by Jane Henry
“Honest to God,” Blake grumbled. “I leave you guys in charge for a few months, I think things are fine, and I come back to find bullshit invoices I know nothing about, a fucking church that wants to shut us down that I still don’t know jack about, and God only knows what…”
“It’s from January,” Daphne interrupted, her voice low and toneless. “This is the company that came to plow the parking lots and shovel the sidewalks. You authorized it.”
Blake closed his eyes. Oh. Fuck. Yes, he had.
“And I was about to buzz you to say that Matt and Slay are on their way in. They’ve got some information on the Church of the Highest Prophet to share with you,” Daphne continued in the same flat voice that barely masked her hurt.
Blake sighed. His annoyance evaporated and something colder settled in his gut instead. Remorse. He knew exactly what had wound him up today, and it definitely hadn’t been Daphne or this random invoice. No, it had been the woman who, with one blistering look, had burned all his doubts about his age, his friendship with Slay, and his own readiness for a committed relationship, into nothing but ash.
The same woman who had flown out of his office two nights ago, and hadn’t returned a single fucking one of his phone calls or texts since then.
He scrubbed a hand over his face.
“I’m sorry, Daff,” he told her, meeting her gray eyes squarely. “I’m having a bad day.”
“You were having a bad day yesterday, too,” Daphne reminded him. “You yelled at the bouncers about keeping the loading area clear and scared the shit out of Donnie.”
Blake stifled a snort. Donnie, all six feet and however many inches of muscled bulk of him, had grown up on the rough streets of South Boston, and had cut his teeth working for his older brother, a bookie who used to work out of a bar down on L Street back in the day. Blake was pretty sure he’d have to do more than yell to scare the shit out of Donnie, but he didn’t argue.
“It’s been a shitty week, then,” he told her instead. “I let myself get distracted.”
By a tiny scrap of a woman with eyes like coffee and skin like smooth, creamy silk.
Daphne’s stormy, gray eyes immediately softened and her mouth twisted into a sympathetic grimace as she stepped closer and set the invoice on his desk. “Ah, geez, of course. God. I forget sometimes, you know? Is there anything I can do to help?”
Blake stared at her in confusion for several seconds before light dawned. Jesus. She thought he was upset because he was grieving. Upset about Josie.
And now a new kind of guilt came over him. His evening went from bad to worse.
“Nah, it’s not… it’s not that kind of bad day,” honesty compelled Blake to admit. “It was hard losing Josie, and I’m sure I’ll continue to have tough days every now and then, but that’s not what’s bothering me.”
“Oh. Well, what is it then?” Her eyes were calm and soothing, her tone so full of friendly sympathy that he didn’t have the heart to tell her to back off. “I’m kind of the unofficial therapist in my family, you know? Side benefit to being the youngest. Both of my sisters vent to me all the time about their asshole men and their crazy kids. My mom does it too.”
Daphne, den mother to the world. Blake could see that.
“And, what? You tell them what to do?” Blake asked, leaning back in his chair while one side of his mouth quirked up in a smile he couldn’t suppress.
“Not quite.” Daphne snickered. “Giving orders is more your M.O. than mine, as you know.”
Blake laughed and conceded this point. Daphne was one of the strongest women he knew—she’d endured much in her life, and she didn’t take shit from Blake or anyone else, but she was by nature a submissive.
“So, what’s up?” Daff prompted, when Blake remained silent, lost in his thoughts.
“Huh?”
“Do you want to talk?” she clarified. “About anything? I just listen. And I don’t judge.”
“Thank you, honey,” he told her gently. “But I’m good for now.”
“Okay,” she agreed. “Just remember that I’m here if you need me.” She stood up to leave. “I’ll let you know when Slay and Matt get here.”
Blake nodded despite the fact that he had a security feed on his computer, and would likely know they were here before Daphne did. He was touched by her offer of friendship. “Thanks again.”
Daphne nodded and turned for the door, her red-blonde hair swinging like a sleek curtain down to her hips as she walked, though Blake hardly noticed. His attention had turned, as it always fucking did, back to Elena.
