Bad Deeds

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Seth pulls to the curb and I round the vehicle, sliding into the passenger side, and we don’t speak until we’re in a parking spot in the garage of the Four Seasons. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, my friend.”

  “One you and your men need to decide if you’re willing to play with me.”

  “How far are you willing to go?”

  “As far as it takes to protect what’s mine.”

  “Do you understand what that could mean with a man like Martina?”

  I glance at him. “I do and I will not back down. The question is, are you in or out?”

  He studies me, his eyes hardening. “I’m in.”

  “And Nick?”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  I give him a nod and open the door, ready to go to do battle, no matter who’s with me or not. I meant what I said that Martina had scratched the wrong lion. This one bites.

  EMILY

  I leave the Bentley for Shane. And since I’m feeling gun-shy about walking again, plus loaded down with my research on the new Brandon beauty and fashion line I’m proposing, I Uber my way to work, with a goal of being at my desk by eight. Once there, and walking into the building, dread fills my belly at the idea of dealing with stockholders over Brandon Senior’s cancer treatment. No. That’s not true. This dread is about my worry that Shane will already be here, perhaps having showered and dressed somewhere else. Maybe every excuse I gave him for being gone last night was my denying that we’re in real trouble. Suddenly not eager to go upstairs, I stop in the coffee shop to grab myself another caffeine boost and Brandon Senior the hot tea he likes, figuring I can warm it in the microwave if he isn’t here yet. I’ve just placed my order when a blond woman grabs my arm.

  “Emily.”

  I blanch at the realization this is Jessica and her hair has gone from short to long overnight. “Who are you?”

  She laughs. “I look different, right?”

  “Ah yeah. Where’s my friend and Shane’s spiky-haired assistant?”

  She grabs a long lock of golden hair. “Extensions. I needed a new me, and I’ll tell you about that later. Is Shane here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her brow furrows. “You don’t know? Don’t you live together?”

  Those knots in my belly get bigger. “He had meetings.”

  “Oh okay. Well, pray he’s not in for me. I forgot to turn in a contract for a deal he’s closing for a sponsorship. He’s going to kill me.”

  “You forgot something?”

  “I’m human. Don’t tell. Grab me a caramel macchiato, will you?”

  “Yes. Okay.” She starts to leave, and I grab her arm.

  “Stick my briefcase on my desk, will you?” I ask, sliding my bag off my shoulder and handing it to her. “And my purse. I’ll charge the drinks.” I hand her that too but change my mind. “No. I’ll keep it, but text me a call sheet of which Brandon is in, including Derek.”

  “Derek?”

  “Yes. Derek.”

  “I’ll get that piece of gossip later. Gotta go before your Brandon and mine wrings my neck.” She starts backing up. “No foam, but I want whip. No. No. Dieting. No whip. Low-fat or fat-free or whatever you call it.” She turns and then rotates back. “Damn it, I want the whipped cream.” And then she faces forward again and is gone, leaving my mind to go crazy with the places Shane could have been all night and now. I actually find more peace thinking about my missing brother, my murdered stepfather, and the hackers who could appear at any moment and make our lives more complicated. Okay, I don’t find more peace in those things, but they still trump the stories of Martina Senior ordering the beheading of fifty people for crossing him in Mexico, which I’d read about last night.

  By the time I have a tray with four drinks in it, I decide I need to just hum that Jason Aldean song I was listening to while running, to shut down my mind for a few short minutes and pull myself together. I step into the elevator and am thankfully alone, so I actually recite the lyrics to the empty car. It’s an absolutely ridiculous idea that does nothing to help me. I need to do something, make a difference somehow, not check out. That’s what I did with Bobby J.

  I press my hand to my face. Why does that piece of hell keep popping up in my head? Grimacing, I shake it off and head to the door.

  Entering the lobby, I greet the receptionist, who’s on the phone, and then walk to the break room to stick the two teas for Brandon Senior in the fridge to ensure the milk doesn’t spoil. And since I have yet to get that warning text, I go to my desk, shove my purse in a drawer, and dial Jessica, only to have her round the corner. “No one is here. I have to go to legal on the second floor. Walk with me?”

  “Yes. Okay.” I grab our drinks and cross to join her, offering her the caramel macchiato.

  She takes a sip. “You got it with whipped cream. I’m dieting.”

  I laugh. “Oh no, you don’t. You don’t get to blame me for that. You said: ‘Damn it. I want the whipped cream.’”

  “But I didn’t say get it for me.”

  “You are being bad,” I say, sipping my white mocha and trying not to think about the first time I met Shane and I drank from his cup. “It must be that long gorgeous hair,” I add, “and you do not need to diet anyway.”

  We step into the corridor outside the elevators. “You really like the hair?”

  “I do,” I say. “I mean, I loved the spiky Brigitte Nielsen thing you had going on too, but this looks more natural.”

  She snickers. “My fake hair looks more natural. Love it.” She pushes the elevator button and takes a drink of her coffee. “I’m glad you got me the whipped cream. Thank you.”

  “Happy to fatten up my skinny friend any day. What made you change the hair?”

