Playing Hard to Master (21 page)

They rode in silence for a while, and Ambrose decided against several different topics, because all of them seemed to come back to him being overly familiar with her. They hadn’t discussed what had happened between them, and until they did, he wasn’t sure where the lines in the sand were drawn.

They reached his house about fifteen minutes later. He helped her out of the car and followed her up the front walk, shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans so that he didn’t accidentally touch her. He wanted to more than anything.

“I’ll get dinner going now. You can go ahead and relax on the couch. Take a nap if you want. Or feel free to take a shower or bath. You know where my clothes are if you want to borrow something.” He yanked his gaze away from her when he realized he was staring.
Quit being creepy, Ambrose.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Everly smile at him, a true and happy smile. “Oh God, I could seriously use a hot bath. I don’t think I’ve warmed up since the protest.” Without hesitation, she headed down the hall then up the stairs. Ambrose mentally followed her footsteps. The fact that she was acting like she owned the place both pleased and upset him. He wanted her to feel like she was welcome there, but the pretentiousness of the house embarrassed him more now that she knew it was his.

It was impossible to forget that she was there while he could hear the water running. When the water stopped, the issue became thinking about her getting naked and climbing into the bath. He started preparing dinner, searing meat, and chopping vegetables, while controlling his avalanche of feelings. She probably wouldn’t appreciate it if he went charging up the stairs and tried to invite himself into her bath, let alone if he kissed her and ran his hands over her skin, and then tried to seduce her into his bed.

He texted Konstantin and Banner for advice, but they didn’t text back. The Catacombs was a loud place. He was on his own.

Fuck, he was so going to screw this up.

Focusing on making dinner helped. When the food was ready, he set it aside to keep it warm. He waited. A while later, when she still hadn’t come down, he went up to his room and knocked on the bathroom door.

“Everly? The food is ready. No rush though. I can always warm it up for you when you get out.” There was no response, so he knocked again. Nothing. “Everly? Are you okay?”

Still nothing.

His instincts kicked in, and he turned the doorknob, opening the door just enough so that she’d be able to hear him more clearly. When there was still no answer, he glanced in. Everly was sound asleep in the tub, her face blissful.

Shit.

He thought about going back downstairs and letting her rest for a while, but then he started getting mental images of her sliding under the water. She seemed so sound asleep. It wasn’t safe. She could drown.

Hoping he didn’t piss her off, he patted her shoulder. Nothing. He tried hard not to let his gaze drift downward, but this was like setting a starving man set loose in a five-star restaurant.

“Everly? Ev?” He shook her shoulder, and blearily, she blinked up at him.

“Hi.” The word was breathy, and interest stirred behind her golden eyes.

“Hi.” He smiled, trying to keep his own interest from showing before things got out of hand. “You fell asleep, sweet girl. Dinner is ready, if you’re still hungry. Do you need help getting out?”

Like a sleepwalking child, she reached for him, trusting that he’d take care of her. Her trust squeezed the breath out of him. Their fingers laced together, and he stared at them as he helped her to her feet. So perfect. She stood there, swaying, watching him. He lifted her out and put her on the bathmat, then wrapped a fluffy towel around her. A shiver shook her from head to toe, and she leaned into him. Unable to stop himself, he hugged her to him and rubbed her back.

“Are you too sleepy to eat?”

She shook her head. From the bedroom, he grabbed a T-shirt and track pants, then dressed her when she didn’t seem inclined to dress herself. Did she have any clue how beautiful she was? Her face was so dear to him that he ached to cover it with kisses. The column of her bare neck, the swell of her breasts, the curve of her hips, had him staring, enraptured, when he shouldn’t have been. The warm scent of her made him want to taste her and remind her of how well they fit together. His dick was hard, but right then he just wanted her in his arms, in his bed. Safe.

Instead, he rolled thick socks onto her tiny feet and led her downstairs, guiding her so she didn’t stumble.

“I don’t remember being this tired in my whole life. I feel drunk,” she murmured.

He chuckled. “I can tell.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you dress me, but even lifting my arms is hard.”

