by MS Parker
I was debating my options when a sleek black limo pulled up right in front of where I was standing. I blinked as the back window rolled down, and a slightly familiar male voice came out of the darkness.
“What are you doing?”
I frowned. The question was far too sharp for a stranger.
“Hanna!”
I blinked, shaking my head to clear away some of the fog. Someone had said my name.
The door to the limo opened and a man got out. Tall. Muscles. Hot. I stared up at his face, the rain blurring my vision. At least I thought it was the rain.
“Get in.”
I took a step back as the man reached for my arm. “Waiting for a cab.” The words felt thick on my tongue.
“You won’t get a cab anytime soon.” The man came closer and gazed up the sky. “It’s raining. Everyone in this city is looking for a cab right now.”
“Well, shit.” I sighed.
The man laughed, sounding startled as much by his laughter as what I’d said.
“Hanna, please get in the limo. You’re soaked, and I’m getting wet. I’ll take you home.”
Now he was close enough that I had to tilt my head way back to see him. His features ran together for a moment, then settled.
“Oh, it’s you.” The words popped out, and I suddenly realized that the filter that usually kept things inside my head wasn’t working at the moment.
Shit again.
Another chuckled from the man who I now realized was Cross Phillips. This one was amused, but there was an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite place. I wondered if I’d have been able to get that same sound if I hadn’t had those shots.
“Is it a good thing, or a bad thing, that it’s me?” he asked as he slid an arm around my waist.
I shivered, but this time it wasn’t from the cold. I liked the feel of him next to me, the strength of his arm around me.
“Bad,” I said despite how much I liked that it was him. “My sister said to stay away from you.”
“Oh, did she?”
The question was clearly rhetorical, said so softly I almost hadn’t heard it. Still, I answered, “Yup, she did.”
I was already in the backseat of the limo before I realized it. Then he was moving me over as he got in next to me. He closed the door and turned toward me, a puzzled expression on his face.
“Why were you standing out in the rain?”
“I told you, I was trying to get a taxi.” I slid further away from him.
Something sad went across his eyes and then disappeared. “I’m not going to hurt you, Hanna.” He turned from me and rummaged in some small compartment. He pulled out a few small hand towels and handed me two of them, keeping one for himself.
“Isn’t that what you like to do though?” I asked as I began to dry myself off.
“What?”
“Hurt people.” I was vaguely aware that this probably wasn’t an appropriate conversation, but I couldn’t help myself. My inhibitions seemed to be even lower than they usually were when I drank.
There was no way this was going to end well.
“I mean, you like the whole whipping and binding thing, right? Doing it to other people.”
His eyes darkened. “What, exactly, did your sister say about me?”
“That you’re a Dominant,” I said, rubbing the towel over my hair. “And that I should stay away from you.”
I felt his eyes on me and flushed, grateful for the warmth now that my body was registering my wet clothes. The sudden shift in temperature made my head spin though and I leaned back in the seat. I should leave, find another ride home. Juliette wouldn’t like that I accepted his offer, even if it was just an innocent ride home.
“Do you want me to stay away from you?”
My eyes jerked open and I stared at him. He hadn’t moved from his place near the door, hadn’t tried to get closer to me while I’d had my eyes closed. He was watching me as intently as he had when I’d been dancing, except now there was nowhere for me to go, no one to hide behind.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. When I shivered again, he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to me.
“It’s damp, but it’s better than nothing,” he said.
I took the jacket and pulled it over me. I appreciated the fact that he hadn’t used the opportunity to get into my personal space, or to try to put his arm around me and offer his body heat for warmth.
“Was tonight your first night at a club?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I went to clubs back home.”
That half-smile made his dimple emerge again. “And where’s home?”
“Ohio,” I said.
“Southern, I’m guessing.”
I nodded, snuggling under the jacket and trying not to look like I was enjoying the spicy scent of him.
“You have a lot of S&M clubs there?”
Heat flooded my face. “Oh, that kind of club. Um, no. Hadn’t been to one before. Juliette took me. Obviously. I wanted to see it. See what her world was like.” Shit. I was babbling.
“Her world?” He shifted in his seat. “Not yours?”
“No.” I shook my head, then made a face when the motion made the world spin and blur around me. My stomach flipped and churned. “Not my world.”
“Are you a virgin?”
My head snapped up, mouth falling open. “You – I mean – that’s not – oh fuck.”
“Easy,” he said softly. He leaned forward and opened a small refrigerator. He grabbed a bottle of water and held it out to me. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.
“You seem to do that a lot for someone who doesn’t mean it,” I said as I took the water. I gulped down half of it at one go, not having realized how thirsty I was until I started drinking.
“I’m just trying to figure you out,” he admitted. He ran his hand over his face. “I don’t meet a lot of women like you.”
I wasn’t sure how to take that, but I thought he meant it as a compliment. “No,” I said quietly.
“No?”
“I’m not a virgin.” I gave him a smile that felt a little strange on my face. “But I’m not what Juliette is either. Not like you.”
