Page 5

5

T hree sleepless nights later, the big day was here. She had the hard-fought reference letter and a few tender bruises to prove she was a tough cookie. Brynne never expected to enjoy being bound, blindfolded, and spanked. She wasn’t naturally submissive. This was probably caused by her recent overload on porn and erotic literature. Right? She would get over it soon enough. It was crucial research for the book, that’s all. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

She knew the drill this time. After ringing the bell, the front gate clicked open. Miles deposited her in the same small waiting room, and she saluted his retreating form. She started pacing back and forth, talking to herself. “Don’t let this dude intimidate you with his snarky attitude. You didn’t come this far to be turned down for a waitressing job! Forget how hot he is and imagine him in his underwear… No, never mind, scratch that. He gets off on being a mean motherfucker, so don’t let him get to you!”

She stared at herself in the mirror, legs apart, hands planted on her hips. “You’ve got this!”

After power posing, she sat down and picked up a glossy entertainment magazine from the coffee table. Her eyes lit on the bondage magazine underneath.

Gazing at the erotic photos felt as forbidden as sneaking into her aunt’s liquor cabinet when she was fifteen. The centerfold showed a demonstration of Shibari, a type of erotic rope bondage. The intricate pattern of symmetrical knots reminded her of the way Patricia had tied her. The look of rapture in the woman’s eyes felt all too familiar.

A sudden noise at the door caused Brynne to screech and drop the magazine. She leaped up as Miles opened the door. Would he ever look at her without frowning?

She smoothed her skirt and tucked a wayward tendril of hair behind her ear, feigning a confidence she no longer felt. Silently, she followed him down the hall, chanting a mantra in her head. Don’t lose your cool, don’t lose your cool!

Miles knocked and stepped aside. She looked to him for guidance, but his face was blank. A voice as sweet and dark as molasses replied from behind the door. “Aye, come in. I’ll be right there.”

Brynne entered and looked around. Seeing no one behind the large mahogany desk, she took in the beautifully appointed office. A massive leather couch dominated the room. Dark charcoal gray walls, antique gold sconces, stunning herringbone wood floors, and a thick Persian carpet created the feeling of a sumptuous cave. There was a distinctive scent in the air, a hint of sandalwood and citrus. The lightly woodsy smell reminded her of her favorite incense, calming her nerves a little.

A door opened behind the massive desk, and he walked in. It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to gasp. Her heart thrummed loudly in her ears and her fingers clenched the portfolio in her hands.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to the chair facing the desk. His Scottish accent was less pronounced than the other day, but the deep pitch of his voice still thrummed along her nerve endings.

She could feel his eyes on her, following her every step. Relieved to make it to the chair without incident, she sat down quickly and winced when her sore bottom hit the wood. If he noticed, he didn’t let on.

She went to pull a notebook and pen from her handbag and realized it wasn’t on the floor or behind her chair.

He interrupted her restless fidgeting. “What seems to be the problem, Miss Larimore?”

“I think I left my purse in the other room. I—” she stammered.

“You can get it when our meeting is over. It will be perfectly safe.”

“Of course. Thank you, sir.” For a split second she saw something flare in his eyes, but it was swiftly replaced by a stern interrogator’s face.

“As you know, I make the final decision about whether to hire you. Or not.”

To keep from smiling like a nervous schoolgirl, she bit down on her lip and nodded.

While he looked over her application, Brynne drank in the sight of him. His angular jawline was sharply cut, shadowed with just the right amount of designer stubble which added to his formidable aura. There was an edge to his handsomeness, refined, and yet dangerous. This man would own any room he walked into, without needing to say a word.

She was taking notice of his long-tapered fingers and smooth, trimmed nails when he noisily cleared his throat. Her breath stuttered to a halt as she came back to reality and noticed his piercing eyes trained on her. Was he trying to unlock her secrets? Uncover her lies? She tried and failed to hold his gaze. It was like looking at an eclipse without proper eye protection.

“I’ve read Garrick’s notes and your responses to our interview questions, but I’m curious why you’re interested in working at Dominus. Many of our members are older, some even twice your age. Are you looking for a new master—or perhaps a sugar daddy?”

Brynne’s mouth dropped open before she could stop it. “No, I’m not interested in finding either! I’m here because your club puts safety above all. You carefully vet your clientele, and that makes it better than the other fetish clubs in London.” She clasped her hands together to keep from fidgeting. “I have another day job, so discretion is important to me.”

