by Chloe Cox
Dangerous. So dangerous.
Charlene had always known that Jimmy would come back if he ever got word that she was happy without him. It had taken her a long time to see it, but Jimmy’s version of D/s wasn’t about negotiated power exchange, it was about controlling her. He had wanted to control how she felt, about everything, all of the time—and the idea that she could feel good without him would piss him right off.
And what still scared Charlene was how much she’d believed him, in the end. That was the worst part—Jimmy had manipulated her into betraying her own mind, her own heart. And he’d done it as her Dom.
And here she was, falling in lust with another Dom.
Charlene stood in the middle of her kitchen, with all the wedding books piled high on the kitchen table, a ham steak thawing on the counter for lunch. She felt like she was losing her mind. And it was because she wasn’t busy—normally she’d be going a million miles an hour at work. She wouldn’t have time to play mind games with herself like this.
And she was afraid to go into work, or go to her charity at Bastien House, because of Jimmy.
“Ok, that’s it,” she said out loud. “He’s not going to win.”
She went and got her gardening gloves, her tools, her basket. If she couldn’t go to work, if she couldn’t go to Bastien House, if she couldn’t make any more phone calls about the wedding until Olivia called her back, she would damn well make something grow. That always made her feel centered, in control. Her garden was her happy place, outside the kitchen.
And then, because life is like that, she immediately remembered Jimmy chucking his cigarette butt into that garden, and she got mad all over again. She put her basket down with a little more gusto than usual, started to unwind the hose from underneath the porch, and focused her mind on that little symbol of violation. Because then she wouldn’t be thinking about the glistening mountain of man muscle that was working, sweating, in the sun, right on the edge of her property.
Just find the stupid thing, throw it away. Move on.
Of course Charlene had been telling herself to move on for years. She thought she had moved on. So why was she so messed up?
And why couldn’t she find the stupid cigarette?
She had made a mental note of it, yesterday, in the middle of all that chaos. It had been right between the roses and the…
The place where she’d seen Luke messing about this morning, when he went out to meet his friend Wanda.
Did he…?
And that was when she got hit right in the face—with water.
Charlene looked up and around, stunned. Luke stood about ten feet away, still shirtless, still gleaming in the sun, still grinning. And with his hands up, palms together in that weird little makeshift squirt gun position some kids had figured out how to do in the pool.
Charlene had never been one of those kids. And Luke had done it with a palm full of water from a pitcher. From ten feet away! While looking like that.
“That is entirely unfair,” she said.
Luke shrugged. “Something had you hot and bothered,” he said, grinning wider. “Figured I’d cool you off.”
“Oh you did, did you?” Charlene said, her eyes narrowing and her lips smiling because she could not control herself. Well, he wanted a water fight? She had a hose.
And she aimed it right at him.
“You’re not gonna do that,” he said, laughing now. “Because of what I’m gonna do back, if you do.”
All Dom confidence.
The thing is, Charlene, as a sub, was kind of a brat.
She squeezed the hose trigger and let fly.
And then realized she’d left it on the “full crazy water jet power” setting as she hit Luke square in the chest, drenching them both as the water bounced off the hard planes of his chest, his abs, his…
He was looking right at her.
He was dripping wet, shirtless, and smiling a devilish smile. And looking right at her.
Charlene dropped the hose.
And truthfully, if she could have, she would have dropped her panties. The look he was giving her was paralyzing. It was more than that—it was a promise. In a second Charlene knew all the things this Dom would do if she pulled this bratty stuff as a sub. She knew he’d chase her right across the property. She knew what would happen if he caught her.
And holy hell, did she really want to be caught. Even more than before.
“You know what’s gonna happen now, don’t you?” Luke said, shaking the water out of his hair.
“No,” she said. But God, did she want to.
And the sane aunt on her shoulder breathed a huge sigh of relief when it became clear she wouldn’t have to find out—because another car rolled up on her property.
Chapter Nine
“Simone’s here!” Charlene blurted out.
Well, that wins the awkwardness award, she thought. She was standing in front of the hottest Dom she’d ever seen, who was literally dripping water off his muscular, tanned, shining body, and who was grinning down at her with what could only be described as a promise in his eyes, and that was what came out of her mouth.
“You got lucky,” Luke said.
And he winked.
Charlene was rooted to the damn spot, even as Simone Delavigne was getting out of her car, even as Luke was going back to whatever he was doing with that security system.
Holy hell, this is a dangerous Dom. He was sex on a stick, and he could make her knees quiver with just a look. And he was staying with her? What the hell was she thinking?
“Earth to Charlie,” Simone said, waving as she walked up the drive. The younger woman looked at Luke, shirtless and dripping as he drove another stake into the perimeter of her yard. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No!” Charlene said, maybe a little too loudly. “Not at all. Not at all. What’s up?”
Simone didn’t look convinced. And Charlene could barely tear her eyes away from Luke long enough to even tell.
“Let’s go inside,” she said.
