Red Handed (4 page)

She scooped up her panties from the carpet and slid them on. Not that they'd do her much good.

“You have no reason to be ashamed,” he said as if he'd plucked her thoughts from her head. Cole crossed to her, the animosity he'd displayed prior to her punishment completely gone, replaced with a softness she'd expect from a friend. “You're a passionate and sensual woman.”

“Me? Sensual?” She laughed, placing her hands on her hips.

He moved closer and pushed the hair off her face, allowing it to glide though his fingers. “What about the man who wants to marry you? Surely he must know how hot you burn.”

“He and I are waiting until marriage.” The lie rolled off her tongue easily but left behind a bitter taste. She had no intention of ever marrying Roman.

Cole arched a brow. “He doesn't mind that you're here?”

She realized she was biting her nails again and dropped her hand to her side. “We're currently on a break.”

His gaze landed on her lips. “A woman like you may appear reserved to those who don't see to the heart of you. I pity them, but their loss is Benediction's gain.” He leaned closer, murmuring in her ear. “You don't fool me, Danielle. I won't confuse aloofness with shyness. I may not know your true reason for coming here, but I do know you're in the right place. While you're training, I'll make certain I fulfill all your sexual fantasies.” He cupped her cheek. “Whatever they are.”

Everything went still, even the air in her lungs. Unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to look away from his heated stare, she did nothing but wait. Wait for the world to start spinning again. For now, she understood why they called him “Master.” He lured you with his deep, soothing voice, trapped you with his hypnotic eyes, and seduced you with barely a whisper of his touch. If she wasn't careful, he could easily make her forget her true reason for being here.

It didn't matter that she was as attracted to him as she'd been all those years ago. This is what he did. Convince you to trust him and then toss you to the lions, just like he'd done to her father. She wouldn't allow him to steal anything more from her. The time had come for Cole DeMarco to answer for his sins. She'd play the part of sex slave and, of course, enjoy the chance to broaden her sexual horizons. But never again—not for one second—would she allow this man to truly dominate her.

Breathing deep, she tore her gaze away and folded her arms over her chest. “So you'll train me?”

He pressed his lips together and paused before giving her a single nod. “We'll start tomorrow.” He strode to a filing cabinet along the wall, flung open a drawer, and snatched a few papers. Then he picked up a couple of books off his desk and handed it all to her. “Here's another questionnaire to complete. This time, answer it honestly. Also, I'd like you to read these books tonight. There's a lot of crap out there on BDSM. Forget everything you think you know. These will give you a better understanding of what you're getting yourself into. For now, consider yourself to be on probation.”

While Cole called someone named Gracie on his cell phone, she perused the questionnaire, baffled by its ten-page length. Slave auctions? Pony play? Water sports? Was that some kind of kinky surfboarding she didn't know about? And the kidnappers had agreed to all of it on her behalf? No wonder Cole didn't believe her story.

There was a brief knock on the door, and then a petite Asian woman wearing a shiny red minidress and six-inch red stilettos glided into the room.

“Gracie, please show Danielle to her bedroom.” Cole lifted the mink off the back of the chair and brought it to Danielle, holding it open for her. She sighed in relief, not quite ready to brazenly walk through the mansion half-naked, and turned around, slipping her arms into the sleeves.

“You know,” Cole said quietly behind her, “had you applied earlier, you would have been automatically denied based on the age requirement that slaves be at least twenty-five years old. Happy birthday, by the way.” He wrapped his hands around the upper part of her mink-covered arms. “I still have my doubts, but I'm willing to give you some time to prove to me your sincerity. If I decide you're not being honest with me, I'll send you back home.” He gently turned her to face him. “I don't care who your father was.”

She gasped, his words causing her muscles to tense and her heart to race. “You know who I am.” Why hadn't he mentioned it earlier?

His expression grew somber. “Of course. I wouldn't have permitted you here based on your ridiculous application. Consider this a favor.” He took her hand in his and kissed the inside of her wrist, eliciting an involuntary shiver. “And, Danielle, you should know . . . I always collect on my favors.”

