She glared at him but walked to the moss-covered barrier pieced together with rough stones and sandy mortar. For a foot beyond the far side of the fence, there was a grassy, overgrown expanse of earth. Then if fell away and the ribbon of highway she could see below looked a mile off and straight down.
She fell back, abruptly, one hand to her heart.
"We're so high," she said on a whisper.
"So high there would have been no hope for you if you'd run into that fence and fallen over it."
"No wonder..." she said, her voice trailing off as she remembered his rage the day she had given in to her emotions and run away from him, even though she could not see where she was going.
"Yeah. No wonder. I don't order you around just to hear myself talk. Those stripes you wore on your bottom for a couple of days were a small price to pay, I think, all things considered."
"Six days," she said quietly.
"What?"
"After the patches came off that next day, it was one of the first things I looked at as soon as I got home and was alone. I could see them for six days. And feel them for three with my fingers and a lot longer when I sat down," she said. "You did a masterful job, Mr. Benjamin."
"Well, practice makes perfect, you know, so don't tempt me again, young lady."
She squinched her nose and turned toward the cooler and the quilt.
"Not today, anyway," she promised, and they both knew it was probably the best she could offer. "Now come have something to eat with me, Papa Bear."
Nick laughed. "Well, that's a new one. I'm wondering just exactly how you mean it."
"With you, there are a couple of possibilities," she said. "I know just how fond you are of getting down to the bare essentials, but I see a lot of big old teddy bear in you, too."
"Just remember, it's all up to you which one you get, missy."
She nodded and busied herself unpacking the cooler, wondering if he knew that odd little tingle was working its way through her body again. Life, she thought, got more interesting every day with Nicholas Benjamin. If only she could tell him so.
Chapter Seven
There was one simple explanation for it. He knew it and she knew it. They simply chose to believe and act on entirely different interpretations of the basic facts.
Watching Andee brush too closely, once again, to the slightly flustered college boy standing at the end of the bar, the guy with his straight black hair pulled back and anchored with a leather thong, the kid to whom she was also giving her best come-on smile, Nick took stock immediately. He put it all down to her desire to relive the kind of connections she had apparently thrived on when she was a student herself and could count on admiration whenever she walked into a room and turned on the charm. It was perfectly natural, he told himself. After all, she was still a young woman and she deserved admiring glances. Still, her behavior was disrespectful, to say the least, and was beginning to cross the line into shameful as she rubbed more interesting bits of her body than her bare arm against the kid's chest.
Andee's assessment of the situation differed slightly. Oh, she was in agreement that she needed attention, but it was Nick she wanted it from. It was Nick she wanted to go beyond kisses that left her light-headed, and stroking and petting that kept her on the edge of sexual tension twenty-four/seven. If he saw other men anxious to give her what she craved, surely he would realize he had to forget his silly principles and behave like a real man.
She knew he wanted her. The physical evidence was obvious. So, clearly, he simply needed to be pushed a little bit over that imaginary line he had drawn where sex and his single girl were concerned.
She was tired of being treated like a virginal princess; so tired, she had thrown caution to the winds. Fueled by one too many drinks, despite Nick's eyebrow raised in warning (an eyebrow that would have arched clear up to his hairline if he knew she had managed to throw back two belts he wasn't even aware of while he was dealing with a phone call from his editor), she was purposely attracting more than her share of attention the length of the bar, and she was interpreting it all far more benignly than she should have—or would have—had she been entirely sober.
*****
When Nick saw Andee's hand trail down the boy's side and disappear between their bodies, and then noted the flush creep up the young man's face as he shifted his stance toward her, he stood up from their table in the corner and strode purposefully to the bar.
"Excuse me, son," he said with icy politeness as he approached the couple. "I think it's time I took my little girl home. Come along with Daddy, Princess. It's almost your bedtime."
"Your little—look, mister, I'm sorry. No offense, okay? I had no idea—I mean, I thought she was just looking for a little action—that is…"
"Oh, she's going to get a little action," Nick growled with a warning look in Andee's direction. "As soon as I get her home, she's going to get all the action she can handle."
Only his arm around her waist kept Andee upright as Nick swept her out of the bar and onto the sidewalk, where he handed over his call ticket to the valet.
"He thinks you're my father," Andee giggled, although some part of her brain told her that was neither an appropriate reaction nor a wise observation.
"Then maybe I should go back in there and invite him to come home with us. He can see how this outraged father deals with his little girl when she behaves like a working girl."
Andee gasped, the sharpness of his comment piercing the haze she had been floating in. "I can't believe you just said that."
"I can't believe you just did that. Now we're even. But not for long, missy. Not for long," he fumed as the attendant slid the car to the curb and hopped out in high good humor, giving Andee an appreciative once over.
Noting the glance that lingered a moment too long, Nick bent to open the door for her with one hand and pointedly stuffed the ten-dollar tip he had been prepared to hand over back into his pocket as the parking lot Romeo reached for payment. For the second time that night, a youngster had the grace to acknowledge his own poor behavior with a mumbled apology.
