Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday morning, Drake considered the cell phone in his hand.
Last night on his way home when he’d detoured—again—to check Ray’s place, the lights in her house had been on. She’d returned. Was alive and safe at home. The relief had been indescribable.
Unfortunately, it’d been dark and far too late to knock on her door. Too much like a stalker, oui? No woman who lived alone would appreciate such behavior.
This morning, he’d had to check on construction of a new complex and then talk with his team of lawyers. He couldn’t stall them longer.
In the past couple of days, he’d been investigating the university BDSM club, the members—and the probable victims. Peter, Bob, and Alex had helped. Bear had abandoned his sheep ranch to spend time here, as well.
The picture they were uncovering was ugly.
Now for the next step. He wanted to meet with Blaize before seeing Ray.
With a grim smile, he pulled out his cell phone, selected Blaize from his contact list, and heard the ringing.
“Hey, Drake. Good to hear from you. Did you have more to add to what you told me Tuesday?”
Drake’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t thought about the taxes they’d discussed…at all. Yet it would be an excellent reason to get together. “Oui, I do have a few other concerns to address. Perhaps dinner tonight?”
“Damn, not tonight. I’m meeting another professor at eight at the Pink Door. But—are you spending the night at your condo? If my meeting doesn’t run late, I’ll give you a call, and we can have a drink together. Slave-girl will wait up if we run too late.”
Drake shook his head. He’d been willing to delay seeing Ray for a few hours; not for an entire evening. “I’m returning to Bainbridge before dark.” So he could swing by Ray’s. “Perhaps tomorrow at noon? Same place?”
“You’re on.”
As Drake pocketed his phone, his admin popped in. “Sir, your meeting starts in five minutes.”
He nodded and reluctantly switched his phone to silent, complying with his own orders for company meetings. “Thank you, Ms. Guldner.”
Two hours later, Drake walked back into his office. The meeting had felt interminable. At least now, he could check his calls and texts.
And there it was—a text from Ray. His fingers gripped the phone almost painfully as he opened her message.
Drake.
I want to apologize right off the bat—for thinking you were accusing me of lying, for storming out of your house, for blocking you. You were being reasonable. And…
I’m sorry.
I have gallery deliveries to make today and then dinner with Marisol in Seattle, but could we talk later tonight? Wherever and whenever you want.
I’m really, really, really sorry.
Drake felt as if a boulder had lifted off his chest. Hope washed through him in a warm tsunami. She hadn’t given up on them.
Oui, they would certainly talk. Both of them. They’d apologize to each other, then talk. And talk some more.
She would have read his apologies that he’d left on her porch. Nonetheless, he could say everything again.
I am also sorry for not being clear. I have never doubted your honesty.
So. We will both strive to communicate better.
Since you will be in Seattle, tonight at the condo. Whenever you can make it, I will be waiting.
I love you, Aralia Lanigan.
It was a shame he didn’t have the meeting with Blaize to tell her about. Still, he would be meeting with the other Doms to discuss the latest from their investigations. Simon and Rona were back and might have ideas, as well.
After he and Ray had their talk, he’d have some plans to share with her. If the stars lined up correctly, she’d be in his arms, before, during, and after all the talking.
And all the years to follow.
Ray hauled her box of woodworking art pieces up another flight of stairs in Pike Place Market and had to step off before the next set to take a break. Guess she wasn’t in as good a shape as she’d thought. Damn.
Around her, the noise from the market was as chaotic as usual, but she’d been here often enough she’d learned to adapt. And enjoy. She smiled at how the briny scent of the Sound mingled with the fishy market smells, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, and the best of fragrances, chocolate.
Her taste buds nudged her. Maybe she should swing by indi chocolate for a truffle treat.
Stay on task, squirrel-brain. Finish the delivery to the gallery.
She’d reward herself with bagels from her favorite stall and buy some fresh produce—because why not when at the Market? And, fine, her taste buds deserved chocolate too. The cooler in her car would keep everything fresh.
Then dinner with Marisol. It was tough. I want to see Drake sooo badly. The need was pulling at her heart like a tugboat. But if a dinner bribe was what it took to keep Marisol away from the campus BDSM party, then fine. Hopefully, she’d find out soon if the club had changed. Was safe.
After the dinner… Tension simmered in her belly. She’d finally see Drake.
He wasn’t angry. Was that a miracle or what? The notes she’d found on her doorstep were sweet and loving. He’d apologized for not being more careful with her. Realizing later he hadn’t openly said he didn’t think she was lying.
