Red Handed (9 page)

Locked.

Frustrated, she sighed and rested her forehead against the door. How the hell was she going to get upstairs if she couldn't even get into his office?

Suddenly, the hallway lights came on.

Her heart in her throat, she twirled around, almost smacking into Cole. How had he snuck up on her?

His lips pressed together in a thin line. “What are you doing?”

He wore the same clothes as earlier, but something about him seemed different. When his eyes narrowed, she figured out what it was. “You're wearing glasses.”

“Danielle, don't make me repeat myself.”

She clutched her locket. “I couldn't sleep, and I thought maybe you'd be in your office to answer some questions.”

His gaze dropped to her chest, and his nostrils flared, causing her to look down at herself. Realizing her black robe was sheer, she instinctively crossed her arms, even as a subtle throbbing began in her pussy. “You didn't provide me any pajamas, and I forgot to pack them.”

He blinked and pulled his gaze up to her face. “If you'd like some, I'm sure Cassandra could—”

“No,” she said firmly. “I don't need them.”

He slid his hand into his pocket and removed a black braided keychain with at least a dozen keys hanging from it. Then he unlocked the door and waved her in.

“That's a lot of keys. What are they all for?” she asked as she stepped into his office, trying to sound casual.

He turned on the lights and closed the door behind them. “Danielle, it's late, and we both need to be up in a few hours. Why don't you just ask me what's really on your mind?”

“My father,” she said before she could stop herself, the opportunity to learn more about the past too great to pass up. If she could get him to lower his defenses, maybe she could get him to reveal something that would help her prove her father's innocence. “How did you become his business partner?”

He tilted his head toward the ceiling and sighed before gesturing for her to take a seat in front of his desk. Instead of taking his chair behind the desk, he sat beside her. “About ten years ago, I met your father through a friend of mine, a venture capitalist named Jaxon Deveroux, who you met earlier tonight. Your father was looking for investors in his wealth management firm. He wanted to compete with the Wall Street bigwigs, and to do that, he needed additional capital, but he didn't have enough collateral to secure a loan from the banks, and the venture capitalists weren't interested because they'd make too small of a return on the investment. Jaxon was willing to broker a deal and contacted me, knowing that in anticipation of the rebound of the stock market and to diversify my portfolio, I'd been looking to heavily invest in businesses that relied on the market. I became a majority partner, not only investing capital but also providing a loan to the company.”

“Wow. That must have been a lot of money.” She flashed a smile, blatantly admiring the tribal tattoo winding around his sinewy biceps in an attempt to appear flirtatious. “Impressive for someone who must have been only . . . what . . . thirty at the time?”

He smiled in response, but his eyes remained guarded. “I was twenty-eight. And yes, it was quite a bit of money. I was fortunate to have been born to a rich family. Before he fought in World War Two, my grandfather patented a couple of inventions for the automotive industry, and while he fought in Germany, his attorney sold the rights to those patents to a couple of the largest car manufacturers in the United States. He came back from the war a hero and a multimillionaire. With the right investments, that money will last my family for generations.”

“And you decided my father's business was the right investment. As a majority owner, you must have had access to all the files and records of the business, right?”

He shifted in his chair. “I was a silent partner, so I had very limited involvement in the day-to-day running of it.”

Adrenaline shot through her body at the awareness that he'd sidestepped the question. He obviously didn't want to talk about those records. “Not so silent. You came all the way from Michigan to meet with my father right before—”

“I did.” He paused. “You watched me from the stairs.”

Caught off guard, she froze. “You remember?”

“The first time, I felt your presence before I spotted you watching from the staircase. Your father had mentioned he had a young daughter, but the beauty I saw on the stairs was not the child I expected.”

She swallowed. “I was seventeen.”

“I looked forward to those moments I'd see you. Too much.” His gaze locked with hers. What did he mean by that? Had he experienced that same magnetic tug that she had whenever she'd seen him? “I was sorry to hear about your father's passing.” Cole spoke softly, but the way the words sliced into her heart, he might as well have shouted.

The moment broken, she tore her gaze away and grimaced. “Passing. That's a nice way of phrasing it. Let's not pretend his death was anything natural.”

She'd never forget the phone call from the prison informing her of her father's suicide. He'd paid another inmate to buy him peanuts from the commissary, and while alone in his cell, he had eaten the entire bag, knowing a severe allergic reaction to the nuts would kill him. And it had.

“No, I don't suppose it was,” Cole said.

“Since you were his partner, you probably received all the documents and business property that the FBI had confiscated in their investigation, right? I'd love to go through it, you know, to make some sense of why my father stole from his clients.”

He shook his head. “I wish I had for your sake, but since they were of no use to me, I had the government dispose of everything.”

She didn't believe him. He must have kept something she could use. “But maybe—”

“Danielle,” he said sharply, “you're going to have a long day tomorrow. I think it's time you return to your room and get some sleep.”

“Of course.” His dismissal gave no room for argument. This conversation was over. She might not have gotten the answers she wanted, but at least he hadn't suspected her real reason for coming to his office in the middle of the night. She rose from her chair. “Good night.”

He stood and accompanied her to the door, his warm hand on the small of her back. “Don't forget you're going to pose for me tomorrow.”

How could she possibly forget?

Chapter Ten

F
OR THE HUNDREDTH
time, Danielle glanced at the digital clock up on the wall and wondered when Cole would come get her for their modeling session. She and the other trainees sat on folding chairs in a circle along with Master Michael and Mistress Casey, who were coteaching the classes this morning.

Danielle had always regretted not going back to school and getting her degree, but she had to admit, classes had never been this much fun. No boring lectures for slave trainees. They got demonstrations and hands-on experience. So far this morning, she'd gotten to hold several floggers, feeling the difference between leather, nylon, and kangaroo. While she found it fascinating, she quickly determined she never wanted to be on the receiving side of a flogger.

