The Gilded Cuff (16 page)

We do blame ourselves for the past
. When you loved someone you signed on for the worst moments, the darkest hours. Some battles were obvious. Soldiers went to war on battlefields, giving their lives for their friends. There were other struggles where people were just as brave, though more quiet in their suffering. Mothers who held sick children in cancer wards, parents gazing at the empty bed where their child should be, or a little girl on the playground, watching a gray van drive away, leaving only a black cloud of pollution behind, as her friend was stolen from her.

It was all the same in the end. Some lives were snuffed out too soon, but many of those lives had been filled with love, surrounded with those who stayed and fought to support them till the bitter end. It was those survivors who were faced with the hardest battles. They had to forge ahead without their loved ones and exist with the pain of loss.

Shame burned through him like a roaring fire, searing his insides. He’d hidden from the people who cared about him. His parents hadn’t been able to break through his carefully erected defenses. He’d kept them out. And he might have continued to do so until he died, if it hadn’t been for Sophie. She’d dragged him kicking and screaming out into the light, and he couldn’t go back. He didn’t want to.

She broke free of his mouth and buried her face in his neck. A cold dampness soaked through his shirt where she’d tucked herself against him.

Tears. Sophie was crying for him. Another wall was obliterated inside his heart. His own eyes burned and he blinked rapidly. Her empathy for him, her own suffering, told him she wasn’t anything like the cold-hearted journalist he’d wanted to paint her as. She was so much more. Sophie Ryder was all heart, and right now her heart was bleeding for him. He wasn’t worthy of her tears, yet they filled him with a sense of healing reverence.

“Shush.” He rubbed her back in slow, smoothing strokes. “Don’t cry, please, Sophie.” He tightened his grip on her body as she inhaled a ragged breath.

“I’m okay.” She insisted, sniffling once or twice. She pushed at his chest as if determined to separate herself from him.

With a heavy reluctance he let her go, feeling as though his entire existence was ripped to pieces at the distance she put between them.

She stepped back, dabbing at her eyes with her fingers, rubbing stray tears away. “I’m sorry I lost control.” She looked as though she wished to say more but he fixed her with a stern glare.

“No apologizing for showing me your heart. Never apologize for that.” He cupped her shoulders in his palms and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Come on, I need to fetch something from my room. My parents will be here soon.” He led her from the room and back down the hall.

Her eyes widened. They paused outside his bedroom door and he waved a hand for her to enter.

Understanding flooded his senses. Her faint trembling and shimmering silver eyes spoke of fear. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of them?”

“Well…yeah. They’re your parents. I…What exactly will they think of me?”

“That you’re lovely, intelligent, and entirely mine.”
That’s all that matters to me
. “Did I tell you how enchanting you look?” He brushed her hair back over her shoulder, reveling in its silkiness.

“No, you didn’t.” She crossed her arms and looked up at him expectantly.

“You are beautiful. I must admit I chose your dress well.”

Sophie’s lips parted on a gasp. “You picked these? How?”

“I had Hans take me into town while you were cleaning up. There’s a little boutique there. The woman who owns it is a close friend. Do you like what I’ve chosen?” Unable to resist he fisted his hands in the dark blue skirts, loving the way he held her captive. Earlier at the store he’d seen many different dresses but this one had seemed so Sophie.

The conservative cut, but the lively flare and bell shape of the skirts gave her comfort and mobility, and for once he found those two qualities appealing. The women he’d been with before had worn tight, restrictive clothes. While outwardly they’d appeared sexier, he’d had a damned hard time getting their clothes off. With Sophie, he could get his hands up her skirts and find her center with ease, and have no trouble taking what he wished, giving her what she needed. As his friend, Madeline, had packaged up the dress, all he could think about was how at dinner he could slide his hand up her inner thigh, stroking her to a slow burning passion, all without any suspicion from the others. And Sophie would have to control herself, or else reveal what his touch was doing to her. It would be a wonderfully wicked game.

“Of course I like it. I guess I expected that if you were picking something you’d make me wear some slinky black dress.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, surprised she’d assume something so wrong. “I want easy access to you and for you to feel comfortable. A woman has stronger orgasms if she’s comfortable. Slinky dresses hold no interest for me.”

Her blush told him everything and it was too much to resist. He caught her wrists by the cuffs and removed a slender chain from his pocket, connecting the cuffs together. With a panicked gasp she struggled to get free but he lifted her arms above her head and hung the tiny chain connecting the cuffs to the small brass hook sticking discretely out of the wood on the left bedpost at the end of his bed.

