“Leave you alone all day?”
He moved the breakfast plate out of the way and tapped the corner of his desk. “Talk to me, Brant.”
Mac perched on the corner of the desk. The forced equality when in slave mode always knocked Mac mentally off balance. “I’m trying to wrap my head around it. I admit I need to let you be in charge of this, but it’s hard for me to not think about Betsy.”
“I know. Clarisse trusts you. She needs that in her life and I don’t begrudge it. I’m not jealous. I trust you.”
Mac laced his fingers together in his lap. “Thank you, Master,” he quietly said. “For helping her.”
“Why would you think I wouldn’t?”
He shrugged but didn’t respond.
“Brant, she’s Tad’s niece. There’s no way I wouldn’t help her, just on that basis alone. Yes, it pisses me off she’s scared of me, but I understand why and don’t blame her. I still wouldn’t walk away from the situation.”
Mac took Sully’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed it. “Thank you, Master.” He slipped off the desk and left the room, quietly closing the office door behind him.
Sully leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. What a mixed bag. Why was he doing this? He could have easily contacted the police yesterday morning as soon as they returned to port, helped her file a report, and got her set up at a cheap motel nearby within walking distance of Tad. That would have been more than generous. And Mac’s life wouldn’t have been completely upended, nightmares from his past returning to haunt him.
He closed his eyes and thought about her terrified blue gaze. He’d be lying if he denied he wanted a chance to erase her fear.
He’d also be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her.
Too late to back out now.
After finishing his breakfast, Sully engrossed himself in his writing again. Just when he’d hit a groove, he heard her moving around in her bathroom next door, heard the toilet flush, the sink run.
Then her bedroom door opened and almost immediately Mac’s voice greeted her, full of forced cheer. He had expected Mac’s refusal to renegotiate the daily punishment strokes for wearing clothes. It didn’t mean it didn’t surprise him.
He waited a few minutes before carrying his empty coffee mug and plate out to the kitchen. He took great pains to circle around her to avoid where she sat at the counter. “Good morning, Clarisse.” He risked a glance at her.
“Good morning.” She didn’t look at him, studied the coffee mug and plate of food in front of her. Her hair hung loose, hiding her face.
She reminded him of a beat dog.
His sudden anger surprised him. If Bryan Jackson appeared on his doorstep, he would kill the fucker. Working hard to keep his rage in check, he slowly set down his mug and walked around the end of the counter to where she sat.
She didn’t turn her head, didn’t look at him.
He sensed Mac’s sudden tension and ignored it.
“Sweetie,” Sully softly said, “please look at me.”
He waited her out. After a long moment, she tilted her gaze toward him but didn’t fully lift her head.
He slowly reached out, hating that she flinched. He watched her tense, fight or flight instincts warring for control.
Undaunted, he swept her hair back and carefully tucked it behind her ears. Then he caught her chin. She didn’t resist when he tipped her face, her frightened blue eyes darting past him to Mac.
Again he waited her out, until her gaze settled on him and didn’t leave.
“May I ask a favor?” he asked.
She barely nodded.
“Would you please wear your hair back? For me? You have beautiful eyes.” He brushed the tip of her nose with his finger. “I’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes.”
Finally, the hint of a smile.
Mac snorted behind him. “I thought you loved my eyes.”
Sully’s gaze didn’t leave hers. “I love your ass, Mac. Yes, your eyes are nice, but hers are pretty. Do you really want me calling you
‘pretty eyes’?”
A little more of a smile. Her bruised flesh crinkled around the corners of her eyes.
Bingo.
“She has very pretty eyes,” Sully repeated.
Mac walked over, apparently understanding what Sully was trying to accomplish. “Yes, you’re right, Master. Her eyes are definitely prettier than mine.”
“I mean, I can make you wear a dress, if you really want me calling you pretty—”
“No, that’s okay, Master.”
Amused, she snorted a little. Sully read her posture, sensed her slight relaxation.
That’s when he gave her a broad, beaming smile and stepped back, out of her personal space. She didn’t drop her head, kept her eyes on him.
“I don’t know, Clarisse. You think I should make him wear a dress?”
A little more of an amused curl to her lips. “I think he’s more a tight jeans kind of guy. He does have a nice ass.” She blushed a little but didn’t look away.
“Score one for the girl,” Sully teased as he picked up his mug.
Mac had refilled it. He turned to Mac and lifted an eyebrow at him.
“Lucky for you, I’m feeling charitable. Go find the tightest pair of jeans you can squeeze yourself into. No underwear.”
Mac looked startled, but went to do it while Clarisse actually laughed.
He’d guessed right—she had a beautiful, clear laugh. On that sweet note, he returned to his study but left the door cracked open.
Over the next hour or so, he heard them talking, the occasional laugh from Mac or Clarisse, the front door opening and shutting as they went outside, probably so Mac could show her around. Five minutes later, movement in the yard caught his eye through the window. Sure enough, Mac and Clarisse stood at the seawall, looking out at the bayou. Mac pointed to something. Clarisse nodded.
Sully smiled. She’d pulled her hair back into a low ponytail.
Good girl.
He wouldn’t force her, wouldn’t rush her. But maybe that tiny breach in her defenses would be enough to start her on the road to trusting him.
She said something, because Mac laughed. Then a moment later, he frowned and pulled her to him.
Sully forced himself to stay seated and watch, fought the urge to race downstairs.
To help Mac console her.
Her entire body shook with the force of her sobs as Mac guided her down to the grass, where he held her cradled tenderly against him.
Sully felt pain in his palms and realized he’d clenched his fists, his nails digging into his flesh.
She’d been deeply wounded. Her physical injuries were already healing but how long to heal her psyche? To restore her trust and get her to a point where she could be a fully functioning human again?
Would she ever stop flinching when he moved toward her? Would there ever come a point when a stern voice wouldn’t set into motion an ingrained series of protective responses?
Tad’s implied suggestion came back to him. It was far too soon to entertain any ideas along that line. Unfortunately, with the idea planted in his mind, it had quickly taken root and sprouted no matter how impractical it sounded.
Tad knew they weren’t gay, had teased the men many times about their almost identical head pivots as they followed a pretty woman’s progress with their eyes.
Not to mention the fact that after what Clarisse had been through, the last kind of relationship she’d probably ever want would be the only kind they could give her.
He watched as Mac pressed a kiss to the top of her head before she sat up and wiped at her face. He said something, prompting a nod from her.
Did he miss women? Yes. Not Cybil, not after what she’d put him through. There were nights he’d lie in bed with Mac sleeping soundly next to him and wish for the soft curves of a feminine body.