Club Shadowlands

Chapter Thirteen

Zachary tried to put his arm around his sub, but she took his hand and set it against the gauze covering his wound and ordered, “Hold that there.”

He shook his head. From a submissive to a spitfire in five easy minutes. The contrast was startling. Compelling. Her concern spilled through him like warmth from the sun.

Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d been cold.

Stunned into silence, he unlocked the private door and took her up to the third floor. Flipping on the lights, he waved her in, and got his first-aid box from the closet.

In his kitchen of granite counters and stainless steel appliances, she was like a beam of light with her vivid eyes and pale golden hair. Taking the kit from him, she started rummaging through it.

Zachary poured them both drinks then sat at the round oak table.

She picked up her glass and drank it in one gulp.

He managed not to laugh. “Rough night, kitten?” He poured her another shot, although gulping was hardly the way to drink Glenlivet.

“Take your shirt off.”

His eyebrows rose.

Flushing, she hastily added, “Please?”

With a smile, he pulled the shirt off and tossed it into the wastebasket. He glanced at his shoulder. Not bleeding much, not too deep.

Lips pressed together, Jessica washed the slice clean then pulled the edges together with thin adhesive strips. She finished by taping a gauze pad over the wound. “I think that will be all right,” she said before dropping into a chair at the table and downing her second shot of scotch.

He checked her work. “Excellent job.”

She was still pale, so he poured one final shot and put the bottle away. Any more and she’d be out like a light. “Let’s go into the living room,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers. She had a delicate hand with small fingers.

Taking a seat in his favorite leather chair, he pushed the oak coffee table farther away and pulled her down to sit on the floor between his legs, her back against the chair. Her pale skin was almost translucent against the dark red carpet.

She turned to him with an insulted expression. “Is this where a pet sits?”

“No…pet.” He put a slight emphasis on the word just to see her face flush. “This is where someone sits when they need their shoulders rubbed.” His hands closed on her shoulders where the muscles were so tight he had seen the knots from across the kitchen.

“Ohhhh.”

The sigh reminded him of her sweet moan when his cock entered her softness. He hardened, considered taking her right there on the carpet. But that wasn’t what she needed from him right now. He dug his thumbs into her muscles, felt the loosening.

“Sir?”

“Um-hmm.” He moved his fingers to her slender neck, sliding the cool silky hair to one side.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a slight quaver in her voice and worry, almost fear in her mind, and he frowned. Sorry for what? She had snapped at him, he remembered, or maybe for the way she’d ordered him around? Ah, probably that. She was new to all this.

“Jessica, with some Doms, the slightest misstep will bring wrath down on a sub’s head. I don’t operate that way. That you were willing to risk my anger to care for me… Kitten, I feel cherished, not angry.”

And the feeling was still so unexpected that he was having trouble finding his balance.

“Oh.” She took a sip of her drink, wrinkling her nose slightly. Not her favorite drink. He’d have to stock his liquor cabinet with something besides scotch.

Under his fingers, her muscles tightened and he could feel a surge of worry – and outrage – from her. “I heard about the woman you…you put on the bar.”

He bit back the laugh, kept his voice soothing. “No wonder you’re feeling a little unsure.”

“No kidding,” she muttered, and he grinned since she couldn’t see, and concentrated on working the new tenseness out of her muscles. She was just a bundle of nerves. And here he’d planned to have turned her into a little puddle of goo by now.

Instead he was giving bondage lessons.

Feisty, sensitive little sub. Then again, he’d never enjoyed teaching so much in his life. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Kitten, her punishment was for more than one misstep; she spent the evening deliberately annoying her Dom. And he knew that she’d find a whipping to be a reward.”

“But why did she do that?”

“A sub who goes out of her way to be rude is an unhappy sub. She was daring him, practically begging him to take control away from her. If she had confined her actions just to him, I would have simply given him some suggestions. But she took that choice away from me.”

