When he emerged in a towel and feeling clean, the door to the bedroom was open. The bed was empty. Since the cabin was small, he didn’t have to look hard to find where she’d gone. She lay on the sofa, curled up with a tiny square pillow and her bare feet poking out from under a lightweight blanket as sunlight splashed across her face.

  She looked so peaceful, and he hated to disrupt her, but she needed a good sleep. He couldn’t let her suffer without it because she was avoiding him for reasons he only half understood.

  After tossing on a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt he found inside the duffel Morgan Cole had packed, Matt scooped Madison up in his arms. She barely roused as he carried her to the bed and set her across the pristine duvet, covered her with the blanket from the sofa, drew the drapes, then shut the door. Since he could sleep anywhere, he’d respect her space until they’d hashed things out.

  He awoke on the couch a few hours later. The cabin was quiet. A quick glance proved Madison was still sprawled across the bed, curling her pillow against her chest like she was looking for comfort even in her sleep. Since the bedroom seemed stuffier with the afternoon sun slanting in, he turned on the overhead ceiling fan, then shut the door behind him.

  Grabbing Jack’s keys, he let himself into the room at the end of the hall. The door creaked open to reveal a space with one small window, completely covered by a blackout shade. Shadows outlined the silhouettes of things he didn’t understand, like a giant wooden X that stood nearly floor-to-ceiling and a two-sided bench in the middle.

  He groped along the wall and found a pair of switches. The overhead light flashed on, saturating the space in a sultry red. A hazy white glow seeped from the corners, emanating from behind crown molding that framed the perimeter—and helped illuminate everything else.

  Holy shit.

  A black leather stool in one corner. A hanging swing in another. Implements—cuffs, blindfolds, paddles, clamps, crops, and other stuff he couldn’t name—lined the entire left half of the room, dangling from hooks. Mirrors covered the right half of the room and the low ceiling. Beside the giant X, the back wall housed what looked like a pair of cabinet doors. Behind him, the cabin’s security hub.

  Quietly, Matt closed and locked the dungeon door, then started with the important and familiar. He double-checked the view from every camera, both inside and out. The open kitchen/living room was empty. Madison slept on in the bedroom, looking as if she hadn’t moved a muscle. Outside, wind rustled in the trees, signaling that an afternoon storm might be brewing. A gator swam by as if he owned the place, then slinked behind a trio of bushes. A few feet away, a bunny bounced across a mossy shore. The circle of life on display…

  Satisfied they hadn’t been followed, he dimmed the cameras and turned to address the rest of the room.

  Inside a minute, he discovered the cabinet doors built into the back wall actually contained a folding table. The way it functioned reminded him of his grandmother’s ironing board, the legs extending as he pulled it down, but it stood shorter and wider, padded in red leather with O-rings studded up and down the legs. He didn’t need much imagination to guess a Dom could secure a submissive down like that.

  Within an hour, he’d found the book Jack had mentioned on a discreetly hidden shelf, along with another light switch that shined a spotlight on what he’d discovered was called a St. Andrew’s Cross. That giant X, like the folding padded table, had lots of ways to restrain a submissive. And when he pictured Madison there, pinned and waiting for him to do whatever it took to open her up, get her talking, and gain her trust… Fuck, he ached for her as if he hadn’t touched her in years.

  As the sun slanted low in the sky, he grabbed a bottle of water and some beef jerky and finished the book, thankfully with plenty of pictures and drawings, then set about identifying everything in the room, what it was used for and how to get Madison free quickly in case of an emergency.

  When he closed the door and padded back to the living room, book in hand, he reread the section the detailed exactly how BDSM differed from abuse and tried to let it sink in.

  The author acknowledged that, to those outside the lifestyle, it’s too often misconstrued as a broader reflection of misogynistic male violence against a more oppressed female. That perfectly described the behavior Matt had seen his father engage in for as long as he could remember. But the distinction between what Jack Cole practiced and what Dad wielded? Consent and rules.

