by Chloe Cox
The way he’d protected her…
“Nope,” she said under her breath.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Olivia ran a hand over her chest—everything felt so hot, even her own skin. Your brain isn’t working right, Liv. It’s just hormones. She just needed to get through this night without doing anything she’d regret, or anything that would complicate the situation. And then in the morning, when she wasn’t spiked up on adrenaline, she could work it all out. She’d have a clear head, and she’d set some professional ground rules, and she’d come up with a plan, and it would be fine.
She took a deep breath. “How far is it?”
She could feel his eyes on her. She did her best not to move. Just the thought of Gavin seeing how turned on she was, the fact that he’d know it was because of him, was making her dizzy.
He turned the car into a dark drive and cut the lights before easing into a slow stop.
“We’re here,” Gavin said.
Olivia looked out through the sheets of rain at an old Garden District mansion with a wrap-around porch, and then back at Gavin.
He looked at her. A muscle in his jaw flexed.
He leaned across the gearshift, his arm across her lap, the cables of muscles in his bronzed arm shifting, undulating. His musk filled the car, made it impossible to think. Olivia watched with horror as her finger rose, seemingly on its own, to graze the skin on the underside of his forearm.
Warm, smooth, rough at the same time. The contact made her desire real, here, now. Dangerous, while the rain pounded ceaselessly on the roof of the car. She had to move.
“We better make a run for it,” she said.
And then she was out the door, into the cooling rain, and running for the house.
Running felt good, the rain felt good, and the cool relief of not being right next to a man she wanted and could not have felt good. She could breathe. She stumbled, took off her heels, felt the wet grass beneath her bare feet. She would regain her composure, and she could do this. Olivia hitched up her fancy shower-curtain skirt, climbed the steps of the porch, and then looked back.
Only to see a garage door opening and Gavin driving slowly into the dry shelter of an attached garage.
“Crap,” she said.
Cursing a few more times, she turned and tried the front door. Locked. There were no lights on in the house that she could see, no one else there. Gavin was going to have to let her in.
She ran her hands through her now soaking wet hair, and checked her increasingly ridiculous shower-curtain dress for cleavage mishaps. This is professional, Cress. Be professional. You are calm and collected and ice-cold.
The porch light turned on, and Gavin opened the door.
He looked her up and down, from her dripping head to her dirty bare feet, and slowly shook his head.
“Get inside,” he said.
“Don’t move.”
Olivia froze. She’d only just stepped inside, and the place was still dark, the only light from the porch and some room, far in the back. Gavin must have known the place so well he could navigate in the dark. Olivia just stood in the pool of porch light and saw different shapes of shadows, just enough to wonder what kind of room this was.
She waited in the dark for him, listening to his footsteps.
“Put this on,” he said, emerging from the shadows. He held something out—a thin silk robe.
“It’s silk.”
“I’ll buy another one.”
Olivia looked down at her shower-curtain dress, much the worse for wear. Somehow she’d gotten wet grass plastered to it. She looked back up at Gavin’s imposing face, the shadows hiding his expression.
“Turn around, please,” she said.
She thought she caught the hint of a smile on his scarred lip. He turned around.
For an excruciating second she thought she’d need his help getting out of her dress, but she wrestled it over her breasts and started shimmying. It was halfway over her hips before she thought about being naked, in the dark, with Gavin Colson not two feet away.
Oh God, why did I think I could do this?
She just had to push through and make it to her room for the night.
Wherever that was.
“You decent?” Gavin rumbled.
Olivia finished cinching the robe as tight as she could and licked her lips. She looked down at her now ample cleavage, her bare legs, and the pile of curtain dress at her feet. This was apparently as close as she was going to get.
“Sure,” she said.
Gavin turned around, and looked. He made a low sound in his chest.
Olivia swallowed.
“Follow me,” he said.
He turned lights on at each landing as they climbed the stairs, and at each landing Olivia tried to peer through the open doorways to see beyond, into the rooms of the club itself. She could make out the silhouettes of large, odd shapes, of a St. Andrew’s cross on the first floor, of benches on the second, and on the third…
She walked into the wall of muscle that was Gavin Colson.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Automatically her hands went to the thin sash that held her robe closed, and her eyes went to the floor. She backed away until she felt solid wood behind her, and then she pressed her back into it.
“I can give you a tour,” he said.
Olivia forced herself to look him in the eye.
“No, thank you.”
Gavin inhaled slowly, and studied her. He wasn’t rushed, didn’t seem to feel any compunction to explain himself, or speak. Just studied her.
She felt her nipples begin to harden.
“Olivia,” he said.
“Yes?”
“You will be my submissive in public. At all times. No matter who is there.”
Olivia felt wetness begin to spread between her thighs, and gripped harder at her sash.
“That would make sense,” she said.
“You know what that will mean?”
She closed her eyes. She had a pretty good idea.
“I did star in a movie about that,” she said.
“This isn’t a movie,” he said.
