He felt that he owned her now, she knew. She grinned. The fifteen-pound fluff-ball had snarled at her neighbor’s dog—and returned to her, totally convinced he’d saved her from the huge pit bull.
So she’d named him after her favorite fictional boyfriend. “You’re my hero, Rhage.”
Ears pricked up, Rhage watched her closely. Anything she said was important to him, and how lovely was that?
“I always thought I’d grow up and find my own hero.” Rainie grimaced at herself in the mirror. Obviously, she shouldn’t have wasted her youth on reading and daydreaming. “But I gave up; I’m not holding out for a hero anymore.”
Rhage whined. Did that mean he agreed?
“I don’t think heroes exist anymore, puppy.” Her ex-fiancé, Geoffrey Hollingsworth, sure didn’t qualify as a knight in shining armor. Or, maybe he hadn’t considered her a prize worth fighting for. The memory was an unhealed bruise on her heart.
She’d been thrilled when he’d taken her up north to finally meet his family. “This is Rainie Kuras,” he’d said.
But when his mother and sister looked down their noses at Rainie’s painfully purchased college clothing, her hopes shriveled. Then Geoffrey’s sister had whispered in her mother’s ear, “…foster care…drugs…”
Mrs. Hollingsworth’s lips had compressed tightly. Her gaze, not warm to start, chilled further. She’d straightened her thin frame. “How do you do?”
Obviously, Rainie wasn’t “suitable,” being a woman abundant in everything except money, respectability, and high-class ancestors. But then came the moment that really hurt. Despite past experiences, she’d foolishly expected Geoffrey to put his arm around her and show his family what she meant to him.
Nope.
Thus, she had learned a romance book was fiction. A hero who truly cared for the heroine was called a fantasy.
And reality was the way Geoffrey had sidled sideways to put distance between them. The way he’d avoided any discussion of that night. The way cold had oozed into the empty space where love and trust should lodge.
After a painful breath, Rainie slowly straightened the mess on her counter.
A paw placed on her foot said Rhage wanted the rest of the story.
“Sorry, honey. Nothing more to the tale. My so-called fiancé slithered out of my life with a ton of excuses. The putz. I’d respect him more if he’d been upfront about dumping me.”
Upfront.
She froze, staring at her excuse-making, equivocating face in the mirror. Was she really belittling Geoffrey for not being honest after spending last night getting smacked for doing exactly the same thing herself? She was always making up excuses to avoid sex or dating or whatever.
Master Jake had been more right than he knew—and didn’t that just suck?
Okay. No more lying. She was better than that. True, she intended to climb the corporate ladder, rung-by-rung, which meant using…tact...rather than unvarnished honesty. But she wouldn’t abandon her character as she rose in status.
She scooped up the dog, cuddling him. “Don’t worry, puppy. I’ll never lie to you. Promise.”
Her chin got a quick lick, and she rubbed her cheek on the top of his fuzzy head. The perfect hero. He didn’t judge her by her clothing or her past mistakes or her horrible childhood. He loved her for who she was now. How rare was that? “How did I ever live all these years without you?”
After she finished dressing, she opened the huge, black suitcase containing her special stock.
Rhage bounced on his front paws, assuming the contents were new tug-of-war or chase-the-ball toys.
“’Fraid not, honey.” Her lips curved as she studied a cock ring. It could be considered a type of chase the ball, right? “These are sex toys.”
Was that an appalled look in Rhage’s chocolate-brown eyes? “Sorry, dude.” She ruffled his ears. “Arranging parties brings in extra money and lets me hang out with girls instead of truckers.” And provided great prizes for bachelorette parties.
“Hopefully tonight won’t run too late.” She needed to work tomorrow—Sunday—to finish the payroll. Because of Cory. She scowled. “That man—all liabilities, no assets.”
First, her “boss” had screwed up the schedule, ignoring a trucker’s requested hours off. Then when the trucker threw a fit, Cory’d fired him and wouldn’t let her mail off a final paycheck. She’d been stomping-mad furious—which was a trick to pull off in high heels.
