What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6)

by Maddie Taylor

  “I don’t see how that makes a difference.”

  His hand came up to hold her face still, his brown eyes flashing heatedly. “I’m only going to ask once more. Did he touch you?”

  “No! He didn’t even kiss me and was a perfect gentleman.” The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on her.

  For a split second, relief washed over his features and his head dipped slightly. She waited expectantly, but to her disappointment, a kiss didn’t come. His expression went blank as he set her on her feet.

  “Get dressed. We’re going to be late.”

  “Whose fault is that?”

  “Don’t give me any shit, Angie. I’m not in the mood.” The door slammed in his wake. Outraged, she grabbed the nearest thing she could find and flung it toward where he’d last been. Unfortunately, the small throw pillow struck the closed door with a completely dissatisfying swish and did nothing to appease her anger.

  “Don’t lose your heart to me,” she mimicked in a poor imitation of his deep voice. “Fat chance.” She stomped to the bathroom grumbling about him running hot and cold. It was driving her nuts.

  In minutes, she was dressed in jeans and a nice top—she was meeting other Rossi team members and wanted to look half-way decent—then she slid her feet into her sandals, hooked her holstered gun on her belt and grabbed her purse. T was waiting by the door in the same nonchalant pose, arms crossed, broad shoulder against the door jamb, but now he had a pissed off look on his face.

  She stopped and mirrored his pose. Putting as much feeling into her glare, she hoped he could read her righteous indignation.

  When he pushed away from the wall and opened the door, he waited for her to precede him. She didn’t move.

  “We’re late. Is there a problem?”

  As if he didn’t know! Too ticked off to answer, her dark brows slanted into a fierce frown.

  “Apparently not. Shall we go then?”

  She tilted her head and tried to balance out her temper.

  “You’re not moving, Angie.”

  She blinked, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

  “By what?”

  “I was trying to imagine you with only one personality, but it was a stretch.”

  She brushed by him, leaving him staring after her. She ignored the tension rolling off of him in waves and walked quickly down the hall toward the stairs. By the time she hit the second floor landing, he was on her heels.

  His hand hooked her elbow and spun her around. “What the hell did that mean?”

  “You’re a smart guy. Figure it out.”

  “If you’re a smart girl, you’ll explain.”

  She took a step forward, stopping a mere fraction from his chest and rose up on her toes. Still inches from his face in her flats, the proximity she gained made her feel a modicum better. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. You want me, then you don’t. You give me away one minute and want me back the next. First you tell me not to lose my heart to you, then you rip it out and stomp on it. Make up your mind, Minelli. What’s it gonna be?”

  He didn’t answer. Staring at her silently. An icy wave, swept over her.

  “Well, if you don’t have an answer, stay away from me until you do.” She tried to continue on down the stairs, but he held her still, both hands wrapped around her upper arms.

  “Let me go.”

  “Angie—”

  “Don’t.” She twisted free, more likely, he let her go. That hurt too. She bounded down the stairs, but paused halfway. With her back to him, she spoke. “Let’s keep this professional as we agreed from the start.”

  “That’s gonna be difficult tomorrow night. Did you forget the carousel?”

  Shit! “I’ll call George.”

  Once again, she didn’t think before she spoke and realized too late her big mistake. He was on her in a blink, his big body plastering her to the wall. “Like hell you will.” T’s growl preceded his mouth opening wide over hers, consuming her, his tongue thrusting fiercely inside.

  Powerless against his pull, she sank into him, her fingers curling into her palms, clenching handfuls of his tee.

  His phone alarmed in his pocket.

  Snapped back to reality, she flattened her hands and pushed against his chest. At the same time, he lifted his head and roared his frustration to the wall over her head. “Fuck!” He stepped back, his fingers diving into his hair, raking it back. “They’re calling for us. We’ll talk more about this later.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you later, or ever for that matter.”

  “Tough.”

  She scowled at him. “Fine. But call my secretary and make an appointment for that talk, say… when hell freezes over.”

