“Tie me up,” she demands, her voice quavering, and I don’t miss the way her knees tremble, and that jolts me with realization. She’s trying to be that person she was in the club with Macom. But she’s not that person. And I’m damn sure not Macom.
I walk to her and I grab the bars above her hands, but I don’t touch her. I lean in, my lips near her ear. “You will never learn how to fuck me and still be alone because you will never be alone again, Faith. And I won’t touch you in this place.” I remove her mask. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”
“No. Nick.” She grabs my lapels, her naked body pressing to mine. “I need—”
“To put your fucking clothes on,” I say. “And let me be clear, Faith. If you don’t get dressed, I will dress you and that’s going to be awkward for us both. I’ll be in the hallway.” I turn and walk to the door, opening it and stepping outside, running a hand over my face, adrenaline I didn’t know I’d triggered pumping through me.
I lean against the wall, inhaling and willing my body to calm the fuck down. I am always calm. Until now apparently. The door opens and Faith exits the room, thankfully fully dressed, and I don’t look at her, nor do either of us speak. I take her hand and lead her down the hallway, getting us the hell out of here. We exit the mansion, and start down the stairs. By the time we’re at the bottom, the car is pulled directly in our path, and I open the door to allow Faith to enter. A minute later, we’re in the car and are back where we started. Her scent and her anger is a powerful cocktail and I turn to look at her.
“That anger of yours can burn me alive, sweetheart, but I’m still going to be here and I’m still not going to let you go.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Nick
Thankfully, the drive home is short. Ten minutes and I pull us into the garage and kill the engine. I’m out before it even dies, walking around the car to get Faith. She’s out of the Audi by the time I’m there, facing off with me. “I should go back to Sonoma.”
She just burned me all right, scorched me inside and out. I’m pissed. One hundred percent certifiably pissed. I don’t say a word. I walk toward her, pick her up and throw her over my shoulder, just like I did the last time she tried to leave. “Damn it, Nick,” she hisses. “You can’t throw me over your shoulder every time I want to leave.”
I don’t respond. I’m already walking, opening the garage door and stepping inside the house, my hand on her pretty little ass, my path straight through the living room and up the stairs. “Nick, damn it.”
“You already said that,” I say, entering our bedroom and walking through the bathroom to the closet that used to feel too big and is now just right with Faith in the house. I flip on the light and then set her down in the center of the room. “What do you see, Faith?” I don’t give her time to respond. “Look around. Your clothes and my clothes. This is two people sharing a life and when you share a life, you don’t just leave because you’re upset.” Realization slices through me. “And if you really want to leave, then maybe you aren’t in this the way I am in this.”
“That’s not true.”
“Words versus actions, Faith. I can’t keep picking you up every time you want to leave? Stop trying to fucking leave. Or don’t. I told you. In or out. You said you were in.”
“You should have told me, Nick.”
“I took a nearly four hundred thousand dollar hit to give that damn place away, Faith. For you. I did it for you. Because after I heard what a club and Macom equaled for you, I wanted you to know the minute I told you that buying it was a favor, not some defining piece of my character. Not an indication of who I am or who we are. I waited to tell you. That was a judgment call, but I did it for the right reasons.”
“You gave it away?” I confirm in disbelief.
I close the space between us and cup her face. “Yes. I did. Because you mean that much to me.”
“Please tell me you have a way to get the money back.”
“I don’t care about the money, Faith. I care about you.” My mouth closes down on hers, and I kiss her, deeply, passionately, drinking her in, so damn in need of her right now, and that need claws at me. “Get undressed,” I order. “We need to be naked together.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “We do. I do.”
I brush my lips over hers and shrug out of my jacket, and we watch each other undress, the anger between us shifting to something just as dark, just as intense and demanding. Lust. Love. Need. And when we are naked, both of us, we stand there in the fucking closet, but neither of us are looking at the other’s body. Our eyes connect, that mask she’d had on and that I’d stuck in my pocket is in my hand, and to her it was a weapon against me and us. A way she made the sex nameless, faceless. To me, it’s a way to show her that that will never be possible. Not for us.
“Do you trust me?”
“I trust you.”
I walk to her, stopping a lean away from touching her. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes. I trust you.”
“You didn’t react like you trust me.”
“I obviously have triggers. I realize that now. It’s about me, not you.”
“It’s about us, Faith. Everything is us now.”
“I know.”
She doesn’t, but I decide right then, that I just have to accept the challenge. I’m not a patient man, but I am in love with this woman, and I will help her, not force her, to see how devoted I am to her. I snag the fingers of her hand and walk her into the dressing room connecting to the closet—a small room with one oversize blue and brown plaid chair, a dresser, a standing mirror, and a full wall that is all windows, the view the ocean, the city.
I lead Faith to the chair in front of the ottoman, which is large enough that it might as well be another chair. I then hold up the mask. “Trust,” I say softly.