At the beginning of class, Master Michael had taken her aside from the rest of the trainees and went over what he called BDSM 101. He'd not only given her the lowdown on basic protocols and rules, he'd also explained Benediction's logistics.

Prior to membership approval, applicants required an endorsement from a current member and were thoroughly investigated, which involved submitting to medical tests and criminal background checks, as well as providing financial records. If they passed that stage, they paid a fifty-thousand-dollar fee, which went into a trust for the maintenance of the club for things such as condoms, computers, wrist bands, copying fees, and even food for the trainees. He went on to say Benediction was not formally a business, and Cole did not earn any money from running it.

Discretion was key, and everyone signed a confidentiality agreement. Not only were most of the members wealthy, many of them maintained high-profile careers in politics, sports, and entertainment.

She could understand the need for confidentiality. If anyone back in Arizona found out she'd spent time in a sex club, she'd . . . well, no one would believe it. But if they did, her reputation would be ruined.

After he'd finished her quick introduction to BDSM, he joined Mistress Casey, who was leading the trainees in a debate on what constituted consent, both in terms of the BDSM community and the law. Danielle was surprised to learn that although both parties may give consent, the state could still prosecute a person for assault.

Next, they moved on to more pertinent issues.

“Can anyone tell me why lubricant is so important in anal sex?” Mistress Casey asked the trainees. Twelve hands shot up in the air. Danielle's remained in her lap.

A firm knocking caused everyone's heads to swerve toward the door. Her breath stalled in her lungs at the sight of Cole in tight jeans and a black Henley shirt. A quick study of the other trainees' faces told her she wasn't the only one. Waiting for him to speak, she chewed on a fingernail.

Unlike the nervous wreck that she was, he leaned on the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other, his posture casual and comfortable. Master Michael rose from his chair and crossed to Cole. They spoke in hushed tones, and Master Michael nodded.

Cole's cool gaze landed on her. “I'm going to borrow Danielle for a couple hours to help me out on a project.”

Before she had the chance to move, Cassandra dropped from her seat to her knees and bowed her head. “Danielle really shouldn't miss her first day of classes. Whatever you require, I'd be happy—”

Cole folded his arms over his broad chest, causing his biceps to bulge. “Cassandra, is it your place to tell me how to manage my trainees? Think carefully before you answer.”

A long silence was broken when Cassandra answered, “No, Master Cole.”

It was like a train wreck. Painful to watch, but she couldn't look away. The other trainees smirked, obviously enjoying the show. There was no question Cassandra was a bitch, but Danielle's stomach twisted into pretzels over the woman's humiliation.

Of course, after her reading this morning and learning the rules from Master Michael, Danielle now understood the safety concerns that could come from distracting someone in a scene.

“Master Michael, please discipline Cassandra for me,” Cole said. “Five minutes on the fucking machine without an orgasm and serving lunch to the other trainees should do the trick.”

Cassandra snapped up her head. Her eyes blazed with fury before they softened and tears began to fall. Danielle recognized a manipulation when she saw one.

“Cassandra, who do you serve?” Cole asked.

“You, Master.”

“We'll have a chat later today about whether you're serious enough to finish the trainee program.”

“But—” Her jaw grew rigid, and she shot Danielle a murderous scowl, then quickly returned her attention back to Cole. “Yes, Master.”

Cole beckoned Danielle with two of his fingers, his expression unreadable. “Danielle? Please come with me.”

The other trainees shifted in their seats as Mistress Casey picked up where she'd left off. More excited about the photo shoot than learning the benefit of lubrication, Danielle hurried out of her seat, collecting her purse before following a stony Cole out the door. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was about to have her clean the bathrooms again, rather than pose nude for his photographs.

“I'm confused,” she said once the door to the classroom shut. “We're here to serve you, correct?”

“As part of your training, yes.” He splayed his hand on her lower back and led her down the hall, the heat of him seeping through her sheer black blouse. She swallowed hard and fisted her hands to keep from biting her nails. How could he remain so detached when only an innocent touch from him ignited a firestorm of need within her?

“Then why was Cassandra's offer to serve you punishable? Isn't that part of her job description?”

Holding a set of jangling keys in his hand, he unlocked a door. “While on the surface, it may sound as though Cassandra was offering to do something for me, in fact, her motives were quite selfish. First, she wanted to block you from spending time with me, and two, she wanted the perceived advantage in serving me. Not to mention, her offer was an attempt to maneuver into a position of power. It's what is commonly referred to as topping from the bottom, and it's a punishable offense, especially in light of the fact that Cassandra does it often.”

Danielle had never considered a person's motives behind the good deeds. To her, it was irrelevant because in the real world, all that mattered was the end result. Before Tasha, Danielle's father had never placed value on receiving praise for his charity. He'd simply cut a substantial check and asked that his donation remain anonymous. But after he remarried, he spent nearly every weekend dressed in a tuxedo, leaving a teenaged Danielle home with Roman as he and Tasha mingled with Scottsdale's elite at one-thousand-dollar-a-plate dinners that Tasha insisted would bring him new accounts for his business.

“You call us slave trainees, but the difference between a slave and submissive wasn't very clear in the books.”

He shrugged. “That's because there really is no clear answer.”

“What do you believe?”

He leaned against the door. “For the ease of my training program, I use the term ‘slave trainee,' but how you choose to perceive your role here is your own personal choice, and you may adapt what you learn here in any power-exchange relationship, no matter what you define yourself to be in the future. Many of those I've trained have entered relationships in the Dominant role.”

“How did you wind up turning your family home into a sex club?”