by His Slave
None of your damn business. “I wasn’t hungry that day.”
Atwood opened and closed his mouth. He then looked over at Robert. For the first time since the bizarre conversation had started, Mace felt as if he had the upper hand.
“I’m a restless man. Horny, but not for the same old, same old. I’m always on the prowl for a new experience.”
“You’re not interested in playing with her again?”
Making his shrug count, Mace pretended to study Cheyenne’s frozen form. “Not particularly. She doesn’t have anything more to give.”
“Not for you, perhaps, but there are a lot of men who’d love to get their hands on her.”
“Have them contact her then.”
Atwood’s smile was better suited on a ferret. “That’s not what the Blind Spot is about.”
27
Cheyenne hadn’t seen Mace since he’d passed by her cubicle earlier, thank goodness. And he’d ignored her when she arrived this morning. As he’d promised, he’d called several times on Sunday, the conversations brief, which was exactly what she wanted, needed.
However, she had some unfinished business with him that had nothing to do with telling him that she’d made an appointment with a security company.
Both dreading and anticipating her lunch break made concentrating on her article all but impossible. She tried to convince herself she wasn’t making progress because she didn’t have all the information she needed, but that was a lie. Not only was the time she’d spent in Indulgences’ back room burned into her memory and body, there was the matter of the damn collar.
Ordering herself not to touch it didn’t stop her fingers from trailing there. Every time she did, heat flowed through her. Much more stimulus and she’d—damn Mace!
After what felt like a good chunk of her life, her coworkers started stirring. Instead of joining them at the adjacent café or nearby restaurants, she headed for the stairs. Fortunately, she had them to herself, which meant not having to hold up her end of a conversation.
Reaching street level, she cautiously opened the door and looked out at the lobby. As he usually was this time of the day, Mace was watching the front door. He wouldn’t take his own lunch until everyone was back and accounted for. She waited until the lobby was empty except for him before approaching him. No surprise, he turned before she reached him.
“We need to talk,” she said without preliminary. “Now and in private.”
“I can’t leave, you know that.”
Although he was sitting, her senses filled with memories of what it felt like to have him looming over her. His legs were hidden under his desk, not that that helped. A hint of the soap he’d used this morning tantalized.
Damn it, she wasn’t going to think about him standing naked under the warm spray. She didn’t dare.
“I’m aware of that,” she said, then jumped into her canned speech. A storage room containing copies of past magazines given to visitors was off the lobby. They could go in there and keep the door open a crack.
“All right.” He started to stand, prompting her to step back. “I’m not going to bite.”
“I’m aware of that,” she snapped. “It’s a matter of my wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible.”
Giving weight to her words, she led the way to the storage room. He followed behind, pure sex seeming to radiate out from him to challenge her resolve. But she wasn’t going to change her mind. Her sanity depended on it.
The windowless room was small and cramped, and Mace much too close. At least she’d had the sense to turn on the light. Leaning against a floor-to-ceiling shelf filled with musty magazines, she started to fold her arms over her breasts. His eyes followed the movement, and she did what she’d intended back when she’d decided on this meeting. She wrapped her fingers around the collar.
“I want it off. Now.”
“You couldn’t wait until later?”
“Of course I could.” Hoping to keep her voice steady, she spoke slowly and clearly. “But there’s no time like the present.”
“Why?”
She’d known he’d ask. If only she’d had a hint he would with his arms at his sides while wearing the world’s sexiest black knit shirt. The damn thing clung to every muscle.
“The past weekend was a wakeup call for me, Mace.” Saying his name wasn’t smart, too many nerve endings got involved. “I appreciate your role in it, more than you’ll know.”
“Get to it, Cheyenne. It’s been a hell of a morning for me.”
Oh, so she was a nuisance, was she? Well, what did that make him? “I learned I don’t like being a sub after all.”
“Oh?” He lifted his eyebrows.
Hoping he’d continue to keep his attention on her face and not her too-taut breasts, she nodded. “You know about my childhood. Turns out I was wrong thinking I could put it behind me by having someone boss me around.” She gave the collar a tug. “I need to be in control of my body. A big part of that involves getting rid of this.”
“I know subs, Cheyenne. You’re one.”
Another mark in his favor, he wasn’t infringing on her personal space. Now if only she could get him out from under her skin. “No, I’m not. Hell, maybe I was until you gave me that demonstration of the real deal.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Imagining popping him in the chops propelled her on. “I’m sorry if I’m deflating your balloon. Maybe you’re thinking I found fault with your sexual prowess. Believe me, I didn’t. The sex was amazing.” Determined to get a grip on the need running through her, she took a deep breath.
“This isn’t easy for me, Mace. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. I’ve never experienced the kind of intimacy you and I shared.” Never will again. “But it isn’t healthy for me, and I don’t want it to happen again. Can you understand that?”
“I’m trying to.”
The bright, bare light overhead stripped his features of definition and made them garish. Hers probably looked no better, but she was grateful for the glare. Otherwise, his dark, intense eyes might be more than she could handle. If only he was simply a body, a sexual object.