Chapter Four

C
OLE REMEMBERS ME
.

Danielle nervously toyed with her locket as she followed a very perky Gracie through the mansion. The woman chattered incessantly and pointed out each room with great detail. So far, she'd learned Cole's grandfather had built the family home after returning from World War Two and that Cole had turned it into a sex club when his parents had moved out fifteen years ago.

She tried to keep up, but her mind kept wandering back to the feel of Cole's arms around her and the way his eyes seemed to see straight into her soul.

He not only knew who she was, he'd approved her application because of it. What motivated his decision? Guilt because he'd knowingly allowed her father to go to prison for crimes he hadn't committed?

For too long, she'd carried around the guilt of causing her mother's death during childbirth. Saving Tasha, the only mother she'd ever known, would hopefully alleviate some of the guilt, but she also couldn't ignore the presented opportunity to learn the truth about her father's alleged crimes and clear his name. She owed it to him after the way she'd left things on her last prison visit. Eight years later, the cruelty of her final words still haunted her.

And yet she'd forgotten everything once that electric buzz filled her body just as it did the first time she'd set eyes on Cole DeMarco. She'd been seventeen when she'd spied him from the stairs of her home. He and her father had finished their meeting and were saying their good-byes.

He'd looked like a hero out of one of her historical romances about pirates, with a goatee and long black hair he wore in braids. He hadn't worn a business suit like the other men her father did business with, but instead wore jeans and a Detroit Tigers T-shirt. He'd been far younger too. Closer to her age than her father's forty-five years.

She'd willed him to turn his head. To see her. Just as she'd given up and had been about to go back upstairs, he'd looked directly at her. Their gazes locked for only a moment, but it had been enough to send her pulse skyrocketing and for an ache to settle between her legs.

Then he'd gone, leaving her wondering if she'd imagined it.

But in her fantasy, he'd crossed the foyer of the home and climbed the staircase to her. He'd taken her hand. Her dream fast-forwarded to the moment when he'd taken her virginity and vowed to love her for the rest of their lives.

Although he'd only visited the house a couple more times, she had always made sure to be there on the stairs when he'd arrived and when he'd left. Each time, she'd hold her breath, waiting for that brief moment when they'd make eye contact. He'd never once disappointed her.

How innocent she'd been. How silly. Who would've guessed eight years later she'd be living in that man's sex club?

If she'd known then that a few months later he would destroy her family and have her father sent to prison, she would've run back upstairs the minute she saw him and never waited for him on those stairs again.

Shaking her head to clear her mind, Danielle admired the vaulted ceilings, crown moldings, and dramatic archways of the home, overwhelmed by its intricate design. They passed two sets of stairs as well as a vast library she wanted to explore if she got the opportunity. Nothing revealed more about a person than their books.

Without pausing for a breath, Gracie switched from the history of the home to complaining about the snowy weather and then back to how each room was used when Benediction opened to the members at night. Something about a dungeon in the basement and fantasy rooms upstairs. From her description, the mansion sounded more like a castle.

As Gracie led her into the kitchen, Danielle's stomach cramped from nerves and hunger. Other than that chocolate, she hadn't eaten a bite since last night's dinner, too worried about Tasha and what to expect at a sex club. Guess now that she'd experienced both pleasure and punishment, her appetite had returned.

She spotted a bowl of fruit, and while Gracie went over the open kitchen policy, Danielle nabbed a red apple to take up to her room. It wasn't much, but she didn't think she could manage anything more.

A silence befell the room.

Gracie stared at her expectantly. “You don't talk much, do you?” she asked. She didn't pause before answering her own question. “No, you're shy. I can tell. I'm a people person. An extrovert. I have a habit of talking too much and too fast, so I end up wearing a gag most of the time in the dungeon. Otherwise, the Masters will fill my mouth with their cocks. That works as well as a gag, and they seem to enjoy it more. Apparently, even in sub-space I can be quite chatty. Although I never shut up, I'm a surprisingly great secret-keeper. You could tickle torture me, and I still wouldn't give up a secret. You're obviously an introvert. I bet you like to read.” She snatched a banana from the fruit bowl, peeled it, and took a bite. “What do you like to read?”

