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Break Me Down
Roni Loren
The New York Times bestselling author invites you to discover the thrill of control as one couple wrestles for power in and out of the bedroom… A Loving on the Edge novel perfect for fans of Fifty Shades of Grey.Samantha Dunbar needs to forget Gibson Andrews. When he trained her to be a domme, she experienced just how hot things could get with the sexy executive. She was ready to hand him everything – including her heart. But Gibson backed away, declaring them incompatible. He’s a dominant, and Sam’s no submissive.But after an attack shakes Sam to her core, Gibson tracks her down at her family’s rundown farmhouse and makes her an offer. He’ll stay the week and be hers in every way – a helping hand for the renovation and a willing lover in her bed. He swore he’d never give up control to anyone again, but he hasn’t been able to touch another woman since Sam. Maybe a week alone with her will cure him of his relentless craving.But one taste only makes them want more, and Sam and Gibson are drawn in deeper than ever. The man who won’t give in has just met the girl who won’t give up…
Break Me Down
Roni Loren
Copyright (#ua4578452-bf7d-5778-bb40-203e37625c35)
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in USA by Penguin Group (USA) 2015
First published in Great Britain by Harper 2015
Copyright В© Roni Loren 2015
Excerpt from Off the Clock copyright В© Roni Loren 2015
Cover photograph В© Shutterstock.com (http://Shutterstock.com)
Cover layout design В© HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2015
Roni Loren asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780698183070
Ebook Edition В© November 2015 ISBN: 9780008108274
Version: 2015-10-21
Contents
Cover (#ude5a43b0-1f1c-5e89-b677-e38254082712)
Title Page (#ubd46ad2a-2a98-5cf4-94e0-51a6747100e4)
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Keep Reading: Off The Clock
About the Author
Also by Roni Loren
About the Publisher
Chapter 1 (#ua4578452-bf7d-5778-bb40-203e37625c35)
“Are you trying to torture me? I thought your husband was the sadist.” Samantha dropped the tray of clean glasses onto the rack behind the bar and gave her best friend the stink eye.
Tessa frowned. “Kade didn’t tell me Gibson was coming along. You know I would’ve suggested another bar if I’d known, but I wanted to see you before we left for Bermuda.”
Sam sighed and tightened her high ponytail as she snuck a glance at the table where Tessa’s husband, Kade, was chatting with his stepbrother. Gibson didn’t look her way, but she got the distinct impression he knew she was watching him and was purposely not turning her way. Good, she didn’t need to see those gorgeous blue eyes, didn’t need to remember how their color had darkened to a summer storm when she’d put him on his knees. “Does he have to look so goddamned good in a suit? It’s ridiculous. Who gets to look that hot after a whole day of work? By the time I’m out of here, I look like I’ve been rolled around in a pile of sweaty bodies and beer. He looks like he’s ready to pose for an Armani ad.”
Tessa’s pink-glossed lips curled into a knowing smirk. “You know, pining isn’t good for your health.”
Sam scoffed. “Please. I’m not pining. I just went on a date two weeks ago, and last weekend, I scened with Julian at the Ranch. This girl”—she swept her hand over her black T-shirt and jeans—“is moving on.”
Tessa lifted a brow, clearly not buying it. “If the date was two weeks ago, that means it wasn’t worth a second date. And you and Julian are friends. I bet you didn’t even see him naked.”
Okay, so she hadn’t. Julian was a fun submissive to practice with and more than a little hot, but Sam had never taken it very far with him. In fact, none of the submissives she played with at the Ranch ever inspired her to take it to that level. It was sparring with friends—fun, exciting, but not all that sexual. The submissives didn’t touch her, she kept her clothes on, and she didn’t get off in sessions. It worked for her. Well, it had worked for her until the man sitting at the table a few yards away had come into her life. She’d let him touch. Once. Thoroughly. And the minute she’d crossed that boundary with him, things had gotten complicated, and he’d bailed like she had some virulent disease.
Shit, maybe she was pining.
“All right, the date was a bust. But I really am moving on. If Gibson wants to pretend that what happened between us was a fluke, that’s his business. I deserve a guy who’s not ashamed or afraid to be with me. I don’t have time for games.”
Tessa leaned against the bar. “If it makes you feel better, I think he’s pretty miserable over it, too. You should’ve seen his face when he found out we were coming here.”
“Good.” She gave a terse nod. “In fact, since he’s here anyway, I may as well enjoy his suffering. What are y’all ordering?”
“A Blue Moon, a Crown and water, and a dirty martini.”
Sam grabbed a few glasses and started pouring the drinks. “Give me a minute, and I’ll bring them over. How’s my hair?”
“Uh-oh.” Tessa laughed. “It’s a perfectly executed messy ponytail, but what are you up to?”
Sam adjusted her shirt, letting the V-neck show off a little more cleavage than she usually revealed at work. “Torture.”
“Sadist.”
“Yep.”
Tessa shook her head, still smiling, and headed back to the table. Sam finished up with the drinks and carried them over on a tray, making sure to put a touch more sway in her walk. She’d learned how to do it early on to get tips before she’d become the manager of the place. She hadn’t lost the skill, and she wasn’t afraid to use it to torment the man who’d walked away from her. No, not walked—bolted like his ass was on fire. She moved from sway to full sashay. Suffer, Gibson Andrews. Feel the burn.
When she stopped at the table, Kade looked up, all blond hair and broad smile. Effortlessly gorgeous like his stepbrother but without the dark and brooding vibe that Gibson seemed to be gold-medaling in at the moment. Or always. “Hey, Sam, long time no see.”
“Right. It’s been ages.” She’d just seen the couple a few days ago, when they’d all gone to a music festival together. “So, stalker boy, I presume the dirty martini is yours.”
He took the drink from her, not blinking at the nickname she’d given him last year when he’d doggedly pursued her best friend like a bent knight on a quest. She set the beer in front of Tessa and then finally turned to Gibson. She kept her smile poised, but it took everything she had to keep her composure when Gib looked up. He’d let his jaw go a little scruffy, and the dark shadow of a beard only made him more edible. But the look in his eyes was what sucked the air right out of her. So this was what a gazelle must feel like when a starved lion caught sight of her. Hunger had flared in that deep blue gaze—open, naked, and without apology.
God. A jolt of desire went straight downward, like a rope being tugged. Hello. Lady parts officially engaged.
She must’ve reacted, showed some chink in her expression. Because as soon as that look was there, he shuttered it, glancing away and offering a flat “Hey, Sam.”
Everything inside her deflated—the pin of reality popping the balloon of hope. Ugh. Stupid, stupid man. She wanted to grab that thick, dark hair and make him hold the gaze, force him to show her the truth. To be real with her. But of course, she couldn’t touch him anymore. And, well, that would look a little weird in the bar. Sexually frustrated manager grabs customer by the hair, makes demands. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat, completely forgetting her plan to look seductive and so over him. “Crown and water.”
She plunked the glass on the table without grace, causing some of it to slosh over the top.
“Thanks,” he said gruffly.
Silence ensued and Tessa cleared her throat. “Um, do y’all still have those potato things with the bacon? I’m starving.”
Sam snapped out of her daze and turned to Tessa. “Potato skins. You bet. I’ll tell Angie to put in an order. She’ll be handling your table. I just wanted to come over and say hi.”
Gibson took a long gulp from his glass and then brushed a hand over his wavy hair, trying to smooth the unsmoothable. A move she’d learned was his sign of discomfort. God, this was so ridiculous.
And she was done with it. So things had gotten a little out of hand during that last training session. He’d been helping her out, bottoming for her so she could learn how to use a whip. They’d been through a few weeks of lessons and everything had gone well. All had been done under the assumption that he was a fellow dominant who would be guiding her from the bottom—a friendly exchange. He wasn’t supposed to get hard when she whipped him. And she wasn’t supposed to get so turned on at the sight of him. And they weren’t supposed to kiss. And she definitely wasn’t supposed to let him push her against a wall and put his hand beneath her skirt to get her off.
