“I don’t like either of them.” She squared her shoulders. “Isn’t this supposed to be a cocktail party?”
He nodded.
“Do you suppose I could get one?”
“Bourbon on the rocks, a splash—just a splash—of water?”
“Yes.” He remembered her drink of choice. After five years of marriage, her ex-husband couldn’t remember she liked her coffee with one sugar, no cream.
“This way.” He guided her toward the end of the hall. She surrendered to curiosity and gawked at the cases as they passed. She noted everything from paddles to floggers to back brushes. She’d never look at her wooden loofah the same way again.
At the terminus of the gallery he led her down a corridor, then paused outside an open room, sounds of a party spilling out. Though she’d worn heels, he still topped her by several inches. With her new knowledge he appeared even taller, stronger, more macho. And he wanted to spank her. Within her skin, she felt smaller, more fragile, feminine. Stephanie wet her lips, her heart thumping. If anyone so much as said “boo” to her, she’d leap out of her boots.
“There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”
“I’m not,” she lied. “It’s just a party. I don’t know anybody, but it’s only a party.”
“You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
His skin felt hot as he entwined his fingers with hers, and she realized her hands had gone cold. He pulled her off to the side, away from the noise, the potential traffic, and turned her to face him. She stared at his throat. He wasn’t wearing a tie.
With a gentle but implacable finger, he raised her chin. “You always have the right to say no. No one can take away your power of consent. It’s not my nature to ask permission, but you can stop me with a single word.”
She jerked away from his touch. “You didn’t accept no with respect to this date.”
“You didn’t tell me no.”
She opened her mouth to argue, and he arched his eyebrows. “Did you?” he asked.
Stephanie snapped her mouth shut. “Not exactly. You didn’t give me a chance, and I couldn’t contact you because I only had the police department number.”
“So why didn’t you call me there?”
She snorted. “They’re not going to connect me with the deputy chief of police!”
“Did you try?”
“What was the point?”
“If you’d hated the idea of seeing me, you wouldn’t have come.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a leather business-card holder and a pen. He scribbled on the back of a card. “Here’s my cell phone, my home number, and my personal e-mail address. Put this in your purse.”
She clamped her lips together at his autocratic tone but did as he asked.
“Now let’s get you a bourbon.”
MARK EMPATHIZED WITH her shock. Even without Elizabeth’s hints, he’d recognized the moment he laid eyes on Stephanie that she was a natural submissive by her soft glances, her quivering lower lip, and then the way she’d responded to him in the car. She’d initiated their lovemaking, but she’d relaxed when he’d taken control. And while she’d probably picked up on his dominant personality, she couldn’t have foreseen his spanking predilection. Her hands were like ice. For her comfort—and to keep her from running when the shock wore off—he kept a grip as he led her to the makeshift bar. He ordered a Jack Daniels for her and a Canadian Club for himself.
She swallowed a mouthful and wrinkled her nose in a manner that was both cute and maddening. Cute, because she was, and maddening because of what it revealed.
She disliked bourbon.
He took the drink from her fingers, set it on the bar, and signaled the bartender, a Rod and Cane member and Bottom’s Up employee who volunteered for drink duty.
“What are you doing?” Stephanie knitted her eyebrows.
“The lady would like a Bottom Burner instead,” he told the bartender.
“No, I want my bourbon.” Her eyes sparked.
“Bottom Burner coming up,” the bartender said. There was no question whose request would be followed. Men ruled at Rod and Cane.
The drink was produced with speed and flair and dispensed into a hurricane glass. Stephanie clutched it with a mutinous expression, and he guided her away from the bar so other members could order.
“Why did you take my drink?” She glanced from the Bottom Burner to him.
“You order bourbon only because you think it’s a ‘real drink’ that proves how tough you are.”
She blew out a huff of air. “That’s not true.”
“That you dislike bourbon? Or that you’re not tough?” He brushed his thumb over her pink-tinted cheek. Her skin felt like silk. “Be who you are, and let everyone else deal with it.”
“Be who you want me to be, you mean.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I accept you as you are. As you really are. Not the face you present to the world.”
“They’re one and the same!”
He said nothing and held his smile as she sipped her drink.
