Protecting His Own (Masters of the Shadowlands Book 11) Read online

  In the back corner, Z had roped off an oversized area for the whip enthusiasts. Chains from an exposed ceiling beam restrained Sally’s arms over her head. In front of the little brunette, Vance teased her breasts with a small deer hide flogger. Behind her, Galen was using a single-tail to crisscross her back and buttocks with thin red lines.

  From the way her head rested on her upraised arm, Sally was deep into subspace. Not surprising. The two Doms did a damn fine job at double-teaming their submissive wife.

  Nolan checked the chairs outside the area…and found Beth and Jessica. He set his unfinished beer on a table for the staff to pick up, crossed his arms over his chest—winced at the pain—and studied his woman.

  Curled into a corner of a leather couch, his little subbie wore jeans and a plain white T-shirt. No makeup. Her long, red-brown hair was yanked back with a scrunchie. Jesus, she’d normally dress up more than this to pull weeds.

  When she jumped at a man’s shout from a nearby scene, Nolan knew her nerves were shot. Yet the few times they’d managed to talk, she’d insisted she was fine.

  She’d lied to him.

  As he was swallowing that unpalatable fact, she glanced around the room. Her gaze went past, stopped, and snapped back to him. Her hand went to her mouth. “Master?” And then she tore across the space and slammed into him so violently he rocked back on his heels.

  Fuck, that hurt.

  Didn’t matter.

  He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tighter. Finally.

  “You’re here!” She squeezed him with arms that were too thin, but beautifully muscular, and he bent down to inhale her strawberry-lemon scent. His own sweet, spicy treat.

  Her lips were soft, urgent, and giving as she pressed up against him so closely not a hair’s breadth of space remained. Damn, he’d missed her.

  As footsteps moved away, he realized Jessica had tactfully left them to their reunion.

  Eventually, he pulled back…and frowned. His friends had nailed it. Although Beth’s face was flushed with excitement, the dark circles under her eyes showed clearly.

  Not noticing his study, she patted his short beard. “What is this? I almost didn’t recognize you.”

  “Didn’t take the time to scrape it off when I got home.” With Native American ancestry, he didn’t grow much of a beard. Shaving at the job site had been too much trouble for what was mostly scruff.

  She traced the beard’s edge along his jaw. “I kind of like it,” she murmured.

  “I’ll leave it for another day for you.”

  Her hand paused, and her forehead furrowed. “You look awfully tired, my Master.”

  “Long flight.” As he ran a finger over her cheek, he noted how the bone was more pronounced, and he tilted her face up. She’d always been slim, but she’d dropped several pounds. She hadn’t had it to spare. Concern edged his voice. “Little rabbit, what’s going on? You look like hell. How much weight have you lost?”

  Her flinch conveyed he should have gone easier. Maybe so, but every time they’d managed a connection, he’d asked her how she was. And every time, she’d said, “I’m doing okay. No problems.”

  “I’m fine.” She lifted her chin. “Working outside when it’s this hot kills my appetite.”

  “Does it now?” Aaaand that would be lie number…something. She was just piling them up. He’d swat her ass, but she lacked the padding now to take a good spanking. “Instead of doing a scene, I’d better feed you.”

  “I… Okay.” Her eyes held disappointment—and relief.

  Relief? His eyes narrowed. First, he’d get some food into her and then he’d take her home, and it’d be come-to-Jesus time. A long talk was overdue, one where she’d be nice and close. She might have evaded his questions over the phone, but her body couldn’t lie to him.

  Putting an arm around her, he guided her toward the bar.

  He was here. Her husband and Master. Her life.

  Yet, even as Beth’s heart danced with happiness, her worries kicked in. Because, tired or not, Nolan was devastating. Over the summer, his dark tan had deepened. His arms were corded with muscle, and his shoulders had grown even broader. His postcards had mentioned he’d done a lot of the work on the project in addition to supervising.

  A leather tie bound his shoulder-length, straight black hair. With the rough beard, black T-shirt, and black jeans, he looked like a dark warrior. A deadly one.

  She looked “like hell.”

