Wicked Release (10 page)

“Elliot—” Jess tried to break in with . . . what exactly? She wasn't about to offer an apology, even though maybe he deserved one.

“And if you dare to come into my house, after asking for my help and insult not only me but your late sister with accusations that have no foundation, you will not be invited back. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”

His eyes flashed and he waited, staring—more like hovering above her. Jess gave a panicked nod, not knowing quite what else to do. “Good,” he grumbled, and, grabbing a small bell beside the appetizers, rang it.

Jess stood there stunned.
Ringing a bell? To call a butler?
She thought that only happened in movies. Simon entered. “Yes, sir?”

“Bring Ms. Walters to the dining room. I'll be there shortly.”

Without waiting for a response from Simon or an objection from Jess, Elliot turned and went through a door to the right. It didn't slam shut behind him. He didn't need it to. For the same reason that he didn't need to raise his voice. Elliot Warner was in control. Constantly. Nothing was without intent with this man. And yet—storming out? Holing away in some room? It didn't seem like the sort of actions from a man in control. But Jess wasn't about to let that fool her.

“Follow me, Ms. Walters,” Simon said, holding open a door into a very elaborately decorated Victorian dining room. There were two place settings on the table. One at the head of the table and one just beside it. For a table as large as it was, Warner had planned on getting awfully cozy with her that evening.

“May I start you off with some wine?”

Jess looked over at the doorway Elliot had gone through. An empty, ominous feeling settled low in her belly. She didn't like that things had been left so heated between them. Without her having a chance to explain—or even apologize. Not that she was about to. She didn't get the relationship between Elliot and her sister. Nor did she want to. Even still, she hadn't wanted to insult him. Or Cassandra. Whatever the two of them did together in the bedroom was only her business if it somehow involved Cass's death. And though she wasn't ruling that out entirely, it still wasn't her place to judge what they enjoyed consensually. Everything she had learned about him and her sister via their e-mails had been affectionate. Perhaps even loving. . . in their own offbeat way.

“He just needs a moment to cool off,” Simon explained, noting how her attention was still locked onto the door.

“Shouldn't I go apologize?”

The older man shook his head. “Oh, no. When Mr. Warner gets this way, he needs some time. He holes up in his study when he needs to think. It's best to let him blow off steam first.”

It went against everything in her nature to allow the contentious feelings to simmer; it would only make it all the harder to stumble through an apology later. “Could you point me in the direction of the restroom?” She held up her hands. “I just want to wash the stickiness off my hands from those appetizers.”

He nodded, showing her back through the door. “Of course. It's right through here, down the hall and on the right.”

Jess moved in the direction of the bathroom, waiting until Simon had closed the door behind him before she pivoted and slipped into Elliot's study.

She was met with the immediate smell of candles. Hot wax. And a smoky scent—cedar, maybe. There was a huge lacquered wood desk and dark wood-paneled walls lined with bookshelves. A plush area rug. The complete opposite of his office building's modern black-and-white interior.

His back was to her, his hands in his pockets and though Jess was certain he must have heard her barge through the door, he didn't turn around. Didn't even twitch. Her eyes scanned his strong, bold body and landed on the wall above his desk where he was staring. A giant black-and-white photograph of a woman gagged and bound to a bed.

Jess's throat tightened. No—not just any woman. Cass.

16

T
he slow tremble started at her toes and crawled up her body until she was shaking entirely.

“You shouldn't be in here.” Elliot's voice was dark and dangerous. Fierce but quiet, like the low trill of a panther before a kill.

“I do a lot of things I shouldn't.” Jess did her best to put on her bravest voice. And yet, she could feel the fear. Hear it in her own shaky voice. “Did—did you take that photograph?”

“Have you ever heard of shibari?”

Of course he wouldn't answer her question. She should have suspected that. Jess tried to swallow, but her throat felt swollen and dry. “Are you changing topics so that you can maintain control of the conversation?”

With that, he turned around to face her. “Yes,” he answered simply.

That stunned her nearly as much as the image of her sister on his wall. “Oh.”

“Have you ever heard of shibari?” he asked once more.

“No,” she said, averting her eyes from the image of her sister. It felt intrusive to see her this way. And she knew Cass would never want her seeing her in such a sexual, vulnerable state.

