Servicing the Target Page 2

  She was heavier than he expected. Undoubtedly had more muscles than the last woman he’d lifted. He kicked the car door shut and carried her up to the cottage.

  After unlocking the door, he opened it cautiously. No dog. Anne snoozed against his shoulder as he walked through the foyer, took a guess, and headed up the stairs. An opened door revealed the master bedroom—or would that be called the mistress bedroom? Using his elbow, he flipped on the light switch.

  A chandelier came to life revealing icy blue walls. A glass-fronted fireplace with an ornate mirror over the mantel. A canopied bed with a ruffled floral bedspread. A white couch with fancy legs in front of a wall of windows. All blue and white, like an airy summer garden, it was the most feminine room he’d ever seen.

  But not a plant anywhere. Everything in place. As spotless as if a drill sergeant was due for inspection.

  She roused when he laid her on the bed, and damned if Ms. Feminine didn’t try to punch him.

  The candle-shaped lights overhead provided crappy illumination—and hell, she probably only saw a hulking monster over her. He caught her delicate fist in his oversized palm. “Easy, Ma’am.”

  Her finely arched brows drew together as she tried to sit up. He didn’t miss the way her hand grabbed her ribs. Damn foolish woman.

  “It’s Ben. From the Shadowlands. I brought you home.”

  “Ah. Ben.” She gingerly relaxed back on the mattress. “Thanks for the ride. Please tell Z I said so.”

  “You’re welcome, Mistress Anne.” He shifted his weight, uncomfortable as hell. But the garment she wore seemed to be some combination of a corset and a dress. It had obvious ribbing and was way too tight. She couldn’t sleep in it. “Uh…you need to get out of that contraption.”

  He was standing over her—one big ugly guy. She was flat on her back and totally unconcerned. “Do I now?”

  The edge of warning in her voice made his cock stir.

  “Yes, Ma’am.” The honorific came easily to his lips. She reminded him of the elegant Army Ranger Captain during Ben’s first deployment. The guy was always in control and, even when covered with blood and filth, still refined.

  He smiled. “How about you order me to give you some help?”

  Her snort of exasperation sounded like a kitten’s sneeze. “Benjamin, if a subbie tells me to order him to do something, then who’s in charge?”

  “Got me there.” And damned if he would leave without making her more comfortable. “You going to punch me if I help you strip down?”

  She eyed him. Her pupils were still smaller than normal, turning her eyes more blue than gray. “I never appreciated how stubborn you are.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Odd how much he liked saying that to her.

  Her voice held a note of frustration. “Assist me out of this, then.”

  And he had a win. Sergeant, Bravo Zulu. He reached for the front and realized her ribbed long dress had no buttons. Stalling, he moved down to remove her thigh-high boots, which had lacing front straps. When he pulled them off, he heard her sigh of relief.

  Damn, her pretty legs had a sexy golden tan. High-arched feet. Her toenails were a pale pink with white stripes. Amazing what women did for fun. Her mutant black dress was next. Thinking to salvage her modesty, he picked up the frilly knitted throw from the foot of the bed and draped it over her lower legs.

  Next. He’d have been more comfortable walking into a firefight.

  Her fucking dress had toothpick-sized metal studs down the front that poked through metal grommets. Only way to get it off would be to stick his fingers inside and draw the edges together to release each fucking stud. Her breasts were in there. Jesus, he couldn’t do this.

  Her lips curved in a wicked smile. “Don’t stop now, Benjamin.”

  “Having fun are we, Mistress?” he muttered and slid his big fingers inside the top.

  “Mmmhmm.”

  She was warm, her skin silky on the backs of his knuckles. And he was harder than a rock. He worked open the corset part of the dress, and it came undone, catch-by-catch. But the thing was damn tight over her ribs, and she made a sound of pain.

  He stopped. How the fuck could he do this if he hurt her? “Anne?”

