by Beth Mikell
His teeth ground together, his expression darkening. “Fine. Follow me.”
He led her along the lantern-lined pathway, the evening breeze skimming along her flushed skin. She followed his sexy lead, trying not to admire the firm lines of his body or how the gentle wind airlifted his scent with every inhale. The dark-danger emanating from him frightened her. Cowed her somehow. She’d never faced a man of his superior brilliance, so blinded by his presence and overlooking many warning signs.
On one hand, she hated enjoying Carson in any way (even sexually), but really, the truth was she did. She liked his cool detachment with a powerful undercurrent just simmering beneath the surface of seduction. She liked that he’d obsessed about her, feeding a deep-rooted narcissistic hunger within her. He understood her as many didn’t. He wanted her as only he wanted—on his terms—in his way. Most of all, he didn’t put up with her bullshit! He’d crossed so many lines, yet she was incapable of resisting. God, she hoped she could conceal that from him. Any weakness and he’d pounce.
Carson stopped in front of a quaint building, his eyes detached and hard. “This is a semi-wedding gift, but do not touch anything. Each item has been carefully cleaned, awaiting relocation.”
His strange words puzzled her until he pulled her into the softly lit room. She froze, not literally, but definitely with horror. Lining both sides of the stylish museum were all the paintings she’d stolen over perhaps the last two years with the Renoir dead center.
Ivy sucked in a deep breath, paralyzed mentally and physically, abhorrence blooming deep in her stomach—at herself and him! Apparently, he had no shame. All of her money courtesy of Carson Wilde. Holy H… it was too much!
“What is all this?” she asked within a horrified whisper.
He circled, coming to stand inches from her. “Besides all the paintings you stole over the last couple years? It’s a hallmark of your profession, Midnight.”
Nausea shimmied over her, tears stinging her eyes. “But, why? Did you do this to—to shame me?”
Carson cupped her face, smoothing his thumb over her bottom lip. “Shame?” He shook his head. “No, my sweet. I never want to shame you. I did this so you will regain your integrity. I’ve notified all the museums and arranged for the paintings to be redelivered. I’ve also spoken to each curator, as long as the works are intact and without damage, they will drop all charges.”
A strange hope burst through her insides. “Then… I’m free?”
“Not entirely. The FBI is still a problem. They’re out for blood, but the nice thing in your favor is they haven’t a clue who stole them or at least from the information I’ve received. I’m still dealing with that. I’m hoping with our marriage and public appearances, we’ll stem legal backlash. Together, we’ll throw them off your trail and present a united front as a couple interested in restoring stolen art back to the museums in which they were taken. Let me worry about this, Ivy.”
She shook her head, and took another step back. “And you don’t think buying up my stolen loot won’t incite their suspicion? Gimme a break, Carson, I’m not naïve! By doing this, you’ve probably brought them to our front door, or at least pushed me high on their suspect list! Jesus!” Ivy spun around, covering her face with both hands, a deep tremor running over her body as every part of her screamed to run… run far away.
His warm hands descended on her shoulders, pulling her up against his hard body, his mouth caressing her ear. “You’re mine, Midnight. I won’t allow anyone to take you from me.”
She gave an indelicate snort. “You can’t stop the inevitable, Carson. I’m a thief; it’s what I chose to do. If the FBI comes to take me away, you’ll just have to—”
He whirled her round so fast her teeth rattled, his blue eyes boring hard into hers, while his grasp tightened. “Have to what? Bend over and take it up the ass?” He jerked his head in a curt refusal. “Never. I’m rich enough to make this all go away, but I need you to cooperate with me. I need you to… trust me.”
She scoffed. “Right. Trust. How is that possible when you’ve taken my freedom?”
“It’s to protect you—to keep you safe.”
An unamused smile touched her lips. “Safe? You’re crazy—”
Both his hands moved up to cup her face. “I’m fucking crazy about you, my hardheaded Midnight. You’ve stolen one thing I’ll never be able to replace.”
