Giving It Up: Pushing the Boundaries, Book 1 (8 page)

Except now she knew
he
wasn’t interested in
her
. At least, not in what she had to offer outside of the hour a week they were contracted to be together. And she wasn’t sure what was worse—wanting him from afar with no hope of ever having him, or wanting him up close and personal…but still with no hope of ever having him.

Although, she to admit that being able to touch him, hold him, talk to him—she wouldn’t trade that for anything, even if it was only temporary.

She hadn’t seen Warren for five days, but the image of him standing in her doorway, looking cautious and excited at the same time, was still fresh in her mind. The feel of his strong, broad back, pressed against her chest as they’d sat in her bed, lingered in her skin.

Two more days. She would get to touch him again in only two more days.

Beatrice headed down the stairs and out the front door of the Excelsior Media building, where the newspaper had its offices. It was almost five o’clock and the sidewalks were starting to get busier, full of people heading out a few minutes early. The police station where Warren worked was a few blocks away, and even though she knew it was unlikely she would run into him wandering the streets, she couldn’t help but keep an eye out for a tall, dark-haired man in uniform wearing a permanent scowl.

Except…he’d softened, hadn’t he? When he’d been with her, his face had relaxed, if only for a few minutes.

She wanted to see that happen again.

A couple of blocks down, Beatrice stepped into a pharmacy, the swish of the doors shutting her into the strangely silent, antiseptic-smelling shop. It was a quirky place, a throwback to the Greenbriar of fifty years ago. She liked coming here and seeing all the sleek, modern products placed on the old wooden displays, the long polished wood apothecary’s counter in the back. Someday she wanted to photograph all the things in here that caught her eye.

But today, she had to get some shopping done. The long days of summer meant it stayed light well into the evening, and she was running low on sleep, waking up much too early every morning with the sun coming in from behind the blinds. She’d meant to go out yesterday and pick up a sleep mask from the pharmacy, but she’d ended up poring over
Dominacracy
again, thinking about and planning some of the things she could do to—do
for
—Warren on Wednesday night. He’d responded very enthusiastically to her last week, but she hadn’t even scratched the surface of available options. She’d started off slow and easy for both their sakes, but now she wanted to take a chance, to get to something deeper than a mere physical reaction.

She wanted
him
.

Moving through the aisles, she spotted some medical tape and grabbed a couple rolls to add to her stock. The gentle-but-strong tape was perfect for securing delicate and expensive camera equipment, since it didn’t leave adhesive goo behind. It took her longer than she’d expected, though, to find the sleep mask. She had just dropped it into her basket and was rushing to check out when she heard someone say her name.

“Beatrice?”

No. Not someone.

Him.

She stopped immediately and turned, certain her smile was already too big not to be embarrassing. “Warren.” It came out breathy and husky, because even though he was standing there in his uniform, looking so big and imposing with his usual frown, she was happy to see him. “Did you get off early today?”

She’d meant it as an innocuous question. But the second the words were out of her mouth, all she could think of was last Wednesday, and how intense he’d looked right before he’d shot off her bed and locked himself in her bathroom. She felt her face heat.

He took a step closer. “No, late. My shift started at six this morning.”

His reply wasn’t more than a few terse, clipped words. But the way his voice was pitched, low and rumbling—it made her even hotter. Was he thinking about last week too?

She hoped so.

He glanced down at her basket, and for a second, he looked nonplussed. He raised his face back to hers, one eyebrow lifted in question. “Planning a special evening?”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. Why would a mask and binding tape and—

Oh my God.

He thought she was buying these things for
him
. To bind him and blind him. Was that what he wanted? She
had
been considering trying something like that at some point, but she had been too nervous the first time to even ask.

Now she could see she’d been too cautious. A mistake she didn’t want to make again.

Maybe she should ask him now. Standing there, looking into the basket, his expression was one of wary curiosity, as though he wasn’t sure whether he’d like it, either.

Only one way to find out.

She gave him an enigmatic smile. “You’ll see…” She moved the basket behind her back, trying not to laugh when his eyes tracked the movement. She thought of the mask in the basket and added, “Or maybe you won’t.” She didn’t miss the way his nostrils flared and his fists clenched, like he wanted to reach out and haul her to him.

