by Joey W. Hill
“I think there is a difference between chasing a demon ‘down range’ and chasing one in your own backyard. It might require a different level of disclosure at some point. If you get hurt, and I was close enough to stop it from happening, I’m going to be extremely angry with you. I gave you a sign of my trust four weeks ago. I didn’t do it well, but I did it. Can you give me something?”
He sighed, the broad chest lifting and falling beneath her touch. He turned in her arm span, putting his hands on her hips and leaning back against the counter, stretching his legs out on either side of her. “My mother was killed as an example to those in the neighborhood who stood up to the gangs, Janet. She was beaten to death. My sister…they raped and then beat her as well, only she lived. In a way. She had brain damage, part of it psychological, a lot of it physical. All of it apparently permanent. While I was away on a mission to keep our world safe, they weren’t safe. Not even close. If you’ve been doing your SEAL research, you saw the movie where they said that a SEAL is always trying to get home, that home’s the whole point of it. But my home was gone when I came back.”
“And the men who did it?”
“There were three of them. Two are no longer an issue. The ringleader went underground.”
She studied his face, the calm stillness of his gray eyes, the set of his jaw. The same way he’d understood never to use her real name, she knew not to speak aloud the possibility of what had happened to those two.
“I expect the police will eventually find him.”
“He’s a cold file at the bottom of a stack of files, because he left the country. Went underground, lost in the network of Mexican cartels. And even if they do luck out and find him, I know how it works. His mommy won’t have held him enough, he was poor and misunderstood, it’s racial profiling…whatever bullshit they want to concoct to excuse his actions. There’s right and wrong, and there’s the law. Sometimes they agree, but a lot of days they don’t. You know that as well as anyone.”
Yes, she did. She touched his face. “There’s this peculiar thing that happens, Max, when a Domme gets attached to a sub. She considers him hers. Her property, and she expects her property to take very good care of himself.”
His hands slid up her back. He pressed her close as he wound his hand in her hair, clipped back in a tail now so when he caressed the strands, he tilted her head back, his lips coming so close to hers they hovered an inch apart when he finally spoke.
“What about the sub? What if he considers her his as well? Does that happen?”
“All the time. Though some are more blatant about it than others.” She liked the strength of his arms, the determination in his expression. She wanted everything about him, even the things they’d just discussed that disturbed her. They were all part of who he was. “So take me to work, and promise me when I’m not around to do it, you’ll guard that fine ass of yours.”
“Sounds like my fine ass is yours, not mine. Mistress.” He spoke the last word against her lips. The way it vibrated through her body told her, amazingly enough, he was going to prove he was more than capable of taking her once more before they headed to work.
In some ways, the man truly was a god. But in some very harrowing ways, he was all too mortal and fragile.
* * * * *
There were physical repercussions to doing all that on a work day, but she knew adrenaline could carry her through until quitting time. What she hadn’t expected was how thoughts of the past several hours could utterly destroy her focus. Her skin bloomed with heat whenever she thought of him, her heart rate elevating like a tiny mouse scurrying up her chest wall. She’d laugh at herself about it, but there was a poignant ache in that same vicinity. She’d started down a path from which she couldn’t return. She was falling for him, and she was pretty sure he felt the same way.
Her mind kept revisiting the morning in delicious detail. That first touch, curling her fingers in his shirt, moving into his embrace, the two of them simply holding one another. Max’s smile. Him calling her “ma’am” in that slow, sexy way. How he’d lifted her up so effortlessly against the shower wall, his body flexing inside the clamp of her arms and legs, the powerful urgency in his expression. The unsettling issue of him pursuing the last man responsible for his mother’s death.
She’d been in a situation where she couldn’t rely on the police to save her from a violent criminal, and she’d employed macabre measures to handle it. She couldn’t throw stones. Beyond that, she worked for a man who clearly felt the way Max did. If anyone ever harmed Savannah or Angelica, Janet had no doubt the last thought on Matt Kensington’s mind would be calling the police. The perpetrator would die wishing that the police had had time to get to him before Matt had. And every man of his executive team would help him, because they shared that same code.
“Janet, can you read back that last point?”
Speak of the devil. She shook herself out of her thoughts to find Matt gazing at her from the head of the boardroom table. Though his expression was bland, she sensed something quivering beneath the surface. Amusement? Whatever it was, Peter, Jon, Ben and Lucas seemed to have a dose of it as well, because their body language and expressions were almost identical to Matt’s.
She glanced down at her shorthand. “Production in Costa Rica is up fifty percent. Peter anticipates that trend to continue while handling the Porter account, justifying the equipment upgrade—”
“I win,” Ben pronounced. He stretched across the table, collecting the five poker chips that had appeared in the center of the table as if by magic. As he pocketed them, he gave Lucas a grin. “You were close, but I hit it dead on. She tuned us out four bullet points ago.”
The K&A lawyer glanced over at her, his green eyes twinkling. “You completely missed our plans to hire tranny prostitutes for the Johnson reception.”
“And the policy change that requires all female employees to wear string bikinis whenever the predicted high is over eighty,” Peter put in helpfully.
