Текст книги "Dangerously Broken"
Автор книги: Eden Bradley
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Then he did kiss her—he had to. He took her mouth, pushing his tongue inside, meeting her panting breath with his own. He couldn’t kiss her hard enough. Couldn’t get enough of her mouth. Couldn’t get enough of her. It was the most incredible feeling. And even as the last of the storm passed through her, and through him, he knew that this girl could either be his heaven, or his undoing.
Rolling off her, he disposed of the condom, then reached for her, pulling her close while he tried to catch his breath. She snuggled right into that pocket at the juncture of his shoulder and his chest as if she belonged there.
She does belong. She belongs to me.
Wishful thinking, maybe? He didn’t want to overload her. He wasn’t sure what she was ready for. Hell, he wasn’t sure what he was ready for. And then there was the whole death magnet thing hanging over his head, the black cloud he carried with him everywhere he went. It had been with him his entire life. First Ian. Then Brandon. His parents’ marriage. Then what had happened with Traci. And the one thing he’d never spoken to another person about. Not Mick. Not Allie. And it sure as hell wasn’t something he could tell Summer Grace. Was it?
Don’t fucking think about it.
With a practiced mind, he turned away from the shadowed thoughts plaguing him. Pulling Summer Grace closer into his side, he sought comfort in the warmth of her body. She was so trusting, and it was some weird kind of turn-on—or maybe not so weird for a Dominant. Wasn’t that part of the package? With great power came great responsibility. It was something he craved. He turned to kiss her forehead and found her long, thick lashes resting on her high, flushed cheekbones. So damn lovely, this woman.
“You sleepy?” he asked her.
“Mmm, yes. Sleepy. Needy. Wanting more. Why can’t I ever get enough of you?”
His body immediately responded—so damn sexy. Her husky tone. The words that echoed what he felt whenever he was with her. She squirmed, shifting, and he felt every sinuous curve of her petite, feminine form: soft hips and delicate legs, the flawless curve of her breasts, her hardening nipples pressing against his ribs.
“Jamie? More, please . . . ? I mean, if you’re not done with me.”
He narrowed his gaze in the dim lighting and focused on the black-painted steel crossbars in the canopy overhead—and remembered that all the canopy beds at The Bastille had a built-in suspension system. His imagination kicked into high gear—into hot, screaming overdrive.
“Oh, sugar, the night is far from over.”
“I’m ready. For whatever you want to do to me.”
He slipped his hand down her thigh, over her baby-soft skin, his fingertips reading the welts from the caning like Braille—and it all spoke the language of desire. Of pleasure derived from pain. “Can you come again?”
“I can do whatever you want,” she purred.
He grinned as he sat up and got on his knees on the firm mattress, pulling her up with him by the leather cuffs still attached to her wrists. He got her on her knees and held her arms over her head by the carabiners still attached to the cuffs, and clipped them to the rings on the overhead bars.
“Jamie . . . what . . . ?”
He put a hand over her mouth, which he knew she loved. “Shh, now. You’re going to like this. Or I’m going to like this. Mmm . . . both. All you have to do is get comfortable in the cuffs and straddle my face, pretty girl.”
She blinked, smiled, batted her long lashes. “Ohhh.”
“Cuffs feel okay?”
She flexed her fingers. Good girl. “Yes.”
He smoothed his palms over her thighs as he lay on the bed and slid down, positioning himself until her plump, wet pussy was right over his face. So beautiful. He licked his lips, simply looking at her for several long moments. Then he pulled a pillow under his head so he could reach her. And dove in.
He licked her first, one long, slow slide of his tongue up her slit to the tight nub of her clitoris, then down again. She sighed quietly. He licked again, went a little deeper into her slit this time, the tip of his tongue delving inside her, and she ground her hips against his mouth. He pulled back.
“Ah, ah,” he warned. “Bad girl, Summer Grace.”
He held on to her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, but she only moaned in pleasure. He knew she was too far gone to really control herself, and decided to do it for her, as much for his sake as for hers. Grasping her hips harder, he moved them back and forth as he lapped at her, pausing to suck on her clit, then back to lapping at her sweet juices. Soon they were working together, her hips following his lead, undulating, a seductive, sinuous motion. She was so wet he couldn’t believe it. So wet he had to let her hips go to sink his fingers into her—two, then three. Had to. He pumped into her and she groaned, murmuring his name. He pulled back an inch to watch her, eager to see her desire. Her pussy was like a ripe fruit, so pink and swollen, so sensitive. And she was so lost in the moment. Lost in abandon. Wanton. It was an old-fashioned word, but it fit. And she was so thoroughly trusting, which was a turn-on in itself, something he was discovering with her might be a new fetish for him.
