Knight Nostalgia: A Knights of the Board Room Anthology by Joey W. Hill (3)

He jumped like he’d been hit with a Taser as someone touched his arm. It was an attractive middle-aged redhead in low pumps, slacks and blouse. She had a pleasing scattering of freckles over her fair-skinned face.

“Sorry,” the woman said, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “I was just trying to get into the store.”

“My bad,” he said gallantly, holding the door for her. Perhaps she was picking up something for a baby shower or a friend. Or she could be shopping for her own. Savannah was middle-aged, after all, having had Angelica later in life.

He entered after the woman, registering the chime on the door that announced their arrival. It was created by a cluster of tiny silver baby rattles, dangling from the ceiling above the door. The disturbed air currents inspired their music.

The boutique had a dozen displays that featured samples of their baby clothes, accessories, toys and miscellaneous little people stuff. A glass case offered earrings for babies with pierced ears, hair jewelry, and the option of converting your baby’s hospital wrist band to a silver or gold band.

When he noted one particular area of the store, Ben recalled his earlier conversation with Dana. He found her with the knot of women, examining a million styles of baby shoes. His quick glance registered the Ferragamo baby line. Jesus. Three-figure priced shoes for someone who couldn’t yet walk, let alone appreciate that they were wearing Italian leather versus Walmart vinyl. God bless America.

He gripped Dana’s elbow and drew her away. “I found something I want to show you.”

“What?” She dragged her feet, playfully. “I was feeling all the cool shoes.”

“Only because some of them come in your size and you thought you could get a discount if they were kid-sized. Trust me, I looked at the prices. You can’t.”

“You’re such a jerk. What is this?” She put out her hands as he brought her close enough to the shelves in the section to feel their contents.

“It’s all the safety stuff. Gates, proximity and motion alarms for the doors, you name it. There’s even a monitor you can put on your kid to keep track of his breathing, heart rate, mood. A sighted parent could take a nap, go to the grocery store, whatever, and the kid would be perfectly safe.”

Dana grimaced at the exaggeration, but she took the monitor box when Ben put it in her hands. He rattled some other things hanging on the hooks. “There are locks to keep them out of cabinets, rooms, and other places parents don’t want them to go. And whatever these folks and Toys-R-Us don’t have, you know Jon can create. You want him to do it, he’ll figure out how to put the kid in some kind of hamster wheel bubble that can withstand water immersion, nuclear blast and harmful TV influences. Oh, and it will have interactive computer programming stuff, so your baby will be talking full sentences and ready to apply to Harvard by age three.”

“You are such an idiot,” she said, but she had a smile on her face.

He slid an arm around her, squeezed. “But there’s one thing that this place doesn’t have to protect your kid,” he said. “I think it’s a much more serious issue, particularly if you’re going to have one the watermelon-through-a-straw way.”

“What’s that?” Despite the outrageous metaphor, he’d made his tone so sober, a trace of alarm crossed her face.

“Given Peter’s ugly mug and grotesque size, combined with your petiteness, have you thought of the DNA combo? You could have a girl that looks like a Saints linebacker. Or a boy the size of a leprechaun, but topped with a bowling ball head like Peter’s. They’ll be mutants.”

“He or she will be beautiful, no matter what they look like,” she said staunchly.

“Oh sure. They say a mother’s love is blind, but in your case, it’s a double whammy.” He laughed and ducked away as Dana aimed a pretty powerful swing toward his head. “Hey, feel this. Stuffed animals. So soft you could sleep in a pile of them.” He filled her hands with a chick, lamb and bunny to thwart further violence.

Marcie came to them as Dana was pelting him with the stuffed creatures. She caught one of them, thrusting what she had into Dana’s now empty left hand. “Look at these tiny little spoon and bowl things.”

As Peter’s wife reflexively cooed over them in delight, Ben grinned. Marcie made a face at him, but continued to explain, in a marveling tone. “You can buy a whole infant-sized china set. They even sell it in sets of six for a baby birthday party.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Why throw a birthday party for a kid not even old enough to know what it’s about?”

“It’s for the parents more than the baby,” Rachel explained, joining them to examine the items. “But a baby reacts to the happy people around her or him, all that love, the celebration of it.”

“So take the kid to a keg party,” Ben said.

Rachel shook her head with a smile, but continued. “He or she internalizes the energy, which is good. It’s like talking to them way before they’re talking themselves. It helps them with language and comprehension.”

“Did you do that with Kyle?” Marcie asked. There was a brief pause before she asked, as if she was considering whether to do so or not, but it turned out to be the right call. Rachel’s gaze filled with fond memory, only faintly laced with the sadness from the loss of her son when he was nineteen.

“Yes. You never know if these studies are right or not, but I can’t imagine any loving mother needs to be told to talk to her child. You talk to one another for nine months while he’s in the womb. It’s just a continuation of the conversation. Kyle’s first words were Baa and Moo. I liked to read him animal stories, and I’d make all the sounds.”

Dana slid an arm around Rachel’s waist, laying her head on her shoulder. Then, playfully, she rested one of the stuffed animals, a cow, on Rachel’s bosom, and squeezed the creature, making it moo.

Rachel chuckled and nudged at her friend. “Let’s go talk Savannah into buying Angelica some more baby clothes.”

“Absolutely,” Ben said. “She only has four hundred outfits now. Clothes she’ll outgrow before she can wear them all.”

As he fully expected, they ignored him, converging on Savannah, who was contemplating a new baby monitor. Ben wandered over to the gadget area, coming to a halt before a padded automated swing.

Angelica had one of those, but this one was the latest model, with fourteen different swing settings, including side to side and bouncing up and down. There was even a place to plug in an iPod for the baby’s favorite lullaby music. The chair could be adjusted like a recliner, putting the baby in more of a sleep position, though still elevated. And there were little adjustable cushions to keep her from getting a crick in her neck. He wasn’t sure if the flexible bones of a baby really needed that, but he supposed it was the same as providing gluten-free dog food. When it came to babies and pets, marketing targeted the adults.

But as cool as that was, his attention was caught by something less techy. He drifted over to the crib area to take a closer look. Over one of them, a star system mobile was gently rotating. It had a selection of twenty-four different lullabies, plus the iPod plug-in option, but what he liked was watching the slow, drifting, up-and-down rotation of the planets and stars. They all glowed with a soft, internal light that he knew would look like a starry sky when the nursery was dark. The center pendant, the weighted item that kept the motion steady, was a tiny knight on horseback with a lance. The knight that protected the baby as the stars continued to shine and the planets to rotate.

Yeah, he was getting that. He didn’t care that some marketing nerd genius had pretty much nailed him with that finishing touch.

Her scent and heat told him Marcie was at his elbow a moment before her soft breast pressed against his arm. She leaned against him to reach forward and up, letting her fingertips drift through the moving spheres. “I love it. She’ll love it, too.”

“I used to lie on the Italian vault in the St. Louis Cemetery and look up at the stars, when I was a kid,” Ben said absently. “Though I couldn’t see them moving, rotating like that, I felt it. It was a good feeling.”

She closed her hand on his biceps. He tried to talk more about his past with her, letting her in. The good stuff was easier. He needed to tell her about Golda. He’d do that tonight. Show her the rolling pin, measuring spoons and old cookie pans he’d kept from her kitchen. The key to good cookies is parchment paper, refrigerating the dough, and most importantly, good pans. You must have good pans, Ben.

“I’m getting hungry,” Savannah said, drawing close to them. “Why don’t we do lunch after we get out of here? Before we hit any other places.”

“Absolutely not,” Ben said. “No refueling so you can drag me to more stores. Isn’t it getting time for your midday naps? Aren’t you pining for your men, and want to go home?”

Savannah punched him in the stomach and then shook out her manicured hand, grimacing. “Ow.”

“Could have told you that wasn’t a good idea,” Marcie said as Ben captured Savannah’s wrist to give her knuckles a soothing kiss. “He’s like a brick wall. But he is ticklish.”

“No, no I’m not. I swear to God, I’m going to—” He backed away as Savannah came at him, both hands outstretched and her fingers wiggling in an ominous way. Her blue eyes were sparkling. He backed right into Cass, who, as a woman with many siblings, unerringly found the right spots beneath his ribs. Twisting away in a move worthy of Elvis, he snatched up a pair of wooden spoons in the baby food area and warded them off. They were nice, flat spoons, and he knew exactly how to use them. He went on the offensive and sent Savannah and Cass dancing back as he aimed for lovely curved flanks and thighs. When they were at an impasse, he pointed a spoon at Marcie. “You are in so much trouble,” he said.

Her eyes glowed.

* * *

They grabbed lunch at the Meals from the Heart café, one of Rachel’s favorite places to eat at the French Market. Ben liked their crab cake po’ boys, so he was good with the choice, relieved they hadn’t chosen a fussy place that only served girl food, like salads. Though he had to admit, the raspberry feta salad with salmon Savannah chose looked decently appealing.

Once they’d ordered their food, Marcie grabbed them an empty table, coaxing some unused chairs from other occupied tables to seat them all. As they ate and talked, they people-watched, always a lively pastime in the Jackson Square area. There was plenty of foot traffic, musicians and other buskers who routinely entertained and cajoled tourists into donations to their efforts.

“Hot Toddy next,” Dana said, pointing a French fry in Ben’s direction. She’d gotten the crab cakes but had ordered fries from another less health-conscious vendor. And the serving was large. Far larger than a tiny woman needed. He snagged a couple off her plate and grinned as Cass smacked his hand.

“That’s just mean,” Rachel said. “Stealing from a blind woman.”

“Though likely saving my ass from the extra pounds,” Dana said. “Here. Eat some of these, Rach. Jon likes all your soft places.”

“Peter doesn’t like yours?” Cass asked.

“Of course he does. But he’s a workout Nazi. I don’t want to give him any additional excuse to torture me.”

“At least not in the wrong ways,” Marcie put in.

“So says the pain freak,” Dana said dryly.

Marcie’s gaze slid to Ben’s and held for a lingering moment. Yeah, she was. Thank God.

He stretched an arm over the blind woman's shoulder, flicking her opposite ear. She planted a sharp elbow in his ribs in retaliation.

"Don't make me separate you two," Savannah warned.

"They become a mother, and all of a sudden they're in charge of everyone," Ben complained. He nudged Dana. "So why exactly are we going to a lingerie store, other than to endanger my life with all your husbands?"

"These." Dana cupped her small breasts. "I want something that makes my tits look bigger and set up higher. He likes them the size they are, but no reason not to plump them up a little. Give them a different look. Variety and all that.”

