The Good Girl Effect (Salacious Legacy, #1)

by Sara Cate

Dear Emmaline, I know what you’re going to say. No one writes letters anymore. You’ll call me cheesy or an old romantic, but I don’t care. You deserve so much more than a text message or an email. You should know that a man who adores you sat down at his desk and wrote you a letter by hand to tell you just how much he loves you. And you know that I do. I love you. I never meant for this to happen. In only one year, I fell head over heels for you. Did you think I really went to all those ballet performances because I suddenly loved ballet? I was there for you. Every time. You brought so much joy to my life, Em. I was a miserable, boring man before you came along. My heart is telling me that you feel the same. And I know if we really gave this a shot, we’d be happy together. I miss you so much, and you’ve only been gone two weeks. Paris doesn’t shine the same without you. Please come back. Yours, Jack PS: I’ll even learn French for you.

My mind is reeling, and there is too much I need to say to him. Opening the drawer, I pull out a piece of blank paper and a pen. If he likes to handwrite letters, fine. I can write one too. My hand flies as I scribble out everything I want to say to Jack. It’s a messy string of conscious thoughts, and I don’t care that it’s not eloquent or well-spoken. He needs to hear what is on my mind.

I step quietly into his bedroom. The room smells like him, immediately bringing back memories of last night in the hallway or earlier today in the room across the hall. I take a deep breath, breathing him in because I can. Expensive cologne. Leather. Soap and musk. What I’m doing now could be a huge mistake, and it could cost me my job. But after the last few days with Jack, I have a feeling it won’t come to that. He may act like he wants me out of his life, but the way he held me today said differently. He wanted to show me. He just needs a little nudge.

That although she is gone, he is still another woman’s husband. Is this wrong of me? To ask what I’m asking? Ignoring the photo and swallowing down my guilt, I rest the folded letter on the nightstand with his name scrawled across the front in my messy handwriting. It looks so out of place. I have no doubt he’ll notice it immediately when he comes home. With that, I’m overcome with a sense of relief.

Rule #9: Never say what’s on your mind, and for God’s sake, never put it in a letter.

Jack

“What about this one?” I asked, holding a blue leather-bound book in my hands. Em turned around and glanced at it. With a shrug, she shook her head. “No, I couldn’t get into it.” “To the donation bin it goes,” I replied, tossing it in the box full of other books, old sweaters, and a pair of barely worn ballet slippers. We were standing in Emmaline’s apartment in Giverny, packing her belongings on a warm Sunday spring morning. There was some generic classic rock song playing on the radio. The smell of coffee, fresh flowers, and her perfume wafted through the air. It was only my second time being in her home. The first was the trip I took three months prior, delivering her home after her yearlong teaching internship in Paris.

Ever since we took ownership of L’Amour, recently renamed Legacy, it’s been slowly sinking into an unprofitable mess. As someone who worked for L’Amour under the direction of Ronan and Matis for seven years, I should know how to fix it.

“Hey.” I set my phone down and wait for her to continue, although I’m pretty sure I know what she wants to ask. “How are things?” I knew it. “Fine,” I murmur without meeting her eyes. Phoenix is the type of friend who can see that I’m drowning but doesn’t know how to pull me out of the water. Instead, she dives in and swims next to me. She’s been by my side, shoveling work and distraction my way since Em got sick because she knows it’s the only way to get me through. Right or wrong, I love her for it. “How’s the new nanny working out?” She steps into the office and sits in one of the chairs facing my desk. My molars clench at the mention of the nanny. “Bea loves her,” I say, sounding more displeased about that than I should. “That’s good,” she replies before clearing her throat.

After Em died, I begged Phoenix to take my daughter. And for a short time, she did. For me. It was a cruel request, and I’m not proud of it. To ask my best friend to help me and hurt me at the same time. To take the person I love most in this world because I couldn’t be the father Bea needs. I nearly died right along with Em when my daughter wasn’t in my house for six whole months. But I didn’t die. Instead, I buried myself in something new. Something to distract me. Something that gives me control and forces me to focus. I found a love for bondage that made everything hurt just a little less.

