His Only Hope: The Maison Chronicles, Book 2 (4 page)

Katrina laughed, the sound filtering through the open French doors that separated the bedroom from the rest of the suite. “Gabriel, your self-assurance is so cute! All I know is that a stunning woman is downstairs having
hors d’oeuvres
, one who arrived by herself without any weekend agreement or marks of possession. And every Top—male and female—looking for play partners this weekend knows that too.”

“Shit.” He ran a hand through the barely there stubble on his head and scratched his goatee. Too much of the past needed to be hashed out before playing. Gabe had hoped to catch her before the festivities started and take measure of the situation, but of course Hope would have arrived early—she didn’t have a late gene in her body.
The best laid plans of mice and men…

“What was that, darling?” Kat stood in the doorway, amused look still on her face.

“Let me change into something less windblown and I’ll meet you down there.” He started rummaging through his bag for his black slacks and Under Armor. The athletic shirts were perfect for a long, physical evening.

Wishful thinking, yeah.

“Gabriel, there are other unattached submissives downstairs. And more than a few couples who would like to scene with you again. After all, how well do you really know Hope after two years?” Katrina shook her head and pieces of brown hair fell into her eyes. She swiped it aside with a flick and continued. “To get so worked up over a long-past ex…”

Gabe, clothes in hand, faced Katrina. “Okay, woman, enough digging for information. Let me change so I can spend some quality time getting to know her again.”

Katrina shot him an insouciant wave and made her way out. He followed her to the doorway to the suite.

“Difficult wench. I’ll pray for the Dom that tries to tame you,” he called to her retreating form.

He shut the door and changed clothes before returning to his backpack. From inside the front zipper pouch, he pulled two blue boxes. The smaller one he set aside to take downstairs with him. The larger one should have stayed in his workshop. Maybe he was the masochist, and not Hope.

He lifted the lid. A collar—more of a necklace, really—lay stretched out like a living metal vine crawling across the velvety box. Small green leaves, the color of Hope’s eyes, unfurled from the silver stem that formed the necklace’s core. Larger cream-colored flowers dotted the front of the vine, and at the center of each one lay an amethyst, Hope’s February birthstone. It was the most beautiful piece he’d ever created, but it had never left his workshop. After Hope left him, he’d worked like a maniac to create the collar, not knowing he’d ever see her again or that they’d both return to LA. Hers was the first metal collar he’d ever made. It had been a compulsion he could not ignore and it had helped to purge some of his frustration and longing.

Now it only taunted him with things he couldn’t have.

Gabe sighed and snapped the lid closed, tucking the box into his backpack. He popped open the smaller box and took out the small chain mail and leather cuff before slipping the jewelry into the pocket of his slacks.

A quick roll of his shoulders to shake off a bit of tension and he left, braced for whatever Hope might throw at him this weekend.

At the bottom of the basement stairs stretched a door-lined hall. The last one on the right held the only room big enough to gather all the guests, so that’s where the meals and meet and greets took place.

The room looked like a four-star restaurant and the food matched, thanks to a talented local chef. Tables for two and four peppered the middle while a few round eight-person tables sat on the outskirts. All had white tablecloths and fresh flowers in the middle.

Two walls had high, opaque windows, letting in natural light into the otherwise fluorescent basement. The playrooms down here each had at least one window, a welcome change from almost every public or private club he’d visited. Sunlight just never went with that dungeon-y feel.

Maison Domine didn’t need darkness to get its Doms and subs in the mood.

He scanned for Hope and found her at one of the larger tables, sitting with several men and one collared woman. Hope was engrossed in conversation with one of the men, who looked too interested in her. His dark hair almost hit his shoulders and he was dressed so casually he almost looked out of place, something remedied by the confidence radiating off him.

Gabe didn’t like his body language. His possessive instincts rose until he remembered he had no real claim over Hope. He needed closure and answers, not a second go at their relationship.
Sure, and I’m Mary-fucking-Poppins
. He tuned out the voice before the bastard insinuated something Gabe didn’t want to hear.

