by Maren Smith
“Morning, Maybe,” Casey called, the doorbells tinkling cheerfully as she came strolling in.
“Don’t call me that,” Sinclair grumbled, and set up her cooking station to start making some of her signature candies.
“Sorry.” Casey laughed, sounding anything but. “I keep forgetting you prefer to go by your middle name now. I hope that wasn’t because of me.”
Sinclair shot her a venomous glance. She tightened her lips and tried to ignore the fact that her enemy was wandered through her store.
“You’ve got a lot of stock here.” Casey carefully looked over every display, touching nothing. “Wow, candy cigarettes. I haven’t seen those in years. Are they new or are they as old as they look?”
“Is that what you came for, to check out the competition?”
“Competition?” Casey laughed again, seeming startled. “Oh please, Maybe. I’m wiping the professional floor with you and you know it. If you weren’t so stubborn, you’d realize merging stores is in everyone’s best interest, including yours. This town isn’t big enough for two candy stores. I’ve got the best location. I’m doing a great business and you’re circling the giant blue, swirly flusher. What is there to think about?”
Sinclair shot her a glare. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s not what word on the street is.” Casey came to the counter to watch Sinclair work. “In fact, I happen to know for a fact that you did go somewhere last night. It’s a little town, you know. Little towns are full of watching eyes.”
“Apparently, they’re full of big mouths, too.” Sinclair thunked her pan on the portable stovetop a little harder than she meant to. “Are you spying on me?”
“Not per se. Although who am I to tell a customer or two to shut up when they come to my store with stories of you climbing into an unmarked van right about closing time last night. My guess is either you went on a date—” Casey gave another of her tinkling laughs. “—unlikely, I know. You were way too serious for that sort of nonsense in collage and I don’t see how you’ve changed much. So that makes the more likely explanation work-related, which makes me curious.”
“There’s no loitering in this store, Casey. If you’re not here to shop, then I strongly encourage you to peddle your gossip somewhere else.”
Sliding her hands into her pockets, Casey managed a thin smile. Her smirking blue eyes held onto their customary mocking glint. “Maybe I came to have one last look around. For posterity, you know. So I could remember the place just as it is, while I still have the chance.”
The urge to throw something right over the counter at her was almost more than Sinclair could swallow. She set the pan, the chocolates she was preparing to melt and her stirring spoon down, freeing her hands of the temptation. “I reserve the right to refuse service to anyone, at any time, for any reason. You stole my dream. Get out of my store.”
“It was a good dream,” Casey said softly. “Much better than the one I had and—surprise, surprise—I’m actually good at it. So…” She shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry, I guess. Does that mean we can’t be friends anymore?”
“Get out of my store.”
Sliding her hands into her pockets, Casey smirked again. “Okay, Maybe. Whatever you say, honey. Just remember, when you’re selling all your candy to me because you had to close your store, you failed not because of anything I did, but because you refused to take advantage of other options. Me, with my great business sense and you, with your ability to make all these yummy little tidbits…we could have been a great team.”
“Get. Out!”
Casey did, sauntering unhurried to the door despite the fact that Sinclair followed to lock the door once more behind her. She stood there after Casey drove away, trying to stop her heart from pounding and her eyes from tearing up. From anger, she told herself. Not because Casey had said anything to make her cry. Her store was not going to close. She was going to recover, rebound, get bigger and better and eventually, she was going to run Casey’s Sinful Desserts right the hell out of town!
Her hands were shaking.
Sinclair clasped them tight together, trying to still them now that Casey was well and truly gone. Unlocking the door in the hopes of receiving real customers, she went back to work.
Once she’d finished filling up her display case, Sinclair turned her attention to catering. She dug through a few old college notebooks in search of romantic candy ideas she wouldn’t be ashamed to display at an upscale kind of party and which could be easily perverted for a place like the Castle.
She started with strawberry liquor-filled chocolate hearts, champagne truffles and then assorted fruit, caramel and coconut tartlets. She had four customers that day and in between serving them, she dug out the chocolate waterfall machine her father had given her back when she first announced she was buying a candy store. Having never had the occasion to use it, it was still new and in all its original packaging. Sinclair set it up, minus the liquid chocolate to make sure it still worked, and set her mind to designing a table display around it. Fruit, cookies, marshmallows—she would have to go shopping again—and oh! What about a s’mores buffet?
She had two pages of ideas and what she’d need in order to make those ideas a functioning reality when she next looked up to find the sun was setting, closing time was nigh and she was behind on her list of nightly closing chores.
It was time to throw out anything she’d made more than two days ago. She went through her case, wrapping what was still fresh enough to sell and packaging up what wasn’t. Tomorrow she’d have to replenish about half her stock, but she didn’t have time to think about that right now. It had been a long day, and there was still all night left to go.
She carted all the decorations she’d bought that morning to the front of the store, setting them in a neat row just inside the door. Checking her watch, she switched off the neon “Open” sign and shut off all but one of the lights. She had half an hour until Jackson showed up to whisk her back to the Castle, where Parker would be waiting for her.
