“Just watch yourself,” he said, then walked away.
“Cole!”
He turned back, his finger held up, his expression so tight I knew he was fighting an explosion.
And then he turned away again and stalked off.
I couldn’t decide if I was pissed that he hadn’t told me the problem, or relieved that he hadn’t pummeled me into dust.
Either way, I wanted to ask Tyler what was going on. I knew that he’d arrived about a half hour before, so hurried to his office and pushed through the door. “What the hell is up with Cole?” I began, but the dark expression on Tyler’s face chilled me.
“What’s up with Cole?” Tyler repeated, bursting to his feet, his face a portrait of anger and hurt. “Maybe the better question is what the hell is up with you.”
“Jesus, you too?” I snapped as confusion and a sick feeling pounded over me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Cole saw you,” he said. “You’re working with Kevin Warner, that goddamn prick. I trusted you. Hell, Sloane, I love you. How the hell could you—”
“You son of a bitch.” I was beyond furious, and my words came out low and harsh and cold. “You goddamn son of a bitch. You really believe I would betray you? That I was working with Kevin? He’s been dogging me, Tyler. Trying to get me to find dirt on you. And all I’ve done is tell him that you’re clean. I compromised my own fucking values to tell him you’re clean.”
I stalked to his desk and ripped open the drawer. I pulled out the envelope and tossed it in his face. “There. That’s what he has on you. I thought you might find it useful in case you wanted to clean up whatever goddamn mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Fuck,” I added, then slammed my fist down on the desk. “I’m not Amanda, Tyler. I didn’t run to the cops. I’m not betraying you.”
But I couldn’t stay, and without another look back, I ran from the room, grabbed my purse from my locker, and headed back to The Drake, not even bothering to change my clothes.
The shorts and bra-top got a few stares, but I barely noticed, I was still seething too much.
And it wasn’t until I reached the penthouse and was in the bedroom digging workout clothes out of my drawer, that I realized the irony. I’d come here. To the penthouse.
I’d been pissed, and I’d come home. And to me, home was where Tyler was.
How fucked up was that?
I changed into leggings and a sports bra, then called down to the front desk to find out the location of the fitness center. As it turned out, the tenth floor had its own, and I found it easily enough, and was grateful to see it had a punching bag.
I quickly taped my hands, then shoved on some gloves. Then I started to beat the shit out of a bag while a skinny man in headphones jogged on the treadmill, occasionally shooting me concerned glances. I wasn’t surprised. If that bag had been a man, he’d have been dead, several times over.
I’m not sure how long I tortured the bag before the door opened and Tyler eased inside. I saw him approach in the mirror. I didn’t turn.
“Want to take a few swipes at me, too?”
“Hell, yes.”
“We need to talk.”
“We really don’t.”
He moved closer, then reached out and held the bag steady. “We can talk here with an audience or we can go back to the suite. But we are going to talk.”
“Fine.” I headed toward the door, then waited for him to open it as I was still wearing the gloves.
He glanced at them as we walked down the hall. “Planning on punching me?”
“Depends on what you say.”
“I’m apologizing,” he said, and the fist around my heart loosened. “There may even be some groveling.”
I crossed my arms and tilted my head as he opened the door to the suite. “All things considered, yeah. I think groveling is in order.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again once the door closed behind us. “This thing between us—I want it so desperately, but it scares me, too. I told you, I don’t trust easily. And when Cole told me what he’d seen, it was Amanda all over again. I fucked up.”
“You sure did,” I said, then used my teeth to tug off the gloves. I drew in a breath. “Trust has to be mutual. You don’t trust because she betrayed you. But she didn’t trust you, either. She didn’t believe you knew how to handle yourself.
“I don’t trust easily, either,” I said as I uncoiled the tape around my hands. “But I trust you, Tyler. I may not agree with what you do, but I trust you.”
“I trust you, too,” Tyler said. “I do. Despite my very royal fuckup.”
“I know you do,” I said. “I love you, Tyler.” I handed him the tape. I wanted him to really know, to truly understand, how deeply I meant those words. “I love you, and I trust you.”
