Shaking off an uncomfortable zing of energy, I stand and move over to my bag, pulling out a bandana.
“Kinky.” Violet grins as I cover her eyes and knot the fabric behind her head, careful not to tangle her sea-foam curls in the knot. “Do you and Charlie use this in the bedroom?”
Would I trust him to blindfold me?
Stop thinking about sex with your fake husband!
I blame Violet.
“You know,” I say, “I think you’re ready for hands behind your back too.”
She lets out a squeak of affront as I move to re-band her hands. She starts testing the bonds the second I let go.
But her task still doesn’t detract her prying questions.
“So, am I you or Charlie right now? Who’s the dom?”
Giving in to an evil urge, I glance over at Manuel, who is resolutely not watching his trussed-up client.
“Hey, Manuel!” I wave him over. “Let’s make this closer to the real deal. Why don’t you give our favorite singer a turn around the room? Maybe a few spins?”
The guy presses his lips together, but I’m almost certain I see a twitch at the corner of his mouth. He moves toward us in ground-eating strides, then scoops Violet off the ground to sling her in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder. She squawks an inelegant sound I’m sure she’d never allow out of her mouth onstage.
Manuel glances at me, one brow curved in question.
“Just a few circuits. An abrupt turn or two. Something she’d deal with if a kidnapper was moving her.”
At that, any minuscule glimmer of humor ices out of his face.
I think if any person were to damage a single molecule of Violet Bluefield’s body, Manuel would take the incident personally and begin a lifelong vendetta. She’s the puppy to his John Wick.
Not a bad person to have on your side.
“You’re both cruel!” Violet yelps as her bodyguard power-walks around the room with her.
He zigzags at random points and makes multiple 360-degree turns.
“Clock starts as soon as your ass hits the ground!” I walk as I talk so she doesn’t have a bearing on her place in the room.
When Manuel finishes giving her a good shaking, he sets her down. Though the man committed to his attempts to disorient her, he lays Violet on the thick mat as if she were made of glass. He takes two steps back, then stops, crossing his arms as he looms over her.
“I can tell you’re there,” Violet accuses. “I wouldn’t try to get my bindings off in front of the kidnapper, right, Luna?”
“Good instincts.” I smile across the way at my pupil even though she can’t see me.
I nod at Manuel, and he stalks toward the exit, opening the door and then shutting it with a bang without stepping through. That’s when I start the timer, and one of country music’s biggest stars begins writhing around on the ground like a worm at a rave, hyped up on ecstasy.
As Violet works to get loose, my mind flips back to her casually suggestive questions. And from there, it’s a short leap to my kitchen and sitting on that countertop.
I might have had the high ground, but Charlie dominated me. The way he coaxed my pleasure to the surface, as if he understood every secret my body had ever tried to hide. My nipples tighten at the memory, and I cross my arms over my chest so the points pressing against my sports bra don’t show.
My attention gets pulled back to Violet when her restraints snap. She tears off her blindfold with a whoop of triumph. My thumb presses to stop the timer, but I give her my sternest look.
“Sorry.” My friend ducks her head. “Next time, I will celebrate my victory quietly.”
I nod and show her the time, and she grins wide.
“I bet I can beat that.”
