he’d spent so many years trying to protect from his parents and others who would try to use him.
“I’m sorry, darling. I had something important to work on. Tonight I promise I’ll come to bed.” He grinned and dipped his head and stole a kiss. Despite his best intentions to keep it brief, Callie melted beneath him, raising her hips and using her knees to grip his waist and draw him down on top of her. He groaned against her lips, bucking his pelvis on instinct, needing to be inside her, but clothes were in the way.
“Hang on,” he growled and leaped up from the couch and hastily stalked over to the study door to lock it before returning to the couch.
He lifted her up and sat back down on the couch, her body straddling his. With a swift rip, he tore open her flannel button-up shirt, baring her bra-clad breasts. She jolted when he tugged the cups down and sealed one mouth over her nipple and sucked on the tip. Callie threaded her hands through his hair and tugged on the strands, the slight edge of pain on his scalp raising his explosive lust that much more. As he continued to play with her breasts, his hands unbuttoned her jeans, but he knew he’d have to rearrange them if he wanted to get inside her.
“Damn, Callie. I’m sorry, I can’t wait.” His need was too strong.
He shifted her off his lap, pushed her stomach first against the back cushion of the couch, then unzipped his trousers and freed his erection. When he braced his knees on either side of her from behind, she dropped her head forward onto her folded arms. Wes didn’t wait. He yanked her jeans down past her thighs and ripped her cotton panties clean off her body. A quick brush of his fingers between her slit came back wet. She was ready for him. More than ready. He reached around, holding her still by the waist while his other hand guided his shaft to her entrance. When he thrust deep and hard, she hissed and threw her head back.