Hard-working, strong, and sassy, Bunny Carrigan desires a simple life, far away from the complications of the big city, posh houses, and materialism. She makes her own rules and has no time for pushy men in fancy suits or playing games.
Joseph Hazelle enjoys taking control and has very set ideas about what the ideal submissive looks and acts like. In fact, his ideas are so set they might as well be concrete. Vibrant and full of life, Bunny challenges Joseph’s preconceived notions and she’s determined that if she submits at all, it’s going to be on her own terms.
Accustomed to being the instructor, Joseph discovers that Bunny has claimed his lonely heart and has a thing or two to teach him. All he has to do is educate her about his world and convince her that she does indeed “do” submission. What could go wrong?
There is a saying that opposites attract, and Bunny and Joseph are definitely opposites. The proper respectable Dom sequestered in his marble mansion. The flame haired, fiercely independent wild woman. Bunny breathes life into Joseph's existence. Rather than trying to tame her fire, he sets out to fan the flames. Bunny's been burned before and learned to stand on her own to feet. Joseph brings a since of safety and security she hasn't had in a long time. It is their differences that fill a need, bringing them together. She can be herself and still feel loved. He can be a Dom and still hold the reins loosely. Together, they can turn the mansion into a home. It is rare to get a MF book from Heather Rainier, but when we do she always provides excitement and a well developed back story that produces passionate characters. You do not have to know the rest of the series to enjoy this novel.
A distant flash of lightning shone through the windowpane. Bunny set the empty wine glass down with a sigh as the tile beneath her feet vibrated with the tremble of thunder. “The storm sounds as though it’s gathering strength. I think it’s time I left.”
He rose as she did. “Thank you for dining with me. It was refreshing.”
“Refreshing? You’re nuts, you know that?”
Somewhere in the back of her mind, her inner devil had a clipboard, recording all the smart-alecky things she said to him, as though keeping tally for when he finally got her over his knee.
He shrugged and grinned. “Maybe so. Let me walk you to that behemoth of a work vehicle you arrived in today.”
“Hey, Betsy is awesome,” she replied as they walked side by side from the kitchen.
Snorting with laughter, he said, “Why am I not surprised you named your vehicle?”
“She was my first major purchase as a self-employed person. Having a bucket truck means I can get jobs I might not otherwise be able to. I’ll be making use of her tomorrow when I come back to work on your satellite dishes. Sorry I couldn’t do it today, but if I see lightning, I don’t leave the ground.” Their steps echoed on the tile as they crossed the corridor to the main entry.
“That’s a relief to hear.” He tapped the top of the tissue-wrapped book she clutched in her arms with a long finger. “Please read this.”
Conscious of the way he towered over her, she looked up into his pewter gray eyes, wishing she could understand him better. “Why is it important to you?”
Musing for a moment, he finally said, “Because I think if you don’t understand, you’ll move on, not realizing the opportunity you missed.”
“But why is it important to you? I’m obviously not your type.”
He cupped her chin in his hand and smiled. “Ask yourself why brattiness is your reflexive response to me. Is it because you wish to push me away? Or is it maybe because you want someone who can handle you?”
“Handle me?” she asked, her back going ramrod stiff as he gave her that irritating half-smile. “In your wildest dreams, you couldn’t handle me, Mr. Hazelle.”
He merely laughed as he opened one of the double doors at the front of the mansion and gestured broadly at her vehicle, parked out front under the grand porte-cochere. “I had it moved to the front door for you, in case it began to rain.”
“Are you always so thoughtful to girls you want to spank?”
“You’re not a girl. You’re a woman,” he said with a devilish grin. “And yes, I am.”
Unable to understand him and his kink, she growled a little as she stepped out, and then she shrieked as his big palm landed sharply on her butt cheek.
“You!” Oh, Lord, that stung! But then the heat began to spread. Her inner muscles clenched, and she had the urge to waggle her ass at him, to tempt him to do it again.
He’s right. He brings out the brat in me.
Joseph’s gray eyes, normally so unreadable, were twinkling with mischief. “That wasn’t discipline, little brat, because you’re not mine to discipline—technically.”
“Then what the hell was it?” Besides a total turn-on!
“Fun.” His wolfish grin promised there was more where that came from. “Read the book,fiammetta. If you have any questions, you can call me.”
“The only question I have right now,” she quipped as he followed her down the steps, “is whether I should have you kiss the right cheek or the left one. And I am not a brat!”
Her inner devil was wearing a fireman’s hat and pointing a fire extinguisher at her pants while her inner angel pointed out that they were on fire.
Joseph was obviously keeping his amusement in check as he opened the truck door for her. He offered her his hand, presumably to help her up into the truck, but halted her long enough to kiss her knuckles and gaze into her eyes for several disconcerting seconds. “Yes, you are,fiammetta. See you in the morning.”
“Whatever,” she grumbled after he’d closed the truck door and pointed at her seatbelt. She barely resisted the immature impulse to stick her tongue out at him and drive off without buckling up first.
“Very professional, Bunny,” she muttered to herself as she navigated the long, curving driveway, unsuccessfully trying to ignore the way the top of her hand tingled where he’d kissed it.
She glanced at the book, still in its pristine wrappings, as if a snake was inside the package. “I’m not becoming a doormat. I don’t submit to anyone. Not ever.” The possibility she was wrong about the whole ball of wax was growing in her gut with each utterance of those words.
Heather Rainier lives and writes in South Central Texas. Her stories offer up the content of her fantasies, with autobiographical humor, triumph and tragedy mixed in.
Heather's love of romance fiction began as a teenager when her mom gave her copies of Kathleen Woodiwiss's "The Flame and the Flower" and Bertrice Small's "Skye O'Malley". To this day she's pretty sure that was her mom's version of the "birds and the bees" talk.
Heather writes the type of novel she loves to read: More erotic and edgy than the mainstream, with plenty of sweet romance mixed in and a happily ever after guaranteed. Heather's favorite type of hero is the gentle, lovable giant but readers will discover a wide variety of heroes and alphas on the pages of her novels, from nearly perfect to very flawed.
When not happily typing at her keyboard, Heather is usually busy corralling her kids, or loving on her smokin' hot husband, who thankfully loves to cook.