Nicky watches while I change into the new dress. The jersey knit is held together by studded leather belts. Cutouts reveal slivers of my skin. His lashes lower, hooding his eyes. “Now that’s more like it. You look good enough to eat.”
“It’s called a bondage dress.” The saleswoman brightens at his compliment, like he’s talking to her instead of me.
I spin slowly in front of the three-way mirror. The strategic placement of the leather straps lifts my breasts to impossible heights. Although it’s hard for me to admit, I look damn good. The heat in Nicky’s stare bolsters my confidence. “Tell me again why I need a cocktail dress?”
“Because we’re going out for dinner tonight, and you can’t wear Rourke’s shorts.” He extends a credit card to the saleswoman. “We’ll take it. Ring it up and take your time. We’re going to need a minute.”
“Absolutely. No hurry.” She rushes off, ecstatic over her commission.
The instant the door closes behind her, Nicky tugs me into his lap. Something hard and insistent prods my thigh. His delicious mouth hovers an inch away. “Let me help you out of this.” Before I can protest, his lips brush along mine, velvety and soft. I fall headlong into the kiss. After a long time, we part. I’m left breathless with an ache between my legs and fire in my veins. His widespread fingers on my back steady me. “Next, we’re going to the lingerie store. I can’t wait to see your new panties on my bedroom floor.”
As much as I adore having his mouth and hands on me, I can’t escape the nagging idea that sex is part of this deal. The thought sickens me. Before Valentina, I would have slept with him for this dress, but not now. Not when his respect means so much to me. I push on his shoulders to gain some space between us. “I appreciate all this. I really do, but it will take me ten years to pay you back for the dress, let alone lingerie.”
He shifts my weight on his thighs. His palm slides lower on my back to cup my ass. The gesture is possessive and male and panty-melting. “I don’t want you to pay me back. The clothes are a gift.”
“No. I’m serious.” I squirm, needing to get away from his touch, but he tightens his grip on my bottom. The walls of my pussy clench. “I don’t want money to be a thing between us. I’d always feel like I owe you.” Tears burn in my throat. “I had enough of that with Cash.” He’d always held my debts over my head, using it as leverage to make me do things I never wanted to do.
Nicky slides his nose along mine then rests his forehead on my temple. “Can’t a guy buy nice things for his girlfriend?” My heart skips a beat. I hold my breath, thinking I imagined the question. He nuzzles my ear. “Come home with me, Jones. Be my girlfriend.”
My breath escapes with a whoosh. I curl my fingers into the fabric of his suit, loving the smell of his cologne and the heat of his body. This can’t be happening, can it? His wicked smile confirms the truth. This is real. This is my life. “I suppose we can work something out.”
“Great.” He gently nudges me to my feet and gives my ass a smack. “Let’s get out of here. I was going to have my way with you in here, but I’m going to need a bed for what I have in mind.”
Later that evening, we’re at Swerve, Nicky’s upscale Manhattan restaurant. From our seats, we have an unparalleled view of New York City, the towering skyscrapers, and the Hudson River. The table linens are silk, the chairs are brocaded velvet, and the surfaces are clad in slate and polished wood. Gazing around the dining room, I spot familiar faces—celebrities, politicians, and rock stars. Even though I’m wearing a five thousand-dollar gown, I feel out of place. On the outside, I’ve been coiffed and styled to perfection. Inside, I’m still the former stripper and prostitute from Indiana.
The waiter pauses next to our table, a worried frown clouding his face. “Is the champagne to your liking, sir? Would you like anything else?”
“We’re fine. Nothing more this evening.” Nicky’s attention returns to me. His gaze rakes over me, bringing the sting of blood to my breasts. “You look beautiful. That dress is amazing. The bondage look is good for you. Who’s your stylist?” A mischievous grin reaches his eyes, giving them depth and sparkle.
“You are.” I smile back, despite my insecurities about my body and past life. “Thank you so much.”
