“I know the feeling,” Beth grumbled. “I still can’t believe mine bribed Nolan to delay our wedding. With wine, no less. Men are so easy.”
Kari laughed. “I can’t believe you took less than two weeks for a honeymoon.”
Beth colored. “It wasn’t as if I got to see much of anything besides the bed anyway.”
Smiling, Kim watched as Dan and his son got to Sam. Sam already had grown children, didn’t he? He smiled at the baby and said something to Dan that made him laugh.
Then Master R reached out, and Dan actually put the baby in his arms. He held the little bundle easily, and a smile flashed in his dark face as tiny fists appeared out of the blanket. He rubbed his knuckles over the baby’s cheek, and Kim remembered how he’d do that with her when he was especially pleased or tender.
As he passed the baby to Dan, he smiled, and maybe only Kim saw the touch of envy. Her heart wrenched when, as the other men had done, his gaze came to rest on her, the heat, the sheer desire so potent that her feet started across the patio. Just because he’d shown her his need.
But he shook his head and turned away, checking the food he was cooking on the giant barbecue.
She halted. He doesn’t want me. Or he doesn’t want to. She wanted to give him everything. Starting with herself. But he didn’t feel the same. She stood in the center of the patio. Needing to retreat. Needing to go forward. Still as torn as she’d been since the night he bought her.
Sam had been talking with Cullen, but he paused. He stared at her for a minute, his face expressionless, then leaned over and spoke to Master R.
Master R’s muscles contracted beneath his thin cotton shirt before he slowly turned. With an unreadable expression, he walked over and stood beside her, pretending to watch Kari. “He’s a pretty baby, no?” He didn’t touch her. Didn’t smile.
“Yes.” She stared at her feet. He’d only said he loved her that one time. Dammit, she shouldn’t have come. This was unbearable. She glanced up and saw the smoldering need in his gaze, like a surge of electricity to her own desire. And then he buried it again.
“Damn you,” she whispered.
He frowned. “Chiquita, what is wrong?” He touched her, the graze of his knuckles, the tenderness exactly as with the baby. This man would never take his loved ones for granted; she knew that right down to the bottom of her heart. He’d cherish and protect, care for with everything in him.
He doesn’t want me though. But she wanted him. And she was tired of trying to make a decision. Let him decide for both of us—hey, that’s what he wants, right? To be in charge?
And suddenly, it was so easy after all. Turning her head, she kissed his fingers and saw him freeze. She let her bag drop to the pavement and slipped down to her knees.
Over the pounding of her heart, she heard a squeak. Jessica.
She pulled her bag closer. It held something she’d cried over, thrown across the room, kissed, hated and cursed, and then cuddled at night. The concrete was hot against her legs. The scent of the ocean hung in the air as she took out the collar he’d given her, the one she’d found on the stairs the night of the auction. The leather was smooth, and she traced her fingers over the words Master Raoul’s gatita.
Am I still?
She laid it over her palms, trying to bow her head but failing. She needed to see his face or she might die. She raised it up. “May I wear your collar, Master?” she asked and heard no sound on the patio at all except the surging of the ocean and the hammering of her heart.
His silence terrified her. For a moment, his eyes kindled as if a fire had lit behind them, and his breath ran ragged. Then his face grew remote… Her Master R had stepped behind his walls. His voice was gentle but firm. “No. I’m sorry, Kimberly. I cannot be your master.”
Like a knife wound, his words sliced through her, cutting open her flesh, driving ruthlessly into her chest. The pain arrived a second later. Her protest escaped before she could think. “But… You wanted this. Wanted me.”
He rubbed his palm over his mouth, his eyes unhappy. “I did,” he said so softly she barely heard him. His voice strengthened. “But it cannot work between us. You don’t want a master. You never did and even less now, after what you’ve been through.”
“I do.”
“Can you be that sure, cariño?” he asked so softly.
