Every Part of You: Denies Me (#4) Read online

  “I don’t think I can ever do that.”

  “Well, I hope you can try,” Molly said. “Because I told him how to find you.”

  * * *

  Bliss. That was it, pure and simple, no way around it. No way to pretend it was anything else. It was bliss and magic and she was head over heels. No going back.

  It was love.

  Of course she hadn’t done anything stupid like tell him that. Simone wasn’t ready for that step, and she wasn’t sure Elliott was, either. For now, it was enough to keep seeing him every other day, his voice the last thing she heard before she went to sleep at night. Many times, a text from him was the first thing she woke to in the morning.

  Good morning, sunshine.

  That was what he’d sent her that morning while she was still in bed and he, she was sure, had been up for an hour or so. She looked at the text every so often as she cleaned up her apartment in anticipation of him coming over later, because it made her smile so hard her face hurt, every single time.

  She was making him dinner tonight. He’d offered to take her out to a restaurant, then dancing, but she’d laughed and promised to cook for him instead. She had ulterior motives.

  Tonight, Simone had decided, she was going to tell him how she felt. She was going to cross the line. See what happened when she opened herself to taking a chance.

  Oh, and she was going to seduce him, too. Spectacularly. It had been weeks of soft and sweet lovemaking, and as delicious as it was, she hadn’t forgotten the other side of him. The man who knew how to pinch and bite. The one who’d used his belt on her. That was what she wanted, needed, and craved, and tonight she was going to make sure she got it.

  To that end, she’d picked out a pair of tiny lace panties and a matching bra, along with a lace garter belt and sheer stockings with seams running up the back. A black wrap dress with a tie at the side that could be tugged open with one hard pull. And finally, a pair of her highest black pumps, the ones with the pointy toes that made her feel like an Amazon warrior.

  Dinner was simple, a roast chicken with rosemary potatoes and sauteed green beans. A salad. Fresh rolls. A bottle of wine, the kind he liked. She’d set the table with her grandmother’s china and crystal, pieces she’d inherited but had never bothered to use before now. Everything was ready.

  Everything but Elliott, anyway. He was late, which wasn’t like him. Simone kept herself from texting him, not wanting to jump on him if he were simply stuck in traffic, but when an hour passed without a word from him, she started to worry.

  Where are you?

  No answer.

  Another hour passed, and Simone began to pace. Phone in her hand, she moved back and forth in her living room until the click-clack of her heels on the hardwood floor began to drive her crazy. She sent another quick text.

  I’m getting worried. Are you okay?

  Again, no answer. Stomach twisting, Simone went so far as to text Aidan, asking him to text her back to check if her phone was, for some crazy reason, out of service. He didn’t answer her, either, which didn’t help.

  By the time the knock came at her front door, she’d worked herself into a small but controlled panic. She’d started running through all her options. Call the hospitals. The jails. At the knock, sharp and bold, Simone jumped.

  “Elliott,” she said as she opened it. “Thank God! I was worried!”

  He pushed past her without a smile or a kiss. “Something came up.”

  Simone closed the door behind him and turned to watch him stalk toward the dining area between the kitchen and living room. Her stomach had become a tight knot. Her heart skipped a beat or two, though not from excitement. More from sick anticipation.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine,” he told her, looking at the table, which she’d set so carefully. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Chicken … Elliott.” She waited until he looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Let’s eat.”

  Simone didn’t sit, though he did. “I’ll have to bring the food in from the oven. I had it warming. I hope it’s still okay.”

  He looked at her with such a flat, blank expression that she took a step back. His lip curled a tiny bit. “Are you trying to tell me something, Simone?”

  Her chin went up at his tone. Shoulders straightened. “No. I was just saying—”

  “I’m late. I get it. Sorry.”

  He didn’t sound sorry. Not one bit. Simone took a few seconds before she answered, making sure to keep her voice steady. Not confrontational, even though she wanted to take the glass of wine he was pouring for himself and dump it in his lap.

  “I was worried,” she repeated quietly. “You could’ve called me.”

  “Yeah, well. I didn’t.” He fixed her with a long, steady glare as though daring her to give him a reason to fight.

  Simone backed off. Elliott had never been what you might call affable, but this was beyond grouchy. “Let me get the chicken.”

  He didn’t get up to help her. Didn’t even offer. Instead, he tossed back a glass of the wine she’d chosen after a lot of deliberation and research. Looked at the bottle with a sneer.

  “Do you have anything else?”

  Simone paused as she put down the platter and slipped off the oven mitts she’d barely needed to use because the pan was no longer steaming. She wiped her fingers carefully on one of the cloth napkins. “There’s some gin in the cupboard.”

  “I don’t like gin,” Elliott said.

  “I don’t like being talked to in that tone of voice,” Simone shot back.

  He didn’t answer her right away. She waited for his expression to soften. For an apology. All she got was a shrug.

  The meal was silent and uncomfortable, and though there’d been times before when he’d made her angry, and sometimes he’d made her cry, before now Elliott had never made her feel this … anxious despair. Simone didn’t give in to that, though. Nor did she try to coo or placate him, or try to jolly him out of his mood. He didn’t even bother to make small talk.

  Neither of them ate very much.

  Afterward, he did carry the dishes to the sink and help her put away the food. He moved around her kitchen as though he owned it, finding the right containers for leftovers without having to ask. Cleaning up the messes she’d left on the stove and in the sink. Simone stood back and gave him his space, but in her small kitchen it was only a matter of time before they bumped into each other.

  “Sorry,” Elliott said grudgingly as he turned. When she didn’t say anything but tried to move past him, he took her by the elbow to get her to look at him. “Simone. I’m sorry.”

  Emotion flooded her, and she blinked back tears. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”

  “Nothing. Forget it. I just…” He shrugged and took the butter dish from her and set it on the counter behind him, leaving her hands empty. He pulled her close.

  He kissed her.

  And dammit, even though she’d been angry with him for being such an asshole, there wasn’t much she could do when he kissed her other than to kiss him back. It wasn’t anything like gentle, and Simone whimpered at the crush of her teeth against her lips. When his hands gripped her hips hard enough to pinch, shudders of pleasure rippled through her.

  He backed her up against the counter, pinning her. When she tried to put her arms around his neck, he grabbed her wrists and kept her hands at her sides. He squeezed, tight and tighter, and she loved it.

  She gasped when he put his mouth to her throat, using his teeth. She gave him her neck, arching her back to encourage him as he pushed her harder against the line of the counter, causing it to sink deep into her back.

  This was what she wanted. This urgency, this roughness. Yes, this pain.

  When he put his hand beneath her dress, finding her garters, Elliott groaned and buried his face against her. “Fuck, Simone. You are so fucking sexy.”

  His words thrilled her. The way he pushed his fingers