“What forms would that be, sir?”
“Your limit list isn’t complete, which I find an appalling oversight. You didn’t fill out anything beyond the beginner’s checklist.”
“That wasn’t a mistake, sir. It is as far as I’m willing to go, so I didn’t think—”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you’re not a beginner.”
“No, but…”
“And the section on your experience with BDSM, past relationships, etc. is incomplete, which is very sloppy. Who signed you in, might I ask?”
“Um, I’d hate to get anyone in trouble.”
“You aren’t. I’m asking, darlin’. Who was it?”
“I don’t know her name.”
“Describe her to me.”
He wasn’t going to give up. “A small redhead who was very pregnant at the time, so I’m sure she had other things on her mind.”
“Regan,” he replied. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll address it.”
“Is it necessary that you know all of that?”
“Yes. We know that you’re unattached having lost your previous master, your husband, tragically a few years back. You live in Houston, but travel three hours to play here. Beyond that, there are holes we need to fill in. Your next dom will need to know about past relationships and support systems, which are very important in the lifestyle, particularly for submissives.”
A feeling of dread swept through her. She didn’t want them to know, it wasn’t anyone’s business. And she didn’t want to be matched up with a new dominant. Why did everyone think that was a submissive’s goal? A lot of the doms were single, enjoying a variety of play partners. That’s all she wanted. Why couldn’t she be like them?
It occurred to her that could be a problem. Would they dismiss her if she didn’t conform to what they decided was best for her, or normal? Then she’d have to find somewhere else. Maybe she could avoid him, or better, if she stalled long enough, maybe he’d forget. She didn’t visit often, and he was usually busy by the time she arrived. Yes, that’s it. She’d put it off for as long as she could. She found herself answering with what he wanted to hear. “Yes, sir. I’ll stop by on my next visit.” Adding silently, but it might be several weeks and hopefully by then you will have forgotten all about me.
Silence fell on the other end of the line.
“Right, um, was there anything else, sir? I’m running late for an appointment.” Another lie rolled easily off her tongue. She’d become adept at it in recent months when before, with Derek, he would have taken her to task for even thinking about lying.
“No, that was it. I just wanted to check on you, to be sure.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“I’ll let you go then and look forward to seeing you Saturday to get your file in order. Be there early so it doesn’t interrupt your play, and little one, a word of caution, this isn’t something I’ll likely forget.”
Her mouth fell open. How had he known? Then the rest of his words clicked. “Oh, but, Master Dex, I wasn’t planning another visit so soon.”
When silence greeted her protest, she looked at the screen and realized that he had already disconnected. Mari collapsed back onto her pillows. Closing her eyes, she blew out a calming breath.
It would be a month before the cravings got so bad that she was drawn back to San Antonio. In a month, she could have come up with a reasonable and credible history, and more lies and deceit, but in a week… A knot formed in her belly, like a fist clenching her stomach and not letting go. Maybe she’d just quit. Give it up, tamp it down, and somehow find a way to deny what she was. It’d be tough, but she’d survived much worse.
Unbidden, her thoughts turned to Master Arturo. He’d occupied them all the way home and had invaded her dreams, making her toss and turn all night. None of the others had such an effect on her—ten in all, including one mistress. The latter had been an experiment, thinking with a woman she could let go, take more and still be safe. But she realized a certain degree of arousal was necessary for her and the test had been an unmitigated disaster. The awkward, uninspiring scene had quickly become painful when her body didn’t respond in the least. The domme, who’d been scarier than all of the men combined, had ended the intense session with the crop, released her nipple clamps, and switched off the wand buzzing relentlessly between her legs. Mari had been so uptight even the Magic Wand, the super charged mother of all vibes, hadn’t come close to sparking her arousal. When she’d turned down any sort of aftercare, the mistress had looked at her with a mixture of irritation and sympathy.
“Girl, if you don’t get your head on straight, you’re just spinning your wheels at a club like this. Take my advice and see a shrink instead and stop wasting your money here, as well as everyone’s time.”
