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Janie was a force of nature, working as hard as any man, and partying harder on the weekends. She hung out at the bar, dancing with friends and shooting pool. Very few people could beat her, and she wasn't above humiliating the few boys who tried. She was a walking warning sign, a stacked short-stuff in a miniskirt who couldn't be tamed.

Drey was new to town. He'd bought a couple of acres in the country, and was building a home on the land to escape the city. He was dark, dominant, flat out dangerous, and he needed wide open spaces. His eyes were cobalt, which turned the color of wet slate when challenged, and he'd never met a challenge he couldn't beat.

Working on the land and building a home was backbreaking work, but extremely satisfying. He'd constructed certain necessities, along with a variety of depravities, such as a soundproof room, a spanking bench, and Saint Andrew's Cross. He'd owned a dungeon in the city, but hadn't adjusted to the quiet solitude of nights in the country yet.

On a Saturday night, he'd wandered into town, discovered the bar, and decided to stop for a drink. He took a seat on a barstool, and watched Janie living her best life, laughing with girlfriends, trading barbs with the local boys, and shaking her stuff on the dance floor.

He noticed that she was quite inebriated, and showed no signs of slowing down, and he thought, there's a sweet little derrière aching for the palm, but he watched, fascinated by her energy. She was beautiful and flippant, with a smart mouth, completely not his type, but he stared captivated, thinking, she's a five-foot-nothing hurricane in heels. What a little powerhouse.

As much as he respected her ability to cow every boy who challenged her, he was aware that there was something dark in her history, which had made her that way. He was certain that this behavior would blow up in her face one day, and something in him longed to protect her.

Janie stood at the bar next to him, ordering another drink. Drey couldn't help himself. He stopped the bartender, saying, "No. That's enough. She's cut off. No more alcohol tonight."

Janie spun to look at him, stunned, and nearly toppled over. "Suppose you mind your own damn business, mister," she spat.

"That's it," he stated, getting up. He paid both tabs, grabbed her at the waist, and flung her over his shoulder.

Janie screamed, "Put me down!"

Drey ignored her cursing and carried her to the car. Fastening her into the seatbelt, he warned her, "Stay put. I mean it."

She searched his face, realized she'd met her stubborn match, and immediately shut up.

"That's better," he said, sliding behind the wheel. I'm taking you home with me. You can have the guest room tonight." He pulled onto the road.

"No you're not. You're taking me home," she argued.

Drey pulled off the road again, put his face directly in front of hers, and said, "You need someone to watch you tonight. If I take you home, you'll end up at the bar again. Don't argue with me."

"I'll call the police. You took me against my will. I have witnesses!"

Drey leveled angry eyes at her and shifted into gear, saying, "Look how inebriated you are. I'm betting you're well acquainted with the police and not in a good way. Give me your phone right now," he called her bluff, holding out his hand, palm up, waiting.

Janie had been arrested several times, and she knew she didn't have a leg to stand on. She handed over her phone, cursing him, "Damn you!"

"You can have it back when you're sober," he issued matter-of-factly.

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