“It’s worse because you have hope.” Even a sliver of hope could be more powerful, more devastating when finally all ability to hope died. When Rachel had been taken, Sophie had hoped every day for a year that they would find her. Then she’d lost hope and prayed they’d recover her body, if nothing else. Something in her died as the years passed and Rachel was never found.
Sophie was so lost in her thoughts that she only realized after several minutes that Emery’s mother was staring at her.
“This is more than just a story for you,” Miranda observed. “Will you tell me what it is you’re trying to hide? I see the tears clinging to your lashes.” Her keen gaze missed nothing. “I will tell you everything I remember about the night my sons were taken if you agree to tell me what drives you. Do you agree?”
“Yes.” Sophie swallowed thickly. “When I was seven, my best friend was abducted and never seen again. I was the only one with her when the man took her. Just me.” Her voice shook and her throat was so constricted it felt as if she was swallowing glass shards. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t remember his face, or his license plate—nothing. We never found her body. We never caught him, either.”
There. It was out. She couldn’t take back her confession, but would Miranda understand why this mattered so much? She and Emery shared a type of tragedy that thankfully few people ever experienced. It was as though they were drawn together by that single thread of pain, and yet their connection over the last day had grown into something infinitely more than that: something intangible she was too afraid to name but hoped would continue. Between them there were no secrets—not the ones that kept them both from the rest of the world. Together they were free.
“Ah.” Understanding transformed the cool, distant expression on the other woman’s face. Sorrow and concern were there as well. “Emery knows about your friend?”
Sophie nodded. “I told him about Rachel. I wanted him to know that this isn’t just a story to me. This is…” How could she possibly explain? “Emery survived. He’s alive. It’s a miracle to me. So many other children are taken and never seen again, but he got away.”
“How did you meet my son?” Miranda asked. “He said you’re going to write about what happened.” There was still a wariness in Miranda’s eyes, but she no longer seemed hostile.
Sophie tucked her hands in her skirts, trying to hide their trembling. She wasn’t used to telling someone her darkest truths, or discussing herself so openly. But Miranda needed to hear it.
“After losing Rachel, I devoted my life to stopping people like the man who took her. I’m a journalist, yes; but I’m not here to focus on his pain, or his trauma. I’m here to solve the mystery of who was behind it. Mrs. Lockwood, I’m good with puzzles, I see patterns in things. I came here to find Emery and get all the details he wouldn’t share with police or even you. If—” she drew in a shaky breath— “If I get the right information, I might be able to see something everyone else couldn’t. I want to find who was behind this and stop them.”
“But it’s been so many years. What good would it do now?” Miranda asked.
“Mrs. Lockwood, in cases like your sons’ abduction, there’s always something off. No ransom calls or letters were ever made or delivered; no one ever came forward. Your sons were hard to target, and an average person wouldn’t have bothered with them unless they had another motive. Like money. So why then did no one call for a ransom?”
Emery’s mother was watching her, a cunning glint in her eyes as she puzzled over Sophie’s words. “You think someone didn’t want a ransom?”
“Yes. I think the kidnapping was a ruse. Someone wanted to kill Emery and his brother, and make it look like it was done for a ransom. But that no ransom was never arranged because the boys would have accidentally died before a call could be made. Yet there was so much time, a three-month gap. They were waiting for instructions from someone.”
“But who…” Miranda trailed off, her gaze distant. “Who would want to do that to my babies?”
“That’s what I want to know, Mrs. Lockwood. I want to find that person and stop them. Because I think that the danger isn’t gone. Even after all these years, Emery’s life is still at risk. I feel it in my bones.”
“I wish he would have told Elliot and me what happened. What if he had and we’d learned something that could have stopped this years ago?”
“As a mother, you don’t know who to mourn more. The boy who perished, or the one who lives with the guilt of surviving.”
Miranda smoothed her dress, the motion slow and measured. “And Emery wasn’t the same when he came home. He was…” Emery’s mother blinked rapidly, but a stray tear slipped down her cheek. With a hasty move, she brushed her fingers over her cheek, trying to hide the evidence of her tears. “He was still my son, but he seemed broken. Without Fenn, he withdrew from us, from the world. In so many ways, it’s as though we’ve raised a stranger. I barely know him at all and I want to, Ms. Ryder. I want my son back. When he called today, I didn’t know what to think, but then when I saw you with him, I realized you had something to do with this.”
That didn’t sound like a good thing, and Sophie waited for Miranda to accuse her of hurting Emery, but the accusation didn’t come. The other woman was smiling, even if her eyes were a little watery.
“I don’t understand,” Sophie admitted quietly.
Miranda held out her hand and took one of Sophie’s between hers, holding it tightly. “I see my son again, the one that seemed lost to me. He’s there, just a faint but steadily growing presence. Because of you. I saw how he looked at you throughout dinner, the way he touches you so protectively, affectionately. It’s how his father is with me. He trusts you and if he trusts you, then so do I.” She squeezed Sophie’s hand in a silent show of support and Sophie held fast. This was not how she’d foreseen meeting Emery’s parents.
“You’re not upset that I’m here?” she asked.