“You’re welcome.” The brutal beauty of his face is still there, but I see past the storm in his eyes and the perfection of his chiseled features to the man inside. He reaches across the table to take my hand in his. The pad of his thumb traces circles on the underside of my wrist, sending a shiver of need up my back. “You know, I was thinking. You could come to work for Roman and me. Your skills could come in handy.” His eyebrow lifts. Opportunity and optimism shine in his gaze.
“What kind of skills?” Every caress of his thumb reminds me that I’m a lucky girl. Sitting in this restaurant with him is beyond thrilling. A kernel of hope takes root in my soul. Maybe this will work.
“You’re resourceful, sneaky, and have sticky fingers. Something men in our line of work covet.” He taps a fingertip on the back of my hand. “I’m offering you a job, Jones.”
“Really?” I bite my lower lip, afraid to get excited. Too many times in the past, my dreams have been crushed.
“Yes. Really.” His tongue slides over his lower lip while his gaze remains glued to my mouth. “We talked about it earlier. It was his idea, actually.” He leans back in the chair. “We’ll pay you a decent salary, of course. And you’ll have to sign an intense NDA.”
“I’d like that.” My smile broadens until the muscles in my cheeks ache. A real job. Making real money. A future. “I can get an apartment.”
“I think you should live with me.” He lifts my hand and kisses my fingertips. “I’ve gotten used to having you around.”
The moment is shattered by a deep voice. A familiar voice. One I’ve forgotten in the heat of the day’s events. “Calliope? I thought that was you.”
“Cash?” Sweat breaks out on my palms. I drag my hand from Nicky’s grasp, into my lap, and clench my fingers into a fist. The past comes crashing into my bright, shiny future. “What are you doing here?”
“Having dinner.” As always, a black suit showcases his blond hair, broad shoulders, and narrow hips. His gaze sweeps over my expensive dress. “I could ask the same of you.”
“We haven’t met. I’m Nicky Tarnovsky, the owner of this establishment.” Nicky folds his napkin. Tosses it into his plate. He stands to his full height, staring Cash in the eyes. There’s no mistaking the clench of his jaw.
“Cash Delacorte.” Cash stares back at Nicky with equal animosity. It’s like watching two lions circle a tasty lamb. “I’m familiar with your work, Mr. Tarnovsky. We run in similar circles. It’s an honor to meet you.” He smooths a hand over his tie, uncertainty clouding his strong features. I have to admit, it’s amusing to see him off balance.
“I can’t say the same for you.” Nicky’s lips turn down in a sneer. “You’re interrupting our dinner. Did you want something?” His features sharpen into the cold, brutal man who stalked me at the bar.
Two security men approach. Nicky holds them at bay with a flick of his fingers. The rapid drum of my heart slows. I’m safe here. Nicky won’t let anything happen to me. Not now. Not ever. A sense of calm chases away the fear.
“You owe me,” Cash says through clenched teeth, shifting his gaze to meet mine. “I want my money back.”
“I don’t owe you shit.” The vehemence in my voice surprises all of us. “You did nothing but take from me. My dignity, my self-respect, my love.” Anger flickers in his gold eyes. I don’t care about his feelings anymore. Despite his efforts, I’m free from his control. “That’s all the repayment you’ll ever get.”
After a nod of approval at my declaration, Nicky takes a step toward Cash. “You heard her. If you ever so much as look in her direction again, I’ll have you cut into so many pieces, no one will be able to put your corpse back together again. Now, I suggestion you leave and never come back.”
Twe
nty-Six
Calliope
With a sigh of satisfaction, I step back from the dining room to survey my work. Six place settings of Nicky’s fine china and an exotic centerpiece of tulips grace the table. Soft jazz music floats from the hidden speakers. It’s our first dinner party as a couple and our six-month anniversary. Everything needs to be perfect.
“Jones?” Nicky shouts at me from the depths of the penthouse. “Calliope?”
“What?” I hustle down the hallway to our shared closet. He’s staring at the pile of dirty clothes on top of the hamper. “Oh. Sorry.” I lift the lid and chuck them inside. “I got distracted.”
“How hard is it to put them inside the hamper?” A furrow mars his forehead. “It’s right there.”
“I know. I know.” I balance on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek.