She sighed and surveyed the room. “I would not have expected pink roses to decorate a building serving as a fortress of male dominance.”
“You don’t think men like pink?” He teased her. “This parlor is used by the Wives Auxiliary.”
“How quaint. I read about the Auxiliary in the
Sentinel
. Women can join as second-class citizens, but not as full members.”
“How many men do you have employed at WAN? How many male board members? How many male clients?”
“It’s a
women’s
organization!”
“Exactly. And Rod and Cane is a men’s organization. The wives formed the Auxiliary, and Rod and Cane provided them space. And women aren’t second-class citizens. They’re our partners in life.”
“That you spank.”
He sipped his whisky. “That we spank.”
“Did you spank your ex-wife?” She peered at him over the rim over her Bottom Burner as she drank.
“Yes.”
“And she accepted it?”
“Not fully.” But he did. The one thing his failed marriage had made him realize was that he needed to command. If he’d taken control of his marriage at the onset, maybe it wouldn’t have ended. Or if he’d put his foot down before they got married, perhaps he and his ex would have recognized their basic incompatibility and not gotten further involved, avoiding the heartbreak.
Stephanie’s eyes rounded like saucers. Clearly it wasn’t what she had expected him to say. Humor tickled the corner of his mouth. He could practically see the questions tumbling in her mind.
“Veronica and I were young and learning who we were, as individuals and as a couple,” he explained. “Ronnie begrudgingly complied because I insisted. If our diverging views on spanking had been the only issue in our marriage, we probably could have worked it out, but there were others.”
The first time he’d spanked his ex-wife, it had been teasing, playful, erotic—for both of them. He liked having her over his knee and wanted her to want to be there. Spanking fit their lifestyle of working hard and playing harder. It brought out and fed his need for dominance. Gradually it dovetailed with what was happening with his career. As he rose through police department ranks, he began to desire similar leadership and responsibility at home.
But the less he wanted to party, the more Ronnie wanted to. She’d become more irresponsible—with money, with time, with her own job. He’d learned of domestic discipline and suggested it as a solution to their discord. She reluctantly complied. Twice. Then she informed him she was done with spanking and with him. He vowed to establish domestic discipline as the core of any future relationship right at the beginning.
“Oh.” Stephanie took a large gulp of her drink and then choked.
He followed her gaze to see Otis and Liz Davenport wending in their direction.
“Th-that’s Elizabeth!” She stiffened, every muscle going rigid as astonishment shifted to comprehension. “She knew about you!” she gasped.
Liz looked lovely in a simple black sheath dress and understated silver jewelry; Otis appeared as distinguished as always. He was at least fifteen years older than his wife, but except for the gray lightening his temples, you’d never know it. They had married when she was still in college, but unlike Ronnie, she had embraced domestic discipline wholeheartedly.
“Hey, you two! I was hoping I’d see you here!” Elizabeth beamed.
Mark kissed her cheek and shook Otis’s hand.
“Steph, this is my husband, Otis. Honey, this is Stephanie Gordon, the administrator of Women Act Now.”
Stephanie shifted her drink for the greeting. “Nice to meet you,” she deadpanned.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said, sounding as sincere as she had wooden.
Otis glanced at Mark, then around the room. “This is going well, I think.”
“It’s a nice mix.” Mark assessed the people, noting the number of guests identified by white badges.
“Exposure by the
Sentinel
turned out to be a positive thing. It forced us to do a little self-analysis,” Otis said.
“Before the article, no one other than members was permitted inside the mansion.” Liz directed her comment to Stephanie.
“We operated in secrecy,” Otis added. “Now, we’re coming into the light, as much as our positions in the community allow.” He looked at Liz. “Would you like a drink?”
“Please,” she said.
“The usual?”
She smiled. “The usual.”
Otis shouldered through the crowd, which had grown since Mark and Stephanie first arrived. People greeted him with handshakes.
“Otis is the president of Rod and Cane,” Mark explained.
Liz turned to Stephanie. “No one at the law office knows I’m a member of the Wives Auxiliary.”
“So keep your secret, is that what you’re saying?” Stephanie’s tone was harsh.
Liz blinked.
“Stephanie…” Mark warned.
