When I'm With You Part V: When You Submit (5 page)

She paddled her ass again and grimaced. “Two.”

At five, her bottom was starting to burn. Surely Lucien would be pleased, wouldn’t he? She rubbed her clit more rapidly in mounting excitement.

“Are you turning pink?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly hoarser than before, like a rough seduction.

“Yes,” she panted, inspecting her right buttock.

“And hot? Touch your bottom.”

She skimmed two fingertips over the taut skin with the hand that held the paddle, feeling the heat.

“Yes,” she told him, her hand moving even faster between her thighs. He gave a harsh groan.

“Continue,” he said, sounding much less calm than he had earlier.

“Six,” she said between pants as she paddled her ass again. The protesting nerves sent prickles of excitement along her anus, sacrum, and sex. Her pussy was aflame and drenched. She was going to come . . . very soon. She landed the paddle again with an even louder cracking sound. A puff of air flew past her lips.

“Seven.”

Lucien was masturbating while he listened to her punishment; she suddenly just knew that for a fact. She imagined his fist moving up and down on his thick stalk in a rapid, powerful, pistonlike motion from just below his fleshy cockhead to his full balls, his facial muscles rigid, his eyes hot. She’d seen him do it enough to have the image burned into her brain for an eternity.

She felt herself cresting at the erotic image and moaned out loud. She paddled her bottom briskly again, the flash of pain and the subsequent burn feeding her arousal. “Eight,” she grated out before popping her ass again in quick succession. “Nine . . .
oh 
. . .”

Orgasm loomed. She struggled to stave it off by paddling her smarting ass extra hard, but the burst of sensation only served to send her over the edge.

“Ten,” she managed through a desperate, quaking voice before she groaned in delicious anticipation. She fell back onto the pillows and dropped the paddle heedlessly. Orgasm crashed into her. Her entire arm jerked back and forth as she pressed her hand between her thighs and pleasure swamped her consciousness.

A moment later, she gasped to catch her breath and her sawing arm movements slowed. Distantly, she became aware of Lucien’s voice emanating from her phone.

“Pick up the phone, damn it,” he bellowed.

She followed his instructions dazedly, instinctively drawing the phone near her ear even though it was still on speaker. He must have heard her ragged breathing because he immediately began issuing orders.

“Put the phone right next to your pussy.
Quickly
, Elise,” he hissed tersely, his breath sounding nearly as erratic as her own. She rolled onto her back and spread her thighs, then did what he’d said.

“I heard you coming,” he said roughly. “Are you wet?”

“I’m soaked,” she admitted starkly.

“Run your fingers over your pussy. Play with yourself. Let me hear how wet you are.”

She followed his orders. Sure enough, she was so intensely aroused a wet sound could be heard as she moved her fingers against her satiated, lubricated flesh.

“I can hear you,” Lucien said, and Elise knew he was nearing orgasm by the ragged sound of his voice. She pictured his flexing muscles as he pounded his cock . . . straining. “God, I wish I was there to suck and swallow
every drop of you
,” he said so quietly but so fiercely that her eyes sprang wide.

She went completely still and listened, enthralled. He grunted, as if he’d just been stabbed by a knife of pleasure. Slowly, she raised the phone to her ear as a taut second of silence was shattered by his sharp shout. Turning the speaker off—feeling closer to him with his voice directly in her ear—she absorbed his every gasp, his every groan as he climaxed.

Every time she was with him, he introduced her to yet another height of pleasure and intimacy. He’d done it again, in spades. How did he do it so effortlessly? So precisely?

She waited, completely satisfied listening to his pants as he recovered from what must have been a powerful orgasm.

“Do you think you’ll sleep well now, Lucien?” she asked quietly when his breathing slowed.

He gave a bark of laughter. “I expect I won’t have any other choice. You wore me out.”

She smiled. “Who knew? I’ve heard of phone sex, but never thought it could be so . . . fulfilling.”

“It never has been before. I suspect you set some kind of world record,” he replied thickly.

“
You
did that. I was just an innocent victim,” she muttered, her pique just a limpid act. She felt supremely relaxed and satisfied.

