by Jane Henry
He grabbed his phone, and plugged in Lanie’s number, then sent her a simple one-word message:
Brat.
He found himself looking forward to her reply in a way he hadn’t looked forward to anything recently. He shoved himself to his feet, stuck the phone in his pocket, and headed out to the gym, only vaguely aware that he was whistling while he did it.
Chapter 2
Elena absentmindedly picked up the glass Alice handed to her, thanked her with a distracted nod, and took a sip. She practically spit it out, sputtering and coughing, as she flagged Alice down.
“Alice, what is this shit?” she asked, her nose wrinkled in disgust, slamming the traitorous glass on the small table. She was sitting in the main bar at The Club, her friend Hillary on her left and Hillary's boyfriend Matteo on the right. Hillary, a small, pixie-like blonde, widened her eyes at Elena's reaction. Matteo, Hillary's large, tattooed, Italian boyfriend, feigned a cough, covering up a snort of laughter. Elena frowned as her brother Alex—known here at The Club as Slay—pulled a chair out, turned it around, and straddled it.
“That, baby sister, is called a Shirley Temple,” he said with a frown. “Otherwise known as The Drink that Girls who Drive Themselves Home After Hours get after they've had two mixed drinks.” His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed at her. “And if I'd seen you order the second, you'd have been drinking ginger ale with fancy fucking cherries after the first.”
Elena threw up her hands in disgust. “For crying out loud, Alex! Are you for real?”
Hillary's brows shot up as she daintily wiped her mouth with a cocktail napkin. “He's for real, honey. And anyway, don't feel so bad. You get used to the virgin cocktails after a while.”
It had only been seven months since Hillary had had her first baby, and tonight they were having a bit of a reunion. Hillary took a sip of her beer. “God, that's good,” she breathed. “It's been way too long.”
Elena frowned at her. “Thanks, babe. Rub it in, why don’tcha?”
Since Alice, the waitress serving drinks, was Slay's girlfriend, Elena was screwed. And part of her knew he was right anyway. If any of the girls who came to her at Centered, the women's center where she volunteered, asked her how many drinks were enough, she'd have firmly told them never to drive under the influence, and to exercise caution when drinking, but part of her rebelled against being told what to do. Five years her senior, Slay had always been her protector, and even though she was now twenty-seven years old, he still hovered like some overgrown masculine version of a mother hen.
It was only in recent months Elena had taken to coming to The Club anyway, and she wondered for the umpteenth time why she didn't just pack it up and go hang with her girls somewhere else. In the Hub of Downtown Boston, there was no shortage of places to go. But here, at The Club, she'd made friends with Alex's buddies—Hillary and Matteo, Matteo's twin brother Dominic and his wife Heidi, and their younger brother Tony and his girlfriend Tessa. They were awesome people, all into mild kink that totally pushed Elena's buttons, and if Elena really had to admit the truth, she sorta liked that coming to The Club was safe. She was protected, and didn't have to worry about losers hitting on her. No one would think to harm a hair on Alexander Slater's sister's head, though his protection had a certain downside. She hadn't been approached by a guy since she stepped foot in The Club.
“Elena, for God's sake, how many times do I have to tell you not to park your car on the street?” growled a familiar, gritty, pissed-off voice. Elena reached for the fucking useless Shirley Temple, and grimaced as she took a pull of the virgin drink.
“Why, hello there Blake,” she said with mock-pleasantness as he approached their table. She saluted him with a cherry skewered with a toothpick, grinning her most charming smile as he glowered at her, and then popped the cherry in her mouth, crunching it between her teeth.
Blake, owner of The Club, stood a few feet away, dark blue eyes boring into hers. His dark beard was fuller as of late, peppered with silvery gray that matched the silver at his temples and accentuated the blue of his eyes. A tall man, muscular and well built, he was the stern, protective, father figure of the group, Master Blake to all who worked there. Tonight he wore a button-down blue shirt stretched across his massive chest, and well-worn jeans that hugged his hips, upon which his hands now anchored as he glared.
