by BETH KERY
They both knew the days were gone when she would have leaned on Sean for support.
“Four engines were working on it when I got there, but they were just trying to contain the blaze at that point . . . keep it from getting to the trees and spreading. One of the firemen told me it had likely started in the garage and spread first to the kitchen. They had it out by the time I left. It was a nightmare. The police were there. The press . . .”
His body tensed for action but he remained seated beside her. She threw him an exasperated glance. Three years hadn’t dulled her almost preternatural ability to read him. Never mind that he’d been trained by the United States Army to be an intelligence operative.
She’d known her fair share of spies. Max had held a top position at the CIA before he’d retired and started his private intel firm. But while Max had proved to be an enigma to her, Sean was pretty much an open book.
“Go ahead, call if you want to,” she said. “There was a cop— Sergeant Gould. The chief from the fire department was a Martin McGruder.”
“I’m not going anywhere right now. What about Jim? Is he okay?” Sean asked, referring to Jim Rothman, Max’s longtime, live-in employee who did everything from house maintenance to grocery shopping.
“He’s fine,” Genny whispered. “He’d been out for the evening, like me. He came home from the movies at around eleven and stood with me, watching it burn.” Her breath caught on an inhale. “He was more upset than I was. He kept worrying he’d left some appliance running or hadn’t maintained the furnace the way he should. I must have told him a million times it wasn’t his fault, poor man, and even if one of us had done something inadvertently, it wasn’t intentional. He was worried sick. He’s staying with his daughter in Niles.”
“There was no indication it’d been set?”
“Set?” She sharpened her gaze on him. “Of course not. Who would have set my house on fire?”
His brows drew together as he studied her. His hand rose to cradle her jaw. “Was there a medical unit there? Did they treat you?”
“For what?”
“Shock.” Their gazes met and locked.
He didn’t try to stop her from standing. She returned to the bar where she lifted the wineglass to her lips. The crystal hummed when she set the goblet on the bar too forcefully. She saw him watching her in the mirror lining the back of the bar.
“Am I going? Or are you?”
“I think you know the answer to that, Genny.”
She turned around. “You can’t expect both of us to stay here.”
He shrugged and leaned back, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. He’d buttoned the crisp white shirt, but not completely. When he spread his arms, the fabric parted. Genevieve found herself staring at the sexy triangle of exposed skin and curling, light brown hair. She blinked when he spoke.
“I’m working on a big project. My assistant will be here first thing in the morning. It’s easier to sleep here when I’m staying so late in the office.”
“Sleep, huh?” she muttered sarcastically.
“You couldn’t expect me to know you’d show up here tonight. I said I was sorry about that.” He waved toward the hallway and the bedroom. When she glanced out the window dismissively, he added, “Right—I forgot. You’re good at ignoring my apologies. You’re an expert at the business of ignoring me in general.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. She opened her mouth to bring him to task for changing the subject but he interrupted her before a word left her tongue.
“I own this penthouse, too. Have you forgotten that?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. Fine. If you’re staying, I’ll be the one to go. I’ll stay with my mother.” Her eyes widened when he just shook his head slowly, his expression implacable.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But until I can get some more information about what happened with the fire . . . until I know for sure nobody set it with the intent of harming you, you’re staying here. And so am I, Genny.”
Her muscles felt as if they’d snap like rubber bands stretched too tight when he said her name again. He was the only person who called her Genny. The only one who could and make it sound so natural . . . like her true name. Once Max had tried to call her Genny. It had sounded forced and foolish on his tongue. She hadn’t said anything, but Max had never done it again.
Max had encouraged her and Sean to spend time together. Her husband had confessed to her once that he felt a little guilty about the fact that he had so few interests in common with her, given their twenty-four-year age difference. Max had never shown an ounce of jealousy over the fact that Sean and she shared a love for taking in a Cubs game on hot summer afternoons or biking for miles along the lakefront. Sean had even taught her how to shoot at the Sauren Solutions in-house firing range.
It’d all been innocent . . . on the surface anyway.
Until that New Year’s Eve three years ago, when Max had suggested the three of them indulge in a night of pleasure.
Until five nights later, when Sean had murdered him.
* * *
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Beth Kery lives in Chicago where she juggles the demands of her career, her love of the city and the arts, and a busy family life. Her writing today reflects her passion for all of the above. She is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Because You Are Mine. Find out more about Beth and her books at BethKery.com or Facebook.com/Beth.Kery.
