Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(4)

But not a plant anywhere. Everything in place. As spotless as if a drill sergeant was due for inspection.

She roused when he laid her on the bed, and damned if Ms. Feminine didn’t try to punch him.

The candle-shaped lights overhead provided crappy illumination—and hell, she probably only saw a hulking monster over her. He caught her delicate fist in his oversized palm. “Easy, Ma’am.”

Her finely arched brows drew together as she tried to sit up. He didn’t miss the way her hand grabbed her ribs. Damn foolish woman.

“It’s Ben. From the Shadowlands. I brought you home.”

“Ah. Ben.” She gingerly relaxed back on the mattress. “Thanks for the ride. Please tell Z I said so.”

“You’re welcome, Mistress Anne.” He shifted his weight, uncomfortable as hell. But the garment she wore seemed to be some combination of a corset and a dress. It had obvious ribbing and was way too tight. She couldn’t sleep in it. “Uh…you need to get out of that contraption.”

He was standing over her—one big ugly guy. She was flat on her back and totally unconcerned. “Do I now?”

The edge of warning in her voice made his cock stir.

“Yes, Ma’am.” The honorific came easily to his lips. She reminded him of the elegant Army Ranger Captain during Ben’s first deployment. The guy was always in control and, even when covered with blood and filth, still refined.

He smiled. “How about you order me to give you some help?”

Her snort of exasperation sounded like a kitten’s sneeze. “Benjamin, if a subbie tells me to order him to do something, then who’s in charge?”

“Got me there.” And damned if he would leave without making her more comfortable. “You going to punch me if I help you strip down?”

She eyed him. Her pupils were still smaller than normal, turning her eyes more blue than gray. “I never appreciated how stubborn you are.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Odd how much he liked saying that to her.

Her voice held a note of frustration. “Assist me out of this, then.”

And he had a win. Sergeant, Bravo Zulu. He reached for the front and realized her ribbed long dress had no buttons. Stalling, he moved down to remove her thigh-high boots, which had lacing front straps. When he pulled them off, he heard her sigh of relief.

Damn, her pretty legs had a sexy golden tan. High-arched feet. Her toenails were a pale pink with white stripes. Amazing what women did for fun. Her mutant black dress was next. Thinking to salvage her modesty, he picked up the frilly knitted throw from the foot of the bed and draped it over her lower legs.

Next. He’d have been more comfortable walking into a firefight.

Her f*cking dress had toothpick-sized metal studs down the front that poked through metal grommets. Only way to get it off would be to stick his fingers inside and draw the edges together to release each f*cking stud. Her breasts were in there. Jesus, he couldn’t do this.

Her lips curved in a wicked smile. “Don’t stop now, Benjamin.”

“Having fun are we, Mistress?” he muttered and slid his big fingers inside the top.

“Mmmhmm.”

She was warm, her skin silky on the backs of his knuckles. And he was harder than a rock. He worked open the corset part of the dress, and it came undone, catch-by-catch. But the thing was damn tight over her ribs, and she made a sound of pain.

He stopped. How the f*ck could he do this if he hurt her? “Anne?”

“Go on.” Her hands were fisted, her fingernails digging into her palms. But her gaze was clear and level. “You’re right—I would have had difficulty getting out of this. I’m not moving as well as I was earlier.”

“What kind of damage are we looking at?” His jaw was tight as he continued as ordered. Prong after prong.

Although she controlled her face, she couldn’t control the involuntary flinches and tightening of her belly.

“Bruised ribs. Nothing broken.” Her voice sounded strained, but finally he was past the most constricted section.

He undid the looser part over her lower stomach and worked his way…down. As he flipped the dress open, he tried not to look.

Bullshit, he totally looked.

His gaze traveled from her thong-covered *, up a softly rounded belly, to her sweet, high breasts. Rosy-brown nipples perked up in the cool night air. Her scent was almost edible—like tangerines accompanied by the light musk of a female.

Act like the gentleman you weren’t raised as, Haugen. He drew the blanket over her. Turning his gaze away—so he wouldn’t see how he hurt her—he slid an arm under her back. Shit, her skin there was soft as well. Carefully, he lifted her far enough to slide her dress out.

Now she wore only a thong and a blanket.

The room had grown too damn warm.

“Thank you, Ben. That feels much better.”

“I bet.” He dared greatly and moved the covering to expose her legs. Her right thigh had a bruise almost the width of his fist. He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “Boot?”

“The bail fugitive had an overly protective big brother.”

What a f*cking job. No wonder she often came into the Shadowlands with bruises and gashes. “Wouldn’t you rather do something…safer?”

Her blue gaze turned chill as the arctic north. “No.”