Page 3 of Edging Sanity

A predatory smile spread across Delilah’s face. “Alone at last.” Her smile only grew when Rowan slipped the key to Delilah’s cuffs off the ring on her belt loop. “What do you have planned for us, officer?”

What we should have done when you first got here.

Without a word, Rowan led Delilah to the far wall and unlocked one wrist, cuffing her to the closed hook embedded in the wall instead. Delilah watched with open interest while Rowan knelt down and unlocked both cuffs around her ankles before standing and taking two quick steps back.

“Strip,” Rowan ordered emotionlessly.

Delilah looked like Christmas had come early. Her face lit up as she slowly unbuttoned her silk blouse with one hand, shimmying it down her shoulders and letting it catch on the cuff hooked to the wall. Her red-lace bra matched her lipstick and was padded enough that she would have to remove that too. But they both knew that already. Delilah’s lip twitched in amusement as she watched Rowan try not to look at her chest.

“I need help with the boots and stockings. Officer.” Delilah bit her lip, batting her eyelashes and looking seductively at Rowan. “Or… you could uncuff me all the way.”

“Other hand against the wall,” Rowan’s order came out as a harsh whisper, her insides scorching as Delilah’s free hand smacked loudly against the cement.

Rowan didn’t bother with restraining her further—a test, perhaps; an invitation. She was stronger than Delilah, could beat her if she tried anything, but she knew that wasn’t the reason. Delilah wouldn’t do anything. Not while she had Rowan exactly where she wanted her.

The tile floor was hard beneath her knee as she knelt in front of Delilah for the third time that day. The weight of Delilah’s gaze keeping her down, and their position too intimate, Rowan took one of Delilah’s booted feet onto her thigh and started untying the laces.

“This is so hot,” Delilah whispered, leaning back against the wall as Rowan worked too slowly, with fingers that almost felt numb. She swallowed, refusing to rise to the bait this time. She slid the boot off then carefully slipped her hands upward, feeling for where the scratchy stocking fabric ended and smooth skin began. The contact was electric, fueling the blood pounding through Rowan’s veins when she skimmed Delilah’s bare thigh just under the edge of her skirt.

It took all the focus she possessed to hook her thumbs under the stockings and roll them down instead of continuing upward.

“You know,” Delilah hummed, breaking Rowan’s trance. “I should really know your name if you’re going to be undressing me like this.”

There was no reason not to tell Delilah her name—not exactly. All the other patients knew it. Hell, she was on a first name basis with quite a few of the lifers and one or two of the regularly returning patients. But there was just something about Delilah’s frustration at not getting what she wanted that made Rowan want to withhold it.

Something about making Delilah work to get the information out that stoked that flame inside her. She was making Delilah fight for her. But then again, if Adele found out that Rowan was making Delilah’s life “difficult” then she’d be pissed. And if Rowan wanted to stay in charge of Delilah, she couldn’t piss off the boss.

“Rowan.”

“Rowan,” Delilah repeated slowly, rolling the name around on her tongue, as if tasting it like a fine dessert. “Handsome.”

Rowan’s gaze snapped up. There was fire in Delilah’s eyes, and a knot weaved and twisted inside Rowan’s stomach, churning until sparks ignited throughout her body.

Delilah was the one to break the strange hold she’d claimed over Rowan’s nervous system. She slowly removed the foot Rowan was clutching, the stocking falling the final few inches to the ground and replaced it with her still-booted foot. Directly on Rowan’s chest. There was so much raw power flowing between them now that Delilah had laid claim to. Rowan was quickly losing whatever game they were playing, even as she slowly undid the laces on Delilah’s boots.

CHAPTER

THREE

Rowan was exhausted and her day wasn’t even close to over yet. The image of Delilah with her bra hanging loose off her shoulders was seared into her brain forever. And then, when she bent over, Rowan almost forgot how to breathe.

Do you need to search more thoroughly?

Jesus Christ. Rowan barely remembered where Dr. Bronwin’s office even was. Delilah didn’t get an acclimation period. Similar to how she’d been taken straight to Adele upon intake, she was now sitting on a padded chair beside the couch in her new therapist’s office. Her wrists and ankles were cuffed to the chair’s arms and legs. Delilah didn’t even complain about it, only watched Rowan unnervingly as she’d fixed the cuffs.

Rowan stood against the door conveniently positioned halfway between the desk and chair so she could intervene should anything happen—as unlikely as that was. Delilah’s quick gaze darted around the small space, dissecting every detail, her head on a swivel. She only paused when her attention lingered on the green filing cabinets that lined the opposite side of the room. She didn’t read the bland motivational and mental health awareness posters, but she did examine Bronwin’s degrees, which hung behind the small woman.

Bronwin, for her part, hadn’t looked away from Delilah. Her assessing stare was pinned on the killer from the moment they stepped into the office. Delilah’s gaze finally flitted over Bronwin, taking in her dark brown hair twisted into a tight braid, the light smattering of freckles on her tanned face, and her plain tweed blazer and cream undershirt. Rowan watched Bronwin as she sat placidly, letting Delilah finish her assessment.

Rowan imagined Delilah would underestimate Bronwin, would think she was a pushover and easy to manipulate. But Bronwin was shrewd, observant, and at times ruthless. Sometimes Rowan wondered if there was anything that would stop her when she wanted something. Delilah would like her, Rowan decided. They were more similar than they should be.

“First impressions are critical, Rowan,” Bronwin had told her once. “People will decide what they think of you within eight seconds, and those opinions can be difficult to change once formed.”

What would Delilah’s snap decision about Bronwin be? What was her decision about Rowan? Rowan’s first opinions of Bronwin hadn’t changed since then, so she supposed there must be some truth to the statement. Not that Bronwin had proven her wrong in any fashion. She quite liked the therapist, in fact.

“Ms. Watson,” Bronwin’s silky voice broke the still silence of the room, and Delilah’s sly smirk made it look like she’d just beat Bronwin at some unspoken game. “Do you understand why you’re here?”

Delilah raised an eyebrow, cocking her head to one side and sliding her gaze quickly to Rowan before returning to her therapist. “Of course.”