by Raine Miller
She gave him a knowing nod. “Yes, you will.” She winked and left to fill one of the server’s orders.
He was still nursing his drink when a dark-haired man settled onto the stool next to Mac’s.
“Sebastian.” Mac lifted his glass in greeting.
“Mackenzie.” Sebastian’s mouth lifted slightly in a mocking smile. Deb came over with Seb’s usual, a short whiskey, neat.
Mac didn’t say anything until Sebastian had taken that first sip. “Are you still with that little blonde? I’m afraid I can’t remember her name.”
“That makes two of us. No, I’m not. She turned out to be particularly banal.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Sebastian leaned toward Mac. “I heard about Bruno’s death.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Very sudden, I gather.”
Mac didn’t say anything.
“Oh. He was a client?”
Mac nodded.
“How’s Sara?” Sebastian’s glossy black hair glinted under the lights as he moved a bit closer. He wasn’t wasting any time.
“All right, I believe,” Mac replied. He kept his voice low and neutral.
“Will she be coming back, do you think?” There was a rushed quality to Sebastian’s words.
“Here?”
“Of course, here.” Sebastian jerked his head toward the narrow hallway leading to the restrooms.
“Don’t know. Good God, she’s grieving the loss of her master.”
“Oh, don’t give me that ‘one true love’ bullshit. They had zero chemistry together and you know it.”
Mac finished his drink and signaled to Deb. While he waited for the bartender to come over, he stood and put his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder. “They had a committed relationship. She’s grieving. Just because the blonde sub—what was her name?—couldn’t keep you amused doesn’t mean all women are shallow.”
Deb handed Mac a small coin. His thumb ran over the embossed circle on one side. A zero. “See you downstairs?” he asked Sebastian.
Sebastian paused, then nodded.
Mac left him at the bar. Sebastian and Sara—that was never going to happen, and not merely because Bruno had refused even to consider it.
Mac walked past the restrooms and knocked at a plain door out of sight from the nightclub. Truck opened it, holding out a hand for the brass coin which Mac handed over. The zero told Truck that Mac hadn’t been drinking. Sebastian’s coin would have a one on it. Without a coin, no one could get downstairs. And Deb was very good at spotting the drinkers. Truck also took Mac’s cell phone, tagged it and handed Mac the ticket.
Mac walked down a wide staircase with an Oriental runner carpeting the treads. He heard the distinct sounds of impact play, the whimpers of sexual frustration and cries of satisfaction. It was early but there was always someone down here getting worked over.
He paused on the last tread. He was listening to the soundtrack of his adult life. He’d fallen in love here. He’d lost her here, as well. And yet, he came back. Not because he had no other life, but because it was home. He belonged here. Eventually, he’d heal here as well.
He stepped onto the brick floor and headed for one of the far rooms.
Mac had never met the genius who’d created The Club almost forty years earlier. It wasn’t just private, it was literally underground. No one entered without a member as an escort. In D.C. everyone wanted to know who the closet submissives were, who got whipped and who wielded the paddles, who liked to dress up in tight corsets or in nothing at all. Everyone at The Club had a secret life, so security was paramount. All the members knew that it just took one zealous blogger or disgruntled ex to come in with a cell phone camera and the next morning everyone would be speculating on whose cock was inside that cage.
Mac didn’t much care who knew his sexual proclivities, but even he had to admit it was just easier not to worry about people finding out. So he carefully ignored the senator in the corner being fitted with a dog collar and leash. And the White House aide wearing thigh-high boots and a black leather bustier, flicking a rattan cane against her companion. Just as they ignored him.
He settled in his favorite sofa. A pretty sub scampered over to him and knelt at his feet. “Sir? May I serve you, Sir?”
He placed a hand on her silky hair. “Maybe later, love.”
She looked sulky and disappointed. Mac simply wasn’t in the mood. He might have someone suck him off later, if he got into the right head space, but he wasn’t ready to conjure up an elaborate scene. He was still on vacation from all that. Six months, nineteen days and a few hours of vacation. He wondered when—if—the desire would return.
