Surrendering To Her Sergeant (51 page)

What?

A place of his own to “get
away alone with his thoughts
?” Negative on
that order, kids. His thoughts weren’t exactly what a guy invited
over for a few beers and a gut spill.

A restful retreat between
missions
? More sarcastic laughter echoed
from his brain. If he wanted quiet, he headed for the cabin in the
Cascades into which he’d sunk most of his design and decorating
dollars. And if he wanted real peace, he slept at
Rayna’s.

A “Master Zeke bachelor
party pad”?
His mind didn’t give that one
even a snort of recognition. When he wanted to play Dom, the walls
of the Bastille Club, where he was a staff Dominant, held more than
enough equipment for his needs—all exercised on the willing body
and soul of the woman by his side.

They truly had come so far together in
a little over a year.

The best damn year of his
life.

The fire-colored jewel that dangled
from her black leather collar twinkled at him as affirmation of
that. They’d made the most of every chance they had to feed the
flames of their love, making sure the kindling of their friendship
supported all the bigger logs they’d placed on top. The result was
a blaze that fed him, mind and soul, more completely than he dared
admit.

And terrified him more deeply than he
wanted to acknowledge.

At the moment, the woman scared him in
other ways. Her teeth chattered like castanets. The tendrils of her
fancy hairdo were soaked slashes against the high angles of her
cheeks. Her lips began to match the peacock blue color of her gown.
Her exposed shoulders looked ready to hop onto that color palette
too.

“All those p-people they b-beheaded at
the T-Tower of London?” she stammered. “Th-they must have the
fashion d-designers for the c-c-court.”

He gave her a tender smile while
cranking on the heater, though it was impossible to stop his gaze
from wandering down to the cleavage formed by her tight-laced
corset. Though Sage’s dress had been more of a demure bridal thing,
the maid of honor got a chance to be more provocative with her
purple and red gown, featuring a lacy neckline that pushed a
sizable amount of her breasts into very grab-worthy areas. Holy
fuck, it was all he could do not to imagine just pulling them free
from the fabric, then pinching them until they were as red as her
dress before shoving her skirts up around her waist and—

“Sorry, bird,” he muttered instead.
“I’m cranking the heat now.” He also walked over and turned on the
flames beneath the artificial logs in the apartment’s excuse for a
fireplace. “Isn’t as nice as what we have at the cabin but it’ll
have to do for now.”

An awkward silence twisted between
them. Neither of them had to speak the reason why.

Isn’t as nice as what we
have at the cabin…

We
. The word had never flowed naturally off his lips unless he
was referring to something that had to do with the guys on his
Special Forces team. He sure as hell never thought he’d be
including a woman in the phrase beyond an invitation to one of
Bastille’s private play rooms—let alone confusing the crap out of
one by looping her into a comment about the cabin he considered his
personal, solitary sanctuary.

Personal. Solitary. The words were a
damn good credo for him. They’d served him well since the age of
ten when the streets became his home, and took on even more
importance when discovering his kink gene nine years later. Hadn’t
taken him long to learn that like many other things in his life, he
reveled in sensual dominance the most when dealing it hard, fast,
and rough. He’d learned to chill on his cravings for the sake of
being a good Dom to his many submissives, but had also learned that
as a building block for a lasting relationship, the affinity was as
useful as a wolf hooking up with a dolphin. It was best that he
play that wolf card with the “lone” part securely attached. Nobody
got hurt.

Especially him.

So when the fuck had that all
changed?

He grunted as he stomped down the hall
to grab some dry towels for Rayna.

Who says anything’s
changed
?

He’d made a simple mistake, that was
all. Rayna had simply been along for the ride the last few times
he’d been up to the cabin—

The last five
times.

—which didn’t mean shit beyond the
fact that she was being his dutiful subbie, and—

Like she remembers good
“subbie” behavior when she kicks your ass in burping contests
during the drive up the mountain, or reads you jokes in different
voices to help you laugh and relax.

—which still didn’t mean anything,
beyond the fact that they’d started this thing out as friends and
now—

And now what?

What did
now
mean to her, if he
kept “making mistakes” like that? Was she getting ideas…the
wrong
ideas? Was he
steering her down the same road he’d taken with Marie, without even
knowing it? Was the day coming, perhaps soon, when he’d tell her
he’d call as soon as he could during the deployment, only to find a
thousand excuses not to? Would he promise to pick her up for a
night at the dungeon, only to claim car trouble or last-minute
training, or some other bullshit line she’d instantly see
through…as her heart was breaking?

Just imagining it, as them apart, led
him to an even more terrifying question.

What if it wasn’t
her
heart doing that
breaking thing?

The second he rounded the
corner back to the living room, figuring out that answer got shoved
to the bottom of the duty roster. The
very
bottom.

Rayna was standing in front of the
fireplace, wearing nothing but the historical underthings that went
along with her lady-in-waiting garb. Lacy. White. Wet. And sheer.
Good Christ, he could see every puckered, hard inch of her breasts,
the delectable curve of her waists…and the V between her thighs,
leading to the sweet treasure he adored so much. Her face was
turned into that of a fucking goddess, rimmed in intricate braids,
her hair made more fiery by the glow that danced across it. She
took his breath away as she stepped from the puddle of her soaked
gown and spread her soft arms, making a beautiful web in the air
from the long length of red rope that she held.

“I was looking for a blanket and found
this instead.” Her lips quirked in that shy, tentative smile that
clutched his heart and jerked at his cock. “But I’m thinking it’ll
warm me up just as much as a blanket…Sir?”

