To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(18)

Very slowly, he dropped to one knee and touched her cheek with his fingertips to get her attention. He could feel tiny shudders running through her. “Kimberly, can you tell me why you’re crying?” Should he call Gabi now?

To his complete shock, she rubbed her cheek against his hand like an overwhelmed kitten, and her blue, blue eyes looked up at him. “I forgot. I didn’t even remember…”

He cupped her cheek and rubbed her shoulder, feeling the fragile bones. “What did you forget, gatita?”

“You live on the beach. On the gulf.” Her eyes were wide—not with fear, but with joy. “I can breathe again. Thank you.”

He laughed and rubbed his knuckles over her curving cheek. Perhaps this was not such a forlorn hope after all. If she could share happiness with him, then the rest would come.

* * * *

The next day, Kim stepped out of the guest room onto the long balcony overlooking the gulf. Master R had an interesting place in a beach-house-meets-hacienda way. It was two-story stucco except for a small third story, like a tower, and curved in a C shape around the patio up from the sandy shore. With huge arched windows and balconies everywhere, the inside seemed to merge into the outdoors.

She squinted against the bright sunlight that reflected on the water. Almost noon. She’d hidden in the bedroom since breakfast.

With a sigh, she dropped onto the dark red cushioned chair. Bare feet on the iron railing, she leaned her head back, immersing herself in the feeling of the moisture forming on her skin, the ocean breeze, the heat of the sun. Waves lapped quietly on the sand, the gentle gulf surf nothing like that of her energetic Atlantic. A gull circled, screeching.

Oh, she’d missed the ocean. The rhythm of her life had been marked by the tides, starting on her father’s fishing trawler to her work as a marine biologist. But slaves were shut inside, never to see the sun or hear the surf. Worse than any drug addict, she’d craved the sound and smell of the shore.

She’d probably scared Master R with her reaction last night, but apparently he’d understood. He’d laughed.

He can laugh . He had a great laugh. Braced by the knowledge, she’d made it through yesterday evening without panicking. She’d been quite proud of herself.

A noise came from the room behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder. Sitting with her back to a door felt as if she asked to be attacked, but she forced herself to stay. To try to relax. To ignore the certainty a stranger would come out of nowhere and grab her. Knowing Master R was in the house helped…at least with the stranger-abduction fear.

It sucked to have so many fears she had to name them.

Would Master R create more terror than he eased? A tremor ran through her. I don’t know him at all. Aside from insisting she eat supper with him, he’d left her alone last evening, letting her get used to his house, to losing Gabi’s support…although Gabi had called about every half hour to check on her. Kim smiled. Sweet Gabi.

But Master R apparently realized how terrifying his presence was—not for anything he’d done, but because he was male. A dom.

He was even more careful with her than Marcus had been. Like last night when she’d had a nightmare. Nothing new. Usually Gabi would hear her screams and wake her up. This time it had been Master R.

“Kimberly.” His voice had entered her dream, where she was pinned down, unspeakable things…pain… “Kimberly!” Such a smooth voice. The horrors reverberated through her in the slaps, the burning. “Wake up, chica!” A sharp command. A master’s voice. Her eyes had snapped open. A man in the doorway. Another scream, awake now, but the lights were on, and she saw—after a minute—the man who had bought her. Freed her. Master R.


He’d waited until she said his name before entering, then fetched her a glass of water from the bathroom. Pulled up a chair. Let her drink and shake. He hadn’t touched her once, and his presence had turned comforting. Did he know if he’d loomed over her, she’d have gone into hysterics? That she couldn’t stand being touched right then, not after the nightmare of so many men?

He’d watched her, patient and quiet, then picked up the book she had on the bedside table and simply read to her in that voice, dark with a twist of accent. No nightmare could compete with Raoul Sandoval reading Huckleberry Finn.

So she really was better. Maybe the spark of her very self hadn’t gone out. Maybe she wasn’t filthy inside, deserving of everything done to her and more. Only she felt dirty. Ugly and ruined. She blinked against the welling tears. Would “filthy slut” echo in her mind forever?

The psychologist hadn’t made much progress with her feelings of self-loathing. Or with helping her to figure out what came next, after this was over. How could she go back to her job, knowing someone might grab her again? That—

She heard a footstep and jerked around, heart jackhammering against her ribs.

“Easy, gatita.” Master R stopped. Waited, his eyes steady on hers.

“Sorry.”

“You have the right to be jumpy.” He squatted beside her chair, tilting her chin up to wipe her cheeks with his fingers. “And to cry. No matter how strong you are, I think you will be in tears often for a while.”

“Are we going to start…?” She couldn’t finish, hated how pitiful she sounded.

“When you are ready, Kimberly, come downstairs and we’ll talk.”