Dark Citadel
Page 24

“Well. You know the beginner you were with this week? Kari?”
Knife-edged fear tightened his hand on the phone. “What happened? Is she all right?”
A huff of laughter. “Cops. You always imagine the worst. She’s fine. But her car isn’t. It’s in the shop.”
“She called for a ride?” That didn’t seem like the little sub. Unlike most women, she didn’t beg for release until he tormented her to the point where her brain shut off. Very doubtful that she asked for help often, at least for herself.
“No, you idiot. She called to say she wouldn’t be coming. We were planning to meet early, and she wanted me to know.”
“Well, that’s good she called then.” Maybe he’d go tonight then, since she wouldn’t be there to mess with his emotions, to lure him into taking more, giving more than he wanted.
“Oh.” A pause. “Right. It’s good. Sorry to have bothered you.”
Dan frowned. Had Z’s little sub just said “stupid asshole” under her breath?
After pulling back into the heavy traffic, he flipped on the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to Emmylou Harris. The air off the gulf was briny and warm, the sun setting in a clear blue sky. He’d have time for a shower, maybe a fast bite, before leaving for the club.
She wouldn’t be there tonight.
Dan turned the music up louder, ignored the bastard who cut in front of him to make an exit. Tampa drivers terrified the nation: macho Cubans mixing it up with aggressive East Coast drivers tailgating retired snowbirds going twenty miles below the speed limit. Driving was probably the most dangerous part of his job as a cop.
She wouldn’t be on the road; she didn’t have a car. She wouldn’t be there tonight.
Good. Very good. He didn’t need to see her again. Didn’t need any more reminders of her little whimpers right before coming, or the way her hot, soft mouth closed over him, or how her pussy would tighten around him, or—
He slowed to let a bus onto the freeway, breathed in the diesel fumes. Busload of kids, probably some sporting event at the school.
She was a teacher. She’d be a wonderful teacher. He remembered how she’d tried to ease his mind about his carelessness: “I forgive only if I get a kiss to make it all better, Sir.” The tender look in her eyes when she kissed him that first night. And—
Fuck. She just wouldn’t stay out of his head. He pulled off the freeway, flipped open the phone, and punched in the number.
“Shadowlands.” Z’s voice. Good thing it wasn’t Jessica.
“Give me her damn address, you sadistic bastard.”
Chapter Thirteen
Number thirty-three. Dan pulled into the driveway.
The twilight showed a two-story house, sky blue with sparkling white trim. Bright red and white flowers bloomed along the fence with more in pots on the wide porch. Stepping up to the front door, he rang the doorbell.
When light footsteps sounded from inside, Dan berated himself again. He should stay away from her; she deserved better than what he could give. Dammit, he didn’t want anything more from a woman than some mutual satisfaction. Definitely no emotional involvement.
Yet something about her pulled at him. He should never have taken her under command, and he damned well shouldn’t be here today. Fuck, he was an idiot.
Hell, she might not even want to see him. He’d behaved like a real asshole on Wednesday. For the second time. What if she didn’t want to return to the Shadowlands? Or be with him?
He set a hand against the door frame. Only one way to find out. Any Dom worth his leathers could read a sub’s face. He’d soon know if the no-car reason she’d given Z was an excuse.
The door opened, and he had his answer in the big blue eyes.
Surprise, delight, wonder, delight, worry. “What are you doing here?”
He ran a finger down her cheek, unable to keep from touching her. “Jessica said you needed a ride.”
“I… You’re here to take me to the club? Really?”
“Do you want to go?” He watched her face, her open expressions. She was honest, inside and out. Did she know how rare that was? After years on the force, he’d grown cynical, begun to believe everyone lied. But not this little sub.
“Yes. Mostly.” A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “It still doesn’t seem real, like something a person should do. But—” She smiled. “Oh, yes, I want to go.”
“With me?” He tilted her chin up so she couldn’t look away.
The look of longing told him everything he wanted to know even before she whispered, “Yes.”
