by Flora Dain
His jaw tenses. “He might have.”
I glare at him, indignant. “Well, I’m still here. He’s a good guy and he’s good at his job. Leave him alone.”
* * * *
My indignation lasts right up to the moment I walk in through my parents’ front door. I stand in the hallway and stare. The chaos of the night before—the muddy smears from the scattered potatoes, the broken dishes—has all been cleaned away.
The house is spotless, surfaces gleaming. A bowl of fresh flowers is in the hall. Beyond it, I see another on the kitchen table.
“What’s happened?” I turn in a daze as Cade comes slowly up behind me.
“Mason, my driver, stayed overnight. He brought his girlfriend. She’s one of the housekeepers at the Hall. I asked them to tidy up for you.”
I swallow. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
He smiles briefly then takes my arm. “I have to get back. If there’s nothing else you want to do here, I’ll take you to the clinic.”
After gushing my thanks to a bashful Mason, we arrive at the clinic where we’re ushered into a sitting room and I fling my arms around my father.
As I make the introductions, he shakes Cade warmly by the hand. “Can’t thank you enough, young man. Lucky you came when you did—the longer these attacks go on, the longer it takes her to recover. They’re keeping her in for another day for observation.”
After a reunion with a subdued but cheerful Janice, I have a brief word with the doctor while Cade and my father discuss the finer points of the Grand Prix.
When I get back, they look easy together but Cade’s time is valuable, so I cut in. “Do you want me to stay on for a few days, Dad? The house will be lonely till she gets back.”
“No, sweetheart, I’ll be fine.” He winks. “Wouldn’t want to keep you and your young man apart for that long. I’ll manage.”
My cheeks burn as I avoid Cade’s eye.
I hear a smile in his voice as he takes my arm. “Fine. Then if it’s okay with your father, darling, we’d better get back.”
* * * *
The drive back is peaceful, but it’s been an emotional thirty-six hours. As the reaction sets in, I sit in silence, uneasy and close to tears. Janice’s attacks are a private part of my life. I’ve always fought to keep them that way.
Cade glances across once or twice, his look dark and unreadable. As we speed through the fields and country towns of Wiltshire and head back into the rugged red earth of Devon, he leans across and touches my hand. “Hey, you’re not the only person in the world with a weird family. Try mine. My dad’s a corrupt politician-turned-playboy. My mom was a hippy and her lover was a maniac. That was before she died in a car crash. Then the two guys raised me and my sister between them, half the year with one, half with the other.”
I forget my troubles as he talks, interested in spite of my woes. He gives an impression of a fun-filled, easy-going youth but under his light tone, I sense real tension.
Clearly he’s got issues. He says nothing else about his mother and gives only sketchy details about the others, leaving me no clear idea of them as people.
I burn to know more. “You’ve got a sister? What’s she like?”
He stares at me. “Like? I don’t know. Sisters aren’t like anything. Fran’s pretty, I guess. Younger than me.”
“Is she in business too?”
“Yep.”
I smile at his hint of pride, and I’m touched that he’s so fond of his family. It’s kind of him to try to make me feel better. “Is she good at it?”
“She’s very successful. Ah, we’re here.”
I give his hand a grateful squeeze, but he’s already back on his phone.
* * * *
We’re back in time for lunch, but quietly join separate tables. I find Ben and Mel and quickly reassure them that my home life’s back on track. “And thank you so much for taking over. I don’t know how I’d cope if you—”
Mel grins at me across the table. “Don’t mention it. And thanks again for giving me the chance to anchor this thing. I’m getting really excited—and hey, look who’s here.”
Jake has arrived, his handsome face beaming with excitement. “Guess what? My replacement camera’s arrived, and it’s even better than the old one. It’s another antique, a Cameflex just like the other one, but in better condition. Sonja tracked it down in a museum in Geneva. It’s got six lenses instead of three, and a reverse winding mechanism that—”
He continues for some minutes while Mel rolls her eyes and Ben drums his fingers on the table. I smile at Jake, glad he’s pleased with his new toy and feeling bad about letting Cade accuse him behind his back.
