by Rynne Raines
With her new state of mind, she entered the main chamber. The heels of her boots clicked against the polished concrete as she made her way to the petite blonde dressed in a wench’s costume who was drying glasses behind the bar.
“Well, hello there.” Her pretty head cocked and those smoke-rimmed eyes scanned. “What can I get for you, love?”
“Cade Sinclair, please.”
An instant smile swept her blood-red lips as she arched one light eyebrow. “You wouldn’t believe how often I get that order.”
“Oh, no…ah…let me rephrase.” Bianca cleared her throat. “I was supposed to meet Cade Sinclair here. Know where I can find him?”
“Sure,” she purred. “Dungeon three, down that hall, third barred room on the left. Can’t miss it…or him.”
“Thanks.”
So they referred to their studios as dungeons, Bianca mused. Who was Cade supposed to be, the dungeon master? She pictured an ogre of a man with a club and hood grunting his commands like any good Neanderthal would, and smirked. Her light snicker bounced from wall to wall when she entered the dark corridor where the bar-wench had pointed.
Actually, it mirrored Eden’s fantasy rooms, yet the walls weren’t glass but stone and mortar. Every five feet, a sconce fashioned in the shape of a torch protruded from the wall. Although the flames were enclosed with glass, the heat still cascaded over her cheeks. Surprisingly, it did feel as if she were entering the dungeons inside some ancient castle.
A scream split the silence.
She virtually jumped out of her skin. Her heart hammered against her breastplate and ribs. Goose bumps prickled her bare shoulders all the way to her wrists. She wouldn’t panic. This was Halo’s theme. She listened closer and arched an eyebrow. Someone was seriously enjoying themselves.
Curiosity never seriously killed the cat but opened a world of discovery, Bianca mused, one she fully planned to explore. She trailed her fingertips along the rough stone, keeping her footfalls slow and quiet, seeking the source of the scream. If she’d thought spectators weren’t welcome, she would never have peeked through the steel barred window. However, in a place like Halo, she was certain there were separate chambers for those who preferred privacy.
Her eyes adjusted, focused, then widened.
The brunette was voluptuous and beautiful. On hands and knees, her legs were spread shoulder-width apart by a metal spacer, fastened at her ankles. The man towering behind her was long, lean and muscular. He faced away from Bianca, and she imagined him to be as striking from the front as he was from the back.
With one hand, he jerked a chain attached to the spiked collar fastened around the brunette’s neck, thrust his lean hips against her bare ass and drove himself home. A throaty moan erupted from his chained prisoner and Bianca not only swallowed hard, but she did it with a newfound respect for spiked collars.
Her pulse tapped an uneven beat against her throat and she sank her front teeth into her bottom lip. She’d never thought herself much of a voyeur but the sounds of pleasure and the scent of sex had her thighs quivering. Apparently, her lack of a love life was broadening her horizons.
The temptation to stay until the final act was strong, but she wasn’t here for pleasure. In fact, she imagined, after laying down her conditions with Cade, their meeting would result in the exact opposite of anything that resembled pleasure.
With a sigh, Bianca forced her eyes from the couple and glanced back down the hall. She counted the barred windows four more times from where she’d entered before her head swiveled back to the lovers. Her eyes lingered on the masculine powerful thighs, moved up to the tight ass, over the wide back.
Holy shit.
It was no damn wonder her client numbers had dropped. The bastard was offering hands-on instruction!
So this was Cade Sinclair’s idea of educating, was it? Bianca clenched her fists. Well, if he thought she would allow this type of behavior in her studio, he was in for a surprise. She narrowed her eyes and plotted his slow and painful death. No way in hell would she allow her classes and clients to act as a buffet to the man’s obviously insatiable ego.
“On your knees, slave.”
The warm whisper burned against the back of her neck and Bianca’s knees buckled. But it wasn’t the sensation of the breath against her skin that had her reeling. It was the voice. The low seductive drawl had coaxed her to orgasm several times in the past.
Sin.
“I must be losing my touch. Never took you this long to obey an order before.”
Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks.
It was Sin all right.
Bianca turned on wobbly legs and wondered when her three-quarter-inch heels had narrowed to the width of toothpicks. She leveled her eyes with a tanned V of flesh bordered by the clean lines of a stylish charcoal dress shirt. It wasn’t necessary to see his face. She recalled the exact width, the masculine curve of his chest, the powerful shoulders. Every ounce of her being warned not to look up, yet she couldn’t stop herself. She slowly lifted her gaze and an invisible fist struck her in the solar-plexus.
God help her.
Of course, he would still be as criminally handsome as when they’d parted ways after the Dom/sub masquerade at Blissfully Bound in downtown Los Angeles—the first fetish club she’d ever set foot in.
“Enjoying the entertainment?” he asked. She barely heard him. Thick waves of chestnut hair framing the sharp planes and strong angles of his face distracted her, while the tiny flicker of light in his deep emerald eyes entranced her.
“Sorry? Entertainment?” she said puzzled.
