Dark Citadel (17 page)

Masters of the Shadowlands: Dark Citadel

95

“Yes. Mostly.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “It still doesn’t seem real, like something a person should do. But—” She smiled. “Oh, yes, I want to go.”

“With me?” He tilted her chin up so she couldn’t look away.

The look of longing told him everything he wanted to know even before she whispered, “Yes.”

As satisfaction roared through him, he grinned. To hell with his misgivings. He could manage one more night. “In that case, you need to change. Jeans aren’t allowed, although…” He ran his gaze down her body. Red top displaying ample cleavage and gorgeous shoulders. Jeans so tight he wanted to bite that sweet ass. “I like what you’re wearing.”

Her face lit up. “Thanks.”

“Definitely my pleasure. I could use a shower, if you don’t mind. Jessica caught me on my way home, and I detoured here.”

“Of course.”

“I keep spare leathers in the truck. Let me get those.”

A minute later, he walked into her house and stopped short. A German shepherd blocked his path. As a cop, he approved; as the man planning to strip Kari of those jeans, maybe not. He knelt and held out a hand. “Hey, boy.”

A thorough sniffing later, he had a new friend. Ruffling the dog’s soft fur, Dan said, “He’s a beauty. What’s his name?”

“Prince.”

“Like the musician?”

“Like, someday my prince will come,” she said under her breath, adding aloud,

“Something like that, yeah. C’mon into the living room.”

Cops have keen hearing, and the longing in her words struck Dan like a hard punch to his gut. He froze for a moment until Prince nudged him with a cold nose.

“Right, dog. I’m moving.”

Escorted by Prince, Dan followed Kari into a living room done in soft pastels with overstuffed chairs and a couch in flowery print. A small white brick fireplace conjured up images of how beautiful Kari would look in the firelight. Tied and helpless and whimpering her need. He shook his head; damn, he was impossible.

“Hello there.” A thin woman in her midtwenties rose when he entered the room.

Brown hair, brown eyes, maybe five-six.

“Jennifer, this is Mas…um…Dan,” Kari said, giving him a flustered look.

He crossed the room, stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”

Jennifer shook his hand. “No intrusion. I’d just come over to ask Kari for some advice on teenagers.” She grinned at Kari. “I’ll try that and see what happens. Thanks, hon.”

96 Cherise Sinclair

She kissed Kari on the cheek and headed for the front door. “You two enjoy yourselves.” The door shut quietly behind her.

“Well.” Kari glanced at Dan. “My towels are in the dryer. Give me a second.”

While she was gone, Dan prowled around. The right side of the living room led to an old-fashioned kitchen with light oak cabinets to match the big round table and chairs at one end. There was a colorful braided rug on the floor, plants in the window over the sink, the scent of cinnamon in the air. Oatmeal cookies were spread on waxed paper.

Flour, sugar, and a bottle of vanilla sat on the counter.

She made cookies from scratch? Unable to resist, he took one. Warm and chewy, it brought back memories of weekends at his grandmother’s house in the country. Like Kari’s home, Gran’s place had been cheerful and filled with friends and family. The contrast with his bleak and lonely apartment was chilling.

“Where are—” Towels over her arm, Kari came around the corner into the kitchen.

She tried to frown at him, but laughter lit her eyes. “Bad Master! Those are for the children.”

“And they’re very good.” He touched the dimple that appeared in her cheek as she tried not to smile. “You can call me Dan, you know. Formality can be saved for the club. And sex.” He smiled as she flushed. “Definitely for sex.

“Well, okay. Thank you.” She waved her hand at the counter. “You really can have more, you know. I made plenty. Or can I fix you some supper? Maybe a sandwich?”

A born nurturer. “No. I—” His stomach growled, giving him away.

She laughed and pulled out bread and meats from the refrigerator. “Mustard?

Mayonnaise?”

“Just mustard.” He leaned against the door frame, watching her bustle about for him. Marion had rarely cooked; she’d assumed he could get his own meals as well as she could. But they—

“What’s the matter?” Kari touched his cheek with soft fingers. “You look so unhappy.”

