Wyatt (Lane Brothers #1) (17 page)

“Tell him I don’t want it,” I snarl through clenched teeth, my fingers so tight around the phone I feel my knuckles pop.

“Cecelia Rose Bennet, you will not hurt your daddy’s feelings by throwing a gift back in his face. You refused our help with college and living expenses. You will not refuse him this.”

I groan and roll my eyes to the ceiling, knowing what’s about to come. Mama is the queen of manipulation, and when she can’t just fool you into doing what she wants, she brings out the big guns.

Guilt.

“You know he just about cried last month when you didn’t come home for Macy’s birthday. I don’t even want to tell you how low he was when you said you wouldn’t be here for his big Halloween shindig.”

Another groan slips out, and I open my eyes to see Bee laughing at me from her perch on the sofa across from me. Bee loves it when my folks call, because for some unholy reason I start talking all Texas cowgirl and forget complete words.

You know what they say: you can take the girl outta Texas…

“I already have plans for Halloween, Mama, I told you that weeks ago. Besides, I’m not flying all the way over for just one night, it’s silly. I’ll be over for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Fine, but if you can’t see fit to visit your own family more than twice a year you can at least accept your daddy’s gift without being such a brat.”

I sigh and do what I knew I would ten seconds after answering the phone. I cave. My daddy has ordered me a top of the line security…thing. Tomorrow a man will come over and install a system that won’t let an ant in without authorization from the goddamned president himself.

I hate it, but if this is what it’ll take for them to get off my ass about living in the ‘Devil’s den’, as Daddy calls it, I’ll do it without too much bother.

“Oh good. And I’ve sent over a few things for you to wear to those fancy parties you go to.”

“Mamaaa, I told you I don’t go to fancy parties. The closest thing to fancy I get around here is dip to go along with the potato chips and beer.”

Bee lifts her eyebrows, and I scowl, tossing a throw pillow at her. Going out with Vincent doesn’t count, because the two times I’d accompanied him to a party he’d sent over dresses, shoes, and accessories.

“You just stop fussing and say thank you. Now I have to go. Your father’s started riding again, and I need to go make sure the fool doesn’t bust his other leg.”

“I love you, Mama.”

“Love you too, baby. Be safe.”

I hit the disconnect button and toss the phone onto the coffee table with a humph of annoyance, studiously ignoring Bee’s amusement at yet another instance of my weakness against the tidal wave that is my mama, Beatrice Bennet.

“God, I love your mom! She’s the only person alive who can get you to do what you don’t want to. Does she have a super power?”

We have this conversation every time Mama calls, and I have yet to ascertain whether or not the woman does indeed possess a mysterious power I have yet to uncover. All I know is that she can turn me upside down and inside out with nothing more than a look or a well-placed sigh of disappointment.

“Oh shut up. I was here when your granny called last month. You wore a lime green poncho to work for a week just to make her happy.”

God, I love Bee’s old grandma, but the woman has a weakness for colors that can be seen from outer space. And she loves knitting matching sets. Bee shrugs dismissively and sips a cup of coffee, considering me for a while before sighing and just getting to the point.

“Your mama isn’t the only one who has you on a short leash lately. What’s up with your boyfriend and the clothes? Doesn’t he trust you not to show up wearing jeans and sneakers?”

I’ve wondered the same thing for the last four days, and short of throwing a major tantrum and refusing to wear what he sends, I can’t think of anything to say about it.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really? Have you slept together?”

“No,” I say, giving her the evil eye.

She grins and gives me a nod. “Does he buy you nice things and call you twice a day?”

Dammit.

“Yeah.”

“Then he’s your boyfriend! Eric buys me clothes all the time; it’s what boyfriends do. At least, it’s what Eric does, and that man is sooo my boyfriend. At least your boyfriend has taste.”

I like what he gives me, and I’d be lying if I said what he chooses for me isn’t perfect and exactly what I would choose if I could afford it. Speaking of…

“Vernon called yesterday and said my faces series seems to be quite popular. He sold three in the last four days, and some woman came in and bought the other four. Can you believe it?”

