Shackled (11 page)

On a personal level, they had a lot in common. They were both natural Doms, and they had in fact indulged some of their more prurient fantasies together, sharing the same sub. Another connection they had was Beth, herself. Peter knew her from some of the charity events he’d worked as extra security when he’d been getting his agency off the ground and had needed a little extra income.

When Jonathan had confessed his feelings for Beth, he and Peter had discovered this extra connection, and that Peter had been more than a little drawn to the woman, himself. So the two of them had talked, and they’d come up with a plan.

The phone was answered by Peter’s administrative assistant, who put him through to her boss immediately.

“Hello, Jon. How are you doing?”

“I’m great. And you will be, too, I hope, when I tell you the timetable has been moved up.”

“That’s good news. How did that come about?”

“The lady herself. I’ll explain it when you come to dinner tonight.”

“It’s a date.”

“Good. Now, speaking of Beth, I need your help in a professional capacity. I need some information on someone.” He gave Peter all the information he’d gleaned from Bethany about her sister-in-law, Constance don’t-call-me-Connie Craig Marshal Hancock Wellington. He did know
of
the Craig family—he hadn’t lied to Bethany because he’d never actually met the woman—but he’d taken an interest a few years ago in learning what he could about the people who’d treated Beth so shabbily.

At one time, he’d contemplated doing what he could to ruin the senior Timothy Craig. As he’d matured, however, he’d set that notion aside. He’d gathered information on the wealthy nabob not as a prelude for seeking vindication for Beth, but as a normal precaution should he need to act at some future date to protect her.

He’d always planned one way or another to come for her.

“I don’t know if I’ll have any information by tonight,” Peter said.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re on the case, and that’s good enough for now.”

After Jonathan finished his call to Peter, he took a few minutes, since he was there, to scan his e-mails, answering the few he felt wouldn’t wait until he returned from the country at the end of next week.

Then he pocketed Beth’s keys and went in search of his woman.

* * * *

“It’s so nice that Mr. Steele has finally found a young woman to keep time with. It’s not natural for a man still in the prime of life to spend every evening alone, now, is it?”

Bethany couldn’t help but smile. She took another sip of the wonderful Darjeeling tea and then said, “I’m hardly a young woman, Grace.”

Grace Knowlton waved her hand in dismissal. “Piffle. Youth lives right up here.” She tapped her head. “If you’re willing to try new things and expand your horizons, then of course, you’re young.”

Bethany felt both eyebrows go up as she digested that particular nugget of wisdom. Surely this sweet, chatty woman wasn’t referring to what Bethany thought she was referring to?

Just then, Jonathan entered the kitchen, stifling a cough, and Bethany realized two things. The first was that he’d overheard Grace’s comment, and the second was that the cheery housekeeper wasn’t referring to the BDSM lifestyle. That’s why Jonathan tried to swallow his laughter.

“Beth, I’m ready if you are.”

That devil chose those words on purpose! Schooling her features, she said, “I’m at your service, of course.”

Jonathan’s eyes sparkled with humor, and Bethany felt a special kind of communion with him. Sharing a joke with a man was the sort of intimacy she’d craved all her life. The sense of being connected intellectually was a heady thing and, for her, nearly as appealing as the physical connection they’d begun to forge.

She turned her attention back to Jonathan’s housekeeper. “Thank you for the tea, and keeping me company, Grace.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure. I’m certain we’ll see each other again.”

“Yes,” Bethany smiled, “I’m sure we will, too.”

“Do you mind if I drive?” Jonathan asked as they stepped into the garage.

“Not at all. I know you recall where I live.”

“I do, indeed. Actually, I have good memories of that neighborhood. We moved there not long after my father left, so there could be nothing of him around us. Once we began living there, things started to turn around for us. And then, of course, you moved in next door.”

Thinking of those early years, when she’d moved to her home and met a younger Jonathan Steele, she marveled that by the time he’d turned sixteen, Jonathan had been through a lifetime of turmoil. She asked, “How is your mother?”

“Mom’s great. She’d married Henry, as you recall, and she’s finally happy. He’s a good man. I like him. They live in an adult-only enclave outside of Orlando.”

“That’s good.” She and Mary Steele hadn’t exactly been contemporaries, as Jonathan’s mother had been a couple of decades older than her. But she liked the woman well enough and had admired her for making a new life for herself and her son after finally getting free of a physically abusive husband.

It didn’t take very long for Jonathan to drive them from his condo to her small house. She led him inside, wrinkling her nose at the closed-up smell of the place. Good heavens, she’d only been gone slightly more than twenty-four hours! She’d have to get to her regular fall cleaning soon. The place could certainly use it.

They moved beyond the vestibule and into her living room. The floor plan of her bungalow was a simple one. The living room had two archways, one that led to the small entrance hall and front door, and one that opened to a hallway running the width of the house. To the left were the kitchen and den. To the right, three small bedrooms and one bathroom.

“You’ve got phone messages,” Jonathan said.

Bethany moved the phone out of the den and into the living room after Tim had died. She looked down at the blinking light and sighed. It was likely Connie, wanting to come by or take her to lunch. She couldn’t stand the woman and simply wasn’t interested in these latter-day attempts at friendship—especially when they came wrapped in barbs and condescension.

