Beth Kery

by Sweet Restraint

  The taut, bitter silence continued while he quickly and efficiently washed his own hair, lathered up his underarms thoroughly and then rinsed them both. He shut off the shower and opened the glass doors. Steam billowed out into the rest of the bathroom. But Laura didn’t even move she was so stiff defending against the pain of fury and thwarted desire.

  “Get out,” Shane said, the gentleness of his voice belying the terseness of the order.

  Laura felt as though she experienced the world through a thick layer of insulation as he briskly dried her off. She glanced down in hazy disorientation when she felt Shane grasp her hand. The sight of him fastening the leather cuff around her wrist caused the bubble around her to pop.

  A shout of white-hot rage exploded out of her chest.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Even though he’d been half-expecting it, Laura still caught him by surprise. She howled in anger, her teeth clenched in a grimace of hatred as she lunged at him, raking his neck with her nails. She clobbered him once on the side of his head with a closed fist. The blow landed on his ear, the resulting blast of pain making his eyes water.

  “Goddamn it,” he muttered as he grabbed her forearms and pushed them behind her body. His eyes widened in disbelief when she kept coming at him, lowering her wet head and charging him like a bull. Before she could do any more damage he spun her around in his arms and lifted her. She kicked at the air when he briefly let go with one hand to open the bathroom door, almost successfully dislodging her flailing body from his arms.

  “Stop it,” he bellowed, worried that she’d hurt herself in the midst of her wild turmoil. She responded with a hissed curse and renewed attempts to break free.

  He’d wondered if she would fight him and suspected she might. In fact, he’d more than half-expected it. He knew what he’d just done in the shower had been hard on her. His gut instinct had warned him that the vulnerability she felt from her paddling hadn’t abated.

  His plan to take her captive for three days and make her submit to him sexually had been well thought out, and not just because he’d discovered that Laura possessed a proclivity to be dominated. He needed to break through her thick defenses somehow. Whatever she was keeping from him, whatever secrets she harbored needed to be brought to the surface . . . and it was going to take some drastic measures on his part to do it.

  Something had happened to the exquisite young woman he’d fallen in love with fourteen years ago—something toxic to her spirit. Shane was determined to lance that poison from her once and for all.

  He’d recalled that while her temperament was typically easygo ing and calm, she could be stubborn—and, yes, even formidable—when she infrequently became angry. But he’d never seen her so furious as to become physical. He must really be pushing her buttons to get such a reaction from a trained submissive.

  Shane hardly felt triumphant, however, when Laura planted a foot on the frame of the door and pushed with all of her might when he tried to carry her to the bedroom. He nearly lost his balance, growled in frustration, and swung her around, backing out of the door this time.

  She screamed when he tossed her onto the bed. He kept his focus despite her struggling, managing to secure her left hand almost immediately to the restraint on the bed. She made him pay for the convenience, however, by scratching the back of his neck and grabbing his hair at the nape, wrenching tight with her fingers.

  Shane grimaced in pain and cursed, his own temper inevitably pricked. He pried her fingers free from his hair and used his weight to keep her still while he restrained the other wrist.

  “Hate you . . . How can you do this to me . . . ? Fucking bastard.”

  She continued to rage as he stood, using the protective iron footboard of the bed to protect himself while he grabbed the ankles of her kicking, thrashing legs.

  A moment later he came around the side of the bed, forcing himself to ignore her litany of curses and threats of what she planned to do to him when she got the chance. He checked to make sure that she was positioned securely and comfortably, righting the pillow that had come dislodged during her struggles so that her head rested in the middle of it.

  “I’m gonna make sure the FBI fries your ass! I’m not going to rest until you’re rotting in jail,” she bawled. Shane met her blazing green eyes. Strands of her long, wet hair stuck in the tears on her cheeks. She panted raggedly, her bare breasts heaving.

  He gently lifted her head and scooped her wet hair away from her face and neck before he set her back on the pillow.

