Wolf Tales VI (26 page)

Better to limit herself to dating those she met in the normal course of her life, not that that often happened.

Well hell, such were the consequences of her unusual career.

Reminding herself that her job had made it possible for her to buy her own home while still in her twenties, she was about to log out when a new message came in. The sender’s name stopped her: Reeve.

Just wanted to follow up on what we touched on earlier. I mentioned that being allowed into your sexual world makes people like me feel as if we know you, but that’s wrong. Just because we go to movies and see close-ups of an actress’s lips doesn’t mean we’ve kissed those lips or know what she does at the end of the day. Your privacy has to be vital to you. In contrast to the very public nature of the way you earn a living, I’m sure you separate your public life from what takes place off-screen. Let me take a flier at this, a mental and creative exercise for lack of a better term. When the cameras are off, you remove your false fingernails and climb into the shower where you soap away the marks left by ropes and whips. Then you put on a coffee-stained old shirt and ratty tennis shoes. You get into a gas-guzzling SUV and head for a crowded freeway where you fantasize about running over some of the idiots on it. You’d love to take out that cheap broad in the beater who’s smoking while her kids are in the backseat. Home is a luxury condo with a state-of-the-art security system and watchmen who tell you about their grandchildren and whom you bake cookies for. Your furnishings are sleek and modern with speakers that can rock the whole building. Your closet is the size of most people’s living rooms, and you have a white, long-haired cat that barely tolerates you. As for men, hmm, I’m drawing a blank there, so I’ll draw on my imagination. The complex’s pool man isn’t called ever-ready for nothing, and even the security grandpa is good for an occasional round. The gay couple next door would change sexual orientation if you’d give them a nod, but you’re no homewrecker. You nearly got married to the quarterback, in college—you majored in physics with a minor in underwater basketweaving—but you caught him behind the goalpost with the mascot and shoved his engagement ring up his nose. Am I close in any of this?

Laughing, Saree stared at her fingers poised over the keyboard. Should she? Wisdom said no, but hadn’t she already taken some huge risks in life, and look where she was, more than solvent with a job she loved, most of the time.

Hi Reeve, not even close, I’m afraid. To set things straight, I was raised by Eskimos and by age ten could reduce a whale carcass to a skeleton in two hours. Unfortunately, that earned me more than a little problem with frostbite, so I jumped on the next cruise ship heading for the tropics. For the next eight years I supported myself selling bait shrimp and moonlighting as a bartender until a gun battle between rival commercial fishermen reduced the bar to rubble. I’d been living with a pirate and thought I had it made, but he tried to sell me to a tugboat captain so I took off for California. The details of how I got into the porn industry are a little hazy, but I do remember waking up on the operating table with spectacular boobs—they are something, aren’t they—and deciding to let them earn their keep. Housing is an old warehouse that was cut into apartments. The roof leaks and the plumbing’s a joke, but it’s cheap. I do have a boyfriend, for lack of a better term, and if you follow professional wrestling, I’m sure you’ve seen Bubba. He recently changed his hair color from orange to blue, which works better with his eyes. Believe me, you don’t want to mess with Bubba. Neither do you want to try to carry on a conversation with him for at least three days after he’s lost a match. Now, how about you?

Bubba? You know Bubba? Can you get his autograph for me? Look, I want you to tell him something. I lost a cool twenty grand betting on that loser. I’m planning on being at his next match, and if he blows it again, I’m climbing into the ring and spreading his nose all over his face.

Too late, macho man. Someone already beat you to the punch. That’s where he is tonight, trying to get his hands on enough money to get his nose put back together. He didn’t say where he was going, and I didn’t ask.

That mean you’re alone tonight?

Not to you, big boy. Not to you.

Sitting in the dark with the monitor light playing on his features, Reeve Robinson slowly reread what Sass had written. Interesting. Sass, or more accurately Saree McKeon, had a keen sense of humor and was quick-witted, judging by how little time it had taken her to reply to his carefully worded nonsense. He had to admire her because glib rejoinders came easily to her. Granted, his agenda was multilayered, while she was just having fun.

More than having fun, he decided as the minutes stretched out. He intrigued her. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have lowered her self-imposed barrier between herself and the faceless, nameless men who fantasized about getting their hands on and their cocks in her. Images of countless hands wrapped around countless cocks made him wish he’d mixed his drink stronger, but that was nothing compared to what went on in certain shadowy rooms—shadowy buildings surrounded by impenetrable security systems.

Turning off the computer, he stood and stalked to the nearest window. Night hadn’t finished killing the day, but it wouldn’t take much longer and then—

Then the monsters—himself included—came out.

Keep the beast at bay. Damn it, don’t let it loose! Do your job.

Yeah, the job. He’d taken a vital step tonight by introducing himself to Saree. Next came learning whether she had the guts and courage for the role he believed he had to force on her. Everything he’d learned about her had pointed to her ability to survive, but just as he wore masks, she undoubtedly had her own.

One thing, the woman embraced forced sex, or at least the pretence of it. The question of whether her submissiveness was genuine or part of her public façade would be answered soon. And did it really matter as long as he got and kept her on her knees?

“I’m hunting you, Saree. Don’t look over your shoulder because you won’t hear me coming until it’s too late. And once we’re together…”

Damn it! He’d had no intention of grabbing his hurting cock! This was nothing more than another assignment, and he was a pro. Keeping her captive, naked, helpless, and dependent on him wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle.

Who the fuck are you trying to kid? his cock demanded.

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