by Violet Heart
"I'm sorry," she offered, the words falling far short of the apology due him.
"You're sorry?" He seemed insulted, but he dropped his arms and came to her. Cupping her face in his hands, he gave her the soft, mysterious look that had affected her earlier. "Are you? Really?"
"Yes," she whispered, appalled by her treatment of him. Tears stung behind her eyes and she blinked. "You're right."
He smiled gently. "Nice of you to admit it. I know how hard it was for you."
He made fun? She couldn't comprehend him. "How can you joke?"
"Because I forgive you. I don't forgive Frank, but I forgive you. Now, how are we going to make this better?"
She couldn't look at him with his eyes all kind and sweet that way. It was like staring right into the sun. "How about we eat and talk about this?"
"Fine. I'm not putting that thing on." He released her face and frowned at the offending cloth. Carrying the bowl, loaf of bread, and head of lettuce from the counter, he followed her to the table.
Melony pulled the cord at the window, lifting the pleated shade and flooding the room with bright sunshine. Setting two placemats on the table, she glanced at Chip. "Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat."
"I've been naked since what? Eight o'clock last night? I'm getting used to it." Putting the food in the table's center, he added, "I'm comfortable."
"Just let me know." Melony set out two plates, forks, and napkins, then sat.
"What do you want to drink?" Curling his fingers over the back of a chair, he leaned forward and waited.
She couldn't help but admire the flexed muscles of his neck and shoulders in that pose. The amused glint in his eye was contagious. "Now, there you go. Finally, you're sounding like my slave. My training must be working." She struggled to keep a smile from her lips.
He studied her, wary and still waiting. Then a slow grin spread across his mouth. "You better watch it, pretty lady, or I'll make you get your own drink."
Laughing, she nodded toward the refrigerator. "I'll have a can of lemonade."
Going into the kitchen, he sent her a horrified glance. "Canned lemonade. Woman, if you like lemonade, you have to try mine. We've got to make a trip to the grocery store. I'll push the cart so Frank's spies can report that I'm being a good little slave."
"First, you offer to cook breakfast, now you want to make lemonade. This living arrangement might work out nicely for me, after all." Accepting the can from him, she asked, "You willing to go to the store dressed like that?"
"Hell, no. How long do you think Frank will take to get my things from the hotel?" Chip took a seat opposite her.
"No telling," she said, shredding lettuce onto her place with her fingers. "I'm sure it'll be today, though. Velma's working, so he doesn't have anything else to do."
"How do you know he doesn't have a job to do for the 'bad men,' as you call them?"
"Velma says he doesn't do that stuff here in town. Too close to home. He goes out of town for his work." She spooned chicken salad onto the lettuce and leaned down for a sniff.
He gave her a funny look. "Why are you smelling it? You just made it."
Thinking about it for a second, she shrugged. "I don't know. I always sniff my food. Don't give me that look. You sniffed your strawberry this morning."
He barked a laugh. "I sure did, didn't I?" Sandwiching his chicken salad between two slices of bread, he grew serious. "So what now?"
"Well, slave—"
"Don't even start."
"Okay, okay." She liked the banter, but conceded they had matters to discuss. "Frank's not going to give us an inch, so we'll have to be careful. I'll admit, we're entering new territory for me."
Swallowing a bite, he asked, "What do you mean?"
"You're only my second inductee. George, the partner I just broke up with, had a wife and kids, so we had to break his month into week-long business trips, if you know what I mean."
Chip nodded, chewing. "This is delicious, by the way," he said around the food in his mouth.
"Thanks. Anyway, when he stayed, he liked wearing his loincloth and sleeping cuffed to the bar. He stayed here in the apartment the whole time. So it was easy. I'd lock my bedroom, give him a list of chores, and punish him for being a bad slave when I got home from work. You, however, present a whole slew of problems."
"I definitely can't stay here in a loincloth. I'm officially starting a new job Monday. And I'm not sleeping in the torture chamber."