At his elbow, Sonja gives me a weary smile. I’m shocked at how pale she looks. Her pretty face is almost hollow, and she has dark circles under her eyes.
Cade is spending all his time with me. It must make a lot of extra work for her.
Jake ignores her but after a few minutes, she leans close to me to whisper, “Glad you’re back, Miss Vale. I do hope he won’t break this one. It took an age to find.”
She slips away quickly. I watch her go, thoughtful. Yet another of Cade’s victims, as are we all. But poor Sonja’s in the front line. She actually has to work for him. Our servitude only lasts until the coming premiere.
Poor kid.
* * * *
The team’s full of news about how things are going. By the time I make it back to the suite, I realize I’ve forgotten to ask Mel about the mysterious diversion she mentioned.
Maybe she’s given up the idea. I’ll ask her at dinner.
As I walk in, I give a deep sigh and kick off my shoes before I notice the communicating door between our rooms is already open. I can hear music, a piercingly sweet air by Handel. Then I hear something else, the unmistakable sound of a door closing softly and the click of a key in a lock.
Cade is standing behind me, elegant, completely at ease, once more in control, like he’s just stepped out of a movie.
He’s my lover. The thought takes my breath away.
He’s also my Dom. That thought makes me throb.
I move toward him, my heart full. “Thank you so much for yesterday. Dad’s more comfortable than I’ve ever seen him. And Janice…”
I trail off.
Something’s wrong.
He’s looking at me like we’ve just met and he’s already regretting it.
With an impatient gesture, he flicks the remote and the Handel is replaced by a hissing sound then a woman’s voice. Mel’s voice.
He speeds through some surface noise then some words sound clearly. “I’m getting mighty sick of Nera and Mr. Media Mogul bossing us all about…”
I feel my stomach clench.
In the sudden silence, my heart beat drums in my ears. Over it, his voice is quiet and measured.
“Security caught this on a routine check. So maybe you can explain… What’s Macallan’s beef with Nera?”
I breathe again as relief flows through me. Thank goodness they missed the bit that came before it— We’re staging a little diversion…
But I’ve still no idea what Mel plans. I press my lips together in frustration. Why, oh why, haven’t I pinned her down and made her talk? This could be serious.
I manage a carefree smile. “It’s really quite simple. For ages Mel’s had a crush on Ben. Now Ben’s clearly bowled over by Nera. I gather Mel’s less than pleased.”
I keep my tone light, glad I’ve got a ready explanation. Our jobs might be on the line here.
Cade’s frowning. “Security thinks there’s more. They’ve picked up other things—the odd phrase, stray encounters.” He stops.
I glare at him. “What is this, a Soviet state?”
Something in his eyes snaps. “No, this is a carefully choreographed event for some very expensive people with even more expensive lawyers to safeguard their image and sponsorship deals. We can’t afford any leaks.”
“Cade, we’re maki
ng a film. We’re just doing our job. Anyway, you brought us here.”
“And I’ll send you away again unless you’re very careful. Now it’s time for your midnight session. I’ve brought it forward this evening. Sonja’s set up a call to Japan later. Get yourself ready.”
* * * *
“Bend over.”
We’re in the dungeon. I’m standing in front of the spanking bench. On the wall beside me hangs the scary assortment of whips. He leans across and selects one—a long, thin, snake-like length of evil-looking leather. With a flick of his wrist, it cracks loudly over his head and rattles an assortment of chains dangling a few feet away.
I watch, mesmerized, as he replaces it on the bench and unhooks a riding crop. It’s made of braided black leather and smells new.
My hands are clasped obediently behind my back and I’m naked, except for wrist and ankle cuffs and a tight leather harness that pulls back my shoulders. It’s clipped at the back to a tightly buckled leather belt.
