TiedandTwisted (4 page)

“Inside,” she whispered. Inside would be safer than outside.
Her door was still firmly shut, no signs of a break-in. Just the message, the
tail of the last “y” dripping a blood-red trail down the glass.

Pulse hammering in her ears, she tried not to leave her back
to the parking lot. The nape of her neck crawled with a pervasive feeling of
being watched as she fumbled with her keys and, excruciating minutes later,
finally plunged into the safety of her dark, quiet house. She bolted the door
with shaking hands and stumbled across the dark living room, intent on the
windowless bathroom in the middle of the house.

In the dark, behind another locked door, she sat on the
toilet lid and clutched her phone. At a loss for what to do next. Police? Did
this count as an emergency?

Family—none in New York.

Friends—she’d left them all in Washington and Facebook
wouldn’t help her in this situation. Whatever this situation was.

Her thumb landed on David Burke’s entry on her contact list.
She typed and deleted two drafts of a text before settling on

CAN
YOU INSTALL HOME SECURITY TOMORROW?

After several deep breaths, she looked up the number for the
local police precinct. Before she could dial, a text came through.

WHAT’S
WRONG?

Jovanna rubbed her forehead, wondering how to respond. She’d
expected “yes” or “no” from David, not an inquiry. After a moment, she blew out
a breath and called the police to report her non-emergency. Not an emergency
because she hadn’t heard even a floorboard creak in the house since she’d
entered.

While she was on the phone with the police, another call
beeped on the line. After finishing with the police, she checked the missed
calls log to find David’s number in queue. And he called again. The phone
vibrated in her palm.

“Hey,” she answered, staring at the shape of the vanity in
the dark.

“Are you all right?” Overran her greeting.

Jovanna blinked at the hard edge of urgency in his tone. She
frowned at the warm puddle of comfort she derived from the sound of his voice.
And the even warmer puddle of something else. “I’m—yeah.”

She exhaled, started again. “I’m having an issue. It’s not
an emergency. Can you schedule me for a consultation tomorrow? Maybe an
installation?”

He held silent on the other end of the line. She counted to
ten, was about to write him off for a dropped call, when he finally said, “When
do you want me?”

With no other provocation, her pussy began to throb. She
pressed her thighs together, failed to keep the raw, husky dip from her voice.
“I have to open the store at eleven on Saturdays. If you can be here by 10:30,
I can let you in before I go.”

“I’ll be there.” He hesitated, added, “Have you called the
police?”

After Wednesday’s break-in, she didn’t have to ask how he
knew. The reminder served to suppress her reviving arousal. “They’re sending
someone over now. I should go so I can meet them at the door.”

“I’m not far away if you want me to stop by tonight.”

“I’m all right. It wasn’t a break-in. The morning’s soon
enough.” The chime of her doorbell jump-started her pulse. Jovanna stood and
forced herself to leave the bathroom. “I have to get the door.”

“Verify it’s the cops before you let anyone inside,” he
warned. “I’ll wait until you know.”

True to his word, David remained on the line until the
officers outside confirmed their identity.

Chapter Three

Saturday, 9:30 a.m.

Every muscle in her body was deliciously stiff. Jovanna
stretched in the yellow arrow of sunlight angling through her window, imagined
she could feel individual threads of her six-hundred-thread-count sheets
against her overly sensitized skin. She loved being fucked on her luxurious
sheets. Adored the exquisite sensation of bare skin against bare skin on clean,
crisp cotton.

Closing her eyes, she reached for the thick vibrator stashed
in her nightstand. Not as satisfying as the strength of a man between her legs,
but as her session in the Blue Suite had proven, adequate for getting the job
done. The alarm clock shrieked in protest, warning her of the time. Reminding
her of the store, of the break-in, of the message on her door during the night.

Abruptly cold, she rose and hurried through a shower.
Hurried because she didn’t want to leave herself naked, wet and blind long
enough for anybody to sneak up on her. The paranoia she’d been battling since Wednesday
night had ratcheted to outright fear last night while the police questioned her
about possible suspects. Just like Wednesday, she had nothing to offer. No
names except her ex-husband’s, whose alibi, according to the police, was
iron-clad. She didn’t even really believe Paul would have hired someone to come
after her, which would have accounted for the average build of the intruder.
How twisted that she wanted Paul to be the threat if only because he could be
identified?

