One To Watch (Fantasy Heights) (7 page)

She herself had suckled and experimented with clamps on captives. Arousal rolled through her belly as she thought about it, and the things that could happen on this set over the next half hour.

The
thoughts led to a heated daydream starring Thomas, only to be interrupted by a staffer entering the set. Eric Hernandez. He did double duty between observer and performer. She’d worked with him before. Very staid. Very responsible. She would be glad to have him on set with so many other staffers around.

“Oh, good,” she said. “Are you observing?”

“Not officially. Few too many staffers on this set. Thomas pitched a fit, so Josh called in a favor.”

Somehow, that did not surprise her in the least.

“You’ll need to get set,” Eric told her. “It’s almost time.”

She took up position and leaned forward to let Eric secure her hands.

That done, she spread her knees farther apart while Eric slipped two thick black bands over her head. One went over her mouth and the other over her eyes. With the gag and blindfold in place, she settled back again to wait.

“Ready?” he asked.

She tugged the restraints to test their strength. Good enough. They’d hold, long as she didn’t get too carried away.

After she nodded, she heard the shallow
snick
when Eric swiped and clicked on a smartphone screen to give the all clear.

Half a minute later, Amanda heard another captive arrive with guards and handmaidens. This was her cue to struggle and pretend to dread whatever ‘torture’ awaited her at the hands of the savage’s minions.

She wriggled and yanked at the restraints as someone, she had no idea who, took hold of one of her breasts and drew the nipple into a warm, wet mouth. Only for a moment. Next came the smell and feel of warm oil poured between her shoulder blades. It dripped down and over her ribs.

Male. Her minion was definitely a man. The first touch of his hands lit twin fires in her nipples. The warm oil. His hands were coated. The feel of it intensified everything, and her tormentor was not shy about making himself at home on her skin. His hands spread the oil, kneading, grasping, igniting. He pinched and rolled her nipples, and squeezed her breasts. The rhythmic stroking and warmth of contact were hypnotic.

When he began to drip oil again, this time onto the small of her back, it flowed between her buttocks and over her pussy. At the same time, she heard the familiar sounds of the other captive being manhandled into the blindfold and restraints. Then she didn’t have to worry so much about putting on a show. The other captive wouldn’t be able to see her for a while, only hear whatever sounds she made. Now she would let her staffer have his fun with his part in the fantasy.

Drip after drip. More oil. Divine, the way his hands followed lines of muscle. And then he began to stroke her pussy with his whole hand, making big, wide circles.

Maddening. Wonderful.

When a second pair of hands joined in, a woman’s this time, Amanda could hardly stand it. She could feel herself panting, air rushing in and out. She was completely awash in desire as the smaller, more delicate hands kneaded her breasts and pulled at her nipples.

Incendiary. She wasn’t sure if it was the gravity pulling extra circulation to nerve endings or the oiled hands or some combination of the two, but she’d like to slide right off that bench into a puddle of pure ecstasy.

From the other bench nearby, she heard a series of high-pitched, ecstatic cries. Orgasm. The other captive had already succumbed. Not to Thomas, though. She hadn’t heard him come on set yet.

Her male minion’s hands stalled while the other captive continued to cry out, his attention clearly stolen by the show.

Later, she would realize her female masseuse had waited for just such a distraction to lean in close and issue a warning. “They have plans for you. All of them. And there are no white hats around here. Leave before they steal your life.”

The hands and the whisperer departed. Amanda began to writhe in earnest. She had to get free and stop that woman. Chances were the warning was a practical joke. Or maybe not. Either way, a wretchedly cold fury had her by the throat. She was so sick and tired of being caught off guard. By a coworker, no less. How dare anyone approach her when she was restrained and utterly defenseless?

Her male minion, unfortunately, mistook her struggles for an attention grab. When he began to tickle her clit and rub a knuckle against her anus, a cold blade of panic sliced across her belly. Not now. She didn’t want to be touched right now. Nothing could pull her back into the performance. Nothing.

