Take Me, Sir: Billionaire's Sub Book 3

by M. S. Parker

  I was still adjusting to the change, but it all felt more natural than I'd expected. After we had sex last night, Kyndall had fallen asleep – well, passed out was probably a better description – so I'd cleaned us both up and moved her under the covers. I could've left, and a part of me had thought about it. Then I remembered how much I enjoyed relaxing with her in my arms, so I climbed into bed with her. If she would've woken up and asked me to leave, I would've. But she hadn't. When I'd woken up this morning, she'd still been fast asleep.

  It was while we were eating breakfast that I realized I could do this. I could sleep next to this woman, wake up with her, eat a meal with her. I could discuss plans for the day and know that I was coming home to her at night. Not only could I do it, but I wanted to do it.

  It was happening fast, I knew, and some people might've thought it was too fast, but that sort of thing was in my blood. Sort of. My parents had met and married within a seven month period of time, and they'd always been faithful to each other. They still enjoyed being together, and their marriage had always been a solid rock. So I knew marriages with short courtships could last.

  But I also knew what my parents would say if I told them I was serious about a woman without having a list of logical reasons why a relationship with her would be the best thing for both of us. And if I told them that I hadn't even had a conversation with her about the important things that should go into planning a long-term commitment, they'd both tell me that I needed to think things through more. Not because they thought I was going too fast, but because it wasn't my brain that was leading the way.

  In their opinion, following one's heart was as foolish as making decisions based on sex alone. While I agreed with the latter, I'd never been entirely sure about the former, and being with Kyndall was making me consider things in ways I'd never done before.

  I wasn't going to go completely off the deep end though. There was a middle ground between too logical and no common sense, and that's where I intended to be. That meant finding out how Kyndall felt about us being an exclusive couple before anything else.

  Something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention and I stopped. It was getting late, and most of the shops would be closing within the next hour, but I hadn't come down here to buy. This was one of my favorite places in LA to come walk. Lots of little shops owned by families or individuals, each one unique rather than the commercialized sort of thing one found elsewhere.

  This particular shop was a jewelry store. I'd passed it dozens of times over the last few months, but this was the first time I'd paid attention to the sign in the window.

  One-of-a-kind, handcrafted pieces.

  I pushed open the door and stepped into the cool air-conditioning. As the door closed behind me, ringing the bell a second time, all of the outside noise fell away. This area of the city wasn't as clogged with traffic as other parts, but it was still a city. In here, however, classical music played softly in the background.

  Chopin.

  I could still remember my piano teacher standing over me, his index finger poking hard between my shoulder-blades to get me to sit up straight. The metronome ticking away in front of me. And, of course, the rivalry between Mr. Woodley's piano and Mrs. Isler, who taught me violin on alternating days. I was good enough at both to be dragged out in front of guests but not enough to pursue it as a career or even for a scholarship. It'd been a while since I'd played, and I wondered how much I remembered.

  “Can I help you?”

  A young woman appeared from the back and gave me a charming smile. She was tall and thin, with dark hair and eyes, and the sort of features that could've made her a model.

  “I hope so,” I said as I walked over to the counter. “I'm looking for something special, but I'm not certain of what that may be.”

  “Well, sir, we have a fine selection of traditional jewelry, as well as one-of-a-kind pieces ready to go. We also offer custom-made jewelry should you wish to design your own.”

  The words came easily, as if she'd said them a million times before. I doubted all of her customers received such appreciative looks, however.

  “Nothing traditional,” I said. I gave her a polite smile but refrained from putting any extra warmth into it. I didn't want her to get the wrong idea.

  “Do you know the sort of jewelry you'd like?” she asked, moving down a case. “Necklace? Bracelet? Ring?”

  “Not a ring.” My neck grew warm as I practically blurted out the words. It was one thing to think that something long-term was possible, but it was something else entirely to be ring shopping.

  “Our necklaces and bracelets are here.” She stopped behind a case and gestured for me to look. “If I may ask, what's your relationship with the lady in question? Sister? Mother? Girlfriend?”

  I knew I didn't imagine the pause before the last one. Better to nip this in the bud than to let things get away from me. “Girlfriend.”

  Disappointment flashed across her face, but it was gone in only a matter of seconds, replaced by a cordial, professional mask. “Do you have an idea in mind, or would you like some assistance choosing?”

  I was impressed. A lot of women would've been abrupt or petty after a rejection, no matter how polite, but she took it all in stride. Then again, working at a jewelry store, I supposed she was accustomed to waiting on unavailable men.

  I was unavailable.

  The thought didn't bother me as much as I once would've thought.

  I looked down at the two dozen necklaces, and then back up at the saleswoman. “Any insight you could offer would be much appreciated.”

  “How long have you and your girlfriend been together?” I must've made a face because she chuckled. “Early in a relationship, a man may want to impress a woman with a flashy gift. Later, he may want something flashy to make up for not buying a ring.”

  I decided to address her comments rather than her question. “Nothing too flashy.”

