Robert O’Connor has left his suite and sat down at the bar for a drink.

Check.

He is sitting there, drinking, according to Jenna at the front desk.

Check.

And he told Tony, the bartender, that his partner had to leave early.

All set. Time to do some snooping. He probably took his phone with him, but these business people often have their tablet or laptop with them, and if he left either in the suite, I’m gonna crack that baby wide open.

Figuratively speaking.

I type a quick text to Lucy, telling her I’m going in, just in case things go badly, and I have to face the music alone.

Lucy leading the cavalry to save me would be a sight. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

“Told the boss,” she types back. “Keep your eyes peeled, girl. I’m right outside the building if you need help.”

Yeah and what should I do if Robert O’Connor returns suddenly and catches me in his suite? Whistle for her?

“Keep an eye out for him,” I type back. “And don’t let him come up!!!”

There. So professional, my three exclamation marks, not letting any of my stress show… right?

I drag a hand over my face and sigh. Hold it together, Mia.

Let’s do this.

Patting the flashlight in my pocket, just in case, I park the cart by the door of the suite, and use my service key to unlock it. Casting a glance right and left, making sure the corridor is empty, I enter and close the door behind me.

Phew.

It’s pitch dark inside, and I fish in my pocket for my flashlight, not sure whether to turn the lights on just yet…

But then I hear it. Oh God, that sound… a low, deep sound, a drawn-out moan that raises the fine hairs on my arms.

In pain. Someone in pain.

That’s all I can think of as I switch on the flashlight and move it about, trying to locate the source of the sound.

Oh my God. The light falls on the Saint Andrew’s cross at the far end of the room. A half-naked man is strapped on it, facedown, shackles glinting on his ankles and wrists.

What the hell is going on? Why did O’Connor inform the receptionist his partner is gone if he left him bound in the suite?

Fear wars with anger as I force myself to move toward the man. Long, muscular legs, a tight ass in black briefs, broad shoulders and ribcage tapering to a narrow waist, and welts. My light flashes over dark welts that glisten with what looks like blood.

Jesus. Bile rises in my throat and I swallow convulsively.

The man jerks against the cross, head twisting to look at me. “Help me,” he murmurs, his voice broken. “Take these off. The light…”

The beam falls on his profile, the dark eyes wide, stark against the paleness of his face, and the ground drops from under my feet, because what are the odds?

Rook Carter.

It shouldn’t be that unexpected, perhaps, given the glimpses of common history I caught between him and Robert’s brother. Besides, hadn’t Alfred asked if his brother had found Rook? I just hadn’t put the pieces together.

Still. So weird. To think he let that man, Robert, tie him up and whip him bloody, from the looks of it. Leave him in the dark, probably never to return, for the cleaning staff to find him.

And to realize that the broken whimper, the desperate moan I’d heard when I’d entered came from him.

“Who’s there?” he rasps, his voice cracking, and that snaps me out of my shock. He shifts, a twitch in the roughly-hewn muscles of his back, turning his head, trying to see me.

“Mia,” I say, shocked to find my voice shaky. “It’s me, Mia.”

“What are you…?” Another shift, a small groan. “Light.”

Light? “Rook—”

“Light. Turn on the fucking light. Can’t… can’t take this dark.”

Holy crap. The curtains are drawn. I shuffle to the corner of the suite and switch on a standing lamp. “Better?”

Not sure why I feel such a twinge of sympathy at this show of vulnerability, this realization that Rook Carter is afraid of the dark—and that his partner left him here, probably aware of it. It wouldn’t surprise me, coming from Robert O’Connor.

The one who keeps surprising me is Rook.

He’s watching me with those beautiful dark eyes as I turn back toward him. They are wild, a bit unfocused, but he drops them before I can read more into their depths. He lets his head hang, and that powerful body, gilded by the lamplight, is breathtaking.

“Let me untie you,” I whisper, not sure why I’m keeping my voice low. I feel as if I broke through a dark ritual, through a nightmare, and that I have to gentle him, coach him back to sanity before I let him loose. “Ankles first, okay?”

He doesn’t move when I bend down to do that, easily undoing the straps and massaging the red welts left behind. Looks like he struggled a lot, and it sends a surge of something bittersweet through me.

This man will be the end of me. No idea why he stirs something in me nobody else has.

I move up to unshackle his wrists, and he’s quiet as I rub at the chafed skin there. He’s watching me, his gaze calmer than before, although in the quiet I can hear him breathing, and it’s a violent staccato, like he’s been running for miles.

