by Rynne Raines
****
The moon sat high, tucked between thick clouds that promised rain. While the air had substantially cooled, Bianca was anything but cold by the time Cade pulled his bike along the curb in front of her duplex. Her blood was singing.
Since the moment they’d left the restaurant, anticipation had been building in her stomach. She hadn’t entertained a guest of the opposite sex in at least a year—had she taken the three lacey thongs off her lampshade after drying them this morning? Then again, she didn’t think tidiness would be on Cade’s mind. Did she have anything in the refrigerator to cook for breakfast?
He didn’t offer his hand, but caught her around the waist and plucked her five-ten frame off the bike. A thrill tore through her as her feet hit the ground and she teetered into him, missing the curb.
“One too many cream sodas for you.” He flicked off her chinstrap, then returned the helmet to his saddlebag.
“Yeah, you really should have cut me off after the first one.”
God, why was she so nervous? Her palms were definitely sweaty and was that the sound of her knees knocking together?
His fingers linked with hers as they walked. The pressure of his hand was firm and reassuring, a good distraction from her hammering heart. So good, she hardly noticed the harsh odor of Mrs. Peterson’s bushy gladiolas poking over her walkway or the stained cement from accidently stepping on the overgrown petals each day on her rush out the door.
“Well…this is me.”
It came quicker than she’d expected. His mouth crushed hers. The purse and keys slipped from her fingers as he hauled her against him. A cyclone of energy twisted, distorted as he cupped the back of her head and stole the breath from her lungs. With equal enthusiasm, she clenched her fingers in Cade’s thick hair and earned his low growl of approval. The sound clawed, aroused, and ignited the most basic of human needs.
When they surfaced for air and his dark eyes locked on hers, she couldn’t breathe. Again. Pressing a shaky hand to her throat, Bianca diverted her eyes. “You made me drop my keys.”
“My bad.” He grinned, then bent over and scooped up her small purple hand bag and keys.
“You hardly look apologetic.”
“Probably because I’m not sorry.” He caught her upper arm and dragged her against him for another derailing kiss. When she again stood speechless and staggering, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “Not sorry for that one either.”
“I think we’d better go inside before you do something you’re really not sorry for.” She backed into the doorway, laughed and felt for the lights. Joy filled her. She’d slipped off her boots, tossed her keys on the half-moon entrance table, and was plucking at the silver hoops dangling from her earlobes when she noticed Cade hadn’t followed.
“Keep standing there, Sinclair, and Mrs. Peterson’s going to think you’re a mad man trying to steal her garden gnomes.”
“I can’t stay.”
“She’s crazy about her garden gnom—oh.” She set the earrings next to her purse and hesitantly fingered the smooth edges while refusing to meet her reflection in the oval wall mirror. She didn’t need a reminder of what devastation looked like. “Oh, okay.”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t like to.” He moved forward, stopped short of the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I need to be up early.”
“Please, you don’t have to explain.” She forced her legs to steady and joined him at the door. “It’s fine, really. I understand.”
Understand that you have someone else waiting for you. Nothing had changed in four years…why would it?
“I’m actually exhausted. All that eating takes a lot out of a girl.”
“I did warn you about that second slice of cheesecake.” His grin didn’t come in its quick easy way, but then, neither did hers. “Get some sleep. I’ll see you soon.”
“Sure.” The chaste kiss he pressed against her forehead dealt the final blow to her ego but she forced a smile. “Drive safe.”
“Always—and lock that door,” he called from halfway down the walk.
As she caught herself staring after him, Bianca quickly closed the door, threw herself against it and groaned. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Chapter Five
A curtain of darkness fell over her, a lead blanket of sleep that washed away the uncertainty in her mind and any fear of what the next day might hold. She was in a world where she controlled the secondhand on the clock, manipulated the very essence of time. She’d slain the dragon, rode the white stallion and rescued the helpless prince. Nothing could touch her. Nothing could wake her. Nothing except…the pounding on her goddamn front door.
Five minutes of holding her orthopedic pillow over her head and then another five of her goose down comforter on top of that didn’t make the knocking stop. Bianca cursed into the mattress then squinted at the boxy indigo numbers reading nine-twenty-two across the clock radio on her nightstand.
Saturday morning. Damn. Already she could smell the stiff, gelled hair parted down the middle, could visualize the clip-on tie and one-size-too-small white shirts on the boys prepared to spread the word of God—didn’t God invent sleeping in?
Grumbling, she dragged her ass out of bed and headed for the door.
“Morning, sunshine.”
Worse than God’s messengers.
“I hate you.” She slammed the door, but Cade stuck his boot in the jamb before it closed all the way and shouldered inside. If he hadn’t have been carrying two cups of coffee and a bag of what she assumed was breakfast, she would have cold-cocked him. What in the hell was he doing here anyway?
“Still not a morning person, hmm? Good to see some things never change.”
She glared through one narrowed eye, then stomped back to the bedroom with the full intention of sleeping another hour before she had to shower and get to work.
