“I’m sorry,” he said, and he really did sound like he was sorry. “To make sure I got it right, I read Tarantino’s expressions.” The bed gave a little as Donovan sat beside me. “We finally had his ‘blessing’ when he gave a cockshit grin.”
Donovan’s relief was apparent. “We’re in,” he added. “Our clothes were already in here, along with some salve for your—” He gestured to my body and didn’t finish his sentence.
For the first time I paid attention to the room. Decadent was a good word for it. Enormous white oak four-poster bed—all the better to tie you up with—and stunning gold draperies and gold-shaded carpeting. Everything was in golds and whites, including all the furnishings. Kinda like being in a palace.
Donovan had to smooth salve on my back. “People actually get off on this stuff?” I said. “Get horny from having the crap beat out of them?”
I wasn’t horny. I wanted to shoot something.
He shrugged. “Like they say, to each his own.”
I winced as he touched another welt. A part of me had to admit that I had enjoyed some of it. I could barely accept that truth—the whipping had turned me on. God, how could it have?
I swallowed and thought about the reason I was going through this physical pain. It was to save other women from being sold into sexual slavery by a sicko, to find Kristin, and to blow away the sonsofbitches who’d killed Randolph.
When we left the Pleasure Suite, not a mark showed on any bared skin revealed by my short skirt and corset. Every step, every brush of my leather-and-lace clothing against my skin, made it hard to keep from wincing. I walked in my heels with a confident stride, as if I didn’t want to scream with every step.
I pulled the claim ticket out of my clutch and handed it to the valet. Donovan did the same for whatever vehicle he was driving. He leaned close to me. “I’m going to follow you home and make sure you get there all right.”
“Don’t bother.” I gave him a fake smile. “I’ll be fine.”
Donovan narrowed his gaze but didn’t answer as my little red Mercedes was pulled up by a valet, followed by a sleek black Porsche.
Once I’d tipped the valet I was on my way home. I continued to clench my jaws, trying not to cry from the pain on my backside, made worse every time I shifted gears. I almost didn’t notice the black Porsche following me, and scowled when I finally did.
I guided the Mercedes through my neighborhood, past a couple of kids smoking on the corner at three friggin’ a.m. Dope probably. My street wasn’t bad for Southie, but it wasn’t Sunshine Acres, either.
From beneath my seat I pulled out my Glock and stuffed it in the back of my skirt since I didn’t have a holster.
Ouch. Did anything not hurt?
My face, my arms, my lower legs didn’t. Okay, there were positives.
Donovan was out of his Porsche before I even opened the door of the Mercedes. I let him help me out and I slammed the door shut. In keeping with our undercover agency policy, the lights didn’t flash and the vehicle didn’t “beep” when I locked it with the remote. I heard the subtle sound of the locks click.
We didn’t speak as we walked up the steps of the trip and into the foyer inside. I faced him and held my hand up. “Far enough. I can make it the rest of the way myself.”
“You’re so damned stubborn, Steele.”
“I’m tired.” I rubbed my temples as a wave of dizziness hit me. “Just go.”
He folded his arms across his chest and didn’t move as I turned away and almost lost my balance.
Why the hell was I so dizzy?
My keys jangled in my hand as I started to walk up the stairs past Marty’s apartment, then Georgina’s.
My head spun.
Spots in front of my eyes blinded me.
I swayed.
Christ, I—I . . .
I dropped and tumbled down the stairs.
My head hit the floor.
Everything went black.
March 31
Sunday morning
Special Forces and I’m a sniper. I know I’m saving American lives every time I take out a target.
Just as I pull the trigger, orders come. Abort.
Too late.
Fuckup. Big-time.
Arrest.
Court-martial.
Standing before men in a white room.
Strange men. Men not in military uniform.
Two options.
Serve as an assassin.
Or kill me. Slowly.
They break me.
Now from a building’s rooftop in France, I set my sites on two women coming out of a restaurant. I wonder who the women are. Why I’m killing them. Like I wonder every time I’m ordered to kill.
