Forever Wicked: A Wicked Lovers Novella (1001 Dark Nights) (2 page)

“And Robert couldn’t keep it in his pants. Got it. I’m just saying that maybe some soul searching wouldn’t be all bad before you get involved again,” Jason suggested.

She cut him a blue-eyed glare as she perched on the edge of a gray suede chair and crossed her ankles. “What would you know? You’ve never been married.”

Jason froze. He should probably shut up now, but he’d learned a thing or two lately. “Actually, I’m currently married. Have been for almost a year.”

With that admission, a familiar weight pressed into his chest, unbearable and suffocating. Anger charged his veins. The constant, nagging pain followed. He shoved it all down and blanked his face.

Samantha reared back, eyes wide with
shock
, as if he’d just said he kept Godzilla as a pet. “
You
married? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried. That’s what the invitation to spend some family time last Christmas was supposed to be about.”

“Oh, well. I didn’t know. You didn’t invite me to the wedding.”

“It was somewhat…impulsive.” Because at the time, he’d thought that if he didn’t own that woman in every way possible, he would go insane.

Well, he’d slipped a ring on her finger and taken her to bed. Sadly, none of that had kept him from losing his damn mind.

He’d been a stupid bastard.

Samantha’s surprise deepened. “You’re never impulsive. And you’ve always expressed utter contempt for marriage.”

For years, he had. The not-so-shining examples around him had convinced him that he should never attempt happily ever after. That no one should. But
she
had been different. He’d been right about that. But he’d been so fucking wrong, too. He’d taken a stab at marriage, and the blade had cut him deep.

“Who is she?” Samantha rose to her feet, looking all around. “Where is she?”

Jason dragged in a deep breath and gritted his teeth. “She isn’t here.”

And she was probably never coming back. The truth fucking hurt.

For once, his mother looked genuinely concerned about him. “So you’re separated? Have you started divorce proceedings yet?”

It had crossed his mind…but Jason couldn’t make himself call his lawyer. Some senseless part of him kept hoping that if he gave her more time, she would return.

It’s been three hundred forty-four days. What are the odds she’ll come back to play happy wife?

“No.”

“Has she violated her prenup? You
do
have one, right?”

“I do, and she hasn’t.”

His mother looked around his condo. All sleek black leather, chrome, floor to ceiling windows, and pristine kitchen—without a feminine touch anywhere. Every square inch of the place screamed bachelor pad. Samantha might be a pain in his ass, but she wasn’t stupid. She’d know his wife didn’t live here and never had.

“How has she not violated the terms of the agreement? You
were
specific, right?”

“I outlined how much money she would receive after every milestone anniversary if we divorced. There’s a sunset clause after twenty-five years. There’s a division of assets in the event of my death.” He shrugged. “Typical stuff, but nothing she violated.”

Samantha wagged a finger at him, looking aghast. “Jason Edward Denning, you know better than that. You’re a young, good-looking billionaire. You could have any woman you want in any way you desire. Didn’t you spell out her duties with regard to the house? The living and sleeping arrangements? The type and amount of sex?”

Jason stifled his anger. He’d wanted her to be a real wife; he hadn’t wanted to buy her. “I kept it simple. Unlike your Prince Charming, Robert, I declined to contractually obligate her about how often I wanted oral gratification.”

His mother rose and crossed the room, sitting beside him to lay her delicate fingers on his knee. “That’s your mistake. You just need to be detailed with her. Surely, if you made yourself clear—”

“I wanted her to
choose
to be with me. She didn’t and now she’s gone. End of conversation.”

Growing up steeped in wealth, he’d seen all sorts of couples marry for reasons that had far more to do with money than devotion. Not that he didn’t understand a man’s desire for companionship while protecting his assets. But from those interactions, he knew that relationships were a barter, affection bought and paid for. The currency might change, but the concept didn’t. Meeting his wife had somehow altered his opinion.

He’d not only appreciated and deeply admired her altruistic, self-sufficient nature, he had married her because of it. Eventually, he’d hoped she would be the mother of his children because she brimmed with honesty and fought for what was right. For her, nothing had been about money, but loyalty and kindness. Caring. He’d trusted her more than he’d ever trusted a female. She put family first. Jason had never imagined the traits he’d once admired so much would bite him in the ass. Or that she’d not only leave him, but deny his most basic rights as her husband and her Dom—to help and protect her—proving that she didn’t trust him at all.

