Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(23)

In fact, she’d dreamed about that spanking for years afterward, albeit her hero sure hadn’t been Everett. Aragorn had starred for a while. Ironman should be called Ironhand. The various King Arthurs—yep. Always someone from books or movies. Until last night.

She shook her head and felt her face flush. In her dreams last night, Holt had been the one spanking her. Kissing her.

Dominating her.

But, honestly, fantasies were one thing; real life was a whole different kettle of fish.

The security guard named Ghost had called her submissive. She scowled and yanked a brush through her short hair, then fluffed the ends. She might be a bit kinky in her dreams, but submissive for real? Doubtful. After all, she ruled this house and the youngster in it. Single mothers didn’t have the liberty to be submissive.

Any woman—not just a submissive one—would enjoy watching the Shadowlands Masters. Wasn’t it funny how different they all were? Sam, the rancher sadist, had dressed in jeans and a regular shirt, whereas Master Marcus’s suit must have cost a pretty penny. Cullen had worn brown leathers. Holt went with all black, but nothing fancy. There was no relationship between attire and Master status.

Then—since she wrote about superheroes—she’d rather hoped their esoteric Master powers would hum or something. Nada. None of them had cool glowy auras either. Talk about a letdown.

Despite the lack of glowy auras, the power was there. Whenever one of them gave a command, she’d obeyed without thinking. That had been…strange.

It was even more unsettling to learn her new neighbor was a member of that club. Of course, she’d gotten the job because Master Z had been at his house. But still… Holt was not only a member, but also one of those super-powerful Masters.

When he’d touched her, lifted her chin, run his thumb over her lip, she’d forgotten how to breathe. Why did he have to be so devastatingly gorgeous? And kind. When she’d confessed to her rudeness, he’d been sympathetic. Even a bit amused.

He sure hadn’t been amused about Amber’s behavior. His anger had been scarily impressive. He’d never raised his voice, but boy, he’d sure dealt with the problem.

Well, no matter how gorgeous, he was her neighbor and a member of the place where she worked. She wasn’t foolish enough to trespass over those lines.

Eyeing herself in the mirror, she ordered, “You will stick to your bartending, Josephine, and ignore the scenes and your neighbor.” Right. No problem.

She glanced at the clock and winced. Time to get Carson ready to spend the night at Oma’s.

As she crossed the room, she tripped over a box and pain seared her toes. Hopping on one foot, she tried to catch her balance. “Dammit!”

She glared at the box and the others stacked along the wall. Every room still held unpacked boxes. On the last day of moving, they’d abandoned organizing and labeling. Everything left in the apartment had been tossed willy-nilly into whatever box was closest.

With a grin, Josie recalled Carson’s appalled expression when he’d realized an unlabeled box must have the TV remote. Her boy was turning into such a guy. He’d immediately started unpacking boxes.

“Hey, Carson.” She entered the living room. “Did you find the TV stuff?”

The room was empty. He wasn’t in the backyard. Frowning, she checked his bedroom, bathroom, then heard noise from the fourth bedroom, currently being used for storage.

There he was, sitting on the carpet beside a box, its contents spilled over the floor.

Seeing her own face on a beach photo, she realized Carson had knocked over her memory box. It’d been filled with old photos, her diaries from teendom, her high school writing awards.

Carson was perusing a paper.

As Josie moved closer, a chill ran up her spine. That was Everett’s office paper with the dark blue logo and font…and his harsh handwriting. The blood drained from her head and left her without two thoughts to rub together, let alone explanations.

Because, even after a decade, she recognized what Carson held.

Giving in to Josie’s begging, Everett’s receptionist had hand-carried Josie’s note into his office. Her note had said she was over four months pregnant. Carson was reading Everett’s response. Oh, God.

Josie.

You must surely know I’ve been avoiding you. Since you can’t take a hint, I’ll be blunt. As you know, I’m married. Happily married. With a child whom I love. I never did anything to lead you to believe I held feelings for you—or to have you accuse me of being the father of your child. If you are truly pregnant—which I doubt—I’m certainly not the father. Look to one of the other numerous boys you’ve been with.

If you persist in harassing me, I will be forced to take legal action.

Everett

Josie closed her eyes. Reading the letter had been like being on the receiving end of a beating. So many blows straight to her heart, driving her back, hurting her. Bam, bam, bam.

He’d been “avoiding her”. She’d told herself he was busy. After all, he’d told her repeatedly how much he loved her. He’d said he couldn’t wait for her to return to St. Petersburg.

He was “happily married”? Then why had he said he was separated and getting a divorce from his hateful wife? He’d sure never mentioned a child.

“I’m certainly not the father.” Her teeth gritted together. He certainly was Carson’s father. During her high school Christmas break, her father had taken her to St. Petersburg so he could go deep-sea fishing with his friends. He figured she’d enjoy the beach. Seeing her sitting alone, Everett had flirted with her, charmed her, and then banged her every spare moment of every day. He’d taken her more than once without a condom. “I’ll pull out, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”