“Hey! Let me go, Emery. Seriously.” She struggled to stand on tiptoes to pull the chain free. It was no use. Just the way he wanted it to be, Sophie at his mercy.

Emery stepped back and crossed his arms, studying her with a satisfied expression. “Beautiful and tempting.” He walked a half circle around her, eyes skating over her appreciatively. Her body responded with a flush of heat from her head to her toes. Finally he came back to her and cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing patterns over her lips, while his other hand settled on the back of her lower thigh. He coasted his hand up, and the erotic and playful stroke made her core throb. His hand froze when it met the silk of her panties. Emery’s brows drew together in displeasure.

“I specifically told you to wear the dress and nothing else. Did you misunderstand the instructions or did you rebel on purpose?” The dark carnal gaze he covered her with made her thighs clench tight together.

“Uh…I misunderstood?” she answered in a breathless whisper.

His hand holding her cheek moved around to tangle in her hair and he tugged her head back. “Try again.”

Sophie licked her lips, noting the way his eyes tracked the movement with fascination.

“I rebelled.”

His hold in her hair eased the slightest bit, but his breath quickened. Suddenly he dug the fingers of his other hand into the silk of her panties and ripped the fabric. The small garment dropped to the floor at her ankles. She was bare, completely open now. She felt more vulnerable to him than ever, as though the destroyed undergarment had provided some defense to his wandering hands.

Emery shaped the curve of her bottom, clenching the rounded flesh once before dipping his fingers lower, to the folds of her sex. He brushed them, teased them apart and sank one finger deeply into her. Sophie arched up, pleasure zinging through her limbs like bolts of electricity. He swirled his finger, then thrust it deeper, repeating these two actions as he moved his lips to her neck. Starting with soft kisses, he worked his way down to her collarbone, then back up to her ear, mixing licks and nibbles as he commanded her attention with his mouth and hand.

The power of his hold over her was like a spell. He used her body, plucking at it like strings on a harp, until she was quivering and aching to sing for him in a melody of pleasure and need. She tugged hard on her bound wrists, trying to free herself so she could touch him, feel his muscles ripple beneath her body. A twinge of pain circled her wrists but it faded in the wake of Emery’s skilled kisses. The rush of the oncoming climax built like a storm gathering high in the clouds and Sophie sucked in a breath, her eyes closing as she awaited the explosion of passion.

In an instant, Emery robbed her of the orgasm that had been so close. He withdrew his hand from between her legs and released his hold on her hair. When he stepped back, she saw the victorious gleam in his eyes. He raised his hand to his mouth, sinking one of his fingers between his lips. The action was so subtle, yet so seductive. Her knees knocked together as she watched his full sensual lips suck her honeyed essence from his fingers. The blood still pumped in her ears, violent and hard, as though she’d climaxed and she was still hanging on the edge. Watching him lick his fingers, clean them of her taste, made her crave his mouth between her legs, even knowing it would probably kill her if he ever licked her there.

The dark and flirty smile he flashed at her was blinding. He knew exactly what his actions did to her—unwound her from the inside out and spun her back wildly into his world where she had no control. Without a word he turned and walked into the bathroom to wash his hands. Sophie’s arms and legs shivered with the near release. She squeezed her thighs against each other, feeling her slick juices coating her legs.

Damn
! She wanted to scream with frustration. He’d done it on purpose.

When Emery returned a minute later, he carried a small damp hand towel. He knelt at her feet and raised her skirt with one hand while he washed her clean. She parted her legs, humiliation coloring her face and flooding her with heat as he washed away the remnants of her unfulfilled desire.

He dropped the cloth onto the floor and pushed her skirts out of the way even more. He rubbed his cheek against her right thigh, the prickle of his stubble burning her skin deliciously. With a heavy sigh, he pressed a kiss against her inner leg, close to the apex of her thigh, and then moved back, dropping her skirts. When he stood, he once more towered over her. He slid his hands up her arms, massaging her muscles before he reached her wrists and held them doubly imprisoned between him and the cuffs.

“I know you’re angry with me. But you deserved far worse than that for your punishment. I am feeling lenient and grateful to you for comforting me today. So I went easy on you. In the future…” he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. “The more we come to know each other, trust each other, the less I’ll let you get away with. Don’t disobey me again.”

The words “or what?” died on Sophie’s tongue at the strange mixture of shame at her behavior and comfort from being held by him. It was an odd contradiction, and her heart and mind were unable to process it. She had disappointed him and it left her feeling restless and anxious. The more time they spent together, the more they seemed to become attuned to each other. Sensing the other’s needs, not just their desires. He was craving her just as much as she craved him, and it wasn’t just sexual anymore. They were relying on each other emotionally, something she’d never thought would be possible for her, and he acted as though it hadn’t been possible for him either.