If you’ve been a good little girl…
Her heart quickened and she rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms against her jeans. And if I haven’t?
You’d give me no choice but to put you across my knee…
Sinclair shivered and turned abruptly away from the street. She hesitated, knowing that every second ticking by was one less that stood between her and Parker. What was she going to say to him? Lying in her bed last night, with all those images from the internet still fresh in her mind and that pulse of desire still throbbing hot between her legs, all sorts of crazy things had danced on the tip of her tongue. The question now was, did she have the guts to say any of them in real life when she saw him again tonight?
Sinclair checked her watch again. She checked the bags at her feet and then, because if she waited any longer she might lose what little courage she had, she grabbed her wallet and car keys and headed out the back door to her car. She drove, hardly daring to believe what she was doing, all the way out of town to Crystal Dolphin’s rather seedy-looking adult store.
There were no other cars in the gravel and weed parking lot, but the lights were on and the sign said it was open. She didn’t have a lot of time to sit and hesitate, so she swallowed her better judgment and embarrassment and went inside. She took one look at the giant screw-shaped glass dildo beside the register and very nearly walked right back out again.
What in the world was she getting herself into?
“Evening,” the middle-aged woman behind the register called out. Thumbing through a Good Housekeeping magazine, she barely glanced at Sinclair.
“Hi,” Sinclair said, blushing profusely.
“Let me know if you need any help finding anything.”
“Sure.” Sinclair quickly turned away, staring off into the lingerie section, past the DVDs and magazines and then spotted something of what she was looking for. Unfortunately, what she at first mistook to be a leather corset on closer inspection turned o
ut to be latex. It neither looked nor smelled as good as the outfit Parker had been wearing, but it was positioned at the edge of a small cul-de-sac of shelves that made up the BDSM section of the store. She saw a small assortment of paddles, whips and floggers. There was a very lethal looking riding crop hanging on the wall next to body harnesses and blindfolds. The strap-ons definitely weren’t what she was looking for, but Sinclair ventured around the corner, took one look at the stock hanging on the wall and just stopped.
Tingling shocks like mini lightning bolts jumped just under her skin as she reached out to select a pair of nipple clamps. There were several different kinds here, some linked by cord or cold chains, some with clips that looked like toothy alligator jaws, but the one that attracted her was metallic blue and green with small peacock feathers that dangled down like jewelry.
The boxed bondage set she pulled down off the wall next said “Beginners” across the packaging but it was hot pink in color and she just didn’t think she could take that seriously. She chose a simple black collar instead, and she blushed all over again, feeling a little silly, but all the sites she had looked at the night before showed submissives in collars and when she met with Parker tonight she was determined to play her part. If this was what he liked, then this was what she would do.
She took it, the peacock nipple clamps and when it came to picking an implement—
Put you across my knee and spank you…
Gosh, it was getting hot in here.
—she chose a round paddle with reinforced leather on one side and soft faux fur on the other. She had no idea what she was doing. Her face was absolutely burning up, but her breasts felt heavy and full and that insistent throbbing was back between her legs. Her belly felt warm and tense and almost sick with the tightness of her excitement, and she was shaking all the way down into her knees. She had to get out of here and get back to the shop before she was late.
Snapping around, she bumped a row of packages with her elbow and sent several of them clattering loudly to the floor.
The woman at the registered glanced up again.
“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Sinclair dropped to her knees, quickly scooping up everything that had fallen and fumblingly rehung them—each back in its appropriate place; even rattled, the shopkeeper in her had to be meticulous. One package refused to stay on its hook. It kept falling and it took her three times fumbling with the silly thing before she realized that in knocking it off the wall she’d ripped through the thin plastic hook where the hole for hanging it had been.
Horribly embarrassed now for just being here, she grabbed it up with the rest of her selections and quickly took it to the register. “Sorry,” she said again.
“No harm done,” the woman said, setting her magazine aside.
The whole time Sinclair stood there, she felt as if she had a neon sign emblazoned with the words “Amateur” blinking over her head. The woman didn’t seem to notice it, or perhaps she was just too professional to comment. She didn’t even crack a smile at the crazy things Sinclair was buying. The nipple clamps went into a large anonymous bag without comment, along with the collar and the paddle and—she flushed sizzling hot all over—the package she’d grabbed just because she’d broken the flimsy plastic hanger: an assortment of six anal plugs that ranged in sizes from very small to Oh-My-God.
All together it came to over two hundred dollars. Sinclair fumbled her debit card out of her wallet, dropped it twice before finally slapping it onto the counter and shakily passing it across to the woman. Her face would never be anything other than crimson from now until the day she died. Sinclair looked straight down at her hands and focused on keeping her breathing soft and even while the transaction went through.
“Have a good night,” the woman said, once Sinclair signed for her purchase.
