Forever Wicked

“Just a trim, please.”



Michaela didn’t show her disappointment. “Of course. I’ll condition it, too. Now that winter is coming, you’ll need a little extra moisture.”



Sure. Whatever.



Gia leaned back, lowering her head into one of Jason’s sinks as Michaela wet her hair. Stacia approached her with several bottles of nail polish and asked her to pick one for her pedicure. Absently, she picked a peachy-bronze color and sighed as Michaela began to shampoo her. Gia knew she should relax and enjoy the pampering. She hadn’t had any in the last year. Instead, the worry that the temporary nanny wouldn’t remember to read Tony Jr. a bedtime story distracted her. And the hope that Jason would soon be in a better mood ran a close second.



An hour later, she stared at herself in the mirror, blinking in surprise. With a few snips of the scissors, the brandishing of a blow dryer, and some turns of a curling iron, Michaela had transformed her hair into something beautiful, full of body and shine. Stacia had finished her pedi, and now shaped and buffed her fingernails.



Afterward, she emerged from the bathroom. A baby-doll nightie in a blush color, trimmed with beige lace that would cup her breasts and flirt with her thighs, lay strewn across the bed. A very small thong accompanied it. A pair of new champagne-hued Louboutin stilettos sat on top of their box, their bows glittering, the red soles a bright warning.



“I’m supposed to put all this on?” she asked no one in particular.



“Not yet,” Michaela answered, then turned to her assistant.



Gia caught sight of a pot of wax heating as Stacia set up what looked like a wide massage table and covered it with a clean sheet. Her stomach dropped. Jason really meant everything he’d said. He intended to take her to bed. For that, he’d want her waxed. After all, why shouldn’t he insist on his money’s worth? Remembering how much she’d hurt him and how much she owed him, she eased onto the table, vowing not to give her husband any more of herself than her body.



* * * *



Scrubbing a hand down his face, Jason paced his kitchen. The scents of the savory garlic-herb roasted chicken and vegetables blended with the delicious aroma of yeasty bread. He should be hungry by now. Starved, even. Hell, he couldn’t notice a damn thing but the clock ticking, his dick aching, and that wretched pain only Gia could make him feel gouging his chest.



His wife had chosen money. He’d offered her the funds in desperation, never imagining that she’d take them. Rather, he’d clung to the hope that she had agreed to meet him at the Mexican restaurant because she wanted to resume their marriage. In truth, Jason had been worried that Gia had come to seek a divorce. He’d been prepared to talk fast to convince her otherwise. But never had he imagined that she’d actually take him up on his wretched offer and sell herself.



Apparently, she wasn’t different from the rest, after all.



The only saving grace to this situation was that his mother had been gone when he’d returned home late Sunday. Not surprisingly, she’d taken the cash on his dresser. Later, she’d texted to say that she had found a new friend while consoling herself at Neiman’s. Apparently, the man had invited her to dinner at The French Room. Jason hadn’t seen Samantha since. Her new friend must be “entertaining” her. Hell, if the guy had enough money, he’d probably be husband number five.



Finally, the two beauticians he’d hired to take care of Gia’s personal needs made their way down the stairs, implements all packaged up in their roller bags. He exchanged a few words with the quiet blonde, but didn’t hear a lot beyond the fact that his wife was finished and waiting for him upstairs.



More eager than he wanted to be, Jason paid the women and tipped them amply before he tossed together a dinner tray, added a chilled bottle of wine, and headed up to find his bride.



His heart raced as he reached the closed door. “Gia?”



“Yes.”



She didn’t sound at all happy. He’d given her more than one opportunity to leave, but she’d taken the mercenary path. He refused to feel sorry for her.



Balancing everything in one hand, he turned the knob and opened the door. As soon as he saw her, he nearly dropped the tray. She looked like his fantasies—only better. Her hair hung in loose waves. One of the women had done something that made her skin glow under the lights. Even her toenails shimmered. When he’d bought the miniscule scrap of lace she now wore, he’d imagined how she would look in it and gotten hard as hell. But seeing her in person? Damn. He could picture her spread out across his sheets, her gaze on him, her arms open as he ripped her thong away to expose her smooth, pouting pussy. The “fuck me” shoes made him want to do exactly that. Jason nearly growled with need. But he’d enjoy the sex more if Gia felt half as eager as he did…and if she’d lie to him and say she loved him, like she used to.



Patience.



If Gia wanted a divorce and she wanted to be paid for her freedom, he planned to make her earn every penny of it first. And if he was very lucky, maybe he’d figure out how to get enough of her and move on.



He set the tray on the dresser, still looking her over. “Beautiful.”



She cast her gaze down submissively. Either that or she couldn’t bear to look at him. “Thank you.”



“I brought us some dinner.” He poured the wine, and she took the glass, her expression somewhat guarded. “To…new endings.”



Her face closed up entirely. “Hopefully, a quick one.”



Jason made a noncommittal sound, repressing his urge to get her naked and flat before he put his stamp on her, hold her in his thrall the way she’d done him. Instead, he forced himself to wait. Gia gulped half her glass as if she needed the liquid courage.



Trying not to grit his teeth, he lifted the lid on the dishes, then pointed at the bed. “Sit.”



Slowly, she sat back against a stack of fluffy white pillows and took the plate. “Thank you.”



Their gazes met before hers skittered away.



Holding in a curse, Jason gave her a fork. When she grabbed the far end, refusing to even brush his fingers, his lips tightened. If she had a new aversion to touching him, he’d quickly put a stop to it.



