Master of Solitude (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 8)

by Cherise Sinclair

  Mallory owned one fucking big cat.

  Had she said the beast—Aslan—got along with other animals? Sawyer glanced down at the pup at his heels. “You’d better hope that monster is friendly, Achilles. Looks as if it could eat you in one bite.”

  A tiny tail wagged back and forth.

  Sawyer set the tray on the coffee table and exchanged stares with the feline guard. Shove it away? Not happening. He cleared his throat. “Mallory. Hey, sleeping beauty, time to wake up.”

  She didn’t move.

  One part of him was appalled she could sleep so heavily an intruder could approach. The other part felt envy.

  When it came down to it, one of the reasons he’d served in the military was so a woman like this could sleep without worries. He leaned forward and caressed her cheek. Silky soft and warm.

  Dammit, he needed to keep his hands off. He had a job to do here in Bear Flat, and if he survived, well, he still wasn’t a good bet for any woman.

  He ran a finger over her lips and felt the attraction, the sheer need to kiss her. With an effort, he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat. “Suppertime, baby.”

  Blinking, she looked up with an unfocused gaze. “You have pretty eyes,” she whispered.

  So did she. The pale green of new leaves in spring and clear enough to read every emotion in her heart.

  Dumbass, she’s not for you. With a frown, he moved back.

  She stared at him, waking slowly. Ah, hell, now he wanted to spend the night in her bed, to see her all mussed up in the morning. To take advantage of such adorable grogginess and enjoy himself as a man would.

  Behave, Ware. He had a mission. Getting involved with Mallory wasn’t in the battle plan. Jesus, all this jumping back and forth between staying unattached and wanting her was going to give him whiplash.

  Ignoring the way his jeans had grown tight, he cleared his throat. “I have supper for you; however, you’ll have to move the beast first.”

  “Beast?” She followed his gaze. The massive cat had retreated a foot and now sat on her thighs, watching Achilles. “Oh. Off, please, Aslan.”

  His long golden tail flicked.

  She grinned and wiggled her legs. “Be nice, oh lion. I’m hungry.”

  After waiting long enough to establish that moving was his own idea, the cat stalked down the couch to settle on the armrest and monitor the small four-legged intruder.

  Achilles planted his butt on the floor and stared back, tail wagging hopefully. Want to play?

  Sawyer shook his head. “Good luck, pup.”

  As Mallory struggled to sit up, Sawyer gripped under her arms and lifted her. He could feel her muscles—the woman did manual labor for a living after all—but she also had the soft, soft feminine padding that could turn a man’s mind to mush. He got her positioned so her back leaned against the armrest, but his hands didn’t want to let go.

  Her gaze lifted, her lips slightly open, her eyes wide. Too fucking appealing.

  He brushed a kiss against her lips. Lingered. Took a little more, because, damn, her lips were soft.

  Ordering his hands to let her go, he straightened and turned away. “Got soup here. I figured if you had it in the freezer, you must like it.”

  He set the tray on her lap. A glass of milk. Tomato soup—which he’d bet was homemade. A deli meat sandwich. He’d had to slice the bread to make it. From the big jar of yeast he’d seen in the refrigerator, he figured she made her own bread. Had he ever met anyone who baked her own bread?

  “This looks great. I hope you made yourself some, too.” When she smiled up at him, her green eyes were warm.

  “I did. And Achilles is acting hungry. Do you still have puppy chow?” He’d returned the bag she’d brought him after picking up some at the grocery.

  “It’s in the pantry on the floor on the left.”

  In between bites of his own sandwich, Sawyer got Achilles started on water-softened chow.

  As the puppy buried his nose in the dish, making snorting sounds, Aslan stalked over for a sniff. Achilles was too hungry to care, although he looked up long enough to offer a tail wag before returning to the more important matter of a meal.

  The cat sat and watched the puppy like a mouser at a rat hole. Obviously, the feline knew which animal would win any encounter.

  Sawyer knew, too. He finished off his sandwich and asked, “What kind of a cat is he?”

