"Would you like to add a 'Sir' to that?"

  She shivered. "Yes, Sir."

  "Good. Now the dress."

  She gasped. "Matt! You can't ask me to be completely naked until—"

  "Megan." His deep voice was in her ear now. "Take it off. Now."

  She sat there, trying to convince herself to obey, and failing. Finally, she took a deep breath and began drawing the garment upward and over her head. Holding it in front of her, she trembled.

  "Now. Open your eyes."

  Meg blinked, opening them. As soon as she looked up, she realized she no longer heard the purr of the engine. The car had stopped. They were inside the garage, and he had reached for the opener, pushing the button. The garage door came rumbling down behind them.

  Matt unfastened her seat belt and lifted her chin. "Now," he said sternly. "This was as much an exercise in your trust as it was a game. Have I ever done anything to publicly embarrass you? Or endanger you?"

  She lowered her eyes. "No, Sir."

  "And I never will." He opened the door and came around to get her. When he opened it, he held out a hand, and she set hers into it, glancing down.

  "I'm sorry. I should have known you wouldn't..." she trailed off, feeling as if she'd disappointed him. Stepping out of the car naked and barefoot, she wasn't surprised when he tossed her up and over his shoulder. Still, she gasped.

  "I don't want you walking barefoot in here," he growled. "It's not safe."

  He waited until they were inside the kitchen before giving her a hard swat. Setting her on her feet, he turned her to face him and wound a fist through her hair. Bringing her face upward, he devoured her mouth and held her back to gaze down into her eyes. They were wide. "Now, princess. Upstairs. Legs apart, and bend over the footboard. Arms clasped above your head. And wait for me."

  When Meg awakened in his arms, the light was going. He was wrapped around her, arms about her middle from behind. One hand held her tightly against him; the other had her long hair wound around his fist. She tried to look back over her shoulder but was unable to move. Remembering the trip home and the demanding and dominant lovemaking he'd put her through when he came upstairs, a shiver ran down her spine. He'd wrung every ounce of submission from her, and when she'd finally been allowed to come, it had been earth-shattering.

  She realized what he'd done suddenly. He had distracted her the same way she had him, the day he'd treated Chelsea in the ER and was so upset over losing a patient. Only today's experience was bittersweet, because she'd failed to trust him. She gave a small sigh of regret.

  "Matt." She attempted to wiggle around to face him and received a hard pop to her bottom.

  "Ow."

  "And just where do you think you're going?"

  She let out a giggle. "I just wanted to turn and face you. I can't move."

  His response was to let go of her hair and turn her in his arms.

  "Hungry?"

  She nodded. "Yes. A little."

  He leaned down and kissed her. "I'm cooking dinner. Anything in particular you want?"

  She gave a soft giggle of delight. "You're cooking?"

  "Yep. I figure it's the least I can do. I realize I put you through it when I got you home."

  She nodded. "I loved it. I wouldn't change anything."

  "You're positive."

  She nodded. He was studying her intently. "I'm glad. Sometimes I think I get carried away. But you're so beautifully submissive, it's hard for me to keep from it."

  She lowered her gaze. "I felt like," she sank her teeth into her lower lip, beginning again, "I disappointed you. I should have trusted you more."

  Tilting her chin upward, he spoke softly. "Someday, princess, you will. I would never do anything purposely to betray the trust you have in me. I won't sit here and tell you I'll never make a mistake. And I do admit to pushing your buttons sometimes to test you. But I cherish you more than anything in the world. I want you to realize that as much as I do." He paused. "This was a hard thing I demanded of you today. And no, I'm not disappointed. Not at all. Now," he leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, then her forehead, "what would you like for dinner?"

  "I'll get dressed and help you."

  But he was shaking his head. "Not a stitch goes on those curves until we have to leave the house. Hear me?" He rolled away from her and stood up. "I'll make sure the blinds are drawn downstairs." With a wink, he moved toward the door.

  "Wait! You asked me what I wanted—"

  "Too late," he responded. "It'll be a surprise."

