A French Whipping

by Nicole Camden

  Nick caught the bag as it swung toward him, stopping it. “You should have told me he was here, that you figured out he had something to do with the security breach.”

  Shrugging, Roland sipped his coffee. “Keenan has always been my fault. My problem.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Roland raised an eyebrow. “Definitely a little upset.”

  “She’s afraid of him.”

  “Ah, there we have it.” Roland toasted Nick with the coffee mug. “What are you really upset about?” Roland answered his own question. “Blake. I didn’t tell you about Keenan because Blake asked me not to. He’s her business as well.”

  “She’s my business,” Nick snapped and then froze.

  “Is she?” Roland asked, sounding satisfied. “Did you tell her that?”

  Nick gritted his teeth and ignored Roland. Didn’t mean to say that, did you, asshole? he asked himself. “She’s my friend. She’s our friend.”

  “I’ve never seen her naked. Well, not all the way.”

  Nick felt every muscle in his body tense. He’d seen her. Seen her. Touched her. Tasted her.

  He took a deep breath, trying to find the calm that he tried so hard to keep.

  “We need to find him.”

  If Keenan was the one who tried to steal the code for MOMENT, then he wouldn’t give up just because he hadn’t gotten all the code. Keenan, as brilliant as Roland but more ruthless, had been the one to interest Roland in writing code in the first place. Keenan had also been heavily influenced by Roland’s real father, who was a huckster, thief, and con artist with all the hallmarks of a true sociopath.

  Roland nodded. “I sent Milton a message this morning, letting him know that I suspect Keenan’s in town, but told him to keep his vacation plans for now. You and I can come up with a plan to find him.”

  “You told Milton?”

  “I planned on telling you. Once you worked out this situation with Blake.”

  Situation. He’d fucked her like he’d fucked no woman in his life and he wanted more. One night and he was hooked.

  “So where is she?” Roland asked, his voice deliberately incurious.

  Nick took off the boxing gloves impatiently. “You know where she is. She’s supposed to stay there for now.”

  “She’s not going to stay locked up in your apartment.”

  “I know that. I’ll hire someone. A bodyguard.” Someone to watch over her when he couldn’t. It wasn’t being paranoid and controlling if there was an actual threat.

  Roland thought that over. “Not a bad idea. Shane could do it. He’s probably bored without Milton to drive around. But what’s she going to do at night?”

  Me. “She can stay with me.”

  “A woman living with you? How long?”

  Nick shoved the gloves into his bag, trying not to think about what it would mean to have Blake in his house, in his bed, every single night. He’d never lived with a woman—vowed to never live with a woman. They were the opposite of uncomplicated, and Blake was the worst of them for reasons he didn’t want to think about too deeply. She threatened his control, his calm. Without the anchor of his calm, predictable life, Nick knew he would be nearly as bad as his father, wanting her with him all the time, wanting her for himself. But keeping her safe was more important than his control. It was more important than anything.

  “Until Keenan’s arrested. Then she’ll be able to go back to her apartment.”

  “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

  Nick threw the bag over his shoulder and pushed past Roland to leave. He had nothing figured out. Not. One. Damn. Thing.

  Blake intended to meet Rosa at the gym where the woman worked as a trainer, a fitness center not far from Faneuil Hall. The problem was that the only clothes she had were the work clothes she’d worn last night and her boots. Her work pants were stretchy enough that they could be worn as workout gear, but the shirt was too tight and the boots too heavy for running or even walking for a long time.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough in her bank account to go shopping at the moment, so she’d borrowed some cash from the top drawer of Nick’s dresser and bought some running shoes, a shirt, and a light jacket at a ridiculously expensive athletic store. Who kept neat bricks of twenties in their sock drawer? Nick, apparently. She’d left an IOU in the form of her panties, only to realize after she left that she maybe hadn’t thought that one all the way through.

