Because You Are Mine (Because You Are Mine #1)(21)

This was a madness she couldn’t resist.

He said nothing—just closed the door after her when she got into the passenger seat of his car.

Chapter Four

The elevator door slid silently open, and she followed him into the penthouse, experiencing equal parts trepidation and excitement.

“Follow me to my bedroom,” Ian said.

My bedroom. The words seemed to echo around her skull. She’d never been in this wing of the enormous condominium, she realized distractedly. She trailed behind him, feeling like a schoolgirl that had been caught red-handed. The undeniable anticipation she felt seemed to hint at something she couldn’t quite fathom; somehow, she knew that if she crossed the threshold into Ian’s private quarters, her life would change forever. As if Ian understood this, he paused in front of an ornately carved wooden doorway.

“You’ve never done anything like this before, have you?” he said.

“No,” she admitted, wishing her cheeks didn’t flame. They both spoke in hushed tones. “Is that all right with you?”

“It wasn’t at first. I want you so much, I’ve had to come to terms with your innocence, however,” he said. She lowered her lashes. “Are you certain you want to do this, Francesca?”

“Just tell me one thing first.”

“Anything.”

“When you called earlier tonight . . . while I was in the car? You never said why you were calling.”

“And you’d like to know?”

She nodded.

“I was here alone in the penthouse. I couldn’t work or concentrate.”

“I thought you said you were going to be entertaining.”

“I did say that. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. No one else would do.”

She inhaled raggedly. It did something to her, to hear him be so honest.

“That’s when I went into the studio and saw what you’d painted yesterday. It’s brilliant, Francesca. All of the sudden, I knew I had to see you.”

She dipped her head farther to hide how much pleasure she felt at his words. “All right. I’m sure.”

It was he who hesitated, but then he reached and twisted the knob. The door opened. He waved his hand and she entered the room cautiously. Ian touched a control panel and several lamps glowed with golden ambient light.

It was a beautiful room—sedate, tasteful, luxurious. A couch and several chairs were arranged in a seating area in front of a fireplace immediately before her. A stunning flower arrangement of red calla lilies and orchids in an enormous Ming vase had been placed on a table behind the couch. Over the fireplace was an impressionist painting of a field of poppies; if she didn’t miss her guess, it was an original Monet. Incredible. Her gaze caught on the huge four-poster carved bed to the right, decorated, like the rest of the room, in a rich brown, ivory, and dark red color scheme.

“The lord of the manor’s private quarters,” she murmured, giving him a shaky smile.

He waved at another paneled door. She followed him into a bathroom that was larger than her bedroom. He reached into a drawer and withdrew a folded garment wrapped in clear plastic. He set it on the counter.

“Go ahead and shower and put on this robe. Only the robe. Leave all your other clothes. You’ll find everything you require in these two drawers. You smell like stale smoke and whiskey.”

“I’m sorry you disapprove.”

“I accept your apology.”

Her temper flared again at his quick reply. A small smile tilted his mouth when he saw the return of her defiance. He’d obviously expected it.

“You please me, Francesca. Beyond measure.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise at the compliment. Would she ever learn to read him?

“But you must learn to please me in the bedroom,” he said.

“I do want to,” she said quietly, surprising herself by her candor.

“Good. Then to start, I’d like you to shower and put on this robe. When you’ve finished, come out to the bedroom, and I’ll administer your punishment.”

He started to walk out of the bathroom but paused. “Oh, and wash your hair, please. It ought to be a crime for all that glory to smell like an ashtray,” he muttered under his breath before he exited, closing the door behind him with a brisk click.

She just stood there for a moment on the pristine marble tile floor. He thought her hair was glorious? She pleased him? How could he possibly be having thoughts like that about her? How could he kiss her until she thought she’d spontaneously combust and yet look at her at times like she was about as interesting as the paint on the wall?

She showered thoroughly, enjoying the experience more than she’d thought she would. The glass-enclosed stall steamed up quickly, the tendrils of warm mist seeming to caress and kiss her naked skin. It was nice to lather up with Ian’s hand-milled English soap, cover herself in his clean, spicy scent. Fortunately, she’d shaved before she went out to McGill’s, so she didn’t have to worry about hairy legs.

Would he spank her while she was naked?

Of course he would, she answered herself as she slid open the glass door to the shower and exited. He’d told her point-blank he wanted her naked beneath the robe. She extricated the garment now from the plastic wrapping. Was it brand-new? Did he keep a supply of robes on stock for the women that he “entertained”? The thought made her a little sick, so she shoved it out of her brain, focusing instead on finding a comb for her wet hair, deodorant, a new toothbrush, and a bottle of mouthwash. Everything was arranged so neatly in the cabinet that she took special care returning the items to their proper places.