  Meg glanced at her reflection in the vanity as she moved to put in her contacts. The young woman looking back at her in the mirror brought a smile. She had to be the luckiest person on the face of the earth. A laugh erupted from her. Not a stitch? He had to be crazy.

  She heard the phone ring as she stepped out of the shower and wondered who would be calling. She hoped it wasn't the hospital. As she glanced at the clock, she frowned. It was after seven. The evening air was slightly chilly as she dried off, and she instinctively reached for a sheer cotton gown with tucks at the top. Matt would have to agree to let her wear it now that the evenings were cooler.

  She began to dance her way down the stairs, pausing as she neared the bottom. Matt's voice sounded concerned. She moved the rest of the way down, finding him in the kitchen. He was standing halfway between the cabinets and the island, with the frying pan in one hand and the phone in the other. But his gaze was vacant.

  "Matt?" she whispered.

  As if seeing her standing there for the first time, he studied her face. Worry filled his eyes.

  "I see. Thanks for letting me know. Yes. I'll tell her. Please let me know immediately if you find out she's been located."

  "Who?" she whispered. "Who was that?"

  Matt sat down on a bar stool and pulled her to stand in front of him. His expression of indulgence was evident. "It was Wallace. Apparently, there's a missing person's report out on Hannah Ross. The nursing home has been trying to get in touch with her all day; her mother is worse. They even sent the police to try to check on her since she has the insulin pump. But there was no sign of her. She apparently didn't go home after the funeral today. He called to see if we knew where she'd gone."

  "Oh, no," she breathed. "She could be anywhere. Her sugars are so out of control, sometimes. If it quit working, or if—"

  "I know. They're still looking. He said he'd call when they found her." He looked at the skillet in his hand, as if the thought of food was suddenly unappetizing, and set it down on the stove. "Throw some clothes on those curves instead of the gown. I'm taking you for dinner. I've changed my mind. I don't have the good sense to cook right now without burning the house down, and we both need to eat." He paused and picked the phone back up. "Go," he mouthed to her, punching buttons.

  "Hey. This is Matt. I just thought of something. She's a brittle—severe—diabetic on an insulin pump. I thought you might need to know that. She's a patient of a buddy of mine. They need to find her, and fast. Scott Hicks might be able to tell you more about her without breaking any confidentiality laws." There was silence a moment.

  Meg paused at the top of the stairs, listening, and turned back to see him standing at the base of the stairs, watching her. A brow was raised.

  She turned and ran into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of jeans and a long sweater, pulling her hair loose from the neck. Had he just realized she had worn a gown downstairs? She could still hear him.

  "Yes. If you need more than that, you might have to get a court-order, but I'm sure he'd be glad to help any way possible. Just a thought. Okay." He paused, reeling off Scott's phone number. "Let me know."

  He was still standing there when she stuffed her feet into her sneakers and hurried back down.

  "Brat. Do you ever just obey me without hesitation?"

  She grinned and leaned up on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. "When I want to," she whispered, squealing a moment later, when his hand connected with her bottom. He opened the door to the garage, and she slid past him, making sure she was facing him.

  He chuckled. "Ah, maybe you'll learn after all."

  Sunday morning, there was still no news of Hannah being found. Her mother was worse; the nursing home had contacted the police several more times, trying for her. They had no record of a next of kin other than Hannah. Matt had been watching Meg mope around and knew that little face. She was worried. She was dressed in old jeans and a sweatshirt and was pacing in front of the picture window when her phone rang.

  "I'll bring it, princess," he called out, reaching for her purse. Fumbling in it for her phone, he gave up on finding it and brought it over. Meg looked inside, unable to find it, and he frowned and took it from her, dumping the contents on the sofa.

  "Here," he grumbled, handing it to her. "That's it. I know I've said this before, but I'm buying you a new purse with a pocket in the side for it." He glanced at the screen as the phone gave a beep and silenced. "It may be the Wallace's number."

  Meg stared at it, and he punched the redial button and put it in her hand. "Talk to her."

  It barely rang before she heard a woman's voice.

