Three and a Half Weeks (21 page)

How I’m supposed to deliver the penitent apology is anyone’s guess since I can’t open my mouth—I can’ t say anything or the clamp chain will pull up and it will feel like fingers tugging viciously on my breasts. Sharp fingers.

My mind stays focused on the hurt look in his eyes. Finally, after a year of mental anguish caused by meeting him, then falling for him, I feel that I have a clear insight into Ian now. Though he’s scrupulously honest, he has great difficulty sharing his emotions—or admitting he has any: if he is guilty of any lies, they are lies of omission. He’ll never be honest with his feelings because he denies them even to himself, I think, and even if he eventually acknowledges them to himself, he won’t give others the emotional power over him. Even me.

I hear him moving around my bedroom but I can’t fathom why until I hear strains of music, a trumpet and piano, and I realize he was looking for a dock for his iPod. The composition is achingly familiar to me but I can’t identify it and I obviously cannot ask him… anything. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of losing the rope between my teeth. Not for the first time I wonder if the man is a sadist.

As I wait, anticipation building—which I’m sure is the point—my mind shuttles back to the day Ian first showed me his dungeon and explained about himself. As I strolled through the room, examining his lovely little torture chamber, he’d regarded me intently, alternating between agitation and fascination. He’d been nervous on the way there, even apologetic, yet he went through with it anyway. He could have instead tried to establish a normal relationship with me, but, no: he didn’t want it. Everything always has to be on Ian Blackmon’s terms.

I consider my own reaction to him during our first discussion, after that initial encounter at the shop. Everything about him seemed either anachronistic, as if he belonged to another era in time when men had to keep their emotions in check, or somehow forced, as if he were an actor playing a role. It’s almost as if he started with a blank slate, zero personality, and researched the kind of man he wanted to become. Perhaps he read 19
th
-century literature for manners and studied the robber barons of the same century for disposition and reputation. Or even more likely, the Marquis de Sade.

What I do understand thoroughly now is that he has a knack for speaking directly to my body, completely circumventing my mind, and it infuriates me at times. Whatever my brain may instruct me to do in an act of self-preservation and sense of self, my body is heedless, wantonly falling prey to his every whim and dictate. Perhaps other, stronger women could suppress libido for intention and I applaud them for it. Personally, I find I cannot
manage it comfortably—not with Ian, anyway. He is the one man who has been able to shut off my mind and turn on my body—I just have to go with it. I send my female brethren, my sisters in arms, a silent plea for forgiveness, and await his next move.

“I do hope you’re not attached to these sexy little panties, Ella,” he says as I hear cutting sounds and feel my panties slip away from my body. “Like unwrapping a gift, you know; it increases the anticipation and isn’t that what it’s all about?”

Time ticks by slowly and I’m feeling increasingly desperate. Nothing is happening—I don’t even hear him moving about and it occurs to me that he must be watching me lie here, watching the edges of panic begin to claim me. As if in direct response to my thoughts, he runs one finger down my arm for reassurance so I know he’s there but the only sound is the soft music playing. Not being able to see ratchets up the stakes exponentially; I have no idea what’s coming so when I feel something very hot splatter on my belly, I begin to scream and catch the rope between my teeth in the nick of time.

“It’s only hot wax, Ella and it won’t get any hotter than that.”

He drips it up my belly, around first one breast, then the other. Each sensation seems to travel directly to that heated spot between my legs and by the time he finishes circling each breast, I’m beginning to feel an urgency for satisfaction. Something tells me, though, that it will be a long time in coming—as I will be too. He circles each breast again and then a hot drip lands right on top of one captured nipple and this time I don’t catch my shriek in time and the rope slips and the tug burns; I scream again from the pain.

He sighs dramatically. “Ella, you must be more careful to keep the rope in your teeth. Now, bite down again,” he says, as I feel the burn ease and I want to cry in frustration. He starts up again with the other breast. This time I’m prepared for the nipple splatter and I
manage to stop myself from making any noise. The hot liquid works its way back down my belly, down one thigh and calf and up the other. Now I understand what his ultimate target will be and I begin to perspire, a sheen of sweat covering my entire body. Will I be able to keep the rope from slipping?

The drips get closer and closer and then move away again. By now I’m hurting for the physical satisfaction he’s been denying me. When he finally runs out of thigh, I hold my breath, and he seems to pause… and then splat! Right on top of my clit and the orgasm just rips right through me. I don’t even realize I’ve screamed and lost the rope until I feel the aching burn of the clamps as they get jerked up.

I hear a deep laugh and then he removes the clamps entirely. The pain is worse when they come off than when they go on and I whimper. He soothes the pain with his tongue on each one and then lifts the blindfold. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the light.

