Chapter Fifteen
Gabi"s brain slowly thawed from an icy ball into something functional. Her fingers clenched her crocheted throw to her breasts like a security blanket. Her eyes opened to focus on her bland apartment.
She tried to move. Failed. She frowned down at the thickly muscled arm around her waist, holding her against a hard chest. I don’t know that arm. Marcus"s arms were powerful but leaner. She looked up, past the corded neck, the strong jaw, and into chocolate brown eyes. Not blue. “Master Raoul.”
He smiled at her. “Back with me again? How do you feel?”
What was he doing in her apartment? As her memories flooded in, her breath strangled in her throat. Flogging. Marcus. Questions. The other doms. Her jaw clenched. This dom had stood and watched while Marcus turned her into jelly and interrogated her.
She shoved his arm away and rose, ignoring the weakness in her legs. “I want you to leave now.” Pulling her blanket more tightly around her bare shoulders, she tried to conceal her shivering. Her apartment felt as if someone had set the air-conditioning to thirty degrees, and the chill had gone bone-deep. She might never be warm again.
“Chiquita…”
“Go away.” In her head, she could see her mother"s disapproval at her rudeness. I don’t care.
“You"re still shaking, Gabrielle,” he said.
Raoul had been kind to her. He"d stayed silent on the drive home, not trying to make excuses for Marcus or blaming her for lying to them. Instead he"d held her hand in his big warm one as if to remind her she wasn"t alone. He"d escorted her to her apartment. Once inside, he"d ignored her protests and held her as she had a meltdown.
But her shaking was his fault. Marcus"s fault. The back of her thighs and her bottom stung as if she"d acquired a horrible sunburn and made her even angrier.
She lifted her chin. “I"m fine. You did your job, and I thank you.”
But for what he"d helped with, she might never forgive him.
As if he heard her thought, he winced. “Gabrielle, you realize Marcus only wanted—”
138
Cherise Sinclair
“If you don"t leave right now, I"m calling the cops.” She managed to pick up the phone without dropping it.
He set a business card on an end table, smart enough not to hand it to her.
“Gabrielle, if you need someone—a friend—please call me.” His dark brown eyes held only concern when he added, “Just to talk or for a shoulder to cry on. You don"t have to be the strong one all the time.”
Oh, yes, I do. “Thanks for the offer.” She nodded toward the door.
He left quietly. She locked the door behind him and leaned against it.
What have I done? Brought back, escorted into the apartment, no chance for the kidnapper to get her. Oh, Kim, I’m sorry…
She"d blown her cover. Rhodes would never understand why she"d blurted it all out.
I don’t understand either.
But Marcus had known exactly what he was doing. He"d deliberately worked her into such a wreck she couldn"t control her thoughts, let alone her words. And questioned her. In front of others. His betrayal felt like a gash in her soul, spilling blood with every beat of her heart.
Her knees buckled, and she dropped down onto the thin carpet. Horatio and Hamlet crept out from behind the couch to rub against her legs. “I trusted him,” she told them. Horatio broke into a low purr and set a paw on Gabi"s knee.
Her eyes prickled with tears. “I did. I trusted him. God, I"m stupid.” Even though she"d pretended not to care, inside she"d been sliding deeper and deeper under his spell.
Well, the spell had broken. Wake up, Cinderella. Your glass slippers have shattered and cut your feet. She rose and staggered a few steps. How could a damn flogging turn her muscles into limp noodles? Her legs felt as if they belonged to someone else. Could she even stand up long enough to shower? But she had to. Had to wash away the sticky sweat and arousal, to eradicate his touch and scent.
But hot water and soaping after soaping couldn"t remove her memories of his strong hands, the scrape of his shadowed jaw, his warm breath. As her back and butt and legs burned, she felt again the rhythm of the blows, the slow increase in pain…and need.
Oh God.
After toweling dry, she wiped off a clear spot on the steamed-up mirror, then turned. Pink lines remained from the flogger. Light along her back, darker on her bottom and the backs of her thighs. Nothing was welted or raised. The redness would probably have disappeared by tomorrow.
Yet it seemed like Marcus had marked her…had somehow branded her as his own.
Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir
139
Anger sliced through her, the pain sharper than her stinging skin. Yet beneath it was a terrifying sense of satisfaction—an internal voice that said yes to his marks of possession.
