The Ultimate Romantic Suspense Set (8 romantic suspense novels from 8 bestselling authors for 99c)

by Lee Taylor

  But what about her heart? Who would untangle the mess Michael had made of that? She'd actually called him Sir. Thank goodness he hadn't really tied her up. The eye mask was bad enough, although she had to admit it had heightened her arousal. She'd never be able to wear it again without thinking of him. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

  He'd been so caring after they'd made love, cuddling her, kissing, kneeling to wash her feet in the shower.

  She'd stretched like a contented cat after waking in his arms this morning. Deeply buried doubts she'd ignored had always knotted her belly with every other relationship she'd ever had. This had felt so right.

  Just shows what you know, idiot.

  He'd even talked her into letting him shave her legs, and other unmentionable parts of her body.

  I want to see you without hair there, Jessie.

  She would never forget his utter concentration as he'd plied the razor. She squirmed in the plastic chair.

  She took deep breaths, trying to recall how abdominal breathing worked. Gradually, her racing heartbeat slowed. She dozed off, dimly aware of the sound of the surf and the rustle of the palm trees.

  She didn't know how long she'd been asleep, but when she woke she'd written the next few chapters of her book in her mind.

  ~~~

  Jessie pulled the chair closer to her keyboard, determined to ignore the ringing of her cell phone. She was on a roll, the words pouring out. Her fingers could barely keep up with the ideas.

  But a lifetime of conditioning eventually drove her to pick up the phone and press TALK. Someone was obviously determined to speak to her.

  "Hello?"

  "Phil Glazebrook here."

  She toyed with the idea of imitating a recording--you've reached the Halliwell residence, please leave a message--but he was too astute for that. She'd thought it important to forward her home phone. "Hi, Phil. What can I do for you?"

  The guy gave her the creeps. He always greeted her amiably when she bumped into him, but he leered at her in a way she didn't like. She remembered his cold handshake the first time they'd met--like a lizard.

  For a person who lived in the penthouse he sure seemed to be in the foyer a lot. The penthouse suites had been added to the building several years after the initial construction. They had their own mailboxes, so there was no need for him ever to be on the ground floor.

  "Actually, it's more what I can do for you," he replied. "I have some influence in this city."

  Why did she get the feeling he could just as easily use that influence against her? "I don't understand."

  "I could organise a PR campaign for you. You know--Local Author Makes Good."

  "I have an agent, Phil. He's taking care of all that."

  "I know. Gary Atherton. He's a good guy, for a local, but I'm talking putting you in touch with real movers and shakers. People with power in the TV and film industry."

  How had he known Gary was her agent? He might be a bit rough around the edges, but there was no need for Glazebrook to be so patronising. "Gary has done a good job for me," she said, hating the defensive tone in her voice.

  "Why don't you come over to my office and we can discuss it? I can make your future a whole lot brighter. I read your book, by the way."

  That took her by surprise. He hadn't said he enjoyed it. Perhaps that was a good thing. But if he hadn't thought it was well written, why was he making this proposal? She hesitated, not knowing what to say.

  "Two o'clock tomorrow sound good? I'll give you the address."

  "Actually, I'm in Panama at the moment. I won't be home for a few days. I'll call you."

  "Panama! Fantastic! A little R&R, eh? Okay, I'll wait for your call."

  The line went dead. Why hadn't she just put him off? But his office wasn't far from where she lived. What was the harm in listening to his ideas? At least he hadn't invited her up to the penthouse. That possibility sent a cold shiver across her nape.

  ~~~

  While he waited at the gate in Toronto for the 7:35 pm WestJet flight to Victoria, Michael called Frank's number on the off chance the Dungeon Master might be at the Club, though it was only 4:30 pm in Vancouver.

  His hunch paid off that Frank would arrive early to make sure things were set up. "Scallywags."

  "Hey, Frank. Michael Atherton."

  "Mike. How are you doing? Haven't seen you since--well, ages."

  "Yeah. I've been busy at work, and I'm in Toronto, on my way back from Panama."

  Frank's reaction was predictable. "Panama? Hot there?"