He made his way over to the table and, lucky for the men already there, one of the few unoccupied chairs was next to Hope. Well, a purse lay on the seat, but that was an easy enough fix. Gabe plucked it up and set it down on the table, taking its place.

Hope glanced over, then turned toward him and scowled. “You know, I was saving that seat.”

“Thank you, Hope. How considerate, holding a place for me.” He grinned and her frown deepened.

She heaved an angry sigh—oh, he still recognized that one—and he wanted to kiss away her frustration. Kiss her cheeks, her forehead, her lips, and…on that bump in the middle of her nose. Where had she gotten that? His body surged in demand, needing to know who’d broken her nose and why.

It looked just like his mother’s had, and that memory just didn’t sit well with him.

“Whatever you say, Gabe,” she retorted before returning to her conversation.

He didn’t like that one bit, but it did pull him back from those black memories and give him a chance think about something far more pleasant.

Though she wore a simple sleeveless blouse and blue jeans, the fabric hugged her curves like it was lingerie. Her new, dark red hair framed her face and floated around her chin in soft curls, and Gabe was sorely tempted to grab one and see if she still used the same lavender shampoo that always drove him crazy.

No way would he let some random guy flirt with Hope when she looked so hot.

He leaned around her to the other man and offered his hand, getting a dizzying whiff of her delicious hair in the process. Yep, still lavender. His groin tightened, and he almost forgot what he was doing until the other man took his hand.

“Gabe,” he growled, thoughts returning to reality. “Hope’s my guest for the weekend.” He made sure to grip the man’s hand enough to emphasize his words.

“Jovan,” the man replied, his eyes narrowing at Gabe’s handshake warning. “And Hope was just telling me she’s here to discuss business with Katrina.”

The man had a foreign accent, the kind women tended to drool all over. He needed to get Hope away from him, stat.

Gabe dropped Jovan’s hand and slung his arm across the back of Hope’s seat. “
Cara
, why are you telling lies?” he whispered before growling in her ear, “Are you looking for a spanking?”

Her sharp inhale was oh so satisfying. How he’d missed flirting with her, walking that fine edge between turning her on and pissing her off. He did it just to see that fire in her eyes.

Those endless green eyes blazed with anger when she turned toward him, but Gabe also noted the flush in her cheeks and her choppy breath.

“Gabriel, don’t you dare,” she hissed.

“Don’t I dare what,
cara
?” He drew his other hand up to cup her cheek. “This?” He captured her mouth in a brief kiss and pulled back just in time to see her face go nuclear with anger.

“Why you—”

He stopped her with another kiss, longer this time, and she melted against him, just a little. Gabe wanted her pliant, off balance. They had to talk in private, about unpleasant things, and she’d keep putting it off unless he gave her no other choice. Gabe knew she’d agreed to the weekend for the sake of meeting Kat, but he wouldn’t let her intentions get in the way of his, for both their sakes.

He could see the little signs of stress, her bitten fingernails, the growing bags under her eyes, things he’d learned to be wary of during their short, intense relationship. Hope needed release, and Gabe needed to talk her into it before the stress hurt her. Again.

Delicate, slim arms wrapped around his neck and his cock sat up and took notice. His chest constricted. She needed a keeper, dammit, someone who could handle her idiosyncrasies. If only she’d open up to him…

She ripped her mouth from his and rested her forehead on his chest.

“Hope,
cara
, I brought you something.”

“Mmm?” she questioned from her position against him. Gabe glanced at Jovan. The man nodded curtly in understanding. Good.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the cuff, setting it on the table where she—and the rest of the table—could see it.

Hope stiffened against him and lifted away from his chest. Frustration lined her face. “No. I’m here for business, not pleasure.”

“Your kiss said otherwise.”

She flapped her long, slim hand at him. “Momentary estrogen poisoning. It won’t happen again.”

He wanted to laugh at her attempted denial. Jovan did, and Gabe shot the man a silencing look that half-worked.

She scooted back from him and her expression turned so serious that Gabe wanted to hold her and promise everything would be okay.

“I need this contract, Gabe. And you—you are too distracting for my own good.”

