“May I sit?” He motioned to the chair in front of her desk. When she nodded, he sat. “Our parents are gone, Piper. You and me, we’re the only family we have now.”
The reminder set up a hollow ache in her chest, the knowledge she was all alone in the world. After escaping the Defiler, she called home and discovered her mother and Gideon had died in a car crash months before. She hadn’t been close to them, and yet Mom’s death had been a ghastly blow. “I don’t think so. I never felt like I belonged. I don’t see that changing.”
“I’m sorry I made you feel that way.” Remorse filled Jerry’s expression. “I want us to be family. I came all the way out here just to reconnect with you. Please tell me it’s not too late.”
All the way from Kansas. Just to see her. Her heart softened…until wariness sent a cold breeze up her spine. “How did you find me?”
“I asked Dad’s executor. He gave me your phone and old address out here. It took some research to get your business address, but I’m good with finding things out.”
He always had been. Her mouth tightened as she remembered how he’d dealt in gossip. How he’d been paid by his classmates for his silence. Surely he’d outgrown that by now.
Leaning forward, he regained her attention. “I think the West Coast agrees with you, sis. You look really good.” His gaze was admiring, and she flushed slightly. As a girl, she’d wanted so badly for him to approve of her. Apparently, she hadn’t lost that yearning.
Yet she’d grown up and changed. Had Jerry? “What are you really here for?”
“Aw, Piper. That hurts.” His expression turned sheepish. “Actually, since you asked, I’ve got a problem I hoped you’d help me with. You know the money my father left you?”
She snorted. “There wasn’t much. Gideon left me one-twentieth of what you inherited. According to the lawyer, it was a token amount to keep the will from being contested.”
“It was still a lot of money. I need it now.” At her disbelieving stare, he shrugged. “I ran into some bad luck. Took out a loan, and the lenders want their money returned now or else.”
Her sympathy faded. Oh, she recognized the pattern. “You got money from a loan shark to gamble with.”
“No, I learned my lesson about gambling. Finally. Too late.” He rubbed his eyes. “I know I was a disappointment to Dad. I changed.”
Had he changed? Hope was a tiny flare inside her. “Then what was the loan for?”
“To start my own business of flipping houses. I have a couple of employees and everything. But, you know, the regular banks wouldn’t take a chance on me.”
He was actually working. Turning his life around. She smiled. “A business of your own? That’s awesome.” They had that in common, didn’t they?
“I love it. Unfortunately, the profit is coming in slower than I’d hoped. You know how that goes.”
All too well. Those first months after starting Chatelaines, she’d scrambled like mad, trying to cover the bills. “Yes, I do.”
He sighed. “I’m in a bind and need to pay back the loan—before they come after me and break my legs.”
Oh God, if he got hurt when she could help, she’d never be able to live with herself. “I can’t believe you went to a loan shark.”
“Stupid, I know. I was just so excited to start my own business.” He tilted his head. “Can you see your way clear to giving me the money my dad left you?”
The stab of resentment made her sit upright in the chair. Her inheritance hadn’t come from his dad—it’d come from her mother. Besides, she’d already spent the money, setting up her business.
“Let me think about it.” She did have some money in savings and the business account. She could cut back on her own expenses if it’d help him out. “What’s the name of your business?”
He hesitated…just a little too long.
She stiffened. Was there even a business? “Let’s see one of your business cards.” Every businessperson she knew had business cards.
“I haven’t gotten around to getting any made.”
“Because you don’t have a business. You’re gambling again.”
His I’ve-been-bad expression had worked like a charm on their parents. “Pretty stupid, I know. But I’m really in a bind. You don’t want to see me hurt, do you? We’re family. The only ones left.”
She set her hands on the desk and tried to muster her resolve. How many times had he conned her out of her allowance or her babysitting wages when they were kids? Because she’d been desperate to win his affection.
Love didn’t work that way. “I’m sorry, Jerry. Your dad bailed you out over and over for your bad choices. I won’t.”
