Dungeon Tiles Master Set: The Dungeon · Read more At the Dungeon Master's Hand. Read more · The Doms' Dungeon · Read more. Frak, she'd not only found the Dom's dungeon, but she'd found the Dom to go with it. Still if this guy thought she'd kneel, he could think again. She gave him a . Foster child. Teenage whore. Now a veterinarian, MacKensie's turned her life around, but the scars remain. She saves her affection for the animals who never.
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Issuu is a digital publishing platform that makes it simple to publish magazines, catalogs, newspapers, books, and more online. Easily share. Sun, 18 Nov GMT the dom s dungeon pdf - After she gets into the room, she s appalledâ€¦and intrigued. Chains and manacles, whips and. download or read book online in pdf or epub. The Dom's Dungeon is one of best books released on containing pages, this book written by Cherise .
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Like this document? Why not share! An annual anal Embed Size px. Start on. Show related SlideShares at end. WordPress Shortcode. Published in: Full Name Comment goes here. Are you sure you want to Yes No. Be the first to like this. No Downloads. Views Total views. She glanced at Butler, who'd sat down to watch her, then at the edge of darkness.
Now why had the owner locked the door? Can't have the place burning down, right? Really, just think of it as her duty to a vacation-exchange partner. She pushed the door open a little farther, and the scent of leather drifted to her. Her fingers found the light switch, and old-fashioned brass sconces on the walls lit with a subtle flickering like candlelight.
Frak me, but what is this? Iron bolts studded a wall of red brick. Manacles dangled from the higher rings, shackles lay on the floor. The back wall had a big, leather-covered cross with cuffs. Andrew's cross. She not only remembered the name, but she knew what this place was: And very well equipped. Excitement slid across her skin like a cool breeze.
The first time she'd seen a BDSM club had been years and years ago when an elderly businessman with a taste for the exotic had hired her for the whole evening. God, the tales of whips and bondage scared her, but her pimp terrified her more.
Mac's mouth twisted as she remembered how Ajax had patted her on the head like a dog before shoving her into the man's car.
She'd been prepared for pain. To her shock, the john—the client—made her strap him to the cross and beat him with a switch.
Hitting him, seeing his skin redden and welts appear, had made her sick inside. But it made him rock hard, and he'd barely lasted a second afterward. He departed, leaving Mac to wander around the club. And then she'd seen a man—a Dom—doing what she'd just done, whipping his sub, only with far-greater skill and…something else.
She watched how he controlled his submissive, how he alternated pain with gentle touches. He'd touch the woman intimately and then caress her face before starting again.
Mac hadn't been able to stop watching. She hadn't felt arousal—hell, sex hadn't interested her since her first month as a hooker—but something else. Later, in college, she'd ventured into a different BDSM club, not once, but twice. But when a Dom had approached her, she'd fled. No one was going to control her, no matter how…interesting it looked.
She'd had enough of that to last her whole life. Mac blinked and refocused in the present. Vacation exchange. Giving a snort of exasperation, she uncurled her fingers where the nails dug into her palms. Veterinarian, Mac, remember? Not a whore, not since Jim and Mary had found her broken on the sidewalk. Her own personal angels, and they'd better reside in heaven now or she'd kick God's ass.
After pushing the door almost closed to keep Butler out, Mac slunk in, feeling like a dog herself. A naked alley dog. So a dungeon in the heart of a ritzy, stuffy house. Who knew? She bit her lip. The owner wouldn't know if she snooped a little, and she could look at everything and actually satisfy her curiosity in a way she couldn't at the clubs. Afterward she could leave the door unlocked until her vacation ended. Unlocked doors didn't bother her at all. Maybe she should run upstairs and get some clothes on?
Running around like this was…strange. But rather exciting. She grinned and walked across the room. She tried out the waist-high bondage table, lying on it faceup.
