He crawled out of bed, put on his shirt and boxer shorts, and then went downstairs to pour himself a drink. It didn’t matter that he’d had wine at dinner. Right now he needed a shot of Jack. If he had a nickel for every time one of the firefighters on his squad had urged him to see a psychologist about the dreams, he could retire. Cameron snorted and downed his drink then poured another one as he tried to imagine being retired at thirty-five years old. What the hell would he do with his time?

  Mommy dearest would no doubt recruit him to help with her many charitable fund-raisers and benefits. Anything to put on a good show for the neighbors and make believe your fairy-tale life didn’t include pushing your husband down the stairs or sustaining a deep laceration from the time he broke a priceless vase over your head.

  Cameron sat on a stool at the kitchen counter and let the memories wash over him. It was pointless to fight them, especially after the dream, and he knew that. He only wished it didn’t have to be tonight that the demons had chosen to do battle, because all he wanted to do was go back upstairs and snuggle with Olivia.

  Had it been the food or Olivia that had prompted the dream this time? Cameron wasn’t sure. It could have been both, or it could have been neither. Olivia was unlike any woman he’d ever met, and that scared the shit out of him. The fact that he was up in the middle of the night, dream or no dream, thinking about her, was enough to give him cold sweats.

  Cameron Everett Sinclair did not fall for women. He fucked them, he tied them up and paddled them, he bought them dinner, and he took them to art shows and museums. He occasionally took them to charity benefits, but only if there were enough attendees that he could be assured of not having to introduce them to his parents. But he did not fall for them. He did not find them adorable or charming, and he did not want to hold them all night and protect them from harm. Their pretty, smiling faces did not invade his waking thoughts or his dreams.

  “Fuck it all.”

  “I hope that wasn’t meant for me.”

  He whirled around so fast at the sound of Olivia’s voice that what was left of his drink sloshed onto the tile floor. Cursing again, he grabbed a dishcloth, wet it, and began to clean up the spill. Anything to avoid looking into Olivia’s big green eyes. He knew she couldn’t read his thoughts, but he still felt like she’d just caught him jerking off.

  She helped him clean up the spill, and then sat on a stool next to his. “Are you all right?”

  His gaze roved over her shirt. It was the one Storm had been wearing tonight. She must have grabbed the first thing she’d found. It hung down to her knees, for God’s sake. Was she naked underneath it? “Yeah. Just couldn’t sleep.”

  “I can’t either. I think I ate too much.”

  “I’m sorry we made you do that.” They’d both pushed food at her all through the meal. The mere fact that she hadn’t told them to go fuck themselves was enough of a shock. That she was still here was almost miraculous.

  She smiled. “No, it’s okay. I know you both meant well, and I appreciate the fact that someone is worried about me.”

  “I’m sure your parents worry over you.” Cameron knew Harrison Kelly fairly well. His parents were strict, but they doted on their kids. They didn’t beat the shit out of them, at least not that he knew about. Then again, in this town, who the fuck really knew? There were many secrets hiding behind the trim lawns and freshly painted shutters of Racy’s homes.

  She sighed and rested her elbows on the counter. “If my parents had their way, I’d be married with kids by now. Fiona and her husband have a fight at least once a month, and yet they still try to convince me that marriage is bliss, and it should be my one and only goal in life.”

  Cameron snorted and poured her a drink. He pushed it over to her, and then made himself another one. He had a nice buzz going now. Might as well make it official and get drunk. “Marriage isn’t bliss. It’s a vehicle for organizing charity balls and climbing to the top position in an ER.”

  Olivia frowned. “I’m not following you, Cameron.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? You mean there’s someone in Racy who doesn’t know who my parents are? I’m shocked. I’ll make sure to alert them at once. Perhaps they’ll invite your parents over for afternoon tea?”

  Olivia pushed her drink away without tasting it. Cameron was tempted to pick it up, but he wasn’t finished with his yet. “Cameron, I’m sorry, but I don’t know your family.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I wish I didn’t know them.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  Her quiet voice and unassuming manner impressed him, but he didn’t want her to know that. “Why does everyone assume I want to talk about it? What good does that actually do?”