  It was true, too. Darn it. And he didn’t like skinny females. Submissives always gossiped about the Doms, especially the Shadowlands Masters, so over the years, she’d heard everything about Nolan. Like the fact that all his numerous women before her had been lushly curvy with big boobs and wide hips—everything she wasn’t. Her weight loss made it worse. Instead of a fertile valley, she resembled a rocky ridge top, unwelcoming and dry. Barren.

  No, don’t start down that path. She’d never been “abundant” and he loved her anyway. Now he was home, she’d regain the weight she’d lost.

  However, she could never regain the hope of carrying his babies, and grief was a cruel wind through brittle grass. No. Not now. Her Nolan was home. With a shake of her head to dislodge the despair, she ran her hands up his chest just to reassure herself of his reality.

  He flinched.

  Shocked, she stepped back. The brighter lights of the bar area revealed harsh lines beside his mouth. His eyes were tired…and haunted. She set her hand on his arm. “Nolan, what’s wrong?”

  A corner of his mouth edged up. “Guess we can talk about that later, as well. First”—his tone held the iron edge of command—“I want you to go fetch a plate of food. If it’s not as much as I think you should have, we’re going to have words.”

  A shiver ran through her. Oh, she’d missed the rumbling authority of his voice. Missed him. “Yes, Master.” Her voice came out husky, and the corners of his eyes crinkled.

  “Once you’re fed, I’m hauling you home. After we talk, I figure on fucking you all night.”

  The way his black eyes turned to molten lava made her insides flutter. Then she remembered and bit her lip. “I… It’s the wrong time.”

  Disappointment dimmed his gaze. “Hell. Wrong time of month? Did I lose track of the days?”

  He hadn’t. She was off-schedule because of the hormone treatments. “I’m sorry.” While flowing, she was always uncomfortably tender down there, and he wouldn’t hurt her in such a way.

  “I’m sorry, too, sugar.”

  She licked her lips, contemplating alternatives like giving him a blowjob and indulging in the sheer intimacy of kissing and licking his thick cock. “Instead, maybe I could…”

  “Mmm.” He ran a finger over her lower lip as if considering putting her mouth to good use, but then he traced the hollows below her eyes. “You need a good night’s sleep, I think.”

  Even with the joy of his return, she could feel tiredness dragging at her limbs. He hadn’t missed it.

  He, too, was exhausted. She lifted her hand and repeated his gesture, touching the dark circles under his eyes that showed despite his tanned bronze skin. Odd. Nothing usually wore him out like this. “So do you.”

  “Yeah. For now, go find some food so you’ll have enough strength to survive tomorrow.” As he turned away, she noticed how stiffly he moved. He started to lean on the bar, winced, and straightened.

  This was more than exhaustion. “You’re in pain. What happened?”

  “Just pulled my shoulder.”

  Just? More than just. If he’d banged himself up, he’d make a joke about it, not look…haunted. “I think there’s more to it.”

  His shrug obviously hurt, and the lines beside his mouth deepened. Her name came out a growl. “Beth.”

  She put her hands on her hips and scowled. “Nolan.”

  His lips twitched. “The rabbit takes on the lion.”

  She waited. He’d taught her how effective silence could be.

  “Hell. Thought l
i’l rabbits were supposed to be timid, not ornery.” Fatigue thickened his Texas drawl. After a second, he sighed and gave in. “We were on the roof. One of my crew had a heart attack. I tried to catch him. Failed.”

  The single word held a wealth of anger and guilt. Carefully, she put her arms around him. “Oh, honey. Is he badly hurt?”

  “The heart attack got him.”

  Oh, God. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” She flattened her hands on his back, trying to give comfort, helpless to fix this kind of pain. Of course, he was hurting; her tough Dom thought he should be able to save everyone. “There was nothing you could have done about a heart attack—and you still feel guilty, don’t you?”

  His silence answered her question. She stood quietly, holding him, her face against his chest, and after a minute, he rested his cheek on top of her head, taking the comfort she offered.

  To help him in any way was a joy. “You got hurt then, too?”

  “Yeah. Caught hold of a rafter and messed up my shoulder.”

