Whisper (The Voice trilogy Book 1) (21 page)

Knowing he has been avoiding work, something Olivia said he never does, I head first towards his office. Hopping down the formal staircase, I slide around the corner, but stop when I hear Rhys’ voice, and then the voice of a woman.

“
Come on, Daddy, baby girl wants to play
.” The muted purr crawls across my skin and claws at my raw nerves. What the fuck? I know I shouldn’t listen but I’m locked in now. Who is he with? Blood is pounding in my ears and I know I should retreat. I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but my feet will not budge. I am glued to the bottom stair. My ears are perked and my stomach is doing flips as Rhys’ muffled voice gets louder, “
You have to go
.” My pulse is racing, frantic heartbeats drowning out a conversation that I want desperately to escape from, yet want desperately to hear. “
I want to meet her
.
Maybe we
could use her
.” What the fuck does that mean? Oh god, is this how it all comes crashing down on me? I make one flippant choice, one misjudgment and the universe conspires to make a fool of me. What am I doing here? I want to run. I want to burst into his office and make my presence known. I want to disappear and pretend none of this ever happened.

“
That’s it!”
Rhys’ tone is ferocious and fear inducing. I hear the shuffle of feet and a few muffled words before the door is wrenched open and it’s too late. I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I try to make a break up the stairs, but realize I cannot get away fast enough. I turn around and try to make it look as if I have just come down when I almost fall backwards, coming just inches from running into a statuesque blonde, cloaked in a short navy blue trench coat. The blonde from the picture in Rhys’ office, and she is more breathtaking in person. Tall and slender, her hair hangs down her back and shimmers like gold against her tanned skin. Her bright blue orbs, rimmed with kohl, inspect every inch of me.

“I don’t see it,” she mutters under her breath, before she flips a switch, blinding me with a practiced, disingenuous smile. “You must be Sophie.” Her face is bright and friendly, but something in the way she thrusts her hand at me is off. Speechless, I offer her my hand. “It is lovely to meet you. I am Nadja.” Her fingers are long and slender, and her cold, clammy skin sticks to mine as she shakes my hand a little too hard. My stomach turns at the sound of her name, and I take a deep breath, swallowing back a growing disdain.

“It’s not like Rhys to keep his girls for more than one night. You must be doing something right.” She winks at my souring face. It takes a tremendous effort to appear stoic and unaffected by her haughty presence. She clearly loves to intimidate, her hand still wrapped around mine. Like a cat in heat she is trying to mark her territory, a too tight squeeze of her hand tells me we are battling for control. She rakes me up and down while a slight hum oozes from her throat, leaving a poisonous sting in the air. I pull my hand from hers, taking a step back, away from the coiled snake so ready to strike. Her eyes are locked with mine while a predators’ smirk twists at her pouty lips. “What’s the matter, honey? Cat got your tongue?” Her fire laced giggle kicks me out of my own head, my tongue trying desperately to catch up with my mind, but failing miserably. 

I turn to Rhys leaning lazily against the door of his office, a casual witness to our encounter, seemingly amused and unaffected. He grins, but it does not meet his eyes. There is nothing casual about him at closer look. His body is rigid, his jaw tight, teeth grinding slowly as he watches her. A slight shift in his demeanor, barely detectable, sends a shadow across his bright eyes. A brief twitch pulls at the corner of his mouth as I drop her hand and his eyes narrow on Nadja. His face is tense, an inscrutable expression perfectly in place upon his chiseled features.

“That is enough.” He shuffles Nadja towards the front entrance with a curt goodbye. My leaden feet have me anchored to the spot, stunned by the entire exchange.  