She screamed behind the gag and all hell broke loose. Thomas might not have made it into the act yet but he’d been in the greenroom. The door crashed against the wall. He yelled. Demanded someone unbuckle the wrist restraints. Hands yanked and pulled at the straps while Thomas’s angry voice grew closer and closer until he was finally there to haul her off the bench.

He got one arm behind her knees and the other behind her shoulders. Still blindfolded, she tried to tell him she was fine, that she needed to find someone, but he swept her up anyway. Trapped again, she tore the blindfold off and craned and contorted around Thomas in the hopes she might catch a glimpse of a woman trying to sneak off set.

All she saw was an enraged Thomas snarling at everyone. “Get back. Get the fuck away from her.”

Next he barked orders to clear the set, leaving a shocked silence in their wake as he took long strides toward the greenroom. Once inside, he deposited her into a chair and crouched down to stare her in the eyes. Examining. Assessing.

She stared back, hooking a finger over the gag and dragging it down. She hoped he didn’t expect an explanation of what happened out there. She wouldn’t even know where to begin.

He broke first. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No. No, I just…”

She stammered out a couple reassurances, taking firm hold of his forearms. He was so hard to talk to, especially now, when something in his eyes reminded her of a held breath.

For some reason, it set her off. She was so tired of the distance he enforced between them. She needed to stab through that eternally impenetrable disguise of his. Hurt him. Hit him hard enough to get his attention.

“Saturday night,” she said. “When we got home from the wedding, Fiona Cornell was waiting in my house.”

No reaction. Not so much as a flinch or a blink.

She couldn’t believe it. Didn’t breaking and entering rate even a raised eyebrow anymore?

She asked, “You have nothing to say?”

“Plenty, but it can wait.” His features remained empty. Impossible to guess what he might be thinking or feeling. Except a bit of heat bled through into his voice when he spoke again. “First I want to know why you didn’t tell anyone.”

That was absolutely the last straw. She shouted. “I tried! I called you. Twice.”

“Uh, no. You didn’t call until Tuesday after your run-in with Warnous’s ex-wife, which you also failed to mention to Josh or Steph or anyone who could do anything about it.”

“What? You. You’re mad at me for keeping something to myself. That’s… That’s just one for the unfair record books, right there. ”

“Don’t you dare start this fight. Not now. Not after scaring me half to death.”

“Scared? This is what you’re like when you’re scared?”

“Don’t.”

“Too late. The fight is started. How do you think it feels to be left fumbling around in the dark? That I don’t have the answers to anything? Like about the scars on your side or the ‘thing’ that made you get a haircut, or mystery clients and their flammable notes? Or the reason you and Marla are always at each other’s throats. Or the big one that I know Josh already told you, about the fight I overheard between you and Steph about someone dangerous at Fantasy Heights. It’s hard, Thomas. It’s really, really hard to trust you. Any of you.”

He shook his head. “Oh, please. I’m not Josh. To me, there’s a difference between liking someone and trusting them. Trust is earned, Amanda. You haven’t earned the right to know the answers to the questions you’re asking. Not yet. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll tell me what Fiona wanted.”

It didn’t matter that she was mad enough to spit. He had backed her into an impossible corner. If she refused to explain, he would have more excuse than ever not to trust her. “She wanted me to search Josh’s name on the Internet.”

Thomas went very still, and for all his poker-faced control, his jaw and eyes could go quite slack when surprised. “Tell me you’re not serious. Tell me you did not run that search.”

“I did. Not right away. Your buddy, my mystery client, talked me into it.”

Thomas bit down on the inside of his cheek and went very still again. His eyes focused on some inward point, wandering left and right and back again while he thought something through.

After a decade or two he spoke again. “Out on the set. What happened?”

She repeated the woman’s whispered words as best she could remember.

“No white hats,” Thomas repeated. “Ain’t that the truth. Now I need you to listen to me, Amanda. Fiona just yanked open one of the biggest doors I warned you about, and everything and everyone is conspiring to push you over the threshold. But I was being totally straight with you when I said that once you go through…”

“There’s no going back.”

