Branded Sanctuary (23 page)

Her fingers had gone from a functional kneading of his back to a questing slide over the muscles, down toward the loose waistband, where she found he wasn‟t wearing anything but the jeans. His five o‟clock shadow rasped against her cheek as he nudged her head back against his shoulder and settled his mouth over hers. He didn‟t have to coax her lips apart, her mouth opening to his heat, the glide of his tongue over hers, the way he seduced her body to arched response with nothing more than that movement.

His arms tightened around her so her breasts pressed harder against his chest and he cupped her skull, holding her in the kiss until she was moaning softly in his mouth, her fingers back to kneading, only now it was a spasmodic reflection of the yearning emptiness between her legs.

“Easy,” he said softly, drawing his mouth away to her cheek, over to her ear, nuzzling it and teasing the shell with the tip of his tongue, before pressing his mouth to the sensitive part of her throat below. “It‟s all easy.” Like the flow of the inlet behind them, inevitable but nothing forced. One part of her was soothed and rocked like a baby to a still peace, while her body hummed with a woman‟s fully awake libido.

“I have an idea,” he said against her brow.

“So do I. Several.”

He chuckled, passed a hand down her hip to her thigh, tracing her flesh through the skirt to her knee, creating a ticklish circle that made her squirm and realize he wasn‟t at all uninvolved when he stifled an amused curse. Looking up at him, she slid her hand between them and put the heel of it on his erect cock beneath the jeans, rubbing deliberately as she held his gaze. “I want this. I really do.”

“It makes me even harder to hear you say it. Do you feel it?” She gave him a nod, but she moved her hands to his chest, resting them there with a faint quiver in her fingers. This was good, this feeling, and she didn‟t want to lose it.

She also didn‟t want to worry about where to go from here. She wanted him to do that.

“What‟s your idea?”

He pressed his lips together, a gratifying expression of near pain at the removal of her touch, but managed to give her another smile. “I‟d like to enjoy the carnival with you. The traditional parts of it. Just as we would if we were in town.”

“So you wouldn‟t be mine anymore?” She thought of Mistress Lyda of the perfect silver eyes and any-man-is-my-slave boots.

“Chloe, I was already yours.”

She didn‟t know what to say to such a heartfelt declaration. She wanted to say she was sorry about what had happened at the platform. She wanted to ask him what he was thinking. She wanted to be able to tell him what was going on with her. For a second, when he‟d been rubbing her back, rocking her, she‟d almost opened her mouth to do it. But she just couldn‟t.

Instead, she simply said, “You could have told me that before I blew my savings.” Another half-chuckle, though his eyes remained serious. “Want to ride the Ferris wheel? And we can both try the hammer at the Strong Man booth and see who wins.”

“I like cotton candy. They have that, right? I thought I saw some.”

“Purple. Huge swaths of it so you‟ll be bouncing with the sugar rush.” Leaning back down, he took her lips in a sweet, tender kiss that deepened into heat, encouraging her to sigh in his mouth as she slid her arms under his again and pressed her palms into his back. She let herself be cradled once more in a way that felt safe and pleasurable at once. As they kissed, he moved, scooping her up to bring them both to their feet. When he guided her soles to the ground, he slid his hand up the back of her leg, pausing on her thigh so it stayed momentarily hooked over his hip, keeping her on her toes enough that groin brushed groin, making her want to rub.

He let her ease all the way down only when he lifted his head. Chloe kept holding his biceps, staring up into his face. “I feel embarrassed to go back,” she admitted.

He shook his head, coiled one of her curls around her ear. He still wore her ribbon, and she didn‟t care if the hair blinded her, she wasn‟t asking for it back. “A hundred dramas happen at these things, big and small. It‟s games and play, but there‟s always a lot more than that happening. It all fits in. Don‟t worry, no one will give you any grief about it.”

“Did I ruin it?”

“No.” His brow creased as he dropped his hand to her shoulder, squeezed to emphasize the point and then drew them into a walk back toward the lights. “Chloe, I wanted you to see this part of who I am. There‟s no right or wrong response to that.

You understand?”

She did, but she also wondered if what they‟d really accomplished was seeing a part of her that it would have been better for no one to see, let alone herself. Catching both her hands, he turned in circles with her as they moved in a forward direction, coaxing a silly smile to her lips.

“Do you like being with me?”

“Yes, but what if I can‟t be—”

“Then nothing else is necessary. I want to make you happy. That‟s all. The end of it.

All right?”

