by Brynley Bush
“What did you find out?” Emma prompts.
“Forget it,” Gavin says wearily. “It’s over.”
A guard announces that there are five minutes left and I take a step closer to Emma. If we’re going to ask Gavin if he will testify, we’ve got to do it soon.
Gavin’s eyes widen as he notices me standing there. “Nice shoes,” he says admiringly. He raises his eyebrows and says to Emma, “Friend of yours?”
“This is Milena Kingston. She’s representing Beckett and his family in a civil suit to protect the Black’s research.”
“An attorney?” Gavin drops his head into his hands. “Aw, shit.”
“Relax, Mr. Villareal,” I say soothingly. “I’m here to help the Blacks, not hurt you. In fact, I might actually be able to help you. If you truly meant everything you just said to Emma, I can give you the opportunity to make it up to her.”
He looks at me skeptically. “How?” he asks.
“You could give me your statement confirming that it was Camille who told you to steal Emma’s research.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, shaking his regretfully, “but I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Because she didn’t,” he says. “She had nothing to do with me trying to get Emma’s research. In fact, she didn’t even know about it.”
Unfortunately, visiting hours end and Gavin is herded back into the cell area before we can find out what he’s talking about.
“What the hell?” Emma says in frustration as we retrieve our purses from the lockers.
“We’re just going to have to proceed without his statement,” I say as we walk out into the sunlight. “It’s okay. It would have been helpful, but we knew it was a long shot. I’m just confused. I thought Camille was the mastermind behind the whole theft of your research.”
“Me too,” she says. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Her forehead is still creased when we climb into the car. She scoots straight into Beckett’s arms and he folds her protectively against his side. Griffin is behind the wheel, but I can tell from the tenseness of his body that he was almost as worried as Beckett. As he starts the car, he reaches across the seat to squeeze my knee comfortingly. I place my hand over his, reluctant to break contact.
“How did it go?” Griffin asks quietly.
I sigh. “He said he couldn’t give us a statement implicating Camille because she didn’t have anything to do with his decision to steal the research from Emma when he was at her house. He says she didn’t even know about it.”
“What?” Beckett’s voice is as surprised as it is dangerous.
Emma snuggles closer. “He said he never meant to hurt me. I almost believed him,” she says. “But when Mila said he could make amends by giving a statement that Camille was involved in the theft of the research to help our case, he said he couldn’t because she didn’t have anything to do with it. He made it sound like it was his own idea, and he said something about it being a spur of the moment decision he made because of something that happened at the club that night before he took me home.”
“Unfortunately, visiting hours ended before we could ask him more, although I doubt he would have told us anything else,” I interject.
“Let’s stop for lunch and see if we can put all the pieces together,” Griffin suggests.
We stop at a barbecue place just off the highway and continue our conversation over chopped brisket sandwiches smothered in barbecue sauce.
“Mila, feel free to jump in if you have any questions,” Beckett says to me. “I don’t know how much of this you know.”
“Okay,” I agree. “Griffin’s filled me in on a lot, and I’ve looked over all of the documents associated with the criminal proceedings. Let’s go over what we know for sure.”
Beckett nods seriously. “Good idea,” he says. “We know Camille got the information about the guanabana seeds potentially being the key, not the leaves, from Emma’s research notes when her ex, Tim, came by Emma’s house with Nikki while Emma was gone.”
“Nikki’s your daughter, right?” I say to Emma.
She nods. “I never should have left the notes in plain sight,” she says regretfully. “Then none of this would have happened.”
Beckett pulls her close. In a gesture that is achingly familiar, he tilts her chin up to meet his gaze. “Stop beating yourself up about it,” he says firmly.
