No Stopping Now. Dawn Atkins

had Eve worried, too.

      Jillian had a week to find out.

      4

      IT WASN’T BONDAGE SCHOOL that surprised Brody—he’d expected the place to be decorated like a torture chamber, with displays of menacing devices and all the students in leather and latex and spikes—it was Jillian’s reaction to the place that amazed him.

      She was relaxed, as calm and easy as if she were filming a field of wheat, a sunny meadow or a small-town park. She focused on the best angle to view a whipping, the right lighting for black leather, how to capture shiny spikes without glare.

      He almost laughed when she shifted furniture and climbed a ladder to get the perfect shot of a paddling. Kirk would never have gone to that much trouble.

      She put up with a bunch of Brody’s reshoots without complaint, too, just as she’d promised. When Brody blew off the shot list, instead of going along like Kirk would have done, she’d do the new stuff, then go back to what they’d planned and do that, too. She missed nothing.

      He was behaving differently, too. Showing off, for one thing. When the head dominatrix, Mistress Mona, tried out the cat-o’-nine-tails on him, it stung like a bitch, but he’d refused to wince.

      Now they were in the bar, which was raking in cash with overpriced liquor. The whole school was a moneymaker with brutal tuition fees and criminally expensive paraphernalia. A hundred bucks for a rubber hood? Come on. All part of the punishment, he guessed.

      In the bar, the students and teachers mingled, leather and rubber clothes squeaking, chains clanking. It was like some weird costume party with everyone in black and metal.

      Whatever stuffed your jeans, he guessed. Not his thing.

      They had tons of footage, but he still had that restless, unfinished feeling, so he motioned JJ over, hoping for some ideas. Between shots, he’d noticed how busy she was, scoping the place, talking to the instructors, the patrons, the bartender.

      “I need something more from the Queen of Pain,” he told her, nodding toward Mistress Mona, holding court at the bar. “Any ideas?”

      She didn’t miss a beat, just leaned close to talk low in his ear, giving him a delicious blast of her spicy scent. “See the guy in the Girls Gone Wild ball cap at the back table?”

      He looked, spotting the guy with his frat-boy buds. They’d stumbled into the place, not knowing what it was, then stuck around to gawk and joke.

      “He’s laughing like his friends, but his eyes never leave Mona. I think we should bring her to his table.”

      “You don’t miss much, do you?” he asked her.

      “I try not to. No.”

      “I’ll have to remember that,” he said, thinking about the interviews he’d promised her and all he had to hide.

      “I’ll go talk up the college boys,” she said. “You tell Mona.”

      He headed for the bar and sat beside the dominatrix. “A minute more of your time, Mistress Mona?”

      “Yes?” she purred, pursing bright red lips. Her hair was teased platinum and her eyes were heavy with black gunk—pure drama, but he’d seen she had humor about herself, unlike the students who were hyper about the rules of their sexual roles.

      “I think we know someone who could use a touch of your lash,” he said.

      “Tell me more,” she said in the German accent that ebbed and flowed. While he explained the plan, he glanced over to see how much more time JJ needed. He was surprised to find her waiting for him, ready, and she’d gotten the frat boys primed, too.

      She was fast, moving like smoke, subtle and smooth, never drawing attention to herself, almost invisible, efficient and effortless and always there. She’d even gotten Brian and Bob to pick up the pace. The lights and boom mic were ready, too.

      She’d told him she often did her own lights and sound on documentaries because it lessened the intimidation factor. The fewer people and equipment, the more relaxed her subjects were.

      He and Mistress Mona moved toward the frat-boy table and JJ signaled she was rolling tape.

      Mona loomed over the boys, silencing them, and the kid in question blinked up at her. “I’m not really into all this,” he said, looking utterly enthralled. JJ had been right about him.

      “Come on,” Brody coaxed. “We all need the occasional smack on the behind, don’t we, Mistress Mona?”

      “You vill gif your mistress respect,” Mistress Mona snapped. “Take off zat ridiculous cap.”

      The kid jerked the hat from his head, grinning, his face pink. Oh, he was into this, all right.

      “Wipe zat smile off your face.” Mona whipped her crop onto the table so that it slapped his fingers.

      The kid stared at his hand, then at Mona, utterly thrilled.

      “I’ll leave you two alone.” Brody patted him on the back and stood. “Enjoy. The cat-o’-nine-tails is intense.”

      JJ backed up, keeping the camera on Brody as he left the table. She was waiting for his wrap-up. He liked that she’d picked up on their system.

      “Whatever polishes your jewels, guys,” he said into the lens, walking slowly enough that JJ and Bob could keep their equipment steady. “You like rubber hoods or get off on wearing pink panties under your Dockers? As long as no one gets hurt—well, sent to the hospital—go for it.”

      He needed something else…a final comment.

      JJ pointed him toward a student practicing her riding crop moves on a guy’s backside.

      “My turn?” Brody said to the girl, then turned and bent over. She smacked him lightly.

      “Oooh, the Doctor is in,” he said with a wink, holding his pose until JJ took the camera away from her eye.

      “You got what you needed?” he asked her.

      “I did. Yes.” Her voice was low and throaty. There was that spark again, flying between them, unexpectedly strong. She felt it, too, he could tell, but backed away fast. He couldn’t figure out if she was scared of it or irritated by the distraction. Interesting…

      “We’ve got to move,” Eve said, bustling up, her messenger bag tugging her shoulder down. It amazed him how much junk she hauled around—energy drinks, files, notebooks, forms, batteries, cosmetics, even a flashlight and, for some reason, latex gloves. “They’re waiting for us at the condom factory.”

      “I’d like to look over the footage before we go,” JJ said.

      “You’ll have to check it in the van,” Eve said. “We don’t have time for a reshoot anyway.”

      Why was Eve so bristly with JJ? She was always a steamroller, but she was particularly pushy with JJ. Had Eve picked up on the attraction? Maybe she missed Kirk. The two of them bickered like an old married couple and they talked daily.

      At the van, JJ let him help her into the seat, then set up the computer and external drive for a playback, quick and efficient, resting the laptop on both their knees. He liked the slide of her thigh against his own.

      Eve sat up front where she could more comfortably boss the driver. Eve made him grin. She had the tenacity of a terrier, a great eye for detail and was utterly competent. Sometimes over the top, but that was part of the package.

      He was determined his crew would make a soft landing when he left the show. He’d take care of them all—Eve and Kirk; Brian and Bob; the assistant producers who helped Eve from time to time; Chloe, his editor.

      Maybe Doctor Nite would get a new host. His network had done that with that car mechanic show. Talk shows did it all the time. Maybe they’d hardly notice he was gone.

      “Brody?”