Cover Your Eyes (Morgans of Nashville 1)

She turned on the television and switched to an all music station. The music was a soft, seductive jazz that made her sway as she glanced toward an ice bucket with an open bottle of chilling Chardonnay. She smiled. He’d followed her instructions well.

“Good boy,” she purred as she poured herself a glass. “I’ll reward you for that.”

In the bathroom, she sipped her wine and filled the tub with hot water. She pinned her hair up loosely, letting key strands drape over her breasts. He would like seeing her this way. Warm. Wet. Seductive.

Rebecca sipped her wine and leaned her head back against the tile. A sigh shuddered through her. She closed her eyes, letting the warm water waft over her skin. When she’d finished her wine, she rose out of the tub, pulled a plush towel from the rack and dried. She picked up her empty wineglass and moved toward the bottle for a refill.

As she filled her glass she had the sudden sense that someone was behind her. Her skin tingled. Stiffening, she slowly replaced the bottle into the ice bucket. Her fingers clutched her wineglass as unexpected anxiety sliced through her body.

As she slowly turned, her peripheral caught the form of a tall, thick man. A black mask covered his face and dark gloves covered fisted fingers. Gripping the glass tighter, she hurled the wine toward him hoping for an extra second to race to her purse still sitting on the bed.

The stranger dodged the paltry attack and returned with his own. A hard open hand slapped her face.

Pain rocketed through her jaw and head as she stumbled toward the bed. She caught herself from falling into the plush comforter and scrambled off the side of the bed toward the back of the room. Her attacker laughed, clearly enjoying the chase. She reached toward the wine bottle and picked it up by the neck.

As she raised it over her head and wielded it like a club, cold expensive wine sloshed her arm and over her naked breasts. “Get the fuck away from me.”

“You try to hit me and I’ll make this worse.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed. The hunt excited him. He moved toward her and she swung, a glancing blow striking his shoulder.

“Bitch,” he growled. He closed the gap between them, grabbed her by the throat and backed her up to the curtained windows. As he squeezed her windpipe, he pressed her into the silk fabric and the cold glass behind it. She choked for air but didn’t release the bottle. He squeezed harder, banging her hand none too gently against the thick hard glass. “Keep fighting. Please. I’d love to snap your neck.”

She stared into the masked face, dark gray eyes staring at her with feverish intensity. She screwed up her face and spit.

He grabbed her naked breast and dug his fingers into the soft flesh around her nipple. Pain mingled with a lack of oxygen and soon her vision blurred. The fight drained from her body. She dropped the bottle. Seconds before she would slip into unconsciousness, he yanked her away from the window and threw her on the bed.

She choked in air, the skin around her nipple burning, as she scrambled to gather her wits. The tip of a knife pressed to her jugular tracked the blue-green line along the column of her throat past the hollow of her neck. “Make a sound and I’ll skin you alive.”

Her gaze narrowed and he must have read the defiance because with the knife tip he nicked her breast. Pain shot. Blood trickled down the side of her breast.

“Be a good girl?”

She nodded.

He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out handcuffs. Cold metal clinked around her right and left hands. In seconds both were secured to the bedpost.

The man ran his hands over her naked mound, squeezing hard before clamping metal around both her ankles.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered.

When she hesitated he traced the knife the length of her thigh. She spread her legs.

“Wider.”

She complied.

He fastened the cuffs to the end of the bed. She lay spread-eagle on the bed, gasping for air, hurting, and bleeding.

He moved back a step to admire her form. He reached in a jacket pocket and pulled out several metal objects and tossed them beside her on the bed.

“Have a good look,” he said.

She shook her head.

Laughing, he stripped off his jacket and then ripped off his mask, giving her a good look at his face. The makings of an evening shadow darkened his face. He wasn’t much to look at and if she’d passed him on the street she might not have thought twice about him if not for his expensive haircut and hand-tailored suit. He unfastened his shirt, slowly, one button at a time.

“I’ve been watching you for days,” he rasped. “I’ve dreamed about this.”

She glanced at the bulge in his pants. Instead of fear, desire pricked her skin. She moistened her lips. “You’re a dirty man, lover.”

“Sugar,” he said. “Call me Sugar.” His was a baritone’s voice, deep and seductive. He tugged off his gloves and ran his hand roughly over her body.

“Sugar,” she whispered against his ear.

“You drive me crazy.”

“Stop talking.” Her voice held an air of command now. “I don’t want any more talk.”

Hesitation flickered in his gaze.

She was chained to the bed.

But she was in charge.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“I’m always ready.” Shoes kicked off and tailor-made pants whooshed to the floor.

He climbed on top of her, straddling her body. His erection pressed against her flat belly.

He could have penetrated her in a second and she’d have been powerless to stop him but he waited for her next order. His breathing was fast with his desire.

She liked it when he was on the knife-edge of desire, his wanting so acute that it hurt more than the nick in her breast. To make him suffer more, she wriggled under him, pressing her sex into him.

She had designed the entire scene. She’d picked the hotel, she’d told him when to arrive and how to act.

“Now,” she said. “You can fuck me now.”

Baby watched him slip out of the hotel side door, cross the parking lot and get into an older car that would blend into traffic unnoticed. Most days, he liked to be noticed. Liked the limelight. Liked the center stage. His red car. He ducked into the shadows when he wanted sin. And judging by the flush in his cheeks and the spring in his step, he’d been a bad, bad boy.

This bad boy had gone unpunished for a long time and clearly Dixie’s lesson had not been enough to

reform his ways or redirect him back to what was important.

Another lesson would have to be taught.

Settling back, Baby waited for the woman he’d no doubt come to see. Baby didn’t have a name for the woman and didn’t know what she looked like but it wasn’t hard to spot his type. Blond. Buxom. Pretty. So pretty. He was predictable when it came to women.

Fifteen minutes later a woman emerged from the side door. Blond hair flowed over narrow shoulders clad in a tailored suit. Her blouse was made of silk and her jewelry gold. Demure kitten heels kept her from being overly obvious. No fuck-me-pumps for this gal.

But this little lady possessed a swagger, a confidence that fit his perfect woman profile. He spent his days telling the world what to do, how to live, but alone, behind closed doors, he liked to be told what to do. He liked the strong ones.

The woman fished keys from a large leather purse, clicked open a car door lock and slid behind the wheel of a black Cadillac. She checked her makeup in the mirror and then carefully pulled into traffic. Baby fired up the engine and followed.

Wouldn’t take much digging and poking around to find out if lady-in-the-suit would be his next lesson.

January 5

Sugar,

I know you are disappointed you couldn’t help. I understand that you got a lot to lose. And really who would have seen that guy coming? He was on stage and hitting me before Rudy could grab his bat and knock him flat. And don’t worry about the bruise. The doctor said it will heal fast. No broken bones.

Xoxo,

A.

Chapter Eleven

Monday, October 17, 11 AM

Hoots and high-fives had Deke glancing up from a forensics report through the glass walls of his office into the office center. Many of the officers had risen from their desks and were gathered around someone. Deke pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair as he waited to see who had caused the commotion.

When the crowd cleared, he saw his brother Rick and Rick’s canine, Tracker, moving from the circle of officers. Both Rick and Tracker paused and allowed back-slaps as if both understood returning to the station and being surrounded by the sights and sounds of cops was good.