Pivot

by Kat Martin

  But that’s exactly what happened as she allowed herself to sink into the love that smoldered in the smoky gray depths of his eyes.

  “That’s a big hope,” she murmured.

  “Am I wasting my time?”

  “No.” There was no hesitation. She didn’t want Gray ever to doubt her commitment to their relationship.

  She heard his soft gasp as he wrapped his arms around her, his gaze searching her face as if trying to assure himself that she wasn’t teasing.

  “Are you saying that you agree we belong together?” he pressed.

  She tilted back her head to study his stark, male features. How had she survived without him?

  “Of course we belong together,” she told him. “I’ve loved you from the moment you asked me out for coffee.”

  He trembled, as if he was having difficulty accepting that she was truly admitting her feelings for him.

  “And you’ll marry me?” he demanded, no doubt hoping to secure her agreement before she could come to her senses.

  She smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck. She knew that they were the center of attention, but at the moment she didn’t care. All that mattered was Gray Hawkins and a future filled with glorious promise.

  “And they lived happily ever after,” she whispered.

  With a low chuckle, he swooped his head down to press his lips against hers.

  “The End.”

  Read on for an exciting preview of Kat Martin’s

  AGAINST THE SKY,

  available now!

  ALASKA

  In America’s last wilderness there are no limits to what a man can do.

  For Detective Nick Brodie, that means keeping the perps off the streets of Anchorage 24/7.

  Nick has never backed down from danger, but after the horrors he’s seen, he’s definitely in need of a break.

  Samantha Hollis never thought she’d meet anyone like Nick, especially in a place like Las Vegas. But after one reckless, passionate night, she discovers the charismatic stranger is everything she wants in a man. But can he ever be anything more than a one-night stand?

  When Nick invites her to Alaska, Samantha decides to find out, never guessing the depths she’ll discover in him or the tangle of murder, kidnapping, and danger about to engulf them both . . .

  Nick helped Samantha into his black Ford Explorer for the drive back down the hill to his house. It had started to rain. This late in September, rainy days were a given.

  “What do you think really happened to Jimmy?” she asked. “A fistfight with a schoolmate wouldn’t explain why he hadn’t come home all day.” The teen was back now, but when he had failed to come home, his worried aunt had called Nick.

  “Maybe he was afraid of what his aunt would say when she saw his battered face, but it’s hard to believe. Jimmy’s usually the kind of kid who tackles trouble head-on.”

  “Then what else could it be?”

  Nick shook his head. “Worrying his aunt that way was really out of character.” He ran a hand over the late-night beard along his jaw. “I don’t know, it seemed like he was trying to brazen it out, putting up a tough front like the fight meant nothing, but I got a feeling he was scared.”

  “Of his aunt?”

  Nick shook his head. “No.” He sighed. “Hell, he’s a kid. Maybe I was reading the whole thing wrong. I’ll talk to him in the morning, see if I can get him to open up.” He looked over at Samantha as he pulled into the driveway. “I’ve got a microwave. How about we heat up some of that chicken you cooked before we had to go looking for a runaway kid?”

  “Good idea. I’m really hungry.”

  “Me too.” But the kind of hunger he was feeling had nothing to do with food and everything to do with Samantha Hollis. He tried not to remember the last time they had been together, the softness of her lips, her small, feminine curves, her sweet cries of passion as she’d moved beneath him.

  He tried to prevent it, but by the time he pulled the car into the garage, turned off the engine, and helped Samantha down from the SUV, he was hard as a frigging stone.

  Samantha smiled as he led her into the kitchen. “I imagine after all the excitement, we’ll both get a good night’s sleep.”

  He cast her a thunderous look. “You really think so? Because I’ll be lying there half the night aching for you, wishing you were in my bed instead of your own.”

  Her eyes widened. “But you said—”

  “I know what I said. I said you’d be safe if you came to Alaska, and I won’t break my word. Doesn’t mean I don’t want you.” He leaned over and very softly kissed her, felt his arousal stirring beneath his jeans. Samantha returned the kiss, making him harder still. Then she pulled away.

