48 Hours

by Callista Arman

  The spoon scraped the bottom of the ice cream carton. She sucked it thoughtfully. She longed to find a man who wasn’t intimidated by her brain. Maybe then she could take the edge off her sexual frustration. But she was beginning to doubt such a man existed. At least not at KK&R.

  Abruptly, she rose and padded across the plush carpet to her desk. Sinking into the chair, she powered up her computer and waited for the Internet browser to load. Once it did, she clicked over to a website she’d bookmarked earlier.

  A site devoted to Dominant/submissive sexual partnerships appeared on the screen. Maddie scrolled through, reading the bulletin board where Doms and subs posted their likes, dislikes, methods and experiences. Her pussy heated as she read one woman’s account of how her Master had punished her with a flogger for a minor infraction of his rules. Another woman described the sensation of a butt plug in her ass. Maddie shifted on her chair, her pussy juices soaking through her panties. Just reading the posts got her hornier than sex with Mike Four ever had.

  For about the millionth time, she considered looking for an online Dom. But that idea didn’t turn her on. What good was tying yourself up and making love to a computer? She wanted to hear her Master’s voice rasp in her ear, feel his hands possess her body. No, a virtual Master just wouldn’t cut it.

  She wanted the real thing.

  But did she have the guts to go after it?

  She clicked over to a link that showed a list of clubs frequented by players in the Dominant/submissive scene. Not membership-only clubs, but public establishments Doms frequented when looking for new partners. Fingers trembling, Maddie clicked on her own state and city. She knew what would come up. She’d checked out the local listings months ago. But she hadn’t seriously considered using the information until now.

  One club was only a couple of miles from her apartment, in Lakeside Heights, a very upscale neighborhood. Maddie stared at the name. Montevale’s. It sounded exotic. Dangerous. A shiver ran down her spine. She was fearless in the courtroom, but right now her courage was scarce. She couldn’t imagine how she’d manage to find the nerve to walk into that club and find herself a Dom.

  She only knew that she would.

  * * * * *

  Work sucked.

  So why did Maddie let it consume her life? The judge’s verdict had been handed down hours ago, and once again the KK&R team had won. But instead of heading home, she’d returned to the office to get a head start on her next case. Now it was past eleven and her eyes refused to focus any longer. All because she didn’t want to face an empty apartment.

  She rose, rolling her neck to release the kinks. Damn, she was tense. Jumpy. She needed a good screw. Fat chance of that happening.

  Crossing the office, she opened a mahogany cabinet, revealing a low-profile refrigerator. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she sipped it slowly. Her sexual needs wouldn’t be met anytime soon—Mike Four had informed her during today’s court recess he thought they should date other people. She’d been a little surprised at his abruptness, but she’d felt no regret. Most of their dates had been spent discussing the case they’d just won. Now that was over.

  She moved to the window and looked out over the city. Lights stretched out at her feet, spreading like a fantasy all the way to the horizon. Her office window faced north. Toward Lakeside Heights. Was one of those lights Montevale’s?

  She’d driven past the club last weekend, but hadn’t worked up the nerve to go in. She would—she’d promised herself that much. She wanted—no, needed—to explore her fascination with D/s sex. But she wasn’t a fool. Hunting for a Dom could very well be dangerous. What if she connected with a true sadist? She’d be in big trouble.

  Her belly fluttered. Strangely enough, the possible risks made the search for a Dom all the more enticing. Still, it would be idiocy to put herself completely into the hands of a stranger. She blew out a long breath, clouding the windowpane. She needed backup. Someone to accompany her to Montevale’s, help her chose the right man then follow her when she left with him. She’d feel safer knowing somebody was watching out for her.

  But who could she trust to do that?

  * * * * *

  “Help desk.”

  “Is this Patrick McIllhenny?”

  Patrick’s running shoes slid off the desk and hit on the floor with a soft thwack. “Maddie Brindisi?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” Maddie’s laugh sounded nervous. “David told me you were working evening hours today.”

