Kiss Me Deadly

by Susan Kearney

  Three men at the bar spoke loudly among themselves, drank heavily and eyed Mandy. Zack would have preferred to wait longer before he tried to get friendly with his pool buddy, but he sensed trouble brewing. “I heard a guy by the name of Moose is the best stick man around.”

  “Is that so?” Billy Bob eyed him across the pool table. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Zack frowned as if trying to remember. “Maybe one of the barmaids.”

  “That’s odd because Moose don’t shoot the table, he’s into darts.”

  No one was throwing darts. Had Angelina deliberately steered him wrong? Or was she too grief stricken over her son’s death to remember correctly? Zack licked the chalk dust off his finger and measured his shot. “Darts are for pussies.”

  “Don’t let Moose hear you say that.” Billy Bob openly emptied the beer pitcher.

  “Why not?” Zack gestured for a refill and not only missed, he sank his opponent’s ball for him. He forced his grin into a grimace, and at the sound of wild cheering and clapping, he stole another glance at Mandy.

  His lower jaw dropped. She was dancing chest to chest with Biker Dude. What the hell? Zack snapped his teeth together so hard they clicked. His shoulders and neck ached as he attempted and failed to relax tensed muscles.

  “See that biker and the ugly chick with glasses?” Billy Bob planted one end of his stick on the floor and stared at Mandy.

  “So?”

  “That’s Prancer.”

  “Prancer because he likes to dance.” Billy Bob must have read Zack’s doubting expression. “Didn’t say he was any good at it.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “Moose ain’t near as big as Prancer, but last week he knocked Prancer out. It was a helluva fight.”

  Zack poured Billy Bob another beer. “Moose and Prancer had a disagreement over a dance partner?”

  “Naw. Over darts. The dart landed right in the metal that separates the bull’s eye from the ring around it. Weirdest thing I ever saw. The shot cracked the metal.”

  “Is that why Moose isn’t playing tonight, he’s hurt?” Zack guessed.

  “You don’t listen so good. Moose won the fight. Tossed Prancer over the bar. Never seen anyone that bad.”

  Prancer didn’t looked badly hurt to Zack, but he kept the conversation going. “So how come Prancer is back in Moose’s territory?”

  “You sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “Usually the loser slinks away to lick his wounds, and the winner sticks around to relive the moment,” Zack commented, hoping for more information.

  Billy Bob grunted, which could mean Moose was in the bar right now, but Zack suspected not or he would have said so. Clearly, Billy Bob had lost interest in the conversation. He moved back toward the table, and Zack was about to try to sucker another player into revealing information about Moose when a glass pitcher shattered on the bar.

  Mandy screamed. Bodies surged forward, and Zack lost sight of her. Heart surging up into his throat, adrenaline pumping, he shoved, ducked and wove through the mass of kicking, punching and shouting bodies.

  He should never have allowed her to come in here—not even in disguise.

  He should never have left her alone.

  The band ducked for cover but someone slammed the jukebox on its side and it began to play. Fists flew. Chairs smashed into heads and through the mirrors behind the bar. A window shattered. The lights flickered and went out.

  In the smoky darkness, someone kicked Zack’s shin, a head smashed into his arm. He dodged a flying body. Pulse racing, he shouldered through the surging mass of humanity toward where he’d last seen Mandy.

  Finally, he reached the bar.

  But she was gone. So was Biker Dude.

  What a disaster. Fear pumped adrenaline straight into his veins, lending him strength.

  Zack frantically searched behind the bar and several overturned tables. Mandy wasn’t in the restroom either, and his fear escalated by the minute. Had someone grabbed her? Was she hurt? In danger? Questions churned in a maddening rush. Had their inquiries about Moose landed in the wrong ears? Had Moose sneaked in and retaliated? Or had Biker Dude swept her outside? He needed answers, and the knots in his gut only served to remind him that if anything happened to her it was all his fault. He’d brought her here, promised to look out for her and failed.

  He’d been so certain Mandy would be safe. So sure he could protect her. But the fight had happened too fast. Angry at himself, terrified she’d fallen into the killer’s hands, he sprinted into the parking lot as police cars drove up, their red and blue lights flashing.

  When he didn’t find her in the crowd of bystanders, he broke into a sweat and sprinted to her car. A cursory glance revealed that the vehicle was empty. But as he neared, Zack spied Mandy scrunched beneath the dash on the passenger side. Thank God.

  The pounding pressure at his temples eased. She was okay, just hiding.

  When she spied him, she straightened. “About time you got here.”

  “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he admitted, sliding behind the wheel, his nerves still rattled. He couldn’t recall ever having been quite so shaken. He’d been prepared to fight and even though he now knew she was safe, his adrenaline surge kept his blood rushing, his emotions spinning.

  “I scooted out a side door to avoid the fight as well as complications with the Harley guy.” Her voice was soft, breathless as she removed the wig and glasses. “I was beginning to think he’d find me before you did.”

  She’d been smart to leave. He would have said so, but his throat was too tight. He glanced at her again, to reassure himself she was okay. In the reflection of the red and blue police lights, Mandy’s chest rose and fell enticingly. The pulse at her throat told him she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. Catching his glance, her eyes widened and her nostrils flared.

