by Desiree Holt
He just hoped he could connect with hers.
Chapter Three
The day was typical Texas spring—warm and sunny and breezy. The deck at Creekside Café was filled with people taking advantage of the balmy weather and enjoying late lunches. Conversations mixed and mingled on the air as the servers moved among the tables carrying trays filled with delectable entrees and mouthwatering desserts. The fringe of the colorful table umbrellas fluttered in the wind, and the two women sitting beneath one at a corner table looked much like everyone else. Except for two things…
One of them looked as tense as a high wire and the other was frowning at her.
Fallon tried to relax as she took a sip of her iced tea and glanced around. Automatically she checked the faces of everyone seated at the outdoor tables, making sure she didn’t see him anywhere. Not that he’d come here anyway, but she was always on guard, always alert. Just in case.
“Isn’t it about time you closed the door on that asshole?” Claire Panetta, Fallon’s closest friend, stirred sweetener into her iced tea and gave Fallon a knowing look.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Fallon, honey, I see how tense you are, even in familiar places, until you’ve checked everyone out to make sure he isn’t here. Are you going to let him ruin the rest of your life?”
Fallon set her glass down precisely on the table, her gaze fixed on her hands. Anywhere but at Claire. “I’m not letting him ruin anything,” she insisted.
“Yeah, right,” Claire snorted. “Try telling that to someone who believes you.”
“I mean it. I’m done with him. It’s over.”
“It’s over because I dragged you out of the overly expensive prison he kept you in and threatened him with the police if he didn’t stay away from you.” She glared at Fallon. “Not that he didn’t try his damnedest to take you back.”
Fallon’s laugh had very little humor in it. “Brian Willoughby isn’t used to anyone telling him no. Ever.”
“No shit. He’s like that with everything in his life, if the gossip is right.”
Something Fallon had learned after the fact. The man had been so charming when she’d met him. Rich, Polished. Urbane. Did anyone even use that word anymore? He’d zeroed in on her at a cocktail party, played the sexy daredevil, and before she’d realized it, she was in a prison of her own making. Only after the fact had she learned there was only one way to do things in Brian’s world—his way. That applied to every facet of his life. He was completely rigid about having total control.
“You know, Business Life magazine wanted to do a feature article on him,” Claire went on.
“I can’t believe he’d open himself up to that.” Fallon fiddled with her utensils. “That’s not his style.”
“You’re right. He didn’t. Not only didn’t he return any of their calls, a friend of a friend told me that any of his employees they approached ran for their lives. Talk about ruling through fear and intimidation. I also heard that at one company he bought, he fired hundreds of longtime employees.” She paused, locking her gaze with Fallon’s. “Business gossip says most of them were financially destroyed and one even committed suicide. Do you see now why I don’t want you anywhere near him?”
The sick feeling Fallon had managed to keep fairly well buried began winding through her system. “You know that old saying, my way or the highway? Well, that might as well be his motto. Except sometimes you don’t even get to choose the highway.”
Claire leaned forward and touched Fallon’s arm. “I don’t pretend to know everything about this lifestyle you find so fascinating. “Remember those first few weeks when you told me about your…desire for submission? I didn’t know anything about the D/s lifestyle. I bought some books so I could study. And when I had you back in my house, recovering from that maniac, I insisted you read them too, even though you’d been in the life for a long time. Do you remember that?”
Fallon nodded.
“You tried to explain why he fascinated you so much. We tried to analyze the situation with Brian. You had to admit he’s not just a Dom. He’s domineering, and that’s a whole ’nother thing.”
“Claire—”
“No. Let me just have my say and then I’ll shut up. Brian Willoughby is dictatorial, obsessively possessive, heavy-handed, overbearing. And a lot more adjectives I can’t think of right now. Every book we read explained the dynamics of a power exchange between a Dom and a sub. Brian takes all the power away. Sweetie, you said he never even asked for a safe word.” She touched Fallon’s arm. “You’re lucky you were still alive when I got you out of there.”
Fallon took a deep swallow of her tea, hoping the icy liquid would settle her stomach. She had definitely been afflicted with that sick fascination. That addiction. Even now, despite everything that had happened, there was a hidden part of her that still craved him. And how sick was that?
“It’s not as if he burned me or cut me or anything,” she said in a weak voice.
Not that she hadn’t feared he would do either one of those when he lost his temper. And convince her it would be her fault if he did.
A shiver raced over her as Fallon remembered an incident she tried to keep buried. It happened not too long after he moved her into his house and began to shut her off from everyone else. She’d wanted to call Claire, and argued with him when he wouldn’t give her back her cell phone or let her use a phone in the house.
“You’re getting too hot under the collar about this,” he’d snapped. “Perhaps you need to cool off.”
He’d made her sit in a tub filled with ice up to her neck while monitoring her vital signs—so she didn’t die on him, she supposed. When he finally took her out, he warmed her body, stroked and caressed her, gave her a powerful orgasm. Then told her it was all her fault for misbehaving. Anyone else would have thrown her out in the street. If she ever argued with him again, he’d do that and more.
“What are you remembering?” Claire looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Every bit of color just left your face.”