Imagining herself in the cuffs and strapped down with someone standing over her gave her a horribly vulnerable feeling…and yet the soft leather seemed to caress her skin. Next she stood against the massive wooden St. Andrew's cross fastened to the wall, remembering the women in the club, hands raised over their heads, legs spread.
When her nipples tightened to aching points, she looked around for a source of cold air and found none. She examined the nasty whips and then slapped one of the multistranded floggers against her leg. It created an odd thuddy sensation, not the stinging she'd expected. The thin wooden cane that she tried next hurt a lot more. Whoever lives here must be a very scary person. Good thing he's gone. Finally she came to the one piece of equipment that kept drawing her attention.
She circled the spanking thing twice, trying to ignore the needy twisting inside. But just the thought of spanking had always…bothered her. She brushed her hand over the firm leather and felt a tremor of excitement. All right, then. How would a person use this one? It looked an awful lot like a vaulting horse for gymnastics, almost a sawhorse with a barrel shape on top. But no gym vaulting horse boasted leather cuffs on the legs. Littler cuffs on that side and bigger ones here indicated that a person didn't straddle the horse but would lie across the barrel part, head down and butt up.
What would that feel like? Well, she'd tried everything else in the place. With a tiny giggle, she jumped up and draped herself over the top. Obviously the exchange person had arrived. Had Butler liked her? Finding the woman's mangled remains in the foyer would really top off the day. Hopefully he could work out some arrangement with her.
By the time he could get a flight, the conference would be almost over, so he saw no point in pursuing that plan. Damned if he'd take up residency in some hotel in his own town. She'd just have to see reason.
The house was big enough they didn't have to run into each other, or maybe he'd give her enough money to rent a hotel. Then with a woof of delight, Butler appeared from around a corner, skidding on the slick marble tiles in his excitement.
Alex chuckled as he petted the squirming beast. They'd lived together for a good five years, ever since he'd found the dog skulking around the garbage bin at the beach house.
His mother hadn't been impressed, but dignity ranked high on her list of priorities and was nonexistent on Butler's. He didn't hear any noise in the house, so she was probably upstairs unpacking. As he headed toward the stairs, he felt a warm trickle from under the dressing the emergency-room nurse had applied. Apparently his stitches hadn't appreciated being rubbed against a car seat. Turning, he headed for the dungeon, where he kept most of his first-aid supplies.
Might as well patch himself up, although that might prove difficult, considering the wound was on his back. Maybe he'd grab some gauze and tape and see if he could get the woman to slap it on. She was a vet, after all, which was one of the main reasons he'd chosen her. He went down the hallway to his dungeon and stopped. The door stood slightly ajar, and he knew he'd locked it before he left. In fact, he'd even checked it before leaving.
Anger unfurled inside him, growing hard and fast. The terms of the vacation trade were spelled out clearly in the contract, including the locking of nonessential rooms. She'd deliberately broken in. He couldn't hear anything inside, but he'd soundproofed the room years ago.
Placing a hand on the door, he silently pushed it open. Not difficult to spot her. She'd draped herself over the spanking bench, head hanging down on one side, legs on the other, with her ass—a pretty, round ass—up in the air. Well, well. A trickle of humor dampened the anger. Now wasn't that an appropriate position for someone richly deserving punishment?
He'd enjoy turning those cheeks a nice pink. Before she could move, he set his hand on the back of her neck, holding her firmly across the horse. She gave a yelp of surprise. Her thick, wavy golden hair hung almost to the floor, concealing her face.
Maybe five-five or so, she had a nicely toned body. Since he'd adjusted the horse for Cynthia's taller body, this smaller woman's arms and legs dangled, giving her no leverage to struggle. Although she was certainly trying. He didn't bother to listen to the sputtering and cursing coming from the submissive under his hands. And that she was submissive, he had no doubt.
