Easy girl. Her heart was tapping like a metronome on allegro, and she'd only driven up to the front gate. From here, she could see a big Caddy with no wheels under the shade of a sprawling oak inside the junkyard. During the massage that night, his voice had rumbled with soothing pillow talk of this and that. He'd mentioned on pretty nights he sometimes put a sleeping bag on the hood of that Caddy and slept there. Thinking of what they might do there, beneath the stars, she found her cheeks heating.
The gate was unlocked, but still closed, so she parked on the shoulder and decided to take the arbor gate that served as an entrance for foot traffic. Locking the car and slipping the picnic basket over her arm, she wandered under the arbor, pausing to reach up and touch the clematis vine he had winding through the wooden slats. The arbor looked hand built and recently repainted. The man certainly had a wealth of talents. Passing through the gate, she closed it securely after her and proceeded down the driveway toward the main office. He might be somewhere else in the junkyard, but she could certainly wait on the steps. Though the last group of dogs had met her, she hoped if there were any new ones loose, they wouldn't decide she was an intruder. She had enough turkey sandwiches to ransom her life if necessary.
The drive was about a quarter mile, a nice walk on a breezy New Orleans day. When the curve in the road resolved itself to reveal the office area, she discovered she didn't have to worry about Dale's whereabouts. He was leaning against the railing of the stairs, playing with the dog she expected was waiting for his new family. A young tan-colored shepherd mix with one pointed ear and one that flopped over. He and Dale were engaged in a tug-of-war with a stuffed sock that had been knotted on both ends and once in the middle.
She was approaching downwind, so the dog didn't scent her right off. Dale did, however. His gaze flicked up, and he straightened.
He wasn't wearing the prosthesis. He was leaning on crutches, and the leg of his jeans had been pinned in the back so it wouldn't drag along the ground. His expression gave her a mental pause, and suddenly she wasn't so sure of herself.
No, she hadn't called ahead, perhaps because she was testing the whole "structure" of their arrangement, but she hadn't completely abandoned her manners. She'd already decided if she arrived and had the sense she was intruding, she'd simply say she was dropping him off lunch on the way to something else. Easy enough. She didn't like lying to him, but she wasn't going to put him in the uncomfortable position of bearing her company when it wasn't welcome.
Oh hell. She could rationalize it all she wanted, but she'd followed pure impulse, wanting to surprise him, and hoping that was a good thing. She felt like a fool, but pushed down the dismay and ignored the cold knot in her stomach. As she came within speaking distance, the dog trotted over to her to say hello and check out the basket. She petted him, straightened. Dale still hadn't spoken, but then neither had she.
When she met his gaze, she knew she wasn't going to lie to him. She wasn't sure she could.
"I thought I would surprise you with lunch, but I apologize," she said with calm dignity. "I should have called and found out if you were all right with that. There are turkey sandwiches in here, potato salad and dessert. I wasn't sure what condiments you liked, so I put those in small containers to add the amount you prefer. There's a really good spiced mayonnaise. I'll just leave all of it upstairs and you can eat it when you're ready."
The sound of a car trundling down the driveway had her turning. Dale bent to take hold of the dog's collar so he wouldn't run toward it. The occupants of the vehicle looked like a father and son, and from the anticipation on the boy's face, the animated way he was pointing and talking to his dad in the car, Athena had no doubt the dog's new family had arrived.
"You're busy, so I'll go ahead and get out of your way," she said briskly. "The little boy looks very excited."
She added that with a practiced smile. Then she moved toward the stairs to his apartment, cutting a wide swathe around him. He watched her mount the stairs, she could feel his gaze, but he still hadn't said anything. Her heart felt like a stone, weighing her down.
The car doors opened, the boy jumping out. She turned at the top of the stairs, holding on to the rail tightly, just in time to see Dale let the dog go. The shepherd mix and his new master greeted one another with equal enthusiasm. The father was smiling at them both, talking to Dale, reaching out to shake his hand. Her gaze lingered on the set of his broad shoulders, his back to her in this position, and she swallowed, hard.
