by Selena Kitt
“I’m sorry, Katie…” Patrick said as he watched his brother help her with her coat.
She smiled at him, trying to remind herself who he was. Oh right, he’s the guy from the ad, the one who was supposed to do all those things I wanted… For some reason, she’d almost forgotten he existed at all!
“It wasn’t your fault,” she murmured, Liam’s hands on her shoulders warm and heavy, a delightful weight.
“Oh it was, decidedly, his fault.” Liam’s voice was low and serious as he glared at his brother, retrieving Katie’s purse from the dresser where she’d left it. “How did you get here?”
“I drove.” She took her purse. Yes, she vaguely remembered bringing it with her, setting it on the dresser, looking at Patrick in his leather pants and snakeskin boots. They’d seemed so sexy at the time, but now all she could see was the hulk of a man in front of her, his gaze never leaving her face.
“I’m going to drive you home,” Liam told her, reaching around her to pick up the glass of milk. “Patrick will follow in your car.”
“That’s not necessary.” Sanity was beginning to return—at least, she thought it was. She was embarrassed by her actions. By this whole situation.
“Yes it is,” Liam insisted, holding the glass out. There was only a little bit left. “Drink the rest.”
She did, dutifully, and blushed when Liam used his sleeve—the one he hadn’t used to wipe her face earlier—to dab the milk mustache from her upper lip.
“Feel a little better?”
“Thank you.” She smiled up at him, buttoning her coat, strangely much more steady on her feet now, in spite of the alcohol. “You really don’t have to drive me home.”
“Keys.” Liam shook his head, holding his hand out to take them when she retrieved her key ring from her coat pocket. “I don’t want you driving, not in your condition. Besides, it’s snowing.”
“It is?” she asked as he handed her car keys over to Patrick, Liam guiding her up the stairs. Outside, the world had gone white. There was nothing more thrilling than the first snow of the season and it lifted her spirits, falling around them in heavy, fat flakes.
“What are you doing?” Liam asked, opening the passenger door to a red sports car, waving her inside. Katie laughed, tilting her head back and trying to catch snowflakes, turning in lazy circles.
“Whoa, there!” Liam grabbed her around the waist as a wave of dizziness washed over her. He smiled, bemused. She liked his smile. “Get in. Before you end up face down in the snow.”
Katie let him urge her into the car. “Oh don’t worry, I’m sure my humiliation bucket is quite full for the day.”
He laughed, shutting the door, telling his brother to follow him before getting in beside her.
“What kind of car is this?” she inquired, running a finger over the pristine white, leather interior. The car was a deep, dark red, very low to the ground. The engine purred to life when he turned the key.
“A Maserati.” He glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “Put your seatbelt on.”
“Buckle up for safety.” She giggled, pulling the harness across and searching for the latch. He let her fumble for a moment before reaching over and taking it out of her hand, clicking it seamlessly into place.
“You’re good at that.” Katie felt his breath against her cheek. They were just inches away from each other in the closed space of the vehicle, just close enough that she could focus on the little flecks of gold in his dark eyes. She hadn’t noticed that before.
“Thanks.” He smiled—she really did like his smile—and moved back fully into the driver’s seat, reaching for his own buckle.
“Click it or Kick it.” She giggled again as he looked sideways at her, that sexy smile playing on his lips.
“I think it’s Click it or Ticket,” he corrected, putting the car into reverse—it was a stick shift, and watching him manipulate the gearshift was… well, it was hot.
“I think I’m a little drunk,” she confessed, watching out the window as Patrick finished clearing her little Honda’s windshield of snow.
“Lightweight, huh?” He chuckled, pulling out of the driveway, checking in the rearview mirror to make sure his brother was ready to follow.
“It’s a convertible?” She fingered one of the buttons, curious.
“Yes.” He took her hand and put it back into her lap.” But I don’t advise letting the top down. Not in this weather.”
“Sorry.” She blinked at him as he stopped at the corner, looking at her expectantly.
“Which way, Katie?”
“Oh…” She giggled. “I get to give you directions? I bet that’s a switch.”
“Yes.” He laughed, turning left when she pointed. “And for the record, I’m all Dom, sweetheart. Not an ounce of Switch in me.”
The roads were slick with snow—it was coming down even heavier now—but Liam took the curves without any hint of hesitation. She glanced back over her shoulder, making sure Patrick was following. She had driven her vehicle long enough to know it couldn’t handle roads like this quite as well as Liam’s sports car.
“Are you cold?” Liam glanced over at her, huddled against the door. “You’re shivering.”
“I am?” She hadn’t noticed but her teeth chattered when she said it. “My feet got wet. Stupid clogs.”
“That’s what you get for trading practicality for fashion.” He turned on the heat.
Katie sighed with relief, leaning in toward the vent. The air was warm against her cheeks, but her lower half was still cold.
“Put your feet on the dash.” Liam pushed another button and she felt warm air near the windshield.
She hesitated, looking sideways at him and then at the spotless, white leather dashboard. It looked soft and supple enough to sleep on. “Are you sure?”