His hands returned to her shoulders, easing the last of the tightness, even as his words eased the worry inside of her. She nodded. “Thank you for explaining. It suddenly felt like I didn’t really know you at all, you know? Of course, I don’t, not really, but -” She grabbed her glass and finished it.

“Mmmmph, there’s quite a bit I don’t know about you, either.” Like why his little sub kept attacking Doms. He pulled her back so he could massage the muscles in front of her shoulders.

“Like what?” she murmured. With her worry abated, her emotions had turned to a warm hum, almost like a purr.

“You’ve been in the club two nights and attacked a Dom each night to defend someone. Instead of finding a dungeon monitor, you jump right in.”

Jessica felt her mind go blank and she tried to sit up. “I… Anyone would do the same, keep someone from being hurt.”

“Of course. What makes it so personal for you, Jessica?” His hands pinned her against the chair.

“That’s -” She huffed out a breath. “Do I get to keep anything private?”

“Well…no.” He kissed the top of her head, but his hands, flattened against her chest, didn’t move. “Tell me what happened. Who was hurt by a man?”

Pinpoint accuracy. He must be a hell of a psychologist. And she shouldn’t have had that last drink; her thoughts were scattered to hell and gone. “My sister. Her husband hit her, beat her up regularly.”

“Did you know?” His hands were moving again, soft round strokes, soothing.

“I should have,” she said bitterly. “I thought she was a normal newlywed, wanting to be alone with her husband. I believed her when she said she’d tripped on something or had a car accident. I should have known.”

“Oh, kitten,” he sighed. “Abused women will lie like troopers; they’re ashamed, sure they did something to deserve the pain, or they feel that only losers get hurt, or they’re terrified of their abuser. Don’t blame yourself for not being able to tell. Did your sister get away?”

“Yeah. Once we knew what was going on, we got her out. He’s serving time.”

“And your sister has scars, doesn’t she?” he said softly. “Inside and out and you feel bad every time you see one.”

Her throat closed up at the sympathy in his voice. At the understanding. She swallowed, blinked hard. A minute later, she managed to say, “Damn, you’re good; are you a psychologist or something?”

He laughed. “At least now when I find a Dom laid out on the floor, I’ll know why.” He gave her a little shake. “But, little spitfire, if I’m around, let me do it. That’s my job.”

Somehow he’d drained some of the guilt and warmed her more than the alcohol had. He kissed her cheek, leaned back, and took a sip of his drink. He was still on his first drink, and she was more than a little fuzzy.

Then, his hands returned to the front of her shoulders…and moved under her halter top to stroke over her breasts.

“I-I don’t think there are any muscles there,” she said, somewhat breathlessly as her body woke up and started clamoring for sex.

“Well, I need to be sure, don’t I?” His fingers massaged her breasts lightly. He kissed her shoulder, his day-old beard scratchy, the roughness sending shivers through her. Her nipples tightened, and he noticed, capturing each one between his fingers.

Her body dampened, and she tried to turn, to touch him, but his hands kept her in place, and he nipped her shoulder. “Did I say you could move?” he asked, giving each nipple a pinch, sending shock waves coursing through her.

When he pinned her back against the chair again, heat washed through her. He controlled her so easily. He nibbled under her ear and sucked on her earlobe, and her insides turned molten.

“Then again, I could show you the rest of my home,” he murmured, and pulled her to her feet. “I do have a bedroom.” He led her toward the back of the house, past the kitchen, and a sound made him stop.

Jessica blinked as a ginger-colored cat stalked through the kitchen.

“Ah, about time. I was wondering if you were going to make an appearance,” Sir said to the cat, kneeling to pet it. He looked up. “May I introduce Galahad?”

“Galahad?” she said in disbelief. That had to be the biggest and ugliest cat she’d ever seen, and she’d seem some monsters at the shelter.

“He’s a very chivalrous fellow.”

Jessica knelt on the floor and held out a finger to be delicately sniffed. In approval, the cat nudged her hand, curveted closer to be petted. “You must be quite a fighter.” She frowned at the chewed-on ears and scarred nose.

“He’s been with me about five years, ever since I found him raiding the garbage cans. He was big then, has grown even more since.”

