Nobody's Hero (38 page)

“I tried to get in touch with you, after the
beach.”

She turned and looked at him. “You did?” The
hopeful look in her eyes was soon replaced by a coldness that sent
a chill up his spine.

“Yeah. I left letters in your mailbox. Even
staked out the hotel awhile.”

She became fascinated by watching the toe of
her sandal scuffing against the door jamb. Her pink toenails looked
like she’d let her daughter paint them. She looked back at him.
“Well, it’s good you didn’t find me.” Despite the passion in her
voice, her eyes remained devoid of emotion. He’d never known anyone
to be so closed off emotionally. How did she connect with her
patients, if she was so disconnected from her own emotions?

Well, maybe that was her coping mechanism.
How could anyone listen to tragic stories like Teresa’s day in and
day out and not close herself off emotionally? Probably kept her
from getting burned out. He was glad she could compartmentalize her
feelings that way, so she could help Teresa. But at what cost to
herself?

Suddenly, he had an urge to get some kind of
response out of her. He closed the space between them and nearly
backed off when she cringed against the door, her hand on the
handle, ready to run.

“You were the most perfect thing I ever held
in my hands, little
mariposa
.”

She closed her eyes. So there was some
feeling inside. She did remember their day together. Knowing that
made him feel better in some way. When she opened her eyes, there
was a glimpse of feeling before she shut down again.

“I’ve lived with the memory of our time in
that cave every day since. But I can’t have anything to do with you
ever again.”

Then she opened the door and walked out of
his life again, closing the window of hope that there could ever be
anything between them.

Joni’s voice filled his office. He heard the
strain, her sweet voice laced with so much pain. To increase the
volume and improve the sound quality, he’d attached his computer
speakers to the micro-cassette recorder. Maybe that tinny radio
sound would be better than having her sound so close, so real. He
cringed, knowing she’d been suffering through a private hell when
she’d recorded these tapes, but had wanted to tell him these things
anyway. He didn’t deserve that kind of sacrifice.

That kind of love.

“I was just thinking about the time we went
to the Marine Corps Ball the year after you came home from Kuwait.
So handsome in your dress blues. Made my heart stop for a moment.
If I never told you that before, I wanted you to know how proud I
was to be by your side that night and every day.”

God, Joni. You always made me the proudest
Marine.
She was the perfect Marine wife. No, the perfect
wife.

He heard her draw a deep breath. “Anyway, I
still remember talking with your CO and his wife and I accidentally
called you Master. Her eyes became so wide.” Another breath, this
one ragged. “She looked from you to me. You’d think she’d never
seen a slave before, which is pretty hard to imagine, because I
knew of several other wives on base who were collared by their
husbands in twenty-four/seven relationships.”

Is that where she’d gotten the idea to be
collared by him? Surely not, because he’d known some of their
masters, too, and they seemed to take their wives for granted. Adam
never thought he deserved Joni. Sure as hell didn’t want to take
her for granted. Of course, she had her own circle of friends on
base, which was good, especially when school was out for the
summers and he was out on maneuvers somewhere.

The tape continued to whirr in silence a
moment, then she continued, her voice barely a whisper, causing him
to raise the volume. “I wish I could have been your slave to the
end. I so wanted to please you. You gave me so much. Please,
Master, tell me I pleased you.” Her voice broke and the tape was
paused. He reached out to turn it off, not able to listen to
more.

How can you even ask that?

“Aww, fuck, Joni, you were the best slave a
man could want. You always pleased me.” Hell, all she had to do was
smile and he was pleased. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over
his eyelids. Maybe she’d been able to tell his heart wasn’t in
being a Master, though, all those years. If he’d been honest with
her, he never would have gotten into a Master/slave arrangement in
the first place. Or he’d have gone back to a Dom/sub when he’d seen
what it was doing to him. He didn’t want that much fucking control
over anyone.

“Hell, just look at the mess it was with
Karla,” he muttered to himself.

