by Lauren Smith
“You’re going to be fine, darling.” His hypnotic, silky tone did actually soothe her, but a permanent fleet of butterflies seemed to be living in her stomach.
“Wes, I have no clue what to do or say if he talks to me.” She tried to take a deep breath but her chest was tight.
He rubbed his thumbs across her cheek bones and she leaned into him. In that single week she’d been with him in Paris, they’d gone from practically strangers to the most intimate of lovers. Not in all of her wildest dreams would she have thought she’d be craving his touch and needing to hear his opinions on things that mattered to her. She was so used to carrying her burdens alone and taking care of herself, her father, and Fenn. Between them and the ranch, it was exhausting and draining. But with Wes, it was so different. She learned to lean on him for support, for advice, for emotional and physical comfort…and that wasn’t including the sex.
There weren’t enough words in the world to describe Wes’s lovemaking. He rocked her to the core each time he kissed her. Each time he even looked at her she could feel that build up of passion in her lower body. She didn’t want to think about what would happen when this thing between them ended. Her heart couldn’t take it.
“Talk about art. You know art. You’ve studied under some of the best masters in the last week. It will impress him.” He held onto her a minute longer and when he let her go he was smiling that bad-boy grin of his.
“Now, remember that red gown with the train and the bow on the back? I want you to wear that tonight. I’ll be back in two hours with some jewelry.”
“Wes, I don’t like it when you buy me expensive jewelry.” She crossed her arms over her chest. In the last week, she’d gotten braver at putting her foot down on his insatiable purchasing habits. It didn’t seem to stop him, but she liked putting up a fight, even if it was a token one.
“I know.” He smirked. “But this isn’t just jewelry. It’s your collar.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. A dark intensity had replaced his charming grin. Was he teasing? She couldn’t tell.
“My collar?” She swallowed hard as he raised one hand to her throat. He didn’t grip her by the neck, but rather he ran the backs of his fingers over the sensitive hollow of her throat.
“You are mine, Callie. I warned you of that a month ago.” Wes’s silky words sank into her slowly, almost as seductive as the delicate caress against her skin.
“Wes, I don’t just want to belong to someone. I want someone to belong to me.” She met his stare, hoping he’d understand. If he wanted to own her, she wanted to own him right back. If he thought this thing between them was one way, he was wrong. Anger sparked underneath her skin.
“You are the submissive. That’s how it works. You belong to me.” He captured her mouth with his. The kiss was potent, a raw domination of his lips over hers. Their tongues touched and then dueled and she moaned against him. She was mad at him for controlling her at a moment like this. Here she was melting with his kiss, when she should have been smacking him. A little voice in the back of her head told her she should shut up and enjoy this and fight him later.
When their lips parted a long while later, Callie leaned into him and Wes curled his arms around her, holding her close. One of his hands stroked her back and when she tucked her head under his chin it fit perfectly. She was starting to love that he was so much taller than her. It had been intimidating at first, but now she had to admit she liked it when he seemed to completely encompass her in his embrace.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” he murmured in her ear and dropped his arms.
Callie’s shoulders slumped as he walked away. As an independent young woman she’d never felt this way before. The bone-deep ache each time Wes left her even for a short while seemed to be soul crushing. If only he loved her, the sense of loss wouldn’t seem so deep. But he didn’t love her. Had never loved any woman. How was she supposed to deal with that? It was too late for her. She was already in love despite every vow she’d made to herself to not fall again.
She wrung her hands and tried to stop the burn of tears in her eyes.
I’m doomed.
* * *
Wes checked his tie in the mirror. The dark blue strip of silk cut a nice contrast to his white dress shirt. He was used to suits, and tonight’s gala would be a standard event for him, but he knew Callie was on edge. The small dinner party had frightened her. A two-hundred-person party would likely send her running for the hills. But tonight was important. He and Jaxon would start inviting Cuff members to the club. That was the one thing Wes had pieced together when he’d met with Jaxon and Agent Kostova. The theft from Barrington’s house during an exclusive club-member-only event meant it had to be a club member who was behind the theft.
He picked up the red velvet box from his bed and flipped it open. The collar he’d had designed for Callie was a thing of beauty. It was a delicate chain made of diamond-studded links, with a flat silver pendant engraved with his family’s crest. The design matched his signet ring and his favorite pair of cuff links, which was a letter “T” with a thorny vine curling around the letter. A collaring ceremony was normally a very involved affair at the Gilded Cuff, but he knew Callie wasn’t ready for that type of intensity. He would have to settle for a simple ceremony at the club sometime in the future. His hand trembled a brief instant as he closed the case and headed for the connecting door to Callie’s room. He had never collared someone before and an unfamiliar nervousness created a tightness in his chest.
When he reached the door to her room, he slid it open quietly enough to not alert her. The evening sun’s warm colors lit the bed and made the room glow. But it was Callie, seated at the vanity table, pulling up her hair in long curls with silver diamond-studded pins who caught his breath.
