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Authors: Katana Collins

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BOOK: Wicked Release
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11
S
am was the opposite of Elliot in every way. While Elliot was debonair, a kind of millionaire sexy, Sam was all man, rugged, and hot. Was
he
following Jess now, too? First Elliot showing up here and now Sam?
Guilt pulsed in her core, more self-conscious than ever before, but she shook the ridiculous feelings away. What the hell did she have to feel guilty for? For not telling Sam about Elliot? Clearly, he didn't tell her everything he knew. Jess steeled herself for a battle and slowly walked toward the two men, listening in on their conversation.
“Elliot Warner, I see in our records that you were involved in funding a popular BDSM party that has been going on in Portland for several years,” said Sam.
“And what records would those be, Detective?” Elliot stayed calm, his voice as even as a dealer during a rigged game of blackjack.
Jess cleared her throat, moving to stand next to Elliot's chair. “Since you're interviewing Elliot, should I assume that the doctor cleared you for work?”
Sam did a double take at the sight of Jess and, judging by the way he jumped to his feet, there was no way he had expected her to be there. “Jess? What the hell?”
“Well as lovely a greeting as that is . . . I could ask you the same question. What are
you
doing here?” Only, she knew what he was doing there. He had followed a lead on Cass's death that pointed him right to Warner.
“I'm looking into a case.”
“The case of the masked dominant, perhaps?” Elliot quipped. He had a dry sense of humor, but damn if Jess didn't sort of like that about the guy.
“Don't get cute,” Sam shot back. His cerulean button-down shirt was fitted over tight muscles, reflecting the blue in his eyes and his dark jeans were snug around his tight ass. Jess found herself wishing she could run her fingers over the soft cotton, bury her nose into his chest.
“What are you doing here?” Sam's commanding voice interrupted Jess's daydream, spiraling her right back into reality where Sam was still the guy who broke her heart and had lied to her for years. “You better not be working a case without—”
Elliot stood, claiming what little space was left between Sam and Jess. “She is not here on some interview. Well, maybe I take that back. It is an interview of sorts, isn't it, Jessica?” He slipped his hand into hers and lifted her knuckles to his lips. Her pulse jumped.

Jessica?
” Sam repeated as though her full name were foreign on his lips. “You're kidding me with this guy, right?”
Oh, God. What is he up to?
Was he simply trying to get under Sam's skin? Or did he sense how unnerved Jess was around Sam and was helping in the only way he knew how. One side of Elliot's mouth lifted in an invitation and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. “We met online yesterday and decided to go for a drink,” he said, enjoying toying with Sam way too much, based on the gleam in his eye.
“Jess?” Sam's eyebrows lowered, making those eyes of his dark, stormy.
“Um . . . yeah.” Her voice was raspy, altered from what it usually sounded like. She was so not able to play it cool around Sam. “It's just a drink, Sam,” she said.
“Well, isn't that just a precious story to tell the grandkids someday,” Sam said, his lips edging into an insincere smile. He pulled a card from his wallet, handing it to Elliot. “I would really appreciate you setting up a time to talk to me about these parties of yours.”
Elliot looked over Sam's business card before tucking it into his suit jacket pocket. “From what I've heard, you know all too well about my parties,” he said with a grin.
Sam's flicked a quick look to Jess and panic surged in her chest.
Oh, God.
He thought she had snitched on him. “Sam, I didn't say a word—”
“She didn't need to,” Elliot interrupted. “As you can imagine, even though I no longer run those masquerades, I still very much take part in the . . . scene, if you will. Clandestinely these days, as I have a new client with strict Christian values. But still, I learn things about the patrons of the parties.”
“I see,” Sam said. “Well, that is the sort of information we're looking for. There's only so much intel I can gather as an attendee. Your inside knowledge would be invaluable to a case we're—
I'm
on.” He gave Jess a pointed look.
Jess took a step back, eager for Sam to leave. Though the room was spacious, with floor-to-ceiling windows and soft gray paint, Sam still managed to dominate any room he was in. And this time, there were two alphas clashing. It made Jess feel like the last banana they were fighting over. “Last I heard, you weren't on any cases . . .” she stated with chilly calm.
“Don't start,” Sam said through gritted teeth.
She chuckled at that. “Don't start what? Telling the truth? That you have no right interrogating this man because you're not even on active duty at the moment?”
