by Linzi Basset
“I doubt there’s an association. I never had any problems with the CIA but I understand your concern. So now what? Why did you involve me, Bracus?”
“You know I don’t trust people easily, Rhone. Neither do you, for that matter. I need you to keep her under lock and key until I’ve found out more.”
“Look, this is ridiculous, Bracus. You’ve known me for what, three years? Have I ever given you a reason to doubt my sincerity?” Samantha asked. She couldn’t hide the hurt in her voice.
“No, but then I saw what you wanted me to see. Now that I know who and what you are and the role you may have played in my brother’s life, I need to take precautions. If you’re innocent as you claim, you have nothing to worry about, do you, Samantha?”
Samantha looked at Rhone. His anger was palpable. He trusted her even lesser than Bracus did. She wondered if the fury and hatred that was smoldering in his narrowed eyes was a sign of him weighing the pros and cons of creative means for exacting revenge. From her.
“Very well,” she conceded, knowing that for now, she had no other choice but to play along. She’ll figure out how to solve this mystery later. “But you will look for my sister?”
“Only because I want to find Beckie. That, Samantha, is the reason I will be searching. Not to find your sister.”
“Look, I am not lying, Bracus. Please—”
“Enough,” Rhone barked.
Bracus knew the hurt and pain his brother was suffering through. He’d had to carry Keon through his bereavement in the weeks after their death. No one else, not even Rhone, who had been his best friend since they were little, could get through to him. He, of all people, knew just how hard his family’s death had been for Keon. Now, Bracus would do everything in his power to protect his brother from further pain.
Rhone’s hand closed around her elbow. “You’ve done enough damage. Let me give you a warning, Samantha. Not a word on any of this to Keon. Is that understood? He doesn’t need to know about it until we’ve found Beckie. I don’t want his hopes to soar when it might turn out to be nothing but a photo-shopped—”
“I would never—”
“You don’t get to talk now. And, for future reference, if you want to say something, you ask my permission. Do not piss me off any further tonight.”
“Yes, Sir,” she snapped and clamped her lips tightly together.
“Do you know what your handler wants from you, Samantha?” Bracus asked in retrospect.
She shook her head. “No, I wanted to find Lauren before I called him back. He alluded that it was someone who was a thorn in his side, has been for a long time.”
“When you’re back in DC, I want you to phone him. Rhone, you’ll set it up in your ops room. Record and monitor the call. We need to know what he wants from her. I might be grasping at straws, but somehow, I don’t believe in coincidences. One way or the other, this Bulldog worries me; especially as he was involved in Amelia’s death. For all we know, he’s aware of the connection between you and Samantha.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll arrange it with Lance. Keon and Jack have an assignment on Monday, so he’ll be out of the way.”
“Now, look here. I am not going to stay with you, Rhone Greer! You can—” She snapped her mouth shut when his gray eyes turned on her. The silver specks glittered like diamonds around his irises.
“I don’t like repeating an instruction, sub. Forget again, and you will feel the sting of my whip. Except, if that’s what you’re aiming for?”
She bit the inside of her lip until she could taste the metallic tang of her own blood, but refused to respond. She wasn’t that naive. Rhone Greer would realize soon enough just who he was dealing with.
“I’ve lost my appetite for the club tonight, anyway. So, let’s get your stuff, Samantha. We’re going home,” Rhone ordered gruffly, leading her down the stairs.
“I’m not—” His acerbic glance cut her short. She took a deep, calming breath. “Permission to speak, Sir,” she gritted out through her teeth. He, of course, didn’t bother to respond, other than a curt nod.
“I agreed to spend the weekend with Ziva and Slade. I’m not going home, tonight.”
Rhone stopped but didn’t turn. She had the impression that he was slowly counting to ten. Maybe twenty . . . ok, must be thirty. She was hard pressed not to snort at being ignored.