For a few seconds, she didn’t see him, and he had the exquisite pleasure of gazing upon her. The red evening gown hugged her body at the waist and flared out at the hips. A large red bow at her lower back acted like a modern style of a bustle, giving the gown a pleasant shape before it flowed out at the legs in wide pleats for a full-bodied skirt. The heart-shaped bodice cupped her luscious breasts, putting them on perfect display. She was so beautiful it hurt, but for the first time, it wasn’t a woman’s body but the look on her face that held him enraptured. Her lips curved in a small smile.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re really going to this gala tonight?”
She turned in her chair to face him, the halo of gold-blonde hair shining in the light from her window. He didn’t want to worry her with the details, but he didn’t want to lie, either.
“It’s the thief again. I’ve figured out he’s a member of the Gilded Cuff. That’s the BDSM club here in Weston that I belong to. I plan to lure him out. I need to spread the word at this party tonight and see if I can convince him my Monet is worth stealing.”
“Your Monet?” Callie slid out of her chair, lifting up her skirts as she approached him.
“Yes. It’s one of the most valuable pieces of art still within the thief’s immediate striking range. We need to catch him before he moves his operation off Long Island. The Monet is the only way to do it. It’s big enough to draw him out. At least that’s what the FBI is hoping. Now, for something more important.” He held up the velvet box and she blinked at him, then at it, confused.
“What’s that?”
“Your collar.” He set the box down on the desk in the corner and opened it, removing the chain necklace.
“Oh no. You’re not distracting me with that. Finish telling me about the thief. How do you plan to catch him?”
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Callie had the audacity to huff like a stubborn pony and tap her foot.
“Callie, I don’t care if you’re wearing a seven-thousand-dollar dress. I’ll wrinkle it if you need your ass reddened.”
“You jerk,” she muttered and gave him her back. She lifted her hair and he carefully laid the chain necklace against her collarbone and fastene
d the clasp. Her breathing hitched as he nuzzled her ear from behind. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts against the tight bodice was an arresting sight.
“Do you like it?” he asked, steering her over to the full-body mirror.
Her fingers brushed the chain links and then touched the pendant.
“It’s lovely. What does it mean to have a collar?” Her eyes were large and she gazed at him through the reflection of the mirror.
His heart skipped a few beats. How could he put it into words? All submissives who were in the lifestyle knew what it meant. It was practically the equivalent of an engagement ring.
“A collar is a sign of possession, a sign of commitment. By collaring you, it’s a more permanent way of staking my claim. No other dominant may touch you without my permission, no other can claim you.”
“Do you belong to me in the same way?” Her lovely eyes lit with a warm fire, but they reflected with a responding challenge. It made his blood burn.
“Some doms will be with other submissives even if they’ve collared someone, but that’s not the general rule. It’s certainly not how I do things. While you’re mine, I will be with only you.” He knew what she needed him to say, and this was the closest reassurance he could give her.
Her lashes fanned down as she studied the pendant more closely.
“It’s your crest,” she noted, her voice husky and low. The rich sound went straight to his cock. He wanted to be inside her, to take her to bed, not have her parade around at the gala tonight. But maybe…after…He grinned.
“Of course. I want to make it clear who you belong to, not just that you’re taken but that you’re mine.” He was still smiling.
“What?” she demanded. “It makes me nervous when you smile like that.”
“Really? Why?” He raised a brow, his hands resting on her hips now, holding her close.
“I usually end up tied down to your bed, that’s why.” His little cowgirl wrinkled her nose.
“You don’t like it when I tie you down and fuck you?” He purred the words in her ear and relished the way her lashes fluttered closed and a little sigh escaped her lips.
“You’re trying to distract me, Wes. Don’t. I want to know what you’re planning to do about the thief. I didn’t press you when we were in Paris, but you owe me an explanation.”
She was right. He didn’t want to admit it but she was.
“I am going to put my Monet on display at the club. Jaxon Barrington, the owner, will host another party. We’ve got a week to give the thief time to forge the painting that he’ll attempt to replace the original with.”
“You’re not taking the real one to the club, are you? That’s too risky.”
“We have to,” he said.
“Not if I paint a forgery, too.” She spun in his arms and curled her hands around his neck. “Think about it. You can take the forgery to the club and he won’t see the difference.”
Wes was shocked he hadn’t thought of that first. Callie was exceptional at that. The question was whether the thief would fall for it.
“Do you think you could create a forgery in a few days? We’d need to put it in the club soon.”
Smiling, Callie nodded. “Yes, I can. I’ll start first thing tomorrow.” She nearly bounced like an excited puppy and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.
“You ready for tonight?” he asked.
Like a soldier ready for a battle, she squared her shoulders and nodded curtly.
“Callie, darling, relax. It’s a gala, not the inquisition.” He crooked one elbow and offered her his arm.
She flashed him a mock scowl. “There had better be champagne. I’m going to need a drink.” She took his offered arm and he helped her from the room. He knew she might not like the party, but she would certainly like what he planned to do later. After the gala it would be time to take her to his black room. He wanted no secrets between them, not anymore.
Chapter 20
Hang in there, you’re doing great,” Hayden whispered into Callie’s ear. Callie exhaled in relief and put a hand to her stomach. The little fleet of butterflies were starting to settle down. Finally.