“You are about as much of a victim as Attila the Hun.”

“I resent that,” she purred, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“You had better improve on your lessons by tomorrow at eleven thirty.”

“Or
what
?” she postured.

“You know what. You’ve met your match. Even the Huns were conquered.”

She heard the hint of steel in his sensual purr and swallowed thickly. His tone had gentled when he called her name again across countries and an ocean, and it felt to her as if his head were on the pillow next to her.

“Elise?”

“Yes?” she answered groggily.

“Get under the covers. I don’t want you to catch a chill,” he said. “And Elise?”

She paused in fumbling with the comforter and sheet, doing what he’d said.

“Yes?”

“You’ll do better tomorrow with your self-discipline. I have faith in you.”

A rush of feeling went through her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Good night,
ma chère
. Sleep well.”

“Good night, Lucien.”

A choking loneliness overcame her as she hit the disconnect button, set the alarm, and turned off the bedside lamp. She snuggled into Lucien’s bed, struck by how enormous it seemed . . . how empty without him.

Despite the pang of loneliness, Lucien had trained her body well—not just for pleasure, but for health. She was asleep within three minutes of hanging up the phone.

* * *

Two days later, Sharon peeped through the kitchen door while Elise was stirring a thickening béarnaise sauce.

“Francesca Arno stopped in. She was wondering if you had a moment to speak?”

Elise winced. “I can’t right now. I can’t leave this—”

“I’ve got it,” Evan said, coming up behind her and reaching for the whisk. Elise glanced at Denise, who nodded to her with a distracted smile as she prepared a roast duck. She washed her hands and walked through the swinging door, looking for Francesca.

“Hi,” Elise said, glad to see Francesca standing in the bar area, a glass of club soda and lime on the bar in front of her.

“I’m sorry; I know how busy you must be. I promise I won’t take long. It’s a bit of an emergency.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh.” Francesca looked contrite when she noticed Elise’s anxiety. “I should have specified. Not a
real
emergency. A
bride’s
emergency.”

Elise laughed. “My father used to say there’s no catastrophe in the universe larger than a bride’s, because she makes her panic everyone else’s.”

Francesca joined her in laughter. “It’s so funny you mentioned him. He’s the reason I stopped by. Or one of them, anyway.

Elise’s amusement vanished. “My
father
?” she asked, stunned.

Francesca nodded. “Yes. Louis Martin.”

Elise just stared, her mind racing. Lucien had specifically told her he didn’t want anyone here in Chicago to know of their former connection. She’d made a point of not talking about her family or her past because she didn’t want people to start to see the possible previous connections between Lucien and her. Lucien’s desire for anonymity coincided with her own desire to start a new life.

How was she supposed to respond to Francesca?

“Your father is Louis Martin, right? The famous fashion designer?” Francesca prompted.

“I . . . he . . . How did you know that?” Elise sputtered.

Francesca’s expression fell. “I’m sorry. Did you not want people to know?”

I don’t know what I want, Elise thought anxiously. She wasn’t sure what secrets Lucien wanted her to keep and what he didn’t. Why was he always so infuriatingly vague about all that?

“It’s just that I hadn’t told anyone here. I’m trying to start out fresh in a new place.”

Regret went through her when she saw Francesca’s crestfallen expression. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up—”

“It’s okay, really,” Elise assured. “I just don’t understand how you knew Louis Martin was my father.”

“Ian told me,” Francesca admitted. “He knew that I was obsessing about the perfect dress for a beach wedding—casual but elegant, simple but classic—all the characteristics your father is known for. Ian suggested I speak to you about the possibility of contracting your father for a design.”

“He did?” Elise asked numbly. Lucien was
not
going to like this. Plus, knowing Lucien, he’d think it was somehow her fault that Ian and Francesca knew about her family.

“How could Ian have possibly known I was Louis Martin’s daughter? Is he that involved in French fashion?”

Francesca studied her face anxiously. “Not specifically, but Ian is very aware of the goings-on in the European business community. He spends a lot of his time in Europe. And Ian just has a way of . . .” She blushed. “Finding out things about people,” she finished, an apology in her eyes.