“Fair enough.” Ben flicked her ear again, got punched once more, then checked his watch. “It’s within walking distance, so I’ll text Max where he can find us.”

The driver had been invited to join them for lunch, but Max had said he’d take the time to gas up the limo and run a quick errand.

“Tell him to take his time,” Dana said. “There are plenty of places to shop around here until he gets back. We don’t want him to cut his lunch short.”

“Because he went to see Janet,” Ben agreed, dipping another French fry in her ketchup.

“How do you know that?” Marcie asked, stealing a potato chip off his plate and leaving him a couple slices of artichoke in exchange. She’d gone with the beet and artichoke salad.

“Because I know everything. How did you know, Dana?”

“Because I know him. And I heard him receive a text about a half hour ago. My guess is she was offering to make him lunch if he had the time for a break.”

“I really want to know how that’s working between them,” Cass mused. “With Janet being a Mistress, but Max not being a sub.”

“However it works,” Dana said with a wicked smile, “It has got to be totally hot. He’s got a service streak a mile wide, but it’s the ‘sweep you off your feet and carry you up a mountain’ versus ‘scrub your floors’ kind.”

“That works for me. I already have a maid,” Savannah said, making them all laugh.

Marcie nudged Ben. “Has he given you any details? We won’t tell.”

He chuckled at her attempt at an innocent face. “Only because everyone you would tell is at this table. If I did know details, it’s a guy code. I couldn’t share. But before you try to torture it out of me by threatening more shopping, I don’t really know any. If you’ve noticed, Max would give a sphinx a run for its money.”

“True,” Dana agreed. “You have to pick it up from what he doesn’t say, rather than from what he does.”

“So, what doesn’t he say?” Rachel asked, inciting more smiles.

“I think he’s really into her,” Dana said, her expression becoming less teasing and more thoughtful. “And I think it’s reciprocated.”

“I can vouch for that one,” Ben said. “Janet seems distracted these days. For her, that is. Which means her hundred and fifty percent efficiency has dropped a percent.”

“Good for them,” Savannah said quietly. “They both deserve someone special to love.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Ben advised. “It could be all about the sex, you know.”

“Well, with Max involved, there better be sex,” Dana returned. “A lot of it. Otherwise, what a waste.”

“Amen,” Cass said fervently, a sentiment echoed around the table, including Marcie. Ben shot her a narrow glance.

“Just being agreeable,” she said blithely.

“I’m going to tell Matt he needs to fire Max and hire someone ugly. Or better yet, a hot female with big breasts. We need more diversity in the limo pool.”

“Or a workshop on sexual harassment,” Cass said dryly.

“I’ve only groped his ass three times,” Dana said primly. “And I don’t work for K&A, so you can’t allege harassment.”

“Max might feel differently about that.” Ben gathered up the women’s leavings on one tray and took it to a nearby trash can, dumping the contents and leaving the tray on a shelf provided for them. “So, what was that next place you wanted to go, Reverend Dana?” he asked blithely. “The bible store?”

“Whoever wrote Song of Solomon has no problem with Hot Toddy,” Dana retorted as they left the table. Rachel tucked Dana’s hand into the crook of her elbow as they began to wind their way out of the Market eating area.

As Ben had noted, Hot Toddy wasn’t a far walk. The upscale lingerie and erotica boutique had a silver framed large display window that was partially obscured by a white chalk, cartoon style drawing of a voluptuous woman in a corset and panties, lounging on a divan. She was reading a book and eating bonbons, a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose.

The open spaces in the drawing gave the passersby tempting glimpses of the lingerie and sexy apparel contained within. The store kept clothing up front, with sex toys, particularly those of the BDSM variety, tucked into elegant and female-friendly alcoves in the back. The store was a franchise expansion of an erotica store in North Carolina called Naughty Bits. Though the owner of Naughty Bits, Madison Scott, had an expanding number of stores operating in the Southeast, she allowed each franchise owner to choose the name they wanted, adding “A Naughty Bits store” in small script beneath it.

Ben had met Madison on a business trip to Charlotte, when he decided to browse her BDSM inventory. He’d come away with a superior quality carbon cane. The one he’d used on Marcie last night.

Madison’s Master, Logan, was the hardware storeowner next door to Naughty Bits. He also made BDSM custom furniture. Madison and Logan were the type of contacts Ben and the rest of the team appreciated. The couple had recently opened an erotic theater, the first of its kind in that part of the world.

The BDSM world wasn’t a large one, so it was Marcus Stanton, a New York gallery owner and friend of Lucas’s, who had recommended Ben stop at the store when he was in Charlotte. Marcus’s friend Julie was the stage manager for Madison’s theater. The visit by Ben had in turn put Madison in contact with the lingerie storeowner in NOLA, Wallenda Matisse, who Ben knew wanted to do more with her business. Hence, Hot Toddy had become a Naughty Bits store.

Wallenda was a black woman with long thin braids to her waist, a diamond stud in her nose, and black nails decorated with a single tiny ruby on each finger, except the thumb. At the sight of the women and Ben, she smiled from ear to ear and came around the counter to exchange kisses and hugs with the ladies.

“I’m so pleased you came to see me.” She gave Ben her usual blatant appraisal. The woman was as subtle as a shot of Jack to the gut. Her lush lips and smoky dark eyes had an even more thudding impact on a man not braced for the smoldering sensuality that was always there, seemingly ready to be unleashed with any trigger Wallenda chose.

“It’s a fine, fine escort you have today, ladies. Mr. O’Callahan, what have you done to be blessed with this much female energy?”

“I drew the winning hand,” he said, brushing his lips along her cheek, temptingly close to the full lips. She gave him a feline look and a throaty chuckle, nudging Marcie.

“Oh, he thinks you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, doesn’t he, cher? But perhaps it is you who are the meal for him, no?”

Marcie squeezed one of Wallenda’s hands in agreement, shooting Ben a look before she wandered off with the other ladies, fanning out to check out the selections. Wallenda moved off with them to offer her help in whatever way was needed.

Ben settled down in a bordello-red easy chair conveniently near the fitting rooms, figuring it would be his best vantage point when they decided what to try on. Dana had already plucked a black teddy out of Wallenda’s stock he found very intriguing, particularly when he imagined it on Marcie.

Speaking of which… His gaze found his girl and lingered, because Marcie was flipping through a rack of short night gowns. She held one out, considering it. The blue silk garment had slits up the side and a layer of black lace over the bodice that would cling to her nipples and reveal them at once. She looked around and, when she found him, she indicated it. Yes or no?

It was a resounding yes, but he took a moment, making her wait, because it would underline that she was determining if it met his approval. When she sought that Master side of him, it stirred his blood and hers, inspiring him to savor.

He nodded at last and she smiled, returning to her browsing but keeping the filmy fabric folded over her arm. His attention slid to Rachel, who was being ushered toward the dressing room by Cass and Dana. Whatever she was contemplating, they were adding their backup to her choices.

Cass’s issues had to do with him and Marcie, how she felt about that, not his money. So Ben knew, out of all of them, Rachel was the least comfortable with picking out anything expensive for him to buy. Perhaps Cass and Savannah had less trouble over it because they were wealthy women in their own right. Not only could they afford whatever Ben was buying, they knew he could more than afford it as well, all of them moving in similar income circles.

As far as Marcie was concerned, he was her Master, and that made a difference. He understood she earned her own money, a good deal of it, and she would use it as she wished. But he provided for her care under his roof because he could, so it was one more way to reinforce that relationship.

Dana’s very low paying but community-oriented job as a minister meant Peter bore the lion’s share of the bills, because his home—now theirs—certainly wasn’t the kind a minister’s salary could afford or maintain. However, he’d eased her mind on it by pointing out she was earning enough good karma to cover his ass for entrance to Heaven. Damn right. The woman worked as many hours some weeks as an on-call surgeon.

But Rachel had a different issue. Watching her be gently urged into the dressing room, Ben knew her being ill-at-ease with him paying came from a lot of places. She’d been a bone-deep submissive all her life with no outlet for it until Jon. She’d made great strides in self-esteem and confidence since they’d been together, but several years balanced against two decades of damage from her first asshole husband meant there were still some snags.

Before she and Jon had met, she’d scraped and saved to get her yoga studio on its feet, funding it with carefully saved money from her work as a physical therapist. Jon never undersold that accomplishment, but Ben suspected somewhere deep inside, Rachel was afraid to seem too dependent or trusting of anyone, for fear of being kicked emotionally in the face, as her husband had done to her too many times. A certain vital level of detachment to shield herself still existed.

He expected she’d pick out one thing with a modest price, but that was fine. The others would know a couple other things she wanted and make sure those landed on the counter.

In the meantime, Rachel stepped out of the dressing room in her carefully chosen outfit. His brain stopped, so he had to rewind and replay what Rachel said to him, a couple seconds after the fact.

“Dana said I should ask if you think Jon will approve.”

Wallenda’s inventory was heaven-sent. She not only sold lingerie, but dresses that could make a man’s blood drain straight to his cock. While still doing just that to male senses, the dress Rachel wore managed to convey top notch class and style. It was black, some kind of stretchy, gathered fabric that outlined and flattered Rachel’s generous breasts and hips. The low back was crisscrossed with straps all the way to the sweet valley above her ass.

A band of fabric around the throat was connected to two straps of fabric that ran diagonally from her neck to beneath her arms, with the effect of triangulating and emphasizing the swelling curves. One tug would bring the neckline below her breasts.

The dress fit her like a second skin in the right way, all the toned yoga curves and soft woman. Ben could imagine it accessorized with the collar Jon had given her, silver wire bound with gold posts, and a sapphire pendant wrapped in more wire.

“If he doesn’t like it, you’re coming to live with me and Marcie, so I can keep you both as my personal sex slaves,” he said bluntly. He held up his phone. “Let’s see what he thinks.”

He shot the picture, including a note with it. As Rachel bent to see the phone screen, he took her hand and did a sharp tug to bring her into his lap, catching her as she tumbled. Plus enjoying the hell out of how the dress rode up even higher on her thighs. She smiled at him as he held her in his arms and showed her what he was texting, as well as how she looked in the picture.

Your lady wants to know if she should get this old rag.

The response came within seconds, and made her smile grow.

Let you know, soon as I can roll my tongue back in my mouth.

Matt, give Jon back his phone. Stop sexting on it.

Rachel covered her mouth on a second laugh and she struggled out of his lap, giving him an amused look as he gave her a boost that slid his hands over some nice curves.

