Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11)

by Cherise Sinclair

  Connor studied the bandage on his hand. “Like when Jermaine hits me and Grant feels bad?”

  Beth pulled in a breath at the thought of someone hitting the child. But oh, she was so proud of Grant. “Yes, Grant is a lot like Nolan. They want to keep us safe, and they get upset if they can’t.”

  “Oh.” Connor looked up as the patio door opened, and Nolan followed Grant inside.

  Before she could help Connor down, he jumped off the counter, staggered, got his balance, and darted to Nolan. “Don’t feel bad. I’m more careful next time. Promise.”

  Rumbling a laugh, Nolan picked him up and gave him a hearty squeeze. “I appreciate the promise, my man. I’ll watch over you more carefully, too.”

  Beaming proudly at his success, Grant claimed the cookies Beth held out.

  Nolan pointed toward the boys’ bedroom. “Quiet time for an hour, crew. Then we’ll go swimming.”

  They trotted to their room, exchanging competitive comments about who could hold their breath longer.

  Grinning, Nolan entered the kitchen. Without speaking, he backed Beth up against the counter, leaned into her, and kissed the worry right out of her.

  When he lifted his head, she laid her hand on his cheek, seeing his eyes were clear again. “You’re feeling better.”

  “You’re a manipulative little subbie. I should beat you more often.” He kissed her again and murmured, “Grant offered me pie. I take it you lost our bet? Uzuri and Holt aren’t a couple?”

  “That’s right, darn it.”

  “Well, damn. Apple or cherry?” He didn’t wait for her answer, ignored her giggling, and with a hunter’s single-mindedness, searched the kitchen for his prize.

  A few minutes later—after he’d practically inhaled a third of the apple pie—they settled down in the great room to have a second cup of coffee. As Nolan picked up the paper he’d started earlier, Beth slid off the couch and settled at his feet, leaning against his legs. While he absently stroked her hair and read the news, she drifted into a quiet contentment.

  He loved her. And her body. And would go to extraordinary lengths to prove it. Somehow, what he’d done at the club had wiped out the derogatory voice in her mind, the one whispering of her unworthiness. She…liked…herself again. Felt at home in her own skin.

  Both Jessica and Kari had called earlier to offer congratulations on smacking down Alyssa. Her lips twitched. How embarrassing. Yet, confronting the submissive had felt good, too. Truly, she wished Alyssa the best—as long as she kept her distance from Sir.

  The murmuring of the boys came from their room. Sounded as if Connor was falling asleep.

  Grant was probably working on his puzzle. He had a mind that liked shapes, hands that liked putting things together. Connor showed a talent for words…and she wanted to see what he’d do with music. Both boys were going to be amazing men. But…would they get the love and the attention they needed to nurture those gifts?

  It was amazing how giving they were with their own affection. And how protective. Beth’s heart melted. Nolan had told her how Connor had yelled at Alyssa, and Grant had thrown a dish at her simply because the woman had hurt Beth’s feelings.

  How could she stand to let them leave? To not know if they were all right?

  Frowning, Beth tried to turn her focus to a little baby girl. A baby. Yet, her arms seemed shaped these days to hold solid, sturdy frames. Little boys.

  Lord, was she crazy? Darn it, Nolan wanted a girl. But, she’d seen his face when he’d lifted Connor into the air. He was as bound up in the boys as she was.

  Plans change.

  When she’d joined the Shadowlands after escaping Kyler, she’d known exactly what she wanted—a gentle, sweet, tame Dom. But no one had clicked and, to her dismay, Master Z had handed her over to Nolan, the roughest, most dangerous Dom in the club. No, in the state. Maybe even in the country.

  He sure wasn’t any gentle, sweet Dom. Sheesh, it was like putting in an order for a nice tame camellia bush and receiving a huge, knotty cypress tree.

  But love came where it would.

  Nolan set his paper to one side. “You’re frowning, sugar.” His hand was on her face as he studied her with Dom’s eyes. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Pulling in a careful breath, she put her hand on his and tossed their careful plans to the winds. “I want to adopt Grant and Connor. We can always hunt for a little girl later, right?”

  A slow smile appeared on his hard face.