Olivia looked back at the floor. Was she insane? Sonny had told her to date a regular Joe to convince people she was normal and honest. But being the declared sexual submissive of a Dom like Gavin? That was supposed to make her more relatable?
She tilted her chin up a fraction of a millimeter. “It’s playing a role.”
Gavin looked at her, his eyes flickering over her body, her face. Her nipples ached, and her pulse pounded between her legs in a driving rhythm, and she was just holding on by a thread. And he knew it. He’d seen her like this, before. He’d seen her shake and moan while he tied a tie around her wrists…
“The role’s perfect for you,” he said.
Olivia didn’t trust herself to speak.
Gavin stepped toward her again, his eyes still watching. Still seeing. “I’ll be watching out for you,” he said. “But you should know you can stay here, even if you call the whole thing off. We’ll keep you safe as long as you want us to.”
Olivia pressed her lips together and nodded. “I know,” she said. She looked up. “But we have a deal. And it won’t take long.”
Gavin’s eyes glittered.
“Do you remember the club safe words?”
Olivia’s breath hitched. Safe words. She learned them on the movie set, in Los Angeles, and then again in that hotel room. She knew what they were for.
You’ll be my sub in public, at all times…
Her mind raced through all the many things she’d imagined Gavin Colson doing to her, each one lighting up with the excitement that they might happen now, for real, sort of, in a pretend way. That the safe words were hers to use.
Or not.
“Red for stop, yellow for slow down,” she said. And she met his eyes. “Green for oh God keep going.”
They looked at each other. Her breathing was light and quick and
loud in the silence between them. Gavin leaned forward, his hand reaching for her hip, and Olivia felt the last of her self control start to crumble.
“This is your room for tonight,” he said, and gently pushed on the wall behind her. “Tomorrow I’ll have you set up for real.”
Olivia blinked.
She’d been leaning against the door.
She moved quickly, turning into the room, searching for a light, for anything. Gavin turned on the light behind her and she spun around. There was a full-sized bed with a white duvet, white curtains, white pillows. A few pieces of art on the walls, black-and-white photographs, a few prints. A television on the wall, the remote on the nightstand.
Olivia grabbed for it. She turned the television on and threw the remote on the bed, just needing to have something to break the spell. To keep him from touching her. To keep her from begging him to touch her.
So she was looking at Gavin when she heard one of the late night hosts go into his monologue.
“So this Brandon Greer situation…”
Nine
Gavin had no idea what the hell just happened. Olivia had turned the television on like she was mad at it, then she’d looked at him, then she’d turned white as ghost.
“No folks, don’t feel bad, she knew. She knew,” someone on the TV was saying while an audience laughed. “What do you think Brandon registered for? A—”
Shit.
He grabbed the remote off the bed and muted the damn thing, then tossed the remote back. Now he was mad at it. That must be a special kind of hell, to have your past dragged out in front of the entire world for a joke. He hadn’t even thought of that, and neither, apparently, had she.
Olivia’s lips were pressed tight in a frown, and the tears danced on her eyelashes. She was trying so hard not to cry.
Gavin’s hands balled into fists. He was supposed to protect her, and there was not a damn thing he could do about this.
Her shoulders shook.
Gavin broke.
“Olivia,” he said.
He only touched her shoulder lightly and she turned and crumpled into his arms, and then he was just holding her while she cried.
Gavin wrapped his arms around her and cleared his head. His Dom instincts were in overdrive. He felt her heartbeat and held her tight as the storm passed through her, until it finally started to slow down.
And then when she put her hand flat on his chest, he felt her heart speed right back up.
Olivia moved against him slightly, shifting her weight and pressing her soft body against his. Her touch had changed, and his cock responded. Gavin frowned. He should have complete control over himself. He always had complete control over himself.
And this wouldn’t happen like this.
“Liv,” he said, and took her hand off his chest and held it.
Before he could step away, she did. She was angry and embarrassed and then she laughed slightly, shaking her head as she carefully wiped the mascara from under her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not looking at him. “I’m over him, obviously, it’s just…I guess this is just what I get, you know?”
“No.”
Olivia looked up. “What?”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “This is not what you get. This is not what you should get.”
She looked at him. Wide-eyed. And then she turned back away again, alone again with whatever painful thoughts she was having.
Damn.
Gavin didn’t touch her, but he wanted to. He wanted to hold her again. And he wanted to find whoever made her think she deserved to feel like this and he wanted to make them regret every wrong choice they’d ever made.
“They’re right, of course.” Olivia finally laughed, and sat down on her bed. “How could I not know? How could I not see it?”
“Bullshit,” Gavin said. “Brandon himself didn’t know.”
She didn’t respond.
“I don’t know the man,” Gavin said. “But I do know that your ex being a bastard about how he handled this mess is not your fault.”
She looked up, sharply.
“He’s not a bastard.”
“Then he does a damn good impression.”
They stared at each other.
She said, “You have an odd way of comforting people.”
The light from the muted television flashed in Olivia’s eyes. They were newly wet.
