PART FIVE

Because I Said So

Beth Kery

Because I Said So 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 © Fancy Collection / Superstock

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 0062 4

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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

How much can a woman endure? How much can a man get away with? Tantalising questions. International bestselling author Beth Kery’s Because You Are Mine dares to answer them…

Because You Are Mine, Part Five
Because I Said So

An outing in Paris, a luxury car, a dangerous rain-slicked street - and Francesca eagerly takes the wheel sending her and Ian spinning deliriously out of control. The risk would frighten most women. Not Francesca. It’s arousing. A moment of la petite mort that steers her relationship with Ian into a daring new direction.

Scorched by the depths of Francesca’s fresh, generous response to him, Ian begins to question his ability to keep his distance from the vibrant beauty. She’s like fire in his blood, striking a cord in him unlike any other woman, and every time he touches her, his need for total possession only mounts…

Don’t miss Because You Torment Me (Because You Are Mine, Part 6), available 4 September 2012

Chapter Nine

When she walked into the living room of the suite after cleaning up and dressing, she found Ian sitting at a desk, his computer open, his phone next to his ear.

“I’ve gone over his background extensively. His experience is steeped in venture-capitalist and fly-by-night Internet companies. He hasn’t got a stitch of financial discipline,” she heard him say. He glanced up and noticed her walk into the room. His eyes remained on her as he spoke. “What I actually told you is that you may hire whomever you wanted from a pool of acceptable CFO candidates, Declan. You have yet to supply me with that pool, so until you do, don’t start the hiring process, especially with a joker like this.” Another pause. “That may be true for all the other companies in the world, but not for one of mine,” he said, his voice like dry ice, before he said good-bye briskly.

“Sorry about that,” he said, standing and removing his glasses. “I’m having a hard time staffing a start-up company.”

“What sort of a company is it?” Francesca asked, interested. He never really spoke to her much about his work.

“A social-media-gaming concept that I’m test-driving in Europe.”

“And you’re having trouble finding the executives you want?”

He sighed and stood. He looked regal casual—a new term she made up on the spot to describe Ian’s apparel when he wasn’t wearing his typical suit. Today, it involved a cobalt-blue V-neck lightweight sweater, a white dress shirt beneath showing at the collar, and a pair of black pants that did god-awful sexy things for his narrow hips and long legs.

“Yes, among other things,” he admitted, tapping on his computer keyboard. “It’s usually that way, though. Unfortunately, my youth-oriented market appeals to the wild-gunslinger variety of executive who likes to spend my money merely because it’s there.”

“And while you may be liberal in your product and marketing ideas, you’re a rigid financial conservative?”

He looked up from his computer before he closed the monitor and walked toward her. “Do you know very much about business?”

“Not an iota. I’m a walking financial disaster. Ask Davie. I can barely swing my rent every month. I was just guessing about your business style from what I know of your personality.” He paused a few feet in front of her and raised his eyelids slightly, his manner one of amused expectancy.

“Personality?”

“You know,” she said, her cheeks heating. “The control-freak thing.”

He smiled and reached up to her touch her cheek, as though tracing the path of the warmth.

“I’m not afraid to spend money—and a lot of it—I just want to know it’s for an excellent reason. You look very pretty,” he said abruptly, changing the subject.

“Thank you,” she murmured, glancing down in embarrassment at the simple long-sleeve cotton shirt she wore tucked into low-riding jeans with her favorite belt. She’d left her hair down but pinned back the front to keep it off her face. “I . . . I didn’t bring that much to wear. I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do this afternoon.”

“Ah . . . speaking of which . . .” Ian dropped his hand from her cheek and checked his watch. As if his focus on the time had made it happen, a knock resounded on the suite door. He strode across the room and opened it. An attractive woman in her forties, wearing a chocolate-brown dress and stunning lizard-skin heels entered the suite. Francesca stood there, bewildered, as Ian exchanged greetings with the woman in French and then waved toward Francesca significantly.

“Francesca, this is Margarite. She’s my shopping assistant. She speaks French and Italian, but not English.”

Francesca exchanged greetings with the woman in the limited French she knew. She looked at Ian with a question in her eyes when the woman withdrew a tape measure and what looked like a wooden ruler contraption from the posh handbag she was carrying. She approached Francesca, smiling.

“Ian? What’s going on?” she asked, brows furrowed as she watched Margarite set down the wooden contraption and her handbag and whip the tape measure in her hand. She walked up close to a bewildered Francesca. Her eyes went wide in incredulity when the woman stretched the measure around her hips, then quickly moved it around her waist.

“Lin Soong has an uncanny ability to guess people’s ready-to-wear clothing sizes, and she’s even a crack shot at foot sizes. She’s the one who ordered the clothing you wore last night, and she seemed up to her usual standards. However, I thought it’d be better to get more precise measurements for some tailored clothing,” Ian said casually from across the room. She looked up, aghast, when Margarite matter-of-factly stretched the tape measure around her breasts. Ian was in the process of stuffing some files into his briefcase, but paused when he saw her expression.

“Ian, tell her to stop this,” she mumbled under her breath, as if muting her voice would lessen the likelihood of Margarite taking offense, forgetting the woman didn’t speak English.

“Why?” Ian asked. “I want to make sure your new wardrobe fits you perfectly.”

Margarite was retrieving the wooden contraption, which Francesca now realized was a foot-measurement device. She walked past the smiling woman, her expression strained, and approached Ian.

“Stop this. I don’t want any new clothes,” she hissed, glancing back uncomfortably at a politely confused-looking Margarite.

“I might want you to attend some events with me that require more formal attire,” he said, zipping his briefcase closed briskly.

“I’m sorry. I guess I won’t be able to go if you don’t think my appearance is suitable.”

He glanced up sharply at the tone of her voice. His nostrils flared slightly when he finally took note of her anger.

Margarite made a query in French from across the room. Ian’s stare felt like it had weight, but Francesca held it determinedly. He walked past her and addressed Margarite rapidly in French. The woman nodded in understanding, smiled warmly at Ian, grabbed her purse, and took her leave.

“Would you mind telling me what that was all about?” he asked her once he’d closed the door after a departing Margarite. His tone was cool, but his eyes gleamed with anger.

“I’m sorry. It was a generous offer on your part. But I know what type of clothing you’d probably tell Margarite to buy or have made. I’m a graduate student, Ian. I can’t afford things like that.”

“I know that. I’m purchasing them for you.”

“I told you I wasn’t for sale.”

“I told you that this sort of thing is the type of experience I can offer you,” he snapped back.

“Well, I’m not interested in that ‘sort of thing.’”

“I made it clear that this would be on my terms, Francesca, and you agreed. I’ll accept your stubbornness in small doses, but you go too far this time,” he said as he stalked toward her, clearly infuriated at her resistance.

“No. You go too far. I spent almost my entire life having authority figures tell me my appearance was wrong and try to alter it. Do you really think I’m so stupid as to give you permission to start doing the same thing now? I am who I am. If you don’t want to be around me this way, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking.

He came to a halt. She wished he wouldn’t look at her with that laser stare of his that seemed to see so much. Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes. It hurt, for some reason, knowing that he’d prefer she was different. She knew that was irrational—he hadn’t said he wanted to alter her, just her clothes—but she couldn’t seem to prevent the swelling of emotion. They stood there in silence while she tried to contain it.

“Never mind,” he said quietly after a moment while she stared blankly out the sun-filled terrace windows, her arms crossed beneath her breasts. “Perhaps we can discuss it later. I don’t want to argue with you right now. It’s a beautiful day. I’d like to enjoy it with you.”

She glanced at him hopefully. Was he really willing to forgive her for refusing his generosity? She dropped her arms.

“What . . . what were you planning on doing?”

He closed the distance between them. “Well, I was planning on a little shopping and a late lunch, but now that I hear your opinion on the matter, I think a change of plan is in order.”

She hid her grimace. She knew he didn’t like to change his plans.

“What about a quick tour of the Musée d’Art Moderne and a late lunch instead?”

She studied his impassive face closely, searching for clues as to his mood and finding none. “Yes. That would be wonderful.”

He nodded once and held out his arm toward the door. She walked past him, halting when he called her name suddenly, as if he’d been hesitating about saying something before, but now it popped out of him. She looked back.

“I want you to know that I am far from being critical of your appearance. Whether you’re in pearls or your Cubs T-shirt, I find you to be extremely attractive. Perhaps you haven’t noticed?”

Her mouth fell open in shock. “I . . . I have noticed. Really. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant. But you’re an extremely beautiful woman. I would like you to own that, Francesca.”

“It seems more like you want to own it . . . for however long it’s convenient to you,” she couldn’t stop herself from saying.

