Josie dried her hands on a towel. “Let me get my notes and we can get started.”
At the table, Carson was arranging the dolls.
Sitting across from him, Holt picked one up. He was used to seeing Barbie dolls in shorts or fancy evening gowns or swimsuits—and as carefully made up as women hitting the nightclubs. These looked about the age of high schoolers. No make-up. And… “What is this—Barbie in the Middle Ages?”
“That’s right.” Laughing, Josie joined them, setting down a notepad and pen. “When Zuri visited Oma, she saw my notes and crummy drawings of the clothing my characters would wear. A couple of weeks later, she showed up with these dolls. She’s so talented.”
“She is that.” Had Josie seen the kinky BDSM ones Uzuri made for the Shadowkittens? Holt studied the dolls. Tunics, trousers, cloaks. And swords. “One girl gets a sword and the other doesn’t?”
“She has magic. It doesn’t react well to all that metal.”
“Got it.” The one with the sword was obviously female, but her hair was cropped short. Holt glanced at Josie. “The hairstyle seems…off…for that time period.”
“She ran away from an arranged marriage. Everyone thinks she’s a boy.”
“Ah. Good for her.”
His comment won him smiles from both Josie and Stella.
He saw Stella had put two male dolls with the two females. “Is there a love story going on as well as fighting?”
Carson snorted. “They’re too smart for that.”
With a light laugh, Josie told Holt, “No romance. I don’t believe in it.”
Holt’s smile faded. She didn’t believe in romance, so her son was growing up thinking love was for idiots.
Shaking her head, Stella said, “Not all romances end badly, my dear.”
“Maybe not for men,” she said under her breath, then winced and looked at him. “Sorry.”
Holt leaned back in his chair, watching her thoughtfully. She had trust issues. Considering she’d had a teenage pregnancy and her lover’d turned out to be a bastard, he could understand why. Trouble was, the longer he knew her, the more he liked her.
The more he wanted her for his own.
How could he not? She was submissive—so the Dom in him was happy. She was fun with a sense of humor that was never cruel, just quirky. He’d probably laughed more this evening than he had in a long, long time. He’d enjoyed simply putting up Christmas lights and arguing over whether Star Trek or Star Wars had the better technology. Jesus, she liked fantasy and sci-fi—how could he help but like her?
Most of all, she had a caring heart.
The question wasn’t whether he wanted her, because he did. Now he just had to help her see that romance wasn’t inevitably bad.
And that her anxieties were affecting her son’s outlook on life.
“Holt can be the bad guys.” Carson pushed over a box of horses, wolves, elephants and oversized…somethings.
Holt held up one ugly-ass doll. “What is this?”
“Ogres. That box also has trolls.” Josie picked out more dolls. “Tonight, the team is taking on the reptilian race of Grestors. And they have a troll with them.”
She described the talents of her young team. The heroine, Laurent, could ignite her hands and throw the flames short distances. The thought made the firefighter in him wince. The hero, Tigre, was a knife-fighting ninja type who could become invisible.
Interesting. When he got home, he’d boot up his eReader and pick up her first book. Why should kids get to read all the good stories?
Josie waved at the table. “The neighboring country is softening our land up for war, and the team has been sent out with a teacher to defend a border village.”
“Aren’t they rather young?” Holt frowned. Children shouldn’t be going to war.
“Even in our history, a squire was usually around fourteen years old and often went into battle to guard his knight’s back.” Josie gave him an understanding smile. “At eleven, Carson would’ve been serving as a page, working his way up to squire.”
Carson grinned at the thought.
Holt didn’t. “Hard times.”
“Exactly. When there’s a need, children grow up fast. Our team will do their best, no matter how frightened they are.”
Holt gave her an understanding nod. “Heroes in heart as well as skills.”
“The world needs heroes, and our children today need role models,” Stella murmured. “Courage and self-sacrifice. Honesty and integrity.”
Josie shot her a smile. “All of that—and learning to work together.” She checked her notes. “Carson, if you’ll take the two boys. Oma, the girls. Holt, you get the bloodthirsty Grestors and the troll.”
