by Mara
He rarely came out. She had expected to hear from him tonight, but not in person, not like this. He was making a statement; she just wished she knew what that statement was.
"Ms. Chavez. Could we talk? Privately." The thick Cajun flavor of his voice was dark rather than sensual, almost deadly.
She almost shivered in trepidation, aware of the gazes locked on them. Swallowing tight, she slid from the bar stool, her gaze searching out Craig's as she followed Masters through a crowd that parted automatically for him.
Craig's eyes tracked them, obviously concerned. She didn't dare look for Clint.
"This way, please." Masters stopped at the entrance to the private hall before stepping aside and extending his hand before him. "My office is just down the hall."
What the hell had she done? Morganna thought frantically to try to come up with a reason for his sudden notice. Hell, she was one of the lower-key members of his clubs. She came to dance, drink a little, and meet with friends, supposedly. Drage only barred the real troublemakers from his clubs, not little nobodies like her. Unless he wanted something else?
"Here we are, cher." He unlocked the door with the electronic card before ushering her in. "I was surprised to see you here tonight. I was making plans to head to your residence when my doorman informed me you had arrived."
"You were?" That one was shocking.
It was all she could do to contain her nervousness as she stepped into the dimly lit, surprisingly old-fashioned office.
"Of course. I had the report you were nearly murdered in my parking lot. I wanted to be certain you were well."
She stood aside as he moved around her and headed for the desk. A bank of monitors were lit beside the desk, more than a dozen showing varied views of the club. Another set below them were blank.
"Please, sit down." He gestured to the comfortable leather chairs in front of the wide, dark cherry office desk as he sat down himself and stared back at her through those deep green eyes.
Morganna took a seat, leaning back with false confidence as she crossed one leg over a knee and allowed her foot to swish back and forth as she stared back at him.
"Very cool," he commented with a slight quirk of full, sensual lips. "You act as though being invited to my office were commonplace. Most women would at least be curious."
"I'm very curious." She shrugged her shoulders, all too aware now of the brevity of the half corset and the way the leather cupped her breasts. "But I've done nothing wrong, so I can't exactly be in trouble."
He leaned back in his chair, steepling his hands in front of him. "I've been asked to revoke your membership for a time." The announcement was delivered with an edge of amusement as she stiffened in response. "I was curious why."
Her lips opened as she breathed in roughly, then licked over her dry lips as she fought to keep her temper under control.
"McIntyre?" she finally asked, clenching her teeth over his name.
Drage's brows arched. "Indeed. He came to me this evening before the club opened. I thought it very odd that he would make such a request, but I rarely question requests from members of his stature. Until now."
Morganna pressed her lips together, glaring back at him. "Am I banned then?" Anger was burning hotter than the whiskey in her belly now.
"I'm not entirely certain," he answered, his amusement obvious. "I'm still trying to figure out why one of my best-paying members would request the barring of one of my favorite members."
Now that one was a surprise.
"One of your favorites?" she questioned. "Since when?"
He glanced at the monitors thoughtfully. "I spend quite a bit of time here alone. You're a delightful addition to any night. You cause no trouble, until last night-"
"I didn't do anything last night," she retorted. "He did."
"You went to the private room with him, angering your Dom-"
"If you watch as you say you do, then you know Craig isn't my Dom; he just likes to think he is."
Drage's gaze swung back to her. "What the hell are you up to in my clubs, Morganna?"
She blinked back in surprise, her eyes widening at the dangerous, rough rasp of his voice.
"Mr. Masters." She kept her voice carefully apologetic. This was not a man she wanted to get on the wrong side of. "Whatever Clint is pissed over, it's personal. I'm sorry if he doesn't want to conduct his sexual exploits with me around, but that's all there is to it."
"His sister married your brother; is she aware of his membership here?"
"It wouldn't matter," Morganna gritted out. "But / didn't even know until last night. I assure you, her brother's sex life isn't something we discuss anyway. Besides, it's not exactly a crime and it's rather late to hide the information from me. Banning me won't change that."
"Then tell me why he wants you banned," Drage demanded smoothly. "'Otherwise, as of this moment you leave my establishment tonight, you will be unwelcome in all three clubs."
Damn Clint and his high-handed arrogance.
She pushed herself angrily to her feet. "You do what you have to, Masters, but Clint's using you to do his dirty work. He doesn't approve of my being here. It's that simple. But since his money is better than mine ..."
"He does pay more," Drage murmured, his gaze considering. "The yearly reserve on the private rooms alone is rather high."
"How high?" She propped her hands on her hips, glaring back at him.
His gaze dropped to her bare midriff. At least they had gone farther than her breasts. Finally, those forest eyes lifted and his eyes narrowed.
"Twenty thousand for the yearly room reserve. Twenty-five for downstairs membership. Forty thousand a year for all of it if you're accepted."
Good God, that was a lot of money. How the hell did Clint afford it?
She sat down in shock. "What's downstairs?" She had only heard rumors of the private club that existed there; she had yet to have them substantiated by any of the club's members.
"A very special club." He was watching her too closely. "A very private Dominants' club."