He cocked his head, obviously unsure. “Sloane. Are you sure?”
“I want it,” I said. “All these years, it’s been in my head. He tied her up. He hurt her. I don’t want that there anymore. I want you. Bind me, Tyler. Bind me, and make love to me, and make the bad stuff go away.”
He scooped me up as if I weighed nothing at all, then carried me to the bedroom and gently laid me on the bed. He got on beside me, then leaned over and kissed me. Soft and gentle at first, and then harder, until the kiss was almost a punishment.
“I want you,” he said. “I need you.”
“I know.” I tightened my arms around him, clutching him tight, wanting more of his kisses, deeper and hotter. “I need you, too.”
“I was afraid, you know. For a moment I was afraid that I’d fucked up beyond repair. That I’d lost you.”
“Never,” I said, and my voice trembled with the truth of it.
Slowly, he peeled off the sports bra, then took my breast in his mouth, one and then the other, suckling each until I felt those sparking threads of sensation shoot all the way from my breasts to my sex. I arched up, wanting more. More of him. Of his touch, of everything.
“Sit up,” he said. “And scoot back.”
I did, and ended up sitting upright against a pillow that Tyler had placed against the wrought-iron headboard.
“Cross your wrists around one of the bars,” he said.
I hesitated. I’d imagined he’d tie me down, arms out to the side.
“It’s okay,” he said, as if understanding my hesitation. “You’ll like it. We both will.”
I nodded, then complied. I breathed deep, as if that would keep the ghosts at bay.
“Are you doing okay?” Tyler asked once my hands were secured behind me.
“Yeah,” I said, surprised by the truth of the words. I tilted my head up for a kiss. “So far, I’m doing fine. More than fine,” I added, because the truth was I was getting excited. Knowing I was going to be bound. Taken. Knowing that I was about to surrender totally, to submit completely.
I should be terrified. Should be writhing in a desperate attempt to get free.
Should be kicking Tyler in the balls.
But I wasn’t. Just the opposite. Instead, I was looking forward to what came next with potent anticipation. And all because I trusted this man.
“Cole!”
He turned back, his finger held up, his expression so tight I knew he was fighting an explosion.
And then he turned away again and stalked off.
I couldn’t decide if I was pissed that he hadn’t told me the problem, or relieved that he hadn’t pummeled me into dust.
Either way, I wanted to ask Tyler what was going on. I knew that he’d arrived about a half hour before, so hurried to his office and pushed through the door. “What the hell is up with Cole?” I began, but the dark expression on Tyler’s face chilled me.
“What’s up with Cole?” Tyler repeated, bursting to his feet, his face a portrait of anger and hurt. “Maybe the better question is what the hell is up with you.”
“Jesus, you too?” I snapped as confusion and a sick feeling pounded over me. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Cole saw you,” he said. “You’re working with Kevin Warner, that goddamn prick. I trusted you. Hell, Sloane, I love you. How the hell could you—”
“You son of a bitch.” I was beyond furious, and my words came out low and harsh and cold. “You goddamn son of a bitch. You really believe I would betray you? That I was working with Kevin? He’s been dogging me, Tyler. Trying to get me to find dirt on you. And all I’ve done is tell him that you’re clean. I compromised my own fucking values to tell him you’re clean.”
I stalked to his desk and ripped open the drawer. I pulled out the envelope and tossed it in his face. “There. That’s what he has on you. I thought you might find it useful in case you wanted to clean up whatever goddamn mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Fuck,” I added, then slammed my fist down on the desk. “I’m not Amanda, Tyler. I didn’t run to the cops. I’m not betraying you.”
But I couldn’t stay, and without another look back, I ran from the room, grabbed my purse from my locker, and headed back to The Drake, not even bothering to change my clothes.
The shorts and bra-top got a few stares, but I barely noticed, I was still seething too much.
And it wasn’t until I reached the penthouse and was in the bedroom digging workout clothes out of my drawer, that I realized the irony. I’d come here. To the penthouse.
I’d been pissed, and I’d come home. And to me, home was where Tyler was.
How fucked up was that?