Her words had stung even though they were spot on true. Mistress Celeste had caught up to her later when she was exiting the women’s locker room and pressed a slip of paper into her hand.
“A lifestyle friendly shrink, little sub. Call her.”
Mari had found the wadded up paper while cleaning out her car a few weeks later and discarded it. Not willing to see shrink number four no matter how kink-friendly she was supposed to be.
The phone, which she still clutched in a white knuckled grip vibrated as her boring, old-fashioned telephone ring tone sounded. Her kids made fun of it, lacking originality and personality they said, but it suited her just fine: flat, colorless and lifeless.
Listlessly, she put the phone to hear ear. “Yes?”
“Marilee, thank heavens you answered. It’s Adriana. I’ve got to leave town; my mother is ill.”
Sitting up, she reacted. “I’m so sorry, honey. Not too serious, I hope.”
“She’s eighty-six. Everything is serious at her age.”
“What can I do?”
“Come into the shop. We’re in the middle of markdowns for the big sale and Kristen is out sick. Maybe we should postpone it.” This she said as if thinking out loud. “Either way, I’m afraid you’ll have to hold down the fort.”
It had been a while, but it was her boutique. When the kids got older, Derek had insisted she do something with her time while he worked. The shop was the solution and he’d helped her open it over eight years ago. It was her business, she had trained Adri herself—which her friend often seemed to forget—and could do this in her sleep, no problem.
“I’ll be there within the hour, Adri. You do what you need to do to get to your mom. Close if you must. I’ll handle things when I get in.”
“Thank you, sugar. I have no idea how long I’ll be gone. I’ll call as soon as I know what the situation is.”
“Family first, as always. You know that. Go, and don’t worry about a thing.”
* * *
Steam wafted gently from the nozzle and with every pass the wrinkles fell away from the exquisite ecru lace overlay of the pricey designer cocktail dress that had arrived in a huge shipment today. She’d been waiting on the new arrivals forever it seemed and this one, a short sleeve, V-neck Valentino creation, like the dozens of others would be gone in the blink of an eye, despite the hefty price tag. Her fitting calendar was booked solid after making calls to a few of her best customers advising that if they wanted one of the five designer originals, they had better say the word before they were snatched up by someone else.
Ferretti, McQueen, Mischka and Couture were only a few of the elite names. She carried the most sought after designer labels and some one-off originals that her customers clamored for, but she also liked to feature up and comers whenever she could.
The bell rang as she worked, as it had all morning long. She didn’t turn away from her task, hearing Katy, one of her shop girls, walk out of the back room and down the polished hardwood center aisle to greet the new arrival. Mari knew it was likely another wealthy Houston socialite with nothing to do but spend daddy’s money, or a housewife armed with her CEO husband’s platinum card, or yet another successful but lonely woman
who frequented her shop —a corporate VP or a surgeon with a rare night off—in need of the perfect outfit for her upcoming date with a potential Mr. Right, or at least, Mr. Right Now. In any case, many turned to Marilee’s to find it. And, she gladly catered to their whims, having been one of them herself a few short years ago.
She pushed that thought from her head, which she found came easier in the past few weeks since Adri had been gone. Coming to the shop each day gave her a reason to get up, instead of listlessly sleeping the day away, through breakfast and lunch most often, which hadn’t been good for her. She’d forgotten how much she’d enjoyed interacting with the customers whether the everyday shopper who wandered in to browse, eyes flaring wide at the three and four digit prices, before reverently gazing at designer labels they couldn’t ever imagine wearing, then with a wistful sigh moving quickly on to the next store. Or the women who rushed in, having only an hour to shop before heading back for the next ultra-important meeting that would surely save the world from economic collapse. Or the snobs, yes, Marilee even enjoyed serving the rich bitches who were fussed over like everyone else. Occasionally, a man would wander in, looking for the perfect gift for his wife, mother, or the current object of his affection, perhaps a secret mistress or lover. These men were easy to spot, paying in cash exclusively.
