by Ann Raina
He looked forward to the meeting and could not have been more surprised when he opened the back door of the stretch limousine.
“So nice to meet you,” the lady said with a winning smile that made her cheeks flush and her eyes shine. “I’m so glad you could make it.”
Michael was stunned and for a moment, he could neither speak nor move. He knew by her voice she was the same lady who had bound him with laces the night before. Cursing under his breath and regretting that he had not asked Ms. Monroe whom he would meet, he slipped beside her on the seat. Now David Callahan would wait in vain. Fuck this damn woman! “I’m glad to be here, too.”
Patricia’s smile was intact, but she sensed his reluctance. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She ordered the driver to put the car in gear before she turned back to him.
Her legs, muscled from workout, were dressed in soft shining hose and sling backs, in color fitting her black and yellow many-layered dress. If Michael had been asked, it had to be Oscar de la Renta.
“Then why don’t you look rested? If I had to make a guess, you seem to be worried beyond belief. Is it anything I can help with?”
“No, ma’am.” Michael glanced at her and compared what he saw to the feelings she had evoked in him just hours ago. He couldn’t help but stare at the artfully powdered face, her dark brown hair that appeared almost black, and her very female figure. Her naked bust had touched his chest, her full, red lips had kissed his body in the most intimate parts. He swallowed and knew he blushed.
“You’re the most modest callboy I’ve ever met.” The confession made him blush even more. She smiled and covered it as if she knew that laughter would only make his embarrassment worse. “Now, tell me, Matt, what happened between our departure and our encounter right now?”
So much that I wouldn’t want to be here if I had a choice. “Would you mind telling me how—”
“Why we meet again so soon?” She patted his thigh lightly like a mother would do to soothe her child. “I called in a favor and, fazham! Here we are.”
“I see.”
Patricia frowned. “You look like someone rained over your parade. I didn’t know that an invitation for dinner made you uneasy. Or is it that our date yesterday was so unpleasant you don’t want to repeat the sensation?”
“It has nothing to do with you, ma’am.”
“Do you feel too bad to accompany me?”
Michael thought about asking to drive him back, but pushed it away. There was no legitimate explanation handy. “No, I’ll be fine.”
She frowned and looked at him in silence.
Michael tried to look the charming gentleman he had been the night before. He did not want to disappoint her, yet he couldn’t stop thinking about an opportunity missed. How long will David Callahan wait? Does Kamal observe him, too?
“That fight you had—it must have been hard. I saw the bruises on your ribcage.” She lowered her chin, portraying seriousness as her voice dropped low. “I know that folk like you are not buddy-buddy with the police, but in this case it might’ve been wiser to call the cops.”
“No, ma’am, it was not.” Michael turned away from her, reluctant to reveal the story behind his injuries and not knowing how much she knew already.
Patricia sat more comfortable and looked out of the window. “It will be a completely new experience for you, Matt,” she changed the subject and her smile held promises he did not dare put into words. She patted his hand. “You’ll like it, I’m sure of that.” And with a shrug, she added, “And if you don’t like it, we leave at once and you’ll never return. And that, too, is a promise.”
Michael couldn’t put meaning to that last sentence, if it was a threat or if it was said to keep him on tenterhooks. So he kept the smile glued to his face and hoped the announcement to be pleasant.
“And if you want to talk, Matt, whenever and wherever, you tell me.”
She kept him in her inquisitory stare until he nodded, not knowing how to handle her offer.
The limousine stopped in front of the main entrance. Michael hurried around the car to open the passenger door and help her out. Mrs. Dellman got out on her high heels, perfectly balanced and elegant. The dress swung around her calves, light enough to appear weightless. Her hair was carefully permed. No lock swung when a soft wind caught it. The powered face, stressing her brown eyes with green eye shadow, did not give away that she was beyond fifty. Michael wondered—and not for the first time—why ladies like Mrs. Dellman did not hire a professional escort on her own.
“Milady…” He offered her his arm very formally. She accepted, thanking him for his politeness. Good mannerism, Michael had found out, won him more ladies and more tips than he had ever anticipated. Considering that he was here for a total different reason made the success not as much satisfying as it was funny. “Why did you choose this restaurant over others?” he asked quietly when the doorman let them pass.
“Oh, you’ll understand that in a minute.”
A waiter in white shirt and black suit approached them. “Milady, gentleman, welcome to the Best Friend’s Club. How can I serve you today?”
“Mrs. Dellman made reservations for a table.”
The waiter’s glance at Mrs. Dellman told Michael that she wasn’t here for the first time and that he just asked out of politeness. “Of course. If you will follow me, please?”
Michael expected the man to walk through the small entrance and into the main dining room. He heard the chatter of many people and the clattering of glasses and pottery. Busy waiters with trays hurried between the tables he glimpsed from his position.
The waiter escorted Michael and Mrs. Dellman to the left, away from the restaurant guests. They turned right and entered a room, furnished in burgundy red with chairs and a closet in hazelnut brown, dark carpet and elegant, patterned wallpaper. Two large mirrors reflected the soft yellow light of three Tiffany lamps on the walls.
