Page 63 of Healing the Heart

With each passing day the case went unsolved, his frustration mounted, and he struggled to allay her fears. He watched helplessly as Fiona retreated further into silence. Sleep, what little she got, brought nightmares. She’d wake screaming as her tormented mind replayed the horrors of that night in the parking garage, and, more and more lately, gagged and bound to the bench in the club.

While she trembled in his arms, she’d recount the vivid images similar to the reality but always with an added terrifying twist. At least she wasn’t burying them. Last night, instead of Mercado menacing her with a bloody knife, it was Jordan whoever-the-fuck.

The room went silent as she paused at the windows. He thought she’d broken the pattern. But the next instant, she circled the table and resumed her pacing.

Noah couldn’t bear to watch any longer. Rising abruptly from his chair, he declared, “You need a distraction.”

She spun around, her eyes desperate. “Yes, please. I’m climbing the walls.”

“Get dressed. We’re going to the club.”

Her answer was to bite her plump bottom lip, her uncertainty palpable. He wanted to pull her into his lap and cuddle her close, whispering that everything was going to be all right. But he couldn’t give those assurances because they didn’t have the first clue where Jordan was. And she’d never get past that night by avoiding it.

“I don’t know if I’m ready.”

He crossed to her and took her in his arms. “We’ve played here often. The only difference will be venue.”

“And the audience.”

“They come with the venue,” he said softly. It was a club, after all. “Besides, you’ll be with me, a dom determined to replace the bad memories with good ones.”

He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, releasing it from between her teeth. The gesture, filled with vulnerability, was also sexy as fuck. It made him hard every time. But everything she did triggered that reaction. Especially the sounds she made, including that soft, sexy, kittenish whimper right before she came.

“Come on,” he said, deciding for her and towing her to the bedroom. “Let’s find you something to wear.”

“I’ve got jeans, T-shirts, and work clothes. Nothing appropriate.”

“Leave that to me.”

“But, Noah...”

He turned abruptly, steadying her when she skidded to a halt. “You’re not sleeping soundly, yet you’re filled with nervous energy. We need to work some of that off, and there’s no better place than the Decadence playroom to do it.” He framed her face with his hands. “You’ve got a few things to work on, and it just so happens your bodyguard knows some tricks to help you conquer your fears. Once we get there, if you still don’t feel ready, we can have a drink in the lounge and dance.”

“I’m not much for alcohol and have two left feet.”

“You can have a Coke. As for the dancing, you let me worry about that. The important thing is getting you out and occupying your mind with something other than your thoughts. Okay?”

The way she leaned into him, turning her cheek into his palm and whispered, “Yes, sir,” made him hard too. He could easily scrap all his plans and take her to his bed only a few feet away. But he’d been doing that for three weeks now, and it was time to try something different.

Filled with concern for her, he tried to hide it behind a smile as he said with affection, “That’s my sweet girl. Let’s go have a look in my closet.”

IT WAS JUST PAST EIGHTwhen they entered the dungeon. Things didn’t get into full swing until ten at the earliest and didn’t wind down until after closing time at 2 a.m.

“Everyone is staring,” she whispered.

He glanced down at her then at the crowd and the heads turning as she walked the circuit by his side.

“It’s the shirt. It looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

He’d produced a black satin shirt from the recesses of his walk-in closet, allowing her nothing else except a pair of skimpy black panties. He’d cuffed the over-long sleeves and flipped up the collar, fluffing her hair so that it hung loose around her shoulders and slid easily over the smooth fabric. The shirttails reached to mid-thigh and covered her more than the short, clingy dresses she usually wore, which he was sure was why she hadn’t protested her makeshift club attire.

“You actually wore this?” she asked skeptically.

“Once. For all of two seconds,” he admitted with a smile.

They both knew it wasn’t the shirt that sparked the attention. It was who was in it, clinging to his arm like English ivy.

“What are you in the mood for tonight, pet?” he asked, adroitly changing the subject.

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