ReDefined

by Michele Zurlo

  Liam ended his call as well. “That was our wonderful and talented coroner. It seems that Brian Gartrell’s food was laced with aconitum, also known as monkshood or wolf’s bane. It manifests in symptoms similar to cocaine withdrawal. I wonder if he’s a fan of Greek mythology or Dexter? Ah, well. It’s out there, a pretty flower that can kill you with one touch. Time to check footage from the cafeteria.”

  Jordan sat down in front of a monitor. “Start from the time he got it and work backward. I’ll pull up the duty roster to see who was on this morning.” He glanced at Keith who took his spot in front of yet another monitor. “Go home. We got this.”

  Keith shook his head and sent a text. “We’re close. Kat will understand.”

  Jordan shrugged. Those who loved agents knew what they signed on for. “I’m going to call Dustin and let him know.”

  He pulled into Amy’s driveway at one-thirty in the morning. It had been one hell of a day. It hadn’t taken long to backtrack the food’s path. The guard on duty had tried to hide his actions, but the McNamara building had eyes everywhere. Though the guard had shielded his actions from one camera, another hidden camera had caught him adding the poison to the runny eggs. Prison food was bad enough to cover the taste.

  The call to Dustin had been a relief to make, even if he found out that Brandy had called first. Of course she had—she took care of her agents. Her team always came first.

  Amy’s house was dark. She hadn’t left the porch light on because she had no idea he’d planned to come over. He’d sent her car back with a rookie agent who lived in the area. Jordan navigated the steps using a flashlight because the flowers and bushes surrounding her porch blocked the streetlights. She hadn’t given him a key, but he knew she kept a spare key hidden in a fake rock jammed behind a well-established rose bush. He retrieved it with minimal injury.

  Tonight he planned to sleep on her sofa. If she had another nightmare, he’d be there to soothe her fears.

  Chapter Twelve

  The unsettling dream of being chased and captured at gunpoint came and went faster this time, but the second dream was far worse. The gunman was on top of her, his weight pressing her against the soft forest floor. Though rocks didn’t press painfully into her flesh, the pine scent threatened to suffocate her—or was that his bulky body restricting the ability of her lungs to expand? The long skirt of her bridesmaid dress worked with him to inhibit her movements. She struggled against him and to surface from the terrifying dream.

  She woke screaming, shoving at the weight holding her down as she rolled ungracefully from the bed to land on the floor. Her hip caught the brunt of the action, and her side throbbed with pain.

  Jordan leaped from bed, fists at the ready, and blinked sleep from his eyes. “What? What’s going on?”

  Amy got to her feet slowly, trying to ignore the sight of almost six-and-a-half feet of pure male perfection. He wore only a pair of blue shorts that did nothing to hide the bulge of his endowment. His chest, which she’d been forced to face yesterday morning as she tried to eat breakfast, was a mass of corded muscle and smooth flesh. A dark swatch of hair began just below his sternum and spread a little wider as it blazed a trail into his underwear. He had powerful thighs and legs that went on forever. If Amy hadn’t been so pissed at him, she might have tackled him back into bed where something that scrumptious belonged.

  She grabbed the top blanket and used it to cover herself. Thinking she was alone just because nobody was there, she’d slept in her favorite My Little Pony nightgown. “What the hell are you doing in my bed? How did you get into my house?”

  He sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her and washed his hands over his face. “This is not my favorite way to wake up.”

  Amy smacked him across the back with a pillow. “Being crushed and suffocated by a strange man in my bed isn’t my favorite way to wake up, either. How did you get into my house?”

  Twisting to face her, he nailed her with a fierce scowl. “I’m not a strange man, I didn’t crush or suffocate you, and you keep a spare key behind your rosebush out front.”

  She hadn’t known he knew about that, but it didn’t make a difference. “That’s not an invitation to break into my house and sleep in my bed.” While she was wearing My Little Pony pajamas. If she’d known he was going to be there, she would have put on something a little more flattering and made for an adult. She hitched the blanket higher.

