occasional backhand—eventually silenced her complaints, her requests…her voice.
Being mouthy was something she’d lost when her mother died, and only regained once away and in college.
The humid lake air wrapped around her as she walked out the back door and down the narrow dirt path to the cabana. Out on the lake, two bright orange kayaks left trails of miniwaves behind them. In the rough vegetation on the lakeshore, an alligator lifted its head to check her out before returning to drowsing. She shuddered. No one thought twice about jumping into a lake in Iowa, but here? Not a chance.
In the cabana, Vance stood in the center of the room, tapping a yardstick on his palm and surveying the potential construction site. The ancient white T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders was so thin she could see his shoulder muscles bunch as he turned.
“There you are,” he said.
She held still while he prowled a circle around her.
“Very nice.”
When he ran his hand under her skirt, she shoved him away. “Sir! What are you doing?”
“Apprentices in our company don’t wear underwear. It’s a danger in a work environment.” His voice was stern, his eyes dancing. “Gets caught on things.” He hooked a finger in the waistband and yanked her panties down. “Remove them.”
She huffed and slithered out of the panties without exposing anything. “Fine.” And added in a mutter, “I don’t think I’m going to like this job.”
“Truly a shame that your uncle indentured you to us for the next five years.”
Christ in gator-land, but that was a terrifying thought.
“Of course, he might not have done that if you’d been a good girl.” Vance swatted her butt with the yardstick he held. Thank God the skirt cushioned the blow—not enough. She was still tender.
“I am a good girl,” she told him, hands on her hips, scowling. “You’ll see.”
“Boss will do just fine.” He handed her a paintbrush. “You can paint the trim.”
He’d chosen a nice beige for the baseboards, and the walls would be a dark but rich cocoa. Much like the Feds’ personalities. She concentrated on painting quietly. He’d put country-western on the player, and oddly enough, the work was more soothing than she’d thought. It was rewarding to take something ugly and make it beautiful.
After a bit, she realized he was standing over her, checking her work. The light-filled room brightened his beautiful eyes, showing the paler blue rays in the iris. She’d always loved blue eyes.
His hand stroked down her hair. “Very nice work, Miss Hart. You can take a break now. Lid on the paint. Brush in a Baggie.”
After setting things to rights, she walked over to where he sat on one of the twin beds, looking at a catalog.
He patted beside him. “Sit here.”
She dropped down and checked out what he was looking at. A BDSM equipment catalog. “Whoa. That’s very cool. I’ve never seen one.”
“Z lent it to us. Says this company is known for building both solid and comfortable.” He turned the page and tapped a picture of a St. Andrew’s cross. It was padded with leather. Gleaming eyebolts studded the ends of the arms. “You like crosses?”
She shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
“How about this?” He opened the page to a vacuum bed with a pump to pull the air out of a latex bag, letting the submissive breath through a tube.
A shudder ran through her. “Never. Not for me. Ever.” Just the thought of being enclosed—almost mummified—like that could give her nightmares.
He nodded and opened the page to a bunch of bondage tables. “We’ll probably get one of these.”
One had the prettiest strapping system that— She realized he was studying her. “Uh. Right. Every dungeon should have one.”
His lips quirked before he turned the page again. “Or at least a spanking horse.”
God, those had to be her favorite. Like a hybridization between a picnic table and a sawhorse on steroids. Somehow being strapped into that doggy position was just too darned exciting.
He ran a finger down her cheek. “Definitely one of those.” He set the magazine to one side. “I was looking through your history in the Masters’ files. You got your bachelor’s, worked a bit in a software company, before going to grad school for your Master’s degrees. No marriage or engagements in all that time?”
She shook her head. And maybe now she knew why. She hadn’t trusted anyone enough to lower her defenses. “What about you, Sir? Engaged? Married?” She gave him a slow smile. “The trainees don’t have files on the Masters to check.”
“There’s a mercy.” His mouth tightened. “I was married—and divorced—in college.”
“Is that the wife who lied all the time?” Sally hated that he’d once compared her to some scumbag of a wife. He’d been so angry at the thought of being lied to.
“I did tell you that, didn’t I?” Leaning back against the wooden headboard, he studied her. “And you? Are you a liar, Sally?”
Her chin came up. “
He lifted an eyebrow.
Frigging A. “Okay, so faking orgasms was kind of a lie. And I guess if I say, ‘I’m fine,’ even though I’m not, it’s kind of a lie too. But…” She bit her lip.
His eyes were starting to chill, and he crossed his arms over his chest. How could he look so relaxed and so threatening at the same time? “But?”
“But I do it because…because I don’t—can’t—share.”
“I know that.” His voice was so neutral as to be unreadable.
“But I don’t
When he grinned, she realized what she’d said. A flush crept into her face.
“Next time I go out looking for a nice gown to wear, I’ll know who to take with me,” he said.
He tucked a finger under her chin and lifted. “I know what you mean.” His eyes were the blue of a sunlit Iowa lake. “I want to get you to the point where you can share—honestly. That time will come.”
The relief of his understanding made her eyes swim with tears.
He made a tsk sound, kissed her cheek, rose, and pulled her off the bed. “Time to put you back to work, little apprentice. You’ve lazed about long enough.” Beside the kitchen area was a tall cabinet. Vance opened the three-foot box in front of it. Inside were straps, ropes, gags, spreader bars, blindfolds, and hoods. What every well-equipped dungeon should have. “I want you to put these away neatly in the cabinet.”
Still feeling unsettled, she frowned at him. Boy, this wasn’t much of a schoolgirl role-play, was it? He actually acted as if she was his apprentice. And he was being awfully polite.
After putting a few items on the shelf, she found the nipple clamps—tons of them. He’d already gone back to painting the wall. So she put some clamps on a shelf. Tossed one at him. No reaction. Put a few more clamps away. Tossed another—aiming for his ass. Fine, fine ass. Hit. No reaction. Put a few more and turned to—
“Eeek!” Heart pounding, she looked up at the man looming over her. Vance’s face was grim, and jeez, how had he gotten so tall? He made her feel like a mouse. “Christ on a pogo stick, give a girl a heart attack, will you?”
He opened his hand, showing her the nipple clamps.
“Uh. Guess I just dropped them. Boss man, sir.” She gave him a simpering smile. “Ooops.”
“I see. Well, seems a waste to not put them to use.” He undid the straps to her overalls, letting the bib flop down, exposing her breasts. He cupped his hand under one, weighing it, his thumb teasing her nipple into a point. “Odd that you’re not wearing a bra—I thought breasts needed some kind of support.”