  “I had no idea you had such a bad temper,” he said wryly.

  “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

  “Yes, I do,” Shane said as he straightened. “That’s what’s got you so scared.”

  He swept the blanket over her naked body and grabbed one of his duffel bags, closing the door softly after him as he left the bedroom.

  He listened at the doorway on and off for the next hour and a half, knowing he needed to leave her alone until her blaze of volatility cooled but still concerned about her well-being. The first time he’d pressed his ear to the door he’d reached for the knob hastily only to pull his hand back at the last second before he made contact. He’d turned around and headed out the front door.

  He’d stood out on the small porch wearing nothing but his jeans as snow fell on his bare skin, the sound of Laura’s wretched sobs replaying over and over again in his head, ripping at his heart.

  “Ruthless asshole,” he muttered bitterly.

  When he realized that his hands were growing numb from cold he reentered the cabin and built a fire in the living room fireplace, trying to distract himself. He wanted nothing more than to go into that bedroom and pull Laura into his arms, soothe her with his touch and words and make slow, sweet love to her.

  But she refused to give him an inch.

  He knew she still cared for him. Saw it in her beautiful eyes, felt it in her sweet touch. When she’d looked at him earlier and told him she remembered, he’d read the truth in her gaze.

  And he’d seen her desperation.

  She was scared. Something . . . someone was scaring her. The thought infuriated him. Why couldn’t she trust him enough to tell him the truth? He was a SAC at the FBI, for Christ’s sake. If she was afraid of someone hurting her who better than him to help?

  He called Mavis Bertram, telling her about the arrest of Telly Ardos and requesting a background report on Laura’s attacker, filling her in on everything he already knew about him. He learned from Mavis that Vince Lazar was still refusing to talk in regard to knowledge of who pulled the strings for the theft ring at the CPD.

  “He’s a conceited son of a bitch,” Mavis complained sourly. “Never tells you he doesn’t know anything, like the other cops we busted. He makes it clear he knows who was in charge, all right. Says things like, ‘Why would I tell you? What’ve you ever done for me, sweetheart?’ ”

  Shane couldn’t help but smile at Mavis’s perfect impression of a six-foot-two-inch, brawny Italian-American with a South Side Chicago accent.

  “He looks down his nose at you like you’re the scum fungus lives off of. So I told him we might be able to get him free towel service for life at the Metropolitan Correctional Facility.”

  Shane gave a small smile. “I’m guessing he didn’t like that.”

  “He’s holding out for something, Dom, but I can’t figure out what, and Lazar won’t say. If I had to guess, he’s got some goods—something beyond naming names. Or maybe he’s just bluffing.”

  “What else does Lazar say?” Shane asked thoughtfully.

  “Not much. Just the usual bilge. He told me once he knew my type. ‘You do a favor for ’em and the next thing you know they’re paying you back by drilling you in the ass.’ ”

  “He’s pissed off about something. He wants payback but he wants to make sure when he talks he gets the exact result he’s aiming for,” Shane said quietly.

  “Probably PO’d that both Castaneda and Moody h
ave left him to rot in lockup. I get the impression he’d love to get some revenge—”

  “But still he won’t talk for some reason.” Shane knew from firsthand experience that a guy like Vince Lazar—a guy who looked like he came out of the womb cracking his knuckles threateningly—could have motivations that were highly incommensurate with his tough-guy image.

  “Don’t sweat it, Mavis. Maybe his nuts just don’t quite fit in your cracker. Let Mac and Lorenzo have a go at him,” Shane said before he hung up, his mind churning over what he’d learned from Mavis.

  The next time he listened in at the bedroom door everything was silent. He peeked into the room and knew from Laura’s utter stillness she was sleeping. He drew closer, wanting to assure himself she was comfortable and safe. Her right cheek was turned into the pillow but her left one was still damp with tears.

