Bound for Nirvana: (The Bound Trilogy Book 3) (11 page)

Nothing.

“Mmm,” Ethan purred in appreciation.

The gentle thud returned, my sex beginning a steady beating pulse in time with the rise and fall of my chest. Suddenly, his hands disappeared, dipping under the hem of the shirt, his thumb nudging against my clit once. The contact caused me to jerk forwards and my reaction seemed to please him, because he nodded knowingly, as if acquiescing to a silent plea. Then slowly he slid a finger over my opening, swirling it around in the rapidly gathering moisture.

“You’re soaking, baby.”

I nodded.

“For me.” Removing his finger, he tucked it under his nose to inhale my scent before dipping his finger into his mouth for a taste. I whimpered, aroused by the lewd gesture, and again, he seemed pleased, rewarding me by returning his hand to begin a gentle, lazy circling of my clit. “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers now, baby. Because you’re mine, and I can.” He slid in a finger, the fingers of his other hand still working my clit. Christ, I wasn’t going to last long. “You’re going to come against my hand. Because you’re mine, and I’m going to allow you to.” Gently, he added another finger, the tempo increasing as he glided skillfully in and out.

“Oh my God.” I moved my hips against him in time with his rhythm.

“That’s it, baby. I can do this whenever I like. Because you’re mine. Only me. Say it, baby.” His fingers worked faster, deeper. “Say it.”

“Only you, Ethan.” I pumped my hips against his fingers shamelessly, closing my eyes as my climax built to its sweet crescendo.

“Look at me,” he demanded. My eyes snapped open and gazed into an ocean’s worth of lascivious desire. “Now come.” His command was my undoing, and I obeyed without hesitation, coming violently and noisily against his hand.

Ethan’s lips twitched into a slow, sexy smile of approval as he worked me down gently. “Better?” I nodded through heaving breaths and watched as he slid his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean. “You taste utterly amazing, Cinderella.”

“Mmm. As I recall, you taste delicious yourself.” My eyes flickered to the bulge in his pants, my brows hitching suggestively, teeth tugging on my lower lip.

Brows raised, he shook his head in sheer amazement. “That was supposed to satisfy you, baby.”

“It did. And I thank you. But why waste this?” I slid my hand firmly over his material-clad erection and smiled as it jerked in response. He grabbed my hand and pressed it against him, closing my fingers tightly around his shaft. He closed his eyes briefly, his jaw muscles tensing and clenching.

“There is nothing I would like more than to bury this thing inside you right now, baby, but I’m afraid I’ll have to endure the discomfort of an aching cock until this evening. I have an early meeting.” He tapped my thigh for me to rise before I had the chance to change his mind. I pouted, but obliged, following him out of the room and down the hall to our suite and into the bathroom, watching as he loaded paste onto his toothbrush.

“What are your plans today?” he asked through a mouthful of minty froth.

For a brief second, I thought about my headache and considered going back to bed for a while, but then I remembered the Sloane thing and thought my time would be better served deciding on how best to tackle his odd request.

“The gallery,” I answered decisively.

He frowned as he rinsed, then reached for the hand towel to dab his mouth. “Is Jia still absent?”

We hadn’t discussed anything about what had happened last night—the drinking, Paddy’s, Dylan, the missed calls, or the “hopeful” with the near broken jaw, and Ethan still had no clue about Jia and Charley’s breakup. Despite the passionate encounter in the elevator, he’d still been too mad to talk, and frankly, I’d been too drunk.

“No. But we have a new client. A serious collector who’s looking to spend a large sum of money. She needs my help.”

“Good.” He nodded. “I’m glad the gallery is doing well. Will you have time for lunch?”

Immediately I cheered and nodded eagerly. Just then, I heard my cell vibrate against the surface of the bedside table, and I hooked a thumb in the direction of the bedroom, an indication that I was off to answer it.

The screen displayed a number I didn’t recognize. Frowning, I answered. “Hello, Angelica Lawson.”

“Good morning, Miss Lawson,” said a voice I was vaguely acquainted with. “Dominic Sloane here.” Oh crap, how in the hell had he got my personal cell number? “I hope you don’t mind the early call, but my schedule is crammed full today, and I wanted to make sure I spoke with you.”

