Page 68 of Betrayed

He brushed by while shrugging off his suit coat, draping it over the back of the couch as he did so. Her eyes followed him and the way his body moved beneath his dove gray dress shirt, the muscles flexing subtly. He was sleek and graceful, despite his size, like a big jungle cat. And just as lethal.

Dragging her gaze away, she took in the elegant suite, memories of the first night she’d spent here flooding back painfully. Heartache and bitterness warred within her as she looked at the lavish décor with new eyes. A suite at the Four Seasons, a Porsche 911 Turbo, designer suits, and a membership at a premier and very exclusive BDSM club, none of which came cheap; the British government treated their agents well it appeared.

“Stop lurking in the doorway and come over here,” he said without looking at her, moving instead to the desk where a laptop sat open. The screen flashed with a touch of his finger and was followed by rapid tapping on the keys. He inserted the flash drive into a port on the side, then he turned his scrutiny on her.

She shrugged, feigning indifference as she stepped into the living room and began wandering around as if she didn’t have a care. He folded his arms over his chest and cocked that annoying brow, which told her she didn’t fool him. Still, it was better than quaking like a timid mouse in the corner. She was trying on a new, bolder, tougher persona after deciding that the submissive act after two decades wasn’t doing a thing for her.

Stopping at the sofa table, she picked up a folded card. It offered free in-room massages.

“Once we’re done here, I can offer my personal services for that amenity.”

She snorted as she promptly set it back down. Not if he was the last sadistic dom on earth.

“We’ll see,” he said knowingly. Then he waved his hand, indicating the high-back upholstered desk chair he’d pulled out for her. “Come over here and have a seat.”

“I’d rather stay here.”

“And I’d prefer you stop being so stubborn. Unless you have superior eyesight, you aren’t going to be able to see the screen from across the room.”

She twisted her mouth, hating that he was right, and stomped over to him, glancing up at him for the briefest of moments before lowering herself stiffly in the chair. He leaned over her, arms bracketing either side of her, once again trapping her with his body.

“Perhaps I need to define the meaning of truce for you,ma soumise.”

“Unnecessary, sir,” she replied. “And I am your submissive no longer.”

He hummed in response as he planted one palm flat on the desk, the other working the wireless mouse. This close, his scent—Ungaro III, a French cologne he’d told her when she’d asked about it last week—surrounded her. Not overpowering, and when mixed with his own clean, masculine scent, on his heated skin, it became a light, woody, spiced fragrance that reminded her of each time they’d played at the club. The moments of intense passion, delicious pain, and the tenderness that followed. And the aftercare she resisted so vehemently at first, but in the end melted into and enjoyed just as fiercely as the scene itself. She would never smell that haunting scent again and not think of him. To be safe, she vowed silently that cologne and aftershave were permanently off her gift-giving list.

A few clicks later, a password box appeared on the screen.

“Any ideas?” His question, said in a soft voice, ruffled the hair at her temple ever so slightly.

“No.” Her reply came quickly, in a dry croaking sound, but it was true. Derek took care of the bills and all of their personal business. After his death, their lawyer tripled her hourly billings just getting her access to everything. It hadn’t penetrated at the time how utterly controlling that was. If he’d had any forethought or truly cared about her if something happened, he would have made sure she knew about all of that stuff, account numbers, security questions, passwords. She frowned, more proof he was hiding things, for a very long time, and she never really knew him at all.

“Are you with me,chérie?” His velvety smooth voice was warm with concern, despite her outward mien of aloofness. She steeled herself against the comfort of his strength and nearness. He’d lied to her, like Derek. Okay, to a lesser degree than the selling of government secrets to terrorist, so not quite like Derek, but still...

“Think of something personal that only the two of you would know. The place you met, perhaps, or the name of the hotel where you spent your honeymoon, a special song—

“Wait.” She put her shaky hands in her lap and bowed her head, the lump in her throat burning painfully. “I know what it is.”

After a moment of silence, he prompted, “What do you think it is, Mari?”

“He called me Merrily.”

“Of course, but surely he would have used a more secure password than his wife’s name. Anyone could have—”

“No, not Marilee, my name. Merrily like in “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” From the corner of her eye, she saw him angle his head and look down at her, waiting for more. She kept her focus on the screen. “Type in, ‘life is but a dream.’”

Arturo quirked a brow but quickly keyed in the words. It worked. After a few seconds of the cursor spinning, the folder opened. Inside, there were two files. An excel workbook and a video file.

As she watched him slide the mouse to the video file, she explained in a hushed, trembling voice, “He used to whisper in my ear during private moments, ‘with my Marilee, life is but a dream.’” Bowing her head, she returned her gaze to her hands. “Now it turns out, the dream was a living nightmare.”

Arturo’s hand came out and covered both of hers where they rested, fingers intertwined and gripped so tight, her knuckles had turned white.

“I can see how hard this is for you, but we need to watch this.”

She nodded, moving her hands out from under his grip. Not remotely close to forgiving him yet. And, she wasn’t sure she could ever forgive Derek, her stomach churning with the strong suspicion that the safe deposit box with the mysterious jump drive and password-encrypted files were just the tip of the iceberg.

“Mari...”

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