Nobody's Angel (19 page)

With Asshole lurking in the shadows, surely Marc could convince her she’d be safer at his house in Denver—for her own protection, of course, until things with Asshole died down. His place was much larger than Luke’s, had a security system, and would give Angelina her own living quarters. His house had nothing but space. What would it be like to share it with someone—even merely as a house guest? The only people who’d ever shared it were his brother and sister, Sandro and Carmella, on their forays into Denver to market the resort at various trade shows.

Marc heard a buzzing sound and walked around the sofa to look for the source. The purse Angelina had carried last night had vibrated off the table top onto the floor. When he bent down to retrieve it, he spied an antique sewing basket under the small table. It reminded him of his grandmother’s basket.

He grinned, knowing just what he was looking for when he opened the lid. He lifted a neatly rolled, but frayed, tape measure and a scrap of green fabric out of the way and there it lay. Filigreed silver handle. Whoever owned this one had been a serious seamstress. Judging by its age, he surmised the tool was a family heirloom. Her Nonna’s?

Forgive me, dear Angelina’s Nonna, but she needs this for another purpose tonight.

He lifted the pattern-tracing wheel out of the basket and ran it along the back of his hand. The tool had fascinated him as a young boy in Italy in his own Nonna’s sewing basket. The tear-drop handle of this one fit well in the palm of his hand, its weight perfect. Oh, yes. This would do nicely in place of his Wartenburg wheel.

Marc went into the kitchen to grab a bowl and to take some ice from the freezer. Turning, he saw something he’d forgotten about and picked it up. Smiling, he carried his cache into the living room. When the phone buzzed again, he picked up her purse and added it to the items in his hand, then crossed the room toward the hallway. He glanced over at Luke, who snored softly, still sitting upright. Tomorrow, they’d have a talk. Marc intended to find out what was going on in his friend’s head—and pound some sense into it if he hurt or disappointed Angelina.

Shit. He’d left her inside her busy head long enough. She’d be wound tighter than a two-dollar watch by now—naked, kneeling, and waiting for him. God help him, his cock throbbed at the image. Dawn was just a few hours away. He needed every bit of his self-control to give her what she needed most during his brief time as her Dom.

Tomorrow, he’d have to step aside for Luke. Marc had enough respect for the hereafter, after many years of catechism lessons about saints and angels, to know you didn’t mess with messages like Luke had received in his dream.

Apparently, she’d been sent to Luke, not him.

* * *

Angelina could no longer control the trembling in her body as she waited for Marc to return to her. The air in the chilly bedroom caused her nipples to stand at attention. She’d placed the long strands of her hair over her breasts to cover them, feeling a little less exposed.

But she knew the state of arousal she was in had more to do with imagining what Marc had planned than it did the cold. Kneeling as he had instructed, she hoped, and waiting for so long was doing something very strange to her mind. Anticipation warred with fear for supremacy in her head.

Anticipation had been winning for a while, but fear seemed to be edging it out at the moment. What did he plan to do? Would he keep his promise not to hurt her? He had wanted—no demanded—that she be naked. Kneeling.

Submissive.

Fear reared its deadliest weapon. Could she give up control and do whatever he commanded of her? How could he control her without restraints? She’d thought that would be a deal breaker, but he hadn’t batted an eyelash when she’d given her restrictions. Would she be able to surrender her mind and body to him? Could she trust him? For heaven’s sake, she’d only met the man Friday night, although it seemed as if she’d known him much longer. She felt so comfortable with him.

Well, comfortable might not be the operative word at the moment.

Mio Dio
, what was she doing? She couldn’t do this! As she prepared to get up and flee to the bathroom, she heard the doorknob turn. Her heart skittered into a rapid tattoo against her chest. Too late to escape! She tried to fill her lungs with air, but the tightness in her chest made breathing nearly impossible.

“Good girl.”

And suddenly an odd warmth flowed over her, relaxing her taut nerves. Why did that simple, almost condescending, expression set her all aquiver? She didn’t understand it, but knowing she had pleased him made her feel so good inside.

