“Talk about art. You know art. You’ve studied under some of the best masters in the last week. It will impress him.” He held onto her a minute longer and when he let her go he was smiling that bad-boy grin of his.
“Now, remember that red gown with the train and the bow on the back? I want you to wear that tonight. I’ll be back in two hours with some jewelry.”
“Wes, I don’t like it when you buy me expensive jewelry.” She crossed her arms over her chest. In the last week, she’d gotten braver at putting her foot down on his insatiable purchasing habits. It didn’t seem to stop him, but she liked putting up a fight, even if it was a token one.
“I know.” He smirked. “But this isn’t just jewelry. It’s your collar.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. A dark intensity had replaced his charming grin. Was he teasing? She couldn’t tell.
“My collar?” She swallowed hard as he raised one hand to her throat. He didn’t grip her by the neck, but rather he ran the backs of his fingers over the sensitive hollow of her throat.
“You are mine, Callie. I warned you of that a month ago.” Wes’s silky words sank into her slowly, almost as seductive as the delicate caress against her skin.
“Wes, I don’t just want to belong to someone. I want someone to belong to me.” She met his stare, hoping he’d understand. If he wanted to own her, she wanted to own him right back. If he thought this thing between them was one way, he was wrong. Anger sparked underneath her skin.
“You are the submissive. That’s how it works. You belong to me.” He captured her mouth with his. The kiss was potent, a raw domination of his lips over hers. Their tongues touched and then dueled and she moaned against him. She was mad at him for controlling her at a moment like this. Here she was melting with his kiss, when she should have been smacking him. A little voice in the back of her head told her she should shut up and enjoy this and fight him later.
When their lips parted a long while later, Callie leaned into him and Wes curled his arms around her, holding her close. One of his hands stroked her back and when she tucked her head under his chin it fit perfectly. She was starting to love that he was so much taller than her. It had been intimidating at first, but now she had to admit she liked it when he seemed to completely encompass her in his embrace.
“I’ll be back in a little while,” he murmured in her ear and dropped his arms.
Callie’s shoulders slumped as he walked away. As an independent young woman she’d never felt this way before. The bone-deep ache each time Wes left her even for a short while seemed to be soul crushing. If only he loved her, the sense of loss wouldn’t seem so deep. But he didn’t love her. Had never loved any woman. How was she supposed to deal with that? It was too late for her. She was already in love despite every vow she’d made to herself to not fall again.
She wrung her hands and tried to stop the burn of tears in her eyes.
I’m doomed.
* * *
Wes checked his tie in the mirror. The dark blue strip of silk cut a nice contrast to his white dress shirt. He was used to suits, and tonight’s gala would be a standard event for him, but he knew Callie was on edge. The small dinner party had frightened her. A two-hundred-person party would likely send her running for the hills. But tonight was important. He and Jaxon would start inviting Cuff members to the club. That was the one thing Wes had pieced together when he’d met with Jaxon and Agent Kostova. The theft from Barrington’s house during an exclusive club-member-only event meant it had to be a club member who was behind the theft.
He picked up the red velvet box from his bed and flipped it open. The collar he’d had designed for Callie was a thing of beauty. It was a delicate chain made of diamond-studded links, with a flat silver pendant engraved with his family’s crest. The design matched his signet ring and his favorite pair of cuff links, which was a letter “T” with a thorny vine curling around the letter. A collaring ceremony was normally a very involved affair at the Gilded Cuff, but he knew Callie wasn’t ready for that type of intensity. He would have to settle for a simple ceremony at the club sometime in the future. His hand trembled a brief instant as he closed the case and headed for the connecting door to Callie’s room. He had never collared someone before and an unfamiliar nervousness created a tightness in his chest.
When he reached the door to her room, he slid it open quietly enough to not alert her. The evening sun’s warm colors lit the bed and made the room glow. But it was Callie, seated at the vanity table, pulling up her hair in long curls with silver diamond-studded pins who caught his breath.
For a few seconds, she didn’t see him, and he had the exquisite pleasure of gazing upon her. The red evening gown hugged her body at the waist and flared out at the hips. A large red bow at her lower back acted like a modern style of a bustle, giving the gown a pleasant shape before it flowed out at the legs in wide pleats for a full-bodied skirt. The heart-shaped bodice cupped her luscious breasts, putting them on perfect display. She was so beautiful it hurt, but for the first time, it wasn’t a woman’s body but the look on her face that held him enraptured. Her lips curved in a small smile.
“Are you going to tell me why we’re really going to this gala tonight?”
She turned in her chair to face him, the halo of gold-blonde hair shining in the light from her window. He didn’t want to worry her with the details, but he didn’t want to lie, either.
“It’s the thief again. I’ve figured out he’s a member of the Gilded Cuff. That’s the BDSM club here in Weston that I belong to. I plan to lure him out. I need to spread the word at this party tonight and see if I can convince him my Monet is worth stealing.”
“Your Monet?” Callie slid out of her chair, lifting up her skirts as she approached him.
“Yes. It’s one of the most valuable pieces of art still within the thief’s immediate striking range. We need to catch him before he moves his operation off Long Island. The Monet is the only way to do it. It’s big enough to draw him out. At least that’s what the FBI is hoping. Now, for something more important.” He held up the velvet box and she blinked at him, then at it, confused.
“What’s that?”
“Your collar.” He set the box down on the desk in the corner and opened it, removing the chain necklace.
“Oh no. You’re not distracting me with that. Finish telling me about the thief. How do you plan to catch him?”
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Callie had the audacity to huff like a stubborn pony and tap her foot.
“Callie, I don’t care if you’re wearing a seven-thousand-dollar dress. I’ll wrinkle it if you need your ass reddened.”
“You jerk,” she muttered and gave him her back. She lifted her hair and he carefully laid the chain necklace against her collarbone and fastened the clasp. Her breathing hitched as he nuzzled her ear from behind. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts against the tight bodice was an arresting sight.
“Do you like it?” he asked, steering her over to the full-body mirror.
Her fingers brushed the chain links and then touched the pendant.
“It’s lovely. What does it mean to have a collar?” Her eyes were large and she gazed at him through the reflection of the mirror.
His heart skipped a few beats. How could he put it into words? All submissives who were in the lifestyle knew what it meant. It was practically the equivalent of an engagement ring.
“A collar is a sign of possession, a sign of commitment. By collaring you, it’s a more permanent way of staking my claim. No other dominant may touch you without my permission, no other can claim you.”
“Do you belong to me in the same way?” Her lovely eyes lit with a warm fire, but they reflected with a responding challenge. It made his blood burn.