Then again, hadn’t that been a recurring theme for them?

“Call your attorney,” his mother advised. “Maybe you can ‘clarify’ the terms of the agreement. Then she’ll have to sign and recommit or you’ll box her into a corner and she will have to leave the marriage first. And in that case, she won’t receive anything, right?”

Yes, he could do all that. But she would only hate him for it. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, he found that idea intolerable.

Jason slammed his beer on the glass-top table and rose. “I’m going out. If you need a place to stay, there’s a guest room at the top of the stairs and to the right. If you need money, there’s ten grand on my dresser. You’re welcome to either. But if you’re here when I come back, my marriage isn’t a subject open for discussion—ever.”

* * * *

Club Dominion was closed on Sunday nights, but Jason kept a private playroom here and had round-the-clock access to it. The moment he let himself into the dark, still dungeon, he realized it wasn’t the room he sought, but the memories.

Quickly making his way down the hall, he pictured his wife as he’d first seen her, arresting a rowdy drunk in the parking lot who’d been harassing females entering. She’d been questioning the club’s owner, Mitchell Thorpe. Despite the badge on her chest and the holstered gun at her side, everything about her expression and posture had shouted that she leaned submissive. When she’d looked at him with her soft, dark eyes, Jason’s need to possess her had slammed into him like a visceral force. But she’d been gone before he could even learn her name.

The next evening, he’d spotted her out of uniform, entering Dominion with Thorpe, who both escorted and explained. Jason hadn’t wasted a second before approaching her. The Dungeon Master had introduced the beauty as Greta. An oddly German name for an obviously Italian girl, but he accepted that she’d chosen a club name as a way to protect her anonymity, especially important since she worked in law enforcement.

They’d talked that first night for hours, mostly about the lifestyle, what she secretly yearned for, what she wanted to understand…and what he would be more than happy to give her.

For over a blissful year, Jason had. Casually at first, of course. He purposely didn’t form attachments to others. It wasn’t logical when so many merely sought him for his net worth. But from the start, his wife had been different.

Over time, she’d grown from an anxious novice, unsure if she truly wanted to pursue the lifestyle, to an eager, if somewhat willful submissive. During those months, he’d learned her beautiful soul, and their connection had grown. Shockingly, she lacked interest in his money or stature. At first, he’d wondered if her silence on the subject was a ploy to disarm him. Then his infatuation had kicked in, and he’d stopped thinking altogether.

When he’d been foolish enough to make their relationship permanent, everything had gone to hell. Now he had a wound with her name on it. He’d tried to patch and heal it…but he’d never been successful. Since Jason wasn’t accustomed to failing, the bleeding bothered him even more.

“Hi, Denning.” Thorpe stepped out of the shadows. “It’s been weeks since you’ve darkened these halls. What are you doing here tonight? Not a lot of action.”

Thorpe leaned against the wall, his pose seemingly casual. Bullshit. Nothing the man ever did lacked purpose.

Jason shrugged. Thorpe was one of the few who knew he’d married “Greta” and that it hadn’t worked out. Thankfully, he’d never asked questions.

Unfortunately, Jason had a hard time maintaining a similar silence. “Have you heard from her?”

Thorpe cocked his head. “Greta is no longer a member here.”

That made Jason stiffen and his seeping wound throb. “That’s
not
her name. Don’t treat me as if I don’t know any better. I’m her fucking husband.”

“My apologies.” Thorpe’s tone was smooth and somehow not apologetic at all. “Gia is no longer a member, then.”

“She let her fees lapse? I’ll pay them.”

“No. She called me last month to revoke them. I refunded her the unused portion.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to call me first?” He tried not to sound like he was seething.

Apparently calling him hadn’t occurred to Gia, either. In fact, she had reached out to the club owner before she’d contacted her own husband. More unexpected pain whacked him. Dominion had been his first common thread with her. The place had brought them together. And she had renounced it without a word.

“Gia asked me not to. I respected her privacy, just like I do everyone in this club.”

