The Greatest Risk

  She didn’t give a shit about the bag.

  But her keyfob was in her purse, and she needed that to get into her car and get the hell out of there.

  She darted toward the stairs but didn’t hit that first step since she was stopped when a set of strong fingers closed around her elbow.

  “Simone,” Stellan whispered, drawing her around to face him.

  She stared at his chest. “I have to go. Something I forgot I had to do.”

  “Sweetheart—”

  His hand was coming up, like he was going to touch her face.

  She flinched, tore her elbow from his grip and started to rear back, but she didn’t get far before she was plastered to his body, her head immobilized by his hand clamped on the side of her neck, his thumb at her jaw forcing it up.

  She looked to his ear.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “I really need to go,” she told his ear.

  “Look at me, honey.”

  “A job I forgot about,” she lied and kept doing it. “I’ll call you.”

  “What did Leigh say?”

  She shook her head against his grip. “You need to…” She cleared her throat. “I mean, I need to go, and I gave Ami permission to do what he wanted with Jennifer. But you, I mean … I’m going … you should … um, if Victor’s being generous, you should play with her.”

  “Right,” he gritted, letting her go but only to alter the way he’d been holding her.

  He clasped his fingers around her biceps and dragged her up the stairs, down the hall, into his room.

  This was good.

  Her clutch was there.

  It was bad when he slammed the heavy (also ornately carved) door, closing them both in.

  He yanked her around to his front and clamped a hand on the side of her head, fingers in her hair, palm under her jaw, face in hers in a way she had no choice but to look up at him.

  “What the fuck is happening?” he bit out.

  “You know me,” she found her lips whispering.

  “I’m trying to,” he retorted.

  “You know my name.”

  “Yes,” he agreed curtly.

  “You know me.”

  Stellan went still.

  Oh yes.

  He knew her.

  “I don’t belong here,” she told him.

  “Simone—”

  “Stop calling me that,” she hissed. “I’m Sixx.”

  “Darling—”

  “Stop calling me that too,” she snapped.

  “Please … take a breath and calm down.”

  “How much did this house cost?” she asked.

  An irritated storm cloud of confusion hit his expression.

  It was hot.

  Fuck!

  “Why does that matter?” he asked back.

  “Only someone who could afford this kind of house would ask that,” she retorted.

  That shut him up.

  It also cleared up that cloud.

  But he didn’t let her go.

  “Do you have any idea how much that spread cost to lay out or do you just dump cash in an account for Margarita and tell her to go for it?” she pushed.

  “If you’d calm down,” he said, now using a warm, even tone, “I could explain to you in a way you’ll understand why that doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m not a sub,” she stated bitingly.

  “No. You’re not. You’re Sixx. Mistress Sixx with a devoted following. You’re not a sub. I know that. Not for anyone. But me.”

  “Not even for—”

  “Not for anyone but the men in your life who you can trust to be your true self. Trust to keep that safe.”

  She snapped her mouth shut.

  Stellan didn’t.

  “You gave it to Aryas, who you adore. And you give it to me.”

  Holy God.

  Their sessions were closed.

  They’d been closed.

  Goddamn Aryas!

  He’d lost his patience and interfered.

  “How do you know this?” she asked, the words coming out breathy.

  “Because I had Branch Dillinger investigate you, and he’s thorough.”

  Worse!

  Her stomach dropped to her feet, and her voice pitched high and panicked.

  “Dillinger knows?”

  Stellan slid his hand back to cup her nape, and with his other arm, which was latched around her waist, he pulled her closer into his body.

  “He will say nothing.”

  “No one gets to know me.”

  “He’ll say nothing, sweetheart.”

  “They can’t know me.”

  “Because you don’t want them to know you?”

  “Because you let people in and they fuck you over, and in terms of the life I lead, that kind of fucking over gets you dead.”

  Those words set his face to stone.

  “You don’t live that life anymore, Simone.”

  “I was born to that life, Stellan, and when that’s the case, that kind of slime never washes away, and more fool the person who tries to pretend it does.”

  “That’s not true,” he returned.

  “And how would you know?”

  “Because I was born to slime too, darling, the designer kind. And it took a sandblaster, but I washed that fucking shit away, and I will never tolerate it coming back and infesting the life I built without that slime in it.”

  She shut up.

  He stared at her.

  And it was then he knew.

  He knew that she knew about him too.

  So he asked after that.

  “Do you know as a matter of course, since it plays out in the press, or did you look into me?”

  Sixx said nothing.

  He still got his answer.

  “Was it after what happened Tuesday night or before?” he asked.

  She kept her mouth shut.

  “Before,” he murmured, studying her closely. “How long have you wanted me, honey?”

  Her eyes slid away.

  This giving him another silent answer.

  His fingers gripped her scalp. “Look at me.”

  Her eyes slid back.

  “What did Leigh say?” he demanded.

  “That she’s happy for us. That we’re not two halves that make a whole. We’re two souls who share a vital understanding. She said we were meant for each other.”

