Bait: A dark erotic thriller (Hunter & Prey Book 2) (7 page)

Even with the heat turned up inside the foyer, I hated giving up my coat; it left me feeling bare in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with the cut of my dress—which was, of course, rather revealing, paying homage to the fact that I was a woman comfortable with not hiding an ounce of who she was, also in the most physical sense. My breasts were modestly covered but there was a lot of squishing and lifting going on that had nothing to do with my actual curves and left little to the imagination. Brigitte’s black dress with silver accents was much more understated than mine, making her look almost the matron next to my “stare at me” vibrancy—almost.
 

Yet as we stepped out of the foyer and into the adjacent room where early revelers were already in attendance, and heads turned and eyes followed me, I felt strangely empowered. The looks we both drew weren’t all favorable—in some cases they were downright hostile—but while before they had made me cringe, like on that ill-fated day in the country club, now they left me feeling set apart in a positive way. Yes, I was the whore who’d set out to become queen of all whores, but that still made me royalty. It gave me power, and it gave me freedom, the two things Darren had so expertly torn from me long before he’d tied me up in his basement.

Brigitte let me drink in that heady feeling for a little while, but before long she started steering me from one group of people to the next, smiling sweetly here, giving a knowing look there, or even a nod of acknowledgement to the odd woman who looked back at her with familiarity in her gaze. Few words were exchanged, but people seemed to get the message nevertheless. When we’d come up with the plan, I’d been somewhat concerned that I might be conceived as just one of her girls, like meat on a plate, but while I drew the odd interested gaze, it came without the casual sense that I’d become so used to over the years. Oh, they wanted me and might pay a hefty sum for my time, but it was clear that I wasn’t just a common piece of ass anymore.
 

Then I turned around and saw a familiar full head of hair peeking over the masses, and my heart seized up. Brigitte noticed a moment later, her hand on my arm making me focus on her instead. Fine worry lines had appeared around her eyes and mouth but she gave me the barest of head shakes, a clear note for me to get myself together. Deliberately turning my back on where I actually yearned to run to, I followed her as she continued working the room, tireless in her effort to show me around.

With more people streaming into the building now as it got closer to the beginning of the opera, it was easy to get lost in the masses while I smiled and wished good evenings, handing out a card or two from my stash, all the while feeling the skin of my back burning with what I knew must be his gaze. It cost me so much not to turn around, not to check, not to catch and hold his gaze, not to—

The call to take our seats saved me the hassle of determining just how far my heart was screaming to go while my mind was tugging in the opposite direction. Yet my respite was a brief one; Brigitte had seats on the left side portion of the box level, which gave me a great view of the stage—but also at where Darren and his little plaything sat down in the floor seats.
 

Just peachy.

Tosca
had always been one of my favorites, and it would have been nice to just enjoy the performance without having to spend a moment concentrating on anything else. I’d been to the opera many times with clients, but that had usually included a certain kind of attention required. Now, work clearly happened before and after the show, with quick dashes outside during the breaks, but nothing should have taken away from letting the music grip me—if my mind would just have let me.
 

I didn’t even pretend that I wasn’t watching what was going on downstairs through my little opera glass. I knew that our seating could only be coincidence, but it left me with a clear line of sight directly at where my attention was flitting to every couple of seconds. And as things on stage ramped up in the third act, so they did in the seats. Until then, Darren had mostly kept to himself with the odd comment whispered, but now his hand was firmly on Daliah’s knee, then started climbing up her thigh and underneath the skirt of her short black dress. With Ray on her other side—sneaking the occasional eyeful—there didn’t seem to be anything prudent making her stop him. And if a whore could recognize something, it was the body language of someone getting off.

It shouldn’t have affected me. It certainly didn’t make me horny, although I normally could appreciate a good performance, including stealthy ones. But as I sat there, watching her shoulders tense, then sag, I just couldn’t control how my right hand in particular clenched, the hard band around my ring finger digging deep into my scarred flesh. And then I just couldn’t take it anymore and had to get up, excusing myself as I pushed through the three rows of chairs behind mine.

