San Francisco Longing: San Francisco Trilogy: Part One

by Dubois, Lila

  “What’s upstairs?” He forced himself to turn away, back to Jun.

  “I haven’t been up there yet, but rumor has it there’s another bar and lots of places to sit.”

  “Well then.” James finished his drink, letting the gin sit on his tongue for a moment so he got the taste of the juniper berries. “Let’s go get a seat, and maybe another drink.” James intended for his next one to be only tonic and lime. He’d switch back and forth for a while.

  Jun swirled his whiskey in the heavy, rounded glass. “Lead the way, and if you’re not planning on playing, I expect you to act as my wing man.”

  “Let’s go find you a nice young lady.” James started up the stairs, Jun at his side. “Someone your mother would approve of.”

  “You fucker. Why would you bring up my mother?”

  James laughed at Jun’s aggrieved expression, then turned his attention to the top of the stairs.

  * * *

  That was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Christiana’s breath stopped as he started up the stairs. She’d caught a glimpse of him when he’d first entered, but then she’d lost him in the crowd and gone back to watching what was going on below. Most people were still on the floor below, though there were a dozen up here. So far no one had approached her, or questioned why she was sitting on the floor. She’d been nervous, until she heard a man order his female companion to kneel and wait for him. The woman had dropped down to kneel on a cushion beside an armchair.

  Christiana had smuggled a pillow off the couch at her back and mimicked the other’s woman’s posture, kneeling with her weight braced on her bent toes, butt on her heels. If anyone asked her what she was doing, she’d say she’d been told to kneel there. Maybe that would buy her some time to get away if the situation got out of hand.

  That was a comical thought. Clearly the situation was already out of hand. Christiana’s anxiety was notching up as the room below filled with people, many of whom were mingling and talking like old friends. Someone was going to ask her who she was, why she was there.

  Then he appeared again, walking up the stairs. His head was turned as he spoke to his friend, and she had an excellent view of his perfect profile. He was a dark prince—the dangerous, mysterious lover who came only under the veil of night.

  His hair was almost pure black, unlike her own dark brown, and brushed straight back from his forehead. He had a widow’s peak, and dark slashes of eyebrows. High cheekbones were matched by a strong jaw. Strong, but not heavy or square. His face was finely wrought, as if carved from marble by one of the great masters. He was dressed simply in a gray dress shirt open at the throat and charcoal slacks. He slipped his hands into his pockets, and took each stair with the easy, casual confidence of a man who knew his place in the world.

  Christiana swallowed, shocked by her reaction. She didn’t believe in love at first sight, and hadn’t really thought lust at first sight was real until this moment.

  But she wanted this man.

  In the past, physical appearance had been a secondary consideration—personality and interests were what attracted her to a man.

  Her dark prince reached the top of the stairs. He looked around casually, nodding in response to whatever his companion—an equally attractive Asian man in a casual outfit of expensive-looking jeans and a perfect black T-shirt—said.

  The men headed to the bar, and Christiana wondered if they were a couple. She was guessing they weren’t, not because she was good at guessing if someone was gay, but because the way they moved, as if they owned the space, made her guess that they were both Doms. That didn’t mean they weren’t gay—perhaps they both had male subs.

  Then again, Jenny and Cheryl had both moved with confidence, and were submissive.

  Maybe it was just wishful thinking that had her hoping her dark prince was a straight dominant whom she could watch tonight and use in her fantasies for years to come.

  He turned from the bar, leaning back on it with one elbow, a short glass cradled in his free hand. His eyes swept the second floor, but his head was cocked to the side, listening to whatever his companion was saying.

  His gaze swept over her.

  And stopped.

  * * *

  “Who’s that?” James’s question interrupted whatever Jun was saying.

  “Who?” Jun followed James’s line of sight. “Dark hair, tan dress?”

  Dark hair, tan dress. What a tame, inadequate description for the lovely, compelling woman. Her dark hair was pulled back from her face in a slick, sedate tail. She had high cheekbones and a full, lush mouth. She wasn’t rail-thin, the way so many of the wealthy women who attended these events were, but instead looked slimly muscled, and even from here he could see the way the shadows caught the contours of her toned arms. She was kneeling up, her smooth, round knees resting on a cushion, her butt back on her heels, toes braced on the floor. But her hands were curled into loose fists.

  “Yes.” James bit out the word. “Her.”

  “No idea, never seen her before.” Jun took a sip. “Are you interested?”

  “Very.” James didn’t bother to prevaricate. When he wanted something, he went for it.

  “Good. It’s been a while since you played.”

  James didn’t answer, and he didn’t take his gaze off the woman. Drink in hand, he started across the second floor. Her fingers curled hard into her palms, making tight fists, then relaxed. She was nervous. Perhaps afraid.

  James looked around, wondering who her Master or Mistress was. She was kneeling in a pool of shadow, behind a low-backed couch, near the railing at the top of the stairs. It was an odd, out of the way position. She wasn’t kneeling by a chair as if she’d been placed there by her top, or out in the open the way a sub in search of a partner for the night would be. It was almost like she was hiding.