  His gaze softened and warmed, and watching the beauty of that set a panic in her that was so extreme, it made Sixx prepare to fight in order to get free.

  “What did I say about you pulling away?” he murmured.

  She calmed.

  Instantly.

  God!

  With no other direction to go, she fell forward, planting her face in his chest.

  His hand slid up to cup the back of her head, his arm around her closed tighter, and she felt his lips hit her hair.

  God.

  “She was beautiful,” he murmured.

  “Who?”

  “Silie.”

  Lord.

  She closed her eyes.

  His sister.

  His sister who committed suicide.

  Because of his father—among other, more terrible reasons.

  Yes, he knew she knew.

  And yes, he’d grown up with slime too.

  “We have a lot to learn about each other, Simone. All I ask for in the present, until we can start to do that in a meaningful way, is that you please just be you.”

  She opened her eyes and saw white linen.

  But she felt strength.

  Power.

  Warmth.

  And it was then she realized she’d never been held this way.

  Not once.

  In her life.

  Fuck.

  Were those tears in her eyes?

  “Be me?” she asked, her words muffled by his chest, which she hoped hid the throaty that came from the effort of her trying to get her shit together.

  ??
?Strong. A survivor. A winner. Come back downstairs with me. Eat. Drink. Enjoy your friends. Stay close to me this time so I can look after you. And when they’re gone, we’ll make our deal and take it from there.”

  “Stellan, really, I don’t belo—”

  “If you say you don’t belong here one more time, I swear to fuck, darling, I’ll lash you naked to my bed, gagged and blindfolded, and spank you so long and so hard, you’ll be glad I’ve left you on your belly. But your fine ass will sting so badly, just the air in the room will be torture. And I’ll go down, eat, drink, enjoy my friends, and return to play with you for as long as it takes to make you beg for release. Something you won’t get until you apologize for being so immensely insulting … to yourself. Then and only then will I let you come.”

  Sixx pressed her lips together to stop herself from talking.

  Or maybe moaning.

  “Are these words heard?” he prompted.

  She stared at his linen-covered chest trying to figure out if she should say what he’d told her not to say just to see if he’d do what he promised or if she just wanted to ask him to do it.

  “Say, ‘Yes, Stellan,’” he ordered.

  “Yes, Stellan,” she echoed.

  Her cheek moved with the huge breath he took in, and it moved again when he let it out.

  “Though I’m not sure I’m good with going back down there,” she shared. “I took off, acting like a frigging idiot.”

  He pulled her head out of his chest, tilting it back to look up at him as he looked down at her.

  “Do you really give a fuck?” he asked, brows raised.

  Thinking about it, she kind of didn’t.

  It was Leigh. And Leenie. And the rest.

  They were cool.

  “No,” she answered.

  He smiled, and the miracle happened again.

  He got freakishly more handsome.

  “Do you think they care?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’ve never done anything like that. They’re probably worried about me.”

  “About the acting-like-an-idiot part,” he amended. “Considering the fact you didn’t, they wouldn’t think that. They’ll just be worried about you.”

  “What do I say to them?” she asked, because she didn’t know.

  She always had it together. It was imperative in her line of work, for one. But also to keep her shit tight so it didn’t blow apart, for another.

  “It’s none of their business?” he asked back in answer.

  “Uh … well, I’ve never really been just one of the girls, but I’ve been around them enough to know that doesn’t work.”

  He started chuckling and through it said, “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  Her gaze drifted away as she nodded.

  “Right, darling, let’s head back down so they can stop worrying about you.”

  He started to make a move, but it was then she realized she had her hands fisted in his shirt at his sides and she didn’t let go.

  In fact, she pressed those fists in and called, “Hey.”

  He stopped moving and looked down at her, brows again raised.

  He looked hot like that too.

  Lord.

  She totally belonged to him.

  And it felt good.

  Damn.

  “Are you cool with me and Ami? I mean, I—” she started.

  “Did you enjoy watching him perform for you?”

  She nodded.

  “Then yes, I’m cool.”

  “You’re not … you don’t have…”

  “I have you.”

  “Not down there.”

  “I still have you.”

  “But we haven’t really—”

  “We will.”

  “But—”

  “You’re a Domme, Simone,” he stated firmly.

  She didn’t reply.

  “A specific kind of Domme, actually,” he continued. “You know precisely how gratifying it is to give someone something they need without getting anything in return. It remains to be seen, though I doubt it’ll be better than the orgasms you’ll be giving me. But it’s still a beautiful thing that means a good deal to me, giving you something you need, watching you while you have it, seeing how much you enjoy it. But I’d prefer it if you just had it without worrying about it because that worry pollutes the beauty it gives to me.”

  “Okay then, hot stuff, I’ll play with that meat guilt-free,” she muttered.

  She was about to look away at the same time break away when her body arrested totally.

  This was because his expression changed totally.