“No, I’m not. If Emery can open up to you, that’s what matters. Whatever happened that night has weighed on him and I only wish I knew why.”
Sophie bit her bottom lip. “He wanted to tell you both what happened but he feels responsible. I think Fenn forced him to escape and made him leave alone. I can’t imagine how that must have felt, to abandon your brother, even though he told you to. I think Emery fears you’ll blame him for leaving his brother behind.”
“What?” Miranda’s face paled. “How could he? We would never…oh, my poor boy!”
Without another word to her, Miranda rushed from the room, crossed the hall and went back into the dining room. Sophie started to follow but froze in the doorway as she saw Miranda hugging Emery fiercely and whispering softly to him. The stark pain in his eyes soon turned to quiet grief and then relief and love before he shut them. Elliot joined his wife and son, arms curling around their shoulders.
Never in her life had Sophie felt more like an outsider. She was intruding on a reunion that was twenty-five years overdue.
It was time to leave.
She didn’t want to stay any longer, even if her heart begged her. They’d only just learned to talk to each other, to open up. To know that something might have come from such intimacy—to turn her back on it felt like a betrayal, but her own sorrow was too great to bear alone. Too many years spent repressing that pain had finally caught up with her. Seeing Emery achieve what she could never have—peace—made her want to run away, like the child she always seemed to be inside.
Rachel’s parents would never have such a moment. It was her fault. If she hadn’t been so scared, she could have screamed for help sooner. But she’d failed. Failed her friend, her friend’s parents, and herself.
Emery’s story had seemed like the answer to everything, but she was wrong. It wasn’t the answer. It was the acceptance by his parents. That moment when he could open himself up, wounds and all, to his parents and not be judged. That was an absolution she would never get.
She had to go upstairs, p
ack and leave. Her editor would want the story on the kidnapping soon, but Sophie couldn’t afford to stay here. She’d get the copies of the articles from Cody and do a phone interview with Emery in a few days. He needed time with his family now and having her underfoot would be the least helpful thing for him. There was no point in her staying. If she found any hard evidence of who was behind the killing, she had Cody’s information, and could contact him immediately. She wanted to put as much distance between herself and the past as possible.
When she got back to Emery’s bedroom she grabbed her suitcase and dropped it on the bed. She started throwing clothes in and rushed into the bathroom to gather her toiletries. Hurrying back into the bedroom, she stopped dead when she saw Emery leaning casually against the door frame, blocking the only exit. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and a scowl darkened his face.
“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t leave, not after you’ve given me my family back.”
She gulped and remained silent. Her heart thudded loudly enough that she was shocked he didn’t seem to hear it.
“Sophie,” he growled. “I’m not letting you walk out of this door.”
“But—”
He was across the room in seconds and with a quick swipe of his hand he knocked the suitcase to the ground. The move wasn’t violent, more decisive than anything else. She stared numbly at the clothes she’d hastily shoved into the suitcase. They were now scattered in a heap on the floor. Emery seized her attention by clasping his hands around her wrists and trapping her hands at the small of her back. All she could do was gaze up at him, wide-eyed, her body humming with muted pleasure at the domination swirling in his eyes.
“I put cuffs on you. Even if they aren’t on you all the time, the symbolism is the same.” His voice was passion-rough, as though he held onto his control by a whisper-fine thread. “Do you know what cuffs on a sub means in my world?”
Her mouth was as dry as sandpaper as she struggled to speak past the lump in her throat. “Cuffs represent a claimed sub. A dom cuffs a sub he wishes others to know belongs to him. The next step up is to collar a sub during a ceremony.” She knew that much from what Hayden had briefly explained over the phone when she was giving Sophie some inside tips on the club and the D/s lifestyle.
Emery licked his lips, his body tense against hers. “To me they are a sign of commitment. If I were to take you to the club wearing these, everyone would know you were mine, that I owned you as sure as I owned my own soul. A cuffing is not always temporary, Sophie, especially not for me. I’ve never cuffed a woman before. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone, and I don’t want just one night.” His confession was a ragged whisper and the echoing wildness in his eyes had her heart racing to a tempo it had never beat before. He released her for a single moment, to retrieve a set of leather cuffs from his dresser before he came back and secured them to her wrists.
The cuffs on her wrists seemed to burn her skin deliciously. They weren’t just pretty jewelry. They meant something important to him, and that in turn made her feel their presence all the more strongly. He wanted her for more than one night? She’d never been wanted like that. No one had ever…She closed her eyes a moment, trying to regain control. It was all she’d ever craved, in the darkest, loneliest part of her soul. One wish: to be wanted. And he’d uttered those longed-for words with the hunger of a starving man.
“I know I should give you a choice, let you walk away if you’re frightened…” He lowered his head to hers, teasing her lips with his, but not kissing her. “But I can’t. You’re mine. You’re not free to leave me, or this.” He feathered his lips over hers.
Sophie marveled at how different this kiss was. Each time he touched her, kissed her, held her, she was struck with a deep sense of wonder. So much of his soul, his heart, his very being seemed to flow from his mouth to hers. For a man so determined to separate himself from the world and hide behind the bars of his gilded cage, he wore his heart not on his sleeve but on his lips.
