“Did you…?” Aria squirmed in her chair.
“No questions are off-limits,” he said.
“Did you want to be him? Secretly?”
“No. I wanted to be the one giving the pleasure.”
“You call that pleasure?”
“I do. And the respect, the adoration. I wanted it all.”
“You want to be adored? That sounds a bit egotistical.”
“No. I want to do the adoring, with my whip, my flogger, my paddle, my crop.”
“I’m not sure that’s the way I’d want to be adored.” She scowled and twirled the globe of her glass between her hands. “So then you went looking for a submissive?”
“For me, it wasn’t that simple. The club was always looking for Dungeon Monitors. In this case, it was volunteers who would walk around, watch scenes, make sure nothing got out of control, that safe words were honored. DMs don’t generally participate. They observe. Kennedy gave me pointers, and a few times I helped out at events. I didn’t have a steady girlfriend, mainly because I was obsessed with my inventions. And when I did go out, I didn’t have patience for chitchat and games. So I put my name forward for membership in the club. I had to attend five events before I was eligible for membership. Like the owner said, if we’re all going to get naked together, we need to know each other. I spent a lot of evenings at munches and at classes, talking about the obligations and responsibilities of being a Dom.”
“Sounds like a support group for Doms.”
“In a way, it was.”
“Is there one for subs?”
“Absolutely. There are also sites online that have groups and chats, questions and answers—that type of thing.”
“You’re not kidding me, are you?”
“Not at all. People take their kink very seriously. And there are subs who are looking for a play partner. I was happy to be one. I dated one woman after that, but we had little in common besides the fact she liked to be tied up and I liked to do the tying. After that, we played together on occasion, but we drifted apart. All very amicable.”
“And the woman you mentioned earlier? The one you were engaged to?”
Even with Julien, Grant hadn’t discussed Kathleen much. The failure of the relationship—along with the resulting damage—meant letting go hadn’t been easy. The hurt had originally driven him to New Mexico. Driven him? More like he’d escaped. And it had taken him months to move on, even longer to recognize that he’d rather be alone than not have everything he demanded in a relationship.
Yet… Grant told himself it couldn’t hurt to talk about it. He appreciated her openness. How could he give less? And if he hoped to move beyond an easy camaraderie, she had a right to know what drove him and what had honed his resolution. “Kathleen and I had a lot in common. She was a software engineer, too. But she was incapable of elevating the physical part of our relationship to the level I demanded. She was happy to get a dozen orgasms a night. If she was in the right mood, she’d agreed to get tied up. Occasionally she’d let me flog her. But when she wasn’t in the mood, she could go for days, even weeks, without sex. She didn’t need it like I did. For her, sex was fun. For me, in a relationship, it’s necessary—vital even. It’s about connection. It’s who I am.”
Aria opened her mouth then closed it without speaking. She settled for sliding her glass back onto the table.
“It’s okay,” he encouraged her. Encouraged himself, as well.
“I don’t want to be rude.” She shook her head back, then finger-combed her hair with both hands. “But I feel like you’re leaving something out.”
“You are bold.”
“And?”
He’d told her he liked strong women, and he did. Better to be challenged than to leave questions simmering, maybe undermining the honesty he said he wanted. “You’re right. There’s more. Kathleen tried to like submission, the protocol of the whole thing. When I realized she only liked a small amount of it, that for her it was nothing more than acting an occasional part in the bedroom, I tried to pretend it didn’t matter to me. I was in love, and I was willing to do what it took for the relationship to work. Eventually, though, there was friction. A lot of it. We’d argue about it. She’d say she just wanted to be treated like a princess. But my way was the only way I knew to show her I thought she was one.”
Even now, the frustration gnawed at him. “Eventually she ended up throwing things, breaking plates, smashing a photo frame with our picture in it. She equated the drama with passion. Maybe on some level I did too. And then she’d apologize and be loving, contrite for a while. The truth is, I wanted too much from her and she needed me to be less intense. In the end, it ruined us both.”
He paused. Words didn’t come close to explaining the trauma—how badly it had affected him, and her. How two people who wanted different things could be in love, yet cause so much emotional damage to each other. “At the end, it was fucked up. One night…”
Aria waited.
He thought about whether he wanted to continue. But how could she understand if he stopped? “One night, after I’d gotten back from a trip with Julien, she wanted to start a fight about how I was never home, never there for her, always working. I hadn’t gotten home early enough to go to a party she wanted to attend. I was exhausted, wasn’t in the mood for her theatrics. So I told her to take them elsewhere. She did. She left, driving her sports car too fucking fast.”
“Grant…”
“She wouldn’t answer her phone. Went over to a girlfriend’s house. They had a bottle of wine, then a second. Then Kathleen drove home—or tried to. She put her car around a telephone pole. She was shaken up. Bruised, but no serious injuries. Even after that, it took three months, maybe more, to stop the insanity and admit we couldn’t work it out.”
“That’s when you moved here,” she guessed.
