Bitch in Satin Sheets
I can’t deny that I’m in a good mood as I head to the bedroom. I don’t know what he thinks he can possibly do, but if he says that he has a way to keep the playboy reputation without getting naked with any of those women, then I’m all for that plan.
I take the back stairs, just as I did earlier to get to my old bedroom. This time, though, I go all the way to the third floor and enter at the far end of the residential section of the hallway.
From this perspective, the master bedroom is on my right and Dallas’s home office is on the left. I consider skipping the bedroom and going to his office—not only because the idea of disobeying him amuses me, but also because the thought of fooling around on top of his desk has a certain appeal—but I decide against it. Maybe one day I’ll suggest we play secretary and boss. Right now, I want to be between those sheets where I belong.
I’m actually reaching back for the zipper of my skirt as I push open the door—and I stop cold when a female voice says, “Hey, baby. I’ve been waiting for—Oh!”
I freeze, confused. But my confusion is quickly being replaced by anger. And humiliation. And hurt. And a whole load of other emotions that I can’t easily identify, but they sure as hell don’t feel good.
“Jane?” From the bed, a woman gapes at me. And as soon as I realize it’s Fiona, I gape back. Because she’s here. And also because she’s naked. “What are you doing here?” she asks, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts.
I realize my mouth is hanging open. I close it, then swallow before answering. I need the time to remember how to form words. “I—I didn’t realize Dallas had anyone with him. I was—I mean, I just got a text from our parents that I need to talk to him about, so I thought I’d wait for him here.”
I clear my throat, thinking the lie sounds pretty reasonable. “I, um, didn’t think he’d be with anybody, but considering my brother’s reputation, I guess I should have known better.”
She doesn’t look offended at being labeled one of very, very many. On the contrary, she just laughs. “Isn’t that the damn truth? But like I told you downstairs, we’ve had our share of good times. Now I’m just waiting for another.” She cocks her head and smiles prettily. “I’ll tell him you’re looking for him. Or are you planning to just hang here. With me.”
She doesn’t look pleased by the possibility. I’m not crazy about it, either. Frankly, I want to get as far from this room—and from Dallas—as it’s possible to get. Because right now, I’m angry enough that my fist might just break that very pretty face of his.
“No.” My voice is shaky, and I clear my throat. “No, I don’t need to wait. I’ll just go back to the city. I’ll call him tomorrow. That’s soon enough.” And maybe that’ll give me time to cool off. Frankly, I doubt it.
I head back to the door, yank it open, and find myself staring right at the man himself.
At any other time, his wicked smile would melt me. Right now, it infuriates me. But before I can say anything, he starts to slide his arm around my waist.
Some sort of self-preservation instinct kicks in and I slam my elbow into his gut, making him both release me and groan.
“Jesus, Jane. What the—”
“Hey, baby.”
He goes completely still, then looks at the bed. Then looks at me. “What the fuck?”
I’m so tense I think I might shatter. “Actually, I think that’s my line.”
I grab his arm and yank him into the hallway, then turn back to Fiona with what I hope looks like a genuine smile. “Actually, I’ll just talk to him now about that text our parents sent, and then I’ll get out of your hair so you two can have your fun.”
“Take your time,” Fiona says easily. “I’m comfy, and your brother’s most definitely worth the wait.”
I do not race back to the bed and smack her for that. I also don’t punch Dallas in the jaw. On the whole, I think I’m showing remarkable restraint.
What I do instead is drag him across the hall and into his study.
I slam the door behind us, then smack him in the chest with the heel of my hand. “What the fuck?” I yell. I know for a fact that this office was professionally soundproofed. I can yell as loud as I want and no one will be the wiser.
“You stupid, fucking son of a bitch,” I rant. “Do you think sex games are going to prove some sort of point to me? Was that just a flat-out lie about not having them in your bed anymore? Or did you mean you weren’t going to have them alone? Is this where you want us to go, Dallas? Is a threesome the kink you need? Is Fiona—Fiona—the dark you’re going to take me down into?”
I see emerald fire flash in his eyes, and know that I’ve pissed him off. Well, good. At least that makes us well-matched.
A muscle in his jaw tightens, and when he speaks, his words are a little too crisp. “What happened to you’ll go anywhere with me? Or did you only mean that you’d go if it was comfortable?”
