The Bride (The Boss) (22 page)

I flipped the switch to bring the gas flames up and frowned at him over my shoulder. “I draw the line at you ordering me around and calling me ‘wife,’ when you refuse to set a date. How was the flight?”

“Miserable. There was so much turbulence that at one point I thought I might actually be sick.” Neil hated flying, but he didn’t mind it as much when we were together. His face was pale and dark circles shadowed his eyes. I should have gone with him.
 

I rubbed my hands down the front of my denim-clad thighs as I took a seat on the sofa. “That bad?”

He put his glass on the coffee table and patted his knee. “I can’t have you all the way over there. Not after the day I’ve had.”

“You know, I’m really more interested in the night you had,” I reminded him. I took his hand to steady myself as I sat across his lap. His bare chest was warm and wonderful against my upper arm.

He gave me a tired smile and pulled me into his arms to lay my head against his shoulder. “Yes, yes, fine. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know everything!” I exclaimed. “Did you sub for him?”

“I did.” Neil kissed the top of my head, as though that were a sufficient end to the answer.

“Did you like it?” I demanded.

“I enjoyed myself. Though I can’t imagine I’d ever want to do it again.” He stroked my hair down my back, his fingers stopping to trace the band of my bra beneath my t-shirt. “The submission, that is. It was enough for me to try it. But it’s damned hard work.”

“You sound surprised.” I skimmed my bare foot up and down his ankle. It felt so good just to cuddle with him again. “And you
do
put me through the ringer.”

“Yes, I must admit, I have a new appreciation for your stamina.”

“So, what did he do to you?” I squirmed a little, pressing my thighs together, and I knew it wasn’t a subtle enough motion to escape his notice.

“Well,” he began with a slow, audible breath. He brushed my hair back from my neck and slowly drew his fingers up and down, from the bend of my collarbone to the top of my breast and back as he spoke. “There was a bit of making out, then he made me wait for a rather long time. On my knees, which hurt a fair bit more than I’d considered it might. I always give thought to how your joints feel when you’re bound, or what kinds of positions you can hold, but kneeling seemed so benign, I never stopped to think about how it was affecting your knees and back.”

I leaned into his touch with a happy sigh. “I’m fine with it. It’s much better than some of the other positions you’ve put me in. What else happened?”

“I sucked his cock. He rimmed me, there was some ass play—”

Though it would have been nice to be a totally mature adult, there was something so bizarre to me about hearing Neil very matter-of-factly, almost clinically, even, describing the sex he’d had with someone who wasn’t me. I burst out into a storm of giggles.

“Should I go on?” he asked, scolding.

I forced myself to settle down and twisted to face him. I smoothed his chest hair under my palms and tried to make eye contact with my most serious face on. It only half worked. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I don’t know, it’s so naughty. Did you, um…did you go all the way?”

“Yes, we did.” He lips quirked in the half-smile I found so damned appealing. “I let him fuck me.”

“Wow, really?” I tried to imagine it, but nothing my brain came up with was satisfactory. I was going to have to see this with my own two eyes. “Hey, you know…that’s something we have in common. We’ve both been fucked by Emir.”

“That we have,” he agreed, with a little eye roll and laugh that suggested I didn’t know the half of it.

Oh, I wanted to know the half of it.

“He’s very good,” Neil continued, holding me tight with one arm as he leaned forward for his glass. He took a long sip and grimaced in the way of a truly satisfied scotch drinker. “You never told me how good.”

“I wasn’t sure I was supposed to. I didn’t want to make you feel as though I were comparing the two of you.” I leaned in for a kiss, tasting the alcohol on his mouth. “Besides, I’m sure it’s different, having sex with a woman than with a man, right?”

“It is. I find my hands end up in different places on a woman’s body than on a man’s, for one,” he said, silently offering me his glass.

I took it and lifted it for a sip. “How so?”

“Well, for example, if I’m fucking a man from behind, I’ve noticed I’ll generally hold on to his shoulder or put my hands at the small of his back, whereas with a woman—”

“You’ll pull her hair or grab her hips,” I finished for him with a knowing nod. I took a swallow from the glass and handed it back to him.