Andee, on the other hand, was in predictably defensive mode and was modeling outrage on the drive back to her apartment. "I can't help it if men think I'm pretty. I'm not about to be rude just because you're such a stick in the mud."
He kept silent.
She tried again.
"At least I turned Kyle—or Kirk, or whatever—on." She could see the muscle in his jaw twitch and hear his sharp intake of breath. "Don't feel you have to go with me next time. I'll find all the fun I need on my own," she taunted, even though every instinct she was still able to acknowledge screamed in her head that she should be quiet.
"And you're not my father, either. So you can't tell me what to do," she said in her best imitation of a six-year-old, unintended though the resemblance was. "Not that he cared enough to," she added then, so softly he almost missed it.
*****
Nick wanted to take her in his arms when she showed him her deep hurt. But he wanted more to set her seriously tipsy little bottom on fire for her. Realizing that for the first time in their relationship, he was contemplating giving her a punishment spanking with something dangerously close to relish, he made a swift adjustment in his thinking.
If ever a girl deserved to have her bottom heated to roasting temperatures, it was surely the one sitting next to him on the miserable drive home, but he was not in the right frame of mind to undertake the task and do it justice, he realized. And she needed to be stone cold sober to fully appreciate the lesson, anyway.
By the time he had parked in front of her apartment, he knew how he would proceed.
He was silent as he got out of the car, opened her door, and reached for her. Still indignant, she jerked away, but then found the horizon had suddenly begun to tilt and she required his assistance even to swing her legs out of the car. Tottering to the door on her stiletto heels would have been impossible if Nick had not been there to steady her. She
yearned to collapse on the futon as soon as they stepped through the door, but he marched her to the little table and pair of chairs in her kitchen instead and plopped her down unceremoniously.
"I'm going to bed now," she said with a frown, slipping her heels off and trying to stand up again.
"Not yet, you're not. Here, drink this," he said and placed an oversized plastic cup brimming with ice water in front of her.
"I'm not thirsty."
"Drink it anyway, unless you want to know how fresh soap and leftover vodka blend inside your nasty little mouth. And let me warn you, it won't be at all appetizing."
Her scowl should have burned through his spinal cord as he yanked open the junk drawer in her kitchen and rummaged, but it appeared to have no effect whatsoever.
She gulped as much of the cold water as she could manage and instantly regretted the action.
"Small sips, but drink it all. You're not getting up until you do," he said over his shoulder.
"I have to go to the bathroom."
"You'll have to go worse in a few minutes. Drink."
She was half way out of the chair on shaky legs when he wheeled around and gave her a stare that made her sink back down and reconsider the snarky comment she had been prepared to hurl.
He slapped the notepad his search had yielded on the table in front of her, along with a pen, and yanked out a chair.
"This is your assignment, missy, so listen closely. We're going to switch roles for a little while, just long enough for you to tell me what someone who behaves the way you did tonight deserves. Ten ideas. In detail. Write them down while you're finishing that little nightcap. And use your best penmanship. Neatness counts."
"Get serious," she muttered.
"I'm deadly serious. And if you have any hope of getting out of that chair any time soon to go to the bathroom or to bed, you'd best get started, because you're not going anywhere until you give me a detailed list of ten punishments you earned by your behavior tonight. I'll even start you off with a few hints.
"Number one," he said, stabbing the notepad with a rigid finger. "Start writing, but this one doesn't count. It's just a model, and then you'll have to come up with ten on your own. Let's see—'I have been a very bad girl and I deserve to have my bare bottom spanked hard.' Got the idea now? Only very explicit variations of that basic theme will be acceptable. So get busy, and do yourself a favor; do it right the first time and this will be a lot easier. You might even be able to sit down again by this time next week."
She did her best to outwait him, but eventually even her fogged brain accepted the hints that her body was going to betray her before he relented in any way. She pulled the pad closer and, shielding it with the curve of her left arm, began printing. It was a struggle to keep the short words upright and marching evenly across the lined page, but she thought she had done a creditable job. With the glass half drained and the top ten spaces numbered and filled, she shoved the notebook toward him and flicked the pen in his direction.
Nick kept his expression completely neutral as he retrieved the writing implement and scanned what she had written:
i've been bad punish me
ive been very bad punish me more
punish me harder ive been bad
badgirls should get punished
He stopped reading, tore the page out, crushed it, and turned to toss it toward the trashcan. "Not nearly creative enough, detailed enough, grammatically correct enough, or neat enough. Do you want to give it another try before I start carving a bar of soap?"
She glared, arms folded across her breasts. His expression altered only by an infinitesimal lifting of an eyebrow.
"Have it your way, then," he said after a moment and stood up.
Andee's heart raced and she felt bile rise in her throat at the memory of the awful sliver of soap he had once wetted and forced her to keep in her mouth while she contemplated the error of her ways in a dim and lonely corner.
"Just sp-spank me and get it over with," she gritted out, amazed she had been able to say the word.