“Take your shoes off,” he instructed. “And put your feet up.”
She did, leaning back in the seat, the warm air beginning to thaw her frozen toes. “Ohhh that’s so yummy.”
Liam guided the car onto the expressway at her direction—it was almost a straight shot to her house now—glancing occasionally in the rearview to check on his brother, and keeping an eye on her in the passenger seat.
“How fast can this car go?” she inquired, watching him shift gears, easing the vehicle faster.
He shifted again, settling at a respectable speed, considering the weather. “About two-hundred miles an hour.”
She gave a low whistle, shaking her head. “I bet no one can keep up with you.”
“You could say that.” He didn’t look at her, but a smile played at the corners of his mouth.
Katie wiggled her toes—they were finally getting warm—and watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was way more handsome than Patrick, she decided. Less boyish and far more broad than his brother, Liam had an air of quiet confidence and experience about him that made her feel immediately at ease. She remembered how quickly he had taken charge of things in the basement, but she didn’t dwell on that thought, her face burning at the memory. What had she been thinking?
“I’m really sorry about what happened back there, Katie.” Liam’s words jerked her out of her own thoughts, and she looked at him, startled, wondering if he could read minds. “Patrick never should have posted that ad.”
“It was my fault. I just…” She sighed, toying with the button on her coat. “At the last minute, I freaked.”
“It happens. Don’t blame yourself.” His enormous hand covered hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving back to the gearshift. “It was Patrick’s responsibility to take care of you, and he failed.”
She glanced in the side mirror, seeing the headlights of her Honda—dusk was quickly turning to evening—Patrick following close behind. “Don’t be too hard on him.”
“I’ll be as hard as I need to be.” Liam’s jaw tightened and she didn’t argue. She doubted anyone argued with him much.
“I just…” She shrugged. “I realized at the last
minute…” Pausing, she tried to find a way to tell him what she’d felt in that moment, how her sudden realization had made it so urgent for her to stop any forward motion.
“That you’re not submissive?” he offered, that smile back again.
“No!” Her protest came out quite forcefully, surprising her.
His smiled widened. “I didn’t think so.”
“No,” she said again, softer this time, trying to explain. “I just realized that if I went through with it, that I would regret it.”
He cocked his head, curious. “Why?”
“Because…” She looked down, toying with her button—the one on the other side was missing. “Because…”
Because he isn’t the one.
But she couldn’t tell him that. “I guess it just felt wrong… with Patrick.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Liam nodded, glancing over at her. “You should always trust your instincts.”
“What did you mean when you said that Patrick was a top, but not a Dom?” She thought she knew the answer already—she’d read everything she could get her hands on and had memorized all the terms and their definitions.
Liam was quiet for a moment, the only sound the hum of the engine and the wet slush of the tires on the road. “My brother is focused on how much control he has over someone else. That makes him a top, not a Dom.”
His answer surprised her, going far deeper than anything she’d ever read. “So what’s a Dom, then?”
“A Dom…” He looked thoughtful, his lower lip pulled between his teeth, eyes on the road. “A Dom measures how much control he has over himself, not how much control he can exert over a submissive.”
“Oh.” She blinked at his response. For some reason, it made her feel warm all over. In fact, the heater was now making her rather… hot.
“Too complicated?” Liam half-smiled as she took her feet off the dash, her socks dry now, slipping them into her clogs. “I guess what I’m saying is that tops act. Dominants simply… are.”
She turned more toward him, her knee brushing against his hand on the gearshift. “So you’re a Dom?”
“Yes.”
“Do you…” She swallowed, wondering how to approach the subject. What if he said no? “I mean… are you open to new clients?”
“Sorry.” Liam shook his head, giving her jean-clad knee a gentle let-down squeeze. “I’m very particular.”
Her heart lurched in her chest. She couldn’t take no for an answer. She just couldn’t.
“So…? What…? I have to submit an application? Go through an interview process?”
“No.” He shook his head slowly, sadly.
“But—”
His hand moved to the gearshift, leaving her feeling cold again. “I’m afraid it’s invitation only.”
“And I’m not invited?” She turned toward the door, folding her arms across her chest, trying not to take what he said personally and failing, miserably. Patrick had been more than willing to talk to her, to set her at ease, to educate her and offer to set a scene with her.
This man—he was stubborn. Arrogant. And what did he know anyway?
“Why do you want to be a submissive?”
She sniffed. “I don’t.”
“No?” He looked at her, confused.
“I don’t want to be a submissive.” Katie swallowed, turning her face toward the window, feeling tears welling up. Oh god, not again. Hadn’t she’d cried enough in front of this awful man? “I am a submissive.”
They were quiet, the silence stretching as the Maserati covered the snow-covered road like a cat, purring low to the ground. They were getting closer to her home now and she wanted to give him a real answer, something that might change his mind, make him understand how important it was, how desperate she was.