When I’m With You
PART I: WHEN WE TOUCH
PART II: WHEN YOU DEFY ME
PART III: WHEN YOU TEASE ME
PART IV: WHEN I’M BAD
Because You Are Mine
PART I: BECAUSE YOU TEMPT ME
PART II: BECAUSE I COULD NOT RESIST
PART III: BECAUSE YOU HAUNT ME
PART IV: BECAUSE YOU MUST LEARN
PART V: BECAUSE I SAID SO
PART VI: BECAUSE YOU TORMENT ME
PART VII: BECAUSE I NEED TO
PART VIII: BECAUSE I AM YOURS
Berkley Sensation titles by Beth Kery
WICKED BURN
DARING TIME
Berkley Heat titles by Beth Kery
SWEET RESTRAINT
PARADISE RULES
RELEASE
EXPLOSIVE
One Night of Passion series
ADDICTED TO YOU (WRITING AS BETHANY KANE)
EXPOSED TO YOU
One Night of Passion Specials
BOUND TO YOU
CAPTURED BY YOU
Contents
Also by Beth Kery
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Special Excerpt from Paradise Rules
About the Author
When I’m With You
PART I: WHEN WE TOUCH
PART II: WHEN YOU DEFY ME
PART III: WHEN YOU TEASE ME
PART IV: WHEN I’M BAD
PART V: WHEN YOU SUBMIT
Because You Are Mine
PART I: BECAUSE YOU TEMPT ME
PART II: BECAUSE I COULD NOT RESIST
PART III: BECAUSE YOU HAUNT ME
PART IV: BECAUSE YOU MUST LEARN
PART V: BECAUSE I SAID SO
PART VI: BECAUSE YOU TORMENT ME
PART VII: BECAUSE I NEED TO
PART VIII: BECAUSE I AM YOURS
Berkley Sensation titles by Beth Kery
WICKED BURN
DARING TIME
Berkley Heat titles by Beth Kery
SWEET RESTRAINT
PARADISE RULES
RELEASE
EXPLOSIVE
One Night of Passion series
ADDICTED TO YOU (WRITING AS BETHANY KANE)
EXPOSED T
O YOU
One Night of Passion Specials
BOUND TO YOU
CAPTURED BY YOU
When I’m With You
Part V
When You Submit
Beth Kery
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WHEN YOU SUBMIT
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PUBLISHING HISTORY
InterMix eBook edition / April 2013
When I’m With You copyright © 2013 by Beth Kery.
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ISBN: 978-1-101-61662-8
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Chapter Nine
When Elise came back to herself, it was to the delicious sensation of Lucien’s chest and abdomen heaving against her back. His head had fallen between her neck and shoulder and she could feel the warm bursts of his breath on her perspiration-damp skin as he tried to catch his breath. She shifted slightly beneath him. His cock twitched inside of her and her eyes flew open.
Lucien was inside of her. He’d long been inside of her in the figurative sense. Now he was in the literal one.
He placed his mouth on her spine at the base of her neck. She shivered with pleasure, instinctively tightening around the novelty of his cock penetrating so deeply inside her. He grunted softly and tightened his hold around her waist.
“What am I going to do with you?” he asked, his low, resonant voice near her damp skin making her shiver. She heard the regret that had started to seep into his tone, and she experienced her own guilt. Why must she be so impatient?
“Are you mad at me?” she asked cautiously.
Somehow, she just knew he would understand she meant, Are you mad at my not telling you I was a technical virgin? As embedded in her as he was, as deeply entwined as she felt with him at that moment, she wondered if misunderstanding was even possible. She’d prayed things would go like the doctor suggested they might, but Lucien wasn’t just any man. Not only was he smart and knowledgeable about women, he wasn’t . . . made like other men in the physical sense. Lucien was fashioned more like a god than a mere human, in her opinion.
“I’m not sure,” he replied gruffly. He pressed his lips against her neck again. How could his warm mouth confer so much delight? “I should be. Why didn’t you tell me that you’d never been with a man?”
“I have been with men. This part”—she squeezed his cock with her vaginal muscles and a puff of air flew past her neck—“was just semantics.”
He grunted. She stifled a protest when he raised himself slightly, missing the solid weight of his chest and his warm breath on her neck.
“It wasn’t semantics. It’s not a ‘sort of’ or ‘maybe’ state of being. You were a virgin in the truest sense of the word.” She cried out when he slowly withdrew and she experienced a sharp burning sensation. He turned her in his arms so quickly, she didn’t have time to hide her wince of discomfort. His expression stiffened. “And here is proof of it. To think of how I—”
He cut off his own words, looking grim as he examined her face.
