Auctioned to Protect [The Spectrum Auctions 2] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Doris O'Connor

  He tempered the words with a tight smile that did nothing to reassure Scarlett.

  “He might have moved on? Maybe he had his kick and that’s it now?”

  His eyes blazed in silent fury, and he shook his head.

  “No, he hasn’t. The bastard is biding his time waiting to strike, and I will not risk you, My Lady. I can’t.”

  Scarlett knew that one of the suggestions made by his team had been to use her as bait to draw the criminal out. Mike had been livid at the mere mention and would not entertain the notion. His complete refusal meant that Scarlett’s frightened-stiff part deep down in her soul that she didn’t show to anyone but Mike, breathed easier. She didn’t want to face the madman who had murdered the only true companion she’d ever had. Scarlett knew she ought to be spitting mad and itching at the seams to confront that person, but for the first time in a long while, she cared about someone else far more than her own wants.

  Mike needed her and she sure needed him. The thought of not waking up next to him in the morning hurt too damn much. Their time was finite as it was. No need to speed up the process until he had to leave. And Mike would leave. He’d made it perfectly clear that law enforcement and relationships didn’t mix—ever.

  “I made you a promise. I will get him.”

  The sincere words settled deep in her heart and Scarlett fixed a bright smile on her face.

  “I know you will, but I really don’t want to think about that now. You promised me a ride.”

  Mike smirked and Scarlett let that smile wash away her anxiety.

  “I did, didn’t I?” he said and winked at her. “And a good little subbie always keeps the promises made to his Lady.”

  Scarlett laughed out loud, and Mike got off the floor and did his best to look offended. Seeing the mountain of a man pout really was the most ridiculous thing to witness, and she swatted his ass.

  “That all you got?” he asked, and Scarlett shook her head. She failed miserably at trying to adopt a stern façade. There was a mischievous twinkle in Mike’s eyes now that pulled her in, until she just had to grin back at him.

  “Stay right there, and I’ll be right back.”

  Scarlett watched the poetry in motion that was Mike’s denim-clad ass retreat from view. He was back in seconds dressed in his leather jacket, another one flung over his arm, and carrying two helmets.

  “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Mike simply grinned and handed her the smaller helmet and then the jacket.

  “I did promise you a ride, My Lady. You’re not going to chicken out on me now, are you?”

  Oh, how she wished she could do just that. Scarlett could appreciate the beauty of a motorcycle from a safe distance. She didn’t need to sit on top of one, hurtling along at breakneck speed, thank you very much. However, Mike held that air of don’t mess with me about himself right now. He was so fucking hot when he did that, and Scarlett had a strong suspicion he knew that, too. At least he knew the effect it had on her. It made every feminine cell in her body sigh in appreciation of the alpha male in front of her, made ten times hotter by the knowledge that he would drop to his knees for her in an instant if she demanded it.

  “Trust me, My Lady. I’ll keep you safe and you’ll love it.”

  The gravelly tones of his voice turned her insides to mush, and she lifted her arms to let him help her into the leather jacket.

  It fit like a glove and Mike’s gaze burnt hotter as he zipped her up. His callused hands rested on her neck, and he used the pads of his thumbs to stroke across her jawline.

  “You’re so beautiful, Scarlett.”

  Their gazes locked and time stood still as she drank in the depths of emotion in his blue eyes.

  When Mike leant in Scarlett met him halfway in a kiss so tender and emotional, she fought tears. Mike kissed them off her face and then pulled back. For one heart-stopping moment he looked as though he was going to say something, and then he shook his head and grasped her hand.

  “Time for that ride, My Lady.”

  * * * *

  Whatever had possessed him to suggest they ride to Scarlett’s place? Having her pressed against his back, her slim thighs either side of his and her small hands locked in a death grip around his waist, was pure torture. By the time they pulled up in the car park outside Scarlett’s place, his dick was all but ready to punch holes in the crotch of his jeans.

