The Risqué Target (20 page)

They walked up to the building. There were no glitzy signs, and no wedding attire in the window displays. Heck, there were barely any windows at all.

Nala looked at Tantum. Walking into a bridal shop with him was going to be weird.

Over the past few days, she'd come to learn a bit more about Tantum Maddox, the man she’d pursued for nearly three years. He took his coffee black, didn’t like to mix his food, and rested his elbows impolitely on the table while he ate. When he was irritated, he released an adorable little growl just before he raced his fingers through his thick, dark hair. It never lasted long, though. The man was quick to regain his composure. He rolled his fingertips on his thigh while he was thinking and flicked a brow when he came up with his answer. He preferred to sleep on his left side and nestle his face between her cheek and shoulder. But her favorite thing about him was that when he awakened, in the morning, he was usually on his back. He would pull her up on his chest and, still thinking she was asleep, run his fingers along her face, her arms, and sometimes feather them tenderly through her hair.

Yet she had not been able to mention Gabe to him. She still didn’t know if Tantum had killed her partner, and if so, why.

It struck her now that she was afraid to know. Afraid of what there still might be to learn about Tantum Maddox.

He pushed open the door of the bridal shop and held it for her as she entered the reception area. Behind a tall desk stood a perky little blonde.

“Hello,” the pretty young woman chirped.

“Hi.” Nala pretended enthusiasm.

“Do you have an appointment today?” She paused for an answer, and when neither Nala nor Tantum responded, she asked, “Is this a walk-in? If so, you’re lucky! We have some openings.”

“Great, thanks.”

“Just give me one minute.” She raised a finger, picked up the phone and made a call.

A few minutes later, two women came through the inner door. One had long brown hair with dramatic yellow highlights streaking from her roots. The other had short, spiky blue-black hair and eyes even bluer. Both were dressed in too-tight skirt suits and heels that put Nala's three-inchers to shame.

“Please, come on back,” the spiky haired woman said.

They followed the two women down a long hallway. The blue-black-haired woman introduced herself as Trinity, and Nala introduced herself and Tantum as Rebecca and Marcus. So far, nothing struck her as off about any of the boutique’s personnel, or the place, which was freshly painted and thickly carpeted. Nothing, except for its oddly nondescript outside. Maybe the place was too exclusive to attract casual street custom.

“Rebecca, please come with me, and Marcus can go with Lucy here.” Spiky hair gestured to Streaks, whose eyes were eating Tantum up, something Nala didn’t like one bit.

“But—”

Streaks smiled at her. “Don’t worry, hon’. I won't keep him long.”

That wasn’t it. Why were they being separated? She glanced at Tantum, but his face was unreadable.

Streaks turned to Spikes. “What room?”

“Room Six is open,” she said.

“What about Room Fourteen?” Nala asked quickly.

Both women looked at her.

Think quickly, Nala!
“It’s just that we met on February 14, and he proposed fourteen months later, and….”

“No problem,” Streaks answered brightly. “Room Fourteen it is.” She turned to Tantum. “Follow me.”

He took Nala’s arm and pulled her close. “Pick out something sexy and choose your weapon well,” he said and gave her a wink before releasing her.

What the hell is he doing? If this place was a front for something sinister, did he imagine they wouldn’t catch his double meaning?
Spikes stopped in front of a room and opened the door.

There was black everywhere. Black straps, black leather clothing, and seductive outfits. Some were exotic, and some were truly tasteless, but she saw a few that were sexy too. And then her eyes snapped back to the black whips and riding crops hanging on the wall, all in different lengths, shapes, and widths.
This is no boutique!
At least, not the kind with flowers and favors. This place was a front, all right, but not the kind she’d expected. A nasty, dirty little word popped into her head.
Bondage
.

Brent Walden hadn’t concealed a clue to the bombings. He’d hidden his taste for bondage, and Tantum had known all along. Nora’s
Bridle
Boutique. He’d gotten it, all right. He’d let her come into this place thinking it was part of the investigation, when he knew good and well they were walking into some kind of a freaking S&M place!
Ooh, I’m gonna get his ass for this.

“Rebecca, is this your first time?”

What gave me away, Einstein? The fact that my mouth’s hanging open, or that my eyes are bulging from their sockets?
“Yes,” she admitted. And it was going to be with Tantum Maddox. The conniver. The self-appointed Almighty.

But irresistibly, the thought of being tied up by Tantum sent a shiver of excitement down her spine.

“That’s fine. I’m going to help you pick out something to wear, and then I'll take you to your master. Or is he your servant?”

She had asked the question so seriously that Nala had to choke back her laughter before gravely responding, “Servant.” There was no way in hell she would ever refer to Tantum as her master, nor to anyone else, for that matter.

“Do you have something in mind you'd like to wear? We have cat suits, seamed stockings, fishnets—my favorite—and a lot of other items.” Spikes started to roam the room, picking up things and showing them to her. “Stiletto heels, peek-a-boob tops, halters in leather or vinyl. I think you'd look hot in thigh-high boots with your nice long legs. What's your size?”

“Uh, about an eight-and-a-half,” Nala stammered.

Spikes walked over to a row of boxes. “Got 'em.” She brought them over to her. “I think you'd look good in straps, too,” she said as she pulled up some kind of flimsy apparatus made of thin strips of leather.

Nala couldn’t believe that was considered clothing. “No,” she protested, shaking her head. “I need to be covered a little more than that.”