Someone might have played on the spanking horse, possibly, but the way she'd positioned herself so carefully, and the tiny wiggle she'd given when finally in position, spoke of a person imagining herself helpless and being excited at the idea. A Dom had a duty to give a submissive what she needed, not always what she wanted…and to administer punishment as required.
You broke in. He gave her a hard swat, precisely placed on the fullest part of her buttocks. What is the owner doing home? A second later, the man's hand hit Mac's bottom, the stinging pain almost extinguished by her shock. He hit me! She struggled furiously, but his large hand gripped her neck and pressed down unyieldingly. Naked and caught.
Humiliation swept through her in a hot wave. Rather than respecting that, you break into a locked room and make yourself at home. Your punishment is five swats. And again. The burning pain swamped her mind. The fiery sensations on her bare skin hit each time in the same spot. At the fourth blow, her eyes filled with tears.
His hand felt hot against her neck as his grip on it eased slightly. From deep inside her, guilt and shame welled up, choking off her yells. She shouldn't have opened a locked door; she'd betrayed an agreement, a trust. But spanking? No one had ever spanked her. Foster children got time-outs; children who belonged got spanked. As he gave the final swat, a shudder ran through her, leaving her trembling inside and out.
He still held her firmly with one hand; now the other stroked down her back, a firm, knowing touch. Not sexual but…assessing. When the hand reached her stinging bottom, she hissed with the increased pain. Is that clear? Oh God, what have I done? She'd not only broken the Exchanges contract, but more… Her neurotic need to open doors had destroyed her new start. How could she get a job as a vet out here if he turned her into the police?
He was not only richer than God, but he mingled with the elite in Seattle society. He could easily destroy her reputation. Who would hire her if he denounced her? Footsteps moved away and returned. Then his hand pressed down on the small of her back. As pain flared back to life, she jerked, arched, tried to kick—and got a swat on her burning butt. Broad hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her when she wobbled. After a breath for courage, she looked up into a strong face and piercing blue eyes.
His short dark brown hair lightened to gray at the temples. He had sharply chiseled features and a stern jaw with a cleft in the chin. A white, tailored shirt with sleeves rolled up displayed muscular forearms. Still holding her by one arm, he cupped her cheek, using his thumb to brush away her tears. But kneel? Did he think he lived in some feudal century or—her mind flashed to the BDSM clubs she'd visited and the submissives at their master's feet.
Frak, she'd not only found the Dom's dungeon, but she'd found the Dom to go with it. Still…if this guy thought she'd kneel, he could think again. She gave him a scathing look and headed for the door. Could she arrest him for hitting her? He crossed his arms over his chest.
If you stay, perhaps we can discuss alternatives. Oh she knew exactly what, and a cold hand squeezed her chest. She wouldn't be a whore again. But stalling couldn't hurt. Maybe his anger would cool a little. She started back across the room and almost groaned when the room blurred. No food since breakfast, too long in the Jacuzzi, and this… Her legs buckled as she tried to kneel, and she landed painfully on her knees. She gritted her teeth against the pain.
He bent over and lifted her face. She nodded, confused. Beat me and then make sure I didn't hurt my knees? Was the man bipolar?
After caressing her cheek, he stood. And waited. Damn him. She forced the words out, the taste of the apology bitter in her mouth. I shouldn't have opened a locked door. Her hands tightened into fists. If she thumped him in the balls, she could run and… And what? Escape onto the street bare-ass naked? Assuming her legs even held her up, because right now that wasn't looking likely; she could feel fine tremors sweeping through her.
Now if he'd just let her leave. He walked across the room—maybe she should make a dash for it? A warm, incredibly soft blanket wrapped around her. She pulled it closer and pushed to her feet—too quickly. Cold sweat broke out on her skin, and a hum filled her ears. She took a step and squinted, hoping to see a chair. Must sit. Not faint. Her legs gave out. He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing. Carrying her. No one had ever carried her. Even when she'd been little.
