“Hey,” Blake said, stepping out of his office and lifting his chin in greeting to Donnie, who was already making his way down the hall. “Trouble at the front bar?” It figured that the one time Blake hadn’t kept his eyes on his security feeds was the one time he was called to handle an incident.

“Yah, sounds like it,” Donnie said, running a hand through the mop of sun-streaked blond hair that made him appear more like a California surfer boy than a hardened kid from Southie, at least until he opened his mouth. “I was down in the Red Room, but Jace called me to come up. Said there was a situation. He called you, too?”

Blake nodded, falling into step with the other man as they headed towards the front entrance.

“We’re about due, eh?” Donnie continued. “Haven’t had a fight or a security issue in a month. Was starting to get a little bored around here, waiting for something to happen. I’m ready to crack some heads.” He jokingly pounded one fist into the palm of the opposite hand and chuckled.

Blake rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but didn’t reply. Donnie was right, it had been quiet recently. Unfortunately, as far as Blake was concerned, it wasn’t a joking matter.

Attendance at The Club was down. It might not have gotten to the point where the bouncers, the part-time Dungeon Masters, or the waitstaff had noticed a significant dip, but when Blake looked at the weekly revenue totals for the past month, the downturn was fairly obvious. Over the last few weeks, having The Club at capacity was the exception, rather than the rule. And he didn’t have to look any further than the front page of today’s Boston Star to know who to blame for the change.

Chalo Salazar and the Church of the Highest fucking Prophet.

Discretion was the hallmark of any successful BDSM club, and The Club was no exception. Over the years, Blake had devoted untold effort and a shit-ton of money to security upgrades, ensuring that his members’ privacy would be protected. He had never gone for any of the quick-but-risky advertising methods he’d seen others try, like hosting open-houses, or even advertising their location in kink-friendly publications. And he’d never allowed his members to fudge the definitions of safe, sane, and consensual as so many fly-by-night clubs (Club Black Box sprang to his mind) had done, in the hope of drawing a larger crowd. Instead, The Club’s reputation had spread slowly, by word of mouth, as a place for well-regulated, discreet kink.

But thanks to the ongoing smear campaign, The Club was now a household name, and the front entrance was monitored by a small band of protesters at random hours of the day.

Goodbye, anonymity.

Though neither Blake nor Slay’s crew had been able to prove a direct link between Salazar and the church, Blake could see that asshole’s fingerprints all over this debacle. From what Blake knew of Salazar, this kind of underhanded vengeance was totally his style. And it was the only way Blake could account for the way the church’s protests against The Club had morphed over the past few weeks from some fire-and-brimstone-type hate mail to a far more incisive, sophisticated, and personal attack.

The church’s initial “Shame on you, sinners!” spiel apparently hadn’t made much of a ripple—not a shock in a place as proudly liberal as Boston—so it appeared they’d decided to change direction. Now, they were trying to frame BDSM as a social justice issue rather than a moral one, and were inciting the masses to protest. Which pissed Blake right the fuck off.

Not the protesting part—God knew, Blake had served his country so that people would have the right to assemble peaceably, to air their grievances in an open forum. But he’d be damned if he’d ever condone an organization using misinformation and inflammatory language to incite protesters for their own gain. And that was exactly what the church had done.

Thanks, no doubt, to Salazar’s money, the church had taken out expensive full-page ads in The Star two Sundays in a row, describing what went on behind The Club’s doors as “exploitation,” “cruelty,” and “abuse,” language not even the most hard-hearted SOB could ignore. They’d gotten hundreds of people to splash twisted “facts” all over social media, calling Blake a “deviant” and submissives “victims.” And it seemed that they’d successfully made The Club, his club, a poster child for every horrifying story of kink-gone-wrong that they could dredge up… or fabricate, as he was all-but-certain was the case with the two women who claimed to have been assaulted in one of The Club’s dungeons by an unidentified dom.