My employers never tell me. I don’t even know who I work for. Only this, or death by mutilation.
I save myself by killing others.
I pull the trigger.
No one knows where the shots came from. I disassemble the agency-issued sniper’s rifle and put it into a backpack. I’m just a tourist now.
A prison. I’m strapped to a chair and wherever I am stinks of sweat and urine.
Men ask questions I refuse to answer. I can’t answer if I wanted to because I don’t even know who I work for.
They slam fists into my head and body.
Then I see Randolph’s dead face, her body floating in the harbor.
My own screaming woke me up. “No!”
Heavy footsteps and I heard a man’s voice. “Lexi, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
I started swinging my fists but a male body pinned me down. “No! I’ve got to. I’ve got to.”
“Wake up!” the man shouts.
Donovan.
With a gasp, every bit of reality hit me with the force of a Mack truck slamming into a brick wall. I rolled onto my side clutching my belly. My insides were sure to spill out from the terror of the dream.
I opened my eyes and looked into Donovan’s blue ones.
“H-how?” Confusion clouded my mind as I realized this wasn’t my bed. “What?”
“You knocked yourself cold when we got to your place.” Donovan sat on the edge of the bed, and he looked concerned. “You fell down the stairs.”
Tough Lexi Steele knocking herself out? This was definitely the highlight to one fucking hell of a night.
What could be more embarrassing than passing out for no goddamned reason in front of your new partner?
I wiped sweat from my forehead. My whole body felt sweaty again from the dream. “Where am I?”
“Kristin’s.” Donovan continued to study me. “I couldn’t leave you alone after hitting your head like that. I’ve been checking in on you for the past few hours.”
The fact that he’d been concerned enough to do that gave Donovan bonus points in spite of my embarrassment.
I blinked away some of the remaining fuzz and felt an ache on the side of my head. Yup. Goose egg.
He gestured to the floor where, a few feet away, one of my duffel bags was zipped shut. “I grabbed some of your clothes.”
I cocked my head and looked at him. “Thank you.”
Donovan picked up a container that was on the night-stand. “Hope you don’t mind that I took off that skirt and corset thing and put some of this on the welts.”
“That must be why I feel better.” I winced as I pushed myself up in bed and discovered I was wearing a terrycloth robe. “Thanks for not letting me wake up naked.”
“Do you want some more salve?” he asked.
My hair was damp with sweat when I pushed it out of my face and gave a sigh. “I really need a shower first.”
He gestured to a door opposite to where the bed was. “Use anything you need.”
“I’ll just take a few minutes.”
The mattress rose from where he’d been sitting as he stood. “I’ll make breakfast once you’re out of the shower.”
“Okay.” I winced as I scooted up in bed while Donovan let himself out of the bedroom door and closed
it behind him.
Hallelujah, my legs cooperated as I swung them over the side of the bed.
Rock on.
My feet sank into luxurious off-white carpeting that went well with the lavender walls. I pushed myself up to stand, bracing my hand on a white nightstand that matched the rest of the furnishings. Jeez, my body was shaking. Last night was coming back to me in all its brilliance.
Not like I could forget as I winced and limped toward my duffel bag and scooped it up. Someone had to have slipped me something because no way would I pass out from a whipping. Right? Or I was totally in denial.
The carpeting was heavenly soft beneath my feet as I walked through a patch of sunshine and slipped into the bathroom.
Ugh. I so had morning mouth. And I wasn’t going to be able to hold back the contents of my full bladder if I didn’t make it to that bathroom real fast.
After I took care of business, my butt burning the entire time, I then proceeded to cause myself more pain by showering and drying myself with a towel before dressing.
I had to search through the duffel Donovan had brought, but I finally found a pair of matching socks. My damp hair irritated me, as it kept getting in my face while I tugged on green jogging shorts, a matching T-shirt, and my favorite pair of running shoes. He’d been nice enough to pack what had to be my most comfortable clothes.