“Hi there,” he says softly, and I feel close to him again. I badly want to touch him but my arms and legs are still restrained. He kisses me, and this time I’m an active participant, entwining my tongue with his eagerly. Ian has beautiful sculpted lips and they’re velvety soft. His tongue is warm and wet, and touching it with mine makes things deep inside of me dance.

He sits up and begins to take off his clothes, treating me to an eyeful of his Greek-god physique… and his monstrous erection. My anticipation begins to grow potent again.

But instead of getting on top of me, he dives down between my legs and whispers softly, erotically, “Watch, Ella, keep your eyes on me” and then that tongue, the one I was just marveling about a moment ago, begins to relentlessly circle my clit until I feel like an overfilled balloon about to burst and forever disappear from the face of the earth.

I can’t watch—I don’t know exactly why but I can’t. He’s beautiful and sexy but I can’t do it so I close my eyes. After another astounding orgasm, he looms over me. “Untie my hands, please, Ian. I need to touch you.”

He unclips one, then the other, but leaves my legs chained, open with knees bent. I wrap my arms around his head, running one hand through his silky hair as he pushes his huge erection into me. We moan in unison and I watch his face as first he coaxes another orgasm out of me, commanding me to come for him, then as he struggles to defer the inevitable, wins a few times and then finally surrenders to it, coming with my name on his lips and a violent jerk inside me.

Minutes later, we’re still lying in the same position, perfectly spent, when the doorbell chimes. Ian picks up his head. “Are you expecting anyone?”

I shake my head, “No. I’m supposed to meet Lucien later but not here.”

Jumping up, he pulls on his jeans and shirt.

“Uh, Ian? Are you forgetting something?”

He grins in delight as he reaches over to unclip my legs, removing the cuffs and quickly massaging my hips and shoulders. “I’ll go see who it is while you get dressed. Then we’ll talk about our schedule.”

I want a shower in the worst way but I know I first have to deal with Ian and the timetable for the trip to Tokyo. I guess it’s back on for me and I have the rare pleasure of pissing off both Lucien and Ian in the same day. I should not have told Lucien I’d be in L.A. so fast but stupid is as stupid does. I hear Ian say something to someone and a deep voice responding as I throw my clothes back on and run my fingers through my wildly messy hair. When I look up, Ian is in the room and his narrowed eyes are cold and angry.

“Your employer is here, Ella. Get rid of him, please.” His voice is like ice.

Shit, he’s massively pissed. I slip into my shoes and step outside to talk to Lucien.

Seething, Ian follows Ella back into the living room where Phillips is waiting to speak to her. He purposely left his shirt partially open and his feet bare, so it would be exceedingly clear to Phillips what they were doing when he so rudely interrupted with his visit. What Ian knew he’d really like to do is flatten the pretty, fair-haired boy for once and for all, and his hand is already closing into a fist. He forces it open: Ella might not get over such an event easily, and he’d just
managed to make things right again after the Alexis debacle.

Alexis. What exactly was that woman up to? It reminded him all too well of what happened with Natasha five years ago. He’d stupidly trusted her—and she’d virtually destroyed him and everything he had worked so hard for, and he’d vowed to himself that it would never happen again. Can lightning strike twice?

“Lucien,” he hears Ella exclaim. “Did I get my wires crossed? I thought we were meeting later in West Hollywood?”

“Ella, hello.” Lucien reaches across to greet her with a warm handshake. “No, you didn’t get anything crossed. I had planned to meet later in Westwood, actually, at the UCLA film archives. Allow me to say I’m sorry to catch you at an inconvenient time— I
managed a good few hours of sleep on the flight here so I thought we could get a quick start on the archival footage. I see you’re otherwise engaged, however?”

Phillips does not look like he just got off an international flight: his clothes are impeccably crisp and unwrinkled, and every hair is in place—he’s since grown a neatly groomed beard since he’s seen him last. Ian couldn’t hate the man any more if he tried with all his might. Plus, his innate radar for liars was going off like crazy: the man is slimy—Ian is one hundred percent certain of it. What he finds perplexing is how Ella, a very intelligent young woman, is blind to it. She’s always unaware of men trying to get into her hot little pants. Perhaps it’s because she’s not one to trade on her good looks? Ella has integrity so she probably expects others to have it too. What Ian was trying to prevent was her learning her lesson the hard way that it’s not the case. He turns his attention back to the conversation…

“…and I apologize, Lucien. As a matter of fact, I jumped the gun a bit when I told you I could meet you in L.A. so soon. My trip to Japan is back on and I have to return to Portland today. I won’t get back to L.A. until next weekend at the earliest.” She glances at Ian and he eyes her steadily, nodding slightly to confirm that yes, she needs to get back to Portland tonight.

