Alex eyed him and considered thumping him one more time just to shut him up. Instead, as blood trickled down his back, he went to help the old lady to her feet and give her back her purse.

“Bless your heart,” she said, clutching the purse to her chest. “I don't know what I'd have done if he'd gotten away. I have a new great-grandchild in Ohio, and—”

Airport security arrived then to haul the druggie away, and Alex ended up in the nearest emergency room getting his back stitched up. By the time he finished giving the police a statement, his flight had departed with his luggage on it. Due to a plane being taken out of service, all seating on the next flight was completely filled, with a long waiting list, and the soonest he could reschedule his flight was two days away.

Well, fine. He hadn't wanted to go to Iowa anyway.

Back hurting like hell, Alex got in his car and headed home.

* * *

Mac sprawled in the Jacuzzi, legs floating in the swirling water. As steam rose from the surface, the slight tang of chlorine blended with the fragrant rosebush climbing the house. Bubbles everywhere, taking away the aches of the long flight and the stress of city driving. A slow rain had started a few minutes before, sending down little cold drops onto her exposed shoulders. Maybe she'd died and gone to heaven.

But when she shoved her hair back, she noticed her fingers had turned to pale prunes. No prunes allowed in heaven. Time to get out.

She'd soaked so long, her body radiated waves of heat as she picked up her jeans and shirt. Ugh. Already wet from the rain. She should have left them under the veranda, but with her enthusiasm about getting into the Jacuzzi, she hadn't been thinking. Laughing, she used the damp clothing to wipe herself down before entering the house bare-ass naked. Hey, Butler wouldn't tell, right? Feeling wonderfully decadent, she waltzed through the house, carrying her damp clothing.

By the stairs, she glanced at the locked door. And stepped closer.

No no no, MacKensie, don't touch. This is an obsession. Don't give in. She put her hand on the knob, gritting her teeth when it didn't turn.

It wouldn't open.

The floor shifted under her feet, and she could almost hear a door slamming shut, over and over, like explosions of sound back into her past. Then Arlene would turn the key, shutting her into the tiny space and the awful, monster-filled darkness that seemed to suck away all the air in the room.

Mac's hand turned clammy, slipping on the knob as she heard her foster mother's voice, “You little demon from hell. You stay in there until you're fit for the light.” Hours and hours in darkness and fear.

A whine and a wet nose made her jump. “Frak me!”

Butler looked up at her with big eyes, tail wagging.

“Sorry, darling.” Heart racing, she pulled her hand off the knob to rub his head and whisper, “Your babysitter's a mess.” Especially when finding a locked door. In her very own vacation house. Stomach twisting, she fought…and lost.

A pocket in her damp jeans yielded the wallet where her lock picks mingled with the coins. She smiled and pulled two out. An inside door—piece of cake. A trickle of excitement traveled up her spine. She hadn't popped a door open since last year when Old Maude had gotten locked out of her house. Of course, proving she could break in hadn't done her reputation in Oak Hollow any good.

Just open it. That wasn't so bad a crime. Picks in hand, she knelt in front of the door. One pin, a little pressure… Gently, gently. The next, rake across it. A simple lock. The door swung open.

Oh yeah. The tightness in her chest disappeared; she could take a deep breath again. The door was open.

She glanced at Butler, who'd sat down to watch her, then at the edge of darkness. Now why had the owner locked the door? “Maybe I should take a quick look, huh, buddy?” Who knows, maybe the owner left a heater on or something. Can't have the place burning down, right? Really, just think of it as her duty to a vacation-exchange partner.

She pushed the door open a little farther, and the scent of leather drifted to her. Her fingers found the light switch, and old-fashioned brass sconces on the walls lit with a subtle flickering like candlelight.

Frak me, but what is this? Iron bolts studded a wall of red brick. Manacles dangled from the higher rings, shackles lay on the floor. The back wall had a big, leather-covered cross with cuffs. A St. Andrew's cross. She not only remembered the name, but she knew what this place was: a dungeon—a private BDSM dungeon. And very well equipped.