Letting herself into the apartment, she put the basket on the table. He might not be upstairs for a while, so she went ahead and unpacked the perishables, put them in the fridge. The man really did keep a neat place. The shelves were clean, not a crumb or stain on them from a ketchup bottle or orange juice carton. He kept beer, juice and milk, the usual sandwich staples, and what appeared to be the remains of a vegetable beef stew he'd cooked for himself.
She left the cellophane-wrapped pound cake on his kitchen table, in a basket that held a stack of napkins. She decided to keep the bottle of white wine, because it was obvious he was more of a beer drinker and she'd really brought the wine as her beverage.
The dryer was turning in his laundry room, and the apartment was small enough it heated the kitchen, bringing her the pleasant scent of drying clothes. From here, she could see his open bedroom door. He hadn't yet made his bed today, and there were a couple of breakfast dishes in the sink, suggesting he'd risen late. Well, neat didn't mean he wasn't a man.
The thought would have made her smile, if she wasn't nursing hurt feelings, a condition she fully accepted she'd brought upon herself. "Time to get going, you silly woman," she murmured. But she did take the circuitous route, stopping by his bedroom door. She could hear him talking to the boy below, snippets of conversation about care for his new family member. She slipped into the bedroom, knowing she was being entirely inappropriate, but she had to do one thing, even if she never had the opportunity to do it again.
She sat down on the bed where the sheets had been pulled back, so she was sitting where Dale would have lain as he slept. She smoothed her palm over that expanse, laid it on the pillow that still bore the indentation from his head. With his hair so short, it wouldn't really be tousled when he woke, but it might stick up here and there. He'd have that appealing dark stubble that would make him look more than a little dangerous.
Her gaze drifted across the floor, and she saw the prosthesis. It was the first time she'd seen the leg part completely unclothed, a metal shaft and a plastic mold socket. As her gaze drifted over the night table, she noticed there was a tube of a topical antibiotic.
The prosthesis clearly made walking and dealing with the dogs easier, so perhaps the medicine was an indication of why he wasn't wearing it today. She wanted to ask him about it, but things were strange and this wasn't the right moment to explore more about him. Maybe at a time when they were both more prepared for it. If they ever reached that point.
With a sigh, she rose and left the apartment, carrying the basket. Dale was going over some paperwork with the father at a picnic table while the boy and dog were chasing one another around the open area. The boy had a toy he'd obviously bought for his new friend, and he was alternating between throwing it and playing tug-of-war like Dale had been doing before they arrived.
Athena wasn't going to disrupt them. She was skirting the area, intending to head back up the drive to her car, when Dale's voice reached her. "Athena."
She turned, that same bright smile on her face. She felt like a lightbulb, the kind that hurt the eyes, such that a person turned it off at the earliest opportunity. "I put the sandwiches in the fridge," she said. "You don't need to worry about--"
"Can you hang around a few minutes? I'd like to talk to you."
Despite her hurt, something in his tone, in the whole situation, pricked her intuition. If she put aside her own insecurities, she knew the way he was acting wasn't quite Dale. Yes, she only had a couple of meetings to go on
for that conclusion, but now, at the simple statement, the way his gaze met hers, she was sure she was right. It gave her the confidence to answer him in a way that was calm . . . and pointed. Challenging him to respond to it.
"Yes." She took a breath. "I'll do anything you tell me to do."
Emotion kindled in those blue-green eyes, telling her she'd struck a spark. "Wait for me upstairs," he said.
She nodded. She managed not to say "Yes sir," given that her remark had probably already raised the curiosity of the father. Regardless, she hoped Dale saw her desire to address him properly. From the tightening of his jaw, she expected he did.