And now she had to work tomorrow if anyone was going to be paid. “And it’s all because Cory is one period short of a write-off. No, worse than that. He’s a putrid, piss-drinking, pustule with a pin-sized prick.”
Rainie winced. Had she really said that out loud?
Miss Lily had continually tried to mold her into someone with class. And Rainie’d curtailed her swearing—at least the true profanity. Did name-calling fall under the “genteel women don’t do that” rules? Unfortunately, she couldn’t ask Miss Lily. Not ever again.
Grief hit her so brutally, she held her chest, trying to pull in a breath. “Why’d you leave me?” Like everyone else had.
In a pale peach blouse, pearl necklace, and earrings, Miss Lily looked out of the picture frame. Her gaze was steady, her head high. Even in a photo, she displayed dignity. But she’d also known how to lay out the honesty.
At seventeen, Rainie’d been left for dead after a drug deal gone bad. Her upcoming destination was juvenile hall, but the judge had seen something in her. “Would you like to meet Miss Lily?” he’d asked, referring to his executive assistant from when he’d been some fancy lawyer. The person who’d helped him become the man—the judge—he was.
Rainie knew his question wasn’t about choosing between juvvie and another foster home—it was about who she wanted to be when she grew up.
At the courthouse, Miss Lily had looked Rainie over and given her a thin smile. “You can continue on your bobsled ride into hell, young lady, or you can come home with me and become a lady in truth. Your decision.”
Though one eye was swollen shut, Rainie had stared at the woman and tried not to whimper. Her life was in chaos and Jesus fucking God, she hurt. Shiz lay in the morgue. She didn’t want to be herself any longer.
Years later, Miss Lily shared that she’d planned to turn the judge down, but she’d seen the longing in Rainie’s eyes to be…more.
“I’m still trying, Miss Lily,” Rainie told the woman in the photo. “I’ll make you proud.”
As she fought the tears, she knew what Miss Lily’s response would be. Then get moving. Do the next thing. Nothing is accomplished by tears or moping.
“Yes, ma’am.” Rainie returned to the bathroom and fixed the streaking mascara under her eyes. Enough with the past. This evening wasn’t about her, but about the two bachelorettes, and she’d bust her ass to ensure Sally and Gabi had fun.
Setting her bag of toys on the tiny dining table, she scowled at the notebook that was supposed to have Master Jake’s homework. She’d started…and stopped. Like she’d ever share her weaknesses with a man? Or her disgusting past? Never, never, never.
And the list of what she wanted in a Dom only pointed out her nonexistent love life. Since Geoffrey, no “relationship” had lasted past a few dates.
He’d been the one to teach her about BDSM and, although he didn’t like clubs, he’d taken her to the Shadowlands during a visitor’s night. With him, she’d learned she liked bedroom domination. Because of her past, she kept a tight control over her life, but letting someone else take charge for scenes and sex was amazing.
Her smile faded. But because she’d trusted Geoffrey that much—enough to let go—his abandonment had ripped her apart.
A while after they broke up, she’d joined the Shadowlands, hoping to meet someone wonderful. Those dreams had died because investing all her trust and love in a man was simply an invitation to get hurt.
She bent over to tug lightly on Rhage’s silky ears. “Are you cruel too, buddy? Since you’re a male?”
His tail thumped the carpet.
“See, with humans, once a man conquers, he examines his prize and immediately begins picking her apart.” She slapped her ample stomach. “I’ve got a lot to pick apart here. And my background provides even more.”
Rhage waved a little paw in the air.
“You too, huh? Both of us with scummy backgrounds.” Rainie smiled down at him. “Guess we’ll just keep it to you and me.” No one else.
She shoved the homework right off the table. Damn Master Jake anyway. After getting home last night, she’d dreamed of him, over and over. Even worse, she craved seeing him again—as though he was dark chocolate and she’d just come off a yearlong diet. She wanted.
But she could have dealt with dreams. Really. But the dreams had slowly twisted into nightmares of how she’d fled his sister’s birthday party back to her foster care house—where she should have been safe.
Jake wasn’t to blame. Nonetheless, he was a walking, talking reminder of why her life had descended straight into the sewer.