SEVEN

Dale had stayed with her until near dawn. He’d carried her to a couch in the living room, kept her coiled and dozing in his arms as he surfed cable, pressed light kisses to her head. Eventually, he stretched her out on her stomach and kneaded her shoulders, her back, hips and legs, giving her the massage and liniment he’d promised earlier. It served the purpose of putting her in a deep, blissful sleep, probably the best she’d had since Roy had passed.

Her cell phone alarm woke her. She found herself in a guest bedroom, the one with a yellow coverlet and pale butter-colored sheers at the windows, tied back with blue ribbon. He’d respected her desires and hadn’t entered her bedroom. As she fumbled for her cell and shut off the alarm, she saw it was seven a.m. While they were on the couch and he was massaging her thighs, his fingers sliding intimately against her damp core, he’d asked her when her housekeeping staff arrived. “Eight,” she mumbled sleepily.

He’d lived up to everything he’d promised. He’d cared for her, shielded her privacy, respected the few boundaries she’d set, even when he could have overridden them with her full consent. At certain times last night, she would have unwisely cracked herself open to her very soul, and he’d protected her from making that rash jump.

She ran her hands through her tousled hair. He’d held control in every way, and she’d pretty much given up all of it. Probably the first time in her life, so as wonderful as last night had been, she felt like she was waking up to a massive sugar crash. Why did there have to be a morning after, with all its doubts and worries? And what exactly was she worried about?

She sat up in the bed, and dropped her hands into her lap. A little puff of air came out from under the pillowy comforter he’d pulled over her. She remembered what he’d told her about the insurgents and the boat. That led her mind to another part of the evening; when she’d been concerned that she should walk, rather than be carried, to spare his leg. It was the only time she’d seen a crack in that armor, a sense of the man behind the Dom.

With all of it so new and amazing to her, she’d been happy to be within those boundaries. But had she been like a kid playing in the maze at McDonald’s, lost in oblivious fantasy while the parent sipped coffee, thinking about the less than three hours of sleep last night and whether the mortgage would get paid this month?

She was being silly. Dale had obviously been fully engaged and enjoyed their interlude last night. She’d wondered what his own unique preferences were, and he’d given her some of them. His desire to keep her to himself, for one thing.

She wanted to know more about him, though. While she never again expected to find the level of intimacy with a man she’d enjoyed as a married woman, it didn’t mean she didn’t hope for it, grasp at it like a naïve child snatching candy when a semblance of it was offered. He was right. She was ruined for casual dating, probably even for the idea of having limited “sessions” with a Dom. She wanted more.

So maybe that was the source of her vague unease. She was afraid of rejection, of risking her heart on a man who, despite saying they could give this free rein, see where this led, might himself only see it going a certain way down the road, when she might want it to go further. She could easily distort the relationship in her mind, amped up on the new experience or hormones or what have you.

She rubbed her brow. Often, when something was worrying her, she’d put the shoe on the other foot to clarify things, balance her concerns. Dale Rousseau was a divorced, middle-aged man, a retired SEAL who’d taken lives, who’d had to accept losing his leg. He loved dogs. He was very comfortable holding control over any situation. Did he have no reservations about meeting outside a club setting because he could impose an equally structured setting in any venue? Yet he’d implied he rarely conducted sessions outside the club.

He was an incredibly skilled Master and he’d given her an incomparable fantasy. What would it be like, if it were balanced and intertwined with the reality? Every time she came back to that thought, the yearning she felt intensified, as if her heart were seeking something she’d glimpsed last night, but hadn’t quite grasped. Something she’d have to cross a mine field to obtain, and things were good enough on this side of the field she couldn’t really justify risking her life, could she?

Time to be an adult again, Athena. Sighing, she picked up the silky robe he’d left her, slipped it on and headed for her bedroom. She had a full schedule for the next couple of days, so if a dose of reality was what she needed, she was going to get more than her share.

—

Unfortunately, her anticipation of their lunch together on Wednesday was dashed Monday, by a text Dale sent to her while she was at her office.

Have an adoption on Wednesday. Let’s reschedule for later next week. Will call you. Be good until then. Or not. I’ll deal with either contingency.

“Problem?”

She looked up to see Ellen, her administrative assistant, giving her a questioning look. Athena shook her head. “No, just a cancelled lunch for Wednesday.”