* * *
A clusterf*ck. Marcus leaned back in his home office chair and stared at the white ceiling. Interesting term. What a shame he couldn"t use it in court. The accused stole an M16 and then… Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it was a real clusterf*ck.
The evening had definitely been a clusterf*ck.
Before he and Cullen had left the Shadowlands, Z said he"d explain to the Masters and ask them to keep the investigation secret. With a stab of pity, Marcus had agreed. Z had looked exhausted.
Apparently Marcus wasn"t the only one feeling like he"d kicked a helpless puppy.
Raoul"s report hadn"t helped. The little sub hadn"t cried or fully recovered, but threatened to call the cops if Raoul didn"t leave. Everything in Marcus wanted to go to her, to make sure she was all right. A dom didn"t put a sub in that kind of shape and abandon her.
Guilt weighed like a heavy hand on his shoulders. Despite the fact that he"d done his best with good intentions, he"d screwed up, damaging where he"d only wanted to help.
Damn Z anyway.
Marcus rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock. Four a.m. But he couldn"t sleep. Instead he booted up his computer.
Realizing Gabi probably used a fake name, he"d demanded her correct name from Z. Renard. He typed Gabrielle Renard into the search engine.
The results appeared on the screen. She worked in the FBI field office in Miami. A victim specialist. A social worker, just as Z had said.
After reading for a while, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.
She helped the victims of violence and seemed to mostly work with children and teens. When she"d talked about her murdered friends and her rape, she"d mentioned a man who had—how had she put it?—talked her out of the corner she"d hidden in.
Had he been a victim specialist perchance, the one who started her on this path?
“Get a kindness, pass it on.” That was his mother"s motto. Apparently Gabi lived by it. Mama would like her.
After shutting the computer down, he poured himself a brandy. In his backyard, he took a chair and propped his feet up on another. Above the city lights, the stars shone brightly in the black sky, a comforting assurance that the universe continued on, despite the disasters on one tiny planet. As he watched, a meteor streaked across the sky and fell.
140
Cherise Sinclair
Well, he knew some of the little sub"s past now, and from the articles, she exemplified both dedication and compassion. A softhearted woman. Guilt pressed on his chest. Good job there, Atherton. Jesus, could I have screwed up any more badly?
He watched another bright light fall to its doom on Earth. In the club, she acted like a brat for the killer. It explained her idiotic rebellions like the missing fact in a trial. All those times she"d start to submit, then straighten her shoulders and spit out something outrageous—all pretense. His chest tightened as he remembered how many times he"d punished her. God, how could she ever forgive him?
He"d acted appropriately for what she"d allowed him to know—and realizing that didn"t help at all. How the hell would he make this up to her? During his marriage, his wife had demanded presents, jewelry, flowers after a fight. He dry scrubbed his face, his stubble rasping over his palms. Jewelry wouldn"t fix this.
Nothing would.
In the distance, an emergency siren wailed. Marcus tipped his head back with a sigh. Hard world. He did his best to try to make it a better place. Now to discover he"d hurt someone he"d come to…come to what? Care for? Maybe.
Probably. She"d appealed to him from the beginning, even with her outrageous behavior. Of course, not all that brattiness was acting. Marcus smiled and took a sip of brandy. No, she had a mouth on her.
She"d hidden much of herself, but everything he did know attracted him. Her laughter. “I felt sorry for myself since my wimpy dom can’t catch a snail crossing the sidewalk.” He wanted that laughter in his life.
“They shot my Danny and Rock. I was so mad, and I wanted to hurt them.” So matter-of-fact when she"d told him, as if her loyalty and courage weren"t remarkable.
He tilted his head back, remembering her wistful voice. “You know, he’d buy me romance novels. We were broke, but somehow he’d still find me books.” Such a little thing to mean so much to her. He wanted to be the one to comfort her. To take care of her. He smiled. To buy her romance novels.
But she"d undoubtedly run from him now. What if she didn"t return to the Shadowlands? She might not want to give him a second chance. His mouth tightened, and determination settled inside him with a weight like gravity.
Such a shame that a sub doesn"t always get what she wants.
* * *
On Monday, Gabi rode the elevator in the Clearwater hotel two flights past the FBI agents" floor, then took the stairs back down. Her dread of the coming interview increased with each step closer to the room.