“You’ve been saying that for months.” With a disgusted grunt, he heads for the master bathroom to shave. He’s wearing black boxer briefs and nothing else. The sight of his naked torso stirs a sense of wonderment. This male god is my boyfriend. Mine.
“I’ll do better.” I steal up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist. His bare skin is warm and still damp from his recent shower. I rest my cheek on his back. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re an obsessive neat freak?”
“Has anyone told you that you’re a slob?”
“All the time. You tell me every day.”
Our eyes meet in the mirror. A smile replaces his scowl. He drops the razor and turns to embrace me. I bury my nose in the notch of his collarbone. This is my safe place. My haven. I treasure moments like these, when it’s just the two of us doing mundane things. His lips skim over the top of my head. “I love having your dirty clothes on top of my hamper.”
“And I love putting them there.” A chuckle rumbles through him. I press a kiss to his chest.
“Do we have time for a quickie?” His hands wander lower on my back. The steely length of his erection presses into my stomach. “Pretty please?”
“No. They’ll be here in fifteen minutes. You better get a move on.” I try unsuccessfully to disentangle myself from his embrace. He digs his fingers into my bottom and peppers kisses along my throat. I push on his chest. “Stop. You’re going to mess up my hair.”
With a mischievous smirk, he lifts a handful of tresses to his nose and sniffs. “Who cares? I like it messy.”
“I care. It’s not every day that a billionaire and a king come to my house for dinner.” I wriggle out of his grasp, putting a few feet of distance between us. “Now, hurry up.”
“You’re no fun.” With a manly pout, he returns to the business of shaving.
“Oh, really? Just wait until our guests leave. I’m going to rock your world.” I pause in the doorway to lift the hem of my dress, revealing the sassy red bow at the top of my tiny thong.
The razor slips from his fingers and clatters into the sink. He swallows hard enough to make his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
In exactly fifteen minutes, the doorman buzzes to let us know our guests are on their way up. My stomach does a nervous flip. I haven’t seen these people since our time together on Roman’s yacht. Nicky notices my anxiety and pulls me into the crook of his shoulder. “Easy now.”
“I hope everything is okay.” I’ve never thrown a dinner party before. And never for some of the richest people in the world. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
“It will be fine. Trust me.” He tilts my face up to his and plants the tenderest of kisses on my mouth. The confidence in his gray eyes steadies my nerves. “Besides, who gives a fuck what they think? Not me.”
“Well, I do. They’re your friends, and I want them to like me.” After our rocky start, I’m eager to make a good impression.
Before our guests arrive, I take one last look around the penthouse. I’ve added feminine touches to the masculine tones of his décor here and there, and it feels like home. Nicky heads toward the door. He turns and flashes his mischievous grin. My heart skips a beat, the same way it does every time I look at him. Our relationship isn’t perfect, but it’s the best thing in my life. In such a short time, we’ve been through so much. He started out as my kidnapper, but what he really stole was my heart.
***
I hope you enjoyed the story. If you did, please consider leaving a review. For more about Calliope’s little sister and Cash Delacorte, keep an eye out for the ABSOLUTE POWER DUET, coming in 2020. In the meantime, please enjoy this excerpt of LIES WE TELL, available everywhere in March 2020.
Through the peephole of my front door, I saw the broad width of Owen Henry’s chest and the sharp, chiseled lines of his jaw. I leaned against the door, my heart banging into my ribs, and weighed my options. If I opened the door, it would be like unlocking the vault containing all of my dirty, sordid secrets. If I ignored the man outside, he might go away, but I couldn’t ignore how memories of him had made me touch myself in the dark, quiet hours of the night for the past eighteen years.
“Hello?” The door vibrated under his second, harsher knock. I jumped back. His voice was deeper than I remembered, like he’d just tumbled out of bed after a sleepless night. “Ms. Valentine?”
I rested my forehead on the door and placed a palm on the barrier between us. “Crap,” I hated myself for cowering in the foyer, hated him for knocking on my door.