“No,” he said so harshly she blinked. He inhaled slowly, looking as if he regretted his outburst. “I admit, you probably have good reason for believing that, given what you know of me . . . what I know of me, even. But I find I truly would like you to see yourself clearly . . . to recognize your power.”

She just stared at him, her mouth hanging open, confused by the message in his eyes.

She was still bewildered when he took her hand and led her out of the suite.

* * *

Francesca had to keep repeatedly reminding herself that it was a purely sexual agreement she had with Ian, because in truth, she couldn’t have imagined a more romantic day in her life. At her request, they left Jacob to his own devices and walked the streets of Paris, Francesca experiencing a ridiculous amount of excitement and euphoria at the sensation of her hand enfolded in Ian’s, frequently glancing sideways to assure herself that she really was being escorted around the most romantic city in the world by the most appealing, compelling man she’d ever seen.

“I’m starving,” she said honestly after their brief and enjoyable tour of the Musée d’Art Moderne, where she’d continued to be amazed by the depth of his artistic knowledge and innate taste. He’d been the ideal companion—considerate of her desires for what she wanted to view, interested in what she had to say, revealing more of his dry, sharp wit and sense of humor than he ever had before with her. “Can we eat here?” she asked, pointing at the attractive little sidewalk bistro they passed on Rue Goethe with outdoor seating.

“Lin has arranged a private table for us at Le Cinq,” Ian said, referring to the ultra exclusive, pricey restaurant in their hotel.

“Lin Soong,” she mused, watching a couple seated at a nearby table, the woman picking at her food idly with her fingers while she laughed at something her companion had said. “She’s extremely efficient at planning things, isn’t she?”

“The best. That’s why I employ her,” he said crisply before he gave her a sideways glance. She looked at him in surprise a moment later when he paused before the entrance to the little bistro and waved his hand to enter, his expression one of subdued amusement.

“Really?” she asked excitedly.

“Certainly. Even I can be spontaneous once in a while. In very small measures, anyway,” he added drolly.

“Will miracles never cease?” she teased. He blinked, looking slightly surprised, when she went up on her toes and kissed him on the mouth before they sat at one of the outdoor tables.

“Would you like anything else to drink besides club soda?” Ian asked politely when the waiter came to their table.

She shook her head. “No, just that, thank you.”

Ian placed their order and they were left to each other’s company. She smiled at him from across the table, feeling very happy, admiring how electric blue his eyes looked even though they sat in the shadow of the canopy above them.

“You mentioned to me once that you didn’t really bloom and come into your own until you went to college. How is it that you never ended up in a serious relationship with a man in all the intervening years?” he asked.

She avoided his gaze. Her experience with dating—or lack of it—was not really the sort of thing she wanted to discuss with a sophisticated man like Ian.

“I just never really clicked with anyone, I guess.” She glanced up cautiously and saw that he continued to regard her expectantly. She sighed. He wasn’t going to drop the topic. “I wasn’t interested in most guys in college, not in a romantic sense, anyway. I like hanging around men, as a rule. I get them better than women. Women are all like . . . How do I look? Where’d you get those jeans? What are you wearing on Friday night so we can all look the same?” She rolled her eyes.

“But when it came down to it with men . . . to the . . .” she faded off, having difficulty finding the right words.

“Dirty details?” Ian supplied quietly.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she admitted, falling silent for a moment while the waiter served their beverages. They both placed their orders for lunch. After the waiter left, he glanced at her again as if waiting.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she said, blushing. “Men are okay to party with, and to hang out with, and to have fun with, but for me, I was never really . . . turned on,” she said, her voice dropping into a whisper, “by any of them. They were too young. Too annoying. I got sick of them always asking me what I wanted to do for a date,” she said in a burst of honesty. “I mean . . . why did I always have to be the one to decide?” She did a double take when she noticed his small smile. “What?” she asked.

“You’re a natural sexual submissive, Francesca. A more natural one I’ve never seen. You’re also singularly bright, talented, independent . . . full of life. A unique combination. Your frustrations in dating likely stem from the fact that men were striking the wrong chord with you, so to speak. There are probably only a handful of men on the planet that you would submit to.” He picked up his glass and watched her over the rim as he took a sip of ice water. “Apparently, I’m one of those men. I consider myself to be very lucky for it.”

She made a scoffing sound, all the while studying him nervously. Was he serious? She recalled how he’d used the word submissive that night he’d spanked her in his penthouse. She didn’t like what the word implied about herself, and had been regularly pushing it out of her awareness ever since then.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said dismissively. This time, however, she couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said, couldn’t stop recalling her exhausted disgust when a man on a date had to drink too much before he made a move on her sexually, when he behaved indecisively or immaturely. . . .

. . . when he acted the exact opposite of Ian.

His brow quirked up slightly, as if he’d seen the pieces lock together in her brain.

“Can we please talk about something else?” she asked, staring out at the people strolling by on the sidewalk.

“Of course, if you wish,” he agreed, and Francesca suspected his acquiescence was so easy because he knew he’d already made his point.

“Look at that,” she said, nodding to three young people whisking past the bistro on motor scooters. “I always wanted to rent one when I was in Paris. They look so fun.”

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

She really blushed this time. She glanced around, hoping like crazy she’d see their waiter coming with their entrées.

“Francesca?” he asked, sitting forward slightly.

“I . . . uh . . . I . . .” She closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t have a driver’s license.”

“Why not?” he demanded, looking puzzled.

She tried to shrug off her mortification, not sure why she was feeling it so strongly with Ian about this particular topic. All of her friends knew she didn’t drive. Lots of people in the city didn’t. Caden, for instance, didn’t have a car.

“In high school, I didn’t really have anywhere I needed to drive to, and my parents didn’t push it. I opted out of driver’s ed,” she said hurriedly, praying he didn’t observe her sidestepping of the truth.

The truth was, she’d been at her heaviest when she’d been sixteen. She daily thanked God her body had been youthful enough to sustain the abrupt weight loss she experienced at eighteen. Much to her amazement, there had been no lasting scars from those weight-laden years of her life. The weight had melted off her as if it truly had been a traumatic experience she could heal from versus a measurable biological event.

But Sweet Sixteen had been Miserable Sixteen to Francesca. She’d been slated to take driver’s ed with three other girls in her gym class, three girls who—by a horrible stroke of fate—regularly bullied her. Gym class had already been a daily torture for her. The idea of spending an hour in confined quarters with three sneering girls hiding their laughter at every clumsy move she made, and a young male gym teacher vaguely sympathetic to the other girls’ disdain, had been too much for her. Her parents had suspected this was the reason for her avoiding driver’s ed, and hadn’t insisted she take the class.

They were likely just as mortified by the idea as she had been.

“By the time I moved to Chicago, there was absolutely no reason to get a license. I can’t afford a car, the parking, or the insurance, so it became a moot point,” she explained to Ian.

“How do you get around?”

“The El, my bike . . . my feet,” she said, grinning.

He shook his head once, briskly. “That’s not acceptable.”

Her grin faded. “What do you mean?” she asked, offended.

He gave her an exasperated glance when he noticed she’d once again taken umbrage. “I just mean that a young woman like you should have the very basics of control in her life.”

“And you think driving is a basic of control?”

“Yes,” he replied so matter-of-factly that a surprised laugh popped out of her throat. “It’s a developmental milestone, getting your driver’s license, no different than taking your first step . . . or learning how to control your temper,” he added significantly when she opened her mouth to argue. The arrival of their entrées temporarily postponed their charged conversation.

“There’s a reason for all the sayings, you know,” Ian mused a moment later, lazily watching her pour salad dressing onto her greens. “The ones about being in the driver’s seat, driving your fate, power driving . . .”

Her gaze flew up to meet his stare at the last, recalling vividly how he’d described his claiming of her at the St. Germain last night. His small smile told her he knew she was remembering.

“Why don’t you let me teach you how to drive?” he asked.

“Ian—” she began, feeling frustrated and a little helpless.

“I’m not saying it to control you. I’d like you to feel more in control over your life, in fact,” he interrupted, cutting his chicken fillet briskly. He glanced up when she didn’t speak. “Come on, Francesca,” he coaxed. “Be a little impulsive.”

“Oh, ha ha,” she said sarcastically, but she couldn’t help but smile at his goading. She melted a little when he grinned back, a devilish, sexy gleam in his eyes. “You act like you’re planning on teaching me to drive here in Paris after we finish lunch.”

“That’s because I am,” he said, picking up his phone.

***

They lingered at the bistro, talking, sipping coffee, and waiting for Jacob to arrive with the car Ian had requested.

“There he is,” Ian said, his gaze on a shiny black BMW sedan with tinted windows. She’d listened to him ask Jacob to lease an automatic-transmission vehicle and bring it to the bistro address. Now here was Jacob, not a half hour later. It was so strange to consider the things one could do on a whim when money was no object.

She couldn’t believe she’d let him talk her into this.

