Chapter 3 #2
“You aren’t with anyone else.” He could fix that at least. Pick up a sub from the club and—he grimaced—probably end up with another problem. Here he’d thought Cynthia a good choice since, with her wealth, his money wouldn’t be a draw.
As he tucked his shirt into his pants and the movement pulled at the tape on his back, he stilled, remembering the little submissive who had applied the dressing. Maybe one simple solution would solve all his problems.
Mac waited by the door of the family room, relieved when she heard Fontaine’s footsteps approaching. It had taken him long enough.
He nodded to her as he entered the room. After crossing to the tiny bar, he poured a glass of wine and then tilted his head, asking silently if she wanted some.
She shook her head. This was no social occasion.
He picked up his glass and moved over to flip a switch on the fireplace. Flames sprouted under the logs, then caught, and within a minute a fire blazed, giving off both heat and a false sense of comfort.
Why was he bothering with all this?
He took a seat in one of the dark leather chairs. Leaning back to watch her with an unreadable gaze, he held his glass of red wine in one big hand, his lean fingers gentle on the delicate crystal.
Mac frowned. Those hands on her body hadn’t been gentle at all. Time to get this over with and get out of here. She held her head high and marched forward. “Mr. Fontaine,” she said in a cold voice, stopping in the middle of the room.
His lips quirked. “‘Alex’ will do for now.”
For now? What did that mean? “Once again, I’m sorry for my actions. The room upstairs is clean, and I’ll just get out of your life now.” The thought sent anxiety like ice trickling down her spine.
“Sit down.”
“Listen, I—”
He pointed to the chair across from him.
She walked to the chair, a little startled at her compliance.
Her usual reaction to an order was defiance, not obedience.
When her tender butt made contact with the cushion, she sucked in a breath.
A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes.
If she could have laid hands on anything throwable, she’d have heaved it at him. “What do you want to talk about?”
His fingers rubbed his lips as he studied her, in no hurry to answer her question. In fact, he appeared totally at ease in this awkward situation.
Another reason to hate him. She might be a confident vet, but in social situations she bumbled around like a badly trained puppy.
Turning her gaze away, she held her clammy hands out to the fire and then realized how badly her fingers shook.
New plan: fold hands in lap, lean back in chair, meet the man’s eyes, and be polite. Piece of cake.
“The information from Exchanges stated you wanted to trade places to save money while you job hunt,” he said finally. “I have the impression that leaving my home might prove more than just an inconvenience for you.”
Her breath caught at the accurate blow. She laced her fingers together.
“That’s not your problem,” she said stiffly.
But God help her, it was hers. All those interviews that she’d set up.
Several clinics still needed to call her with dates and times.
“If someone calls… Um… Tomorrow I will call and give you a number… Could you please…” Her voice trailed off. How could she ask him for anything?
“I could, perhaps, be persuaded to let you stay here with me,” he said softly.
Her eyes closed as nausea whirled inside her. For a moment, one horrible moment, she actually considered giving in to his pressure tactics. Tacky motel rooms and dark alleys. Being used.
She rose. “Forget it. I’m not a prostitute.” Never, ever again.
His shrewd gaze dropped from her face to her fisted hands.
“MacKensie,” he said in an even voice. “I’ve never paid, traded, or bargained to have sex with a woman.
I’m too old to start now. Sit down.” The command had a touch of the whip this time, and her knees dropped her in the chair before she had a chance to think.
She rubbed her hands on her jeans and frowned. If he didn’t want sex with her, then what did he want? And why did his voice give her quivers inside?
“So?” she managed to say, striving for a hint of defiance and failing miserably.
“You need a place to stay during your interviews.” His eyes seemed too blue, too intense. “Am I correct?”
How much did she want him to know? Would admitting this make her more vulnerable? “It would be useful,” she ventured.
Elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers, contemplating her over the top. “I have a problem with just letting you go and not warning Exchanges or the community about your behavior. And I don’t know you well enough to assure myself it won’t happen again.”
Oh no. The iron in her spine started to fold. All her worst fears…but why had he said persuaded? “So you suggest what?”
“An exchange of sorts. I would let you stay here, and unless you prove to be untrustworthy, will not speak about your behavior.”
“What do you get in return?”
“Let me explain. Over the past month, I took a submissive to a few parties and a BDSM club and then stopped calling her. She apparently has become…fixated on me, and nothing I’ve said has deterred her.
She feels that since I haven’t taken on anyone else, it’s just a matter of time before I return to her.
