by Joey W. Hill
When the doorbell rang, she struggled to compose herself. She wanted to torture him. Surely she could have enough self-control to do that, given how much satisfaction it would give her to see him unbalanced. She sauntered down the hallway with a lot of hip action. Though she knew he could see through the window panel of the front door, she didn't look through it, not brave enough to make eye contact.
Opening the door, she saw he'd worn a sports coat, dress jeans and nice shirt. He'd even brought flowers, yellow daisies, and a bottle of wine.
At her amazed look, he lifted a shoulder. "It's our first official date, after all."
"I'm underdressed."
His gaze coursed over her. She'd opened the door but stepped back from it, letting him open the storm door so she wouldn't be glimpsed by the neighbors. As he shouldered in, a big man filling her foyer, he took her hand, setting the flowers and wine on the side table. His scrutiny was thorough and avid, making her skin heat under his attention. "You wore it."
"You told me to."
She cast her eyes down when she said it. Part of it was an involuntary reaction to his proximity, but she made the conscious decision to keep her gaze down, trying to battle down the butterflies as she did so. D/s permeated his life--training Troy in his store, doing demonstrations in the evening. Was she crazy to try her hand at giving him such an overt submissive cue?
She thought of Sam, how brave she'd had to be to initiate things. But Madison didn't need to take the lead as Sam had with Geoff. Logan lived and breathed Dominant. It wasn't play for him at all, which probably meant she shouldn't be encouraging it.
However, as she tried to bring her gaze back up, she found herself unable to do so, as if her subconscious was stubbornly insisting on the message, inviting his next reaction. He stepped closer and she let herself be backed up against the wall. His hand settled on her waist, the other under her hair, holding her still.
"I put out all the things to cut your hair," she said, apropos of nothing. "If you'd like to do that before the movie."
"You were serious about that."
"Yes." She managed to lift her gaze briefly to his and was held there, breath catching in her throat. "I can tell you prefer it short. I want you to be . . . you."
"All right," he said. A woman with hair that beautiful would have agonized over it, at least a moment. It meant no more to him than shearing a sheep. She rolled her eyes at him.
"But you'll cut my hair without this." Giving her a wicked look, he tugged on the knot between her breasts. When he grazed her nipple with his thumb, she caught her lip between her teeth. "Nothing better than a topless female barber."
"Sounds like another business opportunity."
"Probably been done, but yeah, we could use one around here. Though I'm not suggesting you sign up. I want you as my private hairdresser."
She chuckled at that, but stayed still as he came even closer. She let out a little moan as he imprinted his erection on her thigh, then shifted his stance so it rubbed against that nothing skirt and panties. "You're hot and eager, aren't you?" He nuzzled her hair, ran his hand down her shoulder, her upper arm. "God, you test a Master to the limits. Show me where you're going to cut my hair."
She needed his supportive hand to straighten from the wall. She wanted him, right there, right now. For the first time, she noticed he was carrying a tote slung over his shoulder. Her mind went in a dozen different directions, imagining what he'd brought.
"Where's Troy tonight?"
"Somewhere else."
She bit back a smile. Guiding him to the kitchen, she put the wine on the counter and retrieved a vase from the cabinet. Adding some water before she arranged the flowers in them, she made a note to trim the stems a little later to keep them fresh. It wasn't one of those cheap mashed-together grocery store bundles, but a bouquet that looked arranged by a florist. Amid the grouping of daisies and black-eyed Susans were several pale pink rose buds. She'd have the pleasure of seeing them open up over the next few days.
Turning, she found he'd dropped the tote in a chair and was surveying the kitchen, the trio of "kitchen witch" puppets Alice had kept hung over the sink, the stained glass ornaments that caught the sunlight in the morning. "You haven't changed much yet."
"No. Having it the way she had it makes me feel like she's still here." She fussed with the flowers, fluffing them out, keeping her attention on them. "You were here a lot? I mean, even before she was sick?"