She smiled at Jacob as he handed Ian the keys. “Aren’t we going to drop you off?” she asked the driver when he turned to walk down the sidewalk.

“I’ll just walk to the hotel. It’s not far,” Jacob assured cheerfully before he waved and turned away.

Ian opened the passenger-side door for her. She was relieved that he wasn’t going to start teaching her to drive on the busy Paris streets. Even so, she was convinced that a disaster was about to occur.

“This is an extremely nice car,” she said, sitting on the passenger side and watching while Ian adjusted the driver’s seat for his long legs. “Couldn’t you have rented a banged-up car? What if I wreck this one?”

“You won’t wreck it,” he said as he began to drive down the shaded street. Clouds were rolling in, hiding the gorgeous golden sunshine they’d relished the entire autumn day. “You have excellent reflexes and good eyes. I noticed during our little fencing match.”

He glanced quickly to the side and caught her staring at him. She blinked, her gaze bouncing off him. She’d only seen him drive one other time—that night he’d yanked her out of the tattoo parlor. Maybe he was right about power and driving. He seemed utterly in control as he maneuvered skillfully through Paris traffic. She couldn’t remove her gaze from his large hands grasping the leather wheel, his touch light but sure, like a lover’s. For some reason, it made her think of what that crop had looked like in his grip earlier. She shivered.

“Is the air-conditioning too much?” he asked solicitously.

“No. I’m fine. Where are we going?”

“Back to the Musée de St. Germain,” he murmured. “It’s closed on Mondays. There’s a rather large employee parking lot in the rear, where we can practice.”

Francesca had a vision of ramming the car directly into the elaborate palace’s wall and couldn’t decide if she was glad or uneasy that Ian’s grandfather owned the property. It would be a miserable way for the venerable earl to learn of her existence.

Twenty minutes later, she sat behind the wheel of the sedan while Ian sat beside her in the passenger seat. It felt very strange—firstly to be in the driver’s seat, and secondly because the wheel was on the opposite side of the car than it would be in the states.

“I think those are all the basics,” Ian said after pointing out the key control mechanisms and pedals to her. “Keep your foot on the brake and shift the car into drive.”

“Already?” she squeaked nervously.

“The object is to make the car move, Francesca. You can’t do that while it’s in park,” he said dryly. She did what he’d said, her foot jammed against the brake.

“Now ease up on the brake, that’s right,” he said as the car began to inch forward in the empty parking lot. “Now begin to experiment with pressing on the accelerator . . . easy, Francesca,” he added when she pressed too far and the car jolted forward. She slammed her foot on the brake even more aggressively, and they both flew forward against their seat belts.

Damn.

She glanced at Ian nervously.

“As you can see,” he said wryly, “the pedals are very sensitive. Keep experimenting. It’s the only way you’ll learn.”

She clenched her teeth together this time and cautiously touched the accelerator. When the car began to respond to her subtlest urging, a thrill went through her.

“Very good. Now turn to your left and circle around,” Ian instructed.

She used too much gas on the curve.

“Brake.”

Again, she jolted them against the seat belts.

“I’m sorry,” she squealed.

“When I say brake, I mean apply your foot gently to the brake to slow down. If I want you to stop, I’ll say stop. You have to slow on a turn or you’ll lose control. Now again,” he said, not unkindly.

He was so patient with her for the next half hour, she was a little amazed, especially because she really was a spaz driver. Her jerky stops and accelerations smoothed out quite a bit under Ian’s tutelage, however, and she was starting to feel euphoric piloting the sleek, responsive vehicle.

“Now park in that end spot there,” he requested, pointing. Rain began to spatter on the windshield as she did a neat turn into the parking spot and cried out in triumph. “Very nice,” Ian complimented, smiling at her when she turned to him. “We’ll practice more when we get to Chicago. I’ll have Lin forward the rules of the road so you can study on the plane home tomorrow, and you’ll be ready to take the test in a week or so.”

She was so excited, she didn’t comment on his meticulous planning of the details of her life. She held onto the wheel and stared out the front window, grinning. Learning to drive had been a much more liberating experience than she’d imagined. Or was she just euphoric because Ian had been the one to patiently instruct her?

“You see, it’s not so hard,” he said as rain began to fall rapidly on the windshield in fat drops. “Turn on your wipers and lights. It’s really starting to come down. Here,” he said, pointing to the respective controls. “Good. We’ll just try one other thing before the storm hits full force. I want you to back out of the spot and turn the car to the left. That’s correct,” he said as she began to go in reverse. “Use your mirrors. No . . . no, the other way, Francesca.” She fumbled, confused as to how to move the wheel while going backward to get the desired result. Meaning to brake, she hit the accelerator hard at the same moment that she twisted the wheel in the other direction. When the car lurched, she slammed down on the brake, with the result that the car swung around on the wet pavement in a complete circle.

Electricity seemed to spark in her veins at the unexpected, abrupt exhilaration of movement . . . of losing control.

She whooped.

The vehicle came to a brain-rattling halt, causing her hair to fling forward onto the wheel when the seat belt caught her. She experienced a sudden, strange kinship with the car—as if it were alive and had just revealed a rebellious streak. She snorted with laughter

“Francesca,” Ian said sharply.

She ceased her laughter and looked over at him wide-eyed. He looked stunned and a little ruffled. “I’m really sorry, Ian.”

“Put the car in park,” he said briskly. Was he angry with her? He hated disorder, despised when she lost control. She followed his instructions quickly, feeling a little breathless and dizzy, not sure if her reaction came from the car whipping around in a tight circle or the glint in Ian’s eyes just now.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” she muttered, turning the key in the ignition so as not to cause any further unintentional havoc.

“It wasn’t a bad idea,” he said, his mouth set in a hard line. Her breath froze in her lungs when he reached for her, his fingers furrowing into her hair, turning her face toward him. The next thing she knew, he’d leaned over and captured her mouth. The adrenaline rush that had gone through her when the car spun around on the wet pavement was nothing compared to the surge of excitement at Ian’s unexpected kiss. She melted against his heat, his taste inundating her, the demanding thrusts of his tongue overpowering her senses. He applied a suction so precise, liquid surged between her thighs as if he’d somehow conjured it with his mouth. She was panting by the time he lifted his head a moment later.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said roughly.

“I . . . I what?” she asked, still bewildered and stunned by his kiss.

He smiled and stroked her cheek softly. “Get into the backseat and take off your jeans and panties. I have to taste you. Now.”

She stared at him openmouthed and then looked out the car window anxiously.

“No one is around. Even if someone did pass by or someone studied the museum surveillance, the windows are tinted. Now do as I say,” he said gently. “I’ll join you there in a moment.”

She unbuckled her seat belt, her breathing still erratic, and opened the driver’s-side door. A steady rain had started to fall, so she slammed the door shut quickly and dashed for the rear. She felt extremely awkward and excited when she got into the plush interior of the rear of the cab. Ian was still sitting in the passenger seat, his head lowered. She wondered if he was tapping his fingers on his cell phone, and felt sure that he was.

Slowly, she began to unbuckle her belt and unfasten her button fly.

When she’d removed her jeans and panties, she sat there feeling foolish. He didn’t move. Her pussy tingled against the taut, smooth seat. She shifted restlessly, wincing at the pleasurable friction of her sensitive tissue against cool leather. What was Ian doing? She opened her mouth to tell him she’d removed her jeans, but he abruptly whipped off his seat belt.

She didn’t think she drew a breath until he joined her a moment later in the shadowed interior of the cab. He slammed the door closed. With him on the seat with her, the space suddenly felt smaller and more intimate. In the distance, thunder rumbled and rain pitter-pattered on the roof.

He glanced over at her, wiping his hand over his slightly rain dampened, dark hair.

“You know what I want,” he said quietly. “Lie back and make your pussy available to me.”

His deep voice echoed around her head in the ensuing silence. Her sex throbbed and prickled with excitement. She couldn’t help but recall the pure, distilled pleasure he’d given her last night with his mouth. She did her best to find a position to accommodate him. For once, he wasn’t instructing her. He just watched as she leaned against the door and spread her thighs as wide as she could, given the barrier of the backseat. Her heart was pounding against her breastbone by the time she settled. Her anticipation was so sharp, it pressed down uncomfortably on her chest. He sat unmoving, his gaze glued between her thighs.

Suddenly he sat forward and pushed on her outer knee, sending her sandal-covered foot to the floorboard of the car, spreading her wider. The vision of his dark head lowering between her legs was so exciting, she bit off a moan before he ever touched her.

She whimpered when he placed his entire opened mouth over her outer sex. It felt hot and wet and unbearably exciting. He moved his lips erotically against her clit, applying a taut pressure, and then parted her labia with his sleek tongue. He shifted, burying his face more intimately in her sex, lashing at her clit more forcefully than he had last night, rubbing it, circling it, pressing it so ruthlessly that she screamed and bucked her hips.

