Cherise Sinclair - The Dom's Dungeon

When she appeared, he knew it had been worth the wait. An embarrassed flush highlighted her cheekbones almost as nicely as the French-maid's corset showcased her round breasts. The white lace and ribbon decorating the black latex gave her a fragile appearance, one that would be accentuated when she had on the garters and G-string that she held in her hand along with the other accessories.

“That will do nicely,” he said.

“You cannot be serious.” Her brown eyes sparked with indignation. “I'm not going to—”

When he lifted his eyebrows, she managed to cut off the rest of her protest.

“Wait in there,” he said. “You'll need at least one more outfit.”

She actually growled as she retreated.

“Surely Nordstroms doesn't have kinky clothing,” MacKensie said. As they entered the fancy department store, she was all too aware of Alex's guiding hand on her lower back. He touched her—often—and always stood just a few inches too close. She knew he did it deliberately. Since he'd done nothing blatantly sexual that she could challenge him on, she tried to pretend his actions didn't unsettle her.

He bent down to murmur in her ear, his warm breath washing across her neck and making the hairs on her arms rise. “We're done with kink. Now we're shopping for formal wear for the party you want to attend.”

“I want to attend? Does that mean you don't?” When she turned to look up at him, he was still so close that her lips grazed his cheek. She froze.

Rather than stepping away, he slowly straightened, his lips brushing against hers, as if accidentally. Only the crinkling of the lines at the corners of his eyes told her he'd done it deliberately. That, and the fact that every move he made was as controlled as the words he used.

“Normally I'd make a short appearance and leave.” He touched her chin lightly with a finger. “But to do a good job of networking for you, we'll need to spend the evening.”

He'd do that for her? An odd uneasiness lodged in the pit of her stomach, one having nothing to do with his teasing games. Jim and Mary had shown her a selfless generosity, but they'd thought of her as a daughter. Her sorority sisters in college had befriended her and given her etiquette lessons, thinking of her as a challenge. But men…men didn't help women. Not unless they wanted something, and Fontaine already had her under his thumb. He didn't need to do this.

Head tilted, he studied her face. “I've rarely seen that amount of disbelief when I ask a woman to a dance,” he murmured. “But this isn't the place to discuss it.” He guided her forward through the aisles of clothing.

If he thought she'd talk about her reaction or why, he was sadly mistaken. Not a chance.

A minute later, she planted her feet as something else occurred to her. “I didn't mind your paying for the…the kinky clothing since it's more for your problem than mine, but you can't buy me formal wear. That's not right.”

He turned, his piercing blue eyes as focused as a laser from a science-fiction novel. Then he smiled and ran his hands up and down her arms, less a sexual than a comforting gesture. “MacKensie, I doubt you could afford what you need. It's my pleasure to get it for you.”

She knew better. Gifts came first, followed by demands. She wasn't that kind of person anymore. “I can't accept, but thank you.”

When she tried to step back, his hands tightened on her arms, holding her firmly in place. “I see. Well then, how about a trade? A lifetime of free care for Butler in exchange for my purchasing everything I think you'll need while you remain under my care.”

“Under your care?”

“Yes, pet ,” he said, deliberately emphasizing the word. “I believe that is the bargain we made yesterday. This just adds a codicil to it.”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

When he grinned, the sternness left his face. “I have a law degree, yes, but I'm mostly a boring businessman.”

“You couldn't be boring if you tried,” she muttered, then realized he still held her arms, apparently oblivious to the people having to detour around them. He'd probably wait there forever for his damned answer, wouldn't he? Considering the exorbitant price tags for the T-shirts on the rack beside them, the fancy clothing must be horrendously expensive. Even a lifetime of vet care might not cover it. But he obviously wasn't lacking for money, and he'd made an effort to salvage her pride. “All right. We have a deal.”

“Good girl.” He released her and headed toward the elevator.

Despite the fact that he wore jeans, he obviously exuded the scent of money, for the saleswoman in the formal-wear department upstairs pounced on him like a cat discovering a mouse. With an effort, Mac concealed the fact she was shaking in her sneakers and tried to emulate his polite reserve.

Arm around Mac, Alex instructed the woman about what he had in mind, consulting Mac only to get her shoe size. Mac couldn't decide if she felt insulted or coddled. Coddled won out since she had no clue how to buy a formal gown; she'd never bought one in her life. Her college finances sure hadn't extended that far. She'd only been in the sorority because of the influence and funds provided by an alumnus friend of Mary's.

The saleswoman returned with an armload of gowns that she held up for Alex's approval. Not Mac's.

“If you like them so much, maybe you should try them on,” Mac muttered.

Alex laughed and then shocked her stupid by kissing the top of her head.

She pulled on gown after gown, with the saleswoman helping her lace and tie and button and zip. Gold, blue, black. With each one, Alex made noncommittal noises. The final hanger held a long, full-skirted gown in pink, and Mac sneered at it. The color of cheerleaders . “I never wear pink.”

“Pink would be lovely on you,” the saleswoman said. “Your man has a good eye for color.” She whisked the gown over Mac's head.

Mac had barely a glimpse before the woman pushed her gently out of the room to where Alex waited on a plush couch. Legs outstretched, one arm resting along the back, he looked thoroughly at home. His eyebrows rose when he saw her this time. “That's lovely on you, MacKensie.”

As warmth bloomed inside her, she tried not to reveal how much the compliment meant.

He twirled a finger in the air, a silent command to turn.

She did and—to hell with it—enjoyed the feel of the luxurious fabric swirling around her bare legs. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrors and stopped dead. Whoa, look at that, Miss Elegance . She turned one way, then the other, admiring herself, before remembering who watched.

“But pink?” she said, making a token protest.

“Pink looks good on you,” he said mildly. “We'll take this one,” he told the saleslady. “Please select the appropriate undergarments, hose, and shoes.” He tapped his fingers on the arm of the couch, thinking. “A purse and a cape also. The evening will be chilly.”

Mac's mouth dropped open. As the saleslady scurried away, beaming like a woman whose commission had just gone through the roof, Mac realized she should have put a limit on how much Fontaine could spend. “That's too much.” Maybe most women would gloat over the windfall, but it made her feel obligated.

“We have a deal.” Alex rose to stand beside her. With a faint smile, he ran a finger down her cheek, his touch somehow more intimate that any john who'd pounded into her.

She changed the bandage on his back when they got home. Only a tiny bit of clear pink drainage had stained the gauze, and the wound was healing nicely. As she taped the gauze down, she couldn't help but notice the long lines of his torso and the contoured muscles of his back. Under her fingers, his warm skin felt velvety soft over disconcertingly hard muscles beneath. No businessman she'd ever seen had muscles like that.