It had been a wonderful night—her first real foray into
the BDSM scene, other than what she now knew was called
“bedroom play.” She’d let a few guys tie her to their
beds, had let one guy spank her. She’d asked a lot of
them to pinch her, to bite her. But being with someone
who actually knew what they were doing—and in that
amazing environment—had been incredible. Like every dark
fantasy she’d ever had come true. Well, almost. Because
Jamie Stewart-Greer, who’d starred in nearly every
fantasy that had ever tumbled through her head, hadn’t
been a part of the real-life scenario. Other than that
wide-eyed look he’d given her. Had he really been that
surprised to see her there?
“Good thing I’ve sworn off him,” she murmured to Madame,
or maybe to herself. “He’s always underestimated me.”
She’d chased Jamie most of her life, but finally about a
year ago she’d come to her senses after yet another
breakup with a guy who was nice and smart and seemed to
really care about her, but . . . he wasn’t Jamie. She’d
decided right then that she had to find a way to let go
of her juvenile obsession with him or she’d spend the
rest of her life alone. And the fact was, she’d had to
start figuring out who she was besides Brandon’s little
sister, the girl whose brother had died. The one who
wanted what she couldn’t have.
“Enough is enough,” she told the cat, who looked
surprised at the emphasis in her tone. “I mean, if he
doesn’t want me it’s stupid to keep chasing after him.
I’ve never had to chase any other man. Ever.” Madame
turned and sauntered into the garden. “I’m not chasing
you, either,” Summer muttered.
She blew on her coffee to cool it down. So what if she’d
practically had to re-create the way she thought about
men and sex and herself to get Jamie out of her head?
She’d done it. And life was good. She had a great job,
great friends. There was her darling Dennie, who she’d
known since kindergarten—a girl couldn’t ask for a better
best friend. Allie was back in town and they were closer
than ever. And since Allie had taken her to get her
tattoo a few months ago, she’d become friends with Rosie,
the artist at Midnight Ink who’d done the beautiful
phoenix in red and orange and gold—the color of flames—
that now covered the left side of her ribs. An
appropriate symbol for the changes she’d gone through.
That had been the beginning of the discussion about
getting into the kink scene. Rosie had revealed her
involvement easily enough, and it hadn’t taken Summer
long to put two and two together. When she’d asked Allie
if she was involved in kink her friend had admitted it to
her and agreed to help her learn what real BDSM was
about. Allie and Rosie had both helped her, giving her
reading to do, answering questions, taking her to BDSM
101 classes, and eventually taking her to a munch—an
event where kinky folk met and talked. And now, finally,
her first play party.
Her body was still a little sore, and her bottom carried
bruises from her play. She’d experienced what might have
been a little subdrop on Saturday morning, but a workout
at the gym followed by a hot shower and lunch with Rosie
had cured that. Now she simply felt good. Amazing,
really. Except for her agonizing obsession with the
ridiculously sexy Jamie, brought back to life when their
eyes met. While she’d been getting her first real kink
play ever. She’d been enjoying herself, loving it. But
then she saw Jamie watching her and every sensation she
felt the rest of the night had been magnified times ten.
Times a hundred. She’d been electrified by nothing more
than knowing he’d seen her.
Calm. The f**k. Down.
She sipped her coffee carefully, testing the temperature,
enjoying the acrid flavor on her tongue. She felt more
alive since the other night. More acutely aware of the
world around her, every sight and flavor, every texture
and scent. More aware even of her own body.
She’d watched herself getting off in the mirror over her
dresser the other night, imagining it was Jamie who saw
her. And it wasn’t only Jamie She imagined Renee watching
her, too—Renee watching Jamie watching her. It wasn’t
that she wanted to sleep with the beautiful Domme who
Allie and Rosie had referred her to for her first play.
She felt some stirrings of attraction to Maîtresse Renee,
but she wasn’t as sexually attracted to women as she was
to men. It was more the kink play itself. Giving in to
the taboo, giving in to the fantasies she’d had in her
head for years. The whole new fetish she may have
discovered knowing Jamie had been watching.
She let out a small sigh, suppressed it with a sip of her
coffee. Jamie was nothing more than fantasy, one she’d
come to realize was best left where it had always been,
where he had always been—in her imagination. Him being at
the club didn’t change that.
Liar.
She closed her eyes, letting her head fall back until she
felt the morning sun on her face, on the rise of her
breasts that curved against the pale pink silk of her
short nightie.
God, if only it could be him, just once.
Her body heated all over from more than the gentle sun—it
was imagining Jamie spanking her, pulling her hair, as
Maîtresse Renee had the other night. His arm coming
around her throat and tightening . . .
A soft moan escaped her.
“Hey, Summer Grace.”
“Jesus!”
She jumped, her coffee splashing onto the brick walkway
as she whirled, her face going hot when she found Jamie
in all his six-foot-something glory behind her. Damn, but
he looked good in his low-slung jeans and the white
wifebeater that showed off the leanly cut muscles in his
arms, the breadth of his shoulders. The small, curved bar
piercing his eyebrow caught the sunlight, giving his
beautiful face, which had always looked a little sweet to
her, a hint of the bad boy beneath. The piercing and the
scruff on his chin, his jaw. No man should look this good
at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning.
“Sorry to startle you,” he said, his tone low, the
lopsided grin on his generous mouth letting her know he
wasn’t sorry in the least.
“You don’t just sneak up on a person like that, Jamie,”
she fumed, not sure whether she was more pissed off at
being taken by surprise or that her nipples were going
hard at the sight of him. She tried to cross her arms
over her chest, but couldn’t figure it out with the mug
still in her hand and had to give up. What she wanted to
do was flail. Jamie at the club. Jamie here.
Keep your cool.
“Really? he asked. “Like you did to me, oh, a few dozen
times?”
She sighed and shoved her hair from her face. “Yeah,
okay. But at least I had being young and stupid as an
excuse. What’s yours?”
He paused, searching her face, his brows drawing together
over green eyes that looked as if they were sprinkled
with gold in the sunlight. Still the most beautiful eyes
she’d ever seen. Still the hardest-cut jawline and most
perfectly molded chin. Still the most adorable dimples
when he smiled—if “adorable” was a word one could use for
the hottest man on the planet. The hottest Dominant man.
A fact that was making her crazy even though she should
know better.
He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged, but his
gaze on hers went dark and stormy, letting her know the
casual attitude was a sham.
“I just wanted to see you.”
She studied his face, and his green gaze settled on hers.
And she was consumed for several long moments, just like
at the club. Desire. Confusion. Anxiety.
Desire.
No.
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