PART FOUR

Because You Must Learn

Beth Kery

Because You Must Learn Copyright © 2012 by Beth Kery

The right of Beth Kery to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Published by arrangement with InterMix Books, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Cover Image © Brooke Fasani/Corbis

First published in this Ebook edition by Headline Publishing Group in 2012

Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library

eISBN 978 1 4722 0061 7

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Beth Kery lives in Chicago where she juggles the demands of her career, her love of the city and the arts and a busy family life. Her writing today reflects her passion for all of the above. She is the bestselling author of over thirty books and novellas. She also writes under the pen name Bethany Kane. You can read more about Beth, her books and upcoming projects at www.bethkery.com or follow her on Twitter @bethkery.

By Beth Kery

Wicked Burn

Daring Time

Sweet Restraint

Paradise Rules

Release

Explosive

One Night of Passion series writing as Bethany Kane

Addicted To You

Bound To You (e-novella)

Captured By You (e-novella)

Exposed To You

International bestselling author Beth Kery’s sensational Because You Are Mine continues, as Francesca and Ian’s sizzling attraction takes their passion to new heights…

Because You Are Mine, Part Four
Because You Must Learn

From a luxury private jet to a daring tryst in a public museum to the intimacy of a luxury hotel, Ian and Francesca come together wherever the spark is ignited. But when Francesca disappears for a morning alone, she discovers an unexpected new shade to Ian’s character. Is it anger, jealousy, or something else entirely?

Stunned by the degree of Ian’s reaction, Francesca wonders why his whole life is ruled by discipline, order, and restraint. Only during passion does he show her the captivating depths of his soul. She’s willing to submit to desire, but having every move controlled is something she can never accept. Then Francesca begins to discover what it is that makes a man like Ian do the things he does…

Don’t miss Because I Said So (Because You Are Mine, Part 5, available 28 August 2012

Chapter Seven

She felt herself melting on the cold marble slab, losing all sense of self, living only to experience the next electrical thrust, the next sensual slide of Ian’s tongue on her sex. She tangled her fingers in his hair, loving the texture. How did human beings manage to live and work and sleep and eat when so much distilled pleasure was available to them?

Perhaps he was the answer to her question. Everyone didn’t have such a talented, glorious lover available to them. For surely Ian’s tongue and mouth must be the most skilled on the planet at giving pleasure . . .

He urged her with his hands, and she leaned farther back on the pedestal, bracing herself with her hands, tilting her pelvis to a more accommodating angle. His low growl of satisfaction vibrating into her flesh was her reward. He spread her thighs even wider, burrowing, seeking. Her cry echoed off the high vaulted ceiling when he plunged his tongue deep into her slit.

“Ian!”

He tongue-fucked her, slow and languorous at first, but as the seconds passed, more lustily as her hips began to bob back and forth against him. He groaned, spreading his large hands across her hips, his fingers biting into her buttocks, and held her steady for his consumption. She gasped when he spread his mouth over her entire sex, his tongue lodged deep inside her vagina, and used his upper lip to apply a steady pressure on her clit. He twisted his head sharply, side to side between her thighs, stimulating her precisely. Her eyes sprang wide.

She stared up at the goddess of sex and love, transfixed, as she shuddered in violent orgasm.

* * *

Ian held her to him, his mouth moving with constrained force, his tongue delving, urging every last blast of pleasure out of her sweet, quivering body. When she quieted, he took another moment to lick up the juice of his labor. He’d known she’d be delicious from the taste of her mouth and skin, but he hadn’t been prepared for the sheer decadence of her pussy.

He was full-out drunk on her, and yet he wanted more.

His raging cock had other things in mind, however. He gathered her to him, pressing a damp kiss against the erotic harbor of her taut belly. He stood, wincing at the ache in his cock. Her sublime taste had temporarily sated his lust. It came roaring back as he stared down at her near-naked body sprawled on the pedestal, moonlight shimmering in her dark eyes and glistening on her wet, spread pussy.

He lifted her, liking the way she curled against him. She could be so stubborn at times, willful. It moved him to have her lay her head on his shoulder so trustingly.

It made him want to wholly possess her all the more.

He took her to a low, tufted velvet chaise lounge positioned several feet in front of Aphrodite—a recliner fit for a king, if Ian recalled correctly. Instead of setting her on it, he placed her on her feet. He quickly removed her dress and draped it on the back of a nearby armchair. Next, he removed his jacket. She gave him a puzzled glance when he carefully spread it on the cushion of the chaise.

“Louis XIV once lounged on this piece. Grandmother would strangle me if I ever . . . spilled on it.”

His small smile widened when he heard her low, rich laughter. He put his hands along her jaw and lifted her face for his voracious kiss, eating her mirth hungrily. His cock lurched when she shyly, curiously licked at his lips, tasting herself.

“That’s right. Why shouldn’t you taste something so sweet?” he rasped as he regretfully released her in order to locate a condom. The storm brewing in him was starting to tear at him from the inside out. He couldn’t trust his sanity, couldn’t trust anything if he didn’t get inside Francesca soon . . . very soon. “Lie down on the chaise,” he directed, his voice sounding tight to his own ears.

She reclined on his spread jacket, her legs and belly looking pale in the moonlight and contrasting with the black lining of his jacket. The chaise was armless, long, and wide, with a curved backrest. She lay so that her body was on the flat portion, the top of her head against the back, her calves resting at the end of the piece of furniture. Her loveliness bit at him, making him grind his teeth.

He began to unfasten his pants hastily. He shoved his trousers down his thighs and peeled his boxer briefs down over his erection. He paused while rolling on the condom a moment later when he noticed her huge eyes fixed on his cock.

She was afraid of him.

“It’ll be all right. I’ll go slow,” he assured, whisking the tight rubber down farther over the shaft.

“Let me touch you,” she whispered.

He froze, fisting the base of his cock. It throbbed and twitched in his hand at the unexpected sweetness of her request. He graphically pictured her doing what she requested, the agony of feeling her fingers on him, her lips, her tongue—

“No,” he said more harshly than he intended. Regret lanced through him when he saw her startled expression. “I have to be in you now,” he said more quietly. “I must. I’ve waited so long. Too long.”

She just nodded her head, her large, dark eyes glued to his face. He kicked off his shoes, removed his socks and stepped out of his pants. His shirt was a burden. He unbuttoned it, but he couldn’t keep his gaze off her spread thighs and glistening pussy. He was too crazed to remove the garment all the way. He came down over her, his knees near the bottom corners of the wide chaise, his hands just above her shoulders. He knew he should put his knees between her opened thighs, but something made him spread around her, planting his legs outside of hers, completely encompassing her.

