by Audra North
Of course, there was always the chance that he was wrong and Beatrice wasn’t anything like he thought she was. But he’d known her for a year and he’d observed her every time they were in a room together, since the first time they’d met, and there was something about her that made him feel less tense simply being near her. He was pretty sure that despite her inexperience, she’d still be able to deliver at least a little of what he needed.
If she also happened to follow through with some of the things he’d seen in those Queen Dommes ads around the city—well, bonus. He rushed into the locker room to suit up right as the deputy chief walked in.
“Listen up, gentlemen! We’ve got a first-class asshole over on Claremont. Kidnapped his thirteen-year-old son from the mother’s house and is holding him hostage with a grenade.”
Fuck. Thirteen years old. Nate was thirteen. Warren couldn’t imagine his nephew going through something like that, and because of his own father.
Of course, the closest thing Nate had to a dad was Warren, which made it even worse. And now he had to lead this mission?
His lungs felt tight and his hand clenched on the door of his locker. Fuck fuck fuck.
At least he understood now why he’d been chosen. He knew how to deal with explosives. They’d have to put in protection around the block, and going in there with a bunch of firepower would only put them all at risk…
He was already formulating a plan. Stepping into the role. Taking control.
But damn if he didn’t feel exhausted by it even before it had begun.
“You’re taking your orders from Davis today.” The deputy chief clapped him on the back. “Now get suited up and head out.”
The deputy chief turned to Warren and added in a low voice, “Avoid casualties at all costs, Davis, and minimize the property destruction. You’re in charge of this shit. Keep it under control.”
With that, the other man walked out, leaving Warren to dress. Keep it under control.
Of course he’d keep it under control. It was the story of his whole fucking life. Always in charge. Always in control.
It was a burden he’d been carrying alone for far too long.
Tomorrow couldn’t come too soon.
Chapter Four
Wednesday morning was finally here, after what had seemed like a slow crawl through time. The standoff between that scumbag who’d kidnapped his own kid and half of the substantial Greenbriar police force had lasted several hours. The entire time Warren had kept coming back to thoughts of Beatrice to keep him calm and focused.
He’d seen her appear on the scene about half an hour after they’d set up the protective perimeter. She’d been snapping photos on behalf of the city newspaper, but he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her. They’d kept the press way back, beyond the area they’d cordoned off after evacuating the other residents in the apartment complex where the perp lived. She’d been too far away for him to even catch her eye, but he’d felt her looking at him.
He’d thought of her when they’d finally gotten the guy to release his kid, and the boy had come stumbling out, putting on a brave face until he’d reached his mother’s arms. The entire crowd had erupted in emotion along with the mother and son.
But Warren had to stay in control.
He’d thought of her when another hour of passing notes back and forth to the man still holed up the apartment had gone by, and he wanted to snap and tell everyone to fucking storm the building and bring the guy down.
But Warren had to stay in control.
And he’d thought of her when it had finally ended with the sound of a gunshot from inside the apartment, when the notes stopped completely, and when camera surveillance revealed the kidnapper had taken his own life. He’d wanted to go home and not bother directing the crew that needed to come in and clean up afterward.
But control…
He’d gone to bed thinking of her, of the way she’d given him a mere taste of the mastery he craved, and still it almost hurt how much he wanted her…
While she wanted his money.
He hated to admit that. But he wasn’t a fool, and there was no use pretending she was doing this for any other reason. After all, what else would a woman like her see in a guy like him?
He hadn’t even been able to hang on to Jen, who had grown up in a neighborhood like his with a cop for a father, like Warren’s dad had been before him. They’d dated for six years and he’d thought he was going to marry her. They’d had an understanding. He’d lavished attention and care on her, like guys were supposed to do for women, and in return she’d let him be in charge. Deferred to him and his decisions.
But when push came to shove and life started demanding more from him, she’d left. Six years down the drain because he could no longer give her the attention she’d come to expect.
She’d never even considered that he might want to be taken care of too. It was a burden that should have been shared, but somehow things had gotten out of balance. Had been from the get-go.
A woman like Beatrice, who was so unobtrusive and reserved? She wouldn’t last in his life. Maybe she was doing this for the money, but he couldn’t pay her to like him. To stand by him. To love him.
Best to keep it all business lest his fantasies get the better of him.
“Unf!” The air whooshed out of him as he was knocked back by two hundred pounds of muscle, and he barely managed to roll away before Brewer’s elbow landed where Warren’s head had just been.
“Why is your head stuck up your ass today?” Brewer was already grabbing for Warren’s neck, trying to go for a headlock. Today, most of the SWAT team was at the training warehouse on the south side of town. They were on the mats, practicing their grappling technique. Donahue was wrestling barely five feet away with another officer.
“Why are you such a weak sonofabitch?” Warren growled back, evading the headlock and trying to pin Brewer’s legs.
“Whatever.” Brewer snorted, then shouted, nearly deafening Warren in the process. “Hey, Donahue, I didn’t get a chance to ask you yesterday…you end up hooking up with that CNN correspondent at the wedding?”
