Grounded (21 page)

Of course he’d made an exhibition out of the tattoos
, I thought, as my mind connected the dots.
 

I didn’t have time to address the issue, however, before Tristan was on us.
 
His eyes were all on me as he reached our table.
 
They were golden and twinkling, disarming really.
 
I smiled back tentatively, clued into a strange tension from James.
 

Tristan sat at the only empty chair at the table, sliding it until he was sitting almost too close to me.
 
His eyes were warm on me.
 

“The infamous Bianca.
 
I have to say, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.
 
James and I go way back.
 
I’m Tristan.”
 

He held out his hand to shake and I did automatically.
 
James sucked in a gasp when Tristan raised my hand to his mouth, and he was wrenching my hand out of the other man’s grasp before I could react.
 

“Watch yourself, Tristan,” James said through gritted teeth.
 

Tristan just grinned that sinister grin with those troublesome dimples.
 
“Relax, Cavendish, I know she’s yours.
 
I was just saying hi.”
 

“Yeah, well, if you say ‘hi’ again I’m going to break your nose.”
 

“I’d love to see you try, but I’d really hate to make you ruin your manicure.”

I turned to James, giving him a stern look, and completely ignoring the other man.
 
I rubbed his chest until he looked at me.
 
I didn’t say a word, just watched him, willing him to calm, to keep from escalating a small confrontation into something out of hand.
 

After a long moment he relaxed a fraction, pulling me until I was plastered against his side.
 

It was a while before I looked back at Tristan.
 
He was a strange one, I thought, as he studied us intently, his brow furrowed.
 
“Someone told me you’d fallen over the deep end, but I just didn’t believe it.
 
I stand corrected.
 
You’ve got it bad, my friend.”

“What are you getting a tattoo of?” I asked Tristan, trying to find a neutral topic for the hostile men.
 
I looked at him as I asked the question.
 

“I’m getting a small five to commemorate five years clean and sober,” he said without hesitation, as though he’d practiced it.
 

I blinked.
 
“Congratulations,” I told him, meaning it.
 
Addiction was a horrible, powerful thing.
 
I’d seen people ruined by it.

“Thank you.
 
I did some bad things when I was using, things I can’t make up for, but having five years of sobriety under my belt still feels pretty damn good.”

Frankie smacked herself in the forehead.
 
It was an attention getter.
 
We all looked at her.
 
“You can say that without adding a disclaimer about all of your sins,” she chided him.
 
“You have every right to be proud of yourself.”

He shrugged, frowning harshly.
 
He was a tough looking guy, but somehow that frown made him look vulnerable rather than mean.
 
“I don’t see it that way.
 
Even with all of the touchy-feely rehab bullshit, I still know that it was me doing all those things, not the alcohol or the drugs, and there are some things a person can’t just forgive themselves for, especially when the one I hurt the most can’t forgive me, either.”
 

Frankie cursed, pointing at him.
 
I could tell just from the last two minutes that these two had a tough love kind of relationship, but a close one.
 
“I’m calling your therapist just because you said that.
 
You’re supposed to be past that by now, and the fact that you aren’t says you need to start seeing her more.”

Tristan ignored her, turning to address me.
 
He had that kind of intense regard that it was difficult not to return.
 
He reminded me of a certain billionaire I knew…

He waved a hand between James and me.
 
It was a strangely elegant gesture for such a huge man.
 
“I used to have what you guys have.
 
I found a sub once that suited me so perfectly…”
 

I felt a little shocked at his words, referring to our lifestyle so casually and including himself in that life with a few words.
 
I remembered that James had described Frankie as a Domme as well.
 
I wondered if they had their own club…
 
Did they meet up once a week for coffee?
 
The whole thing seemed surreal.

“All of this other shit I do is just a cheap imitation of that,” he continued.
 
“She was so exquisite.”

“What happened?” I asked him.
 

He bit his lush bottom lip.
 
I thought that everything the man did came off sinful.
 
“What else?” he asked bitterly.
 
“I fucked it up.
 
I pushed her so hard that I drove her away.
 
If I’m honest, I pushed her away on purpose.
 
Things were getting too intimate, and I couldn’t have that.
 
I was the same as every other addict.
 
Being self-destructive used to be a way of life for me.”
 

He looked at James.
 
“How’s Danika?
 
She been doing alright?”
 

