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“Do you have it?” I tried again to meet his gaze. Nope, too angry. “Do you have my phone…sir?”
“Yes, I have it.” My polite sir didn’t seem to assuage his fury. “I scrolled through two hundred blurry photos of Andrew and Craig wearing glow necklaces and drinking from penis tumblers to try to figure out where you ended up.”
“I’m so sorry. It was a double stag party. Things got wild.”
“I’m sorry too, because I had no idea what had happened to you. I was fucking worried, Chere. You could have been dead in a gutter somewhere. Hurt. Hit by a car. Kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped, in this day and age?” I joked weakly.
He bared his teeth. “Don’t be flip, you little fuck. It’s still a fucking thing, especially for someone who’s wealthy and hot as fuck, and owns a jewelry brand with a store on Park Avenue.”
It’s true that I was a pretty notable jewelry designer. Famous even. My spare, intricately crafted Starshine Originals had grown to be a favorite with Hollywood’s glitterati. I’d crafted my own engagement ring and wedding band, and the platinum band that shone on Price’s finger as he stood over me.
He held out a hand, the one with the ring. “Let’s go.”
I stared at that hand, just stared a moment. Once I took it, my ass was grass. This hand had tied me up, spanked me, caned me, choked me out for pleasure and punishment many times. But today, I’d be getting a punishment for sure.
“Are you sober enough to walk, or do I need to carry you?” he said when I didn’t move.
“I can walk, but it might have to be slow.”
I hated his anger, I feared it, but I didn’t worry he would hurt me. Well, really hurt me. I still didn’t look forward to the unpleasantness ahead.
I let him pull me up, then grabbed at his soft blue sweater as the room spun.
“Whoa, my brain is not okay. I’m never drinking again.”
“Drinking is fine, starshine. Getting blasted is the problem.”
He held me until my balance returned, then my head cleared a little and I could walk just fine. Oops, no, I couldn’t. He lifted me with a muttered curse and carried me through rooms littered with booze bottles, discarded clothing, and more glitter than I remembered. Oh, there was the sleeping stripper.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, burying my head against the side of his neck. He smelled wonderful, like he always did. I probably smelled not so good. I must have said that thought aloud because he growled, “You smell like a whiskey factory.”
“Can I take a bath when I get home?”
“Sure, baby. Right after I beat your ass.”
Damn. Well, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy a bath anyway, knowing a punishment was coming.
And a punishment was definitely coming. Kidnapping would have been better, now that I thought about it. Price’s punishments were worse than anything a kidnapper could do.
* * *
Chapter 2
Price
I carried Chere downstairs, out to the elevator, through the building’s quiet, well-appointed lobby, to my waiting car on the street. She knew better than to struggle, not when I had her in my you’re-about-to-be-punished death grip. My driver looked over his shoulder as I set her down in the back seat.
“You found her. That’s good.”
“It’s fucking great. Now comes the murder.”
He barked out a laugh, making the heart tattoo on his neck beat. “Aw, you wouldn’t want to do that, boss. Not to Mrs. Eriksen.”
I raised a brow. “But someone else would be okay?”
“No, boss. We don’t do murders, you and I, not unless people deserve it.”
