“I’m sorry,” I say again pleadingly. I take a step toward him.
But he steps away.
He sighs. “I was excited about you, Sophia. For a little while, I even thought you might have been the one I was waiting for. You seemed like her, for a while. You were meek. Eager to please. Game for anything. At first, anyway. But clearly I was wrong.”
He gazes down at me critically. Another float drifts by, and the noise of the crowd swells to a crescendo. Strings of beads rain down all around us.
But Liam hardly seems to notice.
“I need someone,” he says slowly, advancing closer and closer to me, speaking into my ear, “who follows my rules. Who wants to obey me. Who wants nothing more than to please me. Who wants to surrender herself wholly to me, all her pleasure and her pain and her affections. Who trusts me completely.”
My breath hitches. Suddenly the portrait of our relationship shifts into a new shape. The whispered orders. The blindfold. The rewards. And, I remember with a shudder, the punishment.
It all makes sense.
For the first time, I understand the stakes of this plan. I understand the price, complete with fine print and hidden fees. It hits me like a smack across the face.
Can I still do this? I wonder. My mind reels.
“I can be that person,” I whisper shakily. “I can be her.”
Liam’s eyes sweep over me appraisingly.
“Prove it,” he challenges me.
I watch helplessly as Liam turns on his heel and presses himself shoulder-first into the mob of people. The crowd swallows him up, until he is out of sight.
“Hmmmm.”
“That’s all? That’s it?” I say disappointedly, twisting on my bed and clutching my cell phone against my ear. The droning sounds of the parade continue in the distance, muffled by my hotel room walls. I must admit that I was hoping Miranda would say something a little more helpful than just hmmmm.
“Well, you kind of landed a bombshell on me just now, doll. Give a minute to process this!” she says, her voice crackling over the line.
“He wants me to be some kind of…sex slave!” I burst out. The words hang strangely in the air.
“Liam Hawthorne hasn’t been making this con easy for you, that’s for sure,” Miranda says thoughtfully. “Did he say the words ‘sex slave,’ exactly, or are you just being melodramatic?”
“I am not being dramatic,” I insist. “And no, he didn’t use those words per se…”
“So maybe he means something else. Maybe he’s just…kinky.”
“Maybe…” I say, my hand doing the usual nervous search through my hair. My fingers wrap around a strand. When I tug on my hair, I can feel pleasant little shivers spread across my scalp. And like a phantom memory, I can feel the stinging band of my panties snapping against my ass. The alluring force of his fingers pressing into my hot skin.
Another shiver.
“Well, it’s up to you. The road could end here, if you say the word,” says Miranda. She hesitates, and then asks, “What are you going to do?”
I stare at the bland hotel wallpaper and feel something in my lower belly quiver. I feel like I’m at a crossroads. I could pack up, go home now, and spend the rest of my life seething in my unfulfilled anger. Every day, at the back of my mind, the nagging reminder that I failed. The vengeance never taken, the injustice never rectified.
Or I could throw caution to the wind. I could surrender myself to the rapture of Liam’s hands on my skin. I could play into his fantasy—please him as he wants to be pleased, obey him as he wants to be obeyed. Cater to his every desire. Earn his trust, and listen to the secrets he whispers into my ear.
And then, when the moment is right, when he doesn’t see me coming—I strike.
The choice is mine.
13
Standing in the elevator on Friday, I try not to fidget with the hem of my dress. After deciding that none of my dresses were provocative enough, I had went for a shopping trip at the appropriately named Trashy Diva Clothing Boutique. My new cherry-red dress plunges low into a sweetheart neckline. Fabric falls loosely from my hips, barely hitting mid-thigh. It’s not the kind of dress that I ever, ever thought I’d wear.
But then again, today I am no longer April Morrison.
I’m Sophia Moore.