  A predatory instinct gripped him. She couldn’t hide from him.

  Chapter 4

  He was walking toward her.

  Surely not. She hadn’t done anything to attract the dark prince’s attention. There must be something behind her that he was headed for, and the dim lights had played a trick on her, making it seem that he was looking at her.

  He moved with an easy, purposeful confidence. It was the smooth stride of a man who knew his place in the world. He didn’t have to watch where he was going, because people got out of his way, leaving him to keep all his attention focused on his target.

  Her.

  He was looking at her. The closer he got, the more sure she was.

  The game was up.

  * * *

  With each step he took, James was more and more captivated by the woman. When he stopped in front of her, the toes of his shoes mere inches from her knees, he could hear her sharp inhale.

  “Are you alone?” The question was blunt, but if she was with another Master, he wanted to know now.

  “I’m just here to watch,” came her soft reply.

  James looked around, weighed his options, then pushed the couch she was kneeling behind out of the way. He grabbed a stool from nearby, placed it beside her, and sat. “Just watch?” he asked.

  “I’m allowed to watch,” she said, but it almost sounded like a question. Like she was asking permission. Interesting.

  “I’d like to watch with you.”

  “With…me?”

  “Are you collared?”

  The question took her by surprise, because she looked up, for the first time meeting his gaze. Her face was lovely, if not exactly classically beautiful. She had eyes the color of melted chocolate, and in the dim light they seemed fathomless. She looked at him searchingly, and with such intensity that he sat back, almost startled.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to know if I’m collared?”

  “Ah, you want to play the ingénue?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not Mabel.”

  It took him a moment to recognize her reference. The Pirates of
Penzance. She was a fellow opera lover. He’d been thinking she was more of a Julia from The Grand Duke.

  He considered her. “May I watch with you?”

  Another searching gaze, and then she glanced toward the floor, eyes submissively lowered.

  “I’m not going to, uh, do anything tonight.” Her words were hesitant. “If you want to…do things…you should go and, um, do them.”

  James couldn’t let that pass. He reached out, cupped her chin, and forced her to look up. “I will do what I want, brown eyes. Don’t presume to tell me what to do.”

  Her lips parted, her breath fanned his wrist, and she shivered.

  That look—at once surprised and nervous and full of desire. Desire roared through him. He would have her. Maybe not tonight, but he would have her.

  “What’s your name?” He softened his grip but didn’t release her chin.

  She hesitated, then said, “Ana.”

  She was lying; he could tell from her body language and tone. “Your real name.”

  “Christiana.”

  No last name, but that wasn’t unexpected. It had been bold of him to ask, but this lovely woman wasn’t “Ana.” She was feminine, but not delicate, submissive, yet oddly reticent. It wasn’t uncommon for members of the society to keep details about themselves private, and some even used pseudonyms.

  “If you’re not interested in my attention, say so.” He released her chin. “You’re under no obligation to me, or to anyone.”

  “You just want to watch…with me?”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Do you need my permission?”

  His lips quirked in a smile. “I was being polite.”

  She paused, and surprised him when she replied, “I might not answer.”

  “Intriguing. If you wanted me to leave, you’re going about it all wrong. Here is my question. Is this your first gathering?”

  She winced, and James realized in what poor taste that had been. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “My sincerest apologies, Christiana.”

  “It’s obvious?” she asked him.

  James cursed himself. Normally he was more suave than this. Then again, normally he didn’t care about the outcome of a conversation as much as he cared about the outcome of this conversation.

  “I haven’t seen you before,” he said, making sure to tell the truth, though it was a somewhat round-about answer to the question.

  “I’m new,” she admitted softly. “And just here to—”

  “Watch,” he said in tandem with her.

  She looked up at him, then smiled ruefully. “I guess I said that already.”

  “Once or twice. You’re really here on your own?” he asked softly. “No guide or sponsor?”

  Her smile vanished to be replaced by a worried expression. “I, um…didn’t know I needed to have one. I should go…”

  James held up a hand. “It’s been so long since I joined that I’ve forgotten how we welcome new members. Perhaps you’d allow me to make up for my lapse by acting as your guide tonight.”

  She looked at him warily.

  “And by that I mean I’ll be your companion as we watch the debauchery.”

  “Debauchery.” She looked around again, then frowned. “How long have you been a member?”

  “I’ll answer that question, if you answer mine. Will you allow me to watch with you?”

  Her gaze searched his face. He tried to read her expression. She was wary, but also excited. He could see that in the way the corners of her mouth moved, as if she were fighting a smile.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she said.

  “James Nolen,” he replied instantly. He had nothing to hide. The NDA members signed would prevent her from spreading any Page Six-style gossip.

  She looked around once more, then met his gaze. “Yes,” she whispered. “I will watch with you.”