I want that.

But it was clear to her that couldn’t be what
he
wanted. He’d responded to her teasing. And he’d hired her to play Domme for him, not to swoon in his arms and let him support her arousal-slackened body.

She gave a casual shrug, even though she was feeling anything but casual. “Actually, I have to get back.” She turned and threw a glance over her shoulder at him. “Wednesday?”

He gave a tight, jerky nod. “Yeah. Wednesday.”

She walked down the aisle, resisting the urge to turn around and look at him again. But she could feel his eyes on her the entire time.

Chapter Nine

Beatrice stared through the peephole. On a whim, she’d looked through it a minute ago and found Warren already standing outside the door, staring down at his watch. She’d waited a bit, thinking he’d just arrived and would knock any second now, but he hadn’t.

She didn’t understand what he was waiting for. Did he really care that much about being exactly on time? If so, he was going to end up standing out there for another four minutes, which was simply ridiculous. She unlocked the bolt and opened the door.

He blinked at her. “Beatrice. I’m sorry I’m early.”

I’m sorry you were loitering outside like a lost puppy
, she wanted to say, but instead she shook her head like it didn’t matter and gestured him forward. “Come in, Warren.”

She’d bought a different robe the evening after she’d seen him in the pharmacy. Something that would keep her warm while she was waiting for him, but would serve as a sexy tease, as well. The silky sash around the waist of this black satin robe was tied loosely, and when she moved back to let him in, it gaped.

And he stared in a way that made her feel beautiful.

Beneath the robe, she was more exposed than she’d been last time, wearing high heels with thigh-high black stockings. She could feel cool air high up on her legs, though the robe wasn’t open enough for him to see the garter belt around her waist or the black panties and bra. But what he did see was apparently enough to make those dark blue eyes widen as he stepped inside.

She hoped he liked the rest. The outfit she’d worn last week, hand-me-downs that her friend Katie had given her before moving to New York, had been much less revealing, but still difficult for her to wear in front of him.

This time, though, things would be different. She’d chosen these clothes with more confidence. Something special just for him.

“I’m sorry I’m early,” he repeated.

He seemed nervous. But Warren Davis was never nervous. It had to be a fluke. She smiled at him, bemused. “It’s no big deal.”

“But it’s your time. I don’t have a right to it until seven o’clock.” His scowl was back.

He doesn’t have a right to it?
Wow, he really did look on this as merely a business arrangement. She tried not to feel too dejected. After all, he was here, wasn’t he? And he looked good in her apartment. Strong and imposing but close enough to touch…to kiss…

It would be wrong to even kiss you if there’s money involved.
Warren’s words from that day at the batting cages slapped at her, pulling her out of her thoughts. She shook off the fantasy and waved at the couch, like last time. “Have a seat.”

He went to it this time with no hesitation, pushing his shoes off first.

“Can I get you some wine? I apologize I didn’t offer it last time. I was a bit, um, distracted.”

He gave a short laugh. “You seemed pretty focused to me. And yes, please. I’d love some wine.”

It surprised her to hear that she’d come across as focused. She supposed it helped they’d both been new to this kind of thing. But this time, she was going to do better. She walked to the kitchenette and poured two glasses from the bottle of red she’d opened earlier, then walked back to him, holding the glasses. His eyes tracked her movements, and she was suddenly very aware of how intensely he was looking at her.

As though he might be seeing
her
, and not simply a means to an end. The thought made her wonder, did he—was there a chance he might want her the same way she wanted him? To really
be
with?

No. Impossible. He’d called Queen Dommes first. She’d just been convenient and cheaper. She couldn’t afford to forget that, no matter how much she fantasized about something more.

She had a job to do.

She handed him one of the glasses, and he tipped it to hers. “To Wednesday nights.”

“To Wednesday nights,” she echoed, and he took a deep sip of the wine, leaning back against the couch and sighing. She sat on the edge of the coffee table, crossing her legs and letting the robe slip open a bit farther.

He watched her with clear interest, and raised his glass to his lips again without taking his eyes off her body.

