by Kate Allure
Chapter Twenty-Four
Ian stood there mutely watching Tori leave. Mere minutes ago, he’d been on top of the world, riding a crest of the best orgasm in his life and relishing the intense connection they’d shared.
Now, desperation threatened to overwhelm him. He had to fix this! But what could he possibly say that would make it right between them? Would she believe he’d planned to tell her back when he took her into the alcove earlier? Would she remember? That she, herself, had prevented him from speaking?
How could he convey to her how much she meant to him? How much he loved spending time with her? How he’d hoped that sex would be only the beginning…
But she’d left him high and dry. It was no use. She would never understand, never forgive him for what he’d done.
Turning away, he began angrily yanking on his clothes. His plan had gone well, better than he had ever anticipated, the sex better than he could ever have imagined. But then it had all blown up in his face.
Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’d made a colossal error.
How could he have let her name slip so thoughtlessly?
He looked one last time around the room where they’d shared such amazing intimacy. He turned away, continuing without pausing through the rooms of Club Exotica and straight out the entry doors. He doubted he would ever go back. The place now held absolutely zero appeal.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tori had managed to retrieve her coat and get out of the club and into a taxi before she lost it and started crying.
Get ahold of yourself. She repeated the mantra silently over and over on the ride home. You were playing with fire. What did you expect to happen?
Swiping at her tears, she couldn’t stop a sob from escaping.
Her friendly doorman, Johnny, looked at her questioningly, but she ran right past him. “Evening,” she called, rushing into the elevator.
In her flat, she walked straight to her liquor cabinet, not even taking off her coat before pouring herself a double shot of gin, straight up. She usually didn’t drink hard liquor alone, but tonight she needed it. Tipping her head back, she swallowed the stinging liquid in one long draft. Once the burning subsided, she helped herself to another slightly larger serving.
The straight gin hit her almost immediately, and she lurched unsteadily in her high heels to the bathroom. She took the bottle with her. After a short struggle, her corset and the rest of her costume landed on the floor. She took a long, hot shower to rinse off the revulsion that had settled like a patina of slime on her soul.
Drying off, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and froze, staring at her reflection.
She had forgotten to give it back.
Absentmindedly, she reached up to caress the elegant slave collar with its sparkling multicolored Swarovski crystals dancing in the light. She hadn’t seen it on herself back in the club, and the sight momentarily distracted her from her wrath. Stretching her neck, she tilted her head and turned this way and that, fascinated by how the gold choker transformed her into something exotic. The woman in the mirror was someone new—a seductive, enticing plaything men would fight to claim for themselves.
She thought in wonder, I really am this alluring vision.
Delight seeped into her disillusionment. Unbidden, memories of their wildly erotic sex came flooding back, followed swiftly by a profound sense of loss.
Was all that excitement now in her past?
She tried to replace her sadness with a stronger emotion. It’s a slave collar, meant to subjugate and humiliate me.
The righteous anger, good and fortifying, strengthened her…but her conscience put up a good fight, too. It forced her to admit what she knew in her heart to be true—Ian had given her the collar for good reasons, not immoral ones. Although it irritated her to give him any credit at all, she accepted that the collar had been for her protection within the club, and for their mutual pleasure.
And oh, what pleasure it had been!
Regardless, the collar had to go.
She reached up to remove it but couldn’t undo the clasp. After fumbling for several minutes, she gave up. It must be the alcohol. Honestly, she couldn’t be that much of a loser that she couldn’t undo a simple catch.
She trudged to her bed, her whole life stretching out before her, empty and bleak. After climbing under the covers, she fell into a deep, alcohol-induced sleep, the collar still firmly fastened around her neck.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The next day did not start well.
First, Tori slept right through her alarm. When the buzzing finally roused her, she sat up quickly and looked at the time.
“Shite!”
Her head wanted to explode, pain spiking through her brain like murderous ice picks. Had she really had that much to drink last night at the club or was it the shock of finding out it was her courtroom nemesis behind the mask?
A hurried cup of coffee and several ibuprofens brought the hangover to a manageable level, but her head still throbbed. Too late for a shower, she raced through dressing and started slapping on makeup. Then she saw herself in the bedroom mirror. Wearing that infernal choker.
“Shite, shite, shite!” she railed. “What do I do?”
The mirror, unfortunately, had nothing to suggest.
For ten frantic minutes, she tried to get it off. Her raging fury about the whole situation added to her frustration as she fiddled with the clasp. Maybe it required a key.
What could she do?
Maybe ask the doorman?
No! Too embarrassing.
Already late, she fretted and paced the bathroom. She had a conference in chambers at ten and still needed to go over the brief on her desk. She would have to deal with this annoyance later. Maybe she could get help from Kate at lunch…although it would be embarrassing having to explain why she was stuck in a slave collar. Tori grabbed a silk scarf and tied it around her neck. Thank heavens she didn’t have court this morning.
She raced out of her flat.
