by Beth Mikell
Ivy hit the schedule icon to find her first appointment at an exclusive spa for pampering and relaxation, clothing to be provided for the evening event. She sneered at the entry, so sure Carson wrote it himself.
As she pondered his impending demise, her personal phone (a burner) rang. She dug it out of her purse, cringing as she saw the name flash over the screen. Alistair. Her partner in crime. Her go-to guy for heist Intel. Just what she didn’t need right now, yet she answered.
“Tremaine.”
“Hello, sexy. How are you?”
His smooth voice grazed over her ears, imagining his dark brown eyes and sandy blonde hair. “Good.” She wasn’t, though.
He chuckled. “How busy are you next weekend? I’ve gotta hot tip you might enjoy. Might set you up indefinitely.”
Ivy pinched the bridge of her nose, a headache beating double time behind her eyes. “Find someone else, Alistair. I’ve got some personal stuff to take care of for a while.”
“What? How can that be? When I spoke to you yesterday, you were going in for a possible job today. What happened?”
“Like I said, it’s personal. I’ll be out of reach for several months.”
He gasped. “What the fuck? Are you crazy? You can’t fall off the grid now!” He fumed. “You’re one of the most talented—”
“Calm down, Alistair. It wasn’t what I was expecting either, but I haven’t a choice.” Understatement much, but try explaining that to the scoundrel.
“B-but it’s a transport, you love those!”
“Yeah, well, I also love cupcakes with sprinkles, but you don’t see me bitching about it!” Sure, a transport heist was the easiest and the least dangerous, but she’d promised her husband she’d lay off thievery… submitting to his terms.
“Whoa, who pissed on your bagel this morning, sexy? I mean, c’mon, it’s me,” Alistair said, his voice dropping low with concern.
As much as she yearned to share it, she couldn’t—wouldn’t. “Sorry, I can’t talk about it right now. If I get some free time, I’ll call you, okay?” So sure she wouldn’t, given her control freak husband watching her every move. The man excelled at disrupting every part of her life, including her well mapped out career and nerves—now torn to shreds.
“Ivy, I can’t accept this. At least give me something—some reason you’re backing out.”
“Don’t call again, Alistair. Consider it blackout.” She ended the call. He should understand her ‘blackout’ comment, he’d used it a time or two for his own personal issues.
With nimble fingers, she reset the phone to factory setting on the high-end burner, erasing all data. She popped out the SD card, sliding the tiny black square into her makeup bag with intent to restore later at a more convenient time. There, tracks covered. She wouldn’t take any chances with Carson—the man would eat her alive for any wrong step. In fact, at the first opportunity, she’d ditch the phone.
She shook her head with a sigh, resuming her tablet perusal and flipped into the email…
To: Ivy Wilde
From: Carson Wilde
Subject: Understanding
Midnight,
Reminder: 3 months. Meet me in the middle.
I’ll pick you up at 6pm.
Carson Wilde, CEO of Wilde Industries
More commands? Ivy hit the reply button with intent to put him in his asinine place, but deleted her rant with shaky fingers. What more could she say? She’d lived her whole life playing it cool—an example would be her art thief profession. Stealing came easy. Disguise comfortable. She’d always been quick minded, fast and clever, however one look or touch from her estranged husband and he offset the balance, fighting her for freedom. She couldn’t fathom what he truly wanted.
Sex? Okay, they could rewrite the Kama Sutra and still be creative… that wasn’t the problem. For her, why the heck he wanted her truly bothered her. He was a rich, handsome—mostly intelligent man—so why her? Why care if he married a thief? Why did she get the sense he clamored after noble and righteous to a fault?
With a shake of her head, she looked out the window, finding no answers and arriving at her first appointment. Fine, she’d deal. Three months wasn’t that long. Carson promised ten million at the end, and it was legitimate money without guilt.
As the driver opened her car door, her hand fisted on the burner phone and with elegant sophistication, she exited the limo. She tossed the device in a trash bin on her way into the exclusive spa… a sense of freedom stole over her. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t running and it felt damned nice.