"Write it correctly," he countered. He didn't have to add an or else. She already knew there would be a penalty for every minute she stalled and every mistake she made. It was simply a question of what price she was committed to paying for her pride, and she knew the stakes were about as high as she was willing to see them go. Whether it was the diluting effect of the ice water or simply time that was having a sobering effect, she was beginning to deeply regret her actions earlier in the evening and to see them in an entirely new light. She just wasn't quite ready to acknowledge that out loud, but she did have enough sense of self-preservation to ask for the notepad and pen back.
He obliged her and took his seat again.
This time, she labored longer, sipping the water when he told her to, although she seriously feared an accident before the glass was drained and she finished the assignment.
It took almost a quarter hour before she returned the pad to him.
The penmanship was legible and the sentences far more complex. Her face reflected her shame and her eyes were bright with unshed tears as she watched him read.
I deserve to have my bare bottom spanked.
I ought to get a bare bottom spanking with a hairbrush.
Please spank my bottom so hard I can't sit down.
I should get spanked with your belt until you think I've learned my lesson.
I want you to put stripes across my bare bottom. I deserve several.
Will you please paddle me until my bottom is bright red?
I need to be spanked hard until I cry like a little girl.
I deserve to be put over your lap and have my bare bottom blistered.
9. I ought to be spanked with your hand, or whatever else you think is best, until my bare bottom is so hot it feels like sunburn.
10. Please spank me harder than you have ever spanked me before, because I've been very bad.
He finished the page and nodded thoughtfully. "Good suggestions. I'll keep them all in mind. Now, go get ready for bed."
"What the heck? You mean that's it?"
He smiled. "Not quite. But it is all for tonight. I suggest you set your phone alarm for 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. I'll bring you a decent breakfast and then you can write each of these suggestions over again. Ten times each. Perfectly. Do I make myself clear?"
She sighed, shoulders slumping. "Yeah."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Yes, sir. Will that be all, then?"
"What do you think?"
She wanted to cry, but the reasons why were all jumbled up in her head. She needed it to be over now, one way or the other, so she could finish the night in his arms, but she didn't want to encounter whatever painful consequence was still to come one minute sooner than she absolutely had to.
"Are you going to be madder tomorrow?" she whispered.
"I don't plan to be, no. That's one reason I'm waiting. I want to be sure that when I deal with you, we're both thinking reasonably. So hop up now. Go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. I'll tuck you in, but no story tonight. We both need to sleep."
She struggled out of the chair, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs and squeezing her thighs together to deal with the pressure of a night filled with liquids.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom in her oversized T-shirt, he had turned the covers down and fluffed her pillow. He held out two aspirin and a much smaller glass of water. "It will help, believe me."
She sighed and swallowed the pills, then stood uncertainly, not sure if he would welcome affection from her. After a moment, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the futon, kissing her forehead and then her lips gently as he laid her down and pulled up the cover.
"There are things we need to talk about, Andee, so we've both got a lot to think over before I come back. Just remember how precious you are to me."
Her eyes filled with tears. He was so close to claiming her heart. Why could he not simply tell her he loved her
? She squeezed her eyes closed, unable to watch him leave once more.
The sight came perilously close to breaking his heart, and in spite of himself, he sat down on the edge of the sleeping couch and began to stroke her back. Eventually, she drifted off into a deep sleep.
He bent to press another kiss to her soft cheek and then stood and walked to the door. With every step, he longed to gather her in his arms again and tell her he loved her; he adored her; he hated leaving her.
But what if she really was only looking for her daddy?
Chapter Eight
The concern haunted him on the ride home.
He had long ago stopped questioning his need to incorporate dominance into romantic relationships. He had even come to terms with having that drive play out by taking his partner over his lap for discipline when he thought she needed it. He was not about to apologize for the pleasure he took in being responsible for another human being and trying to help receptive women find their own peace and fulfillment through his disciplined guidance.
Nor was he willing to deny he could took sexual pleasure in non-punishment spanking scenarios.
He had, in fact, frequently found arousal in actual punishment situations. What kind of man, he wondered, would not be stimulated by a bared feminine bottom draped over his lap? But he had never created or encouraged such an opportunity to satisfy his own needs, and he had never interacted on such terms with a woman he did not already know would be receptive, if not actually eager, to receive his attentions.
Something about Andee had hinted at not just willingness, but urgent need, from the very beginning. It was the undefinable attitude, those signals she sent out that couldn't be easily described but were impossible to miss by someone with his experience.
Strangely enough, he had never before had cause to question a woman's interest in him in familial terms. Now that he did, he found he was very uncomfortable with the concept of being Andee's daddy. There were many things he wanted to be to her: lover, friend, confidant, encourager, guide through new experiences, appreciative audience for her talents and abilities, eager student of the lessons she had to teach, spiritual mate. But the only parenting scenario he wanted to enjoy with Andee was one in which they each took on that role toward their own child.
Leading Her Home (Lessons From Nick's Firm Hand Book 2) Page 6