“I’m glad it’s working out,” she says softly. “But you know if it doesn’t…she can always come back and stay with me.” I hear my daughter’s voice in my head, and sorrow builds painfully in my throat. The adorable way she greeted me as I left the apartment. The hope and love in her eyes. She just wants her father. I won’t give her up again. “Thanks, Nix,” I say, my voice thick and raspy with emotion. “But it’s getting better.” She forces a smile. “Good. You know I’m always here for you.” “Thank you,” I say on an exhale. “Now, go home. There’s nothing you can do to fix this mess tonight,”

Throughout my entire walk, I think about this new nanny. She was hardly qualified in the first place, but now she’s proved herself disobedient, insubordinate, and nosy. Not to mention there is something that borders on inappropriate between us that is both of our faults. I should fire her. But I won’t. What I said to Phoenix was true. My daughter likes her new nanny. There is laughter in our home again. She smiles more now. What kind of asshole would I be if I took that away from her?

The city streets are still wet from the late evening rain, and I find something so relaxing about that. The way the cobblestones glisten under the streetlights and the cars on the road sound against the wet concrete. I will miss this city when we go. I’ll miss the way Paris feels, embracing me with memories. But I won’t miss it at the same time. Because even the rain on the city streets taunts me with moments from our past, like the night Em and I were caught in the rain, coming home from dinner. How she asked me to kiss her under the downpour because it was romantic, although I still don’t understand why. But I did it anyway. I used to hear her laughter in my mind so much more, echoing through our house and down the halls. Now I hear Camille’s instead, and it grates on my nerves. Her presence alone seems to be erasing the memory of my wife. And she has no idea.

Fuck, I hate the way she tempts me. I’m a monster for what I want, not only because the poor woman is so naive, so innocent, and so new. But also because I want to reach for her in memory of reaching for Em.

I creep down the hall before disappearing upstairs. I briefly hover in Bea’s doorway before approaching her bed. My daughter sleeps peacefully, clutching a stuffed unicorn in her arms. There’s an ache in my chest as I stare at her, the same way I do every night. I wish more than anything it had been me to go instead of Em. If she were here, she’d smother our daughter in comfort and affection so she’d never feel my absence. I wish I could do the same, but I don’t know how.

After gently kissing my daughter’s head, I tiptoe out of the room. Pausing in the hallway, I glance down at the closed door where Camille sleeps. Part of me wants to linger there again for reasons I don’t understand. It’s the strangest thing. It’s like there is a line of invisible rope from her to me, and it tugs me relentlessly closer to her. God, I need to get out of this city.

At first, I consider that it’s a note from my daughter. Or perhaps a drawing she made in school today. Upon closer inspection, I see my name scribbled in black ink with messy yet feminine handwriting.

Dear Jack, You say I don’t belong here, but you are wrong. I do belong here. I don’t know why I came up to your room today, and I don’t know why I opened that armoire, but something was calling me to. What I found today in that room has made me very curious, and I know you are the best person to teach me. Whatever it is, I just want to feel what it’s like.

I know it doesn’t have to be about sex, so I’m not asking for anything inappropriate. We can keep things innocent. I think you want to teach me. I felt the way you touched me today. I heard the way you reacted. You can deny it all you want, but we both know that this could be good. One thing you should know about me is that I’m stubborn. I don’t give up easily, and I always put up a fight. So the more you push me, the more I push back. The more you try to silence me, the louder I will be.

I’m trying to be patient with you. I will give you grace and patience while you work through whatever it is you need to work through, but you and I have more in common than you think. Because I think you’re as stubborn and curious as I am. If you don’t want me to talk to you, that’s fine. I won’t. But I still want to know what those ropes feel like. I want to know what it’s like to let you tie me up in them. I want to know what it feels like to submit. Please. Show me. Camille

Does she even know what she’s asking of me? She thinks this doesn’t have to be about sex, so she clearly doesn’t understand what it would feel like to be bound and submissive for another person. Because it might not be about sex, but it’s definitely going to blur some very serious lines. “No,” I say to myself as I set the letter on the table. “Absolutely not.”