  “That’s right.” He cleared his throat, which seemed to have suddenly gone dry. “Doug Ernhardt’s out sick and personnel didn’t want the evening shift left unattended.” He tried for a casual laugh, but it came out about an octave too high. “You know, you lawyers should try going home at five every once in a while.”

  “We should, shouldn’t we?” He could hear her fingers tapping on the receiver.

  “Um…what did you need, Maddie?” God, he knew what he’d like to give her.

  “I…I need your help.”

  Patrick gripped the phone receiver so tightly it was a wonder the plastic didn’t crack. “Don’t tell me that antivirus software I loaded for you failed.”

  “Oh, no! No. My laptop’s fine.”

  “Your desktop then? I’m preparing a firm-wide upgrade, but if you need something now—”

  “No, it’s not that.” A pause. “I’m not calling about a computer problem. It’s a personal matter.”

  Patrick nearly choked. A personal matter? Holy shit. “Um, what kind…I mean what can I—?”

  “I’d rather not say on the phone.” Maddie’s husky whisper made his cock twitch. Patrick nearly groaned out loud.

  “Can you meet me at that all-night café across the street?” she asked.

  Was the Pope Catholic? “Of course. I’m done here at midnight.” He checked his watch. Eleven forty-five.

  “Great. See you then.”

  A full thirty seconds passed before Patrick replaced the phone back on the cradle. Maddie Brindisi wanted to talk to him about a personal matter? At midnight?

  He couldn’t fucking believe it.

  He arrived at the café at five to twelve. Coffee wasn’t his favorite form of caffeine, but he ordered a cup anyway, just so he wouldn’t look like an idiot. Taking a seat on a slippery faux-leather couch, he tried to look nonchalant while he watched the door. The seconds ticked by. He finished his coffee and ordered another.

  Maddie arrived at twelve-twenty, pausing to send him a brief nod before heading for the sales counter.

  She’d been in court today, he knew. She wore what he thought of as her courtroom uniform—a severe navy blue suit over a white silk blouse. The hem of her slim skirt fell just below her knees. Her shoes were conservative pumps, her jewelry limited to tasteful gold. She looked every inch the no-nonsense lawyer. Except for the wispy tendrils of soft brown hair that had escaped her bun to curl against her neck. Patrick wanted to touch it. Hell, he wanted to pluck every hairpin and let the heavy mass of her glossy hair tumble over her shoulders.

  Maddie gave her order to the barista and stepped back to wait. Patrick undressed her in his mind. He shredded the navy suit and left it in tatters on the floor. Her blouse, shoes, stockings and underwear soon followed. Then, once he had her naked, he fastened an imaginary chain collar around her neck. A long leash ended in his right hand. He gave it a tug, pulling the leather taut…

  “—so I can sit down?” Maddie said.

  Patrick’s head jerked up, missing Maddie’s coffee cup by inches.

  “Whoa,” she said, stepping back. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

  “No,” he said quickly. Wake him? What kind of sorry wuss did she think he was? “No, not at all. Of course not. I was just…I mean, I was…thinking about something. And you startled me.” He tried to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. “What was it you asked me?”

  A smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “I said, could you move your legs so I can sit down?”

&nbs
p; “Oh.” He scooted back in his seat. “Sure.”

  She brushed his knees as she moved past. A whiff of perfume wafted across his nostrils. It was delicate and floral. Very feminine. Very much at odds with Maddie’s severe attire.

  He inhaled deeply.

  Maddie took the opposite end of the couch and laid her briefcase between them. Removing the plastic top from her coffee, she blew to cool it. Patrick found himself mesmerized by the sight of her pursed lips.

  “Um…you were great in court today,” he said.

  She looked at him in surprise. “You were there?”

  Ouch. He hadn’t meant to tell her that. “Yeah. I wasn’t due at the office until four, so—”

  “I can’t believe anyone would spend such a beautiful summer day in court unless they had to,” she said. “Don’t you have better things to do?”