  Yes, he was her cypress tree, big enough to shelter the world. And it looked as if their family wouldn’t be a well-planned garden, but rather a forest that would endure for generations to come.

  Chapter Seventeen

  On Friday, Beth heard the doorbell ring. Price was here.

  On Monday, she’d spoken to him about their wish to adopt the boys. He’d been awfully casual, saying he’d make a note of their interest and would review their records. He’d made a point of warning her not to mention their hopes to the children.

  After that, nothing. Not a word.

  She’d left a voice mail on Thursday.

  Nothing.

  Half an hour ago, he’d called to say he was coming by. Didn’t it just figure? Nolan was off helping Cullen build a deck extension and wouldn’t return until later. Price hadn’t cared that Nolan wasn’t home. If he wasn’t visiting to talk about their adopting the boys, then what? To check on the children?

  Fixing a pleasant expression on her face, she opened the door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Price. I hope you’re here to discuss Nolan and me adopting the children.”

  “On the contrary, I’m taking them off your hands for a couple of hours.” Price glanced at his watch. “Get them now, please. We have someone to meet shortly.”

  Beth stared. “What? Who?”

  “Their grandmother plans to give them a home. She feels it’s her Christian duty, even if they were raised for the first few years by her ‘dreadful’ daughter.”

  “You’re talking about Drusilla’s mother?” At Price’s nod, Beth wanted to swear at him. “Drusilla said her mother was a fanatic who whipped her for talking back, for swearing, for anything. She had to read the Bible on her knees for hours. That’s why she ran away at sixteen.”

  “Consider the source of your information. Besides, if Drusilla had remained with her mother, she’d be alive today, now wouldn’t she?”

  “Maybe. But the grandmother doesn’t sound like a healthy choice for—”

  “Relatives have priority over foster parents, Mrs. King, even if the foster parents have influential friends.” His sneer wasn’t disguised.

  The low-life bastard. He’d probably talked the grandmother into taking the children just to get back at her and Nolan. “I see.”

  “I would remind you, Mrs. King, not to let Grant or Connor know you want to adopt them. Foster parents aren’t allowed to interfere—in any way—in a legitimate placement of the children temporarily placed in their home.”

  With an effort, she throttled back her anger. Nothing could choke back her growing sense of grief. “I understand.”

  He followed her to the patio where Connor and Grant were drawing a chalk mural on the smooth concrete.

  “Awesome job, guys.” It really was. Grant’s portion of the creation was orderly, the forest animals cleverly drawn, evenly spaced, everything balanced.

  Connor’s half was asymmetrical, yet pleasing. She could even distinguish—mostly—which animals were which, although the rabbit was the same size as the horse.

  “This is you, Beff,” Connor told her, tapping the bunny.

  At Price’s quizzical regard, she felt her cheeks warm. Connor must have heard Nolan’s nickname for her. “Put the chalk into the container, please. Mr. Price is taking you to visit your grandmother.”

  The two stared at her blankly.

  As she’d figured. “Have you ever met your grandmother?”

  Grant shook his head as Connor asked, “What’s a grandmuvver?”


  * * * * *

  In a long hallway, Grant tried to hurry after Mr. Price, but Connor was behind him, pulling on his shorts pocket. They were going to see their grandmother. Beth said this grandmother was Mama’s mother. Would she look like Mama?

  Why hadn’t she ever visited them?

  Some of the kids in school had grandmothers who gave cool presents. Food. Hugs. Mama had never talked about her mother. How come?

  Mr. Price walked through a doorway and motioned them to follow.

  Inside, the room was a sunny yellow with kid-sized tables, and shelves with books and toys. An old lady in a brown dress sat in a grown-up chair beside one of the tables. Her gray hair made a ball behind her head. The long lines beside her mouth weren’t happy ones.

  When she saw him and Connor, she didn’t smile.

  “Mrs. Brun, these are Drusilla’s children.” Mr. Price set his hand on Grant’s shoulder. “This is Grant. And Connor.”

  “Those aren’t Christian names.”

  Grant’s heart kicked inside his chest. Her brown eyes held the same I-don’t-like-you as Jermaine’s had.

  “Boys, this is your grandmother. Your mother’s mother.”

