His Only Hope: The Maison Chronicles, Book 2 (10 page)

Hope froze against him. Had he said the wrong thing?

“Really?”

Her words barely reached his ears.

“Of course. You’re mine.” The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. A man like him didn’t deserve her, could never dream to keep her. “And I keep my promises.” How many promises would he break to her this time?

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezed, and landed a passionate kiss on his lips. His heart kicked into overdrive. He’d struggled the past two years to get over her, and now that he had her back, his bastard father had to ruin it.

He always had total control as a Dom, except where Hope was concerned. She drove him crazy with frustration and desire, and no one else could make him forget his carefully laid plans.

If he stayed in control, he could never be like his father. He’d realized that years ago. But what if he couldn’t regain control? What if his loss of control didn’t stop with sex? Then Hope would be left with a second Master Joseph on her hands.

He broke the kiss and took a half-step back.

“Just keeping you on your toes, Sir. It’s extra fun to do in the morning when you’re still a little fuddled. I’m sure you’ll spank me for it later.” She turned to the bed and fussed with the sheets, tucking the corners under the mattress to form little triangles. Her hands smoothed and tightened the dark sheet as she looked to him. “Give me an hour to get ready?”

Instead he responded with, “I’m in Room 320, end of the hall, and take all the time you need. We have the whole weekend ahead of us. “

Shit. He dressed as she finished making the bed and headed back to his room, still in a daze.

Gabe stood under the shower spray, water as hot as he could stand. A sad attempt to burn away the remnants of his nightmare, maybe, but mildly successful nonetheless. Three showerheads jutted from the slate-gray tiles and steam swirled to cover the whole bathroom suite. Treating the weekend like a spa getaway wouldn’t be a bad idea. He and Hope could stay in his room and make love all day. Laugh over private meals and soak in the ridiculous hot tub that took up half his bathroom. Get to know each other again.

But that would require sharing something of his past. He cranked the water hotter. He had few fears, but seeing the look of disgust and betrayal on Hope’s face if she found out would undo him more certainly than her leaving.

And he thought he’d gotten this mess sorted out years ago. His father had beaten his mother, and him, without mercy. As a child, Gabe swore to save his mother and never hurt the woman he would one day love. For years, he’d tried to reconcile his dominant urges with the dark part of him that was his father’s son, and thought he’d succeeded. During his relationship with Hope, he’d tied her up and spanked her and pinched her and fucked her, even used impact play from time to time. He thought it had been enough.

Deep down he knew Hope needed more. That to bring her catharsis, to purge her demons, she needed sharper, deeper, harder pain. He let her down.

After she left Los Angeles, hours of late-night, cross-country talks with Kat had given him some clarity. She was the only person, other than Jax, who knew about his father. Both said he was crazy to think he would abuse a woman, and to an extent, he agreed. When he was topping a sub for a night or even a weekend, impact play—floggers and crops and paddles—didn’t faze him in the least. None of it had been a problem before Hope, and he hadn’t played in the scene since they’d both left Los Angeles.

He should have known better.

Rinsing off the soap, Gabe dialed off the shower and grabbed for one of Maison’s signature plush white bathrobes. Something about Hope triggered his protective instincts, and after that nightmare, heavy pain play was out of the question.
You don’t beat the one you love
.

And he did love her, damn it all. But that would have to wait. He’d just barely convinced her to spend the weekend with him. Bringing love into the picture just wouldn’t fly yet. He’d have to wait. Maybe forever, and didn’t that ache like a son of a bitch.

In an attempt to bury the thought, Gabe busied himself with anything he could think of. He dressed, remade the bed he hadn’t slept in, picked up around the suite. His mind was almost clear until he picked up his saddlebag to bring into the bedroom and Hope’s collar box fell from the side pocket. Bending to pick it up, he was slammed in the chest by memories of creating the necklace.

For two days after she left, he’d lived in his studio and worked practically around the clock to create the perfect collar for her, something that would mark her as his but not feel like a normal collar. She’d made it clear that she hated collars.

He wondered how Master Joseph had used a collar on her and his blood pressure hit the roof.

