by Zara Cox
She averted her gaze again, staring long and deep into the fire.
I recaptured her foot, massaging her instep as she tapped a finger restlessly against the glass. ‘My parents didn’t abuse us physically, but they didn’t think twice about abandoning us when we were young. I was too stubborn to accept that. Hell, I believed I could single-handedly fix our dysfunctional family. So I pushed and I pushed until it broke us.’
I opened my mouth to ask, but she sent me a look that drove the words back down my throat. ‘Tell me another story,’ she commanded.
My mistress was fully back in residence and I wasn’t allowed to deny her.
I didn’t want to.
I raised her other foot, kissed her in exactly the same spot. This time she didn’t pull away.
And it scared me shitless how pleased that made me.
* * *
My euphoric state lasted for another mind-melting twenty-four hours.
Another day filled with sex, conversation, good food cooked together and more sex. We barely slept for more than a couple of hours.
No surface within the cabin was left un-christened by Graciela’s sizzling demands. More than her blinding, more frequent smiles and the intelligence that shone from her eyes when we discussed the diverse topics that captivated us both, it was the siren-like fire in her eyes just before she ordered me to fulfil a desire that stoked a craving in my soul I was beginning to suspect would never be equalled once this thing was over. It was the reason a knot of dread had taken up residence in my stomach at the thought of it ending.
The force of the storm had lessened, snow falling with less frequency in the last half-day. I’d taken the coward’s way out and avoided checking the weather forecast.
We couldn’t stay here for ever, but I could sure as hell enjoy whatever hours we had left. Her favourite setting for fucking was in front of the fire, but, for the sake of extra comfort, we’d relocated to the bed last night and promptly fallen asleep.
Our limbs were tangled together, her head on my shoulder as she breathed, deep and steady. I was turning into one of those corny idiots who even enjoyed the way his woman slept, unable to help my smile as I stared down at her.
Even in slumber, Graciela Mortimer remained a Dominant. One leg rested over both of mine, her arm firmly anchoring my middle. If I weren’t miles stronger than her, I’d remain pinned in place until she decided to let me go.
And fucking hell, I liked her wanting to keep me close even in sleep. I glanced at the window, willing the snow to start falling again.
But after an hour of lazing about in bed, when my prayers weren’t answered, I eased away from her. Restlessness that usually drove me outside for a walk in the woods or exercising the dogs, regardless of the time of year, sent me downstairs to my office.
Sitting at my desk with my camera, I scrolled through the pictures I’d taken for Graciela.
The perfectionist in me was pleased to see there were several exceptional ones she could use for her magazine, with more shots on autofocus that I could use to make an interactive video for the digital version of her magazine if she wanted. I was confident I had everything she needed.
But my reason for coming to my office had nothing to do with work right now. I scrolled until I reached the one I wanted. Connecting the camera to my laptop, I sent the image to print, my breath stalled as the machine spat out a single portrait, glossy photo. On a wild impulse I printed off another five in various exposures to make an even half-dozen.
I placed them up at vantage points in my office, playing with the lighting and scrutinising each one critically from a different angle.
As I experimented, an idea began to form in my head, excitement building in my chest.
Graciela Mortimer was without doubt the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her unique beauty, the light she tried to hide needed to be stoked. Kept alive.
I sat down at my desk, fingers flying over the keyboard as I activated my emails. As suspected, there were over two dozen emails from my office and a handful from my agent. I ignored them all, typing up an email of my own. The Internet was patchy and probably wouldn’t send for a good few hours, but I didn’t care. It would take a few emails to get this project under way, but I set the ball rolling, smiled as I slammed the laptop shut. My agent would be thrilled. She’d been pushing me in the direction of holding another exclusive show, since my first and only show had become a runaway hit.
That show, purely based on a series of photos I’d taken, had snowballed into a wild, insane juggernaut, with awards, book deals and insane amounts of money thrown my way to add to the small fortune I already had in the bank, guaranteeing I wouldn’t have to work another day in my life if I didn’t want to. It’d been more than a little disconcerting, truth be told. The only reason the furore had eventually died down several months later was because I’d taken an assignment to Papua New Guinea, one I knew would last three months. My absence had done the trick of granting me a modicum of privacy and normality.
The memory sobered me.
Was that what Graciela went through on a daily basis? As a child born into a powerful and influential family, she’d been the cynosure of rabid, relentless interest probably before she could walk. My interaction with social media was selective, getting involved only where it pertained to my work, but technology made blaring headlines impossible to ignore. I knew the kind of hellish media attention she and her family garnered, the kind of invasion of privacy that dogged her every waking hour.
She’d lived with it all her life, so was it any wonder she was wary and instantly suspicious of anyone wielding a camera?
Would she think of my burgeoning idea in those terms?
No. This was different. It would be special. A celebration rather than an invasion. Hopefully a prelude to...something else.
I drew back from putting a label on it, though the curious churning in my gut wanted to delve headlong into dissecting just what it was I felt for her.
