Still by Ann Mayburn Read Free Book Online Page B

spine, a warrior who would bow to no one but her. But with that strength came a great deal of work for a Mistress to remind him who was on top.
    “In the morning you will undoubtedly wake before I do. When you do you will open the top drawer of the table next to the bed. You'll find a sheet of paper in there, a proposal. You have until I wake to think about it. If you agree to my terms you will draw me a bath and wait for me. If you don’t agree with the terms, go to the stables to the right of the house and let my groundskeeper know you need to borrow a car to get home.” He gave her a questioning look. “And I’m not letting you drive the Corvette. I’ve ridden along with you on transport, Gunny, and you driving my 'Vette isn’t happening in this lifetime.”
    “A man can dream.”
    “So where would you like to sleep, Wyatt?”
    “Shit, you don’t have to ask me twice.”
    “Eloquent as always.” She held out her hand, a great deal of relief flooding her that he’d taken the first step towards becoming hers. Her man to heal and cherish. She had to remember that he came with some major baggage, and she had her own cross to bear, but right now she was almost giddy with relief that he was still here.
    A ghost of guilt brushed her soul that she was bringing a man to her bed for the first time since her fiancé Owen’s death, but it wasn’t like she was breaking the promise she’d made on his grave. She was sure when Owen died that there was no chance she would ever love another man like she loved him. Now, she wasn't so sure; maybe it was possible to love again. Or, if not love again, maybe to truly care about someone else. Wyatt needed her help, needed her.
    And in her own way, she needed him just as much.
    Keeping all of those intense emotions off her face became even harder when he slipped his hand into hers, calluses still heavy on his palms. She wondered what he did that kept his hands in such rough shape. Even more, she wondered what they would feel like on her body. As she held his hand she did so at an angle that kept him a half step behind her, not the five that he’d feared.
    While he hadn’t agreed to anything yet, old habits died hard and, on a barely conscious level, she’d begun to coast through the lowest levels of her Domme space, a state of mind as natural to her as breathing. It also felt like a part of her soul that hadn’t stirred since Owen’s death was slowly waking again and that scared her. If she ever fell in love with someone again and lost them, she was sure she wouldn’t make it.
    They went up to the second floor together and headed left, to her wing of the house. Opening one of the cedar double doors she led Wyatt into her room and smiled when he stopped and stared.
    “Not what you were expecting?”
    He moved further into the room and turned in a slow circle, taking in the fifteen-foot ceiling consisting of exposed timbers and skylights. She flicked a switch next to the door and the gas logs in the fireplace came to life, creating twisting shadows on the sturdy mission style furniture draped with colorful Native American rugs. The warm colors complimented Wyatt’s deeply tanned skin, giving it a bronze gleam that begged for her touch. Studying his face, she watched as his gaze went down the enormous river stone fireplace and to the polished floors.
    He squatted down and ran his fingers over the boards near his feet conjuring an image of him doing that naked, with his hands behind his head and his testicles just begging for her touch. “What kind of wood is this?”
    She had to swallow hard before she could speak. “It’s actually a combination of the floors that we were able to salvage when we started rebuilding.”
    He stood and looked around the room again. “They’re really nice. I’ve been working for my dad doing carpentry and carving, mostly handling the detailed inlays and delicate stuff. He’d love these floors.”
    His gaze flickered to her enormous canopy