Velvet, Leather & Lace

by Suzanne Forster, Donna Kauffman

  Until now. He was forcing her to decide what she wanted. Making her choose. She didn’t know what she wanted…but she did know she wasn’t ready to walk away. “No,” she told him. “I don’t want to leave. Yet.” She hadn’t meant to deliver that last part in such a taunting manner. She couldn’t seem to help herself. That was her modus operandi, after all, wasn’t it? Pushing him away when what she really wanted was to pull him closer?

  He was a skilled lover, understood his body and hers, was unselfconscious about that and totally unselfish about pleasing her. She shuddered a little, remembering just how well he’d learned to please her. Looking at him now, she wondered where that patient, quiet lover had disappeared to. Maybe this power she spied in him had been there all along, and he’d simply thought he didn’t need it with her. It might have been a relief to have someone else take charge for a change.

  So, what had changed? Why did he think he needed it back now?

  “Good,” he told her, his eyes betraying his amusement. As if he knew she’d fight him every step of the way.

  Another little shiver of awareness raced through her. The gleam in his eye was decidedly predatory…and emotional. Both revelations shook her. In that moment she understood that if this was a game, it was a decidedly serious one for him. He held all the cards. And if she didn’t play what he dealt her, it was very likely she would never see him again.

  It shouldn’t have bothered her. In fact, it should have incensed her, that he thought he had to do this. Instead, her stomach fluttered at the thought of losing him. Her heart tripped, them stumbled…just a little. Which meant…what?

  “Mar—” That was as far as she got before he slid the end of the crop to her chin and tipped her mouth closed.

  “There will be time for talk later.”

  She arched one brow, prepared to deliver a sharp rebuke, but when he drew the crop tip down along the side of her neck, her shivery sigh belied any real irritation his heavy-handedness had stirred in her. He made her gasp when he suddenly, and quite expertly flipped the edge of her cloak open.

  There was a pause, then maybe the slightest quirk to the corner of his mouth as he spied the edges of her lacy bra. She wanted to smile at him, gloat a bit over keeping some command of the situation. Only when his lips smoothed, and his gaze flickered back up to hers, did she feel a twinge of embarrassment. She’d disappointed him. By doing exactly what he’d apparently known she’d do.

  Did she do that to him often? She hadn’t thought so, but going back over some of their interludes, perhaps she had been a bit more controlling than even she’d realized. Her rationale was that she was merely protecting herself, both of them really, from getting hurt. And besides, it wasn’t as though he hadn’t always had a good time. It was her experience that most men didn’t really care who called the shots as long as everyone got theirs. And Marsh always got his…and then some.

  Now she realized that maybe what he’d gotten hadn’t been all he’d wanted. Or needed. The idea confused her, had her guard wavering. And it was obvious a moment later that he’d noticed it, because he took full advantage. With a flick of his wrist he twisted the loops on the crop so they snagged the heavy bow, tied at her throat. Before she could react, the cloak had slithered off and lay in a pool of leather and silk at her feet.

  She’d pictured doing exactly this, putting herself on display for him, out by the pool. Only now that he’d chosen the moment, that he’d done the disrobing, she didn’t feel remotely as though she was in the superior position. Normally she’d have squared her shoulders, dared him with a direct look that demanded to know if he liked what he saw. She might have even turned around, arms held out, taunted him a little.

  Her inability to let go bothered her. He’d wanted to do something exciting, and she couldn’t even let herself play along.

  Her gaze shot to his. His expression was unreadable, but he held her gaze definitively. And didn’t look at all at her body. Whatever power, whatever control she had over this situation, over him, was rapidly deserting her. She didn’t understand any of this. And, oddly enough, she wasn’t wanting to wrest control back from him. Not right that second anyway. Her curiosity was too strong now. Both to discover what it was he wanted from her…and whether or not she’d be able to give it to him.

  And for the first time in her adult life, Samantha Wallace worried that she might fail at something.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “TAKE THEM OFF,” Marsh commanded softly, fighting to keep the edge from his voice.

  He couldn’t waver in this. He had to trust his instincts, follow through with his plan. He’d expected her to taunt him again, to try and wrest control of the situation away from him. Instead, the look in her eyes had revealed she was somewhat shaken, almost abashed. It was a reaction so foreign to the woman he knew, that, despite the fact that it was exactly what he’d wanted, it made him that much more aware of just how dangerous this little game could be. He didn’t want to hurt her. In any way.

  Then her shoulders squared a little, and that flash sprang back to life in her eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  Once again he had to fight the urge to smile. He shouldn’t be so relieved. He needed her to let her guard down as she had moments ago. But this was also the Samantha he loved. He wanted both. Needed to know she could give all the parts of herself to him.

  “I hadn’t intended to make you beg for anything,” he replied and saw her body quiver, felt his own body leap to life. He’d never considered whether he even could make her beg. She certainly had that power over him. But he had no desire to push her in that way. This was about willingly giving control over to someone you trust. Nothing more. But absolutely nothing less.

  Yet, he saw in her eyes that she was realizing he might, in fact, have that kind of power over her. If he wasn’t mistaken—and he could clearly see through the thin silk of her bra that he wasn’t—she was aroused by the idea. Very much so, in fact.

