Revenge Page 6

Shit, what was I thinking? That wasn’t where my energy belonged. I had too much on my plate to worry about managing a complicated relationship as well.

  “I need some air,” I said, suddenly finding the environment stifling. Without waiting for anyone to acknowledge my pronouncement, I took off toward the main doors, swiping one of Roman’s cigars from the side table on my way.

  Outside, the air was heavy and thick, but it felt less suffocating than the impenetrable fog of sex and desire that hung inside The Base. I walked far enough up the path to be out of the sightline of the security guard outside the building, then, when I was truly alone, I bit off the tip of the cigar and lit the end.

  I puffed on the end, reveling in the flavor of the Belicoso. I’d managed to successfully kick the cigarette habit, but Roman had turned me on to these in the process, and I doubted this form of smoking was a vice I’d ever be able to abandon. Besides revenging, I considered it my favorite hobby, an enjoyable way to draw out the flavor of my thoughts along with the taste of the cigar.

  The sound of heels on the stones tugged my head to look behind me. I nearly groaned when I saw her, so irritated at having my solace interrupted, the girl from inside. The friend of Claudette’s.

  The twitch of my cock only aggravated me more.

  “You’re stalking me,” I said, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

  “You left without your drink.”

  “And so I did.”

  She came close enough to hand me the tumbler, and I took it from her, my fingers brushing hers as I did, purposefully. I wasn’t quite sure what I intended with her, but the fact that she’d followed after me had me pissed off enough to want to harass her, at least a little.

  She jolted at the touch, her eyes growing darker, the dilation of her pupils noticeable even in the moonlight.

  She thought she wanted this? From me? Well, we’d see about that.

  “How old are you?” I demanded.

  “Old enough.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “Twenty,” she said, sticking out her chin with the obvious lie.

  “Try again.”

  She licked her lips. “Eighteen.”

  I turned my back to her, dismissing her. I didn’t do bullshit. I’d had enough of it in my lifetime. I only cared to deal in honesty now.

  “Merde,” she muttered. “Seventeen.”

  I gave her only the rotation of my head. “Is that the truth?”

  “Oui.”

  There were only two years between us. I’d fucked plenty of women with a greater separation, both older and younger.

  Why then did my attraction to this one strike me as so depraved?

  It was because of what I wanted to do to her. The obscenity of which was so vivid in my head, I’d be able to use it as wanking material for months.

  My pants stiffened as I thought about acting those images out.

  “You’re seventeen and you’re so sure you want this? To be ordered around by a man who knows better than you what will bring you pleasure?” I was incredulous.

  But, also, hopeful.

  She tilted her head, assessing the subtext of my question. “I’m good at being told what to do. I like it. I’m old enough to know that.”

  That was fair. Hadn’t I known for myself when I was still younger than she was?

  I wasn’t ready to trust it. “To be treated like a pet? Like a dog?”

  She nodded definitively. “Completely cared for.”

  It wasn’t an unappealing idea, caring for another creature, though I’d so far neglected doing so in any form. My flat was animal free. No matter how much she pleaded, I still insisted Camilla stay at boarding school. The only thing that truly had my care was the list of people who had wronged me. It was all I had room to commit to.

  Yet, there was so much opportunity in what this girl seemed to want. I could see it. Could see the ways I could enjoy her, enjoy manipulating her life this way and that. The question was, could she really enjoy it as well?

  On a whim, I tapped the growing ash off my cigar and threw it slightly down the path. “There, dog. Go. Fetch.”

  She was on her knees in a flash, crawling along the rough stones, marring the smooth skin of her knees.

  And I was instantly hard.

  When she reached the cigar, she bent and picked it up in her mouth, before turning to crawl back to me, her breasts swinging and straining against the light fabric of her dress. Once at my feet, she knelt back and thrust her neck forward in offering, extending her hands up my thighs like a dog pawing its master.

  There was no way she could miss the rigidity of my cock. It was at eye level.

  Yet, she kept her gaze on me, laser focused, and in that moment, an intoxicating kind of power that I’d never felt before surged through me like a lightning bolt.

  I took the cigar from her mouth and brought it to mine, puffing on it to rekindle the cherry as I appraised her. “Do your knees hurt,” I asked, knowing she wouldn’t move from her position until I allowed her.

  “Yes, sir.” This time the title was given with respect, and the bolt of power surged through me once again.

  Good. She was uncomfortable, and I was in control of that discomfort, and it wasn’t exactly the way I liked to fuck with my women, and it didn’t taste quite as succulent as fury, but it was bloody delicious all the same.

  “What’s your name?”

  Her eyes stayed pinned to mine. “Marion Barbier.”

  I took one of her hands with mine and moved it from my leg to the pulsing rod above it. She was fumbling and inexperienced, but so willing to be instructed.

  This could fit into my life, couldn’t it? There had to be enough space for this. Roman was right—a man needed more than the hobby of cigars to escape the business of retribution. This could be a very agreeable hobby.

