Make Me, Sir

“This is your decision, Gabi,” Vance said over his shoulder as he crossed the room. “We’re going to let you two work out how you want to handle it.” He opened the door.

Master Marcus stepped in. He glanced around. Then his gaze zeroed in on her like a targeting control in a video game.

Every blood cell in her body leaped in joy until she remembered what she’d done. What he’d done. The joy fractured and died, leaving her with the bitter taste of betrayal on her tongue.

“Marcus,” Galen said, rising. He held his hand out. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Galen.” With his silent grace, Marcus walked over to shake hands, then nodded at Vance before turning his gaze back on Gabi.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. The lethal blue color hadn’t changed from when it had filled her world like a desert sky. And his voice—soft and deep, so different from the sound he’d made when she’d told him she was FBI. Like he’d been stabbed. She concentrated on picking up her soda gracefully, although from the way her stomach churned, she sure didn’t need a drink.

Vance huffed a laugh. “Take her for a walk, Marcus, before she turns any greener.”

Galen said, “She’s willing to return—got more guts than a lot of so-called agents—so when you’ve worked out how you’ll handle this, come back here so we can finish planning.”

Go with him? As she realized the agents had cast her to the sharks, she stiffened in disbelief.

Marcus pinned her gaze. One shark. With piercing blue eyes. He held his hand out. “Come, Gabrielle.”

“No. I won’t go anywhere with you.” Back stiff, she rose, heading for the door. She gave the other two men a wounded look.

“Little spitfire.” Vance caught her wrist and pulled her to a stop. His eyes were a darker blue than Marcus’s but surprisingly kind. “We talked with Z, with the other Masters, and with Marcus. All anyone wants is to let you serve as a decoy in the safest, gentlest way we can arrange…and we all agree Marcus is the best choice. Talk to him, Gabi, and if you decide you can’t work with him, we’ll figure out something else.”

Talk with Marcus. Could she stand it? Did she have a choice? Vance held her gaze until she nodded her surrender.

“Good girl.” He set her wrist into Marcus’s hand. Strong fingers closed, trapping her more completely than any restraint.

* * *

The agents had planned for Z to attend this meeting, but Marcus had played the guilt card on them. He might have employed a few courtroom techniques, but he’d told the truth. Their secrecy bullshit had not only given him a rough few weeks, but also led to the fiasco last Saturday. They sure as hell owed him a chance to make it right with Gabrielle. They’d reluctantly agreed, with the stipulation that Gabi had the final choice.

Marcus had pondered long and hard about today—what to say and where to go so she’d feel comfortable. Obviously nowhere alone with him. So now he guided her out of the lobby toward the beach. On the grounds around the hotel, the palm trees rustled and swayed in the stiffening breeze. Gulls cried as they rode the air currents, diving at the white-capped waves. People were scattered here and there, their towels, blankets, and umbrellas a bright splash of color against the white sand. A child with flaming red hair used a stick to write his name in the wet sand.

As Marcus guided Gabi onto the sidewalk paralleling the beach, his spirits rose. Damn, he liked seeing her, even if she was under duress. The sea wind ruffled her shaggy hair and brought him her sandalwood scent. With an effort, he put away the memory of how the fragrance deepened, darkened in the tender crease between her hip and thigh.

Instead he studied her. Shoulders still rigid, walk stiff, the small muscles around her eyes and mouth tense. “Gabrielle.”

She looked up at him, her brown eyes wary. “I’ll listen to what you have to say, but just so you know, I don’t want to…to work…with you.” Her mouth twisted bitterly at the word. “You’re wasting your time.”

The stab hurt. “I understand.” And she was perfectly justified for her feelings; however, if she stayed enmeshed in the past, she’d not listen to him at all. How could he get her to relax? Got it. He stopped, right in the middle of the sidewalk. After removing his shoes, he stuffed his socks in the toes and rolled up his jeans.

She stared at him as if she’d never seen bare legs before, and a spurt of humor broke through his guilt. Did she really see him as that stuck in the mud? He tied the laces together, slung his shoes over his shoulder, and nodded toward the wide expanse of beach. “Coming?”

