Club Shadowlands Read online

  The hand on the back of her neck tightened painfully before he loosened his fingers. Ruthless eyes pinned her in place. “Did he hurt you, kitten?”

  “No. Daniel—I mean, Master D—hauled him away, and Cullen made sure we were okay. We’re fine; we’re all fine. Really.”

  His lips definitely curved, although the chill in his gaze was slow to fade. He let go of her neck and stroked his knuckles over her cheek. “I think later we’ll discuss your need to shelter other women, Jessica.”

  Oh, hell, that wasn’t a subject she really wanted to talk about. She frowned at him. Damn psychologist mind reader.

  He tilted her chin up. “Did you just frown at me?”

  She could hear Maxie’s gasp and Lenora’s hiss of concern.

  “No. I didn’t.” She tried to smooth her face and ended up frowning at him anyway. “Really.”

  He laughed, deep and full, and the two women simply sat there and stared.

  “You know, I think it’s your fault that tonight has been so unsettled. I fully intended to have you pinned and squirming underneath me again, long before this, but Murphy’s Law shattered that plan quite well.”

  Her mind played his words back twice before she realized what he meant. She felt herself turn red. And hot. And aroused at the image he’d set into her head: his body on hers, holding her down and—

  “Z! Could you check this over?” One of the dungeon monitors who had been escorting the wild man beckoned.

  Sir sighed. “Excuse me, ladies.” He headed for the group huddled around the bar, but had to stop when a woman knelt in his path. A gorgeous blonde with a golden tan, slender and toned, with a perfect figure that the skimpy blue nightie didn’t conceal at all. Sir spoke to her, said something, and the woman raised her face, gazing at him with a mixture of lust and appeal. No man could turn that down.

  Jessica felt her heart thud into the ground at her feet.

  Sir touched the woman on her head, stepped around her, and joined the men. Well, at least he hadn’t taken her up on her offer right there. At least, being a gentleman—bondage and paddles notwithstanding—he probably wouldn’t abandon Jessica for the woman tonight. Not tonight.

  Her chest hurt, and she rubbed her sternum. She shouldn’t be surprised. And she’d undoubtedly enjoy the rest of the evening. Wishing for more than this night from Sir was stupid.

  She glanced at the other two women and saw sympathy on their faces. Damn. She turned back to watch Sir, enjoying the way all the men listened when he spoke. Nobody interrupted Master Z, did they?

  He turned to take a paper the monitor handed him, and Jessica gasped. His black shirt was torn across his shoulder, the skin underneath covered in blood. Below that the shirt sagged wetly, though the red didn’t show. “He’s hurt.”

  And nobody was doing anything about it. Jessica pushed to her feet, tugged at the chain. “He’s bleeding. Let me free.”

  Lenora’s brows drew together. “We can’t do that, you know.”

  Jessica growled. “You let me loose right now!”

  Maxie’s eyes went wide.

  “You’re an idiot,” Lenora muttered as she released the chain, and Maxie unbuckled the ring keeping the cuffs together. Freed, Jessica ran for the bar, shoved her way through to the front, and slapped her hand on the top to get Cullen’s attention.

  He turned, gave her an astonished stare.

  “Sir’s hurt,” she snapped. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”

  He glanced at the end of the bar where Sir stood, then pulled a box off a shelf. “Go for it, sweetie.”

  Jessica grabbed the box and turned to fight her way out, only the people had moved aside, leaving a path between her and Master Z.

  Intent on reading the paper, he didn’t even notice her until she seized his arm and tore the ripped shirt from the wound.

  “Jessica, what—”

  “Don’t move,” she ordered. A slash, deep and nasty. Her head spun for a second. Blood so wasn’t her thing. Then she set the first-aid kit on the bar, and ripped open a gauze packet. “You’re bleeding, dammit.”

  He glanced down at his shoulder, shook his head. “Drugs and whips don’t mix well.”

  “He whipped you?” Shock brought her eyes up to his.

  “He tried. Considering he’s still heaving his dinner out in the parking lot, I don’t feel too badly about it. Serves me right for not being more observant.” He touched her cheek with gentle fingers. “You were worried about me.”

