by Abby Gordon
An image of stainless steel and the feel of a pussy’s heat around his cock flashed through his mind. A moan. Bessie’s moan. Where the fuck had that come from?
“Yup, yup, yup,” was the response as Tre seated himself in the leather chair across the desk. “How about when all this is over you go to New York and spend a week letting your inner Dom out on whatever subs Liam has?”
“Yeah? And what about the trouble you inevitably get into while I’m gone?”
“Hey, I have my woman,” he replied smugly as he leaned back. “I’ll be in the basement of our new house once we get it all set up.”
“Tre, if I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?”
“Depends on the question.”
“That’s a ‘no’ then,” muttered Chance. “Fuck.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Narrowing his eyes, Chance studied the man.
“What did you do? Hypnotize her or something?”
“Or something,” Tre answered with a smile before getting to his feet. “Chance, you’re a miracle worker at getting things done. I’m not worried about it because I know you’ll make it happen.”
Chance dialed again and muttered.
“Shit. Now I have to go deal with the tease in person since she won’t answer the phone.” He pulled on his jacket and tucked his cell phone in the inner pocket. “Why she doesn’t have more than one person in such a busy office is beyond me.”
“Do me a favor?” Tre started as they left the suite in the Victorian-turned-bed-and-breakfast. “See if you can find out what her problem is. Alice is worried. Bessie hasn’t been acting normally.”
“What’s normal and what’s not?” Chance wondered as they reached the staircase.
“The way she was when we first got here. Bubbly, energetic, laughing, smiling.” Tre frowned thoughtfully as they made their way down the steps to the large front entryway. “Bessie hasn’t met the girls at the café or their exercise classes in weeks. As near as Alice can figure out, no one in the family has actually talked to her in twenty-three days, when she suddenly disappeared from Terence’s welcoming party for us.”
The chandelier over them flashed brightly twice. Chance glanced up at it. Lights flickered. That meant something. He just didn’t have a clue as to what.
“Chance?” Tre shook his arm. “You with me here?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Chance replied, nodding. “See what’s wrong with Bessie. Got it.”
“You’re not doing much better,” commented Tre at Chance’s distracted response.
“I’m fine. Just irritated at your realtor is all.”
“Uh-huh,” murmured the actor, pulling on his sunglasses as they stepped onto the wide front porch into the bright sunshine. “I’m meeting Alice for lunch.”
“School’s out already?”
“State testing,” Tre explained, gesturing at the bistro across the street. “I love small towns. Everything is within a few blocks of everything else.”
“And nothing ever happens,” Chance retorted. “You don’t think you’ll get bored?”
“I’ve had enough excitement in one lifetime,” Tre replied drily. “I could use a little boredom.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll go deal with Bessie. Pick up a sandwich or something for me.”
“You got it.”
Walking the four blocks to the centuries-old brick building that held Bessie’s office, he muttered to himself the entire way, working himself into a fever pitch, ignoring the businesses and government offices that lined the main street. It didn’t help to know that Tre’s jabs about his lack of sexual activity was contributing to his mood.
He wasn’t used to such a dry spell. It had been three months since he’d last had sex, and nearly five since his last trip to New York to, as Tre put it, “let his inner Dom out.” What he wouldn’t do to find someone like Tre’s Alice. He knew he wasn’t going to get a straight answer from his friend on what had happened at the diner all those weeks ago.
He’d be happy to find out what had been happening to his mind the past three weeks. Ever since the mayor’s welcoming party. Dammit. He remembered going there, meeting and greeting the local hierarchy, talking to Bessie, but he couldn’t remember any details. And he always remembered details. He knew he’d seen and spoken with Bessie. He’d told her he wanted to speak with her. Hadn’t he? Pain stabbed at his mind. But she’d left abruptly. And not spoken to him since. Every communication since then had been through email. And not talking to her family?