Sinclair ducked from the store with her bag clutched to her chest and shook during the whole drive back to town. She was just pulling up to her store as Jackson in his unmarked van was starting to pull away.
“No, no, no!” She swerved like a lunatic to get in front of him, jumping out of her car and waving her arms until he stopped. “Wait, please! I’m sorry, I’m late!”
Easing back up to the curb, Jackson got out, saying, “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”
“No, no. Of course not.” She was shaking so badly she dropped her keys fumbling to unlock her store. And then once she got the key to turn, she forgot how close her packages were to the door. She knocked the nearest bag sprawling, sending slick, plastic-wrapped tablecloths sliding in all directions. “Damn it, what is wrong with me?” she exploded. Dropping to her knees, she dumped everything back into the now torn paper bag, and when she stood up, with her arms full, she turned and collided right smack into Jackson.
Hitting him was like walking into a mountainside. He was big, solid, and his hands caught her, practically engulfing her upper arms as he steadied her.
“Hey,” he said softly, his deep voice rumbling over her in a soothing wave. “Breathe, okay. Just breathe. It’s all right.”
“I’m sorry,” she babbled.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” He angled his head, meeting and holding her gaze until she could make herself look solidly back at him. “Here, let me help you.”
Taking the bag, he led her back to the van, fishing the keys out of his pocket to pop the back door. Together, they loaded all her decorations into the seatless rear compartment. Locking up her shop once more, Sinclair ran back to her car to fetch her purchases from Crystal Dolphin’s. The paper crackled as she hugged it fiercely close to her chest. There wasn’t a mark on it, but as she slid into the passenger seat under Jackson’s speculative gaze, she flushed, absolutely certain that he knew exactly what was in this sack.
“All set?” he asked.
Her throat too tight to speak, Sinclair nodded instead. Pulling away from the curb felt like a point of no return for her. She had the most dreadful certainty that she was heading straight for disaster; conversely, she also felt like she was headed for the most exciting night of her entire life.
She couldn’t wait to finally be alone with Parker again.
She hoped like hell he wouldn’t be there to meet her tonight.
Chapter FIVE
Her store could have fit into each of the ballrooms at least four or five times. When all three were locked off to the public with the adjoining double doors between them thrown open, Sinclair found herself staring down the conjoined length and trying hard not to imagine nine hundred hungry people packed into this football field of space. This was a daunting task, but she was stubborn and she was determined to pull it off.
“The middle room is the largest. That’s where the dancing and the band will be,” Parker said. He pushed one hand back towards the very far room. “We’ll probably have the games and challenges back in that end, so really, this is your realm here.” A spread of his hands encompassed the whole of the first ballroom. “People will be coming and going all day long, in shifts lasting about three hours apart, so don’t feel like you have to serve everyone all at once.” He paused, resting his hands on his lean hips. “So, where should we get started?”
With me, Sinclair wanted to say.
“The tables,” is what came pouring out of her mouth, and for the umpteenth time in only the last hour, she moved the bag of items she’d bought at Crystal Dolphin's as far away from him as she could manage without its being obvious. Now that she’d bought the silly things, she had no idea how to broach the subject of any of it with Parker. Knowing she couldn’t carry it around with her indefinitely, she tried instead to bury it under a short stack of Walmart bags until she could either figure out how to work them artfully into the conversation or unobtrusively take them home again.
Sadly, the subject of domination, submission or spanking never came up once. Who’d have thought that possible in a place like the Castle? For the longest time, they weren’t even left alone together. A long line of costumed
butlers and maids were reassigned from whatever they normally did to help with the initial task of setting up. They worked in a constant stream, carting in forty long portable tables, with which to bisect the room into a series of neat rows. More than three hundred chairs followed and all Sinclair had to do was stand and point, and rearrange, and change her mind and then quickly change it back again because the room, as big as it was, was only really big enough to set things up one way in order to support as many people as possible. And in all that time, the only conversation she had with Parker was about where to put things.
Was up against that wall okay? Should there be more or fewer chairs set up along each table? What did she think about a sprinkle of glitter or maybe flower petals down the middle of each table on the day of the event? Bondage was never mentioned once. Nor collars. Nor anything that Sinclair could cleverly use to insinuate that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t mind exploring some of whatever it was he liked so much about this lifestyle. It was killing her. And the longer that weighted thing hung in the air between them, the more frequently she found herself dashing in between the workers to rescue her bag from imminent discovery. She wished she hadn’t brought it. She wished she and Parker could be left alone for maybe just five minutes or so, but the multitude of Castle helpers continued to come and go unabated, their arms laden with comfortably cushioned folding chairs, and showed no signs of finishing any time soon.
Disappointed, Sinclair went back to work. She put her three buffet tables at the head of the room between the right and left entrances and with the deafening clatter of chairs being set up all around her, she tried to envision what three rounds of three hundred people were going to look and sound like in this room.
“Overwhelmed yet?” Parker asked, while transferring all her bags from the stack on the floor to the tops of the nearest table.