Work, work, work. Change the sheets, clean the bathrooms, scrub the toilets, wash the floors. Wander around in a uniform that barely covers my ass and boobs, with a mini apron not big enough to blow your nose in.

I’m slowly getting used to this routine. Although sometimes…

“Hey, chica. Come here.” A hotel customer, wandering around the corridors, naked, a bottle of vodka dangling from one hand, his eyes bloodshot and his hair a nest.

Not the first time something like this has happened in these past months.

Joy.

If I hadn’t been hell-bent on taking this assignment for my own reasons in the first place, I’d have chucked it all down and walked out.

But yeah, not walking out of this one.

“I’ll call one of our attendants for you, sir,” I inform him and prepare to go.

It’s a kinky hotel where people hurt each other for fun, and that means we have people charged with making sure the customers aren’t dying. Who knows what room this one wandered out of.

Problem is, when I try the attendants’ number, nobody’s answering.

Peachy.

“Come here,” he slurs again, beckoning, and actually starts walking toward me. “Come to Daddy.”

Jeez.

I paste on a smile. “Wait here, okay?”

Hurrying down the corridor in my high-heeled shoes is a feat only a woman can accomplish. A man would have broken his neck within the first ten seconds. Problem is, I’m not used to running in high heels, either. I swear, if I don’t snap an ankle in this job…

At the end of the corridor, there’s an intercom for employees. I unlock the box and lean on the button. “Attendant room? Come in. There’s a naked man wandering the ninth floor.”

“Hey, doll,” comes a voice laced with static and a leer that makes me roll my eyes. “What’s with the cop voice? Relax and let us handle the situation.”

Ah right. I’m so relieved now. “Cody, get up here now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Did I mention our attendants suck? Well, some of them. Others are okay. Just my luck Cody is on call tonight.

“Chica!”

I take a bracing breath, and turn around with another fake smile, which translates as Everything’s Perfect and I Am Not Going To Kill You. Yet. “Just a moment, sir. Someone will be right up to help you back to your room.”

“Don’t wanna go back to my room. Room’s boring. How much for you?”

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Can’t remember my strategy for this situation.

Thankfully, another voice answers for me, a deep masculine voice. “Leave the lady alone, you creep.”

Creep. Right. Maybe not so polite, though. “Wait—”

The naked guy turns around, raising the bottle. “Who the fuck invited you to this party, dickface?”

“The lady did.”

I squint at the guy approaching us. I sure as heck haven’t invited anyone, but that voice is familiar. Come to think of it, that wide set of shoulders, dark hair and handsome face are also familiar.

Crap... I think I know this guy.

“Step back.” The naked drunk dude swings that bottle around like a weapon. “Fuck off.”

“No can do, sorry.” Familiar Guy opens his arms and grins.

Jesus.

“Stay back!” I shout at him. “Do you want to get hurt?”

Ah, wait a sec… maybe he does. It’s all coming back to me now. He’s Rook… something. Oh yeah, I remember.

Shirtless, muscular chest crisscrossed with red lash stripes.

Sweat gleaming on his brow and high cheekbones.

A violent kiss in a dark corridor.

I take a step back and almost go down. Damn heels. Shit.

Not him. Why is he here? I don’t want complications. Not on the job, and the glint in his dark eyes when he turns them on me tells me he’s a stubborn one.

He’s far more dressed this time than he was the last. No wonder it took me a moment to recognize him. Today he’s wearing a dark tailored suit with a pale blue pinstripe tie and gleaming black shoes.

Figures I’d focus on the shoes to avoid taking a better look at the rest of him.

“Come along,” Rook says, dodging the bottle easily, grabbing the man by the arm and dragging him away. “Let’s get you back to the room you came out of.”

Relief washes through me—until Rook glances over his shoulder at me and winks.

“Thanks,” I mouth at him, and turning around, I hurry away, not waiting to see what he’ll do with the drunk dude.

Cody had better arrive soon and do his frigging job. This isn’t on me.

I just need to avoid a repeat of that time with Rook—that hot, amazing kiss—and I’ll be just fine.

* * *

Cody brags later, as I pass through the employees’ lobby, about how he subdued the drunk dude and about how much bigger his dick is compared to the drunk dude’s—and I try not to gag as I once more hurry away, this time to avoid a play by play of Cody’s amazing adventures.

What a goddamn liar. Rook was the one who took the dude to his room, right? Not Cody. Or did Cody find him on the way there and took over?

I itch to ask, because curiosity will be the death of me, but… nah. If I pay Cody any attention, I’ll never get rid of him. He’s such a leech.

“Mia!” I hear him calling after me, and I walk faster. I can’t break into a run because of the frigging heels.

Frigging hotel uniform. Why aren’t guys forced to wear shorts and high heels, huh? So unfair. They can walk around in long pants and sensible black loafers, although yeah, no shirts for them, as per hotel policy. Just bowties.

Take that, suckers.