  There was something so primal about having a powerful machine at his command whilst a small, helpless female clung to him like a vine. Not that Scarlett could ever be considered helpless. His Lady was one of the bravest women he knew, and also terribly fragile.

  He wasn’t at all sure he was doing the right thing by bringing her back here, even though Slade had reassured him that the place had been cleaned of all traces of that dreadful evening.

  Anxiety poured off Scarlett in waves and when she slipped her hand in his, her fingers were ice cold.

  “We don’t have to do this, baby,” he said and drew her closer to him as his eyes scanned the car park for any possible threat. None was there, as far as he could see. A flower-delivery van was parked close to the front and the female driver had her company’s baseball cap pulled down low so that he couldn’t see her face. She appeared to be on the phone and paid no attention to her surroundings.

  Mike grit his teeth at the absence of any stationed officers to keep an eye on Scarlett’s place. With her not currently in residence, they had been the first to be pulled off the case, followed by the ones watching Mike’s flat.

  He knew it was just standard procedure, but this was his Lady’s life they were messing with. Mike had that annoying itch down his spine that told him something was about to happen. That itch had saved his life on more than occasion, and he pulled Scarlett along.

  “Let’s get you inside. We’re sitting ducks standing here like this.”

  Her eyes widened, but she hurried along behind him, her ever-present boots clicking along the pavement. Even in street clothes, Scarlett wore high heeled boots that could do some serious damage if she chose to use them as such.

  By the time they stood outside her front door, Mike could smell her unease. He crowded her against the wall in the exact same spot he’d caged her in the last time they’d been here and he kissed her nose.

  Scarlett blinked and focused on him.

  “You don’t have to go in there. Slade, Laura, Pedro, and I can gut the place of all your belongings and put them in storage for you. Then you can simply sell the place and move on.”

  Two high spots of color appeared on Scarlett’s high cheekbones and she pushed him away from her.

  “No.” That one word was barely above a whisper, and Scarlett grimaced and cleared her throat. “No. I’m not going to be driven out of my own home. I need to do this.”

  God, how he loved her spirit, and gut and…Mike pulled a sharp breath into his lungs as realization hit, watching Scarlett unlock the front door with trembling fingers.

  I love her.

  Sometime, somehow over the last couple of weeks, he had fallen in love with Scarlett. This wasn’t simple lust anymore, though lord knew he lusted after her. No, he needed her like the very air he breathed. He, Mike Anderson, who scoffed at the idea of love, who had sworn blind that he would never put any woman through what his mother went through as a copper’s wife. And dad had only been a traffic cop. He hadn’t gone undercover like Mike did on a regular basis, hadn’t seen half the sick stuff Mike had dealt with over the years, and still he’d put them all through hell.

  From the moment he’d joined the police force Mike had sworn to himself that he would never put any woman through the worry and the heartache. Too many of his colleagues had broken marriages to show for their efforts, yet fuck him if the only thought that bounced around in his head right now wasn’t mine.

  He wanted Scarlett for himself for as long as she’d let him serve her. He wanted what his sister had found with Slade, dammit.

  Scarlett’s gasp
brought his attention back to the moment, and he dropped his stance ready to attack, but Scarlett wasn’t in any danger. She stood in her hallway and looked around with a stunned expression on her face.

  “It’s all…Who did this?”

  Mike followed her in and whistled through his teeth. Slade and Laura had worked miracles since he’d been here last week, just after the forensic team had released the flat back for use.

  A new, brightly colored throw covered the settee, and the destroyed scatter cushions had been replaced by frilly little concoctions that made Mike feel quite sick. Far too much pink and purple for any man to stomach, but Scarlett clapped her hands and picked each new item up with a look of sheer bliss on her face.

  A banner strung across the ceiling read Welcome home Scarlett, freshly cut flowers were in the many vases occupying the surfaces—an attempt to cover up the smell of bleach, Mike knew—and the porcelain dolls had been cleaned by an expert.

  Scarlett turned to him now and there was no escaping her intense stare. His cock, which had only just started to get comfortable, hardened to the point of pain, and he resisted the urge to sink to his knees right there.