But all that had happened, and when she’d tried to wrest control back and take him to bed as her submissive, everything had exploded in her face. He’d snapped out of whatever spell he’d been in from the whipping and had told her that nothing could happen between them because they were both dominants. That he had a masochistic streak, not a submissive one. The training had ended right there. And she might’ve been able to let it go, to buy that he was just a dominant with a taste for pain, but her instincts were telling her it was far more than that. Not that it mattered what she thought. For whatever reason, he wasn’t going to take the submissive role. Period. End of sentence.
She wasn’t worth the risk to him.
Fine.
“Is there anything else I can get y’all for now?” she asked, her voice coming out a little too bright, too twangy. Damn, she was going Dolly Parton on their asses. Usually that only happened when customers pushed her to her politeness breaking point. Of course I’ll get your hamburger recooked a third time, sugar. I should’ve known when you said medium you meant fossilized.
Tessa’s brow went up, seeing right through Sam’s act.
“No, I think we’re good, Sam.” Kade cut an annoyed look his brother’s way.
Sam hustled back to the safety of the bar, cringing at how easily she’d gotten knocked off her plan. Damn that man. But the crowd was picking up, and she didn’t have time to waste trying to figure out the indecipherable Gibson Andrews. She had a job to do. So for the next hour, she managed her bartenders, poured drinks to help them keep up, and made rounds of the floor to greet customers and drop off food. By the time she made her second walk around the place, every table was taken and the noise of all those different conversations reverberated off the walls.
This was her favorite part of her shift. Managing the bar wasn’t always the most glamorous of jobs—okay, try never glamorous—but when the crowd was buzzing and the energy pulsed around her, she couldn’t help but feed off it. She cruised by the back corner, checking on tables, and a sharp whistle caught her attention.
She fought the instinct to ignore it. Nothing ticked her off more than being summoned like she was a dog that needed to come to heel, but a customer was a customer. She turned around and forced a tolerant smile at the two guys swigging cheap whiskey at a back table. Dolly Parton made an appearance again. Well, if Dolly Parton had B-cups, too much black eyeliner, and an eyebrow piercing. “Can I help y’all with something?”
“Hey, sweetheart,” one said, tipping his ball cap up and revealing narrow green eyes. “I dropped my keys. Mind getting them for me?”
She looked down at the floor and the keys at her feet. She bent over, swiped them from the ground, and tossed them on their table. “Here ya go.”
His friend grinned her way and pushed the keys onto the floor again. Clank. “Maybe bend down a little slower this time, darling. I didn’t get a good view the first go-round.”
She straightened, the customer-is-always-right attitude falling away and fuck-off-redneck-asshole mode replacing it. “This isn’t the champagne room. I’m not here to give you a show. Do you need a drink or what?”
Idiot number one smirked and leered at her chest. “Yeah, how about two buttery nipples? Are they pierced like your eyebrow? I bet they are. You look like that kind of girl.”
She wanted to reach over and bang their two skulls together. It’d probably make a hollow sound. Usually guys got over the buttery-nipple joke by the time they were out of high school, but clearly these two hadn’t moved beyond that maturity-wise. Next they’d be ordering a Sex on the Beach. “Two drinks coming right up.”
She strode off and told one of her male bartenders to bring the drinks over to the guys. She’d be damned if she’d let any of her staff get harassed. Flirting from customers was part of the deal. People got tipsy, and their tongues got loose. But Sam didn’t put up with idiots who took it too far.
Sam slipped back behind the bar and started clearing empty glasses. But only a few minutes passed before idiot number one made a reappearance. He leaned against the bar, snapping his fingers at her. “Hey. I need to talk to you.”
She clenched her jaw and turned. “Is there something wrong with your drink?” I could spit in it if you’d like.
He slid the drink across the bar. “Yeah, you didn’t serve it to me. What? You’re too good to talk to your customers?”
“I’m managing the place. My staff serve the drinks.”
“You’re a stuck-up bitch is what you are.”
“Hey.” A knife-edged voice came from behind him, slicing through the din around the bar. “You watch your goddamned mouth.”
Sam’s attention jumped to the spot behind the guy. Gibson’s face appeared out of the crowd like a vengeful apparition as he shoved his way closer to the bar.
The guy turned toward Gibson, his features twisting into a scowl that made him even uglier. “Who the hell you think you’re talking to?”
Gibson was the picture of cool rage, completely unruffled and terrifying in his calmness. “You. Disrespect the lady again, and we’re going to have a major problem.”
“Fuck you, man,” the guy said, words slurring. “This cunt’s job is to serve me my goddamn drinks, and she’s not doing it.”
With lightning-fast movement, Gibson grabbed the guy by the shirt collar and jammed him against the bar. “Wrong answer, asshole.”
“Shit.” Sam hurried around the counter and yelled for Angie to get their bouncer, Herb. “Gib, stop. Let us handle this guy.”
But it was too late. The drunk idiot was already taking a swing at Gibson, and his equally idiotic friend was heading their way. The punch missed wide when Gibson ducked out of the way. A glass broke. Gib looked smug at the guy’s failed attempt and knocked him hard against the bar again, rattling all the bottles and glasses nearby. Soon it’d be the guy’s teeth. But before it could turn into a full brawl, Herb got in between to break it up. He dragged the drunk away and told him and his friend to get out.
The two men continued cursing and throwing insults her and Gib’s way, but they weren’t dumb enough to try to fight Herb. If they did, she’d have the cops on the phone before they could blink, and they’d be sleeping it off in the drunk tank down at county lockup.
The customers in the bar had stopped to watch the ruckus, but as soon as the two jerks were out the door, all the conversation kicked back in, like hitting Play after pausing a movie. Sam released a breath and turned to Gibson, who was straightening the cuffs of his shirt.
She shook her head. “I could’ve handled that, you know.”
He looked up, frown lines between his brows. “No one gets to talk to you like that. I saw them giving you a hard time earlier and could tell he was headed up here to cause trouble. What did they say to you earlier? You looked pissed.”
She shrugged. “They kept trying to get me to bend over and pick up things off the floor. Then they ordered buttery nipples while leering at me. Juvenile stuff. Dumb but probably harmless.”
His jaw flexed. “Customers or not, they don’t get to disrespect you like that.”
She smirked and stepped around him to return to her spot behind the bar. “Getting respect around here is hard to come by. I have to go other places to get that.”
“Too bad you can’t bring a single tail to work.”
She laughed. “No kidding. That’d get people’s attention. Talk back to me, and I’ll paint a stripe across your ass.”
His gaze flared at that. “That could make it worse. Some people might misbehave for that privilege.”
She cocked a brow. “People like you?”
He frowned.
She sighed and grabbed a rag to start wiping up the drink they’d spilled during the altercation. “Sorry. Guess we haven’t reached the point where we can joke about everything with each other yet. Want to talk about the weather?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. It’s fine. I just hate that things are weird between us now. I miss hanging out with you. And my brother’s married to your best friend. We’re going to run into each other.”
She focused on cleaning the bar top, using a little too much vigor to wipe up things. Out, damned spot. “Doesn’t have to be weird. We can be friends.”
“Hard to be friends with someone you want in your bed.”
She looked up, something tightening low inside her when she saw the invitation in his eyes, that rope tugging again. Tug. Tug.
God, it would be so easy to give in and let him have the control. Sex with him in whatever form would probably be like winning the orgasm lottery. But it’d taken her so long to get to this point. She knew what she wanted, had finally figured out what flipped her switches, and she was tired of doing things halfway. “You know the price of admission for my bed, Gib. You’re not willing to pay it.”
Gibson leaned forward, bracing his arms on the bar and getting way too close for her to concentrate on anything but his dark eyelashes and full bottom lip. He kept his voice low enough for only her to hear. “We don’t have to be in any roles at all. We could just do things the old-fashioned way. Hot skin and cool sheets.”