  “Part Maine Coon. Apparently, Kallie Masterson’s cat sowed a few wild oats around the area before being neutered. Near winter, Aslan showed up here, starving and nearly feral.” Mallory drank her milk and set the empty glass down.

  Pleased she’d finished everything he’d given her, Sawyer set the tray on the coffee table and returned to watching the animals.

  The cat sure wasn’t starving now. His golden fur gleamed with health. The long tufts on his ears made him look like a bobcat. “Aslan sounds familiar.”

  “Aslan is the talking lion—the king—in the Narnia series. Mom used to read it to me when I was little.”

  “Ah.” The white ruff did give the cat a lion-like appearance.

  “I’m babbling. Sorry.” Color rose in her cheeks.

  She thought she was babbling? Two sentences? Sawyer suppressed a smile. Actually, for the quiet young woman, more than one sentence was babbling. Felt like a gift, though. “Does your mom have anything to do with why the porch posts have carved lions?”

  “Good guess. When she was around ten, Gramps gave her a carving set.”

  “Does she live here in Bear Flat?”

  Sorrow filled her eyes. “No. Mom died when I was sixteen—complications from hepatitis.” Her lips curled in a wry smile. “She was a sculptor, and a Wiccan New Ager, and a single parent, and what Gramps considered a terrible role model. When she got pregnant at seventeen, she and Gramps had a big fight—and she ran away to a commune. They finally made up when I was eleven.”

  The mother had definitely influenced her daughter. Sawyer glanced around, feeling the quiet peace of the house, seeing the plants and candles everywhere. The house—and Mallory—felt in tune with the earth. In his travels, he’d come to recognize and honor the gift. “Your grandparents are gone now, too?”

  “Yes. Gramma a few years ago, and Gramps last year. The construction company was his, although I took over years ago.” She sighed. “I’m alone now.”

  He understood all too well. Although he still had Att and Hector, the loss of the military and SEAL teams had almost gutted him. He ran his hand over her hair, wanting to erase her sadness. “I’m sorry, Mallory.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, Mom started the cat trend—and I continued it.” Mallory gestured toward a corner where a gleaming black panther twined around a pot of trailing vines.

  He rather liked the wicked look in the feline’s eyes. “Sure beats fat pigs and cows. Have you noticed how farm animals are always grinning? I figure after dark they’ll creep into the bedrooms and tear throats out.”

  “Like Chucky?” She broke into giggles. “We need to improve your movie viewing choices.”

  That ridiculously sexy laugh. As his willpower crumbled, he took her hand. “Do we?”

  Dammit, he wasn’t going to be able to hold out against her appeal. Yet, he couldn’t risk this sweetheart getting hurt.

  Still, she was a strong, independent woman. Maybe she’d be willing to play without involvement.

  When Sawyer picked up Mallory’s hand and kissed her fingers, she felt the zing straight to her toes.

  His blue eyes trapped hers as he asked in his whiskey-smooth voice, “So, no horror. You want to watch something sexy, maybe?”

  Her mouth went dry. “Uuuh…”

  The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Baby, now I know you’re not into convict-fucking or put off by an ex-con, all bets are off.”

  All bets are off? Did he mean what she thought he did? She swallowed, knowing she should say no. This man could break her heart.

  The word didn’t rise to her lips
.

  “Let’s get you changed for bed, hmm?” He scooped her up before she could speak.

  In the master bathroom, he carefully set her on her feet and handed her the nightgown that’d been lying across the bed. “Call me when you’re done.”

  Before she could demand her crutches, he left and shut the door behind him.

  Men.

  Balancing on one foot, she frowned at herself in the mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess. Although she’d washed off the mud earlier, her face was reddened from the wind, with a scrape on one cheek where she’d fallen into the brush. No makeup. She rarely wore any, but face it, when he looked at her as he had, she wanted to be everything that was female.

  Don’t be silly. He knew her now—well, sort of—and knew she wasn’t a makeup kind of woman. The heat in his gaze said he liked how she looked anyway.

  Fair enough. She liked how he looked.

