Luca's Lessons

by Deana Birch

  Wedging himself between the empty stool and Ms. Favre, he said, “Red wine? Let me guess… Pinot Noir?”

  She narrowed her eyes but smiled. “Am I that obvious?”

  Before he could answer, Max, the bartender and occasional security guard, asked, “You drinking tonight, boss?”

  Never one to blur his thoughts while being trusted to control another’s desires, Luca Bernardi did not mix playtime with alcohol. And after the skin-to-skin contact with his preciously brave guest on his mind, he would not be playing with another. This, he knew.

  “Two glasses of my Barolo please.”

  Claire cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you said Pinot Noir.”

  Max smiled his acknowledgment of the order and went to find the bottle.

  “This is wine from my family’s estate in Italy. It’s better than a Pinot Noir.” He winked.

  I winked? Caro Dio, am I attempting to flirt?

  Claire spun back to the crowd as Luca leaned on the clean counter of the bar. Without turning around, and just above the soft music playing overhead, she said, “I admit that this is not at all what I expected.”

  He raked his gaze over her spine and met her light, loose hair just below her shoulders. He contemplated the idea of actually bending forward and tasting her skin. Worshiping her…

  Max cleared his throat and the wine glasses chittered behind him. Luca turned around, accepted the drinks and handed one to Claire.

  Tipping it up, he said, “To a new partnership?”

  She rolled her eyes. A grave error for any other woman of non-Domme status in the club. He regretfully let it slide. Business.

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet, Mr. Bernardi.”

  He inhaled the faint hint of rose from his glass then sipped. Indeed, this was better than any Pinot Noir. He replaced the drink where he’d found it and turned his attention back to the bewitching banker in front of him.

  Claire Favre was too tempting. Like a moth to a flame, he leaned in close to her ear, probably too close—definitely closer than he’d ever been to any financial advisor that he could recall.

  With a low hum in his voice that he begged would meet her skin, he asked, “And what is holding you back, Ms. Favre?”

  If she thought he didn’t notice the small quiver in her lips and the stuttered exhale, she was mistaken.

  She stayed facing forward. “You’ve shown me a bar. Everyone here is dressed as normally as you and me. I have a hard time imagining they pay fifty thousand euros to chat it up.”

  No, no. They most certainly do not.

  Giggles, too loud for his liking but nonetheless pleasing, grabbed their attention at the entrance. Three subs were dressed in short but tasteful attire. One had been recently trained by Luca himself and the other two had been begging their Doms for a scene involving them all together and they must have finally gotten their wish. The three locked hands and exchanged smiles.

  Gwendelyn, who’d been collared years prior, shot a look back to her Master. He nodded once, and Luca admired the beauty of their unspoken, sacred communication.

  Flashing her dark hair and darker eyes, Gwendelyn reached for Luca’s recent graduate. The girl had been an exemplary student, so eager to please. Too eager. He’d had to end her lessons abruptly when it had become clear her feelings had come into playtime.

  The women locked eyes for a moment while the third sub brushed her fingers up and down Gwendelyn’s snow-white arms. Then the two women kissed. First simply, like testing the waters, then more intensified, as if realizing their luck and freedom to act.

  But the real show for Luca was the transfixed Claire Favre. She stared—no, gawked—at the scene unfolding in front of her. She wet her lips and swallowed as small moans reached his ears from across the room. The three subs must have kicked it up a notch. Perhaps he should have reminded them of their manners. Perhaps not.

  “All right, you three.” Elias, the wealthiest member of the club and Gwendelyn’s Dom, popped up from the dark couch and clapped once. It stopped all action and commanded the attention of the entire bar. “Up to my suite before I change my mind.”

  With their eyes fixed on the ground, the trio of beauties filed out of the bar. Elias shot a wink to Luca and followed the women with a spring in his step. Gwendelyn’s partners would definitely pay for their public display of affection. The tricky little vixen would not, however, as she’d acted with the full-on authority and probable encouragement of her Dom.

