ARROGANT MASTER (21 page)

She refuses to look at me now. The sliver of moonlight
peeking in through the break in the curtains paints a picture of a girl with a
chip on her shoulder. I pull her into my embrace. I’ve given aftercare a
million times, but never because of this.

“The sex,” she says, her voice a mere whisper. “It wasn’t
how I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“I thought it would be rough. Cold. Painful even.” She
shivers against me, pressing her warm cheek against my bare chest. “You were
gentle. It was…sweet almost.”

Shit
.

“You were a virgin. I wasn’t going to rough you up. Anything
beyond blindfolds and restraints would’ve traumatized you.”

She pulls away. “Yeah. You’re right. I was just reading into
things. I’m sorry.”

I take her chin, pointing her gaze in my direction until our
eyes meet.

“Don’t be sorry, Bellamy. It was a beautiful experience. You
did very well. In fact, I think we can graduate you to the next level next
time.” I kiss her forehead and immediately miss her warmth when she pulls away.

“What time is it?” She glances around the dark room until
her eyes settle on the soft glow of a bedside clock. “It’s two in the morning.
I have to go.”

Bellamy scans the room in search of something.

“Looking for your clothes?” I ask.

I had Mathilde fetch them from the changing suite and bring
them in here. “They’re folded on the chair behind you.”

She dresses and I fetch a pair of navy satin pajama bottoms
and a clean white t-shirt from a nearby chest of drawers.

“Don’t you ever get lonely in this big house all by
yourself?” She gazes up to the vault in my ceiling and back down to me.

“I’m rarely alone, Bellamy. I have a staff of eight, friends
who visit, that sort of thing.”

“I mean, like, in your bed.” Her eyes veer past me, landing
on the spot in which I’d just claimed her.

“I don’t think that way.” I step toward her, running my
hands down her arm and gently taking her by the elbow to lead her to the hall.
“I’ll walk you out. Your car should be waiting in the porte-cochere. Are you
okay to drive? You’re more than welcomed to stay at the estate tonight if
you’re too tired to drive. I have eleven guest bedrooms, and you may have your
pick of any.”

“I appreciate it.” She pulls in a sigh, her shoulders rising
and falling. “I have to get home before anyone knows I was gone.”

“One of these days soon, you will be staying the night.”

She offers a half-smile, and I follow her down the winding
stairs and out the French doors to the circle drive where the Discovery is
parked exactly where I told valet to leave it.

“Thank you for tonight.” She brushes her hair behind her
shoulders and wraps the strap around her small purse before tucking it under
her arm. “At the risk of sounding cliché, it was pretty magical.”

The full moon illuminates her creamy complexion, and her
lips are begging to be kissed goodnight. But I refuse to send the wrong message
over an impulsive desire. The tension between us needs to be severed before it
gets out of control.

“I bet Randy Mutchler doesn’t throw parties like this.”

She smirks, tucking her chin against her chest but keeping
her crystal eyes on me. “Ah, he has jokes.”

Bellamy steps away, her heels clicking on the brick pavers,
and I stand back as she climbs in and drives away. I head inside, trudging up
to my room and climbing in my cold bed, running my palm against the indentation
our bodies left against the covers.

The room was warmer with her in it.

BELLAMY

I pull up at precisely 2:55 A.M.

Curtains are pulled and all three houses are dark as can be.

Did I really pull that off?

I shut my engine off and climb out of my car, shutting the
door with a soft shoulder push and not a slam. My heels come off, and I carry
them as I tiptoe across the grass. With my key ready, I insert it centimeter by
centimeter until it’s all the way in, and then I slowly twist it to the right
until I hear a faint pop.

I’m in.

My heart pounds.
I’m an intruder on a
mission. I lean against the door, shutting it gently, and slick my feet across
the tile foyer until I reach the bottom of the stairs. I take the first step.

Creak
.

My breath suspends for a second before I take the second.

Creak
.

For living in this house all my life, I never realized just
how noisy it was in the middle of the night.

