Having lost contact, Bronx rose and curled up against Anne’s legs. Again.
“Anne.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s time to let your childhood go. Time to realize you’ve got a huge need to care for things. People and animals. Even plants.”
“I don’t—”
“You were a kid. And you lost pets you loved. Were torn away from your buddies.”
Hell, he could see the grief in her eyes.
“It fucked you up.” He wasn’t a Dom to create a scene and heal a person’s soul. He could only blurt out what he thought. But aside from a blind spot or two, Anne was one of the most intelligent and rational people he knew. No matter how badly stated, she’d think about his words.
Her gaze dropped to where Bronx had settled against her calves.
“You’re trying to keep from getting hurt again. I get that. Trouble is, you’re not allowing anyone or anything into your life.” He tightened his arms around her, wishing he could fend off any heartache to her forever. But that wasn’t life. “You showed me that the proper response to the gift of life is to live it.”
She was perfectly still, head bowed. Anne never bowed her head.
Fear dried his mouth, shattered what he’d planned to say.
But when the silence continued, he rubbed his cheek on the top of her head. Fuck, he knew how she felt, wanting to dodge pain…since right now, the thought of losing her was a blade to his throat.
And then he knew what else he should say—because, pain or not, he’d never regret a moment he spent with her. “People and animals and plants will leave you, but”—he pulled in a slow breath—“the joy of having them, for however long, is worth the sorrow.”
Muscle by muscle, she relaxed against him. Thinking.
Thinking was good.
Eventually, she pulled in her own deep breath and looked up at him. “You’re right.” Her smile was rueful. “I hadn’t realized how odd it was to never even consider owning a pet until Mom mentioned it last week. But to avoid plants as well? That’s just warped. I guess I really am afraid of being hurt again.”
“Yeah.” He understood why. Under her cool front of indifference, Anne had the most caring heart in the world. Her parents couldn’t have known how much she’d suffer with each loss or they’d have been more careful.
She reminded him of a glass knife. Unbelievably sharp, yet frighteningly vulnerable to being shattered. And she brought out every protective instinct he had.
But, as with his teammates, he couldn’t fight her battles. She’d have to evaluate the risks and decide whether or not to advance.
He kissed her lips and felt them tremble. “Seems as if being aware is the highest hurdle. And you’d already started to change. Bronx and I are here, after all.”
Hearing his name, Bronx sat up…in case someone felt the need to administer a few pats.
Anne never turned the furball away—and didn’t now, even as she blinked back tears. Although she poured out her warmth to children and animals, she was more cautious with women—and damned careful with men.
But not with Ben. Not any longer. Her trust was one of the finest victories he’d ever achieved.
With an effort, he relaxed his hold. “While you play with the ropes, how about I make us some supper?”
“Actually, I have chicken marinating.” She smiled and he saw the Domme slide into place. “I’ll cook; you’re assigned cleanup.”
Not exactly a hardship. She cooked far better than he did. “Yes, Ma’am.”
In the living room, he studied the white and pale blue color scheme. Seemed to him as if African violets would look just fine in here.
A couple of hours later, Anne walked out on her deck while Ben cleaned the kitchen. He pretended to hate scrubbing pots and was grumbling away. Unfortunately for him, she knew he was simply putting on a show. Really, the man had it easy. Unlike him, she washed up as she cooked.
In contrast, he could make a complete disaster out of a kitchen.
She smiled. She actually found it satisfying to create order from chaos. Cleaning up didn’t bother her at all…although she’d never shared that information with her slaves.
Her fingers ran over her saxophone as the peace of the twilight washed over her. The setting sun was a brilliant yellow line on the horizon. Resembling miniature rockets, black skimmers flew just above the gilded breakers.
The tide was coming in, and the waves made shushing sounds on the sandy beach.
Lifting her sax, she wetted the reed and tested a wandering set of notes. With one hip on the railing, she let her internal playlist scroll and found herself playing “As Time Goes By.” Like a soft rain, the notes spilled over her deck and joined with the evening. A slow song, but not sad. It reminded her that the fundamentals of life, living and loving and dying, held the same from generation to generation.