Accidental Slave (13 page)

Had he found her in Elizabeth?

He’d sensed her profound reaction to the light bondage of his holding her wrists down. He’d felt the thump of her heart and the seen the quickening of her breath. Her nipples were hard as pebbles when his fingers grazed them. She was definitely intrigued and turned-on, but that didn’t mean she was submissive. It didn’t mean she wanted what he wanted.

Cole watched the sunrise by observing a certain high strip of windows, noting their glass changing from black to gray to white to the blurred yellow dazzle of reflected sun. Would she come back today? Or, after a night’s sleep to provide some distance, would she lump him into the same category as that asshole who worked for her?

A very patient man in most things, he found himself fidgeting, his fingers tickling to call her cell, wake her up and insist she come to him at once. He sighed and turned toward his desk, reaching for his favorite fountain pen.

More proof, he supposed, to support Joanie’s assertion he was in the wrong century, Cole vastly preferred the smooth, fine line of real ink moving wetly over the page, to the scratchy scrawl of a modern disposable pen.

He held the pen, enjoying its well-balanced heft in the palm of his hand as he admired it. It was onyx black, with dark cream and burgundy marbling at either end, and a gold art deco band at the base of the cap. He unscrewed the cap, which protected the flaring gold nib that narrowed down to a fine point. He reached for a piece of paper and pressed the nib to it, writing the single word over and over…
Elizabeth
.

~*~

Elizabeth bent unseeing over some work she’d pulled from her briefcase in a vain effort to distract herself. The coffee beside her was cold and she felt restless. It was eight o’clock, too early to call him.

You don’t have to call before you come
, he’d said. Well, she certainly wasn’t just going to show up. It had rankled, his amused certainty that she’d be back. Did he think just because he was rich and handsome, he could have his pick of women?

Well, she had to admit begrudgingly, he probably could at that. Not that she was interested in him for his money. She had enough of her own, earned by the sweat of her brow. Easy for Cole, obviously old money, to invest in Manhattan real estate like other people bought groceries.

She had earned her money, every penny.

She looked around her small, bright kitchen with its Italian-tiled walls, marble counter tops and shiny brass pans hanging from the ceiling over the island in its center and smiled with satisfaction. True, she still owed a hefty mortgage, but she knew she could sell her condo for plenty more than she paid for it, if and when she chose to do so.

No, it wasn’t his money. Or even, if she were honest, his looks, though they were pretty terrific. No. It was the way he had kissed her while he held her down, and the strange, almost fierce look in his eyes when he’d asked her if she wanted him to stop.

She hadn't wanted him to stop. She had wanted him to continue. To take control—complete control. She’d been nonplussed and confused when he’d so abruptly stopped. Had he purposely been teasing her, testing her?

Never in her life had she been so electrified, so completely aroused by a man, and all with her clothing still on and nothing exchanged between them but a kiss! She’d barely made it home in the cab, her fingers itching to slip down into her panties and rub away some of the aching need.

She’d made herself come once she got home, but it had only taken the edge off the lust.

Smoldering coals of desire still burned deep in her belly, disturbing her sleep and coloring her dreams.

Then there was Gary. Not only what he’d done—which defied belief in itself—but how he’d denied it when she’d confronted him, acting like she was the one who had manipulated and compromised
him
. He’d been so persuasive, so insistent, she’d very nearly found herself doubting her sanity.

How the hell was she supposed to deal with him now? How could she work with a man like that? The answer was obvious—she could not. He would have to go. Unfortunately, she couldn’t fire him herself. But Art could. Yes, she would go to Art first thing Monday morning. No, she would go to him today.

She looked at the clock on the wall. Eight-fifteen. Definitely too early on a Sunday morning to be calling her boss. What about Cole? Was he awake? He’d certainly been in a hurry to get rid of her. Did he have a date or something? Was he even now lying in the arms of another woman, all thoughts of her pushed aside?

The thought bothered her more than she was willing to admit. Which was silly. They hardly knew each other.