  * * *

  What are you doing?

  What are you DOING?

  There was no good answer to that question, because as far as she could tell, she’d completely lost her mind.

  James Nolen—her dark prince had a name—stood and then bowed down, offering her his hand.

  Christiana placed her fingers in his. He pulled her to her feet. He was tall, and while not broad or heavily muscled, he had an athletic hardness that the cut of his undoubtedly expensive clothes emphasized.

  Up to this moment she’d been intrigued. Now, with her hand in James’s, his body close enough to her that she could feel the heat of him, she was well and truly aroused. She had an odd sense of deja vu, and after a moment, realized that a man’s nearness hadn’t excited her this much since her first serious relationship back in high school, when her boyfriend Todd’s mere presence was enough to make her feel warm and tingly.

  The feelings James Nolen’s presence ignited were considerably grander than “warm and tingly.”

  She looked at their hands. He still held her fingers, his thumb resting on her knuckles. His thumb moved, stroking across each knuckle in a slow, deliberate caress. Christiana inhaled sharply.

  A second later she realized what she’d done. She probably seemed like a fool, sucking in air when all he’d done was touch her hand.

  She risked a glance at his face, but he wasn’t rolling his eyes or smirking. He watched her with an intensity that bore no malice, and there was something almost…vulnerable…in his gaze.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He leaned toward her, whispering in kind. “You’re welcome.”

  He had an accent—British, she thought, though it wasn’t as clipped and formal as the sort of accents she heard on BBC period piece shows.

  Kiss him.

  That wild thought flitted though her mind, and she leaned toward him. For one insane moment, she was going to do it, she was going to kiss him. Why not? She was Alice down the rabbit hole, and in this topsy-turvy, decadent world, maybe she was the kind of woman who kissed handsome, dark princes.

  She stopped, but it wasn’t her own willpower that reined in her actions—it was him. He didn’t rebuff her or lean away. Hopefully he didn’t have any idea what she’d been about to do. But he stopped her nonetheless, because her instinct screamed at her that any kisses would, and should, be initiated by him. Control seemed to pour off of him in waves, and she was reminded again of the way he’d looked when he walked toward her—as if he owned and commanded everything around him.

  Including her.

  That was a dangerous, intriguing thought.

  “Come,” he said, the easy command reinforcing her intuitive thoughts. “We’ll find a good seat and chat before the evening gets started.”

  Of course he wouldn’t want her to kiss him. From the moment she’d seen him, she knew James was clearly a Dom, a Master. That meant he would kiss her. At least she thought that’s what it meant.

  And why was she thinking about kissing when all she was going to do was watch?

  James kept hold of her hand and led her to the first row of couches facing the stage. He gestured for her to take a seat.

  Deducing that he was a Dom was one thing. Feeling it, in the form of a gut-level emotional response, was another. It was the difference between intellectually knowing bears were dangerous after watching a nature documentary and experiencing cold terror when stumbling across one while hiking alone in the woods.

  She sat on the edge of the couch, knees pressed together, hands gripping the edge of the cushion, thumbs against her thighs.

  James considered her for a moment. “Champagne?”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Oh? Does champagne make you wild with lust?”

  Christiana sputtered out a laugh.

  James winked. He walked toward the bar, and looked good walking away. She dragged her gaze away, not wanting him to feel her staring.

  People were looking at her. Her laugh must have attracted their attention. Or maybe they were wondering who this lit
tle commoner was who dared sit with their prince.

  Christiana stared down at her bare knees. That reminder of exactly how precarious her situation was sobered her. The excitement and recklessness that allowed her to continue this dangerous charade cracked under the weight of the stares. She glanced at the velvet-lined wall. There were at least twenty people on the second floor now. It wouldn’t be impossible to escape unnoticed, but the time was coming when it would be, when she wouldn’t be able to exit the way she’d entered without attracting attention.

  If she wanted to leave, she needed to go now.

  “Your champagne.” James presented her with the tall, elegant flute.

  Her anxiety of a moment ago melted away in the heat of his presence.

  She took the drink. In the dim light, the liquid inside the glass seemed to be the color of the morning sun, and the tiny bubbles within rose in glorious ribbons.

  “To new friends.” He held out a short cut-crystal glass filled with clear liquid and a slice of lime. Christiana touched her flute to his glass with a small clink.

  His gaze caught hers, held it as she raised the glass to take a sip. It was deliciously intimate.

  James sat beside her, twisted so one knee was on the seat and he was partially facing her. Christiana adjusted, turning so she could see him, though she stayed on the edge of the cushion.

  She took another sip. The champagne was icy-cold, crisp, and bubbly. She closed her eyes and savored the taste.

  “You tempt me, Christiana.”

  Her eyes popped open and she swallowed. “I don’t mean to.”

  “And that’s what makes it all the more intriguing.” He raised his glass to his mouth, but only tapped the rim against his bottom lip. He didn’t drink.

  “I’m not—”