  She dropped her gaze. Putting gauze on the cut, she applied pressure. “This probably needs stitches, Master Z.” She risked a look up at him, realizing it was the first time she’d actually called him Master out loud.

  His dark eyes burned, pinned her in place. He knew. He ran a finger across the top of her breasts and smiled when her nipples peaked. “Cullen,” he said, without looking away from her.

  “Master Z.”

  “I’m going to let my little sub finish her bandaging job upstairs.”

  Jessica’s heart gave a hard thud.

  “Please take charge of the club,” Master Z finished, glancing at the bartender.

  “Yes, sir.” Cullen’s grin flashed at Jessica.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zachary tried to put his arm around his sub, but she took his hand and set it against the gauze covering his wound and ordered, “Hold that there.”

  He shook his head. From a submissive to a spitfire in five easy minutes. The contrast was startling. Compelling. Her concern spilled through him like warmth from the sun.

  Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d been cold.

  Stunned into silence, he unlocked the private door and took her up to the third floor. Flipping on the lights, he waved her in, and got his first-aid box from the closet.

  In his kitchen of granite counters and stainless steel appliances, she was like a beam of light with her vivid eyes and pale golden hair. Taking the kit from him, she started rummaging through it.

  Zachary poured them both drinks then sat at the round oak table.

  She picked up her glass and drank it in one gulp.

  He managed not to laugh. “Rough night, kitten?” He poured her another shot, although gulping was hardly the way to drink Glenlivet.

  “Take your shirt off.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  Flushing, she hastily added, “Please?”

  With a smile, he pulled the shirt off and tossed it into the wastebasket. He glanced at his shoulder. Not bleeding much, not too deep.

  Lips pressed together, Jessica washed the slice clean then pulled the edges together with thin adhesive strips. She finished by taping a gauze pad over the wound. “I think that will be all right,” she said before dropping into a chair at the table and downing her second shot of scotch.

  He checked her work. “Excellent job.”

  She was still pale, so he poured one final shot and put the bottle away. Any more and she’d be out like a light. “Let’s go into the living room,” he said, lacing his fingers with hers. She had a delicate hand with small fingers.

  Taking a seat in his favorite leather chair, he pushed the oak coffee table farther away and pulled her down to sit on the floor between his legs, her back against the chair. Her pale skin was almost translucent against the dark red carpet.

  She turned to him with an insulted expression. “Is this where a pet sits?”

  “No…pet.” He put a slight emphasis on the word just to see her face flush. “This is where someone sits when they need their shoulders rubbed.” His hands closed on her shoulders where the muscles were so tight he had seen the knots from across the kitchen.

  “Ohhhh.”

  The sigh reminded him of her sweet moan when his cock entered her softness. He hardened, considered taking her right there on the carpet. But that wasn’t what she needed from him right now. He dug his thumbs into her muscles, felt the loosening.

  “Sir?”

  “Um-hmm.” He moved his fingers to her slender neck,
sliding the cool silky hair to one side.

  “I’m sorry.”

  There was a slight quaver in her voice and worry, almost fear in her mind, and he frowned. Sorry for what? She had snapped at him, he remembered, or maybe for the way she’d ordered him around? Ah, probably that. She was new to all this.

  “Jessica, with some Doms, the slightest misstep will bring wrath down on a sub’s head. I don’t operate that way. That you were willing to risk my anger to care for me… Kitten, I feel cherished, not angry.”

  And the feeling was still so unexpected that he was having trouble finding his balance.

  “Oh.” She took a sip of her drink, wrinkling her nose slightly. Not her favorite drink. He’d have to stock his liquor cabinet with something besides scotch.

  Under his fingers, her muscles tightened and he could feel a surge of worry—and outrage—from her. “I heard about the woman you…you put on the bar.”

  He bit back the laugh, kept his voice soothing. “No wonder you’re feeling a little unsure.”

  “No kidding,” she muttered, and he grinned since she couldn’t see, and concentrated on working the new tenseness out of her muscles. She was just a bundle of nerves. And here he’d planned to have turned her into a little puddle of goo by now.

