What if some of them rode in chauffeured cars and wielded rope and masks, platinum cards and penthouses? Was it any less love because Jack was rich? Because he had trouble expressing himself and took her breath away with his hands and mouth instead of his words? Who got to decide the definition of love? Who got to tell her what she felt for Jack wasn’t it?
She stood and paced the gallery floor, her eyes combing Morris LeGrange’s most recent pieces. They were as compelling as always, and she wondered suddenly how many artists and collectors made fun of them. How many of them felt it wasn’t “real” art because they couldn’t find the beauty in it.
Were they right? Were they the arbiters of good art just because they had money and education and were bold enough to call trash like they saw it?
She thought about Judith and her photographs of women in the city. Nina had taken to calling the other woman — on a landline, since Judith didn’t have a cell phone — before she went to the park and Judith had met her there several times since Nina had come to her apartment for lunch.
Nina had come to look forward to her visits with Judith, always newly surprised by her wit and charm, her refreshingly accepting outlook on life. She took everything as it came, felt no need to analyze or label it, to approve or condemn it.
Nina had come to believe it was the key to the aura of peace that surrounded Judith. Of course, having a lot of money didn’t hurt. Nina wasn’t that naive. Money brought security and security went a long way toward a peaceful aura.
But Judith had definitely figured out how to live life on her terms, how to view it through a lens that was beautiful, even if only to her. Like her photos, although those were beautiful to Nina too, and she had a feeling she wasn’t the only one who would think so. She’d said as much to Judith, who had eventually asked her why showing the photographs was so important to her.
Nina had had to search for the answer. She’d gotten so used to the desire to show Judith’s work that she’d stopped asking herself why they were so special to her.
“I think you see women as they wish they could be seen,” Nina had finally said. “The way they should see themselves.”
Judith had looked intrigued. “And how is that, dear?”
It had been a question that Nina could answer without hesitation. “Beautiful. Brave. Strong.”
Judith had only nodded, her brow furrowing the way it did whenever she was considering a new piece of information.
It was the last time they’d discussed the photographs. Nina enjoyed her friendship with Judith and didn’t want the other woman to think Nina was spending time with her in the hopes of getting her hands on the pictures. She'd accepted Judith’s decision not to show her work and they’d continued their visits to the park. It was one of the few places Nina still found peace.
The thought lifted her spirits. She’d screwed up the catering order but she’d fixed it: Moni wouldn’t be out any additional money and Morris would still get his vegetarian spread. His photographs were impeccably arranged — most of which she’d curated herself — and the gallery was so clean they could have eaten off the floor.
She didn’t know yet what would happen with Jack, but as Judith liked to say, “Somehow it all works out, my dear.”
Nina returned to the desk and shut off the computer, grabbed her bag, and started turning off the lights. As far as she knew, she and Jack didn’t have anything special planned for tonight — except hopefully her long-awaited orgasm. She would call Judith and stop at the park on the way to his apartment, watch the summer crowd sit by the fountain, walk with their lovers, lick the drips from their ice cream cones.
Somehow it would all work out.
22
She called Judith on her way to the park but didn’t get an answer. She went anyway, lingering on their favorite bench and tipping her face to the setting sun as she listened to the cascade of water in the fountain, children laughing, and the reassuring murmur of conversation coming from all directions.
By the time she reached Jack’s she was feeling more settled. Her body was still humming with need, but she wasn’t quite as ready to jump out of her skin.
She smiled at the doorman who walked with her to the elevator and sent her up to Jack’s apartment. Nina tried to imagine what it would be like to live there, to have her own elevator key and be on a first name basis with the doorman.
Would she enjoy it? What about the gallery? She would have to take a subway across the river for her shifts. Would she become like Karen who thought anything below 14th Street or across a bridge was no-man’s-land?
She was still thinking about it when the elevator stopped. Jack met her in the marble entry of his apartment, pulling her into his arms and kissing her warmly. Nothing seemed to have changed between them since Croatia. If anything, Jack was warmer and more affectionate since their conversation by the water in Split.
“Come in, darling.” He led her into the living room. “I’ll pour you a drink while you change.”
“Change?” She’d worn a simple summer shift with heeled sandals. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise,” he said, his back to her as he poured her drink. “There’s something waiting for you on the bed.”
She started for the bedroom, wondering what he had up his sleeve.
She spotted the scrap of fabric as soon as she entered the room. It was hot pink and hardly looked big enough to be more than a piece of lingerie. When she picked it up, she saw that she had been right: it was a fuchsia slip trimmed with black lace, and from the looks of it, it would barely cover her ass. The fact that the label read Dolce and Gabbana did nothing to change the fact that wearing the garment in public would be indecent.
She picked it up by the thin spaghetti straps and returned to the living room.
“You did say we were going out, right?”
“That’s right.” He was sitting in one of the chairs near the wall of windows overlooking the city, the sun glinting off a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
“I can’t wear this outside the apartment,” she said.