She closed her eyes, a hint of his scent hitting her—rain-soaked earth. He’d always smelled like spring rain to her, something in his laundry detergent probably. But not until she’d had him under her whip did she get the rest of it—earth and man and hot need, who he really was beneath that polished exterior. She could smell it on him now. And that scent brought her right back to those sessions in the training room at the Ranch.
Never before had she felt such an utter need to make a man hers like she had when Gibson got into a scene. Something about him stirred those dark desires she’d only toyed with in fantasies before then. But the sessions had been her own kind of torture because they’d kept it so businesslike. He’d never taken off anything more than his shirt. There’d been no sex. He’d guided her from the bottom as her trainer and never gave over real control. Not until that last session, when she’d somehow broken through that outside layer, had she gotten a glimpse of what things could be like if they ever did those things for real, without restrictions.
And she knew without a doubt that if she agreed to an old-fashioned hookup with Gibson, physically she’d probably be over the moon, but deep down she’d be left unsatisfied afterward because she’d gotten a peek at what she’d be missing. She was done compromising. In her endless search to find Mr. Right, she’d spent too many years of her life dating guys who she’d jumped through hoops to please. No more. Even if Gibson was stupid beautiful and looking at her like he’d light her world on fire.
She poured a Crown and water and slid it his way. “Gib, let’s not pretend that either of us would be satisfied with old-fashioned. You don’t pay that exorbitant fee at the Ranch for nothing.”
The grooves around his mouth deepened and he straightened to full height, taking the drink in his hand. “I can’t be what you want me to be, Sam.”
“Why?” The word slipped out before she could stop it. But she’d seen how he’d reacted after that flogging. It hadn’t just been the pain. She’d been practicing dirty talk that night, dressing him down with her words. That had been the difference that night. He hadn’t just gotten hard; he’d been fighting subspace. Submission did something for him. She hadn’t imagined that.
His gaze slid away, the doors to his expression slamming shut. “Because it’s not who I want to be.”
She pressed her lips together, considering him for a long moment. She knew some submissive guys struggled with their desires. Many thought big, strong alpha men weren’t supposed to be anything other than dominant. But Gibson was so confident in his everyday life, she couldn’t imagine he gave a shit what societal norms or traditional gender roles called for. But for some reason, this was a no-go for him.
She needed to accept that. Move on. She reached out and put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “Hey, that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Friends who are not weird with each other. Or at least only weird in an awesome way. Because, let’s face it, neither of us has any shot at normal.”
His lips tilted up at the corners, but his eyes didn’t hold the same humor. “Yeah, guess we’ll have to get some practice at that.”
She nodded. “Definitely. We’ll go have lunch or something soon, okay?”
“Sure.” He grabbed for his wallet. “What do I owe you for the drink?”
“It’s on the house for trying to protect me from drunk assholes. Thanks for that, by the way. I would’ve handled it, but seeing his teeth knock together when you shoved him against the bar was pretty entertaining.”
His mouth curved into a full smile then. “Anytime, sunshine.”
After one last look, he headed back to his table, and she didn’t talk to him again until he and her friends said good-bye for the night. When he walked out of the bar, all the starch drained out of her. She tried to stay busy, keep her energy up, but as the crowd thinned and the night stretched on, the finality of her and Gibson’s situation weighed on her. When the last customer headed out the door, she sagged back against the counter and closed her eyes, rubbing her brow.
“Everything okay?” Angie asked.
Sam opened her eyes to find her current manager-in-training cleaning a glass and giving her a concerned look. Sam shook her head. “I’m fine. Long night.”
Angie nodded toward the back. “You should get out of here, then. Billy and I can lock up. I’ve got the hang of the closing procedures by now.”
Sam stretched her neck and glanced at the empty bar. Usually she stayed and helped to put things back in order, but she’d worked every night this week preparing for her time off, and the thought of staying any longer suddenly felt like a prison sentence. “You sure?”
“Of course. Your vacation can start now. Go. Get some rest.”
Sam smiled. “Why haven’t I made you assistant manager yet?”
“Because you’re too much of a control freak. But I’ll be more than happy to accept that promotion when you get back.”
Sam pushed off the bar and patted Angie’s shoulder as she passed. “Consider it done. And if anything happens this week, you can call me—”
“I’ll call Marvin,” she said, cutting her off. “You’re on vacation, not on call. Forget about us for a while.”
“You’re a bossy thing.”
“Hello, Kettle, you’re black. Love, Pot.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “Fine. Point taken. I’m out of here. Don’t forget to lock up the safe and check—”
“The side door. I know. Go.” She shooed her with her hand.
Sam didn’t protest this time and went into the back room to grab her purse and keys. The spring night was cool and dry as she exited the side door and headed through the alleyway toward the parking lot. Her worn Vans were silent on the pavement and after the constant roar of the bar, she welcomed the quiet night around her. But despite the peacefulness, she held her little bottle of mace in her right hand.
This area of downtown was pretty safe, but she didn’t take that kind of thing for granted. You were never really safe. She’d learned that the hard way bouncing around foster homes and group homes, running into people who thought her petite size and vulnerable circumstances made her an easy target. Danger pounced when you let your guard down.
It’s why in her first semester in college, she’d taken a Krav Maga course and learned how to protect herself. It’s why she always carried mace. And it’s why when she turned the corner around the building and saw a familiar face heading her way, she didn’t hesitate to raise her hand and aim.
Idiot number one from the bar fight was glaring back at her, but he lifted his hands. “Easy, now, darling. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“Bullshit,” she said, finger on the trigger of her mace, her heart trying to pound out of her chest. She dipped her other hand in her purse, blindly feeling around for her phone. “You need to back off and go home.”
He smiled. “I was just coming back because I left my wallet at the table. I need to get back inside.”
“You can come back tomorrow. I’ll let the staff know to put it aside for you.”
“I can’t wait that long.” He took a step closer.
“I said back off, asshole.” She put more pressure on the trigger and stepped back.
And ran into something solid … and warm.
Her body jolted at the impact and her finger slipped off the trigger, but it was too late to react beyond that. A hand came around and clamped over her mouth. Another arm banded around her chest, knocking the mace out of her grip and dragging her back into the alleyway
“Well, hi there,” a voice said against her ear, stale whiskey breath burning her nostrils.
Everything went cold and electric inside her, and she wrenched her body, trying to break the grip and scream behind the hand. Frantic. She’d been through self-defense. She knew there was a way to break this hold, but none of the moves would come to her. All she could think of was to stomp on his feet. But when she tried, her tennis shoes did little damage and her body wouldn’t cooperate. Everything trembled.
The first guy followed them between the buildings and moved closer, invading her space and dominating her vision. His smile was one of triumph. “You know, we never did get those buttery nipples. But how about I taste them without the butter for now.”
He reached out and grabbed the collar of her T-shirt and yanked it down, ripping it and exposing her bra.
Tears jumped to her eyes, and she kicked and writhed like a wildcat. This was not going to happen. These disgusting men were not going to touch her. After a few failed attempts, her shin connected with the guy’s crotch and he doubled over, crying out in pain. She felt the small surge of victory, but then he hauled up and slapped her hard in the face, making stars appear and sending her ears ringing.
“You stupid fucking bitch,” he seethed, still hunched over, one hand cradling himself. “You think you’re so high and mighty, but you’re not going to be anything when we take you to the van and fuck that attitude right out of you.”
The man who was holding her tightened his grip, and her throat closed up, air whistling through her and her vision blurring. Other voices filled her head. Voices she hadn’t heard in years interspersing with the present ones. Her eyes closed and all that was there behind her lids was blood spattering, the violent Texas sun blinding her. Hands on her. Trapped. Held down. Not again. She would not go through this again. She forced her eyes open and shook her head with a violent, sudden motion, breaking free of the hand over her mouth and letting out a piercing scream—one that seemed to come from a place so far inside her, it made her body quake.
Idiot number one’s eyes went wide, and she hoped to God they would run, but he just looked out toward the street. “Come on, get her to the van. Hurry.”