She smiles at him before directing her next comment to me. “I’d written the key points of Dr. Black’s story on sticky notes and put them on my bathroom mirror,” she explains. “It helps me with the timeline and plotting when I’m writing, but unfortunately, it was right there in plain sight when Tim brought Nikki over. Things were not good between Tim and me. He was extremely jealous of Beckett, despite the fact that he himself had already remarried. It didn’t take much incentive for Tim to share the information with Camille, hoping to hurt me and Beckett at the same time.”
“But how did Camille know your ex-husband?” I ask, confused.
“Camille pretty much hated me on sight when we met at the gala. She thought I’d stolen Beckett from her and if I were out of the picture, he’d be with her. After we met, she dug around and found out I was divorced, contacted Tim, and convinced him to pass along any information that would help her hurt Beckett or me.”
“Not very honorable, but not illegal,” I observe. “I assume Tim had no idea she had ulterior motives beyond hurting Beckett and Emma.” I look questioningly at the two of them sitting across the table from me. “Did Tim know anything about Camille’s involvement with Coker Pharmaceuticals or that she was trying to get the research so that Coker could develop the drug, or at least stop the Blacks from developing it?”
“No,” Emma shakes her head definitively. “He had no idea about that.”
“If I remember correctly from the criminal case, during the conversation between Beckett and Camille that Beckett recorded, Camille admitted to getting the information from Tim and leaking it to the press.”
All three of them nod. “I know that wasn’t enough to send Camille to jail since she technically didn’t do anything that was criminally punishable, but that will definitely help our civil case,” I say. “I thought she was the one who had told Gavin to steal Emma’s laptop and her more explicit notes.”
“That’s what we assumed also,” Beckett says, “although the prosecutor wasn’t able to prove that.”
“And now Gavin’s saying she didn’t have anything to do with it,” Emma says. “It doesn’t make sense. Something must have happened at the club that made Gavin decide to do that on his own. He said it was when he was covering the front desk for the girl with the pink hair.”
“Maybe it was something that Camille said to him,” Griffin suggests.
Emma shakes her head. “It couldn’t have been Camille. She was talking to Beckett in the room next to me. I could hear them talking the entire time Gavin was gone. It had to have been something, or someone, else.”
“We should go to the club and talk to whoever was working the front desk, maybe talk to Dominic,” Griffin suggests.
“Okay, now you’ve lost me,” I say with a laugh. “Who’s Dominic?”
“He owns the club we were at,” Beckett explains. “The Pinnacle. It’s an exclusive, members-only BDSM club. He’s also a colleague of mine, an oncologist at the hospital where I work.”
Turning to Griffin, he says, “That’s not a bad idea. It’s open tonight. But we’d have to be discreet. Dominic’s still not too happy with me for how things turned out the night I met Camille there, even though it was early in the evening and not many people were there. He takes the reputation of his club very seriously. We’d do best to go as guests and ask around casually.”
Emma looks troubled. “I’m sorry, Beckett,” she says, worrying her bottom lip. “I can’t do it. I’d do just about anything for you, but I can’t go back there. Not ever,” she says definitively. “There are too many bad memories.”
Beckett looks at Emma with concern as he immediately wraps his arms around her, kissing her tenderly. “Of course not,” he says gently. “I would never ask you to do that.”
“But I don’t want you going there without me,” she protests miserably.
I open my mouth before I have to time to talk myself out of it. Ever since the decadent weekend I spent with Griffin trying (and failing miserably) to get him out of my system, I’ve been curious about the dominant/submission dynamic. This is the perfect opportunity to slake my curiosity while helping out Beckett and Emma.
“Griffin and I could go,” I suggest casually.
Emma and Beckett look at me in surprise, and Griffin studies me for a long moment, undoubtedly trying to ascertain whether I know exactly what I’m getting into. A grin slowly transforms his chiseled features.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he drawls. “Agnes starts clearing her throat if I kiss Mila for too long. Going to the club has some definite potential.”
“Are you sure?” Emma asks me, the concern evident in her voice. “You don’t have to actually do anything there, but it can be a little intimidating.”
