by Marcia James
* * * * *
“I’m going to die from clogged arteries if I don’t get a new partner soon,” Domino grumbled as she backed the two-tone Volkswagon out of her garage.
Why did Meyers enjoy meeting in fast-food joints? A platter of cholesterol with a side order of grease wasn’t her idea of a healthy supper, especially on her day off from the club. Dom threw the VW Beetle into first and popped the clutch in a vain effort to burn rubber. She loved her polka-dot car, but it wasn’t going to set any land speed records.
She drove by the black Jeep Cherokee that had been parked on her street most of the day. The SUV’s tinted windows reflected the gray sky, making it impossible to tell if the vehicle was occupied. The Jeep’s D.C. license plates were covered with winter road grime but so were the plates of most cars on the road in February. Maybe one of her neighbors had a relative visiting, Dom thought, feeling slightly uneasy. In her job, it made sense to be aware of any changes in her environment.
As she turned out of her suburb, Domino tried to finesse a little warmth out of her car’s heater. Good thing Smokey wasn’t making this trip with her. The VW’s interior was cold enough to please a flock of penguins. Since the club hadn’t scheduled her for that evening, Dom had left Smokey at her house where the spoiled pooch was happily gnawing on a rawhide chew and watching Animal Planet on cable television.
Taking the back roads to Arlington, Dom enjoyed the ride despite the winter storm clouds hanging low in the gathering dusk. After yesterday’s Valentine weirdness, she was glad to have an evening off. Of course, the previous day hadn’t been totally unpleasant, thanks to Dalton’s session. She smiled.
What was it about that man? Sure he was attractive with a to-drool-for body but he paid money to be topped by a dominatrix. Okay, so, as the dominatrix in question, Domino probably shouldn’t be casting the first stone. But Dalton’s kinky sexual tastes weren’t on her top ten list of things she looked for in a date.
Why was she thinking about Dalton and dating anyway? Even after she’d wrapped up this assignment, Dom doubted she’d pursue a relationship with her client. She could just imagine approaching him. “Hey, Dalton, surprise! I’m not a dominatrix. How ’bout we forget all the tickling and humiliation and grab a sundae at the Baskin Robbins?” Yeah, she was sure he’d jump at an offer like that.
But there was just something compelling about Mistress Bella’s first customer. Dalton intrigued and challenged her. When he’d run his hands and lips over her legs, the sensations had been electric. Dom grew warm thinking about the scene and couldn’t blame her flushed state on her VW’s rattling heater. What would it be like to have Dalton’s lips and hands on other, more sensitive parts of her body?
“Stop daydreaming,” she ordered herself. “It’s never going to happen.”
Besides, Domino was through dating men who were only attracted to her body. Any chemistry between Dalton and her was due to his reaction to Mistress Bella’s skin-tight outfits and the games they played in S&M Room Five. She doubted he wondered what was behind her mask, much less what was in her head or her heart. And she deserved a man who cared about the real Dominique and not just the external package.
She turned the corner onto Arlington’s fast food alley and spotted the Taco Bell a block down on the right. The place looked crowded but there were several parking spots along the side. Domino slowed, took a right into the parking lot and put Dalton from her mind. She ignored the pang of regret over their lack of a future and tried not to wish they’d met under other circumstances. It wasn’t meant to be.
Dom slipped the Beetle into a spot near the Taco Bell’s side door and turned off the ignition. Thanks to the bright ceiling lights inside the place, she could see Meyers sitting at a table by the window. He was chowing down on the first in a stack of tacos. Nice of him to wait for her. But then, Meyers had always been short on manners. Sighing, Dom grabbed her purse, got out of her car and entered the restaurant.
Several minutes later, she carried a tray holding a taco salad to Meyers’ table. Her partner glanced up as she set down the tray and slid onto her chair. Since his mouth was overflowing with taco, Meyers nodded in greeting.
“Good day to you too,” Dom said, noticing her sarcasm was lost on the man. She lifted her fork and began to pick at the salad. “Got any news for me?”
