The Dom's Dungeon

Chapter Fifteen

The black-tie event of the fall, one newspaper had called it. Mac gaped like a hick as they walked through a hotel lobby filled with the elite of Seattle society, many of whom had pet escorts ranging from Chihuahuas in chiffon tutus to Great Danes in diamond-studded collars.

One German shepherd paraded around in a crown and kingly robes. “Oh my, just look at him.” After a second, Mac recalled herself. “Butler, you're the best-looking dog here.”

Butler gave her a dignified tail wave in answer.

Holding Butler's leash, Alex chuckled. “The pet stores do a brisk business before the ball.” He set his hand on her lower back, and his thumb stroked over her bare skin.

Giving him an exasperated look, she saw the amusement in his eyes. He definitely liked her backless gown. As he guided her through the crowd, exchanging greetings with people here and there, Mac tried not to enjoy the protective feeling of his arm around her. Don't get used to it, MacKensie. Nothing like this lasts.

Although she wouldn't lose him for at least two more weeks.

Really, she shouldn't have let him talk her into staying, but her common sense and her own desire had overcome her pride. But once she had a job, then her common sense would be satisfied, and she'd leave.

Frak, I'll miss him.

When the hotel manager cornered Alex with questions about the auction, Mac watched the people milling around and realized she didn't know any of them. Good. No one to point fingers or whisper behind her back. And yet loneliness created a little hollow in her chest. After the hotel manager bustled away, she asked, “Will Hope and Peter be here?”

Alex brushed his knuckles over her cheek, his look so tender, she couldn't move. “We'll find them in the auction area. Peter volunteered to oversee one of the tables.”

They made it at least twenty feet before they were stopped again. Alex performed introductions, talked briefly, and moved on. Ten feet. Introductions. Chatting as Butler politely exchanged sniffs with each leashed pet. Ten more feet. “Do you know everyone here?” Mac finally asked.

“Fontaine Industries owns various businesses, properties, and all that, so I know a lot of people, yes. And those who support the dog and cat programs come every year.” He grinned and bent down to pat Butler. “This is Butler's fourth year.”

“Alex, good to see you.” A middle-aged brunette in a scarlet gown strolled over. “The auction is a hit. How did you finagle those cruise-ship packages?”

“I have a sweet-talking manager who I sicced on the cruise lines.” Alex smiled at Mac. “Susan, this is my friend MacKensie Taylor. She's a vet from the Midwest and plans to relocate here to Seattle. Mac, this is Susan Weston. She runs the Weston Animal Hospital.”

They talked briefly about Mac's first view of the Sound and mountains, then the work Susan did for the spay-neuter programs. By the time Susan excused herself, Mac had decided to add Susan's hospital to her list of places to apply.

As they drifted toward the huge room set up for the silent auction, Mac met ten more veterinarians, most of whom owned their own clinics. “Don't any middle-class people attend this event?” she asked finally when she and Alex were alone.

“Not too many,” he said absently, nodding at a couple. “It's four hundred dollars a plate.”

She stopped dead, and he'd taken two steps past her before realizing she was gone. With a huffed laugh, he returned. Running his hands up and down her bare arms, he said, “Relax, pet. Keeping the price high draws the big spenders so we can soak them good in the auction room. That is the point, after all.”

“Yes, but—”

“Just treat everyone like Butler does,” he advised. “His only concern is if a person smells good and knows how to pet a dog properly.”

Hearing his name, Butler looked up and wagged his tail.

Mac pulled in a breath. “Okay. I…sorry. I just hadn't realized—thought about…” She shrugged helplessly. God, she was so far out of her class… Her chest ached.

Alex's hands tightened on her arms. “No. I don't want to see that look in your eyes.” He frowned at her. “People are people. A lot of the ones here inherited money. They didn't do anything productive to earn it. Others gave up everything to get rich. Does having money and no character make a person admirable?”

But if they knew what she'd done? But they don't, stupid. Get over it. She looked great, and the most gorgeous man in the place escorted her. Her lips curved. “All right. Sorry. Momentary panic attack,” she said lightly.

