Bound Temptations: Stories of Temptation and Submission Page 3

  Shutting the door, he leaned back against it. "We should talk about this at home," he said again.

  "You're being a bastard...we'll talk about it here."

  "You're being a bitch," he pointed out. "I paid a grand to get us into a party we weren't even invited to..."

  "Well, they don't care. They just asked for the donation," she replied. Smoothing a hand back over her hair, she gave him an aggravated glance. "It's not like you need the money, darling."

  "No, I don't. But you never asked if I wanted to come. You told me to. And now that you're here, all you can do is insult the owner. Mara...I don't even know you anymore. And what little I do know?" He paused, reaching for the words. He didn't want to hurt her.

  Mara crossed her arms over her chest, one blonde brow lifted impatiently. "Yes?"

  "I don't like."

  She stilled. Finally, something flickered in her pale blue eyes. But it was gone almost as fast as it had appeared. "That's just silly, Cole. You know me. I'm the same woman I was when you proposed—the same woman I was the night you told me you loved me and wanted to spend the rest of your life with me."

  "No, you're not. You used to smile. And laugh. Now you only smile if you're mocking somebody. Or being cruel." He looked away as he pushed off the door. "And that's not who I want to spend my life with."

  Taking a deep breath, he said softly, "This engagement is off, Mara. I'll pick up my stuff and move out of the condo next week. I'll sign it over to you—you can have it. And I'll honor my agreement on the store. But that's it. We're done."

  "Cole, wait."

  He opened the door as he looked back at her.

  "You can't do this," she said, her voice shaking. "Not to me. Not here."

  "I didn't want to do it here. But I can do it...and I am. I'm not going to spend my life with someone who is obviously so unhappy. Life's too short, Mara. Get out there and enjoy it—stop worrying so much about getting ahead and just live."

  Chapter Three

  "Getting close to time," Lacey mused.

  "I know." Rocki gave her friend an amused glance and nodded toward the clock on the wall. "I can read a clock, you know."

  "Bitch." It was delivered in a friendly tone, along with an elbow in the side. Hard.

  "Hey!" Rocki slammed a hand against the wall to keep from toppling over and glared at Lacey. "You're the bitch. Bitch. Would stop trying to send me careening to the floor?"

  "Can't help it...it was just so funny the one time you did go down..." Lacey wagged her eyebrows. That was one night she'd never let Rocki live down—hadn't mattered that both of them had been drunk. "So...you going to let some hot guy bid on you this year?"

  "Oh, puh-leeze." She sighed and sipped from the one glass of champagne she'd allow herself for now. She'd have more later. After this was all over. Champagne. Or something stronger. Probably something stronger, so she didn't have to think about that damn card. And the call she'd have to make soon, because she knew the cards weren't going to stop.

  "You going to tell me what's up with you?"

  With a smile, Rocki lied between her teeth. "Nothing." She'd have to come clean with Lacey. Especially if another one of those cards showed. Lacey's brother, Clayton, was one of the friends she figured she'd call—he'd been one of Brant's closer friends. He would take it seriously, too. But until another one showed, she wasn't going to worry about it. If another one came...then, fine. She'd deal. And she'd deal appropriately. But not now—she had to get through tonight first.

  "You know, if I didn't know you, I could believe you," Lacey said on a sigh. "But I do know you. And I know you're lying."

  "Sucks, doesn't it?"

  "Bitch," Lacey muttered. Then she groaned. "Speaking of bitches...here's the Wicked Witch of High Street coming now. And she looks like she's up to no good."

  Yeah, Rocki had to agree. The glint of Mara O'Keily's eyes was all the warning Rocki needed. As she sipped from her champagne glass, she glanced at her friend Lacey. Behind the glass, she whispered, "If you disappear, I'm going to deck you. And keep your trap shut, too."

  Lacey grimaced. "That woman is a viper."

  "I know."

  Five seconds later, Mara was there, smiling a hard, brittle smile. The look in her eyes was bright, almost too bright. And disconnected. "Oh, there you are, Rocki...I've been looking for you. Although in that get-up, you're rather hard to miss."