Now, it seemed like almost every concerned citizen in Boston, from rosary-toting grandmas to fresh-faced college students, had taken a turn holding a placard out in front of The Club, or signing an online petition.

He didn’t blame them for being outraged. They were simply directing their outrage at the wrong target. And as soon as he could prove the connection between Salazar and the church, he’d show them what the correct direction was.

In the meantime, his little PR problem was becoming a legitimate business concern. And with Salazar fanning the flames, he doubted that it would be going away anytime soon.

So much for his idea that he’d get things sorted quickly so he and Elena could focus on their relationship. He’d admit, getting to know her better through their texts and phone calls over the past few weeks had been pretty damn sweet. He’d been able to dom her, to keep tabs on her, to make sure she was taking care of herself at all times. More than that, he’d gotten to know her as someone other than Alex Slater’s mouthy little sister, or the leading lady in every one of his sexual fantasies. He’d confirmed a truth he’d long suspected—that the biting humor and sassy attitude he loved hid a core of absolute goodness.

But God in Heaven, he was lusting after the woman like a fucking teenager. The first thing he did in the morning was reach for the phone to check his text messages. The questions she asked during their phone conversations, about rope bondage and implements and total power exchange, fired his imagination like nothing he could remember. And damned if he hadn’t gotten himself off twice this morning just reliving the sound of her moan as she’d come for him on the phone last night. If he didn’t get to fuck his girl again soon, there’d be hell to pay.

Blake took a deep breath. One problem at a time, he reminded himself.

He and Donnie approached the doorway that led from the members-only main bar into the front bar beyond. The door between the two areas was usually left open, though at least one of Blake’s men was always standing guard to ensure that only members and their guests were allowed into The Club itself. Tonight, the door was closed, with Jace apparently on the other side. And the commotion in the front bar was so loud that Blake could hear it, even through the exorbitantly expensive soundproofing insulation he’d had built into the walls. It sounded like… chanting?

He and Donnie exchanged a look.

What the actual fuck?

He pushed open the door, and stepped into chaos.

Dozens of women and men—most of them Elena’s age or a little bit younger, were packed around tables and crowded around the bar, chanting “Sexual Assault is Not Sexy!” He noticed a man in the back sporting a white t-shirt with bright-red lettering that said, “Partnership Not Patriarchy!” And near the front, sat a woman holding a baby, who sported a onesie saying “Don’t Abuse My Mommy!”

Christ.

“Is that a, um…” Donnie stuttered, eyes wide as he caught sight of the child.

“A baby? Yeah, bud.” He clapped the bouncer on the shoulder and asked wryly, “Still feel like cracking heads?”

Donnie turned to give him a disgruntled look.

Meanwhile, across the room, a pair of women were screaming at Jace and Vickie, who were barricaded behind the bar. Vickie, who had worked at The Club for years, and had been a waitress at a biker bar frequented by Hell’s Angels for years before that, looked absolutely petrified as a protester leaned over the bar and hurled obscenities at her, while another took pictures with a cell phone. Jace, who had taken a position in front of Vickie, stared grimly at the protesters, clearly uncertain of how to handle this situation.

Blake didn’t blame the man. He and Donnie had come out here to deal with a couple of drunks, or maybe a curious person who’d wandered in off the street and wouldn’t take no for an answer from Jace. But a horde of protesters inside the bar? Yeah, that was a new and extremely unwelcome development.

“Jace,” he yelled, his deep voice booming through the crowd. “Get Vickie out of here. Take her back to the break room and hang tight until this is settled.”

Jace nodded and grabbed Vickie’s arm to lead her out from behind the bar, through the crowd of protesters, and into The Club.

Blake stood aside to let them pass, and muttered to Donnie, “Okay, I’ve seen enough. Call the cops. I’ll wait here.”

But apparently Blake had already drawn attention to himself, because a man in the back shouted, “It’s him! The ringleader! Master Blake!”

Blake folded his arms over his chest and gritted his teeth, though a sick feeling churned like acid in his gut. God.

