There was a shriek of feminine laughter, a booming bark of a man’s laugh, and Cody went zipping by the doorway, a blur.
“Bring back my cell phone! Hey!” Sophie was shouting. The sound of running steps preceded Sophie by mere seconds and she slid into view, halting in the doorway when she saw Emery. Wearing soccer shorts and a loose t-shirt that said “Train through the pain,” she held a tennis racket. Her cheeks were pink, sweat dewed on her brow, and damp spots on her sleeves evidenced she’d been wiping more sweat from her face. She had been working out, just as he’d asked. The faint sound of her panting breath kicked his body into a whole new level of need. He couldn’t help but imagine what she’d sound like as she raced toward a powerful climax with him thrusting into her.
Emery’s heart leapt into a sprint. He wanted to pull her into his arms, smother her with kisses, fuck her senseless, then carry her to the shower, bathe the sweat from her body and take her all over again. He took a step toward her, every intention of doing just that when Brant spoke, reminding him they weren’t alone.
“Emery, you didn’t tell me you had a visitor.” Brant swept past him and held out a hand to Sophie. “Nice to meet you, Ms.…”
“Ryder. Sophie Ryder.” Sophie’s cheeks flamed, the blush adorable.
He smiled. “I’m Brant Lockwood, Emery’s cousin.”
Emery clenched his fists as he recognized the look of hungry intent on Brant’s face.
Sophie smiled at Brant, but the look was forced; not a hint of warmth gleamed in her eyes. Her reaction pleased Emery. He didn’t want Sophie to be interested in his cousin. She belonged to him, not Brant. As if answering his thoughts, her hand moved to her wrists, touching the gold cuffs almost absently.
“Those are lovely bracelets,” Brant said.
“Thank you, I got them from a—” her eyes darted to Emery then to the floor— “friend.”
“Ah, I see. My cousin has spoiled you, then. He doesn’t usually give cuffs to his women unless they’re fully tamed.”
Brant’s comment made Emery’s blood run cold. What did Brant mean? He’d never cuffed a woman before. Sophie was his first. The women he’d been with in the past always had their official club cuffs, and took them off once they left the club. Not Sophie. She wore his cuffs, at his command. Because she was his.
The look of hurt that slashed across her features and the triumphant shine in Brant’s eyes told him everything. He’d said that just to upset Sophie. The bastard.
“I should go.” Sophie backed out of the doorway. “I’m sorry to interrupt your meeting, Mr. Lockwood. I thought you might be interested in the picnic Hans and Cody prepared. But I see you’re busy.” She spun on her heel as though to leave.
Emery lunged, catching her arm and tugging her fully into the room and into his arms. He angled his body and hers so that her back was to Brant. He dropped his head, touching his nose to hers.
“There have been no other women, Sophie. You certainly aren’t tamed. I’d never want you to be. Do you understand?” He cupped her chin. “Do you?” It was an intimate confession, one better suited to his bedroom without his cousin looking on, but he didn’t want her to think for one minute that she was like any other woman he’d met.
Sophie blinked back tears and gave a shaky nod.
“Good. Now what’s this about a picnic?”
“We thought we’d dine out on the patio. What do you think?” Sophie prodded hopefully, reaching out for his hand. He met her halfway, taking her hand in his and curling his fingers around hers.
Now this was more like it. The silver of her eyes was alight and sparkling like the sea at sunrise, emotions rippling through her gaze in bright patterns. He held the key to her happiness in his hands, and the power of knowing he could and would make her happy was exhilarating. Sophie’s happiness meant everything to him. Even though he knew they were wrong for each other and would eventually part ways, he couldn’t help but immerse himself in the here and now and give her what she wanted.
“A picnic?” He pretended to think it over, running a palm across his jaw in contemplation.
“Please Emery. The weather is perfect and I made us some sandwiches.”
“Very well, lead the way.” He linked his arm in Sophie’s, kissing the tip of her nose. She laughed and pushed at his chest. How odd that he couldn’t keep from touching her, kissing her, even in the most tender of ways. All his life he’d kept women at a distance, only with them during planned seductions. But with Sophie, he needed to show her affection, chaste and simple as it was. He just needed to feel her. She was flinching less and less, overcoming what appeared to be an aversion to physical contact. How alike they were in so many ways.