Blake had been the grumpy sort even before he'd lost his wife, but since she’d passed, he'd been a veritable bear.
Needs to get laid, Elena thought to herself, hiding a smirk. “Cool your jets, Oscar the Grouch,” Elena muttered. “You know I like to park on the street because I don't belong in the employee parking lot, and unless you want to hire me, I have no plans on parking where I don't belong.”
She met his gaze unflinchingly, ignoring how Alex stiffened, Hillary drew in breath, and Matteo snickered. This was about her and Blake, and she wasn't gonna cave. People did not talk back to Master Blake. Even Slay, who deferred to no one, looked up to him as his mentor.
“Elena,” Slay warned, as Blake's eyes narrowed.
“You should hire her,” Matteo said, taking a swig of his beer. “Honest to God, she'd make a kickass domme. You ever tied a guy up, Elena?”
Elena grinned, and tapped her glass to Matteo's beer. “Pulling out the red stilettos and leather mini skirt tonight, Matt,” she said. “Why didn't I ever think of that?”
“Stereotype much?” Hillary said with a giggle, but Slay and Blake were unmoved.
Elena took another sip of her sweet drink, and met Blake's eyes. “What do you say, old man? Wanna take me on? Hire me as Dungeon Mistress? Ever fancy being tied up by a woman in stilettos? I'm sure I could swing a mean whip. Hell, it might even help you loosen up a bit.”
Hillary choked on her drink, Matteo coughed again, while Slay marched to her side and Blake's eyes narrowed.
“You're lucky she's your sister, Slater,” Blake growled. “I make it a rule never to mingle with guests, but so help me God, if she wasn't your sister, I'd spank her impertinent little ass 'til she couldn't sit for a week.” Slay had reached Elena's side and squeezed her shoulder in warning.
“Normally, I'd tell any guy who wanted to lay hands on her to take a fucking leap,” Slay growled. “But Jesus, Blake, I'm about ready to hold her down for you myself.”
Elena rolled her eyes. “Shaking in my boots,” she muttered, as she watched Blake turn on his heel and storm off. She ignored the pulsing between her legs, and wished she could blame the heat that rose in her chest on the alcohol. Given that it was nothing but sugar and ice, there was only one thing she could blame, and he'd just stormed off to his office. With a scowl, she grabbed Slay's beer bottle and took a pull, earning a heated glare, before handing it back. Time to go home.
Elena stood to leave, giving her brother a quick hug. Matteo led Hillary to the back, to check his hours before they took off, while Alex walked with her to the exit, when his phone buzzed.
“Gotta take this,” he said, putting the phone up to his ear. “You good?”
Elena rolled her eyes. “I can cross the street by myself, Alex,” she said with a sigh.
He narrowed his eyes at her, shaking his head, but turned his attention to the phone in his hand, as she made her way to the exit. She didn't even have a buzz going, thankyouverymuch, and was not looking forward to the evening ahead. Her regional certification testing was due the following Saturday, and she was knee-deep in reviewing for the major exam. The material she had to review was always incredibly boring. Her everyday work as a labor and delivery nurse kept her up-to-date with the practices she needed to know, but the details of more recent procedures were still vague. She'd have several hours of studying to put in that night, followed by a full shift at the hospital starting at seven a.m. the next day, and then a solid shift of volunteering at Centered the following afternoon. She sighed. Her one free night had gone off with a veritable bang.
The bouncer opened the enormous steel exit door with a nod, and Elena sl
ipped past. Her stomach growled in hunger as she made her way to her car, reminding her that she hadn't eaten dinner. She sighed as she clicked the button on her key ring to disengage her car alarm, and then jumped as the lights flicked on, revealing a dark figure leaning up against the hood of her car. She straightened her shoulders, holding her keys the way she'd been trained at the safety seminar at work, finger above the panic button so that if anyone made a move, she could hit the alarm and hopefully scare them away. But having grown up on the streets of New York City, she could defend herself if necessary, and was not afraid of confrontation.
