Wrong Place Wrong Time

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An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Wrong Place, Wrong Time? ISBN # 1-4199-0700-X ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Wrong Place, Wrong Time? Copyright© 2006 Ann Jacobs Edited by Sue-Ellen Gower. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication: July 2006

This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 443103502. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated E–rotic by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

WRONG PLACE, WRONG TIME?

Ann Jacobs

Ann Jacobs

Prologue

November 5, in a rural area southeast of Birmingham, Alabama She’d been in the process of divorcing him. At one point she’d even given some serious thought to killing him, but damn it, she hadn’t wanted some no-good creep to step in and do it for her. Tears stung Darlene Jackson’s eyes, and a chilly mist began to settle like glistening teardrops onto the damp red clay they’d just shoveled on top of his casket. Desolate place, this country cemetery where his mama had wanted him buried. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The wailing had finally stopped. Everybody had adjourned to Mama’s house to grieve with her and eat the comfort foods the neighbors had brought over because Travis Jackson was dead. Dead before his time, his pretty face splattered to a pulp because he’d been in the wrong place. A place he never should have been. She’d told Travis’ mama she’d come to the house in a little while, that she needed a few minutes alone. Betty had understood, pressing her hand. Her eyes sunk into her head with grief, she’d been shepherded away by two of Travis’ aunts, leaving Darlene by herself with Travis’ memory and too many questions. What had happened to him? Why had the man she’d loved with every part of herself when she married him become so withdrawn and cold? What had made him take up a party lifestyle he’d never before seemed to favor, and what had happened to make him develop a cruel streak she’d never seen a hint of in their early married life? Here at the graveside where her bitterness had no live recipient, she couldn’t help remembering those early days. He’d understood her need to be dominated, catered to it. His focus had always been on giving her pleasure when he initiated the scenes of Dominance and submission that she needed in order to come. She’d loved it. Loved

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him, basked in his physical prowess. It hadn’t mattered that her parents thought him beneath her. Or had it? Had their continuing disapproval changed him, made him go crazy with the spending, escape her to party with teammates he never used to see except on the field? Had it made him resent her, want to hurt her where before he’d always focused on seeing to her sexual pleasure? The nights she’d cried into her pillow because he was out partying…the fact he’d withdrawn from her emotionally as though he turned his feelings on and off the way she flipped light switches…memories flooded her mind, brought tears to her eyes. Travis, were you just playing the role? Was your love a switch you could turn on and off? Sweet Jesus, but I believed you when you showed me you wanted to possess my heart and soul…take care of me and pleasure me. Why’d you have to go and die before I could ask you what went wrong? She bowed her head, feeling the weight descending on her. Her legs began to give way, the slender heels of her pumps as unable to support her in this moment as Travis had been unable to do in the end with all the debts he’d accumulated. Strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her. A smell swamped her senses, woodsy and distinctive and totally out of place in this country graveyard. The smell of pricey cologne. The sort of product she pushed in ads, only a masculine version. She wasn’t alone at the grave. While everybody else had gone ahead, allowing her the moment of contemplation, apparently one person had realized she’d need somebody to lean on. Somehow she knew who it was before she composed her face enough to look over her shoulder at him. Vladimir Ivanov. Considering the circumstances of their star running back’s death, the Rangers’ management sending anyone to the funeral had shocked her. But Vlad had arrived quietly and on time. Seeing him standing respectfully back from the other mourners at the wake yesterday, his mirror-lens sunglasses obscuring his eyes, had sent a chill slithering clear down her spine. A chill

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that had nothing to do with the cold, damp November air. That same chill made her shiver now. When he focused on her she felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. It wasn’t his looks, because for a white boy he was mighty easy on the eyes. It was the way he stared at her, the questions he’d asked last night as though he was investigating Travis’ murder. She had a feeling he just might have been. The fact he’d materialized more or less out of nowhere a few months back and signed on with the team was a real good hint he might be some sort of cop working undercover. Yet Vlad Ivanov was proving to be as good a place kicker as the Rangers had ever had, even though he’d come to the team with no prior pro experience—just a stellar college soccer career that had ended a decade earlier. One thing for sure, Vlad seemed mighty interested in finding out what Darlene had known about Travis and Jeralyn Bonner, the showgirl who’d died with him last weekend in that Seattle hotel room. “I am sorry, you know. Travis was my friend.” Vlad spoke slowly, his voice deep and lightly accented. His speech pattern, particularly the fact he didn’t often use contractions, reminded Darlene of romantic movies set against harsh Russian winters, with rugged heroes able to survive the forces of nature and protect what belonged to them against all challenges. “He loved you. The last thing he would have wanted was for you to weep.” He dug a pristine white handkerchief from the breast pocket of his dark suit and pressed it into her hand. If Travis loved me the way you say he did, he should have kept his tomcatting cock away from football groupies. “I’m sorry he got shot along with that bimbo, but the only reason I’m here is out of respect for his mama—and for the love we used to share. If Travis were alive, I’d be long gone. Come to think of it, I was long gone. Our marriage was over months before he died.” What was it about Ivanov that made Darlene as nervous as a cat with a bell tied to its tail? She made herself quit macerating the hanky and handed it back, determined to keep some semblance of cool.

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“You will catch cold out here in the rain. Come. I will see you to Travis’ mother’s house. Then I must get back to LA. Cannot miss the Sunday game.” It made no sense, but Darlene found herself regretting he was going so soon. But she understood pro football. A player couldn’t miss a game. Darlene was sick of football, even sicker of the Rangers Travis had hung out with the last few years. She’d hoped when Casey Weldon had come back to the team before last season started that Travis would settle down, do his job and leave the extracurricular partying alone, the way he’d done before Casey announced what had turned out to be a very short retirement. That sure as hell had been wishful thinking. Just as it had been stupid for her to hang in as long as she had, hoping Travis would suddenly go back to being the good husband and masterful lover she’d married five years earlier. Well, it was for certain he’d never cause her another heartache now that his cold, stiff body lay six feet under Alabama clay. Darlene forced herself to quit shaking and held out her hand, forcing a smile that didn’t want to come out. “I’m sure Travis’ mama appreciated you coming.” “I am at her service. And yours.” From the intent look on his face, Darlene got the sense Vlad didn’t only mean he’d be there for a shoulder to cry on or for the steadying hand he held at her elbow as they made their way across the sodden field. She wanted to deny the shard of sexual excitement that thrummed through her at his touch. A lot of women would have hated all ball players, grouped them all together because of Travis’ treatment of her, but she’d been around Rangers players for five years. They were just like other people. Some succumbed to the partying and got lost. Some didn’t, kept their families close and their noses to the grindstone, invested wisely. It just hurt her, knowing Travis had somehow jumped off one ship onto the other, going a totally different direction in his life than the man she’d known. Still, she had no business feeling sexually attracted to another man here, in the cemetery where they’d just buried her husband this gray November day. “What I’d like 7

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to know is what Travis did to get himself shot like that. And who besides me had reason to want to blow him away. Guess I never will, though.” Vlad cleared his throat. “Things are not always as they seem. There was much to be admired about your late husband.” “Admired? You mean the fact he was as good at evading opposing linemen as he was avoiding his responsibilities as a husband?” she snapped before she could manage to hold her tongue. “Not at all. You must have known some of his good qualities or you would not be here now, mourning him.” With that Vlad took her arm and led her away from her husband’s grave. So much for keeping my cool, she thought as they walked away.

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Chapter One

Los Angeles, the following week Two years ago today Casey Weldon’s first wife Alice had died. Ironically it was TJ, the former homicide detective who was Casey’s wife now, whom Darlene now considered her closest friend. TJ was a savvy lady, and God if it didn’t make Darlene feel good to see Travis’ former best friend smiling again, the way Casey always did every time TJ walked into a room. “Casey wanted to come to the funeral,” TJ said, lifting a mug and taking a tentative sip. “The general manager didn’t think it would look good, considering… Oops, watch it. Tea’s delicious, but it’s still awfully hot.” “Yeah, I know.” The Rangers’ front office hadn’t been able to distance itself fast enough from the scandal that Travis had plopped right in their laps. It stood to reason they wouldn’t have wanted their star quarterback reminding people he and Travis used to be close to inseparable off the field as well as on it. “Can’t blame him. Guess they figured Vlad was too new for fans to assign him guilt by association.” “Vlad Ivanov?” “Yeah. TJ, there’s something about that man. Can’t put my finger on what it is… Sweet Jesus, though, he’s got a way of looking at a woman that sends a shiver down her spine.” “A good shiver, I guess?” “You got it. There’s something about him that says he’s there to take care of all your needs, to push all the sadness out of you and make you sing inside.” She paused, let out a nervous little laugh. “Listen to me, whining one minute because I can’t get on with my life until somebody finds out who killed Travis and why, and gettin’ all moony-eyed the next over a man I’ve spent less than an hour with. A white man, yet.” Mama and

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Daddy hadn’t been happy when she’d picked herself a man who played football for a living, but they’d get apoplectic if she brought Vlad home. At least Travis had been black. “Darlene, you’ve got to try to put this behind you. Travis is gone. Worrying like you’ve been doing is only going to hurt you. You should move on. It’s been over a year now since you walked out on him. Your marriage was over long before he got killed. Focus on that. Never mind that he’s dead now. Let the police go after the bastard who killed him.” Him and the bimbo—Jeralyn—and maybe those three other Ranger groupies who’d been shot dead after away games this year and last. Darlene had no trouble guessing that was what TJ was too polite to mention. “I am. But I thought I’d put Travis out of my mind a long time ago. I was doing okay until I got a call saying he was dead. Murdered. It’s not just that I’m obsessed with finding out what was going on that got him killed. It’s that I need to figure out what was going on in his thick head, what it was that turned the man whose major focus seemed to be doing whatever it took to make me happy into a cheat and an asshole. What I did that brought that mean streak out in him.” Recalling that last night she’d seen him, the awful moments in the hot tub when she thought he was going to kill her, made Darlene shudder. “Until I do, I won’t be able to move along.” “I know it must be hard. Still, if Vlad gives you those shivery feelings, maybe you ought to act on them.” TJ smiled. “It might go a long way toward driving the ghosts away.” He’d be easy to lean on. Darlene’s cheeks grew warm when she imagined him taking her, making her let go and quit thinking. Forcing her to feel, just feel. She remembered how warm his hand had felt on her shoulder, the woodsy scent wafting into her nostrils on the cold wind in that Alabama graveyard. “You may be right.”

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“I know I’m right. Think about it some more.” TJ set down her cup and stood. “I’m going to have to run. It’s time for me to go pick Brett up from his karate lesson. Hang in there, my friend. And don’t try to get involved with the investigation.” Good advice, Darlene knew, but following it was easier said than done. After TJ left, she stared out the living room window at the waves crashing onto the rugged beach off the Pacific. She was going to have to get out of this blue funk and do a couple of photo shoots next week. It wasn’t that she needed the money, but TJ was right. She couldn’t keep moping around here, and she certainly had no business trying to bug the cops and distract them from their investigating. Maybe a soak in the hot tub would help her relax. Just as she was imagining hot bubbles bursting around her naked body, the phone rang. “Hello.” The mellow sound of Vladimir Ivanov’s deep, velvety-sounding voice made her heart beat faster. There was something about his slight accent that hinted of his roots somewhere in eastern Europe—and of a quiet, arousing hint of sexual dominance. Sweet Jesus but it hurt to be alone. Darlene figured that had to have been why she jumped on the chance to have Vlad come over, and why she was pacing the floor now, counting the minutes while he fought the perennial snarl of suburban LA traffic.

***** Hermosa Beach. Vlad scanned the high-rises and quaint-looking shops as he drove along a road that meandered along the coast past condos and now increasingly priceylooking single-family homes. Even through the mirrored lenses of his glasses, the strong afternoon glare off the ocean had his eyes burning. Not for the first time, he wished they weren’t so damn sensitive to the sun. He whistled when he pulled into the driveway and saw the brilliant white cottage on a ridge overlooking the Pacific. Supermodels must get paid like movie stars because Travis Jackson couldn’t have bought this piece of beachfront property on what he’d

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earned playing for the Rangers. The star running back had been so deep in debt that undercover agent Jeralyn Bonner had been able to recruit him to play her lover—which is what had gotten them both killed two weeks earlier. On the surface it had seemed the double murder had broken the killer’s pattern— but the forensic investigators had quickly figured out Travis hadn’t been shot in bed but dragged there so the scene looked as if he and Jeralyn had been blown away while having sex. Travis’ presence had been different—a change in the killer’s routine of waiting until the boyfriend had left and then killing the woman. Apparently Travis had faked leaving then stuck around and confronted the murderer—a fact Vlad had agreed with the Seattle police and his fellow FBI investigators was best kept secret until they caught the killer. Let the public think it had been just another groupie murder, only this time the woman’s lover had been caught with his pants down. You’ve gotten absolutely nowhere, trying to find a common thread to tie those murdered women together. Different women from different walks of life. The only coincidence Vlad had discovered so far was that they’d all been involved with different Rangers players, all of whom happened to have been married—and that the murders had taken place in cities where the Rangers had gone to play away games. For a long time he sat in the car, his eyes closed, thinking about the woman he was going to see, a woman he’d only met once, at Travis’ funeral. That dreary day she’d been wet, bedraggled and jet-lagged. Still she’d made his cock stand at attention as well as bringing out every protective instinct in his soul. Tall—almost as tall as he—and reed-thin, she’d looked as though a gust of wind might send her tumbling along the muddy ground. He’d wanted to protect her, give her comfort. And more. Since then he’d ached for her at night and seen her in his fantasies each day. Damn it, he was an FBI agent, planted on the team by his real employers to solve the groupie murders. Maybe after he saw Darlene again, he could banish this obsession with her long-lashed dark brown

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eyes, sensual lips and the soft low voice that poured over him like amber honey. Maybe he’d be able to drive her out of his restless dreams. He’d wondered how his hand would look against her breast, the contrast of his Slavic paleness with her skin that reminded him of mocha latte… No matter. He was here to do a job. Hopefully Darlene knew something—anything—that would help point him in the direction of the killer. Vlad got out of the car and adjusted his shades. Generally he did well with sunlight, although with his pale blue eyes he much preferred a cloudy day, but the brilliant glare reflecting off white-capped waves as they rolled toward shore was making his head throb. He lifted a hand to a bright-blue door, but before his knuckle made contact with the wood, it swung open and there she was. “Come on in and have a drink.” Poised, welcoming, incredibly arousing, she spoke softly. A fragrant aura of some musky, fruity fragrance hung in the air, an invitation to… Idiot. She’s inviting you in for conversation and a drink, nothing more. Darlene Jackson affected Vlad in ways no other woman ever had. Like some exotic goddess from another time and place, sent to dog his fantasies and distract him from his responsibilities. Blood slammed into his cock, made him dizzy as he reached out and took her hands. Soft hands. Long, rounded nails. Elegant. Like the rest of her, from the closecropped curls on top of her perfectly shaped skull to painted toenails peeking out from buttery-looking straps of high-heeled sandals. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice,” he said, forcing himself to assume a professional demeanor as she drew him into a sun-drenched room whose focal point was a huge cream-colored leather sofa. Atop a black area rug so thick it nearly swallowed up his shoe when he stepped onto it, the sofa curved around a square, glass-topped table that sat on an elaborate wrought iron base. Yes, elegant was the word that best described Darlene Jackson and this cottage overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Vlad stood for a moment in front of the wide expanse of 13

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glass, watching waves break as they rolled onto the shore, then turned, searching for her yet taking in each detail, cataloging it in his memory. Grouped photos of handsome people he imagined must be her parents and siblings smiled at him from a place of honor on one wall. A bookcase held reading material indicating eclectic taste— nonfiction volumes on history and politics interspersed with hardcover bestsellers and paperbacks of every description—and some contemporary art pieces that had the look of gallery originals. “You must enjoy reading,” he said, moving away from the bookcase and finding a seat at one end of the curved sofa. It struck him that not a single memento of her late husband or his successful career as a Rangers’ running back shared space with the items she apparently held dear. “Is this where you lived with Travis?” “No. I bought this place after we went our separate ways.” She paused, as though attempting to collect her thoughts. “Travis wouldn’t have liked listening to the ocean roar outside his windows. He wanted no part of water if it was in anything bigger than a hot tub. I wanted to be somewhere—anywhere—that didn’t remind me of him.” “I see.” Vlad looked around once more, impressed at the way she’d made a welcoming home of what some people might have turned into a showcase for their wealth, a place where she seemed completely at home. She turned from the refrigerator. “Is beer okay?” “Beer is fine.” The way she moved reminded him of a sleek jungle cat—sure, graceful, fully at one with her surroundings, yet somehow wary, as though vulnerable to unseen predators who might destroy her. “Your home is beautiful. Travis must have made you a generous settlement,” he said, sorry he had to steer the conversation toward the business at hand when all he wanted was to learn what made the widow tick—and whether she’d taste as good as she looked and smelled. She set one of the bottles of beer she’d been holding onto the table in front of him, hard enough that the collision of glass on glass sounded almost like the report of a small-caliber pistol. “He did, but he didn’t have to. I asked him not to, as a matter of 14

