Soul Rest, Page 31

  "Christ, you don't make anything easy." He framed her face, ran his thumb over her lips. "I need you to make me a promise, Celeste. It's important."

  At the serious look in his eyes, she closed her hand over his to hold it between her breasts, her slim fingers sliding over his large ones. "I'm listening."

  He studied her. "It's one thing to act out with me. It's part of what you and I are exploring together, and I told you I have no problems with that. You're not going to drive me away by being a brat. Understand?"

  Not sure where he was going, she nodded, because she could tell he wasn't going to continue until she acknowledged it. "But you pursuing a story lead here or getting a cup of coffee with your credit card just to prove I can't tell you what to do?" He touched her chin with his free hand, a tender reproof. "I'm asking you not to do that. If you follow the directions I gave you, you'll be safe here. Don't take risks with your life just to piss me off."

  "I'm not an idiot, Leland. At least not about that." She traced the silhouette of his face with her fingertips. Every part of her hungered for him, wanted him to stay in the bed with her. So she did her best to paste on an indifferent look, give him a haughty sniff. "And it's not all about you, you know. I would have used the credit card or pursued the story lead because it pissed me off that a piece of shit like Dogboy was keeping me from living my life."

  His lips curved, eyes warming. "Just imagine how good you'll feel when you hear he's caught and going away for a long time."

  She sobered at that. "I'm not sure that will make me feel good, a teenager so messed up he's ruined his life before it barely started, but I'll be glad he can't hurt anyone else." Her fingers dropped to his shirt collar, curled around the fabric. "You be safe, too. Okay?"

  She'd spent so much time around cops, but it had never hit as hard as it did now, the kind of job he did. A lot of police work could be tedious, but it could change on a dime. And he worked the most dangerous district in Baton Rouge. Yesterday he'd been right in the thick of things. For her.

  "I don't know how long you'll put up with me," she said, staring at his chest, "But I'm going to say it once more, just in case. Thank you for being there. For keeping me safe yesterday. And today."

  He considered her. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he dug in his pocket, stretching out one long leg to get his fingers into it. When he straightened, he clasped her wrist, wound something like a rubber band over it. Reaching over, he switched on the bed lamp so she could see it.

  It was a girl's hairband, the kind they wore around a ponytail. The band was blue with silver threading, the pair of marbleized balls that formed the clasp twisted over one another. On her thin wrist, the hold was snug but not constricting. He verified it himself by running his fingers under it, then he tugged lightly on one of the balls. When he let it go, it knocked against her wristbones, enough to be uncomfortable. She looked up at him, surprised. Leaning in, he kissed her mouth firmly, shooting her that eye-to-eye laser look of his.

  "Every time you start to put yourself down, Celeste, you pop that against your wrist. That's an order from your Master. You keep count of it, because when I see you again, I'm going to ask how many times you had to do it."

  She set her mouth in a thin line. He read her reaction, closing his hand over her wrist. When her biceps constricted to pull back, he merely increased his grip. "No," he said.

  She stilled at the look in his eye. "Why are you carrying a little girl's hair thing around with you?" she asked, letting the reporter take precedence. It was easier than facing the other feelings.

  "I picked that up on a domestic violence call. Mom tossed her little girl against the wall because she got in her way when she was high. Put her in a coma, and she died. There were other kids in the home, two boys, and the only good thing that came out of that was we were able to get them out of there. Placed with a grandmother who'd been doing her best to get custody of all the kids. The system sucks, because it took killing one of them to make it happen."

  He looked down at the hairband, twisted the balls, caressed her wrist around them. "I think about that little girl a lot, about what she would have dealt with as she grew up. How she would have found a sense of self-worth with a mother like that." He looked up at her, holding her with his steady gaze. She wanted to look away, but she couldn't. The things that made her uncomfortable in his expression were the same things that made her need to keep looking, holding that connection.