  He picked up a corner of the sheet and gently dried the wetness, careful not to wake her. She rustled in her sleep, turning her head toward him, but her deep, even breathing resumed almost immediately. She seemed exhausted. Doubt swamped through him like a brackish torrential stream, an upsurge of emotion laced heavily with guilt.

  He knew he was pushing her to the limit of what she could endure. If he pushed too far, she’d never forgive him. Shane wasn’t going to lie and say that he didn’t enjoy dominating her. Laura was the most stunning, sensual woman he’d ever encountered. Making her eyes shine with pure desire was an addictive experience.

  All of that didn’t change the fact that Shane’s ultimate goal wasn’t to step into Huey Mays’s shoes as Laura’s “master.” He’d love to tie her up and spank her gorgeous ass anytime the mood struck him, but just as often he wanted to make slow, sweet love to her . . . to worship her with his fingertips and tongue, to see her lithesome arms in the air, beckoning him to her breast, her singular eyes glowing with pure, unleashed desire.

  He took one last look at her face, now serene in sleep before he turned away with grim resolve. Maybe it was just a fool’s dream, but if there was a chance of ever actually seeing it manifested in reality, he had to keep going. That vision had goaded and prodded at Shane for the last thirteen and a half years of his life.

  He had to know Laura’s secrets. He needed to keep her safe. Once he knew the truth—whether it be ugly or beautiful—then maybe he could finally find some peace within himself.

  Laura was held captive while she slept, unable to escape a phantasm of pain and confusion. The dream was strange and nonsensical, but in the way of dreams, she never considered the irrationality of the sequence of events. Her reactions were purely emotional.

  She dreamt that her mother, father, Shane, and Uncle Derrick met like a secret cadre to determine the appropriate guardian for her little brother, Peter. Laura came upon them sitting in a dark, oppressive room—a room that uncomfortably reminded her of the back room at Derrick’s restaurant, Sunny Days. All four of them looked at her with condemnation when she flew through the door.

  “No! I’ll watch over Peter. He doesn’t need anyone besides me,” she exclaimed.

  “It’s rude to listen in at doors, Laura,” Jean Vasquez said in an eerily cold voice that was nothing like her mother’s usual tone. The expression of contempt on her beautiful mother’s face left Laura feeling panicked. Her mother was always kind and loving. What had she done to deserve that look of distaste?

  “You’re nothing but a child, Laura. Peter needs a strong, protective adult,” her father said sternly.

  “Shane, we feel you’d be the best guardian but—”

  “No!” Laura said, cutting off her mother. She examined Shane’s impassive face doubtfully. “Shane has a very important job. He’ll make that his priority, not Peter.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Laura. Who else will protect him? You?” her uncle Derrick asked disdainfully.

  She rushed farther into the room and knelt next to her father, eager to put an end to the unbearable anxiety that caused a choking sensation at the base of her throat at the thought of them taking Peter away from her. “Shane isn’t family. I’ll look after Peter. Let me do it! Dad?” she pleaded, desperate to have her father look at her. But Richard Vasquez merely stared straight ahead. He seemed so aloof . . . so far away from her. She couldn’t reach him.

  “Daddy?” she cried.

  Her father turned toward his brother, ignoring her. “Shane is my choice, but it’s true that he has a very demanding job. Maybe you could watch over Peter, Derrick?”

  “No,” Laura shouted.

  Richard Vasquez’s head swung around. His eyes looked inky black, like two holes that opened to vast, empty space. Laura whimpered in fear and tried to stand up to move away from him but her feet wouldn’t work.

  “We’ll give Shane the responsibility, then.”

  “Noooo,” Laura cried wretchedly, cowering in stark fear at the vacuum where her father’s eyes should have been but still trying to beg . . . to plead. “I can do it. Let me take him. Let me. Let—”

  “Laura. Laura.”

  She glanced across the table at Shane in rising panic when he called out to her. He’d stood. His impassivity had melted away only to be replaced by a look of compassion and stark concern. He reached for her. Laura wavered, uncertain whether she should go into his arms.

  “Laura, wake up.”