“What is this other job?”

He’d obviously never read her resume, and that irritated her. “I’m a copy editor at the London Mirror. I don’t want anyone to know I, this…” She paused, at a loss for words.

“This deviant side of your personality?” He smiled…if you could call that weird contortion of his mouth a smile.

Her lips compressed, and she reminded herself this was a test. “I don’t think of it as deviant . But yes, I keep my private life private.” She looked down at her lap and mentally scolded herself for getting agitated.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you discretion and privacy are the two most important facets of this job. You signed an NDA, so if you dared to write a story about this club, you would kiss your career goodbye.” His eyes burned through another layer of her armor.

Brynne licked her lips, her mouth parched. “I am not a reporter. I’m here for personal reasons and because I need the extra money. I’ve no interest in participating, I just want to watch.” Her eyes widened and her gaze flew to his. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

One perfect eyebrow lifted. “So, you just want to serve drinks and play the voyeur rather than take part as one of our submissives?” His fingers grazed the coarse shadow along his jawline. “You said you have no interest in finding a master. Why is that?”

“I recently broke up with my boyfriend. He wasn’t—it wasn’t what I hoped. So, I just want to take my time and figure things out.”

Gage smirked and cleared his throat. “When did you last tend bar?”

“Throughout college. I worked the bar on weeknights and waitressed on weekends.” She felt like a specimen under a microscope. Just breathe, Brynne.

“You think you can create a cocktail especially for my club?”

That was unexpected. “Sure.” Brynne scanned the bottles on the shelves behind him, noting his expensive taste in scotch. “I’d use an old-fashioned glass with a ball of ice, add three ounces of Macallan twelve-year, one ounce of amaretto, and a splash of orange bitters. And I would garnish it with an orange peel.”

“Sounds interesting. And what would you call it?”

“Well, Smooth Operator is already taken.” She racked her brain, then an idea hit her. “How about The Devil’s Lash?”

“Cute,” he said, without a trace of humor. “Can you name the four whisky regions of Scotland?”

Was that a trick question? “I think you mean the five regions. Campbeltown, Highland, Islay, Lowland, and Speyside.” She looked to his sideboard and added, “Judging by your collection, you’re partial to Macallan single malts.”

His eyes narrowed. “You like scotch?”

“I like Glenmorangie Original, but to be honest, I’m more of a Hendricks and tonic girl.” She grinned. “Does that disqualify me?”

“No, but your cheekiness might.”

Her heart fluttered. “I’m sorry,” she said, then quickly added, “sir.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Did Garrick explain what impertinence might get you?”

Later, she would ask herself why she goaded him. With an impish smile, she said, “A sound spanking?”

He leaned back in his big leather chair and studied her. The silence was unnerving. Her little joke fell flatter than flat. Jared had drilled it into her head—she was supposed to be meek and mild. So far, she was batting zero.

“I’ll wager you will receive your fair share of spankings here. Are you a masochist?”

“What? No!” she said, suppressing the urge to giggle.

Gage made a notation on the page, and Brynne gripped the folder in her lap.

“There will be occasions when you’ll enter the private rooms to refresh ice and drinks while a scene is going on. You think you can handle that?”

“Yes, of course. But I thought there was no drinking when you do a scene?”

“That is true. Those taking part in the scene won’t be drinking, but the people watching can enjoy alcoholic beverages.”

She mouthed a soundless “Oh” as realization dawned. Club members could play or watch the spectacle, and if she was lucky, she would get to see all of it. She sat forward and spoke with conviction. “I promise to do my job well and give you no reason to find fault with me.”

“Hmm. That would be a pity,” he said, with a ghost of a smile.

Brynne’s eyes widened, and she shifted in her seat.

“Do you have the reference letter?”

She started at his abrupt tone and pulled the linen envelope out of the wrinkled portfolio. It bore a distinctive seal, with an ornate P in the middle of the blood-red wax. It was addressed to Master Gage, Club Dominus.

He took it and looked back at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Mistress Patricia vouched for you?”

“Yes.” Brynne worried her bottom lip. “Is there a problem?”

“Not a problem, just a surprise.” He sliced the envelope open and took the letter out. “Why don’t you fetch your handbag while I read this?”