That didn’t fit with what he knew about the Anderssons. Especially the four female cousins. They met for coffee every Saturday morning, often met in the late afternoon or early evenings for exercise classes at the new fitness center, and were more like sisters than…
No, he told himself. Don’t think about sisters. Don’t even go there.
But once cracked, the door of memories was hard to shut. He and two little girls huddled under an old raincoat on a corner, nibbling on the last half of a sandwich. Peering through the rain, hope fading that they’d see the beat up, old sedan come around the corner it had last been seen. A pair of police cruisers had pulled up instead. Gruff officers separating the three screaming, crying children.
Chance had to stop, tears in his eyes. Gasping for air, he shoved the images back behind the locked place in his mind, in his heart. He hadn’t seen his sisters since that day. He had no idea what had happened to them, why his parents had never returned. He had been put into the foster system. After nearly a decade, he’d met Tre and found his first, and only, friend. Nearly twenty years later, despite all his searches, he still hadn’t found his sisters.
Someone walking by brushed his sleeve and jerked him back into the now. Gathering his thoughts, he remembered his mission. Bessie. Right. He took two steps and frowned. Why did his memories of the party at the mayor’s house seem so fuzzy and conflicted? He was sure that something happened. He just couldn’t be sure if that something was good or bad. Sometimes he was sure it had been mind-blowingly good. And other times his gut was in a knot at the certainty that something horrible had happened.
Slowly moving down the street again, he tried to make sense of the images he remembered. But those memories were like wisps of smoke. Pausing in front of her building, he looked up at the windows of her third-floor offices. Dammit. Bessie was at the center of the problem. She would help him sort this all out. Why the hell hadn’t he figured that out sooner?
Opening the door, he unzipped his coat as he took the polished oak steps two at a time to the third-floor office. Hearing her voice through the slightly open door, he paused in the hall.
“…no, Mom…Mom, I’m busy with work. No, I can’t…because I have to make sure Alice and Tre’s paperwork goes through and I am not going to let that get screwed up.”
Reassured at her last sentence, Chance put a hand on the handle to push the door further only to hear her groan then a light green sandal hit the wall near the door. Followed by another as she groaned again in frustration.
“Mom, will you listen to me a moment? I am not going to be at the dinner tonight. Well, make up your mind then. I either have the career that lets you brag to everyone or I show up to sit next to a man who is a combination of octopus and asshole. Because that’s what Terence is—an octopus and an asshole.”
Realizing Bessie’s mother was trying to set her up with Terence McAnders, the town’s mayor, Chance pushed open the door and entered the office. Over his dead body would Bessie be with that…octopus asshole. Memories of her trying to keep the mayor’s hands off her that night were suddenly superimposed with images of her arms and legs around Chance as he pinned her against…a stainless steel surface.
He shook his head. He was losing his mind. He sure as hell would remember fucking Bessie anywhere, much less trying to grab a quickie… He frowned. Where had they been?
She was standing at her desk, back to the door. And, God help him, she had on another
skin-tight skirt and a blouse that clung to curves just begging for his touch. He shoved his hands in his coat pockets to resist the temptation.
Images flashed in his mind. The short, low-cut dress Bessie had been wearing with the sky-high, strappy heels that practically screamed “bend me over and fuck me right here and now.” The instinctive male need to drag her someplace where he could do just that. Instead, he’d…done what he’d just done. Put his hands in his pockets and watched the mayor put his hands on her curves. Watched her trying to get away from the other man. Even asking him with a desperate pleading look for help. Which, to his shame, he’d turned away from. As had everyone else.
There was a pop of light in the hallway and he glanced over his shoulder. The ceiling light was steady, as if it shouldn’t have just gone out. Lights. Something about lights the night of the party. The chandelier at the B&B that had flickered when Tre brought up the party. Every time he’d thought to go to Bessie, taken a step toward her, the lights had flashed and he’d shrugged it off.
The party. What the hell had happened at the party?