Dana was coming out of the dressing room as Rachel returned to it. Probably the least modest of the group, not just because of her blindness, but because of the Army background, she didn’t appear self-conscious in the least in a red bra that mixed satin with sheer gauze and lace to show plenty of tantalizing glimpses of golden-brown flesh beneath. She wore her jeans with it, a look he heartily approved. Though she couldn’t see herself, he expected it was muscle memory that had her head dipped as if she was looking down while she adjusted the bra padding and then presented herself, hands on hips.

“Okay, do they look plump and tender enough?"

"Are they breasts or a chicken sandwich?" Cass asked tartly. Lucas’s wife had drawn closer and now stood by Ben’s chair, her hand resting next to his shoulder, her smallest finger pressed against it.

"He's going to devour them, so does it matter?" Dana responded.

"Good point,” Ben agreed.

"No, these are good points," Dana said, arching her back flirtatiously. Cass chuckled and shook her head.

“They certainly are,” Ben said. “Okay, picture going to your man.”

Ben held up the phone and clicked it, then included more commentary before sending it to Peter. The response was again immediate.

“He says I should switch your ass, because your breasts are perfect as they are. But he likes the way they look in that.”

Dana brightened. “Good. Wallenda says she has it in green, purple and blue, too. I’m going to get one of each. With matching panties.”

“Your congregation will love them.”

When she skipped back into the dressing room, he shook his head and looked up at Cass. “Kids,” he sighed.

Her lips quirked, her blue eyes amused. Hers were like a summer sky, while Savannah’s were more like faceted jewels. “Aren’t you nearly the youngest here, except for Marcie?” Cass asked.

“Only in maturity,” he reminded her. “And shouldn’t you be trying on something? I’m sure you’re almost out of edible panties. Lucas has come in with that blue and pink tongue thing a couple times. Oh, and red. The raspberry ones are his favorite, I think.”

“We have never bought edible panties,” she said with a sniff.

“Then he must have a serious slushy addiction you need to talk to him about. But I don’t blame you. They’re terrible. If I ever did open a confectionery slash bakery like Marcie thinks I should, I’d put edible panties on the menu. Ones that actually taste good. Chocolate lace that’s better than Godiva and melts when the heat of the mouth is applied. Cherry liqueur flavor.”

“Dessert and drinks,” she observed.

“Exactly. That ice blue peignoir over there has you written all over it.” His gaze slid over her. “All your thick, blond hair down, one thin strap falling off the shoulder, the satin slithering over all your gorgeous curves. Our cunnilingus-addicted accountant wouldn’t be able to put two numbers together, let alone two words.”

She considered it, a faint tinge to her cheeks, her lips parting. A woman inside her head, letting her imaginings arouse her, was fascinating to watch. Cass recalled herself far too soon, though.

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” She rose and left him, but before she did, she pressed her hand to his shoulder. He was probably too gratified by the affection, but he was glad she didn’t seem to be in a mood to keep giving him a hard time. Maybe Savannah had said something to her.

As Cass moved away toward the dressing room, he realized she had a couple more outfits and bra choices draped over her arm.

Though they were likely more things for Rachel and Dana to try, he couldn’t resist sending a text to Lucas. Cass is considering some thongs. I’ll let you know how well they accent her pretty ass.

He grinned at the return fire. Hard to do when your eyes are poked out with my laser pointer. Thongs chafe. I’d never do that to my wife.

Looking around for his brat, Ben noticed Marcie had wandered into the role play area, after having left the blue nightie with Wallenda at the counter.

It was a tough choice, staying where he was to enjoy more of the male-dream fashion show, or seeing what she was doing, but he figured he couldn’t lose either way. So, he went to see Marcie.

She was rubbing the stiff black taffeta skirt of a maid costume between her thumb and forefinger. From the length of it, he suspected the ruffled skirt would barely cover her ass. “I could see you wearing this around the house,” he observed. “Or maybe in my home dungeon. I’d order you to wear it when you clean the equipment.”

Her brown eyes heated, telling him she liked the idea. When he glanced down and saw she’d picked out another item, she lifted it so he could see. A vampire role-playing kit, including a set of fangs, some black cherry flavored “blood” to drizzle on the skin, and a wooden stake. The stake was pointed on one end, but the handle was a flesh-like phallus, obviously intended for other purposes. Since Hot Toddy was upscale, the fangs weren’t a cheap plastic insert, but silver plated and reasonably sharp for realism. Intended for blood play, including an extensive warning in the instructions about not piercing major arteries in the neck.

“You like that, brat?”

She caught her lip in her teeth and glanced up at him almost shyly, which really intrigued him. “I’ve had a vampire fantasy or two about you,” she admitted.

“About me? Or those sparkly vampires you watch?”

“I love the Twilight movies,” she protested. But she edged closer to him. “I like the darker side of the story.”

“Really?” He considered the package and, deciding then and there they’d be buying it, he withdrew his pocket knife and cut open the thick plastic packaging that kept customers from doing what he did now, plucking out the fangs and tube of black cherry flavoring. “Let’s see how they fit.”

Her pupils expanded and darkened, which was as much of a cue as he needed. While he wasn’t sure about role playing a vampire, he approved of the fang idea as a different form of cutting toy, something that would allow him to put his mouth on her while he tested her limits. The manufacturer was a reputable BDSM paraphernalia company he knew, so he expected they’d had the same idea for the fangs. He slipped them into his mouth.

The bridge was flexible and could be adjusted. He found it had a reasonable fit with his mouth, though he also expected they could be custom ordered for a perfect hold. He drew her to him as he put some of the black cherry blood on his finger. Then he slid it down her throat, leaving an intriguingly realistic smear.

Feeling the pulse of the artery under his fingertip, seeing her go still, her gaze flicking up to him with a mix of erotic intrigue and deeper need, flipped a switch. No matter their surroundings, the Master side kicked in, the possessor. His focus narrowed to her, the store and everyone in it moving behind a gray curtain. Her mesmerized reaction to the props only helped with the fantasy.

He imagined what it was that intrigued her about vampire lore and used that to get him even deeper into it.

A powerful being, about to take control of his prey, his toy. Her breath had become shallower, he noted. She lifted her hand to touch the tip of one fang. It protruded only slightly over his bottom lip, so they could be easily hidden for maximum effect. He coiled his hand in her hair, tilting her head back as he closed in to put his mouth on the bloodlike streak, tasting it and her.

He’d make his own crimson concoction to replace this one. Maybe a cherry liqueur, like he’d described to Cass. But for here and now, this worked fine. Her nipples had gone taut, because he could feel them through her thin bra and his shirt. She really did get off on this, because he could almost smell her arousal coming off her skin.

Since it was a new tool for him, he went easy with the fangs, learning them. He tightened his grip on her hair, not wanting her to jerk suddenly and him do her more damage than intended. He slid the point down her throat as he licked off the black cherry, and a damn near moan came from her throat. She was pressed even more urgently against him, as if fighting not to rub her mound against his thigh. Fuck. He wanted to bite her, wanted to sink his fangs in…

He shifted his position and granted part of his wish, digging the fangs into the tender juncture between neck and shoulder, right where that earlier bite was. Her fingers clutched him as if she was falling off a cliff, and he wasn’t sure if they both weren’t doing that very thing. Happily. Well, if he was a vampire, he could fly, right? Or break her fall, at least.

Her hand had slipped to his nape, was teasing the dark hair there as she breathed fast and quick.

“Don’t vampires have slaves or servants? Something like that?” He lifted his head to meet her glazed eyes.

“I think so. Yes. Maybe. Definitely.” She caressed the tip of one fang again and smiled, a sheepish and charming look on her pretty face. “Wow. That was… I guess I didn’t realize quite how well that would work with you, that look you get, so intense. Maybe you were a vampire in a former life.”

“Aren’t vampires immortal?”

“Well, maybe you annoyed someone, and they staked you. Lucas is always threatening to kill you. Maybe he was your Van Helsing.”

He removed the fangs, using a helpful hand sanitizer positioned on the wall to clean them before he slipped them and the black cherry oil back into the package. There was a lubricant for the stake dildo, he noted.

Removing that piece, he turned it over in his hand, aware of her attention on it. “So for this, I guess it’s Buffy the vampire slayer coming at me with the stake.”

He knew her fondness for the Joss Whedon series, so, as he spoke, he angled the pointed part to his chest, proffering her the other end. Her color still high, Marcie closed her fingers over the cock-shaped handle and increased the pressure against his flesh. The stake was smooth wood, and sharp enough to drive into a vampire’s chest…or do edge play with a sub.

“But she can’t bring herself to do it,” he murmured.

“Want to bet?” A smile crossed her lips, her eyes sparkling. She increased the pressure on the point, lifting on her toes to bring her mouth closer. “She tries to do it, but he overpowers her, takes the stake from her.”

She tilted her head, her hair brushing his knuckles. Crazily enough, he’d already been in the process of doing as she’d described, somewhat. He’d shifted his grip to her wrist to twist it gently but firmly, enough to dislodge her hold on the stake. He gripped the base of the phallus handle, the heel of his hand still on the stake end. Her hand had dropped to his side, just above his hip.

“He turns it on her,” she continued, her lips moist as she touched them to his jaw. “Makes her worry about which end he’ll use, as he drags the sharp point down between her breasts, over her navel, to between her legs…”

He held her gaze. He had turned the stake around with a dexterous twist of his fingers, and the point was teasing her cleavage, just below the pendant. Her eyes were dark and deep, her lips parted.

Reality penetrated, though he wasn’t sure how. Maybe someone had sneezed, blown an air horn, something. He suddenly recalled they were in a lingerie store and eased back, though he eyed her as he returned the stake to the package.

“You’re getting me in a great deal of trouble, the things you’re tempting me to do to you in front of your sister and everyone in this store. I’m going to go give this to Wallenda. Try to behave. Like you ever do.”

She dimpled unrepentantly, but beneath that, he saw something far needier. Marcie was an honest flirt. When she teased or taunted, it was because she wanted him. The sooner, the better.

Why had they even left the house today?

Ben thought about that BDSM resort Matt and Savannah had gone to some time back, where the guests could act as Dom and sub full time, no matter if they were in one of the five-star restaurants, out on the beach, or in the privacy of their open-aired bungalows. He might book them a trip there, sooner rather than later. Otherwise, he might be arrested for the things she openly tempted and challenged him to do to her, regardless of their audience.