An unprecedented flush climbed up her cheeks. “I apologize,” she said stiffly. “I—” She cleared her throat. “Did I miss any action points? Real ones?”
“No. We were generally discussing the direction for South America, but it was more brainstorming than anything.” Jon offered the information kindly, which was almost worse than Ben’s teasing. He studied her with his serious midnight-blue eyes, enhanced by the fall of dark, silken hair around his sculpted face. “Nothing concrete.”
“I apologize, sir,” she repeated to Matt, but she directed her next words to all of them. “It won’t happen again.”
Matt nodded. Straightening, she put her pen to paper. “Now, how many tranny prostitutes will you need?”
The men chuckled, easing her embarrassment, though she felt Matt’s scrutiny lingering. A few minutes later, they concluded the meeting. As the other men rose, heading out of the boardroom to start their respective schedules, she wasn’t surprised to see Matt motion to her to stay.
Ben brought her a napkin that held three mini-muffins and a cup of coffee. Since she never ate during the monthly staff meeting, the men always saved her three of the muffins that Ben baked himself. She saw the chocolate chip, blueberry and raspberry flavors she preferred, while Ben put down a fresh black coffee next to it.
Giving her a nod, he added, “Go with a baker’s dozen on those prostitutes. It’ll take that many to give Johnson’s attorney an apoplexy, and I’m looking for a full-on drop-dead stroke so he’s no longer a thorn in my ass. See if you can get us a group discount.”
“I’ll work on that,” she said dryly.
He gave her a wink. When he left, he closed the door after him, so she and Matt were alone. Rising, she moved to the head of the table, taking a seat at Matt’s right. It wasn’t unusual for him to have her stay behind to dictate additional notes or correspondence, but she knew that wasn’t the case today. She folded her hands in her lap. “I am sorry, Matt. I know I’m distracted today.”
He
sat back, his shoe braced on the table leg beneath to rock him on the chair’s axis, giving his legs more room. “Janet, you could take a nap through every staff meeting we have for the next five years, and only then would it balance out all the times you’ve been right on top of everything we need, right when we need it. I’d be a poor boss to snap at you for taking fifteen minutes. But I know you well enough I’m going to ask. Are you all right?”
She pursed her lips. She really didn’t know how to answer that question, and Matt Kensington was not the type to take a generic “fine”. “How do I seem?” she ventured.
Very few things mattered to her as much as how she presented herself when she was representing K&A and Matt’s interests. If she was in uncharted territory, she trusted Matt to give her an evaluation, direct and to the point. He didn’t disappoint, but it still startled her to hear it said aloud so baldly.
“You look like a woman falling in love. Happy, anxious, thoughtful. And you have a stubble burn on your lovely jaw. I threatened to skin Ben alive if he brought it up.”
“Thank you.” She thought she’d covered that with enough concealer, but apparently she needed clown makeup with these men. She wanted to be horrified, but she’d known them too long…especially Matt. “I told him. About Mexico.”
His gaze flickered. “He won’t abuse your trust.”
“I know. Else I wouldn’t have told him. I’ve also learned that he and I have some things in common. Only that chapter in his life, unlike mine, isn’t yet closed.”
Not many people could read Matt Kensington, and even she had difficulty at times, but this time she caught it. “You know.”
Matt nodded. His thigh muscles flexed as he rocked the chair back, his fingers tapping the table surface in a meditative fashion. “I do. I wish it was closed, that he would close it, but I also understand enough I can’t stand in his way. He won’t allow me or anyone else here to help him with it. SEALs share a very close bond. His teammates helped with…the first phase, but he’s kept them limited to intel, making it clear they have other priorities he expects them to put first. They’ve had to be satisfied with that, which means not satisfied at all, but it is what it is. He’s one of the most quietly stubborn and unshakably honorable men I’ve ever met.”
Quietly stubborn and unshakably honorable. The description fit Max well. There was no flash to him, no sense that he ever had to be the center of attention, and yet he commanded confidence, a sense of safety, with the strength of his presence. It was that steadiness that drew her, that perhaps called to something in her she’d always sought, a gift for herself. And Max was offering it to her fully, making it irresistible.
“I’ve never contemplated a long-term relationship with a man who’s not a sub.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever contemplated a long-term relationship with one who is.” Matt tapped her hand, winning her smile. “You’ve been waiting for the right combination. You’d never settle for anything less than everything you want, and women are so intuitive, they often don’t know what that is until they feel it, deep in the heart and soul. The day you and Max brought Savannah to the hospital and I thanked him…there are some things about that day that passed in a blur, but others that stand out in sharp relief.”
He shifted to an upright position again, lacing his fingers on the table and leveling his hawklike gaze at her. “When I walked back up the hall, I saw you, watching us. Watching Max. It wasn’t the first thing on my mind, but when I thought about it later, I knew something was going to happen between you. You’ve been looking for a man all your life who matches your strength, Janet. One who understands your passion, your occasional savagery and glorious darkness, and your tremendous capacity for love. Most importantly, you’ve been looking for a man who is not deeply terrified of you. That number is few.”
