by Roni Loren
“I have no children. And yes, I could afford to live somewhere else, but I live in the apartment with Pike because I own the building, and there’s no reason for me to live in some lavish house when I’ve got all I need there. Throwing wealth around is kind of my parents’ thing, not mine. Plus, it’s close to work.”
“Hold up,” she said, lifting her palm toward him. “You own the building?”
He took a sip of his water. “Yes. My grandmother used to, but she left it to me when she passed away. When I turned twenty-one that building and a number of other properties became mine. I was only five when she died so I think she was hoping I’d grow up to become a real-estate mogul or something.”
Cela made some noise in the back of her throat, like she couldn’t quite process that information. “So you’re like . . . wealthy?”
He laughed at the distaste with which she’d uttered the last word. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, angel. My business has done very well for me, and I also own a portion of my family’s estate. Most women would put that in their plus column.”
She shook her head, clearly a little dumbstruck by the knowledge, which surprised him. Besides living in a more modest place, he’d never hidden that fact. The furnishings in his place were high-end, his clothes tailored, and he drove a Mercedes SUV. Of course, unlike his parents, he didn’t have a driver and a cook or any of that nonsense that screamed Money! but he lived comfortably.
“I knew you were successful,” she said, almost to herself. “But wealthy is like . . . out there. Intimidating.”
“Oh, angel,” he said, amused. This was definitely a new reaction to his financial status. Most women, especially once they found out about his family, couldn’t think of much else. “I told you I owned a company.”
“But yeah, maybe it was like some little small local business. You know, mom and pop. Not ‘I can vacation on my yacht in the South of France if I want.’”
He chuckled, and was about to point out that he didn’t own a yacht and that he, in fact, hated boats, but quickly squashed the reaction when he realized she was panicking. He had no idea why, but there was a frantic gleam in her eyes. He tossed his napkin off his lap and got up to slide next to her, draping his arm over her shoulders and pulling her next to him. “Hey, what’s this all about? What’s going on in that head of yours?”
She looked over, some mixture of embarrassment and sadness reflecting back at him. “I’m thinking that I might be in over my head. That you’re probably used to women who know exactly what to do and wear and be. I’m thinking that I’m just a girl who has no idea what’s she’s doing.”
He frowned. “You’re not ‘just’ anything, Cela.”
She glanced down at her hands. “Maybe I’m a little overwhelmed by it all.”
“You know what I think?” He lifted her face with a finger under her chin. “I think you’re coming up with things to worry about because you’re scared about what happens now. For the first time in your life, you took a huge risk and went against the grain of everything you’ve ever been. You followed your gut, and now your head is looking for a reason for us not to do this.”
“That’s not true,” she mumbled, staring at his tie instead of looking at him. “I’m not looking for a reason.”
“Cela,” he said, his voice holding warning. “Don’t. You know you can back out of this. There’s always an escape hatch. But lying to me is only going to result in you getting turned over my knee, and a sore ass.”
Her lips parted, apparently startled into silence at the threat.
“You have to know I see you more than just some girl,” he said, his tone gentling. “So stop saying stupid things like that and talk to me. Do you need more time? Do you want out? Is it because I jumped your case earlier tonight? Or did you family freak out over you staying? Give me the truth.”
She closed her eyes and took a long breath.
“How did your family take it, by the way? I should’ve asked that earlier. I’m sorry. I know that had to be hard.”
Her gaze met his, then darted away. “They . . . handled it okay.”
The off note in her voice and shifting eye contact made his radar go on alert. “Cela . . .”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. “It’s fine. I think I’m just freaking myself out. What if I can’t do this? What if I’m not what you need me to be?”
His chest squeezed at the last part, and he put the previous statement aside for now. He’d handle that issue in a second. He cradled her face in his hands. “Stop putting so much pressure on yourself, angel. I want you to be exactly who you are. As for the submission thing, I’m going into this with no expectations. I know this is new to you. All I’m asking is for you to be honest with me as we go through this. Anything else can be worked out. I understand that there is a distinct possibility that I’ll chase you off with all this. I know that and would never blame you if you decide you can’t have this type of relationship.”
Her gaze drifted downward.
“But the fact that you’re still here, that you chose to stay, tells me that there’s a very real possibility that at least part of you needs to explore this. And your fear tonight is normal and my fault. We’ve raced into this thing. It’s been hard not to because when we’re together, there’s something so electric and addictive that all I want to do is have you with me. But I’ve skipped over those mundane things that are just as important, like knowing how the other person takes their coffee, or what their favorite movie is, or what they do all day at their job.”
She lifted her lashes, those clear chocolate eyes searching his face.
“So let’s start here, okay? I like my coffee black with just a little sugar. My favorite movie is Shawshank Redemption, and tomorrow I’ll give you a tour of where I work.”
A hint of a smile tugged at her mouth. “I like half-and-half and Sweet’N Low. My favorite movie is Gone with the Wind. And my job involves lots of fur and questionable fluids.”
