The Fight Club - Boxed Set

by Becca Jameson

  What a day.

  Chapter Five

  Sabrina stared at her computer screen, wishing she could concentrate on her work. She had deadlines to meet. Freelance editors did not get paid unless they actually returned the editing to the client.

  She blinked, trying to focus. Even two cups of coffee did nothing to help her stay on task.

  It had been five days since her run-in with Conner. Five very long days. And nights.

  She hadn’t slept well. Conner’s words kept running through her head over and over like a broken record.

  He didn’t make your panties wet and your nipples bead like they are now, did he?

  Infuriating man.

  He’d laid no claim on her for himself, and yet he’d made it perfectly clear he didn’t like her seeing Doug. She didn’t get the feeling he knew Doug or enough about the man to warn her off him for some reason. Nope. Conner Bascott had simply destroyed that relationship with no motive.

  Unless he did have a motive, and that motive was to have Sabrina for himself. If that was the case, however, then why act like such an ass?

  And she had to admit, if she stepped back, Conner had not been responsible for the demise of her relationship with Doug. Not even close. Sabrina alone held the blame. She was the one who stopped their scene when she could no longer give it her entire attention. She was the one who turned down Doug’s suggestion they go out again after dinner last Sunday. She was the one who ignored his calls until she finally broke down on Tuesday and answered the phone to break things off with him.

  She couldn’t pin any of that on Conner.

  But oh how she tried. Damn him for shaking up her perfectly good life accepting the status quo.

  He thought she was too young. Ha.

  She had more experience with submission than most of the women who belonged to his club. It was by sheer coincidence she’d never been to Extreme. She’d been a member of another club across town for several years.

  Sabrina had known she was submissive since she was about fourteen, more than twelve years ago, when she discovered the Story of O at a neighbor’s house where she babysat. Needless to say, she sat for that family happily dozens of times, slowly devouring every bit of the book after the kids went to bed.

  It wasn’t that she was a masochist. In fact, she’d learned over the course of several years she didn’t care much for the harsher elements of BDSM, but she knew she was submissive without a doubt from the moment she’d entered her first club at eighteen and submitted to a well-established Dom who agreed to take her under his wing and introduce her to his world.

  That first Dom had been twice her age, almost forty, which was significant for someone her age at the time. But she’d always considered herself an old soul and wasn’t bothered by the man’s age or the looks people gave them.

  In the end, she’d fallen hard for him and his style of domination, and he’d broken her heart when he ended things about six months into the relationship. She shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d told her from the beginning he enjoyed training women, but had no desire to engage in anything permanent. The moment she told him how she felt about him, he broke things off.

  For a while she’d been lost, but she was a strong person. She threw herself into her studies and stayed away from relationships until she graduated from college.

  Editing had fallen into her lap by accident. One of her professors noticed her affinity for good grammar and punctuation and encouraged her to make some money on the side editing for other students. That decision had changed her life.

  Her degree in political science was immediately stuffed in a back corner when she graduated. By then she had enough clients who needed editing work that she gave up her plans for law school in order to follow her new dream.

  When she moved on from student essays to editing for romance authors, her life was complete. The idea of getting paid to read novels all day made her the happiest person alive. Under most circumstances, she couldn’t wait to get up in the morning, pour her coffee, and sit at her computer to immerse herself in fantasy.

  Until this week.

  Again, damn that man and his ability to leak into her every thought while she was supposed to be working.

  Sabrina stood and paced the room for several long strides so she could loosen up and straighten out her head. A slight ping told her she had a new e-mail. Why she kept the volume on, she had no idea. It was annoying as hell. Especially on days when she received far too many e-mails.

  She sat in her ergonomic chair, the one she’d invested a fortune in, and opened the browser.

  And then she froze.

  Dr. Conner Bascott.

  Shit.

  She hadn’t decided yet if she wanted him to contact her with every ounce of her being or if she wanted to throw hot lava on him and walk away. And there he was.

  With shaky fingers, she opened the e-mail, totally aware of the way her heart pounded to read his every word, no matter what he might have to say.

  Sabrina,

  Lunch. King Pizza. Noon tomorrow.

  Conner

  Sabrina stared at the message forever. Short and…weird. Demanding while being soft at the same time. After all, he used his first name. And hers. He’d never used his first name with her. She’d known it from his university bio, but she’d always called him Dr. Bascott or Professor Bascott.

  What made the infuriating man think she was available for lunch tomorrow?

  She considered stomping up and down and pulling her hair out.

  Damn him.

  Her emotions were all over the place—as usual where Dr. Bascott was concerned. She wanted to both throttle the man and fuck him again at the same time.

  So bossy—which she loved and hated. In eight years she had never been with a Dom who was as blatantly controlling as Conner Bascott. Nor had she been with a Dom who made her panties wet every time she thought about him.

  And lately that was all the time.

  She needed to work.

  She closed the e-mail without answering it and opened the manuscript she was supposed to be editing.

  Focus.

  Think about the e-mail tomorrow.