--
While she waited on him, she made his bed, washed those couple of dishes, straightened up. The clothes were still going in the dryer, so she sat down in the chair, listened to the rotation in one ear, and his voice rumbling below in the other. From where she was sitting, she could see him finishing up the adoption. When they loaded the dog in the car, the boy sitting in the back with the happy canine, Dale lifted his hand in farewell. She saw the dog pause, look back at Dale, suddenly realizing what he'd known was changing yet again. The boy tousled his ears, reassuring him. The father also twisted around in the seat, giving the dog a pat.
As the car disappeared around the curve, Dale turned, using the crutches to get to the stairs. Once there, she heard the vibration through the apartment's thin walls as he maneuvered up each step. When he approached the top, she rose to open the door for him, pushing open the screen so he didn't have to manage that with the crutches.
"You don't have to open the door for me," he said shortly. "I do it all the time. Sit down."
"I don't mind." She retreated as he moved into the kitchen, taking it over with his size and presence. "They seem like they'll be very good to him."
"Yeah." He paused, looking at her. She'd sat down when he'd told her to do so, and now her fingers curled in her lap. It was an effort not to fill the silence, but she made herself wait on him. "It's a good adoption," he said at last. "I don't adopt to kids. The adult has to want the dog for himself. That's so when the kid starts getting into cars, girls, soccer, whatever, I know the dog doesn't become a piece of the furniture. Bert--the dad--picked Rusty out. Reminds him of the dog he had when he was a kid."
He shifted. As the silence drew out, Athena rose. "Well, I guess I should be going."
"Why did you come today, Athena?"
She drew her brows together at the almost accusatory tone. "I thought it would be fun to surprise you with lunch. We seemed to be developing the kind of rapport that would welcome that. I was mistaken. I'm sorry."
"You already apologized. You don't need to do it twice." He noticed the dishes in the drainer, and his lips pressed in a thin line. "And you don't need to do my goddamned dishes."
She blinked. "I was occupying myself while waiting, being helpful. Serving."
His gaze snapped to her. She wasn't sure what was happening here, but she was obviously missing something. "I'm going," she said. "I shouldn't have come. Perhaps all of this has been a mistake. I obviously . . . I'm making more of this than it is, which suggests I've let my emotions run away with me like a schoolgirl. I wanted to see you. That's all. I wanted to make you lunch, to do something for you. Watch you during your normal day, be a part of that day before I have to return to work and be who I am for everyone else. I've intruded where I'm not invited, and I've made you uncomfortable. So I'm going."
She was being repetitious, but an ache was growing in her throat. There was too much pressure behind her eyes. She picked up her basket, but Dale was in front of the door. She'd just slip past him, was all. There was enough room to get past.
She'd almost made it when his arm snaked out, caught her waist, bringing her to a halt. She went rigid. "Please let go of me."
He shook his head. Stared straight ahead and just held her there. His fingers flexed against her lower back, his arm pressed under her breast. She closed her eyes, amazed at how strongly her body reacted to his merest touch, how she wanted to melt against him, put her fingers against his strong throat and reach up on her toes to kiss him with all the heated passion she'd been imagining when she drove up to the gate.
To hell with it. She dropped the basket and lifted a hand to his face, drawing his gaze to hers before she used the strength of his arms, the way he'd planted himself in the floor like a tree, his one leg and the crutches braced against both their weights, to lift herself up against him. She buried her fingers in his short hair, nails scraping his nape.
She kissed him with longing and need, with desire and pure pleasure in the heat of his mouth, which increased as he began kissing her back, muttering an oath against her lips. He smelled like grass and soil, old rusty cars and a little bit of dog and Old Spice.
His hand dropped to her ass, pulling her to his front so she was fully against him instead of locked to his side. Her lower abdomen contracted at the pleasure of his hard response pushed against her there.
He let the crutches fall, gripped the sink edge and pulled them both the necessary step to it so he was leaning against that, the better to keep an arm around her waist and put the other hand to her head, taking over the kiss. His fingers slid along her jaw, down to her throat. She made a needy sound there, vibrating beneath his fingertips. He was just as hungry for her, in a raw, undisciplined way that she embraced, all her earlier uncertainty driven away before it.
