by Chloe Cox
“Good.”
Charlene tried to keep steady as she walked to her own front door, but it felt like an impossible task. Because her whole body burned with the desire to hear him say the whole phrase, the one she knew he would have said, the one she hadn’t heard from a worthy Dom her entire life.
Good girl.
If he could do this to her with just a few looks, how was she going to survive the next few weeks?
“Charlie,” he said, just as her hand was on the door. “I’m going to drop by my office, but we’re going through the security rules when you get back. Keep your phone on you. You got that?”
At least her face was hidden. At least she could close her eyes and have this to herself.
“Yes,” she said loudly. And then very softly, to herself only, she added, “Sir.”
Luke was restless. Had been restless, all morning. All night. Ever since shacking up in Charlene’s sunroom, if he was honest.
There was just too much juice in him and nowhere for it to go. The way Charlene had looked at him that morning, after she told him she’d listened to him, and called Simone in the end—he knew what that meant. Any Dom would know what that meant. It was clear what Charlene needed, eventually. But she wasn’t ready yet. So he wouldn’t touch her.
And while Luke was a Dom first, he was still a man, and nothing on Earth could stop him from thinking about her soft lips around his cock when the urge struck him. Problem was, the urge was always there.
Always.
“Boss?”
He looked up. Wanda was giving him an entirely unnecessary and incredibly thorough presentation on how she was going to handle the business while he took a week or two off to look after Charlene, and she could tell his head wasn’t in the game. Too bad.
Luke was ok with Charlene heading out with Simone that morning, not because Simone offered much protection—the girl was tiny—but because Luke knew men like Jimmy Walters. Men like that always waited until their target was alone, isolated, so no one would believe them. So they could claim she made it all up. The kind of monster that messes with your head as much as your heart.
So he’d finish the security system with Charlene that night, but he knew now, after Jimmy’s little drive-by, that it wasn’t enough. He’d have to do more.
“You want to do this later?” Wanda said.
Luke shook his head, motioned for her to continue. This wasn’t for him; this was so Wanda felt confident. Whatever worked.
But Wanda was looking at him now. “You ok?” she asked.
“Of course,” he said.
“You sure?”
Now Luke grinned. Wanda was studying him—so this was what it felt like to have someone see through you. Weird sensation.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“But you’re thinking about that cop that’s waiting outside for you right now, aren’t you?” Wanda said.
Well, he hired her because she was smart. And she was gonna be partner because it had turned out she was even smarter than smart, she was brilliant.
“Not a cop,” Luke said. “A private investigator. And yes, he’s my next appointment.”
Wanda nodded, and, without another word, started to gather her folders and the rest together. Luke frowned.
“Wanda, look at me.”
When she did, she tried to hide how nervous she still was. Wanda Norris never, ever let her insecurities show in public, or on a build, or with a crew. None of the places where it might undermine her authority or her ability to get things done. So Luke took it as a point of pride that she trusted him enough to let him see that she was scared.
But he wasn’t going to let her think she was right to be scared.
“You’ve got this,” he said gruffly. “You had it before you came in here. You don’t need me to run this build, and I’ve known that for a while. But the only way you’re gonna believe it is if you have to prove it to yourself. So yeah, I’m throwing you in the deep end. But it’s only because I know you can swim.”
Wanda blinked at him.
“I’ll bring in your P.I.,” she said.
Then she looked down, picked up all her papers, and walked to the door. She paused, for just a moment.
“Luke?” she said, her hand on the doorknob.
She never called him Luke.
“Yeah?”
Wanda looked him right in the eye and said, “Thank you.”
Luke smiled. Wanda knew exactly what he was preparing her for, but then, that’s why she was perfect for the job—she was always a step ahead and over-prepared.
“Go on, get out of here,” he said. “Send in my cop.”
So Luke was in a better mood when Diego came in and sat down in one of the big leather chairs with a slow, squeaky settling noise. Which was why the look he was getting from his old friend was troubling.
“What?” Luke said. “Bad news?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Diego said. He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not your usually cheerful self.”
Luke laughed. “Cheerful?”
“Allow me some poetic license, ok? If it’s this,” Diego said, and pointed at the slim blue folder he had in his hand, “I have some good news for you.”
Luke raised an eyebrow. “That’s unlikely.”
“Look for yourself.”
Diego tossed the folder on the desk, within reach. Luke quickly scanned its contents.
His mother was marrying a man named Paul Callahan, as expected. No criminal record—that was less expected. Not even the hint of a criminal record. No divorces, no DUIs, no elaborate scams, no domestic violence arrests.
Not her usual type.
“He’s clean?” Luke asked.
“He’s clean,” Diego said. “Actually seems like kind of a good guy, if you want my opinion.”
Luke frowned. This was wrong. He was looking at the evidence in front of him, but he knew it was wrong. And that was worse—if there had been some hint, he’d have something to go on. He’d know what to do next. But this was nothing.
That dull, protective growl rose softly in his throat, where he shut it down. No need to scare his friend.
“What are you going to do?” Diego asked.