“You can and you will.” His voice was steely. “Unless, of course, you’d like to employ your safe word for the first time. It’s not just for sex. You call the shots.”
She bit her lip. Not using her safe word, playing Jack’s games, had become a matter of pride as well as lust. Whatever Collette Rousseau had let Jack do to her, Nina would also allow.
“No.”
“Good. You can wear a coat until we arrive at our destination if it makes you feel better.”
“It’s ninety degrees out,” she said.
He took a drink from the glass in his hand. “It’s up to you.”
She started for the bedroom.
“And Nina?”
She didn’t turn around. “Yes?”
“No underclothing,” he said. “Not a scrap.”
She continued to the bedroom, stripped off her clothes, and slipped the silky shift over her head. Then she walked to the full-length mirror and studied her reflection.
If the dress had been remotely appropriate for anything outside the bedroom she would have been proud to wear it. Her body was as lean as it had ever been, leaner even than in college when she’d still carried an ten extra pounds of baby fat that had been firm enough to make her look ripe instead of overweight.
Her cheekbones were defined, making her eyes look huge, and her collarbone was pronounced. Her breasts looked firm even without a bra, the deep V-neck on the shift showing a generous slice of cleavage.
Even her legs were toned, a miracle given that the dress fell a good six inches above her knees. She turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder, verifying that the dress covered her ass.
Barely.
She went to the master bath, pinned her hair, and applied makeup from the cosmetics she kept at Jack’s apartment. She made a point not to go too heavy, all too aware that the dress had a slutty edge to it.
They can’t call
us sluts anymore.
She couldn’t help it: she felt like a hooker, and not a high-priced one either.
“Sorry, Karen,” she murmured to the mirror. “Just calling it like I see it, not that I have a problem with sex workers.”
When she was done with her makeup, she opened Jack’s walk-in closet and scanned the shoes she’d left there over the past few months. She reached for a pair of black flats, reasoning that they would take the sexiness of the dress down a notch, then hesitated.
Jack obviously had something specific in mind. Did she want to tamp it down or play along?
She lifted a pair of strappy Louboutins — bought by Jack for their trip to Split — from the floor, slipped them on, and reached for a simple black clutch on the shelf above the drawers holding Jack’s underclothes and socks.
Jack was still in the chair when she returned to the living room, his expression placid, as if he were simply waiting for her to dress for another dinner in the city.
He didn’t get up when she entered the room and she stood patiently as he looked her over, used to his scrutiny and the desire that flared to life between her legs as he engaged in it.
Finally, he crossed the room, pausing for a long moment in front of her. Her body was clamoring for him, his scent assaulting her nose, winding its way to her throbbing sex, desperate to release the orgasm that had been lurking there for over a week.
She closed her eyes when he reached for her, wanting to savor his touch. Instead she felt him pull the pins from her hair. It brushed her back as it fell.
He arranged it around her shoulders. “That’s better. Shall we go?”
She nodded and followed him to the door. When they got there she gave in to her self-consciousness and reached into the coat closet for a light trench coat Jack had bought her at Burberry.
She would play his game to a point, but she couldn’t bring herself to traipse through the city in full makeup, a nightgown and heels on a summer night when everyone else was wearing casual sundresses and flats or sandals.
He put his hand on the door and leaned down to speak in her ear. She braced herself for him to say something about the coat.
He bit her ear instead, and a moan escaped her mouth, moisture rushing to her sex. “I’m going to let you come tonight, Nina. Are you ready?”
23
They drove for almost an hour, over the bridge and out of the city, north on the Thruway. Concrete and steel fell away in favor of rolling hills and a lush carpet of trees that spread in every direction.
They rode mostly in silence, Nina accepting the two glasses of bourbon Jack handed her without question. She had a funny feeling in her stomach, her body so taut with sexual need it was hard to distinguish from a warning.
She drank the bourbon gratefully, letting it numb her as they made their way farther out of the city. By the time they exited the highway, she was a little drunk.
Jack didn’t touch her as Reggie navigated the car over winding roads flanked by thick stands of trees. His withholding only made her more desperate for his hands and mouth. More desperate to feel him drive into her while she came.
There was little traffic, and Nina was almost surprised when a small town appeared. It wasn’t quaint, just a couple of streets lit by the sickly blue light of old street lamps. They passed a tiny gas station, a deli, a diner, two pizza places, and a questionable looking Chinese restaurant. Everything but the gas station and the Chinese restaurant was closed.
They came to the end of the street and turned left, then continued along a deserted road to an old house with peeling yellow paint. The parking lot was too large for the handful of cars parked under the lights. A painted sign above the open door read TONY’S.
Reggie pulled the car to a stop and came around to open the back door. Jack stepped out and reached for Nina’s hand.
“Leave the coat,” he said.
She untied the belt and threw the coat in the car, shivering as the air hit her skin even though it was fairly warm.
Jack took her hand and led her toward the open door, an old metal screen the only thing standing between the interior of the bar and the parking lot. He pulled open the door and they entered a large room with a bar on one side, all of it paneled in faded wood that blended in with the floor, making Nina feel like she was inside a wooden box where there was no up or down.
