Taunt Me (Rough Love Book 2) (13 page)

“We need more light to do this,” Andrew said. “Can’t you open the drapes?”

“No. Remember? Hunting binoculars.”

“Oh, yeah.” He grimaced and picked up one of the pieces.

After I’d sent Price away, he’d had a note delivered to my apartment.
You’re so beautiful.
That’s all it said,
You’re so beautiful.
When I showed it to Andrew, he’d pointed out what I already knew, that it was an echo of something he’d written once on my arm.
Look at what you do for me. You’re so beautiful.

I had done way, way too much for him the other night, not that I admitted that to my friend.

We turned our attention back to the lock’s pieces, and my metal design background eventually helped me figure out how it went together. My sweet but useless sidekick kept me company while I took out the old lock and installed the new one.

“Here’s the thing,” Andrew said, holding the lock while I went at the door with a screwdriver. “Mr. Recaro—”

“Why do you always call him Mr. Recaro? Two weeks in Vail, and you’re not on a first name basis?”

“His first name is Maximo, but he only lets me call him Mr. Recaro, or Sir.”

The “Sir” sounded familiar. I sucked in a breath. “How kinky.”

“Girl, you don’t even know. It’s so sexy, how he knows what he wants, how he demands and takes and uses me for his own fulfillment. It’s the submissive thing. When I’m with him, I feel so grateful to be able to serve him.”

“You’re a natural submissive. I’m sure he realizes that, and values it.”

A tinge of pink colored Andrew’s cheeks. “It makes me feel special to serve him. He made me feel special, even though I was the one at his beck and call. Does that make any sense? Why do I enjoy giving myself up completely to someone else? What does that say about me?”

The lock was in. I clicked the bolt back and forth. “Maybe it’s a thrill-seeking thing,” I said. “Or a way of coping. Sometimes it’s nice to not have to be in charge.”

“I don’t know.” He watched as I tested the key. “I guess it’s not crucial to understand the reasons. I just know it turns me on. God, it makes me feel high, to be under someone’s control, and to please that person. Is that weird? It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No, you’re just kinky. It is what it is.”

Andrew pushed his curls back, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The way he looked at me after our scenes... I can’t even describe it. The way he kissed me… Pleasing him makes me feel like I’m high on drugs or something. I’m not falling in love,” he said at my exasperated look. “I’m
not
. But I really respect him. He was good to me and I was good to him. I hope we’ll keep seeing each other.”

“I’m sure you will. I’m glad you had fun.”

His smile turned wistful. “I know he’s just a client, and that this is just for now, but I hope I meet someone like Maximo someday and have a real relationship. A real Dom/sub relationship that goes on all the time.”

“You’ll find your match,” I said, trying to sound like I knew what the fuck I was talking about. “You’re too kind and generous to spend your life alone. Someone is going to appreciate you one day, and give you everything you need, and you’ll live happily ever after.”

“You think so?”

“I hope so,” I said, even though I didn’t believe in happily ever after. Now that the lock was in, I took the spare key and handed it to Andrew. “I want you to have this. You’re my best friend in New York. Maybe my best friend anywhere. I’ve always wanted someone to give a spare key to.”

“Oh gawd.” His smile widened as he took it. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

I rolled my eyes. “You want something to drink?”

We sprawled on my couch with a couple of sloppy cocktails. Andrew launched into more Vail stories, apologizing for all the details. I didn’t mind as much as he thought I did. The escorting was obviously working for him right now, and if he was going to be a good friend to me, I had to be a good friend in return. I had to support him to the best of my ability, and keep an eye on him in case things started to go wrong.

Keep an eye on him, like Price kept an eye on you?

I frowned and shook my head.
Not the same.
Andrew’s voice drifted off mid-story as he realized I wasn’t listening. He was so sensitive to my mood swings. If he wasn’t gay, he’d be the perfect boyfriend.

“Still thinking about him?” he asked in a hopelessly gentle voice. “You were right to tell him to fuck off. But it must have been hard.”

“Honestly, it wasn’t that hard. He acted like an overbearing, obnoxious prick. I don’t know what I ever saw in him, how I got so emotionally attached. I feel so stupid now.” I leaned back against the cushions and put up my feet. “I romanticized him. It was the poetry, maybe. It made everything seem more romantic and beautiful than it was.”

