“God, Dad, that is
such
a cliché.”
He laughed. “I’m a walking cliché. When are you and Kyla coming home for a visit?” Of course, they’d only been back at school for a week since the winter break ended, but he missed them.
“We’re hoping in a couple of weeks. After we settle into the new quarter.”
“Okay, honey, let me know for sure. I’ll tell your mom.”
She blew him a kiss before she hung up.
He liked the short phone calls and text messages from both his girls. Keira was twenty, and Kyla a year younger, a freshman, also at Cal Poly; their sound-alike names had been Beth’s idea. But really, that’s all they’d gotten from their mother. They were far too much like him, both of them. That’s what Beth said to him, that she felt eclipsed around the three of them, like she wasn’t there, just a mere shadow.
He had a lot of regrets, one of them being that he hadn’t even noticed Beth slipping away until that day five years ago when she told him she’d die if she stayed with him. He’d believed he’d been doing everything for her, a faithful husband and a good provider, the big house, any material thing she could want. Something in him had died that day, too. He’d buried the pain if not the guilt, but he couldn’t stop being proud of how strong his daughters were. He wouldn’t have it any other way. Though he would always be there to beat the crap out of any guys who broke their hearts.
Of all the things he’d done in his life, that was the thing he was most proud of, raising daughters who didn’t need him. He’d been so intent on teaching his girls the lesson, though, he’d completely overlooked his wife’s needs until it was too late.
Yet for all the strength he’d instilled in his daughters and his wife’s grievances, he’d chosen a woman who craved his domination. It was a completely different situation. And hell yes, he was looking forward to the intimacies he’d force on Bree in her own home tonight.
LUKE WAS COMING TO HER CONDO. THE PLACE WAS CLEAN, HER dishes done, her bed made, no dirty clothes tossed on the carpet, no ring around the bathtub. Usually when Bree knew she was going to see him, the anticipation made her giddy. Now she was terrified. She wanted things separate. She wanted dominance in a controlled environment. She wanted to be able to leave when she needed to, if things suddenly got more than she could handle. Like the other night, when he realized she’d only pretended to climax.
Bree took a deep breath. “Calm down,” she whispered. Then she went into the bathroom for her cosmetics bag and toiletries and continued packing for the stay at her parents in Saratoga, half an hour and a lifetime away. She’d loaded blouses, slacks, and work blazers into her hanging carrier. Her suitcase lay open on the bed, half filled with panties, bras, socks, jeans, T-shirts, nightshirts, her unfinished needlepoint, and her three favorite DVDs, the Disney version of
Beauty and the Beast
, the twelve-part
Jane Eyre
with Timothy Dalton, and
Pitch Black
. Okay, it was a sci-fi horror flick, but there was something about the pilot’s redemption at the end that Bree had to watch over and over. Redemption was a theme in all her favorites. If things got totally crazy at her parents’, she could plug in one of those DVDs and melt into it as if she were taking a hallucinogen. Alice down the rabbit hole.
She hadn’t told Erin about the move to her parents. She wanted to go through the schedule with her mother over the weekend. Since her commute would be much shorter than it was from her condo in Newark—her parents’ house was only ten minutes from DKG—she could come in later and leave earlier. She could work from her parents’ as well, if she had to. It would be okay. She’d be fine.
She couldn’t count the number of times she’d repeated that mantra to herself since talking with her mother this morning. But when she really thought about it, being in that house again, she felt so sick she couldn’t even eat.
God only knew how she would manage to see Luke. That’s why she needed tonight so badly, because it could be the last time for a long time.
Even if she was nervous now, she had to have the kick being with him gave her. He was like a drug; when she felt bad, he forced her to feel other things. He’d saved her from Derek. She’d been in over her head with Derek. She’d met him online, and things had seemed great for a few weeks. Then he began taking her to the clubs. He’d made her give hand jobs to other guys while he watched. It wasn’t so bad; she liked that it turned him on. Anything was okay as long as it turned him on. But things started to get out of control. He’d wanted her to give blow jobs, to fuck strangers, more than one. He even wanted to start charging for her services. That might all have been okay, except that he no longer made her feel special. The whole relationship became about making him look like a big man. She was just this
thing
he could order around and give away. He barely touched her; his eye was always wandering. When she balked, he’d said he’d have to beat her. Then suddenly, there was Luke. He took her away. He made her feel precious. For six months, he’d given her everything she needed. All she had to do was hit his speed dial on her phone.
