A Flare Of Heat (H.E.A.T. Book 1)

by Claire, Nicola

  Mine, on the other hand, was ornate. A beautiful statement all on its own. A half mask, again only covering the eyes and the immediate area, shaped to curve around the face. I held it up against my face and looked in the pull-down mirror, to make sure it fitted correctly, surprised to find it was comfortable and would complement my dress. Silver and black glitter outlined a delicate pattern, with rhinestones accenting the lower edge of the eyes. Satin ribbons hung off the back, ready to be tied in place. It was pretty, but not overdone. Hopefully blending in with the environment and not making me stand out. I thought Damon had chosen well.

  "You like?" he asked, as though it was a gift he'd given me, not a prop to complete a stake-out.

  "It'll do nicely," I replied, placing it in my lap and looking out of the side window. "What else do I need to know about this place to be prepared?"

  It was better if I kept us both on target, reminders that this was a job and nothing else. I wasn't naive enough to think we wouldn't be affected by the atmosphere, and part of me was genuinely intrigued. But I couldn't afford for my curiosity to overpower my reasoning. This could be a dangerous environment. Even though I no longer thought the sex club scene was tied in with the murders, if roofies were being pushed, then this was still a criminal stage. For any police officer, this was tantamount to walking into the lion's den.

  Thankfully, Damon picked up on my attitude, and lost all trace of teasing to give me an outline of what to expect.

  "We'll present our invitations at the back door to the club. Walking through the main part with masks on creates too much interest among the regulars, they like to keep mystique events slightly separate from normal back room nights. It will be dark and the music will be loud, at least the bass will be, to give a sense of intimacy. Mirrors adorn all the walls completely, even behind the bar. There are areas dedicated to certain likes, if you will. Expect restraints, racks and padded plinths, all for maximum display. Some of the attendees need to be watched in order to achieve their pleasure. The room has no privacy areas, if you wanted private you'd stay at home or stick with the main clubroom floor."

  Damon flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, as though he wasn't comfortable with the subject. I studied his profile, having turned to look at him after the first few low words out of his mouth. He wasn't doing anything other than giving a report, which made looking at him easier right then. But once I was, I realised his jaw was set, his words a little too clipped, his skin slightly paler than usual.

  "But we don't have to participate," I confirmed, for what must have been the tenth time.

  "No, Lara. Nor do I intend for us to, but we must look like we are enjoying ourselves. Otherwise we will stand out."

  Suddenly, as though until that moment I'd believed something else entirely, I felt calm. He'd joked and teased about the whole thing, part of me expecting he'd get carried away or push for too much. He'd ignore the fact that this was business, my job on the line. Possibly the safety of some of the patrons. I had to take this seriously, I'd thought he hadn't until right then.

  He didn't intend for us to participate.

  I'm not sure how I would have felt if we were going to Zero as a couple. I'd like to think I would be game enough to give anything a go. But, honestly, I'm a little prudish. I'm not into public displays of affection and I don't watch porn. That's not to say sex scenes in movies, if done right, aren't a turn on. But I'd been feeling out of my depth in the build-up to this night, and suddenly Damon had given me my anchor.

  "OK," I said. "We're there to observe, so I'll need to be in a position where I can watch the bar in particular. If you could engineer that, I'll do the rest."

  He chuckled, his grip on the steering wheel easing.

  "That won't be too difficult. I have some ideas."

  I wondered if this brought back memories of the last time he was there. Of who he must have been with. I wondered if the tight grip on the steering wheel earlier and the slight sheen of sweat above his upper lip was because it hadn't gone well. Part of me, the bitch part, wanted that to be the case. But then a small part of me just wondered if his reaction was because he knew he couldn't participate tonight.

  I pushed all negative thoughts from my mind.

  Focus, focus, focus. Or the bad guys win.

  I'd stay focused, I'd keep us on track, and by the end of tonight we'd be able to strike Zero Gravity off our list of connections, and hopefully confirm if they were dealing in illicit drugs and taking advantage of unwilling guests.

