by Lily Harlem
“It’s billions, for the record.”
“I know, I see your balance, remember… It’s who I am, your bank manager.”
“But I want you to be so much more. I want you to be at my side.”
“No.” She looked away. She couldn’t stand to see the pain in his eyes. “I need to go back to London, back to my life, and if you’re there, in London, then I’d love to see you.”
“I won’t be in London for months.”
“Then I won’t see you for months.”
“Imogen.” He snatched her close, his mouth almost touching hers.
She gasped and pressed her hands over his suit jacket.
“Don’t talk crazy,” he said, his voice low and dense with emotion. “Not after all we’ve done…”
“It’s not crazy.” Tears were forming now, the happiness she thought was hers fluttering away like petals in the wind. “I’ve worked too hard to throw my career down the drain, and you seem to think I will in the blink of an eye.” As she’d said the word ‘blink,’ a tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek.
He caught it with his thumb and smeared it away.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “that I misunderstood when you said you wanted us to be a couple. I had no idea that would mean giving up such a huge part of who I am.”
Still he didn’t speak. He just stared at her, confusion in his eyes and also pain.
“Kane…”
“Just when I thought I had it all,” he said quietly.
“Me too.”
He dragged down the corners of his mouth. “Most women would happily give it all up and be taken care of by a rich man who adores them.”
“I’m not most women, as has been previously pointed out.”
“Don’t I know it.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “A fact that has well and truly bitten me on the ass right now.”
“I’m sorry.” She pulled away and turned to the window, wrapped her arms around herself—not being in his arms made her cold.
“So you won’t come to San Francisco today?”
“No. I have to go back to the UK as planned and work this week.”
“And I can’t say anything to persuade you to change your mind?”
She stared at an airplane making a frothy trail in the sky. “About this week or giving up my career?”
“Both.”
“No, I don’t think so. I…” She turned to him. She wanted to say she loved him, that he meant the world to her. But would that declaration change anything? He was as stubborn as she, and when they both saw their futures so differently there was no middle ground.
“What?” he said.
“I… nothing.” She shook her head and stared at her red toenails. “Nothing at all.”
“I’m not saying goodbye to you,” he said.
“Then I’ll say it for you.”
“No…”
“If you expect me to give everything up for you, it has to be goodbye, Kane.” She looked up at him. “Thank you for a wonderful trip and for… enlightening me. But I guess this is as far as we go.”
He tilted his chin and narrowed his eyes.
She turned to the window again. She couldn’t stand to see what she was putting him through with her decision and her words.
Outside, New York carried on as it had yesterday, but for her, everything had changed. She couldn’t give the man she loved what he wanted.
It was too much.
He was asking for more than she could give.
The door slammed and she spun around. The room was empty. He’d left.
“Oh, fuck,” she said, feeling her limbs tremble and her belly clench. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…” The tears she’d been holding back rushed to be free, rolling in big, fat drips down her cheeks.
It was over? It had only just started. She felt like she’d been put on a rollercoaster ride of bliss the last few days and it had all suddenly crashed down around her. She was left hanging, bruised and battered and dangling in space.
She stared at the door. Should she go after him? Tell him she would do as he’d asked. Throw everything away that she’d worked for to be his constant companion—his submissive?
Her feet stayed firmly planted where she was. She couldn’t do it. A few whirlwind days and some of the finest sex of her life couldn’t persuade her to abandon her position or shelve her ambitions.
Chapter Eighteen
Imogen had flown back to London first class on a ticket Kane’s secretary arranged to have waiting at the departure desk.
She’d sat with an eye mask on—it wasn’t a night flight, but her eyes were red and swollen from crying as she’d packed then made her way to JFK. They were quiet tears of regret and also disappointment. How quickly the pendulum of life had swung from delight to despair.
“What the bloody hell has he done to you?” Clarris exclaimed when Imogen turned up at her door that evening.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Clarris ushered her in. “There’s wine in the fridge, grab it. I’ll just put Katie’s latest Disney obsession on.”
Imogen ruffled Katie’s fine blond hair and smiled. “Hi, Katie.”
“Imo, Imo,” she said, “you back.”
“Yes, I’m back. I got you this.” She held out the tiny t-shirt and little teddy she’d picked up from the Fifth Avenue gift shop.
“Thank you,” Katie said, grabbing them, then dashing off as the sound of the movie came from the living area.
“Now,” Clarris said, reappearing. “Tell me all about it.”
She gathered the wine and two glasses and settled on the sofa, legs tucked beneath her.
“There’s not much to tell.” Imogen flopped down next to her, her limbs exhausted.
“You turn up here looking like you’ve sobbed all the way across the Atlantic and there’s not much to tell. Pull the other one, darling.”
Imogen swallowed and looked away.
“Fuck, you did cry all the way across the Atlantic, didn’t you?”
“Not all the way, I—”
“Bastard. I always knew there was something dubious about Kane Ward. Too damn squeaky clean. Everyone has dirt, no one is that pure.”