“Kinky.”
Her grin spread wide now. “And I have no freaking idea how to eat this crab. The only crab I’ve ever had started with a K.”
He laughed and cupped her jaw, brushing a gentle kiss over her lips. “You need to learn to tell me these things, angel. I’ll take care of you. You just have to let me.”
Her eyes flared a bit at that—a mixture of vulnerability and sexual heat. “I’m trying. Sir.”
The softness that came over her face at saying such a simple word pleased him in a way he couldn’t even describe—and made him realize something very important. When she slipped into role, the anxiety seemed to lift from her. His being lax with her and letting her ease into everything was maybe doing more damage than good. Tonight he hadn’t pushed the roles, had wanted her to feel totally comfortable so they could have an open discussion. But in doing so, it’d also caused her to overthink every last thing.
He was beginning to realize that’s what his dominance could do for her—ease her mind so she could enjoy herself and let go. She had so much passion and sensuality brewing right there beneath the surface. He’d seen it for himself. But keeping it locked down was a veil of worries about what was proper and right and safe, what others would say about her, what her family would think. Hell, what God himself would think. She needed help breaking through all that. And so far, his taking charge had been the only thing that had worked, which told him exactly what he needed to do tonight.
“No more worries for you tonight, angel. I know how to take away your fear.”
“How?” she whispered, her attention rapt now.
He leaned down and drew his lips along her ear. “To take away all your control.”
She shivered against him, and desire surged through his blood at the subtle but clear reaction.
Yes. This. That’s what he craved from her. And perhaps, it was what she needed most as well.
/> He turned toward her plate and cracked open her crab, pulling out a succulent piece of meat with the small fork. “Open, angel.”
Her gaze stayed fixed on him, but her lips parted, and he slid the fork into her mouth. His cock swelled as he watched that lush mouth close around the bite.
“That’s it,” he said, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the edge of her bottom lip to catch a little bit of the butter sauce. “Just let all that other stuff go and focus on the moment. You’re only job right now is to listen to me. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
The whispered words and loosening of her posture told him everything he needed to know. If left to her own devices, Cela would think herself into a panic every time. She’d find something to fixate on—their difference in financial status or his past lovers or her guilt over what she’d been taught growing up.
He couldn’t afford to be casual with his dominance. Whether she realized it or not, she was already taking advantage of how lax he’d been.
He helped her extract the rest of her crab, quietly letting her finish her meal, then declined dessert. He had bigger plans for her than chocolate mousse. Originally, he’d planned to introduce her to a few people at the after-dinner mixer, but now he realized something else was in order. Giving her the easy way out wasn’t working, so it was time to make this real. For her. And for him.
After the table had been cleared and the check paid, he grabbed her hand and guided her out of the booth. “Ready?”
She reached for her purse. “Yes. Your place or mine?”
“Neither,” he said, tugging at the knot in his tie, the hum of conversation in the restaurant matching the humming in his veins. “It’s time for your next lesson.”
Her gaze flicked to his, nerves and question marks there again. “What do you mean?”
He smiled and pulled the tie from around his neck. “Turn around, Cela, so I can blindfold you.”
Full-fledged fear painted her features as her eyes darted from the tie in his hands to the diners behind him. Her whisper was harsh. “Foster.”
He had information that could ease her fear, reassure her, but that would ruin this lesson. And of all the lessons, this was the most vital of them all. “Do you think I would ever do anything to truly harm or embarrass you?”
Her expression was pained—some battle waging between her instinct to please and her fear of being judged by others. “No, but Foster, we can’t, what will—”
“Turn around, Cela.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her fists balled at her sides. He hated seeing her this distressed, but they had to get over this hurdle. It was put-up or shut-up time.
She stood there for a few long seconds, and his own anxiety that she’d use her safe word began to burn in his belly. But finally, by some miracle, she turned around. His breath whooshed out of him—the simple gesture a monumental display of trust. Thank God.
He stepped up behind her and placed the silk tie over her eyes. Her body was shaking against him, but she didn’t move away from his touch. When he’d knotted it at the back of her head, he wrapped his arms around from behind. “Good girl. I don’t take the gift of your trust lightly.”
“Are people staring at us?” she asked miserably.
“If they are, it’s only because they appreciate a pretty display of submission. These people are all like us, angel,” he said, rubbing his hands along her bare arms. “Seeing a girl with a blindfold is about as shocking as seeing one with dark hair.”
“What?”
“Kade’s monthly parties are invitation-only for a very select type of people. I would never embarrass you in public, angel. You’re safe with me.”
Her body sagged against him. “Thank you, God.”
“Don’t thank Him yet,” Foster said, placing a kiss on her shoulder. “I’m not done with you. You’ve earned a punishment tonight.”
She stiffened at that. “What? Why?”
“I let you get away with breaking one promise tonight in not checking the door, but I’m not going to tolerate a second rule broken. Lying to me is unacceptable.”
