Tied Down

by Chelle Bliss

  Cara ignored me, folding her arms as she leaned forward. “And he has horrible breath. He…slurps when he drinks and…” She paused when I laughed into my glass but didn’t stop with explanations I guessed she thought I’d give a shit about. “Besides, he already has a girlfriend here. Johnny told me.”

  At the mention of her older brother, I glanced at her, unable to keep the glare from my face or calm the twitch I felt pulsing over my top lip.

  Stay the fuck away from my little sister, he’d told me as he and his muscle bashed in my ribs.

  Cara shook her head and pulled her attention to the large emerald on her right hand. A gift from her father on her twenty-first birthday. That downcast look was a distraction, something I knew she did because she wanted me to think she felt like shit for the beating I took.

  “I…I don’t want to marry someone who fucks other women.” She took a breath, swallowing hard before she admitted, “God, I don’t want to marry him at all.”

  The wet tumbler left a ring of moisture on my pants when I rested it there. It didn’t matter. My focus was on Cara, my apparent wife, and the bullshit she wanted me to get tangled up in again.

  Done that once.

  Wasn’t eager to do it again.

  “Hate to break it to you, but your father thinks I’m a psycho stalker.” I nodded at her, and the gesture brought her gaze back to me. “He’s not likely to forget that shit.”

  “I’m going to tell him I lied.” She shrugged when I squinted at her, scrutinizing her expression, not remotely convinced how that shit was supposed to work. Cara continued, seemingly unfazed by her father’s temper or potential reaction. “I…already told Johnny.”

  A low, rumbling grunt vibrated in my throat. I took a drink, trying to clear it away. “And yet I still don’t have an apology from that asshole.”

  Cara tapped her foot, looking nervous and irritated all at the same time. She seemed to hate the need to ask me for a favor, especially one this damn big.

  “Johnny was doing what he was told.”

  “Maybe you should too,” I told her.

  “Kiel, please…”

  I’d expected more whining, maybe a slip of control as she tried to keep herself in check. I was actually impressed she hadn’t stomped her foot and pitched a fit when I laughed the first time, but the years appeared to have matured her. They seemed, at least, to have taught her patience. What I hadn’t expected was that slow exhale of hers twisting into a groan of frustration and then a low, purring sound that I’d heard from her before.

  When she played dirty.

  Cara slid to the floor on her knees, inclining that long, lithe body toward me. She rested her arms against my thighs and lowered her voice. “Would it be so bad? Pretending to still love me?”

  “That’s what you want?” I dipped my head, pressing my palm into my eye before I groaned, staggered at the monumental shit she wanted from me. “God, Cara, I’m a good liar, but that requires some Oscar-caliber acting. I don’t have those kinds of chops.”

  She moved slowly, leaning to the right, and I caught the curve of her breast and the way her silver chain and crucifix pendant flirted in the tempting depths of her cleavage.

  “My father… He’s…sick, Kiel.” That she said in a whisper, low enough that I had to really listen to make out what she said.

  “How sick?”

  She didn’t need to answer. The quick stab of pain shot across her face. A rare slip of emotion pulling down her mouth before she lifted her chin, eyes soft, tempting again as she watched me. She wanted this badly. She wanted this enough that she pushed back the hurt she felt at what would end it.

  She was desperate.

  “Why not just wait until he kicks it?” Cara frowned, and I held up my hands. “Hold out until he’s gone. Johnny will take over, and you’ll go about your business… And I’ll try to salvage what’s left of my reputation in New York.”

  The slow descent of her arms inching toward my thighs halted then, and Cara tilted her head, killing the sex kitten half lilt of her eyes completely. “You’re staying? I mean, even if you say no, you’re still staying?”

  “Yeah.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of her expression. Surprise, for sure, maybe a little pleasure, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Cara was the best actress I knew. She lied like a gambler with nothing in his hand and a million-dollar pot in front of him.