  Still, maybe keeping things light would shake him out of his mood. He’d been distant after their talk, closed off from her. She’d hurt him by considering leaving, though she wasn’t sure why exactly. She still knew that she’d hurt him. She’d apologized. She’d explained that she was freaking out about Keenan—that she didn’t want anyone, including him, hurt because of her poor choices. He said he understood, but that infuriating distance had never left his voice.

  Frowning, she adjusted his Bluetooth headphones in her ears and started jogging from the Waterfront toward the Faneuil Hall marketplace. She loathed jogging. What the hell did Nick get out of this torture? She was cold, though the day was the warmest so far this spring, breaking into the fifties for the first time in months.

  After about fifteen minutes, she quit jogging and started looking in earnest for a bite to eat. All Nick kept in his cupboards were protein powders, actual cooking staples like rice and pasta, and kale chips. Kale chips. He had great coffee, but no milk or cream, and not one bagel or bear claw to be found. She’d nibbled on a protein bar that tasted like chocolate dirt, but she was still starving, especially after all that exercise last night.

  She located a small independent coffee shop with a goat stenciled on the door and pushed open the glass door with a grateful sigh. The smell of coffee and muffins greeted her as she tugged the headphones from her ears. Behind her, someone whistled low under his breath. She pretended not to notice.

  She ordered a vanilla almond latte and a banana nut muffin at a table in the corner. Her phone vibrated and she pulled it out of her pocket. There was a response from Kevin telling her not to worry about her shift tonight. Nick had texted her several times. All the texts were along the lines of . . . I told you not to leave the apartment. Call me.

  Roland had texted as well. Be careful. Call Nick before he implodes.

  Stuffing a big bite of banana muffin in her mouth, Blake responded to Nick with: Fine. Eating a muffin. Meeting Rosa. Perfectly safe.

  To Roland, she texted, He is overreacting.

  Nick responded immediately by calling her. Rolling her eyes, she finished chewing and answered it sweetly, “Nick, I was just thinking of you.”

  “I told you to stay—”

  “In the apartment. Yes, I know. But I told Rosa I’d meet her and I need to practice defending myself. Keenan has no way of knowing about Rosa.”

  “You don’t know what he knows,” Nick countered. “He could have hacked your social media, your navigation on your phone, your text messages.”

  Blake thought about that and shivered, but she wasn’t convinced. Keenan could try, but it wouldn’t do him much good. In the ten years or so since she’d been involved with him, she’d avoided social media, used pay-as-you-go phones, and changed her number frequently. Her relationships with Carlos and Phillip hadn’t exactly made her want to become more socially available, either. Keenan would be more likely to ask around the old neighborhood—the still-poor section of Watertown—and see if anyone had seen her. No one had—she’d avoided her old life with the exception of Roland.

  The only person she knew with the access to bug her phone were the women at work, and Nick, Roland, or Milton. Nick was the one she’d vote most likely to bug her phone, though the other two would go along with it.

  “You bugged my phone, didn’t you?” she guessed.

  Silence answered her, and she knew she was right. Frowning, she pic
ked at her muffin. She didn’t like that he’d invaded her privacy that way, but she understood why he’d done it. She’d get a new phone today while she was out.

  “I know you’re just trying to protect me,” she said slowly, “but there are certain boundaries you can’t cross.” Closing her eyes, she thought about what the counselor had told her. Learn to say no. It wasn’t easy for her, especially when it was Nick, who was only trying to help. She couldn’t let him, not like this.

  “I’m going to get a new phone. Don’t bug it again, Nick.”

  She hung up before he could say anything else, knowing it would aggravate him, and sent him another text. Thinking about sucking your cock.

  If that didn’t distract him, she didn’t know what would.

  Still, when she finished hitting send, she looked around the coffee shop one more time, just to check. After all, Keenan could have had her followed by tracking Roland or Nick or Milton. They were the only ties she had with her old life and they were very visible, often appearing in the Boston Globe. After a thorough look around, she didn’t see Keenan or anyone watching her with anything other than friendly interest. Ignoring one man who tried to catch her attention, she put the headphones back in her ears, but didn’t turn on the music. The phone vibrated again.

