She knew she should have been listening more carefully for the sound of his car coming up the driveway, his key in the lock, the door opening, and the heavy sound of his footsteps as he stomped his way through the house looking for her, but she'd become totally engrossed in reorganizing her farm in Farmville, and had done exactly what she suspected the nefarious developers had intended – just like their friends, the Vegas casino owners – she'd completely lost track of where she was in time and space, busily clumping trees here, buildings there, animals together by herd, holiday and specialty items in certain decorative spots that she was sure would please the eyes of her ever expanding raft of neighbors slash friends slash strangers . . .

Then, suddenly, a shadow fell over the laptop that had Brynn glanced up furtively, only to realize that she'd been well and truly caught, not once but twice, knowing he'd open the computer to see what she'd been doing and whether she'd disobeyed him and had been playing her favorite Facebook game again when she should have been working on the Excel spreadsheets she'd brought home from work. She had no doubt that he also knew ever gory detail of how she'd ignored nearly every rule he'd given her at Kim's night before last. There was no way that Hank hadn't told him at breakfast this morning.

Brynn took a very short moment to savor that thought, however mundane it may have seemed. She knew he'd come a long way towards accepting himself and not worrying about how others saw him since he'd agreed to meet Hank occasionally – in town at The Fork in the Road Diner – for breakfast.

Since the two girlfriends had introduced the two men - in a moment of sheer stupidity that they had long since come to regret in more ways than one - they'd been thick as thieves, and considering that their philosophies regarding their women were so similar, it was hardly surprising. And despite the evil exchange of ideas in reference to how to handle their occasionally recalcitrant women, Brynn was very glad that Gray had taken that step outside his comfort zone and found a good friend. When he was ready, Hank would draw him into his own close circle of lifelong buddies.

Not one to simply surrender – in most cases, anyway – Brynn hurried closed her laptop, shoved it off her lap with barely a care to whether or not it landed anywhere safely and sprang off the comfortable divan, but only succeeded in getting about a foot away from where she'd originated before she heard his quiet, steadfast command from behind her.

"Stop."

He didn't yell it. He didn't need to. Besides the fact that he was the size of Man Mountain Dean, he had her memories of similar incidents and how they had ended to back him up. Yelling was entirely unnecessary. Besides, he was an almost preternaturally quiet guy; strident screaming was anathema to him. His voice was almost always unnervingly soft and calm. The order was issued with his usual firm confidence that said he knew without a shadow of a doubt that she'd obey him.

And, of course, she did.

But the worst was yet to come. "If you take another step away from me, Miss Brynn, I'll double what's already going to be a hefty punishment."

She stood statue still, games of Freeze Tag played as a kid in her big back yard flitting through her mind unbidden. She could hear him as he walked casually over to the couch and knew he was opening her computer, and tears welled in her eyes at his sigh.

"Come here, baby," he said, and she turned to him without a second's hesitation, a fact for which he was ever grateful. He knew it couldn't have been easy, considering in what condition her backside ended up a lot of the time after she'd willingly come into his arms, but it seemed that no matter how strict he was with her, she accepted it exactly as it was intended – with love and grace – and never held it against him in the least, never evinced even the slightest reluctance to snuggle up against him. He never saw any shadow of fear in the back of her eyes nor had she ever hesitated to come to him. When he stretched out his arms to her, as he was now, in open invitation, she ran to him and clung, like the limpet he often compared her to, bunching up handfuls of his shirt in her fingers as she settled her face against his neck. Gray took a moment to savor the pure enjoyment of having the perfect woman for him in his arms when months ago he would have bet every last dollar he owned that that would never happen, rubbing her back, easing the tension he always found there when she was facing a punishment – and now she was facing two.

But he knew he couldn't put off what needed to be said forever.

"Sweetheart, am I going to have to make you delete your Facebook account altogether?"

"NO! That would be cruel and unusual punishment! It's how I communicate with all of my friends! It wouldn't be fair!" Brynn begin sobbing instantly at that threat, because she knew he wouldn't hesitate to enforce it if he thought it was what was best for her.

He'd been not a little surprised at her avid conversion from avowed Luddite to Facebook guru but then he supposed that he had supported it, considering he had forced her to get a good cell phone and had a broadband internet connection rather than the dialup she'd clung to for years. Gray snorted. "Farmtown -"

"Farmville," she corrected automatically, peeping up at him with one eye and truly wishing she hadn't at his sobering look, closing the errant eye immediately and hiding her head again. "Farmtown is merely a cheap imitation."

Although he was truly alarmed to hear there was more than one incarnation of such a thing, Gray didn't acknowledge her correction of him - probably because it went against type. She didn't usually do the correcting in this household. Instead, he refused to allow her to hide from him, just as he'd refused to allow her to run from him. One big, thick finger tipped her chin up, so that she had no choice but to look up into those starkly disapproving eyes. "More pertinent to the future condition of your bottom, Brynn Sawyer, is the question of whether you were supposed to be playing games?"

"No, Sir," came the meek reply.

"Damn straight," he agreed. "I don't think I mumbled early this morning when I told you expressly that I expected you were going to get some work done this morning while Hank and I had breakfast." She was hiding her face away again, and a thought struck him as he set about prying her face away from its hiding place for a second time. When their eyes were locked again, hers even more reluctantly than before, he asked, "Have you gotten any work done at all this morning?"

Her bitten lip was just about all the answer he needed, although she did say, trying to keep the whine out of her voice, because she knew there was very little he hated more than that, "Uhhh, I emptied the dishwasher and walked the dogs and started a load of laundry . . ."

"All part of your daily chores, but not what I had specifically told you to do when I got out of bed, young lady."

She desperately wanted to escape the scolding almost – almost – more so than the spanking itself. She could take the roasting her rear was most assuredly going to get within the next few minutes much more than that awful, pit of the stomach, heart achy feeling that he was disappointed in her behavior.

"And that doesn't even begin to consider what I heard about from Hank this morning."

Brynn gulped hard, but groaned. "Lies, all lies I tell you! How would he know what went on?" she scoffed. "He was as drunk as the rest of us -" Then she slapped her hand over her mouth, in an unfortunately belated attempt at not admitting to her transgression, pinning her hopes on the feeble hope that he'd suddenly be struck by amnesia or some other convenient ailment that would make him forget all about his damning – and damned, she thought rebelliously – conversation with Hank.

She soon found that she couldn't keep that hand where she'd placed it, though, because he had taken the opportunity to tug inexorably on her forearm until she'd settled – squeaking and squealing the entire time but knowing better than to offer any formal protests – into that all too familiar position over his denim clad lap.

"I got that idea. He confessed immediately that he'd imbibed a little more than he'd intended, but he was hardly incapacitated. And he let me know whose fault that was, too, since you were playing the part of waitress to him all night. Were you hoping he'd get so drunk he'd forget he saw you drinking?"

That was exactly what she'd been thinking, but Brynn wasn't about to confirm it to him - not for love nor money.