  There were two reasons to be here, and neither of them had to do with Damon's past.

  Damon parked the car down the street from the club, not too far that walking in my outfit would attract attention, but also not so close that we couldn't make a quick escape if need be. I checked my toe with a little pressure on my foot, cringing at the tightness and short stab of pain that radiated up my leg.

  "Will you be OK in those?" Damon asked, coming to my side, his mask held loosely in his hand.

  "I'd prefer to be barefoot," I admitted.

  "Maybe you can remove them once we're inside."

  I shook my head. "Better to stay fully dressed."

  He laughed. It was a sharp burst of humour, as though releasing some much needed tension.

  "Perhaps I'll help you out of them when we get home," he said, placing his hand in the small of my back and guiding me towards Zero.

  We donned our masks before we entered the carpark at the rear of the club. Damon tying mine quietly from behind, his hot breath tickling my neck. He rested his hands on my shoulders when he was done, then leaned in and kissed behind my ear.

  "What are you doing?" I whispered.

  "We could be being watched even now," he pointed out. "From here in on in, I won't be able to keep my hands off you, understood?"

  I was impressed with his devotion to the task, but strangely a little miffed as well. Stupidly my body craved his proximity, and the thought that he'd only be doing this because we might be made didn't sit well. I struggled for some composure and some much needed professional clarity. But as with all things Damon I seemed to be out of my depth.

  It had been like this from the start. From the very first time he'd attended a case I was working and stole not only my breath away, but the control of the scene as well. We'd argued. He'd insisted HEAT was qualified to lead the investigation. I'd told him to get off his pedestal and enter the real world. He was there under the direction of the Police and no one else. He'd dogged my steps, questioning absolutely every finding I made, occasionally offering valid counterpoints. Initially I'd pulled each one apart, but by the time we'd finished dissecting the scene, we'd miraculous ended up in accord.

  And then when I went to leave, he'd asked me out. I was so shocked, I'd said yes. Clearly I'd impressed him, or he'd been excited by the fight. Our first date was much the same, we argued, but by now it was just to feel the fire. When he kissed me goodnight on the doorstep of my home, that fire had flared into something so bright and heated, I'd known then and there that Damon Michaels would be in my life. And he had been, for three glorious, soul shattering, body shaking, heart palpitating months.

  Until I walked past a restaurant in Mission Bay, about to question a shop owner who'd been robbed, when I saw him. Sitting, hunched over an intimate table, holding the hand of a frail, young woman. Looking directly into her eyes with absolute adoration.

  I'd almost given myself away, my steps faltering, my stomach and heart clenching with a deep, terrible ache. He'd told me he was spending the night in. For some reason the lie hurt more than the betrayal.

  If I'd needed a pep talk in keeping things professional inside that club, I'd just found the mother of all reminders of why that was imperative for more reasons than one. For once in my life I didn't push the memory away. I grasped it, pulled it close, let the remembered pain fill me, and walked across that carpark with my head held high.

  It had been a monumental mistake letting Damon get close again, but I'd use hi
s connections to this sex club scene to gain the evidence I needed, and then I'd walk away for good.

  Damon handed over our invitations, his hand still heating the base of my spine, his chest running down my right arm, warmth spreading out wherever he touched. I almost laughed out loud. Your mind can be thinking one thing, while your body is saying to hell with that. My body wanted what my mind knew I shouldn't crave.

  The bouncer welcomed us to the event - his words - asked us to behave cordially, to not remove another's mask, and to not start any fights. And that was that. All the rules the back room of Zero Gravity had. It seemed so simplistic, it was almost beautiful. "Enjoy yourselves," was his parting shot.

  We walked through the door and down a dark hallway, pictures of scantily clad men and women adorned the wall. All of the faces in shadow, or hidden behind props and masks. All of them caught in a sexual act. Their faces may have been obscured, but some decidedly private areas were on display. The further we walked, the more explicit the scenes, until we reached the entrance to the room itself and the images were burned on my brain for all eternity. Any porn website would have been proud of the last few, I was sure.