When his cousin coughed, Emery sighed. “Brant, you and I will talk later,” he called over his shoulder. He didn’t miss Brant’s irritation and something darker, but Emery didn’t care. His cousin’s temper needed little provocation. He was constantly unhappy.
Now Emery on the other hand…he was happy. Too many years of guilt and sorrow had rendered his heart incapable of joy. But at that moment, he felt good enough to forget the past, if only for a few hours.
He brushed a kiss against Sophie’s temple as they walked down the hall. She gave a sweet little sigh as they emerged into the light outside.
Chapter 9
THE LOCKWOODS HAVE DECLINED TO GRANT INTERVIEWS OR MAKE COMMENTS TO POLICE, ASIDE FROM THEIR PLEA FOR INFORMATION. THIS IS THE SECOND TRAGEDY SUFFERED BY THE LOCKWOODS THIS YEAR. IN FEBRUARY, RAND LOCKWOOD, ELLIOT LOCKWOOD’S ELDER BROTHER BY TWO YEARS, DIED AFTER A LONG BATTLE WITH PANCREATIC CANCER. RAND LEFT BEHIND ONE SON, BRANT LOCKWOOD, AGE EIGHTEEN.
—New York Times, June 10, 1990
Sophie nibbled on the last of her turkey sandwich before lying back on the thick, red fleece blanket. The sky overhead was a rich cerulean blue that seemed to go on forever, unmarred by clouds. Beside her, Emery was sitting up, long lean legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as he talked to Hans about something. She didn’t really pay attention to the conversation, something about a man named Wes, Emery’s friend, and a woman named Corrine. Apparently there was drama there. A lot of drama. But nothing seemed urgent.
The entire afternoon felt like a dream. Sunshine, warmth, the low rumble of male voices. It made her homesick for Kansas. Her father had three brothers and they were always around. She’d spent her entire childhood waking up to the deep reverberation of male voices in the kitchen below. Usually the owners of those voices were gently teasing her mother. It was a happy memory. Nothing had changed since then but at the same time everything had. She could never go back to those days, sleep in her old bed and hear her uncles’ and father’s voices, and enjoy life with the innocence that she’d lost.
She was grown. With her own life, living her dreams. But now, in this moment, with Emery, she was creating new memories. The comfort of that removed nearly all of her determination to remain distant. She rolled onto her side and curled an arm around Emery’s waist the way she used to cuddle her favorite stuffed bear, Mr. Nesbit, when she’d been a child. Emery kept talking, her action not disrupting his conversation for a moment. He laid his arm over hers. The skin-to-skin contact was delicious and soothing at the same time. Her stomach flipped and her heart bounced against her ribs when he laced his fingers through hers, holding her arm to his waist.
Comfort grew inside her, a slow blooming peony that unfurled its petals and stretched in the sun, finally unafraid to let go of itself, for just a few blessed moments. Sleep called to her and she yawned and rubbed her cheek against Emery’s jeans-clad hip. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain she marveled at the level of intimacy he’d gotten her to give him. And thinking of that led to memories of that spanking.
Dear lord, she’d be wicked and disobey him every day to get that punishment. He’d known just how to hit the right spot and rub away the sting, leaving her burning only with insatiable desire. A more shocking thought came to her: she knew the intensity of
being with him would only increase. What would it be like to let him remove her clothes, restrain her and take what he wanted? He’d spread her thighs wide, thrust into her hard, mercilessly, exactly like she needed. His fingers would stroke her clit, make her come just before he finally unleashed his own animal needs. She needed him to feel that way, to want that as much as she did.
But that need terrified her. Going there with him, bearing her soul, could ruin her. She’d never been able to do that with another man. She’d vowed to submit to him, wanted to, but knowing it wouldn’t last…when it ended…
Am I strong enough for that?
Sophie had no answer. Only the hint of an ache in her chest.