She shouldn’t know how much pleasure he got from taking care of her.

He settled her at the table, then dished food onto plates and poured them both tea.

“Thanks again. My mom is out of town, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who could front me the money. I’m going to pay you back though. I’ll go to the bank first thing in the morning.”

Ambrose sat down, waving her promise away. She would do no such thing, but he didn’t feel like arguing now. He cut her food, in case she was too tired to do it. When she didn’t pick up her fork, he skewered a piece of meat for her and put it to her lips. She opened her mouth and took it, then accepted her fork back from him.

“I’ve been keeping the food warm for a while. I hope it’s not dried out.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, and she groaned in pleasure. The sound was like a jolt of electricity straight into his jeans. He could think of several more pleasurable ways of making her groan than feeding her, but he doubted that would ever happen again. At least she was being civil and letting him help her.

“You have every right to be angry.”

“I do. Lies don’t belong in relationships.”

He nodded once, and the tiny amount of hope that had blossomed in him shriveled back up. Her tone said she hadn’t forgiven him. And here he’d thought he might have changed her mind.

Did he deserve to be forgiven? No.

They ate for a few minutes, and the haze of exhaustion that had clouded Everly seemed to lift. “This is awesome. So much better than toast.”

Ambrose laughed in spite of himself, considering it was a pretty fancy dinner, even for him.

When she laid her cutlery aside, he brought her to the living room and flipped on a documentary about seals. Either she’d fall asleep on the couch, and he could move her to the guest bedroom they used to share, or maybe he could get her talking.

“Seals?” She sat on the far side of the couch, and he sat on the other end, giving her space.

“If I watch shows about warm climates, I start wanting to travel.”

“So? You’re rich. Why not go?”

“Well, mostly because I’d have no one to go with. My family is busy with their own work, and so are the guys.” Maybe that had been too forward. He glanced at the television, watching the underwater ballet of the seals playing together.

“You’re not seeing anyone?”

He looked at her and shook his head. Although she seemed to be studying him, it didn’t look like his dating status mattered to her either way.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Thank goodness she’d brought it up, because he had to know one way or the other. Asking would have made him sound like some sort of desperate stalker.

Her expression was unreadable, but was there a hint of longing there? “No. I’ve been too messed up about you.”

Ambrose moved closer to her, but stopped when her expression turned wary.

“The very last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you.”

Everly’s brows raised in disbelief.

“It’s true. That’s one of the biggest reasons I had such a hard time coming clean about the money. Everything between us was so perfect that it made me more and more reluctant to fuck it up.” Ambrose swallowed, giving himself time to calm his voice. He was too stressed out to make sure all of his words came out right, but it might be the only chance she’d ever give him to say it.

“So what were you planning to do? You were just going to house-sit for your imaginary buddy for the rest of our lives? You were never going to tell me where you worked? You would have just kept paying for your bogus apartment?” She frowned and shook her head like he was the biggest damn idiot she’d ever met. When it came to her, maybe he was. Sometimes love made people stupid.

“I don’t know. I thought of selling the house. It’s too big anyway. And I don’t need so much money. I could just donate most of it and live off a normal wage. Other people could put it to better use.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “So you would have sold your house and lived like a regular person, just to keep me?”

“What’s the point of having money if it means I can’t be with the person I love? Besides, you’ve shown me I don’t need all this shit to make me happy. I was happier in my crappy fake apartment, because I was with you.”

Everly didn’t say anything, but seemed to be mulling over his words.
Fuck.
He should say something romantic, but he wasn’t good at smooth-talking.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I saw an envelope on your counter, from the new East End Shelter. What’s that about?”

Busted.

Mentally he scrambled, trying to figure out what to say.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “No more lies, Ambrose. Just tell me.”

“You said we needed one in that area.” He grimaced. When he was setting everything up, he’d wanted to consult with her, but it would have meant outing himself.

“We needed . . . ? You paid for a shelter?” Her eyes went round. “Like, the whole fucking shelter?”

“And the staff. I also arranged to have the downtown shelter renovated.” Did it sound like he was a rich guy bragging about his philanthropy? Ugh. Could he do anything right today?