  “It’s done me good.”

  He stared at her, his pulse racing. Surely she hadn’t gone through the same childhood as he had. What did she mean?

  “I mean about Bill Turner. It’s helped to talk about it. You both helped tonight. Thank you.”

  Bill Turner? She was comparing some jerk-assed attorney, who slept around and thought he was good in bed, with his parents, who defined the term “abusive?” Was she out of her flipping mind? She doesn’t know your family. The tiny part of his brain that was still capable of rational thought reined in the verbal assault that was ready to spring from his mouth. Instead, he hopped off his stool and stood in front of her, and then he pulled her into a tight embrace.

  This girl was going to be his undoing. There was no fucking doubt about it. He should be running right now, not holding her in his arms. “I had a shitty dream. The same one I have at least twice a month, and have been having since I was ten.” He pulled away and placed his hands on her thin shoulders. “Want to hear it? It’s not pretty.”

  As she nodded, her big eyes filled with trepidation.

  “The dream is always the same. My parents come at me with great big carving knives. They chase me down unfamiliar corridors or through the woods. I can see the blades flashing in the light. Sometimes it’s my own room at their house that they chase me through, but usually it’s a place I don’t know. They always catch me. Always, even when I’m grown up in the dream. I scream and try to get free, but they’re bigger and stronger. I can feel the blades cutting my skin, and that’s when I wake up.”

  She swiped at her eyes, and when Cameron realized she was crying, his heart skipped a beat or two. Fuck it all. She would have to do that. She would have to care. He pulled her close again so he wouldn’t have to look at that pretty face and those great big eyes full of tears for the idyllic childhood that he’d never had.

  “Did they abuse you in real life?”

  “Yes, but mostly they abused each other. They still do. The cops were never called, or if they were, they were told such a convincing story that no one saw the truth. Good old Pop would patch up the wounds himself, or get one of his doctor friends to do it, and no one would breathe a word.”

  He sighed heavily. “But try not to think about that if you ever have to visit the ER at Memorial and the great Dr. Everett Montgomery Sinclair deigns to poke his head into your cubicle and ask if the staff is treating you right, okay? Don’t let those caps on his teeth when he smiles or that twinkle in his merry blue eyes fool you. The man is a sadistic bastard who can make a woman hurt in places she’d never have believed could be pain centers.”

  He felt Olivia flinch and try to get out his embrace, but he was on a roll now. “And if you happen to be at a debutante ball or a benefit for the Indiana bat or the Copperbelly water snake, and a woman who still wears a sixties beehive hairdo and walks with a slight limp approaches you about a donation, try not to stare at the star-shaped scar on her left forearm, okay? Barbara aka Bitsy Elaine Piedmont Sinclair, of the Chicago Piedmonts, no less, did it to herself with a gas flame and a brooch, and then told her twelve-year-old son that his father burned her arm because dinner was late.”

  Olivia wrenched out of his embrace and he let her go. She crossed her arms and walked to the other side of the room, breathing hard. When she turned around, the combination of empathy and pain in her eyes nearly broke his heart. What the hell was wrong with him? This wasn’t her issue to deal with. He’d known her for two weeks, and here he was, half-naked, drunk at two in the morning, pouring out his heart and soul to her. No one deserved that.

  “Cameron, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It is what it is.”

  “Maybe so, but clearly you aren’t over it.”

  “No shit.” He drained the last of his drink, and then picked up her untouched glass. After one more glance at the look on her face, he dumped it in the sink and sat down on his stool again. “Olivia, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He ran a hand through his hair, wishing she hadn’t come downstairs to see him like this. “This is nothing new for me. The dream is horrible. It leaves me in a funk for days.”

  “What can I do to help?”

  God…she was so fucking matter-of-fact. How did she do that? Her own life didn’t exactly sound like a picnic. She obviously didn’t eat so that she could save enough money to earn another degree, and she had zero self-confidence. “I wish I knew. Just listening is good, though. Honestly it is.”