Brynne jumped at the chance to leave the room and compose herself. She hurried down the hall, berating herself. She needed to get a grip. While grabbing her purse, she saw the magazine on the floor and quickly set it back where she found it. After a few calming breaths, she walked back into the lion’s den.

Gage had poured himself a drink and was reading the reference letter with an amused smile.

The tip of her shoe caught the carpet, and she tumbled to her knees. “Fuck,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

He leaped up and was beside her before she could gather herself and the contents of her purse off the floor. “I’m sorry. I caught the edge of the rug.” She looked up, and he was looming over her, eyes glittering. She dragged her gaze away and retrieved a lipstick and a pen that had rolled toward his desk. This close, she felt the heat of his body, and his distinctive scent surrounded her. It was a divine blend of cedar, orange, and something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Shaking herself out of a trance, she tucked her belongings into her handbag, and he helped her to her feet.

“I hope you are not this clumsy when carrying a tray of drinks?”

Her hackles rose at his derisive tone, and so did her chin. “No, I assure you I am not.”

He dropped her arm abruptly and sat down behind his desk. “So, tell me, how did you come to know one of the most prominent Dommes in Europe?”

She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “My friend Jared, who works here part time, he introduced me. He did all the black-and-white erotic photos for her studio.” She wondered if Gage remembered who he was. “He’s an amazing photographer.”

“Is that so?” He took a mouthful of the scotch, and her mouth watered watching him swallow it. “Patricia speaks highly of you. Although it states quite plainly”—he tapped the paper with a long, tanned finger—“that you need a firm hand.”

Brynne squared her shoulders. “That’s only because she was testing my limits.”

“Well…” He carefully put the letter back in the envelope as he spoke. “I can say with certainty, we will test your limits, too.”

“Does that mean I’ve got the job?” she asked, ignoring the other remark.

“Against my better judgment, I will give you a chance.” Gage used the phone on his desk and punched three numbers. “Garrick, I’m going to give your little Tinkerbell a job.” He paused. “Aye, we’ll see.” In response to whatever Garrick said, he replied, “Mistress Patricia.” He looked up at Brynne, his eyes searing hers with their intensity. “Please email her Sonya’s info and get her to rush the uniforms. Aye. Tiaraidh an dràsda.”

Brynne recognized the Gaelic sign off, “Bye for now,” and then registered what he’d said. “Tinkerbell?”

“Everyone here gets a nickname that Garrick chooses, based on appearance and personality. The members will not know your real name.”

She wanted to argue against the childish name but thought better of it. “Okay. I understand. You mentioned something about uniforms?” Until this moment, she hadn’t considered what sort of outfit she might have to wear. Her hands fidgeted in her lap.

Gage’s smile looked positively wicked. “Oh, didn’t Garrick tell you what you will wear?”

Brynne felt a shiver of unease. “No, he didn’t cover that.”

“Dinna fash. It’s nothing to worry about.” She could tell he was enjoying her discomfort. “Servers in the lounge wear a sexy French maid’s outfit for regular nights, and our next fetish night will have an Arabian nights theme, so Sonya will also measure you for a harem girl costume.”

Brynne swallowed hard. “I see.”

“Make sure you get to the seamstress this week to be measured.”

She nodded. Well, that was that. Her fate was sealed. When he stood, she followed and took his outstretched hand. His heat engulfed her palm, and she felt a frisson run up her arm.

“Your hand is freezing!” He clasped her hand in both of his and warmed it. Little did he know he was heating another part of her body.

She shrugged and tried to sound casual. “Cold hands, warm heart.”

He dropped her hand quickly, then ushered her out into the hall. “Take a seat in the waiting room. Garrick will bring you the paperwork to get you on the payroll.”

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity. You won’t be sorry… Mister, uh, Gage. Sir.”

With a nod, he said, “Aye, let’s hope not,” and shut the door.

Gage sat down and took another sip of the 1824 Limited Release. It calmed him like nothing else could. He had enjoyed provoking the lass. She wasn’t very tall, but her body was curvy and lush. Garrick knew he had a thing for natural redheads, and he chose a fitting nickname. His friend was probably hoping to arouse his interest, since it had been over three months since he’d been out with anyone. He coaxed him to give her a chance if she had the balls to come back with a reference letter. Well, she had done better than that. Securing one from Patricia Valentine was quite a coup.

