by Maren Smith
Kaylee’s lower lip dropped, and she pouted up at Marshall as she sat. “Wish you could spank me instead of making me do those stupid lines,” she muttered.
“Sorry.” Marshall smiled and pulled her onto his lap to snuggle her into his chest. “No spankings this late in the pregnancy. The doctor said to take it easy after that last test, and I want you both healthy, so I’m not taking any chances. You’re doing lines for now, but don’t worry, little girl. I’m keeping a list for after.”
“You do know women have been having babies forever, right?” Grace turned to him grinning. “And working in fields, exercising, lots of things, right up until the baby comes.”
“You two stop ganging up on me, or we’re going to have a problem.” Marshall’s voice lowered into the tone that made even the strongest Dom flinch and avert his eyes. Kaylee reacted accordingly. Grace shrugged and turned back to the matter at hand.
“My cousin, here, has decided this is a safe place for me to hide out from the man who did these killings. The other two were witnesses to a murder, just like me.”
“But how could you witness a murder? You’re blind.” Stephen spoke up again, his ignorance showing. Why the hell had Marshall hired him last month?
“There are other senses, Stephen.” Grace sighed.
“That’s Master Stephen.”
“Not to me, you’re not,” Grace supplied.
God, Chris could fall in love with this woman.
Marshall took over the meeting again and explained what had transpired the past few weeks—the need to protect Grace, and what they had to look forward to—while Chris observed the confident, yet tired young woman. What was his job in all of this?
“Okay, so, Stephen, you’re going to be Grace’s official chaperone for the next few weeks.”
“What?” Stephen practically jumped out of his chair. “You’ve been giving me shit jobs like this for the past three weeks. I am ready for a real submissive.”
“Sit down.” Marshall’s deep tones oozed venom. “When I say you are ready for a submissive, I’ll damn well give you one. And not a second before. I don’t care who your father is or what he’s done for my Castle. If you call my cousin a shit job again, you won’t have one here. Do you understand?”
Stephen’s eyes widened, and he sat quickly. “Yeah, yeah, okay. What do you need me to do?”
“For all intents and purposes, you two will act like any other normal new couple to the scene. You’re a boyfriend and girlfriend who want to try out the lifestyle while on vacation. You okay with all of this so far, Gracie?”
“It makes sense. You don’t want me to stand out, but do I have to do stuff I’m not comfortable with?”
“Of course not. One second, please.” Marshall turned his attention to Kaylee’s sudden grip on his forearm and had a quick, quiet conversation with her.
It gave Chris a moment to really focus on Grace and her new Dom.
Stephen leaned toward her and whispered something in her ear. Based on the leer and his body language, it was probably something sexually suggestive. Once again, Chris felt the urge to move forward. Just enough to get the guy into a chokehold, maybe choke the asshole right out of him.
“Do I want to get my ass smacked in a BDSM resort while on my pretend vacation? Do I want to have an adventure and check out all the different ways the human body can be pleasured?” Grace’s loud, firm voice halted all conversation in the room. “Do I want to let go and have fun for a while and forget a psycho wants to kill me?” She glared toward Stephen. “Yes, to all of the above. Just not yet. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” She stood. “Kaylee, do you need to go to the bathroom again? It’s been half an hour.”
Kaylee grinned and stood. “Sure. You guys go on without us.”
The two women, arm in arm, strode to the restroom in the corner and shut the door behind them. There went the woman Chris was going to fall in love with. He knew it in his heart.
Damn.
Grace
Grace couldn’t see the pictures they discussed, but she didn’t have to. The details of the murder were firmly entrenched in her mind. Not the visuals—of course not. When Chief Becker had called her into the precinct to discuss the event and danger she was in, he’d vividly—quite vividly—described each murder. It was bad enough that poor man had gotten shot and killed in their apartment parking deck, but Mr. Smith and Mr. Hemsley? They hadn’t done anything wrong at all. Just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like her. They’d both lost their lives. Brutally, based on the descriptions. But Grace? Holy Hannah, she hadn’t even seen anything. But the murderer didn’t seem to have any prejudice against the people in his sights. And Chief Becker said she was next.
