Master of the Mountain

by Cherise Sinclair

  Now Jake frowned. “Seems like that might be one of those…ah, shareable facts. Who knows? Maybe she'd be willing to risk it.”

  “I'm not,” Logan snapped. Not willing to discuss it, not willing to risk it. His hands fisted every time he thought of what he might have done, especially since she'd actually awoken him from a nightmare. Twice, no less.

  It was amazing that he hadn't hit her or tried to… Logan rose to his feet.

  “What?” Jake tilted his head.

  “She actually managed to wake me up from nightmares twice without me knocking her across the room.”

  “Did she now? Huh.”

  Logan rubbed his jaw. “How did she do that? You never could.”

  Jake thought for a moment. “Your nightmares might be mellowing, or you might trust her.”

  “Might be either.

  “You know, you don't yell at night anymore,” Jake said, tipping his head back against the chair. “Or sleepwalk either.”

  “No, thank God.” Blood and death still reigned in his dreams, but at least he woke up in his own bed. He'd never thought much about it. “The nightmares themselves never seemed to improve,” he said slowly, “but maybe they don't affect me as much.”

  “That'd be my guess.”

  But could he trust himself not to hurt her? He slammed the hope down. Just because she'd survived him twice didn't mean shit. He shook his head. “No, I don't—”

  “Bro,” Jake interrupted. “You didn't kill the little redhead, and she was in bed with you. Hell, I stood all the way across the room and you came after me.”

  Logan's eyes narrowed. Dammit, he wanted her, wanted her with him, in his bed, in his arms. But he needed to know he wouldn't hurt her. He eyed his brother. “You feeling brave, bro?”

  * * * * *

  After forcing himself to watch a war movie, something he normally avoided because they inevitably gave him nightmares, Logan had gone to bed.

  Hot, dry air and sweat tricking down his back. The rattle of the gun truck bumping along the road, soldiers on each side, facing outward. Screaming. An insurgent runs at them and is cut down by two of the soldiers. Before the body hits the ground, it blows in a ghastly splatter of red and flesh and—

  A loud slam. “Die!”

  Logan jerked upright.

  Grinning like a jackass, his brother casually leaned against the door frame. The door still shuddered against the wall.

  Logan rubbed his face, feeling the sweat. “Die?”

  “Seemed like a good word to set you off.” Jake scratched his back on the wood. “Didn't work, though. Night, bro.”

  “Night.” Logan dropped back onto the bed, adrenaline coursing through his veins like he'd chugged at least five cups of coffee. “Thanks.” I think.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The weeks since Rebecca had returned to San Francisco had been busy. She should have been too busy to think about mountains or vacations…or men who didn't want her. And still at far-too-frequent intervals, a feeling would sweep through her as if she'd forgotten something or left something behind. She'd stop and check. Key in purse, purse on shoulder.

  At first, she thought she missed her apartment, but she really didn't. Her job? But resigning had brought her nothing but relief. So she had to face the facts. She missed the mountain and the lodge so much that the memories were like a heavy ball in her stomach. When she cooked, she kept setting tidbits aside for Thor.

  And when she thought of Logan—she tried really, really hard not to think of him—she wanted to go back to him so badly, she'd actually had her car keys in her hand a couple of times. At night, she'd roll over, seeking his warmth, needing his arms around her. How she could miss someone she'd known less than a week didn't make any sense. Yet everywhere she went, she listened for his deep voice.

  She'd bought five flannel shirts her first week back in San Francisco.

  Truly pathetic, Rebecca. With a sigh of exasperation, Rebecca walked out of her temporary bedroom and into Pepper's living room. She nodded at her tall, slender friend, glanced at the purple couch and shuddered, then dropped into a green cushiony chair. “I'm surprised your eyeballs don't bleed.”

  “Just because you look ghastly next to purple doesn't mean everyone does.” Pepper grinned and fluffed her black hair. “Are you all unpacked?”

  “All done.”

  “Jobless, apartment-less, stuff in storage. You've been busy.” Pepper walked into the tiny apartment kitchen and reappeared with two beers. “So what's next on that itemized list of yours, my artistically anal friend?”