  I’ll meet you at the gym after your training. Shane is going to drive you from now on.

  Shane was Milton’s limo driver and friend, a bald, tattooed bruiser of a man with a thick South Boston accent. She liked Shane, but it was the first part of Nick’s text that had a satisfied smirk blooming on her face. He might be mad at her, but he couldn’t resist the sex any more than she could.

  A little over an hour later, Blake had purchased a new disposable cell phone and texted everyone her new number. Rosa was waiting for her in the front of the gym, her short, muscular body outfitted in close-fitting gray pants and a tank top with the gym’s logo. Her curly dark hair was gathered at the back of her neck.

  “You made it.”

  “I did,” Blake agreed, though she was tired. Jogging was not a hobby she intended to take up anytime soon.

  Rosa looked her over, her face considering. “So, you did fuck him.”

  How did she know that? Blake pursed her lips and tried not to smile, but she felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

  Rosa’s eyebrow rose even farther. “That good, huh? Wow. Good for you.”

  “Thanks.” Blake shifted her feet.

  “You ready to fight for your life?”

  Blake met Rosa’s eyes and read the dead seriousness in the other woman’s gaze. Straightening, Blake removed the headphones from her ears. “I’m ready.”

  She wasn’t sure she was, not exactly, but she’d stood up for herself once today, with someone who definitely cared about her. There was no reason she couldn’t learn to defend herself in other ways. It was her life. Hers. She wouldn’t turn it over to anyone else, not ever again, not even Nick.

  9

  NICK WATCHED AS Blake worked with a small dark-haired woman—Rosa, he presumed—in a small room that appeared to normally be used for yoga classes. Mats were laid out on the floor beneath them.

  Nick—still in jeans and a sweater—had bought a membership to the gym so that he’d be allowed inside, but he didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t watching them practice self-defense moves through the glass wall. An employee wearing a jacket with the gym’s logo had already come by and asked him what he was doing.

  “She’s my friend.” He’d nodded to Blake. “Ask her.”

  The woman had nodded and gone into the room to check. When Blake looked through the glass and saw him, she’d smiled, a genuinely pleased smile. He’d felt something loosen in his chest when he’d seen that smile. He’d been afraid that she was angry with him. Afraid. He hated this.

  Ten minutes later, Rosa gestured for him to join them in the room.

  Curious, Nick obeyed, walking into the room warily.

  Rosa held out a hand to him. “So, you’re the one.”

  The one what? Nick shrugged and shook her hand, appreciating her firm grip. “I’m her friend, Nick Cord.”

  Rosa released him. “Good. She needs those. I’m Rosa. Nick, you mind helping us for a few minutes?”

  “I’d be happy to,” Nick agreed, though he wasn’t sure what the hell he was getting into. Wrestling with Blake sounded like fun. Wrestling with Blake and Rosa sounded like it might be a little unpleasant.

  “I can teach her these moves, but bottom line is that she’s taller than me. She needs to know what it would be like to fight someone bigger and stronger.”

  “I’m not that much taller.”

  Rosa eyed him, assessing. “You’re stronger than most men twice your height. You illustrate my point. Big doesn’t matter as much as strong, smart, and fast.”

  Nick had watched and approved of the moves Rosa had been showing Blake, and respected her even more for her straightforward manner. Stripping off his sweater, he tossed it into a corner of the room.

  “What would you like me to do?”

  Rosa smacked her hands together. “All right. Blake, turn your back. Nick, I want you to come up behind her and wrap both arms around her in a bear hug.”

  Blake turned her back, showing off her perfect ass and long legs in those clingy pants she wore to work. The creamy white skin of her neck and shoulders glowed with a light sheen of sweat. He liked knowing that she was creamy white and smooth everywhere, and that she had a mole on her left hip.

