Wicked Steps (7 page)

“I think he has crossed the line from desire to obsession. You need to talk to him. Plead your case.”

“I can’t.”

“Ellery, you have to. It’s out of my hands. He’s made me so angry all I want to do is throttle him right now. It has to be you and only you.” Preston stopped and then walked over to the bar. I stared as he made two drinks, handing one to me. The brandy tasted bitter.

“You have him, you know. I know it appears as though he’s holding all the cards, but in reality, you’re the dealer. I don’t want to know what happened while you were married, but tell him. Share everything. I know the man I love as a son is in there somewhere. You just need to exorcize him.”

“He’s a young man. I’m thirty-five. He’s Wicked, one of the world’s most talented artists. He has women in droves. He probably has them on standby. What in the hell do I have to offer him? All of this is unsavory,” I said as my hands flailed around. “All of this is ridiculous. You’re asking me to whore myself out to my dead husband’s son.”

“No, for God’s sake, that’s not what I meant. Maybe you could be a friend. A confidant.”

I laughed. “Yeah right, he wants me as a buddy. Do you realize how ludicrous that sounds? That man has a different itinerary, and it doesn’t include a friendship.”

“All right, I’m hoping you’re the one that can change his mind. I’ve tried. Just sit down with him,” Preston pleaded.

In my mind, I kept thinking,
I wish it were that simple
. But I’d allowed him to access my vulnerability. I’d tasted his mouth and breathed in his scent, and no matter how wrong and ill-advised meeting with him was, he fascinated me. I hated myself for being weak and promiscuous. I’d always believed there would be retribution for allowing myself to be purchased. And now that reparation was going to be administered by someone I was attracted to—Hartman’s own son.

I was indeed going to hell.

Kieran

“Motherfucker,” I murmured under my breath. How dare Preston treat me like that? Okay, I might have gotten overly cocky, but all bets were off after she walked in.

Goddamn her for smelling like a mixture of flowers and sex. Even under florescent lighting, her face was perfection. Her skin looked creamy, with the slightest hint of color on her cheeks. Her tawny locks fell in disarray all about her shoulders as her eyes penetrated mine. Spheres of bright blue that appeared to have multicolored flecks of gold.

The white tailored slacks she wore showed off more than she knew. My eyes immediately targeted her cleft, and I licked my lips in approval because I could see no signs of underwear. Her beige blouse dipped dangerously close enough to show me the lace edges of her bra. I was bordering on insanity. I deeply inhaled because her scent had been a combination of arousal, terror, and floral.

Her body language stiffened in confusion. I witnessed embarrassment as her cheeks blushed deep with redness. No doubt acknowledging what had happened between us. Just mentally reminiscing about that night made my cock stand up and take notice. I exhaled. It pissed me off that I responded to this woman. The harlot. That fucking gold-digger. Maybe after I was balls deep inside her, or she was choking on my cock, there would be some satisfaction.

My only quest had been to meet and decimate her world. I never expected Ellery. She didn’t come across as a money-hungry whore. But then again, she didn’t seem the type that would have been in my father’s bed. I’d never had any interest in pursuing older women. Sure, I’d enjoyed experience, but on a younger scale. Maybe that’s why I’d fingered her from behind. So I wouldn’t have to look at her. I wouldn’t be aware she was older, that she was my stepmother. It hadn’t mattered, because she appeared young at all other angles, but I spoiled the process by kissing her. I was rough, and it definitely wasn’t romantic or loving. But the feel of her on my mouth rushed blood to my already rock hard cock, and I knew at that moment I wanted her. And just the knowledge that I desired her made me hate her more.

I had no doubt this was her technique, her M.O., the method she used to charm herself into my father’s bed. She used her intelligence as bait, but I was wiser. She was under my father’s rule for the last five years. If she thought he was intolerable, I’d been waiting, calculating, and practicing.

The women I bedded in Paris were never happy when I left. Oh, they were extremely satisfied sexually, but they always wanted more. It never mattered to me, because we rarely exchanged personal information, and if that became a necessity, I used a fictitious name to keep my identity under wraps. I didn’t owe them anything except an orgasm. Yes, many women would love nothing more than to see me strung up by my platinum-ringed nut sack.

I stalked over to the mini fridge in my room and snatched a water bottle. I felt the need for an alcoholic beverage, but it was too early.

