Slave to Love (13 page)

That Mick was offering her a chance to belong to him sexually, even if it was just pretend, held her in a strange kind of thrall. What would it be like? Scary? Thrilling? Oppressive? Cozy?

And was it pretend, or did he mean it for real? At least for the duration of the case.

If so, what kind of liaison did he have in mind? A man who sealed his commitment with a slave collar probably had vastly different ideas about relationships than she did. She had no interest in exchanging one controlling male for another.

And yet... Why did she find Mick's potential sexual power over her arousing? It made no sense. No sense at all. Her heart pounded as she toyed with the lock. The whole thing felt extremely dangerous. And far too tempting.

“What are you thinking about?”

At Mick's words she jerked her hand away from the choker. “Nothing. The case. What we need to do.”

He glanced over after changing lanes. “Nervous?”

“Terrified,” she truthfully answered, pulling at the hem of her leather skirt.

“I told you, you don't ever have to be afraid of me,” he said quietly.

Too late, she recognized their conversation from the night before.

“Don't be ridiculous. I'm thinking of the killer,” she lied, pulling herself together. “Did Tim get a chance to go over the club's employee files with you this afternoon?”

“Yes. He agreed with Bobby's evaluation. None of them seem to fit the profile very well. He did pick out one guy to keep an eye on, though.” Mick pulled a file jacket from under the seat. “This one. Jakob Robbins.”

“A dungeon master,” she read from the file. “Specializes in...” She looked up, aghast. “Bloodletting?”

He nodded as if that weren't the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard of.

“
Bloodletting
?”

“There are a lot of strange people out there, Caro. I thought you knew what goes on at places like Brimstone.”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “Apparently not.”

She'd been thinking mostly in terms of fetishy costumes. Leather and latex. Chains. Maybe handcuffs. She'd noticed Mick had a pair of cuffs tucked at the back of his waistband, and she didn't think it was in case they made an arrest. The whip dangling at his side had given her pause, but when she'd spotted it she'd assumed it was just for effect. Now she wasn't so sure.

The hairs at the back of her neck prickled. “Um, Mick?”

The convertible glided off the freeway at the Westwood exit. She swallowed and told herself she could face whatever was ahead.

“Yeah, babe?”

But maybe it was time she found out just exactly what that would be.

“What's the plan for tonight?”

“Same as it's been all along.”

“Humor me.”

He darted her a look. “You wiggin' out on me, Palmer?”

She gave him a weak smile. “No. Just need to hear it once more.
All
of it. Even the parts you're hiding from me.”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “I'm not hiding anything, Caro. Just ignore everything else and concentrate on being my slave. Do whatever I say, and always keep your eyes and ears open. But for godsakes, don't do anything without me right there. We only want to get the killer's attention. That's all. Not provoke him.”

Sounded reasonable, as always. She rolled her tight shoulders, telling herself she just had the jitters. Mick wouldn't make her do anything weird. “How would we provoke him?”

Mick shrugged. “If I knew that, he’d already be in jail. What his exact trigger is, is anyone’s guess. Just remember what Tim said. He’s looking for women who are innocent and submissive.”

She raised a brow at the apparent contradiction of an innocent woman in a place like Brimstone. On the other hand, look at her. Sure, she talked the talk, and routinely dressed like a street walker, but when it came right down to actual experience, last night with Mick had exceeded her 'wild' factor by about two billion percent.

And she had the uneasy feeling he had barely scratched the surface of what he was capable of teaching her. Involuntarily, her gaze sought out the multi-strand whip lying at his side like a snake, ready to strike.

Her heart stuttered and she felt her palms go damp. This assignment wasn't turning out at all as she had envisioned. Lord have mercy, what had she gotten herself into?

She snapped to attention when he pulled into a murky parking lot in the middle of a block filled with narrow restaurants, bars and seedy-looking storefronts. L.A. wasn't an all-night kind of town, but at ten p.m., the Boulevard was still full of people. They were everywhere. Sitting at sidewalk bistro tables, lounging on the street corners, standing in a line of black-clad hopefuls waiting to get into Brimstone.

She peered at the people milling in front of the club, mentally comparing her outfit to the ones she saw there, then let out a sigh of relief. Not too tame, not too outrageous. Right in-between. Though, she didn't see any other women on leashes. Or men either, for that matter.

A couple of guys stared at them as Mick cruised the Z past a parked car. Cops. Despite casual garb their stances and haircuts were immediately recognizable.

“There are Cody's men,” she remarked wryly. “Nothing like standing out like a sore thumb.”

Mick shot her a grin. “Doesn't matter. Our guy thinks he's smarter than any cop alive. He'll walk right by them and tip his hat.”

“Then how will we know he hasn't made us as cops?”

“We won't.”

Swell.

“Remember, no last names once we're inside. I don’t want him knowing who you are.” Mick pulled into a vacant spot, then came around to open the door for her. “Don't worry. We play our parts right, he’ll play his. It's our relationship, our interaction that will draw the bastard out.”

“Great. We're dogmeat.” Even
she
couldn’t figure out their relationship.