Thirty-four quick steps later—I counted—I was outside in the hallway, cooler air rushing in my face after the suddenly stifling heat inside. Taking a few quick breaths, I surged on, heading toward the main entrance. Not that I intended to flee the building, but putting more distance between me and what had made me lose my cool sounded like a damn good idea. I stopped at the balustrade above the foyer, looking out over the now deserted lavish carpets below.

I had no idea where the sudden rush of emotion had come from, but it subsided slowly as I got a grip on myself. “Calm” wasn’t quite there yet, but, if anything, I had learned to act over the last decade, composing my exterior in the face of turmoil inside. Soon, my frantic breathing had slowed down to sedate in- and exhales, my heart rate decreasing. It was likely just nerves—last time I’d seen Darren, I had had little time to fully freak out as I’d had to ditch my handlers; now, my mind had had hours to dwell on the impact of what I intended to do. The fact that I was lying to myself didn’t hinder the soothing reaction on my mind.

Feeling more composed again, I let out my breath one last time, getting ready to return, when I suddenly felt heat closing in behind me. A whisper of air against my mostly bare back, then a strong, tall body pressed against me, effectively locking me in between him and the balustrade, still facing outward. My first reaction was to go rigid and let the fight-or-flight instinct do its thing, but I stomped down on both immediately. Instead, I made myself relax, hating myself just a little bit when my body obeyed immediately.

A scream died low in my throat, replaced by a sultry chuckle. I didn’t need to check over my shoulder to know who was towering behind me.

“Miss me?” I asked, proud of how steady my voice sounded. A little breathy, yes, but that could have been excitement rather than fright. What it actually was I didn’t bother to analyze.

“Always,” Darren whispered, his voice doing things to my body that should not have been possible had my sanity still been intact. It was just as I remembered—low and certain—only now it held an edge that hadn’t been there before. Before the basement, that was; I’d become intimately familiar with it in the last few days of our acquaintance.

“I was wondering when you’d track me down,” I replied, allowing myself a small smile even if he likely couldn’t see it. A waste, really, because it took a lot to keep it from looking fake. But goading him on was reward enough to make up for the acid churning in my stomach.

He replied with a chuckle, steel still in his voice but now sheathed in velvet.

“Didn’t you get my flowers?”

I turned just enough to be able to glance back over my shoulder—about the maximum freedom of movement our position left me. His eyes were burning into mine, the intensity enough to make my throat go tight—among other things.

“I wouldn’t have worn this dress if I hadn’t. Do you like it?”

I was tempted to spew some vitriol at the girl—there was a time and place for a little black dress that both looked great and gave good access, but the opera was not it—but cut off there when I felt him grind his groin against my ass. Even through the layers of fabric I could feel his erection, leaving me oddly satisfied although I knew that it likely hailed from what he’d been doing to Daliah rather than my presence.

“I love it,” he murmured against the side of my neck. Then he grabbed the fabric below my ass and started pushing it up, his hands soon hot against the naked tops of my thighs. I was wearing stockings and garters but hadn’t bothered with panties—the dress was hassle enough as it was where going to the bathroom was concerned. And really, I had a reputation to live up to, also to myself—making his touch even more prominent now. It was rather obvious what he had in mind even before I heard the zipper of his fly descend.

There was a part of me that halted. A part that wanted to scream, turn around, push him away, attack, anything just to get away—but it was a dwindling, small part of me. It was so easy to ignore, to lean forward to better support myself against the balustrade, my legs a little further apart to give me good balance even on my three-inch heels. And it was anticipation rather than a laissez-faire attitude that gripped me just as he sank his fingers into the fleshy part of my hip, guiding himself into me with one hard thrust.

