“Yes.”
“Then you shouldn’t complain when I’m quiet.”
“It made me nervous.” She gave him a smile and he was glad to see she was kidding. Hopefully anyway.
“I was thinking about someone.”
“Your priest?”
“And his lover.”
“You have unusual friends,” Juliette said.
He smiled back at her. “Not nearly enough of them. Would you like to be my friend?”
“Do you sleep with your friends?”
Kingsley turned his head and grinned at her. “I’m very friendly. And terrible at monogamy.”
She didn’t seem to mind that answer. A good sign. So far he’d made her laugh and hadn’t scared her off yet by confessing to A) being trained to kill people, B) being bisexual and C) fucking anyone and everyone who would let him.
Beautiful and brave. His type of woman.
Of course, he’d had that thought before. A brave woman would be his perfect woman. Last year he’d fallen madly in love with a girl he’d met at one of his clubs. She’d been a fire breather and she’d come home with him after five minutes of conversation. Unlike with Juliette, he’d known everything about Charlie before he’d gone to bed with her—her full name, her age, her background, her income, her family, everything. Everything except the one thing a file couldn’t tell him. He hadn’t known her dreams for the future. Turns out children weren’t a part of her dreams as they were a part of his. She’d raised her gay younger brother after her mother died and her father kicked them out. Kingsley thought that was a sign she had a strong maternal instinct. But no. She’d already given up college to raise one child. She had no interest in raising another. Kingsley asked her if she’d ever have his children someday. Her “no” had broken his heart.
Juliette was altogether a different woman than Charlie. Juliette was mysterious, dangerous. He was pursuing her for no other reason than she intrigued him. This wasn’t about love, wasn’t about settling down and having children. A woman who threw rocks at little boys was not the future mother of his children. But she was the woman he was going to fuck tonight and that made her far more important to him than some dream girl he’d likely never find.
When at last they arrived at their destination, Kingsley couldn’t see a house, only trees and a gate. She typed a number into a keypad, waited for the wrought iron gates to yawn open and drove through them at a glacial pace. On either side of the car, great trees loomed and cast long shadows. Far ahead he saw white light, and when they reached the end of the driveway, a house like a mountain loomed before them. Gleaming white. Four stories. Endless lines of balconies. Juliette parked the car in front of the stairs that led to the front door.
“Do you live here?” Kingsley asked as he got out of the car.
“Yes,” she said.
“But it’s not your house.”
“No.”
“Do you work here?”
“I wouldn’t call it work,” she said as she lifted the skirt of her dress and walked up the steps. She walked lightly, gracefully and without fear or hesitation. She said she didn’t own the house, but she walked into it as if she did. He followed her with less confidence. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so nervous around a woman. Why was that? He was out of his element, definitely. He had no idea where he was other than in the mountains outside Petionville. And he was with a woman who wore a dagger on her thigh as casually as most women carried a purse. She was in control of this situation, not him.
Once inside the house, Juliette switched on a single light in the entryway.
“This is the house,” was all she said. Apparently there would be no tour.
Kingsley glanced around. Even in the low light he could see the interior looked like a Caribbean palace. White furniture and polished wood floors.
“It’s magnificent.”
“It’s a house. That’s all.”
“You aren’t impressed?”
“I’ve lived here all my life.”
“Your parents own this place?” he asked as she walked up a curving wooden staircase to the third floor.
“No.”
“But you grew up here.”
“Yes.”
“And you speak French and not Creole?”
“I know Creole. I speak French.”
“You’re not going to tell me anything about your life, are you?” he asked as he followed her down another hallway decorated with white and pale green floral wallpaper.
“It doesn’t matter.” She gave an elegant shrug, and he fought the urge to bite the back of that arrogant shrugging shoulder. The red straps that crisscrossed on her otherwise bare back were begging to be ripped off her body. Flawless skin. He ached to leave it covered in welts and bites. She might not like that, though. Still...to be inside her would be worth anything he had to give up to get there. Even kink.
