He touched his lips yet again, having done it several times on the drive back to the airport. Kissing her had made him feel again. For too long he had not felt much of anything. He had gone to great lengths just to regain even the smallest bit of pleasure in his life. Callie had changed everything.
One month ago he had flown out to Colorado to rescue his long-lost childhood friend Fenn Lockwood, only to find Fenn in bed with his sister. The initial meeting between them after twenty-five years of thinking Fenn was dead hadn’t gone well. He and Fenn had gotten into a fistfight over Hayden. They had been fighting in the dirt outside an old trailer, and Jim Taylor had driven up and fired a shotgun over their heads. And then Wes looked up and saw her.
Honey-blonde hair tugged playfully by a mountain breeze to form a golden halo around a face so lovely he’d forgotten to breathe. She was not like any of the models on the runways in Milan or Paris. She was a head shorter than him, with killer curves and a classically beautiful face. A slightly upturned nose, gold lashes, hazel green eyes, and pale pink lips. Lips he’d finally tasted, and his imagination hadn’t been able to compare to reality. Yes, he had taken one look at Callie Taylor and knew that he would have to have her, possess her in every way because she had made him feel. His blood still hummed in his veins and his heart beat wildly at the thought of the chase, the seduction, and finally the months he planned to spend learning the secret ways of her body and soul so that she would be fully his.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out, wondering who’d be calling. Corrine Vanderholt.
That was a problem he needed to deal with before he initiated Callie into his world. As one of the premier members of the exclusive BDSM club, the Gilded Cuff, one of the perks was the luxury of having almost any female submissive at his beck and call. Nearly all of the club members were outwardly polite society girls he chatted and danced with at fund-raisers and galas under the unsuspecting eyes of the crowds. But at the Gilded Cuff, these women stripped down to bare skin and knelt at his feet, begging to be dominated. He had always been happy to comply. Corrine, however, was not like the others. The rest knew that any relationship in the club ended outside the doors, and that was the way everyone liked it. For Corrine, the club was a stepping stone to marriage, and Wes knew she had set her sights on him. She was a fool to think she could control him. He was the dominant.
With a little smile, he answered his phone. “Thorne here.” Not acknowledging he’d seen her name on the screen.
“Wes, sweetheart, it’s me,” Corrine murmured huskily.
He almost rolled his eyes. “I have many sweethearts, which one in particular are you?”
He bit back a laugh at her angry little hiss through the other end of the phone.
“It’s Corrine.” Her tone was curt.
“Oh, Corrine, of course. What is it?” He settled back in his chair and kicked his feet up on the leather seat opposite him.
“I thought you might want to top me at the club tonight.” She was forcing that huskiness in her voice now, and he tried not to smile.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’m leaving for Paris in a few days and have to make travel arrangements.” The last thing he wanted to do was top Corrine. That meant being her dom and conducting a sexual scene with her. The only woman he wanted was Callie.
“When you get back then,” she insisted.
“No. I’m not going to be topping anyone at the club for a while.”
“What?” Her voice was hard and cold. He’d ruined her plans.
“There are plenty of doms who will be happy to scene with you. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go.” He didn’t wait for a response, but simply hung up. Pocketing the phone, he resumed his study of the clouds.
Everything in his life would be changing soon. It was one thing to conduct a simple scene with a submissive at a club, but training one and doing it at his home was an entirely different matter. Callie had innate submissive qualities in her, but she was not weak, nor easily tamed. It would be a complicated process of seducing her and introducing her to his world without frightening her. He wanted everything to be perfect, for himself, but also for her.
She deserved a sweet, slow seduction. He had already moved too fast, taken a risk with that kiss in the tack room. She wasn’t ready for him or his lifestyle. If he came at her too hard and fast, she’d bolt, just like an unbroken filly. Not that he wished to break her. No, never that, but Callie needed taming, and he planned to soothe her with little touches, tiny caresses, soft whispers, all the things a masterful lover knows how to employ. And he was the best. Out of all of the dominants at the club, he was the one who understood the art of BDSM the best. He could read a female submissive and know immediately what she needed and give it to her. It was the single most rewarding and arousing thing about being a dom, knowing he had the power to give a woman what she needed and satisfy her every desire and fantasy. It would be a lie to say he didn’t get off on the idea. He loved wielding such a power, knowing he could bring such pleasure to a woman.
Callie was young and innocent, and as much as his body wanted to rush headlong into bed with her, the rest of him sensed slow was the best pace. She’d had her heart broken and that would take time to heal. He would coax the woman out of her chrysalis and glimpse the transformation at its own natural pace.
When his phone buzzed again, he answered in a low growl of displeasure.
“What is it, Corrine?”
A masculine chuckle made him blink and stare at the phone screen.
“Yeah, I’m definitely not Corrine,” Royce Devereaux said.
“Royce, what is it?” Wes snapped.
Royce was one of his close friends from childhood, a dominant at the Gilded Cuff as well and a paleontology professor at a local university in Weston, Long Island.
“Guess you haven’t heard the news?”
Wes sat up in his seat. “What is it? Has something happened to the twins? My sister?” His blood started to pound in his ears as old fears resurfaced.
“No—God no. Everyone is fine. Christ, Wes, you’ve only been gone a few days. What do you think could have happened in seventy-two hours?” Royce asked with a low chuckle.
Wes exhaled in obvious relief. After everything they’d been through recently, he needed rest, relaxation. No more assassins, explosions, or villains.
“As long as no one is dead or dying, I don’t really care,” Wes said. “I’m on vacation from all drama and life-threatening incidences.”
His friend laughed. “Getting boring on me, are you?”
“You know I’m never that boring,” he reminded Royce. They’d spent too many nights at the Gilded Cuff together for Royce to ever say otherwise.
“I just thought you’d be interested to know that the Mortons were robbed last night.”
Wes didn’t see the significance of this. “And this is of interest to me because?”
Royce sighed dramatically. “It wasn’t a typical robbery. Only one thing was taken. A painting.”
He straightened in his seat. “A painting? Which one?”
He was intimately familiar with the Mortons’ private art collection. He had a hand in procuring most of the pieces in their collection. The Mortons were old money, like his own family, but unlike his parents, the Mortons valued art and it had been a pleasure to work with them.
“I think I heard it was a Goya,” Royce said.
The Goya? Wes growled softly. The most expensive piece, valued at 450,000 dollars. He’d done the bidding for the Mortons at Sotheby’s. And now it was gone. Something tightened in his chest, a sliver of pain, swiftly followed by fury.
“How was it taken? The Mortons have an advanced security system and their private collection was fairly unknown to the general public. It’s not easy to walk away with something like a painting.”