Saxon's Soul (Haven, Texas 5)

“All right, it’s not nice,” she agreed with him. Try not to anger the Dom, Aspen.

“How would you know, seeing as you’ve never been there?”

“I know. I was just agreeing, because it seemed rather important to you.”

He blew out a breath and shook his head. “You’re a very frustrating woman.”

Now that seemed unfair. “You hardly know me.”

“You run every time you see me coming.”

“Do not.” Well, maybe just a little. The way she reacted to him unnerved her.

“You’re lying again. That’s going to get you into trouble, little girl.”

Those words sent her insides into a tailspin, and she had no idea why. She might be little, but she was no girl. She hadn’t been a child in a long time. She’d had to grow up quickly.

“With you?” she challenged.

Jesus. Stop talking. She needed to shut up before she really pissed him off and he pulled over and kicked her out. Although they were now close enough it should only take her ten minutes to walk home.

“Yes. With me.”

Silence fell after those ominous words. She probably should have told him to get lost. Instead her mind was filled with images of him taking her over his knee, pulling up her skirt and—oh, hell, what was wrong with her?

“You need to take the next left,” she told him quietly.

“Where do you live? This is the middle of nowhere.”

“You mean there’s something you don’t know?”

He just gave her a look.

“I live in a cottage in back of Roger Peterson’s place.”

“Old man Peterson? That crazy old coot that likes to take potshots at people who get too close to his house? That’s where you live?”

She winced. “He hasn’t actually hit anyone in years.” Mainly because his eyesight was going. “And if people would stop trespassing on his land he wouldn’t have a reason to shoot at anyone.”

“Has he ever shot at you?” There was a darkness to his voice that made her shiver.

“No, of course not. I guess it might be different if I’m ever late with my rent,” she attempted to joke.

He’d tightened his hands on the steering wheel, the knuckles white. “If he ever shoots at you, ever threatens you, I want you to pick up the phone and call me. Right away. Promise.”

“Why?”

“Jesus, Aspen, do you have to question everything? Can’t you just say yes, sir.”

“I’m not one of your subs.” Her heart raced at the thought. Did she want to be?

“No. That is abundantly clear. If you were, you’d be over my knee right now getting your butt roasted.”

“For what?” Outrage gave way to intrigue. She tried to stifle that feeling. She wasn’t submissive. She didn’t want anyone telling her what to do.

“I’m trying to protect you and all you can do is question me. I don’t believe it’s an unreasonable request that you call me if Old Man Peterson starts taking potshots at you.”

“Shouldn’t I call the cops?”