Fever Dream (BDSM Ballet 2)

Smack!

She wailed, grasping his leg. “Okay, God. That hurts. Ow. I mean, don’t stop but...that hurts.”

“That’s kind of the point, bad girl.” He began to spank her in earnest, in a steady, stinging rhythm, thrilling to her rising cries. The neighbors, he thought briefly, before deciding not to care.

“Please,” she squealed. “Oh, God, no, no!”

With a crash, the door flew open and Liam came bounding in. He stopped short, staring at the two of them. Rubio jumped up, shoving Petra behind him.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked. “And did you ever hear of knocking?”

Liam averted his eyes, staring at the ceiling. “I heard her yelling ‘no.’ I thought...” Liam looked past him to Petra, now that she was dressed. “I wouldn’t have barged in, except that I started reading those emails. Paulsen is en route to London. He wrote that he’d be arriving tonight.”

“You couldn’t call and tell us that?” Ruby growled.

“No one was answering phones,” he replied with a harried look. “And I didn’t think you’d still be here. I was coming to help Petra get her stuff.”

“What stuff?” she asked.

“All your stuff. Whatever you need to get by for a few days. If Paulsen’s coming here, he’s coming for you.” Liam looked back at Ruby. “And you too. Mem’s headed to your place right now.”

“Who’s Mem?” asked Petra, her voice thin and high.

“Liam’s live-in assistant.” Ruby crossed to her and rubbed her shoulders. “He’s a silent ninja type.”

“I don’t want to sound alarmist,” said Liam, “but I think you should both relocate until we figure out what this guy’s up to. I’m inviting you both to stay at my place. It’s cheaper than a hotel, and it’s the most secure choice.”

Ruby looked at Petra. This wasn’t how he’d expected their erotic reunion to end. At the same time, if Paulsen was headed to London, she couldn’t stay here. Her safety and security was more important than spankings and sex and his wrecked plans for the evening.

“Where are your bags?” Ruby asked her, springing into motion. “I’ll help you pack. Me and Liam can carry it. Bring enough to stay for a while.” He turned back to smooth away the tension lines between her brows. “Tudo bem, querida. Will be okay. I’ll be with you. It will be safe.”

“What about you? Will you be safe?” She took a deep, halting breath. “This is all because of me, all this disruption.”

He tried to reassure her with his smile. “Liam’s house is not so bad. The basement is fun, anyway.” He kissed her, quick and tender, not caring that Liam was watching. He wanted her to know that nothing bad would happen. He was determined to keep her safe.

Chapter Eleven: At Liam's

Petra watched the nighttime lights of London slide across the backseat of Liam’s car. It was just after midnight and the party people congregated on the street corners in their short skirts and skinny jeans, heading out to go dancing or have a few drinks. She’d never been one of those people. She wondered what it felt like, hanging out in noisy nightclubs and getting wasted with friends. She was too old for that now, anyway.

She felt really old tonight, and tired and numb. Not scared though. She wasn’t scared, not with Rubio and Liam sitting in the front seats. Liam assured her everything would be okay, and he lived in a big house and owned a huge international security company, so he was probably right.

“You still awake?” Rubio asked, looking back at her over the seat. In the dark, his black eyes reflected the glittering lights from outside.

She sat up a bit straighter. “Yeah. I’m not tired.” She stifled a yawn in spite of herself.

“Little liar,” he murmured, turning away. He and Liam started another conversation but she couldn’t make out the words over the hum of the engine. This wasn’t the same sporty car he’d used to drive her home from the party. It was a different sporty car, something older and vintage. She wondered how many sporty cars he owned. Judging by the size of his house, as many as he wanted.

They’d already swung by Rubio’s place, but she hadn’t had much time to check it out. He literally grabbed one bag of belongings. One whole bag. But then, she hadn’t brought much either. Some clothes, her leotards and shoes, her e-reader. She and Ruby were dancers. There wasn’t room for a lot of other things in their lives. His loft was a study in uncluttered simplicity. Unadorned concrete walls, a soaring ceiling, and a massive window.

All she could think of was Paulsen watching Rubio through that window. Loading a gun. Aiming.

She shook those thoughts away. They had no evidence yet that Paulsen was bent on murder, at least she didn’t think they did. But it was sinking in that she’d endangered Rubio by coming here, by taking a position as his partner. He might say it wasn’t her fault, but that didn’t change the fact that it probably was.