The elevator chimes with each floor as we ascend higher and higher up the skyscraper. A short, red-haired man in a suit glances over at me every few seconds, obviously wondering what on earth a woman like me is doing in his office building in the middle of the work day.
But I ignore him. Worrying about what strangers think of me is the last thing on my mind right now.
When we hit the thirty-fourth floor, the doors slide open.
The lobby before me is incredibly large and bright. Modern plush chairs form a circle around an elaborately threaded blue rug in the center of the room. At the far end of the room is a wide reception desk, positioned in front of a set of glossy metal letters mounted on the wall: HAWTHORNE VENTURES.
I take a breath and step forward into the lobby.
Here we go, I think to myself.
The two receptionists, tapping intently at their computers, hardly look up when I approach.
“Excuse me,” I say cautiously.
One of the receptionists, an attractive black-haired woman with designer glasses, looks up. Her mouth parts open with surprise at the sight of me and my red dress.
Just as she’s about to speak, the phone rings. She extends her finger as if to say, one moment please, and then picks up the phone.
“Hawthorne Investments. How may I help you?” she says in a smooth, cool voice.
I stand there awkwardly, waiting until she hangs up the phone, but the call seems to linger on for a while. I look around the lobby, feeling self-conscious.
Is this how Sophia Moore would be treated? Is she going to let these receptionists stand between her and her man? asks an urgent voice at the back of my head.
The answer to that is clear: certainly not. I straighten my posture and walk over to the other receptionist.
“Excuse me,” I say again, this time more boldly than before. “I’m here to see William Hawthorne.”
This receptionist doesn’t seem taken aback at the sight of me like the other woman—instead, she just seems unimpressed.
“Do you have an appointment?” she says flatly.
“Well…not officially. He invited me here over the phone,” I lie, hoping that she’ll give me a pass and let me in anyway.
But no luck. The receptionist shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry, but we cannot let anyone in unless they have an appointment here on our schedule, or if Mr. Hawthorne’s assistant comes out to receive you. Mr. Hawthorne is simply too busy to accept unannounced visitors.”
She gestures behind her, towards a frosted glass door at the end of a short hallway. His office.
“Oh,” I say, taking a step back. “Okay.”
“Have a nice day,” she calls mechanically after me.
But I don’t return to the elevators.
Instead, I walk directly past the reception desk and down the hallway, pretending I don’t hear the cries of protest behind me.
“Miss! Miss! You cannot go there! Someone call security!”
April would cower at such a commotion, maybe even run away. But Sophia?
Nothing can stop her.
I thrust my chin farther out into the air and quicken my pace. I only have eyes for the frosted door. I can see the words etched into the glass as I get closer: WILLIAM HAWTHORNE, MANAGING DIRECTOR.
The door, to my extreme relief, is unlocked. I twist the knob and push forward into the large office. In front of me is a mahogany desk littered with stacks of papers; for a panicked moment, I’m under the impression that I’ve just burst into a vacant office.
But then I hear a quick intake of breath to my left. I turn.
Liam is sitting on a leather chair at the opposite side of the room, an expression of utter shoc
k on his face. Another man—a business partner, perhaps? Employee?—sits on the chair across from him. They are both frozen in mid-conversation, eyes wide at the wild woman in the skimpy red dress who has just thrust herself into the room.
Both receptionists hurl themselves through the door after me, followed shortly after by a round security guard in a blue shirt.
“Very sorry about this, Mr. Hawthorne,” the security guard puffs. “We’ll get her out of here right away.”
The security guard reaches for my arm, but Liam holds up a hand.
“Wait.”
All heads turn to him, wearing varying expressions of surprise. The security guard’s hand drops; I take a half-step away from him.
“I know this woman. I can’t say that I expected this impromptu visit,” he says, his eyes flashing, “but I’m curious to hear what she has to say. She can stay.” He turns to his associate. “Carlos, we’ll pick up this conversation later.”