“Is the wine okay?”

“The wine is great. And I’m feeling pretty good, in fact.” He laughed. “I don’t drink much unless I’m out with the guys, since we don’t keep alcohol in the house.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” She’d seen him drink before at Nina’s place. In fact, there was always beer in the fridge whenever she went over there. It seemed like a SWAT team requirement to have beer in the house at all times.

He looked a bit stunned, as though he’d revealed more than he’d intended, but then he blew out a breath and answered, “Because I live with my parents, my sister and my nephew.”

Oh. So that’s what he’d meant when he’d told her he didn’t live alone. He had to be in his early thirties. But he still lived with his parents?

It surprised her she didn’t feel turned off by that, but rather…confused. He certainly wasn’t rich, but he had to make enough to at least afford his own apartment. Ben and Nina owned a beautiful house in a nice suburb because Nina came from money, but even Donahue and Brewer had their own places near the city’s downtown.

Warren huffed as though he were responding to her thoughts. “Well, technically, they live with me, since I bought the house where I grew up. But my dad is at home all day since he can’t drive or work, and we didn’t want there to be…a chance…” His voice trailed off, and he stared at the liquid in the glass.

God.
Who would have ever thought Warren Davis could look so
lost
? Beatrice felt a rush of compassion. She knew that feeling all too well. She slid her hand over his thigh, meaning for it to be a reassuring touch, but the second her palm touched his hard muscle, thoughts of comfort fled.

The feel of his firm body under her hand was doing funny things to her pulse. Damn, he was in great shape.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she managed to say, barely getting the words out as her hand stroked up, slightly. The muscles flexed under her touch, making her squeeze involuntarily, and her eyes met his, dark and sultry.

But he didn’t make a move.

Don’t do anything unless I order you to do it.

She’d said that to him last time.

Good boy
, she wanted to purr, but that wasn’t right. He wasn’t a good boy. He was an amazing, sexy, incredible
man
.

He paused for a second, as though waiting for her to command him, and when she didn’t, he simply shook his head. “It’s okay. I don’t…I don’t mind telling you.” His voice sounded slightly amazed, as though he’d just realized that himself. “Dad had a stroke several years ago. Even though he came out of it alive, his hands shake pretty badly now. Enough that he had to take early retirement and he can’t do basic things around the house, like cook or mow the lawn. And no driving. It’s easy to fall into a depression, being stuck like that.” He barked out a laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “What am I talking about? He’s already fallen. He’s on medication and everything. The temptation of alcohol would be too great.”

She stroked farther up his thigh. “I’m sorry to hear that.” And she was. She really was. That couldn’t be easy on a family. On a man like Warren.
But oh God you feel so good.
She was starting to lose herself in the feel of him, even through his clothes. She could see the hard ridge of his erection already pushing at the rough fabric of his jeans.

She wanted to put her mouth on it.

Slow down. You need to be in control.

She stilled, trying to calm herself long enough to regain her equilibrium. He sighed and slipped his hand over hers, and Beatrice’s whole being seemed to narrow in on that touch, the feeling of callused palm over soft skin, more intimate than anything that had happened between them until this point.

“Enough about my stupid life.”

Beatrice froze, wondering if he might toss the wine aside, look at his watch and declare it time to begin in earnest. Somehow, even though she had expected it, keeping tabs on their time or activities no longer felt right. After only one “session” it was all starting to blend together.

She was already beginning to want more.

But he didn’t say anything about their agreement and instead nodded his chin in the direction of her desk. “Did you take those photos?”

Good. Something more neutral they could talk about. That she could focus on, instead of his body and how much she wanted to feel him beneath her. Above her. Inside her. She was glad she hadn’t taken off the robe yet. As flimsy as it was, it felt like an important barrier right now.

She pulled her hand away from him and nodded, looking behind her at the tacked-up pictures. She’d chosen those because each one reminded her of a time in life when she’d learned a significant lesson, and she’d had them printed in black and white, like memories.

Hmm. Maybe not as neutral as she’d hoped. The memories weren’t all pleasant.

“Do you have any albums I could look at?”