But before they could drag her a few steps, the door to the bar opened and Angie ran out. When she saw what was happening, Angie lifted her arms and pointed a gun their way, hands steady as stone. “Let her go or I swear to God I will blow your fucking balls off.”
Sam knew Angie could damn well do it, too. The girl had grown up in the country, and her daddy still took her hunting.
The guy holding Sam tensed behind her and then let her go like a sack of grain. Her knees hit the ground hard and the two men ran off, shouting at each other to move faster.
Angie raced down the back stairs and toward the parking lot, and Billy came running behind her, cell phone to his ear. He stopped at Sam’s side. “Jesus, are you okay? I called the cops.”
Sam braced a hand on the pavement, panting and trying not to hyperventilate, and held her torn shirt to her chest with her other hand. Her brain seemed to flash through present and past all at once, a scrambled channel of images that made her want to scream again and not stop. But she forced deep breaths into her lungs. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. “I’m all right. Check on Angie.”
But Angie stepped back into the alley a second later, face red with exertion. “I couldn’t get a license plate, but I saw what kind of van they were driving.” She hurried to join Sam and crouched down next to her. “God, honey, you’re bleeding. Billy, get some ice and a new T-shirt.”
Billy jogged back into the building, and Sam sat back on her calves, tentatively touching her lip. It felt swollen but not deeply split at least. “I’m fine. They didn’t get a chance to do more than hit me thanks to you.”
And no thanks to Sam’s own instincts. Every goddamned lick of training she’d gotten had gone down the tube in an instant. She’d felt so strong and confident after arming herself with all those self-defense tools. Had felt like she’d beaten those demons. But when she’d needed them most, she’d been useless. She was just as vulnerable as she’d always been. A victim waiting to happen. The thought shook her down to the core.
You’re never safe.
Angie put her arm around Sam. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. You’re trembling.”
Sam let Angie lead her back into the bar, and Billy brought her ice and a new staff T-shirt. They were babying her, but Sam didn’t have it in her to protest at this point. She just wanted to give her statement to the police and get the hell out of there so she could put herself back together.
The cops arrived a short time after that and took all of their statements. Sam doubted they would be able to find the guys by description alone, but she hoped the van may give them a good lead. Either way, she didn’t think the men would come back to the bar. They were dumb but not brain-dead. The staff would recognize them. Everyone had seen at least one of them during the altercation with Gibson. But she’d ask Marvin, the bar owner, to pay for extra security for the next couple of weeks anyway.
By the time she got in her car to go home, she felt numb. Hollow. But as she drove toward her place, that numbness gave way to anger. Anger at the men who’d attacked her. And anger at herself for panicking so completely. She was not that person. She was the girl in her Krav Maga class who had taken down an instructor twice her size. She was the domme at the Ranch who had men willing to kneel at her feet. She was not going to be the girl to go home to her empty apartment and cower behind the locked doors and jump at every sound. That wasn’t who she was anymore. She couldn’t go back to that.
So when she got to her apartment, she grabbed the suitcase she’d packed for her vacation and added another black bag that was meant for only one place.
Tonight she didn’t need to be alone. Tonight she needed to be in charge.
She tossed the bags in her trunk and got on the road. The Ranch was only an hour away. She couldn’t get there fast enough.
Chapter 2 (#ua4578452-bf7d-5778-bb40-203e37625c35)
Gibson leaned back in his chair, taking in the sights of the common room at the Ranch, unable to focus on any one thing. This was the spot where people came to catch up and maybe find a partner for the night. No nudity was allowed in here, but some people pushed the edges of that with strategically placed bits of leather or vinyl. Others didn’t go for the fetish wear and were dressed like he was—casual, nothing different from what would work in a vanilla club.
Gib usually found the scenery interesting, the interplay between people entertaining. But he couldn’t muster up any enthusiasm tonight. He had no idea why he’d even bothered to come out here after his run-in with Sam earlier tonight. He’d made a reservation for one of the cabins out here a week ago, hoping to distract himself from the raven-haired domme. But after seeing her tonight, it made everyone here look about as exotic as Wonder Bread. And that was saying something considering the table next to him was having a negotiation conversation about fisting. And the table in front of him had two dominants in full drag having a drink before they performed in one of the entertainment rooms. When this was boring, Gibson knew he was in trouble.
He was just about to give up and leave when someone new stepped into the room, catching Gibson’s attention with his unmistakable presence. Grant Waters, the owner of the place, made his way around the room, greeting people and shaking hands. The big cowboy didn’t seem to forget a name or a face, and everyone seemed happy to be acknowledged by the guy. But there was no mistaking his intimidating effect on those around him. The formerly raucous conversations turned to murmurs, and everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter.
Effortless dominance. Like something primal in everyone’s DNA recognized the alpha in the pack.
Gibson envied it. He had no trouble commanding respect in a boardroom. At work he was the leader in his department and enjoyed being at the helm. But here, he often found the role exhausting. He could enjoy it. He could get turned on. But lately he’d been finding it more work than it was worth. He wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t a dyed-in-the-wool dominant. Or maybe not even a dominant at all. He’d been around his brother long enough to know what one looked like, and he knew what lurked in his own fantasies. But even accepting that, Gibson couldn’t relinquish the control. The thought of—well, he couldn’t even think about it.
Which is why he’d had to walk away from Sam. She wanted more from him than he was capable of giving. Deserved more. He could bottom for a night or two, had done it. He’d discovered his masochistic streak years ago and had paid for private sessions with a domme when the need for that kind of release would build up too much. But those were transactions. A bloodletting of sorts. He still held the control—informing the domme what he was there for. And he never surrendered or really let go. He got his enjoyment from taking the pain. That was all.
Sam wouldn’t be satisfied with that. She was a new domme, but he’d discovered how easily she could affect him when they’d trained together. She would want more than his physical submission, she’d want to get in his head, would want his full commitment to the role. No way. He’d learned to deal with the fucked-up wiring his childhood had left him with, but he wasn’t going to base a relationship on it. Couldn’t.
Maybe if those cravings came from a pure place, he’d be okay with it. He didn’t look at the other submissives at the Ranch as if they were screwed up. People were kinky just like people were gay or bi or asexual. It was a part of who they were. He wished his desires were like that—just something that was. But he couldn’t help but see the imprint of his father on all this. His dad had taught him with violent fists and degrading words that you could never show weakness. Victory was in taking it and never flinching, in not giving the other person the satisfaction of getting to you. You could not break.
And Gibson never had. He’d had sessions with dommes where he’d been blind with the pain but he never let go, never orgasmed in session, never went to that place he knew others sought, that oblivion of subspace. He couldn’t surrender. The gratification was in surviving it.
But Sam wouldn’t want that. She’d want his full surrender.
It was something he didn’t have to give. Just thinking about letting go like that put a pit in his stomach.
Grant stopped by his table and clapped him on the shoulder, breaking Gibson from his thoughts. “Hey, stranger, haven’t seen you around in a while.”
Gibson glanced up, trying to clear the scowl he felt himself wearing. “Hey, man. Yeah, work’s been crazy. Kade opened up a new Mediterranean concept and the launch has sucked up all of my time. How’ve you been?”
Grant smirked. “On the verge of a nervous breakdown. Charli’s pregnant and for some reason, she thinks she can continue on with her life as normal and has dismissed my plan to keep her locked in our bedroom and off her feet for the next six months.”
Gibson laughed, knowing the overprotective Grant was probably only half joking about this plan. But Gibson also knew Charli, and there was no way that woman would put up with being Rapunzeled. “I can’t imagine why she’d have a problem with that. But congratulations, that’s fantastic news.”
“Thanks.” He took the seat next to Gibson. “So are you here for a paid session or something else? I’m only asking because Elise, the woman in white over in the corner, is a new member, and I’d rather pair her with someone who’s a veteran.”
Gibson peered over in the direction Grant had indicated and found a pretty redhead scanning the room, her nerves evident in the stiff set of her spine and tight hold on her glass. Everything about her said newbie. Everything also said submissive. Gibson should’ve jumped at the opportunity. She was attractive, and he enjoyed training new members. But trying to drum up excitement tonight was like rubbing two wet sticks together and expecting a fire. “I’m not sure what I’m here for, to be honest.”