She didn’t want to be here. Her cousin Marshall was really putting himself on the line for her. What if this bad guy found her and hurt Marshall, or Kaylee, or their unborn baby? Grace almost got up and walked out of the room. If she’d had a chance to explore a little, she might have just walked out of the Castle, altogether. Yeah, girl. How many steps is it to the stairwell? How many to get down to the bottom floor? Yes, she needed to go right. She was pretty sure she had been led left when she arrived, but, overwhelmed by the noises and Kaylee’s excitement at meeting her, she’d ignored her golden rule—know everything about everywhere you go—so she was stuck. Plus, where would she go if she did get out of the Castle? She couldn’t remember how often the bus came. Would Marshall send that dork Stephen out after her to throw her over his shoulder and carry her back in? Bet Stephen would love that. Stupid kid was probably barely out of high school, she sniggered to herself. Probably didn’t even have peach fuzz on his soft, smooth skin. Either that or he was one of those guys who liked to wear a beard just because it looked cool. So not her type.
Then there was Kaylee, jabbering a million miles a minute, making Grace chuckle every once in a while, on one side of her, and Stephen on the other. Damn. She wasn’t going far. Not without an escort.
Jackson, the really super tall, beefy guy who’d practically squeezed her to death when they met an hour earlier, seemed nice. Especially for being head of security at the Castle. Weren’t security guys supposed to be angry and mean… and scary? Not him. Jackson had already cracked three jokes since she’d been there.
The only person she hadn’t figured out yet was Chris. He seemed to be Jackson’s friend and stood so quietly against that back wall she could barely hear him breathing.
That was Grace’s thing. Figuring out what people looked like before she touched them. Added bonus points for figuring out what made them tick. If she’d met Stephen out on the street, she would have pegged him for a millennial, rich-boy gamer with a man-bun. The nasally voice, the way he cleared his throat when he got flustered, the low hum he did when pissed off. Heck, she’d only known him for thirty minutes, but she was calling big time dweebage.
“What do you do when you’re not playing Dom?” Jackson asked from the back wall, and Grace could hear the grin in his voice.
“I happen to be an independent contractor for some of the top gaming companies. My father belongs to the same country club as some of the big guys.” She could hear the pride in Stephen’s voice.
Nailed it. She returned Kaylee’s hand squeeze as Kaylee chuckled under her breath.
“Grace, we’ve put some thought into the different ways we are going to keep you safe here. We don’t want you to stand out.” That was Jackson. His low timbre practically rumbled through the room. He and Chris strode forward to sit at the table.
The heavier man took a seat across and to the right of her. The leaner one, though he was by no means less muscular, sat across from her. That was Chris. The one whose boots barely made a sound, whose breaths were practically nonexistent, but whose bearing immediately brought her senses to life. He smelled like woods and musk. Like a man who enjoyed working outside, the subtle scent of pine and wood and leather wafting toward her nostrils. Then there was his mouthwash. Something crisp and clean but n
ot overpowering. Unlike Stephen, whose loud, hissing mouth breaths were making her lightheaded from not only the nail-on-the-blackboard sound but also the smell. Gawd, floss much?
“Grace?” Kaylee nudged her hip gently.
“Sorry, what?”
“It’s okay, you’re expected to be a little overstimulated right now. I was asking what code name you wanted to go by? We’re the only people who will know who you really are. We also are not putting it on paper like we do everyone else,” Jackson said.
“So, the name is what I go by for the time that I’m here, right?”
“We don’t want to take any chances on someone slipping up and calling you by your name when you leave your guest room.”
“Yeah, I need to eat, and I’ll probably go stir crazy staring at a wall all day.”
Stephen choked on his ice water. It was fun playing with him.
“So, what do you think? Something cool and chic, rock and roll, sweet, fairy tale, sexy…”
“I’ve always had a fantasy of being Cinderella. Maybe Ella? What do you think, Kaylee?”
