“But you don’t know if you’d like the lifestyle.”
Oh God, not two of them who can read my mind. I don’t think I like being the recipient.
“This isn’t about me liking the lifestyle. It all seems to be about control. I will never let a man control me again. It’s about understanding this world so I can help my sister.”
“Interesting that control is your issue and not pain.” Kat smiles and nods, examining me as if I’m a lab specimen.
“Yeah, pain too.” I groan inwardly. Can I sound any worse? The problem is, I’m unsure whether I’d like the pain. The stuff I read says some pain is pleasurable. That Sub sure seemed to like it. I’ll have to give it a try. Research. Take one for the team, so to speak. “Where can I find out more about your training program?” No sense dancing around the Maypole.
Kat leans back against the couch. “What do you want to know?”
“How much does it cost?”
“Your tuition is covered by Jaden’s membership. The Dom or Domme always pays, Drake. That’s the way it is.”
“He’s not my Dom. He didn’t agree. Do I need one to start your program?”
Kat’s intense gaze rakes over me, but her expression gives no clue about what she thinks. It takes every ounce of willpower I have, but I stay still and hold her gaze. Finally, she gives a small nod.
“No, you don’t need a Dom to start. A new program starts on Monday. Classes run every afternoon. I’ve left the schedule in your room.” Kat stands and steps toward the door. She pauses with her hand on the handle but doesn’t look back at me.
“Be patient with him, Rayne. It takes a lot to come back from a broken heart.”
I take stock as I get ready for bed. I have a job—of sorts. I have a place to stay—for a while. I have a lover—or whatever the fuck I’m supposed to call him—maybe. Now, I’m finally going to learn more about sex. I have a plan.
I hate being at loose ends. I’m all about structure. Maybe because I come from such chaos. I’m much happier now that I have a direction. I smile at my image in the mirror. My bruises are almost healed. You can actually see what I look like. Not that Jaden looks. The arnica lotion he gave me helps.
I have to admit he’s thoughtful in many ways. When he’s not a complete and utter bastard. Whenever I need something, it magically appears. I brush my teeth and sink into a cloud of comfort, snuggling under a thick duvet. Hopefully, I can get some answers from Sasha tomorrow.
I drift off thinking of Jaden. Of his smile. His good looks. How he doesn’t seem to know how handsome he is. What a bastard he can be. Warmth flows through me at the thought. He takes as good as he gives. It’s beginning to look as if he likes our verbal sparring matches. My mind drifts back to his body—his perfect body.
Too cute for you. I shoo BG away. I don’t need more rain on my already saturated parade.
Jaden makes me uncomfortable. And squishy tingly all over. Happy? I shake my head. I don’t feel good things. I vaguely recall feeling happy when I was a little kid. Before the fear. Happiness, like love, is elusive. Something I’m destined to live without.
I reach back in memory for my maternal grandmother’s words, for the thread of hope they give me. Gran always said I was destined for something special. That I would find a special love. Someone different. Someone not like the rest. Someone worth hanging on to when I found him. When I watched Gran with Grandad, it all seemed possible. That was before ES taught me the mantra: I am ugly. I am stupid. I am unlovable. I am worthless.
Gran always said the good Lord helps those who help themselves. So how come He hasn’t helped me so far? I drift off on the current of my own pity party.
I awaken having the same love-hate argument about Jaden. I can no longer deny that something about him makes my girly bits clench. Something about him makes me want to use filthy language. Makes me want to do dirty things.
But I hate all men. They’re only out for themselves. Why think Jaden would be any different? Perhaps because something about him makes me feel safe. And because of that jolt of electricity that shoots through me every time I think about him—he makes me feel. In the moment. He makes me forget the fear.
I leave the cocoon of my luxury bed and slip on the thick terry cloth bathrobe. It’s one of those one-size affairs designed for gorilla-size people. Snuggling into its voluminous depths, I pad over to my bedroom window. Just like Jaden’s compound, everything about the place screams luxury of the understated and ultramodern kind.