She would never have picked him as a person who would adopt a stray cat. She didn’t know him at all, did she?

“Ben said you were divorced?” she blurted out, then flushed. Yeah, man-woman social skills were definitely not her strength.

“About ten years ago,” he said as if her question wasn’t unusual. “We married young, when I was in the service. Since I spent most of those six years out of the country, we muddled along well enough until I was discharged. After that, we both tried, but when I entered grad school, she called it quits.” He quirked his eyebrows. “Among other differences, she preferred vanilla sex.”

He gave the cat a final pat before rising, holding his hand out for Jessica. She let him pull her to her feet.

“And have you been married?” he asked.

“No. Nothing got quite that far,” she confessed. “I never -” She stopped; she was not going to tell him that sex had been boring.

His eyes glinted like he’d picked that thought out of the air. Jerk. But he simply ruffled her hair before showing her the rest of his home. An office held a bulletin board covered with photos and letters from his pint-size clients. Framed crayon drawings decorated the walls. “That’s quite a collection,” she said, touching one photo of a gap-toothed pixie grinning at the camera.

He moved his shoulders. “I’ve been at it awhile.”

And the children meant enough to him that he’d decorate his office with their artwork, she thought, recalling her colleague’s offices, filled with business awards, pictures of famous clients, golf trophies.

“Two guest rooms there,” he said as they walked down the hall. “And this is my favorite room,” he said, showing her a room filled with older furniture, comfortably overstuffed couch and chairs, a giant TV on one wall, a piano in the corner, and a wall of books. She walked over to examine them: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Dashiell Hammett, Ross Macdonald. Her eyebrows rose; she had many of the same books. Her imagination presented an image of sitting on his lap, both of them reading and arguing over murders and red herrings.

Finally, he pushed open the door to his master bedroom. Dark blue carpet, mahogany furniture. Tall arched windows open to the night air.

A king-size bed. Her breath caught. Her body roused as if it had been waiting just for this room.

“I think you’ll like the furniture in this room.” His voice was husky as his hands settled on her waist, warm and hard and -

A rusty meow came from the kitchen.

Sir paused, sighed. “I have to feed him, or he won’t stop complaining.” He kissed her neck then released her. “The bathroom is across the room if you have need.”

When he left, she crossed the room. She definitely had need, now that he’d brought it to her attention. The bathroom was gold and marble with dark green towels. The tub would easily hold two, and the shower could accommodate a football team.

While washing her hands, she glanced in the mirror and gasped. Mascara and eyeliner streaked her cheeks; she looked like a rain-soaked prostitute. She scrubbed it all off, checked the mirror and winced. Even with makeup on, she was just barely pretty; without it…

Scowling at the bare face in the mirror, she snapped the light off and went back into the bedroom. She could hear Sir talking to the cat, his deep voice sparking off flutters in her stomach. He talked to her the same way, she realized. Was she just another pet to him?

Her gaze turned to the bed, and the ugly feeling in her chest grew. How many of those women downstairs had been in his bed? Ben’s words ran through her mind: Women fall all over him, and in his world, he’s known as the best master around. And that’s according to the subs, who would definitely know. Lots of subs apparently.

Would that gorgeous blonde be up here tomorrow? Jessica’s hands closed into fists, but who should she hit? The blonde? Or herself for being so stupid and letting herself get more involved than she should have? He’d never indicated that he wanted her for more than just sex, after all. And she’d enjoyed the sex, hadn’t wanted anything else at first. But every time she learned something about him, she liked him more.

She wanted there to be a them, but he didn’t feel the same way.

There was no future with him. She walked to the wall of windows and gazed outside. Black clouds were moving in, shrouding the moon and stars in darkness. It would be pouring rain before morning.

She wrapped her arms around herself as unhappiness twisted her stomach. Really, she should leave now; she’d learned the folly of driving on country roads in a storm. And there was nothing for her here.

