Wicked for You

  “Are you all right?” Heath, her longtime driver and bodyguard, asked from the front seat¸ sending her a concerned stare in the rearview mirror.

  No. “Fine. Can you take me back to the hotel?”

  He knew her too well to believe her, and his frown deepened. “Of course. No other stops along the way?”

  When she looked tousled and shaken, probably wore whisker burns on her cheeks? If the tabloids figured out she was in town and intercepted her on her way into the hotel, wouldn’t they have a field day with those pictures?

  “No. I’ll order room service.” Despite how well meaning Heath was and how much she usually liked his company, she wanted desperately to be alone.

  “You father has called twice, inquiring after you. I told him you were visiting a . . . friend.”

  Mystery’s eyes slid shut. She couldn’t miss the hint of disapproval in Heath’s tone. Obviously, he’d caught on to her fuck-and-run routine. Of course, it must be hard to miss now since she was doing the early evening equivalent of the walk of shame. Still, he didn’t say a word, simply slipped a tiny hint of censure into his tone.

  She felt it like a yawning abyss of guilt. “I’ll call him as soon as I reach my room.”

  “Very good,” he said in his crisp British voice. “Don’t forget the six-hour time difference.”

  A glance at the clock in the car told her it was already after midnight in London. Damn it.

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  They rode the rest of the way in silence back to the Hotel Crescent Court. The journey took less than fifteen minutes—not really enough time for her to get her head together. She avoided Heath’s blue-eyed stare of concern in the rearview mirror.

  Her father had sent him along to both bodyguard and babysit her, keep her out of trouble. Her driver would never cross the line and question her actions—but he’d sure as hell tell her father. Marshall Mullins had never stopped being panicked and overprotective after her abduction. He had to be completely fraying at the edges with her traveling to another continent.

  Just one more worry . . . but certainly not her biggest.

  She gnawed on her lip as the valet attendant from the hotel approached to collect the car. Had she been clandestine enough to keep her identity a secret from Axel? She didn’t want to hurt or deceive him, and she felt more than vaguely ashamed that she’d flat-out lied to seduce him. She’d rationalized it by telling herself that she was saving them both the embarrassment of Axel refusing her again because of their past and her name.

  In the hush of evening, that felt a lot like excuses.

  Heath opened her door and helped her from the car as the valet attendant slid behind the wheel. Curling an arm protectively around her, Heath placed his body between hers and the street.

  “Duck,” he warned in her ear. “In case we encounter press.”

  Mystery tried to relax. After all, how could the press possibly have known she’d come here? Mystery hadn’t told anyone other than her father, Heath, and her mother’s sister, Aunt Gail, that she intended to visit the States.

  “In this disguise, they won’t recognize me.” After all, Axel hadn’t.

  The fact that she’d emerged from a town car and not a limo was a point in the favor of discretion. But having what amounted to a bodyguard curl himself around her would, no doubt, draw attention.

  “Hold my hand, just in case.” She put distance between them and shoved her palm against his, interlocking their fingers. “We’ll be less conspicuous if we look like lovers.”

  Heath hesitated, then relaxed at her side. “I’m afraid that’s wishful thinking.”

  Why? It wasn’t unheard of for a woman in her mid-twenties to date an attractive man pushing forty. Thankfully, she didn’t have to argue her point. He humored her, folding her hand against his own.

  They walked from the car and approached the hotel’s entrance without incident. Mystery clutched Heath and released a long breath as they neared the entrance.

  As he opened the door to the hotel, a woman her age wearing blingy jeans and an NYU T-shirt sprang to her feet from a plush sofa in the lobby. “Mystery Mullins! Why have you returned to the States after all these years?”

  She hadn’t braced herself for press inside the hotel. Stupid and probably naïve. She really didn’t deal with this much in the UK and had forgotten how aggressive some tabloid reporters could be.

  “I—”

  “No comment,” Heath said beside her, motioning to one of the hotel’s security agents as he hustled her toward the elevator.

  He pressed the button to bring the car to the lobby. As they waited, the security guard rushed forward to intercept the young reporter.

  The woman protested, shouting across the cavernous interior of the hotel. “Our readers want to know about your sudden visit to the States, Ms. Mullins. I just need five minutes—”

  The security guard must have cut her off because Mystery didn’t hear another word from the reporter. Instead, she clutched Heath’s hand, feeling rattled, anxious, and vaguely contrite about everything that had happened today. Maybe she should have bypassed the Dallas portion of her trip and left Axel in peace, simply flown to her aunt’s place and retrieved the effects her mother had left to her on her eighteenth birthday, as she’d been promising to do for years.

  “Hurry up . . .” Heath growled at the elevator, willing it to reach the lobby and whisk her away.

