Master of Submission [Masters of Submission 1] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic) (6 page)

The pain in her ankle intensified as she limped helplessly on one ruined shoe. Peering over a bush, she craned her neck to get a better view through one of the massive ground floor windows.
I’ll find out who this guy really is, even if it kills me.

Without warning, a strong hand covered her mouth and nose. From behind, her arm was twisted painfully up her back. Fear like she’d never known before tore through her as someone large and powerful dragged her unceremoniously into the open. Was this how her life would end, on some cold, damp night, in the middle of nowhere?

“Just what the hell are you doing here? I’ve a good mind to call the cops.” Zane held Emma tightly in his grasp. He felt her shaking, but there was no way he’d let her go this time.

He’d been aware she’d followed him from the club. He couldn’t help but smile when he’d seen her duck down in the seat of her car, trying to avoid him. If she was a journalist, as he suspected, she wasn’t very good at her job, because it was highly unusual to have a car follow him onto the single track—a track that led only to his house. As she’d snuck up the drive, he’d jumped from his car and circled around behind her.

Still holding her, he pulled her into the piercing glare that shone brightly from the overhead security floodlights. Emma struggled and tried to pull his hand from her mouth. Even though he was angry, he’d let her speak.

He moved his hand from her mouth, and she immediately started screaming. He covered her lips again and whispered into her ear. “Shhh, just tell me why you’re here, and I’ll let you go. There’s no point in screaming, Emma, because apart from us, there’s no one else within five miles of here. Promise me you won’t make a noise.”

Emma nodded frantically, and he slowly pulled his hand from her mouth. Her whole body trembled beneath his. “Are you going to kill me? Is that what you did to Chloe?” Her breathing was heavy. She was shaking uncontrollably, and could barely get her words out. “The police know I’m here. I called them on my cell phone when I parked up. You won’t get away with it.”

That was not the answer he’d been expecting. “Chloe? What the hell do I have to do with this Chloe, whoever she is?” He remembered she’d spoken about a Chloe at the club. “I was hoping you’d explain why you’re trespassing on my property.”

“What?”

“Don’t play the innocent with me, lady. I know you’re some kind of reporter.” He jabbed a finger at her. “You’ve set me up. You’re after another seedy story to fill the pages of whatever crap you write for. You can tell your boss to go fuck—”

“I’m not a reporter. You must believe me.” Rain streamed down her face before dropping from her chin. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Zane laughed dismissively. “Are you kidding me, lady? The very fact that you’re snooping around my place uninvited sort of gives me a clue. It’s just the type of thing that parasites who like to call themselves journalists do.” He pointed at her again. “And it’s not for the first time, either.”

The words “no, no, no, you don’t understand” spilled from her lips, making him even more exasperated.

“I’m gonna ask you just one more time before I call the cops. What the hell are you doing here?”

With her breathing still heavy and frightened, she finally managed to say, “I’ve already told you. I’m looking for my best friend, Chloe.”

Zane felt his brows draw together. He didn’t understand any of it. Starting to regain his composure, he said, “Look, let’s go inside and discuss this. We’re both getting soaked standing out here.”

Her hands came to her face. “Oh, God, no one’s taking me seriously. I know something’s happened to her.”

Zane put his arm around her and tried to guide her toward his house, but it was obvious she’d injured her ankle. The poor girl could barely walk.

When he looked at her, he knew she was genuinely distressed. Mascara ran down her cheeks in long, black rivulets. Her flawless complexion was flushed, and her leg was bleeding. The heel of one stiletto was missing. He realized then that Emma was no reporter. He felt sorry that he’d been so harsh with her. Something softened in his heart as he observed her obvious vulnerability. He wanted to protect her.

“Here, let me help you,” he said calmly. He scooped her into his arms and started to carry her toward the house. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can tell me everything. And I mean everything.” He walked up the steps. “Hang on.”

Emma clung to him like her life depended on it. Her head rested against his chest as he keyed in the four-digit code, and the impressive front door clicked open. With her still nestled in his arms, he headed for the kitchen at the back of the house. He flicked a switch, flooding the room with light, and then gently placed her on top of the black granite work surface. “Stay right here, and I’ll get you cleaned up,” he commanded.