He grabbed his phone from his pocket. Ten messages, he’d sent. Ten messages in two days, and she hadn’t replied once. He’d called her twice, but she hadn’t answered. He’d even logged on and messaged her as MisterHaven, wondering if she’d be more likely to talk online, but she hadn’t. Things couldn’t go on like this. His patience, never his finest quality to begin with, was wearing fucking thin.
Blake tossed his phone on the desk and turned to his computer, clicking over to the security feed and forcing himself to focus. Immediately, a dozen boxes flashed on screen, showing the current situation around each of the twelve primary security cameras. At this time of day, The Club was empty but for a few of the wait staff prepping the bar area for tonight’s after-work revelers. Outside, the employee parking lot was practically deserted, and only the occasional pedestrian strolled past the front entrance. All quiet and peaceful, just the way he liked it.
Unlike the chaos of the other night.
He’d been sitting in this very spot two evenings ago, watching the feeds, when he’d seen Elena striding up the walkway, looking like she owned the place. He’d been annoyed at first. He’d warned Slay to keep his sister away from The Club for her own protection, but Elena either hadn’t gotten the message or hadn’t cared.
Annoyance had faded quickly to amusement, though. Amusement heavily tinged with arousal, because Christ, that woman was twenty pounds of outrageous sex appeal in a five-pound package, from her lush curves, to the perfect symmetry of her face, to the purposeful way she moved.
It was fucked up, but one of the first things he’d ever noticed about Elena was the way she walked. Even months and months ago before he’d ever thought of her in a sexual way, he’d found it fascinating, adorable. Right now, it drove him crazy. The woman never walked when she could stride—her petite legs ate up the ground with the graceful economy of a woman twice her height, her body nearly hummed with contained energy, and her black hair bounced behind her like the tail of a comet.
Only when she’d entered the main bar area had he seen the set cast of her small chin, the banked fire in her eyes. She’d torn through the packed bar room with single-minded focus, headed in his direction, and his amusement had faded altogether. What had set the firecracker alight this time? Whatever it was, the sight of her had made his heart beat in double time.
The self-confidence that had radiated from her was both a weapon and a shield, deflecting the interest of every guy in the bar like a bulletproof vest, a veritable neon sign screaming Do Not Approach. She’d reminded him of a kitten who thought she was a tiger, flipping off the biggest, toughest bouncers in Boston like they were pesky flies, slamming her way through his office door as though she hadn’t just entered the inner sanctum of the best-known dominant in Boston.
Christ, what was it about her take-no-prisoners approach to life that made him so insane for her? He was a dominant, for God’s sake. Given his experience, the reputation he’d built, he was fucking king of the dominants. And yet, it was no sweet, meek, natural submissive like his Josie who held him in thrall. It was the woman who challenged him with every breath she took.
Make me pay… Make me fucking pay.
Those were the words she’d yelled at him, screamed at him, before he’d taken off his belt and applied it to her ass. Marked her as his. Even now, her words had him fighting a rush of arousal, spreading his palm on the desk, just where Elena’s cheek had la
in that night.
And that’s when realization struck him.
He had been going about this all wrong. He’d been sitting back, waiting for her to reply to his texts like a dumbass teenager. He’d been waiting for her to handle her freak-out, to get a grip on whatever the hell had been riding her since the moment he’d pulled out of her sweet pussy the other night, when he’d told her he’d take care of her and she’d turned to him with hard, distant eyes and whispered, “I can’t do this right now,” before running out the door.
He’d fully expected her to sort her shit and come to him when she was ready.
In other words, he’d allowed himself to be deflected as easily as those guys at the bar.
He slapped his palm on the desk, pissed off at his own stupidity, as the certainty of it settled in his bones. He knew better than this. Instead, he’d allowed his submissive—and there was not a doubt in his mind that Elena would be his submissive—to call the fucking shots.
He’d let himself forget that Elena had said other things two nights ago, also. She’d promised to be honest with him. She’d promised to put her cards on the table. She’d broken those promises.
Wonder if she’s still feeling the sting from my belt, he mused.
He’d have to make sure she did.
But before that, they would fucking talk.
