by Lila Dubois
“Yes.”
He’d said our time together. Hope sprouted in her, and she squashed it ruthlessly.
James started to mutter in another language, the volume rising with each word until he was yelling at her.
Christiana pressed her lips together and pulled at her ear, waiting for him to finish. She wasn’t scared or upset that he was yelling, though by any reasonable standard she should have been.
Finally, he stopped, took a deep breath, and then exhaled slowly.
“In with the good air, out with the bad,” she said.
He burst out laughing.
The car stopped.
She hadn’t been paying any attention to where they were going, and it was her turn to take a deep breath when she realized they had pulled up outside her apartment. She hadn’t registered that they’d headed east on the bridge, across the bay to Oakland, rather than west into the city.
James leaned toward the silent driver. “Where are we?”
“Uh, at her place. I assumed that’s where you wanted to go.” He twisted in the seat to look back at them. “We can go somewhere else.”
James looked out the window, his face unreadable. “No, this is good. Thank you.”
“Would you like me to wait?”
“No need. I’ll call my usual car service when I’m ready.” James got out.
They were going into her apartment? Oh, God, this was her worst nightmare. Well, maybe not her worst nightmare, since she’d once considered bringing him here as part of her confession, but Prince James seeing her shitty little apartment was near the top of the list of things she didn’t want to happen. She couldn’t just stay in the car, though.
Christiana opened the door and climbed out, muttering a quick thanks to the driver. James was already there, waiting for her. He extended his hand and Christiana stared at it. He was just being polite, she realized. All those gallant gestures, they were just part of who he was—they didn’t really mean anything to him, at least not the way they had to her.
She passed him her hard hat rather than taking his hand. He blinked but accepted it, while she unzipped an interior pocket on her vest and took out her keys. They walked up the creaky exterior iron stairs, then along the open-air walkway that had a thrilling view of the driveway that ran alongside the building, giving access to the parking spaces below. Her hands shook when she put the key in the door, and it took her a minute to get the finicky thing to open. Through it all, James said nothing.
She’d left the curtains open, so the apartment was filled with late afternoon light. She’d opted to live close to work in a not-so-great area, and to spend more than she should in order to have her own space. Normally coming home to her little place made her happy, but now all she could see was how cramped and small the space was, how nothing she owned matched though each piece was nice by her standards and carefully maintained. She set her keys in the bowl on the corner of her kitchen counter, then undid the Velcro on her vest, taking it off before folding it and draping it on the back of a rickety chair that had been handmade by her great-grandfather in Mexico and carried across the border.
She heard the door close. Without turning, she asked, “Are you here to threaten me so I won’t say anything? Blackmail me to keep quiet?”
“In part,” he said simply. “I need to tell Lillian what I find out about you. Lillian is the—”
“I know who she is. I heard her; saw her. That’s why I knew there were clothes I could borrow.”
“Borrow?” There was sardonic amusement in the word.
Christiana turned. “What are you going to tell her?”
“She already knows most of it. Did you leave a car from your job overnight at the warehouse?”
She nodded. “That first night, yes.”
“Lillian was worried about it, but didn’t investigate until I asked her about you and we realized there was an outsider at the San Francisco event. It only took her a matter of hours to track down the name of the inspecting engineer.”
An outsider. That’s who she was. “Then she knows it all.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
Her bike hung on a wall rack by the door since she’d had too many bikes stolen for her to be willing to risk leaving it outside. It made the entrance to the apartment cramped and a bit hazardous. He skirted it neatly, stepping deeper into her space.
James set her hard hat on the counter by her key bowl. He looked wonderful, just as handsome as she remembered, wearing a pair of crisp gray slacks and a white shirt. And here he was, in her little apartment.
“She doesn’t?” Christiana asked.
“No.” James wandered past her, to the living room window. He looked out, beyond the security bars. “I don’t fully understand why you lied. Why you pretended to be a member.”
Christiana shrugged. “I told you, I felt like—”
“Alice through the looking glass,” he cut in. “But it’s more than that, isn’t it? Because this wasn’t just sneaking into some elegant party.” He turned from the window, pausing for a moment to look at the cluster of photographs she’d framed and hung on the wall. They were all photos she’d taken—close-ups of weathered wood and bits of rusted ironwork, stained concrete and long shadows. “You said you recognized the equipment. You knew what the St. Andrew’s Cross was.”
“Yes, I did.”
“That means you’re interested in BDSM. Knowledgeable.” He stepped closer. “You wanted to see Masters and submissives play.”
Her breath was coming faster and she felt flushed. “Yes.”
“Because it’s something that fascinates you. You might not have done it before, but you thought about submitting. Is that what you fantasize about at night?”
“I was just going to look, just that first night,” she whispered. “I just wanted to see it, for real. Not porn. Not just reading about it. I wasn’t going to do anything. And I would never tell anyone.”
“But you did ‘do’ something. With me.” He was now only two feet away, his dark gaze boring into hers.