****
After several hours of pampering… massage, facial, hair, and makeup (the whole shebang), Ivy sat comfortably in the spa chair, basking in utter relaxation awaiting her evening dress to be delivered. She needed this down time, though how she came to be here burnt her cupcake. If she overlooked Carson’s control freakiness and his substantial looming threat to her life he held over her head, she knew he claimed hot by every physical sense. Damn him for knowing how to push her buttons!
Mentally, she struggled with the truth of his game. What did he want? Make her grovel? He hadn’t. Did he want to embarrass her? It scarcely seemed likely given he wanted to publicly declare their wedding. Maybe he wanted to end everything and needed a world audience to set the stage—then embarrass her. That she could choke down, she supposed. Carson wasn’t a man to do things lightly. He planned, arranged, and moved according to his own drum, hence his billions. But, why the statue? Why commission a work of art based on a Vegas disaster? Why care?
Before sifting through her troubled thoughts, her dress arrived. She stilled in her chair—at a loss for words. It was her dress… or rather, a slightly altered variation. The beautiful, gauzy gray cocktail dress, off one shoulder creation appeared stunning. How and why threaded through her mind, but without her husband in front of her, she’d find no answers until she saw him. More mind games? What the hell was he up to?
Short minutes later, she stood in front of the full-length mirror, impressed. It felt a bit unusual to be putting on her own dress she hadn’t worn in two years. Her midnight hair drawn up, her makeup perfect, her skin, soft and glowing. She wore Louboutin’s in a subdued brown mixed gray suede, a delicate match, while her green eyes were soft with a measure of confusion. A brief glance up at the wall clock revealed six sharp. He was probably waiting for her.
And he was.
Carson stood just in the spa doorway a brilliant combination of handsome. He’d changed, she noted, out of his dark blue three-piece suit into a black tuxedo, looking extra fine—something unattainable. He took over the entry from his impressive height to the thick wall of his chest, and several women were openly ogling him, yet he didn’t seem to notice them. His black hair shone against his bronzed skin, while his amazing blue eyes, feathered a brooding, pensive stare as she neared. She swallowed a throat full of desire-mixed-confusion—the tightening in her chest and between her legs unbearable. For one hot second, she wanted his hands all over. He was an anomaly to her, a strange breed of man she thought to never understand. Carson intrigued her and that was bad. As with any fascination, came her desire to possess. With possession came torment. She had to steal herself away from caring, no matter what.
“Hello Midnight,” he whispered, grasping her hand and touching his lips across her knuckles. “You look…” he trailed off, his gaze traveling the length of her. It was as if he lost his ability to speak, his eyes narrowing.
“I look…?”
A trace of a smile came to his lips, a strange shadow twisting his face. “Beautiful.” He threaded her arm through his. “Shall we?”
Ivy inclined her head. “Where are we going?”
“Didn’t you read your schedule?” He led her over to his limo.
She rolled her eyes, feeling five years old under his chastising tone. “Only regarding the first appointment.”
Carson nodded, the driver opening the door. “Well, if you’d read further yo
u’d know we are headed to a photo shoot for post wedding pictures. I’ve arranged a private sitting at a famous Japanese garden and after the shoot, we’ll have dinner.”
A sinking palpitation wove through her. “Wedding photos? Isn’t that a bit soon?”
He turned to face her, his brooding eyes impassive. “Soon? We’ve been married a year, Ivy. I wouldn’t call it soon. It’s long overdue in my opinion. You will do this—”
“Or suffer the consequences.” She interrupted. “I know, I know. It all comes back to blackmail.”
His lips pressed together. “How astute, my dear wife. If you knew the answer, why ask?”
He was baiting her, but she let it go, climbing into the limo and he followed. Ivy tried to ignore him, glaring out the window yet that was impossible. His presence dominated the whole atmosphere, and his scent a welcome inhale.
“I have something for you, Midnight.”
She closed her eyes, not looking at him. “What now? A leash, perhaps?”
“Look at me.”
Ivy peered over at him, her breath catching. Carson held open a black velvet ring box. The breathtaking jewels winked in the soft light. He plucked the rings out of their home, reaching across for her left hand.
