Chapter Five: The Structural Binding
Thursday brought the ropes.
I walked into the training room to find Barnaby standing amidst a tangle of red velvet cords. He wasn't smiling today. He was frowning at a diagram pinned to the wall that looked like instructions for rigging a sailboat, or perhaps capturing a large marine mammal.
"Morning, Penny," he said, not looking up. "Strip down to the uniform. We need to calibrate the tension."
I put on the frilly disaster. By now, the draft around my thighs felt almost familiar. I climbed onto the bench, assuming the "mahogany" position on all fours.
"Right," Barnaby said, stepping behind me. His voice had dropped an octave. It was his 'serious work' voice. "The Colonel requires a diamond-hitch pattern across the back to support the main platter. But the crucial part... the part that anchors the whole display... is the pelvic stabilizer."
"The what?"
"We call it the Stilton Saddle," he murmured, uncoiling a thick, red rope. "It prevents the centrepiece from sliding forward when you breathe. It has to be tight, Penny. Very tight."
He draped the rope over my lower back. I felt the weight of it, heavy and reassuring.
"Lift your hips," he commanded.
I obeyed. Barnaby’s hands were quick and professional, looping the rope under my stomach and bringing it up between my thighs.
"This is going to feel... intrusive," he warned.
He pulled.
The rope tightened right against the seam of my centre of gravity. It was a firm, upward pressure that locked my hips in place. It was ridiculous. It was a safety hazard.
And, quite suddenly, my brain went fuzzy.
It wasn't just tight; it was grounding. I felt held. Secure. For a woman whose life was currently a mess of unpaid bills and uncertain futures, the sensation of being physically bolted together was... confusingly pleasant.
"Too tight?" Barnaby asked, his breath hitting the back of my neck as he tied off a knot at the base of my spine.
"No," I managed to squeak. My voice sounded breathy, which annoyed me. "It’s... secure."
"Good." Barnaby gave the rope a sharp tug, testing the tension.
A jolt of electricity went straight up my spine. My toes curled on the mat. Oh, I thought. Oh, hello.
"We need a double figure-eight here," Barnaby muttered, oblivious to my internal crisis. He worked the ropes with a dexterity that was honestly unfair. His large hands moved with rough precision, tightening the velvet cords across my thighs, pulling them snug against my skin.
Every tug sent a weird, warm shiver through my stomach. I found myself pushing back against the ropes, testing their strength. They didn't budge. I felt solid. I felt sturdy. I felt... hot?
Pull it tighter, a treacherous part of my brain whispered.
"Penny?" Barnaby’s voice broke through the haze. He was leaning over me, checking the knots on my shoulders. "You’ve gone very pink. circulation okay?"
"Fine!" I said, perhaps too loudly. "Just... concentrated. It’s very warm in here. Is it the cheese vents?"
"Probably," Barnaby said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. "Okay, the structure is sound. You’re trussed like a Christmas turkey, but you’re stable. How does the Saddle feel?"
I shifted my hips slightly. The knot between my legs pressed back, a constant, firm reminder of my predicament. It was maddening. It was fantastic.
"It’s... supportive," I lied, staring resolutely at the floor. "Like a very aggressive hug."
"Excellent," Barnaby beamed, the golden retriever returning. "That’s exactly what the Colonel wants. A hug for the cheese. Right, let’s test the load-bearing capacity. I’m going to place the encyclopaedia on your lower back."
He placed the heavy book on top of the ropes. The added weight pushed me down further onto that specific, treacherous knot. I let out a sound that I hoped sounded like exertion, but sounded suspiciously like a purr.
Barnaby paused. "You okay?"
"Heavy book," I wheezed. "Very... educational."
"Hold it for two minutes," Barnaby ordered.
I held it. I held it and I stared at the sawdust on the floor and I tried very hard not to think about Barnaby’s hands or the red velvet rope currently making friends with my anatomy.
I was a housekeeper. I was a professional. I was not going to develop a complex about being a piece of furniture.
But as the minute ticked by, and the pressure held me firm and safe and pinned, I realized with a sinking heart that I might be in the wrong line of work. Or perhaps, for the first time in my life, the exact right one.