A Firm Hand: 2 (Bound to You) (14 page)

“Be a good girl,” he murmured as he stepped outside, closing the door behind him.

She flipped the deadbolt and felt like kicking something. Deciding that that was a bad idea, she went to her bedroom instead. The invasive plug shifted with each step, a little erotic reminder of Brian’s control. She hesitated when she reached her nightstand, her fingertips longingly resting on the drawer handle. There were three different vibrators in there. Release was seconds away, but he’d specifically told her she wasn’t to come without permission. He hadn’t reminded her of that before he left tonight. So far, he hadn’t questioned her about it at all. Maybe he wouldn’t ask. She wasn’t sure she could lie to him if he did.

Pulling her hand away, she tried not to think about it. Fifty-eight minutes. Could she manage to keep the plug in that long and ignore her throbbing clit? She groaned out her frustration as she grabbed a tank top and a pair of boxers and slipped them on. Maybe if she kept busy she could take her mind off her insane need to come. Fat chance, but it was worth a try.

She went out to the living area and began collecting her art supplies from the coffee table. Flipping open her sketch pad, she took another look at her drawing. That was a huge mistake. Brian’s nude form taunted her. His eyes held the promise of punishment. And the belt. Lust gripped her hard as heat flared through her already engorged sex.

Her fingers found their way past the elastic waist of her shorts and between her folds. She ached for release. Lightly, she caressed her swollen clit, dangerously teasing herself. She stared at Brian’s image, memorizing every line, every slope of muscle. His firm grip on the belt spoke of his gift for giving pain. The remembrance of the leather on her bare flesh sent her over the edge. She gasped as she came, all thoughts of rules forgotten.

She’d done it. Made herself come without his express permission. Damn it. Maybe Brian wouldn’t ask. And if he did, maybe she’d enjoy her punishment. A girl could hope.

Brian breathed a sigh of relief as his father brought the board meeting to a close. Listening to him drone on and on about profits and clients and promotions was as agonizing as listening to a dentist drilling teeth. He stood, readying himself to leave the dreaded meeting behind him. His father motioned for him to sit back down with an arrogant flick of his wrist. Sean wasn’t going to let him slip away without a confrontation. Brian was not in the mood. Unfortunately, ignoring his father wasn’t a viable option. The prick would only make a scene.

Enviously he watched as the last of the board members vacated the room. Lucky bastards.

His father straightened the cuffs of his two-thousand-dollar suit before pouring himself a few fingers of scotch from the decanter on the table. He was fit and youthful for pushing sixty. A perky young personal trainer and a high-priced surgeon saw to that. His blond hair had long ago faded to a silvery white, a harsh contrast to his deeply tanned skin. Too many golf games and pleasure cruises.

Brian leaned back in his lushly padded leather chair, projecting an air of indifference. As much as he hated it, this game was all about posturing and he’d be damned if he’d give away how irritated he was by his father’s presence.

“Drink?” Sean offered.

“Thank you, but no,” Brian replied.

Sean took the seat across from Brian and met his gaze. He offered a friendly smile, but Brian wasn’t fooled. The man didn’t have an ounce of affection for the son who looked so much like the woman who’d scorned him. “The pub doing well, I trust?”

His father didn’t give a damn about Donovan’s. Where was he going with this? “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Good,” Sean said casually. “Then you shouldn’t have a problem selling it.”

And there it was. “Why would I want to do that?”

“Because it’s past time you grew up and put this ridiculousness behind you. Your place is here, with me.”

You mean under your control
,
don’t you?
Anger flashed through him, hot and vivid. He should have taken that drink. “I don’t happen to agree.”

“You’ve had your fun. Proved your point—”

“Donovan’s was never about me proving a point.”

His father swirled the glass, coating the sides in amber liquid. “Then what is it about? Because for the life of me, I can’t figure it out. You could have a prestigious position here. Status. Money. Anything you want. With your connections and ruthless business sense, you were made for this.”

