Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am (17 page)

For now…Aaron studied the submissives again. Perhaps the sharp-nosed slut with dark hair would serve his tastes.

* * * *

Linda blinked.
Dark
. Had she gone blind? She tried to work up some concern, but at the moment, her body felt…awesome. So replete that her insides throbbed with satisfaction. Her ass was tender, her clit ached, and her skin sizzled with delicious pain. With each breath she took, her breasts rubbed against soft fabric. Warmth radiated into her from…
Oh.

She was on Sam’s lap, his powerful arms holding her firmly to his chest. A blanket had been wrapped around her, and her face was buried in the hollow of his neck.

She considered lifting her head, but that seemed like too much effort.

“You back with me, baby?” The rumble of his voice was delicious.

When she wiggled, the scrape of his rough jeans on her tender, bare bottom was like sitting on white-hot coals. She jumped to her feet.

He yanked her back down. “Stay put.”

Ow, ow, ow
. “Sadist.” But already the burn was sliding into a sweet throb.

He snorted. “That supposed to be an insult?” His calloused hand stroked down her bare back, making her hiss at the wash of wonderful pain, and he laughed again before reaching for something. A bottle. “Drink some of this.”

The strawberry-flavored sports drink poured into her parched mouth like a river of coolness. “Mmm.” She sipped more, glorying in the taste and all the bright sensations—the feel of Sam’s warm body, how her skin burned in places, ached in others, the sound of his heartbeat, and music from outside the room. Everything. The comfort of being held—cuddled—made her want to cry and burrow even closer. She’d never felt so close to another human being, as if a ribbon of awareness cycled from him to her.

At a discreet tap on the door, she reluctantly lifted her head. The time for their special world must be over since she saw Raoul in the hallway. “There’s a window in the door.”

Sam rose and set her in the chair. “Someone’s always on duty up here. Z doesn’t take chances with his submissives.”

She frowned. Surely someone didn’t stand at the window all the time. “So if I’d yelled red?”

“Audio is handled by computer. He’s got some odd software that can pick out words and distress—though the distress category gets a lot of false positives.” Sam winked. “Seems that to a computer, an orgasm sounds like a heart attack.”

He stepped outside. The men’s voices drifted in through the open doorway.

Pulling the blanket higher, Linda watched. How come men looked so…edible…in the morning when women looked like hell? With a frown, she tried to smooth out what was probably the worst case of bedhead in all the world.

Sam glanced back at her, and his eyes lit with laughter. “I like the rumpled look…since I made you that way. It’s a turn-on.”

Oh. Well
. Far be it from her to deny a man his little diversions. Then again…

When she kept finger combing her hair, his lips quirked. “Raoul and Kim are leaving. Do you want to go with them, or—”

“Oh, heavens!” Where were her brains? How could she possibly have forgotten she’d arrived with people? “Tell him I’m sorry! I’ll be right there.”

Her clothes were folded on top of Sam’s toy bag. She donned her halter top and skirt, inhaling hard when the fabric encountered sore skin. Memory after memory of how her skin had gotten that way sent heat flushing through her until her face probably glowed.
I want to stay.

Leaning against the door frame as he talked with Raoul, Sam wasn’t bothering to conceal his enjoyment. Once she was dressed, he walked over and pulled her into a hug. “If you stay, we could move to one of the rooms with a bed. I’d like to run my hands over you and hear those noises before I took you again.” He squeezed her welted bottom, making her moan. He rumbled a laugh. “That’s a good sound.”

As the sultry burn washed through her, every drop of blood pooled in her lower half and set up an urgent need. She wanted it all again. The pain. His demands. Him taking her. She rested her forehead against him, trying to burrow closer. To hang on forever. “I’m opening the store tomorrow. I have to go.”

“All right.” She felt him kiss the top of her head.

When Linda stepped into the hallway, Raoul was leaning against the railing. His dark gaze swept over her in a slow perusal before his lips curled in an easy smile. “You look as if you had a good time.”

After all the things Sam had done to her, how could she possibly have a blush left? But she did.

Beside her, Sam ran a knuckle down her cheek, obviously enjoying the color show. “If you get depressed or weepy, you tell Raoul or you call me. Clear?”

