Chapter 10

Stuck with me, Like It or Not

FIONA DIDN'T SLEEPall night. She kept tossing and turning, jumping at every little noise in her condo, and the wind in the trees had the branches brushing and tapping against her window. She was a worse wreck by morning and twice as sleep deprived as before. Since lying in bed not sleeping was a complete waste of time, she scheduled an Uber and was downtown bright and early. Her first stop for her peace of mind and safety—Rossi Security.

With palms sweating, and her heart racing—when had it stopped since leaving work last night?—Fiona punched the call button for the elevator. After yesterday, it was the last thing she wanted to do, but she barely had the energy to climb the front steps, much less several flights of stairs.

As she waited, she looked nervously around the lobby and out the plate-glass window to the busy city street. On the other side, she could see the gray walls of a familiar building. Wasn't she shocked when her driver stopped right across from Club Decadence on Beverly Boulevard?

Did the private investigators at Rossi know they worked across the street from the most notorious and exclusive kink club in Southern California?

She huffed a little laugh. They weren't very good at their jobs if they didn't.

A phone ringing at the empty reception desk brought her attention back inside. Her gaze swept the lobby. It was empty, thank goodness, but she found it odd she could just walk right in. There wasno security guard on duty either, no one at all to ask about her business there today. But then, she'd never dealt with a security firm or had any need for an investigator before.

While she waited for the elevator, which was taking a really long time for an eight-story building, she perused the directory. Rossi Security, Inc was the only business listed on the entire fourth floor, and, oddly enough, there was no listing for the fifth at all. When she got in and hit button five out of curiosity, it made an obnoxious blaring noise. Deciding not to let her curiosity get her in more trouble than she was already in, she quickly hit four and was relieved when the doors slid shut without a sound.

When they opened a few seconds later into a small foyer, she peeked out to make sure she was in the right place.

"Look what rushing out got you yesterday," she muttered to herself.

Directly ahead of her was a set of double doors with the firm's name etched into the glass. Sunlight from a set of tall windows created a prism of color that reflected off the R in Rossi. Taking the rainbow as a positive sign, she stepped out. With the way her life had been going lately—heck, since she'd moved to LA—she needed a run of good luck, and for the sun to shine brightly for her again one day.Rossi Security offered hope she might live to see it.

Taking a deep breath, Fiona pulled open one of the heavy doors. The reception area stretched out before her, a vision of opulence and modern style with its black leather furniture, glass-and-chrome accents, and its polished marble floors.

Detective Owens had warned her they were pricey.

With her hope dimming a little, she moved to the reception desk, where a stunning brunette sat. The woman's eyes flicked up from her work, locking with Fiona's in a moment of connection. A warm smile graced her lips, instantly putting her at ease.

"Good morning," she greeted her. "How may I help you?"

"Detective Brent Owens from the LAPD referred me. I'm in need of a security consult, I guess you would call it. My name is Fiona Delacour."

She pursed perfectly glossed lips as her eyes returned to her computer screen. "Do you have an appointment?"

"He didn't mention that I'd need one. It's rather urgent," Fiona replied, recognizing the rising anxiety in her voice. She curled her nails into her palms and took a deep breath before continuing. "Is it possible someone could see me today?"

"Unfortunately, Mr. Finnegan is booked solid this week. I have something available next Tuesday at four o'clock," the receptionist informed her.

Her shoulders slumped. She could be dead by then, and that was no exaggeration.

"It's all right, Kelsey. Brent called me. I was expecting Fiona."

She turned, encountering a man standing in an interior doorway. Tall, handsome, with auburn highlights in his wavy dark-brown hair, he was fit and impeccably dressed. He also looked familiar.

"Come on back," he said, interrupting her thoughts. He held the door for her to walk through. After it closed, he murmured quietly, "You're trying to figure out where we've met before."

"Yes. But I must be mistaken. I'd remember that accent."

He smiled warmly and said with distinct Irish influence in his voice, "I get that a lot. You're correct though. I don't think we've ever spoken at the club."

Fiona gasped with a mix of surprise and welling panic and stopped walking. She had tried really hard to keep that side of herself separate from real life.

"Don't worry. We value discretion and confidentiality here, as much as we do across the street," he said, reading her correctly. "I'm Keiran Finnegan, the director. I believe you know my wife, Esme."

"You're Master Finn."

"That's right. But we're not at the club, so you can call me Finn," he suggested, smiling kindly. "Also known as Master K. Some of the club submissives almost fetishize nicknames, and a few of us doms ended up with two or three. It can get damn confusing."

"Not once you speak." The lilting Irish accent really was quite appealing.

He grinned. "So I've been told."

She blinked, her face heating furiously. "Oh dear. Did I say that out loud? I haven't slept over five minutes in the past two nights, and I'm afraid my brain isn't fully functional."

"Think nothing of it." His smile faded, replaced by a professional mien. "Let's see what we can do to help with your trouble and get you some much-needed sleep." He extended his arm. "We'll talk in my office at the end of the hall. Can I get you anything? Coffee, a bottle of cold water, a shot of strong Irish whiskey?"

Her gaze shot to his. Was he serious? It wasn't even 9 a.m.

But his twinkling green eyes assured her he was.

"I'm good for now, thank you."

Fiona followed him down the hallway, coming to an abrupt halt midway as Doc, aka Master Noah rounded a corner from a side hall and headed directly for them.

His eyes were on his phone, his thumbs swiping and scrolling. "Finn. I'm in between volunteer assignments, and my surgical schedule is free. Give me something to do." When he looked up, he stopped, too. "Fiona? Why are you here?"

