“That’s it!” Rhys’ tone is ferocious and fear inducing. I hear the shuffle of feet and a few muffled words before the door is wrenched open and it’s too late. I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I try to make a break up the stairs, but realize I cannot get away fast enough. I turn around and try to make it look as if I have just come down when I almost fall backwards, coming just inches from running into a statuesque blonde, cloaked in a short navy blue trench coat. The blonde from the picture in Rhys’ office, and she is more breathtaking in person. Tall and slender, her hair hangs down her back and shimmers like gold against her tanned skin. Her bright blue orbs, rimmed with kohl, inspect every inch of me.
“I don’t see it,” she mutters under her breath, before she flips a switch, blinding me with a practiced, disingenuous smile. “You must be Sophie.” Her face is bright and friendly, but something in the way she thrusts her hand at me is off. Speechless, I offer her my hand. “It is lovely to meet you. I am Nadja.” Her fingers are long and slender, and her cold, clammy skin sticks to mine as she shakes my hand a little too hard. My stomach turns at the sound of her name, and I take a deep breath, swallowing back a growing disdain.
“It’s not like Rhys to keep his girls for more than one night. You must be doing something right.” She winks at my souring face. It takes a tremendous effort to appear stoic and unaffected by her haughty presence. She clearly loves to intimidate, her hand still wrapped around mine. Like a cat in heat she is trying to mark her territory, a too tight squeeze of her hand tells me we are battling for control. She rakes me up and down while a slight hum oozes from her throat, leaving a poisonous sting in the air. I pull my hand from hers, taking a step back, away from the coiled snake so ready to strike. Her eyes are locked with mine while a predators’ smirk twists at her pouty lips. “What’s the matter, honey? Cat got your tongue?” Her fire laced giggle kicks me out of my own head, my tongue trying desperately to catch up with my mind, but failing miserably.
I turn to Rhys leaning lazily against the door of his office, a casual witness to our encounter, seemingly amused and unaffected. He grins, but it does not meet his eyes. There is nothing casual about him at closer look. His body is rigid, his jaw tight, teeth grinding slowly as he watches her. A slight shift in his demeanor, barely detectable, sends a shadow across his bright eyes. A brief twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth as I drop her hand and his eyes narrow on Nadja. His face is tense, an inscrutable expression perfectly in place upon his chiseled features.
“That is enough.” He shuffles Nadja towards the front entrance with a curt goodbye. My leaden feet have me anchored to the spot, stunned by the entire exchange.
Chapter 16
“Come.” He grabs my hand, pulling me behind him. He is distracted, tense. “I want to play.” There’s that phrase. My spine rattles at his words. My chest is struck with a strangling fear as he bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His pull is urgent, but every step brings me closer to something I know I am not ready for. She provokes him, Nadja’s effect is left all over his tense form and his uneasily silent mouth. Trepidation courses through me with each heartbeat, growing stronger. I try to fight back the fear, but it wells in my throat erupting in a shocking unprovoked declaration. He tugs at my hand, but I plant myself and tug back.
“I don’t want to be tied up!” He slows and turns on me, hovering a step above me, his form even larger and more looming than normal. His eyes narrow as he exhales a deep held breath, pulling me reluctantly over the landing.
“I haven’t decided what I am going to do with you yet, but don’t fret. I will be gentle. Remember, I am supposed to be having my way, Beautiful.” Pushing the bedroom door open he crosses to a chest of drawers, pulling a length of shock provoking silk from the bottom drawer. “I never agreed to that.” I am transfixed by the rope, hypnotized by its menacing color and ominous length as he pulls the bundle back and forth over his open palms. I am unable to look away.
Disappointment dulls the sparkle in his eyes. “You have a fair point. I see that I will have to remember to tie up all the loose ends with you, Sophie.” His tone is clipped, and icy.
“You seem out of sorts. Maybe we should wait.” I take a seat at the foot of the bed, careful to remain as far away from the headboard, or anything he could tie me to. He is like a caged animal, eerily calm, but in a dangerous state of mind.
