His eyebrows went up.
“Yes, I know most people don’t put veggies in their spaghetti sauce, but my children were fussy. I call it guerilla nutrition.”
“Sneaky.” His smile was as slow as his words. He didn’t have a drawl exactly—he just took his time. And the smile didn’t last long, but for a moment it totally transformed his face.
Not fair that he should look so appealing and comfortable in her kitchen. She spun back to the stove. After rinsing the noodles in the colander, she started creating the lasagna. It was a time-consuming dish, but she’d hoped to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied. Having Sam in her house was like inviting a grizzly bear in for a snack.
And yet having him here was incredibly reassuring. He knew who she was, what she’d been through, and he still…liked her. Or maybe not. Maybe he just felt guilty.
“Nice kitchen,” he commented. His gaze shifted from the cream-colored pine cupboards to the dark blue walls to the golden marble countertops. He frowned as he studied the woven basket holding oranges, a tall coiled basket filled with wooden spoons, and the potted herbs inside colorful twined baskets. When he spotted the box of reeds on the kitchen shelves, he asked, “You do the baskets yourself?”
“Most of them.” After setting a platter of cheese and crackers on the table, she pointed to a hand-sized plaited basket that held a variety of stones. The shape had odd bulges, and the weaving looked as if she’d been intoxicated. “I started when I was in high school.”
“You’ve improved.”
“Why, thank you.” She grinned. “You know, you have a talent for being blunt without being quite rude.” He gave her a contemplative stare as if he’d never had a woman tease him. Then again, who in their right mind would tease a sadist?
“Takes too much work to be rude.” He nodded at a pile of baskets in a corner. “You planning something for those?”
She started the alternating layers of noodles, ricotta, mozzarella, and sauce. “I sell them at my store; otherwise I’d be buried in them. Hobbies are like zucchini—your friends and family can only absorb so much.”
He snorted in agreement before loading a cracker with cheese. “Nicole quilts. Got one on every bed in the house. Couple hang on the walls.”
Her hands stilled as a pang stabbed through her. Not…quite…pain. “Nicole?”
“My daughter.”
She hadn’t even considered that he’d have a family. He seemed to stand alone, like a cliff above the ocean. And yet what woman wouldn’t want him? She stared down at the long casserole pan. “You’re married?” Did he cheat on his wife?
With a creak of the chair, he rose to stand behind her. Ignoring the way she froze, he put his arm around her waist, holding her firmly against him. “I’m divorced.” He huffed a laugh. “I’m a sadist, girl, not a cheater.”
Even as relief streamed through her, she had to wonder how he could so easily say that. “I’m a sadist.”
Chapter Six
What was that? Sam opened his eyes, frowning at the darkness in Linda’s living room. For the previous three nights, he had slept on her couch. Although she’d offered a guest room, he had refused. In a back bedroom, he wouldn’t hear a thing. He was here to catch the spray-painting bastard, not be comfortable.
He listened but heard only the hum of the refrigerator and slight ticking of the ceiling fan. The atmosphere of the house was cozy, clean without being obsessive, beautiful without being formal.
The first night, Linda had eventually relaxed after he’d talked her into playing guitar with him. Like Tanya Tucker, she had a low, rich voice that added a haunting quality to every song. He’d kept forgetting to play so he could listen.
The next evening, she’d let him pull her down beside him to watch a spy thriller. Warm body. Soft hips and shoulders. She had fit against his side as if she belonged there.
When she’d discovered he liked pie, he’d had homemade pie every night to go with her home-cooked meals. The woman was so grateful he was liable to put on twenty pounds.
Don’t get attached to this one, Davies. He rubbed his chin, knowing it was already too late. She’d captivated him the moment he’d seen her, which seemed a mite odd. He wasn’t some pimple-faced boy to fall for a girl on first sight, but he had. Maybe it was a sign of going senile?
Rustles. A thump. Sam rose. The sounds weren’t from outside. He tracked the noise to Linda’s bedroom and stopped outside, grinning. Was she playing with toys, having a good time?
