Page 6 of Theirs to Desire (Club M: Boxed Set)

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X avier’s in conversation with our assistant when we get back to the office. “Stay away from that one, Nita,” I warn her with a grin. “He’s trouble.”

“Nice tie, Payne,” Xavier replies with a chuckle, giving me the finger. “Enjoyed your meatball sub?”

I bite back my laugh. I can go years without seeing the men that attended Lina’s funeral fifteen years ago, but our friendship was forged in fire. It doesn’t matter if I haven’t seen Xavier in three years or three months.

We walk into the corner office. “You want a drink?” Adrian asks, moving to the small but well-stocked bar.

“Sure.” Xavier settles himself on the couch and leans back. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”

Adrian pours him a Scotch. “How’ve you been?” I ask him as he sips the single malt. “It’s been a while.”

Xavier lifts one eyebrow. “Not by choice. The two of you made it clear at Sandy’s funeral that you wanted to be left alone.”

I wince. Yeah. We’d said some things that day we hadn’t meant. The Belgian had introduced us to Sandy, and there was a period of time where I couldn’t look at him without remembering her. It had been easier to avoid all of it. The club, our friends, the lifestyle. “Sorry about that.”

He waves away my apology. “I get it,” he replies somberly. “Not everyone deals with grief the same way.”

He’s not talking about us. He’s talking about Layla, his former submissive. The one who ran away when her twin died, wanting no more contact with any of us.

I’d thought Layla hard-hearted then. After Sandy’s death, I understood her a little better.

Adrian’s thoughts are running the same direction as me. “Are you in touch with her?” he asks Xavier. “Is she okay?”

I’ll give Xavier credit. He doesn’t pretend that he doesn’t know what we’re talking about. “We talk on the phone once a year,” he says, his eyes on the drink in his hands. “I call her on the anniversary of Lina’s death. She never has very much to say.”

“Is she well?” Layla and Lina had been the first in their family to go to college. They’d both been on an academic scholarship, but when Lina died, Layla hadn’t finished her last semester. “She’s not hurting for money, is she?”

He shakes his head. “She’s always had my credit card,” he replies. “And Rafe’s.”

Together, Xavier and Rafael are richer than several small countries. “I can’t imagine Layla spending your money,” I reply, thinking of their petite submissive. “She was always too proud.”

“Too stubborn,” Xavier corrects, a smile on his lips. “But she seems to have changed her mind in recent months. There have been quite a few charges on it.”

It’s always been Layla for Xavier and Rafael. It’s been fifteen years, and there have been other submissives—God knows there’s no shortage of women throwing themselves at Xavier Leforte—but none of them have lasted.

Adrian and I exchange glances. “So,” Adrian says, “what brings you here, Xavier?”

“I could just be visiting old friends,” he replies.

Cagey as always. “But you aren’t,” I say. “You hate DC. You didn’t come into the city for small talk.”

That’s uncharacteristically blunt. Of the pair of us, Adrian’s usually the surly asshole, not me.

I’m the charming, tactful one. But Xavier’s presence is bringing back memories of Club M, and I miss it.

I miss the anticipation of a scene. I miss the sharp intake of a submissive’s breath as she wonders what I have planned for her.

I miss the awareness, the control, the connection. The safety.

And now Xavier’s in our office.

“You’re right,” he says. “I need your help with a situation. I just hired a private investigator to investigate a blackmail attempt on one of the members.”

Blackmail? That sounds serious. Club M prides itself on secrecy. It has to. This close to DC, the club attracts a high-profile crowd. When I last played there, there had been a half-dozen senators on the main floor, one of them being led around on a leash by his mistress. “What kind of blackmail?”

Adrian leans forward. “I’m a little offended you didn’t come to us,” he says. “Who did you hire to look into it?”

“Fiona Clarke.”

A crash wave of memory sweeps over me.