“I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction.” The waiter bowed and left. The door closed noiselessly.
Michael turned to look into Mrs. Dellman’s joyous face. “Would you mind explaining this to me?”
“Do you know what best friend stands for?”
“You mean a man’s best friend? Yes, a dog.” Michael took a deep breath, triggering the lady’s laughter.
“Now, do you understand what this restaurant specializes in?”
“I’m not sure.”
Patricia Dellman sat elegantly on the edge of a chair and put her purse on her lap. “Matthew, I was told that you are a playful man. Lady Summerston assured me that you would be open for something new. Something you have not yet done. Was she wrong?”
“I still don’t understand what you expect from me right now.”
She sat more comfortably and pulled a silver leash attached to a collar out of her purse.
Michael forgot to breathe for a moment. Role-play? Here? In a restaurant?
* * * *
Linda Bernstein never lost her countenance. It simply didn’t go with the job description that you freak and yell, sweat and ruin your cover in one stupid blow just because you couldn’t control your emotions while you thought about the consequences. In this case, the message about Michael being unavailable made her think of disclosure, of an accident, of the agent being at the hands of his enemies. All those images ran amok through her head as she considered her options, playing cool to the outside. She inhaled so deeply, the woman at the end of the entrance counter paled as if she expected a gigantic wave of air to blow her away.
“Ms. Monroe, are you telling me,” Linda said and stressed every word, “that the man I was supposed to meet here will not show up?”
“I apologize for the inconvenience this will cause you, but—”
“Inconvenience? Excuse me, Ms. Monroe, but this is not about ordering salad and getting soup instead. This is about a very special and intimate meeting with a man for certain hours. And as I wa
s informed, your escort service provides me with the man I choose. Is that advertisement no longer valid?” She kept Ms. Monroe in her hard and unrelenting stare until the younger woman backed down.
“I am truly sorry that Matthew cannot be with you tonight, but I assure you that Patrick will be as able as Matthew to fulfill your wishes.”
Linda wiped away the excuse with a sweep of her hand, letting anger seep the more into her voice. “Patrick will not do, no matter how experienced or well built he is. I want Matthew. Tonight. Here.” She tipped the counter with the last words, ignoring the young man behind it who looked as if he would call a guard any second. “That is what I want and no Patrick or anyone else.” She stood upright, her face a hard mask.
* * * *
Ms. Monroe swallowed down tears. It was not her day. No, it was not her month. She did what she could to keep customers happy, but circumstances bumped in her way, making her stumble. She was no magician and Matthew was gone with Mrs. Dellman and would return late at night or tomorrow, who knew? Lady Summerston had simply ordered Ms. Monroe to offer that new customer another callboy. She would never have done so with frequent guests, but a new lady had to take what she got. “Then, unfortunately, I have to tell you that Matthew won’t be with you tonight.”
“Where is he?”
“He is not here tonight and I am not allowed to tell you where he went.”
“But he is well, I suppose?”
“Yes, I’m sure he is. You might enjoy a meal in our restaurant. On the house, of course. Or you could take a swim in—”
“Do I look like I wish to swim?”
“No, ma’am, and I know you are upset, but what shall I do?”
* * * *
Linda pursed her lips, annoyed and worried. “You shall promise me that I will meet Matthew first thing tomorrow and don’t,” she interrupted Ms. Monroe’s protest, “tell me that that, too, is not possible!”
Ms. Monroe’s shoulders dropped. No, this was not her day.
* * * *
“Please, I’m confused. Tell me what you want from me.”
Patricia was close to taking him on the spot. My, he was lovely and so naïve! “You will undress, and I will take you inside the restaurant with just a collar and a leash.”
Michael ran a hand over the back of his head. His heart beat fast. He felt great and insecure at the same time. A part of his mind recalled Alyssa and David and that they both might be in danger. The other part told him he could do nothing about them right now and would be stupid to miss the opportunity. “There will be other people?”
“Of course.” She shot a glance at her watch. “And I would like you to either start or quit. I have friends waiting for me.”
Michael swallowed the next words and took off shoes and jacket. He thought about Linda, about what his job demanded of him and how the fuck he should acquire anything if he played puppy on a leash. And then the lower half of his body had a mind of its own and told him to go with the customer’s wish. “You’ve been here before.”
She nodded and watched him unbutton his shirt. Her eyes betrayed where her hands wanted to be.
“Tell me a bit more about this…establishment.”
Patricia grinned and it was all but ladylike. “A man named Roger Hastings founded these two restaurants side by side in 1970. He is a man of very delicate taste. I can’t remember all of his friends’ names, but there were some among them practicing role-play and BDSM techniques in abundance. His decision to found this here was merely consequent. Hastings’ preferences have always been to serve the extraordinary wishes of customers who have the money to pay for them. So you can either dine with your friends on the right side of the restaurant and keep your clothes on or have a very special time and dinner on the left side. Sans clothes.”
Michael hesitated to go on after he had discarded the socks.
She lifted her brows. “Boxers are a big no-no for dogs, you know.”