“You ever think about how lucky you are?” he said finally.
“What?”
Gavin took a step toward her and then stopped himself. She was still sitting on the bed, where she’d been tugging at the hem of her robe, and he only meant to sit next to her, but he remembered what holding her had been like and stopped. Now she just looked up at him, expectantly.
Again she said, “What?”
Only this time she clearly knew what he’d said, and didn’t like it. Too bad. It was the truth.
He said, “Do you ever think about how lucky you are that he called it off?”
She stared at him.
“Did you really just say that?”
“Yeah, I did,” he said. “Stuff happens, lots of people don’t figure themselves out for a long time. I don’t have a problem with that, that’s just human. But how a man deals with that matters. Because you deserve a lot more than someone who runs away when he’s got bad news. You deserve to be respected, Olivia. You deserve to be happy. And you deserve to be with someone who wants to rip your fucking clothes off.”
Gavin watched those words hit her one by one, and wondered. From the moment they’d met, Olivia had been one of the only people in the world who could hold her own with him. They’d challenged each other from the beginning, back in that hotel room. So he knew she could take it, and he wasn’t going to stand by while she blamed herself for all this. He didn’t expect her to like him for it, and that was fine, so long as she was mad at him and not herself.
But holy shit was she mad.
“What makes you think I wasn’t going to call it off?” Olivia said. She stood up, off the bed, tightening her robe again. Her shoulders were square, her head forward.
He called her bluff. “Were you?”
He saw the answer on her face. She turned away.
“You know, Gavin,” she said, and unconsciously opened a drawer in the bedside table, looked at it, must have seen it was empty. She closed it sharply, and looked back at him. He wondered what she usually kept in the nightstand. “I was living my life long before you ever showed up. I was just fine.”
“No,” he said. “You weren’t.”
“Excuse me?”
Gavin held her eye and said, “You’re a grown woman, of course you live your own life. But that’s not the same thing. Not even close. You aren’t fine, and you know it.”
Olivia blinked.
“Screw you,” she said. “Exactly who do you think you are?”
“I’m the guy who’s out of line,” Gavin said. “But I’m still right.”
There was a long pause while they looked at each other, the light still flickering in Olivia’s eyes.
“Ok, well, I’ve had kind of a bad week, all things considered,” she eventually said, “and I’m exhausted, so I need to crash.”
She’d said it like it she was ending an argument. Gavin just nodded, which seemed to annoy her.
“I’ll find you some clothes and stuff upstairs,” he said. “I’ll leave ‘em outside the door. Sleep well.”
“Thanks.” Olivia was still looking at him like he was supposed to say something. She crossed her arms. “I think this will be easier than I thought. I’ve played a con artist, a murderer, and once I was in a play called The Great Misfortune. I’m sure I can play someone who would fall for you.”
He had to give it to her. That stung to the bone, but damn was it a good insult.
“That’s good,” Gavin said, and clapped his big hand on the doorframe. He looked over his shoulder at Olivia. She was still furious—but not sad. “Because tomorr
ow we’re throwing a big ol’ kinky party where I expect my sub to be on her best behavior. We got important company coming.”
He actually had a good feeling about that party, so long as Olivia didn’t kill him first.
Ten
Against all logic, Olivia did sleep so long, and so well—better than she had since the first night Gavin had made her come—that when she woke up she’d felt genuinely relaxed, like a fool. There was a gentle breeze, there were billowing white curtains, and she was in the world’s most comfortable bed—basically she was in a Tide commercial. Then she’d gotten up, remembered where she was, and found the basket of goodies outside her door: toothbrush, clothing, and the rest. And a note.
“Party starts at 6. Pizza in the fridge.”
And that was when Olivia was suddenly swarmed with sharp, flittering memories of the night before.
She’d made an absolute fool of herself. She’d cried, and then Gavin had been holding her and he’d smelled like…like sex and safety, she thought. For real I would buy that scent. She’d just wanted to wrap her legs around him and let go of herself. And he’d known, and he’d done the adult thing and rejected her.
I have to apologize.
If her memory was right, they’d both acted like idiots. She’d been inappropriate, and he’d been arrogant, and kind of a jerk, even if he was right. But she could still apologize first.
She dressed herself in what looked like Gavin’s old sweats, did her best to make herself presentable, and went apology hunting. The club was huge and beautiful, and in the light of day she could actually see her surroundings, and some of the many doors were open.
She tried not to look.
If she looked, she’d see things. And if she saw things, she’d think about what they were for. And she was determined to show Gavin that she was both professional and in control of herself, even if neither of those things were, strictly speaking, at that very moment, true.
That meant not walking around in the increasingly familiar Gavin Colson Sex Fever.
“Gavin?”
Nothing. She moved on down to the first floor, and hoped there would be less temptation in the more public areas. And she was sort of right—the entire first floor had been remodeled into one huge space, with a bar at the back, a stage, lots of seating areas. Lots of dark, finished wood, lots of clean lines.
