“Put me where you need me, Anne. I can hold my own.”
“As you wish.” She smiled. “The second scenario is done in full gear. Prepare to get sweaty.”
* * * *
The end of the third scenario escalated into a total brawl. Grinning happily in the humid night air, Anne dodged a fist and counter-punched. Hers landed. Sweat trickled down her back. Her hair had come loose from the braid and was sticking to her damp face.
The final takedown had turned into a free-for-all. The fugitive—she’d assigned Robert as a punishment—had broken out of the house, along with his violent relatives who were determined not to let the agents take him. The team had surrounded the group in the backyard and moved in.
So. Much. Fun.
The ground was soft, and the filtered moonlight made opponents difficult to see. By tradition, the game used an honor system of light torso hits. If two blows landed, the receiver went down for a ten count.
Ben was amazing.
As Aaron had noted, the guard dog was surprisingly fast. He was also excellent at hand-to-hand. If he wasn’t a black belt in a martial art, she’d eat her pistol. And he was obviously enjoying himself.
Even better, he’d fought beside her, and—rather than going all protective on her ass—he’d grinned as she flattened a bad guy.“Bravo Zulu, Ma’am.”
She swiped an arm over her forehead and stepped back to assess the situation. Only two of the skip’s relatives were still fighting. And the fugitive—
“You’re all dead,” Robert screamed and aimed at Anne with a pistol someone had dropped.
Her weapon was holstered. She heard the ping of a bead hitting cloth—and then multiple pellets hit her in the chest.
Robert, the repugnant rodent, had killed her. He’d also won, since the “death” of anyone stopped the play. The fact was acid in her gut.
“Stand down,” Anne shouted. “Game over.”
As the casualties regained their feet, Anne turned toward her brother. As the backup guy, he was to be standing off to one side, and available to use “lethal force” if needed. “Why aren’t you in position?”
Travis shrugged. “I wanted to fight, so halfway through I traded assignments with Ben.” He glanced at Ben. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”
Ben smiled slightly. “I did. Before he pulled the trigger. He ignored it.”
Anne stiffened. “Seriously?” The rodent had screwed up again? She raised her voice. “Robert, Ben says he shot you before you started shooting.”
“Nah, he didn’t. No one shot me. He must’ve missed.”
She didn’t doubt Ben’s word at all. Anne glanced around at the rest of the players. “Did any of you see?”
No one had.
“There should be two marks on his sternum,” Ben said, an amused glint in his eyes.
Anne studied him. She’d seen him angry once—at a bachelorette party when someone had harassed Rainie. Today? Despite having his word questioned twice, he wasn’t even close to being upset. She turned back to Robert. “Lift up your shirt. Let’s see.”
“You want to look at my cock too, while you’re at it?”
Oh, she’d had enough of that. Anne’s foot impacted said cock—and balls as well—solidly enough to fold the idiot half over…although not nearly enough to have him puking for an hour.
Sometimes she hated showing restraint.
However, he was nicely bent over so she could grab his shirt’s hem and yank the garment up and off.
He remained bent over, hiding his chest.
Still annoyed, she kicked his feet out from under him.
He landed on his back with a solid thud and made a pitiful whining sound.
Laughing under his breath, Travis shined his flashlight on Robert’s pale white chest. Everyone could see two red marks within an inch of each other.
“You were dead already.” Anne stared down at him in disbelief. “That makes twice you’ve cheated and lied.”
He scrambled up. “Those marks were from when I ran into a tree. You’re just trying to make me look bad because I’m better than you are.”
“In your dreams,” she said.
“You won’t lead this team for long, bitch.” After yanking his shirt back on, he scooped up the weapon he’d lost. “I’m out of here.”
His departure didn’t bother her, but two men followed him. He’d created a schism in her team.
“Hey, Anne. I caught the ending. Hell of a finale.” Her brother Harrison strolled across the grass, looking like a GQ model, quite the contrast to the bedraggled, muddy, sweating agents.
He offered Ben his hand. “Nice fighting and shooting. I don’t go out in the field often, but I’d team up with you any day. Harrison Desmarais.”
“Thanks. But I’m not on the crew. Just visiting Anne.” Ben shook his hand. “Ben Haugen.”
“That’s too ba—Ben Haugen, as in a Ranger?”
Ben’s face went blank. He nodded.
Frowning, Anne moved closer in case he needed her help.
“Jesus fuck. You’re a legend, man. I’m proud to meet you.” Harrison turned to Travis. “Bro, you’re playing with an Army Ranger sniper.”
Well. No wonder the man was so comfortable with team games.
Travis grinned. “And Robert tried to say you’d missed? What a dick.”
“C’mon, let me treat you to a beer.” Harrison slapped Ben on the back.
When Ben gave her an inquiring glance, she smiled and nodded. She needed to start debriefing the team on the latest exercise; he might as well go have a drink.
As Ben and Harrison headed toward the front yard and the cooler, Anne noticed her father in the parking area. He strolled up, shoulders still military straight, gray hair kept short, aware of everything around him. If a grizzly attacked, her father would probably put it down in speedy order.
