Night is Darkest

by Jayne Rylon

  “All clear, Mr. Watson,” Rosie said quietly.

  “Of course it is.” Sam ducked his head and clambered out of the limo, then stomped to the elevator. Goddamn it, she’d even acquired a key to the elevator, locking the door open so no one else could use it. He ignored that it was standard operating procedure and lashed out, “You think other people might not need the goddamned elevator?”

  “Better than having the door open and somebody shoot you from inside. Besides there are other elevators still available.”

  Her voice was so damned reasonable. Placating. Like he was some baby to be soothed out of a tantrum.

  Which is exactly how he was behaving but goddamn it, his people were supposed to be protecting others. Not him.

  She turned the key and let the door close, pressing the button for the penthouse. The elevator began to rise, a quiet chime announcing each floor they passed. And with each ding, Sam became more and more aware of the delicate smell of apricot shampoo and woman filling the confined area. He closed his eyes, trying not to deliberately inhale great lungfuls of that amazing scent.

  As long as she was around him, he’d not sleep. Instead he’d be staring at the ceiling imagining what it would feel like to cup her breasts in his hands, to unzip her pants and nudge aside that blue thong. Imagine going down on her and tasting her honey. When she’d been in the gym doing those stretches, he’d obsessed about some of the positions she could get into while he fucked her. Then in his office while Chad had been briefing her, he’d pictured her stretched out over his desk, her legs hitched over his shoulders. And now she’d be in the next apartment, so damned available.

  Damn it!

  “Mr. Watson, do you have a problem with me guarding you?”

  “Nope.” He couldn’t help that his answer sounded like a growl. He had one helluva a problem and at the moment it was punching against his zipper. He shifted his briefcase so she wouldn’t see his hard-on.

  “I mean, do you have a problem with a woman guarding you?”

  Shit! She thought he didn’t want her because she was a woman? Why not add sexual discrimination to the mix today? He exhaled and opened his eyes. “No, Ms. Ramos, I do not have a problem a female operative leading my team.”

  “Then do you have a problem with me personally?”

  Was it a problem that he was imagining pinning her up against the wall and ramming into her until she screamed her release? How the hell did he explain that to her without getting slapped with a sexual harassment suit in addition to the discrimination one?

  “If I didn’t have complete confidence in your abilities, you wouldn’t work for Hauberk, and Chad wouldn’t have personally chosen you as team leader.”

  That must have been the answer she was looking for. She nodded, and her shoulders imperceptibly relaxed. “Thank you.”

  “I’m pis—ticked off at whoever is sending those damned photographs, and I fu—frickin’ don’t like having to accept that I had to ask my own people to protect me. Leaves me damned twitchy. So don’t take my grouchiness personally, Ms. Ramos. It’s not directed at you.”

  No, what was pointing directly at her was his goddamned dick.

  The elevator bounced once before the doors slid open, and Sam waited for her to precede him.

  Aw, crap. Now he had to watch that bitable ass of hers walk along the hallway and that did nothing to help him control his raging hard-on.

  She’s your employee. She’s a crack shot with that Glock 11 she carries. He almost groaned as the image of her bending over on the firing range, wiggling that ass at him, had his cock so hard it hurt.

  She can stomp on your nuts and have you singing soprano without breaking a sweat.

  Didn’t work. All his dick thought of was wrestling on the ground with her body pressing against him, over him, under him. Around him.

  What was in that coffee of Sandy’s today that left him so fucking horny? Spanish fuckin’ fly?

  As they approached the door to his apartment, the door to 1202 opened and Kris nodded. “Evening, Mr. Watson.”

  Sam couldn’t help but notice his newest and youngest operative standing at attention, a worried frown marring that baby-smooth face of his. Aw hell. He’d stomped on that poor boy’s ego pretty good earlier. Hadn’t he been a bucket of sunshine today?

  He stopped, and blew out a breath. “Look, Kris, I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have yelled at you this morning. I’ve been…”—a festering pile of self-centered dogshit?—“under a lot of pressure lately.”