Yet, as he held her, she knew he wasn’t angry; perhaps his disappointment was only temporary. She would make it up to him. She’d promised to be submissive. It was part of their bargain, but somehow it was more than that. She wanted to submit, not because of some agreement they’d made, but because of how pleased he was with her when she successfully surrendered to him. She wanted to see approval gleaming in his eyes, feel the touch of his hands in pleasure rather than in punishment.

Emery unlocked the cuffs and brought her wrists down, rubbing at the reddened circles left behind. Neither of them said anything for a long moment as he massaged her wrists.

“Time to go meet the parents?” Her smile was strained and tension tightened her face.

“My mother is sweet, and my father…well, just don’t let him intimidate you. His bark is worse than his bite.” Emery chuckled at the pale look of fear on her face. “Trust me. You’ll do fine. Be yourself.”

Sophie walked with him outside the room and down the hall before she spoke. “That’s what worries me. Be myself? With my job, I doubt they’ll find that endearing.”

“Endearing? No. But they might be relieved.” He tucked a lose coil of her hair behind her ear.

“Why?”

Emery and Sophie reached the stairs that led down to the main entryway.

“I’ve never told them what happened that night. They deserve answers. They deserve the truth. And you are going to help me give it to them.”

T
he sound of voices reached Sophie long before she saw the source. A soft, lighter voice, slightly husky, merged with a rich baritone one. Sophie shot a glance at Emery, who walked calmly beside her toward the door, but his hand gripped hers so tightly she thought her bones might break.

“They’re early,” he noted with surprise.

Panic swept through her. Her muscles cramped and her lungs seized.

“Oh God, I can’t do this.” She started to back away but Emery caught her by the waist with one arm, the gesture outwardly relaxed, but his hold was firm.

“Sophie, calm down, or I’ll take you back to my room and bend you over my knee…” He let the sensual threat sink in. She forced her lungs to open and her tension to fade.

“Okay.” She meant only to glance at him, but that one look held her locked in place.

“I need you to be with me. I haven’t…” he cleared his throat. “I kept myself apart from them for so long that I feel like I’m a stranger lost to them.”

Lost to them?
She wondered at his choice of words. Wouldn’t he feel
they
were the strangers? Then again, he’d been a lost little boy so long ago, perhaps he’d never been able to escape that feeling and was finally now confronting it. She squeezed his hand back.

“I’m here. As long as you want me.”

With a little nod, he seemed to relax. “As long as I want you,” he echoed.

They rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and Sophie caught her first glimpse of Miranda and Elliot Lockwood, talking with Hans and Cody. Sophie was struck instantly by Miranda’s beauty. She was in her late sixties, but the woman’s ageless face made her look not a day over forty. She wore a knee-length, white and black striped dress and black sandal wedges. Her gold hair was swept back in an artfully styled bun, threaded with fine hints of silver.

Emery’s father was dressed exactly like Emery, in an expensive suit and an ice blue tie over his crisp white dress shirt. He was incredibly handsome. Laugh lines bracketed his mouth and crinkled the corners of his eyes as he shook Hans’s hand and grinned with warmth. Sophie’s heart clenched. Emery’s features were a masterful blend of his parents’: the twinkle of his mother’s eyes, the relaxed but even-tempered smile of his father. Emery’s face bore his mother’s features honed to masculine perfection, and his body carried the muscular build of his father.

The welcoming hubbub grew silent as Miranda and Elliot noticed Sophie and Emery for the first time. Miranda’s eyes tracked them uncertainly and she raised a hand as though to reach for her son before she dropped it back to her side. The tension was palpable.

“Emery…” she began hesitantly. Hurt and loneliness carved aged paths over her face, showing twenty-five years’ worth of misery and heartache.

When Emery made no move to go to her, Sophie reacted and jabbed him in the lower back, hissing just softly enough for him to hear. “Hug her.”

He moved immediately and caught his mother’s hand to press a kiss there, a formal reaction. But his mother tugged him into her arms for a tight embrace.

“After all this time,” she said just loudly enough that Sophie heard. “I will not let you pull away from me.” There was anger and hurt hinted at in the soft cultured voice, but Sophie heard it. Miranda Lockwood had missed her son.
Deeply
. Even though he only lived a few miles away, he must have made it seem like an ocean separated them. Her heart went out to Miranda.

