“You may not want to acknowledge it, but your body is interested. And aroused.” As if aiming a pistol, he pointed a finger at her chest.

She glanced down at her tits and frowned. Under her thin bra and T-shirt, her nipples blatantly poked out. Aroused? Me? And yet her body did feel different, as if her skin had become more sensitive all over. This is just not happening. “I'm not going to have—to fuck you. Forget it.”

He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine, reining in his overpowering presence and giving her a chance to breathe. “Ah. You're uncomfortable with the idea of sex. Perhaps we can work around that. What if”—he smiled slightly—“no fucking were involved?”

“Let me get this straight. I'd follow you around, looking all wussy—with no sex—and you'd let me live here for the next two weeks and wouldn't destroy my reputation.”

One eyebrow tilted up. “Nicely put. However, I'd expect true submission from you, MacKensie.” He rested his forearms on his thighs and pinned her with a stare. “That's quite different from being wussy. That's giving control to me—control over everything for certain occasions.”

The room felt awfully hot, and her heart raced as if she'd run laps for an hour. “What occasions?”

“When at my club. At any party I take you to. Whenever we're with my friends.”

Not all the time, then. Could she let him boss her around for two or three hours? With sex out of the picture, this might be doable. A trickle of hope eased the tightness of her stomach. But all that control. She tried to remember what had happened in the BDSM clubs. Oh frak. “No whipping or any of that stuff, right?”

He leaned back. “I have a list we'll go through together. But I will expect you to bend over backward to please me, so unless there's something on it that is past your endurance…”

With a mighty yawn, Butler stood up and wandered over to sit next to Fontaine's feet and laid his big head in the man's lap. Mac watched as the lean hands ruffled the dog's ears, scratched under the collar, and then stroked Butler's side. The dog's tail thumped against the floor.

She frowned, feeling a tug at her heart and a decrease in her wariness. Could anyone who loved that ugly mutt be all bad? Don't be stupid, Mac. Even mass murderers adored their pets. And yet… No sex, her reputation undamaged… Ack, her reputation. Dear Lord, she couldn't do this.

“What?” he asked, even though she hadn't said anything.

“I plan to start a life here, work here. Being your…whatever… It's too… I can't afford to damage my reputation.” And God, she knew how important that was.

“Ah. A fair concern.” He nodded. “I will not ask you to”—his flashing grin was devastating—“act as my whatever anywhere except with a few discreet friends or at Chains, which is a private club. Anonymity is part of the contract, and the members value their reputations.”

Well. But could she really do this? “A trial period?” she offered.

He nodded. “Fair enough. Tell you what. If you do a really fine job and Cynthia gives up, I'll make some calls and shove some influence your way.”

Oh sure, like Mr. Big Shot would know the vet community. “Thank you,” she said politely.

Chuckling, he rose. He gave her his hand and pulled her to her feet. “The foundation I oversee helped start both of the county's no-kill shelters and the city's feral-cat program. Once a year we sponsor a fund-raising dinner and dance to benefit all the pet charities in the area. As it happens, the dance is in two weeks, and just about every vet in the city attends.”

Her mouth dropped open. This was just what she needed. Oh God, could this possibly work?

Chapter Four

She'd planned to leave the house early the next morning before Mr. Fontaine—Alex—came down to breakfast. But when she walked into the kitchen, she realized from the smell of coffee and the cup in the dishwasher that he'd already been there and gone. Maybe he felt the same need to escape that she did.

Oh that would be the day. She rolled her eyes. That man wouldn't run from anything. Nope.

As she made a fresh pot of coffee, she breathed in the heady fragrance of the aromatic grounds. No cheap coffee for this household. A few minutes later, she poured herself a nice full cup and walked into the sunny breakfast nook. Skirting the antique table and chairs in the center of the room, she chose the couch under a window with a magnificent view of Puget Sound and the mountains turning pink with the rising sun.

When she sat, her still-tender bottom touched the cushions, making her squeak, then scowl at the unwelcome reminder of yesterday.

What a mess. And she'd created it all by herself. She thudded her head on the back of the couch: dumb, dumb, dumb. How could she have been so lacking in morals? God, she would never, ever open a locked door again.

But how that man had the nerve to spank her, she didn't know. And then he'd pretty much blackmailed her into cooperating with him. Done a good job of it too. She'd spent most of last night going over her predicament and hadn't discovered any way out of it. With his connections, he could help her secure a job—or could sink her just as easily.

It was the submissive stuff that really sent a chill creeping up her spine. She'd spent enough time in the BDSM clubs to know some of what went on. How could she possibly trust this stranger to…to tie her up or to… Then again, he already had, hadn't he?

He'd had her at his mercy on that bench. Frowning, she took a sip of coffee. In her opinion, spanking her had been way over the top, but considering he'd found her exploring his private dungeon, maybe he'd figured she deserved it. Yet despite his fury and all the nasty whips and floggers and canes available on the wall, he'd contented himself with five swats from his bare hand.

“Five swats.” The memory of his voice made a shiver run up her spine. But the man hadn't groped her or done anything remotely sexual, despite her nakedness. Her breath eased out, and her muscles relaxed. Maybe…maybe this would work.

Toenails clicked dully across the marble tile floor of the sunroom, and then Butler trotted over to her, his tail wagging furiously. He put a big head on her knee and gazed at her in adoration.

