While They Watch Read online

  While They Watch

  Sosie Frost

  Lana Grayson

  Contents

  Foreword

  While They Watch

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Bonus Epilogue!

  Also by Sosie Frost

  Also By Lana Grayson

  Takeover

  Note To Readers

  Other Novels By Lana

  Takeover (Legacy Book 1)

  1. Sarah

  2. Sarah

  3. Nicholas

  4. Sarah

  5. Sarah

  6. Nicholas

  7. Sarah

  8. Sarah

  9. Nicholas

  10. Sarah

  11. Nicholas

  12. Sarah

  13. Sarah

  14. Nicholas

  15. Sarah

  16. Nicholas

  17. Sarah

  18. Nicholas

  19. Sarah

  20. Nicholas

  21. Sarah

  22. Sarah

  23. Nicholas

  24. Sarah

  Déjà Vu

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  Also by Sosie Frost

  About the Author

  Bonus Epilogue!

  While They Watch

  Copyright © 2017 by Sosie Frost and Lana Grayson

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Cover Design: Pink Ink Designs

  Created with Vellum

  To L.G.

  You’re writing this with me!

  To S.F.

  I know, right?!

  Foreword

  Thank you all so much for picking up While They Watch!

  This is the first collaborative effort between Sosie Frost and Lana Grayson, and we don’t think it will be our last!

  If you’re new to both of us—you’re in luck! We’re included two bonus books (our favorites) in the back of While They Watch!

  For Lana, it’s Takeover—book one of a (completed), dark and twisted BDSM trilogy. If you like dark romance, if you like suspense, drama, and mystery, if you like reading all the naughty things you know shouldn’t excite you…this is the series for you! (But fair warning: it might be a bit dark for some readers!)

  And From Sosie, it’s Deja Vu—an absolutely charming rom-com featuring an amnesiac woman who wakes in the hospital with a newborn baby and a delicious detective assigned to her very special case. It’s laugh-out-loud funny, cute, and a perfect love story!

  We hope you get a taste of both our personalities with While They Watch! It’s a blend of taboo fun and sinful desires. We can’t wait to share it with you!

  And don’t forget…a free bonus epilogue is available for While They Watch! Sign up at the end of the book!

  Happy Reading!

  Sosie and Lana

  While They Watch

  Sosie Frost and Lana Grayson

  1

  “You don’t belong here.”

  His voice cut against the thrumming cello of the jazz quartet.

  The warning pulled me from the music and pinned me to my seat. My heart syncopated into a spikey, unsteady rhythm. The stranger spoke with a resonating authority, unbridled confidence, and sinfully sensual growl.

  And for whatever reason, he focused on me.

  Figured. I’d finally worked up enough courage to order a drink in this thoroughly unconscionable bar. His words rekindled my panic. He was right, but he didn’t have to know.

  I smirked. “I don’t belong in a lot of places.”

  Duchess, an exclusive fetish night-club, lingered at the top of the list, followed closely by locations like Syria and my mother’s house in Ironwood.

  “Are you lost?” he asked.

  In him? Very possibly. “Believe me, I’ve located all the emergency exits. The one over by the couple wearing half a cow’s worth of leather seems to be the quickest way out.”

  And yet, my gaze traveled upstairs—to the white LEDs leading to a guarded door of the notorious second floor. A threaded curtain separated the VIPs from the public. Either a mercy or the only way Duchess—the hottest, most exclusive S&M club in Cherrywood Valley—could operate without earning half a dozen indecent exposure violations.

  My peachtini was too light on the -tini to consider the shenanigans happening on that second floor. Even the curtain’s material looked too ritzy for my wallet. I was as out of place in Duchess as I was in Pottery Barn.

  The stranger didn’t leave. Instead, he claimed the barstool to my right.

  I should have bolted, but he smelled of spice, and I was a glutton for punishment. Not a good trait to have in a club like this.

  His shoulder grazed against mine, and I reached for my drink, teeth clamping down on the straw before I said something idiotic. Did people say hello in places like this, or did they introduce themselves with hard limits?

  Hi, I’m a light-spanking, no ball-gag, Aquarius. I’m allergic to soy and don’t like people touching my tushy.

  Maybe they had a shorthand for this?

  Or maybe the stranger was right, I didn’t belong here, and the two friends who might have helped me survive the indignity of this evening were forty-five-freaking-minutes late.

  No calls. No texts. Leave it to Rose and Martini to trap me in the one bar that served leather conditioner alongside thirty dollar mixed drinks.