Come to think of it, it wouldn’t be a bad honeymoon. Maybe a few days there, then a trip to Italy for a week…

As Ben dropped the vampire kit on the counter, Wallenda shot him an amused look. “Thought I was going to have to take the fire hydrant to the two of you,” she said.

“We’ve considered carrying a portable one with us for just that reason,” Savannah said, coming to his side to place an assortment of lacy sachets next to the vampire toys. “I love the scent on these, Wallenda. No one else sells it.”

“Because they are prepared by a voodoo priestess who will tell no one her secret ingredients,” Wallenda responded. “And you can cast no stones, sister. There’s been a time or two you’ve been in here with that man of yours when I thought the walls would start to smoke.”

“I told you about bringing Rick Lewis here,” Ben said to Savannah. “Matt’s going to find out. Wallenda will tell.”

Savannah made a face at him. Wallenda waved a snapping hand in Ben’s direction, the black nails flicking like switchblades. “You ignore him, cher. These Kensington men, they are untamed beasts, the best kind, no? You have any new pictures of that angel baby to show me?”

As Wallenda and Savannah started talking about Angelica, Ben reached over to the desk area behind Wallenda’s counter and snagged a pen and small pad. He scribbled a note on it, and moved to the end of the counter where there was an opening for Wallenda to pass through. With his back to them as he fished out his wallet, his body screened his motion from Savannah’s side. He dropped the notepad and the hundred-dollar bill on the corner of Wallenda’s desk. He paused only long enough to know the woman had seen it, because she gave him a subtle nod and knowing twitch of her lush lips.

Good. Now he wandered away with a definite purpose. Marcie had moved into a different section of the store, and his steps toward her slowed when he realized what she was looking at. Wedding lingerie, lots of white lace, heavy silks.

Admonishing himself not to be a chickenshit, he made his feet move and came up behind her, sliding his hands up and down her arms. "I like that one," he said, about the one she was touching.

It was almost all lace, except for some sunbeam-shaped partitions of satin between the lace of the floor-length skirt. For a minute, he imagined Marcie in the decadent thing, in a honeymoon suite hotel room. One that overlooked a Venice waterway. When he swept her off her feet, the lace would spill over his arms, the swatch of silk at the bodice giving him tantalizing glimpses of curves as she reached up and touched his face, her brown eyes incandescent…

“I might come back and get it,” she said.

"Not put it on and show me right now?"

She shook her head. "These are special. You only wear these for a wedding night."

“Yeah, I suppose so.” He put his lips to her throat. She automatically tilted her head to give him access, her body leaning back into his. When his hand came up to cup her breast, his thumb passing over her nipple, her body jerked, and her breath caught. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever I want.” He bit her throat, then bumped her with her body. “Walk to the employee storeroom door over there. Now.”

The other women were involved on the other side of the store, but it wouldn’t have mattered to him if they were gathered around them. The sticky note he’d left Wallenda had only four words on it: “Fifteen minutes of privacy.”

A shudder went through Marcie when he gave her the order. She obeyed instantly, which only sharpened his need. He released her to walk behind her, drinking in the sight of her hips swaying, her hair brushing her shoulders. He closed the distance between them in time to reach over her head and push open the storeroom door. Nudging her inside, he closed it behind them, putting them in semi-darkness, amid an array of filmy silks hung on racks, stacked boxes, and a fortunately placed cushioned chair with worn velvet upholstery, in a 1970s gold color.

He nodded toward the chair. “Go over there and take off your shirt. Bend over and clasp the top of the chair.”

Her eyes only grew more full of response, physical and emotional. She moved with her usual grace to the chair, and pivoted to face him as she removed the shirt, showing him the sinuous ripple of her upper body as she drew it off and draped it over the chair arm. He bit back a reverent oath at the sight of her generous curves, barely contained in lace. Holding his gaze an extra moment, she turned toward the chair, her knees brushing the seat as she leaned over it to grasp the worn wood of the back.

Christ, she had an ass made for sin, denim molding over it just right. He moved in closer, bringing his hips against it as he reached under her and slipped the button of her jeans. Sliding his fingers inside, he found more lace, and she sucked in a breath as he pushed beneath the elastic band to caress her smooth mound, tease her clit and labia with the pads of his fingers. Then he was pushing the jeans and panties to her knees, which buckled fully to rest in the seat of the chair.

Banding an arm around her waist, he used his other hand to open his own jeans and get his boxers out of the way. His cock nudged her pussy and he swore as he found her so wet she practically sucked the head into the tight opening.

“You little slut,” he whispered, and she quivered. “You’ve soaked your panties.”

Making sure she had her balance, with her knees on the chair seat and hands clasping the back, he removed his grip on her to strip his belt. He looped it around her upper body, tightening it over her breasts, just above the nipples, and wrapped the tail end of the strap around his fist, resting between her shoulder blades.

Yeah, he wanted to add that anchor point, because otherwise he might fuck her through the side of the chair. Especially when he ran a palm over the marks the cane had left last night, and she did that little shuddering thing again. He pinched one, hard, and she caught her lip in her teeth, her eyes closing as she dipped her head in profile to him, her thick hair falling over her shoulder.

“You need a gag to keep them from hearing you scream, brat?”

“Yes, Master,” she said in a throaty voice.

“Tough,” he said ruthlessly. “You don’t want them to hear, you’re going to have to bite it back. I want to see you fight it, and blush that appealing pink color when you fail.”

He wasn’t in the mood to wait, and pushed into her. She knew how to take his size now, though it was always an adjustment, so he moved with her, urgent and demanding but not cruel. Not about this. When he was seated to the hilt, he nearly came then and there, feeling her pussy doing little spasms against his length. It told him she was already close to the brink, just as he was. Fifteen minutes was going to be more time than they needed, but far less than he wanted.

He bent over her, propping one hand next to hers on the chair, his other still wrapped in the belt, tightening it on her upper body. He braced his knee on the outside of hers, making sure he kept enough counterweight on the front of the chair, so he didn’t flip them with his thrusts. They might end up against the wall regardless, leaving scrapes along the already scarred wooden floor from the chair’s movement. He could live with that.

“With me, brat?” he muttered against her perfect shell-shaped ear. She nodded, and when he thrust deeper she gasped, and corrected herself.

“Yes, sir.”

“If I was going to be a real bastard, I’d come, but leave you hurting for it. You wouldn’t be able to put two sentences together, thinking about how and when I’ll let you release. It’s the right punishment for how disrespectful you’ve been today. Sassing your Master. Telling your friends he’s ticklish. Making him buy bad pasta.”

A tiny sparkle appeared in the brown eyes she turned toward him, though he saw the strain in her face muscles, felt the need vibrating off her body. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not. But you will be, when I get you home tonight.” She rippled against him and he growled in answer. He began to pump into her again, savoring her gasps, knowing that taking him like this resulted in a confusing mix of arousal and discomfort. God, how many women had he fucked? Mostly up the ass, even when he was in what could have loosely been called semi-relationships, aka, fucking them more than once, and usually in a club scenario.

But ever since he’d been with Marcie, he found himself enjoying taking her this way, just as much. He reveled in the slick-silk feel of her heated cunt, her pleas, the way she bit down on her lip to try and suppress them as he brought her closer and closer.

He twisted the belt tighter in his grip. In his position, he could see her breasts quivering, flesh flushed red around the strap from the constriction. His pelvis slapped against the marks on her ass, his balls brushing her thighs, kept close together by the hold of her jeans above her knees. It would make the climax more intense, and impossible for her to hold back her response. She was a screamer, his brat.

He'd never embarrass her in front of her family, but her willingness to be embarrassed, in order to serve her Master’s desires, putting those needs above her own dignity, did things to him he couldn’t describe, at least not in a way that most people would understand. He released the strap of the belt, knowing the buckle and prong would hold the tension, that stimulation. Sealing his palm over her mouth, his smallest finger caressing her jaw, he kept thrusting and felt the grip of her sex turn into a full convulsing spasm of release.

“May I…” She spoke in muffled desperation against his hand. “Please, Master…”

He made her keep begging, impressed by the trembling, near-violent effort it took her not to climax. He could push her past that boundary, give him another reason to punish her, but he wouldn’t. Not today.

I love you. “Come for me, Marcella. Come for your Master.”

He didn’t know why he didn’t say the first part aloud. Maybe because these moments were more primal. But he felt those three words, in every pounding heartbeat, in every stroke, in every second of her response, the screams he muffled against his palm. She bit him, hard enough to nearly draw blood, but he held in place, able to take any pain she gave him, almost as well as she took his.

He released right behind her, and he was right. They’d moved the chair a good six feet, so even if those in the store couldn’t hear her screams, they might wonder about that screech-screech-screech sound. Thank God the floor was already marked up; else he really would have been paying a lot more than a C-note to fix the visible marks. When he finally stopped pounding himself inside her willing body, they were inches from the wall. As Marcie dropped her head, her forehead rested against it. He tilted his own against the side of hers, breathing deep.

He knew what she’d meant, when she said she always wanted him inside her. There was nowhere else in the whole damn world he wanted to be nearly as much. Loosening the belt and letting it fall into the chair seat, he caressed one breast, soothing the marks the strap had left. When he teased a still taut nipple, he earned a tightening of her muscles upon him.

“I’m buying you that black teddy Dana liked,” he said. “I want to see your gorgeous tits spilling out of it. And the steampunk style waist cincher. I like the idea of tightening it so much I steal your breath. I’ll attach ropes to the metal links in the front and back and wind them around the spanking bench. Keep you there while I figure out how to mark your gorgeous skin next.”

Then he’d release her, strip it all away and bathe her soft, pliant body in his garden tub. Hold her as she slept in his arms, surrounded by the frothy bubbles that would moisturize and restore her skin from what her cruel Master enjoyed doing to it.

The thought sobered him. He slid from her, moving her so she could curl up in the chair as he hitched up his jeans and rethreaded his belt. His beautiful brat. He could see the pulse in her throat, like a bird’s. When she laid her head on the chair, his gaze followed the movement, the slight flexing of her jaw as she swallowed.

The way she watched his fingers buckle the strap made his cock twitch again, especially when she licked her lips in unconscious reaction. Insatiable. Just as insatiable as him. And yet…

He slid a fingertip along her bared upper thigh, where he’d intentionally wrapped the cane last night, more than once. “Should I say I’m sorry?”

“For what?” Her attention went to his face, her expression puzzled.

“For what I am. What I want from you so much.”

“Only if I should say I’m sorry for wanting it, just as badly.”

He held her gaze. “No. You shouldn’t.”