She nodded, though his response moved uneasily in her stomach, remembering what Mistress Lyda had said. Plus, if she couldn‟t find happiness for herself, how successful would he be at it? She thought of his chain mail, of knights on hopeless quests.

“Let‟s make a deal, you and me. You‟re happy to be here with me, right?”

“Yes.” She was sure of that, and his expression lightened, making her glad she hadn‟t held back.

“Well then, for the next little bit, we‟re not going to worry about anything else, all right? Hey, look over there. Marguerite and Tyler had the same idea.” Chloe followed his gaze as he pulled her back into the lighted area. True to his word, he‟d brought her to the more traditional part of the carnival, where things were what she expected them to be. Well, somewhat. At this shooting gallery, instead of ducks, the moving targets were empty Dom Perignon bottles.

She was further bolstered to see Tyler and Marguerite had changed into more casual attire after the auction. Tyler wore slacks and golf shirt, while Marguerite was in a flowing sundress, covered by a cashmere sweater against the night chill.

Chloe was charmed to see the two holding hands like she and Brendan. Their stop in front of the shooting gallery was apparently Marguerite‟s idea, because Tyler was trying to move her onward and she was digging in her heels with a rare playfulness.

“Hey guys,” Chloe said.

Marguerite turned her serious near-smile on them. Chloe was glad when Brendan‟s arm slid around her shoulders, because she could tell in an instant that M knew what had happened earlier. That wouldn‟t have been unbearable, but she registered something in Marguerite‟s eyes that suggested…disapproval. Of her?

Tyler spoke. “Good, Brendan. You‟re here. Do you shoot?”

“Not really. Fencing and wrestling are my manly combat sports.” Tyler snorted. “Doesn‟t matter. Marguerite wants to see someone do this.”

“I suspect she wants to see you do it. She likes it when you show off. Sir.” A twinkle went through Brendan‟s gaze. At Tyler‟s mock scowl, he held up both hands. “I‟d like to learn, but I won‟t stand in the way of what Mistress Marguerite wants. I think you should satisfy her desires first.”

Tyler muttered a mild oath. “Fine. Put them on maximum speed,” he told the operator. He cocked a brow at Marguerite. “So this gets you hot, hmm?”

“Volcanic,” she returned, a sparkle glimmering in her gaze. “If you don‟t miss.” With Chloe still tucked close under his arm, Brendan quirked the corner of his mouth down at her. Still worried, she tried to respond with an appropriate smile.

The booth operator was a young man whose crew cut and well-fitted T-shirt suggested active Marine rather than a carnie. He stepped aside, a grin on his face.

“Maybe I should stand outside the booth, old man. Don‟t want to get hit.”

“Be just as easy to shoot you out there, especially if I‟m aiming for your ass, Jack.” Tyler closed his hand on the pellet rifle. In a blink, he‟d swung the gun up to his shoulder. Chloe didn‟t know how he even had time to take aim, but he shattered five bottles without hesitation, his amber gaze never wavering, his upper body barely moving as he found his targets. The glass rained down into the catch area behind the conveyor belt like the sound of pirate‟s treasure.

“Repeater is a little sluggish,” he noted, placing it down.

“I‟ll tell my gun distributor we need the M-4 line of pellet rifles next time,” the Marine said dryly. “Going to pick out something for the lady you‟re too damn mean to deserve?”

“Keep talking, jarhead.” Tyler looked up at the stuffed animals and other toys just above his head and arched a brow at Marguerite. “What do you want?”

“Nothing hanging on those hooks,” she responded, making Jack laugh. Giving her a sexy smile, Tyler pulled down a toy anyway. He presented her with a black stuffed gorilla bearing an armful of silk red roses and a heart that said
I’m yours.

“That will just have to hold you for now, because I have to show Brendan how to do this, so he can impress Chloe just as much.”

“I‟ll be lucky to hit one,” Brendan snorted.

Tyler handed him the pellet gun. “No worries. Three‟s all you need to give Chloe any trinket her heart desires. Take it to your shoulder…” As the men conferred, Chloe drew closer to Marguerite, despite her wariness of that earlier look. But Marguerite merely lifted her arm, drew her to her side, much as Brendan had. Letting out a small relieved sigh, Chloe leaned up against her as they watched their guys. “Are you all right?” Marguerite asked.

“Yeah. I am.” She was better now, more steady. She could say it without feeling like it was a lie. “It‟s a great carnival. I guess I got a little overwhelmed. I didn‟t expect to get so carried away or freaked out at once, you know. Brendan‟s been great. Fantastically great.”

