Cameron's Control (Novella #1): The Enthrall Sessions (Volume 4) (3 page)

Yes, I’d ravished her in the past, brought a perfect balance of both pleasure and pain to woo her, but what lay ahead was an intensity of belonging to a lover who prided himself on a certain brand of masterdom.

Should my ownership of her become too much, the return of Mia to her old master was still possible. I needed her to know this.

My jaw tightened. “Should you have doubts about me, about us—”

“Don’t,” she said. “Not now, not after all we’ve endured to be together. Trust it. Believe it. I do.”

“Mia.”

“All I need is your love.”

Shaking my head, I marveled at her understanding and squeezed the sponge, allowing warm water to trickle over her. “Warm enough?”

“Yes, thank you.” She turned and rested her hand against my face. “You?”

My cheek tilted into her palm and rested there. That gentle gesture of hers felt so endearing, so tender. I’d disallowed either of us to share this before, for fear our bond might have grown too intense.

How futile that all seemed now.

The glaring truth had been right there for everyone to see. My heart had brought me to this place and I only hoped Richard would forgive me. This conflict was all-consuming, this nagging doubt a better man would give Mia back to him. Yet I knew no one could love her like me, and the thought of losing her wrenched my heart too fiercely to fight against this.

Mia wouldn’t suffer one more second because of a complex friendship between Richard and I. A tenuous fault line that would no doubt heal.  

I wouldn’t be able to relax until I’d spoken with him. Until I knew he’d forgiven me for this time spent with the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, or touched, or tasted. Her skin was silk beneath my fingertips, her elegant curves drew my hand like the darkest bewitchment, and her enduring femininity stole my focus.

“Climb in with me,” she whispered.

My hands rested around her waist and I shook my head, coming out from this trance.

All I knew was her.

We bathed together.

We were lovesick, spending the day finding new rooms to fuck in, ordering in food so we didn’t have to leave the house, and taking long walks on that golden sandy beach hand in hand, sometimes talking, sometimes silent, but always in tune with each other’s needs.

I couldn’t remember the days before her.

CHAPTER 3

PERCHED MAJESTICALLY above the Sunset Strip rests an exclusive enclave of homes, all of them belonging to the rich and famous. Their coveted panoramic view of twinkling lights born from that sprawling metropolis, and beyond a dramatic vista of a black velvet ocean.

Hollywood’s rising starlet Andrea Buckingham lived in one of the largest homes situated on Doheny Drive. The blacked out glass fronted windows ensured privacy from overzealous fans and eager paparazzi with their long lenses of invasion.

For me, hailing from the East Coast, this town had once held an intriguing appeal. Though after a slew of celebrity patients, I’d gained insight into the vacuous world of the film industry and the town had lost its sparkle. Though not for Mia, who sat to my right, all starry eyed by the trail of famous faces wandering into the private party.

Tonight, on New Year’s Eve no less, we were gate crashing.

Inside our limousine we’d been shielded from the chill, and I’d asked Leo to turn up the heat so Mia wouldn’t feel the cold.

The time from Malibu to here had dissipated effortlessly. I’d been engrossed in Mia and hardly noticed the flashing billboards of the Sunset Strip, and paid little attention to the clubs, restaurants, boutiques, or partying crowds.

We’d spent our first day together mostly wrapped in each other’s arms.

Mia reached out and took my hand, gazing at me beneath long lashes, her blue eyes alight with wonder. I drew on my will of steel not to take her again right here in the car, though having her dressed in this elegant shimmering Armani gown, with its hand sewn crystals and delicate gold weaving, influenced my decision.

A few hours ago I’d made a call to my stylist, Sylvia Hudson, and she’d turned up at the beach house with a selection of dresses for Mia to choose from. Sylvia matched Mia’s favorite dress with elegant Christian Louboutin shoes.

Sylvia had worked for me long enough to know to bring one of my bespoke black tie suits and these Salvatore Ferragamo shoes.