He held her steady with his hands, forcing her to take her pleasure full-on. She grabbed onto his head, feeling herself burn and melt beneath him. He ate her with a tight focus, his actions almost angry they were so relentless, as if her pussy had done something to offend him . . . like he needed to show it who was master.

He was, Francesca thought through a haze of sexual heat. Her head fell against the window with a thud, but she was heedless. How could she experience discomfort when she was swimming in bliss?

What sort of a fool was she to take him as a lover? When he walked away from her, she’d never be satisfied with another. She’d be ruined for life.

He used his fingers to part her sex lips. He lifted his head and began to whip her clit hard, pressing and agitating until she called out to him in a frenzy of lust. The vision of him tonguing her sex was indecently lewd . . . unbearably exciting. Her fingers gripped in his short hair, and she cried out sharply.

She exploded in climax, holding onto his head as if she thought she was drowning and he was her only lifesaver. He continued to eat her as she shook, keeping her right on the crest of her climax for what seemed like forever, demanding she give him his due. Just when she fell limp, thinking he’d squeezed every last blast of pleasure from her, he’d move his head or his tongue in such a way that she shuddered again.

He coaxed one last shiver out of her a moment later, before he lifted his head. Her vagina clenched tight when she saw that his lower face glistened with her juices. She panted for air as he regarded her soberly.

“I want to be able to do that to you,” she whispered, meaning it with every ounce of her spirit. What a powerful gift he had the power to give. She wanted to reciprocate.

“Have you ever? Used your mouth to pleasure a man?”

She shook her head. He grunted, and she couldn’t tell if he was pleased or irritated. Perhaps both.

“I didn’t think so. You’ll learn, but those aren’t the type of lessons that should be given in the backseat of a car,” he said before he sat up. She watched as he closed his eyes tightly for a second and put his hand over his mouth. He dropped his hand and glanced over at her, his distracted gaze once again fixing on her pussy and narrowing. Again, he clamped his eyelids shut.

“Get dressed,” he said grimly, reaching for the car door. “I’m taking you back to the hotel, and you’re going to deliver on your promise.”

The stark anticipation she’d experienced when he’d told her to get into the backseat began to mount again as she reached for her clothing.

Chapter Ten

Ian didn’t say anything on the rainy drive home, and Francesca was too keyed up to push any conversation. It was as if something had happened back there in the car that she couldn’t understand. Some sort of nameless, thick tension seemed to fill the air between them. She would have thought it was the low pressure from the storm but knew it didn’t exude from rain clouds.

Ian was the source.

When they arrived at the hotel and pulled beneath the entrance canopy, a young, energetic valet greeted Ian by name. Ian gave him some directions about returning the car to the rental agency in English and then handed him the keys along with a wad of cash.

“Thank you, Mr. Noble,” the valet gushed appreciatively in heavily accented English. “Never worry that the car will be returned very fast. I’ll see to it myself.”

“You don’t have to worry. The car will be returned very quickly,” Ian said distractedly as he took Francesca’s hand.

“Yes, as you say. You don’t have to worry. The car will be returned very quickly,” the young man repeated aloud, and then several times under his breath.

“I won’t give it another thought, Gene,” Ian said with a small smile. The short conversation with the valet seemed to lighten his mood a tad. He noticed her raised eyebrows and curious expression when they got on the elevator. “I told Gene I’d try him out in my mailroom if he learned English. He has an aunt and uncle in Chicago and a big American dream.”

She smiled as they stepped off the elevator. “Watch out, Ian.”

He glanced sideways at her as he used the card key to the suite.

“You’re exposing your soft spots.”

“You think so?” he asked unconcernedly as he held the door open for her to enter. “I think I’m being very practical. I’ve observed firsthand what a hard worker Gene is. He scrambles to please when others shuffle.”

“And of course you always want those who are most willing to please you.”

“Yes,” he said, ignoring the sarcasm in her voice. He’d led her to the bedroom suite and now turned to face her. “Are you struggling with that, Francesca?”

“With what?” she asked, confused.

“With entering into an agreement where the primary goal is to please me.”

“I do this to please myself,” she said, lifting her chin.

His amused glance ran over her face. “Yes,” he murmured, touching her jaw with gentle, blunt-tipped fingers. She shivered. “And that’s what makes you so special. Because pleasing me does please you.”

She frowned. Something about what he’d said encroached on that uncomfortable topic of domination and submission.

He smiled and dropped his hand. “I would prefer you didn’t struggle so much with the basics, lovely. There’s nothing shameful about your nature. In fact, I find you exquisite. You really have no idea why I had to have you at all costs, do you? There’s a quality in you that only a man like me can see . . .” He tapered off when he noticed the bewilderment on her face. He exhaled heavily. “Perhaps time is what is needed in your case. That, and practice.”

She blinked when she saw the gleam in his eyes.

“Please undress and put on a robe. Brush your hair, but then restrain it at the back of your head. Sit at the corner of the bed. I’ll be with you momentarily. We need a few things for this very important lesson.”

You really have no idea why I had to have you at all costs, do you?

Ian’s words kept echoing in her head as she did the things he’d asked, plus brushed her teeth. Sitting and waiting at the corner of the bed definitely ratcheted up her anxiety. She wasn’t pleased, necessarily, that she was so eager to please Ian sexually, to give him the type of pleasure he could give her, but she was honest enough to admit it was true to herself. Apparently she had no right to mentally cast aspersions on Ian for his preferences when she herself possessed equally dark desires.

Her thoughts were cut short when Ian walked into the room wearing a pair of black pants, his torso and feet bare, and carrying a small plastic bag. She watched him, growing breathless at the vision of his near nudity. Would he ever allow her to touch and caress and pet all those sleek, bulging muscles and smooth skin? His nipples were tiny and almost always erect, as far as she’d observed. He set down the bag on one of the chairs at the end of the bed. He took out something with straps she couldn’t identify, along with something she did recognize: the leather handcuffs. He stepped toward her, the items in his hands.

“Why do I have to wear the handcuffs for this?” she asked, disappointment filtering into her tone. She’d thought she was finally going to get the opportunity to touch him.

“Because I say so,” he said gently. “Now stand up and remove the robe.” She came down from the corner of the bed and untied the robe. The air felt a little chilly on her naked skin. Her nipples pulled tight as she tossed the robe on the end of the bed.

“It’s cool, but I think what I have in mind will be making you very warm very soon. Turn your back to me,” Ian said.

Once again, she had to resist a strong urge to gawk over her shoulder and see what he was doing back there. “Put your wrists together at your back,” he instructed. Her clit pinched in excitement when she felt him buckle the restraints around her wrists, binding her arms behind her back. “Now turn around.” She let out a small gasp when she saw the white jar that he held. Heat rushed between her thighs. She was becoming conditioned to that little jar of cream. Her body responded just upon seeing it. Ian paused, seeming to notice her reaction as she eyed the emollient.

“I’m acquainted with a doctor of Chinese medicine in Chicago who recommended this stimulant, but I’d never used it before you. I’m getting the distinct impression that you approve of it,” he said, his full lips shaping into a small smile. He stepped toward her and she held her breath, knowing what was to come. He plunged his finger between her labia and rubbed her clit, covering it with the stimulant. She bit her lower lip to prevent herself from crying out in excitement. Maybe it was her imagination of what was to come, but she already began to burn.

He dropped his hand. She watched anxiously as he picked up the item with the black straps that she’d noticed earlier. There was a thin cord attached to it as well, with a small control panel.

“What’s that?” she asked, slightly alarmed.

“It’s something designed purely for your pleasure, lovely. Don’t be afraid,” he said as he came toward her. “It’s a hands-free vibrator,” he explained, sliding the adjustable straps around her hips and tightening them. She stared down in mixed fascination and arousal as she saw him press a clear, ridged, jellylike column against her labia and clit. He set the control panel with a dial at the edge of the bed. “I don’t relish making you uncomfortable, but since you are inexperienced, your first lessons at this might be more . . . trying for you until you become used to things. I want you to feel pleasure while you’re learning me. It will make things easier for you. Perhaps.”

“I don’t understand,” she said as he further tightened the straps on the vibrator until they were snug and stepped back, examining his handiwork. It was as if she wore a skimpy pair of underwear with the little vibrator wedged between her labia. Her pussy was already buzzing just from the slight pressure and the clitoral cream, and Ian hadn’t even turned on the device yet.

He regarded her soberly for a moment, her nipples pinching tight when his gaze lingered on her breasts. “I happen to be very demanding when it comes to fellatio.”

“Oh,” she said, unable to think of anything else to say. He’d said it almost apologetically.

“I’ve never taught a woman to do this. I suspect I’ll be a failure at easing you into this particular activity, but I want you to know that I put considerable thought into it.”

