The Connaghers Series Boxed Set

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  It was much easier to concentrate on the surgical scars than soak in his bare chest. Gently, she probed his knee with her fingers, noting the swelling and soreness each time he tensed. She risked a glance up at his face.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Mal, I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up and set the phone on the bench beside him.

  Before he could interrogate her, she asked in her most professional voice, “ACL and MCL tears, right? How many surgeries did you have?”

  “Two, with a third on the horizon if things don’t improve.”

  She wrapped her hands around his upper thigh and firmly drew his leg through her fingers, over his knee and down his calf.

  On a low groan, he dropped his head back against the wall.

  “Too much?”

  “Hell, no. I can stand it harder if your hands are up to it.”

  She repeated the long strokes, concentrating on the deep tissues above and below his knee to work out all the knots that had built up over time. Think of him as a patient, not as a man you’ve dreamed about for months.

  After a good fifteen minutes, he asked, “Where did you learn how to do this?”

  His voice sounded thick and mellow, his muscles melting beneath her hands. What she wouldn’t give to give him a full body massage. “I took a sports injury class at a highly recommended massage school.”

  “My knee has never hurt this good before. You’ve got magic hands, baby. I don’t remember anything on your resume about certification.”

  She felt her cheeks heating, so she concentrated on her work. “I never worked as a massage therapist. Just a hobby, I guess.”

  He leaned forward and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up to his. His fingers were gentler than when he’d touched earlier. Even his eyes were softer, and hot enough to melt her into a puddle. “You took that class for me.”

  “A hunch,” she admitted. “If you lie down I can do a better job.”

  He studied her for long seconds while her heart lodged somewhere in her throat. With a wide, startling smile, he set his phone on the floor and stretched out on the bench, shifting to get his long frame comfortable. She didn’t fail to note that he kept the towel he’d used on his hair strategically placed across his lap. “Well, then, I’d better think real hard about the best way to thank you.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she stood and moved to the foot of the bench. “Getting my hands on your body is reward enough, sir.”

  “V,” he replied in an easy voice. “Or Victor, I don’t care which. I might be a Master, but I really don’t care for all the formalities. I’m not interested in a slave relationship.”

  With firm, deep strokes, she rubbed her thumbs down the top of his knee to the back on both sides, using cross friction against those sore tendons. “What are you interested in?”

  “You, whatever that means.”

  Ducking her head a little, she concentrated on his knee. After meeting his ex-girlfriend, she had her doubts.

  As though he read her mind, he said, “I apologize for not telling you about Kimberly. She means nothing to me.”

  She worked her hands up higher, kneading his quadriceps. “She wants to be on the show with us, along with Ryan.”

  “I couldn’t care less. If you don’t want her there, tell them both to forget it with my blessing.”

  “Why me?” She bit her lip and flicked her gaze up to his face to check his reaction. He had closed his eyes and his mouth was soft, his lips barely parted. She’d never seen his face so fully relaxed before. He could almost be asleep. Good, maybe he didn’t hear my insecurities blurted out like a teenager.

  “Did you see my picture at Silken?”

  She shuddered at the memory. Not asleep, then. “Yes.”

  “I should have demanded they give it to me instead of letting them keep it in their office like some sort of holy display.” He blew out a disgusted breath that made her lips twitch. “Which Victor was in that picture: the CEO of a sexy cable channel or the sadist?”

  His thigh was heavily muscled from the years of physical therapy he’d invested to rehabilitate his knee. Dark hair sprinkled across his skin, matching the thin line of hair that led up his ridged abs to the darker patch on his chest. She licked her lips and thought about pressing her face between his pectorals. Would he allow her to breathe in his scent and rub her face on him? “You were all Master V.”

  Softly, he whispered, “What did you see in my eyes?”

  She clenched her thighs, trying to calm the need burning through her body. She ached, desire humming in her so loudly she was surprised he didn’t hear it like a siren call luring a ship to its doom. “Hunger.”