“In Japanese, it literally translates ‘to tie' or ‘to bind.' Yes, the ultimate goal is to immobilize, however to do so elegantly and beautifully. As seen here.” He gestured to Cass's picture. “It's an art form.”

Jess forced her eyes back to the photograph, focusing on her sister's face. She didn't look to be in pain. She looked peaceful. Her arms were bound behind her back at the elbows in intricate, small knots. She was sitting up on her knees, ankles bound, mouth parted—as though awaiting a kiss. From her master. From Elliot. “Is it painful?”

Elliot shook his head, moving closer to Jess. “Not really. An understandable question, though. To an outsider, it could look barbaric. But the act of shibari is intimate and erotic and actually quite gentle. Hold out your wrists.”

Jess jerked away from him as though his touch could burn her, brand her as his own. “Absolutely not.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “I promise you—no knots. I just want you to feel how soft the rope is. What it feels like.”

“One wrist,” Jess said, gathering courage and stepping forward, pushing her sleeves above her elbows.

“Very well.”

“You conceded that easily?”

“Bondage and dominance is all about comfort levels. I may push boundaries, but I never cross them. If you say one wrist . . . one wrist it is.” He gestured with a twirling finger. “Turn. I don't want you to see what I'm doing. I want you to
feel
it.”

Oh, she could feel it, all right. She could feel it without him laying a hand on her. The velvet in his voice. The smolder in his eyes. There was a reason her sister fell and fell hard for this guy. “Elliot—” Jess's voice was raspy as the words stumbled past her tongue. “I'm sorry. For what I said earlier. I'm sort of skeptical about everyone and everything these days . . .”

“I understand,” he said, and his gaze lingered on her mouth. “You have every right to be cautious. I just hope that soon enough you'll learn that I am not the person you need to be afraid of.”

With that, Jess turned around, holding her wrist out behind her. “Actually—” She spun back to face him, misjudging how closely they were standing and her breasts brushed against his chest. He caught her around the waist, steadying her as she swayed, perched atop the Jimmy Choo heels Dane had given her. Her hand rested on his chest, hard muscle pushing through the high thread-count cotton.

“Yes?”

“I was going to say—well, that statement alone makes me trust you even more. Go ahead. Tie up both wrists.”

Surprise and maybe a bit of triumph washed across his face, but as quickly as she thought she saw it, it was gone. “Very well.” Loosening his tie, he pulled it from his collar and tied it around her eyes. With her sense of sight gone, she felt naked and her body buzzed to life. Her sight was her lifeline. Her very existence, job, and passion with her camera. She felt his hot breath against her ear, close, but his lips not touching her. “Just in case you're a peeker.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

The rope was silky—not itchy or frayed like how she imagined it feeling. It wound around her wrists up to what felt like her elbows . . . or just below and then back down again. One by one, he slipped it between her fingers, around her palms. But what was most notable was how gentle his hands were on hers. Caring. Attentive. And his touch registered in every part of her body, firing off synapses in her brain. With her sight gone, she never knew where his hands were about to land and it was like a mysterious little game. Even with both of them fully dressed, she was his erotic playground and he was attentive and careful.

She sighed, relaxing the weight of her arms onto his hands even more. As his fingers gently swiped her skin, she thought of Sam. Missing the way his hands would grasp around her waist. The way he would claim her lips, her tongue, her mouth as his. Her breasts grew heavy within her lace blouse, pulling toward those hands that bound her wrists. Wanting Sam's hands on her, kneading the tension from her tight nipples.

Moments passed and she hadn't felt his hands on her in . . . how long had it been? Ten seconds? Twenty? Time passed slowly in this state. She opened her mouth, Sam's name nearly slipping past her tongue before she stopped herself. “Elliot?”

“I'm right here,” he answered, and his voice sounded as tight as she felt inside. “Admiring my work.”

“May I admire it with you?”

“First, tell me. How does it feel?”

For the first time all night, a peace had fallen over her. A calmness. One she couldn't quite explain. “It's . . . surprisingly comfortable.”

“Go on.”

“Not just comfortable. But . . .
comforting
. But this is crazy. How can I feel so at home being tied up?”