“What do you mean?” She grew increasingly confused by the moment. Were they even talking about the same thing? He’d said fellatio, so she thought so, but still . . .

“It’s a bit of a conundrum. I can’t change my demanding nature, and I doubt I could if I tried my hardest in this case, as attracted to you as I am.”

She felt her cheeks heat. Sometimes, Ian could say the nicest things and not even seem aware how his casual statements affected her.

“On the other hand, I understand that how a woman is introduced to giving oral sex has a major impact on whether or not she’ll enjoy it in the long term, so I had to really consider,” he said as he reached into the bag again. This time he withdrew a bottle with a spray nozzle.

“What is it?”

“A throat desensitizer. It numbs the throat, diminishing the gag reflex. It will increase your overall comfort.”

“I see,” she whispered. She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. She hadn’t really thought about the mechanics before, but Ian’s cock was . . . formidable. She met his stare and saw that he’d been studying her face.

“I’m confusing you,” he said, sighing. “As I said, I don’t want to ruin this for you. Especially since I’ve been fantasizing about you taking me into your mouth since I first laid eyes on you. I’ll want it frequently, Francesca, and I would prefer if we found it mutually satisfying.”

She blushed uncontrollably. The cream began to tickle and burn her clit.

“Okay,” she said.

“Open your mouth,” he said softly, stepping closer. “I purchased some mints for you that have a similar effect, but we’ll use the spray for now.”

It was a strangely intimate thing to do, to spread her lips so that Ian could spray the desensitizer into the back of her throat. It had a refreshing flavor. She immediately felt the back of her throat go numb.

He set down the bottle and came toward her.

“Kneel,” he stated simply.

He supported her at the shoulders while she went to her knees, since her wrists were restrained behind her back. She looked up and swallowed thickly. Her face was directly in front of Ian’s crotch. Why hadn’t she noticed the unusual fastenings on the black pants he wore? She’d been too preoccupied with his beautiful naked torso, and the things he’d drawn out of the bag, to observe that the pants had an unusual square flap over his genitals. She watched, spellbound, as he unfastened several buttons and the flap fell away. He reached into his left pant leg and extracted the shaft of his penis. He tossed the piece of cloth onto the bed, something she barely noticed, because she was suddenly just inches away from his exposed cock and shaved balls. He was hard—not iron hard like she’d seen him in the past but aroused nonetheless. He was beautiful. She licked her lower lip nervously as she studied the tapered, fat head. The thickest portion of it at the base had the circumference of a small plum. Had his cock really been inside her body? How in the world would she take it into her throat?

“You even have to be dressed for this?” she asked incredulously, looking up at him, her eyes wide. A shiver went through her at the sight of him standing there, so tall and commanding, his cock poking from the crotchless trousers. It was an intimidating sight . . . an intensely erotic one.

“Yes. Are you ready to begin?”

He palmed the thick shaft and moved his hand along it while she watched.

“Yes.”

He released the shaft of his penis, the weight of it causing it to fall down at an angle. Her lips tingled in anticipation.

“Oh!” She jumped.

He’d turned on the vibrator. It buzzed energetically against her labia and clit. She looked up at him, stunned by the rush of intense pleasure. He studied her face closely. She felt a flush of warmth go over her chest, lips, and cheeks. It felt sinfully good. He grunted in satisfaction and stood before her again. He took his cock into his hand.

“I will teach you to use your hand with your mouth on another occasion. Today you will grow familiar with having me in your mouth,” he said. She went still when he stepped nearer and brushed her lips with the tip of his cock. She parted. “Stay still,” he ordered tautly. She remained immobile while he outlined her lips, the fleshy tip of his cock feeling smooth and warm against the quivering flesh. His scent entered her flared nostrils . . . musk and man. Her vagina clenched tight and she moaned softly. The stalk grew firmer and the head felt tauter against her lips. Unable to stop herself, she touched the tip of her tongue to the succulent flesh.

“Francesca,” he warned, pausing in his circling motions.

She looked up at him anxiously. He frowned.

“I forgot the damn blindfold again,” she thought she heard him mumble under his breath. “Spread your lips wide.”

She opened as far as she could. He inserted the tip of his cock into her mouth. “Use your lips to cover your teeth,” she heard him say through the bang of her heartbeat against her eardrums. “Make them into a stiff ridge. The harder you can squeeze, the greater pleasure you will give me.” She clamped him as hard as she could when she heard that. He grunted. “Good. Now bathe the head with your tongue,” he said from above her.

She eagerly did what he said, becoming even more excited as she watched him move his hand up and down the shaft. Was there anything more erotic in the world than seeing Ian touch himself?

“That’s right. Learn my shape. Press hard.” She followed his instructions eagerly. “Yes. There,” he said, his voice sounding a little rough when she charted the thick rim beneath the head and pushed against the tiny slit. She was rewarded with a few drops of pre-ejaculate. His taste spread on her tongue, unique . . . addictive. She pressed more forcefully. He growled softly and pushed another inch of his cock into her mouth. He opened his hand at the back of her head, holding her steady. He retracted and flexed his hips, sawing his cock just an inch or two back and forth, again and again.

“Now suck,” he said tautly.

She squeezed him with her rigid lips and applied a firm suction.

“Ah, yeah. That’s a good little student,” he said raggedly from above her as he continued to thrust between her lips.

The vibrator was killing her. She couldn’t escape from the persistent buzz on her sizzling clit. Like yesterday, she felt her nipples and the soles of her feet begin to burn as well. Her lips, too, felt overly sensitive, stretched as they were around the thick stalk of Ian’s cock. They were starting to hurt from maintaining a constant vicelike pressure around his thrusting penis. Still, she wanted more. She needed it.

She ducked her head forward, feeling him slide along her tongue, filling her mouth. He grunted and clutched at the hair on the back of her head, halting her.

“If you are impulsive like that again, we’ll stop.”

She blinked open her eyelids, his sharp tone penetrating her dazed excitement. His cock throbbed in her mouth. The vibrator was about to bring her off. It was a ruthless little thing. She couldn’t seem to help her reaction.

She looked up at him helplessly, unable to speak with his now-raging erection lodged in her mouth. His face darkened when he saw her expression.

“Francesca?”

She began to shudder in orgasm, her breath popping out of her lungs in little gasps that were stifled by his cock. She saw his eyes widen in disbelief before she clamped her eyelids shut, shame flooding her at her inability to control her monumental need.

* * *

Ian stared down at her, not understanding her desperate expression until she began to tremble in obvious orgasm. He’d never been in a woman’s mouth before while she came. He’d never considered a woman’s pleasure before while he’d been taking his own.

More fool him.

He groaned uncontrollably at the sensation of her sweet, hot mouth quivering around his cock. Unable to stop himself, he furrowed his fingers through her smooth hair and slid farther into the heaven of her. She made a squealing sound deep in her throat, the sound vibrating into his cock along with her delicate shudders of orgasm. He slid out a few inches to give her some relief. She almost pulled his trigger when she continued to pull on him with an eye-crossing suction and slapped her tongue repeatedly against the head.

He opened his mouth to rebuke her but stopped himself at the last moment, thrusting into her mouth again. What sort of an idiot corrected something so fucking good? He let her control the movements for a moment, watching her in intense arousal as she ducked her head, sliding his cock back and forth between her pink lips energetically.

“That’s right,” he murmured. “Just take as much as you can.” A thrill went through him. Her obvious enthusiasm went a long way to making up for her inexperience. And she was strong. She gripped him like a vice. Her suction was exquisite, but still he challenged her.

“Suck harder,” he said, beginning to thrust his hips in rhythm with her bobbing head. He growled, low and feral, when she surpassed his expectations. He watched as her flagrantly pink cheeks hollowed out, and he felt them touch the sides of his thrusting cock.

It was too much. He pulled back gently on her hair. Her eyelids opened sluggishly, and she looked up at him, the vision of her spread, cock-ravaged lips and dark eyes shining with arousal scoring his consciousness.

“You must take me deeper,” he said gently. “Breathe through your nose. If it feels uncomfortable for a moment, know that I won’t let it continue for long. Do you understand?”

She nodded, the trust and arousal he saw in her velvety eyes making him clench his jaw hard. He held her stare as he thrust forward and felt the tight ring of her throat enclose the tip of his cock. A shudder of pleasure went through him. She blinked and gagged but contained herself sufficiently not to balk. He groaned and slid out of her throat. “That’s right. Breathe through your nose,” he soothed even as he thrust into her again. This time, he grimaced when his cock leapt in excitement while lodged in her throat. “I’m sorry,” he rushed to say as he withdrew. He cringed inwardly when he saw two tears run down her cheek.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She widened her eyes as if to reassure him, and nodded, causing his cock to bob. He grimaced as pleasure stabbed through him at the sign of her eagerness . . . her generosity. Thank God, because she was loveliness personified. He knew he wouldn’t stop. He knew he couldn’t.

