Книга - Loving You Easy

Loving You Easy
Roni Loren


The latest Loving on the Edge novel, perfect for fans of Fifty Shades of Grey.The latest instalment in Roni Loren’s seductive Loving on the Edge series.









LOVING YOU EASY

RONI LOREN










Copyright (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published in USA by Penguin Group (USA) 2016

First published in Great Britain by Harper 2016

Copyright © Roni Loren 2016

Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com (http://www.Shutterstock.com)

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Roni Loren asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780698184237

Ebook Edition © January 2016 ISBN: 9780008108267

Version: 2016-08-24




Dedication (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


To my husband, kidlet, and family,

thank you for your endless encouragement and love.

To my friend Dawn for being my sounding board and

first reader for this book. It might’ve been

burned in a bonfire before it was

done if you hadn’t helped me push past the roadblocks.

Thanks for being such a bossy cheerleader!

And finally, to my readers, thank you for continuing

on this journey with me. I look forward to

many more trips to come!







Contents


Cover (#u7d4083df-382f-5467-9735-ef15459a96c2)

Title Page (#u4d6473e5-3edf-5b23-99e8-72147c1d4a40)

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Keep Reading Off the Clock

Praise for the Novels of Roni Loren

About the Author

Also by Roni Loren

About the Publisher




PROLOGUE (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


february 14th—log-in time: 11:26 p.m.

I know how to recognize dangerous men.

My mother taught me from an early age what to zero in on. The way a man looked at you. The way he spoke. The way he tried to get you to do something or see his point of view. The way he made you feel when he came close to you, that visceral, bone-deep sense that there was danger present. Your instincts know, Cora. Don’t ignore them.

It’d been a lot to teach an eight-year-old.

I doubt Mom wanted me to have to face that kind of fear so early on, but when you’re a detective and there’s a killer on the loose with a vendetta against you, you do what you have to do. My mom never caught the killer, and I never forgot the lesson.

So even though he’s only a form on a screen, a cartoon really, I know the instant that he strides into the game what Master Dmitry is. I know what my body is trying to tell me even as I sit in the safety of my bedroom on the other side of a screen. Danger. Back away.

But I don’t. I can’t.

Dangerous men scare me. And I’m fascinated. After years of being mostly ignored, of failing at the dating game, of making high art of being put in the friend zone, I want to know what it’s like to be someone else. To not play it safe. To be desired.

I use my wireless controller and have my character, Lenore, flip her hair to catch his attention. She’s so unlike me, Lenore. All flowing blond locks and epic curves. Feminine with a capital F. She’s the girl the guys fantasize about. I want to be that girl for a little while. Feel what that’s like.

He turns and faces me. His hair is long and the color of the deep ocean, pulled back with a leather band. He’s chosen to wear all black. Most of the dominants in the Hayven game wear the same, but somehow it looks more fitting for him, like he was made to only wear that color. He hasn’t designed his character to be overly muscled. He doesn’t look like a comic book superhero like most of the male players in Hayven, but he’s tall and broad and intimidating. Quietly powerful.

“So, you’re Lenore.”

The deep voice in my headset makes me jump. I know the sound is affected by the voice changer the game has. Hayven has layers of identity protection. That’s why I’ve chosen this game, why I can be someone else without worry. But still, the sound of him in my ear is enough to send goose bumps prickling my skin. I lick my lips, force the word past my lips. “Yes.”

He doesn’t correct me, tell me to call him sir. I like that. I like players who don’t make assumptions.

He steps closer. We’re in the public part of the game. You can create whatever environment you want in the private spaces, but the main part of the game has zones—the park, the island, the city, the forest, and the main house. Right now we’re in the forest. A place with towering trees and limited moonlight. There’s a map in a small box in the corner of my screen where a few red dots glow, indicating other players are nearby, but I can’t see anyone. That’s why I was here. I was looking for others to watch. That’s what I do. Harmless fun. But with Dmitry moving toward me and the first-person style of the game, I feel like I’m suddenly alone with this man. Red Riding Hood to his Wolf. I’m looking through Lenore’s eyes and there’s nowhere to run.

“You’re popular around here,” he says, that deep voice a stroke against my ear, the sound intimately close in my headset. Despite the name, there’s no accent.

Popular. Ha. There’s a word that’s never been used to describe me before. Unless it was to designate most popular girl to play against in a video game battle or most popular chick to invite to guys’ poker night. But I remind myself that he’s not talking about me. Tomboy. Proud geek girl. He’s talking about Lenore. Pretty, voluptuous Lenore. “I do all right.”

The night sky is black behind him until a streak of lightning cuts across it, making the leaves of the digital trees turn to a thousand silhouettes. The gamemasters are brewing a storm, playing with the many toys this game has. Dmitry doesn’t appear to notice. If anything, he looks as if he’s called the lightning himself, his presence making everything feel electric. “Why do you think you’re so popular? Besides being beautiful. There are lots of beautiful women here.”

Yeah, no shit. No one’s going to make an ugly avatar. Hello, beauty of video games. But I don’t know how to answer the question. I’m not sure why I get a lot of friends or attention in the game. Maybe it’s because I’m involved but mysterious. I’m a watcher, a tease, not a participator. “I’m here a lot. People get to know me.”

His blue hair is blowing in the wind now, a few strands pulling free of the tieback. “You’re here on Valentine’s Day.”

The words hit me like icy drops of rain, yanking me briefly out of the game world and back into reality. Like I need a reminder. Like the TV isn’t playing a marathon of every romantic movie ever made. Like the dudes at my shitty job didn’t spend the day incessantly talking about how they’re so getting laid tonight because they threw a box of chocolate or some flowers at a girl. Like the guy I’ve been sleeping with for three years didn’t balk when I asked him if he wanted to do something tonight.

Why? It’s not like we’re dating, Cora. We’re just great FWB. You’re like a bro with a vagina. Sex without the drama of things like Valentine’s Day. Which made me realize a) I thought I had a boyfriend and didn’t, b) I’ve been sleeping with a guy who uses chat abbreviations in actual speech, and c) he actually said bro with a vagina like that was an okay thing to call me. I’m not sure which one disturbs me more. Probably that I let this “bro with a penis” in my bed. For three years. It’s too pathetic to even cry about. Okay, maybe I cried a little.

“I’m not a romantic. Hallmark holidays aren’t my thing.” I ignore the half-empty heart-shaped box of Russell Stover candy I bought at the Walgreens on the way home.

“Guess we have that in common, then.” He’s close now. If this were real life, the wispy dress Lenore is wearing would be whipping in the breeze, brushing against his skin. He looks like he wants to rip it off. I kind of want him to, until he lifts his hand.

My fingers, so in tune with the controller by now, automatically shift to make Lenore take a step back. My heartbeat has picked up speed. The danger signals are going off in my head, the virtual world playing tricks on my real brain.

“Why are you scared to play, Lenore?” The voice caresses my senses, startles me with its quiet edge as he lowers his hand.

“What? I’m not. I just . . . like to watch.”

“I know. I’ve watched you watch. I’ve also watched you deftly deflect any offers. You’re good at the tease. Good at playing the less-experienced dominants and keeping them panting after you.”

My throat tightens and I reach for my beer to take a sip. I’ve seen glimpses of Dmitry in the game. But if he plays, he does it privately. And he doesn’t seem to have any regulars he talks to either. He’s like a shadow. That guy at the bar who comes in, drinks, and leaves. But somehow he knows. He knows that despite the submissive designation on my character, I’ve never actually played that role in the game. “You watch, too.”

“Yes, I do. But I also study. There’s a difference. I’ve studied you.” He steps closer and this time my fingers are frozen against the controller. There’s so much that I don’t know. I don’t know what he really looks like. I don’t know how he smells or if his real voice is that deep. But somehow with his words in my ear, the soft sound of his breath, my body reacts anyway, knows there’s a real man on the end of this phone line. My skin is warming, my blood pumping, arousal and a hint of fear twining together. He reaches up and brushes hair away from Lenore’s face. I shouldn’t feel a tingle against my brow where his fingers would be, but I do. “I’m tired of watching.”

“Oh.” My voice is small, an afterthought. My persona as Lenore the Confident Vixen slips out of my reach as my real self invades.

“I think you are, too.”

I close my eyes, the words filtering through my blood, my defenses rising, trying to put up some sort of fight against my galloping libido. “Why would you think that? You don’t know me.”

“I know enough,” he says with utter calm. “I know that you’re smart and that anytime someone gets you close to participating in the game, you make jokes, get sarcastic, and protect yourself. You’ve got a sharp wit and a smart mouth, Lenore. I bet in your life, you’re a force, a successful woman with a lot on her plate. You don’t give in to men. You don’t give in to anyone.”

The truth of the words rattles me. This man doesn’t know me, but somehow it’s like he’s peering through the computer screen and seeing my life.

“And that’s exactly why you crave this so much. Why you’re here so often. You want to know what it’s like and it terrifies you.”

My throat is dry, the words sticky against my tongue. “This is just a game.”

“It’s been a very long time for me, Lenore, and I know this is a game. Believe me. But ignore the window dressing on the screen. What’s real is that I’m here and you’re here. Whatever roles and labels we have in real life aren’t with us right now. All that’s left is this: what we want to do right now, alone, with no one else watching or judging. No one will know what happens tonight except us. You can let go. You’re safe.”

Safe.

My mother would say that word is its own kind of lie, but I want to believe it. Right now, I do. The truth tumbles out of me. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Close your eyes.” The words are gentle but commanding.

I can’t do anything but listen. My lids fall shut.

“All you have to do is listen to my voice. You can always say no at any point, but trust that I’ve got your pleasure in mind. I can give you what I know you’re craving when you watch. All I ask is that you’re honest with me, in your reactions and in what you’re telling me you’re doing. And I’ll give you the same.” He pauses for a long second and when he speaks again, his voice has grit in it, his own need sneaking through. “Give me tonight. I want to hear what you sound like when you surrender to it, how you sound when you come.”

I swallow hard and something tightens low in my belly. I knew all along where this was leading. From the very moment he walked into my corner of the game. That’s what Hayven is about ultimately—sex. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t use what I watched in Hayven for fantasy fodder. But I’ve never taken the step of sharing that experience with another player. It seems a little too . . . far. Too personal. Like it stops being a game and becomes part of my life. And maybe a piece of me had thought it would be like cheating on Kevin—Kevin who was never my boyfriend. But there’s no more Kevin and the temptation is beating through me like a wild drumbeat.

“Don’t you want to know what it’s like? To give up the power for just a little while? To let go of any responsibilities and just listen and act?” His voice is like a dark, winding river, rumbling against my senses, dragging me into the current. “To let me bring you to your edge? To know you’re bringing me to mine?”

I inhale deeply, keeping my eyes closed, and focus on just his voice. Not the game. Not Lenore. Not the romantic comedy playing in the living room. Not the fact that everyone else I know is on a date tonight. Just the unfamiliar sound of a sexy dominant man making irresistible promises in my ear. Let me bring you to your edge.

Your instincts know, Cora.

I’ve spent my life avoiding dangerous men.

I won’t tonight.

In the tell-no-secrets safety of my bedroom, I say yes.




ONE (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


four months later

BigMan232: I need you naked and at my feet tonight. You’ve been a bad girl. Time to pay up.

Cora kept her phone in her lap as she surreptitiously read the message lighting the screen and tried not to roll her eyes. Ugh, get a clue, dude. She clicked Ignore and Block. She thought she’d done that the last time BigMan had contacted her in the Hayven game but apparently not.

She quickly checked her inbox to make sure she didn’t have a message from the guy she really wanted to hear from, but there was nothing there. Bummer. He’d been quiet the last few days.

“You better not be working over there, cupcake,” Grace said from across the table, her voice barely cutting through the din of voices and music at the party. She popped a stuffed mushroom into her mouth and gave Cora the cocked eyebrow of challenge.

Cora pressed the button to make the screen go black. “Not working.”

“Liar.” Grace leaned forward on her forearms, her silver bangle bracelets jangling against the table and her poker-straight blond hair turning gold under the soft lights of the winery’s gorgeous cedar and glass event space. “Well, cut that shit out. This is called a networking party for a reason. No hiding in our phones. We’re here to drink loads of local wine and to mingle.”

“The wine I can do. But mingle? Have you met me?” She held her hand out across the table. “Hello, I’m Cora Benning, your mingle-averse best friend.”

Grace ignored Cora’s outstretched hand. “Mingle-averse.”

“Yes. It’s a thing, actually—like an allergy.”

“Uh-huh,” Grace said, deadpan.

Cora gave her a grave look. “I should’ve made you aware ahead of time. I could break out in hives or something, or you know, go anaphylactic on you—throat swelling, eyes bulging. Not pretty. Really, I should be carrying an EpiPen with me just being around all these strangers who require small talk. This is why I went into IT. Medical safety.”

Grace tossed a balled-up napkin at her, missing left. “Well, you’re going to have to get over it, smartass. You’re the one who wanted to start her own company. And part of that is putting yourself out there and meeting new people. Mingling. Mixing.”

Ha. She loved that Grace framed it as Cora wanting to start her own company instead of the truth—that she’d quit her last job in an unplanned blaze of non-glory only to find out afterward that she had no decent job options that didn’t involve working overnight at a call center. Yay for expensive college degrees that apparently meant diddly without a recommendation from your previous employer.

“You need bigger jobs than setting up virus protection for Marv’s Auto Parts or helping your mother out at the police station—which, by the way, she should be paying you more for. You’ve been getting intern pay for how many years now?”

Cora shrugged. “You know I don’t do the police stuff for the money. It’s a good cause.”

Plus, she’d never admit it to her mom but she loved the challenge of working on cases. In a different world, she may have gone into the field herself, but her mom had always warned her away from it. Too dangerous. Crappy pay. Find yourself a fancy office to work in, Coraline. Capitalize on that brain of yours.

“Yeah, the good cause of keeping your mother off your back. But I promise you, if they contracted that work out to someone else, they’d be paying whoever it was a helluva lot more. Playing Good Samaritan doesn’t pay the bills. Your landlord isn’t going to care that you’re doing good deeds when you can’t make rent.”

