Slave to Love (12 page)

Mick rose from his chair and came up behind her, sliding his fingers around the back of her neck. “We're partners for this operation. Cops know they can trust their partners. She'll do fine.”

“I hope so,” Tim remarked, glancing between the two of them. “Because both your lives depend on it.”

***

After the meeting broke up, Mick laid into her on the walk back to the task force. “What the hell was that about?” he demanded. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not like you’ve given me a whole lot of reason to,” she said, looking him straight in the eye.

Halting, he grabbed her arm and stood toe to toe with her. “You’re joking, right? You can say that after last night?”

“It’s
because
of last night I don’t trust you.”

“Bullshit,” he said, glanced around and lowered his voice. “You would have done anything I asked last night, including letting me tie you up if I’d wanted to.”

She shifted in his grip, averting her eyes when two patrol cops walked past giving them curious looks. “Last night was a mistake, Mick. One that won’t be repeated.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said, making her stomach zing at the same time as her mouth dropped open.

“Are you threatening me?”

“No threats necessary. Just stating facts.” Suddenly, a scowl creased his brow. “You’re not trying to get out of this assignment, are you?”

She scowled right back up at him, her insides warring between her need to escape the chaotic sexual feelings this man brought out in her every time they were in the same room together, and her ambition to work in Homicide.

“Because if you are, it’s not going to happen,” he said. “The operation’s been approved and there's no time to find anyone else. Besides, you've been officially reassigned, and the lieutenant will want to know the
real
reason you've changed your mind. What are you going to tell him?”

“Mick, I haven’t changed my mind about the operation,” she said, fighting the awareness.

“Good thing.” His merciless gaze drilled into her. “Because there's a little matter of that security tape from the elevator...”

She gasped. “That's blackmail!”

A negligent shoulder lifted as he resumed walking. “Whatever it takes.” At the task force door he turned to her. “Shift's changing now. Go home and start getting ready. I'll pick you up at nine.”

With that, he disappeared through the door and closed it in her face.

She took a deep breath to stop her outraged sputtering. Of all the unmitigated nerve! Lord, he was insufferable!

So insufferable, he probably had no clue why she didn’t trust him, or why she was so angry. Hell, judging from his remarks he probably even thought he'd be welcome into her bed again tonight.
Yeah, when hell froze over
.

The selfish, arrogant bastard had sealed his own fate by walking out on her this morning and ignoring her all day. Besides, she wasn't about to get involved with a man who tried to control her through blackmail—emotional or literal. No matter how great a lover he was.

Not a chance. He'd never touch her again. If she was going to get through this with her career and her sanity intact, she'd have to establish some strict rules. She'd do her job, then go home and purge her obnoxious boss from her thoughts.

That's how it had to be. And that's how it
would
be, whether he liked it or not.

***

Mick strode into his office and slammed the folders in his hand onto the desk.
Over his dead body
.

No way in hell was Caro shutting him out. Unless she wanted to create a messy scene in front of God, Chief Trujillo and everyone else at the PPD, things were going to stay exactly as they were.

She was a vital part of his carefully implemented plan. He was in way too deep to stop things now, even if he could. Or wanted to. Which he didn’t. He’d risked
everything
on this. Up to and including his own life. And he knew damned well he'd never be able to pull it off with anyone but Caroline Palmer. He needed her.

However that had happened.

Damn, the woman had a stubborn streak wide as Kansas. All day today, from being late, to the incident in the elevator, to just now pretending she didn’t trust him, she'd provoked him over and over, until it was all he could do not to slam her against the wall and teach her a thing or two about what happened to women who sassed. Or disobeyed.

But that would never do. It would definitely blow his Iceman image all to hell. And now was not the time to redefine Detective Mick McGraw. The big chill suited him just fine. Kept things at the department nice and businesslike, which was just how he wanted them. How he needed them for his plan to work.

Annoying woman.