  “That’s why you’re here with me now. Ryan and Kimberly think that picture is just a sexy photograph done as an old-time Western. They don’t see the real me in that picture.” He paused, waiting until she looked back into his face. His eyes bored into her. Even lying flat on his back with a swelling knee, he possessed the commanding presence of an emperor. “They don’t see the man who aches to use that crop on you until you beg me to stop.”

  “I won’t,” she choked.

  His eyes narrowed and he tensed beneath her hands. His breathing rasped loud in the silence. Blistering coldness flooded over her, along with a sense of his withdrawal.

  Quickly, she explained. “I won’t beg you to stop.”

  The tension bled out of him, but he closed his eyes, and his voice was gruff. “You will, baby. You will.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to make that judgment.” Leaving his knee, she moved to the opposite end of the bench. She sank trembling fingers into his hair, seeking his scalp. He made a low purring sound and tipped his head back into her caress, so she swirled her fingertips along his temples. She drew her fingers back in firm strokes, as though she could pull out every last bit of tension and pain that lingered in his magnificent body.

  “Every time I go home, Mama threatens to have my brother hogtie me so they can give me a proper hair cut.”

  “Don’t you dare,” she growled out.

  He arched a brow at her but didn’t open his eyes. Afraid she’d overstepped her bounds with him, she changed the subject. “You should ice your knee tonight to keep the swelling down.”

  “Hand me my cell. I’m lucky I didn’t fumble it when you tackled me.”

  Blushing furiously, she handed him his phone. “I did not tackle you. I pushed you to get you off your knee. You’d already strained it enough.”

  He leaned up on his right elbow and typed in a text message. “I’ll ask Léon to bring up some ice packs and bandages, if you’ll be so kind as to help me wrap it.”

  “Of course.”

  He set the phone aside and stretched back out on the bench. His eyes smoldered, but a faint smile played about his lips. “Now you have approximately five minutes to kiss me before we’re interrupted. This is your chance to taste me without me trying to bite a hunk out of you.”

  If she thought it amusingly fair to keep him off balance, then the least he could do was surprise her in return. Unbelievably mellow after her strong, deep massage, he hadn’t felt this relaxed in years.

  Shiloh Holmes had accomplished the unthinkable: she’d wrung lighthearted teasing out of the sadist.

  She eased around to his side and trailed her fingers across his face to lightly stroke his lips. “Maybe I’d like for you to bite a hunk out of me.”

  “Promises, promises.” He quirked his lips into a wide smile the likes of which his face hadn’t seen in years. He’d forgotten how much fun sensual teasing could be. He was usually too aggressive to even think about a joke. “Time’s a ticking. Léon is most efficient in his duties. The only thing that may delay him is whatever concoction he has bubbling on the stove for dinner.”

  She leaned down to hover over his mouth. Her warm breath sighed out against his face. He smelled the sweetness of her scent, no heavy cloying perfume but a hint of sage that made her smell as green and fresh as t
he outdoors. Their lips just inches apart, his heartbeat thudding like a bass drum inside his skull, he waited for her to close the distance.

  He knew she expected the Master to reach out and take control. He was curious how she’d react if he made her close the distance between them. Would she suspect him of some trick? Or would she be too shy to take what she wanted from him? Too hesitant because of her natural submissive inclinations?

  She locked her mouth over his. She inhaled his lips, her hunger as great as his own. He felt her desperation, the endless ache swelling within her. Emptiness, loneliness, and yes, the deep, raw need to wallow in pain, to let its molten heat blaze through her.

  A need that would lure him to the dark side.

  He opened his lips and she surged deeper, groaning against him. Her thumbs tugged at the corners of his mouth, urging him wider, trying to prod him into taking control. Fisting his hands, he fought down the urge to do exactly that. He wanted to give her a nice, safe kiss while he was able. They’d never have another first kiss, and he didn’t want her memory of it to be pain and darkness.