Her foster mother hadn't believed in coddling children. She didn't even feel unsafe being held so high. His chest was solid muscle, his arms like iron bars under her shoulders and legs; the world probably would end before this man dropped her. He walked over to a chair she hadn't noticed in the corner of the room and sat down. When her weight landed on his thighs, her butt burned, and she jumped. What in heaven's name was she doing? When his hand rose, she forced herself not to cringe.
Her fingers curled into claws to rip him apart if he tried to grope her. He huffed a laugh. Take a minute to get your bearings. Then you can get dressed. And we'll talk.
But as the warmth from the blanket and his body sank into her, her muscles melted as if the trembling had used up all her energy. He leaned back in the chair, settling her more comfortably. Has anyone ever spanked you before? She could hear the even thud of his heart under her ear; her pulse still raced twice as fast. Yet the memory of his hand holding her in place, the feeling of being overpowered, made her feel weird.
She glared at him. The little flickers of blackness at the edge of her vision and the numbness around her lips and fingers said he was probably right. She'd pass right out before she got to the door, and wouldn't that be the perfect end to this disaster? She pulled the blanket tighter and prepared to wait him out. The Dom's Dungeon 11 His scent surrounded her, a rich blend of exotic cologne and masculine fragrance that blended with the scent of leather.
His voice deepened. One visit to a club, maybe two, he could attribute to curiosity. A third time? Probably she'd discovered a need that BDSM satisfied…or might satisfy. He shifted her so he could see her face better. She was a sweet armful, curved in all the right places. Her big brown eyes were darker than Butler's but could hold the same pleading look, one that pulled at his heart and a Dom's need to make things right.
Everyone had hidden places and dark secrets, but this little vet's eyes held something shadowy and sad. She had a prettiness and a vivid energy that would definitely attract a dominant. His questions had obviously probed into something painful, and she retreated rather than attack. What in her past could shut this spitfire's emotions down? He felt a tug inside himself, a need to help. Her color had mostly returned, and the tremors shaking her body had diminished.
He had no reason to hold her further. He grasped her around the waist and set her on her feet, enjoying the flash of her rose-tipped breasts before she recovered the blanket. But he shoved his normal male reaction back down. This interlude with MacKensie had been about discipline and then aftercare.
Sex shouldn't and didn't enter into it. He glanced at his watch, then her. Then I will meet with you in the family room for our discussion. Butler sat just outside the door, whining as MacKensie picked up her clothing. And although shaken, and her ass undoubtedly hurting like hell, the woman stopped to pet Butler on her way past. Alex frowned. He'd thought to simply kick her out of his house and notify Exchanges that she'd broken into a locked room.
But now… He rubbed his jaw. She didn't quite add up. The way she'd flared up at him indicated a feisty personality, and her instinctive responses to command indicated a penchant for submission, but although pleasing, the combination wasn't that uncommon. No, that underlying vulnerability that she'd so quickly hidden drew him. And when she petted Butler, he could see a pure sweetness under her defenses. Discipline and punishment could be a two-way street.
She'd been taken under a master's will, but in turn, he'd received her submission, and with that, a bond between them had been created. Just what I need, another submissive. Not that there was much point since the guy probably had a key to every room in the house.
The bastard. In the bathroom, she tossed her clothing into the bathtub. It landed with a wet splat. She glanced in the mirror and rolled her eyes at the vision of beauty: Then again, she should look at the bright side; if she'd worn makeup, her mascara would have been all over her cheeks.
Speaking of which. She dropped the blanket and turned to check her backside. Fiery red handprints marked the white skin of her bottom. Her teeth ground together as another wave of shame ran through her. He had no right to do that… She touched her butt carefully, hissing a little at the sting. To her surprise, she saw he'd left no welts or bruises, and she realized he hadn't been totally brutal. His grip had been firm enough to hold her and had eased when she stopped struggling. No, he'd administered a carefully controlled spanking, and somehow that made him scarier than an out-and-out brute.
