“Oh.” The disappointment in her voice and her involuntary wiggle told him she’d be willing anyway.

He pulled her hair, dragging her until she was on her back in the soft grass. Enthusiasm should be rewarded.

Chapter Fifteen

The cold morning breeze off the Gulf whipped around Sam as he followed Linda into her beachfront store. After yesterday, she was walking a bit stiffly, but although he’d seen her wince off and on, she’d smiled each time. Probably enjoying the memory of how the soreness had occurred.

His first impression of her store was cheerful clutter, but on closer examination he could see she’d arranged the merchandise to lure a customer in. On one side, two middle-aged women browsed the landscape paintings. A young couple was checking out the stoneware.

Sam glanced around. Something seemed missing. Ah. “No shot glasses with palm trees or ‘Florida’ on the side?”

“’Fraid not. There are plenty of other stores selling the usual souvenirs.” She grinned. “My cousin collected stuff when she traveled, tiny spoons and shot glasses, and a few years later, she got tired of dusting and gave everything to Goodwill. Tourists should have vacation mementos that are useful as well as fun.”

He tucked his arm around her. “Fine job.” The place even smelled good, reminding him of pumpkin pie. They passed a shelf of candles, then a chest-high wrought-iron candelabrum. He stopped. Be nice to get something for Z and Jessica’s wedding.

The people by the stoneware were looking around for assistance. Sam gave Linda a quick, hard kiss. “Go help your customers. I’m going to buy a candelabra. See you tonight.”

“I…” She glanced at the couple. “Okay. But next time is my place.”

“Works for me.” As she went to answer questions, Sam hauled his present-to-be to the front. Heavy bastard. The nicely dressed clerk gave him a cheerful greeting. Appeared Linda selected her employees as carefully as she did her merchandise. As the clerk rang up the sale and arranged to package and send the gift, Sam listened to the chatter in the store.

Linda was giving the young couple a briefing on the various potters’ backgrounds.

On the left, the older women were gossiping.

Hearing Linda’s name, he straightened.

The plump one was whispering, “…she…a slave. I heard she…”

“Then she asked for it, didn’t she?” The brassy-haired one drew herself up, looking as self-righteous as a nun.

Sam’s jaw clenched. If Linda overheard crap like that, no wonder she got frazzled. And her children had shoveled more shit onto the pile.

“…got what she deserved.”

He felt a muscle twitch in his cheek. Ripping a person down in her own place? Judging without the facts? And worst of all, for a woman…

He accepted his receipt from the clerk, nodded at her, and then followed the two old biddies out of the store. Their mean-spirited whispers sounded like snakes slithering through the grass.

“Ladies.”

They turned, faces pleasant.

“Could be wrong about that. In my book, a lady doesn’t bad-mouth someone. Especially a woman who already suffered enough.”

They looked shocked. The brassy one drew herself up again. “How dare—”

“You really figure any woman asks to be abused?”

The plump one’s face reddened.

“Yeah. What I thought.” He barely bit back an offer to show them what a whipping felt like. But his face—Dom and sadist—must have spoken for him, since they tripped over each other backing away.

As he stalked to his truck, they scurried off in the other direction. Hell. He probably hadn’t done Linda any favors, but goddamn.

He shook his head and started his truck. Then turned it off. Linda’s children had bleated out the same crap, and the brats still hadn’t called to apologize. When she’d checked her phone this morning, he could see their betrayal was eating at her.

Long as he was on a roll, he might as well enjoy himself.

* * *

Linda leaned back in the booth of the small sandwich shop and smiled at Andrea, Beth, and Jessica. Their lunch was almost over, and she’d finally learned what had brought the three women to Foggy Shores. They were determined to get Linda to attend Jessica’s bachelorette party. “I’m not really part of your group,” Linda said, fighting a losing battle.

Jessica wasn’t taking no for an answer. Then again, Master Z wouldn’t fall for a pushover.

Andrea wasn’t any weakling either. The bartender’s submissive had a slight Hispanic accent, was a couple of inches taller than Linda, and was darned determined.

Although soft-spoken and quiet, Beth was just as stubborn. Lean and fit with dark auburn hair and turquoise eyes, she ran a landscaping business and was probably used to getting her own way. Except maybe with her Dom, who apparently was Sam’s construction contractor.