The last three days had been illuminating. I’d caught more frequent glimpses of the woman beneath the powerful surname. Discovered her previous relationships had been just as ultimately unsatisfying as mine. That she hadn’t taken a submissive in a while. Selfishly, that’d pleased me. I wasn’t magnanimous enough to be the kind of guy who made accommodation for other prospects when it came to the woman I was interested in.
She had no entanglements in London. Or New York. Or wherever it was she was heading back to once we left my cabin. As primitive as it sounded, I wanted to be the only man occupying her thoughts while she was with me.
And when she left? What then?
I clenched my fist at the hollow in my belly at the thought of it.
Yeah, I was dangerously straying into obsession. Had probably done so already. Yet the thought didn’t terrify me as much as it would’ve a handful of days ago. My gaze fell back on her pictures. Maybe we could make this work outside this wilderness bubble.
Shit, I was licked if I was already factoring her into my future.
Would that be so bad?
The answer never formed, the door creaking open redirecting my thoughts to the present.
She stood in the doorway, a blanket drawn around her body, her hair sexily dishevelled. Lips I’d feasted on repeatedly last night were still swollen and the sight of her bare feet curling into the wooden floor was seriously arousing.
Fuck me, but she was breathtaking.
‘I don’t remember giving you permission to leave me alone in bed.’
The firm, hot dominating voice immediately triggered a fever inside me, fire licking through my blood. Before I took my next breath, my cock was hardening, my fingers tingling with the need to submit, to please, to hand over my surrender to her.
‘I would be very happy to return there if that’s what you wish, min elskerinde.’
She started to answ
er but then her gaze fell on the pictures. Eyes widening, she stepped into the room. ‘What is this?’
The stiff note in her voice made me tense. ‘I was going through the images on my camera and—’
‘And you decided to print out pictures of me?’ Her voice was hushed but stiffer with growing wariness.
I spread my hands to lighten the mood. ‘Hey, it’s no big deal. I just wanted to see the images in different lights.’
She turned from the one propped up on the shelf, her eyes suspicious. ‘Why? Your project isn’t about me, remember?’
I bit the inside of my cheek, reluctant to share my idea with her just yet. In this mood, I suspected she’d say no out of ingrained habit.
Once I presented the full picture, she’d know my intentions were honourable. I took the most direct cop-out. ‘I’m aware of what my brief is. This is the way I work, Graciela.’
A trace of suspicion receded from her eyes, but she remained wary as she glanced at the pictures. It was part of the set I’d taken outside the tent as she’d stared up at the aurora borealis. The naked awe on her stunning face had needed memorialising. The instinct that few people, if any, were granted the privilege of seeing this powerful woman overcome with childlike wonder compelling me to take the photos.
I wasn’t about to tell her any of that, of course.
While the past few days had revealed she’d push for the personal on occasion, she wasn’t one for prolonged introspection or subjects that dwelled on her or her family for too long.
The snippets I’d gleaned formed their own story.
She wasn’t exactly estranged from her brothers or the rest of the family, but her interactions with them were few and far between, instigated by both sides in equal measures. It was a situation that hurt her, regardless of how much she tried to deny it.
I started to gather the pictures, intending to put them away. But a wild urge stopped me.
Besides the wariness and suspicion, there’d been something else in her expression when she’d looked at her pictures just now.
An expression of...surprise.
As if she was seeing herself in this light for the first time. I wasn’t letting the opportunity slip me by. I wanted her to rediscover whatever she’d had taken from her by her family or the world at large. And hell, I was playing with fire, risking whatever time we had left with this impromptu experiment that could blow up in my face.
But wasn’t taking risks part of my life? My soul?
Her voice certainly called into question my sanity as she trailed me out of the office. ‘What the hell are you doing, Jensen?’
She could stop me at any time, command me to destroy the pictures, and I would do it. I was still hers to command; had a feeling I would be far longer than the snowstorm lasted.
But even that disturbing admission didn’t stop me from walking across the room to place one picture over the fireplace. The second one I attached to the fridge door, the next on the fourth step.
The fourth I pinned to the front door, the fifth on the coffee table next to the sofa, where she tended to place her wineglass. The last one I was saving for the bedroom.
‘Jensen.’ Her voice shook with warning as she watched me.
Hands empty, I faced her. ‘I want you to see yourself the way I see you.’
She refused to look at the pictures. ‘And how’s that?’ she sneered.
‘Beautiful. Breathtaking. Full of wonder.’
Her hands bunched tightly over the blanket until her knuckles turned white. ‘Instead of? Just how do you think I see myself?’
Crap, this had turned way heavier than I’d anticipated, but I didn’t back away from it. ‘The labels you call yourself are other people’s opinion of you. And yet I think deep down you believe them, don’t you?’
Her lips firmed, mutiny in her silence.
‘You’re not spoilt. If you were, you wouldn’t have sent your team away and braved the elements with me with nothing but a phone and a change of clothes. You hate sitting back and being waited on hand and foot even though it’s my privilege to serve you like that.’