The murmur of conversation quieted as Jack and Nina came into the room. There were only a handful of people in the room: two men and a woman playing pool on a table with faded felt, an older man at one end of the bar, a younger man in jeans and cowboy boots at the other end, and a bartender with a balding head and a midlife paunch.
Every one of them stared as she and Jack made their way to the bar. She felt vulnerable and exposed, acutely aware of her bare skin under the tiny slip, her lack of underwear, her slightly bouncing breasts.
Jack pulled out one of the stools for Nina. She was relieved to sit, to find even a little bit of shelter behind the bar as Jack took the stool next to her.
The bartender approached them cautiously. Nina wondered if he was worried Jack was going to bludgeon him with his Hermes shoes. She fought the urge to giggle and realized she was more than a little drunk.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Four shots. Tequila.”
Nina looked at Jack. She might be drunk, but she’d never heard Jack order shots, and definitely not tequila.
The bartender nodded and poured the shots. Jack pushed two of them toward Nina and raised one of the glasses. He waited for her to do the same.
“To new games.”
She knocked back the shot without replying, her nervousness growing more insistent.
A sound system was playing country music. Nina settled into her buzz, letting her gaze wander the bar, taking in the people with curiosity. It was hard to believe they were only an hour north of the city.
This definitely wasn’t Larchmont.
She fought back another giggle, then saw Jack look at her and wondered if maybe she hadn’t fought it back at all.
The younger man at the end of the bar caught her eye. He tipped his head in acknowledgment and Nina saw that he was attractive, with a strong jaw and thick blond hair. Her gaze traveled across his broad shoulders, down to his muscled thighs, straining against faded jeans. He made her think of Liam.
Jack’s hand rested on her thigh, his fingers warm as they crawled upward.
“Take your other shot, darling,” he said close to her ear.
She looked at the bar and realized Jack had already finished his. The shot glass swam in front of her as she brought it to her mouth. She had to work not to spill it as Jack stroked the sensitive skin at the very top of her inner thigh, the tension that had built in her body a high-pitched squeal that blocked out everything else, her nipples so hard they hurt.
She drank the tequila fast, trying to keep her breathing normal, resisting the urge to close her eyes, to spread her legs in front of everybody and sink into his touch.
“That’s good,” Jack said, his voice soothing. “I bet you’re so wet. My cock is going to slide into you so easily.”
She kept her eyes forward as his fingers inched another half inch up her leg. She was in a world of her own, everyone else in the bar fading to the periphery of her vision as every nerve, every sense, homed in on Jack’s fingers.
He leaned in and his breath against her neck almost sent her over the edge.
“Are you ready to come, Nina?”
She swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Go to the bathroom then,” he said, pulling back into his own space.
“A… alone?”
“Don’t worry, darling. I’ll be right behind you,” he said.
She got to her feet and stood for a minute with her hand on the bar stool, trying to steady herself for the walk to the bathroom. She was only dimly aware of the other customers staring as she crossed to the back of the room and a sign dir
ecting her to the restrooms.
She was too distracted, her body in a state of hyper-arousal she’d never imagined possible, the silk slip brushing against her ass, stoking the fire of an orgasm that threatened to spill over just from the friction of her legs as she walked.
The hall to the bathroom was narrow and dark, paneled in the same faded wood as the rest of the place. She put a hand out to steady herself as she made her way toward the sign marked COWGIRLS.
A small sink stood near the door, a grimy mirror hanging over it. At the other end of the bathroom two narrow stalls stood in the shadows. The overhead fixture cast weak fluorescent light over the room.
The door opened and she turned to find Jack entering the bathroom. She didn’t care that it was the women’s restroom. She only cared about the look in his eyes, the one that said he was there to touch her, to fuck her, to make her come.
He walked slowly toward her, the flimsy door falling shut soundlessly behind him. He closed the distance between them in seconds, stopping when he was only inches away.
The room tilted as she dragged the breath in and out of her chest. “Please…”
“Please what?” His eyes were cold.
“Please fuck me.”
He spun her around so fast she didn’t know what was happening until she was facing the sink, Jack’s body pressed against her back, his cock hard against her ass.
He bent his head to her neck, and she shivered as he kissed his way up to her ear, one of his hands slipping into the top of the dress to cradle her breast.
She moaned. “Please.”
His other hand slid under the dress and up her thigh. She shuddered as he stroked her soaking folds.
“Don’t you come, Nina.” He spoke softly in her ear, but his voice was firm. “Don’t you come until I’m fucking you.”
“Then fuck me, Jack,” she panted. “Do it now.”
She was aware of nothing outside of her own urgent need, Jack’s hands on her skin, inside her throbbing pussy.
He lifted up her slip and she heard him unzip his pants. She was so close. So close to feeling him inside her.
The Surrender of Nina Fontaine (Awakening Book 2) Page 12