Maybe he has, inside his mind. I wonder what he saw. What he feared. I itch to ask, but don’t dare. Not now, not while the panic still lurks in his eyes, in the tension of his coiled muscles.

He’s untied, but he’s still lying on top of the cross, as if he has forgotten how to move, or lacks the strength to do so.

“Rook,” I whisper, and his gaze that was fixed at some point in space flickers, then comes to settle on me. “Want to get up?”

He blinks those long lashes, and God, the man is beautiful. Square, clean-shaved jaw, cheekbones you can cut silk on, full lips, and those soulful eyes. His dark hair is soaked in sweat, sticking to his brow and temples.

“Yeah,” he finally breathes, and I stand by, ready to catch him if he falls.

He doesn’t, but he’s unsteady. Maybe endorphins from the pain. I hope it’s that, and not drugs. Anything goes in this place, anything money can buy.

He lurches like a drunk, and I grab his arm to lead him to a chair. We should be getting out of here, or at least I should, but I can’t carry his six-foot-four frame, no matter how hard I work out in my spare time. Plus, I’m not even sure he wants to go.

Dammit. Talk about complicated.

“Did you take anything?” I demand, a bit sharper than I intended, but I need to know what I’m dealing with. “Pills, shots?”

“No,” he says, and my heart settles a little in my chest. “Drink,” he croaks, the sound hurting my ears. “Thirsty.”

Of course he has to be. I grab the tumbler from the table and pour him a finger of whiskey. The rooms have water as well, of course, but later. I hand it to him. “Bottoms up.”

He stares at me, even as his hand closes around the glass, fingers brushing mine, and his mouth quirks in a faint, crooked smile. “Bottoms up.”

Sweet. So sweet, that smile.

Be still my heart.

God, what am I doing? Boss will have my ass if I mess this up. Lucy will have my ass, and I wince at the thought.

Ow. I can’t afford to screw this up.

But I also can’t abandon Rook here, like this, with his gaze still a million miles away and his muscles twitching. Besides, his back. I need to clean it, bandage the cuts.

Unless… “Rook, are you waiting for your partner to come back?”

“Partner?” He puts the glass down, and I grab it before it falls from his shaky hand.

“The guy who lashed you. Robert.”

“Robert.” His mouth forms the word, and his gaze hardens, his jaw clenching. “No. He left me here.”

“He’s a bastard,” I say with feeling.

“You should know. Dating his brother.”

“I wasn’t dating him.”

“What were you doing then?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him the truth, but luckily I swallow it back in time. “Just a night out. Not like what you were doing with Robert O’Connor. You two sleeping together?”

“Hell, no.”

Okay then…

God, he’s such a puzzle. A gorgeous, dark puzzle, and I have no clue how to put the pieces together. “Look… I should be going. You staying here?”

“No way.”

“You have a room?”

He shakes his head slowly.

But that’s not a problem. A man like Rook, he only has to snap his fingers to get an exclusive suite in the Cronin Hotel.

“I’ll ask the front desk for your usual suite. Come on.”

I expect him to resist, to snarl at me, to make a pass at me, be a smartass…. any of the things Rook normally does.

But he doesn’t. When I pull him to his feet, he comes willingly, albeit unsteadily. He’s so tall… He staggers into me, and I grab him in my arms. He grabs me back, in a hug that crushes me to him, and buries his face against my hair.

“Mia…” he whispers, his hands moving over my back. “I thought of you in the dark. Wished for you. It’s the first time in my life that a wish came true.”

And that’s so sad I want to weep for him. I don’t know what’s happening to me. My hands are on his back, feeling those powerful muscles shift, feeling the welts and blood, and all I can think is that nobody has the right to hurt him but me.

He’s mine.

* * *

After a quick call to reception, securing his suite, we walk slowly there together. I have one hand on the cart, my other arm around his lean hips. He’s still barefoot and bare-chested, his shoes, shirt and jacket lying over my cart, though I helped him pull on his pants, at least.

His heavy, muscular arm is lying across my shoulders, and I should be thinking of Robert O’Connor, the fact I didn’t search his room—the fact I skipped the chance in order to get Rook out of there.

I’m not regretting it.

Especially when I find a text from Lucy waiting on my phone, once we’re inside Rook’s suite, letting me know Robert O’Connor settled his bill and left the hotel. Leaving Rook bound, in the darkness.

Frigging unbelievable. Even an ignoramus like me knows you don’t leave your partner without aftercare. Even if you didn’t have sex.