She heard him place items on the nightstand and started to turn to see what he was doing.

“I did not say you could move.”

His sharp tone froze her in place and she returned her gaze to the rumpled covers in front of her. She’d practically memorized the pattern on the floral comforter. He walked into the bathroom and came back moments later to place something else on the stand. She waited, her heart thudding as fear returned.

Marc’s legs and the crotch of his pants came into her field of vision as he stood before her, then sat on the edge of the bed, mere inches away. He still wore his black slacks, but had removed his shirt. Keeping her head down as instructed, she allowed her eyes to venture upward to stare at his gorgeous chest. His well-defined pecs were covered in a soft sprinkling of black hair. She longed to touch him, but hadn’t been given permission to move. She didn’t want to displease him, although she’d think most men would welcome having a woman touch them the way she wanted to.

His abdomen was taut, not an ounce of flab, his waist narrow. Again, she fought the urge to touch, or even lean forward and lick him. Her face grew warm at the thought. She’d never licked a man’s abs before. But she’d never seen anything so beautiful in all her life. If he hadn’t ordered her to remain on her knees, she’d have stripped him naked and taken his penis into…

Mio Dio
. She could feel the wetness between her nether lips. She smiled at the knowledge she wasn’t submissive after all. Why, she could get turned on just looking at a man’s chest.

“Will you trust me not to hurt you,
cara
?”

She tilted her head back to raise her gaze to his. His expression was serious, but not frightening.

“Did I say you could raise your head?”

Confused, she quickly lowered her head. How many times would he put up with her little mistakes before he put an end to this role play? His erection strained against his pants, riveting her attention. Apparently, she hadn’t caused him to lose interest yet.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

Her mind registered that his hands were held behind his back, but before she could process why that should concern her, he brought his right hand out to reveal what he had hidden.

“No! I don’t need that!” She knew her voice had risen an octave, but when she saw the red satin sash she’d worn on her dress last Christmas, she panicked and sat back on her heels to put more space between them.

“Do not move again, pet. You will not like the consequences.”

No! She didn’t want to be restrained. Not after what happened at the club. Marc had promised. Already he was going back on his word?

Marc’s voice remained firm. “Look at me, pet.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain some sense of control, then opened them again as she raised her gaze to his. Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Marc,” she said on a whisper. “I can’t be tied up. Trust me. You don’t want to do this.”

Something in her tone or expression seemed to get through to him. A shadow crossed his face and he laid the sash on the mattress beside him and reached out to stroke her hair and brush his thumb over her cheek. “Believe me, pet, I do understand.” She could see the frustration and hurt in his eyes. “Please trust me.”

Angelina relaxed a bit. Even though she had known Allen so much longer than Marc and thought she could trust him, Marc seemed different. Of course, she’d read enough books to know one of the cardinal rules of bondage was to never let someone tie you up unless you trusted them completely. She wasn’t at that level of trust—far from it.

Oh, why couldn’t they just have hot sex like a normal couple?

“Come.” He stood and placed his hands at her elbows to help lift her to her feet. “Oh!” When she swayed on legs left wobbly from kneeling so long, he steadied her and helped her to step off the pillow, which he kicked aside.

He moved his hands to her upper arms and gazed down at her. “I haven’t gone back on any promise to you. I said I wouldn’t use restraints if you cooperated and you have done everything I’ve asked. I am well pleased.”

Pride swelled inside her. She’d pleased him, even though she’d forgotten herself a couple of times. Like now! Was she supposed to be looking up at him? She lowered her head, in part so he wouldn’t see her tears, which now spilled onto her bare breasts.

He took her chin and lifted her gaze to his again and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. “First, let’s work some more on trust. We’re going to try something called honor bondage.”

Angelina had heard of honor killing. Somehow that correlation didn’t give her peace of mind.

Marc turned her sideways, took a step away from the bed, and extended his hand toward her. “Give me your hands.”

