I Will Not Beg

by Cherise Sinclair

  “An appointment. Of course.” When she swallowed hard, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he regarded her closer. Hastily, she pulled out her phone and opened the calendar app.

  The next day worked out for them both.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” Why, oh why, did her emotions tumble around as if she was excited at the thought of seeing him again? How insane was that?

  With a determined effort, she kept her outward expression calm, her voice perfectly polite and dignified as she bade him and Xavier goodbye.

  As Abby walked with her to the front door, Piper figured Sir Ethan would never realize how much he unsettled her. Probably. Although his gaze had been far too observant.

  God, please don’t let the Dom know how much he unsettled her.

  * * *

  Ethan sipped his wine, his gaze on the door. “That’s a very interesting woman.” Her beautiful watchful eyes—the darkest of browns, velvety soft—were filled with secrets. And from her wariness and her defense of Angel, Ms. Delaney had been hurt in the past. By a man. Maybe by a Dominant?

  Her heart-shaped face had a stubborn chin and dimples that said she knew how to laugh. But she hadn’t laughed. In fact, he doubted she could have fled any faster.

  He glanced at Xavier. “I’d like to blame her hasty retreat on your my liege effect, but I appear to be the one who unsettled her.”

  Nicknamed My Liege by the submissives in his BDSM club, Xavier grinned. “She watched you like you were liable to pull out a whip at any moment. She was far braver at the party.”

  “She was.” Why the difference?

  Leaning back, Ethan listened to the soft murmur of women’s voices coming from inside the house. At least, Ms. Delaney was comfortable with Abby as she had been with Angel.

  Angel. There, that was the reason. Ethan tilted his glass toward the house. “At the party, she felt she needed to defend Angel from me. She had to be brave.”

  “I think you have it.” Xavier grinned at Ethan. “She’s a pretty little submissive, isn’t she?”

  Bollocks. Why was it that married men liked to play matchmaker? It was almost as annoying as being single and pursued only for his bank account. “I doubt Ms. Delaney is looking for a Dom. Even if she were, I need her company’s services, Xavier, not hers.”

  “Of course,” Xavier said smoothly. “I realize that.”

  “Do you also realize that you’re a daft wanker?”

  A sputter of laughter sounded, and Abby settled into her chair. “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you swear before.”

  “You should have heard Worth when we were in boarding school.” Xavier took her hand. “Not that I understood half of what he said the first year. Teenage Brits have a vocabulary all their own.”

  “I was quite displeased when I realized the Yank had no clue as to the filthy names I was calling him. Those were some of my best insults.” Ethan heard the sound of a car leaving and asked Abby, “Did Ms. Delaney tell you what upset her?”

  “No.” Abby nailed him with a stare. “I like her, Ethan. Don’t intimidate her or scare her off, all right?”

  He picked up his wine and swirled it. “I’m not intimidating. Where do you come by these notions?”

  It was exasperating when both Abby and Xavier burst into laughter.

  Fine. He leaned back in his chair and considered how he’d go about being un-intimidating. Because, oddly enough, he didn’t want to frighten Ms. Delaney.

  Quite the contrary.

  Chapter Five

  “This is totally inadequate service.” Voice just short of a shout, the middle-aged executive was red with anger. “I want my money returned.”

  The demand was unreasonable. Piper smoothed the front of her charcoal blazer, but the stalling action didn’t alleviate her fear. She started to shake. Who was she to expect fairness? She was nothing. No one.

  No. Stop that. Rosalie, the man’s chatelaine, had requested Piper’s presence for support—not to watch the owner of the company go belly up. Piper firmed her spine. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Tannehill. Can you tell me what the problem is?”

  “I asked her to do some cleaning. I mean, look at this place!” Mr. Tannehill waved his hand and scowled at the short, dark-haired chatelaine standing beside Piper. Rosalie was thirty and one of the most experienced and conscientious chatelaines in the company.