He held her head with both hands, holding her stare as he thrust shallowly in and out of her clamped lips, drying the teardrops on her cheek with his thumbs. The glow of arousal had only grown stronger in the dark orbs of her eyes in the past several minutes, but he saw something else there; something that seemed to bless his sin.

“You please me beyond measure,” he said.

He held her steady and thrust into her throat yet again. He lost himself for a minute, everything going black as he took his pleasure in Francesca’s sweet mouth and she granted every one of his desperate, depraved wishes. His eyes sprang wide when he felt her shudder while he was thrust deep. He started to withdrawal in deference to her discomfort but realized she wasn’t gagging.

“Sweet Francesca,” he grated out, emotion swelling high, bewildering him, when he realized she was coming yet again.

He exploded into her throat, roaring as brutal pleasure tore through him. Even so, he still had the presence of mind to withdrawal, coming as he thrust on her tongue. His face clenched tight as he watched her, unable to look away from the spellbinding image of her flagrantly pink cheeks, the helpless expression in her shiny dark eyes as she succumbed to the bliss of having pleased him so well.

Her slender throat convulsed as she swallowed. He continued to shudder and come, unable to stop the scorching waves of pleasure even though Francesca appeared to be having difficulty keeping up with his ejaculations. His suspicion was confirmed when she moaned, her clamping hold on his cock loosening momentarily, and some of his semen spilled from the corner of her lips.

He gasped uncontrollably and clenched his eyes shut, another sharp jolt of climax shaking him, the vision of her burning into his brain. How could an innocent make him so helpless, flay him to the bone, turn him inside out until he felt as raw, as naked, as exposed as he insisted she become for him?

The wild thought made him crack open his eyelids. His clawing hands had loosened her rose-gold hair from the clips at the back of her head. Mussed tendrils of the silky stuff fell down around her white shoulders and brushed her cheek. Her eyes were like dark beacons. He stared down at her lush, erotic beauty like she was the first thing a recovering blind man saw.

He slowly withdrew his cock from her mouth. Her sustained suction caused a wet, popping sound when he cleared her lips. He briefly shut his eyes at the cruelty of being separated from her warmth.

Neither of them spoke as he helped her to her feet and unbuckled the handcuffs. She whimpered softly when he turned off the vibrator.

“I had it on too high for you,” he said, his voice sounding flat to his own ears, perhaps because he knew he lied. The vibrator wasn’t that concise or powerful. She’d come repeatedly while he’d ravished her, while he’d used her mouth for his pleasure, because she was so sweet and so responsive and . . .

. . . far more than you ever expected or planned for.

He paused in the action of loosing the straps of the hands-free vibrator.

“Ian?” she asked. He winced when he heard the raspy sound of her voice.

“Yes?” he asked, avoiding her gaze as he mechanically began to replace the things he’d brought into the room back into the bag.

“Is . . . was everything all right?”

“It was fantastic. You once again surpassed my expectations.”

“Oh . . . because . . . you seem sort of . . . unhappy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said quietly, readjusting his clothing and zipping his pants. He looked at her, determinedly ignoring her flagrant beauty and the confused expression in her dark eyes. “Why don’t you shower in here, and I’ll use the other bathroom? Afterward, I’ll order us dinner.”

“Okay,” she said, the uncertainty in her voice cutting at him.

Still, no matter how sharp the sting, he started to walk out of the room. He stopped abruptly and turned, his control faltering. She hadn’t moved. He held out his arms.

“Come here,” he said.

She flew across the room. He hugged her to him tightly, inhaling the scent of her hair. Her breasts were a delicious, erotic fullness pressed against his ribs. He wanted to tell her how exquisite the experience had been—how exquisite she was—but for some reason, his heart began to beat uncomfortably hard. He didn’t like the way he’d felt exposed there at the end . . . weakened by his need for her.

Still, her mouth tempted him. He kissed her with focused restraint, aware of her probable soreness. Her sweet sigh against his mouth made him want to take her over to the bed and spend the night with his lips and nose buried in her silky, fragrant skin. The fantasy of doing just that plagued him.

Instead, he gave her a final kiss and released her, needing to prove to himself he still had the ability to walk away.

The goddamned walls in his temporary apartment residence might as well be made of cardboard, Vic Savian thought as he came into full wakefulness at the low, mellow sound of a voice emanating from the hallway. He’d never actually heard the mystery woman who lived across the hall from him speak, but he recognized her immediately, nonetheless.

Weird. Just her voice made his cock stir and stiffen against the cool sheets.

He’d seen her twice now, once in Louie’s—the steak-house located in the lobby of Riverview Towers. The other time they’d been alone on the elevator together.

He’d have bet the finest stallion in his stable that she was as aware of him on that elevator ride as he was of her.

Sort of an understatement, actually, to say that Vic had been aware of her. He’d noticed everything about her . . . the light sprinkling of freckles on her nose, the movement of her lips when they closed and parted, the pulse at her elegant throat, the shape of her breasts beneath the conservative yet sensual silk blouse she wore.

She was beautiful. Vic knew better than most how overused that word was when it came to women. But other descriptors—pretty, attractive, sexy—fell far short when it came to the woman across the hall.

She was luminous.

He liked women. He liked them smart, feisty, sexy, skilled, and hot. But this woman’s beauty irked him. He steered clear of beautiful women. Ever since the debacle with Jenny.

His head came up off the pillow when he heard her speak again. Did her voice sound strained?

When he heard a man respond in an angry tone, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his jeans.

“Evan, I’ve made it very clear where I stand with you. I’ve never played coy. And no, I can’t give you some kind of timeline as to when I might feel differently,” she said before Evan had the chance to say the predictable.

What was it about getting dressed up for a black-tie affair that made a man think he was going to get laid? Niall Chandler wondered dispiritedly. God, she was an idiot. She should never have agreed to accompany him to the Chicago Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art fund-raiser tonight. As a member of the museum’s board of trustees, Evan Forrester had the potential to make her job very difficult if he chose to play the part of a rejected lover.

“You’re not even giving this a chance. Look, I don’t have any of the details, but I’d have to be an idiot not to know that I’m supposed to treat you like fine china, given all the vague references and dirty looks your boss is always giving me, not to mention that secretary of yours. But sometimes the only way to get over something is to just take the plunge. Come on, Niall . . . jump off that pedestal of ice, sweetheart,” he coaxed. “The weather down below is nice and hot.”

Niall’s eyes widened in disbelief not only at his knowing, almost sly tone but the fact that he put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her back, sandwiching her between the door and his body. She twisted her face away when he tried to kiss her, but he merely transferred his attentions to her neck.

“You were driving me crazy tonight in this dress,” he muttered against her skin. His hands began to press and slide along her back and waist.

“Evan, stop it,” Niall insisted. When he brushed aside her wrap and planted a kiss on the top of her right breast, her hand rose instinctively. He looked up when she gave him a hard, flat-palmed thump to the side of his head.

“Why . . . you little bitch, that hurt!”

Niall barely had time to register the tall shadow out of the corner of her eye before Evan cried out and winced in pain. He crashed loudly into the far wall of the hallway, then bounced forward, looking stunned and dazed. He grabbed frantically for his ear, as if to assure himself that it was still attached to his head. Niall realized that the man who stood with them in the hallway must have twisted it viciously before he threw Evan off her.

“Get out of here,” the stranger said tersely.

Niall stared up at the man in amazement. His tone had been one of annoyance and profound distaste, as if he’d just come out into the hallway and seen a dog humping her leg instead of a man pawing her body without her consent. It was especially striking, that tone, since Evan was the picture of urbane sophistication in his tuxedo and black cashmere overcoat.

Her savior, on the other hand, brought to mind comparisons to ruthless cowboy outlaws and primitive, raw sex.

Niall blinked in surprise at her turn of thought. Well, it wasn’t the first time her mind had strayed that way against her will. It had done the same on the other two occasions she’d seen the man who lived across the hall from her, especially when she’d been forced to breathe his spicy male scent in the six-by-six-foot confines of an elevator.

He made her nervous, agitated . . . stirred up.

At least on the elevator he’d been wearing clothing, though. Tonight he wore nothing but a partially fastened pair of faded jeans that looked like they’d been washed and worn so many times that they’d shaped themselves perfectly to his lean hips, tight butt, and long, hard thighs.

Niall forced her eyes away from that compelling sight when she heard Evan speak.

“Who the hell are you to think you can tell me to leave like that?” Evan sputtered in furious disbelief. He took several rapid steps down the hallway, however, almost tripping on his own feet, when Niall’s neighbor abruptly lunged toward him. The tall man never responded verbally, but Niall thought she saw Evan’s answer in his rigid profile and steely gaze.

