by Chloe Cox
Adra felt his hands on her body all over again and shuddered.
When she refocused her eyes, Ford was looking at her. And so was everyone else.
Oh shit.
Adra cleared her throat. “Do you want to go over the stations we have out on the floor?” she said to Ford.
“I think most of them look pretty self-explanatory,” Olivia said softly. “But you should definitely go over them.” She looked pretty enthralled. Particularly by the spanking bench. Adra tried to quell the jealousy that flared up inside her, but to no avail.
Only Derrick looked annoyed.
“This is a waste of time,” he said.
“Not to me it isn’t,” Olivia said, looking sideways at her costar. “If you’re going to have me over one of those things, I damn sure want to know how it works.”
Adra and Ford looked at each other. Olivia might actually be pretty great, so long as she stopped looking at Ford.
“I mean, not…have me,” the actress said, suddenly flustered.
“We knew what you meant,” Ford said. “And you’re right.”
Adra hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Ford since she’d remembered their night on that table. In this room. All over the club. And finally, in his bed.
Then Olivia had talked about being had over pieces of equipment, and now Ford was looking back at Adra, too.
She could barely breathe.
“Then let’s get on with it,” Derrick said.
Ford broke his gaze from Adra’s face, shaking his head, turning away slightly. He paused a moment, and then pointed up, toward the center of the room, where a suspension apparatus hung from the ceiling.
“That might not be quite as familiar as the spanking bench,” Ford said.
Adra thought she heard Olivia catch her breath, unaware that anyone had noticed her reactions to all of this. But that wasn’t what caught her attention. It was Derrick, staring right at her.
“I know Adra’s familiar with it,” he said.
It was like being slapped in the face. With something gross.
Adra was so shocked she honestly was sort of speechless. Never mind the level of unprofessionalism that Derrick had just sunk to; it was the fact that it was clearly some sort of weird power play that got to her. Yeah, they’d done bondage and suspension play. Years ago. They’d taken a class in rope bondage, for safety, and he’d tied her up and suspended her, and, well. It had been ok. Just ok.
But to bring it up? Now? When they hadn’t seen each other in years, when this was supposed to be a professional setting, when Adra was supposed to be an authority, when all it would do would humiliate and demean her, when—
“Mr. Duvall,” Ford said. His voice was different. It was the voice, only deeper. Threatening.
Ford had turned back around and was staring at Derrick, his eyes on fire, his face dark. He took two steps and put himself between Adra and Derrick, and then…he kept going.
Derrick stepped back.
Ford walked him back until he bumped into the wall. Adra could see Ford’s fists opening and closing, opening and closing, his huge, hulking back obscuring Derrick's face entirely. Everything was very, very quiet.
“Every competent practitioner is somewhat familiar with suspension techniques, Mr. Duvall,” Ford said. “We run a professional club here. I recommend that you behave professionally.”
“Holy shit,” Olivia whispered, looking sideways at Adra.
Adra couldn’t speak.
Then came Derrick's thin voice. “Or what?” he said.
Ford was silent for a long, long time. Adra had never seen him like this. Only once had he been close—the night of Volare’s Bacchanal party, when some jerk had gotten drunk and practically yanked Adra’s arm out of its socket. That guy had left with a broken nose, and Adra had thought that was the most primitive, violent, and slightly frightening thing she’d ever seen from Ford.
Until now.
Ford was breathing deep, his shoulders heaving, his body coiled tight. He hadn’t touched Derrick. He kept his hands to his sides. And he hadn’t looked away. But there was something about the intensity of it all, about the impression of supreme control, that made you wonder what would happen if Ford decided he needed to let go.
He’s protecting me, Adra realized. He’s protecting me from Derrick.
The thought hit her like a hammer to the chest.
“Or what?” Derrick said again, his voice slightly higher.
Finally, Ford said, “Don’t find out.”
Oh God, she needed to stop this. She knew Derrick; he was an idiot. And she hadn’t planned on Ford caring about Derrick being an idiot, and she definitely hadn’t planned on this testosterone-filled display. The two of them beating the crap out of each other would be an absolute disaster for the club.
“Ford,” Adra said. She didn’t know what she planned to say next. But she didn’t have to.
Like freaking magic, Ford walked away.
He turned around, looked at her, sweat beading on his forehead, and he walked over to Adra’s side.
She could smell him. Oh God, she could smell him. She’d almost forgotten how badly she could want him, and now here it was again, that want, alive and clawing at her, climbing up her skin, her whole body aware of nothing more than his presence next to hers.
And then they were all saved from whatever was going to happen next by Roman.
“Am I interrupting?” Roman called, striding into the room. Adra knew Roman Casta well enough to know that with one glance he absolutely knew that he was interrupting something, and that it was something bad. The man could read a room. Thank God.
“Nope!” Adra said, way too enthusiastically. “We were just about to take a break. What’s up?”
“Ford, you have a phone call in your office,” Roman said.
“I’m busy,” Ford said.
“I suggest you take it.”
“Whatever it is, it’s not more important than what I’m doing,” Ford said through clenched teeth. “I’m busy.”
