by Julia Sykes
My phone dinged, jolting me out of my brooding. It was a text from Dex.
Here.
Another one-word attempt at communication.
I sighed. If he was already at the restaurant, I had to go join him. I grabbed up my notebook and tucked it into my purse before leaving my hotel room.
Five minutes later, I found myself in front of Accardi’s, wavering.
I don’t have to go in. I can still cancel. I’ll say I’m sick.
“Chloe? What are you doing out here?” Dex strode through the restaurant entrance. Before I could process what was happening, he ensnared my hand and pulled me inside.
I tugged against his grip. “You don’t have to drag me in.”
He didn’t release me. “You shouldn’t wander around the city by yourself. There was a man watching you.”
I rolled my eyes. “I literally walked thirty feet from the hotel to get here. And I doubt anyone was watching me in the few seconds I spent outside.”
He frowned at me. “He was checking you out.”
I gaped at him. “Is that a crime?”
“No. But I—” He pressed his lips together, holding in whatever he was going to say. He dropped my hand and edged his body away from mine. “Let’s get a table.”
Unfortunately, this was turning out every bit as bad as our phone conversation.
After a few more seconds of awkward silence, the hostess showed us to a table. Dex chose the seat across from me rather than beside me, and he seemed reluctant to do even that. His gaze strayed toward the exit, as though he was debating leaving.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “You’re… I don’t know. Different.”
He ran a hand over his white-blond hair and looked down at the tablecloth. “I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”
“What sort of thing?”
He shrugged, still not looking at me. “Dinner.”
“You don’t go out to dinner,” I said blankly. I didn’t understand his strange demeanor. Dex had always been confident, both in his suit and in his leathers. I took a moment to study his appearance. He was as massive as ever, but his too-small maroon t-shirt had a hole in the sleeve, and his jeans were about an inch too short above his aged sneakers.
Okay, so he wasn’t the most fashion-savvy guy I’d ever seen.
But it was more than that. Where he had prowled through Decadence, his powerful body in display, he now seemed to keep his shoulders slightly hunched, as though to hide his size.
This was a whole new side to him I never would have expected. Suddenly, I was more eager than ever to interview him. I wanted to understand him better.
For my character research. That was why I was so intrigued.
A server came and took our drink order—un-sweet iced tea for me, water for him. I was glad he didn’t order anything alcoholic. I wanted him sharp and fully present for this interview.
“I don’t really go out at all,” Dex said abruptly, picking up our conversation again when the server left our drinks on the table.
“You go to Decadence,” I pointed out.
“Yeah.” He didn’t elaborate.
“But what else do you do for fun?”
“I told you. I like to read.”
“But you must do other stuff. What are your hobbies?”
“I play games a lot.”
Was he blushing?
“What kind of games?”
“You know. Online games.”
“Like poker?”
“Like World of Warcraft.”
“Oh my god, you’re a sexy nerd!” I exclaimed, finally understanding.
He glared at me, but his cheeks had gone from pink to red.
I reached out and placed my hand over his. “That’s a good thing,” I told him quickly. “Women go crazy for a sexy nerd.”
“What do you mean? What women?”
Well, me, for one. I chose not to admit that.
“My readers,” I said instead. “You’re totally a swoon-worthy romantic hero.”
He eyed me dubiously. “Swoon-worthy?” He appeared bewildered. It was adorable.
“Definitely,” I declared. “A nerdy, Dominant FBI agent,” I mused, more to myself than to him. “What should his name be?”
His brow furrowed. “My name is Dex.”
I waved him off. “Not you. My new character.”
“You lost me. What are you talking about?”
“Sorry. I get a little scattered sometimes. It’s a writer thing.” I reached into my purse and retrieved my notebook and pen. “I’m basing a character on you,” I explained. “That’s why I wanted to meet up. I want to know more about you.”
To my surprise, he scowled. “I don’t appreciate being mocked.”
“What?” Now I was confused. “I’m not mocking you.”
“You want me to play some bumbling character in your next book? I don’t think so.”
“Who said anything about bumbling? Okay, maybe you’re being a little weird right now, but that’s because you’re uncomfortable for some reason. When you’re not uncomfortable, you’re kind and protective and confident. Excellent sexy hero material.”
He shook his head. “I think you have me confused with someone else. You should be having dinner with Smith or Jason.”
“I don’t want to have dinner with either of them. Smith is a bit of a nosy asshole, and Jason is too cocky for his own good. He never takes anything seriously. But you’re sweet and caring.”
“Says who?”
I let out an exasperated huff. “Says me. Honestly, Dex, how do you not see that? You’re a good man. And a hell of a Dom.” Usually, I’d never feed a man’s ego like this, but he clearly needed to hear it. “How do you see yourself?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really think about it.”
“Well, you should,” I said firmly. “And I’m going to help you. Tell me about yourself. I want to know everything.” I glanced down at my open notebook, where I’d started my list of questions for him. “Why did you decide to join the FBI?”