Someone settled into a nearby chair. Mac twisted his head to face them—he half expected Sebastian, still harping on the subject of Bruno and Sara—and discovered a woman sitting there demurely. Sleek blonde bob, sheer black baby-doll over creamy pale skin. Her toes were tipped with coral pink.
“Sara.”
“Sir.”
Mac’s lips twitched. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“So soon after Master’s…?”
“I was thinking more of Cal’s arrival.”
Sara rested her hands in her lap. “He’s been there for over a month. It felt okay to leave him for the evening.”
Clearly Cal and Sara weren’t abiding by Bruno’s wish that Cal step into the agreement. Mac knew Bruno’s contract specified that Sara couldn’t come to The Club without her master. Looked like Cal wasn’t her master. Yet.
She read his mind. “I’m not here to play.” Her voice was soft. He had to lean in to hear her.
“Then why—” Mac’s question died when he spotted Sebastian striding across the room toward them. “Shit.”
Sara threw him a startled glance, then turned to see Sebastian approach. Mac heard her swift breath before her head bent down again.
“Sebastian. We should probably stop meeting like this,” Mac said.
“Mackenzie. Sara, my condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you, Sir,” she mumbled. Her head was bent as if she found her coral-tipped toes fascinating.
Sebastian tucked his hair behind his ears. His grin was wolfish, yet his voice was gentle. “Are you here to play, little one?”
“No, Sir.”
Sebastian reached out a hand, presumably to lift her chin so he could look into her eyes, but Mac gave him an icy glare and the hand stopped in mid-air.
He and Sebastian proceeded to have a silent exchange. Sebastian’s raised eyebrows seemed to ask if Mac wanted Sara for himself. Mac responded with a look of disgust at the notion of getting involved with an emotionally fragile sub. Sebastian returned his own look of disbelief, presumably because he didn’t think Sara needed time to get over Bruno. Mac shook his head firmly. Conversation over. Sebastian should go find another sub to pester. Mac even lifted his chin at—oh, what was her name?—the sub who’d offered herself to him when he’d first arrived.
When she saw his signal, Laurel—that was it—came over and knelt before them. “Sir?” she inquired politely.
“Sebastian?” Mac swept his hand toward Laurel’s perfect posture.
Sebastian took in the whole tableau. Sara, demure and remote on Mac’s left. Laurel kneeling properly, nearly quivering with anticipation to play a scene with Sir Sebastian, a renowned Dom. Mac could imagine what the subs said about Sebastian when no Doms were around.
That was Sebastian, though—he always wanted the sub he couldn’t have. Mac met his eyes. Pick Laurel. Or pick one of the other subs who cream their panties when you walk by. But you’re not getting your hooks into Sara. Not tonight and—if Mac had anything to say about it—not ever.
With one last lingering look at Sara, Sebastian stroked the top of Laurel’s head. “Come, my sweet.” She placed her hand in his and he helped her to stand. She immediately clasped her hands behind her back. Sebastian rewarded this bit of protocol with a deep kiss. Just as though they were lovers. Ju
st as though he hadn’t wanted Sara twenty seconds before.
Mac leaned back and crossed his legs. He suspected that Sebastian was going to put on a show for Sara, so she could see how a proper Dom did things.
Mac leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Do you want to leave?”
She shook her head, sending her blonde hair swinging against her neck. “I actually came to talk to you.”
“Do you mind if we provide an audience for Sebastian and Laurel? I fear he’d be crushed if we moved away.”
“No, of course not.” She looked over at the St. Andrew’s Cross where Laurel and Sebastian were talking, presumably establishing hard limits and a safe word. Sebastian might be an asshole but he was a stickler for safety and protocol.
“What did you want to talk about?” Mac asked as Sebastian stripped Laurel naked and began to tie her to the cross.
“Cal, the will, the house. Everything.” Her voice shook with some emotion. His job was to sift through the facts and discover what was going on.
“Tell me about Cal. Has he settled in?”