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fact, because I’d heard he got himself into a lot of debt after we separated. I’ve been supporting myself very well with my modeling since college—since long before I met Travis.” Vlad added a large dose of pride to his previous impression of Darlene Jackson. “I imagine your family is proud of you.” “Yes. And no. They weren’t happy when I decided to marry Travis, yet they were just as unhappy when we separated.” She paused, her gaze shifting briefly toward the grouping of photos on the wall before she looked back at him and smiled. “They love me, but they’d have liked it better if I’d gone to medical school and followed Daddy’s footsteps instead of taking up modeling full-time after college.” “Surely they must be proud of your having become such a success.” Darlene shrugged, and Vlad watched her look again at the photo of a well-dressed older couple. “I guess.” So her family hadn’t been happy with her decision to make a career of modeling. Nor thrilled when she’d married a well-known football star. Add to that the fact Darlene hadn’t seemed comfortable at the funeral in the wooden country church Travis had attended as a child, or afterward in the modest home where his mother lived, and Vlad concluded that she and Travis came from very different backgrounds. “None of your family members were at Travis’ funeral, were they?” “No. My family’s what somebody with an unkind bent might call the epitome of black yuppies,” she said, meeting Vlad’s gaze. “They’re only two generations out of the rural Southern culture where Travis grew up, but they’re determined not to give anybody reason to remember that’s where they came from. Sometimes I wish…” “What do you wish?” She mesmerized him with the soft, low tone of her voice, the expressive look in her thickly lashed brown eyes. “Tell me.” “Specifically, I wish they’d seen Travis for the good man he was, Jeralyn and his partying notwithstanding. In general, I wish they’d recognize people for what they are, not only for the milestones of achievement they’ve managed to pass along the way.” 15

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She looked out toward the water, the tremor in her shoulders revealing her discomfort. “Of course, you might say they were right about Travis in the end.” Vlad wished he dared tell her the truth about her late husband and Jeralyn, wipe some of the hurt look from her expression. Perhaps someday… “It sounds as though you’re a very wise woman to realize not everything is as it seems.” She gave a little laugh then took a seat beside him on the sofa. “Your real job is trying to figure out the groupie killings.” “I kick extra points and field goals every Sunday at Rangers games. What makes you think I am there for any other reason?” Darlene turned, met and held his gaze. “You came on the team after two of those groupies died. The Rangers’ coach had never hired a soccer-style kicker before. As a matter of fact I remember hearing him say more than once that he never would. Not that you’re not as good as any place kicker the team’s had since I’ve been paying attention. Besides, guys don’t just decide to take up pro sports for no good reason, years after hanging up the cleats.” She paused, as though hesitating to say more. “Admit it, you’re some sort of undercover cop, and you’re here now because you think I might have some ideas about who killed Travis.” “If I were a cop, as you say, and undercover, then I could hardly tell you, could I?” Though he wouldn’t admit it, Darlene saw the truth in his eyes, and that truth made him even more dangerous to her senses, knowing he wasn’t connected to the team or the lifestyle so many players embraced. Part of her irrationally felt football had stolen away her husband. Not that she didn’t know many of the players shunned the partying, the drugs. “Do you have a theory about who might have killed your husband?” “I’m afraid not. Travis and I hadn’t seen each other for months before…” She couldn’t say it. Maybe if she’d answered his calls, agreed to see him when he’d asked her, he might still be alive. But after that night in the hot tub she’d been too afraid. “I am here to comfort you.” 16

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Vlad’s words and his direct gaze sent shivers down her spine, drawing away the pain and leaving something warm and liquid moving through her stomach. I am here to comfort you. The rich huskiness of his voice suggested he’d do whatever she needed to do just that. “Comfort me?” There were so many ways to give comfort. When she repeated his words, Vlad realized “comfort” could imply much more than a willing ear, a shoulder to cry on. He wasn’t sure he’d meant more. But when he saw her long lashes flutter slightly and watched her lips part, sure signs of response, he had to force himself to keep it slow, easy. He could tell this was a woman who needed a man’s comforting, but she was gun-shy. He had to show her he could be trusted, unlike the dead husband who obviously had dealt her pain. Not only so he could get her into bed, although he was honest enough to admit that was part of it. “I will comfort you as best I can. Tell me, though, why has his death affected you so strongly if your marriage was truly over?” “Hearing about him getting killed the way he did was a shock. And no matter what our differences were, he’d been my husband and part of me still cared for him. But no, I’m managing all right. Considering the partying he did the last months we were together, he easily could have gotten himself into a bundle of trouble after we went our separate ways.” The smile on Darlene’s lush lips didn’t reach her eyes. Maybe he could tell her how Travis had happened to be with Jeralyn. No. Not yet. He couldn’t risk her blowing his cover. Another reason he needed to find the killer fast, so he could tell Darlene the truth about what had sent Travis down the hard-partying road after the second murder had taken place last year. Right now he had to change the subject. “Do you know anybody on the team that you think might be capable of killing a woman?” “No.” Not maybe, not I can’t think of anybody. Just plain no. The same answer Vlad had gotten from everybody he’d asked, from the front office people to the coaches to the man who swept the chute where the players came out of the locker room before home

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games. “You cannot think of anyone who might have hated women? Who had a history of violence toward them?” Looking him in the eye, Darlene set down her drink. “If you’ve been digging into players’ personal habits, surely you know Casey Weldon and his wife are into some BDSM play. Travis and I were too when we were together. We belonged to a dungeon out at Malibu. I’m certain that if you are a cop, you also can name every one of the guys who’ve been fined and counseled about using steroids and abusing other drugs—and that you already knew a reserve defensive back named Moe Ennis spent time in jail for battering his girlfriend a few years ago.” “Nobody mentioned anything to me about the BDSM.” The thought of having Darlene restrained, stroking every inch of her incredibly soft-looking skin, listening to her moan with the sort of pleasure that came from the simplest touch after long enough denial made Vlad’s heart beat faster. His skin heated with desire…anticipation. Not giving himself time to consider the wisdom of it, he reached out, holding her gaze, and closed his hand over hers. Turning it over, he studied her palm, noted it was paler than the rest of her skin. She stared at him, and he felt her tremble. Extending one finger, he traced it down her lifeline, felt her pulse race. “I don’t categorize a taste for BDSM as being suspicious as long as the play’s consensual, controlled and brings the parties pleasure. Do you miss it, dosheynka?” Her eyelashes fluttered then closed, as if she was savoring the memories, the gentle contact of his index finger with her flesh. Darlene swallowed. She couldn’t believe a stranger’s touch could feel so welcome. Couldn’t believe she actually wanted him to change that grip, manacle her wrist and ease her to her knees on the carpet before him, make her submit to him in a way that would make the moisture between her legs increase. That would make her forget how cruel Travis had become. Maybe the cruelest trick of all had been that he’d taught her how pleasurable it was to be a sub, made her want to do anything for him—and then when he’d changed he’d taken the pleasure, twisted

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it, made it into a painful nightmare of betrayal and loss until she’d had to do what was alien to her submissive nature. Turn her back on her Master and leave him. But Vlad could be just like Travis, a man too good to be true who’d change if she pursued something long-term with him. So fine. She’d take what she could of the comfort he was offering, Keep it light, short-term. Why not? She’d protect her heart and still satisfy the hunger of her body. Right now, with him so near she heard each breath he took, she was too desperate for what he offered to argue with the warnings of her heart. She tipped her head, met his glittering gaze. “Oh, yeah. I miss it, all right. Sometimes I feel that if I can’t let go and give over control to somebody I trust if only for a little while, I’ll explode.” God above. The only way he would have been more certain she wanted to be mastered would have been if she fell to her knees and begged him to take her. Vlad sensed this beautiful, sad woman wanted him. He turned, took her other hand, traced the vulnerable vein that pulsed at her wrist. Heat radiated from her, scorched him with its incredible intensity. “I miss it too. The giving of pleasure. The feeling of being in control. Many times since I have been here…I’ve felt as though I were chasing a mirage. As if my mind were rushing in circles, looking for something that is missing.” She lowered her gaze, took in a long, deep breath, held it. When she exhaled, he saw her shudder, almost like a punctured balloon letting out the air that had kept it from collapsing into a quivering heap of latex. “I don’t want to think about Travis…or those poor dead girls or whoever it was who killed them. Not now. I need someone to hold me, make my body feel again.” When she raised her head, he saw tears glistening on her lashes, swimming in her dark, expressive eyes. “Say it, Darlene.” He wanted to hear the words from her lips, although he thought that alone might cause him to lose control. In the past few moments, their conversation had taken a decidedly different turn. He suspected, despite the fact that BDSM had a great deal to do with power and control, they both

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were practically helpless before the spiraling desire weaving them together in this sexually charged conversation. “Tell me exactly what you want.” “I want somebody to make me look forward, not back. To bring my body to life. It’s been a long time. Too long. I want…I want you, Vlad. You.” When she went on her knees before him, Vlad knew he was lost.

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Chapter Two His eyes shone with ice-blue fire. His thin lips curved in a welcoming smile. Vlad was little more than a stranger to Darlene, but he inspired her trust…her passion. Her need to submit to his greater strength, give over control of her mind as well as her body. She went on her knees and laid her head against his thigh, taking in the heat that warmed her cheek through the finely woven cotton of his khaki pants. Muscular, powerful yet not muscle-bound, he’d have no trouble protecting a woman. His woman. With very little effort he could sweep her up and carry her along on the strength of his desire. “Did you keep your hair short for Travis?” When Vlad tunneled his fingers through the short-clipped curls on her head and found the sensitive spot at the base of her skull, it sent a shiver of anticipation clear down to her toes. “Not for him. I’ve always kept it short—sometimes shaved—because I wear a lot of differently styled wigs for photo shoots. Actually it’s longer now than usual. Do you mind?” Some men, particularly white men, seemed to set a lot of store by their women’s long, silky hair. “Not at all. I love how it feels when I run my fingers through it. It’s soft. Incredibly soft.” He sandwiched her head between large, strong hands, tilted her chin up so she had to look him in the eye. “Lay your hands on my thighs and look up at me. I want to taste you.” He bent over and took not her lips but her throat, licking and nipping at the sensitive flesh. “Sweet,” he murmured as he withdrew and brought his face close enough that she could see the surprisingly dark, coarse hint of a five o’clock shadow on his chin and upper lip. “Open to me.”

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When she did he kissed her, at first no more than a mere brush of his unexpectedly soft lips across her own. He tasted of mint and beer and iron control. Slowly, enticingly, he nibbled at her lower lip, using his hands on her head to turn her slightly, give him the angle he wanted. When he closed his lips over hers and plunged his tongue deep in her mouth, she sucked him inside. Her pussy contracted with sudden need as he tongue-fucked her for what seemed like hours, holding her steady with both hands molding her skull. Controlling her and giving a hint of the pleasure yet to come. His muscles tightened under her hands. Though she wanted to slide them in and up, cup his balls through the barrier of his pants, he had yet to give her permission. She wanted to drown in his warmth, absorb the heat of his hard body. She wanted him to take her now, ease the longing he built up in her with every sensuous stroke of his tongue against the roof of her mouth, her teeth, the inner part of her lower lip. As if he’d read her mind, he slid his hands lower, cupped her breasts through the long, loose shirt she had on. Slowly, one at a time, he began to work the buttons loose, reminding her of a very patient child unveiling a Christmas present, savoring the wait, the anticipation. When he brushed her rib cage with his fingertips, shards of pure need scurried through her nerve endings at the contrast of his touch with the whisper of silk against her skin as he slid it aside. All the while he kept her mouth, tongue-fucked her there with silent promise. Promise she wanted him to fulfill. Now. He caught her moan of pleasure, devoured it. Stood and dragged her to her feet. His heat seared her as he explored her upper body, her breasts, circling yet not touching her aching nipples. He dipped the fingers of one hand under the waistband of her capri pants but quickly moved back to trace the curve of her spine back to her neck. Grasping the loose shirt, he slid it down to puddle against her hands—hands she kept still at his order, as though her fingers still were splayed against his muscular thighs. She let out a little whine of protest when he released her mouth. “You may take off the shirt,” he said, his tone barely hinting at his own arousal, although his flushed face and a throbbing vein in his neck revealed much more.

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The fabric slid down her arms, its touch light yet arousing as it reminded her she was following a lover’s direction. His order, even though it had been gently stated. His gaze warmed her flesh, made her eager to dispense with the bra…the capris…the thong bikini panties that already felt damp from her arousal. To stand naked before him, offer herself for a Master’s pleasure. “Now take me to your bed.” His gaze seared her skin, made her nipples pucker visibly beneath the sheer nylon of her bra.

Late afternoon sunlight from a window that faced the ocean dappled the pale tile floor and played across a dark-blue coverlet tossed casually across a king-size bed. Vlad inhaled deeply as he watched that coverlet slide onto the paler blue area rug beneath the bed, revealing finely woven white sheets he imagined would be the perfect setting to show off Darlene’s satiny mocha skin. “Come here.” He couldn’t wait another moment to undress her, see her stretched across that wide expanse of white, her arms laid out above her head in a pose of perfect submission. When she stepped into his arms her heat enveloped him. He skimmed the length of her back, finding and unsnapping that see-through bra, freeing her small, perfect breasts. The hard little nubs of her nipples pierced him through his shirt. “Unbutton my shirt.” He’d waited too long to feel skin on skin, flesh on flesh. Her fingers shook a little as she hurried to follow his order. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt every surge of blood that pumped through his veins. His cock felt as though it would explode. “Hurry. Take it off me.” He lowered his hands, found the back zipper on her pants, released it. The whisper of the zipper tab on its plastic teeth filled the silence, fed his eagerness to explore her fully…to claim her in every way a man could claim his woman. His woman? Vlad forcibly stilled the motion of his now-bared chest against her turgid nipples, caught Darlene’s hands when she started to undo his belt. He didn’t understand his feelings. Not his desire. That was to be expected when a beautiful, 23

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submissive woman followed his commands so sweetly. No, it was the sense of rightness, the feeling that this woman was different from the ones in his past, that she was sent to fulfill a need greater than for an hour of sexual pleasure, the resulting burst of orgasm that left him satiated for the moment but never satisfied. The idea Darlene would settle for a mid-level FBI agent when she could have any man she chose made Vlad shake his head and chuckle. “What’s wrong?” Darlene sounded scared, as though she’d done something to annoy her Dominant partner. “Tell me what you want me to do.” Vlad cupped her chin, made her look him in the eye. “You did nothing wrong. Nothing. I was thinking how lucky I am that you want me. And how stupid I am for going so slowly. Finish undressing me while I take off the rest of your clothes.” When he skimmed the silky fabric of her pants over her slender ass and down legs that seemed to go on forever, he was lost. Darlene was a goddess—the sort of woman he’d fucked only in his solitary fantasies. He closed his hands around ankles so delicate he could touch his thumb and middle finger, the overwhelming softness of her giving way to bone and sinew that promised a surprising degree of strength for one so fragilefeeling in many ways. She’d bent with him, returning the favor, sliding down his pants and boxers, her motions so lithe, so fluid she reminded him of an exotic creature existent only in flights of his imagination, too perfect to be real. Yet she was. The touch of her fingers on his heels, the gentle tug that rid him of his loafers, the whisper of her breath against his calf proved it. She made his blood boil, fired his lust. No question about it, Darlene knew how to please a Master, how to do his bidding without demur, without questioning. The consummate submissive. And for the moment she was all his. “Lie down on the bed.” The words came out sounding harsh, harsher than Vlad had intended, but she obeyed without question, laying back the top sheet before stretching out, her arms and legs extended as though inviting him to look. Or to restrain 24

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her for his pleasure and her own. “Put your hands over your head and clasp your hands together. I want to look at every inch of your beautiful body, but I don’t want to have to tie you down.” Regal. There was no other word to describe her, all graceful angles and curves, puckered nipples that begged silently for his lips, soft skin stretched over visible ribs… “You have a navel piercing,” he observed as he skimmed his hand over the small gold sphere and larger faceted golden topaz that glittered against the flat expanse of her belly, and felt her shiver at the gentle stimulation. “I like it.” She lay perfectly still, posed as he’d commanded, the quiver of involuntary muscles and the rigid nubs of her nipples the only visible sign of arousal—other than the heady smell of male and female pheromones hanging heavy in the air, surrounding them, enveloping them, filling the room with the aura of steamy sex, the promise of sweaty bodies straining toward completion. “My clit’s pierced too.” Her words, hardly more than a whisper, made his cock throb harder, his tongue tingle with anticipation of playing with her flesh, tugging on the tiny jewel he imagined adorned it. The jewel he couldn’t see through the glossy mass of her kinky pubic curls. “I’m going to shave your pussy so I can see. Will you keep it smooth for me?” “Oh yes. Now?” When she spread her legs farther apart, he glimpsed the small gold ring, the tiny nub of hardened clit that beckoned his teeth and tongue. Vlad wanted nothing obscuring his vision, nothing but her bare skin on his, nothing between them when he fucked her. His cock ached, but he could wait. “Yes, now. In the shower. Where is it?” She gestured toward a door against the inside wall that stood slightly ajar. Lifting her easily, he strode toward it with her, anticipating… Fuck, if this wasn’t a bathroom made for erotic water games! He’d take in the ambience of the sun-kissed tropical garden, lay Darlene out and feed her his cock on a rug so thick he sank to his ankles in it. Later. Now he stepped into the biggest, most 25

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luxurious shower stall he’d ever seen and set her down. After he adjusted the multiple spray heads, he sank onto the built-in seat against one white tile shower wall—next to a plastic mesh basket full of sex toys. And condoms. To his left was a narrow shelf full of shaving gear—a cordless wet-dry clipper as well as gels and razors of every description. He looked up at Darlene and smiled. “For some reason I imagine you’ve done this a few times. You may shave me first.” His balls tightened when he imagined her running that clipper over his balls and around his ass, holding his cock out of the way while she used the razor to make him smooth as a baby…checking with her tongue for hairs she’d missed and finding none. Clippers in hand, she knelt between his spread legs, water glistening in her hair as she bent and licked away a drop of pre-come that had pooled in the slit of his cock head. Warm water sluiced over them, rivulets of sensation sliding over his skin, making him so hard he could barely resist grabbing her head, holding her there, fucking her mouth… “Not yet.” When she raised her head and circled his cock with gentle fingers, he barely managed to resist telling her to forget the shave and suck him dry. But this wasn’t just for him, and she obviously was enjoying her task. She wielded the clippers with speed and efficiency, holding the skin of his scrotum taut, maneuvering skillfully around his cock, running them smoothly around his asshole when he shifted to give her access. Not a single nick, not then and not when she ran a razor carefully through the fragrant gel, leaving his groin smooth as a baby’s butt. “May I check to see if I missed a spot, please?” Oh yeah. “With your tongue.” Her hands submissively placed on his upper thighs, she dipped her head, ringed his ass repeatedly. Her warm breath tickled his scrotum as she licked her way forward until she reached his balls, sucking first one and then the other into her mouth and licking the highly sensitized skin. If he didn’t hurry her along, he was going to come. “Hurry up with it,” he snapped, and when she tongued the base of his cock, he made