“Of course.” Donahue’s voice floated over to them, sounding as shit-eating smooth as usual, despite the fact that he had to be working really hard to keep Heatherton pinned. Meanwhile, Warren was sweating and grunting against Brewer, each flipping the other one over in turns like giant pancakes.
Pancakes. Fuck. He could go for some pancakes right now. He was so goddamn hungry. He’d skipped breakfast because Kelly had missed the bus to the diner, so he’d had to take the extra time to drive her over.
“And?” Brewer grunted at Warren’s elbow nudging him hard in the ribs. Good. Asshole was way too loud.
“And what do you think?” Donahue’s partner tapped out, and Donahue immediately jumped up, offering a hand down to his opponent to help him up. “You saw her at the wedding. Nina’s got some hot friends. Even better that so few of them live around here. We had a great time, and then she was gone by seven o’clock on Sunday morning to catch her flight back to Zimbabwe or wherever.”
Christ. Another one-night stand. Donahue had probably slept with more women than Warren had even seen. The guy had a new girl so frequently they seemed more like accessories than actual people, easily in and out of fashion and so easily exchanged for something else.
More often than not, when Donahue talked about having a “relationship” he meant something that lasted more than twenty-four hours.
Warren should have been disgusted. And yet, a small part of him had to admit he was jealous of Donahue’s carefree existence. A private apartment, no one constantly demanding his time—hell, even that one hour of time that Warren would be spending with Beatrice tonight meant he’d had to squeeze the week’s grocery shopping in yesterday between work, helping Nate with school stuff and assisting Dad with his physical therapy
exercises.
Those thoughts had distracted him enough that Brewer finally managed to get him in a headlock and push him against the mat. “Ouch, fuck, Brewer! This is practice, man.”
Brewer laughed. “Practice for the real thing. Donahue’s reporter lady could probably take it better than you.”
Warren struggled, trying to flip Brewer off his back, but he couldn’t get a good enough grip on the mat. Brewer leaned in and spoke quietly, just loud enough for only Warren to hear. “Be glad Donahue didn’t take Beatrice home that night, instead.”
Donahue? With Beatrice? Had the asshole tried something? Was he going to try something? No way. No. Fucking. Way.
“What?” Warren roared, powering up with so much force that Brewer slammed back against the mat. “No one is taking her home, do you understand? No one! And I told you not to talk that way about her!”
Brewer put his hands up reflexively, a gesture of supplication. “Whoa whoa whoa. Easy, Davis. After the way you reacted at the wedding, I figured I’d have a little fun. I was yanking your chain.” His voice was soft. Calming.
Warren blinked, the red haze of rage dissipating enough for him to realize the room had gone unnaturally quiet. Donahue’s hand was fisted in Warren’s sweaty shirt, pulling him back even as his fists were poised to strike.
Holy shit. He was coming apart.
He’d never been like this with Jen, or any of the women he’d dated before her. He wasn’t the possessive kind, and despite his tough profession, he wasn’t a man who was prone to violence. He scowled a lot, sure, but never flew into such a frenzy of anger that he didn’t even realize when he was about to strike a friend for implying what could have easily happened. After all, women loved Donahue’s surfer-boy good looks. Beatrice could have been drawn to them enough to go home with him after the wedding.
The very thought of it renewed Warren’s urge to punch something.
Donahue yanked Warren upright, leading him off the mat to one of the benches that ringed the practice area. Brewer stood and followed, and within seconds the activity in the room had returned to normal.
They stood in a tight circle, the three men, and Donahue matched Warren’s scowl. “What the hell was that about? You still tense after yesterday? You did a good job, no one was hurt except the perp. It’s all good. So what’s wrong?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s all good. And nothing is wrong.” Warren’s jaw felt tight. He didn’t like lying, but he didn’t like baring his soul to anyone, either.
Brewer smirked. “Beatrice isn’t nothing, Warren. Don’t talk that way about her,” he taunted.
Fuck Brewer.
Donahue snorted. “And people call me immature. So, you and Beatrice are a thing?”
“No.” Warren barely moved his lips, not trusting himself not to say too much.
Brewer heaved a dramatic sigh. “Look. It’s pretty clear you want there to be a thing. So why don’t you ask her out?”
At that, both guys looked at Warren with earnest curiosity, like he was a guest on fucking Oprah. Best cut that short, before they got out some couches and flowers to replace these hard wooden benches and the stench of sweat.
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have time.” He said it tersely, with enough finality that they should have shrugged and walked away, returned to their exercises as usual. But for some reason, this time Brewer shook his head and hummed in disapproval.
“That’s bullshit, man. You can make enough time for one date. You haven’t been out with a girl in years.”
I don’t have time to take on one more person’s life. I can’t shoulder one more fucking responsibility all by myself.
Anger clamped around Warren’s chest, and he tried to fight it off. Why was this happening to him? Sure, he’d been a little less patient in general, lately, but he figured it was because Kelly was back in school, Dad was getting more forgetful and Nate’s grades were slipping. The whole family was going through some temporary stress. That was all.
Then how come you thought about calling Queen Dommes? How come you took Beatrice up on her offer?