“I am fine, just a little frustrated. I would like to take that frustration out on you.” His fingers trace a scorching trail down my cheek, sending a shiver down my jelly spine. “Have you ever been tied up?”
“No.” I have never done anything adventurous or kinky. And I have never craved anything like that. Being tied up or tied down illicit a serious flight reaction, the thought makes me want to run for the hills. Far away from this man that has made me feel so amazing.
“How do you know you don’t want it?” His wicked question churns deep in my mind.
“I don’t know.”
“I think you’re afraid.”
“Should I be?”
“Do you think that I would hurt you, Sophie? Do you think that would bring me pleasure?” I shake my head, unsure of my own mind. He watches me closely, waiting for me to spook. I have never felt the way he makes me feel. I feel driven to please him. I want to trust him. But the thought of being at someone else’s mercy, trusting him not to hurt me, I don’t know that I am capable. It is too soon.
“What scares you about being restrained?” His tone is silky and measured.
“Not being able to get away.” My voice is small and quiet, and I struggle to stay in the moment. Not to let my mind drag me back into dark memories.
“Don’t you trust me, Sophie?” His face is serious, a shadow of doubt clouds his eyes and I fear I have lost him. “Do you really believe that I would hurt you, or make you do something you didn’t want to do? It is an exercise in freedom. You would be free to feel and enjoy everything I do to you without having to think.” And that phrase is the clutch for me, ‘everything I do to you’. To me, not with me.
“I….I’m just not ready for that.”
“If you don’t trust me we shouldn’t be doing any of this.” He pulls the ropes roughly through his palms once more, squeezing and kneading the swaths of shiny, blood red silk before whipping them back into the open drawer. “Trust me when I say that if I ever do bind your hands and legs, and I hope I do, you won’t be going anywhere.”
“That sounded like a threat. Your sales pitch leaves something to be desired.”
“Oh, there is plenty left to be desired, Beautiful.” Shoving the drawer closed with his foot, the discussion is closed, I challenged him and I lost, even though I got what I wanted.
“I thought we were going to play?” my voice strangled by disappointment that catches me off guard.
“I’ve changed my mind,” his voice is resolute. I sulk, sinking into the bed, pulling a pillow across my lap, covering myself. “Don’t pout, it’s not becoming and it will only strengthen my resolve. You need to recognize your value. You are more than a plaything, Sophie. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And you shouldn’t do something you are not sure of, even if it is to please me.” Moments ago, he was ready to tie me up and fuck me silly, now he admonishes me like a parent. How can he demand my independence and submission in the same moment? How did this become about my self-worth? I thought this was about him.
“You are angry.”
“No, I am not angry.” I don’t believe him. He stalks into the bathroom, returning with a towel that he slings onto the bed next to me.
“Then what? What have I done?” Knowing full well that I haven’t done anything, except turn him down.
“I am just frustrated, with myself.” He is at war with himself, the evidence written all over his face. His brows knit together, forming a deep valley between them, his mouth set in a hard line and his body is tense. I move to the end of the bed, closer to him. But he shifts away, moving from u
nder my advancing hands. He stands, looking down on me, crystal green eyes full of doubt and something else, something unreadable. Something I know, deep in my gut stems from Nadja, and her visit. It seems she has left him teetering on the edge, lost in thought, and now the suggestion of the ropes? I thought he had been kidding. At the very least, when he said tie me up I thought of a little wrist restraint, maybe a tie, something I could easily escape. But those ropes were long. They do not look like a prop, the menacing shade of blood red and uncomfortably smooth silk was intriguing but more frightening than I had imagined. At that moment all I could think of was being tied up and left, or worse. The thought was too much to bear, too scary to hide. And now he is distant and pulling away. Rifling through his drawers he pulls out a pair of running shorts and a faded green tee shirt, with St. Andrews Rugby scrolled across the chest.