Cora groaned and took a big sip of her wine, trying to focus on how delicious the Water’s Edge Tempranillo was and not on the cold splash of reality Grace insisted on giving her. Last thing Cora needed to think about was the dwindling number in her bank account. She’d had a decent savings when she’d left her job at Braecom, but she’d had to lean on that to get her business started. And though the part-time gig at the police station helped provide some steady income, it wasn’t enough to sustain her once her little nest egg dried up. She needed to land some bigger accounts.

However, that didn’t mean she’d suddenly developed the ability to mingle. Business meetings? Presentations? She could handle that stuff. But small talk with strangers? Ugh. She’d only been half-kidding about the hives. “I can make business contacts by email. I’m better in writing. Or on the phone.”

Where I can control things and not have to be charming.

“No, babe. That’s called spam and is the chickenshit way of going about it. You’re better than that.”

Cora rearranged the food on her tasting plate. Cubed chorizo and smoked Gouda became little Monopoly-style neighborhoods, the spicy mustard a moat in between. She resisted the urge to level the whole gourmet town with a sweep of her hand. Grace didn’t get it. The woman sparkled at these functions. She could talk to a wall and make it interested. Cora could make that same wall feel awkward and want to excuse itself to grab a drink.

When she felt Grace’s stare burning into her, she looked up and attempted a deflecting smile. “So I’m a chickenshit. Exactly when did I hire you as my business coach? Because this motivational talk is really helping. I mean, I feel like I need a poster with a dude jumping off a cliff into the open sea or something. Or maybe that one where the cat sees the lion in the mirror.” She held up her hand and curled her fingers like a claw. “Rawr.”

Grace pointed at her. “Don’t get snippy with me, Benning. I’m acting as your benevolent and helpful mentor, which means I’m not above kicking your ass. I don’t want you living on ramen by the end of the year or worse, going to back to Braecom to beg for your job back.”

“Not gonna happen.”

No fucking way. She’d sell hot dogs on the street before she returned to Braecom. When her boss had gotten wind that she’d been sleeping with Kevin, Cora had gotten a talk about how to conduct herself professionally. A week later, he’d told her that she was no longer being considered for the supervisory position she was in line for because the rest of the guys on the team wouldn’t respect her as an authority figure.

And what had Kevin gotten? Her promotion. Fucker.

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” Cora said, trying to sound upbeat and swallow past the bitterness the memories dredged up. “I have prospects. The other day, I had a lady offer me two grand to hack into her ex-boyfriend’s Instagram. I think there’s a business opportunity there. Cora Benning—Avenging Hacker for Victims of Cheating Assholes.” She spread her hands like she was seeing the words on a sign. “Though we may have to play with the company title. That may be too much to put on a business card.”

Grace snorted. “Yeah, let’s try to focus on things that won’t land you in handcuffs. You don’t need to go to the dark side to make money.”

“But it wouldn’t really be the dark side. I mean, technically yes, but it’d be for a good reason. Only shitty people would be harmed. It’d be like Dexter or that show Cheaters, hacker style.” She gave Grace a bright grin, knowing it’d only piss her off.

“Okay, Robin Hood of Hackerville. Let’s not give your mother a reason to throw you in jail, all right? You just need to get out there and rub elbows with people who actually have cash and could use your services—the legal ones. You’re a badass, motherfucking, white-hat hacker. They need you.”

“Now that’s what should be on the business card. Badass motherfucking hacker. I’d get loads of business.”

“Not if you don’t speak to anyone ever.”

Cora deflated at that, her mood souring further. “Come on, Grace. I’m a start-up. The people here are big deals. We’re at some hoity-toity winery for God’s sake. That big-ass cowboy who was welcoming everybody when we came in? Yeah, that’s Grant Waters, the owner. He’s got so much money that he’s lost count. These people walking around? They own corporations and yachts and shit. They’ve already got a team of IT security on their payroll. They’re here to drink expensive wine and network with other CEOs, not people like me. I appreciate you getting Jonah to snag us an invite to this, and I love you for thinking I’m at this level, but I need to start smaller. Like way smaller.”

Cora’s phone vibrated in her lap again, and she forced herself not to check it. Grace knew she was always online but assumed Cora was just a workaholic. She’d die of shock if she found out her best friend was a regular player in a kinky online game. And then Cora would promptly die of embarrassment. Yes, my sex life is now one hundred percent online. No, that’s not pathetic at all.

“You don’t know that these people don’t need you,” Grace insisted.

“But I do.” Cora glanced out at the milling crowd. There were no tuxes or sparkly cocktail dresses. From the outside looking in, these people didn’t look important with a capital I, but she knew better. In the dot-com world, the more casual someone looked, the more money they probably had. The thought of pitching to any of them made her stomach knot, especially after the trauma of the job interviews she’d had right after leaving Braecom. You could only hear “not the right fit” so many times before you started to wonder if you’d accidentally been assigned to the wrong planet. She looked back to her best friend. “Plus, let’s not pretend you finagled an invitation to this party for my benefit. You’re here to meet hot Internet moguls.”

Grace put a who-me? hand to her chest. “Is it so wrong to have a two-pronged reason for being here? That’s called being efficient. And I don’t see how that would be bad for either of us. Your on-the-rebound dry spell has gone on for way longer than is healthy.”

Cora stabbed a toothpick through the Gouda tower she’d built on her plate. Was it really being on the rebound if the relationship hadn’t actually been a relationship? “I’m not in a dry spell. I’m on hiatus by choice.”

Truth. Sort of.

“No. You’re avoiding.” Grace lifted a hand when Cora tried to protest. “Since the Kevin incident and quitting Braecom, you’ve used starting up your business as an excuse to shut down your social life. That worked for the first few months, but I’m not buying that excuse anymore.”

Cora sniffed. “Exactly when did I have this booming social life?”

“You used to at least go out after work sometimes. And you’d let me drag you to bars. And before Kevin, there was that guy you saw for a while—Nick, Nelson.”

“Neil? You’re going back that far? We went on three dates in college. He liked to talk about dorm room beer-making. And smelled like old bread.”

She flicked a hand. “Details. Now you shut me down anytime I ask for anything that involves you going out after seven. I bet if this hadn’t been work-related tonight, you would’ve canceled on me. You would’ve turned down free wine and fancycheese.”

True. She almost had. And really, turning down free fancy cheese was probably on her personal checklist of The-Girl-Ain’t-Right signs. But she’d agreed to go because she’d wanted to see Grace, and she knew Grace wouldn’t let her get away with inviting her over just to hang out and watch movies again. “I have a lot going on.”

“I know you do. But you can’t let all that stuff shut down your whole life.” Grace gave her a pointed look. “It’s my duty as your best friend to not let you become a crazy, sexless cat lady because some asshole wronged you. It’s in the handbook.”

Cora smirked. “I’m allergic to cats. And I’ve had sex. You’re cleared of liability.”

She cocked her head in that take-no-bullshit way she’d perfected. “Had being the operative word there. Had, Cora. I get that you needed some time. But don’t let what happened with Kevin turn you into a hermit. You thought you had something with him and you didn’t. He was a jerk about it.”

“He called me a bro with a vagina, Grace.”

“Okay. Fine. More than a jerk. A complete asshole. But I don’t think this is even about him. That night we had too many margaritas at Rosa’s, you told me the sex was sufficient. Who the hell wants to have sufficient sex? You never got stars in your eyes when you talked about him. He was cute and convenient. And safe. And he saved you the trouble of being out in the dating world. That’s what you’re mourning. Not him.”

A bitter taste crossed Cora’s tongue, and she had to take another sip of wine to clear it. She wished there was some magical app where you could just wipe a certain time in your life out of your head. One click and it went into some unrecoverable trash bin. But that trash bin would be overflowing by now. Reading too much into her hookups with Kevin had just been the final dating mistake in a long list of them.

In the end, it’d been a good thing. She’d finally accepted her place in the dating pecking order. She was and had always been a tomboy and a geek, never quite comfortable in the skin she’d been given until she’d accepted that “proper girl” trappings and behaviors were not for her. But that had set her up to be the girl to hang out with, the buddy. She was the one they’d sleep with if they had no one else better lined up. Sufficient. Nothing more. Not the woman anyone lusted over. Not the girl anyone fantasized about.

And really, after accepting that, the loss of her dating life hadn’t been all that tragic. Dating had always been painful and awkward for her. The sex . . . uninspiring. These last few months, taking that off the table completely, had been a weird kind of relief. She had friends to hang out with. She had Dmitry and Hayven. She knew how to take care of her sexual needs. Not everyone needed to pair off like little plastic pegs riding in the car in The Game of Life.

“I’m not in mourning or unhappy, Gracie,” Cora said, hoping her friend could hear sincerity in her voice. “Truly. You don’t have to fix anything. I’m fine. I don’t need a guy right now. I’m a busy girl and a wizard with a vibrator. Who needs more than that?”

Grace’s lip curled, her silver nose ring catching the light. “A wizard? Does that mean your vibrator is magical?”

“Hey, they don’t call it a wand for nothing.” Cora held up her toothpick and waved it around. “I’m working on my sex Patronus. I’m thinking mine will be shaped like a naked Chris Pratt riding a T-Rex.”

That earned a laugh, but concern lingered in Grace’s eyes.

Cora sighed and dropped the toothpick onto the plate. “Look, seriously, I’m fine. Why don’t you go and circulate? Do what you came here to do. I promise I’ll finish my wine and work up some liquid courage to do the same.”

Grace’s green eyes went catlike, skeptical. “Yeah?”

“Sure. Drunk, chorizo-breath Cora will leave great impressions wherever she goes. All introverted tendencies will transform into glittering wit and brilliant sales pitches.”

“Cora.” She said it in the tone Cora’s mother used when she’d catch her playing video games instead of doing homework.

Cora shooed her with a flick of her hand. “Go. I swear I will leave this table once I’m done with my wine and will attempt to interact with fellow humans.”

Grace considered her for another second but then pushed her chair back and stood. She jabbed a purple-nailed finger Cora’s way. “I expect a fistful of business cards to be handed out, Ms. Benning.”

She saluted. “Yes, ma’am.”

Cora watched her friend go and then stared into her wine, wondering how long she could make it last. Maybe she could sneak a refill and drag this out. She took a teeny-tiny sip and let it roll around in her mouth, pretending she actually knew how to do this whole wine-tasting song and dance.

“Is this seat taken?”

Cora glanced up to find a well-dressed guy with a nice smile looking down at her. His hand was on the back of the chair Grace had vacated, and Cora was almost too surprised to speak. She swallowed the wine, half-choking. “Uh, yeah, I mean, no. It’s not taken.”

His grin went wider. “Great. Thanks.”

She took a breath, mentally preparing for a conversation with a cute stranger. She was still capable. Maybe. “So, some party, huh?”

Wait. That was her opening line? Maybe she had been hanging out in her house too long. Why not just ask about the weather while she was at it?

But the guy didn’t hear her anyway. Because instead of sitting down, he picked up the chair and walked away, bringing it to another table that was overflowing with laughing people.

The air whooshed out of her and heat flooded her face. Oh. Right. Of course.

She stood, her chair scraping hard against the floor, and drained the rest of her wine. Sitting alone at a table with one chair in the middle of a party was just a little too high on the pathetic scale, even for her. She left her empty wineglass and looked for a wall she could decorate with her presence.

She found a contender, one where the lighting was low and she could blend into the background. She started the excuse-me-pardon-me dance across the room. But as she made her way through the crowd, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from the outside pocket of her purse, thankful to have something to make her look busy and not like she was escaping.

Dmitry: I’ve been thinking about you all day.

They were just little black letters on a screen, but God, did it unknot something inside her. Warm, sweet relief filtered through her. She typed back as she walked.

Lenore: Same here. Long, long day.

Dmitry: Plans tonight? Your dance card looks crowded.

She smiled. In Hayven, she never had a shortage of offers, especially since others knew she was now actively playing with the mysterious Dmitry. But she rarely watched anyone else’s scenes anymore. Since that first night with Dmitry, she’d developed a bit of an addiction for the man. He’d gone easy on her the first time, had led her through a scene where he told her exactly how to touch herself and for how long. He’d teased her for an hour before letting her come. It’d been simple. But it’d been one of the best orgasms of her life. And it’d made her forget all about being alone on Valentine’s Day.

After that, the boundaries had nudged farther out. He’d sometimes give her instructions. They’d be waiting for her on her phone when she woke up in the morning. No panties today.No touching yourself until you talk to me again. Somehow he could set her off balance with the simplest commands. There was something about having a secret that only the two of them shared that was intensely sexual. So even when she was alone during the day, she knew he was out there, pulling those invisible strings, maybe thinking about her like she was thinking of him. There was an odd sort of comfort in that. An intimate connection without the angst. Someone waiting for her to get home even though he wasn’t there physically. In a short few months, Dmitry had become a touchstone for her in her day.

Not that he still didn’t intimidate the hell out of her sometimes. Her instincts about him being dangerous still flared up. When he went into full dom mode, he was formidable as hell. But in the conversations in between, she’d found him to be smart and interesting and funny. They could play the game and push limits. But they could also have a normal conversation outside of the game. They’d become . . . friends.

And he used full English instead of text speak, which was odd and surprisingly refreshing. No FWB Kevin anymore.

Lenore: You’re the only one I want on my dance card. But I’m trapped at a boring work thing right now. Short of a zombie invasion, I’m stuck for a while. Will be home later, though.

Dmitry: Boring work thing? Since when is international espionage boring?

She laughed as she squeezed through a group of people and then coughed over it when she realized how loud the laugh had come out.

Lenore: That’s your guess? International spy? That’s what I had YOU pegged for. Well, after I ruled out Batman.

It was a game they played, guessing each other’s job. They knew neither would ever tell the truth. The beauty of the thing was in the anonymity. They didn’t want to know. Neither wanted the illusion shattered.

Dmitry: You got me. I’m currently hiding in the coat closet of a drug kingpin, gathering intel. *Types quietly*

She could almost picture that. She had no idea what Dmitry looked like in person, but his game persona would be fit for a spy.

Lenore: *looks at closet* Shit. You found me! Sorry that I have to kill you now. It’s been fun. *bang*

Dmitry: *catches the bullet between his teeth and spits it out*

Lenore: Oh no! You ARE Batman.