She started to say yes, then caught his intent look. “No,” she said honestly and blinked back the tears. “But I’ll regret it all my life if we don’t try. I want to try.” She swallowed. “Master, please.”
He just looked at her, and his gaze filled with pain. “I…can’t. No.”
She bowed her head, trying not to give in to tears. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t cry, no matter what happened.
Master R hadn’t moved. It was up to her to get out of here. Out of his way. Out of his party and his life. Her chest had hollowed out, an aching hole where her heart had been. This was far worse than leaving him before. At least then, she’d had hope.
She put the collar back in her bag, touching it like a tiny being that had died. Her legs didn’t cooperate when she tried to stand.
A hand appeared in front of her face. Not Master R’s thick-boned, powerful hand. This was lean, fingernails groomed, a dark watch on the wrist. She wrapped her fingers around his palm, and the man pulled her to her feet with a graceful strength.
Master Z. When he tucked her into his side, she leaned against him. “Don’t quit yet, little one,” he whispered in her ear.
“Can you see she gets home, Z?” Master R asked. The smoothness and lilt had fled his voice, adding to her sorrow.
“No, I don’t think so, Raoul.”
She started to say she’d get herself home, but Z’s arm around her squeezed the air from her lungs.
Master R’s face tightened, anger shadowing his eyes. “Don’t interfere in what you don’t understand, my friend,” he said, a threat hanging in the air.
“I think I understand quite well,” Z said mildly. “Your marriage left scars. And you don’t want to be hurt again, but this little one keeps doing it. She’s finally made up her mind, but you can’t be sure and aren’t about to risk it again. Unfortunately, she can’t give you a guarantee, especially after everything she’s been through. Do I have it about right?”
She’d hurt him when she’d left? Oh God, she really had. She’d been so stupidly focused on herself, thinking he was self-sufficient. She hadn’t looked at what she was doing to him. “I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, wincing at the misery flickering across his face.
“This is not the place to discuss this,” Master R said tightly. “Take her ho—”
Z smiled faintly. “This is exactly the place. Nothing in life is guaranteed, Raoul.”
“I know that.” Master R’s gaze dropped to her face, unyielding. Unhappy. “Kimberly, I tried living in a relationship without…being who I am. I can’t do that again. And you cannot submit to a master, not after what you’ve been through.”
“But I did. I can.” Yet she wasn’t totally sure herself. This wouldn’t be a limited few days, and she’d already capsized on him once. Why should he trust her? How could he trust her? “Is there,” she said slowly, “a test? A shakedown cruise? Something to prove to us both that it can work?”
She saw his spark of hope flare, then die. He smiled ruefully. “There’s no—”
“Traditionally,” Z said casually, “a submissive is whipped when receiving her collar as a way of showing her submission, her trust in her master.”
Whipped? Her mind went blank, and she tried to pull away from Z.
The iron bar of his arm didn’t release. “You’ve been whipped in front of strangers, little one. Would you like to enjoy one in front of friends—given by your master?”
Whip. A shiver ran through her, and Master R growled, his hand fisting. “Damn you. She can’t—”
So many she cant’s coming from him. I can do anything if I want it enough. Maybe she did want it. Just as Master R had replaced her horrible nightmares of other men by making love to her, now she could replace memories of cruelty with his care. And perhaps create something for them both to fall back on. She’d never trusted him more or felt so close to him as after the fireplay scene. If he wanted her to do this, then she knew she could…and it might help her doubts as well. “Yes, please, Master R,” she whispered. “Yes.”
Silence. “No.”
Catch-22. If she accepted his mastery, then he had the right to say no, but if he said no, then she had no master. She bent her head. “I want the tradition if it pleases Master. I will take any pain you want to give me, take anything you do. We both need an answer.”
Silence. Then a heavy sigh. “This master is going to kill Z.”
Z chuckled. His arm dropped from her, and he simply walked away.
Master R laid his hand against Kim’s face. He studied her, seeing her in the way no one else had ever done. “You would face your fears—bear pain for me—just for a chance to be together?”