“You’re not Orion are you?” she whispered, looking embarrassed.

Zane leaned down and grabbed the first aid kit from the bottom drawer of the cupboard. “Just who or what the hell is Orion, Emma?” Her winter coat was unbuttoned and it fell open, revealing the soft, womanly flesh beneath.
Fucking hell, you’re beautiful.
He wondered if she knew how attractive she looked, with the telltale signs of distress plastered all over her face.

“Tell me about Chloe. Why do you think I should know where she is?” He took an antiseptic swab from a pack and dabbed the drying blood on her leg. “Let me know if it stings, baby.”

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Try at the beginning.”

“My best friend is missing. I just know something terrible has happened to her.”

Zane carefully removed the ruined stiletto from her perfect, tiny foot, and then tossed it aside. He then gently manipulated her ankle, checking out how much movement she had. Emma bit down on her bottom lip, but didn’t cry out. “I think you’ve just sprained it, baby.” He took a bandage from the first aid box. “So, this missing woman is called Chloe?”

“Yes. I’ve lodged a missing person’s report with the police. It’s on the FBI database, but there’s nothing more they can do. They’re not treating her disappearance as important.”

“So what has Club Submission got to do with Chloe?” he asked, as he carefully began bandaging her foot and ankle.

“She met a man there. He calls himself Orion. I think he’s the guy she went away with for a long weekend of debauchery.” She couldn’t help but giggle. He guessed it was at her choice of words.
Debauchery? How English
.

“There, that should do it.” He tied the bandage off securely, and released her foot.

“Thank you. That feels so much better.”

“So how do you know she met this guy? What’s his name again?”

“He’s called Orion. He sent her e-mails asking to meet up at Club Submission. She’s been missing for over a week now.” Emma looked right at him. He saw teardrops welling in her eyes, ready to flow down her cheeks. “I know something bad has happened to her. I just know it.”

Zane squeezed her delicate hand, trying to reassure her. “Maybe I can help? Do you have a picture of your friend?”

Emma rifled through her purse and produced a small photograph. “This was taken two years ago. It’s of us both. We were enjoying a lovely holiday in Cannes together.” She handed it to him.

Zane studied the picture of the two smiling women, arm in arm. The azure-colored Mediterranean Sea filled the background, while the wind blew through their hair. His gut twisted. He knew the woman with the short dark hair. He tapped the photograph. “That’s Giselle.”

Emma looked stunned. “Giselle, you say? You think you know someone, but…” She sighed resignedly. “When did you last see her?”

“A couple of months ago. Maybe a little longer. I can’t say I really knew her that well.”

“I see.” Emma paused. “So was she your sub?”

“Briefly.”

“So what happened?”

“Jesus, Emma, so many questions. What are you, a cop?”

She shook her head. “No, but I’m a lawyer. I know when there’s more to tell.”

Zane nodded. So Emma was a lawyer. It figured. “Look, after a couple of weeks or so it became obvious we weren’t compatible. We decided to call a halt. Both of us saw our D/s relationship was going nowhere.”

“I see.”

“I don’t think so. You’re not experienced enough at present.”

He studied Emma for a moment. For a woman who was so obviously distressed only a short time ago, she now appeared remarkably composed. Only the streaks of mascara still covering her beautiful porcelain cheeks gave the game away.

The question still burning in his mind just had to be asked. “Why did you run away from me at the club?”

Her lips parted, as she looked at him through hooded eyes. Her bright blue irises flashed with uncertainty. “I was scared, Zane.”

“Scared of me, or scared of yourself?”

“Both.”

At least she was being honest. He stroked his hand down her cheek, feeling a sense of satisfaction that she didn’t pull away. “How do you feel now?”

“A little better. I’d feel a lot better if I knew more about you.”

Zane felt the sexual tension between them mounting by the second, and he knew she felt it, too. He could imagine the inner turmoil going on in her head. She knew he could do things for her that no other man could. He saw it in her lovely, kind face as she studied him. Yet he was well aware that he frightened her, too. “Let’s go into the living room. We can relax, have a drink, and discuss things far more freely.”

