Free House Call (Hideaway) by Elyse Scott

It
was just after lunch when the phone rang. Sam rummaged through the pile of
papers on her desk, uncovered her cell, and frowned. The number was withheld.
Never a good sign. ‘Hello?’
    ‘Sam
Reilly?’
    Oh
God. If ever there was a voice she couldn’t forget. Master Dan. Simultaneously
thrilled and unnerved that he was calling her for the first time, her stomach
did a flip flop, and she tried to bring her suddenly scattered thoughts
together. ‘Yes, Sir.’ Amazing how she fell right back into that.
    ‘You
cancelled your appointment for tonight.’
    ‘Yes,
I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well.’
    ‘You
cancelled it last week. I’ve been away, or I would’ve called you before.’
    Right.
‘I’ve, uh… just been feeling out of sorts. I’m okay.’
    There
was a pause. ‘Yeah… I get the feeling you’re not okay. Or something’s not. Have I done something wrong? Was our last session too much?’
    ‘Sir,
it’s kind of you to ask, but no, it’s not you.’ It was most definitely her, and the way she couldn’t stop thinking about him, which
scared the hell out of her.
    ‘Well,
then…’
    ‘I’m
really sorry, but I have a work deadline and… I need to go. Sorry, Sir.
Honestly, I’m fine.’
    ‘Sam
– ’
    ‘I’m
sorry, Sir, I really have to go.’ She stabbed her finger at the ‘end call’
button, and covered her face with her hands. Wow , she’d handled that
badly. He was probably angry now, so even if she wanted to see him
again, he wouldn’t want to see her.
    It
was for the best.
    She
jumped as her cell rang again. A withheld number. She got up from her desk and
walked away.
    *
    The
rest of the afternoon was a washout. She tried to write, but kept replaying the
conversation in her mind. His genuine concern. Her clumsy brushoff. The fact
that she’d no doubt ensured that she got her wish never to see him again. The
realization brought heat to her head, a lump to her throat, and a queasy
feeling to her stomach.
    She’d
really done it; severed her ties with the only man in the world who had been
able to figure out what she needed, and deliver it, with no judgment.
    Fantastic.
Good job, Sam.
    She
was standing out on the balcony watching the sunset when the doorbell rang. She
checked the peephole, and took an involuntary step back. Hope and dread coursed
through her with equal force.
    She
jumped when he knocked. She took the chain off the door, and opened it.
    And
there he was, all tall, dark, and radiating intensity. In his blue flannel
shirt and black jeans, he wasn’t exactly dressed for work, but she’d never seen
him not look every inch of the Dom he was. A backpack strap emphasized
the width of his shoulders. At his feet was a full bag of groceries. He looked
amazing, and she tried not to think about the fact that she was wearing
comfortable writing clothes; a ratty Springsteen t-shirt and baggy cargo
shorts. Her feet were bare.
    She
fought the urge to slam the door shut. ‘Master Dan.’ A movement on the floor
caught her eye, and she saw that the steel toe of his heavy black motorcycle
boot was solidly planted across the threshold. Shutting the door not an option,
then. She lifted her eyes to his, and saw just enough amusement there to know
he was well aware of what he was doing.
    ‘Psychic,
much, Sir?’ she said, putting off the inevitable as long as possible.
    His
smile faded rapidly. ‘I don’t need to be psychic. You made, and then cancelled,
an appointment. You prevaricated on the phone. You didn’t invite me here, and
it’s clear you’re now hoping I’ll go away as soon as possible, so… something is
obviously wrong, and I wish you’d tell me what it is, and give me a chance to
make it right.’
    ‘Nothing’s
wrong. I’ve just been really busy. I made the appointment in a moment of
weakness, and then realized I didn’t have time, and I didn’t feel well anyway
–’ she began, apparently not yet out of lame excuses.
    ‘What
do you mean, a moment of weakness? ’