  Rebecca swallowed some icy, dark beer. “It's mostly a list of what I don't want, so far. No more meaningless jobs. No more cities.” No more boring sex.

  “You sure you weren't doing drugs on that vacation you took?”

  Rebecca laughed. “No. Actually I painted.” And had lots and lots of sex. “That's what I plan to do now. I illustrated some children's books in college. I called up those contacts today and it looks like I can do that part-time.” Leaving the rest of the time for painting. And there was a heady satisfaction in bringing a book to life. Even better, seeing a child enjoy it. Is that a real fairy, Daddy?

  “Okay. Check mark on the work.” Pepper tapped her gold-spangled fingernails on her beer with a clinking sound. “Where are you going to live?”

  “Well, I can work anywhere as an illustrator.” Rebecca leaned her head back. “But I'm not ready to make a decision on that yet.” She could explore a new state. Go anywhere.

  She pressed her lips together. Jake mentioned the men's periodic trips to San Francisco to pick up lodge supplies and have fun. When she'd handed in the key to her apartment, she realized she'd harbored an insane hope that Logan would show up on her doorstep. He'd smile and say she owed him a blowjob. He hadn't. And now she had no doorstep for him to find. Damn you, Logan. The ache in her throat made the next swallow of beer difficult. She forced it down.

  But she did have that third item on her list to deal with. Before she headed out to some rural area where she knew no one, she needed to know if the spectacular sex with Logan was due to that Dom/sub thing or because of Logan himself. If she found another Dom, would he be just as good? She couldn't imagine it, but she couldn't ever have imagined she'd let someone tie her up, or strip her and put things…

  “Whoa, girlfriend, you just turned red.” Pepper grinned. “I think there's something you're not telling me. What exactly happened on that mountain? Besides you and Matt breaking up?”

  Rebecca felt her face growing even hotter. Then she laughed. “Gorgeous man. Hot, kinky sex.”

  Pepper blinked. “You? Kinky sex?” She set her beer down on the coffee table and leaned forward. “Tell me, and spare no detail.”

  “No details, you voyeur, but I do need your help. And it's related to kinky sex.” She eyed Pepper. Even with all the secrets they'd shared over the years, this might be embarrassing. “You pretty much know everybody in the city.”

  “Well, duh. I run a bar. Of course I know everyone.”

  “Um.” Rebecca turned the bottle in her hands. “BDSM. You know anyone who's into it? I want to go to one of the clubs and thought a…guide would be nice.”

  “Holy mother. You are absolutely not telling me that you've gotten into bondage and—” Pepper's light blue eyes widened as she stared at Rebecca. “You did. You are.” She fell back onto the sofa, laughing so violently, she choked, coughed, choked again.

  Rebecca scowled. “You know, all this shock is pretty insulting. I'm not exactly a virgin.”

  “No but—” Grasping the back of the couch, Pepper pulled herself to a sitting position. “Okay, okay, let me think. Angela. Yeah, she'd get a kick out of showing you around. You met her. Lew's Christmas party, remember?”

  “Tall blonde, spiked heels, and a skintight dress?”

  “That's her. She's a Domme, so if you go with her, no one will hassle you. Unless you want them to.”

  Rebecca bit her lip and then nodded. No
point in making a journey of discovery and stopping halfway. “Call her.”

  * * * * *

  Not dawn yet. Logan opened his eyes a slit, keeping perfectly still. What had awakened him? No noise except the ever-present rumble of traffic in the fucking city.

  A cool draft of air brushed across his cheek, although he'd closed the windows before retiring. And there was too much light.

  Ah. The door to his hotel room stood ajar with the hallway light spilling around the edge. He heard the slight scrape of a shoe on carpet, coming from behind him.

  Well, hell, he had a burglar in his room.

  Adrenaline surged through his body as he forced his lungs to breathe long and slow. Still asleep, see? Come closer…

  Another breath of a noise. Logan jackknifed off the bed, tossing the covers over the intruder's head. He came up behind him, grabbed, and—

  “Fucking A.” Jake's voice. Under the quilt.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Logan smacked the top of his brother's head before yanking the blankets back off.