“Interesting spread you’ve got here. I particularly like the purple bean bag chairs—very nice touch.”
Indifferent of whether her robe was too short or too skimpy and giving him the full view of her bare ass, Bianca flopped face first onto the bed.
“You’re the devil,” she muttered into a pillow and contemplated bloody murder. Fortunate for him, the sound of his light laughter was enough to preserve his life until he told her what he was doing here. “I don’t remember ordering a wake-up call.”
“Told you I’d be up early.”
“Yeah, well, when you told me that, I didn’t think you meant you’d be up early and over here.”
“I’ll clarify next time.” He set one coffee on the nightstand and removed the lid. The aroma drifted toward her. As if he didn’t have enough of an advantage over her. Did he have to know all her vices?
“That wouldn’t happen to have two creams and a sugar in it?”
“What do you think?” He sat on the edge of the bed, sipping from his own cup.
“I think you’ll live to see another day.” She groaned one last time, then flipped over and propped her back against the headboard. She was reaching for the coffee when another marvelous scent tickled her senses. Rich suede and fresh spring air. Damn it, did he have to smell so good first thing in the morning? She surveyed him out of one sleepy eye. Even over-tired and crabby, she could appreciate the simple black V-neck stretched over his muscular shoulders, the worn blue jeans slung perfectly at his hips.
Bastard.
Why couldn’t he be like everyone else first thing in the morning and look like hell?
“Plates?”
“Depends.” She combed her fingers through the knots in her hair. “What’s in the bag?”
“Blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese.”
“You’re joking.” Now, she opened both eyes.
“I know to never joke about food with you.”
She contemplated his sincerity, then her stomach growled. Defeated, she swallowed a sip of coffee and pointed. “Kitchen, left—far right cupboard above the microwave.”
“Blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese,” she muttered.
The tenderness she experienced irritated her far more than the confusion.
During dinner, she’d chalked up his recollection regarding her love of shellfish as a fluke, and then an uncanny fluke when he remembered when she indulged in sweets.
But now, as she sipped her large coffee with two creams and one sugar, and waited for the breakfast her mother used to treat her to every Saturday morning, she wondered if Cade Sinclair was the first man who had ever really listened to her.
“Couldn’t find any knives that weren’t covered in peanut butter or jelly, but I figured you’d manage with a spoon.” He handed her the plate and two packets of cream cheese then reached for his coffee.
She forced a smile and with shakier hands than she’d woken up with, peeled open one of the packets. The rich smell of blueberries and cream had her realizing how hungry she was.
“Got any more tricks up your sleeve?” She sank her teeth in with a greedy bite, then rolled her eyes. “Sweet Jesus, that’s good.”
“Glad you approve—as for tricks, none I’m willing to divulge at the moment.”
“Which reminds me.” She paused in mid-chew and wagged the bagel at him. “Could you not have told me you owned Diego’s before we went inside?”
“That would’ve eliminated the purpose.”
“Oh, I see. You wanted me to feel like an ass.”
“Don’t be stupid.” He snatched her bagel and took a healthy bite of his own before handing it back. “I wanted you to experience what it’s like to relinquish control and know that, regardless of the situation, you can trust in me; that when you’re with me you can trust my judgment.”
“So it was really a test.”
“Suppose you could call it that.”
“Well, how did I do, Professor?”
“As a submissive?”
She threw her hands up and rolled her eyes.
“Horrible.”
Bianca choked on her mouthful of food, then reached for her coffee to force the lump in her throat down.
“You were argumentative,” he continued. “You made me repeat my requests more than once and there were a few times when I literally battled with the urge to wrap my fingers around your slender neck and squeeze.”
“Well,” she sniffed, “I can appreciate brutal honesty.”
“Brutal or not, you’ll always get complete honesty from me. I expect the same in return.”
The weight of his tone had her staring at him.
How quickly those playful green eyes could intensify. Yet, it comforted her to know that he didn’t take his Dom responsibilities lightly. As an instructor at Eden, she’d come across a lot of people who thought the BDSM lifestyle was nothing more than a game, which frequently put the submissive partners in danger. If a submissive didn’t know what their master wanted from them, it often led to constant punishment and borderline abuse. A big part of why she became an instructor with Eden rested on hearing about the widespread mistreatment of subs. Her primary goal when dealing with beginners was educating them on the difference between punishment and cruelty.
She peered at Cade out of the corner of her eye and silently counted her blessings that he’d been the man to break her into the lifestyle.
Even if she didn’t agree with all of his practices.
“Well, then, I apologize for ruining the evening,” she heard herself saying.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” he corrected. “You asked how you did as a submissive and I told you. As for the camaraderie, call me masochist, but I enjoyed locking horns with you.” He shrugged, then drained the last of his coffee as she studied him over the rim of her own cup.
Beneath the surface of his sarcastic commentary was something most people lacked—raw sincerity. He didn’t sugarcoat or tell her what he thought she wanted to hear. His manner was direct, confident. In a world where one never knew what was real or artificial, she found it oddly refreshing.
