Dear Sir, I'm Yours (19 page)

Dogs barked, welcoming the master home. Conn took her hand, his grip firm on her chilly fingers. Like he knew she might bolt. Stepping into his territory, with no allies like Miss Belle ready to distract him and rescue her, was a limit she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore.

She had to trust him, and herself. Neither was very reassuring, but the latter was especially troubling. How could she trust herself when she’d left him the first time and married another man? A man she despised, who hurt her, who belittled her?

“This is Manfred.” Conn stroked the massive head of a chocolate brown elephant of a mastiff. Regal and slow, the dog sniffed her hand, allowing her to pet him. Then he promptly lay down and rolled over for her to scratch his belly. “And this little scallywag is Prometheus.”

The scruffiest little dog she’d ever seen ran around Conn’s feet, yapping and dancing with excitement. He jumped up and put his front paws on her to lick her face. Tears burned her eyes and she picked him up. He was the happiest, most excited dog she’d ever seen, barking and licking and leaping out of her arms to run around Conn again.

“He was a stray, just showed up here one day. Manfred adopted him. Make yourself at home while I take them out back.”

Watching him with his dogs and their devoted adoration for him, she smiled. Dogs knew more than people, and they loved their master. He must take very good care of them. They certainly didn’t cringe away from him or crouch down in fear. Not like her dog had done whenever Richard came home.

She didn’t like that memory. Another small battle she’d lost in the scope of their marriage.

She walked deeper into Conn’s domain. The house smelled like leather and old books, a deep visceral reminder of him. A lovely burgundy leather sofa set against the wall, brass nail heads and all, long enough she bet even he could lay on it without his feet hanging off. A sword hung above it, curved steel gleaming. It looked very real and very deadly.

Hardwood floors, wood chair rails, topped with old-fashioned white-washed plaster.

One whole room was dedicated to a gleaming black baby grand piano. Did he play? She wished she knew.

Books were stacked everywhere. Neat piles, but piles just the same. On the floor, on every table, on shelves lining the walls. Leather-bound, paperback, non-fiction, biographies and collections of letters and correspondence to the latest genre favorites. His reading tastes were wide and varied.

What would he think of her letters? Lightly, she touched the small purse hanging off her shoulder, the CD hard inside. They were so…raw. Giving him these letters would be like ripping her heart out and offering it on a plate.

Yet she’d brought them, as he asked.

Irritated at herself, she tossed the purse on the counter in the kitchen. Maybe he’d forget to ask for them. Slipping off his coat, she buried her face in the leather. So good. Just smelling him, with all the sensual torment he’d been giving her… She was ready, right here, right now.

He could throw her over his shoulder and carry her to bed and she’d probably climax on the way. Shit. Who was she kidding? She could climax now. If he walked in, backed her up against the wall, pressed his hard, impressive body against hers…

She’d explode.

Conn came back through the kitchen door, smelling of enthusiastic dogs and honeysuckle. “What do you think?”

“It’s lovely. Your very own Stratford-upon-Avon.”

He rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. Those big, powerful hands, rubbing together, water cascading over his fingers, the cords in his forearms working. She was bad off if watching him wash his hands was erotic.

“I was going to rent an apartment in Springfield closer to Drury, but Miss Belle offered this place to me as long as I wanted it. When she moved back to the States, she liked having me close. So we made it official, and she ceded me the guesthouse and forty acres early.”

“She was out of the country?”

“Miss Belle has led a very colorful life, darlin’. Ask her about her years as an actress when you have a year or two to spend watching old black and whites with her.”

“Really?” Stunned, Rae could easily imagine Miss Belle as an actress, sweeping grandly through a story on the silver screen. She certainly had the presence and grace to pull it off.

“What did she do abroad?”

“She and Colonel Healy lived in Ireland for years, but I have no idea what they actually did. They knew some very important people, though, and traveled extensively as long as his health allowed. After he passed away, she moved back here. That was about four years ago, I think. I wasn’t sure if I could actually live so close to her without her driving me crazy, but it’s worked out well for us both. I like having someone to take care of, and she likes having me around to attempt to boss around.”