He’s the guy who looks like he’s ready to kick your ass from here to next week if you don’t get a move on, Niall thought.

“You’d better just go, Evan,” she managed shakily. “Please,” she added when Evan opened his mouth like he was going to argue. He finally turned, keeping the grim, tall figure that menaced him in the corner of his eye until the last second before he headed down the hallway.

Niall exhaled unevenly when she heard the ding of the elevator door as it closed. She found it difficult to meet her neighbor’s stare.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You okay?”

His voice reminded her of a stark landscape of open plains domed with the vast mystery of a starlit sky.

“Sure.” She laughed a little unevenly. “Feeling a bit dense, actually. I didn’t see it coming.”

“How about a drink?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m all right. He just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

“I wasn’t asking if you wanted to have a drink with me in order to calm you down.”

Her eyes snapped up to his. For the first time, she saw that they were a light gray, the outer rim edged by a defining black line.

A second passed . . . then several. A tiny smile pulled at his well-shaped lips, softening the hardness of his mouth infinitesimally.

Had he really just propositioned her so casually? Niall questioned herself. And was she really considering taking him up on the offer?

Something flamed to life inside of her as she met his steady stare . . . something Niall had assumed had been snuffed out of existence three years ago. His lips twitched slightly, and she realized she’d been wrong.

What she experienced at that moment wasn’t anything she’d ever known in her thirty-three years of life on this planet.

“All right,” she agreed softly.

He stepped back so that she could move past him toward the door of his apartment. Niall noticed that he didn’t look smug at her acceptance.

Nor did he seem even vaguely surprised.

Niall smiled a moment later as she glanced around his living room while he moved about in the kitchen.

“I see we have the same decorator,” she said through the little window over the counter that overlooked the kitchen. She heard the anxious tremor in her voice and admonished herself for it. Just because she had agreed to have a drink didn’t mean that she was going to sleep with him—a complete stranger.

His dark brown hair fell over his brow as he bent to retrieve a bottle from a lower shelf. When he stood, her gaze brushed appreciatively across his ridged abdomen, the sweep of his wide shoulders, and the hard, defined muscles of his upper arm. Most of the men that she knew would have put on a shirt in this situation. But Niall was glad that he hadn’t.

He was such a beautiful, sinuous male animal that it seemed a shame to cover his body.

He never responded to her attempt at small talk, but Niall found that his silence didn’t make her feel awkward. When he handed her a glass through the window, she held it up in a brief salute and took a drink. Her sensual appreciation of the taste must have shown on her face, because he gave a small smile before he took a swallow of his own. Heat expanded in Niall’s lower belly at the sight of the muscular movement of his throat.

“You approve,” he stated rather than asked.

Niall blinked. Had he been reading her mind? A modicum of common sense returned to her, however, and she realized that he’d been referring to the liquor, not his beautiful body.

“I don’t drink much, but when I do, I’m a Scotch drinker. This happens to be my favorite brand,” Niall said. She realized that her voice had become unintentionally husky as she stared at his mouth. His upper front tooth slightly overlapped the one next to it. She thought of what it would feel like to run her tongue over that sexy little imperfection, and then wondered how many women he encountered every day who had the exact same fantasy.

She forced her eyes away from him and transferred her gaze to the windows. It unnerved her, this strong, unprecedented physical reaction to him. She felt awkward and foolish, like a gangly teenage girl.

She took a deep, uneven breath and tried to focus on what she saw.

His apartment faced east, granting him a spectacular panoramic view of Chicago. The lights of the high-rises shimmered in the black, winding river. The Riverview Towers offered their residents every luxury and convenience: a concierge, a dry cleaner, grocery delivery, shopping, and a central location in downtown Chicago. Residents and the corporations for which they worked paid sky-high prices for the flexibility and conveniences of the apartments. But to Niall the temporary residences felt depressingly sterile. She longed for the stability of a home again.

“So what’s your excuse for staying in this god-awful place?” she asked him when he came around the corner into the living room. She glanced up when he leaned his hip against the counter next to where she sat on a stool.

“I’m working in the city for a while. I sleep here Tuesday through Thursday nights and drive home on Friday.”

“To the suburbs?” Niall asked as she took another sip of Scotch. With him standing and her sitting, her eye level was at his chest. His nipples were dark brown and even more erect than she’d speculated when he was feet away from her instead of inches. She inhaled slowly, and the male scent that she recalled all too well from sharing the elevator with him filled her senses, more subtle, but nevertheless more potent, than the fumes of the Scotch.

The desire that he’d awakened in her reared its head, causing a shimmering sensation of heat to spread along her tailbone, only to surge and swell at her sex, liquefying her in a matter of seconds.

His singular gray eyes flickered down to her lap when she stirred restlessly on her stool.

“I have a farm downstate. You?”

She blinked. “Oh . . . I’m waiting for my condominium to be finished. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here in a month or two, but they keep putting me off.” She shrugged and gave a shaky laugh. “It could be worse. I work downtown at the Chicago Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art, so Riverview Towers are convenient. If it weren’t for the fact that I feel like I live in a beige and white nightmare, things would be great,” she added with a chuckle.

“What’s your name?”

She paused in her mirth. “Oh, sorry. I’m Niall. Niall Chandler.”

She started to put out her hand for a friendly handshake but paused in surprise when he began to laugh. “What’s so funny?” she asked in amazement.

He set his drink on the counter as he stilled his mirth. “Your name. You’re the most feminine thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and you’ve got a boy’s name.”

Niall inhaled sharply. He was usually so terse and impassive that it unsettled her to hear him compliment her—for that was undoubtedly what it had been, given the warm, husky tone of his deep voice.

Her anxiety mounted when he took her glass from her stiff hand and set it next to his on the counter.

“I’m Vic.”

His hand rose to cradle her chin, lifting her face until she met his gaze. Niall’s pulse throbbed madly at her throat when she saw the heat in his gray eyes as they fixed on her mouth.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way . . .” His head dropped slowly. “Let’s get down to the good stuff, Niall.”

From the very first, Vic incinerated her. The thought of pushing him away never entered her mind, Niall realized the next day. It should have, logically. Not ten minutes before, she’d put a halt to Evan’s attempts to get her into bed.

But this was different. Vic seduced her so effortlessly. The strength of her desire for him burned away the few remaining insubstantial shadows of rational thought.

The hand that wasn’t already holding her chin came up to join its twin, holding her steady for the onslaught of his kiss. His tongue drove between her lips without preamble. He didn’t seem particularly interested in mutuality at that moment. He probed deeply, sweeping his tongue everywhere, establishing dominance over her body with a stunning attack on her senses.

Niall moaned as his taste registered in her brain. Her hands clutched desperately at his back as he continued to fuck her mouth with his tongue. He tasted like premium Scotch with just a hint of mint. Her fingertips explored the sensation of smooth skin stretched tautly across dense muscle. Heat resonated off his body. Niall pressed closer, wanting to share that heat, needing to be thawed . . . desperate to be burned.

Her hands began to move over him greedily. He groaned, deep and savage, and tore his mouth from hers. For a tense moment, he just stared down at her. Then he lifted her in his arms. Niall held on tightly to his shoulders. A kaleidoscope of images from his apartment spun before her eyes as he quickly moved toward his bedroom, adding to her chaotic emotional state.

He tore off the wrap she wore around her shoulders before he lowered her to his bed. The zipper of her sophisticated little black cocktail dress came down next.

“Arms up,” he muttered.

She complied. He tossed aside her black dress a second later.

Niall’s hips moved restlessly on the bed, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure growing at her sex when his gaze dropped over her. She wore a black bra and panty set and some thigh-high stockings. And her pearls. As if that counted for anything, she thought with a touch of hysteria.

Vic’s expression didn’t alter much, but his eyes blazed so hot as they toured her body that she felt sexually scorched.

“Take off your panties and move back on the bed.”

She felt like she was in a dream as she did exactly what he’d demanded. But it was a very hot, exciting dream . . . and she hadn’t the slightest desire to resist the carnal allure of it.

He covered her body with his own by the time her head hit the pillows. He palmed her thighs, spreading them to accommodate his body in the process. He immediately took possession of her mouth again. Their tongues tangled and mated wildly. His hands ran down her sides, one pausing at a silk-covered breast, the other sliding down her waist and cradling her hip.

He tilted her pelvis up and pressed himself to her, forcing her to feel the strength of his desire.

Niall moaned into his mouth. He felt so vibrant next to her, so alive. It was a dizzying sensation for someone who had been one of the walking dead for the past three years to suddenly awaken as if from a jolt of sexual electricity. He molded her breast in his palm gently, then roughly . . . always surely. Niall strained up, desperate for more of the sensation of him. Her hands ran over his back and shoulders, sliding and rubbing, consuming him with her touch.

