Master of Freedom: A Mountain Masters Novella Page 7

  Being the man he was, Sawyer would blame only himself.

  And the canny counselor had figured it out in the few sessions she’d had with him. God knew, the asshole previous shrink hadn’t managed dick.

  Sawyer had been almost himself this morning. Had made a few jokes. Reminisced. Asked after their younger brother. Even mentioned that he was trying to figure out what he’d do when he got out in another year.

  Atticus sighed. The little submissive counselor had done well, and he’d treated her like crap. Guilt was a lead weight in his gut. When people judged him by bad interactions they’d had with other cops, he considered them idiots. Look who held the idiot label now.

  And even when he’d thought her an asshole shrink, he’d wanted her. Her body, and even more, her submission. Her trust. Her generous spirit. The sweetness in her that made her enjoy cooking for others. That made her feed a starving dog and give it a home.

  But his behavior had burned his bridges with her. Just now, her eyes had lit up—and then turned blank. He’d probably taken up permanent residence on her assholes-of-the-world list.

  She braced her feet and raised her sharp little chin. “Can I help you, Officer?”

  “Not Officer. It’s Detective,” he said.

  “What? Oh. Detective Ware. Right.”

  “And yes, you can help me by slowing down. You ran your ass through a speed trap halfway up the mountain.”

  The surprise in her eyes was delightful. Made him want to create it again when she was under his control in a scene. When she was naked and… No.

  “I did?”

  “Mmmhmm. I told the uniforms I’d take the responsibility of warning you.” Damned if he knew why he’d volunteered. Damned if he knew why she was stuck in his brain.

  “Oh. Um. Thank you.”

  “Your thanks can be observing the speed limit. The prison section of road is known for patches of ice. And for the number of people who’ve died. I don’t want to be the one pulling your body from that POS car of yours—because when it hits a tree, the frame will fold like an accordion.” Like the last accident he’d seen. His gut knotted at the memory.

  “I—” Her gaze took in his expression and her eyes turned soft. “I’m sorry, Atticus. I never thought about how horrible dealing with accidents must be for law enforcement. I’ll be more careful.”

  Why did she have to be so likable? Tenderhearted? Desirable? “I’d appreciate it.” He stepped closer.

  She backed up. “Well. Excuse me then.”

  Atticus grinned as she walked away. The little magnolia couldn’t quite manage to put a frost into her southern sweetness, could she?

  As she disappeared into the festive crowd, he shook his head.

  Diversion was done. Time to force his ass over to the climbing wall. The Search and Rescue guys had been surprised when Atticus volunteered to help out, since they’d seen his reaction to climbing higher than five or so feet.

  But damned if he’d keep acting like a pussy. Only way to lose the fear would be to keep at it. Maybe today, he could haul his ass up higher—without a flashback. Without freezing or losing his lunch.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Gin had managed to stop thinking about Atticus…mostly. She’d scored sexy bookmarks from Pottery and Pages, had on a leather wristband from the camping store, and had munched Parmesan popcorn from the diner’s booth. At the Hunts’ Serenity Lodge table, she’d nibbled homemade brownies and won Becca as a companion when Jake shooed her off for a break.

  As they strolled down the boardwalk, Gin smiled at the bright yellow daffodils filling the wooden barrels. Over her head, purple pansies spilled over the sides of hanging baskets.

  A girl darted past, pigtails bouncing, her face decorated with stars and moons. Her little brother gave chase, his cheeks an adorable pink under yellow tiger stripes.

  At their giggling and happy yells, Gin felt homesickness sweep over her. There was none of this joy inside a prison. How could she have known she’d miss having children around so, so much?

  “I know you ate a brownie. But would you like some non-bazillion-calorie food?” Becca gestured to the barbeque at the volunteer firemen’s booth.

  Unfortunately, the scent of grilled meat reminded Gin of the camping trip. No, face it; everything these days reminded her of Atticus. Darn the cop for being the sexiest man she’d ever met. And she might have been able to put aside a simple physical attraction. But, his utter self-confidence—his power—attracted her like a lemming to a cliff.

