Page 15 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

FIONA

T here’s an envelope from FedEx waiting for me when I get back from lunch. It’s from Xavier Leforte. “He also called,” Mrs. Morales tells me. “He wants you to call him back.”

“Okay.” Telling myself to eat the frog, I force myself to shut my office door and return his call.

It’s not Xavier Leforte who makes me twitchy. It’s the job. Blackmail in a sex club. Not exactly the most pleasant of situations. And the fact that the place will be filled with dominants, all on the prowl for fresh submissive meat? That sets my heart racing uncomfortably.

You’re being ridiculous, Fiona.

Xavier picks up on the first ring. “Ms. Clarke,” he says. “Thank you for calling me back. You got the documents I sent you?”

Ah, that explains the FedEx package. “Opening it now,” I tell him. “What’s in it?”

“A non-disclosure agreement,” he says. “Everyone who enters the club signs one of them.”

Fair enough. “Okay.”

“Since your cover story will be that you’re a new member, I’ve also included a copy of Club M’s rules.”

I wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. “Rules?”

“Fairly standard stuff,” he reassures me.

“Everyone’s fair game to be approached unless they are wearing a collar, in which case, talk to their dominant first. Never interrupt a scene.

Saying ‘no’ is always an option, and if you are uncomfortable at any time, find a monitor.

There’ll be plenty of them on the floor. ”

My pulse is racing. I count to five to calm myself down. There’s nothing to worry about. “Adrian Lockhart and Brody Payne said that you’d assigned them to be my mentors.”

“Yes,” he confirms after a split-second hesitation. “They used to be regulars, and they know everything about the club. They’ll help you navigate the space.”

“But they don’t know about the blackmail attempt, right? As far as they’re concerned, I’m just a new member?”

“That’s right.” He pauses. “I’m certain that they’re not involved in this blackmail attempt. Brody and Adrian are above reproach.”

“Why?” I’m inclined to agree with him, but I’m also enough of a detective to know that at the start of a case, you consider all the options.

“For one, they haven’t been to the club in two years.”

That makes me sit up. “Really? Why?”

“Why do you think, Ms. Clarke? They met Sandra Jackson at Club M. The place holds memories that they’ve avoided facing.”

I’m gripping the phone so tightly that my fingers are starting to hurt. I ease my grasp. I’ve been so caught up in my own shit that I haven’t even thought about their loss. “What changed now?”

“Time heals all wounds, Ms. Clarke,” he responds. “Sandy died around the same time you broke up with Raymond Downing. I presume you’re not still hung up over your former dominant, and I have to assume that Payne and Lockhart are ready to re-engage in the community again.”

I presume you’re not still hung up over your former dominant.

I don’t know why everyone keeps hinting that I’m frail. I’m not. Just because I’m not interested in talking about that time doesn’t mean I’m not over it. Not everyone needs to blab about their trauma non-stop.

“Fine. I’ll read the documents and FedEx them back to you. You’ll have them by tomorrow morning.”

If he’s put off by my abruptness, I can’t tell. “Excellent,” he says. “There’s one more thing. If you’ve looked up our location, you’ll see that we’re quite a distance from the city. The club is part of a rather exclusive resort, and I’ve arranged for a room for you Friday and Saturday night.”

My heart jumps in my chest. “You want me to spend the night in a sex dungeon?”

“I want you to spend the night in a very expensive, very upscale hotel room,” he says impatiently. “There’s nothing sinister about it. I’m trying to save you a two-hour drive back to the city in the middle of the night.”

“Adrian and Brody offered to give me a ride. Will they be spending the night?”

“They usually do.”

Suddenly, driving down with the two gorgeous dominants loses its appeal. The idea of being so far away from the city without a car makes me feel all kinds of trapped. “On second thought, I think I’m going to drive myself down.”

That way, I can always escape if I need to.

“Very well,” he says. “Please call my office and give them your license plate number before you set out. The grounds are gated, and the guards only allow in guests who are on their list. If you get here at six, I can fill you in on the details of the case before the club starts filling up.”

Filling up with dominants and submissives, all there to play dangerous games, games that burned me so badly that I never want to play again.

I dismiss that small, terrified voice. That was a long time ago. You’re fine.

After he hangs up, I stare blankly at my computer screen. I was twenty-eight when I got involved with Raymond. A grown woman. I thought I was prepared, but I wasn’t. Not at all.

All through my early twenties, I’d battled my needs, common sense outweighing desire.

My parents were cops. I’d seen too many pictures of battered women, heard too many stories of abusive husbands.

To voluntarily put myself in a situation where that could happen to me…

It had taken a lot of courage to go to one of DC’s underground fetish clubs.

Where I’d met Raymond. At the start, he’d seemed perfect. Good-looking and self-assured, he’d stepped in to help when a guy hitting on me couldn’t seem to understand the meaning of the word ‘no.’

In the very early days, he’d been charming. The mask had come off quickly, but I’d been too caught up in my own failure to be the type of submissive Raymond wanted that I hadn’t noticed.

Can I trust Brody and Adrian?

Deep inside, I know I’m asking the wrong question. It’s not Brody and Adrian I’m afraid of. It’s myself. Raymond Downing taught me one very important lesson. When it comes to dominant men, my instincts cannot be trusted.