Simon Says: Mine: A novella (Mountain Masters & Dark Haven Book 2)
Page 10
“No, nothing hurts,” she muttered.
“Your jaw is bruised.” He cupped her cheek with a big hand and tilted her face toward the light. “Did you bang your head? Let’s see your eyes.”
“I said I’m fine.” Averting her eyes from his intense gaze, she tried to push his hand away again. Unsuccessfully.
His voice roughened. “Look at me, Kallie.”
The low, commanding tone shook her bones, and she shivered. Her gaze flashed up involuntarily.
His eyes narrowed, becoming more intent until she felt like a deer trapped by a cougar. She swallowed hard.
A smile flickered over his angular face. “Well now,” he murmured. “Appearances can be deceiving, can’t they? Aren’t you supposed to be tougher than any man around?” His hand still gentle on her cheek, he ran a thumb over her lips, sending a tremor through her, followed by a wave of heat.
Wimp. Wuss. Her muscles had turned to water, but she managed to grasp his wrist, trying not to notice the thick bones, the steely tendons. She firmed her voice, and it still came out sounding all girlie and weak. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he asked softly. And he regarded her…differently…in a way that sizzled straight to the center of her body.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she muttered and pushed his hand away.
Amusement lit his eyes, and a corner of his mouth turned up, creasing his cheek. “Oddly enough, I think I like looking at you.”
“Oh sure you do. So are you the one who hit me?”
“I don’t hit women,” he growled…and then his lips quirked up. “There are much better ways to punish sassy wenches.”
At the assessing look he gave her, she could feel her face flame red.
“That’s a fine color on you, sugar,” he murmured and grasped her upper arms, lifting her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a doll. As the room did a fast merry-go-round, Kallie sagged.
He put an iron-hard arm around her waist to keep her upright. She’d had dreams of having his arm around her, but somehow they’d never included being knocked sprawling in a bar first.
“Hey, Kallie.” Barney poked his head in the entrance, eliciting a stream of curses from the grizzled Swede who owned the tavern. “I’m sorry. I threw him at the door, not at you.”
“You hit me with a person?” When they’d played baseball in high school, Barney’s aim had been notoriously bad; it obviously hadn’t improved any. After a second, she laughed and shook her head—whoa, not a good move. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”
Giving his gap-toothed smile, Barney disappeared back out the door, and his roar of battle glee drifted in with the night air.
“Nice of you to forgive him,” Jake said as he guided her to a chair. When he stepped away, the warmth of his hands still lingered on her waist.
“He’s too big to kill easily.”
Jake’s laugh sent chills across her skin. When her friends surrounded her and their perfume smothered his clean, masculine scent, Kallie felt relieved. Mostly.
“Girl, I can’t believe you’re all right. You landed really bad.” Gina swooped her hands to demonstrate Kallie’s dive and face-plant.
Great. Bet he found that just hilarious.
His grin confirmed her opinion, and then he slid a finger down her cheek. “You know, little sprites shouldn’t be fighting.”
From anyone else in the world, she might have found the remark amusing. From him, after wanting him for so long, it simply hurt. Trying to ignore the way her skin tingled in the wake of his touch, she gave him a cold look. “I’m not little, and I’m not a sprite. Thanks for the help—now go away.”
“You’re welcome. Sprite.” He glanced at his watch, winced, and shot a stern look at her friends. “Someone take her home.” Before anyone could respond, he walked away.
As he left the bar, Gina sniffed. “Such a shame that bossy looks so good on him.” She patted Kallie’s shoulder. “Let me get my purse, and I’ll drive you home. You really—”
“I really need a beer,” Kallie interrupted. “No, two beers. And a burger and fries. I just got back from a week in the backcountry, and I’m not running home because some pushy”—gorgeous—“person”—bastard—“thinks I should.”
She’d watched her friends turn all syrupy whenever Jake Hunt touched them. Now she’d done the same thing—and she didn’t like it one bit.
