Slave to Love (18 page)

She shook her head. “I need the emotional part, too, Mick. That’s what
I
meant.”

“What if I can give you something else? Something you want even more?”

Doubt washed through her. “What do you mean?”

“Homicide. I’ll make sure you get your transfer.”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.” He moved tight against her, the latigo of his chest harness pressing into her front, the fluted porch column biting into her back. “We need each other, Caro. I know it, and you know it. Give me what I want, and I’ll give you what you want. Simple.”

“That’s sexual harassment.”

He snorted. “Bullshit. It’s being honest. And I’d never be making the offer if I didn’t think you could cut it in Homicide, and I didn’t know for a fact that you want me just as much as I want you.”

She shook her head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but sex is more to me than a business transaction.”

He gave her a smile then, the same smile he’d given her after sucking her breasts in front of a dozen witnesses.

“In that case, tell me no. Right here. Right now. Tell me no and go back to SIS and gay Julio. Back to your empty life and your empty bed. I won’t ever bother you again. Otherwise open the front door and invite me in.” His fingers stroked down her throat. “But I’m warning you, if I walk through that front door I'm telling you now, I'll do whatever it takes to be with you. In your bed. In your body.”

She continued to shake her head, desperation seeping in, unwilling to acknowledge how much she wanted him to do just that. How much she wanted to accept his Faustian offer and get everything she ever dreamed of. But she was too frightened, frightened of what she might become...

“I'll fight you, Mick. I swear I will.”

He must have sensed something in her protest she wasn't aware of. Hesitation. A challenge, maybe.
A lie
. He looked down at her long and hard.

“Okay, then fight me,” he said. His fingers caressed her arms soothingly. “We can play it that way if you want.”

Her eyes widened, incredulous. Did he mean to— “You'd force me? Take me even if I say no?”

“Would you like me to force you, Caro?”

Shock scuttled her ability to speak. Tim’s words came trickling back...
Surely you’ve fantasized about being forced
... Wait, no, that wasn’t—

Suddenly, a loud, anxious voice cut into the night, coming from the other half of the porch, right behind her.

“Caroline, are you all right?”

She recognized the thin, whiny tone of her neighbor. “Roger!” She disentangled herself quickly from Mick's arms and turned. “Uh, hi, Rog.”

“What's going on?” Roger's suspicious gaze sliced back and forth between her and Mick, dipping to take in their outfits. “Do you need help?”

Gathering her wits, she gave a nervous laugh and glanced back at the street, imagining Denny and Brady in the stakeout car scrambling to figure out who the guy was and call it in.

“Oh, no,” she hastened to assure Roger, pulling Mick to her side. “This is my boyfriend, Mick. We were at a, uh, a costume party. No need to worry.”

Roger frowned disapprovingly, but seemed to believe her. “Well, okay. But if you need help, just give me a call.” He shot a parting censuring glare at Mick, unlocked his front door and went in.

Caro let out a shaky breath. Her heart was pounding so fast she thought it would burst. “Jeezus. Where the hell did he come from?”

“God knows.” Mick peered testily into the darkness around the duplex, and shook his head. “I didn't hear a car. We'll have to take a closer look at possible foot routes tomorrow.” He gave Denny and Brady a quick wave to let them know they were okay.

She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled. “Let's go inside.”

Mick's gaze pinned her, rife with unspoken questions.

Oh, Lord.

Her heart came to a stop, then shot into the stratosphere.

“So, what's it going to be?” he asked.

Despite his warning, she didn't believe he would ever force himself on her if she truly didn't want him. She only had to use the safe word and he'd stop. She trusted him that much.

“Let's talk about this inside, okay?” Maybe he would see reason better over a hot cup of tea.

He held her gaze for a moment, then grabbed his gym bag. “All right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you

Chapter 10

Once inside, Mick disappeared immediately into the bedroom. Caro walked to the kitchen and nervously filled the tea kettle with water, then went to ask if he wanted some. From the safety of the doorway, she stood holding the kettle, and watched him fish his ID wallet out of the back pocket of his leather pants and place it on the night stand. His Beretta, which he retrieved from the red gym bag, he slid under the pillow, as was apparently his habit.

“Tea?” she asked, not letting herself think about the obvious implications.

“No, thanks.”

He brushed past her and went to pick up the cell phone he'd left on the coffee table in the living room.

“Take off your clothes,” he said quietly as he punched in numbers.

Her pulse raced as he began speaking with Bobby.
Oh, Lord
. He’d meant it.

