The Dom's Dungeon (21 page)

She
finally mastered herself, although the taste of bile lingered. When a waiter
passed by, she waved, and he provided her with a glass of wine from his tray.
She downed it quickly, and the sharpness of the chardonnay eradicated the
sickness.

Why
couldn't there be anything to eradicate her memories as nicely? After using the
little napkin to wipe her clammy hands, she rose to her feet. Still no sight of
Dickerson, but any glimpse of a big-boned or ruddy-faced man sent fear stabbing
through her. Every cell in her body urged her to run and hide.

She hauled
in another long breath.
I'm braver than
this. I'm not a teenager anymore
. She brought to mind Alex's mother, who
wielded intimidation and dignity like weapons of war and moved like the slow
freighters that crossed the Sound with unstoppable power. Mac took one step,
then another, and caught the regal rhythm. She concentrated so fiercely on
being a freighter that she could almost hear the waves lapping against her
sides.

The relief
when she spotted Alex almost sank her boat.

Tears
burned her eyes, and her legs wobbled so much, she had to stop. Thank God, his
conversation kept his attention.
Breathe.
Breathe
. And then she pushed off again.
I'm
a freighter just like Victoria.

When she
reached Alex, he curled an arm around her waist, continuing to talk with a tiny
old woman who wanted the feral-cat people to spay the cats running wild around
her apartment complex.

When the
woman walked away, Alex turned to Mac. His brows drew together, and his eyes
narrowed. He tilted her chin up. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.”

The frown
deepened and so did his voice. “Do not lie to me, pet.”

How could
she tell him? Just the thought of that man grabbing her in the hallway…
Suddenly she couldn't bear being touched at all. She shoved Alex's hand away
and stepped back.

She was
surprised that he let her, and even more surprised when he stayed out of her
space.

“Breathe,
sweetheart,” he said softly. His gaze burned across her face before he handed
her Butler's leash. “Watch over him for a minute, and then I'll take you home.”

He headed
for one of the organizers of the event, leaving her with Butler. She stared
after Alex until she heard a whine, and a cold nose touched her fingers.

She sank
down, her gown ruffling around her feet. “Butler,” she whispered. “I'm glad
you're here.”

His tail
wagged, and he pushed his muzzle against her stomach, his warmth more
comforting than any heating blanket. Animals never turned on her. Never judged
her. Never tried to use her.

Feet
stopped beside Butler. Dress shoes, black slacks.

Oh please. No
. Mac froze, her fingers
tightening on the leash. She looked up into Alex's intense blue gaze, and
relief weakened her legs until she clutched at Butler for support.

Alex held
out his hand and waited, not trying to grab her, just offering support.

Alex. This is Alex
. She took his hand.

Once they
reached home, Alex watched
MacKensie
remove Butler's
costume with fingers that trembled so badly, she could barely unbutton the
collar and tie.

When
finished, she gave Alex a flickering glance before averting her eyes. “I'm
going to bed. All this socializing exhausted me.” Her lips tried to curve and
failed. “Thank you for taking me.” Her progress up the stairs looked like an
escape.

Butler
obviously thought so also, and he whined long and low.

Alex ran a
hand down the dog's head. “Not just yet, guy. Let's give her a little time, and
then we'll see what we can do.”

After a
shower, Alex put on a robe, then waited an hour before he tapped at
MacKensie's
door. She might want to be alone, but he had no
intention of permitting that. Not after seeing the look in her face: fear, not
exhaustion.

When she
didn't answer, he walked in. The French doors to the balcony stood open,
letting in the moist night air scented with the fragrance of sweet autumn
clematis climbing the trellis below. A slow rain had begun sometime earlier.

Her back
to the room,
MacKensie
leaned against the railing.

Alex gave
the bed a glance. Still made; she hadn't tried to rest. She had looked
extremely jumpy earlier, so he spoke from the center of the room to give her
warning of his presence. “
MacKensie
.”

She gasped
and spun, her instinctive step back stopped by the railing. Damn good thing it
was there.

First
terror, then recognition.
Her muscles eased slightly, and her hands
opened, indicating a slight reduction of her nervousness. Not enough. Not
nearly enough. His sub was afraid, and that knowledge brought every Dom
instinct in his nature to the fore. He walked to the balcony door and stopped.
“Come here,” he said softly.

Her chin
came up slightly, delighting him. “I don't want company now,” she said stiffly.
“I'm not going to…play.”

“I didn't
ask you to play. Come here.
Now
.”

Mac felt
the cold wrought-iron railing against her hip, preventing any retreat. The soft
light from the bedroom lamp outlined Alex's body, leaving his face in shadow
and limiting her ability to read his expression or eyes.

She had
only his voice. She tightened her fingers around the railing as if that would
tighten her resolve, but her defiance withered like an old,
unwatered
vine, falling dead at her feet. Her knuckles creaked as she opened her fingers
and took a step toward him. Another.

He held
out his hand but didn't come closer. The way he loomed in the doorway set
something trembling in her stomach. He'd push her down, shove his—

“Little
sub,” he said, his voice deep and gentle, smoothing over the sharp edges of her
past. “Are you mixing me up with someone else in your mind?”

So many, many others
. Her voice couldn't escape
through the constriction in her throat.

His hand
closed over hers, warm against her cold. He pulled her closer. “Say my name.”

She
swallowed. “Alex.”

Warm
approval washed over her. “Very nice. And what does a sub call her master?”

Master?
When had he—

“
MacKensie
?”

“Sir.
I call
you 'Sir.'”

“Excellent.”

