Three and a Half Weeks Page 8

  “Originally I planned to placate him to the best of my ability. Should I just agree to everything and then we’ll plan from there?”

  “Agree to begin tonight? How will you handle that one?”

  “Well, I figure I can go with him to his place and begin by asking him to lay everything out in front of me. After, I’ll go back to my hotel. I’m not going to sleep with him or even spend the night, obviously.”

  “I’m just concerned that if you agree to his terms and then renege, it might just piss him off enough to really go after you, Ella. Blackmon has a reputation among his adversaries for going right for the jugular and not stopping until there’s a river of arterial blood at his feet. I’m not convinced it’s a smart thing to do.”

  “So then what do you think I should do at this point? Let’s face it: whichever way I go, I’m going to piss him off… unless I do what he wants and I’m not going to do that. Never.”

  “I suppose our choices are limited right now so go ahead and agree for now. Meet with him in private and have him tell you in no uncertain terms what he requires. Then let’s talk again. Okay?”

  “Yes, okay, and thanks, Stephen. I appreciate your support.”

  “You’re welcome. Good luck, Ella.”

  When I agreed to begin tonight I could tell by the astonished look in Ian’s eyes that he didn’t expect that answer at all. That was satisfying on some small level. He pays the check, both of us silent, and then ushers me into a black limo for the ride back to his place. My heart is slamming against my rib cage, but I try like hell to look calm and collected. I do not want any cracks in my armor to show, none at all, even though close proximity to him is wreaking havoc on my equilibrium. God, but the man is smokin’ hot. Why oh why must he be so beautiful? It’s not fair especially when he could be such a pompous ass. I glance over at him, sullen in my space at one end of the back seat, as far away as I can get without being too obvious. Interestingly he makes no attempt to close the gap.

  He is quiet, too, and he looks solemn, glum even. Why? As far as he knows, he’s won. He should be triumphant, taking a victory lap. But he most definitely isn’t and it gives me pause to wonder if he is aware that my capitulation isn’t genuine. Bizarrely, I feel regret for my deception and almost come clean. Almost. But I have to remember he is looking out for himself so I have to do the same.

  When I walked into that restaurant and got my first eyeful of him, my knees wobbled—I hate when that happens, when knees just give out so readily. It’s downright scary, especially when one is wearing stilettos. Anyway, tonight he’s wearing a navy blue suit, white shirt, and dark maroon silk tie. The suit fits him so well, the pants highlighting his slim waist, narrow hips, and long legs. He’s always so put together, as well. Have I ever seen him in an off moment? Not really, even after we had passionate sex and rolled all around the bed pawing at each other, he still looked fine afterward. I was the one whose hair stuck out in every direction and whose cheeks were chafed red by Ian’s five o’clock shadow (not to mention having sore nips from his loving attention and aching legs from being held open too long by a certain someone with very strong hands). These ribald thoughts are making me sort of desperate to jump into bed with him. Bad Ella. I begin to think of the devastation from the latest hurricane in the Midwest.

  Traffic is light so we arrive at our destination, an impressive apartment building, in under ten minutes.

  I glance sharply at him. “Have you moved?”

  “No,” he answers in a soft voice. “I use this apartment to house business associates from out of town. I thought it would be best to work out the details of our arrangement on neutral territory.”

  Nodding in agreement, I step out of the sedan. The doorman holds the elevator for us and, luckily, there are two men already in the car so that saves us both from any stilted conversation. Finally, we reach his place and he settles me in the living room and goes to the bar to get some cognac. When he returns to me, my stomach sinks and I know it’s show time.

  I twist my hair behind me and then over my shoulder, pulling my sweater around my body a bit tighter. “So. Here we are.”

  “Yes.” He hands me a cognac.

  For a minute, he doesn’t look like the big, bad CEO who wants to manipulate me. Instead, I see a flash of boyish charm and insecurity in his countenance. It gives me pause but I try to collect myself quickly, reminding myself that he is an adversary and a formidable one at that.

