Initiation (Master Class Book 1) by Sierra Cartwright Page A

moving on to the people standing behind them.
    Effectively, efficiently, they’d been dismissed.
    Jennifer grabbed her glass, while he picked up his coffee and the bag containing the pastries.
    “Look, Logan, there’s no reason I shouldn’t pay my fair share. It’s not like this is a date or anything,” she said after they’d selected napkins and silverware, filled her glass and were seated at a table for two near the window.
    “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disagree with me in public again.” His tone was clipped, tight, as if it took effort to exercise control.
    She squirmed when he leveled a chilly stare on her. “It wasn’t really an argument,” she protested.
    “I wanted to buy you breakfast. I’m happy to discuss that, but not in front of others.”
    “You’re overreacting.”
    “Am I?”
    He scowled, and heat chased up her spine to settle at the base of her neck. He looked ferocious, every bit the Dom.
    “Look…”
    He waited.
    “Just because we…” She picked up her water and took a drink, pretending her hand wasn’t trembling.
    “Had a D/s scene that had you screaming my name?”
    “That’s not a reason for you to buy me breakfast.”
    “Then what is?”
    She felt as if she’d been dumped into the ocean without a life raft. Were all Doms like this? Annoying? Frustrating? Rigid? And if so, that might be a good reason to avoid a relationship with one.
    “Not everything is worth an argument,” he told her. Then his lips twitched. “There are certain times to just say thank you.”
    “But…”
    “It’s just breakfast. It’s not like I threw you over my shoulder and carried you off to my dungeon, stripped you bare, shackled you to my overhead hook and imprisoned you for life as my sex slave.”
    Fuck. The image seared itself into her brain. Heat danced across her nape. To distract herself, she shrugged from her coat and draped it over the chair back. Still, the thought remained, gaining energy.
    “Choose your battles,” he suggested.
    Their number was called. After tapping the table twice, as if to punctuate his point, he rose to fetch their food.
    She thought over his words. It wasn’t so much that she objected to him buying her a meal as the way he’d handled it. But, really, was it worth an argument? Ruining what they’d shared and what might still be ahead?
    That idea tantalized.
    When he slid the scramble in front of her, she sighed.
    He waited, head tipped, regarding her.
    “Thank you for breakfast.”
    His smile made her day brighter. Then he ruined it by opening his mouth again. “Much better. I prefer you compliant.”
    “Well, I don’t.” She scowled.
    “You might find the tradeoff worthwhile, if you give it a try.”
    “I’m not sure I want to.”
    “Stubborn to the end.”
    Jennifer took a bite of the steaming, delicious scramble. “Good choice on the restaurant.”
    Logan grinned, a slow, consuming expression that melted her reserves. He looked ten years younger and infinitely more approachable. Instead of relaxing her, it increased her tension. An engaging, charming Logan would be so much more difficult to deny.
    “Joe and I ate here a couple of times when I helped him with some remodeling at the house.”
    “The basement?”
    “Gives me some ideas for things I might want to do at my place.”
    It occurred to her she had no idea where he even lived. “Where is that?”
    “A house in the south part of Denver. Got it at a steal when the market was down. But honestly, it needs a lot of work. And I’m always on a case.”
    “Is that by choice?”
    He took a drink of his coffee. “Unconscious, I suppose. How about you?”
    “We have something in common. My house is a fixer-upper, but not by choice. I would have preferred something that was move-in ready, but I couldn’t afford it.”
    “What part of town?”
    “The Highlands.”
    He nodded. “Historic home?”
    “If by historic you mean old money pit, yes. Furnace. Painting. Refinishing floors.