Bowls provided boulders for protection—and a way to jump down on the bad guys. Holt lost two reptile-men to the damn knife-boy. Josie stopped the action occasionally, reworking the choreography to be trickier. She redid one mini-fight to force the air mage and the knife boy to work together. Carson got infuriated when Holt’s troll hurt a wolf the animal mage had called in.
In the end, Holt managed to save a few of his Grestors. As they ran for the edge of the table, he turned his leader around and shouted, using an Arnold accent, “I’ll be back. You wait. I’ll cut off your nose next time.”
Carson burst out laughing, and Stella sent a lightning bolt—a gummi worm—after Holt’s guys. For all her church attending, the woman had a vicious streak.
After giving Stella a disapproving frown that made her grin, Holt ate the gummi worm and eyed the other woman at the table. Josie. There was so much more to her than met the eye. An author, one who was trying to improve the world with her stories. One who let her family help and cheered them on in the battle.
She really was amazing.
Grinning at him, she asked, “What do you think?”
“You may call on me anytime you need assistance in destroying the world, sweetie.” He winked at Carson. “It’s my duty to help.” And his duty to help get the sweet author past her aversion to romance as well.
Because he fully intended to sweep her off her feet and into his arms.
And keep her there.
Chapter Eleven
On Friday, Holt finally had the energy and time to clean up his place. Fuck knew, he didn’t like living in a mess.
After a couple of hours, he had the kitchen and bathroom scrubbed down, his laundry done, and he’d moved on to the living room. Swiping at a cobweb, he caught an eight-legged inhabitant with it. “Sorry, guy, you need to live outside.”
As he walked out the front to shake the cobweb—and spider—off the duster, he heard Imagine Dragons playing from Josie’s house. Interesting. Her appearance would suggest a Celtic music fan. Her Texas accent said country-western. Instead, she liked alternative rock and the odd mixes Z played in the Shadowlands. Everyone in the club enjoyed watching her dance in place as she mixed drinks.
He smiled. Last Saturday with her had been amazing. She’d been nervous, but she’d trusted him to take care of her. Was authentic in her physical responses. Had loved being bound and taken to the edge of pain, over and over. The way she’d felt in his arms had been…right.
Too right. He’d been a Dom a long time and couldn’t remember when he’d felt so close to anyone. From the way she’d watched him, softened against him, listened to him, she’d felt the same way. He’d been the entire focus of all her attention—just as she’d been his.
There was something between them—and it was a hell of a lot more than just lust. Hell, his spirits lifted at the mere thought of seeing her.
He’d never met anyone quite like her. He loved the way she saw the world with a child’s eyes. Hell, she probably wouldn’t be surprised if fairies danced in the garden at night or if Carson started to levitate. Yet she was uncommonly down-to-earth, able to deal with everything from unhappy teenagers to upset Dominants. And she listened to people with all her attention and with an open, caring heart. Whatever she’d suffered in the pas
t had left her wary of men—and had given her an ocean-deep empathy for others.
Yeah, he’d fallen right into caring a fuck of a lot for her.
He took a step toward her house and stopped.
No, dumbass, this was her writing time. Even more than that, he didn’t want her to feel pressured by a man living next door. He had a wary submissive here, and he’d have to take care.
Frowning, he turned and went back inside. She reminded him of some of the trauma patients he’d cared for, the ones unable to move, stuck in replays of what had happened. Josie wasn’t playing games with him. After being burned in the past, she simply didn’t want to be vulnerable again. In fact, she might not even realize how thoroughly she’d fenced herself in.
Yet her response to him showed she wanted more.
He’d give her more.
Tonight, he’d assess and then slowly and steadily take this relationship a step further.
As he stowed the vacuum away, he heard a car pull into his driveway. The guys from the firehouse tended to swing by if they were in the area.
He opened the front door…and scowled.
Dressed in one of her fancy stockbroker suits, Nadia was strolling up the sidewalk.
