Pursued

by Cynthia Dane

  “You would have to be a submissive woman to run a place like this. I can hear these walls echoing with your need to be touched tenderly and with the determination that only a man like me can provide.”

  Another swallow. “You are sure of yourself.”

  “Don’t insult me, Monica. Are you telling me that I know who you are, but you don’t know me? We’re two halves balancing each other out. We’re Yin and Yang. And you have so much Yin. You really should find an outlet for it before you’re consumed by your own energies. You know what? Same could be said for me. We need harmony.”

  “Don’t insult me… you don’t know me…?” He didn’t mean from a previous encounter. He meant that knowing notion that they were two halves of the same whole. Yes. Of course Monica had noticed it. Hadn’t she been fantasizing about Henry tying her up, spanking her, and pinching her body until she cried? Because he’s one of them. A Dom. Henry never said he wasn’t. Oh, God. This was not making her position any easier to bear. I want you, Henry Warren. I want you to make me feel like I used to. All the pent up stress and frustration was like a ticking time bomb in her gut. Monica could ignore it as long as no one else was around. From the moment Henry entered her life, she wanted him to use and dominate her until she was harmonious again.

  She wondered if he was feeling it too. A mighty desire to take out his power on a ready submissive woman. Let it be me…

  The collar grew hot in her hand. If she put it on, she could have him. Right here. Right now, in her office. Or the bedroom next door. Monica clutched her chest and averted her eyes so those blues no longer destroyed her. It also kept her from kissing the damn man.

  Henry lifted his hand, knuckles hovering next to her cheek. “If there’s someone else…”

  “No.” She spat it too quickly, before her emotions could be purged. “There is no one.” Monica had to tell herself that until she finally believed it.

  “So then…” Henry did not dare touch her. Monica wanted him to, for two reasons: first, she wanted the man to put his hands all over her. Second, if he touched her without permission, then she would know that he would end up being no better than a man like Jackson. No boundaries. No love for her.

  But he didn’t touch her. The fact tortured her.

  Don’t tempt me. Tempt her into something stupid. Monica was too close to her previous relationship to even think of starting up a new one, let alone one hinged on domination and submission. It was what she wanted in her heart, but damnit, she wasn’t ready!

  “Don’t touch me,” she said, almost breathless. “Please.”

  He hesitated, but Henry backed away. For the first time Monica saw disappointment in those eyes. What, did he think she would fold beneath his pressure and give him whatever she wanted? She had her reasons. He didn’t need to know them. “My apologies. I read the situation all wrong.”

  :”Yes, you did.” No, you didn’t. Henry was perceptive. Too perceptive. He had read Monica like the open book she apparently was the first moment they met. A man like that could be dangerous. “I’m sorry, somewhere along the way you got the impression that I can be bought like one of my girls.” She slammed the lid back on the box and pushed it toward him. I don’t mean it like that. Her girls weren’t “bought.” They were professionals selling a service, yes, but they weren’t commodities. Yet did men ever see it that way? Maybe men like Henry Warren needed to know exactly where they all stood. She wasn’t to be bought. Or sold. Or controlled in that fashion. Monica was her own woman in this world she created. She had to learn how to live on her own and take care of herself. No man would really do that for her.

  “I’m sorry to have offended you.” Henry replaced his disappointment with the same poker face Monica used. She knew it well. “Please, forgive me. And don’t hold this against any of my friends or colleagues. They have no idea I’m here doing this.”

  “Wouldn’t have assumed so.” Even when these men were together, they worked independently. “And apology accepted. I don’t think you’re a bad man or anything. I just think we got our wires crossed. I am not available.”

  “No, of course not.” He cleared his throat and continued to smooth out his jacket. Every time he did this, he created more wrinkles. “If I may say…”

  “Go on.”

  “This only makes me more interested in you.”

  Monica showed him out after that. Men. She latched the door to her quarters and turned to face her small, private hallway where she likewise kept her secrets, fears, and heartbreak locked away. Men! Apparently Henry Warren thought she was playing hard to get.

  Maybe she was.

  Chapter 5

  Clipped Wings

  “How much is it worth?” Monica tapped her fingers, her favorite appraiser sitting on the other side of her desk and studying the diamonds in the collar. “I need to know if I should sell it or give it to one of my girls.”

  The appraiser, aptly named Mr. Jules, looked up with his ocular device still in his eye. He was an old and frail man for only being sixty-five, but he was one of the only qualified men in the city Monica could convince to make house calls. She summoned him every time they received a gift of patronage to confirm what she suspected.

  I have no idea what to expect with this. As much as she wished she could be rid of the collar in only a few minutes, she was still a businesswoman and had to keep her coffers in mind. If the collar were worth a nice sum, she could get a better payday. However, if Henry Warren had underestimated her worth, well… she would make sure he returned one night to see another girl wearing that collar. That’s what I think of that. Any of her girls would be delighted to have it. Such a thing meant nothing other than more status to their clients. It would be an excellent way to embarrass Mr. Warren.

