Chapter One

 

Tasha pressed her back against the door of the senator’s downtown office and took in his lean silhouette. He was standing at the windows, sunlight outlining his broad shoulders and bent head. With his back to her, he talked softly into his cell, so focused on the phone call she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her come in.

His distraction gave her time to catch her breath and soothe the butterflies in her stomach that had no business being there in the first place. How many years, how many decades, would have to pass before her knees stopped wobbling at the sight of the sexy, six-foot-two scoop of vanilla that was Stephen Finn?

Damn the man. What was it about him that did this to her?

He was undeniably handsome, but she knew a lot of handsome men. He was smart. A popular state senator who wasn’t afraid to deal with the tough issues and fight—even against his own party—for what he believed in. But she was no political groupie. He had status in the state. An aura of authority that made people instinctively trust him, but what usually turned her on was a different sort of power exchange.

The kinky kind that Senator Finn didn’t understand.

She’d topped some lovely submissives and been topped by some truly talented dominants. She’d dated a handful of entertaining men in the lifestyle over the years, and even indulged in semi-regular threesomes with her best friend Jeremy, before he and Owen Finn had given in to each other and become exclusive. Her life was so jam-packed with adventures in sin that she could write a Natasha Rivera tell-all memoir thick enough to hold open a damn door. And she was only thirty-five.

But one look at Stephen and none of that mattered. One look and suddenly she was an inexperienced schoolgirl with more hormones than brain cells again. Vulnerable and needy.

It made absolutely no sense. It never had.

He wasn’t wearing his usual suit—the one she was always tempted to wrinkle or snag or spill a drink on so he wouldn’t look so unapproachable and uptight. Today he’d replaced it with a button-down navy shirt that would bring out the blue of his eyes. It was still a little formal for a Saturday, but his sleeves were rolled up and the hem was only loosely tucked into his fitted khaki pants. For Stephen that was as casual as he was likely to get.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t seen him in jeans since they were in school, which was probably for the best since he was truly dangerous in denim. They highlighted two of her favorite features. His strong thighs and that sweet, squeezable ass.

Stephen lowered the phone and stared out the window, his broad shoulders tense. Long seconds and then minutes ticked by without his moving or saying a word. She shifted impatiently and her sundress rustled. Nothing. She sighed and he still didn’t look her way.

Tasha could take a lot of torture when she chose, from nipple clamps to floggers and even the occasional Lifetime movie marathon, but she’d never been good at being ignored. He’d demanded her presence—sent a man to her door to collect her—the least he could do was acknowledge it.

“Did you have me abducted by the Marines so I could tell you how those pants fit your ass, or did you want me for something in particular?” she drawled in a light sarcastic tone.

Stephen looked over his shoulder with an enigmatic expression. There was no surprise when he saw her, and his smile was distracted but genuine. Potent as ever. “Sorry about that. My phone’s been ringing all morning. That was the first moment of peace I’ve had today.” He turned toward her. “It’s good to see you, Natasha. I wasn’t sure Brady could convince you to meet with me.”

She swallowed hard at the sound of his voice. It was a rich baritone meant for late-night radio or bedroom seduction. Deep and confident. He could read the phone book during debates and still win—it was that mesmerizing.

“I wasn’t informed I had an option.”

And though she’d complained, she hadn’t refused the invitation because—and this was something she was never going to admit to Stephen out loud—she’d missed him. They hadn’t seen each other since that morning at Jeremy’s, when the Finns descended in a show of familial solidarity after Jen’s ex tried his hand at blackmail. Thank God he’d been as bad at it as he was at everything else. The attempt had been so botched it was almost comical, but the repercussions to the family had been all too real.

Stephen had been rumpled then too. Rumpled, apologetic and confusingly affectionate. He’d kissed her breathless against the siding of Jeremy’s lakeside home, apologizing for getting her caught up in the drama and informing her they needed to have a serious talk. Soon.

It was six months later and “soon” still hadn’t arrived. Six months of silence that she supposed should tell her all she needed to know.