He’d even been investigating the campus BDSM club and wanted to share the information with her.
In each note and in his text, he said he loved her.
She sighed, rubbed the ache over her heart. I love you too.
Much later, walking down the Post Alley Walkway, Ray glanced at her watch with a sense of satisfaction. Her gallery delivery had been fun; the owner shared all the market gossip. Shopping was finished—including chocolate—and packed into her car in the parking garage.
And look, right on time to meet Marisol at the Pink Door. Ray grinned, remembering how Marisol used to be half an hour late for everything, but nursing school had turned her punctual.
She wasn’t waiting outside though. Maybe inside? Ray pulled out her phone to text.
There was a message icon on the display screen. The hubbub of the market must have drowned out the sound.
It was from Marisol.
Ray, sry, but canceling dinner. Master Atlas was pissed off. Says I have to trust him or it’s all off. I’m sure the party will be safe. Anyway, that guy you know—Blaze or something—he’s supposed to be there, so I’ll know someone besides my Dom. All good and TTYT.
Oh, no. No, no, no. Ray sagged against the restaurant’s outside wall.
Instead of respecting Marisol’s caution, the so-called fartfucking Dom gave her an ultimatum.
Coldness engulfed Ray, making her shiver. And bringing back ugly memories of when she’d worried about not knowing anyone at a BDSM party, Crypto had reacted much the same way as this penis-fungus, Master Atlas.
And as an inexperienced, young submissive, I might as well have had “prey” tattooed across my chest.
Ray texted back: I just read your text. Where is your party?
No answer.
She phoned and listened to the ringing. Got voicemail. Ended the call, rang again. And again. And again.
Dammit. Of course, Marisol didn’t want to have to defend her choice. To get scolded. Or maybe, she’d turned her cell off entirely.
With the next call, Ray left a message on voicemail asking Marisol to call right away, no matter what time. She texted the same message.
“Now what?” Chills ran up and down her arms. She wanted to jump in her car and cruise the streets, looking for the party. As if she’d know where to go. Crypto had said the club rented a different house for each monthly party.
It hadn’t seemed suspicious at the time. Now… Was this one way they used to keep from getting caught?
Gods, what if Marisol was already there?
She stared at her phone, frozen in indecision. Get my car and go…where?
A cluster of tourists made her look up and… There was Drake’s brilliant tower, the windows sparkling in the setting sun.
Drake. So close.
Before she could think it through, she’d headed straight there and then inside into the lobby. A middle-aged guard at the desk lifted his bushy eyebrows.
Ignoring him, she touched Drake’s number on her phone.
“Ma chérie. I’m so happy you called.” His warm voice was so welcome she almost burst out crying.
“D-Drake. I need help. I mean, I—” Her voice shook; her hand shook. She was shaking all over.
“Whatever you need, Aralia. Where are you?”
“Downstairs.” She blinked hard at his instant readiness to help. “I mean, your building’s lobby.”
“Bon. I’ll be there in an instant.”
Ignoring the guard at the desk, she stood and watched the elevators, tensing more with each passing moment.
And there he was, black hair pulled back, dark eyes intent on her. He crossed to her with his smooth stride, and when she started to apologize, pulled her into his arms. “Mon Dieu, I have missed you.”
His arms tightened around her, setting the world back in order. The feeling of being cared for…loved…filled her.
He held her until her trembling stopped, and the tight bands around her lungs loosened. Then he moved her back far enough to see her face. “How can I help? What is the problem?”
“Marisol. My friend who started dating a member of the University of Washington BDSM club. I talked her into holding off on going to a play party. But”—she showed him the text—“she’s going anyway.”
“Merde,” Drake said under his breath.
Ray froze. Oh no—what have I done? Drake might’ve apologized for not being clear he didn’t think she was lying, but still, Marisol’s text mentioned Blaize. And Drake probably didn’t—
“We have been investigating the university club. What we’ve found doesn’t look good, and I don’t like the way your friend’s Dom manipulated her. The others are upstairs now. Let’s see what we can figure out.”
They were…investigating?
He waved at the guard, drew her into the elevator, and they were on the way to his condo.
Drake smiled at Ray’s expression when the wave of greeting broke over her. Hope’s squeal made him glad he’d gone for quality soundproofing in the building. MacKensie and Rona grabbed her for hugs.