She frowned. “There’s a difference between a submissive and a slave. I think the best explanation is that a submissive resembles an employee, whereas a slave is closer to a private in the Marines. A lot of choices are taken away.”
He’d been in the service; nothing new there.
“I don’t live with my slaves—but they’re available to me when I want them.”
They? Now that was a hard line for him, and this was the time to make that clear. “I want exclusive.”
When she nodded, he went further. “My work is separate. And you don’t get control over the time that we’re not together.” He pulled in a lungful of air and committed himself. “Everything else is yours. Yes, Ma’am, this is what I want.”
He could see the growing warmth in her eyes, could feel her respect and pleasure. Her chin came up, shoulders straightening as she accepted responsibility for him. He knew the feeling—the same one he’d had when a teammate trusted him to take his back.
Knowing he could give her that joy silenced the doubts in his mind.
Anne lay in her bed, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, stroking the crisp hair. His breathing had slowed as sleep caught up to him. His scent mingled with the musky fragrance of sex and the faint clean fragrance of her sheets.
Contentment enfolded her as closely as his arm behind her back nestled her into his side. The sex had been…more than just sex this time. A new element had been added.
She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. This was why people called it making love.
She’d always cherished the bond between her and her slaves, one made up of affection and concern. It was love, in a way, but the kind of love she held for family.
What she had with Ben was different. And her weapon-based ranking scale was proving to be surprisingly accurate.
She’d called a first date equivalent to a .22. She’d learned to shoot on a sweet little .22 revolver. Easy to handle. Safe with no kickback or surprises. Nicely precise. It had planted small, sedate holes in the target.
But today, this was serious stuff, moving toward…love, and truly felt like firing an S&W .44 in a darkened shooting range. “I think you care for me, and I very much care for you. So yes, a .44. You’re not seeing anyone else, and neither am I. That’s exclusive. And I’ll be your slave.” The blast of his words had left her ears ringing, eyes blinking against the flame from the muzzle. The shell had ripped appalling holes in what her life had been.
Was she ready for this?
No. No, she really wasn’t.
But right here in his arms was where she’d ended up, even though she’d fought every step of the way. Sneaky submissive. But she wouldn’t change a thing about the journey.
Or about Ben.
She hadn’t wanted another slave yet, and he sure wasn’t the one she would have chosen, and she certainly hadn’t planned on letting one be her lover, as well.
Then Ben had maneuvered his way into her life, making changes right and left. He’d brought her Bronx—a furbaby to play with and treat and hug. Every night, Ben had been at her house or her at his. He filled her evenings with laughter and conversation and quiet companionship. Sleeping with him and waking with him had created an intimacy that she hadn’t permitted in years.
Maybe because she trusted him more than she’d trusted her slaves. He might not agree with her on everything, but the man’s rock-solid character was based on honor, honesty, and loyalty.
She admired him, respected him, liked everything about him, from his body to his easygoing stability.
And the thought of losing him, now that he had hold of her emotions, was terrifying.
Ever since she was a little girl, she’d known…known…what it felt like when someone or something tore her love out by the roots. That might be why her few attempts at taking lovers in the service and college hadn’t gotten very far. All unknowing, she’d avoided risking that kind of pain.
But now, she would. For Ben.
She curled a little closer, drawing in his scent, hearing his heart’s slow thudding. Please don’t let this go wrong. Please.
Chapter Fourteen
Anne leaned back in her office chair and studied the computer display. The wind riffled the curtains, carrying the scent of the beach and the pattering of heavy rain. Although near noon, the sky was almost as dark as nighttime. What an excellent day to be inside.
Even better, the weather had been beautiful all weekend for their sail. They’d spent the time picnicking in quiet coves, swimming under the stars, making love…everywhere. And she’d managed to teach Ben more about being a slave, about her requirements, about protocol. By the time they returned to the Shadowlands in a couple of weeks, he’d be comfortable in his role.
He probably wasn’t very comfortable today. Poor Ben.
Hours before, at dawn, he’d rolled over, seen the incoming storm, and jumped out of bed. Within half-an-hour, he’d headed off to Sawgrass Park.
BL Haugen. She’d been both mesmerized and appalled by his Chaos of War series. Now that she knew the photographs hadn’t been taken by a photojournalist, but rather by someone truly living the nightmare, she doubted she could view them without crying.
Her photo excursion with him two weeks before had been eye opening. She’d always admired how beautifully BL Haugen used light to evoke emotion. Her favorite photograph of his was of a panther, poised to spring. Behind the cat, black, ominous thunderclouds were piling high into the sky. The scene captured the eternal yet fleeting moment before violence and death.
Last Sunday had shown her how much time, effort, and discarded shots went into achieving one perfect photograph. And the poor guy was out today in the pouring rain.
Well, she’d needed quiet to work on Uzuri’s problem.
Sometime later, she heard the carport door open.
“Anne, it’s me,” Ben called. “Your mom is with me.”
Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard. But she had a search running and couldn’t shut it down. “Upstairs. I’m in my office.”
A door closed. Footsteps thudded on the stairs.