Tasha frowned. Why did it matter how long it had been? She and Stephen weren’t the sort of friends who caught up weekly over coffee. They didn’t swap emails or have a standing lunch date that he’d neglected to keep. So he hadn’t texted or emailed—so what? They’d never had that kind of relationship. Nothing had changed.

And yet everything had changed. Stephen’s family now knew he and Tasha occasionally got together for no-strings sex, something they’d successfully kept secret from everyone for sixteen years. They’d been outed because one reckless moment in the backseat of Stephen’s car had been recorded on a camera phone, and it had almost ruined his spotless reputation. Since then she’d had no idea where they stood. No idea what to expect. And the great communicator standing in front of her hadn’t bothered filling her in.

She tilted her head until her curls bounced against her bare shoulder. “Why am I here, Senator? What is it you want?”

Thickly lashed blue eyes took her in from the mass of dark hair she hadn’t bothered to tame to her sandaled feet and back, pausing long enough at her neckline for her to wonder if he wanted what he always wanted. What they both always wanted. But her upstanding senator wouldn’t dare. Not here in his office in broad daylight.

“Loaded question,” he murmured, walking toward her. His movements were slow and determined. Decisive and controlled. She knew he didn’t intend them to be seductive, but they were to her. Because she was pathetic.

He stopped a few feet away. “That’s a lovely dress. Why do I get the feeling I’m interrupting your Saturday plans?”

The white eyelet sundress was her sassy homage to Stephen Finn’s pristine image. The color was stark against her darker skin and the style was modest, though too snug across her chest to be considered appropriate. A passive aggressive fashion decision on her part for this command performance, and one she’d had no doubt he’d notice—he was definitely a breast man.

“In a perfect world,” she parried, “my Saturday plans would include opening my eyes around noon, naked in bed as I told my just as naked companion how I take my coffee with cream, brown sugar and a full body massage.”

Stephen was frowning. “You had company?”

“It’s not a perfect world, Senator.” She smiled. “If it were, you’d be out of a job. In this world, your super-sized cousin, Brady Linebacker Finn, showed up at my door—not with coffee and a plate of aspirin to soothe the angry hangover gods, but with a summons to a tête-à-tête with my state representative. If you do this with every eligible voter, I’m not surprised you’re so busy. And I didn’t even know he was working for you. When did he get back?”

“A few months ago. Hangover gods?” His frown disappeared, his eyes sparkling with humor. “It must have been some night. How late did you get home?”

“It wasn’t late at all,” she purred. “In fact, it was early. Nothing like going to bed with the sunrise.”

Stephen put his hands behind his back, studying the bare skin of her arms and throat. He wanted to touch her. She could see it in his eyes. Why was he hesitating?

“Were you at your usual club event, or out with someone in particular?”

“My usual club event?” She shook her head ruefully, her own palms pressed against the door so she wouldn’t reach for him. “Only a politician could make a night of whips and chains sound like a church bake sale. And not to be rude, honey, but what’s with the cross-examination? Since when were my Friday nights ever your business?”

“You’re right, of course.” He dipped his chin in acknowledgment and apology, taking one step closer. Invading her space with his heat and his clean, masculine scent. The closer he got, the harder it was for her to concentrate. “It wasn’t my intention to pry.”

What was his intention? If this had been one of their usual meetings there’d be no talking and they’d be halfway to naked by now. But there was nothing usual about this visit.

“There was a collaring ceremony.” It just slipped out. “And wine. A lot of wine.” Why had she felt compelled to tell him that?

“Sounds…interesting.”

Tasha sighed. It had been romantic, but he wouldn’t understand that because when he wasn’t with her, Stephen was a bit of a prude. A sexy prude who was far too handsome for his own good. Strong cheekbones, chiseled features, and a bright white smile that were all made for the camera. Without that rakish scar on his chin, he would have been too perfect. The good news was that if his career in politics went bust, he could walk onto the set of any soap opera and be hired on the spot.