  Connor’s cold hand closed on his. “Hi.”

  She looked at Connor. “You may call me Grandmother.” She motioned toward the small table. “Sit there and we’ll talk.”

  Grant slid onto one of the chairs. As Connor dragged a chair closer to Grant, the legs screeched across the floor.

  Grandmother’s mouth turned down.

  * * * * *

  The kids had been…off…since meeting their grandmother yesterday. Beth sighed as she stirred the gravy on the stove. Maybe she was being too judgmental, though. When Connor had wet the bed last night and she decided the woman must be horrible, Nolan said the boys might react poorly to any change, especially one reminding them of their mother’s death.

  Of course, he was right, yet to see them sad and fretting filled her with misery.

  However, tonight, after spending all Saturday with Sir—who’d undoubtedly exhausted them with chores and games—they appeared happier.

  Hearing footsteps, she smiled at Nolan over her shoulder.

  Fresh from his shower, he sat down at the kitchen island and eyed her pre-dinner plate of cut-up fruit—healthy food: what was the world coming to?—before picking up an apple slice. “How’d your meeting with the Dragos go today?”

  She rolled her eyes. “They’re fun to listen to, the way they disagree. Alastair prefers muted colors and a formal design, although he’s open to random if it’s mostly symmetrical. Max couldn’t care less about the actual design as long as the colors are bright. They’re so different.”

  “An English doc and a cowboy cop who top together.” Nolan shook his head. “At least Vance and Galen have similar styles. It’ll be interesting to see Max and Alastair doing a scene.”

  “I know.” She dumped the potato water and pulled out the masher.

  Without speaking, Nolan made a gimme motion with his fingers.

  Pampering him was sure difficult. Beth set the boiled potatoes, butter and milk, salt and pepper, and masher in front of him. “But they bicker like family. I guess that makes sense since Alastair did summers on the Drago ranch, and Max lived in London with Alastair and his mom for a while.”

  “Got it. They’re more brothers than cousins.” Nolan popped an orange slice into his mouth and started whipping the potatoes.

  “Mmmhmm. Speaking of brothers…” Beth raised her voice. “Guys, time for supper.”

  At the thundering of little feet, Nolan snorted. “I’ve heard cattle stampedes less noisy.”

  Cheering, the two tore into the kitchen. When Grant skidded to a stop, Connor bounced off his back and grabbed Nolan’s leg to catch himself.

  “Sounds like y’all are hungry.” Nolan ruffled Connor’s hair.

  “Grant, can you set the island with plates and glasses?” Beth reached into the cupboard and got out the dishes. “Connor, here’s silverware and napkins if you would help, please?”

  Both children jumped to their duties as if she’d given them a quest worthy of a Disney movie.

  As Nolan scooped the mashed potatoes into a serving bowl, she put the fried chicken onto a platter. Bad Beth. She should give her men a nice healthy roasted chicken…but fried chicken was a favorite of her Master.

  The boys had their own favorites.

  “Mashed-toes,” Connor’s eyes went wide and happy.

  “An’ gravy,” Grant breathed.

  Neither boy nor man commented on the pretty salad. Typical males. She started to sit and realized the big cookie jar was in the way, so carried it to the counter. Odd how light it felt.

  A quick check showed three cookies left. Three? Hadn’t she filled the jar yesterday? “Guys, I know you like sweets but—”

  “Beth.”

  She turned at Nolan’s warning tone. Brows drawn, he tilted his head toward the boys.

  Grant stood stiffly beside his chair, worry in his eyes.

  Connor, though… Every speck of color had drained from his face, and he was slowly backing away.

  Oh, dear. She leaned against the counter in a nonchalant I’m-not-angry posture.

  He stopped.

  “Well, baby, I figure you didn’t eat all those cookies, or you’d be sick to your stomach.” She held out her hand. “Why don’t you show me where you put them?”

  His little legs were stiff as he approached her. As he led her into the hall, she heard Nolan talking quietly to Grant and keeping him in the kitchen. Nolan said divide and conquer was his parents’ favorite system for his brothers and sisters. Figuring his folks knew what they were doing, he’d suggested they use the technique for the boys.

  In the bedroom, Connor pointed toward Grant’s bed. “In our cave.”

