Slave to Love (23 page)

And God help them both if he did.

***

Caro fled from the conference room, ablaze in fluster and confusion, and rubbing her bottom in annoyance.

Dammit! She'd done it again. Succumbed to Mick's persuasive ability to seduce the brains right out of her head. She had to admit, his strategy had been masterful. To confess he needed her—now that was genius.

She practically ran down the corridor toward the ladies room. Good thing he hadn't meant it. Not in a deeper sense than sexual gratification, anyway. At least... He hadn’t, had he?

No, his little speech was all about power. His power over her—at the station, undercover and in bed. Power she wasn’t ready to relinquish. Well, except maybe the bed part.

And she
wasn’t
in love with him.

No damn way.

She crashed into a bathroom stall and locked the door with a loud, comforting snick. She closed her eyes, smelling the remains of some flowery perfume, and tried to get her heartbeat under control.

Nothing wrong with sexual gratification. What worried her was, for some unfathomable reason this unreachable, unobtainable demi-god of the netherworld made her want more. More than sex.

Covering her mouth, Caro stifled a groan.

No, no, no.

She wasn't cut out for love. Wasn't equipped for it. Didn't want it.

Truth be told, she was scared to death of love. Especially with a man like Mick McGraw.

She pressed her back against the cold metal of the stall, a comforting contrast to the warmth streaking her cheeks.

 There. She'd said it. The root of all her problems with men. And no doubt the reason she was so attracted to such an inappropriate one. One who took no prisoners, gave no quarter, and demanded everything she had.

Fear.

How ironic that she'd fallen for a man who was even more frightened of love than she.

She let out a short laugh. “You've really done it this time, Palmer,” she murmured. And looked down at her legs.

Now. What to do about the current dilemma.

Should she, or shouldn't she?

Did it really matter?

Probably. Mick seemed a bit testy about the whole being late to work thing, and how she’d forced the issue in front of the whole team. Probably not a wise move on her part.

The least she could do was submit to him on this. It was harmless enough. Besides, she’d love the satisfaction of driving him crazy with his need to possess her. She would delight in pushing him to the limit of his endurance. Making him acknowledge it was
her
he desired. That he would risk all to have her.

That feeling was more exciting than anything she'd ever experienced. Last night when he'd lost all his civilized veneer, it had been thrilling beyond her wildest fantasies. And just now, when he'd wanted her so much he didn't care if they were fired, it had been nearly impossible to maintain her reason in the face of such a declaration.

She’d wanted to cave.

Because, as hard as it was to admit, there was nothing more powerful than seeing the look in Mick's eyes when she finally submitted to his will.

“You've got it bad, girl,” she whispered, shaking her head.

And reached down to take off her panties.

***

It felt weird.

To walk through the police station with no stockings or underwear on was harder than any undercover hooker stroll Caro had taken out on Colorado Blvd. Even harder than last night when she'd let Mick have his way with her breasts in front of all those people.

No one can tell,
she reminded herself on the way to Mick's desk. How could they? Just as they couldn't see the slave collar locked solidly around her neck.

In his office he greeted her with a slightly raised brow.

“Here's that file you wanted,” she said, and handed him a manila folder she'd hidden the panties in. She glanced around, relieved to see Lieutenant Fredrickson wasn't there. Outside the glass partition, the few detectives who were at their desks hardly looked up since they'd gotten used to her presence in Homicide.

“Just in time,” he said, smoothly slipping them into his jacket pocket. “I was about to hunt you down.”

She hrumphed. “In the ladies' room?”

He just smiled in that way he had that sent chills down her arms. The one that said such details wouldn't slow him down for a nanosecond.

“Not at the station, McGraw,” she mimicked.

His comeback was forestalled by the lieutenant walking in.

“Just the two I wanted to see,” Fredrickson said, striding past them to his desk. “Front and center.”

She exchanged glances with McGraw, who didn't seem particularly concerned. She was. What if the lieutenant had heard rumors...?