“Hope, I promise you will not leave this weekend without your referral. But I also told you what I wanted from you and I intend to get it, sooner rather than later.”

She opened her mouth, looking for all the world as if she were about to ream him one, then paused. Standing, she turned to the rest of the table and said, “Excuse me. I seem to have lost my appetite.”

Chapter Four

Jovan’s eyes tracked her out then looked to Gabe. “Careful there,
amigo
. She might be more woman than you can handle.”

He smirked and Gabe’s lip curled in response before he rose to follow Hope’s exit.

The guests scattered around the room, many of whom he knew from before, took a veiled interest in the events. From the opposite side of the room, Jax threw him a questioning look that seemed more admonishment than concern. Okay, so maybe Hope had the right idea in leaving—their conversation was bound to get heated.

He pulled open the solid oak door and walked into the hall. Though there were lights studding the walls like a trail of taillights on the highway, he still needed to let his eyes adjust from the dining room’s fluorescent brightness.

A flash of movement on the edge of his vision drew his attention to a red door slipping closed. He scanned the hall to make sure Hope wasn’t lingering farther down then rapped on the door.

“This room is occupied.” Definitely Hope’s voice.

He turned the knob and pushed at the door, giving himself a few inches of open air to speak. “Hope, baby, I know you’re in here.”

A growl barely reached his ears. He loved the sexy rumble that rolled from the back of her throat when she was frustrated.

“Go away, Gabriel. You don’t own me anymore.”

He grimaced. “I never owned you. You were on loan.”

Since she hadn’t kicked him out yet, he pushed the door open another inch and slipped into the dark room, letting the door whisper shut behind him.

A thick curtain had been pulled over the window. Indistinct shapes loomed in the corners of the room, which had changed since his last visit. He could identify the bed, and possibly Hope’s shape curled on top of it.

“On loan?” she finally answered. “From whom?”

Clothing scraped together from somewhere near the bed, drawing him one step closer.

The memories weighed heavily on his chest. “From yourself,
cara
. I knew I couldn’t keep you, so I made the best of what we had.” His self-deprecating laugh echoed through the room, bouncing back to mock him. “Or at least I tried to.” He took another step forward.

“Why did you even bother trying to make me open up then?”

“You ask that like I had a choice. I was your Dom, I needed to get into your head. Learn about your past and how it shaped you.”

He scraped a hand across the back of his head. He’d need a haircut soon. If all went poorly, he could schedule one for tomorrow. The thought didn’t help.

“Gabe…”

Her sigh beckoned him closer to the bed. Now he could make out a darker form huddled against the headboard amid a frothing sea of pillows. Great, Hope just had to be in the Victorian-themed room. Kat liked to rearrange the settings to keep the rooms interesting, but why did she have to bring this one back? It was too frilly for his tastes.

Give him a bed, cuffs and a willing woman. He didn’t need all the accessories and toys packed into this room, though some of them could be fun.

The room’s shadowy shapes coalesced into real objects as his eyes adjusted further to the darkness. The four-poster bed that sported restraints already at each corner. The stocks opposite the bed and the adjacent throne, both perfect for spanking.

Maybe the room wasn’t so bad, minus the lace and ribbons adorning the bedspread and pillows.

A rustle of the comforter drew his attention back to the bed. “I guess there’s no more avoiding this conversation.”

“You’ve got that right. Hope, you left me with so many questions to ask. And apologies to give.”

She groaned. “Don’t try to take all the blame for this. I made my share of mistakes too.

“Our relationship wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t all rubbish.”

Her voice small, she said, “No, I guess it wasn’t all bad. The first month, at least.”

He didn’t ask for, or want, clarification on that as he sat on the edge of the bed. Hope tucked her head down to her knees, her shoulders rigid. He hoped she wasn’t crying. He’d hold her through her tears, of course, but they flashed him back to childhood when his mother cried herself to sleep every night and all he could do was listen through the wall and try not to cry himself. Which was easy considering how efficiently his father had beat the tears out of him.

When she’d cried before, she’d always get so angry at her tears, which only made the situations worse. He needed to break through to her before she started crying. Time to pull out the big guns.