  “Caught hold of a rafter.” How close had he come to falling? Her heart skipped a beat as shock chilled her skin. He could have died down there. Without her. She shoved away her first reaction—to yell at him—and her second—to burst into tears—and settled for holding him and feeling his tense muscles relax. Thank goodness, he was home where she could watch over him. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  “Me, too.” Eventually, he kissed her head, pulled back, and tapped her cheek. “Go. Fetch some food before you disappear altogether.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  She put a sandwich on the plate, added Nolan’s favorite peanut butter cheesecake bites, and realized she was actually almost hungry. As she walked back, she felt lighter. After she ate, they could—She jerked to a halt.

  Her Master, her husband, was hugging a woman.

  When they broke apart, Beth’s happiness was ripped right out by the roots. The woman was a walking, talking example of lush fertility. Around five-eight and all curves. Her fire engine red corset made the most of her voluptuous breasts, and her matching red stilettos were so sexy that Ben, the door guard, had let her keep them on. A thick mane of mahogany-colored hair hung long and loose. Her heavy makeup accentuated wide, dark brown eyes and plump lips.

  Somewhere, a Playboy magazine was missing its centerfold.

  “Alyssa, it’s good to see you.” Nolan still held the woman’s hands.

  Fear seeped into Beth’s thoughts like a cold mist as he continued. “How long’s it been? Five years?”

  “Six. We moved to New York six years ago.” Alyssa’s lips quivered. “Last month, Master u-uncollared me.”

  “Ah, hell, sugar. I’m—”

  “Hey, Beth,” Cullen called from the bar. “I see Nolan found you.”

  As she smiled a shaky greeting for Cullen, Sir turned and saw her. Releasing Alyssa, he held out his hand. Feeling scrawny and ugly, Beth let him draw her forward. “Beth, this is Alyssa. She used to be a member here.”

  From the devouring—and familiar—way the woman gazed at Nolan, she’d scened with him. Enjoyed him. And she’d recently lost her Dom. Uneasiness sprouted next to Beth’s sympathy.

  “Alyssa, this is my wife, Beth.”

  “Wife?” Alyssa’s flush showed she realized the rudeness of her incredulity. “Uh, congratulations, Master Nolan. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Beth.”

  If Beth felt green-tinged, no one in the world needed to know it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Nolan glanced at the plate of food Beth held and nodded in approval before popping a cheesecake bite in his mouth. “Thank you, sugar.”

  His pleased hum might have warmed her if a chill hadn’t been edging through her defenses. “You’re welcome, Sir.”

  After taking the plate from her, he stretched to set it on the bar top—and winced.

  “Bad Master.” Frowning, Beth took the plate back from him. “Stop using your arm.”

  He snorted.

  “Are you all right, Master Nolan?” Alyssa asked in a soft voice.

  “Just strained my shoulder at work.”

  “May I check it, please, Sir?”

  “Sure.”

  Alyssa ran her fingers over Nolan’s biceps and up over his shoulder, probing gently. “There is some swelling and tightness. It would be my pleasure to work on it if you would permit.”

  “Work on it?” Beth asked carefully.

  “I’m a physical therapist. I can get it loosened up and healed faster.”

  Nolan leaned against the bar. “Aren’t you here on vacation?”

  “No. I came down for a class at the college.” Alyssa’s eyes filled. “I needed to get away from New York.”

  Fresh sympathy tugged at Beth’s heart. She couldn’t imagine a world without Nolan in it. “I’m so sorry, Alyssa.”

  “Thank you.” Alyssa turned to Nolan, and a desperate need leaked into her voice. “Please, Master Nolan. I miss being able to serve.”

  He shook his head. “No. I don’t need—”

  “I think it’s an excellent idea.” Beth had to force the words out. But Sir was hurting, and maybe, if a therapist ordered him to take it easy, he wouldn’t overdo and strain his shoulder further. “If therapy would help, that’s what should happen, Master.”

  His frown turned gentle, and he ran a finger down Beth’s cheek. “I’ve missed your bouts of bossiness.”

  The warmth in his gaze sank deep inside her, melting the icy worry.

  Turning to Alyssa, he nodded. “I’d appreciate the assist.”

