She put her hands on her hips and whirled to face him. “You have to be kidding.”
He grinned. She had never seen him smile before and caught herself staring at his gleaming white teeth, the canines almost fang-like in length and pointiness.
Her pussy clenched. Why did this man seem hold some kind of power over her body?
“I’m not kidding, little fairy. If I’m going to have a slave around the house, I can dress her any way I like.”
She imagined him tying her spread eagle to a bed and having his way with her.
As if he read her mind, he laughed. “Don’t worry. I never take what isn’t offered.” She heard bragging in his tone, as if no woman ever withheld herself from him. She was sure it was true. He probably had fan girls throwing themselves at him every night.
The thought made a spike of jealousy rise stab her throat.
She sniffed and gave him her back, but packed the requested items, the tingling burn of her bottom keeping her from disobeying.
She packed her mom’s journal and her wand. Putting on a warm jacket and throwing her duffel over her shoulder, she walked to her front door. “I’m ready.”
“Good girl.” He came up behind her, his flippers flapping, and took the duffel from her shoulder.
She clutched at it, refusing to give it to him. “I can carry it,” she snapped.
Tilting his head to the side, he considered her. For one brief second, she thought he might spank her again, but then he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
He led her out to his motorcycle, which she regarded with trepidation. “Is that thing really safe in New Kristiandom? Aren’t the roads too snowy most of the year?”
“You’d better just pray I can ride it with these flippers,” he grumbled, swinging his leg over and trying to position the huge appendages on the tiny foot pegs. “If I can’t shift gears, you’ll be learning to drive it.”
She shut up, hoping he could do it himself.
“Well, get on,” he snapped when she just stood there, watching.
She swallowed and climbed on behind him, not sure what to do with her hands. She wasn’t going to wrap them around his waist, she knew that much.
“Hold on.”
The motorcycle lurched forward. She shrieked, her arms flying forward to clutch at his jacket as her head fell back from the surge. The cold wind made her eyes water and her breathing passages burn. Abandoning her objection, she wrapped her arms around Cade’s midsection, pressing her face against his back to cut the wind.
By the time they arrived at his place, her teeth chattered from the cold. Frozen, she couldn’t move from the bike, even when Cade got off and leaned it on the kickstand.
“Leather’s the only kind of jacket for motorcycling,” Cade offered when he took in her huddled, shivering form. He reached over and plucked her off the bike as if she weighed nothing, setting her down and walking toward his door. She still couldn’t seem to move, and she stood on the icy sidewalk, watching his back retreat. He turned and frowned, and she expected him to bark an order or a threat, but instead he walked back to her, tossed her over his shoulder, and carried her into his little house, the duffel bag swinging down toward his feet—er, flippers.
He lowered her to her feet, took off his leather gloves and removed her mittens, covering her icy hands with his huge warm ones.
She found herself gazing up at him, marveling at his eye color, which was more amber than brown, the golden irises seeming to glow. A shiver unrelated to cold traveled through her body. She leaned forward, nipples hardened, clit swelling just because he put his big hands over hers.
“Aw, you’re freezing.” He noticed her shiver. Picking up a throw blanket from the sofa, he flung it around her shoulders, wrapping her up tight. “I’ll turn up the heat.”
She nodded, unable to speak. She looked around his small house. In one corner stood his musical instruments—cases and cases of various sizes and shapes. She knew his localband had gained popularity in the past few years, their tours taking them all around the continent. She went to see them when they played in town, never staying to say hi, not wanting to fight her way through the thicket of adoring women who hung all over him.
Despite the fact that she was supposed to be his slave, he put a tea kettle on and made her a cup of steaming hot cocoa, which he pressed into her hands.
“Thank you.”
He grinned. She liked the smile on him. All the grouchiness he’d shown at her place seemed to have faded, except when he had difficulty with the flippers and he would shoot her a Hollywood-worthy glare. “You’re no good to me frozen. I’m sorry, I should have considered how cold you’d get on the motorcycle. I am responsible for you, and I failed to take the elements into consideration.”
“You’re responsible for me? How do you figure?”
His lips curved into a sexy smirk. “Well, you’re my slave, and I’m your master. So if I’m in charge of you, I’d better keep you safe, right?”