  “All right.” She looked down at the necklaces, eyes moving from one to the next. “Hair and eye color?”

  “Blonde,” I said. “Like honey-colored. Dark blue eyes. Almost black.”

  She nodded again. “What about her style?” Her head came up. “You want to complement how she usually dresses and accessorizes.”

  I thought for a moment. I hadn't realized so much would go into picking out a necklace. If it did come to a point where I was ring shopping, I was going to have to ask Juliette or Hanna to go with me because I'd be at a complete loss.

  “She doesn't wear jewelry a lot,” I said. “Short necklaces most of the time. Pretty straightforward. Nothing ostentatious.”

  The saleswoman was silent for a minute, a look of concentration on her face. Finally, she reached into the case and pulled out something. She draped it across her hand and turned it toward me.

  If I'd had the vision and skill to craft something that perfectly represented Kyndall, this would be it. Elegant platinum woven together in a rope-like chain, with a single gem at its center. A deep blue sapphire that gleamed in the store light.

  “I'll take it.”

  If the woman was surprised that I didn't ask for a price, she didn't show it. I took her up on her offer to wrap it and stood by the register while I waited. After previous disastrous attempts to produce something with smooth, elegant lines, I'd given up. By the time I was twenty, I'd had to accept that everything I wrapped looked like a small child had done it. That was cute when I was a kid, but as an adult, it was more or less embarrassing.

  After I paid and thanked the saleswoman, I headed back out into the night's heat. How soon, I wondered, would be too soon to make plans to see Kyndall again? I'd always enjoyed giving gifts, but I was excited enough to see her face when she opened it that I was seriously considering going over tonight and surprising her.

  First, I wanted to enjoy watching her expression change when she opened the box...and then I wanted to have her strip off everything except the necklace and take her in every room in her apar
tment. Living room floor. Kitchen counter. Dining room table. Guest room. Both bathrooms.

  I'd never considered doing the whole collar thing as a Dom, but now I could see the appeal of having Kyndall wearing something that would let everyone else know that she was taken. I might not have been ready for the ring thing yet, but if we went back to the club, I definitely planned on asking her to wear the necklace. It'd be close enough to a collar that it'd keep most of the other men at bay.

  I was so caught up in thinking about her that when I heard a woman's voice telling someone to keep the change, I thought it was my mind making the woman sound like Kyndall. Except when I looked over, I saw those familiar tousled waves and those amazing curves. In a dress that looked a bit too fancy for shopping.

  And she was shopping, because as I watched, she disappeared into a toy store.

  Curious, I followed. I hadn't been in this store before, but as I walked in, I couldn't help but be impressed. This wasn't some chain store that had all the latest in electronics and gadgets. These were the sorts of carved and sewn gifts that people passed down through generations.

  “Yes, that one, thank you.”

  Kyndall's voice drew me toward her, and I watched as an elderly man picked up a wooden rocking horse and put it on the counter. I wasn't an expert in woodworking, but I'd spent enough time in various wealthy mansions growing up to know that the dark wood making up the toy wasn't cheap.

  “Anthony will love that,” I said.

  Kyndall jumped, startled, but then smiled when she saw me. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

  “Likewise.” I smiled at her as I stepped up next to her. “I enjoy walking around here. Lovely shops.”

  “They are,” she agreed. “Juliette mentioned this place to me last week, and I figured I'd come by and see if there was anything here for Anthony.” She gestured toward the window. “When I saw that one, I knew I had to see if they had one available.”

  “Will you be taking it with you, miss?” The man gave me a smile before turning his attention back to her.

  “Do you deliver?” she asked. “I'd rather not have to take it in a cab if I don't have to.”

  “We do offer next day delivery at a cost.”

  “Perfect.” She opened her purse. “Ring it up.”

  I knew she'd paid a pretty price for her apartment, but it was still a surprise to see her pull out an envelope of cash rather than a credit card. She didn't even blink when the man told her how much it would be, simply counted out bills and handed them over.

  I frowned. Where had she gotten that sort of cash? Most people carried around checks and debit or credit cards for large purchases. And if a company didn't do direct deposit, most people put their checks in with very little cash taken out.

  Suddenly, Dalton's suspicions about where his sister was getting her money seemed a lot less intrusive.

  “I didn't realize that they only took cash.”

  The statement was out of my mouth before I'd really thought about it. As I followed her outside, she threw a hard look over her shoulder at me. I should've stopped, but now that I'd said it, there didn't seem to be any taking it back.

  “I don't know if they do or not.” She stopped on the sidewalk and turned toward me, arms folding over her chest.

  “I suppose I'm still not used to the way things are here,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Most Londoners don't carry much cash.”

  She sighed, a tired expression settling on her face. “Just ask what you want to ask, Dean.”

  I didn't want to ask it. Not when I knew how pissed she'd be. But she was dressed up and had pulled out an envelope of cash. As much as I loathed the idea, I couldn't help but wonder if she was an escort or something like that. Maybe not the kind who always had sex with clients, but a woman who was paid to look nice and go on dates and provide companionship. I hated myself for thinking it, but it was the only thing that made any sense. At least as far as I could see, and if she had a reasonable explanation, then I needed her to tell me because I couldn't think of one.