Meyers swallowed and took a gulp from his super-sized soft drink. “Sure, babe, I got something for you.” He smirked and dropped his eyes toward his lap.
“Very funny,” she said in a bored tone. “But I didn’t bring my magnifying glass so you might as well keep your pants zipped.” Ignoring the quick flush of anger that swept up his neck, Dom continued. “How about the case? Anything new?”
Her partner could shovel out the shit but wasn’t particularly adept at handling it. For several seconds, Dom wondered if he would answer her question.
“I brought transcript copies of some of the Cabazone family calls,” Meyers said, a mulish look on his freckled face. “We think it’s Clyde Salvi on the line with Dougie Cabazone. Unfortunately, there’s not enough here to raid the sex club.”
“What makes you think Salvi’s the caller?” Dom scooped up a bite of her salad.
“References to the Xecutive Branch,” Meyers said. “Dougie informed the caller he was recommending some friends to the sex club and hoped they would get special treatment.” Her partner lowered his voice and spoke with a verbal leer. “You know, Dom, I’d love to hear what constitutes special treatment at a joint like that. Care to share the details?”
“If you want someone to talk dirty to you, partner, I suggest you call a nine hundred sex line.” Domino took a long sip of her soda without breaking eye contact with Meyers. “Did you say you have transcript copies for me?”
Frowning, Meyers reached next to his chair and began to lift up a large Godiva chocolate box out of a handle bag. Domino motioned for him to stop.
“Finish your meal and then pass it to me,” she instructed.
Meyers nodded. “Figured it would look like I was giving my squeeze some high-class chocolate,” he said. “Just a day late for Valentine’s.”
“Be still my heart,” Dom said. “I assume you already ate the chocolate and left me just the transcripts?”
He laughed, a dry “ha, ha, ha” that irritated her ears. “Wouldn’t want you to get fat and have to shoehorn yourself into those dominatrix outfits.” Meyers ran his eyes over her chest. “Of course, if you ever need any help lacing up a corset or something, you just call your partner. I’ll be right over.”
Domino speared a piece of lettuce with her plastic fork. The man just never gave up. “What a generous offer,” she said with all the false sweetness she could muster. It wouldn’t do to attract any unwanted attention from other Taco Bell diners. “And don’t hesitate to call me if you ever want help getting your head out of your ass.”
Dalton pulled the black Jeep into the side parking lot of the Taco Bell. He’d staked out Domino’s house most of the afternoon and then tailed her to this fast-food place. One of the oldest restaurants on the street, the Taco Bell didn’t have a drive-through. Not knowing if she was getting a meal to go or eating in, he’d circled the block several times. When she hadn’t returned to her VW, he’d decided to take advantage of having tinted windows to park right outside the fast-food joint.
His hands were slick on the steering wheel. Dalton turned down the SUV’s heater, pretending his damp palms were due to the warm air and not the thought of seeing Dom without her mask. When she’d driven away from her house, he’d gotten a quick look at her profile. But he wanted…needed to see her face.
He scanned the restaurant’s side windows. And there she was, sitting at a table with a burly, red-haired guy. For several seconds, Dalton simply held his breath, mentally urging Domino to turn her head. And then, as if she’d heard his pleas, she looked away from her dinner companion and stared out the window into the falling dusk.
Damn. She was a knockout with so
ulful eyes, the cheekbones of a model and a generous mouth that had haunted his thoughts. Her strong nose kept her features from being cute and contributed to the exotic sensuousness of her face. Dom’s Mediterranean ancestry was clear, adding to her earthy appeal. Her lips curved into an amused smile as she looked out into the night and Dalton’s body responded.
He recalled his nightmare—could he really call it that?—and how she’d moved under him, arching and moaning. As he stared at her striking face, he remembered how the dream Domino had removed her mask, revealing her emotions as well as a sensual countenance that blended now with the real one before him. Dalton again experienced that sense of rightness, of familiarity, with this woman he didn’t really know.