“I think you misunderstood the situation, Ms. Frazer,” he said eventually. His eyes had turned a dark charcoal gray. “We don’t trust people easily. We don’t know you. Therefore, until we do, or at the very least, are able to corroborate your story; you are going to have to get used to me. And let me make this clear, just so there is no misunderstanding later. Up. Close. And. Personal.”
“What exactly are you implying?” She narrowed her eyes at him, which had no effect, whatsoever, on his demeanor. In fact, he scoffed at it.
“You, my dear DIY-girl, are going to be attached to me like superglue. Day in and day out.”
“Like hell I will,” she snapped and shrugged off his hand from her shoulders, irritated at being called a DIY-girl. She was a gifted woodcarver! “I have my own home and that is where I will . . . don’t give me that holier-than-thou look, Rhone Greer. You’re not the boss of me and under the circumstances; I am the last person you want underfoot.”
Rhone curbed his smile. His eyes took a lazy stroll up and down her body, scantily clad in a tight black corset that pushed the rounded globes of her breasts enticingly higher, leather shorts and ruby red thigh high stiletto boots. It didn’t matter that he didn’t trust her, especially anywhere near his best friend, but there was no denying the fact that she was a scrumptious piece of ass; from the tip of her shimmering golden head to spiked ends of her boots. He noticed her fingers tightening on her hips at his insolent inspection.
“Granted, but neither of us have a choice. No, no more talk. This is non-negotiable, Ms. Frazer. You are coming home with me and that is where you will stay until we have this resolved.”
His tone was dry but his deep voice cut through the milieu. A clear indication, that he had said the last word.
Samantha’s response was to stomp ahead of him. Not toward the exit, but in the direction of the dungeon, speeding up when he blew steam on her neck, stalking after her.
“Ah, there you are, Sam. We just finished our scene. Slade suggested we go home early so we can catch up. Isn’t that sweet of him?” Ziva said. She eyed Rhone, who was right behind Samantha, his icy demeanor apparent on his face.
“Yes, I’d love to see the twins. But I suppose they might be asleep by the time we—”
“You’re forgetting one tiny detail, my pet,” Rhone’s deep voice interjected from behind her.
Ziva’s eyes widened when Samantha rolled her eyes and then blatantly ignored him.
“I’ll phone the hotel on the way and ask them to bring down my luggage, so it won’t—uggh!”
This time his hard arm around her waist cut off her air supply, when he yanked her hard against his chest.
“You, my pet, are treading on thin ice. Yes, you don’t know me well enough just yet, but you will learn soon not to ignore my instructions. Your delicious ass is grass, if you continue this insolent behavior.”
“Now listen here, you big—uggh!”
Another hard squeeze. “No, you listen, sub. Now that you’ve agreed to this D/s relationship, you will listen to me, especially in here, as your Dom.”
“What are you . . .” Her voice faded away when she felt him circle her neck with a thin leather strip. The snap of the tiny lock reverberated through her shocked mind.
The fucking asshole just collared me! How dare he!
Ziva’s wide-eyed look was enough for Samantha to snap out of her paralyzed state. She kicked her heels back and with a satisfied grin, enjoyed his painful grunt as the spikes of her boots caught his shins. His arm loosened around her waist and she pushed him away. She spun on her heel.
“You are truly demented. I never—”
The look in his eyes froze whatever words formed in her mind. They didn’t make it past her vocal chords. Rhone Greer had reached the edge of his patience with her.
He yanked her against his chest and sneered softly into her face, “You are a danger to my friends and I’ll be damned if I allow you to run around loose. Don’t push me, Samantha. You won’t like the beast you’ll unleash with continued resistance. I fucking like this even less than you do, believe me, but you will come with me and you will do so now. I suggest you set Ziva’s mind at rest because come hell or high water, you are walking out of here by my side,” he grated through clenched teeth.
Samantha stared fixedly at his lips that barely moved during his entire speech. Her eyes lifted to his. The action was deliberately slow; to give herself time to prepare for the fury she expected to find in his.