“Jessica, that's enough,” Elliot said. And though normally she wouldn't have reacted well to any man hushing her, the look on Sam's face as she did what Elliot asked of her was too satisfying. His jaw dropped, eyes wide, as he studied Jess.
Sam raked a hand through dark hair, letting his palm trail down his neck and back to the dusting of dark brown stubble that shaded his jaw. Jess inhaled sharply, his scent the same earthy smell from the nights they had spent together. Woodsy. Masculine. And the effect of it was intoxicating.
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Sam mumbled.
“In any case,” Elliot continued, “I'd be open to discuss anything I know with the assistance of my lawyer. I'm happy to help Portland's finest in any way I can.” It was hard to miss the sarcasm ringing in his tone. It was about as subtle as a parade.
“Great.” Sam backed away, shaking his head. “We'll be in touch.”
As he walked out the door, Jess couldn't help but snicker and Elliot joined her with his own throaty chuckle.
“That was fun,” she said, taking her seat once more.
“I'm glad to hear you say that.” Elliot's eyes twinkled as he studied her. “Because I think I know our cover to get your sister's things out of your house. We're going to pose as lovers.”
12
“L
overs?” she coughed.
“Well, more specifically, you'll be my new trainee. I'll be your master and I'll be training you to be a submissive. It's the perfect excuse for why we would be together without raising any flags or unwanted attention.”
“Why can't we just be . . . be . . . I don't know . . .
friends
or something normal?”
Elliot wiped his mouth gently with a cloth napkin before dropping it to the table in front of them. “I don't like that word.
Normal
. Society always wants to label things. Put them in a pretty box and either judge or persecute. Well, you know what? My box is covered in leather and nipple clamps and it's just as valid as one wrapped in a Talbot's cardigan.”
Damn.
“You're right. I'm sorry.” Sometimes her tongue ran away from her mind before she had the sense to stop it. She stood, grabbing some money from her wallet.
He stood up as well, pointing a finger to the ceiling. “Lesson one. You never leave a table without finishing your drink or food and never without permission first.”
Jess clenched her hand around the money. “We are
pretending
to be lovers. We are not really together. And I am certainly not really your submissive. Let's get that fucking straight as an arrow right now.”
“Ah, but sweet Jessica. We need to be believable. And we only have a few short days to whip you into shape—”
“Whip?”
“Sorry, poor choice of words. In my community, people would be suspicious if I brought a non-trained submissive to a party as my partner.”
“Partner. Right.” She folded her arms, feeling the need to go on the defensive.
He stopped her before she could lock her arms across her chest and took one of her hands in his. Using his other hand, he brushed her jaw so lightly, she could have been touched with a feather and not have known the difference. “Yes,
partners
. While the titles of
dominant
and
submissive
suggest a hierarchy, it's quite the opposite. My submissives are my equals. Hell, maybe they're even above me. I worship them. I take care of them. And without one . . . I am nothing. Cass was my partner. You will likewise be my partner.”
The blood drained from her cheeks. “I won't have sex with you,” she declared.
That same amusement from before flashed in his eyes. “I don't expect you to. Sex is not the main focus of this lifestyle.”
“Well, then. I guess I have a lot to learn.”
“Indeed. And in a short amount of time, too.”
“Why do we only have a few days?”
“Portland hosts a yearly masquerade that combines all the official parties in the state of Maine into one huge bash.”
Jess gulped, tipping back the rest of her drink with a few heavy sips. Was that yearly party supposed to take place in Cass's house? It was a large enough home for a small gathering, but for a statewide party? There was no way . . .
“Don't worry. I have you covered, Jessica.” He smiled, taking her money and tucking it back into her purse. “And the bill here has already been settled.”
“I didn't see you pay it.”
He offered her his arm, which she took, feeling strangely like she belonged in a Jane Austen novel . . . one that allowed for her to wear jeans and flip-flops. “There was no need. I own the place.”
She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes at that.
Of course he does.
Tucking her purse under her arm, she allowed him to lead her to the elevator. “I'm surprised that you and Sam haven't crossed paths before today,” she said. She wasn't exactly sure why the question surfaced, but it had been buzzing around her head.
“We have. He just doesn't remember it. I've known who Sam McCloskey is for quite some time.”
“Where did you meet? At one of the parties?” Jess inhaled, catching the crisp scent of the aftershave on his skin.
“Where else?”
His chuckle dissolved and crackling heat buzzed between them as he looked down, meeting her eyes. This guy was so out of her league and yet his interest in her seemed to go beyond the explanation he'd given of her being Cass's sister. What the hell was she signing up for as this man's submissive?