“Don’t look so somber,” she whispered. “I wanted it, Lucien. I wanted my first time to be with you.”
“I wish you would have told me. Your first time still would have been with me, just not so rough and—” He paused, as if considering what had just occurred. She sensed his regret . . . his heat. “Why did you goad me that way?” he demanded. He closed his eyes briefly when he heard the edge of anger in his voice. “Jesus. I could have made it so much better for you.”
“I thought it was wonderful,” she said sincerely, thinking with awe of what it’d felt like to have him harbored so deep within her, their heartbeats melding. “It wasn’t what I expected at all.”
“I can only imagine,” he said wryly. She hated the flat expression that entered his gray eyes. “We’ll talk about it later. Let’s get you home. You should rest.”
* * *
When they reached the penthouse, Elise headed down the hallway, feeling raw and uncertain. Lucien had been so subdued on the drive home. She kept detailing the memory of her impulsive decision to climb onto Jax’s back, the harrowing ride through the dark woods on the bolting horse’s back, and Lucien’s fury at her for putting her life at risk so foolishly. He’d known perfectly well she’d done it all to get his attention . . . to drive him into doing precisely what he’d done.
Elise couldn’t regret their passionate lovemaking in the stables. It’d been an amazing, eye-opening experience for her. She only regretted pushing Lucien until his control had snapped. She regretted his regret. How long would he be furious at her for what she’d done?
He caught her hand as she started to head into her room. She turned to face him. His features were cast in shadow as he looked down at her.
“I’ll help you get your things,” he said, his voice so quiet that for a split second she didn’t register what he’d said. When she did, her heart began to pound in her ears.
“Are you kicking me out?” she asked shakily.
His brows slanted and he tightened his hold on her hand. “No, of course not. But there’s no going back. I won’t be able to deny myself, now that I’ve actually been inside you. You’ll sleep in my bed from now on. Come on,” he said, pulling her into her room and flipping on a light. Neither of them spoke as they worked together to gather her things from the bathroom and bedroom. Lucien’s mood was solemn, Elise’s bewildered and wary.
She’d been the one to push this. So why now did she feel so much disappointment in herself for her lack of control? No—for her insistence upon taking control of the situation.
Lucien went ahead of her with her suitcase and an armload of items. Elise finished packing up her toiletries from the bathroom and followed him a few minutes later. That feeling came over her as she quietly walked through the partially opened door to his private suite and looked around for the first time, the feeling she’d never really experienced before beginning this thing with Lucien.
Shyness.
He glanced up from his task of placing a lacy camisole in an opened drawer of a massive wardrobe cabinet.
“Come in,” he said. “This wardrobe will be yours. I have another in my dressing room where I’ve moved my things.”
“Thank you,” she said, feeling awkward as sh
e stepped farther into the large suite. His addictive scent tickled her nose—a combination of his skin and his soap and his cologne, Clive Christian 1872. It was a masculine room, a luxurious delight to the senses. Maria, his maid, hadn’t been there that day, with the result that his enormous king-sized bed wasn’t made perfectly. Instead, Lucien himself had obviously pulled up the thick, feather-filled comforter and draped the sheet back over the top of it. The multitude of dark brown, caramel, and ivory colored pillows were slightly askew. She liked the hint of disarray. His bed looked sinfully soft . . . extraordinarily sexy. She pictured Lucien rising from it just this morning, gloriously naked, and fluffing and straightening the duvet absentmindedly before padding away to his shower.
He touched her upper arm and she looked up at him, guilt rushing through her as if he could read her covetous thoughts about him.
“I’ll show you the bathroom and you can put your things away. Perhaps you’d like to take a bath afterward?”
She searched his gray eyes but found no hint of how he was feeling about all this. She’d feel more comfortable with his anger than with this cool, aloof Lucien. Perhaps it’d always been that way. She’d been trying to peel back his distant façade since she was a child, so eager to connect with him.
So desperate.
Several minutes later, she stood alone in the huge bathroom, which featured a step-up marble spa bath in the center of it in addition to a steam shower. She set her bottle of perfume next to his cologne on the granite countertop, a surreal sensation going through her at the vision of the bottles sitting side by side. She was living in Lucien Sauvage’s home . . . sleeping in his bed.
It had to be a dream.
“Do you want me to draw you a bath?”
She stared over her shoulder, awe spiking through her when she saw the man who came with that low, sensual voice. He leaned in the doorway, his hands bracing himself on either side of the frame, all lean, sexy male power. It really was him. This really was happening to her.