She reaches for it and in the process presses to her toes, leaning into me, her hand on my shoulder, her nipples brushing my chest. Her lips are a breath from mine. “Because it’s different here.”
“Is that a question or a statement.”
“A statement. It feels different. I’m glad you made me leave.”
I cup her head and kiss her, savoring the sweetness of those words on my tongue, before I say, “Me too. But I’m glad we went, Faith. You needed to know. I just don’t want us in a place like that.”
“I felt that. I needed to feel that.” She pushes away from me just enough to slip that mask on her face.
My hands settle at her waist, my lips near her ear. “You know I like control.”
My fingers tease her nipple and she arches into the touch, and gives a choked laugh. “You love control.”
“Can I have it now, Faith?”
“I love that you ask,” she whispers.
“I don’t have control that you don’t give me. You know that. I know that. And I wouldn’t want the lie that is any other form of control. Do you know what I want right now?” I don’t give her time to reply. “I want you to feel me so completely that you know, absolutely know, that if there is one person on this earth you can be free with, it’s me.”
“I do.”
“No. But we’re a work in progress, sweetheart. You will. I promise, I will make you not just feel those things. You’ll know them.”
My hands fall away from her and I take a step backward. She reaches for me and I am just a finger out of reach. Her hands fall to her sides, and for nearly a full minute, I just stand there, letting her feel the absence of my touch, letting her wonder what will come next. What will I do to her. I step closer to her again, letting her feel my nearness, and she does. She inhales my scent, on her instincts that tell her I’m in front of her. I lower myself to my knees, but still I don’t touch her. I hold my hands at her ankles, but still I don’t touch her. I move my hands upward. But still I don’t touch her.
“Nick,” she breathes out and when she reaches for me, my lips curve, and I allow her fingers to tunnel into my hair.
It’s what I wan
ted. I wanted her to reach for me, to need me. And now that she has, then, and only then, do my hands come down on her hips, my lips to her belly. I cup her backside, and lower my mouth until I’m a breath above her sex. Her fingers tighten in my hair, and I give her a tiny lick. She rewards me with a sexy, sweet moan. I suckle her nub, then swirl my tongue around it, and already she is trembling and can feel how on edge she is, how easily she will shatter for me, but it’s not enough. I want more. So much more. An explosion. A connection. More than an orgasm.
And suddenly I know I need to test the waters. I need to know that we are not only moving forward, but that we haven’t gone backward.
I stand up, and she breathes out, “Nick,” and my name is a plea.
I answer by cupping her face and kissing her, letting her taste her on my lips. “I’m going to spank you, Faith,” I say, needing to know she won’t hesitate. “I am not going to give you any other warning unless you tell me otherwise. Answer now. Trust me or not. Yes or no?”
“Yes.”
I sit down and take her with me, pulling her across my lap so that the cushion cradles her body, my hand on her backside. I start rubbing her cheeks, warming her backside, when I feel the punch of ignorance overwhelm me. Of course, she said yes. I spanked her the first night. She knows how to shut down. She knows how to escape, and hell. I’m letting her escape me. I’m hurting the level of trust between us, not creating trust.
I inhale and lean over her, kissing her back, her shoulder, one of my hands sliding under her to her sex, fingers stroking the silky wet heat. I slip fingers inside her, my thumb still working her clit and she was already so damn close that she stiffens and trembles into that orgasm I denied her. I don’t let her ride it all the way out, though. I want her to finish with me inside her. I shift our entire bodies, pulling her backside to my front, and I press inside her, my hand covering her breasts.
Her hand is immediately on my hand, and I thrust into her, pleasure radiating through. “God. You feel good,” I murmur next to her ear. “So damn good.”
She arches into me. “Nick, you…I…”
I pull out of her and turn her to face me, pulling away her blindfold. Pressing inside her again, and cupping her backside to pull her down onto my cock, before I repeat her words, “You and I is exactly right,” and then kiss her, a deep, drugging kiss, even as I do a slow thrust followed by another and when I pull back to look at her, to breathe with her, there is a shift between us, an expanding need.
Our mouths come back together, our bodies grinding, pumping, thrusting. It’s dirty, it’s sexy, it’s fiercely addictive, and yet it is sultry, intimate. She tugs my hair free, her fingers tangling in it, tugging at it. Her teeth scraping my shoulder, mine scraping her nipple. The rise of our orgasms are slow, it seems until they’re not. Until they’re upon us and I am cupping her breast, pinching her nipple, thrusting my cock and she is panting out my name in such a fierce demanding way that I am helpless to stop the explosion. I shudder and she trembles, and we cling to each other until we collapse against each other.
Seconds, maybe minutes pass and we lay there like that until she says, “Why didn’t you spank me?”
I pull back to look at her, stroking hair from her face. “I wanted to, but for the wrong reasons.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A spanking is a power play. We both enjoy the give and take that it represents. But it is about power, my power and control, and that has no place between us with a fight in the air and that damn club playing with our heads.”