She chuckled at that. Matt smiled. When he rose, a subtle hint their tête-a-tête was over, she gathered her tablet and cup of coffee. Matt picked up the napkin of tiny muffins in his large hand, handling them like a bird’s nest as he followed her. He deposited them on her desk, but before he turned toward his office, he touched her hand once more, drawing her gaze to his serious face.
“You’ve earned a great deal of vacation and personal days in the years you’ve worked for me and K&A, Janet. And Max pretty much lives on the clock. If either of you wants to take some time off these next few weeks, I will support that.”
“What if he and I want to take the same days off?”
His eyes twinkled, appreciating her. “Wiseass. Call Rosalind and have her on standby. She always appreciates the extra money, and she knows your job well enough to cover things adequately for a day here and there.”
“Plus she’s not terrified of you.” Janet tucked her tongue in her cheek. “Also a very small number.”
“I’ll have to work on that. She could spread the word that I don’t actually decapitate incompetent employees in my office. I’d have to sacrifice one or two to debunk the rumor.”
“Like you would ever hire an incompetent employee,” Janet scoffed. “But if you decide to sacrifice Ben to prove the point, I’ll pay for the extra roll of plastic to keep the blood off the carpet.”
* * * * *
She’d told Max she’d go visit his sister with him Wednesday afternoon. Just to prove she had some willpower, for the next two days she didn’t go home with him or invite him to do the same, though he sent her some fairly provocative and suggestive texts. When she responded with a threat to sic Human Resources on him, he started sending her lines of poetry. Everything from e. e. cummings to Edgar Allan Poe. She responded he was going to have to do better than steal one-liners from a Best of the Poet Masters desk calendar.
You’re a tough crowd. Take a break this afternoon. I’ll give you a foot massage.
Maybe.
But at two p.m., she decided to do just that. The moment she saw him stretched out on his truck in that sexy, deceptively somnolent pose, arms crossed over the broad chest, long thighs and groin accentuated by the crossing of his ankles, she thought visiting him on break might become like a crack habit to her. As she crossed the parking lot, he sat up and slid off the hood, meeting her halfway. She was carrying a meatball sandwich left over from a lunch meeting and a napkin full of cookies, both of which she extended to him. “I thought you might enjoy these.”
“What are you having?”
She chuckled, enjoying him. “I had my lunch in the meeting, but I expect you to share at least one of those chocolate chip cookies.”
“I’m not sure our relationship has progressed that far.”
Giving her a grin, he set the food inside the front seat of the truck, then guided her around to the truck bed. Intrigued, she saw he already had the tailgate down and the thick quilt folded there as a cushion. He put his hands to her waist and lifted her on to it, the same way he’d done the day this had all started. Only this time she kept her hands on his shoulders, letting her fingers whisper over his neck, curl in his T-shirt, bringing him closer. The skirt she was wearing was short enough she could spread her knees and bring him inside their span. He put his hands on her waist, drawing her against him so core met core. The kiss was hot, deep, and kept them both holding to one another, even when he finally drew back with a regretful look.
“More than that, and I’ll compromise your reputation on the security cameras. They’re only catching our head and shoulders in the corner of the screen, but even so…”
His eyes were sparkling though, aware of the significance of her encouraging the act where it would quickly become public news they were seeing one another. “So this is no longer bound by OPSEC?”
She punched his shoulder. “Unless you tease me about it.”
“Stopping the teasing immediately, ma’am. At least that kind.” He amused her by pinching the hem of her skirt on either side and working it back down her thighs. It restored her modesty for the grainy resolution of the security feed, if the camera could see her legs. From what h
e’d said, she suspected not. She noticed his truck was at a different angle and realized he’d likely checked on the scope of the video camera in this corner of the parking deck. A wave of pleasure washed through her, thinking of him protecting her privacy that way. It was exactly the type of thing he’d do.
Then he turned his attention to her feet.
Apparently, there were reasons other than the camera angle that had him placing her on the tailgate instead of the hood. More pleasant sensations swirled through her chest and lower abdomen as he dropped to one knee. He glanced up at her as he did it, making clear it was deliberate. He removed her shoes, setting them neatly on the tailgate next to her before clasping her stocking-covered feet in his magical hands. As he began to rub her arches, working her toes between his strong fingers, massaging her ankles, she was hard-pressed not to moan like she did during sex. She struggled for something to distract herself.
“You’ll be happy to know Matt gave us his blessing. Not that I need his blessing for anything I do, but he did. He told me I could trust you, and that you are one of the most honorable men he knows.”
Max stopped at that, looking up. “His opinion carries a great deal of weight with me,” she continued, “but he didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already suspect.”
“He’s been…” Max lifted a shoulder, then looked down at her feet, his fingers tightening on them. “I trust him.”
She knew he couldn’t give a greater compliment to another man, and she made a note to share that with Matt sometime, return the favor.
Max didn’t say anything for the next few moments. She figured he was focused on her feet, trying to inspire an orgasm through her arches. He was pretty damn close to succeeding, enough that if she ever saw him with his hands on another woman’s feet she’d probably shoot him for infidelity.
Wow. Getting a little possessive there, girl.