So beautiful . . . and his for the taking.

“Reach for the back of the chaise,” he directed.

She looked confused by his request but followed his direction nonetheless, her acquiescence making his cock throb where it hung between his thighs, heavy . . . burning. When her arms were above her head, gripping the roll of the back of the lounge, he gave a small grunt of satisfaction.

“I would like to restrain you, but since I can’t here, you must keep your arms behind you, do you understand?” he asked tensely.

“I would rather touch you,” she said, the movement of her dark pink lips enthralling him.

“I would much rather you did, as well,” he assured grimly, taking his cock into his hand. “And that is why you will keep them above your head at all costs.”

* * *

She was finding it difficult to take a full breath, lying there, gripping desperately onto the wood rim of the chaise, staring up at the very image of primal male beauty. She wanted to touch Ian so much, but instead stared in rapt fascination as he touched himself. He slid his palm along the thick shaft in preparation to enter her. Her vaginal muscles clenched tight in arousal and anxiety. He looked so large, so heavy, so ripe with his desire.

At the last second, he seemed to reconsider and released his cock. It hung heavily between their bodies. He reached for the silk bra and opened the front clasp. Fresh liquid heat surged at her sex when he peeled the cups back, baring her breasts. She saw his cock twitch in the air.

“Venus,” he said roughly, a small smile quirking his mouth. She waited, her breath held in her lungs, hoping he’d touch the exposed, tingling skin of her breasts and the prickling nipples, but he didn’t. Instead, he grasped his penis again. Pushing one of her knees back to open her farther for him, he pressed the head of his penis against her slit. She bit her lip to stifle a cry. He grunted—whether in arousal or dissatisfaction she couldn’t say—when he flexed his hips and the tip of him slid inside her.

“Ah, Jesus, you’re going to try me,” he muttered.

She saw how rigid his shadowed features were, the flash of his white teeth as he grimaced. Wanting to give him relief more than anything at that moment—wild to give him pleasure—she thrust up with her hips. She yelped at the sudden stab of pain, barely noticing when Ian gave an intimidating growl and slapped the side of her hip in warning.

“Stay still, Francesca. What are you trying to do, kill us both?”

“No, I just . . .”

“Never mind,” he said, and she realized his breath was coming in erratic puffs. “Is it better now?” he asked between pants after a moment.

She realized he was referring to the pain she’d experienced. How had he known it’d been so sharp? It suddenly hit her that his penis was halfway inside her body. Her muscles stretched and thrummed around the throbbing flesh. It felt a little uncomfortable, but the sharp pain had passed.

Ian inside her. Fused to her.

“It doesn’t hurt,” she whispered, awe tingeing her tone.

She saw his throat convulse as he swallowed. He removed his hand from her knee and reached between her thighs.

“Oh,” she moaned when he began to press and rub against her clit with his thumb. He seemed to know the precise amount of friction to make her squirm in pleasure. The fullness of his embedded cock providing an upward pressure on her clitoris added another dimension of excitement.

“Stop squirming,” he grated out, his tone a mixture of exasperation, fondness, and arousal near the breaking point. His manipulations were making her burn unbearably. He pressed with his hips. His groan seemed to rip at his throat as his cock drove almost completely into her. Only enough room for his hand between her thighs remained. Pain splintered through a thick, dense sensation of pressure and pleasure as he continued to stroke her.

“Ian,” she cried out.

He thrust slightly with his hips, pressing his hand more firmly against her clit, and then bumping against it with his pelvis . . . once . . . twice. She mewled and began to shake in orgasm, her vagina clenching around him. This time, even through the waves of pleasure rushing around her, she knew that his growl was from arousal. She was still coming when he removed his hand from her pussy and braced himself with his arms. He grunted as he withdrew and sunk into her again.

“Ah, God, your pussy . . . better than ever I imagined,” he groaned almost incoherently as he stroked her again, long and hard. “The only thing better is going to be having you raw.”

She still whimpered as shudders of climax quaked her body. Ian made her tremble even more as his thrusts grew more demanding, his pelvis began to slap against hers in a demanding rhythm. He paused a moment later, fully embedded in her body, and ground his testicles against her spread outer sex. She cried out in excitement.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you’ve been driving me mad, Francesca,” he hissed.

“You’re not hurting me.”

“No?”

She shook her head.

She sensed the tension increase in his body. He began to fuck her again, his hips driving his cock like a fluid, thrusting piston this time. She bit off a scream, but it burned in her throat. She realized he’d been restraining himself before, but he fucked her thoroughly now . . . and not just thoroughly—with a skill that stunned her. His motion was subtle and raw at once, controlled yet wild. It felt as if he beat pleasure into her, stroked her flesh to flesh until she knew she’d burst into flame any moment. She began to bob her hips in a counter-rhythm, small cries popping out of her throat each time they crashed together with a sharp smacking sound of skin and against skin.

“Jesus,” he groaned a moment later, sounding miserable and ecstatic at once. He shifted on the chaise, and drove into her with such force that the top of her head bumped against the back cushion. She dazedly realized he’d spread his legs entirely over the chaise and that his feet were now planted on the floor. He reared over both her and the chaise lounge and thrust, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Ian, let me let go of the chair,” she begged when he crashed into her again and again and she felt another climax looming over her just as Ian did. She longed to touch him so much.

“No,” he said tensely. He pushed off his planted feet and drove into her, grunting when their bodies smacked together. A cracking sound exuded from the chaise, but thankfully the priceless piece of furniture didn’t collapse into a heap of splinters and velvet with them on top of it. Her head bumped against the cushion, her breasts bounced high with each forceful thrust of his large body, the sensation exciting and dizzying her. He lifted a hand and reached between their bodies, opening her labia wide, before he rotated his hips, grinding his balls against her exposed outer sex, circling his engorged cock subtly against her vaginal walls. “Not until you come again, lovely.”

It didn’t really feel as if she had a choice. The pressure he’d built in her was unbearable. A cry of disbelief burbled out of her throat as bliss shook her once again. He gave a savage grunt of satisfaction and began to fuck her faster than before, letting the wildness he contained so carefully overtake him.