Before they could get too out of control, he broke the kiss, his chest expanding from the effort of drawing a deep breath, even as his hands remained clamped on her. "I'm sorry, Athena. You shouldn't be apologizing because I was being a bastard."
She didn't care. She just wanted him to keep kissing her. But he tightened his grip, keeping her still. "I've never Mastered a woman without two legs to stand on. I wasn't prepared to be that exposed."
Her spinning world came to an abrupt stop. She stared up at him. "You thought it would matter to me?"
Apparently seeing her utter lack of comprehension did him a world of good. The set of his strong jaw eased significantly. "Yeah, I did. That's what I assumed when you started acting so funny, talking about leaving the lunch instead of sharing it with me."
Oh, God. She was such an idiot. It made so much sense she almost started laughing at herself, at both of them, even realizing that would be entirely inappropriate.
"I was acting that way because you were being so remote. You looked like a storm cloud." She put her hands on his face. "Dale, you're not dealing with a child. I was married for over twenty years, which is plenty long enough to realize a man's character lies in his heart, his soul, not his body. Though your body packs more than enough fantasy for me. If you had a second leg and smelled like brownies, you'd be too perfect. I couldn't wait to be with you again. With . . . my Master. And now I am being a little schoolgirlish, but if you're going to be insecure, I get to take a turn, too."
That and the brownie comment made him chuckle, dissipating her worries. He put his forehead down against hers. "Fuck, I made a mess of that. I thought I was long past this kind of thing. Turns out all I had to do is get stupid about a woman again and all that old bullshit tried to pile back on."
Get stupid about a woman again . . . It was amazing how few words a man actually had to say to capture a woman's heart and earn her total forgiveness. "Seems like only a brief relapse," she said. Lifting his palm to her lips, she met his gaze as she shifted against his body, rubbing her stomach against his still-turgid response. His fingers tightened over hers.
"Are you trying to misbehave?"
"No sir." But she smiled.
"So what you said outside. That you'll do anything I tell you to do."
"Yes."
"I didn't tell you to do my dishes or make my bed."
"No," she admitted. When he waited, obviously expecting more of an explanation, she lifted a shoulder. "It's like the submissives who do the bootblacking," she said, referencing the particular segment of the D/s community who t
ook great pride in the art of shining their Master's boots. They could spend an astonishing amount of time discussing how to keep them in top form. "Or the one who always brings her Master his drink from the bar. The sub who folds his Mistress's clothes precisely according to her specifications before she has him kneel before her, service her with his mouth."
"You're not here to be my maid or my nurse, Athena."
She shook her head. "I didn't mean it like that. I don't think they do it for that reason, either."
"I know you didn't. I'm telling you to keep the distinction in mind." He nodded to the dryer. "Hang up my clothes, then come down to the yard. We'll have lunch after you help me with the dogs. They're raring to get out a little bit, since they've had to be in the kennels this morning for Rusty's adoption."
Using admirable muscle control and balance, he picked up the crutches and fitted them under his arms. "I liked hearing you call me Master."
Leaning down, he pressed his lips against hers for another lingering kiss. She barely breathed, hands closed into balls against his chest in the small space between them. He hadn't given her permission to touch him, and the order he'd just issued had switched her mind to the submissive mode, waiting for his cues and direction. Whereas so much of the past few minutes had felt wrong, precarious, now things felt right. She badly wanted to straighten her fingers, touch him, but waiting for his permission to let her do so just made the wait all the sweeter.
"There's a lotion in my bathroom. It's not sweet smelling like yours, but use it, since you washed my dishes. I expect my sub to keep her hands soft, and that dish soap will strip tar off paper."
He moved past her, back out the door. She tried not to worry or hover, though after he started down the steps, she did watch him through the blinds. He managed the stairs by putting the crutches in the opposite hand, taking hold of the railing and hopping down each stair so capably she could tell he'd done it plenty of times. Just as he'd said.