"Playroom," she corrected. "Besides, that's my point. You've got to have your freedom to come and go. You're not my slave, and I'm not going to try to treat you like one. The dilemma is how we're going to make Frank think we're in play."
"Right. Let's kick around some ideas." He popped the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and began making a second.
Not sure how he would take it, she suggested, "For a start, I think I should drive us everywhere."
"I'm not leaving my car at that warehouse," he said.
She waved her fork in the air, a piece of chicken suspended on the tines. "I'm not saying you should. We'll go get it first thing in the morning, while Frank's sleeping off tonight's beer binge. You can park it in my other reserved space."
"Sounds good to me. I'll just tell everyone I'm carpooling with you because my car's in the shop."
Impressive. "Ooh, good one. I like the way your mind works."
A thoughtful crease formed between his eyebrows. "How do we convince Frank I'm playing submissive outside of your apartment?"
"A leash." Melony braced, waiting for his yell.
He didn't disappoint her. "What? No. I'm not putting that collar back on. That was humiliating. I sure as hell am not going to let you lead me into the office building on a leash."
"It wouldn't be like that. I've got a neckband with an easy clasp. You can put it on and take it off by yourself. We'll only use it here, in the apartment parking lot. I don't know what to do about work. Maybe I can drop you off then park."
"That's a different story. I still don't like the idea, but it's better than being hunted by Frank. As for work, you can park in the garage that's attached to the back of the building, like I did yesterday."
That wouldn't work. "I'm not eligible to park in the garage for another two years."
He waved a dismissive hand. "No problem. I'll go see Debra Monday morning and tell her you'll be staying late to work on trial prep for me, and I don't want you walking to the public lot because the buses stop running at five o'clock."
"Five-thirty," she said.
"Whatever. It's still not safe for you to walk around downtown after hours."
"It's still not a good idea. How do you think the staff is going to react if I'm driving you to and from work and getting special treatment? I've got to work with those people. We all contribute to different aspects of these cases, and if they view me as the enemy, I'm not going to get the help I need to prep your trials." Her position with the litigation staff already teetered. She didn't need the other departments black listing her, too.
He frowned. "I didn't think of that."
"Welcome to the world of staff relations. It sucks." Keeping her eyes on her plate, she pushed food around and hoped he didn't see how much the women's censure hurt her.
"The law firm where I worked in Boston was small. Three partners, two associates, our secretaries, and a handful of support staff. I guess I have some things to learn." He thought for a minute, then suggested, "What about using my parking pass? Can we do that?"
She couldn't think of any reason why not. "Sure. That way, unless Frank actually follows us into the garage, he can't see us go inside. You won't need the leash."
"That's the plan, then." He finished his second sandwich and asked, "Do you have room for my suits in your closet?"
Instantly on guard, she narrowed her eyes and said, "My room's off limits. You're sleeping on the sofa bed."
"Why? What's wrong with your bedroom?" His brows drew down at an angle, and he set
his lips in a hard line.
"There's nothing wrong with it." Why did he have to put her on the defensive? Why couldn't he just accept her rule? Then again, she was learning he seemed to question everything. "Nobody goes in there but me."
"Then you're going to sleep with me on the sleeper sofa? That seems odd." His scowl deepened.
"Why do you assume I'm going to sleep with you?" Arrogant ass.
"After this morning, I assumed—"
"Don't assume with me. It'll get you in trouble." She pushed her half-eaten lunch aside and took a drink from the can.
"Apparently," he said, his hackles up. "Now we have a new problem."
She stared into the living room, preferring to look anywhere but at him. "What's that?" She realized her mistake the moment her gaze landed on the mussed bed and discarded ropes. Their morning session hit her like a slap in the face. Images of him wracked with pleasure flashed through her mind. Memories of her own ecstasy revived twinges of pleasure between her legs.
"I've got a lot of clothes."