Her mother walked in, carrying a covered bread pan. Ben followed.
Anne sniffed. “Is that banana bread I smell?” The best part of living two houses away from her parents was getting some motherly pampering.
“My daughter always did have a good nose.” In pale peach shorts and a matching lacey top, Anne’s fine-boned, petite mom smiled up at Ben, looking like a fairy princess next to the big bad wolf.
A couple of days before, she’d dropped by to have Anne set up her new smart phone and had spoken with Ben. Naturally, the guard dog had won her right over. Props to her mother, she’d seen past Ben’s intimidating appearance right to his heart. Finding out he was BL Haugen had cemented her approval. Maybe Mom couldn’t defend herself against a flea, but she was a superb judge of character. Schoolteachers usually were.
Later, she’d told Anne, “Finally you’ve found someone who will look after you instead of the reverse.”
Anne was still thinking that one over. She’d always felt as if she was the one who needed to protect her slaves, but, of course, her mother had been expecting the guys to guard her daughter. Perhaps that was why Joey, despite his charm and enthusiastic service, hadn’t made headway with any of her family. Ben certainly had, at least with her brothers and mother.
Her father would be a different story. Since he still considered her his baby girl—and undoubtedly a virgin—she’d been grateful he and Ben hadn’t met during the training exercise.
Spinning her office chair all the way around, she began to smile at Ben—and stared instead.
His pulled-back hair was drenched. Grass stains and mud streaked his clothes and face; his ripped T-shirt showed a long, bloody scrape on the tanned skin beneath.
He’d been hurt.
She started to rise, and then slowly sat again. It wasn’t a bad scrape. She just didn’t like seeing him in pain or bloody—which seemed funny
since she’d dealt out worse injuries to her slaves. “Considering the way you look, I hope you got something worth the work.”
His smile was that of a wolf that had downed a plump deer. “Got one that should be perfect for my storm series.” His stunning new series was centered on lightning storms.
Anne’s mother glanced out the window. “Having been used to the nice, quiet drizzling rains in Washington State, these Florida storms were quite a shock. I swear, sometimes they sound as if Zeus is battling it out in heaven.”
“Zeus?” Ben scratched at a streak of mud on his face. “The War of Zeus. You might have found a title for my series, Elaine.”
“Well. My goodness.” Anne’s mother almost glowed. “I’m truly honored. Now you’d better take a shower and get out of those wet clothes.” She patted his arm and bent to stroke Bronx, who’d obviously been toweled off before coming inside. “Such a sweet dog. I’m glad you’ve got a pet here, Anne.”
Ben tilted his head toward Anne. “Considering how much you love animals, I’m surprised you don’t have one of your own.”
“I’m never here.” Any pet of hers would be lonely when she was working.
Ben gave her a quizzical look. “That doesn’t stop people from owning cats or do—”
“She was around ten when she kept a stray kitten for a couple of weeks,” her mother interrupted. “Unfortunately, we left on an overseas posting, so she had to give it away. The same happened to an abandoned puppy she’d brought home. She never tried to keep another animal.”
Anne’s throat constricted. Sammy had been a tiny dog with big, haunted eyes. And so thin. Starving. He’d needed her, and she hadn’t been allowed to save him. “Please, Daddy. Other people take their pets.” He’d refused—perhaps correctly considering the station.
She’d hidden in her room and hadn’t spoken to her father for a month after that, had hated him with all of her ten-year-old heart.
“Losing a pet is difficult.” Ben’s voice stayed level, as if he knew she’d react poorly to open sympathy. “Since your dad was career military, you must have had quite a few moves.”
“Oh, we did,” her mother said softly. “Oddly enough, I loved relocating; I could teach music anywhere. Sociable Travis thrived. Harrison—well, not much bothers Harrison.” Her eyes sad, her mother set a hand on Anne’s arm. “But Anne didn’t take well to being shifted, and her unhappiness grew worse with each move.”
“Yeah?”
Anne felt Ben’s gaze, but she looked away. She hadn’t forgotten the frustration and anger. The desolation. How she’d screamed and wept and clung to Nessie, her best friend in kindergarten. Her father had finally torn them apart and put Anne in the car. She’d cried herself sick.
And she’d experienced the same devastating sense of loss two years later.
She’d learned. Friends, pets, even favorite belongings were all…transient. Don’t get attached.
By the third move, she’d stopped crying. Had stopped making best friends. Her mother had tried to help, but Anne had known that no one really understood. Within her loving family, she’d grown closer to her brothers…and felt very alone.
“I didn’t realize it then, but I think girls have a more difficult time being displaced,” her mother said. “Our friendships are…deeper. Not so easily formed.”
Being the new kid over and over. Watching a popular classmate hand out birthday party invitations to almost the entire class. The girl had wrinkled her nose at Anne, as if she smelled something foul.
“And even on a base, girls can be cruel to a stranger,” her mother finished. She set her hand on Anne’s shoulder.
Being knocked to her knees, her favorite dress torn. Girls could be mean—with no cause other than spotting a small, shy newcomer.
One more reason she’d learned to fight.