Then he heard her whimper, her voice thin with fear. “No, no, please. Don’t.”
What the hell? Set to attack an intruder, Sam shoved the door open. A golden night-light revealed an empty room except for Linda thrashing on the bed in the throes of a nightmare. Hell, after what she’d endured, she probably had a lot of them. Her pale face gleamed with sweat. As her fingernails clawed the covers, his heart squeezed with pity.
He took a step forward and stopped. Which would she find more terrifying: a nightmare or Sam in her bedroom?
Probably him.
But his jaw clenched at the sounds of her fear. Scowling, he set a wooden chair a few feet from the bed, then sat and rested his elbows on his knees. A deep breath allowed him to calm his expression. The little sub didn’t need to see an angry man at her bedside. “Linda. Linda, it’s time to wake up.”
Her movements stilled and then started again.
He deepened his voice to add a note of command. “Linda. Wake up now.”
She gasped, and her eyes popped open. For a minute she lay as still as a petrified mouse. Then she turned her head slowly and looked around the room. Her muscles relaxed. Her gaze finally came to rest on him. “Sam?”
“Good guess.” She hadn’t panicked at the sight of him. Finest gift he’d had in a long time. “You had a nightmare.”
“You woke me up?”
He nodded.
“Thank you.” She sat up and pushed her damp hair out of her face. The covers pooled around her waist, and her breasts wobbled under the thin nightgown.
“Not a problem.” He cursed silently at his hardening cock. She didn’t need any reminders of what assholes men could be. Intending to leave, he stood, but her wide brown eyes were too vulnerable. Too haunted. “What’s the matter, baby?” Moving slowly enough she could evade his touch, he ran his hand over her damp cheek.
Rather than pulling back, she leaned into his palm. The trust in the movement tightened his chest. “I’m still scared,” she whispered. “I can feel them…the way they touched me. How it hurt.” Her breath hitched.
Sam wasn’t the one she feared. He sat on the bed, facing her, and pulled her into his arms so her head rested on his shoulder, her breasts against his chest. Closing his eyes, he treasured the chance to give her the comfort a man could offer.
Her hair always smelled of lavender with a hint of citrus—lime, maybe—and her gown was silky under his rough hands. All woman, this one. “You get a lot of nightmares?”
Her shoulders moved in a shrug, and she sighed, her breath a hint of warmth through his shirt. “They were getting better but increased again when I moved home.”
Sam stiffened. “Does having me here make them worse?” He could always bunk in his truck if—
“No. No.” Her forehead rubbed against his chest. “They were nastier when I was here alone. I feel safe around you.” Her throaty laugh was rueful. “Isn’t that the damnedest thing?”
No, because he’d protect her against the goddamned world if he had to. He stroked her back. Slowly. Silk over softness. “It’s good. Now tell me why you were angry with me at the auction.”
“I…” She tried to pull back, and he tightened his grip.
“No. Talk to me, girl.” He doubted he’d share if he were in her position, but hell, that’s why he got to be the Dom. “I got you off, and…”
“You’re such a man.” She huffed out a breath. “Women don’t see things the same.”
“Noticed that.”
&
nbsp; Damned if she didn’t give a snorting laugh. “Okay, it’s like this. They took everything from us. Clothes, speech. Took our b-bodies. All our choices. Our…humanity.”
Our. Well if she found it easier to talk in generalities, he wouldn’t correct her. “Go on.”
She had her arms around him, and now her fingers dug into his back. Another connection. “All I—we—had left, all we could control were our thoughts. I stayed cold. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing they affected me.”
He considered her strained voice. Rich buyers were egotistical assholes. A slave’s lack of fear wouldn’t go over well. “Didn’t that make it worse for you?”
Her body tensed.
Yeah, it had gotten worse. He shut down the urge to slam his fist into something.
She whispered into his neck, “They got mad, especially the Overseer. But being frozen was the only way I could fight back. Then with you that night, I couldn’t—”
“Hell. I took away your control and made you come.”
Her head moved up and down on his shoulder. “In front of all of them. They were…watching.” She shuddered. “The slave next to me… She looked at me like I’d betrayed her.”
