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I showed her the bowl, but she ignored it, snuggling deeper into my couch. “So tired. Call good luck.”
She tried to sit up, then laid back down again. I dabbed her head with the cool towel, but she was falling back to sleep. “Tomorrow,” she said on a quiet breath. “Good luck.” A minute later, her eyelids resumed twitching as she relaxed into dreamland.
Great. Because of my heroics, I was going to miss my much-needed stress release with Allie. I texted my friends that I wouldn’t be showing, then stood over Jewels with my hands on my hips. The dark look in my eyes would have sent any of my Gallery submissives into a panic, but the woman on my couch took no notice. Her fingers fell open beside her messed-up curls as she let out a faint snore.
Chapter Two: Juliet
Iwoke slowly,reluctantly, with sore eyes and a throbbing head. I reached to rub my temple but my hand wouldn’t move. Oh God, neither hand would move. A large, dark-haired man shifted beside me at the same moment I realized my hands were cuffed to an unfamiliar headboard.
Who was he? Where was I?What had I done?
Memories of the night before darted through my aching brain: a trip from Fort Greene to my ex-Dom’s neighborhood, to his favored BDSM club. I’d lingered beside the bar while I watched for him, ordering cocktails for courage. I’d drunk too much too fast, hating myself every moment, knowing I shouldn’t have been there. I’d wandered outside, not knowing what to do, or how to feel better. And then…
Nothing. Blank space. I didn’t know.
I pulled on the cuffs, trying to clear the bleariness from my eyes. The man beside me turned over and blinked, awakened by my frenzied pulling. His lips parted in a yawn and then closed again as our gazes held. I forgot my headache and dry throat, and opened my mouth to scream.
He lunged before I could do it, clapping a hand over my lips. His muscular body settled half on top of mine. I shook my head while making urgent mewls against his palm.Please, please don’t kill me. Please let me go.
“Calm down,” he said, and his voice was as gravelly and scary as I expected it to be. My senses were heightened as I took in his expression, his dark hazel eyes, his angular jaw, his slightly curved lips. His hand tightened over my mouth, and I understood something with terrible clarity: He liked that I was about to pass out from fear.
“Deep breaths,” he said. His gaze was intent, direct, and unsettling. “I’ll let you go, but you can’t scream. I’m a friend.”
A friend? I stared at his face, but I didn’t know him. His body was still pressed against mine, and his fingers flexed over my lips.
“Can I let you go now?” he asked.
I shook my head yes, then no. I was too scared to think.
“For real, calm down,” he said, watching my eyes dart back and forth. “I’m telling you the truth. I’m a good guy. No screaming and thrashing, okay?”
So he’d noticed my legs poised to kick him off me. I noticed something too—my socks were still on, as well as my underwear and clothes, and he was dressed also, in a t-shirt and sleep pants. I did a quick body check, and besides my splitting headache, I wasn’t hurting. He hadn’t done anything bad to me—yet. Maybe he wasn’t a serial killer.
Please don’t let him be a serial killer.His eyes looked too human for that. My panicked panting slowed to reasonable breaths, and I nodded to let him know he could stop holding me down, that I wasn’t going to scream. My mouth felt so dry, I didn’t think I could scream even if I wanted to, and I couldn’t attack him, because both my wrists were cuffed to his bed. He slowly moved his hand from my mouth, and when I didn’t start shrieking, he eased sideways and sat up.
“Who are you?” I asked, pulling again at the cuffs. They were actual, real bondage cuffs, constructed so I couldn’t fumble open the buckles. That amused glint came into his eyes again, as he saw me realize my plight.
“My name’s Forsyth St. Clair.” He shook one of my cuffed hands. “I know, most pretentious name ever. My friends call me Fort. So, is your name Jewel, or Jewels? You were hard to understand last night.”
That made sense, considering I had no memory of our conversation…or anything else that might have occurred. “My name’s Juliet. Jules is a nickname.”
“Oh, J-u-l-e-s. Short for Juliet. I was picturing diamonds and rubies, those kinds of jewels.”
“No. Like Romeo’s Juliet, with one t.” I fell silent, wondering why I’d volunteered that information. What was I doing here? And why the hell hadn’t he uncuffed me yet?
I pushed down adrenaline. He wasn’t attacking me. I didn’t know him, but despite his size and his very effective wrist cuffs, I had no reason to believe he meant me harm. Still, there was a question I needed answered.
“Can you tell me what I’m doing in your bed, Fort? Did we…last night…”
“No. I’m not that kind of person, and this isn’t my bed, it’s the guest room bed.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry about the cuffs.” He didn’t actually look very sorry. “I put them on you last night before I fell asleep, because I didn’t know what you’d do when you woke up. And you’re in my guest room because I didn’t know where else to take you, aside from a hospital or police station. You were drunk last night, breaking down outside Underworld. Do you remember that?”
“Yes. Vaguely.” I pushed back my hair. “Not really. I mean, I remember that I was there.” I watched him as I spoke, scrutinizing him for any break in his expression, any lapse in his pleasant personality that might signal a maniac underneath.
Meanwhile, everything came back to me: the shots I’d done at home to shore up my courage, the trip on the subway, the dread and hope that I’d see Keith at Underworld and entice him back into our relationship. Why? So he could tear out my heart again? “I shouldn’t have gone to Underworld. I realize that now.”