  "Well, I like to make a statement." Rocki smiled. She studied Mara's dress and said, "I suppose I could try something like that, but I doubt it would work on me."

  "Your boobs would runneth over, no doubt," Lacey said, grinning. "That sort of thing works best on the boobless and hipless. Oh, no offense, Ms. O'Keily."

  Mara's smile went colder, sharper. "Oh, none taken." She glanced around. "So, I heard your designer Lush is supposed to be here tonight. Has she made her appearance yet?"

  "She has," Lacey said. "She's been around most of the night."

  Rocki wanted to kick Lacey. Damn it. Mara's gaze zeroed in on Lacey and she arched a blonde brow. "Oh? Perhaps you can introduce me?"

  "Hmmm. I could, but Lush is going to be on the stage in a few minutes," Lacey said, making a face of mock disappointment. "You'll just have to try and catch her after. I never stay past the auction, I'm afraid."

  "I see." Mara looked at Rocki. "Are you going to be in the auction...oh, wait, you're married. Where is your husband, Mrs. Monroe? I bet he's quite a catch."

  Lacey went rigid next to her. Rocki reached out and rested a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Lacey...calm down," she said softly, glancing away from the woman in front of her. Lacey was all but vibrating with the urge to do something violent. "Mara doesn't exactly know me, after all. She doesn't know about Brant."

  "I guess that means she also hasn't taken three minutes to read anything about the benefit she's attending, huh?" Lacey said, her voice harsh and cold.

  Just then the music changed, going to a low, rhythmic Celtic ballad.

  As harp music filled the air, the lights went low and on the far wall of the restaurant, a reel of images started to play. As Brant's smiling face appeared, Rocki looked at Mara. "The benefit is in my husband's memory, Mara. He died five years ago."

  For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Cole hadn't left after the little explosion with Mara. Part of it was because of the way she'd looked—that expression never boded well. So he hung around and watched, waiting.

  Another reason he hadn't left was that he wanted to see Rocki again.

  Yeah, he had an unnatural, unhealthy obsession with a beautiful, married woman. But he'd just ended an unhealthy relationship with a beautiful woman. Obviously he had a handle on when to end unhealthy relationships, right? Even one-sided ones.

  Sighing, he stared out at the crowd, his gaze automatically seeking out Rocki. She was impossible to miss. She was tall, probably close to five ten. And with that hat and the heels she wore tonight, she stood out like a goddess.

  A married one.

  Turning away, he looked for something to occupy his mind and absently grabbed one of the rose-colored flyers that had been handed out at the door in exchange for his "generous donation." There was a picture on it, he noticed absently.

  A guy. Black hair, a wide, easy grin.

  Below the guy's picture, it read: Jacob Brant Monroe.

  Monroe...

  In loving memory.

  What the...?

  Music started to play. Sad and poignant, filling the air like a liquid sob. Lifting his head, he found himself seeking out Rocki with his eyes, yet again. And he found himself watching, entranced, as she made her way to the small stage that had been set up near the back of the restaurant.

  With pictures of her deceased husband flashing on the wall just over her shoulder, Rocki smiled out over the crowd. "It's hard to believe just how fast time can pass." She glanced over and everybody watched as the images flickered to a halt.

  A wedding day.

  Her wedding day.


  Her voice was husky as she murmured, "We would have been coming up on our tenth anniversary this year."

  The images sped back up.

  "Brant was a good husband. A good man." She smiled and even from where he stood, Cole could see the tears glinting in her eyes. "And he was a good cop."

  The images slowed down once more, pausing on one of the man in uniform. "Brant was a man who loved life. He loved me. He loved his job and he loved his badge." She smiled and it was all that much more beautiful because it wobbled around the edges. "We weren't one of those marriages you hear about—and a lot of those aren't always the normal. You hear about the typical cop married to his job, the wife just getting the scraps and leftovers. That wasn't our marriage. We were happy and I know if he hadn't been shot in the line of duty, we'd still be married...still be happy. Brant was my heart."