“Nothing.” No. The cop was taking a cop-out, and a Dom must be honest with himself. And his sub. “I was thinking about my wife. She didn’t like to cook.”

“Oh.” Kari stroked his cheek with light fingers and then returned to making his sandwich. After a minute, she handed him a plate with his sandwich on it, poured a glass of milk, and led him to the big oak table. “Sit. Eat while I put the cookies away.”

He’d just finished the sandwich when she joined him at the table and dropped two more cookies on his plate. “You read my mind,” he said lightly.

“Men seem to love sweets.”

And sweet women like Kari
. Damn the way she pulled at him. He shouldn’t get involved. Couldn’t.

Masters of the Shadowlands: Dark Citadel

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She nibbled on a broken cookie. Then her blue eyes swept up. “Tell me about your wife’s death, Dan. How did the accident happen?” she asked softly.

His stomach clenched as the food inside turned to a hard lump. “She skidded off a road into a tree.”

Kari tilted her head. Asking more questions would be like deliberately poking at his pain. Horribly rude.

Yet he reminded her of her sister. When Hannah’s baby had been stillborn, everyone said she was handling it, only she wouldn’t talk to anyone. But Hannah normally shared every little thought or pain. Arriving a week later, Kari prodded until Hannah screamed at her, burst into tears, and finally shared her tangled mess of emotions. More than just grief, Hannah felt guilty over the dumbest things: taking a puff of a cigarette, bouncing too much when she walked, eating something unhealthy.

And she’d been envious of every mother with a healthy baby, hated them, hated God, hated her husband, who somehow hadn’t prevented the death. Hannah had talked and cried and talked some more.

And after that, she’d been able to simply mourn for the loss of her baby.

Dan’s eyes held the same torment. Kari clenched her hands in her lap, her heart aching as she decided to push him. “Were you there?”

His head jerked back as if she’d slapped him.

She waited. “Dan?”

“Dammit!” He slammed his hand on the table so hard the dishes jangled. Pushing to his feet, he stalked across the room. “No. I wasn’t there. I got called into work. I could have refused, but I didn’t. And she went out partying. Drinking. By herself. If I’d been there…”

“You think if you’d stayed home, she wouldn’t have died.”

“She’d be alive.” At his sides, his hands opened and closed, over and over. The stark lines on his face were deepened by pain. “I protect people; that’s my job. And I let my wife die.”

A nun once told Kari that guilt has no logic. She kept her voice low the way she did when trying to pet the Garretts’ pit bull. “So if I decide not to go tonight, and you get drunk and run off the road, will it be my fault?”

He glared at her, but after years of teaching sneaky little children, she knew how to offer up wide-eyed innocence. “That’s not the same at all,” he snapped.

“Isn’t it?” Kari rose and put her arms around him. His body felt like a stone pillar.

“Unless you promised to be at her side every moment of every day, you didn’t do anything wrong. People make their own decisions, and sometimes bad things happen.

Not your fault, Dan, any more than it would be my fault if you went out tonight and got in an accident.”

He didn’t move.

98 Cherise Sinclair

Remembering Hannah’s anger, Kari added softly, “You know, if you got drunk and killed yourself driving, I’d not only be grieving, I’d be furious with you for doing something so stupid.”

He growled, but she ignored that and just held him, her cheek pressed against his chest, feeling his pain, sharing his pain. Had she gone too far? Would he ever talk to her again?

After a minute, he took a ragged breath, and his muscles loosened. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her gently.

She could have nestled there all evening, but the phone rang. He stepped away from her. Feeling like cursing, she went to answer it, after pointing at the table. “Finish your milk.”

His huffed laugh relieved her immeasurably.

His legs felt rubbery, as if he’d run a marathon, so Dan took a chair at the table.

After a minute, he did as the little sub ordered and drank his milk. The first swallow caught on the tightness in his throat, but the rest went down well enough after that.

Her voice was like a melody of happiness and caring as she talked with some friend about a play rehearsal. Prince padded over to lean against Dan’s leg, a comfortingly warm weight. He stroked the soft fur, thinking about Kari’s words.

She said she’d be furious if he died being stupid. Was he mad at Marion? He’d loved her, mourned her. But anger?

