by Cathryn Cade
Sara stared at him uncomprehendingly. “I don’t get it… What happened?”
“Honey, we think she saw Dack holding you in the bedroom. Took it completely the wrong way.”
Sara made an involuntary sound, a breathy whimper. She shook her head. Opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t around the tears that choked her throat. Closing her eyes, she pressed her free hand to her mouth.
“We’ll get it straightened out,” he went on, “but tonight, it may be best to just let her alone. If she’s that upset, you don’t need the turmoil right now. You need to be calm and quiet.”
Daisy was supposed to be her best friend, and she believed that Sara would…? With Dack? She tried to hold back the sob, but it escaped, a loud, choked sound.
Trace said nothing else, simply moved to the edge of the bed, turned so he leaned against the pillows beside her and held out his arms. She burrowed against his hard, warm chest, and wept. She cried for Daisy’s defection, for the pain and fear of reaching out, only to be viciously attacked, and for the strain of living alone, of being brave and strong all the time when she needed someone to hold her and be strong for her.
He held her close in his warm, strong arms, one hand on her back, the other moving gently in her hair. His heart beat against hers, and slowly his calm soothed her, seeped into her so she was able to lie at rest, empty as a drained vessel.
“You think you could sleep now?” he asked, his voice a deep, quiet murmur beneath her ear, his breath stirring her hair.
She clutched at him reflexively, her fingers twisting in his sodden shirtfront. “Don’t leave. Please, Trace.”
“I won’t leave you, honey. I’m gonna get a cloth to wipe your face, and a drink of water, and make sure your door is locked. Then I’ll be back, okay?”
Limp with relief, she nodded. “Okay.” She lifted her head and grimaced at the wetness. “I’m sorry I got your shirt all wet.”
“It’ll dry.” She thought she felt him brush a kiss to the top of her hair; then he eased away, tucking her into her pillows and blankets.
He wiped her face with a damp washcloth, tucked her back in, turned off the lamp and walked out of the room. She heard his voice in the living area, again with the pauses that signaled a phone conversation. She lay still, too tired to think or feel anymore, with the faint light from the living area laying a swath of light across her carpet.
When he returned, a tall reassuring silhouette, she looked up at him.
“Will you stay here, with me?” she asked. Part of her was ashamed of her pitifulness in asking, but she craved the closeness of another person. A large, strong person. “The bed is plenty big enough. I’ll move over.”
Trace sank onto the edge of her bed. He bent his head, ran his fingers through his hair and then sighed. “You sure? I don’t want you to wake up and freak out because I roll over and scare you.”
She nodded quickly. “I’m sure.”
When he still sat, watching her, she felt a stir of panic. “Please, Trace.”
“Okay.” He stood and walked around the bed and she heard the rustle of clothing behind her, the clink of his belt. “All right with you if I take off my pants? I’m wearing briefs. I’ll leave my shirt on.”
“That’s fine.”
The bed sank under his weight and then moved, rocking her as he adjusted his long body in the bed. He yawned and then let out a long breath. He reached over and patted her hip.
“Wake me up if you need anything, okay, Red?”
“Okay.” In the morning she would ask him why he called her that. It was a silly nickname, sounded like an Irish boxer. Or a toy wagon.
Amazingly, Sara slept through the night and didn’t wake until the morning sun streamed in through a slit in the curtains over her bed, flickering in her eyes. With a grumpy moan, she burrowed deeper in the covers. She was warm and cozy, adrift in the warm, musky scent of a delicious male. She must be dreaming about Trace, because it smelled like him, and of course, he wouldn’t be in her bed.
Then the bed shifted, and her eyes opened to meet his sleepy gaze. In the bright morning light, his brown eyes were flecked with amber, his lashes and brows shaded from blond to dark brown. His blond hair was flat on one side, sticking up on the other, and his cheek had a crease across it. None of this detracted from his male beauty. Framed with morning stubble of dark gold, his mouth was relaxed and delicious.
He scratched his chest, clad in a familiar black silk T-shirt. “How you doing?” His voice was husky with sleep.
“Okay,” she whispered, still lost in the sweetness of waking up with him. Harsh, hurtful memories pushed at her, but she held them at bay, focusing on this man just for now.
His gaze softened even more. “That’s good. Have to tell you, you need a new bed.”
“I know. This was the second cheapest at Bed Mart. The cheapest mattress was worse.”
He thought about this. “So you’re divorced, huh?”
She nodded. “Uh-huh. Married my college sweetheart, who immediately started cheating on me with every female of legal age and a few that were questionable.”
His lip curled. “Definitely the stupidest dickwad in Oregon. You’re well rid of his ass.”
“Yup. Don’t miss him.” She looked down, following the long, muscular line of his arm. “I…I miss this, though. Just, y’know, waking up with someone.”
He smiled at her. “Glad to be of service. You’re pretty nice to wake up to, Red.”
She snorted. “I’m sure. Puffy eyes, rat’s-nest hair and all. You must sleep with—” She froze, and wrinkled her nose. “Um, never mind.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “No, go on, please. You’re through putting yourself down, now you want to denigrate my taste in women. I’m all ears.”