Simone grinned, but then she shrugged and let it slide, and led Charlene back into her own house. Simone was one of the few people who knew Charlene’s house well. After Simone’s sister—and Charlene’s childhood best friend—died all those years ago, they had tried, on and off, a sort of surrogate sister thing. And they’d never really talked about it, but after Jimmy left, Simone started coming over more. They’d watch dumb movies and eat as much food as possible, and then when Simone started having problems of her own she’d disappear again for a while. Charlene had learned to accept it, but she’d never given up on wanting to see Simone happy and strong enough not to run and hide when she was scared.
Charlene just knew to treat the younger woman like a rescue cat, basically. A rescue cat that she loved, but a rescue cat nonetheless. And Simone was looking very rescue cat-like at the moment.
“What’s wrong?” Charlene said.
“That’s the thing,” Simone said as she put her handbag down and sat at her usual seat at the kitchen table. She wasn’t looking at Charlene—a bad sign. “I don’t exactly know.”
“You gotta give me something, sweetie,” Charlene said. “You ok?”
“Oh, no, I’m fine,” Simone said immediately. “It’s the club. The wedding. Gavin and Olivia. I don’t even know, honestly.”
“What happened?”
“Well, you know how they’ve been having all these problems with the wedding? All the cancellations? And I guess they’re your problems now, too, since you’re helping,” Simone said, and started to nervously inspect her manicure. “Anyway. I don’t think it’s an accident.”
Charlene sighed. “Alan Crennel?”
Simone blinked those big blue eyes. “How did you know?” she said.
“Just a hunch. What did you find out?”
“That’s just it,” Simone said, and looked away again. “I know he’s telling people something, but no one will actually tell me what that is. I mean, I’m in public
relations, it’s literally my job to do this, right? I’m good at my job, and my job is to know stuff. But no one will level with me, and…”
She trailed off, her brow furrowed with the effort of trying to find the words, any words. Charlene knew what that was like. And Simone had had a really rough year. Coming to terms with a substance abuse problem, a sort of accidental near-overdose, a break up with her Dom, Holt, and then rehab. And all of it subject to gossip.
“You’re worried it’s because the rumors he’s spreading are about you?” Charlene asked, softly.
“Bingo,” Simone said just as softly.
“Son of a bitch,” Charlene cursed. She was damn protective of Simone. “What does this creep actually want?”
“No idea,” Simone said miserably. “Maybe he’s a sore loser? Or just vindictive, and I’m a convenient target. I don’t know that it even matters. I just feel terrible that my stupid choices are screwing things up for other people again.”
“Hey,” Charlene said, and sharply. “You look at me. You are not screwing anything up for anybody. This has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with people just being crappy in the world. This is not your fault, and I am not going to let you blame yourself.”
But Simone didn’t look even a little bit convinced. Charlene knew it was pointless, in a way, but she couldn’t help trying. This would be hard on anybody, but to try to sort through a situation like this while also nursing a broken heart seemed like an impossible task. Charlene just wanted to hug her. She wanted to ask about Holt, she wanted to ask about what the hell was still keeping those two apart. But she knew better.
She just wished she also knew how to fix it.
And so, apparently, did Luke. The huge Dom had somehow come back inside—with his shirt on this time, thank God—without interrupting, and now he was watching while he went to the fridge for a snack. Watching quietly but intently, with those Dom eyes that always saw way too much.
“Everything ok?” he asked.
“Yes,” they both said in unison.
Luke didn’t say anything.
“So what are you going to do?” Simone asked, wiping a single tear from under her eye while expertly preserving her makeup.
Charlene could have hugged her. Something practical to focus on, rather than the crazy emotional questions she couldn’t fix and the too-intense Dom watching her while he finished off a carton of milk.
“I set up an appointment for Olivia with Belinda’s Bridal for next week,” Charlene heard herself saying. “It’s where I got my own…well, it doesn’t matter. But maybe I’ll go over there tomorrow, just to make sure everything’s ok. I don’t want to stress Olivia out unless absolutely necessary.”
“Oh, they’re clients of mine,” Simone said. “I can totally help. What time are you going? I can—”
“Oh no, honey,” Charlene said as gently as she could. She didn’t know exactly why, but something deep inside her had spoken up with a big old “NO” as soon as Simone offered. Maybe it was just hard to turn the protective instinct off. But with everything Simone had gone through, there was no way Charlene wanted to expose her to more mess.
“It’s really ok,” Charlene went on. “I can handle it just fine. I don’t want to add anything else to your plate.”
And then, somehow, she felt Luke’s eyes on her.
Charlene looked up. She wasn’t wrong. He was watching her again, more intently than he had been before. Just her. Like he saw something interesting. Something that demanded his attention.
Something that made her feel like she’d just revealed more than she’d intended to.
What on earth did he see?
Charlene spent the rest of the day avoiding Luke and watching Luke, by turns, and in between making calls to every possible wedding vendor in the New Orleans area. She didn’t want either Luke or Simone, who stayed for lunch, to see how worried she actually was—booking a location alone was going to be a nightmare—but she also didn’t want to get used to this feeling. This feeling of having people she liked in her house. Of having a full kitchen. Of…
Well, family.
