Ice Queen (10 page)

“We’re not friends, Marguerite,” he said. “Come Friday. Don’t back out.” Giving him a desperate look, she broke free, reached for the door. “Let me go, Tyler.

Please.”

It was a long moment but he at last stood up, stepped back. She shut the door, started the car and pulled out, forcing her body not to shake, her stomach to stop its nauseous heaving. Forced herself not to look back and see his eyes which conveyed how much more he wanted to give her. Far more than she could accept.

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“I understand there was a scuffle of some type involving you and Marguerite out in The Zone parking lot the other night. Did she whip your ass?”

“Cute. No. I assume you know the real details.”

“Oh, yeah.” Violet Nighthorse’s voice was dry, even over the cell connection. He assumed she was maneuvering her Stealth through Tampa’s traffic with the professional ease and terrifying maneuvers of a NASCAR driver. “Mac won’t let me go within ten feet of the exit doors at The Zone without him. Like I’m not a cop, just the same as he is.”

“The man loves you to the point of imbecility.”

“Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” The smile in her voice was obvious enough to make Tyler roll his eyes.

“God save me from goofy newlyweds.” He sobered. “She fought him with the fear and rage of a cornered animal. Then slam, the drawbridge whips up.” There was a moment of silence on the other end. “Knowing you, it must have been hard as hell to let her drive away.”

“I followed her home. Made sure she got into her door. She didn’t even look my way but she knew I was there. I sat outside until I saw her light go off. Hell, knowing her she turned it off to get rid of me.”

“Well, you’re obnoxious and intolerably arrogant.” He chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Always a good friend. And probably right. But I know she’s drawn to me. You feel it from a sub, you know you do.”

“You think she’s a switch?” Violet didn’t bother to hide the disbelief in her voice.

“Yeah, I do. When we’re interacting just the two of us, I think she might be playing the wrong side of the fence altogether. Then I see her top someone and she’s so damn gifted at it. It’s like she’s two people.”

“One of the most terrifying Mistresses I’ve ever seen and you think she’s a sub in Domme’s clothing? Tyler, did you have a recent head injury I don’t know about?”

“Now I know why I’ve been seeing of three of everything. Brat. Shut up and listen.

Marguerite is the perfect Mistress. Never out of control, never emotionally ragged. It rings false to me. It’s like being a Mistress is the closest thing she can get to what she really wants without losing control, because the control’s more important to her than anything else. There’s something wrong, Vi.”

“You’ve said we’re all damaged, Tyler. That’s part of life. Your psyche gets bumped, bruised. Wounded.”

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“Maimed, mutilated.” He allowed himself a tight smile. “I guess what I’m saying is I think Mac’s instincts weren’t off.”

Her tone sharpened. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, back all those months ago when Marguerite was his lead suspect in the murder of male subs. She’s not a murderer but I don’t think he was off in his evaluation. She’s the real deal. Damaged to the point the civilized world doesn’t touch her, not when she’s cornered. Maybe not at all. She thinks of survival first, consequences second.” He thought of the knife, embedded an inch deep in a table that probably was worth four figures. The untamed look in her eyes when she’d fought the mugger.

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be messing with her mind, no matter what your gut tells you. Maybe she needs to be just who she is.”

“Maybe she just needs to know she can really trust someone. So she can let go.”

“Are you familiar with the damsel in distress syndrome, Tyler? The man who has to rescue a woman to prove something?”

His jaw flexed. “Don’t go there, Violet.”

“I won’t if you won’t.”

“What combination of words will convince you that we’re not having this discussion? Or will it take me snapping the phone closed?”

“I’ll ease up.” He heard her frustrated sigh through the connection. “But you’re worrying me. You don’t exaggerate things. You have the training to know what you’re saying. Want me to see exactly what Mac found out about her when he was investigating the S&M Killer and ask him to dig a little deeper? I don’t think they went too far with it, seeing as Mac managed to stumble onto the actual perp.” He thought it through. Was tempted. “Yeah, I do. But don’t. I want her to tell me herself.”

If she shows.
He glanced at his watch. Six-forty.

“Tyler?” Violet’s voice was soft in his ear.

“I know. I know. I just…” He shook his head. “When did a ninety-pound Dominatrix fairy become my confessor?”

