smacked him on the arm. “I don’t believe it; you’re using your leg as a guilt card.”
“You use the weapons that are available.” His sexy grin flashed. “Or the cards that are dealt. But, seriously, if you’re all right with it, let’s lose the rubbers. I know you were checked when you joined the Shadowlands—and I had one done last week. I left the results for you on the dresser.”
“Last week?” she asked suspiciously. “Oh, don’t even try to act innocent. You planned to have this discussion.”
“Well, yeah.” He ran his hand down her arm. “I know you’re on birth control, and our test results were negative. I don’t screw around—I consider us to be together.”
Together. Such a lovely word.
With a happy sigh, she shook her head and…spit on it all, started back with the exercising torture.
Push-ups sucked. She managed two standard ones before surrendering and doing the rest of the push-ups from her knees.
Finished with her goal, she collapsed to the floor on her belly and let out a high, exhausted, “Woohoo!” Two real push-ups! When she’d started, she could barely manage one from her knees.
Serious progress.
She felt good. And really, being streamlined, wrinkle-free, and young wasn’t an achievable goal. Healthy? That she could do.
And that was what she would do.
Rolling over onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling. Last night, she’d been in floaty-land when Ghost quizzed her about why she’d backed away from him. But she did remember what she’d said.
It was true her parents had made her feel unworthy. Once in the States, she’d realized she was pretty. In the military and later, she took jobs where her worth wasn’t measured in appearance. Where her sense of esteem had soared.
So, she’d been fine, right up until Barry and his slaves had sliced her self-image to pieces.
And she’d allowed it to happen.
She rolled her eyes. I should have left when I realized he was all about Alisha and no longer interested in me.
Ah, well, hindsight.
But the damage was done, and she still had some work to do to restore her internal balance. She needed to accomplish it quickly.
Ghost liked that discipline stuff way too much.
The late morning sun glinted off the puddles left by the night’s rain. Such pretty sparkles. At any other time, Natalia would have been grabbing her paints. Today, though?
Glaring, she drove straight through the puddle.
And then felt like crying because…did puddles have feelings?
She was one hot mess.
Her eyes were red and puffy from sobbing fits all night long. Her toes hurt from kicking everything in sight.
Since she’d spent the night in a fellow artist’s attic, her tantrums hadn’t disturbed her friend’s sleep. And she’d been able to cover a gift canvas with angry red and black blotches.
Her friend had seen the ugly mess, winced, and given Natalia a sympathetic hug.
As she parked her car outside her small duplex, she felt emptied. Her drama was done. The hopes she’d clung to were gone, too.
Olivia had thought she’d cheated on her. God.
It was time to move on with her life, somehow, rather than hoping Olivia would change her mind.
“Cheating.” She shut the engine off. “Didn’t she know me at all?” That hurt more than anything.
Swinging her purse over her shoulder, she headed for the house, gaze on the ground. The broken and uneven paving stones in the coarse St. Augustine grass required her attention, or she’d trip and break her neck.
At the last stone, she looked up and gasped.
In jeans and a sleeveless denim shirt, Mistress Olivia sat at the top of the three-step landing. Her elbows rested on her thighs as she watched Natalia with an unreadable expression.
Natalia stared at her. “What are…” No. She didn’t want to know why the Mistress was here. “I’m sorry I caused a fuss at the club. Now, if you don’t mind, please leave me alone.”
Taking a step back, she gestured toward the street.
“No.” Leaning forward, Olivia held out her phone. “Here. Check this out.”
Natalia sighed. The display would probably show that Master Z had canceled her Shadowlands membership. Even though she planned to quit, her heart sank.
“Fine.” Natalia checked the screen. It wasn’t an email. Or a text.
It was a photo. Two naked women in bed. The one on top was using a strap-on on the other woman. The one on the bottom had her arms bound to the headboard, and…
“It’s me.” Natalia stared. “That can’t be me. I’ve never… That can’t be me, but it is.”