Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(40)
“But…that’s a wonderful first name.” He even looked like an Alexander. “Why not use it?”
“Ah, well, when I was young, I spent some time in a place”—his eyes darkened—“where there was another Alex. After a while, people simply used my last name, and I got used to it.”
Where had he been that gave him such a haunted look in his eyes? “I see.”
“One syllable. Nice and short.” The shadows disappeared as his lips curved. “I did some modeling way back when, and my agent used simply ‘Holt’. Said it was memorable.”
Modeling. And with only a one word name. She smiled slightly. Yes, he had the self-assurance of someone who would say: This is who I am. Take it or leave it. “You went from modeling to being a firefighter and RN?”
“Yep. Actually, the money I banked from doing commercials paid my college tuition.” Holt finished the last bite of roast beef on his plate and leaned back in his chair. “That was an amazing dinner, Josie. Thank you.”
“It seemed the least I could do for your help last night. Would you like some dessert?”
“No room right now. How about we try out that dessert wine I brought?”
“Sounds perfect.” She picked up her plate, pleased when he followed and loaded the dishwasher with his own dishes.
After pulling the corkscrew from the drawer, Josie saw Holt studying the fridge. Between snapshots of Carson and Oma and Josie were the grocery list and a list of emergency numbers. Taking the pen dangling from a string, Holt added his name and cell phone number to the emergency list. Seeing her watching, he said casually, “Feel free to call me when things go thump in the night or you find ogres under your bed.”
The offer left her speechless. She hadn’t had anyone to scare away monsters since…since she was Carson’s age. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Feeling flustered, she opened the bottle of Tokaji and poured two glasses. When she felt his eyes on her, she hesitated. Was she supposed to have let him do this task? Had she upset his sense of masculinity?
He only grinned. “It’s a pleasure to watch a master at work.”
Of course he didn’t mind. She’d never met anyone so downright confident.
“I was wondering,” he said. “The Shadowlands is only open two nights a week. Do you need help getting a job at another bar, as well? I know a fair number of people.”
His concern warmed her heart. “Thank you, but there’s no need. I don’t want to work more than part-time.”
His head tilted slightly in an unspoken direction to continue explaining.
“I’m an author of teen fantasy novels.” She took a sip of the wine, enjoying the gentle bouquet of sweet flavors. “Although the four books I have out now sell well, I still need a day job.”
“An author—that’s fantastic.” The respect in his voice was heartening. “You bartend part-time and spend your days writing?”
“Writing, promoting, researching. Yes.” She grinned. “This afternoon, I researched medieval punishments. I always thought putting a person in the “stocks” meant she stood bent over with her head and wrists restrained—but that’s a pillory. A stock is the board with semicircles cut out and hinged to another stock to make circles. Traditional stocks restrained a person by the ankles.”
“Good to know. The Shadowlands has a few wooden stocks—both head and wrists post restraints or seated ankle restraints, but we lump them all under stocks.”
“Exactly. The things you learn…”
He leaned against the counter and studied her. “And are you interested in that kind of restraint?” His smooth voice flowed over her like poured honey.
Then she realized what he was asking. “Me?” She actually squeaked. But, oh, my, God. There were pillories in the Shadowlands…and he wanted to know if she liked them? The zing went right through and straight to her pussy. “I…um…hadn’t thought… I just wanted to avoid having my hero sent to a jail where a rescue would be too tricky.”
“Of course.” He pushed a lock of hair out of her eyes with the merest brush of his fingers. “Now tell me, which would be more exciting—being restrained by your ankles?” He paused. “Or bent over with your neck and wrists imprisoned?”
The minute he said bent over, heat engulfed her.
“Ah.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ll let Z know the pillory is your choice of discipline.”
She gave him a reproving look. Bad Dom.
With an easy grin, he picked up the glasses of wine. “Let’s take this to the living room, shall we?”
How did he make a suggestion sound like an order? “Sure.”
He led the way and set both glasses on the coffee table. It wouldn’t be polite to pick up her glass and choose the chair across the room.
In response to her narrowed eyes, he merely smiled and opened his hand toward one end of the couch.
Were Doms sneaky as well as bossy? Giving in and taking a seat, she picked up her wine and kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief.
He sat down near the other end of the couch. Not close enough to make her uneasy, but still…close enough.
She studied her wine for a second before looking up. Although he was disconcertingly easy to talk with, she never seemed to find her balance around him. Maybe because the mere sound of his resonant voice sent champagne bubbles through her veins.