A French Whipping (9 page)

Blake smiled faintly. She’d never had a man so dedicated to pleasuring her. She hadn’t even sucked his cock yet. She wanted to—she very much wanted to—but she thought he might appreciate some sleep at the moment, and she was a little too sore for another go-round.

Nick Cord was her lover. A fantastic one. She’d never have guessed it when she first met him. He’d been quiet and intense, watching her and everyone else with a calculating gaze that seemed to read every flaw, measure every glance or gesture for a threat. There was no reveling in hedonistic pleasures for Nick. He ate food that fueled his body. He drove a practical car. He worked. He studied. He liked his life simple.
He would have made a good monk,
she thought wryly.

And here she was, complicating his life. Under normal circumstances, she’d have been happy to ruffle his feathers a bit, but with Keenan involved . . .
I should have convinced him that I’d made a mistake.

She wasn’t sure she could have. Once Nick grew suspicious, it was difficult to sway him from investigating. And now what was she going to tell him when she asked Roland for help staying hidden from Keenan? It would be simple, so simple, to just tell Nick about Keenan and let him protect her. She thought he would insist that she stay with him, especially now that they’d slept together. He was protective as it was. Now he’d probably argue every time she wanted to leave the house.

She didn’t want to go into hiding. Her life had taken more than a year to get in order; she didn’t want to change it just because Keenan was in town, and Nick didn’t deserve to have her mess front and center in his life. He’d always sworn that he would never live with a woman.

Looking at him again, she sighed.

Easing the blankets covering her to the side, she crept barefoot into the living room and located her clothes, noting that she’d left the wine bottle open and sitting on the table. Dressing quickly in everything but her boots, she carried the wine into the kitchen and located one of the stoppers that vacuumed the air from a wine bottle. Sealing it tightly, she tucked it under her arm and went back into the living room. No sense in letting it go to waste.

She sat down on the couch, not sure exactly what she intended to do. Leave? Just leave Nick in the middle of the night and go home? Like he was some one-night stand she regretted? Far from it. She didn’t want to leave. She was afraid to go home. Damn it. She didn’t want to tell him about Keenan and have him ask her to stay out of some misguided sense of chivalry, either.

Irritated, she opened the bottle of wine again and took a long drink from the bottle before restoppering it. On the other hand, the sex was fantastic, and the wine wasn’t half bad, either.

A light snapped on near the hallway and Nick stood there, his face closed, watching her.

Blake winced. That was his cold face, the face he wore when he didn’t want to feel anything. She’d worn that face in her life. She hated that she was the cause of it now. She didn’t see that she had much choice, though. No matter what she did, Nick was going to find out that Keenan was in town, and the issue was about more than just her fear of getting hurt again. Nick needed to know about Keenan, and if he decided that she should stay, she would stay.

Patting the seat next to her, she set the bottle aside. “Nick, I have to tell you something.”

8

NICK STARED AT
his reflection in the blank screen of his display. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he hadn’t turned on his computer the minute he walked into the office.

Keenan Shy.

His hands knotted into fists. Blake had explained what Roland had told her, which was more than Roland had bothered to do when he’d called last night. She’d also explained that she’d asked
his
best friend not to say anything, but that was no excuse. Roland should have told him, a fact that Nick intended to point out to his friend as soon as the jackass came into the office.

He’d left Blake at his house around six a.m. with orders to stay there, and he’d texted Roland to meet him at Accendo. He didn’t know if Blake would listen. Roland would answer or just show up, depending on his mood.

Pulling out his phone, Nick opened the app that showed the security logs and camera feeds from his apartment. He didn’t see Blake on any of the cameras, but no one had left since he’d shut the front door this morning. He was under no illusions, however, that she’d listen to him for long. She’d mentioned having a self-defense lesson with her friend from the support group.

With a growl he stood, picking up a bag with his gym gear from the floor. He couldn’t just sit and wait anymore.

Ten minutes later, he sat on a weight bench near the big punching bag and taped his hands. He wanted to find Keenan. If he was back in Boston, then someone would recognize the asshole. Nick knew that Roland had been searching for him for the past ten years, but Keenan had always managed to stay a step ahead, changing his name and moving from one nonextradition country to another.

But now he was back and apparently targeting Accendo, or at least one of their newest security software developments.

Nick stood and drew on his gloves. He couldn’t tighten them properly without help, but he used his teeth to do the best he could. His reflection in the windows looked like a feral thing, a lethal machine of corded muscles and bone, tensed and ready to fight.