“I weigh far more than ninety pounds. You call me Tinkerbell, I’m going to shove a Taser up your ass.”

“Ouch.” He sat down on his front porch steps, tried to listen for the soothing sounds of the sea birds instead of the sound of an engine. “On our second phone call about him, you told me you wanted Mac. In your voice, I could tell that wanting him had become everything to you. In the space of a breath, this guy you didn’t even know had crawled up into your soul, busted it up. I didn’t believe in that. I heard it but I didn’t understand. So I was worried about you. You see the things I’ve seen, you can’t… It’s impossible to think something like that can happen. But then I saw you two 59

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together and knew it had happened for you. She’s kept her distance, not letting me get within an arm’s length. Now I got the excuse and…”

“Wham. You find she’s sitting in the center of you, like she’s carved a big hole in your chest and set up house.”

“Yeah.” His throat closed up as a pair of headlights threw a wash of gold across the lawn. He heard the purr of the black BMW, then her car was slowly rolling up his drive.

“She’s here.”
She’s here.

“Good luck. I’ll be here if you need me.”

“Violet.” His hand tightened on the phone, though his attention remained on the car. “You’re not my confessor. You’re my best friend.” Something he hadn’t had in a very, very long time. “Thank you.”

There was a pause. When she spoke, her voice was a bit thick, making him smile.

She might be tough, perhaps the second toughest woman he knew, but she was still female.

“You’re so full of shit. Stop charming me and go work on her. I’ve got a guy.” He noted Marguerite was moving a bit stiffly as she got out of the car. It swamped him with renewed anger at the man who’d laid hands on her, as well as a wave of protectiveness.

“So does Marguerite. She just doesn’t know it yet. Bye, Violet.” She was here. And he had her for two whole days.

* * * * *

Marguerite had heard his home was beautiful, a sanctuary from a busy world. The graceful antebellum plantation house and all of its outbuildings, including a family chapel, had been transported from his home state of Georgia.

He’d planted them here on his acres bordering the Gulf, ninety minutes from Tampa. The extraordinary undertaking had been done to save the structures from demolition, when the property on which they sat was taken under eminent domain for additional highway expansion.

She’d learned that from conversation at The Zone, from people who included it as a footnote to their discussions of how his home was a D/s playground, containing a personal home dungeon beyond compare, if the stories were to be believed. Knowing what she was about to face, dungeon was definitely the word that came to mind, not the plush toy room that had been described to her.

But she was here. Though there might be lines on which she would stumble because of her own personal issues, she could stay in control of this situation. She was a Mistress. She knew a Dom had to strictly adhere to a sub’s boundaries, and Tyler knew that as well. And she was a Domme going through sub training for a better understanding of the sub mentality, to enhance her future experiences as a Mistress. She 60

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was not a sub herself. She would and could keep certain shields in place. Tyler would certainly expect and respect that.

“You’re late,” he said quietly. She turned to see him standing there, the breeze off the Gulf riffling his hair, molding the soft fabric of his shirt against his upper body. He was wearing the jeans she had imagined in great detail several days before. She’d been right, and even understated it. The long columns of his thighs, the nicely outlined groin area. The man had a rugged sexuality that was oddly even more blatant outside The Zone walls. Here on his own ground, the sense of him being a Dominant was far more out front. The way his golden eyes examined her from head to toe, taking in the slacks and crisp shirt she’d chosen to wear with loafers, a more feminine version of male garments. A message that she would not dress sexually for him unless he commanded it, as she was sure he would. She would arrive as a Mistress and leave as one no matter what happened in between. That much she had promised herself.

“Are you wearing boxers or briefs under that outfit?” he asked.

As always, she was momentarily taken aback at his ability to pick up on the direction of her internal thoughts as if they were having a spoken conversation about them. Before she could respond to that, his tone gentled. “How are the bumps and bruises?”

“Fine.”

“And the ankle?”

“Nothing an ice pack couldn’t cure. It’s just a bit tender. Nothing you need to worry about interfering with or slowing down our sessions.”

“Hmm.” He moved toward her, didn’t stop when he reached the personal space boundary. His hand snaked around her, pressing on her back, on the bruises. Not expecting it, she flinched before she could tell herself not to do so. Tossing her braid over her shoulder to throw her head back to face him, she was childishly miffed when he managed to pull back just enough to avoid the lash and level an amused gaze on her.

