The Dom's Dungeon Read Online Free PDF

After crossing to the tiny bar, he poured a
glass of wine and then tilted his head, asking silently if she wanted some.
    She shook
her head. This was no social occasion.
    He picked
up his glass and moved over to flip a switch on the fireplace. Flames sprouted
under the logs, then caught, and within a minute a fire blazed, giving off both
heat and a false sense of comfort.
    Why was he
bothering with all this?
    He took a
seat in one of the dark leather chairs. Leaning back to watch her with an
unreadable gaze, he held his glass of red wine in one big hand, his lean
fingers gentle on the delicate crystal.
    Mac
frowned. Those hands on her body hadn't been gentle at all. Time
to get this over with and get out of here. She held her head high and
marched forward. “Mr. Fontaine,” she said in a cold voice, stopping in the
middle of the room.
    His
lips quirked. “'Alex' will do for now.”
    For
now? What did that mean? “Once again, I'm sorry for my actions. The room
upstairs is clean, and I'll just get out of your life now.” The thought sent
anxiety like ice trickling down her spine.
    “Sit
down.”
    “Listen,
I—”
    He pointed
to the chair across from him.
    She walked
to the chair, a little startled at her compliance. Her usual reaction to an
order was defiance, not obedience. When her tender butt made contact with the
cushion, she sucked in a breath. A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes. If
she could have laid hands on anything throwable ,
she'd have heaved it at him. “What do you want to talk about?”
    His
fingers rubbed his lips as he studied her, in no hurry to answer her question.
In fact, he appeared totally at ease in this awkward situation.
    Another
reason to hate him. She might be a confident vet, but in social
situations she bumbled around like a badly trained puppy. Turning her gaze
away, she held her clammy hands out to the fire and then realized how badly her
fingers shook. New plan: fold hands in
lap, lean back in chair, meet the man's eyes, and be polite. Piece
of cake.
    “The
information from Exchanges stated you wanted to trade places to save money
while you job hunt,” he said finally. “I have the impression that leaving my
home might prove more than just an inconvenience for you.”
    Her breath
caught at the accurate blow. She laced her fingers together. “That's not your
problem,” she said stiffly. But God help her, it was hers. All those interviews
that she'd set up. Several clinics still needed to call her with dates and
times. “If someone calls… Um… Tomorrow I will call and
give you a number… Could you please… ” Her voice
trailed off. How could she ask him for anything?
    “I could,
perhaps, be persuaded to let you stay here with me,” he said softly.
    Her eyes
closed as nausea whirled inside her. For a moment, one horrible moment, she
actually considered giving in to his pressure tactics. Tacky motel rooms and dark alleys. Being used.
    She rose.
“Forget it. I'm not a prostitute.” Never, ever again.
    His shrewd
gaze dropped from her face to her fisted hands. “ MacKensie ,”
he said in an even voice. “I've never paid, traded, or bargained to have sex
with a woman. I'm too old to start now. Sit down.” The command had a touch of
the whip this time, and her knees dropped her in the chair before she had a
chance to think.
    She rubbed
her hands on her jeans and frowned. If he didn't want sex with her, then what
did he want? And why did his voice give her quivers inside?
    “So?” she
managed to say, striving for a hint of defiance and failing miserably.
    “You need
a place to stay during your interviews.” His eyes seemed too blue, too intense.
“Am I correct?”
    How much
did she want him to know? Would admitting this make her more vulnerable? “It
would be useful,” she ventured.
    Elbows on
the arms of the chair, he steepled his fingers,
contemplating her over the top. “I have a problem with just letting you go and
not warning Exchanges or the community