Conditioned (Brewing Passion Book 3)

by Liz Crowe

  “I’m… I…”

  “Oh, oh and this—you have yet to introduce her to Taylor?”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Dude. You had me at a club within two weeks. And I was enduring your daughter’s laser stare of hate the week after that, remember?”

  “Fuck.”

  “Exactly. So, sounds like you have some planning to do.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Evelyn.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she said. “I’ll tell her you said hey.”

  “I’ll tell her myself, thanks.”

  “That’s more like it, studly.”

  “Tell Austin I said hi. And if he needs any tips…”

  “Fuck off, Hettinger.”

  “Your wish, my command.” He grinned, realizing that she’d hung up already.

  He got up, answered the door and set the pizza box on the kitchen table. “Taylor, food.” He rapped on her door. She opened it and gave him a big hug.

  “Thanks, Daddy,” she said. He frowned.

  “What do you want?”

  “Cynic! I can’t say I love you?”

  “Not right now.”

  She blew him a kiss and flounced over to the table, popped open the pizza box and grabbed a slice. “Yummy. Thanks, Daddy.”

  “Yeah. Okay.” He approached her, wary as hell. He grabbed a slice, ate it, finished his beer and watched as she devoured two pieces and drank a glass of milk, between chattering about school, her friends, way more shit that she’d ever said since she’d turned fifteen. His wariness ramped up by a thousandfold.

  He glanced at his phone, reminding himself of his earlier resolve. But now…this whole weird thing with Taylor had him tied up in knots. He needed to figure out what she was trying to pull. What all this lovey-dovey, Daddy-you’re-so-great shit was all about. She smiled at him. His anxiety tripled, then quadrupled.

  “Okay, so, I’m going to Tina’s. A weekend sleepover.” She kissed his head. He grabbed her wrist.

  “The whole weekend.”

  “Yeah. You told me you were gonna be gone, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  Her smile turned sickly sweet. His frown deepened.

  “A whole weekend?”

  “Dad.” She put her hands on his shoulders, meeting his gaze with her mother’s deep green gaze. “Chill. If you were…wherever you’d planned to be, you wouldn’t even know.” She kissed his nose and scampered to her room.

  He sighed and grabbed another slice, stared at it then tossed it back into the box. Feeling more out of control than ever, he poured the second beer down the drain and drank a huge glass of water. Gripping the edge of the sink, he counted his breaths, trying to find something to focus himself.

  “Okay, well, later, Daddio.” Taylor skipped past him, heading for the sliding metal door.

  “Wait,” he said. “Stop.”

  She stopped. He saw her shoulders pull back, just like her mother used to do when she’d decided to stop pretending to be his submissive. He shook his head, forcing thoughts of that particular distressing scene out of his head. She turned slowly, her fake grin even wider. She batted her lashes at him. His throat constricted. She was up to something and he could sense it like a creeping fog on the horizon.

  “What’s really going on tonight, Tay?” He kept his voice light.

  “A sleepover, Daddy. I told you.”

  “Where? Who’s hosting it? I’ll call her parents.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Tina. You have her mom’s number, I think. From a few years back?” Her smiled shifted, turning into something ugly.

  Trent would not be moved. So what if he’d dated her friend’s mom for a hot second? That was beside the point right now. But she was playing him like a Stradivarius and he damn well knew it. “Taylor…”

  “What?” She blinked fast, the picture of innocence.

  “Fine. Go. I’m… I am going to go out tomorrow night. But I’ll have my phone on me if you need…anything.”

  She rolled those beautiful green eyes again, making his heart clinch with a sick combination of worry and guilt. “I’ll be fine, sheesh. You worry too much.”

  “It’s my job. And rest assured I’m calling Tina’s mom.”

  “Sure. Okay. Fine.” She slid the door aside, then turned back to him, her eyes ablaze with something he didn’t like in the slightest. “Going out with her again?”

  “Who?” He gripped the chair to brace himself.

  “The Hispanic lady.”

