The Affair: Week 6 (3 page)

“I’ll keep an eye out for you. When you’re finished, I’ll show you to Vanni’s suite. He said to put you there.”

“Thank you,” Emma said, watching as the housekeeper left her to her tea.

In truth, she hadn’t looked worried because she was thinking of what Mrs. Denis had said about Vanni’s tone of voice when he spoke of her. It’d been the mention of the dinner they’d be attending tonight that reminded her uncomfortably that she’d told Vanni to return all the clothing he’d so generously bought her. Had he carried out her request or ignored it? He’d told Amanda in his message that she needed only bring herself, and he’d have everything arranged for her. She’d taken him at his word, bringing only some bare necessities and toiletries. Now that she was here in these glamorous surroundings, however, she started to “get” just how truly out of place she’d be wearing one of the sundresses she’d brought.

A half hour later, Mrs. Denis led her down an arched-ceiling, whitewashed stone hallway to a closed door.

“Oh, how lovely,” Emma breathed out when she followed the housekeeper into the room. Like the rest of the house, it was flooded with sunlight from an entire wall made of French doors. It was a large, wide-open room, simple in design, containing a huge iron bed with pristine white bedclothes, two armchairs, and a sofa situated before an ancient-looking fireplace and a fantastic carved antique armoire made of dark stained wood. She saw the large trunk Marco had brought from the plane next to the armoire. Flowers were everywhere, cut ones arranged skillfully on the mantel, bedside, and on the table in the seating area. They were also living ones outside on the shallow terrace beyond the French doors, waving in the sunshine. In the distance was the brilliant azure sea.

“Do you have everything you need?” Mrs. Denis asked her after she’d showed her the bathroom suite and how to regulate the temperature in the room.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Vanni says it’ll be a late night. Why don’t you rest?”

“I’ll definitely try.”

The housekeeper smiled and left her. Emma took a quick shower and freshened up in the bathroom, then changed into a pair of shorts and a tank top. Instead of drawing the drapes like Mrs. Denis had showed her, she opened a pair of French doors and crawled into the sumptuous bed. She pressed her cheek to one cool down pillow and inhaled deeply. Not finding what she craved, she switched pillows, smiling contentedly as she nestled deeper.

She fell asleep to the sound of the wind rustling in the trees and the sea in the distance, the scent of Vanni filling her nose.

“What are you smiling about while you dream,
mon petit ange
?”

Emma’s eyes sprung open at the sound of his deep, resonant voice in her head.

Vanni looked down at her from where he sat at the edge of the bed. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt and cobalt blue tie along with a pair of gray pants. The bangs of his brown hair had fallen forward, parenthesizing his sea-colored eyes. She’d never been so glad to see anything in her whole life than she was his face in that moment.

She reached up and touched the scruff on is lean jaw, assuring herself he was there.

“You,” she replied with sleepy honesty.

The small smile faded from his firm lips. He leaned down and kissed her, his slow, patient cadence quickly turning faster and more forceful. His hand trailed down her side and cupped her hip, rolling her closer to him. She moaned into his mouth and delved her fingers into his hair, losing herself in his taste.

“I don’t appreciate you depriving me of this,” he firmed his hand on her hip and plucked at her lips, “for four whole nights.”

“I was . . . mad at . . . you,” she reminded him, kissing him back hungrily.

“Are you still?” he murmured, biting gently at her lower lip. Emma shivered in delight, and he pulled her closer into his arms.

The truth was, it was nearly impossible to stay mad with him nibbling at her mouth and his scent filling her nose, especially when she hadn’t seen him for days. “Sort of,” she mumbled, returning the favor and scraping her teeth along his lower lip, her actions completely at odds with her words. He gave a low groan and swept his hand along her waist and ribs, stopping next to her breast. He cupped her side. “I don’t like being manipulated, Vanni.”

“I wasn’t manipulating you,” he said, glancing up to meet her stare. “I only have you for so long, Emma. Do you really blame me for wanting you every minute I possibly can? I was trying to ensure that by calling Mrs. Ring in advance. You say I did it for myself, and maybe I did. I told you I was selfish from the beginning.”

For a moment, she didn’t speak. She understood he wasn’t used to being in relationships. He handled her like he would any other task in his busy world.

“I’m not something to check off your work list,” she said quietly. “But I do understand that you were doing it with good intentions. It’s just that my work is . . .”

“Your domain. I understand,” he said soberly. “I won’t do anything like that again. But I can’t regret it this time,” he said pointedly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he looked down at her. His hand slid down to her ass. He cupped a buttock and kneaded it with his large hand, making her thoughts scatter. “I wanted you here.”

“And whatever Vanni wants, Vanni gets?” she asked dryly, although she knew full well it was the absolute truth most of the time.