Well, fuck. “What brings you here?” His tone wasn’t welcoming.
“Holt. You look much better. Your poor face.” Her pale green gaze tracked the scar from his temple to his mouth and lingered on the rougher scars on his chin.
“I’m doing well, thanks. Are you here for a reason?” he asked again.
Her strawberry-blonde hair was loose. Fluffy. The way he’d told her he liked…and she’d rarely worn.
Josie was a green-eyed redhead, too. But different. Her short hair was dark copper, and her eyes held the mesmerizing darkness of evergreens. And, like an evergreen, she had an unshakable character. Nadia was more like a hothouse orchid.
Yeah, there we go, good analogy, he decided, amused at himself. Nadia would wilt at the first frost. Josie would stand strong through a blizzard.
“What are you smiling at?” Head tilted, Nadia looked up through darkened eyelashes. Flirting, for fuck’s sake. “Are you pleased to see me?”
“No. I’d like you to—”
Before he could finish, she went up on tiptoe and planted a kiss on his lips. “I missed you, my darling.”
Leaning into him, she flattened her palms on his chest. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, but I just…I couldn’t stand seeing you so hurt. It destroyed me.”
Destroyed her? He hesitated. Had he been too harsh? No. In the hospital, she stared at his scars—and looked repulsed, not destroyed. There’d been no tears. In fact, even before she’d seen him, she’d arranged to hit happy hour with her friend. She sure hadn’t planned to stand vigil at his bedside. This wasn’t love.
He waited for the pain to hit. Nope, no pain.
He’d been in love with an imaginary person. It had hurt like fuck when she walked out of his hospital room without even coming close enough to touch him. Didn’t hurt now. Sure, she was smart, and they’d had good times together, in bed and out. He missed having someone in his bed and in the evenings. Not especially her.
Her lips curved up in a satisfied smile. While he’d been thinking and not moving, she figured she’d gotten to him. “You know, the winter charity ball is coming up. I’d like to go with you. It will show everyone we’re back together.”
Not happening.
He shook his head. “We’re not back together, Nadia. In fact, it’s time for you to leave.”
Her smile disappeared. “You can’t mean that.”
“I do.”
“Did you forget something, Josie?” Oma called from her kitchen as Josie hurriedly stepped back inside and closed the front door.
“Ah, no.” Despite the stabbing pain in Josie’s heart, she forced her voice to stay light. “Your next-door neighbor is having an intimate moment on his front stoop. I’ll give him time to take it inside.”
“The fancy redhead?”
Fancy? Mmm, that would be a good word for the woman. Her tailored mint green suit showcased a tall slender figure. Matching green fingernails had sparkled when the redhead spread her fingers over Holt’s chest.
“Yes, she’s a redhead. I take it he has a girlfriend?”
“Well, I never saw any women there except that one—and Uzuri, of course. Uzuri said Holt went through women like Moses parting the Red Sea until this one. She thought he might be settling down.”
Josie swallowed. “Oh. Well, that’s good.” The words…hurt. Went through women. Settling down.
He and the redhead looked good together. Both were stunning.
Feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach, Josie sank down on the couch in Oma’s living room.
How stupid could she be? She’d gone and done what she’d told herself not to do—fallen into…caring…for the damn man.
Reality check, Josephine. Holt wasn’t her lover, wasn’t a boyfriend, wasn’t even anyone she’d dated.
Just because he was a Master at the Shadowlands and had indulged her in a scene, well, it didn’t mean anything, now did it? They’d had a…a pickup scene which was the equivalent to dancing with someone at a nightclub. No strings, no promises. Fun was had by all. Just because he’d…looked…at her and taken charge and touched her in a way that fulfilled all her dreams didn’t mean anything.
At least to him. It shouldn’t have meant anything to her, either.
But, dammit, couldn’t he have told her he had a girlfriend? She’d even asked him. She didn’t poach on other women’s men. Why did men think it was right to touch other women when they were already in relationships? Did the redhead know Holt had spent a couple of hours kissing and touching Josie intimately?