I feel a sting on my thighs as the crop snaps just below my bottom. I gasp and bend instantly.
“Keep your legs straight.”
I sigh as he massages my buttocks with both hands, molding and kneading my soft curves, dropping kisses along the small of my back. “Delicious. But they’ve had more than enough action over the last few days. Stand up.”
He spins me around, takes both my arms and shackles them high up over my head to a wide trapeze hung from the ceiling. It’s on a track and he pulls me into the center of the room and angles the spots so I hang in a pool of light.
With swift, efficient moves, he fastens my ankles wide apart with a spreader bar and pushes me forward a little, making me arch. I feel my breasts swing free. He walks slowly around me, his expression solemn and intent. With one hand he caresses my nipple again, smiling as it swells and hardens to his expert touch. In his other hand, he holds the crop.
From time to time he flicks it upward, so the soft flap at the end snaps on my quivering muscles where I strain to keep position. When I cry out, more from surprise than pain, he flicks it upward with a sharper snap and it lands squarely between my legs.
“Quiet, or I’ll gag you as well. I think it’s high time we paid some attention to these.”
He taps each nipple with the crop. The touch is light, but by now I’m so nervous that I whimper.
“Jumpy?” He taps again, and this time I close my eyes and let the sting join the slow bloom of heat flowering in my groin.
At that moment everything goes black.
As the lights come on again, I see a stark image of the dungeon around me, the gleaming equipment on the walls, the instruments of torment he’s laid out on the bench ready for our session—a spiked wheel, a soft, multi-stranded flogger and the evil-looking whip—then the room goes black again.
As the lights come back on for the second time, he’s rapidly unfastening my wrists and ankles. His jaw is tense, his voice a hoarse whisper. “Get back upstairs. Now.”
“Why?” Raw fear pins me to the spot as I hear a rattle at the door and voices outside.
He stands very still, his eyes dark, his expression tense. “There’s some kind of emergency. That’s Nera’s signal for a raid. You mustn’t be found here. Go, now. I’ll hold them off.”
“No. I want to stay here with you.”
Something glitters in his eyes then abruptly he spins me round. I yelp as a sharp slap lands on my backside, propelling me toward the service elevator.
“Do as you’re told for once. Scoot.”
Chapter Fifteen
The great reception rooms at Beat Hall are all confusion. Uniformed police are everywhere. Through the tall windows blue lights flash on the convoy of cars and vans out in the driveway turning the scene into an action movie.
Police—just what no one here wants, me included. They ask questions, bring reporters with them. Draw the tabloids.
I speed up to my room and slip into a cocktail dress. It covers the harness but the leather cuffs are still fixed on my wrists and ankles. Cade’s got the key.
Now I watch aghast as the police stride about, peering into doorways and prowling through the ballroom.
Stars scuttle to their rooms, covering their faces with menus. White-faced staff plead for calm. Phones ring incessantly.
An action movie… And still no sign of the team. That’s odd. Where’s Jake with his camera in all this excitement?
We’re arranging a little diversion…
As people rush past me on the grand staircase I stand very still. Is this what Mel meant? Come to think of it, why would police raid Beat Hall? This is a private house party—no licensing is involved, and there’s plenty of security on hand.
Surely they’d call beforehand…
At that moment boot heels ring out on the marble floor as Nera strides into the reception area. Under the heavy makeup she looks scared.
I spring to life and catch her up. “Nera, wait.”
“Not now, Tunis. I’m busy.” Her crimson mouth snaps into a tight, thin line.
I catch her arm as she turns away. “Wait. Are you sure it’s not a hoax?”
Nera blinks. For a few seconds she looks almost vulnerable, like a small child. Then it passes. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” I lower my voice to a murmur. “Have you checked their IDs? Call the local station. Check they’ve sent someone out here.”
