He headed across the room to shut off the annoying contraption that had caused the drama. The machine had been queued up for five hundred copies and was steadily pumping them out. He hit the stop button and grabbed the top page of the stack in the output slot.
His blood ran cold.
A photo filled the center of the page—the two faces in profile easily identified. He and Brynn naked by the lake during a midnight tryst from a few weeks ago, her arms bound behind her, his hand poised above her backside, ready to strike. Underneath the photo, a handwritten message in small block letters:Author: Roni Loren
YOUR DADDY WOULD BE SO PROUD. KEEP FUCKING THE WHORE, AND I’LL MAKE SURE EVERYONE KNOWS ALL ABOUT THE TWO OF YOU AND YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SKELETONS. THINK YOUR FAMILY LOVES YOU ENOUGH TO STAND BY YOU IF THE WHOLE WORLD FINDS OUT HOW SICK YOU REALLY ARE?
“Reid?” Brynn called from the other side of the office, her voice tentative. “Everything okay?”
He ripped the original from underneath the copier’s lid and grabbed the stack of printed pages. The papers quivered in his shaking hands. “Everything’s fine, sugar.”
THIRTEEN
now
“What?” Reid asked, his stubbled jaw hanging open at Brynn’s proposition.
Brynn stared up at him, willing herself not to turn tail and run after coming on to him. She needed to do this or she was going to spend the whole weekend flinching like a wounded bird.
During the kiss with him in front of the group, she had glimpsed a feeling—a whisper of freedom that she hadn’t felt since the day someone had decided to violate her. If she could just rip off the bandage—guerilla-style exposure therapy like Melody had suggested—then maybe she could break the shackles that seemed to weigh her down any time she was near a dominant man.
She wet her lips. “I said not to ask questions.”
His eyes darkened. “Last I checked, I’m the dom here, so I’ll ask what I want.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
He crossed his arms, the muscles in his shoulders shifting and bunching. “Well, I’m not fucking dead.”
“Then, please, just go with it. I don’t want to talk about the past or why we hate each other. Let’s leave all of that outside these grounds for the next three days. You know we’re not going to be able to make it through our stay here only kissing in front of people.”
He looked left, then right. “There are no people here now. Who is this show going to be for?”
My sanity. At least if she panicked, she wouldn’t have to do it in front of the whole club. “Myself. I don’t want to flinch every time you touch me. Maybe your breaking-the-ice idea wasn’t such a bad one—we could get this first time out of the way in private.”
“Get it out of the way. Like I’m a dentist appointment or something?” He smirked, but she didn’t miss the weariness in his voice. “Come on, be honest. Why don’t you just admit that underneath that big grudge you’re holding, you still want me?”
She threw her head back and groaned. “You’re such a jerk sometimes, you know that? Yes, I’m attracted to you, okay. I wouldn’t offer to have sex with you if I wasn’t.”
He gave her a triumphant smile, picked up the shirt from the floor, and handed it to her. “Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll make sure we get it out of the way, but it’s not going to happen because I’m some item to scratch off your to-do list. I’ll decide when and what happens.”
Ugh. Couldn’t the man cooperate with anything? She yanked the shirt from his hands. “Screw you.”
He walked past her and stretched out on the couch. “Later. I promise.”
She balled her fists and fought the inclination to stomp her feet like a child. She’d never met a more frustrating man in her life. How had she ever fallen for such a jackass? Without wasting another breath on him, she stomped past him, down the narrow hallway, and slammed the bedroom door behind her.
Like the rest of the cabin, the upscale rustic theme continued in the bedroom—dark woods, cream-colored fabrics, and soft lighting. It could have been a luxury cabin at any fine resort if not for the metal loops drilled into the walls and a leather and wooden bench contraption at the foot of the bed. She grimaced. This was going to be the longest freaking weekend of her life.
She rubbed her arms to fight off a shiver, and Reid’s heady scent wafted up from the shirt, reminding her of balmy nights and twisted sheets. The urge to bury her face in the soft cotton ratcheted through her. Damn it to hell. Why did the jerk have to smell good, too?
All right, enough of this ensemble. Letting the shirt fall to the floor, she headed to the closet and slid the louver doors open. But the contents only inspired a groan. Frederick’s of Hollywood called—they want their inventory back. She flipped through the satin-covered hangers with a huff. Lingerie, slinky dresses, vinyl getups, and enough leather to outfit a Judas Priest fan club. Terrific. She’d thought the items she’d packed had been sexy enough, but apparently the dress code here required hooker chic.
She grabbed a black bustier and a brief leather skirt and held them up in front of her. At least these would cover the essentials—not a guarantee most of the other options afforded. She tossed the items on the bed and grabbed a pair of knee-high black boots from the floor of the closet. Well, at least those weren’t so bad.
A sharp rap on the door sent her bolting upright. “Brynn, you’ve got five more minutes to pout, then I need you out here. Company’s coming.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” she called through the closed door.