  “I-I’d better get the chicken out of the fridge and into the microwave.” She started walking toward the refrigerator, stopped, and turned back. “I’m glad your friend Jimmy is safe.”

  “Yeah, at least for now.” It took superhuman effort to force his mind off sex and onto the conversation he needed to have with the boy in the morning. The kid was important to him. The boy’s father had just died, and Jimmy was convinced it was murder. It was crazy, but after what had happened tonight, it was clear that something was wrong. Nick needed to find out what the hell was going on.

  * * *

  Samantha couldn’t sleep. Nick had said he’d be lying in bed aching for her, wishing she were there beside him. She hadn’t thought she would be the one aching.

  How could she have forgotten the magnetic pull of the man? The aura of masculinity that had so effortlessly seduced her before?

  Just looking at that lean-muscled body as he walked around the house made her want him, those long, purposeful strides that had attracted her from the moment she had seen him in the hotel. And those amazing eyes, the most arresting shade of blue she had ever seen. Eyes that should have been cool, but instead seemed to burn with an inner heat.

  Nick was the kind of man who touched easily and without conscious thought, the kind who made a woman feel protected and desired. She remembered the feel of his hard body pressing her down in the mattress, his muscles flexing as he took her, the pleasure he had given her. She remembered every moment she had spent with Nick.

  She wanted Nick Brodie, had from the moment he had rescued her from a stranger’s unwanted advances.

  But now there was more at stake. So much more. She needed to know him, trust him. She needed time to be certain he was the kind of man he seemed.

  She heard movement in the bedroom next to hers. Nick was awake, just as he’d said. How long could she resist the urge to go to him, to offer him her body as she had done before?

  With a sigh, Samantha plumped her pillow, put it over her head, and tried not to wish Nick would storm through the door and demand a place in her bed.

  Read on for an excerpt from Rebecca Zanetti’s thrilling new Deep Ops novel, coming soon!

  BROKEN

  Chapter One

  Clarence Wolfe strode up to the entrance of the super-secret sex club as if he had done so a million times before.

  Down the street and partially hidden by branches from a sweeping cherry tree, Dana Mulberry ducked lower in her car and pressed her binoculars to her face so hard her skin pinched. What in the world was Wolfe doing at a Captive party?

  She swallowed. Her heart rate, already thundering, galloped into the unhealthy range. It had taken her nearly a month to find out about the club, an additional two weeks to track down the location, and yet another month to finagle an invitation to the casual play night as a guest. And the ex-soldier, the beyond hunky badass who’d relegated her immediately to the friend zone, was walking inside like he owned one of the coveted million-dollar memberships?

  She shook her head. Once and then again. When she could focus once more, there Wolfe prowled, through her binoculars, clear as day in the full moonlight.

  He’d followed the rules for the night, too. Male Doms were to wear leather pants and dark shirts, females any leath
er outfit, and subs were to wear corsets and small skirts if they were female and knit shirts and light pants if they were male. Apparently, Wolfe was a Dom. Figured. She’d assumed she’d chuckle at seeing guys in leather pants, but there was nothing funny about Wolfe’s long legs, powerful thighs, and tight butt in those pants.

  In fact, he looked even more dangerous than usual, and she would’ve bet that wasn’t possible.

  Where in the heck had Wolfe found leather pants? Was he really some sort of Dom who went to clubs? He did not like people enough to spend time with anybody in a dungeon. She giggled, the sound slightly hysterical, so she cleared her throat.

  What now? She looked down at her tight green corset and black skirt that was as long as she dared. At the very least, it covered the still healing knife marks on her upper thighs that she hadn’t told anybody about. Not even her doctor. The guy who’d cut her during an interrogation had been killed in jail, so why did it matter?

  Forget the nightmares. They’d go away soon.