He supposed escalation was inevitable. But how many of his employees’ identities were known? How far would the protesters go? He made a mental note to discuss personal security with every member of his staff, so they could protect themselves and their families. And of all the nights for him to invite Elena…

“He looks just like in the picture online! He is the one who roughed up those two girls last month!” someone else cried.

This was so stunning, Blake felt his jaw drop. Was that Salazar’s plan? Was he now going to have Blake implicated in a crime?

“Stop the innocent act!” a man in the crowd bellowed. “It’s all over the internet! We know what you do to women, you and your club! This isn’t the type of community we want our kids to grow up in!”

“You beat women, you control them, you manipulate them,” another woman added. “’Dominant’ is just a fancy word for misogynist! You prey on women who have no self-esteem!”

It wasn’t the first time Blake had heard an accusation like that about the lifestyle, but it was the first time it had been hurled at him directly. And he couldn’t give a shit what they believed about him¸ but then he thought of the strong, confident submissives he knew—Heidi and Hillary, Tess and Allie, John and Daphne, his Josie… and his Elena. Even knowing that it would do no good, he couldn’t keep silent.

“I suggest you do some research, if you truly believe that,” Blake said grimly. “Not only are you factually wrong in your assumption that all dominants are men, thereby invalidating the experiences of female dominants everywhere, you are fundamentally wrong about what dominance and submission means, and where the ultimate control of a healthy dom-sub relationship lies.”

The crowd seemed to pause, looking amongst themselves, as though they hadn’t expected a rational response. Had they expected him to lash out? Or perhaps to come out clothed in some Fred Flintstone-esque caveman ensemble and grunt at them? He rolled his eyes.

At the front table, the baby took advantage of the sudden silence to crow loudly, waving his chubby hands and grinning a gummy smile directly at Blake. For half a second, Blake felt his lips twitch.

“You can’t expect us to believe the word of the most notorious dominant in Boston!” a woman at the next table barked, fixing him with a glare that might have singed the eyebrows of a lesser man. “You beat those girls!”

Blake shook his head. Nope. He certainly wasn’t going to convince anyone here. But before he could say a word, an all-too-familiar husky voice called out from behind him.

“So, where’s the police report!”

He knew that voice. He’d fantasized about that voice.

Oh. Fuck. No.

“If you all truly believe he’s committed a crime, why hasn’t he been arrested?” the voice demanded.

There were only a couple of times in his life when Blake could recall feeling an absolute disconnect with reality, as though he couldn’t force his brain to believe what his eyes and ears were telling him. The first time had been after a three-day sleep-deprivation military training back in the day, when he’d started having hallucinations. The second had been thirty years later, when Josie’s doctor had looked at them seriously and spoken the words, “Cancer. Metastasized. Terminal.”

The third time was happening right this second.

His woman, his Elena, could not possibly have just walked herself out into a crowd of protesters armed with cell phone cameras, could she? After he’d taken every precaution to keep her out of the public eye, to keep her safe, for the past month?

Once again, the entire crowd seemed to still, and all eyes in the room turned to focus on the newcomer, including Blake’s.

She looked like an avenging angel. That was the first thought that entered his mind. Her black hair tumbled down her back, untidy from when he’d run his fingers through it just a few minutes before. Her face was set in a mask of cold fury, and her dark eyes seemed to shoot sparks of rage at the assembled crowd.

Which, hand to God, was not one-tenth of the rage he felt, watching her endanger herself this way.

“I cannot believe that mature, socially conscious people in this day and age have dragged themselves, and their babies, out here to protest the way that other people choose to have sex!” Elena continued, glaring at one woman after another, in turn, but avoiding Blake’s gaze entirely. “If I were gay or lesbian or transgendered, would you care who I had sex with? If I chose to paint myself from head to foot with tattoos, wouldn’t you all tell me I had a right to do what I wanted with my own body? What in the world makes you think I need you to save me from myself? What makes you think you can make decisions for me when you don’t even know me? Who says you can protest my personal choices just because you don’t agree with them?”

