Only for the Moment

by Ella Sheridan

  “There’s really nothing to talk about, is there?” A sigh emptied her lungs. “He’s a…something…”

  “A Dom.”

  “And I’m not a…”

  “A sub.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth!”

  “If they’re the right words, who cares which one of us says them?”

  “You’re infuriating, you know that?”

  Her brother’s chuckle raised her temper even more. “But you love me anyway.”

  He was right; she did. But she didn’t have to admit it right this moment. “He’s my client, Vin. Not…well, not anything else.”

  “Not yet, but you wouldn’t call me, this wouldn’t even be on your radar if something wasn’t happening between you. So talk.”

  Sometimes she didn’t know whether to punch her brother or hug him. Since they weren’t in the same room, neither was an option, but really, what was the point of prolonging the agony? So she talked. No matter how clinical and objective she tried to be as she described her interactions with Isaac, even she could hear the emotions lurking beneath the words. Emotions she didn’t want to acknowledge any more than she did her brother’s response: “And?”

  “And what?”

  Vincent grunted.

  After a moment a grin surfaced. Yeah, she hadn’t believed that either, but it hadn’t hurt to try.

  “How do you feel about him being a rigger?”

  “I don’t feel anything. He’s a Dom, and I’m…”

  “Not a sub.”

  No way in hell. She’d spent enough years subject to every whim her parents could come up with; she wouldn’t let someone else have that much control over her sexuality or her life. So why did Isaac’s sexy gaze arouse so much interest?

  Isaac’s gaze should’ve been her first clue to his nature. Those eyes spoke of taking control and keeping it, and most women would drop their panties and kneel at his feet.

  Walk away, Kennedy.

  “There’s more than one kind of us, you know.”

  Of course she knew. “You mean you’re not all just meanies barking orders and beating on people?” She grinned, waiting for the explosion.

  Instead Vincent laughed. “Something like that.” Then his tone went serious. “As a Dom, Isaac’s not into pain and canes and torture. But I suspect that’s not really what you’re worried about.”

  “What else would I be worried about?”

  A sigh echoed through the line, part how do I explain this and part why did I get stuck with the not so smart sibling? “Maybe that you are more interested in submission than you want to admit.”

  “No.” No way in hell—again. “I am not interested in subjugating myself to some man.”

  “Is that what you think Jane does?”

  Shame washed through her. “No. No it’s not. I’m sorry.” But that didn’t mean she wanted whatever Jane had found in her relationship with Vincent. So why did the idea of Isaac binding her wrists in rope send simultaneous zings of pleasure and panic across her nerve endings?

  Because he’s sexy as hell and you want him to touch you?

  Touch her, yes, but dominate her?

  The mix of heat in her core and churning in her belly wasn’t pleasant. Being bound might look pretty, but to be helpless, totally at someone else’s control…

  She shivered. Whether in arousal or fear, she refused to examine.

  “I can practically hear your thoughts buzzing through the phone, Sis.”

  She dropped her chin, hiding her face despite the fact that she was alone in the room.

  “Whether you can accept it for yourself or not,” Vincent said, “BDSM is not about giving up control to someone else; it’s about exchanging power. You choose to give your power over to another, within a set of negotiated parameters. The sub chooses, and that means the sub is ultimately the one in control.”

  The nuance wasn’t something she could wrap her head around—and yet she couldn’t deny that Isaac drew her like no man had, ever.

  “Ultimately what you decide is up to you.”

  Not really. “He’s a client, Vinny. The risk…”

  “He’s a client, and I’m sure you will do the same fantastic job with him that you do with every guest who walks through your door. That was never in doubt.

  “But you’re also a woman, Ken. You wouldn’t be calling me if you didn’t give a shit about him.”

  “I—” Her fist clenched around her phone. “I don’t know, Vinny. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Think about it. That’s all you have to do. You’re not in a long-term relationship. But he’s a good man; you can trust him. If you’re interested, do you really want to let fear hold you back?”