  “I like watching lawyers in action.” Especially Maddie. “You should be happy I’ve seen you in court. You wouldn’t want me to base my opinion of your brainpower on your computer skills, would you?”

  She laughed. “No, probably not.” The tip of her pink tongue snaked out to test the temperature of her coffee.

  Patrick shifted, subtly nudging her briefcase to block her line of vision to his cock. “So. What did you want to see me about?”

  Her gaze met his. Her courtroom expression—the one that didn’t give anything away—was firmly in place. But Patrick didn’t think he was imagining the strain around Maddie’s eyes. And her makeup—what little she wore—was smeared.

  “Hey,” he said gently. “You been getting enough sleep?”

  She looked away. “Yeah, sure.”

  She was lying, but he didn’t contradict her. She tested her coffee again. Cautiously took a sip. “Well,” she said, placing the cup on the table. “I know you must be busy—”

  “Not really.”

  “—so I won’t waste too much of your time.” She clasped her hands in her lap. Patrick sensed she was trying hard not to twist her fingers together.

  She was nervous. But why? He couldn’t imagine—he’d never seen her this way. Except, maybe, in his fantasies.

  “I’d like to hire you,” she said.

  Hire him? “What, do you have a computer system at home you need to set up?”

  “No, nothing like that. I was talking about your other job. The wingman thing.”

  Patrick gulped a mouthful of coffee to cover his surprise. “You know about that?”

  “David Stein told me. He said you helped him and some of the other attorneys get…um…dates. I thought maybe you’d do the same for me.”

  Hell. “I’ve never fixed up a woman before. All my clients have been men. And anyway, what about Kellman? I thought you and he—”

  “Mike and I broke it off today.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Patrick said, even though he wasn’t. He eyed her. “So you want to get right back in the game?”

  She shifted on the couch. “Yes. But I don’t want to date another attorney. It seems all the men I know are lawyers.”

  I’m not.

  “David told me how good you are at introductions. So I thought I’d…um…give you a try.”

  Give him a try? Patrick didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He’d love for her to give him try, but not exactly in the way she was envisioning. Fix his fantasy woman up with another man? The thought made him ill. “I don’t know,” he said, racking his brain for an excuse to turn down her request.

  “David told me what you charged him. I have no problem paying the same fee.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “Unless you’re too busy. Are you helping anyone else this weekend?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  She flashed him a fake courtroom smile. “Great. It’s settled then. We just have to set the time.” She extracted a datebook from her briefcase. “Can you make Friday night?”

  No. Not only no, but hell no. He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t fix Maddie up with another guy. He opened his mouth to tell her so. Then he met her gaze and for a fleeting moment Maddie’s courtroom façade dropped. The vulnerability in her eyes struck him right to the core.

  Ah, hell. He couldn’t tell her no. It just wasn’t in him. “Yeah,” he said. “I can make Friday.”

  The smile she gave him almost made him happy. “Good. Now let’s go over the parameters.”

  What? “Parameters?”

  “Yes. First, you need to know what kind of man I’m looking for.”

  He frowned. “Usually I see who’s available, then pick the person I think will be the best match for the client.”

  “Yes, well, that’s all very well and good, but I don’t want you to waste your time looking over men I won’t bother with.”

  “Just what kind of guy are you looking for?”

  “I like tall men. Over six feet.”

  “Of course you do,” he murmured. He was five eleven.

  “Dark hair, dark eyes. Muscular, but not a gym rat.”

  No, no and no. He wasn’t any of those. “And good-looking, I suppose,” he muttered.

  If Maddie noticed his sarcasm, she didn’t let on. “That’s preferred.”

  “So you want the cliché. Tall, dark and handsome.”

  “And physically fit,” she reminded him. “I absolutely refuse to date a man with a spare tire. But no one too young. I need a mature man.” She frowned. “Well, older than Mike Four, anyway.”