Warren jerked his head from side to side, making his neck bones pop. Okay, so maybe the stress had been building up for a while. He was starting to get tired of managing so much. But that didn’t mean he could walk away from it all, abandon his family to play around with women like Donahue did. Nate’s dad had already left Kelly before the kid was even born. Warren had a responsibility to show his nephew how a man should behave. Family first. Responsibility first. Even if it came at the expense of a few feminine smiles, a slow kiss, a soft, welcoming body—
“Don’t tell me this is because of Jen.” Donahue rolled his eyes. “Just because she got freaked out at the idea of having to deal with real life doesn’t mean you can’t find a woman who accepts you for who you are and all the shit you’ve got going on. Someone who’s a real partner will help make things better for you, instead of adding to your responsibilities.”
Aaaaand…cue the music, because this was now officially a ladies’ talk show. Warren gave Donahue a black look. “You’re one to give advice about finding the right woman.”
Donahue grinned, that smug look of his chafing at Warren’s senses. “I find one every week, don’t I?”
“I don’t have time,” Warren repeated. He had to bite back the desire to blurt out that he didn’t need advice, that he had already made the only arrangement that did make sense for his life. That, in fact, it was starting tonight during the tiny window of time he’d granted himself.
Brewer shrugged. “The right woman would make some for you. You know, give you what you didn’t have.”
That wasn’t the problem, though. The problem was he needed something taken away. He had too much. Warren blinked. Of course…Beatrice had shown up at their meeting on Sunday, having already made an effort for him, to understand what he wanted. She’d given him her time, even if it was aimed toward securing money in exchange.
If there was going to be a right woman, it would definitely be her.
But what did it matter? It’s not like they were actually dating. This was a transaction, pure and simple.
There was nothing to talk about. There was nothing wrong. Everything was right.
At least, it would be.
He scowled. “Enough. Back on the mats.”
Chapter Five
Warren stared at his watch as the seconds hand ticked slowly by, crawling its way around the dial. He’d already been standing outside Beatrice’s apartment door for seven minutes, waiting for the hour to arrive so he could knock without feeling like some kind of pervert, too eager for something he shouldn’t want.
It hadn’t been too difficult to get in through the main doors. She lived in a busy part of town, people coming and going constantly. Another tenant in her building had walked out and held the door for Warren without a second thought. He could have been any creep off the street and still gotten easy access to Beatrice’s apartment door.
He’d have to talk to her about that. He didn’t want anything to happen to her.
Exactly what he was going to get from her tonight, he still wasn’t sure. Certainly not most of the things he’d fantasized about, since those primarily involved spreading her legs and getting deep inside of her. But still, he hadn’t been this excited about a woman in years.
An hour a week for five weeks. Five hours of excitement. So rigid. So controlled.
He sighed and checked his watch again. Six fifty-nine and twenty-two seconds. Twenty-three. Twenty-four—
Half a minute later, he raised his fist and knocked. Immediately, he heard footsteps approaching, then the heavy click of a bolt being thrown back. The door swung open and Warren blinked at the sight of Beatrice standing on the other side, wearing a long, fuzzy blue bathrobe.
Interesting.
“Hey.” She dipped her head and looked up at
him shyly.
“Hey.”
They stood for a moment in silence, staring at one another, before Beatrice snapped to attention and gestured behind her. “Come in.”
He nodded and stepped over the threshold, watching her smooth her hands over her bathrobe as she moved to shut the door behind him. Nervous.
Well, fuck, so was he. He’d just had more practice at hiding it. Nerves were a liability when it came to his specialty on the SWAT team. Explosive devices didn’t respond well to jittery movements.
She threw the bolt closed and turned back toward him, leaning momentarily against the door, making the robe she was wearing part beneath her knees. The opening drew Warren’s eye downward, and his heart nearly stopped at what he saw there.
No wonder she’d seemed taller when he’d walked past her into the room. Platform-heeled leather boots laced up the front of her legs, the black laces criss-crossing through bronze grommets to end in a small bow right below the top of the boots. Dominatrix boots.
Holy fuck. She’d already exceeded his expectations. This was really happening.
Warren had to swallow hard to be able to croak out the words. “Nice shoes.”
“Thanks. I got them for you.”
Her feet shifted, and a glimpse of fishnet stockings above the boots had him gasping for air. Even if she covered herself with a sheet for the rest of the evening, it had already been worth it to see this normally properly dressed woman wearing boots like that. For him.
Someone was doing something for him.
He tried not to think about how he was paying her for it.
Her hands went to the robe’s sash, but she didn’t open it. Her fingers were shaking a bit, so his eyes shot back up to her face, his arousal lowering when he saw the apprehension there. Shit. She didn’t really want to do this. It wasn’t the fantasy he’d imagined. And now it was impossible not to think about the money.
He scowled, feeling like an idiot, and angry with himself for not having seen this possibility sooner. “Listen, if you’re scared, then tell me and I’ll leave. I’ll still pay you for this time. I don’t want you to feel like you’re selling yourself. It’s not—”