  Piper looked around. Truly, the place was a mess. Obviously, the man had given a party the night before. Glasses, spilled alcohol, scattered bags of chips, and plates with old food littered the surfaces and the carpet.

  “I can see you need the room cleaned,” Piper said gently to the client before asking Rosalie. “Did you call a cleaning company?”

  “Yes. They’ll be here within two hours.”

  “I need it cleaned now,” Tannehill snapped. “This is intolerable.”

  Now? No way. “Since cleaning services usually schedule a week in advance, it’s impressive that Rosalie found you someone who could fit you in today.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Two hours. In the meantime, she can pick the place up.”

  Piper folded her trembling hands tightly in front of her. Be strong, be strong. “As I explained in our initial interview—and as is noted in the contract—your chatelaine’s job is to supervise the various services. She does not do the cleaning.”

  His lips curled up into a sneer. “Then you do it. Or I’ll let everyone know that Chatelaines’ services are completely inadequate.”

  She opened her mouth to cave in—to bow her head and clean the room. Rosalie’s under-the-breath, “Not in this lifetime” snapped Piper out of her head.

  Piper owned the company. She didn’t do cleaning. What was she thinking? That she was still a slave?

  She forced her voice to stay level. Calm. “Mr. Tannehill, I’m sorry, but…”

  “But what?” He figured out what she was going to say, and his face darkened further. “I should never have taken a chance on a company run by a woman. Fucking bitch.”

  At her chatelaine’s shocked expression, Piper swallowed. She’d instructed her staff they weren’t to tolerate verbal abuse from the clients. Now it was up to her to set the right example.

  “Mr. Tannehill, I can see the terms of the contract are unacceptable to you, so we’ll consider our services terminated as of this minute. You’ll be refunded for the remainder of this month.”

  Before the man could let loose any more profanity, she motioned for Rosalie to leave and followed her out the door.

  Once outside, Piper leaned against her car, shaking like a leaf.

  “What a horrible man.” After casting a glare over her shoulder, Rosalie turned to Piper. “Hey, boss. Are you all right?”

  “I… Yes. Sorry.” Piper straightened. “I hate confrontations.” Assertiveness was difficult when braced for blows or caustic insults that would shred her already damaged ego.

  “Oh. Sometimes I forget that most people aren’t used to conflict. My family’s Italian, and we yell about everything.” Rosalie huffed a laugh before her expression sobered. “I’m sorry about calling you. I just didn’t know what to do when he demanded that I clean his place.”

  Seeing Rosalie’s worried expression, Piper took her hands. “You did everything right, including calling me. I daresay this would have happened sooner or later with Mr. Tannehill. He’s the kind of person to push the limits and see what he can get away with. It’s better to boot him from our client list now.”

  “Oh, good. I’m glad you’re not mad.”

  “Not with you. But do remember to fill out an incident report for the records, please.”

  “Will do. I’ll also cancel the cleaning service and tell them to leave him to his mess.” Rosalie grinned, then glanced at her watch. “I need to get moving.”

  “Me, too.” Next up was the initial interview with Ethan Worthington. Dread curled chilly fingers around Piper’s spine. Mr. Tannehill had been bad enough, and he wasn’t even a Dominant. Why had she thoug
ht dealing with Mr. Worthington personally would be a good idea?

  No, stop right there. Mr. Worthington had been nothing but polite and controlled.

  Besides, her self-defense instructor said fears shouldn’t be avoided or ignored. Fears were to be confronted—over and over if needed. As Piper started up her car, she grinned. Self-defense instructors were probably all sadists. Look at the great occupation I found, Ma. Not only a willing victim, but the client will even pay me to pick on her.

  The upscale Russian Hill neighborhood where Ethan Worthington lived was one of steep tree-lined streets, tiny parks, and fantastic views. Pockets of trendy shops vied with gorgeous Victorian and Edwardian homes, a scattering of high-rise apartments, and a serious lack of parking.

  As with many houses in space-impacted San Francisco, Mr. Worthington’s stucco-and-wood home was tall but narrow. Gray with white trim, the three-story building nestled side-by-side with other Victorians.