Besides his brother and his friend Pike, Grant was the only other person who knew about Gibson’s occasional private sessions with the paid dommes.
Grant gave a grunt of acknowledgement and then nodded toward the entrance on the far side of the room. “Maybe she’s more in line with what you’re looking for this evenin’?”
Gibson turned his head, expecting to see Janessa or one of the other regular dommes who worked there, but instead Sam strolled in. Sam. Just the sight of her gave him a swift kick in the gut. She’d changed out of her work clothes into snug black pants and a corset, torturing Gibson with curves and smooth flesh and brash confidence. Good God, she was something to behold. But as she moved farther into the room and he got a better look at her face, his appreciation of the view switched into something else entirely.
The Sam he’d left in the bar was not the woman here now. Her eyes were puffy and devoid of the smoky makeup she’d been wearing earlier, and one side of her face looked red and swollen. She’d been hurt. He jumped to his feet so quickly, his chair nearly tipped backward. “What the hell?”
Grant stood as well, probably noticing the same things he had.
Their sudden movements must’ve caught her eye because she turned Gibson’s way. Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she spun on her heel and headed in the other direction. But he was only a few strides away and picked up speed.
He caught up to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Sam, wait.”
She tensed beneath his fingers. “You’re not supposed to touch anyone without permission here. Let me go.”
He didn’t give a shit about the rules right now. He stepped around her, blocking her path. Up close, the damage was even worse. Her cheek was definitely swollen, her lip puffy, and she’d been crying. His spunky, upbeat Sam, crying. Something primal and protective surged in him.
“Baby.” He reached for her cheek. “What the hell happened?”
She ducked away from his touch, her jaw twitching. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
He dropped his arm to his side but didn’t move away. “Bullshit. Talk to me.”
Grant stopped a few steps back, listening but not interrupting.
“I’m fine,” she repeated, her fists clenching at her sides.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Sam,” he said, warning in his tone.
She looked away, her stance steely. “Fine. The guys who gave me trouble at the bar tonight were waiting for me when I walked to my car, all right? Shitty end to the night.”
Gibson’s stomach plummeted, and anger ripped through him like a wildfire. “They did this to you?” He closed the space between them, searching her face, wanting to run his hands all over her to make sure everything was intact but knowing he needed to tread carefully. “God, baby, did they—”
“Angie chased them off before they could do any worse than this. I have a few bruises and a ripped shirt. I’ll survive.”
Gibson let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, but rage still beat through him hard and ugly. Those fucking inbreds had hurt Sam, had scared her, would’ve done worse if someone hadn’t been there to interrupt. “I’m going to kill those fuckers.”
“They won’t get caught. And even if they did, the charges would be minor.” She shook her head, a haunted look flashing through her eyes before she covered it. “Look, I’m okay. I got lucky. I just want to forget about it.”
He understood that desire, but he wasn’t buying that she was fine. Her pulse was jumping against her throat and her gaze was darting around the room like she expected someone to jump out. The woman was spooked. He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the slight trembling in her body. He wanted to pull her to him, tell her she was safe with him, that he’d never let anyone hurt her again. But she’d only shove him away. The Do Not Enter signs were screaming from every corner of her expression. “Tell me what I can do. Why don’t we go to my cabin? I’ll get you a drink and we can talk. Or I can drive you home so that you can get some rest.”
She tipped up her chin, eyes flashing with defiance. “I don’t need a drink or to talk or to sleep. That’s not why I came all the way out here, and you know it. I need a sub.”
He frowned. “Baby, you can’t just—”
“Don’t tell me what I can’t do, Gib. I’ve had a bad night, and I know what I need. I need a submissive.” Her tone was flinty, her gaze drilling into him. “Preferably one without a lot of limits.” She leaned into his space. “You volunteering?”
People were starting to turn their way, watching the exchange—the petite domme and the guy everyone knew as a dominant. Eyebrows were lifting. His neck heated. His body was responding to her hard tone, the challenge in her eye, but he tamped the instinct down. “Sam, you know I don’t—”
The door slammed shut, her expression shuttering.
“Fine.” She pushed her shoulders back and then stepped around him. “Be a fucking coward, Gib. I was coming here to find Julian anyway.”
The name of the sub sent jealousy burning through him, and he spun around to try to stop her. But Grant stepped in her path instead. He lifted a hand, halting her without touching her. “Easy, there, mistress.”
Sam couldn’t do anything but stop with the wall of cowboy in front of her. Plus, domme or not, no one challenged Grant. But she held her spine straight and met the man’s gaze. “Please, Grant, I don’t want to talk about it. I’m okay. Let me pass and find Julian.”
Grant frowned down at her, concern filling his face as he evaluated her. “No can do, darlin’. I don’t know exactly what you’ve been through tonight, but I can see that you’re not in a safe state of mind to play with anyone tonight. I won’t allow it. You’re upset and angry. Two things that can cloud your judgment and put your partner at risk.”
Gibson moved closer, and he saw tears well in Sam’s eyes before she blinked them away. “I’m not going to cross any lines. Please, Grant. I need this tonight. I can’t tell you how badly.”
It took everything Gib had not to go to her, take her in his arms. Seeing her so vulnerable and shaken made his chest hurt. And he wanted to strangle the men who’d done this to her.
Grant put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I get it, mistress. But I can’t allow it. Not tonight at least. Why don’t you stay in a cabin, get some rest, and we can chat in the morning? Or go with Gibson and have that drink and talk.”
She shook her head, frustration marking her features as she backed away from Grant’s touch. “No. I’m not here to talk. I’ll just go. This was a mistake.”
“Sam …” Gibson said. But she was already striding for the door. He lunged for her, but Grant put a hand on his arm, halting him. He shrugged out of Grant’s grip. “I need to go after her, man.”
Grant watched Sam’s retreating form, worry lines around his mouth. “She’s not going to let you help. She’s like an injured horse right now, trusting no one and ready to kick anyone who comes close.”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t need help.”
“No. But if you figure out how to convince her to let you in tonight, be careful. She wants to hurt someone, and she’s not thinking straight enough to do it the right way or for the right reasons. She needs a friend tonight, not a sub.”
“I’m not trying to be her sub. I’m just trying to be there for her.”
Grant eyed him. “Sometimes the line between those two can get pretty blurred.”
“I’ll figure it out.” He didn’t want to waste another second and jogged after Sam. She’d just slipped into the hallway when he caught up. “Sam, wait, please.”
She spun around, unshed tears and anger glittering in her eyes. “No, you back off, too. I don’t need to be babied or coddled. And I know that’s all you guys want to do. Pat me on the hand and tell me it’s going to be okay. Well, fuck that. If you want to help me, just leave me the hell alone.”
She turned and pushed through the door that led to the main lobby. He strode after her, the door swinging shut behind him. “I’m not letting you drive home like this. You’re upset. It’s not safe for you to be on the road.”
“Not letting me? Right.” She waved at one of the security guards by the door. “Jack, I’m leaving. I don’t want this man to follow me. I’m calling my safe word.”
Jack stepped forward, his mouth flattening into a sober line. “Of course, mistress.”
Gibson groaned. “Jack, she’s upset and shouldn’t be driving like that. We’re not in a scene. She’s a friend and I’m trying to help her.”
The big guy shrugged. “Sorry, man. Rules are rules. You’re going to need to stay inside until I see her to her car.”
Gibson threw his hands out to his sides. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Sam, don’t do this. Let me help.”
She turned and peered at him over her shoulder, resignation in her eyes. “I gave you a chance to do that. But you said it yourself. You can’t. There’s nothing left to say. I’ve got to go, Gib.”
She walked out the door with the security guard, leaving Gibson with two other staff members who would uphold the rules just as strictly. And if he was in any doubt, they both sent him don’t-try-me looks to punctuate it. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, steaming. Fine. She could leave. But he knew where she lived and he’d be damned if he was going to let her be alone tonight.