“I’m so sorry, James. I wanted to tell you…”
“Why didn’t you?”
Christiana let out an unamused chuckle. “You know why? Because that last night, after, when I was getting dressed and ready to leave, there were two women talking about private jets and half-million-dollar cars. I knew that place had to be something only for rich people, but I didn’t realize how rich.”
“You didn’t tell me… because you assumed, I was rich?” He sounded incredulous.
“Don’t be obtuse,” she snapped. “I’m not like you. I’ve never even been to Europe, and you were talking about meeting me in Luxembourg. Even if I wanted to, even if I had spent more money than I should getting there, I’m not a member. I would have had no idea how to find you. The only way I was able to come the second and third nights was by jumping in cars with other members. I just lied my way into getting a ride. I’m not a member of your fancy club, and more importantly, I never will be.”
James’s face revealed nothing. “You could have told me you wouldn’t be there. You lied plenty; you could have lied and said you weren’t able to attend.” He bit off the last word, his jaw muscle flexing. “I waited for you,” he ground out. “I thought something terrible had happened.”
Christiana closed her eyes and a tear leaked out from between her lashes. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I hoped you would just shrug and find someone else.”
“Did our time together mean so little to you?” he asked softly.
Her lips trembled. She was on the verge of sobbing. She swallowed hard, fighting back her feelings. When she spoke next, the words were strangled.
“It meant everything to me.” She opened her eyes, and there he was, so close she could reach out and touch him, yet he seemed so far away. “After yesterday…” She paused to take a few deep breaths. “I tried to tell myself that what I felt for you was just because of the BDSM, because of the kink.”
He frowned. �
�What happened yesterday?”
She was not going to tell him about Dino. “I actually spent all night Googling you. I had decided that whatever it took, I was going to find you, apologize for lying. Tell you who I really was.”
“And then I just happened to show up. You expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth, which I realize might not mean that much coming from me. But I gave up on that idea.”
“In one night, you decided to find me and then abandoned that decision hours later?” The derision in his voice cut at her.
“I Googled you. I know who you are.”
“Oh? And who am I?”
“You’re a billionaire prince!” She threw her arms out, trying to encompass her apartment, her uniform, how very different she was from him.
“I’m not a prince.”
Was he serious? “Your mother is a princess!”
“Technically.”
Christiana held her hands up in an “exactly” gesture.
James’s lips twitched. “I can see how that might be intimidating.”
“Intimidating? When I realized how different we were, the idea of going after you like some woman in a romantic comedy was more than intimidating. It was… it was ludicrous.”
“I want to be clear what we’re talking about here. You think the idea of us having BDSM scenes together is ludicrous, because I’m wealthy?”
That stopped her cold. BDSM scenes. That’s how he had just described their relationship.
Christiana swallowed and, only in that moment, admitted to herself that she’d classified what they had as something more. That in her mind there had been an emotional bond between them that went beyond what she now understood standard BDSM relationships normally had.
She didn’t know how to respond, so she turned and went into the kitchen, shaking some aspirin into her palm and dry swallowing them. She could feel him watching her.
“I don’t know what I thought,” she whispered.
“I’d ask you for honesty, but…”
“Cheap shot,” she snapped, still hurting from hearing what had been for her a life-changing relationship minimized.
“Am I wrong?”
“I know you might not believe this, but the only thing I lied to you about was my previous experience.”
“And who you are.”
Another flare of anger made her whip around. “No, that’s the thing. I felt…”
I felt more like myself with you.
She crossed her arms. “What happens now? I promise I won’t tell. Do you want something you can use to blackmail me to keep me silent?” She left the kitchen, needing to move.
He tucked one hand into the pocket of his slacks. “Hardly. I’ll explain to Lillian that you found the location of the club due to a series of coincidences, and that you stayed because you were interested in the lifestyle. I suspect she’ll have you sign an NDA.”
“NDA?”
“Nondisclosure agreement. I’d suggest you have your attorney review it before signing, as it’s quite stringent.”
“My attorney?” Christiana shook her head. “I don’t have an attorney.”
She took a step back, turning as she did. The movement was awkward, and she stepped right into the corner of her little side table. The sharp edge pressed on a particularly sensitive spot on her upper thigh and she yelped.
“What’s wrong?” James was frowning at her.
That was a loaded question. The renewed throbbing in her ass made it hard for her to hold on to her hot anger, and she felt teary again.
“Christiana, what’s wrong?” The cold was gone from James’s voice. Then he was touching her, his hands rubbing her upper arms, helping her to straighten from her hunched position. He sounded like James from their nights together, instead of the indifferent almost-stranger he’d been a moment ago.
She didn’t look up, she didn’t want to see that blank, hard expression on his face. She leaned into his chest, arm folded up protectively, fists at her shoulders. He hugged her, rested his cheek on her hair.
This. This was why she’d wanted to go after him. More of this—this feeling, this peace, this security. This was more than just a BDSM relationship, wasn’t it? What she was feeling now?