  “Her name is Melody.”

  Taylor waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. They never last anyway.”

  “I know what you’re doing right now.”

  “I’m not doing anything. Just leaving to go to my friend’s for a damn sleepover and getting the third degree.”

  “Taylor.” He let the edge of alpha slip into his voice. She blinked in the face of it. Then her fake smile re-emerged, widening by the second.

  “Daddy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. You should bring her around sometime. Like the blonde.”

  “Evelyn.”

  “Right. Her. I kind of thought she’d stick. Seemed like your type.”

  They glared at each other. “Taylor, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

  “Do whatever you want. I gotta go. Tina’s here.” She brandished her phone.

  He closed his eyes, pulled between his desire to see Melody and his gut-deep feeling that Taylor was headed out to find trouble all over again.

  “Go,” he said. “I’m calling her mom now.”

  “Fine.” She pulled the door shut behind her as he put the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Moira, it’s Trent.”

  “Oh, hello there.” Her voice went flat. No wonder. They’d had two dates. He’d not called her again. No big deal. Just no connection. But he’d been made to feel almost as guilty about that as he had about giving Sheila the divorce she’d demanded, three months after Taylor’s birth.

  “Hey. So, uh, Taylor’s coming over for a weekend sleepover she says.” He ran a hand along his scalp, nervousness making him wish that he’d skipped the greasy pizza.

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  She didn’t say anything else.

  “Okay, so, I was just sort of checking on that. Seemed a little fishy to me.”

  “No. Tina said Taylor was coming, and Beth and Jackie.”

  “All right,” he said. All girls who’d been friends since grade school, still as thick as thieves. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” She hung up. Trent stared at the phone. Since when was he the kind of man women hung up on? Jesus.

  He dropped onto the leather couch, his head spinning, his heart racing.

  Focus, Hettinger. Control the things you can control. Taylor’s accounted for. He knew Moira was nothing if not a hovering parent. She’d keep tabs on the girls.

  Time to take a few other things in hand. He grabbed his phone and hit a speed dial number. Within fifteen minutes, he had the reservation set. Then he made another call, ordered some items to be delivered to Melody’s apartment tomorrow morning. He rose, his mind calm for the first time in days—definitely since he’d heard Melody tearing ass away from the B&B in his Goddamn Jeep.

  He sent a quick text to Evelyn.

  I’m about to call Melody. If she’s with you, please use your female superpowers to make her answer the goddamn phone.

  He had his response within seconds. You got it.

  He took a deep breath, opened his closet door then pushed aside the civilian clothes to reveal a second rack. He grabbed a crisp white shirt and a pair of tuxedo trousers. Polished black shoes were lined up beneath. His cufflinks rested in mahogany box along with a full money clip, and a solid black plastic membership card with his name embossed in silver. He ran his fingertip over the raised letters, giving himself a moment to ponder the reality of where he stood, right now, the options laid out before him.

  Melody.

&n
bsp; He believed that he loved her. And he needed to seal that deal. She was the sort of woman who required it. No more bullshit.

  He grabbed his phone, scrolled to her name, stared at it for a half second then touched the screen.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice soft.

  “I’m sending you some things tomorrow, delivered to your place.”

  “Oh?”

  He pressed his fist against the doorframe, pushing hard, so he felt pain to center himself. “Yes. A car will pick you up tomorrow night. Nine o’clock.”

  “How do you know that I don’t have plans?”

  “Cancel them.”

  “Trent…what is this about?”

  “You’ll see soon enough. Be ready.” He ended the call and pressed the phone to his forehead for a few seconds before he set it aside and headed for the spinning bike, ready to put in some serious mileage to clear his head.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You need to get ready,” Evelyn said. “You only have a few hours.”

  I stared at the computer screen. “I’m not going.”

  “The hell you aren’t.” She slapped the laptop closed. We were in the office she’d assigned to me in my new job as general manager of the Fitz Pub. “You are going. But not until you get your ass home for a clean-up.” She raised an eyebrow. “Did you ever get to my wax artist?”