Kat gave Jaden and me a penthouse suite in their Masquerade Club. The weird thing is the club takes up the entire top floor of a major Toronto Hotel … and only members know of its existence. Somehow, Connor and Kat manage to cloak the club with a pimped-out security system that comes with all sorts of cloak-and-dagger stuff like retinal scans. Très cool.
I open the blackout drapes and take in the breathtaking view of the Toronto Harbour. Shards of early fall sunshine glitter off the mirrored surface of Lake Ontario and boomerang back to the cloudless bright blue sky. It promises to be the perfect day to visit Sasha. Time to get ready.
A silver tea service and a ton of covered dishes sit on the table in the living area. So many good smells make my mouth gush. Jaden pours a cup and pushes it in my direction. “Black with honey and lemon.” It’s not a question. Bastard. Not that I know why I’m so bitchy. I peer into his cup as I take a seat opposite him. It’s the color of my skin—double cream. Note to self.
“Thank you.” What else was there to say? We sat in uncomfortable silence for a beat.
“You hungry?” Jaden flinches as he reaches for the lid on one of the dishes.
“What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” I hop up and reach for the hem of his T-shirt. He tugs it down.
“It’s nothing.”
“Yeah, right.” I pull up the edge of the shirt, revealing a huge bruise over his mid-torso and back … almost obliterating the head of his dragon tattoo. “Holy shit. If this is what your bruise looks like on day two, you must not be looking forward to the dreaded day three or four. What’s the other guy look like?”
Jaden’s breathing catches as I gingerly trace the bruise with my finger.
“At the club, why didn’t you tell me … You didn’t have to … I mean—”
“It was fine.”
Better than fine.
“The other guy’s dead.”
“Was it Viper?” I hold my breath.
“No. But he’s a goner too.”
“No shit … dead.” That news shuts me up for thirteen seconds. “Any leads on Summer?”
“No, but the guys are in serious search mode. Nothing we can do until they sniff a lead.” He stares into his cup. Not a good time to badger.
“Let’s get some ice on that.” I stride to the bar fridge. Nothing suitable. I call room service and order a large ice pack and a bottle of ibuprofen.
“How bad is it?” I pour a glass of water from the cooler and set it in front of Jaden.
“Could be worse.” Jaden speaks through clenched teeth doing the I-am-man-so-feel-no-pain thing.
A knock sounds at the suite door. “That was quick.” I relieve the bellhop of his bundle. In short order, I dispense the painkillers and wrap the ice pack around his bruised side, securing it with the tie from my housecoat. As I stand up to survey my handiwork, the housecoat gapes open. I quickly gather it together, hiding the skimpy nightshirt that covers almost nothing.
Jaden reaches up and pulls my hand away. “Don’t do that.” The husky timbre of his voice must be caused by the pain.
I look at the bulge forming in his pants and quickly look away. I’m fascinated by this piece of Jaden’s anatomy, but I’d rather die than show him I’m interested. I step back and pull the housecoat back together.
Those amber eyes meet mine, sparking with challenge. He gestures for me to sit down.
“This is not a good way to go about it if you want me to be your Dom.”
The threat hangs in the air
between us, thickening as it absorbs the particles of our unspoken fears. I’m not going to let him get away with this shit.
“That would be academic since you’re not my Dom. Besides, I don’t need one anymore.”
The edge of Jaden’s mouth quirks like he knows something I don’t.
“Oh. How do you figure that?”
Huh. I know something he doesn’t, and I flush with pride. Such a stupid little thing, but I have precious little of my own to be proud of. I sit straighter and meet his stare straight on. “Because Kat told me. I start the program next week.”
“We’ll just see about that.” He starts to get up. I jump up and push him back into his chair.
“Fuck.” He clutches his middle and takes a deep breath. I’ve hurt him. I don’t care … much.
“Just mind your own fucking business, Jaden.”
“It’s my business, too, and don’t you forget it.”
“Oh yeah? How do you figure that?”
“You’re here on my dime, remember? That makes it my business.” His chiseled face sets with the lines of command and determination.