She cried out in protest when he withdrew his cock abruptly and pressed his knees onto the chaise, straddling her. His breath sounded ragged and erratic. She stared up at him, her climax waning in his absence, bewildered by his actions. She watched in the light from the dim emergency lighting as he used his hand to pump his cock.

“Ian?”

His groan sounded like the depth of agony, the height of bliss as he began to ejaculate. An ache opened up inside her at the sight of him spending himself while separate from her. She lowered her arms slowly, feeling stunned, helpless . . . very aroused at the vision he made.

A moment later, he dropped his hand and hunkered down over her, his muscles bunched tight, gasping for breath. She’d thought he was beautiful as he reared over her, possessing her body and soul, but he was beyond that as he knelt over her, shaking and undone by his desire.

She reached for him, sliding her hands beneath his collar and stroking his powerful shoulder muscles. A shiver went through him at her touch, thrilling her.

“Why—”

“I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I started to worry . . . pregnant.”

“It’s okay, Ian,” she whispered. Compassion filled her at the realization of how starkly anxious he was at the smallest chance that he would have unintentionally impregnated her. She carefully moved back the opened placket of his shirt and held it behind him with one hand. With her other hand at his back, she urged him down to her gently.

“Come here,” she insisted when she felt him resist. He hesitated for a moment, but then he came down over her, his solid, heavy weight pressing into her body striking her as a miracle.

“I was so primed for you. I haven’t . . . there hasn’t been anybody else for weeks now. Not typical for me. I could feel it building up inside me, and I was worried . . . the condom wasn’t enough. Stupid,” he muttered between pants.

She kissed his shoulder and stroked his broad, heaving back. Something full and inexplicable swelled in her chest at his admission that he’d abstained from his usual sexual practices.

Had she had something to do with his abstinence?

No. Surely not.

It frightened her a little, his complexities, his determined loneliness. She continued to caress him as he came back to himself, her gaze glued to the enigmatic face of their onlooker, wondering numbly all the while if Aphrodite planned to bless or curse them.

* * *

He seemed lost in some private world on the drive to the hotel, even though he sat next to her in the back seat of the limo, his arm around her, her head resting on his chest, him stroking her hair. At first, she was worried he was regretting his momentary vulnerability back there at the museum—his admission—but then she began to relax into his silence. She watched through heavy eyelids as the lights of Paris rushed by the window, recalling all the details of what had unexpectedly occurred in that salon in vivid detail.

Surely he couldn’t regret a moment of that incredible experience, could he?

The Hotel George V was just off the Champs-Elysées. To call it luxurious was a bit of an understatement, Francesca thought as she followed Ian onto the gilt elevator. She gasped when he opened the door for her and she stepped into an antique-filled living room featuring rich fabrics, a marble fireplace, and original seventeenth- and eighteenth-century artwork.

“This way,” he directed, leading her into a bedroom fit for royalty.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” she murmured, touching the rich damask and silk bed coverings and gazing around the tastefully decorated room.

His gaze ran over her as he removed his jacket and hung it over a valet stand.

“The hotel was close to where my meeting is tomorrow. I have to get up early. I’ll probably be gone by the time you wake up. You must look at the view on the terrace come morning. I think you’ll like it. I’ll order you breakfast, and you can dine out there, if you like. You look very tired.”

She blinked at his change of subject. “I am, I suppose. It’s been a long day. I can’t believe it was just this morning that I left High Jinks. It all seems a little . . . surreal.” In truth, she felt like a different person than the one who had answered Ian’s knock this morning . . . even than the one that first entered the Musee de St. Germain that night. Ian’s powerful lovemaking had altered her somehow.

She glanced at him nervously, uncertain about what he wanted her to do.

“Why don’t you get ready for bed,” he said gruffly, pointing at the entrance to the adjoining bathroom. “Jacob brought up our things while we were at dinner. You’ll find your bag in there.”

“Would you rather go first?” she asked.

He shook his head as he began to remove his cuff links. “I’ll use the bathroom in the other suite.”

“There’s another bedroom suite?”

He nodded. “Jacob usually stays there.”

“But not this time?”

He glanced up at her. “No. Not this time. I wanted you all to myself.”

Her pulse began to thrum at her throat as she turned and walked to the bathroom. She carefully removed the dress, bra, and pearls, Ian’s words still echoing in her skull.

Looking in the bathroom mirror, she saw what Ian must have noticed as he studied her before. Her face looked pale next to her passion-stung, reddened lips. Her eyes appeared unusually large above the shadowed circles beneath them. She wanted to shower but was suddenly too exhausted. She washed at the sink instead and brushed her teeth. She stared in rising dread at her nylon duffel bag sitting on a stool with a gold pouf cushion. It looked woefully out of place in these surroundings.

Just like she did, no doubt.

After an evening like she just experienced, she felt ridiculous putting on the yoga pants and Cubs T-shirt she’d brought as a substitute for pajamas. She applied moisturizer and ran a comb through her hair before she walked out of the bathroom. She went still when she saw Ian standing in profile by the lush sofa, tapping on his cell phone. Her gaze ran over him in covetous awe. He wore nothing but a pair of black pajama bottoms that rode low on his lean hips. The upward slant of his torso from narrow waist to a broad, powerful chest, back, and shoulders struck her as sublime. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. He was so disciplined, she could just imagine what his workout routine was like. The short, dark hair at his nape and temples was slightly damp from his wash.

She’d never seen a more beautiful man in her life. She was certain she never would again.

He glanced around and saw her standing there. She shifted awkwardly on her feet beneath his laserlike stare. He abruptly looked away and resumed his task.

“Why don’t you get into bed?” he asked, tapping out a message.

She started to remove the decorative pillows and pull down the decadently luxurious bedding.

“Take off your clothes,” he said from across the room when she started to get into bed. She paused and glanced back at him. He hadn’t looked up from his phone. Her breath started to come erratically as she began to undress.

Why didn’t he look at her like he had on the plane when she stripped, his gleaming blue eyes tracking her every move?

She got into bed and pulled a sheet and blanket over herself. Ian remained on the other side of the room, only his thumbs moving. Her eyelids grew heavy; the bed was very soft and warm. She drifted.

There was a click, and her eyes flew open. Ian had shut out the light. She felt the mattress sink beneath him as he got into the bed next to her. He came down on his side, pulling her into his arms, her back to his stomach. She could feel that he still wore the pajama bottoms, also . . . that he wore nothing beneath the thin garment.

Suddenly, she was wide awake.

“How come you get to wear pajamas, and I have to be naked?” she asked into the darkness.