“He didn’t do anything, not really.” As Imogen spoke, she pictured him in her mind’s eye. His face when she’d said goodbye, how he’d refused to say it. She was hurting but she’d hurt him too, and that was almost as painful.
“So what happened?”
“It was amazing, we had a lovely time.”
“Until?” Clarris passed her a glass of white wine.
“He…” She paused. “He was sweet—”
“Kane Ward sweet, that’s not the first adjective I’d use for him.” Clarris made a scoffing sound.
“Well, he was, and romantic and caring. He took me to dinner, bought me flowers, we went to the top of the Empire State Building at night…”
“Yeah, well. I’ll give him that then.” She shrugged. “That sounds pretty romantic.”
Imogen decided not to mention the extravagant display of flowers or the fact one of the tallest buildings in Manhattan had been lit red to show his adoration of her. That did seem a bit much now, especially how the conversation they’d had up there had been so misinterpreted by each of them.
“And what else?” Clarris knocked back some wine. “He seduced you, obviously.”
“Yes.” Imogen glanced away as memories of the club, the cross, the rope, and the plug flashed through her mind.
“What? Tell me.”
Sometimes, having an investigative journalist as a best friend could be wearing. Imogen didn’t want to divulge everything, but she needed to talk to someone or she’d go round the bend.
“Did he have a really small dick? Premature ejaculation,” Clarris asked. “No, no, wait, I bet he’s kinky, got a penchant for taking it where the sun doesn’t shine with a big black strap-on, or—”
“No,” Imogen said, looking Clarris in the eye. “He did not
want to do anything like that.” She hoped she’d put enough conviction into her words, because Clarris could sniff out a lie a mile away. “And for the record, the sex was great, he’s anatomically perfect, and no instances of reaching the finish line too early.”
“Good to hear it.” Clarris sighed. “Damn, if only I could have a grade A shag I’d feel so much better.”
“Maybe that’s what it is,” Imogen said, resting back. “I had it and now it’s gone again, the gap that I’d filled with other things is gaping again and I’ve remembered what I’m missing.”
“But why has it gone?” Clarris rested her hand on Imogen’s arm. “What happened? It’s just between us, I promise. I’d never say or do anything to hurt you, you know I wouldn’t.”
“I know that.” Imogen put her hand over her friend’s. “And it’s nothing dramatic really. He actually didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just a case of wanting to be together but not being able to be.”
“Why not?”
“He spends his time roaming the globe checking on his empire. His constant traveling is hardly conducive to a relationship.”
“So can’t you just go with him? I bet he stays in all the best hotels.”
“Yes, he does.” She thought of the fabulous suite she’d enjoyed the last few days. “And he has apartments, villas, and yachts.”
“And a private jet to get him around.” Clarris shrugged and looked at Imogen over the rim of her wine glass. “Doesn’t sound like a bad option to me.”
“But I have a job, a life, you and Katie, and what about Mum?”
“Of course you do, and that’s wonderful, but… for God’s sake, this is Kane Ward. You’d never have to work or wash up, or clean your own clothes again. Life would be all champagne and caviar and glamorous locations.”
“It would be.” Imogen glanced at Katie. She was engrossed in her movie, thumb in her mouth and hugging the new teddy. Maybe one day she and Kane would have had a child. She wouldn’t have had to worry about maternity leave and childcare the way Clarris had to. She wouldn’t have had any of the worries of ordinary people ever again.
She found herself stroking her neck, thinking of the collar. How he’d ordered her to get dressed and get ready to go with him. He’d spoken with such authority, he’d presumed she’d obey—he was used to being obeyed by a sub in a collar.
“You got a sore throat?” Clarris asked. “I always get something after I’ve been long haul.”
“No, it’s fine. I just…”
“You’re just wondering if you’ve thrown away the best thing that ever happened to you.”
“No, not at all.” Imogen drained the last of her wine and stood. “He was asking too much. I couldn’t give it.”
“Well, I admire your determination to be an independent woman,” Clarris said. “You off already?”
“Yes, I’m knackered. A glass of wine and now I just need bed. Thanks, though…”
“That’s what friends are for. I’m here if you need me.”
* * *
Imogen tossed and turned that night. Despite her being exhausted, sleep was hard to find. When she did she dreamed of Kane. He was beside her, his hand pressing on the small of her back and urging her forward. She could see the roses, the scarlet Empire State Building, the piano with a single red rose reflected in its surface. Then she was in his arms, smiling up at him, her fingers smoothing over the stars on his chest as his lips brushed hers. She was bound to the cross with ropes around her chest and squeezing her breasts. She wanted more, more of everything. His hands on her ass, his fingers in her pussy, his mouth on her nipples. She was panting for it, her heart racing. An orgasm was there, over-spilling, dragging her pelvic muscles into blissful spasms.
She woke sweating and her pussy thumping through the final stages of a swift climax.
“Kane,” she gasped, spreading her legs and arms over to the empty side of the bed.
Suddenly tears came again. But not the slow, silent ones that dripped heavily down her cheeks on the plane. These were fast and furious, sharp and harsh, they stung her eyes and soaked the pillow. The accompanying sobs were painful; they racked her chest and burned her throat.
