Fearless (18 page)

I scan the crowd, wondering if Camille has followed him. “I don't know,” I say hesitantly.

“Afraid you might lose?” he goads.

I lift my chin. I know a dare when I hear one. “I'd be happy to accept your challenge,
Captain
,” I say evenly, stressing the title sarcastically.

He bends down, his lips close to my ear so that only I can hear him.

“The stakes are high, Miss Hart,” he says softly. “If I win, you agree to be my captive for the evening.”

“And if I win?” I say.

“Then I'll be yours,” he says huskily.

“Done,” I say confidently.

I spent countless summers playing chess with my oldest brother, who is one of the best chess players I have ever known, and he has taught me well. I rarely lose a game and the fact that I just beat the older Dr. Black, who's apparently some kind of chess legend, makes me even more confident. Focusing on the game with Dr. Black had temporarily distracted me from my earlier anger, but seeing Beckett opposite me, casually setting up his pieces as if nothing has happened, sets my blood boiling again. Seemingly unperturbed, he watches me coolly as I make my first move. Fifteen minutes later, there are half a dozen pawns of both colors lying to the side, and the tension between us is almost palpable.

To my relief, the crowd that gathered to watch me play Dr. Black has grown bored and moved on to watch the roaming jugglers or to the craps table. Luckily, chess just isn't that exciting to watch.

Beckett is watching me carefully. When I look up at him he holds my gaze and says coolly, “If I capture your queen, I'm going to spank you for each piece of yours that I take.”

“Fine,” I say, my eyes flashing. “If I capture your queen,” I add, stressing the word queen, “you tell me who she is to you.”

“I would have told you anyway if you had given me a chance,” he says calmly, “but I agree to your terms.”

Unfortunately, we're pretty well matched and he is a challenging opponent. Then he makes a mistake and I capture his queen, fighting the urge to shout with glee. However, in two more moves he captures mine and puts me in check mate. I blanch as I count the pieces he's captured. There are fourteen in all, including the king.

“Come on, Emma,” he says, standing up and pulling me to my feet. “Time to pay the piper, or the pirate as the case may be.”

“Here?” I say in disbelief. He can't be serious. We're in the middle of a party.

“Yes, here. A deal is a deal, and I intend to collect right now. You're free to do the same.”

Grabbing my arm, he pulls me around behind the bar to a storeroom. He pulls me inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

“You're tense and frustrated,” he says bluntly. “Let's get this over with and you will feel a lot better.”

“No, wait,” I say desperately, holding my hands out as if that will stop him from doing whatever he has a mind to do. “I captured your queen first so I get to collect first. Who is Camille Penworth? Was she your girlfriend?”

“She wasn't my girlfriend, but I did sleep with her,” he says. “Our fathers worked together in the research department at M.D. Anderson for years. We actually grew up together and moved in the same social circles, although since she's five years older than me she didn't have much to do with me until we were out of college. Her father died a few years ago and she took over chairing the galas for the American Cancer Society, both in his memory and because it gave her the social prominence that she has strived for her entire life. I agreed to be her escort after her father died. It seemed like the right thing to do, given she had just lost her father and had worked so hard on an event that supported both of our fathers' passions. I had never been attracted to her, and I was fairly certain she felt the same, and we agreed it would be a friendly date.

“Afterwards, we went up to her room at the hotel where the gala was held. I'd had a bit too much to drink and when she kissed me, instead of saying good night like I should have, I kissed her back. One thing led to another, and before I knew it we both had our clothes off. She said she wanted one night with an old friend, no strings attached, so I foolishly agreed. In the morning I gave her a friendly kiss goodbye, thanked her for inviting me to escort her to the gala, and went back to my life.

“Unfortunately, in reality she wanted much more than a one night stand. She had decided it would complete her social stature to be married to a doctor who also happened to be the son of her father's friend. It was just added incentive that there were rumors swirling around at the time that my father was on the brink of an important medical breakthrough. Camille is the kind of woman who is accustomed to getting what she wants, and it didn't sit well with her that I had no interest in a relationship with her, either personal or professional. She somehow had me followed to my friend Dominic's club, the one Gavin told you about. It's an exclusive club, but apparently she had both the social standing and the money to get someone inside. She learned I had a taste for domination and I learned she had a taste for blackmail.