  »»•««

  At eleven fifty on Thursday morning, Sabrina sat in her car staring at the entrance to King Pizza. Really? Did the man have to pick this spot of all places? What was he trying to say?

  She’d gone back and forth ten times trying to decide if she should show up or not. She had not responded to his e-mail. Let him wonder.

  Even at this late hour, she was still uncertain about facing Conner and what she might say. The majority of her uncertainty stemmed from the fact she couldn’t imagine what he might say first. And she seriously doubted she would have the first or last word.

  She considered entering the restaurant late, but thought better of it. If he was the sort of Dom she suspected he was, he wouldn’t tolerate tardiness.

  Taking a deep breath, she stepped from the car into the October Vegas sun. It was warm out. She smoothed her hands down her T-shirt and smiled to herself. She had intentionally not dressed well. Jeans and the standard white tee were as far as she’d been willing to go this morning. Defiant? Yes. But the idea of putting a lot of effort into her appearance for this meeting made her cringe. She didn’t want to play that card and make him think she cared prematurely.

  She wasn’t altogether sure she did care yet. Depended on the next several minutes.

  When she entered the crowded pizza joint, she scanned the room. She didn’t see him.

  For the first time in twenty-four hours, it occurred to her he might not be there since she didn’t answer him. That possibility hadn’t really entered her mind.

  She stood tall and confident, focusing on her hands to avoid wringing them together or fisting them at her sides. The last thing she wanted was to appear weak.

  Weak had never described her. Not in any aspect of her life and not with any Dom. Until Conner. The blasted man brought out a strange
side of her—one she hadn’t known existed.

  He caused her to feel discomposed. Apprehensive. And she hated it.

  “Just one?” a waitress questioned as Sabrina lifted onto her toes and glanced around again.

  “Umm.” She turned to the bleach-blonde, older woman, unsure how to respond. “I’m meeting someone. Though we may have gotten our signals crossed.”

  The woman smiled. “You want me to seat you? Or would you rather wait?”

  Sabrina considered her options and decided standing in the doorway waiting for Conner to show was wimpy. Nope. She needed to sit in order to avoid fidgeting. Hell, she needed a glass of wine ASAP to calm her nerves no matter what the day’s outcome was. “I’ll sit. Thanks.”

  “Follow me.” The woman nodded toward the room at large and turned.

  Sabrina trailed behind, trying to avoid looking around again. If he were there, she’d have spotted him.

  “This okay?” the kind woman asked. She glanced at the door. “Your friend should be able to easily spot you from here.”

  “It’s fine. Thanks.” Sabrina passed the waitress and sat on the opposite side of the booth so she could see the front door.

  “You want me to get you a drink while you wait?”

  “Please. The house Merlot would be perfect.”

  The blonde tapped the table. “Be right back.”

  The kind woman smiled and then walked away.

  Sabrina did her best to sit still. It was rare in her twenty-six years, but whenever she found herself in an uncomfortable situation, she always had trouble staying calm.

  Now was definitely one of those times.

  The sweet waitress returned with her wine. “Anything else?”

  “No. Thanks. I’ll look over the menu. If he doesn’t show, I’ll just enjoy lunch alone.” Sabrina smiled at the woman to ensure her she wasn’t a flight risk as far as eating and taking up space was concerned.

  “Okay. I’ll check with you in a few. Take your time.”

  There was no need to look at the menu. She knew it by heart. She’d been to King Pizza dozens of times. If Conner stood her up, she’d order a salad. If he showed…she probably wouldn’t be able to swallow.

  The best course of action was to pretend to look over the menu. Sitting up straight, she sipped her wine and leaned her face toward the plastic-coated list of pizzas, toppings, pastas, and salads.

  At ten after twelve, she began to doubt he would arrive.

  Interesting. Was he testing her? Or did he not show because she never responded? Probably the latter. However, on her behalf, he didn’t asked for a response. He simply presented her with a demand.

  She kept half an eye on the front door. No Conner Bascott.

  Her wine glass was half empty when a hand landed on her shoulder and gripped it before she lifted her gaze and Conner released her to slide onto the bench across from her.

  She took another fortifying sip and swallowed.

  “Do I make you nervous, Ms. Duluth?”

  He did. “No, Sir.” She flinched. Why had she chosen to call him Sir without him requesting it? She wished she could suck the word back as soon as it left her lips and refer to him as Professor or Dr. Bascott or even Conner. Anything but Sir. It presumed too much.

  He smiled and set his elbows on the table, narrowing his gaze at her. “You’re a crappy liar, Sabrina.”

  She knew that. In fact, even though she’d been born and raised in Vegas, she’d never gambled. Not with money anyway. She didn’t respond.

  “Let’s start over.”

  Where? Nine months ago, before he’d acted like she had the plague for the entire semester? Two months ago when he’d fucked her in the bathroom of this very establishment? Two weeks ago when she’d shown up at Extreme? Last Friday when they’d fought in his car?

  “You’re a crappy liar, baby.” His voice was lower. The way he said baby made her panties wet.

  Oh. That. So they were going back thirty seconds to start over. She swallowed again and nodded. “Always have been.”

