“Thank you,” she said quietly. He saw the shimmer of tears, but he didn’t know what to do. He needed to get out of the locker room and have some time to think. But he couldn’t leave her, not like this.
“At least now I know why Max made me get all those tests before I started modeling,” Chase said, trying to lighten the mood. “I thought it was overkill.”
“We take the safety of our members very seriously,” she said stiffly.
He sighed. “I don’t want to end the night like this. Can we get out of here?”
Colleen shook her head. “No. And this time stay away from me. You and I have no future. We’re too different. This is my world. I am a pro Domme. I like fulfilling fantasies and helping people enjoy their sex lives.”
“This is too much for me right now. I need some time to think.”
“I know,” she said sadly. “I think you should leave.” She touched her ear. “Istvahn, please escort Mr. Fairwood off the property.”
“I can find my own way out.” Chase didn’t like the idea of being manhandled by her bodyguard.
“It’s for our safety as well as yours.”
There was a discreet knock on the door.
“Enter,” Colleen said.
Istvahn, who must have been close by, nodded to Chase. He didn’t look twice at his boss dressed up like a wet dream. “Let’s go.”
A flare of panic reached through his haze of confusion as Chase realized this wasn’t fuck off. It was fuck off and die.
“Colleen, we can work this out.”
“You can stay at Couture for Max’s sake. I won’t be seeing you again, and the dungeon areas are off-limits to you.”
He would have stayed and argued, but Istvahn put him in an armlock and nearly frog-marched him out of the room.
The door closed on her, and the last glimpse he had of her in that short cheerleading outfit was burned into his mind. What the hell had he just done?
Asshole.
Chapter 6
“I can’t believe you’re going to hide up here while Max has his first show,” Colleen’s sister, Mallory, said. She stood in the doorway of Colleen’s office with her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing an Ann Taylor outfit, which was a step up from her jeans and T-shirts—when she wasn’t in her medical scrubs.
“You should try some new pieces from Stella McCartney. Have Nefertiti give you the keys to the lending closet.”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Colleen took a sip of her diet cola and raised an eyebrow. “Do I stalk you at your job and tell you that your triage is in the wrong order?”
Mallory came in and flopped down in the seat across from Colleen’s desk. “I love it when you use words you learned from George Clooney on ER.”
“Could be worse. I could be quoting House. He’s a cranky bastard.” Colleen checked out her manicure and hoped Mallory would take the hint and go away.
“So are you.”
“Fine. If you want to go to your husband’s first clothing launch dressed in off-the-rack clothes, be my guest.” Colleen watched her ploy almost work as Mallory twitched, running a hand down the pretty new clothes she must have bought especially for the occasion.
“Nice try,” Mallory said. “It’s a sportswear line, not haute couture. No one is going to care what I’m wearing.”
“Somebody always notices,” Colleen said. She had been on Fashion Emergency enough times to have a dartboard with all the hosts’ faces on it.
Mallory said nothing.
Colleen stared at her computer screen, not seeing or caring about next week’s staff development programming. “I’m not hiding,” she said to break the silence and the power of Mallory’s glare. “I’m busy.”
“You own the freakin’ place. You can carve out a few hours if you really want to. This means a lot to Max.” And then Mallory played her trump card. “It means a lot to me.”
Colleen sighed. “That was low.”
“No, low would have been if I’d told you that I deliberately didn’t tell Mom about the show so you wouldn’t have to put up her and Dad here for the week.”
“I would have booked them a suite at the Waldorf-Astoria in Manhattan and sent a limo to ferry them back and forth.” Colleen repressed a shudder.
“I don’t know what’s going on between you and Chase—”
And thank God for that.
“Nothing is going on.” Colleen had had a lot of time to think about it—even though she didn’t want to. It had been a disaster from the moment she walked into the dungeon. She had come on too strong. If he had been a new member of Club Inferno, she would have eased him into the lifestyle. But because they had a past, she’d plowed into him like a horny Mack truck. It had never occurred to her that he’d be turned off by the slightest hint of kink. Unfortunately, that was as close to vanilla sex as she came nowadays. Truth was, she’d fucked up. She should have stuck to her instincts and kept Chase at arm’s length.
