Accidental Slave (7 page)

Slave E.
was printed on the cover, along with
House of Usher Slave Auction.
With trembling fingers, she turned the page and gasped. Depicted there were graphic color photos of a woman bound in rope and chain, contorted in various uncomfortable-looking and sexually explicit positions. She turned the page again and there was her own face, smiling calmly back at her, inexplicably attached to a naked body, kneeling up, breasts thrust forward, a shaven mons spread wide for the camera.

“Jesus God,” she murmured, as confused as she was horrified. She felt strangely lightheaded and there was a curious rushing sound in her ears. The nausea returned full force. The pamphlet slipped from her fingers, which seemed to have lost the ability to grasp.

“Elizabeth, are you all right? Elizabeth? Put your head between your knees. I think you’re about to pass out.” The voice sounded very far away. She could hear the words, but she couldn’t make any sense of them. Bile rose in her throat and the rushing sound changed to a persistent ringing, blotting out any other sound.

“I think I’m going to…” She felt herself sliding from the chair as strong arms reached out to catch her.

Elizabeth opened her eyes, confused and disoriented. She was being held in someone’s arms. For a second she had no idea where she was other than that. Her head began to clear and she remembered.

Cole was carrying her toward the bed. “Hey, you okay? I caught you before you hit the floor.” Carefully he laid her down and sat beside her.

Elizabeth felt weak, though the nausea, at least, seemed to have left her. “I think I’m feeling better, actually. I could use something for this pounding headache, if you had it.”

“Absolutely. And something in your stomach would probably make you feel better too.

Maybe some toast and a cup of coffee? No, wait.” He smiled that wonderful lopsided grin again and despite herself, Elizabeth grinned back. “How about some homemade lemon pound cake?

Melts in your mouth.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out—”

“No trouble at all. I have a housekeeper who comes in a few times a week. She sometimes brings me treats from her daughter’s bakery. They’re always well worth the calories.” Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice Cole’s trim physique and flat abs beneath his white knit shirt and blue jeans. She doubted he had to worry much about calories.

He continued. “I imagine you want to get dressed. There are some clothes that would fit you in that wardrobe there. I think they’re about your size. Unless you want to wear your gown home?”

Elizabeth didn’t want to wear the glamorous gown and most especially the too-high heels.

But what did a guy like that keep in a wardrobe for his women friends? She had a vision of shiny black latex bodysuits and leather bustiers and corsets with garters dangling, or whatever he dressed his slave girls in for their hired play.

She knew she had to find out more about the whole peculiar, bizarre situation in which she found herself, but Cole was right. Sustenance first, then maybe she could think straight. The pound cake, and especially the coffee, sounded good. Once fortified, hopefully she would be able to organize her thoughts and collect her wits.

She looked toward the wardrobe. “What’s in there? Do you keep extra corsets and bustiers for the slave girls you bring home?”

She half-expected him to take offense or act embarrassed because she’d caught him out.

Instead she was the embarrassed one when a small spasm of pain washed over his handsome face. “Actually, those are some of my wife’s things. My late wife. Most of it has been packed off for charity, but some of her summer things that were stored in here got passed over. I just haven’t gotten around to doing anything about it, I guess.”

Elizabeth felt horrible. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Please, don’t apologize. You didn’t know. How could you? She died in a car accident. She was killed instantly, so at least she didn’t suffer.”

“You must miss her…”
Though not so much to stop you from hanging out at S&M sex clubs
and bidding on prostitutes to take home for the night.
Silently Elizabeth admonished herself to cut it out. The man had lost his wife, for heaven’s sake.

“I do. It’s been three years, though, and time really does heal even the worst wounds.” Cole gave a small, sad smile. “And truth to tell, our marriage was kind of rocky. She was seeing another man and it was surely just a matter of time before…”

“She was having an affair?”