  “My father isn’t backing down. He’s got it in his head that I need a husband before he dies. If he knows about us…”

  “He did know about us, remember?” She went silent at my interruption, watching me as I sat up, forcing her back when I leaned again the armrest. “You lied to him. He had Johnny and his meatheads beat me to a pulp.”

  “That’s because he thought you were bothering me.”

  “Got that backward.”

  “I’ll tell him the truth.” The purr was back, and for the first time, Cara added a sweet half smile to her seduction. It was as beautiful, as fucking tempting as it always had been, and the little shit knew it. She knew exactly how to get what she wanted. She had a multitude of tools in her arsenal. All seductive and lethal. Every single one of them I’d seen and loved.

  “All you have to do is tell him that you didn’t want there to be problems between me and my father, so you decided to leave me. I’ll say, when you told me you were leaving, I got mad at you and lied about who you really were.”

  It wasn’t unbelievable. Cara had been a brat back then. Maybe she still was, but her father wouldn’t doubt that maneuver. It was one she practiced often, and it always got her what she wanted.

  “I’ll take all the blame, I promise, and after my father… After it’s over, you’ll have half a million dollars and your dream job. Raquel is a friend. She knows how good you are. You impressed her in that interview. It isn’t an empty position. You’ll get the money and the job, and when it’s done, you can walk away.”

  “I already walked away.”

  “Kiel, please help me.”

  Cara never begged.

  She never pleaded.

  I just watched her, and the woman came closer, resting her palms on my thighs, gaze penetrating now. Serious. “It wasn’t all bad between us, remember?”

  I made a noise, little more than a grunt. My stomach tightened, my throat felt thick, but I was stunned quiet as Cara turned on the charm.

  Fuck me, she was good at this shit.

  “You always liked the way I touched you.” She moved her fingers down, rubbing her palms against the sides of my legs. Her thumbs moved over the muscle of my thighs.

  Her perfume wafted again when she leaned forward. My pulse quickened, seeing how sweet she could be. How that perfect face and alluring mouth moved closer and closer.

  “They beat me and left me on the wet sidewalk,” I told her, leaning against the headrest behind me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, wincing at my words, but Cara didn’t stop touching me. She came nearer still, leaning close enough now that I could make out the curve of her breasts against my arm. I froze when she kissed my neck. Her hot breath shot prickles of raised skin over my body.

  “And…they broke two of my ribs.”

  She paused, taking her mouth from my neck. She kept her gaze on my face as she lowered, moving slowly, touch soft and teasing against my shirt.

  One button and she gave me her lips, right against my chest.

  Two, and I watched, shocked, helpless, and stupid as she moved her head lower.

  Three buttons now and a fourth, then Cara pressed her lips to my stomach, arching up to curve her hands against my back and kiss each rib on my right side.

  Hot, wicked heat filled me. She worked a spell over me. Those full, perfect lips burned each inch of skin they touched, and her hair felt silky skimming against my naked chest. Her fingers teasing my back, then slipping to the front of my stomach as she watched me was the sweetest kind of torture.

  “Cara,” I said through a grunt. My common
sense and reason vied for control over my weak will.

  “You always liked how slow I was, Kiel.” She demonstrated, nibbling on one of my nipples, tugging it between her teeth. A quick hiss left my mouth, and I felt Cara smile against my skin. “Slow and sweet and so fucking hot.” She licked me then, the flat of her tongue against my nipple, sliding down my chest as she pushed open my shirt. She wanted at my stomach. It was what I loved best, and she fucking knew it.

  “This…it’s not gonna work…”

  “No?” she asked through a laugh, watching me as she kissed my stomach. Her gaze focused on me as she slipped her fingers into my waistband. She hadn’t touched my cock. Not yet. But the graze of her fingertips teased me, my pants feeling tight, and it was enough to let Cara know the effect she had on me.

  “This…this is how desperate you are?” I asked, slipping farther into the chair, groaning when she popped open my button and lowered my zipper.

