Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(95)

Even as desolation filled her, she didn’t move. If she moved, she’d…break.

Her mind was stuck on an eternal repeat, seeing him leaving, over and over. Seeing his big, rough face, the scar on his jaw, the way one hair in his left eyebrow never stayed straight, how his nose had a bump from when he’d broken it.

He was gone. She’d let him walk out. Hadn’t…acted. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She could hear the splat, splat of each drop.

I’m going to have your baby, Ben.

I love you, Ben.

Don’t leave me. Please.

I’ll change.

The words she hadn’t spoken choked her.

He shouldn’t have lied to her before. But—she should have been able to tell. Should have seen through his lie sooner. He had his needs, and she’d ignored them.

The knowledge formed a heavy pool of misery under her heart. She’d been a lousy Mistress. A thoughtless lover.

She’d never had a real lover before, though. And, she had to say, this learn-on-the-job training was just miserable.

The darkness gathered around the house, encroaching on the deck, wiping out the beach, the Gulf, the horizon.

Surrounded by the night, she watched the stars appear. The moon rose, its pale light hitting the black waves and splintering into pieces.

He was gone.

With cold fingers, Anne picked up her saxophone and played.

Played songs for the ocean, songs for the stars, songs for the moon that moved across the sky and started to sink into the west.

How long had she been out here? After a minute, Anne realized the tune she’d wandered into was Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.”

Oh, honestly. She shook her head roughly. How embarrassingly sappy. Hauling in a breath, she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.

Enough.

This pitiful behavior wasn’t to be borne. Maybe the baby had messed up her emotions, but who was in charge here—her or an unborn infant?

Pull it together, Anne.

After a hot shower, she fed herself, ignoring her queasiness. She had a baby to nurture…and how amazing was that?

At sunrise, she made herself walk the beach so the brisk morning breeze could chase the stupor from her brain.

And then she sat down in her living room and tried for some logical thinking. When a few tears appeared, she blamed her hormones and moved on.

Think, Anne.

But she kept getting stuck in one place. He didn’t want her as his Mistress.

She hadn’t been good enough to keep him. Wasn’t ever good enough, was she? She let everyone down.

As she heard the internal words, she shook her head vigorously and growled at herself. That was childishly stupid thinking. She was a good Mistress—and human. She’d been at fault in not seeing that her routine made him uncomfortable. In not realizing he was forcing himself into the slave mold because he desired her.

He’d lied to her because of his own fears.

They’d both messed up.

Oh, Ben.

Why had he told her he wanted to be her slave? Whatever had possessed him? She’d known he was almost vanilla. Had cautioned him because he was so new to the lifestyle. Told him he was rushing things.

Her eyes welled with tears. Her memory of that day was so clear, the joy she’d felt so brilliant. “I’ll be your slave.”

And because she remembered so well, she also recalled what had happened before. How Ben had handed her the phone.

Joey’d been on the line.

She froze as the puzzle came together. Oh. Damn.

After a long moment, she rubbed her hands over her face gently. Her skin felt fragile, as if a sudden movement might cause pieces to fall away.

Joey’d asked to be her slave again, and Ben had heard enough to worry.

She sighed, seeing how events had created the inevitability of this day. Because Ben wasn’t the sort of man who’d allow someone to poach his woman. If he’d been with her longer or understood more about the lifestyle, he’d have known he didn’t want a 24/7 submissive or slave relationship.

But Joey had forced his hand.

She’d been so stunned—“Yes, Ma’am, this is what I want”—and so filled with happiness, that she hadn’t questioned his motivation.

Then, as she tumbled into loving him, she’d seen only what she wanted to see. Love might be blind, but it was also deaf, dumb, and stupid.

She pressed her lips together. Her heedlessness had hurt them both.

Now what should she do?

A half-laugh escaped. The person she’d normally ask for guidance would be Ben. She rubbed her chest where the aching mass of bruised heart muscle hadn’t stopped throbbing. He knew her. He’d have given her solid advice because he liked her the way she was.

With him, she’d been able to relax and not stay “on” all the time.

Was that because he didn’t need her to always be strong and invulnerable.

He was smart. Easygoing. Deadly. Competent. A survivor of the worst New York could throw at him and war, as well. He didn’t need her to make his decisions.

She blew out a breath, feeling like an idiot. Caught up in the way she always did things, she’d tried to make every choice for her, for him, for them.

He didn’t need her to be in charge.

What about her? Could she cope with a relationship where she wasn’t in control all the time?