Her hazel eyes darkened. ‘I like control. That’s all this is, nothing more.’
I shook my head. ‘No, it’s not. Control is one thing. Consideration is another. Beneath all that bristling you’re a good person, Graciela. I just wish you would see that yourself.’
‘I’m not. If I was, I wouldn’t be alone,’ she grated in a harsh whisper, her jaw tightening as she attempted to hold herself together.
More than anything I wanted to go to her, take her in my arms, but I suspected this would end very quickly if I moved from where I stood. ‘You’re not alone. You’re here. With me.’
‘For how long?’ She glanced out of the window. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, the storm is over.’
‘That doesn’t mean we have to be.’
She inhaled sharply. ‘That wasn’t what we agreed.’
I shrugged. ‘Agreements can change. Nothing is set in stone. The beauty of being adults is that we can change our minds. What’s to stop us from making a new one?’
A light glinted in her eyes, but a moment later she shook her head. ‘You’re deluded. Or probably suffering from cabin fever or some such nonsense.’
My gut churned harder. ‘Don’t trivialise my emotions.’
Her face hardened. ‘You’re disappointing me, Jensen.’
‘Am I? Why?’ I dared.
I could tell I’d stumped her. That made me smile. ‘I may be submissive, min elskerinde. But I’m not weak.’
She frowned. ‘I never thought you were.’
‘Are you sure? Were you not hoping to discover some flaw that would make it easier to end this?’
‘Is that what we’re doing right now? Ending this? Because I could’ve sworn you were pushing for more.’
‘While you’re simply trying to push me away.’
‘Stop it, Jensen. Just...stop.’
‘Is that an order, mistress?’
‘Yes,’ she snarled. ‘It’s an order.’
I moved then, reluctantly walked past her into the kitchen. ‘The coffee is just about ready. Would you like some?’
I could tell my obedience was throwing her. Heck, this morning wasn’t going quite how she had expected it to go.
Join the club.
I was feeling pretty damn raw and exposed myself. But what had I expected? In pushing her to accept a different version of herself, I’d bared my own needs. That I was way too invested in what was happening in this cabin.
Preparing coffee gave me something to do, and I gleefully ignored the yearnings rampaging through me as I grabbed the mugs and poured the beverage. Turning, I caught her gaze on the picture above the fireplace.
She presented me with her profile as I handed her the coffee, waves of displeasure emanating from her. But then, she surprised me by taking a seat on the sofa, right next to where her other picture lay face up on the coffee table.
Her gaze swept down to it for a moment before she sucked in a long breath and took a sip of coffee.
‘Would you like some breakfast?’ I asked.
She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry.’
My hands clenched around my mug.
The thought that I’d triggered an early end date for us slashed panic through me. I held it together, joining her on the sofa. I intended to sit next to her, but at the last-minute I sank lower to the floor.
My arm brushed her leg. Breath held, I waited for her move.
Seconds ticked into minutes. We drank our coffee. Then I felt her fingers, whisper-light against my temple. I stilled, barely breathing.
Her fingers slid deeper into my hair, brushing against my scalp in that firm, insistent way that sent shivers down my spine. As I predicted, she gathered the mass at the bas
e of my skull, gripped it in her fist and used the pressure to tilt my head.
Our gazes met. Locked. She pushed. I parried.
She exhaled. ‘Whatever it is you’re doing, it’s not going to work, you know.’
‘I disagree.’
Her grip eased a fraction and I was absurdly terrified she was about to let me go.
‘Tell me about the whales,’ she said.
The whales. My life-changing underwater experience. The most profound moment of my life thus far.
I denied the deliberate distraction, nudged my head at the picture. ‘Tell me about the last time you felt like that before two nights ago.’
Searing pain clouded her eyes and she shook her head.
‘Tell me,’ I insisted. ‘Lighten your burden by sharing it with me, Graciela.’
She stared at me for several seconds, her expression wavering. She released my hair. And a dark, thick hollow invaded my stomach. It lingered only for a moment because she touched me again, this time nudging my head onto her thigh.
I held myself stiff, instinctively sensing she needed the silence to delve beneath the surface of her pain.
CHAPTER EIGHT
HE WAS ASKING the impossible.
Demanding the forbidden. Asking me to rip my chest open, show him my shredded heart? When had that ever helped?
I had literal proof that it didn’t. Every effort I’d made to connect, to correct, had turned to dust.
His hand wrapped around my calf. Warm. Solid. Present. Grounding me for the first time since I came downstairs.
I’d woken up in a wild panic and before I could put my finger on why, my heart was racing. It’d taken half a second to realise the primary reason for my anxiety. It was because Jensen wasn’t beside me. The secondary because the snow had stopped. I was torn right down the middle between accepting that this wasn’t just a casual fling and grasping the out that Mother Nature was handing me.
The latter had diminished within seconds, leaving a searing sense of loss.
The weight of it had compelled me out of bed, the need to see Jensen driving me.