He brushed her hair off her shoulder and stroked her, sending tendrils of pleasure through her.

“I’ll often be dressed while you’re naked.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” she said, her breath hitching when his long fingers brushed over the top curve of one of her breasts. She felt his cock stir next to her bottom. Her clit twanged in pleasure, as if in response.

“It pleases me to be able to touch you in any way, at any time that I desire it.”

“While you get to remain clothed and in control?” she asked, a hint of anger entering her tone.

“While I get to remain clothed and in control,” he repeated in affirmation.

“But—”

“There’s no ‘but’ about it,” he said as he caressed her ass, a smile in his voice. His cock batted against her, and he sighed, withdrawing his hand. “You shouldn’t be complaining, Francesca,” he chastised, settling her more firmly against him. “My control is already whisper thin when it comes to you. You need only look at tonight to have your proof of that.”

“It was amazing,” she whispered, awe filtering into her tone.

He went still for a moment, and then reached between her thighs. She gasped in excitement when he pushed his fingers gently between her legs and cupped her sex, the gesture both tender and baldly possessive.

“I power drove you like I might have the most experienced of women, and you . . . a virgin,” he murmured, a thread of anger in his voice.

She flushed with heat at his crude words. Power drive was right. She’d been completely at his mercy lying on the chaise lounge, and loving every minute of his masterful possession.

“I’m not a virgin anymore,” she said shakily. “We could do it again, and you wouldn’t have to worry so much this time.”

His cock lurched against her again. For a few seconds, she sensed his tension . . . his indecision.

He slowly removed his hand from her sex. “No. Tomorrow is soon enough. I have many things I want to teach you. You deserve at least one night to recover.”

“What things?” she whispered.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Now go to sleep. I have a big day planned for you tomorrow.”

Hearing that hardly made her sleepy. Nevertheless, after a minute, she found herself relaxing against Ian’s body, taking comfort in his hard, warm presence.

* * *

Ian rose out of a deep sleep and dark, sensual dreams to find Francesca’s naked body plastered against him, a raging hard-on pressed against her soft, curving bottom, his hand filled with a firm breast.

Jesus.

He grimaced as he twisted his torso to see the clock, keeping a hand on Francesca’s hip the whole time, keeping her lush ass in close contact with his cock. She sensed his movement and twitched her hips in her sleep, making him grind his teeth at the stimulation on his erection.

He picked up his phone and shut off the alarm that was about to go off at any second. Instead of getting up, like he should have, he set the phone back on the bedside table and whisked his pajama bottoms down below his balls, freeing his swollen cock from the material. He pulled Francesca closer, flexing his hips and burrowing his cock deeper in the sweet, warm cleft between her ass cheeks. God, it felt good, he thought as he pushed the thick column of his erection even deeper, sandwiching himself between her buttocks. The sexual excitement that had built in him as he held her naked body all night—that had been building ever since he’d exploded in climax at the St. Germain—swelled high and strong. He held her hip steady and flexed his hips, snarling at the pleasure that tore through him as his cock burrowed once more between the satiny-smooth, firm globes.

He became aware that she rustled next to him. He heard her gasp and softly say his name, but he was so caught up in the unexpected deliciousness of the early morning sexual spell she’d cast upon him, all he could do was thrust and grunt and take his pleasure. His cock felt huge and tight, exquisitely sensitive as he drug it back forth between the warm, snug crack of her ass. She tried to reach around to touch him, but he caught her hand and placed it next to her belly, holding it there as he continued his mad humping of her sweet bottom.

Since when could he become so sexually frantic just from the feeling of a woman’s ass?

“Give me a moment,” he said harshly, continuing to stroke her rapidly. “It’s not going to take much more.”

Sure enough, he broke in climax just a few thrusts later. He ground his teeth together and watched himself come onto her lower back and the upper curve of her right ass cheek. Jesus, what she does to me, he thought as he tensed and ejaculated, tensed and ejaculated, wondering wildly if the shuddering pleasure would ever end. He slumped over her, breathing heavily. She whimpered when he leaned back to grab some tissues, and he dried his abundant emissions from her skin.

He glanced up and did a double take. She’d turned her head on the pillow. Her cheeks were a brilliant pink, her lips flushed red. He tossed aside the wet tissues and leaned over her.

“Did that arouse you?” he asked, kissing her lips softly. “Letting me use your body for my pleasure?”

“Yes,” she said next to his lips.

“Just for that, you get to come, too, lovely,” he said.

He slid his fingers between her clenched thighs and found her delightfully creamy. She gasped, turning her head away from him, pressing her cheek to the pillow. He smiled as he slid his finger between her labia and diddled her clit.

“I want to be able to come inside you, Francesca. All over you,” he murmured, leaning over, breathing next to her ear. “Wouldn’t you like that, too?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You’re going to have to go on birth control, then.”

“Yes,” she soughed as he rubbed her gently . . . firmly.

Persuasively.

He watched her profile closely as he stimulated her, fascinated by the flutter in her delicate eyelids and the deepening of color in her cheeks. Her parted lips beckoned him.

“I’m going to restrain you later,” he murmured. “And teach you how to please me even more than you already do. Will you like that?”

“Yes,” she said, her trembling lips killing him. He plucked at them as he rubbed her clit harder. She bobbed her hips against him, and he gave her what she needed, moving his entire arm as he stroked her forcefully. “I want to please you, Ian.”

“You do,” he growled, kissing her roughly, abusing her lush mouth a little. A lot. “And you will.”

She cried out and quaked against him. He nursed her through her climax, excitement and anticipation mounting in his body as he thought about coming to the suite later and finding her there, ready to submit to his desire . . . to her own.

He kissed her neck while she quieted, occasionally lapping at the sweet taste on her skin. Her soft moan vibrated into his lips.

“The laws are a bit more lenient in Paris regarding birth control. I know a pharmacist who can get us several months’ worth. You could get started right away,” he murmured.

He paused in his ravishment of her neck when he felt her stiffen.

“I wouldn’t have to see a doctor?”

“Eventually, when you return stateside, yes. But the sooner you get started, the better. I could have Jacob pick up the delivery, and you could start on the pill this very day. I spoke with the pharmacist. You don’t have any health risks, do you? High blood pressure, history of stroke?”

“No, I’m perfectly healthy. I just had a physical last month.” She was turned in profile to him. She tilted her chin and regarded him with dark, soft eyes. “Of course I’ll start on the pill. I know how important it is to you, Ian.”