Kaylee laughed. “It’s perfect! I was afraid for a second there you were going to suggest Cinder Grace, which wouldn’t have worked well at all.”
“Ella’s easier. Yeah, if you’re okay with that, Marshall, I think I’ll go with Ella.”
“Yes!” Kaylee grabbed her hand. “We can be in the princess program together! I’ve been dying to try on the new, sheer maternity ballroom gown Marshall got me last month.”
“I don’t know if I want to do much with the program.”
“It’s okay, Gracie,” Marshall said. “You can do as little or as much as you want. This is just something to give you your wristband so you don’t stand out too much. But it’s up to you.”
“Just consider it, please?” Kaylee said. “They have a masked ball on Tuesday night, and it would be so much fun to go with you.”
“Well, we would be the hottest women there,” Grace said.
“Totally. Wait, Marshall’s flicking me on the thigh again. I think that means I’m not supposed to push you too much. Ow. Stop it—”
“Anyway,” Jackson cut back in with a chuckle. “Now that we’ve got the name and program picked out, we need to talk about the big stuff. First things first.” He riffled through a stack of papers in front of him. “When you leave your room—with your escort at all times—you will need to be blindfolded.”
“Why the hell does she need to be blindfolded? She can’t see anything, anyway.” Ah yes, Stephen. He hadn’t fallen asleep during the meeting.
“Because she’s the only blind woman here and will stand out like a nun in a porn shop if she wears her special sunglasses,” Jackson said, irritation lowering his voice.
A heavy sigh came from the other side of the table. Chris?
“That makes sense. Okay. But won’t I stand out also, if I’m the only blindfolded woman being led into the dining room every day?”
“Gotcha covered there, too,” Jackson said. She didn’t know how she could hear a smile, but she could. When he smiled, his mouth opened wider, which elongated his vowels and his pitch. He continued, “Marshall is going to have different submissives, including Kaylee and some of the others, like my wife, Sara, blindfolded at different times throughout the next few weeks. There will always be other women and men being led through the Castle.”
They spent the next twenty minutes going over the Castle layout, the emergency exits, guest quarters, and what could be expected while staying at the BDSM resort in rural Ohio. Grace was thankful someone had taken the time to put everything into Braille for her. It made her feel a bit more in control to not just count on someone to read everything to her.
“Okay, that’s about everything. Do you have any questions, Ella?”
Kaylee nudged her again. “Ella. That’s you, girl.”
“Sorry. It’s going to take a bit to get used to being called something else.”
“No worries. Just think of it as your very own witness protection program, complete with new name.”
“Yeah, I listened to that movie. Didn’t the leader of the program try to kill Arnold Schwarzenegger and his protectee?” she sniped. Okay, maybe she was getting a bit tired after all.
“It’s okay, we will do everything to keep that movie from playing out with you in the lead role. Besides, we have someone Arnie didn’t,” Marshall said.
“Who’s that?” she grumped.
“Chris Nelson. The best damn team leader and former Army sergeant you’ll ever have the chance to meet. Sitting right across from you and tagging along behind you for your whole stay. Where you guys go, Chris follows. When you go to bed at night, Chris bunks in the room on the other side of your suite. If you even look for a second like you’re in some sort of trouble, he will come into play. And my guy doesn’t play. He fights, he wins. He’s the big guns protecting you.” Jackson clapped the table hard. “Get used to having a shadow. You won’t even notice he’s there. But he will be. And he will protect you with his life.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes. It had been so long since anyone had been quite so concerned about her safety, and it touched her. “If we’re about done, I wouldn’t mind taking a shower and resting for a bit.”
“Let’s get you settled in, then. Work on your name in your mind while you walk, okay?” Marshall leaned over and gave her a soft kiss on the forehead, like he had when she was a kid.
“Got it. Ella. Ella. Ella, Ella. Thanks, everyone. I appreciate it.” When she stood, she heard three chairs scrape along the floor. Marshall, who hovered near her like he always had when she was younger; Jackson, who was probably being gentlemanly; and Chris, former Army awesome-guy/shadow, who leaned across the table and gripped her elbows gently within his large hands to help her stand. That meant Stephen was still seated, probably with a goofy look on his face.