“It wasn’t that bad.” Anne squeezed her mother’s hand reassuringly. Mom wouldn’t willingly hurt anyone; no one was more caring. But even with love, understanding didn’t automatically follow.
A rumble of thunder drew her gaze to the shining streaks of rain slanting downward. Even in darkness, there was beauty.
Ben knew that. Showed that in his pictures. Anne shouldn’t forget and perhaps should try to see the positive aspects of her early years. “I had my family,” she said finally. “Good schools.” Her mind cast about. “Enough to eat.”
“That’s the best you can say about your childhood? That you got enough to eat? Fu-” He cut off the curse with a glance at her mother.
Moisture gleamed in her mother’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Anne.”
Way to put your foot in it, Anne. “Oh, Mom, there wasn’t anything you could have done. Moving is a part of life for military families. I survived—and grew stronger because of it. And because you gave me a beach house, I’m very settled now.”
After blinking back tears, her mother finally gave her a wry smile. “You’re settled all right. So settled that you smacked Travis for moving one of your chairs.” She glanced at Ben. “She doesn’t like things changed, so be warned.”
He was still regarding her with a deep crease between his heavy brows.
Anne rolled her eyes at him and watched a smile appear in his brown eyes. “Why don’t you go cut a few slices of that bread, Mom? As soon as this search is done, I’ll be down.”
Her mother looked relieved at the change of subject. “Why are you working here and not at the bail company? You said you tried not to bring casework home.”
“This is personal. You remember Uzuri? She was over here with a group of women—gave you that department store discount card?”
“The one with marvelous style and an adorable sense of humor?”
“That’s her. She’s been antsy, and I finally got her to admit she’s worried about her ex. She moved here to get away from him. So I’m checking to ensure he’s where she left him—a thousand miles away.”
“Good for you.” Ben’s smile warmed her down to her toes.
“Russell and Matt say Anne is absolutely superb at skip tracing,” her mother said proudly. “They’ve never seen anyone as good.”
Anne shrugged. “Since I so resented changing my life, I understand how people who are forced to move will react. How they’ll cling to old patterns for comfort.”
Ben frowned. “Like?”
“Like even if a skip moves to a new city, he’ll probably still visit Taco Bell every Friday, if that’s what he did before.”
“So you took your hard lessons and turned them into useful knowledge. Nice.” His respect was gratifying, especially since the talk about her childhood had left her unsettled.
He leaned down and waited until she smiled permission before giving her a light kiss. A comforting kiss. “I’ll fix us supper if you promise to share your mom’s treat.”
“You’re such a sugarholic. But I’ll take that deal.”
As her mother turned to go, Anne frowned, realizing she’d retained some anger that her mother hadn’t prevented all the moves. And the trauma. How childish was that? Man up, Desmarais. “I love you, Mom.”
* * * *
That night, Ben had his feet up on the coffee table with his laptop in his lap, as he plotted next week’s schedule of possible shoots. Across the room, his woman was preparing to go hunt fugitives.
The sound of the waves on the shore came through the open windows. Anne had her soft jazz playlist on the iPod. He was getting used to her music, although he occasionally risked her wrath to play some classical artists—like Willie Nelson or Waylon Jennings.
A so-called slave shouldn’t buck his Mistress, but…favorite tunes should be shared, right?
Sharing was part of a relationship, from food to sex to music to…past histories. He’d have to give her a big FAIL there; she was fucking elusive. He’d never met a woman who talked so little about herself.
And it wasn’t that she lacked confidence as a Mistress. Hell, she could give the other Masters lessons in self-assurance.
; Elaine’s visit earlier had shed some light on Anne’s past. She’d been ripped away from friends and pets, over and over. The way she’d gone expressionless when the discussion turned to relocating told him that she’d suffered far more than her mother had realized back then.
He shook his head. He’d met some clueless Dominants, but Anne hadn’t achieved the title of Shadowlands “Mistress” by lacking sensitivity. If anything, she felt too much.
What were the odds that she was fending off possible future hurt by rigidly controlling both her environment and her lovers?
By guarding her heart.
He had to take her wariness into consideration. “Make your plans to fit the circumstances,” Patton had said.
Can do. For the environment, he’d be more careful about moving things around or upsetting her routines.
He was already letting her control him. And, at least in the bedroom, he enjoyed the hell out of it.
For her heart’s sake, she needed to be certain he was hers. He’d avoid anything that would make her question their longevity—because he damned well intended to be around for a long, long time.
No matter how much she guarded her tender heart, eventually she’d let him in.
Chapter Fifteen
At the Tomorrow Is Mine domestic violence shelter, Anne stood in the group section of the gymnasium. Four of the teenage girls practiced hitting the sand and punching bags. The rest of the dozen had paired up to work on the block-punch technique she’d just taught them. Shouts echoed off the walls, and the acrid smell of teen sweat hung in the air.
From the corner of her eye, she saw the door open.
Beth entered, followed by her Master, Nolan. As always, the discrepancy between them was startling. Nolan was over six feet, and construction work had given him an impressively muscular build. With coal-colored hair and eyes, a scarred face, and a rough expression, his looks ensured people would avoid him.
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