  The stranger stretched his long legs under the bar—black shoes, black slacks tailor fitted to his build. He was much taller than me, but that was no surprise. I got carded at the door. Three times. A place like this needed a you must this tall to ride sign at the entrance.

  Thoughts like that wouldn’t help me survive the night.

  Neither would warming the instant my eyes drifted over his legs to the crest of his pants.

  He noticed, and I contemplating drowning in what remained of my cocktail. The last thing I needed was to look like some
sort of hungry crotch-wench in this sort of club.

  I drew my gaze up. His shirt was a safer place to stare, except the crimson material stretched neatly over a chest harder than the rock sitting in my stomach.

  I thought the guys in these places were supposed to be decrepit? An early retiree in the midst of a mid-life crisis, brandishing a clearance-rack leash from PetSmart.

  Wow—were my sources wrong.

  The handsome stranger hummed in amusement. “Are you having fun?”

  My heel slipped off the stool. I caught myself before my chin collided with the bar. He steadied me, grasping my elbow within his strong hand. A million goose bumps followed.

  “I…”

  He expected an answer. And a voice like that—a melody more appealing than anything the jazz ensemble played—deserved an answer.

  Unfortunately, my throat closed over a chunk of sticky peach lodged somewhere between my tongue and the last shred of my dignity. A sexy half-cough, half-chortle might have sounded great, but I decided silence was the best recourse for the only girl wearing a cotton sundress in the ocean of second-skin leather skirts.

  A demure nod. A quick clearing of my throat. A guzzle of the peachtini.

  And there was the -tini. Great. My bones melted and puddled on the imported floor tile.

  “Are you meeting someone here, or were you brave enough to come on your own?”

  “Um…” Awkwardness didn’t steal my words. That was all him.

  He’d be a god if I wasn’t so sure only the devil hid in places like these.

  My stranger was older than I’d thought. Late thirties, but no gray in his dark hair. He wore it long, almost chin length, pulled back into a half ponytail framing his stubble-dusted jaw. Strong. His chin angled hard, like every other part of him. Chiseled, though good job on the sculptor for managing to flake any stone away from his diamond hard muscles.

  His complexion looked dark. Mediterranean? I always wanted to take a trip to Europe, and he was my instant-vacation without even a cursory glance or grope from the TSA.

  My glass tinked back onto the bar. I swallowed the frilly vibrato in my voice. His eyes fixed over me.

  Wasn’t it rude to stare? Wasn’t it equally rude to linger in silence like a tongue-twisted invalid who enjoyed the umbrella in her drink more than the liquor?

  “This isn’t your normal night out.” He was a good guesser.

  “No.”

  He mocked me in dire amusement. “No, you don’t belong here. No, you aren’t meeting anyone. Or no, this isn’t your normal night out?”

  “Yes.”

  Oh, Christ. This was just embarrassing. I chugged the last golden drops of my peachtini. Might as well stumble out of the bar too. If I could find some spinach to stuff between my front teeth, my every nightmare would play out in the middle of a fetish club.

  And yet, my mysterious stranger smiled.

  Just a hint, but infinitely more controlled than my humble freak out.

  Better to have him think I was playing coy than deliver the actual truth. I had no idea how to talk to a man like this.

  We—well, wherever Rose and Martini happened to be—planned to come to Duchess for a laugh. He was here legitimately. He belonged here.

  And he chose to sit next to me.

  My stranger leaned over the bar, his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt. His shoulders formed a barrier between me and the safety of the exit. The bartender set a drink before him. Gin and tonic? He hadn’t ordered it but he still had his drink delivered a hell of a lot faster than I was given mine.

  “What’s your name?” His dark stare blended with the effortless baritone of his voice.

  We’d planned to be Polly, Dolly, and Molly, but I’d suffered enough. “Morgan.”

  His eyes dipped over me again. I knew I was tiny, just a chocolate chip on the cookie called life, but I looked even smaller next to a monster like him.

  Did he like that?

  Why did he smile?

  “Good evening, Morgan.”

  His evening washed over me. I had nothing in my arsenal as smooth. Not even a did you know that’s not really a trumpet in the band? It’s a cornet, and I think it sounds snazzy.

  As if on cue, the sadistic quartet switched to a different song. Something tragically mellow that fostered the silence.

  Meeting guys seemed easier in college. I couldn’t walk through a party without some fraternity pledge offering to buy me Natty Lights on his parents’ semester allowance. But my stranger was no overeager kid looking for an easy score. He toyed with me—waiting for me to run away or drown in my drink. Two could play that game.

  “So.” I leaned back to get a better look at my companion. He welcomed the intrusion. Proud and vain. That could be trouble. “Come here often, stranger?”