  “Go on.” Her hands were fisted, her fingernails digging into her palms. But her gaze was clear and level. “You’re right—I would have had difficulty getting out of this. I’m not moving as well as I was earlier.”

  “What kind of damage are we looking at?” His jaw was tight as he continued as ordered. Prong after prong.

  Although she controlled her face, she couldn’t control the involuntary flinches and tightening of her belly.

  “Bruised ribs. Nothing broken.” Her voice sounded strained, but finally he was past the most constricted section.

  He undid the looser part over her lower stomach and worked his way…down. As he flipped the dress open, he tried not to look.

  Bullshit, he totally looked.

  His gaze traveled from her thong-covered pussy, up a softly rounded belly, to her sweet, high breasts. Rosy-brown nipples perked up in the cool night air. Her scent was almost edible—like tangerines accompanied by the light musk of a female.

  Act like the gentleman you weren’t raised as, Haugen. He drew the blanket over her. Turning his gaze away—so he wouldn’t see how he hurt her—he slid an arm under her back. Shit, her skin there was soft as well. Carefully, he lifted her far enough to slide her dress out.

  Now she wore only a thong and a blanket.

  The room had grown too damn warm.

  “Thank you, Ben. That feels much better.”

  “I bet.” He dared greatly and moved the covering to expose her legs. Her right thigh had a bruise almost the width of his fist. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Boot?”

  “The bail fugitive had an overly protective big brother.”

  What a fucking job. No wonder she often came into the Shadowlands with bruises and gashes. “Wouldn’t you rather do something…safer?”

  Her blue gaze turned chill as the arctic north. “No.”

  “Sorry, Ma’am.”

  “You do say that quite nicely, you know,” she murmured. She had dimples, something he hadn’t noticed until he’d seen her laughing during Gabi’s bachelorette party.

  “I do what?” He needed to leave or he was going to strip that blanket off her again. Find every bruise and kiss them all better.

  “Ma’am. I thought you were vanilla, Ben.”

  “I am.” And if he’d been daydreaming about her setting a sharp stiletto on his chest, he’d keep those thoughts to himself. “Did a bit of service, is all.”

  “Ah.” She eyed him slowly, still not quite returned to her usual frightening brilliance. “Can I pay you for the time and gas to bring me all the way out here?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He paused a second. Hopefully, she’d never share Ben’s request with Z—he’d get his ass fired on the spot. “I think I deserve a kiss from the Mistress.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “You are just full of surprises tonight.”

  Her husky voice always sounded like a morning after raw sex, but when it dropped to that throaty tone, he could see why men crawled on their knees in her wake.

  He waited while she thought. He’d wait all night—fuck knew, looking at her wasn’t a chore.

  Rather than answering, she held her arms up.

  God loves me. He sat beside her hip, leaned down as she put her hands behind his neck. More. He carefully slid a hand under her shoulders. Her satin skin stretched over smooth feminine muscles. He opened his other hand behind her head to enjoy the thick mass of silky fine hair. He was used to visual delights—she was a tactile symphony.

  He lifted slightly, just enough to draw her against his chest, so her breasts would press against him. Warm and firm and soft.

  Bless Z.

  When he gazed into her face, he could read her surprise at his daring, and then her eyes started to narrow. If he didn’t move, he’d lose his tre
at. So he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers.

  Softness. Damned if he’d hurry. He settled his mouth over hers and walked empty-handed into the fire zone.

  The guard dog had moves.

  His lips were firm and far more competent than his quiet demeanor had promised. His massive size and strength made her feel delicate.

  Feminine.

  He’d leashed all that power because of her. For her. The knowledge was heady.

  Her fingers curled into his thick hair, and she traced a line over his lips with her tongue. “More.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tilted his head and turned the kiss hot and wet, driving into her mouth with an expert thrust of his tongue, then teasing again.

  Despite the pain and meds, she felt heat sliding through her veins. Her breasts were crushed against his rock-hard pectorals.

  He gave a low growl and deepened the kiss.