  I checked for other doors or areas that would lead further into the club itself, but the hallway was contained, and for the sole purpose of delivering the back door attendees to the back room itself. There was no staff room, no storage room, and no door marked main club. Those no doubt existed, but this part of the building was cut off from the rest. It would also probably be our main exit, so being free of potential hazards was possibly good.

  My first thought upon entering the back room at Zero Gravity was that I was definitely overdressed. My second, that the place must have been refurbished since the last time Damon was here, because it wasn't dark and mysterious as such. It was instead bathed in a combination of mauves, oranges, yellows and reds. The lighting graduating up from the plush loop pile carpeted floor where it was a lighter violet, into the middle part of a raised staged area where it became rust and gold, until it darkened again near the ceiling in a deep purple/black.

  There were mirrors, but not complete walls of them, just the odd strategically located one, angled, showing the rest of the room from the recline of a leather sofa, or above a padded altar-like bench. Leather restraints dotted the peripheries, some of them occupied already. Whips and paddles hung invitingly, I suppose, at certain spots throughout the room. A strippers pole stood off to the side, a woman lazily entwined around it. Someone was strapped to a rack, my eyes diverted before I could stop them, from the scene of a woman sucking the cock of her prisoner, while a man circled his back with a crop.

  The bar was at one end, lit up in the sunset colours of the stage, mirrors adorned the wall behind two barmen, both of which wore masks and no shirts. There was leather and lace, mostly in black, some silk and satin, but all of it short and barely there. And there was music, heady, haunting and I had to admit sensual, filling your ears, complementing the cries of pleasure, counterpoint to the yells of pain.

  I stood frozen, several feet inside the room, Damon just as awestruck as me, I think, at my back. The smell of sex and alcohol, and maybe an incense of some sort, wafting on the air.

  "We're not in Remuera anymore," I muttered, which must have shaken Damon out of his fugue. His hot hand landed on my waist as he turned us away from the stage, probably thinking of finding a spot less conspicuous to observe from.

  We didn't make it. A woman and a man approached. She was wearing underwear; a g-string and a bra that allowed her nipples to show above the black fir trimmed cup. He was wearing what I can only describe as a torture device; a strip of black leather that secured his package, lifting it all up snug between his thighs, emphasising the erection he was sporting as it ran up his stomach, following the path of the material as it covered the centre of his torso, right up to his neck. The strip of leather wrapped around his nape, holding the whole thing in place.

  It was eye catching, more so than the furry bra. Or at least it was for me, I'm not so sure about Damon, I was too captivated to look.

  "Wanna come and play?" the woman purred, the guy nodded enthusiastically. "We can help you loosen up, enjoy yourselves a bit more."

  I opened my mouth to reply, God knows what was on the tip of my tongue, when Damon beat me to it. His arm wrapped around my body, across my stomach and up to my breast, where he proceeded to cup me with his palm. I fell back against his chest, I'm unsure if it was to escape his wanton touch, or because he willed it that way.

  "Maybe later," Damon murmured, his voice several octaves deeper than normal, and right by my ear. "This one needs to learn a lesson first."

  What?

  The woman sniggered, the man licked his lips. "I'm good with the cat," he said a little too eagerly.

  "So am I," Damon announced, turning us away from the couple and towards a corner of the room.

  We managed to make it unmolested, Damon sitting down on a sofa, directly beneath a mirror on the wall. Despite the surreal introduction, I was pleased he was thinking clearly and had chosen a place where I could straddle him and watch the room at large. It was perfect. We'd appear busy, but I'd be able to see everything.

  Until he forced me to the floor between his legs, face set, hand firm on my wrist. The air left my lungs as my knees found the surprisingly soft carpet, and then he purposely placed my hands on his thighs and held them there. His eyes were dark, intense, and looking directly at me and not the rest of the room.