“Not sure yet,” Luke said, his words short. Clipped. He looked up and locked eyes with his old friend. “But in the meantime I have another job for you. First priority. I’m not kidding—you clear your desk, drop everything else. I’ll pay whatever that costs.”
Diego’s eyes went wide.
“Dude,” he said. “That’s a lot.”
Luke stood up to his full six feet and three inches. Wanda and Diego were right, he was distracted. And he would be distracted as long as he knew Charlene was under threat. It was just how he was built.
And now he knew what he was going to do about it.
“Whatever it costs,” he said again.
Diego nodded. “You have a name?”
“I do,” Luke said, and the words tasted like dirt in his mouth. “Jimmy Walters.”
Chapter Twelve
Charlene waited outside Belinda’s Bridal with a weird feeling of nervousness, waiting for Simone to finish parking. Normally that nervousness would be totally justified—Simone was not the best behind the wheel, not even in a parking lot—but there were no other cars there to bear the brunt of Simone’s parking frustrations.
Her nervousness was different this time. And she fully blamed Luke.
How was she supposed to keep her head about her with a Dom like that around? With a Dom who was only there to protect her, yet had this habit of just ordering her around? Worse yet, he had a habit of issuing orders that she followed.
And that didn’t even get into the fantasy she’d had that very morning.
So yeah, she thought to herself as Simone made another try at the parking spot. Of course you’re rattled. It’s fine.
And maybe if she kept telling herself that, it would magically become true.
Because
the truth was, it had bothered her, what Luke had said to her the previous night. That she didn’t trust anyone to help her, not even her friends. Of course Charlene had thought of a million brilliant comebacks after she’d gone up the stairs—l’esprit de l’escalier, as her grandmother used to say, only literally this time— first and foremost among them that she’d let Luke take up residence on her couch, hadn’t she? Which, now that she was thinking about it, was ridiculous, even if it was closer to the front door; he was doing all this to make her feel safe, she should at least insist that he stay in a spare bedroom.
Of course, if he were in a spare bedroom, he would have heard the result of her little fantasy that morning. Charlene closed her eyes at the thought and bit her lip.
“Earth to Charlene,” Simone said, and Charlene opened her eyes to find her friend smiling, waving her hands in front of her face. “Something on your mind?”
“No,” Charlene said a little too quickly. “Just worried about Olivia and the wedding, that’s all.”
Which had the added benefit of being true. Olivia’s emergency fitting appointment wasn’t until next week, and Charlene knew Belinda of Belinda’s Bridal personally, but after all the other vendors had pulled out, and after Simone’s reports of rumors, and after Jimmy and Alan Crennel and all of that…well, it was better to be safe than sorry.
And now that Simone was here, Charlene was glad she’d listened to Luke and asked her to come along. Because if Belinda pulled out of the Club Volare wedding, Charlene didn’t know if she trusted herself to perceive it, let alone deal with it.
Luke had been right about that, at least.
“Come on, let’s get inside,” Charlene said, and threaded her arm through Simone’s.
“You know, I meant to ask you,” Simone said. “I love this place, but I would have sworn Olivia would go with that designer of yours that did your dresses for the last benefit. What’s her name? The one out of Bastien House?”
Charlene smiled. Belle Donna Simmons was young, driven, and an absolutely brilliant fashion designer. Charlene had been able to fund her schooling, and now the woman’s business was growing so fast she could barely fill orders for the major stores. Belle was the only person Charlene knew who was busier than she was.
“She has got too much on her plate, believe me,” Charlene said. “And Olivia asked where I got my dress, and…”
Charlene paused, thinking about the last time she was in this store.
“This was the place.”
Simone nodded awkwardly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”
“It’s ancient history,” Charlene said, desperately wishing that was still true. “It’s fine.”
And then, as she opened the door and entered Belinda’s Bridal for the first time since she was a bride, she tried very, very hard to make sure that she at least looked fine.
Belinda hadn’t even changed the decor. There was no need; it was classic. Everything was in shades of soft white, with high ceilings and flowing fabric billowing everywhere. It was like shopping inside of a cloud. Belinda’s attention to that kind of detail was one of the reasons she was so successful, and so in demand. Charlene had leaned hard on her relationship with the woman when she’d called to get Olivia in—they weren’t great friends, but they were familiar, even close, in the way you were with someone you’d known for a long time. Belinda came into the restaurant all the time, and she’d even come to Charlene and Jimmy’s wedding all those years ago.
Which made this a little bit more emotionally fraught than Charlene was strictly prepared for.
And Belinda, who looked up from a conversation with an assistant as they came in, didn’t look very happy to see her.
Charlene froze, but Simone just sailed forward, her professional public relations face coming out to the fore.
“Belinda!” she called, with the brightest smile Charlene had ever seen.
“Simone Delavigne and Charlene Bastien,” Belinda said, smiling now, if not quite warmly. “How are you ladies today?”