“It would mean a lot to me if you supported my husband. Just having you there is a guarantee that the press will give this event some space.”
Colleen liked Max. She even thought the sportswear line he had designed was damned good. But she’d spent the last two weeks dodging Chase as he met with Max to strategize how to launch the line. It would be hard to avoid seeing Chase when they were in the same room, especially if he was on the stage. Although he’d be so busy she probably could slip in and out. Enough to give Max the exposure he needed but be back in her office—or, better yet, the dungeon—before Chase was off the runway.
“It’s not like I’m asking you to wear a few pieces. Although you’d rock his sports top and yoga pants.” Mallory made an hourglass with her hands.
“I’m not going to be photographed in stretch pants and a bra by National Geographic or whoever the fuck is out there.” That was all Colleen needed. She could see the headlines: “Aging Heiress Gives Up Haute Couture for Comfort.”
“It’s Sports Illustrated.”
“Really?” Colleen was impressed.
“Chase is giving them an interview.”
“That would do it.” Chase was an asset in this case. She hoped he wouldn’t say anything about Club Inferno, but she was pretty sure he wouldn’t. He wasn’t the vindictive type, but more important, he’d be too embarrassed to admit he’d been fooling around in a sex dungeon.
Damn it.
“So you’ll go?” Mallory grinned.
This was the first time Sports Illustrated had accepted an invitation to Couture. Colleen had been angling to get them interested in some swimwear for their annual swimsuit edition. If they liked Max’s line, they might be more inclined to come back the next time they did a bikini show.
Colleen tapped her pen on her desk, weighing the pros and cons. “You’re not going to leave me alone until I make an appearance, are you?”
“I’m prepared to drag you by the hair kicking and screaming if I have to.”
Colleen was pretty sure she could take her younger sister in a fight, but Mallory’s husband was a black belt. “Fine,” she grumped. “I can’t stay the whole time, though.”
“Thank you.” Mallory came around the side of the desk and gave her a hug.
“Don’t mess up my hair,” Colleen grumbled.
Colleen waited until the last minute to enter the auditorium. She knew the models would be backstage by now, minimizing the chance she’d have to make small talk with her former lover. Slipping into a seat next to Anya and Nefertiti, Colleen pretended she didn’t see the five-dollar bill Anya forked over to Nefertiti, who whispered, “Told you.”
“I’m only here for Max,” Colleen said.
“Sure you are,” Nefertiti said.
Istvahn took up position behind them but wisely stayed out of the discussion.
The lights dimmed, and then in the background snippets of sports announcers’ commentary filled the air. Clint came out first. He was shirtless and wearing the warm-up pants that Max had d
esigned. Not only was Clint one of her Doms, he was marrying Anya. God help him. He had stripped for a few years to make enough money to buy his tequila bar, but he still stuck around Club Inferno to take naughty videos of consenting adults engaged in pleasure.
Leaping into a flying side kick and landing gracefully on the balls of his feet, Clint paused dramatically for the cameras. He winked at Anya and went into a series of high kicks and back kicks.
Jana, feeling much better after her bout with discount sushi, was dressed like a referee. While the cameras flashed, she announced the highlights of the design.
“Clint is wearing treated silk pants designed with wicking properties to keep you cool as you go through your paces.”
Anya catcalled when he did a handstand. Rotating his body, Clint walked all the way offstage on his hands.
“Show-off,” Colleen teased Anya.
“If you got it…” She shrugged.
Max came out next, and Colleen heard Mallory hooting at him from the front row.
“Max is wearing a wool-cotton blend. The drape adds to your silhouette. It’s reversible and can be worn alone or as a layer.” Jana blew her referee’s whistle, and Max turned, unzipped the hoodie, and shrugged it off.
