by Jo Davis
“Damn, I was kinda looking forward to getting done by my sugar daddy,” she teased.
He grinned. “We can save it for when I really am old.”
“You’ll never be old. Not in my eyes.”
Hands clasped, they moved to the bed, and he pushed her onto her back, melting against her body as though they shared the same skin, the same soul.
Her legs were nudged apart as he settled between her thighs, pressing his hard length into the soft cradle waiting for him. With one hand, he raised her arms above her head and pinned her wrists to the bed, sliding inside. Home.
His lovemaking wasn’t entirely gentle, but not rough, either. More like a passionate claiming, a man taking his lady to new heights. Letting her soar while keeping her safe.
She reached the pinnacle with a cry, bursting into a million shards. He followed after, thrusting deep, throbbing within her, face buried in the curve of her neck. She was floating down to earth thinking that in spite of this mission, her life with this man couldn’t get much better, when he raised his head, stared into her eyes, and proved her wrong.
“I love you, Emma Foster. I’ll cherish you until my last breath.”
Tears stung her eyes, and she twined her arms around his neck, drawing him to her lips. “I love you, too. And let’s make that last breath a long, long time from now.”
“It’s a deal, baby.”
As they snuggled, she shoved reality away for a few hours. This man was hers.
Danger and intrigue would have to wait.
Thirteen
Blaze escorted Emma into the Velvet Underground, striving to mask his dislike of the establishment. His first impression, that the place was a bit too polished, hadn’t changed. In addition, this second visit gave him the impression that the clientele was made mostly of poseurs. Wannabes. People hung out here to be able to say they lived the lifestyle when in truth they merely dabbled.
A more thorough inspection told him that most of the players were here to drink and fuck, and the vast majority had no idea what they were doing when it came to D/s. The rules were loose, mostly nonexistent, with no clue to the outsider who were the Doms and who were the subs.
All talk, no walk.
Blaze found a table against the wall, and they settled in to wait for Kosta and company. Adopting a casual pose, he pulled Emma to his side and ordered them a couple of drinks to nurse slowly. He draped an arm around her neck and let his fingers dip into the cleavage of her bustier, toying with the creamy swells of her breasts, just barely grazing a nipple. She wriggled, breath catching a bit, expression both aroused and uncomfortable. She might never be amenable to public sexual displays, but he didn’t mind. It showed a sweet, vulnerable facet to her that shied from showing off what belonged to him.
He’d decided that the delicate shell of her ear needed some serious nibbling and was making her giggle when a now-familiar and loathed voice cut into the fun. Ah, yes. They were here to work.
“I see you started without us. Having a good time?”
Blaze looked up at Kosta and the man with him, not liking the way the men loomed over him. Will he recognize me? God, he hoped not. He knew men like these, and the stance wasn’t accidental. “You bet we are. Have a seat,” he invited, waving at a couple of empty chairs.
“Don’t mind if we do.”
He took a moment to study the man with Kosta and recognized him from the file. Ralph Meyer. A stocky redhead who, while not unattractive, certainly wouldn’t fuel any fantasies on his part—or Emma’s, either, if he had to guess. Meyer was a rather plain man, his physique giving way to a bit of paunch around the middle in the way of desk jockeys all over. His eyes were cool and calculating as they swept him and Emma, sizing them up, though not in a sexual manner. Every nuance told Blaze that Meyer was all about the bottom line—money. And Blaze would bet his savings that Meyer was working out how best to divest them of as much green as possible.
Another fact hit him—why this club had been chosen for their activities. The Velvet Underground, being full of dabblers and not those seriously into lifestyle, made the perfect cover. None of these guys were very experienced with D/s, but very few in this place were, so the men wouldn’t stand out. Hell, meeting in dark corners was the norm.
He wondered where Major Fontaine was hiding, but wasn’t surprised he hadn’t come. If he were the major, he wouldn’t risk this meeting, either.
