Make Me, Sir

can on the coffee table in front of her.

“Thank you.” Okay, confession time. Rhodes had already told them-God, she just bet he’d told them-but she needed to also. “Some of the Shadowlands Masters learned I’m working undercover. It’s my fault.” She started to pick up her drink and realized she couldn’t swallow past the lump in her throat. Instead she folded her hands in her lap and forced herself to meet Galen’s eyes. “I told them. By accident. But it’s still my fault. I-”

“Stop,” Galen said, holding up a hand. “I’m not sure I understand your logic. You have a dom, one experienced enough that Zachary Grayson trusts him with the Shadowlands trainees. He strings you up, drives you straight into subspace, and asks you questions. Why the hell do you think that’s your fault?”

“But-”

“Shut up and drink your soda.” Galen’s baritone was actually kind.

“You don’t blame me?”

“You’ve played a brat too long, Renard. What did I tell you to do?”

Oh hell, that answered one question. The guy was definitely a dom. She picked up the can and took a tiny sip.

Standing behind the couch, Vance leaned his forearms on the back cushions. “Gabrielle, the sole reason we accepted you as a decoy is because you’re submissive. You had no defenses against a determined master like Marcus Atherton.” He fixed her with a level gaze. “Am I clear? We don’t blame you in the least.”

She let out the breath that she’d held since…oh, since the day Rhodes went ballistic.

Galen’s brows drew together. “You figured we’d fire you?”

“Seemed logical.”

Vance’s blue eyes turned hard. “Rhodes is an asshole. He had the contacts to get him assigned to this case and plays the game well enough we can’t justify yanking him off, but do us the courtesy of not thinking we’re complete idiots.”

A gasp of laughter escaped her, and both men grinned.

“Much better.” Galen leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We didn’t ask you here today to ream you out. Quite the opposite. Gabrielle, are you willing to return to the Shadowlands?”

That was so far from what she’d expected that her head spun. “I will. You know I will, but Master Marcus-he knows. He knows I’ve lied to him and been faking it all.”

Vance tilted his head. “Personally I’d say you only fake about fifty percent. What do you think, Galen?”

“I think sixty-forty, with the weight on the sassy side.”

Her mouth dropped open, and then she glared.

Vance chuckled. “You win. There’s more brat there than fifty percent.”

“And that’s not funny. Did you hear what I said?” Gabi crossed her arms over her chest, less to appear confident than to conceal her trembling hands. “Marcus won’t tolerate me coming back, and even if he did, I don’t want to…to do anything with him. Ever.” She’d trusted him, and he’d taken advantage of her. She shook her head and tried to keep her mind on the subject. “Besides, the other Masters know also.”

“It’s all right,” Vance said. “Z explained it all. The Masters aren’t stupid, and they understand why we kept your identity secret. It won’t be easy for them now. They’ll have to fight back the need to protect you, not punish you.”

Galen interjected, “But they swore to do their best.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Not the most reassuring thing in the world for you to hear, I’m afraid.”

Go back. Be terrified of a kidnapper. Be punished.

Be with Marcus. Her hands curled into tight balls of dissent. He’d seen her at her most vulnerable and taken advantage of it.

“I’ll go to a different dom?” Could she bear having someone else in charge of her? She bowed her head, watching her knuckles tighten. I don’t have a choice. She’d woken before dawn covered in sweat from another nightmare about Kim being whipped. Her screams had dug into Gabi’s mind until she could hear them echoing off the walls of her apartment.

A tap sounded on the door, and she raised her head.

Galen glanced at his watch. “Damn lawyers are way too punctual.”

“This is your decision, Gabi,” Vance said over his shoulder as he crossed the room. “We’re going to let you two work out how you want to handle it.” He opened the door.

Master Marcus stepped in. He glanced around. Then his gaze zeroed in on her like a targeting control in a video game.

Every blood cell in her body leaped in joy until she remembered what she’d done. What he’d done. The joy fractured and died, leaving her with the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue.

“Marcus,” Galen said, rising. He held his hand out. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Galen.” With his silent grace, Marcus walked over to shake hands, then nodded at Vance before turning his gaze back on Gabi.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. The lethal blue color hadn’t changed from when it had filled her world like a desert sky. And his voice-soft and deep, so different from the sound he’d made when she’d told him she was FBI. Like he’d been stabbed. She concentrated on picking up her soda gracefully, although from the way her stomach churned, she sure didn’t need a drink.

Vance huffed a laugh. “Take her for a walk, Marcus, before she turns any greener.”

Galen said, “She’s willing to return-got more guts than a lot of so-called agents-so when you’ve worked out how you’ll handle this, come back here so we can finish planning.”

Go with him? As she realized the agents had cast her to the sharks, she stiffened in disbelief.

Marcus pinned her gaze. One shark. With piercing blue eyes. He held his hand out. “Come, Gabrielle.”

“No. I won’t go anywhere with you.” Back stiff, she rose, heading for the door. She gave the other two men a wounded look.

“Little spitfire.” Vance caught her wrist and pulled her to a stop. His eyes were a darker blue than Marcus’s but surprisingly kind. “We talked with Z, with the other Masters, and with Marcus. All anyone wants is to let you serve as a decoy in the safest, gentlest way we can arrange…and we all agree Marcus is the best choice. Talk to him, Gabi, and if you decide you can’t work with him, we’ll figure out something else.”

Talk with Marcus. Could she stand it? Did she have a choice? Vance held her gaze until she nodded her surrender.

“Good girl.” He set her wrist into Marcus’s hand. Strong fingers closed, trapping her more completely than any restraint.

* * *

The agents had planned for Z to attend this meeting, but Marcus had played the guilt card on them. He might have employed a few courtroom techniques, but he’d told the truth. Their secrecy bullshit had not only given him a rough few weeks, but also led to the fiasco last Saturday. They sure as hell owed him a chance to make it right with Gabrielle. They’d reluctantly agreed, with the stipulation that Gabi had the final choice.

Marcus had pondered long and hard about today-what to say and where to go so she’d feel comfortable. Obviously nowhere alone with him. So now he guided her out of the lobby toward the beach. On the grounds around the hotel, the palm trees rustled and swayed in the stiffening breeze. Gulls cried as they rode the air currents, diving at the white-capped waves. People were scattered here and there, their towels, blankets, and umbrellas a bright splash of color against the white sand. A child with flaming red hair used a stick to write his name in the wet sand.

As Marcus guided Gabi onto the sidewalk paralleling the beach, his spirits rose. Damn, he liked seeing her, even if she was under duress. The sea wind ruffled her shaggy hair and brought him her sandalwood scent. With an effort, he put away the memory of how the fragrance deepened, darkened in the tender crease between her hip and thigh.

Instead he studied her. Shoulders still rigid, walk stiff, the small muscles around her eyes and mouth tense.