Now she was starting to get nervous. Now she was changing her mind, a part of her almost wishing he
would
put a demand on her time, maybe even pull out a contract and point to the section that outlined the service she was supposed to perform in exchange for compensation. At least that felt safe.

If he saw the rest of her personal photos…it was strange, in a way, to feel like it would be seeing something in her that no one ever had before. The photos she kept in those big albums were the ones that had sustained her emotionally ever since the first time she picked up a camera at age eight. She’d never shared that side of herself with anyone. Not even Nana.

Maybe Warren wasn’t the only one who needed a little balance in his life.

She set her glass down on the table and rose on shaky legs, feeling herself wobble a bit on her heels as she stepped over to the shelves along the wall near her desk. She bent slightly, walking her fingers over several leather spines before pulling out a burgundy-colored album, clutching it to her chest as she walked back to the couch.

Warren put his glass next to hers and shifted on the couch, looking excited as a little boy on Christmas morning. Who would have ever thought that seeing her photos would make him this happy?

Maybe he just needed to get out more.

She sat back down, this time on the cushion next to him, perching herself on the edge and turning a bit, still holding the album tightly to her.

He reached out both hands and lifted them in a gesture of almost supplication. “May I?”

A quick, involuntary squeeze, and then she forced herself to let go, nodding slowly as she extended the book to him. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from it as he set the heavy album on his lap and opened the cover, as though the fate of her very existence hinged on his reaction to her photos.

Her soul. She was worried what he would think of who she really was.

Oh dear.

But she didn’t have time to contemplate what that might mean, because he gave a little chuckle at the first picture, one of a smiling older woman with dark hair like Beatrice’s, standing along the railing of the big bridge that spanned the river that ran through the northern section of Greenbriar. “I recognize this place. Is that your mother?”

God, could she tell him the truth? With the kind of commitment and love he clearly had for his own family, would she seem like some kind of freak?
Never lie.
Michelle’s words popped up as Beatrice was about to nod. She gave a tight shake of her head, instead. “That’s Nana. My grandmother. My parents live in Benton—” she named the suburb thirty miles west of the city, where she had grown up, “—but my mom has never visited me here.”

He gave her a sharp look, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he picked up her wineglass from the table and handed it to her, and flipped to another page while she took a deep sip of the wine.

He really took care of everybody. Beatrice felt a wave of guilt rise up at that, feeling ashamed she hadn’t done anything for him this evening that she was supposed to.

The next photo was of the exterior of the main building of her college. She’d taken it late one afternoon on one of her rare days off from work. It had been wintertime, the sun setting early, cutting across the lawn in front of the school in sharp flashes of sparkling light. It made the gothic towers of the building behind look almost like a mirage.

Warren murmured in approval. “You’re an amazing photographer, you know. You see things in your subjects, even if they’re just buildings, that make them really come alive.”

She felt herself blushing with the praise. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you to say.”

He snorted. “It’s not
kind
. It’s the truth.” He turned the page to another set of photos, of places around the city she liked to frequent. Kids playing in Vernon Park, a big green space near her apartment. The sweet, disabled grocery bagger at the local market. Everyday people, doing everyday things with everything they had.

“These belong in a museum, you know.” He paused and turned his head to look at her, bringing his lips so close to her own.

Too close.

She had to jerk herself back to avoid kissing him right then.

He frowned at her, and too late, she realized it must look like she was turned off by him. But what was she supposed to do now? Tell him the truth?

He’d leave and never come back.

Instead, she offered him the only consolation she could think of.

An honest answer.

“I
want
to have my work in a museum. I want to exhibit somewhere, someday. But these…well, I need to learn more, take more artistic shots. My work isn’t ready yet for something like a gallery show.”

He shook his head. “You’re wrong.” He studied her in silence for a second, his brow furrowed, then turned his attention back to the photo album and spoke to the pages. “But I don’t think the problem is that your
work
isn’t ready.”

He didn’t say anything else. But he didn’t need to. The implication was there, hanging in the air. It wasn’t her work. It was
Beatrice
he didn’t think was ready. Nana had said the same thing. But Nana was too close to Beatrice. Loved her too much. While Warren…