“Somehow, she managed to take some pictures of me in the club. Dominic still feels badly about it. Pictures like that would have ruined me professionally and she knew it. She offered me a deal—the pictures in exchange for the life she wanted, a life as Dr. and Mrs. Black.”

Beckett's voice takes on a hard edge. “Unfortunately for her, she grossly underestimated me. I refuse to be blackmailed.”

“So what happened?” I ask, completely riveted.

“She knows enough people that she can just about pull strings anywhere, and she called several members of the press and told them she had shocking photos of a very prominent member of the community she thought they might like to see. Of course they agreed and she arranged a small press conference. But when she pulled out the incriminating photos, they were pictures of Mickey and Minnie Mouse, not the compromising pictures of me she had promised.”

I laugh out loud. I can just imagine the look on that unpleasant woman's face when she realized she'd been duped.

“How?” I manage through the laughter that keeps bubbling up.

Beckett smiles, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“My brother is a Navy SEAL. He has been in and out of Taliban compounds without anyone knowing. I daresay the home of a blackmailing socialite was undoubtedly easy in comparison. Needless to say, she did not appreciate being embarrassed in front of the press. Although that was more than a year ago, I have no doubt she would kill me in my sleep if she got the chance. I should have warned you about her. It's my fault she caught you unaware and had the upper hand, and for that I'm sorry.” A small smile plays at his lips, and this time it does reach his eyes, which crinkle slightly. “Although I did gather from the few minutes I spent with her on the dance floor that you managed to hold your own.”

I cross the room to him and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly. With my cheek pressed to his chest I say softly, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“For telling me the truth. You didn't have to tell me the whole story, but you did.”

Pulling away from me slightly, Beckett lifts my chin so that I'm looking him in the eye.

“Trust is a two-way street, Emma. If I expect you to trust me implicitly, I have to be willing to trust you as well.”

I hug him again, amazed at how close I feel to this man I have known for such a relatively short time. I'm glad he told me about Camille. Now I understand why he wanted me to sign a confidentiality agreement.

Tapping me lightly on the nose he says, “My turn to collect.”

I look up at him with dawning comprehension. I had been so engrossed in his story that I had forgotten about the other part of our deal.

“Maybe we should do that when we get back to your place,” I suggest a little wildly.

“You need it now, Angel. You're wound as tight as a drum. I promise you will feel better afterwards.”

“I kind of doubt that,” I say nervously. “How come I'm the one getting the spanking when you're the one who made me mad?”

“Trust me Emma,” he says, pulling a chair from a stack that is stored in the room and sitting down on it.

He pats his lap. I take a step backwards.

“What if someone comes in?”

“I locked the door,” he says patiently. Firmly he adds, “Now, if you aren't over my lap in the next five seconds, I'm going to start adding spanks for every extra second you take.”

As always, I instinctively respond to his authoritative command and step to his side. I stop there, uncertain how I'm supposed to get myself over his lap with my long dress. He saves me from any further deliberation, pulling me down and over his lap in one deft movement so that my fingertips skim the floor. My long skirt doesn't seem to pose a problem for him, and in seconds the fabric is bunched around my waist, the cool air-conditioned air of the room caressing my exposed skin. He hooks one finger into the waistband of my thong and pulls it down around my knees. I'm pretty sure I'm about to die of embarrassment.

“Just get on with it,” I say through gritted teeth.

Placing one hand on the small of my back to hold me still, Beckett runs his hand over my bared bottom. I squirm slightly. “Emma, this isn't a punishment spanking. It's meant to feel good.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” I say darkly. “It's my bottom that's about to get spanked.”

Beckett laughs, and then his hand connects with my bare bottom with a resounding smack. I arch my back at the unexpected sting and look over my shoulder at him in surprise.