Fallon shook herself. “Nothing, I was just—” She took a sip of tea. “Nothing.”
“Sweetie, I know it’s not nothing.” She shook her head. “If those tests I insisted on hadn’t come back showing no drugs in your system, I’d have sworn he kept you doped up.” Claire went on, “I’m still not convinced he didn’t. The doctor said there are lots of drugs that dissipate from the system quickly.”
“I’d hate to think he drugged me without my knowledge.” Bile flooded the back of her throat. What Claire said made more sense than Fallon wanted to admit. And it was obvious to her now that Brian perverted the lifestyle for his own needs. His own power trip. His own streak of brutality.
Unfortunately, that knowledge hadn’t completely killed the seed of addiction for his brand of domination. Brian had planted it deeply. She kept the need pushed to the back of her mind, and every day with Cord blunted it more and more. But—
“I’ve continued to do lots of research on BDSM, Fallon. The general opinion is there are plenty of assholes like Brian who follow no rules, who mind-fuck their subs and often use drugs in various doses to maintain control. I swear that’s what happened to you.”
“I went with him willingly in the beginning,” Fallon reminded her. Reminded herself how the edge of pain ramped up her pleasure. Until—
“Hung up on outrageous sex, I believe you’d said.” Claire interrupted her thoughts. “You were ripe for the picking, unhappy with previous relationships, wanting excitement and a man who could set all your nerves on fire. Well, according to what you told me, he did that and more, but you nearly got yourself incinerated in the process.”
“But I’m not with him anymore,” Fallon reminded her.
“Right. You’re with a very sexy man who absolutely adores you and treats you with a respectful possession that melts my panties. If anyone could talk me into trying D/s, it would be Cord Jamieson.”
“Off limits.” Fallon
managed a smile at the mention of Cord’s name. “Already taken.”
“And don’t I know it.” Claire sat back in her chair. “Which is exactly my point. One of these days you’re going to run into Brian again. Sometime. Someplace. And I hope you remember just how valuable your relationship with Cord is.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Fallon snapped. “I’m completely in control now.” Then she shook her head. “Sorry. Can we please talk about something else?”
“I just want you to know I care about you and worry about you. And remind you what a disaster the situation with Brian was so you don’t repeat it.”
“Consider me reminded. Now,” she picked up the menu, “shall we order? What looks good today?”
Claire’s words stayed with Fallon all afternoon as she ran errands and checked off items on her To Do list for the big event at the ranch. One more week, and there was still a lot to do. But even while she mentally sorted through details as she drove from place to place, Claire’s lunchtime remarks hovered like a gray cloud. Mostly because she’d hit too close to the truth.
Even after all this time, even with Cord in her life and their relationship growing daily, the specter of Brian Willoughby didn’t seem to go away.
Physically, he was the complete opposite of Cord, light where Cord was dark, blond where Cord’s hair was nearly black. At first glance he almost looked like sunshine. That was before you discovered if you stayed out in the sun too long, you got badly burned.
If she closed her eyes, she could still visualize the first time she saw him.
* * * * *
Two years earlier
The damn cocktail party was the last place Fallon wanted to be. The day had been crappy and she wanted nothing more than a hot soak in a tub and a chilled glass of wine. But a client had promised to introduce her to an account she’d been clamoring for, so she’d put on her game face and shown up.
She was chatting with her hostess when she felt eyes watching her, like twin lasers piercing the crowd. When she turned her head, she saw him staring at her from across the room.
He was standing against the wall of windows that looked out over San Antonio, the city a backdrop behind him, the late afternoon sun highlighting his ash-blond hair. He was tall, his broad, muscular frame elegantly dressed in a dark-blue suit with a lighter shirt and discreetly patterned tie. His face looked as if it has been carved from marble, the aquiline nose in perfect proportion to the chiseled jaw and cheekbones.
He headed toward her like radar homing in on a signal. The aura of power surrounding him was palpable.
“Lorelei.” He had no qualms about interrupting their conversation. “It seems you actually have a guest I haven’t met. You should correct that now.”
His deep voice carried the same sense of power. No, of entitlement, as if whatever he wanted prevailed at all times and everyone should accept it. Lorelei Hanson didn’t fluster very easily but this man actually had her fluttering as if attacked by a bad case of nerves.
“Oh, Brian! I’m so sorry.” She looked from him to Fallon and back again. “Brian Willoughby, meet Fallon Crowe. Fallon does a lot of corporate public relations work.”
“Head of Willoughby International?” Of course he was. Who hadn’t heard of him? He was legendary for his success, in every aspect of his life, from business to personal. Although very little was known about the latter. Come to think of it, she hadn’t ever heard his name linked with any one specific female. Was it possible he was gay?
She looked into his eyes and her breath caught in her throat. His eyes were dark blue, almost navy, and piercing in their intensity. Heat seemed to spear from them straight through her entire body, skewering her in place. When he took one of her hands in his, his touch triggered a flood of erotic responses in her body.
No, he wasn’t gay. Not in the least. How could she even have thought that? He was so totally alpha it wrapped itself around him like a cloak. Maybe he just hadn’t found the right woman.