“Piper, Piper, you know that money should’ve been mine. All the money. You and your mother came to us with nothing. You shouldn’t have gotten any of Dad’s money at all—he wouldn’t want you to have it.”
The hurt of being rejected lingered even now. Rabidly conservative Gideon had despised her for being illegitimate. If she thought of the money as being all Gideon’s, it felt wrong to have accepted it. She pulled in a breath. But that was only one way of looking at it. There were others. “Inheritance isn’t based on emotion. The law says married people share, and that means I should inherit something from my mother.”
“She would have left the money to me over you.”
Maybe. Maybe not. Mom had loved her until Gideon’s attitude prevailed. Until she’d been made to see Piper as an uncomfortable reminder of her sin.
The year Mom had married Gideon, Piper’d learned the difference between wishes and real life. She hadn’t gotten the affectionate father she’d dreamed about. She’d lost her mother’s love. She sure hadn’t received a protective big brother.
“The money isn’t yours, Piper.” Jerry held his hands out in a physical appeal. “You need to give it back; you know you do.”
No, she didn’t know that. She was no longer an affection-starved little girl. Instead, she’d acquired defenses—like rejecting emotion in favor of logic. “Gideon left you a ton of money in stable investments. You lost all that money gambling?”
The flex of his cheek muscle was as loud as a shout.
He’d gone through well over a million dollars? Her disgust gave way to growing unease. Jerry had always felt entitled to whatever she had.
“I’m sorry, Jerry, but no. Go back to Kansas. There isn’t anything for you here.” She rose to her feet. “I have work to do. If you’ll excuse me…”
He shook his head sadly. “Oh, Piper, I know you’ll find it in your heart to help me. You’re a good person. If I get crippled when you could have saved me so easily, you’re going to feel horrible.”
Even as worried guilt swamped her, he opened the door and stepped out, passing Dixon.
Dixon gave him an appreciative smile, then danced into the room with a cute hip shimmy. “Hey, girlfriend. Are you ready to give it another go? I’m off on Saturday, so this time I can be with you.”
“Maybe. I—” She realized her stepbrother had stopped right outside her office. Was listening.
Eavesdropping had been one of his habits as a teen. He’d blackmailed several of her high school friends, threatening to reveal some infraction to their parents—drugs, sneaking out, screwing around. They’d paid him off for his silence.
Leaning forward, she buzzed the receptionist’s desk. “Margot, please show my visitor to the door.” She lowered her voice. “Call security if he doesn’t leave promptly.”
Hearing the first part of her order, Jerry turned a forlorn look on her. “I’m sorry you feel this way, sis. But we’ll talk. Soon.”
Having taken the chair in front of her desk, Dixon turned and watched as Jerry walked past Margot and out. “Mmm, he’s gorgeous. But he reminds me of some Doms I dated before Stan. Smooth, saying all the right shit, but just out for what they can get.”
Dix had a good eye.
Piper rubbed her face, wishing she could erase the last few minutes. “So it seems. I thoug
ht at first there was more to his visit.” That he’d changed and wanted to really be her brother.
Even now, she wondered if she’d made a mistake and treated him too harshly. What if he got hurt by the loan shark? Her mouth twisted. If there even was a loan shark.
“Old boyfriend?” Dix asked.
“Stepbrother. He wanted money, and I said no.”
“Poor Pips.” Dix’s brown eyes filled with sympathy. “Steplings can be difficult. Our sweet Abby has a stepsister who is a direct descendant of Cinderella’s wicked steps.”
“She does?” Oddly cheered, Piper relaxed in her chair. “Poor Abby. She and I’ll have to compare notes.”
“Over alcohol. Her tale of woe requires at least a glass of wine and”—Dixon looked at where Jerry had disappeared—“I’d say yours might call for tequila.”
Piper actually laughed. Friends could brighten the ugliest of days.