She seemed unsure of herself, again. “I really should be going.”

He gripped her upper arm, not hard enough to frighten her, but just enough to let her know who was in charge. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ve strained your ankle. You’re not capable of driving home. Wherever home is.”

“Boston, at the moment. But I’m minded to fly back to England soon. I don’t seem to be making any headway, trying to find Chloe.”

Emma stretched, making herself more comfortable on Zane’s luxurious black leather sofa. He’d arranged a bag of crushed ice around her ankle to reduce the swelling, and the pain had already diminished considerably. As she looked around his wonderful home, she realized it was far more than she deserved. She’d acted like a complete fool.

A large Adam chimneypiece dominated one wall, and several more comfy sofas were positioned to take advantage of the soothing warmth coming from the fire. All the walls were painted a wonderful, calming green. It reminded her of summer meadows on a bright, sunny day. Almost completely filling another wall stood a massive bookcase. It overflowed with a large selection of books slotted haphazardly into place. Their cracked spines showing evidence of use.

He handed her a glass. “I’ve poured you a bourbon. You look like you need a stiff one.”

She immediately recognized the double entendre, but decided to let it pass. “Thank you. My days are usually filled with boring stuff like court appearances and filing reports. It’s not every day I think I’m about to be murdered.” She took a sip of the golden liquor. A burning sensation spread like wildfire into her stomach. “Gosh, that’s strong.” She placed the glass on a side table. “It would be wise to drink that slowly.”

Zane sat on the leather armchair next to her. He’d removed his jacket, and loosened the top two buttons of his shirt. Dressed differently from when he was at the club, he looked like an executive winding down for the night, but she knew differently. This man was heavily into domination and submission. Her panties moistened with desire as she wondered how he would master her, if she ever gave him the chance. “So what exactly do you do, Zane? What’s your full name?”

He took another swig of bourbon before answering. “Curious, aren’t you, baby? Well, for the record, my name’s Zane Anders. I run an import export business. I deal mainly in gemstones, like diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. I also deal in precious metals, such as gold, silver, and platinum. I’m forty years old, and divorced. I have no children.” He smiled. “Does that satisfy you?”

“Yes. I feel better now I know a little more about you.” She reached across and fleetingly touched his hand. “I’d like to apologize for my erratic behavior. I’m usually far more controlled.”

Zane smiled, and she knew he was thinking about their time together at the club, when she was anything but controlled. “So tell me about yourself, Emma. I’m intrigued. An Englishwoman in Boston. Sounds interesting.”

“Okay, fair enough, Zane. You’ve told me about yourself, so now I suppose it’s my turn.” She took a sip of bourbon to give her confidence. “I’m thirty, and as I already said, I’m a lawyer. I’ve come to Boston to start a law firm with my best friend, Chloe.” She sighed. “Hmm, I suppose that’s unlikely to happen now.”

He stretched out his hand. “Good to meet you, Emma. I’m Zane.”

Emma placed her hand in his, and smiled. “Good to meet you, too, Zane.” A jolt of electricity sped up her arm as he caressed his thumb across her palm.

“There was no need to run off like that,” he said, letting her hand slip from his. She could still feel his sensual touch as he leaned back in his leather chair. He took another large slug of bourbon and placed the empty glass on the table. Looking right at her, he said, “It would have been better if we’d discussed what made you feel so uncomfortable.”

She shrugged her shoulders, and relaxed into the sofa. Away from the intimidating sights and sounds of the club, she felt far more confident. The fact that Zane had made her climax for the first time in two years made it appear they’d known each other far longer than they actually had.

“I’m not used to giving up control. I felt shattered. I climaxed far too easily. It scared me.”

“But that’s a good thing, surely? Not a bad thing.”

Emma forced an unconvincing smile. Zane didn’t know the half of it. “Not when you’ve spent the last few years avoiding men because you think you’re frigid.”

He looked surprised. “Well you’re clearly not frigid, Emma. You’re a woman, most of your sexual desire is right here.” Zane tapped an index finger to his forehead. “Men need visual as well as mental stimulation to make them fully aroused. Women enjoy sex on a more emotional level. But being a woman, you already know that.”