Unleashed: Volume 3 (Unleashed #3) (10 page)

My heavy, big arms
encircled her and I brought her closer, if that was even possible,
cupping my hands around her ass and curving my mouth into the side of
her neck. Nuzzling in, I smelled her, almost the way an animal would
scent its mate. I’d never felt anything so right in all my life.

Kara

Enveloped in hot steam,
I closed my eyes and let the water pour down over my body. Before
this week, I thought I’d known what showering was. I now understood
how wrong I’d been. Technically, a weak spray out of an old
showerhead into a chipped tub next to a plastic curtain that had seen
better days was a shower. But, oh my, the enclosed glass, the steam,
the multiple showerheads plus side jets, the water pressure. Hot
damn, it made a girl want to weep with joy.

I’d miss the showers,
that much was true. Come Sunday when this week was over and my coach
turned back into a pumpkin, of all the luxuries I thought I’d miss
the showers most of all. But I knew I’d get over it. I’d get back
into my day-to-day, the memory of pampering like that of a good
vacation—it made you smile, but you didn’t expect every day to be
that good.

But how was I going to
do that with Declan? I didn’t have any tricks up my sleeve to help
me get over him.

He rocked my world. The
man had me playing naughty secretary for him. And loving it. He made
me feel so good it was like the pleasure took over entirely. My body
said, “It’s OK, we’ll take it from here,” and my brain nodded
and left the building.

All the worries and
anxieties that flooded me in other, more lucid moments suddenly
disappeared when were together, just the two of us. Should I be doing
this? Why did I like this? Nothing else mattered once he touched me.
I felt it all so intensely, so intimately. Logically, I knew that had
to be due to my inexperience. This couldn’t possibly mean as much
to him. These were the kinds of games he played all the time with
women far more skilled than me. I should be holding back, if not
physically than at least emotionally, to protect and guard my sanity
when this all ended. It was already Wednesday afternoon. We didn’t
even have a full four more days together.

But I couldn’t get
enough of him. It felt like a live current shot through me, as if a
switch had been flipped on inside and I couldn’t turn it off. As
the water beat down from above, I could feel the sensitivity of my
nipples, raw from his pinching and twisting. With the memory, they
grew taut and needy once again, insatiable. I brought a finger down
to my sex, slipping between my folds, still swollen and tender.

I’d never felt more
satisfied than when I’d knelt down between his legs and sucked him
off while he’d done his business call. Closing my eyes, I
remembered how it had felt to listen to him, so commanding and
powerful, making demands and orders. He was so strong, so dominant in
every fiber of his being. I loved taking him in my mouth, down my
throat deep, sucking and licking and making him so hard. It gave me a
thrill of pleasure to see his reaction, his mouth slightly parted,
his eyes so dark and hot as he looked down at me sucking his cock. I
nearly orgasmed myself when he shot come down my throat, my clit
swollen and throbbing as he fisted my hair and forced me to take all
of him. I didn’t want to miss a drop.

Opening my eyes, I
brought my palms to the tiles of the shower wall. I had to get a
grip. I needed be more careful. All signs pointed to my falling for
this man. Again. The last time around, my infatuation had known no
bounds. It was like that from the moment I met him, like the volume
on everything else got turned down real low. Colors elsewhere got
less vivid. He, alone, stood out in my world as real.

After he’d stomped
all over my teenage heart and fed it to the pigs for breakfast, it
had taken me forever to even force myself out on a date with someone
else. It was one thing if you did the leaving; you got a whole new
scene change and cast of characters with which to recreate yourself.
But what about the one who was left behind? I still had to live every
day with not only the memories, but also the reminders. I’d head
into the barn and see him standing there, looking up with that slow,
burning gaze. The small cabin where he’d slept that summer still
stood on our property, haunting me in the moonlight.

It would be so much
harder this time around, having had this week with him. I should turn
and leave while I still could. But just like before, Declan was the
flame and I was a moth. I knew I’d technically entered into this
agreement for the money, and at the time I’d let myself use that as
an excuse. Now, I couldn’t even pretend. I was doing this because I
couldn’t stand not to. I had to be with him, as much as I possibly
could, for as long as I could manage.