Without waiting for an answer, he looked at Finn and demanded to know, "What's she doing here?"

"I was about to find out. Join us," he replied, without asking her opinion about the invitation, and continued down the hall, disappearing into an open door at the end.

"You're pale," Doc observed, "and look like you haven't slept in a week. Are you sick?"

Great. She'd failed in covering up the dark circles with her makeup.

"I'm not sick, but I've felt better, that's for certain."

Master Noah frowned, not a fan of her vague response. Like the director had, he extended his arm toward the end of the hall, indicating she should lead the way. Eager to get the retelling of her trauma over with and find out what, if anything, they could do to protect her, she headed down the hall with Noah, no Doc—it was so confusing—on her heels.

Once inside, she heard a soft snick. On edge, she twisted, practically coming out of her skin until she realized it was the door latching where he had closed it behind him.

Noticing her jumpiness because he didn't seem to miss much, Doc's frown deepened.

Finn waved her into a chair across from his desk. "Have a seat, Fiona, and tell us what this is about."

There was a matching chair beside hers, but Noah propped a hip on the corner of Finn's desk, facing her. Still owing him an apology, and after their failed scene and parting steamy kiss, it made the retelling all the harder.

She squirmed for a moment, crossing and uncrossing her legs, as well as her hands, trying to decide where to begin then just blurted it out. "I witnessed a murder. The man who did it saw me, threatened me, and is still at large. The police can't provide protection, but I was told you possibly could, so I don't end up dead, too."

It was like she'd launched a tension grenade in the room. It emanated from both men in waves by the time she finished.

"I thought I should get a gun," Fiona went on when neither of them spoke. "I've never owned one before, and I hate the idea. But you probably don't do that. I can go to a gun shop afterward." She tapped her fingers anxiously against her lips when neither of them spoke then suggested, "Maybe I could get a security system installed. Or whatever else you might recommend while the police hunt him down."

"You're not getting a gun, not if you're untrained, and you need a helluva lot more than a system," Noah snapped.

"Agreed," Keiran stated firmly as he opened his laptop. "Brent Owens sent over a copy of the police report. We'll start there after I see what I can rearrange to put a man on you."

Fiona's heart skipped a beat. "Do you mean a bodyguard? I couldn't possibly afford–"

"Don't worry about that," the director assured her, his voice filled with authority. "Club members get special rates."

"But I'm no longer a member," Fiona informed him, her voice wavering.

"I'll take her on. I've suddenly had my calendar freed up," Doc declared, his gaze locked with Fiona's.

His suggestion caught her off guard, leaving her momentarily stunned. Even though they had a major misunderstanding, on her part, they were like fire and oil. "Surely there's someone else."

Before she could voice her further objections, he moved in front of her. Bending at the waist, with his hands on the arms of her chair, face-to-face with her, he said in a deep, resonant tone that sent shivers down her spine. "Whatever problem you have with me, get over it. We've got a backlog of cases that would stretch from here to the southern border. You're stuck with me, like it or not. And to keep you safe, you're going to do exactly as I say. Is that understood?"

As he waited for her answer, his blue eyes held hers, unwavering in their intensity.

She should hold firm. They'd always been at odds and didn't even know if they liked one another. Except for the kiss; she'd really liked that. And having his hands in her hair. Not when it pulled, but again, that had been her fault.

"Fiona, are you with me?"

"She said she hasn't slept in two days," Finn informed him.

She could explain away last night, after witnessing a stabbing and someone bleeding out, but the night before could only be because of him and their scene that went badly awry. Fire rushed to her cheeks, and she looked down at her hands.

He would have none of it and nudged her chin up until her eyes met his. "Answer me, Fiona. Do we have an understanding?"

So close, she could feel the heat of his body, and with his fingers warm on her face, all of her objections faded away. With sexual tension arcing between them, she swallowed, the submissive part of her coming alive in his presence, her need to submit to him overwhelming.

In a shaky, breathless voice, she replied, "We do, sir."

"And who's in charge so you don't end up dead too?"

"You are, sir."

"Good girl," he breathed, his voice so soft she thought she had imagined it.

From the hint of a smile curving Keiran's lips as he continued typing away on his keyboard, she hadn't.

"But aren't you a doctor?" she asked. "What do you know about security?"

"Meet Master Sergeant Noah Richmond, US Army Special Forces for a decade before going to medical school on the GI bill. Isn't that right, Doc?"

He didn't answer, holding her gaze as he declared, "I'm more than capable of keeping you safe and will protect you with my life, Fiona."

"Oh...well... Let's hope it doesn't come to that." She frowned suddenly, hearing how that came out. "I mean the latter, not the safe part. Keeping me safe is the goal, after all. Right, Doc? I mean Master Sergeant. Or is it Master Noah—"

"Just Noah," he interrupted, stopping her rambling. "I'm not a club master, and we aren't at the club."

"You Decadence people have too many names. I need a playbill to keep up with you."

"Let's go with Noah," he suggested. "Or sir, if you make the mistake of not following orders to the letter."

"Oh, but I plan to. Staying alive has been a goal of mine for years. Since birth, in fact, sir. Um, erm, Noah, I mean." She shook her head to clear the cobwebs. "I'm a little muddled—and chatty. I get that way when I don't get enough sleep."

She thought she heard Finn's soft laughter, but Noah grinned at her, flashing straight white teeth, a hint of a dimple she never noticed before in his left cheek. But his smile, and the way his eyes glinted with amusement, made everything else—the conflict between them, the threat against her, the added Uber expenses that were really eating into her budget, and whether she'd ever sleep again—fade to white noise in the background.