Bethany could have used another female friend for all of the twenty-five-plus years of her marriage. Where had Connie been then?

Jonathan proved once more that he could read her mood. “Look, why don’t you go pack a few clothes. I can listen to your messages for you.”

Bethany felt assailed by opposing emotions. Part of her wanted to heave a huge sigh of relief, because he offered to do something for her she really didn’t want to do herself. The other part of her scolded herself for shirking her responsibilities.

She opened her mouth to decline his offer, but he didn’t give her the chance.

“Go. I’ll take care of this.” He bent down and kissed her, his lips firm, nearly forceful, and his tongue…
good God, what this man can do with his tongue should be illegal
.

Bethany supposed she should be used to having her brains scrambled and her intentions diverted, as Jonathan had been doing that constantly since the day before.

“All right, thanks.” Shaking her head, she moved off toward the hall and her bedroom.

“Beth.”

She turned back to look at Jonathan. “Yes?”

“You don’t need to pack any underwear.”

She knew her smile was weak, because that’s how it felt. His, on the other hand, looked smug as hell.

She decided not to respond to his dictate. Not usually one to split hairs, she thought she’d throw some panties into her small suitcase anyway. If he called her on it, she’d tell him that while he had said she didn’t
need
to pack any underwear, she hadn’t agreed with him at the time, neither had he ordered her not to.

In her bedroom, she pulled her seldom-used suitcase from the closet and contemplated the job of packing. The only other times she’d packed had been for the two vacations she and Tim had gone on to the tropics. For each occasion, she’d spent weeks making lists, planning out everything she would bring with her. Tim had derided her of course, and while his snarky comments had dulled the pleasure of anticipation for her, the list-making extended it.

Now she was to pack for an entire month in a matter of minutes! Of course, if she needed more clothes, she likely could drive back into the city at any time and come get them. Shrugging, she gathered together a couple of pairs of jeans and a few T-shirts, some skirts and blouses, her one good dress—just in case they went out anywhere for dinner—two pairs of tailored slacks, and a handful of lace from her underwear drawer.

The only items from her bathroom she concerned herself with were her makeup bag, deodorant, moisturizer, and some feminine hygiene products.

She checked her watch, pleased she’d managed the entire task in just over twenty minutes.

Bethany didn’t find Jonathan in the living room, where she’d left him. Neither was the message light still flashing on her phone. Curious where he’d be, she went searching for him. Of course, since her house wasn’t very big, she found him quickly. He stood in the den, looking out the picture window into her backyard.

The patio set they’d used so many summers ago to lounge on while chatting and sipping tea still stood under the shade of the giant maple. Since the leaves had begun to turn, she supposed it would soon be time to haul the set into the shed for the winter.

“He certainly had his creature comforts,” Jonathan said.

Despite that he’d been looking at the view, Bethany knew he referred to the sixty-inch plasma television Tim had bought about a month before he died. She still couldn’t look at the thing without shivering. He’d bought the thing without even discussing it with her, just one more time when he’d sabotaged her budget. “Yes, he did,” she said.

Jonathan turned from the window, met her gaze, and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. Then he laid his hand on Tim’s chair. “Nice chair.”

That chair had been another bone of contention between her and her husband. “That’s a handcrafted Italian leather recliner. I believe that particular model is called ‘Il Trono.’”

“The throne,” Jonathan said.

“Yes. I have no idea if the thing is comfortable or not. I believe its name was its selling point.”

“Hmm.” Jonathan sat in it and made a show of getting himself comfortable. “Not bad, I suppose. Did he buy it over at the Galleria?”

Bethany smiled. That was a logical assumption, as Tim had preferred to shop at the expensive mall that housed so many famous name and fine stores. “No. It’s an Italian leather chair,
from Italy
.”

“Holy hell. He bought it and had it
shipped
?” Jonathan immediately got out of the chair and looked at it as if it would bite his ass. Then he looked at her. “I bet he never discussed it with you first, did he?”

“Of course not. Could we go now, please? I’m packed and ready.”

Jonathan looked at her for a long moment. “Yes, we can go.”

Bethany appreciated that Jonathan seemed to be able to read her mood, because he didn’t say anything until they were nearly out of the city.

“You didn’t ask about your messages,” he said at last.

“Oh. I forgot. But really, if it wasn’t the children, I’m not overly sure I care at the moment.”

“If there’d been a message from either of your children, sweetheart, I’d have told you right away.”

Because he’d said that so seriously, she turned to look at him. “Yes, I know you would. It was likely Connie who called.”

“Indeed. Wanting to ‘do lunch’. Personally, I hate that expression. It sounds so fucking pretentious. You don’t
do
lunch, for God’s sake, you
eat
lunch.”

“That’s Connie,” Bethany said. “I have my cell phone. I’ll give her a call later today.”

“Do it before dinner, please.” Jonathan smiled at her. That smile went a long way toward soothing her mood. She’d rarely stepped foot inside the den since Tim had died. She’d come to hate that room.

“Why before dinner?” Bethany asked.

“We’re going to have company for dinner, and after the company leaves, why, then you’ll be entirely too busy to make any phone calls.” He said that with complete confidence. Then, “Beth, what is that noise I’m hearing?”

“What noise?”