“Thank you,” he said, dropping a kiss on her mouth, thinking all the while that she didn’t know the half of how important it was.

* * *

Francesca snuggled in bed as Ian got up to get ready for his meeting, lazy and content in the aftermath of kisses and climax. She dozed, opening her eyes sleepily a while later to see Ian standing at the edge of the bed looking down at her, looking awesomely gorgeous in a dark suit, starched white shirt, and pale blue silk necktie, his spicy aftershave tickling her nose.

“Would you like me to order breakfast for you?” he asked, his hushed, deep voice striking her like a caress in the luxury-draped, still room. “You could have it out on the terrace? It’s a beautiful day.”

“I’ll order it. You don’t have to,” she said, her voice rough from drowsiness.

He merely nodded and stepped back as if to go. He hesitated, and suddenly swooped down, kissing her hard on the mouth.

There was no doubt about it. Ian’s kisses were just more . . . sexual than anyone else’s. Not that she had much experience, but still. How could that swift kiss immediately make her recall what it’d been like to have his mouth on her nether lips, worshipful . . . demanding?

She watched him walk away a moment later, looking so tall and commanding in his dark suit, feeling a strange mixture of joy and regret. After he was gone, she showered and washed her hair, letting it dry as she sat out on the sunny terrace that overlooked the Paris skyline and the famous art deco fountain of the Three Graces. She ordered room service and ate her breakfast outside, as Ian had suggested, the whole experience in the lap of luxury striking her again as incredible.

Afterward, she contacted Davie. Mostly, she tried to assure her friend that she was safe and happy to be in Paris with Ian. Davie seemed less than thrilled by her little adventure. In fact, his concern highlighted some of the things that’d been easy for her to forget when Ian was next to her, making love to her, making her forget everything but her desire for him.

She remembered how Ian had paid her in full for the painting, knowing full well she’d never refuse to finish it. She recalled in detail how he’d shut down the bar and said he wanted to possess her sexually in order to get her out of his system.

She thought of how he’d persuaded her to start taking the pill later that day.

Wait . . . when had she made a coherent decision about such an important choice about her body? It’d just happened, somehow, while Ian had been kissing her and coaxing her and making her scream in pleasure.

A lead weight sank in her belly.

No. It hadn’t been like that.

Had it?

Fortunately, she had the excuse of the long-distance price tag to cut her call short with Davie. Toward the end of their conversation, she began to worry her friend would start to hear the anxiety seeping into her voice.

Feeling restless, she pulled out her jogging clothes, pausing when she realized Ian hadn’t given her a key to the suite. She called down to the front desk, relieved to find an attendant that spoke English. The woman assured her that her name was down as a guest and she may pick up a card key at the front desk if she showed her identification.

She changed and took to the streets of Paris, running the narrow back roads for miles and then along the tourist- and shopper-crowded Champs-Elysées, past the Arc de Triomphe. By the time she returned to the hotel, she’d pounded out a lot of her anxiety and worries on the pavement. Jogging always did calm her.

Of course Ian hadn’t been manipulating her about the birth control. She wanted to be risk free in regard to pregnancy as much as he did. Why had she thought otherwise?

She was feeling easygoing and peaceful until she opened the door to the suite and saw Ian pacing tensely in front of the marble fireplace, the energy pouring off him, reminding her of a caged tiger. He had his phone pressed to his ear. He paused and looked back at her.

“Never mind,” he said, his mouth pressed into a hard line as his gaze ran over her. “She just walked in.” He tapped his finger on the phone panel and set it on the mantel.

“Where have you been?” he asked. Her spine stiffened at his accusatory tone. He walked toward her, his eyes gleaming like banked flames.

“Jogging,” she said, glancing down at her shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes as if to say, Hello, isn’t it obvious?

“I was worried. You didn’t even leave a note.”

Her mouth fell open. “I didn’t think you’d be back before I was,” she exclaimed, stunned by his restrained fury. “What’s wrong with you?”

His facial muscles tightened. “I’m the one who brought you to Paris. I’m responsible for you. I’d prefer it if you didn’t just run off like that,” he snapped, turning and stalking away from her.

“I’m responsible for myself. I’ve been doing a pretty good job of it for the past twenty-three years, thank you very much,” she replied irritably.

“You’re here with me,” he said, whipping around.

“Ian, that’s ridiculous,” she cried. She couldn’t believe he was being so irrational. What was behind his anger? Was he so controlled, so fastidious about his plans, that he couldn’t allow for a spontaneous decision, like her morning run? “You can’t actually be mad at me for going jogging.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. Behind the glint of anger in his eyes, she saw a shadow of helpless concern. God, he really had been worried about her. Why? Despite her irritation at him, her heart went out to him. He walked toward her. She resisted an urge to step back, he looked so intense.

“I’m angry because you left without leaving word where you were. If you’d brought it up earlier, it might have been different, although I would have said that I preferred you didn’t go traipsing around a strange city by yourself. This isn’t Chicago. You barely speak the language.”

“I lived in Paris for several months!”

“I don’t like it when someone I’m responsible for suddenly disappears,” he said through a stiff jaw.

His gaze dropped over her, and she suddenly felt self-conscious of the clothing she wore—a jogging bra, a tight T-shirt, and shorts. Her nipples pulled tight when his stare lingered on her breasts.

“Go and shower,” he said, turning and walking toward the fireplace.

“Why?”

He rested a forearm on the mantel and glanced back at her. “Because you have a lot to learn, Francesca,” he said, his tone more subdued. She swallowed thickly.

“Are you going to . . . to punish me?”

“I was very worried when I came back to an empty hotel suite. I expected you’d be here waiting for me. So the answer is yes. I am going to punish you, and then I’m going to fuck you for my pleasure alone. If you haven’t learned the lesson after that, then maybe I will punish you again. However long it takes for you to learn that I don’t like it when you’re impulsive.”

Her nipples pulled even tighter against the tight fabric of her jogging bra even as her ire rose. Her sex flushed with heat.

“You can punish me if you want, but I’m not letting you do it because I went jogging. That’s just stupid.”

“Believe whatever you like. But you will go and shower and put on a robe. Nothing else. Wait for me in the bedroom,” he said, turning away and picking up his phone again. He punched out a number and greeted someone briskly in French before he began making several queries. She’d been dismissed.

She faltered where she stood, burning to tell him to go and fuck his fucking shower and his fucking robe and his godforsaken high-handedness.