For the life of him he couldn't figure out why Caro was so pissed at him. They'd made an agreement last night. Now she seemed to think he'd somehow broken it. Or maybe that he
should
break it. Who the hell knew.

He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension clawing at him. Damn. He should have fired her yesterday while he still had the willpower. Before he'd gotten a taste of her. For her. Because now that he had, regardless of how much he knew he should just walk away, there was no way he would. Not yet. Not until he had to.

He jetted out a breath. She wasn't going to like his decision to move in with her, either.

Tim had brought it up again when they'd talked this afternoon, and Mick couldn't argue with his reasoning. A killer as clever and organized as the one they were dealing with would never miss something as obvious as them not living together. It was too big a risk not to. No, Mick would just have to change her mind with a little friendly persuasion.

His body tightened at the thought. He might have grave reservations about developing an emotional interest in Caro, but physically, he was already craving her like a drug.

Last night had been nothing short of mind-blowing. The eager innocence and excitement of her response had turned him on like no one had ever done before. She had given over her body to him without reservation, following his lead, letting him do as he wished with her. Though he deliberately hadn't taken her beyond the normal excesses of an—albeit unusually tumultuous—first-time fuck, he'd instinctively felt she was open to anything with him. He’d
known
she was.

It was an incendiary situation, and their potent chemistry would make them a convincing couple at Brimstone, more than likely to attract attention. And hopefully the notice of the man he was trying to lure into his trap. So here at the station she could be just as stubborn and annoying as ever, and he'd just keep playing it cool, biding his time until they went home.

But at night, he planned to take advantage of their chemistry. Full advantage. He and Caro fit together like a gun and holster, and he wasn't about to pass up the opportunity to do a little more quick draw practice.

Tonight at Brimstone...tonight it was going to be a pure damned pleasure to bring her over to his way of thinking.

He glanced at his watch. He was due to pick her up in just over an hour, and there were a few things he had to do first.

Grabbing the phone, he dialed the number for his friend Jeff Cody at LAPD. They had been on patrol together back in the old days. Jeff was the only one at LAPD he had even considered asking to work surveillance for this undercover thing.

“Hey, buddy. Is everything all set for tonight?”

“Sure thing, Mick. We'll have a couple of people inside, and three teams parked outside the club—one in the lot next door and two on the street out front. They'll be taking down license plates to compare with your crime scene lists.”

“Sounds good. And they'll be following us home when we leave?”

“Two of the cars will take turns tailing you back to Pasadena, looking for anyone from the club or who even just looks suspicious. You have coverage once you get home, right?”

“There's a team staking out Caro's place until the case is solved.”

“Ouch. Your guys are putting in a lot of overtime, eh?”

“The mayor's getting antsy.”

Cody laughed. “Don't they always. Got your cell phone?”

“Right in my back pocket. The men have the number?”

“Yep, and the dispatcher, too. Sure you don’t want to wear a wire?”

“Not necessary. I doubt you could hear anything in the club anyway. See you tonight.”

Before Mick left the station for his apartment, he checked in with Denny and Brady, whom he'd pulled from duty at the last scene to do the stakeout in front of Caro's. He’d wanted someone dependable, who knew him by sight.

“You'll be there at one a.m.?”

“We'll be in a white Ford, parked a couple of houses down,” Denny confirmed.

“Good.” Mick didn't expect trouble, not tonight, but it was better to be safe than have things blow up and not be prepared.

He glanced at his watch again and realized he'd have to hustle to make it to Caro's on time. He hated being late.

Once home, he packed a gym bag with a few toiletries, several running outfits and a couple pairs of sneakers. That should hold him for a while sleeping over at her place. After a quick shower, he went to the closet and donned his new leather gear. Black pants, harness and boots.

Mick definitely liked power sex, along with acting out his and his partner’s fantasies. But to this day he'd never allowed himself to indulge in actual props. Far too dangerous. But tonight he had no choice. This was the only way to trap the murderer who belonged in the deepest level of hell.

