“I’ve never paid much attention to protocol.”
He continued to abuse her poor, defenseless nipple, but she wouldn’t let herself succumb to the delicious tremors until she’d made her point. “You’re not ever supposed to use real handcuffs, only something that can be easily unfastened.” She suppressed a moan. “At the very least they should be padded. And your partner has to agree to being tied up-did I mention that?”
“I don’t believe you did.” He settled back on his heels, pushed her knees apart, and gazed down at her.
She licked her lips. “Well, I’m mentioning it now.”
His fingers played in the curls. “Duly noted.”
She caught her lip between her teeth as he opened her. “I did… ah … a research paper when I was working on my master’s.”
“I see.” The erotic timbre of his voice vibrated through her nerve endings. The motion of his thumb felt like a warm, wet feather stroking and probing. “You also need… a code word to use… ahhhh … if things go too far.”
“We can do that. I even have a few ideas.” He abandoned his caress too soon, moved up on her body, and whispered in her ear.
“They’re not supposed to be sexual words.” She slid her knee along his inner thigh.
“Now, what’s the fun of that?” He cradled her breasts, lifted and molded them in his hands, feasted.
She gripped the bars of the headboard. “They’re supposed to be words like ‘asparagus’ or ‘carburetor.’ I mean it, Ren…” A moan slipped out before she could repress it. “If I say… ‘asparagus,’ it means you’ve… ahh … gone too far and you have to stop.”
“If you say ‘asparagus,’ I’m going to want to stop, because I can’t think of a bigger turn-off.” He pulled away from her breast. “Couldn’t you say something like ‘stud’? Or ‘stallion’? Or…” Once again he whispered in her ear.
“That’s sexual.” She shifted her thigh ever so slightly to rub against him. He was so hard she shivered. He brushed her armpit and made another suggestion. She strained against the cuffs. “Very sexual.”
“How about this?” His whisper changed to a dark purr.
“That’s obscene.”
“Great. Let’s use it.”
Her hips arched off the bed. “I’m using ‘asparagus.’ ”
Just like that, he abandoned her. He settled back on his heels between her splayed feet so their bodies were no longer touching, and waited.
Despite the diabolic glint in his eye, it took her a moment to get the point. When was she going to learn to keep her mouth shut? She searched for a bit of dignity, not easy to do in her current, vulnerable position. “You can disregard that.”
“Are you sure?”
And wasn’t he just Mr. Smug? “I’m sure.”
“Positive? In case you haven’t quite taken it in, you’re naked, handcuffed to the bed with no chance of rescue, and about to be violated.”
“Uh-huh.” She slid her knee higher on the bed.
He traced the soft curls with his thumb, enjoying the view. She felt his desire, burning as hot as her own, and heard the dark, husky note beneath his teasing. “I don’t just make my living abusing women, you know. I threaten everybody who represents truth, justice, and the American way. And-not to put too fine a point on it-your only protection from me is a vegetable.”
She moved her legs farther apart to show him she wasn’t entirely defenseless. At the same time she promised herself that when this was over, she wouldn’t rest until she’d used those handcuffs on him. Unless she missed her guess, he wouldn’t put up much of a struggle.
“I see what you mean.” His finger slipped inside her. “Now, be quiet so I can violate you.”
Which he did. Masterfully. First with his fingers and then with his body. Moving on top of her, pushing inside. Torturing her until she heard herself beg. At the same time she’d never felt safer or more cherished than now, a prisoner to his exquisite care.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” He gave her another fierce, possessive kiss and thrust deeper. “Not till I’m ready.”
He was more than ready. His muscles strained as though he were the one in bondage. This fierce pleasure was costing him even more than it was costing her. He sank deeper into the cradle of her thighs. She wrapped her legs around him. They moved together, cried out together…
The shackles that held them to the earth broke free. In the end he became as much a prisoner as she.
While he dozed, she slipped out of bed and picked up the handcuffs that lay on the floor along with the discarded key. She gazed down at him. His thick lashes formed spiky crescents against his cheekbones, and strands of dark hair fell over his forehead. The contrast between his exotic olive skin and the white of the sheets gave him the look of a gorgeous infidel.
She made her way to the bathroom, where she stuffed the handcuffs and key under a towel. She should have hated what he did to her, but she hadn’t, not for a moment. What had happened to the woman who needed to stay in control? Instead of feeling helpless and angry, she’d given him everything she had.
Including her love.
Her fingers constricted around the edge of the sink. She’d fallen in love with him. She stared at herself in the mirror, then dropped her eyes. Who wanted to look at someone that stupid? They’d barely known each other three weeks, yet she, the most cautious of women when it came to romantic relationships, had tumbled head over heels.
She splashed her face and tried to detach so she could consider the business of male-female attraction from a biological level. Early humans were attracted to their opposites as a method of ensuring that the strongest of the species survived. Some of that instinct still remained in most people, and obviously it still remained in her.
But what about her survival as a modern woman? What about her survival as a woman who’d been determined to engage in healthy relationships, a woman who’d vowed she’d never repeat her parents’ tempestuous patterns? Her affair with Ren was supposed to have been about claiming her sexuality and liberating it. Instead, she’d liberated her heart.
She stared glumly down at the soap dish. She needed a plan.
Right. As if any of her other plans had worked.
For now she simply wouldn’t let herself think about it. She’d go into total denial. Denial wasn’t always bad. Maybe if she didn’t dwell on her feelings, they’d disappear.
And maybe not.
19
Would you like chocolate cake or cherry pie?” Isabel stopped at the edge of the villa’s garden and watched Brittany extend a clay saucer toward Ren.
He gave the assortment of leaves and twigs all his concentration. “I believe I’ll have the cherry pie. And maybe a glass of scotch if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“You can’t say that,” Steffie admonished him. “You have to say tea.”
“Or a Slurpee,” Brittany said. “We can have Slurpees.”
“No, we can’t, Brit’ny. Only tea. Or coffee.”
“Tea will be fine.” Ren took an imaginary cup and saucer from her, his pantomime so skillful that Isabel could almost see it in his hand.
She lingered for a few moments to observe. His concentration when he played with the girls was oddly intense. He wasn’t like that with the boys. When he tossed Connor around or poked under the hood of the recently repaired Maserati with Jeremy, he did it casually. Equally odd was the fact that he seemed willing to play whatever game the girls decided to force on him, including imaginary ones like this tea party. She’d have to ask him about it.
She headed for the farmhouse to see if they’d made any progress since yesterday with the metal detectors. Giulia spotted her and gave a weary wave. She had a smudge on her cheek and shadows under her eyes. In the background three men and one of the women were methodically scanning the olive grove. Others stood around with shovels, ready to dig whenever the detectors beeped, which was much too frequently.