Dmitry: *captures you, strips you naked, and ties you to the bed*

Her stomach dipped, the scene turning vivid in her head. This was how things went with Dmitry. Their conversations could go from playful to hot in a few short exchanges. She reached the wall she’d been planning to park herself against. If she stayed there, she’d have a nice view through the picture windows that lined the left side of the room. She could make the excuse that she wasn’t avoiding the party but was enjoying the moonlit rows of grapevines and admiring the looming, cedar-and-stone building in the distance, presumably Grant Waters’s massive ranch home. But her face felt warm, and she was afraid that if Dmitry continued down this texting path, it would show all over her expression.

So instead of stopping, she slipped into a darkened hallway off the main room. The noise of the party softened instantly. Two doors labeled Storage were on the left, but no was around and nothing looked to be in active use. The quiet was more than a little welcome, and she let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

She glanced down at her phone.

Dmitry: *spends all night touching you and not letting you come*

She licked her lips, her temperature kicking up a few notches more, the words and the wine blending together in her blood. She should probably go back to the party, tell Dmitry she’d talk to him later. She’d made a promise to Grace and was supposed to be mingling. Instead, she moved deeper into the dark and stepped between two stacks of plastic storage crates. Only the dim blue light of her phone screen filled the space.

Lenore: *struggles but secretly likes having your hands on me*

Dmitry: You like the idea of being captured?

The question wound through her like sweet temptation. Never before would she have considered that a desirable scenario. She’d spent half her life being scared someone would grab her. Her mother and the cases she’d worked had put that fear in Cora. It was a legitimate fear. But playing that kind of game with someone she could trust? Facing that nightmare scenario and twisting it into something sexy? She’d never be able to trust someone that implicitly, but virtually, she could go there in her head.

Lenore: Only if you’re the captor.

Dmitry: Mmm. I’d like to watch you struggle for my touch. I’d make you ride your edge until you beg. I bet you’re beautiful when you beg. I know you sound sexy when you do it.

Goose bumps chased over her skin. Since she couldn’t picture the real man, she pictured the version of him from the game. She imagined him knotting the ropes around her wrists and ankles, touching her everywhere, searching fingers and hot skin, making her want all the things he could give her.

Dmitry: Are you struggling now, L? Are you getting wet at this boring work thing?

She shifted in her shoes. Her blood was pumping, the place between her thighs growing warm. The dark felt like a cloak around her. Safe. Secret.

Lenore: Yes. It’s not feeling so boring now.

Dmitry: Where are you? Meeting? Your desk?

Lenore: At an event, stepped into a hallway.

Dmitry: Are you wearing a skirt?

She frowned. Never. She’d never felt comfortable in the things, despite her mother’s repeated attempts to get her to wear them. She glanced down at her pinstripe dress pants and white silk tank top. Grace had given her a thumbs-up on the outfit, but Cora doubted Lenore would wear such a thing.

Lenore: Dress

Dmitry: Perfect. Part your knees. Pretend I’m there with you running my hand up your thigh.

Despite the fact that she wasn’t really wearing a dress, she stepped a little wider, imagining his hand gliding up her legs and along her overheated skin, causing her to shiver. Her nipples became obvious points beneath her shirt.

Dmitry: Did you do it?

Lenore: Yes.

Dmitry: Picture my fingers beneath your dress, trailing up your thigh, pulling your panties to the side. Can you feel them, teasing you, not quite giving you what you want yet?

Sensation traced over her skin and she tilted her head back against the wall. God, she longed for that feeling, wished she could will him into existence right in front of her.

Lenore: Yes.

Dmitry: Tell me what you need.

Lenore: You. Your touch.

Dmitry: I bet you do. You’ve been good for me, so I won’t make you wait. I can feel how slippery you are against my fingertips. I slide my finger lower and push inside.

Cora shuddered, her breath quickening.

Dmitry: You’re so wet for me, L, and I can feel you tighten around me. You need this so badly. You want to beg for more, but you have to be quiet. No one would know what I was doing to you. The event would just go on around you. You’d wear a nice polite smile while I fucked you with my fingers and made you come all over my hand.

A gasp slipped past her lips as her inner muscles clenched hard. She was steps away from a crowded party, but she could almost feel his hand on her, thick fingertips finding her sex and pushing inside her. She closed her eyes and pressed her thighs together, trying to put pressure where she needed it most. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her nipples turned sensitive against her bra. She wanted to touch, to get relief. Her fingers curled against her thigh. Maybe she could just press the heel of her hand . . .

“So I think it’s time for our very important business meeting.”

Cora’s eyes popped open, and her breath caught at the sound of the unfamiliar male voice. She automatically clutched her phone to her chest, blocking the light.

A woman laughed. “Oh, is that what you’re calling it?”

Two shadowed forms came into view and passed by Cora as they headed toward the back of the hallway. The fine hairs that had escaped the twist in Cora’s hair fluttered against her face as the couple kicked up a breeze in their wake, but neither noticed her. She was just another shadow.

Cora squinted. There was enough light that she could make out the height of the man, the petiteness of the woman, but not much else. They were walking close together, obviously sneaking away for something and in a hurry. Cora glanced toward the entrance and the rectangle of light that led back to the party. She needed to bail.

“Keep it up with the laughing,” the man said, his voice low but ringing with authority. “See how long it takes me to shut you up.”

Cora stiffened and her attention swung back to the couple.

But the woman made a sound like she’d just taken a bite of the best chocolate. “Look forward to it, sir.”

Sir. The word rang through Cora. Reverberated. Sir. It meant a very specific thing to Cora. But this couldn’t be that. Her mind was just stuck on Dmitry and the game. This was probably some assistant and her boss sneaking off to make out. She needed to leave, make it known that they weren’t alone. Hello, innocent bystander here! I was just leaving. Don’t mind me!

And she was all prepared to do that until she heard the sound of a zipper and shift of fabric. She turned her head automatically toward the noise, the harsh unzipping like a beacon.

The woman’s breaths were sharp in the darkness—quick, anticipatory. Sexual.

Cora tried to pull her attention from them, tried to make her feet work.

Look away, Cora. Look away!

The man’s voice sliced through the silence like a bullet. “Suck it.”

Cora froze.

And she didn’t look away.




TWO (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


“Suck it.”

The two utterly male words filled the dark space and hit Cora like a knee to the gut, stealing her air. The command wasn’t directed at her, but, God, she wasn’t sure she’d ever heard anything hotter. Suck it. It should’ve sounded stupid. Juvenile. It so didn’t. Her free hand pressed flat against the wall, and she tried to stop breathing altogether.

There was a rustle of movement—the woman getting to her knees, no doubt, and the man showing her what to suck.

Cora decided then and there that she was a bad, bad person because goddamn, she couldn’t make herself leave now. She couldn’t look away. It was the Hayven game manifesting in real life, and she had a front row ticket.

She blinked a few times, trying to focus her vision. Now that she hadn’t looked at her phone for a minute, her eyes were adjusting to the inky darkness. The couple was a few yards away from where Cora had tucked herself between the stacks of plastic crates. She wouldn’t be completely hidden from their view if they looked her way hard enough, but both seemed too involved to bother. The woman was on her knees and had her back to Cora, a long curling ponytail snaking down her spine, and the man had his head down, his focus on what was about to happen. The moment before impact. The moment before pleasure.

Cora held her breath. The whole room seemed to hold its breath. Like air had ceased to move. A still, heavy quiet.

Then, her phone vibrated against her chest, nearly causing her to yelp and give herself away. She cringed and pressed the phone harder against her shirt to make sure no light peeked out before she could hit the button to darken it. Her gaze stayed fixed on the view in front of her, her heart pounding in her ears. Thankfully, her companions didn’t notice anything was amiss. They were too wrapped up in the moment.

The man dragged his palm along the side of the woman’s head and then wound her ponytail around his fist. Once. Twice. Deliberate. Menacing.

Sexy as shit.

Cora couldn’t see the man’s open fly, but his rough grip on the woman’s hair had Cora’s scalp tingling, imagining what that must feel like.

“Open wider,” he commanded. “You’ve been begging for this for how long? Now you’re going to take it all. Hands behind your back.”

The woman moaned and leaned forward, taking him into her mouth and linking her hands together behind her back like some sort of reverse prayer. Her head bobbed as she went to work on him—slow and sensual, taking her time like she was savoring every moment. A hypnotic pace. One Cora was sure she’d never used with a guy.

But as compelling as that view was, Cora found her gaze tracking upward, seeking out the one running this show. The one called sir. The man was tall, broad-shouldered—black hair, maybe. She couldn’t make out much else. But there was an air of authority about him, this cool composure, like he was somehow doing a favor for this woman even though he was the one getting head. Like he was almost . . . bored.

Cora couldn’t move. She barely breathed. She’d given blow jobs before. But she’d never gotten much pleasure from it. It’d always been a favor in hopes that the guy would return the effort. But it felt like she was witnessing something altogether different here, something much more intense, something that might actually turn her on. A challenge. Suck me and see if you can break me. What would make a man like that lose his cool?

Her gaze fell on the hard grip of his hand, watched the knuckles flex with the force of how hard yet controlled he was fucking the woman’s mouth now. In. Out. Deep. Steady. Yes. Like that. She could imagine his thoughts. His inner commands. Suck it like you love it. Take my cock and swallow every inch.

It was something she could imagine Dmitry saying. A rush of warmth settled between Cora’s thighs, turning her panties from damp to embarrassing. She was throbbing there. This shouldn’t flip her switches. She shouldn’t be watching. But seeing one of the scenes from her game played out in real life was damn riveting. She’d never witnessed real life dominance. Hell, she hadn’t known it existed until a few years ago when she’d been interning at the station and had stumbled upon some kinky videos on a suspect’s computer. The guy had turned out to be innocent of anything, but her curiosity had been piqued.

She’d watched her fair share of naughty videos since then, but porn had never pulled it off for her. And the one time she’d considered bringing up the idea of kink to Kevin, she’d chickened out. She hadn’t been able to imagine being that vulnerable with him. There was naked and then there was naked. And she would’ve been mortified if he’d laughed at the suggestion or teased her about it. So, she’d turned to Hayven to explore on her own in a low-risk way.

But as much fun as she had with Dmitry, virtual couldn’t mimic this. This was different. Raw. Dangerous. The woman had to be scared they’d get caught, but she was going to obey. What did that level of edge bring to the sex? Cora imagined it brought a lot, based on how she was feeling just from watching. And even though there was no kinky equipment or elaborate setup, some part of her knew without a doubt what she was witnessing. This man was a dominant. This was a scene.

“This is the only time you’re going to get this cock,” the man said, gravel in his voice. “Better make it count.”

The woman moved faster. Wet, hungry noises drifted from the darkened corner, making it sound like she was the one about to come even though he only had a hand in her hair.

Lord, to be so openly sexual and unashamed about it. Most people would probably judge this woman. She was being used, treated like a whore. But Cora could feel it, the mutual pleasure of this. This was a woman who was getting exactly what she craved and loving it. An unexpected wisp of jealousy wound through Cora.

“You’re going to drink down everything I have,” the man said. “And then you’re going to go out there and kiss your boyfriend on the mouth. I wonder if he’ll be able to taste what a filthy girl you are.”

Cora’s belly dipped. Fuck. The woman’s boyfriend was at the party?

Cora should be appalled.

She couldn’t stop watching.

Her phone vibrated again. She held it tight, but this time, it grazed her silver necklace, making the faintest of noises.

Oh, shit. No. No! She shifted it quickly, silencing it completely, but when she glanced up, the man’s head had lifted.

He was staring her way, his gaze narrowing and then locking on her as his vision probably adjusted. Click. His face was half in shadow but she could see enough. Dark hair, angled jaw, full mouth, Asian. Gorgeous.

She was frozen in the headlights of that look. An apology hovered on her lips. Her feet were ready to run. But he had her pinned. He may as well have had a hand pressed to her chest, forcing her to stay there against the wall.

“That’s right,” the man said, holding Cora’s gaze as the woman continued to pleasure him. “Take it all in. Every bit of it.”

Cora’s mouth went chalky dry. He was talking to her now, not the woman. Taunting Cora. Bringing her into the game. Take it all in. Even without the words, his eyes said as much.

Panic surged. She’d wanted to watch but only while she was invisible. Being seen left her naked. Exposed. Embarrassed.

“You like it a little too much, don’t you?”

The words wrapped around her like barbed wire.

You like it too much. She wanted to react, to flip him off, to show him that he hadn’t gotten to her. That she wasn’t some player in this game.

But then he smiled, this sexy half-smile that made every erogenous part of her clamor to attention.

No. No.

This was fucked up. She yanked her gaze away and tugged off the heels Grace had loaned her. She would not embarrass this woman and let her know someone had been watching. But Cora had to get the hell out of there. Forcing herself not to give one last look, she hauled ass on bare feet out of the hallway and into the blinding light of the party.

The sudden brightness and noise were an assault on her senses, and it took a second for her vision to recover. Her pupils were blown, her breath was too quick, and her back was covered in a fine sheen of sweat. She quickly slipped her shoes back on, her legs unsteady and her hands shaky, adrenaline beating through her. She needed to get out of there before the couple exited and she ended up face-to-face with Mr. Exhibitionist. But she’d ridden to the party with Grace, and as Cora scanned the crowd, she didn’t see her friend anywhere.

She started walking anyway. Anything to get her far from that hallway. Her phone buzzed and she glanced at the screen. Dmitry had sent a few messages and there was another from BigMan telling her that he demanded she speak with him tonight.

What the hell? The blocking system on the site was turning out to be a major fail. She deleted that one and checked Dmitry’s. His last read, “You OK?”

She quickly typed as she walked.

Lenore: Yes. Sorry. Work.

Dmitry: No problem.

No problem. She wished. She had nothing but problems right now. She tossed her phone into her purse and strode forward, looking to get lost in the crowd. Until she could find Grace, she needed to blend in. The guy in the hallway probably hadn’t seen her all that well. She’d been backlit. Her face should’ve been in the dark, her body a silhouette. But she wasn’t going to take any chances. She reached up and pulled the clip out of her messy twist, letting her brown hair fall loose around her shoulders and changing up the outline of what he would’ve seen.

She inhaled through her nose, trying to calm herself. She should be okay. The party was crowded and blending in shouldn’t be a problem.

She moved through the main part of the room, grabbing a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray and scanning faces for Grace. Usually her friend was hard to miss, but Cora didn’t see her blond head anywhere. Dammit.

