Surrender to Fire: Maison Chronicles, Book 3 (3 page)

Ian snorted, then thrust a cup of water at her. “It’s not coffee, but you don’t want the swill from the kitchen anyway.”

Cam nodded and sipped.

Ian stood, his long legs encased in pinstripe trousers. Her eyes skimmed up to his face, wrought with concern, passing over a nice three-piece suit on the way. “You dressed up today.”

“Meeting with Finnick later, though this threat just made that a priority. I’m going upstairs as soon as I know you’re okay.”

She waved off his concern. “Words, just words.” She couldn’t even convince herself.

“Honey, we’re in publishing. Words are everything.”

Didn’t she know it. She’d tolerated years of being ignored and used, justified under the pretense of a BDSM relationship, but Shawn had never truly hurt her until his goodbye note. She shrugged in lieu of a response—she wasn’t going to lie and the truth was locked in her throat.

“You stay here, okay? Do not go home. Do not leave the building. We’ll get this figured out.”

Cam nodded, staring off into space until a sheaf of paper flopped into her hands. She looked up at Ian, whose wry smile evoked a shadow of her own. “Make yourself useful, okay? This pitch sounded promising.” He also laid down a stack of manila envelopes overflowing with slush submissions.

Even though she rolled her eyes, she was grateful for the distraction. Partitioning her thoughts like she’d learned to do when detailing Shawn’s car—her least favorite chore—Cam boxed up all the shit swirling around in her head and slid into literary agent mode.

Five manuscripts later, Ian returned for her. She pointed to the one he’d given her. “I’d take it. This one too,” she said, handing him the one she’d just finished.

He nodded, but didn’t reply with his usual enthusiasm. “Good. I’ll look at them later.” Silence stretched between them, making her itch. Ian caved first. “Finnick has suggested you take a long weekend. Go stay with family or friends. If this is the only letter, great. Otherwise, we’ll have to figure out a more permanent solution.”

Her shoulders sagged. Finnick’s “suggestions” were The Word of God.

“Do you have somewhere you can stay?”

Not really, but she wouldn’t divulge that. She nodded, then started gathering her things.

“See you Monday?”

Another nod. At this point, she wouldn’t count on anything. When Ian’s long arms enveloped her in a hug, she fought off tears with everything she had. No one needed to see her lose it, not when they already pitied her. And though Ian would never admit it, she could feel it in the softness of his words.

Her daze didn’t abate until she got home, locked and deadbolted her door and crawled under the covers. Before she sank into what she anticipated would be restless sleep, she rang Kat.

“’Allo?”

Cam didn’t have patience for niceties at that point. “Any chance I can come up tomorrow morning instead?”

Kat rolled with it. “
Absolument.
The cabin awaits you.”

“Oh I love you.” It was the most hopeful Cam had been since she’d woken.

“Yes, you all do.”

She heard snickering in the background. “Sorry I interrupted. See you tomorrow.”

When she finally slipped into sleep, it was blissfully dreamless.

Chapter Three

Thursday had been near unbearable. Friday was even worse. Admittedly, he didn’t do well without routine, but this was absurd. Damien chucked his pen back into the cup on his desk and spun away from his computer. He wasn’t getting shit done since snippets of past scenes intruded every time he settled down to work. One minute, he was in his business suit, sifting through RFPs from local companies—the next, he was shirtless in his black jeans and jackboots, applying his lighter to a clean putty knife and taking in the pale landscape of a sub’s back. His erection had barely subsided the entire time he’d been at work.

Yeah, he definitely needed a routine. He just hoped Kat would be able to find a decent submissive to work with, or he’d be going another week without some catharsis.

A torturous hour later, his hair was sticking up all over the place and papers were strewn across his desk. He decided to call Evan and yell at him just to blow off some steam.

He picked up his phone just as a call request came through Skype—Evan. Speak of the devil.

He answered. “You asshole.”

