Scorching Desire (9 page)

“My friend, you need to calm down. I’ll admit I was ready to deck you until I realized it was all part of her plan.”

“You know what else
was part of her plan?” Damon started pacing.

Marco sighed and took the seat he’d vacated.
“No, what?”

“She said she was going to pull away, that I’d barely touch her, but I definitely made contact. I hit her.”

“Why are you out here?” Tasha’s voice made them both jump. She was standing in the shadows under The Bean.

“Tasha? Are you okay? I’m sorry.” Damon started toward her.

Tasha grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the limo.

“Don’t say anything else. You shouldn’t be out here in the open talking about this.”

Damon let her march him to the limo and scrambled in. Marco followed him. Tasha was last in. She went to the front partition and rapped out a pattern.

“Secret
knock?” Marco asked.

“Morse code.”
Going to the built-in bar, Tasha lifted out the ice tray, set it aside and then pulled a cell phone from the interior.

“Tasha, what’s going on?” Damon asked.

In the dim lights, he could see her face just enough to make out the concerned expression. Whatever caused Tasha to worry was probably the kind of thing that would make most people cry.

“Hello,” she said. “I’m with them.”

She huddled against the seat in the too-large coat that covered everything but her long, bare legs.

“It’s not an isolated incident. There was a message.” She listened and then said, “The girl who took the video is being kept compliant and close to Marco—she’s in Chicago. Someone is supplying her with medical grade H and paying to keep her employed at a club. I found the payment records—checks, written from a company called Trinity with a note that says, ‘Hello, Harrison.’”

Damon stiffened, looked at his friend and then turned his attention back to Tasha. What did that all mean?

“Fine.”
She held out the phone to Damon. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Fuck,” Marco whispered.

Damon took the phone and held it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Mr.
Polin.” The Grand Master’s tone was cool.

“Grand Master.”
He’d suspected that was who Tasha had called, but it was unnerving to hear his voice.

“What did Tasha do in order to obtain this information?”

“I’m sorry?” The question took him off-guard—that wasn’t what he’d expected the Grand Master to ask.

“I assume you were with her.”

“Uh, yes. I was, and Marco was with her in Las Vegas.”

“She allowed both of you to work with her?”

“Yes. I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“It is. What role did she play?”

“She organized it,” Damon said, still unclear as to what the Grand Master was asking.

“I mean where did you go and what did you do to obtain the information?”

“She…she pretended to be a submissive. We were in a fetish club. Then she…” Damon fisted his hand on the seat. “Then I hit her—with a belt and then with my fist. We were up on a stage and she asked me to, but I should not have done it. I’m very sorry.”

“Enough, Mr.
Polin. I have no doubt that you were following Tasha’s plan. I simply wanted to understand what she did to get the information.”

Damon frowned. “Grand Master, I think a good case could be made that all her actions were justifiable if not technically legal.”

“That is the last thing I’m worried about. Please return the phone to Tasha.”

She listened for a moment after he passed it back and then said, “I will make it clear that this door is closed and render these pieces and players too expensive to keep in the game.”

She hung up the phone, tucked it back into the hidden space and replaced the ice bucket.

“Tasha,” Marco said. “What’s going on? What’s really going on?”

She shook her head. “It’s not my place to tell you. But I do need something from you.” She looked at Damon.

“What?”

“Do you have any friends in the police force here?”

“Not really.
A few in the DA’s office. Why?”

“Jennie should be on her way to the hospital right now. I reported her for trying to sell drugs. We need to make sure she stays alive.”

Damon processed that and then nodded. “You think that someone put her and Sandra up to this. That it’s not just about money.”

Tasha didn’t respond.

Marco was leaning forward, his dark hair falling over his head. “And if that’s true, and they realize we know who Sandra and Jennie are, they may want to get rid of them.”

Tasha shrugged. “I think we were intended to find them—this was too easy. The best we can do is to do the unexpected. That means involving the police, which we have been avoiding.”

“I’ll call the DA’s office,” Damon said. “Tell them she’s a friend’s sister. They’ll pass that on to the cops. And I’ll push my flight back another few days. I need to be back in L.A. by next Sunday. I have court on Tuesday.”

Tasha nodded as the limo glided to a stop outside the condo.

“Are you coming up with us?” Marco asked her.

“Yes. It’s safer.”

Damon wondered who she thought it was safer for—them or herself.

Together they made their way across the elegant lobby. The security agent looked alarmed until Marco waved and said, “Costume party.”

“Of course, Mr. Corzo. There was a food delivery while you were out. Per your standing instructions, we used a master key and placed it in your refrigerator.”

“Good man. Food is exactly what we need.”

Once in the suite, Damon went to the spare bedroom to gather his things. He’d keep them in Marco’s room and sleep on the couch, giving Tasha the bed.

He heard Marco unpacking their forgotten Persian food delivery.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Damon took a minute to think, looking down at his right hand. He was a big guy, always had been. As a teenager, he’d been so awkward his mother had put away the breakables since he was prone to falling over for no apparent reason. As an adult, he’d learned to control his body, learned to be still and to move slowly—and, when the situation called for it, to use his size to his advantage.

He’d never hit a woman before—outside of sparring in the gym he’d only a hit few people, and only when he was drunk while in college. For the most part, he and his adversaries ended up taking shots together later.