  She stood in his hold, staring into his eyes, suspended in time, simply taking in his sheer male beauty, which was excruciatingly more beautiful with that look on his face.

  Eventually, as ever with Stellan, she could take no more.

  “What?” she whispered.

  “Hot stuff?” he whispered back.

  Was that offensive? Coarse?

  Common?

  “I—”

  “Fuck,” he growled.

  And then …

  He kissed her.

  At first, Sixx stood still in his hold under the gentle assault of his mouth.

  It didn’t take long before his taste and touch and smell and feel permeated, making her melt into him, slide her arms along his trim waist, press close, tip her head further back, and open herself for more.

  It was like she’d never been kissed.

  But she had never been kissed like this. With that wonderful, wet, tender attentiveness that was all about giving, making her feel warm, wanted, safe.

  Tingly.

  He broke the kiss, and she almost whimpered at the loss.

  Instead she stayed pressed to him, open to him and the experience as he touched his forehead affectionately to hers for a far-too-brief moment, the fingers of one of his hands stroking her spine, and murmured, “We should return.”

  She didn’t want to return.

  She wanted to live in his room in this moment with him until she was no longer breathing.

  Warm.

  Wanted.

  Safe.

  “All right,” she replied.

  He let her body go but took her hand and led her back down the stairs.

  As they went, Sixx didn’t look at the paintings on the walls or feel the thick carpet runner under her slides or the cool of the air-conditioning that had to be a bitch of a bill for a place that size.

  She just followed where Stellan was leading.

  And headed back to the pool party.

  six

  Bullshit and Bravado

  STELLAN

  Stellan stood in the opened French doors, looking out at his lit pool, beside which Simone was standing with Talia, Mira, Belle and Leigh, chatting.

  He was trying to understand how she could make him like what she was wearing now better than her plunge-front, scarlet-red bathing suit with the graphic print sarong tied around her hips and the gold tangled in her cleavage.

  Totally unconsciously, she looked like a woman who belonged on a beach on the French Riviera or a yacht off Capri, not poolside in Phoenix.

  Both when she was in her swimsuit …

  And now.

  It didn’t take long to for him to understand.

  She’d collared herself for him.

  In her state, she might not have realized what she’d unintentionally done.

  But as a Domme, she absolutely fucking knew.

  This meant he was fighting going hard, seeing the Evening Simone that had replaced Daytime Sixx, the woman who had graced the foot of his table at dinner and was now standing, holding a martini glass in her hand with the gin martini he’d made her in it, talking to her friends.

  After her shower, she’d done up her face in a shimmering palette of peaches and pinks that highlighted and defined and made her natural appeal intensely alluring.

  On her body was a strapless sheath made of supple cream leather that was no
t skintight but instead fit her exceptionally, clinging where it should, giving where it should, emphasizing her figure to perfection.

  And on her feet were rose gold, high-heeled sandals with two thin straps across the toes that had tiny buckles, and more thin straps around the ankles.

  She had long, rose gold hoops in her ears, a sleek, rose gold bangle at her wrist.

  And a wide sheet of shining rose gold collared around her neck.

  Her short hair and the elegant length of her neck accentuated it perfectly.

  And honest to Christ, Stellan had no idea how he wasn’t showing his guests to the door so he could power through their talk and then finally get her in his bed.

  “So … she okay?”

  Stellan turned and looked at Olly, who’d positioned himself in the other opened door, his eyes aimed at the pool, but not at Olly’s woman, Amélie.

  At Simone.

  After the pool party, Olly had showered and changed into jeans and a light salmon linen shirt that was quite like Stellan’s.

  And the reason why he was standing right there was not a mystery.

  “Leigh send you in to get the true story?” Stellan queried.

  Olly looked to Stellan, grinning. “You guessed it. Sixx acting all ‘it’s groovy now’ when you guys came back after, uh … whatever went down did not cut it with my Leigh-Leigh.”

  Stellan shook his head, his lips twitching, and looked back to Simone. “She’s fine.”

  She wasn’t.

  However, her panic attack was good. She got some of what was infecting her out.

  So she wasn’t fine.

  But she was better.

  “You pretty much know this is gonna be the talk of the Honey for, oh … I don’t know, maybe the next decade,” Olly noted.

  “I do pretty much know that, and I much more than pretty much don’t give a fuck,” Stellan replied and heard Olly chuckle.

  “Well, man, we’re gonna take off before you kick our asses out so you can pounce on that, but I’m gonna say what I gotta say before Leigh-Leigh gets up in my shit and makes me have a sit-down with you to say it.”

  That had Stellan turning his attention away from Simone and giving it again to Olly.

  And Olly looked uncomfortable, which did not bode well. The man had a natural confidence that was so deep-seated it came out even when he was subbing during a scene.

  “What’s that?”

  Olly seemed to have to rip his eyes from the pool to give them to Stellan.

  “You’re gonna hafta give it up, bud.”

  Stellan felt his brows snap together. “Sorry?”