A delicate shoulder rose and fell. “I suppose. I see so little of him. I leave for work early, so we cross paths at the coffeemaker. When I come home, he’s in Bruno’s office working on his computer or playing the piano. I’ve interrupted just to see if he wants to eat supper, but he mostly waves me away. So I eat alone, watch TV alone, and go to bed.”
When Sebastian finished restraining his sub, he ran his fingertips down her naked back. Sebastian gathered her hair and fastened it with a clip that he just happened to have in his pocket. Well, at least he came prepared. Mac turned back to Sara. Who, he was interested to note, was watching Sebastian with an expression of such yearning that Mac worried he’d denied her something.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you actually want to do a scene with Sebastian?”
She shivered. “No, no—you were right to get rid of him. He scares me.” Her eyes didn’t leave Sebastian and Laurel.
“Something about their scene excites you.” Mac could have pointed out that her breathing had sped up and her nipples had peaked, but it seemed impolite.
She turned to Mac with a little bounce. “I miss him. I miss Bruno. Only I don’t. Not really. Not him, as a man. We didn’t know each other that well. We just worked well together on that level,” she said, indicating the scene Sebastian was starting. Mac checked—Sebastian had started with a short-strand flogger, warming Laurel’s skin without putting a lot of effort into it. Give the devil his due, Sebastian was very elegant in the economy of his actions. He might be washing his car, his body language was that relaxed.
“You miss the scene?” Mac checked Sara’s face. Her eyes were huge and moist, but not particularly sad.
“Isn’t that terrible? I should be grief-stricken and instead all I can think about is how tall Cal Raynes is. And how gorgeous his hands are.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I want those hands on me, doing things to me, making me feel. Oh, God… I feel so disloyal.”
Mac wasn’t sure how to respond to her confession. They watched Sebastian’s scene without speaking, the heavy metal music mixing with the moans and screams of pleasure. Sebastian’s flogger was moving faster and harder now, pinking Laurel’s skin and making her groan. Mac detected the glisten of her arousal on her inner thighs.
“Tell me about Cal.” Mac swiveled to face Sara more directly.
She looked down at her hands. “He’s very intense. I mean, he’s polite. In fact, he’s quite pleasant on the few occasions I see him. Only when he looks at me, it’s like his eyes skewer me to the spot. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve caught myself wishing he was a Dom.”
Interesting. “How do you know he isn’t?”
“He seems embarrassed by the nature of my relationship with Bruno. And he’s shown no interest in the dungeon.”
Sebastian had untied Laurel and was binding her facing forward. He produced a pair of nipple clamps that he attached after he’d pinched her nipples to hardness. Mac could feel Sara shifting in her chair.
What had Bruno been thinking, leaving Sara to a vanilla nephew? What use was that? Sure it wasn’t legally binding, which Mac had told Bruno quite carefully. Bruno hadn’t cared. “She’ll need someone, and not one of those jackholes at The Club. They won’t care about her as a person, they’ll only see her as a challenge. ‘Pretty little blonde subbie…how can I make her squeal and come harder this time.’ Idiots.” Mac smiled at the thought of Bruno’s thick Philadelphia accent.
He pulled his attention back to Sara. “Did Bruno speak to you about Cal?”
“No.” Sara’s head tipped to one side. “Wait. He did say something. A couple months ago. He talked about his sister—that would be Cal’s mother, I guess—and how she hadn’t been comfortable with his lifestyle.” Sara laughed. “I think the concept of consensual BDSM never quite sank in with her. Then Bruno said something about being afraid that she’d made it hard for her son. I didn’t pay any attention. I don’t think Bruno ever mentioned having a nephew before then.”
“Sara.”
“Mmm?”
Sebastian was flogging Laurel’s breasts, jiggling the clamps and causing her to yell, “Yes. Oh, yes. More, Sir.” Her head tipped back and she pressed against her bindings. Not away from Sebastian’s blows but toward them.
Mac forced his attention away from the scene. “Is it possible that Cal’s a dominant and doesn’t know it?”
Sara grabbed his arm, clearly excited by his comment. Her voice was cool, though, and quite businesslike. “I don’t see how. He knows what Bruno was, and he has to have a clue what I am. Why wouldn’t he claim his rights?”