A sound between a sigh and a small cry left me, quickly silenced by his other hand across the lower part of my face. But it stayed there only until I’d fallen silent, then moved lower, strong fingers wrapping around my throat, making my already galloping pulse spike. I jerked my hips back against his, sheathing him even more firmly inside of me, turning the angle just right. His fingers squeezed harder, keeping my hips still and pushing noticeably against my trachea, before he let go with that upper hand, switching it for a better grip to steady me instead.

He withdrew, then pushed into me again, the motion easily facilitated by just how wet I was. If seeing him again for the first time had made me feel alive, now it was as if someone had rammed a syringe filled with adrenaline directly into my heart. My body remembered what eight months of a dry spell should have let it forget, moving instantly as it was supposed to. It felt so good—so right—that for just a few moments, I forgot why I was here and who was fucking me into oblivion.

Then his lips pressed against the side of my neck, just where I’d stabbed him, and my mind came back online. My body gave an involuntary jerk as I felt his teeth scrape over my skin, then sink deeper—not enough to draw blood but hard enough to hurt. His fingers disappeared from my hips, giving me a moment where I might have turned around, but I was too slow. On his next thrust forward, he pressed me more firmly against the balustrade, just as his hands came up to mine, twining our fingers. On the left side, it was almost a caress—loving, tender—but on the right his digits convulsed around mine, making badly knit bones grate against each other, a stark reminder of what I’d been forced to do to myself to get away.

To live.

One might have thought that was enough to shake the haze of lust from my mind, but no. Instead of trying to lessen the pain, I squeezed right back, forcing the ring to bite deeper into my hand, but also his above it. His breath was rasping loud against my ear, hitching when my own pain became almost unbearable—and then I came, clenching hard around him, ecstasy racing through my veins. I let out a harsh gasp, cutting off the building scream before it made it past my lips. Just as my enjoyment crested, I felt him release into me, finishing with two hard jerks before he let go, stepping away immediately.

While he zipped himself up, I let the heavy full skirt of my dress drop, making me appear decent within seconds. My mind was still blank, my heart now slowing down, even with fear and apprehension, paired with a hefty dose of self-loathing, slowly taking over. So much for my plan to string him along forever, always teasing but never giving him what he wanted.

Well, there was always a plan B. And C. And twenty-three other letters in the alphabet.
 

Darren was still crowding me but that one step away that he’d taken was enough for me to turn around, my knee brushing against his. He looked up, and for a moment he tensed, presumably to catch me should I run, but I had no intention to. Instead, I leaned back against the low wall that had supported me so well, feeling just a hint of vertigo when my conscious mind screamed at my brain stem that it would take only a small shove to send me backward into my certain death.

“I see… not much has changed,” I observed, again glad that my voice held none of the apprehension currently tightening its grip around my throat.

His brows went up and he cocked his head to the side, studying me as if my words puzzled him.

“One would think that it has, considering,” he replied.

“Considering what? The fact that you’re banging that little slut of yours?” I let that hang in the air between us before I allowed myself the slightest of frowns. “Is she even a slut? I mean, considering your track record, I can’t believe that she can live up to your previous conquests. No, I think she’s more like a nun. A pretty, easy-to-impress nun.”

Darren gave me a smile that was just calculating enough that I figured he knew that I wasn’t as indifferent about Daliah as I aimed to appear.

“She’s young,” he admitted. “Impressionable. So very eager to learn.”

If he thought he could goad me on with that, he had lost his edge.

“Really? I thought you’d be at least a little above the stereotypical egotistical man approaching his midlife crisis. Banging a young girl just so you can impress her with your skills? Does she know who taught you those moves?”

Maybe licking my lips there was a bit much, but just seeing how his eyes followed the motion before they skipped back up to mine was worth the bad taste of lipstick. Or maybe that was just regret.

“She doesn’t need to know everything.”

That was such a lawyered-up reply that I couldn’t keep from laughing.

“Since when are you so circumspect about naming things by their true name?” His gaze held mine, then flitted to my chest for a moment, making me chuckle again. “I’m not wearing a wire, if that’s what you think.”