Bree threw the last few things into her suitcase and zipped it. It wasn’t as if she’d be so far away she couldn’t drop by to pick up stuff when she needed. Plus she’d have to come by to water her plants. Hauling the bag off the bed onto the carpet, she stood for a moment. She couldn’t leave it down in the front hall; Luke was bound to ask. She didn’t want to explain. That was the thing about Luke, she wanted everything she did with him to be separate. There was her real life, and there was what she did with him. God, if anyone ever knew about her secret life, about the men, about all the things she’d done.
She rolled the suitcase over to the closet, shoved the remaining clothes aside and made space for it. Then she hung the carrier beside it. As an afterthought, she went to the bathroom, grabbed three condoms out of the package she kept under the sink, and shoved them into a pocket in her purse. She probably wouldn’t get a chance to see Luke after tonight, not for a while. But she’d still be prepared for anything.
Okay, the room was neat. She straightened the blue comforter, then, glancing around one last time, she backed out. Her condo was two floors; two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, kitchen, dining area, living room, and half bath downstairs. In the kitchen, she’d opened a bottle of merlot to let it breathe. She preferred white, but Luke liked red.
When the doorbell rang, her heart began racing again, half excitement, half fear that she’d revealed a big piece of her
other
life to him. Though the time she spent with him was more real to her than anything else. She didn’t think he truly understood that.
He was dressed all in black, from a turtleneck to jeans to tennis shoes, a cat burglar like Cary Grant in
To Catch a Thief
. His short hair was black, too, his dark raven looks in keeping with his last name. His eyes, though, were light brown, amber almost. She liked that he was only a couple of inches taller than her. He was powerfully built, with thick muscles uncommon to the usual executive type’s physique. If he’d been over six feet, his size would have been too overwhelming.
“Nice place,” he said. Flowerpots ringed her tiny front porch. The rain had stopped, and her wind chimes tinkled gently in the night wind. Of course there were also the noisy neighbors on one side, and the pack of children shrieking as they played out in the parking lot.
It had nowhere near the grandeur of his place in Atherton. But it was hers. And the bank’s. “Come in.” She held the door wide, thinking of the innocent giving the vampire permission to enter.
Except that she’d lost her innocence long ago.
3
THE FRONT DOOR OPENED STRAIGHT INTO THE LIVING ROOM, with the stairs up to the second floor along the wall adjoining the condo next door. Another wall separated the kitchen from the main room, and a small bathroom, just a toilet and sink, filled the space under the tall end of the stairs. She had no one above her, and being an end unit, Bree got noise only from the one side. Luke prowled the living room, looking at everything. The institutional blue gray carpet was new when she moved in two years ago, the white paint job as well. She had the requisite couch and loveseat, though she didn’t entertain, and a fairly new flat screen TV.
Luke leaned close to inspect her needlepoint over the sofa, a historical horse-and-carriage scene outside a manor house. “Your work?”
Bree actually blushed. “Yes.” Needlepoint soothed her.
“I never would have imagined you sewing.”
Why? Because being a promiscuous slut and needlework didn’t go together? She didn’t say that. Instead she pointed to the others on the walls. “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid.” It had always been a relaxing hobby. Some might have called it monotonous, but she loved how it was always so easy to make it perfect, each stitch the same, the finished parts growing beneath her fingers.
“I’m impressed.” He smiled, wandering backward through the living room until he entered the dining area.
She had a table-and-chair set from IKEA. She’d had only her parents over to dinner, once, when she first moved in. For the most part, she ate dinner on the sofa in front of the TV.
“I’ve got some wine.” She held a hand aloft, indicating the kitchen. They’d had sex, done so many dirty things together, and yet she felt as tongue-tied and nervous as a first date.