  As I guided my crown between her ready lips, I already felt the beginnings of our attachment, an invisible leash from the core of my being to the core of hers.

  “Marion,” I said, shoving deep into her tight throat with a grunt. “I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  Five

  Now: Celia

  I’d known before I woke that it would be to an empty space beside me. Even while sharing a bed in Amelie, Edward often was up before I was. We were still new at so much of our relationship, but I’d already learned he slept very little and was an early riser, and now that we were back in the real world—the world that was supposed to be our real home—he had responsibilities and obligations that he hadn’t on the island.

  He was the CEO of a major media company, after all. I knew what that job entailed. Long hours at the office, rising early, late arrival home from work. I’d grown up with an absent father. I expected an absent husband as well.

  The knowledge didn’t curb the stab of loneliness that pierced through me as I lay with my eyes still closed, wondering about what my day would be. It had been easy in the Caribbean. Much of my time had been dictated by Edward, and as much as I’d fought it at first, I’d liked the rhythm of the routine he’d given to my days. Yoga and chess games and beauty appointments and books—not all of my time had been planned for me, but the moments that had were pillars that helped form the structure of my life around them.

  Where were the pillars here in London?

  I had no job, no friends, no family but Edward. What was I supposed to do?

  Lying around in bed certainly wasn’t an option. The staff would talk. The employees that worked here weren’t warm and affable the way the staff had been on the island. They ran the house with formality and decorum and would likely look down on a mistress who spent the day lounging around.

  With a weary sigh, I opened my eyes, planning to head to the room that had been mine. Whether or not Edward meant for me to move into his suite or just sleep there remained to be discussed, but for now, my belongings were still next door, including my clothes. Finding something to wear would probably occupy a portion of my
morning. I’d had some seasonally appropriate items from before I’d left for my honeymoon, but that had been more than a year ago, and my body had become trimmer while on the island. I wasn’t sure anything would still fit.

  Conscious of the painting on the wall—the painting I would definitely deal with before the day was over—I climbed out of the warm bed, and immediately halted, my eyes caught by the armchair that my husband had bent me over the night before. My lower belly hummed involuntarily, but it wasn’t the memory of the thorough fucking that had me frozen in place. It was the white and black colorblock jumpsuit draped over the back that had me riveted, along with the lacy white bra and panty set. The black pointy-toed pumps on the floor in front were nothing to blink at either.

  A smile crept up on my lips as I walked over to pick up the single piece of paper laid out on top of the clothing. Sure it was possible that the outfit had been borrowed from Camilla—the long sleeves were certainly her style—or that a staff member had been instructed to set the items out, but I recognized the paper before I touched it. Edward had written me dozens of personal notes when he’d sent me clothing in the past, and the cards had looked just like this, embossed with his initials in the bottom corner.

  * * *

  Bird,

  Wear what I’ve laid out and nothing more. Put your hair up and light makeup, if you wish.

  I expect you to get reacquainted with the staff. You are the lady of the house now and they’ll look to you for guidance. Meet with the chef early to plan dinner. I’ll want it ready to be served when I get home at seven-thirty. Then speak to Jeremy about having your belongings moved to our suite. There is plenty of room in my closet for the both of us, but if you like, you may keep off-season items in the closet next door.

  After dinner, we’ll meet in the den to discuss our marriage going forward.

  Taking care of the household should occupy a good deal of your day. You also have a manicure appointment at one. The manicurist will come here. She has been instructed to paint your nails pink. If you have time left over, I invite you to try out the pool downstairs. Or there is space in the exercise room for a yoga session if you prefer. You are also welcome to take any book from my library. I’ve had it stocked with several titles I think you will enjoy since the last time you were living here.

  Last, but not least—call your mother.

  Edward

  * * *

  The smile vanished and reappeared as I read through the letter. Frankly, I didn’t know how to feel about it. I was irritated at being ordered around, especially in such detail. So irritated that I was ready to crumple up his note and ignore every word of it.

  But I was grateful for it as well.

  Thrilled about it, even.

  How could I not be? I had longed for structure, and he’d known, without me ever saying a word. Not only had he known, but he’d gone out of his way to give me what I needed. He’d taken time out of his busy life to attend to me. It made me feel special in a way that I hadn’t felt since Ron had doted on me all those years ago.

  The comparison sent a chill down my spine.

  I shook it off remembering what Edward had pointed out the night before—I chose this.

  I chose him.

  I hadn’t chosen Ron. And the reason Ron had so easily wormed his way into my graces was because I had so badly wanted to be treated the way he’d treated me. Like I was meant to be cared for. Like I deserved it. Like I was worthy of a person’s time and attention.

  I still relished that sort of care. And if Edward wanted to care for me like that, without the nefarious expectations that had been attached to Ron’s care, then why not let him?

  Because you don’t entirely trust it, I reminded myself.

  Or rather, I didn’t entirely trust myself. I didn’t trust that I knew what was best for myself. Was this it? Or was this falling into an unhealthy pattern because I was too lazy or too weak to work out a better one?

  I didn’t know the answer.