“Exactly. And it doesn’t seem to have anything to do with body type.”

“Huh.” I shrugged. “I guess I never thought of little habits like that, if I have any.”

I gave in to one of the naughty impulses pinging in my brain and pulled my t-shirt over my head. I tossed it aside with a grin, my breath lifting my tits in my cute polka dot bra.

He smiled and sighed, leaning back contentedly. “Very pretty, darling. But I am exhausted.”

“That’s okay.” I shrugged. “
Talking
about
sex with you is still in my top fifteen favorite things to do.”

“Didn’t make the top ten, did it? Bad luck.” He reached up and stroked his knuckles over the curve of one padded cup.

“Don’t feel bad. The top seven all involve Chinese food buffets.” I lay against him again, loving the feel of his chest hair against my back.

I loved the way his voice felt rumbling beneath me, too. “It was a very good evening, Sophie. Though I would appreciate it in the future if you didn’t surprise me like that again.”

“Noted.” I did feel badly about that part. “I shouldn’t have done it that way. I should have brought the idea up to you, first, and not to Emir.”

“I’d also like to know when you’re communicating with him. I have always told you when I’ve received an email from Emir, or when we’ve spoken. I’m perfectly happy having a friend we sleep with from time to time, but for the sake of my own jealous heart, let’s have transparency.” His big, warm hand stroked down my back, soothing me, telling me he wasn’t angry with me. Neil might not have realized it himself, but he was much better at communicating through body language than speaking. He wasn’t as conscious in choosing casual gestures as he was in selecting his words.

“Deal,” I agreed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of how that might look from your side.”

“I know it’s awfully early, but do you mind if I go to bed? I’m positively knackered and I’m still fighting off the Klonopin.” He always took something to fly when he was alone. When we travelled together, he rarely did. I think it was because he felt guilty, feeling better when I wouldn’t sedate myself.

I sat up and kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t mind at all. I’ll even come snuggle you to sleep.”

We went to the bedroom, where Neil groaned in ecstasy the moment he settled onto his pillow. “This is exactly what I need.”

I slipped out of my jeans and bra and slid in beside him, and he reached for me, pulling me into the circle of his arms. I wriggled back, fitting my hips with his, letting his body envelop me.

“Well, almost exactly,” he whispered against my ear.

I hugged his arm tighter over my waist. “You said you had a change of perspective. What was that about?”

“I promise, we’ll talk about that tomorrow,” he yawned. “After we look at the house.”

Damn. That change in perspective was what I’d wanted to hear the most about.
 

* * * *

The next night, Tony the chauffeur drove me to meet Neil at the New York offices of Elwood & Stern. I’d hoped I’d get a chance to see Neil’s office, but the stars never seemed to align on that one, and tonight was no exception. From Elwood & Stern, we drove a few blocks to a building with a helipad, where our chartered helicopter was waiting.

In phobic terms, airplanes had nothing on helicopters where Neil was concerned. Oddly, the short flight didn’t bother me; the windows were huge, compared to the ones on the jet, so I didn’t feel quite so boxed in. But it was a little hard to get excited about the incredible airborne views when Neil was crushing my hand like a vise.

I spent most of the flight mentally preparing myself for what was in store. I knew we wouldn’t be looking at a four-bedroom cape cod. From the few details Neil had fed me—carefully doled out, I believed, to keep me from calling off the entire thing—the place had massive acreage. The terms “compound” and “grounds” had been used.

“Is that it?” I asked the pilot over the intercom. Being in an executive helicopter was way different than the tourist helicopter that had taken my mom and me up at the fair. It was more like a car than I’d expected.

“Yes, ma’am, directly below us,” the pilot responded.

I leaned my forehead against the window and gazed down, conscious of Neil’s arm slipping protectively across my waist, as though I’d tumble out to my doom. I spotted a massive, well-lit building, the size of which could only be compared to the visitor center in
Jurassic Park.
A wide, sweeping crescent of pavement made an illuminated path up to the building, winding away and forking off toward other areas of the “compound.”

Compound. We might as well have built a bunker while we were at it.