Because he doesn’t think he’s a Dom, most likely. If he were here now, watching Sebastian flog Laurel’s bare pussy, he’d quickly get the idea.
Mac suddenly saw what his role in all this was supposed to be. Mac Lyon, kinky matchmaker. He could have strangled Bruno, if the man weren’t already tragically dead. Still, he wanted to do the right thing. “How about this? I’ll bring Cal here, to The Club. If he reacts, I can speak to him.” Mac looked noncommittal, as though he wasn’t promising anything, just making the offer.
Sara’s hand squeezed his forearm. “Would you? That would be great. I mean, maybe it’s not his scene, and that’s fine. I expect it’s not, I mean, how could Bruno have known if it was?” Her mouth curved up wistfully. “I’d like to try.”
“Let’s see if Bruno knew something about Cal that even Cal doesn’t know, shall we?”
As if on cue, Laurel climaxed, quivering in ecstasy up on the Cross. Sebastian shot Mac and Sara a triumphant grin over his shoulder.
Mac shook his head. You’re the wrong one for her, bud. You’ll see.
CHAPTER 4
Cal often lost himself in his composing, provided his work space was warm enough. Bruno’s house—Cal still couldn’t think of it as his—was perfectly comfortable, even luxurious. His bed was sublimely firm, his shower powerfully steamy, his coffee deliciously strong, and the library office blissfully quiet.
Unless the phone rang.
Cal hated answering the house phone. Somehow when Bruno’s phone rang, Cal reacted like he was just squatting until he got a place of his own. Plus, he hadn’t given out the number to anyone he knew.
When it stopped ringing, he went back to his computer. His concerto was progressing, not nearly as quickly or as smoothly as he’d like, but he could hear the entire slow movement in his head. He jotted down the next bit of the melody in his spiral-bound notebook, then went back to the computer to translate those few bars into a full orchestration.
His cell phone rang.
Shit. He didn’t want to stop composing. He checked the phone’s tiny screen. Mackenzie Lyon. Well, Cal only had a working cell phone because of Mac’s generous advance, so he’d better answer.
“Yes?” Okay, maybe that could have been more gracious. Cal peered at the laptop. If he had the horns come in three bars earlier, that cou
ld convey the…
“Cal? It’s Mac Lyon.”
“Yes, hi. Sorry. I’m working and it’s hard for me to switch from music to words sometimes.”
“A bit like being bilingual?”
Cal frowned. It wasn’t anything like being bilingual. “Yeah, kind of. Anyway, what can I do for you?” He swiveled the desk chair around to look out the window. Bruno’s—his—office overlooked the side garden, rich with azaleas and late tulips.
“I met up with Sara last night,” Mac started.
“Oh? How’s she doing?” Which was a damned silly question, given that Cal lived with the woman. And she “belonged” to him. Whatever the hell that meant.
Only he knew what it meant, and it scared him. Scared him because he fantasized about her, pictured her delicate blonde beauty writhing beneath him in his bed, or on her knees in front of him… It wasn’t hard to think of things a sex slave might do. Not hard at all.
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you free for dinner this evening?”
Most days, Cal’s ability to concentrate on composing was shot by late afternoon. He played the piano or listened to music in the evening. “Sure. What time?”
“Come to my office at seven. Wear something dark.”
Cal’s choice of clothes tended to be jeans or a full tailcoat and white tie for conducting. He didn’t own a lot in between. He did have some black jeans. “Do I need a tie?”
Mac chuckled. “No, no tie. If you own a black leather jacket, that would be perfect.”
After they hung up, Cal stared at the phone. Since when did a lawyer specify what he should wear? And have that specification be black and preferably leather?
Cal frowned. What sort of dinner date was this?
Dinner was in a private room at the Jefferson Hotel. Mac made easy small talk until the waiters had left. As soon as the door was closed, he faced Cal. “How are things with Sara?”
Cal’s suspicions had been right. This was about that whole sex slave thing. Mac was going to make him think about the one thing he struggled not to think about. “How should they be? We’re roommates.”
“She’d like you to be more.”