She stared at the back of his head, then his profile as he turned. He had beautiful lips and such finely sculpted features. She loved his nose. She dreamed about his nose, about him looking down at her over its haughty perfection. He came from the slums, supposedly, but there was nothing cheap or coarse about him.

Well, maybe the way he had sex.

But she liked the way he had sex, and apparently he liked sleeping with her too. She didn’t think of herself as great in bed; sex had always been an afterthought for her. Most of her amorous experiences had taken place while she was half-asleep, or thinking about other things. Rubio didn’t do sex like that. When he was fucking her it was impossible to think about anything else, and definitely impossible to float along half-asleep, barely participating.

She was still digesting their conversation back at her place, and the haphazard coupling that followed. And the spanking, which she’d absolutely loved. She hoped against hope he was right, that she could be aware and guard against getting too wrapped up in him. She was so much like her mother in personality, in her tendency to be obsessive. Please, don’t let me be like her in this.

She shifted on the seat. She could still feel the smallest twinge of lingering ache from when he’d spanked her. She felt lingering embarrassment too. Liam Wilder had gotten an eyeful. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. He has a dungeon in his basement, for God’s sake.

And him and Rubio were close friends. Liam had probably watched Rubio spank and fuck countless women at his parties. She tried not to feel jealousy, but she did. Not jealousy of Liam, but jealousy of all Ruby’s phantom partners. She wanted him to be exclusive with her. Even if they weren’t getting serious, even if they weren’t going to get lost in each other, she didn’t want him flaunting other women in her face. They’d have to discuss that at some point. Maybe. If things worked out.

They reached Regents Park and crawled along hoity-toity streets to Liam’s place. They drove around to the back, to a large garage. Five cars then. Not so very many for a gazillionaire like him. An elderly, dark-haired man came out to greet them and help with their bags. Rubio introduced them, his arm around her shoulder.

“Hi, Mem. This is Petra Hewitt.”

Mem took her hand in a welcoming grip. “I’m honored to meet you. I have seen your lovely dancing.” He gave a slight bow. “You’re an artist, Miss Hewitt.”

“Please, Petra’s fine.” She blushed and thanked him while she tried to place his ethnicity. He wasn’t Indian or Asian. His soft-spoken accent wasn’t British, but not American either.

He was also pretty far from her image of a “silent ninja type.” With that said, there was some edge about him suggesting he could be menacing if circumstances called for it. Liam had the same edge behind his mild, reassuring smile.

Liam urged her into the house with that smile, and Ashleigh greeted Petra with a hug that dispersed some of the tension of the evening. Petra respected Ashleigh Keaton like crazy. She wasn’t a self-made ballet star—Rubio had made Ashleigh’s career—but she was still noted as a skilled emotional and lyrical dancer. She was also pregnant, s

o whatever career she’d had was done.

Ashleigh didn’t seem depressed about it though. She invited them into the dining room for coffee and chatted about City Ballet without any apparent regret. Happy, married, and pregnant by a rich guy. Was that what all ballerinas secretly wished for? Their careers didn’t last forever. Petra was twenty-eight, the same age as Ashleigh, and she hadn’t thought at all about her future, about marriage or children or anything else. Tunnel vision, her teachers used to say. You will only be great with tunnel vision. You must focus and work. Her mother had gotten distracted by Petr Grigolyuk and lost everything. If only she’d been like Ashleigh and fallen for some businessman or security tycoon instead. Her life could have turned out so differently…

“What’s the matter?” Rubio asked. Petra realized she was scowling into her coffee cup. Had someone asked her a question?

“I think I’m tired,” she said.

“Of course you’re tired.” Ashleigh hopped up. “It’s late and you must be exhausted. We prepared some rooms for you both upstairs. And you shouldn’t worry,” she added, leading Petra over to the staircase. “This place is security-wired like crazy. The alarm is always armed. Not that you’re in any danger.” Her eyes moved past Petra to Rubio and her husband, climbing up the stairs behind them. “I mean...”

“She means that you’re going to be perfectly safe here, whether or not extra precautions are necessary,” said Liam. “And they may not be necessary. Until Paulsen arrives, until he surfaces, we don’t really know.”

“Until he surfaces?” Ruby snorted as they reached the landing. “How many guys did you send to the airport?”