  And he was just as deadly.

  “Sure, we can grab some food.” Past the firemen’s booth, a small crowd had gathered around a tall…thing. “What in the world is that?”

  Becca followed her gaze. “A climbing wall. The Search and Rescue guys run it to raise money for their equipment. Logan might be there; he loves mountain stuff.” Becca shook her head ruefully. “Me? I can’t even cross a stream without spraining an ankle.”

  Gin eyed the twenty-five-foot monolith. Colorful handholds poked out everywhere as if it had contracted a disease. Amazing. “I’ve never seen one in real life. Can we go watch?”

  “Sure.” Becca led the way, skirting the crowd to come up on the side, almost at the base.

  Perched on the wall, a little girl was reaching for a handhold.

  Gin froze. “Oh my stars, she can’t be more than ten. She’s going to break her neck.”

  “You’ve got what Logan calls the ‘mommy sees disasters’ syndrome.” Becca waggled her eyebrows.

  “What?”

  “A worst case imagination.” She shook her finger at an imaginary child. “‘If you run with a stick, you’ll poke out your eye.’ ‘Slow down on those steps or you’ll split your head open.’ ‘Don’t eat too fast or you’ll choke to death.’ ”

  Gin’s snickering disappeared when the girl on the wall climbed another foot. “We worry because those things happen.” If the child hadn’t been above Gin’s reach, she’d snatch the girl down.

  “In this case, no worries,” Becca said. “With a safety harness on, she can’t get hurt even if she jumped.”

  After studying all the ropes and gear, Gin started to relax until spotting Atticus Ware beside a man working the ropes.

  Oh no. No, no. Seeing him once today was one time too many. She didn’t like feeling all quivery inside; it surely wasn’t healthy. Maybe she was allergic to him?

  She dragged her gaze away and back to the contraption.

  The little girl stretched toward a peg with her free hand. She couldn’t quite reach it.

  The audience yelled encouragement.

  Her face crumbled when her fingers touched and slipped off the handhold. “I can’t,” she wailed. “I can’t do it.”

  “You can.” Atticus strolled closer and looked up. “Never limit yourself with a can’t word.” With appalling ease—and no harness—he climbed the wall, looking like the most devastatingly handsome Spiderman ever. Once at the girl’s level, he secured himself with a hand on a peg and touched the child’s cheek lightly. “Take a breath, baby.”

  Under his steady gaze, the girl did.

  “That a girl.” Atticus’s low rumble barely reached Gin. “Look at the peg to the right of your foot. If you move there, you’ll be able to reach the next handhold. And then you can figure out the rest.”

  Upper lip pulled between her teeth, the girl studied his solution. “I see it!” Eyes bright with delight, the girl shifted her weight, carefully gripped the peg Atticus had indicated, and then charged upward right to the top.

  Cheering broke out.

  Atticus had followed her for a few more pegs and then…stopped. Gin squinted at him. Was he sweating? His shoulder muscles looked bunched with tension; his fingers were white on the handholds.

  Perhaps he was worried about the girl? Yet she’d already reached the top.

  When she waved her little fist in victory, he grinned.

  Gin’s heart gave a wrenching tug. Why did seeing his open ple
asure in the child’s success make her want to laugh and cry and hug him? This man was something special.

  Behind her came a high scream.

  Startled, she spun around.

  On the boardwalk, the preschooler with the tiger stripes had fallen. As blood ran down his knee, he wailed loudly. The little girl with him burst into tears of sympathy.

  “The Bassinger kids.” Becca said. “Their mother lets them run wild.” She nudged the gawkers to one side and sailed through.

  Gin followed. “I’ll take the boy.”

  As Becca knelt beside the girl, Gin sat down next to the little boy. “Oh, honey, you’ve got yourself a boo-boo there, don’t you?”

  Without further invitation, he flung himself into her arms, almost knocking her over.

  “Well, sugar.” Half laughing, she set her purse down, snuggling and rearranging him on her lap. “Let’s take a look then, honeyboy.” Not more than a shallow abrasion, she decided. Pointing to the barrel of bottled waters, she lifted her voice to the surrounding people. “Will someone fetch me one of those, please.”

