In her periphery, Hayes turned toward her, and she could feel his curiosity. She grimaced. “Annnnd . . . that’s TMI, sorry.”
He made a little sound, almost like a laugh trapped in the back of his throat. “It’s fine. But are you sure you can rule him out? What if he somehow figured out you were playing Hayven? Finding out your girlfriend is spending her time playing a kinky game with strangers instead of you could make a guy jealous or make him feel like he’s inadequate. A guy with a twisted temper could think—hey, if she wants some guy to treat her like that, I’ll show her. I’ll send some asshole over to grab her.”
She sighed. “Kevin could be a jerk but not that brand of jerk. He didn’t have feelings for me and wasn’t possessive. I was just a convenient friend to hook up with. And even at his worse, he wouldn’t do something to put me in danger. At the end of the day, he was a decent guy.”
Hayes’s gaze on her was unnerving—like he was absolutely, one hundred percent listening to every word. The fact that it seemed so strange made her realize how often people, men in particular, only listened with half an ear. “Okay, so a lazy shithead who doesn’t know how to treat a woman but not an evil guy. We’ll scratch him off the list.”
The words were said with a touch of annoyance, like he was offended on her behalf that Kevin had acted like a dick. She had a flash of the much-bigger Hayes grabbing Kevin by the shirt and telling him to not treat a girl like a drive-thru restaurant where he could pick up a quick fix when it was convenient. She ignored the little zip of pleasure that image gave her. “Right.”
“What about in Hayven? Have you had any conflicts within the game? Any scenes gone wrong? Members who gave off a bad vibe?”
Talking openly about herself playing the game was completely out of her comfort zone, but he was being so matter-of-fact that it helped tamp down some of the embarrassment. “No, nothing I can think of.”
He considered her. “Look, I know it’s personal, so I’m not asking for details, but it’s important to look at all possibilities. Ren said that you’re mostly an observer in the game, but have you actively played with anyone?”
Her fingers curled into her thigh as she tried to temper her reaction, but she could already feel her face getting flushed. “Uh . . . I don’t . . .”
He leaned back, his hands loosely gripping the desk. “Okay, don’t answer that yet. How about I tell you what my guess is first? I know this is a weird first-day-of-work conversation. Believe me. But this company owns and runs a kinky game. It’s safe for you to assume that the people who developed that game came from that lifestyle.”
Her throat was dry. “You and Ren.”
He nodded, expression businesslike. “Yes. So nothing you say is going to shock or scandalize me. But I get that it’s personal. So here’s what I think, Cora. I think that you’re in the game because you’re more than a little curious. My guess is that you’ve participated—as a submissive.”
She straightened at that. “Why would you assume that? Because I’m a woman?”
Those green eyes met hers again. “Because you got something out of a relationship where a guy used you for his own needs without giving you much in return. That’s not what submission is. A real dominant would care more about your needs than his own. He would have to earn that surrender from you.”
Goose bumps prickled on her skin. She knew about that version of dominance. She’d never experienced it in person, but Dmitry treated her that way.
“But the fact that you had that type of relationship shows me that there’s some part of you that gets satisfaction from pleasing others and being . . .”
“Used,” she said softly, the realization punching her in the gut. “God, that makes me sound pathetic.”
His expression turned empathetic. “No, not at all. There’s nothing wrong with that impulse. Submission is a beautiful, brave thing. But when it’s undefined and directed at the wrong type of person, you can get taken advantage of. A dominant can get taken advantage of, too.”
“A dominant?” She tilted her head at that. “How?”
His mouth flattened. “Doesn’t matter. But the fact that you sought out Hayven shows me that you know more about yourself than you think, and I don’t want you to feel embarrassed about it. Our game is supposed to be a safe place for those of us who feel left of center when it comes to sex and relationships. And you shouldn’t be ashamed of that.”
She rubbed the spot between her eyes. No use in hiding now. He’d pinned her to the board like a butterfly. “Okay, yes, I play as a sub in the game. It’s been—an experiment. But I haven’t had any major conflicts. The guy who attacked me was really the only one who badgered me. The rest of the guys have been respectful. And I play privately, so I’m not one to stir up drama or make a spectacle.”
The muscles in his arms flexed as he rocked forward a little bit, a wrinkle in his brow. “Any serious relationship in the game?”
She wet her lips. Yes. But she didn’t want to put that in the spotlight. This wasn’t Dmitry’s doing. “No.”
He nodded and his shoulders relaxed a bit. “Okay, well let’s not toss that out as a possibility yet, but what are your other theories?”
She reached out and touched the track pad to wake up her screen, happy to get out from under his scrutiny of her sex life—or lack thereof. Plus, the talking had gotten her a little too warm in the wrong places. She’d never openly discussed her attraction to kink with anyone except Dmitry. Admitting it out loud and knowing with crystal-clear awareness that the ridiculously good-looking man a few feet from her was a dominant was a little too much for her lizard brain. That primal part of her wanted to ignore the fact that this guy could be dangerous, that he’d just gotten out of prison, that she was working with him. All it wanted to see was that he was beautiful and probably knew exactly how to press her filthiest buttons.
