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  Slowly she walked to the edge of the bed where he sat completely unembarrassed by his nudity. Even mussed from sleep, heavy lidded and whisker stubbled, he could steal a woman’s breath. Mia set her jaw. Her mouth watered to lick every inch of his exposed skin.

  “Right here,” he told her, widening his legs and indicating that Mia should stand between them. As she did, he then gestured for her to go down on her knees. She obeyed, her tongue cleaving to the roof of her mouth.

  Chess looked down at her face, caressed her cheek with his hand. Then he bent down and kissed her, his mouth claiming hers. Making a point.

  When he pulled back, he said, “You know everything’s changed now. For both of us.”

  She gazed at him, trembling with excitement and fear.

  “I’m your Master now. You’re mine.”

  She nodded, unable to break his stare.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “I’m yours.”

  He kissed her again, this time hungrily. Then he broke away and frowned. “Finish dressing. I’ll take you to your car.”

  He was as good as his word. They dressed and took the elevator down to the street. “My car’s right there at the end of the block.”

  When they reached it, Chess opened the door for her. She slid onto the driver’s seat, and he reached across her to fasten her seat belt. When he’d adjusted it to his satisfaction, he spoke.

  “Call me when you get home from work tonight.”

  CHESS LINGERED AT the curb, watching Mia’s car disappear from view and hating himself. He was the world’s biggest bastard. If he was any kind of a man, he’d let Mia go before things went any further. But he wouldn’t do that, because he was a selfish prick. He wanted her, even though he knew their relationship couldn’t last. How could it? He had nothing to offer her.

  His business was on the verge of collapse, his properties under water, and the way things were going, he’d soon be homeless. Living in his car, if he was lucky enough to keep the car.

  But he’d hold on for as long as he could, because he needed more of Mia. Needed her to kneel for him, to gaze up at him with her beautiful brown eyes. Needed to touch her soft, sweet-smelling skin.

  And in the end he’d break her heart. Let her go without ever telling her the truth. He was a drowning man. He couldn’t drag Mia down with him.

  Chapter Eleven

  She called him after work, as he’d commanded. She told him of the oppressive gloom that Serina’s murder had on everyone in the office. How they all carried on as they were supposed to, though numbed with grief. How everyone seemed to move in slow motion. How her coworkers suddenly stopped whispering when she walked into the break room, how their eyes filled with sympathy. No-nonsense Ronni, who knew Mia best, had even taken her aside for a talking-to. No one blamed Mia for what happened. But deep down, she still held herself partly responsible.

  Chess listened silently as she unburdened herself. When she ran out of steam, he said, “Mia, listen to me. Your friend’s right. Serina never told you she was afraid of her boyfriend. Never said he threatened her. You had no way of knowing what might happen. Ronni told you that, and now I’ve told you. So I want you to put it out of your mind now. And I want you here in thirty minutes. Understand?”

  Though her body responded with a crackle of desire, her brain protested. “I’m pretty tired. I thought I’d just—”

  “No. You’re not staying home to brood. You have thirty minutes. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

  A sigh left her. She was glad, just for tonight, to let him make the decision for her. “Yes, Sir.”

  “That’s not what I want to hear.”

  Her voice lowered, thrumming with the need that suddenly spiked through her. “Yes, Master.”

  “That’s better.” His own voice was the rumble of a lazy, contented lion.

  When Mia arrived at his place, she was greeted by Bailey and the delicious aromas of tomatoes and garlic. After giving the dog a hello noogie, she followed her nose into the kitchen. Chess was standing at the stove. He grinned at her and checked his watch. “Three minutes to spare. Very good.”

  She blushed. “Something smells good. What are you making, Sir?”

  He turned toward her in a chef’s apron spattered with tomato sauce. “Let’s not be formal now. And I’m fixing pasta à la Francesco.” He tossed a pinch of salt into the bubbling sauce with a flourish.

  “Are you cooking it or wearing it?” she joked.