  Mandy scooted over and flung her arms around his neck. “I was so scared.”

  Her heart thumped against his chest. Still, she was more in control that he was. Right now, his hands trembled, and he clenched his thigh to hide his reaction. He was a wreck.

  His defenses had never been lower. She smelled temptingly spicy, like hot apple pie, vanilla, and cinnamon. No wonder the biker hadn’t cared what she looked like—not when she’d smelled so good.

  Zack had never been so aroused. Gritting his teeth, he drove straight to the hotel. Luckily, it wasn’t far. With Mandy draped over him, he felt as if he was going to explode before he even ripped off their clothes.

  Burning with need, he parked, led her to the hotel and into their room. He locked the door. She’d taken exactly one step inside when he slapped his palms on either side of her head, trapping her between his arms. She lifted her mouth, and that was all the invitation he needed to plunder, to ravish, to take what she offered.

  Zack thrust his tongue between her lips. And tasted mint, orange juice, and a hint of vodka. She groaned and pulled him closer, winding her arms around his neck and pushing her hands into his hair.

  He never recalled removing his stupid leather pants or her clothes and padding or donning protection. Somehow in his raging fever to have her, he got the job done. Too needy to bother with foreplay, he thrust into her, savagely pleased to hear her soft moans of pleasure.

  She clasped her legs around his waist, and he rode her up against the door, with no finesse, with no thought of anything but having her. Holding her. Helping himself to every inch of her tempting flesh. Mandy. Sweet Mandy. She was driving him insane. Tormenting him with her silken flesh and feminine heat. God, she felt good. Slick. Hot.

  Her low-pitched gasp of pleasure slammed into him. Her husky murmur urged him faster. Deeper. Her fingers clutched him back, but it was her passion that chained him sweetly.

  Driven by need so strong, so prima
l, he gave himself up to her. “Mandy. Mandy. Mandy.” He roared in pleasure and found release.

  When the rush ebbed, when his thoughts stopped whirling, he realized he’d just lost all control. “I’m so sorry.”

  She panted, still clinging to him. “If I had the strength, I’d slap you for saying that. How can you be sorry?”

  “But—”

  “It was good.”

  “But—”

  “Zack, I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.” She kissed his mouth, her lips tempting him all over again. But this time he carried her to the bed. He took his time, showing her with slow, gentle actions that cherished every inch of her what he couldn’t say in words, knowing he would never be the same.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  MARIA PARKED HER car in front of a two-story house—Ray’s house—in an upscale neighborhood. It was the first time she’d ever been here, and despite the bodyguard who would accompany her to the front door and watch from outside, her nerves were rioting. For once the clothing Ray had sent—comfortable sandals, a sparkly top, a silver necklace, and a short ruffled skirt—had nothing to do with the desire screaming through her veins.

  She walked across the paved driveway and glimpsed a lake in the backyard. The house perched at the top of a tiny hill, keeping it safely above the flood line. The beautifully manicured yard and the well-tended home didn’t look like one a pervert would live in. The peaceful setting should have reassured her. But not even the sweeping green lawn and lovely landscaping highlighted by two massive royal palms stopped her from trembling. Ray had something special planned.

  Lisa’s funeral this morning had reminded Maria that life could end at any time. Yet, she rang the doorbell with an eagerness that she didn’t try to deny.

  “Welcome.” Looking handsome in black slacks that hugged his narrow hips and a dark gold shirt that complemented his eyes, Ray took her hand, leading her across the threshold. She left her bodyguard outside.

  The entrance opened into a mirrored foyer lit with a glass and crystal chandelier. Maria stepped onto a highly polished hardwood floor. Even as she kissed Ray, she noted two staircases with white handrails behind him, one going up, the other down.

  “You have a cellar?” she asked, never having heard of one in the Tampa area.

  “The house was built in the nineteen fifties during the height of the Cold War. The basement was built to serve as a bomb shelter.”

  She recalled the lake behind the house. “Does it flood?”

  “Not since I’ve been here. I’ve turned it into a playroom.” He raised an eyebrow. “I was hoping you’d like to see it.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “And if I said no?”

  “You won’t.” His eyes glinted.

  He sounded all too sure of himself, and her heart pounded with excitement. Always he gave her more pleasure than she’d ever dreamed. She tried to inhale deeply but her chest was too tight, leaving her shallow sips of air.

  “But if I did say no?” she pressed.

  Ray locked gazes with her. He raised his hand to her cheek, caressed her jaw, her lips, her collarbone, then slowly unfastened the top button of her blouse. “I didn’t think no was in your vocabulary.”

  Maria tossed her head to keep the bangs from her eyes. “There are some lines I’m not willing to cross.”

  He took her icy hand in his warm one and raised it to his lips. “Amor mío, it’s time for you to learn the truth.”

  “You’re married?”

  Ray chuckled, and his eyes twinkled. “Time to learn the truth about yourself.”

  “I came to your home to learn about you.”

  “And so you shall, dulce. Come.” He tugged her toward the stairs.