Evan just arched an eyebrow at him. “Well don’t you look like shit. What’s wrong, office not in order?” Damien wanted to reach through the computer and throttle the smug look off his perfect all-American face. Instead, he stared down Evan until the other man blinked. “I know, I know. You don’t like change and I’m sorry you’re having a tough time. But you’re visiting Maison this weekend, right?”

He nodded. Their old secretary—now just Evan’s, really—flitted across the background then came on camera. “Hey, boss, how’s LA? Weather gorgeous?”

“Morning, Ellie. Yes. It’s beautiful every day, I see celebrities whenever I step foot outside and there were ten shootings on the freeways yesterday.”

She rolled her eyes at him. If she’d been his sub, she would have been over his knee for it. “And I’m sure you’ve already been an extra in a movie.”

Ellie always made him laugh. “Twice. Sure I can’t bribe you into coming out here to work? All we hear during the winter is how much you hate the cold.”

Biting her lip, she darted her gaze to Evan. He recognized that look. No wonder she hadn’t ditched New York. “Aw, Damien, you know that if I left, Evan wouldn’t be able to take care of himself.” He heard the ring of truth in that, even if Evan didn’t.

“All right, this isn’t
Pile on Evan Hour
. Was there something you needed, Ellie?” It all made perfect sense now—the tension between them, the butting heads, the occasional shouting match. The fact that Ellie had outlasted every other assistant they’d had. Few women could deal with Evan’s attention to detail and his need for rigorous regularity. Damien wondered how long it would be before Evan figured out why she pushed all his buttons. The short, spunky brunette was so far from his normal demure blonde type that he probably didn’t register the sparks between them. Maybe now that Damien wasn’t there to act as a buffer, things would bubble to the surface.

He could only hope so. He wasn’t the only one who had been growing tired of the play-fuck-date-then-drive-her-away routine.

“Nothing in particular. I just wanted to say hi to Damien.” Ellie shifted on her feet, and the view hit him upside the head. Distance sure did bring perspective. How had he not seen she had a body made for sin? Her narrow waist curved out into generous breasts and hips, short but toned legs and bedroom eyes that showcased all her emotions. Then again, when he’d worked there she hadn’t worn tight skirts and thin blouses.

When Evan noticed his shit-eating grin, he grumbled. “What now, D?”

“Nothing at all.”

Eyes narrowed in suspicion, Evan waved at the camera instead of pushing for more information. “Back to work, Ellie. Damien’s obviously in no mood for polite company.”

With a little wave, she sauntered off. Evan’s eyes tracked every move, then flicked back to the webcam. “She’s gotten brattier since you left.”

Damien just nodded. He’d let Evan figure things out on his own. “Back to your original question. Yes, I am going up there. Jax and Lara are out. She’s in the hospital with the flu, so Kat promised to find someone else for me to work with.”

“She’ll find you a good demo partner.”

He nodded. Excess energy sizzling through his body, he snatched the pen back from his cup and started tapping it on the desk.

“Man, you really need to get out. When are you heading up there?”

“Tomorrow.” He didn’t bother keeping the anticipation from his voice.

“Why not go tonight?” Evan leaned back, his broad shoulders eclipsing the back of the chair. Football shoulders, at least until he’d realized he was more than a dumb jock during freshman year. Damien still liked to take credit for helping that along. And when he and Ellie had adorable little babies, he’d take credit for that too.

He wondered how many of his friends would settle down before he resigned himself to collaring a less-than-perfect woman. He really hoped it never came to that—just look how it had worked out for his brother. “Too much to do in the office.”

Evan snorted. “And how much time have you wasted today because you can’t focus? C’mon, Damien, I know you. Get out, play, teach, fuck some nice little submissive and come back Sunday night with your head on straight.”

“I have a family dinner on Sunday.” He looked at Cordelia’s photo and some of his anxiety drained away. He set the pen down and reached for the photo before holding it up to the webcam. “See how big she’s getting?”

“Man, not baby pictures. Don’t be
that
guy.” Despite the ribbing, Damien heard the same hidden longing in Evan’s voice that he’d caught in his own. “She is pretty fucking adorable, though.”