  Instead he was giving bondage lessons.

  Feisty, sensitive little sub. Then again, he’d never enjoyed teaching so much in his life. He wrapped his arms around her.

  “Kitten, her punishment was for more than one misstep; she spent the evening deliberately annoying her Dom. And he knew that she’d find a whipping to be a reward.”

  “But why did she do that?”

  “A sub who goes out of her way to be rude is an unhappy sub. She was daring him, practically begging him to take control away from her. If she had confined her actions just to him, I would have simply given him some suggestions. But she took that choice away from me.”

  His hands returned to her shoulders, easing the last of the tightness, even as his words eased the worry inside of her. She nodded. “Thank you for explaining. It suddenly felt like I didn’t really know you at all, you know? Of course, I don’t, not really, but—” She grabbed her glass and finished it.

  “Mmmmph, there’s quite a bit I don’t know about you, either.” Like why his little sub kept attacking Doms. He pulled her back so he could massage the muscles in front of her shoulders.

  “Like what?” she murmured. With her worry abated, her emotions had turned to a warm hum, almost like a purr.

  “You’ve been in the club two nights and attacked a Dom each night to defend someone. Instead of finding a dungeon monitor, you jump right in.”

  Jessica felt her mind go blank and she tried to sit up. “I… Anyone would do the same, keep someone from being hurt.”

  “Of course. What makes it so personal for you, Jessica?” His hands pinned her against the chair.

  “That’s—” She huffed out a breath. “Do I get to keep anything private?”

  “Well…no.” He kissed the top of her head, but his hands, flattened against her chest, didn’t move. “Tell me what happened. Who was hurt by a man?”

  Pinpoint accuracy. He must be a hell of a psychologist. And she shouldn’t have had that last drink; her thoughts were scattered to hell and gone. “My sister. Her husband hit her, beat her up regularly.”

  “Did you know?” His hands were moving again, soft round strokes, soothing.

  “I should have,” she said bitterly. “I thought she was a normal newlywed, wanting to be alone with her husband. I believed her when she said she’d tripped on something or had a car accident. I should have known.”

  “Oh, kitten,” he sighed. “Abused women will lie like troopers; they’re ashamed, sure they did something to deserve the pain, or they feel that only losers get hurt, or they’re terrified of their abuser. Don’t blame yourself for not being able to tell. Did your sister get away?”

  “Yeah. Once we knew what was going on, we got her out. He’s serving time.”

  “And your sister has scars, doesn’t she?” he said softly. “Inside and out and you feel bad every time you see one.”

  Her throat closed up at the sympathy in his voice. At the understanding. She swallowed, blinked hard. A minute later, she managed to say, “Damn, you’re good; are you a psychologist or something?”

  He laughed. “At least now when I find a Dom laid out on the floor, I’ll know why.” He gave her a little shake. “But, little spitfire, if I’m around, let me do it. That’s my job.”

  Somehow he’d drained some of the guilt and warmed her more than the alcohol had. He kissed her cheek, leaned back, and took a sip of his drink. He was still on his first drink, and she was more than a little fuzzy.

  Then, his hands returned to the front of her shoulders…and moved under her halter top to stroke over her breasts.

  “I-I don’t think there are any muscles there,” she said, somewhat breathlessly as her body woke up and started clamoring for sex.

  “Well, I need to be sure, don’t I?” His fingers massaged her breasts lightly. He kissed her shoulder, his day-old beard scratchy, the roughness sending shivers through her. Her nipples tightened, and he noticed, capturing each one between his fingers.

  Her body dampened, and she tried to turn, to touch him, but his hands kept her in place, and he nipped her shoulder. “Did I say you could move?” he asked, giving each nipple a pinch, sending shock waves coursing through her.

  When he pinned her back against the chair again, heat washed through her. He controlled her so easily. He nibbled under her ear and sucked on her earlobe, and her insides turned molten.

