"We did." She closed her hand over his on her hip again, caressing his knuckles. "I was worried about you," she said. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."
He wasn't sure how to feel about that. Without access to her mind, his defenses might have gone up, making him think he had to prove he was in charge, but he saw it wasn't that. She didn't see any conflict between him being her Master and both of them wanting to watch one another's backs. Him by covering her with a T-shirt, her by checking into his state of mind.
He'd had relationships with a small handful of women, where some of that reciprocity existed, but this was the first time he'd looked into a submissive's eyes and seen a hint of a true equal, someone who had no expectation or desire that him being her Master would absolve her of her own desire to watch out for herself...or for others.
Something to think about. She touched his mouth, the scar on his throat. "No," she said. "It wouldn't. I don't think it's supposed to work that way. Do you?"
He hadn't ever given it much thought, since his relationships here were professional and temporary, all about caring for the guest who turned everything over to him. Not so much about trusting himself in her hands.
"Hmm," she said.
"Stop reading my mind," he told her sternly, but a smile struggled on his face. "Else I will totally kick your ass when we get to my place."
"You say that like it's a threat."
He sighed, put his hand to her back and gave her a playful push before they were walking again. Mission accomplished, though. Things were easier now, the noise and splashing not bothering him as much. They followed the perimeter of one pool through a crowd of guests standing in clusters, drinking and laughing. Others were in the pool, swimming and flirting. More held drinks and conversations while sitting on the lip or on lounge chairs, all ways to see and be seen. The five waitstaff and two bartenders manning the tiki hut were hustling. It was one of those evenings where, if he wasn't engaged at the Club, Garron would have been pitching in. Evidence that he had no real social life, according to Vardalos. There was the pot calling the kettle black.
"Look, there's one. Hey, you."
Another thing that hadn't helped his management of the noise was that he'd put in his hearing aids, knowing he was going to be around people other than Kaela. The cacophony of white noise was overpowering, even when he turned down the volume. Now what had sounded like a distant snippet of conversation was actually close, a guest calling out to him. He saw it in Kaela's mind when she touched his arm.
A man he'd seen at checkin earlier in the week, who'd obviously remembered Garron worked here despite the lack of official uniform, was headed his way.
"Apologies, my lady," he muttered, and turned to acknowledge the guest.
While all those Vardalos invited to the island received exclusive invitations and were vetted, there were some Garron knew served a "conflict purpose", challenging the true visitors about the nature of their fantasies, helping them find their way to them. This impatient male, reeking of entitlement and alcoholism, with bloated blood vessels on his nose and cheeks, had to be one of those, because otherwise Garron couldn't see Vardalos letting him set foot here.
"I asked for a drink five damn minutes ago."
Should have brought your stash from your room to tide you over, Garron thought. His attitude toward the man didn't improve as he saw his bloodshot gaze go to Kaela and cling. Ignoring male attention as usual, she was watching the play of light over the pool and studying her surroundings, but Garron gave serious thought to scooping the guy's eyes away from her breasts with a jagged-edged grapefruit spoon.
"What are you, deaf?"
Garron cursed himself for looking away. Usually he paid close attention to what a customer was saying. "I'm sorry, sir. What was that?"
Most the time, the hearing aids went unnoticed, but he realized the torchlight around the pool must have caught the glint on the tubing, for the man's gaze zoned in on the side of Garron's head.
"Well damn, I guess you are." The man made some elaborate hand gestures, a mockery of sign language, and mouthed his words in an exaggerated fashion. "Think you can send someone this way who knows English? And how to bring me my fucking drink?"
Garron wondered if it occurred to the asshole that being obnoxious on a remote island in the Bermuda Triangle--where there was no lack of ways to dispose of a body--put him square on the top of the clueless heap. Then he saw Eaton returning with the man's drink. From the young man's harassed look, Garron suspected the guy's drink request had involved a trip into the vaults. Eaton gave him a long suffering look before schooling his face back to professional courtesy.
