Chapter 5

Ten days later, Sable watched movers unload furniture Julian had ordered for their new home in Rack. She still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to his suggestion and dissected the idea for the millionth time, reaching the same conclusion as she had every other time—there hadn’t been a choice.

Having spent the last ten days wrapping up loose ends of her life in Santa Fe, so she could take an extended break from running the charitable trust established by her parents, she hadn’t seen much of Julian. They had talked and emailed a few times. Five days ago, a priority mail package had shown up on her doorstep, containing a selection of nonfiction novels written about the BDSM lifestyle. She hadn’t had time to do more than skim a few of them, with the exception of reading one of Julian’s novels. It had been eye-opening, but she still wasn’t confident about pretending to be his submissive.

Julian walked into the room, in conversation with the realtor who had arranged the home rental, ostensibly on a trial basis. If they liked the home, they would supposedly be making an offer on it within ninety days. She fervently hoped there was no way this charade could still be going on three months from now.

He looked up at her. “Get me water, Sable.”

Wanting to snap a reminder about pleases and thank yous, she gritted her teeth. Forcing a simpering smile, she said, “It would be my pleasure.” She turned to the realtor. “Would you like something, Mr. Kitchener?”

“Call me Dave.” He glanced at his watch. “A water would be nice.”

More movers were busy unpacking boxes in the roomy kitchen. She couldn’t help admiring the décor and color scheme of creamy beige and buttercup yellow. The chef in her appreciated all the space and drooled over the stainless steel countertop work area. Asking one of the women where they’d put the glasses, she retrieved three and filled them from the refrigerator dispenser. The fridge was bare, or she might have added lemon wedges or mint sprigs, just to dress up the water for their guest. Ah, well, it would have been a silly waste of time.

She carefully balanced the glasses and returned to the living room. Dave took one from her, and Julian also accepted a glass. As he did so, his hand deliberately brushed against hers, causing her to spill water down her front and all over the dove-gray carpet. Gasping, Sable pulled at her shirt, still recovering from the shock of the ice water.

“I believe I’ve asked you to work on being less clumsy,” said Julian. His pleasant expression hadn’t changed, but his tone took on a stern edge.

It took her a moment to realize he was painting the picture of their supposed relationship for Dave’s benefit. “Yes.” Why was it so hard to grit out that one word?

His eyes narrowed. “Clean up this mess and wait for me in the den. We’ll discuss it further at a more appropriate time.”

Seething, Sable stomped into the kitchen, setting the glass she’d retrieved from the floor into the sink. With a savage movement, she tore off several paper towels, making an effort to control her temper before returning to the living room. Not generally quick to anger, it was disconcerting to have him pressing her buttons so quickly.

They stood in the same spot, just chatting. Dave was nice enough to step aside, but Julian didn’t move. Getting down on her knees before Julian sent her irritation soaring another notch. Breathing deeply, she scooped up the ice cubes and pressed more paper towels against the wet spot.

“Come over at seven,” said Dave.

“That sounds fine.” Sable started to stand, freezing when he caressed her hair, murmuring, “Good girl,” in an offhanded way.

“It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Talos.”

“Ms. Collins,” she emphasized, softening the correction with a smile. She didn’t miss the condescending looks of amusement the men traded. “I’d prefer Sable.”

“Sable, then.”

She took the mess of paper towels into the kitchen and dumped them in the sink. When she returned to the living room, Julian was directing the men where to put the furniture. Thanks for asking my opinion. Trying not to show her resentment at his highhandedness, she stood beside him, analyzing why the little things he did irked her. Would she have had such a strong reaction to someone else choosing furniture placement, or was she automatically responding to what she knew of Julian—responding and rejecting his asserted status of Dom? Would she find his every utterance full of subtle commands if she didn’t know about his preference for control?

Recognizing she was probably reacting to him in large measure because she was already repudiating any of his attempts to have authority over her didn’t make it easier to stop. After conferring with the furniture mover, he kept her waiting almost another minute before finally acknowledging her. “I asked you to wait in the den.”

“What?” She frowned. “I thought that was just for show.”