  A second later, she heard a bottle cracked open, and the chilled plastic was placed in her hand. “Thank you,” she said without looking up.

  A dowsing of water washed away the dirt from the scrape and made the little boy whine. His head stayed firmly buried against her shoulder.

  As his skin dried, she used her free hand to dig in her purse. She hadn’t removed her mini first aid packet from when she worked at the family clinic. There. A quick glance showed the options. “Honey, do you want a butterfly or a Transformer on your knee?”

  The boy’s head popped up. He solemnly studied the Band-Aids she held up. A shaky finger pointed to the Transformer.

  “Excellent choice, darling.” But she couldn’t reach his knee with both hands. “Let’s move you—”

  His arms squeezed her waist. He wasn’t going to budge, was he?

  “Well, then…”

  A low chuckle came from above her, and Atticus knelt beside them. “You look like you’ve been in a battle there, soldier,” he said. “How about I cover your wounds up?”

  A thumb in the mouth prevented any reply, but big eyes watched the cop as he plucked the Band-Aid from Gin’s hand, tore it open, and applied it fast and easy. Only a little squirm showed the child had felt anything.

  “Well, there, don’t you look fine?” Gin kept her gaze on the Band-Aid, not on Atticus’s lean fingers. Was the man good at everything? Ropes and orgasms…and Band-Aids. “Can you thank the detective?”

  His thank you was garbled by the thumb still in his mouth.

  “There’s their mother.” Becca set the girl down and pointed toward the grocery store.

  “Mama!” The girl dashed across the street.

  The boy scrambled up, almost tripped again, and followed his sister, all owies forgotten.

  Grinning, Gin watched as the two barreled into their mother, almost spilling her sack of groceries. Shaking her head, the woman bent to examine the owie. She might not watch them as closely as she should, but there was love there.

  “All fixed.” Becca glanced at Atticus, then Gin. “I’m going to grab some barbecue. I’ll get you some too, Gin.” Without waiting, she headed across the street.

  While Gin was still staring after her, Atticus smoothly rose to his feet. He grasped Gin’s upper arms and pulled her up. “You did a nice job there, counselor. You’re good with injured soldiers.”

  The compliment warmed her heart and left her at a loss for words. “Ah, thank you.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully, making her too, too aware of his size and the strength in the fingers still curled around her arms. He was holding her in place. The knowledge sent a shiver up her spine.

  “Gin,” he said softly. “Seems like we’re not done with each other.”

  What? “But—yes, we are.”

  He touched her cheek, watching her intently. Could he see the way she melted inside?

  He could. “Liar. I won’t push you…here. But I’ll be at Jake and Kallie’s party tomorrow night.”

  When she couldn’t manage more than a stare, she saw his smile, sharp as a scimitar. “That’s an invitation to play, pet.” He ran a finger down her cheek, then sauntered away toward the climbing wall.

  After a second, Gin realized she was gulping breaths. She glanced around. Two teenage girls gave her envious stares before turning their attention back to Atticus.

  Becca was in line by the firemen’s grill and hadn’t been watching.

  Breathe slower, Gin. Most difficult to do. Because Atticus wanted her at a BDSM party. Because he’d said, “I won’t push you here,” meaning he’d push her there.

  If she went.

  Going to the party would be a really stupid idea.

  Not because he’d been a jerk. She’d already forgiven him. After all, he’d thought she was the incredibly incompetent Howard Slidell, who’d messed up Sawyer.

  No. She shouldn’t go because she shouldn’t have anything to do with Sawyer’s relative.

  She stepped around a man who was encouraging his son to try the wall. Trying things was good.

  Maybe not this party though.

  Even if there were no ethical issues involved, she would hesitate. It was too easy for her to fall into defining herself by a man. Especially this man. The sexy Dom detective could take her over without even trying.

  But…she honestly did want to learn more about the BDSM stuff, and opportunities in this area would be few and far between.

  What would happen if she went to the event? She could do a scene or two. After all, playing with a Dom at a party wasn’t like actually dating. Show up, do something together, leave the man where you found him.