No, he wasn’t. He had no desire to spend hours stroking egos, having cocktails or playing golf with people he couldn’t stand simply to make a deal for a company he had no desire to work for. Donovan’s was his refuge and he’d be damned if he’d give that up. Hell would sell ice cubes first.

He rubbed a hand across his forehead, hoping to stave off the pressure that was quickly forming. “I started my business because I wanted something that was mine, something I built, something I could take pride in.”
Something beyond your control.

“And you think wasting your education on being a glorified bartender is the way to do it? I’ve worked long and hard to make Gulf Coast what it is, not just for me, but for you. It’s our family legacy and when I’m gone, something you can pass on when you finally decide to quit screwing around and get married.”

Brian laughed, an ugly, bitter sound. “That’s rich coming from you. Are you on wife number four or five now? I’ve lost count. And you can give your legacy to someone else. I plan on building my own.”

His father’s face hardened. “It’s your responsibility to step up. After everything I’ve sacrificed, after all I’ve done for you, you’re going to turn your back on me?” Sean sneered. “You’re every bit as callous and self-absorbed as your mother.”

Rage, cold and icy, froze Brian from the inside out. An eerie calm came over him as he glared at his father. The divide between them had never felt as immense as it did now. “This discussion is over.” Brian headed for the door without so much as a goodbye.

“Yes, walk away,” Sean called after him, “just like your mother!”

* * * * *

Genevieve leaned back against the soft leather seat as Chris drove across the bay toward St. Pete. Shopping should be classified as an extreme sport. Seriously. It was exhausting. Despite how much her feet ached, and how many stores Chris had dragged her to, she’d really enjoyed spending time with him. They’d had lunch at Café Hey and ended up chatting for two hours over sandwiches and iced lattes. He made for good company.

She glanced over at him and smiled. “I had fun today.”

“Me too. It’s nice to do girl things for once. I’m so glad we managed to find you the perfect dress for
Cadeau
. Very Audrey, if I must say.”

Originally she’d asked Chris to take her to one of the high-end department stores. Not her cup of tea, but she’d never been to a glitzy gallery opening either. Fortunately, Chris had talked her out of it. He knew where the best vintage shops were located. He’d also taken her to a few of the edgier alternative stores where they’d bought outfits for her to wear on the trip. She couldn’t wait to wear the crazy black stilettos they’d found. They were a bit much for
Cadeau
, but Chris had convinced her she needed to stay true to her personal style.

“Are you sure you don’t think the heels are too much?”

“If anyone can pull off blood spatter, it’s you.” He winked.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. I still think I’m going to stand out too much.”

“You, my dear girl, are going to be the envy of every woman and the object of every man’s affection.”

“Flatterer.”

The sudden blare of the theme song from
Psycho
had Gen diving for her purse. Her stomach sank when she pulled out her cell phone and saw her mother’s name flash across the screen. Her mom only called when she was well medicated and feeling sentimental. Gen so did not want to have this conversation in front of Chris.

She turned and looked out the passenger window, angling herself away from Chris as she reluctantly answered the call. “Hi, Mom.”

“Genny, thank God.” Her mother’s speech was thick and muddled. Just great.

“Is everything okay?” Asking that was pointless because it was pretty clear things were far from okay.

“Where are my keys?”

Trying to stay calm, Gen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Um, I don’t know. Did you lose them?”

“You hid them, didn’t you?”

“No, Mom,” she answered in a hushed voice, afraid Chris would overhear. “I’ve been out shopping all day. I haven’t been by since yesterday. You know that.”

“Don’t you lie to me, Genny,” she slurred.

Jesus, her mother was getting worse. Diffusing the situation before her mom remembered where her keys were would be a damn miracle. The last thing anyone needed was a wasted Emily Hawthorn behind the wheel of a car. It pissed her off that her mother would even consider driving when she was like this. What the fuck was she thinking?

Gen swallowed her anger and spoke in her sweetest voice, “Do you need me to pick you up something from the store? I don’t mind, Mom.”

