Enslave Me Sweetly by Gena Showalter

“That’s what I thought. Stubborn, girl. That’s what you are, and that’s what you’ve always been.” His smile faded slightly. “You know, I never wanted you to be an agent.”
    â€œI know,” I said, my tone soft.
    â€œYou came and asked me to let you train, and I…” He shrugged. “I just wanted you to learn how to protect yourself. Your kind is hunted. And my kind, well, you could have been abducted and used to get to me. I wanted you prepared. You proved stubborn, though, and wouldn’t let me keep you behind the scenes.”
    I chuckled. “I remember how you had me play doctor to injured agents to show me exactly what kind of pain I was asking for. ‘See the blood,’ you said. ‘See the pain in his eyes because that’s what you’ll get if you choose this line of work.’ ”
    â€œBut you never wavered.” There was pride in his voice.
    â€œNo. I never wavered. I wanted you to see me as strong and capable. Like your men.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œI love that you trust me now, that you’ve given me another chance. I don’t think I can ever express just what that means to me.”
    Michael pushed to his feet and strode to the mini-bar. I insisted one be installed for my own personal use in every one of his homes. Sometimes it was the only way I could relax.
    â€œYou’re my daughter,” he said. “No matter what blood runs through your veins, you’re my daughter and I love you.”
    â€œI love you, too.”
    Silence settled around us for several minutes before he said laughingly, “What kind of killers are we, having such a mush fest?” After clipping the end of his cigar, he claimed the nearest lighter and puffed. Smoke soon billowed around him. Cigarettes and cigars were illegal because they were air pollutants. But Michael lived in a world where he followed no rules but his own.
    He poured a Scotch. “Want one?” he asked.
    â€œYes. Thank you.”
    He handed me the glass, and my fingers wrapped tightly around the cool container. He poured another. Sipping, I reveled in the way the smooth liquid warmed me and erased the twinges in my arm and side.
    â€œHave you ever dealt with Jonathan Parker?” This was the first chance we’d had to talk business.
    â€œFrom a distance.”
    â€œI’d like to see your files on him.”
    â€œOf course. They’re in the study.”
    I didn’t bother with shoes, but went barefoot. I took my drink with me. God knows, I needed it. I felt more on edge today than I had in a long time. Silently, we strode down the stairs, past Oriental vases, metal sculptures of gods and goddesses, and the trickling rock waterfall he’d had built into one of the walls. When the sealed door to the study sensed our presence, it opened automatically. The cleaning crew had already left, so we were alone and didn’t need to worry about prying eyes.
    â€œSit,” he said, indicating a dark brown leather recliner with a tilt of his head. “Relax.”
    I obeyed without hesitation, resting in the chair across from his desk. I breathed in the familiar scent of leather.
    He padded to that desk, rested his cigar in an ashtray, and palmed a remote. He pressed a series of buttons, dimming the lights and causing a holoscreen to materialize over the far wall. A man’s image flashed into focus. Human, thirty-something. Pale hair, a long aristocratic nose. Thin lips, but a handsome visage nevertheless. Arrogant brown eyes regarded the world with a nothing-can-hurt-me gleam.
    Even with the warnings about the sun’s dangerous rays, Jonny Boy obviously spent a lot of time outside. His skin was deeply tanned and lined more than it should have been. An aura of self-importance enveloped him.
    I disliked him already.
    â€œDoes he like women or men?” I asked.
    â€œHe likes power.”
    â€œTypical.”
    â€œHe’s