When he finished creating the necklace, the sick, empty feeling of abandonment was almost gone. He’d been half-tempted to melt it down, but the collar stood as some of his finest work. Instead, he locked it away in his safe and tried to forget about it—until last weekend. Bringing it to Maison was a stupid idea if he’d ever had one, but the box managed to find its way into his bag nonetheless.

He took it and the bag into the bedroom. The latter he threw into the closet before sitting on the comfy leather chair next to the bed. He popped open the box. Hope’s neck was made for this kind of jewelry. She had a long, slender, creamy-white neck that would be highlighted by this collar. He could see himself putting it on her, claiming her. He would kiss her neck as often as possible just to make her shudder and moan. And she would be marked as his for the whole world to see.

Fear shoved aside the fantasy. If she were truly his, would the power go to his head? Would he abuse her? He needed to talk to Kat, grab their breakfast to go and haul ass back to the room before Hope showed up.

Gabe headed down to the dining room where guests occupied almost every table in far less restrained outfits than the night before. Leather and lace dominated, overshadowed only by skin. He didn’t register any of it, even when one of his favorite bottoms cut him off on the way to the buffet line.

“Gabriel, it’s been forever!” she trilled. “Any chance of you showing Mistress a couple of your…tricks today?” Serena batted her eyes at him.

While she was beautiful, all dark hair and caramel skin and curves, she wasn’t Hope. He needed his woman tall, lithe and Irish.

“Sorry, babe, I’m taken for the weekend.”

She pouted, but Gabe knew her well enough to see the spark of interest in her eyes. “I’d heard that rumor, but had to check for myself. The mighty Gabriel, not playing weekend lover for once. Interesting. Two years away, and you reappear with a sub of your own. She must be quite the woman.” Serena looked around the room. “And where is your lovely lady? I hope you didn’t leave her alone at one of those tables with so many Tops prowling around.”

“She’s upstairs. I’m getting breakfast for us.”

He tugged his earring in impatience. If he didn’t hurry, there’d be no time to talk with Kat before Hope returned from her room.

Serena’s eyes widened. “You’re getting food for her? The plot thickens. Had I known you played like that, I would have asked for breakfast in bed too.” She stepped back to inspect him. “Or is this not play at all?”

Gabe said nothing. How could he answer if he wasn’t sure himself?

“Yep, you’re tangled up in this chick, all right. Gabriel, speechless.”

She leaned in, and Gabriel marveled at his body’s lack of reaction even as he worried what the audacious Serena might do. But she simply left a chaste peck on his cheek, welcome and surprising.

“She’s a lucky woman, and don’t you forget it.”

Serena sauntered off to her Mistress, leaving Gabe torn between flattery and nervousness. He didn’t have time to worry about it now, though.

Grabbing a wicker tray and two china plates, Gabe filled them with Hope’s favorite foods. Yeah, he still remembered what she liked for breakfast. Half a Belgian waffle covered in strawberries and powdered sugar, eggs and two strips of bacon. He loved that she ate like a real woman. There was that ache in his chest again. He’d have to get used to it—the feeling was much sharper now that she was back in his life.

Two glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice later and he was ready to head upstairs, food and Katrina in tow. He scanned the room, searching for her white-blonde hair, noting Jax and Lara’s absence in the process. Good. They would ask too many questions he didn’t want to answer. Not yet.

Finally, he spied Kat in the far corner talking to a tall man in black leather pants and matching leather vest. He tried not to scoff, but his outfit was a little overkill. Besides, leather was a bitch to move in, and he preferred working unimpeded during a scene. And when you worked up a sweat? Chafing was not sexy.

As he made his way through the crowd, he caught snippets of conversation. Most revolved around the snow and when they’d clear the roads. A few were concerned about having to make excuses for work come Monday while others relished the idea of a longer forced vacation. Gabe, for one, didn’t like not having any options. His father had done that enough to him.

Once he reached Kat’s side, he set his tray down on the table, only then noticing the woman on the floor at Leather Daddy’s feet. She had a metal leash attached to an eternity collar, with matching metal cuffs at her wrists and ankles. Gabe tried not to let his lip curl. This guy was either using metal for show, which was unnecessary at a place like this, or his slave wore them all the time. A second surreptitious glance showed red, chafed skin at the edges of the metal. Score one for the douche bag in leather.