“What…?” Confusion clouded her stormy green eyes. He had his painting back what more…
“My heart,” he whispered, his lips cascading over hers as she sucked in a deep breath.
A sensual synergy threaded through Ivy, igniting a thunderstorm of lust in her veins. She moaned deep in her throat, tearing desperately at his lapels, even as she pressed against him wanting to purge herself into him. Love-hate battered through her senses, a timeless war waged daily between couples worldwide. Trust him… hate him… love him… reject him… everything spiraled in a fast vortex, thrusting her down a dark, wrenching path of hard desire and self-loathing.
He tasted so raw, so needed. His tongue licked hotly over hers, chasing her in a sweet victory, a sweet pain. His claim to care for her, abused her senses, and cursed her vanity even as they thrilled her ice-capped heart. Carson Wilde eclipsed her every midnight fantasy, shaming her into a sweet surrender.
Ivy fed from his lips, ravenous and carefree. She wanted him. Wanted him hard, wanted him fast as he chased her inner demons. She wrenched her mouth away, her eyes glazed with lust. “Fuck me…”
Carson’s desire filled eyes narrowed. “Never. Not even if you beg me, Midnight.”
She gasped. “But I thought—”
“I’ll make love to you on my terms—when I say and not before.” He caressed her cheek, thumbing her bottom lip with reverence. “God, you’re my torment.” He leaned forward with aching slowness, brushing his lips over hers. His touch wasn’t passionate or lustful, but rather apologetic and soothing. “I’ll take you to dinner, and then I’ll take you home.”
Her insides shook, her sex clenched and her heart thumped hard. “I-I’m not hungry.”
Carson raised a brow, his blue eyes intense. “The car’s waiting. Let’s go.”
Chapter 3
His luxury penthouse apartment was a surprise or rather she expected a multimillion dollar palace, not modern swanky and fashionable. The home blazoned lavish sandstone flooring, modern chrome influxes, and sparse furnishings. It was beautiful, stark, and perhaps a bit cold. There wasn’t anything promoting a warm fuzzy feeling, or inviting happiness, but a light, airy cleanliness with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
Carson hadn’t said a word the whole limo ride, and in fact, he was brooding, a line of irritation firming up his lips. He gave Ivy a cool glance as they clicked through the entrance, stopping in the center of the apartment. “The master suite is upstairs and you’ll find whatever you need in the closet, vanity, or bathroom. If you’re hungry, you’ll discover more than I feel like eating in the kitchen. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my office to work.” He leaned forward, brushing his lips over her forehead and left.
Ivy gaped after him, watching him pull his bow tie loose as he strode away. The dejected slope of his shoulders was a one eighty in light of their smoking hot moments and threat of bedroom Olympics. What was with him? He ran so hot and cold. She shook her head in wonder. One minute he acted as if he couldn’t wait to wrap her up in sensual sin, then the next, he sank into his own little billionaire world. God, he was strange.
She followed the stairs, anxious to rid herself of the dress and scrub her face. The master bedroom claimed the same airy cleanliness in all white, and she explored her surroundings. A closet full of clothes, the vanity stocked with anything she could possibly want—including a jewelry box housing an insane amount of gems. Why do all this for a woman he barely knew? His words from the Japanese museum haunted her… you’ve stolen one thing I’ll never be able to replace… my heart. That meant he ca
red for her deeper than he would say and deeper than she understood.
Ivy never had someone to really love her, never. Having no memory of her parents, she grew up in foster care all her life, which sucked the capacity to love right out of her. The police report indicated her parents died in a car accident, leaving her alone at three months old. She’d had nothing, nothing but a pretty face and quick mind to see her through lonely nights until she met dashing Alistair. He introduced her to a magical world of art crime and the miraculous way to stay five steps ahead of discovery. And she excelled at the vocation better than anyone. She could steal anything… and had.
