Sweet Backlash (11 page)

"That's really screwed up. What if
something happens to Velma? Or worse, what if they break up and he
decides he hates her?" It sounded too much like a criminal case
study he'd done in law school, and it made him nervous as
hell.

"Then I'm pretty much mincemeat." She
added the chopped celery to the chicken and sprinkled
spices.

"How can you be so calm?" Sometimes
she seemed made of stone.

"What am I supposed to do about
it?"

"Put out a restraining order. Stop
going to the meetings and associating with him. Move, for God's
sake." Why was he so upset about this?

She cast him a glance and cocked an
eyebrow. "Come on, Mr. Lawyer. With a criminal like Frank? His
disposition? You know those things aren't going to stop him. Think
about it for a second. Did you tell him what hotel you're staying
in? What room? I sure don't know, so I didn't tell him."

He was an idiot. "I gave him my
name."

"Yep. That's all he needs. I guarantee
he'll show up here with all your stuff, professionally packed, like
some hit man slash traveling bellhop. He'll never say a word about
it, because it's nothing to him. So unless I change my hair color,
undergo reconstructive surgery on my face, gain thirty pounds, and
enter the Witness Protection Program, I'm a dead woman if he
decides I am." She added mayonnaise and stirred the contents of the
bowl with a steady hand.

"And none of this bothers you?" He
couldn't believe it.

"Yes, it bothers me. I didn't get so
good with that whip for nothing. Every time I practice with it, I
know a day may come when I have to use it to defend my life. I'm a
crack shot with my pistol, too. I keep it in my bedroom. I go to
the firing range on the boulevard every week. No, I can't run from
Frank if he decides to come after me. I can't run from any man. I'm
ready to fight."

She had obviously spent a lot of time
thinking about it, and at least she prepared for the possibility.
He could only look at her. He didn't know what had happened to make
her this way. Her sweet beauty and natural poise had captured his
attention, but her strength and determination now held it, and
impressed him. "Is that lunch?"

"Mm-hmm. Hope you like chicken salad.
Are you hungry?"

"Starving. Let me get dressed and I'll
join you." He went into the so-called playroom and looked around.
He remembered trying to get the cloth on that morning but couldn't
seem to get it out of a twisted wad. What did she do with it? Then
he saw it on a shelf with her coiled whip and a cat-o-nine. Taking
the brown material, he tucked his thumbs in the waistband and held
it up. Anger immediately rushed him in a wave, making him stagger a
step. Scrunching it in one hand, he marched to the kitchen and
thrust it toward her face. "You can't take me to get my car in
this… this… thong!"

Melony found the handle of the knife
and grasped it in a killer grip. This was the moment she had waited
for. Chip's anger came off him in radioactive waves, brushing
against her and making the hairs stand on the back of her neck.
Shaking the loincloth in her face, he appeared ready to grab her
around the throat.

Her heart pounded, and she slid the
knife closer. She should've trusted her instinct and kept him
restrained. Now that he roamed free, he could do whatever he
wanted.

"Who said anything about getting your
car today?" she asked, despising the quaver in her
voice.

He tossed the loincloth onto the
island, turned and paced to the dinette. He slapped a palm to his
forehead. "First Frank practically strangles me, then you kidnap me
and whip me. I've lost my freedom, my car, and now I'm about to
lose my hotel room."

"You haven't lost your
car."

He turned on his heel and threw his
arms wide, his biceps and chest muscles rippling. "My God, Melony.
Put yourself in my place."

Nobody had ever asked her to do that.
For a second, she imagined how she would feel if she stood in only
a towel in his apartment, with no clothes, no car, and having spent
the night in cuffs and the morning tied up while he had his way
with her. She released the knife and looked at him with new eyes.
The man took all this with a far better attitude than she would.
Under such circumstances, she would likely fight. Get violent. The
one thing she feared most from him. The one reaction he hadn't
had.

"I'm sorry," she offered, the words
falling far short of the apology due him.

"You're sorry?" He seemed insulted,
but he dropped his arms and came to her. Cupping her face in his
hands, he gave her the soft, mysterious look that had affected her
earlier. "Are you? Really?"

"Yes," she whispered, appalled by her
treatment of him. Tears stung behind her eyes and she blinked.
"You're right."

He smiled gently. "Nice of you to
admit it. I know how hard it was for you."

He made fun? She couldn't comprehend
him. "How can you joke?"

"Because I forgive you. I don't
forgive Frank, but I forgive you. Now, how are we going to make
this better?"

She couldn't look at him with his eyes
all kind and sweet that way. It was like staring right into the
sun. "How about we eat and talk about this?"

"Fine. I'm not putting that thing on."
He released her face and frowned at the offending cloth. Carrying
the bowl, loaf of bread, and head of lettuce from the counter, he
followed her to the table.

Melony pulled the cord at the window,
lifting the pleated shade and flooding the room with bright
sunshine. Setting two placemats on the table, she glanced at Chip.
"Are you warm enough? I can turn up the heat."

"I've been naked since what? Eight
o'clock last night? I'm getting used to it." Putting the food in
the table's center, he added, "I'm comfortable."

"Just let me know." Melony set out two
plates, forks, and napkins, then sat.

"What do you want to drink?" Curling
his fingers over the back of a chair, he leaned forward and
waited.

She couldn't help but admire the
flexed muscles of his neck and shoulders in that pose. The amused
glint in his eye was contagious. "Now, there you go. Finally,
you're sounding like my slave. My training must be working." She
struggled to keep a smile from her lips.

He studied her, wary and still
waiting. Then a slow grin spread across his mouth. "You better
watch it, pretty lady, or I'll make you get your own
drink."

