“This feels so personal.” She scrambled off of his body to sit beside him, curling her knees into her chest.
“You feel off balance, and you’re not used to that.” He tucked a strand of fiery hair behind her ear. “That’s okay. Since you’re independent, you’re going to feel that way in a D/s relationship until you learn to flow with it and trust me. I’ll help you through it. Lie back.” With a gentle, but insistent hand, he pushed her to her back. “Right now, just breathe with me. In . . .”
He demonstrated, lying beside her, inhaling through his nose until his chest rose. Tara followed suit.
“Now let it out.” Logan exhaled until the air was gone, his shoulders slightly slumped.
Again, she did the same. Amazingly, her tears began to dry up. A sense of calm settled over her. It wouldn’t last. She had mountains to climb with this case—and Logan. But right now, she felt more settled than she had in months, maybe years.
But she also felt more connected to him than she ever had to any lover.
Before the alarm bells could go off in her head, Logan rolled over, his body half covering hers, and he possessed her mouth with his in a slow kiss of reverence. Endless, deep. It wasn’t meant to arouse. Instead, Tara had to fight the urge to burrow deeper into his embrace and cling. To connect with him again in every way.
Feelings like that could lead nowhere good. Logan would train her and disappear from her life. She had to be ready to feign an appropriate response to York or any other Dom presented to her.
She broke the kiss and eased to her feet, praying her legs would support her.
“I need a minute. Please. Then we’ll get back to work.” Tara reached for her clothes on the concrete floor.
Logan scooped them up before she could grab the first garment. He tucked the stack against his chest. “When you’re in my dungeon—in most Dom’s dungeons—you won’t be dressed beyond what they allow. If you need to go down the hall to the ladies’ room, I’ll give you your robe.” He placed her clothes in the wardrobe, then handed her the silky cream-colored garment. It wasn’t sheer, but it clung to every bump on her body, especially her stiff, aching nipples. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Tsk
ing, Logan pushed them down to her sides. “No hiding.”
He cradled her breast in his hand, thumbing her engorged nipple through the silk. Fresh pleasure arced through her body. Her head told her that she should be pulling away. She was engaged. None of the soft touches Logan lavished on her forwarded her training. But her body didn’t care. It wanted him.
“Yes, Logan.”
“Excellent, Cherry.” In reward, he eased the silky lapels of the robe apart, anchoring them on the sides of her exposed breasts. He leaned in and kissed one nipple, suckled and nipped it gently. More blood rushed to the tip in a flash of sensitivity. Logan did the same to the other hard tip. More desire gathered hotly between her thighs.
As she arched toward him in silent offering, he covered her breasts up and spun her toward the door.
“Still want a few minutes alone?” he murmured in her ear.
Distance between them would be good, but she no longer wanted it. But was it really wise to experience all that passion again when she was marrying someone else? Someone like Brad, whom her stepfather approved of. Brad shared her desire for marriage and children. He did absolutely nothing for her in bed and could never use sex to control her. Logan could do that twenty-four/seven. Tara sighed. Maybe she should ease her own ache in the bathroom and come back with renewed focus, a clearer head.
“Yes, Logan.”
“Ten minutes. No masturbating. Or that will cost you twenty-five swats and a whole lot of orgasm depravation. That would be a damn shame . . .” He smiled as if he knew that he’d thwarted her plans.
Damn him. He wanted her totally at his mercy. For the case—or for himself? Was he really trying so hard to train her simply for the mission? Did he want to talk about their past merely to clear the air so their rapport would be easier and facilitate the training? Or was this personal for him? His every touch seemed to say so. Tara had to ask herself why. And what was she going to do about the fact that both the scared girl and aching woman inside her wanted to cling to Logan and ask the answers to all her questions?
Tara drew in a bracing breath and opened the dungeon’s door. To her utter horror, Brad stood directly in her path.
Chapter Six
“B
-BRAD?” Tara’s heart dropped to her knees. She had trouble drawing in a breath. “What are you doing here?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, anger radiating from his nearly black eyes, glittering with betrayal. “After the marks I saw on your body last night and our argument, I came to find out what’s going on.”
Tara swallowed. How much of this morning’s session with Logan had he seen? “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you.” Brad stepped into the room on heavy footsteps. “Why didn’t you tell me that your first lover was working you over—excuse me, working with you on this case? Did that fact slip your mind, dear?”
Crap. She’d stepped deep in it now, and had no one to blame but herself. “No. I was reassigned to Logan yesterday. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to overreact.”
“Or you didn’t want me wondering if you were having feelings for him again.”
Okay, that, too. Brad’s sarcasm made his fury painfully obvious. Maybe she should have handled things differently, but it was too late now. Clearly, Logan was always going to elicit some response in her. It was like her body was hardwired to his, and she’d been naïve to hope otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“You’re damn right, you should be sorry! You took off every stitch of clothing and let him put his fucking tongue all over you. And you came for him like a bitch in heat. You
begged
for him. I have always treated you like a lady, been gentle and deferential. And this is how you screw me over?”
Tara felt two inches tall—and wished she could disappear altogether. “It—I didn’t arrange to have Logan as my trainer. That decision rests with my superior and the club owner. You know Darcy is in imminent danger. What kind of friend, what kind of FBI agent, would I be if I held up this case for my personal—”
“Our wedding is in eight weeks. Our invitations arrived yesterday afternoon. Now, I’m standing here wondering if I know you at all. I’ve always thought you were honest and forthright. That you’d never cheat because this bastard”—he pointed to Logan angrily—“taught you how much it hurts.”