“Hey, Dad,” Travis said from beside her. “What brings you out?”
“I came with Harrison to watch the last game—or should I call it a brawl?” He smiled and slapped his son’s shoulder. “Fine job with the old one-two-three.”
Travis grinned. “I let a punch past that I should have blocked, but it was a good fight.”
“Until the end,” Anne’s father said and turned to her.
Her hopes rose for one brief second. Since she’d kept an eye on the others, she knew her brother had skirmished well. She also knew her fighting had been as good, if not better than her brother’s. Would her father say so?
“What the H were you doing out there in the fight?” her father snapped. “What Robert did was exactly what I worry about—that you’ll get yourself killed. You shouldn’t have been involved at all.”
Her anticipation collapsed into bitter disappointment, and the backs of her eyes prickled. Why did she always set herself up this way? She knew—knew—he’d never praise her fighting. He’d been generous with approval when she was singing, cooking, painting, or doing school projects and homework.
But get a compliment from her father for something traditionally performed by a male? Never.
Her head knew he wouldn’t ever change; for some stupid reason, her heart kept hoping.
“Maybe…” She evened out her voice. “Maybe someday, you’ll realize you were a good teacher.” He’d taught all his children to fight and shoot, although when Anne started taking martial arts seriously, he’d refused to teach her any longer. She’d paid for additional lessons with her own money—although her mother had quietly raised her allowance to help. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to gather my crew and start the analysis.”
By the time she’d reached her group, he was already leaving. She shook her head. Wasn’t it funny that a parent could shape who a person was—and then refuse to see them that way?
While Travis handed out sandwiches, beer, and cold drinks, the team sprawled out on blankets as Anne led the wrap-up and dissection of the scenarios. Everyone ignored the fact three team members were missing. The discussion was lively.
After dismissing the group, she waved a farewell to Travis and headed for the parking lot.
Ben waited patiently by the SUV where Bronx had been tied.
Anne glanced around and saw the retriever was hunting field mice in the grass.
“Time to go, buddy,” Ben called before smiling at her. “You want to drive or want me to?”
“You can, if you don’t mind,” she said. “I’d love to be pampered.”
He touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “It would be my pleasure to pamper you, Ma’am.”
She laid her hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the T-shirt. Somehow, being cared for by him felt…different…than from her slaves, yet his obvious delight in serving was the same. “Thank you.”
The highway was dark and soon empty as the others turned off, going their various ways. Leaving the smaller road, Ben swung onto Highway 19, heading south.
After pulling a sparkling water from the cooler for her and handing him a Coke, Anne settled back against the seat cushions. “So. Army Rangers?”
“Been a few years now.”
She took a sip of her drink and considered asking more questions. Something wasn’t quite right with him, and she itched to explore further. To fix whatever was wrong. But, it wouldn’t be fair to him. He wasn’t her boy; he wasn’t her job. “Okay. So what did you think of the team?”
He glanced at her. “You’re not going to push for more information?”
Definitely a smart guy. “No. You’re not my slave. I don’t have the right.”
The light from the dash showed how his lips pressed together. After a long pause, he said, “I was a sniper and good at it. Killed a lot of the enemy. I caught a bullet, was on medical leave. After thinking about it, I didn’t re-up.”
Short and terse, yet the words seemed drawn from the bottom of his soul. Something in there still bothered him.
And why was he telling her? Because he disagreed with the limits she’d placed on their…whatever this was?
“Being out of the service doesn’t solve everything, or can even make things worse.” She left the comment without following up with a question. It was up to him if he wanted to tell her more.
Lord knew, she wouldn’t judge him weak. Although she hadn’t had problems afterward, others she’d served with had struggled.
“No shit.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “That’s how I met Z. Did you know he counsels vets now and then?”
Actually, she hadn’t known.
“The VA is improving, but then—and now—a lot of us needed more. I was drowning; Z pulled me out. And still keeps an eye on me. On all of us. The night Jessica went into labor was a group session night.”
“Ah.” Anne was grateful he couldn’t see her teary eyes. Z’d got him straightened out—and won himself the kind of loyalty that few men receive.
As she stroked her hand up and down Ben’s arm, his taut muscles loosened. Apparently, he’d worried what she might think.
She was thinking that he’d shared something he considered very personal. Why?
After a second, she chuckled.
“What?”
“I know you didn’t enjoy being outted by my brother, but I have to say that all by yourself, you made that slimeball Robert look bad. I appreciate it.”
His grin transformed his face from Rottweiler to magnetic. “Had a few in my squad who had no judgment or had no guts. Your cousin lacks both.” Then his smile faded. “Be careful, Anne. It’s not wise to have a fuck-up at your back when you walk into danger.”
He was not only serious…but his concern for her showed all too well.
“I will.”
She was half-asleep when he pulled into her under-the-house carport.
With Bronx beside him, Ben helped her out of the car, then with a hand at her back, unlocked and opened the door…and waited.
Half-asleep she might be, but she knew that letting him stay the night would be a bad, bad idea, even if the thought of having his big body in her bed and those strong arms around her filled her with longing. They’d agreed on sex-only.