  As, it turned out, was he.

  Control, he was swiftly coming to realize, was going to be a double-edged sword this evening. He’d have to be quite careful not to slice himself on it.

  He watched as she grappled with this most recent revelation. As expected, she slowly stood straighter, held his gaze levelly. She wasn’t going to give an inch to him. Not until he made her want to.

  “What happens if I don’t take them off?” she taunted, jutting her chin toward the crop he still held in his hand. “You’ll whip me?”

  She was so stunningly beautiful in her imperiousness, clearly certain he would never do such a thing to her. And she was right about that. But as long as she held herself so tightly in control, she’d never unbend enough to let him in. Not to all the innermost places he most desired. To the center of her heart.

  To get there, he had to keep her off balance. He didn’t want her to be so certain of him. “Are you pushing me?” he asked, letting his mouth curve in a deep, knowing smile. “To see how far I’m willing to go to get what I want?”

  Her eyes flared, but not in anger. His response had shaken her. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, real confusion clear in her voice.

  His fingers tightened on the crop as he resisted the urge to throw it down and pull her into his arms. He didn’t like seeing her shaken and confused. His instincts warred with one another. To push forward, get past this to what lay ahead? Or give up, console her, let her return to her comfort zone, let her take control again.

  He knew the answer. And it wasn’t an easy one. He had to exploit the chinks in her armor when they appeared. There were so few. So rather than answer her oh-so-vulnerably asked question, he drew the tip of the crop along the swell of her breasts, then traced the lacy edge to her bra. “I want you to take this off.”

  She jerked in awareness at the caress of soft leather on even softer skin, her chest rising and falling more rapidly as he drew the crop down along her bare midsection…then traced it along the whisper-thin, lacy edging of her panties.

&n
bsp; “These, too.” His own heart pounding, he struggled to flick his gaze casually up to hers, as easily, as smoothly as he flicked the tip of that crop oh, so lightly across one nipple. “Now,” he commanded softly.

  She gasped, her body jerked and he knew damn well it was in pleasure. Desire punched her pupils wide, and he could see her body quivering. But she immediately lifted her chin. “Or else what? I know you won’t use that on me.”

  He flicked the tip again, eliciting a soft, surprised moan from her.

  She fought to regain her composure, but her voice was huskier when she spoke. “I meant you wouldn’t—”

  “I know what you meant. There are other ways of getting you to give me what I want that have nothing to do with pain.”

  He watched her fight to regroup, to regain her control. She didn’t argue the point, because they both knew he was right. When she finally lifted her gaze to his, her eyes were slightly less focused. The desire he saw there was palpable. She could try and brazen her way through it, but she couldn’t hide it. “So if I refuse…then what?”

  “Are you saying you’re unwilling to go further?”

  “So the night would be over then?” she countered. “We’re over?”

  Just hearing her say that made his heart tighten. “We can’t go back now, Sam,” he said quietly. “We can only go on.”

  He watched as a myriad of emotions played across her face, but she doggedly continued. “You picked a hell of a time to push me like this. I—”

  “When would there be a better time?” he queried softly.

  She held his gaze, but in the end, she only said, “So, to go on means I have to—”

  He flicked the crop to her chin, just enough that she snapped her mouth shut to avoid feeling it land on her skin. It did anyway…but he knew the touch was soft, gentle. She’d never feel anything else from him. If she didn’t know that by now, trust him in that way now, she would before leaving here. “Do as I request,” he finished.

  “You mean command,” she said shakily, if still defiantly.

  “Would it be so awful? To give me whatever I want?” He stepped closer, ran the crop along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone. “Have I ever given you reason to think I’d hurt you, or any living thing?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then trust that I know what I’m doing now.” He let the leather loops drop into the soft crevasse between her breasts. “You do trust me, don’t you, Samantha?”

  He was so close now, he could smell her. Both the spicy scent she dabbed on her pulse points…and the scent that was pure Sam. His ache for her grew, if that were possible, forcing him to lock the muscles in his thighs to keep steady.

  In her heels, she held his gaze squarely, but said nothing.

  So he pushed. Slowly, he drew the loop over one nipple, peaking hard through the satin cup of her bra. It made her jerk again, made her gasp.

  “Do you trust me, Samantha?” He flicked the loop to her other nipple, which hardened instantly. Her breath came out in a shuddering sigh. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Answer me.”

  He saw the war waging behind those beautiful blue eyes of hers. He hoped she was coming to realize that he could have an even greater power over her than this physical, sexual one. That she could come to care for him in ways that left her unable to protect herself, to protect her heart.

  She’d already done that to him. And it was exactly that risk he was pushing her to take. “You understand what it is you really fear, don’t you,” he murmured. “Trust me with that, too.”

  Her chin wavered as his meaning sank in. He drew the crop down her belly, then lower, down the front panel of her panties. She moaned softly, her breath coming in quick pants now. His heart was thundering and the fact that the silk panel clung to her told him how wet she was, how aroused she was. In fact, all he had to do was slide it down another inch and— He jerked his gaze back to hers. “Tell me, Samantha.” He slid the loop a tiny bit farther between her legs, fighting to keep his own legs from shaking.