With a snarl, he pictured Keenan’s face as he delivered an uppercut to the battered red bag.

Blake was afraid of Keenan. She’d sat on his couch and told him she didn’t want to go back to her apartment. Had some part of her—any part of her—slept with him so that he’d help her? She’d tried to tell him she’d changed her mind. He’d pushed her because he wanted to sleep with her.

He punched again, harder this time, picturing his fist passing through Keenan’s face. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her taste, about what it had been like to kiss her, to touch her.

For like two seconds—even though he’d convinced himself he wouldn’t—he’d started to believe that she was his, really his, and that she wanted him. He punched again—body shot. Jab. Jab. Cross. This was why he’d wanted to keep his distance. To avoid this . . . this feeling clawing at his insides. He wanted to shred the bag in front of him with his bare hands. He delivered a series of quick, lethal punches—smack, smack, smack. The bag swayed and the chain securing it to the ceiling jingled.

She’d been dressed, sitting in his living room, thinking of leaving him in the middle of the night. Like every woman his father had ever loved.

With a loud yell, he kicked the bag with the top of his foot, sending it spinning away.

“I take it you’re upset,” Roland said mildly from the door. He was impeccably dressed in one of his Italian suits, his dark hair still damp from his shower. He held a mug and Nick could smell coffee.

Nick caught the bag as it swung toward him, stopping it. “You should have told me he was here, that you figured out he had something to do with the security breach.”

Shrugging, Roland sipped his coffee. “Keenan has always been my fault. My problem.”

“Bullshit.”

Roland raised an eyebrow. “Definitely a little upset.”

“She’s afraid of him.”

“Ah, there we have it.” Roland toasted Nick with the coffee mug. “What are you really upset about?” Roland answered his own question. “Blake. I didn’t tell you about Keenan because Blake asked me not to. He’s her business as well.”

“She’s my business,” Nick snapped and then froze.

“Is she?” Roland asked, sounding satisfied. “Did you tell her that?”

Nick gritted his teeth and ignored Roland.
Didn’t mean to say that, did you, asshole?
he asked himself.
“She’s my friend. She’s our friend.”

“I’ve never seen her naked. Well, not all the way.”

Nick felt every muscle in his body tense. He’d seen her. Seen her. Touched her. Tasted her.

He took a deep breath, trying to find the calm that he tried so hard to keep.

“We need to find him.”

If Keenan was the one who tried to steal the code for
MOMENT, then he wouldn’t give up just because he hadn’t gotten all the code. Keenan, as brilliant as Roland but more ruthless, had been the one to interest Roland in writing code in the first place. Keenan had also been heavily influenced by Roland’s real father, who was a huckster, thief, and con artist with all the hallmarks of a true sociopath.

Roland nodded. “I sent Milton a message this morning, letting him know that I suspect Keenan’s in town, but told him to keep his vacation plans for now. You and I can come up with a plan to find him.”

“You told Milton?”

“I planned on telling you. Once you worked out this situation with Blake.”

Situation
. He’d fucked her like he’d fucked no woman in his life and he wanted more. One night and he was hooked.

“So where is she?” Roland asked, his voice deliberately incurious.

Nick took off the boxing gloves impatiently. “You know where she is. She’s supposed to stay there for now.”

“She’s not going to stay locked up in your apartment.”

“I know that. I’ll hire someone. A bodyguard.” Someone to watch over her when he couldn’t. It wasn’t being paranoid and controlling if there was an actual threat.

Roland thought that over. “Not a bad idea. Shane could do it. He’s probably bored without Milton to drive around. But what’s she going to do at night?”

Me.
“She can stay with me.”

“A woman living with you? How long?”

Nick shoved the gloves into his bag, trying not to think about what it would mean to have Blake in his house, in his bed, every single night. He’d never lived with a woman—vowed to never live with a woman. They were the opposite of uncomplicated, and Blake was the worst of them for reasons he didn’t want to think about too deeply. She threatened his control, his calm. Without the anchor of his calm, predictable life, Nick knew he would be nearly as bad as his father, wanting her with him all the time, wanting her for himself. But keeping her safe was more important than his control. It was more important than anything.

“Until Keenan’s arrested. Then she’ll be able to go back to her apartment.”

“Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

Nick threw the bag over his shoulder and pushed past Roland to leave. He had nothing figured out. Not. One. Damn. Thing.