Didn't matter. She wasn't staying, and she didn't have time to wallow in self-pity. After rinsing the sweat and tear streaks off her face, she dragged on a T-shirt and jeans, then repacked her suitcase.
I am so out of here. And then what? Mac closed her eyes as worries piled higher and higher like thunderclouds before a storm. Worries that all started with the letter m for money. Obviously she should have sold the house Jim had left her before coming here. Face it. She'd been too insecure to put all her eggs in the Seattle basket; she hadn't wanted to give up the house until she knew she had a job. But her lack of confidence had screwed her up now. She had no money, dammit. After paying funeral expenses, she'd barely managed to scrounge up enough money for the airfare and car rental.
She couldn't—wouldn't—ever regret helping Jim before he died. Nothing would ever repay what he and Mary had done for her; what were money and time? Her eyes burned with tears.
What she wouldn't do to have them back again. But they'd packed up and moved to heaven, leaving her all alone…and really, really broke.
She'd thought she'd gotten such a lucky break to get to stay in this house while she looked for a job. Before leaving Iowa, she'd lined up interviews with vet clinics for the next two weeks, but 14 Cherise Sinclair now she had nowhere to stay and no money for a hotel room. Maybe she could sleep in her car? But since she didn't own a cell phone, she'd used the phone here as her contact number.
She'd so looked forward to moving to Seattle and starting a new life where no one knew her. A life surrounded by animals that gave back every bit of the affection they received. Being a veterinarian was the best job in the world…if she could find a position. Fontaine had said he'd discuss alternatives to the legal route. What did he mean by that?
If she sneaked out, would he really report her? Would he try to keep her from getting a job? She eyed the antique furniture, the leaded glass panes in the window, the Oriental carpet.
And money meant power.
He could probably keep her from getting any job in the area with just a word. Maybe she could go somewhere else? Only that might prove difficult. She could do all that again…if she had a phone, her computer and printer, and time.
To try to accomplish all that from the back of a car, with no food or phone or money? Desolation hit, sucking her down into the depths, and then she fought back out. Blinking back tears, she put her chin up and firmed her mouth. Picking up her suitcase, she glanced around the room and saw no trace of her presence. Once downstairs, she set her suitcase in the foyer and headed for the family room.
Her eyes widened at the sight of his bare chest. Come here, please. He waited. She hesitated, then realized his face wasn't flushed with lust. She chanced a quick look lower; he wasn't hard. She straightened her spine and marched forward to stand in front of him. First, I have a favor to ask of you. Here came the proposition. Little vet, can you handle the sight of human blood?
After a second, she followed him in. As he handed her the first-aid kit he'd brought from the dungeon, his eyes narrowed. That blank look, like a human whiteboard wiped of emotion, had returned the minute she'd seen his bare chest.
She definitely had a problem. Noting a sub's responses was as automatic as breathing to a Dom, and her reaction to being punished—and to him—had been equivocal. Her quite understandable fury had also included an unmistakable need to submit. But the blank look, like the one she wore now, hadn't appeared until he'd asked about why she'd run from a Dom. He angled himself so he could watch her face in the wall mirror as she worked. The Dom's Dungeon 15 When she eased the thick gauze dressing off his back, she frowned.
He had a knife. She obviously didn't have a problem with blood or with touching a man in a nonsexual way. She glanced at him in the mirror, a trace of humor in her eyes. Although he's behind bars, I missed my flight. My luggage is on the plane. I couldn't book another flight for two days. He watched and saw her fingers tremble as she applied tape to the gauze.
Her gaze followed the line of his shoulder, paused on his bicep—she was seeing him as a man, not a patient. Her color deepened. The little sub had conflicts. With an audible breath, she stepped back. Keep it dry and have someone put a clean dressing on it tomorrow. He stood close enough that he could see the tiny pulse in her neck grow more rapid. And yet her pupils dilated slightly. Fear and desire, like an abused puppy that wanted to be petted yet cannot trust.