Excitement slid across her skin like a cool breeze. The first time she'd seen a BDSM club had been years and years ago when an elderly businessman with a taste for the exotic had hired her for the whole evening. God, the tales of whips and bondage scared her, but her pimp terrified her more. Mac's mouth twisted as she remembered how Ajax had patted her on the head like a dog before shoving her into the man's car.

She'd been prepared for pain. To her shock, the john—the client—made her strap him to the cross and beat him with a switch. Hitting him, seeing his skin redden and welts appear, had made her sick inside. But it made him rock hard, and he'd barely lasted a second afterward. He departed, leaving Mac to wander around the club. And then she'd seen a man—a Dom—doing what she'd just done, whipping his sub, only with far-greater skill and…something else. She watched how he controlled his submissive, how he alternated pain with gentle touches. He'd touch the woman intimately and then caress her face before starting again.

Mac hadn't been able to stop watching. She hadn't felt arousal—hell, sex hadn't interested her since her first month as a hooker—but something else.

Later, in college, she'd ventured into a different BDSM club, not once, but twice. But when a Dom had approached her, she'd fled. No one was going to control her, no matter how…interesting it looked. She'd had enough of that to last her whole life.

Her hands hurt. Mac blinked and refocused in the present. Dungeon.Vacation exchange. Seattle. Giving a snort of exasperation, she uncurled her fingers where the nails dug into her palms. Veterinarian, Mac, remember? Not a whore, not since Jim and Mary had found her broken on the sidewalk. Her own personal angels, and they'd better reside in heaven now or she'd kick God's ass.

After pushing the door almost closed to keep Butler out, Mac slunk in, feeling like a dog herself. A naked alley dog. So a dungeon in the heart of a ritzy, stuffy house. Who knew?

She bit her lip. The owner wouldn't know if she snooped a little, and she could look at everything and actually satisfy her curiosity in a way she couldn't at the clubs.

Afterward she could leave the door unlocked until her vacation ended. Unlocked doors didn't bother her at all.

Maybe she should run upstairs and get some clothes on? Running around like this was…strange. But rather exciting. She grinned and walked across the room.

She tried out the waist-high bondage table, lying on it faceup. Imagining herself in the cuffs and strapped down with someone standing over her gave her a horribly vulnerable feeling…and yet the soft leather seemed to caress her skin. Next she stood against the massive wooden St. Andrew's cross fastened to the wall, remembering the women in the club, hands raised over their heads, legs spread. When her nipples tightened to aching points, she looked around for a source of cold air and found none.

She examined the nasty whips and then slapped one of the multistranded floggers against her leg. It created an odd thuddy sensation, not the stinging she'd expected. The thin wooden cane that she tried next hurt a lot more.

Whoever lives here must be a very scary person. Good thing he's gone.

Finally she came to the one piece of equipment that kept drawing her attention. She circled the spanking thing twice, trying to ignore the needy twisting inside. But just the thought of spanking had always…bothered her. She brushed her hand over the firm leather and felt a tremor of excitement. All right, then. How would a person use this one? It looked an awful lot like a vaulting horse for gymnastics, almost a sawhorse with a barrel shape on top. But no gym vaulting horse boasted leather cuffs on the legs. Littler cuffs on that side and bigger ones here indicated that a person didn't straddle the horse but would lie across the barrel part, head down and butt up.

What would that feel like?

Well, she'd tried everything else in the place. With a tiny giggle, she jumped up and draped herself over the top.

Chapter Two

Alex parked next to the cheap rental in his driveway. Obviously the exchange person had arrived. Had Butler liked her? Finding the woman's mangled remains in the foyer would really top off the day.

Hopefully he could work out some arrangement with her. By the time he could get a flight, the conference would be almost over, so he saw no point in pursuing that plan. Damned if he'd take up residency in some hotel in his own town. She'd just have to see reason. The house was big enough they didn't have to run into each other, or maybe he'd give her enough money to rent a hotel.

He walked in and called, “Hello.”

Silence.

Then with a woof of delight, Butler appeared from around a corner, skidding on the slick marble tiles in his excitement. Alex chuckled as he petted the squirming beast. They'd lived together for a good five years, ever since he'd found the dog skulking around the garbage bin at the beach house. His mother hadn't been impressed, but dignity ranked high on her list of priorities and was nonexistent on Butler's.