James sighed, and I studied him as he answered.
 
“She’s good, as far as I can tell.
 
She’s great at her job.
 
I’m actually putting her in charge of all of my galleries, not just the west coast ones.
 
Beth in New York will have a fit being under her, but I’ve decided that I need to work less and live more, so my best managers are being promoted in a hurry.
 
You should call her, Tristan.
 
I know you worry about her, so just call her, see for yourself how she’s doing.”

Tristan let out a frustrated breath.
 
“You think I haven’t tried calling her?
 
I keep tabs on her.
 
That’s it.
 
I need to know she’s okay, but the woman will have nothing to do with me.”

“Have you tried calling her lately?”
 

“You know Danika.
 
She won’t change her mind.”

“If you contacted her with something other than a casual fuck on your mind, and used that annoying persistence of yours, I wouldn’t be surprised if she gave you another shot,” James said, his tone idle.

Tristan’s eyes sharpened on him with that laser focus that reminded me so much of James.
 
“Why do you think that?
 
Has she said something to you?”

James shrugged and grimaced, the arm around my shoulder jostling me with the movement.
 
“She’s just…I don’t know, missing something.
 
She’s too reserved, too controlled, too damned disinterested about every part of her life except for work.
 
And she works too much.
 
I know from personal experience that if you make good money and still get the urge to spend the majority of your life working, it’s because something important is missing there.”
 

Tristan looked very raw as he studied the other man, his golden eyes holding a familiar sort of tarnish that spoke of pain, but that I found beautiful.
 
“Is she seeing anyone?” he asked finally, the words sounding like they’d been torn out of him against his will.

James sighed.
 
“I’m not sure.
 
She was a few months back.
 
I’m not sure how serious it was, or if he’s still around.
 
She doesn’t go out of her way to mention her personal life, and I’m not asking.
 
I just saw him stop by the gallery when I was visiting on business.”
 

“They’re meeting with her tomorrow.
 
Bianca is having a gallery showing in L.A.,” Frankie spoke up suddenly.
 
“They haven’t set a date for it yet, but I know I’ll be attending.
 
You should come as my date, Tristan.”
 

He gave her a wry smile.
 
“Your little Latin fireball of a sub would scratch my eyes out for that.”
   

“So we’ll make it a threesome.
 
She won’t mind that.
 
She might like it a little bit too much, in fact.”

Frankie addressed me, pointing at Tristan.
 
“He’s my straight detector.
 
If I’m lucky enough to turn one gay, he flips her straight again.
 
Bastard.”
 

That surprised a loud laugh out of me.
 

Tristan shrugged and flashed a dimple at her.
 
“Just here to help.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mr. Playful

We lingered over dinner with the strange pair.
 
Tristan ordered food even though we’d all already finished eating.
 
He made himself right at home without asking, joking and talking to Frankie and me.
 
I liked him.
 
A lot.
 
I liked them both.
 
They were fun.
 

James was quiet and a little tense at my back, but he made no move to leave.
 

When we did finally leave after hours of talking, Frankie gave me a big hug.
 
Tristan tried to, as well, but James was there to block him, not even trying to be subtle about it.
 

Tristan was unfazed.
 
He grinned that wicked grin at me, inclining his head.
 
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Bianca.
 
You are an absolute delight.
 
I’ll be seeing you.”
 

James didn’t speak until we were in the back of his limo driving home.
 
“You liked him,” he said, his tone bland, but I didn’t believe that tone for a second.

“I liked them both,” I said, rubbing his arm.
 
“Your friends are very nice.
 
It’s nice to see that you have some more good ones.
 
They’re starting to outnumber all of the evil bitches I keep meeting that you felt the need to sleep with.”

He completely ignored the last part of my statement, still focused on Tristan.
 

“He’s a Dom, as I’m sure you picked up.
 
Purely BD without the SM.
 
You were attracted to him.”
 

Uh oh.
 
“Well, I’m
in love
with you.
 
I like him, just like I said.
 
As a friend.
 
He’s an attractive man, I can’t deny that, but that’s it, James.
 
You can’t think that every Dom I meet is going to have some impossible pull on me, just because you did.”

And it was actually that easy.
 
A few reassurances and he relaxed back into his smiling, amenable persona.
 
I thought that boded well for us.
 
The little things were already resolving themselves with ease.