  "Hello? Meg? It's Stacy Wallace. Listen, I know this isn't the best time to call, but Mason insisted. He has some questions for Dr. Hart, and we thought we'd ask you over this evening. I'm fixing a few snacks, nothing big or fancy. And I haven't seen you in so long, I'd love to catch up."

  Meg stared into the phone, and Matt took it from her. "We'd love to come. What time?"

  She was glaring at him and swiped it from his hand. "Hi, Stacy. It's me. Yes, what time would you like us there? And can we bring something?"

  "Around six? And, no, just yourselves."

  Matt watched her as she hung up the phone and turned to face him. "Why don't you just answer all my calls from now on?"

  The look he sent her way gave her pause.

  "Watch it, princess."

  She shook her head "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

  He pointed to her phone. "Set your alarm for four-thirty."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm sending you to bed for a nap."

  "I'm not sleepy."

  "You should be. You weren't still ten minutes all night long. Even if you don't sleep, I'll make sure you rest." He waited, while she stared back at him. "Megan?"

  A tear trickled down her cheek, and he reached for her, bringing her close. Her arms sought his neck, and he lifted her off her feet, carrying her up the stairs.

  They arrived twenty minutes early. Stacy answered the door, with her shoulder-length copper curls bouncing.

  "Oh! Come in, please. Meg, it's good to see you somewhere other than the funeral home. That was distressing. Hello, Dr. Hart. Mason is in the den, around the corner to the right."

  "Hi. Call me Matt."

  "Follow me, Meg. I'll show you the kitchen first. The house is over a hundred years old and belonged to my parents when they were living. It was a boarding house at one time, so there are quite a few rooms in it. I'll give you a full tour later."

  Meg followed her into the kitchen. Laid out on the island was a spread that looked tantalizing, and she caught her breath. "Oh, Stacy, this looks wonderful. Do you cook like this all the time?"

  A laugh answered her. "I do. But right now, I'm exploring the lighter side of cooking. We were both gaining weight. So, these are all recipes for low-fat, low carb stuff."

  Meg stared at the spread of foods before her. "Wow. I'm envious."

  Stacy shook her head. "Thank you. But I feel like it's the only thing I've ever done well. I wasn't part of the smashing seven, like you or the others. That's one of the reasons I had no desire to attend the ten-year-reunion. I didn't feel like having to prove myself to tons of other people while listening to them say they were so successful."

  Meg felt heartbroken. She instantly moved to Stacy and hugged her. "No, Stacy. No. When I think of all the worry I had for weeks before the reunion, I made myself miserable. You were wise not to attend it. I wish I hadn't."

  It was the first time she'd admitted it, even to herself, since the event.

  Stacy's voice was full of disbelief, when Megan leaned back. "But you were always one of the popular ones," she exclaimed.

  Meg shook her head. "You must be thinking of someone else. I was the one with the coke-bottle glasses."

  Stacy's face lost its smile. "Can I tell you something?"

  "Sure." Meg stepped back, and Stacy held up the plate of spinach and artichoke dip and a plate full of hot chips.

  "Have some. You shouldn't listen to this on an empty stomach."

  Meg took a chip and carefully scooped up some of the dip. The chips were warm, and the dip was covered in hot cheese. It melted in her mouth. "Oh my," she murmured, savoring it. "Okay. Tell me."

  Stacy handed her a plate. "Here. Fill it up. We're informal tonight. The guys will be in here soon enough. She picked one up off the stack for herself and began offering one thing after another to Meg.

  "Whoa. You're stalling," Meg said, grinning. "Tell me."

  Stacy paused, frowning. "It was the night of the homecoming dance. You were standing on the sidelines and Johnny approached you. I came out of the restroom right behind Andrea, and she stopped when she saw him ask you to dance. I heard her say, "I'll kill her if it's the last thing I ever do."

  Meg's eyes grew wide. "She really said that?"

  "Yes. I saw you leave your glasses in the chair, and I knew you didn't see very well without them. I thought I'd work my way around her and pick them up so no one would sit on them, but I didn't make it. She got there first." She paused. "Meg, she threw them down on the floor, and when she realized that didn't break them, she stomped on them, four or five times. Glass went everywhere."