As satisfaction roared through him, he grinned. To hell with his misgivings. He could manage one more night. “In that case, you need to change. Jeans aren’t allowed, although…” He ran his gaze down her body. Red top displaying ample cleavage and gorgeous shoulders. Jeans so tight he wanted to bite that sweet ass. “I like what you’re wearing.”
Her face lit up. “Thanks.”
“Definitely my pleasure. I could use a shower, if you don’t mind. Jessica caught me on my way home, and I detoured here.”
“Of course.”
“I keep spare leathers in the truck. Let me get those.”
A minute later, he walked into her house and stopped short. A German shepherd blocked his path. As a cop, he approved; as the man planning to strip Kari of those jeans, maybe not. He knelt and held out a hand. “Hey, boy.”
A thorough sniffing later, he had a new friend. Ruffling the dog’s soft fur, Dan said, “He’s a beauty. What’s his name?”
“Prince.”
“Like the musician?”
“Like, someday my prince will come,” she said under her breath, adding aloud, “Something like that, yeah. C’mon into the living room.”
Cops have keen hearing, and the longing in her words struck Dan like a hard punch to his gut. He froze for a moment until Prince nudged him with a cold nose. “Right, dog. I’m moving.”
Escorted by Prince, Dan followed Kari into a living room done in soft pastels with overstuffed chairs and a couch in flowery print. A small white brick fireplace conjured up images of how beautiful Kari would look in the firelight. Tied and helpless and whimpering her need. He shook his head; damn, he was impossible.
“Hello there.” A thin woman in her midtwenties rose when he entered the room. Brown hair, brown eyes, maybe five-six.
“Jennifer, this is Mas…um…Dan,” Kari said, giving him a flustered look.
He crossed the room, stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry for the intrusion.”
Jennifer shook his hand. “No intrusion. I’d just come over to ask Kari for some advice on teenagers.” She grinned at Kari. “I’ll try that and see what happens. Thanks, hon.”
She kissed Kari on the cheek and headed for the front door. “You two enjoy yourselves.” The door shut quietly behind her.
“Well.” Kari glanced at Dan. “My towels are in the dryer. Give me a second.”
While she was gone, Dan prowled around. The right side of the living room led to an old-fashioned kitchen with light oak cabinets to match the big round table and chairs at one end. There was a colorful braided rug on the floor, plants in the window over the sink, the scent of cinnamon in the air. Oatmeal cookies were spread on waxed paper. Flour, sugar, and a bottle of vanilla sat on the counter.
She made cookies from scratch? Unable to resist, he took one. Warm and chewy, it brought back memories of weekends at his grandmother’s house in the country. Like Kari’s home, Gran’s place had been cheerful and filled with friends and family. The contrast with his bleak and lonely apartment was chilling.
“Where are—” Towels over her arm, Kari came around the corner into the kitchen. She tried to frown at him, but laughter lit her eyes. “Bad Master! Those are for the children.”
“And they’re very good.” He touched the dimple that appeared in her cheek as she tried not to smile. “You can call me Dan, you know. Formality can be saved for the club. And sex.” He smiled as she flushed. “Definitely for sex.
“Well, okay. Thank you.” She waved her hand at the counter. “You really can have more, you know. I made plenty. Or can I fix you some supper? Maybe a sandwich?”
A born nurturer. “No. I—” His stomach growled, giving him away.
She laughed and pulled out bread and meats from the refrigerator. “Mustard? Mayonnaise?”
“Just mustard.” He leaned against the door frame, watching her bustle about for him. Marion had rarely cooked; she’d assumed he could get his own meals as well as she could. But they—
“What’s the matter?” Kari touched his cheek with soft fingers. “You look so unhappy.”
“Nothing.” No. The cop was taking a cop-out, and a Dom must be honest with himself. And his sub. “I was thinking about my wife. She didn’t like to cook.”
“Oh.” Kari stroked his cheek with light fingers and then returned to making his sandwich. After a minute, she handed him a plate with his sandwich on it, poured a glass of milk, and led him to the big oak table. “Sit. Eat while I put the cookies away.”