Picking up a heavy portfolio-sized tome with glossy four-color pictures, she carried it out of the room to study further once she’d seen the rest of the upstairs. There was another bathroom and bedroom next to his library, but nothing of interest, so she crossed over to the other side of the floor and found what she would have called a gym, but not like any gym she’d ever seen in someone’s house.
It was a long room that spanned the width of the apartment with large picture windows on either end. One showing the same view of the harbor as the living room, the other on the west wall with a view of downtown Boston. The long wall directly opposite her was completely mirrored and half of the floor was covered in the thick mats used in gymnastics. The uncovered section of the floor appeared to be wood, like the rest of the house.
A delicate Japanese-looking cabinet under the west window held candles in art glass jars that smelled of eucalyptus, lemons, and something herby, like basil or rosemary. She set the book she’d found on the top of the cabinet and opened the double doors to look inside. She found clean towels in one drawer and various lengths, textures, and colors of rope in another. Shivering, she eyed the book that she’d taken out of the library. Had he brought other women up here and tied them? Fucked them?
She never felt particularly jealous of Nick’s women before, but the thought of him bringing them here, into this private place, made her snap the drawer shut in irritation. She didn’t want Nick to think about those women again. She wanted to replace every image of them that he carried in his mind with her, but unfortunately, she couldn’t tie herself up like a Christmas present.
She could be naked, though, or maybe dressed in the silk robe she’d bought, her hair and makeup done, kneeling for him in this room when he came home. It was an idea.
Part of her was a little astonished that the idea of being tied up and helpless didn’t bother her more. It wasn’t just that Nick would be doing the tying, though that was crucial. Mostly it was because he hadn’t asked her to make herself helpless. He wouldn’t, she knew, without some . . . encouragement.
17
BY THE TIME Nick and Shane returned to Blake’s apartment, the police had arrived with their van full of equipment and bomb gear. They’d evacuated the Hairy Lemon, much to Kevin’s annoyance, and several other buildings. The press had also arrived, making Nick curse. Now he had to let Blake know what was going on before she saw it on the news.
Nick turned his back to the press vans, not wanting to be recognized, and pulled out his phone, but stopped when he saw Roland approaching with a short, red-haired woman at his side, her face covered in freckles, wearing a black suit jacket, pants, and heels that made Nick glad he was male and didn’t have to endure daily torture.
She was scowling, but on her it was cute. He doubted she’d appreciate the description, but that was the word that came to his mind.
Roland stalked along beside her, making no concession for her much-shorter legs, but she didn’t seem to need any. Her no-nonsense march would have done the nuns in his old neighborhood proud.
“Roland,” Nick said as his friend approached.
“Nick, this is Detective O’Halloran. Detective, this is Nick Cord, my business partner. Blake is staying with him while we look for Keenan.”
She threw Roland an annoyed glare, but managed a polite nod for Nick. “Mr. Cord. How is Blake?”
Nick shrugged. “I was about to let her know that this”—he gestured to the cop cars and the press that were swarming like jellyfish in the harbor—“was happening, but otherwise she’s been okay.”
“Has she received any threats? Been contacted since I spoke to her last?”
“No, ma’am,” Nick managed, struggling not to send Roland a look. She was something, all right. “I thought I heard someone say something to me in the market yesterday, but I didn’t see anyone that fit Keenan’s description.”
“What did you hear?”
Nick clamped his mouth shut, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to explain why the words She’ll never be yours had special meaning for him, or how they connected to Keenan. He didn’t even want to tell Roland about the incident, much less a total stranger.
“Just a voice that sounded familiar,” he lied.
Roland knew he was lying. Nick could tell by the way his friend studied him, but he didn’t clue in the detective.
“Okay, it’s not much. Otherwise, no other contact?”
“That’s right,” Nick agreed.
“And when you arrived at the scene, you said you smelled gas, is that right?”
He nodded again.
“What made you suspect that there could be a bomb?”
Frowning, Nick shrugged. “When we were at MIT, Keenan, Milton, and I would build tricks for Milton’s magic shows, sometimes with small explosives. I doubt that there’s a bomb in Blake’s apartment, but it seemed stupid to go charging in just in case, especially with the smell of gas.”
“Milton’s your other partner, correct?”
He and Roland nodded simultaneously.
“Well, I would have liked to avoid the media circus.” She scowled.
“Her captain’s on her ass for the amount of time she spends on a ten-year-old cold case,” Roland informed Nick.
Detective O’Halloran glared at him again, but Roland ignored her. “I spoke with him and he agreed that sending in the bomb squad was not an unreasonable request.”
And the good detective was mad enough to spit nails at Roland’s interference, Nick gathered, reading between the lines. Roland wouldn’t have wanted the press around, either, so Nick was betting they’d gotten wind of it some other way.
“Like I said”—Nick held up his hands—“I doubt there’s a bomb, but someone’s been there and it wasn’t Blake.”