She cleared her throat, trying to reel her thoughts back in. He’s an ex-con, woman. He might’ve raped someone. Check yourself. “Honestly, I get the feeling it’s bigger than some quibble between players. I’m trying to figure out if there’s a pattern.” She peered his way. “How familiar are you with the current players in the game?” Another thought struck her. “Wait, do you play?”
Lines appeared around his mouth. “I don’t. But I’m familiar with the popular players and some of the dynamics. Ren and I both do a lot of oversight in the game. But obviously, I can’t know everyone.”
He knew the popular players, which meant he probably knew Lenore. Cora sent up a prayer that he didn’t pursue who her character was in the game. It was one thing for him to know she played. It was another to have him know exactly how and with whom. She’d also be mortified for him to know how much she’d altered her appearance.
“Well, here’s the list of profiles that were opened by the hacker. There doesn’t seem to be an obvious pattern beyond the fact that these are consistent players, the ones who log in more than once a week. There are men and women, dominants and submissives. Some are local, some aren’t.” She swallowed as her eyes skimmed over Lenore’s and Dmitry’s names. Both of their accounts had been accessed. “It’s going to take a while to figure out how these people are connected to each other—or if they’re connected at all. Does anything jump out to you?”
He pushed up from the desk and moved closer to her screen. But when he bent to look, he reached out to brace a hand on her chair and his palm landed against her arm instead. She jolted at the contact and her chair rolled backward, the wheels loud against the wood floors.
The reaction was completely outside of normal and his frown let her know that he’d noticed. “You okay?”
She gave a nervous laugh. “Yeah, sorry. Too much coffee this morning. I’m jumpy.”
His eyes met hers, that evaluating look again, and he frowned. “You’re scared of me.”
Her lips parted to protest but she clamped them
back, not knowing what to say.
He nodded. “Right. So you know.”
“I— Yes. Sorry.”
He rose to his full height, his posture going stiff and formal. “It’s fine, Cora. It’s not hard information to come by, and it’s not a secret. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You . . .” His gaze flicked away. “You made me forget for a second how women must feel around me these days. I’m sorry. I should’ve never crowded you.”
“You didn’t. I mean—” She let out a frustrated breath. “I wasn’t uncomfortable. It’s just . . .”
I don’t know what to think. This man scrambled all of her signals. She got a flavor of danger from him, but it felt . . . sexual. Not violent. She’d been around enough criminals at the police station to recognize that niggling feeling that something wasn’t right with someone, that intent to harm in their eyes. That’s not what this felt like. But he’d gone to jail for rape. And was a dominant. The violence and sex intertwined there. And she didn’t know how to pick them apart to determine if this man was a true threat or not.
He stepped around her desk. “You don’t have to explain. You can email me the list and talk about what you find with Ren. I can get my information through him.”
His tone was businesslike but there was no missing the resignation in his voice, the acceptance. He expected people to be scared of him.
Something about that made the question tumble out of her. “Should I be scared of you? Did you do it?”
He’d been striding for the door and he stilled. He didn’t look back. “You’re just going to ask me outright if I’m guilty?”
She cringed. “Well, I’ve never been known for my tact.”
Plus, she knew her mother used that method with suspects. Be so blunt that they don’t have time to mask their reaction or response.
He turned, arms crossed, expression tired. “Does it really matter what I say?”
She sat up straighter. “It does.”
“I didn’t do it.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, so without a change of expression that she almost questioned whether she’d heard the words or not. “Okay.”
“See? That doesn’t change your mind at all, does it?”
“I—” She frowned, paused. “I don’t know.”
He gave a quick nod, like he’d expected nothing less. “I appreciate the honesty. I’ll leave you to it, Cora. Copy me in on updates.”
She should let him leave. She could avoid him now without effort because he’d be avoiding her, but she couldn’t help thinking about what Andre had said, couldn’t help sensing this . . . vulnerability in Hayes. What if the guy really had been wrongly convicted? What would that do to a person? Going to prison and knowing you’re innocent . . .
“Hayes, wait.”
NINE
The words hit Hayes in the back, Cora’s hesitation clear. He closed his eyes and turned his head to look at her. Seeing her was still like a punch to the ribs. He’d forgotten himself for a few minutes. Talking with her, hearing about her life, her relationships . . . seeing all those subtle signs that screamed that she craved more than the previous men in her life had given her. Catching her sneaking glances at him a few times, looking at him as something other than a spectacle. It’d made him feel human again. Like a man. A little like the dominant he used to be.
Then he’d accidentally touched her and she’d nearly launched herself across the room. Seeing that fear in her eyes had been a knife in the side. Reality ripping through the fabric of that daydream where a woman could see him as more than a criminal.
He couldn’t bear to stand here and take that look much longer.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice sounding like it’d scraped its way out of his throat with claws.
Her shoulders rose and fell with a breath, those hazel eyes unflinching behind her glasses. “For what it’s worth, I don’t not believe you. I want to believe you.”
He stared at her, the statement shocking the hell right out of him. “You want to believe me?”