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himself concentrate on a few drops of water glistening from the pelt of curls on top of her head. Darlene had mentioned she sometimes had her head shaved… Vlad imagined shaving it for her someday while she sucked his cock, finding the erogenous zone just below her occipital bone, cupping his hands over satin-smooth brown skin instead of soft curls. “Enough.” He rose, taking the razor from her hand and picking up the clippers before kneeling on the shower floor. “Sit down and slide out until your pussy is just past the edge of the seat. And dig in that basket for your nipple clamps. I want them on you while I shave you, so your nipples will be as hard as diamonds by the time I am finished.” She pulled out the clamps, held them out for his approval. When he nodded, she attached them. Her nipples swelled against the clamps, the rosy brown nubs lightening, beckoning his teeth and tongue. Stretching forward, he sucked first one and then the other into his mouth, his tongue soothing as he increased the pressure with his teeth. Her little whimpers of pleasure made his balls ache, his cock rise straight up against his belly. Moving lower, he delved into her navel then raised his head and looked into her eyes. God, but she was beautiful all over. He ran the gently vibrating clippers over her slit, mowing down the short growth of neatly trimmed black pubic hair, stopping often to bend and tug at her clit ring with his teeth. “Oh yesss.” So she liked that. Liked having him groom her pussy. Some subs considered that a job they must do themselves to ready their bodies for their Masters. Next time he’d wax her—or rather he’d take her to that dungeon she said she’d gone to with Travis, strap her down and have a Mistress give her an all-over body wax while he looked on. While the dungeon gallery watched. He’d make sure she knew they were looking while she was being readied for her Master’s pleasure. The shaving gel went on blue, turned white and foamy, smoothed the way for the razor. Once, twice, three times he shaved her, scraping away the stubble until she was

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completely smooth. “Now this is the way I like my pussy.” Catching water in his hand, he rinsed away the residual foam. When he stood he drew her close and slid his hands along her wet, sleek skin, eliciting another ecstatic-sounding moan when he reached between her legs and cupped her soft, naked sex. He slipped a finger up her cunt and let out a feral groan. “You are already hot, wet. Your cunt begs for my cock. Bend over and grab your ankles so I can fuck you.” “Oh yeah.” She lost no time obeying his order, and that made him even hotter. Seeing her bent before him, those impossibly long legs spread apart, her glistening naked slit beckoning him as he ripped open a condom and slid it down his throbbing cock, had him ready to explode. Sheathed now, he bent, nipped each perfectly rounded ass cheek before kneeling, giving a tug on the gold clit ring when it caught his eye. “Fuck me, please fuck me now.” He would, but not until they both were as desperate as she sounded. “First I want to taste your honey, feel your smooth slippery cunt with my tongue.” He punctuated his words with action, growled with satisfaction when he felt her shuddering with her first climax as he flailed the hard little nub of her clit with his tongue. Since he hadn’t given her permission to come, he took her clit ring between his teeth, gave it a hard yank. “I’m sorry, Sir. Couldn’t help…can’t help coming again. That hurts so good.” So she liked more than a little pain along with her pleasure. That was obvious when more slippery lubrication gushed from her cunt when he covered it with his mouth and drove his tongue inside as deep as it would go. “Oh yesss, please fuck me,” she got out between whimpers that had him desperate to oblige her. He rose, pausing first to ring her asshole with his tongue then grabbing her hips and aligning her cunt with his throbbing cock. Barely seated between her outer lips, he dragged her backward, impaled her until he felt her tight, wet heat caressing him from head to base, pulsating around him, vibrating through his ball sac that rested against

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her throbbing clit. He wanted to move, fuck her hard, claim her cunt with long strokes, tug at her distended nipples until she begged for mercy. The position they were in required restraint of motion, so he glanced backward, found the shower seat. “Hold on.” Lifting her at the waist, he guided her back until he felt the seat against his legs. Then he sat, bringing her with him and draping her thighs over his. He laid both her hands against his straining ball sac. “Squeeze them with your hands the way you are squeezing my cock with your hot little cunt. Imagine I’m a fucking machine and you have no choice but to go along for the ride.” Her breasts were small but firm. He liked their softness, the contrast of soft flesh with rock-hard nipples that stayed that way after he removed the clamps and took each nub between his fingers. Water sluiced over them, warm ripples of sensation, the rivulets changing direction with every hard buck of his hips, each motion of her fingertips as she rolled his balls between them. When he tugged her nipples she moved on him as if they’d practiced the motion together a hundred times. “God, but you can fuck,” he rasped out as the sensations converged and pressure built in his balls. “Come for me. Come now.” He pinched her nipples hard, slammed her cunt down on his cock again. She came hard. So hard he couldn’t hold back. “God yes, baby, keep squeezing my cock that way. Oh yeah, I’m coming!” As he came in hot, draining bursts he sank his teeth into the sweet spot where her throat joined her shoulder blade. Leaving his mark of ownership…imagining covering it with the collar of his possession. He pulled out, turned her, held her for a long time. The feel of her arms circling his waist, the weight of her head on his shoulder made him feel good. Male. He lifted her, set her down on the damp tile floor, toweled her dry. A small service he might have required her to perform for him, yet he wanted to serve her too. “Now you may dry me,” he said when she shot him a quizzical look.

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“Yes, Master.” She knelt and toweled off the water, starting with his feet and working upward, the way a good slave might do. When she stood and soaked up the water on his chest, she met his gaze. “You know, I may call you Master when we’re having sex, but don’t you go thinking of me as your slave. Your loving sub, or your submissive lover’s fine. So are any other terms that might be running through your mind. But folks of my color spent too many years as slaves of white men for me to put up with being thought of as one.” So the Master/slave terminology offended her. Having studied American history, he should have realized it would. “All right. Instead I will think of you as my dosheynka.” He took the towel from her, hung it on the nearest towel bar. “Let’s go to bed.” She shot him a quizzical look when they crawled back into her bed. “What’s dosheynka mean?” From her expression he gathered it had best not be another word for “slave”. “It means sweetheart. A lover or a beloved child.” “I like that. It sounds pretty.” “Good.” Gathering her in his arms, he arranged them spoon-fashion, her back to him. “Go to sleep now.” Soon her pattern of breathing slowed, and she snuggled closer, a sign of trust rare in so new a lover. Rare…and humbling. Vlad stroked Darlene’s silky skin as she slept, amazed at the feelings that washed over him. Possession. Lust. Understandable emotions, yet there was more. He found himself wishing this relationship could grow, develop into something lasting. He’d never felt that way before, not even about the first submissive he’d topped back before he’d fully understood Dominance and submission. Even though she and Travis had been separated at the time of his murder, Vlad worried that the killer might think they’d talked and that Darlene had heard something that might incriminate him. Maybe she had heard something…something that seemed inconsequential but which might put her at risk of becoming the killer’s next victim. As 30

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if holding her tight might shield her from harm, he gathered her closer, laid his palm across her flat, smooth mound. When she stirred against him, he spoke. “I want you to think. Think hard. Did you talk with Travis? Did he ever say anything about the groupie murders?” Darlene shuddered slightly but turned to face Vlad. “We talked a few times on the phone after we separated, but not about that.” She paused, as though searching her memory. “Wait. Once he said something about wondering why the police were looking for a player when it more than likely was somebody on staff who traveled with the team who was doing all the killing.” “Why did he think that?” The thought had crossed Vlad’s mind more than once, but he hadn’t been able to rationalize why a staff member would have been killing groupies who had been fucking players on the road. Even serial murderers had their own twisted motives, and he couldn’t attribute any plausible one to pin on anyone from the Rangers’ support staff. “Did he give you any idea who he thought might do it, or why?” “He didn’t say. My guess would be he thought one of the staff people might think the players were wrong to two-time their wives, and decide to put temptation out of their way.” Tears came to Darlene’s eyes, tears Vlad imagined came from thinking her husband—estranged notwithstanding—had died because he’d been foolish enough to be caught by the killer while sleeping with his supposed groupie. Again he wished he could tell her the whole truth, but instead he framed her face in his hands and brushed her tears away. “You could be right. Do you know of any Rangers’ support people whose marriages or relationships fell apart—say, in the year or so before the first murder?” “I’m afraid not. Travis never said much about anybody he worked with. His agent did all the dealing with front office people—I doubt he even knew them more than to nod and say “hello”. As for the trainers and such, I never got to know them. The only Rangers people I knew were those few players he hung around with off the field. As

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wild as some of them were the last couple of years, I’d bet money none of them’s a murderer. Their idea of fun was drinking and carousing during their free hours—not hurting anybody.” Vlad would have doubted that, except for the fact that he’d studied thorough background checks on every player who’d been on the team during the times when the murders took place. Darlene’s take was right. Since his pal Casey Weldon had briefly retired two years ago, Travis had hung out with party animals, not killers. “Do you know anybody on the team who might know more about staff members’ personal lives?” From Vlad’s observations, he guessed close to fifty people traveled with the team—everybody from doctors, trainers and PR people to front office brass and the staffers who took care of uniforms, repaired broken equipment. Some did nothing he could name except ride herd on some of the team’s stars. The faces changed on a weekly basis, it seemed, with different staffers accompanying the Rangers to different away games. Statistically, it would take a miracle to single out one of the faceless, nameless employees whose jobs were to stay in the background and see to players’ needs. Darlene shook her head. “It’s been a long time since I went to an out-of-town game. I didn’t go very often even before Travis and I separated. I’m afraid I can’t be much help.” “You have helped a lot. It may take some digging, but at least now I have a lead that may come to something.” He made a mental note to make sure the research people hadn’t missed anyone when they’d pulled background checks on Rangers non-player personnel and to recheck the reports they had already provided. “I’m glad. And I’m pretty sure you are some sort of undercover cop, but you can keep up the pretense if you want. You don’t need to worry that I’ll out you.” Like a lithe jungle cat, she curled her arms around him, opening her legs and giving him access to her pussy. “Would you like to fuck me now?” He’d love to fuck her until they both passed out from exhaustion, but at the moment he was more afraid for Darlene than horny for her, and he wanted to check out

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the BDSM dungeon she had mentioned, learn if any other Rangers people belonged. “Later, beautiful. You mentioned a dungeon where you and Travis used to play. I would like you to take me there.” “To play?” She ran a perfectly manicured fingernail along the length of his arm, the gesture somehow as arousing as if she’d raked that nail across the denuded expanse of his ball sac. “Yes, dosheynka. To play. I want to tie you down and fuck you while others watch.” He imagined she would find playing to an audience as arousing as any scene he could think of unless…no, he wouldn’t play further to her shaving fetish, not now. “That excites you. I can tell because your pussy is growing wet.” “And your cock’s getting hard, so it must turn you on too.” She turned, kissed him hard then rolled over and got out of bed. “Come on, let’s go while we still can. It’s a mighty big temptation to stay right here and see how you can master me without the benefit of all the toys—and an audience.”

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Chapter Three The Malibu dungeon practically reeked of crisp, new hundred dollar bills right off the government’s printing presses. Side entrances, heavy security and valet parking of every car including a fair number of limos with shaded glass hinted that the place catered to celebrities who valued their privacy. Inside, Vlad felt his loafers sinking into the plush ruby-red carpeting in a gilded reception area that reminded him of whorehouse parlors in old-time western movies. “Yes, I have been a sexual Dominant for nearly ten years,” he told the manager, a tall blonde Domme whose black leather garb set off her pale skin and scarlet lips. “He’s all right, Mistress Sharon,” Darlene said quietly, her tone unassuming, her head bowed as a good sub’s should be in the presence of her Master. Apparently Darlene vouching for him persuaded the manager he was as he said, for Sharon escorted him into the dungeon’s main playroom while Darlene followed quietly, two steps behind them. “Toy store’s through that door. Dressing rooms are behind it. You can play in here, or we have private torture chambers available if you’d like to use one. This brochure shows the different rooms, and what equipment’s in each one for your pleasure. There’s also a membership application on the back page, which you can fill out and drop off with me on the way out. We’ll mail your membership card along with the monthly bill.” Vlad glanced at the glossy brochure that pictured half a dozen rooms set up for various kinds of S&M play. Most of them apparently had viewing rooms where members could watch but not participate. His cock twitched when he imagined Darlene stretched open for his pleasure, himself kissing and stroking every inch of her silky mocha skin, licking honey from her jeweled navel while a hundred eyes watched from the gallery above. Knowing others looked on had always enhanced his pleasure.

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Hers too, he gathered from the eager look in her eyes. He didn’t want to think about her with her late, estranged husband, but he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t imagine the man having been so stupid as to have lost a woman like Darlene. Had Travis brought her here and shaved her head to toe the way Vlad wanted to do, while voyeurs watched and envied him? Had he fucked her mouth, his dark hands framing her satiny skull? Vlad’s cock swelled painfully when he imagined his own pale hands on her that way, the contrast of light and dark. He’d fuck her cunt and ass while the Doms in the gallery looked on and their subs serviced them. God, but the idea of such a scene had Vlad primed and ready. When he flipped to the back of the brochure and saw the mid-four-figure monthly membership fee and astronomical hourly rates for the private rooms, he had to bite his tongue to keep from commenting. “We’ll take one of the observation rooms,” he said, his lust overcoming the voice inside his head that shouted this place was way out of his league. No chance he could pass the cost on as a reimbursable expense either, since he’d be hard-pressed to try to connect playing in a BDSM dungeon with his investigation of the groupie killings. Oh well, he was no pauper. He hadn’t found all that much to spend his salary on, especially when on long assignments like this one. Vlad flashed a smile at Sharon, dismissing her as surely as if he’d told her to get lost. Then he turned to Darlene. “We will make a visit to the toy store first.”

***** Soft music surrounded her, coming from concealed speakers in the mirrored walls of this small dungeon. Cool air blew over her practically naked body, making her nipples swell and harden further against metal clips attached to the leather collarharness Vlad had chosen for her to wear. Her clit twitched with the pressure of the harness’s chain threaded through its small gold ring, her pussy contracted around a vibrating dildo—and her ass ached from the pressure of the small lubricated butt plug he’d also inserted into the harness he’d selected. When she heard the sound of her 35

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Master’s new thigh-high boots making contact with the hard tile floor, her pussy clenched with anticipation. Darlene stood motionless at the center of the room, her pose submissive, her arms clasped behind her at the elbows. Head bowed, she focused her gaze on those boots. The supple black leather looked stark against his pale, hard-muscled skin—his naked skin. It framed his heavy, low-hanging balls. A vein throbbed along the length of his huge cock, inviting her touch, her tongue. God in heaven but her mouth was watering at the thought of servicing him with her mouth…deep-throating him and swallowing his come. Her cunt and ass swelled against the toys—toys nowhere near as big and hot as his own pulsating sex. Sweet Jesus but she wanted him to impale her. Give her the ultimate pleasure by taking his own. Vlad reached out and tugged the chains that secured her harness. “We have an audience. Shall we give them something to talk about?” Oh yeah! Her pussy creamed at the thought of being taken by this awesome Master for the world to see, even though in a way she felt they were all alone, in their own space despite a sea of eyes peering down from the gallery above. “If it would please you.” “It would.” Vlad slid both hands up her torso, cupping her breasts before rubbing the pads of his thumbs across the tips of her clamped nipples and sending shivers all the way to her toes. “So beautiful,” he murmured as he moved higher and slipped two fingers beneath the padded leather of her collar. “Put your hands on my shoulders.” He made her feel desired…not as an icon to be photographed or a trophy for his arm but as a woman. “You make me feel beautiful.” She thought of Travis, of the way he’d often made her dress up in expensive designer wear, always the latest fashion but the most revealing styles. “Showing off my woman,” he’d said, his gaze honing in on barely covered breasts and scanty hemline. At first it had turned her on, thinking he did it as a Master would, showing off the beauty 36

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of his sub’s body. But after a time it had started to make her feel dirty, as though he was trotting out a piece of property. He’d reminded her of slave auctions, where women had been dragged out bare-breasted and stripped for potential buyers to ogle. Vlad didn’t make her feel like that at all. With every act since he’d reached for her hand back at her house, he’d reminded her what a Master’s touch and care ought to be. And taken it even further than Travis had on his best days. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth to take Vlad’s tongue as soon as he covered her lips with his own. The smells of arousal swirled around them, filling her nostrils. He explored her mouth with his tongue, stroking her ass cheeks with one hand while controlling the angle of her mouth by grasping her head in the other. Oh yeah. He knew how to kiss, where to tunnel his fingers into her hair to send sharp pangs of lust clear down to her pussy and make it contract wildly around the dildo. He wasn’t gentle. She didn’t doubt for a minute that he was in total control, but his touch was reassuring, missing the hint of barely controlled violence Travis had conveyed, especially toward the end. Vlad’s cock strained between them, nudging her belly. Insistent. Arousing. She wanted it inside her. Somewhere. Anywhere. She wanted to take him in her mouth, suck out and swallow his come in front of whoever watched from the gallery and the whole fucking world. When he plunged his tongue down her throat again, she sucked it in, hoping he’d understand and sweep her over the edge. Yes! He broke the kiss and in one smooth motion brought his hands to her breasts and released the clamps. Her nipples burned and throbbed as circulation returned, hastened by the firm rasp of his fingers on the tortured flesh, pulling, releasing, rubbing his thumbs over the sensitized tips. If he didn’t stop, she’d come with or without his spoken order! His breath cooled her flesh when he bent his head and drew first one and then the other nipple between his teeth. When he used the remote control to set the dildo to vibrating faster, a gush of warm fluid flowed from her pussy and down her legs. She couldn’t suppress the moan that escaped her lips as she began to come.