“Yeah. We’d been married fourteen years. We married too young, basically. We had drifted apart. I knew she was seeing the guy. He wasn’t the first. The worst thing about it was, I really didn’t care. We would have definitely split up by now.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, at least for Elizabeth. Cole shook his head, shaking away the somber mood with a smile. “I’m being a terrible host, talking your ear off about stuff I’m sure you don’t want to know while you’re lying there starving to death. I have a pot of coffee already made. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he was gone. Elizabeth, who was propped against the pillows, sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, waiting for another wave of dizziness. Happily, it didn’t come.

She scooted forward until her feet touched the ground. She didn’t feel like herself, but at least the nausea remained at bay.

She moved toward a chair and sat down carefully, pulling the long nightshirt over her knees.

She was about to check out the wardrobe when Cole appeared with a tray. He set it down on the small table between the red chairs. “Ah, good. You’re up. You feel okay? Not going to pass out again on me, are you?”

“No, no, I’m okay.” She turned her attention to the tray, reaching for the mug of steaming coffee, its aroma calling to her. She poured a little cream into the cup and lifted it to her lips, gratefully taking a sip.

Cole pulled a small bottle from his pocket and set it on the tray. “Ibuprofen,” he offered.

“Let me just get you some water.” Striding across the room, he retrieved the water pitcher and poured a glass, which he placed on the tray as well. It had been a long time since someone had administered so kindly to her. And he, a virtual stranger.

“Thanks for doing all this. I’m still kind of out of it as to what the hell went on last night.”

Cole sat across from her and raised a hand, palm toward her. “Please, don’t worry about that for now. We’ll figure this out. Have a bite to eat. You’re still pale.” Elizabeth looked down at the thick slice of yellow cake resting invitingly on a china plate and realized she was famished.

It was buttery and moist, with a tangy lemon glaze that offset the sweetness to perfection.

She ate in silence, embarrassed he was watching her, but too hungry to stop.

Unable to resist, she dabbed the last couple of crumbs with her finger and put it in her mouth. She looked up to find Cole watching her with an amused expression. “Would you like some more? There’s plenty left.”

“No. No, thank you.” She dabbed her lips with her napkin. “It was delicious.” What was she doing here, in a strange man’s house, wearing his nightshirt, eating his cake? She needed to get home. She needed to figure out what the hell had happened to her.

Cole smiled again, distracting her. He had a wonderful jaw line, firm and square. His face was smooth, freshly shaven though his beard was dark. His complexion was olive, his nose long and slightly beaked. It was a strong face, but a kind one. She could smell his aftershave, something light and woodsy. She resisted a crazy impulse to lean closer to smell it properly.

She took a gulp of her coffee and sat back, her brain coming more to life now that she’d eaten something. Cole Pearson didn’t look like a sadistic sex pervert. He sure didn’t act like one.

But he
had
been at that club, bidding on girls who liked to be whipped or God knew what.

“I just can’t get my head around whatever’s happened. Gary Dobbins, if he and John Hunter are one and the same, works for me at Wallace & Pratt, the advertising agency. I can’t believe he’d have the gall to drug me and then drag me to some sex club. I mean, the risk was enormous.

It’s no secret he was pissed to be passed over for a promotion for the job I landed. But Jesus, this seems like a pretty extreme response. And I was hired nearly a year ago. Why would he wait so long to get his revenge, if that’s what this is?” And what I still don’t get is, how did he do it?

And why don’t I remember anything? He’s sure as hell not going to get away with it, if he’s responsible. His ass is toast.”

Cole shook his head. “It’s hard to believe, all right. He even went to the considerable trouble of creating a false slave dossier for you. I mean, that isn’t you in the pictures?” He raised his eyebrows and Elizabeth felt flames lick her cheeks.

“No! Absolutely
not
. I mean, that was my face on the last one, but that was all. The photo was obviously doctored with a photo editing program. Not hard to do, especially with the sophisticated photo programs we have at work. I don’t know where he got my headshot, but that wouldn’t be hard to come by, I suppose.” She pondered. “How did he get me to the club? And why don’t I remember any of it?”

