She walked down the cobblestone streets to her home in one of London’s famous mews. When trying to decide where to purchase a home after relocating to the cosmopolitan capital of England, Zara had taken inspiration from her favorite mystery writer, Agatha Christie, and found a place that suited her perfectly. She had confined her main living area to the first floor with a very open concept kitchen/great room and a half bath. The second floor was her master suite, including an enormous walk-in shower separate from a deep Victorian soaker tub. The third floor was her office, home gym, and retreat from the world; it too had a half bath.
Zara couldn’t shake the feeling she was, if not being followed, then observed. Damian had taught her the difference between the two. Once inside her home, she reactivated the security system, then peeked out of the shutters from the darkened room. She couldn’t spot anyone or anything amiss, but if Finn was right about Fariq Abdal’s organization being taken over by Gerold Springer, she would need to be more careful. She slipped up the stairs without turning on the light.
Normally, the French doors at the top of the stairs remained open, but tonight she closed, locked, and armed them. The glass was simulated bubble glass, reminiscent of a bygone era, but was, in fact, state-of-the-art and bulletproof, as were all the windows in her home. One nasty run-in with enemies of Damian’s had taught her the value of an ounce of prevention being worth far more than a pound of cure.
She entered her bedroom and closed the shutters, turning on the lamp by her bed. Zara got into the middle of her king-sized bed, crossing her legs before pulling out her laptop and jotting down her notes. If Finn’s assumptions were correct, this could be a huge article for both of them. Zara grinned… provided Billy Crofton could be persuaded to allow Finn to get further involved, or they could avoid his presence as they ran down the story. Zara should feel bad about the state of Finn’s ass, should her friend opt to continue, over what Zara was sure would be Crofton’s objections, but she couldn’t. Two of their biggest joint ventures had resulted in accolades and awards for both of them and a welted ass for her. It was Finn’s turn, she thought, laughing.
Noah watched Zara enter her home. Everything seemed quiet, but he hung back, waiting, wanting to be close by in case something went awry. He stayed in the shadows, feeling as though, somehow, she had sensed his presence. Her former flame would have taught her well.
They had been an interesting couple—the NATO Intelligence operative and the investigative reporter. He’d met Damian a couple of times. In fact, at one point, he’d helped him get Zara out of a jam. He seemed to be a nice guy who had a fairly good handle on his woman. Noah was pretty sure there had been a power exchange element to that dynamic, but in his opinion, Damian reacted rather than anticipated, and Zara had suffered for it.
With a woman like Zara, a man would have to be on his toes and know what she was up to. He shook his head. Why did he care? The dream notwithstanding, Noah had no interest in getting involved with Zara Hughes. He smiled at the memory of the dream and felt his cock respond. Fantasy or not, Zara had been right when she’d told him he had no interest in a woman like her and hadn’t been far off the mark when she’d accused him of wanting a sweet, compliant girl who was ready, willing, and waiting to accommodate his sexual needs.
She had, though, been wrong about the blowjobs on demand. Other than as a submissive way for a woman to get him fully aroused, he wasn’t the biggest fan. He knew a lot of men were for a myriad of reasons, one of which was the pleasure that could be derived from a woman who knew what she was doing. He, John, and Mac had once had a heated discussion regarding the best way to humble a stubborn, proud woman—not humiliate… humble. While they differed on various ways to do it, they had come to the drunken consensus, that fucking a woman’s ass was most likely the single most dominant way a man could possess his woman, and all had agreed the best way to bring that lesson home was to make sure she enjoyed it and climaxed because of it.
He shook his head. Lord, if Willa knew half of what he knew about her relationship, she’d skin Mac alive. Willa was a handful, but she seemed to make Mac happier than Noah had ever known him to be. Mac had to stay on top of her unruly behavior, or she’d get so far out into the weeds, he’d need to take a day off just to get her back in line… although doing so seemed to put Mac in the best of moods afterward. No, Mac and Croft could have their spitfires. He’d wait for a nice quiet girl to come along, sweep her off her feet, and live happily ever after.
A dim light showed around the shuttered window of what he assumed was her bedroom. Once it went out and he was fairly certain she was tucked in for the night, Noah lost no time in hacking Zara’s security feed from her hidden cameras. Once he had completed his task, he returned to the Amba and his own bed.
The following morning, Croft went to fetch Finn. Noah was fairly certain when she got on the plane for home, she’d be sitting gingerly—if she’d been his, she would have a blistered backside and a roughly pleasured pussy. Avery knocked on Noah’s hotel room door.
“Well, sunshine, it seems Finn has flown the coop yet again…” she said as she opened the door and let herself in.
“Christ,” said Noah. “I should have stayed on Zara last night.”
Avery laughed. “I’m not even going to go near that one. But no, Finn left Croft a message at the Savoy that she was going home. As you might guess, that means the plane is headed back to Arizona.”
“Until we know what’s what, I think I should stay in London and keep watch over our intrepid reporter.”
“And again, not touching that,” teased Avery.
Noah rolled his eyes. “Why are you intent on giving me a har… bad time this morning?”
Avery’s amusement was beginning to annoy him.
“When did Zara Hughes go from being Ms. Hughes or Hughes to Zara? Careful, Noah, that’s one woman who might be up for the challenge of taking you on.”
“What do you mean? I’m a nice guy.”
“Yes, a nice guy who bores easily and rarely uses the same submissive twice at Leathers—not that most, if not all of them, wouldn’t like a second round if not something more permanent—but you refuse to allow yourself to be really touched.”
“I would think given what happened last year, you’d be a bit more careful about who touched you…” he snarled, then felt like a complete bastard when he saw Avery pale. He reached for her, but she pulled away. He drew her back into his embrace and held her until she relaxed against him. “I’m sorry, Blondie. That was a shitty thing to say. What happened wasn’t your fault. You got played by a master.”
Avery shuddered but clung to him. “Sometimes, I worry that I’ll run into him at Leathers…”
“Won’t happen. He’s lost his privileges and been denied entrance to the club.”
“You responsible for that?” she asked, relaxing.
“No, that was strictly a management decision.”
“I don’t know that I believe that.”
“Believe it. I’m the guy who sent him to the ER, told him he had a week to leave town and never come back, and that I’d put him in the morgue if I saw him again.”