“What are you doing?” She flexed her hand tight, unwilling to perpetuate their farce of a marriage beyond what was necessary. Rings weren’t necessary.
Carson linked his warm hand with hers, his grip steely, and his eyes cold. “For three months, you’re mine.” He slipped the rings on her finger, admiring them before placing another kiss over her hand.
She didn’t even spare the metal anchors a glance as a dark shiver rippled up her flesh, settling deep in her center from his delicious caress. She had to play this cool or risk far more than she planned—like her heart. She doth shudder.
Ivy snatched her hand back, fisting it. “Thanks for the leash.” He chuckled, surprising her.
“For a woman that will risk everything for a high priced canvas, you show remarkable intolerance for such simple things. Would you wear them more comfortably if they’d been stolen?”
She threw him a scathing look. “Scoundrel.”
His smile widened as he gathered her in his arms. “I may be, but just wait until tonight before calling me names. You may say a whole lot more.”
Ivy gasped as his mouth moved on hers, his tongue invading and licking with hot force. Toe-curling pleasure shimmied through her; a spiraling pressure squeezed her stomach in sensual, delighted knots. She moaned deep in her throat, the hedonistic power unfurling through her. No man ever kissed her with such blatant sexual hotness until her whole body throbbed.
Carson bit seductively on her lower lip. “Midnight,” he breathed. “The things I’m going to do to you.” His hand traveled up her leg, flipping under the hem of her dress.
Within her befuddled mind, Ivy barely registered his words, her body on fire. Her thighs slipped open as his hand sought higher, forgetting everything but him. She drowned in his sexy scent, his lips, and his touch, wanting more. “Please.” She clutched at his shoulders, willing him to end the tilting vertigo.
He moved through the edge of her panties, sinking two fingers inside. “So wet for me, Midnight? So hot? What may I do for you, my sweet?”
“Make me come,” she panted, her pride forgotten with his hands blazing inside her, his mouth a mighty magician. She would pay the guilt price later, but for now, she wanted whatever he’d share—right and wrong be damned.
A deep shudder rippled over him and his thumb tipped over her clitoris. “You’re mine, Midnight,” he said, caressing faster.
She groaned, her hips moving against his hand, blacking out her shame. This was what he did to her… what he pulled from her. A deep-rooted submission until she floated mindless within tortured bliss… balance a myth. Hot, fucking tingles crashed through her, winding her up as he his fingers slid through her slick flesh. He made her forget everything, except his perfect torture. Spreading her legs wider, she melted, clenching down. She invited ecstasy to find her—all her senses jolting as he angled his thumb over her clit—her body buzzing.
“Say it. Say you’re mine,” he demanded, the husk of his voice rough.
The hot build up tangled through her center, her release so close… so close. “Yours…”
Carson grasped the back of her neck, forcing her to meet his blazing eyes. His hand moved faster through her swollen channel. “No. Say you are mine.”
She gasped, ready to explode as he worked her hard. The friction too much. His mastery too mind blowing. “I’m yours!” Her body tightened up before releasing a rough stream of tremors in hot, delicious waves as she lost herself at his mercy. A writhing string of mewls skipped out her lips, then she cried out his name. However, his mouth sucked her words away, exacting his tongue in a deep possession. He licked hot—he licked faster—and took exactly what he wanted.
Carson became her own midnight obsession within ten minutes and a limo ride.
Ivy pushed against him, breaking the seal of their lips. “Stop. No more.” Her tortured plea was breathless and achy, her equilibrium cauterized.
He righted himself, withdrawing to his seat, eyeing her desire-mixed-amusement. Carson adjusted his cufflinks and smoothing his jacket in place. “You look fucked. You’ll be perfect for the pictures.”
Shaking, she pressed a hand to her trembling lips. “I hate you.” She hated what he ripped from her inner soul, a strange sex goddess awaiting whatever scraps he’d bestow. She hated their mutual magnetic pull, his holier than thou attitude and his mind-numbing sexiness.