She fell silent and eventually shook her head. “You know, when most guys fall in love, they just buy the girl a flower or something.”

He smiled at her tentatively. Taking a chance, he reached out and tucked a damp strand of her hair behind her ear. She didn’t recoil.

“Everly Weston isn’t like most girls.”

The moment Ambrose touched her hair so tenderly, like he was petting a little lamb, the torrent of emotion she’d been holding back for weeks poured over.

She burst into tears. Not a cute little trembling lip and a few teardrops. This was a full-on ugly cry with deep sobs from the pit of her soul.

Ambrose flinched back. “What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

Unable to make herself stop, she shook her head. “No. It’s not your fault,” she said, half-hysterical. “I’m just . . . tired.”

Through her blurry vision she spotted his hands shaking in his lap, like he was trying so hard to keep from touching her. “You can take a nap in the bedroom.”

“I’m tired!” she yelled, more at herself than him. “I’m tired of being sad and angry and confused. I’m tired of staying awake at night, thinking about you. I’m tired of missing you. I’m tired of poring over what happened in my head, doubting my feelings about it . . .” She had to pause to catch her breath.

When she opened her mouth to rail some more, he pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay to be tired.”

She’d missed this—missed
him
so much more than she’d even realized. The past few days, she’d thought maybe she was finally ready to get over him. But she’d been kidding herself. As soon as his scent hit her when she’d walked back into the police department lobby, any thoughts about getting over him had vanished.

Then he’d taken care of her—cooked her dinner, picked her up out of the bath, cared for her like he . . . like he still loved her. She’d expected him to be angry that she’d been ignoring him, not sweet and gentle and loving.

That brought a surge of rage and she yanked herself away and glared. “Why do you have to be so nice?” she shouted. “Why couldn’t you be an asshole and make this easier for me?” She punctuated it by pounding her fist on his chest.

He had the nerve to chuckle. “I could never be an asshole to you, love. Not even if you broke my heart a million times over. I’d still be here, waiting for you to do it again.” Hesitantly, he took her hand, looking like he was waiting for her to pull away. She didn’t. “Every moment we spent together was worth the suffering. Even knowing the ending, I’d choose to do it again.”

She cocked her head to the side, trying to read his face.

“I would tell you the truth, of course,” he rushed to add. “No lying. Ever.”

His gaze pierced her, opening her eyes and heart again, making her see
him
—beyond the money and the mansion and the lies.

Now that some of her knee-jerk emotion had drained away, it became clearer. Their relationship had been real. There was no denying that. Whatever his wealth changed about him, or them, it had nothing to do with his feelings for her. It had nothing to do with love.

And just like that, she believed him.

But how did she express that? Did she deserve another chance after ignoring him all this time? Was there room for forgiveness between them?

Doing her best to compose herself, she straightened. “Ambrose, can we . . . Can we give this another shot?”

His eyes widened like he didn’t believe her. “Are you serious?”

She nodded.

“Yes! Yes, of course we can.” Laughing, he grabbed her into his arms and squeezed her so tight she could barely breathe.

Then he kissed all over her face and neck. In between kisses, he hugged her again, like he was so excited to have her he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

She half-laughed, half-cried through it. After slobbering all over her, he pulled her onto his lap and she buried her face in his neck.

“I missed you,” she whispered against him.

Stroking her hair, he replied, “I missed you so much. Everyone’s been complaining I’ve turned into a total jackass.”

“Like that’s new,” she teased.

“Worse than usual.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, and she realized how relieved she was that he hadn’t moved on, even though she’d grumbled it at her phone often enough when his messages came. His blond hair was getting shaggy, and there were dark circles under his eyes, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well.

His eyes . . . She watched them, marveling at the depth of feeling there.

“Do you . . .” Tears welled in her eyes again. That choking fear of rejection was still there, lurking in the back of her mind. “Still love me?”

He smiled then ran his fingers across her cheek, collecting her tears. “Yes. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

They sat quietly for a while, Everly crying new tears and Ambrose wiping them away. He hummed in contentment, and she felt like she’d drawn a breath for the first time in weeks. That heavy pressure in her chest had disappeared when she’d taken her place in her Master’s lap.