“Fill me in,” the L.T. said.

Mick took ten minutes filling him in on news from the task force meeting, and another five outlining their movements from last night at Brimstone—omitting the juicier details. Still, Caro's face had heated considerably by the time Mick finished his update.

“You two going back to Brimstone tonight?”

Mick nodded.

“Everything set up with Cody?”

“Yeah, but we'll touch base again before going in.”

“Right.” The lieutenant drew a bead on Caro. “How are you holding up, Palmer?”

“I'm fine, sir.”

He jerked his head toward Mick. “This guy making you uncomfortable?”

She clasped her hands behind her back, resisting the urge to adjust her slave collar. Or smooth her skirt over her pantyless hips. “I can handle him, sir.”

“I know this case is demanding over and above from you. If things ever go too far—” his gaze bored into her “—and I do mean
ever
—I want you to walk away, and come to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” She stood straighter. “We're going to catch this skell. I'll do whatever it takes.”

He contemplated her for a moment longer, then smiled. “Good. Mick, take the afternoon off and get some sleep. You look like crap.”

“But—”

“No buts, that's an order. Palmer, remember what I said. Now, go find the fucker,” the lieutenant said, and they were dismissed.

Mick was deep in a scowl, mentally re-arranging his day under obvious protest, so Caro headed for the door and the report summary that still needed doing.

“Oh!” she said, suddenly remembering the mysterious business card, and turned back. “Mick I forgot to tell you. I found this in my pocket this morning.” She handed him the card. “I thought it might be important, but when Tim came up with a real suspect—”

Mick took one look at it and instantly demanded, “How did it get in your pocket?”

She explained her theory, under his intense scrutiny.

“This could be the break we’ve been looking for,” he said. “I thought there was something familiar about Smythe's picture. Maybe he was at Brimstone. Here, take a closer look.” He flipped a file open to the ID photo in the printout Tim had given him. “What do you think? Recognize him?”

She studied the picture carefully. “Maybe. The eyes—” She shook her head. “I don't know, Mick. There were so many people, and it was so dark.”

“It's okay. We'll know who to look for tonight.” He gave her an unexpected we're-in-this-together smile that warmed her to the very core. Then he reached into his pocket, and the character of his smile changed.

He was touching her panties. The ones she wasn't wearing.

Whenever I miss you, I want to reach into my pocket and feel them there....

Suddenly she wanted to run. Hide before she did something totally inappropriate, like have her legs give out. Or kiss him on the mouth, right there in front of the L.T., Homicide and the whole world.

“Get on this as soon as the summary's done,” he said, handing the card back to her. “Go up to the third floor and have one of the computer people help you. Find out who owns the site. Follow all the links, dig up everything you can.”

“Maybe someone else would be better—”

“No, Caro. You do it. You might spot something no one else could. Because of Brimstone. Because of what you've experienced. Because you're good at your job.
You
do it.”

She swallowed down a big lump that suddenly materialized in her throat. “All right, Mick. I'll give it a whirl.”

“Since I've been ordered home to sleep, I want you to bring your results to my place.” He looked at his watch. “Say, four o’clock.”

She shot a glance at the lieutenant, who was busy shuffling papers. “Um—”

Mick pulled his hand out of his pocket, producing a key which he held out for her. “We can go over everything, grab something to eat, then I can drive you home to get ready for tonight.”

She stared at the key as he pushed it into her hand when she didn't take it.

He was giving her the key to his apartment
.

Ho boy.

He scribbled the address on a piece of paper and stuck it next to the key burning a hole in her palm. “Come directly from work and don't be late.”

Without a word she rushed out of the office, seeking the calm and order of the task force room. At her desk, she fired up her computer and gingerly placed the key in her purse, handling it as though it were made of molten lava.

Somehow she finished the daily summary and had it sent out, then made her way up to the third floor. When she explained her mission, the woman in charge called over a thin, red-haired kid with thick glasses.