  She could have pulled away. Or shouted for her bodyguard. She didn’t. She was perfectly safe. Besides, she wanted to see Ray’s playroom, but even more, she wanted to discover what he’d planned. He really was the most creative lover she’d ever been with.

  The stairs dropped for five or six feet, and then they changed directions on a landing and doubled back. At the bottom was a door. Ray removed a chain from around his neck and unlocked the door with an old-fashioned skeleton key.

  Her mouth went dry. She didn’t know what to expect. Her heart pounded. Heat suffused her.

  When he’d mentioned a playroom, she’d conjured dark, dirty, and creaky. But the room she stepped into had spotless limestone floors, track lighting that left no portion of the room in shadows. He’d even painted the walls an inviting dusty rose.

  Ray shut the door behind them, and it took her a few moments to figure out what she was seeing. At first, she thought he’d outfitted the playroom as a garage or a workshop or a home gym, but then she looked more closely. The pegboard wall held an assortment of objects from rods to chains with manacles on the ends to feathers. She stared in fascination and a bit of fear, uncertain of the use of most of the items in his collection.

  She saw paddles, whips, hoods, blindfolds, gags, clamps, and dildos, plus dozens of devices she couldn’t name. She spun around and headed for the door.

  “I’m not into pain.”

  She’d leave. Right now. She had no idea what all this stuff was, but the cage and the whips scared her into realizing that if she screamed from down here, her bodyguard wouldn’t hear her.

  “I know you don’t like pain.” He didn’t try to stop her from leaving. His tone remained gentle, challenging. “Tell me what you like. The choice is yours.”

  Dios. Fearing he might have locked her in, Maria placed her hand on the knob. But the door opened. If she wished, she was free to leave. He’d really meant the choice was hers.

  She hesitated. “This is scary.”

  “Scary turns you on.” He placed a hand on a rack-like device. It was made of metal and padded with leather manacles to hold the arms and feet in place.

  The rack didn’t appear to have a purpose that she could see. “How does that work?”

  “The straps restrain your hands and feet, then I do what I wish with you.”

  She gulped and pointed to something that looked like a pommel horse used in gymnastics, but it came with an assortment of straps and buckles. “And that?”

  “For spankings. You would not like it.” He gestured to a basket-like device hanging from the ceiling. “Now this is more your style.”

  She couldn’t make sense of the straps, didn’t understand why the harness hung from a rope attached to a pulley. “How does it work?”

  “Take off your clothes, and I’ll show you.” He lowered the harness and ignored her, not even watching to see if she disrobed.

  “Tell me how it works first.”

  “Ah.” He opened the basket. “You sit here. These straps support your legs, these your arms.”

  “And then?”

  “You’re like a spider caught in my web. I will give you much pleasure.”

  She shook her head and strode to a nice padded table covered in latex. The smooth material and the lack of all metal called to her. Smoothing the soft material, she shivered in anticipation as if knowing her fate was here.

  “The quiet table interests you?” Ray joined her and placed an arm around her waist. “You like?”

  “What would we do?”

  “You lie on the table. I wrap the latex around you until you cannot move.”

  She sucked in her breath. Heat flushed her cheeks. “And then?”

  “The material is silky soft. Smooth. I caress you.”

  “And?”

  “You won’t be able to move. Some women find the loss of control . . . erotic.”

  She bit her bottom lip, recalling how Ray had bent her over the hood of the car, how she couldn’t move, how turned on she’d been. This would be like that but . . . “We would make love?
”

  His fingers caressed her waist. “Sí. There are holes in the latex. You’d be completely at my mercy. You’d like that, querida, wouldn’t you?”

  Moisture seeped between her thighs. Her entire body trembled with eagerness. She’d come here for adventure. Even the name, the quiet table, enticed. She nodded, afraid her voice might crack if she spoke.

  “Let me turn down the lights a bit while you get naked for me.”

  Hands trembling, she kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her blouse. While Ray had already seen and tasted every inch of her body, she’d never undressed in front of him unless he was undressing too. Or unless he was caressing her.

  Feeling decidedly wicked, she removed her panties and bra and placed them on a chair.

  “Your jewelry, too.”

  She unclasped the silver necklace, removed earrings and a ring. “Now what?”

  He pulled back the black latex, and it was like peeling Saran Wrap from a casserole dish. Underneath, more latex covered the padded table. He patted the plush leather. “Hop on and lie down.”

  She expected the material to be cold but it was warm, soothing. Ray handed her a blindfold. “Put this on. It’s to protect your eyes from the pressure of the latex.”

  “I won’t be able to see?” She gulped.

  “Without your other senses, you’ll be able to focus much better on my touch.”

  She placed the blindfold over her eyes, and he adjusted the pads to make certain she had them centered. “It’s spooky sitting here without clothes on—especially since I can’t see you.”

  “Hmm.”

  He began wrapping her feet and calves, each leg separately. The latex felt like smooth silk. All of a sudden the table split, opening her legs wide, and he enveloped her legs up to her knees and thighs in the latex. She felt him cover her hips and tummy in one sheet, another piece covered her breasts, her neck, her arms and hands.

  She felt cozy, comfortable as she sank into the padding.

  “Open your mouth.”