He set the frame down. “Maybe you’re right. An extra night at the club couldn’t hurt. I’ll ring Kat to see if she’s got any room.”

“Good man. Don’t call me Sunday with all the sordid details like some schoolgirl, though. A text letting me know you’re alive and back to sanity will be enough.”

Damien threw him a one-fingered salute. “As I said—asshole.”

Three hours later, he was on his way up to Maison Domine. With his smartphone calling out directions, he could keep all his focus on the scenery and the satellite rock station he was piping through his speakers. The freeways of LA weren’t much for the view, but once he hit the mountains…
wow
. It was like the trees drained away all his tension. Or maybe he was relaxing because he was closer to sating his needs.

After missing the turnoff the first time he drove by, Damien pulled a U-turn and crept back down the road until he saw the weathered wood sign with an arrow pointing up a narrow, tree-lined road.

His car rolled down the long drive, soundtracked by Guns N’ Roses’ “Welcome to the Jungle”, then burst into a wide-open clearing with a jaw-dropping view of the surrounding mountains. A large rustic structure took up the right half of the clearing, with most of the rest devoted to parking. More cars filled the lot than he’d expected for a Friday afternoon, but if other Angelinos had had weeks like his, maybe it wasn’t that big a surprise.

Parking his car, he wondered what the large building held. Yes, he’d heard other kinksters rave about the private club, but he’d been to his fair share of upscale establishments before. What set this one apart?

The answer sauntered across the parking lot, seeming to come from nowhere and heading for the front door. The woman’s body hit him like a wrecking ball. Every sense went on high alert and his heart jacked up its beat.

Jet-black hair spilled around her shoulders in soft curls, obscuring her face. Her arms were crossed as she walked, as if warding off the mild day’s nonexistent cold. Slumping shoulders drew more attention to the beautiful hourglass shape of her back, her body encased in a flowing, black dress that clung in all the right places. She looked tall, maybe eye level to his chin, though maybe that was her black combat boots. Not fragile—supple. Warm.

And crying. Her shoulders were shaking as she turned away from the building, facing him head-on. His demolition experts had nothing on that look. He wanted to kiss her reddened nose, wipe the tears from under her eyes. He popped open his door and headed for her.

The woman’s eyes widened and she froze, a deer in the headlights.

Car door open, keys still in the ignition, nothing mattered but this woman. He approached slowly, not wanting to alarm her. “Are you okay?” His voice echoed through the parking lot, though they weren’t that far apart.

The dress swirled around her knees, tossed by the wind whipping around the mountaintop. The soft neckline of her dress draped around her full breasts. His palms itched to cup them.

She nodded, letting her hair once again hide her face, which looked like it was made of the finest bone china. “Shitty week.”

He took a few steps closer, then paused. He saw faint tan lines on her wrist, barely there, that looked like she’d been wearing a bracelet cuff for some time. “Is he really worth crying over?”

Her pink lips clamped shut, then opened. “Look, thanks for your concern, but, really, it’s none of your business.” She swiped aside her hair to reveal twilight-blue eyes cracking with anger.

Her defiance stroked down his chest and reached for his growing erection. “I’m sorry, but when I see a submissive alone and crying, I make it my business.” He invaded her personal space until she had to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes, but she didn’t back up. All traces of her dejection were gone. Good.

The wind pulled at her curls as she jabbed a finger in his chest, like she was digging straight for his racing heart. “I’m not a submissve.”

Her nails weren’t painted or manicured, not high maintenance like many women he’d dated. He found it refreshing. Authentic, like her anger. “Not a submissive?” He grabbed the hand that had poked him and raised her wrist to the light. Her pupils dilated and her breathing tightened. Her tongue darted out across her bottom lip and Damien had to restrain a groan. His thumb stroked along her inner wrist where her pulse was jumping like a living thing trying to escape. “How long did you wear his ownership bracelet while you weren’t a submissive?”