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“That’s right. Come for me.” He redoubled his efforts, squeezing her breasts hard as her pussy began contracting wildly with each pulsating motion of the toys. As though he knew the second her climax began thrumming through her body, he began stroking more gently, urging her on with more care than force. Coaxing out every sensation, each delicious twitch until she was gasping for breath with the overwhelming pleasure. “That’s my dosheynka. I love seeing you come like this.” Giving each nipple one last bite, he reattached the clamps then pulled away. “Now, get on your knees. Spread your legs so I can see how my toys are stimulating your pretty cunt and ass.” “Oh yes.” Darlene welcomed the cool feel of tile on her knees and calves, the tug of the harness against her flesh as she obeyed his command. The purplish head of her Master’s cock jutted forward, tempting her to taste the pearl of moisture that beaded in the slit at its blunt tip. When she strained to reach it, he moved out of her reach, teasing and taunting her as he increased the speed of vibration in the dildo and set the butt plug to inflating and deflating, readying her ass to take the length and thickness of his erection. That thought set her off again, sent sensations rushing through her body, demanding she submit to his every sexual command. “Do you want to suck my cock?” He stepped closer, grasped it at the base and nudged its moist tip against her cheek. “Please. Please, Master.” Why did he hold himself just outside her reach, where all she could do was lick the very end of his purplish, plum-like cock head? Suddenly he grasped her head, rubbed himself over her lips. Then, as though he knew what she wanted, he fed her the distended flesh, making her swallow convulsively as he fucked her mouth. Slowly. Deeper with each deliberate thrust, he filled her. As though drawn by a magnet, her hands went up, caressed his big, smooth ball sac. She ringed his asshole with her fingers then cupped his tautly muscled ass cheeks. “Yes, beautiful. Take it all. Suck out my come.” His voice disintegrated to a tortured-sounding groan as she swallowed his cock head, at the same time sinking a finger up his ass. “Ohhhhhhhhh God.”

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Her pussy gushed and her belly clenched as his orgasm triggered her own. She swallowed convulsively, taking every hot spurt of his come down her throat. Consuming him. Loving it. Feeling empty when he withdrew from her mouth and positioned her across a padded fucking bench, securing her ankles and wrists to its legs. Helpless. She was deliciously helpless to whatever sensual stimulus her Master chose to inflict. Darlene watched her image bounce off the mirrored walls…watched Vlad inspect and choose a soft-looking leather flogger from a selection displayed in a corner of the room. When he turned back to her, she couldn’t help groaning. Even though he’d come not five minutes ago, his glistening wet cock stuck straight out from his pale body, so hard it barely swayed as he strode back to her. That gorgeous blueveined shaft was all too ready to ram up her swollen pussy. Or her almost-virgin ass. She strained, wanting to fuck him. Or the vibrating dildo. Or even to feel the ribbons of the flogger marking her ass cheeks. Her back. “Your safe word is ‘coconut’. Say it and I will stop. I don’t wish to mar your beautiful flesh.” With no further warning he laid the flogger against her ass cheeks, not a blow but merely a whisper of air followed by what felt almost like a caress of supple leather. Again. And yet again. A bit harder each time, yet it didn’t hurt as much as it made her hot with each stinging blow. She concentrated on the sensations…the smells of sex, hers and his…and the hot burning of eyes staring down from the gallery, taking in her submission to a skilled yet gentle Master. She looked up, saw a sub kneeling, taking her Master’s cock up her ass. A couple of men she knew as fellow subs, on their knees giving oral service to their Mistresses. Facial expressions slack with passion, eyes glued on the scene unfolding below. On her serving her Master. Observers taking their pleasure by watching…except for one Dom whose furious scowl made her believe he’d rather kill the sub who was sucking his cock than satisfy her needs. Darlene looked away, concentrating instead on the pleasure-pain her own Master was inflicting for all to see.

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Her head was level with the ankles of his boots, every movement evident as he edged so close to her wet, aching cunt that she sensed his heat and hardness even before he tossed away the flogger and unfastened the chain that held the toys firmly within her body. First he wet his fingers by ringing her swollen pussy. Then he pulled out the butt plug, inserting first one then two sopping fingers up her ass. She held her breath, and in spite of trying not to do it, she felt her muscles grow tense when she realized where he intended to go. “Easy, dosheynka. I am going to fuck you here. And it will only be the sort of pain you like. Relax. If it does not feel good, all you must do is say your safe word.” He must have sensed her dread, set out to allay it with those few simple words. Not “I’m going to ram my cock up your ass.” Not “This hole is mine too.” And not a silent, painful thrust like ones she remembered having made tears come to her eyes and screams escape her lips. No, this was a slow, sensual invasion of yet another finger, a gradual stretching. A touch that invited trust…and anticipation for the pleasure he promised in that deep, mesmerizing voice. She found herself wanting to beg him to fuck her ass the way he’d fucked her cunt back at her house. He veed his fingers, stretching her with gentle motions that meshed with the vibrations in her cunt. She wanted more, wanted her Master to replace his fingers with his hot, hard cock. “I put on a condom,” he told her as he slid his fingers out of her and rubbed his wet, sheathed cock along her swollen slit before finding her rear entrance with his cock head and applying light pressure until the anal sphincter gave way and he was seated barely inside her. “Delightful. Press out as I move deeper.” She’d half expected excruciating pain, not the incredible pleasure of feeling his cock filling her ass, the dildo in her pussy vibrating against it. “Oh yesss,” she purred when she felt his balls slapping against the vibrator…and jiggling the chain still threaded through her clit ring.

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“You like this. As I love fucking your tight little ass.” It wasn’t a question but a statement full of pure male satisfaction. In, out, hands clutching her ass cheeks, steadying her for each careful thrust. “Come for me now,” he ordered, increasing the pace, going deeper each time until she screamed not with pain but with satisfaction. “Come now so I can fuck your steaming pussy. Your musk has me crazy.” The smells of sex surrounded them, filled her nostrils. Her climax began slowly, building little by little to a screaming crescendo of sensation that she felt clear to her suspended toes. Quickly, for he’d damn near come along with her, Vlad withdrew from her ass and freed her from the bench. He lifted her against him, moving her to a St. Andrew’s cross along the wall, fastening her there for his pleasure. Her glistening mocha pussy called to him, made him bend and taste her honey before rolling a fresh condom on and sinking into her sopping cunt. Contractions from her climax moments earlier milked his cock as he looked up to the gallery. Mistresses’ eyes were glued on them, their facial muscles slack with passion as slaves knelt before them licking their exposed pussies. Masters watched, their gazes shifting from the scene unfolding below to slaves who sucked their cocks or presented their asses to be fucked. Vlad had never particularly enjoyed watching BDSM scenes because by focusing on the action of others he felt he had been shortchanging his own sub, diverting the attention he should have directed toward giving her pleasure. Returning his full attention to Darlene, he stroked her silken skin until he reached her breasts, cupping them and eliciting moans of pleasure-pain when he released the clamps. Bending, he sucked first one nipple then the other, all the while keeping up a slow, deep invasion of her welcoming cunt. He’d never felt so much during a BDSM scene. What he was experiencing now was not only the buildup of desire, the spurting bursts of his release. There was something about this woman—a vulnerability that called to him, a beauty that went further than

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her gorgeous face and lithe body. Qualities that made him want not only to master her but to protect her. To give her the ultimate pleasure yet keep her for himself alone. He bent over, took her lips, tasted himself on them when he thrust his tongue between her teeth. He kneaded her small breasts—gently, for he sensed she needed to learn he could also give her pleasure without the pain. At her ecstatic moans he increased the pace, his hips pistoning into her, his cock nudging her cervix with every thrust. The slapping sounds of flesh on flesh fed his lust, had him coming again at the first sensation of her cunt clenching his cock as though she’d never let it go. Long, hot bursts that left him drained. His breath came hard, in synch with hers as he clasped her bound hands and lay against her on the cross, his flesh still jerking within her body, feeding on her wet, welcome heat.

***** He wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it with his own two eyes. Travis Jackson’s sweet, beautiful, very submissive wife lay wanton on a St. Andrew’s cross, being fucked in every hole by the Rangers’ new place kicker who’d called himself Travis’ friend. Not only being fucked in every hole in her luscious body, but being fucked for him and the other dozen or so Doms in the gallery to see. Gordon Valentine clenched his fists so hard his nails drew blood from his palm before forcing his attention to the club submissive who knelt before him, her practiced mouth working to bring his half-hard cock to life. He bet he’d have gotten hard for the hot black model he’d never have dreamed would have a taste for a white man. Harder than he’d gotten when he’d killed those four worthless cunts. Harder than he’d been since the night Tricia had tried to walk out on him nearly five years ago. Cursing when the lights went out on the scene beneath him, Gordon snatched the sub by the hair and flung her to the gallery floor. “You’re hopeless,” he spat out as he dragged her to her feet and strode back to the dungeon’s public area, not caring that she stumbled and fell several times on the steep stairs. Not caring at all… 42

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Once he got to the public room he ordered the hapless woman into the stocks and applied the cat o’ nine. With each stroke, with every impassioned scream that escaped her painted lips, Gordon saw her not as his partner for the night but as his cheating wife…as the other bimbos who’d tempted married men to stray…as Darlene Jackson who apparently didn’t care enough to mourn her own faithless husband the way he still mourned for Tricia. When the sub finally rasped out her safe word, Gordon ignored her, focusing instead on rivulets of her blood racing over her plump ass, down her legs…the growing pools of life’s fluid at the base of the stocks. For he was rendering punishment. Rightful retribution not only for her sins but for the sins of all women out for their own selfish sexual pleasure.

***** Vlad entered the main dungeon from the hall that led from the dressing rooms, moving quickly toward the membership office to drop off his application. Darlene was changing, but he didn’t want to be away from her longer than necessary. Amazing to him was the fact he was already looking forward to what they might do together once he took her home. Hell, in the car outside in the parking lot. Distracted by a ruckus going down in the public rooms, he stopped and assessed the situation. “Come on, Gordon, leave the woman alone. Enough’s enough.” Sharon sounded like the Mistress she was, but the man paid her no mind. Vlad was about to jump into the fray even though doing so violated the unwritten rule that discipline within a dungeon be left to the Master or Mistress in charge, but two burly assistants had grabbed the Dom who apparently had lost control and dragged him away from his bleeding sub. One of the men snatched away the bloody whip clutched in the man’s tight fist while Sharon cuffed him.

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“Thanks. I can handle this now.” Once restrained, the Dom seemed to lose the will to fight, and he meekly let Sharon lead him into the club’s offices while the other club employees released the sub and helped her stagger away, presumably to assess and tend her wounds. Vlad followed them and handed over his application to Sharon. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. Rest assured, we do not allow Doms to inflict injuries like that, despite the way it looked.” “The sub should press charges,” he said, the memory of her deep cuts from the whip fresh on his mind. “She won’t. That sub is into higher levels of pain than most. But the Dom knows that once he’s drawn blood the play must stop. Club rules. We’ve never had that sort of problem before with him.” She gestured toward the other room where the Dom had been confined for the moment. Vlad had seen the out-of-control Dom before, and not only in the gallery during his scene with Darlene. But where? He searched his memory, zeroed in on the pale doughy face, the small deep-set eyes. The graying, light brown hair combed to conceal a receding hairline. Gordon Valentine. One of the team’s owners. Vlad had never met the man, but he had seen that face in a portrait gallery that hung in the Rangers’ clubhouse. Suddenly the luxurious dungeon that had appealed to him so much when Darlene ushered him inside seemed cold, forbidding. Vlad had hoped to spot some Rangers people here. He’d never imagined, however, that he’d see one of the team owners—or that the man would have been abusing a sub to such a degree that the dungeon Mistress had to intervene. Suddenly Valentine moved from obscurity in Vlad’s mind to the top of his mental list of potential serial killers. Doms often dished out pain to give their lovers pleasure, but Valentine had obviously gone far beyond that, for the first time according to Sharon. At least in this posh dungeon. Vlad stood, barely able to contain his fury that the man had watched his 44

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own scene with Darlene from the observation gallery. If he had, and if he was indeed the groupie killer, then chances were Darlene had become a prime target for a killer. If Vlad’s suspicions were right, then he’d inadvertently placed her life in danger. “What happened?” He turned at the sound of Darlene’s voice, laying his hands on her shoulders and drawing her to him in a feeble effort at protecting her. “A Dom was out of control. Sharon had to restrain him. Let’s get out of here.” “All right.” She took his hand and let him lead her out of the club. Away from danger, at least temporarily. “We need to talk,” he told her once they were in the car, headed away from Valentine and the immediate threat he posed.

***** Darlene vaguely remembered Travis introducing her to one of the Rangers’ owners at the club years ago. She couldn’t match a face to the name Gordon Valentine though. Still it gave her the creeps to think the man had been observing everything she and Vlad had done. “Do you think he got so angry watching you top a black woman that he lost control with his sub?” Some men did, even in these times when race didn’t matter so much anymore. “I don’t know, but my guess would be that if watching us was what put him into a rage, it was because he wasn’t the one topping you. I doubt it would have had anything to do with the colors of our skin.” “Then why would it set him off like that? There are Doms and subs playing scenes all over the club.” “I cannot know what went through the man’s mind. I am not even certain watching us was what made him lose control. But I intend to find out.” Vlad took one hand off the wheel and laid it on her thigh, the heat of his palm as reassuring as his words. “I must find out whether he attended the away games where the murders took place.” 45

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His words, even softly spoken as they were, sent cold chills up Darlene’s spine. “You think…” He lifted his hand, curling his fingers around the wheel as though he was struggling to maintain self-control. “I know nothing for certain. But Valentine’s behavior back at the club just shot him to the top of my list of possible murderers who are affiliated in some way with the Rangers. It would not surprise me if the poor woman he was beating ends up having to be hospitalized. She certainly will bear scars from his whip for the rest of her life.” “That sub enjoys a lot more pain than most,” Darlene said. “Travis asked for her more than once when he wanted a ménage.” Still, a whipping that would leave permanent scars had to have been punishment administered out of anger. No, anger was too mild a word. It bothered Darlene to think she might have triggered that fury in the man by taking part in the scene with Vlad in an observation room. “I don’t recall any other Dominant ever having to be restrained in all the time I was coming to the club with Travis. Oh yeah. There was this Domme who got expelled, but it was because she went too far with cock and ball torture and practically castrated her slave during a scene.” Vlad cleared his throat. “Valentine watched us in that scene. Until he is cleared of suspicion for the killings, I do not want you to be alone. I will stay with you.” What? She wasn’t sure she was ready for a live-in lover…or that she needed a bodyguard. And yet her body was still vibrating from their time in the dungeon. The aftermath, when he’d tenderly cleaned her up, releasing her bonds to hold her in his lap and kiss her throat, reverberated more strongly in her mind. The idea of having him in her home wasn’t exactly unwelcome. Maybe if she focused on the lover part, that would keep her mind off the reason he was insisting on moving in. Will the carnage of your life ever stop ruining mine, Travis? Sometimes she doubted it. But it had brought her Vlad. Whether or not that was an oversight by Fate or a

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deliberate act intended to keep her from completely losing her mind, Vlad was here, and she’d keep him. For a little while. Even if his main reason for staying was great sex and to do his job. Even if she was afraid of keeping him for more than that. She looked at his face in profile, saw no hint of humor. “If you’re suggesting you keep me company, do I get a choice?” “No. I will not risk your safety, whether or not Valentine turns out to be the groupie killer. He saw us together and beat his sub unmercifully moments afterward.” “How do you know for sure that he saw us?” Vlad turned off the highway onto the road that led to Darlene’s home, his mouth a tight, thin line. A vein in his neck throbbed. If she hadn’t trusted him completely she’d have been afraid, his expression was so fierce. “I saw him up in the gallery.” “Oh.” Darlene couldn’t control the shiver that began in her belly and traveled along sensitized nerve endings until she was shaking all over. “You know, Travis once introduced me to Mr. Valentine and his wife. She was a sub too.” “Was?” Once Vlad stopped the car in front of her house, he turned and faced her. “If I remember correctly, she died several years ago. Before Casey Weldon’s first wife got sick.” She searched her memory, frustrated that no details of the woman’s passing popped out of her brain. “That would have been before the first of the groupie murders, right?” “A long time before. Four, maybe five years ago. Tell you who’d probably know. Casey. He acts as his own agent, so he has always had more dealings with the front office folks than most players. Certainly more than Travis ever did. Casey might even have gone to Mrs. Valentine’s funeral.” Vlad let out a long sigh. “It’s too late to try to reach Weldon tonight. I will catch him tomorrow after practice. Shall we go in?”