He’d give her a few minutes’ head start and then he would follow her.
But fifteen minutes later, when the guards allowed him to leave the Ranch, he never caught up with her car. She’d either driven like a bat out of hell or taken an alternate route. No matter. He knew his destination. But when he reached her apartment, her car was nowhere in the parking lot, he got no answer when he knocked on her door, and her phone went straight to voice mail.
The seed of anxiety that had nestled in his gut when he couldn’t find her car on the road bloomed into full-fledged worry. He hit a different button on his phone and called his brother. It was the middle of the night, but maybe Sam had gone to Kade and Tessa’s house. She probably had a key, and Tessa was her best friend. Who better to go to if she needed a shoulder to lean on?
His brother answered on the third ring, groggy-voiced. “Gib? What’s wrong?”
“Is Sam at your place?”
“Sam?” Kade asked like he was trying to make sense of the word. Sheets shifted. “No. Why would she be here?”
“Are you sure? Could she have come in while y’all were sleeping?”
“No. She doesn’t have an alarm code and she knows we’re getting on a plane this morning. Why? What’s wrong? Did something happen? Don’t tell me you messed around with her and pissed her off again.”
“No, it’s not like that. Shit.” Gibson ran a hand through his hair and leaned against Sam’s door. “Sam was jumped outside of the bar tonight.”
“What?”
“She’s okay. Or was, at least. Banged up and freaked out, but okay. I saw her at the Ranch afterward, but she left upset and now she’s not at her place.”
More rustling noises filled the line and Tessa’s voice sounded in the background. “Babe, who are you talking to?”
“It’s Gib,” Kade said. “He said Sam was jumped outside the bar tonight. Have you talked to her?”
“What? Oh my God. Give me the phone.”
Tessa got on the line, and Gibson quickly explained what he knew. Then, without giving her time to ask too many questions, he got straight to the point. “I need to know if you have any idea where she is or where she’d go if she was upset.”
Tessa let out a breath, obviously shaken at the news. “God, poor Sam. She wouldn’t come to me, though. She doesn’t like bringing her problems to other people. When she’s upset, she goes all hermit crab.”
“So why wouldn’t she just come home?”
“Did you knock on her door?”
“Well, I didn’t telepathically send her a message through the wall.”
Tessa ignored his sarcasm. “Did Darcy bark his head off?”
Gibson looked up, the significance of the question settling in, and turned to the door. “No.” He knocked again, harder, louder. Nothing. “No barking.”
Tessa sighed. “Son of a bitch. That girl has a hard head.”
“What?”
“I bet I know where she is. She’s off this week, and she’s been renovating her grandmother’s house in her free time. She probably took the dog and went out to the country.”
“Wait. Her grandmother? I thought she didn’t have any family.” He hadn’t gotten Sam’s whole story, but he knew that she and Tessa had met in foster care.
“She doesn’t anymore. Her grandmother died when Sam was eight, but she found out last year that the house and property had been left to her. It’s about an hour and a half outside of Dallas in the middle of freaking nowhere, and the place is in rough shape. Electricity’s spotty and no cell service. I told her it wasn’t safe to be there at night, but she loves that place. If she’d run anywhere, that’s where she’d go—some place where no one would bother her.”
Sam alone in the country, upset, no electricity or phones? Sounded like a seriously bad idea. “I need to know exactly where it is.”
“Gib …”
“No, Tess. I get it. You want to protect her privacy. But I saw her tonight. She’s shaken and doesn’t need to be alone.”
“If I leave now, I can go check on her. We’re taking the company jet for the trip. They can hold it.”
“Or I can go out there, and you can go on your vacation. Come on, you know she’s safe with me. I’ll go check on her and get her to come back home. No way should she be staying alone in some ramshackle place. She can have my cabin at the Ranch if she needs a place to get away for a week.”
Tessa was quiet for a moment. “She’ll be seriously pissed at me if I send you out there.”
“Have you seen any horror flick ever made? Single woman alone in the woods in a broken-down house?”
“That’s not playing fair.”
“But it’s true. Come on. Let me help her. I know I screwed things up, but I still care about her and can be a friend to her.”
Tessa let out a beleaguered sigh. “A scared Sam is not a good Sam. She’ll lash out at anyone who tries to help. It’s one of the things that got her kicked out of so many foster placements. I can sometimes get past that wall, but she’s going to be in full-scale defense mode.”
“You don’t think I can handle that?”
“You can’t push her or caveman her. It will make things worse.”
He rubbed his brow, his heart beating fast at the thought of Sam out there alone in the woods. He wanted to push. He wanted to go out there, haul her over his shoulder, and bring her back home with him. But Tessa was right. If he tried that shit with Sam, she’d run farther and faster. He took a calming breath, trying to keep his voice even. “I’ll be whatever she needs me to be in order to get her back home safely.”
“Whatever she needs? You really mean that, Gib?” That was Kade again. Great, they’d put him on fucking speakerphone.
Gibson gritted his teeth. His brother was always doing that, poking that tender spot. “I mean it.”
“Good. Then go get her, man. If you don’t, I’m driving out there myself. That place is a goddamned death trap.”
Tessa groaned, but then he heard the sheets shift and a soft thump, like she was falling back onto a pillow in defeat. “I’ll text you the address.”
“Thank you.”
“I’d say let me know how she’s doing once you get out there, but I’ve been out that way. The cell reception is shit. So text me when you head back home,” Tessa said.
“Will do.”
“And, Gib …”
“Yeah?”
“If you hurt her, I’m kicking your ass.”
“And I’ll hold you down while she does it,” Kade added.
“I’m not going to hurt her.” He leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She’ll hurt me first.
If only he could let her.
Chapter 3 (#ua4578452-bf7d-5778-bb40-203e37625c35)
Sam’s T-shirt clung to her, sweat glazing her back, as she ran the hand sander over the scarred hardwood in her grandmother’s dining room. The steady sound of the machine was usually good for blocking out thoughts and putting her in a state of zen, but for the last two hours her brain had proven to be louder than the obnoxious machine. And the one time she’d attempted to take a break and turn the thing off, the silence had clawed at her like some evil beast. Every creak of the old house, every rustle outside, had made her jump and tense. Which pissed her the fuck off. This was the place where she was most at home, her refuge, and those disgusting shitheads had tainted that, put that creeping fear back in her.
She gritted her teeth and tried harder to focus, making sure to keep the machine moving so that she wouldn’t get lost in thought and grind her way right through the damn floor. The first signs of dawn were peeking through the tattered curtains, and the wood dust danced in the soft light. Good. At least she’d have light to work by now. The electrical system in the house tripped anytime she plugged in more than one or two things. So the sander and a floor lamp were all she’d allowed herself since she’d gotten here. The shadows had felt oppressive. She needed the light today, needed to stand outside in the wildflower field that flanked the property and feel the sun on her face, chase the chill that had settled into her bones.
She’d do that. After she completed this room. She needed to finish this to feel like she’d beaten this horrible night, that she’d gotten something accomplished despite it. She shifted forward, her back aching and the kneepads not offering much cushion anymore, to tackle the last section of the floor. She was almost there when the loud hum of the machine cut off with a whine and the lamp blinked out. That thick silence of a power outage blanketed the room, the only sound left was a dripping faucet from kitchen.
“NO!” She shook the machine. “No, no, no!”
It felt stupid to yell in the empty house, but she’d been so close to done. So close to claiming that small victory. She sat back on her calves, tugged off one of her gloves, and threw it across the room. It landed with a sad thwap against the shiplap walls. Sweat stung her eyes. She wanted to punch things. To grab a hammer out of the toolbox and just destroy something. But she needed to go flip the circuit breaker. She would finish this floor, goddammit.
But she didn’t move. Instead, hot tears sliced down her cheeks. She had no idea where they’d come from, hadn’t felt the telltale burn in the back of her throat, but now that they were coming, she couldn’t staunch them. Fat, wet tears rolled down her face and dripped onto the newly stripped floors. Plop. Plop. Plop. Then a full-out sob heaved out of her.