The back of his hand tingled, and he could still feel the blow—the hard bone of her cheek and jaw as he made contact. Part of him was angry at her for asking him to do it, and at himself because he hadn’t come up with a better solution.

He stripped off the vest and threw it aside. His self-loathing was made worse by the fact he’d been aroused most of the night. Having Tasha kneeling before him mostly naked, combined with her devotion and obedience, fake though they were, had played on some very base sexual desires. It had been too easy to play her Master, too easy to enjoy spanking her with his belt.

*****

Tasha stood in the doorway, looking at the blond man’s bowed shoulders. “Damon.”

“Tasha.” He stood. Seemingly unsure what to do with his hands, he crossed his arms. “How is your face and your back and your…” He gestured vaguely.

She’d taken off the coat and her shoes, leaving her once more in nothing but the leather bra and tiny shorts. It covered as much as bathing suits, but standing in this bedroom, so close to him, she felt naked—hyperaware of her bare skin. She’d taken off the cuffs but still wore the collar, the leash dangling over her shoulder.

“My ass? All are fine. You were perfect.” She came into the room, and without her heels she was almost a head shorter than him. He had a look she’d seen before—guilt over what he’d done in the op. It was the mark of a novice, and it was unexpectedly attractive coming from Damon, who’d been cold and hard before tonight. “Exactly what we needed.”

“I wish there’d been a way to do it without me having to hurt you.”

“I’m glad it was you and that I didn’t have to goad a stranger into doing it.”

“Is that what you would have done?”

“Yes.”

“But you would have been in real danger—what if the person had choked you or had a knife or—”

“Damon. Stop.” Tasha laid a hand on his bare chest. “I was safer tonight with you than I have been in a long time.”

His gaze searched her face,
then he cupped her head and kissed her.

Tasha froze as his lips covered hers. It was half post-op guilt and half post-op emotional high—it didn’t mean anything.

But she didn’t care. She wanted him to touch her. Wanted it to mean something.

Tasha clung to his shoulders and let him kiss her. She didn’t try to take control, didn’t try to goad him into doing something else, something more. For the first time in her life, Tasha let herself be kissed.

Damon pulled back and rested his head on hers.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

Tasha closed her eyes. His words weren’t unexpected, but they hurt. Rather than say anything, she turned her back and lifted her hair away from her neck. “You have the key,” she said quietly.

“Of course.”

He unlocked the collar and slipped it off. Tasha rubbed her neck. “Thank you,” she said. “I think Marco has food prepared for you.”

Before he could say anything, she left, going to the bathroom. Bracing her hands on the counter, she stared at herself in the mirror. In the bright lights her heavy eye makeup seemed garish. Stripping off the last of her clothes, she looked at her back. There was a faint pink line across her shoulder blades, but her ass was unmarked—it had been well protected by the leather shorts. Part of her wished there was more evidence of what Damon had done. It had taken more concentration than it should have to stay focused on the goal and not let herself give in and enjoy his mastery of her.

She’d never been as attracted to anyone as she was to Damon and Marco. Something about them was different. Or maybe she was just so tired of being alone that she was imagining a connection when there wasn’t one. She washed her face, careful of her cheek.

Damon had been right—he was strong, and though she’d pulled away, he’d managed to hit her hard enough that it still hurt—and would bruise. She’d keep it covered so he wouldn’t feel any guiltier than he already did.

She jumped into the shower, and when she got out she found her bag outside the bathroom door. By the time she emerged, Damon was asleep on the couch. A plate waited for her on the kitchen counter.

Tasha slid onto a stool and put the plate on her lap. They’d saved her some food, made sure she had her clothes. They’d taken care of her.

Smiling despite herself, Tasha ate quietly while looking at Damon’s sleeping form and the lights of the Chicago skyline.

~~~~

Chapter Seven

Marco couldn’t stay asleep. He’d closed his eyes at three am only to wake up at four thirty. He finally fell asleep again at six but was awake by eight.

Disgusted that he was up before ten for the second day in a row, he tiptoed to the living room where Damon was sleeping.

Except he wasn’t. The couch was empty, the blankets neatly folded. Instead, Tasha sat at the dining room table, a variety of electronic equipment spread out in front of her.

At least, Marco assumed the blonde was Tasha.

He ground some beans and turned on the espresso machine, and then leaned his elbows on the counter and examined the woman in his dining room.

She wore basketball shorts, fuzzy socks and a gray T-shirt. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail and there were thick-frame glasses perched on her nose.

“I smell coffee,” Damon said as he wandered in.

“Look.” Marco motioned to Tasha.

Damon frowned and then filled the espresso machine and set it brewing. “I thought I dreamed that. At five she came and got me, told me to go sleep in the bed.”

“You know I can hear you,” Tasha said, not looking up from the screen.

“Do you want coffee?” Damon asked.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Why not?” Marco accepted the espresso cup Damon handed him. He took a sip and a feeling of rightness settled over him. This was good—Damon in his kitchen, both of them bantering with Tasha.

“Caffeine is the most addictive drug in the world,” she said.

“I don’t care,” Marco declared.

Tasha smiled and then pulled one leg up and braced her heel on the seat.

“What are you doing?” Damon asked.

“Ignore that,” Marco said. “What are you wearing?”

At that she looked over. “I hadn’t planned to stay with you, otherwise I would have brought casual clothes more fitting with your perception of me.”