And how weird is this. I’ve read up on BDSM and even more on pain/pleasure these last few days. It may or may not have been because of Rook.

Okay, who am I kidding? It was totally because of Rook. I want to understand him, understand what makes him tick. What excites him, and pleases him, and what scares him… but I’ll come back to that later.

First I open the door for him, pull him inside, and hope to God nobody’s watching the security footage from this floor too closely. I’m supposed to be a maid, not Rook Carter’s private bodyguard. Not that spending time with him would be frowned upon. I just don’t want any attention drawn to me at this point, not if I can help it.

He doesn’t let go of me even as I struggle to drag the cart inside with us. Finally I manage, and we let the door shut.

I heave a sigh of relief at having made it.

“You okay?” he asks, the deep rumble of his voice doing weird things to my insides. I swear my heart beat a special extra beat just for him.

“Yeah. You?”

“I’ll be fine.” He drags me deeper into the suite, the cart abandoned by the door. “Soon as I drink something and sit down for a bit. Damn Robert… played a number on me. I just had to… ah, fuck.”

He’s rambling, and it’s strangely endearing. A bit worrisome, too.

Until he collapses onto the sofa, taking me with him. I yelp, and elbow him in the stomach, and he gasps, and we fall back on the cushions in the tangle.

“What are you doing?” I sputter, because having a half-naked, dazed Rook on top of me is way too pleasurable and scrambling my mind. “Get off me.”

“Mff.” He rolls sideways a little to let me sit up, and throws a muscular arm over his eyes. “Goddammit.”

Worry wins out. “You dizzy? Rook.” I drag his arm off his face, and he blinks up at me, his eyes black, pupils blown wide. “You okay?”

“I got the name,” he whispers.

“What name?”

“Rob gave it to me,” he whispers. “Like he promised. And then the monsters came from the dark.”

“Rook…” Oh God, did he hit his head somewhere? He’s making no sense. “What monsters?”

But his eyes aren’t on me anymore. They’re looking somewhere over my shoulder, at some point in space. “Cronin,” he mutters, “has to fall, has to go down, there’s no other… no other way, and if this name is the one, if Rob is right, if… then it wasn’t for nothing, this fucking piece of hell was worth it, it was worth it—”

“Shh.” I take his face in my hands, and he falls silent, his gaze meeting mine. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” His voice is a breath of a sound. He blinks, color coming to his cheekbones. “It won’t be. Not until the Organization… fuck. Fuck.” He starts to sit up, his eyes wide, his face draining of color, and we almost bump heads before I lean back to avoid it.

“Lie back down,” I tell him, but he’s still trying to get up.

“Dammit,” he hisses. “I shouldn’t be talking now. I’m laid fucking open after a scene. Way too open, and I talk too much, and shit… Just…”

“It’s okay.” My mind is reeling, my thoughts racing, stumbling over one another. “Don’t worry about it. Just calm down.”

He wants to bring down Cronin. The Organization. What’s going on here?

He’s on my side. On my team.

Unofficially. For personal reasons, I’ll bet, but still.

Is that why I’ve been seeing him around the places I snoop at all the time? Has he been snooping, too? And wait a minute… is that why he’s been wandering downstairs, drunk, or pretending to be, asking everyone questions?

This is nuts.

He finally lies back down, his breathing labored, and that’s when I remember his back. But he doesn’t seem bothered by it. He likes pain, doesn’t he? Maybe it helps him calm down.

Yeah, I am trying to understand how his mind works, but I’m still a long way off.

“Wait here,” I say. “I’ll get you some water.”

“No.” His hands close around my arms, his eyes grow hooded. His eyes dip to my boobs. “Stay here.”

Even stoned out of his head on pain and fear, he’s still horny. Typical. “I have to work.”

“I’ll tell your manager I needed your help.”

“Help with what?”

“That’s a loaded question.” As is the hard-on poking me in the butt. Very loaded.

My breath catches. Let’s face it: even shaken and spaced-out, Rook is a sex god. I trail my fingertips over his jaw, his cheeks, his thick brows, and I lean in, and kiss him.

His lips part under mine, his hands move to my face, then circle my head and cradle my skull as he kisses me back with a heartfelt groan. I know pain play can make a guy hard, even without sexual stimulation—heh, see all my late-night studying on Google is paying off—but he’s wanted me all along, hasn’t he? Ever since we first met, and…

…and all thought flees my head when he grinds that massive hard-on between my legs, setting off sparks and fireworks inside my belly.