“Rhys?” He turns to look at me and I almost drown. He is far away, getting further by the minute. A wave of fear crashes in my belly, swirling around me, threatening to pull me under. “Did I do something wrong?” I can’t say where it came from, the fear that welled up inside me, but it was there, and it was cold. And I knew that I could not let him walk out with his frustrations in tow. Something told me that if I let him walk out, everything would change. He was retreating. It was evident in every stiff move of his body, every terse word from his mouth. She was pulling him down. I need to pull him back up.
“You haven’t done anything wrong, Sophie. I’m going for a run.” Eyes cast down, he heads back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, shutting me out. I can’t let this happen. I cannot let him shut down. We have had such a good time up until now. I will not let Nadja take that away from me, now I am feeling selfish, determined. I hop off the bed and stand at the closed door. I set to my shoulders, hold myself straight and tall, hoping the outward appearance of strength will influence the inner limp noodle. I open the door without a knock and find him leaning against the counter, staring at himself in the wall size mirror.
“Hey.” I rest my hand on his forearm. He turns his face to me and we stare into one another’s eyes. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me, his eyes darting over my face, from my eyes back to my mouth.
His jaw relaxes ever so slightly, the crack in his façade that I was looking for. I reach up on my tip toes and place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, the stubble from his beard barely a tickle against my cheek. It takes him a minute. A very long minute, before he allows himself to thaw. Hauling me into his strong embrace, he crushes me to his chest, his heart beating frantically, drumming against my ear. I press myself closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. The muscles in his back move and roll under my hands. His heart slows gradually while he holds me. All the while placing feather light kisses in my hair. His hands are wound around me like an anaconda. He cups my head in the most protective gesture, tilting my chin to the heavens he stares at me, studying my face before the corner of his mouth twirls into a perfectly crooked grin. There he is. He leans down and takes my mouth with such force that my legs wobble. He catches me behind the knees swinging my legs up into his arms so easily. I wrap my arms around his neck, press back and slide my tongue into his mouth, flicking at his lower lip. He lifts me onto the counter, setting me on the cool marble top. Pressing his thighs between mine, he spreads my legs and fills the void with his hard body.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper. Pulling away from me, his look is one of utter shock, and resignation.
“Sophie, I could never be angry with you. I am sorry.” Shaking his head with a huff, he buries his head in the crook of my neck and gently kisses me, his tongue dipping into the hollow of my throat. His mouth is warm and soft, plying me with every soft brush of his lips. I bury my hands in his unruly morning curls and tug hard, pulling his face back, looking him in the eye.
“What was she doing here?” I need to know.
“She just came to rattle my cage,” he says with a violent shake of his head.
“Well, it worked. Who is she to you?”
“Nobody of any consequence.” His glare is hard, dilated and unwavering. It is clear by every atom in his body that he does not want to rehash what just happened. So I am left to work it out on my own, or wait out his frustration. Either way, I know myself well enough to know that I cannot let it go. The way she called him Daddy and the way she sized me up. Every fresh memory conspires to make me ill. But I push it back, for his sake and mine. We will revisit. I will never forget the ring in her voice, “maybe we could use her.”
“What are we going to do today?” I ask with a sly half grin, hoping that he is thoroughly distracted and willing to talk. He smiles a whole, true crooked smile and it’s clear that the toxic Nadja cloud is lifting, and we will be as we once were.
“Let’s go out. We will go to the beach, do some shopping. Get out of this house for a bit.”
Chapter 17
After a long day of lounging on the beach under the hot Florida sun and Rhys’ insistence that we window shop and walk for what felt like hours, I was spent. A deep, heavy sleep pulled me under the moment he slipped from my body and I was trapped in dark dreams. I wake strangled by a familiar fear. Sliding out from beneath his heavy arm I make my way into the large master bathroom, locking the door. Needing a moment to collect my thoughts and examine myself without the weight of his gaze.