“Oh.” Ellen lifted a brow. “The one you told me to block out but didn’t tell me who it was with. The one that’s had you glowing all morning.”

“And how do you know that’s the reason I’ve been glowing?”

“Because when you read that text, the light went out.” Ellen picked up the papers Athena had just signed. “Hope he doesn’t screw it up, doing the things that men typically do.”

She should give Ellen a pleasant but nonencouraging look, keeping their relationship on its usual friendly but professional footing, but Ellen was a hard worker and a good woman. She was also a widow, which had given her and Athena a bond. She’d hired Ellen the year before Roy got sick, yet she remembered Ellen during that time as a quiet, efficient source of help on so many levels, the one person who never said the things that were well-meaning in their intent but such a painful effort to answer.

Athena also remembered a visit by Nancy Allen, a woman who’d always flirted outrageously with Roy. Nancy had come by to see Athena on a business matter, and had asked about Roy’s illness. At that point it was advanced, Athena only in the office the bare minimum needed to keep things handled. When Athena necessarily explained that Roy’s illness was terminal, Nancy Allen had put a familiar hand on her wrist.

“Oh, Athena, don’t give up on him like that. You need to be positive for Roy. Who knows what will happen?”

Athena had nodded, detached herself, and returned to her office. But she’d come back to the door a moment later to find Ellen had stepped in front of Nancy. Neither woman noticed Athena.

“With all due respect, Ms. Allen, you don’t know a damn thing about their relationship or what she’s handling. She loves that man more than the sun and the moon—if he’s dying, she’d be the first to know it, and she’s doing her best to help him through it and not fall apart while he needs her. That’s not giving up on him. That’s loving him in every way she should, even while her heart is breaking every day. Your job, if you consider yourself her friend, is not to tell her what she should or shouldn’t be doing, but figuring out how to support her. You shooting your mouth off about things you’ve never experienced makes you no kind of friend at all.”

Athena had the unique experience of seeing Nancy Allen pale like a vampire under her airbrushed makeup and flee. Her assistant’s fists unclenched and she swore softly, an obvious self-admonishment for losing her cool. When she turned back toward her desk, she started, seeing Athena.

“Mrs. Summers . . . I’m so sorry, I . . .”

“No apologies necessary. If that woman never darkens my door again, it will be too soon.” She paused, studying Ellen’s flushed face. “Thank you, Ellen.” Then she’d returned to her desk. It was the last they’d ever spoken of it.

Now, remembering so many other times Ellen had done exactly the right thing from that place of shared understanding, she cocked her own brow at her assistant. “Of those oh-so-many-things men screw up, what are we referencing today? You could create a male-bashing day calendar, Ellen.”

Her assistant laughed. “True enough. This one would be the cold feet syndrome. They have an amazing time with you, then get spooked and decide not to call you for a few months, long after you’ve given up on them. I think it’s because they’ve been burned before, but it’s still aggravating.”

“Hmm.” If Dale was having cold feet, there’d only be one foot involved, wouldn’t there? The wry thought made her consider her earlier thoughts. She might have a desire to be treated as a submissive, but that was not all she wanted from a man in her life. And he’d said he was interested in more.

“Go ahead and keep that two-hour lunch block for me on Wednesday,” she decided. “Since I’ll be working here until nine tonight on the details for the gallery benefit this weekend, I think I’ve earned it.”

Ellen snorted and moved toward the door. “With the hours you work, you could take two-hour lunches forever and never catch up. Good for you.”

With a woman’s practiced eye, Athena knew she and Ellen could be sisters, since they both had brown hair and green eyes, but the structure of their faces were different, and Ellen downplayed her looks significantly. The woman was too thin and pale, and today as always she wore demure, monochrome colors and little jewelry. She didn’t dye her short brown hair, so it had strands of gray that made it look mousy. She was as supremely competent—and utterly unremarkable—as the computer on her desk.

Athena thought about the effort it had taken her to even get dressed the first year after Roy’s death. Ellen’s husband had been gone far longer.

“Ellen, are you seeing anyone?”

Ellen turned, gave her a surprised look. “No, ma’am.”

Athena pursed her lips. “I don’t in any way want to commit the faux pas Nancy did, speaking of things she doesn’t understand, so let me simply ask this as a friend. How long will you mourn?”