“I’m sure,” I say definitively. I look over at Griffin and smile. “It’s a date.”
Chapter Sixteen
I’m slightly nervous and more than a little excited when Emma picks me up at Griffin’s dad’s house six hours later. Since I haven’t packed anything remotely suitable for going to a kink club, she has offered me free access to the contents of her closet.
“Not that I have an entire wardrobe of fetish wear,” she had clarified with a laugh as we were finishing lunch and making plans for the evening. “I’ve only been to the club once, and that was enough. But I have a few miniskirts that will look even shorter on you since you’re taller than me, and I’m sure I have something suitably tight-fitting or low-cut and sexy that you can wear.”
Griffin’s eyes had darkened at her words, and I realized I was eager to dress to please him. Apparently our enforced celibacy is wearing on me as much as it is on him.
Griffin and Beckett are at Beckett’s house, purportedly watching college football and drinking beer while Emma transforms me. The plan is for them to come over to Emma’s at eight. Beckett and Emma will stay at Emma’s while Griffin and I go to the club. We’ll come back to Emma’s afterwards and spend the night in Emma’s daughter’s room since she’s at her dad’s this weekend.
“Change of plans,” Emma announces as I climb into the car. “Apparently tonight is a theme night at The Pinnacle.”
“Oh, no,” I groan. “What does that mean?”
“According to Beckett, on theme nights everyone has to dress in a costume that fits the theme. But you’re in luck,” she adds brightly. “Tonight is ‘James Bond’ night.”
“Um…what’s the lucky part of that?” I ask.
Emma laughs. “Well, a Bond Girl is a lot easier to pull off than a lot of other themes would be,” she says. “I’m thinking your choices are either an elegant gown or a sexy bikini.”
“I think I’d rather go with elegant gown, but where am I going to get something like that this late in the day?” I moan.
Emma laughs. “Don’t worry,” she says. “Beckett and I went shopping!” She brandishes a few shopping bags.
“What did you get?” I ask suspiciously.
“Oh, just a slinky black dress a la Casino Royale, plus a few other things to ensure Griffin can’t keep his eyes or his hands off of you tonight,” she says, smiling mischievously. “Beckett picked up a few things for Griffin to use at the club, too,” she adds confidentially. “But I’m not supposed to tell you what he got. Well, unless you really want to know,” she amends. “Beckett believes in the element of surprise.”
“Easy for him to say,” I say darkly.
She looks over at me. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to,” she says, all seriousness.
“I know. I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to. But to be honest, being with Griffin has opened my eyes to a new sexual dynamic that I never imagined I would enjoy, but that I surprisingly do. I’m kind of curious to explore it a little more.” I laugh. “And, of course, I want to do whatever I can for the case.”
“Of course,” she agrees, her eyes twinkling. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
“I’m positive,” I assure her. “Thank you, though,” I add, touched by her concern.
Once we’re at her house, an adorable little bungalow filled with an eclectic mix of furnishings and bright, happy colors, we start delving through her drawers and closets and perusing her purchases, and in no time we’re laughing together like we’ve known each other for years. We finally resort to the internet for further inspiration.
“Oooh, we could paint your body gold like the girl in Goldfinger?” Emma suggests enthusiastically.
“You’re really getting into this,” I tease. “Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
Her eyes cloud. “I’m sure,” she said. “I have nothing but bad memories of that place.” Her face brightens. “You, on the other hand, will be going with Griffin, who constantly looks at you like he wants to devour you, so I’m sure you will have a fabulous time.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “All in the name of helping the case of course.”
Although Emma had somehow managed to find a white bikini with a belt just like the one Ursula Andress wore in Dr. No, I ultimately decide to go the glam route. Emma still insists I tuck the swimsuit into my bag just in case it turns out that I’m too overdressed for the club. An hour later, she deems me the perfect Bond Girl in the skin tight, short, black, strappy dress she found at a thrift store and a pair of sexy, black, thigh high boots. In a moment of inspired genius, Emma straps a realistic looking toy gun to my thigh that is just visible below the short hem of the dress. We’ve straightened my long, dark hair, and some gold, dangly earrings and red lipstick complete my ensemble.