  “Oh, you know, it was always long, but I had this bad breakup, really bad, and I’ll need drinks to tell you about it. Anyway, I had an identity crisis and chopped it off.”

  I inhale, back once again to tattoo-domination hell. “I understand.”

  She tilts her head. “You do?”

  “Yeah. I do. I did something like that.”

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure drinks will be enough to share that one.”

  “Oh God. Now I freaking have to know. You’re telling me. That is all there is to it.”

  The elevator dings, and we both step forward only to freeze as Shane steps off the elevator, freshly shaven and dressed in a blue suit, his attention landing hard on me. And Lord, help me, he’s so damn tall, dark, and good-looking, he never fails to make me weak in the knees. He’s also now standing in front of me, smelling like spicy, woodsy male perfection, and looking at me like he wants to gobble me up. But he’s freshly showered and dressed. And yes, he’s wearing the Burberry tie that has a special meaning between us, one I know is a message to me, but at the very least, he waited until I left to go home and change.

  “Let’s go to my office and talk,” he says.

  “I’d rather talk tonight if you think we’ll be under the same roof.”

  “Emily—”

  “Tonight.” I try to step around him, but he maneuvers in front of me, and I catch a glimpse of Jessica disappearing into the elevator.

  “Let’s go talk,” Shane repeats.

  “I’m really upset. We do not need to do this here; your father will be here making demands at any moment.” The elevator dings again, and suddenly Derek is exiting a car.

  “Well, if it isn’t the lovebirds,” he says, his voice instantly furrowing Shane’s brow.

  “I’ll leave you to your brother,” I say, turning on my heel and heading back to the offices.

  “Emily,” he bites out, but I keep walking. I push forward and don’t stop until I’m back at my desk, but I’m rattled, trembling even. Irritated at my lack of control, I walk into Brandon Senior’s office and shut the door. When I’m still shaken, I lean against it. Where was he? Why didn’t he take my calls?

  The door opens behind me with such f
orce, I have no option but to lift myself off it. I face forward to find Shane stepping inside. Desperate for control, I race across the room and step behind Brandon Senior’s desk.

  “Your father will be here any minute,” I object as he shuts us inside and faces me.

  “I’m here now. And he’ll have to wait.” He reaches over and locks the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  EMILY

  Shane’s across the room and around the desk before I can blink, but I’m ready. I grab his father’s chair and rotate it, putting it between us with the back against the desk. “Stay there,” I order.

  “Then you come here.”

  “You said you want to talk. We don’t talk when you touch me. I tried that last night and—”

  “I spanked you?”

  My cheeks flush. “Yes. You did.”

  He moves, and before I know what’s happened, I’m on the other side of the chair with him, leaning against the desk, his big, wonderful, delicious body pressed to mine, while my hands manage to find the hard wall of his chest under his jacket. “Shane, damn it. I told you—”

  “I spent the entire time I was in the shower replaying that spanking.”

  “The shower you took after I left?”

  “I meant to be there before you left. Who spanked you?”

  “I’m upset with you, Shane, and you want to know who spanked me?”

  “You’re damn right I do. It’s driving me crazy.”

  “This conversation is crazy,” I say. “This is not the time or place for this.”

  He lifts me and sets me on the desk, shoving the hem of my dress up my legs and then pressing my knees open, his hands settling on the lace band of my thigh-high stockings. “Who spanked you?” he repeats, stepping toward me.

  “Shane—”

  “Was it the professor?”

  “The tattoo artist. We need to talk.”

  “We are. I want to hear about the tattoo artist spanking you.”

  “I hated everything about the many things I did with that man.”

  His eyes narrow. “Define many things.”

  “Why are you doing this now?”

  “I’m feeling possessive. I’m feeling really damn possessive.”

  “Be possessive in bed, our bed, the one that you should have been in last night.”

  “I really like hearing you say ‘our bed.’” His thumbs make circles on the skin just outside my panties, the waves of pleasure he produces threatening the last of my clear thinking, and I grab his wrist.

  “Shane. This isn’t talking.”

  “No one but me will ever spank you again.”

  My eyes narrow at him. “What is in your head right now?”

  His eyes heat, darken. “You. Always.” He inches back and looks at me. “You’re mine. Mine to protect.” His voice is low, fierce, and he grips my panties and yanks them away. “Mine to fuck.”

  I gasp and grab his shoulders. “Shane.”

  His answer is to wrap his arm around my waist, pull me close, his cheek against mine, his fingers pressing into the V of my body. “Wet, just the way I like you,” he says, pressing two fingers inside me. “Wet for me. And too fucking perfect for my sanity sometimes.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a compliment,” I pant out, grabbing the lapel to his suit as a sweet ache begins to build in my sex as his thumb strokes my clit.

  “And no one else,” he murmurs, nipping my earlobe, “will ever touch you like this.” His fingers caress deeper inside me. “No one,” he adds, “will ever make you say their name like I want you to say mine right now. Say it.”