“You were a different person back then, weathering a difficult time in your life. Don’t beat yourself up. Hey, at least you know his name now.”

“I know his first name. That’s all I got.”

He sat up straighter. “I feel a search engine session coming on. I mean, you’ve looked, right? You’ve searched for designers in Manhattan named Price?”

“I searched every combination of ‘designer’ and ‘New York’ and ‘Price.’ But when you search ‘designer’ and ‘Price’ you get a bunch of links to online clothing stores.”

“Why didn’t you just ask his last name?”

I scowled at Andrew. “I kind of forgot to do that in the middle of all the fighting and stalking revelations and sex.”

He held up a hand. “Hold. Up. You did not tell me you had sex.”

I covered my face. Holy shit. I hadn’t just had sex with him. I’d submitted to all his crazy, rough, perverted demands like we’d never been apart, like I was still his prostitute, meeting him for sessions at a luxury hotel.

“I don’t know how it happened,” I said, looking up again. “We were fighting, and then he was grabbing me and kissing me, and then...” I pointed across the room, at the wall. “We did it there.” I pointed to the floor. “And there. And in the bedroom.”

“You did it three times?” Andrew gawked at me.

“After that, he ran out of condoms.”

“Well.” He looked like a shocked old church lady. “I’m glad to hear you’re having safe sex, but why didn’t you tell me you slept with him? I told you everything about Maximo.”

“You certainly did.”

“So why—”

“Because it’s stupid,” I said, cutting him off. “It was stupid and weak of me to sleep with him and I didn’t want to admit I did it.”

“No wonder he wants to start things up again. Was the sex hot?”

“It was so fucking hot, Andrew. I can’t even describe it.”

“And that’s why you keep zoning out with that tortured look on your face,” said Andrew, shaking his head. “That sucks. It sucks that we always want the things we shouldn’t have. That we want the things we shouldn’t want.”

Bless him. He always understood. “Why can’t you be straight?” I groused. “You’re fun and sexy, and you get me. Why don’t you straighten the fuck up and be my boyfriend?”

“Cougar,” he muttered.

I climbed in his lap and started riding him, which led to uncontrollable laughter and a pillow attack.

“Stop,” he shrieked, whapping me upside the head. “Consent violation.”

He tackled me to the couch and pinned me under his body. He wasn’t as big as Price by a long shot, but he was still a man, and bigger than me. We gazed at each other, laughing, and then he leaned down and pasted a messy kiss on my lips.

“Gross,” I said, sticking out my tongue. “I don’t want your gay cooties.”

“I don’t want your cougar cooties.” He sat up and helped me right myself. “Forget it, babes. Stop flirting. I’ll never live up to Price’s mystique.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.” I moved into his arms when he opened them, and rested my head against his chest. “You’re my safe place. He’s my scary place.”

“Ah, but Chere...” He stroked my hair and wrapped one of my curls around his fingertip. “I think you like to be scared.” He was silent a moment, while I mulled that over. “I’m not saying he’s a good person,” Andrew went on, “or that you belong together, but, honey, let’s be honest about something. You pined over him for
two and a half years
.”

“I didn’t ‘pine over him.’”

“You pined over him,” Andrew repeated. “You gave up on relationships because of him. I think that’s why you’re so upset now, so conflicted and messed up.”

Ugh, I was definitely conflicted and messed up.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “He’s not relationship material.”

“Are you sure? Girl, think about it. Think of his actions, his machinations with the apartment, just to be able to look at you after he left. The poetry was only part of it. Think about the planning. The ongoing surveillance.”

“I have,” I said, burrowing my face into his neck. “That’s why I’m so scared.”

“He’s scary,” Andrew agreed. “But I’m a little jealous. He watched you for two and a half years.” He made a low sound in his throat. “That’s kind of insane.”

*** *** ***

Andrew got busy after that, with Mr. Recaro and a couple other clients. I didn’t see him again until the first morning of our internships, when we met for an early breakfast. My normally unkempt friend looked strange in his white starched shirt and tie, with his curls tamed back in a ponytail. He was going to spend half his internship as assistant to a curator at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the other half working at an up-and-coming gallery in Soho. Norton contacts were a powerful thing, and an aspiring painter needed all the connections he could get.