This time, the doorbell rang. “Ms. Valentine? Hello?” The words came from an unfamiliar voice. I peered through the peephole and blinked. A stocky, middle-aged man stood in the weak light of daybreak. My nightmare/fantasy guy was nowhere in sight. Had I imagined him? Maybe it had only been someone who looked like Owen. I opened the door an inch and peered at the man’s ruddy face and pleasant smile. His silver hair and bushy eyebrows reminded me of Santa Claus.
“Hi. I’m George Sherman, your general contractor. We spoke on the phone yesterday.” He scanned my wet hair, bathrobe, and bare legs. An anxious frown creased his forehead. “I’m a little early, but we did say seven-thirty, right?”
“Yes, we did, and please call me Stella.” Behind him, lavender and pink light stretched across the horizon. If I hadn’t been so rattled, I’d have run for my camera to capture the skyscape. Instead, I skimmed the yard and driveway, trying not to look panicked, searching for signs of Owen. Maybe lack of sleep had made me hallucinate. I touched the towel on my head. “Sorry. The hot water stopped in the middle of my shower.” If I’d been tired before, the icy water had left me in a state of invigorated exhaustion. “Let me run upstairs and change. Why don’t you come in?”
“That’s okay. I don’t want to get your floors dirty.” His gaze dropped to his work boots, dusty from the trek across the overgrown yard. I followed his glance then studied the worn floor. If my estimate was correct, it hadn’t seen a mop in over a decade. He tapped a pen on his clipboard. “I’ll get my crew started on the roof, like we talked about. You and I can do a walk-through of the house when you’re ready. And I’ll have one of the boys take a look at your water heater. Does that sound okay?”
“Perfect. I’m eager to get moving on this.” One of my foster parents, in a strange twist, had left the house to me in his will. In my memories, this place had been in much better condition. After a lifetime of wandering, this house offered the opportunity to put down roots. I wasn’t sure, however, that I could overlook the past, and if he was here—Owen—my doubts doubled.
“Call me Dad. Everyone does.” George’s weathered skin crinkled around his eyes. He turned and bellowed to the crew in the driveway, “Alright, boys. Let’s get this party started.”
Owen rounded the corner of the house. I sucked my lower lip between my teeth and bit down hard. He was the kind of guy who made a woman look twice. Scruffy stubble on his square jaw, brown hair streaked by the sun, and biceps worthy of a prizefighter. I gaped, wondering if the world had shifted into some kind of alternate universe. My body shook like a leaf in the wind.
The memory of Owen’s lips
gliding over my bare breasts blasted through my head. I crossed my arms over my chest to hide the sting of arousal in my nipples. The wind stilled, leaving the air thick and stagnant. Even the birds, who’d been twittering, halted their morning song. Owen’s eyes met mine. The color drained from his sunburned face. His wide chest lifted with a sharp intake of breath. Yep, he was definitely my ex-boyfriend. The murderer. And he was as shocked to see me as I was to see him.
“Shit,” I muttered. Why, why, why? Why now? Why here? Before I’d accepted the inheritance, I’d done a Google search on his whereabouts. When I’d come up with nothing, I’d assumed he’d moved away. I shook my head at my gullibility. His family still lived here. This was his home. Of course, he hadn’t left.
“Are you okay? Ms. Valentine?” Dad gripped my elbow as the world spun. “Stella?”
“Yes. I just—I need to sit down for a minute.” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t draw in a full breath. My lungs burned from lack of oxygen.
“Let me help you.” The warm concern in Dad’s voice eased a bit of my anxiety. He led me to the folding chair in the living room, my only piece of furniture, and held my arm while I eased into the seat. “Can I get you anything? Some water?”
“What’s going on?” The voice of Michael, my sort-of-kind-of-but-not-really boyfriend, floated up the front steps. The storm door banged shut behind him. Dad would have to fix that too. “What happened?”
“I think I’m having a panic attack. Let me sit for a second. I’ll be fine.” The room continued to swim, the colors melting into a blurred mess. Michael kneeled at my side, dropping two takeout bags at my feet. The minute his hand found mine, my heartbeat steadied. He had that kind of effect on people, an innate strength that clung to men in positions of power, men like him. “What are you doing here?”
The Ruthless Knight Page 17
