by Laura Kaye
They threaded through the crowd until they found themselves at the women’s locker room door where she’d stowed her purse and coat. “So, about the time on Saturday? What do you think?” he asked.
She forced a smile. “How about eleven? That’ll have us up there by noon and give us a few hours at the track before things get started.”
He nodded, his gaze running over her face. “I’ll pick you up at eleven sharp. Okay?”
“Sounds great,” she said, desperate to bolt and itching to remove the evidence of their time together from her skin.
“Tonight…tonight was a privilege, Cassia.” He leaned in and kissed the corner of her mouth.
She didn’t know how to respond. Because the words were sweet and kind and felt…meaningful. But he hadn’t kissed her on the mouth like he had before, and he had plans in the not-too-distant future to play with someone else. So her mind was a jumble. And, oh, for crap’s sake, all this intellectual masturbation over what he said and did and what it meant was one of the reasons she hadn’t wanted a relationship in the first place!
“Good night,” she finally managed.
Slipping inside the locker room, Cassia knew at least one thing for sure—she had some major string snipping to do before Saturday.
Chapter Eight
Quinton parked in front of Cassia’s apartment at five minutes before eleven, eager to see her. Eager to make sure she was okay after the way she’d rushed out of Blasphemy on Thursday night. He’d texted her twice yesterday to check in on her, and her replies had seemed perfectly normal, but his gut kept giving him checks that cautioned him that maybe she was telling him what he wanted to hear.
Her apartment took up the second floor of one of Baltimore’s ubiquitous row houses. Her door stood at the top of an indoor staircase. Quinton knocked and waited.
“Yay, there you are,” she said as she opened the door. Wearing a big, open smile, Cassia looked beautiful in a pair of jeans tucked into a pair of brown knee-high boots, and a flowy ivory V-neck shirt that emphasized her creamy skin and the long column of her bare throat. Her street clothes covered a lot more skin than what she wore to the club, of course, but she was still every bit as appealing to him.
“At your service,” he said, giving a wink.
“I think that’s my line.” She gestured him in with a smile.
Quinton chuckled, his tension melting away as he took in her happy, easy-going mood. “This is a great room,” he said, surveying the large rectangular living room with big, airy windows all around. To one side sat a breakfast bar with a pass-through to what looked like a smaller kitchen. With its overstuffed furniture and stacks of books everywhere, the room was comfortable and inviting, feminine without being girly. He could easily imagine a lazy weekend here, stretched out on the couch watching movies or eating pizza out of a box on the glass coffee table. The thought caught him off guard.
“I got pretty lucky with this place,” she said. “Good neighbors, safe street, lots of light. Want the nickel tour?”
“Sure,” he said, curious to learn more about her. “I’m a big tipper, too.”
She chuckled and gave him an amused look. “I’ve heard that about you.”
Quinton couldn’t help but laugh. His concern that Cassia wasn’t okay after the other night seemed completely unfounded.
Cass led him to the galley-style kitchen. “It’s small, but I’ve never been too much of a cook anyway. I mean, I love to eat, but I’m just as happy with a bowl of cold cereal or soup and sandwich. Both of which seem like the finest filet mignon after eating pre-packaged kits while out in the field.”
“I love to cook,” he said, a little outraged on behalf of the world’s finest steak. “I’ll make you a filet that’ll keep you from comparing it to cold cereal. Not sure what kind of tenderloin you’ve been having, woman.”
She laughed and shrugged. “Remember me? Easy to please, over here. But you’re on.”
He followed her deeper into the apartment. She’d made a tiny room into an office that was dominated by a huge desk with a large flat-screen computer monitor. Bookcases filled one whole wall. And there were funny geology sayings on bumper stickers and postcards and little signs everywhere:
Don’t take geologists for granite!
Geologists are the schist!
Don’t expect perfection from geologists – they all have their faults.
And Quinton’s favorite, for obvious reasons: You can test my hardness if I can test your cleavage.