  With the haze of arousal obviously still humming around her, Claire swiveled in the stool and placed her wine glass next to Luca’s. She blinked a few times before turning her cloudy gaze to Luca, who tilted his head and waited for her to speak.

  He itched to touch her inner thigh and confirm her desire. Watching a scene, any scene, was erotic, but watching a scene live, for the first time, could be downright explosive. And she’d seen practically nothing, the bare minimum.

  “Where are they going?” she asked in a quiet, urge-filled voice.

  Why is this woman my banker? He needed to touch her, explain, teach—turn her skin pink and praise her bravery, comfort her courage, show her how free she could be by letting go.

  To hell with propriety. He reached out and brushed her soft cheek with the back of his hand. A delicate sigh escaped her chest as she closed her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” He drew back his hand.

  “I… Uh…”

  “Didn’t expect that to evoke a physical reaction?” He rubbed his lips together.

  Her eyes shot open, as if that could erase the previous ten minutes. Luca relaxed into the bar stool he’d been avoiding with a mild grin.

  Her pout was undoubtedly the best he’d ever seen, and the Italian Dom had seen many.

  The smile on his face was unstoppable and he arched a thick eyebrow. “What? Really? You’re going to tell me that didn’t make the mighty Claire Favre of Steinmetz and Favre just a little hot and bothered?”

  No reason to push. The battle had been won the second she’d practically whimpered at his breath on her neck. So easy and yet so challenging at the same time. Why had he done this to himself?

  With the hour drawing late, the once-full bar was emptying around them. Those without a pairing for the evening were headed to witness what they could or put themselves in a free room to participate.

  “You never answered my question. Where did they go? Where did everyone go?”

  Luca refilled their glasses with the remains of the bottle Max had set in front of him.

  “Ms. Favre. As you well know, this is a sex club. They’ve gone to have sex, my dear.”

  She scooted closer to the bar. “But I thought you brought me here to show me?”

  “I believe that’s what I just did. I proved to you that the members are the same as you and me, that it’s a well taken care of and private establishment.”

  Claire circled the rim of her wine glass with meticulously well-manicured fingers.

  “And that’s all you intended on showing me? The bar?”

  “Ah… The spanking.” He lifted a finger. “Right. You did mention that part.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  Speaking of spanking.

  “Well, for that I’m afraid you are out of luck. Only members can get upstairs. Members come with one hundred thousand euros and a signed doctor’s note of clean health. I’d love to make an exception. Truly, I would.”

  More than he cared to confess. “Unfortunately, I’m waiting on a beautiful banker to help me buy this place. Until that happens, I’m subject to following the rules just like everyone else.” If Luca had been the type to shrug, he would have added it to sell his case.

  She folded her hands and focused on the glass in front of her. She repeated the same pattern with her thumb from days before in her office, making what Luca now recognized as a deliberate path around the opposite palm. Delicate, he decided. Not weak, but internally frail.

  With her eyes still fixed down, she asked, “What
if I want to become a member?”

  He couldn’t tolerate her self-soothing any longer. He cupped his hand over both of hers and pressed gently. She stilled, and her obedience sang to the needs of his soul.

  In a low, quiet voice, he said, “Claire— May I call you Claire?”

  “You may.”

  “I didn’t invite you here to bring you into this world.”

  If lying was on a sliding scale, Luca Bernardi had just slipped into a pit of untruths. He brushed her knuckles with his thumb and his longing to comfort her was mildly appeased.

  He continued, “I need you as my banker. I know it seems like a risk on your end, and if it sweetens the deal, I can help you recruit some new clients. But you don’t belong here.” He looked away.

  Even with the confidence he’d used to deliver the words, he wasn’t sure they’d been convincing. It was one thing to train a new sub. It was entirely something else to introduce an overwhelming lifestyle to a driven, yet fragile, woman. She’d lost her husband within the last year. It was too soon. While a few past relationships he’d had had been healing and freeing for the women on many levels, there was a sadness in Claire’s gray eyes that told him to proceed with caution.