He smiled, his fingers sliding in her wetness, slipping back until one fingertip was pressing on that tightest of holes. She gasped, then let out a whispered, “Yes please, Jamie.”
He pressed his wet finger against her, then slipped the tiniest bit of the tip into her ass. She pulled in a breath, and as she exhaled, he slid in a little further.
“Oh God, yes.
He took her clit in his mouth again, sucking, flicking the tip with his tongue, letting his finger rest in her beautiful ass, loving how she felt like an impossibly tight velvet glove there. But soon she was grinding onto his finger, and he slid it in and out slowly as he worked her clit with his tongue.
She panted harder, her hips arching into his mouth, then back onto his probing finger. Her panting was loud and hard, and in moments her entire body clenched. She shook all over for several long moments before she really started to come. Then it was a savage clenching of her ass and her pussy, her thighs. And she called his name, then screamed it.
“Jamie . . . Ah . . . Jamie, Jamie!”
He let her ride the waves, his body buzzing with a deep pleasure that had nothing to do with his own spent cock. Or maybe it did—he didn’t know. All he knew was a sense of satisfaction he’d never quite felt before. At having brought this woman—this woman—so much pleasure.
He couldn’t think about what it all meant right now as he sat up and cleaned his hands and face with the wipes in a basket next to the bed, then carefully wiped her clean. Getting up on his knees, he faced her, pressing his bare chest to her breasts, pressed harder until he could feel the plush cushion of them, her hard nipples. She let her head fall back as he kissed her throat, her lovely collarbones, her shoulders. Then finally her mouth. Pressing his lips against hers, he wanted to drink her in all over again. She was nearly limp, but she kissed him back, her mouth soft on his.
When he unclipped her wrist cuffs from the bed frame she sank onto the mattress with him. Shifting her onto her side, he curled behind her, spooning her, his arms around her, listening to her breathe. He refused to let his mind try to dissect what had happened tonight. Between them. In his head. It was getting too complicated and he wanted to enjoy the moment. The hour. The night.
* * *
THEY’D SLEPT FOR a while, although Summer wasn’t sure how long. Twenty minutes? Three hours? Did it matter?
All that really mattered was that she was there with Jamie, her body sore and worn out from play and sex—and God, the sex! The kink play aside, the sex was spectacular. Was it that she’d finally been able to give herself over to the submissive role with him? A part of her still held back, but she’d never let go before the way she had tonight. Was it the setting—being at The Bastille? Or was it simply the evolution of their connection?
Her body was still buzzing with orgasm . . . seemingly endless orgasms. The blood pumping through her veins seemed to be moving in time with the rhythmic thump thump of the music playing in the dungeon, driven by that orgasmic buzz. And if she really listened she could hear Jamie’s heartbeat—could almost feel it with his chest still pressed against her back.
Hers suddenly jackhammered for no apparent reason, a tear forming in her eye.
Ridiculous!
She wiped at the tear with her thumb.
“Hey, sugar.” His voice was a quiet, rasping murmur. “You’re awake.”
She bit her lip. “Kind of. Are you?”
“Kind of.” He gave her a squeeze and she realized he’d held her in his arms this whole time. “We had a good workout—we earned some rest.”
“What time do you think it is?” she asked, more to distract herself than because she really wanted to know. There was too much going on her head. Or in that space in her chest that had remained empty for too long.
Damn it.
“No idea. The Bastille is pretty much a place without time, and I didn’t wear my watch tonight.”
She loved the watch he usually wore—it had a wide, black leather band and a large square face edged in brushed steel. Utterly masculine. Utterly Dom-like.
“Why didn’t you wear it?” she asked idly, stroking the soft hair at his wrist.
“Mmm . . . too distracted by the idea of bringing you here tonight, I guess. You mess with my focus, woman.”
She laughed. “I think that’s a good thing.”
“You would.” He tickled her ribs, and she squealed, kicking.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself, sassy wench.”
“That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”
“Apparently being caned until you scream makes you bratty.”
“Nah. I’m always bratty.”