“Good morning, sweetie.” She sent the dog into ecstasy by scratching his sides. “Did you sleep with the brute last night?”

“Actually, the brute makes him sleep in his dog bed on the floor.” Alex strolled into the room, holding a cup of coffee, and sat down on the other end of the couch.

“I—”Good going, Mac. “I'm sorry. Um. Am I supposed to call you something like 'Master' or something?” Something totally wussy?

He chuckled. “MacKensie, there will be times I expect you to be in a submissive role. Certain private parties, at the club, and occasionally at other times if I have friends over who are in the lifestyle. Otherwise we will operate on a fairly equal footing.”

“Fairly equal?” she asked carefully.

He had a dimple in his cheek when he smiled. “From what I've seen, you probably aren't submissive twenty-four hours of the day, just under certain circumstances. Of course, that may change as you find out more about yourself.” He drank some coffee and stretched an arm across the back of the couch, far enough that he could finger her wavy hair. He didn't touch her exactly, just her hair, and yet there was something intimate, almost possessive, about his action. “Now, aside from this being my house, it happens that I'm a dominant; I like my own way. So we will undoubtedly butt heads now and then.”

Well, knowing he really didn't expect her to play kiss up all the time helped, although the thought of arguing with him made her feel a little weak. Look at the way he'd taken over the couch, occupying not only his space but hers also. Just from that alone, she got a pretty clear idea of what he meant when he said dominant.

She wet her dry lips and regretted it immediately when his gaze dropped to her mouth. Somehow she could almost feel his lips on hers. His lips would be firm and—Stay on task, Mac. Appear businesslike and maybe he'll act the same. She could handle business interactions quite competently. She cleared her throat. “Ah. When does all this start? You'll need to give me an idea of what to wear ahead of time and when you expect me to be available.” And just for sheer contrariness, since he'd said she didn't have to be under his thumb all the time, she pushed his hand away from her hair.

He didn't smile, although she could see laughter in his eyes, and she realized he'd won this round. If they were having a war, she'd just given him information, since he now knew his touch made her uncomfortable. “This isn't going to work, you know,” she blurted out. “I don't like being touched. At all. Everyone will see that and know that we're not together.”

Moving slightly closer, he tugged on her hair, then put his hand on her nape, and his touch felt more intimate than another man's kiss. Why? The heat from his palm penetrated her skin as his fingers closed just enough to remind her of his ruthless grip yesterday when he'd held her down and spanked her. The coffee in her cup rippled as her hand started to shake. She set the cup on her thigh to hide the telltale sign and looked up to meet his knowing gaze.

Not taking his hand from her neck, he leaned just an inch forward, invading her personal space. “Whether you enjoy being touched or not isn't what this is about. I require your submission and your honesty, nothing more.”

His thumb rubbed up and down in the hollow under her ear. She hadn't realized how sensitive that patch of skin could be. Her tiny movement back made his grip tighten, and she got nowhere. Goose bumps broke out on her arms. “So you still want to do this? Me as your sub?”

“Yes, MacKensie. We will continue, and earlier than I had anticipated. I received a call this morning from Peter. A friend is having a party at the club tonight, and Cynthia, the woman I told you about, plans to attend.”

“Tonight? You must be joking.” Mac's orderly thoughts scattered into the corners of her mind. “But…but…I don't have clothes; I don't know what to do. I—”

“No problem. Do you have any interviews today?”

The thought of lying crossed her mind and disappeared under the slight narrowing of his eyes. “No. I set everything up for Monday.”

“Excellent. Then today we'll go shopping.”

“We?”

“Oh yes, pet. Definitely 'we.'”

* * *

Later that day, Alex suppressed a grin as MacKensie wandered past latex corsets and leather bustiers, rubber miniskirts and thigh-high boots. And then he chose clothing for her to suit his preferences. She might as well start learning some of the various forms submission could entail. Lucky for her, he didn't enjoy twenty-four-hour mastery. Unlucky for her, he did occasionally enjoy dominance outside of the bedroom.

Like now.

“MacKensie.”

She turned, and her eyes widened at the garments he held out to her.

“Put these on. I'll wait outside the door to see if they fit.”

Her eyes narrowed, spine straightening until her height increased by almost an inch, which still left her half a foot shorter than he was. “I choose my own clothing, and I judge whether it fits.”

“Not this time, pet.” Alex kept his voice soft.

Not being at all slow, she caught the command. With a glare, she snatched the clothes and stalked into an empty fitting room.

She probably didn't realize the allure of a woman's ass when she's stomping. Or how arousing a sub's defiance could be to a dominant. And this one—he shook his head—could prove to be quite a trial to his control. He'd topped subs before and kept the interaction platonic; not everything had to be about sex, after all. But there was definitely a sexual component in the dynamics between him and MacKensie. She pulled at him—strongly—and he could see the same pull in her. But she didn't want to recognize that.

If she truly felt no attraction to him, he wouldn't think twice about observing her restrictions. But if fear corralled her sexuality? Then that was part of a Dom's mandate—to explore those fears. But only if he had her trust to do so.

So he needed to gauge the attraction, help her see that in herself, and earn her trust. Enjoying the thought of a challenge, he leaned against the door frame to wait.