She glanced at the bed, and her throat tightened. She would hurt even worse if she went to bed with him now, let him make love… No, what they had wasn’t love, and that was the problem, wasn’t it?

“Jessica?” He stood in the doorway. She caught the puzzled look in his eyes, the frown, and then he leaned against the door frame, crossing his arms and waiting. Watching her with an intent gaze. Master Z.

She didn’t even know his name, she realized, feeling as if the storm had already started. No, she needed to get out of here before she made a fool of herself.

“I think it’s time for me to leave,” she managed to say.

His head tilted. “I didn’t design my bedroom to make a woman sad, kitten. Or to make her want to run.”

“I’m sorry, Sir. It’s just… It’s been a long night.” Her chest hurt so bad she wanted to press her hands to it. “I’m going home now.”

“No. You’re not.”

She blinked. “You can’t -”

His mouth curved in a faint smile. “No, I won’t push you down on the bed and have my way with you, tempting as I find the thought.”

The image sent heat pouring through her veins.

“But I also won’t let you leave while you’re still under the influence. I wouldn’t have given you any alcohol at all if I hadn’t thought you’d be spending the night.”

“Oh.” Well, she probably had drunk more than she should have. But damned if she’d stay here with him. “I’ll drive slowly.”

His eyes darkened, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “I’ll chain you to a wall in the dungeon before I let you leave like this.”

The image actually made her dampen, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t stay in his rooms. Or go back to the club and be in that sex-charged atmosphere. “Um. Maybe I’ll just go for a nice walk.”

He shook his head with a hint of exasperation, then held out his hand. “Come, pet, I have a better idea.”

She hesitated.

“No sex involved.”

Why did his easy compliance feel so disappointing? “Okay.” His hand engulfed hers, warm and hard, and just touching him made her want him more. Oh, this had to stop.

He grabbed a bottled water from the refrigerator, then led her to the back door, and down the steps to the backyard.

She frowned. “This isn’t the same area we were in before, is it?”

“That was the side yard; this is the back. This area is only for my use.” He tilted her chin up, kissed her. “It’s very private.”

God, he could kiss. By the time he pulled back, her arms were wrapped around his neck, and she was pressed against him all over. She felt so good in his arms – warm, safe…stupid. She shoved him away and took a step back, trying to control her breathing. “No sex?”

He chuckled. “I don’t consider kissing to be sex.”

“Kissing is sex.” She glared at him. If kissing wasn’t sex, she wouldn’t feel so turned on.

“Since you aren’t interested in sex” – he gave her a bland look – “you might as well finish relaxing.” He led her past flower beds illumined with solar lanterns to a bubbling Jacuzzi. Heat rose from the water. After setting the bottle down, he pulled her nightie over her head.

“Hey!”

Ignoring her, he unbuckled the leather cuffs that were still on her wrists, then gathered her hair and twisted it into a loose knot on top of her head. Hand on her bare butt, he nudged her toward the water. “Get in.”

Options were limited. Fight with him over her clothing or get in where the bubbling water would hide her.

The heat engulfed her as she lowered herself to the seat. The water splashed gently around her shoulders. Her wrists felt light…bare…without the cuffs. She knew he’d removed them to keep them out of the water, but it still felt like he was removing her from his life. She bit her lip, forced a smile. “This feels really nice.”

“Good.” He studied her face, a frown back on his face, then opened the bottled water, and handed it to her. “Drink this. I don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

As she sipped the water, he stripped out of his slacks in his usual efficient fashion. Standing on the edge of the Jacuzzi, outlined by the glowing moon overhead, he looked like a god. Tall, shoulders so broad, muscles rimmed in shadow and moonglow.

He stepped into the water and settled himself beside her. After stroking a finger lightly down her cheek, he leaned back, one arm resting on the concrete edge behind her head. An owl hooted from the trees as leaves rustled in the light breeze. The muffled sound of a car door, then a car leaving, drifted back into the yard. As the Jacuzzi burbled softly, Jessica let her head settle back onto the muscled arm behind her. She’d just let her mind clear, show him she was sober, and be out of here within an hour.