Page 21 of Married to My Master

“Sorry, sir,” she said, as she set his bowl down in front of him, “Stew is really the only thing I know how to cook.” She smiled sheepishly, a little embarrassed at how unformidable she was in that area of expertise.

“But then why do you have so many cook books?” he asked with a smile. “I saw them when I was figuring out what groceries we'd need.”

Something about him was just so different now that they were out of the bedroom. It was different now that he was there, sitting at the dining room table (missing one chair, mind you, that she hoped to never see again) like the perfect husband she thought she'd never have. He was strong, determined, intelligent, and ruthless. He was the kind of man she'd always hoped for, she supposed.

She went back into the kitchen and ladled her own bowl full of meat, veggies, and rich gravy. She was surprised to find that he hadn't started eating by the time she came back to the dining room table with her own bowl. She settled in across from him, spoon in hand. He waited for her to take the first bite. Emily could tell he was doing it out of politeness, too. Not out of some worry that she had poisoned him. If he had been worried about that, or about her grabbing a knife, he could have stayed in the kitchen the whole time and watched her prepare the meal.

She brought the spoon to her mouth and sipped the broth, closing her eyes as the first savory bit of food she'd had in three days passed her lips. Smoothies and granola bars were two more things she could do without, after her time in the timeout chair.

Emily found herself watching him as he tasted the food for the first time. Even though he was her captor, she felt a little leap of joy in her chest as he tried his first spoonful and approved it with a smiling nod. “It's delicious,” he said, smiling like he'd been uncertain about how it would taste.

She smiled back and looked back down at her bowl, her mind screaming at her to snap the fuck out of it. She ignored her brain, though, at least for the moment. “Thank you, sir,” she said and took another bite, smiling around her spoon about the fact that someone was actually enjoying her food.

“Maybe we could work on some meals together?” Dane asked. “I spent a lot of time in the military, so I never did a lot of cooking. And when I got out, I didn't have anyone to cook for, and I never bothered to learn. But I always wanted to. It just seemed too depressing to cook for one.”

She kept her eyes on her food. She'd never been asked to do that kind of thing before. Growing up rich, like she had, Emily had never even seen her mother cook. She'd just bought all the cookbooks because she'd wanted to learn, but, like Dane had said, it was sad to cook a meal for just yourself.

“How about the garden?” he asked.

“What about it, sir?” Emily replied.

“Well, it looks like it's in need of a little TLC. Maybe some fertilizer, and definitely some weeding.”

She shook her head and brought her napkin up from her lap to wipe her mouth. “I just had such a huge back yard, and I didn't know what else to do with it . . . sir.”

He laughed and took another bite of stew. “How about we go out back while there's still some sun?” he asked, offering a small smile. “You know, take a look at it? My parents had a garden when Benton and I were kids, at least for a while. We could take a look at it, too.”

She hadn't been out in the sun or felt a cool breeze of fresh air on her face in days. She'd never exactly been a sun worshiper—her mother always made her wear SPF50 to protect her creamy complexion—but suddenly the idea of getting out of the house seemed amazing. She nodded. “Yes sir, that would be nice.”

Dane grinned. “Good,” he said, digging back into his food.

As he finished his stew with obvious relish, Emily watched him. In this setting, sitting around at the table just eating dinner, he almost seemed normal. She looked closely at him, noting his unshaven face and the dress shirt he still hadn’t changed. This wasn't some strange courting ritual, no matter what had happened last night and no matter how good or right it had felt while she was moaning under his touch. She couldn't ever have feelings for this man, despite what her body had felt, or the pleasure it had experienced. She reminded herself that this man was the opposition. He was her prison warden, not some new beau.

He. Was. Fucking. Crazy.

And she was, too, if she didn't keep in mind what he'd already done to her, and what he'd shown himself willing to do. He'd locked her in a goddamn closet for two days! He'd spanked her, choked her, and . . . made her writhe under his hands, begging for him not to stop as he pleasured her body more thoroughly than any man ever had.

He looked up from his stew, smiling warmly, with no hint of craziness in his eyes or on his lips. “This is really good stew,” he said again.

She returned Dane's smile and returned to her own bowl, thoughts still racing through her mind.

She needed to remember that she didn't take shit from anyone, and definitely not any man, armed or not, sexy or not, gardener or not.

# # #

Dane

“Do we have to, sir?” Emily asked, as he came back into the dining room with the dog collar again.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he said, as he walked over and lifted the dog collar up.

She groaned and put the bag of gardening tools on the table next to her.

“Now, now,” Dane chided her. “No complaining. You agreed to the rules about following orders, and this is my order. Besides, you get to go outside. You should be happy about that.”

She sighed again, but lifted her hair so he could attach the collar around her neck.

Dane secured it in place and, together, they went to the back of the house.

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