The protesters gaped at her. The one holding the smiling baby in the front row spoke up. “But two women were beaten here at The Club. They said they’re filing a civil suit!”

Elena snorted. “They can say all they like, but no paperwork has been filed. And the police investigation was closed within a day.”

The protesters began muttering to one another and typing rapidly into their smart phones, perhaps in an effort to confirm Elena’s statement.

Blake couldn’t care less what they were doing. He turned and took a step towards his woman, and watched as her gaze met his. Her eyes were wary but defiant, telling him that she’d known exactly how much she’d provoke him by walking out here tonight, and she’d decided it was worth it.

He was proud and fucking pissed in equal measure, his blood pumping through his body like molten metal, setting every nerve ending on fire. He was gonna blister her ass so thoroughly that sitting comfortably would be nothing more than a pleasant memory for the next few days. And then he was going to kiss the shit out of her.

But first, he was going to get her the hell out of here.

He muttered, “Enough,” and placed his hand on her elbow, blocking her from most of the crowd.

She pressed her lips together and looked up at him. “Blake, I—”

“Oh, there’ll be plenty of time for explanations and excuses, baby,” he assured her, giving her a smile that was anything but friendly. Then he leaned closer to whisper in her ear, “When you’re over my knee.”

She swallowed, licked her lips, and nodded.

Then before he could shuffle her back towards the door, which he saw was now standing open, despite being blocked by both Jace and Donnie, Elena shifted her weight to one side and leaned around him.

“The allegations are total bullshit!” she called to the crowd. “And I suggest you check your facts before you allow yourselves to be riled up. You might be surprised to find that the person bankrolling this whole smear campaign is actually a drug dealer by the name of… mmmph!”

Blake reached out a hand and covered her mouth before she could speak the name. He whirled her around and frog marched her three steps over to the door and into the cool quiet of The Club.

“Blake,” Donnie said in a low voice. “Police are on the way. I’ll call you when—”

“Handle it,” Blake bit out, marching Elena forward, moving his hand from her mouth to her shoulder to steady her.

“Handle it? Myself? Usually it’s you or Slay who…”

Blake paused and spared Donnie a glance. “I trust you, Donnie. If they wanna talk to me, you buzz me. But until that time, you take care of it. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Donnie said with a firm nod. “I’ve got it, boss.”

“Good man,” Blake said, nudging Elena forward once more.

“Blake, maybe you should—” Elena began, but Blake cut her off.

“Maybe you should take this opportunity to be quiet. Something you should have done ten fucking minutes ago!”

She was silent for the space of four steps before she opened her mouth again.

“But, Blake, honey, maybe—” she began again, breathlessly.

“Not. One. Word.”

“Honey—”

They had reached his office. He pushed the door open with one hand and propelled her inside, closing and locking the door behind him then he turned away, and doubled over, bracing his hands on the desk.

Rage clouded his vision—rage against the church, against the protesters, against Elena herself for walking her ass into danger despite all their combined efforts to keep her safely out of the spotlight over the past few weeks—and he sucked in breath after painful breath in an attempt to control it.

Christ, had he ever had to struggle for control like this? Not for years, for decades, if ever. But then again, when had he been tested like this? No woman had ever been passionate enough, stubborn enough, crazy enough to defy him.

The thought of Josie flitted across his mind, and for the first time in a long time, he conjured her memory with no pain, no guilt. His sweet wife had been so strong, so gentle, so thoughtful. One day, not long before she’d passed, she’d taken his hand, as he’d sat by her bedside, and she’d begged him to take another submissive someday. Through her blog, she’d met several doms and subs who had lost their long-time partners or spouses, she’d told him, and she’d seen first-hand how hard it was for them to find fulfillment again, even when their grief had lessened, without that dominant/submissive bond in their lives. Knowing how strong his protective instincts ran, she’d hoped that someday Blake would find that connection with someone else.