“Then neither should you.” Her lashes dropped, fanning her cheeks. “May I get dressed?”

In answer, he took her hand and drew her to her feet. He did it himself, pulling her panties up first, playing along the elastic of the legs, tsking over the dampness of the crotch before guiding her hand to his shoulder. It gave her permission to hold onto him as his rubbing over the sensitized petals of her sex made her sway and tremble.

At length, he pulled the jeans back over her hips, zipping and fastening them. Picking up her shirt, he threaded it back over her head, helping her get her hands through the sleeves. As he tucked the hem of the garment back into the low riding waist band, he caressed her hips and the lace edge of her panties once more.

When he lifted his hand to her face, her smaller fingers curled around his wrist. She turned her head to study his palm, tracing the bite mark she’d left there before she pressed her cheek to it.

“I’m happy and sad when the marks go away,” she said low. “Happy, because it means you’ll mark me again, because you like seeing them on my body. Sad, because I always want your marks there. I want to feel them when I move.”

He swept his thumb down under her chin and caught the chain of her forget-me-not pendant. “Maybe I’ll brand my sub. Over her hip bone, or in the small of her back. Or inside her thigh, so it will brush against her skin when she walks. And every time it fades, I’ll do it again.”

She swallowed, dipping her head to kiss his palm, where the bite marks rested. When she spoke, it was against his callused flesh.

“Thank you, Master. I would love that.”

Leaving the one palm against her face, he slid an arm over her shoulders, drawing her to him to hold her close. Now he said it aloud. Twice in one day. He really was losing his mind and heart over his brat. But there were sure as hell far worse things in life to lose.

“I love you.”

* * *

“I am officially worn out,” Rachel pronounced, sitting among a collection of small bags around her ankles. She’d picked out several seedlings at the EarthFirst gardening store, and hadn’t wanted the tender plants in the trunk. “Anyone else have somewhere they want to go?”

“Not me,” Cass responded. She had her legs folded up on the seat, feet tucked against her backside, her shoes on the floorboards, as she sipped a glass of red wine. “Lucas is grilling dinner for all of us and Jon is handling the sides. Since the weather’s so nice, we can eat out on the gazebo.”

A wave of approving commentary greeted that announcement. Ben didn’t disagree with the idea of a nice, thick steak, what he knew Lucas would have set aside for him, no matter their earlier razzing, but there was one more store to visit. Maybe.

He had considered throughout the day whether he should do it or not. Cass’s comments during their shopping trip had tilted the scales somewhat, but it was being with Marcie in that backroom, the way she looked up at him, her heart in her eyes, which told him the answer. Even if it made something odd jump in his stomach.

“Max, I have one more stop to make. The place we discussed.”

The limo driver met his gaze in the rearview mirror. Ben thought he detected a trace of approval in the gray eyes. Not that he cared what the muscle-headed Boy Scout thought.

Dana turned in her seat and reached around the back of Max’s headrest to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders. “So, have you kissed Janet yet?”

The shoulders lifted in a sigh. “Pest. None of your business.”

“That’s a yes,” Savannah observed, tossing the others a smile.

Dana started back as Max hit the button to raise the dark privacy screen between the driver’s area and the rest of the car. He ignored their boos and catcalls as he disappeared from view behind the scrolling glass.

“He’s so totally kissed her,” Dana said.

“Leave the man alone. You women are like piranha,” Ben chided.

“I could have asked him if he’d done other things to her,” Dana pointed out. “I showed a lot of restraint.

Rachel flashed a mischievous smile. “Since Janet is a Mistress, more likely it’s what she’s done to him.”

“But he’s no sub,” Marcie said.

“Exactly. Which makes it so interesting to imagine,” Cass said, drawing out the so in a way that had the women chuckling.

“Or not,” Ben said, affecting a shudder.

“Watch this,” Marcie said conspiratorially to the others. Leaning against Ben’s shoulder, she spoke into his ear in a sultry stage whisper. “But I want to talk about my fantasy starring you and Max. Both of you naked and all oiled up, wrestling until one of you wins, overpowers the other, and then…”

“Lalalalalala,” Ben said, putting his fingers in his ears and rocking his head back and forth, ignoring the peals of feminine laughter. “You are all cruel, terrible women,” he said mournfully.

Chuckling, Marcie glanced toward the storefronts as the limo slowed to a stop. “What are we doing at…”

It was rare for his feisty sub to be without voice, but she stopped in mid-sentence as if the air had been snatched from her. When her cheeks pinkened, his heart accelerated. Telling himself to get a grip, he blew a short, playful puff of air on her ear.

“You know, there is a bagel shop next door. I could just be wanting a sesame seed whole grain with cream cheese.”

Her eyes snapped up to him. Though Ben was sure she’d registered what he’d said, her gaze was wide and questioning. He couldn’t fathom what he saw there, but he knew it wasn’t rejection, so he could handle pretty much everything else. He hoped.

The rest of the car had fallen silent right after Marcie. The level of feminine intuition assembled in this one spot could reorganize civilizations. The women realized he was trying to figure out Marcie’s cues and needed his full attention on that. Otherwise, he expected there would have been squeals of excitement filling the suddenly much smaller, denser area.

Because there was really only one reason he would instruct Max to bring them to one of New Orleans’ oldest and most respected jewelry stores.

Reminding himself that he needed to appear calm and confident, every inch the Master he was supposed to be, he exited the car on the opposite side and circled around to open Marcie’s door. Max hadn’t done the honors, knowing this was Ben’s show. Smart guy. Worth every penny they paid him. When Marcie looked up at him, her eyes still round and lips slightly parted as if she wasn’t sure what to say, he extended his palm, his voice quiet and even.

“Come with me, brat.”

She put her hand in his, and he felt a tremor in her fingers. He brought her to her feet, pulling her out of the doorway so he could shut it, but before he took her any further, he pulled her close. Banding an arm around her shoulders, he dipped his head down to brush his lips against her cheekbone. “Okay?”

She nodded, but her fingers were clutching the front of his shirt. “I just…you took me by surprise.”

“What?” He lifted his head. “I’m just picking up a broken watch they’re fixing for me.”

He took the fist to his gut manfully—fuck, she hit a lot harder than Savannah—because his teasing had served its purpose. A tiny smile appeared on her face.

Stepping back, he clasped her hand and drew her to the store entrance, opening it with his free hand so she could precede him. When he let her go, his palm shifted to rest on her lower back.

The others had remained in the car, as he expected. They would hang back to give him and Marcie this moment. But he had no doubt, unless he’d wisely kept that glass scrolled up, that Max was getting the third degree, since the driver had known the destination without Ben clearly stating it.

As Ben brought Marcie into the jewelry store, its reputation was reflected by the interior. Deep red carpet edged with gold, and a glittering chandelier that threw the right amount of light on the gold cases. An array of wing-backed chairs and cherry-wood tables provided intimate circles for fittings. Oil originals done by some of New Orleans’ premiere artists, featuring different New Orleans landmarks, were mounted on the eggshell-colored plaster walls. An honest-to-God medieval era tapestry was hung on the back wall, depicting a hunting party with well-dressed ladies and lords, and a pack of narrow-waisted hunting hounds.

There was a lot of dark wood molding, and the polished floor revealed at the borders of the carpet was likely over a hundred years old. The building itself was their original store site, a structure dating from the 1800s.

Bernard, the owner, was emerging from the arched doorway to the left of the tapestry. He’d probably been given a heads up on Ben’s arrival by his twenty-eight-year-old son, Winston, who was manning the front.

Bernard had old world style spectacles perched on his craggy nose. He reminded Ben of the tall, gaunt butlers in horror films, only more solid and imposing, like Lurch of the Addams Family. But that was the physical. He had a reassuring way about him that told his clients he would take care of them, whether it was a kid who’d saved three months of his salary for a half-carat engagement ring, or someone like Ben. He wore creased slacks, shoes that shone like polished coal, and a dark green sweater over a white dress shirt and tie.

“Mr. O’Callahan,” he said, and came out from behind the glass counter to shake Ben’s hand with long, bony fingers. Then his gaze turned to Marcie.

“This must be the angel who has agreed to save you from the fires of hell.”

“I’m pretty sure I described her as the woman who put me through the fires of hell,” Ben said.

A long smile creased all of Bernard’s face as he took Marcie’s hand and kissed it. He pulled it off as if he was a count in a Dumas book, which Ben suspected the guy had been, in a past life. The identity simply refused to let go, even in the face of much more modern times.

“You are a woman beyond compare, taking on this rascal,” Bernard told her. He drew her toward one of the seats and gestured her into it, sinking down in the one across from it. He retained her hand, so their clasped fingers rested on the small round table between them. The light of the Tiffany lamp there would warm Marcie’s knuckles.

Bernard was relaxed, as if they’d stopped by merely to have a visit with him. He flicked Ben an amused glance as he came to stand behind Marcie, curling his hand over her shoulder. The amusement became warmer as Marcie automatically reached up to link fingers with Ben, while her other hand remained in the grasp of Bernard’s.

“Has he told you how we met?” the jeweler asked Marcie.

“You know, I can cancel the check,” Ben said.

“You paid with a credit card,” Bernard said without a blink.

Though Ben could still feel the shimmer of tense excitement under his hand, Marcie leaned into Ben’s touch and smiled at Bernard.

“He hasn’t. I’d love to know.”

“I can dispute the charge,” Ben put in. He saw Winston bite back a smile as his father completely ignored Ben.

“When he was a very young lad,” Bernard told Marcie, “he did what grown men could not. He managed to take something from my store. One of my employees, a lovely young lady with a good heart, Emily, had a necklace out on display for Mrs. Butler. She has since left us, God rest her soul—Mrs. Butler, that is—but she had excellent taste in jewelry. It was a heart pendant, silver with a ruby and diamond placed inside the open curve. A piece I designed myself.”

His fingers tightened on Marcie’s hand, his voice reflecting a craftsman’s pride. “That is what makes us so special. I am both a jewelry designer and maker, though I admit, with my eyesight and the steadiness of my hands not what they once were, I have capitulated to my son’s wisdom and now have several trusted people who work with me to bring my designs to life.”

He sent his son a fond look. “He follows in his father’s footsteps, and sometimes surpasses him, such that some of the pieces you see around you were designed and made by him. But,” he brought his attention back to Marcie, “I made Mr. O’Callahan’s order myself. With his input.”

Marcie swallowed, that vibration beneath Ben’s touch increasing. Bernard’s hand tightened on hers, his hazel eyes twinkling. “I won’t go on too long, angel. But I must help him, by building your anticipation.”