“Does she have any friends? Boyfriends that might have come by without her knowledge?”
Nick shrugged. “I can ask, but she didn’t mention anyone.”
Roland shook his head. “She hasn’t had anyone except me, Nick, or Milton over to her apartment.”
How did Roland know that?
Roland met his eyes. “She’s getting back on her feet from another abusive relationship that ended over a year ago. She hasn’t felt comfortable inviting anyone into her life.” Seeing the questioning look on Nick’s face, he explained, “I was talking to her about it earlier this year, when Milton started seeing Regina.”
“I see.” Detective O’Halloran shook her head, like she couldn’t believe anyone could let themselves be abused. Nick bristled. Blake wasn’t weak, she’d just made some mistakes, and she was changing. Surely the detective could appreciate how difficult it had been for her.
“I’m going to check on the progress,” she informed them. “If they don’t find anything, you’ll be able to collect Blake’s things after the forensic unit has gathered any evidence.”
Roland stepped up close to Nick, his eyes still on the detective’s back as she walked away.
Or was Roland admiring the detective’s ass?
“I doubt they’re going to find much,” Roland said.
Nick nodded. Keenan had never been stupid. He could have gone to MIT himself had he really tried, but other than hanging out with them and writing code or building small weapons, Keenan’s only interests had been in expanding his growing criminal enterprise in Watertown.
“He left a sign that he’d been there on purpose. Probably to scare her,” Nick said.
“Or threaten us,” Roland added. “He knows how much we care about her.”
Nick nodded. That was the problem. Keenan knew entirely too much about all of them.
18
BLAKE READ AN entire chapter about formatting in Excel, and a book she’d found in Nick’s library about a world in the future where the earth was covered in water and only one family had a boat. Not her cup of tea, but she’d been
trying to distract herself.
Nick had texted her what was happening at her apartment and she’d spent nearly an hour watching the news coverage before she’d turned off the TV. There hadn’t been a bomb, that much was clear, but Nick hadn’t been able to tell her what they did find.
In response, she’d finished off the bottle of white wine they’d opened yesterday and looked through his naughty book of tied-up women for a while before deciding that she may as well get some homework done. It was either that or go stir-crazy waiting for someone to tell her what was going on.
When her phone finally did ring, she jumped and picked it up from the end table. It was a text from Nick.
Back in twenty minutes. Want dinner?
Blake wanted to get out of the apartment, but it didn’t sound like that was going to be likely. Fish and hush puppies, she texted back, knowing that seafood wasn’t exactly his favorite. Downright disloyal to his hometown, if you asked her.
OK, he replied.
Sitting up, Blake set the computer on the coffee table and stood, stretching again before picking up the sex book she’d found in Nick’s library. She’d marked one page with the Post-it he’d used to write her password on and intended to talk to him about the book later. Maybe this evening.
Of course, depending on what he’d found in her apartment, he may not be in the mood to fuck at all, much less engage in kinky rope sex. What had they found? Had Keenan broken in? Hurt someone? She couldn’t imagine that he’d taken anything. She didn’t have anything of value. Her contacts and addresses were on her phone, and she had her purse.
The wine had given her a pleasant buzz—she shouldn’t have finished the bottle, she supposed, but she still felt vaguely jittery as she opened the door to the guest room and put the book away in one of her dresser drawers next to the clothes she’d put away earlier.
After a quick freshening of her makeup, she changed into a turquoise-blue maxi dress that buttoned down the front and matched her eyes, and a linen cardigan. She left her hair down around her shoulders and lightly sprayed on some perfume. She didn’t bother with shoes.
Underneath the dress, she’d gone into considerably more effort, donning a white bondage-style corset and high-cut white satin panties with a strategic split down the center. She couldn’t say she was comfortable, but she certainly felt ready for anything. Her pussy was already swollen and ready for him, just at the thought of how he would expose her, and how those clever fingers would tease and play with her until she came.
“I’m turning into a sex addict,” she murmured, shaking her head. As if she didn’t have enough problems.
As the limo pulled out from beneath the parking garage, Nick waved goodbye to Shane and walked toward the penthouse elevator, where an armed guard waited. Nodding to the guard, he punched in his code to open the elevator doors. He’d called the company’s personal security service even before he’d been able to get some information about what they’d found in Blake’s apartment. Carrying the bags of takeout and a small suitcase with Blake’s things, he tried to relax as he rode up the elevator.
Blake was waiting for him wearing a long dress with buttons up the center and a sweater, her arms crossed under her chest. She’d left her hair down, tumbling around her shoulders and golden in the light from the lamps.
“Hey.” She smiled at him.
“Hey,” he replied and tried to smile back, but it felt strange on his face.
She let her arms fall to her sides and walked over to him. “Wow. Guess that little trip wasn’t as uneventful as expected.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, appreciating the feel of her lips against his cheek. “Not quite,” he agreed and surrendered the food to the gentle tug of her hand.
“Well, come on, let’s eat in the kitchen and you can tell me what you found.”
