Saving Sara (Masters of the Castle) Read Online Free PDF Page A

handful of brisk steps and when he stopped, it was to stand in front of the agitated dominant. This time, he made no effort to diminish how imposing he was. The dominant stiffened in surprise and bumped into the security guard waiting beside him, his eyes growing huge as he stared up into Jackson’s accusing glare.
    “Did you come with her or were you matched here?” he asked, sheer habit helping to keep his voice soft, calm, helping to keep his arm at his side when what he really wanted was to grab the—at best insensitive jerk and at worst total dickwad—by the scruff of his scrawny neck.
    The man said nothing, but a slow flush of guilt began to creep up into his face.
    “Tell me you didn’t know how she would react,” Jackson growled, his hands fisting in the Grecian costume Ethan had given him.
    That guilty flush grew even more pronounced. The man looked away and—don’t lose your temper, don’t do it—Jackson lunged a single step forward, closing all the excess distance between them and bringing the man’s gaze sharply back to Jackson’s face.
    “Tell me,” Jackson seethed, “that you didn’t deliberately bring her down here knowing, knowing , what she’s been through.”
    Neither one of them was calm now. The man held his gaze for a long time, a veritable eternity filled with meaningful silence. Then he looked away.
    Don’t hit him. It was all Jackson could do not to. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tempted to punch a guest. That was what Sara did to him. One look at her and he lost all perspective.
    “Take him to the Master’s office,” Jackson said, addressing his security officer, still standing just a little behind the flushed dominant. “And you,” he growled, never taking his eyes off the man. “You’d better take really good care not to let me see you again.”
    Jackson backed up first. He had to. It took all the self-restraint he had left, and for a long time he just stood there afterward, surrounded by guests, Castle security and the pulsing thump of rock music, watching as the man was led back up the stairs and out of sight.
    Jackson waited, taking breath after calming breath, until he could make his fists relax. Only one of his security guards remained on the scene alongside a handful of dungeon monitors, all of who m stood watching as he silently decompressed.
    Glancing back over his shoulder, Jackson watched the couple deep in the pleasure of their fire play. The master was whispering in his submissive’s ear. She was smiling, nodding, utterly relaxed as he switched from the wand and starting setting up the cups. His hands were never far from her body, stroking and soothing her, and for just a moment, Jackson remembered what it had been like back in California, the first time he’d seen Sara lying on a table just like that, smiling, relaxing, enjoying the sensation.
    On the heels of that, of course, came the resurrected memory of her lying in the hospital, in so much pain that the slightest touch of the sheets and bandages that had covered her made her weep. Like knives, those memories cut at him. Back then, he’d have done anything to take the pain from her.
    He’d do anything, he realized, to take the pain from her now, too. In spite of all that had happened.
    Turning from the scene, Jackson went back to the bathroom. He took a second at the door to compose himself—Sara Abrams, back within his reach, but still not his—and then he went inside.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Sara heard the door open, but she didn’t look up. Her tears were exhausted, and so was she. All she wanted right now was to go home, but first she was going to have to walk all the way back to her room in a ruined ball gown that smelled like cowardice and pee, and people were going to look at her.
    For such a big man, Jackson moved with surprising softness. He closed and locked the door behind him, securing their privacy. She felt him looking at her, but in the end, he made no effort to