I’m all sorts of intimidated but refuse to let it show. I lean onto my forearms and match his gesture. “Not anymore, bucko. I paid for my own course, thank you very much.” I pray to God Kat backs me up if Jaden gets to her before I do.
“Any word on Sasha?”
25
Jaden
Didn’t want to have to feel that way …
My Dracaena flexes her claws and basically tells me to fuck off all while stuffing that stunning face with food. Somehow, she even manages to make herself look bigger when she straightens up and tilts toward me—definitely a sign of aggression. I love it. She might think she’ll get rid of me that easily, but that’s not going to happen. I stop breathing, stunned at the thought. She’s worming her way into my mind. That has to stop. I look at her, determined to push her away. Instead, I meet defiance that makes my cock and hand pulse with need. A hand that needs to meet the cheeks of that magnificent ass … repeatedly. I will have her.
The swelling has gone down, and the bruising has faded, revealing a classic oval face, a strong chin, and those huge brown-black eyes. After our encounter last night, I can’t walk away from her. Not without having her again. I crave her … with an insatiable need that defies reason.
When I rescued her, I accepted the responsibility of ensuring Rayne was safely established in a new life. Rayne is not like the others who use sex for their own gains or simply to please me. She seems intent on exploring sex for her own pleasure, despite her protestations. An intense fire burns under her don’t-fuck-with-me armor. I need to make sure her first experience with BDSM is a positive one. You need to fuck her again to get her out of your system. I shake the thought away. That’s not my motive.
I almost laugh at her unsubtle way of changing the subject. That in itself alarms me. All this frivolity has to stop. Allowing myself to feel anything will make it all that much harder when Rayne leaves, and I have to move on. Never mind keeping the hard core I need for this job. Rayne is right; time to focus on Sasha.
“I spoke with the hospital a few minutes ago. She remains stable, so they’re going to try bringing her out of the coma around eleven o’clock.
“Good news.” Rayne slides her fingers onto my clenched fist. I hadn’t realized I’d clenched my fists until her small hand covers mine. “She’ll be okay. No doubt about it.”
Rayne makes the pronouncement with such authority I almost believe it. I raise my eyebrows.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You don’t believe me. Well, it doesn’t matter. I know what I know here and here.” Rayne points to her head and heart. “Sasha is going to be just fine. You can take that to the bank.”
Impossible for her to know, yet somehow she has me almost convinced. As much fun as it is sparring with her, now isn’t the time.
“I hope you’re right.”
Rayne gets up and fusses over the ice pack. “There. Leave that on while I get ready. When do we leave?”
“I’ll have the limo ready to go at 10:30.” I sit quietly in defiance of the rage that consumes me when I think of all that’s happened. Rayne better be right about Sasha. Every passing minute reminds me the forces of hell are closing in.
Rayne comes through the hotel lobby door at 10:25 promptly. I’m already in the limo. Black, of course, with all the trimmings. I’m not hugely material, but when I buy something, I usually go for the best. The limo is no exception. Rayne sits opposite me, her eyes widening as she ogles the luxury. The limo’s almost a motorhome complete with a marble table, a bar with crystal glasses and decanter, recessed lighting, and black leather and wood interior. A DVD player sits in a recessed shelf below a huge flat screen TV. A Journey song plays through Bose speakers.
I nod at Rayne and hold up my hand, signaling quiet as I finish my call to the hospital.
“Anything you can share would be great. I owe you one big-time, man.” I listen for another minute then ring off. “Sasha’s fully conscious and asking for us. They tell me the surgery was a success. Now, all we have to do is pray she doesn’t contract a supervirus.”
Rayne says nothing for a beat. A frown knits her brow.
“What’s on your mind?” Usually, I’m not this direct, but I’m learning the direct approach works best with Rayne.
She gives me a small half smile. “One of those things I’m probably best to keep to myself.”
Now, she can’t possibly believe she’s going to drop that little bombshell, and I’ll just let it go. “Yeah? Who told you that?” I fully expect her to name her damned stepfather.