  He chuckled. The pressure in my chest eased. I tugged the edges of my dress down, hiding the smooth darkness of my knee. He watched every movement, and my fingers dug into the material. I didn’t want him thinking I meant for the hem to creep up, exposing too much mocha. Or that I panicked if I revealed a little more than what was proper. Or that I did or didn’t want him checking out my legs.

  This would be one bundle of humiliated anxiety to unravel in bed tonight.

  “My name’s Anthony.”

  “Evening, Anthony.”

  He cracked and smirked. Maybe I was better at the game than I thought. My cell chirped. I checked the text and groaned. Rose was my own personal town-crier, but she only ever gave bad news.

  Sorry, we’re having a bit of a crisis. Life or death. Can’t make it. Another time?

  Another time? This was our other time, making up for two almost-nights out.

  Then again, Rose and Martini’s life or death situations were usually literal. They were the lucky few who’d managed a job outside the usual office nine-to-five. Unfortunately, they’d exchanged a desk job for the high-stakes life of a motorcycle club. It wasn’t legal or safe, but at least they were happy.

  My mother’s voice echoed in my head. Do something with your life. Go back to school. Meet a man. If I was still talking to her, I’d have loved to bring home one of Rose’s bikers, just to watch the fireworks. But I never had the balance to ride a petal bike, let alone risk my neck on a hog. I didn’t even like bacon. Not exactly my scene.

  I didn’t answer her text. The less I knew, the safer it was.

  Anthony watched while I twirled the straw in my empty glass into a crumpled mess.

  “Would you like another?” Anthony asked.

  I looked up. The bartender awaited my order. I jiggled the phone. My hair escaped the bun, and the spiraling black curls bounced as I shook my head.

  “No thanks. Something came up.”

  Anthony motioned, and, before I could argue, he paid my tab.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “Friends chickened out?”

  I set the phone on the bar. Traitorous thing. “No. They’ve seen worse than this place, believe me. But I knew they weren’t going to make it. They’re usually…busy.”

  “But you came anyway.”

  My shrug was half-hearted. “This beats half-priced soggy wings at our usual hangout.”

  “No wings here.”

  “Nothing’s half-priced either.”

  Another smile. His lips curled over a flash of white teeth. The pale light of the bar shadowed his strong nose and hardened jaw. But his eyes layered in darkness, like a splash of ink across a canvas. For a second, I was glad my friends flaked out on me. They had responsibilities to their club. I had a ridiculously attractive guy offering to buy me a drink.

  Maybe the night wouldn’t be so bad.

  Then again...

  I looked again to the stairs leading to the secret second floor.

  What was happening up there?

  At the bar, the scene seemed normal. Expensive drinks and jazz music. A pair of gothic couples giggled in the corner and a few women danced in slinky dresses and avoided the men trying t
oo hard to buy them a drink. I spotted the occasional collar around a neck, but this place wasn’t any worse than a college Halloween party.

  Except for Anthony.

  He had me cornered. I crossed my legs and hoped the straightened posture would give me more confidence.

  It didn’t.

  He had me pinned without touching me. Examined without seeing all of me. I couldn’t think, not even to make my jumbled small-talk about the differences between the band’s cool and smooth jazz.

  And yet, I didn’t feel threatened. I might have walked away without a word, and he’d have let me go.

  What should I have said to keep him around?

  “If you want…” Anthony’s voice rumbled in a whisper. “I’ll call the valet for your car.”

  I offered him a shy shrug. “Maybe I’ll stay a bit longer.”

  This time, his iPhone beeped. He briefly glanced at the screen. His fingers rapped a slow rhythm next to it, separate from the music. Like he didn’t hear the song or deliberately ignored the tempo. His expression shifted, the playful twitch on his lips exchanged for a practiced stoicism.

  “That’s not a good idea.”

  The goose bumps retreated, my bones remolded, and my smirk vanished. I’d never sharpen my voice, but my eyebrow rose as aggressively as I could without seeming rude.

  “Excuse me?”

  Anthony sipped his gin and tonic. He might as well have thrown it on me. He morphed from sexy stranger to distant authority figure in a split second. Sized me up and decided I wasn’t worth his effort before he even answered the text.

  “Morgan, you don’t belong here.”

  “I was carded at the door.”

  “You’re young, attractive, and dangerously naïve.” He let the word hang. “Do you know what happens here?”

  Anthony nodded towards the man in full leather lurking in the corner, biding his time with a scowl. Then his gaze swept to a second man a few seats away. I couldn’t see his hands, but, judging by his movements, he was having an enjoyable evening.

  “You should call it a night,” he said.