She opened the stairwell door, stepped into the hallway, and trudged across the thick carpeting. She and sleep hadn"t been on speaking terms, and her exhausted body felt as if it was wading through water.
Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir
141
At the door, she hesitated. What could she say? She still didn"t understand what had happened to her last Saturday, so how could she explain it to the agents?
Maybe Master Z had called? But all contact was supposed to go through Rhodes. And she already knew his reaction. Her mouth twisted. When she"d finally reached him late Sunday, he"d completely lost it. “What the hell is wrong with you?
You’re undercover—un-der-co-ver— or doesn’t that mean anything to you? So he f*cked you and you decided to spill everything. What is that—pillow talk?” He"d finished his rant with what she"d expected. “I’m going to have your ass for this.”
Even before she"d called him, she"d known her career in the FBI was over.
Finished. Termini. No one would understand. They"d simply see she"d exposed an ongoing investigation to a whole lot of people. Yeah, serving as a decoy wasn"t her real job; yes, she"d volunteered to do it; but after destroying a covert operation, it wouldn"t matter.
So. I might as well get this over with and then start seriously job hunting. She tugged her T-shirt down—why dress up to get fired?—straightened her shoulders, and knocked on the door.
The door opened, and the big agent, Vance Buchanan, let her in. He wore faded jeans, a blue T-shirt, and beard stubble. He looked her over slowly as if assessing her condition. “Bad week, eh, Gabrielle?”
At the rough sympathy in his voice, tears burned her eyes. She turned her head away and sucked it up. “I"ve had better.”
“I bet. Z gave us a call yesterday.” He pointed toward the L-shaped couch and chairs where Galen waited. “Go sit.”
As she took a chair across from Galen, Vance took a soda from the small refrigerator, opened it, and set the can on the coffee table in front of her.
“Thank you.” Okay, confession time. Rhodes had already told them—God, she just bet he"d told them—but she needed to also. “Some of the Shadowlands Masters learned I"m working undercover. It"s my fault.” She started to pick up her drink and realized she couldn"t swallow past the lump in her throat. Instead she folded her hands in her lap and forced herself to meet Galen"s eyes. “I told them. By accident.
But it"s still my fault. I—”
“Stop,” Galen said, holding up a hand. “I"m not sure I understand your logic.
You have a dom, one experienced enough that Zachary Grayson trusts him with the Shadowlands trainees. He strings you up, drives you straight into subspace, and asks you questions. Why the hell do you think that"s your fault?”
“But—”
“Shut up and drink your soda.” Galen"s baritone was actually kind.
“You don"t blame me?”
“You"ve played a brat too long, Renard. What did I tell you to do?”
Oh hell, that answered one question. The guy was definitely a dom. She picked up the can and took a tiny sip.
142
Cherise Sinclair
Standing behind the couch, Vance leaned his forearms on the back cushions.
“Gabrielle, the sole reason we accepted you as a decoy is because you"re submissive.
You had no defenses against a determined master like Marcus Atherton.” He fixed her with a level gaze. “Am I clear? We don"t blame you in the least.”
She let out the breath that she"d held since…oh, since the day Rhodes went ballistic.
Galen"s brows drew together. “You figured we"d fire you?”
“Seemed logical.”
Vance"s blue eyes turned hard. “Rhodes is an a*shole. He had the contacts to get him assigned to this case and plays the game well enough we can"t justify yanking him off, but do us the courtesy of not thinking we"re complete idiots.”
A gasp of laughter escaped her, and both men grinned.
“Much better.” Galen leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We didn"t ask you here today to ream you out. Quite the opposite. Gabrielle, are you willing to return to the Shadowlands?”
That was so far from what she"d expected that her head spun. “I will. You know I will, but Master Marcus—he knows. He knows I"ve lied to him and been faking it all.”
Vance tilted his head. “Personally I"d say you only fake about fifty percent.
What do you think, Galen?”
“I think sixty-forty, with the weight on the sassy side.”
Her mouth dropped open, and then she glared.
Vance chuckled. “You win. There"s more brat there than fifty percent.”