Of course. For a business mogul like Ian Noble, knowledge was power. She’d been admitted into the realms of his private penthouse. If he was smart—and Ian was reputedly brilliant—he wouldn’t have done that without having at least a minimal check done on her background to assure she wasn’t a thief or spy.

She was processing all this when Francesca spoke again. “Again, I’m sorry, Elise. I didn’t realize you were trying to keep your background secret. I knew you didn’t offer a lot of information, but I just thought it was modesty on your part. Even at the engagement party, I heard Ian ask Lucien if you were Louis Martin’s daughter, and Lucien confirmed that you were.”

Elise blinked, shocked anew. Lucien hadn’t made a secret of her past to Ian? She was bewildered. Precisely what was it he had been warning her to be circumspect about all this time? She thought he didn’t want her bringing up things that would create any suspicion on Ian’s part, but he clearly didn’t think her background or family or status qualified. Irritation flickered through her at his refusal to open up in regard to this Ian Noble business. If Elise did screw up, it was no one’s fault but Lucien’s for not being more specific about what he wanted kept secret. He was leaving her to walk around blindly in a landmine.

She shrugged and smiled at Francesca, determined to do her part to keep the waters smooth for her and Lucien.

“It’s not a big deal. I’d be happy to talk to my father about it. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to design something for a friend of mine. When he sees you, he’ll be inspired.”

Francesca’s dark eyes went wide. “That’s so sweet of you,” she said quietly. “Are you
sure
, Elise? I really didn’t mean to be so tactless about a . . . a sensitive issue. I should have realized you want to be recognized on your own merits, that you’re trying to make a life for yourself outside of the shadow of your family. I’m forever sticking my foot in my mouth,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Elise said, stepping forward and touching Francesca’s elbow in reassurance. “I was just surprised you knew I was Louis Martin’s daughter, that’s all.”

“I’ll explain to Ian how you feel about a fresh start, and we’ll be sure not to mention your family to anyone. He’ll understand,” Francesca assured. “But that’s not all—I also wanted to ask if you and Lucien would come over to Ian’s penthouse Monday night for dinner.”

“That would be lovely, but I owe you an invitation first. You asked us last, for the engagement party. I’m sorry I haven’t reciprocated. Things have been so busy with work.”

“Nonsense,” Francesca said, waving her hand. “There’s no reason to be so formal about a casual dinner, is there?”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Elise said hesitantly.

“Of course I’m sure. Please say you’ll come. Ian has been under a lot of stress lately. To be honest,” Francesca added quietly, “I’m concerned about him. He works so hard, and it’s been necessary for him to spend a lot of time away from home recently. It would do him good, to relax with friends, and Lucien always seems to have such a good effect on him.”

“I’ll ask Lucien then,” Elise assured, seeing how much the dinner meant to Francesca and wanting to make that shadow of worry on her features fade. “I’m not sure if he’ll be back from Paris by Monday. I’ll call you when I know. And I promise to make you and Ian a special dinner very soon.”

“You do every time we come to Fusion,” Francesca said wryly as she stood.

“That hardly counts,” Elise said, giving a sunny smile. Inside, though, a storm was brewing. She was angry at Lucien for leaving her to feel so vulnerable and clueless. But she was infuriated that his refusal to prepare her might be the thing that betrayed him. She truly didn’t believe he was up to something criminal, but he was up to something that could land him in trouble. She just knew it.

He had some explaining to do. And this time, some vague half-truths weren’t going to cut it.

Read more of Elise and Lucien’s red-hot romance in

Part VI of WHEN I’M WITH YOU

WHEN YOU TRUST ME

Available from InterMix on April 9, 2013

Keep reading for a taste of Beth Kery’s sexy romance

PARADISE RULES

Available now from Berkley Heat

Lana Rodriguez’s eyelids narrowed suspiciously as she watched the buxom blonde in the minuscule bikini follow their surf instructor to a back room. She thought she recognized the expression of sly excitement on the young woman’s face. Undoubtedly a man with their instructor’s looks—the annoyingly potent, flashing grin and abundant, gleaming muscles—had female tourists throwing themselves at him with the consistency of a perfect Oahu day. Irritation bubbled up to the surface, an irritation that went far beyond her presence in Waikiki and taking a stupid surfing lesson.

