Living in Secret: Living In..., Book 3 Read online

  What had she let herself in for with Connor?

  After he’d left the room the night before, she’d gone downstairs not quite sure what to do with herself. The party had been still going strong, getting to the extremely raucous part of the evening. She hadn’t been able to face rejoining it, deciding to go home instead, deeply unsettled by what had happened in the room upstairs. By what she had done and what she had revealed.

  Her only consolation was that Connor, apparently, felt the same. He wanted her. And for some reason, he wanted her badly enough to use the divorce papers as a means to have her.

  She should feel pissed off about that and she did. But there was also a traitorous sense of satisfaction that came along with it she found disturbing. She hadn’t known how much she’d wanted him to want her until that moment. Which was weak of her. She’d thought she’d gotten over needing that from others years ago, when she’d moved out of home and shifted to Auckland to go to university. But it seemed like she hadn’t. Seemed she still wanted acknowledgement from someone.

  God, how ridiculous.

  She turned back to the table and stared at the box.

  Why had she agreed to Connor’s demands? Yes, she wanted him to sign those papers, but she didn’t need them to start her new life. It wasn’t like she would ever marry again in all likelihood, so whether he signed them or not was irrelevant. He was a loose end that needed tying up, nothing more.

  Yet, she’d ended up agreeing all the same.

  You know why.

  Of course she did. It was because that dark part of her wanted more of what Connor had given her the night before. Had wanted to explore those feelings and sensations. Wanted to be bad for him. Be dirty for him.

  A shiver went through her. She’d strayed so far from what was right last night and yet it had been…so good. Like she’d been starving for years and the first food to be given to her had been chocolate. Too rich. Decadent. Overwhelming. And yet she had to have more.

  Victoria pushed herself away from the window and walked quickly back over to the table. She took the lid off the box and put it down carelessly onto the tabletop. A tissue-wrapped package sat in the middle of the box. She pulled aside the paper, suddenly impatient.

  In the middle of the white tissue sat folds of black silk and fine chains. Puzzled, she lifted out the item, trying to see what it was.

  The black silk looked to be a pair of tiny black panties. But the chains? She frowned, trying to figure it out. The chains were a complex web attached to a ring that looked like it was supposed to sit over the bellybutton. A center chain ran up from it to attach around another ring, slender and gold, big enough to sit around the neck. There were more chains creating another web across each breast, clearly designed to accentuate rather than hide.

  God. So he wanted her to wear that. With presumably nothing on underneath it but the panties.

  She looked at the chains in her hands. They glittered in the light from the windows, a delicate golden bronze. The color would suit her skin perfectly and no doubt he’d been aware of that when he’d chosen it from whatever shop he’d gone to. It was a beautiful piece, certainly. But she couldn’t wear it, could she?

  You had sex with another man in front of Connor. Wearing this will be easy.

  Victoria put the lingerie or whatever it was back down into the tissue paper with a decisive movement. She could wear it, but that was a small step on a slippery slope. If she did, then she’d be tacitly allowing Connor to take control of everything, including herself.

  Did she really want that?

  She left the kitchen and went out into her open-plan lounge area, with the big windows also facing onto the harbor. Her phone was charging on a side table near the couch so she went over to it and took out the cable. Then she pressed the button that would call Connor.

  He answered on the second ring. “You got the package?” he asked without any preamble.

  The wanton creature inside her shivered at the deep, rich sound of his voice. God, she was insane. “You can’t seriously expect me to wear that?” she asked, ignoring the shiver.

  “The playsuit? Yes, of course I expect you to wear it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s sexy and because you’ll look beautiful in it.”

  The compliment was unexpected, a whisper of warmth moving through her. Damn him. “I don’t want to wear it.”

  He didn’t even hesitate. “Then don’t bother coming.”

  “Connor—”

  “Where I want. How I want. Whatever I want. That’s how it’s going to be, Victoria.”

  She gritted her teeth, trying to ignore the way the warmth began to gather into heat at the hard, flat sound of his voice. “Why does it have to be what you want? What about what I want?”

  “You want me. Inside you.”

  She swallowed, staring down at the carpet, her heart beating uncomfortably fast. He’s right. You do. “You’re being a bastard.”

  “And you’re being a liar.”

  “I’m not lying!”

  “Aren’t you? You weren’t lying when you told me you wanted me. You weren’t lying when you screamed into my mouth when you came.” His voice became lower, rougher. “Is it assurances you want, Victoria? You know I won’t hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Her hands tightened on her phone, the burnished edge of it cutting into her palm. Of course she knew that. But admitting she wanted assurances would mean admitting she was afraid. And she didn’t want him to know. Because it wasn’t him she was afraid of. It was herself and her desires. Her fear of letting them run free, of taking whatever he wanted to give her. Of wanting it too much. “I’m not worried,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “But this leaves you with a hell of a lot of control and me with none.”

  There was a pause. “You don’t trust me?” There was no inflection in his voice.