“It helps he’s not ugly,” Nefertiti said. “Those are some serious guns.”
Anya whistled at him through her teeth.
“A little dignity, ladies,” Colleen said, feeling the tight band in her chest ease. She had been hiding in her office since that disastrous night in the dungeon. It was time to get over it already.
“Max’s tank top is designed to add protection and padding for martial arts sparring. The lightweight material adds a layer of defense without the bulk.”
As Max left the stage, a montage of plays made by Chase over the years appeared on the screen above the stage.
“Chase Fairwood with a big sack. Boom! Wind that up, Phil. Let’s see that again. Wham! He should work for Amtrak. The train is coming through.”
A hiss of steam hazed the entrance to the stage, outlining Chase in a shadow. Colleen had thought she was prepared to see him again, but the burn of humiliation flared. It didn’t help that his former teammates were in the front row. They stood up and roared for him. Flashes went crazy when he stepped out wearing only boxing shorts, his hands taped up. Jana droned something about double stitching, but the world stopped for Colleen. He posed in a fighting stance, his wide back exposed to her.
“Breathe,” Anya said in her ear.
Colleen forced herself to inhale normally. She shot Anya a dirty look, and when her gaze returned to Chase, he was staring right at her. Colleen hadn’t expected to feel that intensity again, hadn’t expected him to ever meet her eyes. But he didn’t glance away. Butterflies tickled in her stomach and flew lower when she read the raw hunger in his gaze. That was also unexpected; she’d been waiting for disgust or contempt. The sweet burn of lust as he devoured her with his eyes, like he wanted to claim her in front of all these people, awoke a trickle of desire. Colleen swallowed hard.
The son of a bitch blew her a kiss, and her face flamed. Attention swiveled to her. She kept her face devoid of expression as the flashbulbs blinded her for a moment. When her vision cleared, Chase was shadow-boxing his way off the stage.
“Well, well, well, someone’s been holding out on us,” Nefertiti drawled.
“He’s just being an asshole.” Colleen forced a lightness into her voice that she was far from feeling. Her heart still hammered as though she were a silly teenager experiencing her first crush. “That was a sarcastic kiss.”
“Not from where I was sitting. It looked like he wanted to gobble you up,” Anya said.
“The air sizzled,” Nefertiti added.
Colleen snorted. “That’s a load of bullshit.”
“Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt,” Nefertiti muttered to Anya, but still loud enough for Colleen to hear.
The second pass for all the models featured equal amounts of beefcake and flashy fitness moves. When it was over, Colleen stood to give Max a standing ovation, then turned to Istvahn.
“Stay here with Anya and Nefertiti. I’m going down to the dungeon.”
He nodded and blocked for her while she snuck out the back.
“Ms. Bryant!” One reporter had managed to get through the pack. She had to give him props for outmaneuvering Istvahn, so she paused. His badge said he was with Pierre, a French men’s magazine.
“Bonjour,” she said, repressing a sigh.
“Are you dating Chase Fairwood?”
“No,” she said, flicking a glance toward the stage, where Chase was surrounded by his buddies. They were thumping him on the back and jeering him good-naturedly. He was searching for something or someone, craning his neck.
Colleen kept walking. Was she imagining feeling Chase’s determined stare on her back?
The reporter scurried ahead of her, blocking her escape. “You have a history with him. Weren’t you dating a decade ago?”
“We were kids,” Colleen said, distracting him with a hand on his arm. “What did you think of the show?”
The reporter glanced down at her hand and then followed it up to her face. “Uh, it was great.” He met her smile with one of his own.
She gave his arm a slight squeeze. “I can get you an interview with the designer. Max is my brother-in-law.”
“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t be free for dinner tonight, would you?”
Chase was heading over to them, a determined set to his jaw.
Oh, hell no.
“That sounds fabulous,” she lied, flashing the reporter a bright smile. “Why don’t you meet me at Shira’s on the third floor around seven?”
“Wow, yes. Bien sûr,” he said, reverting to his native language in excitement.