“Peace,” he agreed. “Solitude. A way to break the pattern and make sure I didn’t repeat it.”
Aria took a sip of the chardonnay, and he noticed that her hand shook just a little. “I’m sorry I pried,” she whispered. “I had no right.”
“You did. I wouldn’t have told you if I hadn’t thought it was important for you to understand who I am. I regret the way things ended with Kathleen. But I don’t regret the good times—or the experience.”
“That sounds a bit romantic.”
“Maybe. Does that make you uncomfortable?”
She shifted. “I’m not sure I believe in romance anymore. Even if I do, I won’t let myself be swayed by it in the future.”
Grant decided not to tell her he knew about the relationship she’d run away from. He wanted to hear about it from her. “Oh?”
“Long story.”
“With this weather, we’re not going anywhere. We’ve got all night.”
She reached for the stem of her glass and swirled the wine without tasting it. After stalling for a minute, she said, “My parents are awesome, but they wanted a large family. They got me.”
“They probably would say they did okay.”
“You’re right, and I love them to pieces, couldn’t survive without them. But all their expectations were directed toward me. I’m not whining about it. They worked their asses off so I could have everything I wanted.”
“And?”
“I thought I’d found it. But I discovered it was an illusion. Wishing for something doesn’t necessarily make it come true.” She paused before continuing, “I guess I’ve always followed the path that’s been set for me. After college, all my friends started to get married. They seemed happy. I thought I should want that, too.”
“You want to make your own choices.”
She let go of the glass and looked him in the eye. For the first time, he saw a layer of hurt in the verdant depths.
“One of my friends introduced me to her boyfriend’s brother. And honestly, Simon was—is—nice enough. Everyone told us we were perfect together, and I started to believe it. But as time went on, I ended up feel
ing suffocated,” she admitted. “I would wake up in the morning and wonder if that was all there was to my life. I spent a lot of time telling myself—trying to convince myself—that I was happy enough. But on some level, I…” She took a large gulp of her wine, draining the glass. “You don’t need to hear all this.”
“I do,” he countered. “Just like I told you about Kathleen. I want to know everything about you.”
“This is the dark stuff.” She sighed. “Things I don’t tell anyone else. Thoughts I’m not proud of. Honestly, Grant, I’m a bit embarrassed.”
“I think you’re being hard on yourself.”
She gave a tentative, obviously forced, smile. “That wouldn’t be the first time. After a certain point, I realized the truth, but even then, I still put on a smile and pretended everything was okay. The unhappier I was, the more I would throw myself into my work, sign up for conferences that would take me away from home, volunteer for travel. And when I got to the point where I didn’t want to go back home at all, that’s when I had to be truthful with myself. See, not very noble or honorable.”
“Better to have gone ahead and gotten married and potentially ended up divorced?”
“My mom tried to tell me it was jitters. Happens to every bride.”
“It doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Only you know the truth.”
He watched her turn her fork over and over again. Finally she released it and gave a half-smile. “They weren’t jitters.”
“Then be grateful you had the courage to walk away.”
“Having that discussion with Simon was one of the most challenging things I’d ever done. I felt like a fraud and a failure, as if the relationship—and he—should be enough. I knew I was letting him and our families down.”
“Better than dragging it out.” Like he’d done. “Facing it, owning your mistake? It’s less messy. No matter what you think, it’s nobler than having gone through with it just for appearances’ sake.”
“That’s one way to look at it. And that’s also what Simon said. He wasn’t destroyed when we broke it off.”
“Courage can look very different, given the circumstances. Deep down, you know what you want and aren’t willing to settle. I admire that.” He’d noticed the way she’d looked at the portrait in his room and their ensuing discussion. He wondered if, deep down, the relationship with Simon hadn’t been enough for her. Maybe it had been about more than expectations. Maybe it had also been about boredom.
Perhaps she simply needed a man who would challenge her.
Standing, she started to gather their plates, effectively ending the conversation.
Grant understood the impulse to shut down when others ventured into territory that felt emotionally vulnerable. “You’re welcome to sit in front of the fire, and I’ll join you. Or feel free to escape to your room for a little peace and quiet.”
“You cooked. I can at least help clean. Then spending a few more minutes together sounds nice.”
That was the last thing he expected her to say. And it proved she didn’t run when things were tough, no matter what she believed about herself.
She collected the serving dishes while he was rinsing the plates, and he noticed that she was swaying to the sounds of Miles Davis. Suddenly Grant realized he was staring at her.
He pulled himself back to the task at hand and busied himself with putting away the spices while she wiped the counters. “More wine?” he offered. “Irish coffee? A brandy?”
“I’m fine, thanks. And thank you for making dinner. The food was excellent, and the fact you cooked is very much appreciated. I would have been happy just eating the appetizers you selected.”
It’d been a long time since he’d prepared a meal. Her company and her appreciation, applause and all, made the effort worthwhile.
She crossed into the living room and curled up in a corner of the sectional, facing the fire. It surprised him how comfortable she seemed, and how natural it felt to him.
