Chapter 9
CHAPTER
NINE
One thing that Delilah did not lie about in Bronwin’s office was that she had no desire to escape.
By the time Rowan had gotten news about her whereabouts, she was already in Bronwin’s office for her therapy session.
As if nothing had happened. She’d stormed into Adele’s office with termination papers in hand for Brinks only to find out that Adele had already drafted them.
She’d given Rowan a pitying look before reassigning her as Delilah’s primary guard.
You’ll have to search her again. We don’t know what she was able to convince the guards to do or to get for her.
The directive rang through Rowan’s head all night and didn’t leave her alone as she stalked to Delilah’s room only a mere hour after her return from therapy and after another meeting with Adele. That one involved firing Brinks and hearing his concerning reasoning.
How the hell did Delilah find out about his family?
About his kid? Rowan almost wasn’t buying it.
There was no way she could have gotten that information.
No one spoke to her except Rowan and Bronwin, and neither of them had given away information about another employee’s family.
It also didn’t strike her as something Delilah would do—threatening a four year old.
Adele suggested Rowan look for a cell phone, for something Delilah could have used to gather information or even plant a follower on Brinks’ family—or whatever the hell serial killers did when they’re essentially behind bars.
Whether Rowan believed Brinks or not, Delilah had still somehow managed to get him to disobey direct orders, which meant she still needed to be searched.
Rowan took a deep breath, steadying her thoughts as she threw open the slot in the door. “Hands on the wall,” she ordered. Delilah ignored her, laying on her bed and glaring up at the ceiling instead. “Now, Delilah.”
After what felt like entirely too long, Delilah got up with one final, scathing look at the door and leaned against the wall with her hands pressed to either side of her body.
Rowan sucked her teeth in obvious annoyance at the blatant misinterpretation of her order.
Delilah knew full well she was supposed to face the other way, but fortunately for her, Rowan wasn’t in the mood to argue with a petulant murderer.
She slipped into the room, quickly closing the door behind her and keeping one hand on her stun gun while she watched Delilah cautiously.
“Turn around,” she ordered, not moving any further into the room.
“Come and make me,” Delilah countered, her voice dripping with seduction. Her lips quirked teasingly as she eyed Rowan up.
Slowly, Rowan took her stun gun and baton from her belt, watching as Delilah’s eyes narrowed in keen interest on the weapons.
She set them on the desk and rose to the bait.
Delilah didn’t move a muscle as Rowan stalked over to her, but she did let out a small gasp, her eyes widening in surprise, when Rowan roughly grabbed her wrist to cuff it, pulling both hands in front of her.
“So,” Delilah breathed, her pupils blown. “You do have a little fight in you.” Rowan ignored the heat flowing through her, the pulsing at her core. “I like it rough,” she whispered, leaning in, breath tickling over Rowan’s neck.
“I don’t care,” Rowan growled, forcefully turning Delilah so she couldn’t read the plain desire written on Rowan’s face. When the cuffs clicked into the hook on the wall, Rowan stepped back to breathe before striding over to the bed and beginning the tedium of searching all Delilah’s shit.
“What are you doing?” Delilah asked, twisting to see as much as she could.
“Searching.”
“Why?”
Rowan sighed. Delilah knew why. She briefly closed her eyes before feeling under the mattress, shaking out the sheets, removing the pillow case.
A wafting scent of vanilla mixed with cinnamon lingered in the air around the pillow—Delilah’s hair products, of which she’d had plenty upon arrival.
It was an infuriatingly good smell, a break from the sterility of the rest of the building.
“You had an unsanctioned outing this morning,” Rowan reminded her, as if it wasn’t only hours ago.
“Could’ve gotten into something you shouldn’t.
Can’t take the risk,” she continued as she moved onto Delilah’s desk, dumping out the cup holding her markers.
“Weapons, keys, something you could use to harm yourself or others. Something you could use to escape.”
“Well, I’ve already told you,” Delilah purred in a low, seductive tone that left goosebumps prickling Rowan’s skin. “I’m not interested in escape. But… what if I’m looking for a different kind of release?”
“Then I’d suggest you get acquainted with your hand,” Rowan grumbled, sifting needlessly through the four markers now laid out on top of the sheath of paper. She was delaying the real search that needed to be done.
Delilah was testing her nerves and sanity.
The desire to slam Delilah against the wall and let the search take a more enticing turn was nearly overwhelming.
