Mistress of the Underground Page 9

  His chest rose and fell with harsh breaths as she continued her torture: kissing every inch of his chest, sliding her tongue over his hard, flat nipples. She moved lower, dipping her tongue into his navel, sliding her mouth over the rippling muscles of his stomach. Then she gave her attention to the part of him that begged for her touch, throbbing and pulsing. She licked and lapped at the hard, long length of his erection before closing her lips around his cock and taking him deep in her mouth.

  His head thrashed on the pillows as groans tore from his throat. She teased him, bringing him to the brink again and again, until his control snapped.

  His hands came out from beneath the pillow and tangled in her hair, first holding her against him, then pulling her away. He pushed her back on the bed. His mouth took hers, in a hot, possessive kiss before he pulled back, kissing his way across her cheek, down her neck and shoulder, until finally his lips closed over her nipples, one, then the other, pulling and sucking.

  “Ben…”

  “You don’t know my name,” he reminded her as he lifted one of her legs and slid his wet, throbbing cock inside her. He moved, driving in and out, while she rose up from the bed, lifting her hips to take him deeper, to keep him inside her.

  An orgasm slammed into her as he did. She sobbed as the pleasure stole her mind and her control. She wrapped one leg around him, pulling him deeper, taking as much of him as she could hold.

  Again and again, he pounded into her. And again and again, she came. Finally, his orgasm spilled from him and into her. He collapsed on top of her, into her arms, his breathing harsh and ragged in her ear, his chest slick and hot against her breasts.

  “Oh, God…” She shuddered as little orgasms went off like firecrackers after the grand finale.

  “You convinced me,” he said, groaning, as he pulled from her and flopped onto his back again.

  Paige struggled for first her breath, then her voice. “You’re not going to call the cops on me and report the breakin?”

  “You didn’t break in,” he reminded her. “You knew the code.”

  “God, Paige,” he said as he turned toward her. “That was crazy.”

  It was. She needed to stay away from him. Instead, she got closer every time, pulling him deeper and deeper inside her, until he became a part of her. She had thought she’d been strong to come here; she would have been stronger had she stayed away.

  “I should go,” she said, trying to sit up, but her limp muscles protested.

  And so did Ben, catching her around the shoulders and pulling her against his chest. He groaned, then murmured, “Not yet.”

  “I don’t think you have enough energy for another round,” she teased. When she snuggled closer, he groaned again, so she pulled back. Her eyes having adjusted to the darkness and not clouded with her passion for him, she finally noticed the redness around his ribs. “What happened to you?”

  “I’m fine.” He dismissed her concern.

  She pressed on his chest, and his handsome face twisted with a grimace. “You’re not fine.”

  “I don’t believe you when you claim it, either,” he said with a slight grin.

  As usual, he was trying to get the focus off himself, but she was having none of it this time. “What happened to you?”

  “It’s not a big deal,” he assured her. “I just had a little accident.”

  Like that voice inside her head, Sebastian’s words resonated with her: He would do anything to protect you…even risk his own life.

  “You got hurt trying to figure out who my stalker is,” she surmised.

  He laughed and shook his head. “I’m a surgeon—not a police officer. I’ll leave the investigating to your detective friend. What did Kate say? You must have called her last night to report what happened in your office.”

  She nodded.

  “So how is her investigation coming?”

  “She already has a suspect,” Paige admitted.

  “She does?”

  She smiled and kissed his chest. “You.”

  “Me?”

  She moved her head against his shoulder, nodding. “But don’t worry. You’re her suspect, not mine.”

  “That’s something, I guess.” He blew out a ragged breath, his pride obviously stinging. “Okay, I guess I can understand why she’d think that.”

  “But I don’t, Ben,” she assured him, pressing a kiss against his skin.

  His dark eyes flared with passion, and he rolled her onto her back. “Paige…” he murmured as his mouth dipped toward hers.

  But before he could kiss her, the beeper rattled on the nightstand, vibrating. “Damn!” he said, reaching for the device. He uttered a curse as he glanced at the screen. “I have to leave….”

  “That’s okay,” she said, despite her body’s protest. Her nipples had hardened, her clit pulsing, wet and ready for his possession. Again.

  “No, it’s not,” he said, his voice vibrating like the beeper had, but with frustration. “You’re here.”

  “Yes.” But she shouldn’t have come. Not to the house. Not to him. Because he never stayed with her—he was never there for her like he was for his patients. And she hated herself for being jealous of them. And she hated him a little for making her feel like that.

  His hands skimmed over her bare shoulders, over her breasts, his palms brushing across the hardened nipples. “And we need to talk about that.”

  “If you stayed,” she said, sliding her hand over his hip, to the part of him that was reawakening, hard and throbbing, “we wouldn’t be talking.”

  He chuckled. “Wait for me. Stay here.” He didn’t wait for her agreement, just jumped out of bed and grabbed his clothes from the floor.

  “Ben…”

  “Don’t leave.”

  As she watched him walk away from her again, she realized that he had never really belonged to her despite those vows they had taken.