“That may be, but I’m the only thing standing in the way of years imprisonment. You will do what I will or I’ll throw you to the wolves, Midnight.”
Tears pricked her eyes, a well of emotion twisting her with pain within the empty shell of her guilty conscience. “Why? Why bother?”
He flipped her a cool glance before looking away. “We’re here. Let’s go.” He made to step out of the limo, yet threw her a dark glare. “While this is a private setting, remember to play the part of a woman in love.”
As they strode through two heavy wooden doors, the Japanese garden drifted something of another world infused with local landscape and the cultural arts of the Japanese people. A bamboo flute called a San-Kei-en swanned sweetly as they walk through the gate along a winding path, lined with softly lit lanterns and Japanese maple trees, graceful and serene. In the distance, a traditional sukiya style house was snuggled quite lovely amidst the foliage and greenery. Within the simplistic manner, the view was devoid of clutter and raked with gravel-gray stones. This place was a peaceful city gem, shutting out the fast-paced life within the gated garden.
Carson led Ivy to the left pathway, his hand nestled at her lower back, burning an agonizing heat over her skin. Her gaze traveled over rich purple blossoms swaying in the evening breeze beside a musical Koi pond. A sense of harmony and balance stole over her, a magical serenity lifting her out of the staunch orgasmic limo ride only minutes ago. She loved it here. She’d also been here before. Her thoughts rambled through her memory trying to register the moment.
A couple of years ago, Alistair gave her a possible tip on a heist. The curator at the San Diego Museum of Art would attend the gathering at the gardens. Part of her Intel process demanded a closer inspection of the officiating representative housing her next score. Such assessment helped her glean personal attributes of the very person housing her steal, foolish perhaps, but necessary nonetheless. As she nicked herself within their circle, she flashed her smile all the while taking mental notes on their character.
The memory of the time flashed in her mind… her… wearing this similar dress…
“Here we are, Midnight. Remember to smile, my sweet.” Carson linked her hand in his, brushing a kiss over her knuckles before leaning forward to kiss her lips. “We have an audience,” he whispered, his warning unmistakable.
Certainly enough, there stood the pho
tographer and his assistant along with several Asian-Japanese couples beaming ready smiles. With a few pleasantries, they settled into their photo shoot, picturesque under the canopy of Japanese beauty.
It rankled Ivy’s system to have Carson so close, his eyes caressed steamy emotion through his blue eyes. He acted the role of a man in love easily. So professional she almost believed it. Her breath hitched in her throat as he once again, gathered her in his arms, his mouth inches from hers, keeping her gaze prisoner as the photographer snapped pictures. God, he was so sexy, causing her desire to spike and her sanity to flee.
“You’re doing wonderful, Midnight. I almost believe in you.”
Before she could muster a retort, he turned her in his arms, following the direction of the photographer. Damn him! They finished, walking hand in hand away from the chaos. While Carson appeared cool and controlled, Ivy’s insides clamored for an explanation.
“Why this place… this dress, Carson? There’s something completely familiar about everything, but I can’t remember.”
He stopped, reaching up to caress a finger down her cheek. “Do you remember being here two years ago?”
Ivy frowned. “Yes, of course. Why?”
“We’ve met before, Midnight. Vegas wasn’t our first meeting.”
She stilled, her stomach twisting in a hard lurch. “What are you saying?”
“I’ve admired you from afar… a green eyed goddess. I obsessed over you for years. It’s not a hard concept really.”
Fear pounded through her and she stepped backwards, much needed distance from him priority one. “What are you? A stalker? This is all a little unbelievable.”
Carson shrugged. “Not hard to fathom, my sweet. I’m adept at managing the impossible.”
Oh, yes, he would be, Mr. Billionaire. That still didn’t explain any of… this. “Why me? Surely there are other thieves.”
He smirked. “Not like you.” He reached for her hand again. “Come. We’ll have dinner and then a surprise.”
She pulled her hand out of his grip, her green eyes flashing hard. “No, not until you explain the weird attachment you have on me. It’s not normal, Carson. None of this is normal.”