I couldn’t let my
heart get broken again. Something told me it might already be too
late.

I stepped out of the
shower into fluff and warmth, huge towels and heated floors. My body
heaved a full sigh at the deliciousness. Tonight Declan was taking me
to dinner and a Broadway show. It all felt unreal. Did it to him? I
couldn’t get a clear read on it. Sometimes it felt like he was
seeing New York City through the same lens as me, like we were both
in on it together, checking out the big city carnival, but our hearts
both belonged back under the wide Montana sky. Other times, I didn’t
know. There was still so much I didn’t know about him, not just
about his life now but about his childhood, how he’d grown up, his
family.

It was a good thing I
was in a hotel, not his penthouse, or I might have been tempted to
start snooping, rummaging through his drawers to see what I could
find. That never ended well. Knowing my luck, I’d probably find a
whole stack of photos of him with gorgeous, sophisticated, sexy
women. He’d probably look far more satisfied and happy than he ever
had with me.

It didn’t seem fair
that I was such an open book. There were no secrets to me. And, deep
down, I craved opening up to him, making myself vulnerable in every
way. With Declan, it wasn’t a matter of thought, it was instinct,
simply how I responded to him. With other men, I had no problem being
the ice princess. With Declan, all he had to do was stroke me with a
piece of ice and I melted into a begging, pleading, quivering mess.
God, I hoped he’d do that again.

Everything about him
pulled me to him like a magnet. I guessed it was true, the old
cliché: opposites attract. Back in high school I’d been a
light-hearted, carefree kid. Who had I gone for? The dark, tortured
ranch hand with the checkered past. Never mind that everyone thought
I should stay the cheerleader to Bruce’s quarterback.

Funny thing about
Bruce, now he was divorced, broke and back in town. He’d texted me
a few times over the summer. It was pretty easy to ignore his
messages.

I was getting good at dismissing
texts. I’d gotten one earlier that day while I’d been walking
around Times Square. It didn’t seem possible that my old life—my
real life—could find me right in the middle of all that chaos. But
somehow Lymon Culpepper, the Toad Man, had managed it. Right as I’d
been eating an ice cream cone and watching a Peruvian pan pipe band,
I’d gotten his text:

You have to give me an answer

It felt like a cold hand had come up
from behind and gripped me around the neck. I’d shuddered. I didn’t
want to think about it. I still had some time before the clock struck
midnight. And who knew, this whole crazy Cinderella story might work
out. If Cinderella agreed to a week of sex in exchange for money.
Less of a feel-good family favorite story, that. But, anyway, no time
to dwell on the details, instead I texted back:

In a few days

I wanted this man off my back, out
of my life. Another text from him popped up, ugly as sin:

You don’t have any other options

I could cry, I knew
that. I could sit right down on a bench and bawl my eyes out. It
might feel good to do it. Lord knows, I’d cried plenty over the
past year. Or two. But I just plain refused to accept the Toad Man’s
ultimatum as my reality. He didn’t get to tell me what I had to do.
So, instead, I’d put the phone back in my purse and put the message
right out of my head.

Before me in the master
suite, the humungous bed had an orchid and fine chocolates displayed
on a golden pillow. A small note explained that it was courtesy of
the late-afternoon turn-down service. When once-a-day maid service
simply wouldn’t do.

I saw Declan had laid
out a black dress for me, draped across a satin settee at the base of
the bed. Next to the throw pillows, I noted with a smile, in a soft
brocade, varying shades of taupe and ivory. The hotel Declan owned in
Billings had a sleek, modern feel, but this place positively dripped
with old world style. I could picture a classic film star like Grace
Kelly seated there in a long silk gown. She’d be smoking a
cigarette back before anyone knew they were bad for you, probably
from an elegant holder made from endangered elephant tusks.

“I’m so bored,”
Grace would exhale, lounging on the couch.

But I wasn’t. I knew
this was very likely my one and only trip to New York City, and I
meant to enjoy myself.