  And I wasn’t going to figure it out standing here naked. With that decided, I scooped up the clothing and carried them with me to the bathroom, the smile back on my lips. I could accept what was given. For today, anyway. I could allow myself to find comfort in Edward’s care. I could follow the orders he’d given this one time, if for no other reason than it was easier than finding any other way to approach the day.

  Falling into the role of lady of the house was easier than I’d anticipated. I’d watched my mother perform the duties for all of my life, never with any particular interest in following in her footsteps, but once the job was laid out in front of me and handed to me as my own, I found it unexpectedly satisfying.

  The clothing Edward had selected helped, if I was being honest. The jumpsuit was a power outfit. After having worn sundresses for so long, the pants were noticeably different than what had become my norm. I couldn’t help but feel like a different person wearing it, a person who was meant to be taken seriously. A person who commanded authority.

  Then underneath, the underwear, though virginal in its white color, was see-through and sexy and fit the situation so perfectly, it could only be considered what it was—a personal message from Edward. He wanted me to remember that he knew who I was, remember that I was new at the tasks I’d been given. Innocent and yet not. Without stating it out loud to everyone else, he wanted to remind me of my place. You are in charge of this household, but I am in charge of you.

  It was strange to realize he’d given me power in my submission. I wasn’t sure how to process that fact, but I couldn’t deny that I liked the way it made me feel. Maybe not quite as fierce as a dragon, but definitely stronger than a wounded little bird.

  As instructed, I met with the chef as soon as I’d dressed. Solene was nowhere near as approachable as Joette had been, but she was organized and polite. She made our meeting simple, giving me options rather than requiring me to come up with a menu out of thin air.

  When we’d finished planning the meals, she’d sent me to Jeremy to confirm which dinnerware to set out (I chose the fancy china) and go over the calendar. There wasn’t much on the schedule for the day, but there were several parties and social obligations that Edward expected me to attend with him in the near future as well as a bunch of items that were left for me to decide. I said yes to Handel’s Messiah and no to The Nutcracker and held off on deciding about the revival of My Fair Lady in the West End until the reviews came out next week.

  After that, I instructed him on moving my belongings from my suite to Edward’s, and by the time we got to discussing the removal of Blanche Martin’s country garden painting I was sure that I was making the decision from a place of strength. I didn’t want to look at reminders of the past on a daily basis. That didn’t mean I was overly vulnerable. It meant I was capable of knowing what was best for me, at least as far as what environment I spent my time in.

  Besides, the whimsical feel of the landscape portrait didn’t fit the rest of the masculine decor, and, even if it was no longer my job, I was still a designer at heart.

  With the house taken care of, it was time to call my mother. Surprisingly, this was the hardest of the tasks that I’d been assigned. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t communicated with her at all in the last year—I had written her letters that Edward had passed on, though not all of them had been quite intact. He’d shown me all the emails she’d sent in reply so I was caught up on her life as well.

  But I hadn’t actually talked to her. Hadn’t heard her voice. Hadn’t had to wonder if she could detect the secrets that I kept in my tone.

  Not that she’d ever figured out my secrets in the past.

  I was making too much of a big deal about it. Straightening my spine, I sat at Edward’s desk in the library, picked up the receiver from the cradle and dialed my home number.

  “Edward,” my mother said in lieu of hello. “I was wondering if I’d hear from you soon. It’s been a few weeks.”

  My chest pinched at the sound of her
voice in my ear. It had been so long. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it.

  I would have probably said something to that effect, but her greeting had me stunned speechless. Quickly, I tried to assign meaning to what she’d said and came up empty-handed.

  “Edward?” she prompted.

  “Mom?” It was the best I could manage.

  “Celia? Darling, is this you? I saw the number and naturally expected your husband. Why isn’t this a surprise. Does this mean you’re finally back from the middle of nowhere?”

  I pulled myself together. “Yes, it’s me. I arrived back in London yesterday.”

  “Thank God. Sending letters via email is sweet and quaint and all that, but it’s such a pain to have to sit down in front of the computer and go through all the nonsense of composing my thoughts.”

  That was my mother. She had a smartphone but I was fairly certain the only thing she used it for was playing solitaire and calling her friends immediately when fresh gossip crossed her path. She was glad I was back to civilization because my absence inconvenienced her, not because she’d missed hearing my voice. Not because she’d wondered how I sounded.

  Really, had I expected anything different?

  But I was still caught on what she’d said first. “Why did you think I was Edward?” Sure his name probably came up on the caller ID, but wouldn’t she assume that was me? And she’d said something about it having been a few weeks. Had he…?

  No. He couldn’t have.

  Could he?

  “Because it’s usually Edward calling from this number,” she said like the question was ridiculous.

  Damn. He really had.

  “It’s been a little while since his last call,” she went on. “I figured he’d be ringing soon.”

  “He’s called more than once?” I was having a hard time processing any of what she was saying.

  “Well, yes. Every time after he visited you, I think. At least it seemed that was the pattern. He always said he’d just been to see you, so I presumed—”