  And…she couldn’t have that. She curved her fingers, digging her fingernails lightly into his scalp in warning.

  To her surprise, he broke off, laying her down with disconcerting gentleness.

  She ran her hand over his jaw, feeling the scratch of harsh stubble. Several scars stood out, white against the deep tan, on his right cheek, his heavy jaw, his neck. Sun creases fanned out from his eyes. More lines bracketed his mouth. But, his shoulder-length caramel-colored hair was pulled straight back in his usual tied-back style. She realized the streaks hid a few strands of gray in front of his ears.

  She hadn’t ever really looked at him, had she? “How old are you?”

  “Older than you, Mistress,” he muttered.

  “That is not what I asked, Benjamin.”

  He was sitting on the side of the bed, hip against hers, leaning over with his weight supported on the arm next to her waist. His free hand, she realized, was toying with her hair. Somehow, she couldn’t summon the proper indignation.

  “Got a couple of years on you. Thirty-six.”

  Well, he wasn’t as young as she’d thought. Of course, guard dogs rarely showed their ages, did they? He was certainly different from her usual choices. Her brows drew together. And he knew he was older than her thirty-four? “How did you know my age?”

  “The Shadowlands member files include a copy of your driver’s license so we know who signs in is the right person. You have a birthday coming up in April.” He hesitated. “No need to worry. All the guards sign confidentiality agreements.”

  “Of course.” Z was nothing if not protective of his members. A second or so later, her hazy mind registered how he watched his finger stroking her cheek. “Ben?”

  “You are so fucking gorgeous.” The bed creaked as he rose. He walked into the bathroom and returned to set a glass of water on her bedside table. He placed her purse next to it. “Is your phone in there?”

  She nodded.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

  She bit down on her lips to keep from laughing. He was a demon submissive, fiercely determined to be sweet. “No, I think you’ve covered the bases.”

  He said under his breath, “Didn’t get close to running the bases.”

  She gave him a reproving look, and to her delight, he actually flushed.

  “Thank you for the ride…and the care, Benjamin.” And the kiss.

  He nodded, paused, and his heavy brows came together. “Ma’am? Stay in bed tomorrow and get healed up.”

  A bossy submissive. Why couldn’t she summon the appropriate amount of annoyance? Her standards must be slipping, she thought as the bed rose up to enfold her and sleep carried her away.

  Chapter Two

  At the end of his three miles, Ben slowed to a jog and then walked the final block. Not that he’d cool down much in the humid Florida morning. It was only March, but the heat had already moved in. Growing up in New York, he’d often frozen his ass off in the mornings. At times, he missed those days.

  Didn’t particularly miss the snow, though.

  Once inside his warehouse, he pulled off his tank top, using it to wipe himself down as he trotted up the stairs to his living quarters and hit the fridge for a bottle of vitamin water. Designer shit, but didn’t taste too bad.

  After an hour of weights in his home gym and a shower, he grabbed a fast-food breakfast in the car. He reached Sawgrass Lake Park as the afternoon sunlight slanted through the incoming storm clouds over the swamp.

  Perfect.

  Once his tripod was set up, he snapped a few shots of a graceful Little Blue Heron. Amazing how it managed to be both small and dignified—a lot like Anne.

  All too soon the pelting rain began. Ben edged into a picnic shelter and took a final picture. Something, some movement, sparked a memory of peering through a scope, taking up the slack in the trigger, the world fading as he became hyperaware of the winds and light. Slow, steady pressure on the trigger, releasing a breath and pausing at the bottom of the exhale. Kill shot.

  No.

  As Z had taught him, he breathed through the flashback and let it dissipate.

  Gone.

  Thank you, Z. He owed the man more than he could say.

  After tucking his camera in its waterproof bag, he settled down on the concrete bench in the shelter.

  Owed the man for the treat last night as well.

  Fuck, but the woman had a beauty like the morning after a New York blizzard. Hair the color of dark walnut, eyes the gray-blue of a winter sky. Stark and striking enough to stop a man’s heart.