  Her more immediate problem was that Wolfe had just walked through the front door of the mansion that housed the latest Captive party. Her source was inside that place, and she’d spent a lot of time gearing up for this.

  Would Wolfe blow her cover?

  She’d been sitting in her car for an hour watching people arrive. Okay. She might’ve been gathering her courage. This was so outside her experience. She hadn’t even known sex clubs existed until that movie came out about BDSM.

  But her boss at the USA Post, where she used to work, had once said she’d do anything for a story, and he’d been right. Well, mostly. Okay. She could do this. In fact, why not look at the fact that Wolfe was inside as a positive? His presence gave her unexpected backup.

  Yeah. That was the idea. Forget the fact that the sexiest man she’d ever met was in a sex club right now. Yep. Good plan. She slid from her car and pulled her skirt down as far as she could, which still barely covered her butt.

  Her heels tottered on the uneven sidewalk as she clip-clopped alongside a high stone wall that no doubt protected another zillion-dollar mansion. Then she crossed the street, her head high, shivering in the chilly breeze as she reached the front door and knocked.

  “Hello.” A man in full tuxedo opened the door. He was about six feet tall with curly blond hair, and he was built like a linebacker. “Can I help you?”

  There was no way anybody could get by this guy if he didn’t grant access. She handed over her gold-foiled invitation.

  He accepted the paper and drew a small tablet from his right pocket, scrolling through. “Ah. Miss Millerton. I see that you answered the questionnaire and have signed all of the necessary documents.” He smoothly slid both back into his pocket. “A couple of quick questions.”

  She forced a smile, feeling way too exposed in her scant clothing. Hopefully the questions weren’t about her fake name or cover ID. “All right.”

  “What’s your safe word?”

  “Red,” she said instantly.

  “Good. If you need help, who do you yell for?” His voice remained kind but firm.

  She paused, thinking through the documents she’d read online. “For anybody, but especially the dungeon monitors.” The words felt foreign in her mouth. Should she ask him about Albert? Or was that taboo? She didn’t want to get kicked out before she found her source.

  “Good.” The guy opened the door to reveal a rather ordinary looking front vestibule with another wide door behind him. “Go ahead and have fun, sweetheart.”

  Fun? She nodded and tottered on her heels to the door, which, somehow, he reached first and opened for her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, instantly hit by a wave of noise and heat. Music blasted from the ceiling, and in front of her, a palatial living room had been set up as a dance floor on one side and a full-length bar on the other. Bar. Definitely bar. She could have a drink and maybe talk up the bartender. A quick glance around the darkened room, highlighted by deep purple lights from high above, didn’t reveal Albert’s location. She didn’t see Wolfe, either. Good.

  She made her way through a crowd of people in leather and other gear, finally reaching the bar.

  A six-foot-tall female bartender dressed in a full leather outfit leaned over, her full breasts spilling out of the tight V-neck. “What can I get you, hon?”

  “Tequila. Shot,” Dana said. Should she ask for a double? No.

  “Sure thing.” The woman poured a generous shot and pushed it across the inlaid wood. “You a guest tonight?”

  Dana nodded and tipped back the drink, sputtering just a little. “Yes.”

  The woman grinned, revealing a tongue piercing. “You new?”

  “Yes.” Dana coughed.

  “I’m Jennie.” She tilted her head and poured another shot. “Mistress Jennie.”

  Oh yeah. Dana had tried to memorize the appropriate lingo from the online sites. She accepted the second shot, her hand shaking. “Thank you.” Was she supposed to add the “mistress”? The website hadn’t said.

  “You bet. Just have some fun, and remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. The play rooms are all over the house, and if there’s a red sign on the door, it can’t be closed. You can just watch if you want,” Jennie said, moving down the bar as somebody caught her attention.

  Good advice. Definitely. Dana took the second shot and let the alcohol heat her body.

  “Hello.” A man appeared at her elbow. “We haven’t met.”

  She partially turned. The guy was about fifty with shrewd eyes and an iron-hard body. He wore leather pants and a red leather vest that showed muscled arms. “Hello. I’m Dana.”