After the cold, damp walk to the station, the relative warmth of the Tube did nothing to drive away the chill that pervaded her body and mind. Unable to find a seat on the train, she held tightly to the strap. The rocking motion combined with her continuing fury made her dizzy. Add to that her mounting worry about whether Ian King was on her docket this week, and she had to lock her mouth shut against the nausea that threatened to bring her coffee back up.
The bloody wanker would never, ever win a case in her court again!
But it was an empty threat. She wouldn’t let anger at a barrister, no matter how much of an arsehole he was, interfere with her fair implementation of the law. She’d recuse herself from any case involving him from now on.
She stared out the Tube train window, the scenery and the tunnel passing before her unseeing eyes, while his betrayal circled through her mind, a sickening maelstrom of lies and seduction.
It made her doubly nauseous thinking about how badly he could have hurt her once he’d reduced her to nothing more than his cougar slave. She’d already been halfway to mindless adoration in only two nights.
She had no idea why Ian had done this to her, but she doubted it had anything to do with him being too infatuated to take no for an answer. Not when he looked like God’s gift to women and had every female in court panting after him.
Before entering her chambers, she used her compact mirror to check that the scarf still concealed the slave collar.
As she walked through the front offices, a young female clerk waved hello. “Is it your birthday?” she asked.
Tori frowned. “No. Why do you ask?”
“Well, you must have had one terrific date last night.” The clerk grinned. “Because you have an admirer, and he—or she—has very good taste. I put them in your chambers.”
Opening the door, Tori peered into her office. A gargantuan bouquet of lavender-colored roses sat in a vase on her desk.
She strode forward, having no doubt who’d sen
t them. But how did he get them here so quickly?
An ivory linen envelope sat next to the vase. She snatched it up and ripped into it, wanting to confirm her suspicions. Pulling out the paper, she flipped it over to see the signature.
The long, handwritten letter ended with “Ian” scrawled in masculine script at the bottom.
She crumpled the paper without reading a single word and threw it into the trash bin.
She adored flowers, and these were stunning. She’d keep them, if not the man who had sent them.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the sweet rose fragrance before stepping back a few feet to gaze at the classic Biedermeier bouquet. The concentric circles of color in various shades of green, lavender, and ivory created a lushly romantic composition. Crowning the center were two calla lilies—one ivory and one dark plum. Rising dramatically from the middle, the two contrasting blooms intertwined around each other like lovers.
She huffed out her breath in annoyance. “The nerve of the man!” She reached out to snatch the offending lilies from the bouquet but stayed her hand at the last second. The arrangement was too perfect to alter.
The law clerk had been right about one thing. If nothing else, the man had good taste.
And good lord, the crystal vase looked like it might be Baccarat!
She hefted the beautiful thing to a side table moments before her ten o’clock arrived. Then she put the giver of flowers and object of her ire out of her mind.
With the conclusion of the session two hours later, she checked her mobile, but Kate hadn’t responded to her text. Now Tori had a problem. No way could she ask any other colleague for help in removing the collar.
Bugger! She’d actually have to wear it in court this afternoon.
Her mobile rang, and she snatched it up quickly to look at the number. But seeing it was Ian, she didn’t answer.
A minute later it buzzed with a text.
Randy: I am so sorry. I should have told you. Did you get my letter?
She deleted the text.
After lunch, she donned her silk robe with its high court red panels and collar. Thankfully, if she tugged it up a bit, the white linen neckband covered—just barely—the sparkly gold slave collar.
How had she got herself into this mess?
Shaking her head, she left her chambers for court, the heavy oak door swinging shut behind her. She started down the hall but abruptly ran back into her office and grabbed Ian’s letter from the trash, tucking it into her bag.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Remorse and disappointment enveloped Ian in a cold, wet fog. It settled around him like the thick mist that had moved into London overnight and seemed destined to stay for days.
His two nights with Tori had been brilliant, amazing, and perfect. After all that effort to win her, he’d cocked it up big-time. He’d decided to tell her when he’d taken her into the alcove, but she’d made it clear she only wanted sex. So, he’d returned to his original plan—to wait on the big unmasking until after he’d forged a strong connection to her through great sex. Had it worked, she would have been tied to him—maybe even fallen in love with him to the point where it wouldn’t have mattered how they’d got together. A risky game, it had turned into a colossal misfire.
Sod it! Now he was the one falling so hard it felt as painful as if he’d crashed into concrete.
How had he fucked this up so badly?
She wouldn’t take his calls or return his texts, and he needed to see her like he needed air to breathe. Not to talk, but literally just see her again. Gaze at her and burn her image into his memory, since it seemed that was all he would ever have of her.
Unable to resist the impulse, he slipped into her courtroom and sat at the back among the crowd. She looked composed, as if nothing in the world bothered her, while he was already half in love with her and halfway to hell.
Ian gave a mental groan. Well, what had he expected to see while she presided over court? Tears? Hysterics? Even just a trace of sadness?
Not likely.