  I put a hand to my face.

  “All right. Well. Get on home and take a shower. Do you have a nice dress? I mean, something super dressy?”

  “Yes. He sent a dress. And shoes. And…a kind of a…mask.”

  “All righty then. He hasn’t lost his edge. So, let’s go.” She snapped her fingers and smiled at me.

  “Go where?” Panic was settling into my psyche. I’d spent a lot of energy in the last couple of days being mad at Trent. I wasn’t quite ready to let go of it.

  “It’s wax time, puta.” She handed me my purse.

  “We have work to do.”

  “It can wait.”

  “That’s not what you said to me this morning.” I crossed my arms, leaning back in my rickety chair.

  “Yeah, well, scratch all that. Hang on.” She pulled her phone from her pocket. “Hey. Yeah. I gotta go help Melody with something. I’ll be back in about an hour.” Her face reddened. “Yes, I know.” She turned away from me and muttered something more, then ended the call. “Whew. All right. Come on. It won’t take long.”

  Two hours later I was home, staring at myself in the mirror. I put a hand to my neck, turning my head left, then right, admiring the semi-casual updo and the subtle makeup. I held out my hands, checking out the bright red nails. Between the primping, buffing, waxing and everything else, they’d even found time to get me a shower at that crazy spa.

  I glanced over at the bed, where the simple, cream silk dress lay alongside a cream-colored garter belt, real silk stockings and a gorgeous, matching bra. The shoes were a work of art—sky-high heels, open toes, satin ribbons to wrap around my ankles. Everything was the perfect size. Of course.

  I sat, fingering the creamy mask. It was intimidating, yet beautiful, edged with intricate lace. My fingers trembled as I held it to my face, then dropped it onto my lap.

  You wanted this, Melody. You demanded it from him. Do not be that woman who, when her man gives her what she wanted, suddenly changes her mind.

  I willed myself not to cry and screw up the expensive makeup job. As I was fastening the stockings into the belt, my phone buzzed from the table next to my bed. I smiled when I saw I was Evelyn.

  Mel. Just relax. It will be fine. He loves you.

  I sighed and looked at the ceiling before answering. I’m not sure about all that. He wants to tie me up and spank me. That’s not love. That’s kind of crazy.

  Don’t worry. If you don’t like it, tell him. He’ll stop. He’ll do anything for you. Lighten up a little.

  There was a brief pause, then another text from my friend. You’re going to blow his mind, chica. Own it.

  I covered my lips with my hands. There was no denying it—I was flat out terrified. I wanted this. Or I thought I wanted it. And now I definitely had to own it.

  Noting the time, I stood slowly and pulled the dress with me. The fabric was like a lovely soft sheet draping my body, magically clinging to all my curves. I ran my hands across my stomach, down my hips, admiring myself in the full-length mirror.

  With a frown, I started pulling at the pins and whatnot that the hair guy had used to give me the glamorous up-do. My man wanted my hair down. I ran my fingers through it, which reminded me of the way he loved to do it—gently at first, then when he’d close his fingers in it, tugging and pulling…

  I shivered, and I smiled at myself, noting how my makeup looked better since I wasn’t ghostly pale behind it anymore.

  We’d parted badly. And I’d taken his Jeep. Granted, I’d left it in his garage, keys in the gas door. But I had taken the man’s car. It had been a bold move. Or a shitty move. I still hadn’t decided. But now, if Evelyn was to be believed, this night would be The One. The night I would get the full force of this whole BDSM Thing. Take it or leave it.

  I swiped a bit of gloss over my lips—he’d also told me he preferred the taste of this particular brand—with a full three minutes to spare before I was to be collected by some mysterious entity. Damn the man. He was too fucking perfect.

  But did I really want this? Was I ready? Would it be too demeaning? Some of the books I’d read really made it sound like abuse, or worse. Of course, most of the women in those books were beyond silly to begin with.