  “You’ve been holding out on me again, boy.”

  Mike shrugged his shoulders, and Scarlett pursed her lips. Her foot started to tap on the floor in the rapid staccato beat that told of her annoyance, and Scarlett crossed her arms. Had she had her whip handy, he’d have already felt its fiery kiss, of that he was quite sure.

  “I knew you wanted to get back here, so I made sure we fixed the place for you.”

  “We?” she asked.

  “Slade, Laura, Pedro, a few of the subbies who had skills we could use. I didn’t do all that much, to be honest. Just organized it. Laura did most of the roping people in to help. That kid sister of mine could sell bibles to the Vatican, I tell you, and—”

  The shrill ring of his mobile interrupted him and he pulled it out of his pocket with a frown. Smithy didn’t ring him unless it was urgent, not on his personal phone anyway.

  “Boss, you wanna get here fast. They’ve got the bastard. I’ve got him in a holding cell, and I reckon he’ll sing like a fucking canary with the right inducement. Being that it’s your woman he’s messed with, I gathered you’d want those honors.”

  Mike did a mental fist pump at the thought, even as he tried to temper his reaction, all too aware of Scarlett watching his every move.

  “Too fucking right I do. Are you sure it’s him?”

  At Smithy’s laughing confirmation, the cold fury that had set in his belly ever since that night spread like poison through his veins.

  “The stupid wanker got pulled over for speeding. Traffic cop didn’t like the look of him, so he searched the boot. Fuck load of pictures of Miss Simpson in there. That asshole has been watching her for months, it seems. It’s him, all right.”

  “I’ll be there ASAP.”

  Mike hung up the phone and pulled Scarlett into a fierce hug. She clung to him and kissed him with a desperate urgency that tore at his heart.

  Mike wrenched his mouth off hers and framed her face in his hands.

  “It’s over. That was Smithy. The fucktard is denying everything, but they found pictures of you in the boot of his car.”

  Scarlett went pale and then pulled her shoulders back and raised her head in a move he recognized well. She was donning her Mistress Scarlett cloak, as he privately called it. Not the Lady that he loved to serve, but the professional Mistress that nothing could touch, and who was always in control.

  “Then go. There is no need for you to be here is there, brass?”

  The coldness of her voice cut through him, but he had no time to explain his feelings now, if she’d even believe him. It was his own stupid fault for insisting that this was just his job.

  “I’ll be back when I’ve sorted this, My Lady.”

  She flinched at the term, and Mike wanted to grab her and kiss her senseless to show her what he couldn’t bring himself to put into words, but instead he grabbed his helmet and nodded.

  “Mike?”

  Scarlett’s voice stopped him.

  “Give the bastard a kick from me.”

  “Oh, I will, don’t you worry. I’m going to fucking enjoy this. Lock the door after me, and don’t let anyone in, just to be on the safe side. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “There really is no need for you to come back, is there? If that’s the guy then the case is solved and you can get on with your life.”

  Hand on the door handle, Mike turned round and glared at her.

  “Don’t talk nonsense, woman. I’ll be back and I might just put you over my knee for those inane comments. In fact, let’s do that. I’ll gladly take any punishment you choose to dish out for my impertinence. I love you, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  His ears burnt hot at saying those words, but the tightness in his chest eased, and he smirked at the expression on his Lady’s face. He bet no one had ever seen Scarlett speechless before.

  Chapter Twelve

  She couldn’t have heard him right. The urge to run after him, to make him say those three words again and again and again until she was absolutely certain that she hadn’t imagined them had her halfway out of her front door before she came to her senses.

  Mike was a cop. He had a job to do. She couldn’t just go chasing after him, and besides, that’s not who she was. Scarlett didn’t chase men, no matter how much they meant to her.

  She shut the front door and jumped onto her settee with a whoop, clutched one of the cushions to her midriff, and grinned like all her Christmases had come at once.