  He would convince her to help him with the purchase and maybe slowly dangle bits and pieces of the Dom/sub dynamic before her over time. He would stay in touch and see how she was when she was more healed. Let her dip her toe in the warm water, not throw the beauty into the deep end. That would be the right thing to do.

  He tapped her knuckles with his index finger three times and stood.

  “I’ll call your car.”

  He walked toward the archway and decided to turn back and reassure her with a smile. When he did so, he was met with an icy glare. Her reaction was more proof that she didn’t understand. Although, he had to admit that the anger was slightly amusing. He hadn’t seen it on a woman outside his family in so long that it made him chuckle.

  He shook his head and walked to security. With a swipe of his card, he entered the darkly lit room and found his phone in a cubbyhole alongside all the other members’ phones and wallets. No cameras or money were allowed on the higher floors.

  As he dialed and ordered the car, her lonely silhouette haunted him from the closed-circuit feed in the bay, a stark contrast to the twisted bodies in Elias Zwallen’s suite on the neighboring screen.

  Luca was doing the right thing. As much as he hated to let go of the prospect of helping her, he reminded himself that it was timing, not fate, standing in his way. Let the poor woman be. His ego had really become out of control, thinking he could fix every broken sparrow that had fallen from a branch or that he was some expert at finding new subs.

  He met her again at the bar and she took the final drink of her wine.

  “You were right,” she said.

  The tension released from his shoulders.

  She stood and straightened her dress. With a toss of her hair and her posture stiff, she was no longer Claire. She’d returned to Ms. Claire Favre, partner of Steinmetz and Favre. The change was almost astounding.

  “I did prefer the Barolo. My compliments to your family in Italy.”

  He grinned and escorted her down the grand hall. At the end, the double doors parted and the fall breeze hit them.

  The same dark town car waited for her at the curb. He opened the door and she turned to him.

  With a hand outstretched for a formal goodbye that he already hated, she said, “Thank you for an enlightening evening, Mr. Bernardi. My assistant will be in touch next week with my decision.”

  “I look forward to it.” His attempted warm smile fell flat with her cutting eyes.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.” She slid into the car, and before he could push the door shut, she slammed it herself.

  Chapter Four

  Claire

  “No calls, no texts, not even a carrier pigeon. For all I knew, that Italian hunk had you locked in a dungeon somewhere doing wicked, wicked things to your disgustingly toned body.” Julien’s eyes lit up. “Did he do wicked things to your body?”

  Claire narrowed her gaze and stepped to the side, holding her door open. “Won’t you please come in, Julien?”

  He tossed his jacket on the back of one of her sitting room chairs with practiced flair before throwing himself onto her sofa and crossing his legs. “Okay, sweetheart, tell all. Are his lips as soft as they look? Did he toss you onto the nearest horizontal surface and run his big, strong hands over every inch of your body?” His lips curled into a devious grin and he waggled his eyebrows. “Does the hand size match the package?”

  With her fists perched on her hips, she said, “No. Apparently, after practically strong-arming me into joining him in his den of depravity, he had second thoughts.”

  Julien sat up at attention. “He changed his mind? You’re telling me Luca Bernardi, economic ruler of all of Italy and half of Switzerland, changed his mind?”

  She began slowly circling her left palm with her right thumb. An image of his darker skin against her pale flesh crossed her mind and stilled her movement just as it had the previous night. “Apparently I’m not good enough to be a guest of Mr. Luca Bernardi beyond the basic bar.”

  The familiar pricks to her heart struck again. ‘Not enough’ had been her label since infancy. Not enough to garner her parents’ attention. Not enough to compel them to attend her piano recitals. Not enough to warrant visits at boarding school. And now, Mr. Luca Bernardi had deemed her not enough for even a romp in the hay.