“That would look exquisite on you.”
The husky voice with its panty-melting French accent was one she’d never thought to hear again, or at least not murmuring so close to her ear, and in of all places her Houston shop far away from the sex filled San Antonio playroom where she’d last heard it. Twisting, she stared with horror into Master Arturo’s handsome face. His eyes twinkled as his sensual lips tipped up into a small smile, obviously amused by her appalled reaction.
Mari’s eyes darted around the shop. Katy had disappeared.
“What are you doing here, Mast—” Realizing at the last second what she’d been about to say, she stopped short. Calling him master in the middle of her boutique where at least six pairs of eager ears were perked up listening as they drooled over the eye candy that Arturo was, would have been a major faux pas. She snapped her mouth shut so hard her teeth click together. Lowering her voice, she tried again. “I mean, Mr. Durand.”
“Breathe, Marilee.” His hand on her forearm that was plainly meant to reassure, did the opposite and sent a tremor up her arm. She didn’t become aware that she was still holding the steamer and it was aimed directly at him until he moved it gently away.
“How careless of me,” she blurted out. Flustered and making a fool of herself, she switched it off with much difficulty and set it on the nearby counter.
“Relax, chérie.” His deep sensual tone sent a ripple of awareness through her. “I’m not going to tie you to your sales counter, flog you, then ravish you until you beg for mercy while all and sundry look on.” Her mouth fell open in surprise, no more so than when his hand came up and softly brushed a tendril of hair off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear, exposing the shell to his lips. He leaned closer and whispered boldly, “We’ll save that for after dinner when I have you all to myself.”
Again, her eyes scanned the room. Had anyone heard? She took a breath when she realized no one was close enough.
Gallantly, he captured her hand and brought it to his mouth. After the barest brush of his lips, which if she hadn’t been watching she would have sworn didn’t happen—so light was his touch—he lowered, but did not release her hand.
“Imagine my surprise when I saw the sign for Marilee’s boutique while driving by. I had to come see if you were one and the same. That you are has made my day. The shop and its owner, I might add, are both utterly charming.”
His eyes moved over her face and down her body in a quite brazen and very thorough manner. At the club, it would be nothing, a dom inspecting a potential play partner for the night, but here, in her quiet, conservative dress shop it was out of bounds. And though she knew she should step back, put some much needed space between them, she didn’t. She couldn’t. Nor could she stop the tips of her breasts from forming hard peaks beneath her thin silk blouse, or the flood of heat that rushed through her body, or the trickle of moisture that suddenly gathered between her thighs. Her body knew him, instinctively readying herself for another possession by this strong, handsome, intensely virile and dominant man.
“I’ve missed you at the club these past few weeks, ma mignonne. I’ll take you to dinner tonight and we can become reacquainted, oui?”
Not a request. It was an arrogant demand as if she belonged to him.
And, what the heck did this new pet name mean? Frowning, she racked her brain. Her rusty foreign language skills once again let her down. All she could come up with was filet mignon. Did he call her his steak? No, that would be filet, mignon meant little, or petite, didn’t it? Damn, that wasn’t right either. She wished she’d paid more attention in French class way back when. But all of that was beside the point.
“I can’t have dinner. I have plans.” She was relieved that she had a valid excuse. After closing the shop, she was meeting her mother for a late dinner.
“Then we’ll dine before going to the club this weekend.”
She started shaking her head before he had even finished his invitation. “I don’t get away very often, and my manager is out for an indeterminate time. I’ve got to keep an eye on the shop.”
“So many excuses. I’m beginning to get the feeling you’re avoiding me.”
Her brow arched and she bit back a smart remark, saying instead, “It’s a long drive.”
“Less than three hours, oui? Make the trip for me, Mari. I’d like to spend more time with you.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur, his warm breath tickling her ear as he spoke. “Once wasn’t enough, minou. Je veux te baiser, encore une fois.”