I’m so excited I could scream. I admit, when Vern had called and told me about my newfound popularity, I’d been suspicious of Vincent right off the bat. I wouldn’t put it past the guy to buy my collection just to keep me under his controlling thumb.

When Vern had assured me the buyer was not the great Vincent Blake, I’d been truly ecstatic and happy. I’m becoming a real artist instead of a flailing mess who throws paint at a canvas!

With this money, and the commission I’ll earn from Vincent’s landscapes, I can afford to take that mixed media class I’ve been wanting to, and quit all my jobs. After paying off my mountain of credit card debt and remaining student loans.

For the first time in six years I have enough money to relax and just breathe. I’m still trying not to freak out, but I have a lightness now that feels as good as it does alien.

“I’m so happy for you, Sis. I knew you’d be a success! So, are you up for a girl’s only night?”

“Sorry, little sister, but this gal has a date with her guy.”

At least, I’m assuming it’s a date. I’m finally going to start putting brush to canvas tonight, and I intend for it to end with Vincent inside me and an orgasm I’ve been waiting an eternity for.

The last four days have been murder on my self-control. Vincent, the bastard, has taken great delight in teasing me at every opportunity before leaving me at my door with a chaste kiss and a promise to call the next day.

He always calls, taking the opportunity to slip in a sly innuendo and the odd sexual tease. I’m sick of being respected. I want him to take advantage of me already, for as long as my body will allow, in every position it can contort into.

“Are you finally going to do the deed?”

I rise from the sofa and glare at the little bag on the coffee table.

“Here’s to hoping. That lingerie cost a goddamned fortune.”

I’d buckled under Bee’s advice and taken a trip to VS this morning. The little black bustier and matching thong are a last ditch effort to break Vincent’s control, and with the price tag they’d come with, I really hope it works.

“Mama Bee will never steer you wrong, Sis. I wore something similar one time after Eric and I had a huge fight. He ended up apologizing to me, and I’m woman enough to admit I was wrong that time.”

I grin and grab my bag, swinging it to and fro as I make my way to my bedroom, Bee hot on my heels.

“I’m gonna help you exfoliate and get your wax job looking like a million bucks,” she says, giving me the chills. “And don’t cry so much about it this time. Beauty is pain.”

My skin literally shrinks when she disappears into the bathroom and comes out bearing her gloves of torture and tweezers.

This is going to be painful.

“You seem nervous.”

I swallow back a snarl and shake my head, keeping my gaze trained on the traffic streaming beside us as Vincent pulls up in front of his town house.

I am nervous, and not because I don’t look great. I really do. Bee had exfoliated and moisturized me so thoroughly my skin is literally glowing, and done something really sexy with my blonde curls that make me look like a beach goddess.

I look and feel like a million bucks—I just wish it would give me a magical power when it comes to the whole seduction thing. I’m not exactly experienced, and the one time I’d gone all the way—the night I’d lost my virginity to Rob Green…oh, and my epic flop with Graham, that makes two—I hadn’t exactly been a sex goddess.

I’ve read books and watched porn and surfed the net, but I am way in over my head with a man like Vincent. His very pores exude sexy, while I feel like Cinderella with a thirty minute curfew before I turn into the pumpkin.

“Dove, what’s the problem?” he asks after coming around and opening my door.

“Nothing,” I say, preceding him through the front door. “I’m just a little preoccupied. I have to go over to Vern’s tomorrow, and that security thing…” I say, waving his concern away.

He eyes me skeptically and takes my coat, whistling when he reveals the skin tight plum jersey dress I’m rocking with a pair of sky high heels.

“That dress is—are you intending to paint in that?”

A smile breaks free, quelling my nerves, and I raise a brow.

“Are you saying I can keep it on tonight?” I ask cheekily, chuckling when he growls and firmly shakes his head.

“Not on your life. Have you had dinner?”

“Yeah, I grabbed Chinese with Bee and Eric.”