I cross my fingers and take the rest of the steps two at a
time and at a snail’s pace. When I reach the top of the steps, I count ten more
to reach my bedroom. It feels like five minutes has gone by when I finally
reach my door, and the slick silver of the handle has never felt so good in my
hand.

I made it.

***

“How was your Sunday?” I bring Dane a hot tea from the break
room Monday morning though really I’m looking for an excuse to talk to him. I
hadn’t heard from him Sunday, not that I expected to, but the tiniest part of
me hoped he’d send me some kind of message. Reassurance. Anything.

I’d never admit that to him. He’d laugh or accuse me of
being ridiculous or worse: getting emotionally vested in something that’s not
there.

“I had a lovely Sunday, Bellamy,” he says. “Thank you for
bringing me coffee.”

“It’s tea.”

“Right.” He’s focused on his computer screen. Distracted.
“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” My hands clasp across my waist, and I wait
for his next command.

Dane releases his computer mouse and leans back in his seat,
his stare washing over me as his lips straighten. “You may leave now.”

“Oh.”

“I haven’t got time to play this morning,” he says.

“Oh. Okay.” I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice
if I tried. Is this what it means to get ‘bagged and tagged?’ Is he done with
me? Maybe the thrill and the chase
is
gone, and this
is all that remains. “But you always want to play first thing in the morning.”

“I’m going to New York this weekend,” he says. “On business.
I’d invite you, but I’m not going to have a spare moment, and I refuse to leave
you all by yourself in a big city or I’d take you along.”

My heart sinks. I’ve always wanted to see New York. “I
understand.”

“Trying to get my presentation completed.” He lifts a stack
of handwritten notes. “I can hardly read my own writing.”

I glance down at the yellow legal pad covered in black
scribbles. “Why don’t I take this and type it out for you? I’d like to do some
real work around here.”

I reach for the pad, but his hand covers mine.

“Please. I’d be happy to,” I offer once more.

The warmth of his hand leaves mine, and he blows a loud
breath past his lips.

“Fine, Bellamy. Yes. Type those up. But I need them in a few
hours. They want to see a copy of my notes before I present, and I need to go
over everything with Beckham before that.”

“Not a problem.” I press the legal pad against my chest. “My
father’s a pharmacist. I’m
well-versed
in reading
doctor handwriting. When I was younger, I used to help him at the store, and
he’d make it into a game for me. If I could read what they wrote, I’d get so
many points, and-”

“Adorable.” He stands up, flattening his tie. “Two o’clock,
Bellamy.”

Maybe I’m imagining this.

Yes.

I’m imagining that Dane’s pushing me away.

He’s stressed. Preoccupied with his impending business trip.

I slink back to my room and pull up a Word document, typing
his notes up as fast as humanly possible.

My desperation to please him is concerning.

Two hours later, I email him a beautifully formatted Word
document complete with bullet points and headers.

He doesn’t respond. Not even a “Very good, Bellamy” or so
much as a “Thank you.”

I allow myself to stew for a few minutes before marching
into his office and striding up to his desk. But when I get there, I’m not sure
how I’m going to say what I want to say without coming across like some
psychotic girlfriend, which I’m pretty certain is exactly the kind of thing
Dane’s trying to avoid.

His dark brows lift. “Yes?”

“Did you get my email?”

He squints at his computer monitor and scrolls down his
screen. “Looks like I did. Yes.”

“Did you see it?”

He double clicks, his brows rising again like he’s
impressed.

Good.

He should be.

“Is it okay?” I hate that I’m craving his approval.

“This will work.”

“I can change it if you’d like.”

“I said
it’ll
work.” He clears his
throat, tilting his head to the side. “This insecure thing, it’s not a good
look for you.”

“Insecure?” I scrunch my nose.

“I knew better than to take your virginity.” His fist
clenches around a pen and then he releases it, dropping it in the center of his
desk. “I had a feeling this would happen.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You told me you were okay with it being just sex,” he says
carefully. “You weren’t looking for a meaningful experience. Those were your
words.”

“And I still stand by them.”

“Then why are you flitting around here acting like you need
reassurance that I still find you completely and utterly fuckable?”

I swallow the lump in my throat and hold my breath. He’s
spot on.

