“That’s good, right?”
“It’s anyone’s guess.”
“For fuck’s sake, you read women like tarot cards, and you can’t tell if she wants to see me or not?”
“I think she does. I also think she’s scared.”
“Of what?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe you slapping a collar on her and locking her in a dark room?”
“That isn’t fucking funny.” I can’t stop myself from smirking. “I did love her in that collar, though.”
“Didn’t we all.”
Jett pulls up to our destination. I stare idly at the plane. “Let’s do this.” He slaps me on the arm.
I nod with a knot the size of Texas in my throat. I’m half considering driving back to Ellie’s house and throwing her over my shoulder so she has no choice but to come with me, but I don’t think that scenario will fly. I don’t want her to feel forced or like she’s being backed into a corner. I want her to come because she wants to. I want her to see for herself that I’m not the tyrant she believes me to be. Yes, I love dominance and submission, but I also love Ellie in any way I can have her. She controls the playing field, and I’ll abide by her rules. Even if that means changing who I am. For her, I would do it. For her, I’d do anything.
“Clock’s ticking, Kayne.” Jett slams on the hood of his Chevelle.
I take a deep breath and get out of the car, carrying with me the most lethal arsenal on the planet.
Hope.
I LAY AWAKE STARING OUTthe window at yet another clear blue Hawaiian morning.
After Jett left last night, I skipped the bath, and went straight for the wine and sleeping pills. They helped me relax, but in no way provided the restful night’s sleep I was hoping for. I tossed and turned, dreaming about majestic blue eyes, a firm hand, and clashing feelings. Throwing the covers off, I get out of bed. In the kitchen, I pick up the envelope that has the plane ticket and note stuffed inside. I pull out the white folded piece of paper and stare at the word written in his handwriting: Cupcake. That one single word holds so much power it could be deemed a deadly weapon. “I’ll use it so you know you mean more to me than just sex.
“Do I?”
“Yes, baby. So much more.”
It’s amazing how you can get handed exactly what you want and not feel anything like you thought you would. I thought this would make me happy, make me excited, but all it makes me is anxious. I stare at the word for what feels like forever, finally deciding I have to see him. I need to figure out if what I’m feeling is real or just a psychotic episode. And if I’m going to do this, I need to go shopping! A girl can’t reconnect with her ex-slave owner wearing the tattered old rags she calls clothes hanging in her closet.
In record time, I change into a denim miniskirt and tank top, throw my hair into a ponytail, and grab my keys off the kitchen counter. I’ve given myself exactly four hours to shop, shower, and pack, leaving one hour to hyperventilate before the car picks me up.
I DUMP MY HAUL OFsexy little sundresses, underwear, and bikinis onto my bed. Not bad for a few hours’ work. I pack in a hurry, leaving out the white tube dress with hot pink embroidery on the hem and the strappy wedge heels I fell in love with at first sight. I shower and blow-dry my hair then attempt to apply some makeup. Where is Jett when I really need him? Luckily, I received a crash course at the MAC counter after one of the makeup artists witnessed me trying to apply eyeliner. After she had rubbed the crooked lines off my eyelids, she informed me that all I really needed was a little eye shadow and a few thick coats of mascara. Then she applied a shimmery brown powder all over my face and stained my lips a bright pink. She said the secret to makeup is using just enough to enhance my natural beauty. I believed her, because when I looked in the mirror, I still felt like myself only sexed up a bit. It really is amazing what a little makeup can do.
I’ve come pretty damn close to recreating her masterpiece.
I’m barely finished getting ready when there’s a knock at my door. My heart freefalls into my stomach. It’s time to go. I open the door to a tall, nice looking man dressed in black with a driver’s hat on. “Miss Stevens,” he addresses me professionally.
“Yes.” My voice is small.
“All set to go, ma’am? Can I carry your bags?”
I can’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses he’s wearing, but his wavy brown hair is tousled at the nape of his neck and his grin is relaxed, mischievous almost.
He seems harmless enough.
“Yes, please.” I step aside and allow him to retrieve my one and only suitcase. Steeling my nerves, I lock the door behind me, and follow the driver to the black Town Car parked in the visitor’s space outside my building. Just as he places my suitcase in the trunk, a familiar pickup pulls up behind us.
Shit. I completely forgot.
Michael steps out of his truck with a confused expression. Shit. Shit. Shit. Jett’s visit completely scrambled my brain.
“Going somewhere?” He eyes the car and the driver, who is suddenly standing uncomfortably close to me.
