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He closed his eyes, no doubt remembering the night in Roy’s dining room. Or his two months of monitoring the cameras in the stockroom. Or maybe he was reliving her first appointment with the Dom in Shreveport. He’d been adamant about remaining in the room during the scene. She was certain he regretted it, because he never attended another one, and her bondagetherapycontinued to be a driving wedge between them.

His eyes were closed for so long, she kicked his shin under the table. “Look at me.”

He did, with torment-glazed eyes, and their hands joined at the center of the table. Her relationship with him was a complex tangle of revenge and preservation. She suspected he loathed her and cared about her in equal measures. Noah saved his life in Afghanistan, and now Nathan had found a way to repay him by protecting her. Nothing she could say would deter him.

She rubbed a thumb over his. “I have so little control over my life. I need this.” She needed to control when to be shackled, to name the limits, and to speak the safe word to stop it. So she paid the Nathan-vetted Doms to give her that. “I need those few hours of power. I know you understand this.”

He let out a breath. “You’re resilient, you know that?”

“I’m a survivor.” If she kept telling herself that, maybe she would be at the end of this.

“I look at you every day and wonder how you do it, how you don’t break down under—” He squeezed her hands, swallowed “—under it. So if these appointments help you hold it together…”

She nodded. He understood the reasons she gave. What he didn’t need to know was she used the physical pain to push her past her emotional barriers. When arousal tormented her, relief could only come from a choking restraint, the cut of a cane, the dry penetration of a cock. The notion was shameful, but each visit with a Dom guided her closer toward acceptance of her fucked-up desires.

“I need to run a full investigation on this Duke guy again.”

“Of course.” She straightened his fingers in her hand, tried to smooth out the tension there.

“And I’ll be there. Right outside the room.” His mouth twitched, and it could’ve been mistaken for a smile. She knew it was nerves.

The front door swung open and the whoosh of motoring traffic filtered in, followed by the footsteps of multiple people. The restaurant broke out in excited screams.

“We need to go.” Nathan dug out his wallet.

Her pulse spiked as she twisted in the booth. A crowd had gathered around the new-comers, blocking the view. Was it them? Had to be. A chill spread through her, and perspiration surfaced on her breastbone. How would she approach them without showing her face? Her plan hadn’t gone further than steering Nathan to the restaurant.

A man climbed atop the table at the center of the commotion, his head rising above the throngs of women. Chunks of hair spiked over his large sunglasses. He shoved two fingers in his mouth and whistled. “Good evening, wonderful patrons ofEl Sabor Outpost. My buddies and I have a wager going, if you’ll be so kind as to oblige us. You see, they are questioning my mojo.”

Women hooted around him, hiding his lower half, but the jerk of his shoulders implied he was thrusting his hips.

She bent around the high back booth, craning her neck. “Let’s just wait it out.”

“No fucking way.” He ground his teeth, flicking his eyes in every direction, and waved at the server. “Check, please.”

Laz Bromwell, lead fucking guitarist, bounced on the table to peek over the crowd. “My friends don’t think I can get a date with the most beautiful woman in this restaurant. My manhood demands I take that bet. What do you say?”

The women screamed and jumped up and down. Charlee’s heart mimicked in kind.

Camera phones waved in the air. Dammit. Fuck. She flattened a hand beside her face to hide her features and met Nathan’s wild eyes. “This isn’t so bad.” Holy shit. Oh fuck, he was never going to forgive her for this.

“We’re going to slip down that aisle on the far side and out through the kitchen.” He threw a wad of cash on the table, grabbed her hand and hauled her from the booth. “Do not look at him.”

Shit. She couldn’t leave. Not without making contact with Jay. Where was he? She arched her neck, couldn’t see through the horde of people.

Nathan tugged her toward the door. “Look. The. Other. Way.”

Laz surveyed the room, making a show of eyeing each woman with his charming smile. Two others joined him on the table. The bald drummer, Rio Ketch and surfer boy bassist, Wil Sima. Where the hell was Jay?

She dragged her feet, her heart sinking.

Three pairs of well-known eyes locked on hers. Her heart sprinted into a marathon, urging her to run, but her legs were paralyzed. She didn’t know what had led Jay Mayard into her shop three years earlier, but this possibility of seeing him again might be the only one she’d ever get. She couldn’t walk away.

18

An arm wrapped around Charlee’s midsection, lifted her, and carried her toward the kitchen.

“Wait.” She bucked against the unbreakable hold. At twenty-five years old, she could behave like a swooning fan just like the squealing girls across the room. He didn’t need to know her true intentions. “I want to meet them.”