“And that"s not funny. Did you hear what I said?” Gabi crossed her arms over her chest, less to appear confident than to conceal her trembling hands. “Marcus won"t tolerate me coming back, and even if he did, I don"t want to…to do anything with him. Ever.” She"d trusted him, and he"d taken advantage of her. She shook her head and tried to keep her mind on the subject. “Besides, the other Masters know also.”
“It"s all right,” Vance said. “Z explained it all. The Masters aren"t stupid, and they understand why we kept your identity secret. It won"t be easy for them now.
They"ll have to fight back the need to protect you, not punish you.”
Galen interjected, “But they swore to do their best.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Not the most reassuring thing in the world for you to hear, I"m afraid.”
Go back. Be terrified of a kidnapper. Be punished.
Be with Marcus. Her hands curled into tight balls of dissent. He"d seen her at her most vulnerable and taken advantage of it.
“I"ll go to a different dom?” Could she bear having someone else in charge of her? She bowed her head, watching her knuckles tighten. I don’t have a choice.
She"d woken before dawn covered in sweat from another nightmare about Kim Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir
143
being whipped. Her screams had dug into Gabi"s mind until she could hear them echoing off the walls of her apartment.
A tap sounded on the door, and she raised her head.
Galen glanced at his watch. “Damn lawyers are way too punctual.”
“This is your decision, Gabi,” Vance said over his shoulder as he crossed the room. “We"re going to let you two work out how you want to handle it.” He opened the door.
Master Marcus stepped in. He glanced around. Then his gaze zeroed in on her like a targeting control in a video game.
Every blood cell in her body leaped in joy until she remembered what she"d done. What he"d done. The joy fractured and died, leaving her with the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue.
“Marcus,” Galen said, rising. He held his hand out. “I"m glad you could make it.”
“Galen.” With his silent grace, Marcus walked over to shake hands, then nodded at Vance before turning his gaze back on Gabi.
She couldn"t meet his eyes. The lethal blue color hadn"t changed from when it had filled her world like a desert sky. And his voice—soft and deep, so different from the sound he"d made when she"d told him she was FBI. Like he"d been stabbed.
She concentrated on picking up her soda gracefully, although from the way her stomach churned, she sure didn"t need a drink.
Vance huffed a laugh. “Take her for a walk, Marcus, before she turns any greener.”
Galen said, “She"s willing to return—got more guts than a lot of so-called agents—so when you"ve worked out how you"ll handle this, come back here so we can finish planning.”
Go with him? As she realized the agents had cast her to the sharks, she stiffened in disbelief.
Marcus pinned her gaze. One shark. With piercing blue eyes. He held his hand out. “Come, Gabrielle.”
“No. I won"t go anywhere with you.” Back stiff, she rose, heading for the door.
She gave the other two men a wounded look.
“Little spitfire.” Vance caught her wrist and pulled her to a stop. His eyes were a darker blue than Marcus"s but surprisingly kind. “We talked with Z, with the other Masters, and with Marcus. All anyone wants is to let you serve as a decoy in the safest, gentlest way we can arrange…and we all agree Marcus is the best choice.
Talk to him, Gabi, and if you decide you can"t work with him, we"ll figure out something else.”
Talk with Marcus. Could she stand it? Did she have a choice? Vance held her gaze until she nodded her surrender.
144
Cherise Sinclair
“Good girl.” He set her wrist into Marcus"s hand. Strong fingers closed, trapping her more completely than any restraint.
* * *
The agents had planned for Z to attend this meeting, but Marcus had played the guilt card on them. He might have employed a few courtroom techniques, but he"d told the truth. Their secrecy bullshit had not only given him a rough few weeks, but also led to the fiasco last Saturday. They sure as hell owed him a chance to make it right with Gabrielle. They"d reluctantly agreed, with the stipulation that Gabi had the final choice.
Marcus had pondered long and hard about today—what to say and where to go so she"d feel comfortable. Obviously nowhere alone with him. So now he guided her out of the lobby toward the beach. On the grounds around the hotel, the palm trees rustled and swayed in the stiffening breeze. Gulls cried as they rode the air currents, diving at the white-capped waves. People were scattered here and there, their towels, blankets, and umbrellas a bright splash of color against the white sand. A child with flaming red hair used a stick to write his name in the wet sand.