“Um, about Colonel Healy…” Why was it so hard to say it? “Is he a…ghost?”

“So she says.” Laughing softly, Conn took her hand and drew her toward the inviting leather couch. He sat down and drew her to stand between his knees, his arms coming around her waist loosely. “I’ve seen some incredibly bizarre things in the past few years, so I tend to believe her.”

“Like the glass tonight.”

He nodded. “And the stuck door. But Miss Belle can also lie like you wouldn’t believe.

She’ll talk to the Colonel like he’s right there, and only she knows if she’s doing it on purpose to manipulate us or truly speaking to him.”

He kept his voice light and gentle, but darkness spread in his eyes. Her heart rate accelerated, her pulse jumping frantically in her throat.

“Now, darlin’, I want you to test me. Put me through my paces. Make me sweat.

Torment me. Whatever you want.”

Startled, she searched his gaze. She’d expected him to press the advantage, to manipulate the situation, using the need he knew must be straining in her. “You’re giving me control?”

“You’ve always got the control, Rae. Don’t you understand that yet? Until you do, you’re going to be afraid, and I hate seeing that fear in your eyes. The control is yours in everything we do. If you don’t want to do something, tell me. Give me the word. I’ll stop, no questions asked.”

Swallowing hard, she gripped his shoulders, trying to calm her breathing. She was aroused, true, still hovering on the edge of orgasm, but she was scared too. He knew it, his hands still and gentle on her, his voice soft. But he couldn’t control the need darkening his eyes. Need to dominate her? Or need to touch her? Did it matter?

“Richard couldn’t take no.”

“Dick can go fuck himself. I will not whine, wheedle, or browbeat you into anything, darlin’. Your pleasure and safety are my utmost concerns.”

“What if—” Her mouth was dry, her heart still racing. She licked her lips, fighting the urge to drop her gaze from his. Fought to keep her hands on him, her feet still, instead of backing away. “What if I’m…boring? In bed? I mean, if I don’t want you to…to…”

“You, boring in bed?” He leaned back against the couch and dropped his hands to his thighs. Knees splayed, body vibrating with tension, he reeked of domination and control, his eyes blazing. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you. If you don’t want kinky shit, we don’t do kinky shit. End of story. And I still want you.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you. I can’t—”

“You have this image of me controlling your every move, your every thought, bending you to my will alone.” His eyelids were heavy, the grooves in his forehead and down either side of his mouth telling her how serious he was. How turned on. Yet he maintained control of his body, not even touching her. “Demanding and controlling your pleasure, forcing you to pleasure me, tying you up, making you helpless. And yeah, the thought of doing those things to you makes me damned near blow a gasket simply sitting here while I look at you.”

He shifted a little against the leather, just a subtle movement, but it told her how tightly he reined himself in. His palms gripped his thighs harder, as though he fought with all his will not to haul her into his lap and overwhelm her hesitation.

“But if you want vanilla missionary then I’ll do that too, just as wildly and passionately, over and over, as many times as you’ll let me. Because it’s you beneath me, Rae. I love you. I want to please you in every way you desire and half a million you haven’t even thought of yet.

I’ll give you exactly what you need, every single time.”

Closing her eyes, she swayed, shaking, her breathing coming fast and shallow.

Imagining him on top of her, crushing her into his bed, his hands on her, his tongue gliding between her lips as hard and deep as his body.

He leaned forward, still keeping his hands off her, but his breath fanned across her breasts, already hot and tight and aching. His eyes blazed sapphire, shadows hollowing his face into chasms of mystery. “Absolutely anything you need, darlin’. So if you need me to bend you over my desk again, spank your delectable ass as cherry red as your panties, and then make love to you until you can’t walk, then I can and will do that, too.”