  "I've found people are far stronger than they know. Adversity tests and shapes character. Some tests we pass, some we don't. You're a strong woman, Celeste. Terrifyingly strong." He tightened his hand around her wrist, over the band. As he did, he leaned in again, brushed his lips over her cheek, put them to her ear in that way he had, where everything became about his scent, his heat, the whisper of his voice echoing inside her. "Let this remind you that you have someone in your corner. Someone who knows how strong you are, who wants to be with you. Who doesn't 'put up with you.' I can't wait to see you again, and I'll be counting the minutes before I'm touching you again, talking to you, listening to what you have to say about damn near anything."

  He kissed her and rose, headed for the door. Her eyes landed on the nightstand. "Wait."

  She left the warmth of the bed, coming to him naked and bearing the container of cookies. His eyes slid over her, and then reached her face, a smile on his own that made her heart stutter. She put the container in his hand and, on second thought, took out two oatmeal cookies for herself and let him have the rest. "Because I ate most of your lunch and didn't let you get any dinner," she said.

  "I had better things to eat last night," he said, and then captured her lips in a hotter kiss as her cheeks warmed. He cupped her bottom, gave it a rough squeeze. "Get back in bed woman, before you freeze."

  But he cupped the back of her skull, holding her one extra second before he pulled back and left her, sliding out the room and closing the door behind him. He left so swiftly, she realized he was having a hard time tearing himself away from her, too. And that wasn't a bad way to start the day.

  She'd wondered what was waiting at the bottom of that downhill slide. Since last night, she'd discovered the answer.

  His arms. Him. Ready to catch her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Get up, lazy bitch. Daylight's wasting."

  Celeste came out of her doze to hear the cheerful, sultry voice, a mix of Lauren Bacall and Marilyn Monroe. A scant second later, she yelped and rolled out of the way, nearly tipping off the side of the bed as the owner of the voice jumped onto the mattress with both feet and tried to come down on her in a wrestling pin. Celeste would have vacated the bed entirely and taken a defensive stance, but she hadn't left the cocoon of covers since Leland had departed, not wanting to disrupt the scent of him on her skin or the bedding. She'd dozed back off with her head on his pillow, nose against it.

  "Hey, perv, I'm naked here," she protested, blocking Marcie's jabs as best she could while hanging onto the sheet for modesty. "Is this how you treat a guest?"

  "You're not a guest. You're practically family, and it's okay to abuse them." Marcie settled back onto her heels in the tangle of bedding. "I've already been to the gym and kicked the asses of three guys twice my size. You should have been there. You could have helped." Her brown eyes surveyed Celeste's face, her bare shoulders. "But I see you had your own sparring session. Wish I could have helped with that."

  The wicked spark in her gaze had Celeste smiling. "Back off, skank. You got your own man."

  Marcie chuckled, then seized a pillow and began to beat Celeste about the head and shoulders with it. "Hey, hey," Celeste yelped again, diving for the other pillow and fending off the blows as she grimly clutched her cover. "What the hell?"

  "Oh. My. God. Leland freaking Keller? You couldn't have mentioned you were dating a hot cop via email, text, phone call, carrier pigeon? Dana and Rachel nearly shit bricks."

  "Rachel eats too much healthy stuff to shit bricks. More
like neatly packaged pellets that smell like rosemary and cilantro and fertilize organic gardens." Fully awake now, Celeste managed to locate her clothes. Leland had left them folded neatly over the top of the occasional chair. Her garment bag was hanging in the open closet, her rolling tote on the floor beneath it. "And we're not dating," she added. "He doesn't date."

  Marcie sat back on her heels again. She had her blonde hair pulled up in a ponytail and still wore her workout clothes, black leggings and a Danskin tank that showed off her fit body. She worked corporate investigations and excelled at it, but she'd been talking about applying to the Municipal Police Academy in New Orleans. Having just experienced how precarious a police officer's life could be, and knowing how protective Ben O'Callahan was of all the women in his adopted K&A family, let alone his fiancee, Celeste wondered how Marcie and he would work that one out.

  "Can you give me a minute to get dressed?"

  "I've seen you naked before. We've taken showers at the gym, so I know all about your impressive rack and skinny ass."

  Except her skinny ass was sore and she was certain it bore noticeable marks, which made her self-conscious.

  Marcie was marrying a hard-core sadist Dom. To Celeste's mild mortification, it only took her a moment to put it together.