He stared at himself in the mirror, torn between excitement and horror. Just as everything else about this case, the image reflected back in the mirror hit way too close to home.

For a lifetime he'd been running from a man who looked just like this. His father had liked black leather a whole lot. He had lived his own sick domination fantasies—but he hadn't been acting. Fantasies that played more like nightmares to a young wife and child growing up under the constant threat of their violence—until a ten-year-old boy had turned it right back against him. Little had that boy known the real nightmares were just beginning.

But now it was time for Mick to put an end to them once and for all. This would be his last, best chance.

He added a few finishing touches to his look and went to get his keys along with a jewelry box from his dresser. As he reached for them he paused to dig an old framed picture from deep in one of the drawers. The face of his mother beamed back at him. Her eyes were closed as she lay back on a giant white beach towel. She looked so happy in that picture. It was an outing to the ocean he vividly recalled—one of the few good memories he had from childhood, just days before she’d been taken from him.

As always, an overwhelming sense of guilt flooded through him. He should have been able to help her that day. He should have saved her.

“I’m sorry, Mama,” he whispered. “I swear I’ll do it right this time.”

With that he hid the photo back in the drawer, far from the sight of prying eyes.

Returning his gaze to his mirrored reflection one last time, a chill rolled slowly down his spine and back up again. He took a deep calming breath and turned away.

He was not his father.

He'd spent the last thirty-six years making damn sure he wasn't. But things had come full circle; the sins of the father had come back to possess the son. And here he was, all dressed up in black leather, inviting his own personal demons in with open arms.

Now he must be extra strong, extra vigilant. Always stay in absolute, complete control. For his mother. And for Caro.

For nothing frightened him more than the fact that he actually
was
the man in the mirror.

Chapter 7

Naturally, Mick was early.

When the doorbell rang, Caro had just finished putting on the black leather miniskirt and demi-bra they'd bought for her at the bondage gear shop. Quickly, she slipped into her spike-heeled shoes.

Here goes nothing.

She opened the door and Mick walked into the living room carrying a gym bag. He took one look at her and said, “Baby, you look good enough to eat.”

He swept her into his arms, his lips crushing down on hers. She gave a gasp of surprise, unintentionally opening herself to his deep, thorough kiss. Her body reacted instantly, melting at his touch. She was so stunned, for a minute she just let him kiss her—okay, so maybe a little more than a minute—completely ruining her plans to keep at least four feet between herself and the man at all times.

Then she came to her senses and tried to pull away.

He held her tight. “God, I've been wanting to do this all day.” He lowered his lips to hers again. “You were driving me out of my mind.”

She turned her head, avoiding his assault. “You have got to be kidding.”

“I never kid.” He grasped her chin and turned her back, seeking her mouth. “Ever.”

“Wait.” She struggled, knowing if his lips succeeded in meeting hers again she'd be a goner. “Stop!
Detective
!”

At the safe word, he halted in mid-kiss and straightened, marginally loosening his grip on her. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” She pushed away and glared at him incredulously. “What's
wrong
? You treat me like pond scum all day and then have the fucking nerve to come here and ask what's
wrong
?”

His brows furrowed. “I didn't treat you any differently than I always do. Or than I treat anyone else. I was only honoring our deal. Caroline, is this about that trust thing? Because—”

“What the hell do you think?” She planted her fists on her hips. “By agreeing to leave our badges at the door, do you honestly think I meant you should disappear before I wake up, ignore me on the job and act like nothing has changed between us? Last night you pretended to be contemptuous of men who gave me that old line! But you’re exactly like them.”

“I’m not the least bit like them. Not remotely.”

“Oh? And how’s that?” she spat out.

He stepped closer. “Because I'm not married, that's how. And because regardless of how we interact at the station, I promise that for as long as you and I are together, I won't so much as look at another woman.”

Momentarily taken aback, she gaped. Then she frowned, unwilling to be side-tracked into that irrationally appealing thought. “You and I are
not
together,” she countered stiffly.

