The Lingerie Shop (7 page)

“Come back and see us.”

She gave that absent,
probably not
kind of nod, and then she was gone. The song changed to Boyz II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You.” Madison gave serious thought to ripping the speaker wires out of the wall.

Yes, it was only her first attempt, but if she couldn’t keep her personal baggage out of it, she might as well quit before she started. Who was she kidding? Her mind wasn’t in the right place to do this. Maybe she should hire someone to do it, even though she knew that wouldn’t be honoring Alice’s request the way she’d intended.

Well, damn you.
Her fists closed on the counter.
That kind of pushy meddling was why I didn’t visit you for two years and you fucking know it.

Shit. She passed a hand over her face, felt the faint tremor in her fingers.
I’m sorry, Alice.
It didn’t matter if it was true. She’d do anything to have her back. Anything. She thought about what Logan had said about the UPS man. Maybe honoring a loved one’s last request was the same thing as keeping up a habit. Holding on to them as long as you could.

A trio of women had slipped in as the other woman left, so she had no choice but to try again. And fail again. Unfortunately, for the next hour, she had a slow trickle of impulse shoppers, no chance to tactfully lock the door and turn off the light. She tried asking questions but, as before, it was always the wrong question, the wrong attitude projected. She fell back on the tactics she’d used to sell cars and discovered there was a big difference between asking people if they were looking for a family vehicle or a four-inch-diameter dildo. Ouch, by the way. Hadn’t Alice worried about liability issues if people actually used that thing?

Long and short, struggling to find the right approach with customers while fighting her own emotional debris about the main reason to be in a store like this—to enhance a relationship—meant the only thing she accomplished was embarrassment, for both herself and the customers. A couple of them exited the store as if a fire alarm had been set off.

Eventually she resigned herself to staying behind the counter, no better than a passive, hired employee, available if the customer initiated contact. She sold a bra and a three-set of filmy panties, and Naughty Bits made no more of an impression than any generic clothing store.

As soon as the opportunity presented itself, she lunged to lock the door, though her relief only frustrated her more. She punished herself by going through Alice’s hard-copy files in her little side office, organizing things for taxes that wouldn’t be filed for months.

Why was she doing this to herself? Because Alice had asked her to do it. But surely she could put it off another month or two, right? She’d said she’d left her enough money to live on, and Madison had her own savings as well.

“Putting it off’s not going to make it any better,” she told herself. Gritting her teeth, she designed the grand re-opening ads on the laptop, uploaded them to the local online and paper circulars. There. She’d officially set into motion what felt like a forced march into hell.

Okay, even Alice would say that was a little overly dramatic. Maybe she needed to close her eyes, indulge in a safe little pleasure trip where she imagined herself under Logan’s tutelage like Troy . . .

She stopped in her mental tracks. Oh God. Of course. Maybe her wayward emotions had fucked up her grasp of that situation as well. Yes, Alice wanted Madison to embrace her submissive side, but she also would have wanted to help Madison successfully run the store. Alice knew she’d need to learn how to connect to her customers, understand how to make their fantasies come to life. Nothing was farther on the deep end of the sexual fantasy world than BDSM. So by “giving her to Logan,” Alice was offering Madison the chance to get in the right mindset. Logan could help her learn how to do it. He’d said he was a training Master.

The strategy made a weird kind of sense, more practical and reassuring than the idea of her sister giving her to Logan like a mail-order bride. And Logan had said she could
help
with Troy’s training. That was far different from being tied up or flogged herself. Maybe . . .

Sighing, Madison shook her head, deciding to give it a rest. It was time to call it a day.

A glance at the clock told her “calling it a night” would be more accurate. It was a little past seven. She cocked her head, only mildly alarmed when she heard movement in the back. The hardware store closed at five, but the same pickup truck from this morning was in the back next to her car, suggesting Logan or Troy was still around. Then she heard a mild curse and recognized the voice, though she wasn’t sure if that didn’t make her more alarmed, albeit in a different way.

Logan was shifting boxes in her storeroom. Looking beyond him, she saw the connecting door he’d mentioned, open now to show the full shelves in his own storage area. He straightened. “Good evening.”