She buried her face in the pillow. “Agh. I’m sorry.”
The pillow was pulled away from her. “What’s that?” he asked. “Can’t hear you.”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated, her face flaming. “That came out all wrong.”
Trace said nothing, and finally she lifted her head to find him leaning on his elbow, head cocked, studying her through the hair falling across her face, like a scientist with a new specimen.
“What?” she mumbled, her cheeks hot.
“I don’t think that came out ‘wrong’ at all,” he said. “I think you said exactly what you meant. You don’t think much of yourself as a woman, do you?”
She frowned at him and shifted uncomfortably in the bed, ready to move away. “I do so. Well, anyway, what I think of myself is—is none of your business.” As if last night hadn’t cemented all her doubts about herself. She’d picked the biggest loser in the club, and look what had happened.
As she struggled with increasing irritation to free herself and her sweats from the tangle of sheets and blanket, Trace sat up, arms clasped around his upraised knees, and watched her, completely unself-conscious in his tight T-shirt and matching briefs. Of course, why wouldn’t he when he looked like Thor himself had leapt from the clouds and landed in her bed?
“I think it is my business,” he said, still in that calm, conversational tone. “Especially when it leads to you hooking up with losers. First your husband, though I can’t do anything about that as it’s over and done. But secondly, with Kevin—at my club. And that is not gonna happen again, Red. Not while I’m around.”
She stood beside her bed, her heart pounding, emotion pouring through her. It was rage, pure and hot and cleansing. She’d been through terror last night, and now this man felt free to sit and judge her on her performance?
“How dare you sit there and…and evaluate me like some lab study subject,” she protested. “I do not—and you can’t—”
“Nope, not happening again,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “In the future, when you come to the club, I’m gonna be watching every move you make. You want to hook up, you get my approval first.”
He lifted his eyebrows as if waiting for her acquiescence.
Sara lost it. She grabbed the nearest thing she could reach, an old embroidered pillow, and threw it at him.
“You jerk!” she shrieked. “You big—you self-righteous asshole. Call yourself a dom, you’re just a big bossy—jerk.”
Trace batted the pillow away with one hand. Then, with a few lithe moves, he captured her wrists in his hand, manacled them behind her back, and jackknifed up with her astride him. Then he pressed his fingertips over her mouth. But the look in his brown eyes shut her up more effectively. It wasn’t angry, or injured. It was soft, so much so that she flinched, certain she saw pity.
He shook his head. “I’m right, Red. And you are worth more than you think you are. So much more. You deserve a man who knows that and does everything in his power to show you how precious you are. And I’m going to see that happens.”
He lifted his fingers from her lips, his thumb tracing her lower lip in a caress. “Now, apologize for calling me names, and we can get on with our day. You have to go and swear out a statement at the station, talk to a rape counselor, and then talk to your girls. I’ve got things to do also.”
Sara struggled. Then she froze as she realized she was astride a large, strong, athletic male in his prime, and his powerful thighs were beneath hers, and her soft, feminine center rode directly over his cock. Which she could feel even through his briefs, her panties and a pair of sweats. Also, when she moved, her breasts brushed his hard chest.
His big hand held her wrists in a grip that was not painful at all. Even with her bruises, it was loose, as if he was merely making a point. He had her, and he was not going to let her go until she did as he said.
And all of this was a completely different experience than the horror of the night before. She might be so angry she wanted to snatch his blond head bald, but she wasn’t afraid of him. Not physically or emotionally.
She trusted him. She trusted him to take care of her, to keep her safe no matter what. He was that kind of man, the kind who would do anything to keep a woman from being hurt or frightened. She stared at him, spellbound by this new knowledge.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“That’s good, honey,” he said. “You never have to be. Now do as I say, and I can let you go.”
“You are the bossiest man I know,” she said. “No one has ever spoken to me the way you do.”
He lifted his brows in a look that conveyed masculine amusement, affection and wry acceptance. “Then I’d say it’s time, Red.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Sara.”
“All right, all right.” She took a breath and sighed, then looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry.”
He waited. “For…?”
She huffed another sigh. “For calling you names. Although not for calling you bossy, because you are.”
“This is true. Part of being a dom.” He studied her, and she felt heat bloom on her cheeks. She tipped her head down, shaking her hair forward. She would really prefer to shower and get a little makeup on.
“Eyes on me, Red.”
“You said you’d let me go,” she protested, ducking her head under his chin and hiding with her face against his throat. It felt safe there. “I have to use the bathroom.”
“You can pee when we’re done here.”
Sara sat bolt upright, glaring indignantly. “Trace Bowen. That is just going too far.”
He gave her a look. “Sara James, I’m not going as far as I will eventually. Trying to be careful with you. And since I would never reciprocate, it’s not fair of you to attack me with ugly words. Tossing the pillow, eh—you couldn’t have hurt me with that if you tried.”
She glowered, trying without success to ignore the Sara inside her who was sighing with fan-girl enthusiasm. Ooh, he’s so strong, and he’s focused completely on me. I want to stay here on his lap all morning.