As he watched, Domino glanced back at her companion and said something. The unsmiling man answered her. Dalton wished he could hear the conversation but the risk of being recognized if he entered the restaurant was too high. Dom turned her concentration to her food and captured what appeared to be lettuce on her fork. As she raised the bite to her mouth, Dalton noticed the unguarded look on the man’s face. He was staring at Domino like a starving dog eyes a steak.
A wave of angry possessiveness swept Dalton. Right or wrong, he wanted to plant a fist in the man’s gut. Was he her boyfriend? Or was it a case of unrequited lust? Dom lifted her eyes again and the guy masked his feelings. Maybe Domino didn’t return his affections. The possibility made Dalton feel better.
After talking for several more minutes, Dom took her tray to a nearby trash can, discarded her food and returned to the table. The man handed her a gold box, Godiva chocolates, Dalton guessed. With a smile as plastic as the fast-food restaurant’s forks, Domino accepted the gift. Then without any show of affection, she gathered her purse and walked toward the exit.
Dalton quickly threw his car into reverse and backed out of the parking space. By the time Domino reached the Taco Bell’s side door, he’d slipped his Jeep behind a delivery truck parked at the rear of the restaurant. Rolling down his side window, Dalton listened to the distinctive cough and sputter of the VW’s engine coming to life. When Dom drove the Beetle past his hiding spot, he waited until she was almost out of sight before following her again.
Instead of heading into D.C. to the club, Dom retraced her route back to her house. Apparently, she had the evening off. From down the block, Dalton watched as she drove into her garage and closed the automatic door. Was she in for the night? Should he stakeout her house for a couple more hours? Maybe he should have waited at the Taco Bell and followed her dinner companion. Who was the guy and did he have any connection to the Xecutive Branch?
As his car engine idled, Dalton weighed his options. He was exhausted and hungry. As Suzi would say, he was burning his candle at both ends. Between his assigned cases and his unofficial investigation into his partner’s murder, he was working twenty hours a day. And getting nowhere fast. With a sigh, he put the SUV in gear and headed back to Jason’s house. He’d munch down on a couple of cold-cut sandwiches and call Suzi after her shift. Maybe she’d have some new leads.
As Dalton drove, the memory of Domino’s fascinating face had a new hunger rising. At least the evening hadn’t been a total waste. He’d finally seen the woman behind Mistress Bella’s mask.
Chapter Eleven
“Thanks, Fred,” Suzi said. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“No problem,” the club’s maintenance man answered. “Usually I have to unclog sinks, not fix faucets. And don’t get me started on the hot tubs.”
Suzi watched the squat, balding man wipe his hands on his white overalls before packing up his tools. He seemed so incongruous among the room’s New Age décor and soft music. But Fred was good at his job and had arrived just minutes after Clyde Salvi called for a repairman. It seemed as if everyone at the club jumped when Salvi barked an order.
“You wouldn’t believe how often someone wears edible underwear in a hot tub,” Fred continued. “Those things dissolve into a gunky mess that clogs the drain.” He closed his toolbox and hefted it with his left hand. “Let me know if that faucet starts dripping again, okay?”
“Will do,” Suzi answered, imagining melting candy panties.
The maintenance man walked out the door, leaving behind the pungent aroma of tobacco smoke, cheap aftershave and engine oil. Not a desirable olfactory ambiance for a massage room. Suzi glanced at her watch. She had several minutes before her next appointment. Time for an emergency scent makeover.
She lit the vanilla candles arranged around the room, dimmed the wall sconces and opened the club-supplied aromatherapy kit. Fascinated with the idea that certain odors could elicit specific responses, Suzi had already studied the scent guide included with the kit. Maybe she would choose something soothing like lavender. Suzi considered her options. There was the essential oil itself or the linen mist, which could be sprayed directly on the massage table sheets.
A sound or maybe sixth sense had her turning toward the door. Calvin stood there watching her. For two heartbeats, she simply stared back until he broke eye contact.
“Hi,” Suzi said, embarrassed at the breathiness in her voice. So Calvin was her next appointment. He was just a client, so she shouldn’t be feeling this thrill of pleasure.
“Hi. I’ll just…” He pointed to the changing area.
“That’d be great,” she said.