Winston had been standing behind the counter in his dress shirt, slacks and tie, as if he could comfortably remain in that position forever. Bernard’s son had already put in a decade of learning the family business, and had his father’s dignified demeanor. However, he appealed to their younger clientele with some subtle differences, like the rolled-up sleeves of his dress shirt and a rakish hair cut with longer side burns. But despite the different look, the store was an equal calling to him.

Proving it, the younger man had somehow disappeared and reappeared without being noticed. He brought out a glass of wine and a small dish of Belgian seashell-shaped chocolates, placing both next to Marcie and Bernard’s clasped hands. He also had a photo album. Circling around Ben to stand before his father and Marcie, Winston opened the album to show the silver heart piece Bernard had described.

“Oh, it was lovely,” she said sincerely. “So delicate.”

“When she commissioned it, Mrs. Butler said that she wanted it no bigger than her largest fingernail, because she said women who wore pendants bigger than a fingernail, or a diamond larger than a teardrop, were gauche, and she was not a gauche woman.” The lines of Bernard’s face crinkled in fond memory. “No, she was not. Not in the least. But very strong-willed, and knowing what she wanted. That’s the best kind of woman.”

Bernard sent Ben another significant look. The cagey old bastard. “Anyhow, the young rascal came in, telling Emily he had lost his mother, and he needed her help. She and Mrs. Butler were so busy clucking over him, they didn’t notice him pocket the necklace. After that very moment, he glanced outside and exclaimed, ‘There she is,’ and darted out. Only then did Emily realize the necklace was gone, but he had disappeared into the ether.” Bernard waved a hand to illustrate.

Marcie tipped her head back to give Ben an incredulous look. “I think he’s suffering from early dementia,” he said in an affected stage whisper.

“I am fifty-nine years old, you impertinent boy,” Bernard said.

“I did say early.”

Marcie chuckled, but returned her attention to Bernard. “So, you caught him eventually?” she ventured.

Ben snorted before Bernard could answer. “No one catches me.”

Well, no one except Jonas Kensington, but he wasn’t going to bring up the exception right now.

“Don’t interrupt the story,” Bernard admonished. He tapped Marcie’s hand. “We did not catch him. A thousand-dollar necklace, poof, gone. I had to write it off as a loss. Had a grown man done it, I would have thought dark thoughts, hoped for his ill-gotten gains to turn on him. But young Emily, when I questioned her, only remembered one thing about him. ‘He looked hungry,’ Mr. Bernard,’ she said. ‘And alone.’”

Okay, that was an unexpected turn. Ben’s gut tightened. He wondered why the old man was getting this personal, but then again, he should have known. Bernard was testing Marcie, seeing what kind of person she was. Ben would have put an end to it, but Bernard met his gaze briefly and lifted a finger, suggesting forbearance.

“Nearly two decades later, this young man walks into my store,” Bernard continued. “In an expensive suit, looking like a well-heeled client, instead of a street urchin. He asks for me, and tells me he was the boy that stole from me. He apologizes, and hands me the price of the necklace. What it would cost today.”

“Lucas helped me with that,” Ben put in.

A smile touched Bernard’s lips. “Another man with excellent taste in jewelry. Cassandra wears one of my creations.”

“So what did you do?” Marcie asked, obviously wanting the rest of the story. “What did you say to him?”

“It was a remarkable moment,” Bernard mused. “Something you do not expect. But as I looked at him, I remembered what Emily said. And then I really looked at him. You know what I’m talking about. Below the surface. I said, ‘You don’t look so hungry anymore. Or as alone. But beneath it all, you still look sad.’”

Bernard now clasped Marcie’s hand in both of his. “Several weeks ago, he came into my store and asked for a special set of rings to be made. And he no longer looked sad.”

Ben’s lips twisted wryly as Marcie’s expression softened, her body nearly melting under Bernard’s touch. The old charmer. Bernard sent him a “you owe me” look and a wink as he straightened. “Winston, son. Let us go get what Mr. O’Callahan asked us to create.”

While Winston likely could have brought it out on his own, Ben suspected the intuitive shopkeeper was giving them a few moments. However, before Bernard followed his son to the back, he paused in the door opening and met Marcie’s gaze.

“I hope I can count on you to keep an eye on him while we’re gone, young lady. Make sure he doesn’t slip anything else in his pockets.”

Though she was obviously reeling over what the man had just said about rings, Ben gave Marcie credit. She rallied enough to toss Bernard one of those devastating smiles that could bring a man to his knees. “Count on it.”

But as the shopkeeper disappeared, Marcie turned around in the chair, standing on her knees on the cushioned seat so she could touch his face, her other hand on his shoulder. “Ben,” she said. “Three weeks ago…”

“Yeah.” Taking both her hands, he guided her back to her feet. She didn’t say anything more, just stood there, gazing up at him, so much in her face. He didn’t say anything either, but somehow, nothing needed to be said.

Bernard was wrong. He was still hungry, but this was a new hunger, one that grew every day and was never filled. To watch her reaction to everything, listen to what she had to say, demand her full capitulation to him as her Dom in a million ways. Even knowing that every time she submitted, she won his full surrender to everything she was.

Bernard and Winston were back. Her fingers in his grasp, Ben drew her to the main horseshoe-shaped counter to see what they were putting out on a black velvet covered board.

It was the first time he was seeing the finished work, but that was fine. Because he knew Bernard, Ben knew it would be nothing less than perfect. He didn’t look at the rings, though. He looked at Marcie’s face as she looked at them.

“Ben,” she said softly. Her fingers were trembling once more.

The engagement band was platinum, the diamond a sparkling marquis, flanked by swirling metalwork that included three tiny flowers, two on one side of the diamond, the other centered opposite it. The wedding bands were also platinum, and Bernard turned them so she could see the inscription inside. On the inside of the thicker male band was the word “Always.” The female one said “Yours.”

At Bernard’s nod, Ben picked up the engagement band, and took her hand. Marcie’s breath caught, color washing out of her cheeks. Slightly alarmed, he tightened his grip on her fingers. “Don’t you faint on me,” he warned. “That’s an order.”

She choked on a half-laugh, but when he dropped to one knee, she paled even more, such that he put a hand on her hip. It was okay, though, because her other hand was on his shoulder, gripping. He found his throat suddenly dry enough he had to clear it.

“I still have a lot of things to work through, Marcie. I can’t give you a date yet. But I can give you the promise that comes with this. If I’m capable of making that commitment at all, it will only be to you. Will you accept that?”

“You never ask me anything,” she managed. “My Master simply tells me.”

She spoke as if the two of them were alone. He was okay with that, too. Bernard and his son were as discreet as priests. Whatever they made of her words would stay with them.

“On a lot of things, yes. Not on this. I’ll do what it takes to care for you, always. If it hurts your heart too much to wait, so be it. But if you can have faith in me, I need…time.”

To make sure he deserved her, before there was no turning back and he ruined her life.

She looked at him a long moment and slowly nodded her head. “I can give you time. For a while.”

There was his brat. The little set to her chin said she wasn’t going to let him push it out too long, while the soft understanding in her eyes gave him what he needed. She hadn’t lived the life he had, didn’t understand the paths he’d walked, and he was damn glad she didn’t. If he was given a choice of going through it again or her having to walk that same route, he’d take it three times over to save her from coming anywhere close to the hell he’d survived.

But even without that direct understanding, somehow she knew him. Knew how to connect with the darkness and need inside him, soothe and ease it, give him comfort and challenge both, in all the right ways.

“Okay.” He slid the ring on her finger, a perfect fit. Her fingers closed over it. When he rose, he lifted her up on her toes, her arms circling his neck as he kissed her.

A loud noise disrupted them a long minute later, and Marcie looked toward the store front. As she laughed and hid her face against his chest, Ben saw the windows of the limo were down, and the women were waving flutes of champagne and cheering while Max laid down on the horn in celebratory bursts.

Ben looked toward a smiling Bernard and his son. “You really should have the police drive off the rabble hanging around in front of your store.”

“Of course, Mr. O’Callahan. We’ll look into that.” Bernard had already placed the other two rings in a small silk-lined box that could be latched. After he did that, he handed the box over to Ben. “I wish you both the very best.”

Reaching across the counter, Bernard clasped Marcie’s hand one more time, placing his other hand on top of it. “The marquis cut diamond is also known as a navette, meaning little ship, because of its shape. I think that is a very appropriate cut for an engagement ring, since it signifies the beginning of a voyage together.”

Releasing her, he gave Marcie a wink. “I will look for your wedding notice in the society columns, so I can add it to the clippings of the many other happy couples whose rings I’ve had the privilege of designing.”

“I’ll bring you a copy myself,” she promised. “Your work is beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you are, my angel,” he said. “Keep him out of the fires, hmm?”

* * *

So, yeah. It had been a nice, long day. After the cookout at Lucas’s, he took Marcie home to his Garden District house and reminded her thoroughly and several times, who her Master was. In the morning, he dropped a reverent kiss on her bare shoulder where she lay limply in the bed. As he always did—or rather, the routine they were establishing in their new life, living together—he left her aspirin and directions for what he expected of her that morning.

Take a long, hot shower, put on one of my shirts or your silk robe. Magnanimously, he left that choice up to her, even knowing she’d choose one of his dress shirts. She always did. Then she was to eat the breakfast he’d left her and spend the morning, until he returned, reading on the small balcony at the end of the second floor hallway. It overlooked the alley garden below. He knew she had a new book she wanted to read, and he wanted her to take the time to enjoy it.

He also liked thinking that she might get distracted a few times from the pages by the new addition to her finger. She’d spent most of the time last night—when he didn’t have her otherwise distracted—gazing at the sparkling diamond like a kid with the best Christmas gift ever.

She was his distracting diamond, the one he wanted to gaze at all day today. But first he had to honor another promise he’d made her.

His destination was the gallery, to collect the painting he’d bought for Cass. He drove one of the company Escalades, since he still hadn’t decided on a new car after he’d donated the McLaren to a charity auction. While he missed the sports car’s maneuverability, he didn’t have any problem negotiating the narrow streets, making his way around the carriage horses already at work. As he passed the café on Royal Street, he inhaled the scent of fresh baked beignets. He might pick up some of those on the way back. Powdered sugar tasted just fine on Marcie’s skin.

It was morning, and the gallery opened at ten, so he expected he’d be the day’s first arrival. He was wrong.

As he entered the store, he saw Cassandra, sitting on a bench that had been placed before the monastery painting.