Fear stalked her into her sunny kitchen and kept her company
while she started a pot of coffee. Fear stuck around until David texted notice
of his arrival an instant prior to ringing the doorbell.

She opened the door to his dark glower. Taken aback, she
retreated a step. “Uh, good morning?”

“Is this from last night?” He tapped the words painted on
her storm door.

“Yeah. He used oil-based paint. I tried Windex. No luck.”

“If you have a screen, I’ll put it in. Not as energy
efficient, but at least you won’t have to look at it when you get home
tonight.” He stepped inside, crowding her in the tiny foyer.

The spicy scent of his aftershave hit her hard, familiar but
elusive. “Coffee?” she invited, trying to place the olfactory memory.

“Let me take a look around first. I want to walk around to
the back and if you have time, I’d like to get an idea of your living habits.
What rooms you occupy at what times of day, what rooms you don’t use often.”
All business, he produced a small notepad and a pen.

Smothering a strange sense of disappointment—irrational,
because she’d
asked
him to come by for business—Jovanna led him on a
cursory tour. The two-bedroom townhouse didn’t have much square footage for
them to cover. David made notes while she talked.

At the threshold of her bedroom, he stopped. Jovanna turned
to find him looking at her rumpled bed. Maybe she made a sound. He raised his
eyes and met hers. Something electric sizzled between them, struck like
lightning low in her stomach. She wanted to strip naked and spread him out on
her sun-warmed sheets. She wanted to slide down onto his cock and watch his
gray-blue eyes, dark now with awareness, roll back in his head.

“I need to give you something.” The words rumbled, low and
rough down her spine. The timbre of his voice didn’t come anywhere close to
professional. He produced a small, square envelope from his shirt pocket and
she
knew
.

Her breathing stuttered to a stop. Jovanna stared at the
Bondage logo on the envelope.

“I have to open the shop,” she said. “You should lock the
doors before you go. Don’t worry about the coffee pot. It’s on a timer.”

She tried to dodge around him but he filled the doorway.
Strong fingers caught her biceps, drew her up short. “Jovanna—”

“I have to go,” she repeated, unwilling to stand still long
enough to figure out how she felt about this. About submitting to him, having
close-enough-to-sex with him. Finding comfort and security in his presence.

With a frustrated growl, he crumpled the envelope and shoved
it down the front of her corset. His fingertips lingered across the tops of her
breasts. Her nipples swelled behind the stiff stays, stabbed uncomfortably into
the brocade.

“Jovanna,” he said again. Just her name.

She shook her head sharply and jerked away, still not ready
to stop and think. “I’m going to be late.”

She fled to the safety of her dyes and fibers.

Three hours later, the Saturday retail crowd hit its
late-lunch lull. Jovanna left her weekend clerk and half a dozen teenagers
knitting and chatting on the sofa while she sneaked out for midday coffee. Over
a latte and bagel, she checked her text messages. She scrolled past the
messages from friends and, reluctant but sickly curious, opened the text from
David.

I
DIDN’T SET OUT LOOKING FOR YOU.

Jovanna removed the envelope from her cleavage and stared at
the neat writing across the back of the note she’d sent.
I want you again.

HOW
DID YOU RECOGNIZE ME?
she texted. And, a moment later,
WHEN DID YOU?

WILL
YOU HAVE DINNER WITH ME?

HOW/WHEN?

YOUR
IVY VINE. IT’S DISTINCTIVE.

YOU
KNEW BEFORE YOU FUCKED ME.

I
DIDN’T FUCK YOU.

Heart pounding, she pushed her phone aside and brooded into
her coffee. David had violated something, some trust she hadn’t seen growing.
Not by playing with her, not by joining her in the Blue Suite, but by hiding
behind his mask after stripping off hers.