The last time she’d felt like this it had not ended well. It had been when Jimmy was still around, when she had a bunch of friends—a community of kinky people—who all pretended not to see what Jimmy was. Who all pretended not to see the cheating, or the abuse, or any of it. Charlene knew better than to trust that again.
And then Simone left, and it was just her—and Luke.
Luke, who she remembered from those bad old days with Jimmy. They hadn’t really known each other much back then, because Charlene had avoided Luke as much as possible, because…well, because she was married to someone else, and it was wrong that another Dom could make her feel the way Luke made her feel with just a look.
And now he was here, in her house. Luke Logan bringing this confusing cocktail of safety and danger to her normally completely sober life. He made her feel safe. Protected. Cherished, even. The way a Dom was supposed to make you feel. Until she remembered—and she always remembered—that that was exactly what you couldn’t trust.
He was finishing up outside, in the yard, just as she was putting away all her wedding stuff and getting ready to make dinner. He’d put his shirt back down as it cooled off, so Charlene was pretty sure she’d be able to function like a normal human being.
She hoped.
“Um, I’m making dinner,” she said as he came in the front door.
And then immediately looked down, because that felt incredibly domestic. In an intimate kind of way.
“Good,” he said. “I’m starving.”
Charlene focused on the cutting board in front of her, and didn’t dare look up. If he was looking at her, she’d freeze all over again.
“I put out stuff for the shower in the sunroom,” she said. “By the couch.”
“Thanks.”
Luke’s assistant person had brought over a suitcase and other stuff that morning, and he’d put them all in that little sunroom. Charlene had noticed that he kept everything incredibly organized. Neat. Controlled.
“You somehow put military corners on a couch,” she joked.
There was a silence.
Charlene looked up.
It was so weird how she could feel a change between them, even without looking at him, even without him saying a word. She just knew—something had shifted. Luke’s shoulders were tense. His jaw set. But not at her. It was like he was looking past her, beyond her.
That was it—Luke’s attention was always so much on her, so focused, so present, that she could feel it immediately when he took it away. Like the sun going behind a cloud.
And then it was back, his gold-flecked blue eyes burning into her as he ran a hand through his sweaty hair.
“My father was a military man,” was all he said.
And it was clearly all he was going to say.
Ok, so that was a sore spot.
Charlene watched him as he walked away, up the stairs to the bathroom. She tried real, real hard not to think about Luke in her shower—oh God, no, there was nothing for it, that was an image that would stick—and instead tried to do what she did best: cook.
Cooking was love. It was life. It was the best way she knew to show gratitude.
This dinner would be abso-fucking-lutely amazing.
And it was. No time for anything too fancy, but she could whip up a badass crawfish étoufée given her grandmother’s skillet, some crawfish, and a prayer, and she had a weakness for biscuits and strawberries and cream, and with about sixty focused minutes she turned her kitchen into a heaven for the senses.
Charlene was so focused, she forgot to freak out when Luke came back down and insisted on setting the table. And then he loved her food so much, she forgot to do anything much but watch him eat it.
Charlene was one of those cooks who didn’t feel shy about the fact that she loved it when other people loved her food. She didn’t know what it was, but there was something
about watching someone’s face when they ate her food that just…
Maybe it’s a submissive thing.
That thought startled Charlene so much she practically shot out of her chair.
“What’s wrong?” Luke said, putting the last bite of biscuit in his sauce.
All business. Half out of his chair, already ready to go fight someone for her.
She felt like a fool.
“Nothing,” Charlene said, shaking her head. “Just easily spooked, I guess. Sorry.”
“You’ve had a rough couple of days,” he said. “Don’t apologize.”
Charlene smiled and said, “Yes, sir.”
Oh God.
It was meant to be a joke! A joke. But the second those words left her lips, Charlene could feel it. The air around them charged. Luke’s eyes glowed. Burned into her. Her own traitor body grew warm and restless.
Blinking, Charlene abruptly pushed herself away from the table, looking anywhere but at the hot-as-fuck Dom across from her.
“Time for dessert,” she said.
And heard a low rumble behind her.
Oh God, I did it again.
She fumbled for the fridge door, yanking it open to reveal a bowl of sliced, sugared strawberries and another bowl of whipped cream. She had some cakes already cooled; all she had to do was give the cream a final whipping and assemble. That should be easy. And PG-13, at least. Without risking another look at the nuclear meltdown of hotness on the other side of her kitchen, she set the bowl down and got to work.
“Hope you like strawberries,” she said, her voice a little too strained.
“Love ‘em,” Luke said, and his rumbling baritone came from several feet closer than Charlene expected.
She looked up.
He was right there, not two feet in front of her. Studying her, again.
She put her head back down, and furiously whipped some cream that did not need that much whipping.
Which was how she saw it coming—Luke, dipping his finger in, stealing a dollop of cream with a cocky grin.
And without thinking, Charlene smiled and swatted at him.
“What do you think you’re…”