Roman sighed. “Ford. It’s your ex-wife.”
Adra could actually feel the air go out of the room.
Or maybe it was just the air going out of her lungs.
Ford had an ex-wife?
Four
“Claudia,” Ford said into the phone.
It felt surreal to even say. They hadn’t talked in over five years. Even now, he half-expected silence.
Would have preferred it, even. He couldn’t think of a legitimate reason for Claudia to contact him that didn’t involve tragedy.
“Hi, Ford,” she said after far too long. “How are you?”
Ford clenched his teeth. Polite conversation took on a whole new meaning with his ex-wife. And she had no business knowing anything about him anymore.
“What’s wrong, Claudia?”
“Nothing is wrong.”
Roman had said it sounded urgent; otherwise Ford would have stayed with Adra. But then again, Roman wasn’t familiar with the Claudia Bane—make that Gifford, now—definition of “urgent.”
Ford took a deep breath, and tried not to think about where he’d left Adra, back in that room, with Derrick's words hanging in the goddamn air.
“Why are you calling me?” he said.
“Ford, don’t you think we can be civil, after all this time?” she said.
“I’m honest,” he said.
She was silent.
“Well,” she finally said, “I thought you should know that Jesse and I are moving out to Los Angeles.”
“That has nothing to do with me.”
“Jesse has done some work for the studio on the Submit and Surrender movie,” she went on. “They asked for him specifically because they’d heard he was in the lifestyle. It didn’t seem relevant to me, considering he just worked on the contracts, but what do I know? Anyway, we’re moving out to L.A.”
“And?”
“And we’ll be applying for membership at Club Volare L.A.,” she said
lightly. “I just thought you should know.”
“Are you asking for my recommendation?”
“Of course not,” she said, trying to sound as if she didn’t think she needed it. “I just thought you should know, that’s all.”
And she was counting on this call to make Ford feel too proud to actually block their application. Clever, but he could see right through her. It had taken him a long time and a lot of bullshit to learn that skill, but now that he had it, it was like riding a bike.
Unfortunately, she was also right. Ford was over Claudia; that wasn’t in doubt. But he hadn’t forgiven her—or Jesse. So while he didn’t want them walking around his goddamn club, his integrity wouldn’t allow him to blackball them just because he didn’t like them.
“You’ve told me, Claudia,” he said. “Is there anything else?”
“You won’t go all Neanderthal or anything?” she said.
That should not have pissed him off as much as it did. She was trying to joke around, to lighten an awkward conversation; even Claudia wasn’t outright evil. But she had no way of knowing that Ford actually had just gone “all Neanderthal” on Derrick Duvall for daring to make Adra feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable.
Goddammit.
He’d overreacted. He’d seen Adra hurt, and he’d just…
He’d felt guilty about it. And then he’d gone after Derrick.
“Ford?” Claudia said.
“I won’t go all Neanderthal,” Ford said. “Your life isn’t any of my business anymore, Claudia. Good luck with your move.”
And he hung up.
Only then did he realize there was some nervous looking kid with a clipboard hovering about his open office door. It took a moment for Ford to remember that there were a few dozen movie people wandering around the club, and that this poor kid wasn’t actually an intruder.
The kid took a step back anyway.
“Mr. Colson?”
“Yeah?”
“Um, Mr. Corvis said he needs you in the conference room?”
“What?”
“Mr. Corvis? The executive producer?”
Ford tried to make his face as gentle as possible. The kid looked like he might actually be shaking.
“I meant, what conference room?’” Ford said. “We have a conference room now?”
“Um, I can take you to it?”
“Lead the way.”
Ford shook his head as he followed the kid through the club, marveling again at how surreal the whole situation was. Within a week everything had been turned upside down. Within a week, he’d gone from…
What the hell had he been doing? Fucking up, that’s what. As a Dom, he’d fucked up royally. Both he and Adra had screwed up by giving in and neglecting to talk about what they were doing before they slept together; Ford didn’t realize until later that he’d been so certain that Adra had also wanted what he wanted: a life together. A relationship. All of it. He’d wanted all of it. And he’d been sure she did, too.
And he’d been wrong.
Well, shit happens. But he’d screwed up after that, too. Adra had told him, in her own limited way, what she could handle. She didn’t tell him why she couldn’t be with him, but she wasn’t obligated to, and that didn’t excuse his own lack of communication.
Because after that, he’d pulled away. He’d distanced himself from a friendship that was important to both of them, and he’d done it without explanation. He’d told himself it was because Adra had played games with him, was still playing games with him, and that was true—but it wasn’t the whole truth. He’d also done it out of self-preservation, because he thought he’d been in love with her, or who he’d thought her to be, and he’d needed time to get over that.
And today he’d been confronted with just how much that had hurt Adra.
“Goddammit,” he said under his breath.
“What?” the kid said.
“Nothing. Where are you taking me?”