  He smiled. “That’s better. I don’t tolerate lying.”

  She didn’t move, except to grip her pussy tight and squeeze her legs together. Otherwise, she didn’t even blink above the table.

  Holy shit.

  He had her number.

  The waitress returned. “He showed up. You didn’t have your days mixed up after all.” She beamed, and Sabrina turned to see her smiling broadly. “Can I get you a drink?” she asked, meeting Conner’s gaze.

  “Iced tea, please. No sugar.”

  “Got it.” The blonde turned and walked away.

  Sabrina’s face flamed.

  Conner lifted an eyebrow. “You lied to the waitress too?”

  Sabrina stared at him, and then she swallowed the last of the wine and set the glass on the table, glancing up to see if the sweet woman who had currently gotten her in trouble was still around.

  “That’s enough wine, baby. It’s noon. And you drove here.”

  What the hell? Now he was going to tell her what to drink?

  She squeezed her legs tighter, fighting the opposing sensations between her body’s traitorous reactions to him and her brain telling her to run away fast and never look back.

  Her body won.

  For now.

  “You’re squirming,” he stated.

  She wasn’t. Was she?

  She set her hands on her thighs under the table and squeezed, hoping to keep her legs from bouncing up and down if that was in fact the cause of his observation. She’d been known to shake her legs under the table. A nervous habit.

  “Look at me.”

  She jerked her gaze back to him, kicking herself for her instant reaction.

  He smiled. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  Where? Where are we getting? As far as Sabrina could tell, the only place she was “getting” was aroused and frustrated. And how had the tables turned on her so abruptly? The last two times she’d been in his presence had gone poorly. Now this?

  “You didn’t respond to my e-mail.”

  She licked her lips. She needed to speak. “You didn’t require a response.”

  “Touché.”

  “It looked like nothing more than a demand to me.”

  His smile grew wider. “And you followed my directive. I like that.”

  She needed to keep her mouth shut.

  “Tell me something.”

  “Yes?”

  “Is it true you only took that one class at the university last semester?”

  “Of course.” She furrowed her brow. “Why?”

  He stared at her. “So you aren’t currently enrolled in any classes?”

  She shook her head. “No. Why?”

  “It’s unethical for a teacher to date a student.”

  “Of course.” Her voice dipped lower as she spoke. He was simply covering his bases. That was reasonable. He should. She didn’t want to get him into any trouble. He may be an infuriating man, but she had no intention of doing anything to threaten his career.

  “Why did you follow me Friday night?” He startled her with this new line of questioning.

  Hadn’t they already covered this ground? “I was angry.”

  “Why did you follow me, Sabrina?”

  She hesitated. He was astute.

  “Baby,” he lowered his voice. “Why. Did. You. Follow. Me?”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and then met his gaze. “Curiosity.”

  “That’s better.” He gave her one of his smiles, the kind that melted her a little. “Are you always this nervous?”

  Damn his questions. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  He sat back a few inches when the waitress returned with his tea and a water. “Do you need a few minutes?” she asked, pulling a pad of paper out of her apron.

  Conner shifted his gaze to the woman. “What are your specials today?”

  The woman easily rattled off some sort of pasta dish
while Sabrina kept her gaze on Conner. The last thing she had any interest in was food.

  “Perfect. We’ll have two of those.”

  Sabrina flinched. Did he just order for me?

  God.

  The man was so exasperating.

  “Where were we?” he asked, ignoring the fact he’d made a decision for her without knowing the first thing about her likes and dislikes. Hell, he didn’t even know if she had an allergy. “Oh, right. I make you nervous,” he stated.

  “You do not,” she lied.

  He narrowed his gaze again.

  She bit her lip. Fuck.

  Half of her wanted to run from the restaurant. Who cared if King Pizza was the best in town? She could live without pizza for the rest of her life. Easy.

  “Baby, our progress is very slow here.” He shook his head in dismay. “Do we have to go back to the lying? Why is it so difficult to admit what you’re feeling?”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re irritating?”

  He chuckled. “Many times. In fact, several in the last few days.”

  “Well, they weren’t kidding. Do you always sit down with a woman and start a conversation with a series of demands?”

  He leaned closer. “Only when I know it’s what she wants and needs.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Damn it. “Shit.” She turned her gaze to the table.

  “What did I say about cussing?”

  She pursed her lips together and met his gaze again. “Dr. Bascott, I don’t remember agreeing to any sort of arrangement between us that limits what I can and can’t say.”

  “You didn’t have too, Ms. Duluth. Your agreement is obvious by your body language and the look on your face. Deny it?”

  She didn’t move an inch to respond. Shit. Again.

  “I cuss, Sir.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “It’s not something I can stop on a dime,” she retorted. “Especially when I’m so frustrated.”

  “You’ll find a way, or you’ll find it difficult to sit.” His words were pointed, and his gaze dug deep.

  Sabrina almost moaned. How humiliating? She squeezed her legs for the third time. Tighter. To no avail. Her pussy soaked her jeans, and her clit begged to be released from the denim confines.