In the stiffness of her spine and the ungraceful movement of her legs, he could see the control she exerted not to flee, like a little cat pretending not to notice a Great Dane in the next yard. She was smart. And not his problem, dammit. Upstairs, he picked up a T-shirt, winced at the thought of pulling it over his head, and then chose a casual button-down instead.
Odd how MacKensie's references all praised her character, dedication, and skill. Nothing had hinted at her being the type of person to break into a room. And when she'd apologized, he'd seen not only embarrassment but shame. But if she were so innocent, how had she managed to get the door open?
He frowned and leaned against the dresser. Interesting conundrums. What did a Dom owe to a sub not under his command? She obviously didn't want to stay here, and problems or not, her choices were her own. But what about Exchanges? He needed to notify them about her behavior. And he had a certain responsibility to the animals and veterinarians in this community.
Could she be trusted? Dammit, he didn't know enough to— His cell phone rang, jarring him from his thoughts. He flipped it open. The day just got better and better. He should have checked the number. Stop calling me. I won't see you or talk to you. But I know you'll see me again. You aren't with anyone else, and I know you never go long without a woman.
There's something between us, Alex, and I'll wait for you. I'll wait just as long as it takes. This was worse than he'd thought. He could denounce her in public and humiliate her. He sighed. He not only couldn't do that to a woman, but Cynthia happened to like being humiliated. Pick up a sub from the club and— he grimaced—probably end up with another problem. Here he'd thought Cynthia a good choice since, with her wealth, his money wouldn't be a draw.
As he tucked his shirt into his pants and the movement pulled at the tape on his back, he stilled, remembering the little submissive who had applied the dressing. Maybe one simple solution would solve all his problems. It had taken him long enough. He nodded to her as he entered the room.
After crossing to the tiny bar, he poured a glass of wine and then tilted his head, asking silently if she wanted some. She shook her head. This was no social occasion. He picked up his glass and moved over to flip a switch on the fireplace. Flames sprouted under the logs, then caught, and within a minute a fire blazed, giving off both heat and a false sense of comfort.
Why was he bothering with all this? He took a seat in one of the dark leather chairs. Leaning back to watch her with an unreadable gaze, he held his glass of red wine in one big hand, his lean fingers gentle on the delicate crystal.
Mac frowned. Those hands on her body hadn't been gentle at all. Time to get this over with and get out of here.
She held her head high and marched forward. His lips quirked. What did that mean? The room upstairs is clean, and I'll just get out of your life now. She walked to the chair, a little startled at her compliance.
Her usual reaction to an order was defiance, not obedience. When her tender butt made contact with the cushion, she sucked in a breath. A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes.
If she could have laid hands on anything throwable, she'd have heaved it at him. In fact, he appeared totally at ease in this awkward situation. Another reason to hate him.
She might be a confident vet, but in social situations she bumbled around like a badly trained puppy. Turning her gaze away, she held her clammy hands out to the fire and then realized how badly her fingers shook. New plan: Piece of cake. She laced her fingers together. But God help her, it was hers.
All those interviews that she'd set up. Several clinics still needed to call her with dates and times. How could she ask him for anything? Her eyes closed as nausea whirled inside her.
For a moment, one horrible moment, she actually considered giving in to his pressure tactics. Tacky motel rooms and dark alleys. Being used. She rose. I'm not a prostitute. His shrewd gaze dropped from her face to her fisted hands. I'm too old to start now. Sit down. She rubbed her hands on her jeans and frowned. If he didn't want sex with her, then what did he want?
And why did his voice give her quivers inside? Would admitting this make her more vulnerable? Elbows on the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers, contemplating her over the top. And I don't know you well enough to assure myself it won't happen again. The iron in her spine started to fold. All her worst fears…but why had he said persuaded? I would let you stay here, and unless you prove to be untrustworthy, will not speak about your behavior.
