by CORY CYR
I glanced up at Coco and shrugged. “Everything’s good. Just thinking.”
“Thinking of ways to spend all that money? Now if you need help, I’m always available. I did see some new Zanotti boots that were adorable.” She laughed as she nudged my shoulder.
“I think we need to pay the mortgage on this place and worry about our suppliers before we splurge on designer shoes, don’t you?”
“I suppose. Okay, Mother, ever the voice of reason.”
“Very funny. As I said before, someone has to be the adult in this relationship.”
She scooted another chair up to my desk and plopped down. “So details. Tell me everything that happened, word for word, and exactly how much the expired Mr. Wick left you.”
I frowned and shook my head as the pulsing began at my temple. I tossed the aspirin in my mouth and forced it down with saliva. Coco couldn’t go a day without a disparaging comment geared toward Hartman. There was true hatred there. “We’ll discuss it later. I have a dinner meeting, and I need to go home and change. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”
I read suspicion all over her face. “Dinner. Really? With who?”
“No one you know.” I lied. Well, truthfully, she didn’t know him—only of him. My version of a loophole.
“Okay, we’ll leave it at that. But I smell a secret. This isn’t going to be like the last time when you up and married someone and didn’t tell me, is it?” She stood and eyed me carefully. “Wait. Did you meet someone? Was it at the gallery event?”
I felt my face grow warm with embarrassment. Crap. Coco was like a hunting dog. If she got the scent, she’d never let go. Okay, fine, I’d throw her a bone. A tiny one. “No, it’s nothing to do with a marriage proposal. I promise. Once is enough. Right now, it’s just business, and stop right there. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not going to jinx it by you inundating me with a mountain of questions.”
“But…” she said, pouting.
“But nothing. I have to get going. I’ll give you all the juicy details later—if there are any.”
“All right, but I expect a very salacious narrative.”
I rolled my eyes as I got up to leave. I had a little over three hours. On my way home, I needed to figure out if I should wear conservative or something slightly slinky. Of course, with him, it would be a Catch-22. I wanted to retain a business look, but I might need to rely on my sexual charisma to get what I wanted. Then there was the possibility he would view a sultry dress as an invitation.
At this rate, my headache would never go away.
I ended up combining the two looks into one ensemble. I chose back silk pants and a cobalt-blue blouse that had a rather provocative neckline, so I put a jacket over it. I straightened my hair with the flatiron and used minimal cosmetics. The man already thought so little of me; I didn’t want to come across as a painted lady. I snickered. I’d always been the definition of propriety until the other night.
The restaurant was crowded as I made my way to the table. I could see him as he studied the menu. Damn, Kieran Wick could suck the oxygen right out of a room. Even though only his face was visible, he was a formidable figure of a man. He was wearing a gray turtleneck that concealed his ink. The way his hands held the menu, I could see strength in them as well as artistry in his fingers. I exhaled, knowing my interest in him was inappropriate on so many levels. Among them, he despised me for no apparent reason. Maybe there was a way for us to develop a truce that wouldn’t involve us getting horizontal.
He looked up with a cynical smile.
“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare,” I said in hopes of keeping our conversation light and focused on anything but sex.
His expression showed surprise. “You drove yourself? What? Is your driver out for the evening?”
Smug little jerk. “I don’t have a driver. I’m perfectly capable of navigating my way through city traffic,” I replied, returning the incredulous look.
A waiter pulled out my chair, since it was obvious Kieran had been raised without any type of etiquette.
“So are we eating tonight? You wanted this meeting,” he asked as he laid the menu down. I could hear the disdain in his voice.
I glanced at the waiter and ordered a seafood salad and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Taking my lead, Kieran ordered medium-rare filet mignon and another of what appeared to be a martini.
“So why are we here, Ellery?” he asked as he sipped from his glass.
I discarded my jacket, then folded my hands. “Just tell me how we can make this work. Surely, you don’t want my meager gallery. Go ahead and take everything else, but give me that.”
