To Command and Collar [Masters of the Shadowlands 6] by Cherise Sinclair

doesn’t work any longer.”
Maybe she could survive. Except… “Not the cage.”
He shook his head. “No, that one is for your counselor to deal with. You and I will stick with what causes you problems in your slave training.”
Slave. The word made her want to retch. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know you will, chiquita.”
As his arms tightened around her, she felt fear and safety mingle inside her as she was comforted…by her master . God had the oddest sense of humor.
    * * * *
    With a low groan, Raoul pushed the weight slowly upward, his arms shaking with the strain. At the top, he dropped the bar into the rack, the clank loud in his empty weight room.
As he sat up on the bench and shook out his arms, sweat plastered his tank top to his skin, and his pecs and triceps burned. His body made the shadows on the wall dance. He’d deliberately left off most of the lights, the darkness suiting his mood.
He’d managed to keep from showing his fury when Kimberly talked about her kidnapping, but, Dios , it had been difficult to hear her voice tremble, feel her scarred body tremble.
An hour of lifting weights, of pushing himself to exhaustion and beyond, had restored his control. Leaning forward, he set his elbows on his knees and stared at his forearms. His skin was taut over the pumped muscles. His veins bulged. Yes, he was fucking strong.
Uselessly strong. He’d been too late to save his brother from dying in a filthy alley, too late to rescue this little slave before her abuse. Even worse, next time he saw the Overseer, he couldn’t beat him into the ground. Not yet. His jaw tightened until his teeth ground together. Hopefully later.
For now, his task was to heal the damage to Kimberly’s soul…and train her as his slave. He dropped his head into his hands, despair edging through his defenses. A slave. Here, in his house, the one he’d built after his divorce, not wanting to live with any memories of Alicia and their failed Master/slave relationship.
Now he would bring it back into his life.

Chapter Four
    That evening, Raoul made Kimberly fix stir-fry while he sat on a tall chair at the kitchen island, sipping a beer. The way she moved was as beautiful as the way she danced. No motion wasted, everything in order. But the multitasking was making his head hurt. When he cooked, he’d fix one part; when it was done, he’d prepare the next. The little slave had several different preparations going on at once.
    The slight smile on her face pleased him. Cooking was a comfort to her. He’d remember that.
Once the meal was on the table, he took a chair, holding up a finger to stop her before she sat down. As she stood beside the table, he helped himself to a bite. The flavors were excellent— strong and well balanced. “Very good, chiquita.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she said in a distant voice. She’d withdrawn emotionally from him since their talk. He understood. He tended to do the same, but it couldn’t be permitted. If she bottled up her anger and fear, he wouldn’t be able to read her or help.
“You sound unhappy.” He rested his arm on the back of the chair, deliberately letting his gaze wander down her body, the loose blue T-shirt, the baggy shorts. She’d put her hair into a long braid, and he missed seeing it free. “I think I have been a tolerant master so far. I even let you wear clothing while you were cooking.”
When her eyes widened, he frowned. At the sale house, she’d shown skill in serving drink and food. In dancing. She’d kept her eyes down, knelt gracefully, spoken only when told. Had she received more training than that? She’d said she was left alone after her kidnapping and then was sold to a sadist to be used for whippings and sex. After her return to the Overseer, she’d spent most of the time healing.
She not only had received little training, she might have no realization at what being a true full-time submissive entailed. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. If she hadn’t been so