I stumble back, his words shocking me. I’d expected an apology. Instead, what? He’s admitting it? He really did intend to have Fiona and me in bed together?
I feel bile rise in my throat even as tears sting my eyes. I swallow in defense against the first, and look down at the floor so he can’t see the second. I need a moment to think. To adjust. Because I did tell him I would go wherever he needs—and I meant what I said.
I just hadn’t expected this.
Finally, I feel confident enough to speak. But, dammit, my voice still shakes. “I will go wherever you want me and do whatever you want. But I guess I thought you’d do me the courtesy of telling me what to expect.”
“Jane.”
His voice is tender and I can’t handle that right now. I toss up my hand to silence him, then continue speaking because I need to get these words out.
“I mean it,” I say. “I will go into the dark with you. But I just think—hell, Dallas, you blindsided me. You told me you only wanted me.” I meet his eyes now, sure that mine are bloodshot and weepy. “That’s what you said, and I believed you.”
“Oh, baby.” He pulls me against him before I can react, and I stand stiff in the circle of his arms. “I do only want you.”
I tug free of the embrace, hating how vulnerable I feel. Hating that this man has the power to hurt me so very deeply. “Do you think I don’t have eyes? I saw her touch you. Even from where I was standing I could see how hard you were.”
“Shit.” He turns away from me, then goes to sit in one of the guest chairs in front of the huge mahogany desk. I watch him, thinking that I’ve won this round of the argument and wondering why the hell I don’t feel victorious.
It seems to take forever for him to speak, and when he does, it’s low. Almost monotone. As if he has to hold in the emotion, because if he lets go the words will burst out of him. “Do you think getting hard is only about desire?” he asks. “Goddammit, Jane, do you think I wanted to get a fucking erection with Fiona? How about back when the Woman touched me?”
I suck in a breath, his words conjuring memory and pain. And regret, because I pushed this, and I know how tied up sex is with the kidnapping for him. I may have suffered in captivity, but it was Dallas who truly went down into hell.
“Look at me,” he demands, and I realize that I am studying the pattern in the carpet. I lift my head, and feel a tear snake down my cheek. “Do you think I wanted her? That bitch who tormented us? Do you think that I wanted to be aroused?”
The monotone is disappearing, giving way to a hard edge honed by pain.
He pushes himself out of the chair, then sweeps his arm violently over the desktop, sending papers and pens flying. “I fucking hated my body. Hated myself.”
He crosses to me, his strides long, then grabs me by the shoulders. “I was fifteen, and I thought that if my cock was hard then I must want sex. Must want her. I thought that I was royally fucked up because she was turning me on.”
“No.” I clutch tight to him, as if I can make him believe the truth simply by holding tight to him. “God, Dallas, no. You can’t believe that.”
“I don’t,” he assures me. “Not anymore.” I feel the rise and fall of his chest as he gathers himself. And then, very gently, he tilts my chin up so that I am looking right at him. “But you do.”
“What? No, I don’t.” I’m shocked he could even think such a thing. I know that what the Woman did to him was torture, even if he hasn’t told me all of it yet. And there is no way in hell that I would ever believe he wanted it just because she got him hard, made him come. “I don’t believe that at all.”
“And yet you thought I wanted Fiona.”
It actually takes me a moment to figure out what he means, but the moment I do, the only thing I can say is, “Oh.”
I’m mortified. I’m ecstatic. And I’m desperately relieved.
I’m also pretty damn confused. “But if you don’t want her, then why did you invite her into your bed when you knew I was coming?”
“Our bed,” he corrects. “And I didn’t.”
I raise my brows. After all, the woman is right across the hall, naked between his sheets.
He chuckles and drags fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Jane—do you really think that I set this up? That I want to share you?”
“But you said—” I frown, because just a few minutes ago he’d lashed back at me, reminding me that I’d promised to go anywhere with him.
“Well, you pissed me off,” he admits, then drags me to him and kisses me hard. “I want you, you little idiot. I don’t want her. And I’m not going to say it again—I didn’t invite her.”
I believe him, but I don’t answer for few seconds anyway, simply because I want to savor the truth of his words.
Still, I can’t deny the oddity of the situation, and so I ask the most obvious question I can think of. “If you didn’t invite her, then why is she naked in your bed?”
