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And I do because it’s not like I can stop the emotion that all but bleeds from me. It’s intense, quaking, but it’s fast and hard and gone. Somehow Kace has tissue, and he hands it to me, helping me clean up. I sit up and he wraps a blanket around me. “Better?” he asks going down on a knee in front of me, still naked and so beautifully male. He spanked me. I liked it. There is an intimacy to such a thing that I can’t explain.
“I can’t believe that just happened. It wasn’t the spanking,” I repeat, needing him to know. “I was, I—it was—”
He strokes a thumb under my eye, wiping away a wayward tear. “Yes,” he says softly. “It was. The whole idea of the spanking is to center you. The pleasure is intense. The release is intense.”
“And then I cried,” I say, still unnerved by how completely out of my control I was when those tears overtook me, and they did overtake me.
“Sometimes when you have a lot of emotion pent up, and you experience an adrenaline rush, it triggers an emotional release as well. That’s not a bad thing. It’s a release you needed.” He strokes hair behind my ear. “It might not ever happen again.”
“And if it does?”
His lips curve. “We have tissues.”
“How do you know this, Kace? How is this so familiar to you?”
“When I was eighteen, I had a fling with an older woman who had a taste for the BDSM world. It wasn’t for me and neither was she, but like everyone that crosses our paths, I believe there is a reason. She taught me a lot about control.”
“How old was she?”
“Thirty-five.”
I’m stunned about this new revelation. “How long did you see her?”
“A year in which I became a man.” He leans in and kisses my hands. “We’d better get dressed before Blake gets here.” He stands up, offering me a delicious view of his backside, and I’m struck by how raw and real he has become with me. Except for one thing: he won’t tell me how he’s dealing with Alexander. He doesn’t believe I can handle it, and therefore, he doesn’t believe I can handle every part of him.
He still thinks I’ll run.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
My conversation with Kace post-spanking lingers in my mind as I change into jeans, a pink sweater, and knee-high boots. I’m presently standing at the bathroom sink, repairing my make-up, when a particular statement he’d made punches at my mind: She taught me a lot about control. He’d said it so nonchalantly, but this not an insignificant relationship. I want to know more about this woman who has obviously done much to shape the boy who became a man. But then so did his ex, Maggie, in life and death. It’s a chilling thought, and I realize now that I really haven’t asked much about Kace’s love life outside of Maggie. Mine is simple outside of him. There wasn’t one. Ever. Who was this woman who pulled him into the world of BDSM? And just how into it was he? Surely not too intensely as he’s a public figure.
The doorbell rings and I powder my nose and inspect my puffy eyes. I still look like I’ve been crying, but the truth is that I’m actually remarkably calmer than I was before. A spanking, whiskey, and tears seem to have worked some magic on me. I’ve come down ten notches, and when I head for the stairs to join Kace and Blake, I feel as if my intellect, not my emotions, are in control. As far as Gio goes, I don’t know where his head is, but he’s always been a wild card, bucking convention. Mom was the only reason he restrained himself in the first place and I truly wonder how long he’s been at his hunt. Perhaps far longer than I think.
Hoping for insight on many things, I follow Kace’s and Blake’s voices to the kitchen. Sure enough, they’re at the island, which has become the meeting spot, both at the endcaps facing each other. Almost instantly, both men are looking at me and I don’t miss the keen inspection by either, and when my eyes meet Kace’s, there is an instant whip of heated intimacy, newly deepened between us. Feeling as if Blake will somehow know that I was just naked and bent over a chair, getting spanked by Kace, I hurry to Kace’s side, as if that alone shelters me. Kace immediately twines the fingers of his nearest hand to mine, a question in the touch that I recognize instantly. I glance up at him and kiss his cheek. “I’m remarkably better,” I assure him.
“Good to hear,” he says, a hint of mischief and conquest in his voice as he adds, “That was the plan.” I find I don’t mind the conquest or the mischief, not with the gentle mix of tenderness in his stare.
“What did I miss?” I ask, looking from him to Blake.
Kace releases my hand and presses his to the island. “Blake was just telling me about the journal.”
My heart jackhammers and I glance at Kace and then back at Blake, solidly back into my new reality, the one where my past, present, and future seem to be colliding. “Were you able to blow up the journal pages, Blake?”