And that, Chance thought with a flash of insight, was the key to his irritation. He hadn’t responded to her need for help. He’d gone against every instinct that had been screaming at him to go up to her, take her away from the mayor and make it obvious to everyone else in the room, which had been every mover and shaker within a hundred miles, that Bessie was his. Instead, he’d let the moments tick by until he’d rejoined Tre and Alice, who had been frantic about her cousin suddenly leaving after Terence had insisted she accompany him to get more wine. Again, his instincts had told him that the mayor had made his move and Bessie had had to fight him off. And again, he hadn’t done anything.
Why? He’d never done anything like that before. Since his sisters had been torn from his protection, he’d kept everyone at an emotional distance but had never stood for anyone being harmed in front of him. Why had he that night? Suddenly his mind spun and he put a hand on the door frame for balance. Had he? The images overlapped now and he wasn’t sure what had happened.
One part of him was saying he’d let Bessie be mauled by Terence and refused to help her when the mayor clearly was trying to get her down to his wine cellar for purposes other than getting more wine. Another part was saying…he had gone down with Bessie? He shook his head.
Now he didn’t know what he had done.
So, what was he going to do now? Stand back and let her mother try to push her at a man who at the very least had sexually assaulted her? Or was he going to man up? Turning slightly, Chance pushed the door closed and flipped the lock. His mind made up, he faced the woman who was staring at him with a combination of panic and relief. And didn’t that make him wonder if she lumped him in with the octopus asshole?
This time he expected the lights to flash even if he wasn’t sure what they meant.
****
Bessie jumped at the sound and spun around. Her annoyance at the interruption turned to a blend of emotions. She’d much rather deal with her soon-to-be cousin-in-law’s stiff-necked business partner than her mother. But, God, why did her heart skip a beat whenever she saw him? Whenever she heard his voice, her pussy tightened. Even seeing his name in her email or on her cell phone made her hot.
“Mom, a client just arrived. I have to go.”
Sitting down, she hung up and leaned back in the leather chair.
“You have perfect timing.”
“So I’ve been told,” he replied, glancing at the messy office.
He bent down and picked up the sandals. For some reason, he turned them over and looked at the heel. She bit her inner cheek. Since the mayor’s party, she hadn’t worn heels, and had thrown away the pair from that night.
“Thank you for the rescue this time.”
It still hurt that no one at that party had done anything to protect her from Terence’s sexual advances. He’d been pawing at her openly, rubbing up against her ass, and no one had done a damn thing. And then she’d been stupid enough to go with him to the wine cellar. She’d broken two wine bottles over his head to escape him, thrown a third, and twisted her ankle on those damn heels in her rush to get up the stairs before he could catch her. He’d torn her panties off, and ripped her dress in the process. In her haste to leave, she’d left her coat, just grabbing her purse. Alice had brought her coat the next day, trying to find out what had happened. Bessie had been too embarrassed and confused to tell her.
“You decided not to clean up?”
Oh, sure. Ignore my comment. He probably had no idea she had nearly been raped, and probably wouldn’t care. Men. She glared at him but suddenly her gaze was drawn to his hands as he handed her the sandals. And her body seemed to heat up. Those hands had been on her, touching her intimately. And she had wanted it. Wanted it? She felt her blood hum. Yes, she had wanted him to touch her, but not Terence. Terence, who had…
“Things have been a bit hectic since Jeanine quit.” She bent to put the sandals back on.
Jeanine had insisted she should have given in to Terence’s attentions, saying a relationship with him would boost the agency beyond the county because of his connections. The thought had churned Bessie’s stomach to the point she’d had to race for the toilet. She’d been nauseated ever since. Last night, an erotic dream featuring the man now scowling at her had sent her to the drugstore on her way to the office. The results of peeing on the stick had stunned her. She’d put it in her purse, along with the second test she hadn’t taken yet. She was sure she’d lost her mind.
“When did that happen?” He seemed startled and frowned.