I think if I appear to be in a relationship, she will give up and move on. ”
Mac stared at him in disbelief. Rich, handsome, exuding a power that should have women buzzing around him like flies. “You want a girlfriend?”
His deep laugh went through her skin and squeezed her chest. “Absolutely not. I want the appearance of a girlfriend. A submissive lover, to be exact.”
“Me?”
He nodded. “Perhaps we can solve our problems together in this way.”
“No way.” She shook her head. What a horrifying thought.
“You have an interest in BDSM.”
“No, I don’t,” she said automatically.
His brows drew together, and his blue eyes darkened as if a rain cloud crossed the sky. “MacKensie, the first thing a sub learns is not to lie to her Dom.”
“I’m not your sub.” Just the thought sent chills through her.
She’d seen the way the Doms in the clubs treated their subs, handling them as if the subs had no say over their bodies.
She shivered. This man would be no different.
Yet she could still feel his arms around her, how he’d held her against him.
“The thought of being my sub appears to frighten you,” he murmured, “as well as arouse you.”
“Right,” she said sarcastically. Like she even knew what arousal felt like? Sex was always for the guy, not the girl. She scowled when his gaze dropped to her chest. “That’s not true.”
“You may not want to acknowledge it, but your body is interested. And aroused.” As if aiming a pistol, he pointed a finger at her chest.
She glanced down at her tits and frowned. Under her thin bra and T-shirt, her nipples blatantly poked out. Aroused? Me? And yet her body did feel different, as if her skin had become more sensitive all over. This is just not happening. “I’m not going to have—to fuck you. Forget it.”
He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine, reining in his overpowering presence and giving her a chance to breathe. “Ah. You’re uncomfortable with the idea of sex. Perhaps we can work around that. What if”—he smiled slightly—“no fucking were involved?”
“Let me get this straight. I’d follow you around, looking all wussy—with no sex—and you’d let me live here for the next two weeks and wouldn’t destroy my reputation.”
One eyebrow tilted up. “Nicely put. However, I’d expect true submission from you, MacKensie.” He rested his forearms on his thighs and pinned her with a stare. “That’s quite different from being wussy. That’s giving control to me—control over everything for certain occasions.”
The room felt awfully hot, and her heart raced as if she’d run laps for an hour. “What occasions?”
“When at my club. At any party I take you to. Whenever we’re with my friends.”
Not all the time, then. Could she let him boss her around for two or three hours?
With sex out of the picture, this might be doable.
A trickle of hope eased the tightness of her stomach.
But all that control. She tried to remember what had happened in the BDSM clubs.
Oh frak. “No whipping or any of that stuff, right?”
He leaned back. “I have a list we’ll go through together. But I will expect you to bend over backward to please me, so unless there’s something on it that is past your endurance…”
With a mighty yawn, Butler stood up and wandered over to sit next to Fontaine’s feet and laid his big head in the man’s lap. Mac watched as the lean hands ruffled the dog’s ears, scratched under the collar, and then stroked Butler’s side. The dog’s tail thumped against the floor.
She frowned, feeling a tug at her heart and a decrease in her wariness. Could anyone who loved that ugly mutt be all bad? Don’t be stupid, Mac. Even mass murderers adored their pets. And yet… No sex, her reputation undamaged… Ack, her reputation. Dear Lord, she couldn’t do this.
“What?” he asked, even though she hadn’t said anything.
“I plan to start a life here, work here. Being your…whatever… It’s too… I can’t afford to damage my reputation.” And God, she knew how important that was.
“Ah. A fair concern.” He nodded. “I will not ask you to”—his flashing grin was devastating—“act as my whatever anywhere except with a few discreet friends or at Chains, which is a private club. Anonymity is part of the contract, and the members value their reputations.”
Well. But could she really do this? “A trial period?” she offered.
He nodded. “Fair enough. Tell you what. If you do a really fine job and Cynthia gives up, I’ll make some calls and shove some influence your way.”
Oh sure, like Mr. Big Shot would know the vet community. “Thank you,” she said politely.
Chuckling, he rose. He gave her his hand and pulled her to her feet.
“The foundation I oversee helped start both of the county’s no-kill shelters and the city’s feral-cat program.
Once a year we sponsor a fund-raising dinner and dance to benefit all the pet charities in the area.
As it happens, the dance is in two weeks, and just about every vet in the city attends. ”
Her mouth dropped open. This was just what she needed. Oh God, could this possibly work?