Her hand settles on my face. “The club isn’t between us. It’s gone. It’s done. And Nick Rogers. If I wasn’t in love with you before this moment, I would be now.”
She presses her lips to mine, and I slant my mouth over hers. In the depths of that kiss is what I have craved, what I have needed: A new level of trust, a willingness to risk it all with me. But hours later as I lay in bed, holding Faith close, I am not reveling in the mountain we’ve climbed today. I’m too busy looking for a way to battle the sea of sharks that are my lies.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Faith
A new day dawns for me with the emotional high of conquering “the club incident” as I call it in my mind, and with Nick and I a little stronger and a lot closer.
And with my car still at Nick’s office, I hitch a ride with him, with a Starbucks drive-thru detour a few blocks from our destination. “That Chinese food we left on your conference table is going to reek this morning,” I say, as we wait at the window for our drinks.
“Rita is going to give me absolute hell about it, too.”
“What are you going to say to explain it?”
“Absolutely nothing.”
I laugh. “That sounds like you.” I inhale and let it out, dreading the nagging concern that sparks my next question. “Did you ask Beck to confirm my art was bought by legitimate buyers?”
And as if waiting for his answer isn’t torture enough, a woman appears at the drive-thru window to take our money. Seeming to sense my nerves though, Nick ignores her and looks at me, and says, “Your sales are one hundred percent legitimate,” before he turns to her and offers her his credit card. A minute later, he hands me my white mocha and sets his double shot espresso in the drink holder, rolling the window back up, which is my cue to press for more information.
“Did Beck check out my sales then? Or rather, the buyers?”
He places the car into gear and glances over at me. “This is going to make you doubt yourself, isn’t it? You do remember you got into the L.A. show for a reason, right?”
“I do,” I say, as he pulls us onto the road. “But I’d like a firm grip on how well I’m doing. And the bottom line here is that if those sales weren’t real sales, they might track back to my uncle. That could be the link we need between him and this hell we’ve been through with the winery. If he was behind those broken water pipes, Nick, I want him to pay.”
“And he will. I’ll make sure of it.”
“We need to buy some time for you and Beck to make those connections. I’d say we could place the winery up for sale, just for show of course, but it would freak out Kasey and the staff. But it might bring our enemy out of hiding.”
“And perhaps not in a good way,” he says. “Whoever is behind this could see that as my negative reaction as a new investor to the vineyard water damage. They’ll also see me as someone who will try to push the price upward, despite that loss. In which case, they might try to further drive the price down by creating another problem.”
“But they had to suspect that could be your reaction to the financial blow,” I say, as he pulls us into the parking garage and parks next to the BMW. “Maybe that’s what they wanted.”
“I’m leaning more toward them thinking I’d bow out, and leave it to you, while you would end up just wanting out.”
“Which brings me back to my recent sales. To someone trying to give me motivation to get out.”
“Your sales are legitimate, Faith, and as for the rest, we can speculate all day, but I’m not ready to take calculated risks just yet. Let’s give Beck a little more room to do his job. And the reality here is that now that we’ve bought out your note, this might fizzle out.”
“The water damage says it won’t.”
“Or it was unrelated, or one last blow delivered by a bad loser.” He reaches for his door. “I’ll come around to get you.”
I don’t give him time to help me out of the car. I slip my tan purse, which I’ve paired with my favorite faded jeans and a matching pair of brown ankle boots, over my shoulder, and open my door. By the time I’m standing, Nick has arrived, and is now towering over me, his navy blue eyes a perfect match for his suit and the dots in his black tie. And really truly, I could stand here and take a deep blue swim in those eyes for a few minutes, or even hours, and be perfectly happy.
“Let’s talk cars,” he says.
My deep blue spell is broken. “What about cars?”
“Let’s buy you something you want and love and not because I care if you drive the BMW or the Audi. Because you need to pick what you love.”
“I like the BMW.”
“Then we’ll custom order you one with the specs you like.”
“I can just drive this one.”
“What color do you want?”
“Blue like your eyes.”
“Interior?”
“Black like my uncle’s soul.”
“Black like your uncle’s soul,” he repeats dryly. “There’s no question what’s still on your mind. You, my beautiful woman, need to let go of the stress. Get your butt to Allure and paint that wall you’re supposed to start painting today. And pick a remodeler, if you aren’t going to pick a realtor. Let’s get your studio up to standard.”
“The studio you made me is fine.”
“It’s not fine. In fact, it’s well known that the male population, at least the smart ones, realize that when a woman says ‘fine’ it’s never fine.”
I’d answer that claim, but a shout from the distance interrupts. “You have a meeting in ten minutes!”
At the sound of the female voice delivering that message, I turn to find a redhead rushing in our direction, her black high heels, which she’s paired with a black dress, clicking on the pavement. “That would be Rita,” Nick says, leaning in to kiss me. “I’ll call you in a few hours.” He takes off, but calls over his shoulder, “Call the realtor. Any realtor.”
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