“ES. He said I ask too many questions.” She gives a rueful smile. “And my Gran. She said people don’t like my questions because they make them think about stuff they don’t want to think about.”
“You can ask me anything you like.”
Rayne shakes her head. “I’ve heard that before. That’s okay. I get it. I really do. I can be really annoying.” The look on her face tells me she doesn’t get it, but she believes this garbage.
“Well, I’ll get annoyed if you don’t ask. What do you want to know?”
She looks skeptical. “Okay.” She drags out the vowel sound. “I read there are a couple of different ways to do sex reassignment surgery. What way did they use?”
I want to ask her how she found out, why she cares—more curiosity about the way her mind works than anything—but figure that will shut her down. I suspect Kat is her source of information.
“I believe they used parts of her small intestine and the penile skin flaps. I’ll know more when I see her chart. Why do you ask?”
“I was just trying to figure out how they did it. None of my gay friends are transsexual.”
“Does it bother you?” The intensity behind my gaze almost scares me, but I don’t back off. I have to know. If she can’t accept Sasha, that’s that.
“Nope.” She returns my stare. “She’s your friend. Does it bother you?”
She gives nothing away, but I have the distinct impression she’s fucking with me.
“You have a lot of friends?” That certainly isn’t the impression she gives.
“Lots of gay friends. I have a lot more acquaintances than friends. When you move around as much as we have, you don’t keep a lot of friends. I’m great at engaging with people until they get to know me. Do you always avoid answering questions?”
I’m starting to get a picture of what makes Rayne so damned twitchy and insecure. I want to know more, to know everything about her. Only because it will help you as her Dom. Yeah, right. I tuck that thought in the tank where I keep other thoughts that disavow my self-deception. I’m not ready to look too closely at why I’m drawn to Rayne.
“Then what happens?”
“I usually say something that really pisses them off. Then they ignore me or worse. ES is right. I don’t know how to talk without putting both feet in my mouth.”
I plan on choki
ng this ES before I dismember him.
“If I’m going to be your Dom, we’d better get a few things straight from the get-go. I have zero tolerance for obfuscation or dishonesty. I want you to be yourself.”
She thrusts that defiant little chin in the air, bounces, and knocks her fists together in her lap. “So what happens when I piss you off, too?”
“Be yourself, and you won’t. If I’m pissed off, I’ll tell you. I expect the same from you.”
My majordomo/chauffeur, Steve, pulls the limo up in front of Women’s College Hospital and opens the rear door.
“I expect we’ll be an hour or two, Steve. I’ll text when we’re ready.”
Steve is a man of few words. He dons his baseball cap, hikes up his jeans, gets in the limo, and drives away.
I grab Rayne’s hand and turn her toward me. I brush a finger through the curls bouncing across her forehead. “I’m not sure what to expect here. It’s not my area of medical expertise. We’re just lucky that the plastic surgeon on call when we brought Sasha in is experienced in reassignment surgery.”
“Is he any good?” She gives my hand a squeeze.
“She. And I don’t know. We’re about to find out.” I head off in the direction of the ICU.
The unit nurse directs us to Sasha’s private room after several severe admonishments about not upsetting “him” or talking about “his” surgery. Rayne steps in front of me before I have the chance to get up close and very personal with the bitch.
“Do me a favor and stop calling her ‘him.’ You’ve got some nerve talking to us about upsetting her. Where do they train you people?”
Ouch. I stand back as Rayne tears a strip off Nurse Ratched, who just doesn’t know when to keep her mouth shut. Rayne seems happy to give her a lesson in proper patient care. Her diatribe won’t do us any favors, but I enjoy the display. I like how she leaps to the defense of the underdog.
Rayne’s tone suddenly softens. “Look, I know you’re doing your best. I just want the best for our friend, and she’ll be very unhappy if you call her ‘him.’” Rayne sticks her small hand toward the nurse and smiles the winning smile that could melt hearts. “Truce?”
Rage (A Jaden Rayne Adventure Book 1) Page 16