  The thought made her shake her head slightly. Where in the world did that come from? She was still in mourning and not even a devastatingly sexy olive-toned businessman who oozed power and charm could ignite the fire in her again.

  And she would never, could never, want his lifestyle. She ground her molars together at the memory of his abrupt change in attitude when she’d asked to learn more, see more. It wasn’t as if she had propositioned him, for crying out loud.

  It had all been for research. She’d merely wanted to better ascertain client interest and business viability. It’d had nothing to do with the gleeful looks of anticipation she’d seen on those girls’ faces. And it most assuredly had not been related to the purring timbre of Mr. Luca Bernardi’s voice hinting at the various acts taking place elsewhere in the club—or the thrum of curiosity that had confused the hell out of her all night long.

  Claire sank into a chair and tucked her feet beneath her. Silence descended upon them as she chewed the inside of her cheek. Memories of his warm fingers brushing against her bare back and her cheek made her skin tingle. Flames licked through her veins, despite her determination to deny the fire that existed in Luca’s presence—a heat she hadn’t experienced since the first time she’d spied Liam across the lecture hall at university, something she had spent so much time believing she would never find again.

  “What’s your next move?” Julien’s voice summoned her back to reality.

  She focused on him, a determined smile in place. She hugged the ivory sweater closer to her body. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

  He groaned and dropped his head against the back of the sofa. “Another quaint colloquialism from your American nanny, I presume? Please enlighten me on why Americans would find wisdom in animal cruelty and torture?”

  Claire pointed a perfectly manicured finger at him. “I adore your bitchiness in all its glory, but Helen is off limits.”

  Julien held his palms out facing her. “No offense meant to Nanny Helen. So, what is the alternate plan to best your Italian stallion?”

  “He’s not my anything, but if the great Mr. Luca Bernardi feels strongly that Steinmetz and Favre is the bank for him, he will need to prove it.” She waved a hand in the air, searching for the right words. “Put his money where his mouth is, so to speak.” Claire grinned at her personal-assistant-turned-best-friend, liking her new idea more by the second.

  He eyed her warily from across the room. “I know
that smile. That is a dangerous smile.”

  She jutted her chin out at him. “You are going to set up a meeting for me and Mr. Luca Bernardi for first thing Tuesday morning.”

  Julien tilted his dirty-blond head. “First thing Tuesday morning?”

  Claire hesitated before answering. Julien knew her so well. She’d never be on time, no matter how hard she tried. She was just about to acquiesce and suggest he make it for closer to noon when a thought popped into her head. She chewed on her lower lip, the corners of her mouth curving slightly. He’d made it quite clear the previous night that her perpetual tardiness annoyed him.

  “Yes, Julien. First thing in the morning.”

  * * * *

  Claire had spent longer than normal that morning coaching herself in the bathroom mirror and agonizing over her clothing choices. She could handle Mr. Luca Bernardi. He was just a man—a devastatingly handsome man who wielded a quiet authority that was both exciting and unnerving, but still, just a man. She knew how to play the game with alpha men and wind up the victor, all the while leading them to believe success was theirs.

  She bit the insides of her cheek just before she pushed open the door to the suite that housed her office. Offering a Cheshire Cat grin at the irritation she was certain would be etched across his face was highly unprofessional, even if a foreign part of her found it fun.

  Despite her frustration at his dismissal of her Saturday evening, she drank in the sight of him as soon as she crossed the threshold. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest that he sat as silent and still as a statue. Anyone else would be tapping their feet, pacing or leafing through a magazine between irate huffs. She already knew him well enough not to mistake his patience for approval. The displeasure rolling off him in waves was almost palpable.

  When she’d planned her attack on the train in this morning, she had decided she would breeze past his sure-to-be-annoyed self without acknowledging his presence then have Julien summon him to her office. It would be a power play, a silent throwing down of the gauntlet. It would be…