  Her smallest smile would delineate her sharp cheekbones, but her real smile showed her dimples and changed her entire appearance. Made her human. A woman. And one he wanted so bad he could taste it.

  Wind gusted into the shelter, whipping his hair around his face. The world flashed with a lightning strike. Five seconds later, he heard the crack of thunder announcing an approaching storm cell filled with fury. He loved Florida thunderstorms, even if they occasionally set off the messed-up storage program in his head. PTSD—and what idiot psych-tender came up with that phrase?

  The lightning reminded him of the first time he’d heard Anne’s low laugh. It’d been the night of the bachelorette party when he’d actually seen her without her Mistress armor. When everything that was her had sizzled into him and stopped his heart.

  Not an hour later, she’d seen one of her friends being harassed and had been willing to step up to the plate and take on the assholes.

  That’s when he’d known he was in serious trouble.

  Anne. She had a pretty name. Short. Terse. Much like the woman herself. She was completely different from the last woman he’d dated, who babbled at the drop of a hat. Or if a hat didn’t drop. Or if the sun rose. Or set. Or if she was breathing. Jesus. Wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d been interested in anything besides what she was babbling.

  But the Mistress didn’t babble. And she not only listened, she listened with all her attention.

  That, right there, could steal a man’s breath.

  But.

  She was a Mistress. There was where the problem came in. The woman had a rep. Not only was she a Domme, but also a fucking sadist. And although she played with quite a variety of submissives, the ones she kept around tended to be a type: mid-twenties, slender, model-gorgeous. The club members called them Anne’s “pretty boys.”

  Settling down with his back against a shelter post, he put a boot on the bench and propped his arm on his knee. Scars ran down his muscular forearm, more across his thick knuckles. Even as a teen, he hadn’t been “pretty.”

  Lotta hard miles since then. In fact, he’d scared more than a few females.

  But he hadn’t scared Anne.

  He grinned. She was a take-no-prisoners, never-back-down, bossy woman. And fuck, he got off on that. Before last night, he’d hoped that if he had a taste of her, got a little closer, his curiosity would be satisfied. Instead, like the first shot of a fine whiskey, she’d teased his appetite.

  Now he’d set his sights on th
e woman.

  And—as his team in the Rangers had witnessed—he never missed.

  * * * *

  “…a cane works well for that,” Anne said to Olivia as she walked into the Shadowlands. They’d been arguing over their favorite discipline methods on the walk in from the parking lot. “Check this one out.” Anne held up the extra-long black cane which she’d chosen to embellish her Maleficent costume.

  “Jesus, woman, I thought I told you to stay in bed.” The growling voice came from her left.

  The other Domme’s eyes widened.

  Anne’s spine snapped straight, and she turned to look at Z’s security guard.

  Rising from his seat, Ben scowled at her. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re—”

  She lifted her chin.

  He stared at her, muttered, “Fuck,” and dropped into his chair. Still scowling, but silent.

  Interesting.

  She was even more intrigued at his, “Sorry, Mistress.”

  He didn’t know better, didn’t know that he should call her Mistress Anne, rather than Mistress, as if he belonged to her.

  She wasn’t finding herself annoyed.

  Unable to resist, she pushed back her black cape, walked behind the oversized desk, and stopped in front of him. When he tried to stand, she set her hand on his shoulder to halt him. She took a second to appreciate the bunching muscles before resting her fingertips on his cheek.

  He was so tall his gaze didn’t have far to lift to meet hers.

  “Benjamin. I value your concern, but if you speak so disrespectfully to me again, I’ll put you in the stocks and whip your ass.”

  Emotion imbued his dark tan with a lovely reddish tone. His golden-brown eyes studied her a careful minute, and then, to her surprise, he rumbled out, emphasizing each word, “Jesus, woman, I thought I told you to stay in bed.”

  As she stared at him, his head cocked slightly to one side. The gauntlet had been thrown.