“No, nothing. Not a hint of anything unusual,” he said impassively into the phone, staring back at her when she didn't move. He began efficiently undoing the buckles of his harness. Water splashed on her foot, and she realized the kettle had tipped, about to drop from her hand. Shakily, she set it on the nearby wet bar.

“It was her neighbor,” he said to Bobby.

Denny and Brady must have called in the incident with Roger, just as she'd suspected.

“Our man wasn't at Brimstone tonight. He couldn't have been. He would have noticed us and followed.” He paused. “Yes, absolutely sure. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

As Mick spoke, his gaze oozed all over her like warm fudge sauce, leaving her feeling sticky hot. Then he slid out of the latigo harness, his chest naked and gleaming with the sweat of his intentions. A trickle of excitement crept through her.

“Yeah, I managed to get a few names to run. And we'll have a shitload of plate numbers from Cody's men. I'll be in early.” He listened a moment, then said, “You'll be the first to know.”

 He pressed the off button of the phone and his eyes narrowed on her. She tasted blood.

“Are you going to take your clothes off, or do you want me to do it for you?”

She should say “
Detective
” right now. This very instant. The word formed on her tongue, but for some reason wouldn't roll off.

Why? Did she really want to slide further into the dark world he'd introduced her to, by playing the scandalous sexual game he'd suggested?

Or was it a game at all?

“If I force you,” he said, his tone hushed. “It won't be your fault. You can fight and scream and call me a bastard, tell me all the reasons you don't want me to touch you. And still enjoy it when I do.”

She shivered, more attracted to the idea than she dared to admit. “Have you ever...?”

He moved closer, pushing her up against the living room wall. “Fantasized about fucking you against your will? Oh, yeah.”

She swallowed heavily. A flutter of elation swirled low in her belly at the thought of the Iceman having fantasies about her. Even those kind. “You have?”

He pressed up against her, hot and hard, and drew a single finger up her arm. “Sometimes when I’d see you at the station, flaunting your sexy body in those skimpy outfits, which I couldn't react to...you'd get me so frustrated I'd go to my desk and fantasize about how I could take you without anyone knowing.”

The cold plaster of the wall was like ice on her bare back and shoulders. But the Iceman was blazing hot. She trembled. “Like how?”

“You really want to know?”

No.

“Yes.”

He smiled sinisterly. “I'd imagine waiting till the end of the shift, and following you to your car.” He reached into his pants pocket and suddenly there was a bright orange silk scarf in his hand. “I'd hide while you unlocked the car, then I'd come up behind you and blindfold you.”

He put the scarf over her eyes, and when she didn't immediately protest, he tied it snugly. She blinked, unable to see through the tightly woven fabric. A tiny frisson of fear skittered up her spine.

“You struggle against me. So I handcuff you.”

She felt the grip of unrelenting steel on her wrist. He snapped the cuff closed. She was surrounded by a sea of orange silk, and unable to escape. A cool breeze from an open window crawled over her heated skin, raising goosebumps.

Her fear increased a notch. “Mick—”

He pulled her arms behind her back and locked the other cuff, silencing her by covering her mouth with his. His tongue caressed hers, tasting of tequila and beer, and the distinctive, musky flavor of her lover. The scent of his body, his arousal, mingled with the taste of him on her tongue. Her desire flamed.

“You fight me but I'm stronger. You plead with me, but I don't answer. I don't want you to know it's me.”

“No,” she said , trying to pull away, her nerves screaming.

“
Yes
. I shove you against a garage pylon and drag your skirt up. You've been out on the Boulevard, and you're not wearing panties, just a garter belt and stockings.”

She jerked away. “I'd never—”

He shoved her back in her place and slid his hand under her leather skirt, whispering, “Are you wearing panties now, Caro?”

She gasped for breath as his fingers slid over her. “Yes!”

“From now on, I don't ever want you to wear panties,” he hissed. “Not at Brimstone, not on the job. I want to know you're completely bare under those prim business suits you've taken to wearing at the station.”

“No.” Her pulse sky-rocketed as she fought harder against him. “I couldn't—”

“You're my pleasure slave, Caro.
You'll do what pleases me.
Always.”

She shook her head again, twisting against the blindfold and handcuffs. “I won't.”

He grasped the delicate lace of her panties and ripped them off with one strong yank. “You
will
.”

His fingers sought her moist, secret places. She wrenched away, slipping from his grasp. She ran a few steps across the room, colliding blindly with the couch before he caught her and turned her in his arms.

“No!”

Steel rattled as she tried in vain to free her hands. As they tussled, she felt him unclasp her demi-bra and her breasts sprang free.