“This is Peter. Nothing about the Internet this man doesn't know or can't find out.”

“Perfect.” She handed him the business card and told him what she needed to do. “Any chance?”

Peter cracked his knuckles and led her to an open computer. “Child's play,” he answered with a grin. “Watch and be amazed.”

***

When the soft knock came, Mick checked the time.

Three o’clock. She was an hour early.

After a minute, he heard the key in the lock. Hesitant, unsure, carefully quiet.

He smiled and closed his eyes again, playing possum. What would she do? Come and wake him? Slip into bed? Sit in a chair and wait for four o’clock? Search the apartment?

He lay there on top of the covers, stripped to his BVDs, and listened for a clue.

Silent footsteps approached the bedroom, recognizable only by the familiar squeak of ancient hardwood floors. He felt a stirring and hoped his anxious cock wouldn't give him away.

For a breathless moment all was soundless as a tomb. Then the footsteps retreated. He waited for the scrunch of a leather cushion, or the scrape of a chair, but none came. Instead, there was another creak of floorboards, and another.

So, it was to be a search.

But how thorough?

Letting himself seep back into the twilight world of unconsciousness, he wondered what her expression would be, how she'd look at him when he awoke.

Chapter 14

Caro bit her bottom lip as she peered in at Mick. He was still asleep. Naturally.

She'd known she was an hour early when she left the station, but she'd been so excited by what she and Peter had come up with that she hadn't been able to wait a minute longer to tell Mick. Seeing him now, sprawled across his king-sized bed sleeping peacefully, she didn't have the heart to wake him.

She also resisted the urge to join him in the invitingly masculine bed. If he woke up, there'd be no more sleeping, and at the moment that's what he needed most.

She backed out of the room, wincing when the floor chirped like an angry cricket. With a last glance at Mick, she quietly closed his bedroom door and turned into the living room.

Sunlight poured in through windows whose designer blinds had been pulled all the way up, reflecting off a glass office building across the street and onto the room's white walls, muted blue furniture and several colorful paintings.

For a bachelor pad, the place was immaculate. Everything was just so, no clutter, no dust, not a thing out of place. Thinking about her own home, she imagined them trying to live together, and almost laughed out loud. Never in a million years would that work. She'd drive him to strangle her within days with her untidy ways.

Good thing she had no ambitions in that direction.

Wandering to the bookshelves lining one entire wall, she smiled at titles she recognized on the upper shelves. Douglas, Harris, Moffatt, Ressler, Rule, all arranged in alphabetical order. The next few shelves contained a variety of tattered paperback murder mysteries and thrillers, many of which she'd also owned over the years. She pulled out a few authors she hadn't heard of and read the back covers. They sounded good. Picking one, she strolled to the kitchen, intending to find something to drink and read for an hour.

She stopped short at the sight that greeted her. A small square table was precisely set for two, with real china and sparkling silver and glassware. There was even a vase of flowers and a candle that had never been lit. As she stood there, the oven clicked on, apparently set by timer.

Her jaw dropped. She never dreamed that “grab a bite to eat” meant he planned to cook for her. Astounded didn't come close. She eased out the breath that had stuck in her lungs and stepped backwards out of the kitchen, too. She didn't want to touch a thing. It was all too perfect.

The living room furniture was upholstered in leather, which looked elegant and sophisticated—and noisy. She could just imagine the crackling if she sat down on the couch or easy chair. He'd wake up for sure. Glancing around, she spotted another door and opened it.

Shock slammed into her so hard she had to grab the door frame.

Newspaper clippings and crime scene photos were pinned helter-skelter onto four corkboard-covered walls: gruesome before-and-after shots of smiling faces and bloody corpses. A high-tech desk spanned two walls and a corner, every square inch of it littered with computer, radio, video and photographic equipment, discs and tapes, papers, files...and more photographs and newspaper clippings, all scattered like snowdrifts.