  “Where were you tonight, Kyndall?”

  She glared at me, but even her anger couldn't disguise her hurt. “I don't think that's really what you want to know, is it? You want to know what I was doing tonight. How I got that money, right? How I earned it.”

  I crossed my arms. “Yes, I do.”

  “I'm getting really sick of people thinking that what I do is any of their damn business.” She held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “But since I suppose asking for people to trust me is out of the question, I guess I'll just tell you.”

  I held my breath, waiting for the bombshell that would destroy this thing we were building. But when it came, it wasn't what I'd expected at all.

  “I play poker, Dean. That's how I make money.”

  What the hell?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kyndall

  I kept my eyes on Dean's face as I told him the truth. The fact that he'd been pushing me had me on edge, and my temper wasn't doing me any favors at the moment either, but I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was strange, I knew, to be able to spend as much money as I did without a job anyone could see. We were supposed to be working on having a relationship. That meant I couldn't just pull back like I would normally. I had to give him a chance to prove that he could handle the truth about me.

  “Poker?” he finally said.

  His face was blank, but it was the sort of careful expressionlessness that came with not wanting someone else to know what was going on inside. The problem was, I'd managed to see the things that had flashed across his eyes before he'd stopped himself, and I knew what he was thinking.

  “Yes, Dean, poker.” I didn't bother holding back any of the sarcasm. “That game with the cards and the betting of money.”

  “You're saying that you've made enough money at poker games to afford that apartment of yours.” His voice was flat. “That's why you have all that cash.”

  “Do you have a better theory as to how I've been making money?” I took a step toward him. “What is it? What do you think I've been doing?”

  His gaze slid away from mine, like he didn't want me to read in his eyes what I'd somehow managed to divine from his face. And that told me all I needed to know.

  A sharp flash of emotion went through me, hurt quickly followed by anger.

  “You're thinking the same thing my brother thought. That I'm a whore.”

  His head snapped back, eyes wide. “That's not what I think.”

  “It's not? You aren't wondering who I've been fucking to pay for my expensive apartment?”

  He flinched, and for a moment, I thought I was mistaken, that I'd misread him. Then I saw the flash of guilt, and I knew he wasn't protesting because he hadn't been thinking any of those things. He was arguing because he'd been thinking exactly those sorts of things.

  I twisted my mouth up into a bitter sort of smile. “Why don't you just ask me everything you want to know? I'm sure you've got a ton of questions. Do I work a hotel bar, or just down on the corner? How much do I charge? Do I take it on my back, on all fours, or whatever the trick wants?”

  “Kyn–”

  “Oh, no, come on, Dean, I know you're dying to know all the dirty details. How many men do I fuck a night? Was I doing anyone after I was done with you?”

  Each question came out harsher than the last.

  “Men.” I spit the word out. “Why is it none of you can believe that a woman can earn money from something that isn't sexual? If you didn't think I was a whore – or an escort if you want to be nice about it – you'd think I was stripping. A woman can still only make money if she sells her body in some way.”

  “I don't think that.” He finally managed to get a word in. “Not about any woman.”

  “Then it's only me?”

  “That's not what I said,” he snapped.

  “But it's how you're acting, and you know what they say: actions speak louder than w
ords.” I took a step back. “You asked me for the truth, so I gave it to you. I told you that I've been earning money playing poker, and instead of believing me and maybe being pissed at me for that, you can't seem to fathom that it's even possible for a woman.”

  “I can't understand how anyone can make a living playing cards,” he said. “Men or women. How could you earn that much money like that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because I'm a fucking genius.”

  He stared at me as if he was waiting for me to say something else.

  “This is why I don't tell people. Not because I'm ashamed, but because no one takes me seriously. You have no idea...” I shook my head. “I graduated from high school when I was sixteen. Got a doctorate from MIT in mathematics, emphasizing statistics. My IQ's not at the Einstein level, but it's high. Is that smart enough for you?”

  “I don't know what you want me to say.” He ran his hand through his hair.

  “I don't know either, Dean.” I turned away, looked around us. “In fact, I don't even know why I bothered telling you. I should've just told you it was none of your damn business and walked away.”

  “You are my business,” he said, stepping around so that he was in front of me again. “And if we're going to make this work between us, then we need to be honest with each other.”

  “That seems to be working out well for us,” I said dryly.

  “I believe you, okay,” he said. “Does that make you happy?”

  I scowled. “Ecstatic.”

  “You can't seriously expect to drop this on me, and then act like I should be okay with you doing something so...stupid.”

  I wasn't sure if it was his word choice or the tone he used, but it did more than rub me the wrong way. “I told you the truth and asked for you to believe me. I never asked you to like it or agree with it. I sure as hell don't require you to be okay with it.”

  “I don't understand you,” he said. “We're supposed to be in a relationship, but you clearly don't care what I think.”