“You want dessert?” Emery asked, stirring her from the light sleep she’d almost given in to.
“Hmmm?” She made no other reply.
He laughed and patted her bottom. She jumped as her sensitive skin leapt at his touch. Finally she opened her eyes, blinking several times. Emery leaned over her, a strawberry in his hand. He’d cut the green top off and held the fruit to her lips. Sophie opened, letting him feed her. She’d always loved strawberries, and it was delicious. Licking her lips, she savored the sweet juices, then opened her mouth for another. He watched her take each bite, eyes burning with each little nibble she took from his fingers.
In between bites she spoke. “Have you ever read Tess of the D’Urbervilles?”
Emery nodded. “Yes, a long time ago. In college, I think. Why?”
She shrugged, but he caught her chin, the action forcing her eyes up to his.
“Why?” he repeated.
She swallowed thickly, a little nervous. “There’s a scene where Tess is seduced by Alec, the antagonist. He feeds her strawberries before he ravishes her.”
“So I’m the villain now?” Emery’s tone frosted slightly, his once warm eyes cooled.
She kicked her lips up into a devious smile. “The word I was hoping you’d focus on was ravish.” She leaned up and nipped his fingers before sucking the juice off them.
I shouldn’t bait him.
He was a tiger prowling the edge of his cage of control and she was pulling him by the tail. She was asking for trouble, but logic failed her and hormones took over.
“You offering?” His own lips parted as he touched her mouth with strawberry flavored fingertips. The rough pad of his thumb made her shiver, and heat sparked through her like a thousand pinpricks of desire. Her entire body—every cell—called out to him, compelling him to take what she was offering.
She struggled to find her voice. “I might be.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. Want and need throbbed between her legs, beating like a drum she had to answer.
It made no sense, her obsession with him. They were as different as could be and she’d never believed opposites attracted each other. She’d especially never been drawn to bad boys, or brooding men. But maybe that was because she’d never looked deeper. Beneath the wicked glint in Emery’s eyes and the layers of his seductive smiles, there was a storm in his heart. One born of passion, loss, pain, and tragedy—all churning together, on the verge of devastating everyone and everything around him. Could she find a way to get into the eye of that storm? Nothing mattered more to her in that instant than finding a way to him, and maybe then she could escape her own nightmares and guilt.
Teach me. Teach me to be strong. It was all that she’d wanted for so long. Peace and strength. To be able to shrug off the talons of her past digging deep into her heart.
Emery bent his head to hers and nuzzled her throat. His lips left ghostly kisses. The world shuddered, light flashing and dimming, as she was lulled into the enchantment of his touch, his kiss. Any wish, any command, she’d obey so long as he never stopped touching her.
When he made as though to move away, she whispered, “Please don’t stop. Please…”
A cool breeze teased her hair, tugging strands into her eyes, reminding her they were outside and might not be alone.
“What about the others?” she murmured. She brushed her fingers through his thick, soft hair. She threaded through the strands and tugged lightly to get his attention. He lifted his head and she met his molten gold eyes.
“They went back inside while you were dozing. We’re alone.” The odd, rough note to his voice sent a whisper of a thrill through her and it scared her at the same time. What if she wasn’t ready? He’d take everything she’d give and maybe more. What would remain of her, if she gave him all that she was?
Sophie jerked back, suddenly desperate to escape him. She couldn’t do this, wasn’t ready to surrender.
“You’re not getting away. Not after begging me not to stop.” He captured her hands and pinned them on either side of her head on the blanket.
Her pulse spiked again with the fluttering rush of a hummingbird’s wings. She hovered, indecisive, knowing she had no choice but to let her passion sweep back in and carry her away.
“You like it when I take control, don’t you?” He flexed his hands, tightening his grip a little on her wrists.
“No.” She lied, knowing it would bring out the dominance in him. Never had she had the slightest urge to play with fire until now. There was something about Emery that made her wild, reckless. Now she saw the appeal of teasing the flame with her hand, to taste the edge of pain and revel in the delicious burn.
