As her week continued on its normal schedule, she didn’t run into him again, at least not face-to-face, but her mind kept returning to every second she’d spent with him so far. As well as mulling over what she could tell him about the pivotal event that seemed to have brought her here, personally and professionally.
The Dom at Club Surreal had cracked her hard shell. What had oozed out was banal textbook psychology. Little girl abandoned by daddy grows up into a woman who lashes out at men who are everything the male role models in her life never had been. By all rights, that Master could have rubbed her face in that, because she’d been all set to bust his balls, hoping to write a story about him and his business partners that would raise the hair of every person who read it. Instead, he’d treated her emotional state with tender care. Which was remarkable, given he was a sexual sadist who could use pain and ecstasy to take a woman far beyond her imaginings of what pleasure was. He’d done that for her too. A full-service emotional and physical ass kicking that had left her craving more.
She hadn’t fallen in love with that Master, but he’d compelled a total surrender from her. The things he’d made her face weren’t revelations, not by a long shot. But it was as if all her strengths and weaknesses, her memories and experiences, her dysfunctions, were presented in a different light, suggesting possibilities, not shortcomings.
At first, she’d convinced herself he was such a good Dom, he’d been able to coax a submissive reaction from her, but she wasn’t really a submissive. That wasn’t who she was. She’d researched BDSM with a whole new zeal afterward, though, visiting chat rooms, blogs and becoming fascinated enough with the New Orleans D/s scene to accept she was probably lying to herself. But she couldn’t bring herself to go that route again. Every time she dipped a toe into it, it didn’t feel right. No matter what he’d called up from the depths of her subconscious, it was a one-time thing. Since then, her persistent fantasies about it had been a secret between her and her overused vibrator.
How in the hell did she say all that in any intelligent way to Leland? And were they really at the point she could be that open with him? No way. She couldn’t. Maybe they’d talk about sports instead.
She hadn’t been misrepresenting herself to Leland. She was ruthlessly good at self-examination and knew she was a complete failure at all relationships, even most friendships. Thank God she was a workaholic. But that Dom had opened her eyes to the type of person she did—and didn’t—want to be. She didn’t want to be someone whose dubious accomplishments were built on the shaky foundation of bitterness and old angers. She’d realized it was time to grow up. While Celly the child might never be able to trust someone enough to fully love and be loved, Celeste the woman wasn’t going to let that affect her decisions as a journalist.
Now when she pursued a story and hit a rich vein, she followed it to the deepest core of truth. She wrote pieces that made her feel as real and balanced as the articles themselves. She might not function well at personal relationships, but she excelled at her job and had enough challenges in it to fill a lifetime, such that most times she could ignore the personal shit she couldn’t figure out.
She’d thought she was pretty comfortable and resolved with that, which made Leland more of a shock to her system. It was impossible to ignore the undercurrents between them, much stronger than anything she’d felt with a man since that night at Surreal, but too clearly similar to the vibes she’d felt with that other Dom to ignore.
Back then, she’d decided a Dom had to have something really special, akin to a super power, to silence the booming voices of her insecurities, compel her to lower her shields and help her find that still, precious balanced space inside herself like she’d found that night. Yet Leland might just have that quality. A part of her wanted to freak, bolt and run, but another part of her wanted a repeat performance too badly to let her completely break away.
Because here she was. At The Mall on Friday, and earlier than their agreed-upon time.
It hadn’t helped that yesterday she’d gotten a quick glimpse of him. It had charged her up more than it should have. She’d been at the courthouse, doing some research in the clerk of court’s office. After her usual fond banter with the trio of security guards who knew her well, she’d decided to sit in on a jury trial for a few minutes while she worked on her notes. It was when she’d taken a restroom break and been emerging from the side hallway that she’d seen him.
The railing at that end of the third level of the courthouse overlooked a wall of glass that descended all the way down to the lobby level. Out those windows was a peaceful view of live oaks and a small park area with benches. Leland was leaning against the rail, providing guidance to a nervous-looking rookie probably having to offer testimony for the first time. She’d stepped back into the shelter of the restroom door, but she peeked back around the corner to take another look. Leland’s back was mostly toward her as he talked to the rookie, and the other officer was facing the window, so she wasn’t directly in either man’s view.
Lord, the man had a fine ass. Fine everything. She thought of the scent of his skin, the lemon and peppermint, the smell of old wood, and wondered how the cloth of his uniform would add to that fragrance. He’d put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. The deep musical sound of his chuckle was as reassuring a sound as ever had been created. She wanted to touch his hair, the soft wool of the short crop, and trace his full bottom lip. Maybe take a nip out of it and have him growl at her, close his hands on her wrists, pull them behind her back…
God, she was acting like an idiot. Coming back to the present, she focused on the rotation of the carousel. It was the second largest one in the world, after all. Though she wasn’t entirely sure how accurate that information was, it was a premium Mall attraction, with a fairly steady flow of kids and parents taking advantage of the ride.
