Waking Kiss (BDSM Ballet 1)

He made a face. “I didn’t take any care.”

“Yes, you did. And I think…” I caught his chin and made him look me in the eyes. “I think someday, when you fall in love, all hell’s going to break loose for some poor girl. And for you too.”

He gave me a lopsided grin. “Why don’t you worry about your own problems, lady? Hey, I see you later at the theater. After the performance, we practice. Back to business, yes?”

“Back to business. Yes.” God knew I wanted to get back to business. He gave me one of his nice, grabby hugs and I went up the stairs to shower and get ready for work. When I got to my floor, Mem was standing outside my door.

“Ashleigh. Good morning,” he said.

He looked so serious that I felt a pang of distress. “Is everything okay? Is Liam—”

“Mr. Wilder is fine. Sleeping off a long night. I am only here to ensure you got home safely, and that you sustained no lasting damage in last night’s fracas.”

Fracas. What a word. “I’m fine,” I said, digging my keys out of my bag. “I wasn’t involved in it. Do they fight like that a lot?”

“No,” Mem said. “Not very often. May I come in, just for a moment?”

“Okay. But my place is a mess.”

“It is no matter.”

I let him in, flushing at the jumble of clothes on the floor, my unmade forest bed and the blanket structure I’d rebuilt last week. I scratched my forehead and threw my bag onto the table. “Sit anywhere you like.”

He sat on the edge of the couch while I went to the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Coffee? Tea?”

“No, thank you. I can’t stay long.”

I walked over and sat on the couch with him, feeling flustered and a little defensive. “In case you’re wondering, I stayed at Rubio’s last night, but I didn’t sleep with him.”

Mem made a quelling gesture. “Do not feel you must make an accounting of your private life to me. I observe but I do not judge. I have observed a growing bond between you and Mr. Wilder.”

He said it as a statement but it was more of a question. “We grew close recently, yes. He was helping me with some of my problems. My many issues,” I added with a tight laugh.

“What happened last night?”

His calm, direct question wasn’t accusatory. I blinked and tried to think about what had happened, because I wasn’t totally sure. “I don’t know what made him go off, Mem. Jealousy of Ruby? But me and Liam were never in a relationship. That was his requirement, not mine. I would have liked something…something deeper, but last week, Liam said we were done.” I stood and paced over by my bed, tracing the notches in one of the sculpted tree trunks. “But then Rubio asked if I wanted to come with him to the party this weekend and I probably shouldn’t have, but I did. It was partly because I wanted to see Liam. To show him I didn’t need him, maybe. Even though…” I was babbling. Epic ramble. I turned to Mem with a frown. “I didn’t come with Rubio, though. He’s just a friend. I mean, we aren’t—” I thought about Ruby’s words earlier that morning. “We aren’t in love.”

Mem studied me a moment before he spoke. “Are you in love with Mr. Wilder?”

I didn’t answer at first, but then I met his gaze and nodded. “I have been for ages now, but it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t want me. I played with him and Rubio last night to show that I could be like him. That I could keep things sexy and impersonal the way he does. I thought it would take a load off his mind.” My forced laugh sounded a little maniacal. “I wanted to show him that I was super-independent now, and capable, and okay. Even though I’m not.”

I batted at the bed curtains, waiting for Mem, the all-knowing shaman, to figure out this mess. Unfortunately, he looked as unsettled as me.

“You know, Mr. Wilder uses women as you use those curtains.” He nodded at the sheer panels of silk. “To keep the demons away. He is not, perhaps, the man he presents himself to be.”

“What do you mean, not the man he presents himself to be?”

“I mean that, like you, he has a past. It often influences his actions. I would tell you to ask him about it, but he would not tell you. I would tell you myself, but I promised not to.”

“So you can’t tell me anything, except that he has demons.”

“I can tell you that you should not take his actions personally. That you should not blame yourself for his shortcomings. I can also give you this.”

He held out a card with gold-embossed edges. It was an Ironclad card, like Liam’s business card, but with another name on it. Ronan Wilder.

“Liam’s father,” said Mem. “If you wish to help Liam fight his demons, perhaps you will utilize that card and pay a visit to Mr. Wilder first. The elder Mr. Wilder, that is.”

I stared down at the bold print. “Why do you call him Mr. Wilder? Why don’t you call him Liam?”

“Liam is not his real name.”

I looked up in surprise, and then I remembered. “Oh, that’s right. Ishi.”

“His real name is Eric.”

Eric?

Mem touched the back of my hand. “Ishi is a good man, and he always will be, but as I told you, he has no people. It haunts him, day and night. Go to his father. He can explain it all better than me.”

“But I don’t know his father. He won’t know who I am.”

“I imagine he will.”

I chewed my lip. I was curious now, and a little freaked out. I wanted to help Liam—Eric?—if he had demons, especially after he’d helped me overcome mine. But it seemed I didn’t even know who he was.

“I assure you, Ronan Wilder is a very kind man,” said Mem. “He is a good father. He will want to help his son.”

“I don’t know much about good fathers.” I stared through the shifting sheen of my bed curtains. “I never had a father, really.”

“I never had a child. But in some way I like to take care of everyone.” He held out a hand as he stood and I crossed to take it. It felt strong and cool. “It is your choice, Ashleigh, if you wish to save our Ishi. If you don’t, eventually someone will. But I hoped…” He paused and withdrew his hand. “Well, I should not meddle. It is a terrible vice of mine.”

With those words, he gave another of his strange little nods and disappeared out the door.

*** *** ***

The next day I called Mr. Ronan Wilder’s office to talk to him. The brusque woman who answered identified herself as his secretary and asked what my call was in regards to. In regards to? I had no idea how to answer that. I panicked and hung up. I called later that day hoping to get a different person. I didn’t. I launched into a made-up story about needing to hire a bodyguard, but I chickened out when she asked for my information. I’d hung up twice now; there was no way I could call again.

All of Monday I vacillated. I couldn’t reach Liam’s dad directly, and I couldn’t reach Mem for advice without possibly running into Liam. I wasn’t ready for that confrontation yet. I wanted to know about these demons, about this Eric thing Mem had dangled in front of me. My curiosity eventually got the best of me, and I headed to Knightsbridge on Tuesday, to talk to a man I didn’t even know.

Damn Liam. These were my free days, and I was spending them tracking down answers that might, just might, fix the disconnect between us. Then again, they might not. All the way to Ironclad’s offices, I fought the urge to turn tail and run home. He helped you. Maybe you can help him. I remembered Liam as I’d seen him last, enraged, grappling with Rubio, yelling at me to get out. I looked up at the high-rise where the offices were located, steeled myself, and walked to the elevators in the lobby. No one questioned me, no one stopped me.

Halfway to the twenty-fourth floor I realized that I wasn’t just heading to his father’s place of work, but Liam’s too. I knew he normally worked from home, but what if he happened to be here today? I’d have to play it off and pretend I’d come here to see him. It struck me then, how very much I wanted to see him, even with all the confusion between us, and the way we

’d parted ways.

Bolstered by that thought, I entered the double doors to Ironclad’s impressive headquarters. The entire back wall was a sheet of security glass. Two male receptionists looked up from behind a long, sturdy-looking edifice that I supposed was a desk. Wait. Were they receptionists or security guards?