He chuckled against her hair. “True.” They were both quiet for a bit. Then he said, “Summer Grace—you know what I want to do tomorrow? I want to go to City Park and hang out at the lake and lounge around on those old, bent live oak trees. I want to drink some iced chicory coffee with too much sugar and have those amazing beignets at the coffee stand there like the tourists do.”
“They are some of the best beignets in the city. Fuck the tourists.”
“Oh no, you’re saving that for me, sugar.”
She was quiet, her heart hammering. “Am I, Jamie?”
“Yeah. You are if you want to, Summer Grace. I can’t make that demand of you, you know.”
She sat up, her heart tumbling in her chest, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. “Jamie, this has to be more than just the consent of kink. You have to tell me you want this. For us to be exclusive. I mean, I have been, but . . .”
“So have I. But yes, I want that. Damn right I do, sugar girl, who tastes sweeter than chicory coffee in the park.” He pulled her down and kissed her hard, then let her go. “You want to skip this place and hit Café Du Monde for some beignets? They’re not as good as City Park, but I think they may be the only place open this time of night—whatever the hell time it is.”
She laughed. “Now?”
“Yes, now. I’m starving and my girl wants beignets. Come on and let’s get you put together.”
She looked up at him as he unbuckled one of the cuffs and slid it from her wrist. “Jamie?”
“Hmm?”
She bit her lip, watching him closely. “Your girl.”
He shifted his focus to her face, let the leather cuff fall to the mattress and twined his fingers with hers, smiling in a way that made her heart melt like a hot pool between her breasts. “Yeah. All mine.”
CHAPTER
Nine
CAFÉ DU MONDE at four in the morning was like few other places on earth. Even in July, which was usually far too hot and damp for most of the tourists, it was full of the after-bar and after-dinner crowds, as well as the tourists who braved the heat of a Louisiana summer. People wore everything from formal evening wear to shorts and cheesy T-shirts. Jamie quickly spotted a corner table that looked out onto Decatur Street and Jackson Square on the other side of the boulevard, where a few of the horse-drawn carriages were parked, the horses and drivers napping in the pre-dawn heat. The air was damp and smelled like sugary-coffee heaven as he led Summer to the table and helped her into her seat, then sat down next to her, scooting his chair close enough that his long legs tangled with hers.
He leaned in and murmured against her cheek, “I will never smell beignets and chicory coffee again without it reminding me of you.”
She pushed against his shoulder. “Don’t be silly, Jamie. You’ve lived in New Orleans most of your life.”
“Yeah. But I’m here with you right now, and that’s all that counts.”
“You’re just high on kink and sex.”
He pulled her close and nuzzled her ear. “I’m high on you.”
It was everything she’d ever wanted to hear from him. She didn’t give a damn how corny it might sound to anyone else. She tried to ignore the tiny voice in her head that told her it was too good to be true.
The waiter interrupted them and Jamie pulled away to order their coffees and enough beignets for a small army while thunder rolled overhead. Rain began to spatter on the sugar-covered sidewalk outside the green and white striped awning that covered most of the café’s seating area, adding to the intimate ambience, making the café seem more like a haven. The fact that the place was crowded with wall-to-wall people didn’t even matter.
“So what do you say we get to know each other better?” Jamie asked.
Summer laughed. “We’ve known each other almost forever.”
“We have. But it’s like when you live someplace and you take certain things for granted, so you never really think about it on a conscious level. How many times have you passed historic homes in the Garden District without giving them a second thought beyond how beautiful the architecture is?”
“Hmm, I guess I see what you mean. Where do you want to start? Like . . . what’s your favorite color?”
He grinned, his dimples creasing. He was damn adorable, despite the salacious things they’d done tonight. His dimples were maybe the only thing that could allow her to think of him that way.
“The cornflower blue of your eyes, sweetheart,” he said.
She groaned. “Oh God, Jamie—if we were still just friends I might have to gag.”
He laughed. “It’s kinda true. When I’m not at the club, I wear a lot of blue.”
“Yes. And green and brown and still a lot of black.”
He raised his eyebrow, the barbell catching the light from the fluorescents overhead. “You’ve noticed.”
“So what if I have?”
“Just another fact to file away.”
“In that Domly-Dom mind of yours that must notice every tiny detail to use against me later?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m also marking off that smart-ass remark on my mental ledger of infractions where I keep track of how many spankings I owe you.”
She sat back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “That doesn’t scare me.”
He leaned in and said quietly, “Which only motivates me to find something that will.”