How presumptuous to think he’d zeroed in on her because she might be that person. He didn’t even know her. Not yet.
“I find it strange we haven’t met before.” His words stroked over her like a caress. “How do you think that happened?”
“I— We— That is—” She found her herself unaccountably stammering.
“However it happened—or didn’t happen—I think we should discuss it over dinner.”
She didn’t remember her goodbye to Lorelei, or what excuses she made for leaving practically as soon as she’d arrived. The ride down to the lobby in the elevator, being ushered into a car waiting at the curb, the drive to a restaurant so exclusive she hadn’t even heard of it—all of it passed in a blur. She was aware only of the overwhelming presence of the man beside her and the power that surrounded him like an invisible cloud.
The restaurant he took her to was at the far north end of the city, tucked away in a copse of trees, the interior broken up into small, intimate dining rooms. The maître d’ ushered them into a room toward the back, told Brian a waiter would be in shortly with their wine and bowed his way out.
Fallon stared at the man sitting across from her. Had he hypnotized her? Cast some kind of spell? This was not like her, to allow someone to simply whisk her away from a party without so much as a word of protest. Not in character for her at all. Yet here she sat, like some idiot, unable to pull a coherent thought together, spellbound by this man. By the strength of his masculine aura. By the hunger in his eyes.
“I have a special wine I keep here.” The sound of his voice flowed over her like a warm caress. “It’s the only wine I drink. I make sure they stock it at the restaurants I frequent.”
She was sure he did. Fallon had the distinct feeling that people anticipated his every word and provided what he required even before he asked for it.
“The color of your eyes is striking, Fallon. I don’t think I’ve ever seen actual violet eyes before.”
“Th-Thank you.” Why was she stammering again?
“You should wear something that accentuates them, as well as your magnificent hair.” He reached across the table and captured a few strands, letting them slide over his fingers. “I’m going to have a shopper send something to your place. Wear it Saturday night when I pick you up.”
She finally found a shred of sanity. “To my house? Wait, wait, wait. We just met. You can’t buy me clothes.” She tried to clear the fog from her brain. “And Saturday night? I think I have plans.”
“Cancel them.” He said it as if there was no question that she’d acquiesce. That it was a foregone conclusion. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
Fallon opened her mouth to say something but the door to their private little room opened and a waiter wheeled in a cart containing a silver ice bucket. A bottle of wine rested in the bed of crushed ice. The waiter looked at Brian and, at his nod, uncorked the wine and poured a small amount into a crystal goblet. Brian took it, let a few drops rest on his tongue then gave his silent assent to fill the two wineglasses.
“To us.” Brian smiled at her as he touched his glass to hers. “Yes, definitely to us.”
Fallon lifted the wine to her lips and drank as if she had no other choice. She had the sense that her world was about to change drastically.
* * * * *
The present
Fallon hated driving into San Antonio. The trip the other night with Cord had been her first in more than a year. Otherwise she had her boundaries. She’d go as far as The Rim or La Cantera, two high-end open-air malls, but that was it. Fortunately, the restaurant that served her client’s favorite designer coffees was at La Cantera, so she was still in her comfort zone.
She’d really had to discipline herself to attend the event with Cord the other night, more than he’d ever guess. Nothing in the city appealed to her anymore. The specter of Brian hung over the landscape like a black fog, coloring everything with evil.
She was well aware of the fact that she’d gone into the relations
hip willingly, but occasionally found herself wondering if that was truly the case. Claire still held to the blood-chilling idea that Brian might have drugged her during those last months, to keep her placid and willing and subservient. Just the thought of those days and weeks made her stomach knot, both arousal and fear swirling inside her like a potent cocktail.
The man was so magnetic, so powerfully attractive. He knew just what to say and do to reel her in. Even now, while building a healthy life with Cord, just the mention of Brian’s name stirred up all those memories she thought she’d buried so deeply.
I love Cord. I love him. I want him.
She had to keep that in mind, always.
Cord was her anchor, the lamp that lit her way.
Growing up in a household as a middle child with overachieving, unemotional parents and siblings had put Fallon on the road to the person she’d eventually become. She wasn’t a star in the fields of medicine or law or science or business, as her parents and siblings were. Summer internships with public relations companies had shaped her future and led her down a career path she enjoyed. But the lack of emotional support on all sides had left an insecurity that continued to lurk even as she’d slowly crafted the strong, confident woman the world saw when they looked at her.
It also left her with an anxiety where men were concerned. She’d managed to cut her family out of her life by moving a thousand miles away, but how did she reprogram herself to make better choices? She didn’t even know what she was supposed to be looking for. She was drawn by BDSM originally because she thought it would provide the punishment she subconsciously felt she needed for being less than expected. Luck or a guardian angel had been with her, though. The Dom who’d trained her and the others she’d scened with had taught her it was more about sexual fulfillment than debasement, and she had finally begun to believe in herself.
She often thought it strange that, considering her background of emotional neglect, she was a natural sub. A therapist had explained once that in a healthy D/s relationship, her needs were equally as important as those of the Dom. But she’d stopped those sessions before her conflicts were even partially resolved, unwilling to completely strip herself emotionally bare.