“Being with Sam makes you part of the group. All the trainees and the Masters’ submissives are coming.” Andrea shoved her curly, butterscotch-colored hair behind her ears. “Not any Masters, of course, and not the Mistresses either.”

“Mistresses are female,” Linda noted. “Why not them?”

“The Shadowlands Masters and Mistresses stick together. They’d report back.” Andrea grinned. “I sure don’t want Cullen finding out what I do at a bachelorette party, right?”

Remembering the antics at parties she’d attended, Linda could only nod. “Probably not.”

“Mistress Anne’s Joey was tempted, but he didn’t want to be the only guy.” Beth’s lips curved. “Besides, any party with Gabi and Sally will be insane, and he didn’t want to get in trouble with Anne.”

Linda ran through the people she’d met at the Shadowlands. “I don’t think I know her.”

“Oh, you’d remember. She’s as scary a sadist as Sam.” Jessica gave a fake shiver and then grinned at Beth’s chiding look. “Oh, please. The man’s terrifying. I’m sure Linda’s noticed.”

Oh, had she. She still carried some bruises. Linda widened her eyes in confusion. “But Sam is just a sweetie. How could you say that?” And actually, the past couple of days had been wonderful. She’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone there. Just to watch television or talk with while having a glass of wine. Someone to cuddle against in bed.

Jessica shook her head in admiration. “You’re so full of it.” Turning sideways, she stole a french fry from Andrea.

“Why didn’t you just order some?” Andrea asked.

“Didn’t want to gain weight before my wedding. And everybody knows stolen food has no calories.”

“Good point.” Laughing, Andrea pushed her plate into the center of the table to share. “So, Linda, does Master Sam scare you?”

“Ah. Sometimes.” Linda eyed the plate. No calories? After taking a fry, she tried to explain further. “It’s a good scary when we’re playing. I know he’ll push, and that’s a bit frightening, but”—she pressed her hand over the quiver low in her belly—“exciting too.”

The smiles of understanding she got made her relax. They really did get it.

“Good word, ‘exciting,’” Jessica agreed.

“But when he’s mad?” Linda continued. “He gets this cold…dangerous…look. Sure, I know he’d never hurt me—not in anger—but my body isn’t hearing logic.”

“Oh, God, that’s how I feel when Nolan’s angry,” Beth said. “And I want to hide under the bed, only he sees that and really gets mad, because he hates it when he scares me, even though my reaction’s just instinct.”

“Exactly.” Linda tilted her head. “Were you one of the kidnapped women?”

“No. I had an abusive husband,” Beth said.

Jessica glanced at Linda. “He was a real psycho sadist. Makes you appreciate how careful and controlled ours are.”

“Ours?”

“The Doms in the Shadowlands.” Jessica leaned back with a sigh. “I’m so full I’ll probably fall asleep at my computer.”

“Yeah, exciting life, playing with numbers.” Andrea grinned. “I’ve got a couple more places to clean this afternoon, so I’d better get moving.”

“I have fruit trees to plant.” Beth looked at Linda. “This weekend…it’ll be really, really fun.”

Fun with a bunch of women who were submissive like her yet assertive as all get-out. “I’d love to join you.”

* * *

Near suppertime, Sam walked into a small diner near the University of South Florida and saw Linda’s children had shown up. Probably not because they wanted to cooperate with his instructions, but because they needed someone to fight with.

If they took him on, he’d have to figure they hadn’t inherited their mother’s brains.

A half-full iced tea sat in front of the girl, a can of Pepsi in front of the boy. Looked as if they’d been there awhile.

When he slid into the booth across from them, the girl startled. The boy managed to suppress his reaction…somewhat.

Sam leaned back and studied them. They had their mother’s rich brown eyes. Brenna had Linda’s figure. Charles had her nose and determined chin. His anger increased. Her own blood was destroying her. Refusing to speak with her. Calling her names.

As his silence continued, Brenna shifted uneasily in her seat.

Charles’s mouth was tight; his fingers around the can were white-knuckled. “You wanted to speak to us, right?”

“I did. Your mother talks about you, you know. She’s proud of you.”

Charles answered. “Yeah, well we’re not proud of her, the—”

“If I bust your jaw, she’ll be pissed off at me,” Sam said mildly. “I’m a sadist. I’d enjoy seeing you suck your meals through a straw.” Actually, it would bother the hell out of him.