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“You’re mighty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she asked when he opened her door and held out a hand to help her out of the low-slung sports car. “I am sure that until we can rule out Valentine, I will not have you spending another moment unprotected. We can work out our respective schedules inside. If I cannot be with you all the time, I’ll arrange for you to have protection from an agent who works out of the LA office.” So. He was FBI. That made sense, seeing that the murders had taken place in different states. “I think you just blew your cover, Mr. G-Man. I take it you were put on this case because you can kick a football.” “That, and because I have more than a little experience tracking serial killers.” He grinned, wiping the taut set from his sensual lips. “You’re right, though. I am here largely because there were very few of us who could go undercover convincingly as professional football players. I have kept in shape by playing on an amateur soccer league, so when the manager was searching for someone to send, he chose me. Fortunately, I kick a football well enough that the players and fans don’t suspect I was a plant. Even more fortunate for me, the Rangers were holding tryouts for the place kicker job at the time I was assigned—and I won it fair and square. No one but the head coach knows that playing football isn’t my only job.” As Vlad fumbled with the key to her door, the thought struck Darlene that since she was a well-known model and everybody thought he was only a place kicker, the tabloid vultures would most likely slap their pictures all over their rags with accompanying stories that were more fiction than fact. That being the case, he might as well use her as bait to trap the killer before he struck again. “I think you might solve this case faster if we made it real clear to everybody that you’re my Master…and I’m your loving slave.” “No.” Vlad might solve the killings faster, but there was no way he was going to intentionally place Darlene in danger. It ate at him, knowing he might have done so accidentally by engaging her in that dungeon scene where club members were free to watch. Still he couldn’t deny the pleasure they had both taken, the edge that knowing

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others were looking at them gave to their lovemaking. It had been as though they’d been made for each other—made to satisfy perfectly his need to dominate, hers to submit. “Yes. I want this killer caught, and if I can help, then let me do it.” He didn’t want to put her in danger, but he most likely had already done so if Valentine was indeed the killer. And the best chance of catching him was to allow Darlene to become his target. Besides, it was highly likely Valentine already had her in his sights. “All right.” His jaw felt tight when he gave in. Abruptly he turned, placed his hands on either side of her skull and held her so her lush lips were mere inches from his own. He met her gaze, his own expression intentionally fierce. “I do not like this idea at all, but it is what we are going to do. Understand this, however. You will obey me in everything, no matter how inconsequential you may think it is. Until we catch him, you will submit to my will. “Whether it is about leaving the house or spreading your legs to let your Master see your cunt.” He softened his tone, loosened his grip to tunnel his fingers through her hair. “I will not tolerate losing you to a madman.” A full moon shone through the window, illuminating her living room and lending a surreal glow to the Pacific Ocean that lay beyond. Once more he reminded himself they came from different worlds. Once his job was done he’d return to his modest apartment in Virginia while she would stay here, her arresting face and lithe body adorning fashion magazines and television ads. He reminded himself also that even now, when he was getting his Rangers’ salary as well as his regular pay, his income was a pittance compared with hers. While she obviously liked playing bondage games with him, that didn’t mean she’d entertain any thoughts of making the relationship permanent. How ludicrous could it be, a world-famous supermodel taking up with an FBI agent? Especially one who’d come from Estonia to attend university on a soccer scholarship, bringing nothing with him but a scuffed soccer ball and a suitcase full of 49

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worn clothes? Come to think of it, he didn’t own a whole lot more now, fifteen years later. “Can I get you something to eat? A drink?” He turned, was struck again with her beauty. The high cheekbones, full lips, dark eyes still dreamy-looking from the sex they’d shared earlier. “I should have stopped and bought food on the way here,” he said. “Since I did not, I will help you prepare something.” His stomach growled, as though protesting his having ignored it over the past few hours. She took his hand. “Come on, I’ve got some chicken and dumplings in the freezer to quiet that growl. And a white chocolate and amaretto cheesecake. Never quite got over cooking for a growing boy once Travis and I split up, so I always end up cooking more than I can eat. You can help by making a salad while I heat the chicken.” His mother would appreciate her frugality, he thought as he watched her take three neatly packaged and labeled portions from the freezer and drop them into a pot of water on a space-age range his mother would love but would never dream of asking for, even if her vintage stove should go belly-up. Vlad realized it was going to be damn difficult to walk away from Darlene when his job was done. He didn’t only lust after her. He liked her, appreciated the kindness and down-to-earth practicality in her that he never would have expected from a woman whose face and body earned her seven figures or more each year. “Where will I find ingredients for a salad?” he asked, needing to focus on something—anything—but his own escalating emotions. Unsettling feelings he couldn’t seem to control. “Right door of the refrigerator. Look in the drawers down at the bottom.” “Is this all right?” The mixed bag of ready-made salad looked less daunting than individual heads of lettuce and other greens. She laughed. “Why is it I knew you’d make a dive for the pre-mixed stuff? Don’t put it back, I’m just teasing. Throw it into that bowl on the counter, and grab a handful

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of radishes and a red pepper. Chop them up, and toss them in for flavor. A tomato too if you like them.” “Do you?” The plump tomato reminded Vlad of ones his mother grew in her backyard garden back home in Cincinnati, which in turn made him think again how much she’d like Darlene. “Mmm. I could eat them by the dozens. There’s hardly anything in the way of fruits and veggies that I don’t like. Good thing, since I have to keep my weight down or I’d soon outgrow my job. Dinner’s thawed. It ought to be hot enough in a few minutes.” She lifted one of the plastic packets with a large slotted spoon. That meant he’d better get busy washing veggies as she called them and tossing them with the greens. It seemed their timing was perfect, because she set two plates of fragrant chicken and dumplings on the kitchen table at the same time he brought the salad from the counter. “We make a good team,” she said, verbalizing the thought he wished hadn’t come into his mind. “Want some wine?” “No, thank you. After all, the reason I am here is to protect you. How about a glass of milk instead?” How could Travis Jackson have let this woman go? Vlad savored the last bite of his cheesecake—as good a dessert as he’d ever tasted, and his mother had spoiled him for most other women’s cooking. Darlene still nibbled at hers the way a child might take her time with a treat she was seldom allowed. “You are a woman of many talents,” he said, smiling across the table. “I try. Guess I’m a masochist at heart because I enjoy making high-calorie dishes I don’t dare eat more than once in a blue moon. Let’s get these dishes into the dishwasher, and we can stroll along the beach. If you want to, that is.” What he wanted was to take her to bed, not necessarily to fuck but just to hold her, share the warmth of their naked bodies through the long hours of the night. But that was a damn bad idea. A moonlight walk, while still tempting, was a safer proposition

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since his mind seemed bent on nudging him to something far more serious than she could possibly be seeking from him. “All right. It should be safe enough tonight.” Still, Vlad made a quick detour to his car and retrieved his sidearm from the glove compartment, tucking the 9mm automatic into the waistband at the back of his slacks and letting his shirt hang out to keep it out of plain view.

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Chapter Four For the first time in months, Darlene woke refreshed. The reason lay beside her, his muscular body warm against her side, his breath slow and even against the back of her neck. It felt good…safe, having a Master to take care of her again. A glint of silver on the nightstand caught her eye, and she couldn’t help shivering at the thought that Vlad had felt it necessary to carry that gun on their walk last night—and to set it within easy reach when they came back to go to bed. She didn’t like guns. Didn’t cotton to violence of any kind. She’d been brought up that way, to solve problems with words, not fists. Civilized. Her mama wouldn’t have had it any other way, and Daddy had spent his life trying to heal folks, not hurt them. These killings had her on edge—but having Vlad beside her, even with his gun, reassured her that no matter how crazy things might get, he’d keep her safe. “Good morning,” she said when she saw his eyelids flutter, his body stretch sleepily. His erection poked at her backside, made her wiggle with anticipation. “Good morning. What is your schedule for the day?” Though she’d expected a repeat of yesterday’s delicious loving, he rolled over and out of bed, gazing down at her with a serious look on his face that certainly didn’t go with his hard-on. “My time’s yours. This week, anyway. I told my agent yesterday I’d be free to do some photo shoots starting next week, but until then, I’ve got nothing better to do than tag along with you.” Vlad frowned, which sent a wave of disappointment through her, but then maybe she’d read too much into the way he’d held her hand while they strolled along the beach. The tenderness in his touch when he’d stopped beside a sand dune, pulled her into his arms and held her… Darlene was about to bury her head in a pillow to hide the feelings he’d given her no clear signal he would welcome when he sat on the edge of

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the bed and took her hand. “Get up, then, and put on something casual. You can watch practice this morning since I have to be there. Afterward we will talk with Casey Weldon.” He smiled, but the joviality didn’t reach his pale eyes. “You know it will appear that we have just spent the night together,” he said, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw. “I have razors if you’d like to shave.” Not that everybody wouldn’t assume they were having sex anyway, just because she came with him to watch practice. “No time. We overslept. Besides, it will enhance my image with my fellow players if they believe I spent last night in bed with a gorgeous, famous woman.” This time when he smiled, pleasure shone all over his pretty pale face. “Come on, before I decide the fine I have to pay for missing practice is worth it for spending an extra hour or two here with you.”

***** “Thanks for coming over on such short notice,” TJ said once Casey and Vlad had gone out by the pool, leaving Darlene and TJ to fix some lunch. “Thanks for asking us.” “Are you okay? Being there watching practice must have triggered some memories.” “I’m okay.” Although Darlene tried to concentrate on the onion she was slicing for the burgers TJ was cooking on her indoor grill, she wasn’t sure the moisture in her eyes was entirely the result of what she was doing. Watching practice had reminded her of the early days, when she and Travis had been head over heels in love and she’d anticipated the days she didn’t have photo shoots and could watch him do his thing. But today was different. Travis was gone. She’d seen them plant him six feet under that cold Alabama clay. He wasn’t coming back. She had mixed feelings about that. Part of her missed him—the way he used to be. Another part anticipated more mindblowing sex with Vlad, for however long their affair might last. Overriding everything

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else in her head was the feeling of foreboding, the sense something bad was about to happen. “Do you know Gordon Valentine?” she asked TJ when she delivered the onions to the grill. “Not really. Casey introduced me to him at the beginning-of-the-season party. He struck me as a loner.” The man struck Darlene as being a monster, but then she’d seen him at what hopefully had been his worst. “He was at practice today.” TJ flipped a burger then turned to Darlene. “I didn’t see him. I’ve never noticed him at the practice complex, as a matter of fact.” Just great! She’d have thought TJ, a former detective, would have observed folks coming and going, out of habit if nothing else. Still, Darlene had to admit Valentine was the nondescript sort of man who wouldn’t ordinarily attract attention. “Mr. Valentine was watching from the clubhouse most of the time. Came outside a few minutes toward the end of practice.” The look on his face while he stared at Vlad had sent a cold chill slithering down Darlene’s backbone. “Sorry. I was watching the players.” TJ frowned. “What did this guy do to upset you?” “He watched a BDSM scene I was in at the club yesterday. Afterward he beat his own sub so badly, I wouldn’t doubt if she ended up in the hospital. Sharon—she was on duty as club Mistress—had to stop him, or I don’t doubt he’d have killed the poor woman.” “Hmm. Are you thinking he might be the groupie killer?” TJ paused, apparently giving that idea some thought. “You know, it’s not all that likely. If the murderer were into meting out pain before killing those girls, he probably wouldn’t have used something as impersonal as a gun.” There was that. Darlene tried to calm her fear as they put coleslaw, hamburger buns and condiments on a tray to take outside by the pool. Still, the look on Gordon Valentine’s florid face as he’d glowered at Vlad lay heavy on her mind. 55

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***** “You know, there was a fourth murder. Casey mentioned it when we were talking about Valentine.” Vlad turned the corner into Darlene’s driveway after having stopped by his apartment on the way from Casey’s to pick up some clothes and toiletries. “Law enforcement never connected it with the groupie killings because it seemed to be a single killing of a woman from Milwaukee who had a history of taking part in orgies with several players from up there. The murder took place the night before a RangersMarlins game.” “When?” The more Darlene heard, the more the whole thing scared her. Four women dead. And Travis with them. The scowl on Valentine’s face this morning when he’d stared at Vlad materialized in her head, more threatening now than it had been in person. “Four seasons ago. Casey remembered because Coach had read the riot act to the players after news of the connection between the murdered woman and some of his teammates was splashed all over the Milwaukee papers. Casey also recalled that Gordon Valentine attended that game because he came up and congratulated him on a 300-yards-passing game. It stuck in his mind because Valentine rarely attends games even when they are played here at home.” But the man who hardly ever attended Rangers games had been at practice today. Darlene’s breath caught in her throat, making her sound croaky when she asked Vlad if Valentine had been at the game in Seattle when Travis died. “Yes. Casey remembered seeing him on the team plane. I will have to look into whether he was at the games where the other two murders took place. Casey recalled him catching a ride on the team plane only that one time.” “But he could have gone up on his own.” Vlad pulled the car to a stop and shut off the engine. “Yes, I know. Come now, do not worry any more than you have to. Do you not trust me to watch over you?” “Of course. It’s just that—” 56

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“I understand, dosheynka. You are frightened, and rightfully so. But try to relax.” She was trying, but not very successfully. “Please tell me you can find out whether he was at those other games. If he wasn’t then maybe I can breathe easier.” “Yes, I can find out. I have some FBI people checking with the airlines, and we should know soon. Come on. It has been a long day. My thighs are sore, and I could use a soak in that bubbling hot tub of yours. Perhaps you might join me there.” Although she didn’t think she could make herself get into that Jacuzzi again with a man—even Vlad—Darlene had to admire the slick way the man managed to change the subject.

***** Swirling hot water soothed the aches in his muscles, and the hypnotic view of rolling surf in the distance eased the nagging headache that had begun pounding at his temples when he’d talked with the Rangers’ star quarterback and his ex-cop wife. What Casey had told him had his nerves on edge, his protective antennae on alert. Vlad was having a hard time, however, shutting down the voice in his head that suggested he was using his job as an excuse to stay close to Darlene, that she wouldn’t want to be with him if he was just some guy pursuing her for a date when she could be on the arm of mega movie stars, hell, any man with a brain and eyes. But then would they be able to make her call them Master? Would she gasp with pleasure when they barely brushed her cunt with the pads of their fingers? Vlad didn’t think so. Though he doubted she would want a long-term relationship with him, she made no secret of the fact she wanted him now. And that made him want to claim her. Trying to ignore the raging hard-on that always resulted when he thought about her, he lay back against the whirling jets and considered what he had learned so far about Gordon Valentine. Valentine was a widower whose wife had died suddenly nearly five years earlier, supposedly from an accidental fall down the stairs at the family mansion. Apparently 57

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they had been Master and slave, at least on a sexual level. The trip to Milwaukee that coincided with the murder there had taken place a few months after the demise of Valentine’s wife, and it was the first Rangers game Casey recalled ever having seen Valentine attend. Coincidence? That could easily be, but… Damn it, Vlad didn’t think so. Even now a madman could be plotting against Darlene. Against him. He was uncomfortable with his woman out of his sight. His woman? Well, she was his for now, until he caught the serial killer, whether it was Valentine or someone else. “Darlene!” She hurried into the sumptuous bathroom, a tray in hand. “I thought you might like a glass of wine while you relax in the hot tub.” Giving him an arousing view of her cleavage, she bent over a corner of the tub and set the tray on a ledge in front of the window that overlooked the ocean. “Would you like a rubdown?” What he wanted was for her to crawl into the tub and ride his aching cock. Maybe it would take his mind off Valentine and the many motives the man might have had— might still have deep in his twisted mind—for murder. “Come on in. The water feels good.” For a woman who’d unquestioningly followed his every sexual suggestion yesterday, she seemed reluctant. Almost as if she was afraid. “Come on. I don’t bite. Not much, anyway,” he told her, keeping his tone deliberately light. Mechanically, like a wind-up doll set in motion by a carnival barker he remembered from his childhood, she stepped out of her high-heeled sandals, stripped off her clothes and stepped to the edge of the hot tub. Then she froze. Puzzled, he reached out, took her hand. “Tell me, sweetheart. What is wrong?” “I-I can’t do it.” “What is it you cannot do?” Careful not to put too much pressure on her, he stroked her palm, kept his voice low, neutral.

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“I can’t get in the hot tub. He scared me. Held me under the water too long.” Her voice cracked, and tears sparkled like tiny diamonds on her mocha cheeks. Vlad struggled to control the fury that rose in him. How dare someone turn what should have been a sensual adventure into a nightmare? “Who did this to you?” “Travis.” She paused, sniffed. Then she met Vlad’s gaze. “After we separated. It was almost as if he wanted to punish me, make me hate him the way he apparently hated me.” Bastard. If Travis had still been around, Vlad would have been sorely tempted to kill him. “I am sorry.” Vlad stood, water dripping off him when he stepped out of the hot tub onto a shaggy bath rug and drew her into his arms. “Come in the tub with me. Trust that I will never harm you, only give you pleasure.” He wanted to hold her, protect her—an unfamiliar emotion to one whose previous sexual liaisons had been only that, a sharing of bodies without the engaging of hearts and minds. Although she trembled, she smiled up at him. “I trust you. Master. I believe you’ll help me get over the fear.” Awed by her confidence in him, he lifted her, held her close as he stepped back into the swirling waters. “Relax. I will keep you safe.” Continuing to keep his arms around her, he sat on the ledge and set her on his lap. Her heart still beat fast against his chest, her breath came fast and hard. He smelled her fear, but he also saw hope and faith replace the terror in her eyes as he stroked her back, whispered encouragement. He had never wanted more to shift her pussy over his throbbing cock, fuck her until they both screamed with satisfaction. But he did not. Instead he placed gentle kisses on her cheeks, her earlobes, her throat, all the while stroking her silky wet skin. For a long time they sat there, foaming water swirling about them, calming her anxiety, feeding his need to be protector as well as Master. When they got out of the tub and she was toweling him dry, she asked, “Why didn’t you fuck me?”

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“Because you did not need fucking in a place that made you so afraid. You needed to get over the fear one man instilled in you, and I wanted to be the man to help you conquer those bad memories.” He dragged her hand to his erection once they left the bathroom. Naked, they stood at her bedroom window looking out over the vast Pacific, holding hands. Vlad rubbed his thumb over Darlene’s soft palm, savoring the connection, the sense of rightness he couldn’t shake off. He doused the light, loving the way the moon gilded her—them—against the darkness of the night. “You know, dosheynka, I could very easily fall in love with you.” She turned into his embrace, met his gaze. Shadows gathered in her eyes, shadows he couldn’t read. “You don’t have to, my sweet Master. Just keep on wanting me for a little while. At least until this nightmare’s over and that murderer’s behind bars.” A gentle warning that this shouldn’t—couldn’t—be real? Well, he already knew that, although his heart apparently was not ready to believe. “At least that long. Longer. There never will be a time when I don’t want you. When I can see a picture of you on the cover of some upscale magazine and not remember these times.” His hands not quite steady, he stroked the length of her back, cupped her firm buttocks, pressed her flat belly hard against his aching cock. “Come with me to bed.” “I thought you’d never ask. Come on, baby. Let me give you some lovin’ to keep in your memories. And help me make some memories of my own.”