  Meg was silent, and Stacy spoke again, after a moment. "I should have told you, I know. But I couldn't make myself do it."

  Meg put out a hand. "It's all right. I saw it happen. I didn't realize at first what was happening, but when the dance was over, I realized it was Andrea."

  Stacy glanced down at her plate. "Johnny wasn't as fond of her as she thought he was. He flirted with me all the way through high school. He dated Amber and Chelsea, too. And Mellie. I don't know if Andrea ever found out."

  "Gosh, I never knew that. I did know that every girl in school had a crush on him."

  "On who?" Matt's voice spoke behind her, and she jumped.

  "A boy in high school," Stacy answered. "I can't even remember his last name. All I can think of is Johnny Angel, from the old song my mom used to play. Remember that?"

  Meg laughed. "Matt has it in his record collection," she said.

  "Well, Andrea thought he belonged to her. That's a fact. And she got him in the end, didn't she?"

  Meg nodded. "Yes. I don't know how long they stayed married. Heather had a luncheon for us a week after the reunion, and Andrea said she'd had four husbands and had taken her maiden name back." She glanced up at Matt, knowing how he felt about gossip. But he seemed to be listening to the conversation with a frown of interest.

  "Surely, she's gotten over her distaste for her high-school rivals," he remarked, glancing at Stacy. "Although she hasn't seemed to lose her dislike for Meg."

  Stacy mouthed an "Oh," and her brow knitted into a frown,

  "What is it, babe?" Her husband reached out to take the plate she offered.

  Stacy handed it to him, looking back at Matt. "It's only—I've never known her to drop a grudge, once she developed one. Here, Dr. H—Matt." She motioned toward the oven, where she'd taken out a tray of brownies. We have dessert as well."

  As Mason and Matt took their plates in the great room to sit, Stacy turned back to Meg. "It's odd," she remarked, tilting her head. "I expected she'd be at Chelsea's funeral. I wonder why she wasn't."

  "Mellie wasn't there, either, and Nikki had to work. But the room was almost empty, wasn't it? Not even her parents showed up. It's sad."

  "Yes." Stacy looked away, her voice breaking. Stopping, she shook her head vehemently. "Stop it, Stace," she scolded herself aloud. Turning, she left the room suddenly and dashed down the hall. She returned a moment later, standing in front of Meg. "I'm so sorry. I swore I wasn't going to do this. Chelsea wouldn't have wanted any of us to grieve for her."

  Meg laid a gentle hand on her arm. "Of course, she would, and I completely understand."

  Realizing their plates had never been filled, they turned back toward the island.

  "I'd love to have some of your recipes," Meg said softly. "These look so delightful."

  Stacy smiled. "I'll send you home with them when you leave. Let's go join our guys."

  Chapter 9

  Tuesday evening...

  Meg turned to Matt on the way home Tuesday evening. "We're out of bread and milk. Oh, and eggs, too. Can we stop at the grocery store on the way home?"

  "Sure. I'll let you run in while I make a couple of calls. I need to check with Wallace and see if they've found out anything about Hannah Ross. Unless you need me to come in with you?"

  "No," she said, shaking her head. "I'll be right out."

  He pulled into the parking lot in front of the store and put the car into park. As he pulled her in for a kiss, he said quietly. "Hurry every chance you get."

  "I will," she returned, smiling.

  The store was busy as usual. Meg went to the aisle where the bread was usually kept, finding canned goods in its place. Then she moved back to the end and looked at the aisle signs to see where they'd moved it.

  It was three aisles down, on the other end. Meg turned down the aisle and began her trek toward the far end when she stopped.

  "Amber?"

  The girl turned to face her, slowly, subconsciously tugging her hair on the left side of her face forward, as if she was trying to hide something.

  But it was impossible to hide. A huge ugly bruise covered the side of her face. She'd attempted to cover it with make-up but hadn't been successful.

  "Hi, Meg. I…" She looked away. "I fell. At home."

 

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