  Jordan narrowed his eyes, which made him appear more dangerous than when he wore just a scowl. “Amy, I’ve seen you wearing less than that.”

  “Yes, but it was during a scene. That doesn’t count.” And she’d been wearing lingerie—lacy bras and panties.

  With a sigh, he once again turned his back to her. He grabbed a pair of jeans from where he’d slung them across the chair next to her bed and slid into them. “You had a nightmare the night before last, and so I didn’t want to leave you alone last night in case you had another one, which you did. I didn’t sleep on the couch two nights ago, babe. I came in here when you cried out, and I soothed you back to sleep. I slept here, but you didn’t notice because I woke up before you did. Last night, I fully intended to sleep on the couch, but you cried out again, so I stayed in here again. That’s all.”

  So many emotions zinged through Amy that she had trouble grasping at them. He’d been in her bed twice now, and she’d slept through it. She didn’t know whether to be angry that he’d be so forward, happy that he cared so much, or frustrated that she hadn’t been awake to enjoy it. Finally she settled in neutral territory. “Fine. I understand that you had good intentions, but please understand that I can take care of myself. I’ve had nightmares before.”

  He donned his shirt, covering up that distracting expanse of tantalizing flesh, and regarded her with a firmly patient gaze. “You’ve never been held at gunpoint before, Amy. It’s normal to have nightmares. It’s normal to be upset afterward, and it’s easier if you have someone with you to help you deal with the emotional upheaval.”

  “I’m okay,” she said, though her heart beat faster just because he was talking about it and forcing her to remember it. “You saved me. Your job is done.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, and a shadow passed over his features. “No, babe. I’m nowhere close to being done with you.”

  She wished he meant it in a different way, but as her stupid actions at Darcy’s wedding proved, he didn’t. He felt a responsibility toward her because he was her Dom. He was training her, and he took that duty seriously because that’s who he was. That was one of the reasons she liked him so much. Casting her gaze down the way he’d taught her, she reined in her regret. “Thank you for what you’ve done for me. I’m okay, though, so you don’t need to sleep here anymore. I’m sure you miss sleeping in your own bed. I mean, you barely fit on mine. It’s a queen size, and you’re much too large to fit comfortably.”

  “I fit just fine.” And then to prove it, he took off his jeans and flopped down on her bed. Then he snagged the blanket she’d wrapped around her body and covered himself up. “And I’m going back to sleep.”

  His eyes were closed and he looked like he wasn’t going anywhere, so she gathered her clothes and left the room. As she showered, she thought about the mixed signals he was still sending, and it made her a little mad. While she ate breakfast, she thought about the protective and proprietary way he treated her, and her level of emotional discontent ratcheted up a couple of notches. Yes, she was angry, but she couldn’t figure out if she was angry with him or with herself. He’d been very clear about who he was and what he wanted, and he’d been transparent about his intention to help her figure out who she was and what she wanted. After all, that tended to be the point of her daily tasks—writing letters about submission, setting goals, and doing things that made her life easier, like putting her daily schedule onto a calendar. Once he’d made her dust and polish her furniture, which she’d been meaning to do for a couple of months.

  Well, she knew what s
he wanted. She wanted a man who was protective and proprietary and who was attracted to her. She did not want a Dom who was a friend to train her. It had been a very nice introduction to the lifestyle, but it wasn’t working out as a long-term plan. When Malcolm got back from his honeymoon, she was going to talk to him about the kind of Dom she wanted. He’d be able to find someone suitable now that she was more in touch with what kind of submissive she was.

  She spread her schedule book, task lists, and relevant samples on the table and set to work planning her next two events and confirming reservations and orders for the events scheduled for this week. Jordan wandered into the kitchen a few hours later. He’d showered and dressed in different clothes, evidence that he’d planned to stay the night this time. Hopefully he’d get his things together and leave soon. He was already very late for work.

  But, no, he helped himself to the pot of coffee she’d made. “Where’s the sugar?”

  Wordlessly, she got up and retrieved the container from the cupboard. She set it on the counter and turned to walk away, but she found herself caged between his arms.

