Page 8 of Winter’s Fire

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.” On more certain ground now, she continued. “If Miss Carstairs is in trouble… I’d like to think, if I were in that position, someone would do something about it. It could all be perfectly innocent, but what if it’s not? There’s no one else you can send with Mr. Simmonds—it has to be me.”

She met Sir Guy’s steady scrutiny in the irrefutable knowledge she was right. “I can do this, sir.” Her voice was quiet, but it held all the conviction she could muster. “You know my brothers are in various branches of the forces—I’ve learned a lot from them, I can be more than just dead weight on the mission.”

She sensed a spike in interest to her left. If Logan Simmonds had assumed she could only function as window dressing, he’d better think again.

“No heroics, Lucy.” Sir Guy was adamant. “You are not to take any chances. No matter what you’ve learned from your brothers, you’re still a civilian. And while I’m extremely grateful for your assistance, you’re there as part of Simmonds’ cover. That’s all. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir Guy.” A distress flare of disappointment incinerated her hopes, but only for a moment. If that was what he wanted, she’d let him believe she agreed, but once they were in the field, all bets were off. According to some of the mission reports she’d read, situations sometimes threw the officers a curve ball, and rules, of necessity, went out of the window.

“Very well. You’ll leave for the island one week from today—”

“A week? Shouldn’t we be leaving as soon as possible? If she needs help—”

“We can’t just parachute in, metaphorically or otherwise.” The interruption came from Logan. “To maintain our cover, we have to arrive like any other guests, and that means—”

“By boat.” She could butt in just as clumsily as he could. “According to the website, they transfer guests to and from the island on a weekly basis. I should have remembered.”

Sir Guy continued. “Your travel arrangements have all been made. Until you leave, Lucy, you’re to take your orders from Simmonds.”

Hell, no. “I’m not sure I understand?” She frowned, glancing between the two men.

“Do you know how a submissive behaves, Lucy? What her Dom expects of her? How she should act around other members of the community?” The challenging questions came from Logan again.

“I can do some more research—”

“Research alone won’t cut it, and you have no undercover experience to help you fake it.” His tone surprised her with its gentleness, yet it still held that stern undercurrent. “Close your eyes. Go on—do it. Imagine we’re already at Nenufar—palm trees, sunshine, blue water, white sand. Everyone around you is a part of the BDSM community. You need to blend in. I’m your Dom, Lucy—how do you behave towards me? Do you know what my expectations of you are, in relation to us and the people around us?”

“No, but…” Her voice tailed off, and she opened her eyes. She didn’t like the sound of where this was leading, but she gave herself a firm, silent reminder of what she hoped would come of it. Like it or not, she needed Logan’s help to prove she could do the job. “Point taken. What do you need me to do?”

“Might I suggest the two of you discuss this in private, in the conference room?”

“Sir.” Logan stood. Lucy was surprised to see his hand extend towards her. With both men’s eyes on her, the atmosphere grew heavy with expectation. She had no option.

Strong, warm fingers enclosed hers. A little frisson of sensation rippled over her skin. It had nothing to do with feeling cold—how could it when heat radiated from blood flowing thick and hot like lava?

Lucy rose, her breath snatched away when his grip shifted and his fingers laced with hers. She tried to pull away, but his hold on her tightened. When she opened her mouth to object, he shot a warning look across her bows. Her head wanted to argue, but a more basic response didn’t only silence her—it ignited an inferno of primitive need that was almost terrifying in its intensity.

~~*~~

Logan closed the conference room door. When he turned around, Lucy was standing by one of the chairs arranged around the large oval table. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and if his reading of her body language was correct, describing her as tense and apprehensive would be a massive understatement.

However, on the plus side, she hadn’t run screaming out of the office. Logan ignored the devilish little voice that added the word yet.

“Please, sit down.” He pulled a chair out for her. After a moment’s hesitation, she perched on the edge of the seat, as if ready to take flight if he put so much as a toenail wrong.

Her reaction to him when she’d entered Sir Guy’s office had intrigued him. Not once in the short time he’d known her had Lucy Winter backed down, yet she hadn’t been able to hold his gaze then. She seemed to have the same problem now. Anyone who didn’t know better might take her for a submissive.

Logan took the seat beside her. This time, she met him head-on, still nervous but in control once more.

“So what happens now?”

“First things first. Does your boyfriend know about this? Is he okay with it?”

He could be way off the mark with his assumption about the absence of a significant other in her life. They were on a ridiculously tight schedule, and the last thing Logan needed was interference from a jealous meathead too stupid to grasp that D/s didn’t mandate fucking like kinky rabbits 24/7.

The daggers she shot in his direction went straight in under his ribs. Sore subject, then.