***** All the lights but one went off in the house up on the rise above the beach, leaving the place cloaked in darkness but for the backlighting from a lamp beside the bed and the yellow glow of a full moon. The window framed the figures of the woman and the man moving in perfect synchronization, one dark and one lighter. A brazen naked dance for any observer to see. The man’s hands stood out, stark and pale against the

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dusky skin of her ass. She leaned into his body, rubbing her hips provocatively against his crotch, deliberately arousing his passion, his compulsion to take her. Bitch. Then they moved to the bed, tangling in a frenzy of kissing and touching. He paused a moment, put on a condom. She held out her arms, wanton and inviting, obviously wanting him to fuck her now. If Gordon hadn’t known better he’d have doubted they were Master and sub. From the tender way they were touching and kissing, he’d never have guessed they were into BDSM at all. Not caring if someone else should decide to trespass along Darlene Jackson’s private stretch of beach, Gordon unzipped his trousers. He fondled his own limp cock, imagined himself joining the two in ménage a trois. Her full, sensual lips would clamp down on him, gentler than his own hand. First a kiss, then a long leisurely lick. Then she’d take his length, deep-throat him. Her gleaming white teeth would graze his flesh, making him yank her head away and punish her. The place kicker would keep on fucking her the way he was doing now, pounding into her wet, fragrant cunt while Gordon applied the flogger to her pert, small breasts. She’d come and come and come, heedless to his demands to hold back. And he’d punish her. Pay her back for her disloyalty to Travis. Gordon clenched his fists. Should have brought my gun. If he had, he’d have blown her away, blown them both away, the same way he’d gotten rid of those faithless football groupies who reminded him of his bitch of a wife. His dead wife. This was Travis Jackson’s cheating wife. And a man who’d pretended to be Travis’ friend before he died. Gordon’s fury built up as he watched the scene. No. What he was looking at was no scene. What he saw in shadows through the unshuttered window of Darlene’s bedroom was not a Master and his slave but two lovers. Making love, not merely fucking. Making love the way he’d once done with her. As she’d done with him. As if it were today, he remembered. Coming home after a Rangers game and the party that had followed. Sounds and smells of sex bombarding his senses when he 61

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walked into the house. He’d not given her permission, but perhaps his wife had decided to do herself after leaving the party early. She had some punishment coming, punishment he relished administering. Taking his time, Gordon sneaked upstairs, cracked open the door. There she was. His precious wife, moaning with pleasure as she writhed on their bed. Fucking bitch! That was no dildo she was fucking. No. She was on her back, moaning softly, her nails raking the broad shoulders of a Milwaukee Marlins tight end he’d introduced her to at the party after the game. The big bruiser’s hard ass muscles contracted visibly with every thrust he made into Tricia’s sopping, sucking cunt. His cunt. Only his… A slow rage began, bubbled up, threatened to spill over into violence as Gordon took in the scene as it played out live before him. A scene not unlike the one he’d watched unfold in his own bedroom five years ago, though the players’ faces had changed. Darlene Jackson had to die. Had to pay for her treachery with her life, just as his wife had paid…as those other women had paid for theirs. It seemed especially appropriate to Gordon that the Rangers would be playing the Marlins in Milwaukee this weekend. Perhaps if he did her there, he’d come full circle. Find peace in his tortured soul at last. Never mind that Darlene had seldom accompanied her husband to away games. She’d go this time. The woman was getting her itch scratched, and Gordon had no doubt but that she’d want to continue the orgy without respite. Bitches were that way.

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Chapter Five “Did you get the feeling last night that someone was watching us?” Vlad stopped in the kitchen doorway, stunned that Darlene had asked. He’d felt that way while they’d made love, yet shaken off the sensation as his own hang-up because she’d left the curtains open so they could look out over the ocean. Well, perhaps her stretch of waterfront wasn’t all that private after all. “Yes, I did. But I chalked it up to me expecting privacy only behind closed doors. And windows,” he added, deliberately lightening his tone. “You don’t expect privacy in your own backyard?” He shook his head. “I am an apartment dweller. My windows open onto a courtyard all the residents of the complex are free to use. Not to mention that at least ten upstairs apartments have windows that would provide excellent vantage points to look in on my bedroom.” “Okay. Well, I own that stretch of waterfront you can see from our windows, so no one should be out there. Still…” She paused then picked up a fat teapot from the stove and took it to the table as though determined not to let her concern interfere with her enjoyment of the day. “I hope you like green tea. I’m out of the regular kind.” “Green tea will be fine.” Making an effort to smile despite his growing concern, Vlad joined her at the table and ate the yogurt, fruit and toasted muffin she’d set out. “Will you go with me to the game in Milwaukee this weekend? If not, I need to arrange for someone from the local office to stay here with you while I’m gone.” “I’ll go.” She smiled, a nervous upturn of lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes and didn’t last more than a few seconds before disappearing. “Vlad, if you think it’s him, use me for bait. I want this over.”

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The thought of risking Darlene made his blood run cold. “No baiting. That’s what got Travis and Jeralyn killed, unless I miss my guess.” “What?” Vlad hadn’t meant to tell her yet, but he had to let her know what sort of danger she could be putting herself into. “Jeralyn was an undercover agent too. She recruited Travis to pretend she was his girlfriend.” “You mean they were pretending? From what the reporters said, the killer caught them in the act.” Darlene’s quick intake of breath told Vlad she and Travis might have split up, but it still had hurt her to think he’d been sleeping around so publicly. “As far as I know it was all pretense.” She shrugged. “It shouldn’t matter to me, I know. But it does. I’m crazy to care. We were separated, getting divorced.” Vlad saw her hurt in the tight set of her mouth, the little tremor in her long, slender fingers as she poured herself more tea. Damn it, he wanted to mean that much to her. He wanted to banish the ghost of Travis Jackson and make a spot for himself in Darlene’s soul. “You loved him. It cannot be all that easy to shove memories to the past, especially when he died the way he did.” Her fists clenched. “That’s why I’ve got to help you. Put the bastard who shot Travis behind bars so he can’t kill any other women.” When she looked up at Vlad, tears floated in her eyes. “But I couldn’t bear it if he killed you too.” “I am not all that easy to get rid of.” He made an effort to sound casual, as though he faced danger every day without fear. “I have no intention of allowing the murdering bastard to kill me or anyone else.” Especially this brave, beautiful woman who had already lost one man she’d loved—one Master—whether or not she’d admit it even to herself. She smiled. “You’re pretty much invincible as a Master, but I doubt you’re impervious to a bullet.”

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“I am, unless it happens to be made of silver.” “No, you’re not. Quit joshing me.” He reached over and traced her pulse from the base of her slender throat to her jaw. “So, you don’t believe me, do you? What if I proved it to you here and now?” “Go on. Bite me. You’re no vampire. If you were, you wouldn’t have been snarfing down on all my good mortal cooking. And you’d be off somewhere now, hunkering down in the dark while the sun’s out.” He made a menacing face, drew her to him, pretended to bite her throat but kissed the throbbing vein instead. “You are right. My teammates and coworkers often accuse me of being one because of my name and my sensitivity to the sun, but I am as mortal as you. I am very good at what I do, though, and I will take very good care of you. And of myself. Come on. I would very much like to set you up on that counter over there and fuck you until I’ve driven the killer out of both our minds, but I cannot. If we do not leave now, I’ll be late to practice.”

***** As the sun reached its zenith Darlene watched Vlad kick footballs with almost mechanical precision. He couldn’t have been more different from Travis, whose style of playing had been as bold and reckless as his lifestyle off the field. Different, yet no less desirable…maybe more so. The slight soreness of her pussy, the chafe of her nipples against her bra reminded her how gently he’d taken her last night. As though he’d known she needed cherishing more than kink to chase away her troubles. “Good morning, Mrs. Jackson. I see you haven’t deserted the Rangers even though you’ve apparently transferred your affection to our intrepid place kicker.” Darlene glanced toward the field, saw Vlad watching them. Valentine gave her the creeps with his piercing assessment, the threatening undertone beneath his seemingly casual greeting. The fact he was singling her out for attention when he’d never bothered

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to speak to her before made her blood run cold, but Vlad’s obvious awareness gave her confidence. “How are you, Mr. Valentine?” “Well, thank you.” He looked her up and down with small, deep-set eyes that reminded her of raisins her mom used to press into the gingerbread cookies before she baked them. “I assume you will be coming to our game this Sunday?” “Yes.” An icy shiver ran down her backbone when his lips curled into an ominouslooking smile. Or was the man’s sinister expression only her imagination? Would anybody who hadn’t known he’d viciously beaten his sub two days earlier have seen Gordon Valentine as anything but an affable team owner trying to make conversation with a player’s significant other? “Do I make you uncomfortable?” he asked, the words coated with honey as though he wanted to put her at ease—or maybe make her squirm even more. “You and Ivanov put on quite a show at the club the other night, you know.” Damn it. Valentine had to know as well as she did that what went on inside the club stayed there. From the smirk on his face, Darlene guessed he knew it well and was deliberately violating the rule of silence. “If you say so.” She wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction of commenting on events that should have stayed behind the dungeon’s tightly guarded doors. “Practice seems to be over. I’d better go now.” “Of course. I’ll see you in Milwaukee.” Not if I see you first. Darlene smiled, the expression coming much less easily than when a director ordered it during a photo shoot. She turned to leave, the creepy feeling getting worse with every breath she took. “You really shouldn’t forget to close your bedroom drapes. Unless you really do get off on giving strangers a show.” Valentine’s parting words rang in her ears as she beat a fast retreat, not daring to look back and see if he was following her while she practically ran to the parking lot. Thank God Vlad had left his car keys with her. He’d hurry, she knew. She’d felt his fury toward Valentine all the way from the field, watched him follow the odious man with his gaze until he’d disappeared into the 66

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clubhouse. Vlad believed Valentine was the killer, and now that she’d seen him up close, face-to-face, she thought so too. In the car, she locked the doors behind her, couldn’t help shivering as she gripped the steering wheel as if it were a lifeline. She’d been inches from a killer, with no one close enough to intervene. Vlad, where are you? She’d hardly thought it before he was there, knocking gently on the window glass. It was a good thing he hadn’t taken longer because she’d been about to start up the car and run for her life.

***** “What is wrong?” Vlad had never realized before that skin as dark as Darlene’s could turn pale, but her cheeks looked pale now. Almost bloodless. She sat behind the wheel of his car as though poised to take off, her long slender fingers trembling when she handed him the key and moved over the gearshift lever onto the passenger seat. “He saw us.” “What do you mean?” “Valentine. He mentioned observing our scene at the club.” Her voice cracked, and her fear was palpable. “And he asked me if I was coming with you on the road trip. But what nearly had me jumping out of my skin was that he said he was watching us last night.” When Vlad clasped her hand, he absorbed the tremor—the fear she couldn’t hide. “You don’t have to do this, you know.” He’d leave her here, use a decoy—if the local office could come up with an operative that could pass for Darlene, which he doubted. “I can have someone assigned to guard you while I’m gone.” “Y-you know something more, don’t you?” Her fingers tightened around his, and her eyes widened. He’d have done almost anything to chase the terror from those dark eyes, to calm the dread that held her in its grip. But he couldn’t lie. “I spoke with someone from the 67

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office a few minutes ago. It seems Valentine’s wife may not have died by accident. She fell down the stairs at their home.” “Or she was pushed?” “She could have been. Apparently she had left an after-game party early, complaining of a headache. According to the story Valentine told at the time, he came home late and found her at the bottom of the stairs, her neck broken.” Darlene leaned toward Vlad, laid her head on his shoulder. “He scares me so,” she said so softly he could barely make out the words. “It will soon be over.” If only Valentine would take the bait Vlad was laying in his path. “If Valentine’s our man.” “He is. I feel it. Evil surrounds that man. Sweet Jesus, but I’m afraid.” Vlad tunneled his fingers into her soft hair. “I will take care of you.” When he glimpsed Valentine crossing the parking lot, he held her close, as though by shielding her eyes from the man he could somehow protect her as well as allay her fear. “We are taking a commercial flight to Milwaukee this afternoon. I want to talk to some players on the Marlins team. One of them may be able to cast some light on what went on the night Valentine’s wife died.” Her body softened against him, the tension in her lessening palpably. “I’m glad we won’t be flying with him.” “So am I. For your sake. Come on, we need to hurry if we are to be ready to get on that flight. We must be at the airport by four o’clock.”

***** They had the first-class section to themselves except for an elderly couple who’d closed their eyes and nodded off moments after the plane took off from LAX. Darlene laid her head on Vlad’s shoulder and let the muffled engine noise lull her tension away while Vlad traced a sensual pattern along her jeans-clad thigh beneath the lightweight blanket. “That feels good.” 68

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“You feel good to me as well. I enjoyed watching men ogle you as we walked through the airport.” She covered his hand, stilled his motion. “You’ll see a lot of that when we’re together. Not just men though. I felt plenty of feminine eyes shooting daggers at me because I was with a hot-looking white man.” He paused, pushed back the armrest that separated the two seats and arranged the blanket so it covered them both. “Come here. And quit exaggerating the differences between the colors of our skin. It means nothing.” His arms closed around her. “To you, maybe. A lot of others don’t feel that way.” “Their loss then. Relax. We have three hours here, away from killers and prying eyes.” He pulled his hand free and began to stroke between her legs. “Open to me. Now.” When she followed his whispered order, she felt his heartbeat through the layers of their clothes, the hard ridge of his cock pulsating against her thigh. The sensual touch of his fingertips and the vibrations of the plane, slight though they were, had her creaming her panties, wanting that cock. Wanting him. Feeling safe and secure, surrounded by his strength and power. “Mmmm.” “Feel what you do to me.” He dragged her hand to his crotch, closed her fingers around him. “Squeeze me. Oh yeah. Like that. Keep it up and I’ll take you right here, right now.” Oh yes. Her pussy twitched and her nipples tingled. Something about this man made her crazy with the need to submit to him. Any time. Anywhere. In front of God and anybody who cared to watch. She could tell he wanted her by the heat and hardness of him, obvious even through the layers of his clothes. “I’m yours for the taking, Master,” she whispered against his lips. “Imagine me stroking your smooth, wet cunt lips. You have a butt plug up your pretty ass, making you squirm when I start it to vibrating. I am tugging ever so gently on your clit ring, and your clit is dying for the feel of my tongue and teeth. Your mouth is watering for cock…and I order you to give head to my friend while I suck your clit 69

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and tug on these perfect breasts.” He slid a hand under her sweater and plucked at an aching nipple. “God, but you are one hot lady. Come here and fuck me now.” “Mmmm.” The idea of being the filling in a ménage a trois ordered by her Master made Darlene crazy, so crazy she hardly gave a thought to what anyone would think if they saw her slithering out of her jeans and kneeling across Vlad’s lap, frantically tugging at his zipper to release his long, thick cock. Yeah, the blanket covered them— barely—but no one who chanced a look could fail to guess what they were doing when she impaled herself and began to move. “Yes, baby. Fuck me.” Vlad grasped her hips, directing her motion. Taking control the way she liked—expected. “Thinking about taking two of us together turns you on. I can tell because you’re drenching me with your honey. God yes. Squeeze my cock with your tight cunt.” Vlad glanced around the cabin, saw the elderly couple stir and look their way when Darlene whimpered, then quickly avert their gazes. Was this the sort of public behavior for which money could buy you all sorts of allowances, he wondered, because even the attendant seemed to be studiously busying herself checking out the drink supply. Damn if it wasn’t something he could get used to. But he didn’t dare think it might last, so he might as well enjoy it now. Supermodels didn’t stay with FBI agents. But maybe he could send her spiraling into another climax that would make her forget that for a moment or two. He needed to hear her call him Master again. Ringing her asshole with a finger, he slammed her down on him, harder this time. He caught her moan of pleasure in his mouth, returned it with a muffled shout of his own when he began to spurt hot sweet semen into her spasming pussy. Their climax seemed to go on forever, and when it was over she collapsed against him, “Did you mean it about the ménage?” “Yes.” Some Doms didn’t like to share. Vlad imagined Travis had been one of them, afraid his slave might have liked another man more than himself. That would have 70

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been typical of the poor boy who’d captured a princess—would in fact have been a normal reaction for Vlad if he dared entertain ideas of permanence with the internationally acclaimed model. “Does the idea of taking two men excite you?” She tangled her fingers in his hair, her fingers finding and caressing the erogenous spot beneath his occipital bone and making his cock harden again inside the wet cavern of her cunt. “If it pleases you, Master.” “Oh it pleases me, all right. I want to see you writhing in ecstasy, want to feel the sweat that will be glistening all over your beautiful body. Making you scream with satisfaction will be my reward for sharing.” Vlad wondered if his good friend and former fellow law school student Brand Carendon still practiced BDSM. If so, perhaps they’d pleasure Darlene after the meeting where Vlad hoped to get more information about Tricia Valentine’s “accidental” death. The intercom crackled and then a feminine voice came on. “May I have your attention, please? The captain has turned on the seat belt sign as we begin our descent into the Milwaukee area.” Darlene let out a nervous little laugh. “Guess we’d better tidy up, hadn’t we?” “What if I said no?” “Then I’d have to obey.” She slipped off Vlad’s lap and into her own seat. “But I’m pretty sure you don’t want us to get arrested.” Gracefully, she dug into her travel bag for some tissues and handed him a few. “Here, use these before you zip up.” Vlad watched her put her jeans back on behind the cover of the blanket. “How do you manage that?” he asked, certain he wouldn’t have been able to get back into his own pants half as easily. “Practice. You wouldn’t believe the conditions we sometimes have at photo shoots.” She grinned as she dragged the jeans over her hips and tugged the zipper closed. “Comes in handy.” Every minute he spent with Darlene, Vlad realized how much it was going to hurt to walk away. Maybe… 71

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Now wasn’t the time to get distracted over a woman, no matter how perfect she seemed, in bed and out. Vlad forced his attention back to the problem at hand— trapping and capturing a serial killer before he could strike again.

