It took a full five minutes of staring into the empty street, his mind circling itself, before he shook himself out of it, turned and went back to the club.

For the next hour and one additional bottle of Macallan, he managed to convince himself he’d done what he should. He responded automatically to Matt and Lucas, shutting out their curious glances. Sure, fate would bring them back together. That and electronics.

She was in the military; he was in the military. He could find her. But a year was a fucking long time. He’d left it pretty open-ended, but it had to be. Right?

He recalled how she’d taken off the mask after she’d gotten into the cab. That last smile, light and easy only in appearance. Her eyes had said so much more. She’d pushed him away, taken control to protect herself. He’d walked right into it, because he didn’t want to hurt or scare her. But by doing so, he’d sent her the opposite message he’d wanted to send. Who the fuck cared where they would both be in a week? It was what he wanted her to carry around with her for the next year that was important.

“Matt,” he said abruptly, slamming down his glass. “I need your help.” There were many reasons to appreciate having lots of money, and the ability to find information quickly was one of them. By waking one of Matt’s contacts, they’d found out she was flying back to Fort Bragg in the morning. From there she would return to Iraq.

She was with the 18th Theater Support Command, a Supply Sergeant.

Peter’s heart had flipped at that news. While he treated women soldiers with respect, at heart level, he preferred women not to serve in combat areas. It went against his deepest instincts to put a woman in harm’s way. Protecting them was a man’s job.

Ruefully, he’d imagined what colorful things Dana would say to that. He was sure she had a mouth on her. Anyone who’d been out in that godforsaken heat, with sand in every crevice and crack, was comfortably fluent in swearing. But of course thinking about her mouth got him hard again, thinking what he’d done with those moist, accommodating lips.

So here he was, standing in the airport at the security check-in point. He’d gotten there four hours ahead of schedule to be sure, and been scoping it ever since. As intently as he was scanning very face, he was surprised airport security hadn’t questioned him.

Though he hadn’t seen her face without the mask, he knew her the second he saw her.

She had only one carry-on, one of those bags women wore slung across their chests to carry all their girl stuff. Probably a paperback book or some other way to pass the time on the flight. He wondered what she read, what she liked. She was in the jeans he’d seen last night, but now she wore a long-sleeved, snug knit shirt over it with a vee neck that showed the right amount of cleavage. Whatever bra she was wearing was holding her high and firm. A small silver cross nestled into her collarbone.

The face he hadn’t demanded to see last night was delicate and determined. She carried her head with graceful dignity on the slim neck, her closely shorn hair only emphasizing the beauty of her skull shape, the sharp slope of cheekbones. A straight nose and lush, soft lips. The conditioning of her body made her movements graceful, confident. Men and women alike couldn’t help a second look, because confidence turned a handsome, petite woman into a beautiful, elegant one. With amusement, he saw she was wearing sizeable wedges. He wondered if she put platforms in her combat boots to give her the extra five inches she’d tried to use as one of her many defenses last night.

Maybe he was lucky that he’d had so much experience with women, though if she was feeling an ounce of the possessiveness he was, Dana might not think so. All the submissives whose company he’d enjoyed, even the longer relationships he’d had, had taught him not to confuse hormones with his heart. But he saw her and, God, it was exactly like last night. Everything he’d learn about this particular woman would fascinate him; he was sure of it. He’d want to learn more and more. This was real. But that lack of doubt couldn’t erase the panicked pressure in his chest, knowing he needed more time.

He’d take anything, even thirty minutes in a coffee shop, but she was running late. So he’d have to treat the next ten minutes as the most important of his life—without scaring the shit out of her.

She saw him. As she slowed, cocking her head, her eyes bright with a mixture of curiosity and not a little apprehension, he straightened off the column where he’d been leaning.

“Come here,” he mouthed, need burning through him like an oil fire.

How had he found her? Had she conjured him? For the past twelve hours, she’d tried to shake it off. Finally, she’d given up, basking in the freaking glow of the most amazing experience she’d ever had. Why hadn’t she given him her address, asked for his?

Because it was best to leave it at one magical night, not spoil it. The fact that it was the most earth-shattering experience she’d ever had sexually, on a deep, emotional level, didn’t mean that could translate outside of the club walls. The things that were different about the two of them were still different. Last night had overflowed with magical trappings, perfect timing, everything. That wasn’t real. In a real world, Cinderella had to go back to being Cinderella the next day.