  He gave her a mock frown. “Disrespectful wench. Give you an inch, and you take a mile.”

  Mia peeked around his shoulder at the pot. “Pasta Francesco, hmm? Is it a family recipe?”

  “No, just a fancy name for spaghetti and meatballs.”

  “Can I help? Meatballs are my specialty.”

  At his assent, she washed her hands at the sink, then plunged them up to the wrists in the bowl of ground meat and spices. “Ahhh…” She squooshed it all together with her fingers. “This is great therapy. A great way to work out all your tension.”

  Bailey, who’d been trailing Mia, nosed her leg. His expression said don’t you want to feed a hungry puppy? “Nope. Sorry, guy. This is not for dogs.”

  Chess took him by the collar. “Let me put him in the bedroom, or he’ll be pestering us all through dinner.”

  She pummeled the meat mixture until he returned. “I’ll start making the meatballs. Have you got a platter I can put them on?”

  “Put them on that baking sheet there, and I’ll slide them right into the oven.”

  Mia looked at him in horror. “You want to bake them? Are you out of your mind? That’s not how you do meatballs!” She shook her head pityingly. “But how would you know? You’re not Italian.”

  His eyebrows lowered. “Excuse me, I am Italian. On my mother’s side! How the hell do you think I got stuck with Francesco?”

  She looked at him coolly. “So you’re half Italian?”

  “That’s right,” he said, puffing out his chest.

  “Well, it’s the wrong half, because you don’t know how to make meatballs.”

  He looked torn between amusement and irritation. “Really? Well, how do you make them?”

  “You fry them,” Mia informed him in a superior tone. “In olive oil, so they get nice and browned on the outside. Then you put them in with the tomatoes and let them simmer.”

  “You cook them in the sauce?”

  “Yes, but it’s not sauce.” She smirked. “It’s gravy.”

  He scowled but found a large pan for Mia. He watched her fry the meatballs in batches and carefully drop them into the hot sauce. Gravy.

  Mia wiped up the grease and tomato spatters from the stove and tried not to look too smug as Chess regarded her, his arms folded across his chest. “You’re very adept at that.”

  Mia lifted a shoulder. “Well, my grandma Carlino wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Your grandma?”

  “I learned to cook watching her. And when I was old enough, helping her.” Mia smiled as she remembered. “She lived with us until I turned twelve.”

  “What happened then?”

  Her smile fell away. “She died. She looked after us while my mom worked. My mother’s an ER nurse. She pulled double shifts, extra shifts, whenever she could to take care of four kids.”

  “And your father?”

  “He was out of the picture long ago.” Mia rinsed the dishcloth in the sink so Chess couldn’t see her face. She barely knew her father. After one too many arguments, her mother announced one day that Daddy wouldn’t be living with them anymore. Mia saw him only a handful of times after that. He might as well have been abducted by aliens for all the contact he’d had with his children.

  Chess continued to probe, gently but insistently. “Who picked up the slack after your grandmother died?”

  “I did. I’m the oldest. It was my responsibility.” Mia wrung out the dishcloth and turned to him.

  “It’s a pretty big responsibi
lity for a twelve-year-old.” He looked at her not with pity, but admiration.

  “Well, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do,” she answered in a terrible John Wayne impression.

  Chess shook his head. “Not a woman. A girl.”

  Mia shrugged.

  “So you cooked and took care of your brothers and sisters—”

  “One brother, two sisters.”

  “Brother and sisters. And you’re still taking care of people, aren’t you? In your job.”

  Mia hadn’t thought of it that way before. “Maybe.”

  “Let’s sit,” he said, gesturing to the tall seats at the breakfast bar. He brought a bottle of wine and two glasses, and poured some for both of them.

  “Well,” she said after taking a sip. “You got my life story. What’s yours?”

  “Nothing very exciting. Only child. Groomed by my dad to join the family business.”

  He spoke as if by rote. Was he dissatisfied with the path laid out for him by his family? “Your father founded the business?”

