CHAPTER 5
Kara
Enveloped in hot steam, I closed my eyes and let the water pour down over my body. Before this week, I thought I’d known what showering was. I now understood how wrong I’d been. Technically, a weak spray out of an old showerhead into a chipped tub next to a plastic curtain that had seen better days was a shower. But, oh my, the enclosed glass, the steam, the multiple showerheads plus side jets, the water pressure. Hot damn, it made a girl want to weep with joy.
I’d miss the showers, that much was true. Come Sunday when this week was over and my coach turned back into a pumpkin, of all the luxuries I thought I’d miss the showers most of all. But I knew I’d get over it. I’d get back into my day-to-day, the memory of pampering like that of a good vacation—it made you smile, but you didn’t expect every day to be that good.
But how was I going to do that with Declan? I didn’t have any tricks up my sleeve to help me get over him.
He rocked my world. The man had me playing naughty secretary for him. And loving it. He made me feel so good it was like the pleasure took over entirely. My body said, “It’s OK, we’ll take it from here,” and my brain nodded and left the building.
All the worries and anxieties that flooded me in other, more lucid moments suddenly disappeared when were together, just the two of us. Should I be doing this? Why did I like this? Nothing else mattered once he touched me. I felt it all so intensely, so intimately. Logically, I knew that had to be due to my inexperience. This couldn’t possibly mean as much to him. These were the kinds of games he played all the time with women far more skilled than me. I should be holding back, if not physically than at least emotionally, to protect and guard my sanity when this all ended. It was already Wednesday afternoon. We didn’t even have a full four more days together.
But I couldn’t get enough of him. It felt like a live current shot through me, as if a switch had been flipped on inside and I couldn’t turn it off. As the water beat down from above, I could feel the sensitivity of my nipples, raw from his pinching and twisting. With the memory, they grew taut and needy once again, insatiable. I brought a finger down to my sex, slipping between my folds, still swollen and tender.
I’d never felt more satisfied than when I’d knelt down between his legs and sucked him off while he’d done his business call. Closing my eyes, I remembered how it had felt to listen to him, so commanding and powerful, making demands and orders. He was so strong, so dominant in every fiber of his being. I loved taking him in my mouth, down my throat deep, sucking and licking and making him so hard. It gave me a thrill of pleasure to see his reaction, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes so dark and hot as he looked down at me sucking his cock. I nearly orgasmed myself when he shot come down my throat, my clit swollen and throbbing as he fisted my hair and forced me to take all of him. I didn’t want to miss a drop.
Opening my eyes, I brought my palms to the tiles of the shower wall. I had to get a grip. I needed be more careful. All signs pointed to my falling for this man. Again. The last time around, my infatuation had known no bounds. It was like that from the moment I met him, like the volume on everything else got turned down real low. Colors elsewhere got less vivid. He, alone, stood out in my world as real.
After he’d stomped all over my teenage heart and fed it to the pigs for breakfast, it had taken me forever to even force myself out on a date with someone else. It was one thing if you did the leaving; you got a whole new scene change and cast of characters with which to recreate yourself. But what about the one who was left behind? I still had to live every day with not only the memories, but also the reminders. I’d head into the barn and see him standing there, looking up with that slow, burning gaze. The small cabin where he’d slept that summer still stood on our property, haunting me in the moonlight.
It would be so much harder this time around, having had this week with him. I should turn and leave while I still could. But just like before, Declan was the flame and I was a moth. I knew I’d technically entered into this agreement for the money, and at the time I’d let myself use that as an excuse. Now, I couldn’t even pretend. I was doing this because I couldn’t stand not to. I had to be with him, as much as I possibly could, for as long as I could manage.
I couldn’t let my heart get broken again. Something told me it might already be too late.