Her nipples were so hard they hurt, brushing against the silk bodice of her dress. Aching hot and clenched so tight a simple stroke of his fingers would send a climax exploding through her, she stood there trembling, trying to remind herself why she had to say no. Why she couldn’t let him put her in such a vulnerable position again. “No.”

She got the word out. She’d done it. Relief surged inside her.
I can tell him no and mean
it.

She refused to let the memory of his big palms sliding over her backside sway her.

“Good.” Mouth curving in that arrogant, confident smile, he whispered, “Test me, Rae, fully safe in your ability to tell me no. My jeans are staying on tonight no matter what happens.

Let me give you any pleasure you desire, as long as it only involves my hands and tongue. No other part of my body will enter yours tonight.”

“What if I want your jeans off?”

“Nope, not tonight. You’re testing me, remember? If you get in my pants, I’ll come in your hand in a second. If I take a release tonight, it’ll be ultimate failure. I’m not failing this test, Rae. I’m not failing you. So tell me what you want me to do first.”

“Take off your shirt.”

Smiling slow and lazy, Conn tugged his shirt out of his jeans and began unbuttoning it.

Evidently too slowly, because she reached out, grabbed a handful of material in each hand, and yanked until something tore. Buttons tinged on the wood floor.

He let his head fall back against the couch and laughed huskily. “Impatient, darlin’?”

She stroked her hands over his shoulders, biceps, down his chest, tormenting him with trailing fingertips up and down his midsection. Despite every urge pounding in his blood, he kept his hands locked on his thighs. He didn’t need her little moan of frustration to tell him she wanted, needed, so much more. It was all he could do not to drag her onto his lap. “If you need something, tell me.”

“Hold me?”

He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close to the heat of his body.

“Absolutely.”

She rubbed her face against his neck, her breath hot on his skin. She pressed her lips to his throat and her hands locked on his shoulders. Delightful torture, surely, but she didn’t touch him easily. On a delicious shudder, she flicked her tongue lightly and then backed off.

Her fingers dug into him, not to hold him close, but as though she fought something.

A need she didn’t want him to know.

She ducked her head so he wouldn’t see the darkness in her eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t, darlin’.”

Startled, she risked a quick glance up at his face, her eyes tight, mouth tense.

“I won’t allow you to hide from me.”

Her gaze skittered away. “I’m not hiding.”

“I won’t allow you to lie to me either,” he drawled out, forcing his hands away from her hips and back to his own thighs. He wouldn’t use his hands to persuade her to share. This time.

Silence stretched out while she fidgeted between his knees, her fingers clasped tight on his shoulders. He didn’t say a word, waiting for her to decide how to tell him whatever was bothering her.

Instead, she reached behind her to the zipper of her dress and let the silk slide down her body to puddle on the floor. Interesting choice, he decided, suppressing the instantaneous urge to suck in a deep breath and bury his face between her bare breasts.

Shimmering hot velvet in his arms, she crowded close and cried out softly as though he’d burned her. Locking his own desire down hard, he held himself firmly in check. If she thought she could make him forget this difficulty, whatever it was, in a rush of lust, she would be sorely disappointed.

She went down to her knees on the floor and wedged her head up beneath his chin.

Trembling, she clung to him, every muscle screaming at him for comfort, understanding, mercy. Refusing her now was harder than resisting her glorious breasts.

When she finally spoke, the soft, fragile quality of her voice broke his heart.

“At the diner…do you remember…when I bit…your shoulder?”

He reached up and cradled her head to him, his touch a soothing reward. “Yes, I remember.”

“Did you…mind?”

That’s it?
He hesitated, wondering why on earth she’d think he’d refuse a little teeth. He tilted her face up to his. “I want to know every single thing you need, no matter how much it scares you. Trust me to take care of you, whatever it is. I certainly won’t mind a love bite.”

She tried to drop her gaze, tugging slightly to free her chin, but he held her steady. She let out a miserable groan. “I don’t want you to say yes just to—”