“I didn’t sleep much last night,” she admitted. “And Sunday after you left was damn long. I did a lot of soul searching.”
“I imagine you did.”
Although she wished he’d admit the same, she wasn’t surprised by his response. After all, this was a man who’d learned to keep his emotions to himself. Maybe they’d died in the process.
“What exists between us isn’t healthy.” There. That’s what she’d intended to say all along. “I need and intend for it to stop. Right now I can’t deal with how my decision impacts you, but my guess is you’ll come out just fine. Maybe the only difference this time is that I pulled the plug instead of the other way around.”
“Go on.”
Envying his ability to remain motionless for so long, she spun the collar around so the unobtrusive locking device was in front. Then she rammed her hands in the front pockets of her slacks. Her fingers were closer to her crotch than wise, but she was strong and resolute. No way would she touch herself. The fire there would have to burn untended.
“I’ve said all I intended to. There’s no need to spell it out further. We’ll continue to run into each other at work, but the personal relationship is over.”
He nodded, the first movement from him in she didn’t know how long. Such a little thing shouldn’t impact her, right? Then why did she want his hands on her, touching everywhere, feeding the fire?
Let me out of here, Mace. Don’t make me hurt any more than I am.
No other man handled his body as if it belonged on a sleek-muscled predator. Every move was clean and beautiful and sexy as hell. Guessing he was reaching into his own pocket for the key that would free her made watching even harder. Praying he wouldn’t know, she tightened her sex muscles. It didn’t help. Nothing would.
As she’d mentally mapped out this conversation, s
he’d focused entirely on what she’d say and how she thought he’d react. In her stupidity, she hadn’t given enough thought to this moment when his fingertips touched her throat.
They’d had sex in the dark at his place, made love really, and she craved those deep shadows where it was just the two of them and their emotions. Instead, she jammed her hands farther into her pockets and kept her feet firmly planted, her head turned to the side to protect her from the full impact of his breath.
When he pulled up on the collar, it alarmed her, but then she realized he was simply getting a better angle on it. Thinking to help, she tilted her head upward. He could easily kiss her this way; if he did, she’d lose it. Her arms would go around him, and she’d widen her stance, draw him into her.
The click signaling her freedom barely penetrated. It wasn’t until he drew the collar off her that she faced reality.
“Thank you,” she said, determined not to rub her throat.
“You’re welcome.”
“That’s it then,” she babbled because he hadn’t stepped back. “We’re on the, ah, same page. From now on the only thing we have in common is that we work for the same company.”
“Sorry. We also share the same memories.”
The collar dangled from his fingers, making her question her decision. More than question, she needed to be wearing it again. Needed him owning her.
But if she allowed that to happen, she’d lose herself.
“Memories fade.” She could walk past him, but not without their bodies brushing. “I’m sure you’ll soon replace me.”
He waved the collar in front of her. “What are you going to replace this with?”
Don’t do this, please. “Nothing.”
“Don’t be so sure.” He let the collar trail between her breasts, not stopping until it grazed her belly. “The need inside you isn’t going to go away that easily.”
“Stop it!” She slammed her palms against his chest. He stepped back, which made it possible for her to slide around him. “You don’t know me, damn it. You think you can manipulate me by saying those things, but you’re wrong.”
She was free, standing in the door jam, splitting her attention between his steel-glint gaze and the thankfully still-empty lobby.
“Be careful, Cheyenne. You don’t know either of us as well as you think or need to.”
Atwood was checking the details of a new advertising contract when his intercom buzzed. He picked it up.
“Her collar’s gone,” Robert said.
“Shit no.”
“Shit yes. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“He did it. The bastard.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Robert corrected. “Here’s my thinking. Could be he was just accommodating her, being the considerate bastard he is. If that’s the case, I’m thinking it’s time for her to undergo an attitude adjustment, a permanent one.”
Slapping his hand on the contract, Atwood leaned back. His chair squeaked. “Let’s talk about this a minute. The specifics of her becoming a missing person haven’t been finalized.”
“I’ll make sure that happens today. Such a shame that Schulz’s stupid and loyal family members became so incensed about her article detailing how he murdered his ex wife—a real bitch, according to them—that they’ve done something to her. A double shame that her body will never be found.”
“You’re confident everything can be set in place today?”
“Of course. It isn’t as if this is our initial foray into taking a person out of one world and into another.”
“True. In that case, I agree we shouldn’t put this off. The sooner the transportation takes place, the better. How do you think he’ll react?”
“You heard me. There’s damn little Mace cares about. One thing, despite his protestations to the contrary, I have no doubt he wants her on her knees before him. Hell, he was born for the Blind Spot package. He’ll fall right in.”
“And disappear from this world, which means we have not one but two reassignments to deal with.”
“Would you quit obsessing on minor details? The work will be worth the effort.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. Bank on it.”