Her teeth clenched as the wounds from Everett’s letter reopened. “I’m married. Happily married. With a child whom I love. I never did anything to lead you to believe I held feelings for you…”
Why did men lie? But they did. All right? Just…get over it.
She tried to rub away the ache that had centered under her sternum. Maybe BDSM people didn’t consider participating in a scene to be cheating. After all, some club members were involved with a multitude of people, like the woman who had a “vanilla” husband, served as a slave to her Master, and topped other women. Josie’s eyes had almost crossed.
Maybe Holt didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.
But Josie wasn’t in the BDSM lifestyle, and he should have told her he had a girlfriend. Master Holt had talked about being honest; yet it seemed the truthfulness went only one way.
Her jaw was so tense it ached.
No. More. Men. Ever. She knew better.
She heard a car start up and leave. A glance out the window showed the redhead’s car was gone. “Looks like the road is clear. See you tomorrow, Oma. Enjoy the cake.”
As Oma called her farewell, Josie crossed the front lawn and hurried past Holt’s half of the duplex. To her relief, his front door was closed.
Please, God, don’t let him be at the Shadowlands tonight.
Chapter Twelve
That night at the Shadowlands, Holt greeted a new security guard, crossed through the empty clubroom and went out the side door to the Capture Gardens where the festivities were being held. He stopped in surprise.
Well. The physical landscape hadn’t changed—the wide green lawn still sprawled between the mansion and the densely landscaped acreage. But the atmosphere? Totally changed. Rather than the ominous, dark area used for catch-and-fuck games, the ambiance was that of a party.
The Shadowlands was celebrating Saturnalia—the hedonistic holiday of ancient Rome.
Z hadn’t made costumes mandatory, which Holt appreciated. He hadn’t wanted to figure out an outfit. Some subbies were in variations of Roman attire, including a couple of bedsheet togas.
The buildings and tables were illuminated by strings of tiny clear lights. More colored lights in shades of blue wound around
the dwarf trees. Gilded low shrubs and plants sparkled. Sun symbols and the two-headed face of Janus dangled from everywhere…and damned if that wasn’t the soundtrack from Gladiator playing. Z was a crazy bastard sometimes.
BDSM equipment alternated with king-sized mats around the edges of the lawn—and everything was in use. The center and left of the lawn was filled with Doms reclining in the low lounge chairs, submissives at their feet.
The food and bar area was to the right. A portable bar was set up, but empty. No Josie. The feeling of disappointment was…not surprising. But he’d find her.
Food was being served on both wooden tables and human tables.
In a variation of the Japanese nyotaimori—sushi served on a human body—several naked submissives were on hands and knees with platters of food on their backs.
Two more reclined face-up on coffee tables. Toothpick-speared appetizers on napkins covered their bodies. After eating, the members would use the toothpicks to torment the subbies.
Holding a cane, Ghost sat on an ottoman within the circle of human tables.
Holt wandered over. “I wondered why you weren’t at the door. I see Z put you to a different task.”
The gray-haired guard pressed his lips together. “He’s pushing the boundaries of guard duty.”
A brunette submissive tried to look up at Holt—and almost tipped her food over.
“Tables do not move.” Ghost’s deep rasping voice held enough authority to make everyone in the area freeze. His cane hit the submissive’s ass with an audible thwack.
At the subbie’s pained inhalation, pleasure glinted in Ghost’s eyes.
Holt raised an eyebrow. It appeared the ex-military Dom was also a sadist…and a very well controlled one. Only a small red mark showed on the subbie’s white skin. Rumor had it that Ghost had been out of the lifestyle for a while…and now, Z’d handed him a cane with orders to control some submissives. Hell, that was like offering a three-course meal to a starving man.
Z was a sneaky bastard.
“How long are the tables lasting?” Holt asked. He checked the face-up serving tables. Both—one male, one female—were masochists. In fact, they all were. Yep, Z had loaded the dice.
Beneath the Scars Page 17