“Obviously not, or you would have been here sooner. But yes, I was willing to do whatever was necessary to make it happen. It didn’t happen as quickly as I would have wanted, but you’re here now,” he said, his gaze narrowing on her face as he squeezed her buttock and stroked the slope of her hip, his manner intent and thrillingly possessive. “I’m too happy about it too apologize.”

“Congratulations on the Montand car winning the time trials today. Marco told me,” she said softly.

“Luck came with you,” he said, leaning down to capture her mouth with his. By the time he lifted his head from their kiss a moment later, her flesh had gone warm and tingly, her sex soft and liquid.

“I do regret one thing about my protest, now that I’m here,” she said, scraping her fingernails along his neck and feeling the slight shudder that went through him. It was intoxicating, knowing how her touch affected him. She saw his dark brows go up in a query when he noticed her anxious expression.

“Mrs. Denis told me about the dinner tonight,” she explained. “You said not to bring anything in the message you sent through Amanda. Is the wardrobe you bought me here in France?”

“You said you wanted me to return it all, so I did,” he said, his expression deadpan. Her heart seemed to plummet into her belly. She hadn’t actually expected him to say that. She’d never regretted her angry outburst more. “Isn’t that what you told me you wanted?” he prodded quietly.

She nodded, trying to look happy about his decision. She couldn’t be
both
miffed at his heavy handedness and desirous of his gifts at once. But she didn’t want the glamorous clothing for herself, she wanted them because she didn’t want to embarrass him . . . or
herself
, she added fairly in the privacy of her mind. His handsome mouth quirked slightly in amusement.

“You don’t really think I’d leave you without resources after insisting that you attend the race with me, do you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused. “Did you return the clothes, or not?”

“I did,” he said briskly, straightening. He took her hand. “But I had Marco go to the Breakers and get something else for you there. My aunt Michelle—Dean’s wife—helped me arrange it. And this
something
I’m referring to truly is yours. You won’t have to worry about accepting anything from me.”

“What?”

“Come here,” he said, tugging on her hand when she just stared up at him in amazement. She followed him across the room to the trunk Marco had taken off the plane. He flipped it on its side and opened it. Inside, there were several garment bags that had been folded once, one on top of another. He drew some keys out of his pant pocket and grabbed several of the garment bags.

“Follow me,” he said, turning. She trailed him to a door. He used a key to unlock it and swung it open. He flipped on a light, and Emma followed him into a large walk-in closet. Very quickly and efficiently, Vanni unzipped the two garment bags, scooted aside some of his neatly hung suits, and placed what appeared to be dresses upon dresses on the rack.

“Oh, they’re
gorgeous
,” Emma whispered, stepping forward to touch a stunning, gold evening gown, then a showstopping black textured gown with a fitted white bodice and cutout back, followed by a darling red day dress . . . they went on and on. She looked up at Vanni in confusion.

“Did you return the ones you bought me and buy
different
ones?” she asked.

“No. These are yours. Bequeathed to you by Cristina.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Apparently, she contacted her lawyer in the last days before she died and altered her will, leaving you her entire wardrobe, shoes, accessories . . . everything. It’s no small thing,” Vanni said, his lips tilting in dark amusement. “Cristina was a real clothes hound, and was often named one of the best-dressed women on the planet. Most of these dresses have never even been worn.”

“She and I did discuss her love of fashion,” Emma said numbly, her mind trying to make sense of what Vanni was saying. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Part of her was stunned, part of her deeply moved by Cristina’s gesture. “She and I talked about her shop and she actually . . .”

“What?” Vanni asked when she faded off.

“She said she wanted me to have all her clothes. I didn’t take her seriously, though. I only knew her for a little over a week.”

“I told you she liked you,” he said quietly.

His eyes looked shrouded in the dim light of the closet, but she saw the glint in them as he stared at her. Emma touched the dresses in a mixture of awe and sadness. “I probably shouldn’t accept them . . . but I will,” she said with breathless resolution. Cristina had wanted her to have them, for whatever reason. Emma thought enough of her not to refuse such a lavish, thoughtful gift. Cristina hadn’t done it randomly, she just knew that somehow.

“It was a very personal gift,” Vanni said.

“I know. Clothes meant so much to her,” Emma agreed in a hushed tone.

She looked over her shoulder and met his stare, seeing the hunger gleaming in his eyes as he watched her. Her pulse began to leap at her throat.

“Come here,” he said.

She swallowed, a thread in his tone making her skin prickle with awareness. Something caught her attention to the left of him as she walked into his arms.

“Oh my,” she mumbled, craning to see what hung on the wall behind him. A rush of excitement went through her, hot and forbidden, something akin to what she’d felt that night in the armoire, but this time more intense.

“You know I always feel like you’re out of my reach,” he said quietly, ignoring her anxious staring over his shoulder.

She looked up at him slowly when he caught her chin, her fingers clutching instinctively on his hard, muscular biceps. “I’m right here,” she whispered.