Ellen shrugged uncomfortably. “I just can’t bring myself to date. All those games, and no man wants to feel like he’s being sized up for a life fit on the first meet.”

Ruined for casual dating. There it was again, a discomfiting reminder of herself in Dale’s words and Ellen’s mirror image.

The admin met Athena’s gaze. “I had a man who loved me, who knew me, who cared about me as much as I cared about him. You and I know what a miracle that is, but it’s a miracle that happened because of time and tears, years of being together. I’m not asking for all that in a first look. I’m looking for a sign, I guess, as silly as that sounds. If there’s a man out there for me, he’ll do or say something and I’ll recognize it. It will feel like . . . the chance is there. But if that never happens, it’s okay.”

Though her eyes had a suspicious brightness to them, Ellen pressed her lips together in an attempted smile. “We’re blessed if we get it even once. So don’t worry about me, Mrs. Summers. I hope you’ve been fortunate enough to find that second round of blessings. You’re a good person, and you deserve that kind of love again.”

“So do you,” Athena said sincerely.

Ellen gave her a nod of thanks and exited Athena’s office, returning to her desk just outside of Athena’s view. Athena turned her chair to consider the city, the document blinking on her computer temporarily forgotten. It did take time. Dale had been a surprise. The question was whether he was simply a jump-start to get her heart moving toward love again, or if he was in fact the type of man that would take a permanent hold on it. She had to be brave enough to find out, didn’t she?

—

She’d decided to take lunch to him on Wednesday. If she arrived before the dog’s new family did, she wouldn’t mind watching him handle an adoption, hanging around until he was free to share food with her. She made sandwiches, boiled eggs and a good pound cake. She also added in some raw veggies, dip and other appetizers he’d probably like. Lynn had given her an odd look when she insisted on baking the cake herself, but she remembered his approval when he’d asked her if she made the sandwich herself. Of course, if she’d proven herself a lousy cook, he might have changed that stipulation. Men were funny that way.

On the flip side, with all this largesse, he might accuse her of trying to make him fat, but from the muscled body she’d had too little opportunity to touch, she was sure he was in no immediate danger of that.

They hadn’t had sex that night. Dom/sub sessions often didn’t involve that, especially if the couple weren’t romantically involved otherwise, but he’d made it clear with the condom comment on the first night that he hadn’t ruled it out. She imagined what it would have been like, straddling him before his climax, sinking down on him . . .

Easy girl. Her heart was tapping like a metronome on allegro, and she’d only driven up to the front gate. From here, she could see a big Caddy with no wheels under the shade of a sprawling oak inside the junkyard. During the massage that night, his voice had rumbled with soothing pillow talk of this and that. He’d mentioned on pretty nights he sometimes put a sleeping bag on the hood of that Caddy and slept there. Thinking of what they might do there, beneath the stars, she found her cheeks heating.

The gate was unlocked, but still closed, so she parked on the shoulder and decided to take the arbor gate that served as an entrance for foot traffic. Locking the car and slipping the picnic basket over her arm, she wandered under the arbor, pausing to reach up and touch the clematis vine he had winding through the wooden slats. The arbor looked hand built and recently repainted. The man certainly had a wealth of talents. Passing through the gate, she closed it securely after her and proceeded down the driveway toward the main office. He might be somewhere else in the junkyard, but she could certainly wait on the steps. Though the last group of dogs had met her, she hoped if there were any new ones loose, they wouldn’t decide she was an intruder. She had enough turkey sandwiches to ransom her life if necessary.

The drive was about a quarter mile, a nice walk on a breezy New Orleans day. When the curve in the road resolved itself to reveal the office area, she discovered she didn’t have to worry about Dale’s whereabouts. He was leaning against the railing of the stairs, playing with the dog she expected was waiting for his new family. A young tan-colored shepherd mix with one pointed ear and one that flopped over. He and Dale were engaged in a tug-of-war with a stuffed sock that had been knotted on both ends and once in the middle.

She was approaching downwind, so the dog didn’t scent her right off. Dale did, however. His gaze flicked up, and he straightened.

He wasn’t wearing the prosthesis. He was leaning on crutches, and the leg of his jeans had been pinned in the back so it wouldn’t drag along the ground. His expression gave her a mental pause, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure of herself.