Another part felt bad for having unintentionally caused that shadow of fear in his eyes.

Another part still was excited by what he’d said. She’d thought incessantly of the time that he’d paddled and spanked her, and each time regretted that things had come to an unnatural halt.

She wanted to see how Ian culminated such arousing proceedings. She wanted to please him.

But at what cost? she wondered anxiously as she walked to the bedroom, resigned to the fact that she would do his bidding.

Why must he be such a puzzle?

Why must he turn her into one . . . even to herself?

Chapter Eight

After her shower, she sat nervously on the plush sofa in the sitting area of the bedroom suite, her anger mounting. How dare he make her wait like this? Wasn’t it just like him to yank her strings in this way?

He was yanking her strings in more ways than one. She had an urge to run to the bathroom and lock the door and another one to grind her sex against the cushion of the sofa. The waiting was pissing her off, but for some damnable reason she couldn’t comprehend, it was making her aroused as well . . . the anticipation . . . the excitement mixed with a potent dose of anxiety about what he planned to do to her.

She jumped when the door to the bedroom suite opened abruptly and Ian walked into the room. He glanced at her where she sat before he walked over to the valet stand and hung up his suit jacket. He opened the doors to a highly glossed antique cherry wardrobe and bent as if reaching for something. She strained, trying to see what he was doing, but the door blocked her view. When he started to straighten, she turned, not wanting him to know how focused she was on his every move.

So she was shocked when he walked around the couch a moment later and set a black crop on the coffee table. She stared wide-eyed at the two-inch-by-four-inch supple leather slapper at the end of the long, thin rod, her heart starting to pound against her breastbone.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said softly.

She looked at him. “But it looks like it will hurt.”

“I’ve punished you before. Did it hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted, her gaze dropping to one of his hands, which held what appeared to be a pair of cuffs, the hand straps made of soft-looking black leather.

Oh no.

“Well, it wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it didn’t sting a bit, now would it?” She stared up at his handsome face, mesmerized by the sound of his low voice . . . compelled. “Stand up and take off the robe.”

She didn’t break his stare as she stood, somehow taking courage from some unspoken message in his eyes. She dropped the discarded robe onto the cushion. His gaze dropped over her, his nostrils flaring slightly. She shivered.

“Would you like me to turn on the fire?” he asked, referring to the gas fireplace.

“No,” she said, thrown off emotionally by the combination of his polite query and his intention to punish her. She walked to the mantel.

“Keep your back to me,” he ordered when she started to turn to face him. She longed to twist her chin over her shoulder to see what he was doing behind her, her anxiety and excitement mounting, but she restrained herself with effort. Was that because she once again didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing she was curious, or because she somehow sensed he wouldn’t want her to gawk over her shoulder?

She started when he wrapped his hands around one of her wrists.

“Easy, lovely,” he murmured. “You know I’d never really harm you. You must trust me.”

She said nothing, her mind racing as he buckled one of the cuffs snuggly around her right wrist. “Now you may face me,” he said.

She turned, her nipples pulling tight when she realized how close he stood. He must notice. There was no way she could hide her arousal as he fastened her other wrist into the cuff, his lowered head just inches from the tingling, prickling crests. The position of her arms as he cuffed her wrists together plumped her breasts. When he’d finished, her hands were bound together in front of her mons. He stepped back. Her nipples pinched even tighter when she noticed his gaze glued to them.

“Now lift your wrists and place them behind your head,” he instructed. He watched her while she complied. “Push back your elbows and arch your back a little. I want your muscles stretched tight.” She strove to do as he asked, thrusting her breasts forward and her elbows back, noticing the slight snarl shape of his mouth when she did so. The position left her feeling extremely naked and exposed. Then he turned away. “It will amplify the sensation,” he explained, his back to her as he walked over to the coffee table.

“Of pain?” she asked, her voice shaking from a potent brew of anxiety and anticipation as she watched him walk over to the coffee table. Was he getting that scary-looking crop?

He was coming toward her again, but she didn’t see the crop. Her heart knocked on her stretched rib cage like it was asking to get out when she saw the familiar little white jar. He unscrewed it and dipped a thick forefinger into the cream.

“I told you before that I would prefer if you didn’t fear me,” he said.

She gasped loudly, shuddering when he immediately plunged his finger between her labia and began to coat her clit with the emollient that she knew would soon make her tingle and burn . . . and want.

She bit her lip to prevent from crying out and noticed he watched her with a tight focus.

“But I want to emphasize, this is a punishment nevertheless,” he stated firmly.

“I want to emphasize that while I give you permission to punish me,” she said before air puffed out of her throat as his finger rubbed the cream with bull’s-eye accuracy. “I’ll still go jogging—or do anything else I damn well please—without asking for your permission.”

He dropped his hand and walked away. She stifled a cry of deprivation. He turned and came toward her again, now carrying the crop. She couldn’t take her eyes off the wicked-looking device gripped in his large, masculine-looking hand. It looked as if it would hurt more than the paddle or Ian’s hand.

“Spread your thighs . . . if you damn well please,” he added softly.

She blinked at his words, her gaze zooming up incredulously to meet his stare. Heat rushed through her sex when she saw the glimmer of amusement and the heat of arousal in his eyes . . . when she absorbed the edge of a dare to his tone.

If she agreed to what he’d demanded, it would be because she wanted it. And her impulsive statement of defiance just now was proof of that. Frustration went through her when she recognized how he’d tricked her into compliance and revealed her own desire in one fell swoop.

She widened her stance, glaring at him all the while.

“Your anger tautens your muscles as greatly as the position. It doesn’t displease me, strangely enough,” he murmured, the tilt of his mouth indicating he was laughing silently, not only at her but at himself. He lifted the crop, and all of her irritation was crowded out by stark anticipation. Wasn’t he going to slap her bottom with it, like he had with the paddle? Her abdomen muscles jumped in excitement when he ran the leather slapper over her belly. An erotic sensation swooped through her sex when he rubbed it sensually over her hip. He lifted the crop.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

She gasped, feeling the sting of the slapper lingering on her hip. It quickly faded to a tingling sensation of heat.

“Too much?” he murmured, his gaze running over her face and then her breasts. He smoothed the leather across her ribs over the globe of her right breast. She moaned uncontrollably when he pressed the slapper against her nipple and rubbed. “Your pretty nipples are telling me all is well.” He lifted the slapper and popped the side of her breast, then the bottom curve, and then the puckered nipple, his actions quick, firm, and concise.