Sleeping together was more than that.
So she lifted up on tiptoes and gave him a brief, firm kiss. “Good night, Ben. Thank you for driving.”
She could see the desire in his eyes, the urge to grab her and take a longer kiss, to haul her upstairs.
Bending, she gave the retriever a quick head rub. “Good night, Bronx.”
“Can I talk you into a scene at the Shadowlands this weekend?” he asked.
She’d like nothing better, but he was as close to vanilla as a person could come. And he wanted to be more than a submissive, more than a slave—a real lover.
She only wanted a slave.
“No, Ben. But since you’re an expert at burning off calories, I hope to do that again sometime.”
“I see. Ma’am, I’m available whenever and however you desire.”
She had no answer to that.
To her relief, he only tilted his head, kissed her cheek lightly, and trotted down the steps to his vehicle. Bronx whined his doggy disappointment, then followed.
She closed the door and stood with her hand on it, listening as the sound of the Jeep faded away. Her sigh came from deep inside because all she felt was regret.
Maybe, maybe someday, she could allow herself to see Ben again. Depending on how he reacted in future encounters, she might even treat them both to a shallow, sex-only marathon. Nothing more intimate would be wise.
Especially since she was feeling the same attraction as he was, which meant it would be too easy to create a different kind of bond.
She mustn’t lead him on. He was an incredible man, one who deserved better than she could give him. One who had a lot of love to give.
But he wasn’t a slave.
She turned and picked up her saxophone and carried it out to the deck. The moon was setting, leaving the glittering stars in command of the dark sky.
She blew a few tentative notes and settled into the old “Funky Blues.”
Maybe she should have tried to explain to Ben. Tell him that just liking a person wasn’t always enough. She’d learned the hard way.
True, she hadn’t had very much experience with “love” relationships. She’d dated while in the Corp and been thoroughly unsatisfied…until a Domme had introduced her to the lifestyle. Her lips tilted up. The initial rush of discovery had been amazing.
Out of the service and in college, she’d fallen for a great guy—one who wasn’t submissive. But vanilla simply didn’t work for her, and as their relationship slowly failed, they’d both been hurt.
Lesson learned. To her, sex without being in control was like…like the desert. Dry and flat and barren. Sure, there were moments of beauty, but she was a tropics gal—she wanted the lush scenery and the changing violent weather of a D/s relationship.
Being a Mistress was who she was.
Like any new Dominant, she’d gradually worked out what she liked, testing out submissives and slaves, and found she preferred utter control.
The beauty of receiving everything.
She enjoyed the responsibility of caring for her slaves and making the decisions.
And she’d gone through a fair number of boys over the years.
At first, they’d lived with her, sometimes more than one. But then she’d moved into the beach house, owning her own home for the first time, and somehow hadn’t wanted anyone else in her space.
So for the last two or three years, her slaves had been less than 24/7, which also let her demand strict protocol when they were with her. They asked permission to touch, to sit on the furniture, checked with her before doing anything.
In return for their devotion, she helped them grow, learn new skills, advance their careers, improve their social abilities, deepen their slavery. But before a slave grew too dependent on her, she’d find him a new Mistress.
She sighed. That was what had taught her that she didn’t
have much of a heart. She’d never had trouble breaking the attachment. When each slave left, she’d miss him for a bit—not long—and soon start the search for someone else.
Perhaps she wasn’t a typical Mistress, but her ways worked for her—and who was to say her nay?
Ben wouldn’t understand her limitations, that she could give only so much and not more. And since the thought of hurting him was intolerable, she’d simply keep her distance.
Chapter Ten
On Thursday, the sultry evening was so humid with the approaching storm that moisture filmed Ben’s arms as he walked the two blocks to his neighborhood tavern. He stepped inside, enjoying the blast of air-conditioned air. After nodding to the handful of regulars, he swung by the bar and bought a draft. Beer in hand, he took a small table by the window where he could enjoy the view.
The way the sunlight filtered through the heavy air made him wish he’d brought his camera.
On the sidewalk, people were hurrying home from work. Others strolled more leisurely as they took their dogs to the small block-long park. Maybe he should start a new series, focusing on humans rather than wildlife.
He’d always enjoyed watching people. In fact, back in the beginning, Z had given him grief about observing instead of participating.
But over the last few years, he’d returned to status quo, although he still took his time in making friends. Military friendships were a tough act to follow. He’d known his team would have his back, no matter what.
Seemed as if ties born in blood and pain went deeper. Maybe that was why he felt so close to Anne. He’d trusted her to take care of him, and she hadn’t let him down.
At least not physically. Emotionally though?
He hadn’t seen her since last weekend.
Staring out the window, he drank his beer and watched the darkness eat away the light. Watched the rain begin and trickle down the dirty glass.
Anne didn’t trust him to guard her back, that was certain. She’d let him fuck her, but not know her.
His mouth twisted. What was his next move? A woman had the right to establish the boundaries of a relationship; a Mistress even more so. But where did that leave him?
Servicing the Target Page 15