  “You asshole,” Jake growled. “Don't you ever sleep?”

  “You've lost your touch, bro. I could hear you from the minute you started on the door,” Logan lied. “What are you doing here?”

  Jake dropped into the chair beside the small table. “Thought I'd give you one last chance to do a freak-out.” He flicked a finger in a token salute. “You passed with flying colors, soldier.”

  “Dammit. I thought I'd get one good night's sleep, at least.” Over the last few weeks, he'd been woken up every night. Jake had done the honors at first, and then every vet in the Yosemite area had shown up to help.

  And here Jake had always said he wasn't into sadism. With a grunt of annoyance, Logan dropped down on the end of the bed. “You sticking around?”

  “I rented a room down the hall, but I'm heading back in the morning. I wanted to make sure you were all right somewhere besides your own bed.”

  “Good point. Thanks.”

  “My pleasure. Not.” Jake rubbed his head and grimaced. “Why aren't you in bed with Red?”

  Logan growled. “What kind of person disconnects their phone without leaving a forwarding number?”

  “She did what?”

  “Yeah. And her mail now goes to a PO box.”

  “She took a powder? Why?”

  “Don't know.” Logan prowled across the room, too revved to sit. “I'm damn well going to find out. When you get home, dig up the numbers for the rest of the swingers. One of them must know something, probably the asshole boyfriend.”

  “No problem.” Jake glanced at his watch. “I should be there sometime early afternoon.”

  “Good enough.” Logan dropped onto the end of the bed and looked at the clock. Two o' fucking clock in the morning. “And, Jake? The wake-up calls? Do this again, and I'll bust your face. And it won't be because of a fucking nightmare.”

  * * * * *

  “Whoa.” Rebecca walked into Dark Haven and stopped dead as a naked woman trotted past. Hard, nasty music came from the back of the nightclub. Couches and chairs scattered here and there formed tiny secluded areas. More tables and chairs sat off to one side near a long metal bar. People everywhere, the Goth look prevalent. A man walked by dressed only in tattoos and a loincloth. Lots of wrist cuffs, handcuffs, and ankle cuffs on both men and women. Some women wore getups like Angela's. Thigh-high latex boots with stiletto heels, skintight latex that pushed boobs up, metal arm vambraces. Not women you'd want to meet in a dark alley, no matter how short they were. One carried a whip clipped to her belt. Other women wore nothing but cuffs. Some went topless. There were bustiers and see-through clothing and miniskirts.

  Angela laughed and slung an arm around Rebecca. “Welcome to the weird and wonderful.”

  “No kidding.” Rebecca shook her head. “I feel like Alice in Fetishland.” Thank God she'd asked for a guide. Otherwise this place could totally overwhelm her. She'd definitely received a wonderful guide. After arriving at Pepper's with a bunch of clothing for Rebecca to try on, the Domme had dispensed fashion advice and then moral support after hearing Rebecca's story.

  Rebecca smoothed down the pleated vinyl skirt, wishing it were two or three inches longer. But at least the full skirt hid her hips fairly well, and the black corset pulled her stomach in nicely.

  Angela ran a hand down her arm. “You look divine, and I still think it's a shame you don't walk on my side of the street. Now you're going to wander around. I'm going to stand off to one side so people don't think we're together. Otherwise no Dom will approach you.”

  Rebecca glanced at the bar. A couple of beers would go down really well right now.

  Angela followed her gaze. “No alcohol for you. BDSM and impaired judgment do not go well together. Especially if you and your top don't know each other.”

  Two women brushed past, one a step behind wearing a big, buckled leather collar like Thor's. Huh. Rebecca frowned. An amazing number of people—submissives—wore collars, usually the ones accompanied by Doms. Studded leather, wide leather that kept the person's head held high, thin steel. Most had O-rings; some had chains that went to nipple clamps or wrist cuffs. Rebecca's eyes narrowed.

  That night in Logan's rooms, Jake had said something… “Gonna collar her, bro?”

  “Those collars,” Rebecca said to Angela abruptly. “What do they mean?”