Something ignited inside her. Liquid heat rushed between her thighs, the strength of her reaction shocking her nearly as much as the fact that he’d just spanked her breast. Her eyes clamped tight as shame struck her. What sort of a deviate was she, to have such an overwhelming reaction to something so sick?

“Francesca?”

She opened her eyes at the sound of his taut tone.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she told him, her mouth quivering uncontrollably. The clit stimulant seemed to be doing its job with even more vigor than when Ian had paddled her, making her clit sizzle with excitement.

“Bad or good?” he demanded roughly.

“I . . . bad,” she whispered, shame and arousal vying for control of her mind and body. His expression stiffened. “And good. So good.”

“Damn it,” he muttered, his eyes blazing, although she had the distinct impression he liked her answer instead of being angered by it. He brought down the crop again, popping the underside of her other breast, making the globe jiggle slightly. She bit her lip, but her moan vibrated in her throat. “I’m going to turn your ass red for that, you little . . .”

She never learned what sort of a “little” she was, because he popped a nipple again and again, his actions gentle, but firm enough to cause a burning sting that made Francesca grit her teeth and clench her eyes shut. Without thinking, she thrust her breasts forward.

“That’s right, present yourself to me,” she heard him mutter as he popped the underside and side of her breast several times. “Now . . . tell me what you damn well please at this moment?” he murmured, sliding the crop sensually across both of her breasts. Her eyes still clamped shut, she was exquisitely attuned to the sensation. God, her clit was screaming for attention between her thighs.

“Francesca?” he asked sharply.

Oh, no. He wasn’t going to make her say it. He slid the leather slapper across a nipple and made a twitching movement, stimulating her all the way to her core. She gasped.

“It would please me if you . . .”

He twitched the slapper on her nipple again, and she trembled.

“Just say it. There’s no shame in it,” he said, his voice sounding hard and soft at once.

Her jaw tightened, torn between speaking the truth and swallowing it. He massaged her nipple briskly with the leather.

“It would please me if you slapped me . . . between my thighs.”

She opened her eyes warily when he lifted the nipple and didn’t speak. “What?” she asked after a moment, unable to read his rigid expression.

He shook his head slowly, and she realized he was stunned. His nostrils flared, and he suddenly looked fierce. Her heart sank. It suddenly struck her that he hadn’t been expecting her to say that.

“I . . . well, anywhere . . . I . . . I’m sorry. Ian?” she asked, bewildered by his reaction, not sure what she was supposed to say.

“Don’t ever apologize for being beautiful,” he said, before he stepped forward and placed his hand along the side of her jaw. He seized her mouth with his own, pillaging it with his shaping, firm lips and plunging tongue. His taste—his forceful possession—had just started to make her intoxicated, when he lifted his head. “You tempt me beyond reason.” Francesca panted against his lips. His tone had sounded like an accusation, but it began to dawn on her that in this situation, at least, it definitely indicated he was pleased.

Heat flooded her sex, his pleasure somehow her own.

“But I won’t be sidetracked.”

“I wasn’t trying to sidetrack you—”

“I will finish this punishment,” he said as if steeling himself, ignoring her outburst. He kissed her once softly on the mouth. “Now bend over and present your bottom. You may keep your thighs together since your hands are restrained. I’m going to have to make your sweet ass burn for making me worry like that.”

Something in his tone made her think he was going to punish her harder than he had that first time. She lowered her arms, bending and placing her restrained hands on her knees. He immediately began to rub the leather slapper over her ass cheeks in a sliding caress. She recalled how Ian had told her to arch her back slightly. Her sex clenched tight; her supersensitive nipples prickled as she thrust them forward.

He paused in his caressing of her bottom with the slapper. She glanced sideways at him anxiously.

He muttered a blistering curse. She watched in mounting arousal as he began to unfasten his pants hastily. Instead of drawing them down his thighs, he left them around his hips, merely reaching inside the open fly to draw out his rigid erection with what appeared to be considerable effort. He let the heavy weight of it fall once it was free, the bunched boxer briefs and fabric from his pants keeping it suspended at a horizontal angle from his body.

She stared at his cock in amazement. She’d never seen it this close before. He’d never really let her. It stunned her how beautiful it was. How did he walk around with something so obvious, so large, between his legs all the time? Granted, he usually wasn’t this hard . . . but still. It seemed incomprehensible to her, the sheer flagrancy of his sex. She stared, spellbound, at the thick, lengthy staff with several swollen veins running along it, feeding his arousal; the tapered, succulent head that made her mouth water; the shaved, full testicles.

“I should have blindfolded you,” he muttered dryly. “Look down at the floor, lovely.” She did so, having trouble catching her breath. He rubbed the crop against her bottom. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” she squeaked. Was she?

He popped her ass with the slapper, and she squealed. Perhaps he was learning to differentiate her sounds of excitement versus her sounds of pain, because he continued to smack her, landing the popper on different patches of skin each time, heating her entire ass. Once he’d spanked both buttocks entirely, he began again. The slapping of her already spanked skin did sting. She gritted her teeth, the unbearable sizzle of her clit helping her endure the slight burn of discomfort. Why did the slapper seem to be stimulating her nipples at such a distance? And why in the world did even the soles of her feet start to burn as he continued to punish her bottom?

“Oooh,” she moaned when he landed a blow that particularly smarted.

“Bend all the way over and put your hands on top of your feet.”

He’d spoken so sharply, she couldn’t help but turn to look at him. She moaned shakily when she saw he fisted his cock in his hand and was stroking himself as he continued to spank her. Even though his gaze remained on his task, he must have noticed that she looked.

“Head down,” he rasped.

She bent farther, stretching her hamstrings, staring blindly at her hands when she lay them flat on top of her feet. Did his low grunt sound pleased? Her thoughts suddenly scattered when he used his large hand to pull back her ass cheeks, exposing her wet outer sex to the cool air.

She cried out sharply when he tapped the slapper over the delicate, aroused tissues. He pressed harder with his hand, peeling back her buttocks and sex lips.

Pop.

Her knees buckled at the concise tap on her swollen clit. She suddenly understood the full value of the crop as a sex toy: small, precise, lethal—at least in Ian’s hand.

He hastily put his hand on her shoulder, steadying her as orgasm slammed into her like a tidal wave. She keened, losing herself for several seconds, lost in the grip of an explosive climax. Distantly, she was aware that Ian held her against him as she quaked, one hip pressed against his body, the other held by his hand, his fingers moving busily between her legs, making her cry out sharply in sustained ecstasy.