When Beckett and Griffin arrive fifteen minutes later, the heated look in Griffin’s eyes as he takes in my outfit from head to toe makes all the preparation worthwhile.
He whistles softly. “Damn,” he breathes. “I think my heart may have just stopped.”
“You don’t look so bad yourself,” I add, my mouth suddenly dry at the sight of him in a classic, black tuxedo with a crisp white shirt underneath. I totally get off on suit porn. Put a man—my man—in a tuxedo, and my libido goes into overdrive.
In the car, the sexual tension and excitement practically crackles between us.
“So, are you a member at the club?” I ask curiously.
“No. Beckett called Dominic and told him we were in town and wanted to check it out.”
“But you’ve been there before?” I press.
“I’ve been a couple of times with Beckett but it’s been a long time ago. But don’t worry,” he adds, shooting me a wickedly sexual look. “I’ll remember what to do.”
I flush. “I wasn’t worried about that,” I mumble.
He effortlessly eases the car into a parking space in front of an opulent but discreet looking mansion on a quiet cul-de-sac and kills the engine. He turns to me and takes my chin in his hand, tilting it up so I’m looking into his mesmerizing eyes.
“You definitely bring out my dominant side, sweetheart, but I don’t make a regular habit of coming here, if that’s what you’re getting at. I don’t want this type of experience for the sake of the experience. I only want to explore it with you,” he says huskily.
“Okay,” I say softly, amazed at how he knew what I needed to know even when I couldn’t put it into words.
My heart is hammering in my chest as we walk through the thick, double oak doors into a marble-floored foyer with a desk. Unfortunately, the desk is being manned by a man wearing leather pants and a leather vest that is opened to reveal his smooth, muscled chest, not the girl with pink hair whom Emma told me is named Shelly.
“Your card, please,” he says politely.
“We’re visiting from California,” Griffin says, his hand settled firmly on the curve of my lower back, sending tremors of awareness through my body. “I’m Griffin Black. My brother, Beckett, is a friend of Dominic’s. He said we were welcome to visit tonight.”
The man frowns. “I’m sorry. I don’t have you on the list,” he says. “Let me get Dominic.”
He speaks into a discreet microphone headset he’s wearing, and a few minutes later a tall, attractive man in his early forties with a dark goatee appears.
“It’s good to see you again, Griffin,” he says, his voice rich and cultured, as he shakes Griffin’s hand formally. “My apologies that you weren’t on the list. I understand you and your friend would like to play this evening?”
His caramel-colored eyes travel over me, and I feel Griffin’s fingers tighten possessively around my waist.
“We would,” Griffin agrees smoothly. “This is Mila. It’s her first time. We appreciate your hospitality.”
Dominic kisses my hand and says with a small smile, “But of course. I can see you are aware that it’s theme night. We do have slightly different house rules on theme nights. Theme nights are also what we call “mix and mingle nights,” so any bottom that is not accompanied by a top is considered available for play. And,” he looks at Griffin pointedly, “all bottoms must wear cuffs.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but Griffin nods as we sign a waiver, and then we’re being shown to a locker room where I stow my purse. Before I know it, we’re being ushered through another set of doors into a bustling nightclub scene. In fact, the Pinnacle looks like any other nightclub, albeit an upscale one. The walls are paneled in a rich wood, the lights are low, and music thumps through the sophisticated sound system. There are numerous seating areas with deep leather couches and oversized chairs, and a large dance floor where men in tuxedos are dancing with women dressed to the nines in an assortment of gowns, two-piece swimsuits, short skirts with Go-Go boots, and gold latex body suits. There’s also a long mahogany bar which Griffin guides me to.