“Ah, that won’t do. I’ll probably be gone by then. I have to make a quick stop in New York before I return to Paris but I do need to be back in France by middle of the following week.”

“Hmm, that’s unfortunate.” Ella says softly; she’s feeling anxious about the situation she’s created—albeit unintentionally.

Lucien’s face gives nothing away but he’s got to be annoyed by the unexpected turn of events. Ian smirks, pleased to be getting in Phillips’ way time and again. And rest assured, dear Lucien, I will continue to do so, he thinks and smiles broadly at the happy thought.

Checking his calendar on his phone, Lucien says, “I’ll just have to accomplish everything here myself then. It would have been helpful to have you along but I see it’s not possible,” he throws a cool glance at Ian.

So he doesn’t like me either? Ian thinks. I just may go home and weep over it. He returns the look with a glare that he usually reserves for his business rivals, shriveling even the most redoubtable corporate gangsters.

“I might be able to take care of whatever it is you have to do in New York… that is, if it’s work-related?”

Now Phillips smirks. “Yes, actually, it is. That may be quite helpful, Ella. Thank you, I’ll consider it and get back to you.”

Relief washes over her face and Ian can see her shoulders relax. “Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you then, Lucien. Please email me all the information—it might behoove me to fly directly to New York from Tokyo.”

“Very good, Ella,” he reaches over to take her hand again. “I hope you have a nice time in Japan.” He nods curtly to Ian. “Blackmon.”

Ian nods his head almost imperceptibly in acknowledgement. As soon as Phillips leaves, he pulls out his phone.

“Scott? Are you still in L.A.? Excellent. I’ll need the Gulfstream to return to Portland.” He looks at his watch as he speaks. “Two hours? Perfect.”

He punches in another number. “Jackson? Ian Blackmon. Yes, I received your messages. Anything to report?” He’s listening to Delacroix but his eyes are on Ella, watching her every move. He didn’t like how agitated she’d been about disappointing Phillips. “ I’m in L.A. right now but I’ll be returning to Portland later tonight. We leave for Tokyo tomorrow afternoon. Any chance you can meet with me in the morning? Yes.”

“Do you ever say thank you or goodbye to anyone?” Ella asks when he slides the phone back into his pocket. She’s also been watching him since Lucien exited the house.

“I show my appreciation in more concrete fashion, i.e. dollars and cents. Verbal niceties are a waste of time. I’m a man of few words, Ariel.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s called manners, Mr. Blackmon, not a waste of time.”

“Ariel,” he says in an admonishing tone of voice, his eyes and the set of his jaw telling her to stop dissing him; he holds out his hand to her. “Come. Let’s take a shower. We need to leave for the airport in an hour.”

After a long, hot shower, they prepare to leave for Portland. “It’s just seven now. We’ll probably hit the tail end of the L.A.-rush-hour, so we should head out now. We’ll dine on the flight to Portland, if that’s okay with you, Ella?”

“Yes, that’s fine. Will we be staying overnight at the houseboat?”

“No. I’ve moved back into the glass house—it’s more secure. I don’t intend to have any more middle of the night visitors.”

He looks at her from the corner of his eye when her head whips back to look at him. “No, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” She smiles shyly.

At ten the next morning, Ian meets with Jackson Delacroix. When he arrives at the café, the blond attorney is waiting for him.

“Ian,” he gets up to shake his hand.

Ian nods, shaking his hand and pulling out a chair. “You mentioned a similar situation?”

Delacroix chuckles at the lack of pleasantries in Blackmon’s repertoire—he always gets right to the point. “Please, have a seat and order some coffee. I’ll make it quick, Ian; I know you’re pressed for time.”

He sits and Delacroix signals the waiter. “More coffee, please?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ian watches him patiently. “You mentioned over the phone that you’ve seen a similar situation?”

Delacroix nods, sipping his coffee. “After we spoke and you updated me on what happened with that woman, I felt a sense of
déjà vu
and I couldn’t recall exactly why. I began to think of your situation five years ago, Ian: all your troubles began when you raided the energy company. Correct?”

He nods. “Yes, and that was the last hostile takeover I’ve ever executed, too. It was the day I developed a more honorable code of business ethics. So?”

“I happen to have a friend—probably the best corporate litigator in New York—by the name of Bradley Butler. His son Daniel is, for want of a better term, a venture capitalist. He basically does what you do: rescues ailing companies and shores them up again by infusing lots of cash and focusing on strengths. In return, he gets a controlling interest in the company. Although Daniel’s wildly successful, his father tells me his son is a reluctant participant in the corporate world. He fell into it when friends needed bailing out and he had the cash.

“Anyway, Butler was in the UK for personal reasons right after he rescued a friend’s energy firm—name of GeoTech—and set it on the road to black ink when the shit hit the fan. He had to rush back to the States to do major damage control. Here’s what happened.

