Unwound (Mastered 2)

“I haven’t even started to ream you.”

“It’ll have to wait. I need you to do something for me.”

“What?”

“Inside the coat closet, on a hook above the light switch¸ is a key ring. Can you grab it?”

“Where’s the coat closet?”

“End of the hall past the elevator.”

In all the times Amery had been in Ronin’s place, she’d never noticed the pastoral mural on the wall wasn’t just a framed picture but a sliding door. She found the keys and brought them to him.

He selected a key with a circular end. “Below the call button on the elevator panel is a small open circle. This key fits it. Turn it until the word lock appears in red letters on the panel.”

“And I’m doing this . . . why?”

“I’m locking the elevator car up here so no one else can get in.”

“Good thing I planned to stay over.” After locking them in, she returned to the living room to see Ronin hunched over, his head in his hands again. She crouched next to him. Even lying strapped on the gurney in the hospital, Ronin hadn’t seemed this helpless. “Tell me the truth about how you feel or I swear I’m calling an ambulance.”

When he whispered, “I’m in agony,” she briefly closed her eyes, knowing that admission probably hurt him as much as the actual head injury.

She ran her fingers through his hair and he winced at the contact. “Where are your painkillers?”

“On the kitchen counter.”

“I’ll get them.” After he downed the pills, she said, “Stretch out. I’ll get a pillow and a blanket.”

Ronin raised his head, and she saw it pained him. “There’s not enough room for both of us on this couch.”

“But I thought—”

“You said you’d be in my bed. I’m holding you to that.”

“You are so stubborn. What if I roll over in the middle of the night and somehow hurt you?”

“It’ll hurt me much worse if you’re not right there beside me.”

God. The man was relentless. “Stand up. I’ll help you to your room.”

Ronin was shaky and sweating by the time he rested against the platform bed. She eyed his clothes. Baggy athletic shorts and a baggier Denver Broncos jersey. “Where’d you get the clothes?”

“Zach brought them. Easy to get on.”

“Let’s hope they’re easy to get off.” She pulled the jersey, trying to free his arms.

Ronin murmured, “I love to get you off.”

“Please focus.”

“I am. Where I should be. Entirely on you.”

She looked at him. Her stomach cartwheeled at the determination in his dark eyes.

“You’re beautiful, inside and out. I’ve never had anyone in my life like you. I’d say I didn’t realize that until it was too late and you walked out, but I knew it from the moment I met you.”

Ronin Black saying that mushy stuff meant the pain pill had kicked in. “Hang on.”

“That wasn’t a lie when I told you the scar on your arm is the Japanese symbol for my name.”

“I know. I only said that to hurt you.”

“It worked.” He briefly closed his eyes and shuddered. “I’ve been in f**king misery since you left.”

“Hold still while I pull this over your head.” Amery froze once she’d removed his shirt. Her first glimpse of the mass of bruises on his torso made her gut clench. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at you. Why did you do this to yourself?”

“Pain made me forget.”

Just for a moment, she rested her cheek above his heart. “Crawl in before the pain meds knock you out.”

He gritted his teeth and pulled himself onto the bed.

Amery curled up beside him, watching him closely until he’d fallen asleep.

But she was too keyed up to stare at the ceiling or to listen to him breathe. Happy as she was he was resting, the day’s events had only muddied the waters and postponed their long-overdue conversation. Restless, she slipped out of bed and wandered through his apartment.

With the bright moon and the temperate night, she would’ve loved to sit by the pool. But with her luck, she’d screw up the elevator if she tried to get to the roof. So her entertainment choices were staring out the windows or watching TV.

She flipped through channels for what seemed like hours and then drifted off.

That’s when the dreams started in again, and she didn’t have the mental energy to fight to stay awake.

Some nights the dreams were so sex-fueled she rolled toward his side of the bed, searching for the warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, the familiarity of his hands. Only to feel an empty spot beside her. Then the longing was so potent she cried into her pillow upon awakening.

Some nights the dreams were sensual, featuring a cloaked figure wielding ropes. Although she never saw his face, Ronin’s mesmerizing voice drifted from beneath the black hood. He praised her bravery and beauty as he tied her in elaborate configurations.

But tonight the dream took a different turn. She was naked and gagged, suspended above the floor.

Loud circus music distorted the silence. Then Ronin appeared with a flourish, dressed as a ringmaster.

She dangled above his head, out of reach, bound with black ropes that abraded her skin, but he didn’t acknowledge her. Applause surrounded them, and he took bow after bow—deep, formal jujitsu bows. And every time he bent over to acknowledge the adoration, his mask would fall off. But just as quickly, a new one would appear.