Maybe that’s why I’m in such a funk all of a sudden. I’ve always liked Eric, but tonight I’d seen a side to the guy that gives me the willies. I now understand why he’s been lavishing Bee with clothes and shoes and every accessory money can buy. He wants to have control over everything she wears, everywhere she goes, and tonight, everything she eats.

I feel like a royal failure as a friend that I hadn’t noticed how much weight Bee has dropped in the last couple of weeks, and now that I have, I know why.

Eric had gone mental when she’d tried to order her own food, and I’d watched her pick at a portion that wouldn’t fill a five-year-old before finally shoving it aside.

When I see her tomorrow I am so having a heart to heart with her about that asshole.

“Dove, I’m trying to be patient here, but your mood is starting to worry me,” he finally sighs, making me aware of the time that’s passed while I’ve been wool gathering.

Of course he’s annoyed. It’s not like me to ignore everything around me, especially not him. Nope, I’m usually so hyper aware of him I hang on his every breath. Like a goddamned dog waiting for a treat.

I get really annoyed then, and I lash out, feeling as insecure about this situation as I know Bee feels right now.

Why should I be the one chasing him? I’ve done everything he wants, gone to his parties, worn his choice of clothes, and I’ve spent days throwing myself at him.

Bastard.

“Maybe I should just go. I mean, why would I possibly want to spend another night here with you, watching you jack off and give me the blow off when I can waste my time at home with my vibrator?”

Whoa, that was just unnecessary, Sis. Get a grip.

“Dove—”

“And what’s with the clothes, huh? Do I look like a goddamned Barbie doll to you? If you want to play dress up with a woman you should—”

“That’s enough!” he roars, slamming me into his chest.

I look up to see his eyes have changed color to a deep moss green that glows with anger.

“Not one more fucking word.”

“But—”

“I sent you the dresses because I didn’t want you spending money on something you can’t afford right now. I specifically chose them to suit you, to be something you yourself would have chosen. Believe me, Cecelia, if it had been my choice you’d be wearing enough fabric that no other man gets to see an inch of your delectable skin.”

Oh crap. He’s right, and I know it. Those dresses had been far sexier and more colorful than Vincent would go for.

“I’m sorry,” I sigh, leaning my forehead into his chest. His scent hits me, that blend of citrus and man, and I feel myself melt into his heat. “I’ve been iffy all night after Bee’s boyfriend went all dictator on her. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

He relaxes and rubs soothingly at my back, kneading the tension from my shoulders I hadn’t even noticed till now.

“What has this Eric done to upset you so?”

“He’s been buying all of Bee’s clothes lately, and…he’s just been really controlling, I think. I think he’s even been telling her what to eat, because tonight, when she ordered food, he went nuts about what she was eating. And she’s lost weight.”

“Dove, I would never try to change you or force you to be something you’re not. I actually like that you don’t look like a carbon copy of what society wants, and you can bloody well believe I would never try to starve you.”

I snort at that and duck my head in shame. In fact, the man feeds me way too much when we’re together, and has a hernia if I so much as make a crack about needing to drop a pound or two.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay. Now come along, woman: you have a painting to start.”

My worries and the anger melt away, replaced by the familiar tingle of anticipation and the sexual heat I am now more than familiar with. As I follow him upstairs and into his bedroom, I release it all and allow myself this time with Vincent.

I have every intention of seducing my guy tonight.

“I’ll go grab a shower while you get ready, dove.”

Same as every other night before this. He strides away, leaving me alone, and I waste no time whipping the dress up and over my head. The shoes stay on, along with the lingerie, and I smile to myself as I hear the shower turn off.

Bending at the waist, I lean down to swipe the dress up, fully aware of the view he’ll see when he come back out.

My ass is pointed up and on full display, the creamy globes bare but for the thin string nestled between the cheeks. I hear Vincent curse and smile smugly as I straighten slowly and turn back, taking my time with fluffing and folding the dress.

I know exactly how great I look with my hairless mound visible through the lace and my breasts spilling over the snug cups of the bustier.