  Never. She’d decided that the minute she’d left her parents’ care for good. “I love you, you know.”

  “I love you too. And I believe in you. You can do anything you want, Sis. Just go in with your eyes open.”

  Chapter Ten

  The thumping of bass and the sound of laughter hit Kennedy as she stepped off the elevator on the penthouse apartment floor. She had to fight the urge to turn her butt right around and go back to her office without knocking on Isaac’s door, maybe send Cooper or her assistant to check on him and his crew, but that would nullify her professional obligation to take care of their highest-profile client.

  As if that’s all this is, Kennedy.

  Right, of course. Vincent had told her to go in with her eyes open, and that meant more than just knowing what Isaac expected. She had to be honest with herself, too. The personal need to see him with her own eyes, see if everything she’d felt between them the last time they’d been together was in fact real, had grown inside her every minute for the past two days. She couldn’t wait any longer to know if this was all a fluke, to look into his eyes and see if he still wanted her to say, I’m interested.

  Isaac as a client deserved attention, but her heart needed the reassurance, especially after her talk with her brother. Nothing would distract her from getting the answers she needed, not even a penthouse full of groupies.

  A smile quirked her lips. If the distraction was Isaac’s incredible body, she might just agree to a delay. So sue her.

  Squaring her shoulders, she marched the length of the hall to knock on the door. Her hard rap hurt her knuckles, but with that music pounding on the other side, volume was a necessity.

  The door opened. A tall man with dark, curly hair glared down at her. “May I help you?”

  At least he got the grammar right. “Kennedy O’Connell, from management, to see Mr. Anschau.”

  The man mumbled into a mic that angled from his ear to his mouth. A few moments later he obviously received a response, because he stepped back to allow her inside. She nodded his way as she passed.

  The living area seemed to be a mass of jumbled bodies. They covered every surface—sitting on counters and tables, draped across furniture, congregating in every clear space as they writhed to the music. How the hell this many people had made it past Mr. Tall, Dark, and Curly, she didn’t know, but there was only one person she was interested in seeing, and he didn’t appear to be among the crowd. Nick was, though—the masses parted like the Red Sea for the big man, allowing him to make a beeline in her direction unhindered.

  “Kennedy!”

  “Nick.” She laughed a little as he swooped her into a bear hug, then placed her delicately back on her feet. “I’m just—”

  “Here to see Ike, right?”

  Before she could answer, he’d turned toward the stairs.

  “Nick!”

  His hand went to his ear—his mic, probably. Was he calling Isaac downstairs? What if Isaac didn’t want to be disturbed? She grabbed the back of Nick’s shirt and tugged. “Nick.”

  He turned, ducking his head toward her. “He’ll be down in a sec.”

  She glanced around at the crowd, her mouth going a bit dry. “You didn’t have to disturb him.”

  “Right. I’d rather my boss not
shoot me today.” He jerked his chin toward the furniture. “Have a seat. He’ll be right here.”

  Every bit of confidence she’d had alone in the hallway seemed to have taken a nosedive. There were too many people, too much noise jarring her nerves. They couldn’t talk in a crowd like this. She should wait till later. Still, she found herself wandering through the penthouse, taking in the scantily clad groupies hanging all over the crew, wondering how many of them would jump at the chance to be with Isaac, to let him tie them up. How many of them didn’t have her hang-ups?

  She was smart, confident. So she struggled in one little thing. And yet…

  She glanced up, realizing she was looking out the penthouse windows, open to the sunset over Red Rock. The memory of taking Isaac there—and what they’d done—made her thighs clench together. That was why she was here. Doubt wasn’t her MO, and she sure as hell wouldn’t let it steal the answers from her.

  “Hey there, pretty lady.”

  She turned toward the unfamiliar voice, her professional smile firmly in place. “Hello.”

  The guy was tall, with a mop of curly brown hair and a smile that got him laid frequently, if she had to guess. She recognized him immediately as a member of the band, the guitarist.