  “My grandfather. My father built it up, and then I came along…”

  He took a swallow of wine as an awkward silence fell. “Well, you’ve done very well for yourself,” Mia said, gesturing around the impressive kitchen with its stainless-steel appliances and massive granite countertops.

  “Oh, sure.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.

  “Were you named for your father?” He’d questioned her, so turnabout was only fair.

  He smiled. “Well, in a way. He was Francis X.”

  “Francis Xavier Ryan? My God, that’s Irish!”

  “You bet. I told you my mother was Italian, didn’t I? So Francis became Francesco.”

  “Well, your parents must be very proud of you.”

  “They’re both gone now. But I hope they would be.” His expression was troubled. He suddenly stood, and his tone turned jaunty. “Let’s get that pasta cooked! The water must be boiling now.”

  Mia hopped up. “What can I do?”

  He grinned at her, an eyebrow lifted. “Did Grandma Carlino ever teach you how to toss a salad?”

  “Oh, please.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Child’s play.”

  “All the stuff’s in the fridge. The dressing’s right inside the door.”

  “Bottled dressing?” Mia’s tone resembled that of a snooty dowager. “I think not.”

  She made free with olive oil, vinegar, and the other contents of his cupboard while Chess made sure the pasta didn’t overcook.

  Once they prepared everything, they ate and chatted companionably. The glow of wine and Chess’s small talk made Mia feel completely at ease.

  So he startled her when he suddenly asked, “How did you and Philip meet?”

  Hearing Philip’s name sent a sliver of hurt through her. But the pain wasn’t as sharp as it once was. Like a bruise it faded bit by bit and hurt less every day. “At a fund-raiser. My friend Ronni volunteers for A Better Tomorrow. That’s an organization that helps older foster children find permanent families.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of it.”

  “Well, they were having a little carnival kind of thing to raise money, and I told her I’d help out. I was selling tickets to the different games and that’s where I met Philip. He manned the booth with me. I later discovered that he’d made a very substantial donation to the group.”

  Chess nodded. “That’s Philip. He’s very generous to local causes, but he’s also very discreet. Never tries to make it about him.”

  “We had such a good time chatting and watching the kids enjoy themselves. I felt immediately attracted to him—there’s something about him that’s just so…”

  “Powerful,” Chess put in as she searched for the right word.

  Mia nodded. “Yes. But not in an overbearing or pushy way. I felt so sad saying good-bye to him that evening, thinking I would never see him again. But he surprised me a few days later when he called and asked me to dinner.”

  “A lot of his friends were worried when they learned he was seeing you. You’re so much younger. People were afraid you were a gold digger.”

  Mia frowned. “I had no idea he was so well off. Anyway, that never mattered to me.” She paused a moment, peering at him. “Did you think I was a gold digger?”

  “No. Once I’d seen you with Philip and saw how you looked at him, I knew you weren’t after his money. But I was curious about you. We all were, all his friends. You were the first woman we’d seen him with since his wife died.”

  “Elaine.”

  “He told you about her?”

  “He mentioned her, yes. But he never really… Did you know her well? What was she like?” Mia was suddenly hungry to know.

  “Oh, she was an amazing woman. Lovely looking, but more than that, a beautiful person. Kind and loving, generous—just the kind of woman you’d imagine Philip being with. She was very active in local charities, especially those involving children.”

  “But they never had any children themselves…”

  “No, although from what I understand, they would have loved them. It just never happened. I think Elaine took that particularly hard. She’d have been a wonderful mother.”

  Mia felt a wave of sadness as Chess spoke about Elaine. Philip had never shared these things with her. She now recognized just how much of his life he’d kept from her, and how much she’d never thought to ask. “How did you get to know them?”

  “Philip was actually a friend of my father’s. In a way, he was a surrogate uncle to me, and Elaine was like an aunt. My parents and I spent a lot of time in their home; they were practically family. And they were tremendous support when my parents died.”

