Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(22)

He eyed her, realization dawning. “You figured I was some worthless biker in a gang.” Relief trickled through his veins. Her antipathy to him wasn’t from his scars but the conclusions she’d drawn about them. Come to think of it, he did look damned disreputable. He hadn’t even shaved for weeks.

Amusement rose. “Were you thinking Carson’d be hanging out with me, learning how to pick up biker chicks, and doing drugs?”

Her coloring made for gorgeous blushes. Gaze tipped down toward her lap, she nodded. “He’s at the age where he’s looking for a male role model, and you’re right next door. I was scared.”

He put his fingers under her stubborn chin and lifted, forcing her to look at him. Distress filled her gaze, her expression. She was more upset over hurting his feelings than she had been when Edward gave her hell. What kind of a woman got this upset because she might’ve hurt a guy’s feelings? “No worries, pet.”

Unlike Amber and her fake apology, Josie showed true repentance. The sheer honesty of her emotions pulled at the Dom in him. What she felt clearly showed in her big eyes and soft mouth.

Holt brushed her bangs out of her face and continued, “Although I ride a bike, I don’t belong to any motorcycle gang or club.”

“Oh.”

The skin under her chin was like silk. And her mouth was damned appealing, the top lip sweetly curved. Unable to resist, he stroked his thumb over her lower lip. So fucking soft. Quivering slightly.

Her breathing changed…as if she’d become aware of him as more than someone she’d insulted.

Be good, Master Holt. He dropped his hand.

She cleared her throat. “Um, right.”

Her color had risen. Yeah, she definitely was looking at him differently.

“Max said you’d be back at work soon.”

“Yes. It’ll be a relief since sitting at home is driving me nuts. Unfortunately, the chief benches both firefighters and paramedics until they’re in fighting trim.”

“I was rude to a firefighter—a hero?” She closed her eyes. “Just shoot me now.”

She was damned cute.

“Josie.” He waited until she opened her eyes. “You weren’t that rude, and it’s not a problem. Carson’s lucky to have a mother who worries about him.”

“He might do better with one who doesn’t jump to idiotic conclusions.”

When she bit her lip, his gaze dropped to her mouth. Color flooded her face again.

“I—uh,” She jumped to her feet. “I need to get back to my bar. Thank you for being so understanding.”

“Sure.” Sipping his warm drink, he watched her walk away.

After hearing she’d fucked up, she’d come right to him to apologize and confess. Repentant. She really was a sweetheart, wasn’t she? But no matter how cute and honest, she wasn’t a Shadowlands member. And she was his neighbor.

Nope, not going to go there.





Chapter Five





On Saturday evening, Josie scowled at the words on the computer screen. Her heroes might have magical powers, but they were still teenagers, and she could swear that her son’s new I’m-being-put-upon attitude was showing up in two of the team members. You guys are supposed to be better than this, she told them sternly.

Even worse, Tigre was still flirting with Laurent. No, no, no. Maybe she should turn his attention to a buxom milkmaid and give Laurent a life lesson about the duration of a man’s “love”.

With a sigh, she pushed the keyboard away and rose from her desk. Enough frustration. Time to dress for her second night in the Shadowlands.

As she wiggled out of her ragged jeans and into sleek black pants, anticipation uncurled inside her. The club was unlike anywhere she’d ever been. Everything had tugged at her senses.

The groans and screams and the sounds of flesh being struck in innumerable ways blended with the ominous bass-heavy music.

The scents—sex, leather, citrusy cleansers, all mingling with the aroma of beer and wine at the bar.

The sights—the darkly attired Doms and the brighter, scantily clad or naked submissives.

The majority of nightclubs catered to young, slender, heterosexuals. However, the Shadowlands’ people came in all sizes and shapes, all gender identities and preferences. She loved the variety.

Even so, she’d had a few moments.

When she’d seen a Dom sticking needles into a woman’s breasts—in a spiraling pattern no less—her breasts totally shriveled up inside her bra.

One person, attired head-to-toe as a pony, had been led around on reins. She couldn’t see herself in that kind of costume, but the pony’s shoe-hooved feet had been dancing with delight. Go, pony!

The evening had been a constant immersion in sensual sounds, scents, and sights. Honestly, she’d had sex and been less aroused. Truly, spending hours with—she rolled her eyes—with a damp pussy was most disconcerting. Was the Shadowlands truly a place she wanted to work?

And yet… And yet…

She could do the work. Check.

She liked the people. Check.

The pay was excellent. Check. Face it, she needed the money.

If only she didn’t have this unwelcome desire to participate.

Her inner kinkster was struggling to emerge, wasn’t it? Part of her attraction to Carson’s father—may his testicles shrivel and drop off—was how he’d taken charge. The day before she and her father had returned to Texas, Everett had tied her up and spanked her. She’d been horrified. Cried. And orgasmed.