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All my reluctance and turmoil melt away. This is too perfect, too right, to scare me. Arching my back, I let pleasure cascade through me, drawing out my release by pressing on the fragile scabs of his bite.
“Better?”
I laugh, curling around his pillow. “Yes, Master. Much better.”
“Are you still afraid?”
“No. Not of you.”
“Is the alarm on? Sheba’s there with you?”
“Yes to both. We’re locked in tight and I’m here in your bed, wishing you were home.”
“Tomorrow, kitten. Sleep tight.”
“Charlie?” I ask hurriedly before he can hang up.
“Yes?”
My fears are gone, but I’m still curious. Tasker said I don’t know where Charlie is or what he’s doing, which is true. I don’t know anything about this trip. I assumed it’s for work, the same as the last one, but he never really said. “Where are you?”
“I’m sitting in a crappy motel room with an annoying neon light buzzing and blinking outside, cursing the hours until I can come home and bury myself in you.”
“But where? New York?”
He’s silent for several moments, and my heartbeat quickens. “Not New York, but it’s not safe for me to say where I am. It’s not safe for either of us. I’m working. I’ll be home tomorrow night.”
“Are you in danger?”
He laughs and I can almost see his eyes glittering with a mixture of amusement and violence at the same time. “Me? Never.”
17
It’s after lunch and I still haven’t had time to talk to Dr. Wentworth about more training. She’s been too busy. The phone is ringing off the hook and every four-legged client seems especially rowdy. Maybe a blizzard is headed our way.
The waiting room is finally empty. In the lull, I mop the tile floor to clean up any hair and tinkles I might have missed and run through my afternoon prep to close. I can hear Dr. Wentworth humming as she cleans up. She rotates assistants each day, and Callie asked to leave early for a New Year’s Eve party, which is fine by me. Fewer witnesses, fewer interruptions. But even in the quieter final hours of the day, I have a hard time finding my tongue.
I’m not scared of Dr. Wentworth. I rehearsed what I want to say last night. But the words don’t want to come out of my mouth today. I guess I have a problem asking for things. I didn’t get this job on my own in the first place. Oh, I applied on my own, sure, but for all I know, Mom made a call to her friend to ensure her basket-case daughter…
I pause in the middle of washing out the coffee carafe. Negative self-talk. For the first time, I hear the reel playing in my head and I deliberately turn it off. I’ve done a good job so far, and I have no proof that I didn’t get the job on my own. None at all. Dr. Wentworth encourages me to ask questions, so I’m going to march in there and—
The front door slams open, bell jingling madly. “Help, please!”
I slide the carafe onto the hotplate and rush back to my desk. A woman holds a puppy in her arms, and it isn’t moving.
“I think it was hit by a car. I saw it alongside the road.”
“This way, please.” I open the door to the examination area and call, “Dr. Wentworth, we have an emergency.”
We have two exam rooms, but for this kind of work, I take the woman to the surgery room, where Dr. Wentworth performs sterilization and dental procedures. The woman lays the dog on the table, and it whimpers, but barely moves.
What I admire about Dr. Wentworth—and Charlie too—is her calm under pressure. Cool as a cucumber, she slips on gloves and immediately takes control of the situation. “Is this your animal?”
“No, I saw it flopping alongside the road at the intersection. It must have been hit trying to cross the road. I picked it up and saw your sign.”
“Excellent. Thank you for bringing her to us. We’ll take care of her from here.”
“Do you need my information?”