“Say something,” he begged in a low growl of frustration. His grip on her wrists tightened the faintest bit.
Foolishly, she couldn’t say everything that burned at the tip of her tongue. “I’m not going to write the story. I can’t. I didn’t see before now how much I had intruded on your life, your privacy. It wasn’t right.”
He sighed against her cheek, his dark golden lashes falling down over his tanned skin.
“For such a brilliant woman, you never cease to amaze me with your silliness. I don’t give a damn about the story. We can discuss it later.” Emery opened his eyes again, fixing her with a cinnamon gaze pierced with shards of forest green. “Right now, all that matters is getting you beneath me in bed. If you don’t want that, then use your safe word. Say apricots and I won’t touch you tonight. But if you don’t say it…” His eyes flicked to something behind her. Belatedly she realized it was the bed, mere inches away.
Her breath hitched and she had to resist the urge to sigh in relief and lean into him. Finally. He was taking control, telling her she couldn’t leave, that there was something between them worth exploring. She could let him take over, let him rule her as he wished, and be free to enjoy the passion he’d promised in every heated touch and fiery caress since she’d met him.
“What about your parents?” she asked.
“Gone. Hans took them home. We’re going to attend their party next week.”
“Party?”
“Their annual costume party,” Emery said as he released her wrists and moved back to his bedroom door, shutting and locking it. The click of metal into metal shot a bolt of excitement through her, shocked by the strength of the desire that followed.
All thoughts of the party or his parents faded. She was caught up in the panther-like grace of his movements as he came back to her, pausing to open the drawer of his nightstand. He pulled out the pair of leather cuffs she’d worn in the club and placed them on the bed near where she stood. Then he turned back to the drawer to retrieve two more leather restraints and several short lengths of chain no more than three feet long apiece.
“Come here,” he ordered. The short tone was intimidating but not cruel.
When she hesitated, the frown on his handsome face turned into a brooding scowl. She hastily walked to him, eyes dropping to the carpet at his feet.
“Wrists,” he prompted.
Sophie held out her wrists and he removed the gilded cuffs and replaced them with the leather cuffs, taking a second to slide a finger under each leather cuff to make sure they weren’t too tight. He didn’t link the cuffs together yet, but kept her wrists unbound. Then he knelt at her feet and secured the second pair of restraints to her ankles.
She stared down at the tousled halo of soft wheat-gold hair. It was one of the features she adored about him. He wore it longer than was fashionable and he always looked deliciously rumpled, as though a woman had been running her hands through his hair. It made him look so thoroughly male, so virile and attractive. She wanted those to be her hands. To leave her mark upon him, much in the way he left his mark on her body with each kiss.
As though aware of her gaze on him, he raised his head, his eyes tracing a searing path up her body before reaching her face.
“Tonight, you fulfill your bargain. We play by my rules. Do you understand?” The change in his tone, the darker hints of domination and control, teased the words, and she couldn’t repress an excited shiver that flashed through her body like quicksilver.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“Yes, what?” he growled. One hand cupped the back of her neck and he massaged the tense muscles, but his expression was stony and almost cold. This was Emery, the dom. A side of himself he’d kept hidden until now. It didn’t frighten her. It excited her. Her nipples pebbled at the rough feel of his hands against her skin as he continued to stroke.
“Yes, sir?”
A momentary wink of amusement colored his eyes into a deep honey gold. “Are you asking
me a question, little sub?”
Sophie nearly started to explain, but realized that would get her spanked. As much as she liked the idea, she wanted to prove to him she was learning about his world.
“Permission to speak, sir?”
A jerk of his head and he dropped his hand from the back of her neck. She mourned the loss of his touch instantly, but struggled to focus.
“I was confused, sir, about whether to address you as sir, or master. Which would you prefer?”
Approval gleamed in his eyes and his lips twitched slightly.
“Your thoughtfulness is pleasing to me. For that you will be rewarded. Later. Most subs call doms ‘Sir’, but in cases where a dom and a sub are more deeply connected, ‘Master’ is a better form of address. I would prefer to be called Master.” He hadn’t ordered her to call him Master; the phrasing seemed to hint she might have a choice. There was no denying, though, that the idea of calling him Master, in the bedroom, was erotic. It made her inner walls slick with desire and her senses heightened. Surrendering to him would be the most sensual and arousing thing she had ever done and she couldn’t wait.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Say your safe word. Practice it. I want to know you can say it.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting patiently, but the pose was still intimidating. He oozed raw power and sexuality, like a large jungle cat waiting to pounce.
“Apricot,” she replied instantly.
“I’ve been meaning to ask.” He suddenly grinned, with an expression so potent, so blatantly full of masculine arrogance. “Why that word?”
Before she could reply he knelt before her and focused on her red shoes, easing them off her feet. There was something so intimate, so erotic about being barefoot in front of him. He drew a finger along the inside of one arch and she stifled a giggle. He glanced up, one brow arched.
“I’m allergic to apricots,” she choked out when she realized he was waiting for her answer.
The Gilded Cuff Page 19