Danielle remained silent, unsure of whether Gracie actually wanted an answer. She did love to read, having spent most of her adolescence with her nose in a book and later, with her e-reader. Her novels took her away from the reality of being a painfully awkward, overweight child to the ballrooms of regency England, where the wallflowers married the handsome dukes, and to modern-day America, where tormented vampires fell in love with plain mortal women.

Sure enough, Gracie pursed her lips, then answered her own question. “Romance, right?” At Danielle's nod in confirmation, she continued. “I like the kinky books myself, especially the ménage ones. You know what I say: The more, the merrier.” She giggled. “I'll let you in on a secret. Reality?” She grabbed Danielle's hand and squeezed as if they were best friends. “So much better than fiction.”

To hide her shock, Danielle bit into her apple and took her time chewing as Gracie led her up a staircase at the back of the kitchen. Then again, who was she to judge? Hadn't she just allowed Adrian between her legs as Cole held her? Maybe it hadn't been a true ménage, but it certainly fell into what most people would consider kinky.

Besides, unlike the snobby girls she'd grown up with in Arizona, Gracie was refreshingly honest. She liked that about her. Regardless of Gracie's declaration about secret keeping, Danielle still couldn't completely trust her, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to—if Gracie would ever give her the chance.

The winding stairs took them to the second floor of the home, where mirrors of various shapes and sizes lined the walls of the carpeted hallway. “This is where we live,” Gracie said as they passed several closed doors. “You can only access the living quarters through the kitchen. The other staircases lead to the club areas. Master has his private residence on the attic level of the house, but none of the slaves have ever seen it.” Halfway down the hall, Gracie opened one of the doors and stepped inside a room.

Gracie crossed to the other side of the room and pulled back the drapes to bring sunlight in through the wall-sized window, showing off a four-poster walnut bed covered with a virginal white goose-down blanket and a matching walnut dresser, desk, and nightstand. For a moment, Danielle forgot where she was, captivated by the comfort of the room.

The sun's rays ricocheted off the beautiful pale pink crystal chandelier, which hung in the center of the room, creating slivers of dancing lights on the walls and frames behind the bed. The lights turned on, and her sight focused on the framed images.

Three Degas paintings.

Her
Degas paintings.

Not the prints hanging on her walls now, but the originals, which had graced her walls before the government had confiscated almost everything in her home. The dainty dancers whom she'd envied as a child, knowing she'd never have the lithe body required for ballet. Despite that, she'd loved those paintings. To see them here, under Cole DeMarco's roof in the very room he'd assigned to her, reminded her of everything she'd lost.

Everything he'd taken from her.

When Gracie took a breath, Danielle cleared her throat and took the opportunity to prove she knew how to use her vocal cords. “How long have you been a trainee?”

“Oh, I'm not a trainee. I belong to Master Cole.”

Danielle rubbed her chest where a raw ache had settled. “You're his . . . ?”

“Slave. Yes. For two years.”

“I thought he only trained.” Of course he had slaves. He probably had a submissive or two at his beck and call at all times.

“He did. Until me. Now there's two of us who remain here permanently. Myself and Adrian.”

Danielle smoothed her hand over the comforter. “Oh. Do you, um—”

“Fuck him? No.” Gracie sighed. “Not that we haven't tried. He doesn't have sex with the slaves or trainees, although he has no problem getting us off through other ways. You'll understand after a few days. Somehow, Master knows us better than we know ourselves.” She settled on the front edge of the bed and patted the spot next to her. “The man swears he's not a sadist, but he loves to watch his slaves squirm with desperation. I'd take a paddling over an orgasm denial any day. Right?”