  “Little one, let me start by clearing up a few of your misconceptions.”

  She froze. Usually he called her babe. At first, the nickname had grated on her, but after she realized he meant it as a term of endearment and he only used it for her, she’d come to like it. He rarely used little one outside of a scene, though for some reason she liked it better. Somehow it made her feel even more protected. This was unfair warfare.

  He turned her to face him, and then he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his mesmerizing gaze. “First, I very much wanted to kiss you back. I’ve dreamed of kissing you, Amy. I’ve fantasized about it.” He trailed off, his gaze flickering from her eyes to her lips. She suddenly couldn’t breathe, and when he brushed his thumb over her lower lip, she didn’t care if she never took another breath.

  His fingers spread through her hair as he gripped her head, positioning it just the way he wanted. Then his lips met hers, a gentle slide that turned ravenous as she melted. His free hand moved, wandering over her back until his touch became urgent, and then he crushed her to him. This was the kiss she’d wanted when he’d led her down the service hallway at the reception. This was the one she’d been prepared to meet halfway. It took some time, but she gathered her wits and kissed him back. He groaned, a sound of desperate joy, and broke the kiss.

  “Damn it, Amy.” He squeezed the hand in her hair to a fist, pulling harder than perhaps he intended. Amy gasped. Nobody had ever pulled her hair before, and she was finding it quite arousing. “I’m sorry. There are things I promised to tell you first. I want you to know everything before you make a decision about us. That’s why I didn’t kiss you—not because I didn’t want to, but because I want to do right by you.”

  He released her slowly, easing his grip on her hair and ass. She’d been so caught up in the kiss that she hadn’t realized he had a grip on half of her butt. Big hands, for sure. “I don’t understand,” she said, her voice breathy and husky. “I know you’re a Dom. You’ve been training me. Who did you make this promise to?”

  “To myself, and to Malcolm.” Stepping back carefully, he gave her space. “You should sit for this.”

  Now she was worried. What horrible thing did he want to tell her? Was he into blood play and wanted to cut her? She frequently couldn’t handle the sight of blood, and she didn’t want to be cut, so that wouldn’t work for her. Or maybe he wanted to try out impact play, more than the little bit he’d already done. She’d said it was a hard limit, but she might be willing to try if he really wanted to, only the idea made her cringe. She sat back down at the table and closed her laptop. “I’m listening.”

  He took the seat opposite her and sipped his coffee. “I’m a particular kind of Dom known as a Daddy Dom. You may have noticed that I won’t let you call me Sir or Master.” At her nod, he continued. “I prefer to be called Daddy.”

  He paused, she knew, to let that sink in. It had a hell of a time penetrating, so it just stayed there, floating on the surface. Lots of half-formed thoughts zoomed beneath the surface, but she didn’t delve deeper because they promised to be unpleasant. Hoping he’d explain, Amy didn’t say anything.

  “A Daddy is attracted to women who have an underlying innocence and a childish spirit. She’s open and giving, a generous woman who wears her heart on her sleeve. A Daddy is driven to protect and nurture her, to help her find and nourish the child that lives inside.” He watched her, his expression heavy with meaning.

  Amy thought about the time they spent together. Sometimes he took her out to eat, but mostly he geared their outings toward childish activities. In addition to mini-golfing and skating, he’d taken her to the zoo and the Hands-On Museum. They’d gone for ice cream and to an arcade. She’d enjoyed it all. However, the whole concept sounded not right. He was attracted to childlike women? That wasn’t her. She owned and ran a successful event planning business. A child—even an immature adult—couldn’t successfully do what she did.

  Okay, maybe she had My Little Pony and Hello Kitty pajamas, and she liked to watch movies aimed at kids, but that didn’t make her childlike or innocent. She sucked her lips in to keep from saying something harsh or judgmental.

  “It’s not age play.” Jordan continued when she didn’t say anything. “That’s the most common misunderstanding people make when they first hear about the Daddy/little dynamic. I’m not attracted to children or to women who dress like children. I’d never want you to dress up like a kid during a scene or pretend to be one.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank goodness. You had me worried for a minute.”