She was depressingly aware that such internal arguments said more about her than the experience. Maybe the reason she hadn’t found the Dom she’d been seeking was she wasn’t brave enough for that risk. She couldn’t bear to lose someone she loved again, whether it was from a relationship disintegrating or something far worse. So one night and one night only. That was the best thing.

She’d almost convinced herself of it; then she saw him there. That look, the way he called her to him, those firm lips mouthing the command, and her mind went AWOL.

She didn’t know if she walked or ran. She just knew within three seconds she was pressed up against him, on her toes to reach that mouth. This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy. But God, so wonderful. He cinched his arm around her waist and hauled her up so she could lock her arms around his neck, drink deep, pull him inside her one more time.

Leaning back against the column to give them both an anchor, he cupped her head, taking control of the kiss. All that tall, hard body, so broad and strong, and now she could grip his biceps, run her fingernails over the Don’t Tread on Me tattoo, scrape his skin. He growled in her mouth but she couldn’t resist trailing her fingers through the short hair at his nape as well, letting her hand slide down along his jaw. He made that kiss last a good long time, so long that it was she who had to break it, reluctantly. When he at last let her down to her feet, he kept his hands at her waist, thrilling her with the possessive grip.

“I’m already late for check-in,” she said, cursing the fact she was late. “I can’t miss this one. I’m due back at the base.”

“I know.” His mouth became a determined line. “Dana, I expect to see you again.” From the flicker in his gaze, she wondered if he’d intended to use more charm, though the raw honesty hit her low and hard. She knew so little of him. Maybe his cock was just tied up with his head. Maybe her mind was no better, spinning with hormones. She couldn’t make this leap right now. She couldn’t. She wasn’t ready.

But the feelings swelling up now at the look in his gray eyes, the feel of his hands on her body, had her rattled down to her toes. She’d been blown away last night. Didn’t matter if it was hormones or not—she couldn’t deny that she’d never reacted to a man like this, not in her whole life. She’d fantasized about a Master like him, right? So how much could she risk of herself to see if he was the real deal? How far would he go to prove it?

“Okay,” she said softly. “Then write to me. Not e-mail. Letters.” Old-fashioned love letters, like the ones Gram had gotten from Grandpa when he was in Vietnam. She’d requested those letters be buried with her.

He studied her, his expression intent, fathomless. “You going to give me an address?”

“You knew to find me here. I expect you can find that easily enough.”

“You’re not going to write me back, are you?” At her quick negative shake, his gaze darkened, that chin getting an obstinate look she knew she’d be powerless to resist.

“I’ll look forward to every one you send me. If it’s meant to be, I’ll see you again.

Please,” she added desperately as he slid his touch up her waist, his thumbs pressing into her rib cage beneath her breasts. “It’s too much, too soon. I . . . can’t handle it any other way.” Please, please write to me.

Leaning down, he brushed her nose with his lips, gave her a close-up of those intense eyes once more. “A test. You want me to prove something to you, protect yourself, okay.

I’ll let you have your way this once, because I don’t want you rattled where you’re going.

But in a year or so, when they let you come home again, you’d better be ready for me, little girl. We’re not done. Not by a long shot. And you won’t be calling the shots then.” Dana ran her knuckles down his jaw, loving his words, loving that he thought of her safety at the same time he wouldn’t let her think she’d gotten away with anything.

“Thanks, Captain,” she whispered.

So many things she wanted came bubbling up, closing her throat. Maybe if she had enough faith, she would give him everything about her, inside and out. Despite the family she no longer had, she wanted to believe the crazy idea that this virtual stranger could be her new family. She wanted someone in the world to know her down to the deepest level of her soul, be connected to her in a way that even death couldn’t take. She wanted him to be that someone.

God. Which was exactly why it was best to do it this way. If he was the real deal, blurting all that out right now would surely send him into full retreat, back out to the overpriced parking. Right? When he put his hand to her face, that thought vanished. Turning her cheek into that tender gesture, she leaned into his hand, letting him hold her that way, hoping she was conveying . . . something to him. Something that would make it worth it to him to keep writing, even when she wouldn’t let herself write back, the most unfair test possible.