As I lay across the bed, I reached for my sketchpad. Grabbing a pencil, I began to outline Ellery’s facial features. I couldn’t fathom why I was torturing myself over her. I’d come to America for satisfaction, and I planned to get it. Another man might have just taken the money. Because in retrospect, it was a shitload. I could live like a king for ten lifetimes. I didn’t need the wealth. I was rich, and the stupid money wasn’t the issue. It was the principle. Why should she get it just because she coaxed her way into his bed? Her pussy must be solid gold if it was worth millions.

I chuckled to myself.

“What do you want, Preston?” I asked gruffly as I picked up my beeping cell and put it on speaker. I was still feeling the sting of his betrayal.

“Ellery will meet you at Titan tonight for dinner. I made the reservation for seven. Stop. Don’t say a word. I can hear your gray matter churning. Just talk to her. Hash out your grievances and quit blaming her for what a bastard your father was. Kieran, you do not have to walk in his footsteps. Don’t be him. Be better.”

He disconnected. The asshole actually had the audacity to hang up on me.

Why in the hell would I want to have dinner with her? What could we possibly have to discuss? Other than her pussy was a warm and wet place and definitely a spot I’d like to revisit. I wanted to taste her. Have my tongue investigate every sensual nook she had to offer. God, I was torturing myself. I’d come twice in the shower this weekend and once while I slept. It had been years since I’d had a wet dream. A dream divided between pleasure and pain. I wanted to hurt her so bad.

How could this woman make my skin crawl and my cock hard at the same time? I wanted her, yet I loathed her. I quickly undressed and stepped under the spray of my cold shower. Fuck this bitch for forcing me into self-gratification, which wasn’t helping. There was no relief, and I had the sense that until she was under me, there wouldn’t be.

I stroked myself as I thought about tonight. She no doubt was still living in the Scarsdale mansion. That would definitely have to be amended. I knew she would fight me on everything. But if she wanted Salacity—and it was truly her life—she would bend to my will.

To be honest, I had no idea how much time it would take to satisfy my need for revenge. To me, it was relative, and I didn’t have any place to be for over a month, so I needed something to occupy my time. And how better to spend this time than toying with Mrs. Wick? As much as she stirred me down below, her time was limited. Once she served her purpose, I would cut her loose. If she pleased me, I would contemplate giving her the gallery. Otherwise, I would bulldoze that building brick by brick.

I quickly finished and padded to the closet to pick out clothes for tonight. I called down to the front desk and let them know I would be checking out first thing in the morning. I wanted my things sent to the Scarsdale address. I wasn’t concerned on how to make this arrangement more agreeable. I enjoyed pushing her buttons. I hadn’t realized on the flight over here how much gratification I would get by fucking with her.

She was going to be outraged when she found out we would be sharing the house. Of course, it was up to her. She could concede to my demands or stay with a friend. But owning her precious gallery would never happen until she surrendered.

Ellery

“What the hell is going on, Elle? You’ve been on edge since you got back from meeting with Preston at Wick Enterprises. I assume it went off without a hitch. Tell me everything went as planned and Hartman didn’t renege on the gallery.”

I shot a glance toward Coco as I sat behind my office desk. I reached inside a drawer and pulled out aspirin. I had developed a headache, and his name was Kieran Wick, aka Wicked.

Fuck. What an idiot I am.

It was bad enough I let some stranger in my pants, but no, it ended up being my stepson. Exactly how was I going to confess this to my best friend? Even she had some kind of code, and I was sure there was something in there that specified,
Thou shalt not be fondled by your dead husband’s son.
I groaned internally.

Preston said the little shit wanted me. Why in the hell would someone like him want someone like me? He had plans to barter with me. Like fucking me would be payback for his daddy issues. He had no idea what I went through and how hard I’d worked to get Salacity. I certainly wasn’t going to let some punk-ass kid, boo-hooing about his awful childhood, manhandle me. I’d endured plenty. And if Kieran were like his father, so be it. I outlasted Hartman, so I was certain I could weather the thunderous storm known as Wicked.

I could chastise myself all I wanted. I could mentally kick my ass, but dammit, he transfixed me. He didn’t wear his sensuality willfully, at least not as Kieran Wick. The prick didn’t even have to try; he kept his looks subdued along with his tattoos. With the exception of the facial piercing, he appeared as just another attractive man. But his façade was deceiving. Everything about him was a mask, because underneath, he was nothing but sex on two extremely long legs. His voice, the way he smelled and moved. That night at the gallery, I’d been prey, and he had stalked me.