Maybe the wrong guy was playing close-up bodyguard.
Chapter 2
Grace
Fourteen steps down the stairs. Left. Thirty more steps. Smooth wall with some sort of wainscoting about hip height. The smell of fresh paint in one section. Probably the reason her shadow stepped in quietly and whispered to her to stop touching the wall. Her ‘boyfriend’ would have been oblivious, let her run her hand over the still tacky paint along the wall. It was weird, she wasn’t normally the sort to just stop and obey someone’s directions. Even Marshall had laughingly scolded her as a kid, telling her she was a bit too rebellious for her own good sometimes. But this man, Chris. He hadn’t raised his voice. Hadn’t run to catch her hand in his or yank it off the wall. None of that. He just quietly said, from five feet behind and to the left of her, “Hand off the wall, Ella.”
She’d obeyed. Yanked her hand back like the thing was on fire. She’d only met this man a few hours ago? But she must have instinctively trusted him. She pulled her hand back, clasped it to her chest, and slowed her walk.
He cleared his throat, and Stephen seemed to take the hint. “Oh yeah, sorry, Ella. Wet paint for the next, um, five—”
“Seven point five,” Chris interrupted him.
“Yeah, seven and a half feet. You don’t want to get stained with that stuff. Sorry I didn’t notice.”
“Thanks, so, what’s the color?”
“Why do you care? You can’t see it anyway.”
Chris’ exhales behind her changed. She’d heard his steady slow breaths earlier, but now they stopped.
“Sorry, man, I wasn’t trying to be a jerk. I just happen to be unfiltered. Gr—Ella, I really didn’t mean any disrespect. Call off your attack dog?”
She giggled and gave Chris an ‘it’s okay’ wave of her hand. Her attack dog? Interesting. She’d found her next physiological tell in her shadow. When he was frustrated—given Stephen’s response—he slowed his breathing.
Friends teased her for doing this, but it’s how she read people, how she truly saw them. She remembered what frustration looked like on the
face of her mother or father when she was younger. Their brows would furrow, their gaze narrowing. Sometimes, they’d grumble a little. But until her accident, she’d never paid attention to the stuff she didn’t see. It took becoming blind to really come in tune with her other senses. It took her a while, maybe a couple of years to understand her parents’ responses. All she had was her memories of the visual stimuli to connect with the new stimuli. Things that used to frustrate them—whining about not wanting to do her homework, arguing over bedtime, or refusing to eat Brussels sprouts—they all brought the same visual reaction. Which meant when she heard the different inhales and exhales, felt their bodies either tighten or loosen, they correlated. And everyone was different. There was a different tell for everyone. Chris seemed to have the same sort of physiological responses Marshall and her father had. Well, at least the breathing part. She couldn’t tell if his body was rigid and his shoulders tight and high. Could she?
“Chris?”
He took a breath, exhaled, and strode up next to her. “Yes, princess?”
“Where are your shoulders right now?”
He laughed. The kind of laugh that sounded like it came from the very bottom of his belly and erupted from his throat. It was beautiful, resonant, sexy, and it made her insides feel alive. “Until you asked, I would have told you they were right where they should be. But now that you mention it, they’re so high, I could play the Headless Horseman without the makeup and costume. What made you think of that? For the record, they are coming back down to my normal posture. I think laughing helped.”
“May I touch you?”
“Yes, you may.”
She reached forward. His hard chest. She should have asked to do this an hour ago. It would have made her feel more comfortable if she could have felt and seen, in her own way, what her new bodyguards were like. She had to reach up farther, high, higher, higher. Holy cow, he was at least a foot and a half taller than her five-foot-two frame. Once she got to the top of his short military-type haircut, she brought her hands back down to his neck and shoulders. Firm, rigid, hard. A knot right above his right shoulder. She bet he carried all his stress right there. She should offer to massage it out for him. No. She shivered. That would lead to a lot more massaging of other parts she should not even be thinking about. Other firm, harder parts.