Carrying a stack of linens, I teeter past several rooms on the sixth floor. Sheryl waves at me from an open door. She’s dressed in black lingerie and crimson lipstick, and is standing by the window, waiting for her customer.

This is a good floor. Normal, almost. The rooms feature swings and four-poster beds with mirrors on the ceiling. I’ve delivered a fair share of bowls of whipped cream and strawberries here.

I could see myself lying on one of those beds, and a handsome man leaning over me. Someone dark-haired and gorgeous, someone like…

Rook.

Shit, not Rook. Not going there.

Besides, next on my To-Do list is the ninth floor. The pain rooms—where I found Rook that time, where we shared that kiss. So I’d better get him out of my mind right now, before I head up.

After all, he’s not just any customer. No, he’s one of those who like whips, ball gags, and… and nipple clamps and handcuffs and pain.

Jesus. I’m disturbed by how many instruments I can list. That has never been my Scene, and I don’t want anything to do with it.

Though, those lash marks on Rook’s chest had looked… hot.

Seriously? I blink and stop, the thought coming out of left field, hitting me square in the chest. Where is that coming from?

It’s this place, this weird hotel that’s getting to me. The man is sexy, no doubt about it, but that’s no reason to think weird thoughts.

Like how I could mark that broad chest with my nails. How I could roll him over and bite down on the thick muscles of his back.

Holy shit. I find myself standing still, the stack of linens piled high in my arms, my mind blank and a throb between my legs.

Okay, now. Get a grip.

I force myself to make my way down the corridor, focus on my job. My mission. The reason I’m here.

No more Rook. Enough of that.

Pain rooms aren’t about beds much, but the pain suites do have the four-poster and mirror thing, Jacuzzi and glass walls with views over the city in case your kink is to do it in plain view of anyone who cares to look up. And of course Saint Andrew’s crosses padded with real leather, handcrafted whips, satiny lashes, blindfolds, all sorts of dildos and plugs… The whole shebang. Whatever floats your boat.

Yeah, it was all explained to me, in case a customer has questions. And yeah, I did Google quite a few things when I was assigned this job. Better be prepared, right?

It still shocks me, though, when I walk into the Crimson Suite and find myself surrounded by all that… stuff. I plop the linens on the bed, and frown. It doesn’t look slept in, or used in any way, the—surprise!—crimson covers and silk sheets perfectly set, the pillows plump and fluffed up.

Whipping my phone from my side pocket, I check my room list. It says right here. Crimson Suite. Change linens and clean room.

Then I get another shock when I hear the toilet flush and water running in the sink of the en-suite black tiled bathroom.

Definitely a mistake.

Shit, shit, shit. Picking up the linens, I tiptoe back toward the door, heat licking at my neck. God, I miss my cubicle at work, and my computer.

This isn’t my mistake, probably a system error, but coming on the heels of the meeting with the drunk guy—and even more, if I’m about to start admitting things, the meeting with Rook earlier—I feel rattled. Last thing I need is a confrontation with an angry customer.

“Well, well. Mia, was it?” a smooth, dark male voice says from behind me, and I stop in my tracks.

I know that voice. Just heard it today, less than half an hour ago. Frowning, I turn back around. “Rook.”

He opens his hands and grins widely. “In the flesh. Why, if this isn’t your lucky day?”

“It’s not. Sorry, I…” My eyes finally register what they’re seeing, and my breath runs out. Whoa. He’s only dressed in black slacks and a white shirt, the buttons undone, leaving bare an expanse of tanned, muscular chest. His feet are bare. Strong, tanned, too, and oh crap… “I was mistaken,” I manage to finish, because I’m nothing if not a professional.

“Not a mistake,” he says smoothly. He steps closer, shoving his hands into his pants pockets, his shirt opening a little bit more, until I see his nipples, dark and small—and his bulging pecs, defined abs, and dark lines of tattoos curling around his ribs.

I swallow hard.

Then his words sink in. “What do you mean, it’s not a mistake?”

He shrugs. “I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

“Just to check if you were okay after that weirdo came near you.”

Oh. “So… what, you hacked into the system? I mean…” Shit, I’m not supposed to speak like that to customers.

Am I?

Are the allowed to hack into the system?

“Oh no,” he says dismissively before I can work up a good panic. “No hacking. I only called reception and asked for the sheets to be changed and the room to be cleaned. Isn’t that what they told you?”

“Sure. Yes. It doesn’t matter.” I step backward, toward the door. This guy’s magnetism is too much. Makes me feel like a moth with a death wish. “I’ll be going, then.”

“Not so fast.” He steps forward quickly, leaving a ripple of testosterone in his wake, a whiff of strong male, and blocks my way. He moves like a big predator, like a panther. How can a guy who likes to be hurt with whips and floggers look like he wants to hunt me down, capture me like prey?

It makes me shiver.

And goes to show how little I understand the Scene.