And just like that, her body was on fire again. But the waiter came by their table with their coffee in thick white ceramic cups and pastry on white paper plates, the powdered sugar drifting in the air and settling on the green-and-white plastic tablecloth. Jamie picked up a steaming beignet and held it to her mouth.
“You get first bite, despite your errant ways.”
She opened for him and he let the edge of the hot little piece of heaven rest on her tongue. She bit in, the sugar melting in her mouth. “Mmm.”
He reached out and thumbed some powdered sugar from the corner of her lip, and she picked up a napkin and wiped.
“Okay, so what else do you want to talk about?” she asked.
He shrugged, biting into his pastry. “I don’t know. Everything. Like . . . what was your favorite cartoon growing up?”
“Really? That’s what you want to know?”
“Why not?”
“Ninja Turtles.”
“Ha! That so does not surprise me.”
“What about you? Do you still watch any cartoons?”
“Only anime porn.”
Summer rolled her eyes and took another bite. “Which so does not surprise me,” she said, her voice muffled as she chewed. “Okay, next question. Have you ever wanted a dog?”
“Yeah, actually. Always. But I’m at work too much. It doesn’t feel like it’d be fair.”
“Couldn’t you adopt an older animal and have it at the shop with you? It could be your mascot.”
“Huh.” He sipped his coffee. “Maybe. That’s a pretty good idea.”
“What breed would it be?”
“Probably the mangiest mutt available. I always root for the underdog.”
“Aw, that’s sweet.”
He glanced down at his lap, then up again. “Come on, Summer Grace, don’t give me a hard time. I’m serious. And I’m not sweet.”
“I know you are. Serious and sweet.” She took his hand in hers. “I know, Jamie. I know you’re a Dominant, and that it’s no poser thing—that you’re the real deal. But you’re also still human. Maybe more than most people I know.”
He grinned, picked up her hand and brushed a kiss across the back of it. “Sugar, you sure know how to flatter a guy,” he teased. “But seriously. Thanks. You’re the real deal, too, you know. You dove into this kink thing head-first, and that’s not something most people can do. But I saw it that first moment in the club—the way you respond, the way your body moves, like you’re dancing to the beat. Or to the beating.” He grinned. “But it means you’re right in it. That’s not something you can fake. It’s a beautiful thing to see. And . . . I’m gonna give the dog some thought. How do you think Madame would react if I brought a dog over to your place?”
“With as much disdain as she responds to everything else.”
He grinned once more and nodded, letting go of her hand to eat another beignet. She watched him chew, the motion of his throat as he swallowed, the way his big hands curled around the white coffee mug, everything about him purely sensual. She loved this—sitting in the quiet café while the rain fell on the awning and the street. Watching the sleepy carriage horses, the acrid scent of chicory and the sweet scent of powdered sugar. But mostly she loved talking with him, getting to know each other in a way they’d never really taken the time to do. And the feeling that at last she belonged. To Jamie. She sighed and bit into another beignet. Did she even want to think about what the future might hold? Or did she want to simply live in this moment?
She sipped her coffee and her gaze wandered back to Jackson Square across the street. It was dark, other than the flickering candlelight of the fortune-tellers’ tables set up all around the perimeter. They were there every night, rain or shine, with their fluttering tablecloths, their animal bones and Tarot cards, their incense and candles.
“Jamie?”
“Hmm?”
“Let’s go get our fortunes read.”
He laughed. “What?”
She grabbed his hand and tugged. “Come on. Maybe they’ll tell you about your dog.”
“That’s nothing but tourist stuff, sugar. You don’t really believe all that, do you?”
“I was raised in New Orleans just like you were. Of course I do.”
“I was raised in Scotland until I was seven, which lent me a healthy dose of cynicism.”
“Actually, I’ve heard the Scots are a superstitious people. And some of those stories may have come from you, Mr. Cynicism.”
“Superstitious, yes. Gullible, no.”
She batted her lashes at him. “Please? It’s even stopped raining.”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay. But I’m finishing my beignets first.”
She leaned over and kissed his cheek, and he turned his head to capture her mouth. He tasted like coffee and chicory and man. She smiled as she sat back in her chair.
“Hurry, Jamie.”
He stuffed the last pastry into his mouth, wiped his hands on a napkin and got to his feet. “Lead the way, sweetheart—just remember you won’t have the opportunity often. You’re lucky I’m feeling generous tonight.”
She laughed and winked at him. “I have my ways of getting my way.”
