Red Handed (2 page)

He shook his head, his lips curved in what she guessed was amusement. “Guess you can keep your coat and come with me.” He pivoted and sauntered across the foyer.

A small gasp flew from her lungs. Adrian's slacks were cut in the back, exposing his perfectly toned bare ass with what looked like a humongous fake diamond wedged between the cheeks.

He stopped at another door and glanced at her over his shoulder. She jerked her head toward the camera in the corner, hoping Adrian wouldn't notice her embarrassment. From the corner of her eye, she caught the shake of his shoulders and realized he was laughing at her again.

She pressed her lips together and straightened her spine. If the sight of a man's naked behind shocked her, how would she ever get through the next week?

Since the day of her father's suicide in prison, she'd thought about what she'd do to Cole DeMarco when she finally got her chance. But now that she was here, instead of slapping him hard across his face and calling him out as the murderer he was, she would beg him to train her as a sex slave.

Adrian led her through a doorway into an ordinary Grecian-style mansion, complete with pillars and vaulted ceilings.

As she followed the blond Adonis past a sunken living room similar to the one in her home back in Arizona, she was surprised by the mixture of relief and disappointment racing through her. For some reason, she'd expected to see sex at a sex club. But the place was quiet and empty.

The butler continued down to the end of the hallway, where he stopped in front of a closed door and knocked.

Her heart pounded so loudly, she was sure Adrian could hear. She felt as though she was a gladiator facing her first battle with a lion in the Colosseum arena.

“Come in, Danielle,” said a voice as smooth as Glenlivet and just as heady. A shiver raced from her head to her feet, hardening her nipples and waking the nerve endings between her thighs. It had been years since she'd heard that voice, and despite it belonging to her dangerous adversary, her body reacted exactly the same. As if he'd placed his hands on her skin and caressed her naked flesh, not sparing an inch.

Adrian motioned with a wave of his arm for her to enter first. Somehow, she managed to put one foot in front of the other until she stood inside Cole DeMarco's lair. Its chocolate walls, the walnut furniture, and the flickering flames coming from the fireplace gave the first impression of a homey, comfortable room similar to her father's before the FBI had raided it and cleaned it bare.

Her gaze fell on the man who'd haunted her in dreams and tormented her in nightmares. He didn't get up to greet her. Didn't welcome her with a smile.

From behind his desk, he sat tall in his chair, his muscular, tattooed arms folded in front of him. His brown eyes narrowed, and he scowled at her.

Her swallow caught in her throat. What could she possibly have done to anger him? She'd only just arrived. Besides, she never elicited a strong reaction out of anyone. She usually faded into the shadows.

He glared at her, a muscle twitching in his left cheek. Then his gaze jumped to the man standing behind her, leaving her feeling as if he'd found her wanting. “Adrian, wait outside my office.” He spoke softly, his voice holding none of the anger he'd directed toward her. “Sedona and Lily, I believe you're wanted in the kitchen. Thank you both for your services.”

From behind the desk, two naked women suddenly popped up onto their feet, thin, red streaks marking their perky breasts and firm abdomens. Something sour burned in Danielle's belly. Something bitter and twisted.

These were the type of women Cole preferred.

The women bowed their blonde heads. In unison, they turned from Cole and strolled toward the exit. As they moved past her, they each gave a quizzical raise of their brow, as if questioning her presence.

The door shut with a gentle click, leaving her alone with a monster. Although the room was warm, she shivered.

He leveled his stare on her. “Are you cold?”

His simple black T-shirt stretched tight over a broad chest, each inhalation giving her a glimpse of the muscles underneath. He'd shaved his head clean and grown a short goatee, hiding the dimple in his chin she'd adored from afar as a teenager. He looked even better than she'd remembered and every bit as dangerous.

He gave no indication of remembering her. True, she'd lost more than fifty pounds since she was seventeen, but how could he not recognize her?

She realized she was biting her fingernail and took it out of her mouth. “No. Why?”

