Domination (Explicitly Yours 2)

She mostly remembered it because it was right before he’d shifted from a mysterious, attractive man to a man who’d thought she could be bought. A lifetime had happened since then. “We’d been flirting,” she said. “You asked me if I was attracted to you, and I was, but I couldn’t say it. When you tried to give me that much money, it seemed somehow connected to that. Like you were cheapening our time together.”

“I wasn’t. I genuinely meant it to be nice.”

“‘Nice’ isn’t giving people money. It’s giving them things money can’t buy, like how you took me to that speakeasy because you thought I’d like it. Or letting me get syrup on your bed because it made me happy.” She paused. “I don’t care about your money.”

His entire body tensed around her.

“But I know you worked hard for it. That’s what I—” She caught herself before she could say it was what she loved about him. “It’s what I care about. Your passion and drive, and that you love to help people create.”

“You’re reading too much into what I do.”

“No, I’m not. I see you, Beau.” She saw him, but she couldn’t have him. Not when she and Johnny had given each other nine years of their lives, and not when she owed him more. “Why’d you ask about the tip?”

He shook his head on her shoulder. “Never mind.”

“Beau—”

“Stop looking over the balcony. You’re making me nervous.” There was an edge to his voice, even though he held her tightly enough that she wasn’t going anywhere. He hadn’t answered her question, but she didn’t want to spend what little time they had left arguing.

She blinked her eyes to the sky again. “All right. Is up okay?”

“Up is okay.”

“You asked what I wanted to do tonight,” she said. “I’d like to see the stars with you.”

Beau’s chin remained on her shoulder, and he was still looking over the balcony. “Can’t see them now?”

“Not enough of them. I want to see them all.”

He kissed the side of her head over her hair. “Go get dressed.”

“Really?”

“I can do spontaneous. I know a place. I have to make a call, but I’ll only be a moment.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Business overseas.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “Wait, what about—”

“In the closet,” he said. “I have some things in there you can wear.”

Things she could wear? Her jaw set. “If you think I’m wearing another woman’s clothes—”

“They’ve never been worn,” he said. “They’re yours. I can be spontaneous—rarely—but I am also always prepared if I can help it.”

That certainly sounded like him. She extricated herself from his grasp, went inside and found a couple plain, jersey women’s T-shirts hanging in the closet. She chose one the muted color of raw clay. The jeans were almost equally as soft, and on the floor sat a pair of brilliant-white Chucks in her size.

She was dressed and combing her damp hair when Beau came

into the bathroom. He also wore a T-shirt and jeans.

“We almost look like a normal couple,” Lola said to his reflection in the mirror.

He frowned, watching her.

“Is everything okay?”

“Fine,” he said. “Everything’s fine. You ready?”

The look on his face matched his cross voice on the balcony. She’d seen him that way before—and since it was on her mind, she realized one of those times was right after she’d refused his tip. Before she could think anything of it, his face relaxed with a smile.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m ready.”

Downstairs, the valet ran for Beau’s car, seeming eager for something to do in the middle of the night.

Beau took her hand as if it were the most natural thing. “I’ve been riding without the top lately,” he said when the valet pulled the car up. “You’ve liberated me.”

She smiled. “That’s a nice thing to do to someone.”

The roads were relatively quiet at that hour, and Beau took advantage of it. He turned up the music. The drive was all at once fast and slow, the speedometer needle climbing to sixty, seventy, eighty before Beau would let up on the gas. The wind had a way of soothing her conscience and wiping her clean, as if she were moving into a new state of awareness. She could no longer hide the truth about her feelings for Beau from herself. It was past midnight—the end of one day, the start of another.

They climbed the Santa Monica Mountains. Beau hugged each curve and took the sharp ones without flinching, anticipating them like he’d laid the pavement himself.

Neither of them spoke, but once in a while, Beau would look over at her and she couldn’t help looking back. Then he’d return his eyes to the precarious, winding road, and she’d allow herself a few more seconds of Beau’s hair, disheveled by the wind, and the stubble that had tickled her earlier. She hoped she’d get to feel the same burn as their first night together when he hadn’t shaved—how long would it take for it to grow a little longer? Did they have that much time? To feel that kind of thing over her lips, along her jaw, between her legs—it was ownership.

Beau eventually slowed the car to a stop, pulling over to a lookout point.