“Shit.” Any of the strength she had left, any remnants of energy, drained out of her with the salty teardrops. The events of the night and lack of sleep hit her all at once, and she was too exhausted to defend against it. She shoved the sander aside, took off the other glove, and braced her hands on her thighs, the sobs coming in wracking gasps.
She was going to mess up the floors, but she couldn’t stop. She wasn’t a crier. She hated crying. In her first placement after her grandmother died, she’d had a foster brother who’d teased her because she’d cried every day. He’d point it out to everyone and call her a baby. One day, she’d dipped his toothbrush in the toilet because she’d been tired of taking his shit. She’d gotten caught. That’d been the end of that placement. Not a loss at the time. But she wondered sometimes if she’d stuck that one out, if she would’ve been saved from a lot worse later on.
But that’s one reason why she’d come here. If she was going to fall apart, she could do it here, alone. Safe and away from prying eyes. No one needed to see her like this. No one would call her a baby or think she was weak or prey on that vulnerability.
So she let the tears overtake her. Maybe if she exorcised them now, she could move the hell on and forget that she’d almost been raped outside the bar, that she hadn’t been able to protect herself. That she’d failed.
But right as the heaving sobs started to quiet, the ache in her chest turning hollow and spent, something sounded outside the window. A snap. Like a twig. The noise shouldn’t freak her out. Random critters wandered into this area all the time. Wild rabbits mostly. But her body reacted like it was a major threat, her muscles tensing and her breath stalling. The tears cut off in an instant and all her senses went on alert.
Whatever the noise had been, it hadn’t set off Mr. Darcy. Sam had put the border collie mix upstairs so he wouldn’t get himself hurt while she worked. But that didn’t mean much. Darcy was a decent watchdog, but he was old and slept hard. She closed her eyes and listened, trying to focus. A soft wind was blowing through the trees and grasses outside, a whispering whir. Birds were starting to greet the dawn. Nothing sinister. Just the lovely, quiet sounds of the country. She sighed and swiped her hands over her face. Calm down, Twitchy. Breathe.
But before she could complete the breath, a booming knock rocketed through the farmhouse, rattling the door and sending a scream right up her throat. Darcy barked from upstairs. Sam clamped her hands over her mouth just in time to cut off the scream. But she scrambled to her feet and turned toward the front doorway like the Big Bad Wolf was about to bust through.
Whoever this was, it couldn’t be good. It was too early and this house was too far out for it to be someone selling something. She needed to get to the bedroom and get the gun she kept in there. But the windows in the living room had thin curtains, and she’d have to cross that room to get to the stairs. What if whoever it was saw her?
Fuck. Her hands shook. There were knives in the kitchen. That’d be something. She took a step that way when the banging came again, each knock a jolt of electric anxiety through her.
But just as she made it to the doorway of the kitchen, a familiar voice echoed through the house. “Sam, it’s Gib. I know you’re here. Open up.”
Every tight muscle in her body sagged in relief. Gibson. It was Gibson. Not an ax murderer in a hockey mask. Okay. Okay.
But then as soon as that thought settled—I’m safe—another one hit. It was Gibson.
She had no idea how he’d found her, but she’d told him to leave her alone when she’d left the Ranch. And she was a freaking mess right now. If she’d wanted his help, she would’ve asked him for it. That sent a rush of righteous indignation right up her spine, anger hot on its heels.
Part of her was tempted to ignore his pushy ass. Pretend she wasn’t here. But knowing him, he’d break the damn door down. So instead, she gathered up that anger into a nice, spinning ball in her gut and stalked toward the door.
He banged on it again before she could reach it, so when she swung the door open, his fist was still hovering in the air. He blinked as if surprised she’d actually appeared, and then blatant relief descended over his features. “Thank Christ.”
Her jaw clenched, and she had to force it to relax to speak. “What the hell are you doing here?”
His gaze skated over her, a deep line appearing between his brows as he ignored her question. “Shit, Sam, you look … baby.”
She had a good idea what she looked like. She was sweaty, covered with wood dust, and between the attack last night and all the crying, her face probably looked like she’d been hit with a wet bag of rocks. Goddammit. This was the last thing she needed Gibson to see. And the fact that he’d forced her into letting him see her like this pissed her off even more. “Don’t you dare call me baby or look at me like that. You’re not supposed to be here. I didn’t invite you.”
His blue eyes flicked upward, rigid determination there. “You don’t need to be alone right now. And you damn well shouldn’t be alone out here in the middle of nowhere.” He swung a hand toward the door. “A stiff wind would knock this thing down. What are you thinking?”
Well, that just punched all her bitch buttons. “Thanks for stopping by. It’s been fun. I’m alive and fine. You can go home now. Buh-bye.”
She moved to shut the door, but his hand flew out to block it from closing. “Oh, no you don’t. You can be pissed at me all you want. But if you think I’m leaving you out here like this, let me alleviate you of that notion. Not gonna happen, sunshine.”
Her grip on the door tightened. “What? You gonna drag me out kicking and screaming, Gib? I’ll fucking fight you.”
A muscle in his jaw ticked and he took a step forward. “You know I’m not going to put my hands on you like that. But you either come willingly or you’re going to be staring at my ugly mug until you do.”
Ugly mug was about as far from the truth as possible. Even with dark shadows under his eyes, his hair disheveled from raking fingers, and a wrinkled shirt, he looked like he’d just fallen off the stage of some hot man revue. But she was too ticked off to care about how hot he was. Mostly.
“Leave, Gib.”
“Not unless you come with me.” He ducked under the arm she had braced on the door and strode inside.
“Oh my God.” She spun around, the door swinging shut on its own behind her. “Boundaries, dude. Ever heard of the word?”
“Yep. Can spell it and everything.” Gib crossed his arms over his chest and peered around, examining the place. His gaze landed on the sander and the stripped floor of the adjoining dining room. “Is this what you’ve been up to?”
She groaned. He wasn’t going to go away. That much was clear. And she wasn’t going with him. He really would have to fight her for that. She’d waited too long to take this week off. And she wanted that week spent here. If she could knock out the list of projects she had, she’d be that much closer to having this place livable. “I’m renovating. Despite what ideas you have in that testosteroned brain of yours, I didn’t run out here because I’m freaking out over what happened last night. I had a vacation planned. I’m going to spend the week here—alone. I just left a few hours early. And I’m fine. I come out here all the time. I have a gun. I have Darcy. No serial killers have bothered me yet.”
“Yet. There’s a key word for ya. Friday the 13th Part Thirty-Five could be set here.”
“Gib.”
“Look, I get that you don’t want me here. But you’re not going to convince me everything’s peachy. Your argument would hold more water if it weren’t obvious that you’ve been crying, that you haven’t slept, and that you were completely freaked out when you bolted at the Ranch.”
She gritted her teeth, hoping her steely gaze would make him back the hell off. “I’m. Fine.”
But instead of backing off, he stepped closer, his eyes softening and his hands cupping her shoulders. “I don’t think you are. And that’s cool. Feel whatever you need to feel. You don’t have to hide that from me or be embarrassed. But I need you to forget for a second that you’re mad at me. Forget all that shit at the Ranch. And remember that before anything else, I’m your friend, Sam. And if this were my brother or Pike or Foster acting like a hardheaded, reckless jackass, I would call them out, too. Would you let Tessa do this? Stay out here alone when she’d just been through something fucking traumatic?”
His palms on her shoulders were almost too much. She’d die if he could feel her trembling. But the touch was somehow grounding, too—settling. And she hated to admit he was right. She’d never let Tessa do this. She could come up with ten arguments for why it was a dumb idea. But she couldn’t leave. If she left, her attackers won. They would successfully steal her vacation, change her plans, alter her life. She met Gibson’s gaze, needing him to understand, needing him to hear her. She put her hands over his. “I can’t go, Gib. I won’t. I get what you’re saying, but … I need this. Maybe more than anything. I need to be here.”