  He took her hand and started them back down the stairs. “Don’t be a bitch, Angie. It doesn’t look good on you.”

  She flinched, wrenching her hand, but he didn’t let go.

  “You know, T. Women aren’t naturally bitchy. It’s men that make them that way.”

  He drew them to a stop, tipping his chin down and meeting her angry gaze. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

  “Yes, it was.” Still fuming, she didn’t give him an inch.

  “Can we call a truce and get through this mission? When we get back to Texas, we’ll find a way to work together.”

  With her mouth set in annoyance, she considered his proposed cease-fire. After a moment, she nodded. “Truce,” she agreed, adding, “but you pissed me off royally, T.”

  “I get that.”

  “Don’t do it again.”

  “Sorry, darlin’. That’s a promise if given, I’d surely break.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Beaten, raped, a stab wound to the chest, she was found in a dumpster by waste management in Reseda.”

  The pictures were gruesome, even to Angie, who’d enough horrifying crime scene photos to last a life time. In these, the young woman’s face was swollen and discolored, her hair dark with blood making Elaine Danson unrecognizable. She’d carried ID, her purse strangely left with her body. The killer obviously wanted her to be identified. Angie closed her eyes, breathing deep to quell the nausea.

  T curled his fingers around her thigh. He’d taken the vacant seat beside her when there were plenty of others. She hadn’t wanted him there, but now she was glad he was.

  “Do you need a minute?”

  She shook her head.

  Kieran Finnegan, the lead Rossi operative in L.A., rose and poured her some water. If she hadn’t been told his name, he wouldn’t have been able to deny his heritage the moment he opened his mouth and spoke in his smooth, rolling Irish accent. T had introduced him as Cap’s counterpart in L.A., although with the company bearing his name, Tony Rossi was the CEO and oversaw it all.

  She smiled her thanks to the handsome man as he set the glass in front of her. A taller, hotter version of Kevin Ryan, an actor-crush she’d maintained since an obscure TV series Cooper had been canceled, he had the same dark hair—his wavier from being overlong, with a hint of red that made it gleam auburn under the lights—and the same startling green eyes. She’d yet to see a Rossi man, here or at home who wasn’t a ten. It played havoc with her libido, especially since T was an unarguable eleven.

  After she took a drink, which somehow trickled passed the lump in her throat, she gave her full attention to the detective, John, something or other. She hadn’t caught his last name when Kieran had introduced him, still on edge from her scene with T and the horrible news that their serial kidnapping case had turned into a murder investigation. But now, she focused more sharply as he gave the run down on the first, and probably not the last, dead Decadence submissive.

  “He’s stepped up his game. The first two victims were a month apart, three weeks to the next, and the one last Saturday followed by only two weeks.” Kieran’s brogue rumbled and was soothing on her nerves, she could have relaxed and listened to him speak all day if she weren’t so freaked out over the entire mission
.

  “Are you ready for tomorrow night, Miss Hixson?” the older detective asked, his dark snappy eyes looking out from his sun-roughed face. “If he follows this escalated pattern, odds are he’ll strike again this weekend.”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

  “That’s not true,” T interjected. “She’s new, has had minimal submissive training, and only one night to draw the perps attention. There’s no guarantee he’s taken the bait. Tonight and Saturday are crucial.”

  “Agreed,” Eric stated. “We’ve got security good to go and we’ll have tracking devices on her person.”

  “Not in my shoes or clothing, I hope,” Angie quipped in a nervous attempt at a joke, but no one laughed.

  “We’ve got this covered,” T responded gently.

  Kieran slid a black velvet box across the table. When she didn’t open it, T did it for her revealing dainty pearl drop earrings.

  “Put these in now and don’t take them out until the mission is done.” He took them out of the box and laid them in her palm.

  There was one more black velvet box. T opened that one, too. Wrinkling her nose, she slipped the filigree toe ring on her right second toe complaining under her breath, “So yesterday.”

  When she sat back up, five sets of worried male eyes were upon her.