“Doesn’t matter?” He almost laughed. “At this point, I think I’d rather know you than fuck you. And for me to say that...well...consider it my highest compliment.”
“You would rather know me than fuck me?”
“I would.”
She turned her back to the door and leaned against it. She crossed her arms over her chest and faced him.
“My name is Juliette Toussaint. I’m twenty-six years old. I was born in this house because my mother was the housekeeper here. My family has always worked for the family that lives in this house. For generations. We lived in the servants’ quarters here. The owner’s children had French tutors. I was allowed to learn with them instead of going to school. If I was here at the house, I could help my mother with her work. When I was fourteen years old, my mother got very ill. The owner of this house is paying for her medical treatments. I work for him now. It’s not a difficult job, which is why I don’t call it work. Now you know everything there is to know about me.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Do you want my autobiography or do you want to have me?”
“I want both.”
“Both isn’t one of your options,” she said. “Look, we’re wasting time.”
“I don’t have to be anywhere anytime soon.”
“I do,” Juliette said. She sighed heavily and glanced away. “Kingsley...”
He shivered. It was the first time she’d said his name.
“I can only give you tonight,” she said. “One night. So please stop wasting time.”
“What do you mean you can only give me tonight?”
“I have a life,” she said. “With someone. Tomorrow I’ll go back to it.”
“Are you married?” he asked, realizing he should have asked that question before he’d got into the car with her. But it was too late now. No matter what she said, he would stay until she kicked him out of her life.
“No. It’s different.”
“How so?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” he said. “I’m very understanding.”
“I’m...” She met his eyes again. “I’m owned.”
Owned. Of course she was owned. A woman like Juliette was a prize, a crown, a work of art, a priceless jewel that would inspire the urge to own her in any man who looked at her. She should be owned, cherished and guarded. If he owned her, he would guard her with his life.
Kingsley nodded. “That I understand.”
“You do?” She sounded skeptical.
“I do. I understand what it means to be owned.”
“Good. He’s gone tonight. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Do you make a habit of seeing other men behind his back?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Am I the first?”
“Second.”
“Second man you’ve cheated on him with?”
“No,” she said, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her. “Second man I’ve ever been with.”
“Ever?”
“Ever,” she said.
Kingsl
ey inhaled deeply. He never dreamed a woman so beautiful would have had only one lover in her entire life.
“Why me?” he asked.
She met his eyes and lifted her hand. Gently, slowly, she trailed her fingers through his hair and brought a lock of it to her lips. She kissed the tip of his hair before she released it. The act was so intimate, so unexpected and so possessive it hurt like a spear point knife in his stomach.
“I like your hair,” she said, looking at his face as if she was memorizing every detail of it. “That’s all.”
Kingsley was so hard for her already it hurt. He physically ached to be inside this woman.
“Now will you fuck me?” she asked.
“A few more questions. They’ll be quick.”
“What else do you need to know?” Juliette asked, sounding impatient.
“Well...for starters, how do you like to be fucked?”
He crossed his arms over his chest to match her posture and waited.
She met his eyes and they were so dark and so wide right then he imagined he could see himself in them.
“I like it rough.”
“Rough?” Kingsley repeated. “On a scale of one to ten...”
“What’s one?”
“You fall asleep while I’m on top of you.”
“Ten?”
“Hospitalization.”
Juliette seemed to ponder that a moment.
“Nine,” she answered.
“Nine. Nine is very rough.”
“If nine is too much for you, take the car and drive yourself home. I don’t like having my time wasted.”
She flicked the keys at him and he caught them easily. But after he caught them, he dropped them on the ground.
“Trust me,” he said, taking a step forward and clapping a hand on her throat. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “I won’t waste your time.”
Now. Finally.
Kingsley was back in his element.
14
KINGSLEY’S HAND WAS on Juliette’s throat and his mouth was at her ear.
“You’ll do everything I tell you to do,” he said, an order, not a question. “Yes?” Oui?
“Yes” Juliette said, breathlessly.