“Chase, I’d like for you to meet an associate of mine, Ralph Meyer,” Kosta said. “Meyer, this is John Chase and his lovely wife, Brandi.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Meyer said with a nod.
Blaze held out his hand, which the man shook. “Likewise. Brandi?”
Emma smiled briefly and then lowered her gaze. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” Blaze corrected firmly. Even though this scum didn’t deserve the distinction, he wouldn’t ignore the rules. If he did, these men might get suspicious.
“Oh, y-yes! I’m sorry, sir!”
Her lack of a blush and her tone were a dead giveaway to him that she wasn’t the least bit sincere in her apologies. The brat had dissed Meyer on purpose, though he was probably too thick to get it. Blaze let it go.
Meyer tilted his head, studying their interaction. “You two are really into this Domination/submission shit, huh?”
Okay, score one for Red for simply admitting he wasn’t all that into the scene. Clever, really. It lent him a certain ring of sincerity that would help win the trust of unsuspecting prey. He decided to counter with a question.
“You aren’t?” He knew, but he wanted to hear the man’s reaction.
Meyer shrugged. “Kosta got me coming here. It’s interesting, I’ll say that much. Might as well mix a little pleasure with business, ya know?”
Here we go. Excitement rushed through his veins like a hound dog on the scent, and he schooled his face to remain only mildly interested. “Business? What sort?”
“Hey, sorry we’re late! Damn—the traffic was a bitch, and we almost got creamed by some guy in a Benz.” Pausing, the newcomer smiled at Blaze, then glanced between him and Emma. “Hello, I’m Landon Hart.” He offered his hand.
Blaze shook it, assessing the gorgeous man before him. Honey-brown hair fell into vivid turquoise eyes that danced with good humor. He had a handsome, honest face with full lips and a hint of shadow on his cheeks. Lean build, but strong, as evidenced by the sinewy chest and torso hugged by a simple black T-shirt tucked into black leather pants. A trim waist, long thighs corded with just the right amount of muscle.
Two words—male perfection.
“John Chase, and this is my wife, Brandi.”
“This is my sub, Nicole Andrews,” Hart said warmly, his affection for her obvious as he reached for her hand, brought it to his lips.
Emma greeted the pair, and they did likewise, the picture of happiness, their ease with each other apparent. The woman, Nicole, was a real looker, with long, dark brown hair and big brown eyes. She was about a foot shorter than Hart, and slender, but there was a strength about her, a presence that demanded attention. Blaze couldn’t put his finger on it, but he would. Eventually.
The new couple sat, and Hart was very solicitous of Nicole, making certain she was comfortable and asking whether she’d like a drink, which she accepted, giving him a smile that lit the air around them. He noticed Emma studying them from underneath her lashes, expression unreadable. Kosta’s face, however, betrayed faint disgust at their lovey-dovey display.
A hunch began to form: Hart was their fall guy. If Hart had a clue what was really being done with the money he was handing over to this crew, Blaze would eat his own leathers. They’d probably lied to him, showed him false documentation of how worthy his investments were in their grubby hands.
Hart was an honest man who was being used for his money and as a smoke screen to lend them credibility. He’d stake his reputation on it. He might be wrong, but he didn’t believe so. Wouldn’t be too difficult
to find out for sure.
“So, how do you know my colleagues here?” Hart asked, curious but friendly.
Colleagues, not friends. He filed that away.
“I don’t. We had the pleasure of Mr. Kosta introducing himself to us last night, and we had quite an . . . eventful evening.”
At this, Hart’s smile dimmed the barest fraction. “I’ll bet. So what’s your occupation, Mr. Chase?”
“John, please.” The lie about his name was stale on his tongue. The honest ones always bothered him when he was undercover, like he was using them. Which was true.
“Lan,” the man responded in kind. “That’s what most people call me.”
“Lan,” he acknowledged with a faint smile. “I take on short-and long-term investments, such as flipping real estate and buying and selling stock. I win some and I lose some, but fortunately the win column is larger.”