Picking up the gym bag, he calmly walked toward the bedroom. “Okay, so what's the big problem, then?”

Lord, he was exasperating.
She let out a noise of frustration, following him down the hall. “You know damned well what I mean! We had sex together, Mick. Lots of sex. I did things with you I've—” She halted at the doorway. “Would it kill you to be civil to me during the day?”

“I'm not the civil type, Caro. People would notice.” He stopped and looked at her with eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want? People to notice you're sleeping with your commanding officer?”

“No,” she said. That was the very last complication she wanted. Their sleeping together was against department rules big-time. The chief would pull her off the task force and out of Homicide in a heartbeat if he thought they were sexually involved. “No, I don't want that,” she repeated. “In fact, I don’t want to sleep—”

“All right, then,” he interrupted. “Come on, sugar. People will be talking enough as it is with me moving in here, I didn't—”

“
What
?” She stared at him, the gym bag he was depositing on the bedroom floor finally registering. “You are
not
moving in—”

“Agent Woodruff was right.” The zipper scraped along her nerves as he opened the bag and withdrew a small necessaire of toiletries and glanced up. “This killer is smart. Staying five minutes after I drop you off is not going to fool anyone. I'm going to need a key.”

“No. No way.”

Mick plopped the nécessaire onto the bathroom counter, and did a double-take in the mirror. “After last night I figured I was good for at least a couple more nights with you.” Taking a tissue, he wiped a smear of lipstick from his chin and looked at her searchingly. “Or maybe I'm wrong and you didn't like me being inside you as much as I liked being there.”

She flushed, and her whole body hummed, remembering exactly how much she had loved the feel of him inside her. “That’s beside the point. I just don’t think it’s a good idea to—”

“To what?” He walked over and touched his fingers to her cheek, trailed them slowly down her throat.

She tipped her head back and looked up at him, soaking in the overwhelming power of his masculinity. He looked devastatingly sexy in his leather pants and harness, silver chains dangling from the latigo and a small multi-strand whip hanging down the side of his leg. He was so tall and his shoulders so broad she felt as though he could swallow her up completely if he had half a mind to. Her resistance started to melt.

He traced a finger along her collarbone, absorbing her confusion through its heated caress. “Because I don't mind telling you, last night, you and me, it was the best it's ever been. I didn't know it could get that good.”

At his murmured confession, her willpower took another nose dive. “We could both get into trouble—”

“Only if someone finds out. I won’t tell if you don’t.” His hands glided onto her shoulders and gently tugged her closer. “Okay, so neither of us wants a relationship. But what's the harm in just...enjoying each other a little?”

She knew the reasonable answer to that, but there in the circle of his arms, surrounded by the musky scent of leather and male, she was hard-pressed to say the words. He felt so good...

Out in the living room the chirp of a cell phone sounded, startling her out of his sensual spell. Just in the nick of time.

His fingers tightened on her shoulders. “Damn. That'll be Cody.”

“Mick, I'm sorry. I’ve made up my mind,” she said in her most authoritative voice as he let her go. “You'll have to sleep on the couch.”

He gave her a look that clearly said, “I don’t think so,” and went out to answer the phone.

Oh, man. She was in big trouble. She felt her heart sink.
This
Mick was nothing like the cold, arrogant man from the station.
The best it's ever been
. How would she ever resist him when he said things like that? It was tempting, so tempting, to give in to his wishes. Because last night had been the best for her, too. A million times better than anything else she’d ever experienced.

She groaned, and went to fix her lipstick, reminding herself of the hurt and fury he'd caused her all day. She had to be strong. Succumbing to his off-duty allure would do neither of them any good. She had her career to think of. And he had...well, he had whatever it was hidden in his past that had made him the Iceman.

She slowly twisted the lipstick closed. She just didn’t dare get more involved with him.

Did she...?