“Can I help you pilfer something? Perhaps a teddy and pair of stilettos in your size?” Her gaze coursed over his work shoes. “We might have a thirteen. I think the teddy’s more flexible, due to the thong style.”

He chuckled at that, but his brow creased as he gazed at the three tiers of shelves. “Alice let me keep things in here when I had overflow, because her inventory fits in a smaller space than mine. I was looking for a case of screws. I always tell Troy to put our stuff in this corner over here, but maybe Alice rearranged it. Or Troy forgot and I’ll have to make him drink motor oil to help him remember in the future.”

Her side of that connecting door had been locked, which meant he had a key to it. She wondered if she needed to set polite but firm new boundaries, but she’d wait until she was sure she wasn’t being pissy because of her first non-event of customers.

“I haven’t had a chance to go through all the dusty back corners yet, but I covered most of the rest of the stock.” She came to stand at his side, bending to look deeper into the lower shelf. “Wait, see behind the pink box? Is that it?”

He bent with her, laying a hand on her back as he did so, a casual gesture that nevertheless spread heat from the point of contact. When he smiled, that heat increased. “Yep, that’s it.” He pushed her gently aside to stretch his longer frame over the wide board, treating her to a view of denim straining over an excellent ass. His broad shoulders shifted as he pulled the box forward and ducked his head to come back out, the thick tail of his hair falling over his shoulder. “Good eye. So, are you done for the day? If you want, you can have that tour of the woodworking area now. I’ll even throw in a quick tour of the hardware store. Alice had a free pass to grab anything she needed whenever. You’re welcome to do the same.”

“Is this your version of a pick-up line? Come check out my wood shop?”

His easy smile kept that liquid heat curling around her vitals, but she noticed his brown eyes became more serious. Something dark and pleasurable lay behind that considering expression when he looked at her. She didn’t know what it was, but like earlier, her subconscious responded to it like metal to a magnet. Fish, hook, metal, magnet. Oh yeah. Being around him was going to be a metaphor grab bag.

“Would it work?” he asked.

“I’ve fallen for worse lines.”

The smile disappeared then. He curled his other hand around her elbow, bringing her with him as they moved out of her room and into his. “I’ll never use a line on you, Madison. I don’t believe in them.”

He put the box down in an empty space in his storeroom, and then took her hand in his, again simple and easy. “Troy will put those out when he gets here tomorrow morning.”

She noticed his shelves were piled much higher than hers, underscoring his need for overflow room. “Did you pay Alice a fee for use of her storage space?”

He sent her an amused look. “No, but I have a feeling her sister the accountant is going to change that.”

“Well, Alice tended to let people take advantage of her.”

He came to a full stop at that, dropping her hand. “Excuse me?”

Jesus, that was uncalled-for. Cursing her tongue and her temperament, she blew out a breath. “I’m really sorry. That was unbelievably rude.”

“Yeah, it was.” He paused a moment, then spoke in a mild tone some part of her recognized as anything but. It stabbed her conscience, making her want to squirm. “I get that you have trust issues with men, Madison. But until I specifically deserve it, I’d prefer you not lash out at me because of what someone else has done.”

A resentful part of her wanted to answer that with another snap. But he wasn’t saying anything more than the truth, right? She’d behaved badly, and he deserved the return volley. Even if it hit a little too close to home. She wasn’t used to a man grabbing the bull by the horns so directly. He demanded respect up front and gave her the same. She was all too aware that clarity of communication was very much a Dom trait.

“I said I’m sorry.” She managed it with cool dignity, then sighed. “Hell, it was a rough day. I’m out of sorts and taking it out on you. Listen, I’ll just go back to my store and we’ll start fresh tomorrow, all right?”

That expression eased, which made things better, but he recaptured her hand, keeping her in place. “Or, you can hang out with me and get in a better mood. In my experience, nursing a bad mood by yourself just moves you into melancholy.”