  “I’m good, really. Let’s catch this jack weed so I can go home and get back to normal investigations, like cheating scumbag husbands and moms who embezzle bake sale money from the PTA.”

  “Darlin’, Tony Rossi wouldn’t touch either of those cases,” T murmured.

  “Or Kieran Finnegan,” the L.A. director concurred.

  “Even so,” she sighed. “A girl can hope for normal.”

  *****

  Following the meeting at Rossi, Angie managed to escape another face-off with T thanks to Val. She’d been at the office dropping off something for Eric. They’d talked, and when she found out Angie hadn’t had breakfast, she invited her to lunch and shopping.

  She drove to nearby Beverly Grove and took her to an Asian café where they shared entrees. Val’s ramen and spicy miso pork and her Kimichi chicken fried rice, both of which had a kick. They also had the best egg rolls Angie had ever tasted and a shot of sake, something she’d never had.

  As Angie sipped her rice wine and chatted with Val over a long lunch that she’d by no means had the luxury of partaking of while working as a detective for the SAPD, she felt a little guilty. “I feel funny about taking off while we’re in the middle of a murder investigation.”

  “Nonsense.” With a word, the bubbly blonde waved off her concerns. “Working for Rossi you’ll find you’re on call 24/7, so you have to take your down time when you can. You worked late last night, and will again tonight, not to mention this weekend. Besides, this is business. First, you gotta eat and second, you need club wear for tonight and tomorrow. You can’t attract a serial killer in a t-shirt and flip flops.”

  The way she’d said it so calmly, like her assignment was as commonplace as a traffic stop, made Angie laugh.

  “You’re not fazed by this at all, are you?”

  “I am, though I’ve learned to keep it inside. The club member’s use Eric, and me by default, as a barometer. If we freak, they will too. So we keep our freak outs under wraps and save it for each other behind closed doors, no matter what kind of shit storm, excuse my French, we’re grappling with.”

  Angie giggled at the professional using such a term. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of the situation, but you’re French, and possibly the sake, got me tickled.”

  She waved her off. “Eric and all the ex-military men at Rossi are a bad influence, I guess. Or probably, no definitely, it’s the sake.”

  Amusement flickered in the eyes that met hers. She liked Val a lot. “As an ex-cop, I’m used to rough talk, but being a barometer for the entire club, that must be tough.”

  “Not really, although sometimes it can be exhausting. The BDSM world is not without drama.”

  “Yeah, I’m getting that real quick.”

  She grinned. “Sometimes it reminds me of high school with Eric as the principal and me in the counselor role. When word got out that I’m a licensed therapist, the subs started coming to me for advice. As Master Dom, all the members, not only the Doms, take their problems to Eric. Sometimes it’s about rules and such, but ninety-nine percent of the time it’s about relationship woes. Either my Dom won’t commit, my sub can’t come when we scene in public, or I want a threesome, but she doesn’t, what should I do? We try to leave it at the door when we go home, but when we can’t, we support each other. When he’s not being the big, bad, authoritative, scary Master Dom, he’s funny, an excellent listener and best of all, a romantic, which I love. And the sex…” She looked up at Angie, a bit flushed. “Is this too much information? If so, tell me. The members at the club are so free about their sex lives, I forget sometimes.”

  “It’s okay, really. My cousins are in the lifestyle and several friends, so I hear it.”

  “Your cousin is Megan, right? Cap’s wife?”

  “Yeah, and her twin sister Regan is married to another club owner, Rick Spencer.”

  “I’ve met Cap. He’s nice, though rather intimidating.”

  “He can be. I’ve seen it at the club and as an employee a time or two, recently. It’s the military background, I think. Plus, he was an officer.”

  “The need for control, structure and a chain of command. I see that in Eric, too. He was a Marine.”

  “I think that’s why he and Rick, and most of the guys to some extent, let the Dom thing bleed over into their private lives, but the twins don’t seem to mind.”

  Val’s eyes twinkled. “Military or not, that’s all Dom. For some men it comes naturally. It’s ingrained in their personality make up. They can’t power off the possessiveness, the need to protect and defend, or the take charge attitude like a light switch. Although it would be nice for us girls if we could, flip a switch, I mean.”

