A View to a Thrill (Masters and Mercenaries Book 7) (12 page)

“Jesse, please turn the car around. We need to go to Ian’s place.”

“You bastard.” Sometimes she pouted like a child.

There were times when he had no idea at all what he saw in her. She was a brat and not always the sexy kind. She was childish and selfish and he should do exactly what he threatened. He should have Jesse turn the bloody car around and wash his hands of her. She was Ian’s problem after all. She’d made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing from him beyond to satisfy her curiosity. He should have taken her up on it and then sent her on her way.

“Just find whatever murder motel is the closest, Jesse,” she was saying quietly. “No. We’re not bringing Ian into it.”

Jesse sighed. “Good because he can yell really loud. Sit back and I’ll have us in a rat-infested hellhole in no time at all.”

Chelsea sat back. A long moment passed, and Simon decided to give it a night. Just one night and he would absolutely turn her over in the morning. He wouldn’t waste another second on a woman who couldn’t care about him. He wasn’t a masochist.

A warm hand stole over his. “He was lying, Simon. He was trying to throw you off. Malone Oil has been hit more than any other company.”

“How do you know that?”

The hand tightened slightly, obviously offering him comfort. “Because when I found out you were involved with them, I checked.”

A bitter laugh huffed from his chest. “You wanted to make sure I wasn’t a Collective plant?”

Even in the dim light of the car he could see the confusion on her face. “No. I did it because they were involved in the Nelson case and I was curious. But Simon, they were one of Nelson’s targets while he was working for The Collective. I think they’re clean. If I had to bet on it, I would say that man back there would have loved to have taken both of us in. You would obviously make good collateral against your uncle.”

And there it was. A little squeeze of her hand. An encouraging smile on her normally serious face. She gave that smile to so few people. That was why he wouldn’t turn her over—because every now and then he saw the woman she could be and he knew he couldn’t stop.

She took a deep breath and moved away again, her forehead resting against the side of the Jeep, and they fell into silence.

But just for a moment she’d seen through him and reached out. She’d been the one offering comfort. She’d been the one trying to protect him.

Simon sat back as the miles rolled past and vowed to find a way to reach her.

* * * *

Chelsea looked at the bed that dominated the room. The only bed. Somehow Jesse had managed to find the shitty motel that didn’t have two queens. No. It was way worse. It was a single queen and there was no couch. And she was pretty sure the floor was covered in disease. “I think I should sleep somewhere else. We need to find another room.”

Blue eyes stared a hole through her. Somehow his eyes managed to be both cold and hot given his mood. The color shifted, lighter, icier when he was angry. As warm as the Caribbean when he was happy.

They often seemed so cold when he looked at her. “You know why we’re spending the night here. I explained this to you. This is the only place where I can be sure there are no security cameras and no way for The Collective to trace us. We’re staying here.”

“I’m sure they have another room, Weston. You don’t have to sit up all night.” Because there was no way they could share that bed. It was too small. He would take up all the space. He would be on top of her, and they both knew how that had ended the first time.

He locked the door and set down his duffel bag on the table. He eased out of his jacket because the man wore a three-piece suit on the run. She couldn’t help but stare at his broad shoulders and the way his vest tapered down to perfectly pressed slacks. He tugged at the silver tie he was wearing, pulling it free and working the buttons at his throat until she could see the start of his truly impressive chest.

God, she hoped she wasn’t drooling.

The shoulder holster was the next to go in his inadvertent striptease. “You should get settled in. We have to be up early in the morning. I’ll take the side closest to the door.”

He couldn’t be serious. “Simon, there’s not enough room on that bed.”

He threw that gorgeous body down, making the springs squeak. “Of course there is, love. You Americans just like to take up an enormous amount of space.”

She needed to take charge or she would make a complete fool of herself. Again. “Look, Weston, you turned down my offer.”

