by Anna Zaires
“Tell them to expect me to visit with my in-laws and leave.” For once, I’m being entirely truthful with Frank. “I’m not here to conduct business, so your higher-ups don’t need to worry.”
Frank doesn’t look like he believes me, but I don’t give a fuck. If the CIA knows what’s good for them, they’ll keep the FBI off my back.
I’m here for Nora, and anyone who doesn’t like it can go straight to hell.
* * *
When I return to the house, I find Nora arguing with Rosa about cleaning up the table.
“Rosa, please, today you’re the guest,” Nora says, reaching for the platter with the remnants of the lamb. “Please, just sit, and I’ll help my mom—”
“No, no, no,” Rosa objects, walking around the table and picking up dirty dishes. “You have the baby to worry about. Please, this is my job. Let me help.”
“I’m ten weeks along, not nine months—”
“She’s right, baby,” I say, stepping up to Nora and plucking the platter from her hands. “It’s been a long day, and I don’t want you overtiring yourself.”
Nora starts to argue, but I’m already carrying the platter to the kitchen, where Nora’s parents are packing away the leftovers. As I walk in, Gabriela’s eyes widen, but she accepts the platter from me with a quiet “thank you.”
I smile at her and walk back to the dining room for more dishes.
It takes a few more trips for Rosa and me to clear off the table and bring everything to the kitchen. Nora sits on the living room couch, watching us work with a mixture of exasperation and curiosity.
Finally, the table is clean, and the Lestons come out of the kitchen to join us. I take a seat next to Nora on the couch and pick up her hand, bringing it to my lap so I can play with her fingers.
“Gabriela, Tony, thank you for a wonderful dinner,” I say when Nora’s parents sit down next to Rosa on the second couch. “I apologize that I had to step out and missed dessert.”
“I saved you a slice of cake,” Nora says as I massage her palm. “Mom packed it for us to go.”
I give her mother a warm smile. “Thank you for that, Gabriela. I appreciate it.”
Gabriela inclines her head. “Of course. It’s unfortunate that your business took you away so late in the evening.”
“Yes, it is,” I agree, pretending not to notice the inquiry implicit in her statement. “And you’re right, it is getting late . . .” I glance down at Nora, who’s covering a yawn with her free hand.
“Nora says you’re staying at a house in Palos Park,” Tony says, watching us with an unreadable expression. “Is that where you’re sleeping tonight?”
“Yes, that’s right.” The house is on the far edge of the community, with enough empty acreage surrounding it that Lucas was able to implement the required security features. “That’s where we’ll be staying for the duration of our visit.”
“The two of you are welcome to use Nora’s room if you wish,” Gabriela offers, sounding uncertain.
“Thank you, but we wouldn’t want to impose. It would be better if we had our own space for these two weeks.” Still holding Nora’s hand, I get up and give the Lestons a polite smile. “Speaking of which, I believe it’s time for us to go. Nora needs her rest.”
“Nora is fine,” the subject of my concern mutters as I usher her toward the exit. “I’m capable of staying up past ten, you know.”
I stifle a grin at the grumpy note in her voice. My pet doesn’t like to admit that she tires easily these days. “Yes, I’m aware. But your parents need their rest too. Tomorrow is Thursday, isn’t it?”
“Oh, right, of course.” Stopping before we reach the front door, Nora turns to her parents. “I forgot that the two of you have work tomorrow,” she says contritely. “I’m sorry. We probably should’ve left earlier—”
“Oh, no, honey,” her mother protests. “We’re so happy to have you here, and we told you to come this evening. When are we seeing you next?”
Nora looks up at me, and I say, “Tomorrow evening, if that works for the two of you. This time dinner will be at our house.”
“We’ll be there,” Tony says, and I watch both Lestons hug and kiss Nora as they say their goodbyes.