Over the past month, I took a submissive to a few parties and a BDSM club and then stopped calling her. She apparently has become…fixated on me, and nothing I've said has deterred her. She feels that since I haven't taken on anyone else, it's just a matter of time before I return to her.
I think if I appear to be in a relationship, she will give up and move on. Rich, handsome, exuding a power that should have women buzzing around him like flies. I want the appearance of a girlfriend. A submissive lover, to be exact. What a horrifying thought. His brows drew together, and his blue eyes darkened as if a rain cloud crossed the sky. She'd seen the way the Doms in the clubs treated their subs, handling them as if the subs had no say over their bodies.
She shivered. This man would be no different. Yet she could still feel his arms around her, how he'd held her against him. Like she even knew what arousal felt like? Sex was always for the guy, not the girl. She scowled when his gaze dropped to her chest. And aroused. She glanced down at her tits and frowned. Under her thin bra and T-shirt, her nipples blatantly poked out.
And yet her body did feel different, as if her skin had become more sensitive all over. This is just not happening. Forget it. You're uncomfortable with the idea of sex. Perhaps we can work around that. I'd follow you around, looking all wussy—with no sex—and you'd let me live here for the next two weeks and wouldn't destroy my reputation. However, I'd expect true submission from you, MacKensie.
That's giving control to me—control over everything for certain occasions. At any party I take you to. Whenever we're with my friends. Could she let him boss her around for two or three hours? With sex out of the picture, this might be doable. A trickle of hope eased the tightness of her stomach. But all that control. She tried to remember what had happened in the BDSM clubs. Oh frak. Mac watched as the lean hands ruffled the dog's ears, scratched under the collar, and then stroked Butler's side.
The dog's tail thumped against the floor. She frowned, feeling a tug at her heart and a decrease in her wariness. Could anyone who loved that ugly mutt be all bad? Don't be stupid, Mac. Even mass murderers adored their pets. And yet… No sex, her reputation undamaged… Ack, her reputation. Dear Lord, she couldn't do this. Being your…whatever… It's too… I can't afford to damage my reputation. A fair concern. Anonymity is part of the contract, and the members value their reputations.
But could she really do this?
He nodded. Tell you what. If you do a really fine job and Cynthia gives up, I'll make some calls and shove some influence your way. Big Shot would know the vet community. Chuckling, he rose. He gave her his hand and pulled her to her feet. Once a year we sponsor a fund-raising dinner and dance to benefit all the pet charities in the area. As it happens, the dance is in two weeks, and just about every vet in the city attends. This was just what she needed.
Oh God, could this possibly work? Fontaine—Alex— came down to breakfast. But when she walked into the kitchen, she realized from the smell of coffee and the cup in the dishwasher that he'd already been there and gone.
Maybe he felt the same need to escape that she did.
Oh that would be the day. She rolled her eyes. That man wouldn't run from anything. As she made a fresh pot of coffee, she breathed in the heady fragrance of the aromatic grounds. No cheap coffee for this household. A few minutes later, she poured herself a nice full cup and walked into the sunny breakfast nook. Skirting the antique table and chairs in the center of the room, she chose the couch under a window with a magnificent view of Puget Sound and the mountains turning pink with the rising sun.
When she sat, her still-tender bottom touched the cushions, making her squeak, then scowl at the unwelcome reminder of yesterday. What a mess. And she'd created it all by herself. She thudded her head on the back of the couch: How could she have been so lacking in morals? God, she would never, ever open a locked door again. But how that man had the nerve to spank her, she didn't know.
And then he'd pretty much blackmailed her into cooperating with him. Done a good job of it too. She'd spent most of last night going over her predicament and hadn't discovered any way out of it. With his connections, he could help her secure a job—or could sink her just as easily.
It was the submissive stuff that really sent a chill creeping up her spine.