Chapter Twenty-Seven

Remorse and disappointment enveloped Ian in a cold, wet fog. It settled around him like the thick mist that had moved into London overnight and seemed destined to stay for days.

His two nights with Tori had been brilliant, amazing, and perfect. After all that effort to win her, he’d cocked it up big-time. He’d decided to tell her when he’d taken her into the alcove, but she’d made it clear she only wanted sex. So, he’d returned to his original plan—to wait on the big unmasking until after he’d forged a strong connection to her through great sex. Had it worked, she would have been tied to him—maybe even fallen in love with him to the point where it wouldn’t have mattered how they’d got together. A risky game, it had turned into a colossal misfire.

Sod it! Now he was the one falling so hard it felt as painful as if he’d crashed into concrete.

How had he fucked this up so badly?

She wouldn’t take his calls or return his texts, and he needed to see her like he needed air to breathe. Not to talk, but literally just see her again. Gaze at her and burn her image into his memory, since it seemed that was all he would ever have of her.

Unable to resist the impulse, he slipped into her courtroom and sat at the back among the crowd. She looked composed, as if nothing in the world bothered her, while he was already half in love with her and halfway to hell.

Ian gave a mental groan. Well, what had he expected to see while she presided over court? Tears? Hysterics? Even just a trace of sadness?

Not likely.

About to leave, something caught his eye. She kept tugging at her white neckband in a strange manner. What was that all about?

Sitting straighter, he strained to see. Was it possible his collar was still around her neck?

He had to know. Even more important, he needed to approach her in person since, clearly, she wasn’t going to take his calls.

Later in the day, fortune smiled on him. Rounding a corner, he spied her up ahead.

He hurried forward. Reaching out, he touched her arm. “Victoria.”

She skidded to a stop and whirled around, gasping when she saw it was him. “I thought I made it clear. I don’t want to talk to you…ever!”

His eyes were drawn to her neck. The white neckband had slipped a bit, and a glimpse of gold and a sparkling crystal glimmered there. He had proof now—she remained branded with his collar. Excitement filled him, and a small, satisfied smile curled his lips.

Now it was their special secret, even if she didn’t want to share secrets with him anymore. No one else in the world knew about his slave collar hiding on her lovely neck, nor that for one glorious night she’d been his sexual submissive. His groin tightened.

He tried to stifle his grin, satisfaction filling him. He recognized the exact second she realized he knew, a mixture of embarrassment and anger making her eyes flash and her face blush furiously red. Without another word, she turned away.

“Don’t leave,” he begged, placing a hand on her arm. “Please let me explain.”

“There’s nothing you—”

“You must feel something for me. You’re still wearing my gift.”

“That’s only because I can’t—” Her eyes shot daggers at him. “Never mind! We’re through, and I’m not playing your games anymore.”

“You can’t get it off, can you?” He dropped his voice to an intimate, husky tone, his win-at-all-costs personality driving him to gamble yet again. “Let me help. I’ll take it off you now, and later I’ll put it back on so we can resume where we left off.”

She froze for a hot second, emotions washing across her face. She yanked her arm back. “You unbelievably arrogant bastard. I—” She paused, seeming to force the words from her lips. “I. Don’t. Want. You.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said seriously. “I think we could be great together.”

She stormed away from him without another word.

“Please read my letter!” he called after her.

He wanted to chase after her but stopped himself. He’d made another miscalculation and didn’t want to make a third. He didn’t understand his constant need to fence with her. In the past, he’d always thrived on the hunt and the battle—in court and in love—but with Tori, he kept parrying left when he should have fallen right. And it seemed the more he cared for her, the more errors he made.

Left standing there alone, he watched her rigid, retreating back. The loss of her hit him with the force of a punch to the gut. His shoulders hunched, and he fought to remain proudly upright.

For the hundredth time, he asked himself how he could fix this.

What the hell should I do?

Turning to leave the building, he resolved to keep fighting for her. He wouldn’t give up. Not yet. He would follow the only course of action left open to him—to woo her relentlessly until she let him back into her life.