  Why were Canadians preoccupied with the weather?

  "Yeah. Listen, Frank, would it be possible to order some things from your store, and have you ship them to my home address?"

  "Sure thing. I'll just need a credit card. What do you need?"

  Michael clutched the plastic he'd already taken out in nervous anticipation. He rhymed off a list of fetish items he'd seen for sale, excited at the prospect of trying them out with Jessie.

  The middle aged woman seated next to him moved to another part of the departure lounge, eyeing him warily.

  Frank repeated the list back to him.

  "That's it, except for one last thing. Do you still have the collar, the lacy, metal filigree thing?"

  He'd admired it every time he'd visited the club, sure he'd never find a Sub to wear it. Now he knew it was exactly what he wanted for Jessie.

  "The one with the little key attachment?"

  "That's it."

  "Good taste, Michael. You must have met one great chick to want her to wear that. It's not cheap, you know."

  "She's worth it."

  "I'm happy for you. Will you be bringing her to the club?"

  The question took him aback. He recalled being reminded of Scallywags while reading His Willing Slave. Had Jessie been there? There weren't that many fetish clubs in Vancouver, and, as far as he knew, none in Victoria. Had she participated in any of the scenes? Had she been there when he'd flogged J?

  J is for--

  "Jesus Christ!"

  "Pardon?" Frank asked.

  Sweat broke out on every inch of Michael's skin. "Er, not sure, Frank. Maybe. Anyway, here's my address."

  By the time he ended the call, Michael was shaking. How had he not realized it before? Those breasts!

  If Jessie walked into the airport lounge at that moment he would rip off her clothes, strip, beat his chest like a caveman, and thrust his aching cock into her hot passage. He'd tell her he'd been in love with her since the flogging.

  But Jessie was far away in Panama.

  Just wait till she came home. He'd have a surprise for her. He thought again of the items he'd ordered--a few surprises actually.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Thanks to a change of planes in Calgary, it was close to midnight when Michael wearily punched in the entry code, disabled the alarm, dropped his bag on the hardwood floor of the hallway, and put his horn down carefully on the hallstand.

  He took in a deep breath and held it. It was good to be home, but the house seemed eerily quiet, empty.

  He ran a hand through his hair, remembering the expression on Jessie's face when he'd given her the forty bucks at the door. Christ, no wonder she was mad.

  He was beyond tired after the long journey, but his flugelhorn called to him. He took it out of its case, and slumped into one of the vinyl chairs in the kitchen. Maybe if he played a few bars of Titanic, Jessie wouldn't seem so far away.

  He was starting to unwind when his Smartphone rang. He was tempted to ignore it, but it might be important. He lay the horn across his lap. "Atherton."

  "Jesus Christ, Michael. What the fuck are you about?"

  "Gary?"

  "I set you up with the best thing since sliced bread, and you fuck it up."

  What the hell? "I've been meaning to talk to you about that."

  "Shut the fuck up, and listen. If you hurt Jessie Halliwell in any way what-so-ever, more than you already fucking well have, I'll fucking
kill you."

  Michael could scarcely believe the person spewing obscenities at him was his easy going brother. When Gary took a breath, Michael tried again. "I'm not sure what you're talking about, bro. I had to leave Panama early, but I plan on seeing Jessie again."

  Silence.

  Anger prickled the back of his neck when it dawned on Michael that the only way Gary could know was if Jessie--

  "What the fuck did she tell you?"

  Gary seemed calmer now. "That she trusted you with a lot of personal--things. Christ only knows what that means. But she's afraid you'll say or do something detrimental, now you know--things--about her."

  It was a kick in the gut. Jessie didn't trust him at all. She'd likely have a heart attack if she realized it was her he'd flogged at Scallywags. Did she know? Had she put it together?

  The last thing he wanted was to delve into an explanation of trust issues between a Dom and his Sub with his brother. "Jessie is mistaken if she thinks I've abandoned her. I intend to have a long and very satisfying relationship with her. But don't fucking tell her that. I'll tell her myself."