“I kind of love it when you beg.” He gloated as his eyes perused my breasts.
I reached for my wine after the waiter set it down. “Asking that this meeting be civilized is not begging. I’m entitled to that gallery. Your father gave it to me along with a ton of other promises that I guess don’t mean shit anymore. I had no idea you existed. I’m sorry your father was a bastard. But most of all, I’m so sorry for the loss of your mother. It appears he was a heinous person. I’m truly remorseful for what he did to you—both.”
“You don’t get to be sorry. Well, not yet,” he snarled.
“What is it you want, Kieran? Just tell me. Lay it out.” I took a huge gulp of my wine. He had no idea what I’d gone through. I, too, had suffered at the hands of his father.
“It’s already been discussed. I’m sure you’ve been told. I want you, Ellery.” His tone was menacing as he spoke. I was just another acquisition to him.
Shock and disbelief raced through my body. “Are you crazy? You can’t have me. You can’t just buy people. I think that was outlawed in 1865.”
He chuckled. “Preston said you were intelligent. Let’s be clear. We both know you can be bought. The kind of woman you are. Well, they always have a price. My father paid for you, and you accepted. So please do not feign indignation. If you want your gallery, then that’s my fee.” He lowered his voice so only I could hear. “I want to finish what we started. I want you writhing beneath me. I want to take you every way imaginable.”
I laughed nervously, which made him glare at me with a pissed-off expression. “You seem to want an awful lot of things. I married your father because I cared about him and he was sick. Granted, I’m beginning to think you may also be ill—mentally—but rest assured, I don’t care about you.”
“Brazen words coming from a woman who is five minutes away from having nothing and living on the street.”
I choked back exasperation and began eating my salad. It tasted like cardboard, even piled high with assorted lobster and shrimp. Every swallow was death defying as I tried to choke it down. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he cut into his beef. He was heartily enjoying his meal. Asshole.
He was right. Even though I could live with Coco, I would have no job, no income, and no gallery. Everything I’d gone through for the last five years would be for nothing. My only out was to give him what he wanted. When I was younger, there had been a small roster of men. Ones I’d slept with, never even bothering to know their names. This would be no different. Not really. Except I did know his name. He was younger and my dead husband’s son.
And if I were honest, it was tempting. He was a beautiful man and appeared skilled for his age. A part of me felt seduced by the possibility. This interest not only tormented me with guilt, but trepidation. What if he were like his father? True, he hadn’t been raised by Hartman during his formative years, but he might have acquired similar sexual tastes. His fingers had been rough and his kiss punishing. No matter what Salacity meant to me, I wouldn’t let another man hurt me.
This was too much to absorb. I wished I had been honest with Coco. But I knew what she would have said—tell him to go fuck himself, screw the gallery, and move in with her. There was no way she would ever approve of me whoring myself out again to save our business. But then I’d have to come clean and reveal everything about Hartman, and some
how, I knew she would never be able to look at me the same way again. Lies piled upon lies. And what did I say about this? I’d created a huge mess and honestly couldn’t see a way out.
I cleared my throat as I put my fork down. “Put it all out in the open, Kieran. Tell me precisely what I have to do in order to appease your appetite for restitution.”
My eyes traced every angle of his face as he wiped his mouth on his napkin. “It’s really quite simple. Sleep with me. Be with me for, let’s say… a month—maybe longer.”
“Sleep with you.” I repeated his words as my pulse increased, and I felt an ache below my hips.
He chuckled. “I doubt there will be much sleeping involved. I plan to move into the Scarsdale mansion tomorrow. You, of course, can stay in your own master suite. I’ll keep myself in a guest room. But I will want to fuck you in my father’s bed.”
“Seriously, your plan is I spread my legs and let you have me whenever you want, even if it’s against my will? Oh, and it has to be in your father’s bed.”