Lana slammed the skin suit back into place, causing a brisk clang of the hanger against the metal rack. Her personal assistant and longtime friend’s face fell at the evidence of her pique.

“Jeez, you weren’t kidding when you said you hated Waikiki, were you?” Melanie pulled her skin suit’s top down over her bathing suit. “You really
didn’t
have to come, Lana. And you certainly didn’t have to agree to take these surf lessons with me. I’ve taken vacations by myself before, you know.”

Regret immediately lanced through Lana’s flash of temper. Melanie was in the midst of a soul-scarring divorce that had already gone on for two years more than it should have. Sure, Melanie might have gone on a few vacations by herself before she married that sleazeball David Mason. Still, there was no way in hell Lana was going to allow her friend to be alone when she was still raw and hurting from her soon-to-be ex-husband’s latest underhanded courtroom maneuver to get full custody of their four-year-old daughter, Shawna.

She gave Melanie an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to go diva on you.”

Melanie laughed. “Girl, if you ever showed a
hint
of the diva gene, I’d have abandoned you years ago.”

“Your shirt is too loose, hon.” Lana chose a shirt that read
Jason Koa Surf Schools, Waikiki
over the left breast and handed it to Melanie before she picked one for herself. The tight long-sleeved shirt would partially protect them from the shearing Waikiki surf and the friction burn of surfboard against bare skin . . . as well as ensure that a woman’s bikini top would stay in place.

Melanie shrugged out of the top and took the one that Lana handed her. “Why
do
you hate Waikiki so much?”

“Too touristy.”

Melanie eyed her. “You seem really tense. And on the plane— jeez, Lana, I thought a few times you were going to have a panic attack like you used to have before you went onstage, back when you were still a kid.”

Lana waved her hand impatiently. “Flying to Hawaii is worse than flying to Europe. I should have asked my doctor for something to help me sleep.”

For the whole damn trip,
she added to herself.

“Are you afraid people will recognize you? You could be anybody under that hat and ginormous pair of sunglasses.” Melanie’s blue eyes dropped doubtfully over her friend’s figure. “’Course . . . there’s not much I can do about disguising your body when you’re wearing a bikini. The boring, baggy clothes I usually buy for you just won’t work in Waikiki. Even the homeless people wear swimsuits.”

Lana was only half listening. Her gaze had wandered back to the corridor where their surfer-dude instructor had disappeared with the blonde on his tail.

“I’m not worried about being recognized. People don’t care about the blues in Waikiki,” she said grimly.

“There are blues and jazz lovers everywhere, Lana, and you know it.”

Lana scowled. She hadn’t actually been referring to a genre of music. “Waikiki is all surface and no substance—a flashy whore decked out in skimpy designer clothes, a perfect tan highlighting a perfect boob job . . . It’s so fake.”

So vicious. So primed to use the poor and underprivileged to serve the tourist industry’s endless greed, she thought privately.

Melanie’s eyebrows rose. Lana realized she’d allowed her bitterness to show and immediately made her face settle into impassivity.

“Well, it’s certainly a happening spot,” Melanie said. “I needed someplace with this kind of energy and excitement after what David has pulled over the past month. A secluded tropical island just wouldn’t have done the trick.” Melanie stretched the dark blue fabric over her generous breasts. “I need the distraction of a party atmosphere. And theses native guys are phenomenal. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice how gorgeous our surf instructor is. He’s a walking god. He could be the inspiration for a tropical drink—Hawaiian Wet Dream.”

“He’s awfully tall to be a Hawaiian.”

Melanie paused in the action of readjusting her bikini top.

“You don’t think he’s Hawaiian?”

Lana shrugged negligently. “Sure, he might have been born here and have some roots. I just meant there are few pure Hawaiians left. He’s part Anglo. And he’s got some Filipino influence, I’d guess, in addition to Hawaiian.”