I had to make him understand Salacity was all I wanted. In fact, he could keep everything else. I would take out a loan to supplement the gallery’s maintenance costs. I needed distance from anything Wick. I planned to go to the DMV next week and change my name back. I didn’t want any reminder of the last five years. Now I had to contend with a man who planned to blackmail me by offering me my life’s dream if I slept with him. I sighed.
Another time and place, I might have done it freely.

“Did you hear what I just asked? Where did you just go? Jesus, Elle, you’re scaring me. What happened?”

I glanced up at Coco and shrugged. “Everything’s good. Just thinking.”

“Thinking of ways to spend all that money? Now if you need help, I’m always available. I did see some new Zanotti boots that were adorable.” She laughed as she nudged my shoulder.

“I think we need to pay the mortgage on this place and worry about our suppliers before we splurge on designer shoes, don’t you?”

“I suppose. Okay, Mother, ever the voice of reason.”

“Very funny. As I said before, someone has to be the adult in this relationship.”

She scooted another chair up to my desk and plopped down. “So details. Tell me everything that happened, word for word, and exactly how much the expired Mr. Wick left you.”

I frowned and shook my head as the pulsing began at my temple. I tossed the aspirin in my mouth and forced it down with saliva. Coco couldn’t go a day without a disparaging comment geared toward Hartman. There was true hatred there. “We’ll discuss it later. I have a dinner meeting, and I need to go home and change. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

I read suspicion all over her face. “Dinner. Really? With who?”

“No one you know.” I lied. Well, truthfully, she didn’t know him—only
of
him. My version of a loophole.

“Okay, we’ll leave it at that. But I smell a secret. This isn’t going to be like the last time when you up and married someone and didn’t tell me, is it?” She stood and eyed me carefully. “Wait. Did you meet someone? Was it at the gallery event?”

I felt my face grow warm with embarrassment.
Crap.
Coco was like a hunting dog. If she got the scent, she’d never let go. Okay, fine, I’d throw her a bone. A tiny one. “No, it’s nothing to do with a marriage proposal. I promise. Once is enough. Right now, it’s just business, and stop right there. That’s all I’m saying. I’m not going to jinx it by you inundating me with a mountain of questions.”

“But…” she said, pouting.

“But nothing. I have to get going. I’ll give you all the juicy details later—if there are any.”

“All right, but I expect a very salacious narrative.”

I rolled my eyes as I got up to leave. I had a little over three hours. On my way home, I needed to figure out if I should wear conservative or something slightly slinky. Of course, with him, it would be a Catch-22. I wanted to retain a business look, but I might need to rely on my sexual charisma to get what I wanted. Then there was the possibility he would view a sultry dress as an invitation.

At this rate, my headache would never go away.

I ended up combining the two looks into one ensemble. I chose back silk pants and a cobalt-blue blouse that had a rather provocative neckline, so I put a jacket over it. I straightened my hair with the flatiron and used minimal cosmetics. The man already thought so little of me; I didn’t want to come across as a painted lady. I snickered. I’d always been the definition of propriety until the other night.

The restaurant was crowded as I made my way to the table. I could see him as he studied the menu. Damn, Kieran Wick could suck the oxygen right out of a room. Even though only his face was visible, he was a formidable figure of a man. He was wearing a gray turtleneck that concealed his ink. The way his hands held the menu, I could see strength in them as well as artistry in his fingers. I exhaled, knowing my interest in him was inappropriate on so many levels. Among them, he despised me for no apparent reason. Maybe there was a way for us to develop a truce that wouldn’t involve us getting horizontal.

He looked up with a cynical smile.

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic was a nightmare,” I said in hopes of keeping our conversation light and focused on anything but sex.

His expression showed surprise. “You drove yourself? What? Is your driver out for the evening?”

Smug little jerk. “I don’t have a driver. I’m perfectly capable of navigating my way through city traffic,” I replied, returning the incredulous look.

A waiter pulled out my chair, since it was obvious Kieran had been raised without any type of etiquette.

“So are we eating tonight? You wanted this meeting,” he asked as he laid the menu down. I could hear the disdain in his voice.

I glanced at the waiter and ordered a seafood salad and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Taking my lead, Kieran ordered medium-rare filet mignon and another of what appeared to be a martini.

“So why are we here, Ellery?” he asked as he sipped from his glass.

I discarded my jacket, then folded my hands. “Just tell me how we can make this work. Surely, you don’t want my meager gallery. Go ahead and take everything else, but give me that.”

“I kind of love it when you beg.” He gloated as his eyes perused my breasts.