She turned in his arms, facing him, and even with the blindfold on, he could sense her defiant stare. “I haven’t lied.”
“You got upset tonight because I hadn’t taken the time to be open with you about my life and my past. You wanted honesty, and I gave it to you. But you didn’t give me the same courtesy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone had gone petulant, but her voice wavered—the threat of punishment, no doubt, knocking her off balance. He’d expected that. She was a perfectionist, the A student, the girl who bent over backward to do what she was “supposed to” in everyone else’s eyes. Being admonished or corrected for anything would be decidedly difficult for her.
But pushing her past her comfort zone was necessary and would only make it better for them both.
“Oh, really? So when exactly were you going to tell me you hadn’t told your family you’re staying here?”
She made a face like he’d pinched her. “Foster, I’m sorry, it’s just so—”
He pressed his fingers over her mouth, hushing her. “Don’t waste anymore words, angel. It’s time to apologize my way.”
Read more of Cela and Foster’s red-hot romance in
Part VI of NOT UNTIL YOU
NOT UNTIL YOU SURRENDER
Available from InterMix on July 16, 2013
Keep reading for a special excerpt
from the second book in Roni Loren’s Loving on the Edge series
MELT INTO YOU
Available now from Berkley Heat
Evan Kennedy swigged the last of the tequila from the mini-bottle as her fiancé’s moans of pleasure drifted through the wall behind her. She set the bottle down and sank back onto the bed, curling her pillow around her ears. This was torture—absolute Geneva Convention–worthy stuff. Next time they stayed in a hotel, she would make sure the suite had two bedrooms that didn’t share a wall.
How was she supposed to sleep with that kind of erotic soundtrack in the background? Especially when the only company she had in her room was the hotel’s mini-bar and a subpar selection of cable stations.
The heavy thudding of a headboard banging against the wall started up, rattling the three empty bottles on her bedside table. Oh, the guys were on their game tonight—obviously celebrating the good news they’d all gotten earlier in the evening. No telling how long their show would go on. With a heavy sigh, she threw the comforter off her legs and climbed out of the bed, happy to find she only wavered slightly.
She needed air. Or at least some place where two happy lovers weren’t sharing passionate, wall-rattling sex while she lay in bed alone.
She yanked on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then tucked the last mini-bottle of tequila into her pocket. The bars downstairs would be closed by now, and although she rarely drank, tonight she had the urge to get comfortably numb. She just had to make sure not to run into any of the people here for her and Daniel’s couples’ seminar. That certainly wouldn’t reflect well on the company. And the last thing she felt like doing was getting into a row with Daniel about “professional image.”
After running a brush through her hair, she stepped out of her bedroom and threw one last glance at Daniel’s closed door. The moans had turned to dueling male grunts. Clearly both parties were having a good time. An unexpected pang of sadness hit her in the gut, and her eyes burned as if tears were going to flow.
What in the world? Her hand went to her cheek, but of course no actual tears were there. She never cried. But that burning was the first sign she’d had in years that she was still physically capable of tears.
She shook her head. Maybe it was the tequila.
And the close quarters.
A walk would help.
She shut the do
or with a soft snick and made her way down to the lobby. As expected, things were quiet. The overnight desk clerk glanced up at her with disinterested eyes. She gave him a quick smile and turned in the opposite direction to head toward the pool and the beach beyond.
She slipped through the exit door, and the warm Gulf breeze wrapped around her, lifting her mood a bit. She closed her eyes and inhaled the salty air, letting it fill her lungs and hoping it would clear her head. But as soon as she opened her eyes again, the glowing swimming pool seemed to tilt in front of her. Whoa. Maybe she had overestimated her liquor tolerance. Three shots of tequila might have been two too many. She grabbed on to the back of a nearby lounge chair to steady herself.
Evan focused on the dark expanse of the Gulf of Mexico in the distance, waiting for the spinning in her head to stop. She just needed to make it to the beach, sit down in the sand, and get her normally iron-clad defenses back in place so she could return upstairs with a smile on her face. She didn’t need the guys seeing her this way. They’d want to sit down and talk about feelings and shit. And really, she just didn’t want to go there. The last thing she needed right now was for Daniel to put on his therapist hat with her.
After a few more fortifying breaths, she straightened her spine and made her way slowly around the edge of the pool and to the wooden stairs that led down to the beach. Almost there. But when she reached for the gate, the latch didn’t give. “What the—?”
She looked down and sighed at the sign attached to the weather-beaten wood. Private Beach—Closed: midnight to 6 a.m. No lifeguard on duty.
“Dammit.”
She stared longingly at the crashing waves, the peaceful solitude of the beach calling to her like a siren song. She peeked over her shoulder at the hotel’s main building. There weren’t any security cameras out here. Who would know? And Daniel had brought a hell of a lot of business to the hotel this weekend with the conference, so even if someone caught her, she doubted they would do more than politely direct her back to her room.
