"You'll come," he said, and saw the question—Is that an order?—clearly written across her face. He waited for the explosion, but nothing was forthcoming.
Nick was not going to delude himself into believing the subject was closed.
Slany may have been a submissive, but she was nowhere near a coward or quitter.
* * * *
“Nick's” branded on her heart beneath her red silk blouse.
He'd called her "mine" when they'd made love, and she had taken that as just the typical pillow talk of your garden-variety possessive male.
This is what she used to think, that they all said the same things, did the same things in and outside the bedroom. But Slany knew better now, was coming to realize there was nothing typical or garden variety about Nick. He was not like other men. Even without the dominant factor driving him to act the way did, feel the way he did, Nick was different from most men she knew, as close to the way she remembered her father before her mother's death.
How twisted was that?
145
Gracie C. McKeever
Sick, but true. Nick had the same voice of authority as her father, the same intimidating carriage, except when he dealt with the ones he loved, the authority and intimidation were tempered with an underlying gentleness and affection.
Not that Slany would dare jump to any conclusions. Just because she was feeling weak-kneed and wide-eyed for Nick didn't mean that he felt the same way for her. Sure, she knew he wanted her, maybe even liked her. But did he love her?
Slany had stopped believing in fairy tales and happily ever after a long time ago, especially after Ron.
Ron would have never invited her to a Fourth of July cookout at his family's since he didn't think she was good enough to warrant the exposure. As if the things she had allowed him to do to her made her less of a woman, unworthy of meeting Mother. But now, she knew she hadn't been missing anything in not being invited to meet his mother, especially if Ron Wells was anyone by which to judge.
Slany still had her doubts about Nick's invite, but for totally different reasons than wondering whether his family would approve of her, although there was that, too.
She had to admit, she was feeling self-conscious about meeting his family, despite having already met the whole rambunctious crowd once before. That had been before she'd allowed their brother/uncle/son/nephew to spank her. That was before their brother/uncle/son/nephew had fucked her up the ass, and she'd loved it.
She hadn't known the Vegas during that first cookout/party, hadn't cared what they thought about her, hadn't cared whether they liked her. But now, she did care. She had something to lose. And admitting that to herself was as bad as admitting she liked the things Nick did to her.
Was as bad as admitting she liked him dominating her in the bedroom.
Slany felt heat in her face, pictured the twin rosy glows in her cheeks from her blush.
She was embarrassed, despite knowing what she and Nick did in the bedroom was nobody's business but theirs. That it was nothing to be ashamed of, as long as Nick still treated her with the respect out of the bedroom that she deserved, and so far, he'd been treating her with nothing but gentleness and respect.
"Penny for your thoughts."
She started and glanced at Ashton sitting beside her in Business Class. The last person on earth she wanted to be with now, but she couldn't have everything, and who else used that silly cliché anymore? "They're worth a lot more than that, Knowles, and you know it."
He chuckled, sipping his scotch on the rocks from the plastic cup a flight attendant had provided earlier.
She was so looking forward to this trip coming to an end. The pitch had gone well, and the company liked what they'd had to say, but they were reserving their decision until they heard from one more ad agency.
DMT
was definitely still in the running, though.
Much like her with Nick, Slany thought, and instantly wondered where that had come from—unless she considered herself in a competition for him?
Who was she in competition against, except herself and his guarded, demanding psyche?
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Terms of Surrender
"That big, strong Italian Stallion picking you up when we get back?"
Slany frowned and turned to him again. "Are you talking about Nicholas Vega?" Why would he use that term? Had he heard her talking about Nick with Peyton? Or was he just making assumptions?
"Why so formal, Slany? We all know how you and Nick feel about each other." He reached out a hand to stroke her stocking-clad thigh, and Slany slapped his hand away.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Knowles, so I suggest you keep that type of slanderous gossip to yourself."
"I'm not blind, Slany," he murmured, "and neither is the rest of the office."
"Are you threatening me, Knowles?" She glared at him, saw him flinch, as if he were actually hurt she'd make such an accusation.
"You offend me, Slany. You know I would never do anything to hurt you. I care about you. I'm only telling you this for your own good. So that you can watch your back."
"Or what? You'll go to your father-in-law?"
Ashton frowned. "There's no need to get nasty about this. I was just giving you a friendly word of advice."
"I appreciate your concern, but I'll watch my own back, thank you."
Ashton shook his head, chuckling. "Independent and tough until the end."
"What exactly are you inferring?"
"You have a new boyfriend now, so you don't need any friends to look out for you." He sneered, and before Slany could gather herself enough from his unwarranted attack, he muttered,
"I should be insulted, since I knew you first."
She arched a brow, turned in her seat to stare at him. She was finding it hard to follow his alcoholic train of thought and wondered if she had heard correctly. After a moment, she decided she couldn't have. Ashton was a grown man, and he'd sounded exactly like a ten-year-old on the playground who hadn't been picked for a game of dodge ball. "What?"
"You probably don't remember your first day at the office. Thorpe introduced you to me on our way to the quarterly meeting. I met you first."
"What, by a few minutes?" Was he seriously injured, or just flapping his jaw as Ashton was known to do?
Slany had met lots of
DMT
staff that first day, from the mailroom staff to all the partners, and couldn't herself remember who'd been "first" after she'd met with the Thorpe. She knew one thing, though: Nick had stood out from the very beginning.
She'd probably fallen in love with him that first day.
"It makes a difference," Ashton muttered.
She gaped, speechless. She couldn't believe he was seriously miffed. "Knowles, I suggest you get your shit together and stop hitting that cup."
"I'm nowhere near drunk. Trust me."