He turned lazily, one hand coming up to balance his head. He looked like a pinup in a women’s magazine—all lean and predatory lines. She could see the write-up in her head.
Simon likes tea, Scotch, and eating subs for breakfast. His turn-offs include everything that comes out of Chelsea Dennis’s mouth.
“Are you talking about your very charming offer to use my body to lose your virginity?”

She hadn’t put it like that. “You don’t want me. I get it. So let’s keep things simple. I hired you. I’m the boss. I’m going to see if I can rent the room next to this one and that can be yours. We have enough cash for three rooms. You and me and Jesse can all have our own.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t have to. She saw the way his eyes narrowed and then his voice came out, low and in that perfect upper-crust British accent that made her nipples hard. Her nipples were really stupid and she wished they didn’t like him so damn much. “You’re under a grave misapprehension, Chelsea. You are not my boss and you did not hire me. You came to me with a problem and I told you I would solve it. I believe I also mentioned that I was in charge and that was the only way I would do this for you. So you will clean up and take off your clothes and you’ll get into this bed and you’ll sleep beside me tonight. Jesse doesn’t need a room at all. He’s watching our backs. I won’t make that more difficult for him to do by splitting us up. I’m directing this operation. I explained this to you when you signed the bloody contract. Do I need to explain what the word submissive means?”

Tears pricked her eyes. He was so damn unfair. She had to wonder if she would ever find a man who didn’t want to punish her. “You forced me to sign that contract.”

Now he moved, rolling to the side of the bed and getting to his feet with pure predatory grace. “I did nothing of the kind.”

He seemed very willing to revise history. She wasn’t about to let him forget. “If I hadn’t signed your contract, you would have let me die.”

He sighed, a long-suffering sound. “I certainly would not, and if you think that’s true then you don’t know me at all. Have we circled back around to the martyr state of your being? Perhaps I should do exactly what I should have done in the first place, what I would have done if you hadn’t signed the contract.”

That was worse than letting her die. “Please don’t call Ian.”

His shoulders weren’t so straight as he turned and stared at her. “You’re reckless, Chelsea. If I give up even a moment’s control, I’ll lose you, and I can’t stand the thought of that. The only way to save you is to be your Master and the only Master you’ll accept is not the kind I want to be.”

“And what kind do you want to be?”

“Indulgent. Loving. Kind. I want a sub who obeys me in the field because she understands I would never let anyone hurt her. I want the play to just be play. I want a sub who trusts me with her body, who wants me and not just some faceless Dom who’ll work her over and then walk away. And I certainly don’t want to be a curiosity.”

She felt embarrassment flash through her system. If she could take back her earlier idiocy, she would. “I get it. I got it when you turned me down the first time. I can get into bed with you because you won’t touch me.”

He was suddenly in her space. He’d moved so quickly she wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. One minute there was a bed between them and the next she was backing up until she hit the wall because he was stalking her. She’d gone as far as she could go, but he kept coming. He loomed over her, using every one of his six feet two inches. “I’ve tried to be polite about this, but you don’t want that, do you? You don’t want me to be a gentleman about this. You want me to take you because then you’ll bloody well get it over with and you can put me in the same box with all the other men who hurt you and used you and cast you aside. I would be just one more villain who did something to you.”

She should be shaking. She should be trying to get away. She hated being backed into a corner, but all she could think about was how good he smelled, how nice it had been when he’d let her kiss him and explore his body. “I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. I understand you, Chelsea. You can’t comprehend that, but I do. I understand you like no other man will. So I understand that I have to explain certain things to you.” He moved closer until his mouth hovered above hers, his heat sinking into her skin. “I’m going to tell you how this is going to go. We’ll get into that bed and I’m going to put my hands on you and I’m going to put my mouth on you. I’m going to taste you. I swear by the time you get out of that bed in the morning, you’re going to know what it feels like to come against my tongue. That screaming you heard as we walked in, you’re going to make that girl’s orgasm sound like the squeaking of a mouse. But the one thing you won’t get is my cock. You won’t get that because I’m not going to take your virginity because you’re curious. I’ll take it when you can’t think about anything but me. I’ll take it when you cry out my name and tell me there’s no other man you’ll ever love the way you love me. Then and only then will I take what belongs to me. Am I understood?”

