Romance Me (Boxed Set)

by Susan Hatler

  The mannequin decked out in leather should have looked ridiculous, but to Melina it represented the daring, almost surreal nature of Rhys's celebrity lifestyle. Foreign. Exotic. Out of reach.

  Yet, she reminded herself that she'd been enjoying her time here. That she'd begun to acclimate to his world. So what if she'd suffered a slight bump in the road? Why couldn't she don the leather outfit in the window just as she had Jillian's stage costume? Although it probably wouldn't feel right at first, she'd eventually grow accustomed to it. Wouldn't she?

  At the very least, Rhys would know she was willing to try. Maybe, regardless of her reaction to his topless assistants, things could work out for them.

  Maybe she just needed to prove it to herself, and this hollow feeling of despair would vanish forever.

  But if she was going to take risks, she wasn't going to be the only one. Rhys had allowed himself to be vulnerable when he'd let her tie him up, but things had gotten significantly more complicated since then. If she was going to strip herself bare for him, then he was going to do the same. Only then would she believe the depth of his feelings for her.

  With newfound resolve, Melina walked into the store.

  ***

  That night, after rehearsal was finally over, Rhys practically speed-walked back to his hotel. He was exhausted. Hungry. Grumpy. None of that compared to the desperate need he had to see Melina and confirm that things were okay between them.

  When he'd noticed her at the back of the theater, her eyes on Max and the topless assistants, he'd felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. She'd looked so sad. Defeated. Nothing like the woman who'd been gamely trying to adjust to the foreign world she'd been shoved into.

  He'd been a mess after that. Distracted. Edgy. But when she'd shown up for practice, Melina had seemed to be back to her regular self. She'd laughed when he'd teased her, and she'd given him a nice, long kiss before she'd left the theater, saying she'd have a surprise for him back at the room.

  Now, two hours later, all he wanted was to crawl into Melina's arms. He wasn't even nervous about tomorrow's show. Whatever the outcome, he just wanted to know what his future with Melina had in store.

  He was going to do what he should have done a long time ago. He was going to give Melina a choice—home and hearth, or him. And it didn't matter whether it was fair or not, but he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she chose him.

  When he opened the door to their suite, he did so quietly, in case Melina was sleeping. Sure enough, the bedroom was dark, quiet except for the steady buzz of the air conditioner. He shut the door, then flicked on the bathroom light so he could undress. When he saw Melina, he froze.

  “Melina?”

  Music with a slow, hip-thrusting beat began to play. From her seat in the corner, Melina stood and walked toward him, her hips swaying exaggeratedly, her steps keeping time with the music. He nearly swallowed his tongue when he saw the crisscrossed laces running between her plumped-up breasts. Was she wearing a corset?

  She was. It wasn't just any corset, either. It was made of soft black leather that molded itself to her curves. She wore a matching dog collar and wrist bands; no spikes, thank God, just silver eyelets that matched the ones on her chest. Makeup, more makeup than he'd ever seen her wear, layered her face, making her look like a stranger. A beautiful, tempting, lustful stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.

  She looked at him challengingly, crooked her finger, and urged him closer.

  He didn't move. “Where'd you get that?” he asked hoarsely.

  “There are plenty of shops around.” Spreading her legs wide, she planted her fists on her hips, a cocky, Superwoman stance that called attention to the four-inch spike heels she was wearing. “What do you think?”

  What did he think? Not much, since all his blood had rushed straight to his dick. “You look...” He paused, knowing “like a stranger” wasn't the right thing to say. “Hot. You look hot. But you'll be even more hot when you're naked.”

  She pouted and shook her head. “Nice of you to say, but I'm not the one who's going to be stripping down. You are.”

  “Oh, am I?” He couldn't help but think of the night he'd walked into his Sacramento hotel room and found her waiting for him. Other than the unexpectedness of it, that had felt right. Something here was off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.

  “Yep.” Pulling out a chair, she slowly turned it until she could straddle it, her legs spread wide, the bottomless crotch of her outfit revealing that tiny strip of hair that drove him mad. He hissed in a breath and started jerking at buttons.