  Before it did, a young man she hadn’t previously noticed jumped out from behind a tall potted palm with a camera and snapped her picture repeatedly, the flash popping in her eyes.

  “Get the devil away.” Heath stiff-armed the man.

  “Why are you back in the U.S.?” the photographer demanded, looking over the top of Heath’s head to clap eyes on her.

  When he tucked the camera under his arm and held up his phone as if rolling video, she closed her eyes and looked away. “No comment.”

  Since the security guard was tied up with the reporter who’d approached her earlier, a female desk clerk bustled over and latched a firm grip around the photographer’s elbow. “You’re harassing our valued guests. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  The photographer shook off the hotel employee and darted past Heath, rolling more video as he got in Mystery’s face. “Are you here to figure out how and why your mother died? Was that the reason for your Tweet last night about looking forward to revisiting some of your mother’s effects?”

  “No comment,” she choked.

  God, she didn’t need these sleazebags to remind her that the anniversary of her mother’s death fast approached. She thought about it every spring and often sorted through pictures to remember the woman who’d given her life. She should stop Tweeting when she did that shit. She’d meant it more as a memorial than a “look at me.” Of course, these assholes who made a living scamming off people in the public light could care less.

  “Is this your secret lover? Is he married? Is that the reason for your disguise?” the photographer demanded. “Did he give you the love bites on your neck? What’s your name?” he shouted at Heath before turning back to Mystery. “Would your father approve of you dating an older man?”

  Another employee of the hotel, this one a slight male in an impeccable suit, approached the slouchy photographer and grabbed his arm. The desk clerk grabbed the other.

  “We’ve called the police. If you don’t want to be arrested, leave before they arrive. You have less than two minutes.”

  That finally got the photographer’s attention. He looked at Mystery, then flipped off the video on his phone, and took off running with a curse.

  Mystery released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Why in the hell didn’t these people just leave her alone? She wasn’t an actress or a singer. She’d done nothing to warrant their attention—except be the daughter of one of the most infamous men in Hollywood. She certainly didn’t try to live her life in the public eye. She simply wrote books and worked to fo
rget the past. Was a little peace too much to ask?

  “Please allow me to express my deepest apologies,” the man in the suit offered. “We respect the privacy of all our guests and value your—”

  “Thank you.” Heath interrupted as the elevator finally dinged its arrival. “Now keep these people away from Ms. Mullins. And bugger off.”

  They ran into the elevator, and the hotel’s employee gaped after them as the yawning doors snapped shut, encasing her in silence with Heath. He still didn’t release her hand, but his grip loosened, becoming a gesture of comfort. “Are you all right?”

  “Any idea how they found out I’m here?”

  “None.” Heath shook his head grimly as they ascended to her suite. “I presume a hotel employee thought to make a quick dollar or a fellow guest recognized you when we checked in yesterday. I wish I knew.”

  Mystery wished she did, too.

  As the elevator doors opened at the top, Heath urged her out, his arm curled around her protectively, scanning the hallways for other potential threats. Thankfully, the concierge floor was quiet, almost unnervingly so. But she supposed that observation had more to do with her jittery mood and the knowledge she’d soon be alone with her thoughts . . . and her regrets.

  If Axel realized that she’d deceived and seduced him, would he ever forgive her? It probably didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if she would ever see or speak to him again. But damn it to hell, she valued his opinion. The last thing she wanted to do was upset him. Yeah, she probably should have thought more about that before she’d lied to worm her way into his bed.

  As they reached the door, Mystery fished her card key from the pocket of her jeans. All she wanted now was a long, hot shower and a bite of food before she curled up in bed with a mind-numbing sitcom and drifted off.

  “Ring me if you need anything. I’ll just be down the hall,” Heath advised softly.

  “I know.” She set gentle fingers on his arm. “Thank you.”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to keep the press away. Vultures.”

  “Well, I’m low on the totem pole. Maybe a Kardashian will do something crazy tonight and no one will give a shit about me tomorrow.”

  He sent her a wry smile that wished her good luck with that. Yeah, she needed it.

  Mystery sighed. “Night.”

  “Good night.” He stepped away. “I’ll wait to leave until you’re safely in your room. Unless you’d like me to come in to ensure no one is here waiting to bother you and nothing has been disturbed?”

  Heath would. He’d done it more than once during their six years together. But she’d already had a long day. An even longer night stretched out in front of her. She really just wanted to be alone and figure out how, now that she was intimately familiar with Axel’s touch and already ached for more, she could possibly move on and find a future without him.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ll text you in the morning when I’m up. What time is our flight to Kansas City?”

  “About noon. We should leave here around nine thirty. Have a good sleep in and enjoy a leisurely breakfast. We’ll take you out via the parking garage to ensure we don’t have any more unwelcome pests chasing you as you depart. I’ll work with their security.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She smiled as she opened the door to her room.