  She could have rocked herself forward, taken what she wanted from him, proven to him that she would never willingly let him rule the situation in any way. Instead she squeezed her eyes shut and stood perfectly still. It was a telling moment. And yet she still gave nothing. She simply couldn’t make herself completely capitulate.

  He leaned closer, careful to keep his only contact to the tip of his crop, pressing into the increasingly damp silk panel of her panties. “Tell me what you’re afraid of,” he whispered next to her ear.

  Her eyes blinked open. And for an excruciatingly taut moment, he thought she was going to tell him. But at the last possible second, she shifted her body forward, deciding to take what she wanted after all. Rather than risk giving anything of herself—her real self—to him.

  Disappointed but not surprised, he snapped the crop away. Patience was his strong suit, but even he was aware how close he was treading to the edge of his control. Rather than risk her discovering any vulnerability on his part, he turned abruptly, headed for the stairs.

  “Wait,” she blurted, more plea than command in her voice this time.

  He paused, one foot on the first riser, but didn’t dare look back at her. When she didn’t say anything else, he began to climb the stairs.

  “Damn you, Marshall Conley.”

  He kept climbing.

  “Fine,” she called out. “Go ahead and go. I don’t need this ridiculous…test, or whatever the hell you think this is. I’ve got a lot of people counting on me. I shouldn’t even be here. I sure as hell don’t need you.”

  He paused at the top stair and looked back down at her. She was something, his Nordic blond temptress. Only she wasn’t his. And he wondered now if she ever would be. “Did it ever occur to you that you could count on someone? I thought we needed each other. My mistake.”

  His heart felt like a burning knot in his chest. It had been stupid to think he could push her like this, that this was the way to get past her defense to what lay inside her heart. But what choice did he have? Somehow, going the conventional route, sharing a bottle of wine and some serious conversation over dinner, just wasn’t a realistic alternative. Not with Samantha. She’d simply reel off a list of reasons as long as those fabulous legs of hers as to why a real, committed relationship would never work between them. Then seduce him back into bed. Nothing would change between them. She’d never risk it.

  No, for her to really understand what she could have, what they could have together…he had to make her vulnerable enough that she’d finally let herself expose that need, her own need for more. And he only knew one way to do that, to get her there, and that way was positive and good and pleasurable.

  So, if this wasn’t going to work, then he didn’t know what would.

  Hell, maybe he’d read her all wrong and she really didn’t want anything more than the physical relationship they shared. He was about to apologize, to offer to call her a car and whatever else she wanted, when she opened her mouth, and said, “Okay.”

  She’d said it very quietly, so quietly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her, or if it had just been wishful thinking. “Okay, what?” he asked.

  Still holding his gaze, she reached for her bra strap.

  His pulse rocketed up so fast he felt light-headed. “Slowly,” he choked out, scraping together every last ounce of control he had.

  Her gaze narrowed slightly, but it was all-or-nothing time now. He knew that. He had to be a worthy match for her. He knew that now, too. Capitulation on his part wouldn’t serve either one of them.

  She held his gaze defiantly…then she did as he asked.

  Watching as she slid those silk cups down and over her nipples had him gripping the banister so hard his knuckles ached. It was the least he deserved in this. It shouldn’t, after all, be easy on either of them. His body twitched and twitched hard as she slowly pushed her panties down her thighs and calves, then kicked them away, before looking back up at him, bared to
him completely.

  He began to descend the stairs then. And it took considerably more control than he expected to keep from grabbing her and pulling her to him. Or under him. He’d seen her naked, seen every inch of her in fact, many times over. And yet this was so entirely different.

  His gaze roamed her body, from head to toe, and it was more electric, more intimate, than any of the hundreds of times he’d touched her before.

  Her breathing grew shallower as he stopped just a foot away. Her body quivered when his lips twitched, then spread. The smile he finally bestowed on her was nothing like any he’d ever given her before. But then, she’d never given him this much of herself.

  “Now,” he said softly, his voice rough with emotion, “we can begin.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SAMANTHA WAITED…for what she wasn’t entirely sure. His next request? She wasn’t used to waiting on someone else to decide the next course of action. Professionally, or personally. Which Marsh apparently knew, as he let the silence between them spin out.

  Damn, but he was beautiful, she couldn’t help but thinking. Had always thought so. Dark good looks, quietly deliberate in word and deed, like some kind of mysterious fallen angel.

  But the most shocking discovery of all, as she stood and simply held his gaze, neither regally, nor with any submission at all, was that rather than feel subjugated in any way, she felt…free. Complete, unfettered freedom. It wasn’t about power, or who had control. It was simply about…being.

  As he walked past her, then around behind her, she stood as casually still as possible. And yet she found it impossible. She didn’t have the urge to preen, or show off, or even entice. Her entire body responded to his drawn-out appraisal. Her skin grew warmer, her thighs trembled. She realized, when he didn’t come around in front of her again, that she wanted to see his face, interpret his expression. She wanted to see…what? If he approved? She knew damn well he approved of her body.