"I'm not a Domme," she pointed out.
Masters shrugged. "Let's just say, I like you. Forty thousand for full membership, fifteen up front. If I lose a member because of the other, I'd at least like to replace the income."
"And if he ups the amount?" she snapped, holding the cover she had maintained since the assignment began. "I'm a legal secretary, for God's sake. I don't have that kind of money."
"Hmm. That's too bad," he commented. "His money isn't better than yours", but it is a bit more than entrance fee per year, cher"
"No kidding," she breathed, furious. Damn Clint.
"Of course, you could be sponsored." The subtle offer had her staring back at him silently. "There are several of the full-membership Dominants and Dominatrices willing to sponsor you for a period of time under their tutelage. You could train to be either a Dominatrix or a sub, your choice."
"This means?"
He leaned forward slowly, bracing his elbows on the desk as his gaze sharpened. "It means, for a contracted period, cher, you would become the lover to one of them. You would rescind your rights to your sexual dependence, and would instead leave the choice of your sexuality up to the Dom sponsoring you. A very simple business arrangement. The question is, is your fondness for the club serious, or merely an amusement? Amusements can be found elsewhere."
Morganna stared back at him quietly. This could be the break the team had been waiting for. If she took this offer to her commander, it could ensure that she remained on the team.
"I've noticed over the past two years that you haven't requested a private room, and from all appearances your visits to Mr. Tyler's have not been productive," Masters pointed out. "You're an exquisite young woman, Morganna. You have fire and passion. The perfect student for whichever level your Dom places you within. Whichever, you would learn exactly what you need to know to excel within it."
What the hell was this? School for the perverted?
"It's your choice." He shrugged negligently as he leaned back in his seat and watched her closely.
"Do I choose my Dom?" she asked.
"You do." He nodded. "But if the relationship doesn't work out for whatever reason, then he can place your contract up for bidding if you cannot buy it back within a specified amount of time. In other words, my dear, you go to auction."
"That's illegal. There's no way to enforce it."
"You haven't seen my contracts. Nor have you seen the men who will uphold them should you decide to sue. Have no doubt, cher, I have covered my ass well."
"Clint would know about this?" His knowledge would definitely cause an explosion.
"Of course, he has full membership."
She shook her head and smiled cynically. "You don't know Clint; he would never allow it. And even if he did, he'd tattle straight to my brother and bring hell down on me."
"His contract forbids it. Trust me, McIntyre won't want to lose his membership by doing such a thing. I won't cover just my ass, Morganna, but yours as well."
Morganna stared back at him in surprise. "Meaning?"
"I wouldn't be opposed to sponsoring you myself." His gaze roved over her again, the mossy color darkening in sexual awareness. "But it's your choice."
Interesting. Morganna sat back in her chair, forcing herself to hide the nervousness moving through her. There was enough of it to power a city if it were electrical.
If Clint was considered a prime catch by the women in the clubs, then Drage Masters was considered the ultimate goal. So ultimate that he was rarely reflected upon simply because he never seemed interested.
And the lower levels of the club were only reflected upon. Even Joe wasn't certain what went on there, because so far, no one had even admitted they were there. They were like an urban legend all their own.
"So I can finance my own in-"
"You can finance your application," he amended. "Though honestly, no one is admitted without sponsorship of some sort. And for you, it would demand sexual sponsorship."
"Because I'm a woman?"
He inclined his head in agreement. "Not politically correct, I'm aware, but..." A sensual, carnal smile tipped his lips. "A fact nonetheless."
"Sexist," she' muttered before biting her lip and cursing her tongue.
Her response was met with a bark of laughter. "Directing all that energy would be a pleasure, Morganna," he said moments later. "Learning to harness all that sexual energy could come in handy for you. It helps balance the rest of your life, helps you to focus."
Oh, she just bet it did.
This sucked. She didn't know Drage Masters, had nothing to go on except his reputation and the sparse details Joe had managed to scrounge up on him. It wasn't enough to instill trust.
"I gather there's not an option for no-ties sponsorship?" She lifted her brow in question.
"Sadly, no." His lips twitched. "And the time constraints are rather strict as well. I'll need to know before you leave the room so I can inform my security personnel of your status."
Oh great. Her eyes strayed to the monitors, hoping to catch a glimpse of Clint so she could glare at him. They widened as she saw him, but in apprehension rather than anger now. He was stalking toward the hall, his brows lowered in a frown, anger glittering in his eyes.
"Yes, I expected him to show up," Drage murmured.
"Asshole," she muttered as a heavy fist landed on the door.
"Your choice?" Drage asked her. "I'm afraid, dear, you are out of time."
"Can he rescind his request?" There had to be a way out of this.
"He can." Drage's lips twitched. "Though I would be surprised were he to do so. Clint rarely changes his mind."
"Yeah, that one's news." She flinched as the next knock came through, loud enough to bring a frown to Drage's dark features.
He leaned forward, pressing a button on a small control panel, then stared back at the door expectantly as it swung open slowly.
