Investigative reporter Rachel Dawson is always looking for her next big story. While working on a feature about BDSM, she lands a one-night, no-holds-barred pass into the exclusive sex club, Benediction. Rachel doesn’t have a deviant bone in her body—or so she thought—until the infuriating, ex-soldier Logan Bradford convinces her to try rope bondage under his capable hands. But a steamy night turns deadly when Rachel and Logan witness a gruesome murder.
A Dom who’s determined to bind her to him…
Framed for a crime they didn’t commit and hunted by corrupt FBI agents, they flee. As Rachel and Logan search for evidence to clear their names, the attraction they’ve been fighting ignites into fiery passion. Love is the last thing Rachel wants, but night by night, as Logan binds her body, he unravels the knots around her heart. And when they uncover a shocking political conspiracy, Rachel will stop at nothing to reveal the truth…and it just might kill her.
Danielle looked over Rachel’s shoulder with a wicked twinkle in her eye. “Logan, you remember Rachel.”
Rachel had met Logan a year and a half ago through their mutual friend Kate. Having just finished her report about a mother who killed her two kids and then stored their bodies in a freezer, Rachel hadn’t been in the mood to socialize. But she hadn’t wanted to disappoint Kate, so she’d gone out anyway.
Rachel had heard only good things about Logan and was eager to meet him. But after Kate had introduced them, he ignored her most of the evening, acknowledging her only to argue with her on every little comment she made. After an hour of it, she’d decided to keep her mouth shut, not wanting to ruin her friend’s night. She’d spent the rest of the evening observing the way Logan smiled at Kate . . . spoke to Kate . . . lit up for Kate.
That night, she’d realized Logan was in love with Kate.
And that he didn’t like her.
She stood and faced him, ready to try to play nice. She gestured to his hands. “Still playing with ropes I see.”
“Still pretending you’re not curious about them.” His expression didn’t change, but she heard the smirk in his voice.
“I’m not curious. I got over playing cops and robbers when I turned seven.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “And by the way, I always did the tying up.”
He chuckled. “Of course you did.”
“Why would you say ‘of course’?”
He inched closer, the spicy musk of him reaching her nose. “Because you’re a control freak.”
She crossed her arms and took a step toward him, so close she had to tilt her chin up to look into his copper-colored eyes. “If the shoe fits . . .”
He tossed the rope onto the small end table beside Danielle’s chair and wrapped his hand around the top of Rachel’s arm, the heat of his fingers searing her skin. “No, there’s a difference between me and you.” He lowered his voice. “I find serenity in control while you wouldn’t know serenity if it bit you on that finely shaped ass of yours.”
He let go of her and she stumbled back into the chair. If she wasn’t mistaken, there was a compliment blended in with that insult. Reminded by his comment of how she kept her ass finely shaped, she turned from Logan and nudged Danielle on the shoulder. “I do too have a hobby. I do Pilates five days a week. So there, I do something other than work.”
Danielle rose from the chair. “It doesn’t count if you’re on your cell phone the whole time.”
“I bet I could teach you how to relax,” Logan said from behind her.
She twirled around, raising her eyebrow. “You gonna let me tie you up and gag you? Because that would definitely put a smile on my face.”
Laughing, Danielle walked away, giving her a little wave. Traitor.
He chuckled, the sound of it low and deep, which for some reason created a warm, syrupy sensation throughout her body. “Not a chance. But an hour with me, your bones would turn to liquid and you’d have the best night’s sleep of your life.”
“All from a little rope?”
“No,” he said, backing her up against the wall. He caged her in, his right hand resting above her head and the other stroking her hip. “From the heart-pumping, thigh-clenching, eye-rolling orgasms I’d give you while you were bound and gagged.”
Her breath stalled in her chest as the image he suggested flashed before her eyes, threatening to steal the tightly reined control she kept on herself. Then she remembered most men were full of shit. Plenty of others had promised to rock her world in the bedroom and not one had ever succeeded. “Pretty cocky, Soldier Boy. Too bad there’s no way you’ll ever get to deliver.”
A sucker for a happy ending, Shelly Bell writes sensual romance often with a bit of kink and action-filled erotic thrillers with high-emotional stakes for her alpha heroes and kick-ass heroines.
She began writing upon the insistence of her husband who dragged her to the store and bought her a laptop. When she’s not working her day job, taking care of her family, or writing, you’ll find her reading the latest smutty romance.