She was hard pressed not to step back. Rage had turned his gray eyes into blue orbs of icy fury. It was the most peculiar feeling. But it was how it made her feel.
Hot and cold.
He excited her. Now, here, like this. Furious and on the verge of letting loose the wild beast inside him. Samantha blinked, trying to focus on the current dilemma and not her libido. She could feel the flush of liquid heating up her pussy.
“Look—”
“I’m done talking.”
His words had barely left his lips before he slung her over his shoulder and strode toward the exit. Her shrieks and fists thumping on his back had no effect on him. But when she clamped her teeth into his inviting round ass cheeks, his growl was followed by two flaming, hard slaps on her ass.
Samantha screamed from the searing pain that shot to her brain. She decided then, that it would be in her tender butt’s best interest to stop resisting. But she couldn’t resist making her feelings known.
“You’re a fucking asshole, Rhone Greer!”
Chapter Four
CLANK! CLANK! RIZZZ!
“What the fuck!” Rhone jerked awake and looked around.
“Goddamned woman!” he muttered. He snatched up the rope he’d used to tie her to the bed frame the night before—neatly coiled on the pillow still carrying the indent of her head. He smiled, recalling her reaction at the time. She had been highly annoyed but had refused to spar with him verbally.
“But those glowing eyes said it all,” he smirked, glancing through the bedroom window. It was the second time in the week, that she’d woken him before sunrise with the noise of the electric saw.
“How the hell did she manage to get that knot loose? It’s my fucking signature knot,” he grumbled as he got up. “And how did I not wake up when she left the bed?”
But he knew why. He’d been unable to fall asleep with the delectable blonde woman lying next to him. Close enough to feel the heat of her skin brush against his. He’d probably only just fallen asleep when she got up.
RIZZZ! RIZZZ!
“That fucking does it!” He stomped downstairs wearing the pair of boxers she’d insisted he wear to bed. He grinned, recalling her icy voice.
“I refuse to wake up in the middle of the night with that . . . that,” and she’d pointed at his crotch, “monster dick of yours poking at my butt.”
She, of course, had gone to bed wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt covering every inch of skin, except her arms and feet. Another grin. If only she knew that it made her appear more appealing and sexy.
He could hear her grumbling over the whirring noise of the saw. He noticed she was holding the saw with both hands and waving it around like a sword.
The little minx! She was just using the damn thing to wake me up.
“The audacity of the man. Tying me up. Who the devil does he think he is? I ask you! Gmph, showed him, though. I’ve been tying knots since I was three years old. Easy peasy. Let him fucking try again tonight. I’ll show him—”
“Haruumph,” Rhone cleared his throat loudly. She spun around with the saw in her hands. Rhone didn’t blink or retreat even though the rolling blades of the saw were a few inches from his chest.
“You know what they say about indulging in soliloquies,” he offered drily.
Samantha removed her finger from the power button and the jagged blade of the saw came to a slow halt. She lowered the tip to the floor.
“Are you completely insane? I could’ve cut off your—”
“Cock? Hm, well, that would’ve been a pity, honey. Especially as the poor bugger hasn’t had a taste of your juicy pussy, just yet.”
“Nose! I was gonna say nose! You should know better than to frighten someone with a live power tool in their hands,” she snapped, well aware of her heated cheeks.
She pressed her thighs together, suddenly desperate to subdue her sexual excitement. She had never experienced such spontaneous combustion with any man.
It scared her.
It excited the hell out of her.
Why does he have to look so damn yummy, with his tousled hair and early morning stubble? Focus Samantha. Don’t let him know how he affects you!
“Do you remember my warning about disturbing my sleep?”
His languid gaze swept over her curvy form, clad in a skimpy pair of denim shorts and a translucent, white muslin shirt, tied in a knot between her breasts, the tint of her rosy nipples quite clear.
“Suck it up, Mr. Greer. That is, if you want to open this club in six days’ time.”
Every muscle in his face became tense and without a word, he communicated intense displeasure. She glanced toward the door. She should know better than to poke a compelling Dom. There was only one way out and he stood between her and the only exit.