I need him. Memories of our two times together smack me right between the… well, the legs. I remember exactly what it felt like to have him move inside me, how his voice sounded as he came, that gravelly moan and the way he whispered my name.

He’s still kissing me as he lowers one hand to my leg, pushes up my skirt and shoves his hand inside my panties.

Oh God. This is a bad idea, very, very bad… oooh. Crap. His finger is inside me, stroking, he’s panting inside my mouth, and I’m two seconds away from combusting.

How is he doing this, getting to me like that, touching me just so, making me… lose… my mind. God, what is he….? He’s pushing a second finger into me, and his thumb presses on my clit, and how is he doing this when he was dizzy and disoriented before?

Experience, my mind whispers smugly. He’s a ladies’ man. Fucks a new one every day. What did you think?

Ignoring the voice, and the unexpected sting of disappointment in my chest, I unglue my lips from his to tell him this is the mother of all bad ideas—and he arches up his body into mine, head falling back, silken dark hair falling on his forehead.

“Mia…” he breathes, drawing his lower lip between his lips, his face drawn taut with desire.

It transfixes me. Sends a flame of desire through me, so hot I can’t move, and his damn fingers are still inside me, stroking me with every involuntary shift of my body.

“I want you,” he swallows hard, the knot in his throat moving, “to come on my face.”

Jesus. My insides clench, around his fingers, and I moan, unable to stop myself as pleasure shoots through me. “Rook, God…”

“Right up here,” he goes on, his voice a raspy whisper, his eyes still closed, his fingers moving in and out of me, in and out until I’m bent over him, my hands planted on his chest, my mouth open and my heart pounding, riding his hand. “On my mouth. I want to taste you.”

Christ… Just the filthy words, just the image would be enough to get me off, and I’m hovering on the edge, when he pulls his fingers out of me.

A small wail of frustration escapes me—but I have no time to complain, because he grabs my hips and drags me up, to his face, just like he said.

And puts his mouth on me.

Dressed in my racy uniform, my short skirt pushed up, my high heels digging into the sofa cushions, my panties shoved to the side, I should feel exposed, embarrassed—but his tongue stabs into me, and it’s all I can do not to scream as flashes of pleasure race through me. I grab the back of the sofa with one hand, to steady myself, but I shouldn’t worry. His hands are like vises on my thighs, keeping me in place, keeping me spread, as he licks and sucks and fucks me with his tongue and lips, until I’m writhing on top of him, knowing nothing but his mouth and the pleasure it gives me.

It’s too much.

It’s almost painful.

It’s… right there. I’m coming, my pussy tightening, my nipples so hard they hurt, my legs trembling, a cry clawing its way out of my throat. Oh shit. Oh wow. He sucks on my clit as I come apart, licks my pussy as it contracts, shoving more pleasure into me until I can’t breathe, and black spots tease my vision.

He drags me down his body once more, then kisses me, my salty taste in his mouth, on his tongue, firing me up all over again.

I should be thinking of my mission, of Lucy, of my boss. Of how sleeping with Rook—again!—is such a terrible idea, but how can I when he’s rubbing his hard body on mine like a huge, oversexed tomcat? He strokes his hard cock over my soaked pussy, and pressure starts building again, just like that.

He’s like a spark, lighting me up every single time.

He drops a hand to his pants pocket, pulls out a slender wallet, and produces a condom. “I’m gonna fuck you now, kitten.”

Even his voice is like a purr, and this should be my cue to push off him, and walk out.

But instead I lean back, watch as he unzips his pants and frees the massive erection I’d felt only seconds earlier, giving it a few good strokes. My mouth goes dry at the sight, and my pussy throbs. He tears the foil package with his teeth, snaps the condom on, and rubs the head of his cock against the lips of my pussy.

I suck in a sharp breath at the sensation, the anticipation of that thick, hard cock filling me up.

He lifts that heated gaze to my face. “Mia…” he whispers. “Fuck, Mia… I like you. Way too much.”

And with that surprising declaration, he pushes into me, while I’m still trying to wrap my head around what he just said.

God… he feels so good inside me, so right, forcing the breath from my lungs. A single, huge pulse of pleasure makes my core clench, and then another. And another.

And through it all, through the pleasure consuming my body, his words still echo.

I like you… way too much…

He keeps catching me off guard, I think dazedly as I arch and wrap my legs around him, to draw him in deeper. And snagging my heart along the way, at the most unexpected moments. I mean, me and him, we can never be.

But right now, it doesn’t matter. Right now, I’m about to come apart once more, impaled on his body.