“I don’t understand how you can be so hypocritical to pretend to support women’s rights publicly, while privately you endorse domestic discipline. You’re living a lie.”
“I’m living my truth. For me, domestic discipline creates intimacy. For other women, it doesn’t. Isn’t feminism about having options?”
“You should have told me! You deliberately omitted key information. Just because you might want to be spanked doesn’t mean I do.” Stephanie gulped her Bottom Burner.
“That isn’t why I fixed you two up. I thought you would be a good match. That your personalities would complement each other’s. You’re a strong person, but he’s stronger, and you need someone to lean on a little. Mark could be your rock. You could be his soft place to fall.”
“I don’t need a rock!” Stephanie glared at Liz.
Liz was right in one respect: he could be Stephanie’s fortress of protection and security. However, Mark wasn’t sure he needed “a soft place to fall.” That made him sound weak. But whatever her reasoning, Liz had done them both a favor, and Stephanie’s behavior was out of line.
“I even called you! And you still didn’t tell me he was a spanko.” Stephanie’s tone had risen to attract the attention of several groups of people congregated nearby.
“It wasn’t Liz’s place to share that with you,” Mark cut in to forestall further rudeness. He empathized with Stephanie’s anger, her feeling of betrayal, but her behavior had crossed the line. “Rod and Cane allows people in the lifestyle to enjoy the fellowship of like-minded individuals, but to speculate about a person’s practices would be impolite.”
Stephanie took another swig and shot Liz the evil eye. Otis’s wife inhaled and regarded her silently for a moment before glancing at Mark, and then again at Stephanie, whose cheeks were flushed by anger and probably the alcohol in the Bottom Burner. He was close to ushering her into one of the meeting rooms and coloring her ass the same hue as her face. It wasn’t
what
she said, but
how
she said it, the disrespect in her voice. Nor was a party an appropriate venue for the confrontation. He scanned the crowd for Otis and found him leaving the bar with two glasses of wine.
“If all this is so abhorrent to you, what are you doing here?” Liz asked.
“Fuck if I know.”
“Stephanie, that’s enough,” he ordered quietly.
She pressed her lips together but scowled at him. Obedient, yet still rebellious. She would make his life interesting. If ever a woman deserved to be spanked and then kissed senseless, she did.
A passing server cruised by, and Mark set his mostly untouched whisky and Stephanie’s near-empty Bottom Burner on his tray.
“Here you go, Lizzie.” Otis arrived and presented his wife with a glass of wine.
“Liz.” Mark curved his lips in an apologetic smile and then glanced at Otis. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave.”
“So soon?” he asked.
“’Fraid so. I’ll catch up with you later. Maybe racquetball?” He snaked an arm around Stephanie’s waist, and she stiffened.
“Sounds good. Stephanie, it was nice to meet you,” Otis said. “I hope we see you again.”
Mark pressed his fingers against her side.
“Nice to meet you,” she said. Not warmly, but at least not rudely.
“Good-bye.” Liz’s expression was surprisingly kind for the way she’d been treated.
“Yeah. Bye,” Stephanie said icily.
If they hadn’t been in a room full of people, he would have smacked her ass. Instead he steered her out of the mansion after depositing her guest badge in the reception desk drop box.
“Where are we going now?” she asked as he shepherded her to his car. “A kinky sex club?”
Mark opened her door and helped her in. Shaking his head, he crossed to driver’s side. He didn’t know whether to be amused or angry.
“I learned two things about you tonight,” he said as he started the engine. “One, you don’t hold your liquor very well.” He contemplated her mulish expression. “And two, you need a spanking.”
She jerked in her seat and riveted her gaze on his face.
“I’m taking you to dinner to get some food in you to mitigate the former, and afterward, I’m bringing you to my condo to remedy the latter.”
Chapter Five
If she’d been a little less nervous, she would have been a little more impressed. Mark’s sleek, modern condo was gorgeous. Dark hardwood floors spanned the open floor plan, the living, dining, and kitchen areas comprising one spacious room, done entirely in black and white. Ebony leather sofas squared at right angles across from a massive stone-and-glass coffee table. Masculine, hard surfaces, she thought, like the man himself.