  Attending a BDSM event might be a bit like visiting a lending library of men. Borrow a guy for a limited time—a scene—and put him back for the next user.

  But, Atticus would be available for other borrowers. Her gut gave a tiny clench. She’d have to watch him play with other women?

  Yet, better she experience a little discomfort than get involved with him herself.

  Okay then. She’d visit Jake and Kallie’s lending library of Doms and do some sampling. But she’d leave the Atticus book sitting on the shelf.

  Chapter Seven

  This isn’t a good idea, Gin. Truly not a good idea. Sure it was Saturday night—but she should have just stayed home. Gin followed Becca into the rustically decorated Serenity Lodge and up the flight of stairs to the private floor where Becca, Logan, and their baby lived.

  “Kallie and Jake had the other half of the top story, but when they moved out, we remodeled,” Becca said. “We expanded our living room, kept theirs as a playroom, and turned their bedroom into a nursery.”

  Women filled the living room, and Gin froze for a second, remembering every miserable moment of being the new girl in school. Her executive father had relocated the family three times. After he left, her mother had moved them another three—each time she hooked up with another man.

  As a social worker, Gin was comfortable meeting new people. But being a new person in a circle of old friends wasn’t exactly the same. Just shoot me now.

  She summoned a pleasant expression and followed Becca.

  “Hey, you made it!” To Gin’s relief, Kallie was present. Seated on a lounge chair, the brunette waved. “I’m so glad. Virginia—known as Gin—meet Rona and Abby from San Francisco.”

  Abby had fluffy blonde hair and a flawlessly white complexion. The huge leather couch she occupied seemed to engulf her. She gave Gin a welcoming smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Welcome,” Rona called. She stood in front of the fireplace holding a black-haired baby a few months short of a year. A scarred-up German shepherd rested his weight against her legs.

  “A baby.” Delighted, Gin walked across the room.

  The dog rose in warning.

  Uh-oh. Gin stopped and held her hand out, wondering if her fingers would get nipp
ed right off. “Hi there. May I have permission to visit the baby?”

  “Thor, it’s all right,” Rona said.

  The dog ignored Rona and sniffed Gin’s fingers. Finally, its tail wafted back and forth. Permission granted.

  “Thor, it’s all right,” Becca called belatedly. “Gin is a friend.”

  With a light whine, Thor sat back down.

  Obviously Becca’s dog. Gin studied the baby’s black hair and blue eyes, then turned and asked Becca, “Is this your baby?”

  “He’s my munchkin, Ansel,” Becca said, beaming. “Doesn’t he look just like Jake and Logan? He’s a Hunt male from head to toes.”

  “And he’s a charmer.” Rona motioned toward Becca. “Like his mother—not his father.”

  Although Becca laughed, Gin frowned. What did that mean? Was Logan nasty?

  “Here, why don’t you hold him?” Rona passed Ansel to Gin. “I need to finish dressing, and you look as if you could use a baby fix.”

  “Oh, there’s never a question.” Gin gathered the little boy closer.

  Gurgling happily, Ansel bounced and reached for her loose hair.

  How she’d missed holding babies. Gin kissed the top of his head, inhaling the baby powder fragrance. “Aren’t you a little honey?”

  Rona opened a jewelry case on the coffee table and pulled out earrings before glancing over. “That’s not a Virginia accent I hear, is it?”

  Gin pouted. She’d thought her accent was fading. “I was born there—hence my name—but grew up mostly in Georgia and South Carolina.” Then Louisiana and Alabama after her father had walked out.

  “Ouch.” Rona reached over to pat her shoulder. “It’s difficult to be moved around so much, isn’t it?”

  At the ready sympathy, Gin’s last discomfort faded. She should have known that Becca would have nice friends.

  “Here, I’ll take the monster child while you get out of your coat.” Kallie lifted Ansel and blew bubbles on his bared tummy, making him squeal with laughter.

  Gin dragged off her knee-length coat and took the baby back. “Did the nasty woman call you a monster-baby? What was she thinking?”

  The silence registered. She looked up. “What?”