Grinning, he pointed to that one where it hung over her desk. “Cleavage?”
She shook her head. “Leave it to you to notice that one. Cleavage is the tendency of a mineral to break along flat planar surfaces typically due to weaknesses or deformities in its structure.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “It turns me on when you talk about flat planar surfaces.”
Cassia smirked. “You have no idea how hard it is not to roll my eyes right now.”
He arched a brow and loved it when she laughed.
“What are these?” he asked, stepping up to picture frames hanging on the wall.
“Different research trips,” she said, joining him. She pointed to the images as she spoke. “This was a week-long trip through Western Maryland. This was Mammoth Cave in Kentucky. And this one’s the Endless Caverns in Virginia, and this one.” she said, gesturing to another frame, “was a trip to an unknown cave a photographer stumbled on in Vietnam just two years ago.” On the adjoining wall, she excitedly pointed out a picture of herself with a green glow in the background. The Northern Lights. “This was from the trip to Sweden,” she said, continuing on to point out some of the interesting features captured in the shots. Quinton really enjoyed hearing her talk about something she obviously loved.
Even more strongly than before, he wanted to help her do that work again.
“You’ve probably gone places on this earth that not too many others have,” he said. Her adventurous spirit was one of the things about her that called to something inside him. And damn if that list wasn’t getting longer with every minute he spent with her.
“I know,” she said, leading him into the hall again. “That has always been one of my favorite things. And this is my bedroom.”
Decorated in greens and blues, the space was big enough to fit a queen-sized bed, two night stands, and a chest of drawers. He dragged his gaze away from the bed, which encouraged all kinds of ideas he didn’t need to be having right now, and surveyed the room. More framed photographs covered the dresser.
When she saw him looking, she led him over. “Jagger and me, when we were younger. And this is him more recently.” She handed Quinton the pictures.
While Cassia’s hair had some reddish tones in it, her brother’s was a darker brown, but he saw the resemblance in the eyes and shape of their faces. In the more recent shot, he sat on a motorcycle and wore a vest with multiple leather patches. Cass sat on the bike behind him, her chin resting on his shoulder. He’d already been able to tell they were close just from how she talked about him, but now he could see it, too.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asked.
Putting the frames down again, he nodded. “One brother. Taylor. Just had a little girl a few months ago, so I’m an uncle, too.” When she congratulated him, he added the part that totally kicked ass every time he thought about it. “And you know the best part? Besides the baby, of course?”
Cassia smiled. “What’s that?”
“They named her Quinn.” He grinned like the proud-uncle idiot he was.
“Oh, my God. That’s so awesome. Now you have to be the coolest uncle who ever lived.”
“Fuck, I know. I’m already planning out the next eighteen years.”
She shook her head. “I’m sure you’re going to rock it. She’ll be lucky to have you.”
Talking about his niece, and hearing Cass give him such easy, ready praise, had his brain going in some weird directions. Like, what it might be like to
have a kid of his own someday. Like, what kind of pride he’d feel if he were a father himself.
Which then had him wondering if Cassia wanted kids…
And all things considered, that was cart about a million miles before any horse that might or might not exist. For fuck’s sake.
No strings attached, remember?
Right.
Back in the living room, Quinton stopped Cassia with a hand on her hip. “Before we go, in case it needs to be said, I don’t expect any sort of Dom/sub protocol during the trip. We’re just Quinton and Cass today, okay?”
Her expression went soft as she nodded. “Quinton and Cass. Okay.” Damn, he had to admit, he really dug the sound of his name on her lips. The sound of their names together, if he was being honest. Which took him right back to that fucking horse and its runaway cart.
Before long, they were on the road in Quinton’s Land Rover. It was an easy drive up I-70 to Frederick. Suburbia gave way to farm fields and mountains just donning their fall foliage. Mostly, they made easy small talk as they went, and Quinton appreciated how comfortable it was to just sit with her in silence, too, music filling the car, the view flying by. But there was also something he’d been wondering.
