Page 7 of T is for…

The man has his back to her, his hair dark but painted silver by the moonlight. He wore classic Dom leathers—leather pants and a leather vest. The vest revealed thick arms, with enough muscle on his shoulders and upper arms to create curved contours. His skin was pale in the moonlight, almost glowing. This was a man who kept his shirt on, even during the long southland summers.

Tara walked forward, her slippers nearly silent on the hard-packed path between the statures.

Ten feet, five. She slowed, scuffing her foot a little to make sure he knew she was there.

The man flinched, his shoulders jerking.

But he didn’t turn around.

Tara frowned at his back. Was this part of their assignment? She tried to remember items from the checklist that restricted sight. There was “blindfold” of course…

The moment stretched, silent and tense. Tara fingered her robe, wondering if he was waiting for her to speak, and if he was, what he expected her to say.

She considered and discarded several comments, but did rub the sole of her shoe on the ground once more, in case he didn’t actually know she was there and hadn’t heard her approach.

With an audible exhale, the man turned to face her.

Tara’s reality exploded as two worlds that she’d kept distinctly separate collided, the shock wave from that collision rocking her back on her heels.

Nathan.

Nathan.

He glanced at her for only a moment, and whatever he saw on her face made him wince and look away. He tucked his hands into his pockets and for a wavering moment, she didn’t see adult Nathan but college-aged Nathan, who’d stand up, hunch his shoulders, and shove his hands in his pockets whenever he was stuck on something and needed to think.

Nathan was here, waiting for her…because he’d been the one to summon her.

“You’re my checklist partner,” she said slowly.

“Yes.” He still wasn’t looking at her.

“That’s…” Her brain was stuttering, her heart thumping hard inside the cage of her ribs. “No.”

He grinned, face still turned away. “That’s what I said.” The smile faded.

Years of avoiding being at the club at the same time, and now they’d been assigned to work together.

Work together?

No, that language was her brain frantically trying to make sense of this. They weren’t assigned to “work together.”

They were scene partners.

He was supposed to dominate her. Nathan. Her best friend. As her Dom.

The thought stopped the air in Tara’s lungs.

“Mistress Faith wouldn’t budge,” Nathan said, shoulders hunching even more. “I tried. But don’t worry, I’m going to resign my membership.”

That snapped her out of the shock paralysis.

“No, you’re not,” she said instantly.

Finally, Nathan looked at her. For just a moment, his gaze slid down her body. It was a quick glance, and if she hadn’t been watching him she would have missed it.

But she felt that look down to her toes, which curled inside her slippers.

“You’re not leaving Las Palmas,” she rushed out.

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