  Yeah, right, and if you buy that one, I’ve got some land in the Okefenokee for you.

  “It’s all right, Mr. Watson. I don’t think I’d be feeling too happy if someone threatening me had access to my apartment and personal information either.”

  He might have bought Kris’s smile if it hadn’t been for the Mr. Watson. Unlike some of his employees, Kris had never had a problem referring to him as Sam. Or even “buddy” on occasion in the gym. Mr. Watson meant he still had some fencing to mend.

  “Chad told me you and Walters got those cameras in place.”

  “Sir, yes, sir. It was no problem at all, sir.”

  First Mr. Watson and now sir. And not just sir, but the military sir, yes sir. Well, he supposed it was natural for Kris to fall back on his naval training.

  “I didn’t expect you’d have a problem with it, son.”

  Son? Son? Kris is twenty-five, you idiot, not eight the way you’ve just made him feel. He’s not young enough to be your son.

  Okay, technically he probably could have been a father at fourteen thanks to Becky Sue’s idea of a birthday present that year. Thank the good Lord above, she’d stolen a condom from her brother Billy’s bedside table before sneaking out. Not that he’d needed another condom for a coupla years after that, but if she’d not had the forethought that night, he could have been a daddy by his fifteenth birthday. But he sure as hell wasn’t old enough to call Kris son.

  “Mr. Watson?” Rosie said, touching his arm. “Are you okay?”

  An electric shock jumped from her fingers and crawled under his skin in a tingle that caused his breath to hitch. He’d noticed that she was a toucher, seen her patting people’s arms or hands to calm them or support them, but she’d never touched him before. His cock hijacked his thinking processes and started him imagining her tiny hands closing about Sam Junior, milking…

  Shit on a stick! She’s your employee, not a member of the Rouge.

  “Yeah.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled as he forced his mind back onto the scene in the hall. “Look, Kris, I didn’t mean to imply you’re not a good CPO. Chad wouldn’t have assigned you to the team if he didn’t have confidence in you.”

  Color crept up Kris’s neck. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Sam.”

  “Sam,” Kris repeated, his smile breaking out.

  Feeling that at least one corner of the world was back on its axis, Sam headed toward the end of the hall and his sanctuary.

  Rosie stopped him as he pulled his keys from his jacket pocket. “Let me get that for you.”

  His teeth threatening to splinter when his jaw locked down, Sam stepped back and let her unlock the door with her own key. She drew her gun and entered his apartment. Chad had reported they’d monitored the cleaning service doing their thing that afternoon, so they knew the apartment was clear. Though he couldn’t fault her vigilance, it was what she’d signed on for when Hauberk hired her, but damned if it didn’t shrivel his balls that she was willing to take a bullet meant for him.

  This professor’s final exam includes a spanking.

  Dear Sir, I’m Yours

  © 2009 Joely Sue Burkhart

  There’s no house restoration too challenging for Rae Jackson, a.k.a. “The Fix-It Lady”. There’s no fixing the past, though. Like the day she left college. A semester of flirting with her English professor ended when he spanked her to the best orgasm of her life. Afraid of her own eager willingness to comply with the
sexy dom’s commands—no matter what—she fled.

  Yet not even five years can dim her memory of his masterful touch.

  Conn never forgot the one student who gave him a big fat “F” on the greatest test of his life. After all these years, he’s still haunted by his uncharacteristic loss of control. When he finds the very object of his shame—and desire—crawling around under his grandmother’s house, he swears to do anything to win Rae’s trust.

  Rae finds herself helpless against Conn’s slow seduction. Exactly the way she likes it. Instead of poetry, this time she learns the erotic pleasure to be found in bondage…and submission to the sexiest professor alive.

  Warning: Explicit sex, spanking, light bondage, a crazy old lady who talks to ghosts, and one lethal pink parasol.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Dear Sir, I’m Yours:

  Dear Dr. Connagher:

  We all wear masks, whether to protect ourselves or others. Sometimes the mask slips, and it’s a very frightening thing when the beast is revealed beneath the pleasant exterior.

