Cherise Sinclair - This is who I am

“Nice kitchen,” he commented. His gaze shifted from the cream-colored pine cupboards to the dark blue walls to the golden marble countertops. He frowned as he studied the woven basket holding oranges, a tall coiled basket filled with wooden spoons, and the potted herbs inside colorful twined baskets. When he spotted the box of reeds on the kitchen shelves, he asked, “You do the baskets yourself?”

“Most of them.” After setting a platter of cheese and crackers on the table, she pointed to a hand-sized plaited basket that held a variety of stones. The shape had odd bulges, and the weaving looked as if she’d been intoxicated. “I started when I was in high school.”

“You’ve improved.”

“Why, thank you.” She grinned. “You know, you have a talent for being blunt without being quite rude.” He gave her a contemplative stare as if he’d never had a woman tease him. Then again, who in their right mind would tease a sadist?

“Takes too much work to be rude.” He nodded at a pile of baskets in a corner. “You planning something for those?”

She started the alternating layers of noodles, ricotta, mozzarella, and sauce. “I sell them at my store; otherwise I’d be buried in them. Hobbies are like zucchini—your friends and family can only absorb so much.”

He snorted in agreement before loading a cracker with cheese. “Nicole quilts. Got one on every bed in the house. Couple hang on the walls.”

Her hands stilled as a pang stabbed through her. Not…quite…pain. “Nicole?”

“My daughter.”

She hadn’t even considered that he’d have a family. He seemed to stand alone, like a cliff above the ocean. And yet what woman wouldn’t want him? She stared down at the long casserole pan. “You’re married?” Did he cheat on his wife?

With a creak of the chair, he rose to stand behind her. Ignoring the way she froze, he put his arm around her waist, holding her firmly against him. “I’m divorced.” He huffed a laugh. “I’m a sadist, girl, not a cheater.”

Even as relief streamed through her, she had to wonder how he could so easily say that. “I’m a sadist.”

What was that? Sam opened his eyes, frowning at the darkness in Linda’s living room. For the previous three nights, he had slept on her couch. Although she’d offered a guest room, he had refused. In a back bedroom, he wouldn’t hear a thing. He was here to catch the spray-painting bastard, not be comfortable.

He listened but heard only the hum of the refrigerator and slight ticking of the ceiling fan. The atmosphere of the house was cozy, clean without being obsessive, beautiful without being formal.

The first night, Linda had eventually relaxed after he’d talked her into playing guitar with him. Like Tanya Tucker, she had a low, rich voice that added a haunting quality to every song. He’d kept forgetting to play so he could listen.

The next evening, she’d let him pull her down beside him to watch a spy thriller. Warm body. Soft hips and shoulders. She had fit against his side as if she belonged there.

When she’d discovered he liked pie, he’d had homemade pie every night to go with her home-cooked meals. The woman was so grateful he was liable to put on twenty pounds.

Don’t get attached to this one, Davies. He rubbed his chin, knowing it was already too late. She’d captivated him the moment he’d seen her, which seemed a mite odd. He wasn’t some pimple-faced boy to fall for a girl on first sight, but he had. Maybe it was a sign of going senile?

Rustles. A thump. Sam rose. The sounds weren’t from outside. He tracked the noise to Linda’s bedroom and stopped outside, grinning. Was she playing with toys, having a good time?

Then he heard her whimper, her voice thin with fear. “No, no, please. Don’t.”

What the hell? Set to attack an intruder, Sam shoved the door open. A golden night-light revealed an empty room except for Linda thrashing on the bed in the throes of a nightmare. Hell, after what she’d endured, she probably had a lot of them. Her pale face gleamed with sweat. As her fingernails clawed the covers, his heart squeezed with pity.

He took a step forward and stopped. Which would she find more terrifying: a nightmare or Sam in her bedroom?

Probably him.

But his jaw clenched at the sounds of her fear. Scowling, he set a wooden chair a few feet from the bed, then sat and rested his elbows on his knees. A deep breath allowed him to calm his expression. The little sub didn’t need to see an angry man at her bedside. “Linda. Linda, it’s time to wake up.”

Her movements stilled and then started again.

He deepened his voice to add a note of command. “Linda. Wake up now.”