When had she become such a crybaby? She thumped the pillow, frustrated with herself. But that didn’t stop the tears. On and on they came until she slumped, exhausted, her hand at her neck, wishing she could go back to the night before and have Kane spooned around her, making her feel safe and adored.
The sound of the alarm dragged her from a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. As she lifted her head she felt the dried moisture from her nighttime sobbing scratch her cheek. A strand of hair was crusted to her lip.
Well, that was it, done. She wasn’t going to cry over Kane Ward anymore. She’d put it all down to experience and get on with her life. One weepy trip across an ocean and a pitiful bout of pillow sobbing was enough to spend on any man, billionaire or not.
She jumped into the shower, humming I’m going to wash that man right out of my hair, then dried and wandered to her wardrobe in search of her favorite black skirt suit.
As she walked past the mirror she paused. Her fractionally brighter mood slipped away. There was a mark on her hip. She spun to check out the crimson trail then traced it with her fingertip. It wasn’t sore, but there was a definite line left from the rope Kane had bound her with.
She backed up, wanting a closer inspection. On her ass cheeks were tiny purple-red dots, like a rash of minuscule bruises.
From the paddle.
She felt her eyes tingle. He’d certainly left his mark on her both emotionally and physically.
“Stop it.” She moved from the mirror. “Enough.” She pulled on underwear, then her clothes for the office. Out of sight, out of mind. She just wouldn’t look at her ass until she was sure the evidence of Kane was gone.
But would she miss the marks? They were a reminder of what they’d done, and damn it, it had been so good. She’d gone to new highs, had experienced intense, mind-blowing orgasms that had left her breathless and nearly unconscious. How would she feel going back to vanilla sex? If she had a one-night stand and it was straight, no excitement, no added stimuli…
Who was she kidding? She had no desire at the moment to allow anyone but Kane into her bed. There wouldn’t be any one-night stands, not for a long time. And then… well, then she’d just have to see if he’d ruined her for all other men.
She poured tea, made toast but had no appetite, so headed into the office. She was greeted with a pile of paperwork and long to-do list, but it was for the best. Work would keep Kane Ward off her mind—as long as she didn’t have to handle any of his accounts, that was.
* * *
But she did. Over the next month there were several big transactions on Kane Ward’s account that she couldn’t help but notice. He’d acquired a large plot of land in Kent, a ten-million-pound townhouse in Kensington, and sold a villa in Spain. He’d also bought a Bentley and his jet had required a new engine that was the price of the average house before any charges had been made for fitting it. He’d thrown money at The Shard too, purchasing floor space.
Every time she saw his name her heart ached. It was a real physical tugging in her chest that didn’t get easier as the weeks went on. She’d immersed herself in work, staying until late every evening. She’d hung out with Clarris and Katie at weekends—when they’d been there, but Katie was busy with Tumbletots and play dates now she was getting older.
August came around, and as was typical, the rain arrived too. Clarris always called it London’s rainy season and Imogen thought she’d probably got it right. She stared at the dishwater-gray sky and the streaks of rain on her office window.
Is this what life is all about? Just a treadmill of work and lonely nights?
She wondered where in the world Kane was. Somewhere hot and tropical? Perhaps near a beach—if so, no doubt a private one with waiter service and a yacht moored just beyond the breaking waves.
She won
dered who he was with. It hurt to think about that, but her brain didn’t seem to have any consideration for her heart. Was he with a beautiful, naked submissive? Was she wearing his collar? The one Imogen had worn? Or perhaps he was at a club with a posy of willing women all at his feet, begging him to take the flogger to their rears and fuck them till they couldn’t breathe.
She shuddered and beat down a wave of nausea. She’d never been a jealous sort, but the thought of Kane making another woman feel how he’d made her feel was enough to create a buildup of bile in her gullet.
The rain was a depressing view, so she turned back to her desk and picked up her pen. Her mobile phone rang. It wasn’t a number she recognized.
“Hello,” she said.
“Imogen, is that you?” A female with an American accent.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s Marie, we met in New York in June.” She paused. “I was with Taylor Ward.”
“Oh, oh yes, of course, I’m sorry, how are you?”
“I’m fine, and you?”
“Yes, very good.” That wasn’t the truth but it was the polite answer, and why was Marie calling her? “How is the new business coming along?”
“Very well, I’ve got my first designs coming off the desk and into reality and two shows set up for Fashion Week.”
“Wow, that sounds great, congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Marie paused. “Kane was here this weekend, in New York.”
“Oh, was he?” Well, at least now she knew he wasn’t on a beach with a bunch of semi-clad submissive beauties.
“Yes. He and Taylor talked until late into the night.”
“At the club?”
“No. He didn’t want to go to the club. We went to the same restaurant we all went to last time. Sat at the same table, your seat obviously empty, and then he wanted to come back to the apartment and talk to his brother.”
“Oh,” Imogen said again. “I see.” What did this have to do with her? She didn’t know but she was glad of the information on the man who was still very much in control of her heart. He was okay, that was good, and if he was spending time with his brother that was a positive thing. Family was important.