  She hesitated for a few seconds, then finally walked over to him and put her arms around his waist. He inhaled her warm, musky scent, wishing he had the physical energy right now to make love to her. Slowly, seductively, right here in the kitchen. But it was enough just to hold her.

  “May I ask you a question about your tats?”

  His tats? “Sure. What it is?”

  She pulled away and ran her fingers along one of them, sending shivers up and down his spine. God, he wished her touch didn’t stir him so. “They’re flames and buildings. It’s kind of creepy but beautiful at the same time, but I wondered about them. Why such graphic pictures?”

  He almost smiled. “No hidden meanings, I assure you. It’s what I do, you see? I’m the fire chief. And, I happen to love architecture. I got them when I was much younger. Not so sure I’d go with this theme now.”

  “I like them.” She continued to brush her fingers along his skin, and he knew if she didn’t stop, he was going to lose what little self-control he still had.

  “Let’s change the subject, Olivia. Tell me why you’re going back to school. You do need a degree to work as an administrative assistant at City Hall, right?”

  She nodded against his chest. “Yes. I have an associate’s degree in business administration. I’m back in school because I hate my job. It’s boring, the pay sucks, and I can’t stand Bernie or the people who back him. He’s a vile man.”

  Cameron chuckled. “Yeah, so I’ve heard.” Bernie Crumb, the man who had been Racy’s mayor forever, was single-handedly trying to shut down Maddox’s club. If it were up to Bernie, he’d line up everyone in Racy who was in the lifestyle along Market Street and execute them. “Did you hear about his latest stunt? He’s trying to gather support to institute a morals clause into the contracts of all city workers, including elected positions like councilpersons and zoning commissioners.”

  She pulled away and looked at him in disbelief. “What?”

  “Yeah. He knows he can’t actually touch the club because it’s in a private home, and he can’t shut down Tye Me Up because Kari and Alexa aren’t violating any zoning restrictions by having their shop open, so he’s going after the Doms and subs who work for the city. Gina, Rafe Rodriguez, Cherilyn, Zach, Ellis McCree and Chase, just to name a few, are among his targets.”

  Olivia looked confused. “Gina seemed to think Bernie didn’t really know who was in the lifestyle and who wasn’t.”

  Cameron shook his head. “He has spies everywhere. He knows. And apparently since Gina and Zach started seeing each other, it escalated because it’s all so open in the warehouse. Much less privacy than the old building afforded. A glance here, a whisper there, and next thing you know, Bernie gets wind of it. But it’s more fun for him to trip them up using their own contracts than to simply expose them for carrying on at work.”

  “What a fucking douche bag.”

  Cameron nodded. “That sums up Bernie perfectly.”

  “Now you can understand why I need to get the hell out of there. But at the rate I’m going, I’ll be lucky to earn that degree by the time I’m ready to retire.”

  “What’s slowing you down?”

  She laughed quickly. “Money.”

  “Storm and I can take care of that, Olivia.”

  She backed up a step. “What? No. I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because…just because. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “Yes it would. I’ll talk to Storm in the morning.”

  “Cameron Sinclair, I am not taking money from you or Storm for school. It would take me forever to pay you back.”

  “We wouldn’t ask you to pay us back, silly.”

  She shook her head, clearly embarrassed by what he’d said, which only made him want to push the subject further. “It’s out of the question.”

  “Not if you’re our sub it isn’t.”

  The quick flash of lust and hope in her eyes wasn’t lost on him. Interesting…

  “But I’m not your sub.”

  “Not yet.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The memory of his dream was fading, and his dick was growing hard just looking at her in that oversized shirt and her hair a mess. How had she done that? It usually took him days to get over the dream. He hopped off the stool and picked her up in his arms. She let out one surprised squeak, but still said nothing.

  “Then again why wait until morning? Let’s go wake him right now and talk about whatever pops up.”

  “Whatever pops up? Did you use that line in high school?”