No, she hadn’t called ahead, perhaps because she was testing the whole “structure” of their arrangement, but she hadn’t completely abandoned her manners. She’d already decided if she arrived and had the sense she was intruding, she’d simply say she was dropping him off lunch on the way to something else. Easy enough. She didn’t like lying to him, but she wasn’t going to put him in the uncomfortable position of bearing her company when it wasn’t welcome.

Oh hell. She could rationalize it all she wanted, but she’d followed pure impulse, wanting to surprise him, and hoping that was a good thing. She felt like a fool, but pushed down the dismay and ignored the cold knot in her stomach. As she came within speaking distance, the dog trotted over to her to say hello and check out the basket. She petted him, straightened. Dale still hadn’t spoken, but then neither had she.

When she met his gaze, she knew she wasn’t going to lie to him. She wasn’t sure she could.

“I thought I would surprise you with lunch, but I apologize,” she said with calm dignity. “I should have called and found out if you were all right with that. There are turkey sandwiches in here, potato salad and dessert. I wasn’t sure what condiments you liked, so I put those in small containers to add the amount you prefer. There’s a really good spiced mayonnaise. I’ll just leave all of it upstairs and you can eat it when you’re ready.”

The sound of a car trundling down the driveway had her turning. Dale bent to take hold of the dog’s collar so he wouldn’t run toward it. The occupants of the vehicle looked like a father and son, and from the anticipation on the boy’s face, the animated way he was pointing and talking to his dad in the car, Athena had no doubt the dog’s new family had arrived.

“You’re busy, so I’ll go ahead and get out of your way,” she said briskly. “The little boy looks very excited.”

She added that with a practiced smile. Then she moved toward the stairs to his apartment, cutting a wide swathe around him. He watched her mount the stairs, she could feel his gaze, but he still hadn’t said anything. Her heart felt like a stone, weighing her down.

The car doors opened, the boy jumping out. She turned at the top of the stairs, holding on to the rail tightly, just in time to see Dale let the dog go. The shepherd mix and his new master greeted one another with equal enthusiasm. The father was smiling at them both, talking to Dale, reaching out to shake his hand. Her gaze lingered on the set of his broad shoulders, his back to her in this position, and she swallowed, hard.

Letting herself into the apartment, she put the basket on the table. He might not be upstairs for a while, so she went ahead and unpacked the perishables, put them in the fridge. The man really did keep a neat place. The shelves were clean, not a crumb or stain on them from a ketchup bottle or orange juice carton. He kept beer, juice and milk, the usual sandwich staples, and what appeared to be the remains of a vegetable beef stew he’d cooked for himself.

She left the cellophane-wrapped pound cake on his kitchen table, in a basket that held a stack of napkins. She decided to keep the bottle of white wine, because it was obvious he was more of a beer drinker and she’d really brought the wine as her beverage.

The dryer was turning in his laundry room, and the apartment was small enough it heated the kitchen, bringing her the pleasant scent of drying clothes. From here, she could see his open bedroom door. He hadn’t yet made his bed today, and there were a couple of breakfast dishes in the sink, suggesting he’d risen late. Well, neat didn’t mean he wasn’t a man.

The thought would have made her smile, if she wasn’t nursing hurt feelings, a condition she fully accepted she’d brought upon herself. “Time to get going, you silly woman,” she murmured. But she did take the circuitous route, stopping by his bedroom door. She could hear him talking to the boy below, snippets of conversation about care for his new family member. She slipped into the bedroom, knowing she was being entirely inappropriate, but she had to do one thing, even if she never had the opportunity to do it again.

She sat down on the bed where the sheets had been pulled back, so she was sitting where Dale would have lain as he slept. She smoothed her palm over that expanse, laid it on the pillow that still bore the indentation from his head. With his hair so short, it wouldn’t really be tousled when he woke, but it might stick up here and there. He’d have that appealing dark stubble that would make him look more than a little dangerous.

Her gaze drifted across the floor, and she saw the prosthesis. It was the first time she’d seen the leg part completely unclothed, a metal shaft and a plastic mold socket. As her gaze drifted over the night table, she noticed there was a tube of a topical antibiotic.