“Well, the combination is one hundred percent phenomenal.” Melanie’s blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “I’d
love
to have him help me forget about David on this vacation.”

Lana smirked.

“Don’t give me that look, Lana. Not
you
—of all people. No one knows better than me how single-minded you are when it comes to men. Surely you wouldn’t deny me the pleasure of a few rounds of sex with a gorgeous stranger when you’re such an expert on the activity.”

Lana shrugged and leaned down to put on a pair of surf shoes. “You’re right. I’m here to see that you have a good time, after all, and I’m going to make sure it happens. No better way to celebrate saying sayonara to that louse husband of yours than steaming up the sheets on your vacation. Hell, I’m only too happy to do the same.” She nodded toward the back room. “Just don’t count on doing it with our hunky surf instructor, though. It seems he’s otherwise occupied.”

Melanie checked her waterproof watch. “Jeez, he’s already twenty minutes late. If he doesn’t hurry, we’re going to be rushing to make the luau I scheduled.”

Lana clamped her back teeth together. “You have yet to learn about
Hawaiian time
, hon,” she muttered with a scowl.

Melanie laughed. “Care to explain how you’re such an expert on
Hawaiian time
? I’ve worked for you since you were a nineteen-year-old kid recording your first album. That was ten years ago, and I’ve never heard you mention Hawaii
once
in that time period. Did you spend time here before you came to the states from Mexico?”

“You know, this loser is really starting to bug the shit out of me,” Lana said, choosing to ignore Melanie’s questions. She dropped her beach bag on the floor and stalked toward the dim corridor at the back of the facility. “He’s a little old to be playing irresponsible surfer dude, don’t you think? I’ve got half a mind to report him to his boss.”

“Lana, maybe you should just hang loose . . .”

But Lana ignored her friend
.
The familiar Hawaiian phrase made her clench her teeth even tighter.

She turned into a large room that contained several surfboards on tables in the process of being repaired or waxed. Her eyes immediately found the figures of the tall man and the curvy woman, despite the dim light. He leaned back casually, one foot propped against the wall, his hands tucked behind a pair of tight buns that Lana hadn’t failed to notice as he strutted around, giving instructions about preparing for the lesson earlier. He looked down at the blonde, a half-amused, half-irritated expression on his shadowed face. His profile was as arresting as the rest of the package. That straight, bold nose had immediately pointed out his Caucasian heritage to her, along with his height.

“Excuse me. My friend and I have a schedule we’d like to keep. You would think you did, as well, considering the fact that between the two of us, we’re shelling out four hundred dollars an hour for your services.”

The woman started and gasped in surprise. Her hand jerked, and she hopped back with a guilty glance at Lana.

Lana was glad that she wore the dark glasses so neither of them saw how wide her eyes went. He had the nerve to not even hurry as he lowered the pant leg of his board shorts, covering a long, shapely, semi-erect cock. Even with his shorts lowered she could still perfectly make out the outline of it next to his thigh.

It was far from being the first cock she’d ever seen, and it wouldn’t be the last. But that quick glance informed Lana it was the most beautiful. A flash of pure, primal heat surged through her along with a lightning bolt of irritation.

She was comforted by the fact that she knew her face gave nothing away.

“Four hundred dollars an hour should help you get over your discomfort. If you start doing your job now, I’ll agree not to tell your boss about your negligence, Mr. . . .?

He didn’t move from his lazy pose against the wall. She couldn’t really make out his eyes in the dim room but sensed his stare boring into her. She’d noticed earlier that his eyes were a singular color—dark gray with flecks of green and amber.

“Koa. Jason Koa. And I’ll be happy to reimburse you for the half hour of your lesson and still give you the full two hours.”

“Good,” she replied briskly, unmoved by the fact that he was apparently the owner of the two-bit surfing school. She started down the corridor, only to notice that he hadn’t moved. “Well? Aren’t you coming?”

“That gives me another eight minutes. I’ll be with you in a moment, undoubtedly more comfortable and better prepared for teaching what I don’t doubt will be a challenging lesson.”