As Marcus guided Gabi onto the sidewalk paralleling the beach, his spirits rose. Damn, he liked seeing her, even if she was under duress. The sea wind ruffled her shaggy hair and brought him her sandalwood scent. With an effort, he put away the memory of how the fragrance deepened, darkened in the tender crease between her hip and thigh.
Instead he studied her. Shoulders still rigid, walk stiff, the small muscles around her eyes and mouth tense. “Gabrielle.”
She looked up at him, her brown eyes wary. “I"ll listen to what you have to say, but just so you know, I don"t want to…to work…with you.” Her mouth twisted bitterly at the word. “You"re wasting your time.”
The stab hurt. “I understand.” And she was perfectly justified for her feelings; however, if she stayed enmeshed in the past, she"d not listen to him at all. How could he get her to relax? Got it. He stopped, right in the middle of the sidewalk.
After removing his shoes, he stuffed his socks in the toes and rolled up his jeans.
She stared at him as if she"d never seen bare legs before, and a spurt of humor broke through his guilt. Did she really see him as that stuck in the mud? He tied the laces together, slung his shoes over his shoulder, and nodded toward the wide expanse of beach. “Coming?”
After eyeing him suspiciously, she said, “Fine,” and followed suit, removing her shoes and socks. Although she"d worn a black T-shirt and jeans, her sneakers were blue and her socks a flaming red that matched her toenails. Damn, she made him smile every time he saw her.
She walked beside him toward the water. The warm sand was deep and soft, the footing a little unsteady. He watched with satisfaction as she gave up hating him and concentrated on avoiding clusters of seaweed, broken shells, and enthusiastic dogs.
Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir
145
When they reached the wet sand, flattened into firmness by the waves, he took her hand.
Startled, she frowned up at him, gave a token tug to see if he"d cooperate, and then shrugged, obviously deciding not to fight about it. She turned her head, staring at the water. “So talk.”
He snorted a laugh. “Tough little sub, aren"t you?”
Her mouth tightened, but she didn"t look up.
He stopped, took her shoes, and dropped both pairs onto the sand. Cupping her cheek with one hand, he used his thumb to tilt her head up. Her stormy eyes met his. “Gabrielle, I"m sorry.”
“Uh-huh,” she said cynically. “What are you sorry for, anyway? I"m the one who lied.”
She didn"t want to admit they had anything between them that he could have damaged. He couldn"t quite read her; too many emotions warred across the face.
Defensiveness. Hurt. Anger. Something else. “Z lied too, Gabi. Did either of you have a choice?”
“No, but—”
He sighed. “I don"t like this matter at all, but you didn"t do anything wrong.”
Her brown eyes lightened slightly, and then a crease furrowed her brow.
“What are you apologizing for?”
He lifted his other hand, holding her face between his palms. Her cheeks were soft and warm. The sunlight glinted off her long red-blonde eyelashes. “I might not have known about the role you played, but still, the thought of how rough I was on you sits poorly with me.”
“Not your fault, Sir.”
The inadvertent slip warmed his heart. “But what I truly regret—”
Gabi waited for him to gather his words, and actually felt a bit of amusement.
Was the fancy lawyer at a loss for the right thing to say? Her humor faded quickly, for his firm hands kept her from retreating and assuming a more comfortable, distant manner. He"d placed them face-to-face and shared his emotions as openly as he demanded the same from her.
His thumb rubbed over her chin. “I regret the loss of your trust, Gabrielle. I deliberately kept you after closing on Saturday. I could tell you had a reason for all the defiance, and I wanted to discover what it was so we could deal with it.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Questioning you when you couldn"t think was to help, not undermine you. Instead it turned into a betrayal of your trust. I"m sorry, Gabi.”
He hurt too. The open pain in his eyes crumpled her hard-erected defenses as if she"d constructed them of paper. Somehow he"d gone straight to the heart of her anger. He"d known that she did feel betrayed. Did feel as if he"d taken advantage of her, and she wouldn"t have if she hadn"t trusted him so much. Her breath hitched, 146
Cherise Sinclair
and her eyes flooded with tears. Oh hell. She tried to jerk away, choking out, “Let me go.”