  I leaned on one of the tall bar seats, clutching my fancy new purse. My body was zinging from pillar to post, reminding me that I’d gone without direct, intimate attention for a solid thirty-six hours.

  Spoiled much, Melody?

  Yes, thanks. I am.

  At the appointed time, I grabbed my keys, shut the door and headed up the steps, teetering on the precarious heels. I stopped at the top of the steps, my mouth hanging open. The car was a long, black limo. The driver was standing by the open back door, smiling at me.

  I slid into the soft leather seat. There were ice cold bottles of water, but nothing else. I took one and sipped while the car cut through the traffic, repeating an inner mantra— Keep an open mind. Be ready for anything. Understand that this is what you asked him for. This is Trent.

  The car stopped after about forty minutes in front of a mansion with columns and a large, wooden front door. I took the driver’s hand and got out, squaring my shoulders.

  This is Trent. He would never hurt me.

  “Mariposa,” I whispered under my breath. I had the mask in my hand still, unsure what the protocol was for it—or anything else, for that matter. The door opened. I walked in, deafened by my own heartbeat. Soft string music played. It smelled like sandalwood and leather. A handsome man in a tuxedo and a black mask met me as I stood in the entryway.

  “Hello, Miss Rodriguez. Welcome.”

  He pulled aside a filmy curtain. A soft puff of air washed over me. I took a step forward as my eyes adjusted. The room was full of people, which was my first shock. I thought this thing was mano a mano, not a group project. My skin pebbled in the chill air as I hung back, taking in my surroundings. It was a ballroom, or something like it. A crystal chandelier hung in the middle. Velvet curtains were closed over what I assumed were windows.

  But it was the people who were the most amazing. Every woman looked as if she’d stepped off the pages of a magazine. Every man was drop-dread gorgeous. I swallowed hard, reaching behind me for a doorknob. This was not for me. I was not one of these exotic creatures. I didn’t want this. I wanted to go home.

  The mask I’d been gripping slipped out of my sweaty, nervous hand. With a mild curse, I bent my knees to reach for it. But someone had already retrieved it for me. I rose, and my eyes met his. My heart ceased its pounding. My pulse slowed. The rest of me reacted in other, more primal ways. Ways I’d come to recognize, and welcome.


  Even though a pitch-black mask covered his eyes and the top of his nose, I knew who he was. I’d know those lips anywhere.

  He held out his hand with the mask in it. I turned around, and he slid it over my eyes, fastening it behind my head. Someone took my bag as he placed his warm palms on my bare shoulders, calming me, soothing me, revving me up in ways I wanted to act on—immediately.

  “Are you ready for this, Melody?” His deep voice zinged through me. And as afraid as I was of this whole thing, as bizarre as this entire scene might be, I knew I was safe. That he was giving me everything he had. He was giving me the depth and breadth of him, just like I’d asked him to. No backing out now.

  Music swelled. He turned me slowly and held out his hands. “First, this, I think,” he said with a wide grin. I slid into his arms and we danced.

  It was, to put it mildly, the most fairy-tale-like thing I’d ever experienced. Trent led but I knew what I was doing. We’d chatted about our mutual ballroom dancing experiences before. He knew this was one of my favorite things. I bit my lip as the music changed and we switched directions. His lips remained curled into a small, sexy smile. We didn’t speak. But oh, how we danced.

  Finally, after four turns around the floor, surrounded by the beautiful people, I held up a hand. “I need some water, please.”

  He nodded and pulled me out of the group. As he fetched us some cool, cucumber-infused water, I sat and held my hair up off my neck. The crowd continued to move around us as we sipped and sat, unable to talk due to the music.

  After about five minutes, he rose from his chair and held out his hand again. I put my palm in it, and at that precise moment, the music switched. A sexy, very familiar opening note hit my ears. I smiled as he whipped out a deep red rose, and put it between his teeth.

  “Oh no, we are not,” I said, even as he was tugging me back into the middle of the group which had parted, forming a circle around us as the strains of the tango filled the air.