The prosthesis clearly made walking and dealing with the dogs easier, so perhaps the medicine was an indication of why he wasn’t wearing it today. She wanted to ask him about it, but things were strange and this wasn’t the right moment to explore more about him. Maybe at a time when they were both more prepared for it. If they ever reached that point.

With a sigh, she rose and left the apartment, carrying the basket. Dale was going over some paperwork with the father at a picnic table while the boy and dog were chasing one another around the open area. The boy had a toy he’d obviously bought for his new friend, and he was alternating between throwing it and playing tug-of-war like Dale had been doing before they arrived.

Athena wasn’t going to disrupt them. She was skirting the area, intending to head back up the drive to her car, when Dale’s voice reached her. “Athena.”

She turned, that same bright smile on her face. She felt like a lightbulb, the kind that hurt the eyes, such that a person turned it off at the earliest opportunity. “I put the sandwiches in the fridge,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about—”

“Can you hang around a few minutes? I’d like to talk to you.”

Despite her hurt, something in his tone, in the whole situation, pricked her intuition. If she put aside her own insecurities, she knew the way he was acting wasn’t quite Dale. Yes, she only had a couple of meetings to go on for that conclusion, but now, at the simple statement, the way his gaze met hers, she was sure she was right. It gave her the confidence to answer him in a way that was calm . . . and pointed. Challenging him to respond to it.

“Yes.” She took a breath. “I’ll do anything you tell me to do.”

Emotion kindled in those blue-green eyes, telling her she’d struck a spark. “Wait for me upstairs,” he said.

She nodded. She managed not to say “Yes sir,” given that her remark had probably already raised the curiosity of the father. Regardless, she hoped Dale saw her desire to address him properly. From the tightening of his jaw, she expected he did.

—

While she waited on him, she made his bed, washed those couple of dishes, straightened up. The clothes were still going in the dryer, so she sat down in the chair, listened to the rotation in one ear, and his voice rumbling below in the other. From where she was sitting, she could see him finishing up the adoption. When they loaded the dog in the car, the boy sitting in the back with the happy canine, Dale lifted his hand in farewell. She saw the dog pause, look back at Dale, suddenly realizing what he’d known was changing yet again. The boy tousled his ears, reassuring him. The father also twisted around in the seat, giving the dog a pat.

As the car disappeared around the curve, Dale turned, using the crutches to get to the stairs. Once there, she heard the vibration through the apartment’s thin walls as he maneuvered up each step. When he approached the top, she rose to open the door for him, pushing open the screen so he didn’t have to manage that with the crutches.

“You don’t have to open the door for me,” he said shortly. “I do it all the time. Sit down.”

“I don’t mind.” She retreated as he moved into the kitchen, taking it over with his size and presence. “They seem like they’ll be very good to him.”

“Yeah.” He paused, looking at her. She’d sat down when he’d told her to do so, and now her fingers curled in her lap. It was an effort not to fill the silence, but she made herself wait on him. “It’s a good adoption,” he said at last. “I don’t adopt to kids. The adult has to want the dog for himself. That’s so when the kid starts getting into cars, girls, soccer, whatever, I know the dog doesn’t become a piece of the furniture. Bert—the dad—picked Rusty out. Reminds him of the dog he had when he was a kid.”

He shifted. As the silence drew out, Athena rose. “Well, I guess I should be going.”

“Why did you come today, Athena?”

She drew her brows together at the almost accusatory tone. “I thought it would be fun to surprise you with lunch. We seemed to be developing the kind of rapport that would welcome that. I was mistaken. I’m sorry.”

“You already apologized. You don’t need to do it twice.” He noticed the dishes in the drainer, and his lips pressed in a thin line. “And you don’t need to do my goddamned dishes.”

She blinked. “I was occupying myself while waiting, being helpful. Serving.”

His gaze snapped to her. She wasn’t sure what was happening here, but she was obviously missing something. “I’m going,” she said. “I shouldn’t have come. Perhaps all of this has been a mistake. I obviously . . . I’m making more of this than it is, which suggests I’ve let my emotions run away with me like a schoolgirl. I wanted to see you. That’s all. I wanted to make you lunch, to do something for you. Watch you during your normal day, be a part of that day before I have to return to work and be who I am for everyone else. I’ve intruded where I’m not invited, and I’ve made you uncomfortable. So I’m going.”