Blake intended to meet Rosa at the gym where the woman worked as a trainer, a fitness center not far from Faneuil Hall. The problem was that the only clothes she had were the work clothes she’d worn last night and her boots. Her work pants were stretchy enough that they could be worn as workout gear, but the shirt was too tight and the boots too heavy for running or even walking for a long time.

Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough in her bank account to go shopping at the moment, so she’d borrowed some cash from the top drawer of Nick’s dresser and bought some running shoes, a shirt, and a light jacket at a ridiculously expensive athletic store. Who kept neat bricks of twenties in their sock drawer? Nick, apparently. She’d left an IOU in the form of her panties, only to realize after she left that she maybe hadn’t thought that one all the way through.

Still, maybe keeping things light would shake him out of his mood. He’d been distant after their talk, closed off from her. She’d hurt him by considering leaving, though she wasn’t sure why exactly. She still knew that she’d hurt him. She’d apologized. She’d explained that she was freaking out about Keenan—that she didn’t want anyone, including him, hurt because of her poor choices. He said he understood, but that infuriating distance had never left his voice.

Frowning, she adjusted his Bluetooth headphones in her ears and started jogging from the Waterfront toward the Faneuil Hall marketplace. She loathed jogging. What the hell did Nick get out of this torture? She was cold, though the day was the warmest so far this spring, breaking into the fifties for the first time in months.

After about fifteen minutes, she quit jogging and started looking in earnest for a bite to eat. All Nick kept in his cupboards were protein powders, actual cooking staples like rice and pasta, and kale chips. Kale chips. He had great coffee, but no milk or cream, and not one bagel or bear claw to be found. She’d nibbled on a protein bar that tasted like chocolate dirt, but she was still starving, especially after all that exercise last night.

She located a small independent coffee shop with a goat stenciled on the door and pushed open the glass door with a grateful sigh. The smell of coffee and muffins greeted her as she tugged the headphones from her ears. Behind her, someone whistled low under his breath. She pretended not to notice.

She ordered a vanilla almond latte and a banana nut muffin at a table in the corner. Her phone vibrated and she pulled it out of her pocket. There was a response from Kevin telling her not to worry about her shift tonight. Nick had texted her several times. All the texts were along the lines of . . .
I told you not to leave the apartment. Call me.

Roland had texted as well.
Be careful. Call Nick before he implodes
.

Stuffing a big bite of banana muffin in her mouth, Blake responded to Nick with:
Fine. Eating a muffin. Meeting Rosa. Perfectly safe
.

To Roland, she texted,
He is overreacting
.

Nick responded immediately by calling her. Rolling her eyes, she finished chewing and answered it sweetly, “Nick, I was just thinking of you.”

“I told you to stay—”

“In the apartment. Yes, I know. But I told Rosa I’d meet her and I need to practice defending myself. Keenan has no way of knowing about Rosa.”

“You don’t know what he knows,” Nick countered. “He could have hacked your social media, your navigation on your phone, your text messages.”

Blake thought about that and shivered, but she wasn’t convinced. Keenan could try, but it wouldn’t do him much good. In the ten years or so since she’d been involved with him, she’d avoided social media, used pay-as-you-go phones, and changed her number frequently. Her relationships with Carlos and Phillip hadn’t exactly made her want to become more socially available, either. Keenan would be more likely to ask around the old neighborhood—the still-poor section of Watertown—and see if anyone had seen her. No one had—she’d avoided her old life with the exception of Roland.

The only person she knew with the access to bug her phone were the women at work, and Nick, Roland, or Milton. Nick was the one she’d vote most likely to bug her phone, though the other two would go along with it.

“You bugged my phone, didn’t you?” she guessed.

Silence answered her, and she knew she was right. Frowning, she picked at her muffin. She didn’t like that he’d invaded her privacy that way, but she understood why he’d done it. She’d get a new phone today while she was out.

“I know you’re just trying to protect me,” she said slowly, “but there are certain boundaries you can’t cross.” Closing her eyes, she thought about what the counselor had told her.
Learn to say no.
It wasn’t easy for her, especially when it was Nick, who was only trying to help. She couldn’t let him, not like this.

“I’m going to get a new phone. Don’t bug it again, Nick.”

She hung up before he could say anything else, knowing it would aggravate him, and sent him another text.
Thinking about sucking your cock
.

If that didn’t distract him, she didn’t know what would.