I’d brought hardly anything to the beach house. I’d not intended on staying for more than a few hours. My path crossing with Mia’s felt like a gift.

Her endless show of gratitude was endearing, but now she was part of my life and I insisted she take all this luxury in stride. She was going to have to get used to it and I’d taken her aside during Sylvia’s visit and told her this.

That thin strip of rubies now served as her new collar. I’d removed the other one and secured it in the bedroom safe and expedited delivery of this exquisite handmade piece from my Beverly Hills home.

Lincoln, my personal butler, had brought it to Malibu as per my request. I didn’t tell Mia she was wearing millions for fear she wouldn’t enjoy it.

The choker had once belonged to my Aunt Rose, who’d told me it should be given to
the one
. This piece represented the kind of commitment I was now ready for.

We talked endlessly.  

Mia shared her experiences of working in Willem’s Art store in North Hollywood. During her early days in the city, there was no way she could have imagined a place like Enthrall. Her stories made me laugh. Like the one about a colorblind artist who Mia always tried to guide when choosing paints for his next masterpiece. She’d even hung his work inside the studio beside the store and supported the young man’s clashing concoctions. Her nudging the starving artist toward more pleasing palettes and her effort to sell his pieces to the art loving crowd afforded him to eat at least.

We talked about her future and she questioned me on a career in psychology. A profession she had a natural inclination for.

Every second with her felt right. No one came close to captivating me like she did. Her soft southern lilt, those innocent words flowing unabashedly, those plump, full lips that were now mine to kiss.

It was hard to grasp that only this morning I’d packed a suitcase for Paris. It made me happy to think I’d be taking Mia on my next trip to France. I couldn’t wait to show her the rest of Europe.

The impossible unraveled in what felt like another life, proving once again this sense of control was a ruse.

“How’s Henry?” she asked.

“Fine. He’s hanging out at the Venice Beach house. I gave him some space.”

“Did you surf?”  

“Not yet. We bought boards though. We just sat and talked.” It had felt as though no time had slipped between us.

Our past was a mixture of a shared childhood and later, when duty called, Henry had joined the military and I’d attended Harvard. That final deployment had seen Henry come undone, his capture and subsequent torture in an Afghanistan encampment had almost destroyed him. I’d taken him the rest of the way, or so I’d believed, debriefing him to extract strategic information. The words he’d eventually spew had merely been digits and codes, but central intelligence had connected the dots and subsequently intercepted an attack on our homeland.

Henry had been sent home to recuperate in a psychiatric wing and I’d endured these last few years believing with all my heart I’d been the one to put him there.

Without telling anyone, Mia had visited my brother and leant her own brand of healing. Her sweet innocence was all it took for me to forgive her meddling.

“You found his address in my office?”

“I’m sorry.” She looked at me warily. “I couldn’t see you sad anymore.” She turned her head away. “I’d go visit him again if I knew it would help you both.”

“You know that doesn’t make any sense, right?” I said, amused. “You can’t apologize and then tell me you’d repeat the behavior.”

“Behavior,” she scolded. “The rift between you and Henry had to end. Anyway, I really like him. He’s special. But then again he’s a Cole.”

“We’ll see how he does out of Big Bear.”

“I think he was lonely in that cabin.”

I reached for her hand. “He knows we’re here for him.”

Leo navigated the car curbside and parked. He climbed out and opened the door for Mia.

I joined them around the other side. “Don’t wait,” I told him. “Go get a drink with your family.”

“How will you get home, sir?” Leo’s gaze swept over the newly arriving guests.

“We’ll grab a cab.”

He looked uncomfortable. “Please, sir, just text me when you’re ready to leave. The boys will be in bed. Wife, too. When you’ve got two young ones, you’ll be in bed by eight, too.” He laughed.

This ex-marine was a hard man to negotiate with. I offered a nod of thanks and took Mia’s hand and led her toward the door.

“Who do we know here?” she asked.

“No one.”

She threw me a look of surprise.

I gave a shrug. “Other than Richard.”