Alex kissed her cheek gently. “Now that's character,” he said, then continued leading her into the auction room.

“MacKensie!”

Mac froze, then grinned as a tiny streak of electric blue sped across the room. “Hope, you're here.”

“Look at you! You look awesome.” Hope clapped her hands, then wrinkled her nose at Alex. “Phht, you don't deserve her, you know.”

Mac's mouth dropped open. When Peter appeared and drew Alex's attention, she edged closer to Hope and whispered, “Won't you get in trouble talking to him that way?”

Hope giggled. “No. The rules are for play or… Well, each couple is different. Some are truly Master and slave all the time, but those in our little group aren't.” She shook her head. “Of course, if I give him too much grief, he'll make me suffer for it the next time we all get together.”

When Peter and Hope headed back to their station at an auction table, an older woman broke away from a small group. Wearing a silvery gown that accented her blue eyes and silver hair, she seemed the epitome of dignity. Taking Alex's hand, she kissed his cheek lightly and said, “I'm giving a dinner party next Friday, and I'd like you to attend.”

Mac frowned at how familiar her voice sounded. Maybe from one of the vet's offices or…

“Why don't you bring Cynthia with you?” the woman asked.

Do not glare; glaring is not polite. Mac smoothed her expression out with an effort. But maybe this was a good time to go hang out with Peter and Hope for a bit. She started to edge away.

Alex's hand wrapped around her arm, holding her in place. “Cynthia moved to Rome, Mother.”

Rome? Mother? Oh frak. She didn't think she moved, but the fingers around her arm tightened.

“Mother, I'd like you to meet my friend MacKensie Taylor, who is moving here from the Midwest. MacKensie, this is my mother, Victoria Fontaine.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Mac said, forcing sincerity into her voice.

“Welcome to Seattle, Miss Taylor,” Victoria said with not a speck of warmth. “If you'll excuse me, I want to check our seating arrangements.” She tilted her head at her son, patted Butler, nodded to Mac, and swept away.

How long did you have to be rich before you learned to walk like a queen? Mac wondered, shoving aside the pain from being so obviously detested. She glanced at Alex. “I didn't realize you have family here.” Actually, since she wasn't used to having any, she hadn't even thought about it.

“Please forgive my mother,” Alex said softly. “My father was unfaithful and had a liking for blondes, so Mother acts as if every pretty blonde is a hooker.”

A hooker. Mac felt the blood slide right out of her face, and her hands clenched. “Nothing to forgive,” she said hastily. “But I just spotted the ladies' room. If you and Butler will excuse me, please?” Before he could grab her and quiz her, she escaped. She knew her hasty retreat not only didn't look like a queen's but displayed no dignity whatsoever.

Decorated in floral wallpaper with blue tiling the color of Alex's eyes, the elegant powder room held several brocade-covered chairs. Her legs none too steady, Mac sank into one gratefully. Alex's mother thought blondes were hookers. If she only knew… Mac gave a short laugh and buried her face in her hands.

After a minute, her brain clicked back on. Overreacting here.

Really now, although Alex made her feel wonderful and she really liked him, he wasn't…wasn't… She stared at her hands, watching the sparkles on her fingernails. Well, yes, he was. She'd fallen for him in a big way. But they had a deal, and he'd made it very, very clear right from the beginning that he didn't want a real girlfriend. Temporary, Mac, try to remember that.

So fine. On a more positive note, that meant whatever his mother thought of MacKensie wasn't important at all. Besides, she lived in Seattle now, not Oak Hollow; no one knew her past…mistakes.

Mac raised her chin and straightened her spine. Alex had brought her here to help her find a job. She'd better get with the program.

An hour later, the most tedious part of the evening—speeches and acknowledgments and awards—had concluded, the program deliberately kept short and sweet.

Since Alex found sit-down meals at an event this size far from palatable, two years ago he'd prevailed and hors d'oeuvres were served buffet-style instead. Each of the many long tables along the wall featured the artistry of a different local chef, and after serving themselves, guests could sit and eat or wander around.

