Master Gardener (as Belle McClain)

Patricia Whitmer is the last Whitmer in Whitmer, Ohio and wears the responsibility like chains. On the day her best friend propositions the estate gardener, she feels obligated to apologize. She’s less shocked by his demand that she submit to him than the fact that she does it.

Ryan Wilcox took the job as estate gardener to get away from people. He got tangled up in a bad relationship at a domination and submission club once and he doesn’t want to do it again. When Patricia moves back home he worships her from afar. That she wants to submit to him destroys his defenses, until he’s not sure who is the master and who is the slave.

 

Unedited Excerpt:

 

When she came downstairs dressed in faded green scrubs and a blue terry cloth robe, Ryan leaned against the sink. He had set a mug steeping on the table with the milk and the sugar bowl beside it. She had taken her hair down and washed her face. Ryan’s gut tightened at the sight of her golden hair spilling over her shoulders.

She sighed. “Thank you, Ryan. You have no idea how much I needed this.”

He shrugged, not trusting his voice. His hands ached to gather her silky hair and let it slip through his fingers. He wanted to kiss her scrubbed cheeks. To feel her satisfied sigh as he held her in his arms.

He shouldn’t be here.

She sipped her tea and closed her eyes savoring it. Her long lashes lay on her cheeks like errant sunbeams.

“How was your date?” Ryan asked to shake himself.

Patricia’s face twisted. “Hard to say. David and I grew up together. Our parents used to joke about how easy it would make things if we got married when we grew up.”

“You aren’t going to marry him, are you?” Ryan’s hands balled into fists. She couldn’t marry David. Couldn’t she see the cruel set of his jaw? Or the possessive glint in his eyes when he looked at the house? If she’d known him for so long, how could she not know what kind of a first class jerk he was?

“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“How complicated can it get? Either you love him or you don’t.”

Patricia sighed. “For some people that would be all they’d need. I’m not that lucky.”

Princess, Ryan thought. Spoiled princess who thinks all her problems are worse than everyone else’s just because they’re hers. The phone rang, breaking into his thoughts. Before he could reach out and pick it up, Patricia had lunged around the table and grabbed it.

“Oh hello Dr Radesku. What can I help you with?” She nodded into the receiver, chewing her lips. “I thought you were going to do it tomorrow morning.” A strident, accented voice leaking past her ear. She glanced at him. “I’d really like to be there, but I had something planned for tomorrow afternoon. … I know I don’t, but – Alright. Thank you for letting me know.” Patricia hung up the phone. “Mrs. Magyar’s surgery has been moved to tomorrow afternoon at two thirty.”

“If you can’t see me tomorrow, we can reschedule.” Ryan clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to reschedule. He wanted her tomorrow afternoon in the walled garden.

He just wanted her.

“I’d rather – “ She sighed and reached for him.

Without thinking, Ryan drew her into his arms. If he had been thinking he wouldn’t have touched her. He would have backed away. He never would have crossed the threshold tonight. Instead he held her tight his body while her arms reached up to twine around his neck. Her lips sought his, teasing open his mouth. Acting instead of reacting. Ryan waited while she explored him. She had never forced herself on him and he’d never given her the opportunity. Her needy aggressiveness caught him in a vise of desire. Shuddering with a sudden, explosive need, he wrapped his hands around her slender waist. She moaned. Her fingers tangled in his hair creating an electric sizzle across his skin. The length of her soft body pressed against him. She shifted up on her toes, dragging herself against him with a piercing thrill. Her left leg wrapped around his as if she planned to unbalance him, pulling him down on top of her on the kitchen floor.

He shouldn’t be here.

“Patricia.” He pulled his mouth away from hers trying to create some space between them, but even gravity seemed to drag him closer to her. “Patricia, wait.”

“Why? I don’t want to wait. I want you,” she moaned. “Please don’t leave me alone tonight. I’ll do anything.”

Inconceivable, he thought stupidly. You keep using that word, I don’t think you know what it means. But while his mind was replaying movie lines, his body had a Pavlovian response. The bed was close, the kitchen table was closer. His entire body throbbed with an almost irresistible need to be inside her. But he shouldn’t even be in the house. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Yes, I do. Please. Master,” she sobbed.

Ryan put his hands around her shoulders and put a few inches between them. It gave him just enough room to think. “Think for a minute. You’re upset. You’ve had a long day and you’re tired. I don’t want to take advantage of you because it’s late and you’re feeling weak.”

Patricia pulled away. She turned her back on him to walk around the table. When she turned back, the aloof Patricia mask was in place. When she spoke her voice was icy cool. “Of course. You’re right. I won’t be able to make our appointment tomorrow. I have something more important to attend to.”

The sharp pain in his chest made Ryan wonder if she’d stabbed him when he wasn’t looking. A quick check confirmed that his clothing was still intact and the handle of a butter knife or possibly a spoon wasn’t sticking out of his chest. “Would you like to reschedule for Sunday afternoon?” He tried to match her calm, but he wanted to throw himself on the floor and beg her to have him. Now he understood the meaning of the word ‘anything.’

“I’ll be busy. And I’m on call Monday night.”

He nodded. “I’ll choose another day and let you know. Good night.”

“Good night. And thank you for the tea.”

He couldn’t resist a sneer. “I’m here to serve.” Then he turned and walked out through the front door. As he checked the rest of the doors, he forced himself to take deep even breaths. He needed to get some perspective. He’d been getting too close to her. Forgetting she was a client. He had to remember that. He tested the kitchen door. It was dark and empty, the tea cup still sitting on the table half full. She would probably leave it until Mrs. Dudley came next week. Not only was she the client, she was a spoiled princess who threw tantrums when she didn’t get what she wanted, even when what she wanted was the gardener. He shouldn’t start getting ideas about her having feelings for him. She just needed her dirty, little release and he happened to be her supplier.