I stepped out of the shower into fluff and warmth, huge towels and heated floors. My body heaved a full sigh at the deliciousness. Tonight Declan was taking me to dinner and a Broadway show. It all felt unreal. Did it to him? I couldn’t get a clear read on it. Sometimes it felt like he was seeing New York City through the same lens as me, like we were both in on it together, checking out the big city carnival, but our hearts both belonged back under the wide Montana sky. Other times, I didn’t know. There was still so much I didn’t know about him, not just about his life now but about his childhood, how he’d grown up, his family.
It was a good thing I was in a hotel, not his penthouse, or I might have been tempted to start snooping, rummaging through his drawers to see what I could find. That never ended well. Knowing my luck, I’d probably find a whole stack of photos of him with gorgeous, sophisticated, sexy women. He’d probably look far more satisfied and happy than he ever had with me.
It didn’t seem fair that I was such an open book. There were no secrets to me. And, deep down, I craved opening up to him, making myself vulnerable in every way. With Declan, it wasn’t a matter of thought, it was instinct, simply how I responded to him. With other men, I had no problem being the ice princess. With Declan, all he had to do was stroke me with a piece of ice and I melted into a begging, pleading, quivering mess. God, I hoped he’d do that again.
Everything about him pulled me to him like a magnet. I guessed it was true, the old cliché: opposites attract. Back in high school I’d been a light-hearted, carefree kid. Who had I gone for? The dark, tortured ranch hand with the checkered past. Never mind that everyone thought I should stay the cheerleader to Bruce’s quarterback.
Funny thing about Bruce, now he was divorced, broke and back in town. He’d texted me a few times over the summer. It was pretty easy to ignore his messages.
I was getting good at dismissing texts. I’d gotten one earlier that day while I’d been walking around Times Square. It didn’t seem possible that my old life—my real life—could find me right in the middle of all that chaos. But somehow Lymon Culpepper, the Toad Man, had managed it. Right as I’d been eating an ice cream cone and watching a Peruvian pan pipe band, I’d gotten his text:
You have to give me an answer
It felt like a cold hand had come up from behind and gripped me around the neck. I’d shuddered. I didn’t want to think about it. I still had some time before the clock struck midnight. And who knew, this whole crazy Cinderella story might work out. If Cinderella agreed to a week of sex in exchange for money. Less of a feel-good family favorite story, that. But, anyway, no time to dwell on the details, instead I texted back:
In a few days
I wanted this man off my back, out of my life. Another text from him popped up, ugly as sin:
You don’t have any other options
I could cry, I knew that. I could sit right down on a bench and bawl my eyes out. It might feel good to do it. Lord knows, I’d cried plenty over the past year. Or two. But I just plain refused to accept the Toad Man’s ultimatum as my reality. He didn’t get to tell me what I had to do. So, instead, I’d put the phone back in my purse and put the message right out of my head.
Before me in the master suite, the humungous bed had an orchid and fine chocolates displayed on a golden pillow. A small note explained that it was courtesy of the late-afternoon turn-down service. When once-a-day maid service simply wouldn’t do.
I saw Declan had laid out a black dress for me, draped across a satin settee at the base of the bed. Next to the throw pillows, I noted with a smile, in a soft brocade, varying shades of taupe and ivory. The hotel Declan owned in
Billings had a sleek, modern feel, but this place positively dripped with old world style. I could picture a classic film star like Grace Kelly seated there in a long silk gown. She’d be smoking a cigarette back before anyone knew they were bad for you, probably from an elegant holder made from endangered elephant tusks.
“I’m so bored,” Grace would exhale, lounging on the couch.
But I wasn’t. I knew this was very likely my one and only trip to New York City, and I meant to enjoy myself.
Glass half full or empty, it was my choice. I could dwell on it all ending on Sunday. Or I could put on the gorgeous dress before me, pair it with stilettos and head out into the night. When you put it like that, the choice became simple.
§
“Mmm.” Declan nuzzled my hair, his arm wrapped around me in the back of the limo. “You smell good.”
Laughing, I leaned into him as the car delivered us from restaurant to theater. “What did the waiter call those orangey chocolate things again?”