But he and Karla had at least been honest
with each other and ended their Master/slave when Adam safeworded,
as much for her as for himself. They’d gravitate to a Dom/sub
instead, which seemed to work for them for awhile. Now, he wasn’t
sure what they had, if anything. Since returning from San Diego
last week, they’d just been coexisting again, most of their
interactions club-related, no BDSM or sex.

Damn, he’d tried to do his best with Joni, he
just didn’t want a slave. He could chalk that mistake up to being
young and stupid, but if he were being honest, he could see that
everything about his marriage had been a lie. He’d promised to
love, honor, and cherish Joni—and had only managed to succeed at
two out of three.

What could he possibly offer Karla that would
be any better?

* * *

Karla leaned against the wall outside Adam’s
office, certain her feet wouldn’t support her if she tried to walk
right now.

“
Joni, you were the best slave a man could
want
.”

“
Hell, just look at the mess it was with
Karla.”

The ringing in her ears made her realize she
was close to passing out, throwing up, or both. She held her
forearm against her stomach and pushed away from the wall with the
other, then made her way back to the kitchen, the hallway, the
stairway. The sooner she could get upstairs and remove this
ridiculous corset and thong and dress in jeans and a t-shirt, the
better. She’d almost made a fool of herself, throwing herself at a
man who wanted so much more than she could ever give him.

When he’d called off their Master/slave
arrangement, she’d thought it had been because he didn’t want that
kind of relationship. He’d told Karla a twenty-four/seven wasn’t
right for either of them, but now he’d admitted he did enjoy the
role of Master. With Joni, at least. He’d rejected the agreement
with Karla in exchange for a Dom/sub. Clearly, he hadn’t been
honest with her.

Could Karla ever back to being his slave
again? She didn’t enjoy subjugating herself in that way. She’d
slowly lost pieces of her personality as she’d tried to mold
herself into what Adam wanted. A fucking disaster. Now that she was
stronger, both sexually and emotionally, becoming his slave was
even harder. She didn’t want to give up her power like that
again.

But she clearly needed to give it up if she
wanted Master Adam.

He wants you.

Karla put her fists to her ears in an attempt
to block out the voice that had given her messages since that
Thanksgiving Day nine years ago when she’d been told to “watch over
him” and had followed him to Lake Michigan.

Now she knew. It was Joni’s voice.

Hearing her rival’s voice on the tape just
now in Adam’s office confirmed what Karla had suspected lately. How
could her mind play tricks on her like that? How could Karla
conveniently conjure up the dead wife’s voice and delude herself
into thinking Adam wanted her and she had the blessings of his dead
wife?

Maybe she needed to go into counseling to
deal with Ian’s death. The worst of her delusions had started after
losing him. Now she was about to lose Adam. The weight of that loss
crushed her like a boulder on her chest.

No, the worst of her delusions was when she’d
seen Adam standing in front of the stage during her audition. She’d
convinced herself she’d come home to him at last. That she was safe
with Adam. How could she have been so wrong?

“Oh, Adam. Why can’t you just love me the way
I am?” How pathetic was she that, even now, she wanted to try and
win him over—to be what he wanted her to be? How could she give up
on him? He was the only man she’d ever loved. She’d waited so long
for him. Maybe just one more try to win his heart. Not everything
about being his slave had been horrible. She could just find the
things that both of them enjoyed and see if he would be satisfied
with those, couldn’t she?

Formulating a plan, she went to the closet
and pulled out the red, filmy harem-girl costume she’d owned since
college. How perfect that the costume and veil were red, Adam’s
favorite color. Hell, maybe Joni had chosen the color.

Okay, Kitty. Don’t go bat-shit crazy on me
here.

She pulled out her phone and called Angie,
knowing she’d need the moral support of another harem girl in the
club tonight.

“I’ll talk to Marc. I’m sure he’ll help.”

Angie said they’d come upstairs to meet her
tonight and discuss the plan of attack before heading to the club.
Karla remembered how Luke, Marc, and Adam had banded together to
help Marc win over Angelina again last month. What were friends
for? Only now Karla was the one in need of help.