Plate in hand, he sat back on the bed against the grouping of pillows, leaning against the headboard beside her. Digging his fork into his rice, he did his best to focus on the food and act as if nothing happening between them bothered him in the least.



“So, you’ve been dealing with your family. Tell me about the progress you’ve made in bringing your brother’s killer to justice.”



Gia tensed. “There hasn’t been any. My brother’s former partner initially pointed the finger at a thug named Ricky Wayman. A few days later, he recanted and claimed he wasn’t sure, but I know better. Patrick was either scared off or paid off. The day before my brother died, he told my dad that he knew Ricky had something big going down and he intended to stop it. Tony died on Ricky’s turf, so I know damn well who shot my brother.”



“No one has arrested Wayman?”



“They haven’t even brought him in for questioning.” And that obviously infuriated her.



“Don’t the police usually go all out to hunt down a cop killer?”



Something cynical and mad as hell twisted her delicate features. “Usually, yeah. Wayman’s got a sick rep and a lot of firepower.” Fingers gripping her plate until her knuckles turned white, she drew in an angry breath. “I think the brass is already convinced it’s an unwinnable war and it would cost too many lives to bring this one punk to justice. He takes out a lot of other criminals, so…”



“They let him slide.” Jason turned her words over in his head, angry on her behalf. Not only did someone as principled as Gia want the badges she worked with to do their jobs and put criminals behind bars, she expected it. She’d been disillusioned by their failure to act.



“Totally,” she confirmed, no longer eating.



Jason knew damn well how his wife had been spending her time this past year. Since she hadn’t gotten the help she needed from her fellow officers, she’d refused to give up on justice for her brother. “So you’ve spent all your free time tracking Wayman down yourself and trying to prove his guilt, even after I had you put behind a desk.” He sent her a speculative stare. “Your parents don’t know, do they?”



With a roll of her eyes, she admitted, “My dad tried to make me promise that I wouldn’t go after Wayman alone, but my mom is so grief stricken. I have to try and give her whatever comfort I can. That killer behind bars would help.”



Drawing in a deep breath, Jason tried to pull back on his anger. Gia’s sense of good and right wouldn’t allow her to sit this manhunt out. Funny how the determination and rectitude that had drawn him to her had become the very things he wanted to throttle her for.



“I understand.”



Gia hesitated. “You do?”



“It’s hard to see people you care for in pain, isn’t it?”



She nodded. “Excruciating.”



Jason couldn’t agree more, and though logic told him that her circumstances shouldn’t matter, he couldn’t ignore her anguish. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold.”



She exhaled and seemed to deflate altogether. “I’m not hungry.”



“That isn’t a request.” He sent her a stern glare.



“Of course it isn’t. And people always obey you.”



“Generally, yes. I won’t apologize for it, especially when it’s for your well-being.”



And Jason refused to say another word until she’d consumed at least half of the food on her plate, even giving him a low moan at the tastiness of the bread.



When they’d finished, he took her plate and padded downstairs, leaving the dishes in the sink. His maid would be in come morning to take care of the mess.



He pulled the refrigerator open and lifted one large crystal cup, then grabbed a single spoon from the drawer and headed back upstairs, mentally weighing the evening’s events.



As he made his way to the bedroom again, he was unpleasantly surprised to find Gia no longer in his bed. After setting the items he held aside, he visually swept the room and sighed in relief. She stood at the window and stared out, looking at the sky lit night and the urban sprawl giving way to suburbia farther north. His wife might be physically in the room with him, but she was really a million miles away.



“What’s wrong?”



She jerked back to attention and shook her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”



As she turned to face him, her expression looked neutral, all traces of whatever or whomever she’d been thinking about gone. He held in a snarl of frustration.



“Sit for me.”



Dragging her feet, Gia did as he bid, stopping at the edge of the bed. “Naked, I presume? Now that you’ve done your Domly duty and seen to my needs, you’re intending to see to yours, right? Is this the part of the evening where you nail me into the mattress?”



Jason felt his ire rise. Then he caught onto her game. “Trying to make me feel guilty for this arrangement will neither anger nor upset me enough to halt it. I made you an offer. You accepted. End of story.”



She gave him a little huff. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”



To hear her admit that she had no idea why he might want to spend time with her bugged the hell out of him. It also told him that she’d given up on them already. Somewhere in the back of his head, he’d known that, but it bothered him all the same. “I have my reasons and I’m not obligated to share them. You’re my submissive for now—”



“Oh, just say it. I’m your whore and you’re getting off on exercising your control over me.”



Jason froze. It took everything inside him not to rise to her bait. “If that’s how you choose to see the situation, I can’t stop you. I merely asked you to sit on the bed. I’m still waiting.”



“Fine.” She tossed herself onto the mattress and sat against the pillows, crossing her arms over her chest.



“Thank you. Now hold your arms up at your sides.”



Her dark eyes flashed suspiciously. She narrowed them as if trying to guess his intent. Finally, she complied, holding them straight out from her shoulders, almost as if opening her arms to him…but not quite.



Jason reached behind his headboard and plucked at a padded wrist cuff, attached to an adjustable chain, then secured it around his wife’s wrist.



Gasping, she drilled him with a shocked stare. “What the hell?”



“We are now sceneing. What should you call me?”



“What the hell, Mr. Denning?” she snarled, jerking her free arm down to her side.



He grabbed it again and brought it to the other cuff. Gia fought him, and Jason dug deep for patience. “Give me your wrist or use your safe word. It’s divorce.”



“You’re being a bastard, Mr. Denning.”