He poured the remaining chardonnay from the bottle into his glass then turned off the kitchen lights before joining her. “Do you dance?” he asked.
“Not well. Well, I can do the line dances at a wedding. And I do an excellent limbo at the roller-skating rink. Or, well, I did when I was ten. But somehow I still keep that image in my mind.”
“Ah, to be as good as we’ve convinced ourselves we once were.”
“Exactly.” She grinned. “And you? Are you good at it?”
“Dreadful.” He slid his drink on top of the mantel. The dog lifted his head and put it back down as if slightly annoyed. “So let’s not dance well together. I’ve already promised that I’ll keep your secrets.” What he lacked in skill, he made up for in enthusiasm. Since he’d spent more time with electronics than with women in the early college years, he’d missed out on a lot of opportunities to go to clubs and formals.
Julien’s mother had told him that the most important thing was trying. She’d added that women liked to be asked, held and talked to. Those things, he’d managed to figure out.
He moved closer to Aria, held out his hand and waited, telling himself he wouldn’t be disappointed if she refused. But that was a complete lie. He wanted her in his arms, against his chest. And he knew he’d use whatever method it took to get her where he needed her to be.
Chapter Four
Common sense urged Aria to run.
She should make excuses and lock herself in her bedroom. If she were smart, that’s exactly what she would do.
Instead she was considering it.
He was impossibly tall, impossibly handsome, impossibly seductive. Like her, he hadn’t changed clothes when they’d arrived home. So he still wore those bad-ass black boots, jeans that showed an ass that was tighter than it had a right to be. The long-sleeved black T-shirt that he’d tucked into his waistband behaved as a second skin since it emphasized the shape of his biceps and the breadth of his shoulders.
Outside, the wind whipped across the valley, driving snow into the windows. But in his living room, a warm fire, a wonderful dinner, a nice wine, intimate conversation and the lure of temptation wove an indelible spell around her.
She reminded herself that this man was a Dominant. He’d said he could sleep with a woman without having to tie her up. But if she were honest with herself, images of the portrait in his bedroom had flitted through her mind all day, even while they’d been working. The model had seemed peaceful, and the hint of a smile on her lips had radiated the confidence.
Grant made her nervous. Despite herself, she was curious what it might be like to have sex with him, to fall under his powerful, masculine spell. And she knew that, if only for a moment, she would be as appreciated as the woman in the portrait. The way he was looking at her now told her that.
Nerves flooded her, making her giddy as she admitted the truth to herself. Part of her wanted to be tied up by him.
With seemingly infinite patience, he remained where he was, not pushing for a response, but she knew that taking this step might lead to something more. She also sensed that he’d allow her to move at her speed. Finally, she gave voice to her fears. She wondered who she was hoping to convince. Him? Or herself? “Dancing with you could be an insanely bad idea.”
“It could.”
“We’re coworkers.”
“Also true.”
“Sleeping together might really muck things up.”
“Another valid point.”
“I wish you’d try to talk me into this,” she said, “or out of it, for that matter. Something.”
He grinned. “A dance doesn’t have to lead to sex.”
“But it probably will.”
“If you want it.” He swept his gaze over her. “Because I sure as hell do.”
His words turned her on. But it wasn’t just what he’d said or the way he continually looked at her. It was more. Sexual attraction. And it had been building since she’d stepped off the plane and saw him standing there, leaning against the SUV, c
onfident and powerful.
In his bedroom, he’d described BDSM as if it were an elevated form of sex. To him, it obviously was. Grant had also been brutally frank with her about his failed engagement and his own part in it. She felt she knew him better than most men she’d been with. Aria rationalized that the attraction was an inevitable result of their enforced close quarters and their candid conversations. But it didn’t matter. All she knew was that she desired him, needed him.
Her pulse did a slow burn as she stood.
“Molly, bump the volume up a bit.”
This time, it appeared the computer’s artificial intelligence worked as he instructed, and she took a couple of steps toward him then accepted his hand.
“Perfect,” he said. “Standing behind you earlier, when we were getting your palm print, was torture. Inhaling your scent, not being able to touch you… Then being in the kitchen with you… Watching you set the table, leaning over, sashaying your hips as you walked toward—”
“I don’t sashay,” she interrupted, but at a whisper. The man was seducing her verbally, reducing her objections to a cool pile of ash.
“Oh, yes, Aria. You most certainly do.”
She expected him to pull her close, but he didn’t. Instead, he held her at a respectful distance then began leading her around the hardwood floor. He was very good, fluid, using the right pressure, making her feel as if they’d done this a dozen times together. “You lied.”
“About?”
“This. You’re a good dancer.”
“Julien’s mom taught me a couple of steps.”
“His mother?”
“Yeah. We went to school at UT, Austin. His mom moved there when he was accepted. It was the main reason he ended up living with me. Anyway, she took pity on me one evening before we went to a nightclub and showed me a couple of steps. Embarrassing at the time, but now I’m grateful. I broke Julien’s phone that night because he videoed it.”
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