“Sophie, are you alright?” Rhys’ soft voice and a faint rap on the door startle me from my self-examination. I unlock the door; the light shocking Rhys’ sleepy eyes. His hand flies to his eyes and he reaches around to flip the light off, leaving the ambient under cabinet lighting to illuminate the small room, and my fallen face. Grateful for the silken pajama pants that he has pulled on. Although I fear the distraction stems not from his body, but from his very presence. He consumes the air around me, trapping me. I drown in his eyes while he leans against the counter.
“I just needed some water.”
“Come back to bed.” He grabs my hand and leads me back into the bedroom. I climb back among the cloud of pillows and down while he pours me a glass of water. Sliding in behind me he peppers feather light kisses across my shoulders. I reel from the contact. It is hot and heavy and so soft. Continuing his delicate assault on my cool flesh, his hands travel to my breasts and my head rolls back onto his shoulder. He teases me, caressing me gently with his palm, wiping my mind of worry. Now both hands are on me, kneading and squeezing my now rapidly heating breasts. His fingers pull and twist at my nipples, rolling them around and around. “Aahhh.” I moan into his neck and he continues pressing and pulling at my flesh, and then he is gone. His hands have abandoned me, the only proof of him is his rock hard chest against my back, his rhythmic breathing against my spine.
“Something is on your mind, Beautiful.” He laces his fingers with mine, wrapping our arms around me.
“Hmm?” The only thing on my mind is his hands, warm and knowing. Please, put them back.
“Tell me what is bothering you,” he pleads, placing a kiss at the curve of my neck. The spark he ignites propels me, and I know that this is my chance. To seize the opportunity to reveal the deep insecurity this woman provokes in me. I have to unburden myself, she has dominated every thought since she sashayed out the door this morning. He wants to know what is on my mind. I will share. Turning in his lap, I catch him by surprise. My eyes are wide and clear, and I mean to be open.
“Nadja,” I say, looking dead into his eyes, afraid of the light I expected to see at the mention of her. But there was no light that crossed his eyes at the mention of her name, just a deep, dark, shadow. Snorting in indignation, he swipes my hair away from my neck. So adept at distracting me from my course, fingers trace the curve of my spine before they grip my hips, lifting me atop his folded legs. He drops me into his lap and cups my face in his hands. “She is perfect, and a little scary,” I mutter, afraid to look him in the eye, afraid that if I look directly at him, he will see right through me, straight thr
ough to the cowering, insecure girl that has slunk into the corner to pout.
“Scary… yes. Perfect….” He laughs a humorless, bitter laugh. “No, she is far from perfect.” Irritation paints his tone.
“The effect she has on you is…” I am unable to finish the thought. “What happened?” He looks bewildered, bothered by the inquisition. A stony silence fills the moment, stealing my breath. Do I really want to know? Too late now. His fingers twist and turn in my hair. Brushing my cheeks rhythmically with his thumbs, he pulls his bottom lip through his teeth. His eyes are dark and pensive, pondering his answer.
“We were young.” He frowns, lines crinkling across his forehead, the corners of his eyes creasing ever so slightly.
“That’s it?” He is not offering anything.
“That’s it.” His jaw is flexed, his mouth set in a hard line. He has effectively ended the conversation before it even began. I get nothing. “You were very impressive this morning. She is a force and she labors to intimidate most women. To be honest, I thought she might eat you alive. I was waiting for her to unhinge her jaw and have you for breakfast.”
“So you set me up like a piece of bait?” I don’t know what to say to that. Inside, she has played on every insecurity that I harbor, that we all harbor. But I knew how important it would be for me to keep it inside, to hide it from Rhys and from myself. “Was she the one? The one you have been with before you started making rules?”
“Yes, she is the only other one. And she is not happy to now share that title. But, you are my guest, Sophie. She is an unwelcome nuisance.” It does little to quell my curiosity, but still I swell at his declaration. She was unwelcome.
Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) Page 16