“She came in a half-hour ago,” the man standing at the desk said. Ben guessed this was the gallery owner, Mike Owens, according to the business cards in a holder on the polished desk. He was in his fifties, with silver gray fine hair pulled into a ponytail. He wore a maroon dress shirt with a silver tie and gray slacks. A spider web tattoo was visible above the starched collar. His gravel voice was at odds with the formally educated tone. It reminded Ben of Hector Elizondo in Pretty Woman.

“Did she bring the bench with her?” Ben asked.

“I put it there, so she’d have the option to sit,” Mike replied. “After she stood in front of the painting for about ten minutes.”

Sometimes a storeowner did things because of the money a customer spent or could potentially spend. Cass had the style and presence to broadcast she could be a generous patron. But Ben didn’t get the ingratiating vibe from the man. He was simply observant…and kind. A combination Ben appreciated, and would remember. Ben guessed he’d been in the back yesterday, since he seemed to realize not only that Ben was the owner of the painting now, but that Ben also knew Cass.

“She lost someone recently?” The gallery owner made a sympathetic noise at Ben’s nod of acknowledgment. “That piece does that. It’s the last work the artist did, and it was where he died. He told the monks he hoped to imbue it with all the serenity, compassion and spiritual hope he’d felt within their walls. Know it sounds crazy, but everyone who gets caught up in it is still in some stage of grief over someone who meant a lot to them. I almost hate to lose it, because it’s kind of nice to watch how it comforts people.”

Since Ben had kept his attention mostly on Cass, he could see firsthand what Mike meant. There was a peace to her profile, a quietness. “Doesn’t look crazy at all,” he commented.

Mike grunted in acknowledgement. “Take your time. We can pack it up to go whenever you’re ready. Mornings are quiet here.”

Courteously, he turned his attention back to his laptop screen. Not to dismiss Ben, but to give him the chance to move away without requiring a response, something else Ben appreciated.

Cass’s blue eyes shifted to Ben as he came toward her. He remembered the first time he’d met her. She’d come to them for a meeting at K&A, representing a client through Pickard Consulting, her employer. Unbeknownst to them at the time, Lucas already knew her, from a chance encounter when he’d been vacationing in the Berkshires. The electricity between her and him during the negotiations had been like watching an erotic light show, but there’d been a stronger, more captivating undercurrent. Each man of the K&A circle had fallen fast and hard for the woman he wanted, the submissive he intended to claim forever.

Ben had felt an odd yearning during that meeting, which, at the time, he’d dismissed. He’d dismissed it when Peter had found Dana, and Jon had found Rachel, though the feeling had become stronger and stronger, until Marcie’s stubbornness had forced him to face what it was. An acknowledgment of his own loneliness, and that he was trapped in a cage he’d made for himself out of his past demons.

Marcie had thrown herself right into that cage, taken on those demons head-on, and wrapped herself around his heart and soul, refusing to leave unless they walked out together. That struggle was still ongoing, as some of yesterday’s events had proven, but in the jewelry store, the bars had bent, just a little.

When he’d met Cass, he hadn’t known she was connected by blood to the woman who would completely fuck up his certainty that he’d never be in a long-term relationship. Let alone be thinking of crazy things like marriage, or picking out rings.

Cass loved Marcie as much as he did. But it wasn’t that side of her Ben was considering as he took a seat next to her on the bench. He slid an arm around her shoulders, rubbing her upper arm with easy strokes.

“Did you guess?” he asked at last. “Or did Marcie tell you?” Since it was a short bench, they were hip to hip, her shoulder pressed against his chest.

She let out a little sigh, relaxing against him. “Neither. At least not right away. I came back to buy it and Mr. Owens told me it had been purchased. Then I guessed.”

“Mike,” the proprietor said, his hearing obviously sharp, since he sat nearly forty feet away and they were speaking in low tones.

“Mike,” she repeated, her lips curving in a slight smile.

They sat in silence for another few moments before Ben spoke again. “You wouldn’t let me buy you anything yesterday.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect that,” he said. “Marcie wanted me to buy the painting for you.”

She nodded.

“I also wasn’t trying to buy you off. Make amends with a fucking bribe.”

He hadn’t meant to curse, but the first sentence resurrected some of what he’d felt yesterday. It had apparently built up acid in his gut that hadn’t dispelled.

She turned her gaze to him fully, and the regret he saw there disintegrated some of it. “Oh, Ben. I’m sorry you thought that I felt that way. I didn’t. Not at all.”

He tightened his arm around her shoulders, but suddenly needed some space. Withdrawing and rising, he walked a couple steps toward the painting and stared up at it. Fuck, the artist had succeeded in his intent. A man could get lost in the swirling colors and textures he’d used to depict the monastery, and the way it nested in the deep forest. The inviting depth was the right balance between coolness and warmth.

The longer Ben looked, the more it felt like he wasn’t looking up at a picture from inside of a gallery, but up at the monastery itself, from the floor of a thick forest. Standing on rich earth formed from the decay of leaves and passage of seasons, he could gaze up at the gray and brown timeless stone, more a part of the mountain than a separate structure built upon it. One could climb upwards to it, reach that tranquility.

There were no faces to those Ben had lost earliest. His mother had abandoned him as a baby, and he had no clue who the sperm donor was that he would never call a father. But as he looked at the painting, those faceless people passed through his mind, quickly overtaken by Jonas Kensington and brusque Golda, the closest thing to parents he’d had. But he had brothers. Matt, Peter, Lucas, Jon. He had a family.

Peace beckoned from the canvas. Ben wasn’t much of a nature guy, but even he felt its pull. Standing in its shadow, he felt what else it could summon. Truth. Uttered without accusation or defensiveness.

“I get it, you know,” he said. “You had one sibling self-destruct from his addiction. You don’t want to see Marcie go down a similar road.”

He turned to face Cass. Her intelligent blue eyes registered surprise at his words. “You think love can be like an addiction,” she said slowly, more an observation than a question.

“The way she goes about it, the line is thin.” Marcie gave her whole heart and soul to it, refusing to see any roadblocks or warning signs. “I won’t marry her unless I’m a hundred percent sure,” he said fiercely. “That’s a promise. I’m not going to set her up to be disappointed.”

Cass’s expression became even more thoughtful. “I’ve been a mother longer than I’ve been anything else in my life. Did you realize that?”

Not sure where she was going with that, Ben remained silent and let her continue. “Once Lucas and the rest of you helped me, so I could finally step back and take a breath, I realized it. My brothers and sisters, they became my kids when our parents weren’t up to the task. Hell, my mother was as much of a child as any of them.”

She shook her head and looked down at her hands. In absent habit, she turned the wedding ring set Bernard had mentioned. The emerald cut diamond reflected the numbers-oriented Master who’d given it to her; brilliantly geometric. Bernard had set it in a nest of diamond-studded tendrils that curled tight around it in asymmetrical array. The wedding ring was a twisted ribbon style that hugged up to the base of the other perfectly. She looked at Ben again, a poignant smile on her face.

“The last really teenage thought I remember having was when I was fourteen. I asked a boy to the Sadie Hawkins dance. His name was Mitch, and he had red hair and a nice smile. He’d smiled at me in Spanish class. I remember being so excited about that dance. Thinking about his arms around me, and hoping we’d have a slow dance. Maybe he’d kiss me.”

Shadows clouded her blue eyes. “My father left the weekend before the dance. He’d taken off before, for a few weeks at a time, but somehow my mother knew it was going to be far longer this time. She took to her bed and wouldn’t leave it. Jeremy went off that weekend with friends and got high. He already smoked pot, but was starting to transition to the hardcore stuff. I stood Mitch up, because I was taking care of my siblings.”

Ben returned to sit beside her. He took her hand, clasped it on her knee. “That sucks,” he said sincerely. Though a missed Sadie Hawkins dance was hell and gone from his reality, he knew about lost childhoods. He’d always expected that was part of why, out of all the women, Cass was closest to Savannah. Savannah had no clue what a normal childhood felt like, either, but she was fiercely determined that Angelica would have one.

“It was a long time ago. But it’s necessary to set up my point. Which is this; Jon’s right.” Cass tossed him an amused look. “You really are like a thirteen-year-old boy.”

“Thanks. I’ll just go back to my comic books and constant masturbation now.”

She made a face at him. “I don’t mean it that way. A thirteen-year-old is so certain he can be a superhero when he needs to be. None of us can a hundred percent guarantee that we’ll make someone happy, Ben. What did you tell Dana about having a baby? Why she should risk it, when it could crash and burn.”

He grimaced. “I told her she had to take it on faith.”

“Faith and a lot of work.” Cass nodded. “A willingness to constantly open yourself to failure, make yourself vulnerable. That’s not easy for you. You think you’ll hurt her.”

“I already proved that, didn’t I?”

Her lips tightened. “Yes, you did. But you also learned something about yourself. There’s only one thing you want more than never hurting her like that again.”

“No,” he said decisively. “There’s nothing I want more than that.”

“Not true,” she countered. “You want her to love you. You need her to love you. Because you’re a better person with that. You can continue to be even better, every day, with it. And you know without it, you can’t. You think that makes you selfish, and it would. If she didn’t love you so much sometimes I worry she couldn’t breathe without you.”

At his startled expression, she nodded, her own somber. “You’re right. She feels things so strongly. But love isn’t an addiction. It’s one of the most powerful forces in the universe, and that’s never more evident than when watching the two of you together. She’s your match. I saw it yesterday, whenever you two were particularly wrapped up in one another. Which was most of the time.”

Cass nudged him, gentle playfulness. “None of our pairings are hard on the eyes, but it’s more than that. The two of you, you’re like Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra, Solomon and Sheba. These pairings that are somehow larger than life. You capture attention with what’s between you, it’s so strong.”

She moved her hand from his knee to his arm, threading her hand through the crook of his elbow and curling her fingers around his biceps. “I’m not single-minded, though,” she added. “I love her enough to eviscerate you with a butter knife if you treat her badly.”

“And I’d deserve it,” he said tightly.

She lifted a shoulder. “But you deserve good things, too, Ben. You may even deserve the gift of her heart. But deserving and earning are two different things. Like Dana. She deserves to have a baby, but she will spend her life earning the love of that child, with her devotion to his or her wellbeing, teaching him or her how to grow up and be an adult who can stand on his or her own and create their own wonderful achievements.

“When you decide to stand at the altar with her, you’ll deserve Marcie. But after that, you’ll spend every day earning the gift of one another and that love. It’s hard work, but it’s also brilliant, amazing…a spiritual experience, because everything involving love is. It’s something I never forget with Lucas, and I hope your demons won’t make you ever forget it, either.”

