Page 108 of Their Master

"But that decision isn't up to you."

“I will sign a new contract—one without money or payment of any sort. I will repudiate all you’ve given me, the house, the money. Just… don’t make me leave.”

Lines of irritation furrowed his forehead. “What would be the point of that?”

“To show you that it isn’t for money that I offer myself. You can take everything back that you promised. I will stay and have the child with no assurances.”

“You must think I am some sort of inhuman monster.”

“What?”

“Do you really believe I would want to inflict such uncertainty on a child or the mother of my child?”

“No! I didn’t mean that. I meant—” She bit her lip, unable to come up with the right words. She couldn’t get past the regret—the burning, grinding regret—at what she had done to him. Even worse was whatmighthave happened if Smith had not learned about the abduction plan beforehand.

He would be dead right now, and they both knew it.

And it would have been her fault.

Moira slid to her knees. She knew how to crawl and she'd done it times beyond counting in the past. But never before had sheneededto abase herself for someone. She dropped to her hands, her eyes never leaving his as she crawled the short distance to him.

"Stop," he ordered, when she would have come close enough to touch him, his face a stern mask.

The knowledge that he didn't want her hands on him was like a needle-sharp blade sliding slowly into her heart; Moira suddenly couldn't bear that she'd thrown him away.

Hate and fear and jealousy had once been the worst emotions she could imagine.

But none of those could compare to regret.

Moira’s hands closed around the supple leather encasing his ankle and she dropped her face to the toe of his boot, covering it with desperate kisses, even though she knew what a pitiful, disgusting sight she must be.

She rested her forehead on his toe. "Please, Smith, please." He didn’t move or speak as she sobbed, her tears falling on cool leather when she yearned for the touch of his skin, the warmth of his breath.

Moira lost what control she had left and wept, crying as if her heart were breaking.

Because it was.

She cried until no more tears would come, until her eyes burned and her heart was empty and cold. Until the room was silent but for the ticking of the clock and the occasional pop of the fire, not even the street noises penetrated the well-insulated room.

“Sit up,” he ordered quietly.

Moira rose up onto her knees. Her face would be hideous, her eyes red-rimmed; she was not the sort of woman who looked beautiful when she cried.

His gaze was hard; her weeping had left him untouched. “I don’t trust you. And I don’t think I ever will again,” he said.

“I understand.” And she did, no matter how much it hurt.

His jaw tightened and finally—finally—his mask slipped, giving her a glimpse of the anger and pain beneath. “I don’t think you do, or you wouldn’t keep asking me to allow you to stay. I want to hurt you, Moira—not for your own pleasure, but to feed my anger. I am disappointed and ashamed for entertaining such emotions. And I am furious at you for being the cause of them.”

Moira shivered at the look of barely leashed savagery. “Then hurt me,” she begged, a twisted but powerful bolt of lust shooting straight to her cunt at the thought of suffering for him.

His eyes were heavy and hooded, his normally full, smiling lips compressed into a cruel, cold slash. “If I start hurting you, I might not be able to stop myself.” He frowned. “You should go.”

“You really can’t forgive me, can you?”

He sighed and reached out, as if to cup her face, but then lowered his hand without touching her. “I am sorry to cause you anguish. You deserve to be happy.”

“But not with you,” she whispered.

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