“I can get my own damn wine. Just bring me my goddamn keys!”

Panic hit Gen full force. Her mom had been drinking. Alcohol and painkillers were a nasty mix. This was very, very bad. Gen had to get there and fast. She didn’t have time for Chris to take her all the way to the beach so she could get her car. They were less than ten minutes from her mom’s condo, but Gen didn’t want Chris to see her mother when she was like this. Embarrassing wouldn’t begin to cover it. Was saving face worth the possibility of her mother getting into an accident if she should stumble onto her keys before Gen could get there? No, it wasn’t.

“I’ll bring your keys.” Placating her mom was always the best course of action. Gen just hoped when she got there, she could find them before she had a full-blown fight on her hands. “I’m only a few minutes away. Stay where you are.” She hung up, dreading the scene that was about to play out.

Why did her life have to be so screwed up? Apparently it was too much to ask to have a nice, drama-free day. She was so tired. Tired of trying to hold someone together who was so damn determined to self-destruct. The stress was eating Gen from the inside out.

Chris flicked a concerned yet understanding glance her way. “Whatever you need, Gen.”

“You don’t mind?” She hated having to ask him to do this.

“No, not at all. Just tell me where to go.”

“Thanks. You’re a good friend, Chris. And whatever happens please don’t mention this to Brian.”

A nod was the only response he offered.

She directed him where to go, thankful he hadn’t pressed her for details. She wasn’t sure what she would have told him. He didn’t deserve her lies, but the truth was too ugly to put into words. They arrived at the condominium complex in a matter of minutes. Relief flooded through her when she spotted her mother’s car.

Chris pulled into a parking space and looked at Gen expectantly. She rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans and took a few deep breaths, an unsuccessful attempt to calm her fried nerves.

“Can you wait here for me? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Are you sure?” Chris asked, genuine worry shining in his blue eyes.

She forced a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t be long. I just need to check on her.”

“Okay, I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Thanks.”

Gen got out of the car and raced up the stairs. When she got to the door, she shook her head. The damn keys were dangling from the lock. Gen knew in that moment her mom had been wasted when she drove home from work. Fucking perfect.

As quietly as she could manage, she removed the keys then shoved them deep into her pocket. She gripped the doorknob and hesitated. For a brief second, she considered turning around and leaving. She could take the keys and run, bring them back tomorrow when her mother was lucid. Well, more lucid. Her mother was never completely sober these days. The pull to leave was strong, but Gen couldn’t make herself go. Guilt always had a way of rearing its nasty, unwelcome head where her mother was concerned.

A good daughter would take a minute or two to check on her addict parent. And Gen wanted to be a good daughter. She just wished her mother didn’t make it so damn difficult. Of course she would have to lie and say she’d misplaced the keys or something. That wasn’t going to go over well, but what other choice did she have?

Bracing for Hurricane Emily, Gen went inside.

“It’s me,” Gen said, closing the door behind her. Reluctantly she walked into the living room with every intention of doing whatever it took to pacify her mom. Even if it meant skipping her art class and staying the night. A last resort.

“It’s about damn time!” Her mother pushed herself out of her recliner, knocking over an empty wineglass on the table next to her. She was so messed up she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

The woman standing before Gen was little more than a stranger. Her haggard appearance shocked Gen. She’d seen her mother on bad days before, but never like this. Her mother’s hair had fallen in clumps from its normally prim knot. Her eyes were glassy and bloodshot—the pupils so small they made her look slightly psychotic. Her work clothes were stained and wrinkled. She was a far cry from the pressed, well-put-together person Gen used to know.

Well, at least she was still breathing.

One of these days you’re going to come here and she won’t be
, a little voice whispered in the back of her mind. Gen’s worst nightmare. But as scary as that scenario was, a tiny part of her would be relieved. She felt horrible even thinking it. She loved her mother. She really did. She just wasn’t sure how much longer she could witness this slow suicide.