“How did you get into the lifestyle, Cass?”
Her gaze swung to him as she shifted in her seat. “A roommate in grad school introduced me to it,” she said. “Mary had already been a submissive for a few years and was in a relationship with her Dom. When I found out about them, I was immediately intrigued. Something about the idea of being dominated just hooked me. Mary invited me to a play party, and the first couple times I just watched. But even that was enough to realize that I was a submissive, because I got more turned on watching than I’d ever gotten having vanilla-only sex with my boyfriends.” She shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, vanilla sex can be awesome sometimes, but I realized I need more than that.”
As she spoke, Quinton glanced between the road ahead and Cass’s thoughtful expression, and damn if her answer didn’t resonate with him. He didn’t need the formalities of BDSM all the time, either. And he didn’t have to play the role of a Dominant to be dominant in the bedroom, because that was who he was. But he absolutely needed it to be a part of his sex life; he craved the extremes, too. And he loved that Blasphemy gave him a way to bring so many of his interests together.
“How about you?” she asked. “Do you mind me asking?”
Giving her a smile, he shook his head. “Course not. I owned a bar of my own before I worked at Blasphemy, and a friend of mine was deep into the lifestyle. He rented the bar out a few times for private events, and that made me realize that some of what I was already doing in my sex life was very much in line with BDSM. So I learned more. Got more involved and studied with a few experienced Doms, a couple of whom are other Masters at Blasphemy now. When plans for our club came about, a bunch of us were already friends and knew each other well enough to know we shared a vision that we could bring to life at our own place.”
“It’s really kind of life changing when you find other people who get you that way, isn’t it?” she asked.
“That’s the truth,” Quinton said. “I think that’s what all of us are looking for, inside of BDSM or not. To be understood, to find our like-minded tribe, to be accepted and belong, no matter what.”
“Wow.”
He peered over at Cassia, and the affection on her face nearly made him do a double-take. “What?”
She turned her gaze out the passenger window, and he hated the loss of her eyes on him. “That was really beautifully put. That’s all.” A moment passed, and she continued. “How did you get into sensory deprivation?”
“Because I’m kind of an evil fucker and I like to torment submissives with pleasure.” In a nutshell. He grinned.
“You don’t say,” she deadpanned.
“Admit it, you love me when I’m an evil fucker.”
“I’m struggling with that eye roll thing again,” she said, trying to suppress her smile but not quite succeeding.
“Oh, please, Cassia. Lose. That. Struggle.”
The bloom of pink that rose on her cheeks was the sweetest reward.
“Uh huh,” he said, enjoying himself and this conversation more than he had in a long time. “And, anyway, I’m kind of an adrenaline junkie. I enjoy things at the extremes, and sensory deprivation can definitely be that.”
“You showed me at least a little of that the other night,” she said.
“Mmm, and I enjoyed every minute of it,” he said, nailing her with a stare.
She shifted in her seat and reached to turn up the fan on her side, filling Quinton with all kinds of satisfaction that she might be getting hot and bothered over there. But it also made him need to know something about their time together today.
“No pressure whatsoever, but I need to know what you do or don’t want in front of your brother. I know you told him I was a friend, so…”
“Oh. Um.” Awkwardness suddenly filled the Rover’s cab. “I guess, I don’t know. I mean, I know we’re not together, so…”
Aw, hell. He regretted her discomfort, and his gut really hated the declaration about where they stood. Because it was true. But it also wasn’t. Or maybe he was just rethinking where he wanted them to be? More importantly, what did Cassia want? Did she still prefer to stick to the original terms of their agreement?
As they passed the first sign for their exit, the one that meant they were only ten minutes out from arriving, Quinton knew they didn’t have enough time to do justice to the conversation they increasingly needed to have. Or, at least, he needed to have it. If he was being honest. And as a man, let alone a Dom, he owed her that much. Anyway, perhaps today in front of her brother wasn’t the time to make a change even if she were amenable.