But as I unbutton my shirt and tear it from my shoulders, I imagine her long blond curls braided down her naked back. I picture her small wrists bound behind her. I picture a blindfold over her eyes and her empty mouth at the right height to take my cock. “Fuck!” I bark as I bury my fingers in my hair. What am I doing? I can’t think things like that. That is exactly what I should not be doing. Trying to distract myself, I go to the bathroom down the hall and close myself in. I don’t have to remove my pants to know my cock is stiff and pulsing with need. “Stop it,” I berate myself, trying to carry on with my normal night routine before going to sleep.

Dammit, Camille. How could she ask me that? She really has no idea the effect she has on me, and clearly, neither did I until this moment. Returning to my room, I know there won’t be an ounce of rest for me until I respond to her in some way. So I go down the hall to my office and sit in the dim room with only a small lamp on the desk to illuminate the blank white page.

Every excuse feels wrong. It would be inappropriate. I am your employer. Contrary to what you assume, I do not share these feelings with you. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Just once, I decide to write something without letting my mind stop me. I write her a response that feels right. The words fly across the page, and by the time I finish, I know that I should not, under any circumstance, give her this letter.

With one last moment of hesitation, I slide the letter under her door. There is no turning back now. My regret and I make our way back upstairs and into my bed. I am not a man of impulse. I don’t make decisions lightly. But this woman seems to have scrambled the wires in my brain. I find myself almost obsessed with her in a way that can’t be healthy. And when she reads that letter today, she will know.

Rule #10: Be a man of your word.

Camille

Camille When I said you don’t belong here, I meant that you are far too sweet and innocent to know what you are asking me to do. And I stand by this assumption. If you think any of this could be accomplished without sex, then you have no idea what it is I would do in these demonstrations. You have no idea who I am or what I like.

First of all, you would be naked for me, stripped of every ounce of clothes on your body. Your hair would be braided down your back so it does not get in the way. You would start on your knees for me, blindfolded, and you will not speak unless I tell you to. I would bind your arms and legs in a harness so that you could not move them. You would be completely and utterly bound for me. Every one of your senses would be heightened. Do you understand? You would be at my mercy, Ms. Aubert. I would own you.

When I have you tied up, I will want to fuck you. And when you are tied up for me, you will want me to. In fact, you’ll beg for it. You’ll beg for my cock in your sweet, dripping little cunt. If this letter scares you—good. It’s meant to. I am not a kind or gentle man, Camille. And I’m no fucking teacher. I want you to fully understand what you ask of me because there is no chance of us going down this road with any part of it remaining innocent or appropriate. So tell me. Are you still curious?

But in truth, I’m none of those things. In fact, I’ve never felt more excited. He said he wanted his letter to scare me, but it doesn’t. He thinks I’ll be turned off by his perverted words, but I’m not. Tiny footsteps steal my attention, so I shove the letter into the drawer of the desk and quickly compose myself, ready to face the little girl who needs my attention. Coming out of the bedroom, I find Bea standing in the hallway, still in her pink satin pajamas and her hair a mess. “J’ai faim,” she mumbles sleepily as she rubs her eyes. “What would you like for breakfast?” I reply, forcing a smile.

Once she’s settled, I pat her on the head delicately. “I just need to get dressed. Then we can go to the park.” “Okay,” she chirps excitedly. She’s quietly playing with her dolls as I slip out of her room and down to my own.

Dear Jack, I am still curious, and I don’t scare easy. I am not an innocent or naive woman. If you think I don’t want the things you’ve described in your letter, you’re wrong. I want all those things, and I’m not afraid. I want to know what it feels like to be bound the way you promise. And everything that comes with it. So tell me. Are you a man of your word? Or was this all talk? Camille

I scurry up the stairs with my letter. My fingers are shaking as I tiptoe down the hall toward his room. Then, just as he did sometime last night or early this morning, I slide my letter under the door for him to read when he wakes. There’s no taking it back now.