“Yes. But you deprived me of your presence for four days,” he said, a hard glimmer of challenge and dark amusement in his eyes. An electrical shiver ran through her. “So I’m going to give you a little punishment.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, giving him a glare for good measure.

“That’s not what this is about. It would give me pleasure to have you at my mercy. I need it, after what you did. I believe it will give you excitement and pleasure as well. That’s all. Now I want you to go and choose one,” he hitched his chin in the direction behind him, and Emma knew very well he’d known exactly what she was looking at the whole time.

She again looked past him. There was a built-in chest of drawers, but above, instruments of sexy punishment were hanging on the wall. She saw several leather floggers and what appeared to be a riding crop. There were several sizes of paddles—long and thin, medium and wide, short and round.

The idea of being the one to choose her method of sexual punishment amplified the forbidden thrill of the dark room, Vanni’s hot eyes, and her own breathless excitement. She dropped her hands from his and walked past him, approaching the wall slowly. For a moment, she studied all the instruments, highly aware of his eyes on her backside. She fingered first one polished hardwood paddle and then a leather-covered one, then one with holes drilled into the wood, which looked like it would hurt. Her clit tingled with excitement. She’d didn’t relish the idea of pain. The idea of being at Vanni’s mercy was what excited her. Her fingers ran over the thin crop and the square slapper at the end. She touched the leather lashes on the flogger, but her hand dropped quickly away. It reminded her too much of that night she watched him and Astrid. The idea of him doing something similar to her left her feeling almost unbearably sexually excited, but also intimidated, because she’d felt so cast a sea on that night, like she was a novice watching two professionals in gaping wonder and confusion.

But she was learning a few things . . .

She reached, removing the polished, long wood paddle that was about two and a half feet long and four inches wide. Heat scalded her cheeks when she saw Vanni’s small smile as she handed it to him. Was that a glint of triumph in his eyes? It suddenly felt impossible to meet his stare.

“You’ll have to take your strokes on a paddling bench with that large of a paddle,” he said gently. “Is that all right?”

“What’s a paddling bench?”

“It’s a padded bench that you kneel on to receive the punishment. I could have you bend over with that paddle, but I’d prefer the bench today. You will be completely exposed to me, but you’ll be comfortable.” He seemed to notice her hesitation. “You can choose another paddle if you prefer. With a shorter one, I could paddle you across my knee.”

She shook her head, her throat too constricted to speak.

“Go out into the bedroom then, and get undressed. I’ll join you in a moment.” He reached up and swept his forefinger along her cheek and jaw, his actions striking her as very tender. She walked past him, not taking a full breath until she stood by the bed. A shadow was cast on the balcony outside the French doors now, leaving the room cool and comfortable. In the distance, the Mediterranean sparkled like a jewel in the bright sunshine.

The sea breeze tickled her sensitive nipples and the skin of her belly and thighs a moment later when she removed her panties—the last item of clothing she wore. She swept her hand along a buttock, imagining how hot it would soon be from the paddle. She dropped it guiltily to her side when she heard Vanni’s step, and turned to face him. Her eyes widened when she saw him carrying a wooden bench in one hand, and the paddle in the other. The wooden stool was about two and a half or three feet tall. It was unique, with a long leather center cushion at the top to lie on and a cushioned ledge on either side, where the knees and hands would rest. She would be spread if she took that position, her bottom at the edge of the bench, an easy target . . .

“We’ll make this very simple,” he said quietly, his gaze lowering over her as he came closer, making her already tingling skin prickle in awareness. He set down the bench. She realized he held more than the paddle in his other hand. She glanced down nervously and saw he held the dual vibrator he always used on her. Her clit twanged with excitement, her body having become conditioned to the pleasure that would follow the vision of the little device.

“I’m going to put this in you,” he said, holding up the vibrator. “I enjoy giving you little punishments, but I only want them to arouse you. Do you need lubrication?”

His question mortified her. True, she’d gone soft and wet for him when he’d kissed and touched her earlier, but it’d been choosing that paddle while he’d watched her with that hawklike gaze of his that had truly got her ready. She shook her head, staring at his tie.

“I’ve told you that’s a good thing, Emma,” he chided quietly. “It pleases me, that choosing your mode of punishment excited you.”

She gave him a dry glance and rolled her eyes to diminish her embarrassment. His smiled widened as he went to set the paddle on the table.

He held up the vibrator expectantly as he returned, and she recalled what he’d told her to do whenever he did that. She parted her thighs, her heart starting to pound in her ears. He stepped closer and reached between her legs, the vibrator in his hand. “Look at me so I can read your expression,” he murmured when she continued to stare blindly at his shirtfront and tie. She looked up and felt his fingertip touch her entry. His jaw went hard. “Yes, nice and wet.” He pushed the vibrator into her several inches, wedging the other end against her clit. “Okay?” he asked, reaching up to touch her shoulder. The feeling of his fingertips skimming across naked skin caused her skin to roughen in excitement.