  And obviously the requisite player.

  He stuck out a hand. “Matt.”

  “I remember.” She gave his hand a firm but brief shake. “Kennedy O’Connell.”

  His eyes went wide, the smile losing its hard-core Romeo edge and softening into something more genuinely friendly. “Wow. Now I understand why V never has you around. Protective older brother, I bet.”

  “Always.” Obviously Isaac or Nick had been talking about her. A thrill shot through her, and she barely refrained from rolling her eyes at the schoolgirl reaction. “It helps keep him sane if I don’t hang around his gigs.”

  “I bet.” Matt winked at her, the move seeming more habit than true flirting. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “A water?”

  “On its way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Matt.”

  That accent melted her bones every single time she met him. She savored the sensation as she turned to meet amused blue eyes. Beneath the humor she almost thought there was a hint of irritation. Directed at his bandmate?

  Inner schoolgirl for the win!

  She forced the giddiness down deep. “Isaac.”

  He seemed to drink her in for a long moment. It was like a curtain dropped between them and the crowd, dimming the noise, cutting the distractions and leaving nothing between them but a sense of connection that shook her with its strength.

  Isaac stepped closer. “Kennedy.”

  What did you say to the guy who’d tied you up and kissed you senseless? Her tongue couldn’t seem to figure it out, especially with his heat lighting up every nerve ending in her body. Every available thought was absorbed by his eyes, his mouth, the faintest scent of cologne that made her want to nuzzle against him and track down the source.

  “Here you go, Ken.” A water bottle appeared beneath her nose.

  “Kennedy,” Isaac growled, emphasizing the last two syllables of her name.

  Matt smirked his way.

  “Get lost, mate.”

  Matt roared with laughter, drawing far more attention than Kennedy would have liked. Luckily he took most of it with him when he wandered off into the crowd, which she noticed kept a careful distance from their spot. Thank God for small miracles.

  She turned away from their audience, fumbled the cap off her water, took a deep breath.

  Isaac moved in close, his shoulders the perfect privacy screen. “I’ve been waiting for you to come by.”

  She’d hoped he was thinking about her but was equally surprised that he hadn’t taken the initiative. “Do Doms normally sit around waiting for women to come to them?” she asked, keeping her words just between them.

  “Only if it’s the right woman.” Isaac eased in until his body brushed hers. “And if that woman is skittish.”

  That rankled. “I’m not a coward.”

  A smile tipped one side of his mouth up. “No, you’re not. Just not quite ready to admit what’s between us.”

  Not what might be between us. Because he’d already determined that there was something.

  She took a swallow of water. “Does that mean…” She cleared her throat. “What exactly does that mean?”

  Isaac took her hand, entwining their fingers. Kennedy leaned back against the glass and tried to ignore the butterflies still fluttering in her stomach.

  “At first, I wasn’t really certain,” he admitted. The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Sex, sure—”

  Kennedy sputtered. “We haven’t had sex!”

  “Not yet.”

  The air between them felt too hot, too…electric. Definitely not yet. The sooner she admitted that part, at least, the better.

  She cleared her throat. “So…mutual attraction?”

  Isaac’s indulgent laugh rankled.

  She frowned up at him. “That doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to—”

  “To what?” He reached out, his long, rough fingers brushing strands of hair from her cheek to tuck behind her ear. “Give in? Indulge? Why not?”

  “Because you’ve got work. And I—”

  “You have work too. I know. But that’s not what’s holding you back.”

  She couldn’t meet his stare any longer. “No? Take a look around, Isaac. There’s not one person in this room that isn’t wondering what’s going on over here.” Probably because they were interested in Isaac, not because of her. But still, discretion was a huge part of her job.

  She caught the bottom edge of his frown from the corner of her eye. Firm fingers tugged her chin until she had no choice but to meet his eyes once more. “I don’t let other people control what I do or don’t do,” he warned her.

