by Anne Rainey
Daisy handed him his sunglasses and dug the other keys from her purse. They lay in her palm.
She tried to hand them to him, but he shook his head, shoving his sunglasses on the top of his head. “Daisy, when someone—a guy or a gal—offers you their key, it means they’re a dom. And they’re asking you to be their partner, to submit to them for the evening.”
Her breath froze in her throat, her tears forgotten. He held her gaze, his quizzical. “And when you take it, you’re agreeing.”
“Oh.” The work came out in a squeak. Holy crap, all three of these guys thought she’d agreed to—to let them do stuff to her, with her?
Dack rose, towering over her. “Now choose. And hurry your ass up about it. I’ll be back in a minute.” He turned and strode away.
Oh God. Daisy watched him go. Was he coming back? Did she even want him to? Well, one thing was for sure, she had to deal with these two guys first.
She turned to Mason and held out his key. “I’m really sorry.”
He nodded, looking as if he were trying not to grin. “’S okay. Put it in my pocket, eh?”
She looked at his tight jeans and blinked at the size of his male package. She was not going there. Instead, she tucked the key in a small pocket of his vest.
“You’re not getting one of my margaritas,” he teased, waving the drinks enticingly.
Daisy smiled back, feeling a twinge of regret. “There’s a blonde behind you who looks like she needs a drink.”
His eyes gleamed. “Good idea.” He turned away.
Daisy turned to Kevin. He gave her a cocky grin as if sure she’d choose him. He was handsome, but he was not someone Daisy would consider actually hooking up with. With an inward shudder, she held out the black key to him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I, um, hope you have a great night.”
“Oh, I will,” he said, grabbing the key from her. “Hope you can say the same.” He turned his back on her.
Well, okay. So he wouldn’t be forgiving her anytime soon.
She sank onto the sofa, leaned her forehead on her hand. Geez, what a night. Was this going to work for her? She felt like there was a whole secret rulebook someone had forgotten to show her.
The music started again, a bluesy number with lots of saxophone. Daisy leaned her chin on her hand and looked around. Mason was perched on the arm of the blonde’s chair, his back partly turned to Daisy. They were sipping margaritas and smiling at each other. The woman’s eyes were sparkling as if her dreams for the night had come true.
Daisy felt Dack’s presence before she saw him—a kind of electric awareness. She sat up straight as he resumed his former perch on the arm of the sofa. He said nothing, and her nerves sizzled with anticipation. Finally, she could stand the wait no longer and looked up at him.
He was looking down at her over his crossed arms, like a potentate regarding a recalcitrant harem girl. His sunglasses had disappeared. Oh, man, the pose highlighted his huge shoulders and gorgeous biceps. She wanted her hands all over those arms.
“Still here, I see,” he rumbled.
She shrugged. That was a no-brainer.
“Stand up.”
Scooting forward off the sofa, Daisy rose and turned to him. Was he going to ask her to dance?
“So, now that you know what my key means, you gonna wuss out?” he asked her, one corner of his mouth pressing in, as if he was trying not to grin.
She scowled at him, planting her hands on her hips. “No.”
“Good.” He uncrossed his arms and crooked his forefinger. “Then c’mere.”
Daisy took the single step that placed her between his spread knees. He took his key from her wrist, stretched the choker with both hands, and lifted it over her head. The warmth of his big hands ruffled her hair, ghosted over her cheeks.
The choker settled into place around her throat, a light caress, the key dangling in the hollow of her throat. He eyed it with satisfaction, his hands spread on his knees.
Disappointment trickled through her. She’d hoped he would put his hands on her, maybe kiss her.
He looked up into her eyes. “Now, since you won’t take your top off,” he said, “let’s have your skirt instead.”
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
No Letting Go
Copyright © 2014 by Anne Rainey
ISBN: 978-1-61922-052-2
Edited by Linda Ingmanson
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2014
www.samhainpublishing.com