Yet even now her nipples tingled and stiffened at the memory of the way he’d held her stretched and helpless before him, his kiss and his touch making her tremble with a strange combination of fear and animal desire. She touched her lips, recalling the press of his finger, the way he had gently forced them apart, entering her mouth in a way that was deeply sexual. It was evocative, she suddenly realized, of a man’s cock entering a woman. She shivered, though the warm sunshine shone through the window in a pool of light.

This was crazy. She was obsessing about a man who had a BDSM sex dungeon right in his home. He was a pervert, pure and simple. No, she knew even as she tried to force that thought into her mind that it was a lie. He’d explained and she’d understood on a gut level, that what he offered wasn’t about sadism. It was something that spoke to her deepest, most secret longings.

For the first time in her life, a man was reaching past what she claimed to want, what she professed to need. He had gone for her essence, scaring her silly in the process. She was Elizabeth Anne Martin, a savvy, strong-minded career woman making it in one of the most competitive cities in the world. How did she reconcile the trembling girl she’d been on his couch with the strong, confident image she projected to the world?

Maybe she didn’t have to reconcile them?

She was making her head hurt with all this introspection. She took a sip of her cold coffee and made a face. She looked at her laptop, which was open on the other side of the small kitchen table. She hadn't even glanced at her work email since Friday afternoon. She made a deal with herself. She would handle whatever was in there, and then, as a reward, she would go out for bagels. “I wonder,” she said aloud in the habit of people who live alone, “if Cole likes bagels.”

~*~

“You’ve reached the voice mail of Art Wallace. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.” The phone beeped in Elizabeth’s ear and she sighed with frustration.

This wasn’t something she wanted to leave in a voicemail.

She took a breath, willing herself into her professional persona. Her voice was crisp. “Good morning, Art. It’s Elizabeth. I need to speak to you about an urgent matter. It’s regarding Gary Dobbins and it’s very, uh, sensitive. I’d appreciate a call back at your earliest convenience.”

She flicked the phone shut and looked out the window of the taxicab, barely noticing the throng of people pressing forward in front of it as the light changed. The bagels, from her favorite neighborhood deli, were still warm in the bag on the seat beside her.

She hadn’t called Cole. She’d started to, but hadn't been sure of what to say. She would, she decided, give him a casual ring when she got to his building.

She paid the driver and stepped out onto the curb. Usually quite confident about her wardrobe, Elizabeth was suddenly self-conscious in the pale blue sundress she had spent way too much on, but which showed off her bust and narrow waist. It had spaghetti straps, which precluded the wearing of a bra, but its pleated bodice held her breasts nicely in place. It was her sexiest sundress. Would Cole think she’d overdressed for a Sunday morning casual drop-by?

Stop
, she admonished herself.
I’m thirty-years-old. I don’t need a man’s approval. I dress
how I want.
She reached in her purse and fished out her cell phone, scrolling to find Cole’s number from when she last dialed it. Staring up at the imposing pink granite building with its large glass doors flanked by uniformed doormen, she pressed the button and held the phone to her ear.

“Cole Pearson.”

“Hi. It’s Elizabeth. Elizabeth Martin.”

“Hey.” His voice was warm and animated. “It’s great to hear from you. Where are you?”

“Actually,” she gave a self-conscious laugh, “I’m outside your building. I, uh, I have bagels.”

“Well then. If you have bagels.” Cole laughed. “Just give one of the doormen your name.

You’re on the list.”

Keeping her voice bright, hoping it didn’t betray the sudden butterflies in her stomach, she quipped back, “Oh, the
list
. Well, I guess I
have
arrived, to be on your list.”

“You have, no question about it,” Cole joked back. “And guess what, you’re the only one on it.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond so she didn’t, not directly. “Should I just go up? Tenth floor, right?”

“Wait in the lobby. I’ll be down in a second.”

