Near a display of jewelry counters, he saw Mackenzie, or Zee, as he thought of her. The nickname suited her, and, it was something unique they shared.
Though she was leaning over, looking into a display case with her back to him, he’d know her anywhere. He recognized her shape, her curves, and the small tattoo he’d never asked about.
This evening she had on ridiculously high heels, and he had a ridiculously masculine reaction to that. If they weren’t called fuck-me shoes, they should be.
Her long legs were encased in silky smoothness. He had no idea if she wore stockings or pantyhose, but he sure as hell wanted to find out. As she took one step forward, her calf flexed oh so sexily, the same way it had when she’d raised onto tiptoes to escape his lash during their scene.
Absently he wondered if the length of her little black dress would get her arrested. If not in Massachusetts, then he was sure it would in a handful of other states.
If he was smart, he would pretend he hadn’t seen her.
But damn it, he wanted her.
Most women he met didn’t turn him down. No matter what the press insinuated, he didn’t often ask women out. He wanted to be sure they were compatible in bed as well as out of it. And in truth, he didn’t have a lot of time for dating.
That said, he’d probably been in grad school the last time a woman had brushed him off and bruised his ego. He hadn’t dealt with it any better back then than he did now.
He’d spent most of last Sunday expecting that she’d call. After all, she’d been part of that scene, too. It had sizzled with sensuality, and he’d been damn aroused.
Interestingly, though, as much as he wanted to fuck her, he’d have been content to spend more time with her, have coffee, maybe breakfast, and get to know her. After he’d returned to The Hub, another sub—a gorgeous, obedient young woman—had approached him near closing time, and she’d offered herself to him. He’d given her an excuse, but the truth was, he was more than a little interested in Mackenzie.
Monday, he’d faced facts. He’d been right in his verbal assessment of her. Mackenzie had carefully constructed a shell around her heart, around herself. She was serious in her desire to keep men out of her life. Yeah, her asshole of an ex-husband had hurt her, but badly enough that she was avoiding him?
On Tuesday, he’d resorted to calling Alma for information. He’d endured his friend’s triumphant teasing about having a thing for a sub, but in the end, she’d told him nothing.
Alma had thought he and Mackenzie might be a good match, and she’d been certain they’d have BDSM chemistry. Despite that, she refused to reveal anything about Mackenzie.
Though he admired Alma’s resolve, it had annoyed him.
Since he’d driven Mackenzie home, he knew where she lived. With his staff and contacts, it would take him less than five minutes to secure her cell number. In the car on Saturday night, she’d made a comment about the size of his ego. He could admit that it was big enough that he wouldn’t chase her. He told himself that if he left her alone long enough, surely she’d be curious enough to call.
Now, standing here, he admitted to himself that he wasn’t above giving chance a bit of a nudge.
Mackenzie straightened and wandered over to a wall of paintings.
He handed off his glass then moved in next to her. “Mind if I join you?” he asked.
Eyes wide, she turned to him. “Kennedy.”
Before she blinked, he saw it. A flash of recognition. A flare of desire. She wanted him every bit as much as he wanted her.
As if it had been more than a week since he’d seen her, he drank in the sight of her.
Not only was she wearing a sleeveless, barely there black dress and spiky stiletto heels that were a mile and a half tall, she’d also added red lipstick, making her lips look lush and kissable. God help him. He wondered if it were possible to trip over his own libido.
He’d hoped she might smile, but she didn’t.
She was giving that ego of his a hell of a beating.
“I’m surprised to see you,” she said.
Her voice had a low, vibrant huskiness. Suddenly he was thinking of sex and hearing her scream out his name when she came. He shook his head to clear the image. “My sister.” He pointed at the crowd gathered around her.
“She’s an artist?”
“Apparently she’s got some talent.” He shrugged. “She takes photos and has them developed as black and white prints. Then she adds color to them. It may not be the same color as was originally there, and she doesn’t fill in the whole thing. It’s a blending of mediums, she tells me.”
This time, she did smile. “It’s subjective, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know why the hell you’d do that. It’s not a photo. It’s not a picture.” He shrugged. “What do I know? If there’s going to be art in my portfolio, someone else needs to select it.”
“I feel the same way. I like what I like. So what do you think about this one?” She turned slightly, and he caught a second glimpse of her tattoo peeking from beneath the dress strap.
The Hub had been dark enough, and he’d been so absorbed in her that he hadn’t realized the tattoo was of a small, open padlock.
It took considerable effort to drag his gaze away from her and focus on the riot of color and lines in front of them.
“The picture,” she prompted.
“I like some classics, even some impressionistic work.”
“But this?”
He looked around to be sure that everyone else was involved in their own conversations. “I think maybe the artist opened several cans of paint, dipped in a brush, closed his eyes and splashed random strokes onto the canvas.”
She laughed, and he appreciated the shared moment.
“It’s three thousand dollars,” she said.
“I think that’s what makes it collectible.”