"Here comes your drink, sir," Garron said, turning back to the guest.
But the man was no longer paying attention to him, and Kaela was no longer to Garron's left. She was standing in between him and the offensive man, her back to Garron, but because of their mind connection, he heard what the man said to her...as well as her response.
The man gave her an amused look. "Decided you liked the look of a whole man instead of that scarred freak show, didn't you, sweetheart? Why don't you come have a drink--"
He punctuated the question with a yelp that could have come from a poked Chihuahua. Thanks to the man's brief-style swim trunks, a poor choice for so many reasons, Kaela had reached down and clamped a hand over his balls. Her grip was hard enough to elicit that high pitched squeak and turn the man to quivering Jell-O as he realized movement would be inadvisable.
"You know those little stress balls people use to keep their hands strong?" she inquired pleasantly. "Thanks to those, I can tear your tiny little testicles off with no more than a twist."
She must have given him a sample demonstration, because he let out another pained grunt, his desperate gaze seeking rescue. Ironically his eyes found Garron, probably in the name of male solidarity. Garron had to admit his balls twinged sympathetically. However, the waves of violence rolling off Kaela suggested it wasn't yet the right time to intervene. Timing was everything when defusing a bomb.
"Those who don't respect others get taught respect," she said shortly. "You need a rather extreme lesson. Unless you start saying the right things."
"I'm sorry," the man stammered.
She cocked her head, spoke in a menacing tone. "To him, you worthless piece of shit. Not me."
Lady Kaela understood the line between brutality and civility. Garron expected she usually made rational decisions about stepping over it, especially in a human environment. Yet in her head all he saw was her replaying this man's treatment of her Master. On every replay, she was becoming all the more certain that what was needed was a poolside castration.
With alarm, he realized she would do it. She was an overlord confident of her ability to take and give life, who was used to making those decisions, enough not to doubt herself when that judgment had to be made. She was scary as a hanging judge. But doing things that drew unwelcome attention to a vampire was not a good thing for h
er, or the vampire world as a whole. From what Vardalos had told him as part of a whole list of cautions, she could be in deep shit with her Vampire Council if that happened.
It told him he wasn't the only one who'd been unbalanced by the intensity of their Dom/sub play. Though he couldn't have anticipated this scenario, Garron should have been more on top of that. If he didn't do something to distract her from her current course, Vardalos would owe a rather substantial apology to a guest publicly neutered during late evening cocktails.
Eaton had stopped a few feet away, his gaze darting between Kaela and the man before going to Garron. Garron raised a finger, a quiet command to hold his position. Closing the gap between himself and Kaela, he pressed against her back. He slid his hand over her shoulder, caressed her throat as his other hand rested on her waist. She was rigid as a board, but her acceptance of his touch made him feel like he was calming a dragon who allowed only him within the range of her fiery snarl. He embraced the feeling, even as he realized the hefty responsibility that came with the honor. She would mutilate this male without remorse.
"We're done here, my lady," he said quietly. "Point made. Stand down." Sticks and stones, my lady. He's just a pathetic asshole.
After a bated moment, she nodded. "This matter is done. Neither I nor this man"--she jerked her head at Garron--"will hear anything more about this, or I'll find you again, won't I? It's a small island with a tremendous amount of water around it."
Garron had to suppress another smile as she pointed out the same thing that had crossed his own mind. The asshole bobbed his head like it was on a string. She tilted her head toward Eaton. "Look. Here's your drink. All that bad behavior for nothing."
She backed another step into Garron. It made it easier for him to turn them together, her close against his side as he maneuvered them into a walk. As they cleared the pool area, moved onto another path screened by vegetation, he slid his arm fully around her, but she shrugged away, moved ahead of him. He gave her the space, watching her thoughtfully as she pulled it together. She'd closed her mind to him, so he stopped, patiently waited until she noticed he wasn't following. It took about twenty paces. When she turned, he saw the crimson light in her eyes, the tightness of her face that said the anger was still with her.