Swiftly, I headed out of the room toward the lounge and out of earshot. At best, I’d been frugal with the truth about
my client’s
proposition, and after last night’s misdeeds, I was in no hurry to impart information I knew would only rile Ethan further. At least, not until I’d had time to consider the proposition further.

For that reason, I spoke quietly when I responded. “No, it’s fine Mr. Sloane. What can I do for you?” I was eager for him to get to the point of his call.

“I wanted to let you know I’ve sent over an email for you to peruse. It will give you a clearer indication of what I’m attempting to accomplish. The mood and emotions I’m envisaging your work will conjure throughout my home. I was hoping we could have dinner one evening to discuss your suggestions—Saturday perhaps.”

“Dinner?” What the hell? I paced up and down in front of the sheet of glass separating me from the Manhattan skyline, wondering how to respond to the invitation. “I’m afraid I’m out of town all weekend. But maybe you could come to the gallery on Tuesday? It will give me chance to get an overview of your ideas, and I can take you through some of my work. There’s a mountain of data. I’m not sure a restaurant would be appropriate.”

There was a long silence, long enough for me to prompt him. “Hello?”

“Yes, I heard. Very well, I’ll schedule you for a 9:00 a.m. meeting on Tuesday. I trust that suits?”

Oh Christ, not really. The gallery didn’t open until midday and a private meeting wasn’t what I’d had in mind. “Perfect.” I mentally kicked myself for acceding so easily.

“Good. Oh and while you’re considering my ideas, perhaps you could also consider that a quarter million dollars is a sizeable deposit? Large enough to expect a dedicated personal service, wouldn’t you say?”

What the
hell
? That would depend on what kind of personal service he was looking for. There was something quite intimidating about Mr. Sloane’s approach, but I wasn’t certain putting him in his place was the right thing to do. Yet. So I decided to play along. “Yes, of course.”

“Fantastic. We’ll have dinner Wednesday, then. In the meantime, I’ll look forward to Tuesday. Have a good weekend, Miss Lawson.”

He hung up before I could even reply, leaving me staring blankly at the “call ended” display on my cell phone. How impudently presumptuous could one guy be? And exactly what level of commitment was he expecting for his money?

Suddenly, I caught a movement in my peripheral vision and looked up to find Ethan leaning casually against the breakfast island, head to one side, arms folded, one inquiring eyebrow arched painfully high.

“Your new client?”

“Um, yes.”

“Calling you on your private cell?” Ethan was aware that only a handful of the gallery’s avid collectors had access to my personal number.

“Yes… I guess. He wanted to let me know he’d sent an email.”

The other brow leapt up to join the first, both of them now framing wide, dubious eyes. “He?”

“Yes.”

“You said the client was a she.”

“No I didn’t.” I frowned.

“Yes you did. You said, ‘
she
needs my help.’”

My frowned deepened, and then suddenly I realized where the misunderstanding had occurred. “I meant Jia. Jia needs my help.”

With jaw muscles bunching and eyes narrowing, he raised his wrist and glanced at his watch. “We’ll discuss this later.” He stalked toward me and grasping the back of my head, planted a hard kiss on my lips.

His intense ardor sparked an immediate reaction from me and my lips parted willingly to allow him access. But just as swiftly, his lips were gone, his hand reaching under the hem of the shirt and between my legs to run his finger deftly through the folds of dampened flesh. I gasped at the unexpected contact, my eyes widening as I observed him blink slowly while inhaling my scent from his finger. Then, to my surprise, he reached out and smeared my sticky arousal across my lower lip before pushing it inside my mouth. His own lips parted as he observed me close my lips and draw on his finger. “You’re mine. Remember that.” He turned and headed for the foyer. “I’ll see you at twelve-thirty, usual place. Oh and, Angel? Just so you know—dinner with your client is out of the question.”

Mouth open, words failing me hopelessly, I shook my head in disbelief and watched him disappear out of sight. He’d left me breathless and panting and painfully aware of the steady thrumming sensation in my sex. But it wasn’t just his shamefully salacious touch that had turned me on, it was his incessant possessiveness. To my astonishment, his desire to own me, to dominate me—both just now and last night—was having a bizarrely arousing effect. And now I’d have to wait all day for him to deal with it.

