AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"You're no trouble. Though I expect if you chose to be, you'd be the kind of trouble that a certain type of man would relish."
Okay, time to start putting him off balance before she teetered right off this seesaw. She cleared her throat. "Were you and my sister ever . . ."
Given that everything coming out of his mouth was like a shovel thrust into the bottom of her emotional well, flinging muck out over the top, it seemed a little pointless to be tactful, but she found she couldn't say it outright. Fortunately, he understood what she meant.
"No. Her interests lay elsewhere, as did mine." His gaze did that sharpening thing again, spearing the fluttery place beneath her rib cage.
"I think we should choose another subject for now." Though she really had no idea what subject they were talking about, her instincts told her the topic was fraught with peril. "You said you were training Troy. Does he work at another store?"
"No. I'm a training Master at the local dungeon. Being under my tutelage is a requirement of his Mistress."
Bull's-eye, direct arrow. She'd been right about the fraught-with-peril thing. It took a Herculean effort not to leap all the way back to the door, the way she had the day she almost stepped on a snake sunning on the top step of their family's back deck. His gaze remained on hers, steady. He was waiting for her reaction, like a damn scientist studying a hapless rat in a glass box. On top of that, he'd done it right in the middle of the mainstream public.
She stole a flustered glance around the store. A couple of men, apparently contractors, seemed engrossed with selecting parts down one aisle, while a pair of women were having pie and coffee over in the refreshments area. None of them seemed to be staring, but then, maybe it only seemed to her like a herald bellowing an announcement in the public square. In fact, only one person other than herself seemed to have picked up on the disc
ussion.
"Those nails aren't going to stock themselves, Troy," Logan said. "You're not part of this conversation."
As he spoke, Logan never shifted his attention from her face. Yet despite the apparent mildness of the comment, the undercurrent had the effect of a cattle prod. "No sir," Troy said immediately. In her peripheral vision, she saw him busy himself with the stock, acting as if he'd donned supersonic noise-canceling headphones.
Logan's tone of command affected Madison as well, holding her in place like a hooked fish. But hearing he was a training Master brought forth another memory, something that hurt. It doesn't mean anything. It's not real to him.
"It's all right," he said quietly. "I wasn't trying to shock you."
She knew that. She was well attuned to people trying to manipulate her emotions, and he wasn't setting off that alarm. Alice might have told Logan about Madison's cravings, but it didn't mean he was privy to her sister's posthumous plottings. Alice was gone and Madison could set him straight about all that, right here, right now.
She summoned a hard smile. "Sorry. You took me by surprise. This is still new to me. I'm not as knowledgeable about these things as Alice was. I don't have her instincts."
"We all have an instinct for Dominance and submission, Madison." He nodded toward Troy. "But if you'd like to expand your knowledge, you're welcome to come help me with Troy's next training session."
Very matter-of-fact, and helpful. It made sense, right? With a BDSM section in the store Alice had left her to run, the obvious assumption would be she had at least a business-level comfort with it. However, going anywhere with Logan that involved restraints and whips screamed bad idea. The last time she'd been to a club, she'd been with her sister, not a charismatic male sexual Dominant.
"I don't know." She glanced back at Troy, considering all the things that "training" might mean. "I'm not into hurting anyone."
He looked down at her hand, the one he'd pricked. "Pain and pleasure are often interchangeable. Regardless, every step is consensual. He lets go of as much control as he desires. Under the right conditions, the more control is relinquished, the more freedom is found. You're welcome to simply watch, Madison. Friday at eight."
"We'll see. I have a lot to do, and if I'm tired that evening . . ."
Those coffee-colored eyes came back to her face. He wasn't staring. Staring would have been less unsettling. She felt like a book he was reading, every word a page full of information about her. He let her run down before he spoke again, courteously. "Understood. If you do come that night, use the interior door between our storerooms. It's always unlocked."
"You do the training here?" She tried not to let her voice squeak. Right close by, where she could hear the slap of a flogger on flesh, cries of pain and pleasure . . .
"I have a couple rooms in the back, one for the training, one for the woodworking."
He might have equipment in there. Cuffs, chains . . . like the things in her store inventory, only these would be worn from use, scratches in the wood of the St. Andrew's Cross, rendered silky smooth by sweat . . .
"I'll be adding those hinges tonight if you want to come see the woodworking part of things," he added. "I know it must be hard, hanging around Alice's house at night."
That was going to be the danger, wasn't it? He had more than one road past her shields, and his understanding of the loss she was dealing with could be a four-lane highway. Under ordinary circumstances, she'd be restrained by common sense. Going into a backroom after business hours with a guy she didn't even know wasn't a good idea. However, thanks to Alice's note, Madison's uppermost fear was that he was her own personal Pied Piper of Hamelin, the tune he was offering one she longed to follow.
"Okay. I'll think about it." As if she was considering an offer to come over for tea. Jesus. "Thanks. It was . . . nice to meet you. I'd better get back to the store."
She would have fled if it she could have, but she maintained her dignity with a decorous pace. As a result, she had time for a few thousand thoughts before she reached the doorway. She stopped, bit her lip. "Logan . . . when you said, 'At last we meet,' it felt significant. What did my sister say about me?"
"She gave you to me."
Her face must have conveyed her startled jolt, because his lips twisted in wry response. He lifted a hand, staying her what the fuck reaction.