“Right here, sir,” the kid said, pointing at one of the playrooms. Ford laughed out loud—this was what they were calling a conference room? Well, he supposed that could work, in a way…
“Thanks,” Ford said. The kid was staring at the floor. He still looked like a frightened fawn. “Hey, listen. Try to relax. You’re doing a good job.”
The kid looked up, his eyes bright. “Yeah?”
Ford smiled. “Yeah. Any idea what I’m supposed to be doing in there?”
“It’s a script read,” the kid said, proud to know something useful. “The production is under high security because of all the fan interest, so they don’t let anyone go home with a script. You have to read it in there, and the script can’t leave the room. I’m supposed to stand out here until you’re done.”
Ford shook his head again. Hollywood.
“I’ll try to be quick,” he said.
“Take your time, sir,” the kid said. “The other consulting producer is already in there.”
The other ‘consulting producer’?
But even as he opened the door, Ford knew. It was Adra. Lounging on a divan, long legs spread out in front of her, hair falling over her face, eyes on the script she held in her soft hands, her brow furrowed in that look of concentration that got him every damn time. She was beautiful.
Then she looked up and saw Ford. And the look of confusion and pain that spread across her face was unmistakable.
Sometimes there wasn’t a way to fix things. Ford would respect whatever wishes Adra had, even if he thought she was wrong, even if he’d learned that she wasn’t the woman for him, even if he wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. But he’d be damned if he could continue to stand by and watch Adra be hurt because it might be easier on him.
That he could fix.
Adra had read the same page about a dozen times and she still had no idea what it said. That poor production assistant who was supposed to stand guard outside while she read the Submit and Surrender script was going to be there for a long, long time.
Ford had an ex-wife?
How was she supposed to think about anything else? Literally, anything else in the world? The Big One could turn L.A. into a floating island in the middle Pacific in the next two minutes, and Adra would still be wondering about Ford and his freaking ex-wife.
How could she not have known that? That Ford had been married? Thinking about it now, the man was in his thirties; it was ridiculous to imagine he hadn’t had important relationships. It’s just that Adra didn’t know about any of them. The idea that there’d once been a woman important enough to Ford that he’d declared his love, that he’d promised himself to her forever, that he’d…
Adra’s head was spinning. Which, that she could handle; she was used to her head spinning around Ford. But her heart felt empty, too. There was this huge part of Ford’s life, of his past, that he’d never shared with her. That she wasn’t a part of, even indirectly, even as just a friend who could show support.
She wasn’t used to being kept in the dark. She was used to people confiding in her, and she was used to being able to take care of them when they did. Somehow knowing that Ford hadn’t trusted her with this made the hurt of losing him seem fresh all over again.
Which was stupid, and selfish, because in the end, hadn’t he been right not to confide in her? Would she really have done anything differently if she’d known about the ex-wife? If she’d known about whatever emotional land mines Ford had in his past? Adra had felt them getting too close, and she hadn’t stopped it, and then she’d slept with him anyway, because she couldn’t stop herself. And then she’d had to tell him that she couldn’t be with him.
She didn’t tell him that she couldn’t be with anyone at all. Who’d understand? Hell, Adra herself didn’t always understand. She just knew that when she got too close to needing anybody, that was when she needed to get the hell out, because otherwise it would end in heartbreak in tears.
Well, more heartbreak and tears, anyway.
And s
o she’d been on the verge of crying all over again when Ford walked in.
And oh God, just the sight of him.
He was still wearing a white button down shirt, but he’d rolled up the sleeves, showing those powerful forearms, those big hands. First button undone, the crispness gone from the material. His hair kind of tussled. His eyes taking in the room in that commanding way he had, like he was surveying his territory.
Jesus. He didn’t even have to look at her to make her wet.
And then she remembered that she’d lost this man entirely, this man who had been her friend and who was even more beautiful inside than he was outside, and it crushed her.
They stared at each other.
Ford closed the door.
And Adra couldn’t take it anymore.
“I know you must hate this,” she blurted out. “I’m so sorry, Ford, I—”
He looked at her. “I don’t hate this.”
“I’ll just…I’ll do my best to stay out of your way.”
Ford cocked his head, and almost seemed to smile. “How the hell do you think you’re going to do that?”
Adra had nothing. He was right; it was impossible.
“Adra, look at me,” he said.
Jesus. He could have been a movie star during the Golden Age, with that bone structure, the sheer size of him. If he were all she had to look at for the rest of her life, she’d be fine with that. His eyes held her in place.
“I don’t hate this,” he said. “And I don’t want you to stay out of my way.”
Looking at Ford now, Adra couldn’t help but think about what his face had looked like when she’d told him that she didn’t want to be with him. And she felt absolutely miserable.
“Maybe you should hate this,” she said. “Maybe you should hate me.”
Ford’s Dom voice cracked the air between them.
“Don’t talk about yourself that way,” he said. “That’s an order.”
Adra blinked.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t think about anything other than Ford. They’d never gotten to do a proper scene during their one night together. There were hints of what he’d be like as Dom, and he’d dominated her without question, but it had been…very animal. Feral. Wild. What would he be like cool and calm and controlled? What would he be like with complete, deliberate control over her?