A meaningful look passed between Kosta and Meyer, a look Lan didn’t catch. But Nicole did, and her eyes narrowed briefly before her expression smoothed out to neutral, which Blaze found intriguing.
Kosta leaned forward, elbows on the table, apparently ready to get to the point. “I know. I took the liberty of doing some checking on you, and your financial portfolio is very impressive indeed.”
Kosta’s avarice seemed to indicate that the man had not recognized him. Yet.
“I’m not sure whether to be insulted or flattered,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow. He allowed a hint of anger to darken his tone. “Do you run background checks on every person you meet? Or am I just special?”
“It’s a compliment, I assure you. Few people possess the intelligence to become a success or the capital to make it happen. You, my new friend, have both.” That smile was so corrosive, it could eat paint off the side of a house.
Now that Kosta had made the bold move forward to schmoozing him, he had to tread carefully. Not appear too eager. “Right. And I didn’t become successful by caving to every scrap of flattery tossed my way.” He ended on a slight note of humor to take the sting from his words.
“Nor did you get where you are by being blind to good business,” the man countered. “Isn’t that so?”
“True enough,” he allowed reluctantly. “I assume you have a point?”
“You’re forthright and don’t waste time, Chase. I like that about you, because I carry those same traits myself.” Kosta leaned forward, earnest, as though he were about to impart the location of the lost Confederate gold. “What would you say if I told you I had two exclusive investment opportunities for you to consider, too big to pass up?”
“I’d say tell me about them and I’ll be the judge of how passable they are.”
“Smart man.” Kosta waved to Meyer. “I’ll let Ralph tell you about the first one, since it’s his baby. But first, why don’t we let the ladies take themselves off to the bar to get their drinks and get acquainted?”
Dismissed as useless females. Blaze winced as Emma’s gaze snapped up, eyes on fire. Thank God she recovered before the other men noticed, rising and shooting a smile at Nicole.
He tracked their progress to the bar, then looked at Meyer again. The guy was Ralph now that Kosta was playing the familiarity card. Making Blaze feel included in their circle. Was it transparent only to him because he’d been working as a covert spy for so many years?
“We’re starting an arena football team,” Meyer said, warming to the topic. “In the Eastern division, the Richmond Rebels. It’ll be—”
“Hang on. Didn’t the AFL fold last year?” He frowned.
Meyer shook his head. “No, they filed Chapter 11 and suspended the season. But now they’ve come to an agreement to get under way again, and the league is expanding. Exciting new changes are coming, there’s money to be made, and we want in on the action.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been a follower of arena football other than what little I catch on the news,” said Blaze skeptically. “I’m not sure I could invest in something that’s teetering on the brink of extinction.”
“Sounds more dire than it is.” Meyer waved off his concern. “They’ve got it all worked out, no problem. We have a detailed plan to show you, with the bottom line clearly laid out, if you’d care to take a look. Listen, you don’t have to be a fan to appreciate making money. What can it hurt? Looking’s free, right?”
Clever bastards, mixing just enough truth with the lies—the lies being that the millions “invested” would ever be used to start any team. “Sure, what the hell. I’ll go over the information, but don’t hold your breath on that one. I’m not sold on the idea of sinking cash into sports teams, period.”
“Fair enough.”
“What’s the other one?”
“Importing coffee beans and soybeans,” Kosta said with a small smile. “Not nearly as glamorous, but profitable. I’ll get you the file on that as well.”
Oddly enough, Blaze had a change of opinion. His gut told him that the arena football thing was legit, while the products were the scam. A stroke of genius when you thought about it. The investor would be so dazzled by the idea of being a team owner—what was a few hundred thousand more for coffee beans and soybeans?
He turned his attention to Lan. “I take it you’ve been satisfied with these ventures?”
“Well, everything’s in the fledgling stages, and it takes a while to turn a profit, but yes—I am so far. I don’t even have to handle any of the details. Augustine and Ralph see to all the legalities.”