Also from Cherise Sinclair
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Masters of the Shadowlands (contemporary)
Club Shadowlands
Dark Citadel
Breaking Free
Lean on Me
Make Me, Sir
To Command and Collar
This Is Who I Am
If Only
Show Me, Baby
Servicing the Target
Mountain Masters and Dark Haven (contemporary)
Master of the Mountain
Simon Says: Mine (novella)
Master of the Abyss
Master of the Dark Side (novella)
My Liege of Dark Haven
Edge of the Enforcer
Master of Freedom
The Wild Hunt Legacy (paranormal)
Hour of the Lion
Winter of the Wolf
Standalone books
The Starlight Rite (Sci-Fi Romance)
The Dom’s Dungeon (contemporary)
A WILDer Kind of Love
Book 7 in Angel Payne’s
W.I.L.D. Boys of Special Forces Series
Coming June 16, 2015
**Pre-order available now**
Sneak-Peek Preview
The WILD Boys are back. USA Today Bestseller Angel Payne continues the hotter-than-hot series with this sensual, emotional story featuring CIA special agent Daniel Colton.
A scarred hero…
Dan Colton was once the CIA’s golden boy, a get-things-done cowboy who believed forgiveness was better to ask for than permission. But performing the devil’s work was always easy with his angel’s face, a damn good asset to have whether he was charming agency superiors…or training submissives in his darkest dungeon role plays.
Until his face was taken away.
An act of ultimate bravery has spit Colton back out as a bitter, burned shell of the person he used to be, unsure of how to relate to the world without his physical calling card. His only condolence is dreaming of revenge on the bastard responsible for the fire that disfigured him, but when even that plan backfires, he is a beast without any prey—tormented by a beauty he cannot touch.
A willing submissive…
Wyn Lesange, known around the CIA’s Vegas office as “The Laser”, has only one Achilles heel—in the form of the brooding agent who once wouldn’t give her the time of day. Since Dan Colton’s accident, they’ve become friends, even trusting each other with some of their kinkier secrets. What are friends for, right?
Wrong.
A dangerous masquerade…
Now Dan has become her greatest joy, toughest torment, and most sinful desire. Thoughts of surrendering to his passionate brand of domination consume her more and more…but it’s clear Dan thinks of her as nothing more than the brainy analyst in the next office over.
Seeking to assuage her need for the submissive dream, Wyn takes matters into her own hands and journeys in disguise to one of the desert’s most elicit kink clubs. When the Dominant she meets there is also beneath a mask, his voice so alluring and familiar, she wonders if karma has conspired to fulfill one of her deepest fantasies…and what price she’ll have to pay for it come true. Is she willing to sacrifice everything she’s built in a friendship with Dan, for one night in his dungeon?
Excerpt
“Little rose.”
Tess jumped out of her chair. Literally. Not that it had been a particularly comfortable chair. She’d found another wingback in the second of Catacomb’s living room areas, hoping she’d have better results in here at the whole calm-down-and-talk-to-somebody-dammit efforts.
And did all that go for you, missie? Did changing rooms help you escape one drop of the feeling that you’ve showed up at Prom without a date, three damn nights in a row?
She’d given herself until eleven o’clock to get the stick out of her ass and strike up a conversation with somebody, or just leave. No use sticking around until midnight when she didn’t even have mice, a pumpkin, and glass slippers to worry about.
And all of a sudden, her fairy godmother of BDSM had gotten a huge damn clue.
And delivered a prince who defied her wildest, kinkiest dreams.
And not because he instantly reminded her of Dan.
Get off the Colton crazy train! Especially now!
It was his hair. It looked so much like Dan’s dark blond waves, she was initially captivated—though her perception was likely hindered by the thick velvet strings from his mask, tossing all kinds of shadows through his thick style.
And about that mask…
Dear God.
Sometimes great minds really did think alike. Though it covered half his face and transformed his eyes into daunting mysteries, she tilted a little smile. She was looking for daunting, right?
She’d just had no idea how much. And one look at this man, powerful and beautiful and looming before her in nothing but his huge black boots, faded jeans, and that mask, revealed he probably had a doctorate in daunting.
She’d only concentrated on his covered parts so far, too. The face she couldn’t quite decipher. The legs, endless and powerful, converging at a bulge beneath his zipper that stripped the moisture from her throat. But everything else was…
Dear God.
It bore repeating. Probably out loud. If she could only figure where the hell all her air had gone.
He was beautiful. Almost unreal. She’d only had this sensation a few times in her whole life, like the moment she’d gazed at her first Michelangelo statue in Rome, or gasped at a Cirque performer who supported three others in his palm. His lean but rock-hard build emphasized every captivating striation of his muscles: the hard ropes of his neck, the shoulders and arms that rivalled Red Rock for ridges, the abdomen that was another mountain range all on its own, as well. He moved a little closer to her with grace that reminded her of an eagle’s flight, deadly force honed for efficiency and grace.
