What About Love (Club Decadence Book 6) (17 page)

“That sharp tongue has earned you a sound thrashing,” Atkins drawled as he stepped to the side and caressed her beautifully round cheeks, “and I’m just the Dom to give it to you.”

T’s belly roiled with a mix of emotion, wanting to cold cock the man in the jaw and whisk her away, despite knowing that wouldn’t be right for her, for him, or their mission. Although he wanted to move closer, ready to intercede in a second, instead he moved back, taking a position off to the side and toward the back of the crowd that had gathered, drawn by Angie’s squealing protests no doubt and anticipating a rousing punishment scene in response.

He steeled himself to observe quietly while acting no more than mildly interested. It was an act, appropriate considering a Hollywood soundstage was only minutes away, his performance worthy of an Oscar because what he really wanted to do was break the damn paddle over George’s head.

When he laid the first crisp swat across both cheeks, she yelped. The next few brought more of the same. By the time the count was ten, he had her begging him to stop. On the fifteenth she was crying, apologizing for some insult she had given. When the twentieth arrived, T had enough and was ready to intervene but a hand clamped on his shoulder holding him back.

“Stand down, T.” It was Eric.

“She’s had enough.”

“You taught her the club safewords?”

“Yes,” he bit out.

“You’ve practiced that in her training?”

“Of course, what little she’s had.”

“Let it play out, then, man.”

“I told her to negotiate the entire scene, Master T,” Val added from beside him. “Like a script for a role play, and I think that’s what she did. Think about it, if you were her Dom and she threw such a temper tantrum, would her panties still be in one piece? Besides, she doesn’t seem like a noisy crier to me.”

Val, intuitive as always, made him look at the scene through different eyes. Angie wasn’t a pouter or a brat. Still seething with anger, he forced out a deep breath, trying to maintain control. “All right, but get me a DM badge for tomorrow night, so if I can’t stand it and have to break in, I won’t be as apt to blow her cover.”

“Excellent idea,” Eric agreed. T felt his eyes on him. “You’ve got it bad, man.”

“We’re partners, nothing more.” If his growled denial didn’t convince himself, he knew for damn sure it wouldn’t fool Eric or Val.

“Yeah, bud, and Val is really my sister.” He shook his head sadly. “Keep telling yourself that and maybe you’ll believe it, poor bastard.” He and Val moved away as George assisted a sniffling and contrite Angie from the bench. The scene was over and the risk of T charging in like a jealous lover had passed.

Chapter Ten

Shifting to her hip on the thickly cushioned couch eased the tenderness in her bottom slightly. Her Dom for the night had done as she requested by administering a firm paddling over her panties. In retrospect, she should have defined the word firm. Still, George had been sweet, sensing her unease and going along with her scripted scene. When she’d brought it up, negotiating as Val called it, he had smiled and patted her hand.

“I was an actor in college. I’m always up for a rousing melodrama.”

And boy had he delivered. For a moment, she thought he’d gotten too much into his role and yellow was on the tip of her tongue, but he seemed to know she was approaching her limit and paused to rub her scorching bottom while lecturing her as if she was a misbehaving teen.

Afterward, he’d helped her from the padded bench and escorted her to a private booth. Pulling the curtain, he’d cuddled her close, stroking her back and brushing away the real tears that beaded on her lashes yet hadn’t fallen. He’d even convinced her to bare her bottom for real so he could check the damage and apply a soothing lotion he’d called Arnica.

Rolling gingerly to her other hip, she wished she had some of it now. She also wished she hadn’t had to disappoint George by turning down his invitation for dinner. He was really a very nice man. With the drape closed and no prying eyes to see, she had politely declined as she’d given him a soft kiss on the cheek. She’d gone on to thank him for the scene—essentially thanking him for spanking her, which a week ago would have seemed surreal—telling him it was exactly as she envisioned it.

A knock on the door, startled her. As she stood, she winced and made her way slowly to the door. She opened it to find T lounging against the door frame, gorgeous as ever. Offering him a bright smile, she said, “Good morning.”

“Is it? I came to check.”

“I’m good. Come in,” she pulled the door wider. “I have coffee.”

“No time. We have to be across the street in twenty minutes for a meeting with the Rossi team and the lead detectives involved with the investigation.” His gaze dropped to her body, taking in her t-shirt and shorts.

“It will only take me a minute to change.” She left him standing in the entryway as she went to the bedroom only realizing he was a step behind her when she turned to close the door. “Um, T. What are you doing? I’m going to get dressed.”

“I told you, I came to check.”

He couldn’t mean what she thought he meant, surely. “Check on what?”

The look he gave her seemed to question her intelligence. “You got paddled last night. Take off your shorts and lay down on the bed.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re tender. I can tell.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her across the room.

“T!” Protesting, she dug in her heels, though in bare feet, she slid across the hardwood floor. “I’m not dropping my pants for you.”

“Don’t argue. We don’t have time. This is happening.” He sat and easily toppled her over his thigh.

“I can’t believe you,” she gasped as she struggled to break free of his hold. He was too strong.

“Hush now.” He held a small white tube in front of her face. “I’ve got something that will soothe the ache.”

Recognizing the lotion as the same George had used last night, the same kind she’d been wishing for more only minutes before, she stilled, torn with indecision.

“Nothing I haven’t seen, darlin’. I promise to be gentle.”

She snorted. “I wonder how many subs have heard that line.”

“Those with a good Dom probably hear it a lot.”

His hand slipped around in front and undid her button, sliding the zipper down. Her shorts were around her thighs with her panties in a flash. She stiffened, about ready for a second round of protests, when the cool lotion touched her skin.

“You’re still pink and warm hours later. I’ll kill him.”

“T.”

“I’m kicking Eric’s ass for this too. He was supposed to find you an easy Dom.”

“Is there such a thing?”

“Hell yeah! He should have found you someone like me. I didn’t make you cry out with pain or cause your skin to sizzle with heat and redness.”

“T—”

“Dammit. I should have stopped by last night. You needed aftercare.”

“George took care of that.”

His massaging hand stilled. “What?”

“Something called Arnica, it helped. Just like this is. Thank you.”

The soothing massage resumed. “Where?”

“Uh…” she realized her mistake too late.

“Answer me.”

“I realize I shouldn’t have, T. My bad.”

Without warning, he flipped her upright, her bare behind connecting with his denim-covered thigh. “Explain.”

“Um, following the scene, George took me to a booth and he held me for a bit. He put some of the cooling lotion on my—.”

“Drapes open or closed?” he demanded heatedly

Her non-answer was answer enough.

“Angie.”

He’d made the leap as she had, turning nice, sweet George into a brutal serial killer. They were often charming and looked like anyone else. “I know. I screwed up. It was dangerous, but I was emotional—”

“Did he touch you?”

“Well, yeah, I told you. He held me and rubbed on some lotion.”

“No. Did he touch your pussy? Did he make you come?”

“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.