  He caressed her shoulder. Then, as she slipped into her room, he headed down the hall. The door shut behind her.

  Inside the room, Mystery raced for the desk against the left wall. Nothing lay on the walnut surface except a small task light, a pad of paper with the hotel’s logo, a pen, and her charging phone. She reached for the device and texted her father that she’d returned to her room, and after a little encounter with the press, she was fine. He quickly replied that he was glad she was safe. He loved her, and they’d talk tomorrow.

  Relieved to finally be alone, she wandered into the bathroom, shedding the dark auburn strands of her wig. The bob had brushed her jaw and chafed her nape for hours. She felt a ridiculous urge to scratch her scalp.

  She tossed the wig on the counter and removed all the pins before fluffing her own long, dark hair back into its usual tousled waves. She removed the evil blue contacts sticking to her eyes and ditched them in a case with some saline. Hazel orbs blinked back at her in the mirror. The clothes came next, and she exchanged them for a robe to peruse the room service menu. Once she’d made her selections and called, she glanced at the clock. She’d have plenty of time to shower before the food came.

  By the time she emerged from the steaming tile box all clean and her face freshly scrubbed, Mystery felt her tummy rumble. She tossed on her exotic garden tank nightie with its admittedly girly cheetah trim and shrugged into the robe she’d strewn across the bed earlier.

  In the last thirty minutes, night had become a black chasm with only the Dallas skyline to her south to light up the world. At least the view was pretty. She flicked the switch on a table lamp to its dimmest setting, softly illuminating the elegant space, and meandered over to the desk to retrieve her phone. A quick text to let Heath know she was all right might be in order. He worried, bless him.

  But when she sashayed that way, she found a photograph on the gleaming surface. It hadn’t been there before her shower.

  The image was of her blindfolded, hands bound, and wearing the little sparkly dress she’d been kidnapped in more than six years ago. It had been taken in the shack that had been her prison.

  Mystery stared at the picture in horror. Her blood ran cold. Who the hell would have left this in her room? How had they sneaked in during her shower? The only person who could possibly possess this image was the captor who’d paid for her abduction.

  With trembling fingers, Mystery lifted the photo, blinking, staring. Holy hell . . . She needed to do something. Say something. Call the police.

  Almost automatically, she flipped the picture over, looking for hints or clues. Her blood froze. In big black letters on the back of the image sat five chilling words.

  RETURN TO ENGLAND OR DIE.

  * * *

  AXEL cursed himself up and down as he slammed through the house, combing it from head to toe, inside and out. Nearly thirty minutes later, he was still scratching his head. How the hell could she have gotten dressed and out of the house in the time it took him to peel off a condom, wash up, and throw on his jeans?

  But that’s exactly what had happened. He’d looked high and low—kitchen, TV room, bedroom. Nothing. His mysterious lover had fled, taking every shred of her existence with her.

  “Fuck.”

  No, he hadn’t expected to spend a lifetime with her, but he’d also thought he’d at least get to learn her real name, peer into the true color of her eyes, run his fingers through her natural hair, and find out why the hell she’d completely rocked his world. Before he let her do it again.

  Besides the great sex—pretty much the best he’d ever had—something about her kept tugging at his memory. She’d looked familiar, and he couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t like unsolved problems and surprises. Too often they ended badly.

  With a sigh, Axel slammed the door to his bedroom and headed back to the kitchen. At his side, his cell rang with a special tone he’d know anywhere.

  He tensed. “Hello, Misty.”

  On the other end, she hesitated. He usually only called her by her given name when she’d disappointed him. In every other situation, he—and everyone else at Club Dominion—called her Sweet Pea.

  “Have I displeased you, Axel?” Her naturally high-pitched voice sounded even more Betty Boop than normal.

  No doubt, his irritable attitude had put her on guard. He already had enough problems trying to keep her from hiding behind her walls. She didn’t need his attitude to shove her behind them even more.

  “No, little one. I’m just in a craptastic mood. It has nothing to do with you,” he assured her. “I’m sorry.”

  Dom 101: Hold a tight leash on your emotions. Con
trol yourself and your sub. Keep your shit together.

  He’d barely spoken to Sweet Pea and he was already doing a shitty job.

  “It’s entirely my fault. I’ll behave. Well, as much as I’m capable.” He forced himself to joke with her. “Do you need something?”

  “I just wondered if you’d seen her since she’s in town.”

  “Who?” Axel mentally sorted through the possibilities. Callie had returned from her honeymoon with Sean and Thorpe recently. Gia Denning was still away with her husband, Jason, probably beaching somewhere exotic. None of the female club members he could think