The room I’d slept in was filled with sunshine and oil paintings on the lavender walls and photographs on the surfaces of the white furnishings.
One of the pewter-framed photos caught my attention. Oh, cool. Nick Donovan—had to be. But he was actually smiling. Not a big smile, but hey, from the short time I’d known him, I’d thought he didn’t know how to.
A girl leaned against him, her own smile somewhat wistful. Donovan had his arm around her. A heavy sensation settled in my gut. Was she one of the two slaves already delivered to domestic buyers, or was she scheduled to be shipped to a foreign country?
I swallowed hard. This was one messed-up world.
My stomach growled like it was going to go AWOL on me if I didn’t get some food in there now. I forced myself to push thoughts of what we were dealing with aside, and headed out of the room.
I walked past the only other door in the dim hall. Donovan’s bedroom, no doubt.
I passed it, then walked into a beautiful living room with a brick wall to the left and the front that included a bay window and a brick fireplace between with photos arranged on the mantel. It was very cozy and feminine, with floral-patterned furniture, lots of throw pillows, house plants, and expensive-looking treasures and artwork.
To my right was an archway and I walked through it into a kitchen as spotless as the rest of the house. A cliché of a copper tea kettle clock was over a stainless-steel stove. Seven a.m. If nothing else, I’m consistent.
“Hey there,” I said.
Donovan turned from whatever he was doing on a counter. “I’m just starting the crepes.” His voice was deep and rumbly. As he faced me a shivery sensation traveled the length of my body.
No man should be allowed to look that devastatingly sexy—it was nearly overwhelming. His T-shirt matched the brilliant blue of his eyes. His muscles flexed beneath his clothing, from his shoulders to his abs. Mmmm, firm thighs, too. I’d seen his chest last night and would I ever like to see the rest of him.
Get it together, Steele.
“You make it, I’ll eat it,” I said.
His nod was brief and he strode across the kitchen. Nothing casual about this man. Every movement he made was decisive. Muscle and sinew on his forearms tightened when he opened the refrigerator. He ducked and leaned into the fridge.
Dear God.
My palms itched and I had the urge to touch that tight ass I now had a perfect view of.
What was the matter with me? He’d just whipped the crap out of me and made me stay in a cage all night on my hands and knees. And saw me naked. Every inch of me.
I know, I know. All part of the op. But the cage thing still irked the hell out of me.
But it was really nice of him to do what he did for me when I knocked myself out like an idiot.
A quick flare heated my skin as I watched him and felt something stir inside me. I pushed my hand through my damp hair as I turned away. A Boston seasonal calendar hung from the wall next to a row of mahogany cabinets. In the current month’s picture the city looked sparkling clean, as if the area was perfect from the underground up.
Ha.
The sounds of the fridge closing, the thump of a cabinet door, and the clang of a pan on the stove top came from behind me. Safe to face him again.
Well, maybe not.
Donovan’s back was to me, his shoulder muscles flexing as he dumped what looked like flour and sugar and salt into a bowl.
Hell if I knew what he was putting together. As far as I was concerned, my mobile phone led to a perfectly balanced meal. Just hit speed dial for any number of restaurants and I was set. That or it was Pecan Sandies and Mountain Dew.
The best breakfast was cold cheese pizza with extra cheese, garlic, and green olives.
Mmmm.
Crepes, though. Never had those.
I moved a little to the side so I could watch Donovan, who threw this and that together without even looking at a recipe book.
“Need any help?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t want any.
I spotted the egg carton on the counter.
“Uh, except I’m not good with eggs,” I said as he looked over his shoulder at me. “My version of cracking an egg ends with the shell exploding in my hand and a little egg and a bunch of shell making it into the bowl.” I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “Unless you don’t mind the yolk, whites, and eggshells being well blended, another job might be better.”