Who was that big guy leaning up against her car? And why her car? But as she drew near, she exhaled in relief. The familiar stark blue eyes met hers in the dim glow from the streetlights.
“Elena.”
“Blake,” she said with a nod. Though part of her longed to call him what the others at the Club did—Master Blake (what would it be like to call someone master?)—she couldn't quite bring herself to say the words. “What's up?” she asked, unlocking the car, yanking open the passenger door, and putting her purse on the seat. His brows shot up.
“Tell me you don't drive through the streets of Boston with your bag on the passenger seat,” he said, a look somewhere between sternness and shock crossing his features.
She blinked. “Okay. I don't drive through the streets of Boston with my bag on the passenger seat.”
He frowned. “For real?”
She let out a breath of exasperation. “Um, I do, yes. How else can I reach what I need at the lights?”
He growled. “A girl like you, growing up with Slater in New York City, and you don't know better than to leave your bag where anyone can just reach in and grab it?”
She shrugged. “I lock my door.”
He raised a brow.
“Look, did you just come out here to give me shit about where I place my bag and where I park again? Or did you have another purpose?”
He pushed himself to standing, his brows furrowed. The chill spring air made her shiver. She wondered briefly if it were just the cold that made her shiver, then quickly discarded the notion as he stepped closer. “I just wanted to apologize. I came on really strong in there and shouldn't have said what I did.”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fair enough. Come out to apologize, and get on my case. Great.” Even as she talked, she wanted to stop herself, close her mouth, shake her own shoulders. What was it about this infuriating man that brought out the bitch in her? She sighed. “But I'm not sure what you're apologizing for.”
He stepped closer to her. She could smell the faint scent of him, strong and masculine, woodsy and clean. His hands were on his hips, and he watched her with his piercing blue eyes as he neared, the blue making his rugged face younger-looking. They were hypnotizing. Her breath caught in her throat. He was much larger up close than she'd remembered, and for the umpteenth time, she rued the day that her older brother got every one of the “Slater enormity” genes. Though she stood as tall as she could, she was still slight in stature, and had to fairly crane her neck to look up to Blake.
Blake cleared his throat. Was he… nervous? Or was it something else?
They were so close now she could see the flecks in his deep blue eyes, the wrinkles on either side indicating a man of experience, humor, and emotion. Her eyes traveled down, taking in the wide expanse of his shoulders, the triangle of white t-shirt at the very top of his blue button-down, the way his jeans hugged his hips, his shirt tucked into his trim waist. Her breath caught. Way to go, Elena. Gawk like a fucking schoolgirl.
Jesus, the boys she’d dated in college suddenly seemed… juvenile.
Damn, why did she have to feel intimidated? She was used to alpha males, having been practically raised by her brother, king of the alphas himself. Though her father had been a certifiable asshole, she'd spent her entire childhood around Alex and his gritty, fearless friends, then later his Marine buddies. She was no stranger to men who were larger than life. So why did Blake make her nervous? She tossed her chin, grateful for the protection of the swath of long, black hair that swung in front and momentarily blurred her vision.
He cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize for saying I'd spank your ass.”
A nervous laughed bubbled up, covering the heat that rose to her chest and the pounding of her heart. Fuck, the words spanking your ass in that deep, gritty voice of his did wonderful, terrible things to her body. The very idea of Blake holding her over his lap sent delicious shivers down her spine. Her eyes fell on the wide leather belt at his hips. She swallowed with effort.
Elena had to play it off, or she would lose whatever footing she had with him. “Whatever,” she said, with a shake of her head. “You know Alex would kick your ass if you laid a finger on me. But anyway, I don't come here because you have awesome chicken fingers even though you do, or because your fucking Shirley Temples are so delicious which they are not. I come here because I like the people, and the kink turns me on.” She shrugged a shoulder. “So. Go ahead, tell me you'll spank my ass. I'm hardly going to report you to Feminists R' Us or anything. I know you're full of shit anyway.”