She was being repetitious, but an ache was growing in her throat. There was too much pressure behind her eyes. She picked up her basket, but Dale was in front of the door. She’d just slip past him, was all. There was enough room to get past.

She’d almost made it when his arm snaked out, caught her waist, bringing her to a halt. She went rigid. “Please let go of me.”

He shook his head. Stared straight ahead and just held her there. His fingers flexed against her lower back, his arm pressed under her breast. She closed her eyes, amazed at how strongly her body reacted to his merest touch, how she wanted to melt against him, put her fingers against his strong throat and reach up on her toes to kiss him with all the heated passion she’d been imagining when she drove up to the gate.

To hell with it. She dropped the basket and lifted a hand to his face, drawing his gaze to hers before she used the strength of his arms, the way he’d planted himself in the floor like a tree, his one leg and the crutches braced against both their weights, to lift herself up against him. She buried her fingers in his short hair, nails scraping his nape.

She kissed him with longing and need, with desire and pure pleasure in the heat of his mouth, which increased as he began kissing her back, muttering an oath against her lips. He smelled like grass and soil, old rusty cars and a little bit of dog and Old Spice.

His hand dropped to her ass, pulling her to his front so she was fully against him instead of locked to his side. Her lower abdomen contracted at the pleasure of his hard response pushed against her there.

He let the crutches fall, gripped the sink edge and pulled them both the necessary step to it so he was leaning against that, the better to keep an arm around her waist and put the other hand to her head, taking over the kiss. His fingers slid along her jaw, down to her throat. She made a needy sound there, vibrating beneath his fingertips. He was just as hungry for her, in a raw, undisciplined way that she embraced, all her earlier uncertainty driven away before it.

Before they could get too out of control, he broke the kiss, his chest expanding from the effort of drawing a deep breath, even as his hands remained clamped on her. “I’m sorry, Athena. You shouldn’t be apologizing because I was being a bastard.”

She didn’t care. She just wanted him to keep kissing her. But he tightened his grip, keeping her still. “I’ve never Mastered a woman without two legs to stand on. I wasn’t prepared to be that exposed.”

Her spinning world came to an abrupt stop. She stared up at him. “You thought it would matter to me?”

Apparently seeing her utter lack of comprehension did him a world of good. The set of his strong jaw eased significantly. “Yeah, I did. That’s what I assumed when you started acting so funny, talking about leaving the lunch instead of sharing it with me.”

Oh, God. She was such an idiot. It made so much sense she almost started laughing at herself, at both of them, even realizing that would be entirely inappropriate.

“I was acting that way because you were being so remote. You looked like a storm cloud.” She put her hands on his face. “Dale, you’re not dealing with a child. I was married for over twenty years, which is plenty long enough to realize a man’s character lies in his heart, his soul, not his body. Though your body packs more than enough fantasy for me. If you had a second leg and smelled like brownies, you’d be too perfect. I couldn’t wait to be with you again. With . . . my Master. And now I am being a little schoolgirlish, but if you’re going to be insecure, I get to take a turn, too.”

That and the brownie comment made him chuckle, dissipating her worries. He put his forehead down against hers. “Fuck, I made a mess of that. I thought I was long past this kind of thing. Turns out all I had to do is get stupid about a woman again and all that old bullshit tried to pile back on.”

Get stupid about a woman again . . . It was amazing how few words a man actually had to say to capture a woman’s heart and earn her total forgiveness. “Seems like only a brief relapse,” she said. Lifting his palm to her lips, she met his gaze as she shifted against his body, rubbing her stomach against his still-turgid response. His fingers tightened over hers.

“Are you trying to misbehave?”

“No sir.” But she smiled.

“So what you said outside. That you’ll do anything I tell you to do.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t tell you to do my dishes or make my bed.”

“No,” she admitted. When he waited, obviously expecting more of an explanation, she lifted a shoulder. “It’s like the submissives who do the bootblacking,” she said, referencing the particular segment of the D/s community who took great pride in the art of shining their Master’s boots. They could spend an astonishing amount of time discussing how to keep them in top form. “Or the one who always brings her Master his drink from the bar. The sub who folds his Mistress’s clothes precisely according to her specifications before she has him kneel before her, service her with his mouth.”