“It’s good to see you, Mother,” he murmured.

Miranda held him, her eyes closed as she kissed his cheek, her body shaking against him.

Elliot gently tapped his wife’s shoulder. “All right, Mandy, let the boy breathe. I want him to introduce his lovely guest.” He didn’t hug Emery as his wife had. Instead, he held out his hand and after a second, Emery took it.

Miranda wiped her eyes and released her son, her gaze zeroing in on Sophie.

Emery quickly stepped back and curled a supportive arm around Sophie’s waist. “This is Sophie Ryder. She’s my—” He looked down at her and then with a wicked glint in his eyes he finished, “girlfriend.”

Standing behind Emery’s parents, Cody’s eyes popped wide and Hans’s lips quirked.

“Girlfriend? I know we haven’t seen you in months, but I wasn’t aware you were…seeing anyone.” Miranda assessed Sophie with a critical eye that had her wanting to blush and bury her face against Emery’s chest to hide. Instead she smiled and held out her hand in greeting. She had to seem confident now; that’s what Emery needed. Her support.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

Miranda and Elliot were still hesitant but finally they each shook her hand, as though surprised that Emery had finally introduced them to a woman. He’d confessed earlier that day that he’d never introduced them to a woman he’d been seeing before.

“Dinner should be ready.” Emery cut in when his mother opened her mouth, likely to start in on questions.

They proceeded en masse to the dining room, where the salad course was already set out. Sophie was oddly relieved to have Hans and Cody there. They acted like buffers against what would have been an extremely awkward dinner with just the Lockwoods. Hans and Cody were her allies now and it might be handy to have witnesses present if the Lockwoods decided to interrogate her. Given the calculating look she was receiving from Elliot, she thought she might already be tied to a chair and getting questioned beneath a single lamplight in a dark room had Emery not been present.

Elliot pulled out his wife’s chair, allowing her to sit, and Emery mirrored the action for Sophie. His palms settled on her bare shoulders for just a moment. The touch was a fleeting comfort and a sign of support she desperately needed.

When she found the courage to face Miranda, who sat directly across from her, she managed a nervous smile. Emery carried on a polite conversation through dinner about other family members, mutual friends, and the status of the company. Sophie noted with interest that while Elliot had surrendered his role as president to his son years ago, he still kept up with the latest news.

“Is it true that the Black Widow GPS locater is virtually untraceable by metal detector scans?” Elliot asked. He toyed with the stem of his wineglass, rotating it in small circles over the white tablecloth as he spoke.

Emery swallowed his food, took of sip from his own wine and then leaned back in his chair. “Yes. The device is small enough to fit in any cell phone. It’s designed to piggyback off the motherboard of any device and it blends in like a chameleon. You can’t detect it with any metal detector devices. It also has a tracking range of 500 miles.” Pride was reflected in his tone.

Sophie perched on the edge of her chair, fascinated to hear Emery talk about his company and the products he made. It was the first she’d seen of the infamous businessman, but it was also the first time she’d seen passion in him outside of their bedroom activities. His enthusiasm excited her. What he described would be groundbreaking.

“I heard Brant was trying to push back the release date,” Elliot remarked.

Emery chuckled and set his napkin on the table. “As usual, Brant is all about theatrics. I told him no. We’ve set a date and we’re running with it. LI doesn’t need release parties and all of the hype our rivals resort to. It’s unfortunate that Brant disagrees but it’s still my decision.”

“True enough,” Elliot agreed. “Brant doesn’t understand what our company is really about. He’s always loved the power, not the purpose.”

When chocolate mousse was brought out for dessert, Miranda finally spoke up.

“Now, Sophie, my son and husband have thoroughly monopolized the evening. I would like to get to know you better. Tell me, what do you do for a living?” She leaned forward in her seat, a determined cast to her lovely eyes.

“I…uh…” Sophie really believed now was not the time to discuss her occupation.

“She’s a journalist.” Emery cut in. “She’s actually here to write the story of the kidnapping. It’s how we met.” He captured her hand as it crept across the table toward her wineglass. Raising her fingers to his lips, he kissed her knuckles.

“I see,” Miranda said slowly. Her eyes narrowed on her son in a mixture of concern and then distrust as they flashed to Sophie.

“When you mean the story…” Elliot set his wineglass down and fixed Emery with a meaningful look. Worry formed hard lines around his mouth and eyes.

“
Everything
. I’m going to tell her everything. She’ll write it down and the world will finally have the story it’s longed for.” There was a bite to Emery’s tone that made Sophie wince and shift restlessly in her chair.