She tried to pull her hand from mine, but I held it firmly and nodded to the security guard on the way in.

“Cameron?” she whispered nervously.

I beamed across the room at a crowd of guests as though I knew them.

That show of confidence was all it took for us to gain entry. That and the bouncer’s gaze locked on Mia. It was the distraction we needed to make our way in unhindered.

It wasn’t just the bouncer who was enamored. A few guests who’d gathered by the foot of the stairs turned and stared at us, their expressions probably matching my own when I’d first laid eyes on Mia. Of course I’d seen her in a photograph before I’d met her, but nothing came close to witnessing this kind of ethereal beauty close up.

Mia didn’t like the attention, and her defiance wavered as she nudged back up against me. I withdrew my hand from hers and rested it against the arch of her spine.  

This primal need to protect her sunk deep into my bones and made me question coming here.

My eyes scanned the crowd for Richard.

We were hit by rock music and the sound of laughter. I spotted a familiar face—that of musician Magnus Anderson. A well-worn guitarist from the band of the moment ‘Bound.’ He sipped on a tall glass of iced-water. Magnus swallowed hard when a waiter offered him a glass of champagne. He declined it unconvincingly. This was no place for a man on the brink of relapsing.

The old me would have tactfully gone in for the rescue, but Mia was my priority now and so was Richard, so I led her through the foyer and onward into the thick of the party.

The open plan design was perfect for entertaining and hosting hundreds, the vast expanse leading to an impressive room displaying a modernity of light wood and plush pastel colored furniture. That antique chest made a nice touch.  

The lavishly decorated living room swallowed us up and I went ahead and reached back for her hand to guide our way to a quiet corner, easing through the exuberant well-dressed men and women. We received respectful nods here and there from the other guests.  

Mia’s stare flitted over the many faces. Her body stiffened in my arms. I deserved her mistrust after the many times I’d maneuvered her into the place I’d decided was best for everyone. My imperious nature did its worst, and all in the name of love.  

She looked so fragile as her gaze searched mine. Doubt for what tonight might bring was etched on her face.  

A heart wrenching look of vulnerability.  

CHAPTER 4

“MIA, YOU BELONG to me.” I planted a kiss to her forehead.

“You just want to make sure Richard’s okay?”

“Yes.”

She relaxed a little.

“Oh sweetheart.” I wanted to ease her angst. “I need you to trust me.”

My hug served as reassurance and I caressed her back with affection. Her arms reached beneath my jacket and around my waist. It really did seem like the world had slipped away, if only for a few seconds.  

The décor leant an over refined tone. Our host Andrea Buckingham was from the Midwest, and her humble upbringing would mean she wouldn’t know the difference between a painting by Sarah Lucas or a sculpture by Damien Hirst, yet from her collection you’d have thought she was an art fanatic. Andrea had evidently handed over her credit card and told the designer to do his worst.  

And he had.

One portrait would have blended in well with the cream walls, but this mismatched selection tipped her hand that she yearned to fit in. Some of her guests might have been impressed, but it didn’t take me long to extract a profile from Andrea’s ornaments and ascertain which ones were those her designer had picked out from trendy overpriced Beverly Hills boutiques.

I’d read about Andrea in a Vanity Fair article, while scanning the pages for more interesting material during a long flight from L.A. to India, six months ago. An annual business trip I’d taken on behalf of Cole Tea. The side of the business I enjoyed.

I turned to check on Mia. She had the ability to stop time in its tracks. Her delicate fingers traced a sculpture, caressing the stone.

“Bo Hadley,” I told her.

“You’ve seen his work before?”

“Afraid so. Took me weeks to recover.”

“What do you think this one means?”

“What does it mean to you?”

“Makes me feel unsettled.”

“It’s meant to evoke an inner confrontation that leads to the deciphering of our inner illusion, or more accurately, delusion that echoes our lives.”

Mia looked astounded.

Amused, I pointed to the description on my side of the stand. “In other words a five thousand dollar Hadley.”