Alex had seen to the feeding of his little sub, although she had no appetite, especially when she realized they had to sit in the front of the room. A glass of wine helped her color. After the speeches were done, he took her table-hopping, choosing vet contacts she'd find useful and people he thought she'd enjoy. His friends tended to be good, down-to-earth people. He'd enjoyed watching as she charmed the pets at each table and then their owners. God knew she charmed the hell out of him.

With a sense of anticipation, he had introduced her to his uncle. An excellent judge of character, Uncle Andrew had disliked Cynthia within minutes of meeting her. He obviously fell for MacKensie just as quickly and was now trying to talk her into joining the family for a day sail through the San Juan Islands.

Alex lost track of the conversation when MacKensie turned away from him and the light glinted off the long expanse of bare skin. That damned gown. If he touched the smooth, silky skin on her back one more time, he was liable to yank the straps down and scoop her breasts into his hands. Just the thought made him harden.

“Don't you agree?” MacKensie looked over her shoulder at him and met his gaze. Within the space of one breath, her brown eyes darkened as she caught his heat. She licked her lips, and he remembered how that soft mouth had felt around his cock last night.

“Ahem.” His mouth quirking, Uncle Andrew rose to his feet.

Politely, Alex did the same and glanced down to see that MacKensie's face had turned red. He stroked a finger down her cheek, watched it darken further, and tried not to laugh when she glared at him.

“I need to find my Serena before she buys out the auction room,” Andrew said. After looking at the crowd of people in the room, he clapped Alex on the shoulder. “You've done a nice job here.” Then his gaze dropped to the little vet attempting to straighten Butler's bow tie and laughing when the dog managed to sneak in a lick.

Andrew nodded. “Very, very nice.”

All this socializing could exhaust a girl, but the evening was almost over. And she'd done really well. Smiling a little, Mac leaned forward and checked her makeup in the powder-room mirror. Whatever that beautician had used on her must have been industrial-strength. Even the lipstick had lasted.

She straightened up and turned one way, then the other. The evening gown rippled and glinted. Had Cinderella felt like this? Hopefully glass slippers were more comfortable than these gorgeous, strappy, high-heeled sandals. Her sneaker-wearing feet had gone into shock at least two hours ago.

After smiling at the other women lined up in front of the mirrors, Mac gave herself one last approving nod and headed out.

The tiny hallway that led to the ballroom was empty except for a beefy, middle-aged man. To Mac's surprise, he stepped directly into her path.

“Excuse me.” She moved to the side.

He blocked her again. “Now don't you just look a sight? Who would have thought the whore who serviced an Iowa vet convention would be working here? You got some sort of hard-on for vets?” He grabbed her arm, squeezing painfully. “What? Don't you recognize me? You should. I paid you enough, and like I told your pimp, you were a lousy lay.”

She froze, cold seeping into her as if the hall had frozen, turning her bones to brittle ice. Ajax staking out the alley. Man after man from the convention. She'd been so tired. The last man—this man—complaining. Ajax's fists.

“You've come a long way from that dirty little brat in Des Moines.” The fat pockets around his eyes squeezed together as he looked her over, his gaze lingering on her cleavage. “You look good. Very good.”

After the first month or so, she'd stopped really seeing the johns. They'd just been shadows that used her body and gave her money so Ajax wouldn't beat her. But she recognized this brutal man. She swallowed, trying to think. What could she say to make him disappear?

“Tell you what.” He pulled her toward him. “I'll get us a room upstairs. You can show me if your skills improved along with your appearance.”

“No.” Her lips felt numb, but her voice didn't waver.

“Oh yes.” He yanked her close enough to breathe in her ear. Nausea knotted her stomach. “You're a whore; you can't afford to be picky.”

I'm not a whore. Never. Ever. Again. With all her strength, she yanked her arm out of his grasp, ignoring the way his fingernails ripped her skin. “I'm not a whore, you bastard,” she hissed. “Stay away from me.”

Behind her, the bathroom door opened, and two elderly women exited, one carrying a teacup poodle.