The carousel was in the food court, so there were a wealth of table and chair options. They’d be at a premium when Friday date night got into full swing, but right now she’d commandeered a spot, pulling two chairs and a small table away from the others, positioning it on the opposite side of one of the large indoor potted trees with its string of white lights. It gave them a bubble of privacy and still offered a good view of the carousel, as well as the opening to the first level where more large potted trees and mall decorations were touched by blocks of sunlight coming through the crisscrossed white beams of the glass ceiling above her.
Maybe it wasn’t the world’s most romantic venue, with the flow of people and constant noise, but with this space marked off, it would work. Public and casual enough to give her an easy escape route.
Coming here early was a mistake, though. During the past thirty minutes, she’d watched little girls get on and off the horses, helped by their mothers, a few by their fathers. As the carousel turned, flashing its hand-painted colors, her thoughts turned and her feelings played out in a different direction. She grew more uptight about the things he wanted to talk to her about. The excitement inside her, the anticipation of what was undeniably a real date, was tainted by a darkness that wanted to make it crash and burn. She wanted to burn it down so the pleasure didn’t cut her with its sharp need.
When Leland set the bag down on the table, she looked up at him, startled. She’d been so lost in her head, she hadn’t been watching for his approach to wave at him. Yet he’d still found her without any trouble. That made those feelings more jagged, as did his appearance. Stressed jeans, a gold knit shirt over them, a soft-shell black jacket with a stand collar over it. Casual nice, what a man wore to tell his date he’d made an effort for her. Even if he claimed not to date.
The easy greeting on his lips died as he obviously read her expression.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said.
“Okay.” He sat down next to her, stretched an arm across the back of her chair. The length of it bracketed her body. “What do you want to do, Celeste?”
She returned her gaze to the carousel. “
I want to go back to your place.”
He regarded her silently. “And what do you want to do there?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Hmm. My floors need cleaning. I could see you on your hands and knees doing that, Celeste. Stripped naked, scrubbing my floors.”
He curved a hand over her shoulder, fingers stroking. She twitched away from him irritably and bit back a gasp as he captured the muscle between her neck and shoulder, putting enough force on that pressure point that pain resonated through her nerve endings. But it wasn’t an “ouch, stop that” pain, not for her. Instead it made her breath shorter, made her straighten her upper body and tighten her thighs, absorbing the shot of sensation straight between them. Her gaze snapped to him. His brown eyes were molten gold, the planes of his face more prominent when his expression was intent, like now, registering how she reacted to the hold.
“Take a breath,” he said. “A deep one.”
She did, and he increased that grip incrementally, wresting a tiny whimper out of her. Her lips parted, and his gaze darkened, seeing it. “It’s starting to really hurt,” she managed. Yet she didn’t want him to stop.
“I know. Do you like bruises, Celeste? Marks left on you by a Master?” He took it up one more notch and now she did catch a cry in her throat at the sharp bolt of pain. That was when he eased the pressure, the caressing follow-up of his fingers easing her body down the same way. He molded his palm over her shoulder once more, only this time to pull her closer so she was leaning inside the curve of his arm. With his other hand, he slid her chair over so they were frame to frame.
She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t know how to answer him, so she didn’t. He didn’t seem to mind. His gaze touched the stubborn set of her jaw before it coursed downward. She wore a pale green shirt with a V-neck and a short black skirt, both of which clung to her curves. The black leggings beneath the skirt tucked into brown-and-gold ankle boots. She’d dressed for him, too.
He adjusted her neckline, the stretch of the fabric allowing him to pull it to the point of her shoulder. The act exposed her bra strap, but it appeared he was more interested in the impression his fingers had left beside it. Leaning across her body, he put his mouth on her bare skin there, licking it discreetly with his clever tongue. Then he bit down, sucking hard on it.
The muscle was still throbbing, but the press of his teeth coming right behind the other pain made her reach for him, her arm curling over his wide back. It was the first time she’d had the chance to touch him. Massive muscle groups shifted beneath her touch. He wasn’t doing anything overtly inappropriate to her, but the erotic messages such a concentrated pain sent were enough to have her feeling as if she was spread out naked on his bed, trembling with terror and lust. Her fingers dug into that hard muscle and the heat of him beneath his shirt and jacket. Her cheek brushed his temple, his cropped hair. She closed her eyes, her body rigid with sensation as he added to that bruise with the force of his mouth. Her muscles liquefied when he released her, his tongue swirling over the mark, a balm.
As he straightened, one of her hands fell limply to his knee, the other curled in his jacket at the shoulder. He met her gaze. “I’m hungry,” he said casually. “So I’m going to eat. Then I’ll decide what you need.”
She made herself take her hands away from him, fold them in her lap. Tried to keep her voice from shaking. “I can leave. I’m not hungry anymore.”
“Yeah, you can leave. If all you want is to go back to my place and fuck each other blind, you can find that plenty of other places. That’s not what you’re getting with me.”
She pressed her lips together. She’d known at gut level he’d respond exactly that way to her desperate attempt to turn this into only sex. He made her feel unbalanced, on edge. She should get up and walk away. But she didn’t.