  "Oh." Her expression went from teasing to practical. "I have a great ointment from Rachel that helps you heal fast and keeps the skin sensitive. I'm kind of surprised, though. Leland isn't usually that heavy-handed. Not that I know that firsthand," she hastened to say, as Celeste narrowed her eyes. "Just info I've pulled out of Ben. I've never seen Leland play publicly. He doesn't go to the clubs that often. Maybe because he's a cop and has to be more careful about being recognized, but Ben thinks it's more because it's not his thing. He likes to be more one-on-one, all about him and his sub."

  "Marcie." Celeste ran a hand through her hair. It bothered her, hearing it discussed like a singles tennis match, rather than something more personal. Which was stupid, since they had hardly been seeing one another long enough for her to be jealous. "Let me get dressed and then I'll come down. Okay?"

  "Sure. Okay." But first Marcie came around the bed, and sat on the edge of it. Before Celeste could anticipate her friend, she slid her arms around her, hugged her close. "I'm so sorry about yesterday, Celeste. But I'm glad you're okay. Really glad. Sorry. I should have come in a little more low-key. Wedding stuff has me in hyperdrive."

  Her strong arms were more welcome than Celeste had expected. She smelled like happiness and love, eau de bride-to-be. Celeste sighed, hugged her back. "You shouldn't worry about me at all. This is your week. That's why I didn't want to intrude."

  "You're no intrusion at all. Are you kidding? I'm happy to have you here." When Marcie drew back, all Celeste saw in the young woman's lovely face was sincerity. "If you remember, months ago I told you I wanted you to be here for as much of it as you could. You just forgot because you're always in hyper-workaholic mode. So though I'm not glad of the reason, I'm glad you're able to be here early. You can hang out at the house, do whatever you want today, but we do have a champagne brunch this morning out on the gazebo, my version of the bachelorette party."

  "What? You didn't want to get drunk off your ass and do the pelvic grind with a bunch of hot strippers?"

  Marcie chuckled. "I'm such a lightweight, I'd wake up in some biker lair with a tattoo of a pink poodle on my ass. Dana would make sure of it. No way. Besides, that 'last night of freedom' thing doesn't make any sense to me. When Ben asked me to marry him, that's when I felt like the whole world opened up to me. Everything that mattered."

  "Ugh. Eww. Gross." Celeste pretended to stick her fingers down her throat and Marcie shoved at her, grinning.

  "See, if you were still writing the business social column, you'd have a great quote. Very touching."

  "Thank God I'm doing gang warfare and violence. The most affectionate thing I hear on the job is 'Bitch, get out of my face before I fuck you up.'" She shifted and winced, and Marcie's fingers stroked her arm.

  "C'mon, let me see. I want you to be comfortable today, and Leland wants us to take care of you."

  "I'm sure inspecting my naked butt wasn't what he meant."

  "When it comes to a protective Dom, you'd be surprised what that means."

  Celeste shook her head. "Seriously, I appreciate it, but leave it be. I'm not like you guys, you know. In that inner circle where you can run around naked together and play in front of each other. I'm a bit shier about things."

  "Okay. But look for aspirin in the bathroom cabinet, and I recommend a hot shower. There's a body scrub in there that is awesome. You'll feel like a new person. Come join us whenever you're ready. Brunch is at ten, and the food is going to be to die for. That's why I did the extra workout today. I have a dress that's going to make Ben's tongue roll out of his head, but it fits like a second skin."

  "Moron."

  "Yeah, I know. The plan is to have him rip it off of me before oxygen deprivation results in long-term brain damage." Marcie smiled, but Celeste noticed a tension to the gesture that raised her curiosity. Marcie didn't pause for breath, though. "It's crazy. I decided to do this week apart thing before the wedding, but he got his revenge. Told me I couldn't do anything to take the edge off. You know you're hurting for it when you switch the phone off vibrate because that weak-assed hum might shove you into full-blown orgasm."

  "TMI, girlfriend. Way too much."

  "Not. You know you're eating it up. I agreed to it only because he agreed to the same."

