What She's Looking For by Trent Evans Page B

hammering in her
chest. What was she so afraid of? Hadn’t this been at the crux of her little
girl fantasies? The Lady surrendering to her knight? Letting him have his way
with her?
    Like Terry did? Whore.
    It made her flinch, and Parker saw
it. “What is it, Ashley?”
    He stepped into the room, seating
himself in the overstuffed chair in the corner. It was her favorite chair, a
place she liked to curl up in and read a smutty novel or two. She had a
considerably different feeling about that chair seeing Parker recline in it, at
ease in its soft embrace.
    “It’s just — you know what I said.
I don’t know if I can do this, Parker. I’ve been hurt.”
    Hurt. That was one way to say it.
But he’d not just merely hurt her. Terry had betrayed her trust, the trust of a
submissive putting herself in the hands of her dominant, but she sure as hell
wasn’t going to unload her baggage onto Parker.
    She needed this. Needed to see
where it would go. If she could be who she’d always wanted to be. See if Terry
had purged that will, that desire from her, completely. To find out if he’d
extinguished that vital, fragile part of her soul.
    Ashley hoped to hell not.
    “I know you’ve been hurt, but who
hasn’t been when it comes to love?” Then the timbre of his voice changed. “I’m
not him, Ashley.”
    She snapped her gaze up to his at
the word “love.” There was an amused twinkle in his eye, the corners of his
mouth turned up.
    “I won’t hurt you though … not like
him, anyway.” He rose, and walked slowly toward her, the picture of ease. “Stand
up, Ashley.”
    She trembled as he stood in front
of her, inches away. They hadn’t been that close since that drunken,
embarrassing night, and the electricity between them crackled. His size! He was
so tall. She felt like a little girl next to him. But the thoughts she was
having were decidedly not those of a little girl.
    Not knowing what to do with her
hands, she clasped them in front of her thighs, the fabric of her black dress
wrinkling beneath her fingers. His cologne was faint, but powerful. So male .
She wondered for the umpteenth time how they managed to find scents that spoke
to the female so viscerally, so instinctively.
    But she thought it probably
wouldn’t matter what he wore, she’d still like it. Because he wore it.
    Hang on Ash, this is just sex.
Okay, maybe a little more than that …
    “Give me your hands,” he said, his
voice a whisper.
    Warm hands closed over her cold
ones, and she blushed at the trembling he could no doubt feel in hers.
    His lips brushed her forehead,
nuzzled her hair. “You never answered my question, Ashley.”
    She tensed a moment, thinking she’d
done something wrong. Why didn’t he just throw her down and fuck her? Take all
choice away. It would be so much easier.
    “I — I’m sorry?”
    “Do you trust me?”
    She took a deep breath, shaking a
little as she exhaled. “Yes, Sir.”
    “Mm, I like that.” He raised his
chin, resting it atop her head, the stubble of his beard rustling her hair as
he spoke. “Clasp your hands behind your back and keep them there until I tell
you otherwise. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    Oh shit, here we go.
    Parker walked around her, slowly,
unhurried. The only sounds in the room were her breathing, and the creak of the
floorboards beneath his feet. She cast her eyes downward. For some reason
having him appraise her like this made it hard for her to look at him.
    “Good girl,” he breathed.
    Her fingers twisted together at the
small of her back. Keeping them there of her own free will was harder than if
she’d been bound. It was conscious choice. Keeping herself vulnerable.
    “I want you to use those nervous
fingers of yours and unbutton your dress.”
    Her hands moved to the top button.
She was strangely eager to have something to do with them. It was obvious he
wasn’t going to let her touch him yet. She loved to use her hands, and keeping
them idle was driving her