  A good question. Did she trust him? “I…don’t know,” she said after a moment, allowing him the hesitation. “Physically, I do but…” She stopped, not wanting to go into it.

  He was silent too and the quiet seemed to be full of all the unsaid things between them. And she realized a cold, hard fact: there was no trust between them and perhaps there never had been.

  You would have told him about Jessica if there had been.

  “Will you trust me with your pleasure then?” Connor asked eventually, breaking the silence. “I would have thought, after last night, you could at least do that.”

  She swallowed. “You haven’t given me much choice.”

  “Of course you have a choice. You don’t have to come to me tonight at all.”

  “But if I don’t, you won’t sign the papers.”

  “No.” The word was blunt. Another silence. Then he said, “I want you, Victoria. I want to see you in the playsuit. And I want to make you scream again. That’s all I’ve been thinking about all fucking day.” There was a quiet emphasis to the words, an insistence that made her suddenly breathless.

  He wanted her. Inexplicably, after five damn years, he wanted her. Did she need anything more?

  She took a breath. “Can I tell you to stop?”

  “Yes. But I may not.”

  Another shiver went through her. You don’t want him to. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

  “You’re afraid, Victoria?”

  The bastard. “No,” she said and luckily it didn’t sound like too much of a lie. “I’m just looking after my own safety.”

  He didn’t say anything immediately, as if he was thinking it through. Then he said, “All right, you say stop and I’ll give you five minutes. If you truly don’t want it after the five minutes is up, we’ll do something else. Otherwise we’ll continue. How does that sound?”

  Typical lawyer. It was, irritatingly, both fair and logical, and she cou
ldn’t work out why the thought of it annoyed her. “Yes, okay,” she replied reluctantly. “Where are you planning on doing this then?”

  “My house.”

  His house. Their house. Or at least, it used to be their house. She’d been happy to move out and he’d wanted to keep it. It was a sprawling colonial villa in Herne Bay, on the fringe of the inner city and near the sea. Over the years, the neighborhood had gotten expensive and Connor would have made a fair bit of money if he’d sold it. But for some reason he hadn’t.

  “Right,” she said. “I guess I should be glad it’s not some seedy hotel room.”

  The sound of Connor shifting around came down the phone. “Any more questions?”

  “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  He ignored that. “Don’t be late,” he said and ended the call abruptly.

  “Bastard,” Victoria said to the empty room. And then, for good measure, “Fucking bastard.”

  She threw the phone down on the couch, giving in to her temper. God, how she hated his arrogance, his total assurance she’d be there. The way he was using his signature to get her to do what he wanted. And more than anything, the way he was using her desire against her. She wished the part of her that had woken upstairs in the bar last night was still sleeping. Or better yet, wasn’t there at all.

  But it was. And it wanted what Connor had promised her. Five years of being stifled in a cold marriage had made it hungry, starving for heat and passion. Desperate to see what more there could be. And from him, only from him.

  She stared at the offending piece of technology on the couch, debating whether or not she should call up Raphael and maybe ask him for what she wanted. But deep down, she knew she wasn’t going to. That would only be out of spite, not because she actually wanted him. She didn’t want him. Whether she liked it or not, she wanted Connor.

  A sigh escaped her. Perhaps she should call Eleanor, talk it through. Then again, what would be the point? Connor wanted a week and after that, the papers would be signed, her problem solved. She was making a fuss over nothing, over a week of hot sex with her handsome husband.

  So why on earth was she making a big deal out of it?

  Victoria went back into the kitchen where the little playsuit lay in its tissue paper. She stared at it for a long moment then she reached out and picked it up. Yes, it was very, very pretty.

  Turning, she took it through into the bedroom to try it on.

  Chapter Six

  Connor hadn’t been able to concentrate all day. From the moment he’d woken up that morning, hard and aching, all he could think about was Victoria with her legs spread and Raphael’s cock in her, screaming out her orgasm into his mouth. He’d never had it so bad, not since he’d been fourteen and one of his father’s customers, a prostitute called Candy, had started coming onto him, hoping for free drugs in return for a couple of blowjobs. Being a teenage boy, he’d been obsessed by the idea, finally letting her do it to him one night when his father was out and his mother was safely in bed asleep. And it probably would have been great if his father hadn’t come home unexpectedly and discovered what was going on. He’d beaten the poor girl senseless—Damian Blake’s usual mode of dealing with people who wanted to pay him with something other than money—and then he’d turned on his son.

  Connor had gotten his arm broken for the privilege and had never so much as looked at any of his father’s customers after that. Even at school, with girls his own age, he’d kept away from them because it just wasn’t worth it. His father was dangerous, unpredictable, and he hadn’t wanted to draw anyone else into his shitty life.

  So he’d learned to ignore his desires. Pretend they didn’t exist and for years, until he’d lost his virginity at eighteen to a pretty student he’d met at law school, that had worked well.