“Yeah, but you keep more friends nursing it alone.” Not that she had a lot of those. She hadn’t left much in Boston, all in all. Three more failed relationships and a job she’d aced but that had been safe, not fulfilling.

He squeezed her hand, as if sensing the additional punch she’d swung at her mood. “Just as an fyi, I’ve found a good spanking cures most pissy moods.”

“I’ll find my paddle if you get pissy,” she said dryly.

She was pretty sure her
yeah right
tone didn’t cover how her hand twitched in his at the provocative suggestion. The moment he said it, she saw him putting her over his knee and giving her a sound spanking for mouthing off in such a rude manner. She could even cast him in that photograph on her store wall, the severe Victorian gentleman, so proper and powerful. He’d walk with his wife in a landscaped park every evening, using his silver-handled walking cane with easy grace to clear any debris from her path, so she didn’t snag her skirt or soil her slippers. Yet when they got home, he’d yank down her perfectly arranged hair, spread and bind her to their bed. As she gasped under the demands of his hands, mouth, he’d drive away any inhibitions, all vestiges of propriety out the window as she begged him to take her, as he stroked her between her spread, bound thighs with the smooth head of that cane . . .

Her free hand curled, finding dampness in the creases of her palm.

“I’d give one of Troy’s testicles to know what’s going through your mind right now.”

She snapped back out of it. Her other hand was tight on his. He was waiting on her, studying her face. It was as though she was stepping in and out of two different dimensions in his presence. He didn’t act as if there was anything strange about her pauses, her distraction, making it seem like he was right next to her on that journey.

She rallied. “One of Troy’s testicles? Not your own?”

“I have use for both of mine.”

Before she could figure out how to reply to what couldn’t be anything less than a delicious threat, especially when he coupled it with a frank look at her flushed face and parted lips, he tugged her across his storeroom, taking her to a door on the far side with a key pad. As he punched in the code, she thought about the way their buildings looked from the street outside. “So the empty building on the other side of your store is yours?” she asked.

“Not empty. Just not open to the public.”

She recalled that building’s windows were papered with advertising for his store’s wares and others in the district, as well as flyers for community events. The mural of advertising would allow him to screen the potential eyesore of a woodworking shop, but when she stepped into the space, she saw there was a far more vital reason he preferred privacy for it.

She thought she’d be safe looking at his creations. Sawdust, power tools, nice furniture. What she was looking at was a workshop for custom-made BDSM equipment. Her sister had probably brought him business, arranged orders for her own customers. The closest piece looked like a picnic table, only it was about half the traditional length and the space between the benches and table was too narrow to slide one’s legs between them. The benches were padded, as was the table itself, with beautifully tooled red upholstery secured with antique gold tacks. The wood was a dark cherry, polished and finished. The quality was excellent, the type that fetishists paid four figures to own.

She thought of Logan’s hands, the calluses and rough palms, and knew where he’d acquired them.

Her gaze moved to a St. Andrew’s Cross not yet stained, and the hand sander next to it that said it was still being prepped. No scratches from bound, straining hands yet. She tried to clear the thickness out of her throat. “Wouldn’t a power sander be faster?”

“Electronics have their place.” Logan braced a hand on the door, hooking his thumb in his jeans pocket as he followed her gaze around the room. “They make things happen faster. But being in direct contact with the grain opens it up, lets the wood talk to you, tell you what it needs to become. Which is a lot like what happens to the people who use the finished product.”

She folded her arms, a defensive movement.
I can’t be here. I can’t.
She was suddenly aware of how alone they were. When he touched her face, she jumped.

“You keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, “you’re going to make me think I should have made that spanking a promise instead of a tease.”

Here he had his choice of equipment to make that happen. “Don’t,” she managed, and he took his hand away.

Fortunately, he left her at the door, as if nothing unusual had happened. It gave her room to breathe, to steady herself. As he moved to the far side of the room, she saw a long wooden chest. It had carved feet, allowing a few inches of space beneath it. The piece was done in a golden pine, and the carved embellishments on it reminded her of the hinges she’d seen this morning, suggesting that was their intended place. As she drew closer she saw she was right, because he’d already screwed them in place.