“Did you return the ones you bought me and buy different ones?” she asked.
“No. These are yours. Bequeathed to you by Cristina.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Apparently, she contacted her lawyer in the last days before she died and altered her will, leaving you her entire wardrobe, shoes, accessories . . . everything. It’s no small thing,” Vanni said, his lips tilting in dark amusement. “Cristina was a real clothes hound, and was often named one of the best-dressed women on the planet. Most of these dresses have never even been worn.”
“She and I did discuss her love of fashion,” Emma said numbly, her mind trying to make sense of what Vanni was saying. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Part of her was stunned, part of her deeply moved by Cristina’s gesture. “She and I talked about her shop and she actually . . .”
“What?” Vanni asked when she faded off.
“She said she wanted me to have all her clothes. I didn’t take her seriously, though. I only knew her for a little over a week.”
“I told you she liked you,” he said quietly.
His eyes looked shrouded in the dim light of the closet, but she saw the glint in them as he stared at her. Emma touched the dresses in a mixture of awe and sadness. “I probably shouldn’t accept them . . . but I will,” she said with breathless resolution. Cristina had wanted her to have them, for whatever reason. Emma thought enough of her not to refuse such a lavish, thoughtful gift. Cristina hadn’t done it randomly, she just knew that somehow.
“It was a very personal gift,” Vanni said.
“I know. Clothes meant so much to her,” Emma agreed in a hushed tone.
She looked over her shoulder and met his stare, seeing the hunger gleaming in his eyes as he watched her. Her pulse began to leap at her throat.
“Come here,” he said.
She swallowed, a thread in his tone making her skin prickle with awareness. Something caught her attention to the left of him as she walked into his arms.
“Oh my,” she mumbled, craning to see what hung on the wall behind him. A rush of excitement went through her, hot and forbidden, something akin to what she’d felt that night in the armoire, but this time more intense.
“You know I always feel like you’re out of my reach,” he said quietly, ignoring her anxious staring over his shoulder.
She looked up at him slowly when he caught her chin, her fingers clutching instinctively on his hard, muscular biceps. “I’m right here,” she whispered.
“Yes. But you deprived me of your presence for four days,” he said, a hard glimmer of challenge and dark amusement in his eyes. An electrical shiver ran through her. “So I’m going to give you a little punishment.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, giving him a glare for good measure.
“That’s not what this is about. It would give me pleasure to have you at my mercy. I need it, after what you did. I believe it will give you excitement and pleasure as well. That’s all. Now I want you to go and choose one,” he hitched his chin in the direction behind him, and Emma knew very well he’d known exactly what she was looking at the whole time.
She again looked past him. There was a built-in chest of drawers, but above, instruments of sexy punishment were hanging on the wall. She saw several leather floggers and what appeared to be a riding crop. There were several sizes of paddles—long and thin, medium and wide, short and round.
The idea of being the one to choose her method of sexual punishment amplified the forbidden thrill of the dark room, Vanni’s hot eyes, and her own breathless excitement. She dropped her hands from his and walked past him, approaching the wall slowly. For a moment, she studied all the instruments, highly aware of his eyes on her backside. She fingered first one polished hardwood paddle and then a leather-covered one, then one with holes drilled into the wood, which looked like it would hurt. Her clit tingled with excitement. She’d didn’t relish the idea of pain. The idea of being at Vanni’s mercy was what excited her. Her fingers ran over the thin crop and the square slapper at the end. She touched the leather lashes on the flogger, but her hand dropped quickly away. It reminded her too much of that night she watched him and Astrid. The idea of him doing something similar to her left her feeling almost unbearably sexually excited, but also intimidated, because she’d felt so cast a sea on that night, like she was a novice watching two professionals in gaping wonder and confusion.
But she was learning a few things . . .
She reached, removing the polished, long wood paddle that was about two and a half feet long and four inches wide. Heat scalded her cheeks when she saw Vanni’s small smile as she handed it to him. Was that a glint of triumph in his eyes? It suddenly felt impossible to meet his stare.
“You’ll have to take your strokes on a paddling bench with that large of a paddle,” he said gently. “Is that all right?”
“What’s a paddling bench?”
“It’s a padded bench that you kneel on to receive the punishment. I could have you bend over with that paddle, but I’d prefer the bench today. You will be completely exposed to me, but you’ll be comfortable.” He seemed to notice her hesitation. “You can choose another paddle if you prefer. With a shorter one, I could paddle you across my knee.”
She shook her head, her throat too constricted to speak.
“Go out into the bedroom then, and get undressed. I’ll join you in a moment.” He reached up and swept his forefinger along her cheek and jaw, his actions striking her as very tender. She walked past him, not taking a full breath until she stood by the bed. A shadow was cast on the balcony outside the French doors now, leaving the room cool and comfortable. In the distance, the Mediterranean sparkled like a jewel in the bright sunshine.
The sea breeze tickled her sensitive nipples and the skin of her belly and thighs a moment later when she removed her panties—the last item of clothing she wore. She swept her hand along a buttock, imagining how hot it would soon be from the paddle. She dropped it guiltily to her side when she heard Vanni’s step, and turned to face him. Her eyes widened when she saw him carrying a wooden bench in one hand, and the paddle in the other. The wooden stool was about two and a half or three feet tall. It was unique, with a long leather center cushion at the top to lie on and a cushioned ledge on either side, where the knees and hands would rest. She would be spread if she took that position, her bottom at the edge of the bench, an easy target . . .