Page 38 of Tamed

She was pretty there, kneeling in front of me, with her red hair loose and that revealing golden dress, a perfect picture of submission. At least, it would have been if there hadn’t been fury in her gaze.

If she’d been another woman, I’d have given my appetites free rein, but she wasn’t another woman. She was my best friend’s daughter, and I couldn’t allow any mistakes. No matter how many lines I was crossing to do this, I had to stay in control.

“Now,” I said. “Let’s see exactly what you can and can’t handle, Isabel Fox.”

11

Isabel

My heart was beating so fast and hard it felt like it was going to come out of my chest, and I was shaking like the idiot virgin I was.

I could barely believe what was happening, that I was kneeling at Caleb’s feet, anticipation, anger and yeah, okay, maybe some fear too, all coiling and knotting inside me.

I’d been nothing but furious when he’d grabbed my arm downstairs, both at myself for not being fast enough to the door, and at him for being where I’d never expected him to be.

Though mainly I was furious at him. Him, and his fucking security, and his fucking warnings, and his fucking insistence on me doing what he said. Him, and the way he kept getting all up in my grille at work for the slightest thing, needling me for absolutely no reason at all.

Him, for being who he was and so fucking hot and how I hated myself for wanting him as badly as I did, because there was no way —no way —that anything would ever happen between us.

He’d gripped me hard just before I’d gotten to the door, then he’d hauled me up the stairs before locking me in this room, and even though I’d been beside myself with rage at my own stupidity, I’d also been afraid.

Because I wasn’t the only one who was angry.

Caleb had come back into the room and stood there, all six foot five of him, radiating a steady, measured fury that made his black eyes glitter like shards of obsidian.

I’d never seen him so furious. I knew he’d never hurt me, but I was afraid of his anger because I hated the thought of his disappointment. It wasn’t only fear, though. There was a healthy amount of fascination mixed in there, too. Not to mention pleasure, becauseIwas the one who’d roused the beast in him.Iwas the one who’d somehow gotten beneath his hard, smooth surface and shaken it.

Then he’d said all those things about me not listening, and not thinking, and I’d forgotten all about being pleased, my emotions shuttling back to hurt. Because okay, maybe Ihadmade a mistake tonight and hadn’t really thought it through. But, Jesus Christ, I’d only wanted to feel normal for one goddamn night, and he didn’t understand. He didn’t understand how suffocated I felt. How the lack of freedom, the lack of privacy, the lack of control over my own life was getting to me. And I was hurt that for all his talk of me not listening to him, he hadn’t bothered to listen to me, and he clearly wasn’t interested.

So, me being me, I’d pushed back. I’d wanted to hurt him somehow, make him even more furious. Make him break entirely. See what would happen if I really got to him, poke that fucking tiger with a stick.

And I had.

When he’d stalked toward me, closing the gap between us, I’d felt the purest bolt of electricity pin me to the floor. I hadn’t been able to move as he’d come close, so very,veryclose. Burning with that steady, hot fury.

The last time I’d been this close to him had been that stupid dance at that stupid gala, but we’d been in a ballroom full of people, and I hadn’t known until he’d taken me in his arms that that was where I’d always wanted to be.

Now, we were alone in a room that felt way too small to contain the caustic emotions that filled it. The burning attraction I felt for him and my own fury and hurt. His anger and the hurricane blast of his will.

He was so tall, looming over me. The hard muscled expanse of his chest and wide shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. I could feel his heat, smell the warm, spicy scent of his aftershave, the one that made my mouth water, and my knees go weak. The pressure of his black stare had been like a hand pressing down on the back of my head, making me want to lower my gaze before his and then maybe bare my neck in submission.

Which was confusing, because that’s exactly what I’d told him I didn’t want, not doing everything he said like an obedient little kid.

The sheer masculine energy of him had made me step back, and he’d followed, stalking me until we were nearly at the windows. But I’d been desperate not to give in, so I’d forced myself to hold my ground.

Yet he hadn’t stopped. He’d closed the gap between us again and said the words that I couldn’t bring myself to say.

That I wanted him. That I’d always wanted him.

Part of me had died of embarrassment as soon as the words were out of his mouth because I’d thought I’d kept it hidden it from him. While another part had felt nothing but relief, because finally it was all out in the open, and yes. Yes, doing what he told me was exactly what I wanted.

Which was why I was here right now, on my knees on the carpet, a low throb gathering deep inside me, an ache between my legs, a tension pulling tight.

He towered above me and I flashed back to that moment by his desk at work, cleaning up the spilled coffee while he stood over me, watching. Seeing inside me, his gaze a storm tide, powerful currents pulling me in and dragging me under.

He hadn’t said anything about what I felt for him back then, but he had now. It was in the open and no matter how painfully embarrassing it was, I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t want to deny it.

I stared up into his eyes, caught by that tide and the powerful currents that moved in it. Powerless to swim against it. Not that I wanted to. All that seemed important now was that I show him that I could, indeed, handle it.

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