He gestured over her shoulder and cocked a dark eyebrow.
She absently swiveled her head. “Oh, no.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I wasn’t watching…well…I mean, I was, but—”
“There’s a better view from my office on the second level.”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessar—office?”
He took a step toward her, then clasped her fingers, turned her palm up and brushed his mouth against the inside of her wrist. “We never did get to real names, did we? Sinclair. ‘Sin’ for short.”
She might as well have been on the tilt-a-whirl for the nausea gripping her stomach. She swore the stonework shifted. The wide corridor revolved, then narrowed. If she tried to speak, she knew she would stutter, so she bit down hard on the tip of her tongue to prevent a gasp, and struggled for composure.
How could she not have put it together sooner?
“Suppose I should’ve figured out you were in town when I heard a rumor of a Dom with Indiana’s whip-wielding skills was in the city.”
A hint of amusement touched his eyes, but his expression remained stoic. “I’m not entirely sure how much merit there is to that rumor, but I’ll take a compliment in any form. You look good, Bianca.”
Her cheeks flamed as she heard him speak her real name for the very first time and she made the mistake of letting her eyes drift over his unsmiling mouth. Their last evening together, that mouth had been between her quivering thighs while he’d endlessly tormented her with his wicked tongue.
“You look good, too,” was all she could bring herself to say. He pressed her palm flat against his chest and weighted it there under his large hand. Bianca shivered as his skin burned beneath her fingers and made it hard to breathe.
“Surprised to see me?”
“Well…yes. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”
“Ever again.”
She winced at the hint of bitterness in his short response but before she could respond, he released her hand and quickly cut her off.
“I hadn’t anticipated you for another ten minutes. Follow.”
How easily he could transform his voice from casual to the rich, low tone that, to this day, commanded her body.
Regardless of whether she should allow him that power or not, she followed him deeper inside the passage and climbed the shallow but wide winding steps to the second level. Her chest didn’t s
tart to ache until they reached his office and her situation sank in.
This wasn’t a quick and painful reunion after which she would go home, bury her head under her pillow and sob for the next week. They were meant to work together, closely, eight hours a day.
The nausea evolved into violent compressions.
Four years obviously hadn’t been enough time to purge him from her system, to eradicate the memories or the hold he possessed over her. But she wouldn’t fault herself for it. He’d been every submissive’s dream; dominant yet tender, strong but somehow still vulnerable. Not to mention she’d been a young woman, enchanted by the underground lifestyle, swept up in its forbidden ambiance and raw sensual draw.
She’d fallen for him. Hard.
A mistake she would never make again.
Cade Sinclair circled his desk, dropped his weight into the chair, reached for the phone and tried not to punch the buttons as hard as he really wanted to.
Christ. Why did the woman have to look so damn good?
His plan had seriously backfired on him.
“Make yourself at home,” he told her, then cursed the edge in his voice. “I’ll be a few.”
Bianca didn’t seem to notice. In an elegance patented solely by her, she wandered the office, and paused at an oil painting of the San Francisco Bridge, framed in cherry wood. His grip tightened on the phone receiver. After all they’d shared together, passion and memories, hopes and dreams, how dare she treat him as a casual fling four years ago, then have the audacity to admire his favorite painting? She stared at it lovingly, appreciatively, with wide blue eyes and slightly parted, rouge lips that matched her deep, scarlet hair.
“Yeah, I’ll hold,” he grumbled into the receiver, forgetting who in the hell he’d called in the first place.
This meeting was supposed to bring him closure and make her feel like an ass for writing him off like a bad check after the week they’d shared. At the end of it all, he’d planned to politely decline Chambers’ offer and get on with his life.
Instead, his cock strained painfully against the fly of jeans at the mere sight of her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her goddamn boots, and the last thing he was experiencing was fucking closure.
Cade worked the muscle in his jaw to keep from growling. His only solace was that she wasn’t as indifferent as she portrayed herself either. He still had a physical affect on her. He’d seen her body react to his whispered command earlier in the hall. If she’d hesitated like that four years ago, he’d have bound and sprawled her over his knees then branded her sweet bare ass with his palm.
But the rules were different now.
Bianca wasn’t his submissive any more than he was her Dominant. She’d made the decision not to leave her real name and contact info at the front desk, as was the policy with a masquerade event. To ensure there was no pressure, always, the submissive retained final choice on whether or not there would be a relationship after the week was out.
It apparently didn’t matter to her it had been the most explosive week of his life.
Pure irony had brought him to Eden, where his chance meeting with Caitlyn Ward Chambers at a lifestyle seminar had developed into a solid friendship over the last two years. If he hadn’t finally agreed to meet her husband, he never would have spotted Bianca at the club. Then the memories he’d fought to keep locked away would still be buried now.
However, his childish need to accept Evan’s offer and see the look on Bianca’s face had been too strong to decline. This was his payback for acting like the teenage dork spurned by the cheerleader.
“Cade?” Her soft voice had him glancing up into those pale blue eyes before he registered the dial tone blaring from the receiver dangled from his fingers. “I think whoever was on the phone hung up on you.”
