Chapter 13

She just continued to stand there, hugging herself, her eyes wide, staring at the scar on his face.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he told her. "A war souvenir. I might look frightening but I promise I won't hurt you."

"A-all right." But still she didn't move. Her eyes were filled with fear and he had the distinct feeling it wasn't all caused by him.

"Look." He couldn't hide his exasperation. Was the women fucking stupid? "You have two choices. Go inside, jump in a hot shower, I'll find you something to put on and make some coffee. Or, you can stand here and either freeze to death or die of pneumonia. The choice is yours. I'm going inside."

He made sure the cover was tight on the bowrider and turned to head toward the cottage. Without another word, the woman turned and raced up the incline ahead of him like the hounds of Hell were after her. Inside, she stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself again, looking like a drowned, frightened rat. She was dripping wet and, worse, her lips were turning blue.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Zane heaved a sigh. "This way."

He showed her to the bathroom and gave her towels and soap.

"Th-thanks." Her voice was little more than a squeak.

"I'll find something dry for you and leave it outside the door." He had no idea what, but then he remembered Derek's sister sometimes came up here to spend a week. Maybe she had left something.

When she just stood there, head bowed, hugging herself, he had to restrain the urge to take her over his knee and - Damn! He hadn't done that in a long time, and this was not the moment to come out of his self-imposed shell.

"Move!" he snapped.

She jerked as if he'd slapped her, but at least she closed the door.

He waited until he heard the shower running before he went on his hunt for something she could wear. Scrounging through the drawers in the bedroom, he found a tee shirt and jeans that looked like they'd fit. He dug out a sweatshirt and threw that in for good measure. Through the closed bathroom door, he could still hear the sound of the shower. Good. She needed the hot water. He left the clothes on the floor and went to make a pot of coffee.

How in the holy fucking hell had he ended up with an unwanted female?

Because it's not in you to leave someone helpless.

But then, right on the heels of that came the thought, Unless I want her that way, intricately bound, prepared to serve my pleasure.

Now where had that come from? He hadn't thought about anything to do with D/s since Lily's betrayal. She and her new Dom were banned from the Playroom, but that didn't lessen the pain any. For days now he'd wondered if he'd ever be interested in sex again. Ever connect with anyone on the deep D/s level. He couldn't fathom why this storm-drenched waif should awaken those feelings in him. Nor did he want to deal with them.

He was halfway finished with his mug of coffee and about to break down the bathroom door to see if she'd drowned herself in the shower, when he heard the door creak open. He turned. She looked a hell of a lot better than she had before. Her skin was pink now rather than blue. The clothes were a little big on her, but at least they covered her. It was obvious she'd towel-dried her hair, and now it hung in honey-brown waves to her shoulders. She was tiny, barely five foot one, he judged. He would have taken her for a child if not for the well-rounded breasts, which had been way too obvious under the soaked tee shirt. Her face wasn't very childlike, either. The smooth skin and plump lips were those of a woman. But what got him right in the gut was her eyes. Dark blue, shaded by thick lashes, they were filled with despair. Anguish. Even a touch of defeat.

She looked so fragile standing there. He wondered how in the hell she'd managed to get as far as she had in the bay. Desperation was his guess, and it had to be pretty damn strong for her to do what she did. Someone had damaged this woman and his fighting instincts surged to the forefront.

Cool it. I'm not here to get involved in anyone's business.

"There's fresh coffee on the stove. Pour yourself a cup."

He stood at the big glass window watching the storm and sipping on his own mug of coffee.

"Thank you."

Her voice was so soft, he almost didn't hear it. He turned and saw her standing about three feet behind him, gripping the mug of coffee like a lifeline.

"You had no business being out in that storm today," he growled. "You could have been killed. Drowned."

"Yes." She took a tiny sip of the coffee then looked down at her feet.

Small feet, he noticed, with bright-pink nail polish.

"Yes?" He lifted an eyebrow. "That's all you have to say for yourself? Who the fuck let you go out in this weather, anyway?"

"It doesn't matter." She kept her gaze on her feet. "I'll leave as soon as the storm dies down."

"In what?" he barked. "Your boat's off to hell and gone in this wind. And a boat is the only way off this little island."

"Oh."

"What's your name?" When she didn't answer, he barked, "Your name. You do have one, right?"

She jumped at the harsh tone of his voice. What the hell? Had someone been abusing her? Zane pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He didn't want her here. He didn't want anyone here. But it seemed he was stuck with her and he didn't need to frighten her any more than she already was.

"Okay, listen." He softened his voice. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. My manners aren't what they should be right now. You just scared the shit out of me out there, and someone must be worried about you."

She shook her head, still unwilling to meet his gaze.

"No. No one." The words were uttered in the same soft voice, almost whispered.

He was getting nowhere fast here.

"You must have someplace to go when this storm is over. You didn't just drop out of the sky."

She took so long to answer him, he wondered if she'd run out of words.

"I'll find a way to leave. After. I don't want to be a bother to you." She lifted the mug to her lips and sipped the hot liquid, still not meeting his gaze.

Zane swallowed a sigh. This was not going to be easy. He didn't have a lot of patience for this shit. Truth be told, he had no patience for anything. But this girl - woman - looked so fragile, he worried that if he said the wrong thing she'd snap and fall apart even more. What the hell was her story, anyway?

"Okay, how about sitting down?" He was afraid she'd fall down if she didn't, as fragile as she looked. "Can you do that for me?"

Gaze still lowered, she nodded. "Yes, sir. Where should I sit?"

And just like that it clicked in his mind. He'd been so focused on her drenched condition, he'd attributed her attitude to the situation. Maybe that was part of it, but not the largest part. The word "sir" was pronounced as an honorific. This woman was a sub. Someone's sub. And whoever it was had abused both the privilege and her, sending her out into this wild storm unequipped to handle it.

He'd seen it before, way too many times. Men who got off on the power alone, on the ability to exert complete control over another person. That control often translated into abuse, a situation he and other Doms worked very hard to neutralize and prevent. It was unfortunate that there were too many assholes perverting the meaning of the word and the dynamics of the situation.

Well, shit. Now what?

He was in no mood to be anyone's Dom right now, least of all someone who appeared as damaged as this sub. He barely had patience for himself.

"What's your name?"

"Dara."

"Okay, Dara. I'm Zane. And it looks like we're stuck with each other for a while." He waved out at the bay. "That storm looks like it's not leaving any time soon."

"Yes, sir."

"I'm not looking for company any more than you are, but it seems we're stuck with each other for a while. "He gestured at the mug. "Finish that coffee. You need it."

"A-all right." Obediently she took another sip.

"Have you eaten today?" She looked as if she hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. Anger surged through him again.

"No, sir." She wet her lips. "No. I have not."

He hated the edge of fear underscoring her words. Hated that someone had done it to her and hated it more that he'd have to find a way to deal with it and not frighten her any more than she already was. Meanwhile his stomach reminded him that the last food he'd had was well before noon.

"I'm going to fix something to eat. Nothing fancy, just sandwiches. I'll make one for you."

"I-I can do it. Just tell me where - "

"No!" Again, he had to dial back the force of the word. "Thanks, but it's easier if I do. Sit down at the table."

She nodded. "Thank you."

Swallowing another stream of curses, Zane set about preparing the food for them. They were sure to have plenty of time alone here. The storm showed no sign of letting up at all. Somehow he'd pry out of her what happened. He'd rather deal with someone else's crisis instead of his own.

How the fuck had this happened? Fate must be having a good laugh by now.