About to leave, something caught his eye. She kept tugging at her white neckband in a strange manner. What was that all about?
Sitting straighter, he strained to see. Was it possible his collar was still around her neck?
He had to know. Even more important, he needed to approach her in person since, clearly, she wasn’t going to take his calls.
Later in the day, fortune smiled on him. Rounding a corner, he spied her up ahead.
He hurried forward. Reaching out, he touched her arm. “Victoria.”
She skidded to a stop and whirled around, gasping when she saw it was him. “I thought I made it clear. I don’t want to talk to you…ever!”
His eyes were drawn to her neck. The white neckband had slipped a bit, and a glimpse of gold and a sparkling crystal glimmered there. He had proof now—she remained branded with his collar. Excitement filled him, and a small, satisfied smile curled his lips.
Now it was their special secret, even if she didn’t want to share secrets with him anymore. No one else in the world knew about his slave collar hiding on her lovely neck, nor that for one glorious night she’d been his sexual submissive. His groin tightened.
He tried to stifle his grin, satisfaction filling him. He recognized the exact second she realized he knew, a mixture of embarrassment and anger making her eyes flash and her face blush furiously red. Without another word, she turned away.
“Don’t leave,” he begged, placing a hand on her arm. “Please let me explain.”
“There’s nothing you—”
“You must feel something for me. You’re still wearing my gift.”
“That’s only because I can’t—” Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Never mind! We’re through, and I’m not playing your games anymore.”
“You can’t get it off, can you?” He dropped his voice to an intimate, husky tone, his win-at-all-costs personality driving him to gamble yet again. “Let me help. I’ll take it off you now, and later I’ll put it back on so we can resume where we left off.”
She froze for a hot second, emotions washing across her face. She yanked her arm back. “You unbelievably arrogant bastard. I—” She paused, seeming to force the words from her lips. “I. Don’t. Want. You.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it.
“I never meant to hurt you,” he said seriously. “I think we could be great together.”
She stormed away from him without another word.
“Please read my letter!” he called after her.
He wanted to chase after her but stopped himself. He’d made another miscalculation and didn’t want to make a third. He didn’t understand his constant need to fence with her. In the past, he’d always thrived on the hunt and the battle—in court and in love—but with Tori, he kept parrying left when he should have fallen right. And it seemed the more he cared for her, the more errors he made.
Left standing there alone, he watched her rigid, retreating back. The loss of her hit him with the force of a punch to the gut. His shoulders hunched, and he fought to remain proudly upright.
For the hundredth time, he asked himself how he could fix this.
What the hell should I do?
Turning to leave the building, he resolved to keep fighting for her. He wouldn’t give up. Not yet. He would follow the only course of action left open to him—to woo her relentlessly until she let him back into her life.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
And so it began.
Each day another message arrived, another gift, and another attempt to wear down Tori’s resistance.
Every day she deleted the texts, considered getting a new number but didn’t, and then didn’t let herself consider why she didn’t change the number.
She kept the gifts. But only because—she told herself—it would be wasteful to throw them in the rubbish. Having finally managed to get the slave collar off Tuesday night, she’d tucked the unusual necklace in a drawer in her bedroom. Sh
e put Ian’s letter there, too, unread.
Tuesday brought a big box of Fortnum & Mason chocolates in their signature mint-green wrapping. How did he know her favorite treat? Well, everyone liked chocolate. The text had been sweetly apologetic, and she’d found it harder to delete.
Wednesday brought whimsy in the form of a gigantic lollipop on a two-foot stick, also an F&M exclusive. She giggled, taking a selfie with it before depositing it on her credenza next to the flower vase.
Thursday afternoon brought a bottle of the finest Château Ducru Beaucaillou. Again, her favorite. Where on earth was he getting all his inside info? It couldn’t be a coincidence, not this time.
Sharing a glass with Kate in her chambers at the end of the day, she admitted to her friend that she kind of enjoyed the surprises.
Friday, she found herself anticipating the knock on her chambers that would herald the arrival of today’s surprise. She waited the entire day. As 5:00 p.m. neared, doubt prickled. Perhaps he’d finally realized she wouldn’t take him back.
Why didn’t she feel relief?
Her phone rang, and simultaneously someone knocked on her door. She laughed delightedly, instinctively knowing both were Ian.
She grabbed the phone and hurried to the door. Reaching for the doorknob, she answered her mobile without looking at it. “How do you do it?” she asked excitedly.
“Do what?”
Disconcerted, she pulled the phone from her ear to look at it, needing confirmation of something she already knew.
Rupert’s haughty portrait stared back at her. Her finger itched to hang up on him. His three previous attempts had gone unanswered, his voice messages deleted. Between Rupert and Ian, she couldn’t handle any more crazy.
The knocking continued, and she called, “Sorry. Be there in a minute.”
“Victoria! Are you there?” her phone squawked. Rupert wasn’t going to give up, either.
“Hello,” she said, sighing inside.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for days.” His tone slithered from annoyed to wounded. “You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