“Apparently.” He dropped the receiver into the cradle and shoved back from his desk.
Only one woman could make him feel like an ass and make his cock throb at the same time. She was still in his system, revving it up, punching the throttle—he had to have her again.
Correction, he would have her again.
“I’m not sure I understand this. Evan said you wanted to meet me, but if you already knew who I was, why arrange this?”
“Evan misunderstood.” He drained the last ounce of cold, two-hour-old coffee from his cup, then set it down on next month’s schedule, ignoring the ring of moisture it left. “My concern had to do with being on the same page given our…colorful history.”
“How eloquently put,” she murmured and broke eye contact. The gesture made his gut clench and he wanted to curse himself. He wasn’t normally a supreme asshole.
Whatever her reasons for not wanting a relationship all those years ago had been her own. Who was he to question them? Although he’d been told on several occasions his temper often got the better of him, he didn’t consider himself a cruel man, particularly not when it came to the few people for which he harbored fondness.
As stupid as it sounded, in a single week she’d gotten inside of him, stripped him to the marrow and, in the end, left him with a bitter ache that, even four years later, he hadn’t been able to shake.
What he needed from her was closure.
How had she landed herself in this mess, Bianca wondered as she shifted her gaze around what had become a cage of dark mahogany panels disguised as an office with modest furnishings. Now she would have to find a way to tame the lion behind the large oak desk long enough to escape before the claws came out.
“That was uncalled for. I apologize—you cold?”
Taken aback by his apology, she hadn’t noticed she was scrubbing her damp palms off on her arms. “No, I’m…I’m fine. I skipped lunch. Always get twitchy when I miss lunch.”
When he rounded the desk, she had the urge to dash for the door, but held her position.
“I could order something in while we discuss our terms. Chinese or Italian?” He ran his large hands up and down her bare arms and her heart back-flipped.
She could deal with his anger. She could deal with his indifference. What she couldn’t deal with was his tenderness.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why’s that?”
“It…it just isn’t.”
“That’s not a reason.” His hand traced from her shoulder, up her back, slid beneath her hair and curved around her nape. The pad of his thumb stroked just behind her ear. The fine hairs on the back of her neck rose and the walls she’d erected to protect her heart crumbled.
He leaned and dropped his voice to a whisper. “I don’t remember you ever being this disagreeable. I’m sure a proper flogging would change that.”
Her panties flooded and knees wobbled.
“Please, don’t do this…it’s bad enough we have to work together.” She encircled his wrist with weak fingers but hardly tried to pry his hold off.
“Do you have a Master?”
Her nipples instantly stiffened and scraped against the inner wall of her corset with each labored breath. “W—what?”
“I’ll rephrase.” He pushed her back and leveled his intense gaze at her. “Are you fucking anyone?”
She wasn’t startled by his blatant approach. He’d never been one to evade the point and, until today, neither was she.
“I don’t see how that’s your concern.”
“You’re right, it’s not.” He withdrew and propped a lean hip on the edge of his desk.
A vacant chill poured all the way to her toes the moment his fingers left her skin. She wished to God he’d touch her again. Nothing had ever felt as good as his touch.
“What if I made it my concern?” He casually fingered the rim of his coffee cup. “I have a proposition for you.”
“What type of proposition?”
“Well, it’s pretty damn obvious you’re uncomfortable with the thought of us working together. What if I turn down the job?”
A ray of hope.
“The catch?”
&
nbsp; “I find myself in unfamiliar territory. When you cut our ties, I admit being left with unresolved issues.”
“I see.” Her heart turned over in her chest. Was there a possibility she hadn’t been the only one who’d lost sleep over their parting of the ways? She wanted to jump and click the heels of her boots together at the thought. Instead, she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to feign a neutral expression.
“Chambers wants my answer by Wednesday but what I want is…closure.”
She searched his quiet eyes. Closure did sound wonderful—a single day without wondering what might have been, a night without closing her eyes and seeing his face, imagining his hands on her body, remembering the rich taste of his mouth while lying in bed alone. In four years she hadn’t been able to work him out of her system.
“What are you suggesting?”
“Your complete submission—five days—no strings attached.”
A jolt of electricity rocketed through her and shot all the way to her toes. She quickly touched three fingers to her lips to suppress a nervous giggle before clearing her throat. “You’re serious?”
“Entirely. After the five days are up, I turn down the job and you never have to see me again.”
A pang of resentment ricocheted inside her chest but it wasn’t enough to drown the excitement. He was offering her five days of pleasure, and an attempt at closure. There was a good chance time had manipulated her memory into believing things between them had been better than they actually were, creating a fantasy in her mind no other man could compare to, in order to protect herself from duplicating the pain of past mistakes. She’d already tried getting over him the old-fashioned way—casual dating, throwing herself into her work, yoga. None had worked.
Maybe a more unconventional approach was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe she could screw him out of her system. But was it a good idea becoming that intimate with him again? “Why this?”