He laughed. “I forgot. The man’s supposed to bring a bottle of something. How remiss of me.” Then he leaned in and sniffed her hair. “Christ, you smell good. And I love the tight leggings.”
She was barefoot, but still, her lips were almost on the same level as his. Some men didn’t like that she was tall; it made them feel inferior. It had never bothered Luke. She gazed at his mouth, wanting his kiss, but she never initiated. Instead, she brushed a hand down her white Lycra top to the waistband of the leggings resting at her hips. “I know you like this shirt.” She’d dressed for him. He loved the fact that all he had to do was tug on the Lycra to expose her breasts. She wasn’t big, but she had tight nipples that peaked against the material, tempting him, she hoped.
He didn’t take the bait, turning to the kitchen instead. “Nice,” he said, and he could have been talking about her clothing or her cabinets as he drew his hand across the wood surfaces. He opened one, then another.
“What are you doing?” She didn’t know why it made her nervous; she didn’t have anything to hide, at least not in her cabinets.
“I want to see what’s in your cupboards. Wow, you actually cook.” He turned the spice carousel; she had everything from nutmeg and cardamom to cayenne and Italian spices. On the shelf above sat her bottles of soy sauce, sesame oil, red wine vinegar, cooking sherry, and more.
“I like to make stir fry,” she offered.
“Needlepoint and cooking.” He quirked a Spock-like eyebrow. “I’m learning so much about you.”
“Maybe you need to check the fridge, too,” she said dryly.
He did just that. “You like vanilla yogurt. A lot. And milk.” Bent down to look inside, he turned his head back up to her. “Two
gallons
? Do you have kids you didn’t tell me about?”
Her skin felt hot. “It’s cheaper if you buy two gallons at once. I like to make my mocha in the morning.” She had a routine. Every morning, she made her own mocha for the drive to work; Starbucks every day was a thousand dollars a year. Besides, she liked routines. They were soothing, just like needlepoint and cooking. If you had a routine, you were in control.
“Thrifty but with expensive tastes, I like it.” He opened the lettuce drawer, maybe to see if she had rotting vegetables inside.
She stepped back. “Why are you doing this?” He made her feel claustrophobic in her own home.
He straightened, closed the fridge, the soft
pfft
of the door filling the kitchen. “Doing what?”
“Looking in everything. Checking me out.”
He cupped her chin, his touch sending a shiver through her. “You’ve never let me into your house before. I want to discover everything I can.”
He was always asking her questions, but if she didn’t answer, he hadn’t seemed to care. She’d liked it that way. “It’s just that I’m a very private person.”
He closed the brief space between them, coming chest to chest, and it was all she could do not to back up. He might have been only a couple of inches taller, yet right now she felt as if he were a giant above her.
“I’ve fucked you, licked you, spanked you,” he murmured softly as he if were whispering love words. “I’ve tied you up, blindfolded you, and forced you to take my cock and my come down your throat. I think that strips away any privacy between us, don’t you?”
His censure made her tremble inside.
He tugged the Lycra shirt down until her nipples popped free. “We have a new rule from now on.” He stroked the beads into hard nubs. “When I ask, you will answer.” He stared at her hard. “And you will tell me the truth.” With her nipples between thumb and forefinger of each hand, he pinched, and sensation streaked down between her legs. “Right?”
She gasped, her knees weak. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Master.” She’d always chosen to call him Master, but he’d never insisted. He’d played her games of dominance and submission, but they were always
her
games.
Suddenly everything was different. He’d turned the tables on her. And God help her, she was going to love it.
“SHOW ME THE UPSTAIRS.” AS SHE’D STARED AT HIM WIDE-EYED and spellbound, Luke had gone through every cupboard in her kitchen, asked her favorite meals, her favorite foods. He’d finished the glass of wine and felt the mellowness of it in his knees. Now he wanted her, to fuck her, to hold her, to do anything he wanted.
She was an enigma, and the needlepoint and cooking had taken him totally off guard, as did the number of plants. He’d never seen her as domestic; she was too sexual for that, though for the life of him he couldn’t say why the two should be mutually exclusive. He decided that the next time, she would cook for him. Yet he still hadn’t learned enough about her. There were more mysteries to uncover.