He’d scoffed, of course. The connection he’d had with Josie, that perfect rhythm born of decades of growth and friendship and love, could never be replaced. But she’d just smiled her quiet smile and said she hoped he’d be surprised.

Blake imagined that Josie was right now laughing her ass off in Heaven, because he’d found that connection, all right. In the most unlikely of places.

Blowing out one final breath, he pushed himself off the desk and turned to look at the woman who’d somehow managed to get under his skin, to challenge him in ways he hadn’t thought possible. She was standing two feet away with her hands clasped in front of her, knitting and unknitting her fingers as she watched him. She looked nervous.

She should be.

His rage had passed entirely, but his need to discipline her for what she’d done made his palms clench in anticipation.

“Shoes off, jeans down. You’re going over my knee.”

She inhaled a shaky breath… and to his shock, took a step away from him.

“Blake, we need to talk first,” she told him.

“Elena,” he warned. “You do not want to play this game with me right now.”

“No game.” She shook her head. “I just think we need to wait a minute. I know you’re angry, but—”

“I’m completely in control,” he told her truthfully. “I would never risk punishing you while I was too upset.” God, did she think he’d punish her while temper was still riding him?

“No, no, I know you wouldn’t,” she assured him, taking a step closer and laying a placating hand on his forearm. “It’s just that I don’t think you should spank me. N-not now.”

“Not… now?” He repeated the words slowly, like they were a foreign language. She was looking at him with a pleading expression on her face—not defiant, not scared, but weirdly hesitant. And for the life of him, he had no clue what she was trying to tell him.

He grabbed the hand that rested on his arm and yanked her gently forward until her chest was touching his. He wrapped one arm tightly around her waist, while the other sank deep into her hair and pulled… hard.

She cried out softly, but he ignored it.

“You walked out there, Elena. Into a crowd of protesters.” His voice was rough, vibrating with tension. “Opening a Pandora’s box that can never be closed. Did you take even one second to consider how thoroughly they could fuck up your life with just a few phone calls to your employer, let alone what could happen if your identity gets spread online?”

Elena glanced down. “No, sir,” she whispered.

“And then, then, you delivered your little speech—”

“I meant every word of that,” she said passionately, gazing back up at him, her eyes filled with tears. “They’re crazy if they believe the things they’re spouting.”

“And what about the shit you’re spouting?” he roared. “Jesus Christ, Elena, you were about to call out the most notorious drug dealer in Boston!”

“I watched the security feed after you left, and I couldn’t let them say those things about you!” she argued, but he could see the realization of what she’d done written on her face, the remorse in her eyes, even as she spoke. “It was bad enough when they were making up things about The Club, but I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to them tell lies about you! You’re the best man I know, Blake! The best man I know!”

Her voice broke off in a sob as her tears spilled over, and Blake’s arms came around her. What the heck was this? “Elena, honey—”

“I know,” she sniffled. “You’re right, it was stupid. I hadn’t considered any of the things you just mentioned.”

“I told you to wait here,” he reminded her sternly, even as his hand rubbed up and down her back in a soothing way. “You know I would never want you to endanger yourself that way. Your safety is paramount. That’s a rule. And you broke it.”

“I know,” she admitted again, lifting both hands to her face to wipe away her tears.

“Then we’re fucking taking care of this. Now.” His voice grew harder. “Donnie is handling the police. We will not be disturbed. Tomorrow, we are going to have a meeting—you, me, Slay, Matt. We’re gonna get you security 24/7. We’re gonna talk to our lawyers about what you need to tell your employers so you can get ahead of any shit that might come of this. But before we do any of that, young lady, before we figure out how we’re gonna move on from this, we’re going to finish it. You take your jeans down and put yourself over my knee immediately, or your punishment will double.”

He heard her breath catch, saw her eyes flare at the young lady.

So she liked that just as much as he did. Good to know.