The second the words left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. His eyes darkened, his jaw clenched, and she could feel the heat of his eyes focus on her. She swallowed, ashamed of herself, as he took another step toward her.
“Am I?” he said, his voice impossibly deeper, challenging, and her mind played out the scene. He would grab her by the wrist, spin her around, and bend her over his knee…
She swallowed. “Of course,” she whispered, meeting the challenge in his eyes as she lifted her chin defiantly. “I know you're all talk, old man.”
Why did she feel the need to drive the barb home? His eyes flickered a moment before he responded.
“Old man?” he said, stepping so close now she looked up at him, so close she could almost taste him and fuck she wanted to. “You're right,” he said in a low growl. “I am an old man.” His voice was low and edgy, a deep rumble she felt in her toes. “I'm old enough to be your father. You'll do well to remember that.”
Why the fuck did he have to go and ruin everything?
“You're nothing like my father,” she hissed.
His brow furrowed. “Didn't say I was,” he retorted.
God, what a dumbass. Why did she say anything at all? She cleared her throat.
“Well, thank you, I think, for whatever it is you came out here for, but I need to get home. While I'm at it, I'll drive recklessly through the streets of Boston with my purse on prominent display.” She shoved past him, suddenly pissed at him, wanting to tell him to fuck the hell off.
She heard him behind her now, as he stalked back to The Club. “Sure thing,” he said. “You have a good night, Elena,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
And with that, he was gone.
She berated herself all the way to the intersection right before she got home. Alex would be pissed at the way she’d bitched at Blake. Blake was someone he looked up to, and there was no one in the entire world she loved more than her brother. It was with great reluctance that Alex allowed her to go to The Club to begin with, with no small thanks to Alice pleading for her. “With you, and all of us there, there's no place safer in Boston than The Club,” she'd told Alex, and it was a good point.
Alex had reluctantly agreed, though he was still ridiculously over-cautious. It had taken six months before he'd okayed her going past the front part of The Club where everyone met, and getting more than a passing glance at the main bar, or the “big kids' table,” Alice called it. (Of course, Elena wasn’t alone in this. Alice had told Elena how Slay had made her work the front for months before she'd finally gained access to the real part of The Club, where all the action happened, too.) It had taken another six months before Elena had finally taken part in a scene, and only because Alex hadn’t been on for that night, and Matteo had been acting as Dungeon Master. Slay had just about flipped his lid when he
found out she was engaging in scenes, and they'd had an epic throwdown. Fortunately, she'd emerged the decided victor, mostly because of Alice going to bat for her again. “You can't discourage her from looking into the lifestyle the very people she spends time with eat, breathe, and sleep.” Again, a good point.
Elena picked up her phone from where it sat on the passenger seat, noting with childlike glee that she'd gotten her way with the over-the-top protective Blake. Dangerous, my ass, she thought, then realized she was silently telling off a man who was miles away, and shook her head. She hit speed-dial, hoping to catch Alice on a break, but it went to her voice mail. She sighed, tossing the phone back on the seat. She needed to talk to someone. Someone who would listen and understand.
Picking her phone up again, she went for the second number on speed-dial, Hillary's sister Heidi, another member of The Club, submissive to her husband Dom. In the past year, as Elena had gotten to know Heidi, she'd been grateful for her friendship. She was the only one in the group who was married, and Elena admired the depth of her relationship with her husband. She'd been submissive to him from the very beginning, and the two of them positively doted on each other. Elena was drawn to them, as she wanted what they had so deeply, and Heidi, being older than Elena and more experienced in so many ways, felt like a big sister.
Heidi picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Heidi,” Elena said, pulling to a stop at a red light.
“Elena! How's it going, honey?”
Elena felt sudden tears blur her vision, and she blinked them angrily away. God, was she hormonal or something? Why did the tenderness in Heidi's voice make her want to cry?
“Hey,” she said, hiding her emotion with forced cheerfulness. “Just wanted to call and say hi. Haven't seen you guys for a while and I'm about to settle in for a night of thrilling studying.”