  Celeste raised her brows. "You're depriving a sexual sadist of an outlet for a week, when he practically has sex with you six times a day to stay on an even keel. There's a good plan. You're going to be the one who'll need medical care."

  "I'm looking forward to it." Marcie winked, slid off the bed. "See you in a bit. Really, though, take your time. Cassandra had the whole thing catered, so we don't have to do a thing."

  Reaching out, she ran her fingers lightly over Celeste's jaw. "You have a whisker burn. Might want to conceal that, unless you want to brag some. Oh, and don't be giving me that stink eye when I say things about Leland. You got to sample my man. I think fair is fair."

  "Don't make me hurt you. That was years ago, long before Ben knew about your diabolical plans for him."

  Marcie grinned again. "You're possessive. It's a good sign."

  Before Celeste could get uncomfortable or defensive about that, Marcie moved toward the door. Once there, though, she stopped, looked over her shoulder.

  "I'm not all that surprised to see you and Leland together. He's one of the good ones, and I don't know anyone who deserves that kind of man more than you."

  On that entirely unexpected statement, one that hit Celeste right under her rib cage, Marcie slipped out, leaving Celeste looking down at the hairband still fastened around her wrist, her Master's reminder of his presence. And that you have someone in your corner... I'll be counting the minutes before I'm touching you again.

  That made two of them...

  SS

  She thought about not going, just opening up her computer and writing up some of her latest notes, plotting out other storylines, but in the end, she couldn't do that to Marcie. Plus, she didn't really want to be alone with her thoughts. Maybe she wanted to be around women who might understand, in a variety of ways, the conflicting feelings she was having.

  The screened gazebo in the beautifully landscaped backyard had been set up for the breakfast, a round table with white linen and six place settings accented by a center arrangement of sunflowers nestled in a frame of white roses. As she approached it, she found the women drinking champagne outside the gazebo, chatting together on lounge chairs or standing. As she hung back, her gaze moved over all of them. The reporter in her automatically reviewed the basics about each of the women, though a deeper, personal part embraced the warm energy of their company. She could feel it reaching out to draw her closer, even before they noticed her.

&nbs
p; That didn't surprise her. The Kensington and Associates executive team were indescribable, both in their bonds with each other and with the women in their lives. Each of them had found the submissive of his heart and made her his, and every one of those women was an accomplished, strong individual in her own right.

  Dana Winston, Peter's wife, was an Army veteran who'd lost her sight, hearing and almost her life in Iraq. Reconstructive and plastic surgery, as well as a cochlear implant, had taken away most of the outer scars and improved her hearing, and now she was a minister at a local church that served a poor inner-city population. Peter, K&A's operations manager, overseeing both their domestic and overseas physical plants, had been a captain with the National Guard and had served tours overseas himself. That experience, as well as his nature as a Dom, had helped pull Dana out of the despair and PTSD. Her submissive nature had responded to his command and unrelenting love, a yin and yang that gave both of them life again.

  Rachel Forte was a physical therapist and yoga instructor who'd crossed paths with Jon through Dana's therapy. Jon was the most spiritual of the K&A men, a male with genius-level engineering and invention skills. Rachel was thirteen years his senior, yet Jon had a steady core that left little doubt of his skills as a Master, especially when a woman met his gaze and saw it simmering there, ready to take control of her pleasure and her needs. Only now all of that skill was dedicated to Rachel. When Celeste had first met Rachel, she'd been shy, unsure of herself. Though Celeste didn't know her full story, she'd suspected some type of extreme psychological abuse. There was almost no trace of it now. When Rachel fully embraced her submissive side with the right Master, she'd bloomed anew.

  Celeste's brow creased as she thought about that. There'd been a time in her life she would have sneered at the idea of submission being an avenue to confidence and personal strength. Even up to a few days ago, she'd had only an academic acceptance of it, but she thought about the way she and Leland played off of one another, the way he'd simply put aside her assertion that he didn't deserve someone as messed up as she was. He'd treated that like a bullshit defense tactic, and somehow transformed her into a quivering, passionate creature who called him Master and was eager to please, filled with pleasure at his desire for her.