The sharp lines of his face softened with a lazy grin. Like a lion who’d just captured a little mouse, his devilish look of enjoyment said he loved to feel her struggle. And she wanted to struggle, wanted to be chased and caught. Sophie was fast becoming addicted to the rush of fighting and surrendering.
“Let me go.” She pushed up at him as though to get rid of him, but she rolled her hips up, pleading for him to keep her pinned. The dance of fight and giving in was an erotic fantasy she’d never expected to crave.
Emery dug his fingers into her skin, not enough to hurt, only to keep her down. He used one knee to push hers apart so he could thrust his thigh against her core, and pressed down. A little moan escaped her, unable to be held in as he slid his thigh against her in a rhythmic motion. The thin material of her soccer shorts offered no real barrier to protect her from the onslaught of sensations and desire from the contact of his leg. She threw her head back, eyes locking on the endless skies.
Her vision tunneled as he licked a path from her neck down to her collarbone, exploring sensitive spots and places that made her shudder and gasp. He moved her wrists above her head, and held them both in one of his hands before he slid his free hand down past her stomach and beneath the waistband of her shorts. He toyed with her simple cotton underwear before he delved deeper.
Panic exploded through Sophie. Her heart battered her ribs like a wild stallion against a fence post. He’d find her slightly rounded belly and be repulsed. She wasn’t thin, wasn’t flat stomached and trim like other women. Her face flamed and she whimpered. He’d discover how plump she was and lose interest. It was over.
But Emery didn’t stop. His hand curved over her lower abdomen, stroking her skin before moving down to cup her mound. He pressed hard and then when she arched her back, he eased up. She dropped her hips in frustration until he teased her clit with his fingertip. He circled it, teased it, tormented it. She’d never touched it herself; it had always been too sensitive, almost painful, but when he brushed over it, the near-pain became something altogether different. Her core throbbed in time with her heartbeat, answering the bolts of lightning shooting out from her clit.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked.
Thinking? She couldn’t think past the fact that his hand was between her legs, creating devastation and raw hunger.
When she didn’t answer he thrust one finger into her. “I’m waiting for an answer.”
“I don’t know!” she gasped, hips shooting up to push his finger deeper.
He dropped his head to her neck. The warm rush of his laughter should have upset her but it didn’t. He nipped her ski
n, biting and holding fast to her neck like a tiger with its mate. The sharp but minor flash of pain made her womb clench.
“Oh god!” Her head thrashed. The pain was exquisite, divine…like nothing she’d ever felt before.
Through the haze she heard his voice. “Tell me something secret about you. Something you hide from the world.” He licked the sore spot on her neck, then rubbed his cheek against hers like a possessive tomcat. The faint prickle of his jaw gave her shivers. She loved it when he dominated her, even gently.
“Something secret?” She wondered what secrets she had worth telling.
“It can be anything you want. Just talk to me.” He kissed her in a melding of mouths, soft and sensual yet packed with erotic delight. When he drew back, she saw the corners of his eyes crinkle with amusement at her inability to talk.
“Umm. My middle name is Eugenia,” she blurted out, then smacked her hand over her mouth and shut her eyes in horror at the confession.
The rush of warm laughter over her forehead made her eyes open again. “Eugenia?” Emery didn’t even try not to laugh.
“My mother’s fault. She wanted something sophisticated. She’s never quite gotten over marrying a Midwesterner. She was from Boston. My dad wanted names like Katie, Stephanie—you know, something normal. My mother fought for something more traumatizing, but not intentionally, I don’t think.” Sophie scrunched her nose up. “God, it made my middle school years awful. Girls can be so mean.” She knew she was rambling but she couldn’t stop it.
Emery stalled her words by moving his hand, which he still had between her legs. He slid a second finger inside her. All conversation vanished. She fought for air as he started pumping his fingers deep inside her.
“You’ve been such a good girl, Sophie.” He murmured in her ear and rocked against her in time with his fingers, until he became as breathless as she. The thin edge of control hung between them, swaying provocatively and waiting for one of them to give in first.
The Gilded Cuff Page 13