Glowering, he pushed his chair back and stood, drawing her attention to the fly of his army green cargo pants. She blew out a breath, relieved that not only was he wearing pants, but also that they were zipped. After discovering women on their knees with him, she hadn't known what to expect.

All six feet plus of him stomped around to the front of his desk, motioning at her with a wave of his large hand. “You're still wearing your coat. I promise no one will steal your mink. I have video cameras set up all around the house. Nothing goes on without my knowledge.”

“You must not trust easily if you require so many cameras.”

He moved close, towering over her, his spicy scent doing something to her body she'd rather it not. Time had been kind to this man, who despite being close to forty, appeared ageless, his skin a smooth and creamy caramel. “The slave trainees live by my rules if they choose to stay in my home, but I'm not a fool. It's always good to have backup. There are cameras everywhere except for the bathrooms and the slaves' residence.” He held out his hand. “Now, since you're not cold, allow me to take your coat. I promise it will stay safe.”

Her reluctance to remove her coat had nothing to do with her fear of theft. She simply wasn't prepared to reveal her body to him yet. Cole continued to offer his hand, and she had a feeling she didn't have an option of refusing if she wanted to stay.

Screw want. She
needed
to stay.

For Tasha.

And for her father.

Steeling herself for his rejection, she slowly unbuttoned her coat, starting at the top and working her way down, one by one until she ran out of buttons . . . and time. Pulling the flaps of her coat open, she exposed her sparsely clad body.

The kidnappers had instructed her to wear the clothes they'd provided. In the airport bathroom, she'd changed out of her conservative slacks and blouse into a black leather corset and a tiny scrap of lacy fabric that was supposed to pass for panties. Prior to an hour ago, she'd never worn either type of underclothes, having always bought comfortable full-size cotton underwear and sensible underwire bras.

The corset sucked in her stomach and cinched tight at her waist, making it more difficult to breathe. Not to mention her D-cup breasts practically spilled over the top.

As he took in the sight of her in the unflattering attire, Cole clenched his jaw, and his outstretched hand curled into a fist.

This is why she'd never given into the desire to truly expose herself to others. Why she'd limited herself to sunbathing naked by the pool and driving alone in her SUV with her skirt hiked up to her waist where she could feel exposed, even though no one could see her. Why she'd remained in the shadows at parties, bringing herself to climax by discreetly rubbing her forearms across her distended nipples and pressing her clitoris into a chair or the edge of a wall column. In addition to the fact that acting on several of her urges would be illegal, no one wanted to see her naked body.

Tears threatened, burning her eyes, but she blinked them back, refusing to admit defeat and wither away like a vine in winter. Instead she turned around and slipped the mink off her shoulders.

A warm breath caressed the shell of her ear. Antsy excitement swirled through her belly upon the realization that Cole had positioned himself right behind her, so close she felt the heat radiating from him. She swore she felt his nose in her hair, almost as though he was inhaling her scent. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she stifled a moan when Cole's fingertips lightly brushed the tops of her arms.

“Sit, Danielle,” he said, the harsh tone of the command knocking her back to reality.

He'd taken her coat while she'd continued to stand with her back to him like an idiot, lost in a fantasy where he wasn't her enemy, and she wasn't here under duress.

He set the mink on the back of a chair and perched himself on the edge of his desk. At least he no longer looked as though he wanted her out of his home. In fact, she couldn't read his emotionless face at all.

The sudden change in his demeanor threw off her equilibrium, and she didn't like it, preferring his blatant antagonism over the composed businessman in front of her. Throughout her life, she'd watched how women could manipulate men simply with a smile or a brush of a hand down a tuxedoed chest.

Unlike them, this man would prove difficult to manipulate. He'd burn as hot as lava then freeze as cold as an iceberg, burying any and all his secrets far beneath the surface. How far would she have to dig in order to expose them?