Nearby, a customer gasped as his hushed voice still carried. Arturo’s head came up, as did her own, and they both turned to see a well-dressed older woman in her early sixties with her hand covering her mouth in shock. It was Emily Thorpe.
Crap! The old biddy was one of the worst gossips in Houston. Mari barely bit back a groan.
“Excusez-moi, madame.” Arturo apologized, his hand splaying across his chest as if he was truly appalled he’d been overheard, though Mari could tell he wasn’t sorry for a second. He then surged headlong into a barrage of rapid French while flashing his wickedly charming grin. She understood only random words like très passionnant—guessing at that—and amour.
She eyed him suspiciously when he switched back to English, laying it on thick. “You understand, of course,” he appealed to the woman, as he glided his hand familiarly up and down Mari’s back, “being a beautiful woman yourself.”
The woman, who had stood frozen in horror at first, now blushed and tittered like a schoolgirl. She then aimed a knowing smile Mari’s way and winked.
“What did he say?” She couldn’t keep from asking, but Emily was too busy flapping her hand in front of her overheated face as she scurried away, grabbing the hand of her unsuspecting friend and chattering under her breath as she pulled her out of the shop in flurry.
Mari whirled on him, both brows raised inquiringly.
With a Gallic shrug, he grinned slyly. “I appealed to the romantic inside her. That is all.”
“Yes, but in what shocking way did you say it? I’d lay down big bucks that stuffy old Emily hasn’t giggled in half a century and I doubt she’s ever winked before meeting you.” The ridiculously handsome and infuriating Frenchman didn’t say a word, only stood there grinning down at her. “Arturo!”
“Ah, it’s too bad you don’t speak French, minou. At the same time, I’m surprised that your customers do, especially colorful, risqué French.” He winked, before bending his head close to her ear once again. She held her breath, expecting him to translate, but instead he murmured, “Meet me for dinner at Pietro’s at seven on Friday night and I’ll tell you.”
She pulled back, her eyes narrowing
in frustration. “I can’t. The shop doesn’t close until seven, besides—”
“Saturday at eight then,” speaking over her decisively. “And don’t tell me you have to stay late that night. The sign on your door says you close at five on Saturday and don’t open until after noon on Sunday, which means you won’t have to run home afterward like last time.” His lips once again brushed the knuckles of the hand he’d never released. “I’ve had weeks to think up some of the most delightful tortures. The question remains, are you the adventurous sort, Mari? I’m hoping so, if nothing else, I’m counting on you being curious. A bientôt, ma petite.” He then squeezed her hand and with a hint of his subtle masculine scent, turned and sauntered out the front door.
Stunned, she stared, feeling every powerful movement of his panther like stride right between her legs. She didn’t blink or breathe until the glass doors swished shut behind him, and not even then. Only taking air when Katy rushed up, her voice coming out as breathless as she felt.
“Who was that?”
“An acquaintance,” Mari barely managed, shrugging as an afterthought and an attempt to appear nonchalant.
Katy hooted with laughter. “Acquaintance my Aunt Fannie! I’m going to have to call BS on that one, boss. Minou means kitten, I know that for sure.” The savvy thirty-year-old blonde looked at her with a sly wink and a grin.
“You speak French? You can tell me what else he said. Something with the word baiser, which shocked old Emily down to her prudish toes.”
“Sorry. I only know enough to be dangerous. I remember colors, numbers—particularly naughty ones like soixante-neuf—how to conjugate the verbs have and to be, other than that, I know animals.” Katy gave her a nudge with her elbow. “That means I know acquaintances, especially those of European descent, don’t call a woman kitten in a voice that could incinerate panties far and wide.”
Mari’s lips twisted. In the span of a second he’d affronted a customer, and then charmed her the next, topping it off by titillating and intriguing one of her staff with a would-be romance that didn’t exist. She couldn’t imagine the uproar he’d cause in the span of an hour.
French Kiss (Decadence Nights Book 2) Page 7