Two years ago, we’d met a guy called Raymond Downing at a poker game. Downing was a douchebag. His father was a senator who sat on the armed services committee, and Raymond took full advantage of the senator’s influence.

That kind of influence peddling isn’t uncommon in DC. I didn't approve, but that wasn't the reason I couldn't stand the sight of him.

No, I hated Downing because he treated his submissive like dirt. His submissive, Fiona Clarke.

“I didn’t know Fiona was a private investigator.” An expression of distaste crosses Adrian’s face. “Is she still with Downing?”

Xavier shakes his head. “No. Their relationship only lasted three months.” He gets up and pours himself another Scotch. “It seems a shame,” he says casually, “that her introduction to BDSM was in the hands of someone like Raymond Downing.”

I look up, alerted by that too-casual voice. Xavier’s up to something. “Are you playing matchmaker again?” I demand. “Neither of us is looking for a submissive.”

“Just as well,” he replies. “She’s left the lifestyle. Fiona Clarke’s tastes are vanilla now.”

I don’t know why that bothers me. Xavier is right.

It is a shame that Fiona’s first and only BDSM experience was with Downing.

I remember her clearly, kneeling in the hallway of Downing’s Dupont Circle apartment, her brunette hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes submissively lowered, her knees spread.

She’d deserved better than an asshole like Downing.

“She’s going to be at the club for the next month, asking questions and looking into this blackmail attempt,” Xavier continues. “I’d feel a lot happier if someone were to keep an eye on her.”

“Why?” Adrian demands. “What do you think might happen?”

The Belgian man tips the Scotch down his throat. “Downing might try to get her back.”

“Why would…” The dots connect. “Xavier, tell me Downing’s not a member of the club.”

“He is on a trial membership, yes.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”

He sets his glass carefully down on the side table. “No, Adrian,” he says, a hard edge in his voice. “I have not lost my fucking mind. While the two of you were sitting around and feeling sorry for yourselves, I’ve been trying to keep people safe.”

He strides to the window and looks out to the busy streets below. “First, Fiona, after the two of you dropped the ball on that. I begged favors from Maddox and sent him into Downing’s weekly poker game.”

“Dropped the ball?” My voice rises in outrage. “Xavier, I don’t know if you noticed, but Sandy died.”

“Two years ago,” he retorts, just as furious as me. “In the meanwhile, Downing’s been through seven submissives. Seven women who refused to press charges, no matter how much I try.”

My anger drains away. God knows I can relate to that. I’ve pleaded with the families of the women my father assaulted. Press charges, I’ve begged. He has to be stopped.

But like Raymond, my father picks his targets well. Too vulnerable to fight back.

“That’s why he’s a member?” Adrian realizes the truth sooner than I do. “You’re trying to see if you can catch him in something?”

He nods. “Downing is a menace. What he’s doing isn’t BDSM. It’s assault, plain and simple. But he’s protected by his father’s position and power.”

I take a deep breath. “You could go outside the law,” I suggest.

There’s a pause, and once again, I get the sense that Xavier isn’t telling us everything. “Things are complicated,” he says finally. “I’d prefer to keep things legal if I can.”

“Xavier,” Adrian points out. “Fiona and Downing have history. You’re using her as bait. It’s not like you to put someone in danger.”

His lips tighten. “I want Downing locked up,” he snaps. “It’s not negotiable. You’re concerned about Ms. Clarke? You know what to do.”

Something’s going on. Xavier isn’t a dick, but he’s certainly doing a good imitation of it now.

I exchange another glance with Adrian. He nods slightly.

“Fine,” I grit out. “We’ll play this your way. For now.”

“Thank you.” He gets up to leave and then turns around. “Incidentally,” he says. “You do know that Fiona Clarke’s private investigator firm is in this building? She’s your new neighbor. You should go over and say hello.” His lips twitch. “Offer to show her around the club.”

He’s definitely up to something.

Damn Xavier Leforte. Adrian should have let his call go to voicemail.