Page 17 of Hooked

Chapter 5

HER HANDS TREMBLEDas she lifted her mug to her lips and sipped her coffee. Although two was usually her limit, it was her fourth of the morning. But after her trip home at daybreak, driving through more severe weather, she was a wreck, and it was too early for shots of bourbon.

The two-hour trip had taken three. With torrential rains and high winds sweeping across the highway, visibility had reduced to about ten feet. She could barely make out the brake lights of the car in front of her. Not helping matters, the tears that just wouldn’t stop.

Setting her mug aside, she stared at her laptop, the glaring whiteness of the blank document unchanged since she pulled it up two hours ago. She glanced at the small clock in the corner of the screen. Had he made it into work?

It was approaching 8:30 when she called the office, leaving Joseph a voice mail—her second cowardly act of the day—that she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in, taking a personal day. Her only task she faced today, other than coming to grips with the colossal stupidity of having sex with her boss, updating her resume.

She couldn’t concentrate, however, imagining his reaction when he woke and found her gone. Maybe he’d been relieved that the stilted morning-after dialogue wouldn’t be necessary, or concerned that she’d simply disappeared—they weren’t strangers after all—or possibly angry that she’d robbed him of the opportunity for a morning quickie before giving her the old heave ho?

With a long, drawn-out sigh, she laid her head on the table. How had she messed up her life so badly in a single night?

A loud knock—actually, it was three in quick succession—sounded at the door.

She jolted upward, her eyes burning into the wood as if she could see who was on the other side if she tried hard enough. Even if it were possible, x-ray vision was unnecessary when she knew without a doubt who it was. The raps repeated, louder.

“Olivia,” Joseph’s stern tone cut through the solid wood door. “Open up.”

She didn’t dare move or breathe.

“I know you’re home. Your car is in its space.”

On shaky legs, she stood, compelled to do as both her ex-dom and soon to be ex-boss said.

“Now, Olivia.”

Her stocking feet padded quietly to the door. As she reached for the dead bolt, her hand trembled. She fisted it to quell its shaking. Staring at the brass lock, she continued to hesitate.

“Joseph—” she began softly, but his unyielding command interrupted.

“I won’t have a discussion through a door. I also won’t tell you again. Open up right now.”

With trembling fingers, she turned the dead bolt, released the chain, and twisted the lock on the end of the doorknob in sequence. When she pulled the door open and looked up at him, her jaw dropped. His hair stood up in a riot of angles, as if he’d run his fingers through it. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his chin. In shirtsleeves and no tie, wearing the same clothes he’d worn the day before, he was a mussed, wrinkled mess. Never had she seen him in this condition.

It occurred to her, suddenly, that he must have come directly to her from San Antonio.

“Move aside and let me in,” he said in a low growl. “Unless you want your neighbors to hear me chewing you a new one.”

She blinked in stunned surprise then backed up a step as Joseph prowled forward. Once he cleared it, he slammed it shut with a thud. Then, like an enraged tiger and she his prey, he stalked her. She kept pace, matching him step-by-step in retreat. His eyes, an angry forest green, blazed down at her, unwavering, even when he shut the door behind him with a decisive slam.

“In all my years as a dominant, no submissive has ever ditched me in the middle of the night. Not only does it wound my pride, Olivia, but coming from you, it stings. What did you think that was, a one-night stand?”

She had the good grace to flush, heat suffusing her face clear to her ears.

“You did,” he accused, his jaw clenched in outrage. “What’s going on in that head of yours? You know me. Do you really believe I’d treat you in such a manner?”

Still backing up, she came to a sudden halt, unable to go farther when the back of her legs bumped up against the arm of her couch.

“Joseph, I—”

“No,” he bit out. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’m here to finish what we started last night. Do you know why?”

She shook her head, afraid to say a word.

“Because a session with me does not end until I say it does.” He pulled her up by the arms, his long fingers firm but not hurtful. “Perhaps I missed it. Did you say red, by chance?”

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