Make Me, Sir

“Gabrielle.”

She looked up at him, her brown eyes wary. “I’ll listen to what you have to say, but just so you know, I don’t want to…to work…with you.” Her mouth twisted bitterly at the word. “You’re wasting your time.”

The stab hurt. “I understand.” And she was perfectly justified for her feelings; however, if she stayed enmeshed in the past, she’d not listen to him at all. How could he get her to relax? Got it. He stopped, right in the middle of the sidewalk. After removing his shoes, he stuffed his socks in the toes and rolled up his jeans.

She stared at him as if she’d never seen bare legs before, and a spurt of humor broke through his guilt. Did she really see him as that stuck in the mud? He tied the laces together, slung his shoes over his shoulder, and nodded toward the wide expanse of beach. “Coming?”

After eyeing him suspiciously, she said, “Fine,” and followed suit, removing her shoes and socks. Although she’d worn a black T-shirt and jeans, her sneakers were blue and her socks a flaming red that matched her toenails. Damn, she made him smile every time he saw her.

She walked beside him toward the water. The warm sand was deep and soft, the footing a little unsteady. He watched with satisfaction as she gave up hating him and concentrated on avoiding clusters of seaweed, broken shells, and enthusiastic dogs.

When they reached the wet sand, flattened into firmness by the waves, he took her hand.

Startled, she frowned up at him, gave a token tug to see if he’d cooperate, and then shrugged, obviously deciding not to fight about it. She turned her head, staring at the water. “So talk.”

He snorted a laugh. “Tough little sub, aren’t you?”

Her mouth tightened, but she didn’t look up.

He stopped, took her shoes, and dropped both pairs onto the sand. Cupping her cheek with one hand, he used his thumb to tilt her head up. Her stormy eyes met his. “Gabrielle, I’m sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” she said cynically. “What are you sorry for, anyway? I’m the one who lied.”

She didn’t want to admit they had anything between them that he could have damaged. He couldn’t quite read her; too many emotions warred across the face. Defensiveness. Hurt. Anger. Something else. “Z lied too, Gabi. Did either of you have a choice?”

“No, but-”

He sighed. “I don’t like this matter at all, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her brown eyes lightened slightly, and then a crease furrowed her brow. “What are you apologizing for?”

He lifted his other hand, holding her face between his palms. Her cheeks were soft and warm. The sunlight glinted off her long red-blonde eyelashes. “I might not have known about the role you played, but still, the thought of how rough I was on you sits poorly with me.”

“Not your fault, Sir.”

The inadvertent slip warmed his heart. “But what I truly regret-”

Gabi waited for him to gather his words, and actually felt a bit of amusement. Was the fancy lawyer at a loss for the right thing to say? Her humor faded quickly, for his firm hands kept her from retreating and assuming a more comfortable, distant manner. He’d placed them face-to-face and shared his emotions as openly as he demanded the same from her.

His thumb rubbed over her chin. “I regret the loss of your trust, Gabrielle. I deliberately kept you after closing on Saturday. I could tell you had a reason for all the defiance, and I wanted to discover what it was so we could deal with it.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Questioning you when you couldn’t think was to help, not undermine you. Instead it turned into a betrayal of your trust. I’m sorry, Gabi.”

He hurt too. The open pain in his eyes crumpled her hard-erected defenses as if she’d constructed them of paper. Somehow he’d gone straight to the heart of her anger. He’d known that she did feel betrayed. Did feel as if he’d taken advantage of her, and she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t trusted him so much. Her breath hitched, and her eyes flooded with tears. Oh hell. She tried to jerk away, choking out, “Let me go.”

“No, darlin’, that I won’t.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his solid chest. His hand pressed her head into the hollow of his shoulder and the comfort…the sheer wonder at being held finished her off. And she cried, sobbing out her pain, even her smoldering anger at the punishments she herself had forced him to mete out. He hurt me and hit me, and he means so much to me…

He enclosed her in his hard arms, rumbling unintelligible, comforting sounds, and rocked her slowly in his cradle of safety. As the storm of her emotions died down, she managed somehow to find a semblance of control and pull herself together.

His arms loosened, and he let her go…and she wanted to crawl back into his embrace.

“Little sub,” he murmured and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her face.

“I got your shirt wet.”

He didn’t look like himself, thick hair windblown, jeans, his cotton shirt rumpled and wet, but his blue eyes hadn’t changed, and neither had the way he studied her. “It’ll dry. Hopefully you feel better.”

She felt…hollow, emptied of anger and pain. Her fear hadn’t left, but-

“What?” He frowned, tilted her chin up. “Something is still wrong.”

“It’s not you.” She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I’m just scared. Nothing new.”

The word he said under his breath could never have come from Mr. Conservative, and she stared at him in shock.

He laughed, his deep, infectious laugh that was almost as startling as hearing him curse. He pulled her hand away from her scar and kissed her fingertips. After picking up the shoes, he put his arm over her shoulder and started walking again.

As the tide came in, the waves flowed farther up the sand, engulfing and tickling their feet in frothy white water. She smiled. Then the tightness returned to her chest. What would it be like to never be part of any of this again?

He squeezed her shoulder, breaking into her thoughts. “Do you think less of yourself because you’re afraid?”

“A little. Other people manage to do this kind of thing all the time.”

“And some hide in their houses scared to come out,” he said. “You learned about violence at an early age and in a particularly ugly way, Gabrielle. But more than that…”

She glanced up at him, and his eyes met hers.

“You have a caring personality. You understand people and want to help. That’s different from a soldier’s mind-set. You’re more vulnerable to the damage that evil can create.” His brows drew together. “You must have studied this in college, and you had counseling. You should know this, sugar.”

She gave him a wry smile. “I do. I did. But deliberately setting myself up for-” She halted. She hadn’t planned to mention-

“I heard you volunteered because of your friend.” Despite the concerned expression on his face, his gaze held only warm approval. “You’re a loyal friend, Gabi.”

Her laugh came easily, as if her tears had hollowed out room for happier emotions. “Nah, I just wanted an excuse to hang out in a BDSM club.”

He chuckled, then cursed as an incoming wave soaked the bottoms of his rolled-up jeans.

She giggled.

One second before the next wave hit, he swung her around to reverse their positions. She squeaked as cold water splashed up her calves, soaked the material over her thighs, and ran down her legs, turning her skin to goose bumps. “You…you scumbag dipwad.”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you call your dom a name?”

She giggled, then protested, “You’re not my dom.”

“Am I not?” Deliberately, he tossed their shoes onto the dry sand and advanced on her.

“No, wait.” Hands up, she waded farther into the water until it hit her knees and each wave tested her balance.

He stopped, and his smile faded. “Seriously, Gabi, do you want me to arrange a different dom for you?”

The thought of losing him actually hurt, like a cruel blow somewhere deep inside. Obviously she’d ventured