  The text stressed that BDSM required those two things. Never once had his father respected a woman’s refusal, her fear, her shame, or her limits. If he wanted her, he took her—whenever and however he wanted. Or he coerced and intimidated until she gave in. Bonus points if she cried. The only rules he needed were the ones he made up and enforced with an iron will. And if a woman left him because she felt used or victimized, dear old Dad labeled her a stupid whore and moved onto the next female susceptible to his smooth talk and too sweet to say no.

  His behavior made Matt sick. He would rather cut off his own damn arm than take something from Madison she didn’t want to give. But she’d always seemed willing, even eager, with him. She certainly hadn’t been shy or had difficulty reaching orgasm, even this morning at the motel.

  But instead of embracing her pleasure, what had he done? Apologized for the way he’d given it to her. He had inadvertently told her that the things she found bliss in were wrong and suggested that enjoying the way he touched her made her bad.

  No wonder she’d been pissed off.

  With a sigh, Matt closed the book. His brain spun. He felt as if he’d fallen down a rabbit hole and was now staring through the looking glass and seeing a completely new reality—one that wasn’t so black-and-white. Dad had a type—quiet, biddable, yielding. If she was too independent or had too many opinions, he labeled her a “feminazi” and discarded her. But the compliant ones, especially if they were naive and didn’t have much family to look out for them, that was Dad’s ideal…

  Jesus, his father was a predator. Matt scrubbed a hand down his face. No wonder most people in Laramie, especially girls, had steered clear of him.

  But he understood something now he hadn’t before. Submissives weren’t victims. They weren’t looking to be hurt or used. They had emotional needs fulfilled by giving themselves over to a Dominant partner who respected them and their boundaries while engaging in play that allowed them to express their true sexual selves. He also grasped how his father had been able to bamboozle so many women. They wanted. They yearned. They ached so badly to believe…so they trusted. Dad always took advantage. In some ways, Todd had done something horribly similar to Madison.

  Matt had to separate himself from both those assholes. That meant he and Madison must have some terrifyingly honest conversation. He couldn’t hold back. And she would have to lay bare her concerns and needs. If they could manage that, then he had to take the next step and prove he could be responsible for her physical and mental wellbeing.

  Once her divorce was final and this shit show with the Pershings was over later, they would tackle their past…and their future.

  After tucking away the book in the playroom, he locked it again, then headed to the kitchen. He tossed together a quick charcuterie board from the cheeses, crackers, and cold cuts Jack’s wife had thoughtfully included, then set it in the living room and went to find Madison.

  When he entered the bedroom, she was just rising and stretching. Her face looked sleep-soft, her eyes heavy-lidded and hazy blue. The desire to put his hands on her and earn her soft surrender jolted him.

  Patience…

  “Hey.” He approached softly. “Sleep good?”

  “I crashed.” Then she frowned. “Did you carry me in here?”

  He nodded, tucking his hands in his pockets to stop himself from touching her before they talked. “I thought you’d be more comfortable on the bed.”

  “Did you sleep, too?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  Her frown deepened. “Beside me?”

  He shook his head and chose his words carefully. “I wanted to, but you seemed like you needed space.”

  She bit her lip, seeming to chew on his answer. “Any news or updates?”

  “No, but we’re remote and well hidden, so I didn’t expect much this afternoon. And in case the rest of the crew is being watched, they’re going about their lives like it’s any other holiday.”

  Madison nodded. “And Nash?”

  “I’m sure he’s out of the hospital and recovering, probably at Trees’s place. Big brother would insist he convalesce somewhere with extensive security so he’d be safe, and Laila would want to fuss over him. I can’t guarantee that those three little boys won’t assault his ears, though. They really seem to enjoy climbing on Uncle Nash like he’s a jungle gym. That won’t go well with his stitches.”

  A little smile curled her lips. “I can picture that. Is there any way for me to contact my dad? I usually call him a couple of times a week—at a minimum—to check in. I hate to make him worry. Stress isn’t good for his recovery.”