But the moment of warmth, of intimacy was almost as fleeting as the excitement she felt and before she could define it, it was gone. He pushed the elevator button as a chill brushed between them and they stood in silence waiting. Very likely
both
of them were wondering what the hell they had gotten themselves into.
“How well do you know food?”
“Food?” Jess was caught utterly off guard by the question. “Um, I mean, well enough, I guess.”
“Well enough to determine what garnish would go best with a salmon fillet? Or what wine should be paired with crusted goat cheese?”
“Uh . . .”
“That's what I thought. Tomorrow evening, we'll do dinner at Hugo's and I'll teach you these things.”
“Tomorrow night? Fine. Who am I to turn down dinner?”
“You can leave the snark at home. It will taste bitter alongside the five-star cuisine.”
She didn't know exactly what his intentions were, but the guy was trying to help her. Even when she had barged into his office with a suitcase of money and a fake passport. Even when she accused him of knowing things about her sister's death. He was still here. The question was why? Because of some loyalty he felt to her sister? No, something wasn't quite adding up here. And Jess needed to find out what.
“Maybe instead of going to Hugo's, we could do something at your house?”
His eyes lit with surprise and what Jess thought was approval. “Oh?”
“I mean . . . would you usually be in public at a fancy dinner this early with a partner? Wouldn't you wait until I didn't . . . I dunno, accidentally pair port with salmon?”
His chuckle was an erotic rumble, deep and throaty. “Very well. My place, tomorrow night. I'll send a car for you at seven sharp.”
13
T
he next day passed slower than molasses through a straw. Sam's eyes were getting heavy as he pulled his car into the hospital employee parking lot. Normally six p.m. wasn't the sort of time that he would be getting drowsy, but he'd had a long day . . . a long week since his injury, and it was only Wednesday. The pain meds weren't helping with his alertness, either.
He moved quickly up the stairs to the neuro unit on the fourth floor and slid easily down the hall. He knew exactly where he was going. He also knew what Dr. Adams's schedule was that day thanks to a quick peek he had taken at the calendar on his office wall before leaving yesterday. And right about now, Dr. Adams would be finishing his last appointment of the day with just enough time to squeeze Sam in.
He got to the doctor's office and poked his head in. “Hey there, Doc. Got a minute?”
The older man had graying hair that was verging on becoming entirely white. He was startled, dropping some folders of paperwork onto his desk. “Detective, of course. Come on in. How are you feeling?”
“So much better,” Sam lied, ignoring that throbbing ache at the base of his neck.
“Really? No headaches?” Dr. Adams grabbed his flashlight, holding it up to Sam's eyes. “Follow the light,” he said.
“Nope. Weird, right?”
Dr. Adams said nothing, tucking the light back into his pocket and moving his hands to the base of Sam's neck. Sam caught his breath, praying that the doctor hadn't seen him wince.
“Very strange,” Dr. Adams murmured.
Above his desk there was a framed family picture of Dr. Adams with a woman in her fifties and a large group of what Sam suspected were his kids and grandkids. Sam scanned the image. One of the younger women . . . he knew her. And beside her was Dr. Moore. They all sat on an old train like the one down near the water at the train museum. “Your family?” Sam asked, gesturing to the image.
Dr. Adams smiled, nodding as he turned to look at the picture. “Sure is. Most of my kids live down in Vermont or Portsmouth now. All except my daughter and her husband.”
“Dr. Moore's your son-in-law?”
The doctor turned back to Sam, beaming. “He is. You know Marc?”
Sam shook his head. “Not well. We've crossed paths a few times.”
Dr. Adams pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Well . . . you can probably imagine that I'm more than a little surprised to learn you're having no pain. You're still taking the Percocets?”
“I am,” Sam said, not wanting to lie about drugs currently in his system. “But less than I should. Since I haven't needed them, I didn't want to overmedicate.”
“Hm.” The doctor eyed Sam in a way that suggested he was onto his lies. Or maybe Sam's own paranoia was surfacing. “And why'd you feel the need to come tell me this?”
“I thought that since I'm feeling better, maybe I could go back to work?”
“I can't let you do that yet. Not without another CAT scan to make sure the swelling in your brain has gone down. And even then, I would suggest inactive duty for a week and a slow progression back into your field work.”