Her heart fluttered, taking her breath away. Angelina stared back at him for the longest time, but her feet remained glued to the floor, her hands at her sides. She wasn’t ready for this. Was she? Her body began to shake.

Oh, dear Lord, help me
.

She couldn’t go through with this.

Chapter Eleven

Marc couldn’t resist reaching out to cup her breasts, brushing his thumbs across her nipples. His cock throbbed as the peaks became more erect.
Focus, man
. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Trust me,
bella
.”

She closed her eyes and nodded, taking a deep breath. “I’m trying.”

“I know you are,
cara
. Thank you.”

Marc felt her tremble, whether from fear or excitement, he didn’t know. Probably a little of each. He bent down and kissed her on her unbruised cheek, his arms brushing up and down her upper arms, trying to infuse warmth into her cold limbs. Fight-or-flight reaction? She didn’t try to escape his touch, so she’d definitely decided to stay. Now the question was whether she’d stayed to fight.

If she would let herself experience the sensations he’d planned for the scene without letting fear consume her, he knew she’d find it sexy as hell. But he also knew overcoming those fears and seeing they were unwarranted would help deepen her trust in him. He didn’t want to think about why that was so important to him, given they only had this one night.

Truth to tell, he looked forward to experiencing the scene with her, more than he’d looked forward to anything in a long while. The woman brought out feelings deeper than any he’d ever felt before.

Marc chose not to explore those feelings at the moment. He reached down to pick up the sash, hating to see her begin shaking again. Definitely fear this time. He damned Sir Asshole to hell and back for making her feel such fear, because Marc didn’t think she’d been fearful before the flogging last month. The BDSM lifestyle had piqued her curiosity if she’d agreed to go to a club. His job was to restore that curiosity and allow her to embrace the submissive trapped inside.

“I promised not to hurt you. Correct?” She hesitated for what seemed an eternity, then nodded slowly. “Good girl. Now, one of the best ways to heighten your senses is to deprive you of the one you need the least.” He took the wide red sash into both hands and stretched it in front of her. “This blindfold will intensify the sensation play.”

Panic flashed from her eyes. “I don’t think I can…”

“No more thinking,
bella
. From now on, you will only feel.”

Knowing he needed to get this scene moving before she went into a full-blown panic attack, he walked around behind her and tied the sash around her head, covering her eyes, being careful not to pull too tightly because of her blackened eye and bruised cheek.
Asshole bastard
.

Marc took a breath to regain control of his anger and relaxed his fists as he reached for her arm. “You’ll be amazed how much more intense your experience will be when you don’t know what’s coming next or exactly what is being done to you.” He guided her onto the edge of the bed, then instructed, “Crawl onto the bed directly in front of you and lie on your back.”

She held her hand out, as if not certain there truly was a bed in front of her.
Trust me
. But she did as he told her and he smiled. Her beautiful breasts begged to be touched again, but Marc held back. His heart hammered in his chest as adrenaline began pumping through him. He loved setting up and executing the perfect scene for a sub, and knew this was just what Angelina needed.

He knew how hard it was for her to trust him after Asshole had violated her the way he had. That she was willing to put herself in his hands, to place her trust in him, broke something loose in his heart.

Focus
.

“With honor bondage, it is
I
who will have to trust you. Give me both of your hands,
Amore
.”

He froze.
Love?
Why had he used that term of endearment? She wasn’t his love. He’d do well to keep his emotions in check, as he would with any unattached submissive he were training at the club.

Marc’s cock hardened as she lifted her hands toward him. Could this little sub be getting under his thick and scarred skin? He shook off the ridiculous notion. She merely needed him to help her overcome her aversion to the lifestyle and he wanted to get her to recognize and embrace her beautifully submissive sexual nature. Neither of them was looking for commitment. Even if she wasn’t Luke’s, just like all the women before her, he’d have grown bored—or scared—in time. He always did, about the time she demanded more of him than he was able to give.

Melissa had caused him to lose control; Pamela had demanded more than he could give. He needed to be in control—of his body, his mind, his emotions. Most of all, of his life.