"Yeah. We were friends." His hands closed over her waist, the bare flesh so accessible above the tiny skirt. His thumb slid along the waist band, caught the edge of the thong beneath. "Just friends," he reminded her.
She believed him. Alice had never mentioned him in her letters. Alice always mentioned her lovers. Of course she often mentioned acquaintances or friends, and she hadn't done that with him, either.
He set his jaw alongside her temple, his arms coming around her front, over her chest, as he suddenly held her against him. Not in a sexual manner, but in a way that had her putting her hands over his strong forearms.
"It still smells like her in here," he said.
"I know." She closed her eyes, held on, and realized they were holding each other. "Why didn't she ever tell me about you?"
He was silent a moment. "The first time we met was when Clarence brought her one of our packages. It was the day she opened the store. She brought me the delivery and cake. We talked a few moments about nothing in particular. But when she headed back to her store, she stopped in my doorway, turned and said: 'Madison.'"
He gave a pained half chuckle. "I said something brilliant, like 'What?' or 'Hunh?'"
She could see a faint reflection of his face in the splash guard that ran beneath the upper cabinets. It looked like impressionist art; something that appeared nebulous but held the eye, conveying significant meaning to deeper parts of the psyche. She almost reached out to touch that impression, run her fingers along the wavering lines of his jaw, his hair, but instead closed her hand on his forearm.
"She asked me if her saying the word made me feel anything. Anything at all." Logan chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against her shoulder blades. "I assumed she was one of those harmless, hippie-gypsy, New Age types. I was going to say something casual, like Madison Square Garden, but the way she was looking at me . . . it made me look inside for a real answer to her question. She had a gift that way."
"Yeah, she did." It was sad, how one could say to a stranger what had grated like hell to say directly to the family member in question. An offering of love met with resentment merely because familiarity--or family--bred contempt. "So what did you say? Unless it's part of some secret code she made you promise to take to your grave."
"No." His arms constricted, as if he knew the uncomfortable swells her boat of memory was experiencing. "I said, 'It sounds like a place I'd like to visit and never leave.' Her eyes lit up as if I'd given her the key to the universe. But she didn't explain why she'd asked the question. Not then."
She dropped her hands to the counter, ran her fingers over the sandy-colored granite pattern. He shifted his arms away from her but gripped her waist again briefly, squeezing. "You ready to cut off this mop?"
"It's hardly a mop. You can take a seat in one of the kitchen chairs."
When he withdrew, she appreciated the time he gave her to collect herself before she turned and put the vase of flowers on the table. He was shrugging out of the sports coat, and she took it from him, disappearing into the back guest room to retrieve a rack and hang it up, place it by the door. When she returned, she saw he was looking at the wooden card box she'd left in the center of the table.
"I've been meaning to get that back to you," she said
"You're welcome to keep it, especially if you're finding it beneficial. Did you use it?"
"You know I did."
"Do I?"
"Yes."
His gaze on her sharpened, and he spoke softly, causing another shiver across her skin. "Where?"
<
br /> It was uncanny that she'd known his main interest would be where in this house she'd followed those directions. She made herself meet his gaze, a Master's eyes.
"In the living room. On the floor." Emboldened by what was swirling through her and since he hadn't yet sat down, she sidled up to him, fingering the button on his shirt. "If I'm supposed to take mine off, seems only fair you do the same."
He caught her finger, bit it with a teasing touch of his heated tongue. "The pleasure of being a Master. I don't have to be the slightest bit fair. Stop flirting and cut my hair, woman."
"Brave words for a man letting me get close to him with scissors." She tossed her hair. "Didn't Alice tell you I gave her a mohawk when she was fourteen? Including a purple dye job? Our mother about murdered us both."
"I'll take my chances." He eyed her. "If you're angling for a spanking, you'll get far more than you bargained for. I'd beat you with a knotted rope end. It wouldn't be pleasant in the least."
On the contrary, she expected he could make it equally pleasurable and painful. Though now she was wondering how a girl went about angling for a spanking. The idea of bending over his lap made her hot all over.