Two texts came through. She ignored them. When the phone
rang—David on the caller ID—she ended the call before the second ring.

“This can’t be happening,” she muttered, glaring at her
untouched bagel. Conversation and laughter ebbed and flowed around her as small
groups of people caught up and unwound over their caffeine fixes. No laughter
at her table. Just drama.

Physical attraction to David Burke—she could deal with that.
Even embrace it. She was far from virginal and had strict rules about her sexual
habits, but in general she had no qualms about sex. Sex and attraction were
healthy. She could deal with wanting him. Strip away his name and his recent
role in her life, put a flogger in his hand, and hell yes. She’d have to be a
corpse not to react.

The everything-else ruined the sex though. For some reason,
or a combination of reasons, he’d become more than sex.

Yeah. She blew out a breath and stared sightlessly at the
street outside. His position as her security guy, his calm and solid presence
the night of the break-in and the sound of his voice when she’d been frightened
in the middle of the night—all totally understandable reasons for her shifting
perspective. He couldn’t be merely sex anymore because he’d become safety.

Disgusted, she flung her ponytail over her shoulder. If
convenience had opened the trap she’d stumbled into, she had to find a new
security company.

Except…she wasn’t thinking about security measures last
night with the mostly anonymous man in her borrowed bed. No. She was thinking
about everything after the sex that made the sex itself into a complete
experience.

After three years of divorced life, she finally wanted a new
relationship.

That was…not good.

It still wasn’t good hours later when David knocked on her
new reinforced glass door while she tidied the bins of sock yarn. The sign on
the door said “closed” but he met her eyes through the glass and raised a sandy
eyebrow.

Jovanna stomped on the mingled awareness and fear that
pulsed through her and crossed the shop to unlock the door. She didn’t have
anything clever or cruel to say so she waited for him to speak first.

“You’ll need the code for your alarm system,” he said after
a beat of silence. “It’s keyed up to the doors and windows. I also installed
cameras at the front and back doors. The cameras are feeding to the new monitor
on your desk.”

She moistened her lips, dry with the unwelcome reminder of
the night before. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

David braced his shoulder against the door frame. “You’re not
taking my calls.”

His scent tickled the edges of her memory, reminded her of
midnight satin and pleasure. She stepped backward as heat stung the tips of her
ears. “I’ll get a pen. Do you have an invoice?”

Desperate to hide the flush burning her cheeks, she turned
her back on him and headed for the service counter. Behind her, the tiny bell
over the door chimed as David stepped in and let the door close. The sound of
her keys jingling together, of the lock bolting home, made her breath catch.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him pocket her keys. Her
pulse kicked up and a sense of inevitability, thrill instead of fear, slid down
her back. She tried to ignore it. “The code? And my keys?”

He supplied a six-number sequence but said, “I think I’ll
keep your keys for now. I want to talk to you and I don’t have the patience for
a conversation through text messages. Especially when you’re ignoring my
messages.”

Jovanna dropped her pen in a cup and turned to face him.
Mistake. He sat in a casual sprawl on one of her overstuffed sofas. The
hunter-green backdrop and the late sun coming through the wide front window did
terrific things for him, darkening the golden hue of his skin and illuminating
his dark-blond cut. While she watched, he spread both arms across the back of
the sofa and planted his booted feet on the carpet. Knees bent, weekend cargoes
stretched taut across his thighs.

It would be
such
a bad idea if she hiked her pencil
skirt to her hips and straddled him there in the warm beam of the sun. She
forced her eyes to his. “I’m ignoring your messages because I don’t want to
talk to you. Unless you’re giving me access codes or delivering my bill.”

“Our relationship isn’t strictly business anymore. I haven’t
been to the club recently because I’ve been busy with setting up new clients.
Recent months aside, I’m a regular visitor. From what I hear, so are you. We’re
going to encounter each other again.” He broke eye contact, but not to look
away. Instead, he very deliberately refocused on her body, tracking from mouth
to knees. “I’m going to know you whether you wear a mask or not. And unless you
forbid me from playing with you, I’m going to do it again. And you’ll recognize
me when I do.”