  “Okay, Ian. I agreed to begin tonight because I want your cards on the table. I want to know every single thing you’ll require of me during this time we’ll be together.”

  “So are you saying that you didn’t really agree to it back in the restaurant? First, you want to see everything it entails?”

  How to proceed? Should I just spill the truth?

  “I agreed, yes, and I don’t plan to renege. However, the devil is always in the details… and that’s why I need to know them. Maybe before that, I’d like to know why you’re doing this, why you would try to coerce me into this situation when you could have any woman you want with a snap of your fingers? It seems very strange to me.”

  Running his hand through his hair, he looks me directly in the eye. “I’m doing it because I want you back, Ariel. Coerce? Well, last time I gave you free rein—and you ran from me. You never even gave me a chance to apologize… didn’t even give me the courtesy of a phone call.” He stops there, as if he’s said too much. Did I hurt him? Does he realize how much he hurt me?

  The strident tone in his voice changes to a softer one, almost a whisper. “Ariel, I believe if you give this situation a real chance, it may turn out to be a life-changing event. But you won’t know if you don’t try.”

  “Life changing?” I chuckle but it’s laced with bitterness and he recognizes that.

  “You see? Your attitude may preclude us from having any success in this endeavor. As for the details, they’re simple. This type of relationship requires a power exchange: you allow me to have all the power and in return I take care of you. By putting a time limit on it, it may be easier for you to relinquish power in the short term, knowing it’s for a finite span. Six weeks was never enough but six months will give you a good idea of what this particular lifestyle entails. It is my hope that after six months, we may both decide to continue together, one way,” he sips his brandy, keeping his eyes trained on mine, “or another.”

  “Why would you want to?”

  He sighs, clearly exasperated. “I like you, Ariel. Do you find that so impossible to believe? You’re intelligent, beautiful, sexy… you make me laugh… and I was your first man. I like that, too.” He stops, waiting for something; I’m not sure what.

  “Must I live very close to you?”

  “I’d prefer you live with me, actually.”

  I allow myself to gasp. “Live with you? Are you insane?”

  “I might be, but not because I want to live with you. Why is that insane?”

  I swallow loudly. “So I may infer from your reply that I would need to live near you since I’d never agree to move in, Ian. That’s asking too much. What about the whole punishment-reward thing?”

  “What about it?”

  “Will you insist upon the punishment part?”

  “If you’re referring to the whip, no. But there are other forms of discipline that don’t hurt as much physically. We can start slowly and take it from there.”

  “That’s what you said the last time,” I grumble. “Didn’t work out that way.”

  “True. And I am very sorry for what occurred. I think it was because you were so natural at everything, a true submissive, that I got carried away in the moment. It won’t happen again; I promise you, Ariel.”

  His hand reaches for mine resting on the sofa and I pull it away before he can touch me. He looks injured and again a pang reverberates in my chest. Am I being a cold bitch here? Or just sensible? Why is it that I’m not sure at all?

  He sighs again. “I wanted to begin t
onight, Ella, because I wanted to touch you, to hold you… so much. It’s been a long year.” He pauses, his eyes shifting to the floor. “But I can see that hope was overly optimistic… and it’s not going to happen.”

  After he lets that observation hang in the air for a long moment, he looks back up and smiles sadly at me, and then flicks his wrist to check his watch. “It’s getting late and you’ve had a long day. I’ll take you back to your hotel now and you can think about everything we’ve discussed tonight and give me your answer tomorrow night. Okay?”

  “You called me Ella,” is the only thing that comes out of my mouth.

  “Yes,” he whispers softly, his eyes filled with… what? Is it uncertainty? Regret? I just can’t tell. I think about spending the night with him, in bed together, holding him, and having him hold me… and my chest tightens at the thought. I want to! So badly. But I shouldn’t want to. He’s a bastard who’s suing me. How much more kicking do I need before I get it through my head, for God’s sake? Why on earth do I still want him?