“You’re not here to be my maid or my nurse, Athena.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think they do it for that reason, either.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m telling you to keep the distinction in mind.” He nodded to the dryer. “Hang up my clothes, then come down to the yard. We’ll have lunch after you help me with the dogs. They’re raring to get out a little bit, since they’ve had to be in the kennels this morning for Rusty’s adoption.”

Using admirable muscle control and balance, he picked up the crutches and fitted them under his arms. “I liked hearing you call me Master.”

Leaning down, he pressed his lips against hers for another lingering kiss. She barely breathed, hands closed into balls against his chest in the small space between them. He hadn’t given her permission to touch him, and the order he’d just issued had switched her mind to the submissive mode, waiting for his cues and direction. Whereas so much of the past few minutes had felt wrong, precarious, now things felt right. She badly wanted to straighten her fingers, touch him, but waiting for his permission to let her do so just made the wait all the sweeter.

“There’s a lotion in my bathroom. It’s not sweet smelling like yours, but use it, since you washed my dishes. I expect my sub to keep her hands soft, and that dish soap will strip tar off paper.”

He moved past her, back out the door. She tried not to worry or hover, though after he started down the steps, she did watch him through the blinds. He managed the stairs by putting the crutches in the opposite hand, taking hold of the railing and hopping down each stair so capably she could tell he’d done it plenty of times. Just as he’d said.

When he returned with six of the dogs, she noticed how they maintained a couple-foot buffer around him, more than they did when he was walking on the prosthesis. Part of it was what he was, of course. With their enhanced faculties, animals could detect a lead alpha with little difficulty. It resonated off Dale such that even the comparatively handicapped senses of humans couldn’t miss it. Even so, the dogs’ extra attention when he was hampered by the lack of the prosthesis made her love them even more. She was going to help him find every one of them a wonderful home.

After she hung his clothes in the closet, she couldn’t help moving back to the bed and lifting his pillow to her face. She inhaled a deep scent of Dale before she adjusted sheets and cover again. Even with his bed unmade, his blanket had been folded at the end of the mattress, suggesting he slept only under a sheet. He also had the windows open. The junkyard was filled with metals and gravel surfaces that absorbed the heat of the Louisiana sun, so she expected he received more than his share of warmth from that, but he didn’t seem dependent on a controlled climate, regardless. She found an air-conditioning unit in a closet.

When she came back outside and descended the stairs, only one dog remained with him. The others probably had dispersed with the “free” command, so he could give this one his undivided attention. It was a mixed golden retriever with three legs.

“This is Perry,” he told her. “Lost his leg because somebody shot him with a BB gun. It was too infected to save when he was rescued. My hope is that karma kicks in threefold and all the shooter’s appendages rot off.”

She considered that. “Wouldn’t threefold mean he loses three limbs, not all four?”

“The rest would be a bonus,” he said. “And if he lost all of them, it would be five.”

She chuckled at that. Dale smiled in return, and she thought he looked very fine and masculine, standing there with his eyes squinted against the sun. When he reached out, touched her face, she could feel her eyes softening on him. His expression relaxed further. They were all right. She supposed they’d weathered their first fight, of sorts.

“You said you wanted my help working with the dogs?” she asked, before she embarrassed herself.

He nodded. “With Perry specifically. Ball throwing helps him keep his muscles in shape. He gets the basics of it, but he starts to gets a little distracted after two or three tosses.”

“No ADHD medications for dogs?” she asked.

He snorted. “No, with dogs we do it the old-fashioned way. Instead of using drugs, we teach them to pay attention. In SEAL training, facing a few hundred push-ups or additional boat drills in fifty-degree water if you fuck up tends to focus you. I go with a bit nicer approach with dogs, but repetition works for them as well. Anyhow, speaking of attention”—he gave her a narrow look and she tucked her tongue in her cheek—“if he doesn’t go for it, you run and grab it. Make it seem like bringing it back to me is the coolest thing ever, so he’ll start competing with you to go get it. When he brings it all the way back to me, we both make over him like crazy. Goldens thrive on approval, but his confidence has been shaken. You okay with that?” He gave her a critical look. “You look like running’s part of your workout regimen.”

