My Liege of Dark Haven

Chapter Three

Standing on the richly colored Oriental carpet in her bedroom, Abby dragged on a pair of jeans and yawned so widely her jaw cracked. Her blood felt as if it had been turned into liquid lead, weighing her down until every movement was an effort. Not even thirty, and I’m too old for late nights.

Dark Haven hadn’t closed until three a.m., and once home she’d stayed up to document her observations.

And forgot to set the alarm.

She hurriedly yanked her bra on and yelped. “Ouch!” Pulling the cups away from her tender nipples, she scowled. Wonderful. Every time she moved today, she’d be reminded of Xavier touching her. How it had felt when he’d circled his thumb over her nipple.

Her dreams had been more erotic than any porn movie, and Xavier had been in all of them.

I never dreamed about Nathan that way. Guilt welled up inside as she admitted she’d never let him restrain her like that either. Had she really let another man undress her and touch her? That was just wrong.

But no, it wasn’t. She didn’t have a relationship. Didn’t have a lover. Everything she’d hoped to have with Nathan was gone.

And she was running late. The babies still had to be fed before he arrived.

The sound of whimpering puppies greeted her when she got downstairs. In between heating bottles, she started coffee. No time for a leisurely cup of tea today. From outside her duplex came the muted rumble of traffic, birds awakening, and morning frogs.

Juggling bottles, she crossed the living room to the plastic wading pool in the corner. A puppy resort, complete with a heating pad secured in one spot to battle the moist San Francisco air. At the sight of her, five roly-poly bodies, each the size of a pair of rolled-up socks, abandoned their pile of blankets, whining about imminent starvation.

“Honestly, guys, this is too darned early.” And she was cold, grumpy, tired—and depressed. With a sigh of exasperation, she picked up the black ball of fur that was her favorite. So very, very soft. Blackie’s puppy breath accompanied an adorable, tiny yawn.

Abby’s smile broke free. Really, this was a fine way to start the day. She snuggled him on her lap, listened to the quiet sucking sounds, and hummed a lullaby.

Despite the extra work, she never tired of fostering puppies from the animal shelter.

By the time the fourth tummy was reaching a sweet roundness, contentment pulsed in her heart.

“You’re next,” she told the pup waiting in the pool. Freckles’s floppy ears tried to prick up, but the anticipated food was far more important than listening to Abby. Sometimes she had the feeling her students felt the same way.

Just as she was hoping she’d finish on time, the doorbell rang. “Wonderful. I’m in trouble now.” She pressed a quick kiss to the top of Tiny’s furry head, set the puppy beside its tussling siblings, and hurried to open the door.

Dressed in a conservative button-up shirt and black slacks, Nathan looked wonderful.

Her heart gave a hard stab. Not mine anymore. “Come on in.”

His mouth pressed thin when he noticed her bare feet. “You’re not ready?”

Uh-oh, unhappy camper alert. Anxiety tried to rise, and she shoved it down. “I only have one more puppy to feed. There’s coffee on for you.”

“I told you seven o’clock.”

“I know. I overslept—but we have plenty of time before your plane.” After all, she was taking him right to the gate so he didn’t have to find parking.

“Make it quick.”

She poured him a cup and pushed the cream and sugar toward him before hurrying back to the dogs. Grabbing Freckles, she tried to smile. “When is your first class?”

“In two days,” he said coldly.

At his tone her insides curled into a frozen ball. She’d hoped their last time together would be…easier, but now he was angry. Her hands went cold. As echoes of her father’s uncontrolled yelling filled her head, she forced her voice to stay easy. “Will that give you time to get prepared and figure out where everything is?”

“I suppose.” He glanced at his watch again. “Be nice to escape the bitching about slashed funding. Everett said they plan to increase class size and dump instructors at the bottom of the ladder.”

“Like me. I know.” Her stomach tightened. She’d already suffered the ordeal of being jobless. “This fall, they’ll decide who gets laid off for the spring semester.”

“Awards or not, with no recent publications, you’ll be one of the first to go.”

A professor could spend time on research, grants, and articles—or on teaching. Nathan insisted that making a class interesting wasn’t as important as research. She’d thought differently, and last spring she’d won two awards. For teaching. “I’ll have something published by then.”

I hope. Unease stair-stepped cold fingers up her spine. Last fall, her small college had closed. She’d landed a position at the university, but with only a semester-to-semester contract. “A friend publishes an online ethnography journal which focuses on edgy sociological essays. Controversial topics. He promised to call in favors for an immediate peer review. My article will be in the fall issue if I get it to him before August.”

“That doesn’t leave time to do research.” Nathan frowned.

“Not much, no. But it’s adequate for the limited observations and analysis I plan.”

“Controversial, eh? I hope you didn’t think to do your study in my club. The owner would never let a sociologist in the door.” He scowled, then relaxed. “It’s private now anyway. You couldn’t get in.”

“So I heard.”

His expression turned to stone. “You actually considered BDSM as a research topic, but not as something to do with your lover?” He didn’t raise his voice. He never yelled.

Not like her father. “Bitch. Slut. You’re a whore.” She closed her eyes. Why was Dad’s voice so pervasive today? Because she was still unsettled from last night?

“Maybe if you’d been willing to be more adventurous, we wouldn’t have broken up.” Nathan took a sip from his cup and rose. This time when he looked at her, his control chilled her.

“I know.” Their last date had been the final straw for him. Those ghastly handcuffs. She’d tried—she had. He’d cuffed one wrist, and she’d panicked. Again. The thought of being so helpless with him was just…just…no.

He was smart, charming, gorgeous, and polite. A renowned professor of anthropology respected enough to get invited to lecture at another university for the summer semester. They communicated well. Aside from his predilection for kink, the sex was pretty good—except for last time, when her refusal to be restrained had had a…deflating effect on him.

He’d gone so cold that she’d known she’d lost him, even before he said the words.

She turned her head away. So how in the world had she let Xavier restrain her and not Nathan? “I’m sorry. Some of that stuff makes me really uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t all about you, Abby. Sometimes it needed to be about me and my needs. You pampered those mangy mutts more than you did your so-called lover.”

That’s not true. She bit back the retort. Her fingers were cold as she laced her other shoe, then crossed the room to get her purse and car keys.

Could she change enough to enjoy bondage and pain and stuff? If she was different when he returned in August, would he be interested again?

He held the door open, and as she walked through, he pulled her close. “I’m going to miss what we had, my pretty girl. My sweet slut. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

His sensual lips touched hers, but she’d stepped outside her body and was watching from a distance. Evaluating how he held her, how his voice sounded.

“I’m sorry too.” Ice formed on her skin, encasing her, buffering her from the pain.