“What about studying crime scenes and desk work?” Sam flashed the doctor a grin. Damn, that smile would go a lot farther if his doctor was a woman. He had a feeling his hundred-watt grin would have zero effect on Dr. Adams. “No chases or hunting down criminals. Just initial crime scene investigation and paper pushing.”
Dr. Adams rubbed a hand along his wrinkled brow. “I can't authorize that. What if something happened? What if your blood started to clot while you were out working? Something as simple as you walking around can cause swelling. I would be liable. The city would be liable. It's four more days, Detective. Take it as a sign that you could use the break. Most of my patients are thrilled to have paid time off.”
Fuck.
He had expected this, but even still his mood darkened right along with the setting sun out the window. “I'm not most patients.”
“I can see that. Look . . . stop taking the Percocets entirely for twenty-four hours. Come back tomorrow at four p.m. and we'll do another CAT scan. If you're really not in pain then and the swelling is gone, I'll clear you for partial active duty. That's the best I can do.”
“Not ideal, but I'll take it,” Sam said, and gestured to the door. “You leaving as well?” He knew the doctor had no more appointments—he could discern that much with a quick glance at the blank calendar hanging above Dr. Adams's desk.
The doctor hesitated, his foot nervously nudging a small overnight bag on the floor. “In a few minutes. Thanks for stopping by, Detective. And if any pain comes back, don't be shy with those Percocets. They'll work wonders and there's no shame in taking the extra time to heal.”
Well, no one could blame Sam for trying. Most people probably would have been thrilled to have the time off work, just like Dr. Adams said . . . but most people probably didn't have the lives of others in their hands. Sam thought for sure that a doctor would understand that. He paused in the doorway on his way out. “Doctor, when you were in your residency—when you were young and ambitious—would you have let something like this keep you from getting the best surgeries?”
Dr. Adams's smile creased his face. “No. But then again, they always say that doctors make the worst patients.”
“That's all I needed to hear.”
As Sam backed out of the door, his shoulder connected with someone. “I'm so sorry,” he said, spinning to finish his apology only to be met with Lulu, the submissive he'd met at the most recent masquerade. She was the latest submissive to Phantom—the alias of one of the masquerade's older and not so attractive dominants. Lulu's brown hair hung to her shoulders and contrasted with her pale skin. Her eyes widened, glossy with fear.
“Lulu,” Sam said, gently cradling her bony elbow. He could feel how thin she was through the light fabric of her sleeves and he couldn't help but worry for her. If she was his submissive, he would want to be certain she was eating enough. But if her physique was any indication, Phantom didn't seem to give a crap about her health. “I'm so sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going,” he apologized.
“It's fine.” She dropped her chin, and even though he couldn't see her face, he could sense her nervousness.
“You sure? I slammed into you pretty good there,” he said.
“Yes. I'm fine, thank you.”
He hated the way she was so afraid—of everything. She'd been afraid to talk to him at the party. Afraid to drink or do anything without Phantom's permission. That wasn't what this lifestyle was about. It should be fun, playful. An exciting ride that you take together. “It's okay . . . you can look at me,” Sam said.
He watched as she cracked her knuckles and slowly lifted her chin to meet his eyes. He gave her a smile. “See? Not so bad, right?” Red lipstick was smeared across her mouth, a distinct contrast with her fair skin. She was dressed up in a black dress, pantyhose, and heels. Fancy. Far too fancy for your typical doctor's appointment, observed Sam. “Well, anyway . . . I'll let you get on your way. It was good seeing you again.”
She didn't say anything else, but gave a quick nod, pausing before entering Dr. Adams's office. As Sam turned the corner, just out of view of the office and around the corner from the elevators, every instinct he ever had as a detective buzzed to life.
“Sam?”
He swung around, tension straining his body at the sight of Jess. Her army green button-down shirt hung silky and loose to her hips, but not without first brushing over her breasts and outlining those damned tight nipples of hers. Nipples he wanted desperately to draw into his mouth and worship with his tongue. Desire blazed in his groin, tightening his dick to a full-on erection in seconds flat. It had to be a fucking record. “What are you doing here?” Without thinking about it, his hands went to her waist, pulling her gently back against the wall and out of the line of vision of Dr. Adams's office. Her smooth cheeks flushed and he quickly pulled his hands back and to his sides.
Jess straightened, her spine stiff, and watched him warily. “I stopped by to say hi to Zooey, but she was sleeping.” Her voice echoed with suspicion as she glanced around. “Are you feeling okay? Did you see the doctor?”