A definite order. Sometimes that military background of his popped right out, didn’t it? “Okay, Sarge. Got it.” Oh, bad mouth. And if he slapped her butt right now, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet.

He stilled, gave her an assessing look from ice-blue eyes, then snorted. “You look so sweet, but you got some brat in there.” He tugged on her hair, and Lord help her, even her scalp was sore. She didn’t make any noise, but his eyes crinkled with what he must have seen in her face. “Want me to come by tomorrow?”

Her heart lifted.
Yes yes yes
. Then she felt a twinge of guilt. He was always driving to her house. That didn’t seem fair. “I can come to your place instead.”

The laughter disappeared from his eyes, as did any trace of softness. “Ah—”

She took a step back, realizing he’d never invited her over. Never even talked about his farm. Because he didn’t want her there? “Oh. Never mind.” The inside of her chest suddenly hurt worse than her back and bottom. Did he think she’d contaminate his home?

Sam reached out, but she stepped away.

“Linda.”

No laugh, no apology. All she heard in that one word was reluctance. Regret. He really didn’t want her at his house.

The Overseer’s voice slid into her head.
“You’re a slut. A fuck hole. That’s all you are.”
She swallowed. She’d thought Sam liked her…liked her for more than… The cold wind of reality ripped any lingering warmth away, leaving her exposed and chilled. Trembling.

“I really need to go.” She took two steps to Raoul, hoping, still hoping, that Sam would react.

But it was Kim’s Master who put an arm around her. “Come, chiquita.”

When he gently pulled her to his side, she blinked back tears. Had there ever been such a nice man? “Thank you,” she whispered, burying her face against his chest.

“Shhh,” he whispered into her hair. He lifted his head. “My friend, you are a fool.”

Sam didn’t answer.

As Raoul guided her down the hallway to where Kim waited, no footsteps sounded behind them. Eyes blurry with tears, Linda looked back. Sam was gripping the railing. His head was bowed.

He didn’t come after her.

* * * *

Nolan’s construction crew took Sundays off, which suited Sam just fine. He was irritable enough without the noise of construction—had been irritable ever since he shoved both boots in his mouth with Linda. Hell, his boots hadn’t gone in his mouth; instead they’d trampled all over an innocent submissive.

You’re a bastard, Davies
. He’d picked up the phone several times, intending to apologize and to…to do what? What did he want to happen between them?

Tilting back on his porch chair, feet up on the railing, he drank coffee and watched the cold, gray world come to life. From the chicken pen, the rooster announced dawn. In the pastures, the cattle and horses trailed down toward the pond. Connagher was doing perimeter patrol, lifting his leg in some preset canine pattern to mark his territory. With no field hands today, the orange groves were quiet.

Chores or not, he couldn’t summon the energy to start moving. Caffeine hadn’t helped his energy level. Time hadn’t helped his guilt.

The pain in Linda’s eyes had stabbed right through him. Made him realize how badly he’d screwed up. He hadn’t thought, just reacted. The idea of a woman in his home—after the war zone it had been during his marriage—had paralyzed him completely. Seemed that four years of quiet hadn’t erased the bitterness and memories.

He wanted Linda—
hell, yes
—but for what? A play partner? An occasional fuck buddy? The thought thinned his mouth. She deserved better. He had plenty of play partners and fuck buddies. She meant more. The feel of her around his cock was fantastic; the feel of her in his arms, warm and soft, was even better. The hollow of her neck smelled faintly of lavender.

Closing his eyes, he shook his head.
Got it bad
. He could remember every laugh line on her face and see how her freckles faded into the pure white of her breasts. He liked how unexpected things would catch her fancy and her laughter would escape, so surprisingly full-bodied that he’d grin every time.

She hummed when she cooked. Sang when she scrubbed. She wore her music as another woman would wear jewelry.

She was fucking brave. And smart. Fun to talk with. Cute with her grumpiness in the mornings.

If she lived here, they’d… Yeah, that right there was the problem. He liked being single. Compared to the alternative he’d experienced, he could live with occasional loneliness.

He glanced over his shoulder at the small window he’d replaced after Nancy’s door-slamming tantrum had shattered the antique glass. For a year after the divorce, it seemed like her screams and vitriol had continued to echo off the walls. He and Nicole had moved around the place like shell-shocked survivors. Then they’d slowly redecorated the entire house. Breakables had worked their way back in.