I’ll just bet they do.
“All right, I’ll study both and we’ll go from there. Now, Lan, why don’t you tell me about that pretty sub of yours?”
The man’s face lit, and he spent the next half hour doing just that, listing exactly why Nicole was the most perfect woman who’d ever lived. Not only was she a wonderful sub, but apparently she had a wicked sense of humor, was a great cook and a gifted pianist, and had a black belt in karate. The last seemed so “one of these things is not like the other” that his eyes widened.
Well, okay. A woman should be able to defend herself, after all.
Whatever. He couldn’t help but like a guy who was clearly gone over his woman.
Adding his own praise about his “wife,” he settled into the conversation while keeping an eye on their ladies sitting at the bar. Lan did the same, his protective instincts showing.
Yeah, if circumstances were different, he wouldn’t mind getting to know them better.
A lot better.
Emma found stools at the bar for her and Nicole, silently fuming at being ordered from the table like an annoying child. “Rude asshole,” she muttered, earning a throaty laugh from her new companion.
“My thoughts exactly,” Nicole agreed. “From the day I met Augustine and Ralph, I’ve wanted nothing more than to push them both off a bridge.”
“Then it’s not just me.” With a sigh, she beckoned to the bartender, who hurried right over.
“What can I get you ladies?”
“A glass of Chardonnay for me,” she said.
“Jack on the rocks, and make it a double, please.” The other woman made a face. “It’s been that kind of day.”
“You’ve got it.” The man moved away to fill their orders.
Emma studied the beautiful woman, finding her to be an intriguing mix of tough and feminine. What woman drank straight whiskey? None she knew.
“How long have you known those men?”
“I met them several months ago, right after Lan and I became a couple. Why he puts up with them, I have no clue,” the woman said with a frown. “Sometimes I think he’s got too good a heart, too trusting a soul.”
“Is it possible, I wonder, for a man to be too good?” The bartender set down their glasses, and Emma waved her off when she reached for her money. “I’ve got this round.”
“Thanks. I’ll get the next one. Anyway, I suppose not. There aren’t enough heroes in the world anymore, and Lan is one of the few.” She smiled, her feelings shini
ng in her eyes. “I worry about his trusting nature, though. He’s just so damned good and kind he doesn’t see the evil in people.”
“And you do?”
“Oh, yes,” Nicole said softly. “I’ve seen more than most.”
“How so?”
“You don’t want to know. But trust me when I tell you that you and your husband don’t want any part of the shit those other two are shoveling. Whatever they’re trying to get him into, talk him out of it.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but if you feel this strongly, why haven’t you done the same with Lan?”
The other woman took a sip of her whiskey and paused, her face suddenly sad. “I can’t. As much as I love him, I can’t keep him from doing business with them. It’s . . . not my place.”
“As his sub?”
“Yes.”
Emma sipped her wine, mind whirling. Nicole’s words didn’t ring entirely true, as if she had other reasons for letting Lan make a huge mistake. Reasons she couldn’t or wouldn’t share. One thing that did ring true was her love for Lan. The strong emotion fairly radiated from the woman.
“I can’t tell Bl—John much, either, but I’ll try. He’s hardheaded to a fault.” Jesus, she’d nearly blown it! For all that Nicole seemed nice and Emma liked her, this woman could be her enemy. The thought that they might find out about her and Blaze had her breaking into a cold sweat.
“A regular alpha male, huh?”
“Down to his DNA. But he’s got a mushy heart, too. It’s in the little things he does, like his concern for others, how he helps everyone he can. How he always shows me how much he loves me, not just telling me.”
“You’ve got it bad, like me.” Nicole grinned. “A toast to good men who happen to be hot.”
They toasted, and Emma started to giggle, completely unaware that they had company until fingers grazed the back of her neck and she started, ready to defend herself against some fool who wanted to get frisky. Instead, she saw with relief that Blaze and Lan were standing behind their stools, looking amused.