I’m wiping down the counters in the kitchen when I hear movement upstairs. He’s awake—reading my letter at this moment. I freeze, waiting in anticipation. I can practically hear my heart thumping in my chest. With a humiliated squeak, I cover my face with my hands and wait for his response. A long time goes by in silence. I continue to clean the kitchen, then prep for dinner. My eyes flash to the stairwell again and again. I’m leaning against the counter when I hear his steps coming down. That invisible string between us pulls him nearer and nearer. The house is so quiet that I can barely breathe.

When he appears in the doorway to the kitchen, all the air is sucked from the room. I see him so rarely that every time he stands before me, I am reminded of just how handsome he is.

He stands in silence, staring at me. The words in our letters hover around us like promising threats. Then I glance down and see my last letter held tightly in his hand. My breath hitches in my chest. As he takes one menacing step after another toward me, I lean into the counter pressed against my lower back. He doesn’t stop his advances until his body is flush against mine, and I have to practically bend backward to hold his stare. He lifts a finger and presses it to my mouth to keep me quiet.

“You are a stubborn little thing, aren’t you?” Silently, I nod, making him crack a smile. It’s the most warmth he’s ever given me, and I’m hungry for more. “You’re playing with fire, you know that? I can’t seem to say no to you, although I should.”

“I am a man of my word, so I will show you. But that’s all. A simple lesson. Anything more would be inappropriate. So we’ll see just how curious you are.”

“Midnight. Upstairs. Understand?” Again, I nod. “Good girl,” he replies, and it has me melting against the cabinets. The effect of those words alters my brain chemistry.

Rule #11: Always trust your gut.

Camille

Jack has been gone since he left this afternoon. So when the door opens at half past eleven, I watch nervously. I can hear my pulse in my ears as he walks into the apartment, glancing toward the kitchen briefly before climbing the stairs to his room. Should I follow him? I decide to wait it out, wringing my fingers in anticipation. At precisely 12:00 a.m., I climb the stairs without looking back. The doors at the end of the hall are open, and I pause when Jack passes from one to the other.

Jack is rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Close the door,” he says, so I press it shut behind me. Then I’m standing just a few feet away from him, waiting for what comes next. “Come here,” he says in a clipped command.

“You’re here because you wanted to see what it’s like to be bound, so that’s what I’m going to do. You are new to this, so I’m going to use restraint, but at any time, if you don’t like what I’m doing or anything hurts or feels numb, I want you to tell me. Understood?” Knowing that Jack prefers silence, I nod instead of speaking. Touching my shoulder, he slowly turns me around so my back is to him. I take a slow, shuddering breath as he gathers my hair at the nape of my neck. With deft fingers, he begins to section my hair into parts as if he’s done this a thousand times. While he works to braid it, he speaks.

“I’ve been thinking about what I put in that letter today, and I want you to know that I do not plan on fucking you, Ms. Aubert. It was wrong of me to write that. I am fully capable of showing you what you want to experience while keeping things professional. Understand?”

Then he leans in until his mouth is near my ear as he adds, “But it doesn’t mean I won’t want to.”

“When I thought about it more, I realized this might be a perfect solution for both of us. You want to know what it feels like to be tied up, and I need a willing person to let me. This does not make me your Dom, understand?” I nod, although he never turns around to see me. “This is an intricate and elaborate practice with many different layers and variations. I don’t want to be your teacher, Miss Aubert. I’m not interested in showing you how to tie these things yourself. If you choose to learn more, you’ll have to find someone else.”

“Why do you do it then? If not for…sex.” He turns toward me with his expression pinched together in concentration. “It…settles my mind. Gives me some sense of control.” His voice is low and steady, and I have to swallow down my nerves and a hint of arousal at hearing him speak so intimately. Why is he so desperate for control? What is on his mind that he needs to quiet?

“Why are you so interested in trying it?” he replies keenly. “I’m curious, maybe to a fault.” His mouth twitches with the hint of a smile. “You’ve mentioned that.” He pulls a black silk ribbon from the cabinet. As he brings it over to me, he pauses, his eyes cascading down my body. He seems to realize that I’m still fully clothed. “You’ll need to take these off. Leave on your bra and underwear.” He clears his throat as I quickly tug my shirt over my head and shed my pants, throwing both in a pile in the corner.