She spotted a table in the farthest spot from the hallway. Two women were sitting there, but there was a chair free. She headed that way and retrieved her phone from her purse so she could text Grace.

The women looked up when she reached their table. Cora smiled. “Hi, do you mind if I sit?”

The older of the two women waved a hand. “Not at all, please do. We were just about to go to the bar anyway.”

“Oh, you don’t have to get up. I—”

But they were already up and gathering their things.

God. She was apparently wearing people repellant tonight. She resisted doing a sniff test to make sure her deodorant was working and then plopped down in one of the chairs. The last thing she wanted to do was sit at a table alone again, but she needed to text Grace, and standing around with no one to talk to looked even more conspicuous. She set down her wine so she could type two-thumbed.

Cora: Where r u??? #911

The message sent, but as Cora stared at the screen, no little dots popped up to indicate that Grace was responding. “Come on, where the hell are you?”

She opened up her favorites list, ready to call Grace until she answered, but before she could hit the button to dial, a hand planted on the table right next to Cora’s wine, rattling the glass.

She startled but didn’t look up. That hand was all she could focus on. Because somehow, she knew. Tan skin and long fingers, the edge of a colorful tattoo peeking out from a shirt cuff.

Cora prayed for a trap door. An eject button. An invisibility cloak.

None appeared.

In one fluid motion, the chair across from her was pulled out and dragged closer. Her guest slid into the spot. Uninvited. Unapologetic. His mere presence demanded she respond. There was a sense of . . . provocation. Almost a dare. Cora forced herself to look up.

Shit. The curse almost slipped out.

It was worse than she’d thought—the looking. The guy could’ve just stepped off the red carpet. Charcoal suit, plum-colored T-shirt, a mess of perfectly styled jet-black hair, and a face that was so beautiful it’d almost seem feminine if not for the hard angle of his jaw and the shadow of stubble. This was a guy who knew he looked good and wasn’t afraid to use it like a weapon.

He gave her an unreadable smile. “This seat taken?”

Her throat felt like it’d narrowed to nothing, but she forced words out. “Seems a little late to ask.”

The man’s coal eyes sparkled, like he was in on some eternal joke. And he was. He knew. Somehow in this sea of people he’d picked out the girl from the dark. He knew she’d just watched him get off in the hallway, and she couldn’t play it off.

“I’m sorry.” She blurted—too loud, too sharp. One hundred percent without grace. Fantastic.

He leaned back in his chair, grabbed a drink off a passing waiter’s tray, and hooked an ankle over his knee, looking like he could literally be comfortable anywhere with anyone. “You were there first. Maybe I should apologize. Though, what you were doing all alone in the dark has got me curious.”

She cleared her throat, trying to tap the brakes on her body’s railroading response to this man. He was a stranger, but they’d shared this intensely sexual moment. Her wires were crossed, her body confused. “I was just trying to find a quiet place to make a call. But I . . . couldn’t get a good signal. Then . . . you walked in with your . . . a woman.”

He smiled and his gaze strayed toward the bar. Cora couldn’t help but follow it. It’s like he’d put his hand on her head to make it turn. At the bar, a woman with a long ponytail and blue maxi dress was in the arms of a man with salt-and-pepper hair. They were kissing—a little too passionately for this kind of party.

And Cora couldn’t help it—she had the thought. Can he taste this man’s come on his girlfriend’s lips? The thought tripped a wire inside her. One it shouldn’t. Her cheeks burned. “If you’re worried that I’m going to say anything, I’m not. Not my business.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” Her companion looked back to her, a secret smile playing around the edges of his mouth. “But it wouldn’t matter if you did. He already knows. He was the one who set it up.”

Cora’s lips parted. On some level, she knew that kind of thing happened. She was no innocent. But she couldn’t hide her knee-jerk reaction or shake off the sense that this man was toying with her. “Then why did you come over here? If you’re not worried about me outing you?”

He frowned, a line appearing between his dark brows. “I don’t recognize you. Have you been to one of Grant’s parties before?”

She straightened. Technically, she wasn’t crashing this thing. Grace’s boss had been the one to get the invite and had let Grace come on his behalf with a plus one. But Cora suddenly felt one hundred percent out of her league and like she’d been left out of some joke. Not that she was going to let this guy know that. “No. Haven’t had time to get to one before now.”

“Well, then I’m over here because things seen out of context by those who don’t know what they’re looking at can be misconstrued and get people in trouble. From the outside looking in, what happened could look . . . non-consensual. I needed to make sure you understood.”

“You needed to cover your ass. Got it,” she said, unsure why it came out with a biting edge to it. “You’re good.”

His eyebrow arched and he shifted forward in his seat, bracing his forearms on his thighs and pinning her with that gaze. “Plus, I thought I should know the name of the woman who chose to stay and watch while another woman sucked me off.”

The words hit her like a stun gun. Zap! And all she could hear in her head was him saying, Suck it.

Suck. It.

She should be offended, disgusted. They should not be having this conversation. Instead, her heart tried to pound out of her chest and her skin went tingly. “You don’t need my name.”

“Mmm.” He nodded. “True. But you want to tell me anyway. Just like you wanted to stay longer and watch it all.”

The words were so self-assured that she would’ve laughed if they hadn’t rung through her like the truest of truths. “I—”

“Cora! There you are!”

The familiar voice came from behind her, snapping Cora out of the spell she’d fallen under. Grace.

Mr. Exhibitionist gifted Cora with a smirk and leaned back out of her space.

Grace swooped around on her left, her eyes meeting Cora’s, question marks there. Cora knew this look. It was the do-you-need-me-to-rescue-you-or-should-I-be-your-wing-woman? look.

Cora bolted up out of her chair. “Hey, oh my God, I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I needed to talk to you about. . . . that thing.” Her voice was so high and unlike her normal tone that she may as well have sucked helium.

Sucked. The word twined around her girl parts, set things aflame.

Fuck.

She grabbed Grace’s hand and sent an over-the-shoulder look to the man who’d knocked her completely on her ass, but he was already getting to his feet.

He tucked his hands in his pockets, and though there was an affable expression on his face, his gaze held something intent when it met hers. “Nice meeting you, Cora.”

For a second, she didn’t know how he knew her name, but then she remembered Grace had said it. And before she could respond, he turned on his heel and strolled back into the crowd.

Grace watched him go and then spun around, putting her back to him. She gave Cora this wide-eyed look of wonder. “Holy shit, who the hell was that? And why did you let me rescue you from him?” She peered over her shoulder for one last look. “Jesus. He’s like . . . whoa.”

Cora let out a long breath, one she may have been holding since Mystery Man had sat down. But she couldn’t stop watching him walk away. The man could wear a suit. “I don’t know his name. It’s . . . a long story.”

Grace shook her head. “Not long enough. Tell me you gave him your card.”

“I . . . forgot.”

“Cora! You need to go—”

She grabbed Grace’s arm before she could go after the guy. “No. Stop. I’m done.”

The hope on Grace’s face crashed into a petulant scowl. But it wasn’t going to work this time. There was no way Cora was willingly having another conversation with that man. She’d barely survived the first. Talk about bringing a knife to a gunfight.

Hell, she hadn’t even had a knife.

She’d brought a spork.

Online, she was daring. She was kinky. She was brave. But tonight had proven what she’d always known. She was no Lenore.

And never would be. She had no idea how to handle men like that or how to play in those shark-infested waters.

She pulled out her phone and messaged Dmitry.

Back to her reality. The virtual one.

The safe one.




THREE (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


Cora waved as Grace drove off and left her standing in her driveway. The neighborhood was quiet at this hour, and the porch light on Cora’s duplex had burned out again, so it was just her and the moonlight. The silence was like a balm to her nerves after the loud party and the pop music Grace had been blasting in the car during the hour-long ride from the winery back into Dallas. She wished she could sit out here and absorb it for a while, but that would be a little crazy at midnight.

Cora dug in her purse for her keys and headed up the walk. Dmitry had told her that he’d be up late and had a small window of time to play tonight, so she didn’t want to miss that chance. After what she’d witnessed at the party, her body was still on a hair trigger, and she could use a little bit of his brand of relaxation. Anything to distract her from the forbidden images that kept replaying in her head. Images of the man from the hallway sending the other woman away and inviting Cora into that darkened corner with him. Of his hands and those tattooed arms holding her in place. Of Dmitry joining them and doing all those things he’d said in his texts. Reality and fantasy merging and putting her on her knees, captive for the both of them.

God. She shook her head. She really had gotten herself wound up tonight. Her fantasies were venturing into crazy town. She needed an orgasm, a shower, and some sleep. Stat.

She jogged up the sagging front steps of the house, careful not to make too much noise. Faint blue-gray TV light flashed behind her neighbors’ curtains, so Josh and Carlos were probably still up, but she didn’t want to risk bothering them.

She made it to her door with only the squeak of a floorboard. But once she got there, the keyhole was nearly impossible to see in the dark. She stabbed around with the key a few times. It was like trying to thread a needle with her eyes closed. “Goddamn piece of shit. Come on—”

But she didn’t get the rest out. One second her lips were poised for another curse, and the next a hand was clamped over them.

The shock of it jolted through her like lightning, making everything freeze in some suspended state of disbelief. In that blink of inaction, her attacker’s other arm wrapped around her, trapping her back against him.

Her brain finally kicked in at that. Cora screamed behind the hand, and she swung her leg out, banging her foot against her door in a futile attempt to make noise. All her childhood nightmares flooded her. Boogeymen. Kidnappers. Killers.

“You’re just causing more trouble for yourself,” the deep voice said behind her as he dragged her backward and out of reach of the door. “Calm down.”

Cora screamed again, but the sound was muffled and useless. She tried to force the panic down, tried to focus. But it was like a giant swirling ball of fear knotting around her thoughts. All she could think about was the Taser her mother had given her. The damn thing was in her purse, but she couldn’t move her arms to get to it.

His grip tightened. “I told you we needed to talk. But you didn’t answer me tonight. What was I supposed to do? You tease me and then ignore me? It’s not nice to ignore a master, Lenore. I told you I would punish you. Now I can do it in person.”

Lenore? The name screamed through her head like a siren wail.

Oh, shit. Shit! This was someone from the game. Dmitry? No. She hadn’t teased and ignored him. BigMan. It had to be. He was the only person she’d ignored tonight.

Her mind raced, things crashing together inside her head. This couldn’t be happening. The site was anonymous. She didn’t tell anyone her real information. She was so careful.

But she couldn’t think about any of that now. She needed to free herself, and her writhing and screaming wasn’t working. Based on the thick arm wrapped around her, he hadn’t been lying with his screen name. She tried to think of some of the self-defense moves her mother had taught her. There were ways to get free of someone bigger than you, but she couldn’t think, couldn’t remember. And with his hand over her mouth, she couldn’t even talk her way out of it.

So she did the only thing she thought might work.

She let the fight go out of her body and sagged like a sack of stones in his arms. He was here for Lenore. She was supposed to be submissive. She prayed he would buy it.

“That’s it,” he said, his words gentling. “I know you like these kinds of games, but we can’t be so loud, babe. That could get us in trouble. Your neighbors won’t get it.”

She nodded enthusiastically behind his hand. Yes. I’m totally on board with you, psycho asshole.

“Do you think you can be a good girl?”

Instead of screaming again like she wanted to, she whimpered. The sound was pathetic and pitiful. It made bile rise in the back of her throat. But she could feel some of the tension in his body give way. It was working.

“Shh, girl, it’s okay. I know you’re sorry. I’m going to show you how to make it up to me. I know what you need.” He pressed his hips into her, letting her feel his erection. “And I can’t wait.”

She closed her eyes, willing herself not to lose it completely or vomit behind his hand. Her entire body trembled from the effort of trying to appear calm.

“I’m going to move my hand now,” he said against her ear. “You know we’re just playing now. You don’t have to be scared. You don’t need to scream. We’re just going to have a fun night for real this time. I’m going to give you what you want.”

She nodded her promise. But the second he moved his hand away from her mouth, she screamed like she was on fire.

“Shit!” His hand instantly clamped back down, but it’d been enough. Within a few seconds, her neighbor’s door flew open and Josh came charging out in his boxers, blond hair wild. Carlos was right behind him, mostly dressed and carrying a baseball bat.

“What the fuck?” Josh’s eyes went wide as he took in the scene.

Cora yelled behind the guy’s hand.

“Oh, hell no.” Carlos charged forward, rage in his eyes and the bat looming in his hand. “You better get your fucking hands off her, asshole.”

Her captor dragged her back a step. “Whoa, man, chill out. It’s not what it looks like.” The voice behind her had changed completely—from deep and menacing to dude-bro speak. “We’re just playing a game. She’s in on it. Tell him, Lenore.”

The hand moved away from her mouth and words burst out of her in a rush. “Get the hell off me, you crazy fuck!”

“Lenore?” The guy’s voice turned confused.

“Her name’s not Lenore,” Josh said, stepping up behind Carlos and looking ready to throw down. “And if you don’t get your hands off her, my boyfriend’s going to show you how good his batting average is.”

“Damn straight,” Carlos said. “Your big-ass head will be an easy target.”

“Jesus. Calm the hell down.” The man released Cora at that and she nearly fell on her face as she bolted away from him in those godforsaken heels. She ran to the spot behind Carlos and then spun to face BigMan. The guy was a big dude. Beefy and barrel-chested and thick around the middle. But his face was young—a college-boy face. And he seemed . . . bewildered. He lifted his palms to them. “Look, bro. I think this is just a big misunderstanding. I wasn’t here to cause trouble. She wanted this. She’s got a safe word.”

“Call the cops, Josh,” Carlos barked.

But Cora reached out and put a hand on Josh’s arm. “Wait.”

Josh gave her a what-the-fuck look. “Hon, we have to—”

Cora didn’t have time to explain about how complicated it could get with her mom the police captain knowing or one of her mom’s officers interviewing some guy Cora had met in a kinky video game. “Just . . .”

“Wait, you’re not Lenore.”

The blurted statement from BigMan drew all of their attention.

The guy stepped closer, his eyes evaluating her face, her hair, her body in the light coming from Josh and Carlos’s open doorway. “And if you are, you’re a goddamned liar.”

Carlos waved the bat. “Back off, man.”

The guy halted his step but shook his head. “Jesus Christ, I’ve got the wrong girl. You’re . . .” His gaze traced over her again and he winced. “Yeah, there’s no way you’re her.”

