My Liege of Dark Haven (4 page)

Observe? Did he have a watcher and not a participant? That fit what he’d seen of her so far. “I see. Well, as a staff member, you’ll get called on for assistance and demonstrations. That’s part of the job description.” One most submissives enjoyed.

Despite the dismay in her eyes, a flush rose into her cheeks. She wanted to play, yet she didn’t. Interesting.

“Watching scenes is part of the fun in a club, but complete voyeur-only types aren’t welcome. BDSM is a participant sport.” He walked over to the shelves behind her. “Speaking of which, are you allergic to anything? Food, fabric, medicine?”

“No. No, sir.”

“Allergy to latex? Or rubber? Or leather?”

“No.”

“Good.” At the wall shelves, he pulled on a latex glove and smeared each fingertip with a different ointment from the sample case. “Hold your arm out.”

The underside of her arm was the color of cream. He drew his fingers across her inner arm in four long lines, then dotted the lines with a marker. “These are the most common ointments used here. Since not every Dom tests beforehand, I prefer to know you’re not going to react.”

She stared at her arm with wide eyes. Never heard of chemical play, eh? The thought of doing a scene with her was almost too tempting.

After tossing the glove, he pulled a limits list from the form shelf. “Fill this out before you return. It shows what you won’t permit a Dom to do. You’ll of course negotiate beforehand, but I like to know your hard limits as well, so I can keep an eye on things.”

“I don’t plan—”

Lindsey sailed through the inner door and saw him. She bowed her head. Her brown hair, streaked with vivid blonde and red, brushed over her bare shoulders. “My liege.” Her mild Texas drawl managed to turn
liege
into two syllables.

“Lindsey, this is Abby, who is taking Clarissa’s place. She may have some questions for you.” He glanced at Abby. “You signed the releases and forms, yes?”

“Yes. My liege.” She had a pleasingly low voice, and he firmly put away any curiosity about what she’d sound like during a climax.

He pulled a pink leather collar from a drawer and crooked his finger at her. Her appalled expression had him smothering a laugh. The leather was engraved with double silver stripes on the top and bottom. The dangling tag stated: UNDER THE PROTECTION OF XAVIER. “This ensures that any Dom who wishes to play with you will obtain my permission first.”

When she looked insulted, he ruffled her silky hair. “No, pet, I don’t own you. This is for your protection.”

“Oh.” She considered and then bent her head so he could fasten the collar.

She had a delicate neck with tendrils of downy hair at her nape. He buckled the collar on, then widened her eyes by adding a tiny padlock. She didn’t need to know they kept master keys everywhere in the building. “When you arrive at the club, put on your collar and lock it. Before you leave, find me so I can remove it.”

Her swallow was obvious and delightful.

Yes, he liked this little submissive. “Abby?” he prompted. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, my liege.”

“Very good.” He let his gaze sweep down her body. “Tomorrow I expect you in suitable attire. The corset is beautiful. But not with a skirt and boots. A thong would work.”

He chose to ignore her rebellious look. This time.

“Or a very short skirt. Naked is acceptable.”

She ran her tongue over her plump lower lip. He had a momentary image of sitting on his bed with her kneeling in front of him, her lips around his cock and that small tongue swirling the head. To his surprise he hardened.
Receptionist, Leduc
. Her job was here. He carefully tucked her into the mental compartment labeled JOB. She wasn’t for his home or for social dating.

Back in the main room, he swung by the bar to get a cup of coffee and looked around. On the stage, deVries was giving a flogging lesson. His student, a new Dom, swung wildly and missed the pillow completely.

Xavier spotted Simon at a table and walked over.

“Have a seat.” Simon shoved a chair out with his foot.

As Xavier sat, he said, “That pretty little receptionist seems to take a messy desk as a personal insult. Where’d you find her?”

“Here. After she taught Dixon how to print out her application, she dared to suggest he do some filing.”

Xavier snorted at the thought of Dixon’s outrage. “A competent receptionist would be a nice change. I was getting desperate.” He’d even asked his elderly accountant if she wanted to moonlight. “Unfortunately Mrs. Henderson refuses to set foot in the club.”

“There’s a shame.” Simon’s brows lifted. “Wouldn’t she make a hell of a Domme?”