  “Yes. And it worked.”

  The peals of laughter bubbling up from her throat sounded like angels singing as he carried her up the stairs.

  Chapter Eight

  Monday morning, Storm sifted through the rubble at the warehouse, the site of the third fire set by Kevin Newark and the place where, until he’d blown it up, temporary quarters had been set up for both City Hall and the courts. With him was Cameron, Chase Taylor, the zoning commissioner and Ellis McCree, the city’s building inspector.

  Storm glanced at Ellis. “How are plans for the new warehouse coming along?”

  “Slowly. Bernie wants us to separate the two this time. He wants the courthouse set up in a separate building, and he’s still bitching about losing his corner office at City Hall.”

  “What a fucking moron.” Storm kicked aside a pile of debris to look underneath. “There are only two more empty warehouses, and each are more than large enough to accommodate both the courthouse and City Hall offices. So we’re supposed to spend yet more money to get them both set up for at least six months, just so Bernie doesn’t feel cramped? That’s fucking crazy.”

  “This place was plenty big, too,” said Ellis, glancing around. “The problem isn’t space. It’s Bernie.”

  Storm glanced at him sideways. “Any news on the morals clause?”

  “Oh yeah. Zach called me this morning. They’re voting on it tomorrow afternoon. Bernie called a meeting at his house, of all places.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  Ellis snorted. “J.C. has nothing to do with Bernie. Satan himself would spit that man back out.”

  “It won’t pass. Zach, Bettie, and Sally will vote it down. That only leaves Bernie, Morgan and Dennis.” Bettie Johnson and Sally Fulkerson were two councilwomen known to hate Bernie almost as much as Zach did. Bettie was far more outspoken about it than Sally, but Bettie would never vote for something like this regardless. Morgan Riddle and Dennis Connor, on the other hand, backed Bernie unconditionally.

  Storm looked Ellis in the eye. “And who gets to cast the tiebreaking vote?”

  Ellis grinned. “They draw a name from city department heads, and only two of them are Bernie supporters. But even so, they may not want something like this to pass. It’s so full of subjective language that it would never hold up in court, especially not here. And if Bernie wanted to push it to the state, they’d still blow holes in it.”

  “Then why bother with it, I wonder?”

  “You know how he is. He can’t touch the club any other way, so he tries this backdoor maneuver.”

  “Zach and Gina need to be careful.”

  “They know that.” Ellis glanced up as Cameron and Chase walked over. “Is there anything else we can do here? I’d like to let the crews know they can start demolition.”

  Chase shook his head. “I’m done with it.”

  “Me, too,” said Cameron. “And I have to get to the station. It’s my twenty-four hours on site.” He glanced at Storm. “Will you do me a favor and keep an eye on Olivia?”

  Storm nodded. “Sure thing.” He ignored the curious glances from Chase and Ellis as he and Cameron turned to walk toward their respective vehicles. “I thought I’d take her out for the day, maybe for a drive. You okay with that?”

  “Of course. Don’t forget to feed her.”

  Storm chuckled. Olivia had spent most of Saturday and yesterday with him and Cameron. The three had watched old movies, answered Olivia’s many questions about a Dom/sub relationship, and made enough food to feed everyone on two city blocks. They found out that Olivia was a really great cook, and finally convinced her to at least think about letting them help her pay for school.

  They’d taken her back to the apartment above her parents’ garage both days to retrieve clothes and her laptop so she could do class work. She also wanted to let her parents know she hadn’t disappeared off the face of the earth, and give them more of an explanation surrounding her recent whereabouts than her sporadic text messages had afforded them.

  Storm and Cameron had waited inside Olivia’s apartment while she went to the main house to talk to her parents, and when she returned she’d been uncharacteristically quiet for a while. Neither man had pushed the issue, but rather had waited until she’d brought up the subject. All she said was that her parents loved her and only wanted her to be happy, and that they were still trying to come to terms with Harrison’s recent news that he was selling his condo and moving in with Gina and Zach.

 

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