The words were like a bucket of ice water. She didn’t want anything to do with this nutjob, but the dismissiveness of his words cut deep. She could hear his opinion as loud as a bullhorn: How could someone like her possibly have anything to do with the sexy, beautiful Lenore?

Cora straightened her spine, gathering every ounce of will she had to look righteous and unaffected. “I don’t know who the hell you are or who you’re looking for, but if you’re not off my porch in the next thirty seconds, I’m—”

But it was too late. The sirens blared from down the street. Another neighbor must’ve called.

BigMan jumped the railing and bolted.

—

A few hours later, Cora had been interviewed by two cops she knew, which meant her mother would find out—yay—and she’d drank too much of Josh’s gourmet coffee, which had left her jittery. She hadn’t given the police the full story. She’d stuck with the lie that she had no idea who the guy was and that it was apparently some case of mistaken identity.

Carlos had given her a raised brow. He’d probably grill her on another day, but she wasn’t going to admit to anything more than that on record. And she appreciated that after the cops left, he and Josh had hung around with her for a while to make sure she was okay and hadn’t pushed for more information.

But now she was alone and should probably go to bed, but there was no way she could sleep. Instead she wrapped herself up in her grandmother’s afghan and sat in front of the dual computer monitors in her makeshift office space in her bedroom. She pulled up the Hayven game. She’d missed the window of time to chat with Dmitry by many hours, but that wasn’t why she was signing in now. Hell, she may never chat with anyone in the game again after what had happened tonight. If someone like BigMan could get her information, she wasn’t safe from anyone. She hadn’t gathered a lot from BigMan in the few times they’d chatted, but she’d figured out quickly that he wasn’t the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. How the hell had someone like him gotten her personal information?

Time to find out.

She opened up the log-in box and used her password manager to enter the long, complicated string of numbers and characters. Then, she clicked the checkbox for stealth mode. She didn’t need anyone knowing Lenore was online right now. The game queued up. Her inbox was stuffed with unread messages. Dmitry had sent her an invitation to play privately but, of course, she’d been too busy being attacked to answer. She minimized the mailbox to get into the main part of the game. The interior of the house she’d built for herself in Hayven came into view, a cute little cottage in the woods. The game was first-person style, so she was looking out from the perspective of Lenore, who was currently lying in bed.

But Cora wasn’t there to be Lenore right now. She was on a mission. She opened chat mode and went into her list of people she’d interacted with before. Their screen names were there along with an icon letting her know who was actively online and who wasn’t. BigMan wasn’t online. Neither was Dmitry.

She clicked BigMan’s name to open up his profile. It was relatively vague but had more than hers did. He listed his profession as athletic trainer and his age as thirty. Yeah, okay. No way was that guy a day over twenty-two. She scanned down. Located in north Texas. No pets. Favorite sports team—Dallas U Coyotes. There were multiple exclamation points behind the team name.

“Bingo.” The word slipped passed her lips as she opened up another log-in page for Hayven on her second monitor. She typed in BigMan232 and then for the password tried Coyotes.

Guys were notorious for choosing their favorite sports team as a password. She’d seen it way too many times at the police station. But that one didn’t work, so she tried a list of variations: coyotes, DallasCoyotes, DallasU, GoCoyotes, GoBigOrange. The system didn’t seem to have a limit on how many times someone could try a password—a shitty lack of a security—but it served her purposes right now. She typed a few more and started to wonder if she was going down the wrong track when she remembered a T-shirt she’d seen Carlos wearing one day. Fear the Coyote. She typed that in and the screen changed, bringing her into the castle BigMan had fashioned for himself. Of course the dude had built himself a castle.

“Gotcha, motherfucker.”

It was a bizarre feeling to see through his “eyes” in the game, but she didn’t linger. Even though it was virtual, it felt creepy being in his head. She clicked into his account settings. There it was. William Bentley Barrett, twenty-one, Fort Worth address. Everything was there for the taking. If she really wanted to work at it, she could probably grab his credit card number, but she had no interest in that.

She needed to get some idea of how this guy had gotten to her. Maybe he played dumb online and really had some mad tech skills. She closed out Lenore’s page on the other screen and opened up Facebook. She searched for William’s name, found him easily enough, and opened his page. He hadn’t bothered to set up any privacy settings and he used the same password for that account—flag number one that he wasn’t some closet computer genius.

She clicked around to the About section and his timeline. He worked as the front-desk attendant at a local gym. Was a student at Dallas U. Used to play on the football team but got sidelined by an injury. He’d liked a few sports-related pages and local dance clubs. His Instagram feed looked to be nothing but photos of big plates of food and muscle-flexing selfies. He’d chatted with a few girls from his college, but all of it seemed pretty lighthearted. Nothing stood out.

She frowned and tapped her fingers on her desk. Weird. She closed out the page and went back to his Hayven profile. She clicked on his inbox. It wasn’t nearly as full as hers. A few requests to play. A few update emails from the game. But then a subject line caught her eye. Tired of being teased?

She opened the email and sucked in a breath.

Special alert. Lenore Lux wants to take this to the next level and is local to your area! She’s ready to play for real. Click the attachment for her information so you can set up some fun.

The words didn’t make sense to her at first. It was just too goddamned unbelievable, but then angry heat flooded her. With a shaking hand, she opened the attachment and there it was—a screenshot of the information she’d entered when she’d joined the site. Her name was listed as C. L. Benning, the name she used on her credit card. And her address was there plain as day. Luckily, because it was a screenshot, her credit card just showed up as dots in a jpeg, but what the fuck did it matter when someone was literally advertising her home address?

Her eyes skimmed to the bottom. Below all the information was a short list.

Safeword: Watermelon

Wrong.

Likes: Toys, Edge Play, Anal, Bondage, Rape Play

Scene request: I would love to be taken captive by surprise.

Her stomach dropped and her skin went cold.

That wasn’t her list or her request. She’d never filled out that portion. She wouldn’t have. Someone had doctored this and sent it out.

Christ.

BigMan had acted like a psycho, but he’d thought she’d been the one to initiate. He’d thought she’d made a goddamned request. Whoever had done this could’ve gotten her raped.

The back of her throat burned and she was trembling again. What if this note went out to other men? And what if she wasn’t the only one affected? Who the hell would do something so sick?

She scrolled up to see where the email had come from, but it was the admin address from within Hayven, the same one that announcements and updates came from—which was also the same address she was supposed to use to contact customer service to make a complaint.

Fuck. If she sent in a complaint, it’d go straight to whoever had hacked the damn thing in the first place. But someone needed to know what was going on. God only knew how many people had been doxxed and put at risk.

She hit Print on the email for evidence and then signed out of William’s account. She opened up the main site for Hayven and went to their Contact page, knowing she’d probably be led through some winding trail of customer service via some faraway country, but she was surprised to find the site was owned and operated by a company with a Dallas address—Restless Games, Inc.

She’d never heard of them, which was strange since they were local, but maybe it was a start-up. Knowing that the servers that held her private virtual world were housed that close by gave her a dart of anxiety, but if the company was in town that at least gave her hope that she’d actually be able to talk to someone who could get this fixed quickly.

Because this shit needed to get fixed. Now. The fact that a company that was responsible for such intensely private personal information hadn’t caught this yet pissed her off. The email had been sent to William days ago. How could the company not realize their system had been compromised?

She scrolled down. There was an eight-hundred number and the address. She jotted down both. It was just past four A.M. so she wouldn’t get an answer now, but at least she had a plan of attack.

Attack.

She rubbed the chill bumps from her arms.

Time to check the locks one more time.




FOUR (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


Thirty more reps. I can do thirty more.

Hayes Fox dropped into a one-arm push-up and breathed through the burn in his body. One. Two. Sweat dripped onto the mat he’d laid out in the garage. The temperature outside was already climbing into the eighties even though it was barely six in the morning. But the heat didn’t bother him. He’d grown accustomed to uncomfortable conditions a long time ago and relished the level of intensity it added to his workout. If he was thinking about the heat and the exhaustion in his body, he wasn’t thinking about other shit.

Seven. Eight.

He always defaulted to old-school rock for workouts, so Guns N’ Roses’s “You Could Be Mine” blasted from a nearby radio, thumping hard along with his heartbeat.

Nine. Ten.

The music turned down.

He didn’t look up. Eleven. Twelve.

Expensive black shoes came into view. “Good morning, Rocky. Are we going to run steps next or maybe drink some raw eggs?”

Hayes kept going. Up. Down. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up, Muroya.”

A drop of his sweat splashed onto Ren’s shoe. Ren moved out of the way and then swiped the drop with his finger. “You’d be surprised what I can keep up with.”

His best friend’s tone was smug, but there was a current of something underneath that made Hayes falter in his count. Fuck. He dropped down onto his forearms and knees, breathing hard. He didn’t need this right now. After a long night of no sleep and a racing brain, he wanted to get lost in a mindless workout. “Did you need something?”

“I need lots of things,” Ren said cryptically. “What are your plans today?”

Hayes looked up to find Ren leaning against the wall, already dressed for work in a bright blue T-shirt, gray sport coat, and dark jeans. His inky black hair was styled just haphazardly enough to look like he hadn’t styled it at all. He sipped his coffee and gave Hayes an expectant look.

Hayes rolled onto his back, sat up, and grabbed a towel from a nearby weight bench to wipe the sweat off his face. “My plan is to finish this workout and then spend the rest of the day putting together financial documents for our newest investor. I got your email. Good work last night.”

Ren didn’t acknowledge the praise. Instead, his gaze moved over Hayes’s shirtless form—brief, but enough that Hayes didn’t miss it. His friend was sizing him up. Hayes knew how different he looked now. He’d always kept in shape. But three years locked behind bars had left him with nothing to do but think and push his body to the limits. He’d become a machine. No one fucked with you when you looked like he did. But his best friend didn’t seem to know what to make of this version of him.

Hayes didn’t ask his opinion. He’d promised himself when he got out that he’d keep the boundaries with Ren clear. They were best friends and business partners. Their days of partying, sharing women, and blurring lines in their relationship were done. Hayes couldn’t be that guy anymore.

“Good. Then you can put together those documents at the office,” Ren said with a nod.

“What?” Hayes blinked, Ren’s words dragging the conversation back into focus. “I don’t need the office for that stuff.”

He eyed him. “Don’t care. You told me six months, Fox.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and held it up. “I marked it on my calendar. Today’s the day, my friend. The CFO returns.”

“You marked it on your calendar? Of course you fucking did.” Hayes rolled to his feet. He didn’t need to be having this conversation with Ren looming over him. “I’m not prepared for that today. All the stuff I’m working on is here. None of my old suits are going to fit. I have errands to run.”

Ren pushed off the wall and walked toward him. “Don’t give me that shit. We own the company. You can wear whatever you want. And you can have someone at the office run the errands.”

A cold feeling crept through his chest, frost encasing his lungs. The office. Returning to work. Being in charge of the business again. “Ren, I—”

“Stop.” Ren clamped a hand on Hayes’s sweaty shoulder and squeezed. “It’s time, Fox. Wyatt and Jace Austin invested in us, not me. And last night I got Grant Waters on board because I assured him you were going to be back at the helm with me this week. We’re finally gathering some steam again. This is the time to return, hit the ground running, show the people who believe in us that this is a strong company.”

“You don’t need me for that,” he repeated. “It’s easier for everyone if I stay behind the scenes.”

“Fuck that noise,” he groused. “Look, I get it. It’s going to be hard coming back after all that happened. But it’s our company and there’s no reason for you to hide. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Hayes scoffed and shrugged from beneath Ren’s touch. “You think the people who work for us believe that? The cops certainly don’t buy it.”

“If any of our employees don’t, they can fuck off and go work somewhere else,” Ren said, the words sharp and his jaw going tight. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I care that your office has been empty for too damn long. The place needs you back. Shit, I need you back. I didn’t sign up to do this on my own, man. I’ve kept things going, but you know we’ve always been better as a team. Balls are getting dropped. I only have so many hands and mine were meant to draw, not balance P&Ls or woo investors. I’m so far out of my wheelhouse, I’m going to need a GPS to get back.”

The last words tumbled between them, a rare admission from Ren that he needed any help with anything, and that hit Hayes square. All those years ago when they’d started their original company, now renamed FoxRen Media, they’d gone into partnership not just because they were best friends but because business-wise, they complemented each other.

Ren was the creative one—an artistic genius and idea man—but scattered in his thoughts and methods. Impulsive. When they’d met as teens, Hayes had been the one to help temper that, to slow him down and show him how to focus his ideas. To find ways for Ren to channel all that talented energy into something useful so he could get away from the hell he’d been living in at the time. And on the flip side, Ren had kept Hayes from playing it too safe in business, had helped him take risks, think outside the box. He’d also been the one to make sure Hayes didn’t work himself to death and had some fun in between.

But Hayes had left Ren on his own with the company for three and a half years. Longer really, since Hayes had pretty much checked out after he’d been charged. Since getting out of prison, he’d taken back the basic financial duties, but he hadn’t been involved in the day-to-day operations. He’d put that all on Ren’s plate and left it there. He’d thought staying out of it would be for the best. He didn’t want to deal with the rumors and discomfort of employees. He didn’t want his past tainting the newly renamed company or Ren by default. Ren already had enough in his own past to deal with.

But now, standing here and looking at his best friend, he realized that he’d been acting like a damn coward. No, he couldn’t go back to how things used to be. That Hayes was dead. But that didn’t mean he got a pass to leave Ren on his own to handle all the work of running the company. That didn’t mean he got to hide.

Hayes released a breath and wrapped the towel around the back of his neck, pulling it taut. “Can I at least finish my workout first?”

Ren’s mouth curved into a victorious smile. “Of course. But you know, if you just got laid, you wouldn’t need to do Thor’s workout every morning to shake off all that frustration. See how relaxed I am this morning? You should’ve come to that party with me last night. Lots of fun to be had.”

Hayes grunted, but the comment dug into him like a burr. Ren thought Hayes’s self-imposed abstinence was ridiculous. Maybe it was. His body certainly protested on a regular basis. He’d found ways to work around the need, accepting that nothing would ever be a substitute for the real thing. But anytime he thought about going there again with anyone for real, everything inside him locked up.