She hated the pleading tone in her voice, had never wanted Gibson to see this side of her. Even if he hadn’t wanted to go down that road with her, in her mind, she was still the domme and he the sub. She was supposed to be strong in front of him. Instead, she felt like she could crumple at any minute. Everything raw and exposed. Sleep deprivation and the adrenaline crash unraveling the strings holding her up.
Gibson’s eyes searched hers, the lines around his mouth deepening. “You’re not going to change your mind on this, are you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
He let out a long sigh and lowered his hands to his sides. “Okay, then.”
“Really?” All the air sagged out of her. Thank God. Thank. God. He was going to leave her be. She could wallow in peace. Put herself back together on her own before having to face the world again. “Thank you.”
“Right.” Gibson gave a stiff nod, turned on his heel, and headed to the door.
Sam blinked, surprised at how quickly he was leaving. She’d expected a safety lecture first or something, but he opened the door and stepped outside. When the door clicked shut, unexpected loss swept through her, like the candle inside her had snuffed out. She stood there for a few long seconds, staring at the shut door, but then she quickly snapped out of the weird reaction and strode toward it. She should at least tell him good-bye.
But when she opened the door, instead of seeing Gibson’s back, a large, bounding dog was headed straight for her. She only had time to put her hands up in front of her before Sasha, Gibson’s golden lab, was tackling her with happy barks and sloppy licks. Sam skidded back on her heels, barely avoiding sprawling right onto her ass.
“Sash!” Gibson called from the dirt driveway. “Down!”
Sasha got off of Sam and went back to all fours but did a happy, spinning dance, slapping Sam’s legs with her tail.
Gib jogged up and grabbed Sasha’s collar, guiding her into a sit. “Sorry. Being cooped up in the car that long makes her … well, insane.”
Sam was still stunned by the appearance of the dog when she noticed the black duffel bag slung over Gibson’s shoulder. Her gaze zeroed in on it. “What is that? And why is your dog with you?”
Gibson shrugged and then gave one of those pirate grins, all dimples and scruff and bad boy next door. “I had a feeling you weren’t going to come with me. So I made sure I had a plan B.”
Her stomach dropped. “Plan B?”
“Yep. Good to always have one in business and in life.” He stepped past her, back into the house, taking Sasha with him. “Congratulations, you have your first houseguest. Two if you count Sash.”
Every one of Sam’s feathers fluffed up. “Oh, the hell I do. Guest would imply that you were invited, which you’re not. There’s only one functioning bedroom in this place.”
Something flickered in his eyes at that, but it quickly disappeared. “I have a sleeping bag in the trunk. I can take a couch or the floor. And Sasha will behave. She can hang out in the backyard if need be. It’s this or you come home. Not negotiable, sunshine.”
“I’m not going …” She barely resisted the impulse to stomp her foot. Instead, she smacked him on the arm—hard. Then when that felt good, she did it again. Then she pushed him. “Goddammit, Gib. You can’t—”
All the rage from the night before was bubbling up and out. He was backing her into a corner and she didn’t fucking like it. She was spent and exhausted and emotionally wrung out and she wanted to hit things. Hit him. She pushed again, and he rocked back a step, staying silent and stoic, even with Sasha barking at the ruckus.
“What is wrong with you? You can’t do this.” Angry words spilled out of her with every shove. Words that didn’t make sense. Words that weren’t even directed at him. But he said nothing. Soon he was up against the wall and she was pummeling the sides of her fists against his chest like some crazed thing.
He didn’t resist, just let her push and hit. Absorbed her violence. She couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stop. She saw blurred colors and realized she was crying again. Sobbing and yelling. Jesus.
“Fuck. Fuck!” Her voice raked over her raw throat.
“Baby,” he said, almost too softly to hear above her own tirade and Sasha’s confused barking. “It’s okay. Just let that shit out. Whatever you need to do.”
She shook her head. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t deal with this right now. With him. She gave another halfhearted push. But when she finally ran out of steam, almost collapsing into his chest from the exhaustion, she looked up at him.
And that did her in. The expression on his face was so heartbreakingly tender she couldn’t bear it. He’d let her beat him to a pulp if she wanted. She knew it. Saw it there. Her head spun. Crazy woman, meet immovable force. She closed her eyes, the floor feeling as if it were tilting beneath her feet. Was she still crying? Yeah, she was. She couldn’t even feel it anymore. Her chest heaved with broken breaths.
Gibson’s arms were around her before she could topple over. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. Just take a slow breath. It’s all right. You’re tired. Your body’s giving out on you.”
“I’m fine,” she whispered.
But either he didn’t hear or he ignored it because in the next second, he was lifting her in his arms. She gave one feeble smack against his chest. No. Put me down. But the words didn’t come out. Maybe she didn’t want them to.
“Where’s your room?”
She couldn’t fight anymore. Not right now. Her head sagged against his shoulder. “Upstairs.”
Gibson didn’t say another word. He carried her up the stairs like she weighed nothing and started opening doors. When she heard the skittering of dog nails on hardwood and a bark, she knew Gib had found the right room.
“Hey, there, pretty boy,” Gibson said to Darcy. “Let me get your momma inside, all right?”
Sasha whined from downstairs, and that was the end of that. Darcy scampered from the room in search of a friend to play with. His ears failed him sometimes in sleep, but his nose was deadly accurate.
Gibson strode across the room and laid Sam on the bed. He settled her against her pillows and pulled her grandmother’s handmade quilt over her, the baked-in smell of home enveloping her. She opened her eyes, painfully embarrassed that he was seeing her like this but too wiped to fight back anymore. “I’m going to get the sheets all gross.”
He pushed her hair away from her tear-streaked face. “So I’ll wash them when you wake up. If you don’t get some rest, you’re going to pass out on your feet.”
“I haven’t agreed to let you stay.”
A little smile tugged at the corners of those built-for-sin lips. “That’s ’cause I didn’t ask. We’ll talk after you wake up.”
She closed her eyes, her lids feeling too heavy to hold up. “You haven’t slept either.”
“I’ll take the dogs out and then I’ll crash.”
Part of her wanted to peel back the covers and let him slide in next to her. He smelled good, and having that big solid body next to her felt like the best kind of medicine. But she knew that was the crazy sleep deprivation talking. “The couch in the living room is pretty comfortable. There’s an extra quilt in the closet.”
“Thanks.”
She yawned. “I’m sorry I hit you.”
Warm lips pressed to her forehead, sending a shiver right through her. “I’m not.”
She opened her eyes at that to find him wearing a resigned smile.
“I’ve taken far worse from you, mistress. If it makes you feel better, I can handle it.”
Despite her utter exhaustion, the words sent a curling warmth down her spine. “I wouldn’t be so cocky. You haven’t seen the worst of me yet.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed his lips over her knuckles. “You’re right. I haven’t been that lucky.”
The longing look he gave her nearly zapped her out of her state.
But before she could respond, he released her hand and stood. “See you on the other side, sunshine.”
She watched him go, the honed muscles in his back shifting beneath his shirt, that bitable ass fitting his jeans just right. God, he was so fucking beautiful it almost hurt.
See you on the other side.
Yeah.
She just wished it was on the other side of her flogger.
With that delicious image lingering in her mind, she fell into a deep sleep, the nightmares kept at bay by one big Texan with a dimpled smile and a stubborn attitude.
Chapter 4 (#ua4578452-bf7d-5778-bb40-203e37625c35)
Gibson’s body was too long for the couch, so he’d only managed a couple of hours of sleep, but he didn’t care. He was here. Sam was safely tucked away upstairs. He’d deal with any discomfort involved as long as he could guarantee that.
When he’d driven along the winding, overgrown road that led to the place, he’d never been so worried in his life. This place was at least two miles from anything but fields and cows. Beyond some psycho finding Sam out here alone, what would happen if she hurt herself? Remodeling a house alone was never a good idea. Too many things could go wrong. But out here where cell phones didn’t work? That was crazy. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her that he would call out his guy friends on something like that, too.
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