Spikes tapped her finger on her bottom lip, then flicked the finger in the air. “I’ve got it!” She went over to another table. “This covers your breasts, and the thin strip runs down your stomach and spreads into something like boy shorts. It's all leather, so you still have that sexy hardcore look, but it will keep him wondering what's underneath.”

Ten minutes later, Nala walked out of the changing room practically naked. She felt like an awkward ostrich trying to pull off sexy in leather.

Spikes clapped her hands together. “Oh, you look scrumptious!” she squealed. “Here.” She handed Nala a black silky piece of material. “Put this on.”

Nala opened it up and saw that it was a robe, and that eased her tension a bit. She hoped she could stay partially clothed, get alone in Room Fourteen with Tantum, and see if they could find out what the one remaining possible clue meant. What the hell LC 3?

Just because this place wasn’t what she’d expected didn’t mean Walden, or the staff, weren’t somehow involved in the bombings. She’d investigate this lead as carefully as she would any other. Then she’d get the heck out of the place before Tantum saw what was under the robe.

“It's time to go,” Spikes said. “Oh, wait!” She paused. “We need to pick a weapon.”

Nala raised her eyebrows, recalling what Tantum had said. “
Choose your weapon well
.”

“Do you want a whip, a crop, or—”

“A crop is fine,” she said.
Whatever
.

Trinity handed her one and they walked down the hallway. Nala wished the annoying little man doing a tap dance on her heart would stop. She had to stay in control, to look at the situation rationally, and do whatever it took to complete it.

Spikes stopped and waved a hand at the door. “Your servant awaits you.”

Nala reached for the knob, let go her resistance, and pushed open the door. “Oh my,” she gasped at the sight before her eyes.

Blindfolded and practically naked, Tantum was tied up, exposed except for the black leather pants and a thick collar around his neck. His hands were bound together in leather restraints, drawn above his head by a chain. His feet were bare, spread slightly apart, his legs taut and stiff. His muscles glistened beneath his dark skin.

Sadness swelled her heart as she thought of the other time he'd been strung up, stripped of his defenses. The time he was tortured by the cartel’s thugs.

What had they done to him?

She went to him and placed her palm against his chest. She wanted to assure him she was there, just as he'd done back at the motel when she was blindfolded.

Her eyes caught the movement in the corner of the room and shot to the woman clad in a full-body vinyl suit, with synthetic shiny pink hair. “What did you do to him?” Nala demanded.

The woman took a step forward. “I'm sorry. Is there a misunderstanding here? When we asked him who wielded the control, he said it would definitely be you.”

Nala snatched her hand back. “He did, did he?” She glared at him, her sympathy frayed. He'd assigned her to this task and made her the dominant one, but why? Obviously, he'd had a choice.
Why would he allow this? What is he offering me?

“That's what he said. Perhaps this is his fantasy,” the woman suggested.

Nala wanted to snort at the ridiculous statement.
Sure, Tantum Maddox secretly desires to be weak and vulnerable. Yeah,sure.
But with a glimmer of almost-insight, Nala admitted, “Well, he's right about one thing. I do like my control.”

“Then with your permission, we shall begin. I am your dominatrix instructor. My name is Frenzy. I am here to answer your questions, show you any equipment you desire to use, and I will be with you until I feel you're ready to be on your own.”

Panic struck. “You mean you're not leaving?”

“Not yet, no,” she replied, her voice tense, teetering on strict.

Nala’s fear heightened to panic.

If Frenzy saw it, she chose to ignore it. “It's time for you to inspect your servant,” she said, moving to stand behind Tantum. “Come here, beside me,” Clearly it was a command, not a request.

Nala moved near, but only because the woman was getting too close to Tantum.

“Touch him.”

Nala was about to decline, but when she looked at his resilient back, she lost her words. She could do it. In fact, she wanted to. She’d tended to his wound for the past few days, had already had her hands all over his back. What was one more little touch? She reached out and made contact with his strong shoulder.

“Your servant is no stranger to pain.” Frenzy’s glance darted to the wounds marking him, old and new.

“No,” Nala whispered.

The sadness poured back into her heart. The guilt seeped into it. Her stubbornness had caused some of these scars. She was not sure if it was her longing to touch him that caused her hand to spread over his broad shoulders. She was not sure if it was her guilt that caused her palm to glide cautiously over the wounds and down the hard planes of his back. She drifted to his scar, the gunshot wound. No, Tantum Maddox was no stranger to pain.

“Move to his front,” Frenzy demanded.

This time, Nala didn’t hesitate. In her thigh-high boots, with her crop in hand, she walked daringly around his enslaved body. She didn’t want to let go as her fingers trailed along his tight, smooth flesh. She refused to deny herself this opportunity to touch him gently. The blindfold freed her from his watchful, intimidating eyes. With his mouth closed, his lips thin, and his jaw set, he stood motionless. The collar was tight around his straining neck. It might have captured the wild animal, but she sensed he wasn’t completely contained.

He looked exotic and lethal with the black cloth around his eyes, the black leather pants, his almost-black hair. The whole picture, the whole vision, was a total turn-on for her, as if a switch had been flipped and lit up her darkest fantasies, ones she didn’t even know existed. His blatant, almost obscene sex appeal dripped from him, from his raised, chained wrists down to his bare feet. She boldly grazed his magnificent, virile, too-masculine body with her hungry eyes.