  Like many of her clients, Ethan Worthington was wealthy. Doing her usual research, she’d found he owned and ran the Worthington Tech Group, a conglomerate of mostly tech companies. He had a reputation for being fair and honest, and employees rated his companies as wonderful places to work. All good.

  He still made her want to flee. Being attracted to him scared her even more.

  A bleep on her phone signaled a new text.

  “Play the message,” she said.

  Over her speaker came the text-to-speech: “Ms. Delaney, I left the garage door up for you. Do park inside.”

  God, he was watching? A glance up at the house showed only dark windows, yet he must be standing there, looking down at the street with those too-sharp eyes. Her heart thumped hard.

  She pulled in, parked, and slid out of the car.

  All right, here goes. Taking a moment, she dusted off her gray, tailored pants, pulled her matching blazer on over the pale blue blouse, and twitched it straight. Her black flats were spotless. Hair still tidily French braided. Perfectly professional. Perfectly boring. She slung on her work satchel cross-body. Ready.

  The anxiety that had diminished flared up as she stared at the door.

  He was a Master.

  No, he was a client. Just a client. Abby’s husband, Xavier, was a Master, too, after all. He’d been polite, and Abby was thoroughly likable.

  Piper closed her eyes and worked on her breathing, trying to get herself in the right frame of mind. Listen, observe, recommend. She could do this. Had been doing it for years now.

  Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t summon enough spit to swallow.

  Before she could move, her client walked through the garage’s interior door. Intimidatingly tall and built. Sharp-edged, darkly handsome face. As she moved forward, she focused on the small unevenness on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t perfect. The man wasn’t a god. Remember that. “Mr. Worthington.”

  In a white button-up shirt and tailored pants, he’d obviously come from work. But he’d discarded whatever tie he’d worn and undone the top two shirt buttons for comfort. His rolled-up sleeves showed hard, corded forearms with a slight scattering of brown hair. “Just Ethan, please.”

  It was a client’s prerogative, choosing how to be called. However, she had no intention of extending him the privilege of calling her by her first name. Especially not a Master. “Ethan, then. How are you doing today?”

  “Quite well, thank you.” He led her to an elevator. With a graceful gesture for her to enter the elevator, he pushed a button on the wall to close the garage door. “Would you prefer to talk first or look around?”

  “Let’s do both.”

  He pushed the button labeled ROOF. “All right. We can start with the top and work our way down.

  The elevator opened onto the rooftop patio.

  Walking out, Piper stared. The whole of San Francisco lay at her feet. Farther away, the bay sparkled in the sunlight, and the graceful beauty of the Golden Gate Bridge brought tears to her eyes. Her voice came out a whisper. “I’ve never seen such a lovely view.”

  “It’s why I’m still here.” He stood right beside her. Only inches away.

  Reminded of who he was—what he was—she stepped back.

  He lifted an eyebrow. His sharp gaze considered her face, her tensed shoulders, her hands rubbing her slacks. “Forgive me, but you seem somewhat unsettled. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

  Feeling her fingers tremble, she folded her hands at her waist. “I’m not—”

  His gaze lifted from her hands to her face, and he gave a Dom’s slight shake of the head. The one that meant don’t lie to me.

  She swallowed. Could she tell him she didn’t like Dominants? Nope and never. “I had a rather upsetting incident before I arrived.” That was true enough, and in all reality, she might have been able to disguise her anxiety if not for Mr. Tannehill’s unnerving virulence.

  “I see.” He studied her for another second, and his voice softened. “Would you feel better if we postponed our appointment until later?”

  Later? Never would be good. She could get one of her chatelaines to do the intake.

  However, if she chickened out now, would she ever have the courage to deal with her fears? A coward was not the person she wanted to be.

  And he was being incredibly kind. She lifted her chin. “No, but thank you for being so understanding.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she pulled her notebook from her satchel. “What would you like done in this area?”

