Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(60)

Her throaty laugh made him reconsider the order of events. “You’re insatiable.”

Only with her. That submissive word was starting to fit better than he’d thought possible. What about the next step? The slave word?

Didn’t sound like him. But what would he do to keep this woman in his life?

Who knew—maybe he’d roll that way given the chance. There was only one way to find out. “Insatiable for you pretty much describes it, yeah.”





Chapter Thirteen



On Thursday, Ben parked in one of the two spaces beside Anne’s driveway.

Bronx jumped out of the SUV behind him. Tail waving gently, the dog danced across the driveway, checked the air, and headed around the house. Bronx had quickly figured out that Anne usually enjoyed a cup of tea or coffee on her deck so she could watch the sunset. Hearing the saxophone, he stopped to listen. After a moment, he recognized the old tune. “Arthur’s Theme” was an unusual mixture of haunting and uplifting.

She was in a fair mood. Anne’s body language didn’t always reveal her spirits, but her music was a dead giveaway.

As Ben reached the back of the house, he heard his retriever charge across the deck.

“Bronx!” Anne laughed. “Aren’t you a pretty boy? Such a smart dog.”

Ben grinned. The woman was a sucker for children and animals. “Permission to come aboard?” he called from the foot of the stairs.

“Come on up, Ben.”

He climbed up. “You look damn comfortable.”

Sitting on a lounge chair, she’d put her sax aside to pet Bronx. Her khaki shorts showed off her long, golden-tan legs. Her sleeveless top was the exact color of her striking eyes—and unbuttoned. Sure, she wore a swimsuit beneath it, but his libido had a Pavlovian switch. A woman—especially this one—with an unbuttoned shirt sent his lust into overdrive.

Bronx was leaning against the chair, collecting as much loving as he could con out of her.

“You’re spoiling him, Anne.”

“He has beautiful manners. As long as that continues, I’ll continue rewarding him.”

Ben leaned over and collected a slow kiss. Damn, he loved the way she kissed, the way her fingers gripped his hair, with her other hand fisted in his shirt to pull him closer.

When he finished and straightened, she assessed the muddy scratches on his legs, arms, and hands. Concern edged her voice. “Are you all right?”

“Good enough. My Jeep got stuck in a swampy area. Had to work to get it extricated.”

“You look as if you fought your way through the Everglades.” She motioned toward the door behind her. “Go grab something to drink—and eat too. I made cookies for the shelter kids and saved a bunch for you.”

“Seriously?” Cookies? Yeah, he adored her. A shame the deck was so exposed or he’d have gone down on her right then. “If they have raisins, I’ll be your slave for the night.”

“Benjamin.” One perfectly groomed eyebrow went up. “You’ll be that whether or not there are raisins.”

Good point. Smiling, he gave her a mock salute and headed for the kitchen before he said something that’d get him in trouble. Or got his treats taken away.

She’d baked chocolate chip cookies on Monday, made carrot cake on Tuesday—Bronx wasn’t the only male being spoiled around here.

He grinned. This morning, she’d insisted on jogging an additional mile, complaining that she was gaining weight because of his sweets addiction.

But, far as he was concerned, an extra inch or two on her hips or breasts would be a total turn-on. More to hold; more to play with.

Speaking of playing, he was looking forward to the next few days. This was Ghost’s weekend as security guard at the Shadowlands, and Anne was free of dungeon monitor duties. Since Raoul was out of town, Ben had arranged to borrow his sailboat. Hopefully, Anne would be interested in spending a long, leisurely weekend on the water.

The phone rang as he pulled a bottled water from the fridge. “Anne—phone.”

“Coming. Answer it, please.”

He knew how she answered her phone, never saying her own name. But hearing a man’s voice, the caller might think they had the wrong number. So he picked up the receiver and said, “I’m answering for the resident. Please hold.”

“What?” After a hesitation, the man demanded, “Let me speak to Anne.” Was this one of her brothers? The voice seemed familiar.

“Hold, please.”

Followed by Bronx, Anne strode in and accepted the phone with a mouthed thank you. “Hello?”

After a pause, she said, “I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business.” Her brows drew together in irritation.

Someone was going to catch hell. Ben grabbed three cookies and headed out to the deck, whistling for Bronx as he went.

As he stepped outside, he heard her say, “No. I’m not taking you back, Joey.”

Ben stopped dead. Fuck. It took a second to get himself moving again. He set the cookies on the dark brown wicker end table, dropped into a chair, and put his feet up on the railing.

Like a cockroach, a nasty feeling was crawling into his gut. Joey’d been Anne’s last “boy.”

Joey got off on being whipped, beaten, his nuts smashed. Her slave had waited on her hand and foot. The young man was slender, ripped, and looked as if he should be modeling men’s briefs.