His eye for detail continued to impress her, and the veiled compliment was bolstering. “Yes. And swimming. I haven’t done my workout today, so this will catch two birds in one net. Right, Perry?” She bent down and tousled his ears, and Perry laughed up at her, mouth open and eyes bright. Even so, she saw a wariness in his expression that most well-loved goldens didn’t have, evidence of the confidence problem Dale mentioned.

“Just don’t throw it over the fence, Mr. Overachiever,” she teased Dale. “I don’t scale barbed wire.”

“Don’t worry. My throwing is a bit hampered” He wiggled the crutches under his arms. “Though I can throw it far enough to enjoy the way you run after it. If you get rid of that shirt, I’ll enjoy it even more.”

She laughed, but then his expression changed, making the sound catch in her throat. He nodded. “I mean it. Take it off, Athena.”

Her blouse was a rose-colored flowing fabric that hid the fact her bra was a pale pink satin thin enough to show the shape of her nipples, especially if they were aroused. The sheer upper panels of the cups were wide enough to give him a hint of areola. When she shed the blouse, his gaze lasered in on that area. She didn’t know a straight man alive who had an attention disorder when it came to breasts.

He directed her to hang the delicate garment on a hook inside his truck, parked beneath the apartment. As she moved back toward him, he was fondling Perry’s head, but he tilted his own toward her.

“That’s right, Perry. She’s all ours. It’s a good day, isn’t it?” He put out a hand and entwined his fingers with hers. “God, I’d love to see you run without the bra, but I’m not a total sadist. Most days. You dressed up for me. The panties match?”

“Yes sir.”

He nodded. “All right, then. Let’s see if we can give Perry a good workout.”

Now familiar with the dusty gravel of the junkyard, she’d switched from heels to canvas sneakers in the car. She was glad she had, since she wouldn’t have been suitably prepared to help him otherwise.

Perry went after the first few balls enthusiastically enough. When his attention started to flag, she began to race him. Just as Dale had predicted, he embraced the competition. She had to be quick footed, because he’d even try to trip her to get to the ball first. She accused the dog of foul play, even as she laughed and dodged around him, trying to outwit his three legs with her two. Sometimes she encouraged Perry to jump at the ball, try to wrestle her for it. She was going to have to use her sticky roll in the car to de-fur her skirt, but she didn’t care.

Despite the frivolity, she never forgot the deceptively lazy regard of the man watching them. Each time she and Perry ran back to him, and she saw his attention sliding over her body like sun rays, it spiked her adrenaline.

Dale finally called for a water break. He offered her a bottle from a cooler he had next to the steps and directed Perry to a bowl under them. As Perry lapped enthusiastically, she twisted her hair up on her neck, held it there while she fanned herself with the other hand. The position necessarily tilted her upper body and when Dale turned toward her, his blue-green gaze sharpened. She realized she wasn’t the least exerted by her competition with Perry. Her body was fueled and vibrating, needy for Dale.

The object of her lust crooked a finger at her. As she came to stand before her Master, he slid his knuckle down her sternum, into the damp cleft of her breasts. “I think that will do for the day,” he said. He snapped his fingers, bringing Perry to his knee, then lobbed the ball out over the cars. “Perry, free. Go play.”

Perry took off, barking joyously. He was answered by dogs from various parts of the yard, so he headed off toward whatever adventures they’d found. Dale slid his touch to the small of her back, hooking his thumb in the waistband of her skirt so his fingers traced the elastic of her panties beneath.

“Turn your head away from me, Athena. Hold your hair off your neck.”

Some tendrils had escaped, so now she scraped those together, held them up against the heavier mass twisted on the back of her head. His lips pressed against her throat, making her sigh with pleasure. When his thumb slid over the satin cup of her bra, over the nipple, she rocked against him.

“What do you want, Athena?”

“Whatever my Master desires.”

“He wants to hear what you’re imagining.”

“You . . . inside of me.”

She saw that enigmatic look cross his face again. This time, she wouldn’t mistake it for the wrong thing. She met his gaze directly.

“When you look at me,” she said softly, “you could have no limbs at all. It’s not your physical strength that commands me, Master. It’s you. Please.”

His jaw flexed with emotion and arousal both, making her want to strain against his hands, show him her need. He tightened his grip at her waist, an implied command to keep her still. “Go upstairs,” he said, low. “Take off everything but the bra and panties. Kneel by the bed.”