Overcome by nerves, she leaned back against the side of his car while he uncoiled a length of silver chain from a loop on his harness.

“You've been in love with me for a year, Caro. Just let it show and everything will go fine.”

An indelicate snort escaped her throat. “You're crazy, you know that, McGraw?”

He pierced her with a look, his eyes slicing sharply into hers. “Don't call me crazy, baby. Especially when I'm the one holding the leash.” He reached up and snapped one end of the chain to a small D-ring behind the padlock on her collar, giving it a sharp tug.

His anger was sudden and unexpected. But before she could react, the tension around his eyes vanished, and he asked, “So, you're clear on what to do in there, right?”

Maybe she'd just imagined the whole thing. She pushed off the car and walked past him.

“Yeah. I play your adoring pleasure slave, catch the interest of every unattached pervert in the place, and try not to look like a slut doing it. Piece of cake.”

He chuckled. “If anyone can pull it off...” He paused to adjust her collar and his smile faded. “Caro...”

If she didn't know better, she would swear he was nervous about something. Something other than using them both as bait for a vicious maniac.

“What is it, Mick?”

“I— Hell.” He gripped her shoulders. “Look, I'm the first to admit I'm a jealous lover. Real jealous. I don't like sharing my woman with anyone. Not with Julio, not with Woodruff, not with all the guys who are going to try and get close to you tonight.”

Julio?
Woodruff
? Mick's fingers dug into her almost painfully. She shivered at the sheer strength she felt coursing through them, and at the guilty thrill of hearing him claim her as his woman.

“I'm not your woman, Mick,” she felt compelled to point out. “And just to set the record straight, I have not been in love with you for a year.”

Liar.

For a second he looked like he might argue, but he only raked a hand through his hair and said, “Whatever. Anyway, I know some of the things I might have to do until this guy is behind bars will seem like—” His voice crackled with an intensity she'd never heard in him before. “For godsakes, Caro, I really need you to trust me. Trust what I do until then, even if you don’t think-— Shit. Just trust me, okay?”

A tremor passed through her, and the warm night air chilled against her skin. “I’ll try,” she answered, knowing instinctively he'd keep her safe tonight, if for no other reason than the pure possessiveness she saw reflected in those ice blue eyes.

“Good.” He shuddered out a sigh, apparently satisfied with her sincerity. “Good.”

His iron grip loosened and he fished up the free end of her leash, clipping it onto one of the O-rings of his latigo harness with a quick snap.

With that simple gesture, he had effectively taken her freedom and made her his slave. At least for the present. Everything she did from now until he released her would be at his sole sufferance.

She fought off a sudden urge to bolt.

“What if something goes wrong?” she asked, all at once assailed with doubts over the deadly game of cat and mouse they were about to embark upon. Over having to face down a killer without the benefit of a single weapon. Hell, over the whole damned set-up.

“I won't let it go wrong. We have tons of backup and there'll be over two hundred people inside, watching everything that goes down. Besides, this is just phase one. We’re in no danger tonight. Remember?”

She nodded once, shoring up her battered nerves. “Right.”

He took a step back and ran the silvery links of her leash over his palm. “Ready?”

She puffed out an unsteady breath, knowing she had no option but to be ready. “As ever.”

Searching her face carefully, he shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

She should have realized he was up to something when he leaned back against the convertible in a languid pose. But she was still shocked senseless when he declared, “First I want a good-luck kiss,” and tipped his head in challenge.

“McGraw,” she gritted out between her teeth. He was actually enjoying this! “I—”

He cut her off. “You may want to deny being my woman, or being in love with me, but I distinctly remember you agreeing to be my pleasure slave. Woodruff said subservient, yeah? I have to be sure you can pull this off. Now, kiss me. Properly.”

Desperate, she hedged. “What about Cody's men?”

“They can get their own slaves.”

She stifled the itch to punch him in the nose instead of kissing him. But he was right. She was in no frame of mind to go into Brimstone yet. Not with the success of the operation depending on her behavior. She first had to get into the pleasure slave mentality. And to do that she must obey his orders. And please him.

Damn. Why was this so difficult?

Their lives depended on her being able to put aside her ego for a little while and let Mick take over. As he had last night.

That hadn't been so bad.

In fact, it had been pretty amazing. Incredibly amazing.

A purely sexual fantasy, Tim had said, allowing yourself to be dominated by a loving, trusted partner on whom you could rely.

She took a deep, steadying breath. She could do this. It was just for a few hours. Mick was the best cop in the business, and he'd just confessed to caring about her. Well, sort of. He was strong. And she really did trust him.

In this context, anyway.

A purely sexual fantasy.

Yeah, that was Mick, all right.

“Ho-kay,” she said, and deliberately sauntered up to him, sliding her arms around his neck. Remembering how it had been last night.

He wanted a kiss? All right, she'd give him a kiss.

She rubbed up against him like a cat, relaxing, letting go the restraints of independence. Enjoying the feel of his hard, muscular body and the effect she was having on it. A glitter of pleasure lit his eyes, and heat poured through her veins.