When he turned away as though the exchange hadn’t happened, she was strangely disappointed.
“I’m choosing to believe they used this area for doing presentations,” he said. “Why would they have an outdoor chapel at a fishing lodge? There aren’t any crosses around or anything.”
She gazed around the clearing, trying to think of a response that wouldn’t make it sound as if he’d cowed her. “If you sacrifice me to the Demon Queen of Mosquitoes I’m taking you off my Christmas card list.”
He gestured her to her feet, and she got up and brushed off her knees.
“You have a Christmas card list?”
“Not yet, but I’m more than willing to make a list and then erase you. Don’t think I won’t do it.”
“Are they naked Christmas cards?”
“Is that even a thing?”
“If it’s not, it should be.”
She rolled her eyes at him and shoved him, and he caught her around the waist and smacked her ass.
Squealing, she gave him a playful swat.
“Did you just hit me, little girl?”
“Um . . . No? It was more of a friendly smack.”
“Semantics aren’t going to save you.” Considering the fact that his red hair and green eyes were almost angelic in the morning sunlight, he shouldn’t have been able to give her the kind of dark look that made her bones cold.
“You’re not really angry about one little smack, are you?”
“Oh, I’m not angry. You just need to learn where the line is. I have no problem with teasing and joking around, but the only person who gets smacked in this relationship is you. You have a safeword. I don’t need one because you will learn and remember the limits I set or there’ll be hell to pay.”
She bit her lip and frowned, anxious arousal fluttering in her belly. She shifted from foot to foot.
“Do you have to pee?” he asked sardonically.
“No. I’m just not used to you being so stern with me. I know that’s how this works, but it’s still hard to remember that I have to take you seriously when you threaten me now.” She tried grinning at him, but he did not grin back. His brows lowered, his eyes still flinty and dark.
“Apologize.”
“Sorry.”
He blinked at her as though she’d said something incredibly stupid. “You’ve been a submissive long enough to know that was a bullshit apology.”
He wanted an apology for a friendly smack? The man was losing his hold on reality.
She dropped to her knees again, and clasped her hands together in supplication. “Oh, your royal purple Majesty, this slave humbly apologizes for smacking you in the same exact manner this slave has smacked you for these past many years. Won’t you forgive me and not . . . damn mine eyes, or whatever monarchs do.”
His face flushed with anger. “You need to quit fucking around, Arabella Dexter. Either you take me seriously or I’m going to have to teach you to take me seriously.”
He leaned in, probably to grab her arm, but by the time he got to where she’d been, she’d crab walked backward. She flipped over and leapt to her feet, then ran for the trees, shrieking with sheer adrenaline.
“You little shit,” he growled, just loud enough for her to hear over her retreat.
Fuck. Fuck. Why had she done that? She should stop and apologize right now.
Her feet had other ideas.
Heavy footfalls sounded behind her, as though he was stomping his feet on purpose, to scare her. He was making sure she heard him coming. Total mind fuck.