Chapter Nine
On Saturday morning, Ethan leaned against his kitchen counter and watched Piper use his espresso machine and start to relax. Finally. In the short time she’d been here, the nervous little submissive had dropped her purse, stumbled over the ottoman, and tripped on a chair.
However, being set to a task eased her nerves. It appeared that serving was not only her talent but also her comfort zone.
As the cup filled, she glanced at Ethan. “Cream? Sugar?”
“A teaspoon of sugar, please.” He glanced at Churchill, sitting at Piper’s feet. “And the prime minister would enjoy a splash of cream in his bowl.”
“Of course.” Piper’s dimples appeared. “Prime ministers always get their way.”
As Churchill lapped up his morning beverage, Ethan escorted Piper downstairs and out to the patio. “Let’s talk for a bit before we do anything else.”
He took a seat on the wicker chair, removed the cushion from another chair, and set it on the concrete.
Her gulp was audible, then she gracefully knelt on the cushion, started to put her hands behind her back, and hesitated.
Very good. Each Dominant had his own preferences for a submissive’s posture. “Hands on your thighs, palms up. Eyes on me.” Although a submissive’s kneeling was a potent reminder of the exchange of power, arms behind the back became uncomfortable quickly.
When she complied, he nodded in satisfaction. Although he didn’t typically require kneeling when not in scene, he’d stick to a moderately formal protocol while Piper was here. Something close to what Serna might have demanded. “This is the default kneeling posture. I’ll tell you clearly if I require anything else.”
“Yes…um, how do you want to be addressed? Sir? Or…”
Or Master? Considering her past experience, he could understand her distaste, maybe even fear, of the word.
“Sir works fine.” He kept his voice calm and slow. “I’m not your Master, Piper. In all reality, I don’t enjoy the title or the responsibility. To do it right requires more time than I have.”
A line appeared between the lovely arches of her brows.
“Ask, poppet.”
“Why would… A Master has everything done for him. Why do you say it requires your time?”
“Was Serna your only experience with BDSM?”
She tensed at the name, then nodded.
Arseholes like Serna were why Dark Haven pro-actively searched for ways to educate and police their own. “Thankfully, the bastard isn’t a typical Master. In fact, I’m disinclined to consider him a Master at all. Pond scum would be a more appropriate title.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?” She cringed, and her shoulder muscles tensed.
Bloody hell. Undoubtedly, Serna had also punished her for asking questions. For talking. “Yes, really.” If she spent time around decent Dominants, she’d discover what a piece of garbage Serna really was.
“The position you’re in now is what I require when we’re in D/s mode. I think you’re observant enough to know when that happens. If we’re watching television or reading in a companionable state, then sit where and how you prefer. For meals, I’ll let you know.”
Her fingers curled inward as her anxiety increased.
He hated to be the cause, yet the more ill-at-ease she was, the sooner they’d discover her triggers and how to circumvent them.
“On Saturdays, while you are under my authority, I consider your body mine. However, I’m not interested in micro-managing anything, including your personal care. Use the bathroom as needed. Shower as needed. I do expect a high degree of cleanliness, and I’d like your pussy to be trimmed short or shaved. If I feel you aren’t tending my property carefully enough, I’ll step in.” He hardened his tone slightly to see how she’d react.
Ah, there it was.
Her face went pale, and her hands clenched. Her breathing started to race.
Leaning forward, he bracketed her face with his palms. “Look at me, Piper. Breathe with me now. In…out. In…out.”
Her cold fingers curled around his wrists, hanging on. Anchoring herself. Her eyes were like brown velvet, focused on him—and in spite of the fact that he’d brought her close to a panic attack, she trusted him enough to accept his command, to let him pull her out.
The knowledge sent sweet warmth through his veins.
As her breathing slowed, he caressed her cheek and let her go. Reluctantly. Her skin was like silk. He was close enough to catch the scent of her hair and body—a light feminine musk, a hint of lemon, and fresh lavender.