Things weren’t as simple as Ren was making them sound. Hayes didn’t have vanilla sex. It’d never done anything for him. Dominance and kink were inextricably twined with his desire. But that lifestyle was the one thing he could never allow himself again. Going to the party with Ren would’ve been the worst kind of torture. Seeing all his old friends from The Ranch, being reminded of the life he’d once had, knowing he could never have it again. It was too much to face.

Ren sighed when Hayes turned away. “You know, Grant asked about you last night. He said your membership is still yours if you want it. And there are submissives he trusts implicitly who—”

“No.” The word was a bark—loud and hollow in the cavernous garage. He didn’t even want to hear the words. His fists curled.

Ren was silent for a long moment. “And my offer still stands. I wasn’t so wasted that I don’t remember what I said.”

Hayes’s teeth clamped together. He didn’t need to be reminded of that either. He thought about it every goddamned time he looked at Ren lately. A few months ago, on one particularly rough night after getting out, he and Ren had gotten shit-faced drunk. And Ren had put it out there. If you can’t trust anyone in your bed, fuck me. Close your eyes and pretend I’m a submissive. Hold me down, hurt me, whatever you need to do. You know I can handle it. I’ve handled worse than you.

The offer had knocked Hayes right onto his ass. They’d never gone there despite Ren being openly bi and Hayes having experimented a time or two with guys when he was in college. He and Ren had shared submissives. Dominated them as a team. But he and Ren had always kept a clear line between them. When they’d met, Ren had been seventeen and so fucked up by the guy he’d been with that he’d expected everyone to use him, to treat his body like a commodity. Ren had made offers, but Hayes had sworn then that he’d never touch him, never take advantage, and he’d kept that promise.

He’d done it to protect Ren. But now he was keeping that line there to protect himself.

This friendship was his anchor right now. Unlike most of the other people who had called themselves friends, Ren had stood by him when he’d gone to prison, not just believing him unequivocally but fighting to get him out. He couldn’t screw that up and break that long-standing promise for the simple relief of slaking his lust and curiosity. Plus, he knew Ren was only offering because he was worried about Hayes. After what he’d been through as a teen, Ren exclusively topped and had never given up control to anyone again. He wouldn’t willingly offer himself to Hayes for any other reason than pity.

And Hayes would become a monk before he’d become a pity fuck for anyone.

“I’m fine.”

Ren didn’t respond immediately but Hayes could sense when he moved toward the door. “I’m leaving in an hour. You can follow me there.”

The music dialed up again, the thrashing cymbals matching the noise in Hayes’s head.

He didn’t look back. He dropped back to the ground, switched arms.

One. Two. Three.

—

Ren stood in the doorway that led from the garage to the kitchen for way too long, watching Hayes do those punishing pushups. The guy looked like a beast—strong, angry, dangerous. The music clung to him like a demon, pushing his movements in time to the relentless beat. Muscles flexed. Sweat rolled over his skin. Ren couldn’t look away.

From this angle, it was like watching a stranger. A beautiful, possessed stranger. Ren had, of course, noticed that Hayes was getting ripped in prison. Every time he visited, the guy seemed to have gotten harder both physically and emotionally. It’d been survival. Hayes was smart, and when facing down a twenty-year sentence, he’d done everything he could to ensure he was that scary motherfucker who other inmates would steer clear of. But Ren hated that Hayes still had to endure these torture sessions just to get through a day.

His body looked sick, sure. Ren would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the view. Hayes thought that the offer Ren had made was some sacrificial bullshit, but really, it was selfish. Ren had accepted long ago that despite them both being dominants and Hayes being predominantly straight, his friend would always hit his sexual radar. It’d been there from the start, and it was an imprint he couldn’t erase.

And really, Ren hadn’t expected Hayes to take him up on his offer. Hayes had made a promise to him when they’d first met all those years ago, and he didn’t break promises. Part of that comforted Ren. But the other part frustrated the hell out of him. He saw how Hayes looked at him when he didn’t think Ren was watching. The way his gaze slid over his body. Hayes wasn’t indifferent to him. But he couldn’t see Ren without seeing the past. And that’s what pissed Ren off.

He wasn’t some fragile, messed-up kid anymore. And yeah, he hadn’t been willing to let anyone have the control since that horrible year. The thought of putting himself in that position made him go cold inside. But with Hayes . . . with Hayes those thoughts had a different temperature, especially as he stood here and watched his friend shirtless and dripping with sweat. In his gut, he knew he could go there with him.

But none of that mattered. It was a no go. Hayes was committed to this new life of deprivation and isolation.

Ren had thought that when they’d finally gotten his conviction overturned that Hayes would be able to walk out of that prison and get his life back. The business that they’d built together would get out of the slump it’d gone into after the story broke about Hayes. Things would return to some kind of normal. But the man who’d gone in was not the man who had come out.

That conviction had taken a successful, proud guy who’d been able to command a room with just a look and turned him into this—a guy who didn’t sleep, who worked out to the point of obsession, and who closed himself off to the world. To Ren.

And he had no idea how to help.

But at least today, he’d gotten a yes from him. Hayes would keep his word and come into the office. Ren had stooped low and used guilt to get him there, but it’d worked. Now he just needed to figure out how to keep him there.

Ren gave Hayes one last lingering look. The man was a sight. Up. Down. Up. Down. Grunting like he was fucking. One hand behind his back. A man on an endless mission.

Ren’s cock began to take notice. He shook his head, adjusting the front of his jeans, and turned to go back into the house. He didn’t need to travel down that mental road again. It was one filled with roadblocks and dead ends. Instead, he needed to stay focused on getting Hayes back to work. The key today would be to ease him in. Not too much thrown at him on day one.

But when they arrived at the office later that morning, that plan got shot straight to hell with a booster rocket.




FIVE (#u7ebd0ce8-11e2-5305-ae8a-877ef3c9c5a4)


Ren knew something was wrong when he and Hayes stepped through the frosted-glass doors of FoxRen Media and Malik, one of the app designers, was behind the main desk in the lobby instead of Anita, their receptionist. Malik’s dark hair was sticking up on one side like he’d grabbed it and yanked, the phones were ringing, and no one else was in sight.

He glanced up when Ren and Hayes walked in, looking like some possessed cartoon version of himself. “Oh, thank God.”

“What’s going on?” Ren asked, frowning.

Malik’s gaze darted to Hayes then back to Ren. “Anita called in sick and Collin is still out for vacation. The phones have been ringing nonstop because a server went down, which Chelsea is working on, but I should be helping her with that. And then some woman came in first thing this morning demanding to talk to you and refusing to discuss whatever she’s here for with anyone else.” Malik gave him a pleading look. “Can I just send everyone to voice mail?”

Ren groaned. “Send them there for now and then look in the directory. We’ve worked with a temp service before. Call them and see if they can get us a receptionist for the day. After that, go help with the server. That’s priority number one.”

Malik nodded. “Right. Got it.”

“And what happened to the woman who wanted to talk to me?” Ren hiked his messenger bag higher on his shoulder.

Malik jabbed his thumb toward the door that led to the executive offices. “I didn’t know what to do with her and she was . . . persistent, so I just told her to sit outside your office and wait.”

Ren rubbed his forehead. “Of course.”

Because letting a stranger without an appointment into the office was an excellent idea. But Ren kept the comment to himself. The fact that the kid had attempted to handle front office operations when that was clearly out of his comfort zone deserved some credit.

Malik punched a few buttons on the phone. “How do I get this to roll over to voice mail? Goddamn, does it ever stop ringing?”

“Just leave it. I’ve got it.” Ren leaned over the desk and hit the button that would put it in overnight mode. “By the way, Malik, this is our CFO and co-owner, Hayes Fox. Say hi and then get to the server.”

Hayes, who’d been silently watching the meltdown, lifted a hand in a stoic greeting.

Malik paused at that, his eyes going owlish. If Ren were drawing him, he’d have put a little thought box with expletive symbols above Malik’s head. “Oh, um, hi, Mr. Fox. Nice to meet you.”

“Hayes is fine,” he said, voice gruff.

Malik nodded but didn’t look like he’d be calling Hayes by his first name anytime soon. He made some vague motion with his hand. “Uh, I’m going to go and help Chelsea.”

“Yes. Do that.” Ren watched the guy hurry back through the door and then turned to Hayes with a smirk. “So, welcome back.”

Hayes lifted his brows and crossed his arms over his chest, stretching the white Henley tighter across his shoulders. “Is it always on fire like this?”

Ren shrugged. “Nah, only about fifty percent of the time. I had to cut the staff down in the last year to try to save some money. It works for the most part but gets insane when anyone’s out.”

Hayes frowned.

But Ren didn’t want to get into how the business had declined after Hayes had gone to prison or how Ren had spent a big chunk of their profits on the lawyers and investigators who’d gotten Hayes’s conviction overturned. They had both seen the numbers. If Ren hadn’t renamed the company and introduced Hayven to the market two years ago, the company would’ve gone under.

It’d been the right move even though he’d had to go behind Hayes’s back to do it. When Ren had told Hayes about his idea for the game, Hayes had told Ren to scrub it. Think how it will look, he’d said. But Ren had gone against his wishes, named the game after Hayes, and had set up a separate company front that tied the game only to Ren to make it harder for the media to make the connection. Then he’d brought it to market like a big, blazing fuck you to all those people who thought Hayes was guilty.

It had saved the company from closing up shop, but they still had a ways to go to get robust again. He needed to get Hayes involved in the daily operation so that Ren could spend more time on game enhancements and developments instead of being the firefighter all the time.

“Come on.” Ren opened the door and they headed to the left, where the executive offices were located. He didn’t want to go through the trouble of introducing Hayes to everyone yet. The place was in crisis mode, and Hayes wouldn’t be ready for that song and dance anyway. He put a hand on Hayes’s shoulder when they got to his old office. “Why don’t you get settled in, get things back how you want them, and I’ll go see what random-persistent-woman-off-the-street wants?”

Hayes eyeballed his closed office door like it was going to explode and then looked back to Ren. “Tell that kid not to send strangers back here anymore. What if it’s some ex of yours or something? She could be burning your office down in revenge as we speak.”

Ren laughed. “She could just add it to the rest of the fires. But yeah, I’ll let him know.”

Hayes blew out a breath and grabbed the door handle. “How bad is it going to be in here?”

“Do the words ‘additional storage area’ mean anything to you?”

“Fuck.”

Ren glanced down the hallway. “I’ll stop by in a while and help you haul some of that shit out of there.”

Hayes shook his head and went into the room. Despite the curse that followed once Hayes saw the state of his office, something buoyed in Ren’s chest. Hayes was back.

Well, physically at least.

Ren left him to it and headed around the corner to his own office. Sitting in the chair outside his door was a woman who had her head down as she typed furiously on her phone and bounced her jean-clad knee. Not an ex. He didn’t really have those anyway. He never stuck with anyone long enough to get to the labels portion of coupledom. But something about her seemed familiar.

He set his bag down on his assistant Collin’s desk, strode over, patience low, and looked down. “Can I help you?”

The woman startled, so involved in whatever she’d been doing that she hadn’t noticed him approach. But when she lifted her head, the sight jolted his system like an electric shock, and the night before came crashing back.

No fucking way.

Hallway girl? She was wearing glasses today and less makeup, but there was no doubt it was her. Dark wavy hair that looked like she’d taken a dip in the ocean and let it dry in the breeze, the ghost of childhood freckles across her nose, and big hazel eyes he’d never forget.

His mind couldn’t process the two things, the spheres colliding. The woman from the party at his job. She’d sought him out? He hadn’t even told her his name. And last night she hadn’t been able to get away from him fast enough.

But the way she was staring at him told a different story. Her eyes had gone wide and her bottom lip hung open like it’d forgotten how to close. She hadn’t been looking for him. She was as surprised as he was. “Uh . . . I was waiting for Mr. Muroya.”

Her knuckles went white around her phone and she tipped forward in the seat like she wanted to run, the heels of her Chuck Taylors lifting off the ground. She’d already figured out that he was the guy she’d come to see, and she wanted to bail.

Too bad he was standing in her way.

He smiled, slow and pleased. “Is that right?”

Last night, he’d been more than a little intrigued by the woman who had so boldly watched him with Naomi. He’d been doing a friend a favor, playing a part in a scene, which should’ve been fun, especially when they were doing it at a professional party instead of at The Ranch. But beyond the obvious pleasure of a blow job, he hadn’t been able to get into the right headspace for the scene. A problem he’d been having way too often lately.

Then, he’d looked up and found this woman watching, and everything about the scene had flipped. Energy had surged through him, his body had come alive, and his dominant instincts had rushed forward. Being watched was a kink of his, but this had been something altogether different. The way she’d been looking at him . . . There’d been fear there, that knee-jerk reaction to being caught, but there’d been something else, too. Something that had made him want to call her over, to give her the very thing her eyes were asking him for. Then she’d run off. And when he’d approached her in the light of the party, she’d been bordering on hostile. The way she’d acted had made him think he’d read her all wrong. So when the blonde had rushed up to save her, he’d figured hot mystery woman had a girlfriend, that he’d been barking up the wrong tree.

Now she was here. And the color that appeared in her cheeks after her gaze quickly skimmed down his body told him a different story. Right tree.

The morning had just gotten infinitely more interesting. “Guess you’re in luck. I’m Ren Muroya.”

Her eyes closed, her worst fear obviously confirmed. “Of course you are.”

He couldn’t help but grin wider at her fuck-my-life expression. “So, Cora, Lady of the Dark Hallway, what exactly can I help you with?”

—

Fuck. My. Life.

Cora didn’t know what she’d done in a previous existence, but apparently it’d been evil because the universe was screwing with her. She’d spent all morning tracking down the head of Restless Games, first calling a number that never picked up, then going to an address that turned out to be just a mailbox, and finally having to go through more computer detective work than she was in the mood for to find the parent company and where it was located. After that, she’d had to wait an hour in this office. Now, she’d finally found who she was looking for and it was this guy.

Blow-job guy.

Or as the world knew him—Ren Muroya, CEO and co-owner of FoxRen Media and, apparently, Restless Games.

She cleared her throat, trying her damnedest to erase last night from her mind and focus on the business at hand. This was serious. She didn’t have time to care that he looked even better in jeans than he had in his suit, and she wasn’t going to pay attention to that smug, I-have-the-upper-hand way he had about him. She refused to let her introvert gene take over just because he was hot. She channeled professional Cora. The one who used to work in an all-male IT department and knew how to stand her ground. “I’m here because you have a big problem with your game Hayven.”

