Slave to Love (16 page)

“I brought a beer for your friend, too,” she added, and waited for Mick's permission to hand it to him.

He nodded. “This is Rick.”

She slid the beer over to Rick, who had been studying her the whole time with what seemed like x-ray vision. Their fingers accidentally touched and she yanked her hand back, setting it in her lap with the other one. What if she'd just touched a man who had killed six people? His dark features lent an air of calm dignity to his expression, and his long black hair and broad shoulders made him the image of many a woman's fantasy, she was sure. But from what she could see of them, his dark eyes seemed...remote. Cold. Calculating. And there was something else—

“Rick's been telling me the guy with the bloodletting act isn't here tonight.”

She gave herself a mental shake. “That's too bad, I know you were looking forward to it.” She remained motionless, waiting his command.

“You've trained her well,” Rick remarked. “I'm impressed.”

Casually, Mick picked up the end of her leash and clipped it back onto his harness, subtly reclaiming his property. A sense of relief rolled over her at the connection. Completely absurd, but she felt safe now.

“Thanks. She still has a long way to go, but I'm fairly satisfied.” Mick lifted the tequila to his lips.

Again, Rick's gaze slithered over her. “Her body is hot. You're a lucky man.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” Mick threw back the tequila. “I go after what I want.”

Caro stared at her hands, her cheeks growing warm. This talk was just part of his undercover role, she reminded herself. No way had he stalked her, or even singled her out. If anything, she’d come on to him. Before she knew better.

Right?

“May I touch her?”

Her gaze jerked to Mick, who cocked his head and looked as though he might actually be considering the outrageous request. For an endless moment they stared at each other.

“I don't think she's ready for that, yet,” Mick finally said.

He crooked a finger, beckoning her. On hands and knees she crawled the few feet and dutifully sat on her heels between him and the low table. He still reclined on his side, elbow resting on a huge satin pillow. He toyed with the silver links of her collar as he regarded her.

“Would you like him to touch you?” he asked.

Fighting like crazy not to react, she carefully considered her answer. This was not some crazy sex game he was playing, she told herself, this was part of the job. The case. What did he want her to say? What would the killer want her to do? From the corner of her eye she noticed several groups of people seated around them watching her. She started to sweat. She had to come up with something. And fast.

“I'd like
you
to touch me,” she meekly replied, hoping like hell she'd picked the right answer.

He smiled, and sat up. “Then Rick can watch.”

Her eyes went wide. Not exactly what she'd had in mind. “As you wish, Sir.”

“Come closer. Sit here.” He patted the space between his legs as he arranged them in an open Indian style. “Put your thighs over mine and lean back on your hands.”

Trust what I do in there,
he'd said.

Ah, hell.

She did as she was told, trying desperately not to think about what would come next, or the fact that her skirt rode up nearly to her panties, showing about a mile of skin between its hem and the tops of her stockings. Or that they'd both thoroughly enjoyed this position last night....

The single men lounging against the walls of the seraglio eased in for a better view. Her face flamed.
Oh, God
.

Up on stage, the woman moaned as the dungeon master plied his craft on her flesh, the confining chains jingling against the wood of the X-shaped cross as she grasped it for support.

The whole thing was surreal. Caro's heart pounded in her throat. She took a deep, calming breath. The musky smell of sexual excitement permeated the air. Her own?

No, impossible.

Mick leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. “Relax,” he murmured.

Yeah, right.

He put his hands on her waist and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Trust me
, his eyes signaled.

Caught.

Like the girl on the flying trapeze who suddenly found her net had vanished. And he was asking her to trust him. Should she take the chance? Or should she stand up and shout “Detective!” and blow the whole damned circus?

Rick took a sip of the beer she'd bought him, watching her with black predator eyes. The corner of his lip curled mockingly, daring her to turn tail and run.

If she did, it would make Mick look like a fool in front of him and everyone else watching.

She couldn't do that to Mick. Regardless of whether she'd make him sleep on the couch tonight, or whether this operation succeeded or not, she wouldn't hang him out to dry. However misguided, she'd go through whatever public humiliation she had to bear, rather than betray him like that. And, amazingly, she trusted him not to take things too far.

She had to be out of her mind.

She took a deep breath and willed her body to stop its trembling. Then looked deep into his eyes, and delivered her dignity into his hands.

Chapter 9

Mick felt a bone-deep satisfaction when Caro closed her eyes and her body relaxed under his hands. He wouldn't have bet his life on her reaction to present circumstances. In fact, he had been fully prepared to play the Angry Master when she refused to obey him. Frankly, he was pretty damned surprised she was going along with this. His admiration for her went up several notches. And so did his excitement.

“You're being very obedient tonight,” he praised.

“Sir’s wish is my command,” she replied, her hushed murmur wavering slightly under its cloak of acquiescence. “As always.”