  Mr. Jules spent another minute staring at one of the diamonds before sitting up with a sigh. He removed his instruments and jotted something down on a pad of paper before clearing his throat and telling Monica what she had been waiting to hear. “This is only my professional guess at the moment, but I would estimate this… piece of finery… to be worth about…”

  “Yes?’

  “Thirty-thousand dollars.”

  ‘Thirty…” Monica clapped her mouth shut and summoned the propriety she always needed in these situations. She couldn’t tell Mr. Jules the collar was thus far the most expensive patronage gift anyone there received. She couldn’t tell him that it was worth more than the solid gold collar she had with Jackson. She couldn’t even tell him that it had been for her! While Mr. Jules wasn’t the type of man to go blabbing around town about her business, there were some things men didn’t need to know. “Thank you. You sure that’s a good estimate?”

  “In truth, it may be more. I’m assuming all the diamonds have the lowest grade I can confirm. The silver is solid, though. The only thing bringing down the value is the inscription. That’s only if you sold it as is. If you pieced out the diamonds and sold the silver as scrap, you could get a lovely price.”

  “Naturally.” That’s what she would do. Not for the better price, but to also… what? Do the professional thing, since Henry’s name was on that? “Thank you for your help. This definitely helps me make some decisions.”

  Mr. Jules saw himself out, leaving Monica to sit with her silver collar and chain. Thirty-thousand dollars. She knew Henry was loaded, but most patrons – let alone clients – didn’t drop that much money on a gift for one girl. Even Mr. Carlisle, who spoiled Sylvia silly, never went higher than twelve-thousand for a full set of jewelry. These men bled green. That didn’t mean they bled for their paid girlfriends and mistresses.

  The more Monica let herself think about it, the more she heard Henry’s voice echoing in her head. “We’re two halves.” Part of her attraction to the submissive lifestyle was the beautiful binary presented to her. Things were black and white. Roles were clear. She never had to think beyond what she wanted for dinner and what she should wear that day – unless they were cho
sen for her, of course. She liked it when her Dom picked out a beautiful outfit for her to wear, ordered for her in a restaurant, and told her where they were going. But it only worked if he knew her enough to know she would feel great in that dress, love the meal, and enjoy the sights they saw. Monica was envious of her friends who had such men in their lives.

  “I want to be your patron.” Monica’s nail scratched against the inscription. How had she overlooked the potential inside Henry? When they met, she assumed he was like any other alpha but polite male. That was until he told her what she had really been thinking – that he was Dom through and through.

  Before any man could be accepted as a patron, Monica did some research on him. What he did, where he lived, how he made his millions or billions… Henry Warren was a name she hadn’t heard before. Either he dropped a good amount of his fortune on this collar and chain, or he was a sleeper businessman who controlled the world from behind the scenes. He wasn’t the face of a major company. He wasn’t a famous heir that showed up on Page 6. He was old money, but he knew how to use it. Monica’s last lover was old money as well. And look how that turned out for me.

  Old money men were snobbish and out of touch. New money men were reckless and prone to bad decisions. Monica would never find a good balance.

  Her phone rang.

  The landline on her desk, of course, not her cell phone. Few had access to that. Monica shook her head to clear the cobwebs before snatching up the phone and saying, “You have reached Monica Graham. Speak.”

  Nothing surprised her anymore. Not even hearing Henry’s voice on the other end of the line. “Good to hear you sounding so cheerful today.”

  The collar was cold in her hand. “What can I do for you, Mr. Warren?”

  “Please, Henry.”

  “No, Mr. Warren.”

  The pause was surely not comforting for either of them. “I was wondering if you would do me the honor of dinner, Ms. Graham.” He was going to play her game.

  “Dinner? Why on Earth would I have dinner with you?”

  “I said dinner, not a date. I want to discuss business.”

  “I’m sure you do!”

  “Not that kind of business. Investments.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Henry chuckled, although he must have done it far from his phone for as quiet as it was. “I want to discuss the possibility of investing in your business. Don’t tell me you couldn’t use some extra money in a place like that. You have a lot of expensive clientele to keep happy.”

  “We already have investors.”

  “And you don’t want more?”

  Either her palm was sweaty or Henry Warren was making her phone burn in her hand. “I’m not sure it would be appropriate for us to have dinner.”

  “It would be good for you to come down from your mountain and join me for dinner in the city. I’m in town for a few days.”

  “You don’t live in the city?”

  “No, but I keep a place here. I’m always looking for new ventures to gauge. Come have dinner with me.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t do that. Go into the city, that is.”

  “Fine. I’ll come there.”

  Why was he being so stubborn? Men, men, men! “While I appreciate your vested interest in my business, Mr. Warren, I’m afraid that I am not open to new investors at this time.”

  “You know, Monica, it could be that I want to get to know you.”

  Well! She certainly wasn’t expecting candor like that. “You made that clear when you gave me your idea of a gift.”

  “Have I offended you? Please, tell me if I have.”

  “You haven’t offended me.” More like made my imagination run wild.