  “No, ciccino,” she said, a laugh in her tone I knew should have insulted me. Then she took me in her hand, rubbing her thumb along the base, slipping it over the head. “This is how desperate I am.” Then Cara took me into her hot mouth. “Shit, bello, I’ve missed this…” Then Cara showed me how much she missed me with her mouth, tongue, and the sure grip of her hand.

  Fire ignited around me. My skin felt tight, unbelievably searing. And that inside-knowing that had niggled and nagged me this entire trip screamed at me to pull her off my cock. But God, it had been a long time since Cara last touched me. Years. Too long and no one had ever ripped me up inside, made me feel turned out and put together again like this woman. She touched me like she knew my body, like she remembered every inch of it. She took and sucked and gave me her mouth like she still owned it.

  “Cara…” I tried, fighting the need she stoked in me. I should tell her to fuck off. I should remind her that all this was her problem. It had nothing to do with me. Cara read the tension in my arms and the tightening of my body as she redoubled her efforts.

  I went stupid then, moaning like an idiot, arching against the headrest, fingers digging into the arms of the chair. She took me in deep, my dick at the back of her throat. Her soft, delicate fingers cupped my sac until I thought I might explode right there in her mouth after just a few minutes of her attention.

  Stay the fuck out of New York.

  It hadn’t been a request Johnny made, and I guessed it hadn’t come from him alone.

  And stay the fuck away from my little sister, or I will fucking slit your throat.

  Then the asshole laughed as he and his boys took turns beating on me.

  “Stop,” I told Cara, shaking my head, pushing against her shoulders. She wouldn’t move and went down on me faster, sucking harder, using her fist to stroke. It took effort, more self-control than I thought I had. “Fucking stop!” My voice was loud, my grip tight.

  Cara stopped, eyes rounded and wide as she looked up at me. She still had my cock in her mouth, but I made out the frown.

  “Get up,” I told her, grabbing her by the arm.

  “Didn’t you like—”

  “No,” I lied, not watching her as I tucked myself back into my pants.

  “Kiel, I can finish you…”

  Nostrils wide, I inhaled, biting back the lust that sent fire through my veins before I managed to look at her again. “Get out.”

  “What did you…”

  Cara didn’t respond to requests. I suspected that shit hadn’t changed. It would have been easy to sit there and let her suck my dick. Let me come in her mouth. Let her take everything I gave her without any complaint. If I’d asked, she probably would have let me fuck her. It would have been good. It always had been with us. But then she’d have the upper hand. Then she’d have control and say-so in what I did and how I did it.

  That shit wasn’t going to happen.

  Not the way she wanted.

  Not until I had a second to weigh my options.

  “Wipe your mouth,” I told her, grabbing a linen napkin from the drawer in the kitchen. She stared at me when I offered it to her but didn’t refuse it. Instead, Cara dried her full lips, rubbing away any trace of me. “I don’t need a pity fuck or you sucking my cock to get your way. I told you, we don’t work like that.”

  “We used to,” she said, frowning as I walked to the door.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not some asshole kid chasing after a sweet piece of ass.”

  Cara’s face went red, and I saw a spark of the girl I knew in the anger that swelled in her eyes. Couldn’t help thinking it made her look fucking gorgeous too.

  I opened the door, waiting for her to leave, but she slammed it shut again, holding her hand against the knob. “You’re my husband—”

  “Saying it enough times won’t make it real. You got a license. You got a memory, but fuck, Cara, that’s all you’re gonna get from me.”

  She stepped back when I grabbed the knob, looking at me like she had no idea who I was or where the hell I got the nerve to turn her down. “You want that job, and you want me.” She stared at my still hard cock, grinning as she stepped close. “I know you do.”

  “Maybe,” I said, pulling the door open again. “But maybes aren’t enough for me to step back into the lion’s den.”

  Cara laughed until I grabbed her arm and moved her into the hall. “My father isn’t a lion.”

  “No, but you are.”

  There was a small whoosh of air moving her hair off her shoulder, then the low grunt of irritation as I cut her off and slammed the door in my wife’s face.