Miranda shoved her chair back, knocking her wineglass over. The burgundy liquid stained the white tablecloth, seeping in a steady pool.

“You should have talked to us! Not a journalist!” Miranda threw her napkin and fled the room. Hans was instantly on his feet to follow, but Sophie waved a hand and announced to the men she’d go. She had made this mess by being there and she would help make things right. Miranda had a right to know why Sophie wanted the story of the kidnapping, and more importantly, she needed to understand that Emery wouldn’t be hurt; not by her.

It wasn’t hard to find Miranda. She was in the drawing room across the hall, standing before the large window that faced the back gardens.

“Mrs. Lockwood…” But now Sophie was at a loss for words. Seeing Emery’s distance from his parents had hit home. She’d pulled away from her own parents, rarely spoke to them or saw them anymore. It hurt too much to see the disappointment and sadness in their eyes. She’d let them down, let Rachel’s parents down. Emery felt the same, she knew that, had somehow known deep in her bones they were so alike in this.

“Come here, Ms. Ryder.” Miranda said, pointing to the floor by her side.

Sophie obeyed silently, musing over whether Emery had gotten his need to control from his mother. It was probably a genetic trait.

“Do you see the gazebo over there?” She pointed to the beautiful marble gazebo at the back of the garden. “Twenty-five years ago, I was there, dancing with Elliot. He was waltzing me around in circles. I remember how safe I felt. We had
everything
we could ever want. I should have known that I could never trust such good fortune.”

Sophie held her breath until her lungs burned. The silence stretched uncomfortably as Miranda continued to stare at the distant structure, her lips trembling as she seemed to struggle to compose herself.

“It was there in that gazebo I first heard the screams. Francesca, the boys’ Nana, came running out into the gardens screaming about the boys being taken. Blood was dripping down her face and she was screeching hysterically. My first thought was that my boys were dead. Why else would there be so much blood? I couldn’t process her words. She was telling me they’d been taken, but all I could hear was the echo of her screams. All I could see was the blood all over her clothes.” Her eyes closed for a moment before she continued. “Children are so small, Ms. Ryder, like tiny little birds with fragile wings, so easily wounded or broken. A parent’s job is to protect their babies, even when they are old enough to no longer need our protection. When I saw Francesca the only thought in my mind was they were dead. With that much blood, they couldn’t still be alive.”

Sophie shut her eyes, fighting off the sudden wave of nausea at thinking about how terrifying that moment must have been for Miranda and Elliot. Her own past speared her straight through the heart. Images of things she could never erase.

Rachel strained for her hand as the man dragged her off the swing. “Sophie!” Her frightened cry was piercing as he dragged her away, kicking and screaming. Running, crying, Sophie tried to catch up, to follow, but the van was too far away and the man’s long-legged strides too fast.

“Rachel!” She’d screamed the name until her voice was hoarse and finally, only then did grown-ups come out of their houses.

The lonely swing moved back and forth; the metal hooks at the base of the swing set creaked.

Rachel was gone.

“When you realize something has happened to your child, everything seems to slow down and speed up at once. Every protective instinct inside you claws to the surface. In that moment I would have done anything to save my boys. Only…they were beyond rescue.” Miranda focused on drawing her fingertip along the windowpane before looking back out of the window. “A child vanishing is, in some ways, worse than a child dying. Do you know why, Ms. Ryder?”

Sophie couldn’t stop the tears that leaked from her eyes, and her nose started to burn painfully. She knew. God, did she know. It had been her own living nightmare since she’d lost her friend.

“It’s worse because you have hope.” Even a sliver of hope could be more powerful, more devastating when finally all ability to hope died. When Rachel had been taken, Sophie had hoped every day for a year that they would find her. Then she’d lost hope and prayed they’d recover her body, if nothing else. Something in her died as the years passed and Rachel was never found.

Sophie was so lost in her thoughts that she only realized after several minutes that Emery’s mother was staring at her.

“This is more than just a story for you,” Miranda observed. “Will you tell me what it is you’re trying to hide? I see the tears clinging to your lashes.” Her keen gaze missed nothing. “I will tell you everything I remember about the night my sons were taken if you agree to tell me what drives you. Do you agree?”

“Yes.” Sophie swallowed thickly. “When I was seven, my best friend was abducted and never seen again. I was the only one with her when the man took her. Just me.” Her voice shook and her throat was so constricted it felt as if she was swallowing glass shards. “I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t remember his face, or his license plate—nothing. We never found her body. We never caught him, either.”