Page 77 of Dare to Love Again

“Let me shut down; then I’ll be ready to go with you.”

With an approving squeeze from his muscular arms, he set her off his lap, and moved back around her desk, out of the way so that she could see to her task.

In fifteen minutes, her hand enveloped by his much bigger one, Finn escorted her out to his car, this time a sleek, low-to-the-ground Jaguar convertible in charcoal gray. He tucked her inside it, and she sank into the plush bucket seat, running her fingers appreciatively over the leather and suede interior. Security to the stars or the BDSM club business must be lucrative ventures because his car had to cost at least twice what she made in a year.

As soon as he was behind the wheel, she turned to him. “What happened to your SUV?”

“That was a company vehicle. The Jag is mine.”

“It’s amazing.”

“I think so, too,” he agreed as he hit the push-button start. The engine roared to life then settled into a low, seductive purr.

She licked her lips as a tingly thrill shot through her. “Do you think, since we’re living for today, you could put the top down and show me what she does? I’ve never ridden in a convertible before. Or a Jag.”

He grinned, flipped a switch, and while the top was opening, crooked his finger at her. “For a price.”

Returning his grin, she leaned across the console and touched her lips softly to his. He allowed the sweet gesture for about a millisecond before his hand curled around her nape, fingers threading into her hair, and he took over.

When he pulled out of the lot and merged into traffic several minutes later, she leaned back, dazzled by the power of his kisses and savoring the taste of him still on her tongue. With the sunshine warming her face, Finn, capable and confident at the wheel, not to mention in conqueror-protector mode, she closed her eyes and enjoyed the ride—for all of thirty seconds. Then she promptly fell asleep.

***

KEIRAN SUSPECTED ITwould happen, just not so quickly. When her head fell to the side, he picked up his Bluetooth headset, so he wouldn’t be as apt to disturb her, and called Eric for her address.

“I take it you set her straight?” his partner asked.

“She’s asleep in the Jag next to me and we’re on our way to her house. What do you think?”

“You set her straight.”

He could hear relief and satisfaction in Eric’s voice. Feeling much the same, he reached over and laid his hand on Esme’s thigh, needing a connection with her, even if she was out like a light.

“If not all the way straight, I’ll have the kinks hammered out soon enough,” he assured his friend.

“Damn, I hope not all of them? What would be the fun of that?”

“Her address, Dupree.”

It took him several minutes to look it up, testing Keiran’s vaunted patience while he chuckled the entire time. But as he glanced at the pretty redhead dozing peacefully in his passenger seat, nothing could spoil his good mood.

It was only a twenty-minute drive to her home north of the city. In a quiet, older neighborhood, Esme’s house sat on a large lot with a privacy fence. Set well back from the street, it had a circle drive lined with tall shade trees. Though it wasn’t big, maybe 2500 square feet, in this part of LA County, it had to go for $800k, at least.

When he killed the engine and put up the top, she didn’t budge. Nor did she move when he slid her purse from her lap, dug out her keys, and came around to lift her out.

Inside, he carried her upstairs and easily found her room because it was the only furnished one out of three. Once he set her down, he slipped off her shoes and pulled the covers up to her chin. And he couldn’t leave her without a gentle kiss, which he placed on her forehead. She didn’t stir, breathing deeply. Since it looked like she’d be out for a while, he went to have a look around.

A tri-level with three-bedrooms and three-baths, the home had a cozy, feminine feel like its owner. The back of the house featured a comfy-looking den that opened up to a breathtaking backyard. It had a pergola-covered patio which provided a perfect spot to enjoy the fresh air and the stunning views of the mountains and the San Fernando Valley. He could imagine Esme curled up on the cushioned wicker furniture, sipping her morning coffee, and he looked forward to sharing the same quiet moments with her very soon.

As he continued his self-guided tour of her home, he figured her FBI agent husband had thought of contingencies and left her enough to cover it, since paralegals didn’t bring in enough for an upper six-figure mortgage on their own. At least she had that, and the ability to leave her bad memories three thousand miles behind.

He couldn’t imagine how difficult it had been for her. Witnessing a brutal killing was traumatic enough, but to have a loved one bleed out in her arms as she tried to staunch the blood... Little wonder she still had flashbacks five years after the fact.

In the living room, he picked up a framed photo of Esme cuddling a cat. Looking around, she saw none with her husband, her parents, or friends. Poor lass hadn’t only shut down; she’d shut out everything from her past. Not all the submissives he’d been with had baggage, but many did—daddy issues, abandonment, abusive doms who didn’t deserve to be called such. Esme’s issues were even weightier and would take time and patience to overcome.

No matter her beauty, most men would run like hell.

He shook his head ruefully. Eric said he needed a challenge. With Esme, he had his work cut out for him, but in his gut, he knew she’d be worth it. Sweet, responsive, funny, sexy as hell, and the way she opened fully and submitted when she finally let down those walls—fucking beautiful.

---