Rowan needed to get her shit together, get her thoughts under control, and, for the love of god, stop thinking about touching this woman in any way other than for the sake of finding weapons.
“What about your hand?” Delilah whispered.
Rowan gritted her teeth as she ignored Delilah and tried not to stomp over to her.
The longer she took to do this, the more obvious her weakness would become.
And she could not let Delilah know she was winning.
She ran her hands up Delilah’s sides, pressing in to make sure there was nothing under her shirt.
“Aren’t you supposed to ask permission first?” Delilah asked innocently.
Rowan barely resisted rolling her eyes as she withdrew. “Do you consent to a search, Delilah?”
“Please touch me, Rowan.”
Rowan swallowed, biting back the unbridled desire she’d already failed at stifling. Delilah laughed when Rowan returned to her search—a light, mocking sound that set Rowan’s insides on fire. It was exactly what she’d imagined that laughter would sound like.
The rough fabric of the scrubs Delilah was forced to wear bunched under Rowan’s hands as she pressed into Delilah’s sides again, running her hands over Delilah’s flat stomach, her wide hips.
Delilah felt so good, and it took every ounce of self control Rowan possessed to keep herself to the search parameters only.
She thumbed over the scrub waistband before moving down to strong thighs, toned like a runner, and even further to hard calves that Rowan ached to dig her fingers into.
When she didn’t feel any weapons, she moved back up to the most tempting spot.
Rowan fought to keep her breath steady as she ran her hands underneath and between Delilah’s breasts.
The thin, shapeless bra provided to patients was gone, replaced with something much sturdier. And with an underwire. Rowan swallowed.
“Delilah,” she said as calmly as she could, her voice more wary than anything else. Delilah hummed in response, tilting her head back so that—if they were closer—she’d be leaning on Rowan’s shoulder. “Where did you get a new bra?”
“It’s not new,” Delilah drawled. Rowan did not mask her groan of annoyance this time. “It’s the same one I came in with. Your little officer was so lovely, getting it back to me. Same underwear too, if you need to search there.”
Rowan scoffed, flames licking up her back, heat cresting her chest. “Can’t hide anything substantial in a thong.”
“Mmmm,” Delilah hummed again, shimmying closer to Rowan until they were only centimeters apart. Her arms wrapped around Delilah still, almost in a lover's hold. “So you remember what I was wearing?”
“I can’t let you keep the bra,” Rowan said, ignoring her. She didn’t care about the underwear as much. Wouldn’t be much use for anything anyway. Well, aside from plaguing Rowan’s fantasies, but she wasn’t going to admit that.
Without waiting for a response, or thinking through her actions, Rowan slipped her hand underneath the scrub top and deftly unhooked the bra. Delilah gasped as the hold on her chest was loosened. The sound went straight to Rowan’s cunt.
“What’s the plan now, Rowan?” Delilah taunted. Her shirt was still on, her arms still restrained. There was no good way to get the bra off. Not unless Rowan cut it… Or she released Delilah to have her remove it.
“Just let me keep it,” Delilah whispered. “They’re too heavy for the paltry scrap you people provide. If I let you feel them, will you let me keep it?”
The temptation to do just that was strong. A pull to feel the supple skin of Delilah’s breasts, to swipe her thumb over the rosy nipples that she’d seen more times than she should have. Once in person, once on camera. The memory plagued her constantly. That made her boxers wet and uncomfortable.
“I promise there’s nothing in the padding.” Why did that sound so suspicious?
“No,” Rowan snapped, forcing herself to move away from Delilah’s chest and remove the cuffs instead. “Take it off and hand it over.”
Delilah didn’t turn around as she pulled her shirt slowly over her head, revealing her pale white skin dotted with freckles across her shoulders.
She’d look good in red, Rowan decided. Images of bloodied scratches on Delilah’s back came unbidden, helped by the red straps of the bra against her otherwise bare shoulders.
Delilah’s shoulder blades stuck out as she shrugged off the straps and let the bra fall into her hands.
Rowan knew she was being punished when Delilah put her shirt back on without turning around, withholding the glimpse that Rowan so desperately wanted because she refused to give Delilah what she wanted.
Delilah held the bra out to Rowan, a challenge in her eyes.
Rowan met her gaze evenly, took the clothing, and shoved it into her pocket.
“There’s something so hot about knowing you have my underwear in your pocket,” Delilah whispered before Rowan ordered her back against the wall and turned to leave.