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Chapter Six After they’d gotten their luggage off the carousel, Vlad spotted Brand Carendon right away. The Marlins quarterback stood head and shoulders over most people around the baggage claim area. He’d have been difficult to miss, even without the crush of fans sticking papers at him to be autographed. Taking Darlene’s hand, Vlad guided her through the crowd, avoiding the excited comments from people who realized they were seeing Darlene Jackson, cover girl extraordinaire, in the flesh. “Later, guys, I see the friends I came to meet.” Brand shot a wide grin toward a group of eager fans as he extricated himself from their clutches and held out a large hand. “Good to see you again, buddy. Who’d have ever thought you’d decide to take up pro football after all this time?” He turned up the wattage on his smile when he looked down at Darlene. “Hey, Darlene, I’d know you anywhere. You look as good as your pictures on magazine covers. Come on, let’s get out while the getting’s good.” Ever since they’d attended a couple of law school classes together at Emory, Brand had been a chick magnet. Obviously he still was, now more so than then because his star had risen to MVP brilliance…and he’d held on to his bachelor status with determination since getting a divorce after only a couple of years’ marriage to a childhood friend. Vlad envied his friend—until Darlene squeezed his hand and smiled up at him as though Brand weren’t one of the most sought-after males around. “We’ll probably get more talking done if we order room service,” Brand suggested when they arrived at the hotel and shook the newly fallen snow off their jackets. “Good thinking.” Vlad turned to Darlene. “Do you mind?” She smiled. “Not at all. I’m not in the mood to make nice with a bunch of football groupies, even after what was a very pleasant flight.” 73

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***** If there were two pro football players in the entire world whom her dad might have approved of, she was probably having pizza with them tonight, here in the living room of a small suite in a four-star Milwaukee hotel. Darlene listened to Brand and Vlad reminisce about their days in law school. Brand apparently had just graduated the previous spring, having gone during off-seasons, while Vlad had gone straight through and finished several years ago. She’d run into men like Brand in college—genteel, polished guys from the white Southern aristocracy, confident of their place in the scheme of things. Movers and shakers, white versions of her dad. Vlad was more complex, which might be why she’d fallen so hard for him. It hadn’t surprised her to hear he’d worked his way through school or that he’d chosen the FBI over private practice because he wanted to give something back to his adopted country. Yeah, Mom and Dad would have approved of either man—that is if they were black. Not that she was likely to be taking Vlad or Brand home to play Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. “You asked which Marlins player went home with Trisha Valentine the night she died. It was Brian Anderson.” Brand’s statement caught Darlene’s full attention. “He’d fuck anything that moved, back then. Since he got married last year, he’s pretty much settled down. “According to him, Valentine walked in and caught them in the act. He didn’t seem to get especially angry. He just ordered Brian out. But Trish was alive and well the last Brian saw of her.” “Jesus have mercy! This man just went off and left the woman he’d been fucking with her angry husband? With Gordon Valentine?” Darlene shuddered at the memory of the man’s cold, dead eyes impaling her this morning back in LA. “How could he have left her to face that man alone?”

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Vlad reached across the table and ran his hand along her arm, shoulder to hand, his touch both reassuring and possessive. “I doubt he dreamed Valentine would do more than yell at her.” “Brian was the one who’d been caught where he didn’t belong. Off the field he was never aggressive, just horny.” Brand spoke quietly yet with a clear ring of authority that fit well with her assessment of him as another sexual Dominant, a trait she’d come to associate with pro athletes, although she and Travis had occasionally played with a couple of his teammates who took submissive roles in BDSM scenes. “Unlike Vlad and me, he’d have been unlikely to envision the wronged husband doing anything more aggressive than ordering her out of his bed and filing for divorce.” “You need a distraction, I think,” Vlad said, lacing his fingers through hers briefly before letting them loose and motioning toward the bedroom. “Go in my bag and find the toys I packed. Undress and insert the two vibrators. When you come back, I want you to kneel here,” he pointed out a spot on the floor between himself and Brand, “and hand each of us one of the remote controls.” Darlene rose, her pussy clenching with anticipation despite herself. “Yes, Master,” she said, her gaze settling on Vlad’s beloved face for a moment, seeing his concern—his fear for her. He was doing this for her. Distracting her, allaying her fear, sharing her with another Dominant most women would stand in line for. She barely spared a look for the famous Marlins quarterback as she passed by to do Vlad’s bidding. He’d packed light—the vibrating dildo and butt plug in their unobtrusive harness, a soft leather flogger and a satin blindfold lay neatly beneath two changes of clothes, alongside his ever-present snub-nose automatic pistol and an attachment she thought she recognized as an extra ammunition clip. Its presence didn’t surprise her since he’d had to declare it and check the bag it was in when they’d left LA. Still, she gave the weapon a wide berth while retrieving the toys. Out of habit, for she traveled often for modeling assignments, she shook out wrinkles and hung up his clothes next to her own. Then she stripped down and gave

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herself a quick spray of the musky cologne Vlad seemed to like so well before lying back on the bed and inserting the toys. When she picked up the cordless remote controls she noted they looked exactly alike. She wouldn’t be able to tell which man was playing with which of the remotes. Her nipples tightened with anticipation as she ran her fingers down the length of her body, checking her pussy to make sure she was still totally smooth the way Vlad demanded. Naked except for high-heeled sandals, she went back into the living room, her pulse racing now with anticipation more than fear. For the first time in her life, she knelt between two Masters. Masters who held her pleasure in the palms of their large, capable hands. Vlad took her left hand, drew it to his half-hard cock. Brand laid her right hand on his inner thigh, her fingers nudging his balls. The butt plug began to vibrate first, followed by the dildo, as the two men continued discussing the murder of the Marlins’ groupie, comparing it with the more recent killings of women following other Rangers’ out-of-town games. If it weren’t for the swelling of male flesh beneath her hands, the almost imperceptible increase in muscle tension of powerful thighs beneath her forearms, Darlene would have thought the two were unaffected by her nakedness. The smells of sex and cologne surrounded her as she became more and more aroused. They had to be reaching the men’s nostrils despite their seeming indifference. Unlike the submissive partners Travis had chosen in the club for occasional ménages a trois who’d paid more attention to him than to her, Brand exhibited no sexual interest in Vlad. When the two finished their discussion, they turned their mutual attention to Darlene, urging her to free their cocks and fondle their bare balls while they drove her to distraction by varying the intensity of vibrations in her pussy and ass. She bit her tongue to keep from begging them to stop the teasing and fuck her the way it was obvious they wanted to do.

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Their calloused hands chafed her pussy…her belly…her breasts, as though the moves had been thought out ahead of time. She opened her mouth, panted, wished she dared beg them to stop playing and get on with the show. Vlad cleared his throat. “Get up and go lie down on the bed. I want to see your arms extended over your head, your legs spread so we can see your hot, wet cunt.” Moisture ran down Darlene’s legs when she rose and crossed the room. Her pussy contracted when she felt two pairs of eager eyes taking in her every move. What sweet torture, the waiting…

Brand stripped off his clothes and lay down beside Darlene on the king-size bed as Vlad undressed. Although Vlad had been part of many ménages, never before had he wished he hadn’t offered to share. His fists tightened involuntarily when he watched Brand slip out the dildo and stroke Darlene’s smooth, wet cunt lips. Listening to her purr with pleasure at Brand’s practiced touch made him want to snatch his friend away instead of joining them and working together with Brand to send her tumbling over the edge. Ass. You wanted to give her pleasure. Well, she’s certainly getting it now. Vlad crawled in bed at her other side and drew a puckered nipple between his teeth. Sweet. Beautiful. More than enough woman to satisfy two men or a dozen, and for the moment she was his own submissive. Never mind that another man was playing with her pussy. He slid his hand along her satiny skin, murmured words of sex…of emotions stronger than any he’d ever experienced. His cock throbbed, demanding attention. Reluctantly he gave her nipple one last love bite before moving to straddle her face. “Suck my cock, my angel.” “Mmmm.” She took him, just the head at first, between her lush lips, sampling the lubrication that had beaded at the tip. Her tongue, velvety and deliciously wet, got him incredibly hot when she ran it along a prominent vein. Teasing. Promising heaven. Vlad bent, sucked her clit while Brand finger-fucked her steaming cunt. As if asking for 77

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more, she lifted her hips, let out a little shudder when Vlad caught her swollen bud and flailed it with his tongue. God but she knew how to give head. He concentrated hard on pleasuring her, on holding back his own climax. She wasn’t helping, enveloping his cock in her hot, wet mouth, taking him deep down her throat. “Stop,” he ordered, pulling away and pausing to regain control. Darlene let out a little whimper. She wanted… Sweet Jesus, she was going to come, and neither Vlad nor Brand had given her permission. Waves of ecstasy flowed over her, carrying her over the top at the moment Brand pulled the butt plug out of her ass and inserted a finger in its place. “Yes. Fuck me. Please fuck me.” “Who do you want?” Vlad asked as he turned her on her side and lifted her top leg over his shoulder. “Tell me.” “You. Him. Sweet Jesus, I want both of you.” Two hot men, one of whom she was all but head over heels in love with…the other his friend, sharing their pleasure. “Please, Master,” she croaked as more aftershocks of her climax rocked her body again. A moment’s hesitation. The soft rustling of plastic condom wrappers followed by silence as her lovers rolled them down their big, beautiful cocks. The heat of Brand’s body against her back, Vlad’s brushing her turgid nipples. Then, as though they’d practiced the move many times before, the two sank into her ass and pussy, starting the exquisite sensations all over again. “Yes,” she hissed as they fucked her in tandem. She’d never felt so full. So taken. Darlene came again, over and over. She begged them for more, and she begged them to stop because the pleasure was so intense. They held her, fucking her in tandem until she screamed out once more. Their cocks swelled perceptibly inside her. Their breathing turned ragged. As if they were one, they came together, the hot spurts of semen flooding their condoms, spilling over to mingle on her thighs with her own slick fluids as she came for one last time.

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Vlad cradled her in his arms while Brand got up and returned with two warm, damp cloths. For two powerful Doms they were surprisingly gentle, wiping the sweat from her face, her arms and legs before concentrating on bathing her still trembling body. While Vlad went to wash away his own sweat, Brand held her. When Vlad returned he gathered her possessively in his arms. “Go to sleep, dosheynka,” he said, setting aside the cloth and crawling back in bed. “Brand and I will watch over you.”

***** The strident ringing of Vlad’s cell phone broke the spell of intimacy, dragged Darlene back to reality—the reality that in a little more than twenty-four hours they’d be baiting a trap they hoped would catch a serial killer. She reached over and lit the lamp by the bed when he got up to take the call. The moment she saw the look on Vlad’s face, she knew. Something bad had happened. “What?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. The motion made Brand stir beside her, even though he hadn’t moved a muscle when the phone rang. “Darlene, go in the bathroom and stay there. Brand, you’d better get out now or we all will be making the front pages of the tabloids.” Vlad tossed Brand’s clothes at him then dug in his travel bag as soon as he’d stepped into his own pants and zipped them. The gun. She didn’t have to look to know that was what he was looking for. “Tell me. Please. What’s going on?” Her heart pounded in her chest, making her sound short of breath when she spoke. “Somebody broke in Brian Anderson’s apartment and shot him dead less than an hour ago. The agents on duty here in the hotel saw Valentine check in to a suite on this floor just now. Go, baby. Lock the door behind you and turn on the shower. I do not want you anywhere near any windows.”

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Windows that were actually French doors. Doors that opened onto a balcony that probably ran all the way around the hotel. Valentine could…but surely he wouldn’t venture out into the snowy night, nine floors up off the ground. She hoped. “Get out of here, Brand. I will call you later.” “I’m staying. You may need some backup. Fuck the reporters.” Brand stepped into his jeans but didn’t bother with shoes or shirt. Vlad slammed a full ammunition clip into his gun. “Go in the living room, then, and hide behind the bar. Remember the bastard is armed and so am I. Be careful, and don’t get between us. Darlene, I told you to get out of the line of fire.” She would have obeyed him, but she couldn’t make her feet move. She might as well have been glued to the floor as she watched Vlad flip off the safety. Brand disappeared into the living room. “Go.” She’d never seen Vlad look or sound as fierce as he did now, as he charged her, scooped her up and deposited her on the icy tile floor just inside the bathroom door. “Fuck, but you are a lot more obedient when we’re having sex.” The high-pitched sound of shattering glass drowned out her protest. Vlad spun around, his gun in a two-handed grip. Valentine burst through the balcony door, one hand dripping blood. He brandished a big black pistol in his uninjured hand. “Drop it!” Vlad’s terse order rang out, but Valentine paid it no heed. Fear paralyzed Darlene as Valentine moved forward, his face contorted into a monster’s mask. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. She’d have screamed, but she couldn’t wrench even a whimper from her constricted throat. Valentine brandished his gun, almost as though it were a trophy. Darlene couldn’t take her eyes off its big, round barrel. Sweet Jesus help me, he’s going to kill us. The man’s mouth curved in a sinister smile, as though he’d read her mind. As though he reveled in her terror. Then he lowered the gun and glared at Vlad. Was he daring Vlad to shoot him? Darlene wrapped her arms around Vlad’s waist as if her arms could protect him. And she finally managed to scream. 80

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“I’m going to kill both of you, bitch. No more than you deserve for fucking each other when you should have been mourning for Travis.” “FBI. You’re under arrest. Drop your weapon now and you can stay alive long enough for your trial,” Vlad snapped, raising his gun. The acrid smell of gunpowder swirled around them as his warning shot passed less than six inches from Valentine’s temple. But the madman made no move to drop his weapon. Instead he took a step forward. Aimed. Answered Vlad’s challenge with a wild shot that slammed into the bathroom wall. Tiles cracked audibly. Darlene closed her eyes so tight the lids hurt. Prayed like she’d never prayed before. Two shots rang out, their almost simultaneous reports deafening. Something pricked her temple. A sting, not too much different from a nasty mosquito bite, registered briefly in her brain, along with a sensation of sticky dampness slipping through her fingers as she held on to Vlad. Then everything went blank.

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Chapter Seven The light hurt so he closed his eyes again. Darlene. Where was she? Vlad forced his eyelids open again, blinked at the bright light streaming through a narrow window. He tried to call out to her, but something in his throat kept him from talking. A whooshing sound, slow and rhythmical, intruded on the silence. Then something started beeping. Two women hurried to him, hovering over him, fiddling with equipment that seemed to be attached to him. He tried to focus his eyes. Not Darlene. He moved his arm. Or tried to. What the fuck? Why was he tied down? “Easy there. We’re here to help.” The gray-haired one with the rosy cheeks didn’t look like any Dominatrix he’d ever seen. So why was he spread-eagled on a bed, gagged, tethered like a sub in a bondage scene? Vlad struggled to move, found he lacked the strength to lift even a finger in protest. “Calm down. You’ve been out for over a week now. Ceil, go get the doctor.” It was coming back. The confrontation with Valentine. Darlene behind him, frozen with terror. He’d given the bastard a chance to surrender. Fired a warning shot. Aimed. Fired again, this time to kill. Valentine had hit the floor with a thud. That was all Vlad could remember. The beeping stopped when the nurse reached over his head and pressed a button. The whoosh, whoosh, whoosh was getting to him though—until he realized the sounds came at the same times his chest expanded and contracted. What…what had he done to get himself hooked up to a breathing machine? He tried desperately to speak but to no avail. “There, there. You’ve been hurt. Doctor is coming now. You can’t talk because of the tube down your throat, but we’re going to get that out, now that you’re awake and seem to be breathing well enough on your own that you don’t need the respirator 82

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anymore.” The nurse smiled. “Your mother’s here. Well, she’s gone to her hotel to rest at the moment, but she’s in Milwaukee. And the young woman you were with keeps asking when she can come see you.” Darlene. Was she hurt too? Damn it, he couldn’t remember. At least Valentine hadn’t killed her. His breathing, amplified by the noisy damn machine, grew ragged as he struggled with his faulty memory. “She’s on the floor above us. Doing fine for somebody who took a shot to the head. The doctors had to remove the bullet, but it had stopped just beneath her skull. No brain damage at all. It was a miracle. She’s been asking for you ever since she came around, so as soon as the doctor sees you and gets that tube out so you can talk, I’ll call upstairs and have them bring her down to see you.”

***** Darlene woke easily, her mind fully clear for the first time since she’d been in the hospital. “Vlad?” He’d been the subject of her extremely erotic dream. A dream that had seemed very real. “Hush, child. You keep your mind on getting well.” Her mother’s low, carefully modulated voice floated at her from a lounge chair by the window. “They’ll tell us if the man’s condition changes.” That wasn’t good enough. Darlene sensed something had happened to him while she slept because he’d come to her in her dream. Connected with her for the first time since… She didn’t want to think about the confrontation. Not now. Not ever again. Yesterday had been awful, when she’d had to recount the scene with Valentine for a Milwaukee policewoman and a grizzled veteran FBI agent. The awful details had come back, but the feel of Vlad’s blood seeping through her fingers would stay with her the rest of her days. Her head throbbed underneath the bandage that covered where they’d taken out the bullet that had passed through Vlad’s neck and nearly killed him.