The image of the gray-haired Baptist grandmother wielding a flogger rather than her calculator made Xavier grin. “Competent or not, Abby seems appallingly new to BDSM, and she can’t attend the beginner’s classes.” Xavier leaned back and stretched his legs out. “Would you keep an eye on her if I’m not around? Answer her questions?” The little fluff would be a temptation to any Dom.

“Not a problem. And Rona will undoubtedly adopt her.”

“Excellent.” Xavier winced as the new Dom on the stage hit the pillow with enough force to take out a kidney. Hopefully the man would stick with inanimate targets for a good while longer. He took a sip of his coffee and breathed in the fragrance of chicory.

Obviously catching a whiff, Simon made a sound of disgust. “You and your damn New Orleans coffee.”

If the coffee wasn’t thick, black, and strong enough to dissolve an unwary spoon, it wasn’t worth drinking. “Any chance you want to teach the beginner’s class next week?”

“Nope. I got a warm woman at home, and I don’t see as much of her as I’d like.”

“Ah.” When Simon had found Rona, he’d plowed through every obstacle she’d put up to make her his. Probably one of the few battles the woman had lost. They were very much in love. Xavier’s chest ached as he remembered how it felt to have a love like that—and then to lose it.

“You still dating that blonde?” Simon asked.

“Socially? One blonde, one brunette,” Xavier said absently. Who could he get to teach that class? He might have been interested if the little receptionist were going to be in it.

“How about your latest slave? Did you manage to find her a Master?”

Xavier nodded. “Pedro Martinez. She’s been there a week and sounds very happy.”

“So you’ve lost your slave-at-home category and your business minion? You’re down to just a girlfriend or two?” Simon had no patience with Xavier’s inclination for keeping his women in slots. “Who’s your next slave going to be?”

“I’m taking a hiatus from matchmaking.” Sometimes being served was more exhausting than doing it himself.

“House a little lonely now?” Simon asked with a discerning look.

More than he’d ever admit.

Chapter Three

Standing on the richly colored Oriental carpet in her bedroom, Abby dragged on a pair of jeans and yawned so widely her jaw cracked. Her blood felt as if it had been turned into liquid lead, weighing her down until every movement was an effort.
Not even thirty, and I’m too old for late nights.

Dark Haven hadn’t closed until three a.m., and once home she’d stayed up to document her observations.

And forgot to set the alarm.

She hurriedly yanked her bra on and yelped. “Ouch!” Pulling the cups away from her tender nipples, she scowled. Wonderful. Every time she moved today, she’d be reminded of Xavier touching her. How it had felt when he’d circled his thumb over her nipple.

Her dreams had been more erotic than any porn movie, and Xavier had been in all of them.

I never dreamed about Nathan that way
. Guilt welled up inside as she admitted she’d never let him restrain her like that either. Had she really let another man undress her and touch her? That was just wrong.

But no, it wasn’t. She didn’t have a relationship. Didn’t have a lover. Everything she’d hoped to have with Nathan was gone.

And she was running late. The babies still had to be fed before he arrived.

The sound of whimpering puppies greeted her when she got downstairs. In between heating bottles, she started coffee. No time for a leisurely cup of tea today. From outside her duplex came the muted rumble of traffic, birds awakening, and morning frogs.

Juggling bottles, she crossed the living room to the plastic wading pool in the corner. A puppy resort, complete with a heating pad secured in one spot to battle the moist San Francisco air. At the sight of her, five roly-poly bodies, each the size of a pair of rolled-up socks, abandoned their pile of blankets, whining about imminent starvation.

“Honestly, guys, this is too darned early.” And she was cold, grumpy, tired—and depressed. With a sigh of exasperation, she picked up the black ball of fur that was her favorite. So very, very soft. Blackie’s puppy breath accompanied an adorable, tiny yawn.

Abby’s smile broke free. Really, this was a fine way to start the day. She snuggled him on her lap, listened to the quiet sucking sounds, and hummed a lullaby.

Despite the extra work, she never tired of fostering puppies from the animal shelter.

By the time the fourth tummy was reaching a sweet roundness, contentment pulsed in her heart.