  She washed up and did her evening routine as if she didn’t feel her heart pounding, as if her skin didn’t feel so much more sensitive. Finished, she donned the nightgown. Pushing the door open, she balanced in the doorway. “All done.”

  Crouched, he was perusing the under-the-window bookcase, and she almost squeaked a protest. Oh, bloody claws. She kept her romances—including her new BDSM books—in the bedroom where visitors wouldn’t see them.

  She hadn’t exactly thought about an overnight guest.

  He rose, tossed a book on the nightstand, and walked over, giving her a slow, appreciative smile. “I like nightgowns.”

  “I don’t think it’s your size, Ware.”

  His grin flashed. “Well, I should check, don’t you think?” He pulled her against him, holding her steady so she didn’t need to put her sore foot down. His hands wandered over her ass and up her back.

  The wave of heat rushing through her was amazing. “I-I don’t think you can measure a nightgown by feel.”

  “No? Should I look for the tag?” Even as his right hand brushed her hair back from her neck, his left closed on her breast. When she gasped, he chuckled, his lips moving over her neck. And his hand…his hand…

  He held the weight of her breast in his palm, caressing gently, fingers teasing the nipple to a peak. Just…playing.

  “Sawyer,” she whispered, unsure if she was objecting or urging him on.

  His other palm cupped her jaw as he drew back to look into her eyes. And his lips curved. Apparently, he had no trouble reading her. He swept her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and sat her on the mattress. He’d already pulled the white ruffled bedspread and covers down.

  When he dimmed the glass-and-brass chandelier, she realized he’d lit the candles on the dresser. The warm glow flickered on the walls. The soundtrack from The Lord of the Rings drifted softly from the speakers.

  And here was her very own horse lord.

  Becca had said he’d have rope…and a big sword. She choked back a laugh.

  “All right, pet. I have a couple of questions for you.” He sat next to her on the bed, all muscles and hard body. “In fact, let’s play multiple choice. Did I mention my mother was a teacher?”

  Her laugh eased the tight muscles in her chest, at least until he traced his finger over her lips.

  “One: I sack out on the couch with the cat. Two: I stay in here with you, and you get some normal, everyday exercise.”

  “Exercise?” she said faintly. “Is that what it’s called?”

  Although he grinned, his hand curled under her chin firmly. “I mean, if you choose option two, I will fuck you until you can’t remember your own name.”

  “Well…” She’d already made up her mind.

  “No, wait. There are strings to this. Fucking doesn’t create a relationship—not to me. We’re neighbors, but it doesn’t go further. I can’t afford…” His jaw tightened. “I’m not looking for a girlfriend. Can you accept that?” His eyes held hers, steady, determined…and filled with a haunting desire.

  She studied him in return. His aura was so beautiful, the darkness smaller than it had been. He wanted her…so much…and he desperately needed more than sex. Why was he so blind?

  But he was.

  Each person, including this man, had the right to choose his own path, even if ignoring his own needs. After all, Sawyer had been bluntly honest in laying everything out and leaving her free to choose.

  The decision wasn’t easy. He could damage her. Not her body, but her heart. Her emotions were already engaged, and if he pulled away—again—it would hurt badly. Yet, if she said no, she’d regret it. Forever.

  Leap and the net will appear. “Yes.”

  When she reached for him, he shook his head. “Not so fast, pet. Option three: you find a scene from this book and we…act it out.” He picked up the book from the nightstand.

  Holy cats, it was Becca’s book. The cover showed a woman in bondage.

  Mallory’s face heated. “Listen, just because I have a book…”

  His gaze was level, and he wasn’t embarrassed at all. “Baby, BDSM is a common fantasy for men and women. Some people prefer to read or dream about it. Some want more. What about you?”

  “I don’t…know.”

  Thoughtfully, he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. “Never tried anything?”

  “No.” Her nipples had bunched so tightly they ached—and she was far too aware her silky nightgown didn’t conceal a thing.

  “You liked being held down last time.”

  Could her face get any hotter? Womaning up, she nodded. Because she had liked it.

  “Yeah. We’ll go slow, pet.” He handed her the book. “What’s your favorite scene?”