Moving her stare to the cold fireplace, she asked, "What do you mean by a lot?"
"Eighteen suits. A whole suitcase of nothing but shirts and ties. Seven pairs of shoes. All my casual clothes and unmentionables."
"Unmentionables?" she squeaked, holding in a giggle. "Men call their underwear 'unmentionables?'"
He grimaced. "I was raised with a mom and three sisters. What do you expect?"
"You're a man. What are you doing with all those clothes? Eighteen suits? A whole suitcase of nothing but shirts and ties? Are you one of those metrosexual guys?" She covered her mouth to hide her smile.
"No." He sat straight. "They were graduation gifts from my family. I guess they didn't consult with each other, and they all got me power clothes for my appearances in court. What was I supposed to do? Take some back and risk hurting somebody's feelings?"
"That wouldn't have been nice," she admitted, a giggle escaping between her fingers.
He looked at the crumbs on his plate. "Exactly." Gathering the tiny tidbits of bread with the pad of his index finger, he mumbled, "Haven't even worn half the stuff."
Despite her efforts, she let loose a guffaw and gave up trying to hide her entertainment behind a hand. As peals of laughter rendered her helpless and wilting on the table, Chip got busy clearing dishes. When she regained control, she said, "You sure do make yourself handy."
He forked the last of the chicken salad from the bowl before placing it in the dishwasher. "It wasn't that funny." He took the bite, dropped the fork in, and shut the door. "Okay, maybe it's funny. The fact remains, I've got a supply of clothes headed this way that would make a men's department store proud. Where do you want me to put it? I'm going to be here a month."
"I don't know," she admitted. She went to the living room, picked up the red rope and coiled it with care. "I really don't want your suitcases and clothes all over the place."
"Well, what's in here?" he asked, going to a narrow door where the living room wall turned to form the entryway.
"I think it's supposed to be a coat closet, but I use it for storage. Why?" Draping the russet bond on an armchair, she plucked the brown one from the floor.
"Maybe I can hang my suits in here." He opened the door and perused the space. "If you don't mind putting these boxes somewhere else for a few weeks, I think it'll work. I can get all my shoes in here, too. And all my suitcases will fit on this shelf above the rod if I stack them long ways."
"Just make yourself at home, why don't you?" she teased, carrying the coiled ropes to the playroom. "What about your shirts and ties, the casual clothes, and your unmentionables?" Her voice rose in laughter on the last word.
He sent her a wry look. "I have a trunk being delivered to work with my books and pictures and things. It's a nice one. I was going to use it to decorate the office, but we could bring it here and I can use it for my other clothes. There's room behind the couch, right?"
Closing the playroom door on her way back, she nodded. "That's fine." The sight of his wide, bare back made the stirring between her legs more pronounced. Suddenly, her jeans felt too tight.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, taking a sideways step and closing the closet door.
"I'm hungry." She licked her lips and the bottom dropped out of her stomach.
"You should've eaten more lunch," he said, his voice dropping low and his lids drooping a bit.
"Not that kind of hungry." Hoping to tempt him to the bed, she ran a finger along the V of her shirt.
"What do you have in mind?" he asked, a bulge in the towel telling her he knew exactly what she had in mind.
"Chocolate body paint," she purred and hooked her fingers under the hem of her T-shirt, ready to lift it off.
His lips parted, and he took a step forward as the doorbell rang.
Chapter 13
Frustration punched Chip in the gut, robbing him of his hard-on. Damn it. He really wanted to see what that chocolate body paint was all about. "Is your apartment always this busy?" he asked, unable to keep irritation from his voice.
"Only since I met you," Melony muttered, scowling at the door. "Probably Frank with your things. Though that was really fast. He must know someone at the hotel to get into your room so fast." Looking through the peephole, she cringed. "It's Kathy."
Her friend? "Greaaat," he drawled. And him in a towel.