  Whatever the hell was going on here, they'd deal with it. Afterward. Ripping off his shirt, he stalked closer.

  “Stop,” she commanded.

  He did, even as he clenched his fists and sucked in air like a locomotive.

  “Perform for me. Strip for me.” Her voice sounded harsh. Demanding. A little bitchy. Even as his erection lengthened, a part of him resisted.

  “It's been a long night, baby. I don't think I'm up—”

  “Oh, you're up, all right. And you're going to stay up. For as long as I want you to be. Now strip.”

  Hands shaking, he unbuttoned his pants and swept them off, along with his socks and shoes. When he was done, he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes half-hooded. “Now what?”

  She stood and pointed to the chair she'd vacated. “Now you sit here. Put your hands behind your back.”

  “Melina—”

  “Do it.”

  He sighed and sat down. Immediately, she straddled him, rubbing her sweet flesh against his dick, making him wet with her juices even as she raised up on her tiptoes, shoved her chest under his chin, and leaned forward to bind his wrists together. He bent his head to nuzzle her and breathe in her scent when it dawned on him that she wasn't using scarves but handcuffs. “What—”

  He rattled the handcuffs, but she shook her head. She tauntingly held a key out to him. “Uh-uh. No tricks tonight, Rhys. It's just you and me. Remember how you said I tortured you? Well, I'm finding that one taste isn't enough for me. I want to torture you some more.”

  He'd never been so pissed off and so turned on at the same time. Clenching his teeth, he reminded her, “You're due for some torturing yourself. More and more with each second that passes. Now, get these off me.”

  “What's wrong? The magician can't get them off himself? Looks like you'll just have to take what I dish out.”

  She sank to her knees in front of him, pushing apart his thighs, and positioned herself between them.

  He tightened them around her warningly, not enough to hurt her but enough to let her know he wasn't playing. “Release me. Now, Melina. I'm not kidding.”

  She moved her hands to the curve of his ass and dared to dip her finger into the crevice. Then she leaned down, looking up at him the whole time, and took him in her mouth. She ate him like she was starved for it. She licked him like he was an ice cream cone and she was burning up. She cupped his balls and raked her fingertips up the length of him even as she worked the tip of him with her tongue, alternately flicking him and then sucking him. She gave him head like she'd been doing it for years, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day, practicing it time and again in preparation for this very moment so she could drive him utterly insane.

  When his shouts of pleasure faded, she wiped her mouth, caught a drop of cum that had managed to elude her, then licked it off. He groaned, barely able to move, and not just because of the cuffs. “Kiss me,” he whispered, needing to be close to her. Needing something that he couldn't even name.

  To his astonishment, she shook her head. Smoothing out her corset, she sauntered in her four-inch fuck-me heels to the bathroom. When she returned, she was carrying a crop. His eyes widened in disbelief.

  “I picked up a few other things while I was out.” She brought the crop down on her ass and pouted. “Maybe if you're a good boy, you can spank me later.”

  It was all too
much for him. The makeup. Her cool taunting. The way she refused to kiss him or give him an ounce of her softness. With a powerful surge, he stood. As he did, his bound hands slipped over the chair back and, in a move that left Melina gaping at him, he slipped his bound hands in front of him.

  She blinked her eyes several times, as if she wasn't quite sure what had happened. “How'd you—”

  “I guess you didn't know I was double-jointed. It's come in handy a time or two.” He held his arms out and pinned her with a furious glare. “Unlock them.”

  She shook her head, backing away from him. When she bumped into the door, he grabbed her wrists in his hands and raised them above her head. Then, with a tug, he pulled her around and threw her onto the bed. He had her covered with his body and pinned down in less than three seconds.

  “What the hell was that about?” he gritted out, trying to regain control even though his wrists were still manacled.

  She struggled beneath him, her attempts to get away very real. “Unpredictability,” she spat. “I thought you'd like it.”

  “The outfit I like. But not the makeup. Not the attitude. I don't want to fuck a sexy stranger. I want to fuck you. I fucking love you, Melina. Don't you get that by now?”