She took a deep breath, swallowed once, and began to speak.

“I can’t,” she said, holding up a hand when she saw his eyes narrow, felt his arms contract around her back. “Can’t, Blake. Not won’t. Because I do want to, really. I needed a spanking so badly before I even walked in here tonight, and I know, I can see, just how angry you are at me, and I know that a spanking would help clear the air before we figure out where to go from here, but… well… it’s just that sometimes there are certain positions that aren’t maybe the best idea, you know? A-and I don’t have a lot of experience… or, you know, any experience really, but I’ve researched BDSM pretty extensively online and there are some concerns about maybe blood flow and restraints and the more hardcore stuff, or anything that would put me upside down for any period of time. But spanking would be fine, I’m almost positive. Just maybe not over your knee. A-and maybe not face-down at all, in the last trimester.”

The words flew past him in a mad, hesitant, irrational, very un-Elena-like rush, but he caught onto the last word the way a man clings to a life preserver.

Trimester.

“Jesus Motherfucking Christ. A baby?”

He hadn’t realized he’d said the words aloud until he saw the way Elena blanched, the way her eyes widened. “You… aren’t happy,” she surmised.

Happy? Was he happy? God, he didn’t have the first idea how he felt.

He and Josie had tried for years to have a baby—a little boy he’d take to football games; a little girl he could dote on. But then the doctors had said that Josie couldn’t have children, and Josie had said she wasn’t interested in adopting. So, he’d moved Children from the category of Things That Might Happen to the category of Things That Will NOT Happen, and he’d tried his best not to think about it after that.

But now, with Elena… it seemed that God was giving him another shot. The image of a little girl with Elena’s dark hair appeared in his mind and he sucked in a sharp breath.

Christ, but he wanted that.

He thought of his sweet Josie again. Yup, definitely laughing her ass off at the twists and turns his orderly life was taking.

He shook his head as a reluctant smile tugged at his lips, and he lifted his hand from Elena’s waist to run it through his hair.

“I figured I was too old to have a kid,” he told her, the hand at her back tightening even further, while his free hand cupped her jaw. He slid his thumb along her bottom lip and watched her eyes lighten as she read his smile.

She smirked. “Apparently not.”

Yeah. Apparently not.

“How sure are you?” he demanded.

She took a deep breath and let it out. “Not very,” she admitted. “My period is about a week late, which is really unusual. I took a test today, and it was negative, but it might just be too early in the pregnancy for the over-the-counter test to detect. I’m going to talk to the doctor at Centered first thing tomorrow morning and get a blood test done. I’ll ask them to put a rush on it. We should know for sure sometime tomorrow.”

Blake nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

“For a blood draw?” Elena smiled. “No, honey, you don’t have to come for this one.”

“Then you’ll come to me as soon as it’s done,” he decided. “We’ll wait for the results together.”

Elena hesitated. “Here? At The Club? What about Alex?”

Blake shook his head. “We’re gonna have to tell him about us. It’s gonna have to happen.”

“He’s gonna lose his mind,” Elena predicted.

“So be it,” he told her.

Honest to God, that was not a conversation he was looking forward to, especially under the circumstances. Bad enough to explain to Slay that Blake had started a relationship with Slay’s younger sister, a sister Slay was inordinately protective of. But to then explain that Elena might be pregnant? And, oh, by the way, that Elena had outed herself to a room full of protesters on Blake’s watch? Yeah, not gonna be a good talk. Still…

“You want this, Elena?” he demanded. “You want to be with me? Long-term? Raise our baby together, if that test is positive?”

He held his breath. She was new to this. She’d never been in a D/s relationship before. And yeah, it seemed like she’d absolutely thrived under his dominance the last few weeks, and her curiosity and enthusiasm to experience the types of bondage and power exchange he craved had fucking thrilled him. But maybe it was too soon for her to know.

A few weeks ago, she’d needed more time. Did she still?