The pilot set the helicopter down and shut off the engines. Tom, the agent, stood waiting for us in a neatly pressed suit that was almost as nice as Neil’s. Hampton properties sales must net a pretty good commission.

“Mr. Elwood, Mrs. Elwood, I am thrilled to show you this property,” he exclaimed by way of greeting. He took Neil’s hand and shook it, then mine.

“Ms. Scaife,” I corrected him with a smile. “But don’t worry about it.”

It was good practice for after we married. I didn’t plan to change my name, and I was sure this wouldn’t be last time I’d be erroneously called “Mrs. Elwood.”

“The helipad is awfully far from the house,” Neil observed as we stepped into the waiting car.

He was right. It
was
awfully far from the house. I couldn’t even see a house. I couldn’t see anything but grass and stars. It was a nice change, just like the crisp, country air was a nice change from the smell of asphalt and garbage in the city.

But I’d made so much fun of people on
House Hunters
that I wasn’t about to complain about something like
the helipad is awfully far from the house
.

Neil gave me the front passenger seat, and Tom drove us up the long slope.

“And the other way goes out to the road?” I asked, peering out the back window.

“Oh, Sophie, look,” Neil said, breathless with wonder.

I turned, and I saw it.

The first thing that struck me was that there was so, so much house. It seemed to stretch endlessly across the crest of the hill. The main section was two stories, but the gables at the ends made it seem much taller. At one end, a tower with an open-air cupola had been added, clearly newer construction. Every light in the place was on, and the number of windows was overwhelming. I counted eight chimneys cutting tall rectangles out of the starry night sky.

The agent took advantage of our awe to launch into technical specifications. “The main house is thirty-five-thousand square feet. Ten bedrooms, nine baths—one jack-and-jill—three half-baths—”

“Wait, wait,” Neil shushed him urgently. “Whatever it is you’re saying will not sink in for either of us right now.”

“‘Sophie, don’t get too excited about the property,’” I mimicked his earlier pronouncement.

“Good accent,” Tom remarked, but his grin faded when Neil cleared his throat. Tom swallowed and continued, “As I was saying, the compound sits on forty-nine acres, has ocean views, a beautiful beach front—”

“We would live…on the ocean?” I got dizzy just imagining it. When I’d been younger, I’d dreamed about one day owning a camp on Lake Superior that I could hang out at on the weekends. That had been some far off dream that I’d happily abandoned when I’d moved to New York. But the ocean? Only rich people lived by the ocean.

That’s when it hit me for the very first time: I was a rich person. Even though I’d been living with Neil for a year, even though he’d bought me designer clothes and ridiculously expensive jewelry, I’d never really thought of his money as my own. Except for that one time in Hermés. But shopping for a house together, the house we would live in, our family home that would have both names on it… That really drove the point into my brain.

Neil was giving me a life I had never bothered to dream about, and he was doing it just because he loved me. I would probably never again have to stress over bills. I’d never find my career limited by how much money I could spare for the commute. I wouldn’t have to eat Ramen ever again, unless it was by choice.

This was the life Neil wanted to give me, and I’d been stubbornly rejecting it, but still reaping the benefits. I’d been utterly blind to the privilege that had been plunked into my lap. Why? Because I thought it made my love mean less if I was grateful for his money?

“What was the price again?” Neil asked as the agent pulled into the circular drive and parked beneath the portico.

“Eighty-three million,” the agent said easily. Like it was a number he could rattle off any day.

I grabbed Neil’s hand and squeezed it.

He squeezed back.

“There are six other exits,” Tom explained, like he was the chief flight attendant for the house. “The previous owners directed deliveries to the kitchen, through the porte-cochére at the other end of the house. That’s also where you’ll find the eight car garage—”

“Only eight?” Neil asked, and my eyes boggled. What in the name of sweet baby Jesus would require us to own more than two cars? He caught my look and said, sheepishly, “For my collection.”

“Your collection is in England,” I reminded him.

He smirked. “It can be moved.”

“There is plenty of acreage if you’d like to add a hangar to house them,” Tom suggested easily. As though it would be just like putting a ceiling fan in. No big deal, build a hangar on the weekend. Fill it up with a man-sized Hot Wheels collection. People just did this, in our world.