Her gaze lingered on the shadow of stubble on his jaw and chin. No tie, he hadn’t shaved before coming to his office, and there was a hint of strain around his mouth and eyes. This definitely wasn’t an emergency hook-up call. Something was off.

She straightened away from the door. “What is it, Stephen? What aren’t you telling me? Is it Jennifer?”

Dark lashes lowered dangerously over piercing blue eyes when she mentioned his sister. “You see her more often than I do, Natasha. Why wouldn’t Jen be okay? Is she behaving recklessly? Following bad examples?”

And there it was. Oh well. She supposed if he wasn’t going to press her up against the wall and take her the way she wanted him to, a fight about his sister was the next best thing. Another way to work out her frustrations.

“She was fine the last time I saw her. And believe me, Senator Finn, there are worse examples for her to follow than mine. But this bit of theater is unnecessary and a little late. Owen beat you to the lecture punch weeks ago.”

After a dinner conversation filled with the usual laughter and sexual innuendo, Stephen’s brother had shocked her with the revelation that he knew all about the activities Jen had begged Jeremy and Tasha to keep secret for months.

To say Owen had been upset was an understatement, though he’d seemed more put out about their lie of omission than his sister’s new lifestyle. Jeremy had been just as stunned as she was at the reveal, and Tasha felt for him. He hated keeping things from Owen, but Jen’s secret hadn’t been his to tell. For that, he’d been thoroughly punished by Owen after she went home.

Jeremy had told her about it the next day and Tasha had to give Owen points for creativity. The man knew how to hand out a punishment.

If he was aware of what Jen had been up to, Stephen and Seamus probably knew as well. The one thing the brothers always agreed on was the importance of protecting their baby sister. Of course, being men, they’d gone about it all wrong. 

“I didn’t accept his tongue lashing and I won’t accept yours,” she informed him, though to tell the truth she wouldn’t be opposed to a little tongue lashing from Stephen—in the right setting. “But yes, I’m the evil temptress that took her to the club a few months ago, at her request. I was at her side each time she went back, until she accused me of babysitting and sent me away. I still have a couple of friends keep tabs on her when I’m not around, the same way I would for anyone new to the lifestyle. But Jen’s twenty-five, Stephen—she’s old enough to make her own choices and I’d say she’s earned the right to sow a few wild oats.”

“Practiced that for a while, did you?”

“Maybe,” she shot back. “It doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

She didn’t mention her concern about the amount of oats Jennifer Finn was sowing because, honestly, who was she to judge? Lord knew she’d followed her own passions wherever they led her for years without worrying about the consequences. She’d used the club as a safe haven and an outlet for her frustrations as much as she had for pleasure.

Still, Jennifer was moving fast. Too fast. Racing from one kink to the next as if she had something to prove. As if she were looking desperately for something she couldn’t find. A married couple had been wooing her for the last week or so, trying to persuade her to be their third. The wife, who was well known at the club for her unexpected mood swings and rough play, had been particularly demonstrative. It was a disaster waiting to happen, and Tasha had thought about warning Jen to slow down, but considering how obstinate the Finns could be, that might only encourage her.

Stephen’s mouth tightened and she couldn’t look away from his lips. She wanted to kiss them. Suck on them the way she knew he liked. The way that made him lose control, giving her what she needed.

“She’s old enough to know better,” he said flatly.

“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Tasha scoffed. “Is Owen old enough? Last year you and Seamus were worried he had a sex addiction, and I could tell you stories about him that would curl the toes inside your expensive loafers, Sena—”

“Owen knows enough to keep his lifestyle choices out of the gossip column,” Stephen bit out. “And to my knowledge, he’s never come as close as Jennifer has to being arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Arrested?” Tasha felt a jolt of shock. “When?”

His expression was grim. “Two weeks ago. If our cousin James hadn’t been at the precinct, and if he hadn’t been a friend of the guy who hauled her in…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence for Tasha to know what came next. Damn it, what was Jen thinking? She’d never said a word. “He didn’t call your parents, did he?”