“I had my follow-up appointment today.”
She examined him for a moment, then gave him the look he'd come to know so well over the years. The kind of look that was a preamble to an eye roll. “I see. And did the doctor also advise you to press your ear to the wall like some sort of five-year-old pretending to be like a spy?”
Heat flared through his chest and Sam wasn't sure if he should be insulted, frustrated, or just damn exhausted with her. “Not like a spy, like a detective. Because unlike a certain childish woman who thinks she's bulletproof,
I've
been trained for this. This is what I do, and I'm pretty damn good at it, Jessica.”
“Don't call me that,” she hissed.
“Oh, right. Sorry,
Jess
. I guess my problem is that I don't have enough in the bank to order you around and call you by your full name, isn't that right?”
She stiffened defiantly. “No, your problem is that you're an asshole who's confused bedroom games with real life.”
A shiver of crippling arousal tore through him. “I know you're pissed, but you're sexy as hell when you're mad at me.”
“Back off, Sam.”
“I tried that already. It's not going so well.” Before he could stop himself, he wrenched her into his arms and pressed his mouth against hers.
He expected her to fight him, to push him away and maybe slap him—hell, he probably deserved it. But rather than end the kiss, she curled her arms around his shoulders, arching into him and moaning with need that could have split right through his chest and into his heart like explosive shrapnel. His own hungry growl tore through him and as he curved his palms around her lush ass, the flaming desire overtook all of his senses.
Her hands speared into his hair as her soft breasts stroked his chest, pressing against him with each heaving breath she took. He moved his tongue against the seam of her lips, pulling one hand reluctantly from her ass to stroke the soft, velvety skin at her neck.
He was absolutely drowning in Jess. She wrapped her muscular legs around his hips, grinding herself against him and moving her body counterpoint to his. The friction against his cock was so intense that it sent shocking waves of pleasure surging through his body.
“Tell me you don't want this as much as I do.” he said, tearing his lips from hers, his hands and body still holding her firmly in place against the wall. What was it about Jess that tore through any ounce of patience he had? He'd never been able to control his feelings around her, not when he was fifteen and not now, over a decade later. What the hell was so addictive about her that he couldn't stay away—not even when it was for both his well-being and hers?
Whatever it was, Jess got into his head, his heart, his bloodstream, faster than the most potent liquor, and he craved the taste of her on his tongue. She gripped the collar of his shirt, her fingernails biting into the muscles leading from his neck to his shoulders. Lust tightened his balls and as she rolled her hips against his, his dick surged with a hunger so violent that he nearly lost all control.
He released her swollen lips, easing back and taking in her flushed face, expression tight with just as much of a need to orgasm as his. She ground herself against the ridge of his cock, once more pulling that swollen bottom lip between her teeth.
An announcement came across the hospital intercom in a static voice, calling for a doctor to go down to the NICU.
Shit, what am I doing?
Did the hospital pump some sort of aphrodisiac through the vents? “Jess,” he said hoarsely, “We need to talk. But not like this . . . not out in the open.” He dragged a finger gently down her cheek as a scowl contorted her mouth. “I'm not here as a patient right now. I'm here as a detective. And honestly,” he said, and paused, taking a deep breath. Honesty. He needed to be honest with her from now on. “Honestly, I have a hard time acting professionally when you're around.”
Her eyes widened and she braced her hands on his shoulders, pushing his body away from her. “Are you serious? You're pulling that card? That I'm just too sexy for you to focus?” Her fists clenched beside her and she moved to shove past him. “I never thought you were one to victim-blame.” She stopped midstride just a step beyond him and spun back to face him. “
Not
that I'm the victim in all of this.”
“I'm not victim-blaming,” he said. “And no one thinks of you that way, especially not me. I just shouldn't have kissed you. Not here, where anyone could see us. Particularly not when there are people actively trying to keep us apart and threatening our lives to do so. But the fact remains that you're a photographer, not a police officer. And apparently, you're also dating one of Portland's most renowned doms. Unless . . .” A moment of hope sparked in his gut. “Did that fizzle already?”
Anger blazed in her eyes, her voice throbbing with frustration. “No, it hasn't. I also got carried away just now.”
“Just a couple of days ago, you were fighting me on nearly every aspect of the BDSM lifestyle. Now you expect me to believe you and this Warner character are a thing? It doesn't add up, Jess.”
“Or maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do.” She dragged herself away from him and left, getting onto the next elevator.
BOOK: Wicked Release
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