“À bientôt.” She kissed the air by his cheek, and booked like hell.
“Colleen,” Chase called.
She pretended not to hear and dashed through the door. Pressing against it so it closed quickly, she got it locked behind her just as Chase reached it. She felt the door rattle as he tried to open it. Colleen leaned her head back in relief when he knocked. There was no way in hell she was going to answer that. The Domme part of her was appalled that she’d fled the scene, but the more practical side knew that meeting with Chase after their last encounter shouldn’t be done in front of a reporter. Straightening, she hurried down the hall and into the dungeon.
The Doms had set up a party for Max, with champagne on ice and tables filled with shrimp cocktail and bites of chicken and beef. Ropes were coiled up as decorations as a nod to Max’s dungeon specialty.
“Those better not be part of his Kinbaku rigs.” Colleen took a glass of champagne from a topless sub. Noting that her eyes were downcast, Colleen nodded in approval.
“I don’t have a death wish,” Micah, who was in charge of the dungeon today, retorted. He indicated that she should sit. A line of male submissives on their hands and knees were acting like benches. She sat delicately on one. Her spine relaxed when Micah handed her a small plate of hors d’oeuvres, bowing to her. Resting the plate on her sub’s lower back, she stroked her fingers through the man’s lovely black hair while she sipped champagne.
“What’s your name, slave?” she asked.
“Jake, Mistress.”
“Who do you belong to?”
“I am Master Dante’s.”
That figured. He had a line of well-behaved slaves. Not to mention that he claimed all of the dungeon’s unattached male submissives. “Perhaps I’ll ask him to give you to me.”
“That would please me, Mistress.”
Colleen nodded again, thoughtfully this time. “What else pleases you?”
She felt the tremor through him when she pulled his hair, yanking his head up sharply.
“Anything you wish.”
“Good answer,” she said, releasing him. She’d talk to Dante about letting her borrow Jake. It was time that she started
seeing to her own physical needs. The disaster with Chase was proof that she couldn’t take a lover outside of the lifestyle, and this pulse-pounding, panty-dropping lust she felt for Chase every time they looked at each other was probably a result of her denying herself sexually.
Dante was going to make her work for Jake, though. Colleen caressed the sub’s lower back; it wasn’t as powerful or wide as Chase’s, but then again, Jake hadn’t been a defensive tackle.
After his whipping Dante had been more respectful, but to her disappointment he never came back for more. Whipping the practice dummy kept her skills sharp, but it had been exhilarating to let loose on Dante.
Colleen was finishing up her shrimp when Mallory and Max led an entourage through Club Inferno—minus Chase, who by her order was barred from entering. Anya came up to her.
“You tore out of there like your ass was on fire.”
“I had things to do.” She stroked her nails through the sub’s hair.
Anya tracked the movement and raised an eyebrow. “Good for you. It’s about damn time.”
Nefertiti came over with a plate filled high with shrimp. “I need to sit down.” Nefertiti snapped her fingers and one of the men across from Colleen scuttled over to her.
“Are you sure about that?” Colleen nodded at the plate.
“I’m going to risk it. I’m suddenly ravenous.”
Istvahn grabbed her arm before she could sit on the sub, and settled her into a chair that he had brought over. She shrugged and sank into it. Anya remained standing. The sub crawled back over to someone else.
“Mr. Fairwood is requesting entrance,” Istvahn said.
“I think you should let him in. He worked really hard,” Anya said.
Nefertiti nodded, her mouth full of shrimp.
Now that Colleen had a plan, she really didn’t care if Chase came into Club Inferno—just as long as she wasn’t in it at the same time.
She flagged down Micah. “Where’s Dante?”
“He’s in a private session.”
Colleen scowled. “Figures. Have him come see me when he’s done.” She stood up, leaving her plate and glass on Jake’s back. “You can admit Chase into Inferno,” she said over her shoulder to Istvahn. “I’ll be in my private dungeon. The only person who may disturb me is Dante.”
Fever Page 7
