Fuck.

He got to his feet and went after her. The lithe Summer Grace had reached the far end of the shop by the time he made it to the bottom of the stairs, but as she darted between the pieces of heavy equipment, steel pillars and work bays, he was able to catch up to her in a few strides, his longer legs serving him well. She’d reached the door to the office, her hand on the doorknob when he caught up to her, closing his hand over hers. Christ, he could feel her shaking. He tried to take her in his arms but she pulled away.

“No, Jamie! Let me go.”

Yeah—exactly like a frightened deer.

He kept his voice low. “Come on, Summer Grace. Stop a moment. Take a breath. Sit down with me and talk it out. Or we can just sit and be quiet together. It doesn’t matter. But I am not letting you leave here like this.”

She dashed a tear from her eye with the back of one hand, her full lower lip trembling in a pout he would have found adorable if he didn’t know how upset she was.

“I’m not very good at keeping quiet, Jamie,” she said sullenly. “Neither are you.”

“Good point. So we’ll just have to put up with each other yammering on whether we like it or not. Either that or you’re going to run out into the street without your clothes—not that I’d imagine you’d much care about that—or, more’s the pity, I’ll have to turn in my Dom card for being irresponsible about your aftercare.”

One corner of her mouth quirked, even though her tone was still moody. “It’s not just about aftercare.”

“Like hell it’s not. What we did was intense. It kicked up a hornet’s nest of emotion along with all those lovely endorphins and dopamine. But it is part of the equation, and something you can’t ask me to ignore. I want to take care of you. And right now you’re tempting me to chain you down in order to do my job, which would piss you off even if you liked it—and you would.”

“Says you,” she muttered.

“Yeah, I do. Now stop being so damn stubborn.”

She seemed to be thinking that over for several long moments while his heart raced. He understood what she’d said earlier—this was important, all of what was between them. Which sure as hell didn’t always make it comfortable, but he was done denying it. He had to be. There was no place to hide anymore—not after they’d been together. Played together. Slept together.

No turning back.

No. All they could do now was forge ahead.

“Summer Grace.” He let a warning tone seep into his voice.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to go all super-Dom on me.”

“Apparently I do.”

She sighed. “All right. You can cuddle me and we’ll talk.”

He moved in closer and kissed her cheek. “You make it sound so sweet and romantic-like. Come on. I’m taking you home.”

A few minutes later he’d found her clothes, had helped her into the company truck with the blanket still wrapped around her naked body, and they were driving through town toward her little house in the Gentilly district. She was quiet on the drive home—stubbornly so, he thought, which was fine for the moment. He turned on some music and let the rhythm carry them over the streets as a light rain began to fall. There was something almost magical about the two of them in his truck, the inky sky lit here and there by the silvery clouds covering the moon. The mood the night always brought. Or maybe that was just him being poetic again. Occupational hazard for a Scotsman. He glanced over to find her gaze on the wet street. But he saw the lovely curve of her cheekbone, her long, long lashes, the tumble of golden hair over her slim shoulders.

Jesus, but she’s lovely.

Damn poetic Scottish blood again, but there was no denying it. If he wasn’t careful he’d find himself falling in love with the girl. Or falling for her, at the very least. But hadn’t that already happened a long time ago, no matter how hard he’d fought it?

He ran a hand back over his head, scrubbing at the short stubble. He sighed out a long breath—and almost passed her place, too lost in thought.

“Jamie, this is it.”

“What? Yeah, of course. Hang on.” He pulled to the curb and put the truck into reverse, grinding the gears a bit too hard, then backed up and stopped right in front of her blue cottage. “Hang on and I’ll come around. You can use my jacket to keep the rain off you.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m a New Orleans native. A little rain won’t hurt me.” She went for the door handle but he reached across and stopped her. “Fine, no jacket. But you will wait for me to open your door.”

She bit her lip. “Okay.”

Glad she knew better than to argue with a Southern gentleman—despite that he’d been born in Edinburgh—he got out and went around to the passenger side. As he helped her from the truck, the sky opened up and the rain fell in a sudden torrential downpour that made them sputter as they ran to her door, her hand held fast in his.

“Keys,” he demanded—and was pleased when she shoved her damp hair out of her eyes, dug in her small bag and handed the key chain to him.

By the dim light of the amber streetlamps, he was able to get the key in the door, and they both wiped their feet on the doormat before she led him into the house. Inside, the air was warm and a bit still. She turned on a light in the entry hall, then went to turn on a lamp in the small living room.

“Leave it,” he commanded. She stopped in her tracks, straightening up and turning to him. “Get a towel, sweetheart.”

She nodded and left the room, returning with one of her thick bathroom towels in a pale shade of lilac. He took it from her and stepped closer, looking down at her as he gently toweled the rain from her bare shoulders, smoothing the soft terrycloth over her graceful collarbones. Then, when she didn’t struggle, he began to dry her hair, taking lengths of it between his fingers and carefully running the towel over the long strands. While he dried her he watched her. He really couldn’t stop looking at her. Observing her stunning beauty. Her submission even now, when there was no play going on, no purposeful roles. Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. Now that they’d gone there he imagined there would always be an undercurrent of power exchange between them.

His chest went tight as he turned the idea over in his mind—his chest and his stomach. There was excitement there. Oh yes. It was a definite thrill. But there was powerful emotion, too.

She blinked up at him. “Are you finished, Jamie? I think I’m dry enough.”

Hell. “Yeah, all done.”

He used the towel to roughly dry his own head, his shoulders and chest. Stepping away, he draped the towel over the back of the ivory-colored chair that matched the sofa, then moved back to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder.

“Sit down, sugar.”

She did, surprising him that all the wind seemed to have gone out of her sails. He loved her sassiness, but it seemed they had some important talking to do, so maybe it was good that she was no longer fighting him on everything. Except that she’d sat on the sofa a good two feet from him.

He patted his denim-clad thigh. “Lap. Now.”

“I’m fine, Jamie.”

He caught her pixie-like chin in his hand, his voice firm. “Summer Grace. Lap.”

She rolled her eyes, but she climbed onto his lap and burrowed in, laying her head on his shoulder, leaning into his body with hers. He draped his arms around her, and when he heard her small sigh he held her tighter. It felt good.

She ran a nail over the collar of his shirt. “Is this when we talk?” she asked.

“Yeah. This is when we talk. And I know you’re still in subspace, but I don’t know that you’d open up the way I think you need to in order for us to really communicate about some things we need to. And I don’t know if I can, either, without feeling a little raw, the way I do after play. With you, anyway.”