Ben couldn’t deny it sounded like truth. Probably because it was delivered with a calm reassurance that only an experienced mother could offer, underscoring what she’d said about herself. It was a big part of who she was. But not the only part.

She was a remarkable woman. As remarkable as her stubborn, irresistible younger sister.

They both looked at the painting for another few moments. Cass was stroking his arm as she did, and then she laid her head on his shoulder. He could feel her lips quirk and tilted his head, brushing it against her crown. “What?”

“You’re such a confusing mix. You can bring out my maternal wolf instincts, but there’s that other side to you. The Master side vibrates off you, this constant energy. It’s distracting, but also reassuring. I know you’re going to take care of her, Ben. Because there’s something deep down inside of you, under, over and above everything else, that refuses to do anything less. I know it.”

When she lifted her head and met his gaze, he saw those words had come from the sharp negotiator, the one who knew the thoughts of every player in the room and worked them all toward the goal that would satisfy everyone enough to feel they’d walked away a winner. “Do you use that look on Lucas to get him worked up?” he asked.

She smiled, and elbowed him in the ribs. “It works on all of you. Nothing a predator enjoys more than the chase and the challenge.”

“True.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and held there, enjoying the scent of her, soft feminine flesh pressed against his arm. Like her sister, she had gorgeous breasts. “But what happens after the chase and the challenge have been met eclipses them both.”

She chuckled. “Well said.” Quieting again, she turned her head to look at the wall. “Thank you again for the painting. It will mean a lot of things to me when I look at it. A lot of memories. Including this one.”

“How are you getting home?” he asked.

“I thought I’d hitchhike.” She smiled at his look. “I was supposed to text Lucas when I’m ready to go. He’s waiting at the restaurant down the street. We were going to get a bite to eat. Want to join us?”

“Not today. But I’ll walk you there and save him the trip. Maybe give you a hot kiss with tongue in front of the window to piss him off.”

She tossed her hair back as she straightened and swatted his shoulder. “Always the troublemaker. Just don’t forget to grab my ass.”

“Like I’d ever forget to do that.”

She chuckled again. He texted Lucas for her, then pocketed the phone and rose, offering her his hand. But before he could guide her toward the door, she touched his arm, stopping him. “Ben, I know you’ll always protect her physically, make sure her every basic need is met. But don’t forget, even more important to a woman, particularly Marcie, is that need for you to give her your heart and soul. She needs who you are, dark and light, good and bad. It’s not a marriage otherwise.”

A smile touched her lips. “She might call you Daddy on occasion, but she’s not a little girl.”

He scoffed at that, but squeezed her hand, met her eyes. “I know. I love her, Cass. I’ll do what’s best for her.”

She shook her head. “No. Do what’s best for you both. And never forget to ask her to help with that. You are her Master, but if you intend to be her husband, you need to learn to be partners, too.”

“Hmm.” His phone beeped, telling him Lucas had responded. When he glanced at it, Ben raised a brow. “That’s a hell of an idea,” he murmured. The words reinforced what he’d been thinking only a handful of moments before, but he guessed he shouldn’t be surprised. There were plenty of times he and the other K&A men picked up on what was needed, from that weird subconscious current that seemed to connect them. Not that he would be saying that aloud anytime soon. He left the metaphysical bullshit to Jon.

And it might merely be fortuitous coincidence. Since Lucas was more attuned to Cass’s moods than anyone, it was entirely possible he already knew her mood today required a reminder. That she wasn’t just a mother to her siblings or a hell-on-wheels negotiator. She was also a totally hot submissive with a devoted Master.

“What’s a hell of an idea?” Cass asked.

“Nothing. He says he’ll be waiting for you.” As they strolled toward the front, she kept her hand tucked into the crook of his arm. Ben gave Mike the go-ahead to take the picture down and prepare it for transport, indicating he’d return in a few moments.

“Lucas and I could just take it back to the house with us.”

“Nope. This is a full-service gift purchase and ship service,” Ben teased. “Plus, I have to stop in and give Nate a hard time.”

“You mean play video games with him for a couple hours.”

“How else are you going to find out what girls he’s thinking about and if his friends are staying out of trouble? He’s not going to tell that shi—stuff to his big sister. His mom.”

Ben nudged her. “You should ask Lucas to a Sadie Hawkins dance. I bet he’d say yes, even if he has to do some kind of hip hop moves. Threaten to ask Mitch if he doesn’t.”

Cass chuckled. “I might just do that. You know, you don’t have to be so careful with your language around me. I’ve been known to say some of those words myself.”

“It’s a respect thing. And I respect the hell out of you, Cass.”

He stopped at the door and faced her, pleased to see her cheeks flush as she registered his earnest sincerity. He took a breath, not sure if he should go down this road, but that barbed feeling in his gut wasn’t going to be all the way gone until he said what was really bugging him. The root of the tension that had existed between him and Cass until now.

“My annoying therapist said what happened that night with Marcie was something out of my control, a big flag about what I need to do to clean up some of what’s inside me. I don’t know if that’s true or not. What I do know is I’m sorry as hell I did something that fell way the hell short of what you and Marcie should be able to expect from me, always. Losing your trust has hurt worse than anything I’ve felt in a long time.”

Her gaze flickered in surprise, and then it was consumed by something overwhelming, to them both. Cass slid her arms around him, going up on her toes to hold him tight. “Oh, Ben. You haven’t lost my trust. I promise you that.”

Hearing it felt way better than he would have expected, and he held her just as tight a long moment before easing back and giving her a lopsided smile.

“We better cut this out, or Lucas will be thinking I’m putting moves on his woman.”

“Sorry, you’re both out of luck. I’m going to find Mitch and get my slow dance back.” She gave him an impish wink and stepped out the door as he held it open for her.

Though the place where Lucas waited for her was within walking distance, Ben guided her out to the Escalade first. Opening it, he reached in and plucked out a sleek, purple Hot Toddy bag from the front passenger seat.

“You didn’t pick out anything for yourself, but I sent Lucas a description of a couple things I thought might interest him. Including that ice blue thing. He authorized a couple purchases.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Her eyes were wary yet intrigued as Ben gave her the bag.

“He did. Marcie and I swung back by last night and picked it up.” Keeping a light hand on her elbow, he moved to open the rear passenger door. When her quizzical gaze met his, he gave her a steady look, a different expression from what he’d shown her in the gallery, but one she knew pretty well, if the sudden stillness to her gaze, the press of her lips, were any indication. “He wants you wearing one of them when I escort you up the street to him. I think you’ll know which one.”

He handed her into the car and closed it after her, the tinted windows giving her the privacy she’d need. As he leaned against the car, waiting on her, he thought of what wonderful things were happening in the back seat.

He’d approved heartily of Lucas’s choice and bought Marcie a pair in pink. The panties had rose patterns in the sheer gauze, the edges trimmed in lace. Ribbon laced over the crotch, and the ends of the ribbons were tipped with two rose-shaped clamps, fingernail-sized, but which clipped over the clitoris and labia, respectively. Once on, they heated with the body’s chemistry and started to tingle. Then to vibrate.

Dedicated pussy man that he was, Lucas could play his tongue between the laces, or strip them out entirely. As the dangling silken ribbons teased her creamy inner thighs, Lucas would tug on them to increase the impact of the clamps on her delicate regions.

When the door opened slightly, telling him she was ready, he opened it and extended a hand. His Dom side, along with every ounce of testosterone, approved of her flushed cheeks, parted lips and the aroused sparkle in her eyes. She blinked at him as he drew her back out, and he steadied her on her feet. The heat and tingle effect apparently kicked in pretty damn fast. Also, Cass was a responsive submissive on the psychological side of things. Just knowing Lucas had mandated something like this would get her worked up.

“He wants me to walk three blocks this way?” she asked, incredulity carried on a breathless half-laugh.

“He’s your Dom. What do you think? What a bastard.”

She gave him a wry look, despite the underlying distraction. “From what I hear, if it was you, it would be twenty blocks.”

Ben smiled and tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow, enjoying the way she clutched him and the swallow that moved her slim throat as they began to walk. After only one of the three blocks, she was biting her lip, and he felt the shudder that ran through her skin.

“Ben…”

He pulled her into the alcove between stores and put his arm around her, letting her drop her head against his chest and breathe. He ran his hand in slow glides down her back, caressing the valley of her spine.

“It works fast, doesn’t it?”

“He works fast,” she muttered. “All he has to do is suggest something like this, let alone have me wear it…”

“That’s good training,” Ben said, a low reproving rumble. “A submissive who responds that fast to what her Master demands.”

Another half-chuckle, a desperate sound. Lucas would want her worked up, but not anxious. Ben caressed her neck under her fall of thick blond hair. “I’m not going to let you be embarrassed, darling. Don’t worry about that. I know every corner and pocket alley between here and that restaurant.”

He’d take care of Lucas’s lovely submissive. The idea of her reaching climax while he held her, her mouth hard against his chest to muffle the moans, was a really nice thought. But he wouldn’t want Lucas deprived of the pleasure, so he gave her a little shake and tipped up her head, showing her a more unrelenting expression. It was enough of the sharp edge of his Master side to command her attention, and had her stiffening against him with some sensual trepidation.

“But that’s not going to be necessary, is it? Your climax belongs to your Master. It’s his to command.”

“Yes,” she said. He raised a brow, and she corrected herself, almost as sweetly as her sister did it.

“Yes, sir.”

He knew seeing him as a Master would help her right now, but it gave him a nice shot right to the balls. Wanting to sweeten the reward for good behavior, he pressed his palm to her lower back and leaned in, speaking in her ear.

“You may have been a mother most of your life, Cass,” he said, low. “But you’ve always been a desirable, fuckable woman. Lucas is a lucky man.”

He decided then and there he was headed straight back home to Marcie before dropping off the painting and hanging out with Nate. He’d press his soft brat into the mattress, bury himself balls deep inside her. No frills, no demands, other than being connected like that. At the moment, that was all he wanted. Then he’d make her lunch, and put together enough to feed Nate.

Cass was right. If it was Marcie, he would have made her walk twenty blocks and she wouldn’t have had a prayer of making it without climaxing. He would have fed off that desperation, as she became more and more helpless to control her acceleration to peak.

But then, he’d always been ten times the bastard of any of them. That was what made him the luckiest man of all. He wouldn’t ever forget that. It was his promise, to Cass, to Marcie…and to himself.