My design assignment was more practical: an architectural firm on Park Avenue. Their website was glossy and high tech, and maddeningly devoid of information, aside from a striking portfolio of their projects.

“Eriksen Architectural Design,” said Andrew, studying the site on my phone. “Hey! They designed that crazy building on Driggs Avenue, and that new skyscraper on Wall Street.” He scrolled a little more. “And the Anand Valley Bridge in Mumbai.” He looked back up at me in puzzlement. “I thought you asked for a jewelry placement.”

I took back my phone and stuck it in my recently purchased leather briefcase. “I did ask for a jewelry placement. I didn’t get it.”

“Why would they match a small-metals designer with a bridge-building firm?”

“I don’t know. Because they’re Norton and they think it’s cool and artistic to be disproportional.” I shrugged. “I don’t care. I’m just ready to finish the program. I like Norton, but I’m ready to get on with my career.”

“I doubt Eriksen and friends will have a lot of connections in the jewelry world.”

I’d pointed that out to my academic advisor, but my complaints had fallen on deaf ears. “I guess design is design, whether you’re designing bridges or earrings. I don’t know. They didn’t offer me a second choice.”

“I love that suit,” said Andrew, gazing jealously at my outfit. “You look amazing. You’re gonna impress them for sure.”

I felt slightly guilty about using sex appeal on the first day of my internship, in some bid to impress my new boss. I’d chosen to wear one of the designer numbers I wore when I was escorting. Exquisitely tailored and wonderfully expensive, the Burberry suit looked right at home in the lobby of a luxury hotel, and, hopefully, in the conference rooms of Eriksen Architectural Design.

We finished our coffee and stood to give each other hugs. “Enjoy the museum,” I said, squeezing him tight. “And tell them to make some room on a wall somewhere. Your work’s going to hang there one day.”

“I love you, babes. Knock ’em dead at Eriksen. Maybe they’ll let you build a bridge or two before your time’s up.”

We shrugged into our coats and headed out into the January cold. The office wasn’t far up Park Avenue, so I walked, dispelling nervous energy and swinging my briefcase at my side like I was as confident as all the bustling New Yorkers around me.

I arrived at the office building a few minutes early and gazed up at the structure of metal and glass. I went through revolving doors to the lobby and was directed to the eleventh floor. That was when my butterflies started. I kept my head down on the elevator, murmuring “Eleven, please” to a wall of pinstriped suits.

Get your shit together, Chere. This is what you wanted, what you’ve been working for all this time.
I wasn’t an escort anymore, and the chapter with Price was closed. I had nothing on my plate but building a kickass career, and I intended to make the most of it. On the eleventh floor, I headed for the frosted double doors emblazoned with an etched bridge and the initials “EAD” in a stylized script. A perky receptionist greeted me the moment I slipped inside.

“Welcome to Eriksen Architectural Design. May I help you?”

“I’m the new intern from Norton. I start today.”

“Of course. Mr. Eriksen is expecting you. He’s meeting with the staff in the conference room this morning. If you’ll follow me?”

She led me down a carpeted hallway, past more office doors. She pushed one open, revealing a spacious room with a large table, and a meeting in progress.

“Ms. Rouzier has arrived,” she announced.

“Ah, there she is.”

My gaze shot to the man who’d spoken. Price stood from his place at the head of the table and strode to me with a hand outstretched in greeting.

You can’t. My God. What the fuck?

“Welcome to Eriksen Architectural Design,” he said, squeezing my fingers with a firm grip. “I’m P.T. Eriksen, and this is the rest of the team.” He introduced me to each of the six people in turn, professional men and women of varying ages. They smiled and said hello, forcing me to compose my scattered emotions. Price was P.T. Eriksen of Eriksen Architectural Design? At last the ridiculous internship placement made sense. I felt manipulated, humiliated, and furious that I had to stand like an idiot in front of his smiling staff.

He was dressed in his armor: a dark suit and tie, and a pair of silver cufflinks. As he walked back to the head of the table, I realized they were my design, a pair I’d submitted to the Norton student shop a few months earlier. He turned to me with a taunt of a smile.