Free Unconditional by Lexi Blake

out, and now he was wondering how the sweet sub had taken the cop’s balls, too. Because he’d seen the way Derek watched Karina—like she was a dangerous animal he really wanted to take a bite of.
    “She didn’t appreciate the way I handled a case,” Brighton explained. “I didn’t appreciate the way she stuck her nose in my business. She took it up with some friends of hers and sicced IA on me.”
    Taggart’s eyes went wide. “Fuck me. Karina had to be really pissed.”
    “Like I said, we disagreed on how to proceed,” Derek explained with a casual shrug.
    “And you stopped playing with her.” Somehow Taggart managed to make it an accusation rather than a statement of fact.
    Derek shook his head and that purely square jaw of his tightened stubbornly again. “I want a sub, not someone who likes to play at it in a club.”
    Keith wasn’t so sure that was the whole story. “Well, she’s my favorite sub right now. She saved my bacon out there.”
    Taggart looked oddly thoughtful as he spoke to Derek. “I think you’re allowing your history to cloud your vision when it comes to Karina. She’s definitely a sub, and she needs a firm hand. I think I’m going to let her work with Simon on a couple of cases and see how that goes. He looked like he could handle her.”
    Derek’s lips formed a thin line, but he simply nodded. “Good luck with that, man.”
    He turned and stalked off to the showers.
    Taggart frowned. “See, sports are easier. Knight, get your ass in here. I’ll show you what real football is.”
    An enormous man walked around the corner wearing nothing but a towel over his muscled hips. He had a second towel he ran over his dark, wet hair. There was no way to miss the mangled mess his chest was. He had an angry red bullet wound over his pectoral muscle and what looked like surgical scars all around it. He’d had some work done and recently. “Real football is played without pads and protective gear.”
    The big Irish Dom walked behind the Brit. Liam, if Keith remembered correctly. Unlike the Brit, he had put on a pair of jeans. He ran a towel over his wet hair and slapped his friend on the shoulder. “Don’t even try to explain. They don’t understand. Americans are delicate, mate.”
    And they were also late. If he didn’t get a move on, his submissive would wonder where her damn Dom had gotten off to. Unfortunately, the minute he walked away from the guy talk, his worries slammed right back into his brain.
    Ashley Paxon was damn near a virgin. He didn’t care that she’d had lovers before him. They hadn’t given her pleasure.
    She was a kid starting her life and he felt like an old man.
    Who the fuck was he kidding? His problem with Ashley wasn’t her age. He’d dated women younger than her. He tended to prefer more mature women, but Ashley wasn’t some party girl. She had responsibilities, and that was what he really had a problem with.
    What the hell was he doing getting involved with a woman who had a kid?
    He strode to the showers after tossing his leathers in his locker.
    He’d forgotten for a moment. He’d been so fucking into her that he hadn’t been thinking about it. Then he’d seen that thin little scar right above the neat patch of her pubic hair. The same scar Lena had after she’d given birth to John Michael.
    Not going there. He turned the water to practically scalding and let it beat down on him.
    Being near Ashley had reminded him of everything he’d been missing in his life. Did he have to give her up? He was a smart man. He’d made billions for himself and his clients and he’d done it by knowing exactly how to walk the line, when to get in on a deal, and when to get out. He had flawless instincts.
    He could handle this. Ashley wasn’t asking for anything more than a hand to hold while she explored the lifestyle. She wasn’t even asking to see him outside of the club. She hadn’t been upset when he’d walked out. He’d been able to hear giggling.
    She