Nera stands very still, her eyes wide then snaps into action. Within minutes, one of the women at reception gets through to the local police. Another is calling the dining room to summon the waiters. The footmen form a cordon to prevent the invading officers from leaving.
Nera barks out a stream of instructions then takes charge of the phone. Through gritted teeth and with furious looks at the rest of us she relays the gist of the polite murmurs coming from the other end.
Ten minutes later the panic starts to subside. It turns into gales of laughter and much backslapping.
The local force has no record of a call. The duty officer is confused. Is it urgent? There’s an important athletics event north of here and he’s short of officers but he can send someone along later.
“Thank you, Officer, no need. Sorry to trouble you.” Nera slams down the phone and fixes the nearest policemen with a gimlet stare. After a few moments he confesses, sweating slightly.
They’re all from the film crew. They’re wearing uniforms from the studio wardrobe. Now they’re loud and hearty, congratulating themselves on a job well done.
Just then Mel and Ben appear at the head of the staircase and walk slowly down, to a chorus of cheers. It seems they’ve promised drinks all round if the hoax works.
Mel takes one look at me, spots the cuffs on my ankles and wrists, and raises an eyebrow. “Well, well, what have we here? What have you been up to, might I ask?”
I grin back, scouring my mind frantically for some possible explanation, when there’s a sudden silence.
At the head of the stairs leading down to the cellars a small group of policemen have just appeared. They look triumphant. Handcuffed to one of them is Cade, ashen-faced, his eyes dark with fury.
Nera quickly takes charge and has him released, but not before his eyes rake the crowd and finally fall on me, half turned away from Mel, who has a small smile still frozen on her lips.
As our eyes lock I see his face darken even further as Nera murmurs something in his ear, recounting the real cause of all the excitement.
I feel my stomach shrivel.
He’s furious.
There is no way I can save my friends now. Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on me, he holds one hand aloft, still in handcuffs. The arm of the fake officer who has just captured him shoots up with his.
Cade ignores him.
I stare as his face relaxes into a broad grin. How does he do this? He’s taking this remarkably well. Either that or he’s a brilliant actor.
“Well done, everybody. Remarkably like the real thing. The excitement�
�s over, folks. You can all go back to what you were doing before our mock raid. Drinks on the house. Thanks to the documentary team. Thanks, again—and congratulations.”
Guests flush with relief and break out into excited, adrenaline-fueled chatter mingling with the actors who are proud of their show. Music starts playing again as everyone heads for the ballroom and the bar.
From the look of things, it’s going to be a long night.
But Cade’s grin fades abruptly as his hands are freed. He raises his voice once more. “And I’d like to see Mel Macallan, Ben Tyne-Follet and Tunis Vale in my office—now.”
* * * *
“And guess what? We’re planning a little diversion in the next day or so. Just thought I’d let you know. I’m getting mighty sick of Nera and Mr. Media Mogul bossing us all about.”
“Diversion? What kind of diversion?”
We’re in Cade’s office. I cringe as I hear the security tape replay for the second time. I’m standing a little apart from the others. For them, it’s one big joke. They’ve taken Cade’s reaction at face value.
I feel sick.
Cade leans on the imposing desk, arms folded. Next to him stands a furious, quivering Nera.
The only other people in the room are a thin man with a crew cut and the lean look of an ex-Para who is introduced as Alford, head of security, and the burly figure of Mason, Cade’s driver—also, it turns out, his bodyguard.
It’s the same tape he played me, but this time he plays all of it. The hiss has been erased and it’s very clear what’s being said—and who’s saying it.
I’m furious with myself. This is deeply humiliating and dangerous. I should have stepped in at the first hint from Mel that something was in the air. What do they think they’re playing at? At this rate we’ll all be kicked out—not just from Beat Hall but from our careers as well.
And all because I was called home. This is my fault. Everyone else behaved beautifully, even Cade. And this is how I repay everybody…