“Eyes on the floor,” he orders. I comply, my face burning even as my pulse thrums with arousal at his commanding tone. “How many of your pieces did I capture?”

“Fourteen,” I whisper.

“Starting now. Count them for me.”

He smacks my bottom again, the blow landing on my right cheek.

“One,” I say.

He caresses my bottom. “Good girl,” he says. His hand comes down again, harder this time, landing on my left cheek.

“Two,” I say, my voice wobbly. It isn't that it hurts unbearably, although it's certainly more intense than the playful swats I had naively expected. It's more that I don't know when or where the next blow will come, and more importantly, that I have absolutely no control over it. It's wildly exciting and terrifying all at the same time, being held immobile by his strong hand, helpless and vulnerable.

He continues to spank me, each slap harder than the one before, until I reach the count of ten. I'm panting now, the sting on my bottom combining with the fullness of the balls being forced forward inside me with each stroke of his hand to create a tangle of erotic sensation that takes my breath away. I can feel my wetness, and I wonder if he can feel it too.

He shifts me slightly so that my pubic bone rests against his hard arousal and kneads my bottom. I moan and wiggle slightly. Oh god, I could almost come like this. Smack! His hand connects with my flesh at the tender juncture where my thighs meet my sex and I press my thighs together.

“Eleven,” I gasp, my voice ragged.

Blows twelve and thirteen come hard and fast and I shamelessly grind against him as I feel my orgasm build.

He lands the last spank solidly on the tender underside of my cheeks, pressing the balls forward with the force, and he reaches between my legs and pulls them out roughly just as the orgasm rolls through me like a tidal wave. I scream as I come, my climax shuddering through me in seemingly endless waves, and Beckett covers my mouth with his hand.

“Quiet, Angel, or the whole party will be in here admiring your pink bottom,” he admonishes with a quiet laugh.

He eases his hand from my mouth and pulls me up until I'm seated in his lap, wrapping me in his arms and holding me close. I bury my head in his chest.

“Feel better?” he asks.

When I don't respond he lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. Seeing the look in my eyes he asks tenderly, “What's the matter?”

“I can't believe I just had an orgasm from a spanking!” I moan, completely embarrassed.

“Don't be embarrassed,” he says, gently tucking a curl behind my ear. “The bottom is actually a prime erogenous zone, but with deeper nerves than say, breasts.”

“You're being doctorly again,” I grumble.

He laughs. “If I'd known you'd orgasm that easily from being spanked, I certainly would have done it sooner.” Suddenly serious, he pins me with a gaze that is pure, carnal sensuality. “I can assure you that you will get regular spankings from now on, and I will thoroughly enjoying being the one to discipline you. And bring you to orgasm,” he adds wickedly.

I press my legs together as arousal pumps through me again and Beckett pulls me close. “I don't know what I did to deserve you, but whatever it was it must have been good. Let's get out of here.”

We surreptitiously sneak out of the storage room like guilty teenagers, and I escape to the ladies room to make sure I don't look as rumpled as I feel, despite Beckett's assurances that I look fine. When I come out five minutes later, the elder Dr. Black is taking the microphone.

“Let's go,” Beckett says throatily, offering me his arm.

“We can't leave now,” I protest. “Your dad is about to give his speech.”

“He won't mind,” Beckett assures me brusquely. “I'm sure he'd be happy to read it to you next week if you're that interested.”

“Beckett, it's your dad! We have to stay, at least until his speech is over.”

“Fine,” he says shortly.

Grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him, he winds through the crowd that has gathered around the makeshift stage until we are standing near the front. I look at Beckett, puzzled. He's definitely acting strange, like he can't wait to leave. I wonder if he's trying to avoid Camille, either for my sake or his, or if he's just tired of worrying about me. I hope it's just that he's avoiding Camille. I hope he doesn't regret inviting me, but I clearly don't fit in with this crowd. Trying not to overthink it, I concentrate on Dr. Black's speech. I have to admit he can work a crowd. By the time he's finished talking, I'm ready to donate my life savings on the spot, so convincing is he that a cure is within reach if only there were just a little more funding.