“I was,” Blake confirms, “and with some cross-referencing to your father’s public records I confirmed his handwriting. This is the real deal.” He stops on the other side of the island with Kace and sets the pages on the counter.
I grab them and scan, my heart squeezing at the sight of my father’s writing, and the references to his beloved daughter. It’s all here. The one true daisy, Kace, and his daughter. The legacy is in you and in him, Aria. I’ve taught you the lessons you need to know. I’ve shown Kace the secrets inside the violin. You, daughter, decide if that secret lives or dies. All good things come to an end. Sometimes there is value to that end. My eyes pinch all over again, Lord help me, and I set aside the note. Thank God I’m in a better place right now, or who knows how this would be affecting me.
“I know Kace told you about Angelena,” I say, prodding for information.
“He did,” Blake confirms. “Angelena hasn’t been seen in nearly two decades and if that was her who called—”
“It was,” I insist. “I know her voice. Can you tell me anything about the call? Did it come from Italy?”
“Try someone around Grand Central Station here in the city,” Blake says. “That call was not international.”
Kace doesn’t move, but his energy jackhammers about as hard as my heart did a few minutes earlier, tension radiating from him. “Two questions.” His voice is low, tight. “Can we trace the call to a person and what the hell does that tell us about the intent behind that call?”
“The number is unregistered, which likely means a prepaid phone,” Blake says. “As for intent, I don’t know enough about Angelena to state an opinion. That said, my people on the ground in Italy confirm she’s been missing for years. She could have been hiding out here.”
“If she’s here, then she’s likely with Sofia,” I say. “Because Gio followed Sofia back to the States. Or so he said. All of this feels like a plan to make sure Kace and I have what we need to decode the formula. I don’t even care about the formula. I want this to end.” I look to Kace. “They can have it.”
“No,” he says. “No, they can’t.” He eyes Blake. “We need a plan that doesn’t include Aria giving up her family legacy.”
“Actually,” Blake says, “I’m with Aria. They want the formula, let’s give it to them so you can both move on and live your lives.”
“That’s not a plan,” Kace says, and while his voice is low, it’s also tight, a snap of displeasure beneath its surface.
“Hear me out,” Blake says, moving to the end of the island now. “We go to Europe and do an interview announcing the discovery of the formula at the Louvre.”
I blink. “As in the Louvre in Paris? Where the Mona Lisa is kept?”
“Exactly,” Blake confirms. “You come out as Aria Stradivari and you announce the formula is being vaulted at the Louvre. Tell the world you’ve decided it will not be released to the public.” He eyes Kace. “If you’ll donate a Stradivarius, then it can be the display.”
I blink and then gape. “Donate a Stradivarius? That’s millions of dollars. No. He’s not donating a Stradi
varius.”
“I’ll do it, baby,” Kace says, all nonchalant like it’s no big deal. “It’s a good tax write-off.”
“No,” I say, ignoring the stubbornness etched in his face, and returning my attention to Blake. “No.”
“Chris sits on the board,” Blake says. “If he can make it happen without the violin, we’ll try, but I have to talk to Chris and tell him what we’re doing.”
Kace is now focused on me. “You okay with Chris and Sara knowing?”
“Yes,” I say, surprised at how easily I offered that confirmation. Gio doesn’t trust my instincts, but I do. I trust Chris and Sara and just to be sure Kace knows I’m certain, I add, “Yes, of course.”
“The idea behind this plan,” Blake says, “is that to the outsiders looking in, the formula has been discovered, but it’s untouchable.”
“One small problem,” I point out. “We don’t have the formula.”
“That’s where Chris comes into play,” Blake assures me. “We’ll get the Louvre to play along until you do have it, at which time, we’ll commit to it remaining there.”
Kace rejects the plan. “That’s not going to work. We’re forgetting that they, whoever the hell they are, will still believe Aria and I know the formula. They’ll keep coming after us.”
“Then give them a formula,” Blake says without missing a beat, “have it on display, with copyrights in place. But give them the wrong formula. Get close, but not exact. Tell the world you found your father’s journal. You think you’ve cracked the code. When they figure out it’s wrong, you simply say that you tried.”
“We’re back to the original problem,” I say. “We don’t have the formula.”
“Well, convince the museum to say they have it with plans to reveal it months from now,” Blake says. “And if you don’t figure it out, we’ll regroup.”