  Matt was pretty sure his face spoke even before he did. “It’s not wise. No doubt his communications are being monitored. We can’t risk tipping anyone off. Next time I talk to Jack, I’ll ask him who’s watching over your father and how we can assure him you’re all right.”

  “Thank you. So…” She bobbed her head awkwardly. “No TV way out here?”

  “I didn’t see one in the front room. Kinda pointless with no Wi-Fi or cable.”

  “I also didn’t see any books or magazines on the coffee table. What does Jack do out here besides fish?”

  Matt suspected the Cajun passed his time out here less by sticking his pole in the swamp and more by submerging it in his gorgeous wife. He’d bet they secluded themselves out here whenever they could finagle a weekend without the kids to play games of Dominance and submission—and good for them.

  But the Coles weren’t his concern right now. Madison was.

  “Maybe he has some cards or puzzles…” She sounded nervous.

  Matt wished he could just set her at ease. “We should talk.”

  She flinched. “I know you’re not into me beyond the sex. I get it. You’re not the first to move on; you won’t be the last. I appreciate you keeping me safe, even if it is out of misplaced guilt or pity or…”

  “That’s not why I’m protecting you, Madison. Not even close.” He stepped toward her slowly, shoulders squared. “As amazing as we are in bed together, that’s not all I want from you. I’m absolutely into you. I always have been.”

  She shot him a skeptical glare. “You apologized for having sex with me.”

  “No, I apologized for being rough and explicit with you.”

  “Because you didn’t like it.”

  “The fuck I didn’t. You turned me on so fast, I lost my goddamn head. Being inside you was every bit as mind-blowing as it was three years ago, only better because I’d had over a thousand days to imagine what I would do to you if I had you under me again, and you still surpassed every fantasy. Stop assuming you know how I feel. I need to do the same with you.” He held out his hand and dropped his voice. “Come with me. Let’s hash this out once and for all.”

  Something was different about Matt. He had an air of quiet command, like he was fully in control of everything between them. Like he knew exactly what she needed. His sudden authority was almost sexual. Madison couldn’t put her finger on why or what had changed. Had sleep bolstered him? Had Jack Cole rubbed off on him? Something... Whatever it was, it drew her in mercilessly.

  It was dangerous.

  I’m absolutely into you. I always have been.

  Those words rattled in her head. Was he telling her what she wanted to hear?

  But that didn’t make sense. Just this morning, she’d admitted to Matt that she wanted only him. He had responded with crushing silence. From day one, the man had blown scorching hot, then arctic cold. Why bother claiming now that he was into her?

  I’d had over a thousand days to imagine what I would do to you if I had you under me again, and you still surpassed every fantasy.

  It didn’t matter. Staying alive did. “What else is there to say?”

  “You and I will be alone together for days, maybe weeks. I should make a few things clear.” He sent her an expectant expression, waiting palm upturned. “I set up food in the living room.”

  Surprisingly starved, Madison stared at his outstretched fingers, reluctant to take them. Whenever he touched her, she melted. “I can get myself there.”

  “Why won’t you take my hand?” he asked, his eyes narrowed.

  “This place is small. It’s not like I’m going to get lost.”

  Slowly, he lowered his arm. He didn’t push…but his displeasure was palpable. “What do you want to drink?”

  “I’ll find something.”

  “Let me take care of you.”

  “You’re already keeping me safe.”

  “I’m not keeping score, and I’m heading to the kitchen, anyway. Drink?”

  She needed to stop bristling. Her emotions were complicating everything. But how the hell could she just stop feeling? “Water, please.”

  With a nod, he left the room and headed down the hall, his wide shoulders eclipsing most of the light. Watching him, she fidgeted. Clearly, he had an agenda…and she had no idea what was on it.

  She made a pit stop in the restroom and brushed her teeth. Then she had no other reason to stall, so she headed to the sofa.