So she told him about Thomas Dunn and “The Erotic Bondage Handbook.” And once she began, she couldn’t stop. She told him about all the other books and the web sites and how she’d found Patrick. And then she told him about losing her father when she was ten, to cancer, watching the strongest man she’d ever known fade away until he finally disappeared. She talked about her mother’s aimless wandering, living in an RV and being homeschooled as a teen, about boys who thought she was too shy to bother, about a chaotic world filled with pain and insanity and constant choices, about never knowing which one was the Lady or the Tiger.
She talked about becoming a librarian, about finding routine and order and, finally, quiet. She talked to him while tears ran down her face and soaked her coat and she didn’t care, she had to make him understand that this thing that she’d only read about in books, this crazy, kinky, twisted thing, had made her feel alive in ways she didn’t understand, but wanted—needed—to experience.
“Shh,” he said finally, reaching over and sliding a hand behind her neck, massaging gently, as if he could cut her racing thoughts off with a gentle squeeze. “It’s enough, Katie.”
She swallowed her tears and pointed at her exit without a word, directing him silently to her house. Liam pulled into the snow-covered driveway, taking her hand as she reached for her purse sitting on the console between them. His was more paw than hand, swallowing hers as he caught her attention with his eyes, holding her with them. She felt awful—looked awful, she knew, red-nosed and red-faced from crying. She wanted to hide, turn away, but he held her with just the heat of his gaze.
“Show me.” It was more whisper than words.
She looked at him, confused, staring at the hand holding hers, and then she did the first thing that came to her head. She took his hand in both of hers—his was big, tanned, well-manicured, a silver ring on his middle finger—and turned it over, palm up. Katie sobbed silently, pressing her lips to the middle of his hand, head bent, tears falling onto his wrist.
She felt his other hand move in her hair, that same slow caress, heard his slow, deep breath, a sigh, and then felt his lips pressing against the top of her head, a soft, firm kiss.
“Go inside, Katie.” Liam let her go and she looked up at him in wonder, unable to speak. Patrick appeared, knocking at the window, and Liam powered it down.
“Your keys.” Patrick handed them over, and Katie noticed he was still wearing his boots and hadn’t bothered with a shirt. His chest was bare above the zipper of his Sherpa coat. He looked at her face and then at his brother’s, frowning, mistaking her tears. “Katie, I’m so sorry. Really…”
“It’s okay,” she choked, letting Patrick open the door and help her out of the car. She wanted to look back, to say something to Liam, to ask him what had just happened, what it meant. Patrick walked her to the door, still apologizing, and she let him, murmuring something as he headed back down the walkway, getting into his brother’s Maserati.
She saw Liam’s face for just one brief moment before they left, when Patrick opened the passenger door, saw Liam looking straight at her. His gaze had never wavered.
And she knew.
He’s the one.
* * * *
Katie sighed, pulling misfiled books off the shelves for the third time in an hour, and it was her own damned fault. She had sandwiched a stack of fiction from A to Z without regards to alphabet in the “K” section without thinking, just automatically putting books on the shelf one after the other, her mind wandering. She couldn’t help it. It had been wandering all week, back to the moment when Liam burst into the room to rescue her, back to the ride home, her tearful, shameful confession, and mostly to that one incredible moment in his car, her lips pressed to his palm and his lips brushing her hair.
She had fought the urge to call, had struggled with her desire, confessing everything to Lori, whose cliché-machine had been running full blast, telling her that Katie had obviously gotten herself into a “fine kettle of fish now,” and while Lori didn’t want to be the “doubting Thomas,” she was suspect of the whole “smoke and mirrors” act.
So Katie had spent the week in a fog, going to work, coming home, only checking her cell phone
a hundred times a day or so, sure one minute he would call, despairing that he never would the next. At least she’d lost three pounds that week, because she could hardly eat anything. She was too distracted.
“Hi there.”
It’s him.
She looked through the stacks to find the source of that voice and saw Liam peering at her between the spines of Koontz and King. Her heart hammered in her chest and immediately her palms felt clammy.
“Hi,” she said faintly, trying to discern if she was actually seeing him, or maybe she was hallucinating?
“I’m looking for a book.” He came around the stacks, his shoulders so broad they almost brushed the shelves on each side.
She straightened, librarian-mode kicking in. “What book?”
“To Protect and Serve—a Dom’s Guide.”
Katie frowned, already running through the catalog in her head—and she had an extensive personal reading list to draw from as well. “Who’s the author?”
“Liam Quinn”
She stared at him, blinking. “You wrote a book?”
“Oh never mind, here it is.” He flashed an impossibly sexy smile, holding up a hardcover with a woman on the front. She was restrained, hands behind her, nude, back, bottom, and the side of her breast showing.
“That’s not one of ours.” She knew it before she even checked the spine for a call number. The library had strict policies about books with nudity on the cover. She’d had to order most of her BDSM books from Amazon.
“No.” He held it out. “It’s for you.”
It was one she hadn’t read, although she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of books on the subject.
“It’s actually out of print,” he confessed. “That’s one of the few author copies I have left. It’s probably a collector’s item…somewhere.”
“Thank you.” She opened the cover and saw two things—Liam’s picture, arms crossed, on the flap near the bottom, and her name, written in Sharpie, on the cover page, with a message,