Carlos looks baffled, but nods and stands up anyway. He throws me a curious expression as he hurries out of the room, along with the receptionists and the security guard. Liam follows them to the door, closing it behind them. When he turns around, his eyes are blazing.
“Before you speak,” I say quickly, “let me just say this. I know I disappointed you, and that eats me up inside. But I heard what you said on Tuesday. I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I want to prove to you that I can be the woman you’re looking for.”
“Really now?” he says.
And even though his face is still fixed in fury, there’s a hopeful intonation in his voice.
“Maybe it’ll take some training,” I admit, “but I’m prepared to learn. I want to please you, Liam. I do. All I want, all I can think about—is you.”
His mouth curves into a smoky grin.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says. “But I have one question for you first. And I need you to answer it honestly.”
I freeze. For a second, it feels like my pulse has stopped. Does he know who I am? Does he suspect something?
But even despite my wildest fears, what he says next is still the last thing I expect from him.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
My chest heaves with relief, and yet at the same time my mouth drops open. How can he tell? Have I been that obvious?
I nod weakly.
“I always had my suspicions, ever since I met you. You were always so nervous. And when I took you to the Royal Sonesta Hotel, I thought you were going to faint for a second. It explains a lot,” he says, frowning. “Perhaps I was asking too much from you, particularly with the issue of the underwear…”
I respond by stepping forward and taking his hand in mine. I place it on the inside of my bare leg and slide it upward.
His eyebrow flicks when he finds only my bare skin between my legs.
“Who needs underwear, anyway?” I whisper to him, my voice hoarse with anticipation. “I’m ready. Give me the blindfold. Give me the spanking. Hell, give me all of it. Whatever you want to do to me, I’m ready. My body is yours.”
His eyes widen briefly, as if he never actually expected me to rise to his challenge. I wait for him to put his hands on me, or to smirk, or to do something—but instead, he drops his hands to his sides and takes a step away from me.
Stunned, I watch him walk over to the window and gaze out onto the glittering cityscape. A muscle in his jaw twitches. His eyebrows are furrowed, his mind clearly deep in thought.
At last, he turns back toward me. His face is etched with yearning, and yet mingled with conflict. It’s the look of a man who’s denying himself the one thing he so desperately wants.
“Are you sure you want to go down this road?” he says in a low voice. “I don’t know what you think you’re getting into, or what kind of person you think I am—but I should warn you that things won’t be easy.”
There’s a twist of trepidation in my stomach. “What do you mean?”
He takes a step forward. His eyes are burning as they gaze down at me. He scoops his hand into my hair, his fingers raking across my scalp. The sensation sends waves of pleasure down my spine.
“I’m not a good person, Sophia,” he murmurs. His hard, muscular body is pressed against mine. I can feel the heat of his skin radiating off of him in waves. “I was brought up to be that way, and it’s not something I’ll ever be able to change. I’m not proud of it, but it’s better to call things what they are, rather than living your life as a lie.”
“Right,” I breathe out.
The irony is palpable—oh, if only he knew.
“I’ve done some terrible things,” he continues.
His hand traces an invisible line across my collarbone. My skin jumps at his touch.
“How terrible, exactly?” I ask, feeling fear prickle at the base of my neck. “You haven’t…killed anyone, have you?”
He shakes his head.
“Then, you can’t be so bad,” I joke shakily.
But he doesn’t crack a smile.
“There are other ways to hurt a person,” he says quietly.
Of course. I know that better than most people.
His words steel my mind and strengthen my resolve. The lingering fear in my chest suddenly vanishes.
I place a hand on his stomach and walk my fingers up his chest.
“Do you still want me?” I ask.
His voice is a growl, thick and rough with lust. “Absofuckinglutely.”
“Then I want you,” I insist. “Whatever you’ve done, whoever you are—I don’t care. I just want your hands on me.”