“Everly,” Ambrose said, breaking the silence.

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know, I own an international shipping company. I’m rich, but I try not to be an ass about it. I like fancy foods and useless oversized mansions, apparently. But I can fund shelters and other charities, and also take you on vacations anywhere you want to go.” He exaggerated a relieved sigh. “There. Got that out.”

Chuckling, she sat up so she could look him in the eye. “Anywhere?”

He kissed her nose. “Anywhere.”

Sighing deeply, she snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth of being in his arms. It felt like it’d been so long since she’d been warm. Life had gone cold while they’d been apart. But now it was so very alive.

Their breathing synced, and she was pretty sure their heartbeats did, too, or maybe it was just a romantic notion. Either way, she was glad to be back in his arms.

“We need to have a talk eventually,” he said, breaking through her quiet contemplation. “About how we’re going to reconcile our difference in principles. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable being with me.”

Talking about serious things was a total buzz kill.

“Not now,” he echoed her thoughts. “But in the next few days. We need to work some things out.”

“Okay, but I’m sleepy.” She let her eyes drift shut. From his words earlier about giving up his mansion and donating money, she knew their differences weren’t insurmountable, as long as they were each willing to give a little. And for this, she would.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, then.”

“Nooo,” she half-whined. “You’ll get all sorts of ideas in the bedroom.”

He laughed. “And what’s wrong with that?”

“I’m tired.”

“Mmm,” he purred, shifting underneath her. “Yeah, but I haven’t had you in weeks. You couldn’t stay awake a little longer? I’ll make it worth your while.”

Oh, she’d just bet he would. Since they’d split up, neither her vibrator nor her hand had gotten any use. Her fantasies always revolved around Ambrose, and she was too sad to think of him. But now here he was, and he wanted her.

He ground his hips against her, his cock growing hard. Thinking about his cock and her ass made her belly warm and her clit ache.

“Ugh,” she said in mock annoyance. “I guess if my Master wants it, I can manage.” She leaned back and smirked at him. But then a second thought pushed its way in. “Are you . . . still my Master?”

For some reason, that question made her feel more vulnerable than asking if he still loved her. But their D/s dynamic was so much deeper than plain vanilla love. It was love magnified a hundredfold. The two were so entwined she didn’t know if they could ever separate the D/s from everything else. It would go against the very nature of their relationship.

She bit her lip, preparing for the worst. Maybe he wanted to take a break from that until other things were sorted out. Maybe he thought she wasn’t ready to be his slave again. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. Why wasn’t he answering?

“Well,” he finally said, looking thoughtful. “Are you my slave?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Yes.”

He arched a brow in that regal look she loved. Regal with a hint of hoodlum. Or maybe it was the other way around. “Yes what?”

She couldn’t keep back a grin. “Yes, Master.”

“Good.” Without warning, he jumped up from the couch with her in his arms. Ignoring her yelp, he strode toward the stairwell. “Then I demand sex, slave.”

“Hmph.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “You should ask nicely.”

He barked a laugh. “Still a brat, I see.”

“Quite a contradiction,” she teased. “A brat and a slave. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

At the bottom of the stairs, he set her on her feet then gazed down at her.

“My bratty slave is perfect for me.” Then he spun her toward the first step and smacked her ass. “Upstairs, girl. My cock missed you almost as much as the rest of me did.”

She walked up the stairs with deliberate slowness, hips swaying, throwing sulky looks over her shoulder.

“Mercy,” he drawled appreciatively, ogling her ass.

He grabbed hold of the track pants she was wearing and gave them a yank, and they puddled at her feet on the landing. The T-shirt she’d borrowed barely covered her bottom, and she widened her eyes at him and bit the tip of one finger.

“You’re such a hot little piece of ass, Everly mine.” He crowded her against the wall and slid his hand up the back of her thigh, picking up the edge of the shirt and holding her in place so he could admire her. “Now give me that look again.”

She complied, but this time she was less cocky and more shy.

At this rate they weren’t going to make it all the way to the bedroom.