  The fight left her immediately, and tears filled her eyes. “What do you want from me? I'm trying to fit in. I'm trying to give you the excitement the other women in your life have given you.”

  He clenched his teeth. “No one has given me what you have, Melina. No one. You make me feel things that no one else can. Right now, that includes making me fucking furious, but I love you all the same. That's not going to change, and you don't have to change who you are because you're afraid it will.”

  “But that's because we're here and because it's all new. What happens when you realize I don't fit in? What happens when you lose interest? ’Cause you will lose interest, Rhys. You always do.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You've never dated someone more than six weeks.”

  “Who told you that crap?”

  She pressed her lips together.

  Abruptly, Rhys released her and stood. Warily, silently, she retrieved the keys and released the handcuffs. He dressed. When he fastened his belt, he turned to her.

  “I noticed you didn't respond to my declaration of love. How am I supposed to interpret that?”

  She sat up. Reached for her robe and put it on. “I've told you before that I love you.”

  “Yeah, but at the same time you said you love Max. So what's it going to be Melina? I love you. I know my life isn't what you would choose, but I have other people to consider. I want to know: Do you love me and do you want to be a part of my life, whatever that entails?”

  “Whatever that entails.” She sniffed derisively. “You don't ask for much, do you?”

  His shoulders dropped, and he stared at the floor. “And that's not a very encouraging answer, is it?”

  “You can't just—”

  They both jumped when someone pounded on the door. “Rhys! Melina. Open up. We've got trouble.”

  It was Max. Melina jumped to her feet as Rhys answered the door.

  Max strode in. After taking in Melina's makeup and eyebrow-raising outfit, as well as their grim expressions, he shook his head. “Great. I can see things are going swell in here, too.”

  “What is it?”

  Max eyes radiated regret. “Someone got into the theater after practice. I came back because I'd forgotten to lock up and…”

  “And what?” Rhys prompted.

  “And the Metamorphosis rack's been destroyed.”

  Melina gasped and immediately covered her mouth with both hands.

  “What?” Rhys whispered. He dropped into the chair that still sat prominently displayed in the center of the room. He saw Melina move toward him, then stop. That hurt more than what Max had to say next.

  “Someone took an ax to it. It's in pieces. There's no way you'll be able to fix it. Not before the show tomorrow.”

  ***

  Two days later, Melina was in her lab, trying to focus on her current experiment. It was a little tough when her eyes kept tearing up and she had to excuse herself yet again so she could cry in private.

  She'd called Max first thing this morning, and he'd told her that Seven Seas had decided to book the Salvador brothers as their permanent act. When Melina had asked about Rhys, Max had laughed bitterly. “Rhys's gonna be fine, Melina. He'll bounce back with something that will make Seven Seas come crawling back to us on their knees, I guarantee it. Recovering from what you did to him isn't going to be quite so easy.”

  She'd stiffened at the censure in his tone. “Me? I didn't—”

  “You couldn't get away from here fast enough, could you? The moment you weren't needed for the act, you left.”

  “I talked to you and Rhys. I asked you if you needed me for anything, and you both said no. Rhys wouldn't even talk to me.”

  “He was upset, and when he's upset he withdraws. That's just how he is. He told me what happened in your room before I interrupted.”

  She sucked in her breath, appalled. Rhys had told Max about her corset and crop? The handcuffs? She nearly moaned in horror, but Max kept talking.

  “He told me he asked you to stay with him. That he loved you. And that you threw it back in his face.”

  “I-I didn't,” she protested. “I did no such thing. I just…I just didn't have a chance to answer. You came into the room and everything was a mess and—”

  “And you got on a plane and flew home. That was your answer, Melina. And Rhys knows it.”

  By the time she'd hung up with Max, Melina had almost been paralyzed with doubt. She'd only wanted to get home so she could think, but had getting on the plane been her answer? Wasn't she entitled to think things through before she changed her life so drastically? She was still questioning herself, what she'd done, and what she wanted when she returned to the lab. Instead of work flying by like it normally did, the hours passed painfully slow, and even then she'd gotten next to nothing done.