“Last Tuesday. We had a disagreement on which direction to take the agency,” she replied, turning her head. Time for a different subject. “I’m glad you came by. The contractor sent the plans with the changes Tre and Alice want, and I had a question about them.”
“I’m surprised you can find them in this mess.”
She ignored the pain the sneer in his voice and expression caused. Instead, she reached into the open file drawer and pulled out the tube with the plans.
“I suppose you have everything in place to one-hundredth of an inch and nothing dares to step a toe out of line,” she muttered under her breath. “God forbid you relax and have any fun in life.”
“Oh, I have fun,” his deep voice told her.
She jumped. How had he gotten so close to her so quickly and quietly? But there he was, next to her chair, looming over her.
“You? You have fun?” she taunted, lifting her chin defiantly. “Do you even know what the word means?”
“I have been known to look it up in the dictionary from time to time to refresh my memory,” he replied, dark eyes narrowing. “But work comes first. From the look of your office, I would say the opposite is true for you.”
“Shows what you know,” Bessie retorted, taking the plans out of the tube and unrolling them. “Jeanine threw a temper tantrum before she left and I haven’t been able to sort things out.”
“Jeanine threw a temper tantrum?” Chance said quietly. “Just like Jeanine threw both of your shoes just now?”
Bessie flushed, then focused on the plans. “I don’t understand this room,” she told him, tapping her finger on a corner room in the basement. “The notes say it’s to be soundproofed, a small bathroom added, some ventilation, and a special locking mechanism. Plus, a separate stairwell connecting to their bedroom. What is it? One of those panic rooms I hear the rich and famous are convinced they need because crazy people are going to come after them?” She glanced up at him with a laugh, which died in her throat at the intent expression on his face. She followed his gaze and realized he was looking down her blouse. “I mean, really…”
“Do you really want to know what it is?” he asked, his voice deepening.
“I…” What was it about this man? With one look, he made her nipples tingle and the sound of his voice at that timbre, with that hint of a rasp, made her pussy clench. He hadn’t come after her wh
en she’d left the party. She knew that for certain. He’d been driving her crazy with all the phone calls, but she hadn’t been able to deal with those. Hearing his voice…did things to her body she couldn’t deal with. “Of course.”
“I don’t think you can handle it.”
“It’s going to be in my cousin’s house,” she insisted, unable to quell the shiver that went from her toes up her spine. “Of course, I can handle it…”
Her voice drifted off as he leaned closer. His right hand on the back of her chair turned it slightly toward him as his left hand landed on the plans.
“You really want to know, little Bessie?”
“Yes,” she snapped, glaring up at him. Why would he ask her twice? “Why wouldn’t I want to know? I mean, it’s my cousin and…”
His left hand came up, caught her chin, and forced her to tilt her head so he could stare down at her face.
“I asked twice because most people can’t handle it. That room is a sex dungeon. It needs to be soundproof so that, when Alice is a bad girl, Tre can spank her and no one will hear her crying. Or when they get really loud when they fuck, no one will hear their screams and shouts. Or whatever other noise they make. Do you want that, little Bessie? Have you deserved spankings?”
Bessie stared at him a long moment, unable to believe what he’d just said. Alice? Sweet timid Alice? Into spankings? Or…or… Chance’s long fingers caressed her face and she had a sudden longing.
“No, of course not. How dare you suggest such a thing?”
Gasping, she brought up her hands, shoved him out of her way, and raced for the door.
A pale yellow light appeared, coalescing into a near human shape. With a small scream of alarm, Bessie backpedaled, colliding with Chance who had started to follow her. Seeing the light, he pulled her behind him.
I don’t mean to frighten you, friend of Tre and relative of Alice. I’m not here to harm you.
“Friend of…” Chance stared, his grip tightening on Bessie. The voice was light, feminine, but anything that could pop in and out like that wasn’t necessarily friendly. “Who are you?”