She was far too appealing. This would test his control. Especially since she needed to be able to tolerate a man’s hands touching her—a Dominant’s hands.
“Tell me how you feel right now,” he said softly, forearms resting on his thighs.
“Okay, I’m okay.”
“That’s utter rubbish. Try again. Can you feel your lips?”
Her teeth worried the lower lip.
So pink. Was her mouth as soft as it looked? Out of line, Worth.
“Yes. Um, I was cold, but it’s better, and the roaring in my ears went away.”
“Very good. Are you shaking?”
She pressed a hand to her abdomen. “Some. It’s better, too.” Her brows drew down. “Did you push me on purpose?”
It seemed her brain was also working again. “Yes and no. I wasn’t lying about my requirements; however, I was more blunt than normal. We have a job—you and I—to discover what sets off your anxiety. You do have other or additional choices such as talking with a counselor about those triggers. I do recommend that, you know.”
Her mouth tightened. “Maybe. Eventually.”
He’d let this slide for the moment, but eventually, he’d push harder to get her to see someone. “Once we find your triggers, you avoid the ones you can. I’ll work with you on detecting an attack early enough to avert it and on how to pull yourself out.”
“That sounds good. I’m game.” She frowned up at him. “But, Sir Ethan, I didn’t realize how time-consuming this would be for you. Why are you helping me?”
Such a sweetheart, worrying about him rather than herself. However, her surprise that a Dom would exert himself for her needs was simply wrong. He ran a finger along her jaw. “Haven’t you heard that a Dom might not give a submissive what she wants but will give her what she needs?”
Her gaze dropped. “No. I heard: ‘You’re property. Nothing. I don’t give a damn about you; I don’t have to.’”
That was an obvious Serna quote. The bloody arsehole. “Sorry, but the lifestyle does pull in a few vicious wankers like Serna. Have you realized he was an abusive sadist?”
Although she nodded because her intellect knew the truth, he had a feeling that emotionally she wasn’t convinced.
“You’ve done a magnificent job of turning your life around”—he smiled at the pleased flush that swept her face—“but you have a few steps yet to go. You need help climbing them. A good Dom doesn’t leave someone hurting when he can help.”
She swallowed and nodded.
&nb
sp; * * *
Piper felt weird. Even as chills ran over her skin, sunshine lit within her soul from Sir Ethan’s honesty. And his scorn when he spoke Master Serna’s name.
“We’ve learned one trigger—you fear to disappoint a Master and incur punishment.” A corner of his mouth tipped up. “I didn’t even say the word punishment before your panic attack kicked off.”
“You didn’t need to,” she said wryly.
“What other triggers do you have? Do you know?”
She’d thought about it since last weekend. “An angry or”—she bit her lip—“or a bored Master.” Because hurting and humiliating her had been the Defiler’s favorite way to get un-bored.
Disgust swept over Sir Ethan’s face and disappeared a second later. He stayed in such control of himself that she was in awe.
“What else?”
“Being called names.” Her hands closed into fists. Please don’t ask more questions.
“Ah.” Understanding softened his face. “I know it’s hard, Piper. However, it will be more difficult if I stumble across a trigger by accident. The more prepared we can be, the better. What names are the worst?”
Her mouth was so dry. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t. She shook her head—and realized the motion said she was refusing him.
She froze with terror. Now he’d—
Leaning forward, he lifted her up and onto his lap as easily as he would his cat. “Shhhh. It’s all right, poppet. We’ll get you past this,” he murmured, holding her—hugging her—against him.
As he stroked her hair, she pushed her face against his neck. He was so tall she felt surrounded by him. His elegantly clean scent was beginning to smell like comfort.
He wasn’t angry with her.
“Tell you what—can you write the names down? You don’t have to say them out loud.”
As part of counseling, years ago, she’d journaled. Had written the poisonous words. She nodded against his neck.
“Brave girl.”
His approval washed over her, a spring rain carrying away the muddy remnants of snow.
I Will Not Beg: Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 9 Page 10