He put on an affected accent. “Saffron-orange truffles enrobed with chocolate ganache.”
“Enrobed. That’s my favorite part.” I loved it, almost as much as the way Declan’s chest rumbled when he talked.
“You couldn’t charge $20 for chocolate orange balls.”
“That doesn’t sound right at all.” I smiled as he caressed my shoulder and breathed into me once again. “Wait, they weren’t really $20, were they?”
“Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t answer my question.
“Well, I hope they weren’t. But I have to admit, that might have been the best meal I’ve ever had.”
“Glad you liked it.”
The elaborate centerpiece in the middle of the restaurant with giant lit glass vases exploding with white roses and calla lilies, the 30 foot-high ceilings, the 15 different wait staff tending to our needs from sweeping crumbs off the linen tablecloth to refreshing our water glasses after every sip. It wasn’t just that I’d never seen anything like it. I’d never even imagined anything like it. The fresh flowers dotted along the appetizer plate, something called an amuse-bouche between courses. Courses. Every male patron wore a jacket, every woman looked ready to step into a photo shoot.
“I don’t know what I like better,” I mused. “All the glam of the restaurant. Or all the crazy of Times Square.”
“That’s the fun of New York,” Declan agreed. “You don’t have to choose. You’ve got it all.”
“What do you like best?”
“I like it all when I’m with you.” As the limo coasted through the dark city streets, I melted into his chest. Who knew Declan would ever say something so sweet? And here, in the shadows of the car, I felt it was true.
Declan’s phone rang. After looking at the number and cursing, he apologized. “I have to take this call.” Arm up and off, he leaned toward the door and began discussing the logistics of something or other.
I hugged myself in the darkness of the car. Lights flashed by outside, buildings, people, as we headed up to a Broadway show. I could tell Declan was discussing something about the black tie gala at the Met Saturday night. I bet there’d be ice sculptures of swans and heaping vats of caviar. Would I like caviar? I knew I’d like messing with Dot, my boss at the diner, once I got back to work. I could tell her I’d developed a taste for caviar and thought we should put it on the menu. Tough old bird, Martha probably wouldn’t even crack a smile. She’d probably hand me a plate of tater tots, Montana caviar.
“Angie can answer all this.” Declan huffed, sounding frustrated. “It’s all on the website.” He listened some more, then relented. “All right, read it to me.”
He nodded into the phone, then said, “No, ages five to eighteen. We used to start at eight, but we dropped it to five.” I couldn’t help but listen in and wonder what he was talking about.
“Five centers now,” he spoke again. “We just opened a fifth.” He nodded, listening some more. “That’s right, and holiday donations. Mention that, it’s our biggest drive.”
A few more curt ‘yups’ and ‘that’s rights’ and he ended the call.
“Finalizing the program for Saturday,” he explained. “They wanted my green light.”
“What centers? And donations?”
“It’s the charity I started. For foster kids.” He explained it all to me, his arm back around me tight. He’d started a foundation that funded lots of supports for school-age foster kids, including five centers that hosted everything from afterschool activities, to flu shots and well check-ups, to holiday parties.
I could hear in his voice it meant a lot to him, to give back to those who had so little. I remembered he’d spent some time in foster care. My heart swelled at the thought of his generosity, this tough, hard man who’d seen so much. I remembered the scars I’d seen on him, on his lower stomach and others along his back. The way he closed down when the subject of his past ever came up. He’d been through a lot, that much I was sure of, and now he was helping others. Tears welled in my throat.
There was still so much that I didn’t know about him, but I wanted to know it all. We’d been so intimate the past few days, but he always held himself tightly in reserve. When we were together it was as passionate and intense as an explosion of dynamite, but I also wanted the long, slow burn of lazy hours. I wanted to lie in bed and talk about everything and anything, from silly little things we’d heard on the radio to the deepest secrets we’d never told another soul. And I wanted endless days to touch and explore, kiss every scar, love each inch of his tattooed, muscled body.