She decided she'd better behave. For the moment. When he took a seat in the chair, she tucked the small hand towel under his collar and then picked up the cape and settled it around him, enjoying the act of smoothing the fabric over his broad shoulders. "Your female patrons aren't going to thank me for this. One of them calls you Fabio."
He gave her a mildly horrified look. "If I'd known that, I would have chopped it off much sooner, no matter how much Alice said you'd like it."
"She meant it as a compliment. I get a lot of interesting conversations about you in my store."
"Same goes. Want to compare?"
"Let me guess. A few suggestive grunts about my rack? An academic analysis of how much they'd like to grab my ass?"
"It's like you're reading my mind."
She chuckled. "The women are more articulate. Somewhat. It's fascinating, how so many of them pick up on your 'Master' vibe. Especially when most of them are very much beginners in that area. More feelings than knowledge."
"It's about feelings far more than knowledge," Logan reminded her.
She wasn't going to analyze that, not when she was already aroused and overwhelmed by his proximity. She decided to make a sharp right turn before the subject took her to the deep end.
"When they're shopping with other women, they're braver. They'll talk about you and Troy pretty openly. A couple of them have some interesting male/male fantasies about you."
He gave her a pained look. "You don't have to go into detail on those."
She laughed. "Why are straight men so funny about that? When you care for Troy, you don't seem to have the slightest problem touching him."
"It's like being a doctor, caring for a patient. I'm pretty sure my doctor has no fantasies when he's asking me to cough. If he does, I'm switching health care providers."
"That's different, and you know it." She paused, considering. "Troy says it arouses you, dominating anyone, man or woman. It really doesn't matter who, does it?"
"You're fishing. We've had a discussion about that." Reaching back, he caught her wrist, drew her around to his side. "You've started working on my hair, but you're not dressed for it." He gave the white top a meaningful look.
"It's not concealing much as it is," she hedged.
"No, it's not. I approve fervently. Take it off."
The words came with a wash of heat, direct from the cinders in his brown eyes. His grip on her wrist stayed there as her lashes lowered. She heard the slide of his breath, like the sound of steam escaping a dragon's nostrils.
She untied the knot between her breasts. She kept her eyes on the task, because she couldn't hold his gaze when he had that look, or when she was obeying such an astounding command.
Take it off.
She slid out of the shirt, her nipples peaking further in the open air, and draped it on another kitchen chair. Though she kept her gaze down, she could feel the heat of that dangerous dragon as Logan studied her breasts. He was right. With him sitting and her standing, her curves, the jutting nipples, were pretty much there at his eye level. She hoped she didn't mess up his hair because of lack of coordination.
"Are you trying to distract me from discussing my customers' male/male fantasies?" she asked.
"How am I doing?" He tugged the edge of her skirt, a playful move, but then straightened and faced forward so she could proceed. Taking a steadying breath, she freed his hair from the clip, spreading it out on his shoulders. Though his hair was beautiful, she could already imagine how a shorter style would enhance the severe planes of his face, the intensity of those brown eyes. He'd look even more intimidating and tempting at once.
"Buzz cut, right?"
He gave her a sidelong look. "Haven't had one since the military, but I can do that, if it's easiest."
"I think I can give you a little more style than that, never fear." She started combing it out, following the comb with her fingers. When her lingering touch and deeper strokes made him close his eyes, it gave her another idea. After a brief hesitation, she set aside the comb and used both hands to give him a scalp massage. When Madison had cut Alice's hair, as well as their mother's, she'd always done that as part of the process. She definitely wasn't turning down any justification to bury her fingers in Logan's thick mane.
His resulting grunt of approval amused her. Apparently, everyone loved having their head stroked and rubbed, even a big tough guy. Maybe it went back to early memories of a mother's nurturing care. Of course, she seriously doubted Logan harbored any mommy fantasies. Thank God.