Movement on the security feed caught Blake’s eye as a big-ass truck pulled into the employee lot. Slay had arrived.
Blake blew out a deep breath and turned the monitor off.
He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that everything would fall into place just because he wanted it to. Slay would clean his clock if he knew what had happened on this desk two nights ago, and Blake wouldn’t entirely blame him. He and Slay were friends, even brothers of a sort, and he owed the man an explanation and some reassurances. But he also wouldn’t allow Slay to dictate how Blake lived his life—or, for that matter, how Elena lived hers.
Life was fucking short. That was the lesson he’d learned through Josie’s illness and through seeing his friends struggle to find love and happiness over the past few years. Finding someone who fired him up the way Elena did was a miracle he hadn’t even known to look for. He wasn’t going to let anything screw that up—not Slay’s objections, not Elena’s fears, not his own stupidity.
He’d spent the past few months in a daze, letting other people call the shots. But Blake had been reminded in a hundred small ways over the past few weeks that things simply ran more smoothly when he took charge.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Two seconds after Daphne buzzed to announce his arrival, Slay gave a cursory knock to Blake’s open office door and stepped inside.
“Blake, man, what’s up?” he greeted with a nod.
Blake stood, extending a hand that Slay took with a powerful grip.
“Not much, brother,” Blake said. “You?”
“Allie,” Slay said, holding up the phone in his other hand with an expression that was half frustration, half amusement. “She’s been sending me cryptic texts for the last fucking hour, asking me when I’m gonna be home and telling me she has plans for tonight.”
Blake sat back down and tried to smother a smile. “Ah. And do I wanna ask what her plans are?”
Slay shook his head. “You can ask, but I don’t have a clue. Let me tell you, though, what I’ve got planned involves reminding my woman exactly what happens to a little girl who teases her Daddy.”
Blake chuckled. “You’re a lucky man, Slater.”
Slay’s eyes shone, and his smile burned bright. “Fucking right, I am,” he said softly. Then his eyes sharpened. “Matt here yet?”
Blake shook his head. “You’re the first to arrive.”
Slay nodded and looked down at his phone again, typing as he spoke. “I think Matt’s gotta get Frankie to the sitter before he comes. That’s fine. We’ve got a couple of hours before we have to be anywhere.”
“We?” Blake repeated.
“Yeah, me and Elena. She rode in with me and I’m driving her to work tonight—she’s got a night shift. She’s got something to tell you guys.”
Shit. Elena was here? Blake had been dying to talk to her, yes, but he’d imagined their first meeting after the blistering hot sex a few days ago would involve a lot more privacy and a lot less Slay. Blake was on a hair trigger, ready to combust from the potent combination of arousal and frustration that Elena always seemed to stir in him, and that would not do with Elena’s brother around.
A second later, just as Blake steeled himself to see her, Elena stepped into the room.
She looked pale. That was Blake’s first thought. Pale and quiet, as though the life that normally blazed inside her had dimmed since the last time he’d seen her. The dark pink scrubs she wore seemed to dwarf her small frame, she clutched her purse strap as though it were a lifeline, and she crossed the doorway with hesitant steps, as though uncertain whether she was welcome here.
His hands twitched with the need to stand up and grab her, pull her into his lap, and comfort her. He clenched them into fists instead.
Elena hadn’t met his eyes, but she caught the way his hands clenched and she swallowed hard. She lifted her face so that her eyes could focus on the wall just over his shoulder.
“Uh, hey,” she said, her fingers splaying in a little wave.
“Elena,” Blake acknowledged. He’d deliberately made his voice just a little deeper, just a little more commanding than usual, and as he’d expected, her eyes flew to his, responding to the command without her conscious thought.
He watched as emotions swam in her coffee-colored eyes. Fear. Fatigue. Embarrassment. Relief. And it was this last one that gave him hope.
He looked at Slay, who was immersed in his phone. “Slater, you mind doing a quick favor for me? Private room three has been rented out for tonight. I asked Donnie and Joe to set it up with all the requested equipment, but I’ve been up to my eyeballs in paperwork and I haven’t had a chance to do the walkthrough. Could you spare a second?”
