Red Handed(3)
She opened her mouth, and all that came out was a squeak.
He waited for her to respond, and when she stood there frozen, unable to move or talk, he arched a brow. “You are Danielle Walker, right?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, her long dark hair falling in front of her eyes.
He shook his head, his lips curved in what she guessed was amusement. “Guess you can keep your coat and come with me.” He pivoted and sauntered across the foyer.
A small gasp flew from her lungs. Adrian’s slacks were cut in the back, exposing his perfectly toned bare ass with what looked like a humongous fake diamond wedged between the cheeks.
He stopped at another door and glanced at her over his shoulder. She jerked her head toward the camera in the corner, hoping Adrian wouldn’t notice her embarrassment. From the corner of her eye, she caught the shake of his shoulders and realized he was laughing at her again.
She pressed her lips together and straightened her spine. If the sight of a man’s naked behind shocked her, how would she ever get through the next week?
Since the day of her father’s suicide in prison, she’d thought about what she’d do to Cole DeMarco when she finally got her chance. But now that she was here, instead of slapping him hard across his face and calling him out as the murderer he was, she would beg him to train her as a sex slave.
Adrian led her through a doorway into an ordinary Grecian-style mansion, complete with pillars and vaulted ceilings.
As she followed the blond Adonis past a sunken living room similar to the one in her home back in Arizona, she was surprised by the mixture of relief and disappointment racing through her. For some reason, she’d expected to see sex at a sex club. But the place was quiet and empty.
The butler continued down to the end of the hallway, where he stopped in front of a closed door and knocked.
Her heart pounded so loudly, she was sure Adrian could hear. She felt as though she was a gladiator facing her first battle with a lion in the Colosseum arena.
“Come in, Danielle,” said a voice as smooth as Glenlivet and just as heady. A shiver raced from her head to her feet, hardening her nipples and waking the nerve endings between her thighs. It had been years since she’d heard that voice, and despite it belonging to her dangerous adversary, her body reacted exactly the same. As if he’d placed his hands on her skin and caressed her naked flesh, not sparing an inch.
Adrian motioned with a wave of his arm for her to enter first. Somehow, she managed to put one foot in front of the other until she stood inside Cole DeMarco’s lair. Its chocolate walls, the walnut furniture, and the flickering flames coming from the fireplace gave the first impression of a homey, comfortable room similar to her father’s before the FBI had raided it and cleaned it bare.
Her gaze fell on the man who’d haunted her in dreams and tormented her in nightmares. He didn’t get up to greet her. Didn’t welcome her with a smile.
From behind his desk, he sat tall in his chair, his muscular, tattooed arms folded in front of him. His brown eyes narrowed, and he scowled at her.
Her swallow caught in her throat. What could she possibly have done to anger him? She’d only just arrived. Besides, she never elicited a strong reaction out of anyone. She usually faded into the shadows.
He glared at her, a muscle twitching in his left cheek. Then his gaze jumped to the man standing behind her, leaving her feeling as if he’d found her wanting. “Adrian, wait outside my office.” He spoke softly, his voice holding none of the anger he’d directed toward her. “Sedona and Lily, I believe you’re wanted in the kitchen. Thank you both for your services.”
From behind the desk, two naked women suddenly popped up onto their feet, thin, red streaks marking their perky breasts and firm abdomens. Something sour burned in Danielle’s belly. Something bitter and twisted.
These were the type of women Cole preferred.
The women bowed their blonde heads. In unison, they turned from Cole and strolled toward the exit. As they moved past her, they each gave a quizzical raise of their brow, as if questioning her presence.
The door shut with a gentle click, leaving her alone with a monster. Although the room was warm, she shivered.
He leveled his stare on her. “Are you cold?”
His simple black T-shirt stretched tight over a broad chest, each inhalation giving her a glimpse of the muscles underneath. He’d shaved his head clean and grown a short goatee, hiding the dimple in his chin she’d adored from afar as a teenager. He looked even better than she’d remembered and every bit as dangerous.
He gave no indication of remembering her. True, she’d lost more than fifty pounds since she was seventeen, but how could he not recognize her?