  Shaking himself, he took a deep breath and wrapped his arms around her. For a moment she didn’t react, and neither did he. They stood frozen. He could smell his soap on her skin, pictured the way she’d felt in the shower this morning, and it was all he could do to keep his body under control.

  “Enough of that,” Rosa ordered briskly. “Blake, use the move I showed you. Don’t try to pull forward. Stomp on his instep with your foot and elbow him in the face. Then twist and push.”

  Nick fought the urge to prevent her from moving at all. He’d been practicing martial arts too long not to instinctively react to anything she might try to do to hurt him, but he controlled himself, allowing her to stomp on his foot and swing her elbow toward his face. She didn’t connect hard, or he’d have had a black eye, but her push was strong enough to send him back several steps.

  “Good. Nick, this time I want you to make it harder for her to get away.”

  No problem.

  They ran through the same move several times before Rosa felt confident that Blake knew it well, and then they moved on to several other positions. Nick also showed both women several other moves he knew.

  “Rosa’s right,” he said to Blake. “You should use anything and everything that’s available to you. Car keys, a glass bottle, fingernails. Go for the eyes and the groin.”

  Blake’s eyes were wide as she listened and her hand fluttered up to her throat, where the scars crisscrossed her neck. She’d left off any scarf or collar and looked even more beautiful for it. I forgot, Nick realized. That was how she’d gotten away from Keenan the first time. She’d nailed him in the balls with a hammer blow and managed to slip out of his hold. Nick had grabbed her and pulled her aside while Roland and Milton had tried to hold on to Keenan. They hadn’t managed it, though Roland had fought with surprising efficiency, demonstrating a knowledge of martial arts that Nick hadn’t known he possessed.

  He met her eyes. No one will ever hurt you again. Not anyone, he promised her silently. You better not let anyone hurt you, especially not me.

  Overhead, the sun shone brightly as Blake walked with Nick out of the gym. He’d left his sweater off, tossing it negligently over one shoulder. Both of them were squinting. The temperature had warmed considerably as well.

  “Not that I’m complaining that it’s finally sunny, but I don’t suppose you drove?” Blake ventured. “I’m
going to be sore for a week and I didn’t wear sunglasses.”

  “I drove.” He looked at her without a hint of a smile, and she sighed. Yesterday evening he would probably have suggested that he give her a rubdown or something. Now he was too serious by half.

  “Nick, I told you I was sorry about last night.” She thought that was why he was upset. If her getting a new phone bothered him, that was too bad.

  “You hungry?”

  “Hungry?” Blake repeated stupidly. She was hungry. Looking at him, touching him, smelling his soap on both of them, had her more than eager to hop right back in bed and continue what they’d begun last night.

  “I know a place that has great pizza.”

  Damn. She was a sucker for pizza and he knew it. “Okay,” she said automatically. Was this a date? She wasn’t sure. They weren’t actually dating. At this point she wasn’t even sure they were fucking. “Are we driving or walking?”

  “Walking.”

  “Damn.”

  He stopped all of a sudden, catching her elbow. “Hang on.” Tugging her in the direction of a small kiosk selling sunglasses and hats, he pulled out his wallet and said to the kid standing nearby, “I’ll take those.” He pointed to a pair of plain black sunglasses. “And I’ll buy that hat for the lady.” He pointed to a blue hat with Boston written in cursive across the brim.

  “Why, thank you.” She nudged him playfully.

  “Pick out some sunglasses.” He nodded toward the glittery frames.

  Determined to find a truly obnoxious pair on this fine Friday afternoon, Blake grabbed an enormous pair of Audrey Hepburn glasses with glittering rhinestones along the frames. Sliding them on her nose, she regarded him haughtily.

  “They suit you,” he agreed without cracking a smile.

  He paid the clerk and unceremoniously set the hat on top of her head, making the glasses slide down her nose.

  “Thanks,” she muttered and fixed the hat so that her ponytail fit through the back. Once she’d adjusted the glasses, she hooked her arm through his elbow, in a much better mood to walk anywhere he liked.