His pale eyes settled on my pen where it hovered above the paper, and he frowned. “I’ll tell you, if you put that away. I don’t mind talking to you, but I don’t appreciate being picked apart and studied for your research.”
“All right,” I agreed, reluctantly returning my notebook and pen to my purse. My fingers itched without them, but I could take notes later. After dinner, I’d go up to my room and write down everything I could remember.
He took a deep breath. “Well, I guess you noticed that I don’t like it when people call me by my full name.”
“Yes,” I acknowledged, not sure why he was leading with this when I wanted to know about the FBI.
“That’s because I was bullied pretty badly at school. The other guys called me Poindexter, because I liked to read and made good grades, I guess. They were always finding new ways to hide or break my glasses.”
“You wore glasses?”
“I switched to contacts in college,” he said shortly. His hand curled to a fist where it rested on the table. “Anyway, middle school and high school weren’t a good time for me.”
“But you’re a big guy. Massive, really. Why didn’t you fight back?”
He grimaced. “I went through a growth spurt just before my senior year of high school. I was a pretty skinny kid before that.”
“That must have been quite a growth spurt,” I commented, my eyes roving over his corded muscles. They strained against his shirt as he tensed from the unpleasant memories. I squeezed his fisted hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“It’s okay,” he said with a casualness I didn’t buy for one second. “You asked why I became an FBI agent. Well, that’s why. Once I got bigger, I trained in boxing. I spent my last year of high school keeping my friends safe from the popular crowd. From then on, I knew I wanted to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. I joined the police academy when I graduated from college, and the FBI recru
ited me that same year.”
His sudden social awkwardness made sense to me now. He’d been an outcast growing up, belittled and mocked. When he wasn’t in protective mode at work or as a Dom, he still felt like that kid who didn’t quite fit in. He’d been embarrassed when he’d admitted to being a gamer, and he’d thought I was being cruel when I called him a sexy nerd.
I wanted to get up and hug him, to tell him I thought he was one of the most interesting people I’d ever met and I’d never make fun of him.
“Next question,” he prompted before I could act on my impulse. I hated the pain that was etched into his handsome features.
“That’s why you’re a Dom, isn’t it? To protect and care for subs?”
He nodded, his lips still twisted in a grimace. “And because it makes me feel powerful. I like being in control.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I said gently. “You say it like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s selfish,” he countered. “I should care more about my sub than what she can give me.”
“The D/s relationship is reciprocal. A sub enjoys the release of giving up control as much as you enjoy the high of having control. And you’re wrong,” I added. “You do care more about your submissive partner than yourself. We’ve shared two scenes now, and you’ve gotten nothing out of it.”
His eyes heated to twin blue flames. “Just because I didn’t fuck you doesn’t mean I didn’t get something out of it.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips. His gaze riveted to my mouth. The air seemed to heat around us, but a shiver raced across my skin.
“But you…” I swallowed hard and tried to speak in more than a whisper. “You didn’t get an orgasm.”
“Those were two of the hottest scenes I’ve ever had,” he said, his eyes still intent on my lips.
“But we didn’t…” I started to protest again. “Surely you’ve been in D/s relationships where you could have sex with your girlfriend.”
The heat seeped out of his eyes, leaving them as chips of blue ice. “I haven’t had a girlfriend in a long time. And I’ve never had a sub I was serious about. Not a sub who was mine, anyway.”
“What do you mean? How can you be serious about a sub who’s not yours?”
His jaw clenched, and I knew I’d asked too many questions.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Do you want to talk about the man who hurt you?” he shot back.
I flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I told you not to bullshit me, Chloe.”
I glared at him, challenging. “Fine. You tell me about the woman who broke your heart, and I’ll tell you about my ex-husband.” He pressed his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s what I thought,” I hissed.
I stood abruptly. “Forget dinner. I’ll see you at the field office tomorrow.”
“Does this mean the interview is over? Did you get all the material you need for your research?” he placed scornful emphasis on the last.
That was the final straw. “You might think it’s silly, but I take my career seriously,” I seethed. “ And you know what? I don’t care what you think. I don’t need a man’s approval to validate what I do.”
Angry tears burned behind my eyes, and I stalked away from him before they could fall. Everything kept coming back to Neil, and it was all Dex’s fault. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I’d shadow him for my Latin Kings story, but after that I was done with him. I didn’t need a man like Dex in my life.
10
Dex
As soon as Chloe walked away, my anger began to deflate. Her eyes had been shining in the few seconds before she turned away from me. I’d obviously stirred up her dark memories again. Why did I keep doing that? I didn’t want her to be scared or sad around me. I wanted her to feel safe.
But she’d hit a nerve, and I’d hit back. It wasn’t like me to be spiteful, but where Katie was concerned, I’d found I’d do all sorts of ugly things in response to my soul-deep pain. It was why I’d closed myself off from almost everyone, why I fucked women without really caring about them. And knowing that I was being so callous only made the ragged hole in my heart rip a little wider.