  As she sat, nibbling her lip and trying to guess what he was after, she scanned the spread of meats, cheeses, peppers, olives, and nuts he’d arranged. Little plates, a dish of mustard, and napkins accompanied the charcuterie board. “You made this?”

  From the kitchen, Matt smiled wryly. “Don’t be too impressed. It’s not actual cooking, but I figured you’d be hungry. You slept for five hours.”

  Seriously? The sun was still up, but without any visible clocks and no phone, she’d lost connection with time. “No wonder my stomach is rumbling.”

  Matt headed toward her, balancing two glasses of agua and a pair of stems, a bottle of red under his arm. “I brought something stronger in case you changed your mind.”

  As he uncorked the wine and poured them each half a glass, her nerves began to rattle. She filled the time by snacking on a slice of cheese and an olive, then taking a swig from her stem. “What do you think we need to hash out?

  What was he after? Sex? Like they had already observed, the cabin lacked entertainment…

  Madison tried not to be hurt. Or angry. But screw it, if he had no compunction about using her, she would return the favor. God knew she was due since she had done without for most of her marriage to Todd.

  “I want to clear up some misconceptions,” he said as she took a sip of vino. “I’ll start.”

  “Why does it matter? We’re fine. Besides, with Todd and his family hanging over my head, I don’t really have a life.” And she may never have a future.

  “Bullshit. It matters to me. I think what’s going on between us matters to you, too. Three years ago, you left our suite believing we had a real connection, right? It may have started with sex, but it ended up being a lot more.”

  “I thought so, but I was wrong—”

  “You weren’t. We did have a connection. I wanted more…but I let all the shit that happened with my dad get to me.”

  Where was he going with this? Madison busied her hands by picking up a cracker, then stacking on salami and nervously downing the bite. “Someone committed suicide at his house, right?”

  “His girlfriend. I didn’t tell you the whole story because I didn’t want to freak you out. The truth is, women usually leave my dad the way my mother did, crying and cursing him. Having one end her life because of him was a new low.”

  Madison hadn’t seen that coming. “Oh, my god.”

  “It terrified me.”

  Disturbed, sure. But… “Are you saying your dad’s experience made you afraid to have a relationship with me?”

  He hesitated. “After our weekend together, I questioned how much I was like him. When it comes to women, my father is domineering, verbally abusive, and manipulative. He makes sexual demands and expects his partners to comply, pushing hard and dismissing their feelings, even belittling them when they won’t blindly obey.”

  She gaped. “That’s not you, Matt. You know that, right?”

  He shrugged. “I’d spent my whole childhood watching my dad run roughshod over women, even my mom. Same cycle, over and over. Their emotional rape was painful. I tried to warn them, but… He’s never going to change. For the sake of family harmony, I’ve kept my opinions and disdain to a minimum.”

  Her heart ached for him. “I’m sorry. But you’re not your father.”

  “For a decade and a half, I was convinced I wasn’t. Sex was always light, and I made sure the fun was mutual. I was never demanding, voracious, blunt, or insatiable. Until you. Then? I was fixated, possessive, insistent, filthy—”

  “None of that upset me. I liked it.” Loved it, actually. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

  Matt braced his elbows on his knees and pressed his fingertips together. “I didn’t know how. I’d never had to try to make things work with a woman. Laramie, Wyoming, isn’t a big place. Most of the local girls knew my dad’s reputation and assumed I’d be the same, so they avoided me…unless they wanted a forbidden few hours with the bad boy from the wrong side of town so they had something exciting to giggle about with their friends.”

  They had used him. Hurt him. Left him. After his mother had abandoned him.

  His pain made her ache to comfort him. All thoughts of using him for her pleasure and walking away evaporated. “That’s awful.”

  “No more awful than guys you met in bars assuming they could take you home, coax you to put out, then ignore you the next day. But after our weekend, I worried I had too much of my dad’s DNA, and I took a big step back. By the time I realized I couldn’t simply forget you, you were in DC and dating Todd. Because you thought he wanted you…and you assumed I didn’t. ”