How could he bring someone into this carefully crafted peace? Even briefly?

Hell, he hadn’t even known Linda that long.

Like Nancy. Three dates and she’d turned up pregnant. He’d had no clue about her messed-up welfare family or her drug habit.

Then again, he’d spent long hours in Linda’s home, enjoying her company. He’d scened with her, bared her body and her soul. And sure as hell he’d been a Dom long enough to know when a submissive was lying.

Linda was exactly who she’d shown herself to be: a courageous, warmhearted survivor.

His mouth twisted. He was the scarred survivor of a fucked-up marriage, and he’d hurt her badly. Maybe she was better off without him.

* * * *

Linda’s store was a heaven-sent distraction. She needed to stay busy because her spirits took a dive whenever she thought of Sam…or the previous weekend…or the times with him before that. She’d thought they had more between them than just floggings and sex. She’d thought they’d…connected.

Guess not.

Scowling, she set another basket on the shelf, angling it so the subtle design showed.

With Sam, she’d felt safe. Safe enough to let go, to let pain transform into pleasure, to let herself slide into her happy place. His strength, his voice, even his brutal honesty was reassuring. So was the way he’d hold her afterward with surprisingly tender hands, caring for her as if she…meant…something.

Yeah, I meant a lot to him. As long as I stayed away from his home.

As tears burned her eyes, she set two more baskets—small bright ones—on each side of the first.

Still, no matter how it ended, knowing him had been worth it. And last weekend had been wonderful. She’d learned that other women accepted and openly enjoyed their BDSM lifestyles. And what a relief it had been to acknowledge her own need to be hurt and dominated. She smiled slightly. Her bookaholic friends “needed” to read or they got irritable, and she felt that way about pain. Since that was her “thing,” she’d better acknowledge it.

And she’d better not date men who thought unconventional meant sick.

Darn it
. It wasn’t fair that the one man who accepted her—no, who really
liked
her other side—didn’t want more. Her lips quivered. She’d wanted to give him all of herself.

She couldn’t even hate him.
Well, not much
. He’d been gentle with her, slept in her house to protect her, cared for her after their scenes. He wasn’t a bastard, although she’d called him a few nasty names off and on all week. He just didn’t see what they had together as a…relationship.

Obviously, she’d read more into his actions than he’d intended. Gritting her teeth, she shoved the Overseer’s voice away.
I’m not a slut.

She gave her head a firm shake. Yes, it was a pity that her little jar of hopes got knocked over, but how long was she going to whine about it? A year or two?

Do your job and be a shopkeeper.

A few minutes later, as she set the last basket on the shelf, she heard, “Hey, Mom.”

Turning, she saw her son walking through the store, and her spirits lifted. “Charles, how nice. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to give you something.” His brown eyes warmed with happiness as he handed her a grocery sack.

“Well.” She opened the sack. It was filled with… “Sweet grass?”

“Yeah. I was over at the coast and saw dunes of it. It’s the right kind?”

“Oh, it’s lovely. It’ll make the prettiest baskets.”

He rocked back and forth, hands in his pockets, pleased as punch with his surprise. How many bouquets of flowers, sheet music, books, and pottery had her generous-spirited son gifted her with over the years? Even as a toddler, he’d brought home pretty rocks for Mommy. They were still on the kitchen table, warming her heart whenever she saw them.

“Thank you, honey. This is wonderful.”

He grinned, gave her a quick squeeze, and kissed her cheek. “I’ve got a class in an hour. Love you.”

“Love you, sweetie.”

As Charles trotted out of the store, an elderly customer approached the counter, beaming. “What a nice boy.”

“Yes.” Linda’s heart expanded with pride. “He really is.”

A quick sale later, the woman left, her newly purchased tote sagging from the addition of a diet soda and an assortment of Belgian chocolates and truffles. Someone really liked her fancy chocolates.

As the customer stepped onto the boardwalk, a man stepped back to let her pass.
Lee
. Linda watched him walk into the store, his expression open. Friendly. Not a fancy chocolate person. No, he was a plain milk chocolate bar. Straightforward. No surprises. Liked by everyone.