Lexi Blake: Love and Let Die

“Master, I need you to listen to me.” Her blue eyes fairly pleaded with him. Those eyes were what had gotten him in the first place. Oh, he’d loved her breasts and her hips. She was solidly built, and that just did it for him. He wanted a woman he could fuck for hours and not worry about breaking, but her eyes were striking. Ocean blue, like the waters of the Caribbean reflecting a crystal sky. He’d been drawn into those eyes.

“I’m listening, Charlotte.” A thought occurred to him. “Is that the name you’re going by now or should I call you Kristen? I have no idea what your real name is.”

Her hands made frustrated fists. Ah, she hadn’t changed her little tells. Those fists always made an appearance when she thought he was being stubborn. Her hair might have changed, but he could still tell when he was getting to her.

“I’m Charlotte Dennis and you damn well know it. You checked me out the first time. I never lied about my background.”

He raised a single brow.

She bit into her bottom lip, her eyes sliding submissively away. “I apologize, Master. I shouldn’t have cursed.”

He shook it off. It was just a habit. Disciplining her had been a habit, the same way her sinking to her knees at his feet and rubbing her cheek to his leg had been a habit. The way he’d been able to relax and think as he’d petted her hair and enjoyed the contact before he would inevitably pull her into his lap and start to make love to her.

Yep. Just a habit. He could break habits. He hadn’t had her in five years and he’d survived perfectly well. “Curse all you like. I probably would if my boss had shot me and then dosed me up with puffer fish toxin. Do you think he expected you to live?”

He tamped down the panic that flared at the thought of someone shooting her and dosing her up and leaving her there on the floor of their flat like a sacrifice. The protectiveness was a habit, too. She wasn’t his to protect, and she never had been. She hadn’t really been his sub. She’d been his opponent, and the first round had gone to her.

But she wasn’t going to win this one.

“He wasn’t my boss, babe. He had something I needed, and I thought he was the only one who could do the job. After I met you, I realized just how stupid I was.” Her eyes were cloudy with tears, and she started to reach out for him. He moved his hands and leaned back out of her reach. “I should have talked to you but by then the man I was working for had Chelsea. After he killed my father, he took her as insurance that I would do the job. I couldn’t risk Chelsea.”

“Of course not.” He had no idea who Chelsea was. Probably her dog. “I would like a name, Charlotte.”

Her jaw tightened, and she looked down at her hands. “Chelsea is my sister’s name. I know I didn’t tell you about her, but she’s younger than me. She’s more…fragile. You remember how I told you about my father?”

Her Russian mobster dad. Yes, Vladimir Denisovitch. He had a rap sheet about twelve miles long in twenty-two different countries. If he’d followed the Russian mob practice of tattooing his crimes on his body, Ian was sure there hadn’t been an inch of skin left on Vlad’s flesh. But his crimes against Charlotte were even worse. However, Ian no longer cared. “I asked for a name. I don’t need to know about your sister.”

“You’re going to be difficult.”

He shook his head. “Not at all. If you don’t want to talk, you should feel free to leave. There’s nothing at all difficult about it.”

She took a long breath before speaking. “I’ll tell you, but I want you to stay calm.”

Everything fell neatly into place. There was only one name he could think of that would truly enrage him. Or would if he really gave a shit about her. “Then it’s Eli Nelson. That makes sense. I thought I would find him at the bottom of this particular shit pile.”

Nelson seemed to be at the bottom of all the nasty shit that happened to Ian these days.

At the time he’d met Charlotte, Ian had been working a complicated case involving the Irish G2 intelligence unit, MI6, and a purported Russian terrorist. Eli Nelson had been with the CIA, but the case was Ian’s operation. Unfortunately, Ian had been distracted by the lovely Charlotte Dennis—as Nelson had planned. Nelson had gotten away with a couple of million in bearer bonds and set himself up as an arms dealer.

Ian had gotten the fuck out of the CIA.

“I didn’t know you when I agreed to help him.” Charlotte did nothing to stop the tears running down her cheeks. “I didn’t love you.”

“Yes, well, I figured that out a few moments ago when you showed up on my doorstep.”

Her blonde and red hair shook. It actually suited her quite nicely. When he’d known her she’d had black hair. This warmed up her skin. “No, Master. I meant I didn’t love you when I began the operation. That changed so quickly. Please believe me. I never meant you harm. Master, I love you so much. I’ve been working for five years to get back to you.”

“A plane ticket would have done it. You should have tried the airport.” He wasn’t going to buy this line of bullshit. “I made it from London to Dallas quite nicely.”

Of course he’d done it on a private jet because MI6 had to cover up his wife’s death. At the time they believed her body disappeared in an attempt by the Russians to make Ian look guilty and throw the whole operation into chaos. Now he knew it had just been good old Eli Nelson, American-grown fuckwad and all-around criminal.

He was going to find Eli Nelson. He was going to rip Eli Nelson open and play with his entrails while the fucker was alive to watch it. He would go old school on his ass. No fancy schmancy waterboarding for Nelson. He wouldn’t send the bastard to Guantanamo. Simple. He would keep it simple. Just him and a ball gag and one of Sean’s filet knives. He would let his brother play, too. Sean would likely enjoy castrating Nelson, sautéing up his dick, and force-feeding it to him. It could be a family project. Maybe they could take a weekend.

“Why do you look so happy, Master?” Charlotte asked. “It actually frightens me.”

He forced the smile off his face. Lately, his revenge fantasies made him far happier than the sexual ones.

Because the sexual ones all revolved around her.

“I’d ask for a detailed accounting of everything you know about Nelson, but I wouldn’t be able to trust a word you have to say, would I? I can very likely toss that e-mail you sent in the trash bin.” Just moments before he’d opened the door, he’d gotten an e-mail with all sorts of intelligence on Eli Nelson. Now it was useless because it came from her. He was ready to end this little interview. There was a bottle of fifty-year Scotch calling his name. Where was his phone? He needed some music.

“I’ll tell you everything you want to know. I sent you the e-mail because I want to help you find Nelson.” Charlotte stood, moving around the table and getting to her knees in front of him. “Master, I know I have so much to make up for, but I’m going to do it. I’m going to help you. I already did. I saved Alex. I did that for you.”

He felt his eyes narrow. “That’s right. You put yourself in front of a bullet for Alex.”

She’d been playing a longer game than he’d given her credit for.

She nodded her head. “Yes, and I would do it again because you love Alex and I love you. I watched over them. I guided them back together. Do you think I don’t remember how you talked about them? You wanted us to all live close together.”

They had lain in bed the night they were married and talked about moving back to the States. He’d wanted to move to Virginia to be close to Alex and Eve. It had been pillow talk, nothing more. He hadn’t meant a word he said. He hadn’t intended to give up his career for her so he could be some schmo living in the suburbs and having backyard barbecues and going to his kids’ soccer games.