She flattened her palms on the desk, her short fingernails going pink against pale skin. “Look, I’m not going to lie. A big part of me is saying stay away from you. When women accuse men of rape, the statistics are overwhelmingly in favor of the woman being the truthful one.”
He turned around fully and gave a nod. “Of course.”
She tilted her head, consternation there. “But I also know convictions don’t get overturned easily. So if they let you out, there must have been compelling evidence to do so.”
He tucked his hands in his pockets, unsure where she was going with this. “There was.”
“And it’s none of my business and you don’t have to tell me what that was but—”
“The woman who accused me retracted her original statement and admitted that someone had paid her to frame me.” The words landed bluntly, but he couldn’t muster up any emotion over it anymore.
Cora’s eyes went wide. “Frame you? I— How? Why?”
He cleared his throat, that familiar chill going through him anytime he thought about everything that went down that night. “It’s a long story. I don’t mind telling you. Most of it can probably be found online—well, the media’s twisted version of it anyway. But it’s not exactly appropriate work conversation.”
She frowned. “I just told you about my shitty past relationship and you labeled me a submissive. I think we’ve jumped that shark.”
His brows rose. Cora had this layer of shyness at times, almost an innocence about her, but then there was also this outspoken side, this refusal to play games or mince words. She’d be a woman who would keep a guy on his toes.
She glanced at the open doorway, and it was obvious she was calculating her risk. He knew he’d never hurt her, but she couldn’t trust that. So he imagined she was going through a checklist. There were people down the hall. They were at the office. She had a phone. “Shut the door. I’m willing to listen if you’re willing to share it.”
Hayes closed the door with a quiet click and walked back to the chair in front of her desk. He sat down and rubbed his palms on his jeans, unsure now that he’d made the offer whether or not he really wanted to do this. He didn’t tell strangers his story. He didn’t share. But for some unknown reason, he had this need to be honest with Cora. She wanted to believe him. And God, he needed to be believed by someone who wasn’t related to him or bound by lifelong friendship. But telling this story was like cutting his chest open and letting her stare inside at all the ugly guts of his life.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” she said gently.
He took a breath and looked up. There was no judgment on her face, just this open expression. I’m listening. And in that moment he realized that she truly was giving him an opening. This wasn’t—ooh, tell me your tawdry, scandalous story. She wanted to know the truth. She was withholding her decision on his guilt. For now.
It was up to him to give her the information so she could make an informed decision. Honesty. That’s all he could give her. “I’m guessing you’ve figured out that I’m a dominant.”
He saw a flash of something in her eyes. Fear? Curiosity? He couldn’t tell. But she answered with a stoic “Yes.”
He gave a little nod. “Well, back then I was very active in the local scene. It was a big part of my life and most of my weekends were spent at a resort I belonged to. Most of my play was done there because I knew the members were vetted and the rules were clear. But I also did demonstrations for a local group.”
When her brows went up he explained.
“Workshops. Negotiation skills. Rope techniques. Creative ways to edge someone.”
“Edge?” She shook her head as if admonishing herself. “Sorry. I’ll shut up. I have a bad habit of letting my curiosity override my filter. I’m sure that’s not relevant to the story.”
/>
He shifted in his chair. “Edging is bringing someone to the brink of orgasm over and over but not letting them come for an extended period of time. It . . . can make things pretty powerful. Intense. Every touch feels like torture and pleasure all at once.”
“Oh. Gotcha.” Two blotches of pink rode high on her pale cheeks and her gaze dipped to his left hand where he gripped the chair.
The shift in her demeanor threw him for a second. What was she thinking? He flexed his fingers and she crossed her legs.
The simple move was like a shot of heroin in his veins. She’s thinking about my hands. Perhaps how he’d edge someone. Maybe imagining how he could pet and pinch and penetrate with nothing but a few skilled fingers. Was she thinking about him doing that to her? The possibility was almost too much to consider. He was projecting, seeing stuff that wasn’t there. He couldn’t let himself go down that line of thought. Off-limits.
She lifted her gaze to his and held it for a beat too long. Just enough for him to see that blink of attraction there. She didn’t know if she could trust him, but on some basic, physical level, she found him appealing.
Fuck. He didn’t need to know that. Didn’t need that kind of temptation waved in front of him.
“So something happened at the club?” she asked, her voice coming out slightly strangled.
He forced himself to focus. He would tell her his story. By the time he was finished, anything she thought she was feeling would probably burn into a bright blaze of Get the fuck out of my office and stay away.
“Yes.” He looked toward the window, anywhere but the pretty, pink-cheeked Cora, and reeled himself in. “A request came to me through that group. A woman was looking for an experienced dominant to do a stranger role-play, one with an element of force . . . and pain. She told the leader she’d seen me speak and wanted to know if I’d be willing.”
Cora’s chair squeaked but she didn’t say anything.
“I’d seen those types of things go badly before. Submissives trusting people they shouldn’t. Guys who weren’t trained dominants taking advantage of that kind of trust. So when the head of the group asked me, I said I would do it. He knew I’d done a non-con scene a time or two before.”