Damn. He’d known there was a reason she’d been so upset and angry, but it was worse than he’d figured. He’d undermined everything she’d fought to accomplish. Forced her own body to betray her. He was a damned fool. “I’m sorry, Linda. I wouldn’t have…not if I’d realized.”
Her breasts flattened on his chest as she pulled in a breath. “At first, I figured you made me get off for kicks. Just to prove you could.”
A flicker of anger woke at the realization she’d lined him up with the assholes.
“But I know you better now. You didn’t need to prove anything. You already knew what you could do to me. You even said as much.” Her hands tightened on his back. “You thought you were doing me a favor, didn’t you? Because you’re a guy, and that’s how men think about orgasms.”
The sense of being forgiven was like stepping into the warmth of a Florida sun after being in dry air-conditioning. “I should have thought more carefully.”
“It’s okay. It wasn’t a place where you had time to think.”
“True.” He closed his eyes, remembering the noise—crying and screaming. The auctioneer playing to the buyers’ debased demands. The despair in the room had been a swamp, pulling him down. The stench of fear and sick lust had made it difficult to breathe, harder not to be sick. “It gave me nightmares too, girl.”
WHAT A THING for a strong man to admit. Linda rolled her forehead against his shoulder. With a half laugh, he moved to lie flat on his back and pulled her down beside him. His muscles rippled as he arranged her so her cheek rested on his shoulder. His arms were iron bands around her, holding her closely, and the remnants of the nightmare melted in the warmth of his body.
How long had it been since she’d let herself be snuggled? Long before the kidnapping. Not with that jerk Dwayne—she’d just wanted him gone. And sweet as Lee was, he didn’t cuddle.
This was…nice. She breathed in the clean fragrance of his shirt, and deeper, his masculine scent, and squirmed closer. But when she flung her left leg over his, she bumped into a hard erection. An appalled sound escaped her, and she tensed.
“Girl.” The single chastising word somehow conveyed an entire speech of how he wouldn’t do anything she didn’t want and how guys get erections and she was being silly. All in one word.
A tiny laugh escaped her, because that was so…Sam. She’d seen the way he watched her, how he desired her, yet he never made her feel sleazy or dirty. Just…wanted. “Sam, I—”
“Go to sleep. Morning comes soon enough.”
The hint of amusement and the stillness of his body eased the last of her worry, and she obeyed, letting the sense of safety tumble her into slumber.
* * * *
Sunlight through the curtains wakened her. He was gone, and she’d had her best sleep in months. The sheets still held his scent, and she pulled the pillow to her, breathing in all that was Sam. Feeling her body waken. Dampen. Come alive.
* * * *
That evening, Linda slipped into bed, the coolness of the sheets contrasting with her warm body. All day, she’d felt as if her body was playing a song like Pachelbel’s “Canon”…and the melody with all its variations and repetitions was named desire.
When Sam had arrived that evening, the entire orchestra joined in.
And now she was ready. Surely she was.
After getting home from work, she’d taken a long bubble bath, then shaved her legs and underarms…and her pussy. She smiled, remembering her first awkward attempt at shaving down there—after her best friend had asked Linda if she intended to mourn her husband forever. That week, so long ago, she’d had her hair restyled, changed her makeup, bought brighter clothing, and…shaved. For the first time since Frederick’s death, she had felt like a woman.
She certainly felt like a woman tonight. After Sam had arrived, Linda had fixed supper and scolded him for cutting the carrots too small. His swift grin had set up a beat low in her pelvis. When she’d talked him into playing guitar with her, the sight of his strong fingers wrapped around the neck of the guitar had mesmerized her. When he had picked out a scary movie, she’d agreed, wanting only a reason to burrow into him on the couch.
Every breath had held his scent of the crisp outdoors. Whole and right. And the buzz of awareness that said she was with a man—one she wanted—had never faded.
When the time grew late, he hadn’t confused her with choices. Far too experienced in reading women—in reading her—he’d pulled her to her feet and told her to get ready for bed. That he’d be in soon.