He pulled
her into the room, toward the bed, and her feet dragged. An exasperated sound
escaped him. “
MacKensie
, I don't make a habit of
bedding women who are terrified. Or freezing. Stand right there.”

Without
waiting to see if she complied, he fetched her robe from the bathroom and
tossed it on the bed. “Hold still.” Efficiently, ruthlessly, he stripped off
her gown. As he peeled off her panties, she realized they were wet from the
rain. Everything was wet, and she shivered as the air hit her bare skin. “Easy,
pet,” he murmured and, to her relief, bundled her into the long terry-cloth
robe, belting it around her with impersonal hands. He hadn't even tried to cop
a feel.

“Alex?”

His thumb
brushed her cheek. “That's right, little cat. Come with me now.” Putting an arm
around her, he guided her to the stairs, down and out onto the back patio. Back
into the drizzling rain. Next to the Jacuzzi, he stopped. “Don't move,” he said
again, then uncovered the top. Steam billowed out, the warmth fleeting in the
cold night air.

Alex
tossed his robe onto a hook on the wall, then added hers, pushing her hands
away when she tried to stop him. A chill ran through her. He was naked; she was
naked.

“Get in,
pet,” he ordered, holding out his hand to help her down the steps into the
Jacuzzi. Her legs moved like cold blocks of concrete. She gasped when the heat
seared her cold skin, and turned to climb back out. He stepped behind her,
preventing that move.

“It's too
hot.”

“You're
too cold.” He took her hands, then sat down on the seats built into the sides.
“Give it a minute.”

She stood
stiffly in the center of the water, jumping when the jets came on, battering against
her. Slowly, slowly, as her body adjusted, her shivers diminished and died.

Alex
didn't speak, just held her hands and waited, watching her quietly. The dim
glow from inside the house carved hollows under his eyes and cheeks, providing
just enough light to catch an occasional blue glint in his eyes.

“Good,” he
said, just as she realized the water temperature no longer burned. “Sit.”

“I'm not a
dog.” She tried to pull her hands away, as useless an action as a Chihuahua
trying to win against a Great Dane. Giving in, she let him pull her down beside
him. His hands closed on her waist to move her where the bubbling flow of water
would massage her back and the knots in her shoulders.

She waited
for him to touch her intimately, to grab her breasts. Minutes passed. And then,
with a sigh, she leaned back and let the water soothe her.

Sitting
next to her, Alex did the same. He had one long arm laid along the rim behind
her head. Soon his fingers started to unravel the French braid in her hair.
When her hair billowed loose, he grasped her shoulders, ignoring her start and
attempt to withdraw, and turned her so her back was to him.

And then
he massaged the rest of the knots out of her shoulders and her neck. When he
didn't try anything more intimate, she relaxed again, letting him touch her.
Muscles she didn't know were tight complained and then went limp.

“That's
better,” he said finally and simply set her back in her place so she could lean
against the side.

Toenails
clicked on the patio, barely audible over the shushing sound of the jets as
Butler crossed to the Jacuzzi. He licked her cheek once, accepted a kiss on his
nose in return, and then padded back inside the door and out of the rain.

Animals
gave simple acceptance and caring, but men always took advantage. Her thoughts
stumbled as if hitting a rut in the road. Jim hadn't. And Alex hadn't. She'd
been so cold and alone, and he'd taken care of her.
MacKensie's
eyes burned with tears, and she blinked furiously.

Instinctively
she stood. She needed to find somewhere to hide—to cry.

“My sub
doesn't cry alone,” Alex said softly. “She cries in my arms.” He pulled her
onto his lap and against his chest.

She
couldn't… But his embrace was unyielding, and she couldn't hold it in. A sob
welled up from deep inside. It hurt and tore through her throat like the man's
appearance had torn through her dreams. Another sob followed and another.
Why, God? I only wanted to have a new life.
To be free from the past. But life isn't fair—never, never fair.

She cried
until her throat was raw and her eyes swollen. When she finished, she lay limp
against Alex's chest, listening to his slow heartbeat as he stroked her hair.
He'd never said a word.

After a
minute, he handed her a napkin from the side of the tub. She wiped her tears
away and blew her nose.

Grasping
her chin, he tilted her face one way, then the other, examining her. “Better.
Now tell me what happened at the dance.”

She shook
her head.

“Something
from your past?”

Her mouth
tightened over the words that strained to come out.

He sighed,
but his eyes never left her face. “
MacKensie
, unless
you tortured small fuzzy animals or children, I can forgive you. Tell me.”

The
thought of seeing disgust on his face pierced her insides with ice. To have him
look at her like the people in Oak Hollow had—like that man just had—she
wouldn't survive that. “I will never, ever tell you,” she said, her voice
hoarse. “Don't ask me again.”

He studied
her for a long minute. “We'll work on it at a later time.”

“No,” she
whispered. Yet when he pulled her back against his chest, she didn't resist at
all.

“Poor
little sub,” he murmured. “So many worries and so little trust.”

Slowly,
ever so slowly, the feeling of his arms around her became more than just
comfort. Not because of anything he did, but as the upheaval from her past
faded, her body remembered the present. And what joy she'd found here in his
embrace. Her hands stroked down his back, releasing tiny bubbles against his
skin that tickled her palms. She ran her fingers down his spine, fingered the vertebrae
between the long muscles, and returned to the hard-packed muscles covering his
scapula and upper arms. When she pulled back, she saw a faint smile on his
face.

His hand
moved to her breast. When her nipple bunched under the touch of his fingertips,
his smile increased.