  "We're being watched," he said, barely moving his lips. "For this to work, you need to let me be the one in charge."

  I frowned, opened my mouth to argue, when he leaned down towards me, cupped my chin with his hand and ordered, "Stroke my thighs like you mean it."

  Then kissed me hard.

  Chapter 19

  "Don't fuck this up!"

  I may have stroked a little too forcefully. Damon just bit my bottom lip.

  "Hey!" I managed in a muffled voice, only to feel his hand curve over my butt cheek and use that hold to pull me up on my knees.

  He kept kissing me too, not letting me up for air. His fingers kneading my butt, making the material rise up higher and higher until I was sure the curve of my cheek could be seen by the rest of the room. Heat flooded my face, made me suck in a sharp, annoyed breath of air through my nose. My hands lifted from his thighs to his chest, in preparation of pushing him back.

  He broke the kiss, leaving the hand on my arse where it was and bringing his free one up into my tousled hair. He gripped the strands tightly, but not too painfully, tipping my head back on my neck.

  He ran a hot, wet tongue up the line of skin from my collarbone to my ear, and then whispered, "And now we're not being watched. We've passed the test."

  I closed my eyes and fisted my hands in his shirt, then asked, "Is my arse on display?"

  His head rose slightly to look over my shoulder, a small amused glint flashing in amongst the dark brown. He stared at a spot some distance across the room, I was picking it was a mirror, and then started to stroke the skin of my exposed butt cheek, a rough sound rumbling up from his chest.

  "Damon," I chastised.

  "Sorry." He didn't sound too sorry. "Got carried away. Why don't you climb on up here and then you can start watching the room in the mirror at my back."

  He had chosen the spot with care, it alleviated some of the panic I'd begun to feel. I rose unsteadily to my feet, ashamed that I had reacted at all to his little distraction scene. To my horror, my dress rode up higher on each thigh as I positioned myself above his lap, my knees bracketing his hips.

  A vibration started up in his chest, amusement plain to see on his face, as he gripped my waist and hauled me flush against him, then pushed down until I was straddling his groin, g-string to jeans. He was rock hard beneath them.

  I didn't move, fearful that it would start a humping session neither of us would be able to stop. Damon seemed a little still as well.

  "Can you see the ba
r?" he asked, voice strained.

  Oh, yeah. The bar.

  I settled into my position, trying to look relaxed, and glanced over his shoulder, orienting myself to the room in the mirror. I had to shift slightly, change my angle, but eventually I had a fairly clear line of sight from where we sat, across the raised stage, to the brightly lit bar and the two barmen tossing bottles and serving drinks.

  Damon started stroking down my back, seemingly lazy circles of his palm over the lace. His hips moved once, followed by a decidedly wretched groan, and then he settled, almost sinking into the seat beneath him, nuzzling his face into the side of my neck, but not actually doing anything more.

  I let a slow breath of air out. Felt him do the same. Then tried to ignore the performance on display centre stage and concentrated on the drinks being served.

  "The barmen are apparently called Jason Berkhardt and Tane Collins," I whispered, loud enough to be heard over the thud of music and occasional sound of ecstasy, but not so loud as to carry to the closest couple near us. "I can't really tell them apart, though."

  The surveillance photos I had seen showed fully clothed men, both with the same dark, short hair, and blue eyes. I couldn't see the colour of their eyes from here, and their haircuts looked identical. The masks hiding the structure of their cheeks, making identification impossible.

  "Tane Collins is the one on our right," Damon replied, voice hard.

  I went to pull back and get a look at his expression, but he held me firmly in place and softly, almost incongruously, kissed my cheek.

  "You know him," I said, instead.

  "Well enough." Interesting. And perhaps an indication of how often he frequented this place.

  I sat watching, my mind reeling with possible scenarios, all of which weren't helping this case. I cursed myself internally, tried to refocus on the here and now, and not ask the questions blaring inside my head.

  After several minutes my heart had slowed enough to allow intelligent thought.