But she gave an emphatic nod, no hesitation. “Yeah. That’s what I want,” she said, and Blake smiled.

“Then Slay will get over it,” Blake told her. “I’ll make sure he does.”

Her answering smile was so brilliant and warm that he had to kiss her. Her face tilted up, and his lips found hers. The kiss was soft, but it was loving, and so full of promise.

And then his goddamn desk phone rang, while somewhere nearby, her phone chirped.

“Later, you and I are gonna be alone in a room for a long time without a single phone,” he swore, his lips still touching hers.

“No interruptions?” she asked, licking her lips in a way that meant she licked Blake’s lips, too.

Christ. “I’m thinking private island,” he told her, before reluctantly loosening his hands from her waist and stepping to the desk.

“I’m holding you to that, Master Blake,” she sighed, as she slumped into a chair and started rooting in her purse.

“Yeah,” he barked into the phone, his eyes still trained on his girl. Her kiss-swollen lips were fucking distracting.

“Blake,” Matteo said, and the warning note in his voice had Blake turning around and paying attention. “What the fuck is going on at The Club?”

Blake scratched the back of his neck. Had Donnie or Jace called Matt? Shit. He’d hoped to keep this quiet until he’d had a chance to assemble the guys and have a meeting… or at the very least, have his long-overdue discussion with Slay.

“It’s not a big deal, Matt. The protesters have upped the ante again. They had this group come inside—”

“Inside the front bar for a sit-in?” Matt finished. “Yeah, I know.”

“Then you know I handled it. Had Donnie call the police to get them out of here. It’s fine.”

“You handled it,” Matteo repeated.

“That’s what I said.”

“You handled it,” Matt said again.

Blake was impatient. “Yeah, man, I fucking handled it. Tomorrow, we’ll…”

“Cause, see, from what I saw, you weren’t the one to handle it,” Matt continued.

“From what you… saw?”

“Mmmhmmm. From the cell phone video I saw,” Matteo drawled.

Oh, God. They’d posted a video online. Damn it.

“What website has it?” Blake demanded. “We’ll contact them, get it taken down, before…”

“Wasn’t a website, brother.” Matt’s voice was full of sympathy now. “It was Channel 13 Action News.”

The breath froze in his lungs. The news? In the last few minutes… his eyes quickly flickered to the clock on the wall… okay, in the last half hour, he amended… someone had gotten a video of the protest on the news?

Matt said, “Listen, Hillie’s here. She says to tell Elena that everything will be okay, and, uh…”

Matt broke off and Blake could hear a muffled conversation on Matt’s end that sounded like “Tink, I am not saying that… I said no… Oh, for fuck’s sake, fine.”

“And Hillary says to tell Elena her hair looked great,” Matteo relayed quickly, sounding extremely pissed off.

At any other moment, Matt’s frustration would’ve made Blake smile. But not now.

“When I, uh, talk to Elena, I’ll relay that message,” Blake said noncommittally.

Matteo snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“What’s that mean, Angelico?” Blake demanded.

“Blake, if she’s standing more than two feet away from you right now, I’ll personally volunteer to clean the Red Room for the next three weeks. And I say standing because if you haven’t spanked her ass into next week for that stunt, then the real Blake Coleman has been kidnapped by aliens!”

Matteo sighed. “I saw the way you looked at her on that video, man,” he continued more quietly. “I saw the way she looked at you. Hillie saw it, too.”

Blake was too stunned to speak. Shit, shit, shit.

He’d needed just one more day. One day to talk to Slay, to find a way for Elena to get ahead of the story and take steps to protect her job.

“Fuck. We need to do damage control,” Blake muttered. “Immediately. I’ll talk to Elena.”

“Good. I’ll call Slay and ask him to assemble his band of mutant superheroes.”

“You mean his super secret agents?” Blake said flatly, remembering how Elena had referred to them.

Matt snorted. “Yeah, them. We’ll meet tomorrow. And hey, on the off chance Slay hasn’t heard anything yet, I won’t say a word,” Matt promised. “Later, man.”