  Once I've convinced her to wear my collar maybe she'll realize I mean what I say.

  ~~~

  Early the next morning, Michael called his Nikon guy. "This assignment's a bit different, Stuart."

  "Whatever, still covert though, eh?"

  Michael had to smile. You'd think they were involved in Black Ops the way Stuart carried on. "Yes, definitely. Jot down this address. I want pictures of the comings and goings there, especially of the windows in back, even if you don't see anyone at the windows. And take some shots in the evenings, after the offices in front close."

  "Ten-four. Gotcha," Stuart replied. "I'll case the joint today and find a spot to set up. Reports daily, weekly, what?"

  "Daily," Michael replied. "Someone's life may depend on your pictures, Stuart."

  There was a pause. "Got it. Be in touch."

  Michael ended the call, confident Stuart would do the job well. He was a geek, but he was a skilled and dependable geek.

  He shaved, showered, and dressed in his government representative "uniform"--grey slacks, shirt, tie, socks and sports jacket. Best dress shoes. A splash of Acqua di Parma.

  He had to look the part for his interview with Phil Glazebrook.

  ~~~

  "Come in, come in. Have a seat."

  Michael nodded and sank into the plush leather chair Glazebrook indicated from across the enormous desk he would guess was made of teak. "Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Mr. Glazebrook."

  The lawyer steepled his fingers, tapping his chin. "Not a problem. It's a slow day. Now, how can I help? I take it this is not a personal matter, since you're here from some government ministry?"

  Michael handed over his card. Glazebrook leaned forward to accept it but gave the card only a cursory glance. "Atherton. Your family are native Victorians, like mine. Your brother is a literary agent, I believe."

  Michael was proud of his roots. While his great grandfather hadn't arrived with Sir James Douglas, there'd been Athertons living in Victoria since the mid 1880's. Somehow, though, he resented the idea of being lumped in with the likes of Phil Glazebrook. And how did the sleaze ball know about Gary?

  "He is," he replied affably. "Just landed a lucrative deal for a local romance author."

  Why on earth had he mentioned Jessie?

  "Ah, yes, the lovely Jessie Halliwell."

  Michael's butt cheeks tightened. He wanted to leap up and stuff a bar of soap into Glazebrook's mouth. Or maybe his fist. "You know her?"

  "She's my neighbor. Have you read her book?"

  A freight train whistle screeched in Michael's brain. The thought of Glazebrook reading even one page of Jessie's book nauseated him. He struggled for control, shifting his weight in the chair as he pulled up the edges of his jacket. "Nah. I don't read romance."

  The moron shot him a lurid look. "You should read it. It's a good book for those into the BDSM lifestyle."

  "BDSM?" Michael asked, hoping he sounded suitably puzzled, which he was. How had the conversation got so off track?

  Glazebrook raised his hands as if in supplication. "Surely you know. You were a police officer. Lots of cops are into Bondage, Discipline, Domination, Submission--" He counted each one off on his fingers, then wiggled his eyebrows. "--Sadomasochism."

  The look in Glazebrook's eyes when he uttered the last word sent a cold shiver across Michael's nape. How did he know Michael had been a cop? Was he aware Michael and Jessie knew each other? How could he? Had Gary said something?

  He was still gathering his thoughts when Glazebrook shot his next bolt. "I hear you called from Panama of all places to ask about the renovations here?"

  Shit! Sloppy, Michael, very sloppy. Of course Taylor would call his client. No point lying. "Yes. We're concerned about the woman who used to own this house."

  Glazebrook was the picture of innocence. "Matilda?"

  "Yes, Matilda Johnson. Do you have any idea where she is?"

  "Me? No. Last I saw of her she was off to the bank with the money from the sale of this house."

  "I understand you got the house for a good price?"

  Glazebrook chuckled, raising goosebumps on Michael's neck. "A song. She was very anxious to sell. I must admit I badgered her a little, but business is business, after all."