  When she got home, she had a message on her machine. Her heart beating fast, she played it back, hoping it was Rhys. It was her mother, telling her to call her right away.

  Melina picked up the phone and dialed the number her mother had left.

  Her mother answered the phone.

  “Hi, Mom,” she said.

  “Hi, honey. Thanks for calling me back. We'll only have access to a phone for a couple of days until the Vietnam tour starts.”

  “Vietnam? I thought you were still in China?”

  “We left China days ago, dear. Now, tell me, how are you?”

  Melina swallowed hard and tried to answer calmly. Instead, she released a ragged, pain-filled sob.

  “Oh, no. Honey, what's wrong?”

  It all poured out of her. Her feelings for Rhys. The challenge Grace had thrown down. Max’s set up with the rooms. The lake and the incredible sex and the way Melina had alternately felt welcomed and alienated once they'd arrived in Reno. By the time she'd stopped talking, her voice was raspy. There was only silence on the other end of the line.

  Melina covered her eyes with her hand, appalled that she'd just unloaded on her quiet, reserved mother, especially when she was so far away and couldn't do anything to help anyway. “It's okay,” she reassured her. “I'm okay. I just need to accept who I am and what I want. You did that. That's why you left acting, isn't it? Because you were more suited to the type of life Daddy led.”

  “Oh, please, Melina,” her mother said. “You don't really believe that, do you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I did not leave acting because that life didn't suit me. I left it because I thought that’s what I needed to do in order to keep your father. His parents were very conservative and didn't approve of acting. To them, it was the same thing as being a whore. I wanted their approval almost as much as I wanted your father. So I gave up my passion for acting and was for
tunate to be blessed with a different kind of passion.”

  “Passion again,” she murmured. Her mother was describing exactly what Melina had told Lucy didn't exist. Inside her, hope fluttered its wings like a butterfly just emerging from its cocoon. “So that's what I should do? I mean, you're obviously happy. You don't have regrets—”

  Her mother laughed. “Honey, I have plenty of regrets. And I'm certainly not telling you to follow in my footsteps and give up your life just to be with Rhys.”

  “So you're saying I was right to come back?”

  “No.”

  “No,” Melina echoed. Frustration made her next words harsher than she intended. “Well, what are you saying, Mom? Because I need to know what's the right thing to do.”

  “There is no right or wrong answer, Melina. Things will be what you demand they be.”

  Pulling the phone from her ear, she stared at it, certain a foreign creature must have inhabited her mother's body. Her mother didn't talk like that. Rhys did.

  Walking into the living room, she put the phone back to her ear. “I don't understand,” she breathed. She picked up the picture of Max and Rhys with their dates, the one she'd focused on before propositioning Max. “I'm looking at a picture of Rhys and Max after they won their award in Vegas. They're with their dates, and I…I'm having a hard time picturing myself with them.”

  “That's because you're looking at the wrong picture. You've got tons of pictures with just you and Rhys. Pull those out and look at them. Ask yourself what you see.”

  “I know what I'll see. Me. As plain and boring as ever.” But she wasn't a dominatrix either, at least not one who liked to wear leather and use a crop. Not when Rhys wasn't into it. Even now, she winced at how she'd treated him, acting cold because she'd wanted him to feel as vulnerable as she did.

  “If that's what you see, you're focusing on the wrong person. Instead of focusing on yourself, focus on Rhys. Then ask yourself what you see.”

  “But Mom—”

  “I'm sorry, sweetie, but I have to go. I love you.”

  Her mother hung up, leaving Melina to ponder her final words. She put down the framed picture of Rhys and Max, and pulled out the boxes of loose photos she kept under her bed. Then she laid a bunch out, pulling out the ones that showed her with Rhys. Since she'd known him for years, there were enough to cover her queen bedspread. She walked around the bed, studying them, trying to ignore her own image and whether she looked fat or was having a bad-hair day. She focused on Rhys, on the expression on his face, on the way he was often looking at her rather than at the camera lens.