She felt the tie slide off from her eyes and though the first thing she should have looked at was her bound arms, Elliot's stare was the first sight she locked into. Those sharp eyes were on her, attentive and curious. “An interesting observation. A hug is restrictive of movement and yet, we find comfort in it. Spooning is the same thing. And as you get more comfortable with shibari, the bindings get tighter, more restrictive, depending on whether you prefer a little pain in your lovemaking. Think of shibari as taking your average spooning to the next level.”

“I'd say the two are extremely different.”

“And yet, it feels good?”

Jess paused before nodding, not daring to take her eyes off him. His smirk lifted. “Sometimes, those of us who have fought the hardest to remain in control of our lives are the exact ones who find the most comfort when we let go and allow someone else to be in control. As if the reason for the struggle was that we were fighting to be something we aren't.”

“Are you saying that I'm a natural submissive?”

“I didn't say that. But the fact that you connected those dots should say more than my words.”

She rolled her eyes, unable to help the annoyed shake of her head. “And you think you're going to be the one to break me, right? That you're going to be the all-powerful dominant who sweeps in and saves me?”

His brows knitted between his eyes and he shook his head. “No,” he answered. “You don't feel that way about me. Nor I, you. And I don't think our . . . styles would mesh well. Lord knows your sister and I butted heads on many things.” After a moment, he gestured down to her arms. “You haven't even looked at my art yet.”

She looked down and was met with a beautiful design. In the center near her wrists, the knot formed a sort of flower. “A flower?”

“A daisy, specifically. Your sister's favorite. Had I known yours, I could have—”

“Peony,” she answered quickly before she could stop herself. “Peonies are my favorite.”

“Good to know. Now. I'm famished. You good to eat like that?” Her mouth dropped as his grin spread the length of his face. With a quick flick of his fingers, he untied the knot. “Just kidding.”

“You're an ass,” Jess said. And yet, she found herself laughing along with him.

17

S
am loped up the steps to Matt's front door just after seven-thirty, a bundle of flowers clenched in one hand and a teddy bear in the other. Dr. Adams's work release burned a hole in his back pocket. He knocked twice.

Kelly came to the door with cooing baby Grace in her arms. “Hey, stranger,” she laughed, leaning in for a hug. “I'm so glad you finally took us up on this offer to host dinner.”

Sam pecked her on the cheek, a bit of blond hair from her ponytail clinging to his stubble. He brushed his hand down Grace's ruddy cheek. “Thanks for having me. And for all the food you sent me. These are for you,” he said, holding up the flowers. “And this is for baby Grace.” The five-month-old giggled, stretching out her arms toward the bear.

“You didn't have to do that, but it was very sweet. Come on in,” Kelly said as she stepped to the side. “How ya feeling?”

“Much better.”

“Good, we've been worried about you.” She squeezed his arm, giving him a sweet smile before climbing the stairs. “Let me put the munchkin down for bed.”

“There he is!” Matt said, rushing in from the kitchen and reaching out to clasp Sam's hand.

“Sorry I'm late.”

“It's okay. Where the hell's
my
gift? Kelly gets flowers, Gracie gets a teddy bear . . . ?”

“Actually,” Sam pulled the piece of paper from his back pocket, handing it to Matt.

Matt held the paper closer to the light, reading. “What's this?”

“Use your eyeballs and read, man. Unless you never passed the third grade. In which case, I can wake Gracie up and have her read it to you.”

Matt punched Sam's shoulder, still grinning. “You're such a dick sometimes, you know that? You're cleared for work again? So soon?”

“That's why I was late. Got caught in a late appointment with my doctor.”

His partner's eyes shifted back and forth between the bandage on Sam's head and the sheet of paper in his hands. “But—but, are you sure? I mean, I just saw you yesterday and you were in so much pain still. Wait—this ‘appointment' with Dr. Adams . . . is the department going to get hit with a harassment suit because of it?”

Sam chuckled, taking the paper back from him and tucking it into his pocket once more. “Be careful with that. It's valuable.” He winked and threw an arm around his longtime best friend. “Come on, relax. Let's celebrate the win.”

“Dude, if you're still in pain, you could really hurt yourself—”

“Matt, seriously. I'm fine. I know the warning signs to look out for. Nosebleeds, dizziness, headaches. If any of those things persist, I promise you, I'll stop and take it easy. For now, can we just toast to you getting the best partner in the world back?”

