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wandered over to sit next to Fontaine's feet
and laid his big head in the man's lap. Mac watched as the lean hands ruffled
the dog's ears, scratched under the collar, and then stroked Butler's side. The
dog's tail thumped against the floor.
    She
frowned, feeling a tug at her heart and a decrease in her wariness. Could
anyone who loved that ugly mutt be all bad? Don't
be stupid, Mac . Even mass murderers adored their pets. And
yet… No sex, her reputation undamaged… Ack , her reputation. Dear
Lord, she couldn't do this.
    “What?” he
asked, even though she hadn't said anything.
    “I plan to
start a life here, work here. Being your…whatever… It's too… I can't afford to
damage my reputation.” And God, she knew how important that was.
    “Ah. A fair concern.” He nodded. “I will not ask you to”—his
flashing grin was devastating—“act as my whatever anywhere except with a few discreet friends or at
Chains, which is a private club. Anonymity is part of the contract, and the
members value their reputations.”
    Well. But
could she really do this? “A trial period?” she offered.
    He nodded. “Fair enough. Tell you what. If you do a really fine
job and Cynthia gives up, I'll make some calls and shove some influence your
way.”
    Oh sure,
like Mr. Big Shot would know the vet community. “Thank you,” she said politely.
    Chuckling,
he rose. He gave her his hand and pulled her to her feet. “The foundation I oversee helped start both of the county's
no-kill shelters and the city's feral-cat program. Once a year we sponsor a
fund-raising dinner and dance to benefit all the pet charities in the area. As
it happens, the dance is in two weeks, and just about every vet in the city
attends.”
    Her mouth
dropped open. This was just what she needed. Oh God, could this possibly work?

Chapter Four
     
    She'd
planned to leave the house early the next morning before Mr. Fontaine—Alex—came
down to breakfast. But when she walked into the kitchen, she realized from the
smell of coffee and the cup in the dishwasher that he'd already been there and
gone. Maybe he felt the same need to escape that she did.
    Oh that would be the day . She rolled her eyes. That man
wouldn't run from anything. Nope.
    As she
made a fresh pot of coffee, she breathed in the heady fragrance of the aromatic
grounds. No cheap coffee for this household. A few minutes later, she poured
herself a nice full cup and walked into the sunny breakfast nook. Skirting the
antique table and chairs in the center of the room, she chose the couch under a
window with a magnificent view of Puget Sound and the mountains turning pink
with the rising sun.
    When she
sat, her still-tender bottom touched the cushions, making her squeak, then
scowl at the unwelcome reminder of yesterday.
    What a mess . And she'd created it all by
herself. She thudded her head on the back of the couch: dumb, dumb, dumb . How could she have been so lacking in morals?
God, she would never, ever open a locked door again.
    But how
that man had the nerve to spank her, she didn't know. And then he'd pretty much
blackmailed her into cooperating with him. Done a good job of
it too. She'd spent most of last night going over her predicament and
hadn't discovered any way out of it. With his connections, he could help her
secure a job—or could sink her just as easily.
    It was the
submissive stuff that really sent a chill creeping up her spine. She'd spent
enough time in the BDSM clubs to know some of what went on. How could she
possibly trust this stranger to…to tie her up or to … Then again, he already had, hadn't he?
    He'd had
her at his mercy on that bench. Frowning, she took a sip of coffee. In her
opinion, spanking her had been way over the top, but considering he'd found her
exploring his private dungeon, maybe he'd figured she deserved it. Yet despite
his fury and all the nasty whips and floggers and canes available on the wall,
he'd contented himself with five swats from his bare