I Spy a Naughty Game

“I love you, Emma Foster. I’ll cherish you until my last breath.”

Tears stung her eyes, and she twined her arms around his neck, drawing him to her lips. “I love you, too. And let’s make that last breath a long, long time from now.”

“It’s a deal, baby.”

As they snuggled, she shoved reality away for a few hours. This man was hers.

Danger and intrigue would have to wait.

Thirteen

Blaze escorted Emma into the Velvet Underground, striving to mask his dislike of the establishment. His first impression, that the place was a bit too polished, hadn’t changed. In addition, this second visit gave him the impression that the clientele was made mostly of poseurs. Wannabes. People hung out here to be able to say they lived the lifestyle when in truth they merely dabbled.

A more thorough inspection told him that most of the players were here to drink and fuck, and the vast majority had no idea what they were doing when it came to D/s. The rules were loose, mostly nonexistent, with no clue to the outsider who were the Doms and who were the subs.

All talk, no walk.

Blaze found a table against the wall, and they settled in to wait for Kosta and company. Adopting a casual pose, he pulled Emma to his side and ordered them a couple of drinks to nurse slowly. He draped an arm around her neck and let his fingers dip into the cleavage of her bustier, toying with the creamy swells of her breasts, just barely grazing a nipple. She wriggled, breath catching a bit, expression both aroused and uncomfortable. She might never be amenable to public sexual displays, but he didn’t mind. It showed a sweet, vulnerable facet to her that shied from showing off what belonged to him.

He’d decided that the delicate shell of her ear needed some serious nibbling and was making her giggle when a now-familiar and loathed voice cut into the fun. Ah, yes. They were here to work.

“I see you started without us. Having a good time?”

Blaze looked up at Kosta and the man with him, not liking the way the men loomed over him. Will he recognize me? God, he hoped not. He knew men like these, and the stance wasn’t accidental. “You bet we are. Have a seat,” he invited, waving at a couple of empty chairs.

“Don’t mind if we do.”

He took a moment to study the man with Kosta and recognized him from the file. Ralph Meyer. A stocky redhead who, while not unattractive, certainly wouldn’t fuel any fantasies on his part — or Emma’s, either, if he had to guess. Meyer was a rather plain man, his physique giving way to a bit of paunch around the middle in the way of desk jockeys all over. His eyes were cool and calculating as they swept him and Emma, sizing them up, though not in a sexual manner. Every nuance told Blaze that Meyer was all about the bottom line — money. And Blaze would bet his savings that Meyer was working out how best to divest them of as much green as possible.

Another fact hit him — why this club had been chosen for their activities. The Velvet Underground, being full of dabblers and not those seriously into lifestyle, made the perfect cover. None of these guys were very experienced with D/s, but very few in this place were, so the men wouldn’t stand out. Hell, meeting in dark corners was the norm.

He wondered where Major Fontaine was hiding, but wasn’t surprised he hadn’t come. If he were the major, he wouldn’t risk this meeting, either.

“Chase, I’d like for you to meet an associate of mine, Ralph Meyer,” Kosta said. “Meyer, this is John Chase and his lovely wife, Brandi.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Meyer said with a nod.

Blaze held out his hand, which the man shook. “Likewise. Brandi?”

Emma smiled briefly and then lowered her gaze. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Blaze corrected firmly. Even though this scum didn’t deserve the distinction, he wouldn’t ignore the rules. If he did, these men might get suspicious.

“Oh, y-yes! I’m sorry, sir!”

Her lack of a blush and her tone were a dead giveaway to him that she wasn’t the least bit sincere in her apologies. The brat had dissed Meyer on purpose, though he was probably too thick to get it. Blaze let it go.

Meyer tilted his head, studying their interaction. “You two are really into this Domination/submission shit, huh?”

Okay, score one for Red for simply admitting he wasn’t all that into the scene. Clever, really. It lent him a certain ring of sincerity that would help win the trust of unsuspecting prey. He decided to counter with a question.

“You aren’t?” He knew, but he wanted to hear the man’s reaction.

Meyer shrugged. “Kosta got me coming here. It’s interesting, I’ll say that much. Might as well mix a little pleasure with business, ya know?”

Here we go. Excitement rushed through his veins like a hound dog on the scent, and he schooled his face to remain only mildly interested. “Business? What sort?”

“Hey, sorry we’re late! Damn — the traffic was a bitch, and we almost got creamed by some guy in a Benz.” Pausing, the newcomer smiled at Blaze, then glanced between him and Emma. “Hello, I’m Landon Hart.” He offered his hand.

Blaze shook it, assessing the gorgeous man before him. Honey-brown hair fell into vivid turquoise eyes that danced with good humor. He had a handsome, honest face with full lips and a hint of shadow on his cheeks. Lean build, but strong, as evidenced by the sinewy chest and torso hugged by a simple black T-shirt tucked into black leather pants. A trim waist, long thighs corded with just the right amount of muscle.

Two words — male perfection.

“John Chase, and this is my wife, Brandi.”

“This is my sub, Nicole Andrews,” Hart said warmly, his affection for her obvious as he reached for her hand, brought it to his lips.

Emma greeted the pair, and they did likewise, the picture of happiness, their ease with each other apparent. The woman, Nicole, was a real looker, with long, dark brown hair and big brown eyes. She was about a foot shorter than Hart, and slender, but there was a strength about her, a presence that demanded attention. Blaze couldn’t put his finger on it, but he would. Eventually.

The new couple sat, and Hart was very solicitous of Nicole, making certain she was comfortable and asking whether she’d like a drink, which she accepted, giving him a smile that lit the air around them. He noticed Emma studying them from underneath her lashes, expression unreadable. Kosta’s face, however, betrayed faint disgust at their lovey-dovey display.

A hunch began to form: Hart was their fall guy. If Hart had a clue what was really being done with the money he was handing over to this crew, Blaze would eat his own leathers. They’d probably lied to him, showed him false documentation of how worthy his investments were in their grubby hands.

Hart was an honest man who was being used for his money and as a smoke screen to lend them credibility. He’d stake his reputation on it. He might be wrong, but he didn’t believe so. Wouldn’t be too difficult to find out for sure.

“So, how do you know my colleagues here?” Hart asked, curious but friendly.

Colleagues, not friends. He filed that away.

“I don’t. We had the pleasure of Mr. Kosta introducing himself to us last night, and we had quite an… eventful evening.”

At this, Hart’s smile dimmed the barest fraction. “I’ll bet. So what’s your occupation, Mr. Chase?”

“John, please.” The lie about his name was stale on his tongue. The honest ones always bothered him when he was undercover, like he was using them. Which was true.

“Lan,” the man responded in kind. “That’s what most people call me.”