Mac's heart thudded against her ribs like blows from a fist as she turned to them. “Excuse me, but could you show me where the auction room is?”

“Of course, dear,” one said.

“Lovely.” Mac forced a smile and sidled closer. “That's an adorable dog,” she said to the woman holding the poodle. “What's his name?”

“This is Figaro.” As she stroked the dog's head, the old woman glanced at the man. “Dr. Dickerson, how pleasant to see you.”

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Johnson.”

Walking beside the women, Mac passed Dickerson. Even without looking, she could feel the anger radiating from him.

As they left the hall, Mac cleared her dry throat. “Are you acquainted with that veterinarian?” He must be a vet if he'd been at that Iowa convention.

“Oh yes.” Mrs. Johnson lowered her voice. “I shouldn't say anything, but”—she glanced at her friend, who nodded—“I hate to see any innocent animal in his hands. He's competent enough, but his temper… He actually struck my poor Figaro once. Just for growling.”

He'd struck her too, Mac thought. Before shoving her at Ajax and demanding his money back.

She managed to continue the conversation until well into the busy ballroom. After they pointed to the auction room, Mac veered off, working her way around the side of the ballroom toward where she'd left Alex talking with the mayor. She checked over her shoulder every few seconds, but the man hadn't followed.

Before she'd even managed to get halfway around the room, dizziness surged through her. Head spinning, she staggered to the wall and dropped into a chair. Her face felt cold, then hot, and for a moment her stomach almost revolted. Breathing through her teeth, she fought the sickness down. One breath. Another. She'd used the technique before, especially in the beginning, when she still thought of herself as a nice girl.

She finally mastered herself, although the taste of bile lingered. When a waiter passed by, she waved, and he provided her with a glass of wine from his tray. She downed it quickly, and the sharpness of the chardonnay eradicated the sickness.

Why couldn't there be anything to eradicate her memories as nicely? After using the little napkin to wipe her clammy hands, she rose to her feet. Still no sight of Dickerson, but any glimpse of a big-boned or ruddy-faced man sent fear stabbing through her. Every cell in her body urged her to run and hide.

She hauled in another long breath. I'm braver than this. I'm not a teenager anymore. She brought to mind Alex's mother, who wielded intimidation and dignity like weapons of war and moved like the slow freighters that crossed the Sound with unstoppable power. Mac took one step, then another, and caught the regal rhythm. She concentrated so fiercely on being a freighter that she could almost hear the waves lapping against her sides.

The relief when she spotted Alex almost sank her boat.

Tears burned her eyes, and her legs wobbled so much, she had to stop. Thank God, his conversation kept his attention. Breathe. Breathe. And then she pushed off again. I'm a freighter just like Victoria.

When she reached Alex, he curled an arm around her waist, continuing to talk with a tiny old woman who wanted the feral-cat people to spay the cats running wild around her apartment complex.

When the woman walked away, Alex turned to Mac. His brows drew together, and his eyes narrowed. He tilted her chin up. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

The frown deepened and so did his voice. “Do not lie to me, pet.”

How could she tell him? Just the thought of that man grabbing her in the hallway… Suddenly she couldn't bear being touched at all. She shoved Alex's hand away and stepped back.

She was surprised that he let her, and even more surprised when he stayed out of her space.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he said softly. His gaze burned across her face before he handed her Butler's leash. “Watch over him for a minute, and then I'll take you home.”

He headed for one of the organizers of the event, leaving her with Butler. She stared after Alex until she heard a whine, and a cold nose touched her fingers.

She sank down, her gown ruffling around her feet. “Butler,” she whispered. “I'm glad you're here.”

His tail wagged, and he pushed his muzzle against her stomach, his warmth more comforting than any heating blanket. Animals never turned on her. Never judged her. Never tried to use her.

Feet stopped beside Butler. Dress shoes, black slacks.

Oh please. No. Mac froze, her fingers tightening on the leash. She looked up into Alex's intense blue gaze, and relief weakened her legs until she clutched at Butler for support.

Alex held out his hand and waited, not trying to grab her, just offering support.

Alex. This is Alex. She took his hand.