Despite her protestations to the contrary, he knew then with exhilarating certainty she still wanted him. Her resistance was just part of their ongoing game of cat and mouse, not a genuine roadblock. It was a game he'd come to enjoy thoroughly over the past year, with secret looks and hidden moves. Now that it was real, it had suddenly become even more intriguing. The hunt was always a far bigger thrill when the mouse being stalked knew it, and had a mind of her own.

Being so close to her now, her thighs riding his, her skimpy mini-skirt pushed way up, revealing sexy stockings and an eyeful of mouthwateringly sheer lace panties, he was finding it hard to think about anything but getting her back home and into bed. His own fault. Shit, it had seemed like a good plan at the time. God give him strength, but he had so much more to show her, to teach her. If she let him.

Where would their current performance lead them?

To catch a killer,
he reminded himself. She was not here for the benefit of his lust, but to help him trap a murdering bastard. Surreptitiously, he scanned the crowd. Somewhere out there was a man with a more sinister reason for observing them than garden-variety voyeurism.

But Mick had been aroused all night, watching the sensual way she moved as she pretended to be his private odalisque. And he couldn't help but wonder how far she would have gone if they'd come to Brimstone on their own, just on a date, with no job involved?

He realized it didn't matter. It was impossible to separate business from pleasure. They were here now, and for this job he could push her as far as he wanted. How far should he go?

Damn.

Where the hell was Cody? He could use an objective temperature gauge.

“You don't mind everyone watching us?” he asked Caro, indicating the score of eyes on them.

She licked her lips before answering, the hesitation betraying her uneasiness. On stage the strands of the dungeon master's flogger cracked against the woman's G-stringed buttocks, followed by a moan.

“No,” Caro said. “I don't mind.” And everyone understood that she did, but she'd submit because he asked it of her.

His cock swelled bigger against the tight leather of his pants. She'd submitted last night, too. Eagerly. And those few hours hadn't been nearly enough to satisfy his sexual appetite for her. A lifetime of last nights probably wouldn't be enough.

“Show me, baby. Show me how much you like my hands on your body.”

He tightened his grip on her and felt a tiny shiver ripple through her flesh. His cock throbbed larger still. If he didn't force himself to focus, he'd be in major-league trouble.

Luckily, he knew exactly what Rick and the rest of the crowd wanted. Because
he
wanted it even more.

Somehow he managed to pull himself together, and began sliding his hands up and down her slim rib cage. Making them all wait. Building the tension. Fighting to keep his voracious hunger for her at bay, and think of his mission.

He traced his fingers over her arms and face, down her legs, up her silky thighs. Gradually he worked his way over more and more of her, splitting his attention between business and pleasure, helping her to relax, until he suspected she'd forgotten all about the onlookers, and was lost in his touch. It was a turn-on like he'd never experienced, bringing her to this point, in public.

Slowly, slowly, he slid his hands over her entire body, ending with her nearly-bare breasts. Gently, he cupped them, sliding his thumbs along the scant edge of her demi-bra.

Her shuddering moan vibrated in the deepest, darkest part of his being, mingling with a hushed murmur of delight from the crowd. Under the buttery leather her nipples peaked hard.

He would never have believed it possible that the always-in-control Caroline Palmer would put herself so totally in his hands. She didn't trust him. She’d said she didn't. And yet here she was, at his complete mercy.

His sense of power over her was incredible.  He liked the feeling. He liked it a lot. Even though he knew damned well it was the last thing on earth he should allow himself to feel.

She arched her back, her pink nipples shifting upward, peeking up, dangerously close to complete exposure. He couldn't resist blowing a thin stream of air over them.

Opening her eyes, she blinked, disoriented, and he knew he'd been right—she'd been miles away. Her body suddenly tensed.

He leaned forward and put his mouth to hers. “Don't wimp out on me now,” he urged, and kissed her.

You shouldn't be doing this,
a voice inside him whispered. The situation was far too volatile to contain.
Fuck
.

He ignored the inner warning and for a moment allowed himself to revel in the taste of her, to lose himself in the close, edgy, perfumed atmosphere of the dark room. In the eyes on him, in the things he was doing to her, and the control he had over her.

He kissed her, long and hard and hungry, until he finally came to with a start. Shoring up his badly flagging concentration, he reached up and slid the straps of her bra off her shoulders. Not all the way, which would break club rules and earn their expulsion, but far enough down her arms to thoroughly scandalize her—and elicit a growl of anticipation from the masses. She tried to pull away.

He held her firmly in place, and looked past her to the entranced spectators, searching the faces of those who seemed particularly intent on watching their test of wills. Searching for one in particular.

She twisted in his grasp, so he nipped at her bottom lip, drawing her focus back to him, re-establishing his dominance. Reminding her of her role and why they were there.

“Easy,” he whispered.

This wasn't a tough crowd, but it was a somewhat jaded one. They'd gotten its attention, but to make an impression—and raise the chances of the operation succeeding—they needed to come up with a suitably arousing end to this little show. She couldn't lose her nerve now.