She managed to nod.

He took a step back and she immediately missed his heat. His hands went to the buttons on his shirt. “Then take off those bloody clothes and get in bed.”

Take off her clothes? Oh, that was what she always tried to avoid so he wouldn’t see her scars, so he wouldn’t see just how damaged she was. What kind of game was he playing now? First he didn’t want her and then he was willing to play with her but not actual sex. She was so confused. Perhaps the best thing to do was a strategic retreat. “I’ll be right back.”

She fled to the bathroom, flipping the light switch on and then wishing she hadn’t. She was fairly certain something had scurried behind the shower curtain. She was going to finally do it. She was going to be patient zero in a North American plague outbreak.

What was she doing? She was picking the rats, or something slightly larger, over the kindest, most gorgeous man she’d ever met? She really was caught in some sort of martyrdom. Poor little Chelsea. She wasn’t as smart or as fast as her big sister. Her father had only wanted Charlotte. He’d just taken Chelsea along as a bargaining chip to gain Charlotte’s compliance, and when Charlotte fucked up, oh, Chelsea had been the one to suffer.

Chelsea turned on the water to cold and was grateful when it came out clear. She stared at herself for a moment, almost not recognizing the woman she saw in the mirror. She was older, more careworn. She had breasts and hips. Somehow she still saw herself as a child, or at least a teenaged girl who never had to grow up because she’d been brutalized and in exchange, she got to forego responsibility, got to be selfish.

Got to wash blood off her face. Got to run away from anything that might be good for her. Got to screw up anything that might be good for her sister.

If she stayed here, she would put a wedge between Charlotte and Ian because she’d done such a damn fine job of making Charlotte feel guilty. They were probably fighting over her as she sat here staring.

Charlotte would want to find her as quickly as possible and Ian would be more than happy to leave her in Simon’s care. Ian would resent the position Charlotte put him in. He would come to resent the fact that Charlotte tried to put Chelsea first. He wouldn’t understand that it was all because Chelsea had taken all the beatings, all the abuse, all the pain. He couldn’t understand that one night Charlotte had found her with a dead body pinning her to the bed.

“If you try to get out through the window, I will hunt you down, Chelsea.” Simon sounded like he was standing right outside the door.

Chelsea wiped the blood off her face, watched it turn the water pink briefly before disappearing down the drain. It was time to get out of purgatory. Maybe that bomb in a box had been the best thing to happen to her. It let her know it was time to go.

She was going to leave. As soon as she figured out how to get The Collective off her back, she would very quietly do what she should have done in the first place. She would step aside and let Charlotte live her life. She would disappear and then Charlotte and Ian could have little satanic babies and be happy.

Simon could be happy.

But she had a few days before she had to go back into the darkness again. Was she going to be brave or regret every moment she spent not being with him?

The door opened abruptly. Simon stared down at her. “I thought it would be locked.”

It had been a good bet. It was certainly the kind of thing she’d done in the past. Now she wondered if she’d been a vicious brat around him because she’d been desperate to get his attention and being mean was the only way she knew how to get it. “I’m not dumb, Weston. I wanted you to be able to get in here as fast as you could in case one of the residents attacked.”

He arched a single aristocratic brow. “Residents?”

She shuddered. “I’m pretty sure there’s like a possum or something moving over there. Or maybe it’s the giant scorpions. I don’t actually think we have a ton of those around here.”

“Don’t joke right now. I want to know what you’re going to do. I want to know if you’re going to run.” He looked so serious she had to sigh.

She’d been lying to herself all along, and having made the decision to leave, she just couldn’t do it another second. She wanted to know what it meant to be his, even if it was only for a day or two. “I’m going to obey my Master.”

His eyes flared, and she could have sworn his slacks tented in a heartbeat. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he really did want her. “Chelsea?”