“Against your will, I don’t think so. I won’t have to force you. You’ll submit eventually. That is if you want Salacity.”
“Why do you have to live with me if this just a sexual contract? Can’t you stay in your hotel and visit when you want to fuck?” I spit out.
If the language shocked him, he didn’t show it.
“Maybe I want to know you and see why Preston is so enamored with you. Those aristocrats think of you as the dutiful wife who took care of her ailing husband and now is the grieving widow. I have a sense you’ve snowed everyone. Well, except me. I knew the minute I made you come I was right about you. You will give in. You will let me fuck you, and I’ll even wager you’ll plead for it.”
He moved his chair closer to mine. In less than five seconds, his hand was in the crease of my pants. My face flushed with embarrassment as he traced the outline of my two halves.
“Your pussy feels hot. It’s pulsating. I can feel the tempo under my fingers.”
Suddenly, he latched onto my one hand and forced it into his lap. God, he felt rock solid. I’d never in my life felt any man that stiff. He slid my hand over his erection, pressing my fingers into his cock. I closed my eyes as I felt wetness dampen my thong. I was shaking, but a natural instinct took over as I gently squeezed him.
“Jesus H. Christ, if you don’t stop, I’ll drag your ass into the ladies’ room and bend you over the marble sink and fuck you until sunrise.” He pushed my hand away. “You’re going to take very little effort. I was hoping for more opposition.”
I pulled myself mentally together and tossed my napkin onto my unfinished dinner. “Just because I cupped your dick in the heat of the moment doesn’t mean I’ll be easy.” I stood and grabbed my purse. “I’ll let you get the check since you’re holding my money for ransom.”
My legs could hardly support me as I turned to leave.
What the hell did I just do? I just gave him license. He thinks I want him. And regardless of which parts of my body desire him, I cannot succumb. I have specific plans. I had a set course. I knew what I wanted and where I was going. And I wasn’t about to let a twenty-four-year-old with a hard-on and daddy issues derail everything.
So he planned for us to cohabitate. A month, he said. I certainly could hold out for thirty days. I was a grown-ass woman. If I could tolerate marriage with Hartman for five years, I could survive a month with his son. Somehow, I’d come up with viable reason I wouldn’t be taking care of business for four weeks in case Kieran decided to chain me to a wall. I wouldn’t put it past him. He threatened me. He claimed to know me. He didn’t know shit. He was just a little brat pretending to be a man. He wanted everything his father had, all the fucking toys.
I had tolerated enough abuse—verbal, emotional, and physical—at the hands of a Wick. I was tired of cowering. We all had a past. Not everyone had a perfect life. We all had our crosses to bear. I had to live with the knowledge of what I allowed Hartman to do, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.
I got home an hour later and undressed. I sat on my bed and grabbed my cell, leaving a message for Preston. I told him to write up some kind of agreement since he knew what Kieran wanted and have it sent to my home in the morning. I wanted to have our arrangement documented regardless of its unsavory nature.
I wondered why no one in Hartman’s circle of friends had ever brought up his son and obvious twenty-year marriage. It was frightening to realize I hadn’t been the only one held under his thumb.
What would happen if word got out that his son had returned and was living in the mansion with me? At this point, I wasn’t sure what was worse. Having it known that this young man was Kieran Wick or the artist Wicked? Both could equally destroy my reputation. We were years apart; people would talk. The rumors would find their way to Coco. I needed to confess before that happened.
I made a deal with myself that I would give this “situation” with him one week. Maybe he would change his mind. Maybe I could alter it. But deep inside, I knew he’d already had the mindset to judge me before we even met. He knew I wasn’t responsible for his pain, but he wanted me to pay anyway. Was he punishing me for being with his father? I could enlighten him about my own personal hell of the last five years. But I didn’t see that changing his mind. He would always think I deserved it—and maybe I did. He was uncompromising in anything or anyone that had to do with his father.