  The images started back up. Images of him with a boy, walking around a mall. Playing baseball. Fishing. Talking to kids at a school. "Brant touched a lot of lives. Some of you are here because of that. Some of you are here because you know how those men and women touch lives. Some of you are here because you, like me, lost somebody. You know how hard it is. You know the pain, you know the grief. And you know how important it is to know you're not alone—my friends pulled me through those early, awful days."

  She paused and looked down. When she looked back up, she wasn't smiling. "You'll never know how grateful I am to you for that. Words can't express it. But my way of expressing my gratitude is through this...by honoring the memory of Brant, and the other men and women like him who have fallen. The Survivor's Fund is a charity that helps the families of officers who've died or been injured in the line of duty. They provide a network for grief counseling, for financial support, so many needed things. Tonight's benefit is for that very worthy charity. I thank all of you for being willing to help out."

  She nodded and then stepped away from the stage.

  As she disappeared through a small door, Cole found himself staring after her, his heart breaking over the pain he'd heard in her voice.

  Don't grieve for too long, Lush…

  She could still hear his voice.

  "How long is too long, Brant?" she whispered, resting one hand on her belly and staring into nothingness while she waited for the ache in her chest to fade. Although it wasn't just that she was grieving for him, specifically. She missed him. She was lonely. Nobody else had ever filled that empty ache in her heart.

  Usually, she was okay. But on nights like tonight, that ache was more acute.

  One of the chairpersons for the charity was out there speaking, wrapping things up. In a few more minutes, it would be time for her to go back out there and start the auction.

  Then, later, she'd go home. Alone. She didn't want to still be alone.

  She was so tired of being alone...

  The door opened with a soft screech that had her jumping, clapping a hand over her mouth to muffle her shriek. Her heart raced and for a long, long moment, she forgot to breathe. It wasn't until black dots danced in front of her eyes that she made herself suck in a desperate breath. She swayed a little and a pair of hands came around her waist, steadying her.

  "Hey, are you okay?"

  That voice—

  Blinking, she found herself staring up at Mr. Gorgeous. Cole. Cole Stanton. Mara O'Keily's fiancé. Automatically, she lifted her hands and rested them on his chest as she blinked the fog from her brain. "Ah..."

  "Hey, you should sit down."

  "No." She shook her head, feeling foolish. Easing back, she gave him a smile, one that she hoped was a little more certain than she felt. "I'm just a little off. Rough day." Rough day, rough night, rough week. She hadn't eaten anything after the mail had arrived that morning, either—she'd spotted that damn card right off the bat and it had killed her appetite. Considering she'd let herself drink a glass of champagne, and the lack of sleep lately...

  "Do you have that thing laced too tight or what?"

  Despite herself, Rocki laughed. "No. I promise you, I don't." Resting against the wall, she smiled at him. "It's just been a rough day and I didn't eat lunch. That, combined with champagne, and I'm a little punch drunk."

  Cole continued to eye her narrowly, like he didn't entirely believe her explanation. But he did back up, giving her a few more inches. That let her breathe, which she desperately needed. If she kept smelling him on every breath, she didn't know what she might do.

  The air between them already felt a little too warm, a little too heavy.

  But then that shifted, shattered as he looked away. "I...ah. I'm sorry about your husband. I didn't realize...well, until tonight."

  "It's okay." She smiled sadly and reached up, tugging her hat off. "It's been five years."

  "You look like the wounds are still fresh. You must have loved him a lot. You still wear his ring. I didn't notice it before."

  Looking down, she rubbed a finger over the ring. "The wounds aren't exactly fresh, no. But yes, I loved him with everything I had in me. As for the ring...I guess I'm just not ready to let him go yet. I don't always wear it, but sometimes, yeah."

  "Would he want you to hold on this way?"

  "No." She tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear. Sighing, she studied him. "You know, this isn't exactly something you have any business asking me."

  "You're right. I just can't help that I hate seeing you look so sad." He hesitated and then asked, "Should I apologize?"

  Rocki frowned. "No. I…geez, you make it too easy to talk to you."