Once a few weighted seconds passed, he shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over the back of his chair. The knit shirt had long sleeves that followed the contours of his arms. He drew a covered takeout bowl out of the bag with packets of crunchy noodles and sauce. After opening the bowl and dumping the condiments over his food, he leaned back in his chair, one ankle braced on the opposite knee, his other knee against the side of her leg. The position stretched his trouser fabric over his thigh. Holding the bowl balanced in his hand, he began to eat, to all appearances unconcerned about her. She’d said she wasn’t hungry, after all.
“What are you thinking? No, scratch that.” She held up a hand. “You said you’re eating. Men can’t do those two things together.”
He sighed, wiped his hand on a napkin on the table. “I’m thinking that you’re going to be such a pain in my ass. That mouth of yours is going to make me want to do all sorts of politically incorrect things to you.” He tilted his head, gave her a glance. “Want to get this on tape?”
“No,” she said stiffly. “Sounds like I wouldn’t want to put you to any extra effort, Sergeant.”
“Ever play truth or dare, Celly?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. She bit her lip, looked away.
Another weighted moment and he shifted, touched her knee. She saw he’d fished out the card she’d given him, was studying it. “Says right here, that’s what I’m supposed to call you.”
“But that’s not how I introduced myself.”
“No, you didn’t. You said Celly, but then you corrected yourself. You want me to call you Celeste, and it makes me wonder why.” His gaze came back to her face. “When you worked for the New Orleans paper, your social business column was done under the name Celeste De Mille, and the tone of those articles matched the name. Far more of a façade than Celly Lewis’s articles are now. So are you playing a role with me, Celeste? It’s easier to play pretend when you change names to protect the not-so-innocent?”
She picked up her light coat, got up and left. Just walked away. She left her food, which she’d really started to want, damn it, since she hadn’t had any dinner. That was fine. She’d get a pretzel from Auntie Anne’s. She walked past the tempting cinnamon pretzel bites, though, heading for the store closest to where she’d parked. She maintained a steady pace until she reached the door to the outside. She even made it outside. Then she pivoted. Waffled.
Cursing herself, she went back into the store. She wandered into the purse area, checked out some shoes. Her track took her back into the mall, ambling listlessly past some window displays.
When she eventually arrived back at the carousel, he was still there, though he’d finished his meal. She didn’t know whether to be insulted by his presumption or relieved. That was her problem, wasn’t it? When it came to approaching relationships, she was like Jekyll and Hyde. She wouldn’t want to date her, so she couldn’t blame anyone else for feeling the same.
That thought nearly made her turn around and leave for real. Except his arm was stretched out along the chair where she’d been, as if he was waiting for her. He took up a lot of space, so whoever sat down in that chair had to be someone okay being intimately close to him. Based on the second glances women passing by were giving him, she thought they’d be more than willing to give that a go, even if he was a total stranger.
But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at her. Her steps slowed but they still brought her to him. She sat down. All she had to do was lean back to have his arm against her shoulders. Instead she sat straight, her gaze on the carousel.
“The night that was too good to be true,” she said. “The Dom called me Celeste. The way he said it, I could tell he knew it was my real name. That the only fake part of the pen name was ‘De Mille.’ But it was more than that. It was the first time someone ever said my name and it felt real, like it meant a real person. Substantial, not a reflection of someone else, but who I was, soul deep. I wanted… When I introduced myself to you at Jai’s, I wanted to hear how you said it. And it felt the same. Maybe better.”
She took a breath. “So if you think I’m a pain in the ass, and I’m not worth any more
of your time, well, fuck you. Give me my food and I’ll go do better things with my day.”
He lifted his arm from chair, cupped the back of her head with his big hand. As he cradled her skull, his fingers caressed the base of it, her tense neck. His thumb teased the hinge of her jaw. He used that hold to turn her toward him. She lifted her gaze, not sure what she’d see in his face, but she only had a glimpse of it before he put his mouth over hers.
The other night had been an overwhelmingly intimate evening, remarkable since they hadn’t kissed once during it. That deficit made this even more potent. She’d made the barbed comment about men’s inability to do more than one thing at a time, but if that was because they put all their energy and talent into that one thing, no distractions, it wasn’t a bad thing. At all.
His arm slid around her waist under the coat she’d donned, turning her toward him so her right breast was against his chest as he kept his other hand cradling her head. He held her still as he coaxed her lips apart and let his tongue slide in against hers, trace and tease. His lips were a sensual pressure that she couldn’t resist, so she tried to taste him as well, licking at his mouth, nipping at his tongue, her hands finding purchase on his chest, holding on to his shirt, kneading like a cat.
When he kissed her, his arms around her, holding her so securely, the world disappeared. The parts of herself that usually interfered with the feelings unfurling inside her now disappeared as well. Instead, a plea resonated through her chest and down to the very core of who she was. A core that had been asleep for so long it roused like Sleeping Beauty, with a groggy “Where the hell have you been?”
Soul Rest: A Knights of the Board Room Novel Page 8