  “I know. You’re very easy to read, babe.”

  “Because I wear my heart on my sleeve?”

  “Partly, yes. You don’t tend to hide your feelings.”

  No, she didn’t, sometimes to her detriment. “So that makes you think I’m a little?”

  “No. There’s a lot more. You’re strong and passionate, and you frequently speak before you think. You’re open and honest. You have an inner joy that bursts through and draws me in. From the first moment I met you, I was entranced by your vivacity and your love of life. I love the joy you seem to find in the everyday and the way little things make you happy.”

  Nobody had ever described her quite that way before. She’d been called on the carpet for shooting off her mouth and not sugar-coating things she said. She’d been criticized for not tempering her emotions enough and for getting excited about stupid stuff like butterflies and rainbows. It would be nice to be with someone who liked those fundamental aspects of her personality.

  “And then there are the other things that you try to hide from me. Those things are more definitive.”

  Shame washed over her when she thought about the fact that he’d slept in her bed. For the past two nights, she’d curled up with her favorite stuffed animal, a green tree frog she had purchased years ago. Heat rose up her neck.

  “Don’t be ashamed, Amy. Never be ashamed of your little side.” He grabbed her hand where it lay on the table and held her with the intensity of his gaze. “You like to wear bows and flowers in your hair, and you prefer your clothes the same way. You have coloring books and crayons hidden in your kitchen drawers, stuffed animals in your bedroom, and though you tried to hide it, I saw your pajamas. It’s okay, babe. I don’t want you hiding those things from me.”

  It was too much, too personal, and besides, she didn’t always color, wear My Little Pony pajamas, or sleep with a stuffed animal. She only did those things when she really needed to. It was a way of comforting herself. She’d recently read an article about how adults who color were better able to tap into their creativity. In her job, she needed to be creative. Amy withdrew her hand from his. “This is a lot to spring on a person.”

  “Yeah, it is. I didn’t mean to spring it on you. I wanted to talk yesterday, but your parents were here. I’ve been moving slowly, trying
to figure out if you were a little, but at the end of the day, that’s an identity you have to accept on your own. It’s not one I can assign to you. I’ve spent a lot of time finding myself and figuring out what kind of Dom I am. I’m not rushing you, babe. Take all the time you need. But I want you to know who I am before you make a decision about whether or not you want more than friendship with me.”

  She wanted to be alone. She wanted to hole up in a stack of pillows and color until her head cleared. But she couldn’t. That would be selfish. Jordan had just disclosed something deeply personal, and she couldn’t leave him hanging. “Is there anything else?”

  “I’d like you to research Daddies and littles.” He sat back and drank deeply from his cooled coffee. “And you should probably know that I have a deep and abiding fascination with breasts.” When she reflexively looked down to check on hers, he chuckled. “You have a fantastic set, babe. I’ve already spent a lot of time checking them out.”

  He’d been nothing but a gentleman, even when she’d worn outfits designed to show them off. She scoffed. “I’ve never seen you look.”

  Flashing a cocky grin, he winked. “I’m that good.”

  Amy watched as he poured a bowl of cereal. “I have to work today.”

  “I figured as much. I’ll be back at noon to take you to lunch and then downtown to get your statement.” He ate standing at the counter.

  She glanced at the clock and thought of all the errands she needed to run. “It’s quarter to eleven.”

  “Hmm.” He munched another spoonful. “I guess I’m sticking around. You’d better get to work.”

  “How long will it take? I have to be at the florists at three, and I’m meeting with the caterer at four.”

  “It might be close, but you’ll make it. I’ll drive.”

  The next few hours unfolded with the disconnectedness of a dream. Amy found herself setting aside items from her to-do list that could wait a day or two so she could look up information about Daddies and littles. Some of the things she stumbled upon brought a frown to her face, and so she spent most of her time reading blogs written by littles who explained what being a little meant to them.