We met Danika at the tourist gallery of the Cavendish Hotel & Casino the next morning.
 
Danika managed both the L.A. and Vegas galleries, which was especially impressive since she looked to still be in her early to mid-twenties.
   

With all of the talk the night before, my mind started trying to pair Danika and the physically imposing Tristan up the moment I saw her, and it was almost disconcerting to picture the two of them together.
 
He was so massive and muscular that he could have been an MMA fighter.
 
She, on the other hand, was the epitome of delicate grace.
 

She was maybe five foot seven, with smooth, straight, pitch-black hair that fell to her mid-back.
 
She was thin, but she definitely had curves in all of the right places.
 
She had a pale complexion, but her heritage was very obviously mixed.
 
Part of the mix was Asian, but the rest was anybody’s guess.
 
At least part Caucasian, by her clear gray eyes.
 

Tristan had been right.
 
No one could deny that she was exquisite.
 

She was dressed for business in a pencil skirt and a tidy dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up.
 
She wore flats, I realized as she stepped out from behind the podium as we approached.
 
I would have pegged her as a stiletto girl just because she was so painfully poised.
 
I saw in an instant why she didn’t, though.
 

She had just the slightest hitch to her step as she approached us with a lovely smile.
 
Some old injury, I guessed.
 
It was the most graceful limp I’d ever seen, as though she’d just absorbed the injury and made it a part of her, neither emphasizing or hiding it.
 
That seemingly effortless gait told me a lot about the woman.
 
She looked delicate, but there was steel in her.
 

“So nice to finally meet you, Bianca.
 
I’ve been privileged to get the distinguished honor of being your first big fan.
 
More will come, though, I can assure you.”

“Hey, now,” James said, shaking her hand with a smile.
 
“Don’t discount my adoration of her work.
 
Remember who discovered her.”

She inclined her head.
 
“Touché, James.
 
Please, follow me.
 
We have a lot to discuss.”
 

We sat at a large conference room at the back of the swank gallery.
 
Danika pulled out a huge leather binder, and I only realized that it was a portfolio of my work when she flipped it open.
 

“Let me start by saying that art is my life, and I simply
adore
your work.
 
It is, however, a rather eclectic mix of paintings.
 
This can be handled in a number of ways.
 
My personal preference would be to divide all of the different themes by rooms, since we have so many paintings to work with, and we will be utilizing every room in the L.A space for the showing.”
 

I nodded.
 
“That sounds good.”

She looked a little nonplussed, as though she’d been expecting an argument.
 
“Well, that was easy.
 
If all of the issues are that easy to resolve, we can schedule a showing for next week!”

The entire meeting went similarly.
 
Danika had very helpful suggestions about all of the things I needed to green light for the showing, and I was more than happy to defer to her expertise on something that I was a complete novice at.

She was swift and professional, covering details that I hadn’t even considered, until she was satisfied that she had the showing thoroughly mapped out.
 

James stayed reasonably silent throughout the meeting, which I appreciated.
 
If he had taken over, as he did with so many things, it wouldn’t have felt like it was mine.
 
But working with Danika, seeing every step in the process without his interference, it began to feel real, like I had a career here, instead of a hobby that was being funded by my rich boyfriend.
 

We went to lunch with Danika after we finished.
 
Sandra, the assistant manager of the Vegas gallery who worked directly under Danika, joined us.
 

She was a small, brown-haired woman with brown eyes and a rather austere demeanor.
 
If I had to guess, I’d have said she was in her late thirties.
 

I’d completely forgotten about Danika’s limp until she was moving away from the table to use the restroom.
 
Sandra murmured something about needing to check on the gallery, scurrying off.
 

“What happened to Danika’s foot?” I asked James.

“It’s her knee, I believe.
 
And I don’t know.
 
She never talks about it, but I’ve gotten the distinct impression that it was somehow Tristan’s fault.”

I frowned.
 
That sounded beyond ominous.

We wrapped up a productive and pleasant morning with Danika, setting up a date the following week, when she swore she’d be well into the thick of planning the showing.
 
I was excited and elated when we parted.
 
The crazy dream that was my painting career felt like it was shaping into something real and substantial.
   

James gave the staff at his house the afternoon off, and we spent hours swimming in his ridiculous pool.
 
The thing was obnoxious, with fake mountains and fountains, and four different pools, and yes, a grotto underneath one of the falls.