  His face grew serious. "But the old gal has disappeared, you say? That's terrible. Not quite all there, you know. Hope nothing bad has happened."

  ~~~

  Michael wasn't a drinker, but as soon as he got home later that afternoon, he poured himself a sizable shot of Crown Royal on the rocks and gulped down a hefty swig.

  What a fuck up! He'd managed to raise Glazebrook's suspicions without even trying. Jim had been less than complimentary about his report. And he was no closer to finding Matilda. In fact he may have put her in more danger than he sensed she was already in.

  The only bright spot was that he hadn't detected Stuart's presence anywhere near the law offices when he'd left, though he knew his assistant was there. He'd probably email his pictures later in the evening.

  Not that they would show anything now he'd alerted Glazebrook.

  But the image burned into his mind was Jessie with Phil Glazebrook. Neighbors? She'd have to move in with him. He couldn't allow his woman to be anywhere near that creep.

  He swallowed the last of the Crown Royal, thinking of ordering a pizza. He wasn't hungry, but supposed he should eat something.

  He hunted through the phone book for Pizza Hut's number, wondering why he'd never put it into his contacts. He punched in the number, arranged the order after some confusion with someone whose first language was obviously not English, and ended the call, all set to pour another rye.

  The door bell rang.

  Wow! That was quick!

  He opened the door in time to see the UPS van driving off down the street. A long package lay at his feet. He picked it up, curious to see who'd sent it. A post office box in Vancouver?

  Of course! The goodies for Jessie. He slammed the door, ripping the brown wrapper off the box. An invoice fluttered to the floor. Across it Frank had stamped PAID IN FULL and underneath scrawled ENJOY!

  Oh, we will, my friend, we will.

  There were several boxes, but the other stuff could wait for Jessie's return. Michael wanted to see the necklace. His heart did a strange flutter when he located the box labelled Exquisite Victorian Metallic Lace Choker. Carefully, he removed the outer wrapping, then eased off the lid.

  His cock hardened pleasurably. The piece was just as he remembered it. The perfect collar for his first Sub, an exquisite adornment for an exquisite woman that would make it crystal clear to other men that she was his.

  Follie!

  The necklace fastened by means of a small lock artfully concealed at the back. The key hung on a clasp at the front of the choker. He unhooked it and clenched it tightly in his hand.

  Forget t
he Crown Royal. Gotta keep in shape for my lady.

  He changed into shorts and T-shirt, slipped his feet into his trainers, straddled the stationary bike, set it at the highest tension, and pedalled his way to an intense workout.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jessie had been so immersed in her writing after Michael's abrupt departure, she hadn't spoken to anyone on the phone apart from her initial indignant whine to Gary and her brief chat with Phil Glazebrook. She hadn't returned any of Michael's messages and she regretted that now, especially when she saw him leaning nonchalantly on the railing as soon as she exited the arrivals area of Victoria airport.

  She reminded herself she was angry with him for deserting her, but here he was, as promised, all smiles. She'd almost convinced herself it wouldn't matter if he didn't come, but her heart melted when she saw him. "How did you know what time I was due in?"

  He cradled her face and kissed her. People gawked, others smiled as the kiss went on and on, their tongues mating slowly, getting reacquainted. She pressed her fingers into his shoulders, inhaling the leather of his jacket and the citrusy cologne she'd never quite gotten out of her nostrils.

  He moved his hands to her bottom and cupped her to his arousal. She was torn between embarrassment and elation. It was so blatantly sexual in a public place, and it felt wonderful.

  "Gary told me," he finally rasped, rubbing his nose against hers. "Right after he chewed me out for leaving you."

  A twinge of nervousness spiked in her tummy. He sounded annoyed. "About that."

  He kissed her again, gently this time. "We won't talk about it now, but sooner or later, Jessie, we have to discuss loyalties and boundaries. I expect you to be completely loyal to me."

  She swallowed the lump in her throat, but could only nod. She'd steeled herself to be cool and he had her on fire. "I was hurt, confused."

  He put his hands on her shoulders. "Jessie, I'm telling you now, and I don't want to have to tell you again, I won't hurt you. Why are you confused? Would I hurt a woman whose pussy I've shaved?"

  She bore down on the jolt of desire spiralling between her legs, glancing nervously around the crowd of people waiting for their luggage. Hopefully no one had heard.