Lucy, my partner, is right. I’m the least likely candidate for this assignment, but it was offered to me, and I wanted it. You see, I have a mission, a personal one that my boss doesn’t know about. I just couldn’t say no.

Even if I’m thrust into weird situations like this one.

“Look,” I begin, “I’m sorry I barged in without knocking, but I’ll leave you and your partner in peace.”

Where is his partner, anyway? In the bathroom? Are there bondage instruments in this bathroom? I can’t remember.

The huge flat TV mounted on the wall is showing an interview with Senator George Brody, speaking passionately against corruption.

So ironic to hear his words inside this hotel, the most corrupt of men sitting in his office somewhere inside the building, moving pawns on the giant chessboard of the country.

Rook leans toward me, and I have no option but to look at him again.

“You know me,” he says, and although his voice is strong and confident, I think I see a flash of doubt in his dark eyes. “You know my name.”

“Rook,” I say without thinking.

Crap, my brain is officially off today.

“Yeah.” He smiles, and it’s so different from his wicked grins. His smile is narrow and deep, reaching his eyes. “Yeah, I’m Rook. And you’re Mia. You remember me kissing you.”

“Or me kissing you,” I fire back, and bite my lip.

Great. Antagonize the customers as well, why don’t you?

But he chuckles, a startled sound. “That’s even better,” he mutters. “It looks like I didn’t imagine it.”

“Imagine what?” I inch back toward the door, but he casually braces an arm on the frame, and spreads his muscular legs, not allowing my escape. He’s annoying me. “Could you please move and let me pass?”

He doesn’t budge. “That you wanted it as much as I did.”

“Keep telling yourself that.” I bump him with the pile of linens. “Please move aside, sir.”

“Demanding. I like it.” He winks, and if my hands were free, I’d have slapped him.

Of course he does. And he still doesn’t budge. “Sir…”

“I prefer Rook. And I made one more request when I called reception.” His voice is now practically a purr. “Check your app.”

What now? I jerk when he grabs the pile of linens from me and dumps them on the floor.

Very well. The customer is always right, right? Whipping out my phone, I check again my To Do list. There’s a note for a special request. Normally those involve a chilled bottle of champagne and caviar, or fresh strawberries and whipped cream, but this one…

I lift my gaze to his, incredulous. “You requested a night with me?”

He grins, and that sexy grin only infuriates me more. “You make it sound so filthy.”

“I make it sound filthy? What’s wrong with you?”

“Um, that’s a loaded question. And I honestly don’t have the time to make you a list of everything that’s wrong with me right now.” His grin drops, right when I thought it’d widen. I mean, he’s kidding me, right? Has to be. “Besides that, a night with me doesn’t have to be about sex, despite the direction your naughty mind took.”

I’m gaping at him. Did he just turn this on me? “Excuse me?”

“I mean, sure, it can involve sex. I certainly wouldn’t object.”

“Excuse. Me.”

“You already said that.” He looks aggravated. He rubs a hand over the dark stubble on this chin. “I’m sure you know S&M isn’t only about sex.”

“Seriously now?”

He shrugs, a darkness entering his already shadowed gaze, his mouth tipping up on one side. “I’ve never been more serious. Thing is… I can’t get you out of my mind.”

I shake my head. Such a pick-up line, but after the strings he pulled to have me here, right now, it sounds almost… sincere.

“I’m not interested in playing this game,” I tell him. “This isn’t my scene.”

“And what is your scene?”

Again, he sounds so interested. Like he really wants to know.

“I don’t have one. I like my life simple and straightforward.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun.” He gives me a long look. “Don’t you want to live a little?”

The arrogance! “My life’s just fine, thank you.”

“I thought you might want to try something new. And maybe… you could help me.”

That gives me pause. “With what?”

He looks away. “To forget,” he whispers, and although his voice is low and seductive, something pings on my nerves, on my truth radar. Something that’s raw and tender, like a fresh wound.

What does he need to forget about? Why does he need pain to do that? How much is sex a part of it?

And in any case, why am I having this conversation?

Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I bend over and grab the linens from the floor. “Not interested,” I inform him. “Please request someone else to help you out.”

His brows draw together, his jaw clenches. “I thought…”

“What did you think?”

He shakes his head, pushes off the door frame and wanders back into the room. “Never mind.”

Now it’s my turn to hesitate. “Tell me.”

“That you and I were the same,” he says. He’s pulling off his shirt as he stalks toward the bed, letting it drop to the plush carpet, and my breath catches. “You and me.”

On that muscled back, over the wide flare of his ribs and shoulders, the sleek muscle wrapped over lean sinew, there’s a map of ink and welts. Red and black roses intertwine with the crimson slashes that look like they were left by a whip.

That throb between my legs is back.

Oh God… Did he whimper when he was lashed? Did he groan? Did he beg? Did he cry out?

Why do I wish I’d been there to see, to touch? To inflict that pain, to excite him like that? To help him, and pleasure him?

Holding the linens to my chest, I flee as fast as my feet can carry me.