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“I’ve got to find out. Something’s happened…” Mom got up, stood by the bed, wiped her forehead with a damp cloth. “They would have told you if—” “I love him, Mom.” “I know that.” Her mother’s lips were tight. “You were saying as much in your dreams.” “And you don’t approve.” Darlene grasped her mother’s carefully manicured hand. “Mom, I need you to try.” Her mom shook her head. “We can’t approve what we can’t understand, my darling. First a half-literate…” “I can’t help who I fall in love with.” Maybe if she said it loud enough and often enough, she could make her parents understand. She doubted it though—they hadn’t softened perceptibly during the more than five years she and Travis were married. “Honestly, Darlene. First a half-literate football player and now a white man. Your father and I can’t understand why you can’t find a professional man—one of our own kind—to settle down with.” Darlene sighed. Her parents would never give up. For the entire time she’d been with Travis, they’d complained that all he could talk about was football plays. His flamboyant way of dressing and his southern country-boy accent—they called it “ghetto talking”—had embarrassed them mightily. “Vlad is a professional man. A lawyer. He just happens to work for the FBI instead of having his own practice.” Never mind that he’d never talked about them having a relationship that would go beyond solving the groupie murders. If he lived, she had no intention of letting the man go. “Judging a person because of the color of his skin makes you sort of a reverse bigot, doesn’t it?” Her mother took a step back, riddled Darlene with the kind of stare that would have meant she was in big trouble when she was growing up. “No. It doesn’t make us bigots. It makes us realists. You’re black. He’s white. People who see you together will shake their heads and talk. Not just our people, who’ll think you’ve turned your back 84

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on your heritage or worse and won’t want to look at you with your white man. Whites will look at you and turn away with disgust. Some will even say cruel things, and I know you well enough to understand how that will hurt you.” Times had changed. What Mom said might very well have been true when she’d been growing up. Maybe there still was a bit of that sort of attitude on both sides of the fence, but society was getting more color-blind every day. Vlad’s mother hadn’t seemed shocked at all when she’d dropped by a couple of days ago with a bunch of flowers and wished “Vladimir’s girlfriend” a quick recovery. And the fact she was black hadn’t seemed to faze Brand Carendon either when he’d come to visit or earlier when he’d joined her and Vlad in that delectable ménage a trois. “Come on, Mom. Admit it. It’s different now from when you and Daddy were growing up. Several of my friends from high school and college—and a good many people I work with every day—have satisfying interracial marriages and relationships.” A derisive snort said more than words about her mother’s opinion of that. Darlene was about to go on with her argument, but one of the daytime nurses came in with an empty wheelchair. “Come on, let me help you out of bed. Your boyfriend’s chompin’ at the bit to see you,” she said, a wide grin on her face. Darlene sat up so fast, she almost jerked out her IV line. “He’s awake then?” Yes! Her dream was coming true. She knew it. “He’s awake, and he’s off the critical list. Sweetie, your man’s gonna be okay.” Darlene’s mother got up and slid the covers out of the way while the nurse helped Darlene slide off the bed and into the chair. “I can take her down to see him.” Not in a million years, Mom. Vlad’s not meeting you until I’ve got his ring on my finger. “They only allow one visitor at a time in ICU, Mrs. Jackson.” “It’s Mrs. Samson.” Though her tone was cordial enough, Mom curled her lips as though the idea of anybody thinking she was blood-related to Travis turned her

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stomach. “I think I’ll go to the hotel then and get a few hours’ sleep. Darlene, call if you need me. And try to remember, your daddy and I only want what’s best for you.” “I will. And I know you do.” It was just that what they thought she needed wasn’t at all what she wanted out of life. “I love you, even if I don’t always make you proud of me.” She realized how hard it must have been to see the newspaper accounts about the confrontation with Valentine, complete with the information that he’d confronted her and not one but two men in a suite at one of Milwaukee’s best hotels. “And you’ll love Vlad when you meet him, I promise.” Although she hoped that was true, she still didn’t want Mom’s negative vibes to intrude when she went to see Vlad. Her Master now and always, if he’d have her.

***** He’d let her down, failed to protect her when the chips were down. But she clearly was going to be okay. She looked good enough to eat—or at least nibble on—when a nurse’s aide rolled her through the door to the ICU. Vlad’s gaze settled on her beautiful face and the bandage that stood out starkly above her ear on the right side of her scalp. “So you’ve decided to join the land of the living again,” she said softly as she came to a stop beside his bed. “I’m glad. Wouldn’t want to live without my Master.” Darlene laid her hand in his, and he found that with a lot of effort he was able to curl his fingers around hers, contact as healing as any of the medicines they were pumping into him through the needles in his arms. “I love you.” He didn’t care that talking hurt his throat or that his words came out as rusty sounding as an old tin can. It felt damn good to feel again, to experience the connection between them. “And I love you. I want you to heal really fast because I miss my Master.” She bent, brushed her sweet lips over his fingertips. “Not just in bed either. Sweet Jesus but I thought I’d lost you back there in that hotel room.” “What happened? Is Valentine—”

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“Dead? Yes, you got him. According to the news reports he died at the scene. Stubborn man managed to get off one last shot before he fell—the one that nearly killed you and put this little scratch on my head.” She reached up and touched the bandage, giving a nervous little laugh as she traced the small patch of denuded scalp around it. “I look silly like this. Maybe I’ll just have to let you take off the rest to match when we get out of here.” “Anything to give my dosheynka pleasure.” Vlad itched to tunnel his fingers in her short tight curls—or stroke her smooth, satiny skin or both—even now when he was in no condition to do more than lie in bed and wish. “Anything?” “Anything. Including controlling the possessive streak I never realized before that I must have about bringing a third party into our scenes. Well, maybe never again one who is as formidable competition as Carendon. Speaking of him—” “He’s okay. He probably saved your life, slowing down the bleeding until the paramedics got there.” “I am glad.” Seeing Darlene still recovering and knowing he’d come close to dying made Vlad want to share his thoughts—all of them—with her. “I am up for anything but giving you up.” There. He’d done it. Laid his soul open for rejection if she didn’t feel the same. “I don’t want you to give me up. Ever.” Her expression turned serious, and she tightened her grip on his hand. “But it’s not going to be easy. You’ll have an uphill battle persuading my parents we can make it work.” “I know I cannot come close to giving you what you can easily give yourself. Even if I quit the FBI and went into private practice, it would be years before my income might come close to yours. If you can live with knowing that, I can too.” She sighed then lifted his hand into his line of vision. “It’s not that. It’s this.” “What?”

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“You’re white. I’m black. As Mom pointed out before I came down here, there are people who’ll take exception to us being together. That bothers her—and Daddy. It may trouble them more than the fact Travis played football for a living and reminded them they weren’t all that far removed from the cotton fields and sharecropper shacks where he’d grown up.” He hated hearing the sadness in her voice, knowing that indirectly he was the cause. “There are higher hurdles to jump than other people’s prejudices. As soon as I can get out of this bed I will talk to your father.” “Good luck. Your mom came to see me. She didn’t seem bothered when she saw me—or maybe she’s just good at hiding shock.” “I sent the nurse to call her when I learned she is here. I imagine she will be happy to see me awake again.” He wouldn’t intentionally have subjected his mother to seeing him lying there unconscious, with machines doing his breathing. “She’s a strong woman. Reassured me that you were tough enough to survive when I was afraid you’d never give me another order.” She said that with a catch in her voice then met his gaze. “You know, your eyes are exactly the same shade of blue as hers.” When Darlene smiled, it sent Vlad’s temperature soaring. “And you have the same accent, but hers is a little thicker.” “I have been in the States for four years longer than she has. Besides, I spoke English pretty well before I came here to university, and she learned to speak it after she got here. She is a stubborn woman, though, determined to fit in here in her adopted country.” “She does very well. I’m certain she’ll be coming to see you as soon as they let her know you’ve finally come around.” Darlene licked her lips, a sign Vlad had learned meant she was nervous. “How will she feel—” “Mother will be thrilled. Race isn’t an issue in Eastern Europe the way it is here, if that is what you are thinking.” The amount of effort it took to squeeze Darlene’s fingers

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surprised and dismayed him. “Looks as though I have some recuperating to do before I can be much of a Master for you.” “Then we’d better do as the nurse said, and I’d better leave so you can get on with that recuperation. We may have a hard road ahead, but I’m up for it. No way am I letting you out of my clutches. I love you too much.” Lifting herself out of the wheelchair, she bent and kissed him. A real kiss, not merely a brushing of lips. A kiss filled with promise.

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Chapter Eight Time had moved along quickly, too quickly for Darlene, who’d have liked to have kept Vlad to herself for another month or so while he regained his strength. Duty called, though, and he’d have to go back to his FBI work here in the LA office soon since his doctors had pronounced him fit. As they sat together on the deck of her house, enjoying the cool evening air, she stroked his knee. “Marry me.” He didn’t ask, he demanded. And she loved it. Loved him. “Yes.” She wouldn’t hesitate. Not for her parents or God or anybody. “When?” “This weekend. We can fly to Reno or Las Vegas, do it in one of the chapels.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “I want the whole fucking world to know when they salivate over your photos that you are mine.” They’d know. When she’d done a shoot earlier today, the photographer had commented that she looked like a woman in love. He hadn’t even had to ask her to soften up her expression for the camera as he’d had to do plenty of times in the past. “Yes, Master,” she said, sliding to the deck at Vlad’s feet and laying her head on his muscular thigh. “How do you feel about children?” he asked, his touch gently arousing as he massaged her neck and shoulders. “I’d love to have a couple.” What woman wouldn’t want his kids? More important was how he felt about fathering mixed-race babies. “What about you?” He stroked her cheek. “I will enjoy making them. No, seriously, I enjoy my friends’ children, and I have always looked forward to having one or two of my own.” “It won’t bother you that they probably won’t look all that much like you?” Darlene looked up at him, tried to gauge his reaction.

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“No.” The look he gave her was stern, almost as if he were admonishing her for asking. “They will be more beautiful if they resemble you. Now stop worrying. I want you to have my babies because I love you. You have no idea how many years I have waited to find you. The one woman on earth I want to be my children’s mother.” Darlene caught his hand, brought it to her lips. “Then we think alike. I can hardly wait to have your babies.” “Good. Then that is decided.” The only shadow that dimmed Darlene’s happiness was that of her parents, who told her every day she was making a bad mistake she’d soon regret. Vlad’s mother seemed to love her and to be thrilled her son finally seemed to be settling down with one woman. “I bet your mother has been pestering you to give her some grandkids.” “A little. But she is right. It is time for me to become a father, while I will still be in shape to teach them to kick a soccer ball. I am already almost thirty-three.” She laughed. “Not a football, sweetie?” Though Valentine’s bullet had pretty much ended the feasibility of him continuing his temporary career with the Rangers, Darlene would always picture him making field goals whenever she thought of him and sports in the same breath. “Well, I might nudge our sons in that direction. Not the girls though. Are you going to miss being part of the game?” “Not much. Football was never much my thing. Besides, whenever I think of the Rangers now, I think sad things. How could I not? All those poor women who shouldn’t have died. Travis. Brian. The monster who wanted to kill us.” Tears came to Darlene’s eyes. “I should pray for his soul, but I hope Valentine’s rotting away in hell. Is that sinful?” “No, dosheynka. It is human. And realistic. The man hardly had time to repent his sins before he died.” Vlad sounded as though he regretted that. As he’d told Darlene more than once over the past month, he did regret having had to kill Valentine. Vlad

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was a good man. A man with a conscience, unlike the murdering bastard whose life he’d ended. Her man, and she was glad of it. “So he most likely is tossing coal into the fires of hell. I’m glad.” Though their wounds had healed on the outside, she’d spend the rest of their days remembering that awful night…the gunshots ringing out…the sting of snow on her face as they rushed her from the ambulance to the emergency room…the panic she’d felt, not knowing for days whether Vlad was alive or dead. When she’d come around and learned he was fighting for his life, she’d wished she could kill Valentine again as she read the accounts of what he’d done, saw commentators rehash events on TV news. Vlad laughed as he drew her to her feet. “Come on to bed, and I will show you a little bit of heaven.”

***** She was finally, officially, his. To love, cherish—and obey, she thought with an inner grin—as long as they lived. Darlene lifted her face for her husband’s long, deep kiss then turned with him to greet the people in their lives who’d flown there to share their joy. Her parents managed to smile back at them, though doubt still reflected from their eyes. At least they’d come, which was more than they’d done when she married Travis. She and Vlad would prove their fears were unfounded, or at least that they would be able to cope with whatever problems would arise. Vlad’s mother beamed, and Darlene basked in the woman’s unconditional acceptance and love. Casey and TJ stood to the side, his arm protectively around her now that her pregnancy was starting to show. With luck, Darlene and Vlad would soon have an announcement of their own—and a playmate for their friends’ new baby. And there was Brand, with the date he’d assured them he wouldn’t be marrying this weekend in Reno. Darlene couldn’t help blushing when she looked into his distinctive

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dark blue eyes and remembered the good part of that awful night—the totally cherished feeling of being pleasured by two Masters. Good luck, my friend, she mouthed silently, for Vlad had told her about the youthful affair Brand had never quite gotten over—the memory of which had destroyed his marriage a few years ago. Brand’s gift had shocked them both—an offer for Vlad to become an associate in his family’s Atlanta law firm. She’d like it if Vlad accepted, for she wasn’t anxious to have him risking his neck going after faceless criminals. Darlene could hardly wait until their guests were gone so Vlad and she could have the suite all to themselves. She had his ring, a wide gold band with a single marquis-cut diamond on her finger—and his delicate gold and topaz collar around her neck. Her pussy creamed when she imagined serving her Master. Now and always.

***** Sounds of Jamaican reggae music wafted on the breeze from the hotel’s open-air bar as the sun sank farther into crystal-clear waters of the Caribbean. Darlene lay back on a beach chair, her hands lightly tied to the arms. Her heart beat faster at the prospect of serving her husband of a week—her beloved Master. Vlad emerged from their private cottage, a beautiful man, his pale skin kissed golden by six days’ carefully measured exposure to the sun, his compelling eyes hidden by mirror lens sunglasses as they always were when he ventured outdoors. His muscles rippled, and her mouth went dry at the sight of his long, thick cock, already swollen and rigid, ready to impale her if that was his choice. His smile warmed her heart as well as her pussy when he bent and scooped up a handful of clean, white sand. “No,” she said, halfheartedly protesting what she saw he was about to do. “Yes.” His gaze locked on hers, he sprinkled sand over her calves and up her thighs, letting her experience the sensation, see the contrast of the white granules against her dark skin. “See, white becomes my dosheynka.”

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“It itches, my precious Master.” “Patience.” Taking his time, he reached behind her, his fingers seeking, finding the clasp to her bikini top. “I forbid you to hide yourself from me,” he said as he removed it and tossed it aside. She expected him to caress her there, but instead he lifted a pitcher of water from the table beside her and poured a thin stream of it down her throat, watching it trickle onto her breasts. Going on his knees beside her, he licked the water away then used the remainder in the pitcher to wash away the sand. “I believe I will have some wine now,” he told her as he picked up his glass and repeated the path he’d taken with the water. Her nipples tightened as he licked and nipped around them, and her pulse raced, anticipating… “Look down the beach. If those people look, they will see us.” Darlene knew the idea of an audience aroused Vlad. It aroused her too, especially when he clamped down on her nipple with his teeth and flailed it with his tongue. “Yesss. Don’t stop,” she whimpered when he rose and began to untie her hands. The tempo of the music grew faster. He dragged her to her feet then sank onto the chair. Grasping her skull between his hands, he brought her face to his and kissed her deeply, so deeply she felt his love all the way to her dripping cunt. “On your knees now. Show me how a proper slave services her Master’s cock.” She took him in her mouth, loving the salty taste of pre-come that beaded in his slit. Lapping it up while closing her lips around him, she applied suction that had him moaning, tunneling his fingers in the tight curls he’d clipped more closely just yesterday…finding and caressing the erogenous zone on her skull, just below the occipital bone. In her fantasies he shaved her completely, making her fully vulnerable to his sensual onslaught. When he tilted her head further back, she took his cock deeper, swallowed. She rolled his testicles rhythmically between her hands, loving the satin smoothness of his sac. “They are watching us,” he told her, his beloved voice deep, raspy as it was when he was heavily aroused. “Stop. I want you to ride my cock.” 94

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He dragged her onto his lap, slammed her down. His cock pulsated inside her, excitement building as she briefly met the glittering gaze of the voyeurs on the beach. But as her climax built inside her, Darlene forgot them, was aware only of her Master. His hands on her hips, guiding her movement. The sensation of his lips nipping at her throat, mimicking the rhythm of the gentle waves. The delicious abrasion of his cock on the walls of her vagina, sweeping her up like a tsunami to the first of many moments of fulfillment they’d share. Spurting his hot semen into her womb where it might take root. Her Master for all their lives. His beloved slave. The End

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About the Author “In case you haven’t figured out yet, I’m a sucker for happy endings, and they’re what all my books have in common: one man, one woman, in love and committed to go after that elusive Happily Ever After.” First published in 1996, Ann Jacobs has sold more than twenty-five books and novellas to five publishers: Ellora’s Cave, Red Sage, Berkley, Kensington, and Five Star. A CPA and former hospital financial manager, she now writes full time except, of course, for the hours she devotes to being a wife and mother to seven kids. A transplanted midwesterner, she’s lived in west-central Florida all her adult life. Ann loves writing Romantica™—to her, it’s the perfect blend of sex, sensuality, and happily-ever-after commitment between one man and one woman. She enjoys hearing from readers.

Ann welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

Also by Ann Jacobs A Mutual Favor Another Love Awakenings Black Gold: Dallas Heat Black Gold: Firestorm Black Gold: Forever Enslaved Black Gold: Love Slave Captured anthology Colors of Love Colors of Magic D’Argent Honor: Eternally His D’Argent Honor: Vampire Justice Dark Side of the Moon Enchained anthology Gates of Hell Gold, Frankincense & Myrrh anthology He Calls Her Jasmine Lawyers In Love: Bittersweet Homecoming Lawyers In Love: Gettin’ It On Lawyers In Love: In His Own Defense Love Magic Mystic Visions anthology Storm Warnings anthology Tip of the Iceberg

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com