  She knelt beside the bed, noticing how they’d scavenged boxes and pillows to form an under-the-bed barricade. “You two make the coolest caves,” she said in admiration and watched Connor blink.

  After pushing a box to one side, she pulled out an ancient lunchbox. “How amazing is this? I bet my mom carried one of these to school.”

  Upon opening it, she found cookies as well as molding cheese, stale biscuits, and a hot dog. Ew. She barely kept from wrinkling her nose at the stench. Food…hoarding, was that the term? Careful, Beth. “You know, in colder areas, squirrels will run around gathering nuts to store them away for the winter. You’re like a little squirrel, honey.”

  A tiny bit of color returned to his cheeks. Oh, she wanted to hug him so hard right now.

  “But squirrels store food that doesn’t need to be kept cold. Eating food this smelly can make you dreadfully sick, Connor.”

  His thin shoulders hunched again, and tears brimmed in his eyes.

  How could she reassure him she didn’t care if he hid food, yet prevent him from taking food requiring refrigeration?

  Nolan and Grant appeared in the doorway. Grant gave her a wary stare and edged closer to stand between her and Connor, as he’d done after the bandsaw fracas in the workshop.

  Workshop. That was it. Beth looked at Nolan. “Remember the mini-fridge you bought for my garden shed? I never remember to stock it with drinks. Why don’t we put it in here—on Connor’s side of the room?”

  Nolan’s quiet smile held approval. He set his hand on Grant’s shoulder. “C’mon, tiger, let’s fetch us a fridge.”

  As they left, Beth held out her hand to Connor. “After we toss this smelly stuff, we’ll get fresh stuff for your refrigerator. Then, whenever I get groceries, you can do what I do—throw away the old food that’s going bad and start over with new. Okay?”

  “ ’Kay.” When he took her hand, she felt as if she could conquer worlds.

  * * * * *

  The next night, Nolan lay in bed with Beth a warm weight on top of him. Her forearms on his chest propped her up—and kept her breasts available for his enjoyment. Within her, his cock was slowly softening. Her l
ips were swollen from his kisses and a damned fine pre-fuck blowjob.

  Her breasts were also swollen, the nipples red and sensitive. He wasn’t a real sadist—but what Dom wouldn’t enjoy the involuntary clench of her cunt when he rolled a nipple? Yeah, nice. He did the left breast next.

  “Where do you get all this energy?” With a laugh, she tipped her head down and sleepily rubbed her cheek against his forearm.

  “Clean living.” As her long hair pooled in a silky-cool mass on his bare chest, he ran his fingers through it. “Good length, sugar. Keep it this long.”

  When she rolled her eyes at his order—and an order it was—he smacked her ass. “Don’t sass your Master, little rabbit, or your tail will be too sore to sit on.”

  “My tail is already pretty sore, thank you very much.” Her voice was husky, not from pain, but from pleading and her high cries as she’d climaxed. Good thing he’d put in a ton of extra soundproofing when he built the place. He’d have hated to forego the noises his Beth made when thoroughly spanked and thoroughly fucked.

  He glanced at the portable monitor on the nightstand. Green lights indicated the children’s bedroom door remained closed. With the volume turned up, he could also hear the sound of their even breathing.

  Knowing they were planning for children, Z’s buddy, Simon, had recommended the kiddy equipment when he was putting in the security system.

  Curious about the keypads, the boys had been thrilled when Nolan had demonstrated the alarms. On the past couple of evenings, they’d joined Nolan during his evening rounds, checking everything was safe, securing windows and doors, closing things up for the night. They’d been pleased as all get out to help him “pertect Beff.”

  Good kids.

  Beth’s gaze had followed his, and with her uncanny ability to follow his thoughts, she snickered. “If I tossed your monitor in the lake, you’d have to leave the doors open to hear the children—and you wouldn’t be able to abuse your poor submissive.”

  “I’d buy another monitor. I’m not going to give up abusing my poor li’l subbie.” He massaged her ass and chuckled at her squeaks and whimpers. Damn, she felt good. Her little ass was rounding out as she regained her weight. Since Connor’s stomach growled about every three to four hours, she no longer missed meals.