Was he even real?
She yearned to reach out and learn that answer for herself.
She’d never been more afraid to move in her life.
She cleared her throat. Tried to straighten her stance—but then wondered if she should lower her head, instead. Or bow. Or curtsy? Or shake his hand? Hell. She was the girl who’d read every damn research book on dungeon etiquette, right? But now she really did feel like the girl at the prom with toilet paper attached to her heel.
“Hi,” she finally managed. “I—I mean hello. Hello, Sir. I—I mean—”
If she really had something to say after that, it would’ve have disappeared as soon as he lifted her hand between both of his and stepped closer, as if trying to figure her out more fully. His skin was firm and warm, his grip a steady command his eyes still impossible to read. “Ssshhh. Breathe, red.”
Red. Though she liked playing up the unique color of her hair, she always cringed when someone used the too-typical nickname. But on his lips, the words were transformed into something new. Magical.
“Breathe. Right. Okay…right. God. I am so sorry. You must think I’m so—” She injected a weak laugh. “I’m normally better at the whole stringing-a-sentence-together thing, I promise.”
Why was she blowing this so bad? And why did he make it worse with his disarming grin and his tightening hold? And the simple force of his presence. And the intensity of his nearness. And the potency of his scent. How could the combination of Scotch and dust suddenly smell so incredible?
“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who intruded.”
“Oh, yeah. ‘Intruded.’” She blew out a pseudo raspberry. “Because there was so much going on here in my corner to intrude on.”
“There would have been.” His mutter edged so close to an animal’s timber, she shivered a little. Tess had listened to enough radio spy chatter over the years to know the small disc on his neck was a voice distorter of some sort, which should have raised her wariness—instead, it only added to his allure. Her pulse thrummed, a current strange yet wonderful. While she felt at once safe, she also knew she shouldn’t…not this much, not this fast. The conflict only hastened to her reckless heartbeat, especially as he added, “Then I would’ve had to bounce a few skulls together.”
“Why?” She knew how stupid it sounded. The possessive snarl beneath his words spoke enough meaning for anyone to figure out—except, perhaps, for her. The “protective” thing was usually her gig, a default when one was looking out for sisters who were “the pretty one” and “the smart ass,” so grasping the concept that anyone wanted to look after her in the same way…
Weird. Very weird.
But ohhh…so nice.
Really nice.
Still, she braced herself for his teasing chuckle. Maybe some sarcastic quip at what a “silly subbie” she was for not comprehending his intent.
Once more, the man turned her expectations sideways. No. Fully upside-down. Her senses careened as he released a hand, lifting it to her jaw, yanking up her whole face for the focus of his fathomless gaze. “Why?” he repeated. “Because I’m pretty well set on having you all to myself tonight, rose.” His fingers pressed in. “Unless you aren’t interested in what you see?”
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “You’re kidding, right?”
“At the risk of being trite, do I look like I’m kidding?”
“At the risk of being obnoxious, do I look like a nun? Because that’s the only situation I can imagine you being turned down, Sir Sexy.”
Air pushed past his smirk. His thick stubble disguised the exact edges of his lips but the flash of his teeth briefly showed her that they were curved and lush…and maybe a little wicked.
Wicked. Right behind daunting on what she’d come here looking for.
“A WILDer Kind of Love – WILD Boys 7” will be available on June 16, 2015
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About Cherise Sinclair
Authors often say their characters argue with them.
Unfortunately, since Cherise Sinclair’s heroes are Doms, she never, ever wins.
A USA Today Bestselling Author, Cherise is renowned for writing heart-wrenching romances with devastating Dominants, laugh-out-loud dialogue, and absolutely sizzling sex. And did I mention the BDSM? Her numerous awards include a National Leather Award, Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice nomination, and Best Author of the Year from the Goodreads BDSM group.
Fledglings having flown the nest, Cherise, her beloved husband, and one fussy feline live in the Pacific Northwest where nothing is cozier than a rainy day spent writing.
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Table of Contents
About the Book
Title Page
Copyright Page
Author’s Note
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About Master of the Abyss
Excerpt from Master of the Abyss
Also from Cherise Sinclair
Excerpt from A WILDer Kind
of Love
About Cherise Sinclair