He swatted her behind as they stepped onto the sidewalk. “Watch yourself. That’s another mark on the spanking ledger.”
“Promises, promises.”
He yanked her in close and growled in her ear, “You know damn well I’ll make good on those promises.”
“Mmm, I do. And I can’t wait.”
“Then let’s get this silliness over with and go back to your place.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better,” he muttered, but she could see his cheek dimpling as they crossed the street.
They milled around the edges of the square, gated for the night. The feral cats who lived in the park-like square itself hissed in warning when they walked too close to the iron fencing, checking out all the fortune-tellers’ tables until they found the one Summer wanted.
“This one,” she said, stopping in front of a woman with a small crescent moon tattooed between her eyes. She wore bloodred lipstick and an embroidered shawl, her dark hair hanging in long curls. Her dark eyes were lined in black, and she had a mysterious expression, as though she knew a secret. Summer wasn’t certain it was all for show.
“Have your future told?” the woman asked, her voice low and husky.
“How much is it?” Jamie asked.
“For you two? Twenty-five dollars for both. No, twenty. I like you.”
Jamie started to reach for his wallet.
“You pay me after,” the woman said. “Please. Sit.” She gestured to the two folding chairs in front of her table and Jamie took Summer’s hand as they seated themselves. “I am Madame Rain. I can read the Tarot cards for you, or your palms. I can also read energy.”
Suddenly Summer felt nervous, the tiny hairs at the back of her neck prickling. “Tarot, I think. Jamie? What should we have done?”
“This is your game, sweetheart. It’s your choice.”
She nodded with more certainty than she felt. “The cards, then.”
Madame Rain smiled and picked up a worn deck and began to shuffle. “Did you have a specific question? Or just a general reading?”
Summer glanced at Jamie, but he shrugged. “Just general, I think.”
“Ladies first,” the woman said, nodding toward Summer. She laid the cards out in a row and studied the beautifully intricate designs for several long moments, her brow furrowing. Then she reached out. “May I look at your palm, miss?”
Summer placed her free hand in Madame Rain’s. The fortune-teller moved her fingertips over Summer’s upturned palm, hovering there, then lightly touched it in places before looking up. “You’ve had a great deal of tragedy in your life. You have lost much, but you have also recently gained. You must learn to open yourself, my dear. You must learn to trust—that’s an ability you lost far too early in life.” She let Summer’s hand go and lifted one of the cards. “The Lovers. This card is about choices to be made, but it is also about relationships—friends as well as lovers.” She shot a quick glance at Jamie before refocusing on Summer. “You have good friends, very strong ties. But there is a new lover about whom a choice must be made. Perhaps not now, but soon.” She turned the card over and over between her fingers, her brows furrowed. “Yes, very soon.”
Summer’s heart was pounding and she didn’t dare to look at Jamie. But Madame Rain was lifting another card. “This card is The World, Key twenty-one of the Major Arcana, the card of attainment.” She gestured toward Summer with the card still in her hand. “But that attainment must be earned, and in this case it is dependent upon your choices. Ultimately, we are each responsible for our own destiny. Next we have the Ace of Wands, signifying change and growth. This card tells us that this is a crucial time for you. A wonderful time, but change can be stressful. Your life is moving in a circle, the continuous motion of Ouroboros. Do you know what that is, my dear?”
“It’s a symbol, isn’t it? A snake swallowing its own tail?”
“Yes. The serpent is a symbol of eternity, of the eternal cycles in life. You find it in nearly every ancient culture: Greece, Egypt, in South America, and the Norse have their own very powerful version. But it always speaks to the same things, always pointing to cycles, to the times when we find ourselves back at the beginning somehow. But it also means we have the gift of starting over. Starting anew.”
Summer squeezed Jamie’s hand and he squeezed back. This time she did turn to look at him, to smile at him, but his features were closed to her. She had no idea what he was thinking—probably that this Tarot reading was pure crap. But she knew the magic of New Orleans, and she felt the truth of Madame Rain’s words.
“I think . . . I think I know what you’re talking about,” she said.
They spoke for a few more minutes about the details in her reading, then the fortune-teller gathered the cards back into the deck and shuffled again, turning to Jamie. “Now for you, sir.”
Jamie shrugged as the woman laid the cards out on the table. The first one she picked up had an image of a knight on a horse, the face in the armor a grinning skull. “This card is Key thirteen of the Major Arcana. Death.”
Jamie dropped Summer’s hand and got to his feet. “That’s enough.”