The last thing Shawn and Ellen Finn needed was a trip to the police station to pick up their wayward princess. Between Ellen breaking her wrist on her sixtieth birthday and discovering she had osteoporosis, and Shawn retiring earlier than he wanted to due to his blood pressure issues, they had enough on their plates.

“No, thank God. He called Brady around the same time the man I had on her called me. We were able to get her released before she was booked.”

Tasha froze. “The man you had... You have someone following your sister?”

He pointed one finger straight at her and she had the insane urge to snap it between her teeth. “You just said you had friends watching her too.”

She whacked his hand down. “Point that thing somewhere else, honey. I said friends, not spies. Paranoid much, Senator? Is Jeremy’s house bugged? Any cameras in the restrooms at the pub? Do you have Seamus tailed to his PTA meetings? I hear they can get pretty subversive.”

“I’m trying to keep her safe, damn it.” Stephen flexed his fingers and then ran his hand through his thick chestnut hair. “I know better than anyone that she deserves her privacy, but even you have to admit she hasn’t been herself for months.”

Tasha sighed, unable to deny it. Hadn’t she just been thinking the same thing?

“Seamus has already come close to firing her twice due to customer complaints,” he continued. “He said when she shows up for work she has a bad attitude, bruises and hickeys on her damn neck that do nothing to distract from her new tattoo.”

Ah, the tattoo. Jen had gotten a triskelion on the back of her neck to symbolize both her Irish heritage and her new connection to BDSM. She was also planning a piercing that none but her very close friends would be able to see, but Stephen probably didn’t want—and certainly didn’t need—to know that much about his sister.

He shook his head, as if completely bewildered. “At first I thought Scott might be back in the picture. That he was the one causing her erratic behavior. Maybe hurting her. But then I realized where she was going and what she was doing, and I thought it would be best to keep an eye on her.”

“You realized she was going to a club Owen and I both frequent, but you thought having some stranger stalk her was a better idea than giving me a call?” Had he been that intent on avoiding her?

He ignored her glare. “Somehow I got the feeling you wouldn’t approve of my concern. But he’s not a stranger. He’s an old acquaintance who owes me a favor.”

“A favor?”

“A big one. And that girl needs a keeper if she’s going to insist on making one bad decision after another. I trust Trick to protect her without stepping over the line.”

“Trick? What kind of name is that? Did he get that in jail?”

She’d been going out of her way to be a smartass, but Stephen responded with a nod, surprising her. “Trick is the kind of name you give yourself when being Tristan makes you the target of the fist-happy thugs in Corrections. He’s a bit hard to know, but he’s done his time and he’s good at his job.”

Tasha stared at him. Stephen had a man with a criminal background following his baby sister, but he thought going to the club was a bad decision? That her lifestyle was a bad decision?

She crossed her arms defensively. “Jen likes how it feels, Stephen. She likes being the focus of someone’s attention. There isn’t anything wrong with that.”

Stephen snorted. “Jennifer hasn’t lacked for attention since the day she was born. She’s never lacked for anything.”

Except a direction. They both knew it was true, but she wasn’t going to be the one to say it. Not when she was in the middle of defending the girl.

“Don’t be thick,” she scolded severely. “You know what kind of attention I’m talking about. Up until now, her only experience with sex and romance has been with a douchebag who, by all accounts, only cared about getting himself off—which I imagine took all of three minutes before he rolled over and fell asleep.”

Stephen’s flinch was satisfying.

“Poor baby,” she taunted. “If you didn’t want to think about your sister having sex, you shouldn’t have followed her because that’s what she’s doing. Well, that and getting tied up and whipped by experienced, well-vetted Doms.”

He looked like he was going to be ill and Tasha almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “She isn’t on drugs, Stephen. And other than that one close brush with the law, she hasn’t committed any crimes. She may not be making the smartest decisions, but she’s making them for herself instead of hiding from them, which is something you should appreciate.”