“Courtney’s been a big supporter,” he continued, breaking me right out of my reverie. “She’s pulled all of this together. I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“Courtney? From the restaurant yesterday morning?” With the blood red nails that she trailed down his shoulder?
“Yes. Without her, my foundation wouldn’t be in on the fundraiser Saturday night. She’s amazing.”
Funny how my gooey emotions dried up quick. Such was the magic of Courtney with her tweezed eyebrows and silk pantsuit. I grit my teeth. He sounded so enamored of her and her lovely, charitable help.
Declan held my hand as we stepped up into the magnificent theater, and he held my hand as we sat together in the red velvet seats. He wrapped his arm around my waist as we headed back into the limo afterwards and on the way back to our hotel, he nuzzled my hair all over again.
I did enjoy the show, I really did. I’d never seen such dancing and singing live, in-person, and I couldn’t imagine all the talent on and off the stage required to create that kind of spectacle. But jealousy had wound its serpent’s tail up and around my heart. I couldn’t stop thinking about Courtney, the one who belonged in this high-end world. The one who could pull strings and use her connections to help Declan out. Courtney who’d looked at me like I’d crawled out from underneath a rock. And, compared to her, I basically had. She’d probably been to schools I’d never heard of, traveled to places I’d never read about, was on a first name basis with people so important they’d never even crossed my radar.
I shouldn’t let her get to me.
She got to me.
“Did you like the show?” Declan asked, clearly picking up on my stiffness.
“Yes! Yes, I did!” My tight smile looked stupid, I knew. I’d never been able to fake a single thing, not for a second in my life. So freaking annoying.
“I thought you’d like a big musical,” Declan continued. “But maybe you’re more of a gritty drama kind of a girl.” I knew he was teasing me—we both knew gritty drama wasn’t exactly my sweet spot—but I couldn’t let go.
My phone blipped with a text. Automatically, I pulled it out to see:
Wanna hang out 2nite?
Ah, romance. Bruce always had had a way with words. I rolled my eyes and put the phone away. But not before Declan had seen.
“Bruce?” he asked, his voice and his body tense.
“It’s nothing.” I waved
the air in front of me as if shooing away a gnat.
“Bruce Miller? From high school?”
“He’s divorced now and back in town—”
“And you’re hanging out with him again.” Off went his arm from around my shoulders.
“Declan.” I turned to him. “I’ve seen him, like, twice since he’s been back.”
“Oh yeah? You’ve gone out twice?” He looked at me, cold and calm with disturbing detachment. I squirmed in my seat. This was heading downhill, fast, but it didn’t have to go there. Bruce meant nothing to me, absolutely nothing.
“No, we haven’t been out. He’s come around the Chat ‘n’ Chew. Oh, and then one other time at the ranch.”
The limo pulled up in front of our hotel. Declan stepped out and headed to the entrance without offering me his hand. I followed, half-rolling my eyes at his jealous flare-up, half-desperate to make sure he understood. Bruce didn’t matter to me at all, not in the least.
Up in the elevator, down the hallway, into the hotel room, Declan didn’t say a word. I sputtered along, cajoling him, offering explanations, but it was like his mind was on auto-pilot. His jaw was set and nothing I said or did got through to him or took him off course.
He strode directly into the master bedroom. I followed him, nervous, silly things tripping off my tongue. I didn’t know what I was saying but I wanted him to turn to me, put his arms around me again, kiss me and tell me he understood, he cared.
Instead, he ripped off his tie and flung his jacket onto the bureau. Rolling up his sleeves, he finally turned to me, locking me with a steely glare.
“It’s time I began your training. You’re not taking this week seriously. Now you’re going to see what kind of a master I am.”
“What?” I didn’t know what he was saying, what he meant. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and I caught my breath, frightened, excited.
“Now you are going to do exactly what I say,” he told me with complete authority. “I am going to train your ass for my pleasure. Now strip.”
Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1) Page 36
