Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(13)

“Fine, Ma’am.”

“Then I want you to get dressed and clean the equipment which you flooded.”

Her gaze trapped his—to see if he’d react.

As if anyone who’d put in barracks time would be embarrassed by jism…anywhere? “Yes, Ma’am.”

Her chuckle was low and pleased. “Not much upsets you, does it?”

“RPGs and IEDs, those are upsetting. Anything less—not so much.”

“You’re quite a guy, guard dog.” She ran her hand down his arm, tracing the muscles of his biceps, in that way that women did—much the same way that a man would enjoy a woman’s breasts. She liked his body. Liked him.

And was still stepping back. Fuck. That.

He dared much and touched her hair. It felt as smooth as his mother’s prized silk shawl. If Anne were on top, that mass of hair would flow over his shoulders like a cool caress of water.

“Just so you know, Mistress, I’m calling my offer a rain check. You let me know when you want to cash it in. There’s no expiration date.”

Not only no expiration, but if she didn’t take him up on his proposal, well, there were always numerous approaches available to achieve a target. She was worth taking the time to do it right.





Chapter Three



Four days later, Anne picked through the Keurig pods to find a fudge-flavored coffee. It looked to be a long night, and she’d need all the caffeine she could get.

Hopefully her insides could handle the brew. After being sick since Sunday morning, she’d finally been able to keep food down today. At least she knew the origins of her illness—from babysitting her niece and nephew last week when they’d been home with a stomach bug.

More like a stomach demon.

After the machine finished hissing and thrumming, she carried her coffee out to the deck, snuggled into her favorite wicker chair, and checked out the view.

Apparently the weather report warning of a tropical storm had been accurate for a change. A high wall of black clouds in the west gave her normally white beach a gray cast. The wind whipped at the nearby palms as if trying to bend them in half, and white caps topped the choppy Gulf water. Wonderful. Should she call off the fugitive recovery team for the night?

No, skips often holed up during a storm, making it an excellent time to rout them out.

From the mansion beyond Harrison’s house on the left came laughter; her nieces and nephews must be visiting her parents. On the right were the sounds of her brother Travis mowing his lawn.

She tipped her head back, drawing in the salt air, feeling blessed. Her mother’s grandparents had bought up almost two acres on Clearwater Beach Island back when land was cheap. When her mother inherited, she’d resisted the pressure to sell to condo developers. Instead, her parents had gifted Anne and her two brothers with a half-acre and house.

Best present ever. She made good money as a fugitive recovery agent, but not enough for a house right on the shore.

Ben had seen her house. She took a slow sip of her coffee and frowned. Did he think she was rich? Was that why he’d pushed her to top him last weekend? The idea cast an ugly light over what had been a beautiful scene.

But, no. She was way off base. Maybe they’d never spoken other than a good evening, but she’d “known” Ben for years. As had Z. The owner of the Shadowlands was not only far too empathic for anyone’s peace of mind, but was also a psychologist. Ben wouldn’t hold that position if he wasn’t trustworthy.

She wrinkled her nose. So much for that weak excuse to devalue the scene. And all because she was unsettled about what she’d done. About Ben.

Because she’d felt a real thrill when he’d obeyed her, and another thrill when he’d come. They’d both been caught up in the moment and in each other. She’d sensed his every flinch, every breath, every tensing of his muscles.

And the man had muscles. Warmth stole into her core as she remembered. When his arms had been raised, his grip on the pegs had made his forearms rigid, the veins noticeable and begging to be traced with her tongue. His trapezius muscles had bunched, his lats had widened, the long muscles beside his spine had been like solid pillars of concrete.

And he had a simply gorgeous cock, completely proportional to his massive body.

Sex with him would be comparable to drinking strong coffee with chocolate—a definite kick with a mouthwatering extra.

Wasn’t it odd how she’d been satisfied with such a lightweight scene? She hadn’t done a session with so little pain provided in…in years. And yet she’d been perfectly content.

But, even if he were interested in more, she was finished. She didn’t play with newbies to the lifestyle, especially ones like him who had no clue what was involved. The man was vanilla. And he was Z’s employee—not someone to turn into her slave.

Besides, her emotions around him were uncomfortable. She didn’t do uncomfortable.

Aside from not having a slave at the moment, her life was exactly the way she wanted it. Her job with its flexible hours was great. Her house, great. And when she found a young man to take as a slave, everything would be good.

Thinking of work, she needed to get moving.

She spent most of her daytime work hours doing searches on the computer and phone, knocking on doors, and picking up skips during the day. But often apprehending the more elusive fugitives meant going out at night. Tonight the team’s quarry was a low-life dealer who tended to move between houses up in the Land O’ Lakes district. The team would split up and do some simultaneous visits to his closest buddies who might have offered him shelter.