Chapter 17
Nora
When we get into the limo, I realize that I am tired, the tense excitement of the evening dissipating and leaving me drained. Rosa again takes a seat across the aisle from us, and Julian pulls me close to him, draping his arm over my shoulders. As his warm masculine scent surrounds me, I relax against his side, letting my thoughts drift.
My former captor and I just had dinner with my parents. Like a family. It’s so absurd I still can’t believe it happened. I’m not sure what I imagined when Julian agreed to take me for a visit, but this wasn’t it.
I guess on some level, I had simply refused to think about how something like this might go—my kidnapper sitting down to a civilized meal with my family. It was like a wall I’d put up in my mind, so I wouldn’t have to worry. When I had thought of going back home, I had pictured myself with my parents . . . just the three of us, as though Julian would stay in the background, remaining part of my other, darker life.
It was ridiculous to think that way, of course. Julian never stays in the background. He dominates whatever situation he’s in, bends it to his will. And even in this—in my relationship with my parents—he’s taken charge, inserting himself into our family on his own terms, perfectly comfortable where other men would cringe in shame.
Apparently, a conscience is a useful thing to lack.
“How are you feeling, my pet?”
At Julian’s murmured question, I tilt my head to look up at him, realizing I’ve been silent for the past few minutes. “I’m okay,” I say, cognizant of Rosa’s presence a couple of feet away. “Just digesting everything.”
“Oh?” Julian gives me an amused look, loosening his grip on me so I can sit more comfortably. “Food-wise or thought-wise?”
“Both, I guess.” I smile, realizing my unintentional joke. “It was a good meal.”
“Yes, it was.” Even in the dim interior of the car, I can see the sensuous curve of his mouth. “Your parents did a good job.”
I nod. “They definitely did.” I wonder what it must’ve been like for them, having dinner with the man who abducted their daughter.
With the criminal who’s now their son-in-law and father of their grandchild.
Sighing, I snuggle back against Julian’s side and close my eyes.
The insanity of my life has reached a whole new level.
* * *
It takes less than twenty minutes to reach the wealthy community of Palos Park. Growing up, I’ve always known of its existence, driving past it on the way to the Tampier Lake preserve. The residents of Palos Park tend to be lawyers and doctors, and I’ve never heard of anyone renting a house there for a couple of weeks.
Of course, Julian isn’t just anyone.
The house he chose is on the very edge of the community, isolated by a tall, wrought-iron fence. Once we get past the electronic gates, we drive down a winding driveway for another couple of hundred yards before reaching the house itself.
Inside, the house is luxuriously appointed, nearly as nice as our mansion at the estate. From gleaming parquet floors to modern art on the walls, everything about our vacation residence screams “extreme wealth.”
“How much did you pay for this?” I ask as we walk through an enormous dining area. “I didn’t realize a house like this could be for rent.”
“It’s not,” Julian says casually. “I bought it.”
My jaw falls open. “What? When? You said you rented it.”
“I said I got a house for our visit,” he corrects. “I never said how I got it.”
“Oh.” I feel foolish at my assumption. “So when did you have a chance to buy it?”
“I began making the arrangements right after we agreed on this trip. It took almost a week for the prior
owner to move out, but the house is now ours.”
Ours. The word rolls so easily off his tongue that it doesn’t register for a second. Then I process what he said. “We own this house?” I ask carefully. “As in, both of us?”
“Technically, one of our shell corporations owns it, but I made you a fifty-percent shareholder in that corporation, so yes, we own it,” Julian says as we enter a spacious bedroom with a four-poster bed.
“Julian . . .” Stopping in front of the bed, I look up at him. “Why did you do this? I mean, the trust fund was more than enough—”
“Because you belong to me.” He steps closer, a familiar heat igniting in his gaze as he reaches for the buttons of my dress. His fingers brush against my naked skin, making my nipples pebble with need. “Because I want to take care of you, spoil you, make sure you’ll never want for anything in your life . . .” Despite his tender words, his eyes gleam darker as he finishes unbuttoning the dress and lets it fall to the floor. “Any other questions, my pet?”