“No going back.” He rested his elbows on his knees, looking her dead in the eye. “And before that happens, there’s something you ought to know. If you ever use what you learned against Josh in any way, you’re finished. I will end you. Done. Over.”

She waited for him to say more. To crack one of his cynical jokes.

When it didn’t come, she blinked. Sat up straight. By God, he was serious. She didn’t know whether to be hurt or terrified. His eyes were so cold, so forceful. So convincing.

A chill skittered like a thousand spiders down her back. Thomas left no room for doubt that he could and would hold up his end of that threat.

But on the heels of that realization came a righteous anger. “That’s nice, Thomas. Really. But you have no one to blame but yourself. When I asked questions, I wasn’t trying to impose. I just wanted enough information to defend myself, but no, that broke your damn rules. And you know what? I have half a mind to go home right now and search the name Thomas Bishop. What might I find? And would there be anyone showing up to threaten me over your history?”

Amused contempt pulled at the corner of his eyes. “You are so far out of your league.”

That did it. She was finished with this. Finished with him. She got up, nearly knocking him over, cramming her arms into robe sleeves, and her feet into sandals.

Steph might still be on site. Only one way to find out. She’d head straight to the office and have herself reassigned so she never had to work with that asshole, ever again.

Fury acted as a strong repellant while she stormed back to wardrobe, showered off the oil, and steamed her way toward the quad. No one dared come close, let alone make eye contact too long.

She liked it. She liked the way people steered clear, and for once in her life she would not apologize for making someone else uncomfortable. It was survival of the fittest in this place, and clearly, good manners could be fatal.

Closing in on ten o’clock, the offices were mostly empty. The only one around was a cleaner who said Steph and Robert Warnous had headed over to the Hall for rehearsal about an hour ago. “They’re usually done long before now.”

Still blazing, Amanda hurried back to the quad. The Hall was dark. No lights on outside, but that didn’t stop her. She marched around to the stage door. Still open. The back hallway lights were out, too. She could hear something in the direction of the backstage doorway.

She was mere steps away from the door when the sound registered and stopped her cold in her tracks.

Crying. Someone was crying.

She frowned. Rehearsal, maybe? Or a fantasy underway?

Now grimacing, but curious, she walked softly the last few steps to peer through the door. All she could see at first were the footlights, bright as sunlight in the otherwise darkened theater. And then her eyes began to adjust.

At first, she couldn’t quite comprehend what she was seeing: Steph with her curly black hair, wrists and ankles bound, sitting awkwardly to one side of a post someone had set up mid-stage. Bound to the post was Robert Warnous. His hands were high above his head, hanging motionless. Knees slack.

And then she saw Gail Warnous. The older woman crouched over a ring of candles on the stage near Robert’s feet.

Steph. Steph was crying. Weeping.

Not an act. Not a rehearsal. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Amanda’s mind cranked a thousand miles per second. She hadn’t been seen. Resort security might be busy dealing with their boss’s removal, but that was good. Nearly the whole force was on site. If she could just sneak outside and get a call through, they could come save the day.

Everything will be okay, she told herself. Breathe. Be quiet, and breathe.

She turned, silent, and nearly screamed when a dark form rushed up out of nowhere.

Thomas.

He took hold of her upper arm. “You coward! You head right for Steph. Ready to quit. Well forget it. You’re—”

She silenced him the only way she could, by slapping her hand over his mouth.

He reared back and grabbed her wrist.

“Stop,” she hissed, knowing it was no use. There was no way Gail could have missed the racket he made.

She pushed him. Hard. “Run. Run, Thomas. Go call security.”

Even in the dark she could see Thomas’s eyes narrow. “Why? What’s going…”

He didn’t finish.

From over her shoulder, Amanda saw a gun emerge, pointing straight toward Thomas’s face.

A moment later, Amanda felt a hand clench into her hair, pulling her backward and down.

It surprised her, how badly it hurt to be pulled by the hair. A bright, hot pain drilled through her skull. Her knees reflexively buckled and she crouched, trying to alleviate the pain.

Thomas spoke first. “Gail, let her go. She has nothing to do with this.”