Glass half full or
empty, it was my choice. I could dwell on it all ending on Sunday. Or
I could put on the gorgeous dress before me, pair it with stilettos
and head out into the night. When you put it like that, the choice
became simple.

§

“Mmm.” Declan
nuzzled my hair, his arm wrapped around me in the back of the limo.
“You smell good.”

Laughing, I leaned into
him as the car delivered us from restaurant to theater. “What did
the waiter call those orangey chocolate things again?”

He put on an affected
accent. “Saffron-orange truffles enrobed with chocolate ganache.”

“Enrobed. That’s my
favorite part.” I loved it, almost as much as the way Declan’s
chest rumbled when he talked.

“You couldn’t
charge $20 for chocolate orange balls.”

“That doesn’t sound
right at all.” I smiled as he caressed my shoulder and breathed
into me once again. “Wait, they weren’t really $20, were they?”

“Don’t worry about
it.” He didn’t answer my question.

“Well, I hope they
weren’t. But I have to admit, that might have been the best meal
I’ve ever had.”

“Glad you liked it.”

The elaborate
centerpiece in the middle of the restaurant with giant lit glass
vases exploding with white roses and calla lilies, the 30 foot-high
ceilings, the 15 different wait staff tending to our needs from
sweeping crumbs off the linen tablecloth to refreshing our water
glasses after every sip. It wasn’t just that I’d never seen
anything like it. I’d never even imagined anything like it. The
fresh flowers dotted along the appetizer plate, something called an
amuse-bouche between courses. Courses. Every male patron wore a
jacket, every woman looked ready to step into a photo shoot.

“I don’t know what
I like better,” I mused. “All the glam of the restaurant. Or all
the crazy of Times Square.”

“That’s the fun of
New York,” Declan agreed. “You don’t have to choose. You’ve
got it all.”

“What do you like
best?”

“I like it all when
I’m with you.” As the limo coasted through the dark city streets,
I melted into his chest. Who knew Declan would ever say something so
sweet? And here, in the shadows of the car, I felt it was true.

Declan’s phone rang.
After looking at the number and cursing, he apologized. “I have to
take this call.” Arm up and off, he leaned toward the door and
began discussing the logistics of something or other.

I hugged myself in the
darkness of the car. Lights flashed by outside, buildings, people, as
we headed up to a Broadway show. I could tell Declan was discussing
something about the black tie gala at the Met Saturday night. I bet
there’d be ice sculptures of swans and heaping vats of caviar.
Would I like caviar? I knew I’d like messing with Dot, my boss at
the diner, once I got back to work. I could tell her I’d developed
a taste for caviar and thought we should put it on the menu. Tough
old bird, Martha probably wouldn’t even crack a smile. She’d
probably hand me a plate of tater tots, Montana caviar.

“Angie can answer all
this.” Declan huffed, sounding frustrated. “It’s all on the
website.” He listened some more, then relented. “All right, read
it to me.”

He nodded into the
phone, then said, “No, ages five to eighteen. We used to start at
eight, but we dropped it to five.” I couldn’t help but listen in
and wonder what he was talking about.

“Five centers now,”
he spoke again. “We just opened a fifth.” He nodded, listening
some more. “That’s right, and holiday donations. Mention that,
it’s our biggest drive.”

A few more curt ‘yups’
and ‘that’s rights’ and he ended the call.

“Finalizing the
program for Saturday,” he explained. “They wanted my green
light.”

“What centers? And
donations?”

“It’s the charity I
started. For foster kids.” He explained it all to me, his arm back
around me tight. He’d started a foundation that funded lots of
supports for school-age foster kids, including five centers that
hosted everything from afterschool activities, to flu shots and well
check-ups, to holiday parties.

I could hear in his
voice it meant a lot to him, to give back to those who had so little.
I remembered he’d spent some time in foster care. My heart swelled
at the thought of his generosity, this tough, hard man who’d seen
so much. I remembered the scars I’d seen on him, on his lower
stomach and others along his back. The way he closed down when the
subject of his past ever came up. He’d been through a lot, that
much I was sure of, and now he was helping others. Tears welled in my
throat.