I shake my head, staring up at him. I’m now wearing only a blue thong and a matching bra, and the way he’s looking at me reminds me of a hungry lion about to pounce on a gazelle. He may want to take care of me, but at this particular moment, he also wants to devour me.
“Good.” His voice is a deep, menacing purr. “Now turn around.”
My pulse quickening in nervous anticipation, I do as he says. Even though I crave the darkness now, there is a tiny, instinctual curl of fear in my belly. Julian has always been unpredictable. For all I know, the domesticity of this evening reawakened his sadistic desires, unleashing the demon he’s kept in check these recent weeks.
A warm, treacherous throb begins between my thighs at the thought.
As I stand there, I hear a quiet rustling, and then a soft cloth covers my eyes.
A blindfold, I realize, holding my breath. Deprived of my vision, I feel infinitely more vulnerable. My right hand twitches with the sudden urge to lift my arm and tear off the piece of cloth.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Julian catches my arm, his fingers like steel cuffs on my wrist. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “Who said you could do that, my pet?”
I shiver at the heat of his breath. “I just—”
“Quiet.” His command vibrates through me, adding to the heated pulsing between my legs. “I will tell you when to speak.” Releasing my wrist, he pushes me forward, causing me to stumble and land face down on the bed. “Don’t move,” he orders, stepping closer.
I obey, hardly breathing as he runs his hands over me, starting with my shoulders and ending with my thighs. His touch is gentle, yet somehow invasive, like that of a stranger. Or maybe it just feels that way because of the blindfold. I can sense him behind me, but I can’t see anything, and he’s touching me like he would an object . . . doing with me whatever he pleases. I can feel the calluses on his large, warm palms, and the memory of our first time together flashes through my mind, making my belly tighten with anxiety and dark need.
When he’s done stroking me, he rolls me over onto my back and rearranges me on the bed, placing a pillow under my head. Then he grabs my arm, and I feel him looping a rough-textured rope around my wrist. He secures the other end of that rope to what I can only assume is one of the bed posts.
After that, he walks around the bed and does the same with my other arm.
I’m left lying there like some kind of a sexual sacrifice, my arms stretched out diagonally and the blindfold still covering my eyes. I’m even more helpless than usual, and that fact both alarms and thrills me, like most of my interactions with Julian. For other couples, this is only pretend. But for us, it’s as real as it gets. I don’t have the option to say no. Julian will take me whether I want it or not, and perversely, that knowledge deepens the needy ache in my sex.
“You’re beautiful.” His harsh whisper is accompanied by a feather-light brush of his fingers over the sensitive skin of my stomach. “And all mine. Aren’t you, my pet?”
“Yes.” My breathing turns uneven as his fingers approach the top of my thong. “Yes, all yours.”
The mattress dips as he climbs onto the bed and straddles my legs. The material of his jeans feels rough on my naked thighs, reminding me that he’s still fully clothed. “That’s right. . .” He leans down, the buttons of his shirt pressing into my stomach as he covers me with his hard, broad chest. His teeth graze over my earlobe, causing gooseflesh to rise over my arms as he murmurs into my ear, “Nobody will ever have you but me.”
I suppress a shudder even as my core floods with liquid heat. From a different man, this would be just possessive pillow talk, but from Julian, it’s both a threat and a statement of fact. If I were ever so foolish as to allow another man to touch me, Julian would kill him without a second thought.
“I don’t want anyone but you.” It’s true, yet my voice shakes as Julian kisses my neck, then sucks on the tender flesh under my ear. “You know that.”
He chuckles softly, the deep, masculine sound reverberating through me. “Yes, my pet. I do.”
He climbs off me, and I sense him moving to the foot of the bed. When he catches my right ankle, I know why.
He’s going to tie my legs as well.
The rope is looped around my ankle as I lie there, my heart racing. Julian rarely restrains me so thoroughly. He doesn’t have to. Even if I were inclined to fight, he’s strong enough to control me without ropes and chains.