  Sucking on her tongue, he drew her deeper. God, he could drink her down, drain her dry, and still crave her taste. He raked his teeth over her tongue, reminding her of his threat, and it took every ounce of control not to sink his teeth harder and punish that tongue for daring to invade his mouth—so he could suck her deep again.

  Sliding her hands down his neck, she gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer, silently begging him. She made a little sound that sounded suspiciously like a sob. And then her teeth sank into his bottom lip.

  Growling, he clamped his left hand on the back of her neck and jerked her down so she fell against his chest. Yet she didn’t let go of his lip. Splinters of pain fired through his veins, pumping blood harder, faster through his body. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, too, because she gnawed harder, rubbing her teeth against that tender flesh while her tongue teased from the other side.

  He shifted his head and used his tongue to trap her upper lip in his own teeth. Now they were like two snarling dogs fighting over a bone, only to realize they’d latched on to each other instead. He rolled to his side and jerked her down, forcing her head lower than his, her body low to the floor.

  A knock at the door froze him. Breathing hard, he released her lip, and she let him pull his free. He tucked her face up against his shoulder, holding her close. “Thank you, Léon. Just leave them there. Shiloh will assist me.”

  “Certainly, sir. Dinner is ready when you are. I need to leave by seven thirty tonight.”

  “Understood.” Disappointment warred with relief. He’d planned to ask Shiloh to stay and eat with him, but if his assistant needed to leave, he didn’t want her here alone with him tonight. Not after that kiss. He didn’t trust himself not to chain her to his bed, the world—his cable channel’s season and her show—be damned. He joked to keep the mood light, “Watch out Dallas, Léon has a hot date.”

  “I wish.” His assistant laughed, his voice fading as he returned down the hallway. “Feel free to send a hot young man my way!”

  She clutched Victor’s neck, shaking against him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I know you meant to be careful, but it wasn’t enough.”

  “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

  She shook her head and burrowed lower, sliding her nose deeper into his chest. “I can’t.”

  He laughed ruefully and sat up, drawing her with him. “I wouldn’t want you nearly as badly if you did. You’re quite the challenge, Shiloh.”

  Sitting back on her heels, she regarded him intently. “Is that a good or bad thing?”

  He smiled again to let her know how very much he appreciated the challenge. “It’s a terrible thing for my sanity. It’s going to give me very little sleep, lots of cold showers and long, exhausting workouts. Otherwise, it’s an excellent thing. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

  She dipped her head and peeked up through her lashes in a very submissive posture that still managed to convey audacity. Evidently she’d seen through his thin attempt to politely screen his erection because she eyed the towel with interest. “I could help you with some of that.”

  Groaning, he averted his gaze from her tempting mouth. “Gather up the supplies outside the door so I can get you out of here intact.”

  Immediately she stood, went to the door and returned with a stack of ice packs and elastic bandages. “And then what?”

  “You’re going to ice my knee and allow Léon to escort you to your car or whatever transportation you use to go home.” She opened her mouth to object so he gave her the Master’s look that silenced her. “If he could stay awhile, I’d let him act as your chaperone so we could eat together, if you were free.”

  Her tongue flickered up to touch her upper lip that still bore red indentations from his teeth. “For you, I’m free.”

  7

  V’s Gift Blog:

  Call me crazy, but I think I finally have an answer to my dilemma.

  After months of my boss treating me exactly like every other employee, I’ve decided that I need a way to approach Him and express my interest—without Him calling security or having me committed to the insane asylum.

  Finally, it came to me. Without giving away too many details—after all, this is an anonymous blog—His company deals with television shows. So…what better way to approach Him than through television?

  Think about it. Reality shows are all the rage. Why not have a BDSM reality show? Surely in this big wide sexy world there are other similar shows so I could still hide behind my anonymity. It would be the perfect way for me to say, “Are you interested in playing with me?” Of course, I’m hoping He’ll say something like, “That depends, baby, on how hard you like to be whipped.”