“Little devils,” she muttered.
“What’s that?” Hayden asked before she took a sip of her champagne.
“Oh, nothing,” Callie covered quickly.
Both she and Hayden were clinging to the outskirts of the party. The large gilded ballroom was full of people, all dressed exquisitely. A jazz band played at the back of the ballroom, but no one was dancing. Everyone was mingling and talking. Callie’s feet hurt and she was hungry. If she ate more than a few finger sandwiches she’d bust out of the dress, which would not be a good thing.
Across the room, Wes was engaged in conversation with a few men who appeared to be in their thirties, or perhaps forties. He leaned in, whispered something, and one man nodded eagerly and shook Wes’s hand. Callie wondered if he was spreading word of the painting. As though he sensed her gaze, he looked in her direction. Those cobalt blue eyes cut deep into her and she felt raw, exposed. How could he do that all the way from across the room? Make her feel naked and vulnerable? Her skin tingled with awareness.
“Callie, you’re blushing.” Hayden’s gentle cautionary tone reminded her she wasn’t alone.
“Sorry.” She tore her focus away from Wes and tried to look at Hayden. “So how’s the wedding planning going? We didn’t get a chance to talk yesterday before your parents and that awful woman showed up.” Callie grimaced at the mere memory of Wes’s parents and Corrine. Three of the most unpleasant people she’d ever met.
“You mean Corrine? Yeah.” Hayden brushed a lock of her red hair over her shoulder. “Total bitch. And I don’t use that word except in rare circumstances. She’s been panting after Wes for years but he doesn’t like her.”
“He doesn’t?” For some stupid reason, she really needed to hear Hayden say Wes didn’t like Corrine. She picked up on the fact that Corrine and Wes had a past, but she didn’t know how serious it was.
“Corrine wants the Thorne name, and the family money, but not really him. He knows that. I think he let her join the Gilded Cuff as a joke. I hate to say it but he used her.”
“Used?” The idea that Wes used Corrine left a bad taste in her mouth.
Hayden snorted. “No one ever said Wes was a saint.” Then she sobered. “You can’t let him use you either.” She set the champagne down on a passing tray and clasped Callie’s hand in hers. “I know my brother. He’s not the kind of man you settle down with.”
A little stab of pain shot through her chest but she forced a smile. “I never thought Fenn would settle down, but you’re marrying him.” Callie didn’t mean for her comment to come out like a barb, but Hayden winced.
“I guess men can surprise us. I know Wes likes you. I just want you to be careful. Promise you won’t let him break your heart.”
Callie shrugged, trying to hide the rapid fire of emotions that tore through her. She was in love with Wes, and it was up to him not to break her heart. He did own her. The weight of the chain necklace felt permanent, like a branding iron had been pressed to her skin and Wes’s ownership was irrevocable. Her heart was his, her soul was his, and her body longed for his. She couldn’t just go back to being the woman she was. Too much had changed. The life she’d always longed for, one of beauty and art, was so close to being hers, and at its center was the man who’d made her dreams come true.
His eyes were focused on her again and she grinned at him, unable to stop herself. A faint smile flirted with his lips and he raised his glass of champagne in a silent toast from where he stood. His red hair had been combed back and his elegant suit made him the most attractive man in the room. He was the only man in the room. When he looked at her, everything else faded away.
A masculine voice interrupted her thoughts. “Excuse me.”
Blinking, Callie recovered herself and found that Hayden had wandered off while she’d been day dreaming. In her place, an att
ractive man with raven black hair and light toffee-brown eyes was watching her. His lips curved in an apologetic smile as he held out a hand.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. We haven’t met. I’m Stephen Vain. I’m a friend of Wes’s.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Vain. I’m Callie Taylor.” She released his hand and her gaze darted around the crowd again. Wes was gone, probably somewhere spreading the painting news.
“I hate these parties,” Vain said and chuckled. “I saw you hiding out here in this spot and had to see if I could join you for a few minutes.”
Callie laughed, knowing exactly how he felt. It would be nice to have someone to talk to while she hid in an alcove for a little while longer.
“So you and Wes are friends?” she asked.
Vain nodded, leaning one shoulder against the wall, his back to the room as he faced her.
“I’ve known him since we were ten years old. Did the whole prep school thing together.”
“What do you do? If you don’t mind me asking.” Callie wasn’t one for small talk, but Vain was friendly and his smile genuine.
“I work at the Long Island Art Museum as the curator.”
“Really?” She couldn’t believe it. An actual curator! It would have been a dream job for her.
“I heard from Hayden you are quite the artist. I’d love to see some of your work.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver engraved card case and handed her a crisp white business card.
“Thank you.” She slipped the card into her small black clutch purse.
“Do you mind if I ask a personal question?” Vain prompted, his eyes darkening with a slight seriousness.
“Uh…sure, I guess.” Callie wasn’t really sure what someone like him would want to know about her.
“Are you and Wes together?” His gaze dropped to somewhere below her chin and she realized he must be looking at her collar with the clearly visible pendant with Wes’s family crest.
“Well, sort of. I don’t know,” she confessed, her cheeks heating.