She snagged a glass of red wine. He noticed that her hand shook a little. So, despite her small talk, she wasn’t nearly as unaffected by him as she might want him to believe.
He hadn’t added to the family’s fortunes by always choosing the safest route. Sometimes it was best to be direct. “I was hoping you’d call.”
“About that…”
“About that?” he prompted.
“I… Couldn’t.” She took a drink.
For her, he’d be more patient than he normally was. “You thought about it,” he said after she took a second drink.
Mackenzie blew out a gentle breath, more than a sigh, less than annoyance.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I considered it.”
“Once? Or every day?” He wished they were somewhere more private where he could turn her to face him. With the way she’d angled her body, he was having a hard time reading her expression. It allowed her to hide, and he wanted the same honesty he’d gotten from her at The Hub.
On Sunday morning, he’d awakened, his cock hard. The taste of her, the feel of her had stayed with him, and he hadn’t been able to shove it away, even after a long run on his treadmill. In the shower, he’d recalled the sight of her, arms above her head, legs parted as she’d rubbed her pussy against his hand. He’d masturbated, but it hadn’t diminished his need for her. “Even if you say the answer is a dozen times a day, it won’t be more than I’ve thought about you.”
“Are you always so annoyingly persistent?”
“I’ve been told that’s part of my charm.”
“Along with the shoes?”
He glanced down at his neon orange athletic shoes. “You don’t approve?”
“They’re an unusual choice with the blue pinstriping in your suit.” Her smile took the sting from the words.
“You’re the second person today who’s made a comment about my shoes.”
“The other was also a woman of impeccable taste?”
“Well, she was a woman,” he admitted. The rest, he’d reserve judgment on.
“I take it they’re comfortable?”
He noted that she’d sidestepped his earlier question with the talent of a skilled swordsman.
Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “It’s either that or you’ve invested too much money in the company to admit they’re a failure.”
“They’re like walking on clouds,” he said, repeating the line the marketing firm had decided on. “Spring in your step, energy left over at the end of the day. Cloud Walkers for Christmas. Get them while you can.”
“Bravo. Did you rehearse that?”
“A dozen times. In the mirror.”
“I believe it.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Zee.”
Then, finally, she turned toward him. They were scant inches apart, close enough for him to inhale the floral scent of her and remember the way it had rocked him when it was nuanced with intoxicating musk.
At The Hub and before that, when he’d danced with her at the party, he’d noticed she had blue eyes. Until now, he hadn’t realized how much of her emotions they revealed. Right now, they were frosted, as if she wanted to keep him away.
“Can I be honest?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“I don’t really date.”
He waited.
“I mean, especially someone like you.”
A man tried to angle between her and another couple. Kennedy reached for Mackenzie, closing his hands around her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”
The man shrugged and smiled an apology.
Kennedy held onto her longer than needed, but she didn’t object.
“Someone like me?” he prompted. “I take it that was meant as an insult.”
“No.” Her eyes widened. “What I meant was, you’re complex.”
“I’m listening.”
“You’re a Dom. I enjoy submissive scenes, but I’m far from a real sub.”
“And you’ve decided that’s what I want or need?”
“You’re with a different woman every few months.”
“Weeks,” he corrected.
Her mouth parted. “Weeks?”
Impatience made him short. “If you’re going to believe bullshit, Mackenzie, might as well believe all of it. I also get angry with my women and lock them into stocks.”
She grinned. “I don’t believe it.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“You’re much too practical, too economical. They’d take up too much space. Why do that when you can just get a foldable St. Andrew’s cross. Put it in the closet when you have guests. Stocks, at best, would be a clothes hanger.”
The friend she’d been with at the club joined them.
“Bella,” Mackenzie said. “I’d like you to meet Kennedy Aldrich.”
He shook her hand. “You looked great in the Knotingham.”
“You saw?” she asked.
“You were fast,” he told her.
Bella grinned widely. He glanced at Mackenzie. She’d been looking at him, but she quickly looked away. Judging him? Wondering how he’d interact with her friends?
“I’d try it again. I’m not into some of that freaky stuff that you two do—” Bella put her hand over her mouth.
Mackenzie took a drink of her wine.
“No offense meant.” Bella rolled her eyes. “That was a stupid comment. Sorry.”
“That’s why ice cream comes in more flavors than just vanilla,” he said easily.
Bella dropped her hand. “See why I didn’t go into public relations?”
At that moment, another man walked through the gallery door and made his way over to them. “James! You came.” She grinned, her expression one of joy and surprise. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him. “Meet James Lewis,” she said after she moved away from him. “James, Kennedy Aldrich.”
“Aldrich,” the guy said.
Kennedy nodded and shook the man’s hand. He looked at Mackenzie when he realized she hadn’t said a word. She was staring at the painting, pretending to be interested in it.
“Ready to go?” James asked Bella.
“Wait.” Bella looked at her friend, as if seeking a way out of the dilemma. “I came with Mackenzie.”
“You’re leaving with me,” he insisted, his voice a mixture of possession and inflexibility. “We had plans, if you remember.”