  She was in less danger from her stalker than she was from Ben. If she fell for him again, as deeply as she had before, there wouldn’t be enough stitches to heal her wounds. Or her broken heart.

  Chapter 11

  Ringing echoed in Ben’s ear until, finally, the answering machine picked up his call home. Not Paige. Had she left already?

  God, if it had been any other patient needing him…

  Hell, he still would have left. He’d taken an oath, but despite that, this patient was special. As her lashes fluttered open, he shut his cell. “Hey, there, sweetheart, how are you feeling?”

  Weak. Even if he didn’t know how thready her pulse and how low her oxygen levels, he would have recognized the weakness in the way the little girl could barely lift her lids or the corners of her usually smiling mouth.

  Her blue eyes brightened as she recognized him, and she forced a smile and murmured, “G-g-good…”

  “Liar,” he gently accused her as he chucked her chin. His heart ached as he realized how fragile the child was. With her delicate build, she appeared younger than her nine-and-a-half years. But with all the surgeries she’d had to repair the birth defects to her heart, Adelaide Plumb had been through much more than people many years older than she was. “Where’s your mother?”

  “W-work…” But the child couldn’t hold his gaze as she answered him, and he suspected she was lying again. Her single mother was rarely around, often not showing up until after visiting hours were over. Because of work or something else?

  Ben suspected something else, but then, because of the secrets he’d learned and the way he’d grown up, he trusted no one.

  “I’ll catch up with your mother tonight,” he said. “You need your rest, so you can recover from this last surgery.” The one in which he’d repaired the hole in her heart. He resisted the urge, barely, to lean over and kiss her forehead as her eyes drifted closed again.

  With her blond curls and pale skin, she reminded him of Paige. After leaving her room, he took the elevator down to the office level and unlocked the door that opened directly into his offi
ce, bypassing the reception area.

  Groaning at the ache in his ribs, he dropped into the chair behind his desk and clicked the redial button on his cell. The phone rang and rang before the machine answered again.

  “Paige, if you’re there, pick up,” he said, then grimaced as he realized he was ordering her, just as he had ordered her to stay. Paige never responded well to being told what to do or not to do.

  She had probably already ignored his order for her to stay away from the club, too. But he needed to convince her that for her own safety, she could have nothing to do with Club Underground. At least with the sun shining brightly, streaking through the blinds at the office windows, he wasn’t too worried about her being out alone. But he hoped like hell she was lying in that bed, waiting for him and listening to his voice on the machine.

  “Paige…” God, he hated that he’d had to leave. His body hated him, too, tense with frustration despite what they’d done once. Once was never enough with Paige.

  “If you’re there, I’m sorry I had to leave,” he apologized. “We have to talk.”

  Not just make love. If he’d stayed, he wouldn’t have let her distract him again. Not after they’d made love one more time. “We really need to talk.”

  “I was thinking the same thing, Dr. Davison,” said a dark-haired woman as she rapped her knuckles against the open door of the private entrance. He could have sworn he’d locked it behind himself.

  Had she picked it like she’d tried to pick the lock of the door to the secret room in Club Underground? From the monitor screen, he recognized her dark hair and suit. She was the woman who’d been with Paige that night. But even if he hadn’t recognized her, he would have realized who she was from the cynicism in her hard stare.

  “Detective,” he greeted her as he clicked shut his cell phone.

  “Detective Wever,” she clarified, holding her badge out for his inspection.

  He took her hand, the one without the badge, and shook it. She had a firm grip, definitely a no-nonsense woman. “Detective Wever, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Sorry to interrupt your call,” she said, without a trace of apology. “I couldn’t help but notice that you seem a bit desperate to talk to your ex-wife.”

  “Paige warned me that I’m your number one suspect,” Ben said as he settled deeper into his chair. “I appreciate that you’re doing your job, but I don’t want you wasting your time.”

  Kate tilted her head as if assessing him. “I don’t waste my time.”

  Just his? A muscle twitched in his cheek, but he refused to let her rankle him. “That’s good. Then you’ll keep Paige safe.”

  She continued to study him, her blue eyes narrowed. “I intend to, by finding her stalker. I won’t stop…until I stop him…from hurting Paige again.”

  “That’s good.” Except that now Ben had someone else to worry about because the relentless detective would undoubtedly uncover the secret that would get her killed.

  “You don’t sound that convinced,” Kate observed. The woman was shrewd.

  “I’m concerned,” he assured her. “I’m worried about my wife.”

  “Your ex-wife,” Kate reminded him.

  “Right,” he agreed, although he wondered if he would ever be able to think of Paige that way. God knew, for his sanity, he had to learn. He had to adjust to their being divorced.

  “Don’t you think of her as an ex?” the detective persisted, as if she’d read his mind. “Or do you still think of her as yours?”

  He laughed. “Mine? I never thought of Paige as mine. You’re her friend. You should know that Paige belongs only to herself. No one owns her.”

  The detective’s blue eyes widened, as if she were impressed. “You’ve certainly evolved, Doctor.”

  “What?” He had no clue what she was talking about.

  “Some men struggle with the issue of ownership.”