  “Shane,” I whisper, and not because he wants me to, but rather because it’s there on my lips, the way I wish his tongue was on my lips now. “Shane, I—”

  Seeming to know what I need, he cups my head and kisses me, long, slow, sensual strokes of his tongue that somehow make every touch of his fingers more intense. “Come for me,” he murmurs, and this time when he kisses me, I start climbing that wall to release, and I’m there at the top in an instant. I stiffen while his fingers and tongue tease, please, and then I jerk, I’m over it, tumbling in an instant into shudders and shakes. Shane’s lips lift from mine as he breathes with me. His fingers slow as he eases me through the waves until I collapse against his chest.

  He tangles his fingers in my hair and drags my mouth back to his. “And no one but me will ever make you come like that again,” he declares, the waves of his emotions beating down any embarrassment I might feel over having had an orgasm on his father’s desk.

  “No one has ever made me feel what you make me feel, Shane.”

  “I love you,” he declares. “You know that, right? With everything I am or will ever be.”

  Shock radiates through me at the declaration he’s never spoken until now. “You do?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  And I love him too, but I’m tormented by the timing of the confession. “I love you too, Shane, but last night confuses me. Why didn’t you take my calls?”

  He leans back and looks at me, shards of emotions I cannot name in his eyes. “I told you—”

  “Tell me again.”

  He sucks in air, stepping back and sliding my knees together, gently pulling down my dress before grabbing the chair and pulling it forward. He sits in it, his hands settling on the desk on either side of me, his head lowering. My hands go to him, fingers sliding into the long dark strands of his hair, a hint of dampness telling me that his shower wasn’t very long ago. I don’t press him. I wait. I give him room to breathe, just happy he’s doing it here with me.

  Finally, his head lifts and he looks at me. “You are everything that is right in my world right now, Emily. Everything good.”

  “But you shut me out.”

  “Because I don’t want the bad in my life, in me, to destroy you and us.”

  “In you? There is no bad in you, Shane.”

  “I don’t win like I win and have no bad in me, sweetheart. I have a ruthless side. You don’t see it because you love me. And I don’t want that to change.”

  “I was going to law school. I like to win too. I know it takes being ruthless. I’m not naive. I can handle whatever you need me to handle.”

  “I don’t need you to handle any of this. That’s the point. And no matter where this takes me, if I have you to come back to, I will come back.”

  “That statement was spoken like you’ve put a divide between us now.”

  “A divide between you and the situation, not me and you.”

  “They’re the same.”

  “No. I’m still with you, sweetheart, like I have never been with anyone.”

  “Shane—”

  “The situation is bad, Emily. Really fucking bad.”

  “I know, but—”

  “One of the men guarding us disappeared last night. A family man with two kids.”

  “Oh God.” My hand goes to my neck. “Tell me he’s not dead.”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, but I told Martina that if Ted is dead, then there will be no drug study. And don’t tell me I can’t do business with him. You have to see this is not cut-and-dried.”

  “I spent a lot of time researching the Martina cartel and the family last night,” I say, “looking for any weakness I could give you to use against them. I know it’s not cut-and-dried.”

  “And what did you discover?”

  “That if you find their weakness, they cut your head off, which is why I’m terrified over your involvement with Adrian.”

  “And that information is exactly why I don’t want you involved.”

  “He has people following me around, Shane. I’m involved, but believe me, I’m not dangling a cookie out there and asking for attention. I just want to get it off of you. What did he say about Ted?”

  “He denied being involved but said he’d look for him as a favor to a friend.”

  “The game you mentioned.”

  “Yes. The game.”

 
I study him, those shards in his eyes cutting, the emotions they represent unfamiliar to me, and frightening, and with them, a realization comes to me. “You asked me who spanked me. You really needed to know.”

  “Yes. I did.”

  “Why?”

  “I just did, Emily.”

  “And I just keep thinking about him.”

  His spine straightens. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  “Not in a good way. He is not a good memory.”

  “Did I do that to you? Did I trigger bad memories? I would never—”

  “I know.”

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. No, it was intimate and sexy and—” I press my hand to my face. “I’m blushing thinking about it.”

  He pulls my hand from my face. “It was intimate and sexy and I liked it.”

  “I did too, but I don’t know what came over me. I all but told you to do it.”

  “You did tell me to do it.”

  “Okay, I did.”

  “What are you telling me, Emily?”

  “That spanking and me thinking about him wasn’t about him or me. It was about you. When I was with him, I was hiding from me. I didn’t like what I’d become and I wanted an escape. All I was doing was hiding. Don’t hide from yourself by hiding from me.”

  “I don’t hide. Ever. I’m protecting you.”

  “And now it’s my turn to say—it’s not that simple. And you know it.”

  The phone on the desk buzzes, and I jolt while Shane simply frowns, pushing to his feet and moving to the other side of the desk. He punches the lit-up button, and Jessica immediately says, “Senior is here.”

  My heart leaps to my throat and I jump to the ground. “Oh God. This is bad.”

  “Try to hold him off,” Shane orders.

  “He’s already rounding the corner,” Jessica replies.

  “Try anyway,” Shane snaps, letting go of the button and facing me.

  “This is bad,” I say.

  “This is us talking, and he of all people knows we have plenty to talk about.”

  “Does he know about Ted?”

  “He knows nothing but what happened at the dinner, and keep it that way. Now, let’s go face the angry king.”