  “It varies.” Angela grinned at a woman chained to the wall. “Sometimes they're just plain useful.” Then she nodded toward a gay couple. “But for people like Alan and Peter in a full-time, master-slave relationship, a collar is equivalent to a wedding ring. Or sometimes it can mean you're in a Dom/sub relationship, and you're not available. Meggie wears my collar when we come here.”

  Relationships. What had Logan said? “I'm no full-time master.”

  “It can just mean commitment. You know, going steady.”

  “Enough, asshole,” Logan had growled. “Not going to happen.”

  Rebecca fingered her neck, remembering how Logan would close his hand over her throat, never enough to cut off breathing, just enough to show his control. A collar would be a symbol of that. His control. And commitment. Why hadn't he—

  “Honey, stop thinking about the past. You're here to have fun.” Angela patted Rebecca's arm. “Remember, if it's not working for you or if you feel off, just say no. I'll be nearby.”

  Have fun. Learn something. Keep moving forward. “Thanks, Angela.”

  “Girl, you more than paid me. That picture you drew of Meggie kneeling in submission is the loveliest thing I've ever seen.” Angela gave her a wicked grin. “Besides, I enjoy watching newbies in a club. Now go find yourself a Dom.”

  Rebecca sucked in a bracing breath and headed through the crowd, trying not to openly gawk at…everything. Well-lit stages on the right and left wall had crowds around them; one had two men demonstrating how to tie a naked woman in a ka-zillion ropes and suspend her from the ceiling. The stage on the right had an elderly man wielding a whip. The cracking sound and the red welts appearing on the young man bound to a post made Rebecca's stomach twist uneasily.

  Angela said to go downstairs to meet people and actually use the equipment. Rebecca pressed a hand to her stomach to still the nervous feeling and blinked at the tight feel of the latex. After glancing over her shoulder to make sure she still had her escort, she walked down the stairs and paused on the bottom step.

  Strange equipment was set up everywhere: X-shaped frames, cross-shaped frames, sawhorselike tables. Manacles dangled from a low beam. Long, waist-high, leather-covered tables had people tied down on them. A Dom dripped wax on the bare breasts of his sub. Rebecca flinched. The music from upstairs could barely be heard over the sounds of whips and other things striking flesh and the groans, moans, and screams.

  Well, she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to do, right? She glanced around, trying to look available. “Don't approach a Dom,” Angela had advised. “All the moves are theirs.”


  As she walked through the room, men came up to her. Doms. She'd talk with them for a bit, but when they asked if she wanted to play, she turned them down. A woman hit on her, then another man. After wandering back to the manacle area, she stopped to watch. What would it be like to be the one whose arms were restrained like that? The chained woman faced the wall, and another woman in a dark red leather catsuit wielded a long stick across her back and rump, starting lightly, but now Rebecca could see the skin turning red. Her stomach quailed until she realized the sub's throaty moans were obviously not from pain.

  A man in his forties in a black suit stopped beside Rebecca, glanced at the women, then looked down at Rebecca. “Is this your first time here?”

  “Um. Yes. I don't know very much about this.” When she met his eyes, she got that sinking feeling almost like Logan gave her, only without the God-I-want-you jolt. “Um.”

  He smiled and stepped slightly closer, invading her personal space. Deliberately. Dark brown eyes watched her, reminding her so much of Logan that her breath hitched.

  When he frowned, she pushed Logan out of her mind. This Dom stood almost six feet with level, broad shoulders. Silver flecked his neatly trimmed black hair. His face appeared finely chiseled, almost aristocratic in comparison with Logan's rougher features. But he had the very same overwhelming sense of authority.

  “Are you here with someone?” His voice was deep and smooth.

  She shook her head.

  “You look like you'd like to play.” He made the statement and waited for her response.

  “Um. Yes. A bit.” I think. She bit her lip. He seemed nice and definitely experienced. Not strutting like the first Dom she'd met, and not pushing and touching right away like the second Dom. He had the confident air that Logan and Jake had, like you could toss him into any situation and he'd know what to do.

  And he watched her the same way Logan had.

  He held out his hand. “My name is Simon. I'm not new in the community if you'd like to ask around first. You need to be comfortable with whomever you choose. And start slow.”