  Patrick was three years younger than Kellman Four. A year younger than Maddie, in fact. Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful. His dream woman’s ideal man was exactly what Patrick wasn’t. “I think I get the picture.”

  “Good. Then there’s just one last thing to take care of.” Maddie transferred her briefcase to her lap and sprung open the clasps. “I’ll need you to sign this.” She held out some papers.

  He took them, frowning. “What is it?”

  “A confidentiality agreement. You agree to never divulge the nature of our business relationship, or any detail about said relationship to any person or publication.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Do I have to spell it out for you? It’s like this. You help me get a date, but you keep quiet about our arrangement. You do not tell anyone that I hired you, you do not tell anyone anything about what happens when we go clubbing. If you do, I sue your ass. Any questions?”

  He gave her a long, level look. “Yeah. I got a question. Why the hell are you doing this? You’re not a loser like David Stein. You’re perfectly capable of picking up your own date.”

  To his amazement, Maddie’s cheeks reddened. She looked into her coffee cup. “It’s not as easy as you might think,” she said, her voice barely audible. “It can be hard for a woman to get a decent date. Especially when she’s…”

  He waited for her to fill in the blank. She didn’t. “When she’s what?”

  Her shrug was a study in nonchalance. “Men don’t always go for my type, that’s all.”

  “And what type might that be?” He leaned forward, fascinated. This was a side of Maddie he’d never seen before. His ball-busting babe was actually unsure of herself.

  It was as appealing as all hell.

  “Smart,” she said finally.

  “What?”

  “That’s my type. Smart. Men don’t like smart women.”

  Some men, maybe. “I wouldn’t say—”

  “I almost forgot,” she interrupted. “There’s a safety issue. After you help me hook up with someone, I want you to follow us. I don’t anticipate a problem, but I’ll feel better knowing someone else knows where I am.”

  He gave her a probing look. “You should rethink this. Pick-ups can be dangerous for a woman. Why don’t you just get a friend to fix you up on a blind date or something?”

  “I’ve done that—more than once. Never again. And forget a dating service, I don’t want a guy who trolls personal ads looking for sex. Look, this is what I need. Do we have a deal or not?”
>
  Hell, no, we do not have a deal. But who was he kidding? As if he could ever say no to Maddie. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help you out.”

  “Good.” She slid a pen from her briefcase.

  He took it and scrawled his signature on the line, wondering what the hell he was doing. Maddie was available. Why couldn’t he just ask her out himself?

  Because you’re not what she’s looking for, a nasty little voice in his brain whispered. You’re not tall, not dark, not handsome. Not ripped. Not mature. She’d turn you down flat.

  “We’ll go to The Top Floor,” he told her as she shoved the confidentiality agreement back into her briefcase.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why not? It’s a great singles spot. Hasn’t failed me yet.”

  “Too many lawyers hang out there.”

  True enough, he supposed. “Okay. What about—”

  “I want to go here,” she said, sliding a slip of paper toward him.

  He frowned at it. “Montevale’s? In Lakeside Heights?” He gave a low whistle. “I probably can’t even afford the parking fee.”

  “I’ll pay for everything. Do you have a problem with it?”

  “I guess not.” He handed the paper back to her.

  “Keep it,” she said. “You’ll need the address.”

  “I’ll remember.”

  “Oh.” She stared at the slip of paper, then took it and stuffed it in her briefcase with the signed confidentiality agreement. A glimmer of uncertainty flickered in her eyes and Patrick felt a tug of sympathy. Was she really as vulnerable about her brains as all that? He drew in a breath, thinking maybe he’d take a stab at asking her out, but before he could utter a word the courtroom mask came down, shutting him out.

  She rose, briefcase in hand. “I’ll meet you at Montevale’s at nine on Friday.”

  “No.”

  She blinked. “What did you say?”

  “I said, no, I will not meet you at Montevale’s. I’ll pick you up at eight.”

  She frowned, seeming to think it over. “All right,” she said finally. “It makes sense for me not to leave my car in the club lot overnight. I live at—”