Marguerite made a noncommittal noise. For some reason, it made Chloe want to squirm, but since she was looking toward the shooting booth, Chloe let herself do the same. With pure female pleasure, she watched Tyler help Brendan shoulder and angle the gun, a brief press of hip to hip to show him the proper stance, adjust it. All very appropriate, and yet there was a component between the two men impossible for her to miss. She creased her brow, trying to identify it. It wasn‟t that Tyler wanted to have sex with Brendan, or vice versa. No, that wasn‟t it at all. Tyler was a Dom dealing with a male sub, who was equally aware that the one touching him was Dominant. So the sexual thrum was there, even if it wasn‟t directed.

She could recognize that thrum, but it didn‟t make her part of their world, knowing how to react or handle it. Or what it truly meant.

“M.” She spoke without looking toward Marguerite. “What kind of friends are you and Brendan?”

“Do you feel you‟ve earned that information, Chloe?”

Chloe stiffened. “What do you mean?”

Marguerite shifted her stance so she was facing Chloe, kept her voice low. “Have you decided what Brendan is going to be to you? Is he a toy you‟re playing with on the store shelf, trying to decide if you‟re going to take him home? If you do, will you cherish him while it lasts, or treat him as a toy still, simply because he won‟t demand any more from you than a toy does?”

“You‟re angry with me.”

“No, I‟m not.” Marguerite studied her with her pale blue eyes. “But I do expect more from you. Honesty, and a love given freely and unstintingly to those around you.

The lack of one is hampering the other. Cruelty doesn‟t suit you.”

“I stopped. I didn‟t—” Goddess, how could Marguerite be in her head, know what she‟d almost done to him? But she did, Chloe could see it in her gaze, and didn‟t know whether to be mortified or insulted.

“No, you didn‟t.” Marguerite‟s long fingernails brushed Chloe‟s forearm, a balm to the stinging words.

“I got carried away, like I said. What I‟ve seen here…I was just fitting in.” Chloe realized she sounded defensive, almost belligerent, but Marguerite nodded.

“It‟s easy to become a chameleon in this environment, if you‟re not sure who or what you are anymore. But though a chameleon can look like her environment, she isn‟t really a part of it. She doesn‟t gain an understanding just by blending.” Chloe stared at her. “You invited me here.”

When Marguerite‟s expression flickered, Chloe‟s mind stuttered to a halt. Rewound to when Brendan had told her about the invitation. “No,” she realized. “Brendan asked you to invite me. You didn‟t want me here. You—”

“I‟m always happy to have you as a guest in my home,” Marguerite interjected.

“But I didn‟t think the carnival was the best way to introduce you to this part of his life.” There was no accusation in M‟s voice, merely reserved observation. That was worse, because it left Chloe no real target. And Marguerite was continuing, flaying her with the even tone, the far-too-truthful words.

“You‟re right, what you said to Niall. You‟re not a natural Domme. What you are is an extraordinary young woman, one in emotional pain, trying to regain control of yourself. Either fortune or disaster has brought you together with an extraordinary submissive, one who might let you do anything to deal with that pain. As long as I‟ve known you, you‟ve been about healing and laughter, love. Always love. It‟s the one thing you‟ve believed in, allowed to lead you, no matter what happened.” Chloe knew that Brendan was shooting, that she should be watching, but those words were as sharp and staccato as the pellet gun, kicking bitterness into her voice.

“What if I don‟t believe in that anymore?”

“You don‟t.” Marguerite said it gently, but Chloe still flinched. “Which is why you‟re trying to get it back by using someone who still does.” Anger welled up. “How can I believe in love? Love isn‟t strong. It doesn‟t help keep fear away, it doesn‟t make you feel safe. Power and control, that‟s what makes you feel safe. I thought that was what all this is about.” She gestured around her. “Oh right, I forgot—I can‟t understand this. I don‟t know the secret handshake.” In all her time working for Marguerite, she‟d never argued with her, never lifted her voice. However, the frustrated fury was an all-too-familiar companion of late. She had enough sanity left among her turbulent emotions to scramble to hold it back, but her voice had climbed several octaves. Fortunately, this corner of the carnival was relatively unpopulated at the moment. Still, she could feel the speculative glances of those nearby at other booths. Great, first she embarrassed herself at the auction and with Niall, now this. The seventh annual carnival would be remembered as the year that Marguerite brought her mentally unstable employee.