Laughing, she nodded toward the
refrigerator. "I'll have a can of lemonade."

Going into the kitchen, he sent her a
horrified glance. "Canned lemonade. Woman, if you like lemonade,
you have to try mine. We've got to make a trip to the grocery
store. I'll push the cart so Frank's spies can report that I'm
being a good little slave."

"First, you offer to cook breakfast,
now you want to make lemonade. This living arrangement might work
out nicely for me, after all." Accepting the can from him, she
asked, "You willing to go to the store dressed like
that?"

"Hell, no. How long do you think Frank
will take to get my things from the hotel?" Chip took a seat
opposite her.

"No telling," she said, shredding
lettuce onto her place with her fingers. "I'm sure it'll be today,
though. Velma's working, so he doesn't have anything else to
do."

"How do you know he doesn't have a job
to do for the 'bad men,' as you call them?"

"Velma says he doesn't do that stuff
here in town. Too close to home. He goes out of town for his work."
She spooned chicken salad onto the lettuce and leaned down for a
sniff.

He gave her a funny look. "Why are you
smelling it? You just made it."

Thinking about it for a second, she
shrugged. "I don't know. I always sniff my food. Don't give me that
look. You sniffed your strawberry this morning."

He barked a laugh. "I sure did, didn't
I?" Sandwiching his chicken salad between two slices of bread, he
grew serious. "So what now?"

"Well, slave—"

"Don't even start."

"Okay, okay." She liked the banter,
but conceded they had matters to discuss. "Frank's not going to
give us an inch, so we'll have to be careful. I'll admit, we're
entering new territory for me."

Swallowing a bite, he asked, "What do
you mean?"

"You're only my second inductee.
George, the partner I just broke up with, had a wife and kids, so
we had to break his month into week-long
business trips
, if
you know what I mean."

Chip nodded, chewing. "This is
delicious, by the way," he said around the food in his
mouth.

"Thanks. Anyway, when he stayed, he
liked wearing his loincloth and sleeping cuffed to the bar. He
stayed here in the apartment the whole time. So it was easy. I'd
lock my bedroom, give him a list of chores, and punish him for
being a bad slave when I got home from work. You, however, present
a whole slew of problems."

"I definitely can't stay here in a
loincloth. I'm officially starting a new job Monday. And I'm not
sleeping in the torture chamber."

"Playroom," she corrected. "Besides,
that's my point. You've got to have your freedom to come and go.
You're not my slave, and I'm not going to try to treat you like
one. The dilemma is how we're going to make Frank think we're in
play."

"Right. Let's kick around some ideas."
He popped the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and began making a
second.

Not sure how he would take it, she
suggested, "For a start, I think I should drive us
everywhere."

"I'm not leaving my car at that
warehouse," he said.

She waved her fork in the air, a piece
of chicken suspended on the tines. "I'm not saying you should.
We'll go get it first thing in the morning, while Frank's sleeping
off tonight's beer binge. You can park it in my other reserved
space."

"Sounds good to me. I'll just tell
everyone I'm carpooling with you because my car's in the
shop."

Impressive. "Ooh, good one. I like the
way your mind works."

A thoughtful crease formed between his
eyebrows. "How do we convince Frank I'm playing submissive outside
of your apartment?"

"A leash." Melony braced, waiting for
his yell.

He didn't disappoint her. "What? No.
I'm not putting that collar back on. That was humiliating. I sure
as hell am not going to let you lead me into the office building on
a leash."

"It wouldn't be like that. I've got a
neckband with an easy clasp. You can put it on and take it off by
yourself. We'll only use it here, in the apartment parking lot. I
don't know what to do about work. Maybe I can drop you off then
park."

"That's a different story. I still
don't like the idea, but it's better than being hunted by Frank. As
for work, you can park in the garage that's attached to the back of
the building, like I did yesterday."

That wouldn't work. "I'm not eligible
to park in the garage for another two years."

He waved a dismissive hand. "No
problem. I'll go see Debra Monday morning and tell her you'll be
staying late to work on trial prep for me, and I don't want you
walking to the public lot because the buses stop running at five
o'clock."

"Five-thirty," she said.

"Whatever. It's still not safe for you
to walk around downtown after hours."

"It's still not a good idea. How do
you think the staff is going to react if I'm driving you to and
from work and getting special treatment? I've got to work with
those people. We all contribute to different aspects of these
cases, and if they view me as the enemy, I'm not going to get the
help I need to prep your trials." Her position with the litigation
staff already teetered. She didn't need the other departments black
listing her, too.

He frowned. "I didn't think of
that."

"Welcome to the world of staff
relations. It sucks." Keeping her eyes on her plate, she pushed
food around and hoped he didn't see how much the women's censure
hurt her.

"The law firm where I worked in Boston
was small. Three partners, two associates, our secretaries, and a
handful of support staff. I guess I have some things to learn." He
thought for a minute, then suggested, "What about using my parking
pass? Can we do that?"

She couldn't think of any reason why
not. "Sure. That way, unless Frank actually follows us into the
garage, he can't see us go inside. You won't need the
leash."

"That's the plan, then." He finished
his second sandwich and asked, "Do you have room for my suits in
your closet?"

Instantly on guard, she narrowed her
eyes and said, "My room's off limits. You're sleeping on the sofa
bed."

"Why? What's wrong with your bedroom?"
His brows drew down at an angle, and he set his lips in a hard
line.

"There's nothing wrong with it." Why
did he have to put her on the defensive? Why couldn't he just
accept her rule? Then again, she was learning he seemed to question
everything. "Nobody goes in there but me."