  Mia spoke softly. “When did you lose them?”

  “My mom when I was nineteen, my father just a few years ago. And not too long after that, Philip lost Elaine. How he grieved. He truly loved that woman.”

  Yes, he did. Loved her so much that he never discussed her with Mia. Elaine was too special, too precious to be shared.

  “Did he introduce you to…the lifestyle? Club Restraint?” Mia asked.

  “Actually, no.” Chess gave her a rueful smile. “I found Restraint on my own. I’d been aware of my dominant tendencies for a while. You can imagine my surprise when I found Philip there. Along with his sub.”

  There was a moment of silence as Mia made the connection. “You mean…”

  “Yes. Elaine was not just his wife, but his submissive. You were the only other woman he ever brought to the club.”

  She didn’t know how to respond.

  “You honestly didn’t know that?” Chess asked.

  Mia shook her head, in a daze. “No.”

  “You never played with BDSM before Philip?”

  Her face grew warm. “No.” His steady gaze unnerved her. Needing to escape it, she began to rise from her chair. “Let me help you clean up.”

  “Sit down. I’m not finished.” Mia didn’t know if he meant his meal or his line of questioning. But his tone brooked no argument.

  “So you never felt any inclinations…?”

  “Philip never forced me into anything.” She had to speak up so Chess wouldn’t get the wrong idea.

  “Of course not, Mia. Don’t forget, he’s my friend. I know that’s not his style. You don’t need to defend him to me.”

  “There were times in my life when I’d just wish I could turn it all off. Stop thinking, stop worrying, stop believing that it all depended on me. Just put it on someone else’s shoulders for a while. Philip just seemed to tune in to that. He knew how to take it all away. When I submitted, my only concern was obeying him. Nothing else mattered. I could just…be.”

  She glanced his way hesitantly, and Chess nodded in understanding. “You felt safe with him.”

  Safe. Yes. “He made me feel special.”

  “Appreciated,” Chess said.

  “Yes.” In her head, Philip’s voice echoed. “You’re beautiful, Bella Mia.”
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  “You deserve appreciation. For what you do every day. Wrestling with the bureaucracy, trying to help people. For stepping up to help your family after Grandma Carlino died.”

  “It was hard on Mom, working all those hours to take care of us.” And when she came home, she was tired and impatient. No, there wasn’t much appreciation for Mia trying to keep the house straight and her siblings in line. Mia felt she never did enough, no matter how hard she tried.

  Chess smiled and patted her hand. “You load the dishwasher, and I’ll put the leftovers away.”

  She was glad to get busy and stop thinking. She’d almost finished her job when she noticed a couple of utensils on the island countertop where she’d prepared the salad. They looked clean, and she couldn’t remember using them.

  “Should I—”

  “Don’t touch that,” he commanded as her hand hovered over the wooden spoon. Mia froze.

  Calmly, he closed the dishwasher door and strolled to the sink. “You were a bad girl today, Ruffles.”

  A zing of apprehension and anticipation shot through her.

  He raised his voice a bit so he could be heard over the running water as he washed his hands. “You disrespected me several times. Are you aware of that?”

  “I—”

  “Quiet. I don’t want to hear a word out of you.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “Put your hands flat on the countertop.”

  Mia obeyed wordlessly, her flesh prickling with goose bumps. In their time together, Master Philip only praised her. He’d never told her she was bad. Why did her pulse skyrocket when Chess said it? She couldn’t understand her reactions.

  He took a dishtowel from a low drawer near the sink and dried his hands, eyeing her. His expression was one of weary disappointment. He tossed the towel aside and ticked off her transgressions on his fingers.

  “First of all, you got uppity about how I make meatballs.”

  Mia opened her mouth to defend herself, but Chess held up a warning finger. “Not. A. Word.”

  “Then, you get in a little dig in about my ancestry because I’m only Italian on my mother’s side. Bad, Ruffles. Very, very bad. I am deeply disappointed in you.”