It wasn’t until I heard the sound of the elevator closing that I realized he’d left the document on the table, the one he’d been examining earlier. It gave me an idea. Maybe I’d meet him at the office instead of the restaurant. I could deliver the document to him, and maybe, just maybe, we could carry on where we left off in the boardroom the other day.

My morning was spent pondering the implausibility of a mutually working agreement with Mr. Sloane while at the same time keeping my man happy. If insisting on unnecessary private dinners was going to be part of Sloane’s agenda, I might as well tear his check up now. Ethan had already made his position perfectly clear on that score.

Sloane’s email had been direct and to the point. In some detail, he’d explained that his fascination lay in images which evoked strong emotions. Emotions which would manifest themselves to the onlooker if they were profound thinkers and able to see beyond what was superficial or instantly recognizable. The images, he said, would help him to determine if he was personably compatible with the people he invited into his home. How his guests interpreted and responded to the images—if indeed they provoked a reaction at all—would reveal to him their emotional and intellectual capacity. He went on to give me a list of emotions he wished to encompass: benevolence, indignation, anticipation, amusement, hope—the list went on. He finished the email with a short list of emotions to disregard, explaining simply that these were already taken care of. The list read: despair, sadness, desolation, fear, and grief.

Wow, intense. It was strange, but his email left me wondering if I ever really considered what the observer saw when I took my photographs. I guess I captured an image if it spoke to me in some way, shape or form. If it summoned a memory or a feeling to the observer, fine. If it didn’t—well, equally fine. They either liked the picture or they didn’t. I didn’t expect the viewer to see what I had seen—my memory, my feelings. If I wanted that, I could paint a picture of a bleeding heart or something else befitting to the emotion I felt at the time.

The thing I found most unnerving was that Sloane appeared to see exactly what incited me to take a picture in the first place. Almost as if I’d written an account of my inner feelings under each and every image. The idea made me profoundly uncomfortable.

By the time midday arrived, I’d talked myself into and out of reasons why I should honor the agreement several times, and still not arrived at any definite conclusion. Deciding I should park it in the back of my mind for now, I exited the elevator on the thirtieth floor and walked through the glass fronted entrance of Wilde Industries.

Waving at Emily on reception, I headed through the foyer and down the corridor toward Ethan’s office. I was feeling oddly nervous, maybe even excited, as I plucked the document he’d left behind from my purse and tucked it under my arm. He wasn’t expecting me for another half hour, and of course we’d arranged to meet in the restaurant.

Unusually, Laura, Ethan’s secretary, wasn’t at her desk, but the door to his office was open. I faltered as I approached, slowed by the distinct, low sound of feminine laughter drifting toward me from inside. The sound had my hackles rising possessively. Something about the tinkling tones of merriment had a noticeable flirtatious quality.

Halting at the door, I peered in to find Ethan helping a petite blonde into her immaculate suit jacket. The gesture seemed courteous enough, until he gathered her long blond tresses in his hands to free them from her collar and suddenly it was way too intimate. The way he continued to chuckle at their shared joke and then sank back to rest lightly on the edge of his desk, hands thrust deep into his pockets was too casual, too familiar. My skin prickled with jealousy as she laid her hand on his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Forever the gentleman, Ethan. They should make more like you,” she giggled, her hand still resting firmly in place.

Yes, well this one happens to be mine, so take your fucking hands off him, bitch.

As if I’d screamed the thought aloud, Ethan turned in my direction, pushing instantly to his feet. I scanned his face, trying to decide whether the surprise in his expression was combined with pleasure or embarrassment.

“Angel.” He moved across the room toward me, grasping my shoulders and kissing me chastely on the lips. “This is a surprise.”

The blonde’s smile faded immediately, her mood clearly piqued by my unexpected arrival and Ethan’s diverted attention. She was very pretty, in a fresh, pleasing to the eye, wholesome kind of way. But I didn’t miss the unmistakable flash of spite in her sparkly blue eyes as she narrowed them suspiciously in my direction.

“Christ, I’m not late am I?” Ethan checked his wrist watch, his tone filled with sudden concern.

“No, darling, you’re not late. I thought I’d come by early in case you needed this.” I handed him the file. “You left it at
home
this morning.” I gave careful consideration to the word
home
, emphasizing it sufficiently to ensure the blonde didn’t miss its significance, my focus aimed directly at her to observe the effect.