“I really wish I knew.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, and I watch, baffled, as he sends a quick text.
I flash a lopsided smile. “Are you texting to ask her?”
“Funny, but no. I have a few ideas. And we have about five minutes until I tell you what they are.” He steps back and leans casually against the desk, then slowly looks me up and down, my senses firing beneath the weight of that heavy, heated gaze.
When he finally meets my eyes, his are dark with passion, and this time I’m certain that the reason his cock is straining against his jeans is because he wants me. “Five minutes,” he repeats. “I wonder what we can do in five minutes. Unless you’re still mad at me?”
“I’m getting less mad,” I admit, taking a single step toward him.
“You should trust me.”
I take another step. “I do.”
“Recent events would suggest otherwise.”
I stop walking, leaving me about one long stride away from him.
“I guess I was a bad girl,” I say, then reach back and slide my hands down over my rear. “Maybe I should be punished.” I draw my hands back up, lifting the skirt as I do, exposing my bare ass—but not to him. I’m facing him. So all Dallas has is imagination, and if the expression on his face is any indication, he’s using it.
“Maybe you ought to bend me over your knee.” I take a step closer so that the front of my skirt brushes his knees. “Maybe you should spank me, slide your finger inside me, and see if I like it when you punish me.”
I hold his gaze as I take one hand and slide it between my legs. I sigh with pleasure, and it is most definitely not an act. I’m hot and slick and I want him desperately. And when I pull my hand free, I lift my finger to his lips. “Yeah,” I say. “I think I like it.”
I ease my finger into his mouth, and he sucks so hard I feel the thrum of it all the way down to my now throbbing pussy. He pulls me closer, his hands squeezing my ass as his mouth teases my finger, and right then all I want to do is scream for him to move that finger to my clit and please, please make me come.
Instead, I jump at the sharp rap at the door.
He yanks his hands away, then brushes my skirt down into place.
Five minutes my ass, I think, and I’m feeling pretty damn cheated when the door opens and Liam steps in.
His eyes go straight to us. Me between Dallas’s legs. Dallas’s arms around me.
“You invite me up here for a peep show? ’Cause as pretty as both of you are, I’m still not keen on watching my two best friends go at it.”
I give him a wry look. “I know exactly how you feel. I wasn’t at all interested in watching a show tonight, either.”
Liam frowns. “What am I missing?”
Dallas pulls me closer, his arms circling my waist. “My sidepiece ended up in my bed.”
I see Liam’s mouth twitch as he looks at me.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t even say it.”
“Uninvited,” Dallas clarifies.
“So, what? You brought me up here to be the bouncer?”
“Actually, yeah. Jane told her she’d gotten a text from our parents. I thought you could go in and tell her I had to leave.”
Liam shakes his head as if amused by the deception. Then he shrugs. “Why the hell not? Darcy’s already left.”
Behind me, I feel Dallas cringe.
I frown, then turn in his arms to gape at him. “But I thought talking to Darcy was the whole point. Of this party and everything.”
He looks at me steadily. “My plans changed.”
“You came after me.” I exhale as I realize what he sacrificed to reassure me. “Shit. I’m sorry. I—”
“So make it up to us,” Liam interrupts.
“What?”
“Why don’t you talk to Darcy?”
Dallas scowls. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“It makes sense,” Liam says. “She can tell him it’s research. Hell, she can ask questions a lot easier than you can. She’s writing a book, so of course she’d want to pry out every bit of information about Deliverance that she can.”
The moment he says it, I know that he’s right. I’ve made a living writing true crime articles and books about kidnapping victims. My most recent book is even going to be a movie, and the one I’m currently researching and writing is about the dangers of vigilante groups such as the one run by a violent mercenary, Lionel Benson, and, yes, Deliverance.
Granted, at the time I started writing the book, I’d been unaware of who was behind Deliverance. I’d simply known that the organization existed. And I’d gotten the idea for the title of my work-in-progress from Henry Darcy’s revelation as to the group’s name—Code Name: Deliverance.
I’m still writing the book, but I have to admit that my perspective has changed. Benson is undoubtedly motivated by the money. The prick would happily sacrifice one victim to save another whose parents are paying his bill. But Deliverance is different. I know, because I know Dallas. I know Liam. And I know what drives them.