“I didn’t realize we were staying at the Playboy mansion,” I teased him.

He grimaced.
 
“This is actually a part of the house that I did
not
design.
 
It’s a long story, but I delegated this part of the design to my casino team, and since they knew I’d have to have some promotional parties here, this is what they did.
 
I was not too happy when I saw it, but it
has
served its purpose.
 
If I’m out of town and the casino needs to throw a pool party for some bigwigs, they do it here.”

I wrinkled my nose at him.
 
I knew the Vegas scene well enough, even if it wasn’t really my scene.
 
“I hope everything’s been disinfected.”

He tapped my nose.
 
“Yes, of course.
 
You know it drives me crazy when you do that with your nose.
 
It makes you look so damn cute.”

I tapped his nose.
 
“Don’t call me cute,” I told him.
 

His nostrils flared, rather sexily, I thought.
 

I was lying on a cushioned lounger in a white bikini I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in public while he rubbed sunblock all over my body.
 
He was not efficient about the process, rubbing more of the parts inside of the tiny bikini than out of it, and grinning the entire time.
 

“You don’t have to work at all today?” I asked him.
 
He’d worked the day before, but made no mention of going in that day.

“I’m taking a day off.
 
I want to fuck you in broad daylight.
 
I want to spread you out and strip you bare under the sun.”

That made me squirm in my seat.
 
I’d had my hopes when he was dismissing his staff, but now it was certain.
 
We weren’t just out here to swim.

“You’re going to get me sunburned in some painful places,” I predicted.
 

He held up the bottle of sunblock he was using.
 
“I’ve got it covered.
 
Come on now, you know me better.”
 

He was thorough, but slow as molasses as he covered me in the stuff.
 
He even spent extra time on my feet, rubbing and kneading until I moaned in pleasure.
 
He was good with his hands in every way imaginable.
 

The second leisurely rubbed on coat of sunblock was completely unnecessary, of course, but he did it all the same.
 
Only James could turn sun protection into foreplay.
 
I was writhing before he made it back up to my inner thighs.

His sunblock coated fingers teased around my sex, fingering my tiny string bikini bottoms, but he pulled them back with a wicked little smile.
 
“For external use only, Love.
 
I guess you’ll have to settle for my tongue.”

He pulled the strings on both of my hips loose with his teeth.
 
I buried my hands in his hair as he buried his face between my legs.
 

It wasn’t his usual oral technique, avoiding my clit at first to thrust his tongue as deep inside of me as it would go.
 
It felt drugging
—
it felt good, but when he finally moved up to my clit and sucked with a vengeance I came hard, gasping his name.
 

He moved up my body in a flash, untying my top, and moving my leg across his torso, positioning it diagonally with my ankle on his shoulder, turning me on my side, and straddling my other leg.
 
He poised himself at my entrance for a brief moment.
 

“Fucking me sideways,” I told him breathlessly.
 

He grinned and thrust in hard.
 
“Every which way, until we’re sated or dead, Love.”
 

He pulled out slowly, dragging himself along every perfect nerve, playing me like an instrument, then pounded in again.
 
His size, and the unrelenting position, made each thrust border on painful.
 
He repeated the torture, again and again, and I came with a ragged cry torn out of me.
 

He didn’t stop, just pounded faster.
 
He bottomed out and came inside of me with a rough shout.
 
I loved it, absolutely relished the moments when he lost it like that.
 

He pushed my legs apart, shifted me onto my back, and moved into me, kissing me languorously.
 
He pulled out of me slowly, drawing it out, until I wanted him again as though we hadn’t just made love.

Once he’d separated his body from mine, he moved flush against me again.
 

“Wrap your arms and legs around me,” he ordered against my ear.

I did, my body obeying but my mind still in that soft dreamy place that only he could take me.
 
He picked me up, rising slowly.
 

It was only as I was flying through the air that I realized his intent.
 
I hit the water with a surprised little yelp.
 
I was glaring as I surfaced.
 

He just grinned, diving in after me.
 

We played in the pool for a long time.
 
Like children, I thought, only we were skinny dipping in broad daylight.
 
I loved every second of it.
 
I thought that playful James might just be my favorite.

He pulled me against him, kissing me hotly, and then thrust me away.
 
“Run,” he told me with a wicked grin.