“Nah,” Donovan said. “It’s under control,”
A loud “Meow” from behind startled me into whirling around. A calico cat casually padded into the kitchen with its head held at a regal angle. It ignored Donovan and me before going straight for a dainty dish on the floor near the stainless-steel refrigerator. The dish was empty and the cat gave Donovan a disdainful look.
“Kristin’s cat?” I asked as Donovan grabbed a can of Fancy Feast from the pantry. “What’s its name?”
“Dixie.” Donovan took a can opener from a drawer and opened the cat food. I detected a grumble in his voice. “You might say I inherited her from an elderly lady where I lived out west, before coming to Boston to find Kristin.” He glanced at Dixie and they exchanged looks of mutual toleration.
A cat. I laughed. “You’re the last person in the world I’d have thought would own a cat.”
Donovan crouched down and scooped some of the cat food into the bowl. “If you ask her she’ll tell you that she owns me.”
I laughed again, and then he stood and finished making the crepes. They smelled so good I thought I’d pass out from hunger this time.
Not much longer and we were sitting at the kitchen table and I breathed in the incredible smells. “I think I’m in love,” I said before my mind caught up with my mouth.
Heat flushed over me and I didn’t meet Donovan’s eyes as he put a plate on a mat in front of me. Instead I focused on using a spatula—hey, I know what those things are called—to put five of the ten crepes onto my plate.
“These are heaven,” I said as I closed my mind for a moment and savored a mouthful before opening my eyes again. As usual, I could have cared less about how much I was eating around a man. I proceeded to prove that by stuffing my face.
“Where did you learn to cook?” I asked him as we were eating.
He shrugged. “Picked it up when I came home to raise Kristin.”
I blinked and set my fork down. “You raised your sister?”
“Our parents died when their small plane collided with another when Kristin was fifteen.” Donovan met my gaze. “No way in hell was I going to let her be raised in foster care.”
“So that’s why you lef
t the Navy when you were a SEAL,” I said. He raised his brows. “That’s pretty much all Oxford told me,” I hurried to say. “Just that you were the best of the best before you had to leave. She didn’t tell me anything else.” Wouldn’t, I added to myself.
“How long were you a SEAL?” I asked.
“Eight years.”
“Then you left to take care of your sister,” I said.
He took another bite, then met my eyes. “Are you okay?”
His sudden change in conversation was one hell of an indicator he wasn’t crazy about talking about his past.
I could so relate.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The welts from the whip.” Donovan’s voice was hard, and his gaze even harder when I stared into his blue eyes. “And being forced into that goddamned cage.”
A shiver wracked my body at his intriguing yet terrifying gaze. Perhaps terrifying was more appropriate, because he looked like he could snap a man’s neck without an ounce of remorse.
“Yeah.” I nodded despite the burn. Especially in my butt, since I was sitting on it. “You were right. We agreed on it and it was part of the job.”
“I heard you were Special Ops in the Army,” Donovan said.
So we were going to skip to my past. “For a while.”
“Why did you leave?”
Talking about my past ruined my appetite and I couldn’t eat anymore. I set my fork on my plate, two crepes still remaining, and I looked out the window over the kitchen sink.
“Screwed up.” I rubbed my temples. “Made one big mistake.”
He ate his last bite of crepe. “Want to talk about it?”
“As much as you want to talk about your past,” I said.
He studied me. “Yours is eating at you enough that your nightmares have you waking up screaming.”
I frowned. “How did you know?”
“The walls are thin.” He folded his arms on the table. “You talk a lot in your sleep.”
“Jeez.” I ruffled my hair.
He studied me. “And you’ve got a thing about bars.”
“Noticed that, too, did you?” I asked, trying to joke.
Nick didn’t say anything, just continued to look at me.
I pushed my hand through my hair again. “Okay, fine. I got trapped in a storm drain when I was five.” The memory of that day still threatened to make me shudder. “It had rained earlier in the day and I’d been playing street hockey with my four older brothers and my sister. My little brother wasn’t born yet.”
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