She gasped, and her eyes popped open. For a minute she lay as still as a petrified mouse. Then she turned her head slowly and looked around the room. Her muscles relaxed. Her gaze finally came to rest on him. “Sam?”

“Good guess.” She hadn’t panicked at the sight of him. Finest gift he’d had in a long time. “You had a nightmare.”

“You woke me up?”

He nodded.

“Thank you.” She sat up and pushed her damp hair out of her face. The covers pooled around her waist, and her breasts wobbled under the thin nightgown.

“Not a problem.” He cursed silently at his hardening cock. She didn’t need any reminders of what assholes men could be. Intending to leave, he stood, but her wide brown eyes were too vulnerable. Too haunted. “What’s the matter, baby?” Moving slowly enough she could evade his touch, he ran his hand over her damp cheek.

Rather than pulling back, she leaned into his palm. The trust in the movement tightened his chest. “I’m still scared,” she whispered. “I can feel them…the way they touched me. How it hurt.” Her breath hitched.

Sam wasn’t the one she feared. He sat on the bed, facing her, and pulled her into his arms so her head rested on his shoulder, her breasts against his chest. Closing his eyes, he treasured the chance to give her the comfort a man could offer.

Her hair always smelled of lavender with a hint of citrus—lime, maybe—and her gown was silky under his rough hands. All woman, this one. “You get a lot of nightmares?”

Her shoulders moved in a shrug, and she sighed, her breath a hint of warmth through his shirt. “They were getting better but increased again when I moved home.”

Sam stiffened. “Does having me here make them worse?” He could always bunk in his truck if—

“No. No.” Her forehead rubbed against his chest. “They were nastier when I was here alone. I feel safe around you.” Her throaty laugh was rueful. “Isn’t that the damnedest thing?”

No, because he’d protect her against the goddamned world if he had to. He stroked her back. Slowly. Silk over softness. “It’s good. Now tell me why you were angry with me at the auction.”

“I…” She tried to pull back, and he tightened his grip.

“No. Talk to me, girl.” He doubted he’d share if he were in her position, but hell, that’s why he got to be the Dom. “I got you off, and…”

“You’re such a man.” She huffed out a breath. “Women don’t see things the same.”

“Noticed that.”

Damned if she didn’t give a snorting laugh. “Okay, it’s like this. They took everything from us. Clothes, speech. Took our b-bodies. All our choices. Our…humanity.”

Our. Well if she found it easier to talk in generalities, he wouldn’t correct her. “Go on.”

She had her arms around him, and now her fingers dug into his back. Another connection. “All I—we—had left, all we could control were our thoughts. I stayed cold. Wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing they affected me.”

He considered her strained voice. Rich buyers were egotistical assholes. A slave’s lack of fear wouldn’t go over well. “Didn’t that make it worse for you?”

Her body tensed.

Yeah, it had gotten worse. He shut down the urge to slam his fist into something.

She whispered into his neck, “They got mad, especially the Overseer. But being frozen was the only way I could fight back. Then with you that night, I couldn’t—”

“Hell. I took away your control and made you come.”

Her head moved up and down on his shoulder. “In front of all of them. They were…watching.” She shuddered. “The slave next to me… She looked at me like I’d betrayed her.”

Damn. He’d known there was a reason she’d been so upset and angry, but it was worse than he’d figured. He’d undermined everything she’d fought to accomplish. Forced her own body to betray her. He was a damned fool. “I’m sorry, Linda. I wouldn’t have…not if I’d realized.”

Her breasts flattened on his chest as she pulled in a breath. “At first, I figured you made me get off for kicks. Just to prove you could.”

A flicker of anger woke at the realization she’d lined him up with the assholes.

“But I know you better now. You didn’t need to prove anything. You already knew what you could do to me. You even said as much.” Her hands tightened on his back. “You thought you were doing me a favor, didn’t you? Because you’re a guy, and that’s how men think about orgasms.”

The sense of being forgiven was like stepping into the warmth of a Florida sun after being in dry air-conditioning. “I should have thought more carefully.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t a place where you had time to think.”

“True.” He closed his eyes, remembering the noise—crying and screaming. The auctioneer playing to the buyers’ debased demands. The despair in the room had been a swamp, pulling him down. The stench of fear and sick lust had made it difficult to breathe, harder not to be sick. “It gave me nightmares too, girl.”