  “Then again, I could show you the rest of my home,” he murmured, and pulled her to her feet. “I do have a bedroom.” He led her toward the back of the house, past the kitchen, and a sound made him stop.

  Jessica blinked as a ginger-colored cat stalked through the kitchen.

  “Ah, about time. I was wondering if you were going to make an appearance,” Sir said to the cat, kneeling to pet it. He looked up. “May I introduce Galahad?”

  “Galahad?” she said in disbelief. That had to be the biggest and ugliest cat she’d ever seen, and she’d seem some monsters at the shelter.

  “He’s a very chivalrous fellow.”

  Jessica knelt on the floor and held out a finger to be delicately sniffed. In approval, the cat nudged her hand, curveted closer to be petted. “You must be quite a fighter.” She frowned at the chewed-on ears and scarred nose.

  “He’s been with me about five years, ever since I found him raiding the garbage cans. He was big then, has grown even more since.”

  She would never have picked him as a person who would adopt a stray cat. She didn’t know him at all, did she?

  “Ben said you were divorced?” she blurted out, then flushed. Yeah, man-woman social skills were definitely not her strength.

  “About ten years ago,” he said as if her question wasn’t unusual. “We married young, when I was in the service. Since I spent most of those six years out of the country, we muddled along well enough until I was discharged. After that, we both tried, but when I entered grad school, she called it quits.” He quirked his eyebrows. “Among other differences, she preferred vanilla sex.”

  He gave the cat a final pat before rising, holding his hand out for Jessica. She let him pull her to her feet.

  “And have you been married?” he asked.

  “No. Nothing got quite that far,” she confessed. “I never—” She stopped; she was not going to tell him that sex had been boring.

  His eyes glinted like he’d picked that thought out of the air. Jerk. But he simply ruffled her hair before showing her the rest of his home. An office held a bulletin board covered with photos and letters from his pint-size clients. Framed crayon drawings decorated the walls. “That’s quite a collection,” she said, touching one photo of a gap-toothed pixie grinning at the camera.

  He moved his shoulders. “I’ve been a
t it awhile.”

  And the children meant enough to him that he’d decorate his office with their artwork, she thought, recalling her colleague’s offices, filled with business awards, pictures of famous clients, golf trophies.

  “Two guest rooms there,” he said as they walked down the hall. “And this is my favorite room,” he said, showing her a room filled with older furniture, comfortably overstuffed couch and chairs, a giant TV on one wall, a piano in the corner, and a wall of books. She walked over to examine them: Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie, Dashiell Hammett, Ross Macdonald. Her eyebrows rose; she had many of the same books. Her imagination presented an image of sitting on his lap, both of them reading and arguing over murders and red herrings.

  Finally, he pushed open the door to his master bedroom. Dark blue carpet, mahogany furniture. Tall arched windows open to the night air.

  A king-size bed. Her breath caught. Her body roused as if it had been waiting just for this room.

  “I think you’ll like the furniture in this room.” His voice was husky as his hands settled on her waist, warm and hard and—

  A rusty meow came from the kitchen.

  Sir paused, sighed. “I have to feed him, or he won’t stop complaining.” He kissed her neck then released her. “The bathroom is across the room if you have need.”

  When he left, she crossed the room. She definitely had need, now that he’d brought it to her attention. The bathroom was gold and marble with dark green towels. The tub would easily hold two, and the shower could accommodate a football team.

  While washing her hands, she glanced in the mirror and gasped. Mascara and eyeliner streaked her cheeks; she looked like a rain-soaked prostitute. She scrubbed it all off, checked the mirror and winced. Even with makeup on, she was just barely pretty; without it…

  Scowling at the bare face in the mirror, she snapped the light off and went back into the bedroom. She could hear Sir talking to the cat, his deep voice sparking off flutters in her stomach. He talked to her the same way, she realized. Was she just another pet to him?

  Her gaze turned to the bed, and the ugly feeling in her chest grew. How many of those women downstairs had been in his bed? Ben’s words ran through her mind: Women fall all over him, and in his world, he’s known as the best master around. And that’s according to the subs, who would definitely know. Lots of subs apparently.