“You could be right. I’ll call the FBI and have them alerted. They can probably dig into his financials and put a surveillance team on him. If he does go for the Monet, then he’ll get caught.”

“Good.” Callie settled back in her seat and neither of them said a word until they were back at his house.

“Wes, can I see the Monet?” she asked, tugging on his arm.

“I’d be happy to bring it tomorrow morning for you to look at while you work.”

“Why not now?” she demanded.

His eyes narrowed speculatively. “It’s somewhere safe and I don’t want to jeopardize its location.” He was shutting her out, closing down. The stab of pain at seeing him build barriers spurred her to action.

She reached her hand into his coat pocket, stealing back her collar and showed it to him.

“You claimed me as yours, Wes. If you ‘own’ me, then there can’t be any secrets, not between us. That’s a hard limit for me. I’ll walk away. Do you understand? Don’t shut me out.” Her edgy tone softened as she gripped his hands and squeezed.

“I want to belong to you, but secrets would wound me and I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

His eyes softened and he grasped her hands back, squeezing lightly as he leaned down to kiss her lips. The gentle pressure of his mouth against hers made her feel light enough that a spring breeze could have blown her away like the fluffy white seeds of a dandelion. She’d never understood how women could talk about a man sweeping them off their feet. Yet, now, with Wes’s gentle, sensual kiss, and the way it scattered her senses and destroyed her resistance, she knew what it meant to be swept away.

When he drew back from her, he nodded as though to himself.

“If you want no more secrets, then you need to trust me completely. There’s a part of me that’s dark, Callie. I can’t hide that once you’ve seen it.” He studied her face, apparently waiting for her to protest or turn back. But she wouldn’t. She loved him, all of him. Even his secrets.

Chapter 21

Very well.” He took her by the hand and led her down the hall. They stopped in front of a wall with a lovely painting of the Seine River. He used a small key from his pocket, not connected to his other keys, to unlock a hidden door behind the painting. Callie carefully memorized how he found the key hole and opened the door. As she followed him into the darkness behind the painting, she shivered. This must be what Royce had called the black room.

A sudden bloom of gold light filled the room and illuminated the black, sleek furniture. There was a black leather couch, a dark grenadilla wood desk, and a massive four-poster bed with a black silk comforter. The walls weren’t black but painted a storm-cloud gray and decorated with art. Her gaze jumped from piece to piece. A Monet, a Renoir, her sketch of him in bed asleep, the gypsy lovebirds, and her portrait that the artist had drawn of her in Montmartre.

There was nothing particularly shocking about the room, except for the deep sense that everything in this room was only for him, and he wouldn’t have to share it with the rest of the world. She understood that need for a private sacred place. This was his private world and he was sharing it with her, a room no one else¸ save Royce, had seen. In a way he was sharing himself with her.

“I was wondering where the sketches went.” She grinned at him. The tension in his body eased and his shoulders lowered.

“This is my black room.” He waved a hand around it. “Some of my most treasured possessions are kept here.”

“Why call it the black room?” Callie wondered if the name came from the decorations or for some other reason.

“It’s not a room listed on any blueprint. You can’t find it unless you know exactly where to look. No one else knows about it.”

Callie nearly confessed that Royce knew, but she kept her mouth shut. Somehow her gut told her that that wouldn’t be a good idea.

She lifted her skirts and walked over to the Monet. She got within a foot of it and the painting drew her in. The cool palette of blues, purples, and greens, not a hint of warm color was unique. The scene depicted the bank of a river, just after dawn when mist crept along the shore and clung to the thick copse of trees on the left side of the bank. The perfect brush strokes and the way the water and mist melded together was true mastery. It was one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen. True art. Her throat worked and her nose burned as she tried not to cry. She never thought something could be so lovely.

The heat of Wes’s body warmed her from behind.

“This piece soothes me,” he whispered in her ear. His hands peeled her coat from her shoulders. “Ever since Emery and Fenn were kidnapped as children, something inside me has been…broken. No, that’s not the right word.” He let her coat drop to the floor.

Callie lifted her head and stared at him over her shoulder. He was gazing at her back and then reached for the zipper of her dress.

“Scarred. That is the right word. Everything about my life was shattered by their loss and when Emery was found, he wasn’t the same. Some bonds go soul deep. Royce and I…we took his pain into our hearts and his scars became our own.”

The zipper slid down to her lower back and she shivered as the cool air kissed the skin he bared as he parted her gown and let it fall to the ground in a pool of crimson at her ankles. She wore no bra and only a pair of red lacy bikini-cut panties. Not her usual style of sensible cottons, but the dress seemed to demand sexiness. Still, being bare, she had to fight the urge to cover her breasts, but she knew better now. Wes liked her body, especially when he was stripping her of expensive clothes.

“You are so lucky not to have scars.” He embraced her from behind, wrapping her arms around her waist and nuzzling her neck as he spoke. She tilted her head to the side, giving him more room to lick and nibble his way to her ear. The hard press of his erection against her bottom showed he was as turned on as she was. His hands slid up her stomach and cupped her breasts, kneading them. Wetness pooled between her thighs, and her clit pulsed to life. Callie squirmed against him unable to stop herself. He chuckled and stepped back, dropping his hands.

“You want me, Callie. All of me. Well, you’ve got me. Even the darkest parts.” He moved over to his desk and opened one of the drawers. He pulled out two leather cuffs lined with fur inside and a strip of black cloth. When he came toward her, Callie stared at the items in his hands and then with a slow breath held out her wrists.

“Good girl. From now until we leave this room, I am Master. You will call me that. Do you understand?”

Callie tried to swallow but her throat was dry, so she nodded. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, an approving gleam in his eyes. She leaned into his touch and he kissed her. The gentle claiming turned rough, the moist softness of his mouth turning wild, as it sent spirals of desire coiling deep into her belly, burning low and hungry.

Then he fastened the cuffs around her wrists. The leather was soft and the fur against her skin even more so. He slid a finger between her wrist and the cuff, testing to make sure it wasn’t too tight. Then he lifted the black cloth. She expected him to blindfold her, but instead he parted her lips and stretched the cloth across her mouth and tied it snuggly behind her head. It was an effective gag, but not one that affected her breathing in any way. Just like he promised when they’d talked about this in Paris.

Wes hooked her cuffs together with a small chain and then he hit a small red button on the wall by the foot of the bed and a silver hook lowered from the ceiling. He raised her arms and when her wrists were level with the hook, he secured the chain on the tip of the hook, and then raised the hook one inch. Just enough to keep her from standing on tiptoes to unhook herself.