Just then, a petite pixie of a brunette padded through the dungeon with her phone pressed to her ear and a grin on her face. Her tinkling laughter somehow brightened the room. Even from a distance, Jason saw her blue eyes dance with a hint of mischief.

No way Thorpe failed to miss it, either.

“You mean like you’re protecting Callie’s privacy now?” Jason drawled.

“She’s different.”

“How?” he questioned. “Unless I miss my guess, she’s on the phone with Sean. She accepted his collar months ago, but you’re eavesdropping on her conversation like whatever she says or does is still your business.”

Thorpe watched the beauty as if he’d forfeit a limb for the chance to touch her. Once, the two of them had been close—not lovers, but certainly more than friends. Jason had no idea what had caused their rift, but clearly the club owner wasn’t letting go. And as Callie stole a longing glance at her boss, Jason knew Thorpe’s feelings weren’t one-sided.

“Listen to me because I’m only going to say this once.” Thorpe clenched his jaw. “I protect every woman who passes through those doors, regardless of who or what they require shielding from. Your wife chose this separation. I’m respecting her wishes. I suggest you do the same.”

“Do you enjoy the distance between you and Callie these days?” Jason watched the woman end her call with a happy little sigh that left him little doubt she had feelings for Sean. Thorpe looked ready to spit nails. “I don’t think so, but you let it happen. That’s your choice. Good for you. But I didn’t ask for this separation from Gia.”

“I understand,” Thorpe said.

Regardless of the platitude, the man wasn’t going to budge. Thorpe, of all people, should fucking comprehend how agonizing this situation was.

Cursing under his breath, Jason resisted an unusually violent urge and tried and another tactic.

“I can’t find my wife. I’m worried about her. She was going through a great deal of personal trauma when we split. She sold her house, disconnected her number. I don’t know if she’s all right or needs my help. She’s my responsibility.”

“She’s
my
client. I’ve sworn to protect her privacy. Sorry.”

His empty apology nearly yanked the leash off Jason’s inner caveman. Maybe being alone for the last eleven and a half months had finally unhinged him. Maybe it was that damn hollow ache gashing his chest and infecting his judgment. Maybe seeing his mother had shown him the future he now stared down. Whatever.

“That’s not putting my fears to rest.” He gritted between clenched teeth.

“I can’t help you.”

Jason didn’t want to argue with Thorpe. The man was as bendable as steel. But he refused to give up because he wasn’t going to heal without seeing Gia again. “Tell me something. What would you do if Callie left Dominion—and you—without warning?”

Thorpe’s face tightened as he searched for the right response. “There is no place she can go where I won’t find her.”

Jason saw his opportunity and seized it. “But what if she disappeared? Wouldn’t you goddamn look for her and want to chew the head off of anyone who kept her from you?”

With a sigh, Thorpe sized him up. Resolution crossed his face. “Come into my office and have a drink. We’ll talk.”

That sounded like as much fun as a lobotomy, but it was progress. Besides, the Dungeon Master had left him little choice.

After trailing the man into his well-appointed office, Jason sat in a cushy leather chair. Thorpe lifted a cut crystal decanter of Scotch from a heavy cabinet and poured him a glass. With a nod, Jason took it. “Thanks.”

After rounding his sizeable desk, Thorpe sank into what could only be called his throne. “Start at the beginning and fill in the blanks for me. Tell me what I’m not seeing in this picture.”

In other words, Thorpe would intervene only if he heard the facts and decided the situation warranted his help. Jason didn’t particularly like the idea of the other man as judge and jury.

“You know the basics.” He really didn’t want to air his dirty laundry. He revisited the moments he and Gia had shared enough in his head.

Yes, he could hire a private investigator, but he knew exactly how that would chafe Gia’s independent nature. He would find her again, but she’d be too mad to speak to him. If he wanted to locate his wife and have any chance of reconciling with her, he had to play this Thorpe’s way.

Leaning back in his seat with a sigh, Jason tried to decide where to start. Not the first big scene he’d set up with “Greta” at Lakeside Park late one night. His wife had exhibitionist urges—and a lot of Catholic good-girl upbringing to overcome. She’d been unable to let go that night, and it had become a disaster.