  “But I—”

  He laid a fingertip on her lips. “I don’t think you do either.”

  It was what Vinny had said, too, and both men were right. With anyone else, she wouldn’t have worried about having a relationship with a client. She knew how to be a responsible adult.

  “If we’re going to talk about this,” Isaac was saying, “we need to do it honestly. It’s okay to admit you’re scared.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but looking into his eyes, she couldn’t get the words out—because they were true. She was scared. Very scared, so much so that her heart pounded at just the thought of acknowledging it.

  And that pissed her off. She’d never let fear control her. When she’d taken over the reins of her life, she’d promised herself not to hold back, not to be afraid to fall. She had one life, and after living most of it in the confines of rule-riddled boarding schools and empty, boring mansions she wasn’t supposed to leave, she’d wanted a lot more than just to be safe.

  But she’d also wanted to be in control.

  Sweat trickled down her spine.

  “I—”

  A sudden roar of noise from across the room jerked her attention to their audience. She shook her head, the motion making her dizzy. “I can’t talk about this here.” Not with all these people looking on. Not with the noise pounding in her head.

  Head down, she brushed past Isaac, depositing the water bottle Matt had given her on a small table near the couch as she weaved toward the door. In the background she heard Isaac calling her name, then as she reached the door, Nick shouting for his boss. She didn’t look back to see if Isaac followed her. Her heart wanted him to, but she wasn’t ready. She’d been foolish to think she was. That she’d ever be ready.

  The silence of the hallway felt like a tomb compared to the room she’d just left, but she welcomed the weight of it as she hurried into the elevator. Kennedy sagged against the back wall, sucking in air and forcing back the sting of tears that blurred the numbers on the panel. They lit up one by one, down, down, down, tolling her failure with ever
y floor, and with each ding announcing her descent, anger rose inside her. Really, she should bypass her apartment, head to a bar, and find someone, anyone who would erase those sexy blue eyes from her mind. She wasn’t afraid of that. She’d never had a problem finding a quick, easy release, and she wouldn’t now, with someone she didn’t have to try so hard for, someone who didn’t make her doubt herself. Was tying herself in knots like this really worth it?

  The question rang in her head as the elevator slid to a stop at her floor. Her hand went to the panel, hovered…but she didn’t push the button for the lobby. Instead, when the doors slid open, she stepped out, straightened her spine, and walked to her suite. Going out was useless—no one could make her forget Isaac or what he made her feel just being near her; she sure as hell couldn’t forget his kiss. All she could do was wipe every moment of the past half hour from her mind. There was nothing wrong with her, nothing to doubt. Sure as hell nothing to be afraid of. If she wasn’t right for a playboy rock star with a rope fetish, well then, so be it.

  The door had barely shut behind her as she made a beeline for the freezer, praying the strawberry ice cream waiting there would make everything all right again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Isaac hurried from the elevator the minute the doors slid open. He was such a shit. Kennedy had trusted him with her response to his kiss, with her honesty, and the first chance he got, he pushed her. She’d obviously been struggling, and he’d pushed. Why?

  Because he’d been frustrated and achy for two days, waiting for her to come to him, to make her choice.

  He was definitely a shit.

  He’d been on her heels as she beelined for the door, but Nick had called him back to the phone. Anyone else he would’ve blown off, but not Grace. She needed to know Chris wouldn’t commit. There was still hope, but Isaac was now actively looking for a new headliner—anyone but him.

  Which made him a shit and a dickhead. Not his best day.

  Standing in front of Kennedy’s door, he forced himself to stop, breathe, think before he made everything worse than it already was. Where was his legendary control now? One hand rose to rub at the tattoo on his shoulder as he prayed Oliver’s spirit animal would give him the words he needed. Oliver had always been good at that—one of the gifts they’d had in common. He didn’t trust his own skill at the moment. And he had a feeling if he blew it this time with Kennedy, he wasn’t getting another chance.