  Her eyes flew open. She stared at the stark angles and planes of Shane Dominic’s face. She blinked and glanced around her dazedly while the reality of the situation trickled into her awareness. Her heart drummed madly in her chest. What an awful, bizarre dream.

  She tried to wipe away the sweat that had gathered at the back of her neck but her hand wouldn’t lower. She squeaked in alarm when she saw the cuff on her wrist.

  “You were dreaming,” Shane soothed. He opened his hand on the side of her neck. He must have noticed how damp she’d become because he reached to a lower shelf on her bedside table for some tissues. Laura jerked her head away from him when he tried to dry her perspiration.

  “I don’t . . . I don’t want you to do it,” she mumbled uncertainly, the shadowy fingers of the nightmare still holding her in their grip.

  Shane glanced at her with asperity. “You really don’t have much of a choice, Laura.”

  She panted shallowly as her body’s panic response slowed. Shane tossed aside the damp tissues and regarded her with concern.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were talking in your sleep. You mentioned Peter.”

  Laura turned her cheek into the pillow.

  “Do you still think about him a lot?” Shane asked quietly.

  Laura merely nodded, not trusting her voice. She really didn’t think she could take much more of this. It felt as if every defense she’d ever utilized in her life had been stolen from her. Emotion threatened to rip out of her chest, to erupt out of her throat at any given moment. It terrified her. She wanted to cover her face with her hands, but even that simple barrier had been taken from her.

  A soft cry of surprise left her throat when she felt Shane’s hands on her wrist, then on her ankles, freeing her of all the restraints but the one on her right hand. She curled into a fetal position. Knowing that he’d sensed her vulnerability only made her feel more transparent. Although her eyes were closed she was hyperaware of Shane returning to the bed and sitting down next to her. A silence fell between them, full and gravid.

  “He would have been thirty years old this September,” Laura said eventually.

  “I remember how much he loved the Chicago Bears.”

  Laura laughed softly. “He was out of his mind with excitement when your dad got tickets and took you, Joey, and him to that game that one year—”

  “It was a good game,” Shane said. Laura closed her eyes and sighed when he began to rub her back, his hands sure and soothing. “We watched the Bears beat San Francisco in the play-offs. Walter Peyton had a hundred and forty-eight yards rushing. I remember it snowed,” Shane added, his tone a
little wistful. “Joey and I were around fourteen. How old was Peter, do you think?”

  “Eight,” Laura whispered. She shifted and glanced over her shoulder at him. She swallowed when she saw the light scratches on his cheek and the more serious ones on his neck.

  “Did you . . . did you put some disinfectant on them?”

  “Yeah,” Shane muttered as he watched her steadily.

  Laura wondered if he waited for her to apologize for attacking him like she had. Would he punish her for it later? Somehow she didn’t think so. Shane wanted something from her, but it wasn’t the worshipful, rigid obedience that Huey’s fragile self-esteem demanded from his women.

  “Do you know—I’d bet that was one of Peter’s best memories, that football game. Sort of sad, isn’t it?” she murmured.

  Shane’s massaging hand paused. “What do you mean?”

  “That his life was so short that going to a football game might have been one of his most prized memories.”

  He shrugged slightly before he resumed rubbing her back. “I don’t know. It might be up there at the top for me, as well. Joey’d probably say the same. It was a fantastic game.”

  Laura just shook her head and laughed softly. Shane caught her eye and smiled. Men—so typical. She was so disarmed by his crooked grin that what he said next took her off guard.

  “You weren’t responsible for Peter’s death, baby.”

  Laura stiffened.

  “I never said I was.”

  “You don’t have to. I remember how much you worried about him. I know how much family means to you. It doesn’t take a psychologist to figure out that you shouldered a lot of the emotional burden for his accidental death.”

  “You’re way off base, Shane,” Laura said coldly as she turned away.

  “Maybe, but I don’t think so.” Laura felt him rise from the bed. “I made lunch for us. Do you want to eat?”