As the young woman headed for the shelves, Linda felt as if she’d inhaled bubbles and was floating a couple of inches above the chair. The pressure in her chest was gone. That irritable itchy feeling was gone. Like a sandy beach, she’d been scoured clean, the ugly seaweed and junk swept away by the waves.

But was it only because she’d had an orgasm? Setting her chin in her palm, she doodled on the list. Drew a row of tulips.

Before she’d been kidnapped, a good night of sex had never resulted in such an uplift the next day. Her pen fashioned a rose…then an outline of Sam’s big hand. Of course, no one—not even Frederick—had given her such amazing climaxes, but what if her mood wasn’t due to sex at all? Hadn’t she felt like this after Sam had flogged her in the Shadowlands? All open and free. Clean.

She frowned. The pressure inside her had built up again, hadn’t it? She just hadn’t noticed, what with all the other complications in her life.

But an experienced sadist might have noticed. Had Sam given her that spanking and strapping for more reasons than diverting her mind from the slavers? Her pen dug into the paper, sending jagged lightning toward the flowers. He always watched her so intently. Studied her. A belt took form on the paper and doubled over.

Yes, he’d known. And since he was a Dom down to his bootlaces, he’d given her what he figured she needed.

He’d been wrong, dammit. I refuse to be a masochist. She bit her lip, wondering if she was the one who was wrong. Maybe she had needed the pain. And possibly for longer than just the past few months. A sinking feeling made her lean against the counter. Possibly for a long, long time.

But she’d found other methods to handle the feelings. Eating foods spicy enough to make the children complain. Cleaning and doing yard work until her limbs trembled. Working out in the gym so long that every muscle in her body ached like a sore tooth. Her husband had called it “having a mood on her” and had attributed it to her being female.

Her lips quirked. A good spanking might have saved her all sorts of effort. But Frederick had never wanted to discuss sex. The few times she’d asked him for something different—a swat, some roughness, to hold her down—he’d been disgusted.

More customers came in, browsing the basket section. Actually, Frederick had been more than simply disgusted; he’d implied she had a mental problem. Her pen scribbled dark clouds along the edge of the paper. She’d never tried to talk about sex again.

But maybe she was mentally unstable. Dismay splattered over her happy mood like a cold rain. She’d told herself the flogging at the Shadowlands would be the last time. Insisted on it. But then she’d let Sam spank her. Whip her with his belt.

What had she been thinking? A normal person didn’t visit BDSM clubs and definitely didn’t let a man spank her. A little kink was one thing. Needing to be hurt was entirely different.

This had to stop. She wasn’t going to let herself be a masochist.

But…what about Sam? She closed her eyes, remembering his hard kiss before he’d left her bed. If she continued to see him, he’d give her the pain she craved, and she’d never be able to stop. Like a drug dealer, he fed her addiction.

This must end. No matter how she felt about him, she couldn’t keep sleeping with him. Not tonight. Not ever. The realization, the resolution, hurt something deep inside her.

“Miss?”

Linda pasted on a smile for the young woman. “That’s a lovely piece.” She rang up the sale of the carved candlestick and managed to chat with the Canadian and her friend.

As the two women walked out, Linda reached for her cell phone. Her hand shook. Need to do this. Don’t be a coward. She punched in Sam’s number.

“Davies.” His dark, rasping voice sent her hormones bubbling into instant carbonation.

“It’s Linda. I’ve been thinking. The graffiti guy seems to have stopped. I don’t think you need to waste your time driving here every day.” Even as she said it, her chest tightened.

Silence.

“Sam?”

“You saying you don’t want to see me again?”

The disconcertingly blunt question stabbed through her, and she smothered an instinctive no. He deserved better than a stupid excuse. She was being cowardly. Tangling her fingers in her hair, she yanked. Be honest. “Sam, you mean a lot to me. And I really, really appreciate the time you’ve spent, helping me.” Holding me. “We’re friends, and I’ll always be grateful.” She closed her eyes, pulling in a slow breath. “God, I feel as if I’ve been using you. I didn’t mean to.”

“But…”

“But I don’t want…want to do what we did. I can’t be like that. I need to be normal.” Her pen scribbled over the hand she’d drawn, blotting it out, each black line adding a fresh slice of hurt.

“Normal.”

Tears blurred her eyes at the disgust in his voice. “Yes.”

“Girl, no one is normal. Even the ones who try to appear that way.”

“That doesn’t matter. This is—”

“I understand. All too well.” He paused. “How about I come over and we talk?”

“There’s no point.” And he’d look at her with those perceptive blue eyes, say her name, and she’d cave. She would. A vise of guilt squeezed the breath from her. She’d do anything to keep from hurting Sam—anything but continue on the path they were going down.

“I see.” Ice covered the gravel of his voice. “I think you’re wrong, girl, but you’ll find that out yourself.”

“Yes. Then this is good-b—”

“Mebbe. Doesn’t sound like you know what you’re doing.”

She did, didn’t she? “But—”

He’d disconnected. Well. That was that. As she straightened, she looked down at her paper. Black scribbles had blotted out the flowers and the writing. After pulling in a steadying breath, she started a fresh list.

The afternoon dragged on and on and on. For the first time, she took no joy in her store, in the customers. I want to go home.

“Linda, sweetheart.” She glanced up to see Lee halfway to the counter, his suit and tie a marked contrast to the casually dressed beachgoers. His sandy hair had been tousled by the wind, and he finger combed it as he grinned at her. The women customers gave him lingering looks.