  “Then you shouldn’t have any issue with having dinner with me. Tell me when. I’ll bring the drinks.”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Monica stared at the collar on her desk. “I want to be your patron.” She imagined her and Henry sitting in a cozy restaurant, the man fawning over her while she in turn fawned over him. “Thursday. Five. If you’re even a minute late, it’s over.”

  Another pause. At this rate he was going to kill her with the waiting. “Thank you for taking another chance on me. By the way…”

  “Yes?”

  He breathed deeply against the phone, that voice, those breaths burrowing into Monica’s ear as she felt a trickle of sweat come down her forehead and down her chest. “Never mind. We can talk about it on Thursday.”

  Monica said the first thing to come to her mind, although she instantly regretted it. “I look forward to it.” No, no, no! What in the world was she doing? Don’t encourage him! Oh, she would encourage him all right. She let a smile cross her face before leaning against her desk and saying with a smile, “I look forward to how you try to seduce me next.”

  Cat, mouse… who was who and which was which? Furthermore, how much longer would Monica be able to resist?

  Chapter 6

  The Wolf’s Den

  The wine was vintage, sweet, and much more delicious than Monica wanted to give Henry credit for. He had spared no expense on the gifts he brought her, beyond the wine. Truffles, exotic flowers, and a transparent light red shawl that glittered in tiny rubies. Since these were given to her publically in the foyer, Monica had no choice but to accept them graciously. The food stuff was put out for their dinner, the flowers sent to the dining table, and the shawl? She handed it to Sylvia and asked her to leave it in the front hallway of the master suite. No way am I wearing it outside to our dinner in his presence.

  “I don’t want you to think I bought it to impress you,” he said, as they walked side by side upstairs and toward a small balcony near the master suite. Monica arranged for a two-person dining table to be set up, complete with a lantern and a silk tablecloth. It shouldn’t get too dark while they ate, but Monica understood ambiance like her billionaire clients understood the stock market. He’ll think I’m flirting. She was. She was flirting so hard the outcome pointed to Henry bending her over the railing and giving her what they both wanted.

  “I don’t think you did that at all.” Monica opened the door and waited for Henry to step through. Sometimes I get to be a gentlelady. “Because you know I would not be impressed.”

  “In truth, I didn’t buy it. I found it in my sister’s bin of things she wants to get rid of. Asked her if I could give it to someone and she said yes.”

  “How… well, I don’t know what to say to that.”

  “I thought of you when I saw it.” Henry pulled a chair out from the table for Monica to sit in. She accepted, and waited for him to sit adjacent to her, both of their seats offering a view of the sunset as it came for the gardens. “You make me think of the color red. Passionate. Straightforward. Strong.”

  Only one other man had called her strong before. Ethan Cole, my ex. He called her that when she broke down crying in his home shortly after he took her away from that awful prison belonging to Jackson Lyle. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. A weaker woman would have died in there.” “You flatter me, Mr. Warren.”

  “What is your favorite color, anyway?”

  Monica looked right into those bright blue eyes. “I don’t know.”

  “How can you not know your favorite color?”

  “It used to be black.”

  One of the maids came out with wineglasses and ice water to get them started. She knew what to do. Bring out the bread. Then the vegetable and soup course. Then the main course. Then dessert. If the bread wasn’t out of the kitchen within ten minutes, someone would get fired.

  Henry waited for the maid to go back inside before asking, “Used to be?”

  “Yes. Used to be.” Monica loved the simplicity of the color black. Yet it was strong, resilient, and so useful and loved by millions around the world. Black was the color of “goes with everything.” It represented an innocuous coolness that everyone could relate to.

  It also mad
e her think of darker days now. Days that practically ruined her ability to love what the color black had to offer and why she should embrace them all. These days, she gravitated toward the color white to get her mind off it. White was refreshing and as versatile, in a cheerful sort of way. Except Monica’s room was still black and red. No wonder she felt chills every time she went to bed. Regardless of how much she tried to distance herself from her past, it was always there, waiting for her.

  Henry leaned on his elbows and looked between her and the lamp in the middle of the table. “Black and red go well together.”

  “Those are the colors of my room.”

  Monica knew what hand she played, and she was not disappointed to hear him say, “I should like to see it.”

  “I’m sure you would, Mr. Warren. I’m an impeccable decorator.”

  “As stated by this entire mansion.”

  The maid brought out the bread right on time. Henry insisted on cutting it up and buttering it while Monica watched the sun begin its descent behind a grove of trees. I should be doing that for him. Every time someone did something for her, Monica felt the compulsion to tell them, “No, no! I will do that. Please, let me serve you.” In a more common life she would be happy to work retail and waitressing. Maybe work up to being a maid like one of the workers in her Château. She loved to make other people happy and fulfill their needs. The day she realized she got off on it was a strange, yet liberating one.

  “A part of me is surprised that you agreed to have dinner with me.” Henry left the bread on his plate but didn’t touch it. “I thought for sure that after my faux pas you would want nothing to do with me.”