Vic grunted at the feeling of her slender, curvy body pressing to him so tightly. Her skin felt like warm silk. Her nipple pressed into the center of his palm like a hard little dart, maddening him. The feeling of her hands moving anxiously over him blinded him with lust.

He rolled off her onto his left hip, ripping at the button fly of his jeans. He shoved them down his thighs with precise, rapid movements. His cock sprang free, stiff, tight, straining toward her. His eyes caressed her body. She was the color of pale honey, looking like she could tan easily if she chose, but refrained. She’d tasted so good . . . her skin, her mouth, her sweat.

He couldn’t wait to eat her pussy.

He winced in agonized pleasure when he moved and his cock brushed the bare, satiny skin of her thigh. She whimpered.

She reached for him, but he stopped her by grabbing both of her wrists, then transferring both of them to one hand.

The feeling of her small, cool hands on his body had enflamed him earlier. Vic didn’t think he could take it right now and maintain his control. He pushed her wrists down over her head at the same time that he reached between her thighs.

He watched her face while he burrowed his fingers through damp, silky pubic hair, dipping into the warm cream of her pussy before he spread the abundant moisture between her labia, sliding and pressing against her clit.

Her back arched up off the bed. She squirmed frantically at the restraint of his binding hand.

But he only gripped her wrists and held her tighter. He played a hard, ruthless rhythm with his fingers, plucking and strumming the nerve-packed flesh until the tension in her body broke and she cried out sharply in stunned ecstasy. Two of his fingers plunged into her tight sheath. He watched her intently as her body clamped and convulsed around him.

She was ready for him so quickly. It excited him to know that she was as hungry for him at that moment as he was for her. He stretched, reaching for a condom in the drawer of his bedside table. His excitement to be inside her made him roll it on his cock in record-breaking time.

Without a word he spread her thighs and arrowed into her. Her body resisted him, but he was crazed by the sensation of her hot, narrow channel as it enclosed the thick head of his penis.

“You’re tight,” he grated. He held the base of his cock with one hand, working it into her clamping channel with subtle up-and-down motions while his hips provided a steady, hard pressure. She moaned, still in the aftershocks of her climax. Her slender body undulating and straining against him made him desperate. He thrust.

Hard.

He might have been half-crazed with lust, but he paused when he heard her cry out. His cock had burrowed less than half its length into her.

“Shhh, try to relax, baby,” he soothed. His head dropped next to hers. He pressed hot kisses along her neck, pausing to run the elegant strand of pearls that she wore between his lips, licking at the smooth globes lightly before he nipped at her tender skin. Her lips were parted when he found them, the taste between them sweet and addictive. His cock throbbed painfully inside of her as his tongue sank into her warm cavern.

Pearls and honey.

She was driving him right over the edge. Her pussy gripped at him mercilessly.

He pushed back a smooth thigh, opening her body to him, demanding admission. His thumb found her clitoris, circling, plucking, and coaxing. She groaned into his mouth and pushed up for more pressure, seating his cock farther into her body in the process.

“That’s right,” he whispered gruffly next to her damp lips. “Let me in, Niall.”

Niall cried out in sharp desire as he began to pulse his hips. His cock felt too large to be in her body, invading her, forcing her to make room for him . . . but indescribably good as well. His pressing thumb on her clit drove her further into a frenzy of lust. A friction began to build in her unlike anything she’d ever known. She began to push and rotate her hips around his cock, up and down, around, in and out, desperate to feed the mounting flame that grew and expanded in her sex and belly. Niall saw the way his lip curled, the way his light eyes gleamed as a result of her actions. She mewled in pleasure and increased the pressure against him, desperate with need.

She writhed and whimpered beneath him, begging him in a primitive fashion to take total possession of her. He accepted her wordless invitation. He drove his cock into her, pressing his balls tightly to her damp hilt, grunting in animal like pleasure. When she cried out and arched her back, he secured her wrists tighter, pushing her back to the bed.

He began to thrust into her with tight, concentrated strokes.

“You’ve got a hot little pussy, but you’re teasing me with it, aren’t you, Niall?”

Niall just shook her head when he growled out the question ominously. She was too tight with mounting pleasure, too full of him . . . too close to orgasm to speak. His cock massaged her more deeply than she’d ever been touched, stimulating her with a hard, relentless pressure. He pried her body open to make way for him, but she was wild to get him back deep every time he withdrew from her, needing to have the thick, hard knob of his penis stabbing and rubbing and demanding something from her that she had only just learned she could give.

She gasped loudly when he leaned down and encircled her silk-covered nipple in the heat of his mouth. The suction that he applied made the inferno at her sex flame higher. When he bit at the tender morsel and thrust into her hard, creating a loud smack of flesh against flesh, she exploded again.

Vic grunted savagely as he felt her squeeze and convulse around his cock in orgasm. Her heat flooded around him. His eyes crossed at the sensation.

He reached up and roughly pushed down both of the thin pieces of black silk that covered her breasts. He bent and sampled one hard, pointed crest, lashing with his tongue, sucking hard, nipping and biting with his front teeth. She tasted so good—like berries, sweet cream, and musky woman. He wanted to eat her up in two ravenous bites. When he leaned up slightly, the sight of her white, thrusting breast capped by an erect, glistening pink nipple nearly sent him over the edge.

He focused on her sweat-dampened face. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was scattered across the pillow. She stared at him with desire-glazed eyes, her breath coming in choppy, shallow pants. The muscular, tight walls of her vagina tormented him. Every time he moved out of her, she pulled and sucked at his cock, demanding that he sink back into her depths before he was ready.

He pushed back first one thigh, and then the other, into her chest and began to pound into her. She shrieked in shock. It might have been in pain. It might have been in desire.

The only thing Vic knew for certain was that she had the tightest, sweetest little pussy he’d ever ridden.

“Vic! Vic?” she cried out in disbelieving ecstasy. He rocketed into her again and again, every driving downstroke pushing her body farther and farther up on the bed until her forearms were trapped between her skull and the wrought iron headboard.

Vic paused for a moment, still fully sheathed in her, and reached between their sweat-dampened bodies. His fingers spread the lips of her outer sex wide before he ground his pelvis against the nerve-packed tissues between her labia. She shimmered around him in post-orgasmic bliss. Her whole body began to tremble and shake when he surged up against her, scraping the narrow path of hair that trailed from his taut bellybutton to the thatch around his cock against her sensitive, exposed cleft and erect clit, applying a steady, relentless pressure.

When she groaned in misery, Vic knew she shook not only in post-orgasmic bliss but also in pre-orgasmic anticipation.

She opened her eyes dazedly. Vic watched her through narrowed eyelids.

“You want to come again?”

“Yes,” she entreated.

He smiled at the stark evidence of her need. He used his forearm to push her knees down hard into her shoulders. She keened at the increased pressure from the altered angle of his cock stabbing deeply into her body. When he grabbed a round buttock and smacked her ass twice lightly, she cried out in surprise.

“Give it to me, then,” he demanded harshly.

Her entire body began to shudder and shake once again in release.

Vic gave a tense bark of laughter, immensely pleased and aroused when he felt her heat rush around him.

“You liked that, baby?” he rasped as he began to pound into her quivering, hot pussy with quick, ruthless thrusts. Not that he expected her to answer. She was too busy climaxing, gushing liquid heat around him and squeezing his cock until he saw only a red haze in front of his eyes. Silk and pearls aside, Niall had liked it when he had spanked her plump little ass.

He struck their flesh together rapidly now, holding back nothing, striving madly to find relief in her farthest depths. She was immobilized against the headboard. He smacked their flesh together once more, the walls of her vagina still convulsing and pulling and taunting him.

God, she was a sweet fuck, he thought dazedly in the seconds before orgasm ripped through his flesh.

He threw his head back and roared between clenched jaws, pumping her hard and fast, shooting off what felt like gallons of his semen in a gloriously scalding climax.

Niall’s eyes clenched closed at the sensation of Vic throbbing in release even as he continued to fuck her. Tears leaked onto her cheeks. The truth of the matter was that the sensation of him coming so powerfully in her body was one of the two most poignant, profoundly wonderful experiences she’d ever had in her life.

The other had been when she’d first heard the sound of her baby’s cry and felt the slight, precious weight of his damp, warm body against her breast.

This had been, by far, the craziest, most impulsive thing Niall had ever done in her life. She didn’t even know Vic’s last name.

She couldn’t regret a second of it, though. Not then. Not at that moment, when blood pounded in her veins, vibrant and hot.

She felt reborn—raw, confused, shaky . . . and utterly, completely alive.

* * *

Read more of Francesca and Ian’s electrifying romance in
Part Six of BECAUSE YOU ARE MINE

BECAUSE YOU TORMENT ME

Available from Headline on 4 September 2012