Shot in the Dark (Blackbridge Security 2)

“You had something to do with this,” I snap at my friend, a slew of emotions hitting me all at one time, so quickly, I’ll never be able to sort through them all.

“Someone had to help you move things along.” She looks over my shoulder, nodding her head. “Wren. Good to see you.”

Without another word, my traitorous friend walks away, leaving me smelling like fresh meat at the mouth of the lion’s den.

I feel the heat of him against me, but I refuse to turn to face him. Just knowing he’s there is hard enough.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispers, the finger of one hand sliding down my bare arm.

I gasp in shock at the sight of gold glowing from his wrist when he swirls his finger around my white band. Of course he’d choose that, and I imagine the women I’ve seen wearing yellow will be swarming him in a matter of minutes. Just the thought of him talking to someone else in this place makes me want to scream. But that’s irrational, right? I don’t own him anymore than he owns me.

The lie, even unspoken, makes my knees weak.

“I’ve missed you.”

My eyes flutter closed, lips trembling.

“Did you miss me?” His nose is at my neck, the soft breaths moving my hair and tickling my heated skin.

“You lied to me,” I accuse. “I hate liars.”

“And I’ll walk away.” My heart seizes. “If that’s what you want after I explain everything.”

“So talk,” I hiss, jerking my neck away.

“Not here. Put this on.” As if performing a magic trick, I look down to see a yellow band clasped in his hand.

“No.” That band gives him too much power, and I’ve already given him too much of myself.

“You have your safeword,” he reminds me. “Take the band, Whitney.”

I look up, finding the bartender standing in front of me.

“Are you okay?” His eyes dart over my shoulder, to my eyes, and down to the yellow band in Wren’s hand. “This is your choice.”

My mouth opens and closes, no sound coming out, and suddenly I’m too crowded—not just by Wren at my back, but because other people are going to be standing around witnessing my emotional break.

“You’re safe,” the handsome bartender reminds me, kindness filling his eyes.

I nod, letting him know I understand, and I do. I can talk to Wren here with the guarantee that I’ll be safe. I don’t have those assurances if I leave with him, because let’s face it, I want to hear his reasoning, want to listen to his excuses so when I walk away, I can do it fully informed and not second-guessing everything we’ve experienced together.

“You’re sure?” the bartender asks again.

“Yes.” The cool blade of scissors scoop under my band and with a quick snip it falls free.

Wren doesn’t waste a second replacing it with the one in his hands.

“Which room?” I shrug, but realize he isn’t talking to me but the bartender.

The bartender gives him a cool smile before letting him know that his reservation is for room six.

I sneer over my shoulder at the bartender as Wren leads me away. Is everyone in this place in cahoots tonight. The bartender winks at me, blowing me an air kiss before I have to face forward again to prevent myself from tripping and follow Wren. His grip around my waist is soft but insistent as he urges me along.

We enter a hallway; the rooms sweep past quickly as he leads me deeper into the building. Without a flourish, Wren opens the door to the room labeled six, and when we step inside, I’m honestly taken back by the simplistic nature of the room. Of course heavy curtains hang on the far wall, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find windows for viewing on the other side.

But it’s the huge four-poster bed in the center of the room that seems out of place. I’d expect something harsher than a mattress covered in decorative pillows and a comforter that looks as soft as clouds. I expected black leather and red implements for pain, but there’s nothing, just the bed.

It shouldn’t seem as welcoming as it does. Despite the call of comfort, I know this room will bring me the most pain I’ve ever felt before in my life. And to make matters worse, it’s going to be emotional pain, something that will probably take years instead of days or weeks to heal from.

“Take off your clothes.”

I still haven’t fully faced him, and as much as I want to deny him, I know I’d never be able to do it if I were looking into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“No.”

His warmth is once again at my back, and it forces my eyes to slam closed.

“I believe the correct answer is ‘Yes, Sir.’”

I tremble with need at his words, my body betraying what my mind is fighting so valiantly for.