Melony opened the door but didn't get to say a single word before Kathy marched in, babbling, "I heard you took a new partner. Some new guy. I thought you weren't going to take on another inductee right away. Is he in the play—" She turned and stopped.
Chip smiled and gave a slight wave. Kathy had black hair, black eye make-up, black lipstick, and black nail polish. A nose ring sparkled at the crease of her nostril, tiny hoops crisscrossed along the curve of her ear, and a multitude of rings encrusted her fingers. Cute, but not his type. Certainly didn't appear to be a natural beauty like Melony under all that goth get up.
Kathy's eyes widened. "Daaamn, he's hot."
He really hated when people talked about him in the third person when he stood right there. "Thanks," he said, going to her and extending his hand.
"Hold your tongue, slave!" she snapped and turned angry green eyes toward Melony. "Honestly, Mel, your training is seriously lacking. Didn't you learn your lesson with George?"
"This is different. He's not an inductee."
"I'm standing right here. I can hear you both," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Kathy crossed her arms, too, and cocked a hip. "If you're not an inductee then you're new to the area? Where've you been practicing?"
She knew he was an attorney? "I practiced in Boston and did some volunteer public work in Hartford."
Screwing up half her face, she asked Melony, "What's he talking about?"
"Maybe this isn't the best time. I'll take you to lunch Monday and we'll talk then." She ushered her dark friend to the door.
"But now's a good time for me," Kathy argued.
"Frank's due any time. It's probably best if you're not here or I won't be able to get rid of him."
Chip rolled his eyes at the idea of Frank hanging out in the apartment all afternoon.
Melony opened the door and Kathy stopped in the opening, asking, "Frank? Why's he coming over?"
"Monday. We'll talk Monday. I promise." Melony gave her friend a gentle push and closed the door.
Chip planted a hand on his waist. "What was that all about? Why'd she ask me about my legal experience then pretend not to know what I was talking about?"
Melony grinned. "She was asking about your practice of bondage and sadomasochism."
He was such an idiot. "Oh." He looked at the bed. "What was that about chocolate body paint? I could go for some dessert."
She shook her head. "Probably not a good idea. I was right. Frank could show up any minute, and he'd get upset if he knew he interrupted us and we didn't let him watch us finish."
"Let him watch? That's not cool. What makes him think he can do that?"
She gave him a sheepish squint. "He's been asking all year and I've never come right out and said no."
"Why not?" Was she asking for trouble?
With a meaningful expression, she said, "He's Frank. Is he someone you'd be in a hurry to deny?"
She had a point. "Fine. So what do you think about my using the closet?"
"Okay. We can put my boxes in the playroom."
He pulled one out and realized they were all document boxes. The one in his hands weighed at least forty pounds. Setting it down, he reached to lift the lid.
"No!" she screamed. She took a deep breath. "Don't."
What in the world? "What's in here?"
"Just papers and pictures and stuff." Melony stood trembling, appearing close to tears.
He went to her. "Hey, it's okay. I won't look if you don't want me to."
"I don't want you to," she said with a nod. "Let's get them out of sight. I can't even look at them."
Wow. Whatever filled these boxes had a great deal of importance to her, something bad and very private. Respecting her wishes, he wouldn't snoop. He stacked them in a corner of the torture chamber—six boxes altogether. It bothered him that the contents seemed to haunt her. She cast fearful glances at the containers every time he passed.
By the time he finished, she shook. He couldn't stand to see her like this. Taking her hand, he led her to the living room. He adjusted the towel around his hips then sat in the armchair and pulled her down on his lap. "Why don't you rent a storage space for them?"
She seemed to take comfort from his embrace and lay her head on his shoulder. "Because I'm going to destroy them. As soon as I can face going through it all one more time."
"You want to talk about it?"
"Not even a little bit."
"Okay." He settled his head against the back of the chair and slowly stroked a hand up and down her back. Pretty soon he became drowsy and he closed his eyes. She felt so good against him, smelled like flowers, warm…
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