Everything around her referred to just one subject—the Teddie Murders.

Her heart stalled for a long second. The room was so much like something out of a bad stalker flick, where at the end of the movie the cops break into the bad guy's house and find a candlelit room dedicated to the poor woman he'd been terrorizing.

She let out a nervous laugh and shook herself mentally. There were no candles, and of course Mick would have a room like this at home. He was lead detective on this case, obsessed with it, living and breathing the Teddie Murders. If he got up in the middle of the night with a new idea or angle, he'd want to check it out immediately, not wait to drive to the station.

Silly.

She approached the desk, impressed by the sheer volume of clippings, reports and crime scene photos covering it. Her own summaries sat right next to the keyboard. Skimming a finger over a complicated-looking scanner and state-of-the-art printer, on the shelf above them she saw a row of assorted reams and boxes of paper, everything from photo paper to post card and business card blanks to 20 weight printer paper in every color of the rainbow.

What on earth did he use all this stuff for?

At the end of the desk was a police scanner, pre-set to the main PPD channel. Again not surprising. She didn't have one herself, but she knew many cops who did. Especially the unmarried ones.

She glanced around again at the creepy room. There was no way she could read in here, with all those lifeless eyes staring down at her.

About to retreat back into the living room to brave the crackling sofa, she spotted the red gym bag Mick had carried with him last night sitting on the floor. His 'kit' he'd called it. So what exactly was a kit, anyway? If she was going to be in Homicide, she should probably find out the difference between the black crime scene kit and this red one.

Lifting it to a corner of the desk, she unzipped the bag. And gasped. She dropped the handles in surprise.

Okay. So, not a Homicide kit, then.

She peered into the bag, half scandalized, half dying of curiosity. Gathering her courage, she reached into its depths and removed the top object. It was the flogger Mick had worn at his side at Brimstone. The strands felt surprisingly soft to the touch, thin strips of supple leather. The grip felt good in her hand. Powerful. She gave an experimental slap on her palm. It stung, but very softly, more like a sharp tingle.

It reminded her a bit of the spank Mick had given her last night. A second of pain, then the soothing rush of heat and the erotic caress of his hand to intensify the sensations.

Hmm. Maybe the woman on the St. Andrew's cross wasn't so crazy, after all.

Yeah, right.

Caro dropped the flogger to one side and opened the bag wider. Next came a couple pairs of police handcuffs. Then several orange silk scarves. She held one up and nibbled on her lip. A very weird coincidence that both Mick and the killer used an orange blindfold for their...activities. No wonder Mick had acted so strangely when Dr. Maria announced her findings at the meeting. That must have come as quite a shock.

Setting aside the cuffs and scarves, she gingerly reached for the next items, a trio of—
Oh, God
. Dildos. She'd never actually seen one in the flesh before—as it were—but their shape and purpose were unmistakable. Holy crap. She turned the largest one over in her hand. It felt...real. In fact, it looked exactly like...well, like Mick. Same impressive length and thickness, same distinctive helmet, same excited color.

She felt herself tighten and moisten in all those places which knew him so intimately. Without panties on, her body's recognition was impossible to miss. She squirmed at the slick flesh-on-flesh feeling of her rising desire and set the dildo aside to pick up the others.

They were both vibrators, one a smaller, narrower version, the other long and thin, made of smooth plastic. She frowned. Weren't vibrators something women used?

Setting them down, she explored further, pulling mysterious things out of the bag one by one until a row of objects reposed along the desk.

There were two leather paddles, a length of nylon strapping, several fleece-lined leather buckle-cuffs in varying sizes, and a bunch of things she had no idea what were. Some vibrated, some were long and thin, some short and stubby; a handful were small leather rings of various construction that snapped closed, several other objects were too complicated to figure out. There was a pack of condoms of assorted textures, and even two silicone sheaths that were completely covered with bumps and ribs.