“I’ll be right there. I’ll put your things in your room.”
Nodding, she opened the bags and looked inside as she walked into the kitchen. Nick watched her walk away before pulling out the folder he’d concealed in the front pocket of the small carry-on. He set it on the coffee table and took the bag to her room, noticing that she had put away her new clothes as well. She seemed to be trying hard not to disturb anything too much, though he did wonder what she had done while she was here by herself. He’d never spent much time in the guest bedroom before, but now, with the smell of her perfume in the air and her clothes hanging it the closet, he was beginning to think of it as Blake’s room, especially when he saw her motorcycle boots on one of the shelves.
By the time he returned to the dining room, she’d transferred the food onto plates and lit several candles in the center of the table. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re thinking we have something to celebrate?”
She shrugged. “Well, we’re alive, we’re having fantastic sex, and you’re rich. What’s not to celebrate?”
Nick sat down. “Can’t argue with that,” he agreed wryly. He picked the folder up from the table next to him.
She eyed it like he’d dropped a dead lizard on the table. “You can tell me what you found in my apartment after we eat.”
Nick was all too happy to forget the contents of the folder for the moment—he’d like to forget it forever and haul her out to his yacht for an extended trip to a Caribbean island.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. Nick had ordered a steak salad with blue cheese, but he’d gotten her the requested fish and hush puppies.
“Oh, my gawd,” she said around a huge bite of hush puppy, “these are amazing. You have to try one.” She held one out to him; he noticed she’d painted her nails Easter-egg blue.
He held up a hand. “That’s okay.”
“It’s not natural, you know,” she informed him. “Everyone likes hush puppies.”
“People like watching Survivor as well.”
Blake shrugged. “More for me.”
Silence fell again and Nick realized that he was scowling at his salad. “Sorry.” He shook himself. “Maybe I should just show you and get it over with. I’m not going to be able to think about anything else.”
He reached for the folder, but she stopped him. “Wait. Before you do, I want you to have something else to think about.”
There was a note in her voice, a slightly husky intonation to her already low tones. He felt the hair on his arms stand on end. “All right.”
She stood and removed her sweater and then began unbuttoning the dress, revealing a corset made with various straps, all buckled in place with silver buckles, and underwear that strapped around her as well, with a small silver buckle in the front.
Gathering the dress and sweater into a ball, she tossed them in the direction of the living room and returned to her seat. Without hesitation, she began eating again, giving him an inquiring look when he just stared. Damn. His mood had improved; it was difficult to worry when his dick was throbbing.
“All right.” He shook his head and picked up the folder. “These are copies of photographs that were found in your bedroom, laid out for you to find.”
When she took the folder, her hand trembled, just a little, and he knew she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed to want to pretend. She set the folder to the left of her plate, leaving a grease stain from her fingers, and flipped it open.
She paused with a piece of fish halfway to her mouth. “This is from the hospital,” she said.
“I know.”
It was a picture of Blake sitting in his car, smiling at him while he scowled. He remembered that moment, remembered her telling him that she wanted him to have sex with her.
She dropped the piece of fish and flipped to the next one, which was from the bar where she worked. She was bending to give Roland a drink. A third photograph showed her sitting at a café with Rosa. There were others, but essentially they added up to the same t
hing: someone knew where she worked, where she lived, where she liked to go, and, what’s worse, seemed all too willing for her to know about it. Keenan was telling Blake and her friends that he was there, that he was watching, and he didn’t care if they knew.
“I called our private security. There’s a guard at the door downstairs and several more at the perimeter.”
She didn’t seem to be listening. She’d gotten to the last picture in the pile, the one of the two of them walking to the docks to go sailing. Her lips pressed together grimly. “Keenan, you are such an asshole.”
He didn’t mention the note that had been left, directed at him. She’ll never be yours had been written in lipstick on her vanity mirror.
“God.” She sighed and stood, picking up her plate and carrying it to the sink. The cheeks of her ass were visible beneath the straps. He wanted to run his tongue between the crease of her ass and thigh.
“I thought Keenan and I were done. I thought I was done with all of this bullshit, having people follow me, leave taunting pictures. He always did like to play. Sick bastard.” Her plate clattered in the sink. “It’s weird. It’s like it’s all happening again. You’re creating an online game. I’m trying to go back to school. You and I are . . .” She looked at him, but didn’t finished the thought. “It’s like he knew, you know, that we were just starting to get back where we were before.”
Nick winced. Keenan had known that he was fascinated by Blake even then. And really, how much better was Nick than all the others she’d been with? He’d followed her; he’d tracked her phone. The only difference he could see was that he was protecting her, not trying to control her every move, but he was all too aware that it was a fine line. Agitated, he didn’t know what he’d do if he saw her flirting or talking with some guy. Before, when she’d just been his friend, he would have gone for a run, a long run, and possibly found a woman for the evening, but now that she was here, in his house, in his bed?
A French Whipping Page 15
