Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine 1)

“Your friend shouted the name of the tattoo parlor loud and clear while we were on the phone,” he said scathingly, stepping away from her and leaving her flesh vibrating in protest at his absence.

“Oh,” she said slowly. She watched as he lunged across the grass to the curb and whipped open the door to a dark, sleek, very expensive-looking sedan.

She looked at him warily. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“If you choose to get in, the penthouse,” he said succinctly.

Her heart started to play a drum solo in her ears. “Why?”

“Like I said, you let your guard down, Francesca. I told you what I was going to do to you the next time you did. Do you recall?”

Her world narrowed to the glint of his eyes in his darkened face and her heartbeat crashing against her eardrums.

Never leave yourself undefended, Francesca. Never. The next time you do, I will punish you.

Warm liquid rushed between her thighs. No . . . he couldn’t be serious. She experienced a wild thought that she should run back and participate in the silly, drunken antics of her friends.

“Get in the car or don’t,” he said, his voice less harsh than before. “I just want you to know what will happen if you do.”

“You’ll punish me?” she clarified shakily. “What . . . like spank me?” She couldn’t believe she’d just uttered those words. She couldn’t believe it when he nodded once.

“That’s right. Your transgression has earned you a paddling, too. I’d give you more if you weren’t a novice at this. And it will hurt. But I’ll only give you what you can take. And I would never, ever harm or mark you, Francesca. You’re far too precious. You have my word on that.”

Francesca glanced at the lights of the distant tattoo parlor and back at Ian’s face.

This was a madness she couldn’t resist.

He said nothing—just closed the door after her when she got into the passenger seat of his car.

Chapter Four

The elevator door slid silently open, and she followed him into the penthouse, experiencing equal parts trepidation and excitement.

“Follow me to my bedroom,” Ian said.

My bedroom. The words seemed to echo around her skull. She’d never been in this wing of the enormous condominium, she realized distractedly. She trailed behind him, feeling like a schoolgirl that had been caught red-handed. The undeniable anticipation she felt seemed to hint at something she couldn’t quite fathom; somehow, she knew that if she crossed the threshold into Ian’s private quarters, her life would change forever. As if Ian understood this, he paused in front of an ornately carved wooden doorway.

“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he said.

“No,” she admitted, wishing her cheeks didn’t flame. They both spoke in hushed tones. “Is that all right with you?”

“It wasn’t at first. I want you so much, I’ve had to come to terms with your innocence, however,” he said. She lowered her lashes. “Are you certain you want to do this, Francesca?”

“Just tell me one thing first.”

“Anything.”

“When you called earlier tonight . . . while I was in the car? You never said why you were calling.”

“And you’d like to know?”

She nodded.

“I was here alone in the penthouse. I couldn’t work or concentrate.”

“I thought you said you were going to be entertaining.”

“I did say that. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. No one else would do.”

She inhaled raggedly. It did something to her, to hear him be so honest.

“That’s when I went into the studio and saw what you’d painted yesterday. It’s brilliant, Francesca. All of the sudden, I knew I had to see you.”

She dipped her head farther to hide how much pleasure she felt at his words. “All right. I’m sure.”

It was he who hesitated, but then he reached and twisted the knob. The door opened. He waved his hand and she entered the room cautiously. Ian touched a control panel and several lamps glowed with golden ambient light.

It was a beautiful room—sedate, tasteful, luxurious. A couch and several chairs were arranged in a seating area in front of a fireplace immediately before her. A stunning flower arrangement of red calla lilies and orchids in an enormous Ming vase had been placed on a table behind the couch. Over the fireplace was an impressionist painting of a field of poppies; if she didn’t miss her guess, it was an original Monet. Incredible. Her gaze caught on the huge four-poster carved bed to the right, decorated, like the rest of the room, in a rich brown, ivory, and dark red color scheme.

“The lord of the manor’s private quarters,” she murmured, giving him a shaky smile.

He waved at another paneled door. She followed him into a bathroom that was larger than her bedroom. He reached into a drawer and withdrew a folded garment wrapped in clear plastic. He set it on the counter.

“Go ahead and shower and put on this robe. Only the robe. Leave all your other clothes. You’ll find everything you require in these two drawers. You smell like stale smoke and whiskey.”

“I’m sorry you disapprove.”

“I accept your apology.”

Her temper flared again at his quick reply. A small smile tilted his mouth when he saw the return of her defiance. He’d obviously expected it.

“You please me, Francesca. Beyond measure.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise at the compliment. Would she ever learn to read him?