“Do you?” I ask. “Do you still think I’m…fuckable?”

His full lips arch, flashing the dimples I’ve yet to have
the opportunity to worship the way I want to.

“Yes, Bellamy. Even more so.” He rises and walks around his
desk, perching on the ledge in front of me. “I told you, I’m busy today. I
don’t have time to play. I’m insulted you’d take that so personally. You should
know by now I’m a man of my word.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Relief fills me from head to toe in the
form of warm tingles.

“I have an assignment for you today.” He reaches back,
pulling his drawer and sliding out a small, caramel-colored notebook wrapped in
leather and hands it to me. “This notebook, by the time you’re finished, will
contain your deepest, darkest, wildest sexual fantasy. The one you’re afraid to
tell anyone.
The one that scares you.
You’re going to
write it down for me. Every last detail.”

My face burns at the thought. “I don’t even know what that
is. I don’t think I have any fantasies…”

“Bullshit.” He folds his arms. “Everyone has fantasies.
Yours are probably so deep and so repressed it’s going to take a little time
before you find them. But they’re there. Trust me. The thing you want most, the
thing that heats you from the inside out and pushes every last button you have,
you’re going to share that with me.
And your reward, Bellamy?
Is that I’m going to make it come true.”

The dimples of the soft leather cover tickle my palms, and I
flip the empty notebook open, fanning the pages.

“I don’t know if I can do this. Not that I don’t want to.
I’ve just never–”

“I won’t give you an unreasonable due date,” he interrupts.
“Set it aside. Think about it. Dig deep into the darkest corners of your mind.
A day will come when I’ll ask you for this notebook, and I’ll know if you just
wrote some bullshit, plagiarized fantasy.”

I nod, agreeing but racking my empty mind for some kind of a
sign that I even have a deep, dark fantasy.

“This is an exercise in both trust and submission,” he says.
“Trust me with this, submit to my request, and you’ll be rewarded.”

***

Dane stays busy the rest of Monday. Tuesday I see him once
in the morning and again in the afternoon in passing. He’s colder than before,
and I don’t care what he says, I’m blaming it on Saturday night.

I spent most of Wednesday in a daze, avoiding him in order
to avoid the sting of him avoiding me.

My notebook sits empty, the pages naked as the day I first
saw them. It’s tucked in my top drawer at work, waiting for inspiration to
strike.

Wednesday night I head to Bible study and walk my younger
siblings to their respective classrooms. Here I’m just the “nanny,” and they’re
just children from my neighborhood. That’s what I’m supposed to say if anyone
asks why we always come together. Most of the time people leave us alone. They
all think we’re LDS here, obviously, since it’s an LDS church.

By the time I head to the chapel for the adult study group,
I catch the back of a blue checked shirt that can only belong to one person.

“Cortland,” I yell. “Wait up.”

It’s been over a week now since I last heard from him, and I
haven’t seen him since two Saturdays ago. I’m not complaining, and I’m
definitely not trying to rock the boat, but my ego is feeling dangerously
curious for reasons even my mind can’t fully comprehend right now.

He turns around. We make eye contact. He keeps going.

“Hey.” I walk faster, grabbing the back of his shirt.
“What’s going on?”

Cortland turns to face me, jutting his lips together and
shrugging his shoulders.

“You’re not going to talk to me?”

He shakes his head.

“Did you meet someone else?”

He lifts a brow like he wants me to think he did and then
shakes his head again.

“Can you just talk to me? I’m not mad. I’m just curious. You
were obsessed with me, and then you went radio silent.”

Cort’s
hands fly in the air in
protest, and just when I’m positive I’m going to get a word out of him, he
walks backward into the temple, disappearing behind a set of stained glass
windows.

The entire thing has Dane written all over it.

There’s no other explanation.

I’d love nothing more than to thank him first thing in the
morning, but apparently I’ve had a bad case of the plague all week.

With my Bible tucked neatly under my arm, I head into the
temple, securing a spot in the far back, away from my former suitor, and spend
the entirety of the hour with one thing on my mind.

No, one man.

Dane.