I changed into leggings and a sports bra, then called down to the front desk to find out the location of the fitness center. As it turned out, the tenth floor had its own, and I found it easily enough, and was grateful to see it had a punching bag.
I quickly taped my hands, then shoved on some gloves. Then I started to beat the shit out of a bag while a skinny man in headphones jogged on the treadmill, occasionally shooting me concerned glances. I wasn’t surprised. If that bag had been a man, he’d have been dead, several times over.
I’m not sure how long I tortured the bag before the door opened and Tyler eased inside. I saw him approach in the mirror. I didn’t turn.
“Want to take a few swipes at me, too?”
“Hell, yes.”
“We need to talk.”
“We really don’t.”
He moved closer, then reached out and held the bag steady. “We can talk here with an audience or we can go back to the suite. But we are going to talk.”
“Fine.” I headed toward the door, then waited for him to open it as I was still wearing the gloves.
He glanced at them as we walked down the hall. “Planning on punching me?”
“Depends on what you say.”
“I’m apologizing,” he said, and the fist around my heart loosened. “There may even be some groveling.”
I crossed my arms and tilted my head as he opened the door to the suite. “All things considered, yeah. I think groveling is in order.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again once the door closed behind us. “This thing between us—I want it so desperately, but it scares me, too. I told you, I don’t trust easily. And when Cole told me what he’d seen, it was Amanda all over again. I fucked up.”
“You sure did,” I said, then used my teeth to tug off the gloves. I drew in a breath. “Trust has to be mutual. You don’t trust because she betrayed you. But she didn’t trust you, either. She didn’t believe you knew how to handle yourself.
“I don’t trust easily, either,” I said as I uncoiled the tape around my hands. “But I trust you, Tyler. I may not agree with what you do, but I trust you.”
“I trust you, too,” Tyler said. “I do. Despite my very royal fuckup.”
“I know you do,” I said. “I love you, Tyler.” I handed him the tape. I wanted him to really know, to truly understand, how deeply I meant those words. “I love you, and I trust you.”
He cocked his head, obviously unsure. “Sloane. Are you sure?”
“I want it,” I said. “All these years, it’s been in my head. He tied her up. He hurt her. I don’t want that there anymore. I want you. Bind me, Tyler. Bind me, and make love to me, and make the bad stuff go away.”
He scooped me up as if I weighed nothing at all, then carried me to the bedroom and gently laid me on the bed. He got on beside me, then leaned over and kissed me. Soft and gentle at first, and then harder, until the kiss was almost a punishment.
“I want you,” he said. “I need you.”
“I know.” I tightened my arms around him, clutching him tight, wanting more of his kisses, deeper and hotter. “I need you, too.”
“I was afraid, you know. For a moment I was afraid that I’d fucked up beyond repair. That I’d lost you.”
“Never,” I said, and my voice trembled with the truth of it.
Slowly, he peeled off the sports bra, then took my breast in his mouth, one and then the other, suckling each until I felt those sparking threads of sensation shoot all the way from my breasts to my sex. I arched up, wanting more. More of him. Of his touch, of everything.
“Sit up,” he said. “And scoot back.”
I did, and ended up sitting upright against a pillow that Tyler had placed against the wrought-iron headboard.
“Cross your wrists around one of the bars,” he said.
I hesitated. I’d imagined he’d tie me down, arms out to the side.
“It’s okay,” he said, as if understanding my hesitation. “You’ll like it. We both will.”
I nodded, then complied. I breathed deep, as if that would keep the ghosts at bay.
“Are you doing okay?” Tyler asked once my hands were secured behind me.
“Yeah,” I said, surprised by the truth of the words. I tilted my head up for a kiss. “So far, I’m doing fine. More than fine,” I added, because the truth was I was getting excited. Knowing I was going to be bound. Taken. Knowing that I was about to surrender totally, to submit completely.
I should be terrified. Should be writhing in a desperate attempt to get free.
Should be kicking Tyler in the balls.
But I wasn’t. Just the opposite. Instead, I was looking forward to what came next with potent anticipation. And all because I trusted this man.
