Arianna fought back a sigh and took a sip, enjoying the deep stillness in the room. She might not have a view of Manhattan, but her Westchester apartment offered a relatively painless commute and more space for the buck. Her apartment was double the size, and would easily fit her California king size bed, one of the luxuries she always demanded in her living quarters.
Grant had laughingly agreed her pampering was well deserved when it came to the mattress. They tested out the theory many times.
Grant.
The sharp pain still caught her by surprise. It should have been dulled a bit by now, but two weeks had passed since their last encounter, and she still felt like she moved through the day chained underwater. Funny, it was almost as if her body and mind grieved the loss of an appendage. The few short months she had spent with Grant had changed her. She only hoped she found her way back to somewhat of her old self if she wanted to make it in Chicago.
The memory of their final good-bye shimmered before her closed eyes. After she left, she waited for him to come after her. Call. Change his mind.
But he never did. She stopped going to class and received a full refund check from him in the mail a few days later with a note. I’m so sorry. She’d crumbled it to a thousand pieces, stomped on it, then cried.
Over and over, she dissected their conversation and always came up with the same conclusion. He didn’t love her the way she loved him. If he did, he would’ve never let her leave.
He would have… The thought trailed off as recognition grabbed and shook hard.
He wouldn’t let her love him.
The simplicity struck and left her breathless.
From the moment they met, Grant controlled both the classroom and the bedroom. She felt as if he let her see a hidden part of him in their intimacy, but now she realized he’d never let himself lose control. He rarely came inside of her. He never exploded in orgasm without planning her pleasure first. He used tantra to stay in power. With great sex and love, came great vulnerability. By controlling her orgasms and holding back his own, he remained safe.
In his mind, he couldn’t give her the option of loving him or making the choice. By allowing her to choose him, he set himself up for failure, failure in both the relationship and in his school. So he didn’t allow her to choose him. That way, he remained safely distant and made himself feel better by pretending he let her go for her own good, because he loved her secretly, silently. It wasn’t a sacrifice at all.
It was a cop out.
He was scared shitless. He just hid it better than normal people without all of their strict training and practices.
Arianna stood and paced the room, wineglass in hand, while she thought. What if he did love her as much as she did him? What if he wanted a life with her, but couldn’t get past his defense barriers and allow her to make a choice to love him?
What if she didn’t give any more choices?
The plan formed. She drank her wine and went over the details. Her move to Chicago was going to happen. The deal was complete and her team in place. She couldn’t turn back now.
But before she closed the door, she needed to show Grant Madison an important lesson about tantra he’d never forget. Arianna set the wineglass down and went back into the bedroom to dress.
Chapter Eight
Grant sat in his living room. He had a good brood going, and the music playing in the background only added to his mood. Frank Sinatra sang about being stupid and saying I love you. He raised his glass of vodka on the rocks and gave Old Blue Eyes a toast. The singer had lost his lady loves one at a time yet still lived to a ripe old age. Grant knew he was done. Arianna Devlin had ruined him for any other woman. The ones to come after her would only be plagiarized versions of a brilliant Picasso or gleaming diamond. Just dogs playing poker or paste.
The thought almost made a strangled laugh rise to his lips. Almost. He sipped his vodka and wondered what the hell was going on. He’d had break ups before. When his wife left, it took a while to get back his stride, but he’d never missed his morning meditations or practices. He was going on day three without meditating. He’d given evening class to his assistant because he couldn’t bear the thought of watching the door and waiting for Arianna to arrive.
He missed her throaty laugh and dirty truck driver language. He missed her wicked grins and hearty appetite and constantly beeping smart phone. He missed her energy and her passion.
He was so screwed.
The ice clanked against the heavy cut glass as he drained his drink. It was done. She’d move to Chicago and he needed to keep living his life. His school was his mainstay and spirit.
He needed to get his head out of his ass and concentrate on making the program better.
Tomorrow, he’d begin meditation again and commit fully to his practice. Maybe a juice fast would help cleanse both his body and his mind. He got up from the couch and went to bed.
The noise put him on full alert.
Grant sat up in bed, his gaze narrowing in on the doorway. The apartment seemed quiet, but something was off. Something had wakened him. His senses sharpened, and his ears strained for a sound of an intruder. Nothing. Yet, the room smelled differently. A lingering scent of Arianna filled the air, probably from his dreams. Mingled vanilla and spicy musk that drenched her skin and made his senses weep.
He shook off the thought and the urge to turn on the light. Only a dream. He settled back on the pillow.
Then saw her.
She stood in the doorway of his bedroom, silent as a ghost. The moonlight trickling through his window threw her into sharp silhouette. His breath literally choked in his throat, as if a hammer had swung and struck his chest.
Arianna.
She wore a high push up black lace bra. He caught the glimpse of ruby red nipples poking out of the sheer front, easily discerned in the weak light. Her smooth, vanilla skin gleamed. A wisp of a black thong barely covered the juncture between her thighs. High black heels emphasized the length of her legs and the perfect curve of her ass.
A sexy smile pouted her lips as she leaned against the door frame with a lazy satisfaction and watched him. A pair of black handcuffs swung from her plum colored fingernails. Her hips were thrust at an angle, giving him a good look at her naked tummy and high, pointed breasts, spilling out of the tight lace.
Grant felt himself grow hard immediately, rising to lengths he didn’t know he’d ever achieved. His heart stopped, then began pounding. He tried to speak but only found himself uttering one word like a question. “Arianna?”
She pushed herself away from the door and slowly walked into his bedroom. She paused beside the mahogany posted bed, the cuffs dangling in her grasp. She licked her lips deliberately and leaned over. Her breasts were in view of his eyes and he gulped like a sixteen year old seeing his first stripper.
“Hi, Grant.” His name rolled off her tongue as if tangled in smoke. “Have you missed me?”
Like breath, and taste and touch and sight. Instead, he only nodded. Then watched as she climbed up on the mattress beside him. She settled herself on all fours, her buttocks a perfect arc and bare to his gaze, lifted upward as if just waiting for him to enter her. As he was distracted, she clipped one end of the handcuffs to the post on the headboard. Tested the strength by pulling the velvet rope. Then reached for his hand. Her fingers fluttered through his like a delicate tease, and he heard the definitive click of the cuffs as one wrist was securely fastened.
Grant shook his head in an effort to clear it. Was this some sort of mirage or dream? How much vodka had he drunk? The thought disappeared as the reality of her scent and feel of her skin slid around him.