“But, sir, the Death card does not necessarily signify death itself—there’s no need for alarm. Please sit down and let me explain.”
“I’m done.” He pulled some bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table. “Summer Grace,” he said gruffly.
She knew not to argue. She apologized to Madame Rain quietly and stood, letting Jamie take her arm and lead her away. She had some idea of what had triggered him, but the severity of his reaction surprised her. He’d lost his brother, then hers—his best friend. She knew his losses perhaps better than anyone. But he didn’t even believe in the cards, did he?
She had to hurry to keep up with his long strides, trying not to think of what had happened in terms of the losses she had suffered—Brandon, then her family in a different but nearly equally tragic way.
No. Can’t think about that now.
The rain started again when they were still a good block from his car. He grasped her hand tightly and moved faster as the big drops pelted them. By the time they reached his Corvette the rain was a heavy downpour—it was as if someone were dumping enormous buckets of water down on them. Jamie unlocked the ’Vette and opened her door. She paused.
“Get in, Summer Grace.”
“But I’ll get your beautiful leather seat wet.”
“Just get in,” he growled, and she did as he demanded. The smooth leather was cool beneath her damp bottom, which was still sore as hell from the caning, but rather than luxuriating in her bruises as she had earlier, now they only made her all the more aware that something was very wrong with Jamie, and therefore between them.
He swung the driver’s side door open and slid in, starting the powerful engine without a glance or a word other than, “Seat belt.”
She buckled in and shivered as he raced across town, splashing the water already pooling in the streets up onto the windows. She normally loved the rain, but not like this—not with the atmosphere in the car so tight with tension. Not when it seemed as if it was freezing-cold water trying to drown them rather than the gentle wet of a New Orleans summer.
She glanced at his stony profile and decided this was not the time to talk to him. It wasn’t that she didn’t dare—that wasn’t her, and certainly not when she wasn’t deep in subspace, although she still felt the last tendrils of it in her body. But she felt fear like a dark shadow creeping up her spine. He was so completely closed off to her—she’d never seen him like this and she needed some time to figure out how to handle it.
When they arrived at her place he pulled up to the curb and sat there, staring straight ahead through the windshield, not even cutting the motor. She waited. And finally, she exploded.
“So what the fuck, Jamie? You’re not even going to say good night?”
He sighed, rolled his shoulders. Said quietly, “Good night, Summer Grace.”
Something in her chest—the empty place that had been filling up and warming lately—went ice cold so fast it nearly choked her. Again. He was doing this again! It was several long moments before she could say anything.
“Seriously? That’s where we’re at? You freak out over something and I . . . what? I cease to exist? Just ‘see ya later’? Actually, not even that. And after a night of play? And fuck, Jamie . . .” She had to pause, to take in a breath, to swallow the tears forming in her throat. “Goddamn it, Jamie, you played me and fucked me and talked to me, and it was one of the best nights of my life and here we are again, with you running off like I was one of your vacuous dungeon groupies! I deserve better than that. I am worth more than that. And if you don’t know it . . . Fuck.”
She shook her head so hard she felt her neck crack, heard it echo in her hollow ears. Then she fumbled with numb fingers until she’d managed to unbuckle her seat belt, then pulled the door handle. From the corner of her eye she saw Jamie starting to unbuckle his as well, but she wasn’t waiting for him. He could fucking talk to her, or he could leave. But she wasn’t going to sit in his car, shivering in her drenched clothes, waiting for him to make up his mind.
She grabbed her small purse from the seat and jumped out of the car into the pouring rain. She could barely see as she made her way to the door. Just as she stepped onto the first step leading to her porch she felt a hand on her arm and Jamie whipped her around to face him.
* * *
JAMIE FELT HER trembling under his hands and he wanted to kick himself. He’d just felt so stunned. His brain had shut down so damn fast he couldn’t have explained to anyone what was going on inside him right then. But now . . . now he could see the tears on her face even through the rain and he felt like absolute shit.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “And you are far from being a dungeon groupie, and you deserve everything. Everything. I’m being an ass. I’m sorry, Summer Grace.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You damn well should be. You can’t keep doing this to me. I won’t have it. I mean it, Jamie.”
The knot that had tied itself up in the middle of his chest back at Jackson Square gave a sharp twist. “I know you do. Can we get out of this rain so I can apologize to you properly?”
She cracked a smile, even though he could tell she was still hurting. “Which I suppose means with your ever-ready cock?”