I thought he would say something about that, ask me something, but the edges of my vision started to gray. I could see his mouth moving, heard sounds, but couldn’t put them into words. He might’ve said my name, might’ve come closer to me, touched me, but I didn’t know any of it. My world went black and I didn’t know anything.
Chapter Eight
Waking up was like slogging through sand. Wet sand. While wearing twenty pounds of armor.
Usually I woke up quickly. One moment I was asleep, sometimes dreaming sometimes not, and then I’d be awake. If I’d been drinking the night before, it was the nausea or headache that woke me. Sometimes it’d be a bad dream. No matter what it was, though, it was always easy.
Not this time. This time, I was aware of waking up, of the slow returning of my senses. I was aware of trying to move, but not being able to. My eyelids felt heavy and I strained to open them.
My brain felt fuzzy, but it was functioning well enough for me to realize that something was wrong.
I wasn’t home. I knew that much.
It didn’t smell like home. Like Mom’s cooking and motor oil. The grease from car parts that would inevitably find their way to our kitchen table, no matter how many times Mom yelled.
It didn’t sound like home. Like my brother and sister-in-law coming from next door to ask for some sugar or bread, or whatever else they’d forgotten to get at the store. The banging and noises from the garage as Dad or RJ worked on a car.
No, I wasn’t home and I wasn’t in Juliette’s apartment either. Some awareness came, and I realized I was in a bed. But it wasn’t my bed. It was too soft, too big. In college, I’d had a single. Back home it was a twin. Even in the apartment where I’d only spent a couple nights so far, it was smaller than this. This was massive.
Shit.
The realization brought me suddenly awake all the way.
I was naked.
And in a strange bed.
What the hell happened to me last night?
I stared up at the ceiling, attempting to catch my breath and calm my racing heart. I wasn’t in pain, and I wasn’t tied up. I didn’t hear anyone else in the room with me. I slowly looked around and found that the room wasn’t as dark as I’d originally thought. There was a dim light coming through an open door. I could see enough to tell it was a bathroom. And it gave me enough light to see that I was the only one in the room.
I pushed myself up until I was sitting and held the blanket against my chest. I needed to figure out what was going on, but I knew I’d feel better doing that with clothes. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and waited to see if I was going to be sick. My stomach felt tender, like I’d already thrown up, but it didn’t seem to be protesting the movement.
I stood and felt a wave of dizziness. It passed quickly, and I headed for the bathroom. A towel hung next to the shower stall and when I touched it, it was damp. I ran a hand through my hair and it was damp as well.
Apparently, I’d already showered.
Or...I frowned. Was it a shower, or rain? I remembered rain. I’d been wet, cold. But I smelled shampoo that wasn’t mine.
Had someone given me a shower?
I looked at myself in the mirror, searching for any signs of an assault. My skin was free of bruises, and I didn’t feel like I’d had sex. I supposed it was possible I wouldn’t be able to tell, but it’d been long enough that I was sure any sort of sexual activity would’ve made me feel something.
So I hadn’t been assaulted, but I had been undressed, and apparently bathed. There was something I was missing. Something about last night. I just couldn’t remember what.
I remembered going to the club with Juliette, but even that was a bit fuzzy. And the rain, it was a feeling more than an accurate memory.
I walked back out of the bathroom and flipped on the light. I needed to find something to wear, and then I could figure out where I was and what had happened. As it turned out, I didn’t have to look far. A dress hung over the back of the chair next to the bed.
When I picked it up, a piece of paper fluttered to the ground. I pulled the dress on first, surprised to feel how well it fit. It wasn’t like I was a one-size-fits-all sort of person. Not a lot of women were over five and half feet, and had curves like mine. And this wasn’t one of those dresses that hung like a sack either. It offered support where I needed it and showed off my hips, but it wasn’t exactly sexy. If the circumstances had been different, it was something I would’ve enjoyed wearing in casual circumstances.
It wasn’t until I bent to pick up the paper that I saw a pair of black lace panties on the chair as well. They were also a perfect fit.
Somehow, that didn’t really make me feel any better.
I finally looked at the paper and found hand-writing I didn’t recognize. It was brief and unsigned.
Please join me in the sun room. Down the hallway to the left. I hope the dress fits.
At least my mysterious benefactor slash kidnapper was polite. I didn’t bother with shoes since the carpet was thick and soft. Besides, if I needed to make a quick getaway, I could run a lot faster in my bare feet than in heels. Even if I could find them.
I’d gone only a few steps down the hallway when I heard the faint strands of classical music. I followed the music into what I assumed was the sun room. When the figure standing at the window turned, I recognized him, and pieces of memory came rushing back.
Meeting Cross at the club.
Him offering to take me home.
Bits of a conversation I was hoping he’d forgotten.
“How are you feeling?” He gestured toward the couch.
I sat, but kept on the edge of the cushion, ready to move if he tried anything. All he did, however, was sit in a chair across from me, a concerned expression on his face.