Chapter 16 

“Come.” He grabs my hand, pulling me behind him. He is distracted, tense. “I want to play.” There’s that phrase. My spine rattles at his words. My chest is struck with a strangling fear as he bounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His pull is urgent, but every step brings me closer to something I know I am not ready for. She provokes
him, Nadja’s effect is left all over his tense form and his uneasily silent mouth. Trepidation courses through me with each heartbeat, growing stronger. I try to fight back the fear, but it wells in my throat erupting in a shocking unprovoked declaration. He tugs at my hand, but I plant myself and tug back.

“I don’t want to be tied up!” He slows and turns on me,
hovering a step above me, his form even larger and more looming than normal. His eyes narrow as he exhales a deep held breath, pulling me reluctantly over the landing.

“I haven’t decided what I am going to do with you yet, but don’t fret. I will be gentle. Remember, I am supposed to be having my way, Beautiful.” Pushing the bedroom door open he crosses to a chest of drawers, pulling a length of shock provoking silk from the bottom drawer. 
              “I never agreed to that.” I am transfixed by the rope, hypnotized by its menacing color and ominous length as he pulls the bundle back and forth over his open palms. I am unable to look away.

Disappointment dulls the sparkle in his eyes. “You have a fair point. I see that I will have to remember to tie up all the loose ends with you, Sophie.” His tone is clipped, and icy.

“You seem out of sorts. Maybe we should wait.” I take a seat at the foot of the bed, careful to remain as far away from the headboard, or anything he could tie me to. He is like a caged animal, eerily calm, but in a dangerous state of mind. 

“I am fine, just a little frustrated. I would like to take that frustration out on you.” His fingers trace a scorching trail down my cheek, sending a shiver down my jelly spine. “Have you ever been tied up?”

“No.” I have never done anything adventurous or kinky. And I have never craved anything like that. Being tied up or tied down illicit a serious flight reaction, the thought makes me want to run for the hills. Far away from this man that has made me feel so amazing.

“How do you know you don’t want it?” His wicked question churns deep in my mind.

“I don’t know.”

“I think you’re afraid.”

“Should I be?”

“Do you think that I would hurt you, Sophie? Do you think that would bring me pleasure?” I shake my head, unsure of my own mind. He watches me closely, waiting for me to spook. I have never felt the way he makes me feel. I feel driven to please him. I want to trust him. But the thought of being at someone else’s mercy, trusting him not to hurt me, I don’t know that I am capable. It is too soon.

“What scares you about being restrained?” His tone is silky and measured.

“Not being able to get away.” My voice is small and quiet, and I struggle to stay in the moment. Not to let my mind drag me back into dark memories.

“Don’t you trust me, Sophie?” His face is serious, a shadow of doubt clouds his eyes and I fear I have lost him. “Do you really believe that I would hurt you, or make you do something you didn’t want to do? It is an exercise in freedom. You would be free to feel and enjoy everything I do to you without having to think.” And that phrase is the clutch for me, ‘everything I do to you’. To me, not with me.

“I….I’m just not ready for that.”      

“If you don’t trust me we shouldn’t be doing any of this.” He pulls the ropes roughly through his palms once more, squeezing and kneading the swaths of shiny, blood red silk before whipping them back into the open drawer. “Trust me when I say that if I ever do bind your hands and legs, and I hope I do, you won’t be going anywhere.” 

“That sounded like a threat. Your sales pitch leaves something to be desired.”

“Oh, there is plenty left to be desired, Beautiful.” Shoving the drawer closed with his foot, the discussion is closed, I challenged him and I lost, even though I got what I wanted.

“I thought we were going to play?” my voice strangled by disappointment that catches me off guard.

“I’ve changed my mind,” his voice is resolute. I sulk, sinking into the bed, pulling a pillow across my lap, covering myself. “Don’t pout, it’s not becoming and it will only strengthen my resolve. You need to recognize your value. You are more than a plaything, Sophie.  You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And you shouldn’t do something you are not sure of, even if it is to please me.” Moments ago, he was ready to tie me up and fuck me silly, now he admonishes me like a parent. How can he demand my independence and submission in the same moment? How did this become about my self-worth? I thought this was about him.              