“You’re next,” she told the pup waiting in the pool. Freckles’s floppy ears tried to prick up, but the anticipated food was far more important than listening to Abby. Sometimes she had the feeling her students felt the same way.

Just as she was hoping she’d finish on time, the doorbell rang. “Wonderful. I’m in trouble now.” She pressed a quick kiss to the top of Tiny’s furry head, set the puppy beside its tussling siblings, and hurried to open the door.

Dressed in a conservative button-up shirt and black slacks, Nathan looked wonderful.

Her heart gave a hard stab.
Not mine anymore
. “Come on in.”

His mouth pressed thin when he noticed her bare feet. “You’re not ready?”

Uh-oh, unhappy camper alert
. Anxiety tried to rise, and she shoved it down. “I only have one more puppy to feed. There’s coffee on for you.”

“I told you seven o’clock.”

“I know. I overslept—but we have plenty of time before your plane.” After all, she was taking him right to the gate so he didn’t have to find parking.

“Make it quick.”

She poured him a cup and pushed the cream and sugar toward him before hurrying back to the dogs. Grabbing Freckles, she tried to smile. “When is your first class?”

“In two days,” he said coldly.

At his tone her insides curled into a frozen ball. She’d hoped their last time together would be…easier, but now he was angry. Her hands went cold. As echoes of her father’s uncontrolled yelling filled her head, she forced her voice to stay easy. “Will that give you time to get prepared and figure out where everything is?”

“I suppose.” He glanced at his watch again. “Be nice to escape the bitching about slashed funding. Everett said they plan to increase class size and dump instructors at the bottom of the ladder.”

“Like me. I know.” Her stomach tightened. She’d already suffered the ordeal of being jobless. “This fall, they’ll decide who gets laid off for the spring semester.”

“Awards or not, with no recent publications, you’ll be one of the first to go.”

A professor could spend time on research, grants, and articles—or on teaching. Nathan insisted that making a class interesting wasn’t as important as research. She’d thought differently, and last spring she’d won two awards. For teaching. “I’ll have something published by then.”

I hope
. Unease stair-stepped cold fingers up her spine. Last fall, her small college had closed. She’d landed a position at the university, but with only a semester-to-semester contract. “A friend publishes an online ethnography journal which focuses on edgy sociological essays. Controversial topics. He promised to call in favors for an immediate peer review. My article will be in the fall issue if I get it to him before August.”

“That doesn’t leave time to do research.” Nathan frowned.

“Not much, no. But it’s adequate for the limited observations and analysis I plan.”

“Controversial, eh? I hope you didn’t think to do your study in my club. The owner would never let a sociologist in the door.” He scowled, then relaxed. “It’s private now anyway. You couldn’t get in.”

“So I heard.”

His expression turned to stone. “You actually considered BDSM as a research topic, but not as something to do with your lover?” He didn’t raise his voice. He never yelled.

Not like her father. “
Bitch. Slut. You’re a whore
.” She closed her eyes. Why was Dad’s voice so pervasive today? Because she was still unsettled from last night?

“Maybe if you’d been willing to be more adventurous, we wouldn’t have broken up.” Nathan took a sip from his cup and rose. This time when he looked at her, his control chilled her.

“I know.” Their last date had been the final straw for him. Those ghastly handcuffs. She’d tried—she
had
. He’d cuffed one wrist, and she’d panicked.
Again
. The thought of being so helpless with him was just…just…
no.

He was smart, charming, gorgeous, and polite. A renowned professor of anthropology respected enough to get invited to lecture at another university for the summer semester. They communicated well. Aside from his predilection for kink, the sex was pretty good—except for last time, when her refusal to be restrained had had a…deflating effect on him.

He’d gone so cold that she’d known she’d lost him, even before he said the words.

She turned her head away. So how in the world had she let Xavier restrain her and not Nathan? “I’m sorry. Some of that stuff makes me really uncomfortable.”

“It wasn’t all about you, Abby. Sometimes it needed to be about me and my needs. You pampered those mangy mutts more than you did your so-called lover.”

That’s not true
. She bit back the retort. Her fingers were cold as she laced her other shoe, then crossed the room to get her purse and car keys.

Could she change enough to enjoy bondage and pain and stuff? If she was different when he returned in August, would he be interested again?