Everly giggled then bolted up the stairs, and he growled and swatted her ass before she got completely out of range.

She ran to the master suite and ducked around the corner, then slipped into the closet.

Ambrose’s footsteps sounded in the hall, and she had to cover her mouth so he wouldn’t hear her snickering. She crouched down, peeking through the crack in the door, breathing hard.

Oh fuck.
She was in so much trouble.

The very idea of how annoyed he probably was turned her on. She shook her head at herself. Sick puppy.

He walked into the room and stripped off his shirt. Good Lord, he’d been working out more? Like he needed to. He was fucking huge! She licked her lips and let her gaze follow the muscles that defined his arms and chest, the sexy vee that pointed into his jeans—like she needed directions to his dick? He was hard as hell, too, the outline of his cock obvious, the tip poking above the waistband of his jeans. Maybe if she crawled out to him and sucked his cock, he’d forgive her instinctual bratty behavior.

“Come out here, bad girl. Do you really want to be in trouble the first night we’re back together?”

Silently, she nodded, grinning like a lunatic.

“I know where you are.”

A thrill of fear and exhilaration zinged through her. He was bluffing. He couldn’t know.

Ambrose sat on the edge of the bed and looked directly at the closet door. She crept backward, but didn’t stop watching. He unzipped his jeans, and freed his dick. He leaned back on one elbow and wrapped his hand around his cock, and started to stroke himself. Oh God, it was her own personal porn reel. The fact that she was hiding in the closet watching made it seem so much more perverted.

Soundlessly, she whimpered. She pressed a hand between her legs, trying to resist the temptation of letting him win.

“Come here, little slave. Let me give you what you want.”

He was staring right at her. There was no way he couldn’t see her, the way his gaze locked onto hers. Unable to stop herself, she nudged the door open with her fingertips, then watched the play of his hand stroking up and down his monster cock, while she fingered her clit.

“Come on,” he coaxed, his seductive smile luring her closer.

She crawled to him, not stopping until she was between his feet.

“That’s my good girl.” He edged closer to her, then wrapped a firm hand around her hair and tugged her closer. She gasped and closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of the head of his cock brushing her lips. He let go of her hair.

“Everly.”

She opened her eyes and looked up, but he’d tucked his cock away. In his hands was the prettiest collar she’d ever seen. It was feather-shaped, and purple and black, with each detail carved precisely into the leather. It was delicate and whimsical and she was delighted that he’d thought of her when he’d seen it. Ambrose held it like he was offering her a piece of his soul.

Reverently, she reached out and ran a finger over the ridges and buckle. “Is it for me?”

He nodded. “If you’ll have me. I had it made for you, just before . . .” His words trailed off, and a flash of hurt flickered behind his blue eyes.

She was such a bitch.
Oh God.
He really had loved her all along. She’d almost lost him, because she was offended that he loved her too much to tell her the truth. When they were apart, she tried to convince herself she hadn’t really known him. But even if his finances had been a mystery, she’d known him, like this, the whole time.

Ambrose fiddled with the collar, rubbing his thumb over the edge of it as though he’d held it in his hands many times. Had he held it and thought of her when they were apart?

Yes. He probably had. She felt humbled by the idea. The infatuation hadn’t been one-sided at all. She’d never been a joke to him, or just a challenge, like she’d feared.

“Does this mean . . . ?” she began. What if it was just a play collar? It was presumptuous to think he’d take such a big step so fast after they patched things up.

“It means I want you to be mine, Everly. Only mine. I want to protect you and treasure you, love you and laugh with you. I want to punish you when you’re bad, and hold you while you sleep. I want to build my entire life around you.”

“And you would be my Master?” she whispered. “Not just for role-playing?” He hadn’t said so, but that seemed to be the way things had been going between them, before they’d been derailed.

“Yes.” His eyes were alight with an eerie intensity that made her squirm where she knelt.

“And I would be your . . . slave.” It was more real to say it now, in a tranquil moment, than when it had been said before, as a joke, or in lust. The word “slave” echoed through her, and she felt it down deep in her bones.