“You are angry.”

“No, I am not angry.” I don’t believe him. He stalks into the bathroom, returning with a towel that he slings onto the bed next to me.

“Then what?
What have I done?” Knowing full well that I haven’t done anything, except turn him down.

“I am just frustrated, with myself.” He is at war with himself, the evidence written all over his face. His brows knit together, forming a deep valley between them,
his mouth set in a hard line and his body is tense. I move to the end of the bed, closer to him. But he shifts away, moving from under my advancing hands. He stands, looking down on me, crystal green eyes full of doubt and something else, something unreadable. Something I know, deep in my gut stems from Nadja, and her visit. It seems she has left him teetering on the edge, lost in thought, and now the suggestion of the ropes? I thought he had been kidding. At the very least, when he said tie me up I thought of a little wrist restraint, maybe a tie, something I could easily escape. But those ropes were long. They do not look like a prop, the menacing shade of blood red and uncomfortably smooth silk was intriguing but more frightening than I had imagined. At that moment all I could think of was being tied up and left, or worse. The thought was too much to bear, too scary to hide. And now he is distant and pulling away. Rifling through his drawers he pulls out a pair of running shorts and a faded green tee shirt, with St. Andrews Rugby scrolled across the chest.

“Rhys?” He turns to look at me and I almost drown. He is far away, getting further by the minute. A wave of fear crashes in my belly, swirling around me, threatening to pull me under. “Did I do something wrong?” I can’t say where it came from, the fear that welled up inside me, but it was there, and it was cold. And I knew that I could not let him walk out with his frustrations in tow. Something told me that if I let him walk out, everything would change. He was retreating. It was evident in every stiff move of his body, every terse word from his mouth.
She
was pulling him down. I need to pull him back up.    

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Sophie. I’m going for a run.” Eyes cast
down, he heads back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, shutting me out. I can’t let this happen. I cannot let him shut down. We have had such a good time up until now. I will not let Nadja take that away from me, now I am feeling selfish, determined. I hop off the bed and stand at the closed door. I set to my shoulders, hold myself straight and tall, hoping the outward appearance of strength will influence the inner limp noodle. I open the door without a knock and find him leaning against the counter, staring at himself in the wall size mirror. 

“Hey.” I rest my hand on his forearm. He turns his face to me and we stare into one another’s eyes. He doesn’t say a word, just watches me, his eyes darting over my face, from my eyes back to my mouth. 

His jaw relaxes ever so slightly, the crack in his façade that I was looking for. I reach up on my tip toes and place a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, the stubble from his beard barely a tickle against my cheek. It takes him a minute. A very long minute, before he allows himself to thaw. Hauling me into his strong embrace, he crushes me to his chest, his heart beating frantically, drumming against my ear.               I press myself closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. The muscles in his back move and roll under my hands. His heart slows gradually while he holds me. All the while placing feather light kisses in my hair. His hands are wound around me like an anaconda. He cups my head in the most protective gesture, tilting my chin to the heavens he stares at me, studying my face before the corner of his mouth twirls into a perfectly crooked grin. There he is. He leans down and takes my mouth with such force that my legs wobble. He catches me behind the knees swinging my legs up into his arms so easily. I wrap my arms around his neck, press back and slide my tongue into his mouth, flicking at his lower lip. He lifts me onto the counter, setting me on the cool marble top. Pressing his thighs between mine, he spreads my legs and fills the void with his hard body.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” I whisper. Pulling away from me, his look is one of utter shock, and resignation. 

“Sophie, I could never be angry with you.
I
am sorry.” Shaking his head with a huff, he buries his head in the crook of my neck and gently kisses me, his tongue dipping into the hollow of my throat. His mouth is warm and soft, plying me with every soft brush of his lips. I bury my hands in his unruly morning curls and tug hard, pulling his face back, looking him in the eye.              

“What was she doing here?” I need to know.