The Dom's Dungeon (4 page)

Alex
frowned. He'd thought to simply kick her out of his house and notify Exchanges
that she'd broken into a locked room.
But now…
He
rubbed his jaw. She didn't quite add up. The way she'd flared up at him
indicated a feisty personality, and her instinctive responses to command
indicated a penchant for submission, but although pleasing, the combination
wasn't that uncommon.

No, that
underlying vulnerability that she'd so quickly hidden drew him. And when she
petted Butler, he could see a pure sweetness under her defenses.

He'd see
what came of the discussion, but she'd roused his protectiveness. Discipline
and punishment could be a two-way street. She'd been taken under a master's
will, but in turn, he'd received her submission, and with that, a bond between
them had been created.

Just what I need, another
submissive.

Panting
from her dash up the stairs,
MacKensie
entered her
bedroom and locked the door behind her. Not that there was much point since the
guy probably had a key to every room in the house.

The bastard.

In the
bathroom, she tossed her clothing into the bathtub. It landed with a wet
splat.

She
glanced in the mirror and rolled her eyes at the vision of beauty: face dead
white, hair in tangles, tear streaks. Then again, she should look at the bright
side; if she'd worn makeup, her mascara would have been all over her cheeks.

The bastard.

Speaking
of which.
She dropped the blanket and turned to check her
backside. Fiery red handprints marked the white skin of her bottom. Her teeth
ground together as another wave of shame ran through her.

He had no
right to do that…

She
touched her butt carefully, hissing a little at the sting. To her surprise, she
saw he'd left no welts or bruises, and she realized he hadn't been totally
brutal. His grip had been firm enough to hold her and had eased when she
stopped struggling. No, he'd administered a carefully controlled spanking, and
somehow that made him scarier than an out-and-out brute.

Didn't
matter.
She wasn't staying, and she didn't have time to wallow in self-pity.
After rinsing the sweat and tear streaks off her face, she dragged on a T-shirt
and jeans, then repacked her suitcase.

I am so out of here
.
And then
what?
Mac closed her eyes as worries piled higher and higher like
thunderclouds before a storm. Worries that all started with the letter
m
for money.

Obviously
she should have sold the house Jim had left her before coming here. She
huffed
a laugh. Face it. She'd been too insecure to put all
her eggs in the Seattle basket; she hadn't wanted to give up the house until
she knew she had a job.

But her
lack of confidence had screwed her up now. She had no money, dammit. After
paying funeral expenses, she'd barely managed to scrounge up enough money for
the airfare and car rental.

She
couldn't—wouldn't—ever regret helping Jim before he died.
Nothing would ever repay what he and Mary had done for her; what were money and
time? Her eyes burned with tears. What she wouldn't do to have them back again.

But they'd
packed up and moved to heaven, leaving her all alone…and really, really broke.
She'd thought she'd gotten such a lucky break to get to stay in this house
while she looked for a job. Before leaving Iowa, she'd lined up interviews with
vet clinics for the next two weeks, but now she had nowhere to stay and no
money for a hotel room. Maybe she could sleep in her car? But since she didn't
own a cell phone, she'd used the phone here as her contact number.

She'd so
looked forward to moving to Seattle and starting a new life where no one knew
her. A life surrounded by animals that gave back every bit of the affection
they received. Being a veterinarian was the best job in the world…if she could
find a position.

Fontaine
had said he'd discuss alternatives to the legal route. What did he mean by
that? If she sneaked out, would he really report her? Would he try to keep her
from getting a job? She eyed the antique furniture, the leaded glass panes in
the window, the Oriental carpet.
Money.
And money
meant power. He could probably keep her from getting any job in the area with
just a word.

Maybe she
could go somewhere else? Only that might prove difficult. She closed her eyes,
thinking of the hours she'd put in researching the clinics here, applying for
jobs, sending out résumés, and setting up interviews. She could do all that
again…if she had a phone, her computer and printer, and time.
To try to accomplish all that from the back of a car, with no food
or phone or money?

Desolation
hit, sucking her down into the depths, and then she fought back out. Blinking
back tears, she put her chin up and firmed her mouth. “
No retreat; no surrender
.” She'd manage, dammit; she always had.
Picking up her suitcase, she glanced around the room and saw no trace of her
presence.

Once
downstairs, she set her suitcase in the foyer and headed for the family room.

“
MacKensie
.”
Alex appeared in the door of
the bathroom.
Shirtless.
Her eyes widened at the sight
of his bare chest.
“Excellent timing.
Come here,
please.”

Coldness
swept through her.

He waited.

She
hesitated,
then
realized his face wasn't flushed with
lust. She chanced a quick look lower; he wasn't hard. “Excuse me?”
Be polite but stay out of reach
. She
straightened her spine and marched forward to stand in front of him. “What
happened to the discussion in the family room?”
With you fully dressed.