* * * * *

STORY THREE:

RAINY DAYS AND MONDAYS

Starring Ethan Archer and Ava
Chestain

CHAPTER ONE

“Hello, rock.”

Ava Chestain made sure to issue the
greeting beneath her breath even though her fiancé, Ethan Archer,
was still all the way across their suite at the Ritz-Carlton Half
Moon Bay. He wouldn’t be happy to hear her talking to her
engagement ring again. And he’d be outright seething, in a
not-so-yummy-Dom kind of way, to know what she was calling the
thing once more. But damn it, she couldn’t help it. The ring had at
least twenty clear diamonds arranged in a brilliant burst around a
four-carat yellow diamond that had been custom-cut just for the
setting. Ethan had slipped it on her finger just three days ago,
proposing to her—for a second time—on the Santa Monica pier at
sunset in front of a cheering crowd.

Of course, he’d been holding the ring
when he did it, rendering Ava more speechless than the first time
he’d asked. It was quite a feat, considering that first time had
occurred when they were inducting each other into the Mile-High
Club on Air Force One. When she’d finally found her voice on the
pier and gawked at the ring, Ethan only slung back a smirk and said
something gorgeous about how his sunshine could now wear the sun,
too.

“Caramba
,” she whispered.
Sergeant Archer, you’re hell-bent on spoiling
me.

If only that musing didn’t tangle the
pit of her stomach in abject anxiety.

“You’re talking to your ring again,
aren’t you?”

She jumped. Ethan seemed to have
teleported across the room and now pressed up behind her. Just her
luck; she’d fallen in love with a man who was half ninja. “No,” she
retorted. “It’s ignoring me today, anyhow.”

He wrapped his arms around her, then
rested his head atop her chin. “Do you blame it? Engagement rings
get inferiority complexes, too.”

The knot in her gut tightened.
Something in his murmur told her he wasn’t referring just to the
ring anymore. “Ethan, I—”

“Ssshh. It’s okay. If you don’t like
it—”

“No!
Ay dios mio
, I
love
it!”

“But…?”

She swallowed hard. His Dom tone, a
low cadence of command, had entered the word with undeniable force.
Despite his gentle hold, he expected an answer to his hard
question.

His
really
hard question.

It was time to address the giant
elephant in the room.

Ava stepped gingerly away from him.
There was a seat built into the window that allowed for maximum
enjoyment of the sweeping cliff and ocean view. Right now, she was
just grateful it was there to help her trembling knees.

As she lowered to the cushion, she
tugged at her lip with her teeth. She doubled the pressure when
Ethan settled next to her. She was seriously in trouble. The man
took her breath away in normal circumstances. But here, with his
eyes nearly matching the sea and his broad chest sheathed in a
thick Irish sweater, he was male decadence defined.

And determined dominance in one
intense package.

He reinforced the point by
reaching and curling his hands around her wrists. He used the
unconventional hold on purpose, sending a message in undeniable
terms. She was in his care now. Everything she said from her heart
was safe. But he expected
everything
.

After letting her wallow in silence
for a minute, he quietly ordered, “Tell me.”

Ugh
. This was really going to suck.

“I—” She huffed and stared out toward
the sea.

“Ava.” He tightened his hold. “This is
me, remember?”

“Why don’t I just refuse to talk. Then
you can punish me and—”

“Ava
.”

“Aggghh!” She fell into silence when
he decided to secure her wrists in one of his hands so he could use
the other to yank up her chin. As soon as the force of his cobalt
blues hit, her resistance evaporated. Tears stung her eyes and
seeped down her cheeks. “Ethan,” she whispered, “I’m not sure I
belong here.”

His reaction was everything she
expected. An instant scowl of hurt and confusion. “What?
Why?”

She tried to clear her senses with a
breath. “That’s my point.”

“I don’t under—”

“Of course you don’t. Because you’ve
probably stayed in this suite fifty times before.”

“Well, it’s better than staying at my
parents’ place when I go for visits.” A grimace twisted his face.
“Fuck. Talk about a place where you can’t breathe.”

Her brows jumped. “Your parents’ house
is swankier than this?”

Resignation took the place of his
frown. She watched him start to discern the message beneath her
words. “Mausoleums are swanky too, baby. Doesn’t mean I’m
comfortable in one.”

His intention was to ease her nerves.
She knew that—and only wished she could tell him he’d succeeded.
Instead, her nerves twisted tighter and her dread ballooned. She
squirmed in his hold, suddenly afraid to let him see the enormity
of it. As she broke down like an idiot, he released her wrists in
order to pull her fully across his lap.

“Baby,” he soothed. “Ava, come on. I
know you’re nervous, okay? But—”

“Nervous?” she spat. “Why the hell
would I be nervous—just because I’m meeting your polo club parents
in a dress I bought at Macy’s, at their dinner table that’ll have
thirty forks at each place setting, to talk about a wedding that’ll
cost more than I make in a year—”

He kissed her into silence. Tugged her
face up to look at him again. “All they want to do is meet you,” he
murmured. “And we’ll probably talk about the weather and sports.”
His forehead furrowed. “And, uhhh, Mom’s orchids.”

She sniffed. “I like
orchids.”

His smile was dazzling. “There ya
go.”

Ava tilted up her chin in a little
plea for another kiss. After Ethan obliged, she whispered, “Okay.
I’ll try not to embarrass the crap out of you.”

He dug his long fingers
into her hair and pulled hard. “There’ll be no more talk like that,
woman. You are my queen. You’ll wear my diamonds, you’ll walk at my
side, you’ll be amazing, and you’ll
never
‘embarrass the crap out of
me.’”