Slay looked up from his phone and blinked. “Yeah, of course.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Blake said with a nod. “Daphne has the paperwork. “
Slay stood and headed for the door, requiring Elena to step closer to Blake’s desk to let him by. “Hey! Avoid hassling Blake while I’m gone,” Slay warned her as he passed. “Try not to jump all over him the second I leave, yeah?”
Elena’s pale face flushed nearly purple in an instant, and she sputtered in outrage. “I don’t… I wouldn’t… What the hell, Alex?”
Slay chuckled to himself as he walked out the door. Blake ran a hand over his mouth to stifle his own laughter. And then her furious eyes found his. And Blake didn’t want to laugh anymore.
He was on his feet and heading for the door a second later, and closing it firmly. He hesitated for a single second before deciding not to lock it. A locked door would raise too many questions that he didn’t want to answer today. Then he whirled to face the woman who’d been haunting him for weeks.
“What do you say, Elena?” he mocked softly. “Feel like jumping all over me?”
Elena’s eyes flew to his, and she backed away as he advanced on her, one step, then two, until her ass hit the edge of his desk and she had nowhere to go. She swallowed hard. He took a step closer, boxing her in.
She licked her lips, took a deep breath, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Blake’s head went back and he raised one eyebrow. “Sorry,” he repeated thoughtfully, as though testing the weight of the word on his tongue. “Sorry. Hmm. That can cover so many things, Elena. I’ll need you to be more specific. Sorry you barged into my office the other night spoiling for a fight? Sorry you begged me to take my belt to your luscious ass? Sorry that you pleaded for me to own that sweet pussy with my cock? Tell me, honey, what are you sorry for?”
Her eyes had grown wider with each word he spoke, and then impossibly hotter. He could see the pulse p
ounding in her neck, feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts against his chest as she panted, but she said nothing. And then he lifted his hand to touch her cheekbone, his fingertip tracing the blush there, and the words seemed to fall out of her.
“None of those things,” she whispered. “I’m not sorry I came here. I’m not sorry we had sex. I am definitely not sorry you striped my ass.”
She darted a look from his eyes to his mouth, then licked her lips, and Blake fought the urge to grab her, to kiss the life out of her, to use his lips and teeth and tongue to punish her for walking out, for leaving him worried and frustrated and pissed off for the last two days. But then she spoke again.
“A-and I’m not sorry I left, either,” she told him, her spine straightening, even as his eyes narrowed. “I was overwhelmed, and I just… I couldn’t stay.”
“You left before we settled a fucking thing,” he reminded her. “You left while your screams were still echoing in my ears, while I could still taste you on my tongue.”
She pushed her lips together, visibly fighting against the effect his words were having on her, but he could see the way her eyes went glassy, the way her body swayed against him.
“And you stayed away for two days,” he concluded, his voice a low growl as he struggled to control his temper. “Two fucking days, with no word. Do you know what that did to me?”
As he watched, her gorgeous brown eyes filled with tears. “That’s the part I’m sorry about,” she said in a small voice. “I couldn’t talk to you the other night. Truly. I was too confused and amped up. I’d had the longest week, and the worst day, and I… I just hadn’t expected this, us, to ever really happen, you know?” She paused and ran a finger under each eye, catching the moisture there. “You have a crush on someone, or in my case, on what you believe to be multiple someones,” she clarified with a short laugh, “for the longest time, but it’s all just a fantasy. There’s the smoking hot dom who’s the definition of unattainable, the guy I’ve wanted since forever ago, but who treats me like a pesky kid sister. And then there’s the sweet guy I talk to online, the one who tries to take care of me, but he can never be more than just a fantasy because, God, I don’t even know what his hair color is, or where he lives, or when his birthday is, or what kind of kink he’s into. And then suddenly, holy shit, I’m having sex with you, and it’s both of you—you and MisterHaven, all at once. The guy who revs my engine and the guy who’s stealing my heart. And I was all worried about doing things wrong, about where we would go from here, about whether I could really handle this kind of relationship. It was just… too fast,” she whispered.