147
Gracie C. McKeever
Despite his assurance, Slany thought he was high on something, if not the airplane alcohol, to even think that he had a chance with her, Nick or not.
Ashton was just not her type—too caught up in his looks, forever fluffing his blond hair, so perfectly golden, she wondered if it were dyed. Batting those blue eyes at anything in a skirt around the office, no respect for the institution he had entered into with his wife.
She'd had enough experience of the self-involved jerks with Ron, thank you very much.
Ashton reached out and grabbed her thigh this time.
Slany gritted her teeth and counted to ten. She'd gotten through an entire day traveling and pitching with him, and he waited for the end of the trip to try some crazy shit like this!
"You don't have to be so hard all the time, Slany. I know you have it in you to be soft, to let someone take care of you. I could be that someone."
Slany shuddered at the image, dug her nails into his wrist just short of drawing blood as she grabbed his hand and removed it. She unbuckled her seatbelt, staggered to her feet, and glared down at him a long moment before heading to the bathroom several yards ahead of her.
She closed and locked the door, shaking as she glanced at herself in the mirror.
Maybe what she and Nick had done over the weekend showed on her face. Maybe Ashton thought she was fair game now because of it, that he was entitled to treat her like one of his many desperate floozies.
Well, she had news for him. She wasn't desperate or a floozy, except maybe with Nick, but that was because she wanted to be and, more importantly, because she chose to be. What she and Nick did behind closed doors was none of Ashton’s or anyone else's business, and it certainly didn't make her a lesser person because of it. It certainly didn’t make her someone reckless enough to accept the attentions of a married man, especially not Ashton. She just didn't swing that way.
He said he knew how she and Nick felt about each other. But how could he when
she
was barely sure of her feelings? Sure, Ashton may have been aware of the heat, the sexual attraction, but other than these, what could he really know?
The idea that someone else, several someone else's, knew about her and Nick's relationship sobered her. She didn't think there would be a problem, just didn't like the idea of being fodder for office gossip. And if Ashton Knowles knew, someone so totally oblivious to the people around him—especially if they couldn't benefit him in any way—then it was conceivable to assume others knew.
Slany shook her head against the possibilities. She didn't believe she and Nick had been indiscreet enough to warrant that much attention, and if they had, she didn't think anyone would have the balls to call them on it. Not when they were one of the most prolific and effective teams in the agency. Thorpe and his partners would be hard-pressed to seriously entertain any negative feedback, especially from someone like Knowles.
Not that she thought she and Nick were untouchable. Far from it. She decided, just this moment, that whatever the consequences of her and Nick's relationship, she was ready to deal with them.
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Terms of Surrender
She was still her, still an intelligent ad exec who brought in impressive revenue with a flourishing company. This much hadn't changed. If anything, she was stronger than she'd ever been before Nick, and that was because of Nick, because of what they had done together.
He'd opened her up, shown her the power in submitting, shown her what she had been missing all her life. She would not go back. She would not let Ashton or fear of discovery by the rest of the office scare her backwards.
Slany turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on her face, and quickly patted it dry with a paper towel.
She was not going to let a cheating sleaze-bag like Ashton Knowles get the best of her.
She would go back out to her seat, refreshed and ready to battle, if she had to.
But she was not going to be the cause of any more friction between Nick and Knowles, would not let Nick suffer for something that she would normally handle on her own.
Slany decided she was not going to tell Nick what had happened between her and Knowles, no matter what.
149
Gracie C. McKeever
"There's another missing woman."
Jeff gaped at Matt Wilcox sitting across from him behind a large cherry desk, unexplainably despondent when he didn't even know the woman. He was surprised the younger man could deliver the news so calmly, as if it was of no consequence, when they both knew it was. "You're sure?" he rasped.
"As sure as I can be, under the circumstances."
"You think it's connected to my Lorrie?"
"I wouldn't have brought it up if I didn't."
Jeff tried not to seem too eager as he leaned forward in his seat.
He had been dealing with Wilcox long enough to realize that zealousness was not the way to go with him. The young private investigator took his duties seriously, did his job slowly and methodically, and would not be rushed into giving away more information than he thought was necessary for his client to know.
Under any other circumstance, Jeff might have appreciated these very admirable traits, but not here, not now.
"Who is the woman?" He didn't know why he asked it, because he didn't want to get anymore acquainted with another victim than he had to. He could do nothing to help her or his Lorrie. The only action open to him now was to prevent what happened to them from happening to anyone else, and in order to do this, he had to find out what Matt Wilcox knew.
"She's a freelance photographer who did regular work for the agency in question."
"Which agency?"
"Jeff, we talked about this. I agreed to keep you updated to a point. But as for the minute details…"
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Terms of Surrender
"I don't understand what the difference is. You've already told me about a missing woman. How could you not think I wouldn't be curious about where she's missing from?"
"The difference is, you might be tempted to do something inadvisable on your own and ruin my investigation."
"I wouldn't do that," Jeff muttered, fully knowing he would do that, fully intending to if he got any information that led him anywhere. "You said you had nailed your suspects down to two men. Do they work at this agency?"
"Jeff…"
"I'm not asking for names. I just want to know if I'm on the right track."
"Isn't it enough to know that I'm on the right track?"
It should have been, but Jeff had had too many disappointments, too many private investigators following so many false leads and dead-ends. Who was to say Matt wasn't following down the same useless path?
Damn, he couldn't take this anymore. Didn’t enjoy being so close to Lorraine's killer (or killers), he could feel his hands around their throats. Didn’t enjoy being so close and unable to do anything about it.
At his prolonged silence, Matt said, "Jeff, when you hired me, we agreed that I would do things my way. I've already compromised that agreement and this case more than I'd like to by feeding you the bits of information that I have. Don't make me regret doing that."