  He did—it was almost disturbing how easy it felt, talking to him just then. She didn't even know him. She didn't want to stop talking to him, though. Still staring at her wedding ring, she said, "Brant wouldn't want me holding on like this… and I'm not clinging to his memory. Exactly. It's just…well, I haven't ever met anybody else who got to me like he did. If I do, I'm not going to walk away from…well. Whatever could happen. I just haven't…"

  She glanced at him, intending to look away just as fast. But she found herself caught in the rich, ripe gold of his eyes.

  His hand came up, cupping her cheek. "Guess that's one of those time things, isn't it?"

  His thumb stroked over her lip. That light touch sent something hot and shivery arrowing straight down to her core. And her heart—oh, her heart.

  It shuddered in her chest, shuddered, trembled, and for the briefest moment, she felt it stop.

  Oh. Oh, no. This was bad.

  His mouth was just a breath away from hers and she wanted, desperately, to close the distance between them, cover his mouth with hers.

  But she didn't. Instead, she turned her face and said quietly, "Cole...you tempt me. But you're all wrong for me. The wrong type of guy completely."

  His hand hesitated and then he backed away. "And what type of guy am I?"

  "The taken type," she said wryly. "And your fiancée already hates me enough. Let's not make things any more unpleasant than they already are."

  Edging around him, she slid out the door.

  Almost showtime. Then she could go home. Slip into some PJs, get something hard and strong to drink, and collapse into the bed. At least now she suspected she might have a pleasant dream tonight, instead of a nightmare.

  "...may I present the hostess of tonight's festivities..."

  Cole was edging his way to the front of the restaurant, determined to get the hell out of there before he did anything else stupid. Like try to make a move on Rocki again.

  "...Lush!"

  Automatically, he glanced back. His eyes widened as he found himself staring at Rocki as she accepted the hands of two tuxedo-clad men, lifting her onto the stage.

  "For those who are new to the event, Lush, also known as Rocki Monroe, designs many of the pieces sold in Lush & Lace," the petite redhead on the stage said, smiling as Rocki sauntered toward her. "Lush started out designing costumes in high school theater and began devoting more time to design in college. But it wasn't until after her husband's
death that she actively began pursuing this particular dream—it was a dream only her husband and I knew about."

  Rocki stopped next to the redhead. The other woman smiled up at her friend. "The name even came from him...Lush, his nickname for Rocki."

  "Don't forget about the other part," Rocki chided, taking the microphone. "Lace. Short for Lacey Morgan, who takes the portraits. My not-so-silent partner." She bumped her hip against the other woman and grinned as the paler skinned woman flushed a brilliant shade of crimson.

  Somebody from out in the crowd called out, "Can we bid on the two of you?"

  Lacey quipped, "You can't handle the two of us, Mitchell." Then she bowed to Rocki. "Lush, the stage is all yours."

  Rocki curtsied and stepped aside as the two tuxedo-clad men helped her friend off the stage.

  Staring at Rocki, Cole found himself chuckling.

  "That bitch." Mara appeared at his side, seething.

  Cole, his amusement fading, looked at her. "Pardon?"

  "She did this on purpose—she fucking knew I'd find out who she was tonight and she did this to humiliate me," Mara snarled.

  Cole muffled a groan. "Mara, nobody is even paying you any attention. You're not going to be humiliated unless you bring it on yourself. Now if you'll excuse me..."

  She went to grab his arm but he evaded her. "Enough," he warned her. "It's done between us and I'm not going to have you grabbing me and digging your claws in every time you don't get the final word."

  "How can you do this to me?" She stared at him, all big eyes and sadness now. Apparently going for a different tactic. "I can't believe you want to end it without even talking things through."

  "There's nothing to talk through. We're through...I think we have been for a while and I just didn't see it." He shook his head. "I'm not going to discuss it when there's nothing you can do or say to change my mind."

  "That's hardly fair, is it?" she asked, her voice brittle. "It's not about fair," he replied. "You don't even see what you've become. If you don't see it, you can't change it. And I can't marry the woman you are." He stared at her, wishing he could see even a little bit of genuine sadness in her eyes, but all he really saw was wounded pride and cold anger.