She closed the phone and slipped it into her purse. She pulled out her compact and inspected her face. She was wearing very little makeup—just some bronzer beneath her cheek bones and a little mascara. Luckily, having avoided sun all her life, her skin was still fresh and unlined, despite her thirty years. She pulled out her favorite lipstick and applied just enough to give her lips some shine. Satisfied she looked as good as she was going to, she put away the makeup and headed toward the doors.

An impassive but polite doorman greeted her, consulted a small palm pilot when she gave her name and then held the door wide for her. She stood in the large lobby, admiring the marble floors and high ceilings while she waited for Cole.

In a moment the elevator doors opened silently and there he stood, if possible even better looking than she remembered. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, open at the throat, revealing a swirl of black chest hair. It was tucked into black jeans that fit neatly over soft, black square-toed boots. Her eyes traveled appreciatively down and then back up again to his dark, smiling eyes and wide, funny smile.

“Elizabeth. Welcome back.” He held out his hand and she took it, charmed when he raised it to his lips and brushed it with a kiss.

She held out the bag, suddenly shy. “Bagels,” she offered.

He took the bag and drew her gently into the elevator. As they rode up, he put his hand on the small of her back. The gesture at once excited and comforted her. It was a possessive gesture, of that there was no doubt.

Once in his place, he pulled her into his arms. “I’m so glad you came back, Elizabeth. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” she answered truthfully.

He pulled her closer, dipping his head to kiss her lips. The kiss was light at first, even tentative. She was the first to open her mouth, pressing the tip of her tongue against his lips until they parted. He bent her back, pressing his hard body against hers as he kissed her harder.

After several breathless moments he released her, though he kept his arms loosely around her while she collected herself. She was annoyed with herself, aware by the heat in her face she was flushed. She couldn’t quite get her breath. She wanted him to kiss her again. Would it always be like this—him offering and then withdrawing so quickly?

Impulsively she reached for him. “Kiss me again.” She was aware it sounded like a command, but she didn’t care.

He obeyed with a small delighted laugh, pulling her back into his arms. Her nipples perked against his hard chest, her body pressed tight against his from groin to shoulder. She felt herself melting again, yielding to the inexplicable power of his touch.

Something began to buzz and vibrate against her side. It took her a few moments to realize it was her cell phone. Cole must have felt it too, because he let her go. “Coming from your purse.

Not a bomb, is it?” He grinned.

Elizabeth struggled to open her purse, her fingers not working properly as she tried to shift from being ravaged to professional mode. By the time she got it open, however, she had missed the call.

“Damn it,” she swore under her breath.

“Important call?” Cole’s tone was sympathetic.

“My boss. I left a message. I figured I’d better fill him in on this whole mess with Gary. I should have called him yesterday. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“You’d been drugged, for God’s sake. I think it’s good you’re contacting him now. Being proactive before that slime bucket does any more damage.”

She nodded and pressed the button to retrieve voice mail. Instead of Art’s gravelly voice, the chirpy, high-pitched sound of Art’s secretary, Mary Beth, reached her ears. “Hi, Elizabeth. Mary Beth here. I’m calling back for Art. He left me in charge of retrieving his messages while he’s away on the fishing trip. You said something about Gary Dobbins? He’s not ill, is he? Is everything okay? I can’t reach Art right now, but he should be back late tonight. If it can wait, he’ll be in the office in the morning. Okay, well, take care.”

That’s right—she’d forgotten. That was why he’d given her the tickets to the Autism fundraiser in the first place—he’d had a conflict with the fishing trip on the yacht of one of their high-powered clients for a three-day weekend. Well, she consoled herself, at least it hadn't mattered that she hadn't called the day before.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I forgot my boss is out of pocket for the weekend. On a yacht off the coast of Newport, Rhode Island. He left his cell phone with his secretary, who just retrieved my message about Gary.”

Cole pondered a moment. “What exactly did you say in the message?”

“I was fairly vague, thank God. Mary Beth is pretty tight-lipped, but I doubt even she would be able to keep quiet about one employee selling the other at a BDSM slave auction.”