  She had to be talking about men she’d met while investigating cases of stalking or domestic abuse. Nothing personal. He couldn’t imagine any man ever thinking he owned her.

  “I own my car and my house. Nothing else, Detective,” he said. Hell, he couldn’t even call his life his own because of the damn secret society.

  “Any other women in your life who might take exception to Paige still being part of it?” the detective asked, pen poised above her little spiral pad.

  He ran a hand through his hair, wondering who was asking this question, the detective or the friend. “No.”

  “You hesitated, Doctor.”

  “Ben,” he reminded her, then sighed wearily. He’d never gotten that sleep he’d wanted because he’d wanted something else more. “I hesitated because my complete answer won’t reassure you about my intentions regarding Paige.”

  “Why not?”

  He sighed, hating to make this admission more because of his pride than how it made him look as a suspect. “I haven’t been with another woman since the divorce.”

  “Why, Ben?” she asked.

  He didn’t have to answer her question, because he knew he was talking to the friend now, not the detective. But he felt compelled to admit, “I would have felt like I was cheating on my wife.”

  Her blue eyes warming, she said, “That answer doesn’t raise my suspicions, Ben.”

  “We’re divorced. Being faithful to my ex-wife doesn’t make me sound crazy?” Now he wanted the reassurance. He didn’t have friends like Paige had. He only had Sebastian, whom Ben resented more than he trusted. And he couldn’t risk anyone else finding out the secret he had to keep.

  She smiled. “Nope, you sound like a man in love.”

  His heart clenched. Ironic that he could fix everyone else’s heart but his own. Only Paige could fix his. “So does that take me off the suspect list or leave me at the top?”

  Even though her smile didn’t slip, she shook her head. “Stalkers are usually in love with their victims.”

  He couldn’t deny that he was in love with Paige. But he knew that whoever threatened her life had no love for her—only hate.

  As the door creaked open to total darkness, Paige sucked in a startled breath. She should have been used to Sebastian closing the blinds to block out all sunlight, so that he could sleep during the day and spend his nights wide awake. But it was so dark that she tripped over something strewn across the hardwood floor. She flipped on the light switch, then gasped. Everything had been overturned—every piece of furniture, every book from the shelves. Only shattered fragments remained of porcelain trinkets and vases.

  “Sebastian!”

  He stumbled out of his room; it wasn’t legally a bedroom, as it had no windows. She had intended to use it as a den, but then Sebastian had needed a place to stay, claiming he’d lost the lease on his loft. She suspected that he’d actually been worried about her being alone after she’d divorced Ben. He hadn’t had reason for his concern. Then.

  “What the hell…?” he murmured, rubbing at his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” she asked anxiously.

  He blinked away the last of his sleep and met her gaze. “Yeah, yeah…”

  “What happened here?”

  He expelled a ragged breath. “Eh, would you believe a wild party?”

  “No.” Maybe when he’d first showed up at her door nearly ten years ago, but while it wasn’t apparent that he’d physically aged—he took after their father in that respect, he had grown maturity-wise. He had not taken after their father in that respect. Or so she’d thought. “What happened?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. It was like this when I got back from dropping you off at Ben’s. Did Ben bring you back here?”

  She shook her head. “I called a cab.”

  Anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Ben wouldn’t drive you home?”

  “He had to leave.”

  Sebastian nodded with understanding; he’d always been more accepting of the demands on Ben’s time than she had ever been. “So he called you a cab?”

  “Actually, h
e asked me to stay until he got back,” she admitted. Stepping over all her personal property strewn around the living room, she shuddered and wished now that she had.

  Sebastian shook his head. “But instead of staying, you called a cab?”

  “I…I thought it was hypocritical of him,” she explained, “to want me to stay when he never does.”

  “Paige—”

  “I don’t want to talk about Ben. I want to talk about what happened here.” She glanced back to the door. “Were we broken into?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I stopped back last night before going to the club. I might have forgotten to put the alarm back on.”

  “And you forgot to lock the door?”

  He pushed his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking….”

  She couldn’t be a hypocrite herself and berate him for his lapse when she’d just had one of her own. She never should have gone back to that house, back to Ben. But, remembering what they’d done in their old bed, her body tightened with frustration over their not doing it again and proved her a liar. She should have waited for him to come back from the hospital and finish what else they’d started.

  But she hadn’t been able to stay alone in that house, not any longer, not without the memories strangling her. How could he continue to live there? Maybe he didn’t remember as much as she did; maybe he didn’t care as much.

  “You should call Ben,” Sebastian said.

  “W-why?”

  “He’ll want to know that you got home safely,” he said then sighed again. “And he’ll want to know about this…”

  She shook her head. “There’s nothing Ben can do here. I need to call the police instead.”

  “Call Ben, too,” Sebastian urged.

  “He was wrong,” she pointed out. “He thinks I’m only in danger at the club.”

  He hadn’t been alone in that belief, though. She had thought so, too. But as she stared at the destruction of her living room—at the violation of her privacy—she lifted trembling fingertips to the bandage on her throat. And she realized that it didn’t matter where she was—at Club Underground or home—she was in danger.