After eyeing him suspiciously, she said, “Fine,” and followed suit, removing her shoes and socks. Although she’d worn a black T-shirt and jeans, her sneakers were blue and her socks a flaming red that matched her toenails. Damn, she made him smile every time he saw her.

She walked beside him toward the water. The warm sand was deep and soft, the footing a little unsteady. He watched with satisfaction as she gave up hating him and concentrated on avoiding clusters of seaweed, broken shells, and enthusiastic dogs.

When they reached the wet sand, flattened into firmness by the waves, he took her hand.

Startled, she frowned up at him, gave a token tug to see if he’d cooperate, and then shrugged, obviously deciding not to fight about it. She turned her head, staring at the water. “So talk.”

He snorted a laugh. “Tough little sub, aren’t you?”

Her mouth tightened, but she didn’t look up.

He stopped, took her shoes, and dropped both pairs onto the sand. Cupping her cheek with one hand, he used his thumb to tilt her head up. Her stormy eyes met his. “Gabrielle, I’m sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” she said cynically. “What are you sorry for, anyway? I’m the one who lied.”

She didn’t want to admit they had anything between them that he could have damaged. He couldn’t quite read her; too many emotions warred across the face. Defensiveness. Hurt. Anger. Something else. “Z lied too, Gabi. Did either of you have a choice?”

“No, but—”

He sighed. “I don’t like this matter at all, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Her brown eyes lightened slightly, and then a crease furrowed her brow. “What are you apologizing for?”

He lifted his other hand, holding her face between his palms. Her cheeks were soft and warm. The sunlight glinted off her long red-blonde eyelashes. “I might not have known about the role you played, but still, the thought of how rough I was on you sits poorly with me.”

“Not your fault, Sir.”

The inadvertent slip warmed his heart. “But what I truly regret—”

Gabi waited for him to gather his words, and actually felt a bit of amusement. Was the fancy lawyer at a loss for the right thing to say? Her humor faded quickly, for his firm hands kept her from retreating and assuming a more comfortable, distant manner. He’d placed them face-to-face and shared his emotions as openly as he demanded the same from her.

His thumb rubbed over her chin. “I regret the loss of your trust, Gabrielle. I deliberately kept you after closing on Saturday. I could tell you had a reason for all the defiance, and I wanted to discover what it was so we could deal with it.” His lips twisted into a wry smile. “Questioning you when you couldn’t think was to help, not undermine you. Instead it turned into a betrayal of your trust. I’m sorry, Gabi.”

He hurt too. The open pain in his eyes crumpled her hard-erected defenses as if she’d constructed them of paper. Somehow he’d gone straight to the heart of her anger. He’d known that she did feel betrayed. Did feel as if he’d taken advantage of her, and she wouldn’t have if she hadn’t trusted him so much. Her breath hitched, and her eyes flooded with tears. Oh hell. She tried to jerk away, choking out, “Let me go.”

“No, darlin’, that I won’t.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against his solid chest. His hand pressed her head into the hollow of his shoulder and the comfort…the sheer wonder at being held finished her off. And she cried, sobbing out her pain, even her smoldering anger at the punishments she herself had forced him to mete out. He hurt me and hit me, and he means so much to me…

He enclosed her in his hard arms, rumbling unintelligible, comforting sounds, and rocked her slowly in his cradle of safety. As the storm of her emotions died down, she managed somehow to find a semblance of control and pull herself together.

His arms loosened, and he let her go…and she wanted to crawl back into his embrace.

“Little sub,” he murmured and used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her face.

“I got your shirt wet.”

He didn’t look like himself, thick hair windblown, jeans, his cotton shirt rumpled and wet, but his blue eyes hadn’t changed, and neither had the way he studied her. “It’ll dry. Hopefully you feel better.”

She felt…hollow, emptied of anger and pain. Her fear hadn’t left, but—

“What?” He frowned, tilted her chin up. “Something is still wrong.”

“It’s not you.” She shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “I’m just scared. Nothing new.”