  “Charles.” He held out a hand to shake and kept hers a moment longer than necessary. “You here to explore a little bit?”

  Oh, crap. “I’m just here to ease my way in.” She tried for a flirtatious smile, but her lips refused to curve. “In fact, I was looking for my friend Albert Nelson. Any chance you know him?”

  Charles slid closer to her, his pupils dilated. “No. But I could make you forget him.” He took her hand again, and she tried to pull back, but he just smiled. “How about we go check out some of the rooms? I could show you around.”

  “No, thanks.” She forced her smile in place as panic began to rise.

  “Come on—” Charles began.

  “She said no.” Charles’s hand was instantly removed from hers, and he was tossed toward the dance floor, barely catching his balance before he collided with two people slow dancing.

  Dana gulped, tasting tequila on her lips as she looked up, knowing the voice very well. “Wolfe.” Only training kept her from blanching at the raw fury in his sapphire-blue eyes.

  He leaned in, his full lips near her ear. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She shivered and dug deep for her own anger. Then she pressed her hands to her hips. “What are you doing here?” she snapped back.

  His gaze swept from her revealing top, down to her toes, and back up to her blazing face. “Subs don’t use that tone, baby. One who does ends up over a knee. Quickly.”

  Oh, he did not. She glared. “I am not a sub,” she whispered.

  “You’re dressed like one.” His dark T-shirt tightened across his muscled chest as he leaned closer again. His buzz cut had grown out to curl a bit beneath his ears, giving him a wild look.

  “There weren’t many options,” she hissed.

  “Wolfe.” A man also dressed in leather, his brown hair slicked back, moved up beside Wolfe. He was about forty with tattoos down one arm. “I see you found a friend. Finally going to play?”

  Wolfe didn’t look away from Dana, his gaze going from furious to calm in a second. How in the world did he control himself like that? “I’m normally not a public player, as you know.”

  What the hell did that mean? Dana began to ask, but Wolfe subtly shook his head.

  The man held out a hand. “In that case, I’m Master Trentington. How about I show you aro
und tonight?”

  “That’s kind of you.” Dana shook his hand, her lip trembling annoyingly. “But I was actually looking for a friend named Albert Nelson. Do you know him?”

  Trentington reluctantly released her. “I do, but he’s not here tonight. I’d love to play your guide in his stead.”

  “No,” Wolfe answered before she could, angling his body closer to her and partially blocking the other man. He glanced over his shoulder at Jennie. “Spare cuffs?”

  Jennie grinned, reached under the bar, and tossed over a pair of bright pink wrist cuffs.

  Wolfe snagged them out of the air and snapped them on Dana’s wrists before she could blink. They were fur lined and soft, but felt restrictive nonetheless. “We’ve already reached an agreement,” he murmured.

  “Well. In that case, have fun.” Trentington moved to leave.

  “Charles was being pushy again,” Wolfe said quietly. “It’s time you kicked him out.”

  Trentington sighed and turned toward the dance floor. “Thanks.”

  Dana looked down at the pink cuffs. She kind of felt like Wonder Woman. “Why did you—”

  “They show ownership,” Wolfe said, clipping the cuffs easily together.

  Her abdomen rolled, and her head snapped back. “Excuse me?” She tugged hard, but they wouldn’t separate, effectively binding her wrists together. She eyed his shin. With her heels, she could do some damage.

  He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. It slid over her skin, burning her from within. “Right now, you’re playing a sub, no doubt for a story. But I’m playing a Dom, and if you kick me, I’ll toss your ass over that bar and beat it.”

  His words slid right through her to pulse between her legs. For Pete’s sake. That scenario was not sexy. The idea of Wolfe’s hand anywhere near her butt sent her already sensitive body into hyperdrive. Oh, she’d handle him later. For now, she had work to do, so she shook off emotion and leaned closer. He’d said “playing.” “Are you on a job?” she whispered.