Heart beating wildly, Caro stared with growing consternation at the intimidating array of implements in Mick's kit. Did he intended to use them on her?

A coil of terrified excitement wound through her center and tightened painfully. Did he mean to tie her to the bed and work his way through these mysterious instruments of pleasure on her body, willing or unwilling?

“Find something you like?” his deep-rough voice sounded behind her.

She let out a cry of surprise and whirled.

He looked stunningly sexy standing there all sleep-rumpled, wearing only his boxer briefs. He gazed at her from half-lidded bedroom eyes, sex and power oozing from every pore of his towering body. Her own trembled, the blood in her veins slowing and thickening to molasses.

“I'm not sure,” she answered, trying hard to keep her voice steady. “Why do you have these things?”

His lip tipped up. Moisture slid down her inner thigh.

Wordlessly, he picked up the orange scarf from the desk and tied it over her eyes. Excitement sang through her, squelching any urge to resist. She wanted this. Oh, God, she wanted this.

“Come,” he said, and took her hand, leading her out of the room.

She didn't know where they were when he stopped, but she suspected it must be the sunny living room because the orange of the scarf lit up like a brilliant sunset. Her heart sped.

He put his hands on her shoulders, turned her a quarter turn, and said, “Wait here.”

The short zip of a blind being lowered matched a slight dimming of the orange before her eyes. Footsteps padded around the room, then stopped.

“Mick?”

“Walk toward me,” he said. “It's okay. I'll be your eyes.”

“Say something so I can follow your voice.”

“Not necessary. You'll feel where I am. Come.”

Even though she was blindfolded, she closed her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she was surprised when she caught a trace of his scent. Trusting her instincts, she walked in the direction the scent was strongest. Right into his arms.

They wrapped around her and his mouth came down on hers. He tasted minty and musky and so incredibly good.

She moaned and they spun slow circles around the room as they exchanged a long, hot, eating kiss.

“Touch me,” he murmured, pressing her hands to his chest as he nipped her lower lip.

Greedily, she ran them over his well-defined pects and crisp whorls of chest hair. “You feel so hard. So strong.”

His kiss deepened even more. She plucked at his kernelled nipples, eliciting a moan from him. She ran her hands down the hard muscles of his abs and around to his butt, where she slid them under the elastic waist of his underwear. And pressed, so his hard length lodged firmly against her center.

He tore his lips from hers. “Do you want it?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Inside me.” She pulled his boxers down and felt him kick them away.

“Touch me first,” he ordered softly. “Take me in your hands.”

She did so, cradling him in her palms. But there was something— Small leather bands circled the base of his cock and the top of his sac. Like a tiny harness. “What's this?”

“To keep me hard for you.”

Wishing she could see it, she traced around the tight rings several times, exploring the device with her fingers, finally recognizing it from the toy kit. “You feel...huge.”

“You like that?”

She licked her lips. “Yes.”

She caressed the silky steel of his magnificent erection, running her fingertips over the popping veins and rigid head. Wanting it in her even more. She guided it toward her.

He let out a harsh oath and jerked her away. “No.” He moved behind her, holding her close back-to-chest, so she couldn't reach him. “Your turn.”

Taking his time, he reached around and unbuttoned first her suit jacket, then her blouse, letting his fingers wander over her breasts and shoulders until she shivered with desire. When he got to her bra, he unhooked it in the front, and pulled all three layers aside.

“Do you like when I feel your breasts?” he asked, fondling them, gently dragging his fingernails over them, squeezing them.

“More than anything,” she said with a gasp as he pulled at the aching tips.

“Anything?”

“Well—” She sucked in a sharp breath when he rolled her nipples between his fingers. “Almost.”

Her clothes slid down her arms and suddenly she was bare from the waist up. She felt the rays of a sunbeam warming her skin as Mick's hands heated her insides. She could still taste his tongue and mouth on hers, and smelled his desire, musky and arousing, mixed with her own.