The two scenes I’d shared with Chloe had meant something. I’d been helping her. It gave me a sense of fulfillment I hadn’t known since before I met Katie, before I fell hard for her and committed my heart to her.
As soon as Katie stepped into my life as my partner at the Bureau, I’d known she was the one for me. But I’d been worried I’d scare her off with what I truly needed from her: submission. She wore thick armor to convince everyone around her that she was hard enough to handle the sick cases we worked on the Violent Crimes Task Force. But it had been the fragility beneath that armor that called to me. I’d worried she’d run from me when she learned I wanted to strip away that armor and have the woman underneath. I’d waited, inserting myself into her life as her best friend, earning her trust over two long years while I waited for her to be ready for what I needed from her.
Then Reed Fucking Miller came swooping in and claimed her for himself. In a matter of weeks, he dominated her and won her trust and her heart. He’d saved her, from her inner pain and from the sadistic madman who wanted her for himself.
He saved her. Not me.
I failed her. I don’t deserve her. The brutal mantra played through my mind, making the center of my chest ache.
For a few days, Chloe had distracted me from the pain. Focusing on her needs had given me a sense of purpose.
But now she’d reminded me of my loss again, and I’d responded with cruelty. Not only had I reminded her of her trauma; I’d made her feel like I didn’t respect her career.
Fuck. She didn’t deserve that.
I had to make things right.
I flagged down our server and ordered a pizza to-go, slipping him twenty dollars to make it fast. I waited impatiently for the food, my fingers knotting with anxiety. I hated the thought of Chloe crying alone in her hotel room. Crying because I’d hurt her.
Finally, I got the pizza, paid the bill, and hurried out of the restaurant. I quickly made my way into her hotel, using my FBI credentials at the front desk to get her room number. Within five minutes, I was at her door. Sucking in a fortifying breath, I knocked.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“Dex. I need to talk to you.”
“What if I don’t want to talk to you?”
“I came to apologize. And I brought pizza. You need to eat something.”
The door opened a crack, and she glared out at me. Her dark eyes were shot through with red, and mascara was smudged beneath them.
“You’re crying. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She swiped away a fresh tear. “I’m not upset. I’m crying because I’m angry,” she said hotly.
“You’re not sad?”
“I’m pissed,” she hissed. “But I will take that pizza.”
I stared at her for a moment, befuddled. Then I held out the cardboard box like an offering. She snatched it from my hands and tried to close the door.
I braced my hand against the wood, stopping her short.
“Wait. I don’t want to leave things like this. At least let me apologize.”
“You already said sorry,” she sniffed, another tear falling. She wiped it away with a little growl of annoyance. “Ugh, this is so stupid. I hate angry-crying.”
“You shouldn’t be crying at all. This is my fault. Let me in. We should talk.”
“Like was talked in the restaurant?” she flung at me. “I thought you didn’t want me to interview you for my research,” she placed furious emphasis on the two words.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” I said heavily, shaking my head. “I just didn’t like talking about that part of my life, and I lashed out. Feeling like you were asking me about it for your story…” I
didn’t want to say just how much that had stung. I hadn’t at all enjoyed being picked apart and examined dispassionately. “Anyway, I really am sorry.”
She studied me for a long moment, reading my face. Finally, she blew out a sigh. “I didn’t mean to pry. And I wasn’t asking you about her for my story. I wanted to know more about you. You’re one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met. And I don’t just mean that from a writer’s point of view. Sometimes I get carried away. I’m sorry, too.”
Relief rolled through me, and I gave her a small smile. “Now that you don’t hate me, would you mind sharing that pizza? I’m hungry.”
What I didn’t say was that I found her interesting, too. She intrigued me. She was confident, intelligent, and sassy enough to make me want to turn her over my knee and spank her until she melted for me.
She returned my smile almost shyly, taking a step back to let me in.
“It’s kind of a mess in here,” she warned me.
That was an understatement. Clothes were strewn everywhere, spilling out of a huge suitcase and scattering throughout the room as though the whole thing had exploded. Makeup littered the counter, and half a dozen notebooks in various sizes were stacked haphazardly on the desk.
I decided not to comment. It wasn’t like my place was immaculate. Then again, it wasn’t a disaster zone. This was one room she’d occupied for a few days. I shuddered to think what she could do to an entire apartment. I supposed it went along with being a creative type.
She shifted several shirts off the bed and motioned for me to sit beside her.
“I’m starving,” she announced, opening the pizza box and grabbing a slice. “Ow!” She jerked her hand back. “Damn, that’s hot.” She sucked her fingertips into her mouth to soothe the burn.
I found myself staring at her, watching the way her lips pouted around her fingers. A lewd image of sliding my cock into her mouth so she could suck on it flashed across my mind.
As though she could read my thoughts, she blushed and quickly removed her fingers from between her lips with a little popping noise. My dick throbbed at the sound.
Reaching out without thought, I clasped her hand in mine and lifted it to my mouth. Her eyes widened and her breath hitched as I gently blew cool air over her reddened fingertips.
