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Let her go after I messed with her head, left her raw. Yeah, I'm goddamned proud of myself, come to think of it.
"I wouldn't force my attentions on an unwilling woman, Violet. "
"I know that. I do. I'm just saying that if she's afraid of her own feelings, she may lash out at you in a variety of ways. And remember I'm in a unique position to have seen that firsthand. "
"She's nothing like that. " Though he had an immediate vision of the fork in the table, the coarse obscenities that would spill from her elegant lips when she was cornered.
"I hope not. And I trust your judgment but you seem a little messed up on this one. "
The one. The only one. He yanked at the door. Snarled.
"What?"
"The damn door won't open. " He yanked again and the French door shuddered. "It must be the latch. It must be - " He closed his eyes, counted. "Never mind. " Violet started laughing. "You pulled when you should have pushed, didn't you?
Good grief, you are messed up right now. "
"Shut up, you little pest. " Tyler stopped, his hand still on the doorknob, though he'd stepped outside. "That's it, Violet. That's the key. "
"What?"
But he wasn't paying attention. Instead he was listening to the message exploding in his head with the resounding roar of a cannon, a message his gut was saying was right. It shattered the afternoon of foggy frustration and circular arguments he'd been conducting with himself and gave him hope. And possibly a path back into his angel's soul.
"I've got an idea. "
* * * * *
Marguerite trolled the dark shadows of The Zone on an exceptionally crowded Saturday night. She usually didn't come here on weekends when it was filled with unknown faces and so much noise. But she wanted the press of bodies, the anonymity, the ability to move like a predator among unsuspecting prey to look for the one who would ease her ache this evening, her frustration.
Her life had been simple, everything on an even keel. So why did she miss him so keenly? Why was every breath difficult, a form of pain that was pleasurable?
"Mistress. "
The respectful voice, a familiar one, drew her out of her thoughts. She was passing Brendan, and as she did so, he went to one knee as he always did, bowing his head. On impulse, she let her fingers trail over his bare shoulder, the soft hair just above his ear.
His lips brushed her wrist.
She shuddered, remembering Tyler's lips there, his propensity for using the sexual gesture to gauge her pulse, which was nearly always spiking from the moment he touched her.
Several steps past Brendan, intuition pricked the bubble of her absorption.
Normally she would have kept going, not acknowledging him further. Instead she turned and looked back.
He was getting to his feet and it was obviously a painful process, his body hunched, his mouth tight and strained. While the brand would still be healing and tender, his awkward movements exceeded what she would have expected in that regard.
A man stood beside him, not offering to help him up, just watching him with a bored, annoyed look. She recognized him as Tim, Brendan's live-in lover, the one who also enjoyed subbing to a Mistress. Once Brendan gained his feet, Tim said something to him, slapped him on the back with cruel playfulness. Brendan cringed at the contact but nodded. Tim sauntered out toward the bar area.
She pivoted, came back. "No. " She caught his wrist when he began to kneel again.
"Stay standing. What's the matter, Brendan? What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing, Mistress. Just an injury. Hiking. " But she was watching his lowered eyes, the way they darted away, the clutch of his fingers pressing against his thigh. He wore a cotton T-shirt tonight, sleeveless and snug along his well-defined upper body but typically he went shirtless, making himself accessible to the touch of the Mistresses who desired to engage him
.
She curled her fingers in the shirt at his waist and raised startled eyes when his hand clamped down on her wrist, trying to stop her. Brendan flushed. "My apologies, lady. I just. . . please. . . "
"Let go of me. "