It was nearly nine at night by the time Cheyenne let herself into her condo. Unaccustomed to being out late on a weeknight, she was dragging, but given her state of mind, she hadn’t seen a viable alternative. The idea of sitting home mulling over what did no good to mull had left her shaking. Besides, in the wake of the camera in her bedroom, being home spooked her a little. Thursday and a visit from the security company couldn’t come soon enough. Her so-called solution had been to go to the mall after work. Feeling isolated from the groups of teens, parents, and children, even the occasional elderly couple ambling around like herself, she’d choked down something called Chinese but didn’t taste like it at the food court.
Her stomach had churned as she’d wandered through store after store, avoiding one with its sexily dressed manikins. She’d actually gotten as far as the department store cash register with a pair of shoes, but in the end putting down good money simply because they fit hadn’t made sense. Truth was, concentrating on something as complex as shoe styles had been beyond her.
At least, she told herself as she kicked off her flats after checking to make sure her windows were locked, she’d saved herself a charge on her credit card. Hopefully falling asleep wouldn’t be as difficult as it had been last night.
In the bathroom, she stripped out of her clothes and washed her face. She grabbed her nightgown from the hook behind the door, but pulling it over her head seemed like a lot of effort. Looking at her reflection in a mirror that needed cleaning, she tried to give her face an objective once-over. Instead, she wound up wondering what Mace had seen when he looked at her.
Too damn much. A band around her neck, restraints on her wrists and ankles, a gag, flogger marks on nearly every inch of her body. There was something else, she acknowledged, specifically sex juices tracking down her inner thighs.
“I did what I had to,” she informed the bleary-eyed broad in the mirror. “Got out before I lost me.”
She’d done a lousy job of making her bed this morning, which necessitated throwing back the coverlet so she could dig for the top sheet. Finding it wadded near the bottom, she yanked it up. Then came the hard part, contemplating turning off the lights and climbing into bed. Reaching for the lamp wasn’t hard, but instead of crawling under the wrinkled sheet, she sat on the side of the bed.
Okay, so she’d sat like this at Mace’s house Saturday night. That was no reason for her brain to shut down and her nerves to take over now. She’d assign no more than a minute to indulging a certain itch. Tonight wasn’t about climaxing, no way. Granted, a hand was already fingering her pussy. There was no crime in that, nothing that said release had to be part of the scenario. She’d touch a little, stroke what was dangerously sensitive, but she wouldn’t pretend Mace was doing the deed, no way.
Sighing, she flopped back on the bed, head landing on her pillow and knees bent, buttocks lifting to aid access. She was already wet, which made it pig simple for a finger to slip past what she really couldn’t call a barrier. For a woman who prided herself on staying in shape and away from the dessert table, this part of her anatomy was remarkably soft and puffy.
And responsive.
Another sigh accompanied a roll onto her side. She could do this without Mace either physically or emotionally. Satisfaction had often been a solitary sport for her. She’d made up the necessary rules. All it took was a little imagination, a receptive mindset, experienced fingers.
She was repositioning her arm for greater access when a weight landed on her, pushing her into the mattress. Powerful arms wrenched her onto her belly. A hand pressing against the back of her head kept her face in the pillow and robbed her of air as other hands pulled her arms behind her and handcuffed her. The pressure let up, allowing her to suck in air. As she did, someone forced a gag
between her teeth. Moments later, her ankles had been taped together.
“Time to deliver the package,” a strange male voice said. “Then we get paid.”
Robert was behind the wheel of a luxury automobile Mace had never seen him driving. He, Robert, and Atwood were heading for the city limits, going the opposite direction from Mace’s place.
When Cheyenne hadn’t shown up for work on Tuesday, he’d first called her condo and then gone there. He’d used a locksmith’s key to get in. Finding her car in the garage, her purse in the living room, and signs of a struggle on the bed had had him on the brink of calling the police. Instead, he’d returned to Edge where he’d confronted his employers.
“You work fast,” Atwood had said the moment he’d walked into the office. “We didn’t think you’d get involved so soon.”
In no mood for evasion, he’d demanded to know what the hell they’d done with Cheyenne.
“Let’s say she’s in a better place. A place we have no doubt you’ll approve of once you understand.”
Now, the workday and sunlight behind him, he had no choice but to go with the pair. The only good thing about it was that his gun rested in the small of his back.
This end of the valley had never held much interest for him. Known as Industry Row, it was home to many of the area’s manufacturing plants. In the wake of the recent recession, several had gone out of business. There were too many “For Sale” signs.
Obviously a deserted building wasn’t their destination because Robert kept driving until they reached the foothills. He then turned off the country highway and onto a twisting road where a few hearty souls lived in widely spread houses that clung to the sides of steep slopes. After some five miles, the pavement gave out. From the passenger’s seat, Mace noticed that there were no more mailboxes. He’d been here once when he was looking for a place to buy, only to turn around. Isolation was one thing, a nonfunctioning road quite another.
If he could believe the men who’d enticed him to accompany them, they were heading to where Cheyenne was. What little white knight was in him said he’d rescue her. An essential question was what, if anything, did she need rescuing from, and did she want him doing it? Another consideration: Robert and Atwood had gone to a lot of trouble getting her to wherever they were going. They’d hardly let him and Cheyenne walk away.