“I like looking at you,” he told her. “I like holding you. You’re a gorgeous, sexy woman, a little package of dynamite. And I never want to hear you putting yourself down again, you hear me?”
She nodded. “I hear you,” she whispered. His words found a tiny chink in the shame and anger that still blanketed her heart in a dank, chill layer and arrowed warmly inside.
He nodded in approval. “Then hear this. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry you were attacked on my turf. I’m sorry you had to go through even part of what no woman should ever, ever have to go through.
“I’m proud of you for being strong, and agreeing to follow through, helping to make sure he doesn’t have the chance to do this again.”
His gaze softened, warmed, spreading that warmth clear through her. “And one night, when you’re ready to come back to Club 3, I’ll show you in other ways how much of a woman you are.”
It was a good thing he was holding her up, or she might have fallen right over.
“Well—well, what if I wanted to choose another dom?” she managed. “If I came back, which I’m not even sure I will.” Her heart was pounding hard again, like a tethered bird discovering the limits of its captivity. And wondering whether it was safe to fly.
His look changed to one of dark promise. But he merely cupped the side of her face with his warm hand, his touch slow and careful. His gaze held hers as he traced his thumb over her lips again.
With his other hand, he squeezed her thigh gently. “You will. You’re a passionate woman, and you know where you belong. I have an answer for your question, but now is not the time for you to hear it. So ask me again when you’re ready. Okay?”
She found herself nodding. He had an answer for her? She wanted desperately to know what it was, but at the same time, she didn’t.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his mouth curving up to put those attractive little creases in his lean cheeks.
“Good. Now, you can get up.”
And that was when she realized he’d let go of her wrists at some point, but she still sat with her wrists crossed behind her back. Like a submissive obeying her dom.
Her face flaming, Sara scrambled from his lap and from the bed, avoiding his gaze as if it were poison. She dove into her small, crowded walk-in closet as if finding clothing were a life-and-death mission.
“You mind if I make some coffee?” he called from the bedroom door.
“Go ahead.” She listened carefully and didn’t emerge from the closet until she heard him walk away.
But I liked it when he made me mind, fan-girl Sara whined. I wanna go watch him in my kitchen and let him make me coffee. Tough. Not happening. She needed… She didn’t know what she needed, but it wasn’t to be thinking about Trace and what he had in mind for her future at the club.
She wasn’t going back there for a while.
Chapter Four
“Jake? Dack? Where are you guys?” Trace walked through the doors into the main room of the club. Both their trucks were outside, so they were here somewhere.
He’d driven directly here from the police station, after taking Sara to swear out her statement against Kevin. This had been an ordeal for her, and thus for Trace. God, he’d love to have another chance at the little prick. Just one more shot at him—to break the arm that had hurt Sara.
Now he wanted to talk to his partners. They were going to have to institute some new procedures here at Club 3, because this was never happening again.
“Back here,” Jake called.
“What the hell…?” Trace strode across the dance floor. Jake stood in the center of the sitting area, hands on his narrow hips. Dack was sprawled on the leather sofa, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. From the smell, he’d consumed a fair amount of it.
“Will somebody please let me in on what the fuck went down here?” Jake demanded, scowling. “I miss one night at the club, and all hell breaks loose.”
Dack’s eyes were closed, so Trace recounted the events of the night. “I’ve been in on the phone conversations flying between Carlie and Sara, so I know Daisy saw our hero here comforting Sara and took it entirely th
e wrong way. That’s why he’s buddied up with Jack-in-the-bottle.”
Jake slapped one huge hand on his thigh. “Dammit, I should’ve been here.”
“You can’t live here, man,” Trace said, rubbing his eyes. “None of us can. We were covered. Mase and I handled Kevin while Dack took care of Sara. Then I took her home and stayed with her. It just shouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
Dack emitted a loud snore. Trace looked at him in resignation. “We better get him into a bed, ’cause I think he’s gonna be out for a while.”
The two of them hauled the big weight lifter to his feet and into the nearest bedroom. They rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke to death if he puked in his sleep.
“Someone’s gonna have to stay with him,” Jake said. “I’ll take the first shift, if you can cover the afternoon. He should wake up by evening.”
“Good enough,” Trace agreed. “That’ll give me a chance to get a workout. Maybe I’ll go for a run while it’s still cool. I need to unwind.”
Jake grunted. “Already eighty out there. Gonna be a hot one.”
They walked back out into the club. “How is Sara?” Jake asked, frowning. “She get seen at the ER or anything?”
Trace shook his head. “I couldn’t talk her into going. He didn’t have a chance to do more than bruise her wrists. Her dress scraped her neck when he yanked it off.”
“Fucker,” Jake grated. “Like to have a little time alone with him. I trust you got a few licks in before the cops took him?”
“Oh yeah. Then he ‘tripped’ in the parking lot.” And the satisfaction of his fists connecting with the little creep’s ribs and face was going to stay with him for long time. Although he still wanted to do more.
“Good man.” Jake continued to look at him.
Trace raised his brows. “What?”
Jake shrugged. “You spent the night with her, huh? Alone. You sure that was good judgment?”