Morganna did shiver when Clint walked in. The aura of danger that swirled through the room was almost physical. His deep blue eyes were nearly black, his tall body tense, prepared. For a fight.
"Evenin', Clint," Drage drawled. "I assumed we had concluded our business earlier."
"Why is she still in here?" Ice dripped from his voice.
Drage leaned back in his chair as he turned his gaze to Morganna. "I was informing her of your request as well as her possible choices."
"There are no choices." Clint stepped into the room, his gaze slicing to Drage. "That was my request."
"Your request was her immediate barring from the clubs, which I decided required her the opportunity to counteroffer. We were discussing the details."
"The counteroffer being?"
Morganna held her breath at the calm, incredibly gentle tone of Clint's voice. The situation was getting ready to become explosive, and she knew it.
"Sponsorship, of course." Drage lifted his brow archly. "She was just making her decision. Weren't you, Morganna?"
She narrowed her eyes on Drage. Could she do it? Was what she wanted enough to allow another man to touch her, to hold her?
She looked over at Clint. Hard. Cold. She had waited for ten years for him, and the best he could do was throw her out of an operation she had worked her ass off for. He didn't want her enough to risk that piece of ice he called a heart. And all this after blowing her mind with an orgasm she still hadn't recovered from.
She clenched her teeth. She wasn't a virgin. Other men could arouse her. She'd had other lovers before; she could again.
"I'll need a trial period. Three nights," she bargained. "To be certain we'll suit."
She could feel her stomach tightening in dread at the
thought of another man touching her, even one as handsome and obviously sensual as Drage Masters. She steeled herself against it and thought of the women dying because of that drug. The pictures, the videos, the lives it was destroying.
He inclined his head in agreement. "A cautious lady. I can do that."
"Then I agree."
"Like hell."
Chapter 8
BEFORE MORGANNA COULD FIGHT, SHE WAS OVER Clint's shoulder. "Damn you, Clint McIntyre," she screamed out in rage as he stalked from the office.
She kicked against his hold, her fists beating at his back until a hard hand landed on her ass.
"This is getting so old." She bucked, trying to break his hold again, only to scream in outrage when his hand landed against her behind again.
She braced her hands on his lower back, attempting to get a view of the room. Where the hell was Clete when you needed him?
Clint shifted his shoulders, breaking her position as she bounced in his hold, screaming in outrage.
She slapped his ass back with both hands. He didn't so much as flinch, but she did. The hand that landed on her own butt burned. Right to her pussy.
Morganna let out a scream of pure frustration and anger as cool air met her back end and the doors swished closed behind them.
He moved in a hard, ground-eating stride, obviously ignoring her as he headed for the parking lot. Within seconds they were at his truck and she was bouncing into the seat.
As she moved to throw herself back out the door, his hands gripped her shoulders, slamming her back.
She stared at him in shock. It didn't hurt, but the restrained fury in the movement sent her heart racing, her eyes widening, as she stared back at him. "If you move, you're fucked. Right here. Right now. In front of God and everyone. Do you understand me?" His voice throbbed with power; his eyes blazed with anger.
Morganna swallowed tightly before nodding. There were times when you just didn't defy Clint. This was the ultimate of those times.
He moved back, slammed the door with enough force to rock the truck, then stalked to the other side and climbed in himself.
The vehicle peeled out of the parking lot, leaving rubber behind as Morganna fought to buckle her seat belt and waited for the
coming explosion. There was no doubt he was going to yell. Clint was always yelling when he got pissed.
When he didn't say a word, not a single word, in five nerve-wracking minutes, she risked a glance toward him. He was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, his eyes staring straight ahead, his expression forbidding.
So why wasn't he yelling?
"Pulling me out doesn't change anything."
"Open your mouth again and I swear to God I'll strap a ball gag between your lips."
Morganna flinched. God, she had never heard his voice like that. Low, brutal. Brooking absolutely no refusal.
"Gagging me won't change anything," she pointed out reasonably. "I'm not a child you can order around, Clint."
He didn't speak. His hands tightened on the wheel until she wondered if it would snap beneath the pressure.
"I'm twenty-six years old," she continued softly. "You don't have the right to do this. None of it. You should have worked with me-"
She breathed in roughly as the truck executed a hard turn, pulling into a deserted office parking lot on what she swore was two wheels.
Clint didn't speak. She had no warning before his seat belt was released, then hers. Her first sign that he had finally lost control came when he tangled his hand in her hair, jerked her to him, and slanted his lips over hers.
Morganna fought the grip, fought his kiss, for all of a second. Maybe. His lips were hard and burning, his tongue pressing between her lips, licking at her before his teeth nipped demandingly and he growled. A full-throated, wicked, carnal sound of hunger.
Morganna's lips opened to him, her hands sinking into his hair as he pulled her closer, then lowered her until her back met the wide seat.
Bench seats. You had to love them.
Then anything else she could have thought was wiped away. Clint's kiss changed; it stripped her mind, filled her senses, and stole reason. He devoured her lips, sipped at them, sank into them, his tongue thrusting past them, tangling with hers as she whimpered into the kiss.