Ian was now urging her with his hands, guiding her several feet, as the shudders waned.

“Bend over and put your forearms on the seat of the chair,” he said tautly from behind her. She dazedly leaned down over the wide, plush cushion of the Louis XV chair. She felt Ian moving behind her, his pants brushing her ass, then the tip of his erection. Fresh excitement pierced through her satiated befuddlement.

* * *

He had suspected she was going to kill him, but he hadn’t expected her to do it so precisely . . . so cruelly. He wildly sought and found a condom and rolled it on.

It would please me if you slapped me . . . between my thighs.

He’d almost had a heart attack when she’d said it. He’d been trying to tease her into begging him to slap her gorgeous nipples, which she’d clearly been enjoying as much as he had.

Then she’d opened her pink lips and said that. And he’d said he was punishing her for the sin of impulsivity. Who the fuck did he think he was kidding?

He put one hand on her hip, steadying her, and took his cock in his hand.

“I’m going to fuck you now. Hard,” he said, staring down at the erotic contrast of her reddened bottom and her pale back and white thighs. “I won’t wait for you to come, lovely. You’ve done this to me, and you have to accept the consequences.”

He used his hand to peel back an ass cheek and open her vagina, pushing the head of his cock into her tiny slit. He felt himself stretching her. Her heat penetrated the condom. He grasped her hips to steady her as he thrust into her to his balls, but she jolted forward nevertheless. Her hands scrambled to find a hold. He waited until she’d grabbed the wooden sides of the back of the chair, his mouth twisted in a grimace of restraint.

He began to fuck her, drawing his cock back until only the head was submerged, and then driving back into her until their skin smacked together and a little cry popped out of her throat. His world narrowed down to the vision of her naked, submissive beauty, the sharp, nearly unbearable friction of her squeezing, hot channel taunting him, milking him . . . killing him.

Through the haze of his rabid need, he became aware that his powerful thrusts into her soft, warm body were causing the chair to hop and scoot slightly on the Oriental carpet. It wasn’t Francesca’s fault—he was completely to blame—but he growled like a deprived animal anyway.

“Stay right there,” he grated out, lifting her hips more firmly in his grasp and serving her pussy to his raging cock, slapping her ass against his pelvis and thighs, too far gone to care if he was making her spanked bottom burn in discomfort. God, it felt so good. He slammed her against his pelvis, his cock jerking viciously at her farthest reaches.

His roar of release scored his throat as orgasm tore through him.

* * *

Francesca just lay there with her hot cheek pressed against the soft fabric of the chair, her mouth gaping open in wonder at the sensation of him coming inside her. All that power, rocketing into her, detonating inside her. She thought she’d remember the first time she felt Ian succumbing to pleasure while harbored deep inside her body for the rest of her life.

His grunt sounded like it tore at his throat. It felt like something vital was being ripped out of her when he withdrew abruptly.

“Francesca,” he said at the same moment he lifted her into a standing position, her back against his front, and turned her toward the couch. They walked—staggered more like it—their bodies not breaking contact while they walked the short distance to the sofa. Ian fell onto the cushions, bringing her with him. He lay on his left hip, her back pressed against his tie and the buttons of his dress shirt. His warm, sticky, still-formidable cock pressed against her lower spine.

They both just panted and gasped for a minute. She became transfixed by the sensation of his warm breath striking her neck and shoulder.

“Ian?” she asked after his breath had grown more even and he began to languorously stroke her waist and hip.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice low and rough.

“Are you really angry with me?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“But you were before?” she persisted.

“Yes.”

She twisted her chin. His face looked subdued as he watched his hand moving up and down the naked side of her body.

“I don’t understand. Why?”

His hand faltered and his mouth went tight.

“Please tell me,” she whispered.

“My mother used to run away occasionally when I was a child,” he said.

“Run away?” she asked slowly. “Why? Where did she run to?”

He shrugged. “God knows. I’d find her different places—staggering down a country road, trying to feed leaves to a panicked puppy, bathing naked in an ice-cold river . . .”

A shiver of horror went through her as she studied his impassive face.

“She was mentally ill?” she asked, recalling what Mrs. Hanson had told her.

“Schizophrenic,” he said, lifting his hand from her hip and brushing back his short bangs off his forehead. “Disorganized type. Although she could be quite paranoid at times, as well.”

“And was she . . . was she like that all the time?” Francesca asked through a throat that had gone tight.

His blue eyes flickered over her face. She quickly hid her concern, intuiting he’d take it for pity. “No. She wasn’t. Sometimes, she was the sweetest, kindest, most loving mother in the world.”

“Ian,” she called softly when he began to sit up. She sensed his withdraw and hated knowing she’d caused it.

“It’s all right,” he said, swinging his long legs onto the floor, his profile to her. “Maybe it’ll help you understand better why I really would prefer that you don’t disappear like that.”

“I’ll be sure and leave a note or call if something similar happens in the future, but I have to make my own choices,” she said, studying him nervously. She would not promise to always be waiting around for him in order to help him manage his anxiety.

His head swung around. She sensed his irritation. Was he going to tell her that she damn well better do what he demanded, or their arrangement would come to a halt? “I would prefer that you just sat tight if a similar situation arises,” he said.

“I know. I heard you,” she said softly. She sat up and brushed her mouth against his hard jaw. “And I’ll keep your preferences in mind before I make my own choice.”

He closed his eyes briefly, as if gathering himself. Would she never cease to annoy him?

“Why don’t you get cleaned up and we’ll go out for a spell,” he said stiffly as he stood and started out of the room, presumably to go to the other suite and clean up. Relief swept through her when she realized he wasn’t going to fly her back to Chicago this instant for not doing precisely what he wanted, when he wanted it. Admittedly, so did a tad of triumph.

“You’re not going to try and teach me anymore . . . try to convince me it’s your way or the highway?” she asked, unable to keep a smile from pulling at the corners of her mouth.

He glanced over his shoulder. She saw the flash in his blue eyes that reminded her of heat lightning—like a storm brewing and mounting in the distance. Her smile faded.

When would she learn to keep her big mouth shut?

“The day isn’t over yet, Francesca,” he said, his voice a low, caressing menace, before he turned and walked out of the room.

Read more of Francesca and Ian’s red-hot romance in
Part V of BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE

BECAUSE I SAID SO

Available from Headline on 28 August 2012