She was a distraction that he didn’t need, but it had been so long since anyone had amused him. He imagined all the ways he could make her blush or, better yet, lose her cool. Her hourglass shape would be stunning in the uniform. There were more than a few clues she had a fiery temper to go with that hair. If he was lucky, she might find herself tossed over his knee.

She’d looked so bloody tempting kneeling on the floor, staring up at him with those doe eyes. He caught himself thinking about training that impertinence out of her. Her eyes went from light amber to the color of dark chocolate when she became flustered.

Shaking those ridiculous thoughts away, he pondered the letter from Mistress Patricia. It had been a long time since they’d crossed paths. She had come for the grand opening and to their first fetish night, but she preferred the younger clientele of Club Verboten. While he knew she wouldn’t write a letter for just anyone, his instincts told him there was something more to Brynne. She didn’t behave like a submissive—there was too much rebellion in her. There had to be another agenda at play. His bet was that she was looking for a rich husband, and what better place than a club that catered to London’s elite? Membership was a half a million pounds. Within these walls, discretion was assured, and powerful men could be unencumbered by the usual social mores.

He would need to keep a close eye on her—not just because of the way her heart-shaped ass filled out a skirt, but because he couldn’t afford any mishaps at the club. Even if his prick found the little pixie captivating, he would not break his own policy regarding dalliances with staff. He had created it for good reason.

Although several months had passed since he broke his engagement with Sierra, the wounds were still raw. She proved how mercenary a woman could be. He should have known, since his mother was the queen of the mercenaries, but it was still a shock when he learned of the lengths his fiancée would go to get him to the altar. She could have earned a BAFTA for her performances in the bedroom. He was grateful that he overheard her speaking to her best friend about how she was suffering until the day when she could stop pretending to enjoy giving him head and doing his bidding in the bedroom. She also planned to demand that he sell the club and become respectable .

He was well rid of her. Plenty of women wanted to date him, though he had no interest in vanilla sex. For now, he remained unattached and would not try to find a submissive to play with. His mother had political aspirations and implored him to keep his “dirty dalliances,” as she called them, under wraps. Maybe it was time to consider a trip to New York or Houston where he could play in complete anonymity?

To get his mind off his self-imposed celibacy, he pulled up the latest investment pitches sent from his office in Edinburgh. He needed to make some decisions soon about the proposals now that they had Ministry approval. The local planning councils had finally approved the zoning and construction plans. There were a few more parcels of land to acquire to bring the plan together. A substantial investment of his own capital was at stake. It wasn’t a profit-driven venture, it was a passion project.

Garrick knocked and poked his head in. “I was just seeing Tink off.”

“Come on in. Will you have a wee dram?”

Garrick chuckled. “If it’s the 1824 you’re offering, I’m in.”

Gage poured his friend a drink and asked him point-blank, “You think she’s got what it takes?”

Garrick savored the scotch before answering. “Oh, I think she’s one tough cookie. Perhaps not as mild-mannered as the rest of the crew, but that will make it more interesting.”

Gage rubbed his jaw. “Aye, interesting until she slaps someone for taking liberties, like pinching her behind.” He smiled wickedly. “Hell, those curvy thighs are just begging for the palm of someone’s hand.”

Garrick’s eyes widened at his admission. “I made sure she knows what to expect. Our paperwork leaves nothing to chance, either. The members will proposition her. They might get a little touchy, but the floor monitors will keep a close watch, as always.”

Gage hoped he was right. He blew out a breath. “I suppose if she loses her cool, the consequences will give everyone an entertaining spectacle—and a look at her bare arse.”

“I hope the little pixie blows a head gasket and we get a front-row seat.” Garrick took another sip and chuckled.

Gage laughed, but something had been on his mind since Brynne left. “Maybe we should tell Sonya to make her outfits less revealing. It might save some trouble in the long run.”

Garrick looked at him skeptically. “Mate, are you going soft in your old age? We are in the business of liquor, sex, and entertainment. If she sells more drinks because her tits are on display, then that’s a good thing.”

He groaned. “Maybe, but we are not here to feed innocent lambs to slaughter.” Frankly, Gage didn’t want to be distracted by her breasts spilling out of her uniform, nor did he want the guests to lose their heads over her. He tossed back the rest of his drink and stood. “I’m going to head out. I’ve got meetings in Edinburgh tomorrow—but I’ll see you on Friday. Keep the machine running.”

“Will do, man. Safe travels.”