“After all, I might be a boxer, right?”
“You are so not a boxer. These dogs are ugly. And you look quite nice and nicer still. Now off with the rest. I’m already late.”
Michael stopped with his fingers in the waistband. “You mean, there’ll be others…other ladies parading their dogs?”
“Indeed. If you haven’t heard of this club before it seems to remain quite a nice secret.”
Michael took off shirt and boxers. “And now?”
“On your knees.” She stood and put the collar around his neck, careful not to press on his Adam’s apple. “Very good.” She stepped aside to watch him. “I hope you are civilized enough not to get a hard-on in a restaurant.”
“The way you say it, you would like me to go down on you with all of them watching.”
She hesitated a moment too long, blinking rapidly. “You got me on this one, but if you tell anyone, I’ll have you castrated before you say a word to my friends.”
They laughed about that. “I’m a dog, so I won’t say a word. Shall I bark if I want something?”
“I hope you won’t be in need for a walk during dinner.” She licked her lips, twitching her brows.
“What are you thinking of right now?”
Mrs. Dellman cocked her head. “I just thought that… No, you’re not that well endowed that women would faint seeing you.”
“You know how to encourage a man.” He hung his head, making her giggle. “And why should size matter?”
“If you are a man of self-assurance, we’ll know in a minute. Usually, they all know pretty fast who’s top dog around here.”
“You want a fight?” He glanced up to her, not crediting his ears.
“No, not really.” Her eyes told a very different story. “Only if you can’t prove your point any other way.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying that I shall piss at their tableleg?”
“That would be rude. Too rude. Even though it would be fun to see the ladies react, wouldn’t it? I never had a misbehaving dog around.” He kept staring at her, lifting his brows for an unspoken question. Mrs. Dellman laughed her very melodically laugh and patted his head. “No, Mattie, you won’t ruin the afternoon by being rude like this.”
He was warming up to the task, worries shoved aside. “So better tell me what I’m allowed to do.”
“That’s much better.” She gazed his body up and down. “You are allowed to lie at my feet and watch the other people and other dogs, of course. I might feed you some morsels you better take.”
“I know dogs aren’t picky.” Michael grinned broadly.
Mrs. Dellman found it hard to remain earnest. “You are allowed to rub your face or hands along my legs, but no further. That’s an imperative, Mattie. Going down on me is challenging, but, no, I don’t want you to.”
“Noted.”
She frowned at the strange word.
Michael cursed silently. It wasn’t a word a handyman turned callboy would use! Get a grip, you fool!
“I’ll let you know what is appropriate and what not. You’ll follow my lead.”
Michael nodded slowly. It would indeed be a new experience.
They left the room. Michael stayed at Patricia’s right side, easily matching her step. They made a right turn and were greeted by a waiter at a small desk. “Mrs. Dellman? Very well, please, follow me to your table.”
“My friends are already here?”
“Yes, madam. They await you.”
They entered a secretly lit room with only eight tables, of which four were occupied. Like in the dressing room, the main color was a deep red, soothing on the eyes. Chairs and mirrors had dark golden frames while the tables were laid with white damask. The tone of conversations was low, no one stared. There was a game going on only insiders understood. Bragging about dogs’ abilities was not on the menu. None of the other guests lifted their heads or made a comment as the couple walked in.
The waiter moved smoothly and with practiced ease through the room and stepped over bare legs reaching from unde
r tables. Mrs. Dellman followed slowly, careful to find a way.
“Jessy, Francine! So good to see you!”
The two ladies, about as old as Mrs. Dellman, waved her a warm welcome. “Patricia! Come, sit down! Oh, you brought a new dog with you! How lovely! What’s his name?”
Mrs. Dellman sat down on the chair the waiter held for her and smoothed her skirt. “Mattie.”
The waiter put on a business smile. “The usual aperitif, Mrs. Dellman?”
“Yes, Humphrey, please.”
“Very well.” The waiter left.
“How did you find him?” Francine’s eyes bulged behind her silver-framed glasses. She looked ready to try and do him in front of the guests. She swallowed to get a grip when her friends noticed. “And where! He’s one cute thing. How old?”
Michael sat on his haunches next to her chair and glanced at Patricia. The sparkle in her eyes was reward for the fact that he sat stark naked among ten strange guests and their human dogs.
“About twenty-seven.”
Michael cocked his head.
Patricia laughed, the others joined. “Give or take.”
“Nice indeed.” Jessy glanced at Michael’s clean-shaven face. “You got a special dog breeder, I assume?”
Patricia took her drink and thanked the waiter who took the ladies’ orders for dinner.
“He was recommended by the lady herself. She’s usually very careful with such statements so I think he impressed her, too.”
* * * *
Jessy pushed a strand of her auburn hair behind her ear. In her youth, she had been a stunning beauty: The hair, the slim figure, the smooth and pretty face. Now her hair was the only beauty left. And the fact that she had more money than she would ever be able to spend helped her preserve this beauty. The monthly meetings at the restaurant, always featuring a naked man at her side, were an expensive but very rewarding hobby, not to forget a thrill. “Is he good?”