“Mick, wait!”

“I'm done waiting, Caro. I want you. Now.”

He unzipped her skirt and jerked it down over her hips. It dropped to her ankles. Through the leather of his pants, his thick erection jutted like a nightstick into her belly. A spurt of feminine power surged through her. He might be the stronger, but she had done this to him, brought him to this primitive state of animal need, wanting her, willing to do anything to have her.

So who was really in control here?

“You've been driving me to distraction all day,” he growled. “All night. I've never wanted anyone so much.”

Her nipples scraped against his wiry chest hairs as he dragged her close, sending a shock of arousal through her. His mouth crashed down on hers and sucked the breath from her lungs with his long, eating kiss. She moaned, and heard the lock release on one of the handcuffs.

She shook the bra from her arms and let herself be pulled back into his crushing embrace. Except for shoes and stockings, collar and blindfold, she was naked. His hands roamed over her; his clever tongue plundered her mouth. Desire flooded through her down to her very toes. His muscular body felt big and strong, and completely male. He felt good.
So good
. Her own body was more than ready to surrender to his heated demands.

But could she trust herself to him ? Trust him to keep her safe, even in the throes of this dangerous fantasy?

At the club she had trusted him to obey the rules. But here at home there were no rules. How could she possibly be safe with him?

Already he was teaching her things, awakening hungers, creating needs within her that no one else would ever be able to sate. Did she want that? To be so dependent on a man who seemed willing to do anything to get what he wanted? Would she survive?

Knowing the answer instinctively, she groaned, pushing her hands against his chest. She grasped his arms, wanting to stop his sensual assault on her. She had to get away, get him to stop!

“That's right. Fight me, baby.”

She pushed harder, unsure how much was part of the game, how much was serious. She wanted him. God, she wanted him! But she had to think about the consequences of surrender.

His lips bruised along her jaw, his powerful hands fondled her. Touching. Probing.
Daring her to let go
. All the while holding her forcibly in his grip. She squirmed, attempting to break away. He wouldn't let her.

She reached up and ripped the blindfold from her eyes.

“
No
!” The guttural cry of fear was dragged from deep inside her. “I don't want this.”

“You do,” he countered, reaching for her again. “You want me to fuck you.”

She lurched backwards and tripped on her skirt, still bunched around her ankles. He grabbed her and yanked her back. She kicked him, slammed him with her fists.

“Ow, shit!” he swore, dodging her blows as best he could. But he didn't let her go.

Managing to break free, she ran across the room. The handcuffs still dangled from one wrist. A floor lamp toppled with a crash. “Stay away from me, Mick!”

“Not a chance.”

He stalked after her, fire snapping in his pale blue eyes as sharply as a dungeon master's whip. His erection crested the low waistband of his pants, straining to lose its bonds.

“I'll scream.”

He barked a laugh, and lunged for her.

She screamed. And jumped away just in time. She ran behind the sofa, back and forth, avoiding his grasp.

He moved lithely, following her like a big cat tracking his prey. “Talk to me, baby. Tell me what you're so afraid of.”

“You!”

“Liar.”

He smiled. A tight, demoniac kind of smile. His hand lashed out and caught her arm, tumbling her over onto the couch. He was on top of her in a flash, holding her wrists firmly above her head.

“It's yourself you're afraid of.” He kissed her, whispering roughly, “You love what I do to you, what I make you do. You love how it feels with me. And it scares the hell out of you.”

He leaned down and licked her breast, biting her nipple when it swirled into a tight bud. Her body arched convulsively, seeking more.

He looked up, triumphant. “See? You want me to take you. Any way I can.” Gathering her wrists in one hand, he reached down and unzipped his pants.

She bit him on the shoulder, hard, rolling him onto the floor when he shouted in pain.

“Fuck, woman!”

The coffee table tipped over with a crash as they landed in the gap. In the confusion, she scrambled away from him on all fours, only to be caught firmly by one ankle.

“Oh, no you don't.”

“Let me go!” She shook her foot, attempting to loosen his grip. She dragged herself forward, hoping it would slip. “You'll never have me again. I won't let you.”

“Wanna bet?”

His other hand clamped onto her free ankle, and she felt herself being hauled backwards along the carpet, her slippery stockings affording little friction against his relentlessness. She tried to kick up with her foot.

“You slice my face with these heels and there'll be hell to pay,” he said.

“What about my bruised knees?” she retorted, still trying to wriggle free.

“There's an easy way to avoid discomfort,” he said silkily. He grasped her hips and pulled her up to her hands and knees again. “
Submit
.”