Realizing he was waiting for her to follow his order, she stifled the embarrassment of being in lingerie and toed across the carpet. She lowered herself into the padded chair and, as she'd been taught in training school, crossed her legs at the ankles like a lady.

She shifted in her seat, making her aware of the dull throbbing and the sticky mix of nervous perspiration and proof of her sexual desire between her legs. If only he'd permitted her to wear real panties, she wouldn't be so cognizant of the man's effect on her. Every moment in his presence reminded her of the power he held over her.

And he'd never had a clue. Had no idea the teenager of his business partner slid her hands under the band of her underwear every night and fantasized about what it would mean to belong to a man like Cole DeMarco.

Even then, naïve and sheltered, she'd sensed something different about him. Something that set him apart from the boys who groped with sweaty hands and her father's married friends who stared at her with lust. It hadn't been until later, when Tasha told her about Benediction, that she understood what had attracted her to Cole. Like Danielle, he was a sexual deviant.

He still hadn't mentioned their shared past. Did he know the child of the man he'd condemned to death sat before him?

His eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head as he assessed her. “Were you aroused by the sight of my slaves' submission?”

“What?” She squirmed, her heart pounding so hard she swore she could hear it. “No.”

“I think you're lying.” He leaned forward, pinning her to her chair with the intensity in his eyes. She felt a compulsion to avert her gaze, one stronger than the usual kind brought on by her shyness. But rather than give in, she held her ground. He smiled predatorily, his teeth white against his mocha skin and a sparkle of gold in his dark brown eyes. “Perhaps I should check.”

Chapter Three

S
CREW BEING LADYLIKE
. She uncrossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together. “Check?”

“Yes,” he said, the damn arrogant smile that made her insides quiver still on his face. “As your Master, it's my right. Of course, I always abide by my slaves' hard limits, but since your application we received last month indicated you have none, I can do whatever I want with you.” The smile melted, replaced by a curl of his lips and flaring of his nostrils, both of which reminded her how dangerous this man could be. “I can pull up your skirt, push you over my desk, and work my fingers into your pussy, one by one, until you're full of me. Until you come over and over and over and you're mindless and begging for me to stop. I can call five of my closest friends and order you to fuck each and every one of them. I can—”

“No,” she whispered, her throat too dry to protest louder.

The kidnappers had submitted her application a month ago? How long had they planned this?

“No?” He folded his arms across his chest, accentuating his massive forearms. “Then why didn't you provide your limits on your questionnaire?”

She hadn't seen the application, but based on the research she'd done in the last few hours, there were numerous choices when it came to BDSM. “There must have been a computer error.”

“A computer error. That is disheartening.” He frowned. “Your application was approved based on your answers.”

Her heart plummeted to her feet as she shot from her seat. “Does that mean you're going to reject my application? Because I dropped everything and flew across the country for this opportunity. I might lose my docent job at the Phoenix Art Museum. Doesn't that prove I'm serious?”

“It proves nothing.” He slid off the desk and inched closer, towering over her. “Now tell me the truth.” He softly gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Why are you here?”

The urge to tell him the truth about Tasha's kidnapping had her nearly spilling everything. But how could she trust the man who'd provided fabricated evidence of her father's embezzlement and security fraud to the FBI? The father she'd known and loved wouldn't have cheated his clients out of their money. For her, there was only one explanation: Cole DeMarco had set her father up for the crimes. He'd been her father's business partner in his wealth management firm, Walker Investment Securities, and yet he'd completely escaped liability.

No matter how much she'd pressed her father about the accusations against him, he'd remained silent on the subject, going as far as foolishly pleading guilty to all charges and accepting a life sentence in federal prison.

The last time she'd visited her father there, she'd begged him to hire the new attorney she'd found who believed he could overturn the plea deal, but he'd stubbornly refused.

Less than a week later, he'd committed suicide.

Any lingering teenage romantic feelings she'd had for Cole died along with him. From then on, all her fantasies of Cole DeMarco had revolved around revenge and finding the evidence to prove her father's innocence.