  “Wonderful.” The therapist’s face brightened. “Do you still live in the same place?”

  Beth stiffened. This submissive had been to the house? Their house? Like coarse sand, anxiety grated along her nerves.

  “Yeah,” Nolan said.

  “Tomorrow is Sunday. Why don’t I visit and see how your shoulder is doing?” Alyssa said. “If nothing else, I can give you some exercises to help keep it from freezing up.”

  “Sounds good.” He turned Beth toward the bar and tapped the plate. “Eat it all, sugar. Cullen, could you get her a glass of milk?”

  Beth frowned. “I don’t—”

  “Yes, you do.” Nolan’s firm voice silenced her protest.

  Dammit. Her appetite had disappeared again, but if she didn’t eat, he’d be unhappy with her.

  “It was nice meeting you, Beth.” Alyssa gave Sir a quick upward—yearning—glance. “Master Nolan, I’ll see you tomorrow.” As she walked away, head down, graceful and lovely in her submissive posture, every Dom at the bar turned to watch.

  With a groan of disgust, Beth picked up her sandwich and scowled at it. A therapist was an excellent idea—but why couldn’t Alyssa have been a guy? And why did second thoughts always arrive too late to act upon?

  * * * * *

  Fuck, it was nice to be home. Nolan followed his wife inside, breathing in the light scent of the cinnamon candles she liked to burn. As usual, everything was spotless. Between his housekeeper and Beth’s own tidy habits, no mess survived long.

  She stopped in the foyer. “Can I make you something to eat? Or get you a beer?”

  “Nope.” He closed and locked the door, set the security system, and put a hand on her abdomen. It was more concave than convex, and his worries resurfaced. He should never have left her. Guilt added harshness to his already rough voice. “What I want is you in my arms in our bed.”

  He hadn’t realized she’d been tense until he saw her muscles relax. Hell, exhaustion and pain had thrown him off; he was missing too much. The length of time they’d been apart was adding to the problem, making things off-key. Making her hesitant. But this wasn’t the time to pursue what was bothering her. He’d need to be careful and observant. Not half-dead.

  He bent to scoop her up and realized he couldn’t carry her. His shoulder already throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch. Fuck. With a snort of exasperation, he tucked an arm around her and steered her across the house and into th
e master suite.

  The small nightlight illuminated the muted golden walls and shadowed the tiered trey ceiling. His boots thudded on the hardwood floors, and the noise disappeared as he reached the Oriental carpet at the foot of the king size poster bed. The elaborately carved headboard had once anchored bondage chains, but before the adoption and foster care home evaluations had begun, he’d retired the dungeon room along with any visible BDSM gear.

  No matter. He didn’t want restraints tonight anyway.

  Right now, he needed to hold his woman, to refresh the connection between them. To simply enjoy the intimacy of sleeping together. Fuck, he’d missed her.

  There were times he wondered at how abruptly he’d changed from a guy who’d happily sampled an infinite variety of women into a firmly married man who was profoundly happy with just one.

  Then again, his one was Beth.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Nolan discovered he was alone in the bed. When he sat up, his stiff shoulder screeched like a squeaky door. Smothering a groan, he worked the immobility out of it while he listened for Beth.

  The house was silent.

  Because she wasn’t home.

  Right.

  Last night while snuggled up against him, she’d talked about her work and mentioned having an early Sunday appointment with a new client. Damned if he hadn’t nodded off while she was talking.

  He hadn’t even heard her leave. Despite his aching shoulder, he’d slept like a rock. It was the first time he’d gotten a whole night’s sleep since the old guy died. Apparently, having Beth in his bed was what his subconscious needed.

  It’d sure been a long summer. He scrubbed his hand over his face. For both their sakes, he would keep any future separations real damn short.

  After donning his jeans from the floor, he headed for the kitchen. He’d better suck down some coffee, or he’d bite the little rabbit’s head right off if she came home her usual cheerful self.

  But would she? As he plugged a pod into the coffeemaker, he frowned. At the Shadowlands, her exuberance at seeing him had faded before they left. In bed, having her in his arms had been good, but she’d still been…subdued. The bond between them was different.