She stripped down to the skin, then donned
the next-to-nothing costume. The red silk bra was sequined and
beaded, with strands of beads dangling all around for optimal
effect at the slightest movement of her body. From one breast to
the other hung strands of beads on strings similar to the chain
that had hung between her breasts when she’d worn the nipple
clamps. She wondered if her Master would be reminded of that night,
as well. She shimmied her shoulders and watched the strings of
beads dance. She hoped so.

The skirt had a black silk waist, also
heavily beaded and sequined, with layer upon layer of red, opaque
scarves hiding her naked mons and ass from view. She practiced some
of her belly-dancing moves and caught glimpses of the dark triangle
of her mons as the scarves moved. No, that wouldn’t do. She took
everything off again and headed to the shower.

Half an hour later, her mound smooth and
bare, she donned the costume again and scrutinized herself in the
mirror. Better. She brushed her hair until it gleamed and tossed
her head a few times to make sure her tresses flowed the way she
wanted them to. Adam seemed to have a love-hate with her hair—as
much as with her—so she hoped tonight he was in a more loving mood,
in more ways than one.

Having Angie and Marc seeing her in the
revealing costume would help her get over her jitters about showing
up at the club half-naked. She’d always worn revealing costumes,
but never revealing her girly bits. If she couldn’t let her friends
see her like this, how would she ever go down there and face the
others—and Adam?

Oh, Adam. You had better appreciate this.

And me.

* * *

Adam surveyed the great room, having already
checked the readiness of the theme rooms. Until last night, it had
been forever since he’d been inside his own club when it was open
for members, who should start showing up at any time. In reality,
it had been only three weeks, but so much had happened, it seemed
like longer. Good thing he had partners and friends who could step
in and keep things running smoothly when all hell broke loose,
which it seemed to have done lately.

He glanced over at the stage area. Empty.
Usually Karla was doing a sound check by now. He wondered if he
should check on
her
, then heard voices coming down the
hallway and turned to see Angelina walking down the hall past the
theme rooms dressed in the skimpy harem costume Marc had told Adam
to purchase for her last month, along with some other fantasy
outfits. She wore a black leather collar, with a leash held by
Marc. With her generous hips and breasts, she filled the costume
well.

Marc followed in his sheikh’s costume—or
maybe he fancied himself a sultan, with that damned gold-lamé
turban on his head. Adam grinned. Apparently, the two of them were
exploring a fantasy theme tonight, also one of Adam’s favorites.
Seeing Marc happy after he’d been so miserable for the past year
brought an even wider smile to Adam’s face.

Until he saw a second leash in Marc’s hand.
What the fuck?
Adam reached up to rub the scar on the back
of his neck. The man had stopped sharing when he’d met Angelina.
Just who was going to play with them tonight—and how would Angelina
feel about sharing?

Adam’s smile faded when he saw who followed
them. Karla, head down, head and upper body covered in a red veil.
He couldn’t see the rest of her. Around her neck she wore the black
fur-lined leather collar he’d put on her the night he’d suspended
her with ropes in here—the very night she’d fully surrendered to
becoming his slave, in action as well as words.

Mine.

He glared at Marc, who just grinned back at
him. What kind of game was the perennial jokester playing tonight?
More important, just how had Karla become involved in it? Adam felt
heat begin to rise into his face as he crossed the room to stand in
front of his impudent partner. He didn’t have to say a word, but
stood with his hands on his hips and waited for someone to tell him
what the fuck was going on.

“I come bearing a tribute for you, my friend,
who I understand is the sheikh of the Masters at Arms tribe.” Marc
grinned and held out Karla’s leash.

“Marc,” he growled. If Adam’s no-nonsense
tone didn’t get the cocky bastard to explain himself soon, Adam was
going to head slap him.

“You see, I’m a one-woman man now.” He
reached out to stroke Angelina’s cheek and Adam watched as she
leaned into his hand, the corners of her mouth quivering as she
fought breaking into a smile. “So, I’m giving you this now
unattached harem girl so she can find happiness, as well. I do
believe she’s attracted to you, too, Your Excellency.”