  What had changed his mind she didn’t know and she didn’t much care. That kernel of hope she’d been carrying around inside of her, and which had blossomed with every minute of every day she’d spent in Mike’s company, burst forth to encompass her in a cocoon of happiness.

  The knock on the door shook her out of her happy musings. Mindful of Mike’s warnings, she put the chain on and checked through her spy hole first.

  It seemed she had a flower delivery and Scarlett rolled her eyes. As if the place wasn’t overloaded with flowers already, but the girly part inside of her squealed in delight and she opened the door as far as the chain would allow.

  The bored-looking flower-delivery woman shoved the bunch of spring flowers at her.

  “Scarlett Simpson?”

  “Yes,” Scarlett said.

  “Good, this is for you.”

  “Who is it from?” Scarlett asked. “I’m not expecting a delivery.”

  The woman rolled her eyes and shifted from foot to foot.

  “I don’t know. I just deliver the damn things. There’s a card. Look, you’re gonna take this, or I take it back with me. Time is money, lady.”

  Well, there was a person who loved her job. Scarlett unhooked the chain and had to step back when the flowers came flying toward her.

  “Got you, bitch.”

  The scratch to her neck hurt like hot pokers and then the world went black.

  * * * *

  The guy who sat holding his head in his hands had to be the most unassuming individual Mike had ever seen. Thick, wire-framed glasses seemed too big for his long, thin face. The receding hairline and the start of a potbelly spoke more of dad next door than psychopath. Wasn’t it always the one you suspected the least?

  Liam Webster, ex–branch manager of Scarlett’s local coffee shop, rocked to and fro, eyes darting nervously around the room. Beads of perspiration sat on his thin top lip and sweat patches stained his shirt.

  His head shot up when Smithy stepped into the room. Mike was too wired to approach the suspect yet. If he stepped in that room now, it would be him under assault charges. Plus that itch was back stronger than ever, and Mike’s gut told him this was a red herring.

  The boot of Webster’s car had been full of recent pictures of Scarlett taken with a long photo lens. Pictures of Scarlett emerging from the Club, pictures of Mike and Scarlett toge
ther, even pictures of Laura and Slade leaving Scarlett’s flat.

  Mike’s blood ran cold. All this time they had been watched. Sitting ducks for a well-placed shot. The fact that neither one of them had been taken out made that itch escalate until his skin crawled. He’d left Scarlett on her own for fuck’s sake, with all her defenses down, because he’d said they got their guy.

  Smithy shoved the pictures across the table and Webster’s face dropped.

  “Care to explain to me why you’re stalking Ms. Simpson?”

  “I’m not…I don’t even know…I mean—”

  “Mr. Webster, you carry a picture of Ms. Simpson in your wallet, together with a business card for Club Spectrum. Do not take me for a fool. I’ve got my boss behind that mirror itching to rearrange your face until you spit your teeth out one by one.”

  Mike smiled grimly as Webster pushed his glasses up and looked terrified enough to shit his pants. Smithy in action was a formidable force. He never once raised his voice. The shaven-haired black guy didn’t need to. His mere presence made most folks take a step back. The angrier he became the quieter his voice was, like a cobra waiting to strike, and by the low cadence of his big tenor Smithy was as pissed off as Mike, if not more so.

  Mike had picked his team well. He trusted every one of his men with his life, even the green one. He was a good kid, and was even now on standby and on his way to Scarlett’s place at Mike’s request.

  “You can’t do that. I’ve got rights. I—”

  Smithy’s fist crashed down on the table between them, and Webster’s face contorted in fear.

  “Your rights count for shit right now. You’ve picked on the wrong girl. No one messes with one of us, and Ms. Simpson is under the boss’s protection so you better start telling me the truth—now.”

  Webster turned all shades of green and ashen.

  “I’ve never seen these pictures before. You’re crazy if you think I would stalk anyone. Yes, I’ve got her picture in my wallet. I was intrigued by her. Which man wouldn’t be? A professional Mistress, that’s all kinds of hot…”