“No, darlin", that I won"t.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his solid chest. His hand pressed her head into the hollow of his shoulder and the comfort…the sheer wonder at being held finished her off. And she cried, sobbing out her pain, even her smoldering anger at the punishments she herself had forced him to mete out. He hurt me and hit me, and he means so much to me…
He enclosed her in his hard arms, rumbling unintelligible, comforting sounds, and rocked her slowly in his cradle of safety. As the storm of her emotions died down, she managed somehow to find a semblance of control and pull herself together.
His arms loosened, and he let her go…and she wanted to crawl back into his embrace.
“Little sub,” he murmured and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her face.
“I got your shirt wet.”
He didn"t look like himself, thick hair windblown, jeans, his cotton shirt rumpled and wet, but his blue eyes hadn"t changed, and neither had the way he studied her. “It"ll dry. Hopefully you feel better.”
She felt…hollow, emptied of anger and pain. Her fear hadn"t left, but—
“What?” He frowned, tilted her chin up. “Something is still wrong.”
“It"s not you.” She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I"m just scared. Nothing new.”
The word he said under his breath could never have come from Mr.
Conservative, and she stared at him in shock.
He laughed, his deep, infectious laugh that was almost as startling as hearing him curse. He pulled her hand away from her scar and kissed her fingertips. After picking up the shoes, he put his arm over her shoulder and started walking again.
As the tide came in, the waves flowed farther up the sand, engulfing and tickling their feet in frothy white water. She smiled. Then the tightness returned to her chest. What would it be like to never be part of any of this again?
He squeezed her shoulder, breaking into her thoughts. “Do you think less of yourself because you"re afraid?”
“A little. Other people manage to do this kind of thing all the time.”
“And some hide in their houses scared to come out,” he said. “You learned about violence at an early age and in a particularly ugly way, Gabrielle. But more than that…”
She glanced up at him, and his eyes met hers.
“You have a caring personality. You understand people and want to help.
That"s different from a soldier"s mind-set. You"re more vulnerable to the damage Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir
147
that evil can create.” His brows drew together. “You must have studied this in college, and you had counseling. You should know this, sugar.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I do. I did. But deliberately setting myself up for—”
She halted. She hadn"t planned to mention—
“I heard you volunteered because of your friend.” Despite the concerned expression on his face, his gaze held only warm approval. “You"re a loyal friend, Gabi.”
Her laugh came easily, as if her tears had hollowed out room for happier emotions. “Nah, I just wanted an excuse to hang out in a BDSM club.”
He chuckled, then cursed as an incoming wave soaked the bottoms of his rolled-up jeans.
She giggled.
One second before the next wave hit, he swung her around to reverse their positions. She squeaked as cold water splashed up her calves, soaked the material over her thighs, and ran down her legs, turning her skin to goose bumps. “You…you scumbag dipwad.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you call your dom a name?”
She giggled, then protested, “You"re not my dom.”
“Am I not?” Deliberately, he tossed their shoes onto the dry sand and advanced on her.
“No, wait.” Hands up, she waded farther into the water until it hit her knees and each wave tested her balance.
He stopped, and his smile faded. “Seriously, Gabi, do you want me to arrange a different dom for you?”
The thought of losing him actually hurt, like a cruel blow somewhere deep inside. Obviously she"d ventured farther with him than was safe. A wave surged into her, and she staggered on the shifting sand—the footing was definitely unstable. She and Marcus had no solid foundation either, but…for right now, she"d cherish the time with him. Hell, she could end up enslaved or dead before this week ended—might as well take what she wanted from life. “I want you,” she said, then winced. “Uh. I still have to behave like a brat.”
He chuckled and heaved a mock sigh of complaint. “You planning to make this here weekend a nightmare for me?”
“You bet.” And what a relief he now realized it was an act—well, some of it was an act.
“In that case, I"m fixin" to feel badly every time I punish you.” His face sobered.
“I truly will, Gabi. I understand why Galen and Vance demanded secrecy. I don"t think I could have…” He shook his head.
He was the kind of dom who would hurt for doing what must be done. “I know.
It"s okay.”
148
Cherise Sinclair
“Well, that"s good then.” He curved his hands around her waist in a hard grip.
“However, li"l brat, I reckon I"m not going to regret this at all.”
She frowned at him. This?
He actually grinned. Then he lifted her and tossed her head over heels into the water.
Masters of the Shadowlands 5: Make Me, Sir
149