  “That sounds like a rational plan,” I respond, my voice sounding perfectly normal—there’s no hint of the turmoil raging within. I’m surprising myself tonight. “And, yes, I am exhausted. Thank you, Ian.”

  He drives me to my hotel himself, in his little two-seater sports car. When I turn to say goodnight, I extend my hand to him. He accepts it but uses it to pull me closer and kisses me gently on the lips. No force, no tongue—just a soft kiss that confuses me even further.

  “Good night, Ella. I look forward to seeing you again. Thank you for coming to Portland to meet with me.”

  I nod my acceptance. “Good night, Ian. I’ll speak with you tomorrow evening.”

  He assists me out of the car. Right before I step through the revolving door entrance of the hotel, I chance a look back. He’s standing by the passenger door, leaning on his car with his arms crossed and his long legs tilted outward. His whole demeanor is melancholy and it makes me sad, too. I wave and muster a small smile before heading into the lobby with a heavy heart and a guilty mind.

  Chapter 9

  She was just playing him.

  She never had any intention of agreeing to any of his demands. As soon as she returned from making her phone call to her attorney, he pretty much knew he’d lost the game. His sweet, innocent little Ariel had become a force to be reckoned with and getting her back wasn’t going to be easy—perhaps not even possible. He might have to tell her how much she had come to mean to him in their brief time together, how he actually cares. Tell her even before he is sure of her feelings for him.

  He shakes his head. Never. He’ll never give someone—a woman—that much power over him. If she knew how she could use it to destroy him…

  After he’d had time to consider the evening, he realized that his plan never stood a chance, not a ghost of one. Out of the two of them, an open court battle would hurt him far worse than her—he had the most to lose, and surely any two-bit attorney would recognize that truth immediately. He would tarnish his sterling reputation, his business credibility, the respect of the corporate community… What would Ella lose? Right now, her public name was built on a sexy book. If anything, it could only help cement her reputation as an author of risqué prose.

  If Ian could recognize it even from such a subjective position, certainly she and her high-priced lawyer could, too. That meant they would call his bluff and when he thought about it, he really had no other hand to play: he might be the dominant personality, but she held all the strong cards.

  He has to smile. When he first set eyes on her, she appeared so shy, so easily flustered. When she handed him his purchase at Archipelago that day they met and called him sir, it set all his instincts as an aggressive male and a sexual dominant on fire. But one small, uttered word did not a submissive make.

  Still, he’s certain she has submissive inclinations—it’s in the way she responds to a sharp command—but perhaps she is willing to give up control only in a sexual context and only sometimes. He knows that is often the case with strong women who wield a lot of power in their careers, their lives in general. He’d probably asked her for too much control and she was only willing to give up some. And the pain? No, she won’t accept it, at least not the kind delivered from a whip.

  Pity. The crack of a whip is so sexy, and seeing it dance and flicker across the silky skin of a squirming girl excites him beyond belief.

  But surely he can live without it.

  He could live with or without just about anything if he could get her back. He just doesn’t know how exactly to go about it. So far, he’d only managed to alienate her further… and in the process cost her money and royally piss her off. Gone is the shy, innocent girl of last year, and in her place stands a kick-ass, confident young woman with a fat bank account and a pricey attorney. Perhaps the best thing to do right now is retreat. By doing so, he’ll run the risk of never seeing her again. But right now he holds a purely sucky hand and it is time to fold. The thought depresses the hell out of him.

  He wakes up before dawn the next day and immediately the preceding night infiltrates his brain, depressing him again. He’ll call Jackson today and tell him to withdraw the lawsuit. He won’t sign a waiver relinquishing his right to sue but he will let it go… let Ella go. If she doesn’t come back to him, well, that is that. He’ll manage to forget her and find someone else eventually. After a year of celibacy, it is high time.

  “What? Why are you cutting and running, Ian? Are you actually letting this little girl win so easily?”