“I won’t cut you or burn you or choke you. But once we’re in that room, everything else is possible. Every act, every hole,” he said. “You understand?”
Juliette swallowed hard. He felt her throat moving under his hand.
“I’ll use condoms,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“You have any requests of me?” he asked.
“Yes. Open the door already,” she said. Kingsley smiled. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to fall in love with this woman.
As requested, he opened the door.
He’d expected a bedroom and it was a bedroom. But not a man’s bedroom or a woman’s even. Not a guest room or a hotel room.
It was a child’s room.
He looked down into Juliette’s face.
“It’s the one room he’s never had me in,” she whispered.
The look on her face—almost embarrassed—touched his heart. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, that she wanted him in a room without memories of another man.
Only a single lamp burned on a small round white table but even in the low light it was unmistakably the bedroom of a young girl. The bedroom of the daughter of Juliette’s lover, no doubt, still decorated in the fashion of a child even though she’d long ago grown up and moved out. The bed was small, no more than a full size. The sheets were an innocent shade of white and the rug on the floor a pale pink and blue. Mosquito netting hung down over the bed and a window onto the garden let in a cool rush of ocean air. The night was all around them and even in these strange surroundings, Kingsley burned to be inside her. He hadn’t fucked in the bedroom of a teenager since he’d been a teenager. But it didn’t matter. As hard as he was right now, any horizontal surface would do.
Kingsley kicked the door shut behind him and locked the door. With one arm he swept Juliette to him, meeting her face-to-face, eye-to-eye. She put her hands against his chest, not to push him away but to steady herself. An unnecessary precaution. He had no plans on letting her go until morning.
Juliette looked into his eyes. He saw no fear in them, only desire. She lifted her hand to his face and then swept her fingers through his hair. When she reached the end of a lock she brought it to her lips. No woman had ever kissed his hair before like that, as if it was an act of worship more than affection.
“Will you kiss me?” she asked. Not a humble request, merely a question.
“When you’ve earned it.”
She nodded. “Let me earn it then.”
Far rougher than necessary, Kingsley grasped the fabric of her dress and pulled it down and off her body. Her spine stiffened as he stripped her, but she made no protest. When she was naked but for her woven hemp sandals, he took a step away from her.
“My turn,” he said. He stared at her body, grazing it with his eyes from ankle to neck. She kept her chin high, her eyes forward, and she didn’t try to cover herself in any way. She was beautiful, with a body that could only be described in superlatives—exquisite, striking. Lean, long muscular legs, full hips, a slim waist, large high breasts and shapely shoulders. His dream woman. In spite of her nakedness or perhaps because of it, she looked regal, almost imperious, and definitely defiant. She dared him with her eyes to find fault in what he saw.
There was no fault to be found.
He reached for her and gripped her hard by the back of the neck. She’d asked him to be rough and it was good that she had. Scalding hot desire had burned all the gentleness out of him tonight. He swept the white diaphanous mosquito netting aside and pushed her onto her back at the center of the bed. Kneeling over her, he shoved her legs wide and pried her inner lips apart with brutal fingers. He stared at the opening to her body, red and wet already. His chest heaved, his heart contracted. Juliette lay there with her thighs wide and her eyes half shut. They watched him, her eyes did, from under the veil of her lush eyelashes. Without warning he shoved two fingers into her, as deep as he could go. Juliette’s back arched hard off the bed, her vagina clenched his fingers.
Without mercy, he pulled back and shoved in again, even deeper. Her body opened to him more and he pushed in a third finger. Her wetness coated his hand and she let out a groan in the back of her throat.
Another minute would be a minute too much for him. Kingsley pulled his hand out, yanked his shirt off and opened his pants. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her toward him. Once the condom was on, he wasted no time entering her body. He thrust in deep and she took every inch. It must have hurt. He could tell from the tension in her body that taking so much into her hurt. But he could also tell—from the moan that escaped her lips and the way she raised her hips to take even more of him—that she liked that it hurt.