That gaze became much less amused when he brought his hand forward to cradle her face, his thumb tracing her lips. She had to make a conscious effort not to part them.

“We need to talk about the rules again.” She sounded desperate, even to herself.

“I remember them. No kissing.” He continued to stroke her lips. For some reason she couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. “You wanted to keep your clothes on. We agreed that’s not an option. But I agreed to no questions about any unusual marks on your body and no sex. Unless you ask for it. I’m giving you thirty seconds to state any last-minute rules you’ve concocted and then it’s going to be all about my rules. Okay?

Go.”

She pulled away from his touch, stepping back, which brought her up against her car. “I want two hours each day to prepare and take my tea. That time will belong to me, not be part of the training. There should be plenty of time between now and Sunday afternoon to cover the session requirements even without those four hours.” 61

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“All right. But if I choose to join you, I’ll do so. You won’t shut me out in my own home.”

That was exactly what she’d hoped to do but it was a fair enough request. She nodded reluctantly.

“Anything else?”

Yes
.
Don’t make me do this
. She shook her head.

“Good. Here’s one of
my
rules, Marguerite.” He moved in, ran his touch down her back again, so tenderly that her bruised skin wanted to weep at the contact. “You won’t lie to me about anything. As a sub, your care and comfort are completely my responsibility. If at any time something is beyond your capacity to bear, you’ll use the word
chado
.”

The Japanese word, translated to “the way of tea” or “the philosophy of tea”. A smile touched his mouth at her surprised look. “I figured that would be an easy one for you to remember. At that time, we’ll evaluate what’s going on. I won’t necessarily stop what I’m doing but we’ll work it out. But all that can wait a few more minutes.” Tucking her hand into his elbow, he laid his on top of her fingers. “You’ve shown me your place. Let me show you mine.”

“Shouldn’t we just get started? We have a lot of ground to cover—”

“Marguerite.” He stopped and faced her but kept her hand. “When we walk up those front stairs and you step over the threshold of my house, from there forward I’m your Master and you’re my slave. I can tell you’re nervous as hell. So let’s take a moment, okay? I’m not a complete tyrant.”

There was something in his gaze that told her that was not entirely true. He could be as ruthless as one. “This isn’t a course at the community college where you can answer all the questions correctly, proving to the teacher you’re paying attention so he’ll leave you alone.” He tipped her chin, feathered his hand through some of the shorter wisps of hair around her face. “You’re going to have my complete personal attention all weekend long.”

“I thought you said you were trying to make me feel less nervous.” She didn’t smile. Neither did he. “I might like you a little nervous.” He pulled her into a walk, and now he clasped their hands loosely between them.

She’d never known a man who liked to hold hands so much. Though she didn’t recall ever having seen him hold hands with his subs at The Zone, she found it a somewhat sweet, romantic gesture. She realized it suited him. She didn’t know much of the man Tyler was outside The Zone, which made her wonder how much more she was going to find out.

The house had some minor architectural improvements that modern building technology could give it. However, Tyler had apparently made every effort to restore the home to its previous condition, honoring its past. It was painted the pristine white that a Southern belle like this deserved. He’d made the circular driveway a mixture of gravel and oyster shell and the groupings of azaleas around the foundation only 62

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accented the house’s sweeping grace. He took her around the corner and she saw the rear and side areas had even more to offer. A lawn stretched out behind the house, followed by a mulched area that ran to the banks of the Gulf and had a scattering of sprawling live oaks draped with Spanish moss. There were tennis courts and a large glass pool house off to the right, connected to the house by a maze of gardens that even from a distance were beautifully designed, a series of linked circles that featured central pieces of statuary and fountains surrounded by lush green specimens splashed with blooms.

He strolled with her down to the wide lawn. “Slip off your shoes,” he advised.

“You know those stuffed animals you find in the card shops that are so soft you’d like to sink into a vat of them? That’s what this grass is like.” Bemused by his easy enthusiasm, she watched him toe off his loafers and then did the same to sink into the cushioned coolness of the grass. “How do you get it so green, so close to the salt water?”