Brad was right. The fact that he was a lawyer, capable of tossing together great arguments on the fly, didn’t help, either. Worse, she couldn’t say that she hadn’t cheated. She may not have had sex with Logan, but if he’d dropped his leather pants and crawled between her thighs ten minutes ago, would she have found the strength to stop him?
Tara feared she knew the answer.
“You’re right.” She shook her head, not knowing what else to say. “About everything.”
“Call Bocelli and tell him you need to be reassigned.”
“I did. Yesterday afternoon.”
“Damn it, Cherry,” Logan cursed softly.
Tara glanced his way. Hurt flashed across his face. And somehow, his pain hurt her.
Why? She didn’t owe him anything, except hard work on this case. But engaging in a bit of the power exchange today had reforged the connection she’d once felt with Logan. It was back—but stronger.
Damn. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Brad. If she’d seen him having oral sex with another woman, even for the sake of his job, she’d feel betrayed, too.
Pressing her lips together, she turned back to her fiancé. “Bocelli refused me. The club’s owner insists that Logan will get the job done, and my boss is sticking by that. Logan has a lot of valuable experience in this environment. I know what you’re thinking, but this is my
job
. I have to see this through. And quite frankly, I understand where they’re coming from. Look, Brad, I know this seems weird to you, but I’m about to go into a different world. These people are criminals and don’t play by the rules. If I’m going to do this job right, I have to fit into their world and that includes accepting certain things I might not like.”
Brad paced. “So I’m supposed to watch you walk out the door every morning, knowing that you’re strutting around naked for him, letting him touch you so he can dig his way back into your heart? He’s been a ghost between us since day one, Tara.”
She wished she could refute Brad.
He lifted her chin and forced her stare to lock with his. “What else don’t I know? Have you fucked him again?”
“No. Brad, don’t do this . . .”
“What, seek the truth? I shouldn’t point out that, in the three years we’ve been together, I’ve never heard you scream during sex. Hell, I’d wondered if you even liked it, but that was okay because I love you and wanted to be with you, regardless. I guess I should be wondering now about your feelings for me.”
Tara was questioning them herself. But aside from her stepfather, Adam, Brad had been the most stable force in her life. “I would never have agreed to marry you if I didn’t care.”
“Are you going to try to tell me that nothing has changed for you?” he challenged.
Tara hesitated. No. Everything had changed. She closed her eyes. How had that happened? When? Did she even want to know why?
It sucked caring about two men who were so damn different. They were like comparing a sunny morning to a midnight storm. Brad usually brought his kindness, his well-developed sense of justice to everything he did. Logan charged in with a bang—all testosterone and demand with a little mischief thrown in—then wrought difficulty and destruction before disappearing like a wraith.
But she couldn’t stop wanting him. Maybe she’d never stopped.
God, her life was falling apart. She hoped that when this case was over, her fever for Logan would be, too. But she feared that was wishful thinking.
“Brad, this isn’t the place to discuss us. Let me get dressed. We’ll talk in the car for a bit.”
“Our relationship is a mess, and you want to give me ten minutes in the Audi?”
His sarcasm made her wince. “It’s all I can spare now. Tonight, we’ll talk—”
“No. Right here, right now, I want to know what’s most important to you. Either you—”
“Don’t do this.” Tara had a terrible felling that she knew what his next words would be and she wasn’t ready to face this so soon after Logan had opened up everything vulnerable inside her.
“Quit this case—”
“Stop. Brad . . .” Distress stabbed her chest.
“Or give me back my ring. Because I’ll be god damned if I’m going to do nothing while you come here every day to play kinky personal trainer with your ex-boyfriend for your ‘job.’”
Dread made her stomach plummet to her knees. Since yesterday, Tara had feared that if Brad learned Logan was prepping her for this mission that he’d blow a gasket, but this wasn’t the reaction she’d imagined. Anger, yes. Betrayal, absolutely. But this?
“You’re reading this wrong, Brad. Logan is a highly skilled non-Bureau contractor assigned to teach me everything I need to succeed and save Darcy. You know how important this is to me, to make Adam proud, see if the field is where I belong.”
“You talked about interviews, maybe a demonstration or a walkthrough of all this BDSM shit. Not hands-on experience with your ex.”
Logan got in his face. “Are you really such a prick that you’d want her to go into a potentially dangerous situation without the proper training?”
“Someone else can teach her what she needs to know.”
“I told you,” Tara insisted. “The brass put my training in Dominion’s hands because no one at the Bureau is equipped to teach me properly. The head of this club thinks Logan can prepare me to survive in this world. At this point, I think the smartest thing is for me to listen to the people who know what the hell they’re doing. What’s the brass going to say if I walk in as a junior agent on her first assignment and tell them how it’s going to go down? They would laugh at me. Nor can I walk off this case without losing credibility.”
“Maybe so, but they can’t force you stay with this job.”
Tara’s jaw dropped. “You’re asking me to quit the FBI for you?”
That took his jealousy too far. It was a betrayal of everything she wanted and believed in. Brad worked to all hours of the night. He’d asked her to sacrifice for his career, claiming that it was for the good of both of them. But her job didn’t mean anything?
“For
us,
” he stressed. “I’m asking you to think about our future. Take a job that doesn’t put you in the hands of ruthless bastards and criminals for a paycheck. A job you won’t have to prostitute your integrity for.”
“You’re asking me to choose between my aspirations and my fiancé? I
need
to know if I’m meant to spend my life in the field. And I can’t leave my maid of honor in some sick bastard’s dungeon. What about Darcy and the other victims? Am I supposed to just let them die?”