Now the possibility had been raised, he could almost feel the heavy mass of rage inside him. She
had
been stupid, not for going without him, but in getting drunk and then driving. They’d fought about that before, and she’d laughed at him, called him a hidebound cop. His jaw tightened. And then she’d died…died and left him alone.

Feeling guilty. Feeling angry.

His eyes burned as the unsettling emotions swept over him, uncontrollable as waves hitting the shore. The room felt suffocatingly hot. He had to leave. He walked out into the night air, leaving Kari staring after him.

* * * * *

After the third time, Prince just stretched out and watched her.

Now she ran to the front door and pulled it open. “Are you all right? I’m so sorry, I should never have said—”

He kissed her firmly. Briefly. “I’m fine, and yes, you should have said everything you did.” He ran his finger down her cheek. “I’m sorry I left so abruptly.”

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“It’s all right.” She watched him walk into her living room, reassured to see his prowling gait had returned. “Do you still want to go? I’d understand if you didn’t.”

“Yes, I want to go.” He glanced at his watch. “We still have time before Ben locks the doors. Can I take that shower?”

The guest bathroom lacked a shower, so Kari led him down the hall to her bedroom and the master bath. He followed silently—a good thing since she couldn’t figure out anything to say. She could talk fine when he’d needed her, but he was back to normal.

And having Master Dan here, in her home, was disconcerting.

Before she’d only seen his Dom side, but there was more to him. The depths of his pain and guilt over his wife’s death broke her heart. But it was the little things that she hadn’t been prepared for. The way he’d stolen a cookie. How he looked completely at home in her kitchen. How friendly he’d been with Jennifer; he hadn’t whipped out cuffs or expected to be called Master. How normal—
gorgeous
—he looked in black jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. How he talked to Prince like a person.

And Prince liked him.

In leathers and at the Shadowlands, Master Dan was like a dream. A fantasy. This Dan was real. Frighteningly real.

“Here you go.” She set the towels on the counter.

“Thank you. I’ll be quick.” He unbuttoned his dark brown shirt and tugged it out of his jeans, before reaching in to turn on the shower.

“Right.” Her gaze got trapped at the sight of his muscular chest, his broad shoulders. When he undid his pants, she glanced up and saw the amusement in his eyes. The disconcerting heat that matched her own.

“I’d better change,” she muttered and fled.

In the bedroom, she couldn’t concentrate. He’d be naked by now. In her shower. If she had any courage, she’d go in there and join him. Yes. She’d do just that. She took two steps toward the door and heard his voice.

“Kari, I need…” The last part of his sentence trailed off.

What could he need? The shower had soap and shampoo. Steam billowed in the bathroom as she entered. Feeling like a voyeur, she hesitated outside the shower curtain, trying not to stare at the outline of his big body. Or at least to not be obvious about it.

“Dan?” Saying his name still felt so strange. Nice, but strange. “Did you need something?”

“I did.” He pushed the curtain back, grabbed her around the waist, and set her in the tub. “I need
you
.”

The water and his deep laugh drowned out her startled yelp.

With ruthless hands, he stripped her out of her clothes and started washing her, his hands running over her arms, her back, her breasts. He gave extra attention to her 100

Cherise Sinclair

breasts. “Cleanliness is next to godliness,” he informed her, holding her firmly in place despite her squirming.

“I had a shower earlier.” His touch was making her hot, needy. Abandoning modesty, she ran her hands over his chest. “But I guess another one is good.” She slid her arms around him and pushed her belly against his erection.

His eyes kindled. “As long as you’re there, wash my back.” He handed her the soap. Arms around him, she scrubbed his back and butt, each movement rubbing her breasts against his chest. The friction from his chest hair sent tingles running through her.

He took the soap back and returned the favor, although he spent far too long washing her bottom, massaging her cheeks, and running a finger down the crack.

Stepping back, she washed his front, lingering on his chest, searching out the flat nipples and playing with them. His contoured muscles moved under her touch. Where had he been when she’d studied muscle groups in college anatomy? His biceps hardened when he ran his hand up her body; his pectoral muscles flexed when he put his arms around her. Slowly, she worked her way down his front to his—not a penis—