“A bit foggy,” I admitted in answer to his question.
He nodded as if that was to be expected, and a bit of temper flared.
“I only had two shots of tequila,” I said. “I wasn’t drunk.”
“No, I didn’t think you were.”
His calm answer just pissed me off. He was acting like this was completely normal. It might’ve been for him, but this was an entirely new experience for me.
“Then would you like to explain to me why I just woke up in a strange bed, naked, and without an idea of how I got there?” My voice was tight, and I pressed my hands against my thighs to stop them from trembling.
“What do you remember from last night?” he asked, his voice still even.
I shrugged. “Being at the club. Seeing you. Taking a couple shots while my sister danced.”
Oh shit. Juliette.
“I need to call her.”
Cross held up his hand as I started to stand, and I automatically sat back down.
“It’s just past five in the morning. I’m sure your sister is still sleeping.”
Sam, I remembered suddenly. Juliette had gone to a hotel with some guy. She probably didn’t even know I wasn’t at the apartment.
“Please, Hanna, stick with me for a couple minutes.”
I looked back at Cross. His handsome face was sincere. He wasn’t trying to push me, and I didn’t feel threatened by him. I didn’t exactly feel comfortable at the moment, either, but it was a different sort of uncomfortable, one that I wasn’t entirely sure was bad.
“Do you remember anyone hanging around the bar when you were ordering your drinks?”
I frowned at him. “Why don’t you tell me why I woke up naked, and then you can ask me a question.”
“You threw up,” he said bluntly. “In the limo. Your dress was already soaked through.”
“So you just figured you’d take me home and strip me?” The question was meant to be harsh, but it came out softer. Vulnerable. I crossed my arms over my chest and looked away, embarrassed.
“It wasn’t like that.” His voice was firm. “Look at me, Hanna.”
I did as he asked and found his gaze steady. Something twisted inside me.
“You passed out. Got sick. You were so cold you were shaking. I brought you back here, cleaned you up, and put you in bed. I sent your dress to the cleaners.” He smiled without humor. “Along with my jacket.”
Another memory came forward, him offering me his jacket in the back of the limo. His jacket and some water. He’d been kind.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Just send me the bill.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I’m not concerned about that. I’m more concerned about you.”
Heat flooded me at the matter-of-fact way he said it. Like his attention should’ve been assumed.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Maybe I ordered a third or fourth shot last night, and I just don’t remember.” I stood. “I appreciate very much what you did for me, but I should be going. If Juliette gets back to the apartment and I’m not there, I’ll have hell to pay.”
“I don’t think that’s what happened.” He stood and took a step toward me.
I felt like I should back away, like I shouldn’t want him in my personal space, but I stayed where I was.
“You told me in the limo that you’d only had two drinks.”
“Maybe I was lying.”
He shook his head while still maintaining eye contact. “Trust me, Hanna, you weren’t exactly in a deceitful sort of mood.”
“Shit,” I muttered as I remembered some of the things I’d said.
He chuckled, but it wasn’t quite as warm as it had been last night when I’d made him laugh. Still, that dimple appeared.
“That’s a conversation for a different time.” He reached out and tucked a wild curl behind
my ear. “I’d rather focus on why you were feeling so...open.”
“Alcohol can do that,” I said, wishing I wasn’t feeling the urge to lean into his hand.
“Does it do that to you often?” He dropped his hand.
I shook my head. “Not like that.” I furrowed my forehead. “I remember thinking that I should’ve just been a little buzzed, but that I felt a lot more...tipsy than usual.”
“Dammit,” he swore softly, but with enough emotion to make me blink in surprise.
“What’s wrong?”
He took a step back and ran his hand through his hair. I could sense tension coming off of him, but still didn’t understand what was going on. Whatever it was, it made him clench his jaw, pace back and forth a few times as if he was working to control his temper.
“We need to do a blood test,” he said suddenly.
“What?” I took a step back, putting out a hand to steady myself.
He looked at me, eyes stormy. “A blood test. I think you were drugged.”
Chapter Nine
How the hell could I have been drugged?
Going off to college, I’d received the talk from my parents. Not the one about sex, that’d come years before, but rather the one about parties, and drinking, and all of that. My parents and RJ had all reminded me to always get my own drink at a party, to never leave a drink unattended. They’d all been worried that I’d be slipped some date rape drug. I hadn’t done much in the way of partying, but I’d always been careful the few times I had gone out.
I’d fully intended to continue being careful while living in LA. And I’d thought I had been careful. I hadn’t gotten drinks from a stranger. I’d gotten a bottle of water and two shots. Two shots straight from the bartender.
What had happened?
I hadn’t realized I was hyperventilating until I felt Cross put his hand on my elbow and lead me back to the couch. He sat next to me, his voice low and soothing, telling me to take slow, deep breaths. His hand slid up and down my spine, but there was nothing sexual about his touch, only comfort.