“You never did tell me how you got your hands on a place like Diego’s.”
“I inherited it.” He leaned across the bed and brushed a smudge of cream cheese from the corner of her mouth. “My father opened the restaurant shortly before he and my mother died.”
“Hasn’t it been around for like twenty years?”
“Twenty-four,” he supplied. “My parent’s car accident was two years after they opened.”
“You would’ve been just a kid,” she whispered.
“Eight.” He stretched his long frame across the bed and propped his head on his hand.
Compassion welled in her throat and had her swallowing hard. She imagined losing a parent at any time would have been heartbreaking, not to mention having both stolen from you as a child.
“My uncle took care of things,” he continued, “until I was old enough to decide whether I wanted the headache of the restaurant business or not. Again, the masochist in me couldn’t refuse and part of me maybe wanted to keep a piece of my parents close.”
His easy smile was award-winning, but his tone betrayed him. Even after all this time, the pain was still there and Bianca found herself wanting to comfort him. She was fortunate to have both her parents. Though they were in Ohio, they were only a phone call away at any time.
“Brothers or sisters?”
He flexed his jaw before answering. “An older sister.”
“Sounds like she made you eat worm pies.”
“Not quite.”
“Beetle pies?”
He finally laughed and shook his head. “No pies of any kind. My sister and I see the world through very different eyes. She’s a successful accountant, rigidly conservative but not unfeeling. Mingling with polite society has always been a big part of her life. It never has with mine, as you probably assumed.” A heavy sigh found its way past his lips, and against her better judgment, Bianca dared to touch him. She grazed her fingertips gently along his brow, smoothing the concentration lines before sweeping back his hair.
“That feels good,” he whispered. “Let’s just say my sister has a hard time accepting who I am and leave it at that.”
“Okay.” She readjusted her knees and cradled his head in her lap. His eyes closed as she lightly drew her fingers through his hair, and she realized she’d never seen him quite so vulnerable. He was letting her inside, willingly lowering his guard with the belief she wouldn’t hurt him. Strangely, she wondered if, all those years ago, she had, in fact, hurt him.
Nonsense.
She stuffed the outrageous idea back where it belonged and forced herself to remember why things hadn’t worked out between them. He didn’t do monogamous relationships. He was a free spirit and wanted the most out of life. She understood that. Her relocation from Ohio to Los Angeles was motivated by a similar desire. And although she personally couldn’t live without monogamy, it wasn’t right of her to ask him to deny himself all the pleasure life had to offer.
“I’m fortunate,” she said and softly smiled. “My family’s very open-minded. As long as I’m happy, they are. Believe it or not, I only received one lecture when I switched my major from Biological Sciences to Creative Arts.”
His eyes opened. “Are you still throwing clay?”
“Yeah,” she sighed wistfully. Although she was ninety percent hard work, ten percent talent, and certainly would never showcase any of her pieces other than at the local junk market, throwing clay was how she decompressed. The moment she wet her fingers and began the first long stroke, the weight of the world disappeared. “Yeah, I am. It keeps me sane.”
“You do it here?”
“No.” She laughed. “Hey, my place might not meet health code standards, but
that’d make too much of a mess, even for me. I rent a space just off the strip, a very small space. Sometimes I take a few pieces and sell them down at the flea-market. People seem to love junk.”
“I’m sure it’s wonderful.” His sincerity filled her chest with lead. This wasn’t the type of conversation she’d expected having with him when they’d struck their bargain. In fact, everything was the complete opposite of what she’d expected. It was too easy, too comfortable. If she didn’t watch herself, at the end of five days she’d find herself in the same position she was in four years ago…heartbroken and alone.
Cade sensed the walls, the transparent field of energy she so easily erected around herself when someone was getting too close. He wrapped his fingers around Bianca’s ankle and gave it a tug. “You’ll give me the tour of your workshop sometime.”
“Hmm? Oh, no, trust me, there’s not much to see. Besides, if you thought my kitchen was a disgrace, you’d die if you saw the shop.”
“You have this horrible habit of putting words in my mouth, angel. We’ll have to change that.” He moved his hand up her calf, relished the feel of her skin under his calloused palm. She jumped at the initial contact, then tried to readjust the robe sliding up her hips, but he wasn’t having it. That skimpy-ass silk had been torturing him since she’d tried to slam the door in his face. In fact, he’d almost said, “fuck the master plan,” and pounced while her eyes were still half-shut.
“You never did say why you were here,” she said with a shiver.
“Hmm.” He didn’t like the way she snapped her legs together and pulled away from him. The walls were still there, sturdy and high. “I figured we should discuss lesson plans, in the case you welsh on our deal and we’re forever stuck working together.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That won’t happen.”
“No? Strange, I’m beginning to get the impression you’re ready to back out.”
“I’m not.”
He didn’t believe her. Everything they’d achieved the previous night had unraveled. Her stance was rigid, defensive and it pissed him off. She’d made it clear she wanted him as a lover, at least for the next five days. But was that all she would ever want?