Suddenly, he was very close. His chest pressed against her, flattening her rounded curves with his hard torso. The heat he emanated infiltrated her skin, to set her blood searing through her veins.
“Put down the saw, Samantha,” he ordered. He didn’t even flinch when it clattered to the floor. “Now, put your arms around my neck.”
Samantha felt the tingling start in her nape but refused to give in to the fear. She tossed her head and stared at him with open provocation. A look that was engineered to entice his senses just enough to warn him that she was no pushover.
A lascivious smile tiptoed across Rhone’s mouth. He’d found a very rare thing; a worthy opponent. His groin tightened as he watched her pink tongue brush her lips with a sensuous lick. His eyes darkened and with a flash of silver, cautioned her to tread lightly. She pushed the boundary a little further but when her arms finally slinked over his broad shoulders to link behind his neck, he relaxed.
But slightly.
He didn’t trust the glimmer in her eyes. His gaze lowered to the thin leather collar around her neck. A sense of ownership rushed through him.
Mine.
Rhone frowned inwardly. He’d never collared a sub before; apart from claiming an odd one for the night during a masked ball at Club Alpha Cove. He was still trying to establish the reason he’d picked up the collar in the first place. Locking it in place around her neck had left him with a feeling of utmost satisfaction.
He snorted silently. Stop looking for something that doesn’t exist, Greer. You only did it to keep her close and under your control. Don’t lose sight of the reason she’s underfoot in the first place.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re indulging me, Samantha?”
Her eyes widened innocently. “Me, indulge you? You should be so lucky. Oh no, this is all self-indulgence.”
“I would’ve had more respect for you if you hadn’t sidled over to female wiles, Ms. Frazer. If there’s one thing I truly dislike, it’s women who use their bodies to get what they want from a man. Oh, no . . . you’re not going anywhere. You want to indulge, baby? With me? So be it.”
Before Samantha could grasp the shift in him, he tore off her shirt and used it to tie her hands behind her back. He caught the heavy industrial boot she was aiming at his groin and yanked on her leg. She tumbled to the floor.
“Ouch! You fi
end! I could’ve broken my neck!” She shrieked while trying to kick him but he caught the second boot just as easily.
“Come now, babydoll. You? A trained assassin? I hardly think so.”
“Let me go!”
Rhone ignored her and spread her legs wide. She lifted her hips and tried to dislodge her ankles from his hold but he was too strong. The grin on his face was devilish to the extreme. His enjoyment at her predicament grated on her nerves. His eyes followed the jiggle of her full breasts as she continued to struggle.
“I knew your tits would be drool worthy. Gorgeous, especially when they are bouncing about like this.”
“I’m gonna cut off your fucking balls! See if I don’t! Aah . . . nooo!” Her threat ended in another screech when he flipped her over and yanked her to her knees. Her cheek pressed against the hard, wooden floor. With her hands tied behind her back, she was rendered helpless in this position.
Samantha glared at him. Her eyes promised retribution.
“Isn’t this a lovely sight? Hmm, we just need to get rid of your ridiculously tiny shorts.”
“Don’t you dare, Rhone Greer! I’m warning you—”
“Come now, sweetcakes—”
“And stop calling me all these fucking ridiculous names! I don’t appreciate them.” She tried to keep her voice cold, but the heat from his groin against her soft ass, rendered it useless.
“Ah, perfect! Now, keep still, baby. I would hate to cut your silky skin.”
Samantha’s breath wheezed from her lungs as she watched him pick up the sharp carving knife from the toolkit.
“Don’t you dare bring that blade near . . . noo! I said . . . argh . . . you are so gonna regret cutting my shorts,” she growled at him when she felt the cool morning air caress her naked buttocks as he slid the knife through the tight denim. It gave way like a hot knife through butter. She bit into her lip when the now useless pair of shorts dropped from her body, to pool between her legs on the floor.