  5

  Cara

  My father possessed power tempered by reason. It was something I’d seen from him my whole life.

  Men respected him.

  They wanted to be him.

  He was soft-spoken but firm. Harsh when he needed to be. Tender when he could. I had never feared him. Likely never would. I loved him because he had been good to me and my brother, Johnny. He’d doted on us, especially after our mother’s death when we were kids, and because he had, because we’d clung to each other through that horrible time, like everyone else who knew him, our father earned our respect.

  He had a wide reach, even with his children. He had expectations for us. He had hopes for us. Dreams he wanted to come true.

  They didn’t always match our own.

  As a kid, my dreams were selfish. I’d wanted to be a prima ballerina. I’d studied. I’d trained for years, perfecting my form, getting into the right programs, exhibiting the precise amount of discipline. In the end, it wasn’t enough. I was offered a position with the ABT. There would have been travel, training, and opportunities no one else could give me. But my father had other ideas. My dreams were not his for my life.

  So I packed away my ballet slippers along with my dreams and became the dutiful daughter my papa deserved. He needed me. So did my brother. It was the way of things. What choice did I have?

  But sometimes, money, power, respect, and reputation aren’t enough to make you happy. Sometimes even my father’s expectations were too much. There were responsibilities I couldn’t get away from, given who I was. I’d rebelled.

  Fell in love with that beautiful boy from Seattle.

  Married him in secret.

  I was happy.

  But then Papa started telling me I needed to think of the future. I needed to consider my role with the museum he founded and my role within the family. I knew what he’d meant. Marriage, to someone like my brother and father. Someone very different from Kiel. If they’d found out the truth about us, God only knew what would happen to him.

  At first, I fought with myself about lying to Kiel. I couldn’t bear hurting him. But then, out of nowhere, in some random conversation about my wild ways, my brother reminded me of what we had lost, all of us, and what we should always remember—no matter who we loved or what we wanted for ourselves, the family came first.

  The family always came first.

  Now, New York was a prison. There were n
o ballets for me. There was only my family and the museum. It was my responsibility to run it. It was my obligation to keep the Carelli name, at least publicly, legitimate.

  Sometimes, that was hard to do.

  “Cuore mio, here you are.” Papa looked tired. He was thinner, but his skin was still olive and his eyes were dark, lit with a fire I hoped never went out.

  “Papa, did you eat?” I glanced at my brother, sitting next to my father in a leather recliner, and throwing a glare his way. Johnny shook his head, frown deepening when I tilted my head. The expression on my brother’s face told me all I needed to know about our father’s appetite. He hadn’t been interested in food, and no amount of coaxing from any of us could tempt him.

  Still, I had to try.

  A glance at the small table in the solarium and the empty mugs around it told me they’d already had their morning meeting. The cups were left stained by coffee and espresso. The small saucers with half-eaten muffins were scattered around the table, along with a small stack of clean dishes and flatware left by the maid next to a tray of orange juice and linens.

  “I’m not hungry. Come.” Papa gestured to the chair on his other side, patting the seat. “Sit. Tell me about your night with Vinnie.”

  I ignored the request and the low, snorting laughter Johnny released when I sat next to my father, pulling out a cannoli from my bag. The paper crinkled, and the crust flaked against the saucer when I took an empty one from the table.

  “Here,” I told him, offering the pastry to him. “It’s from Angelo’s. It’s the cream cheese and ricotta ones you love so much. I got this special for you. First batch they made this morning.”

  Papa turned up his nose but took the frown from his face when I sighed. I used the same pout that had always gotten me out of missed curfews and unauthorized shopping sprees. “Papa, for me?”

  “Ah, mi passerotto. Fine…” He sat up then, taking a small bite from the cannoli before he flopped back against his chair, wiping the cream cheese from his mouth with the napkin I handed him. “Now, Vinnie,” he said, moving his head to rest back against the chair, his attention on me.