Matt grabbed two bottles from the fridge and popped the caps off. “Here you go. To the best damn partner—wait, are you even supposed to be having alcohol?”

Sam tipped his head back, taking a swig of the beer. “Dunno. I'll just have the one and see how I feel.”

“Jesus Christ,” Matt muttered as he took another sip.

“Hey now,” Kelly said, grinning as she came back in the kitchen. She sidled up beside her husband, grabbing his bottle and drinking from it before handing it back. “God that feels good. I cannot wait to be done with breast-feeding so that I can eat and drink whatever I want again.”

Matt eyed his wife's cleavage and sent Sam a few eyebrow wiggles. “I on the other hand will absolutely miss the girls when they're gone.”

“Will you also miss milk splattering everywhere during sex?”

Sam cringed. “Okay, I love you guys, but please stop.”

Matt kissed Kelly before setting his beer down and jerking his head toward the front door. “Come here, let me show you what I found today.”

“No,” Kelly pouted, jutting her bottom lip out. “No work talk. Matt—you promised.”

He slid Sam a look before dancing back over to her and dipping her in his arms. “Five minutes,” he said, kissing her. “I promise.”

“Your promises mean nothing! Five minutes!” she called after them, but they were already out the door and standing in the garage.

Matt glanced back, shutting the door behind him so that Kelly couldn't hear. “Weren't you and Straimer talking about that new drug on the streets?”

Sam gulped. He and Straimer had been working on the drug case. Along with Cass. “Yeah, Biophuterol. There's not a whole lot to know yet. Just that up here we think most of it is coming down from Canada. We've heard from other areas that they're getting it in from Mexico as well.”

“Rodriguez and I booked this kid today. He tried to rob a convenience store and we found this on him.” Matt swiped his phone, pulling up a picture of pills in a small baggie. “He kept calling it ‘O' which we thought was Oxy at first, but I had Oxycontin when my back went out and these pills are definitely not them.”

Goddammit. Why hadn't Straimer called him?
Sam needed to grill this guy as soon as possible. Before he got released on some sort of technicality. “How long can we keep him in custody?”

“He hasn't lawyered up yet and we totally have him on the small robbery. We tried, but he's not talking about the drugs.”

“What about his parents? Is he a minor?”

Matt shook his head. “He's eighteen. Lives with his mom, but it looks like he may not have a reliable family situation at home. He didn't even bother trying to call either of his parents.”

Sam thought back to his own childhood—if you could call it that—with his drunk of a mom. He had always been the same way when he got in trouble, avoided contacting her at all times. Not because he feared punishment, but because he knew it'd be a waste. In the rare case that she was sober, she was usually too wrapped up in her own life to be bothered. At least until she married his stepdad. For those few years that those two were happily married, she straightened up her act. In fact, it was the car wreck with Jess's parents that had made her go straight for a while. She met Sam's stepdad soon after that. Sam shook the memory from his head. “So because of the robbery we've at least got him for twenty-four hours or until he or his parents get wise and lawyer up?” Matt nodded. “I want to take a stab at him first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Sure thing. Pick me up early . . . around seven? We can grab Tim Hortons.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just like old times. You know . . . all of four days ago.” Matt smiled, but it quickly faded. “Matt . . . what is it? What aren't you telling me?”

“It's just . . . I swung by Jess's house. . . .”

Every muscle in Sam's body bunched beneath his clothes. “And?”

“And . . . she's fine.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He paused. “But . . .”

“Matt, I swear to God if you don't spit it out . . .”

“Fine. She got into a car. A really nice car-service type of limo. I mean, not
really
a limo. Not like what we took to prom—”

“Get
on
with it.” But Sam knew where this story was going. He hadn't met too many people in this town recently who would be so flashy.

“I followed them to the ferry to Peaks Island.”

“Goddammit, Jess.”

“I'm sorry, man. She was all dressed up. It looked like a date or something.”

The pounding in his head was back, only this time he could attribute it to one petite brunette who was constantly getting under his skin. “It's okay, Mattie. Thanks for checking in on her. And for telling me.”

Matt jerked his head back toward the house. “Let's go have some dinner, okay?”

“Sure thing. You go on in . . . I'll be right behind you.”