Linda forced a smile. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area.” Lee leaned over the counter to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Are you caught up yet? I want to take you out to dinner.”

“I…”

“You know, you’re an incredibly difficult woman to date.”

“I’m not ready for…for anything, Lee.” She bit her lip. “I know we were…intimate, but I don’t—”

“No problem. We’ll take it slow. Just dinner. Nothing else.”

Here was the normal life she wanted. With a nice man. Months ago, when she’d sounded him out about kinky sex, he hadn’t been interested at all, but he hadn’t called her names as Dwayne had. Or implied she was mentally unstable like Frederick.

If she dated him, he’d keep her on the straight and narrow, and if she had to cope in other ways, she would. Hey, a ton of extra cleaning and exercising wouldn’t be bad. “Then okay. I’d like that.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Everything in her wanted to yell no. Let him in her house where memories of Sam would linger? She couldn’t bear that. Not yet. “How about I meet you at the restaurant?”

* * *

Now would this be considered stalking? Sam frowned. Seemed awfully close to it.

He’d been on the way to Linda’s house, hoping she’d eased up and they could talk, when he’d spotted her car in a restaurant parking lot.

He shouldn’t have turned in. Shouldn’t have stopped. Being a fool, Davies.

As he followed the hostess across the restaurant, he spotted Linda sitting across from a man wearing a suit and tie. Damn, she was beautiful. She’d done that curling thing with her hair. Wore makeup to make her seal-brown eyes even bigger. Her light pink, silky top showed only a hint of cleavage.

The hostess moved past Linda and her goddamned date.

“Wait, miss,” Sam said.

The waitress stopped.

“I’ll sit there.” He pointed to an empty table near the center of the room, a couple of tables from Linda’s.

“But that’s not—”

“Be appreciated.”

“Uh.” She gave him a flirtatious look. “Of course.”

“Thank you.” He ignored the chair she pulled out for him and chose one where he had a satisfying view of his quarry. Acting like a stalker, Davies. But the location was good. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but she’d eventually catch sight of him. And then she would have a chance to see if she really wanted a normal life. A normal man.

If she was jumping into a relationship to flee from herself, that was just damn stupid. But if she seriously wanted Vanilla Boy, Sam would back off.

After ordering, he leaned back, sipped coffee, and enjoyed the view. Maybe some fools wouldn’t consider her beautiful, but he thought she was stunning. And natural. After the years of Nancy’s fake giggles and shrill hysterics, he appreciated Linda’s open, full-bodied laughter.

Pissed him off that other men noticed as well.

And he resented the hell out of the fact that Vanilla Boy could make her laugh. Sam’s jaw tightened. The man had no trouble keeping a conversation going; his words flowed like a flooding river.

If she wanted a talkative man, then she didn’t want Sam.

Maybe she’d be happy with that bastard. If so…might as well leave. He lifted his hand for the waitress.

But Linda didn’t appear sexually interested in the man. When Vanilla Boy reached across the table and took her hand, she displayed no reaction at all. Like she’d closed herself off.

Sam lowered his hand. She’d definitely reacted to him last night. He’d never felt a connection like that, as if he could smell her emotions as easily as he inhaled her scent. After what she’d been through, the trust she’d shown in him—letting him hold her, spank her, fuck her—had shaken him right to his bones.

Goddammit. He leaned back and settled in for the duration.

Eventually Linda’s attention was diverted from the man by a family walking past. She glanced around the room. When her eyes met Sam’s, her mouth dropped open. She stared at him blankly, then tore her gaze away. As she turned all her attention to her date, her jaw muscles were rigid.

Sam chuckled. She was obviously dying to glare at him but couldn’t because the other guy would ask why.

Despite her desire to ignore him, her gaze kept flicking in his direction. He understood the feeling; he couldn’t look away from her either. He saw that her cheeks and lips had turned a rose color; her eyes had taken on an added shine. Yeah, she definitely reacted sexually to Sam—as he did to her—as if being in the same room cranked the hormone level higher.

He tried not to stare at her as he ate his meal. Wasted money, since he might have been eating hay for all he tasted of the food. As he shoved the potatoes to one side, he frowned.

Was he being a fool? After all, they’d had sex a grand total of once.

Then again, although he’d dated Nancy a few times, the one time they’d screwed had convinced him to back away. His good sense hadn’t been wrong, but by then it was too late. “I’m on the pill” wasn’t the first of her lies but had the biggest impact. One that left him living in hell for over a decade—except for the bright light of his daughter. He could never regret the gift of Nicole.

So when it came to Linda, could his judgment be relied on? Well, he’d seen her at her worst. Seen her terrified. In pain. Angry with him. Even considering her panic attacks, she was one of the strongest people he knew.

No, he wasn’t wrong about her.

After he finished eating, he leaned back, idly smacking his napkin against his palm, remembering the auction and how the dragon’s tongue whip had flicked over her white skin. Her flinches, her groans, her arousal. Did she really want to live a life without that intensity? Feeling half-smothered?


THE RESTAURANT WAS way too hot, Linda thought as she gulped down her ice water. Across the table, Lee elaborated about next week’s hotel conventions with a suggestion she drop off promotional material for the lobby information rack.

He was such a nice man. He always asked her opinion before deciding anything. He didn’t try to boss her around. Shouldn’t she be pleased that he treated her as an equal?