Calvin walked to the dressing alcove and disappeared behind the curtain. Suzi stared after him and then smacked herself on the side of the head. What was she? Sixteen with a crush? Real smart for a detective in the middle of a homicide investigation. Geez.
She turned back to the aromatherapy kit and reached for the lavender linen spray. But as if it had a mind of its own, her hand snatched up the bottle marked “jasmine”. Jasmine for sensuality. Ignoring the irritating whine of her common sense, Suzi liberally misted the jasmine linen spray on the sheets.
Pushing back the dressing room curtain, Calvin moved toward the massage table. He had a towel wrap around his waist but his torso, arms and legs were bare. Suzi was afraid she’d drool. Sure, she’d been without male companionship for a while…okay, a couple years. But this man attracted her like Starbucks coffee after an all-night stakeout.
“Smells nice in here,” Calvin said, climbing on the table.
“Just some aromatherapy magic,” Suzi joked.
Calvin lay facedown, with his head cradled by the doughnut table extension and his arms relaxed along his sides. Suzi tried not to notice his sexy ears. Boy, she had it bad.
“Relax and breathe naturally,” she said, trying to take her own advice. “And keep your backbone straight.” Suzi ran her hand from his head down the flat plane of his neck to his shoulders, feeling him tense under her touch. “Trust me. I’ll smooth away this stress.”
Facing her display of massage products, Suzi found the jasmine-scented oil—the oil used for couples’ massages…the scent for lovers. Stop it. Get off that line of thinking. She wasn’t here to seduce the man, for Pete’s sake. It was just that the sheets were already sprayed with jasmine mist and she didn’t want to mix scents. She rolled her eyes at her self-justification and turned to the table.
Calvin lay waiting, his strong, dark body served up like a feast for the senses. The smooth brown expanse of his skin was disturbed by the large scars bracketing his knee, but to Suzi’s eyes, the marks just contributed to his warrior-like image. And like a battle-worn soldier, Calvin embodied sadness, a bone-deep weariness that made her want to bring him some peace.
“The massage oil is warm,” Suzi cautioned as she approached the table. “The jasmine is, uh, stimulating and the peppermint-menthol base will make your skin tingle. This helps the muscles unclench.”
Calvin nodded slightly and she poured a little of the oil across his shoulders. Great shoulders, she thought, as she rhythmically massaged his tight muscles. Using her thumbs, she worked the oil onto the back of his neck, following the tension to the base of his skull. The table extension muffl
ed the sound slightly, but she heard Calvin groan.
God, she wanted to kiss his neck and nuzzle those ears until he turned over and took her into his arms and— Damn. She’d known jasmine could stimulate sexual urges. Why hadn’t she realized the scent might work on her as well as Calvin?
He felt her hands hesitate then start massaging again in hypnotic swirls. Her firm, slender fingers—magic fingers—traced patterns on his back, leaving sensitized skin in their wake. He’d lie here forever if she’d just keep touching him.
Alarms sounded in Calvin’s pleasure-fogged mind. He had a job to do, a job requiring clear, focused thought. There was misinformation to plant so the FBI could trace the classified data pipeline from the Xecutive Branch to foreign governments. The massage was great but he couldn’t let it sidetrack him.
Calvin cleared his throat and spoke up so she’d hear him through the head cushion. “That feels wonderful. You wouldn’t believe the stress I’m under at the State Department.”
She made a sympathetic noise and her hands moved down his back, smoothing the oil from his spine to his sides. Calvin’s libido, numbed by years of grief, stirred with the erotic movement of her fingers on his flesh. Gritting his teeth, he forced his attention back to his assignment.
“I’m working on a project right now that’s critical to our allies,” he said. “And the deadline’s a killer.”
Suzi leaned down and spoke quietly. “I’d ask you for details but I know you can’t talk about your job. Besides, you should try to put your work out of your mind while you’re here—to help you relax.”
Calvin was glad the table extension hid his surprise. She wasn’t taking the bait. He’d been sure she’d push for information, try to wheedle secrets out of him. Of all the foreign nationals working at the club, could Suzi be on the up-and-up?