“Stay with me, baby.”

He switched from nibbling to licking her, a more aggressive and overtly sexual assault than kisses or bites. She gasped as he covered her breasts with his hands.

She leaned into him, pressing closer, and the tips spiraled pebble hard against his palms. He caressed them, feeling her skin ripple with gooseflesh. Deflecting a painful spurt of arousal, he painted his wet tongue over her jaw and down her throat. And perused the crowd again. Cody now stood among the stags, rapt in observation of what he was doing to her. Too rapt. For a split second he considered adding his old friend to the official list of suspects.

A small whimper pulled Mick back from his irrational jealousy. His lips were tracing the pliant softness of Caro's breast. Her breath came in short bursts, pushing the mound of flesh up against his mouth in an irresistible invitation. Without thinking, he slipped his hands under the crescents of her bra, stroking over the ripe buds with his thumbs.

She gasped and sat up, clutching at him. Then her fingers shot through his hair, gripping his scalp almost painfully. Holding him to her.

He froze for a split second, paralyzed by her reaction. No one could see anything. Not really. Her breasts were completely hidden behind his face and hands. But everyone watching knew what he was doing. And that was enough. He stifled a rumbling groan of pure need. Nothing could have prepared him for his own powerful response to her actions. He was on fire.

A thick, sexually-laden quiet descended over their corner of the room. Only the snap of the flogging onstage, the creak of the St. Andrews cross, and the heated cries of the woman chained to it penetrated the tense silence.

Excitement vibrated through him as he slowly lifted Caro’s breasts from their confinement, and took a nipple into his mouth.

Her breathless, whispered, “Oh, God, Mick,” told him she was just as aroused as he was. Just as unnerved. And just as intoxicated by the fantasy.

He barely resisted the urge to crow in triumph.

He pulled her close and suckled her hard, flicking his tongue over her stiff, elongated nipple. She shuddered in his arms. He bit down on her with his bared teeth, as a wolf would bite his mate, letting her know she wasn't alone. He was her Master, and no matter what happened, from this moment forward she was completely, utterly his.

With unhurried movements, he finally released her from the bidding of his mouth and pulled her bra back into place. Straightening, he saw the stunned, barely restrained panic that flashed in her eyes, and met it with a merciless, knowing stare.

Silently telling her there was no way to escape him now. No way in hell.

Because he knew her terrible secret.

They were cut from the same cloth
.

Her dark secret exposed, something primal and fundamental shifted between them. Mick could feel it—potent and dangerous, a current arcing back and forth between the two of them like a downed electrical wire.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind he should do his damnedest to avoid getting caught in it. A vast, untapped power, it lured him with the promise of heat and light to his ice-filled life. It defied him to ignore its presence with all the mercy of an executioner's smile.

He knew damned well if he let himself be tempted by her, by the power of their secret, it could only end badly, igniting them both in a spectacular conflagration of destruction. He knew it as well as he knew his own past.

Was he strong enough to resist?

Not a chance. He wanted her too damned much.

He felt another prick of guilt over his deliberate role in her coming ruin, then shoved it aside. He hadn't done anything she didn't want him to do, and he never would. He wouldn't have to. Her own nature would bring her to him, begging for more.

Yeah, she'd have to come to terms with parts of herself she obviously wasn't comfortable acknowledging. Though, after what had just happened, she should have a hell of a clue. But eventually, she'd see it. And crave it as badly as he did. Wanting to join their secret passions into an orgy of dark pleasure and forbidden delight.

And he would give it all to her.

But he must be careful never to allow their intense physical relationship to push him beyond a casual emotional attachment. To do so would invite the real disaster.

He knew very well what always followed more substantial attachments. The man who'd terrorized his way through Mick’s childhood on the strings of his mother's heart had taught him well how easily feelings changed from affection to antagonism. Mick's own lessons had escaped the severity of his mother's only because he'd never been regarded with particular affection or antagonism by his father. With few notable exceptions, he'd been pretty much ignored, thank God.

But he knew himself. He must keep his feelings for Caro under strict discipline. The thought of her pretty face bruised and battered, or worse, sickened him. No, Mick wasn't his father. But as long as his father was alive, the violence lay coiled around Mick, like a nest of vipers ready to strike when he was most vulnerable.

She would be safe as long as he stuck firmly to his plan. To their agreement. Casual and short-term. He wouldn't take any risks. Not with Caroline.

But that didn't mean he wouldn't eagerly accept every inch of tantalizing flesh she offered, every gratified fantasy, every night of salacious pleasure that pushed them beyond the pale of political correctness, even into the realm of pure decadence.

Hell, no. He could hardly wait.

***

Caro was running scared. Mick watched her try to hammer up a barrier between them by resorting to the hooker persona she used on the streets for john busts. The rest of their time at Brimstone she was flirty, sexy, seductive. He might easily have been fooled into believing her a true slave to his will. But he knew better. She was terrified to let him close.