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“Excellent!” She pointed to a small house off to the left, the porch light barely visible through the

sleet. “That’s me over there. You can pull in front of the garage.”

His gaze scanned the area, seeing nothing but black night and trees surrounding the cottage. Not another house in sight. “Wow, are you all by yourself out here?”

She gave him a droll look. “Said the serial killer as he drives the unknowing victim up to her cabin in the woods to harvest her organs.”

A laugh escaped, the act feeling rusty in his throat. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’m a surgeon. I’ve completely sublimated my antisocial desire to carve on people into my job.”

She put her hand to her chest in dramatic southern-belle style. “Oh, thank the heavens.”

He parked the car on the gravel drive. “But seriously, you don’t get worried living out here alone?”

She shrugged. “I have an alarm system. And I know how to shoot a gun. Plus, there’s a sunporch on the back of this house that’s the perfect art studio. I couldn’t pass it up.”

“You paint?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked. There is more to me than bitch boots and riding crops, you know. My paintings pay the bills.”

“Huh. That’s impressive. Hardly anyone’s art pays the bills.”

“Don’t I know it. Took me three years before I turned any kind of profit. But a few of the galleries in Dallas have been featuring my stuff, and they’ve sold really well over the last two years. Plus I get online sales.”

“What kind of art?”

She glanced toward the house. “Why don’t you come in, and I’ll show you some? I’ll make you a cup of coffee for the road.”

Theo frowned, following her gaze. They were crossing too many lines for the neat arrangement in his head. Mistress Margaret existed in one place—a dungeon at The Ranch. He didn’t have coffee with people who had seen him bound and begging. He didn’t visit their homes. He wasn’t ashamed of his submissive side, but he also kept his two worlds very separate.

“Come on, Theodore,” she said, green eyes playful. “This is like the pie. Completely innocent.”

“You, Maggie, are far from innocent. And maybe I should be the one worried. I’m a guy all alone in the woods with a woman who knows how to wield a whip and who tortures men’s genitals for fun.”

She leaned over and patted his cheek. “We all sublimate in our own ways, honey. Now are you coming in for a coffee or not? I promise ball torture is off the table tonight.”

“Well in that case, never mind.”

A laugh burst from her. “Doc, did you just make a joke? There’s hope for you yet.”

He didn’t believe that, but he couldn’t help but be charmed by her. Plus, it was cold as hell out there and coffee sounded like ten kinds of heaven. “I’d like to see your art.”

She rubbed her lips together as if suddenly nervous, but nodded. “Okay, then. Let’s go. And be careful on the front steps. They ice up like a son of a bitch.”

He climbed out of the car, grabbed her stuff, and then went to her side. He offered her his arm. This time, she took it without hesitation.

When she swung open her front door, the blast of heat was a shock to his system but a welcome one. He shook the sleet off his jacket and followed her inside after swiping his feet on the mat as she punched in the code for her alarm.

“You can leave your shoes and coat by the door if you want them to start drying out.” She bent and tugged off her muddy boots then tucked them under a bench by the door. When she slipped out of her coat, he was stunned for a moment to see her in ordinary jeans and a soft cable-knit sweater. He’d seen her in some of the tightest, sexiest clothes a woman could wear—things that revealed way more than these comfortable ones ever would—but somehow he felt like he was seeing her naked.

She glanced up and tilted her head. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he said as he slipped off his shoes.

Her lips hitched up at the corner as she tugged off her hat. “I’m ruining all my tough-girl cred with you, aren’t I?”

“Not possible.”

She nodded at his henley and jeans. “I bet your patients would be weirded out seeing you wearing that and no lab coat or scrubs, huh?”


Tags: Roni Loren Loving on the Edge Erotic