Muroya’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re here about Hayven?”

Ha. There. She’d finally surprised him instead of the other way around. “Yes. I know you own it.”

He crossed his arms, the amused expression in his eyes dimming. “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information, but—”

She held up her palm and stood. Though really, that didn’t give her much more to work with since he had to be at least six feet tall and easily towered over her. “Let’s not waste time, Mr. Muroya. I could go into how I weeded out that information, but we’d end up at the same conclusion and I’d rather get to the point.”

His jaw was hard now, his dark eyes flinty. “Are you a reporter?”

“What?” She blinked, thrown off by the question and the dose of disgust in his voice. “No. I’m . . .”

She didn’t finish the sentence, and he stared at her expectantly.

God. She didn’t want to say it. Not to him. Not to anyone.

“You’re what?” he demanded.

If internal organs could cringe, hers did. “I’m a member.”

The tightness in his jaw went slack at that. “Of Hayven?”

She adjusted her glasses and used that as a reason to look away and toward the hall. She’d never told anyone about the game. No one knew that secret shame, the things she did in that world, the fantasies she played out. How she pretended to be someone else entirely. How she had cyber/phone sex with a stranger. Heat burned up her neck. “Could we do this in your office? I’d rather not discuss everything out here.”

He seemed to snap out of his stupor at that. “Oh. Of course. Right this way.”

He turned and his fingertips landed gently on her upper arm to guide her. The move was polite, not at all aggressive, but he may as well have had electrodes taped to his fingers for the current it sent radiating through her. She had to breathe through the reaction.

Must. Focus.

He led her into a spacious corner office, complete with wraparound windows and what looked to be authentic mid-century-modern furniture. His desk was in the center—simple and clean—with only a laptop. But against the left wall was an impressive workstation with three oversized monitors and a number of gadgets. That area wasn’t so Zen. There were sticky notes everywhere and pads of paper stacked haphazardly. On the wall were pinned sheets of papers—drawings. She wanted to step closer and examine them, but she wasn’t here for a tour.

He ushered her into the chair across from his desk and then took a seat on the other side. His gaze met hers, expression focused but impossible to read. “So, let’s start over. You’re not a reporter.”

“No.”

“You’re a member who has somehow figured out that I’m the one in charge, and you’ve had some problem with the game.”

“Yes.”

He leaned forward on his forearms, the little move somehow creating an intimate just-between-me-and-you vibe. “Okay, well, I’m always happy to help a customer. But to be honest, if you’re looking for tech support, I’m not your guy. My skills lie elsewhere.”

He didn’t say the last part in any particular way, but her brain twisted the words and dumped a big sprinkle of sexual innuendo on them. She’d seen some of those skills last night. She’d seen the way those hands he had folded on the desk gripped a woman’s hair in passion. She’d heard how his voice sounded when he commanded a woman to take his cock.

Cora gripped the arm of the chair hard, trying to get ahold of the spiraling thoughts, and took a steadying breath. Just the facts, Cora. Focus on that. “This isn’t a little tech support issue, Mr. Muroya. You’ve had a major security breach, and all of your members are at risk until you fix it.”

The frown was instant, the casual posture gone. “What?”

She straightened in her chair, professional mode kicking in. “I’m not sure what you have in the way of an IT Security department here, but they’re sleeping on the job. The admin address has been hacked, and someone is sending emails out to your members with personal information of other members.”

His entire demeanor shifted. His forehead creased, jaw flexing, and anger flashed in his gaze. “You’re sure of this.”

Not a question, but she answered it anyway. “Yes.”

“How?”

She unzipped her bag and pulled out the email. She’d taken a permanent marker to the places where the name Lenore was mentioned, but she’d left the rest untouched. She set it on his desk. “This was sent from the main email address to someone I’d blocked in the game. My personal information was included and then whoever sent it got creative with the rest. Rape fantasy being a theme.”

Ren picked up the sheet, his eyes scanning it, his expression darkening as he went. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No. And the man they sent the email to was local and took it literally. When I got home from the party last night, he was waiting for me outside my house.”

Ren’s head snapped up.

Cora swallowed, some of the anxiety from last night trying to bubble up again. “He grabbed me, thinking I was up for some kind of force fantasy, but my neighbors heard the scuffle and intervened. He ran off when the cops showed up.”

Ren expression went lax, horrified. “Christ. He— Are you okay?”

She wet her lips. “I’m all right. I got lucky. But I don’t want to think about what would’ve happened if someone hadn’t heard. The safe word he was given wasn’t mine. I wouldn’t have had a way to stop him.”

Ren closed his eyes briefly, like he was honestly pained at the thought.

She didn’t give him a chance to respond. She wasn’t here for sympathy or to talk about her terrifying night. She wanted things fixed. “Until this breach is closed, you’re putting everyone in jeopardy. Not just for what happened to me, but exposure in general. People enter their information into your game, thinking their private details will remain that way. I have no idea how many people received emails like this about me. I didn’t sleep last night because I couldn’t stop thinking about who else could show up.”

Ren shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “God, Cora, I’m so sorry. This is— Obviously, we’ll do whatever we need to do to get this fixed. I can’t imagine how frightening all that must’ve been. If you need a place to stay temporarily to feel safe, we can set you up in a hotel or pay for an alarm system for your place or something.”

“I appreciate that, but I’m not coming here for a handout. I just want you to close the holes, to let members know there’s been a breach, and to warn them that if they receive an email like this, it’s a fake.”

“Of course. I can’t believe someone would do this.” His fist curled against the desk. “What could possibly be their endgame? Can they steal the credit card numbers?”

Cora blew out a breath. “Depends on how good they are. I don’t know how hard it was to break into your system. He could’ve gotten into the email by some simple phishing. One of your employees might’ve clicked on a bad link or went to a dummy log-in page and revealed the password. But if someone just wanted to grab card numbers, they had no reason to go through the trouble of sending out emails like this. Whoever did this wanted to screw with people. I don’t know if it was targeted at me in particular or if it’s more widespread. But whoever it was did their homework. They knew enough to make it realistic.”

“What do you mean?”

She frowned. “The subject of the email said, Tired of being teased? Whoever it was knew that this guy was interested in my character and that I turned him down. So this person either scanned chat transcripts or is already a player in the game.”

Or was watching her chats with Dmitry. You like the idea of being captured? She rubbed chill bumps from her arms.

Ren considered her. “If it’s another player, it could be personal.”

“Sure. It could be as simple as I pissed someone off and he decided to go after me. That’d be easier to pinpoint. But if it’s more than just me . . .” She lifted her hands, palms up. “Then it could be anyone. Someone being a sick asshole. Someone who has an issue with Hayven or the content. One of your competitors. A bored teenager.”

He looked down at the email and a line appeared between his brows again. “And this was the email the hacker sent to the guy about you?”

“Yes.”

He peered up. “And how did you get that? Did the guy give it to you?”

Cora pressed her lips together. She had to be careful. What she’d done last night hadn’t quite been legal. But Ren, guy who gets blow jobs from other people’s girlfriends at parties, probably wasn’t going to call the ethics police on her. She adjusted her purse in her lap. “I’m an IT security specialist and am certified in white-hat hacking. I needed to know how he got my information.”

His eyebrow arched. “So you broke into his account.”

She shrugged. “Let’s just say he was uncreative with his password choices.”

The corner of Ren’s mouth twitched, a flicker of amusement lightening the serious expression. “I see.”

She crossed her arms. “Good thing since obviously your security department is playing Candy Crush or scrolling through Facebook instead of checking the system.”

The thundercloud expression returned. “We had to contract that work out when the guy we had in that position moved away a few months ago. Believe me, that contract will be terminated as soon as we’re done here. This is beyond unacceptable.”

Cora didn’t like to hear about anyone losing a gig, but she was glad Ren was taking this seriously. “You need to hire someone to hack into the system, find the holes, and close them up. And beef up the security in the game all around. Find someone who can think like a criminal. You’re handling outrageously private information and will lose every last one of your members if they think they’re not protected. Not to mention put yourself at risk for lawsuits.”

“Right. Of course.” Ren leaned back in his chair, squeezed his temples.

She could tell it was sinking in, the utter catastrophe this could be for his customers and company. It sucked. For everyone involved. And she appreciated that he wasn’t giving her some corporate speak, playing the political, what-can-I-say-so-you-don’t-sue-me game. In fact, he’d said enough to take blame that she’d have grounds for a lawsuit herself. But that wasn’t why she was here. This hacker was nasty and dangerous. People needed to be protected.

“You may be able to stop it before it goes widespread,” she said, trying to throw out a seed of hope. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with yet. But the clock is ticking. He’s gone unchecked for a few days at least.”

Ren looked up, his eyes meeting hers. “Any recommendations on who to hire? Someone who could start immediately.”

Her mouth opened then shut again. She’d almost said the obvious—her. But did she really want to put that out there? If he actually was interested in hiring her, she’d be working with this man. This man who’d put a woman on her knees, shoved his dick in her mouth, and let Cora watch. This man who already knew too many of her secrets, who knew she was in the game. She didn’t like people knowing those private things about her. She’d learned growing up that secrets were the most dangerous weapons. If you trusted someone with them it was like handing them a loaded gun and telling them exactly where best to aim. She shifted in her chair. “I may know a few people.”

He tilted his head, like a big, dangerous cat watching prey cross the Serengeti. “Isn’t that what you do?”

“I—”

“Are you working for someone else right now?”

She cleared her throat. “I own my own business. I do contract work.”

“So you don’t think you’re good enough to tackle this breach, then?”

Her teeth clicked together at that, the casual comment digging under her skin. “I’m one of the best at what I do, Mr. Muroya. Maybe I’m worried you can’t afford me.”

There. That last part was a lie, but at least it sounded like a good excuse. And it could be half-believable considering the party he’d seen her at last night.

He flipped the printed email over, grabbed a pen, and then scrawled something on the back. He slid it her way. “Will that hourly rate suffice?”

Cora stared down at the number. Blinked. Forced her jaw not to unhinge.

Fuuuck.

Okay, so it was almost three times what she was charging clients right now. Depending on how long the job was, it could mean actual security for a little while. And no ramen. But was it worth it?

The awkwardness scale was going to be off the charts. She’d seen him in a private moment. But beyond that, she’d revealed a glimpse of herself. There’d been a long few seconds between him looking at her in that hallway and her leaving. He’d stripped away a few layers and had continued to tug at them when he’d sat down at her table.

He’d seen more than she wanted anyone to see. In the safety of her own home, she could be Lenore. But, if he discovered it was her, she’d be seen as that strange girl who was so pitiful she’d had to build a character who looked nothing like her just to get laid in a video game. The thought made her want to fold in on herself. She liked those two spheres of her life not touching. No Venn diagram interaction.

But how the hell was she supposed to walk away from that kind of money? This had to be better than living week to week or having to take some gig at an overnight call center. And it’d look solid on her résumé. Plus, she was good at her job. If she really wanted this fixed, the best way to ensure that was to do it herself.

But even knowing all that, something made her hesitate. A warning bell. She’d been looking for clients for months.

This all felt too easy.

She pushed the paper his way again and sat back in her chair. “Why are you offering this to me? You don’t know me. You don’t even know my last name. I could be terrible at my job.”

He gave her a humorless smile. “Benning.”

“What?”

“Your last name. I checked the guest list last night after you left.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know how to feel about that. He’d probably checked it to make sure she wasn’t going to report him for a lewd act.

“And for the record, I make quick decisions but not haphazard ones. I’m making you the offer for a number of reasons.”

She gave him a skeptical look.

“Don’t believe me? Fine. Here’s what I know about you so far.” He lifted a finger to count off. “You easily broke into this guy’s account and figured out what was going on. You found me and tied me to Restless Games even though I know exactly how many layers you had to go through to get that information, so I know you’ve got skills.” He nodded toward his door. “You’re obviously determined since you got your way back here today and waited. You’re going to be more motivated than most to fix this because you’re personally involved in it. And you’re already part of the game, so I don’t have to worry about your delicate sensibilities being offended by our kinky little universe.”

The air sagged out of Cora.

“And I know that what I just offered to pay you has got you interested at least on that level.”

She looked up.

His lips twitched up at the corner. “Don’t play poker, Cora. Your nostrils flared when you saw the number and your whole body went tense.”

“I—”

“So,” he said, not giving her a chance to protest, “what’s holding you back must be because of the incident last night. So let’s just get that out on the table and clear it. Now that I know you’re kinky, I can stop worrying I freaked you out last night with that little cuckolding scene. It happened. You watched. I didn’t mind. It doesn’t have to be big deal. Just pretend we ran into each other in a club and follow the standard discretion rules. And—”

“I never said I was kinky,” she blurted.

He paused, head tilted. “You’re a member of Hayven and not?”

She cleared her throat. “I just like interesting games. I mostly observe.”

Lie. Total fucking lie. Ever since she’d met Dmitry, she’d done nothing but participate. But she’d rather he think she was some wallflower voyeur than reveal who she was in the game.

He considered her for a long moment, but then nodded. “Fair enough. Either way, there’s no need for what happened last night to affect work. Work is work. Personal is personal. I know how to divide the two. I assume you do as well.”

Something about the way he said it gave her pause, but he’d switched to business mode and that soothed her nerves some. “Of course.”

“Excellent. Bottom line is my game has a major problem, and you’re telling me you have the skills to fix it and can start quickly. Because of the sensitive information you’ll have access to, I’ll need a background check. That’s the only time constraint. But assuming that will come through over the weekend and all come back fine, I’m offering to contract you for your services for that hourly rate, starting Monday if you’re available. Are you interested?”

Cora wet her lips, overwhelmed by the turn this conversation had taken. She’d walked in with a complaint and now there was a job offer sitting in her lap. She could pretend to think it over, put up some kind of effort. But her mama didn’t raise no fool, and Cora would be the biggest of them all to turn down a gig that paid this well. She took a breath and put her hand out. “I guess we have a deal, Mr. Muroya.”

His hand closed around hers, firm, warm. “Ren.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call me Ren.” He gave her a half smile. “I only require that kind of formality in very specific situations and work isn’t one of them.”

She coughed, choking on her own spit. Sir. The word from last night whispered through her head.

