Page 30 of Justice for Francesca

“It feels wrong.”

She felt his hands behind her head, where he released her hair from the knot she put it in daily. As he combed through the tresses with his fingers, she noticed that her rubber band was tight around his wrist. Something so feminine about the hot-pink elastic around his wrist made him seem more accessible to her… like they were in some sort of synchronized state.

“What about it feels wrong, Francesca?”

“It’s against the rules.”

Her eyes locked with his, hoping he’d understand. She could lose her job, even though some days that didn’t seem like such a hardship. But this was bigger than just job rules about fraternization. Even after the case was over, it would still beviewed as inappropriate. More important was she wasn’t meant for his style of life, between the jet-setting and the BDSM. Even if he could possibly be interested in something longer than a few days, there would always be that between them.

“I can see a question in your eyes, Francesca. Ask it.”

“It’s personal. Not professional.”

“I assumed it was personal given you’re sitting in my lap, and your lips are all bee-stung from me kissing you.”

Her fingertips reached up to touch them. Realizing he was right, she dropped her hand from her mouth. “Do you…? Are all of your relationships based in BDSM?”

“You mean because I identify as a Dominant?”

“That. And the clubs. Hanging out in them. Owning them.”

“The clubs are, indeed, a part of who I am,” he admitted. “Maybe not as much as you’re working to convince yourself so that you can avoid this thing between us. Part of my personality is that I’ve always looked for ways to meet the needs of people. Niche environments like what I own are rare, and if they do exist, they’re often unsafe. Our clubs are popular because of all the measures we have in place to protect people. The patrons know I’m concerned about their safety, their needs, and their wants. By giving them that safe space, I’m fulfilling a part of what makes me who I am.

“As for the intimate relationship part of the question, I admit I am very much a Dominant. Have been all my life, whether it was on the football team, the debate team, the military, or now as a boss. I’m skilled at doling out discipline punishments as well as pleasure punishments. I’m trained at most of the club demos. But I can honestly say that no sexual relationship has held any of those elements. Sex like that doesn’t work for me, so I keep the two separate. The BDSM part of my life is complicated, and someday, maybe I’ll share. Just know that with you, I’m justme.” His lips pressed lightly and quickly against the tip of her nose. “I think I’ve confused you enough for one night.”

Suddenly, she found herself lifted and carried out of the way of the furniture, only to be put down on a dining room chair. She watched as he went back to the couch to retrieve her boots and helped her put them on her feet, zippering them back in place.

He stood, helping her to her feet as well. “Go to your hotel. Text me when you get safely inside. Get some sleep.” He stroked the back of his hand along her cheek. “I’ll have breakfast waiting for you when you come in tomorrow.” He pointed a finger at her. “No earlier than eight o’clock.”

“Yes, Dad,” she mocked, feeling her body loosen slightly.

He grinned. “You don’t need a daddy. I do want to take care of you, but that’s a conversation for another day.”

He pulled her in for a hug, tucking her head in the crook of his neck. She loved how her height allowed them to fit together, and she found her arms winding around his waist automatically. She didn’t feel like she was tucked in and surrendering, but more like the yin-yang symbol—two pieces that could operate separately but had balance when they worked together.

She buried her face in his neck, her words muffled against his skin as if speaking them otherwise put them out into the universe to be mocked. “I like you an inch today, but I can’t guarantee that it will be more tomorrow.”

She felt his smile against her head. “I’ll take today, and I’ll convince you for more tomorrow.”

11

SHE’S… COMPLICATED

Tripoli

Crawling down the path, through the smoke, through the noise. Chaos! Gotta get back to Chaos. A body lay on the trail. Gunfire. Several figures loomed in the smoke. Two grabbed Chaos. The other two grabbed him. He felt himself being dragged through the vegetation. He heard someone yelling his name. Yelling for Chaos. Eventually, the yelling stopped, and all that remained were footsteps through the jungle.

Nightmares always made for short nights. For the third night in a row, Tripoli had slept less than three hours.

Now he had something new to worry about. Despite how their question-and-answer game had gone the previous night, and despite how the night had ended, Francesca hadn’t shown up this morning. She didn’t arrive at eight a.m. Or nine. Or ten. He debated calling her. He texted her three times, then deletedeach message before pressing “send.” By noon, he was basically climbing the walls, imagining all kinds of trouble she could be in.

Who did arrive was Cruz who officially informed him about Jessa, although no specific details were given. There was a perfunctory conversation about his alibi for yesterday morning and the night previous since they’d narrowed down the time of death to approximately four hours before Tripoli had arrived at the condo.

Francesca clearly hadn’t told them that he was the anonymous caller, and she had said she wouldn’t, but he hadn’t really expected her to keep that promise. Rules were so firmly entrenched in her that they were probably part of her DNA. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t outed him, she admitted she hadn’t understood why herself. Hefiguredit was because no one had asked her a direct question that would have required an actual lie. He hoped it was because she felt the need to protect him from scrutiny. He didn’t care for himself because he knew he hadn’t murdered Jessa. But if Francesca was acting just the slightest bit irrational, it meant her emotions were involved, didn’t it?

By noon, he realized he was hungry. Since the club was essentially closed, and he was too lazy to go make his own lunch either in his residence or downstairs in the club kitchen, Tripoli decided to walk to the diner down the street. While a bit on the kitschy side, he lovedMacaws I Said So, a long-standing business run by a veteran. The man had spent extensive time in South America and had developed a love for parrots while there. The diner became a sanctuary for birds that people purchased or adopted and could no longer care for, so they had free range of the restaurant. People were free to pet and feed the birds as long as they followed the house rules, and because Sam, the owner, and the birds were so loved, there were rarely issues.

Tripoli smiled at the parrot, a shy sun conure, posted at the door of the diner, and he ran the back of his finger down her breast. “Good morning, She-Ra. How’s my good girl?” He leaned in, and she busked his cheek with her beak.

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