“He probably drugged your drink. Used some kind of date rape drug. They’re clear and tasteless, or at least the taste can be masked, I suppose. He must have been banking on your blacking out. I think it’s one of the side effects, especially if you’re given a pretty hefty dose, which it would seem you were. I imagine he got you there by simply taking you. I read up a little on the drugs that can be used, and one of the effects is they make you very compliant. They lower your inhibitions as well.

“So maybe you were even a willing participant in all of it, though I doubt you were really aware of what was going on. You did allow yourself to be led to the auction block. You were with it enough to stand up there for the few minutes it took to bid on you. You were swaying a bit, but people just assumed you were drunk. Though I personally never mix alcohol and D/s play, there are plenty that do. I took you home to get you away from him as much as anything. It was clear just from a few minutes of talking to Hunter or Dobbins or whoever he is that he wasn’t a true Dom. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time he was setting you up.”

He tilted his head, appraising her. There was something penetrating in his gaze. Elizabeth felt suddenly naked. Both confused and aroused, she looked away.

Cole continued to speculate. “It does seem like an awfully drastic step to take just because someone got a job you thought should have been yours. I mean, usually if you’re going to give someone a date rape drug, it’s so you can force them into unwanted sex, right? If you don’t mind my asking, is there something else between you? Were you two, uh, involved?”

“No
way
.” The very idea was repugnant.

Her revulsion must have showed on her face because Cole laughed. “Sorry. So back to the revenge theory.”

“Yeah. The thing is, Gary’s a really bright guy and he works hard, but when the last guy in my position retired, he was passed over. He’s not really a leader. He’s too eager to take credit and loathe to share it. Senior management didn’t feel he had what it takes to do the job. The job requires a lot of social skills and a willingness to put yourself out there with the client. Gary is more of a backroom guy. He gets flustered when he has to speak publicly. He has a hard time hiding his feelings, which are often rather negative. He tends to rub people the wrong way.

“I knew he was pissed off about not getting the job he believed he’d been groomed for. He made no bones about it, especially at first. But I had really thought, especially this past month, that he’d finally put it behind him. His whole attitude had taken a hundred-eighty degree turn for the better, or so I’d thought.”

She pushed her hair away from her face and sighed. This whole situation was so strange, it hardly seemed real. The sexy guy sitting across from her was real enough though.

“You’ve been through a pretty rough night. Would you like to take a shower? Do you feel okay? I mean, well enough to shower on your own?”

“Why? You offering to take one with me?” She grinned and he grinned back but shook his head. Though she’d been teasing, she realized she’d been expecting him to at least flirt a little.

But maybe he wasn’t interested in her, not now that he’d found out she wasn’t the submissive sex slave he thought he’d brought home with him.

“I’ll be just down the hall in case you need me. Just press the intercom button in the bathroom and I’ll hear you,” was all he offered. She toyed briefly with the idea of pretending she was going to faint, to make him come into the bathroom while she was naked. Mentally she tossed the idea away, surprised at herself for even thinking it. Elizabeth Martin did not go after guys, even gorgeous ones like this. They came to her.

She kept her voice cool. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ll be out of your hair after that. I’ll just grab a taxi.” Reflexively she glanced out of the high rise window, as if she could get her bearings in the city by doing so. “Where are we, anyway? I mean, this is obviously Manhattan but…”

“Fifth Avenue at Sixty third. And please, don’t worry about that. Take all the time you need.

I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.” He smiled, those dark eyes entering her soul.

She looked away, flustered despite herself. “That’s okay. I can take a cab—really.”

He stood, still smiling. “We can argue about it later. You should find everything you need in the bathroom. Please help yourself to anything in that wardrobe.” He paused, adding, “I really think you should press charges against that lunatic.”

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do, to tell you the truth. The whole thing still seems surreal to me. I don’t want to accuse him outright until I speak to him. Maybe it wasn’t even Gary who brought me there. Maybe whoever this John guy was only resembled Gary, and I somehow ended up with him. The whole thing is so strange and I know I’m not thinking clearly yet.”