“Dove.”

“Get a move on, Vincent.”

By the time he’s dropped the towel and reclined on the bed I’ve decided to at least try and play this game. I reach for the front hooks of the bustier and stifle a grin when he shakes his head.

“No, dove, leave it on.”

I shrug as casually as I can and boost myself onto the stool, taking note of his fascination with my jiggling breasts and the slight peek of aureole he’s getting with my every move.

I’m aroused and giddy with triumph to the point that when I pick up my brush and start mixing oils, I’m as steady as a rock for the first time in days.

Funny what a little change in power can do for a girl.

“Are you done then, dove?” I hear an hour later, just when I’ve started to get into it.

Vincent has been shifting around restlessly and throwing irritable sighs around the entire time. And he hasn’t touched his dick once, I note, biting my lips to keep from laughing.

“Not yet, but—”

He’s up and tossing my brush and palette in the next instant, and I yelp when he picks me up and tosses me at the bed.

“Christ, you’ve been teasing me into a frenzy, woman,” he snarls, stalking to the foot of the bed with a lazy glide that belies the tension I see gripping his large frame.

“I’ve been teasing you? All I did was keep my underwear on and paint.”

His eyes droop to half-mast, and he bares his teeth in a growl.

“That getup should be illegal, and you bloody well know it. I can’t think for wanting to unwrap you. Take off the pants, dove.”

I already know, thanks to my more than humiliating experience at the Met that pants are panties, so I hook my fingers into the fragile strings at my hips and push them down, being careful to keep my legs closed the whole time.

“Shoes.”

I oblige and kick one heel to the ground, gasping when he raises the other and slowly slips it off, his large hands cupping my foot, holding it still for his lips.

“Your skin is so soft,” he groans, licking at the arch of my foot before running his tongue to the delicate bones at my ankle. “I want to taste you everywhere.”

My body starts doing the victory dance when he spreads my legs and plants his hands beside my hips, bringing his face perilously close to my bared slit.

“Have you enjoyed teasing me tonight, dove?” he asks, blowing a hot breath over my folds.

I whimper when he grabs my hips and holds me down, stilling my movements to get closer to his mouth.

“Answer me, dove. Did you enjoy teasing me?”

“No… Yes, I just wanted you to stop torturing me, and I…oh!”

His mouth closes over me, and I moan, my fingers fisting the sheets when he spreads his hands over the insides of my thighs, pushing me open for the onslaught.

There’s no hesitance or teasing involved, and I scream my pleasure when he sucks my clit into his mouth and keeps up a steady, brutal pressure that has me peaking in a glorious rush.

He sucks until my orgasm is nothing but soft pulses of pleasure and then lifts his head to look up at me with a hard stare that totally obliterates my satisfied glow.

“Vincent?”

“I wanted to wait and make this special,” he growls, crawling up my body with a groan of desire that loosens the fist clutching at my heart.

“But I can’t hold off anymore. I want you.”

“Yes,” I groan, opening myself as he settles between my legs and slowly pushes forward, entering me with a slow, unceasing thrust until he bottoms out.

“I knew it would be this way,” he groans, pulling back to thrust back in a slow rhythm that makes me clench deep inside.

“Please.”

I’m moaning one syllable words as he thrusts in and out in a maddening rhythm that makes me clench and push back, needing more. He’s torturing me with his control, and I don’t think I can stand another minute, when I feel his fingers glance around my clit on the upstroke.

I orgasm, yelling out his name in a strangled garble, and scream when I feel him push deeper and still, the hot splash of his own orgasm filling me with heat.

“God have mercy, you’ll be the death of me,” he mutters, burying his face in the perspiration-slicked skin at my neck.

I smile and wrap my arms around him, sighing out my pleasure.

“I’m going to have to paint from home, or I’ll never finish. God, I can’t believe you made me wait for that!”

He rolls onto his back and pulls me into his side, cupping a possessive hand around my ass cheek.

“You belong here. Now go to sleep, woman, you’ve caused quite enough trouble for one night.”