He laughed, releasing her hand and standing. “Sorry. You’re too easy to shock, Cora Benning. We’re going to have to work on that if you’re going to be hanging around here.”

She shook her head and stood. She couldn’t tell him that she normally wasn’t so easy to shock, that it wasn’t the words, it was him. The man short-circuited her brain.

He stepped around his desk and plucked a business card from the holder on the front of his desk. “I’m going to call Shari from HR. She’ll meet you up front and get everything she needs from you. Unless you hear from me, plan to be here Monday morning to start. In the meantime, I’ll get an alert email sent out and I’ll have the game taken offline until we get this fixed. If you have any questions before then, call me.”

She took the offered card and pulled out one of her own to hand to him. Grace would’ve been proud. She’d finally handed out a business card. “Thanks. Here’s mine.”

He tucked the card in the inside pocket of his sport coat. “And my offer for the hotel stands. I don’t want you feeling unsafe.”

She tried not to notice how close he was now and that he smelled like some combination of minty shampoo and expensive coffee. “That’s okay. I live in a duplex and the two guys next door are already on alert. Plus, I’m not going to be caught with my Taser at the bottom of my purse again.”

Ren’s expression turned grim. “I hate that our game is part of this. I know you don’t know me, but this isn’t the kind of thing I take lightly. One of the main reasons I developed Hayven was to provide a safe place for people to explore that private side of themselves without having to deal with the risks involved in trying to find real-life kink partners. That’s why I require my gamemasters to be relentless when policing harassers or trolls. I never wanted anyone to feel anything but protected. It truly is supposed to be a haven. That’s always been my goal.”

Cora blew out a breath. She knew that much to be true. She’d seen issues crop up in the game and promptly knocked down. One guy who constantly made disgusting comments to women in the game was struck by lightning and burnt to a crisp, never to be seen again. Another who always interrupted other people’s play was swept away by a velociraptor. That one had made her laugh. “I’ve seen your gamemasters get pretty creative with deactivating accounts.”

The corner of Ren’s mouth kicked up. “They’re two very sadistic, very creative women with sick senses of humor. The job fits them perfectly.”

She slid his card in the front pocket of her purse. “I appreciate that you recognize how serious this is. I promise I’ll do everything I can to get it fixed and get your system better protected. There’s nothing more dangerous than information in the wrong hands.”

“Agreed.” He put his hand on her lower back. “Come on. I’ll walk you out and get you set up with Shari.”

The touch was just as electric as the first, but this time it seemed even more intimate—those long fingers gently pressed against the dip in her spine. She imagined that hand sliding farther down, gripping her flesh like he’d gripped that woman’s hair. No.

A shuddery breath went through her, but she fought hard not to show any reaction otherwise. She reminded herself that she would be working with this man, that he had shown no interest in her anyway, and that she was only reacting like this because he was unfairly good-looking and she had too much pent-up sexual energy. He was cheesecake and she was the girl on a diet. This would pass.

Ren led her out of his office and toward the hallway. His hand remained parked on her back as they turned the corner and he chatted with her about the company. But before they could make it to the lobby, a door opened on the left ahead of them and a massive roadblock filled the space.

A man with Greek-god arms stepped into the hallway. His face was hidden by the stack of boxes he was carrying, but there was no missing the size of the guy when he turned his back to them and started down the hallway.

Oh my. Cora couldn’t help but take in the view. As tall as Ren, if not taller, with Atlas shoulders and an ass that did things to the worn pair of jeans that were bordering on obscene. He bent over to set down the boxes at the end of the hallway, and she had to bite her lip to keep from groaning aloud.

Ren made a sound under his breath.

She quickly turned her head. “What?”

He gave a smug smile as they continued walking. “Nothing.”

Shit. Had she made some sort of noise? She hoped to hell she hadn’t.

“Hey, Fox,” Ren called out when they got within a few steps of the man.

“Yeah?” The guy straightened the boxes so that they wouldn’t tip over and turned their way, his gaze landing first on Ren and then sliding to Cora.

The front view was even better than the back. Green eyes, gold-brown hair that would probably be curly if grown out, and a stubbled jaw that should’ve made him look harsh but only fired up her long-standing Indiana Jones fantasies. He looked like he should be chasing bad guys through the jungle instead of in some tech office.

Cora smoothed a hair away from her face and tried for a polite smile, but she wasn’t sure the expression made it all the way there. And he didn’t return any warmth if it did. If anything he looked wary.

Ren nodded toward her. “I wanted to introduce you to Cora Benning. I’ve just hired her to fix some security issues in one of the games. She’ll start Monday.”

Fox frowned. “Security issues?”

“Yeah. I’ll go over it with you in a few minutes. I’m just walking Cora out to take care of details with HR.”

Fox put his hand out. “Hayes Fox.”

His voice was a rumble, that growing thunder right before a storm reached you. She took the offered hand, and the minute his fingers wrapped around hers in a firm hold, all intelligent thought emptied from her brain.

Ren clapped Hayes on the shoulder. “Hayes is the co-owner and our CFO. He’s been working remotely as of late, but he’s moving back into his office today. So you’ll be seeing him around.”

Hayes was unapologetically holding her gaze, evaluating her, reading her. She didn’t know if she was passing whatever test he was giving her, but she couldn’t seem to look away. Or act like a normal human being. Use your words, Cora. She swallowed past the knot in her throat and pushed down the ridiculous reaction. “Nice to meet you.”

His eyes narrowed for a second, like he’d noticed some chink in her armor, and she shifted uncomfortably in her Converse, but then he released her hand. “Well, I’ve got to get the rest of this stuff out of the office. I’ll leave you to it.”

He stepped past them without waiting for a response. She couldn’t help but turn to watch him go. When he was out of sight, she let out a nervous laugh. “Well, that went great.”

Ren gave a dismissive shrug. “Nah, don’t worry. That was Fox’s version of a warm welcome. You’re good. Come on.”

Cora followed him down the hallway, but when she peered back one last time, she saw Hayes leaning against his doorjamb—watching them with a deep frown.

That same odd, crackling awareness moved over her. Danger. She turned forward and rubbed the goose bumps from her arms.

Maybe she should’ve stuck with helping out at Marv’s Auto Parts.




SIX (#ulink_138b13e0-0db2-5ffa-bc30-a33bbfbcbf4d)


Hayes stood in the doorway of Ren’s office, two cups of fresh coffee in his hands. The windows were dark at this hour, and Ren had his back to him as he sat in front of his triumvirate of monitors. His hand gripped the back of his head and his legs were splayed out in front of him like he’d just run a marathon and collapsed in the chair.

“That bad?” Hayes walked over and set the coffee on the corner of Ren’s messy desk. Ren had briefed him this morning on the security breach, but then had told him not to worry about it, that he’d handle things. Hayes hated that Ren still felt like he had to kid-glove him with work stuff. So he’d insisted on taking on the logistical tasks while Ren dug into the game to see what he could find.

Ren had relented and Hayes had introduced himself to the team, even though that’d been the last thing he’d wanted to do today. Everyone had seemed professional and welcoming enough. Ren had obviously prepped them that they should be expecting him to return soon, but he’d caught a few watchful glances. He was sure there were whispers after he’d left the room, but there was nothing he could do about that. It was a new part of his existence that he was going to have to get used to. Released or not, he was a former convict. People would always wonder if he’d really done that horrible crime and had simply had enough money to get away with it.

But Ren was right. He couldn’t hide forever. There was a company to run. So he’d gotten the awkward introductions out of the way, and then had delegated what needed to be done for the day. He’d gotten them to take Hayven offline. Then he’d set up a refund for this month’s members to compensate for the downtime. He’d drafted a notice to go out to everyone to be on the lookout for fake emails. Despite the fact that they were in crisis mode, being busy had actually felt good. He liked having a mission, an objective.

But now it was bordering on eleven at night. Everyone else had gone home for the weekend and Ren had barely left his office. The guy could go into obsessive hyperfocus mode with stuff like this. He’d forget to eat and sleep if no one reminded him to take a break.

Ren ran a hand over his face and rocked forward in his chair to grab the coffee. “I don’t know. I can’t find anything obviously wrong, but I can feel the bastard’s dirty fingerprints all over my game. And I know systems get attacked every day, but this feels like more than that. Be a troll, a troublemaker, a thief—fine, whatever. But this shit could get someone seriously hurt. Cora could’ve been raped.”

“It definitely feels personal,” Hayes said, stepping to the side and eyeing the row of Ren’s drawings. Though members could personalize their characters, Ren had designed the components and liked to see how people put them together. A version of Master Dmitry was pinned up there, but Ren had left him shirtless and had inked in elaborate tattoos of snaking, thorny vines over his chest. Dmitry was trying to grab at them but they were part of his skin, leaving him in beautifully rendered anguish as he tore at himself. Hayes looked away, afraid Ren would notice his lingering attention on the art. “This attack took time to orchestrate. Whoever it was had to know enough about the game—who was talking to whom, who lived where—to even set it up.”

“Exactly,” Ren said, tone grim. “It has intent.”

Hayes turned away from the wall of drawings and watched the steam curl off his coffee. “Did Cora say anything about possible enemies? A crazy ex or something?”

Ren’s chair squeaked as he stretched. “I didn’t have time to ask, but we can pick her brain on Monday. I was hoping to figure out if she was the only one affected or if it’s more widespread. That would answer some questions and give us a place to start.”

Hayes looked up. “If it’s more widespread, we’re fucked. No one’s going to play a game like Hayven if they think their information isn’t protected.”

Ren groaned. “I don’t even want to consider that possibility. We finally get solid investors backing us and our most profitable product could go up in flames.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll wait until Monday before I panic. Hopefully, Cora will be able to find the clues and trails I don’t know how to see and we can stop this before it goes any further. I was hoping I could do something to help tonight, but this is above my pay grade.”

Hayes perched on the edge of the credenza. “You know for a fact that she’s skilled enough for this job?”

Ren lowered his hand from his face and gave him a what-the-fuck look. “Of course. Why else would I hire her?”

Hayes sniffed. “Don’t forget how well I know you. You feel guilty because she was attacked. Plus, I saw how close to her you were standing.”

“Dude, I feel like absolute shit that she was attacked. It could’ve been so . . . I can’t even think about it.” A haunted look flashed through his eyes. “But that’s not why I hired her. I went with my gut. And based on what I found on the résumé she sent me, I was spot on. She went to a good school and has worked for two top-tier companies. The only ding was that she apparently quit her last job with Braecom without notice. But there’s a story there. She’s not the flighty type.”

“Oh, so you already know her type, huh?”

Ren shrugged. “I’m good at reading people. I know flighty. I’m flighty. She’s definitely not. She’s the type that probably has some itemized life plan written down with little checkboxes next to each task. Something went down at the last job to make her leave.”

“And the reason you were standing so close?” Hayes pressed.

The corner of his mouth twitched—Ren’s mischief mode. “I was doing that for the same reason you were giving her the shakedown.”

Hayes grabbed his coffee and sipped. “There was no shakedown. I barely said a word to her.”

“Bullshit. She caught your attention just like she caught mine. There’s something about her that’s just . . . I don’t know. Interesting. Like she’s got good secrets.”

He wasn’t going to honor that with a reaction, but Ren was right. Something about Cora had made him want to keep looking, to extend the conversation. He didn’t quite understand the reaction. She was far from his usual type. When it came to women, he was typically attracted to ones with more in-your-face sex appeal, ones who embraced that ultra-feminine look. But Cora had been rocking some female Clark Kent vibe with her dark-rimmed glasses, skinny jeans, and a vintage Mystery Machine T-shirt that hugged her body just enough to reveal her barely-there curves. That tomboy look worked on her. Plus, a woman with a mind sharp enough to do high-level computer security and who hadn’t retreated when he’d held her gaze? That was all too intriguing. Which meant he needed to steer clear. “I don’t see it.”

Ren snorted. “Oh, come on. You eye-fucked her in that way you used to do before we put a submissive through a scene. I’m surprised you didn’t ask her for a safe word and make her call you sir.”

Hayes winced.

“And she stared right back—all bold and shit.” Ren’s smile was far too amused. “I almost got a semi just watching the two of you. She’d be a challenge. A quiet one with all those hard-to-crack layers? Hot.”

“Ren.” His tone held warning.

He held up a hand. “Don’t get your feathers fluffed, Fox. I’m just calling it like I see it. And it was nice to see you give that look, to know that you’re still capable. It’s been a long time.”

Hayes rubbed his brow and closed his eyes, a headache brewing. “It was just a look. And even if it was what you’re saying, she’s going to be an employee. And she’s young.”

“She’s twenty-six. And we’re contracting her services. I’m not her boss. And neither are you.”

Hayes’s head lifted at that. “Uh-uh. Don’t go looking for loopholes, Muroya. The woman just got attacked because of our game. She’s going to be working with us. Plus, you don’t know anything about her. She probably already has a boyfriend or a girlfriend. She—”

“Watched me get a blow job from Naomi last night at the party and liked it.”

“What?”

Ren looked all too pleased at Hayes’s shock. He rocked back in his chair. “I did a scene last night. Chris Jenkins has a cuckolding kink and asked for my help. We were going to try it at The Ranch, but when we ran into each other at the party, I figured, why not? So Naomi and I snuck off into a hallway. I thought we were alone, but then I looked up and there was this woman in the dark, watching us.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me. Cora?”

“Yep. Apparently, she’d been in the hallway already when we arrived. And, man, it was intense. She looked so . . . entranced. I could tell she wanted to stay. But I spooked her and she bailed. I found her at the party afterward, thinking maybe she was new to The Ranch since there were a lot of members at the party. But she was freaked out, and obviously shocked by what she’d seen. We didn’t even exchange names.” He shrugged. “I thought it was done. Then, boom, here she was today. She had no idea she was coming to see me. You should’ve seen her face when she realized who I was. I almost felt bad for her. Until she checked me out. Then I just felt other things. So, obviously, it’s fate.”

Hayes ran a hand over the back of his head. “Fate is bullshit.”

Was it fate that had locked him in a cage for three years? Fuck fate.

And he didn’t want to think about blow jobs in dark hallways, of watching or being watched, of the woman he was going to be working with being interested in that kind of thing. He didn’t need to know these details. He wanted to think of Cora as a sexless entity. A bot who would be working on their computers. Just like he was trying to think of Ren as a sexless best friend.





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