“Until you changed your mind,” Mackenzie snapped.
Kennedy raised his eyebrows at the undercurrents.
Bella’s face drained of color as she looked from her friend to her apparent lover.
“James, I…”
“It’s okay,” Mackenzie relented.
Since her teeth were gritted, it was obviously anything but okay. “I’ll see that Mackenzie gets home safely,” Kennedy said.
“I’m sorry, Mackenzie.” Bella reached forward to squeeze her friend’s hand.
“Let’s talk tomorrow,” Mackenzie replied.
“Nice to meet you, Aldrich,” James said.
“Is it all men?” Kennedy asked when the pair moved away.
Bella looked over her shoulder, back at Mackenzie, before James ushered her out of the door.
“Only jackasses.”
“Tell me about it?”
“Nothing to say. He stands her up half the time. He’s unreliable, can’t hold a job, has moved in with her twice, but then says he needs his space and leaves again.” She sighed. “You can’t make anyone’s choices for them. You just have to love them and support them the best you can.”
“You’re a true friend.”
“If I were a true friend, I’d chain her up and keep her away from the jerk,” she countered. “I hate how he yanks her around.”
“Your tattoo is a reminder?”
With her free hand, she reached to cover it.
“It signifies freedom?” he guessed.
“It was my divorce gift, one of them, to myself.”
“So. How many times?”
She hadn’t looked away. She knew what he was asking, and from the way she pressed her hand even tighter against her tattoo, he knew she wasn’t going to pretend to misunderstand. Another step toward creating intimacy.
“Every day,” she whispered.
“You were tempted to call. And, please, no comments about my colossal ego.”
“Even I wasn’t going to call it colossal.” She gave a half smile. “I was tempted.”
“What would you have said?”
“I didn’t think that far ahead.”
“If you had.”
A server walked by, and she handed off her glass, even though it was still half full. But she didn’t uncover the small, artistic lock. “I would have admitted you were right.”
“About?”
“Not the shell, but the fact I keep my distance from men. It’s not that I’m afraid, because I’m not. Yes, Brian hurt me, but he’d have had an affair no matter who he married. It wasn’t about me.” She sighed. “I didn’t mean to tell you all that.”
He was glad she had.
“It’s easier to avoid entanglements. I don’t have to answer to anyone. And no one is accountable to me.” She cast a look at the door. “And I don’t have to worry about nonsense like that, the on-again, off-again crap that Bella goes through. She’s either with him and happy or apart from him and miserable. It’s easier just to stay off the carnival ride in the first place.”
“And miss all the exhilaration?”
“Is that what you’re looking for? Exhilaration?”
“What can it hurt?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer. He wanted more than an occasional date with her. “We get along well. We have interests in common. You want to have sex with me.”
Her lips parted. “Beyond colossal. Gargantuan, even.”
“True enough,” he agreed. “But tell me I’m right about that, too.”
“I…”
“At least give me honesty, Zee.”
“You’re wanting something with no expectations?”
“Why not?” he responded easily, wondering who was
being dishonest now. What he wanted was a place to start.
“Yes. I wanted to have sex with you.”
“Wanted to?” he asked. “Or want to?”
“Want to.”
“I’ll drive you home.”
“I didn’t mean right now,” she protested.
“When I want something, I think about it, figure out the reasons, decide whether or not it’s worth the investment of time and energy. If the answer is yes, I go after it with single-minded purpose.”
She rubbed her elbow.
“It’s not a threat. It’s a promise, that I’ll take care of you, that I won’t take you for granted.”
Slowly she uncovered the tattoo, using her body to silently communicate the words she wouldn’t speak.
“I need to say goodbye to my sister.”
“Of course.”
He waited a beat. “I’d like you to meet her.”
“I…”
He read the scowl that was buried between her eyebrows. This was a step, and it wasn’t without consequences. His sister would ask questions, if not tonight, then tomorrow. “It’s not like I invited you to Sunday dinner.”
“You’re right. I’m being ridiculous. I love meeting artists.”
“Brave girl.” He grinned. “Walk in front of me?”
“Are you being kinky again?”
“Any excuse to look at your ass,” he admitted. “And honestly? I’ll be imagining putting you on your stomach so I can fuck you from behind.”
Color rushed into her cheeks, but she didn’t protest.
“One of your fantasies?” he asked.
“Actually, I like looking at you. So, from the front works fine for me.”
“Why choose?” He traced her cheekbone.
“Indeed.” She turned and walked toward his sister.
Walked? More like she strutted, elongating her stride, exaggerating the sway of her hips. This woman knew what she was doing, knew how to fuel his imagination. “Finally figured it out,” he said when he caught up to her.
“What’s that?”
“Why Doms make their subs walk behind them.”
“Good thing I’m not your sub.”
Yet.
Karyn saw them and extricated herself from the conversation she’d been having. “That couple”—she pointed—“wants me to take one of their wedding photos and paint it for them,” she said. “It’s like a commission.” She did a little twist.
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