Case in point, she dug Carson’s wallet out of her dress with a soft, smirky smile. He never even suspected as he bestowed his lavish limo orgasm upon her. It was amazing the kind of things discovered in a person’s wallet. She caressed the supple dark leather, inhaling. The combination of scents greeted her… leather, cologne, and Carson’s own blend of man… utterly mouthwatering. Immediately, her body responded to the alluring essence, flashing hot, her nipples beaded, and her heart clenched. There wasn’t any doubt she enjoyed their sexy romps, but that hardly constituted love, just sexocity at its finest. Yet, there was the freaky green statue of her in his office. A man didn’t do such things unless he cared, right?
God, something close to pain and heady warmth flooded her blood stream—something she’d never felt before. The man turned her life upside down within one day, and while that should’ve scared her, it didn’t. Her startling revelation? She yearned to know him more. Everything.
Ivy opened his wallet and something fluttered to the floor. Carson had probably two or three thousand in cash, several credit cards, his driver’s license, and his business cards with personal contact information. She crouched to retrieve the fallen item, stilling midway down. In fact, she sank to the ground, tears filling her eyes.
The photo was of her, the edges worn and frayed. She was naked. And she looked… just fucked from the wild cloud of her dark hair over the pillow to her posed like the statue in his office. He carried this around with him? What man did that? A man in love, perhaps?
The amount of his tenderness for her was astounding. His private actions more than any wealth, green statue, or remake of her onetime dress. He really was obsessed with her, or dare she hope, love her? For the first time in all her life, her heart swelled with promise, warm and pleasurable, which settled in her veins, swishing fast and hot. It was as if she’d communed with him on a spiritual level or inside an alternate universe, completely in tune with the sexy man called her husband.
She made up her mind, determined to try.
Ivy pushed away the forgotten tears staining her face, rising to her feet. Making her way to the vanity, she placed Carson’s wallet down and undressed slowly. Thinking. Wondering. Deciding. She could make these three months hell, or take a mighty leap of faith into the unknown abyss she never contemplated before.
A heart journey.
Naked with clothes in hand, she made her way to the closet, tossing her undergarments in the hamper, hanging up her dress. One of Carson’s shirts lay forgotten on the floor, and she bent to retrieve it. With a deep inhale, she basked in his scent. The man never ceased to amaze her, tantalizing her with merely his essence.
With a soft smile, she donned the shirt, though too big and hanging down mid-thigh, she rolled the extra-long cuffs back. In the bathroom, she took down her hair, scrubbed her face of all makeup smudges and tears, feeling ten times fresher. What to do skimmed her mind. The thought of food turned her stomach. Usually, she’d call Alistair, plan possible jobs, work out in her home gym, or check on Mrs. Devereux, her neighbor suffering from ovarian cancer—none possible. Two, as much as she ached to talk to Carson… see him… she refrained. His moodiness earlier kept her room bound, maybe later.
Inside boredom, she flopped down on the extra wide bed, operating the single remote control on the nightstand. For a long while, she channel surfed until she fell asleep to cartoons.
****
Later, Ivy woke to the irritating sounds of a yellow sponge being chased by a squid and she flipped the TV off, casting a glance at the bedside clock. One in the morning. God, she slept so long. And no sign of Carson. Enough already. With a sigh, she left the bed, padding downstairs in search of her new husband and found him bent over his computer, head in hands while staring at the screen.
“Is this the life of a billionaire? Long nights and early mornings… alone?”
His cool gaze flipped over her, his eyes narrowing at her appearance. “Come here, Midnight,” he grated.
She hesitated only a fraction of a second before walking toward him, bypassing an array of white furniture and end tables—more stark furnishings. She strode with highly aware precision, conscientious of her naked body underneath his dress shirt. Ivy came around his desk, propping up against the edge.
“You’re so beautiful.” Carson’s hand caressed the hem of his shirt. “Couldn’t find a nightgown?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t look.” He stared up into her eyes, his expression unreadable and she swallowed hard under his potent gaze. She knew she had to work for his affection, however small he’d give her. “It’s late. What are you doing in here?”
He sighed, his arms slipping around her waist until he rested his head against her stomach. “Thinking.” His heavy sigh resonated deep through his chest as if completely anguished.