And soon Charlene was folded into a haze of small talk and ladylike laughter, but she couldn’t pay much attention. This sort of thing wasn’t really her comfort zone—another reason it was smart to bring Simone along. Simone had been raised in the wealthy upper crust; this was her language. Charlene didn’t speak it, not really. She didn’t quite belong. In these situations Charlene always felt, no matter what she did or how much she accomplished in her life, like the unacknowledged bastard child of a cheating shipping heir—which, technically, was what she was. Hence the inheritance she’d tried to put to good use in Bastien House.
Of course, when Charlene had come here for her own wedding, Belinda had seen that, and she’d been sensitive. She’d made Charlene feel like she really belonged. Charlene had never forgotten that.
And she couldn’t help but notice that this time Belinda wasn’t even making eye contact.
“So to what do I owe this lovely visit?” Belinda said.
Simone looked delicately at Charlene.
Guess this is my cue.
“Well, I came to make sure everything was still on schedule,” Charlene said as Belinda ushered them over to one of the immaculately white couches. “With my friend’s wedding, the one that I called you about. There have been some problems, and—”
Simone caught her eye. Right. Simone had taught her the first rule of PR on the way over—don’t bring up the negatives.
“Well, I just wanted to make sure you could still fit us in, since we have so little time,” Charlene finished.
Belinda pursed her lips and sighed. Sadly.
“Honey, is this that Club Volare wedding?” Belinda said. “With Gavin Colson?”
Charlene blinked.
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” she said. “I told you it was a dear friend of mine.”
“Charlene, you must know…” Belinda paused. “You know this is our busy season, and I would love to be able to help you. But—and I’m sorry to be so frank, but I really think it must be said—I simply can’t turn my business upside down for that wedding.”
Charlene was stunned.
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” Belinda said. Firmly.
“Belinda, this is outrageous,” Simone said.
“I certainly don’t think so,” the other woman said. “Charlene, again I am sorry. I truly am.”
Charlene stared at her, and she saw Belinda’s expression change just before she spoke. And in that moment, she knew. Before Belinda said it, she already knew.
“You know, honey, you two were always my favorite couple,” Belinda said, putting her hand on Charlene’s arm. “I saw Jimmy just the other day, and I thought of you. I do hope you’re well, and…taking care of yourself.”
The sad, pitying expression on Belinda’s face was unmistakable. Charlene wanted to laugh. She and Jimmy hadn’t been public about their kinky ways back when they’d gotten married; there was nowhere to be public about it. But someone had come here and talked to Belinda. And it was obvious who it was.
Jimmy had come here, and he had poisoned the well. He’d come here and he’d told lies about Club Volare, and he’d done it to sabotage Olivia and Gavin’s wedding, and he’d done it for whatever crazy plan he had cooked up with Alan Crennel.
Charlene’s mind raced with what lies he might have told about her. About their break-up. About them now. Just the idea that he might have implied that they were in each other’s lives, that there was a “them” at all, made her skin crawl. But based on the expression on Belinda’s face, there was no doubt about it.
And Charlene didn’t know what to do.
How would she even try to defend herself? What would be the point, to try to explain years of Jimmy’s lies to this woman who obviously thought he was a great guy? No one had believed her the first time, and Belinda wouldn’t believe her this time.
There was no point.
Charlene looked up, finally, to see Simone watchin
g her. This was Charlene’s rodeo; Simone was just riding along. She’d do whatever Charlene asked.
“Let’s go,” Charlene said quietly.
Wordlessly, Simone followed her out the door. Charlene didn’t even care that they were being rude. She didn’t care that Simone had seen her humiliated, or hurt.
She just kept thinking one thing: Luke was right, damn him. She didn’t trust people.
And maybe she’d been right not to.
Luke pounded the last post into the edge of Charlene’s property and stopped to take his shirt off. He was sweating like an animal in the heat, but he’d added another perimeter to Charlene’s invisible security fence, this one with laser trips. It was overkill, no doubt about it. But he didn’t want her to have to wonder. Ever.
And he’d needed to keep working. Needed to burn it all off.
That report full of nothing about his mother’s new man had bothered him more than he’d realized. And as soon as he figured that out, he went to work. No way he was going to let that mess bleed itself into Charlene’s situation.
That was thing about being a Dom—it meant awareness. Inexperienced Dom/mes sometimes thought it was all about being a rock, an inhuman statue. But real Dom/mes knew you never stopped being human, and shouldn’t want to. A Dom who shed his humanity was a danger to everyone around him, especially a vulnerable sub. Real Doms still bled if you cut them. They just weren’t afraid to.
And that report had made him worry. It had made him worry in a way he hadn’t worried since he was a kid. There was nothing to go on, nothing to hold on to, except the knowledge that his mother probably hadn’t changed overnight. And the reminder that there was only so much you could do to protect someone who was dead set on making bad choices.
Luke wiped the sweat out of his eyes and surveyed his work. It was good. It would keep out a goddamn ninja army. And with the app he’d coded, Charlene would be able to monitor and control all of it from her phone, wherever she was.
Which was a start. But not the finish. Somewhere along the line, Luke had decided he was going to protect this woman if it was the last thing he did. It was more than the usual way he protected women who needed it, more than just honor. He needed to. And he didn’t even know why.