Under the covers, she waited, worries swelling and clogging her throat until she couldn’t swallow. The sheets were cool. Surely that’s why she was shivering.
His footsteps were softer than normal. He’d removed his boots. As he entered the room, though, she saw he still wore his jeans. Thank you, God.
In silence, he pulled the covers back and settled beside her. Warm.
She snuggled against his side with a sigh.
He didn’t move, letting her take things at her own speed. Letting her decide. The beauty of his patience made her eyes well with tears.
The knowledge that he wanted her sent a hum through her system. I know him. He’d touched her intimately at the auction. Again at the Shadowlands. Hands calloused from work moving over her skin. His deep voice whispering in her ear.
She wanted him, oh yes, but could she have sex with him without panicking? In San Diego, she’d thought she’d be celibate for…oh, a decade or so. At least. But that was before Sam had set desire simmering deep inside her.
But now what?
In grade school, she’d been so shy that reading aloud had terrified her, and if she stalled, her nervousness increased until she couldn’t speak at all. So she would always volunteer to go first.
Now, even as she lay beside Sam, her anxiety was rising. Time to start while she still could. She pushed up onto one elbow.
In the dim light, his face was shadowy as his pale eyes studied her face. “Tell me what you want to do.”
She took his hand from her shoulder and moved it to her breast. “I want to…to try.”
He didn’t even pretend to misunderstand her. “All right.” His answer was immediate. Simple. “We’re not playing now though. ‘No’ means no. ‘Stop’ means stop. Is that clear?”
Not playing, but you couldn’t take the Dom out of the man. He was still setting the rules. Her lips quivered, then curved. “Yes, Sir.”
His laugh was a rumbled chuckle before he kissed her. Oh, she remembered his lips. Firm and knowledgeable, but more gentle this time. As if he’d let her decide how fast and how far they’d go.
“Condoms?” he asked.
She rolled away, grabbed a packet from the bedside table, and returned to his arms before she lost her nerve.
&nb
sp; As he pulled the condom from her clenched fingers, the war started inside her. How could she have asked him for sex? That was disgusting. Sleazy. Bad. She was bad.
When he kissed her, her body stiffened. He lifted his head, his lips an inch from hers. “Talk to me.”
I want this. I don’t. I shouldn’t. “I don’t want to…decide.” She felt wrong. Dirty. Wanting to have sex was—
His eyes narrowed, and then he gripped her hair, holding her head immobile as he took her lips. Not cruelly, not like…them. Them. The slavers. Like an avalanche, memories swept over her, flattening her.
A nasty pinch on her thigh made her jerk. “Stay with me, girl.” His growling voice was like sandpaper, scraping away the horrors, digging down to where her nerves were alive. “Say my name.”
His unyielding expression set up a trembling in her belly that had nothing to do with fear. “Sam.”
“Again.” His left arm around her waist tightened as he closed his other hand on her breast. Cupping, kneading, tugging. His penetrating gaze stayed on her face, and his fingers closed on her nipple. And pinched…
When the pressure turned to pain, sensation streamed in a wave of light and heat straight to her core. “Sam.”
His lips curved in a ruthless smile. “Good that you respond to the reins.” His hand moved to her other breast, no longer gentle but demanding. Yet…careful. Never with the careless brutality that the Overseer— “Ow!” Her hip stung where he’d given it a mean pinch.
“When I want you to think, I’ll tell you.” And how could such an arrogant statement make her stomach drop? He took her lips again, and at the same time she felt him untying the lacing at the top of her nightgown, pushing it to her waist in a whisper of cool silk. His hand returned to her bare breasts. Calloused, abrasive…warm.
“I look forward to using clamps on these,” he whispered in her ear, tugging and pinching. “They’ll hurt like this.” His fingernail dug into the tender flesh until she gasped at the burning pain. He bit her shoulder, adding a new sting to the ones bombarding her body.
Too much. One of the guards had… When they’d all… Hands and agony and… She shoved away frantically, gasping for air.
Masters of the Shadowlands 7 - This is who I am Page 7