Ivy bit her lip before sinking her hands into his luxurious black hair. He groaned, the vibration seeping into her body, lighting up her insides. “About…?”
His hands caressed down over her hips and he raised his head, his gaze intense and meaningful… yet sorrowful. “Everything,” he whispered. “I’m sorry if I shocked you, Ivy. I didn’t intend for it to end this way.”
End? End how? Was he having second thoughts already? “What do you mean? The paintings were a shock, but not the rest. I half hoped…” she trailed off, swallowing back her words. She’d half hoped they’d at least connect on the physical level they were good at giving one another. At least that was something.
Carson drew down her naked thighs, and then his hands slipped upwards. “I want nothing more than to lose myself in you, Midnight. I’ve dreamt of nothing else for so long.”
She inhaled a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I want to try, Carson. I want to meet you in the middle of… whatever this is.”
His blue eyes glittered wild and fierce. “Earlier you were opposed. What changed?”
He seemed wary and the very idea he’d lost some sort of mediocre trust in her, stung her heart. “I want to believe there is something more—something more meaningful than constantly running.” She looked away from him, noting the computer screen full of their wedding photos in a collage. The photographer must have emailed the proofs for his review. They were gorgeous. He’d been staring at them, contemplating their future, without her. “Today, for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to look over my shoulder and it felt really good.” She half-smiled continuing. “I don’t have all the answers, Carson. I don’t know what the future holds, but I want to try with you. Please?”
Still, he didn’t speak, worrying her.
“You said I’m yours, won’t you…” she took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “Won’t you make it true? In every way?”
Carson appeared almost fearful, desolate even. “I can… let you go if it means making you happy, Ivy. I can end it right now. I’m not interested in a half-assed relationship.” Though his voice projected calm, a deep shudder rippled over him as if the thought tortured him far more than he was willing to admit. “I thought I could do it. I thought… I thought I could handle it.”
Just like that? He’d let her go? Where was his fight? His determination? For the first time ever, she longed for his mad dominate skills, the ones that shouldered her decisions or took away her fear. If he left her alone, she had zip, nada, zero to see her through the darkness. She was his Midnight. Where wa
s his silky nickname? Would he turn her out so easily?
“Don’t leave me alone,” she breathed, her pride obliterated.
He shook his head. “I’ll continue to work everything from here, Ivy.” He sat back in his chair, his body language resolved and final. “I was foolish to believe I could make you understand my heart—especially when it isn’t what you want. You win.”
Panic hit her veins, her worst fear confirmed. He was ending it! Even before, it began… shit! In a rush, Ivy sank to her knees. The cold sandstone flooring stung her skin as she kneeled between his legs, her hands lying on his thighs. “Please Carson, don’t send me away. Not yet. Give me a few days.” She was so close to full on waterworks. Dammit, she never realized how much she ached for human companionship, for the love of a man—for this man. The expectancy and surprise of this revelation floored her, making her shake. His sincerity grasped hold of her, making a mockery of her empty life. He couldn’t let go now… would he?
He met her stormy green eyes, cupping her face. “I placed a three month limit on our relationship to hopefully convince you to stay with me. Yet now… even if you agree to only three months, I’ll never be able to let you go. You mean too much, Ivy. Three months, three years… hell, thirty will never be enough for me.”
“Then don’t, Carson. I’m not asking you too. I’m begging you to let me stay. Why aren’t you—”
With a harsh growl, he hauled her up into his lap, his mouth in blistering pursuit. His tongue chased hers, devouring, and licking, so hot and fierce. She held on, groaning as his hand slipped under the shirt, blazing—testing and kneading. He wasn’t gentle, all his inner reserves unleashing in a powerful surge, yet he stilled in an instant.
Carson wound his hand into her inky hair, yanking her back to stare into her eyes. “Staying means forever, Ivy. My terms, my way.” He dragged in a hard breath. “You left me once and it nearly destroyed me. It means you’re my wife—mine. I can't live without you anymore. I can’t. I’d rather send you away rather than destroy both of us.”