“That doesn’t mean she—”

“She’s just satisfying her curiosity and a few healthy appetites,” Tasha said over him. "If you got off your moral high horse for a minute you’d remember what it was like to enjoy yourself. Experimenting with kink isn’t such a bad thing. You might even like it. Two out of four Finns already do.”

“I remember enjoying myself,” he murmured. He was staring at her breasts again, making it clear exactly what he was remembering. “As to the other… You want to test that theory?”

Tasha’s arms dropped numbly to her sides. “Excuse me?”

The weight of Stephen’s hooded gaze was like the touch of a hand or the rough glide of a tongue along her skin. She wanted him to touch her. Taste her. She definitely had some appetites that were in need of satisfaction.

“Not as smooth a delivery as I planned. You’d think I didn’t communicate for a living.” He ran his hands through his hair again, looking uncomfortable and mussed. It was an oddly attractive change. “I’m not sure where to begin or how much I’m allowed to tell you.”

“That sounds intriguing,” she said, trailing behind him as he walked to his desk.

“It isn’t.” He sat in his plush leather executive chair and gestured for her to have a seat across the desk from him, but Tasha wandered toward the bookshelves along the wall instead, pretending to study the titles.

Stephen sighed. “Look, Jen is a hot button topic right now, I won’t deny it. I’m her brother, so of course I’m worried about her. But I didn’t bring you here to argue about that.”

Could have fooled her. “Then why?”

“What I’m about to tell you, only a handful of people know. I’m trusting you to make sure it stays that way.”

Tasha laughed and sent him a grin. She couldn’t help it. “Worried I might not be able to keep a secret? Baby, you do know who you’re talking to, right? I’m the Finn vault. I’ve kept your sister’s secrets. I’ve kept Owen’s. And Lord knows I’ve kept yours.”

Stephen smiled back at her, but his expression swiftly sobered. “It had to be said before I officially asked for your help.”

He’d asked her here because he wanted her help with something? Something that didn’t have to do with his sister? She turned toward him, lifted her fingers to her lips and mimed turning a key in a lock.

“Good.” He lost focus for a moment, apparently gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “Most of the time being a senator is like slogging through quicksand. When I was DA life was easier. Now? The trial is never over, the jury is always out and I have more press attention and paid vacation days than I know what to do with. But I might finally have a real chance to do some good.”

“I feel your pain. Vacation days are the worst. Tell me more,” she said, wandering back toward him.

He let her sarcasm slide. “It seems that in the process of doing my job, particularly on the senatorial ethics committee, I’ve gained some attention. Recently, an opportunity has arisen that would allow me to do something tangible. Something that, in the long run, could have a positive impact on the way this state is run even after I’m out of office.”

He gave her a significant look as she paused in front of his desk. “The only catch is this isn’t a one-man job. I find myself in a situation for which your singular skills are required if I’m to move forward.”

Oh, so formal and careful—the good senator could hardly have acted more suspiciously if he’d tried. 

Tasha forced a smile. “My singular skills?”

Picking up the glass paperweight from his desk, she gave it a little toss before catching it in one hand. “Well, since I can’t juggle, you must be talking about my other skills.”

He sighed. “Natasha—”

“Having issues with the minority vote, Senator?” she asked pointedly as she rubbed her thumb over the shamrock etched into the smooth glass. Owen must have given this to him. “Or would you like me to hold a fundraiser at the club you disapprove of? I could make a banner, bake some cookies and give away free handcuffs. Fetishists for Finn.”

The expression on Stephen’s face was reproachful. “The senate is in recess for the next few weeks, and I’ve been invited to a gathering at a private residence with an exclusive guest list. It’s been advertised as four days and three nights spent exchanging policy ideas in a relaxing environment, away from the oppressive city heat. I’m told bringing a companion would not be remiss. I’d like you to be that companion.”

Stunned, Tasha reached for the chair behind her and sat down before she fell down.

“Wait,” she said, blinking at him in disbelief. “You want me to come to a house party…as your date?”