I reached for my wine after the waiter set it down. “Asking that this meeting be civilized is not begging. I’m entitled to that gallery. Your father gave it to me along with a ton of other promises that I guess don’t mean shit anymore. I had no idea you existed. I’m sorry your father was a bastard. But most of all, I’m so sorry for the loss of your mother. It appears he was a heinous person. I’m truly remorseful for what he did to you—both.”

“You don’t get to be sorry. Well, not yet,” he snarled.

“What is it you want, Kieran? Just tell me. Lay it out.” I took a huge gulp of my wine. He had no idea what I’d gone through. I, too, had suffered at the hands of his father.

“It’s already been discussed. I’m sure you’ve been told. I want you, Ellery.” His tone was menacing as he spoke. I was just another acquisition to him.

Shock and disbelief raced through my body. “Are you crazy? You can’t
have
me. You can’t just
buy
people. I think that was outlawed in 1865.”

He chuckled. “Preston said you were intelligent. Let’s be clear. We both know you can be bought. The kind of woman you are. Well, they always have a price. My father paid for you, and you accepted. So please do not feign indignation. If you want your gallery, then that’s my fee.” He lowered his voice so only I could hear. “I want to finish what we started. I want you writhing beneath me. I want to take you every way imaginable.”

I laughed nervously, which made him glare at me with a pissed-off expression. “You seem to want an awful lot of things. I married your father because I cared about him and he was sick. Granted, I’m beginning to think you may also be ill—mentally—but rest assured, I don’t care about you.”

“Brazen words coming from a woman who is five minutes away from having nothing and living on the street.”

I choked back exasperation and began eating my salad. It tasted like cardboard, even piled high with assorted lobster and shrimp. Every swallow was death defying as I tried to choke it down. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched as he cut into his beef. He was heartily enjoying his meal. Asshole.

He was right. Even though I could live with Coco, I would have no job, no income, and no gallery. Everything I’d gone through for the last five years would be for nothing. My only out was to give him what he wanted. When I was younger, there had been a small roster of men. Ones I’d slept with, never even bothering to know their names. This would be no different. Not really. Except I did know his name. He was younger and my dead husband’s son.

And if I were honest, it was tempting. He was a beautiful man and appeared skilled for his age. A part of me felt seduced by the possibility. This interest not only tormented me with guilt, but trepidation. What if he were like his father? True, he hadn’t been raised by Hartman during his formative years, but he might have acquired similar sexual tastes. His fingers had been rough and his kiss punishing. No matter what Salacity meant to me, I wouldn’t let another man hurt me.

This was too much to absorb. I wished I had been honest with Coco. But I knew what she would have said—tell him to go fuck himself, screw the gallery, and move in with her. There was no way she would ever approve of me whoring myself out again to save our business. But then I’d have to come clean and reveal everything about Hartman, and somehow, I knew she would never be able to look at me the same way again. Lies piled upon lies. And what did I say about this? I’d created a huge mess and honestly couldn’t see a way out.

I cleared my throat as I put my fork down. “Put it all out in the open, Kieran. Tell me precisely what I have to do in order to appease your appetite for restitution.”

My eyes traced every angle of his face as he wiped his mouth on his napkin. “It’s really quite simple. Sleep with me. Be with me for, let’s say… a month—maybe longer.”

“Sleep with you.” I repeated his words as my pulse increased, and I felt an ache below my hips.

He chuckled. “I doubt there will be much sleeping involved. I plan to move into the Scarsdale mansion tomorrow. You, of course, can stay in your own master suite. I’ll keep myself in a guest room. But I will want to fuck you in my father’s bed.”

“Seriously, your plan is I spread my legs and let you have me whenever you want, even if it’s against my will? Oh, and it has to be in your father’s bed.”

“Against your will, I don’t think so. I won’t have to force you. You’ll submit eventually. That is if you want Salacity.”

“Why do you have to live with me if this just a sexual contract? Can’t you stay in your hotel and visit when you want to fuck?” I spit out.

If the language shocked him, he didn’t show it.

“Maybe I want to know you and see why Preston is so enamored with you. Those aristocrats think of you as the dutiful wife who took care of her ailing husband and now is the grieving widow. I have a sense you’ve snowed everyone. Well, except me. I knew the minute I made you come I was right about you. You will give in. You will let me fuck you, and I’ll even wager you’ll plead for it.”

He moved his chair closer to mine. In less than five seconds, his hand was in the crease of my pants. My face flushed with embarrassment as he traced the outline of my two halves.