  Richard has so many masks that I can’t keep track of them all. He has the supervisor role he plays with the contractors, the good ole boy role with his buddies, the dutiful son-in-law with my father. All of them are fake—I just never noticed it before. One by one, those masks slipped enough for me to see the truth.

  Last night, he looked at my poor crippled father in that wheelchair with contempt, and I wanted to leap on Richard and beat him to death with my own fists.

  To be honest, it never occurred to me that he was only pretending, even with me. Especially with me. Oh, Conn, he can be so terribly mean. Of course, only at home where no one can see his mask pulled aside. It sounds ridiculously immature to whine about someone being mean, but I always thought that someone who loved me, really loved me, would never be able to speak to me so harshly.

  Like I’m stupid. Worthless. Dog manure to wipe off his boots.

  Later, he apologized, but the damage had been done. I saw, I heard, and I can’t forget. The man I thought I loved and loved me in return is no longer there. I suspect he never was.

  Whether in class or the hallway, you treated everyone the same, from lowly non-English students, to returning students you mentored year after year, to fellow professors. You never acted differently, until it was just you and me behind your locked office door.

  That’s when the real Conn peeked out.

  I loved him as much as the professor, even if you scared me half to death.

  I wear a mask now, putting on an “everything’s okay” face as soon as I get out of bed in the morning. I hate that damned mask. I hate pretending, losing myself a little more each day.

  I’m scared, Conn. I’m scared that I’ll forget who I am until I am the mask. You’re the only man who ever saw the real me. I hold on to her, but I feel her slipping a little more each day beneath this cold, numbing mask.

  The night I stop dreaming about you will be the morning I don’t have to put the mask on any longer. I’ll be a zombie, then, a ghost, the girl you knew dead and buried beneath a false façade of vapid smiles and broken dreams.

  I wish you could bend me back over your desk and spank me until I feel again. Help me, Conn. Help me remember who I am.

  ~ Rae

  Sitting down at their table in the semi-private darkened alcove of Mythos, Rae glanced about the restaurant. Greek statues, arches, carved cherubs, even mosaics decorated the elegant restaurant, but she didn’t pay much attention to them.

  Everybody in the restaurant was staring at them.

  Conn scooted her chair in and she snagged his arm, drawing him down to whisper in his ear. “Why’s everybody staring at us?”

  Chuckling softly, he kissed her cheek and moved to sit beside her. “Because you’re gorgeous, darlin’.”

  Her heart skipped a beat and shot off to the races. “The dress isn’t too much?”

  “Oh, it’s too much alright. But you look gorgeous in it, Rae. You’re giving off a divine mixture of innocence and seductress that’s driving every poor man in this restaurant insane.”

  “What about you?”

  “Well, darlin’, I’m imagining turning you over my knee.”

  Heat scalded her cheeks and she quickly buried her face in the menu, hoping to hide. “I knew you’d hate this dress. I tried to tell Miss Belle—”

  “I don’t hate it, Rae.” He slid his hand beneath the table and stroked her thigh beneath the skirt. “I love it. It’s perfect and she knew it. And I still want to spank your delectable ass while I find out whether you wore anything beneath it or not.”

  Heat pounded through her, heart racing, palms—and other areas—dampening. Sparing a furtive glance at the other patrons, she hesitated. She needed answers, especially about what had happened in his office that day. Perhaps in public would be for the best, as long as they whispered. No one sat close enough to overhear, and at least he couldn’t actually act on what they were talking about. “Did you spank other students?”

  “Now that’s a very interesting question.” Conn laid the menu down. “These past years, I’ve worked harder at understanding myself, what makes me tick. I learned how I should have proceeded with a woman like you.”

  Tired of scanning the menu, she laid hers down and took a sip of water. Not sure she really wanted to know, she asked, “Like me?”

  “Eager to please, untrained and unsure, afraid of and attracted to a big bad man like me.” He laughed softly at the look on her face, whatever it was, and took her hand in his. “I took a few trips for conferences these past years and made connections with people who could help me.”