  His slow smile seemed to show…approval? He motioned toward the wicker furniture and the foliage plants in huge pots. “The standard cleaning. Maintenance of the flooring and trim. The pots are on automatic waterers, but the plants need trimming and fertilization.”

  She nodded, checked boxes on her forms, added notes as he continued. As if knowing how she felt, he’d stepped away from the personal and was being all business, and somehow that made him even more likable. Despite seeing her vulnerability, he wasn’t taking advantage. Was giving her space both physically and emotionally.

  How rare was that?

  She followed him downstairs.

  With warm taupe walls and off-white carpeting, the master bedroom took up half the third floor. Tall windows along one wall filled the room with light.

  The black solid steel canopy bed made her stare. Extra crosspieces connecting the top bars. She knew—knew—he used the frame for bondage.

  Heat crept into her face even as she took a step away from him.

  His gaze followed hers. A slight crease of his cheek told her he’d noticed her flush. Again, he didn’t take advantage, didn’t make any suggestive comments, or move closer.

  She’d never met a true gentleman before. Not until now.

  The second floor was an open design with kitchen and dining area opening to a huge great room. On this floor, he’d gone with more traditional décor. Off-white walls and glossy dark wood floors and very uncluttered. Subdued Oriental rugs divided the separate spaces. In the living area, two long matching couches faced each other with a coffee table between. Two armchairs in the same brown and sand upholstery bracketed the fireplace. In fact, the large foliage plants were the only asymmetrical elements in the rooms.

  This was a man who valued balance…a lot. She made a note to the landscapers that trimming should be kept symmetrical, and another to the cleaning service that he’d want everything returned to its proper place. Leaving a chair out of alignment? He’d notice.

  She caught his scent—clean and fresh with a whiff of leather—and realized he was behind her. Reading over her shoulder.

  “Interesting observations,” he said mildly.

  She held her breath.

  “Nicely accurate, Ms. Delaney. Very good.” His voice held no anger. Her comments hadn’t even dented his self-confidence. If anything, he sounded impressed.

  He led the way downstairs to the ground floor. The three-car garage occupied the front. The huge room in the rear was obviously where he spent much
of his time.

  Dark wood paneling. Chocolate leather furniture. A theater area to the right with a screen that took up most of a wall. The pool table space to the left held a corner bar and small table. Black and white posters of famous boxers covered the walls above a shelf of trophies and a pair of boxing gloves.

  A man cave. Dark, comfortable, and in fine taste.

  Across from the bar was a small sitting area with overstuffed suede armchairs bracketing a matching love seat. “Oh, you have a cat.”

  On the ottoman, a huge cat blinked and sat up. It had medium-length white fur with a chocolate brown mask, ears, legs, and tail.

  “You are so pretty.” Delighted, Piper knelt down. “Hey, there, sweetie.” She offered a finger.

  Rather than tensing, the feline gave her hand a friendly cheek rub.

  She stroked the silky soft fur and grinned at the rumbling purr. “You are totally beautiful.”

  Ethan took a seat. “This is Churchill, who would appreciate someone to visit him on weekdays.”

  Churchill took a long leisurely stretch and hopped onto Ethan’s lap with no doubt that he was welcome there. When the cat took his time settling into a sprawl across Ethan’s thighs, the intimidating man didn’t seem to mind. His lean hand stroked down the furry back, setting the cat to purring again.

  An anxious knot in Piper’s chest relaxed. Aww.

  As Ethan rubbed the cat’s cheek, she could almost feel those scarred knuckles on her own skin. Wanted to feel them there.

  She turned her gaze away.

  “I’d like someone to come on weekdays around noon to give him some playtime and petting,” he said.

  “Our cat-sitters will fight for the privilege.” Heck, she’d be tempted.

  But Ethan had a slave. Did the woman not like cats? Where was Angel anyway? What must it be like to live with such a formidably masculine Dom?

  Oh. My. Not thinking that. Uh-uh. She cleared her throat. “What schedules will we be working around? You gave me your hours, but…”