Relationship number two, Phineas, should have come with a pacifier and a blankey, since he basically let her take care of everything for him. With a name like Phineas, she should have known he was an overly coddled mama's boy, looking for a replacement.
And yet, she obviously wasn't it, because he left her, too.
Stop it, Madison. You've got a hot male in your kitchen and you're half naked. Why the hell are you dwelling on things that will fuck everything up?
"All right, no male/male fantasies." She cleared her throat, picked the comb back up. "But I am going to tell you all about the mooning and swooning."
"Mooning and swooning? You're exaggerating."
"One woman said every time she goes into your store, she fantasizes about you coming up behind her while she's looking at merchandise. When you reach forward to pluck whatever she's considering off the wall, you step right up against her. And that means other things would be pressed up against her, and she starts moving her hips, and you cup her breasts . . ."
"She did not tell you all of this." He turned his head against the pull of the comb to give her a censorious look. As well as to give her bare breasts another quick appraisal. She tugged his hair.
"You have to keep your head still when I start cutting," she said primly. "Else you really will have that mohawk."
He reached back, felt what she was doing now. "Why are you braiding it?"
"Because the fall is long enough that we can donate it to Locks of Love. That's what Alice and I did when we cut ours. It was all the way to our hips. If it's over a certain length, you can braid it and send it to them, and they'll use it for cancer patients who've lost their hair." Belatedly, she realized she should have found out if he was okay with that, but she needn't have worried. He glanced over his shoulder, giving her a thoughtful look.
"How did you get your customer to tell you her fantasy?"
Uncertain about his shift of topic, she shrugged uncomfortably. "She didn't tell me all that, not at first. I just encouraged her."
Logan snorted. "Figures."
"It increases the rapport, which increases sales," she defended herself. "Alice said people would tell her things they wouldn't even tell their therapist. But it's more than that. It's fun to share. I get as much out of it. You know how much Alice
liked to connect with people. I think the way she set it all up--the stock, the music, the colors and lights, the scents--was meant to do that. They all reflected . . . her."
Her gaze slid over the whimsical kitchen witches, the stained glass. She knew most of the places Alice had bought them, had been with her for some of them. When she hadn't been, Alice shared anecdotes about the shopkeepers, tidbits about the adventure that surrounded the find. For Alice, shopping was as much of an adventure as a storybook, and she related it that way in her letters and phone calls, taking Madison on the journey.
She had to stop, fight back the surge of emotion. Oh hell, she was going to fuck up this date anyway. Even though logically she knew several months wasn't that long to grieve, she should be able to control this. At least enough that the timing wasn't so appalling. She put her hand on Logan's shoulder, fingers curling as he tensed. "No, don't turn around. Just give me a moment. I don't want to spoil tonight."
He ignored her, probably because her voice cracked. He turned himself and the chair, settled his big hands at her waist, and lifted her so she straddled him. He slid his arms around her, bringing her close enough she could lay her head alongside his, curl her arms around his shoulders and be held. Her bare breasts were against the cape, which wasn't so intimate, but his arms enfolding her bare back and waist, fingertips curved under her buttocks in the short skirt, were entirely there.
He didn't do things in half measures, and she reluctantly appreciated that. She didn't cry. Not outright. Held in the hard grip of loss and grief that made everything so difficult to release, she only managed a sniffle and short sob. Yet as she shattered on the inside, he held together the outside, making sure she didn't crack into a hundred pieces.
"I should have visited more in the last two years," she whispered.
"Why didn't you?" His deep voice vibrated through her as his lips brushed her ear.
"Because I was angry. At the whole world, but especially her, because she had it all figured out and I kept fucking everything up. Then she died with me holding her hand and none of that mattered. It was like a skin that just dropped off, everything I'd built up before unimportant." She sighed, pressed her face hard against the side of his, then pushed back from him, sliding off his lap. When he let her circle behind him, she was glad he didn't ask for more. He even gave her a few moments of silence while she secured the braid at the bottom as she had at the top.