  She frowned, trying to imagine him asking for help. “With what?”

  He leaned closer and whispered, “Kinky shit.”

  The waiter came over. Blood was pounding and rushing in her ears too loudly for her to hear what Conn told him. Nodding, the waiter left them alone once more.

  “I needed help figuring out how to break you in, so to speak, if I ever tracked you down again. I needed help reining myself in, the proper things I should do to ensure you’re safe and unafraid. The right way to build a long-term committed relationship and not just a night playing. It’s a huge difference, Rae, and even five years ago, I intended to play for keeps.

  “So that’s the long answer of saying I did spank a few other women—who knew what they were and what I was. It was playing. Did I ever spank any other student? Absolutely not; I never had any relationship at all with a student before or after you. Did I ever fall for any other woman? No. Not like this.”

  He waited until she met his gaze. Fingers trembling, she gripped his hand harder.

  “I loved you then, Rae, and I love you more now. I’m not losing you again.”

  “But—”

  “We’ll work out every single objection you have as they come up. I won’t push, rush, or bully you into anything, but I’m not letting you run. You run, and I will follow, come hell or high water, and you can bet I’ll spank your ass fire-engine red when I catch you.” He leaned over and kissed her shoulder, her ear. “And then I’m going to make love to you so hard and long you won’t ever be able to run again.”

  Her stomach tightened, that familiar knot of nerves insisting she should run or fight, anything but stay. But his deep blue eyes locked on her, smoldering with intensity, and she couldn’t run, not even for the fun of the chase. She didn’t want to.

  The waiter returned and poured two glasses of red wine. Rae took a hesitant sip, braced to not like it. But it was sweet and warm, thick, very, very good. Sip by sip, it flowed through her spreading heat. By the darkness in Conn’s eyes, it affected him the same way.

  “What is this?”

  “Black Opal Shiraz. I typically drink Merlot but I thought you might like this better. It’s sweeter than I usually drink.”

  “So you don’t always want the sweetest?”

  “Ah, now, darlin’, that’s a loaded question.” He stretched out his arm alo
ng the back of her chair, his fingers trailing over her arm. “I want my wine red and strong with a kick. The only problem is it really heats my blood. I’ll only drink one glass tonight, or I won’t be driving us home. I’ll be too busy making you mine in the backseat of my car. My libido doesn’t need any assistance right now in running amok.”

  With trembling fingers, she took another sip while he talked up the waiter. Evidently they knew him enough to recommend a new dish they thought he’d enjoy. He asked what she wanted, and she let him choose. It was probably a very submissive thing to do, but she really didn’t care, as long as it made his eyes darken. At a restaurant like this, they wouldn’t serve a single bad dish. She was bound to get something good.

  Nothing as good and wicked as Conn. “So tell me about you.”

  “What do you want to know, darlin’?”

  “Everything.”

  He talked about his family living in Texas, his mama, Miss Belle’s first-born daughter. He had an older brother, Victor, and a younger sister, Vicki, all hell-bent and trouble according to him.

  “If your mama is anything like Miss Belle, then I’m really not sure I want to meet her.”

  Conn laughed, his fingers making lazy circles on her arm. “As a matter of fact, Mama is worse than Miss Belle. She inherited many of Colonel Healy’s more obnoxious bossy traits.”

  Rae shuddered, thankful her possible in-laws lived so far away. “You’re still teaching at Drury, aren’t you?”

  “Sure am. I’d like to be here until the day I die.”

  “What are you doing this weekend?”

  “A little fencing with a friend of mine. We make the Ren Faire circuit.”

  “You fence? Like with swords?”

  “It’s a hobby of mine.” He turned quiet, somber, the grooves in his face pronounced. They ate quietly, Rae trying to enjoy the chicken despite the capers. “What’s wrong with your dish?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Rae, you’ve got to tell me if you’re not happy with something. Every time you take a bite, you frown. How can I take care of you if I don’t even know what you need?”