Of course, I’m not inclined to fight. Not when I know what he’s capable of, what he’s willing to do to possess me.
When my right leg is secured, he reaches for my left. His hands are strong and sure as he wraps the rope around my ankle and ties the other end to the remaining bedpost, leaving me lying there with my legs spread open. It’s a disconcerting position, and as soon as Julian moves back, I instinctively try to bring my legs together. I can’t close them more than an inch, of course. Like the ropes around my wrists, the ankle restraints hold me tightly in place without cutting off my circulation.
My kidnapper may not be into traditional BDSM, but he certainly knows how to tie someone up.
“Julian?” It occurs to me that I’m still wearing my underwear, both the bra and the thong. “What are you going to do to me?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, I feel the mattress dip again as he gets up, and then I hear his footsteps and the sound of the door closing.
He walked out of the room, leaving me tied to the bed.
My heart starts beating faster.
I flex my arms, testing the rope again even though I know it’s futile. As expected, there’s almost no give in the restraints; the rope bites painfully into my skin when I try to pull on it. I’m nearly naked and alone, blindfolded and tied up in this unfamiliar house. And even though I know Julian won’t let anything bad happen to me, I can’t help the tension that invades my body as seconds tick by with no sign of his return.
After a couple of minutes, I test the rope again. Still no give in it . . . and still no sign of Julian.
I force myself to take a breath and slowly let it out. Nothing terrible is going on; nobody is hurting me. I don’t know what game Julian is playing, but it doesn’t seem particularly brutal.
But you want brutal, a small, insidious voice inside my head reminds me. You want pain and violence.
I quiet that voice and focus on remaining calm. Julian’s mercurial approach to lovemaking may excite me, but it also frightens me. The sane part of me, at least. I want pain, yet I dread it in equal measures. It’s always that way nowadays. It’s as if I’ve been split in two, the remnants of the person I used to be warring with who I am now.
Another few minutes crawl by.
“Julian?” I can no longer remain silent. “Julian, where are you?”
Nothing. No response of any kind.
I rub the back of my head against the sheets, trying to dislodge the blindfold, but it doesn’t budge more than an inch. Frustrated, I yank at the restraints with all
my strength, but all I succeed in doing is hurting myself. Finally, I give up and try to relax, ignoring the anxiety creeping through me.
A few more minutes pass. Just when I think I might go out of my mind, the door creaks open, and I hear the soft sound of footsteps.
“Julian, is that you?” I can’t hide the relief in my voice. “What happened? Where did you go?”
“Shhh.” The sound is followed by a tickling sensation across my lips. “Who told you that you could speak, my pet?”
My pulse jumps at the cold note in his voice. Is he punishing me for something? “What—”
“Hush.” His fingers press on my lips, silencing me. “Not another word.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly feeling dry. He’s not touching me anywhere but my lips, yet my body ignites, my earlier arousal returning despite my growing nervousness.
Or maybe because of it. It’s impossible to tell.
“Suck on my fingers.” His whispered command is accompanied by increasing pressure on the seam of my lips. “Now.”
Obediently, I open my mouth and suck two of his large fingers in. They taste clean and slightly salty, the edges of his short nails rough against the tender roof of my mouth. I swirl my tongue around his fingers as I would over his cock, and his hand jerks, as though the sensation is just as intense for him.
Just as I’m starting to get into it, Julian withdraws his fingers and runs them down the front of my body, leaving a cool, damp trail on my skin. I shiver in response, my inner muscles tensing as his fingers circle my navel, his nails scraping lightly over my belly. Lower, I will him silently, please, just go a bit lower, but he lifts his hand instead, depriving me of his touch.
I open my mouth to plead with him, but then I remember that he doesn’t want me to speak. Swallowing, I suppress the words, not wanting to displease him when he’s in this unpredictable mood.
If Julian is indeed punishing me for something, I don’t want to provoke him further.