There was no doubt if they were caught it would be a career-stopper. And his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde personality would drive her nuts in short order. But she’d been taken by surprise by those glimpses of his softer, more caring side. She had to be very careful. Those were the kinds of qualities in a man that could lead to foolishness on the part of a woman. Next thing she knew she'd be trying to help him, nurture him, draw him out of his icy shell. Change him.

And if there was one thing she'd learned, it was that no matter what a woman did, men did not change.

No, she’d made the right decision to put a stop to this thing before it went any further. As depressing as that decision was. Lord only knew why, but her heart had a weak spot for the man. If he’d been anyone but her commanding officer—

But he
was
her commanding officer. So, somehow, she had to find the resources to resist him. Before it was too late.

Bringing the leather slave collar she'd picked out at the fetish shop, she swooped into the living room.

“Help me buckle this thing,” she said when he hung up the phone, lifting her hair off her neck and slapping the collar unceremoniously around her throat.

He slid the collar from her fingers. “I have something better.” He handed her a largish flat box that looked suspiciously like it had come from a jeweler.

She let go of her hair and took the box, but for some reason was reluctant to open it.

“Go on. It won't bite.”

Nerves shimmered over her body in a shower of goosebumps at the look on his face. “Sure about that?”

She pried it open, and blinked in disbelief at the contents. It was a collar. Well, a choker really, consisting of three thick ropes of silver, linked together and fastened with a small silver padlock.

A slave collar.

“It's beautiful.” She looked up, uncertainty crashing through her.

“A tradition,” he explained, watching her closely. “The Master is expected to give his slave a collar befitting her place in his favor.”

He took the silver ropes from the box and carefully arranged them around her neck, closing the padlock at the base of her throat with a firm snap. In mute turmoil, she reached up with unsteady fingers to touch it.

“I’m your Master now. You’re mine,” he said, echoing his claiming words from last night. He picked up his key ring and showed her a tiny matching silver key which dangled amongst the mundane house, office and car keys. “
You belong to me
. Until I decide to let you go.”

Something in the way he said it made her pulse double. “Surely, you don't mean to leave it on me, beyond tonight?”

What would they say at the station? How would she explain the collar's blatantly telling presence around her neck, as if she were some kind of modern-day odalisque, servicing the sensual whims and erotic appetites of the all-too-sexy Detective McGraw?

Slowly, he trailed his fingers over the cool silver. Her breasts tingled at his elusive touch, pangs of want spiraling through their hardened tips. Suddenly, all that didn’t sound so bad.

“Yes, as your Master, I believe I'll make you wear it all the time.”

Her heartbeat quickened with inexplicable excitement. And a liberal stab of trepidation. “Listen Mick, about this Master/slave thing. No need to go overboard. Like Tim said, the couples were probably just role-playing, not living the real lifestyle. I think I’ll just call you Sir for this gig. If it’s all the same.”

“I’d really like you to call me Master.”

“With Sir there’s less chance I’ll slip up. Since I’m kind of used to calling you sir, anyway. At the station.” The honest truth was, she wasn’t comfortable using such a powerful word as Master. Sir seemed polite, as opposed to the more autocratic indicator of outright ownership.

“As you wish,” he said reluctantly, then smiled. “Come, my pleasure slave, it's time to serve your Master.”

***

Caro fingered the metal ropes around her neck the whole way in to West L.A. The tiny padlock felt foreign, disturbing. A symbol of something she was unwilling to surrender, but felt strangely attracted to. Because of Mick.

She had wanted her whole life to belong, to fit in, to be a cherished part of someone or something rather than just a place-holder. She had failed miserably with her dysfunctional parents and their rigid church, and had never really fit in at school. Ultimately, she'd run as far away as she could from her small-town, Midwest upbringing, deliberately flouting her father's strict rule and his stifling plans for her, seeking somewhere she could belong on equal footing. Now she daily faced the glass walls of a male-dominated police force. True, her colleagues respected her, but she'd never felt genuinely accepted into the fold as a complete equal. Well, except for Julio. But they were both outsiders.