Kat paused midway through her sentence and turned to Gabe. “Speak of the devil! I was just saying you are the go-to person for custom jewelry and leather.” She beamed the smile that made her such a brilliant hostess. “Gabriel, I would like you to meet Master Joseph.”

The dining room faded away until all he could see or hear was this poor excuse for a human being. He had a vision of beating him with the hard chain leash he held.
Just like your daddy
. Kat stuck an elbow in his side, helping to shake off the chills that had almost consumed him. He stuck out his hand, morbidly curious to see the man in action. “Gabe Cassidy.”

“Master Joseph.” The man’s limp handshake and insistence on another Dom calling him
Master
grated on his nerves.

They sized each other up as only men could do. Before the silence dragged on too long, Gabe said, “You must be new here, but you’re obviously experienced.” It took every ounce of self-control to get out that word. “What brings you to Maison Domine?”

“My slave here,” he toed the woman with one boot, “was a member before she contracted with me and suggested we visit.” His lips thinned at the word
suggested
.

Gabe did not have the patience for this asshole. “Well, I hope you enjoy. Kat, if I can borrow you?” Without waiting for the “Master’s” permission, he grabbed his tray and pulled Katrina away. Gabe hoped his actions insulted the pompous asshole.

When they were outside the room, he stopped and turned back to Kat, who glared up at him from her five-foot one-inch height.

“Gabriel, what in the hell is wrong with you?”

“I needed to talk with you.” God, he felt stupid, needing girl talk to get him through a weekend with a beautiful woman like Hope, but he’d rather be momentarily stupid than turn into this father. Or Master Joseph, from all accounts.

“Oui
, then talk, but I do need to return quickly. And where are you going with all that food?”

“Up to my suite.”

Her eyebrows popped in surprise. “Why, Gabriel, you would not be hiding out there with Miss O’Shea, would you? Because that is very out of character,
ami
. People are bound to speculate.” She gently smirked at him.

“Which is exactly what I need to talk to you about.” As they walked down the hall, Gabe could hear the occasional sharp cry through the well-padded walls of the private play rooms, but they were, for all intents and purposes, alone. “Hope and I reconnected more than I’d thought.”

Kat rolled her eyes. “Yes, I could have told you that, but would you have listened?
Non
.”

“Well, you would have been right.” They paused at the top of the stairs, and Gabe lowered his voice so it wouldn’t echo through the lobby. “I had another nightmare last night.”

She turned and cocked her head at him. “Oh. Well, that is new. How long has it been?” She leaned closer to better hear as they hit the first flight of stairs.

“Before Hope. But this one was bad.” He rubbed his cheek in frustration, balancing the tray in his other hand. “Hope had a big breakthrough last night”—
about your damned Master Joseph
—“but she needed pain to get there. Everything was fine—better than fine, really—but then I dreamed we were scening. I wanted to cane her, and when she safe worded? I wanted to make her bleed. I checked her reaction in the mirror, and my father’s face stared back at me.” He shuddered, the inky black claws of the nightmare digging into him once more. “And now I can’t trust myself around her.”

Kat pulled the tray from his hands, set it on the bottom step and pinched him.

“Ow! What is that for?”

“You are being stupid, and I thought maybe a little pain would clear your mind.” She had a long-suffering look on her face.

“I’m not the one in this conversation who likes pain,” he retorted.

She laughed, and Gabe started to regret ever beginning this conversation. “You are very right, and there is a reason I am so well-adjusted. For some of us,” she gave him a pointed look, “pain brings clarity. That is the way of your Hope. Impact play is not about you—it is about her and her need for that emotional release. It clears away every other thought, leaving nothing but blank, empty, blessedly silent mindspace. And that is where someone like me or Hope can start approaching overwhelming problems. Not to mention that it feels good too.” Kat nudged him and waggled her eyebrows.

He couldn’t help but smile. “I know all that, you pain slut.” His grin faded. “But what if it’s all just an excuse?” She pinched him again, harder this time. “Ow, woman!” He retreated a step.