But that doesn’t mean I’m one hundred percent on board with the idea of a vigilante group at all, even one with a conscience. There are still rules. There are still procedures. And Deliverance skirts all of them.
Sometime soon, Dallas and I are going to have to sit down and talk more fully about what he does—and about how it works. He’s promised me no secrets, and he’s told his team he’s bringing me into the loop. So far, I haven’t pushed. For one thing, it’s only been about a week since I even learned the truth. But for another, I’m not entirely sure that I want to know the details. Because at my core, I’m afraid that if Dallas really does find our kidnappers, I’m not going to give a fuck about due process. Because all I want is to see them dead.
Right now, though, none of that matters. Right now, it’s all about Henry Darcy. “Well?” Liam presses.
“I don’t know if she should—”
“Of course I will,” I interrupt.
“You shouldn’t be involved in this,” Dallas says.
“Bullshit. I am involved.”
He starts to protest, but I hold up a finger to silence him. “Yes, I am. Of course I am. Because I love you. And I love you, too,” I say, glancing back at Liam. “And if there is even the slightest chance that Henry Darcy is going to expose my lover and my best friend and the rest of your guys, then you need to know. We need to know. And if I’m the best person to figure that out, then I’m damn well going to do it.”
“She’s right,” Liam says. “And it’s not dangerous. It’s just a writer talking to a witness.”
“Fine,” Dallas says, but I can tell from his expression he doesn’t like it.
“All right then,” Liam says. “One mission accomplished. Now I guess I’ll go get rid of the woman in your bed.” He grins. “The things I do for you …”
“Wait,” Dallas says as Liam turns toward the door. He moves around the desk and opens a drawer, then pulls out a stack of blue envelopes.
I frown, confused, as he holds them out to Liam. “I’ve been getting these for a while.”
Liam approaches, looking as clueless as I feel. He takes the letters and skims over them one by one. I read over his shoulder, words and phrases seeming to reach out and punch me in the gut.
my darling
passion
mine
patience
me
only for you
I glance up at Dallas. “What the hell?”
His expression is hard. “They started coming about a year ago. About a dozen so far. No fingerprints. No return address. Most by messenger, some left at the door or under the windshield wiper of my car.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before?” Liam asks, voicing my thoughts.
“Doesn’t have anything to do with Deliverance.”
“Hello? Lifelong friend here. Some crazy chick is sending you psycho letters—”
“Possessive, maybe. But I didn’t think the sender was dangerous. At least not at first.”
I look from him to the door, imagining the girl across the hall in his bed. “But now that Fiona let herself into your bed …”
“You think it’s her?” Liam asks.
“I don’t know,” Dallas says. “But the timing’s right. The first time I went out with her was about a year ago. Could be that she thought my attention tonight meant that everything she wrote in those letters is true.”
Liam exhales. “Fair enough. I’ll chat her up when I walk her out. See if I can get a read.”
Dallas nods. “There’s another letter in the bedroom on the table by the door. Came Monday, but I didn’t open it until earlier today.” He glances at me. “I was distracted before.”
“I’ll make sure she sees me pick it up, then watch her reaction. If we’re lucky, the woman doesn’t play poker.”
“Sounds good. And pass everything on to Noah. Maybe he or Quince can work some magic. God knows Archie and I haven’t had any luck.”
“Will do.” Liam gives me a quick hug before heading out of the room, though I’m not sure that I even hug him back. My mind is in too much of a whir, my chest tight with memory and fear, and it’s all I can do to keep quiet until the door shuts behind him.
The second it clicks into place, I turn my attention back to Dallas. “What the hell do you mean this has nothing to do with Deliverance? You need to tell him. Even if you haven’t told him the details, he needs to know.” I’m talking too fast, my words tumbling out.
Dallas stares back at me as if I’ve lost my mind, and I blink, suddenly realizing that he hasn’t a clue what I’m talking about. He honestly doesn’t see the connection between these letters and our kidnapping. “You really have no idea who’s sending them.”
It’s a statement, but he takes it as a question. “None of the women I’ve—”
“Open your eyes, Dallas. It’s not one of your bimbettes.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the woman sending the letters. I’m saying it’s obvious who she is.”