  Until last night. Until Victoria.

  He’d gotten up that morning and headed straight to an exclusive lingerie store, his head full of plans of what he wanted to do with her when she came over that night. He’d never bought a woman lingerie before, and he’d had visions of her in something pretty and sexy. And then he’d seen the little playsuit with its chains and knew he wouldn’t rest until he’d seen her in it.

  It was hideously expensive, but he bought it then delivered it himself to her door without going in. He didn’t want to be there when she opened it because he wanted this to be her decision. He wanted her to choose him. And perhaps it was a risk, but a part of him was certain that’s exactly what she’d choose.

  She’d let him take control last night, confessed she wanted him, the look in her eyes flaring every time he’d used dirty language. Every time he’d told her what he wanted from her. Regardless of what she told herself, she wanted this and they both knew it.

  She was just pissed at giving up her control, which was understandable. But now he was in charge, he wasn’t going to give it up in a hurry. He’d had five years of ignoring the temptation she presented so completely he’d forgotten it existed at all. And had starved himself in the process. Well, he wasn’t going to go hungry any longer.

  He had a week. He was going to fucking take it.

  That afternoon he ditched his plans to get takeout for dinner and, needing something to focus on, decided to cook instead. He quite liked cooking precisely because it got him out of his head, calmed him down, and he didn’t often have the chance to do it since he was usually so busy with work.

  He should probably have gone over his notes on the Anderson case, but he couldn’t concentrate on it, not when he kept thinking about Victoria. So he spent the time looking through his cookbooks, trying to figure out what to cook, trying to remember what foods Victoria liked to eat. Not that he was cooking for her, of course. This was about what he wanted after all. But if the meal was something she liked, then that wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  Eventually, remembering she’d always seemed partial to a nicely cooked steak, he got a couple out of the freezer. They wouldn’t take long to cook which would give them an hour or two to play around first.

  Just before seven, Connor went upstairs and had a quick shower, dressing in jeans and a T-shirt, nothing fancy. Then afterwards he prowled around in the lounge, flicking on the TV and channel surfing, trying not to look at the time.

  His phone buzzed a couple of times, but it wasn’t Victoria. Only a couple of texts from Kahu about the party. There was nothing about a supposed threesome which meant Raphael hadn’t said anything. Just as well. Connor would have to have words with him if he had.

  But of course checking the texts meant he caught a glimpse of the time. Fifteen minutes after seven. Victoria was late.

  Did that mean she wasn’t coming?

  He was conscious of a sudden, strange sensation in his stomach at the thought. Undeniable disappointment. Which was not at all what he expected.

  Flicking the TV off, he chucked the remote down onto the minimalist white coffee table, familiar anger beginning to burn. Jesus, what the hell was he going to do if she didn’t turn up? His usual modus operandi would be to ignore it. Tell himself it didn’t matter and eat his bloody dinner alone.

  But he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that now. He’d promised himself this. And he wanted her. He fucking wanted her.

  He turned and strode into the hallway, going over to the little console table where he kept his keys and wallet. Time go after her, see where the hell she’d gotten to. Because he wasn’t going to be able to ignore her this time.

  And then there came a knock on the door and his whole body tensed up with anticipation.

  He left his keys and wallet where they were and stalked over to the front door, pulling it open.

  Victoria stood on the doorstep. She wore a black trench coat, belted at the waist, and the high, red silk sandals she’d worn the night before. Her hair was loose again, thick black curls like a cloud over her shoulders. She didn’t say a word, but t
here was a certain defiance in her gaze.

  Every muscle went tight as he stared at her. She must be wearing what he’d sent her—why else would she be in a coat when she usually favored suits? And her legs were bare. And she definitely wouldn’t wear those sandals in the normal scheme of things… Christ. His cock was getting hard already.

  “You’re late,” he said, knowing even as the words left his mouth that it would reveal he’d been impatient.

  “Yes,” she said coolly. “I’m sorry about that. Couldn’t be helped.”

  Her tone was a challenge all in itself, the look in her dark eyes telling him she was going to give him a battle. And he felt everything in him rise to meet it.

  He stepped aside to allow her entry. “Come in.”

  Her gaze flickered a little at his neutral tone but she entered without hesitation, the heady, drowned magnolia scent of her perfume trailing after her.

  She was trying to one-up him by being late, he was certain of it.

  Well, she would be wrong.

  He closed the door behind him, Victoria already halfway down the hall toward the back of the house where the lounge area was.

  “Stop,” he ordered, putting every ounce of authority he possessed into the word.

  She did so, turning around, one eyebrow arching in cool enquiry. Christ, he wanted that self-possessed, self-contained look off her face.

  “You think you can turn up here, late, without an explanation, and not get any comeback?”

  Victoria’s expression remained entirely neutral. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “And I told you not to be late.”

  “Really, Connor, I don’t know what—”

  “Get on your knees.”

  Her mouth shut, a gleam showing in her dark eyes.