“The company was holding an inordinately valuable patent on a new extraction technique and holding capacity for a geothermal system capable of high vertical density energy output—as in New York City- or Chicago-capability. It’s green, fairly inexpensive, and in such abundance, it’s ridiculous. The stock was going through the roof based on this patent that could potentially redefine the entire energy industry and give the oil companies serious competition. Daniel was sitting on the patent, not selling it or developing the system beyond a prototype, but instead using it as a bargaining chip for lucrative government contracts that Daniel was courting.

“He engineered the whole comeback based on this one patent that was already in development when he signed on. The company was cash poor precisely because it poured all its resources into R&D and had several patents pending. Daniel hired a brilliant PR team to make noise about it. He has a knack for making people sit up and take interest and so the company was rebounding without even utilizing the patent.

“This is where the criminal raiders come in,” he pauses for effect, seeing he has Blackmon’s complete attention. The waiter serves the coffee while the two men stare at each other. Ian is beginning to feel ready to explode because he senses what’s coming and it’s setting his blood to boil. It’s happening again, he thinks with incredulity.

“While Daniel is out of the country, these ghosts start acquiring as much stock as they could get their hands on. Daniel had controlling interest but he didn’t have enough to ensure it—I think he owned something like 40 percent. They
managed to acquire nearly that in a few short weeks. Daniel got back and bought out the stock of his friends and all the employees to give him over fifty percent so they couldn’t wrest away control regardless. He figured he’d eventually give it back to them when they could get their hands on the stock held by the raiders.

“So, now, they can’t get to the patent legally, they resort to illegal measures. They use a blond who looks like she could snag the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit cover and have her go after Daniel’s partner in GeoTech, a guy by the name of Stephen Hemingway. They begin dating, get hot and heavy, and she’s trying to get info on the design so they could at least try to steal much of it, regardless of the patent. Plus, she’s looking for any intel they could use against GeoTech. Daniel had
managed to put out the fire but the blond subsequently did enough damage with the information theft that the company almost went under again.

“Fortuitously, GeoTech was already in the final stages of negotiation with the state of New York, for new building projects. Plus, they had quietly approached an established green-energy company about purchasing the patent and working in concert with them to develop the system. In effect, the criminals were a bit late with the espionage or it might have worked.

“I discussed the whole matter at great length with his father and we concluded that it had to be the oil companies behind it. The attempt was well financed and executed professionally. The only reason it didn’t succeed was because Daniel was able to keep the lid on the patent until he was ready to move on it. Nothing was ever proven, of course, but Mr. Hemingway is a lot more careful with his romantic prospects.” He laughs.

“I am beginning to think the espionage that brought down Blackmon
Enterprises may have been engineered by the same raiders, Ian. Fits the MO. You had acquired a green-energy firm, one of the earliest success stories in the burgeoning industry. They used Natasha Grierson to get to you. Unfortunately, that time they were successful. Still, you didn’t have to dismantle the entire corporation over it. I never understood your motivation for going to such an extreme.”

Ian can feel a tight knot congeal in his stomach. The betrayal was by far the worst of the whole ugly affair. He loved Natasha, had trusted her, and she sold him out to th
e highest bidder. That unforgivable betrayal had led him straight to the dark doors of BDSM, where he found a way to get his physical needs met without engendering any emotional risk.

He attempts a cavalier façade for the attorney and shrugs his broad shoulders. “I was ready to move on—I didn’t like the man I’d become. Hostile takeovers are not honorable endeavors merely because they’re euphemistically called M&As. It’s outright theft, no matter what anyone names it, and it causes a lot of people to lose their livelihoods. Frankly, I couldn’t sleep at night after a while. I much prefer the considerably more civilized approach we take at Excalibur.”

Delacroix smiles. “I think you mentioned that Ariel has to go to New York on business periodically?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Might I suggest you accompany her next time and have a meeting with Daniel Butler? He just might be able to shed more light on this matter before the situation escalates.”

“Very good. I’ll do that. Can you text me his contact information and advise him of our conversation so he knows to expect a call from me? Ella will be traveling directly to New York from Tokyo, and if things permit, I’ll travel with her at that time.”

“Good. Yes, I’ll call Daniel in the morning. How long will you be in Japan?”

“Only till the weekend. While I’m gone, I’ll make sure Jarvis increases security both at my estate and at Excalibur. Alexis Martinez was arrested but as I told you, she was summarily released on her own recognizance. I don’t think they’ll use her again but we’ll want to be on high alert in any case.”

Finishing their coffee, Ian signals the waiter for the check and hands him his credit card. “I do appreciate your taking the time out of your weekend to meet with me, Jackson. I’m going to leave you to your breakfast now since I have to take care of a few things before our flight leaves.”