  I don’t know if He uses a whip or a crop, chains or latex or other dungeon shit. I don’t care. I’ll try anything He’s into. This show would give me the perfect opportunity to not only advance my career but approach Him in a safe and non-threatening way.

  There’s just one problem: I’ll have to devise a show that He’ll actually want to participate in. No, that He feels compelled to win, and I intend to be His prize. After all, I’m V’s Gift.

  On their brand-new set for America’s Next Top sub, Shiloh had never felt sexier. The outfit wasn’t exactly historically accurate, but from the darkness burning in Victor’s eyes, she’d accomplished her purpose. She wore a short muslin shift barely more than a tank top with a white corset over the top, lifting her breasts and pushing out her booty. To make the scene as sexy as possible, she wore white lacy high-cut panties that disappeared beneath the corset. Without any skirt or petticoat, her ass was barely covered enough for cable TV.

  Delicate pink stockings encased her legs to mid-thigh, tied with white ribbons, and she wore heels elaborately covered in sparkling crystals. Sweeping white feathers formed her mask, swan wings to frame her face and conceal most of her hair. She didn’t think her own mother would recognize her.

  Victor wore tall gleaming riding boots and black jodhpurs that concealed the protective brace on his knee. His shirt was plain white linen, loose and open at the neck with billowing sleeves tied at his wrists. She hadn’t dared ask, but he’d opted to leave his hair loose, glossy black and tousled about his shoulders. Black wings covered his face except for his mouth and eyes, sweeping tight to his head and down to his shoulders.

  Of course, the Master’s look was completed with his crop.

  She stared at that crop and her stomach turned to cold, hard lead, even while a rush of liquid warmth flooded her veins.

  “What’s the set up?”

  The distant, reserved tone of his voice helped her focus on the show, and not the Master. “This is the opening shot that will play at the beginning of every single episode. We didn’t want to associate our show with Silken every single time, so we chose a basic neutral shot here.”

  “Good.” He gave a curt nod, ba
rely meeting her gaze. “Where do you want me?”

  It felt strange to give him orders, but he’d made her show runner. This was her idea. She wanted it to succeed on multiple levels, not the least of which was her career.

  She directed him to sit in a simple wooden chair with the crop in his lap. “The scene opens with you cleaning and preparing your equipment. The light will be focused on you, casting the rest of the area in shadows. When you’re satisfied with the gleam on the leather, stand up. The lighting will slowly brighten to show me at your feet, waiting for your attention. We need a few minutes of Master/slave play.” Her throat tightened, making her voice gruff. “Your choice.”

  “Excellent.” He smiled, and it was far from the mellow ease last night as he groaned beneath her hands. This man couldn’t wait to bring that crop down on her flesh. “I always thought we should eroticize the cleaning and care of our tools.”

  Mal snorted. “I think your tool gets plenty of care, V.”

  Chuckling, he spread his knees wider and picked up an oiled cloth. “Not yet.”

  He met Shiloh’s gaze and her nerves zinged as though she’d been electrocuted. He pointed the crop at the floor to his right. He didn’t have to say a word. From the tip of his smallest finger to the soles of his boots, the Master commanded her to kneel at his feet.

  That quickly, she slipped fully into the role of his submissive. The show meant nothing. This was their first scene, her chance to give him exactly what she’d been dreaming about. As gracefully as possible, she knelt where indicated and pressed her face to the floor six inches from his boot.

  Cameras rolled, lights blazed into his eyes, but Victor had one thought only: the woman waiting at his feet. He’d never enacted a scene for one of his shows before, although he was no stranger to performances. Sometimes it was hard to ignore the crowd; other times, the audience fed off the scene’s energy and multiplied it, frenzied as though they could feel his lust and power. That’s exactly what he wanted this scene, this entire show, to bring to Dallas.