“What’s wrong?” he whispered against her hair.
“I was stupid,” she whispered. “So stupid. I thought…”
His hands stroked her back, and she wished she were naked, so she could feel his palms on her skin. “What did you think?”
“I thought that I could find someone else to submit to.” She steeled her courage and leaned back enough to look him in the face, though she stayed within the circle of his arms. He deserved the truth, even if that made him walk away from her. “I thought that it would be the same with someone else, but it wasn’t.”
His eyes narrowed. “You submitted to someone else.”
“I tried. I don’t think I submitted to him.” She forced a laugh, but he squeezed her until she stopped.
“Christiana, tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
His gaze bore into her.
Honesty. He’d asked her for honesty and she hadn’t given it to him. She could change that, rectify it, now. She studied his face, so close to hers, and spoke quietly, just above a whisper, as if they were hiding under a blanket sharing secrets.
“I joined websites, tried going to a party.”
“BDSM party?” His quiet voice matched hers.
She nodded. “Munch. I was being smart about it, until yesterday.”
“What happened yesterday?”
“I was imagining you in Luxembourg with someone else,” she admitted. “It was—” breaking my heart “—making me crazy. I thought that if I submitted to someone else, then I would start to forget you.”
“You were trying to forget me?”
“What else could I do? I thought I’d never see you again.”
One brow went up. “I thought you said you’d decided to come find me.”
“This was before. The scene didn’t go so well.”
His face darkened. “Christiana, what happened?”
“Nothing bad,” she rushed. “But I couldn’t submit to him. I tried, but I didn’t want it. I didn’t want him.” She tried to control her breathing, but she let out a little sob. “He wasn’t you.” Tears slipped from her eyes.
He must have thought she was a needy fool. She tried to pull back, regretting just how honest she had been.
James kissed her cheeks, just below her eyes, kissing away her tears. “Why are you wincing?” he asked. “What did he do to you?”
“It was this black thing. A slapper, he called it.” Her stomach was knotted with nerves, as if she were confessing to cheating on him. She felt better for having told him. She remembered a saying of her grandmother’s that roughly translated into English as “even the smallest lies become big and evil.”
Now there were no secrets, no lies.
“Damn it, Christiana.” He stepped back, but kept his hands on her arms. “Let me see.”
“See? My butt?”
His lips twitched. “I’ve seen it before.”
“I haven’t even looked,” she admitted. “It’s probably nothing.”
“Was there aftercare?”
“Not really. I sort of… ran away.”
His stare was intense, his brows beetled. “Did you not have a safe word?”
“I did.”
James released her and then crossed his arms. “I’d like you to lower your pants and let me make sure you’re okay.”
From anyone else, that would be an outlandish, offensive request. With him, for him, it seemed right, if alarming.
What did it mean if she did as he’d asked? What would happen afterward? Would he walk out the door and she’d never see him again?
She wanted to ask, but she was scared of the answer. And more than that, she wanted to feel his hands on her. She needed him to touch her the
way a flower needed sunlight. She was going to do it because maybe, just maybe, if she stripped off some clothes, he’d touch her.
Christiana pulled her long-sleeved polo from her pants, undid the button at the collar, then took it off. She wore a black tank top under it, and a thick sports bra, so she was hardly naked.
She undid her belt, then stopped and took a moment to take off her boots and socks, setting them to the side. Her breath was coming fast as she wiggled out of her pants, careful not to let her heavy belt scrape against her ass. She stepped out of the pants and belt and kicked them aside. Normally she wore briefs, but today she had on a black cotton thong, as even her loosest regular underwear had hurt.
On the surface, this was no different than what she’d done with Dino, yet it felt so different.
James examined her, her arms and legs bare, while her sex, breasts, and torso were still covered. She considered removing the tank top, but he hadn’t asked her to do that. He’d asked her—told her—only to show him her ass.
Her backside was smarting a little from having her pants rub against it, despite her attempt at being careful. She needed to turn around, but she couldn’t bring herself to. What if James didn’t want her anymore when he saw the physical proof that she’d gone to someone else? Tried to replace him?
Anxiety built inside her, and she pressed one hand to her stomach as if that could stop the nauseous feeling.
James cleared his throat, drawing her attention to his face.
“Turn around, Christiana.”
Chapter 4
James prided himself on his discipline—something he’d learned after the errors of his youth—but at the moment, his control was tenuous. This interaction continued to play against everything he’d imagined it would be. Christiana was not—as he’d told Lillian—some investigative reporter. The theory he’d found most plausible was that she was a member of one of San Francisco’s local clubs and had found out about the event and decided to crash it. Instead, it seemed a series of coincidences had brought her into his life, and he might be able to laugh it off if she hadn’t told him that he’d been her first BDSM partner.
He was frantically thinking back over everything he’d done to her. She’d been a BDSM virgin. Her powerful reaction to the spanking on the second night made more sense in light of that.