Making sure his tone was casual and light, he said, “Keeping things friendly is fine, Cass. I just didn’t want to overstep or do anything to embarrass you. Okay? I’ll keep my hands to myself. Promise.” He gave her a wink, wanting to dispel the weirdness his question had caused.
Finally, she chuckled. “Okay. No hands. Got it.”
Of course, that left his brain conjuring up all the parts that didn’t include…
Off the highway, Cassia guided them until the big speedway came into view. Sitting at the base of a mountain, the long oval track surrounded by stadium stands filled a huge field. Parking lots stretched in two directions around it. A huge mural filled one whole exterior wall with the words Green Valley Racing painted in green over a waving black-and-white checkered flag. A handful of bikes and cars sat close to one of the main entrances.
“Jagger’s club owns all this. Has for years. The club president’s grandfather inherited it decades ago, and now the Raven Riders operate it as their main source of income.” She leaned forward and peered out the windshield. “You can just make out the clubhouse up the mountain. See?”
Sure enough, a big building that looked like a mountain inn sat amidst the trees high above the track.
Quinton turned into the parking lot. “Seems like a big operation for a motorcycle club.”
“From what Jagger says, it is. But the Ravens aren’t a typical club. They offer protective services mostly for women and children in some sort of domestic violence situation, sometimes working directly with the authorities, and sometimes at the request of the victims themselves.” She grinned and waved. “Oh, there’s Jagger.”
Before Quinton had a chance to process the magnitude of what the Ravens did, they parked and got out. Cassia rushed towards her brother and gave him a hug that had them both laughing.
“Been too long, Cass,” the man said. Wearing a cut-off jacket with Raven Riders MC insignia on it, he had a wavy mess of brown hair, a little longer now than it had been in the photograph, and eyes a shade darker than his sister’s golden-flecked hazel.
“I know,” she said. “I’m glad this worked today. Jag, I want you to meet Quinton Ross.”
Qui
nton held out his hand. “Hey, Jagger. Thanks for having me. I’ve been to the races a few times, so I’m looking forward to seeing behind the scenes.”
Jagger returned the shake, his expression friendly but his eyes calculating, observing. Not that Quinton minded. He didn’t have a sister, but he could still imagine how he’d view anyone she might bring home. Not that Cassia was bringing him home, exactly. For fuck’s sake, they really needed to have that conversation so Quinton didn’t end up hitting himself over the head with a frying pan over all this angst. On the other hand, there was something a little awesome about maybe being interested enough in someone to actually feel the angst, too. He couldn’t deny that.
“Nice to meet you, man. Welcome to Green Valley. Cass tells me you like fast cars, so you’ve come to the right place.” Jagger glanced back and forth between them. “You two want to go up to the club and grab some lunch first, or head right to the track?”
Quinton looked at Cassia, and both of them spoke at once. “Track.” The echo had them both laughing, which had Jagger’s gaze ping-ponging between them again. The guy was totally clocking that they weren’t just friends. Quinton could see it in his eyes.
“Guess that’s settled, then,” Jagger said. “Come on in.”
~~~
Oh, holy crap, Cassia thought. Jagger totally knows I’m sleeping with Quinton.
It had been in her brother’s gaze. In the arched brow he gave her as they turned towards the track. In the fact that Jagger had planted himself between the two of them as they walked.
So much for that painfully awkward we’re just friends conversation they’d had in the car. Still, it was probably good that they’d had it, because it helped remind Cass what they were, and what they weren’t. Which was good, because she’d spent thirty-six hours pep-talking herself into being ready to spend the day with Quinton in a completely we’re just friends way.
Jagger led them past the ticket office and into one of the main hallways. They crossed the concourse where all the concessions were located and walked out into the stands. “Crazy how peaceful it is in here when it’s empty,” her brother said.