“Soon.
First,
I have a favor to ask of you.”

She hadn't
been wrong about him after all. Here came the proposition. “What?”

He
huffed
a laugh.
“Such a suspicious mind.
Little vet, can you handle the sight of human blood?”

Not
waiting for her answer, Alex led the way into the bathroom, letting the
bloodstained bandage on his back speak for itself. After a second, she followed
him in.

As he
handed her the first-aid kit he'd brought from the dungeon, his eyes narrowed.
That blank look, like a human whiteboard wiped of emotion, had returned the
minute she'd seen his bare chest. She definitely had a problem. Noting a sub's
responses was as automatic as breathing to a Dom, and her reaction to being
punished—and to him—had been equivocal. Her quite understandable fury had also
included an unmistakable need to submit. But the blank look, like the one she
wore now, hadn't appeared until he'd asked about why she'd run from a Dom. He
angled himself so he could watch her face in the wall mirror as she worked.

When she
eased the thick gauze dressing off his back, she frowned. “How in the world did
you get a cut like this?”

“I had an
altercation at the airport. He had a knife.”

Life
returned to her face as she cleaned the wound with efficient, easy movements.
She obviously didn't have a problem with blood or with touching a man in a
nonsexual way. She glanced at him in the mirror, a trace of humor in her eyes.
“Since you're still breathing, I assume you won?”

Alex
grinned. “I'm not sure I'd call it a win. Although he's behind bars, I missed
my flight. My luggage is on the plane. I couldn't book another flight for two
days.” He shook his head, ignoring the pain as she worked on his back. “There
didn't seem to be any point to going to my conference.”

“Well,
that explains why you came back.” She applied antibacterial ointment to the
stitches and re-covered the wound with gauze. “I sure wasn't expecting anyone
to walk in.” This time when her eyes met his in the mirror, her face turned a
pretty pink.

He watched
and saw her fingers tremble as she applied tape to the gauze. Her gaze followed
the line of his shoulder, paused on his bicep—she was seeing him as a man, not
a patient. Her color deepened.
Arousal.
Aversion
.
The
little sub had conflicts.

With an
audible breath, she stepped back.
“All done.
Keep it
dry and have someone put a clean dressing on it tomorrow.”

When he
turned and leaned against the sink counter, her gaze dipped to his bare chest.
He stood close enough that he could see the tiny pulse in her neck grow more
rapid. “Thank you, little vet,” he murmured. “You have gentle hands.”

“You're
welcome.”

When he
brushed his fingers along the delicate line of her jaw, she stiffened,
obviously fighting not to step back. And yet her pupils dilated slightly. Fear
and desire, like an abused puppy that wanted to be petted yet cannot trust.

“Let me
put on a clean shirt, and I'll meet you in the family room.”

She backed
up a step, gave him a nod, and headed for the door. In the stiffness of her
spine and the ungraceful movement of her legs, he could see the control she
exerted not to flee, like a little cat pretending not to notice a Great Dane in
the next yard.

She was
smart.
Sweet.
Terrified.

And
not his problem, dammit.

Upstairs,
he picked up a T-shirt, winced at the thought of pulling it over his head, and
then chose a casual button-down instead.
Odd how
MacKensie's
references all praised her character, dedication,
and skill.
Nothing had hinted at her being the type of person to break
into a room. And when she'd apologized, he'd seen not only embarrassment but
shame.

But if she
were so innocent, how had she managed to get the door open?

He frowned
and leaned against the dresser.
Interesting conundrums.
What did a Dom owe to a sub not under his command? She obviously didn't want to
stay
here,
and problems or not, her choices were her
own.

But
what about Exchanges?
He needed to notify them about her behavior. And
he had a certain responsibility to the animals and veterinarians in this
community. Could she be trusted?

Yet he'd
completely destroy her career if he voiced those questions. Dammit, he didn't
know enough to—

His cell
phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts. He flipped it open. “What?”

“Oh, Alex,
you sound so angry.” Cynthia's rich voice poured out like syrup.

The day
just got better and better. He should have checked the number. “Cynthia, we're
done. Stop calling me. I won't see you or talk to you.”

She laughed
lightly. “You're my master, so I'll obey and get off the phone now. But I know
you'll see me again. You aren't with anyone else, and I know you never go long
without a woman. There's something between us, Alex, and I'll wait for you.
I'll wait just as long as it takes.”

He heard
the sound of a kiss, pulled the phone away, and cursed. This was worse than
he'd thought.

Hell. He
could denounce her in public and humiliate her. He sighed. He not only couldn't
do that to a woman, but Cynthia happened to like being humiliated.

“
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.