Lana stiffened when he reached for the giggling blonde. She thought of where she’d like to tell Jason Koa to stuff his insolent attitude and gorgeous smug face, but then she thought of Melanie. She imagined her friend’s look of disappointment if Lana marched out there and self-righteously informed her that they were leaving.

She doubted her sunglasses disguised the glare of pure loathing she threw him before she turned away.

***

He set down the board in the grassy area near the beach. “Okay. Which one of you ladies is up first?”

Jason was glad when the blonde with the round face and nice smile stepped forward. He’d have to work with her man-eater friend at some point, but he was still steamed by her insulting display of arrogance back at his shop. He wasn’t sure why her bitchiness had gotten to him so much, but it had. He’d been so preoccupied by her frigid superiority that he hadn’t been able to concentrate when pretty little Katie eagerly resumed her hand job.

Not that he’d really been interested to begin with. Katie had taken a lesson from him three days ago. He’d taken her up on her blatant offer of her body that night, but he’d quickly become annoyed by her pursuit of him. Her California-girl good looks, large breasts, and curvy hips and ass went a long way to making him forget his rule not to get involved with customers. He’d been irritated when she followed him into the back room today and thrown herself at him. His cock had responded to her eager hands but not with much enthusiasm.

Still, if she’d kept it up, he would have grudgingly let her finish him off. He was just a guy, after all.

But then the man-eater interrupted and ruined a little afternoon delight. He’d pushed Katie’s industrious hand away after the woman left and made small talk with her about her job as a financial analyst. Apparently Katie had a hell of a head on her shoulders. That was the vacation mentality for you. Jason seriously doubted Katie was in the habit of throwing herself at males in the everyday business world, but give her the tropical breezes and the sensual rhythms of the island, and she was suddenly shameless.

He’d made his customers wait the full eight minutes, which caused him to feel a little guilty, he realized, as he positioned the blonde named Melanie belly-down on the board. Melanie was obviously nice and excited about her lesson. It had been rude of him to make her wait longer just because she had shit taste in friends.

Five minutes later, after he was satisfied that Melanie had the basics of paddling, kneeling, positioning herself in a standing position in the center of the board, and falling in the safest way, he suggested that she go and pick out a board from the beginner rack he kept on the beach.

He gave Melanie’s silent friend a bland look. “You’re up.”

“I don’t need instruction on the basics.”

“Is that right?” he asked mockingly.

He glanced down over her. He had to admit she had the body of an athlete. It wouldn’t surprise him if she knew exactly what she was doing. He’d immediately taken note of the casual manner in which she took off her sundress earlier in his shop. She was as used to baring her body as the female swimmers he knew—as most native Hawaiians, for that matter.

He hated to admit it, but she had excellent reason to be comfortable stripping down in public. She had a jaw-dropping body—strong and supple, but soft and feminine, too. And even though she wasn’t tanned, her smooth skin held a golden hue that promised to soak up the sun thirstily. If she stayed on the island for two weeks, she’d probably be ready to contend in a Miss Hawaiian Tropic contest.

“I’ll be the one to decide whether or not you need instruction. Get up on the board, and show me the basics.”

Her muscles stiffened. For a second, he thought she’d refuse, which would be fine by him. He’d be more than happy to leave her on the beach.

She surprised him by stepping up on the board, however. He stopped her with a hand on her elbow when she started to go lie down on her belly.

“Take off the hat and glasses.”

She started. Despite her frigid nature, her skin felt warm and satiny beneath his appreciative fingers.

“Why? What difference does it make?”

“I like to be able to look into the eyes of my students. Got a problem with that?”

He felt her stare on him from behind the dark glasses.

“Look, Waikiki isn’t Waimea in March—or even Sandy for that matter,” he said, referring to a few Oahu advanced surfer beaches. “But it ain’t the wave pool at the water park, either, lady. Those waves can pound the hell out of you. If you don’t do what I say, it can be dangerous. Call me an ass, but I tend to like to know what I’m dealing with before I take responsibility for you out there. If I can’t look into your eyes, it makes it a little difficult for me to know what you’re made of. Play by my rules, or don’t play at all.”