Preston had told me about his past, but there was much more to it. I knew now that tale was just the crux of those years. The actual story involved much more. I began to speculate whether I had the ability to make him see me as someone else, instead of his father’s whore, or if I would have to take it all the way.
He frightened me. He had the charm and ability to bring desires to the surface. But he also caused me alarm because I was scared my hunger for him would lead me down a path of pain rather than pleasure, both emotionally and physically.
Ten
Kieran
I woke with a smile on my face. It had been a long time since I’d felt any kind of anticipation. I whistled as I began to dress. I was moving in with my stepmother today. I laughed. Out loud.
Last night in the restaurant, I was so rigid it took the patience of Job to get me through the meal. She’d dressed in black pants and a blue shirt that made her eyes pop with the color of rich cerulean. She wore a jacket to keep her sophistication in check, but my stare went right to the parts that interested me most. Her pussy and tits.
It amused me that she thought I would succumb and change my mind. I’d waited years for that old man to die just so I could destroy everything he had. My thoughts twisted when I imagined her with him. Visions of her sucking his cock and him taking her pussy agitated me. Goddamn him. As if I didn’t curse him enough before, I wanted to devastate everything he ever owned and devour everything he’d touched. Starting with her.
In the beginning, all I wanted was payback, and now what I desired was fucking with her. I’d planned on this venture being arduous, but after last night, I knew she would be compliant. The moment I palmed her sex, any doubts I might have had were forgotten. So hot and throbbing with need—it made me question whether fucking Ellery was actually going to be revenge. When I forced her small hand on my cock, I began to fantasize. I’d wanted her before, but this was now something beyond. It pissed me off. Was this how she’d conned my father? Had she teased and tempted her way into his empire, into his bed? It wasn’t going to be that simple with me.
Every part of me wanted to be so deep inside her I’d touch every nerve. She already hungered for me. She could deny it, but her reactions to my touch said otherwise. When I had my fill, I’d discard her. Then I’d hand down my verdict about her treasured gallery. I was leaning toward no. Truthfully, nothing she could do or say would change my mind. Once my sexual needs were met, she would be disposable.
I truly was a despicable man; I personally didn’t mind the label. But what did kill me was the knowledge that my
mother would be appalled at my behavior, and my old man, well, he would see potential and be proud.
Eleven
Ellery
The prick’s luggage arrived before ten. Good God, he said a month. It looked as though his entire life were in suitcases. He had more belongings than I did. Smug, arrogant jerk. I watched as four large trunks and an assortment of bags were dropped off in my foyer. Then easels were brought in, three of them. Now that interested me. I wondered what “Wicked” would be painting. I trembled remembering his cock piece. My mind ran rampant contemplating the next subject matter.
Ugh! I really didn’t like that man. My body might have lusted after him, but personally, he came across as a tool. Much too cocky and sure of himself. I would have to bend to his will or figure out a way to make him flee from the house in terror.
I chuckled. None of this was funny, but I had to try to amuse myself. My livelihood depended upon it. I believed Kieran relished the fact that he had some kind of power over me. Even if it were true, I wasn’t sure I could relinquish that control and give in to him. He’d boasted how he wanted to fuck me in his father’s bed. Well, that would be interesting. I wondered if I should move his belongings into Hartman’s old room.
He’d spent the last year of his life in a downstairs guest room, using a hospital bed. He was still capable of making my life a living hell and demanding much from me. But he couldn’t make it up the stairs. It was my only escape—blissful solitude in what used to be our shared master bedroom. Once Hartman was in his own room downstairs, I refurbished the entire suite. I bought all new furniture and had decorators redo the wallpaper. What was once a dark and masculine area was now light, with a feminine floral motif.
I decided to have Kieran’s belongings moved to his father’s room. I tossed clean sheets on the bare carved walnut four-poster that replaced the hospital bed and put towels in the bathroom. My work was complete.