  Her breathing had little hitches as she silently found the page and handed the book back.

  He read the page and the next. “No flogging or spanking here. This is all about bondage.” His unwavering gaze met hers. “Did you learn about safe words in your reading?”

  “A word to call everything off? Yes.”

  “Good. If you need everything to stop, use red.” He shook his head. “Actually, baby, this isn’t good. You don’t know me well, and we’re not in a public place. Do you know any women in this area who are into BDSM?”

  “Ah, yes. I have a friend who is.”

  “Good.” He handed her the phone from the bedside stand. “Tell her you’re doing a scene with me at your house. Have her call if you don’t touch base in a couple of hours—and notify the police if she can’t reach you.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Very.” His face was stern. “This is your safety we’re talking about. You should be a hell of a lot more careful.”

  It took an effort not to smile at him. Not to tell him he had a trustworthy aura. He not only wouldn’t believe her, he’d probably think she was crazy.

  When his brows lowered with impatience, she dutifully called Becca. In another moment, Sawyer’d probably lecture her on how she shouldn’t have been with him the first time, either.

  “Hey, Becca, can I ask you for a favor?”

  “Always.”

  Her friends were amazing. Mallory smiled, then blew out a breath. “This is kind of embarrassing. I’m doing a…a scene…with Sawyer Ware at my house. And I’m supposed to check in with you in a couple of hours, and you’re supposed to…”

  “Rescue you if you don’t check in. Absolutely.” Becca hesitated. “Do you know him well enough?”

  “Yes. I do. I, uh…see…him clearly, and I trust him.”

  Becca caught her meaning. “Well, all right. I’m glad you called and are being careful.”

  As Mallory clicked OFF, she shook her head. How come those BDSM books hadn’t included this step?

  “I’ve seen you wear bandanas at work,” Sawyer stood beside her dresser. “What drawer?”

  “First on the right.”

  He pulled a couple of bandanas out, opened her closet, and took a belt off the hook.

  Watching him, she felt her heart pick up speed. Despite over-indulging in alcohol las
t time, she wondered if drinking another half bottle of scotch wouldn’t be a fine idea right now.

  As he walked back to the bed, he grinned. “Look at those wide eyes.” Leaning down, he kissed her, hummed, and deepened the kiss. His lips were firm as he gripped her hair and tugged, tilting her head back as he possessed her mouth completely.

  The room grew warmer.

  He straightened and released her. From his pocket, he pulled a multi-tool, extracted the scissors, and laid it on the bedside table. “Hold your hands up, palms facing each other, and a few inches apart.”

  Still sitting on the edge of the bed, she frowned. How could he tie her up in this position? But she complied.

  After twisting the blue bandana into a rope-like strand, he tied the ends together and placed it around the outside of her wrists. Were they going to play cats-cradle? He wound the red bandanna around both ropes of the blue one between her wrists until it resembled a hangman’s noose with two ends—which were around her wrists. “Pull on it,” he said softly.

  She did. The bandannas were tight enough she couldn’t pull her hands out of the “nooses.” Her breathing faltered until she looked up into his calm blue eyes.

  He was watching her, his pleasure as obvious as the bulging erection in his jeans.

  She swallowed. “You enjoy this?”

  “Yeah, I do. If a woman is onboard with the plan, I like taking away all her choices of how and when she gets pleasure…and driving her past what she thought she could take.”

  Her mouth went dry even as the bones melted right out of her spine. Her arms dropped.

  “Lie back, little contractor.” With big hands, he flattened her onto her back. Her gown was still on, and the slight covering…helped…as she stared up at him. He looped the leather belt through the spindles of her metal scrollwork headboard and through the bandana rope between her wrists—then fastened the buckle. When he pulled her down in the bed, her arms were pulled up above her head.

  “You d-did that bondage thing awfully easily,” she whispered. “Like you’ve done this before.”

  Smiling at her, he took a couple of condoms from his wallet and tossed them on the bedside table. “I already knew I preferred being in charge in the bedroom, and when Atticus took me to a BDSM club for my college graduation present, I felt as if I’d found a home.”