His grin is wide and immediately, tinged with relief. Wrapping his arms around me, he pulls me into a deep kiss. His tongue presses hungrily against mine. His teeth pinch at my lips, tugging gently with just the right amount of pressure.
His hand moves down to my thigh, slipping underneath my dress, squeezing my bare ass. His fingers dig into my skin, and I moan with pleasure. There’s an urgency to his movements and a wild kind of abandon in his kiss as he moves his head to my neck and nips softly at the skin.
I slide my hand across the expensive cotton of his shirt, over his belt, and down to his pants. I gasp when I discover his erection bulging beneath the fabric. Liam groans approvingly as I trail my fingers along it. His groan is a carnal, guttural sound that sends shivers of excitement through me.
I’m ready, I decide silently. Let’s do this.
I reach around for the zipper to my dress. I’ve pulled it halfway down my back when Liam puts his hand on mine, stopping me. He pulls the zipper back up for me.
“Not here,” he says, pulling himself away from my lips with some effort. “Not now. Come over tonight. Eight o’clock. I’ll be waiting for you.”
He breaks away from me, striding over to his desk to scribble something down on a notepad. He rips off the sheet and hands it to me. My heart skips a beat when I realize what it is—the address to his home.
My fingers curl around the slip of paper.
“See you soon,” I say breathlessly, turning around to leave.
“I’ll be counting the hours,“ he says behind me. “Come hungry. And bring that red dress with you.”
14
Liam’s house isn’t quite as massive or ornate as his parents’ plantation home, but it’s still jaw-dropping by any other standard. As I pull my car onto the brick driveway, my eyes swing upward in amazement. As is the old Southern style, the house is adorned with deep balconies and intricate wrought iron fretwork—but there are also hints of a modern influence, like the floor-spanning windows. I think I can see a figure moving around upstairs.
Liam.
Thomas, Liam’s chauffeur, is waiting for me in the driveway. He opens my door for me when my car comes to a stop.
“Good evening, Miss Moore,” Thomas says politely. “Mr. Hawthorne is waiting for you inside. Shall I escort you?”
“Please,” I say, and accept his offered arm.
We walk up a set of slate
stairs and through the grand, arching front doors. The inside of the house is just as impressive as the exterior, if not more so. To my left, just beyond the foyer, is a wide living room with stylish, modern-looking furniture. A grand piano sits in the corner. The art prints on the walls are nearly as tall as I am.
“Sophia.” Liam appears at the top of the foyer’s grand staircase. The way he says my name is soft and low, his voice full of anticipation for the night ahead.
And even though I’ve prepared myself for this, even though I’ve told myself that I’m ready, my nerves begin to get the better of me. My breath quickens.
“I’ll take your leave,” says Thomas. He gives us both a quick bow and then disappears out the front door, leaving us alone in the spacious foyer.
Liam begins his descent down the staircase, his eyes locked with mine. Each step he takes is slow and full of purpose—the wait is tantalizing.
Just go on and put your hands on me, I beg silently.
With each passing second that I linger on this marble floor, my agitation heightens. The flutter in my chest becomes a heavy, consistent thump against my ribcage. I can feel the muscles in my body clench. I want to move, to twitch, to do something—but I don’t dare look away from Liam’s blazing, ice-blue eyes. Not once do they stray from mine.
I gaze up at him expectantly as he approaches. His body radiates heat as he moves in close. His fingers comb through my hair. I reach behind my back, once again searching for the zipper—
But he reaches back and curls his fingers around mine, stopping me for the second time today. He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine, chuckling softly.
“So eager,” he murmurs into my ear. His lips brush against my earlobe. “You don’t know what you do to me, Sophia. One look at you in that irresistible red dress and suddenly I find it hard to remember all the things I’ve planned for our evening.”
My breath hitches in my throat. I feel all the muscles in my body tense.
“Plans? What kind of plans?”
He pulls away from me. His lips curl into a tight smile.
“Well,” he says, “I thought we’d start with dinner.”
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