Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(57)

Her smile disappeared. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”


“Did you forget something, Josie?” Oma called from her kitchen as Josie hurriedly stepped back inside and closed the front door.

“Ah, no.” Despite the stabbing pain in Josie’s heart, she forced her voice to stay light. “Your next-door neighbor is having an intimate moment on his front stoop. I’ll give him time to take it inside.”

“The fancy redhead?”

Fancy? Mmm, that would be a good word for the woman. Her tailored mint green suit showcased a tall slender figure. Matching green fingernails had sparkled when the redhead spread her fingers over Holt’s chest.

“Yes, she’s a redhead. I take it he has a girlfriend?”

“Well, I never saw any women there except that one—and Uzuri, of course. Uzuri said Holt went through women like Moses parting the Red Sea until this one. She thought he might be settling down.”

Josie swallowed. “Oh. Well, that’s good.” The words…hurt. Went through women. Settling down.

He and the redhead looked good together. Both were stunning.

Feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach, Josie sank down on the couch in Oma’s living room.

How stupid could she be? She’d gone and done what she’d told herself not to do—fallen into…caring…for the damn man.

Reality check, Josephine. Holt wasn’t her lover, wasn’t a boyfriend, wasn’t even anyone she’d dated.

Just because he was a Master at the Shadowlands and had indulged her in a scene, well, it didn’t mean anything, now did it? They’d had a…a pickup scene which was the equivalent to dancing with someone at a nightclub. No strings, no promises. Fun was had by all. Just because he’d…looked…at her and taken charge and touched her in a way that fulfilled all her dreams didn’t mean anything.

At least to him. It shouldn’t have meant anything to her, either.

But, dammit, couldn’t he have told her he had a girlfriend? She’d even asked him. She didn’t poach on other women’s men. Why did men think it was right to touch other women when they were already in relationships? Did the redhead know Holt had spent a couple of hours kissing and touching Josie intimately?

Her teeth clenched as the wounds from Everett’s letter reopened. “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…”

Why did men lie? But they did. All right? Just…get over it.

She tried to rub away the ache that had centered under her sternum. Maybe BDSM people didn’t consider participating in a scene to be cheating. After all, some club members were involved with a multitude of people, like the woman who had a “vanilla” husband, served as a slave to her Master, and topped other women. Josie’s eyes had almost crossed.

Maybe Holt didn’t think he’d done anything wrong.

But Josie wasn’t in the BDSM lifestyle, and he should have told her he had a girlfriend. Master Holt had talked about being honest; yet it seemed the truthfulness went only one way.

Her jaw was so tense it ached.

No. More. Men. Ever. She knew better.

She heard a car start up and leave. A glance out the window showed the redhead’s car was gone. “Looks like the road is clear. See you tomorrow, Oma. Enjoy the cake.”

As Oma called her farewell, Josie crossed the front lawn and hurried past Holt’s half of the duplex. To her relief, his front door was closed.

Please, God, don’t let him be at the Shadowlands tonight.





Chapter Twelve





That night at the Shadowlands, Holt greeted a new security guard, crossed through the empty clubroom and went out the side door to the Capture Gardens where the festivities were being held. He stopped in surprise.

Well. The physical landscape hadn’t changed—the wide green lawn still sprawled between the mansion and the densely landscaped acreage. But the atmosphere? Totally changed. Rather than the ominous, dark area used for catch-and-fuck games, the ambiance was that of a party.

The Shadowlands was celebrating Saturnalia—the hedonistic holiday of ancient Rome.

Z hadn’t made costumes mandatory, which Holt appreciated. He hadn’t wanted to figure out an outfit. Some subbies were in variations of Roman attire, including a couple of bedsheet togas.

The buildings and tables were illuminated by strings of tiny clear lights. More colored lights in shades of blue wound around the dwarf trees. Gilded low shrubs and plants sparkled. Sun symbols and the two-headed face of Janus dangled from everywhere…and damned if that wasn’t the soundtrack from Gladiator playing. Z was a crazy bastard sometimes.

BDSM equipment alternated with king-sized mats around the edges of the lawn—and everything was in use. The center and left of the lawn was filled with Doms reclining in the low lounge chairs, submissives at their feet.

The food and bar area was to the right. A portable bar was set up, but empty. No Josie. The feeling of disappointment was…not surprising. But he’d find her.

Food was being served on both wooden tables and human tables.

In a variation of the Japanese nyotaimori—sushi served on a human body—several naked submissives were on hands and knees with platters of food on their backs.