Blake turned to look at Elena, who sat cradling her cell in her hands, looking shell-shocked and a little bit pale.

“So, um… I meant to tell you earlier that Gretchen emailed,” she told him. “I set up a lunch date for the day after tomorrow. I think she might have info about Salazar that she wants to give me in person.”

Blake shook his head. “No. It’s risky for you to meet with her now.”

Elena scowled. “Not much riskier than it was before,” she countered, shaking back her hair. “Salazar had to know that you’d figure out he was involved. I just confirmed it for him.”

Blake sucked in a calming breath as a pulse of anger flared in his chest.

“Way riskier,” Blake reminded her. “Because that plan was concocted before we thought you might be pregnant.”

“I’m not walking a tightrope or strolling through a landmine course! I’m having lunch with an old friend. Salazar has no idea it’s anything but that,” she said. “And besides, now more than ever, we need to get this finished. We can’t wait around while they mess with our lives.”

Blake ground his teeth together. The hell of it was, she was right. He wanted to know whether Gretchen had managed to find something even Slay’s men hadn’t. Blake knew he was being overprotective, and he instinctively recognized that would only smother Elena. Wrapping her in cotton and keeping her locked up might make him breathe easier, but it wouldn’t be in Elena’s best interest at all.

“Fine,” he gritted out. “Then I’ll go with you, or one of Slay’s guys will. Slay already arranged protection for Gretchen, but I’ll make sure he gets someone else to cover you—”

“That’s the other thing,” Elena interrupted. “Hillie texted. She knows about the protesters and about… us. It’s only a matter of hours until Slay knows, too.”

Blake nodded and crouched by Elena’s feet.

“I figured,” he said.

“God, that spread fast, huh?” Elena breathed, pushing her heavy mass of hair back with one hand while she stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears. “Boy, when I mess up, I do it thoroughly. I really didn’t think. I just… I was so stupid, Blake.”

Blake took both of her hands in his, forcing her to look at him. Her hands were fucking trembling.

“You listen to me, Elena Slater,” he said gruffly. “Everything is going to work out. We’re gonna make sure you are safe and protected. And your brother… well, Slay is gonna come charging in here like a bull. He’s gonna be loud as hell, and he’s going to stomp around cursing my name, because I broke the bro code by hooking up with his sister.”

He didn’t add that Slay would be well within his rights to take a swing at Blake, too, and likely wouldn’t hesitate.

Elena looked at Blake skeptically. “Bro code, huh?”

“It’s a thing,” he confirmed, giving her a brief smile. “But the point is, he’s gonna do all that shit because he loves you, because he wants to make sure that the man you end up with is going to take care of you and keep you happy for the rest of your life.”

She sniffled and nodded. “I know.”

Blake lifted their joined hands to run his thumb over her cheek. He stared into her gorgeous dark brown eyes and saw his future written there.

“But by the time he leaves here, honey,” Blake said softly. “He’s gonna know that I am that man.”

Elena gifted him with a huge, elated smile… a second before she dissolved into sobs and threw her arms around his neck.

“You mean it?” she whispered.

“Yeah, baby,” he told her. “Every word.”

A second later, she pulled back and rubbed her eyes with her palms for the second time that evening.

“God, I’d better be pregnant,” Elena announced. “Otherwise I’m gonna lose all my badass cred. I’m a fucking watering pot.”

He straightened, then leaned back against his desk, pulling her to stand between his legs.

Blake snorted. “Baby, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but I don’t think you had a lot of badass cred to begin with.”

A lie, and they both knew it, but it succeeded in distracting her completely.

“That’s what you think,” she told him, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck and pressing her lips to his. “I happen to be kissing the most notorious dominant in Boston. I’d say that’s pretty badass.”

And despite all the shit that had rained down on them, and the shit that was yet to come, Blake wrapped his arms around his Elena, threw back his head, and laughed.