  Like this morning, when T followed her into her bedroom as though he had every right and demanded to see the damage.

  “The truth is, a good Dom makes it worth putting up with a little bleed over. It’s a give and take with me and Eric, we give what the other needs, and when our time comes, we take back just as much.”

  “So what do you get out of it? If that’s not too personal.”

  “Not at all. I was married and have two wonderful children, but my life was routine. After my husband’s death—”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay, it was years ago. I loved him very much, but it wasn’t until I came to Decadence L.A. and met Eric that I learned how sexually repressed I was. Now, in my forties, a whole new world has opened up for me. Who knew that spanking and electricity, which Eric loves, would do it for me?”

  “Electricity?”

  “Yeah, shocking, isn’t it?” She grinned, shaking her head. “Sorry, I can’t resist telling that joke. Every time I tell someone that my man likes to strap me down and put electrodes on all my naughty places, they make the same face.”

  Angie’s mouth gaped.

  “Yeah,” Val laughed, reaching out to pat her cheek. “That’s the face. Happens every time.” She also reached for the check. “My treat.”

  “No, we’ll split it.”

  “Nope. You have no idea how much leather costs and that’s up next.” She dropped some bills on the table and slid out of the booth. “Save your receipts. Once again, I remind you, this is business. And I have to admit to taking great delight in Rossi buying your kink wear. So no skimping.” Val looped her arm through hers and grinned. “Let’s go get you slutty.”

  As Val drove south toward Culver City, where she knew of what she called a decent leather and fetwear shop, she braked abruptly and took the next side street, turning into an upscale strip mall.

  As Angie got out and slammed the door, she glanced over the row of shops which were more high-end
than she’d expected even for a few blocks from Beverly Hills. “I’ve never seen a leather shop in a strip mall before.”

  She stopped, her hand on the door bearing an all too familiar Victoria’s Secrets. “I’ve changed my mind. We’re not going for the club skank look for you. We’re going to treat the Decadence crowd to a wee bit of class in lace, Angie Hixson style. Come on.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Beyond irritated, T stalked through the doors to the dungeon at eight o’clock. A few members started to give him a wave or a smile in greeting, but turned tail and practically ran in the opposite direction as soon as they got a look at his scowling face, accurately keying into his pissed off mood. The reasons for his foul disposition were too numerous to count.

  Not getting a chance to speak to Angie after the meeting was at the top of the list. She’d up and left with Val without a word, except for a vague text from Val to Eric that they were out for lunch and shopping, to find something for Angie to wear to the club that night. How that had taken eight goddamn hours, he couldn’t fathom. Women!

  Reason number two, they’d left without a security detail. Angie was an ex-cop and could handle herself, however, there was a murderer on the loose. They’d easily rectified the situation and assigned a Rossi man to tail the two women, which neither picked up on the entire day.

  Third, he wasn’t looking forward to another night of watching a stranger put his hands on her. His fingers moved to check the black armband he wore around his bicep. The bright orange DM badge affixed to it was easily seen in the dim light. Eric hadn’t forgotten his request, which would make his close observation of Angie less conspicuous and decrease some of the interruptions from members and kneeling subs.

  He added a fourth reason to his list as soon as he spotted her across the room. She was gorgeous. Standing out like a glittering star in a black sky, she wore a gown of cream-colored satin. It clung to her curves, though not blatantly so, but it was short, coming only to mid-thigh and showing off most of her long shapely legs yet still leaving something to the imagination. Her shoulders were bare except for thin straps holding the shimmering sheath in place. The scooped neck and hemline were edged with delicate black lace. Both drew the eye up top, to the hint of her ample cleavage, not revealed in the fullest extent, but enough to be noticed, and to the bottom where the dark hem attracted attention to her legs. As he looked at them now, he followed the long shapely line down to a pair of sexy high heels with a multitude of black straps that encircled her feet and ankles like restraints.