  He laughs lightly, no heart in the forced humor. “Jackson, I know when to call the game. She was playing me for a fool last night, allowing me to think she’d acquiesce to my demands when she had no such intention. Let’s face it: I can’t let this get to court and she knows it. Just drop the suit and advise her attorney. I have no plan to speak directly with her any further.”

  “Okay, Mr. Blackmon. You’re the boss. I’ll give Mr. Buchanan the good news right now. I guess I’ll see you this weekend?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Before going in to the office, he visits the gym on the lobby floor to get in some exercise, wanting to burn off some negative energy. As usual the receptionist—Stephanie, is it?—tries her damnedest to engage him in conversation. He smiles politely and keeps going.

  Thinking about Ella’s reaction when her lawyer tells her he dropped the suit makes him grin. She’ll certainly be happy and relieved… but will she also feel disappointed that she won’t see him again? At this point he really doesn’t know worth a damn. For a man adroit at reading people as easily as others read the newspaper, Ian can’t begin to assess what is going on in that little minx’s head—and that is probably part and parcel of her allure for him.

  Since his defeat last night, he’d made a few decisions. Probably the most important one is that he would now begin to move on, starting immediately. He was planning on going to the club Saturday night and playing with one of the subs there—he is not cut out to be a monk, for God’s sake. Getting laid will surely improve his disposition. He was looking forward to being in that atmosphere again, with like-minded people—he and Jackson would go there after the Tae Kwon Do tournament at the dojo.

  Rubbing his face, Ian leans back in his chair and stares into space. His back aches from sitting all day, despite the fact that he’d dropped a small fortune on the ergonomic chair in his office. I have to get out of here, he thinks. He’d been spending ten-hour stints at work nearly every day since his firm acquired a failing solar panel manufacturer that he and his team were trying to prop up—make it solvent and then hopefully profitable. It was a lot more work than they’d bargained for when they purchased the damn company.

  He’d go to the club tonight—this time definitely. It had been three weeks since he’d dropped the lawsuit against Ariel and he hadn’t heard from her, not a peep. He’d planned on going to the club weeks ago but then business picked up to a frenetic pace and he was just too
tired to do anything other than some exercise and plopping on the sofa, using the remnants of his energy to hold up a glass of wine and a remote control. Yes, he’d been too tired to go to the club—it had nothing to do with hoping Ella would contact him. Nothing at all.

  No, he was looking forward to going out tonight and spending some time with a warm and willing woman. Checking his watch, he realizes it’s already seven. Time enough to go home, shower and change, and make it to the private club before all the available women are spoken for. He clears off his desk and picks himself up out of the chair, a physical and mental effort at this point.

  “Ian, about time you showed your ugly mug around here.”

  He had just walked into the main room of the club and Jackson was threading his way to him through the throng of people. “Finally. Are you drinking this evening or planning to play?”

  Looking around at who was already in the room, he nods in approval. “Play, I think. Anyone new and interesting tonight?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. I did see a pretty redhead I haven’t seen here before. I went to the restroom, though, and couldn’t find her when I returned. Maybe she went downstairs.” His bright eyes continually scan the room.

  The club lighting is dim, the music pulsing so loudly and so heavy on the bass, it resonates inside the body. All the elements of the club—the dark, the rhythm of the bass, the scent of sweat and pheromones—combine to evoke the cradle of humanity, the primacy of the jungle and all things primal. It gets the heart pumping ferociously, and adrenaline surging through veins. There’s a dance floor and a huge circular bar on the first floor. All the action takes place in the dungeon that begins in the rear rooms and spills down to a floor below. Because the club is private, everyone pretty much knows everyone else, at least by nodding acquaintance, and new people are allowed to join based only on recommendation by longstanding members or by satisfying a lengthy application process. The annual membership fees are hefty enough to keep out all but the most determined and well-heeled patrons, as well. Privacy and discretion come at a premium.